#cover up some scars so i can wear short sleeves this summer | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

theferricfox · 2 years ago

Note

eruri for eruri😏 guess what? it’s hurt comfort again🧍🏻❤️ please ignore this if it’s triggering, bc it has to do with physical abuse and sh

Erwin saying something along the lines of “I won’t judge you. You can say anything, and I won’t abandon you.” in response to burns (ones from cigarettes) on levi’s arms that erwin sees, and thinks at first that they’re self inflicted. it turns out that was a method kenny used to discipline him. 🥲

GEE!!!!

Such a good ask. Made me dig deep for this one to pull some stuff I'm not so great at writing and also RIP my search history now.

CONTENT WARNINGS!!! Physical abuse; child abuse; implied self-harm (just for a second); cigarettes and smoking; scars.

It’s summer, and Erwin is stunning in a plain white T-shirt and casual pants on their day off. Levi loves when he wears short sleeves; the swell of thick muscle rolling down his arms, the sight unimpeded by fabric, is enough to make Levi’s mouth water. He wants to kiss his way up and down those arms, trading the electric sensation of Erwin’s skin on his mouth for delicate, teasing open-mouthed kisses.

The sun is high and bright, lending a vibrant tone to the Survey Corps HQ grounds. It also makes it unbearably hot, and Levi fights a wince as another bead of sweat trickles down his back. As is his habit, Levi wears a long sleeve button-up shirt, cravat tied at his throat, and dress pants. He’s dressed this way every day since he came to the Surface, but it has never been this hot; the newspapers are calling it a record summer. Levi very much hopes it is not.

Erwin walks next to him, talking endlessly about the next expedition, just one short month away, and Levi finally jabs his elbow playfully into the man’s waist.

“C’mon now, we’re on our day off,” Levi grouses. “The least you could do is enjoy it without talking shop. If not for your sake, then for mine.”

Erwin laughs in that deep and hearty way that sends Levi’s heart galloping and pats him on the shoulder.

“Sorry. I suppose you’re right.”

“It’s too damn hot,” Levi complains in response. He makes to roll up his sleeve, checks himself, and places his arms back at his sides.

Erwin pauses just a beat too long, and Levi knows the question that is pressing at the edge of his mouth. He sets his jaw and looks resolutely ahead, ignoring the blue eyes boring into him.

“Would you like to go back inside?” Erwin asks. His hesitant tone makes it clear he’s still struggling with how to broach the subject at the front of his mind.

“A shower would be nice,” Levi says instead of actually replying. “I need to get the sweat off of me.”

The men steal away to Erwin’s quarters, locking the door behind them and Levi makes for the bathroom. He’s stopped by a hand at his elbow, and he turns to see that same look in Erwin’s eyes that he had outside.

“I know you have something to say to me, so you might as well just come out and say it,” Levi says, a little more angrily than he means to.

“It’s just…” Erwin hesitates, chews his words for a moment, then breathes. Levi can’t recall a time he’s seen Erwin this nervous. “I’ve just realized that you always wear long sleeves, Levi. Even when we’re in bed together. I know the most intimate parts of you, but I don’t know what you look like under those shirts.”

Levi feels himself tense from his toes to his jaw and realizes then that he hasn’t exactly been clandestine about the fact that he never wears short sleeves. How many times has he been in Erwin’s bed, sleeping or fucking or just talking without any clothes below his waist but a long-sleeved grey shirt covering his chest and arms?

Erwin, to his credit, has never once asked about it before today. He’s always taken this fact as perhaps some other peculiarity about his lover, like his need for cleanliness or love of tea. For his easy acceptance of such a quirk, he deserves an explanation, Levi thinks, though it terrifies him to think of what the consequences of this knowledge will be.

Still, Levi guides Erwin to the bed and motions for him to sit down. Erwin pauses for the briefest of moments before he sits on the edge of the mattress, hunched slightly as he leans his forearms onto his legs and waits.

