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nakedbased · 2 months

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Special Channel

Benjamin finally return home after yet another boring day of work. It is completely washed out. And in a bad mood after a fairly... smoking contract assessment.

All this made him bitter. No one was waiting for him at the debauchery. No one offered him a little party. No one was there for him. He thought so but it didn't seem embarrassed more than that. At least, by convincing himself.

After dinner and preparing his things for work for tomorrow, Ben sits in front of the TV quietly, zapping the channels that became less and less interesting after each zappe. When he wanted to turn off the TV to go to bed with "happiness" to face the job for the next day to come, a noise is heard at his door. Ben went to the latter, when he saw a small package on the ground. Ben doesn't remember ordering anything and even more unlikely at that time. But who is inscribed on the small cardboard box, seems to prove the opposite.

"To Benjamin Milton who needs a real good zapping."

Nothing else was written on it except this strange message. Ben didn't really know what to think about it. He was tired of this day and already of the future one. So he doesn't think more than that, opening the box to see this content. What he discovers there is... rather disappointing.

A remote control. To the proportion having neither tail nor head. The designer was of the lunar type, it seems. In fact, the more Ben looked at him, the more this remote control gave him the impression that it came straight out of a cartoon. He told himself until now that it must be a cosplayer's accessory or something like that, but the more he observed it the more he understood that it was something else.

Raising his head, Ben was surprised when he saw that he was found in front of his TV without realizing it. He had mechanically walked towards his post as if something had asked him to do it. He didn't ask himself the question anymore, he took the remote control out of his box and pressed the power button. The TV turns on. Ben couldn't believe it. However, this remote control did not seem to be of the same brand as its television, if not of any known brand. And yet it worked, finally halfway.

Because all that was on the screen at the moment was just parasites. He presses it again to see a possible change on the screen. Parasites give way to a very clear and precise image. A cowgirl riding her streed, was chased by wild west bandits. "Hurry $%•¥£! They are catching up with us! Do you have a plan $%•¥£?!" Screamed the blonde cowgirl in the void. He zaps being a spectator this time of a crime scene. The same woman this time in a rather tendentious inspector's outfit, it turns to someone who seems out of the field. "So what do you think boss?". The camera turns to this boss... nobody. He zaps facing a TV set this time. Again this same woman with golden hair. "Good evening dear public, tonight we welcome with great pleasure our prestigious guest, $%•¥£!" Nobody. Again." So $%•¥£ how is your tour going?" Questioned the cowgirl, the inspector or the journalist to her invisible guest. "But damn, who does she talk like that ?" The woman turns with an inherited look at Ben. "But who the hell you think I’m talking to ? I’m talking to you Gex."

Ben startled making him fall backwards, landing his butt on the floor. The TV began to shake violently. Smoke springs from the slits. The screen scrolled through increasingly distorted images and delirious colors. Ben takes refuge behind his sofa, in total panic, thinking that his TV would eventually explode. Then everything stopped suddenly. Benjamin catching his breath, raised his head from behind the back of his sofa to see the damage. He saw the TV completely transformed. Its appearance was now similar to that of the remote control that had launched all this.

Ben came out of his makeshift hiding place, wanting to catch the remote control to avoid making things worse, but he glanced at the screen. The vibrant and crazy swirling colors hypnotize him. He approached to take a closer look. He was so absorbed by this multicolored show that he did not notice that a viscous liquid was beginning to flow from the edge of the screen. Too late. A large viscous gelatinous mass with countless colors enveloped the unfortunate man's head and forced him into the screen of his television. This mass entered Ben's mouth, flowing into his throat to rush into his lungs, stomach, liver and more. His body transformed as this mass sneaked into his bowels. His arms are thinning, his thighs are getting bigger, a tail grew over his rear train which is also getting bigger. His hands and feet deformed. The scene lasted for a while until finally the mass released its grip on Ben's head.

The latter pulled his head from the screen except that the mass that had covered his head was hardened, becoming as hard as stone. Ben tried everything for the whole, banging his head on all the walls of his apartment. This was not very effective because no cracks were visible at the moment. On the other hand, with every whim he gave. His apartment was also beginning to metamorphose. Then as if by miracle, a crack was formed behind his prison helmet. He swallows his fingers and pulls with all these forces. The helmet hardened gave way, his face was glued to the walls of the helmet, making his skin pull to the maximum. When he finally got rid of this shit, he was taken dizzy and sat on his completely tired sofa. "Well, pal. Last time I open this kind of cardboard..."

"What do you mean, darling?" The woman went out behind the living room door and lay down on the gecko. "... or not." Concludes Ben... or rather Gex.

#gex #gex the gecko #say gex #tf #transformation #metamorphosis #i saw the tv glow #tv #television #absorption #gecko #illustration

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atsadi-shenanigans · 11 months

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Feeding Alligators Ch 4: Man vs. Wild

It rains. You disappoint your ancestors and come to a few conclusions.

On AO3

A sound startles you out of your miserable doze. Mumu stands before you in a fuzzy, purple robe—more classical sculpture, less fluffy bath accessory. He looks concerned.

You try not to shiver.

You fail miserably.

He mutters something, brow pinched in what you hope is worry. He takes your sodden bedding from you. The downpour woke you from a dead sleep. Fancy Pants was nowhere to be seen, and neither Goth Girl nor Mumu roused themselves. So you crafted the only shelter you could, and huddled beneath your sleeping bag.

It soaked through within an hour. You soaked through in half that time.

Your limbs are stiff. Muscles scream and bones creak as Mumu helps you up. His hands are so warm against yours. He guides you, staggering, over to where the fire went out. He says more echoing words.

Nothing happens.

He mutters what you’re sure are swears, and tries again.

Nothing happens, again.

You drip miserably. You’re pretty sure some great, great grandmother is clucking her tongue at your complete lack of outdoorsy skills.

He gestures to the soggy pile of ash and stomps over to his tent. Returns with what must be a spare mumu.

The thing is, it’s awfully close to a dress. Dresses are pretty and there’s nothing wrong with anyone wanting to wear them. You’ve even eyeballed a few, wishing. But actually on you?

This garment seems clean, should fit even your thicker frame. But when you picture yourself in it, the feel of loose fabric on your bare legs beneath it, the vulnerability, you can’t stop the shudder. Yes, you were one hundred percent naked on the ship. That’s different, your brain insists. The feel of it is completely different. The context of it is completely different.

“No, sorry,” you say. You hope the smile and the shake of your head will translate to polite refusal.

He chatters—you can guess some form of, “this is how you catch hypothermia, dolt”—but. You can’t. There’s only a few things these days that you just Can’t, and this is one of them.

“I’m good.” You hold up a hand in what you hope is a universal “stop”.

He stares at you like a disapproving PTA board member. You keep smiling. Playing dumb, playing innocent. You can’t understand each other, after all. He can chalk this whole thing up to bad communication. No one’s fault, couldn’t be helped.

He sighs and—oh hey! Here comes Fancy Pants strolling into camp! What fantastic timing.

***

The group has an argument. Or a kerfluffle, at least. And it’s not over your soggy self, you think. (You hope.) You stand around, trying to keep yourself moving, as everyone (Goth Girl and Mumu) pack their things away and snipe at each other. As you watch, Goth Girl crams a tent pole into her bag and that absolutely should not fit.

Magic. It has to be. Squidward aliens, hell, and magic bags.

You can’t collapse into the mud. You know it’s a stupid thing you do, what you’ve been told is a “maladaptive coping mechanism” to stress. You scrub your face again—at least the rain washed off the eau de seaweed. Maybe your hair won’t frizz. You run your hand over your elbows and frown. Damn things are going to turn to cheese graters if you can’t find some kind of lotion or something.

There’s a better “response to stress.” Focus on little things you can actually do. This entire situation is so huge and monstrous, no one—not even someone without your own brand of bullshit—could possibly face it without fainting like a tiny goat. So you’re going to do what you’ve been trained: smash it into smaller pieces.

You need to warm up. You have no clothes and no source of heat, so you need to move. The clouds have dispersed and the sunlight shines down all warm and golden. If you can get everyone walking, you might be able to keep your internal temperature up enough to dry out.

Water and food.

Find help??

Three is still too big. You shove that aside.

Mumu is rubbing the gap between his eyebrows when you reach him. Goth Girl is saying something with a tone you recognize: voice soft, but with a set to her jaw that means, “I’m going to do what I want regardless of what you say.” Fancy Pants is cutting in now and then with what you can only assume is bitching. So these three are your survival buddies. Neat.

“Hey,” you say. It takes another attempt before Mumu sighs and glances to you.

God, you need to learn the language. Single words, at least.

You mime lifting something to your mouth and chewing (they aren’t toddlers, you shouldn’t go “Mmmm, nummy” with it, but damn if that image doesn’t pop into your head). You point to all of them, to you, and lift your eyebrows expectantly.

Goth Girl’s lips go thin. She looks to Mumu. She’d shared her crackers last night, so maybe she’s suggesting it’s his turn to donate?

He apparently agrees. Reaches into his bag and pulls out a few apples and a loaf of slightly stale bread. Only Fancy Pants declines, all breezy and unconcerned. Fancy man, probably used to fancy food. Not that you’d blame him. You would stab someone for some teriyaki right now.

Would Mumu have something like that in his magic bag?

Fucking magic. Unless it’s nano tech. You know, like people with armor and maces and primitive ass tents usually use.

What the fuck.

But that’s all problem number three. You will deal with that later.

***

Except Mumu looks entirely human. You’re trying hard not to stare at the back of his head as you walk along a dirt path. Round, human ears. Wrinkles beginning to form around his eyes. Stubble. His hair is starting to go gray, and what kind of alien species would decide on “mullet” as a fashion statement? Though it’s not so much a mullet, as the way he combs the top part back. If you combine that with the earring, he’s rocking a kind of “metro, wacky uncle” vibe.

The path climbs up. You’re heading away from the wreckage through a forest. The ground is getting steeper, the rocks bigger. You turned back, once, to get a glimpse of the carnage. You’d never imagined a UFO would be a big snail shell with squid arms smashed all over a coastline. But while you were in hell—!!!—you threw a broken piece of that shell at a demon, and it looked and felt like actual shell.

Aaand you’re filing that under Problem Three.

Goth Girl looks human, too, until you catch the points of her ears. Not as prominent as Fancy Pants—walking along at the back of the group, face turned up to the sun—but those aren’t human.

Aside from the ears, and Fancy Pants’ complexion, they all look remarkably human. Bipedal, with mammalian, primate features and hair and eyebrows and Goth Girl has boobs.

Is this even an alien planet? Or is there something weirder going on—you’re not saying supernatural. You’ve had more than enough of that already. What are the odds of green grass on another planet? Pine trees? They even smell like pine. The air is breathable. The gravity feels the same.

…is this Narnia?

No. Absolutely not. You haven’t seen any religious allegories prancing around disguised as talking animals. It’s not. It can’t be. You’re thirty-fucking-five, not a child.

Think of the pounding in your head. It hasn’t faded, though it has retreated into the back of your skull rather than lurking right behind your eyes, so there’s that.

And your clothes are starting to dry. Things are manageable. You’re going to deal with all of this.

The murder hobbit sours everything.

Previous - Index - Next Chapter

#baldur's gate 3 #fanfic #astarion #it's a goddamn isekai #i'm not sorry #no betas we die like men #astarion x tav #tav has backstory #feeding alligators

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peachypede · 1 year

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🎀 🌸 💞

for your top 2 favorite muses 😘

Ask meme is here

🎀—put a bow on it! a headcanon about an almost trademark accessory my muse wears, and why they wear it.

Aman

prosthetics cause he needs them (jk but definitely that's something he'd say to a question like this)

Religious mala necklace! I have headcanons about Sinnoh religion post diamond and pearl clan where it centers mostly on the sinnoh trio Arceus, Dialga, and Palkia. The necklace that Aman wears is worn by adult members who go through a coming of age ceremony of sorts (like a bar mitzvah) and promise to honor Dialga's time, make use of Palkia's space, and treat all of Arceus' creations well. He keeps it under his shirt most of the time.

Pecha

Her Pecha berry bag! She's very proud of it since she made it herself. It's also been like the constant accessory I've depicted her with since even her beta design. I just think it's super cute and I wish I had one myself!

🌸— picking flowers! for a headcanon about a time my muse went out of their way to pick and then give someone flowers, who was it and why?

Aman

Hasn't picked flowers in the wild to give to someone ever since he was a little kid in sinnoh. It was cherry blossom season and he picked a couple petals from the ground that were pretty and put them on top of his mother's head and she smiled brightly at him. It's a precious memory for him.

Pecha

Used to pick flowers for her mom but her mom never liked them. Then she would pick flowers for her dad and he always liked them so she kept doing that. If it was a type of flower you can eat, like dandelions, he'd show Pecha how to eat them. (usually by popping them into his mouth immediately which made her scream then laugh)

Mostly, she picks flowers for herself. Either she brings them home to put in a little vase or she does the whole "they love me, they love me not" fortune with them.

💞— you stole my heart! for a romantic headcanon from my muses past, or even potentially from their present.

Aman

Actually hasn't had serious relationships? Mostly flings or pretend relationships on missions. Doesn't mean that he doesn't want a long term partner, though! He just has been busy with work...

Had a small thing with a fellow agent at one point, but it was unprofessional and could get them both fired so they cut it off. Closest thing to a serious relationship for Aman, though.

Pecha

Has had a couple of romantic relationships in her past other than the plentiful crushes she's had on various people from various regions. Her first real girlfriend was Katy (the bug type gym leader in Paldea) back when they both went to Naranja-Uva. They had a very lovey dovey, cute first relationship kind of love. They broke up because Pecha was going back to Unova and their goals just didn't match up. They still update each other on life every now and then.

Pecha went on different dates with different people for a while before she met Chandler. The guy was bad news but Pecha wasn't very good at spotting red flags. Initially, he was very loving and caring, but he turned sour when Pecha moved in with him. He believed firmly in Team Plasma rhetoric and pressured Pecha to release her Pokemon too. The anxiety and insecurity this cased for Pecha ended up making her fail at being a gym leader, which has been her life long dream. After a small, moral boosting talk with a depot agent on her way home, she decided to call things off.

#ask meme | rainbow pink #oc aman #oc pecha #aman's ended up smaller up pecha has the most relationship experience out of all my main ocs I think

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amyinmyheart · 2 years

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I dreamt something before that but I had this dream tonight where I was a make teenager and living with my dad (12 years I think?) and I had a friend over and this absolutely cool room with a long couch and lots of monitors (funnily enough a tiny TV, reminded me of the retro TV in Sims 4). No bed to be seen though.

We wanted to play a video game and I went to my little brother's room to ask him if he wanted to join also. He was about to tackle homework but agreed to join. I (male teenager me) tossled his dreadlocks. My little bro was mixed race and his mum was not in the picture for some reason. We were about to play the videogame and had a POV change

I was me (closer to awake self as female, but aged 16/17). My older sister (21-23ish) was over and showing me this completely decked out nursery (that for some reason had been assembled here and now she'd have to move it). We chatted a bit and middle younger brother had friends over and they asked me if I could wear my school uniform for them and if I looked sexy wearing it. I declined to dress up for a bunch of 12 year olds and told them that our uniforms where more like chic prisoners anyway. Cut to my school the next day and then a collage what every one could be wearing at school (we had a surprising variety of allowed pieces).

