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taintandviolent · 1 year

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tendencies ; au!James March x reader

summary: You're a new patient at Cortez County Sanitarium, and a particular Doctor has taken a liking to you and your murderous tendencies. w a r n i n g s: 6k words. au, female reader, shameless smut, female receiving, medical kink, examination kink, possible abuse of power, fingering, masterbation, penetration, mentions of murder/death. a/n: [requested by anonymous, some ideas were changed due to personal preference! i'm so sorry it's another long one I ramble alsjfhdskjfhsk. if you see any mistakes, no you didn't because this wasn't beta-read at all!] full fic & taglist under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! /

It finally happened. You’d had one too many manic episodes where you swore up and down you were going to kill them both for treating you the way they did, and your parents institutionalised you. You’d threatened them with the axe your father always kept in the garden, and that was the final straw. Father was on the phone before you had a chance to even get the axe. Off to the looney bin she goes! Mother packed you a suitcase despite father insisting you wouldn’t need it where you were going. She snapped the latches shut and tossed you and it into the backseat of your father’s Ford.

Swell.

Your mother cried as two men in white uniforms approached you, each of them taking an arm. They gripped them a little too hard and you thrashed, which they took as a threat. Out of the corner of your eyes, you saw your father take your mother into his arms, trying to calm her as pet her hair soothingly. She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue, blotting away the running mascara. All for show, you thought.

“When I get out - I’m going to find both of you!” You promised, howling. “CHOP! CHOP! CHOP!”

Your screams echoed down the hallways as you tried to wrench yourself out of the grip of the two men. You certainly weren’t making a good case for yourself that you weren’t psychotic, but your anger blinded you. It filled your veins, rushing through as naturally as blood, and would only subside after you’d heard your mother’s terrified whimper.

The first few days had been every bit as protocol as you’d expected. Dreary and professional, filled with every bit of staunchness possible. The nurses seemed to have a perpetual frown, while the orderlies puffed their chests up, determined to appear as intimidating as possible to the crazies.

Day one was depressing. Intake consisted of them stripping you of your clothes and all belongings, manhandling you as they unzipped and unbuttoned. They promised that your items would stay in the office where you could have them once you were discharged. The tone in the nurse’s voice wasn’t encouraging — but you were certain you’d get out one day.

The orderlies then hosed you down with ice cold water, the frigidness burning your skin in the worst way. Front and back. They handed you blandly coloured clothes without a towel. Of course not. They watched as you uncomfortably dressed, yanking the gown over your head. The fabric stuck to you in the most horrible way as they steered you down the bitterly cold hallways.

Screams, laughter and everything in between echoed off those cold stone walls. As you passed, a few residents came to their doors, peering curiously out the small cutaway in the door, wanting to see if they were the one getting a new neighbour.

You were thrown into a room. Five straps; two for your arms, two for your legs, and one across your forehead. You were told that you’d stay just like that, secured to a bed until you calmed down, which was around lunch time, when your rumbling tummy trumped your need to holler until your throat was sore.

After a blandly coloured pasta dish, you weighed your options and decided that staying out of the straps was ideal, so you behaved yourself for the rest of the evening. You were escorted to another room, much farther down the hall. The number on the door said seventy-eight.

On Day Two, you’d been informed of the rigorous schedule that took place here at Cortez County Sanitarium, and naturally, you’d forgotten it as soon as it left the orderly’s mouth. You didn’t care about the community time, or the rec room, or the biscuit making. You didn’t care about anything, except planning your revenge on your parents and their selfish decision.

Your parents had never wanted you, always wanted you out of the house. They kept your schedule full with extracurricular activities, forcing friendships and relationships, toting around how you “were going to marry early, she’s just such a catch”! You all knew that wasn’t the case at all — you were sick. Sick, delusional and unstable. Hardly wife material for anyone.

They just wanted their house to themselves.

Even if you’d wanted to, you wouldn't be able to join community time seeing as you had been assigned to solitary confinement for an indeterminate period of time, due to your ‘severe tendencies’. Whatever your egocentric, hateful father had told them scared them enough to treat you like public enemy number one. Out of safety for themselves and their fellow patients, the orderlies had flanked you, escorted you to your room, sat you right down on the bed, and locked the door. Who knows what they’d done with the key. All you knew was that three times a day, someone opened the latch in your door, slid a tray of food in, and left again. Nurses came in infrequently to complete routine check-ups and change your chamber pot.

You had nothing to read but the Bible, and nothing to look at besides a confusingly angled visual of the outside world, obscured by a metal grate and brambles. The food was decidedly a highlight and the biscuits were particularly good. Made on site, one of the nurses had said.

On Day Three, it was raining. You took all your bedding off and rearranged it so that your feet faced the window. You’d much rather wake with the sun, and be staring at the door before any of the nurses came into rouse you — they were vicious with their sharp fingertips, prodding you like a child seeing if roadkill was really dead.

As you stood back to admire your interior decorating, you decided that if someone came in and rearranged it, you’d throw a tantrum like the girl three doors down who howled like a banshee every time someone touched her.

The next day, it was raining still. After some bored and delirious pacing of your room, you thumbed through the paper thin pages of the Bible, skimming excerpts that you recalled from childhood as your father had always tried to install religion and morals into your daily life. Aside from knowing the Ten Commandments, he failed miserably. As you flipped through, you noted your copy had been well loved or deeply hated, you weren’t quite sure because every mention of sex had been ripped out or scribbled on.

This isn’t so terrible, you thought. Despite the lack of reading material and the overall monotony, you enjoyed your solitude. Left alone to your own devices all day, free to plot your revenge, and free to rearrange your little room however you wanted.

On the fifth day, there was more rain, but with the exciting addition of thunder. Loud enough that you almost didn't hear the knock. Your eyes flitted from the cool, cement flooring to the door. Someone rapped their knuckle against it several times. There weren’t any words, only painstaking seconds of silence. Finally, the door opened, revealing a man with dark hair and even darker eyes. He stood tall, had a thin, movie-star moustache, and must’ve been a sharp dresser, because beneath his pristine white coat, thin white pinstripes decorated his navy blue trousers.

Despite his charismatic pull, you’d learned to not immediately trust everyone that walked through your door - most of them had a syringe in their pocket and were just waiting for the opportunity to plunge it in.

“Good Morning.” He crooned. “My name is Doctor March, I’m head of this facility.”

Was it morning? You hadn’t gotten your food yet. You pulled your knees up to your chest, staring at him hard. His eyes dropped, momentarily gobbling up the visual of your white underwear, covering a tantalising mound of flesh. He blinked sharply, returning his eyes to yours.

“No need to be afraid, my dear. I’m only here to ask you a few… questions. Simple examination. Get to know each other.”

He took a stethoscope from his front pocket, draping it around his neck. You were hesitant. Maybe it was run-of-the-mill for the head doctor to make his rounds, he did this to everyone, it wouldn’t take long and you would be back in your lonesome before they brought your breakfast. Maybe.

“Now, tell me…” He began, as he confidently approached you. “Why were you brought here?”

“I told my parents I was going to kill them,” you started. “And I — “

“How? Tell me how you wanted to kill them…”

His question stopped you dead in your tracks — up until this point, that was all they needed. Every nurse, assistant, or doctor had heard that singular phrase and scribbled something on their pad. But this Doctor…. This doctor wanted the gory details. He didn’t even have a notepad.

“I told them that I was going to chop them up into small pieces. Like that Lizzie Borden girl.”

“She was acquitted, you know.” He added, warming the chest piece of the stethoscope with his breath. Huh-huh.

You sniffed, adjusting yourself on the bed to move closer to him. The rusty springs squeaked underneath your weight. “Well, if she did do it… I understand why.”

He hummed, pleased. Your red-rimmed eyes darted up to him, confused by the sudden… heavy aura in the room.

“What?”

He said nothing, just grinned one of the most sinister, tight-lipped smiles you’d ever seen. “Deep breaths for me, please.”

He dipped his hand into your gown at the neckline, navigating around the fabric until he felt skin. He pressed the piece to your chest, listening wordlessly. Your heart started racing, and you swung your eyes away from him, hoping to calm it before he noticed. “Go on.”

You took a breath and exhaled once, hard. He moved it to another position on your chest, his knuckles grazing the plumpness of your breast. You took another deep breath, and another exhale. He pulled the stethoscope away, and returned it to his neck. With a single finger, he tapped your bottom lip, indicating that he wanted you to open your mouth.

“So. You wanted to kill your parents with an axe, did you? What else?”

You furrowed your brows at him, perplexed by his unique interest, and stuck your tongue out. He took a depressor from his pocket, and pressed into the meatiest part of your tongue, farther back than you were used to. Your gag reflex threatened, your throat pulsing, but you relaxed. He nodded slowly, seeming pleased. He still looked like he was poised, waiting for your explanation. Your eyes darted from the blurred tip of your tongue to his eyes. Alright, you’d do your best, then.

“Ah tah tha ah wah gahaa tah buh—“

Doctor March laughed; a low, breathy hum. He removed the depressor, wiping your saliva on his inner sleeve. “Apologies. Try again, my dear.”

“I…” You cleared your throat. “I told them I was going to bury the small pieces in the garden and let the Burkes’ hounds eat the rest.”

“Devilish,” he hissed.

“Um…. The Burkes are our neighbours.” You added. He nodded passively.

“Did your parents look fearful? Could you see their expressions glaze over in terror, lives flashing before their eyes?”

“Um… when I went to get the axe, my mother screamed. Loud. I’d never heard her scream like that. I ran towards the door — it was in the garden shed — but she howled and clutched her neck like I’d already done it.”

As you spoke, his eyes were locked on you, enraptured by your telling of this near homicidal experience you’d had. He understood, the drive, the hunger to want to end someone’s pathetic little life. To play God, as it were.

“That’s when my father called the police, and I suppose they called you.”

“Indeed they did. The officers spoke to me directly.”

“They did?”

“Yes. I specialise in murder, you see. Murderous tendencies, rage… both of which you seem to have.”

Shyly, you nodded. You supposed you did struggle with anger issues from time to time….

Noting your sudden sheepish disposition, he cleared his throat. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Rage is a normal human response. To feel unbridled hatred towards someone or something… every human being on earth experiences it. Of course, whether or not they act it, well that defines monster from man. And in some cases,” He added. “The rage is justified.”

To hear that sent a shiver down your spine. The validation, the understanding… perhaps this wouldn’t be such a bad place after all. If being a monster meant feeling, then you were in fact just that. Happily. A monster towards anyone who had wronged you.

“As is that, my dear.”

“What is?”

“Arousal.”

The slat flipped open. An orderly pushed a pale green tray into the slot, as they did every mealtime. Dr. March noticed this and straightened up, removing his hand from your shoulder. He walked to the door, thanked the orderly, and retrieved your tray before setting it at the foot of your bed.

“I’ll let you eat… thank you for allowing me some of your time.”

You could only nod feebly as he walked out the door. Once the lock clanked into place, you reached between your legs, ready to scoff at his accusation until your fingers met your slick cunt. Part of you was embarrassed, another part sour that he knew, and the final part had her tongue out, panting like an overheated dog, wanting him to return.

It was just after lunch time when he came back the next day. The same knocking on your door before it opened, and this time, you felt your heart jump into your throat, thudding away foolishly. This time, he hardly asked any questions, just dove right into examining you like any other patient. Though you hid it, you were in seventh heaven with the way he handled you.

The Doctor took your pulse, pressing his fingers into the inside of your wrist and counting on his watch. While he focused, you studied his face, swearing to remember his dashing features long after he’d left your room again. His black eyes darted over, and you flicked yours away, bashfully. He seemed to commit a number to memory, his lips moving ever so slightly as he said it aloud.

“Head up, please.” His fingertips guided your head, angling it slightly. Without another word, he then pressed two fingers into the pulse in your neck, allowing it throb against the pads. Your breath hitched in your throat.

As though he knew, he stared into your eyes. Confirming that he was right, you stared right back. His breathing was shallow, washing over your lips. Heat bloomed in your cunt, pulling up with a deep clench. He inched closer, somehow still monitoring your pulse. Had the roles been switched, you would’ve forgotten how to count by this point.

“Have you ever wanted to kill anyone?” You asked in a whisper. Your throat was dry.

He leaned so close to you that you could feel his cool breath on your cheeks. “Many times.”

You swallowed. “Have you ever killed anyone?”

This time, he didn’t answer immediately, in his swoon-worthy confident way. Instead, his eyes tunnelled into your soul, dreaming about taking fistfuls of your patient gown and tearing it half, tossing it to the floor and dancing across your naked form. His heavy coat hid what you wanted to see, but he watched your eyes trail down. Had it not been, you would’ve seen exactly what he needed to hide — for professionalism’s sake.

You were unlike any other patient; not in the sense that you wanted to kill people, or even had. Those were a dime a dozen. Your hunger was erotic, and needed sating. Like him, you’d savour the tinier details. You’d take great pleasure in it and after, play gleefully with their blood. He could smell it on you, the need for carnality, for violence.

“You have…” you whispered, closing in the distance. Your underwear were slick with your arousal, you felt your cunt glide against the cotton fibres as you moved towards him. He straightened up, inhaling deeply through his nose. The sudden separation was painful, and you were fairly certain you had let out a pitiful whine.

On the seventh day, it was sunny, but the only hospital staff that visited you was a nurse, who delivered a medication in a tiny paper cup. You clamped your teeth shut, refusing. She tried to force your jaws open with her bright red manicured nails, but you still resisted. With an annoyed huff, she gave up, making a note of the behaviour on her clipboard.

You angrily fingered yourself that afternoon. You thought of Doctor March and his cool hands, and the way that they’d ghost over your skin before roughly grabbing your limbs, yanking you in the direction he wanted you to go. You imagined the way his moustache would tickle the soft flesh of your inner thighs, his teeth nipping at the soft flesh.

Another thought - a darker thought plagued your mind while you pleasured yourself. The thought of him killing. Which, at that point, you were fairly certain he had. The way that he had hurriedly left, refusing to speak any further had told you of his guilty (or perhaps not guilty at all) conscience.

You wondered if he’d killed someone here. Perhaps a patient, perhaps an unsuspecting nurse who had been a little too flirty with him, and he’d used it as an excuse to get close enough to strike. Perhaps he’d killed a rival doctor whom had too big of an ego, a resident from another hospital who tried to climb the ranks of his hospital.

You pictured him, covered in blood and remains. Crimson dripping from his sculpted, veiny arms, with the sleeves of his pristine lab coat rolled up to the elbows. His hair dishevelled, dark strands hanging down in front of his black eyes.

It fuelled your fingers as they pumped in and out, only stopping to draw circles on your clit to bring the sensitivity higher. You came onto your fingers, saying his name over and over again. It started raining again.

It was the ninth day when he finally came back. You had heard his knock, and immediately rushed to stand at the your edge of your bed, hands clasped behind your back. You rocked back and forth on your bare heels, like a good little patient, waiting for instruction.