Levi moves to stand in front of Erwin – now eye level with him – and hesitates. He’s never shown his arms to anyone on the Surface. In the Underground, it didn’t matter. He was one among many like this, but up here? It’s impossible to know how Erwin will react, and the uncertainty has his heart threatening to burst out of his chest.

Slowly, Levi unties his cravat and slips it out from under his collar, folding it and setting it aside on the table. He takes a deep breath and undoes the top two buttons, pauses, and then undoes the rest as he searches Erwin’s face for any hint of a reaction. Erwin remains still, his expression impassive but intent. Sliding his shirt open to reveal his chest, he sees Erwin’s eyes widen slightly, watches him lick his lips and shift slightly in his seat.

Levi knows there’s no going back now. He’s committed, and he has to see this to the end, whatever that may be. So he slips one arm and then the other from the sleeves of his shirt, sets it aside, and stands in front of Erwin, exposed as he’s ever been to anyone. Heat swelters in his face and chest as he watches Erwin look at him and really see him for the first time.

He wants to run. He almost, almost, wants to run right back to the Underground and hide in the darkness, away from this embodiment of the sun sitting before him, his mouth slowly falling open to gape at the dozens of circular scars covering his arms from wrist to shoulder.

By now, they are so old that they no longer have the raw pink puckered appearance they used to, but the ragged look they lend to his skin is such a contrast to the perfect pale flesh that he shows to the rest of the world that his arms might as well belong to someone else entirely. Nearly every inch of them is scarred, save for his elbows, and the sheer quantity of them should still be shocking to him, he thinks, if he hadn’t counted them endlessly into nonchalance. Two hundred and seventy-three.

Slowly, gingerly, Erwin reaches a hand out to take hold of one of Levi’s wrists and he recoils slightly, seized by instinct. He regrets the reflex immediately, seeing the look in Erwin’s eyes as he pushes himself to relax his muscles and lets his arm become limp in the other man’s grasp.

Erwin pulls Levi’s arm up and out, slowly rotating it to see the scars strewn on the other side, and his face twists into something like misery as he runs one thick finger along the marred flesh, feeling the ridged start and end of every scar as his fingertip passes over it. There’s a particularly nasty one that causes Erwin to pause his trail; it digs a small pit into the meat of his bicep, the skin left behind like a bruise that never faded away. The touch of it makes Erwin gasp and those beautiful blue eyes lift to stare into Levi’s, the silver gone cold and dull as he’s struggled to keep his composure. He watches as Erwin’s mouth works open and then closed again several times before a dry rasp whispers into the air between them.

“Are these cigarette burns, Levi?”

Always so fucking direct. Of course Erwin would just come right out and say it instead of trying to dance around the question. Levi can’t decide if it’s a mercy that Erwin didn’t make him say the words out loud himself.

“Yeah,” he responds quietly. He wants to look away, he needs to look away from Erwin, but he can’t. He’s trapped, held in place by the man’s gaze.

“Did you do this to yourself?”

Levi clenches his jaw and finally pulls his eyes away to look at the wall. He doesn’t know how to respond. Either answer would open the door to so many questions, ones that he doesn’t want to answer, and he isn’t sure he could answer them, not with the devastated look in Erwin’s eyes sinking into his chest.

Clearly, Erwin takes his silence as an affirmative because he sighs heavily and hangs his head, still holding onto Levi’s wrist. Absently, Erwin’s thumb rubs gentle circles along the perimeter of one of the scars. He seems to be gathering his thoughts and, as much as Levi is happy to let him do that for the rest of eternity so that he doesn’t have to have this conversation instead, the silence is so stifling he thinks he might suffocate on the spot.

“Can you tell me why?” Erwin says at last. “Why do you have…so very many burns?”

The question catches Levi off guard. Erwin didn’t ask him why Levi did this to himself; he’s asked why he has so many. Thinking about it, Levi realizes that answer would probably hurt Erwin more and that means that, as usual, he’s being a selfish bastard; taking the brunt of the pain for himself to try to alleviate that of others.