Today we had a movie showing and I went to get a seat. Somehow Giles from Buffy was our school director? Visiting movie presenter? Not really clear.

I couldn't find my friends nor any free seats really. Tried to sit next to some girls in hijabis but they said another friend was coming. I ended up leaning against the last row of seats, because they had made this kind of wood podium for them.

The movie startet and it was about vampires. Many people had also worn clothes with bat motives on them. Suddenly there was (subdued) screaming, the movie was stopped and some students started to flee in panic. I felt myself being hugged/held from being. Probably should have been scared but kinda melted into the embrace. I turned around and there was this person - gender unclear. Short, wild, blondish- honey hair. Kinda like the characters I liked as a young teenager tbh. I was like "hey are you a girl or a boy, because I'm kinda over boys after my first BF but well we can work with it.". The person (well vampire obviously) asked a bit surprised that I had a relationship already and I was like" "yeah a BF and a GF but girlfriend was more serious but still were just finding ourselves and trying this relationship thing you know?". Then I noticed they had boobs under their frilly blouse and vest combo and went "we can work with that". Meanwhile some people were eaten by vampires. My vampire decided to go back to my place though and on the way I was praying to Hecate to keep my siblings safe because I already felt mostly safe anyway. I was chanting under my breath "Hecate, Hecate please" and I had this brief flash forward moment that my vampire would approve of my faith and we'd bond over this. We missed the train home but hoped onto the end piece and rode that way.

Later we were girlfriends (they were fine with that term though still kinda genderfluid) and prepping for a lolita fashion teaparty. My vampire GF wanted to wear gothic lolita with a kinda on the nose vampire theme and I had this blue koi print dress I made myself and wanted to pick up accessories to go with it. I had left it at this place that made custom pieces to go with your existing wardrobe and they mislaid my dress. GF was about to go berserk on them for losing my work but they said they found it after all. (I own the fabric that inspired this koi dream dress btw but not enough for a dress I think. Hmm.)

#today i dreamt

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theonewiththefanfics · 4 years

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Tomato - Tomato (one-shot)

Synopsis: One is an international rock-star. The other is his loyal assistant. Both are complete morons in love. Also - she’s allergic to tomatoes, and it is important.

This started off as something completely else. hope you enjoy :D

Pairing: Harry Styles x fem!Assistant!Reader

Genre: fluff, minor angst

Warnings: two idiots pining for one another, swearing, mentions of allergies and EpiPens

Word count: 3492

Being an assistant to someone famous wasn’t all glamourous parties and wild nights out with celebrities. It was scheduling last minute flights and not sleeping for three days straight as you packed a million bags and then repacked because their stylist sent you knew pieces and the old ones no longer fit the aesthetic of the week. It was also making sure that they were up by six AM with a hot coffee at their bedside ready to help them wake up as you lay out a detailed plan of the day down to the minute, while you yourself basically only had a two-hour nap because you had to finish off 568 handwritten notes to be sent out to each of the contacts in their phone. Or at least that’s what Y/N’s life was like being the personal assistant to none other than the modern-day prince of rock Harry Styles. Said rockstar was actually still asleep when Y/N entered his room, ripping open the curtains and letting in the rising sun. He groaned, pulling up the bedsheets that’d ridden down his form during the night. “Not that I don’t like seeing your gorgeous face in the mornings….” he mumbled into the covers. “But I don’t like seeing your face in the mornings when they start at six bloody AM.” Y/N snorted and rolled her eyes, rubbing them in an attempt to get rid of the sleep that still lingered in her own body. “You were the one that said you’re fine with seeing Lambert at eight for a fitting.” “When did I say that?” Harry scoffed, only the top of his messy bedhead seen from the cocoon he’d built around himself. “Would you like me to pull up the text messages, the calendar or the e-mails?” Even with her back turned as she rummaged through his closet for him to put on some clothes, she could sense the middle finger he threw at her, and she smiled. Despite everything, despite the zero sleep and stress always coursing through her veins, Y/N loved working for him. He treated her as a friend, not just some lackey he paid to, but most importantly, comparatively to the other people she’d worked for in the same line of business – he treated her as a human. If something went over the deadline, Harry didn’t scream or yell at her and tell Y/N how incompetent she was, instead he asked what kind of help or assistance she needed to get the job done, or maybe if she just needed some time off to gather herself and look at the problem with fresh eyes. “I hate how organised you are,” Harry groaned, finally throwing the covers off. “If I wasn’t, you’d be in a ditch somewhere.” She heard him scoff and two feet plop against the hardwood floor as he made his way towards her. “Is that how little faith you have in me?” “You don’t even know what day it is!” “Who does in these times?” Y/N shrugged her shoulders and handed him a pair of boxers, some loose jeans, and a flowery Hawaiian shirt. “Are you telling me I’m wrong though?” She looked over to her side, a smirk playing on her lips while he squinted his green eyes at her. “No, but it doesn’t mean I like getting called out, especially this early in the morning.”

With a roll of her eyes and a shove at his shoulder for him to move to the bathroom, Y/N handed him the clothes, moving downstairs to start making him some light breakfast and get herself a cold glass of water. You see, she’d been working as his assistant for close to two years, and they’d grown not only as people around one another, challenging their beliefs and world views, but as friends too. And, well, Y/N would be lying if the emotions hadn’t evolved from platonic to falling in love. Not that she’d ever admit it. He was an international sensation, and she was the girl who got him vegetarian croissants at the airport. She dragged a hand down her face as she clicked the stove on and took out a carton of eggs from the fridge. Y/N knew how he liked his omelette to the T, mostly because when she’d spent the first night of quarantine with him a year prior right as the pandemic had started, Harry had wanted to do something nice because she couldn’t go and see her family any more, so he’d gotten up at seven to make breakfast for both of them. The only problem was, he hadn’t asked if she had any allergies, so as he added bits of tomatoes, parsley, cheese and scallions, Harry hadn’t expected Y/N’s eyes to go wide at the first bite as she dropped the fork. “Harry…” Her tone had been cautious. “What’s in this?” He was sweating. Was his cooking really that bad? He just wanted to do something nice and there he was screwing everything up. “ ‘S just some of my favourite things. I’m sorry I didn’t ask, I just thought you’d like it.” “I do, but this tastes like it has tomatoes in it.” He nodded. “Yeah. It does.” Gently she smiled at him and pushed the plate a bit further away. “Could you grab me a coat, and if you have any – an EpiPen?” “An Epi – oh shit!” When the realisation hit him, Harry was jumping out of his seat, running to one of the cupboards and rummaging through in a panic all the while apologies flew non-stop from his mouth. Y/N in the meantime had gathered her purse and mask, making a call to the nearest hospital to explain the situation to which they responded they’d be waiting for her arrival. “I’m so sorry!” Harry ran up to her, a first-aid kit in his shaking hands. “Please don’t die! I didn’t want to kill you, I promise! I just wanted to make you some breakfast cause you do so much for me, and now you’re stuck here, and – oh god,” he cried. “I’m going to be prosecuted for killing my assistant.” She didn’t mean to, but the snort came out of her nose either way. “Harry.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “Please calm down. I’m not going to die.” “You’re allergic!” “Yes, I am, but I only had a small bite. The ER is just a precaution.” Y/N took his palms in hers and squeezed them. “Now take a deep breath with me…” They did so, holding it for five seconds and letting it out for eight. “And calm down a bit. I’ll go give myself the shot, and then I’ll drive to the hospital.” “Let me,” Harry begged. “Please, let me at least drive you to the emergency room. God, I almost killed you with an omelette, it’s the least I can do. I – I could also help you with the shot, I won’t hit an artery, I promise -” “Harry, you’re barely coherent. Not to say anything, but you’d have a bigger chance of killing me in a car crash, than from that tomato.” Y/N gave him a smile. “I’m gonna be fine.” With that, she left him to venture into the bathroom and did the unpleasant part of stabbing herself in the thigh to alleviate her body from the allergy symptoms. She sat there for around five minutes before she felt that the swelling of her tongue and itching in her throat was starting to subside, which meant the epinephrine was working. “Okay,” she huffed, taking her purse from the couch where Harry had been sitting, hugging the accessory. “I’ll be back in probably around two hours. Do we need anything from the store?” He shook his head. “Just come back home, please.” Y/N would never admit how her heart thundered in her chest when Harry said to come back ‘home’. “I will.” She promised. “Don’t you worry. You’re not getting rid of me that easy, Styles. The money’s too good.” She winked at him and then left Harry pouting on the couch, but she couldn’t get through the door, before he jumped up, yelling, “wait! Do I need to get rid of every tomato in the house?” “No,” she laughed. “I’m good to be around them. Even touch them. ‘S just my insides that don’t agree with it when they meet.” “Okay.” He nodded, hands on his hips. “Alright. I’ll uh – I’ll be waiting. I’ll make you something else.” “There’s no need for that, Harry.” His eyes widened at her words. “I swear I’m not trying to murder you!” “Oh my god,” she muttered shaking her head. “Just – just relax. Okay. I’ll send you hourly updates.” He bit his lip. “Make it every ten minutes.” “Harry –,” “Please?” The way he was giving her puppy dog eyes melted her heart. With an eye-roll, Y/N waved at him and promised to update her boss at every possible moment and confirm that he hadn’t, in fact, been the reason for her demise. Well, he was the reason for the demise of her low standards in men, having taken them and thrown them up to the Moon, but unless her feelings were miraculously requited or if one of the Marvel characters, she was obsessed with came to life, she’d have to stick to what was available. And in her mind, that wasn’t Harry. “What are you thinking about?” His voice startled Y/N out of the memory, and she shook her head, adding salt and pepper to the beaten eggs. She shrugged. “Just about that time a year ago where you secretly tried to off me because you were too nice to say you didn’t wanna quarantine together.” The groan he let out was of royal embarrassment, and it put a wide smile on her face, as she took one of the forsaken fruits and started to chop the red ball into small pieces. “You’ll never let me live it down, are you?” Y/N raised her eyebrow at him. “Your failed murder attempt?” She snorted. “Of course not! It’s like you don’t watch the crime shows and murder documentaries when I have them on. You really haven’t learned anything.” Harry stuck his tongue out at her and moved to her side, dropping some chives into the mix as well. “Well given how it wasn’t a murder attempt, I wouldn’t consider it a fail.” Her hip bumped his, and only then did Y/N really give him a once-over. As always, he looked amazing in whatever was on his body, but what made him even cuter in her eyes was the sleepiness still lingering in him. Harry’s movements were a little bit sluggish, eyes half-closed and small sighs passing his lips as he sipped onto the coffee she’d come to his place with. The shirt sat loosely on his body, the first two buttons left open while he’d tucked the bottom of it into the jeans, having found a Gucci belt and cinched it around his waist, giving it a more eighties look rather than the sixties vibe he usually had with his suits. The brown hair was still messy and dishevelled, and Y/N could barely, just barely restrain herself from running her fingers through it, but what she didn’t know Harry was struggling just as much. All he wanted to do was pull out the bottom lip Y/N had gotten in between her teeth and kiss her senseless, to have her fingers dig into his arms and leave crescent shaped imprints on his skin. “So, uh…” He had to start a conversation otherwise his mouth would find itself on Y/N’s mouth in a second. “What’s Lambert got in his schedule? How many outfits is he thinking?” “Two or three, I think,” she said, pouring the mixture on the pan and letting the slow sizzle erupt around them. “He’s got this one suit which I think you’ll really like – all leather, but it needs to be altered.” Harry hummed, and for a second both of them relished in the domestic feel of it all. They’d had many moments like it before, especially during the spring and summer seasons of 2020, and Y/N couldn’t help but relish in her memories at them. “Harry?” It was like her voice snapped him out from a trance. “Could you pass me a plate please?’ “Uh, yeah,” he stammered for a moment and then nodded, wordlessly going to a cupboard and taking out a white marbled plate. That single piece of kitchenware probably cost more than her life insurance, but it was definitely aesthetic if nothing else. Silently Y/N plopped the omelette onto the plate, placing it on the kitchen counter and went to get him a fork, however when she turned around, he was facing her, chewing quite agressively on the inside of his cheek. “You okay?” she asked, coming closer. “I can call Lambert, reschedule it for later. He wouldn’t be too happy about having to wake up and then – “ But Harry shook his head. “It’s not that.” “Then what?” He didn’t say anything. It was like he was trying to decipher the best course of action, and when he ultimately did, Y/N was pressed up against the counter, Harry’s forehead against hers with two ring-clad hands cupping her cheeks. “Harry,” she breathed, out her lips brushing his making the air in her lungs hitch. “What are you doing?” “Something I’ve been dying to do for a year now. If you let me that is.” “I -,” The words were muddled up in her head. Of course, Y/N wanted him to kiss her, she wanted him to ravish every part of her body. The fantasies and dreams she’d had at night would be incriminating proof if her feelings were on trial, but despite it all, her brain was usually in charge and would overrule any decision made by her heart. “Harry, we can’t.” She whispered, voice breaking. “I -,” Horror morphed onto his features as he took a step back. “Did I misread the signals? Did I do something you don’t wan –“ “No.” She grabbed onto his cheeks, trying to calm him down, his body practically melting into hers. “I do.” She didn’t need to explain what she meant. He understood. “So much it hurts me sometimes… but Harry, you’re my boss. My employer. It… it wouldn’t be right.” “Why? How can it not be right, when it feels like the rightest thing in the world?” “Because, Harry,” she huffed. “You’re my boss. And what’s worse – I love working for you!” That made both of them laugh, the tone of her voice as if she was more annoyed than anything else. “ ‘Nd why’s that bad?” He nudged her nose with his. “I’d hope my employees like working with me. What kind of a person would I be if I thrived on them being miserable?” “Because if I didn’t, quitting would be easy.” She raised her eyebrow at him. “And if I quit there’d be nothing stopping us from dating.” Harry bit his lip, finger trailing along her cheekbone. “There’s nothing stopping us now either. There is no clause in your contract that says you can’t date people who you work for or with. Sarah’s with Mitch, and they’re the happiest they’ve ever been. They’re even having a baby…” Y/N gave him a sympathetic smile. “I know. But that’s different. They’re on equal levels. You and I, however… I don’t want people to think I got my job because I slept with you, or some shit. It’s bad enough some already do so.” His brows furrowed, and Y/N saw how his jaw clenched. “Who?” “Strangers.” She shrugged. “I know you don’t look at comments like that online, but I see them. My DMs are filled with that. Gossip magazines. The point is – there are already unsubstantiated rumours about us. This would give them the confirmation they’d need.” “How can it confirm something that’s not true?” “There are still people who believe vaccines cause autism. Even when their ‘proof’ has been discredited and shown to be just complete bullshit, most don’t like to admit they’re wrong, so they’ll look for whatever tells them they’re right.” Harry huffed throwing his head back to look at the ceiling. “So, where does that leave us? In love, but without being able to do anything about it? Because I can’t.” He shook his head. “I won’t be able to just pass you by without kissing you, or not pull you into the bed when you wake me up, or press you against the wall and not have my head between these two gorgeous legs.” Y/N groaned slapping his chest and dropping her forehead against his peck. “That is so unfair. Why do you have to tease me like that!” “Oh, sweetheart.” The rumble was deep and shot a wave of heat straight to her core. “This is no teasing.” The smirk on his face when she looked up at him was shit-eating. “Trust me, if I was teasing, you’d be begging for me.” She’d imagined him between her thighs more times than it was appropriate considering he was her boss, but hot damn, did it feel amazing when his lips crashed onto hers, and she let him. In her dreams, his lips hadn’t been just pressed to her mouth but other places which were more south, but it was still one of the best feelings in the world. The kiss left them both breathless, and grinning and satisfied, yet begging for more, teeth nipping at the soft flesh. “I’ll put out an official statement, if you want,” Harry muttered against her mouth, unable to stop pecking her lips now that’d he’d gotten a taste. “But please, please, please… for both our sanities go out on a date with me.” It seemed like Y/N was the one contemplating the best plan of action now when her brows furrowed and she looked up at him, pressing and unpressing her lips, as the swelling from the kiss grew. “Did you by any chance have a piece of that omelette already?” She had a suspicion it wasn’t just from the kiss. His eyes widened, and then his head dropped to her shoulder. “Not again!” Y/N rolled her eyes lifting his face by the chin so he would look at her. “How about EpiPen first?” “Fair enough,” Harry grumbled unlatching himself from her and going for his keys and wallet, already preparing for the short drive they’d have to take. “But then a date?” She raised her eyebrow, taking out the box Harry now kept under the sink with at least three EpiPen’s for emergencies. “In a hospital?” “We could be going dumpster diving for all I care, and I’d count it as a date.” Y/N rolled her eyes. “You’ll have to do so much better than that; you’ve almost put me in anaphylactic shock twice. Now come on.” She motioned with her head towards the bathroom. “Stab me and take me to the ER.” “Fucking tomatoes,” Harry grumbled, taking her by the hand and not letting it go even for the short walk. “Tomato-tomato, you’re the one that kissed me.” “That I don’t regret.” Y/N smiled, turning towards him, and taking him by the nape of his neck pulled Harry down for one more kiss, groaning at the feeling of his tongue dancing against hers. “Y/N!” He pulled back with a gasp, shock on his face. She just shrugged her shoulders. “We’re already going to see the doctors anyway.” Harry pushed her shoulder and made her sit down onto the toilet. “Take your pants off before my kisses kill you.” “Yes, daddy.” Y/N wiggled her eyebrows as Harry moaned, squeezing her calf. His eyes were dark as he looked up at her. “Next time this happens, you’ll be begging me.” Her wicked smile was so full of happiness he couldn’t help the one that grew on his face. “I’ll be keeping you to it. Now, dear sir.” She handed him the EpiPen. “Hit me with your best shot.” And although it’d been now two times in their lives where Harry trying to do something good and make the other feel just as good had done pretty much the opposite, when they got to the emergency room, their smiles could be felt even under their masks Harry watched with blushing cheeks as Y/N explained the situation to the nurse, especially when one of them threw him an unsavoury glance, eyebrow raised high as if saying ‘again? One time wasn’t enough?’. “No more tomatoes.” He promised. “And also - it wasn’t on purpose!” Y/N squeezed his palm, chuckling. She may not be able to give a shot at eating a tomato, but she sure as hell was going to give Harry one. After all, she had almost died for the man. Twice.