He opened the door, pausing to look over you. Jaw clenched, eyes burning with intensity. His expression said everything; the absence had been just as hard on him as it was on you — and perhaps, you two had came at the same time. You in your dismal room and him in his ornate, dark office.

He pressed the door shut behind him, keeping his hungry eyes on his meal.

“You crave what I crave,” he hissed, hoisting you up in his arms and slamming your back against the cold wall behind you. Every word sounded so suggestive coming from his mouth, and you longed to hear him speak about everything and anything all at once. You responded by wrapping your legs around his waist, squeezing tight. Your underwear pressed against his coat, fabric grinding against fabric. You whimper at the feeling of the bulge in his pants and even through the layers, he can feel the wet warmth of your cunt.

His thumb hooked around the hem of your underwear, teasing the crease of your hip, before lifting the elastic enough to crawl his fingers underneath the damp fabric. With an exhale, he closed the distance, drowning your whimpers in devouring kisses.

“Just another examination,” he assured, before running his middle finger up and down your slit, smearing your wetness everywhere he could.

There was something thrilling about being fondled by a doctor, perhaps the threat of it being wrong and immoral. You’d heard whispers of hysteria — something that while in his grip, you agreed to having. You were hysterical for his touch, and wanted everything he was willing to give you, despite the ethics. As far as anyone in the halls were concerned, he had every right to examine this patient, and find the cause of her lunacy. The thought had you leaking onto his hand, coating his thick digits in your arousal.

He inserted two fingers into your dripping cunt, sinking them to the knuckle. You wanted to whine, to scream, to bite his collar, and fill the cold hallways with your moans. Instead, you laid your head down on his shoulder, rocking against it in the rhythm that his fingers plunged into you. Squeezing your eyes shut, you pressed your cheek into his white lab coat and panted as quietly as you could. His fingers curled inside of you, exploring your insides curiously. You felt them everywhere, pumping in and out easily.

“Doctor March?” Came a voice from outside.

He froze.

Wide eyes flitted to and fro, your chest heaving with desperate, terrified pants. What would happen if you two were caught? Would it matter, in his grasp? His black eyes rolled upwards and with a displeased groan, the doctor dropped you to your feet. He wiped his fingers on his coat, then turned away from the door to stuff his stiff cock into his waistband, where it would remain until the erection faded. Whatever menial task he was doing would eventually consume his mind enough to take all his thoughts off you. Maybe. Maybe not.

He was gone before you could protest, and you collapsed against the wall in a sweaty mess. But before your depression could sink too deeply into your psyche, the door opened again, and the orderly stepped towards you. Doctor March was still in the hallway, fingers laced in front of his crotch. He was waiting. With two fingers, the orderly beckoned you forward.

“Oh, what now — OUCH!”

As soon as you were out of your room, the orderly took hold of you, digging his thumb deep into the muscle of your upper arm. What was it with them? Couldn’t they just kindly guide you? You wanted to kill him for handling you like that. You wanted to snap his neck, feel the dull crack beneath your hands, and watch as the life disappeared from his eyes like the sun behind clouds. You want to feel his heartbeat slow to a stop, thudding one final time before it faded into nothingness.

When you snapped back to reality, Doctor March was staring at you with a very knowing smile. He bowed his head slightly and swallowed.

“She getting a lobotomy, Doc?” The orderly asked, genuinely curious.

“Something of that nature,” he concurred. “I’m going to start treatment in attempt to cure her hysteria, and preform whatever tests necessary to properly diagnose what ails this young woman.”

You knew what he meant. You felt what he meant. Deep between the slippery walls of your cunt, you felt what Doctor March meant by that. He wasn’t going to lobotomise, he was going to fornicate. You tried to crane your neck to look at him, but he was too far out of your peripheral, and the orderly shoved you forward.

“Good luck to you. She’s a real basket case.”

Once you’d all reached the examination room, which was upstairs and at the very end of the hall, you traded hands, Doctor March putting on a good show for this orderly. He gripped your arm hard — not quite as a hard as they orderly had — enough to depress the skin.

“Thank you, Sam. Please let the others know that I require concentration. Avoid any disturbances at all costs.” “Sure thing, Doc.”

The room was filled with shelves, packed with books on the human mind and all of its maladies. Specimens decorated the shelves that weren’t filled with books; mummified brains, organs in jars. A few plants were shoved into the tiny crevice of a windowsill. You began walking towards them, enchanted by seeing greenery for the first time in almost two weeks.

His stern voice came from behind you, cutting the fascination short. He reached into his coat pocket, retrieving a pair of black rubber gloves. He slipped his fingers into each one, pulling them down and letting the rubber snap back against his wrists. “Ah-ah. The table, please.”

You hadn’t really anticipated a full on examination. Had you read everything wrong? You jumped with each snap of the rubber gloves, suddenly uncertain. Perhaps he was going to lobotomise you. With a dejected sigh, you turned. Maybe later. Putting one foot in front of the other, you made your way over to the examination table and stood obediently in front of it, waiting for his next move. After slipping his arms out of his white coat, Doctor March flicked on a light above, and the shiny metal seem to glimmer underneath it. The coat was hung on a nearby coat stand, and you took a small moment with the delicious new visual. He wore a white shirt, as pristine as his coat, but with black suspenders and black trousers with dark grey pinstripes.

“So, you’re going to attempt to cure me?” You asked, sucking coyly on your bottom lip.

He didn’t answer. Doctor March’s lips collided with yours almost straight away, tossing all tact out the window. He knew what he was doing uncouth and borderline criminal. Of course, a distinguished doctor shouldn’t be dry humping one of his patients in his examination room. It had become uncomfortable though, his arousal swelling well past the point of being ignored. His cock burned with a demanding, carnal need. He continued thrusting his hips upward into your tummy as he peppered your neck with kisses, unable to control the urges to do so.

It was your fault. Simply for being you, which he was unable to resist. He knew that you wanted to kill people as much as he did and that you’d relish the tinier moments of murder. The thought drove him wild, picturing you spattered with someone’s blood, chest heaving, eyes wild with the titillating glimmer of manslaughter. Abruptly, Doctor March pulled away and spun you around, your back facing him. He slid his hands over yours until they reached the shoulders, where he squeezed softly, leaning into you to take in your scent. You could hear his uneven, lust-broken pants as his wide gloved hand eased you down into a bent over position, pressing your bare chest against the cool metal.

“Whether or not this cures your hysteria will remain to be seen… it certainly won’t cure mine. Once I have you, I’ll only want you more.”

With your face smashed against the examination table, you moaned. He had kissed your lips raw, they stung.

“Are you certain you… consent to this treatment?”

You nodded too quickly, wiggling the plump curve of your ass against his crotch. Doctor March groaned — a deep, guttural moan — and took hold of your hips, yanking them backwards into his own groin. “Splendid. Then, up onto the table you go, my dear.”

Obeying him, you turned around, placing both hands on the table and hoisted yourself up into a sitting position.

“Lay back, please.”

He began to examine you as any doctor would - pressing and prodding. You weren’t in any pain, so naturally, the only sounds were your shallow breathing. He felt your lymph nodes in your neck, pressing two fingers delicately against your throat, skating down over your collarbone. Your eyelids fluttered helplessly, which he noticed. They then travelled… carefully… towards your breasts, taking the fullness in the palms. You writhed on the cold, metal table as he squeezed them, rolling your nipples between his gloved thumb and forefinger.

“Perfect,” he crooned. “Perfect.

His hands continued trailing down, pressing firmly into your organs. His fingers traced the curve of your hips, fiddling knowingly with the hem of your underwear, tugging them down slightly. With a deep breath, you dug your heels into the table, lifting your ass off the table. Doctor March smiled, and pulled them down your legs.

“As I said before, my delinquent little darling, you seem to crave what I crave.”

Doctor March took his middle finger, trailing your slit. He then took his forefinger and middle finger and pressed them down on either side of the slit, spreading your cunt wide. The cool air hit it, and you shivered.

“Cold?” He asked.

“The opposite, actually. I feel like I’m on fire.”

Another gloved hand pressed against your naked abdomen, feeling the heat that radiated through the thin rubber. “Indeed you do… and my, my. All for me?”

“All for you.” You echoed.

He inserted one finger, the rubber sliding into your cunt easily. His eyes were on you, locked, to see your reaction. Your eyes closed, you exhaled.

Two fingers, and your stomach muscles clenched. Your pelvic muscles clenched too, pulling his thick fingers further into you. With his thumb, Doctor March encircled your clit, still swollen from the pleasuring before. Your back arched violently, the same way patients’ backs did when hundreds of volts of electricity coursed through their pliable bodies.

Your clear, slick arousal collected in the webbing of his gloves, and Doctor March withdrew them suddenly, holding them up to the light above you. Crystal strands strung between his fingers before breaking into droplets on either side. He smiled inwardly, pleased.

Doctor March leaned down, dragging his flattened tongue the length of your cunt, stiffening the tip of it once he reached your clit — you let out a piercing whine, and he chuckled. “Your sensitivity seems… high.”

“Y-yes, sir.”

“Please sit up, and move to the edge of the table.” He barked, as he undid his own restrictions. You heard the clang of his belt. “Now.”

You did as you were told. The moment approached quickly, and your cunt clenched at the thought.

He wrapped his hands around your backside, pulling your closer to the edge of the table. With ease, he hoisted your legs into the crook of his elbows, holding them there. Your blushing cunt spread open for him, dripping eagerly. Hard enough that he didn’t have to hold it, Doctor March lined his cock up with his hips, pressing his squishy, hot tip into your slit. He took a fistful of your gown, tucking it back behind you so that he had a clear view of the treatment.

The first breach stung, stretching until your cunt finally gave way to his thick cock. The doctor let out a low sound, his legs quivering with the sensation. He wanted to ruin you, to split you wide open and make you cry so loud that all the orderlies came running. But he exercised restraint… slowly sinking his cock into you.

You trembled in his grip, unconsciously trying to writhe away from him, which only pulled an instinctive ferocity from him. He dug his fingers into the meat of your thighs, pulling your closer to his torso. “Stay still.”

The first few humps were steady and slow, the kind that were accompanied by sweet hushes, and ‘it’ll be okay, my darling’s. However, they disappeared as quickly as they’d come — Doctor March began pounding himself into you, sinking himself all the way in.

As he drilled himself into you, the empty examination room was now filled with a cacophony of sounds; skin slapping wetly against skin, panting breaths, and ecstasy-ridden moans. Every shift of position brought his thick cock deeper into your cunt, hitting the deepest spot he could, until it ached each time the head bumped into your cervix.

You weren’t sure how long he’d been fucking you when you'd heard the hinges on the door creak as it opened. Doctor March didn’t seem to hear it, but you certainly did. You blinked, lifting your head heavily. A nurse stood in the doorway, her slender silhouette illuminated by the brightness of the hallway.

For a fleeting moment, you felt fear. You two were caught. Surely, there’d be consequences. But the thought quickly dissolved when you focused on the feeling of the doctor’s cock stretching you wide open, slipping in and out easily with the mutual arousal that leaked out onto the metal table below. You were the one in the arms of the head doctor — any punishments went through him first. Besides, if he was the one to punish you, you’d willingly accept it. The fear was replaced with deviousness, with delight and you stood your ground, waiting for the nurse’s undoubtedly shocked reaction.

Her eyes flitted all around, taking in the scene in front of her. Bemusedly, you watched as they trailed up his legs to his pants, hanging just below his ass as it bucked back and forth with each thrust into you, burying his cock deep inside. She scanned over your fingers as they curled possessively around the back of his neck, stroking his sweat-soaked skin. Your lips twisted into a wicked, daring smile as your eyes met and it was then that she gasped, covering the entire lower portion of her face with her slender, manicured fingers.

Doctor March, now noticing that you had stopped moaning in his ear, straightened up slightly, keeping the rhythm of his thrusts. He lazily turned his head to look behind him, but he was far too deep into euphoria to respond appropriately. His eyes were heavy, half-lidded as he too made eye contact with the nurse. He didn't stop fucking you. Instead, he groaned hard, and dropped his head into the curve of your shoulder. You heard the sound of the door pulling shut, and her high heels echoing hurriedly down the hall.

“She saw us,” you whispered. “She saw you taking me, Doctor March….”

His thrusts became harder and more erratic as his orgasm built and finally spilled out into you in hot spurts. The coil in your stomach twisted tighter until it snapped with a gush and a screaming, begging moan. You two had both been driven over the edge by yet another concerning fascination, voyeurism. The nurse witnessing this foul, illicit act had been so arousing to the both of you that you had, in unison, come undone on each other.

His breathing eventually slowed, and he backed himself out of you. You felt his cum running out of your cunt and down your legs as your dropped them onto the rim of the table.

“Well, how do you feel?”

“Worse.”

He quirked a brow, tilting his head to the side. “I have another hunger now, Dr. March. I want sex… and murder.”

He smiled deviously, slicking his hair back with one hand. “Indeed. Indeed you do.”

As he retrieved your underwear for you, you hopped off the table. “Do you think she’s going to tell?”

“If she does, we’ll take care of it, won’t we?”

The next day, the tenth day, you woke up with a smile on your face. The rain had stopped, the storm system moving away from your location. It remained cloudy. You hadn’t done anything that morning, except eat breakfast. You’d gone to sleep late that night, waiting until all the whispers and wails had died off. And you pleasured yourself again, knowing that the remnants of the Doctor’s thick cum was still inside you.

Just before lunch time, there was a faint knock, and the door opened. The same nurse who had seen Doctor March fucking you was the one who had come to check on you. You two wordlessly stared at each other, daring the other to speak first. Neither did.

She approached you hesitantly, clipboard in hand and the second she was close enough, your fingers clamped around her wrist, yanking her towards you.

“If you say a word about what you saw, he’ll kill you, and I’ll help him.”

She yanked her wrist back, the fear permeating through her core. Though she didn’t acknowledge your threat before hurrying out the door, you felt that she believed you.