“Please,” Erwin says as Levi remains silent. His eyes raise again, and he’s pleading with all the power of the sky in those irises. “Please Levi, talk to me. I won’t judge you. You can say anything, anything at all, and I promise you I won’t abandon you.”

The words freeze Levi’s blood in his veins. Leave it to Erwin to know what’s on Levi’s mind without his having to say a single fucking word. Beautiful, bold Erwin, looking as broken as Levi feels, being this exposed.

Levi closes his eyes, takes a deep breath.

“I didn’t. I didn’t do this to myself.”

Erwin’s expression shifts, so subtly that most would probably not have noticed, but Levi knows him. He knows him so well that he spots it easily, the relief that settles quickly into the knowledge that someone did this to Levi, and the rage of that realization, and the conviction to make that person pay. Erwin’s jaw works, and Levi knows the next question, so he continues to talk instead of having to hear it.

“After Ma…after my mother died, I was raised by a man who apparently knew her. He was the one that taught me to fight, to steal, to do whatever I had to to survive. And when I didn’t do what he said, or got caught stealing, or lost a fight, he would punish me.” Levi swallows thickly, fighting the desperate urge boiling within him to pull away from Erwin, grab his shirt, and leave. “His favourite method of punishment was to burn me with his cigarettes. ‘A very reliable method of punishment,’ he used to say. ‘Leaves a mark every single time so you’ll never forget it.’”

“And he…clearly thought you needed to be punished often,” Erwin says quietly.

Levi shrugs.

“For a while, it was every day. If I cried, he’d do it again, usually in a place that he’d already burned and was healing. I learned to just grit my teeth and endure it, since the crying just made it worse.”

Levi takes Erwin’s hand from his wrist and moves it back to the deep scar on his bicep, pressing both their fingers into the pit as though together, they could fill it and make the flesh whole again.

“This one.” Levi pauses, breathes, gathers himself. “This one…I tried to ambush him when he came to the room I stayed in. I was sick of him kicking the shit out of me, sick of him, and so when he walked in the room, I snuck out from behind the door and attacked him. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking; I was still just a brat, maybe eleven or so, but I had stayed up all night planning how I would do it, you know?

“So I get him in the side with my knife, just a bit and he just grabs me by the throat and lifts me up like I weigh nothing at all and slams me into the floor over and over again until I pass out. And then I wake up to this searing pain in my arm and he’s got the cigarette there and he’s holding it steady, not just a quick grind into my skin like he usually does.

“It hurt like hell, and I’m screaming and trying to wriggle away but he’s tied me down and I can’t move at all, and he just lets the cigarette burn against my arm, twisting it every once in a while, and the whole time he’s saying, ‘Who the fuck do you think you are, runt? You think you’re tough shit, huh? Ungrateful bastard, after everything I’ve done for you. This time I’m really going to teach you a fuckin’ lesson.’”

Levi lets Erwin’s hand go and their arms fall together with a feeling of finality that’s settling into the room.

“He kept me like that, tied up for a week, I think. No food, just little sips of rancid water. He’d leave me in the room in the dark for hours or days – I don’t know – and whenever he came back, he’d dig the scab out of my skin and burn it again so that he was burning into muscle by the fourth or fifth time. At one point I just told him to kill me; I didn’t want to deal with that pain anymore, and he said I didn’t deserve to die; that would be too easy for me.”

A heavy pause settles between them and Levi lets himself soak in the shame he feels at his admission. Surely now, he thinks, Erwin will ask him to leave. He’ll forbid Levi from his bed, only conceding to speak with him as colleagues. He won’t be able to stand looking at this man, despite his strength now, as anything other than disgusting; a repugnant, damaged cur unworthy of the sun he’s been gifted.