Tags (crossed out wouldn’t take):

Harry Styles tags: @breezykpop @girlboss99 @harrystylesdoesntknowiexist @alliyjane @sirtommyholland @raylovessarcasm @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @harryhub

Everything tags: @lumelgy @palaiasaurus64 @supernaturalbaesduh @breezy1415 @crazy--me @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl @deathbyarabbit @s-c-a-r-e-d-po-t-t-e-r @reblogger-not-a-blogger @m-a-t-91 @dalilx @i-need-a-hero-i-need-a-loki @maladaptive-ninja-returns @averyrogers83 @in-the-end-im-still-trash @gallifreyansass @dewy-biitch @avxgers @unlikelygalaxygiver @magicwithaknife @ollyoxenfrees @bnhvrdy @tvwhoresblog @celebsimagines @thatkindofgurl @sj-thefan @teenwolflover28 @lestersglitterglue @im-squished

A/N: I’m at work and I wanted to write a bit for my book, but hahahahahahaha I can’t stop procrastinating. Also, this was something comepletely else centered around Christmas, then New Year and the Valentines, but I just couldn’t and it morphed into this. Maybe this Holiday season when it rolls around I’ll post it :D

P.S. if anyone’s had a septoplasty (repositioning of the septum) - how was it? how painful is it? kinda starting my journey towards it cause apparently I can’t breathe out of my left nostril, but I’m kinda scared ngl. I’ve read some horror stories about having holes and pieces of the cartilage fall out afterwards :///

P.S.S. what did ya think? my tags are always open, just drop a message if you wanna be added :)

P.S.S.S please don’t plagiarise or repost my work on other platforms (wattpad, AO3 etc)

#Harry Styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles smut #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles x reader smut #harry styles x assistant!reader #harry styles au #fanfic #fanfics #one direction #one direction imagine #1d fan fiction #1d

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lrissa · 4 years

Text

Part 2 Of ‘I Promise To Marry You’

requested by @seltoir and @melonva so i did best of both worlds.

summary: levi had forgotten his dear promise to you, costing your life against the female titan

warnings: violence, swearing

first part here

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩

The breeze tickled your silky exposed skin and made your tiny hairs stand on end. Your hands went to your arms and held tightly onto them like a hug, the night breeze whisking it’s way under your skin. Exiting the door to the stables you gazed up at the bright stars reflected by the shining moonlight, lighting up the greeny surroundings.

Walking along the gravel path as your steps made faint sounds amongst the silence of the night. Finding the patch of grass you had always found comfort in when it was the night before an expedition. You sat quietly, staring up the stars with soft eyes

From beside you you felt the presence of someone sit down in the grass, their hand finding a place on yours in a gentle manner, tangling your hands together.

“Levi.”

“I missed you, brat.” He spoke blandly, his gaze finding themselves in the sky above him. You let out a light sigh. Turning to look at the man who was seated by you, squeezing his hand.

“I missed you too.”

It had been a few days since you two had seen eachother. Levi was caught up in his paperwork that flooded his desk as you worked extra hours to train the cadets for the next expedition that was tomorrow.

You rubbed his tough hand with your thumb gingerly. Up until now the two of you still remained close friends, although you two had considered dating but Levi was afraid of the distraction. As if you weren’t one already. There had been little exchanges of kisses between the two of you, especially after the death of your two other best friends, Isabel and Farlan. You and Levi seeked companionship in eachother deeply after their casualties.

Gradually you set your head on his shoulder, he had stiffened a bit from the gesture but let it be. His eyes peered down at you carefully, a faint gentleness glossing his eyes.

A memory struck your mind as you thought back to the underground.

“I’ll even wear a pretty dress.” You concluded and gazed at your fingers, extending them out infront of you, “And a pretty ring!”

“Shut up, marriage isn’t even close.” He stated as you pouted, kicking his leg with your foot. “Well.. since it’s far away,” You took your head off his shoulder and turned to face him.

The memories whizzed by until a certain one came.

“Fine. I promise to marry you.”

A soft gasp left your lips as you snapped your head off Levi’s shoulder, your mouth agape in shock. The raven head turned to watch you, arching his brow in confusion.

“Levi,” You turned to him, reaching your hand out as they went for his collar. Tugging away the accessories whilst he stared at you with an annoyed expression. Your fingers caught metal as you slowly pulled, revealing the dirty, faded jewelry you had given him that day. Your letter still attached to the chain.

A delicate smile creased your lips as you held it, fingers barely trembling. Pulling your own out you held them, finally looking up into Levi’s eyes. His face had a little scowl, you invaded his personal bubble but he’d let it slide because it was you.

“Do you remember these?”

“Of course, idiot.”

Slowly you lowered his, whilst Levi’s eyes gazed at your necklace. The faint remembrance of that wishful day, you two were so stupid and young at that time. The corner of his lips hardly turning up as he reached his hand out, setting it over the one holding yours.

“I remember how pissed off you made me.” He retorted, you laughed.

Clutching his hand tightly in yours you held in a breath, before asking,

“Do you remember what you promised?”

Levi paused for a moment, his brain racking the fading memories but to no avail he answered with,

“No.”

Your grip loosened on his and you gave a gentle frown, turning your head away and looking up at the sky. Tears stung in the back of your eyes, your heart beating wilding against your chest. Why would he need to remember such a promise, why were you so upset?

“Was it important.” He asked while he watched your faltering smile.

Biting back tears you bit the inside of your cheek, heart pinging in your chest like hundreds of needles stabbing you again and again. Softly, you lifted your finger and rubbed the escaping tear away. Looking back at Levi with a pained smile, squeezing his hand weakly.

“No.”

──────────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹──────────

“Hey, don’t spoil him, Petra.” Spoke Oluo from as he caught your attention back onto the conversation, “What did he do anyway? He was pathetic. He just kept whining. Well, coming back alive on your first excursion is pretty good. But it doesn’t count until the missions over.” You just rolled your eyes, ever since Eren has joined the Scouts everyone has been giving him nothing but shit.

“Jeez, I know that!” Eren spoke with a shaky voice as he stared up at Oluo towering over him before grappling away.

“Just ignore that runt.” You commented and followed after Oluo, with the rest trailing behind shortly. The squad grappled through the trees as Eld turned to look back, “Oluo, Petra! You guys pissed your pants and cried on your first mission. You’re all grown up now!” Petra looked horrified before she screamed, shaking her head as you let out a snort, “Dont say that!” The girl shouted, “What if he stops respecting me!?”

“It’s true?” Eren asked

“It sure is. And I didn’t, by the way, Eren.” Eld spoke with a cocky grin, confidence oozing off his words.

“Idiot!” Yelled Oluo, you shook your head and toned out the conversation. Eyes scanning through the trees as you narrowed your eyelids, something felt wrong within the deep rooted forest. Suddenly green smoke cut through the leaves into the breezy air.

“That might be Captain Levi, everyone stayed alarmed! Something is wrong with this forest.” You commanded as they all went silent, honing in the towering trees.

Gunther landed on a branch, raising the smoke gun above his head while his other plugged his ear before shooting it off into the sky and joining the squad again.

Moments passed before you heard ODM to the far left of you, head turning behind your shoulder as you stared at the emerging cadet. Was it Levi? It couldnt have been, he doesn’t move like that.

“Who are you!” Gunther yelled, your eyes widening as you shot farther. Letting off gas to reach him, “Gunther no—“ You shouted until the attacked unsheathed their blades sliced right through the poor young man.

His body toppled over as he hung from his last grapple, hanging in the air by his ODM gear, “Gunther!” Eren shouted and looked to check on him, his eyes widening in fear as he surveyed Gunther was very much dead.

“Keep moving! Don’t let them get you!” You screamed and continued your pursuit further, head snapping to look behind you as the striker fell back. Gasping you realized, was this the female titan? Were they going to transform?

“Shit! She’s transforming, everyone—“ Your words were cut short as a massive lightning strike shook the ground fiercely, wind richoeting against the trees as it blew your hair away from your face.

“The Female Titan!” Eld screamed, the squads eyes widening in sheer panic before turning around. Flying forwards with their ODM gear.

“Damn you. This time, I will defeat it!” Eren shouted, Eld’s eyes snapping to the boy, “No, dont! The four of us will kill the Female Titan. You will continue to head straight for HQ at top speed!” You looked back at the titan, it was sprinting straight towards you, “I’ll fight too!” Eren argued, “No! This is the best move.. Your power is too risky!”

Eren blinked in fear, you turned your eyes to him. “Do you doubt us, Eren?” Your unusually calm voice even under these circumstances, maybe you had known Levi too long. “Do you find it hard to trust us?” Eren shot his gaze to you, scowling before spinning and taking off infront of him.

“I believe my squad will be victorious!” Eren shouted, “Goodluck!”

You smirked, releasing your grapple and spinning around, grappling at the Female Titan as your squad followed in pursuit. Eld went to strike her, her hand reaching out to grab him before Petra and Oluo came forwards and grappled her eyes, slicing through them to make her blind. You came from behind, aiming at her nape before her hand made it first, hardening just as quickly as you sliced.

Metal snapping broke through your ears as your eyes gradually widened, fear had finally creeped up to you then. Jumping off her hand you grappled to a tree whilst getting new blades. The Female Titan had backed into her tree, her underarms exposed as she used her hands to protect her nape.

Petra and Oluo swung around before slicing through above her armpits and fleeting, the squad continuing this tactic till her arms would fall so you could strike her nape. Eventually her arms fell limp beside her sides but her neck was still pressed against the tree.

“Now strike her neck!” Eld shouted as he began to plummet at her, the titan suddenly opening its one eye and turning its head, mouth slamming down on Eld’s as his lower half hung from her lips. You gasped in terror, eyes turning hazy for a moment as you watched her chomp down, his body falling through the air and onto the lovely ground beneath.

“Eldo!” Petra screamed from beside you, her falling figure barely catching itself before she grappled. Staring wide eyed as the Female Titan sprinted towards her, towering over her in an instant. You reacted and grappled her nape, screaming as you went to slice down. Her nape had hardened, your new blades cracked and snapped in half again as you slowly slid off her icy nape. Falling, watching as she raised her foot and stomped Petra into a tree. Tears pricked your eyes, shutting them furiously before opening them again with a new found rage.

You shot the ODM around her, watching from the corner of your eye as you saw Oluo attempt to slice at her nape, the same fate happening to him before she whipped her arm back. Sending Oluo plummeting into a tree, blood splattering everywhere.

“No!” You screamed in pain, tears freely falling from your eyes as you rounded around to face her. Grasping new blades as you stared at her head on. “I’m going to fucking kill you!” You shouted and shot to a nearby branch, she had anticipated this and swung a hand out. Your face turned to see your welcoming doom. Of course she had foreseen this.

Pain exploded through your abdomen as you flew backwards, swinging around the branch a few times as your grapple sticked to it. Blood oozed from your stomach, a large gash in your side with two broken legs. Limply you fell backwards, your legs in the air with your head facing the ground. Your vision went blurry quickly, everything felt painful and all you could think about was sleep, sleeping eternally sounded better than this hell.

The last thing you saw was blazing yellow lightning and your cape whipping violently in the wind as you found peace.

From afar Levi was soaring through the trees, he had heard two titans transformed and assumed the worst. A shiny object on the ground caught his attention, releasing the grapple he gradually fell the ground and walked towards it, picking it off from the grass.

Time stopped as his eyes stretched open in fright. His heart squeezing into nothing as his fingers lightly wiped the blood from it. What he was clutching onto dearly was your necklace, it had fallen off during your chase and was coated in thick layers of blood and dirt.

Tears stung at the back of his head, his chest throbbed in heartache. Finally be shot the ODM forwards, finding blood droplets on the trees. As he neared the death zone he was met with Eld’s half eaten corpse, Oluo’s mutilated body, and lastly Petra’s body slammed into a tree as blood streeked down the bark.