Which, all things considered, was a bit of a shame.

t a g l i s t : @kaismanwich / @redwoodghost / @elsamars / @silverzoomies / @kaisbasementwhore / @thewolveswithin / @80strashbag / @twinkiemaximoff / @spill-the-t / @stucktothetwo / @enchanting-evan / @evansb1tch / @yesdevineruler / @anonymous0316 / @eventually27 / @violetharmonscupcake / @my-own-walker / @kai-slut / @fuckedbykai / @iluwmycats / @dewberryobssesed / @the-goblin1 / @dirtyfairy97 / @jellyluvr / @strangerthings420 / @kai-anderson-whore / @piecesofcain / @lilthbunny / @tatelangdonsweater / @ifeeltoofuckingmuch / @howtobesasha

#James Patrick March #James Patrick March x reader #James Patrick March x you #James Patrick March x yn #ahs smut #ahs fanfiction #myfics #requests

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cannedbeefaroni · 10 months

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okokok eddie would cut a lock of your hair and keep it in his wallet. he’d also keep small bottles of your perfume/cologne in his car or in his work bag or on his night stand and would spray some whenever he’d miss you, or would think about you (especially when he’s jerking off to the thought of you when he’s feeling needy and you aren’t there). he’d also annotate books, and then would give them for you to read :3

anywayss those r just some thoughts i’ve recently had ^^

(WARNING: DISGUSTING HORNY BULLSHIT)

He would sneak into the bathroom while youre showering after a 10 hour shift and steal your underwear from the laundry bin and huff your pure unadulterated fermented scent. He could make an educated estimate on your vaginal health just by tasting a sliver of your discharge. He would eat you out on your period if you had one. He would lick your armpits and feet. He has a cork board of pictures of you from afar, unaware of him. He steals your toothbrush to share mouth germs with you. The book part is cute I must say

#edward nashton x reader #edward nashton smut #danonation #danocel #the riddler x reader #riddler smut #riddler x reader #this is horrible

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reedsofintimacy · 29 days

Text

✨️ domme-ification of house husband chores ✨️

When I'm doing her laundry, she pauses me and grabs at my arm. "Oh darling, you forgot the most important step" She'd pick one of her dirty panties out of the bin, and raise it up toward me with a smirk. "These are dirty panties aren't they cutie? So, how are they going to get clean if they haven't had their prewash?? 😇💞 Open up your mouth, boy."

I'd open up, already stiffening from her attention. "Good boy. Now lick, puppy, ufuhuhu 🥰👸🏻 Get them nice and presoaked" She'd train me how to pre-treat her used panties. Pressing them firm to my nose until her scent suffocated me. "Breathe, puppy. Mmm that's it. Dont let mommy's scent go to waste. Now lick right here. Where my pussy lives all day." I'd show her my neediest, most thorough licking; throbbing against my pants until she pulled them away from me.

"See this yellow tinge baby? Well if they're really soiled and you see any hint of mommy's discharge, they need a full 30 second soak. 😈 Open." Before I could respond she'd push her panties fully into my mouth and pull my lips closed - holding my chin shut as i whined. Her flavor and that of the fabric pulling out my saliva and infusing it into her undies. It'd feel like an eternity, that half a minute, until she opened my lips again, fished them out, and chucked them into the washer. "Now you do it. For every pair. Understand?" She'd give me a firm smack on my ass. "Good boy. Clean mommy's clothes."

By the time I got done loading the wash my mouth would be so dry, my bits so achy, and my head reeling with overexposure to my owner's essence 🥵

》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《

When I'm doing the cleaning, she'd come by and click her tongue. "Baby, you know you can't wear your clothes while you clean. They'll get all dirty." I'd blush and start to remove my shirt, but feel her stop me. "Here. Let mommy help you." I'd feel her hands explore and grope my body far more than was necessary as she pulled my shirt off, and whine when she unbuttoned my pants.

She'd ignore my gigantic bulge in my briefs as she stripped me down to my underwear, then planted a big loud kiss on my bare chest. "Much better. I have to be able to see how hard you're working 🫦"

I'd go back to cleaning for a while, feeling her gaze oogling me the entire time she watched her muscled pet work to polish her home. When I'm wiping the floors down on all fours, I'd gasp as i suddenly felt a weight on my back pushing me into the floor. She'd be stepping on me. "Got you."

She'd keep me held in place a moment admiring her power over me, really and truly pinned. Then she'd raise her foot, and flip me on over onto my back, then resume her stepping on my chest. "Now the floors are all clean. But if I walk around on them with dirty feet I'll just make it all dirty again. You understand, don't you darling? 🥰💦💀

#reedswrites #mommy k!nk #male sub #gentle fdom #domme mommy #dom mommy #subby boys

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shadow-bringer-ao3 · 2 months

Text

How to Save the World by Hatake Kakashi

It all starts when, for the first time since he lost his team, Hatake Kakashi shows up precisely on time for a meeting. The Sandaime Hokage, who has grown used to his current most skilled shinobi being an upwards of three hours late most days, had not actually been prepared for Kakashi to slip through his window at exactly seven, landing without a sound just inside the room before wandering over to his desk.

He looks more tired than usual, Hiruzen notes, not even making an attempt to hide his weariness. It bodes ill, he thinks. Last time Kakashi had looked like this, he had taken so many S-rank missions back to back that Hiruzen had had to put him on guard duty to get him to rest. This doesn’t feel quite the same but he can’t help but think it’s no better.

“Hokage-sama,” Kakashi greets.

“You’re early,” is all Hiruzen can think to say for a moment. Kakashi hums, rolling his shoulders in the approximation of a shrug.

“I had a nightmare,” Kakashi says lightly. Hiruzen blinks, surprised that the man would be so candid— “You see, the moon came down and it told me ‘Kakashi, one day you’ll be the Rokudaime Hokage’ and then it started dancing with Uchiha Madara except Madara had Hashirama-sama’s face on his chest.” Ah. Well, that kind of excuse is certainly more in line with how Kakashi usually acts even if it makes Hiruzen more concerned for how the man’s mind works.

“Is that so.” Hiruzen carefully makes sure his voice is nowhere near questioning. Kakashi nods gamely anyway, his visible eye curling into a smile that gives Hiruzen a bad feeling.

“Mhm but that’s not all the moon told me,” Kakashi says cheerfully.

When it’s clear his shinobi is expecting some sort of response, Hiruzen responds blandly with, “how intriguing.” Kakashi leans forward conspiratorially and, despite himself, Hiruzen copies the movement.

“It also told me…” Kakashi pauses dramatically before saying, “that I must go soul-searching.” Hiruzen blinks at the Hatake before mechanically dropping his blank gaze to the hitai-ate slid across his desk. Hiruzen looks slowly back up at Kakashi. For the first time since the war, Hiruzen can see both of the boy’s eyes.

“Soul-searching,” he echoes. He’s fairly sure Hatake Kakashi, perhaps his best ANBU and the most unlucky shinobi currently in the village, just quit. Something which is actually illegal, despite his leniency towards Tsunade.

“I’m glad you understand!” Kakashi chirps. Chirps. What.

“What.” Kakashi just beams at him and… vanishes in a swirl of air? Hiruzen stares at where the shinobi was and then realizes that, before anything else, he’s going to have to find a new prospective sensei for the new prospective Team 7. He’s also going to have to fill out the paperwork to officially discharge Kakashi from ANBU. He’s also got to decide if he’s going to list Kakashi as a rogue-nin or hand wave his absence like he did Tsunade’s.

“Fuck.” He says emphatically and gets busy trying to figure out who to assign Team 7 to. Ebisu doesn’t have a team but he’s never been the sort Hiruzen really wants in charge of teaching the next generation of shinobi, Genma doesn’t have a team but he’s as liable to throw the brats headlong into the Forest of Death as he is to actually teach them, Tenzo is strong and worked with Kakashi long enough to understand the basics of the sharingan but Hiruzen would be loathe to lose another skilled ANBU…

Kisame is being followed. Or Itachi is but it amounts to the same thing. Itachi’s noticed it as well, his sharingan active and his eyes flicking to take in the forest around them. There are very few people out there that could follow around the two of them without getting caught and none who would have a reason to as opposed to attacking or running.

Maybe they want to join the Akatsuki? Although if they think this is the way to make a good first impression, Kisame is pretty sure they don’t want them. Of course, there’s not really any missing-nin listed in any of Bingo Books that are skilled enough to be considered for the Akatsuki anyway.

Of course, Kisame thinks blandly when their stalker finally wanders into sight, nose buried in a book, Hatake Kakashi is not a missing-nin by any measure and he’s definitely at the skill level of an Akatsuki prospect. Kisame and Itachi do not exchange a glance because they’re more professional than that but the urge is there.

“Oh hello Hoshigaki-san, Itachi-kun,” Hatake greets pleasantly, eyes curling into crescents. And that’s a surprise too— last Kisame knew, the Konoha shinobi wore his hitai-ate over his scarred eye. Although, now that Kisame is looking for it, he can’t actually see any hitai-ate.

“…Hatake-san,” Kisame returns because Hatake was polite. Itachi appears to have gone catatonic. In light of this, Kisame finds himself asking “what are you doing here?”

“Oh, you know,” Hatake says happily, “soul-searching.”

“Soul-searching,” Kisame echoes. The situation is not making any more sense as time goes on.

“Mhm,” Hatake hums, attention back on his book. Kisame finally gives into the urge to glance at his partner but Itachi is placidly watching Hatake and doesn’t seem to notice Kisame’s questioning look.

“…Kakashi-taichou?” Itachi finally inquires after a long pause. The honorific is a little concerning since Itachi hasn’t been a Konoha shinobi for a long time now but Kisame’s willing to give him the benefit of the doubt considering how strange this interaction has been.

“Say, Itachi,” Hatake starts, eyes still glued to his book, “what would you do if the moon was evil?” Okay, what the fuck. That’s not a normal question. Itachi’s brow furrows but Kisame genuinely can’t tell if it’s because he’s pondering his answer or because Hatake just asked something insane. Sage, what if Konoha shinobi are just like this? Kisame can’t deal with Itachi asking him his opinion on evil moons or— or lonely suns or whatever.

“I would destroy it,” Itachi says eventually. Kisame wonders if his partner is being serious or if this is some sort of weird code. At this point, he’d almost prefer it if his partner was a traitor and this was all some weird code that would make sense at a later time. Hatake hums again.

“If you say so,” the weird man says cheerily before wandering into the forest with his nose still buried in his book.

“What the fuck.” Itachi, ever in Big Brother Mode, gives him a Look for the swear.

Maybe this whole day has been a fever dream…

Kakashi is in Kamui. Obito has no idea how long Kakashi has been in Kamui but there he is, relaxing against a block, reading Icha Icha. He does not, Obito notices, have a hitai-ate. He also doesn’t have his father’s tanto and Obito honestly can’t remember a time Kakashi was without that tanto when outside Konoha. Maybe he assumed Kamui is safe? He would have no reason to think otherwise— he would have had to get through with Obito’s mangekyo and as far as he knows, Obito is dead.

Although, as far as Obito knew, Kakashi didn’t have access to the mangekyo. That must have changed, clearly, but he doesn’t know when or how and Obito— well, Obito has known everything about Kakashi these past years. Every mission, every failed genin team, every visit to the Memorial Stone. He hasn’t checked up on Kakashi in three days. What could have possible happened in three days to have Kakashi gain access to the mangekyo, learn to warp into kamui, and apparently retire. Or go rogue or something.

“You know,” Kakashi muses apropos nothing, “I always wondered what I would have done if I had a second chance. Save Minato-sensei, save Kushina-nee, save my father?” Kakashi flips a page in his book. “Save you, Obito?” Obito stills, every tiny fidget vanishing as his focus narrows down to Kakashi and the space between them. “I suppose it’s a moot point. I’m now, not then. There’s nothing I can do to change those events in this time, no jutsu I can use, no sacrifice I can make. The past is gone, the dead are dead. And there’s nothing either of us can do about it.” Obito debates leaving Kakashi here, talking to empty space, snuffing out whatever tiny hope his former teammate thinks he found. He debates going down there, playing Tobi or Madara or just some random eye-stealing shinobi. He debates for one moment killing Kakashi. He leaps down to land in front of him but Kakashi doesn’t so much as glance up, even though he’s clearly not reading any more. If he ever was.

“How?” He asks. Kakashi fingers the edge of Icha Icha for a moment before he snaps the book closed and slides it away, finally looking up at Obito.

“Does it matter?” Kakashi asks. Obito stares at him, thinks about his hand through Rin’s chest. He doesn’t kill Kakashi.

“Where’s your hitai-ate?” Kakashi blinks at him, apparently not expecting that question. He smiles or at least the way his eyes curve implies he does.

“I turned it in. I’m soul-searching.” Obito stares flatly, disbelieving.

“And, what, the Hokage just let you go?” Kakashi beams. Really truly beams. And it doesn’t look fake. Played up, yes, teasing, absolutely, but there’s no sardonic edge to it, no sense that it’s empty. Three days. Three days and Kakashi might as well be a different man.

“Oh, he didn’t really have much of a choice. He can’t follow me into Kamui, after all.” Kakashi sends an appreciative look around like Kamui, blocky and unending and just generally creepy, is a place to like.

“Why are you here? Why are you doing all this?” Obito asks, a note of frustration curling out from his careful control, infecting his voice and demeanor. Kakashi had always been able to drag his less savory emotions to the forefront. Irritation, annoyance, anger. Hate.

“Because you’re stuck in the past,” Kakashi says simply. “You’re looking back. For once, I’m looking forward.” Obito closes the gap between them in a moment, wrenching Kakashi up by the front of his flack jacket and slamming him back into the wall behind him.

“I am creating a future that not even you can ruin,” Obito snarls. “I’m dragging these violent, unforgivable nations to peace kicking and screaming.” Kakashi reaches out and Obito expect to feel a hand at his throat or cheek but no— Kakashi’s fingertips just hit his mask, curling lightly along it’s edge. He had forgotten he was wearing it.

“It won’t bring her back,” Kakashi says softly. “It won’t bring any of them back. An illusion is just an illusion and it will never be the same.” There’s a half-second of warning, Kakashi’s chakra spiking as the air warps, and then he’s gone, no hint of him having ever been there at all beyond the fast-fading smell of dog.

Orochimaru is in his lab when the Hatake brat steps in. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say ANBU Inu steps in. There’s no sign of Hatake’s perpetual slouch or his wandering attention, just the smooth movements and sharp focus of ANBU. Orochimaru sets down the vial he had only just picked up and keeps one careful eye on Hatake. Hatake has always been skilled, a dangerous opponent even to the Sannin, but he had always been weaker. Now, Orochimaru isn’t so sure. His chakra is smothered to just the barest hint of ozone but there is a difference in the way he holds himself, a confidence in his movements, that puts Orochimaru on edge.

The sharingan, he realizes suddenly. It no longer stands out as distinctly other. Hatake has somehow managed to integrate it into his chakra system. It probably doesn’t take nearly as much chakra as it used to, though Hatake is still keeping his eye closed. There’s no hitai-ate covering it. How… curious.

“Was there something you wanted?” Orochimaru asks. Hatake stops his circling between Orochimaru and the door. He looks far more wolf-like than he usually allows himself to.

“I’m giving you warning,” Kakashi says, “because you were once friends with people close to me.” Sakumo, Orochimaru thinks, though he hadn’t know the younger Hatake was aware his father once ran with the Sannin. “Leave Uchiha Sasuke alone,” Kakashi continues, just the hint of a growl in his voice, “or I’ll tear your throat out with my teeth.”

“Oh?” Orochimaru says dangerously, shifting forward in a clear threat. Hatake doesn’t blink, doesn’t shrink back, doesn’t tremble. There’s no fear scent in the air. “And what, pray tell, would you know about that?” Hatake regards him coldly.