Levi doesn’t anticipate Erwin grabbing his arm and pulling him in, wrapping thick arms around him, nor does he expect the man holding onto him to shake with grief.

“I’m so sorry, Levi,” Erwin whispers into his neck. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that. Thank you for telling me.”

For a short moment, Levi is dumbstruck, lost in the emotion swelling within him at the embrace. His arms hang dumbly at his sides as he struggles to reconcile what’s happening. Slowly, he reaches up to wrap his arms around Erwin, resting his hands on broad shoulder blades.

“You…aren’t disgusted with me?” Levi asks, and he curses himself for how shaky his voice is. “You don’t want me to leave?”

Erwin pulls away, moving his hands to cup Levi’s face and stares at him intently.

“Leave? Levi, I love you. Nothing is going to change that. And certainly not a few scars.”

Erwin gently pulls Levi’s face towards him and kisses him so slowly that Levi feels his breath catch between them. That captured breath hovers between their lips, pregnant with shame and grief, as Levi pulls back to speak.

“It’s not a few, Erwin. It’s two hundre��”

He’s silenced by another kiss, this one deep and passionate, with Erwin’s tongue pushing into his mouth and pressing against his own. Levi moans into the kiss even as the back of his head continues to scream his insecurities.

“I don’t care how many there are,” Erwin says when they part, panting and connected by a trail of spit. “Those scars aren’t ugly. They don’t make you a bad person. They’re proof that you’ve lived. You’ve lived and come through some terrible things as the man I love, and I will always love you, every day, for the rest of my life.”

Levi lets himself absorb those words, so foreign sounding in his ears, and struggles to hold back tears pricking at the edges of his eyes. He leans forward, resting his forehead on Erwin’s, and chuckles.

“You’re such a hopeless romantic, you know that?” Levi whispers.

“So you’ve told me,” Erwin says through a smile.

Levi lets Erwin pick him up and put him on the bed and undress him, and the look in Erwin’s eyes as he finally – fully – sees him is enough to make his heart burst in his chest. Levi accepts Erwin’s kiss, so loving and tender, and finds himself reveling in the touch of plump lips trailing to press against his jaw, down his neck, and across his collarbone. His breath catches in his throat when Erwin lays small, barely-there kisses on his scars, pressing his tongue into the deep one on his bicep.

Erwin turns Levi’s arm, kissing every scarred inch he can find, apparently determined to mark every scar with love, and each touch of those lips sends electricity through Levi’s body like he’s never felt before. His fear washes away slowly, as steadily as a stone worn smooth by the passing of a river, and it’s replaced by a warmth that makes him feel as though he’s pressed against the sun.

And indeed, when he looks down to see Erwin’s golden hair traveling across his abdomen, the phantom sensation of lips trailing down his navel, he thinks that part of the sun is here with him right now. And this piece, beautiful and tender, loving and accepting, belongs to him, and he is the luckiest man alive to have plucked this little bit for his own.

#tw: cigarettes #tw; cigarettes #erwin smith #levi ackerman #eruri #give me eruri or give me death #tw: mentions of physical abuse #tw: mentions of child abuse

23 notes · View notes

queer-mental-health · 9 months ago

Note

Okay so imma go on a little ramble here, I hope you don't mind and no pressure to respond-

I identify as demigirl and lesbian, and I have an extensive history with sh, depression, anxiety, ADHD, and suicidal thoughts. About a month and a half ago, I came out to my parents (but only about being lesbian and having shitty mental health cuz I didn't know I was a demigirl back then and am still trying to figure out my gender). They seemed really supportive then, but even before I came out they always said things like "don't marry a woman" and weren't kind to lgbtqia+. Now, my dad (whom I don't have a good relationship with) has been going around saying things like "nothing's permanent" and "you can still change your mind". Maybe I'm overreacting, but is he being homophobic? I'm not going to be calling him out for it, because he has also been abusive in the past, but I still want to know if that's wrong of him to say. It probably is because it does hurt emotionally, but still. On top of that, I'm about two weeks clean from sh (not counting scratching/pinching), but I've been really wanting to hurt/kill myself lately, and I'm really struggling with those thoughts. Do you have any tips on how to avoid those? I've talked to Teen Link a few times, which is a confidential teen text line for those struggling with mental health who don't have anyone to talk to but want to talk to someone around their own age (I'll put the phone number down below) and I've found that really helpful, but it's not always enough. I need help but I don't want to reach out for it because I'm afraid of what people will say and stuff. Almost no one knows about my sh, but spring/summer is coming up, meaning warmer days and more short sleeves/swimsuits. Would you have any tips for covering up scars too?