Fear was coursing through his veins, where the fuck were you? Until finally he pushed forwards and saw the body hanging from the tree, faltering he frowned. Grappling to the body.

He hung beside the body from the branch as he gradually moved the cape from the face, meeting your shut eyes. Levi flinched back violently, his heart dropping down to his stomach.

“No..” He whimpered softly to himself, grabbing your front half he flipped you over right, rubbing the dirt and blood away from your face. A cough sputtered from your lips weakly, blood landing on his cheek as he froze. His hand still wiping away the grime away.

Levi felt tears prick his eyes, gently, he’d speak

“Y/N... Brat, speak to me.” Levi commands, his fingers trembling against your cheek. Slowly you’d open your eyes to see his relief flood face. A tear streamed down his cheek and he let out a shaky breath, caressing your scratched cheeks.

“Please.. You can’t go yet.” He whispered, gripping onto you tighter as you smiled weakly. Feverishly, you stretched a hand out infront of you, your middle and pointer finger absent. He tightly gripped your hand, new tears flowing without his command.

“I remember.... We were going to get married.” He’d say weakly, his grip tightening on you. Tears found themselves in your eyes before streaming down your already dirty cheeks.

“I’m sorry..” You croaked delicately, coughing up a new round of blood as it stained his Survey Corps coat. “Levi..”

“No goddamnit, brat. You stay alive! I command you to.” He grabbed your collar, his fist clumping your blood stained shirt. “I..” He lost his words, a lump forming in his throat. Never had he experienced such heartbreak before in his life, it was tearing him to shreds and leaving no crumbs.

“We will... get married, above..” You smiled at crumbling man in front of you, his world slipping away in his fingertips. Never until now had he wished nothing more than to still be living the underground by your side. You pointed to the clouds, using your last ounce of strength before it fell limply to your side.

Levi brought his hand to yours, picking it up he held it upright. Slowly with trembling fingers he’d wrap his pinky around yours once last time, kissing the intertwined fingers softly.

“I promise Y/N, I will marry you.” He’d sob out finally. A fragile smile on your lips before your eyes shut and the world fell silent.

sorry for any spelling mistakes i posted it right away

mentionables: @pizzarollsfordayz, @fluffyleviackerman

#aot fanfiction #aot imagines #aot x reader #levi ackerman #levi aot #levi heichou #levi x reader #levi x y/n #snk #snk anime #levi angst #ansgt #im cryinf #captain levi #levi ackerman x reader #aot #levi attack on titan

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yanderenightmare · 4 years

Note

You made me fall in love with fear, it's all just fascinating. The way you write is an aesthetic in itself! It's so beautiful and thought-provoking. If your requests are open, I would love to see your volume one Yanderes with a clumsy s/o. Like, she is accident prone, always injuring herself, etc. I wonder how they would react with such fragility? Thanks! Have a wonderful day! :D

yandere ! BNHA headcannons

TIP-JAR

goodiebag WARNINGS: yandere, dumbification, abuse, manipulation, ableism, anxiety, death, murder, drugs, drugging, kidnapping

BAKUGO KATSUKI - KACHAN

He knew fragile things existed in the world.

And he knows that the world was designed to chew such powerless things up then spit them out again.

And he knows he isn’t one of those frail things.

As a child he thought it was fair for the strong to conquer the weak.

And hell… he still thinks it’s fair.

Her brittle nature provides him with such a great excuse too, such a perfect explanation for him to justify taking her.

To justify keeping her in soft frilly clothes, locked inside a room devoid of walls where they have been replaced by cushions and pillows and blankets and furs and stuffed-animals and all things soft, soft, soft against the bruises and scrapes on her knees and ankles and elbows and chin. Keeping her all cozy and clumsy where she’s unable to keep her footing on the plushie asylum floor, reduced to vertigo, especially with that fluffy pink ankle-cuff chaining her down.

Sometimes she’ll hide when hearing Bakugo’s footsteps coming thundering from behind her door. She’ll wrap herself up in all those soft things she’s grown to hate, pray under the covers only to hear the cracking predatory humor of Bakugo’s laugh once he spots where the chain trails to.

He'll drag her out of hiding like a puppy on a leash, all for him to punish, all with that splitting frenzied grin on his face, the one that makes her head dizzy on the sight of seeing how sharp those canines of his are, knowing how they’re going to find her neck as though she’s some chew-toy.

He’ll always make it sound as though that’s what she wanted, that punishment is what her weakness begged him for, as though weakness is synonymous with wanting pain or needing pain.

He’ll sleep there with her most of the time, in the room he’s made so painstakingly clear was her home. She’s coming more and more gradually to the understanding that nothing in reality is hers anymore. Not the room, not the clothes, not her body.

She’s too weak to be allowed to be in charge of anything, better for her to just find comfort in knowing how she has no responsibilities, better for her to just be grateful Bakugo wanted her as his pet rather than his prey. Better for her to listen and believe him when he tells her that she’s safe, instead of thinking of all those crippling reasons as to why she is far from being safe.

TODOROKI SHOTO

Clumsy prey is a sport Shoto always believed to be too mediocre and boring, given how easily the dexterity of the predator can win the chase.

He didn't think he could achieve stimulation without a challenge.

But, he’s now finding that chasing someone who’s barely able to keep her own footing is a game he rather enjoys quite salaciously. Understanding now that it’s less about the quest, less about actually catching his prize, and more about the experience, those funny little moments leading up to it.

The amount of hungry pleasure he derives from seeing her stagger away from him is bottomless.

He doesn’t know why, but it’s the outmost endearing and lovable and precious and cute thing he can think of.

Seeing her stumble and fall, all in the product of mixing her clumsiness with her wild manic fear. Watching those beautiful swivel-eyes spiral as she looks up at him through the thick darkness of the poorly lit hallways, hearing nothing but Shoto’s inhumanly sadistic snickering and her own heavy panting as she tries desperately to drag herself further away. Yet, knowing and awaiting his massive biting cold hand to grip around her ankle to drag her across the marble-floor back into her dungeon, back into the soft bed, so that they can do everything again.

Most chases end up with her hurting herself and eventually aiding her own capture.

She’ll always wake up with bruises she has no recollection of when or how she got, yet looking at them she can tell that they’re way too mellow to be something given to her by Shoto.

It's funny, where he hurts her, he actually ends up saving her more times than most. Where her sporadic escape has almost led her to go tumbling down the stairwell, where were it not for Shoto catching her in her fall, things could have gotten really ugly.

He wouldn’t want her to actually break her legs after all, no matter how many times he might tease and threaten her with the thought. Broken legs would mean no more games, and Shoto doesn’t want that to end any time soon.

But, there are softer aspects to her silliness too.

She can be just as dopey and awkward with her rambling thoughts as him, where her inelegance with her mobility seeps into her skillfulness with words too.

If she’s proper blissed-out she can talk up storms of complete and utter nonsense, rambling on about her dreams and what animal the shape of Shoto’s scars resemble and how pretty his eyes are and how much her body is tingling in the aftershocks of what fun Shoto exercised on her skin.

MIDORIYA IZUKU - DEKU

Naivety really is bliss, isn’t it?

Not just for herself, but for him too.

To watch her, in all her clumsy glory, fall on her face, time and time again, never learning her lesson.

That’s the definition of insanity, you know?

Doing the same thing over and over again expecting things to go differently.

But, no matter how many times she tries to escape, no matter how many times she runs, or screams or cries or swears she hates him until her lungs burn, she’ll always end up right where she started off, right where she belongs, right in his arms, under his thumb, under him.

He doesn’t even have to put any effort in to prevent it.

He just needs to sit back and enjoy the show as she fails so spectacularly all by her very own, then pick her up off the floor and coo and hush and shush and tsk at her to calm down or else she might end up hurting herself all over again.

How has such fickle featherbrained maladroit messes managed to survive? How hasn’t evolution wiped them from existence yet?

Perhaps because other more evolved creatures found them to be such a perfect source for blowing off steam. Entertainment is important after all. Small little escapes through the day where you can forget what nasty troubles you’ll eventually have to deal with and simply just play with your silly little pet.

He saves the world every now and again, the world can allow him this much, to have his very own swivel-eyed toy. He deserves it.

Besides, she needs him. If he hadn’t stepped in and helped her, saved her from her own mistakes, evolution would have done its job and she’d be dead already.

But, he doesn’t expect her bumbling brainless little head to understand that, she’d just get a headache from thinking about it too hard.

No, better for her to focus on other things… like how to entertain him before he decides to show her just how small a foolish little thing she is.

He’ll often play with her, make her turn all shades of hopeless because she’s too forgetful and too soft-natured to comprehend what’s happened.

He’ll give her things, small little trinkets as presents for her good behavior, mostly accessories such as hair-bows, necklaces, anything he can easily slip off her without her noticing, then pretend to be disappointed, scolding her as though she’s some child who’s unable to take care of her things, punish her and kiss her on that scared foolish little face as she splutters out her apologies, having not a single clue she’s right where he wants her, completely clueless to the fact that she’s perfect in every which way imaginable.

DABI - TODOROKI TOUYA

It feels so unexplainably good to hold something infinitely helpless and vulnerable and dainty in his destructive hands without it shattering like glass.

It feels so insurmountably meaningful and purposeful and godsend to save someone for once, even if it’s from themselves.

It’s nice being in the presence of true chaos, the true absence of order, a great real heap of a total clusterfuck. It makes him believe that even life requires a little death to scare them into safety, that even light requires darkness, that even love needs darkness, that even love desires darkness.

He used to think small things such as her were made up of cotton and all things soft like dandelion-fluff, but now he knows they’re made of breakable brittle things such as autumn-leaves, in desperate need of being wrapped up, suffocated, drowned in safety. He’s the one who needs to be soft like cotton, he’s the one who needs to be gentle and soft so she not crumble like the sweet pastry she is.

It’s cute. She’s cute. Unbelievably so too sometimes.

He feels like half the time he spends with her he’s teaching her how to walk properly, catching her when she falls or helping her up from the ground, dusting her off, wiping tears away from her face, patching up small scrapes and gashes, kissing her forehead, letting her know how it’s all okay, making sure she knows she’s no such thing as a burden, though not letting her in on the fact that he loves seeing her fail only for him to save the day.

He’ll take her outside more because of her ditzy nature, knowing how she’s far too dopey to ever manage an escape without pulling out a near miss unintentional suicide attempt, where which after a number of rescues from him she forgets why she was even running in the first place, now too caught up with being close to him instead, with feeling safe, feeling protected.

He’ll save her from wandering off into traffic, protect her when she says the wrong idiotic thing to the wrong batch of people, fight for her when her cuteness lures and pulls and ensnares other predators.

It’s symbiosis, if he thinks about it, if he tries justifying it.

She needs him and he needs to feel needed. She needs to be taken care of, he wants to take care of her, she needs protection from herself, he wants her dependence, he wants the safety of knowing how she cannot survive without him.

SHIGARAKI TOMURA

It’s hilarious.

She’ll break her own legs for him at this rate.

He wonders how many braincells could possibly be left in that thick skull of hers, with how much she trips and walks into walls and rolls out of bed, bumping her head on every possible thing, he can’t count how many times she’s head-butted him, whether it’s been on purpose or not.

He wonders if she might just be blind.

If maybe she needs glasses…

Well… that’s too bad if that’s the case, no chance he’s giving up watching her agonize over every misstep that leads to her falling on the floor by his feet, her head tipping to look up at him with that ridiculous expression, that dumbfounded adorable confusion.

It probably doesn’t help that he keeps the room so dark.

It probably doesn’t help that he leaves things on the floor in hopes of her foot catching on them.

But, can you blame him for wanting to see her all cute and flushed? Watching her frustrate over herself, too caught up in being mad with her own inadequacy to bother being mad at him. So preciously hopeless as she tries to pick herself up off the floor, her hair always in a mess and bruises and scrapes littering her otherwise soft skin.

Pretty and stupid isn’t usually the type he fawns over, in fact: pretty and stupid is usually the type that disgust him, pretty stupid bitches that never spare him a second glance, pretty stupid bitches that are only worth one fuck before he dusts them.

But pretty stupid and sweet?

That’s the perfect cocktail.

So stupid and sweet she doesn’t even know how pretty she is. So stupid and sweet that she’s surprised he gave her a second glance.

He wonders if he as well would be this careless and reckless if he hadn’t been gifted with that destructive quirk of his.

He wonders if she had been born with a heart made less up of honeycombs and more daggers like his, if she would also second-guess touching things as opposed to making it her mission to bump into every single thing in her path.

If she would be less trusting and more cynical like him.

He’s grateful she wasn’t.

He’s grateful that the only type of death she’ll ever get the chance to taste is him, that as far as she’s concerned… he is death.

TAKAMI KEIGO - HAWKS

Most of the time it’s cute.

Most of the time he loves watching her fall prey to her own absentmindedness. Watch her trip on nothing but her own poor footing.

After all, he does love catching her before she hits the ground. He loves being her hero, seeing that shocked expression on her face, that cute blush of embarrassment as he smirks down upon her jumpy skittish person.

Then of course there’s the less salvageable moments, yet still no less cute, where she’ll drop dinner plates or her glass or the wine bottle or the remote-controller, where she’ll get so frustrated with herself and her stubby fingers, her feet always needing bandaging where she always manages to step in her own mess of glass-shards.

Those times where she fucks up and fears Keigo’s temperance so much she’ll turn into a timid little ball of apologies and gratitude, where she’ll fear that any more screw ups will cost her his understanding attitude and awake something livid inside him.

She’ll be so sweet with fear as opposed to when she’ll jerk away from his touch.

So yeah, most of the time it’s cute, most of the time it’s beneficial.

But that habit she has of not thinking before speaking or acting gets her into a whole lot of trouble too.

Especially when she pushes him away or calls him something unsavory. When she acts like a brat, forgetting who’s in charge.

Keigo feels the need to teach her a thing or two about being a bit more careful and a little less brainless.

He’ll pose her in the middle of the living room, with only red lace adorning her tiny frame, looking cold but not so much to be the reason to her shivers, he knows better as he can smell the fear laced in the air.

On top of her head he’ll put a perfect plump red apple and tell her to stand as still and picture-perfect as possible.

She’s pretty good at it too, at being still and quiet and pretty, speaking only when spoken to, at least until he starts sending knife-sharp feathers in her directions, creating her silhouette in the wall as the feathers fly just short of nicking her skin, where if she moves only a slight mere inch, the crimson edges will slice open her skin.

And if the apple should fall, well… if she can be sweet and apologize and show him just how sorry she is, he’ll think about making the punishment enjoyable.

SHINSO HITOSHI

Hitoshi can’t manifest how much awe he has for that ditzy nature of hers.

So forgetful, so clueless, so cute.

She’s like a little girl, a child, a baby in a cradle, yet with the ability to get lost, wandering off at every slight distraction.

He’s tempted to put a bell around her neck if only to be alerted off when her curiosity has taken her out of his eyesight. She would look adorable with a little golden jingle bell around her throat, hanging on a velvet choker.

But then again… he wouldn’t have the joy of finding her all tousled and knotted up in her newest little fuck up.

Little Miss Forgetful forgetting all her lessons, all those rules Hitoshi’s taught her, forgetting her manners, forgetting her chores, forgetting how to be his good little girl or else suffer the consequences of being punished and becoming Master’s little puppet on strings.