“I’ll only say it once more. Leave Uchiha Sasuke out of your plans. If you want a sharingan so bad, take it up with Danzo.” Hatake is gone in the next moment, vanished into the air with no hint of a shunshin or other jutsu. Just the barest hint of red.

(Zetsu dies screaming.)

The door that blocks the entrance to the Akatsuki hideout scrapes open. This would be less noticeable if everyone in the Akatsuki wasn’t already gathered in the meeting room. Everyone stops and turns almost as one, waiting to see what idiot decided to waltz into their lair. (Konan and Pein don’t appreciate it when Deidara calls it a lair but he calls it like he sees it, un.)

When the idiot is revealed to be Hatake Kakashi, of all people, the air turns just a hair more panicky. The sound of Kisame’s forehead meeting the table is loud in the quiet. Hatake wanders further in, nose buried in a book (is that porn?!), and drops into the seat Zetsu once used without a word. It was shock that stilled everyone’s hand initially but now no one makes a move because if they can avoid a fight with Hatake Kakashi, man of a thousand justsu, why the fuck wouldn’t they? He couldn’t beat them all but that doesn’t mean he couldn’t do some serious damage before he died. It is, surprisingly, Itachi that speaks up first.

“Why are you here, Kakashi-taichou?” He asks politely.

“I’m terrorizing your boss into having morals again,” Hatake informs. He flips a page in his book. Itachi placidly stops Kisame from slamming his head against the table again.

“What the fuck?” Deidara puts out there. Because honestly, what the fuck.

“Don’t mind me,” Hatake says cheerfully. He flips a page in his book. Deidara’s not sure he’s actually reading.

“…I have morals,” Pein says after a long moment. Hatake hums and flips another page in his book. He doesn’t respond. After a moment, Konan clears her throat.

“If you don’t leave, we are going to have to kill you, Hatake-san.” Finally, Hatake looks up, book snapping shut in his hold. His one open eye scans over them all and Deidara scowls when it gets to him. Hatake might not be an Uchiha but everyone knows he has one of their eyes. Deidara hates the stupid sharingan.

“Maa, that’s not very nice,” Hatake says lightly. “I’m really only here to visit an old friend.”

“Who the fuck is friends with you?” Hidan snaps. “Fucking Itachi?!” Hatake blinks. It’s slow and lazy like. Deidara wonders if the guy thinks they’re threats at all.

“No,” he says. He does not elaborate. After a moment he opens his book back up. There’s only a second before the air twists and an arm appears to drag Hatake away into thin air. They all stare at the now empty seat. Kisume attempts to brain himself again, once more stopped by Itachi.

“What the fuck?” Deidara says again because it really cannot be said enough. Seriously, Konoha nin are the worst.

“What are you doing?” Obito snarls. He’s got Kakashi jammed up against a cube in Kamui again though considering the stupid genius asshole managed to escape last time he doesn’t figure he’ll be overly successful at keeping him here this time. He should just stab him. Leave him to die. Obito’s going to get a better version of him and Rin in the Infinite Tsukuyomi anyway, what’s the point of leaving him alive if he’s being more trouble than he’s worth?

“Weren’t you listening?” Kakashi asks innocently. “I’m terrorizing you into having morals again. I can’t punch you and make you good or talk you into being better or threaten to take away your right to bones or anything so this is the best I can do.” The worst part about it, Obito thinks, the worst part is that he sounds so genuine while saying such insane shit.

“Kakashi.” Obito stops because he’s not entirely sure how he should respond to something like that. “Kakashi, literally what the fuck.”

“What’s the point of putting the entire world under an illusion, anyway? Sure. everyone would get their perfect little worlds but they would all starve to death,” Kakashi says. Obito stares at him.

“What.”

“If everyone was in an illusion,” Kakashi says patiently, “how would they eat? Or drink, actually? Or have kids? Everyone would just die.”

“That— no, they— this fucking world sucks, anyway, and if everyone dies happy, what does it matter?!” Kakashi frowns at him. He looks disappointed which is entirely unfair. Kakashi should hate him or be angry with him but he just looks— tired. Disappointed. Sad but in a resigned kind of way. It’s not— even now, it’s not the empty exhaustion that’s plagued him since Obito killed Minato-sensei and Kushina-nee (oh god, he killed them, they were family and he killed them).

“It’s not peace if everyone’s dead,” Kakashi said. “And illusions aren’t real. That happiness isn’t real. Even the sharingan can’t trick an entire world to believe an entirely fake lifetime. It won’t work, Obito. If you don’t want to come back to Konoha, that’s fine, I’ll stay with you. If you want to work towards peace, that’s fine. But starting a war where the end result is an entire dead planet is not the way to get it.” Obito stares at Kakashi. Kakashi, who would leave Konoha for him even though Konoha is everything to him. Kakashi, who was always the smartest one on their team. Kakashi, who agrees that things should be better. Kakashi, who he can’t bring himself to kill. Kakashi, who he knows is right.

Obito runs.

Something very strange is happening in the world right now. Jiraiya has feelers out in just about every nation. He’s probably the most knowledgeable spymaster in the world. The things he knows go as follows:

One: Hatake Kakashi, his grand-student, has left Konohagakure in a not dissimilar way to how Tsunade left Konoha. This makes less than zero sense because Kakashi adores Konoha. It’s all the kid has left. Jiraiya lost everything and left. Kakashi lost everything and he sold his soul to Konoha. Kakashi is obsessive to the point of concern and there is no earthly reason Jiraiya can possibly come up with that explains why Kakashi is not still at Konoha.

Two: something happened with the Akatsuki. They’ve been exceedingly quiet lately, barely doing more than the absolute minimun required to keep a terrorist organizaion afloat. Nagato and Konan have redoubled their presence in Amegakure which feels a little like a step in the right direction, if Jiraiya’s being honest. There’s not been a whisper about the Akatsuki’s plans regarding the bijuu.

Three: something happened over at Mountains’ Graveyard. Let him rephrase. Something exploded over at Mountains’ Graveyard. It had to have been a big explosion as well because that’s an area that’s pretty universally avoided.

Four: Kiri has gone abruptly silent. The only thing Jiraiya’s managed to get out of that is that the Mizukage apparently had a complete change in personality.

Other things have happened as well, a cascade effect of change across every nation. Kakashi seems to be at the center of a good quarter of things he comes across. Nothing that makes sense. Most of the rest of it seems tied to the Akatsuki’s missing presence or the missions they are taking or it’s tied to the absolute nothing coming in and out of Kiri.

Something very strange is happening in the world. Jiraiya just hopes it’s a good strange.

Tsunade opens the door to the Hatake brat and a guy in an Akatsuki cloak and an orange mask. Tsunade slams the door shut. Shizune is gone, dealing with their last matters in town before they leave. Tsunade is not drunk. She knows this. She knows intimately every stage of drunkenness and how it affects her. Tsunade is not drunk. She opens the door. Hatake and the Akatsuki guy are still there.

“What the fuck do you want?” She demands.

“How do you feel about healing—” Tsunade slams the door in their faces. When she turns around to go out the window, they’re in the middle of the room. “Rude,” Hatake says, like he didn’t just teleport into her hotel room uninvited. “I know you don’t like blood and all but I’m trying to stop the end of the world, here.” Tsunade stares at them. She thinks for a moment about the effects of repeated head trauma and then about the average injuries a shinobi usually gets in a year. She decides that Kakashi has no brain left and that she does not want any part in this, for a variety of reasons.

“Get out of my room,” she says.

“It’s not technically your room,” Hatake tries.

“Out,” Tsunade interrupts loudly. Hatake sighs and looks like a kicked puppy but does grab his oddly silent companion by the elbow and drag them past her, out the door.

“I told you she wouldn’t help,” the Akatsuki guy says with a surprisingly low voice before Tsunade slams the door shut behind them. She waits until she’s sure they’re gone before opening the door and heading down towards where she knows Shizune will be waiting. She’ll deal with whatever the fuck that was exactly never.

It started with Hatake Kakashi showing up on time. Hiruzen will not budge on that. He’s half convinced he somehow ended up in an alternate universe where everything is just a little weird and that was the first sign. It started with Kakashi. It continued with Jiraiya coming back, looking uneasy and hesitantly hopeful with news that apparently bad things are just. Resolving themselves. It continued with Team 7 (under Gekko Hayate) starting to act just plain weird. It continued with Danzo’s death— apparently of natural causes but everyone has their doubts, of course. It continued with Team 7’s disappearance and Gekko’s miraculous recovery of his lifetime illness. Gekko himself seems entirely uncertain on both of these topics. It continued with Tsunade’s return and subsequent hostile takeover of the hospital, complaining about ‘stupid silver-haired brats’ and ‘creepy fucking undead Uchihas’ and ‘that asshole is blackmailing and bribing me, the little shit’ all the while. Hiruzen decides he will not deal with this any longer. He resigns.

Shikako is pigeonholed into becoming Hokage. He makes sure that it is everyone's problem.

Obito will admit, he was distracted. He didn’t see the attack coming. Then again, who the fuck would expect a tiny red and pink arrow of a genin to come flying out of the woods at speeds even the sharingan can’t keep up with just to put a tiny fist through your chest? No one, that’s who.

Obito still gasps awake, sorer than he has been in years, a backlog of guilt choking him up. He is surrounded. Kakashi is behind and half under him, apparently acting as his not-death-bed, and the pink-haired menace that killed him in the first place is disturbingly close to his face, staring at him intensely. Sasuke is on his left and Naruto on his right and he feels a little like he might die a second (third?) time.

“What the fuck?” Obito half-sobs with feeling.

“It’s better not to question it,” Kakashi recommends sagely.

(“Hey so are we ever going back to Konoha?” Naruto asks a week later after Obito has cried enough tears to last at least seven lifetimes and feels a little more like a human being. The whole group turns to him. Obito doesn’t particularly want to return to Konoha. He’s still sorting through the mess of emotions Madara manipulated him into having in his head but he knows that Konoha definitely isn’t his home any more, if it ever was. It’s hurt him too much and he’s hurt it too much. Sakura, little pink-haired she-devil that she is, shrugs.

“Nah,” she says after a moment. And that, apparently, is the end of that.)

#nart fic #How to Save the World by Hatake Kakashi #originally posted on ao3 #kakaobi #timetravel #hatake kakashi #uchiha obito #various others #au

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mara-tevith-solo · 1 year

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It Takes Two

Part 2 is here finally

Part 1, Part 3, Part 4

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x enhanced ex-avenger reader

Warnings: Angst, happy ending, kinda possessive Miguel, love confessions, mentions of injuries and medical stuff, self gaslighting, they finally stop being idiots

Words: 1.8k+

Rated: PG-13

You woke up alone and in pain. Well, it wasn't exactly pain as you knew it, but it was definitely discomfort. The right side of your chest felt like it was woven with lead and your head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, adding to your over all discomfort "You gave us all quite a scare!" A Spider-Nurse chuckled as soon as he entered your room with perfect timing, scaring the crap out of your poor little self.

"What happened?" You asked, your voice rough and popping from disuse, the heart monitor beeping in time with your fright.

He began poking and prodding, measuring your condition with his eyes and ears "Doc Ock got an extremely good hit in, sent you flying based on what Lyla said. Bruised your spine, gave you a stellar concussion, and a decent laceration in your right pectoral. It'll scar, but you'll live and that's the most important thing." He was rambling, but his words made everything rush back to you, including a certain confession to a certain someone. You wanted the floors of HQ to swallow you whole and never let you go. The very last thing you'd ever wanted to do was bother Miguel with your feelings for him, make him feel awkward and put on the spot. You were certain that he didn't feel for you as you felt for him, that there was no way he'd let himself because of the Universal difference that stood between you. "Head hurt?" The nurse asked with a warm tone, making you imagine the soft smile that lurked under his mask.

"Ya, just a bit." You nodded a little too quickly for comfort, passing off your emotional turmoil as physical discomfort.

He nodded in understanding before pulling your hospital gown down just enough to check on your wound "Let me just see how this is healing and I'll go get a Doc so they can give you something for the pain."

"Thank you." You said it as sincerely as you could, pulling what looked like another smile from the Spider-Person.

"You're very welcome." His fingers were gentle as he removed the bandage, not letting the tape pull too much. The air was cold against the wound, making it sting ever so slightly "Looks good, forty-five percent closed on it's own. I'll go find a Doc for you." He put the bandage back before leaving just as suddenly as he'd arrived, his steps just as quiet as every other Spider's.

It didn't take long for the Doctor to come, her white coat pristine over her dark suit "Hello Y/n, I'm Doctor Petra. How are you feeling?" She asked in that measured tone all Doctors seemed to use.

"Uncomfortable."

She nodded with a thoughtful hum, quickly putting on nitrile gloves and pulling back the bandage for her own peek "Well, I can confidently say you can be discharged today, the wound is healing excellently on it's own. And I can give you some prescription grade Ibuprofen for the pain if you want."

"No, I've got some at home I can use."

"Ok. Light duty for a while I'm afraid. No missions or heavy lifting until after your follow up, ok?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Alrighty!" She hummed, taking off her gloves and throwing them to the bin across the room "You're all set to go! Your clothes are there on the chair, take your time getting dressed and holler if you need help! See you in two weeks!" She got up and left your room before you could ask when in two weeks you were supposed to go back, but decided to not press it as you slowly stood and shuffled over to your pile of clothes stiffly. They were clean, mostly, save for the blood on your undershirt and jacket, but there wasn't a speck of dirt to be found. Getting your shirt on was hell, your wound not wanting to let you raise your arm up enough so you had to get creative. Walking out of the hospital wing was relieving, though seeing Miguel waiting for you at the entrance was a whole new stress in and of itself.

He was still as a statue as he waited, stoic as usual with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. You felt like you were walking into a lecture as you stiffly closed the space between you until there were only two feet left "Hey..." You greeted first, you voice soft and light in trepidation.

"Ready?" His voice didn't match his visage, it was light and warm instead of flat, his eyes that shade of garnet that was quickly becoming your favorite. You didn't trust yourself to speak, instead nodded and quickly falling into step beside him. His hand immediately found itself a home on your mid-back, warm and soothing, anchoring through your jacket. Addicting. You wanted to sink into the contact, and you could swear he sensed that as his fingers spread to increase contact, taking up nearly an entire third of your back. He didn't say or do anything as you both walked towards his office, just coexisted in the same bubble as people stopped and murmured around you. "So, I suppose we have something pretty important to talk about." His words filled the messy space as soon as the doors closed behind you, his expression instantly changing to something akin to teasing amusement.

"Oh?" You asked, pulling away from him to sit on a desk, needing to take the pressure off of your hips and back.