Anyways, sorry that got a little long, also for all of you teens out there who need it, the Teen Link # is 866-833-6546. The number only works for America (I think), but if you research it you may find a similar thing for your country. Thanks for the help :)

You actually have a lot of good questions which I am more than happy to answer!

First, if your dad is saying that you can change your mind because he does not WANT you to be queer, yes that is homophobic. If he is saying that because he knows you and genuinely does not THINK you are queer, that's not exactly homophobic.

Also, I'm proud of you for bein clean for two weeks AND talking to a text line. Those are both things that show how strong you are. About the suicidal thoughts, I know a lot of ways to help with that (being someone who has struggled/is struggling). First, when you get them just distract yourself is the biggest thing. Step away from your thoughts and be around people.

Lastly, I know how hard it can be to not sh but the biggest thing is just resist it. Of course, everyone has slipups so here are some tips for covering up scars. My go to is to wear a jacket but obviously that's not gonna work during the summer, so sometimes you could use makeup if you have access to it. If there are only a few scars you could also just cover them up with bandaids and it shouldn't be too bad.

I hope this helps you!! If you have any other questions or need to vent my inbox is always open!

#tw sui mention #tw sh #homophobia #lesbian #mental health #queer mental health #asks

3 notes · View notes

uglypastels · 2 years ago

Note

Could we have Eddie seeing your scars for the first time?

hiyaa! hope the take I took on this is alright <3

warnings: angst [trauma; events of volume 2; insecurities about body; isolation] mention of deep scarring with vague descriptions. Short mention of blood. a lot of comfort

A lot had happened that night in the Upside Down that none of you wanted to talk about. Horrible, terrible, dark things. As the weeks, and months, went by, you all tried to move on, pretending like it was just some far away and nasty dream that happened to have occurred to all of you.

But some things, no matter how hard you tried, were unforgettable.

Eddie would never forget any of it. Hell, he had been the one to carry you out of the demon dimension himself. Covered in your blood, crying out to you, hoping you could still hear all his reassuring words. It will be ok, you hear me? I'm gonna get you help. As much as he wanted to forget everything that happened there, he would never let himself forget how you saved his life.

When he brought you into the hospital, there was no time for questions. The only priority was to get you back to him. He screamed at the nurses and doctors, begging for help. Some of them tried to get to him, as he was covered in bite marks himself, but he didn't care whether he lived or died. He needed you to be ok.

So, time went on and life went back to as normal as it could be. You went to classes, graduated with Eddie, and had the whole summer ahead of you. What more could you ask for?

Well, for one, some shittier weather. The sun beamed up above you, layering sweat over your skin, making it unbearable to wear the smallest amounts of clothing, something you were not too eager to do. You didn't feel like showing off your souvenir from the Upside Down to the rest of town; to your friends– who were trying to forget all of that just as much as you were. There was no need to remind them of it.

But it was difficult to hide them in weather conditions such as these. Long sleeves were not an option unless you were eager to get a heatstroke. So, since you could not hide it, you could hide entirely from everyone else. The first few weeks of the summer, you spend hiding out in your room, picking up the phone just to quickly come up with excuses why you couldn't meet your friends at the pool.