Little Miss Messy making a total clutter in the kitchen when trying her best to get her hand on a knife, but only managing to bump into everything, shards of glass painting the crime scene with the culprit displayed and trapped all perfectly in the middle of her own mess, all for Hitoshi to come and catch red-handed.

Little Miss Bump with new bruises and scratches as she’s fallen yet again on the floor in the midst of her newest escape attempt.

He could go on all day about his sweet little Miss Silly, his little Miss Scatterbrain, his little Miss Stupid, who’s always getting into trouble, constantly needing Hitoshi to come to her rescue.

But, when he’s not home, he can get anxious.

Scared that she might actually hurt herself just a bit too much and he’ll arrive just a bit too late.

It should take a lifetime to die, yet she’s on the verge of death nearly every day, it only takes an instant and it’s over.

He’ll check in on her at home more times than he probably should throughout the day, praying before he unlocks the door and steps inside the quiet stillness of their house, picturing her having cracked her skull open when slipping or accidently managing to hang herself off of something or drowning in the tub after having fallen asleep, there’s no end to what horrors he can picture.

His anxiety only satiated when finding her still asleep on the bed, soft untroubled snores hanging off the walls.

It makes sense with how much melatonin he slipped in her drink before she dozed off…

Just a little safety measure.

CHISAKI KAI - OVERHAUL

It manages to surprise him each and every time… just how much danger such a little thing is able to wrap herself up in.

It’s as though she chases the trouble, as though she wants the punishment that follows.

He doubts she ever really thinks anything thoroughly through.

She’s reckless, ruthless in her disregard for safety. Hare-brained and untrustworthy and in desperate need of his protection and his correction, or else she might just accidentally kill herself one day or worse… end up in the wrong set of hands.

It’s come to the point where he’s stopped gifting her with jewelry, because he gets so hysterically uneasy whenever she’s gotten her hands on anything sharp.

Before he’d get angry when she threatened him, wrathful, raging because she doesn’t listen, her foolish little brain unable to follow the simplest of directions.

Now though, he gets scared because she’s unable to understand what’s best for her, because the only thing she'll ever manage to hurt with those sharp trinkets is herself.

And if she hurts herself, if she risks getting bacteria in her bloodstream, infections in her wounds, scarring and marring that beautiful body, he’ll have no choice, he’ll see no other option but to make sure she can never manage such a thing ever again.

He often humors the idea of simply tying her to the bed and feeding her with a silver spoon, only liquids so she not choke when she forgets how to chew properly.

He’ll act as though she’s a nuisance, but it will be a lie most of the time, while actually finding an inane amount of reassurance and relief in her whimsy, in her gracelessness. Where yes, she is a danger, but she’s far from deadly.

And besides, it’s nice getting a little break from all formalities, someone he can finally be a little rough around the edges with, someone he can let himself enjoy soft pleasures with, someone he can smile or even laugh with when the occasion calls for it.

Sometimes he’ll place her in high-heels, only to watch her stumble around awkwardly like a little deer skating on ice.

She’s so determined too, determined to prove she isn’t a klutz, how she too can be elegant enough for a dance fit for the ballroom.

He’ll humor that fantasy, but she’ll always throw her heels off in favor of standing on top of his surgically white sneakers and letting herself get floated and swayed with how swiftly and precisely Kai has the established proper poise to enact.

He’ll smile then, when those flirty bubbling giggles erupt from her as she holds onto him, telling how him wonderful flying feels like.

TIP-JAR

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needleanddead · 3 years

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remember when i was like ‘i will probably use this blog to write some horrible reader-insert fanfiction too’? yeah.

knife-edge, strade x reader, 3.2k

trigger warnings: not sfw, non-con, blood, violence, gore, references to torture/snuff films, honestly i figure you probably know what you’re getting into if you’re seeing this. reader uses no pronouns/neutral pronouns but is vaguely implied to be afab.

cross-posted to ao3

You do not know how you still have it in you to scream, and cry, and beg.

Well.

That’s a lie, really; you have it in you to scream, and cry, and beg, because you know that the moment you stop – the moment you let yourself truly succumb to that pit of nothingness that lies heavy and waiting in your chest – he will lose interest in you completely, and you will meet the same fate as all of the rest of them do.

Despite the shock collar that lies heavy around your throat; the proof that he had seen some value in you beyond what you might feel like if he tore you into pieces and let you rot, you know that any peace you have here is temporary. He’ll get bored. He’ll lose control. He’ll--

Sometimes you wonder if those things might be better. The idea of death hovers at the edges of your vision like a spectre, waiting for you – and you are a coward and you run from it, whimpering and sensitive with tears rolling down your cheeks whenever he takes you back down the creaking basement stairs and wraps rope around already rubbed-raw wrists.

You don’t think you’d recognise the sight of your own wrists without the rope burn any more. It seems so long since you’ve been anything other than captive. You’re not sure you even know who you are unless you have a blade half-buried in your thigh or thick fingers digging and reopening wounds or pliers too close to vulnerable flesh.

You think he likes that, too – that you don’t seem to exist unless you’re hurting. Delights that he’s broken you without breaking the part of you that he really likes; the one with the trembling lip and the gasping and the tears beading in your eyes. You beg less now; you have learnt that he’s always able to turn a ‘please, please don’t, not that--’ into something that’s somehow worse. But when you’d first woken up all rope-burnt and disoriented with your arms wrapped around a pole in a basement that smelt like copper and oil, you had begged until your throat was sore.

What you had gotten for your troubles was your own hand wrapped around the knife handle as you sliced into too soft, too giving flesh and stared in horror at bubbling rivulets of blood with the dim thought in the back of your mind; I did this to myself.

It’s a dangerous knife-edge that you’re walking; don’t fight too much, but don’t give in too much. Don’t break, but don’t entirely yield. If he gets bored of you, or if you push him too far – then the collar around your neck will be carefully unlocked and you’ll regret everything. You’ll meet the fate that you so narrowly avoided, bleeding and broken and disoriented as your life slips away to the tune of Strade’s fingers wrapped too hard about your throat.

Or worse, you’ll meet the fate you’ve seen some of the ones who have broken too early become acquainted with; bandana wrapped around his mouth and camera painstakingly readjusted to perfectly centre a sobbing, terrified face. You have been far too close to the ones who end up that way; brought down to the basement and given a nail gun as you’re shoved onto your knees in front of a girl who might once have been pretty but is a little too matted with blood and bruises to be called the same any more.

“I thought they might like to see someone else hurt her this time, schatzi,” his smile had not dimmed a watt. When you had first met him, that smile had put you at ease; his eyes had reminded you of honey, and you’d been so flattered, so warmed, to have the attention of someone who oozed easy charm--

You know now his eyes are not the soft amber of honey but the sharp yellow-orange of a hawk; a predator. When he had smiled at you, he had not been thinking of the kindness of making someone feel comfortable – he had merely been imagining how prettily you would break. Which, as he had not failed to tell you after you’d sobbed out every plea you could and had jagged stitches and broken bones and blood crusted on your face to prove it, had been even more lovely than he had imagined.

The nail gun had been too heavy in your hand; the trigger sweaty, because Strade himself was over-excited and flushed dark pink under tanned skin and excitement beading at his brow. Your fingers had slipped all over it as he’d murmured;

“They want you to put a pretty pattern in her up her shins to her knees. Start at the . . . haa, start at the ankle--”

You’d felt something inside of you snap as if it was very far away as you stared at her legs; already cut up a little and stitched messily, as Strade is so wont to do to make sure his captives last longer. You hesitate too long, because suddenly thick, strong fingers are gripping your jaw and squeezing too hard as they turn your face towards the camera like a rabbit caught in headlights.

His fingers will bruise your face, you know – and he will see it tomorrow, and dig them harder, make the bruises deeper until you can barely open your jaw--

“Ah, they think you’re cute, mäuschen,” Strade says, an uncomfortable lilt in his voice that sets your teeth on edge. “They’d be happy to see you as the star instead – and I’m sure our other guest would much prefer it too.”

(The girl in the chair leans forward, babbling words that don’t make sense; bubbling drool slips from her lips, tinged pink, and you think that this one must have talked too much and Strade has done something to her tongue).

“Now,” his tone is endlessly patient. “You know I want to keep you, ja? You’re very sweet. I like you a lot - so be good and do what the audience want, and I won’t have to do something I don’t want to, will I?”

He is hard to read. Cheerful to angry in moments; snapping and bouncing from side to side with a laugh and a wild light in his eyes that you don’t understand. He does like you – insofar as you think Strade is capable of really feeling for other people – but you can’t wager your life on him bluffing. The girl looks at you with agonised eyes and you pull the trigger, the nose of the gun pressed against her ankle.

You hear her scream – wet, through a throat clogged with blood, the sound mixing with the disgusting crunch-squelch of the nail being driven into her skin too close to the bone – and it echoes far longer in your head than it actually lasts. You feel far away as you trail the gun further up her leg, pulling the trigger, your marks on her surprisingly straight considering how much the both of you are trembling – but you know you’re crying because you can hear Strade breathing a little heavy, see the bulge in his pants (level with your face) from the corner of your eye as you finish the first leg and move to the second.

It’s not the last time he makes you hurt someone on stream. Sometimes, he checks the stream whilst you’re there and whichever poor soul he’s got taped to a chair whimpers and squirms, whistling cheerily through his teeth as if the situation is perfectly normal. You see the comments as they scroll by; asking you to do horrible things, the ping of donations, the occasional plea to dig a screwdriver into your eye socket and make you scream or pull out your teeth with pliers or slash a heavy knife through your ribcage and fuck the wound he leaves there--

You think he lets you see them on purpose, as a reminder of what he could do to you. He always makes sure the stream sees your face perfectly clearly, too – and you never fail to think; ‘he is making me an accessory to his murders’.

(It is not just you; you find out that Ren is subjected to this same treatment, this same reminder that Strade’s moods are volatile and he loses self-control too quickly and there’s every chance that one day, he will go too far. You do not share your thoughts with Ren that even if, by some miracle, the two of you found yourself outside of Strade’s control, your face is probably plastered all over the darkest shadows of the deep web. You never talk about what might happen. You do not quite trust each other beyond sharing in patching up each other’s wounds, occasionally seeking one another out for company, trembling in the night. There is a kind of tension between you; fear that the other is the favourite. That Strade perhaps isn’t capable of keeping both of you long-term.

It makes Strade himself laugh when he sees that you’re on edge around each other and he leans forward to rest elbows on knees and tells you with a wicked glint in his eye that he just wants the both of you to get along. Perhaps you two need to share something very special, like what he shares with the both of you.

When he tells you to hurt one another, Ren has the advantage of animal nature. It’s clear to you where you stand in the pecking order of predators. You think, too, that Strade prefers you there. Master, fox, mouse.)

You never hear anything from the room designated as yours; it doesn’t escape notice that there is no other bedroom, aside from Ren’s domain and the one that Strade himself barely uses. Nowhere for someone else, if Strade were to take it into his head that another captive would be an interesting pet to keep--

It has been long enough that there are some things you have asked for, tremulous and whimpering, decorating surfaces and scattered about the room. There are also reminders of Strade, too; a hammer and nails on a chest of drawers, a knife in the bedside cabinet, too many things that could be used as weapons at the same time as being summarily excused as simply the detritus of a man doing home improvements.

You’d woken up that morning (you know it is morning because early fingers of dawn have penetrated even through the curtains you keep closed) to see Strade silhouetted in the doorway, smile on his face, shirt spattered with dark red and brown. You know that expression. You sit up, letting the covers fall, and he keeps smiling as he closes the door behind him and approaches you like a wolf approaches a frightened rabbit.

“Last night was disappointing,” he says, his tone light. You’d heard a thump in the middle of the night; assumed it to be Strade dragging a body down to the basement, and had resolutely buried your face into your pillow and pretended you heard nothing.

It’s easier to think of Strade’s other victims – the ones not so lucky as you or Ren – as faceless, foolish creatures. Food. Sustenance. Not people.

“I’m sorry,” you say, voice quiet, cracking. Strade reaches across and chucks your chin, too fondly, bright smile and bright eyes.

“It’s alright,” he tells you. He’s pleased with the apology. He likes it when you’re polite. “It just means that I’m feeling a little . . . ahh. Restless. You’ll help me with that, won’t you?”

“Of c-course I will.” The stutter; he likes that, you know. He shifts as he sits on the bed.

A chuckle.

“You’re always so well-behaved,” he tells you. “sehr süß.”

The knife-edge you walk; the tight-rope. Well-behaved, but not broken. Responsive, but not troublesome. You’ve gotten it down to a fine art.

He’s on top of you before you can respond, knees shoved between your legs, your hand shoved hard against the bedside table so it knocks uncomfortably against hard wood and you flinch at the shock of pain.

The brief pain, though, is nothing to the anxiety that crawls up your throat as you realise he grabbed the hammer and nails as he walked in.

He chuckles as he sees your eyes widen in fear, cooing softly to you;

“That expression. So hübsch. Stay still for me.”

Your wrist is shaking as Strade carefully places a nail right in the centre of your hand; testing the angle, the positioning. His breath is uneven and panting in excitement at what he’s going to do – and excitement, too, that he knows you won’t pull away. Because you know if you do, it will not merely be a nail through one hand, but perhaps through your other and your knees and your feet, perhaps a knife slicing through you like butter, perhaps the feel of chisels and needles and sharper and more painful objects (knife, pliers, screwdriver, chisel, bradawl, drill--).

He lifts the hammer. He watches intently. His eyes are lit with bright excitement, chest heaving, sweat-soaked and greasy. You taste copper and realise you’ve bitten through your lip.

You’ve grown used to the smell of copper and motor oil and meat. If it weren’t for the flood of blood across your tongue you doubt you’d have noticed.

Crack. The first blow. The pain is blinding.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Every single hit of the hammer sends a new shock of pain through you that echoes through the inside of your arm through to the bone marrow, shaking you. It’s not the most painful thing you’ve felt at Strade’s hands; but you are still partly asleep, still not quite aware, and you are simply looking at your hand with the crunch of fractured bones (twenty seven bones in the human hand; is that your capitate, that’s been splintered through?) and the sick wet noise of blood and muscle and you can’t think.

You stare, unblinking, at where your hand is nailed to the bedside table - the gore and blood that oozes from the wound as he uses the clawed end of the hammer to drag it out again. Strade’s smile is beatific, eyes wide and bright, sweat dampening his collar and his cheeks flushed and ruddy.

You’re unable to process anything for another long, agonising second; relief flooding you when finally, you respond. The whimper a delayed reaction, the tears that roll fat and hot down your own face taking a beat longer than usual.

You fear that you’ve broken for the moment you’re staring in horror; that he has finally, well and truly snapped you in half. Because if you’re broken, that means he’ll lose interest, and that means the basement and the fear of death finally catching up with you.

Occasionally the thought flits across your mind that death perhaps would be preferable; but you are a coward, and you have hurt people (even if it was on Strade’s command), and you do not want to know what awaits you on the other side of a non-beating heart and the light in a tunnel.

Strade chuckles, affectionately rubbing his nose against the line of your jaw, teeth digging just a little too hard into the flesh of your neck.