He raised a brow at your bid of ignorance, the corners of his mouth barely curling in a restrained smile that was fighting for freedom "Mhmm." He took a spot barely inches away from you, between your knees. Your heart was racing wildly in your chest, in his ears, your throat jumping in time under his gaze. He found it adorable, how nervous you suddenly were. "Something about me being pretty when I smile?" His smile grew in spite of his attempts to curb it as your eyes widened, realizing that he did indeed remember everything you'd said, and confirming to him that you remembered as well. "And how you've had a crush on me for the last year." He watched as you looked away, mortified, a dullness lending itself to your eyes. It concerned him, making his suit recede from his hands as he reacted for you, broaching the last few inches as he gently grabbed your chin between his thumb and forefinger and brought your focus back to him "Hey now." He cooed low in his throat, trying to coax you out of the shell he saw you constructing.

"I shouldn't have said any of that. It's unfair of me to burden you with my feelings. I'm really sorry, I promise to not make it a problem for you." Your words were hasty as they tumbled off your tongue, still not looking him in the eyes.

He ducked into your gaze, worried as you tried to shut him out and shut the conversation down, made you look him in the eyes as he brow furrowed "Why would it be a problem for me?"

"For a multitude of reasons!" Your voice was suddenly loud and you were willingly meeting his gaze, eyes swirling with a plethora of emotions, so many that he suddenly wanted to kiss away and chase out of your mind with all the love he could give you for the entirety of his life. "We're from different Universes for one! And you deserve so much better than me!"

His head tilted to the side as your words rang in his head. Did you truly believe that you weren't good enough for him? If anything, he whole-heartedly believed he wasn't good enough for you! "What?"

"I wasn't even good enough for my ex! He threw me away as soon as he could, after everything! I'm broken! You can do so much better than me. You deserve so much better..." You sniffled, tears falling fast and hard from your eyes.

Both of his hands found your cheeks, his thumbs tenderly brushing away your tears before he was pressing his forehead to yours, sharing air with you, hoping that his thoughts would be shared with you "Eres mi cielo, mi alma. Te amo, más que a nada." He rumbled into the minimal space "You are everything to me, Y/n. You always will be." He vowed, making your tears multiply as the words you'd longed to hear were finally in the air between you "I'm not Steve, I'm not going to leave you for a 'what if' because there's no one better for me than you. Because I love you. I want to grow old with you, I want to raise children with you, make a life with you. And only you. Only if you want the same with me."

Your heart was stuttering as you processed his words, as you searched for a falsehood you already knew you'd never find. You were nodding before you had a chance to get the words out "Yes, for a million years, yes!" His smile was everything to you in that moment, so broad you were sure his cheeks would be sore later, his eyes so bright they were like red stars.

"Can I kiss you?" He asked softly, moving so close that his nose was caressing yours, sending goosebumps across your body with a rush of thrill and anticipation.

You nodded, not breaking contact as his breath fanned your face lightly "Please do, Miguel." He didn't waste a moment, pressing his plush lips to yours feather light, testing the waters. It felt like he was being electrocuted in all the best ways, a tingle rushing up and then down his spine as your lips pressed so deliciously against his. He couldn't tell who deepened it, all he knew was that in no time your lips were dancing together, following a rhythm only they knew as you both clung desperately to each other, his hands under your shirt, touching as much of your skin as they could, while your hands were tangled in his hair. He could barely pull away from you even a few inches to catch his breath, your pupils blown as wide as his no doubt were "I love you." You whispered softly, smiling up at him so prettily. He groaned a growl as he dove into another kiss, devouring your breathy giggles as you kissed him back. You were finally his, where you belonged, and he was going to make sure you remained by his side, he was going to love you like you'd never been loved before. He swore it to the Multiverse. To all the Gods. To every molecule in his being. He'd love you til the end of Time itself.

#miguel o'hara x reader #Spider-Man 2099 x reader #miguel o'hara #across the spider-verse

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jahayla-parker · 10 months

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New Chapter : Freddy Carter x Reader

Description: 4.2k wc, Freddy and his wife welcome their newborn into their lives. Can be read as a stand-alone or as a part two to Pregnant Pause. Fluff, family.

Warnings: pregnancy and newborns and related topics including by not limited to: pregnancy, labor, blood, discharge, accidents, changing diapers, breastfeeding, hospitals, etc.

This is a Ko-Fi request from @missdreamofendless 💜 thank you so much darling for your support! 🤗

“How are ya feeling, love?” Freddy asked as he checked in with his wife for the millionth time. He hadn’t left y/n’s side since they arrived at the hospital, but he was still worried he would miss a sign that she needed him to do something for her. She’d just given birth to their newborn baby and Freddy wanted to make sure she was okay. “You did so great, my darling,” Freddy praised when y/n gave him a tired smile and a weak thumbs up in response to his question. He leaned over and pressed his lips to her still clammy forehead.

“Aren’t they just the cutest?” Y/n mused tiredly as she gazed at the clear roller bin coated with a fuzzy blanket the hospital had their newborn resting in. Her mind and body were exhausted beyond belief. But she hadn’t ever been happier than this moment, here with her husband and their newborn.

“Just like their mum,” Freddy agreed, squeezing y/n’s hand as he admired their baby. “You’re seriously so amazing,” he whispered lovingly as he turned back to his wife. He caught sight of the bashful expression she had after his earlier compliment, grinning as he watched it increase with his latest one. He was so amazed by her, especially after today. “You can sleep darling, I’ll watch over you two,” he promised as y/n tried to stay awake.

Y/n hummed softly and shook her head. “You need to rest too,” she whispered. She sat up, despite Freddy’s protests, and leaned forward until she could gently roll the baby bin towards them. Once she stationed it between them, up by her head, she smiled down at their newborn. “There,” she said, looking up at her husband. “Now, you can sleep too,” she offered.

Freddy grinned and kissed the back of y/n’s hand.

“Oh, let me slide over so you can use the bed too,” y/n suggested. But before she could move, Freddy’s hands clamped carefully over her forearms as he restricted her movements.

Freddy shook his head. “I’m fine where I am,” he promised. “You need to let your body heal, darling, you’ve been through a lot,” he reminded her softly.

Y/n gave him a tired smile, clearly not in a state to argue. “If you’re sure,” she mumbled as her eyes became heavier. Once she saw Freddy was seated back on the cushioned window bench beside her, she fully let herself rest against the pillow behind her head. “But, when we get home, I intend to sleep beside my husband,” she said lovingly.

Freddy smiled and squeezed y/n’s hand. “Of course. Anything you want, darling,” he promised. He watched y/n closely until he was sure she’d fallen asleep. He kissed the back of her hand as he checked on their newborn. When he knew his family was safe and resting, he curled up on the bench and laid down beside them to rest.

Y/N’s eyes flew up upon hearing her newborn’s cry. She groggily leaned up, blinking rapidly to get her vision to clear.

Freddy snapped awake upon hearing y/c/n crying. He jumped up from the bench and reached into the rolling bin crib that was beside him. He carefully lifted the baby up into his arms and rocked them slowly as he shushed them. He gave his wife a loving smile briefly upon feeling her eyes on him.

Y/n watched patiently for a few minutes as Freddy desperately tried to get y/c/n to settle down. He was doing everything right, but their newborn hadn’t stopped crying. “Honey,” y/n whispered, setting her hand on Freddy’s forearm. “I think (s)he needs me,” she explained cautiously. She could tell Freddy was a bit upset that he hadn’t succeeded in calming down their little one. Y/n could also tell he was feeling bad that he couldn’t take care of this for her.

Freddy nodded sadly and passed their baby to y/n.

Once y/c/n latched onto her, y/n laid her head back and looked up at her husband. She smiled upon seeing Freddy beaming down at her and their newborn proudly.

Freddy leaned down and pressed a long lingering kiss to Y/N’s forehead, his hand resting on the outside of her far shoulder lovingly. As his lips left her head he leaned back to take it all in, a blissful look in his eyes. “May I?” Freddy asked, grabbing his camera, “just for us”.

Y/n giggled lightly and nodded. She gazed down at their newborn as Freddy snapped some photos.

“Okay, one with you looking up, please, love,” Freddy requested. He smiled as y/n quickly complied with his request. Once he’d taken the photo of his incredible wife and precious newborn, he set the camer aside and rushed back to y/n. “Okay, sorry,” he gushed as he rubbed her shoulder as their baby continued to nurse, “I’m done”.

“You don’t have to apologize, Freddy,” y/n said with a smile as she turned her head his way.

Freddy gave her an appreciative half-smile. “You’re over here feeding our baby,” he pointed out, “after just having gone through labor for thirteen hours”. He shook his head. “Meanwhile, I’m just taking pictures,” he sighed.

“Freddy,” y/n said. She frowned upon seeing the tears in her husband’s eyes. “Stop,” she ordered, wanting to squeeze his hand but having to settle for a reassuring expression since she was cradling y/c/n as they nursed. “You were by my side the whole time, getting me everything I needed and helping me through as much as you could,” she pointed out with a smile. “You’re an amazing husband and already a wonderful father, please don’t let your tired brain make you believe otherwise.”

Freddy smiled lightly as he tried to blink away the tears in his eyes. He bent his head and kissed y/n’s chapped lips gently as he whispered a thank you. His smile grew when their baby stopped nursing and he was able see their face again. Freddy applied the hand sanitizer beside him and let it dry before putting his left pointer finger against their baby’s tiny soft hand. Y/c/n’s little fist clung onto Freddy’s finger, making both parents smile at them and then each other. Freddy used his right hand to brush some loose hair away from Y/n’s face and gave her another loving kiss. “I’d do anything for our family,” he whispered.

Y/n gazed lovingly at y/c/n as (s)he lay in their crib, sleeping peacefully. She felt Freddy wrap his arms around her carefully, being extremely gentle with her as he knew she was sore. She practically melted back into his embrace as her eyes stayed on their newborn.

They stayed like that for several minutes, just silently admiring their baby and each other.

Freddy was the one to step away first. He placed a tender kiss to y/n’s cheek before unwrapping his arms from her waist. He moved in front of her and took hold of her hands. Freddy slowly and silently guided her towards the rocking chair in the nursery, neither one wanting to wake the baby.

Y/n watched from the padded chair as Freddy quickly made his way out of the room and back. When he returned, he had a y/f/c gift bag in his hand and a smile on his face. Y/n shook her head in disbelief. He’d already gotten so much for her and the baby since finding out she was pregnant.

“Before you say something about how I didn’t need to get you anything,” Freddy whispered teasingly. “First, don’t, because you’ll wake the baby,” he joked with a smirk. “But also, it’s your push gift,” he explained as he passed her the bag.

“Freddy,” y/n whispered, also keeping her voice low as to not wake y/c/n. “You’ve already gotten me, and us, so many gifts that could be considered push gifts, you really-“ she mumbled.

Freddy just shook his head and nodded towards the gift bag he’d set on y/n’s lap.

With a light chuckle, y/n smiled appreciatively at her husband before she opened the gift. Her smile grew ten times as her heart soared upon pulling out the first item. It was a framed heartbeat sound wave of y/c/n from the first time they had heard their baby’s heartbeat. Tears welled up in her eyes as she whispered a shaky thank you. She bit her lip as she also pulled out a beautiful photo album. Inside it were photos Freddy had taken throughout her pregnancy and from earlier earlier today in the hospital. “Sweetheart, this is beautiful,” she cooed.

“I can’t have you forgetting just how incredible you are,” Freddy said as he moved to stand beside her. “You were unbelievable today, my darling,” he said as y/n flipped through the photos from the last 24 hours. When she stared up at him with teary eyes and a prideful smile, he knew he’d chosen the right gift. “Thank you,” Freddy said, echoing his appreciation for y/n giving life to their little bundle of joy.

“Freddy, do you know where the diaper bag went when we got home?” Y/n called out from the nursery.

Freddy rushed in with the diaper bag in hand. As he caught his breath, he placed a hand on y/N’s back. “I’ve got this, love,” he offered.

“Oh,“ y/n smiled, “you don’t have-“.

“I know,” Freddy promised as he kissed y/n’s cheek. “But you’ve done more than enough,” he stated. “Now, please, go rest,” he pleaded, “I’ve got this little one”.

Y/n smiled gratefully at her husband. She pressed her lips against his stubbly cheek for a quick kiss. “Alright snuggle bug,” she whispered to their baby. “Daddy is gonna take care of you, okay?” She cooed, making Freddy grin. She gave Freddy another appreciative kiss before heading out of the room.

“Did you change your shirt?” Y/n asked as Freddy entered the living room. She knew she was exhausted, but she could’ve sworn he was in a blue shirt when they left the hospital earlier.

Freddy blushed and nodded bashfully as he walked over towards where y/n was seated.

“Why-“ y/n began but cut herself off and laughed. “Oh,” she giggled realizing what must’ve happened when Freddy was changing y/c/n.

“I’ll get better,” Freddy promised as he sat beside y/n and took her hand in his.

Y/n calmly shook her head. “Sweetheart, I’m not worried,” she assured her husband. She quickly rested her head on his shoulder as he held her to him. “Is (s)he asleep?” She asked tiredly.

Freddy hummed a soft ‘yes’ as he pulled y/n closer. “We should get you to bed too,” he commented. When Y/n gazed up and over at him, he smiled at her. “The book says you should be sleeping when the baby is sleeping,” he explained.

Y/n grinned and pecked Freddy’s nose. “I love you so much,” she remarked.

Freddy beamed. “I love you too, my amazing superwoman,” he replied sweetly.

“Love, it’s alright,” Freddy said trying to stop y/n from crying more. “It’s just bedding, alright?” As he removed the dirty sheets from their mattress he gazed over at his exhausted wife. “Let me go get the laundry started, and then I’ll come help you in the shower, okay?” He offered.

Freddy’s heart broke as y/n simply cried harder. He knew part of it was surely her hormones and exhaustion after everything she had gone through in the last few days. But he was still worried about her nonetheless. “Love, ‘ey, what’s wrong?” Freddy questioned, sensing there was more at play than what he was noticing so far.

“I made a mess, and we’re both tired, but now I kept us from sleeping, and it’s gross, I’m gross, and-,” y/n rambled as tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Woah, woah, woah, no,” Freddy argued gently. “Love, you are not gross.” “This is extremely natural. The doctor said this could happen, it’s part of the process,” he reminded y/n. He set the bedding aside for the moment and cupped her face in his palms. “I’m terribly sorry you have to deal with this, but you’re not alone. I’ll be here with you through this as much as I can, love,” Freddy promised. “There is nothing gross about this. Besides, as far as I’m concerned, you can make as much of a mess as you want or need, you just gave birth to our child, do you realize how incredible that is? How much with your body just went through?” He gushed in admiration. “You’re not gross, and don’t worry about my sleep, darling, I promise that’s not a problem in the slightest.” “Come on,” he whispered as he helped y/n stand and lead her to their bathroom. “Can you strip out of these clothes for me while I start the wash?” He asked.

When y/n nodded slowly, Freddy smiled warmly and kissed her forehead. He rushed out of the room to start the laundry. On his way back, he peaked in the nursery to check on y/c/n before quickly making his way back to his wife.