It seemed to be going smoothly, your little hermit-summer plan, until one afternoon, you heard the doorbell ring. Your window was just at the wrong angle to see who was standing at the door, but you could hear your brother talking to him– Eddie. What the hell was he doing here?

You could hear the footsteps come up the stairs, nearing your bedroom. The soft knock on the door followed by his voice— god, you had missed that voice.

'y/n?'

Maybe if you didn't answer, he would go away.

'Can we please talk? I– we're all worried sick about you.'

'I'm fine. I just want to be alone, ok.' You were scrambling around your room, trying to find something to cover up with, in case he would walk in. You had just been wearing some shorts and a tank top, very much not hiding what you needed to have covered up.

'Please, can I just see you–' you had to understand, for the past few weeks, Eddie had been a mess. You used to spend all your days together, not one would go by where you had not talked and now– radio silence. For weeks. He was scared, but he had wanted to give you space, everyone else told him thats the best thing to do. If you didn't want to see anyone, he couldn't just go and barge into your room– but he had had enough. His anxieties were getting too much, so, when you didn't answer, he took it upon himself to push the door open.

'I'm sorry ok, but–' What he saw not only shut him up, closed up his throat entirely, but it broke his heart. You were standing in front of him, in the middle of your room, trying to wrap a cardigan around yourself. But even then, he could see the dark red skin of your legs, your shoulder.

'Go away, please.' You were ready to cry. He couldn't see you like this.

'y/n,' he whispered. Was this why you didn't want him to see you? Because of the scars?

'Please,' the tears streaked down your face. But he didn't move. His hand was on the door handle, and he only let it go to walk towards you and pull you in the tightest hug you had ever felt. It was the first time anyone had touched you in weeks, and it was like a hot shower poured over you. You could feel the care and love he had in him for you.

Not knowing what else to do, you just started crying against his chest. He let you without hesitation, stroking your hair gently, swaying your bodies from side to side. 'It's ok,' he repeated.

When you pulled away, he wiped away your tears with a kind smile, rubbing his thumbs over your cheeks, pulling at them to insinuate a grin out of you.

'I'm sorry for being so distant,' you said weakly, not that he even thought you needed to apologise. 'I just feel so embarrassed, they're so big and ugly–'

'Hey, don't, ok?' He sat down on your bed, pulling you along to sit next to him. 'You are still beautiful. Always have been, always will be. No matter what. And these fuckers–' he poked at your thigh, where one particularly large scar had grown, 'these just show how strong you are. You think anyone's gonna mess with you if they see these? Ha, they'lll run away from you, the Mighty y/n!'

'Thanks,' you wiped at your cheek with your sleeve. Silence filled the room.

Then Eddie looked over at you.

'You wanna see mine?'

'What?' You were confused.

'My scars,' he pulled his shirt up to reveal his ribs, where a very similar red scar had settled. 'We basically match, huh?'

You were speechless as Eddie kept on going. He showed you the scar on his neck, which was smaller and had actually faded. Than a smaller one on his knee, which had nothing to do with the Upside Down or Demo-bats. He had gotten it when he fell out of a tree when he was seven.

'And this badboy,' he showed you his palm, where a long thin line interrupted the natural ones, 'cut myself in metal shop. Blood was everywhere. Mr Franklin nearly fainted.'

'Really?' you listened to all his stories. Most of these scars you had noticed on him, but never really wondered about where they had come from. They had just always been there, they had always been a part of him. They were a part of his history and what made Eddie Eddie. Just like your scars made you you.