“You had me worried for a second, mäuschen,” he practically purrs. “I thought I’d heard the last of your squeaking.” Big fingers, tugging at your thighs, guiding you to wrap them around his hips. Despite the softness of his body, the proof that he enjoys lazing around and cheap beer and meat a little too much, there’s raw muscle beneath the chub. Even his hands on you are a reminder of how strong he is.

(Strong enough to drag dead bodies across floors, to lift them into kilns, to hold down unwilling, screaming captives and make them regret they ever laid eyes on him.)

“Unzip,” he tells you. One of your hands is free; unpierced, though scarred from being pressed against stove burned and soldering irons and heat guns, from grabbing the blade of a knife when he’s told you to fuck yourself with the handle, from sanders applied to formerly soft skin. You do not use that hand.

You force yourself to move the one dripping in your own blood, the ruined hand pierced straight through. The movement of your fingers burns, sending shock waves of pain all through you; but you tug at the zip of his pants nonetheless. You get blood all over his clothes but he just chuckles low and dangerous, as you reach into his underwear too and squeeze your eyes shut when you feel how hot and hard and heavy his cock is in your grip.

“Eyes on me,” he reminds you, soft, and you force yourself to open them. He drinks in the expression on your face like he’s a starved man and it’s his first meal.

There’s a bloody handprint on his shaft when your fingers and wrist finally give out and your hand falls onto the sheets and pillows beneath you, staining them too, and you think that Strade is going to drive more nails through your hand just to prove a point about not doing as he says.

But his cock presses hot and needy against your inner thigh, smearing blood and pre-come on your scarred skin, and he’s panting and practically drooling as he murmurs;

“You know you’re not going to break, schatz. You want to live too much.” He leans his face further down. He does not kiss you so much as take control of you; worry teeth into your bottom lip, transfer his own saliva into your mouth, conquer the cavern behind your lips and teeth (one of them is loose; from being hit and squeezed. He pushes his tongue just a little too hard against that one and your body contracts, a whimper transferred from your throat to his mouth, and he swallows it up like your protests are a fine steak). “Ah. That’s what I like about you.”

Are you going to break? The push of him pressing inside of you makes your toes curl, a soft noise that might be a moan escape; Strade laughs, again, the sound too hearty and friendly to come out of the monster that you know he is.

“You like it,” he presses, as his thumbs come to your hips and dig into wounds that have been stitched together; you hear the stitches pop, feel him re-open barely healed gashes. “You like being special to me. You like this.”

You don’t think you do.

You don’t think you like any of this; his body on top of yours, the pain, the mistrust, the fear that prickles hot and sharp and sour in your throat whenever you hear the door (the one you can’t go near) open. But you also know that saying that is the wrong answer. Hitting and screaming like a wildcat is the wrong answer. Saying nothing at all is the wrong answer.

So instead, you open your mouth, you shiver and shudder as his thumb presses deeper into the re-opened wound, and you manage to choke out a mouse-squeak of;

“Pl-please—”

It’s the right answer. His face does not soften; but his smile widens, his hips tilting until you’re so full you can barely move and you ache everywhere, and Strade simply smiles down at you as whatever passes for affection for him leaks into his tone and he coos;

“Don’t worry, mäuschen. I’ll give you exactly what you want. For as long as you need.”

[german translation dictionary; schatzi - sweetheart/dear/darling/treasure mäuschen - little mouse sehr süß - very sweet/very cute so hübsch - so pretty idk how accurate these are i am just using google translate always]

#strade x reader #strade x you #btd strade #reader-insert #not sfw #non con tw #gore tw #torture tw #i think this is the nastiest thing i've written but it's probably just gonna get worse #🦇 pip writes #i had to delete a lot of old fics from an old ao3 for this so it wasnt in the same place as my other reader-inserts dfvnnjbgf

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gojoho · 3 years

Text

MERCY

• pairing; toji fushiguro x reader [ nsfw ]

• premise; it’s the same dance with him, a shameless game of cat and mouse in which he always win but maybe losing is equally as rewarding.

• words; 2078

• note & warning; i’m back with some toji content, he’s just been in my mind a little to long for me not the write about him. some warnings for this one is public, unprotected ( wrap it and then tap it folks ) sex, with the usual grammatical errors—I swear I try to proof read ya’ll but they just manage to find a way to stay in there. i am slowly but surely getting my mojo back.

Old habits die hard; it's easier to hate each other that way. Labeling whatever that was manifesting between the two of you as that, a bad habit. A dirty secret only an onyx sky could appreciate enough to hide. Perhaps that's what kept it alive and kicking, midnight turmoil, where even the most terrible of bad ideas are more seductive.

Though it's debatable if the alcohol left you unhinged, mindless, and bold. What other excuse did you have for allowing the bastard to enter your domain? There was no shame from the thinking without a conscience, but with the pounding music and pulsing lights, you weren't sure there was even space to think. He held a brazen stare all evening, keen to every move you made.

A man's attention was never anything to sneeze at, but when it was a straggler like Toji Fushiguro, it was intoxicating. And more than the liquor, everything seemed to be within reach under his spotlight. He held his distance, clung to the darkness, yet with such an adamant gaze he could have been right there beside you. At least, that's how you imagined it but the game wasn't that easy.

He'd stay in his dark corner, not quite able to step closer until you were ready. Until the heat underneath your skin became unbearable, leaving you an aching mess. That made it easier to devour you. Whether it meant burying his head between your thighs or hooking his arms around your waist and keeping you open. Or bottomed out inside you, mouth feasting on your chest.

The club was full, Friday night packed but it would work in your favor. You knew none of the songs, not that it mattered, it was mere fuel to your movements. A nice accessory to the sway of your hips, to suggestive temptation behind them.

It wasn't worth looking in his direction; he was always watching. At that thought alone, your clothes become a nuisance. A means to an end, that would start with him. Toji was a patient man but knew that patience didn't extend to everyone, you in particular. He was a tease, and as your dress inclined it almost felt as if he'd been the one to hike it up.

A sensation too similar to his hands moving over your bare thighs, ready to pry them open. His smug chuckle was right there feeding your imagination, and as one song faded into the next, there wasn't a spot on your body that hadn't been kissed in theory. With one thought, you were drooling over a man less than ten feet away, fantasizing about all the ways he could take you. It was more of a headache than it seems, and as the pace of the songs picks up, the conscience returns. Whilst you make your way back to the bar. You'd need a little more liquid luck to get through the rest of the night.

“That was quite a show.”

“Didn’t know I had an audience.” What else could you have done but tell a bald-faced lie? Telling him the truth didn't do anyone any good. How you envision him fucking you in the middle of the dance floor.

“Could’ve fooled me." The bar was located farther away from the DJ and next to the restrooms. The quieter end of the venue, but you're sure you'd have heard his smirk regardless.

After all this time, it's only then that you turn to him.“What are you doing here Fushiguro?”

Big mistake, ten feet away he looked the same as when you last saw him, but up close and personal, some details that had escaped memory came back to haunt you.

“Would you believe me if I told you, I’m here to see you?”

Yeah right, “Not in the slightest.”

“It’s true for the most part, had a job in the area and thought I’d pop in do some sightseeing." He shifted his weight back to the counter, his elbows well-rested on either side.

“Well you came and you saw.”

“On the contrary,” he said. The double meaning has turned your cheeks crimson, and you're thankful for the red lights underneath the counter. “Cute dress.”

Images from moments before gloss over your eyes, heating every part of your body. They burned a path down your chest before settling below your hips. “Seriously Fushiguro what do you want? You made it pretty clear we both want different things the last time you popped in.”

“Things are different.” Sincere wasn't the word you or anyone else would use to describe the guy, but his demeanor defied all expectations. He seemed to be a completely different person.

“Yeah, they are,” you mumbled, tossing back a shot you managed to order before his interruption.

“Look," he started and turned to face you. Face inches from yours, his scent enveloping both of you. "I tried the settling down thing and it doesn’t work with my kind of lifestyle.”

It wasn't the words you wanted to hear, but you probably wouldn't have had them anyway. Wishful thinking, “Then that’s clears things up doesn’t it?” Toji Fushiguro didn’t do apologies, much like he didn’t do commitment, and even as he called after you, that would never change. Something you wish your body would recognize, no matter how much it longed for him.

The corridor to the restrooms was too quiet for him being that close to you...too intimate. In the quick second you had turned you back to him, ready to sober up and head home, he’d already been behind you. Pushing you up against the wall in the far corner, his arms barricading you in.

“You’re quite stubborn, you know that.” His voice was low, quiet all to maintain the secrecy veiled in the darkness.

“Thanks, I’ll be sure to add it to my resume.” You witted, going to duck around him but he was quick and with a step forward his hips pushed yours in back place.

“Will you just listen,” he pleaded. Not that you had much of a choice, but he took your silence as obedience. “I won’t make excuses, I’m a shitty guy but it’s gotten me this far. You won’t get the white picket fence with me. That’s not who I am.”

It was true, he was a shitty person. One minute here and the next gone with the wind. All with impeccable timing, usually around when he’d finish fucking you senseless. Truthfully it wasn’t something too much of a problem, it was better if he had his life and you with your own. Though you supposed between the kisses, and that final thrust that brought you both over the edge left some vulnerability.

“If I’m stubborn, then you’re quite dense. I never asked for that Toji. I was fine with the wild sex but was a little conversation too much to ask? You’ve got baggage, newsflash so do I, but you’d think we’d handle it like two grown adults. You’ve always been on the move, please, slow down every once in a while.”

The silence is deafening, louder than the upbeat track in the distance. You were irritated, angry, and, to make it worse, aroused. What else did he expect from you but a meltdown? As he moved his head to your back, he lowered his arms, allowing them to ghost your waist. “I'm sorry,” he said softly, kissing it.

In retrospect, you should have jumped for joy, climbed to the top of the bar, and screamed at the top of your lungs like a lunatic, but you didn't. You didn't want to abandon his embrace at that moment; he had really changed.

The kiss in trial is slow and tender, responsive to not only the worries but any emotion in between. Everything you didn't think he was capable of and all rage bleeds into desire. Each of you starved and desperate to find a fill.

The stiffness of his pants condemned his hold, which found its power over your hips. You want to propose that he return the excitement to your place or whatever hotel he was staying in, but he broke the kiss to turn you around. His patience had reached its maximum for the night.

“Wait for a second,” you mumbled out. A slight moan slipped through feeling his erection firm and strong against your rear. The ends of your dress taunted by his fingertips liked how you pictured them too. “Sorry princess, no can do.”

It’s almost impressive how quickly he lifts your dress and slipping a finger past your thong. But should anyone know your body in grave detail it was him. There’s a ceremonial cheer from the crowd as the DJ lets the beat drop, Toji’s opportune moment of intrusion. Your own cry, not one in interest to the music but the long slender finger to part your folds.

“I’ve waited all night to get my hands on you,” he mumbled out, lips pressed to the back of your neck.

“Toji—”

“I’ll be quick, just the way you like it.”

It’s in your best interest to stop him there, keeping private matters just that, you should stop him...should.

“Fuck…quickly.” you cursed out in compliance. There’s a smirk on his face, you know it. Sure he’s different, but some things never change.

In the second he pulled his finger away, you whimper half expecting for it to slip back in, maybe even with a partner but a casual Friday night turns into Christmas.

“I'll take my time with you later, right now—” he started face pressed into the back of your shoulder. “I just need to be inside you.”

First was the tip of his cock, a feeble tickle before the rest of his inches followed. Stretching you full, slipping deep into your heat. Coaxing the ache that was for him, letting the world see just how easily your body welcomed his own. Yet, it was hard to care about the rest of the world when your own revolved around everything below your hips.

He gripped them tightly, anchoring you there at the hilt with a slow sure thrust before looping a hand to your front. Twisting the nerves in time with his sudden thrust. Quick like he said, but still slow enough to feel him move inside you. In and out, then over again. The excitement of having him there indulging with your body, and the anxiety of getting caught clashed. Making you even more aware of your walls around him, but in his muffled moans there are words of encouragement. Sweet nothings that make your arousal fierce, sexy, and less wrong.

“Don't stop, ” you say a little too loud for doing something taboo but you don't care, “Don't fucking stop.”

The million and one fantasy that flooded your mind on the dancefloor spirals, winding with the moment and coiled in an untamed void. Ready to snap at those trying to control it. And there, shrouded in the thin veil of privacy Toji picks up his pace, teasing it with each stroke until finally, it shudders through. Coming in waves, meeting your peek every time he pushed forward. Bolting down your legs the more sloppy and anxious his hips became.

“Fuck, ” he grunts hands shooting to your chest. Pulling you closer to him, eating up your moans with his.

Almost feral with the way he continued despite his cock’s twitches, he wasn't nearly satisfied but that was a mess neither of you was capable of cleaning up at the moment. Regrettably, you push back on his rhythm stopping it completely. Snapping him from the haze.

“We should go, ” you whisper out on his lips. Which he can only grunt back in response to, hesitant to slip from your warmth.

His hands are glued to your body, unable to null all contact as you tugged your dress back down or as he tucks himself back into his pants. You'd ask whether it was back to your place or his but the languid look on his face as the two of you shamelessly stepped into the light made it fruitful. It didn't matter where the two of you went, he'd have you crying for mercy.

#jjk #Jujutsu Kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #toji fushiguro #fushiguro toji #toji fushiguro x reader #fushiguro toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader smut #fushiguro toji x reader smut #gojoho

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hinatastinygiant · 3 years

Text

Chapter Thirty Seven

Pairing: Mitsuya x Fem!Reader

Wicked Games Masterlist

MITSUYA'S P.O.V.

"Super cute the way you and Y/N are matching tonight, Taka-chan," Yuzuha and Hina giggle as I meet up with them.

"That dress you made for Y/N is super gorgeous, Mitsuya!" Hina adds. "You're definitely going to be super famous someday!"

"I know right?!" Yuzuha squeals in excitement. "And it's almost like he designed it right on her body, how the hell do you do that?"

"I don't know," I shrug. "I guess it just kinda comes to me."

"Even when it was the wedding dress," Yuzuha thinks aloud. "It was totally something that Y/N would wear. Like you designed that dress for her, too!"

"You don't have to make it sound like that," I sigh deflatedly at her comment.

"What, so you wouldn't want to see her in a wedding dress? Oh wait, but it kinda already is," she smirks.

"I'll admit that Y/N does look quite stunning in that dress, but I don't know if you should phrase things like that," I tell her as my cheeks begin to heat up in embarrassment.

As the two girls smile at each other, I look over at the table where I saw Hakkai, Souya, and Y/N sitting. However, Y/N isn't sitting with the two of them anymore. It makes me a bit nervous that she's gone off without Hakkai even suspecting anything. I excuse myself from the girls and take off to look around for her.

Eventually, I spot a man with wild black hair and glasses shielding his burning red eyes from burning through. I recognize him right away as Chikao and take off, chasing him through the crowd.

I follow him until he's about to step into the hallway where he stops for some reason. I notice that he's got one hand on the doorknob, but in his other hand he's got a gun pointed right in my direction.

"Calm down," I call out to him as I put up my hands. "There's no need to shoot at a wedding."