Upon entering their bathroom, Freddy noticed the way y/n was staring at herself in the mirror. She had taken her clothes off and was now just looking at her reflection with a deep frown on her face. Freddy shook his head to himself in disbelief before he walked over to her. “You look beautiful,” he commented casually.

Y/n shook her head. “Freddy-,” she began to argue.

“Yes, you do,” Freddy defended. “I’m still so amazed and appreciative of what you just went through,” he admitted. “And yet, you still look radiant after all of that. I’ll never understand how you do that.”

“Love,” Freddy sighed upon seeing y/N’s tears. He cautiously held her to him, rubbing her back slowly as she tried to calm down. When y/n stopped crying he could see her eyes were once again soft, he smiled down at her. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up and back to bed.”

Freddy helped comb through the knots in y/n’s hair that had likely formed during her lengthy labor. He lovingly massaged her shoulders and muscles as he went about cleaning her up after the bleeding incident she’d had in their bed. He had always been careful with her; as if she were glass. But tonight he was extremely cautious around her hips/pelvis, only faintly even touching her just enough to get any blood off. Once y/n was cleaned up, Freddy helped her out of the shower and dried them both off. He led her over to the toilet for her to sit on while he dried her hair. But when y/n winced as she sat, Freddy quickly realized the hard surface was a bad choice. “Shit, one moment, love,” he said as he helped her back up. He rushed out of the room, only returning once he had her hospital bag. He helped y/n step into her postpartum underwear. He then set the folded up blanket on top of the toilet seat lid for a better cushioned seat. Freddy was pleased when y/n sat back down without as much pain showing in her eyes. He quickly blow dried her hair before putting it up for her. Freddy helped her off the toilet seat and back to their bedroom. He guided her as she slowly get into bed, each movement clearly hurting her. “I’m going to get your meds,” he said; hating setting her in such pain.

Just as Freddy had reached the doorway to their bedroom, the baby monitor went off with the sound of y/c/N’s crying. Freddy knowingly whipped his head around to look at his wife. “No,” he said, stopping her as she tried to sit back up in order to get out of bed. “I’ve got it!” He rushed out, slightly panicking. “Just rest, please,” he begged as he darted out of the door.

Freddy sprinted into the nursery and scooped their newborn baby up into his arms. He rocked the baby as he walked to the kitchen to grab y/n’s meds. He knew the prescription was not super strong, as the doctor said there was only so much y/n could take while breastfeeding. But, Freddy still hoped it would take the edge off and help her sleep. He very carefully held the baby to him with one arm as he picked up the pills and put them in his pocket before cradling the newborn in both of his arms again. The baby finally stopped its crying as Freddy whispered lovingly to it as he walked back to the main bedroom.

Freddy smiled at his wife as she watched him enter with their child. “Figured you might want to say goodnight,” he smiled, kneeling down beside y/n with their baby in his arms.

Y/n grinned and reached out to take the newborn. She held them to her chest as she sleepily gazed down at them. “Goodnight my little angel,” she cooed. As her eyes began to get heavier, she looked over at Freddy who seemed to have already noticed.

Freddy smiled and kissed y/n’s forehead as he took their baby back into his arms. “Pills are in here,” he informed Y/n as he turned his hip to her; the bottle of medication visible in his pocket.

Y/n smiled appreciatively and pulled the bottle out of Freddy’s pocket.

“I’ll be back with some water, don’t move,” Freddy said as he walked to their door.

After placing the baby back in the crib, Freddy hurried to the kitchen again to grab a water bottle. He filled it and made his way back to the bedroom. Upon entering, he quickly passed it to Y/n to have her take the pain medicine. He bent down and kissed her forehead before he went to his side to get into the freshly made bed. He scooted over and snuggled up to her, carefully holding her.

When y/n noticed Freddy’s resistant and worried touch, she leaned into him. “Thank you,” she whispered. Sensing his confusion, she continued. “You were absolutely incredible today, I’m really glad I had you,” y/n told him.

Freddy kissed y/n’s head. “Ditto, my love,” he whispered. He turned and ensured that the baby monitor was on before facing his wife again. “Rest my dear,” he advised, smiling as she willingly closed her eyes.

“Don’t you dare,” Freddy scolded as he walked into the living room and noticed Y/n was about to vacuum.

“It has to be done, we have people coming over in-“ y/n argued.

“I know,” Freddy nodded, walking over to y/n. “But, I’m doing it, you’re resting,” he said as he took the handle of the vacuum from her.

“Freddy!” Y/n exclaimed with a sigh.

Freddy simply shook his head. “No”. He leaned forward and kissed y/n’s nose. “You should know by now, I’m not going to lose these arguments,” he grinned.

Y/n shook her head back at her stubborn and protective husband. “That was when I was pregnant,” she reminded Freddy. “The baby is fine, me doing chores isn’t going to risk hurt them,” she promised warmly.

“No,” Freddy agreed as he plugged in the vacuum cleaner. “But, it will risk hurting you,” he argued, glancing up at his wife. When y/n sighed, Freddy moved closer to her. “You didn’t truly think my worry when you were pregnant was only about y/c/n’s well-being, did you?” Freddy shook his head in response to his rhetorical question. “I was always worried about you too, my love.”

Y/n closed the space between her and her husband. She quickly wrapped her arms around him and snuggled into his embrace as he held her. “I love you, Freddy,” she whispered against his chest.

“I love you, darling,” Freddy replied tenderly. “Now please, go sit your sweet little arse on the couch, before I have to carry you,” he scolded playfully.

Y/n giggled loudly and shook her head. “I’ll secede to not vacuuming, but I’m going to go check on y/c/n since the sound will likely wake them up,” she argued. “Plus, I want to change them into that insanely cute bear onesie you bought!”

Freddy chuckled happily as he smiled at the excited state of his wife. He nodded in acceptance, “deal”.

“Freddy!” Y/n squealed, coming out of the nursery, holding y/c/n in her arms. The hood on the bear onesie was resting just about their baby’s eyes. Y/n was smiling widely as she showed her husband how cute their child was.

Freddy smiled back and quickly took his phone out to snap a photo before asking y/n to wait so he could get his good camera. With his camera in hand, he ushed back and snapped a ton of photos; some of y/n and y/c/n, some of him and y/c/n, and then some of both of them and y/c/n.

Presently, the new parents had settled y/c/n on one of their blankets on the couch in order to get some photos of just y/c/n. Y/n was gently playing with y/c/n the whole time as Freddy took the photos of their newborn. As such, they did not hear nor see Freddy’s family enter until they were done with the impromptu newborn photoshoot.

Y/n softly rubbed y/c/n’s tiny little nose as Freddy put his camera’s lens cap back on. She smiled to herself as she looked up to see her husband. Only, she caught sight of a group of people behind him. Before she could even process the fact that she knew these people, she had leapt you from the floor and had y/c/n securely in her arms.

Freddy noticed his wife’s fear and instinctually threw himself in front of his wife and their baby. Once he realized that it was their family, he settled and slowly moved to the side. “Did you forget how to knock?” He teased; slightly.

“We did, honey,” Freddy’s mother teased. She slowly made her way over to the couple and gave her son a hug.

“We worried something happened to you lot when no one answered,” Freddy’s oldest brother, Tom, laughed.

Y/n smiled as she watched Freddy’s side of the family embrace and congratulate him. As they turned to her, so too did her husband.

“Not until you use some hand sanitizer,” Freddy ordered his family as he lifted up a new bottle from the table.

Freddy’s family smiled at his protectiveness and complied with his orders before they made their way to y/n and the baby. They all took turns holding the baby, the others talking to y/n and/or Freddy as they waited for their turn to greet the newborn.

Freddy had been watching his wife closely the whole time and realized she was feeling a bit emotional still and overwhelmed. So, he lead her to the couch, making the others follow. “Your mum should be over any minute,” he explained, having been the one to arrange the timing for everyone’s schedules.

Y/n nodded and leaned against her husband as she kept an eye on their newborn.

Freddy noticed y/N’s behavior and kissed the side of her head before resuming doing the same thing himself.

Both sides of the newborn’s family had hung around for quite awhile, even throughout the countless breastfeedings and diaper changes. It wasn’t too late in the traditional sense, barely having hit 5pm, but Freddy was exhausted and he knew his wife was too. So, he kindly asked everyone to leave so the couple could have some alone time with their little one before bed.

“There are just so many cute onesies!” Y/n gushed as she flipped through the collection of baby clothes in y/c/n’s nursery. “Not that (s)he’s not cute enough on their own!” Y/n added quickly.

Freddy chuckled and wrapped his arms around y/N’s waist, placing his head on her shoulder. “I think (s)he should wear the frog one today,” he suggested, eyeing the fuzzy green outfit.

Y/n hummed and picked up the onesie Freddy had requested, setting it to the side. “Frogs it is!” She grinned. She spun around and smiled as she moved in to kiss her husband. “Time to get this little one dressed!” She said walking to the crib.

“Can I?” Freddy asked quietly as he watched his wife approach y/c/n’s crib with the onesie in hand.

Y/n turned to Freddy, her confusion evident on her face. “What?”

“Can I dress them?” Freddy asked with a bite of his bottom lip.

“Of course, handsome!” Y/n reassured. She walked over and cupped Freddy’s cheeks. “Why do you feel you had to ask?” She wondered.

Freddy shrugged with a light laugh. “Sorry, it’s just all so new,” he explained.

Y/n smiled widely and nodded. “In a good way though, right?” She checked.

Freddy vigorously nodded. “Yes,” he promised quickly. “I love this new chapter of our lives,” He grinned.

Y/n hummed in agreement and passed Freddy the frog onesie. “So do I,” she agreed. She watched from the side in bliss as her husband gleefully and cautiously dressed y/c/n inside the crib. “They’re going to adore the frog onesie,” y/n complimented, “great choice, love”. She smiled to herself as she thought about how their friends would react when they came over in an hour to meet y/c/n and were greeted by an adorable little 3 week old baby in a green frog onesie.

Taglist: @ell0ra-br3kk3r @missdreamofendless @nikfigueiredo @b3kk3r-by-br3kk3r @alex-kazbrekkersimp @opheliaofficial07 @historynerd77 @el-de-phi @whistle1whistle @booklover2389

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wallwriterstuff · 6 months

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Part 2: The Yes Basket ||John Price x Teen!Simon Riley||

Warnings: Mentions of drugs. Implied child neglect, explicit mentions of physical injury and abuse (1 sentence mentioning bruises and being underweight). All the angst. Talk of foster care and sibling separation. Mentions of military discharge and injury. Minors should not interact with this.

Words: 2236

Summary: John Price has had plenty of foster children before him and knows how to support most of the behaviour he sees. A simple trip to the supermarket unveils a deeper need for understanding than he originally thought, and John is left scrambling for answers Laswell won't give him.

Chapter 1: To Soothe A Soul Next Part (3): Dirty Laundry ->

Simon Riley is a ghost in his home.

He’s barely seen the boy since Laswell dropped him off last week. The lack of weight on him clearly works to his advantage for sneaking about the place because Price has been startled by his sudden appearance at least twice, and his instincts are usually pretty good at detecting anyone in his general vicinity. Either that, or Simon must have gotten good at creeping around. Perhaps it was safer that way in his former home, less noise less attention. All Price knows is that he only sees the boy when he’s eating his food or using his shower. He uses the shower a lot. He can’t tell if it’s a novelty thing that he never really had before or if it’s perhaps a psychological thing that needs a little more investigating, but the boy spends at least an hour a day scrubbing his skin raw in the tub, only to appear in the kitchen afterwards with a pink face and hands and stinking clothes that undo most of the work he’s just done.

He still won’t let Price wash anything in the bin bag.

Simon’s living out of it, he thinks. Not that he has any access to that room now. Simon barely cracks the door when he knocks on it to inform him dinner is ready or to ask if he wants to join him in watching a movie or something with Riley. He’s been gentle about his approach on it to, not outright disregarding his belongings as a filthy nuisance in his home but rather asking him how he can help him look after them. He’s been stealing food to. Light-fingered little bugger got away with it for almost 48 hours before Price realised his fruit bowl was suspiciously low on fruit. He’s had children in his care hoard food before, knows how to deal with it, so today, he’s dragging Simon out into the big wide world whether he likes it or not to solve the problem. The echo of his knock on the wood is met by complete silence behind the door, and Price still feels that prickle of dread when Simon cracks the door open just enough to stare him down as if he’s the intruder, somehow.

The whites of his eyes are only just whiter than the pallor of his skin.

“We’re going to head to the shops together, get some groceries in. Since I’ll be cooking for both of us I want you to give me an idea of what sort of things you like to eat. You’ve got 10 minutes to get yourself ready, alright?” Price doesn’t phrase it like a question, knowing the answer would absolutely be no if he asked. Simon barely blinks, a minor twitch of his brows showing his displeasure through a frown. Price waits him out, watch’s carefully for any sign of resistance. Seeing no way out, Simon finally acquiesces with a short nod, slamming the door shut between them both. Price let’s out a quiet breath and turns to head back downstairs, sure he’s going to have to come and get him when the 10 minutes he’s given him to get ready is up. It’ll serve two purposes, he thinks. If Simon takes a walk with him today then the boy will get a better lay of the land, have a bit more freedom to walk himself to the park maybe or walk himself to school, when the time comes for that, but it also means getting in food Simon can have control over. Speak of the devil.

Riley perks at his feet and trots happily to the boy as he stamps his feet into beat up trainers at the bottom of the stairs. The laces are threadbare at best and there’s holes in the outer skin that let Price know they’re no longer waterproof. Maybe when they have to tackle the issue of school uniform he can broach the topic of new shoes. Forcing himself up, Price moves to the coat rack and takes down Riley’s leash and harness, the German Shepherd waiting patiently to be belted up. Simon says nothing, hands stuffed deep in his pockets and eyes cast downward towards his feet. He doesn’t force the boy to break the silence, wondering if Simon is just a bit stunted in his social development or if there’s something greater at play. He never can tell, still doesn’t know him quite well enough.

He offers Simon the lead anyhow, and the boy takes it wordlessly, walking out alongside him and not waiting for him to lock the door behind them. Price has to catch up, and just about catches a glimpse of Simon slipping a black surgical mask over his face. Price’s brow furrows, a shudder rolling down his spine when he gets closer and sees the shoddily painted skeleton jaw painted on the front of the mask. It doesn’t feel like a fashion choice.

God kid, what the hell happened to you?

It’s like walking with the angel of death, even the breeze in the trees seem to fall silent in Simon’s presence. Price isn’t one to easily be unnerved, hell his job demanded he have nerves of steel, but something about Simon’s silent and foreboding presence makes him feel the need to fill the quiet space with noise.