Leave a review behind!

thank you for reading!!! please take a moment to maybe like, reblog, comment all that jazz <3 I really appreciate it and i love hearing what you thought of the story <3

masterlist // taglist // inbox

taglist: @spiderrrling @theglitterymess @dorianelizabeth @theletterhart @pastel-abyss-x @ghoulsgraveyard @prettytoxix @lovesickollie @xbreezymeadowsx @meaganjm @yourmommilf @mischiefmanagers @capybergara @brother-lauren @h0sh1verse @ghostlyreads @croweaterr @ladyapplejackdnd @bilesxbilinskixlahey @kbakery @sleeping-willow @liltimmyst @hellfire-state-of-mind @escape-in-time-x @miscelaa @sweetpeapod @eddiemunsonbby @wh0re4munson @eddiesdingus @zoeyquinn94 @munsonmunchies @overthewhiteclouds @wroteclassicaly @stitchity

#eddie munson #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #edide munson fic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson blurb

1K notes · View notes

biggest-stupidhead · 3 years ago

Note

Can I ask for an request where Levi is a soldier who is pointed to protect a royal person. Then he fell in love with her active attitude, smart brain and support to the scout

AN: This took me so long. I deleted it like three times on accident so this is as good as its going to get 😂. do let me know though if I misspelled anything I didn't skim over it sooooo YOLO.

Summary: Levi is asked to attend the summer gala with !princess reader.

Word Count: 2.8 K

Warnings: mentions of Levi's scarring, some cussing? I think? that's about it

__________

Levi's hand trembled as he ran the fine toothed comb through his damp hair. He scowled back at his own reflection, eyes avoiding the pink scars that marred his skin. It had been nearly a year since he had been discharged from the military due to his injuries. At first he had struggled to find a routine, having been in the military for more than half of his life, it was a huge loss.

His hand jerked unexpectedly and the comb pulled through a knot in his hair painfully. He clicked his tongue and dropped the comb, gripping the edges of the sink to steady himself.

How pathetic.

There was a time when he could complete these tasks with no problem. But now his body seemed to be failing him, if he stood for too long his joints protested, he struggled to hold a pen due to his lack of fingers. He also wore an eyepatch to cover his milky right eye and some of the scars that covered the right side of his face.

Normally Hange would help him get ready, they were the only person he could stomach seeing him this way. But Hange was busy, they had meetings all morning. So Levi was left on his own, and he managed as well as he could. Although it took him double the amount of time it usually took, he still did it.

He grabbed his cane on his way out of his humble apartment, the carriage was waiting for him outside. In the carriage was the last person he wished to see, Zeke Jaeger. His glasses glinted in the sunlight as the coachman held the door for Levi who sat as far away from the war chief as possible.

Zeke blew out a puff of smoke, which swirled around in the small space. Levi's lip curled into a sneer, and Zeke smirked pleased to rouse a reaction from the retired Captain.

"Big day today eh Levi?" He spoke around his cigarette and Levi rolled his eyes.

"I suppose." He agreed, eyes never leaving the man.

That was about the only words exchanged between the two, the ride was thankfully short. The carriage arrived to the castle just after noon, the coachmen opened the door for Levi and Zeke. The sunlight was bright and made Levi squint, it didn't help that the castle seemed to glow as the sun bounced off of it.

"This way old friend." Zeke instructed and Levi followed begrudgingly, Zeke led Levi through the halls and into a large ball room. The castle staff was scurrying about, carrying massive bouquets of flowers and other decorations in preparation for the summer gala. Levi had attended this very event many times over his career, but he had not intended on joining in this year. Zeke paused a few feet away from Erwin, who was standing before a young woman Levi had met a handful of times. You had aged in the past two years that he hadn't seen you, although you weren't any taller, he could see the age on your face. Much as he assumed you could see in his, you also carried yourself more confidently, shoulders back, chin up.

Erwin paused and turned to greet the two men, who both saluted him and you.

"Captain, how nice to see you." You hummed, a pleased glint in your eyes as you curtsied, much to his surprise.

"You as well Zeke." You seemed less excited to see the war chief.

"Princess, you look lovely." Zeke closed the distance between the two of you, taking your hand a bit too eagerly and bringing it to his lips. You smiled a bit tersely, but allowed it.