"I don't give a shit 'bout this wedding," Chikao scoffs. "It's about time your annoying little group dies out, though, that's all I want. Think you could humor me with that?"

Just as my lips part while I try to come up with some answer for him, there's a sound of a gun booming from the room behind him. Only a moment later, the door opens up. My eyes widen when I see a person now standing behind Chikao, panting heavily. It's Y/N and in her hand is a pistol.

Where the hell did she get that? Did she just shoot someone?

With a deep inhale and hardly any hesitation, she aims her gun down towards Chikao's back and shoots him. In an instant, the whole reception breaks out in a panic with screaming and yelling. When I look around, I notice that fighting has now broken out in the room. All of those Otsuda guys must have been hiding amongst the crowd and they've now begun trying to fight the rest of us. It's no wonder we didn't recognize some of these guests.

However, as I look over towards Mikey and Draken, I see that they've already taken down a bunch of people. They look prepared, too, were they expecting this to happen?

At the same time, Chikao falls onto his knees and clutches his stomach where Y/N had just shot him. My mouth drops as she now comes fully into my vision, still dressed in that beautiful dress, just with the added accessory of a gun. I can't believe I just watched her do that...

"We're even now," she smiles. "You saved me last time so it's only fair."

I let out a deep breath, how is she so exceptionally perfect even after she's just shot someone? I've got to do all that I can to protect her from this part out. I don't know who else might be after her.

I grab her hand and bring her to where Hina, Yuzuha, and Emma are huddled together. I tell Y/N to stay there with them, but the second I turn away and look back, Y/N is completely gone. I should have expected that she wouldn't stay in place when she could help out the rest of the group. It looks like she's given Yuzuha the gun to protect herself, too. I hope she'll be alright.

It's not until after the fighting is done that I see Y/N again. I meet up with her, Mikey, and Draken once the Otsuda gang is completely taken care of.

"We're not idiots," Draken huffs a bit out of breath. "We knew something was going to happen, we just didn't know what it was. Besides, we never got to see the so-called 'dead bodies' for ourselves."

"Y/N," Mikey changes the conversation, "What happened to Hanma? You were the last person to see him, right?"

"Yeah," she nods. "I shot him in the chest but he just ran away like nothing even happened."

"Did he have a bulletproof vest?" I ask her, resulting in a nod at my correct guess.

"It shouldn't matter anymore. Hanma and Kisaki no longer have the Otsuda gang to back them up anymore," Mikey interrupts.

The four of us look around and notice that there are a bunch of guys laying unconscious on the ground of the reception hall.

Draken sighs. "I hope Emma won't be too upset at me for this."

"She won't be," you assure him. "She understands and is worried about you. I'd go talk to her if I were you."

"Good idea," he nods. "Thanks, Y/N. See you guys later."

As Draken walks off, Mikey gathers the rest of the group and shares the good news about the Otsuda gang's defeat. The entire room then echoes with cheers and shouts. I turn to Y/N and see she's got a big smile on her face. As her eyes meet with mine she throws her arms around me. Soon after, an even greater weight is added to my shoulders as Yuzuha and Hakkai throw themselves on top of Y/N and me, joining the hug.

"This is so great," Yuzuha sighs. "Now we don't need to worry about those jerks anymore!"

Wicked Games Masterlist

Taglist: @darkmess0 @wakasa-wifey @plaggi @daiserenade @lunastellanova @sseorin @jinchuriki-hunter @sh4gree @night-shadowblood-writes2

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avaleecrys16 · 3 years

Text

Hysteria (tw - death)

Its a choking feeling. It feels like icy cold hands shooting up from your abdomen to your lungs and squeezing out every last drop of oxygen. It feels hopeless. Like even if you could breathe, you still wouldn’t, because the pain is still too much to bear.

Its all too much at this point. Its wild and dangerous, and fills your tightening esophagus with liquid panic.

Did you hear those words correctly? Your ears are buzzing, and you cant breathe, so you might have heard wrong. It’s possible.

“What?” you rasp out past all the spit pooling in your mouth, throat too tight to swallow it all. You might gag if you try.

“I’m sorry . . . “ someone says. Its just a faceless voice on the other side. They might be standing right in front of you but they aren’t anything you can see. Just a fuzzy anonymous shape of a human. Someone with arms and legs and a head maybe. If they had a face you don’t remember it, “I’m so sorry, we tried everything . . .” the voice continues.

So you were right you did those words. “I’m so sorry . . .” you repeat, the words feel wrong in your mouth. That’s not your line here. You aren’t supposed to apologize, “He’s . . . what happened?”

“Please, sit down,” the blurry shape comes near you but you snap away from them. You grab at their hands, yanking their faceless face right up to yours. You see eyes, scared and frantic looking at you but they don’t mean anything.

“What. Happened,” the spit is too much now, your heaving and gagging all over yourself. You breath in deep, trying to stop the gagging, “What!” you scream. Your’e screaming now. You usually don’t even like raising your voice in public; you would hate for others to look at you. To notice your presence, but here you are, screaming in this poor persons face.

There wasn’t anymore words, just a loud keening shriek over the bustle of the hallway. There’s hands on you now, not hard hands, soft hands on your face and back and arms. You’re on the floor, shaking and heaving and gasping, and screaming.

“Where?” you sob, eyes clothes, hands still on your back trying to lift you up, “Where!?”

You’re standing now. You’re in a room, its not a normal hospital room, there’s a bed and machines and all that but there’s windows everywhere and people still rushing about, “I’m so sorry . . .” that blank person voice fills your head again and someone has your hands. You look away from the hospital bed and snap your attention to your hands.

It’s your mother-in-law. She’s smaller than you, always has been, but right now she looked down right childlike next to you, “It happened so fast.” her voice sounded so small and so fragile. Cracking and barely above a harsh whisper. You’ve never heard this woman be anything but confident and, if truth be told, domineering.

So this felt incredibly wrong.

Her hands pull you to the edge of the bed and you finally see what you were hoping you weren’t going to see, “That’s not Rush,” you say. It’s him though. That’s you’re husband. You’re young beautiful husband. Long honey blond hair, bright hazel eyes, sometimes blue sometimes green, but always hypnotic. And his too big nose that you loved teasing him about.

He had been the envy of your hometown, too pretty for these small town folks. They called him Hollywood and Pretty Boy, and teased him about his hair, his accessories, his tight pants. He was too pretty for their backwoods taste. Definitely too pretty for the only brown girl in town. But that never bothered you two.

“I’m only marrying you because the white girls just can’t seem to handle all of this,” he had told you one day. You were at the store, trying to find him some pants that would fit the ass that he was currently shaking in your face, “It’s too much for them!”

You were used to this. He was flamboyant and an attention seeker and always causing a scene. Shopping had always made him feel self conscious though and that made him double down on his dramatics. You saw right through his little wiggling dance, “I’m only marrying you, because my rice and beans gave you that ass and I’ll be damned if it goes to waste.” His laugh had startled the people who were around you.

You were sure they were even more startled when he spun you in his arms and planted a kiss on your mouth with a loud obnoxious SMACK, “Yer damn right, Querida!”

“That’s not him,” You say again, but it still continued to be him. That’s his birthmark under his right eye, and those are his pink lips going pale, and those are his freckles on his cheeks, and his beard, and his mustache he was so damn proud of. But it’s all empty.

He’s empty.

Because if he was here, if that was Rush, he would be smiling at you with that stupid little smirk of his and asking you “Why the long face BooBoo?” or griping and whining about being in the hospital, complaining about the smell attacking his poor gigantic nose, and throwing the paper cups at his mother’s face because he loved riling her up.

But he isn’t; he’s still. Still as stone. and so very Empty.

When you walked into a room, he was there, smiling softly, arms open, always ready to wrap you up and cover you in kisses. “Querida,” he would say and kiss your knuckles like some old timey romance novel. His eyes always bright and shining, like little suns and if he made you giggle with his theatrics he would blush like a school boy, “Te Amo, Querida.”

Where was Rush, in this body that looked just like him? He wasn’t there.

“Where are you?” You’re hands are on his face now. Its cold, too cold to be him, “Rush?” He doesn’t answer you though. The hands in your chest are back. Squeezing your lungs and you hear screaming. Sharp and dissonant and far away but still right on top of you.

“Rush?!”

*****************************************************************

I’m not entirely sure what this is going to be in the end. Hysteria is more than just a moment or a snippet. It’s grief. My grief. Even though I’m not at that place i was before, it still feels fresh when i walk back there.

I’m sorry to anyone who has felt loss and pain. Its unfair. But it’s everywhere and it touches everyone.

#grief #loss #death #trauma

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candychronicles · 3 years

Text

elysian // s. daichi

A/N: my take on the Haikyuu Headquarters mythology nsfw collab! this was my first time writing for Daichi. i took a greek myth route and had so much fun!!

CHARACTER PAIRING: Daichi Sawamura x F!reader

WORD COUNT: 2,859

WARNINGS: manipulation, oral (F!receiving), mentions of several religions

SYNOPSIS: all your life you had been fighting only to end up at a boring 9-5 with nowhere to turn. Daichi has a proposition and you accept without realizing the consequences.

Want to read more myths and legends? Click here!

you were always fascinated with the idea of something larger than you, something so fantastical and great that it consumed the earth over and over again. while many people turned to other religions or no religion at all, satiating their own desires for redemption, love and acceptance, you chose to dig deeper, look at what truly resonated with your life and dutifully settled upon the greek gods.

they didn’t sugarcoat the bad things they did, that they used their power any way they pleased, that they were stronger, faster and larger than life. they were powerful gods who held powerful positions and were unpredictable, wild and fluid in their dance with humanity. you admired the stories from years ago of how they defeated the titans and split the land between the three sons: the skies for Zeus, the seas for Poseidon and the underworld for Hades.

Hades had always spoken to you in a way you couldn’t describe. when you worshipped him needing guidance, offering him dark chocolate and sweet, rich red wines, he complied with very little hesitation, always wanting to seemingly please you as long as you kept up your worshipping of him. he became quite moody, jealous and wouldn’t want to talk to you for days if you spent too much time interacting with the other gods. to be frank, you loved the attention he showered you with and felt at ease knowing he would protect you for life.

sighing, you pulled your apron tight around your waist, ready for another day at work slinging coffees and cakes to the less than pleasant customers that walked through the door. being a barista seemed like fun in cliche stories and movies but it was actually just another job that got you through your boring summer.

it only took an hour before people began screaming and shouting, angry at your lack of speed and pleasant smile on your face. it was just you and two other people there serving a line of ten plus at any given time and while you all tried your best, things never seemed to go the way they were planned.

“one large coffee, black.”

you took a deep breath before plastering a smile on your face, giving the man with the honey sweet voice a price and looking up, the smile threatening to spill onto your cheeks as you recognized Daichi, one of your favorite customers and now good friends.

“thought you might need one friendly face among the crowd of crazy,” he joked, tapping his sleek black credit card against the machine to pay, making sure to leave a hefty tip before nodding and walking away.

he sat for another two hours in the shop, nursing on his coffee and working on his laptop as he waited for you to get a break. when the line finally died down, your rushed from behind the counter and plopped yourself down in the booth across from him.

“what brings your handsome face around here?” you asked, tapping your feet against the ground as the anxiety of the day began to wear off.

“coming to see you as always,” he replied smoothly, downing the last of his coffee before placing the cup back on the table.

“you haven’t been around for awhile,” you pouted, not caring that you sounded desperate.

“i’m sorry but you know work can get oddly busy at times. how about i make it up to you? dinner, tonight at seven? my treat, anywhere you want to go.”

you gaped at him, not sure of what to say. you two had been flirting for months, the only friendly face you had really seen outside of the occasional older lady who always bought you a snack or drink for being so kind and patient with them. he was always sweet as candy, sugary words viscously flowing out of his mouth. at first you thought he was just some tightwad business man looking to get into your pants but as you got to know him, you realized he was just naturally kind, always looking out for the underdog. he treated you with the respect and decency that you deserved and maybe you were just so used to being treated like shit most of the time but his upfront and honest nature just blew you away.

before you had a chance to even reply, he looked at his phone, frowned and stood up.

“i’ll see you at seven, text me your address, yeah?”

with that and a gentle caress of your chin, he practically dissolved into thin air. you blinked once, twice, three times trying to process what had just happened before digging into your pocket to text him your address, not even remembering giving him your number but sure enough, there he sat in your contact with a simple flower next to his name.

the rest of the day went by in a blur and before you knew it, you were sitting on your couch, donned in your best dress, sparkling earrings dangling from your ears and shiny jewels adorning your body. you frowned as you checked the time, noticing it was already ten past seven. just as you were about to give up, you received a text from Daichi.

i’m sorry princess. something big came up at work. i’ll make it up to you. first thing in the morning, dress for the outdoors and bring a jacket, it’ll be a bit chilly where we’re going. i’ll see you then.

you huffed, throwing your phone down on the couch before stuffing your face in your hands, trying not to cry. you began methodically undressing yourself, taking off all your accessories and makeup, barely listening to the TV in the back drone on about some factory explosion that had happened in the next town over, killing two hundred people practically at once. you stopped to share some of the jewels with Hades, lighting his black flame and watching it dance in excitement, thanking him for never leaving you, even in the harshest of times. with all the makeup off, the dress peeled from your body and your shiny jewels laid on the table, you collapsed in bed, too tired and confused to dress yourself again.

a knock on the door had you scrambling off of your bed, hurrying to find a robe before peeking through the peephole to see who woke you up at such an early time on your rare day off. your eyes widened in surprise before squeaking, peeling the door open just a pinch to greet Daichi who held a rather large bouquet of flowers in his hand, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck and squinting his eyes as he held the petals out towards you.

“Daichi, i-”

“i’m real sorry about last night. crazy last minute meeting, totally unexpected. i promised i’d make it up to you though, right?”

you opened the door to him at that, blushing when you realized you were only in your robe before practically sprinting to your bedroom to begin getting ready. when you were ready, jacket in hand, you walked back out, a sheepish smile on your face.

“i uh, really didn’t think you would be here in the morning. thought you were just trying to lead me on or something,” you confessed.

“now doll, i think you know me better than that by now,” he chastised, standing up from your couch to offer you his arm.

you took it instantly, a bounce in your step as you followed him out of your apartment, listening to the door close with a resounding thud.

it took only a few minutes before you were sat in his sleek black car practically oozing with the feeling of money. you gingerly sat down in the leather seats, instantly feeling drowsy. shaking your head, you tried to fight it off but was stopped by Daichi.

“it’ll be a little bit of a drive before we get to where we’re going. you can take a nap, it’s okay. i’m a safe driver. i promise i won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

with his soothing words, you drifted off into a peaceful sleep, allowing yourself to be completely relaxed in his presence.

a small jerk woke you up and you blinked, looking out the window to see fields and fields of picture perfect flowers. you were practically surrounded by them, the only clearing being the dirt road you came on and patch of grass leading up to a hill.

“Daichi…” you breathed, speechless by the beauty of the location.

“c’mon, lets eat.”

you practically scurried out of the car, eyes wide as you continued to scan your surroundings. he dutifully began taking the picnic out of the car, setting down the blanket, basket, food and drink in a tasteful and elegant way. you absolutely melted seeing all the delicious food that was laid out for you. before you had a chance to eat, however, Daichi grabbed you by the waist, pulling you into his arms and looking you in the eyes.