“I’ve got a basic list, bread, milk, all that stuff, but once we’re in the shop you can give me an idea of what sort of dinner you like.” He said. Simon says nothing, of course. He gets a handful of looks from neighbourhood gossips but ignores them steadfastly. He’s like an omen of death, dressed in all black, hidden under baggy clothes, and…not reaching for a single bit of food. Price realises quickly that this is going to be harder than he originally thought. He feels like a phony Santa with the fake jolly attitude as he tries to suggest different things and is met by a shrug each time. He’s lost track of the amount of products he’s picked up in an attempt to sway him when Simon finally speaks ups.

“I don’t care.” The blunt and abrupt sentence is punctuated with a voice crack that makes the boy visibly cringe, as if the visible evidence of his youth is somehow a weakness he’s unwittingly shown. Price watches him for a long moment, head tilted and eyes squinting slightly.

“I do.” It’s a simply sentence, not one he packs a lot of emotion into, but it garners him the biggest reaction he’s had so far. Simon narrows his eyes. That eerie presence he exudes magnifies ten fold and almost tries to envelop Price, like a shadow has oozed from the boy and tried to poke and prod it’s way into Price’s very soul to examine the contents. He holds his gaze with the most neutral expression he can and pulls out his wallet to hold out a crisp ten pound note to the boy.

“This here is for you to go and get snacks with. We're going to make a yes basket. Anything you put in the basket, you can eat at any time. No permission needed, it's your food to eat as you please. The only rules for the basket are that whatever you buy fits within your budget, you need to buy a mix of junk food and healthy stuff, and it's only refilled when we go shopping on Saturday. If you eat it all by Wednesday there's no adding extra's too it until Saturday. If you do find it's empty and your still hungry, you can still eat the snacks in the kitchen cupboards, but we share those, so you need to ask permission before taking them. Understand?” his explanation is met with a further narrowing of the boys eyes, but Simon isn’t fool enough to look a gift horse in the mouth. Whatever life he’s been raised in, Price gets the impression that reading and playing people, having street smarts, is something the boy prides himself on, and that’s what makes him snatch the money from his hand and stalk for the fruit aisle first.

Price doesn’t see that basket once it’s taken into his room, but his fruit bowl remains full. Whether or not he paces himself is beyond Price’s knowledge to, but he’s set the boundary and he’ll see soon enough if Simon’s pushed it. If the way he eats his dinner is any indication then he reckons the basket was empty on day one. He scarfs down anything in front of him like he’s a black hole gorging on any and all matter, regardless of whether he finds it pleasant or not.

The subtleties in Simon’s expression is what helps him tailor his shopping lists going forward. His nose wrinkles ever so slightly when he eats anything he doesn’t like, and the missing nutrition in his previous diet is quick to make itself known when just a fortnight of eating a more varied and rich diet makes the boy sick to his stomach. He tries to hide it of course, but Riley’s compassion doesn’t let the boy suffer alone for long. The scuffling at his door is what wakes Price, and he forces his prosthetic back into place with a grunt, thumping with groggy eyes towards the bedroom door. He hears Simon heaving the minute he opens up, giving Riley a scratch behind the ears before he heads for the bathroom. He pauses just briefly before knocking on the door and waiting to see if Simon will invite him in. He doesn’t, of course, so Price pushes the door open, and tries not to heave himself.

Simon’s always hidden beneath his clothes and now he knows why. Pale skin is mottled by severe but aging bruises. The poor boys black blue and yellow, a tapestry of violence inked into his skin that he’s still recovering from, may never recover from. There’s bones where he’d expected at least some muscles. He wonders if the skeleton painted on his face mask is supposed to represent the skeletal structure he’s somehow kept upright and ticking over in whatever horrific circumstances Simon has had to call his life up until this point. Price wipes any trace of his horror from his face as he grabs a wash cloth and dampens it, placing the cool cloth on the back of the boys neck as he awkwardly kneels beside him.

“Easy Simon, breathe.” He murmurs. Simon flinches form his hands, from his help, too used to doing things alone, but he’s just a child and he wants the one thing any child demands when they feel so awful nothing else helps.

“Mum.”

It’s a quiet croak, but it’s enough to shatter Price’s heart. He swallows thickly to get a grip on the lump in his throat before he pats the boys shoulder.

“Just me…have you had a sip of water?” he asks softly. Simon doesn’t turn his head, just leaves his head resting along his arm so Price doesn’t see the weakness seeping from his eyes. He shakes his head. Price gets him a glass of water, and they sit in silence until Simon’s ready to stumble back to bed again.

It’s the first time the silence doesn’t feel oppressive.

Price lets him sleep in the next day for as long as he needs, doesn’t ensure he eats breakfast as he’s now ensure just what to feed a stomach he guesses was previously empty most of the time, and instead calls up Laswell.

“John. How’s things?” her voice is tired and it sets his alarm bells ringing.

“Alright. Better, sort of. We’ve made a bit of progress, I think. How’s things on your end?” Price leans against the kitchen counter, watching Riley do his business in the back garden as he reads the pregnant pause before she spoke again. Not good then, he thinks.

“We’re alright,” She lied, “How can I help you today?” Price decides to let it go. Simon is his priority.

“Was wondering if we were any further forward with getting a doctor’s appointment for the lad, or even sibling visits. He mentioned his mum the other night, might do him some good to see his brother.” Price suggested.

Kate sighed, “Don’t push it John…Tom’s not good. Kid’s disclosed a lot since they were separated…Simon won’t be seeing him for a while yet. Doctor’s not called back yet, I’ll push it from my end. Is he well enough to wait?” Price’s head span for a second. Just what had the younger boy disclosed that had Kate so uptight? What had he seen? What had Simon seen? Or...is it something Simon had done? No, no that didn’t feel right. Simon was like a pitbull, preferring to puff up and look domineering but, under the right care at least, completely harmless. His burning curiosity might never be satiated. His job was to help the child, not investigate the case. No, no he had to leave that to Kate.

“I’d rather he was seen sooner over later. Could do with some help from a dietitian maybe. He was more undernourished than we originally thought and I don’t want to give him too much to soon.” Price relayed his concern neutrally, even as his mind raced ahead. “I’ll call today then and call you back when I have an answer.” Kate didn’t bother with a goodbye before she hung up. Price sighed, stared at his phone for a moment, and placed it on the side.

One thing at a time John, he thought, One thing at a time.

#call of duty #captain john price #cod modern warfare #simon 'ghost' riley #john price x simon riley #teen!simon riley #foster carer john price #tw child neglect #tw child abuse #tw malnourishment #Simon has to get sadder to be happier sadly #Riley the dog is a true hero always #John Price shops at Aldi and I'm making it canon #man's not gonna be traceable with a clubcard at Tesco's

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whatwewrotepodcast · 6 months

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WIP Introduction

Okay! Probably about time to actually introduce some of our writing projects, right?

Pride and Prejudice in Space (Working title)

What?

PPiS is a just-for-fun queer enemies to lovers scifi story. This thing is massive and goes on for ages. It's got no novel structure and is basically what would happen if you turned the Bold and the Beautiful into a written text and also it was gay and in space. I will be posting chapters from PPiS on the blog, so keep your eye out for them!

PPiS follows the adventures of the crew of the space freighter Idalia, as they attempt to run a shipping business while being hunted across the galaxy by the corrupt Andromeda Alliance. It's silly, it's messy and it's super queer. Don't come to PPiS for structure and a clear narrative arc - it's more a long running monster of the week style!

Chapter 1 - Theo

Chapter 1 - Onyx

Chapter 2 - Theo

Chapter 2 - Onyx

Chapter 3 - Theo

Chapter 3 - Onyx

Chapter 4 - Theo

Chapter 4 - Onyx

Chapter 5 - Theo

Chapter 5 - Onyx

Chapter 6 - Theo

Chapter 5: Onyx

Who?

The Main Cast

Theodotus Wolfe

Theo is an ex-Alliance pilot who was quietly discharged from service for seeing something he shouldn't have. Having grown up in poverty and disadvantage on the poor, over populated planet of Therus, Theo has a keen sense of justice and a dry, understated sense of humour. He lacks charisma, but is intelligent and brave, even if he comes across as a bit overly stoic and stiff. He's tall, at 6'3, and of distant Greek descent, with olive skin and dark, curly hair. After leaving the Alliance, Theo bought the Idalia with the intention of a quiet retirement running supplies across the galaxy. It . . doesn't really turn out that way.

Onyx Calladan (Rathbone)

Onyx was born into the extreme privilege of being the daughter and heir of one of the most powerful men in the galaxy - the CEO of Calladan Industries, a technology and weapons manufacturer who sold their technology almost exclusively to the Alliance. The Calladans are richer than god, but Onyx, who identifies as non-binary and only ever wanted to be a mechanic, never fit in. They fled their wealthy home and set up a quiet starship mechanic business on a distant station, where things were going great until a certain Alliance captain ruined their entire reputation. Onyx is wickedly intelligent, fiercely loyal, and a bit of a jerk sometimes, but they are also plagued by intense anxiety and PTSD from their upbringing. They're average height, a little stocky, with tanned skin. They wear their hair short, with shaved sides, and dye it a vivid shade of indigo.

Pantheras Wolfe

Pan is Theo's little brother. Having grown up amongst the abuse and and poverty of Therus as well, Pan had a difficult childhood and a harder adolescence after Theo joined the Alliance and he was left largely to his own devices. Pan covers his uncertainty and fearfulness with bravado and charm. He's sweet, kind, generous and friendly, outgoing and charming in a way his brother can never be, but he's also fragile and easily rattled. He relies on his brother and doesn't cope well without him. Pan is tall like his brother, but with none of his musculature, giving him a stringbean appearance. He wears his hair longer, showing his natural ringlets.

Ellis Grey

Ellis is an orphan who was found in a garbage bin in the slums of Ceres. When the orphanage was closed by the Alliance, Ellis was turned out onto the street due to being deaf in one ear, making him unfit for military service. He survived through a combination of resourcefulness, savagery and sex work, and eventually turned to a life of crime, through which he learnt to be an excellent hacker and pilot. As an adult, Ellis took to piracy, conning freighters out of their cargo to sell on the black market. Ellis, belying his upbringing, is camp, exuberant, eloquent and urbane. He has dark skin, black kinky hair, and a wide, winning smile. He dresses extravagantly, and loves bold colours.

The Second Coming Trilogy (Revelation, Anarchy, and The Second Coming)

What?

The Second Coming Trilogy is a modern fantasy set in Brooklyn, New York. Loosely based on the poem of the same name by W.B Yeats, it tells the story of a human girl and her two Fallen Angel allies as they attempt to prevent the second coming - the rising of the son of the devil to take his place on earth. Originally this was a YA story, but subsequent re-writes have landed on a more adult tone. We've been working on this story for well over 10 years, with many iterations. Once it was one book! But it got way too long and had to be split into three. We're currently doing edits and re-writes on book 2, Anarchy, and are querying publishers with book 1, Revelation.

Who?

The Main Cast

Merry: Merry is a human girl who was born with the Sight. This ability allows her to see through glamours and lies, but also often gets her into trouble. She's spent most of her life trying to ignore it and the things she sees, but one night she sees something she shouldn't have, and becomes embroiled in the hidden world of angels and demons. Merry is caucasian, dark brown hair and dark eyes, and has a slight, athletic build (she was a gymnast in her younger years). She's head strong, stubborn, and doesn't take kindly to being told what to do.

Ith: Ithuriel is a recently fallen arc angel. Once the Angel of Truth, Ithuriel fell prey to the sin of wrath and was thrown down from Heaven, his wings torn from his back and his divinity stripped away. Having been on earth for a mere few months, Ithuriel is still filled with his righteous desire to root out and punish evil wherever he finds it. He has been hunting the faction of Demons that Merry falls afoul of, and takes her under his wing to protect her. Ithuriel is 6'3, with a broad, strong build. He has fair skin and wavy golden hair, his features sculpted and harsh, and he has bright golden eyes, though he routinely glamours himself to look more human and less otherworldly.

Belial: Belial is also a Fallen, but he fell during the first great battle between the followers of Lucifer and those who remained true to Heaven. As such, Belial is a Prince of Hell, though he long since abandoned the regions of Hell to live on earth, where he has been for thousands of years. Belial walks a careful line between self preservation and his fondness for humanity, but his outlook on the world is grim and pessimistic. He's got tanned skin covered in a thousand years of scars, with deep maroon hair and eyes, and sculpted features just like Ithuriel's, though he is a little broader and stronger. Belial's glamours are particularly strong and there are few on earth who knows what he really looks like.

The Antagonists

Moloch: Moloch is a Duke of Hell and a Demon. Long corrupted by the evil in his heart, his physical being has become corrupted in the same way. One of the first lieutenants of the coming apocalypse, Moloch also runs a series of clubs throughout Brooklyn that cater to hardcore human clubbers amongst the demons who patronise them. To humans, Moloch is a thin, slight, suave middle aged white man with slicked back black hair and a pinstriped suit. To those who can See, he appears as a rotting skeleton, scraps of putrid flesh clinging to pitted bones.

Astoreth: Princess of Hell, Keeper of the Gate. Astoreth is the daughter of Lucifer, a creature of pure evil. She is the Princess of Hell, come to earth to pave the way for her brother. Astoreth is petty, proud, vain and cruel. Half snake, half woman, with long dark hair and skin that has an iridescent sheen, Astoreth is hunting Merry with all of her considerable resources, aware she could be the key to her plans.

Mammon: Son of Lucifer. Spoilers ;)

#WIP intro #writeblr #writing #writers of tumblr #am writing #writer #write #writers #writing community #writeblr community #writeblr intro #writing on tumblr

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rawvnoisevcruster · 3 months

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these crust punk.com bargain bins are going to make me cream. 5 dollars for a discharge tee. fuck me up

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pedrospatch · 2 years

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Names (Steve Rogers x Female!Reader)

Summary: You and Steve name your twin babies and you choose two very special, meaningful names.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female Reader

Warnings: Just to be safe I am going to say this is slightly AU, please do not come after me Marvel gatekeepers. Also, it is Dad!Steve. Need I say more than that?

Length: 567 words

A/N: Okay, last Steve fic I had sitting in my drafts, I promise! Just felt like writing something cute and really fluffy today because my mental health went into the bin this weekend.

“I can’t believe they’re actually here,” Steve murmured softly.

He gazed down lovingly into the sweet little face of his tiny, newborn daughter.

From the moment she’d entered the world, he refused to let her out of his arms.

“I can’t believe it either,” You agreed, letting out a sigh of content. Your son, who had arrived not too long after his sister, was sleeping soundly on your chest. You lifted your hand and very delicately brushed your fingertips through his tufts of soft, dark blonde hair. Although you were told that they weren’t identical twins, both babies shared the same, dark blonde haired trait. You looked forward to discovering what other traits your children would share—although Steve had expressed on more than one occasion that he wanted them to look like you, you secretly hoped that they would take more after him instead. You smiled at the thought of your two babies inheriting his cerulean blue eyes. “They’re perfect, Steve. They’re both absolutely perfect.”

Steve leaned down and gave you a gentle kiss.

“I love you,” he whispered, his lips lingering against yours.

Your heart had never felt so incredibly warm and full. “I love you too.”

As he kissed you again, the door to your delivery ward opened, startling you.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” a female nurse apologized as she walked into your ward.

“It’s quite alright,” Steve assured her, drawing himself back up to full height.

“Are we going to be discharged from the facility soon?” You asked her, eagerly.

She nodded, holding up the data pad in her hand. “Yes, but first, we need to get some more information to finish filling out birth records for the babies.”

You and Steve glanced at each other.

“Names,” You realized with a gasp. “Steve, we haven’t given them names yet!”

He frowned, glancing at the nurse. “I’m sorry, could we have some more time?”

The nurse chuckled. “Not to worry, Captain. I’ll be back in a bit.”

Steve sat down on the bed beside you as she disappeared from your ward.

His movement caused your baby girl to fuss, but he effortlessly soothed her with a gentle rocking of his strong arms and a few loving words. “It’s alright,” he cooed, “I’ve got you, my little girl. It’s alright, Papa’s got you.”

Your heart swelled with pure joy.

There was never a doubt in your mind that Steve would be an amazing father.

“So,” You broke the lingering silence. “Do you have any names in mind?”

He seemed to hesitate for a moment. “Well, I have an idea for our daughter.”

“What is it?”

“Sarah.”

“Sarah,” You repeated the name and smiled. Naming the baby after his mother seemed like the perfect idea. “I like it, Steve. I love it, actually.”

Steve seemed slightly surprised by your positive reaction. “Really? You do?”

“Of course. It’s a beautiful and classic name.”

“Okay. And what about for our boy?”

You lightly touched your son’s back as you quietly thought it over in your mind.

It didn’t take long before you realized that your choice was the obvious one.

“We should name him after you,” You decided, confidently. “Grant.”

Steve’s blue eyes instantly filled with pride. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” You nodded, grinning. “I think Grant suits our son very well.”

“It’s settled then.” Steve’s grin matched your own. “Welcome to the world, Sarah and Grant Rogers.”

#steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers drabble #steve rogers blurb #steve rogers fic #dad!steve rogers

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thyandrawrites · 1 year

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link click s2 finale spoilers under the cut:

what wrecks me upon rewatching the scene of cheng xiaoshi taking a bullet for qiao ling is that the camera focuses on lu guang's expression as the gun is raised in cheng xiaoshi's direction, and you see the whole scene unfold with lu guang as the focus. His eyes widening, his rage, cheng xiaoshi falling with a bullet hole in his side.

And at the first watch you're like, yes, they're focusing on lu guang's reaction because CXS is his most important person. Qiao ling isn't the type to recklessly charge in with the punchies so it makes sense LG's pain is taking over even if QL was the original target of that bullet, and it would make sense for her to feel equally terrible at CXS's injury.

but on the second rewatch, you know LG already saw CXS die and time traveled to prevent it. And in his memories CXS dies with his s1 outfit on, so the circumstances were different than the present ones. CXS's original death must've happened some time before the events of the subway, which is likely an alternate timeline created by LG's meddling with the past. But CXS was alive in the subway timeline, and Lu guang instended to leave it that way.

but chen bin dying because he was pushed introduces the idea that even if meddling with a timeline can temporarily change fixed events, like someone's death, other factors (=the henchman coming back to push CB) might change as well and still converge in the same end result (=CB's death).

So the idea is that lu guang's time traveling changed the fixed event of cheng xiaoshi's original death, created this alternate timeline with the kidnapping where he's still alive, but none of that means he's really safe. CXS might still die by other factors, because his death is a fixed point. In this specific case, cheng xiaoshi himself was the other factor. Lu guang did everything he could to keep him safe, but CXS still jumped in front of a bullet, because time still seeks those fixed points and CXS's death is one of them.

So. how many times do we think lu guang saw him die again and again, powerless to change it for good?

because I think that's why he acts off at the welcome home party after CXS is discharged from the hospital. Yes, his best friend made it. He survived the gunshot, and is back home. But there is a timeline where he did not. And there's no telling how long this one will last—how much time LG has borrowed for him until it runs out again.

So what point is there in celebrating CXS's survival if lu guang can't make it a fixed point, too?

#link click #much to think about #damn that was one crazy good finale #the twins already had me by the throat and then the writers threw this curveball at me #unfair #I'm suing for emotional damage

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thatonefunnyfella · 1 year

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Turtles of the Frontier

(An Apex Legends x ROTTMNT AU fan project, in collaboration with @shardkn1ght.)

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This is the second half of a collaborative piece Shardkn1ght and myself have been working on. Soph's half can be found HERE.

Whilst Soph handled the artistic side, it was my role to advise/be a consultant when coming up with an original origin story and to make sure everything was lore-friendly to Apex and Titanfall. On top of that, we've also made concepts for each character's abilities and an lore explanation for each. This post will serve to present that.

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Leonardo

Class: Assault

Can open red supply bins

Carry more ammo per stack

Tactical: Red-ear retraction (30s cooldown)

Leo hunkers down and uses a small personal dome shield to protect himself for a short time

When the dome runs out, it emits a small shockwave around Leo, pushing enemies back and applying a stun effect for a short duration.

Any damage the dome takes during its active state will increase the radius and duration of the stun. (maximum 15m, 10s)

Lore note: A relic from a bygone conflict. The now discontinued Hammond Robotics™ Red-ear titan-grade dome shield. Named after the aptly named turtle from the core system, the Red-ear shield was used as on-board protection for Atlas chassis based Titans and the Militia’s Vanguard class Titans. It would be attached to the Titan’s top hatch to protect the Pilot as they either embarked or disembarked. However it was never fully adopted by either the IMC or Frontier Militia as the top hatch was rarely ever used by most pilots, rather opting for the quicker and far less claustrophobic options. After finding one in an abandoned Hammond construction line, Leo had Donatello retrofit a kinetic feedback discharge system to it, making it repel anyone who gets too close.

Ultimate: ōdachi point

Leo can use his blade to phase breach a short distance to a designated point.

Unlike Ash, Leonardo’s phase breach does not stay open. This means he can’t be followed by hostiles, however his squad can’t follow either.

Lore note: Ash has seen the combat potential in Leonardo. Therefore, like her own sword, Leo’s ōdachi has been modified by Ash to allow the blade to tear into the void to a non-adjacent location and end up there near instantaneously. Unlike Ash’s breacher, Leo’s can phase to a location outside his line of sight to get the drop on unsuspecting hostiles.

Passive 1: Professionally trained

Jumping, falling, landing and climbing are all silent

Passive 2: Natural Born Leader

Leo gains a slight boost to his speed and jump height if one of his brothers are in his squad

This effect stacks if both of his squad mates are turtles

tier 1: 10% speed boost, 25% jump height

tier 2: 20% speed boost, 50% jump height

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Raphael

Class: Support

Can access extra loot from blue supply bins

Can craft unrecovered or expired ally banner cards

Tactical: Security Specialist (0s cooldown)

Raph holds up his forearms and utilizes repurposed armour plates from an old Scorch Titan and inhuman reaction time to block any incoming offense. (50% bullet damage reduction, 20% grenade damage reduction, 80% melee damage reduction)

No cooldown, however it requires a short start-up and finish animation.

No effect against legend abilities

Lore note: Using scraps of a Titan’s armour plates found in an abandoned Hammond facility, Raph had Donny create a set of armour plates that attach to his prosthetic arms.

Ultimate: Goliath Projection

Raph projects a monstrously sized holo-decoy of himself to swing wildly and guard an area (won’t actually do damage)

Any hostile that gets close will refuse to go any further

Will block lines of sight but can still be shot through

Lore note: Another of Hammond’s failed prototypes. The Titan-grade Holographic Decoy projector never saw combat, instead the only known use of it is in leaked Hammond Robotics™ test footage. Originally intended to be a Titan-sized counterpart to the more successful holo-pilot program, this old piece of tech was close to completion yet remained flawed. For starters, it drew too much power away from the Titan’s much more critical systems and was prone to overheating. Secondly, the projections would always move a little too fast; so it would’ve been easy to discern whether or not it was real. However, Raphael isn’t a Titan powered on a highly volatile nuclear reactor. But he is just as menacing. After having recovered it in the same abandoned Hammond facility Leo found his Red-ear shield, Raph had Donatello integrate it into his gear to allow it to project a Titan-sized decoy of Raphael.

Passive 1: Snapper’s Pressure

Upon landing from a height of 10m<, the weight of all of Raph’s gear will create a small seismic sock around him

Shockwave will push enemies back

Won’t work whilst ADS

Passive 2: Big Muscles, Bigger Heart

Raph can use “Snapper’s Pressure” from a shorter height and with a larger radius (default is 2m) if one of his brothers is in his squad.

This effect stacks if both of his squad mates are turtles

tier 1: activates at 5m with 5m radius

tier 2: activates at ANY height with 7m radius

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Donatello

Class: Recon

Scan survey beacons to reveal next ring location

Uses bō staff to do so

Tactical: Soft-shell Intel (25s cooldown)

Donny uses his augmented shell equipped with Acolyte Pods to fire two Sonar darts wherever he aims

Enemies caught by the scan are revealed for 5 seconds.

Each dart has 10m radius

Both darts are fired on activation, however the second dart is delayed. This means Donny can fire it in a separate location from the first.

Lore note: After finding an old, inoperable Tone Titan in an abandoned Hammond factory, Donatello reverse engineered some of the armaments found aboard the Titan. Most notably its Acolyte Pods and Sonar darts. Knowing that his battle shell can support a hefty amount of weight, he has crafted the reclaimed pods into a smaller, more personal weapon system, akin to the salvaged Northstar Acolyte Pods Valkyrie utilizes.

Ultimate: S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N

Donny uses his technologically enhanced bō staff to call down S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N, a Reaper who warpfalls onto a designated location.

Anyone who is underneath S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N when he lands will be instantly knocked down.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N can fire short-range anti-personnel rockets from his left arm at a slow rate of fire to suppress enemies or draw their fire

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N’s right arm weapon can be chosen by Donatello on his gauntlet before he’s called in:

Option 1. a slow-moving shield-draining ball of electricity, which will behave similar to that of the LG-97 Thunderbolt.

Option 2. A Branthium powered gravity well that can bring targets in close to S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N

Option 3. S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N can use a second anti-personnel rocket system which effectively doubles the rate of fire.

Anyone in S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N’s sight line is spotted for Donny and his squad

Will be active until destroyed or time runs out (60s).

Give an audible warning that a S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N has been deployed with the Reaper’s iconic screeching.

Lore note: “Scanning Hardware Emplacement Linked to Logic, Defence and OffeNce”, or S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N, is a heavily modified Reaper that Donatello has reprogrammed to aid him and his brothers in combat. With S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N being a model of Reaper that predates the design improvements Ash made during the late stages of the Frontier war, he fires at a slower rate and cannot deploy ticks. However, Donatello has equipped him with threat optics, an enhanced Operating System, and modular weapon capabilities, allowing Donny to equip a multitude of different tools onto S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. Mikey has also painted him Purple now.

Passive 1: Violent Streak

When Donny uses a grenade he has the option to either make it adhere to surfaces and enemies OR lay it down as a proximity activated mine (mine has to be set manually from close range).

Passive 2: Genius Engineer

If one of his brothers is in his squad, Donny’s Sonar Darts will give out a pulse-echo which will scan a second time

This effect stacks if both of his squad mates are turtles

tier 1: 2 scans per dart

tier 2: 3 scans per dart, third pulse is larger (20m radius)

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Michelangelo

Class: Skirmisher

Can scan care packages and see the highest tier item

Tactical: Lockup (30s cooldown)

Mikey uses his Kusari-fundo in a small area of effect to temporarily wrap up enemies in high-tensile wire and ignite them, causing burn damage over a short time (4 seconds).

Can hit multiple enemies at once.

3m width and 5m reach

Lore note: Whilst exploring an abandoned Hammond Robotics™ facility, Mikey found an old patent for a Pilot’s tool that never made it to production. A set of Kusari-fundo which use a high-tensile wire in place of a chain. This variant of the weapon was not so much meant for offense, more so utility. From what Mikey could see, it was equipped with a small yet powerful internal power supply, which would superheat the wire. The intention of this was to allow Pilots to wrap it around and melt through the extremities and weapon systems of hostile Titans. However with the advancements in Titan defences and with how quickly the battery depleted, the idea was left by the wayside. Mikey has instead found a way to fix the power issue, and the answers lie in Branthium.

Ultimate: Artist’s Intuition

Mikey pulls out a can of explosive spray paint and can tag any surface he chooses.

Once the can runs out or he chooses to stop, Mikey can detonate the paint causing massive damage to anybody caught in the blast.

Useful for area denial

Lore note: Donny’s intellect and knack for high-explosives had pushed him to combine the two just to challenge himself, and so one day he did. The result was a nano-explosive that he found could bind itself to the Lead particles in Mikey’s spray paint. Once Mikey found out that Donny had been using his paint for his little science project, he hounded Donatello to let him use it for himself. Naturally, Donny didn’t trust that he wouldn’t accidentally kill himself, so he refused. Michelangelo, however, was unrelenting and so Donny eventually had to yield and give up the highly volatile tech to his gung-ho brother.

Passive 1: Rad Enough Ride

Mikey can perform 2 individual dashes using his Branthium powered, gravity defying board

Can be used for a speed boost, evasion, or to get in close

Uses a “fuel” gauge

Lore note: After the team of the Iris Project sent the remaining Branthium through the Phase Runner on Olympus and the rift was created, a sufficient supply of Branthium was distributed across the Outlands. However, not all of it went accounted for. A crate of the rare crystal was discovered by the Turtles and studied close by Donatello. He found that not only Does it have the potential to provide a near unlimited source of energy, but it also possesses gravitational properties; a by-product of the crystal forming on the edge of event horizons. Donny found that by superheating the Branthium and making it rotate at a high enough velocity, he could create what was, for lack of a better term, a miniature sun. Of course he had to make a suitable containment vessel, so he employed the help of Dr. Mary Somers; whom has had her fair share of Branthium related encounters. And once they’d done so, he had essentially made a battery that could never deplete. A perfect external power source for Michelangelo’s newly acquired Kusari-fundo. Not only that, he could take advantage of Branthium’s Gravity-manipulation qualities to modify Mikey’s boring old skateboard into something much more useful in combat. And so with that, Michelangelo had his new gear hooked up to the Branthium battery mounted onto the back of his shell.

Passive 2: Boxed-in

If one of his brothers is in his squad, the width and reach of “Lockup” is increased, as well as the length of time enemies take damage .

This effect stacks if both of his squad mates are turtles

tier 1: 5m width and 7m reach

tier 2: 7m width and 10m reach plus enemies take extra damage over time.

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credits:

Character art - @shardkn1ght

Backgrounds - me

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