“y’know, i’ve been absolutely fascinated with you since the first day i met you, all doe-eyed and innocent. the world has knocked you down so many times and yet you still get back up to fight another day. tell me, if i offered you a life of luxury, of eternal peace, full of love and richness, never having to work a day in your life if you didn’t want to, would you take it?”

you were taken aback by his words, not understanding where they were coming from. sure, you two had spent so much time chatting at your coffee shop, sharing your hopes and dreams with him, confiding in him like you would no one else, but you didn’t realize he had taken it all to heart, that he had actually fallen in love with you like you him. you didn’t even realize in that moment that you had even really loved him until he said those words, looked deep into your soul like he knew everything about you and then some.

“i mean, if you’re offering, yeah, i think i’d like a life like that, but maybe once i got to know you first,” you only half joked, wanting to know more about him, a sucker for an idyllic life.

“just say yes and you can spend all the time in the world getting to know me.”

“yes, Daichi, i would take it in a heartbeat.”

he surged forward with that, lips attaching to your own with such ferocity that you weren’t even sure what to do. he tasted like rich chocolate, wine and coffee, a delicious medley on your tongue as you reacted on instinct alone. something about this, with him, felt so right. your head was muddled with thoughts of Daichi and only Daichi, a man who was so mysterious and yet so supportive, always there when you needed him, seemingly popping up out of the blue on your worst days. listening to your problems with a frown on his face, doing everything he possibly could to make you feel better, never overstepping his boundaries and cherishing the time you spent together like there was no tomorrow.

he whispered sweet nothings in your ear as he took you to the ground, flowers crunching around your body as he laid on top of you, nipping and sucking at the delicate skin of your neck, relishing in the way you went breathless just from his lips alone.

“tell me that you want me, that you need me, that you worship me, that i’m the only man you’ll ever need,” he commanded, popping the buttons open on your shirt and ravishing your chest, tweaking your bare nipples in his hands, the cold shocking you to the core.

“you’re all i’ll ever need, Daichi,” you confirmed, too consumed in your own pleasure, wanting to feel more and more of him until he was all you could think of.

“let me take care of you princess.”

with that, he delicately pulled your shirt off, your pants coming down next, your underwear not receiving such a kind fate as they were cruelly ripped off your body. you gasped as you felt his hot breath on your thigh, squirming underneath his touch, the way his tongue danced along your inner thigh, flesh sinking in between his teeth. you whined at the way his cold fingers ghosted over your clit, just barely there but enough to make you go crazy.

“Daichi, please, i need you, please.”

he complied without resistance, his tongue darting out to kitten lick your clit, relishing in the way you instantly melted underneath his touch. you were absolutely enraptured with the way he felt against your body, the cool of his hand tracing seemingly meaningless patterns against your silky inner thigh, his other sinking into your heat, enveloping his digits with warmth, something he rarely felt, his tongue licking and sucking on your bud like your life depended on it. it was all too much, the feeling of him on top of you, doting on you like you were everything to him and you came suddenly, pulsating around his fingers, your own carded in his hair to ground yourself, tears leaking out of your eyes at the sheer feeling of him, only him.

he slowly calmed you down from your high, eyes never leaving his body as his fingers gently continued to pump in and out of you, his other hand continuing to soothe your body, kisses placed anywhere he could reach. when you were finally calm, he removed his fingers, still cold despite the warmth the received, and licked them clean, watching as your eyes rolled in the back of your head at the sight of him worshipping you.

“let’s get you cleaned up and get some food in you, yeah?”

he spent the next few minutes gently wiping you off, dressing you back in most of your clothes sans the underwear he destroyed, a sheepish and apologetic smile on his face as he promised to buy you a new pair, no matter the price. you shrugged your jacket on over your shoulders, finally noticing how cold it was, a chill running straight to your core as you tightened clothing around you.

after a few moments of catching your breath, you stood up with the help of Daichi, walking over to the picnic and sitting down, mouth drooling at the sight of food, suddenly ravenous.

“were you really serious about saying yes, about being mine forever?”

“like i said Daichi, i do want to get to know you better, but i can’t deny i’m not falling in love with you. something about you feels familiar, like you’ve been with me my whole life, like you know me better than i know myself. i feel so comfortable and safe around you. so yes, call me a dumb romantic, but i was serious about that.”

with a satisfied nod, he began feeding you, watching you closely as you swallowed food after food, a delighted smile on your face. you felt stronger, more relaxed, less cold and certainly happier eating and drinking, taking the time to really talk to Daichi, learn about him, his thoughts and feelings, some of his tragic past and your heart hurt more and more as you listened to him.

when all was said and done, you stood up, wiping the crumbs off your body as looked at Daichi, a smile plastered on your face.

“when are you taking me home?” you questioned, looking around the field to see if you could spot anything else to do.

“well, my dear, whenever you’re ready, i’ll show you your new home right away. after all, what kind of king would i be if i didn’t let my queen see her palace right away?”

“what?” you questioned, looking at him quizzically.

when he stood up, you noticed the whole mood had shifted and so did the world. the flowers, as bright and beautiful as they were, were no longer illuminated by a brilliant sun but rather a striking moon, darkness encircling your very body. you felt cold and yet not cold at all, like it was a very part of your being. Daichi seemed to stand immortally tall before you, an air of authority that was not there before. beautiful houses scattered the flowerbeds, people milling about, people from stories you had read to soothe yourself to sleep as you dreamt of one day being a hero of your own.

“Daichi, what is going on?” you asked, frightened and confused.

“well, doll, i did ask you several times to make sure but i knew in my heart that you would come to accept and eventually love this life as i have,” he started, gesturing for you to turn around to look out behind you, a whole world opening up in front of your eyes, “this is the underworld, i am Hades, you’re currently in the Elysian Fields, now that you ate the food down here, you are an immortal part of me and this, my queen, is your new home.”

#daichi x reader #daichi sawamura #haikyuu #haikyu #haikyuu x reader #haikyu x reader #hqhq #hqhq server collab

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theimpossiblehologramtree · 4 years

Text

Making Queen members flower crowns would include

Pairing: Queen members x reader

Word count: (altogether) 1800+

Warnings: some sickening fluff, oh and swearing but that’s a standard, some slightly suggestive themes in john’s (implied sex) but nothing accually happens except a kiss

A/N: Hello you beautiful people! I’m back (don’t get used to that tho lol) I thought of this two years ago when i first saw Bohemian Rhapsody (SO 2 FUCKING YEARS AGO). Freddie’s is gender neutral. I tried to add a “keep reading” button but I’m not sure it works tbh because this hell of a side never cooperates.

Please keep in mind that English is not my first language.

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Gifs aren’t mine. Credits to the owners.

Brian May

You were laying on Brian's lap, the sun hitting your face pleasantly. This week the weather was nice and warm, which was something extremely unusual in England, so the two of you decided to head out to the country and have a little picnic.

After what felt like hours spent in the car ("Brian, for Christ's sake, would you open the bloody window, I can't breathe!" and "Bri, I love you, but if we don't get there in five minutes, I'm going to murder you, I swear") you finally found a nice clearing, where you could relax and forget about the stresses of city life.

Brian put down a blanket on the grass, near a small stream that flew through the forest. He brought the bag with food and drinks (you didn't have a basket, so you had to improvise).

You quickly put some sunscreen on your face and laid down, keeping your head propped on Brian's lap. He put a hat over his face and fell asleep, his chest rising steadily.

After some time (that fucking wasp didn't let you sit in one place), you stood up and noticed many beautiful flowers, growing on a nearby bush. You got lost in picking up the most beautiful ones, admiring each one carefully. When you got enough, you sat back down and started tying the stems together.

Suddenly you got an idea. Careful not to wake him up, you began sticking the flowers in Brian's dark curls.

Your now decorated boyfriend woke up and stretched, not noticing the colourful addition to his hair. This made you chuckle softly, but you decided to see how long it would take him to realize.

+"What is it, babe? Do I have something on my face?"

"No, Bri, I just remembered a funny joke, that's all."

"Oh tell me, then."

"What’s the difference between a lawnmower and an electric guitar?"

"Hm?"

"You can tune a lawnmower!"

You both enjoyed the rest of the day swimming in the stream, sunbathing and eating the snack you brought. And Brian somehow still didn't notice.

Until it was time for you to get home.

You got in the car ("Open the window now, it's like in the oven in here!") and Brian looked into the rear-view mirror.

+"Hey, (Y/N), what the fuck is that? I love it."

Roger Taylor

So honestly it would probably happen during one of his concerts.

You were backstage watching the show, enjoying every second of it. Freddie was in the middle of shouting some (very inappropriate) compliments to Brian's ass, slapping his buttcheeks. The crowd immediately went wild hundreds of fans screamed in unison. You chuckled under your breath, flashing a white smile at your beloved boyfriend Roger and his bandmates. You felt an arm wrap around your shoulders. Surprised, you turned around, your eyes meeting Mary's.

+"What's up, kiddo?" she smirked and patted your back.

"Oh, nothing much. Just Freddie being Freddie," you replied, making both of you erupt with laughter.

Suddenly you felt a familiar feeling form in the pit of your stomach. Out of nowhere, your hands became shaky, your breath shallow and quick. Feeling like you need some fresh air, you excused yourself.

+"Are you sure you're okay, (Y/N)?" Mary watched you carefully, her hand supporting you in case you fainted.

"Yes, Mary, I just need some fresh air. I'm extremely tired, and I haven't eaten anything since this morning" you reassured your friend. "I'm just gonna sit outside for a while."

"Do you want me to come with you?" she asked, still not convinced about your well-being.

"Yes, I wouldn't want to spoil the gig for you. I'll be back before you know it" you squeezed her hand and, after promising her to be careful, you headed outside.

You took a walk alongside the small patch of lawn beside the exit. After taking a couple of deep breaths, you noticed some daisies grow in the green grass. Without thinking much, you sat down and started picking them up and tying their stems together.

Your fingers worked quickly, making a beautiful flower crown, mindlessly.

Meanwhile, on stage, the boys were singing She makes me - a song that reminded Roger of you. He quickly glanced to his right, expecting to see your beautiful figure standing with Mary. But, much to his surprise, he couldn't see you anywhere. It was no secret that his eyesight was shit but, bloody hell, it wasn't that bad. His blue eyes were searching for you, frantically.

When the song ended, he quickly motioned to Freddie to take a quick break, while he went to check up on you. He practically sprinted to Mary, almost knocking down his drumkit and John.

+"You dumb fuck, watch where you're going, Rog!"

Usually, Roger would reply with some snarky comment, but at that moment he really didn't care. When he reached Mary, he didn't even need to ask her about you.

+"She's outside. Needed some fresh air" the girl shooked her head towards the exit.

Roger quickly walked outside, knowing that he couldn't stall the audience for too long. But at the same time, he must have made sure you were all right.

He got out of the building and searched for you. He spotted to sitting on a small patch of grass, holding a pretty flower crown in your hands. His heart ached at this sight.

+"Hello, love" he whispered, kneeling next to you. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, I am, Rog" you kissed his cheek. "I just felt a bit off, that's all."

You felt your boyfriend press a kiss to your hair. You smiled at the feeling, leaning into his touch.

You finally placed the finished flower crown on his head, brushing away loose strands of sweaty hair from his face, your hand gently brushing his temple. He took your tiny hands in his and kissed your fingers.

+"Do you wanna go back in there, sweetheart?" he asked sweetly, looking deeply into your eyes.

You nodded and pecked his lips, "Of course, Rog, I wouldn't want to miss any more of your show."

He smiled and lead you inside, placing his hand on the small of your back. You returned to Mary and wished your boyfriend good luck.

Roger kept the flowers on his head throughout the whole gig, sending you a dashing smile and winking at you every now and again.

I just think Roger would look sososo pretty in a flower crown.

John Deacon

It was a lovely afternoon in London. You and your fiancé John decided to take a walk after the whole day in the studio, recording songs.

Taking a walk in a nearby park was a great way to destress and release the tension accumulated during the day. It was something John realized pretty early on in your relationship and took full advantage of it. He loved wandering along the pebbled pathways that swirled around beautiful trees and bushes full of colourful flowers. Being in the presence of nature made him feel at ease and helped him relax.

But the real reason why he enjoyed your walks so much was you. He adored seeing your face light up with joy when you saw a squirrel run up a branch of an old oak or when you spotted a particularly beautiful fish in the small pond. He could watch you pick up fallen leaves for ages and hear you talk to little kids in a playground, showing them the shiny rocks you collected along the way.

To be honest, he always dreamt about starting a family with you and seeing you get along with kids so well only increased that desire.

Often after a walk, he was in the mood™, which, considering his shy nature, always took you by surprise.

Oh man, he just loved taking a walk in the park.

And today was no different.

You were walking hand in hand, admiring the blossoming flowers. Occasionally, you would stop and pick them up, making a small bouquet in the process. White daisies, pink clovers and blue forget-me-nots accumulated with every step you took.

John was telling you about the new idea he had for a song, kissing your cheek every now and again.

Listening to him, you started to fiddle with the flowers, tying them in knots. After a while ("And then, I think, we could include a gong, you know?") you were done with your creation.

You put the flowers on John's head and kissed his temple.

+"What's that, darling?" he asked you, surprised.

"Nothing, but I think you look sensational, my love" you replied, smiling innocently.

You felt John's hand bring you closer to him. He kissed you, entangling his long and incredibly skilled fingers in your hair. The kiss soon turned into more heated one.

+"I'll show you how sensational I really am, pretty girl."

Freddie Mercury

So with Freddie, it was probably at one of his parties.

He invited you along to have a drink with him and his bandmates.

You usually weren't the one for big and loud parties, but he kept asking you and you gave in.

+"Oh okay, Fred, I'll do it," you said after the twentieth time he had asked you.

"Fantastic, (Y/N)!" he exclaimed, loudly clapping his hands. "Just remember to wear a costume."

But you didn't really want to dress up in fancy dresses or costumes from different eras. Calling Mary, you asked her for advice and she told you to just wear some accessories.

So before the party, you went to a small flower shop and bought a small bouquet of purple lilacs. At home, you made a flower crown, hoping that dressing up as a nymph would be enough.

When you got to Freddie's house, you were greeted by a crowd of people in colourful skirts and suits with fashionable patterns. That's when you found Freddie, Roger, Brian and John, chilling on a couch with their dates.

+"Oh, (Y/N), you look marvellous, darling!" exclaimed Freddie dressed as a king, while he stood up to embrace you in a warm hug.

"Thank you, Fred, I made it myself" you smiled shyly.

You got some champagne and joined the conversation.

Suddenly, you felt a pat on your shoulder, and, when you turned around, you saw Freddie holding out a hand to you, asking you to dance with him. You gladly accepted and got up.

+"I really meant it, darling. You do look marvellous tonight" he whispered in your ear.

"Thank you, Freddie, you can have it if you'd like" you sent him a warm smile.

You took off his golden crown and set it aside. Gently taking off the flower crown from your head, you placed it on top of Fred's. He beamed at you and put his own crown on top of your head.

+"Now you rule here, darling."

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