"Ah, and you look...as hairy as the last time we met." Your jab threw Levi off, but Erwin seemed to have expected the exchange. Zeke laughed heartily and pulled back.

"Such a sharp tongue on you princess." He chuckled and you shrugged, a smug grin on those lips of yours.

"You make it easy."

"Princess, you are aware that Levi is to accompany you to this year's gala yes?" Erwin steered the conversation in a more relevant direction and you nodded.

"Mhm, and I'm very excited to be escorted by Eldia's most eligible bachelor." Levi wasn't sure if you meant it sincerely, or if it was his turn to face the wrath of your sharp words.

"I'm sure you are." Erwin chuckled, his hand falling on the back of your tricep. You gathered your skirts and took a few steps closer to Levi.

"The last time we met, you weren't keen on dancing, I do hope that's changed." You smirked at him and Levi barely fought the flush off of his cheeks as you pushed past him.

"We can go in the drawing room and discuss logistics, the gala is a mere week away after all-" Levi tuned out whatever it was Erwin was babbling about, too focused on watching you saunter out of the room.

Levi spent the next week trailing behind Erwin, attending meetings and luncheons with other high ranking military members. It was boring, but nothing that he hadn't done before. The day of the gala, Hange arrived with the remaining of the 104th cadet corps. Levi felt great relief at seeing the familiar faces, Hange had eagerly came to hug him, and he pretended to hate it. Mikasa even came and gave him the briefest of embraces, Connie had been the most excited, throwing his arms around his former captain and squeezing him tightly. Armin had grinned sheepishly, and offered a small wave. Jean just nodded respectively in Levi's direction. Gabby and Falco had tagged along as well, wearing their best uniforms, decorated with their medals.

"I can't believe we get to come to the summer gala!" Connie gushed, his hazel eyes wide as he soaked in the castle in all of its glory.

"We won a war." Jean huffed, eyes sharp, hand fidgeting with his medal on his lapel.

"We lost more than we won." Mikasa murmured, her own shaky hands reaching for a scarf that was no longer wrapped around her neck. The cheery mood quickly dissipated at Mikasa's statement, Hange cleared their throat and clapped their hands in an attempt to drag everyone from their thoughts.

"Let's go meet Erwin then." They said, and Levi nodded.

"Let's." The group walked through the halls, Hange in the lead and Levi at their side, it felt like old times. The kids, well they weren't really kids anymore, were beginning to return to their annoying selves.

"-will we be able to eat the food?" Gabby asked, and Levi nearly flinched, the statement reminded him all too much of Sasha. Connie seemed less phased, he sighed and brought his arms behind his neck as they walked.

"I sure hope so."

"We're here on business." Mikasa reminded them and Jean hummed in agreement.

"We're here as representatives." Armin added, and Hange chuckled.

"Use this as an opportunity children." Hange cooed, pausing in front of the doors to the drawing room.

"Have some fun, get drunk, you've earned it." Hange then pushed the doors open, revealing the cozy drawing room, Erwin sat with his legs crossed in one of the arm chairs, a book in his lap. He closed the book and stood, his sleeve hanging limply where his arm once was.

"Cadets, erm or should I say captains." Erwin chuckled awkwardly as the kids all jumped to salute him, fists clenched over their hearts.

"Commander." They all greeted in unison.

"Sit, we have much to discuss."

The discussion was rather tame, a short bit of it had been relevant. Where the kids were to stand, what they were to say and how they were expected to act. The rest of the afternoon had been spent catching up and enjoying each other's company. Just a few hours before the guests were to arrive, Erwin sent the group off to find their spots.

Levi found himself waiting outside of your room, his watch gripped tightly in his fist, watching the minutes tick by. You emerged about fifteen minutes after him arriving, your dress was a deep emerald green, elegantly hugging your frame in all of the right places. You smoothed the silk gown skirts and smiled at him, the red lipstick on your lips making your teeth seem extra white.

"You look ravishing Captain." You complimented, accepting his arm before walking slowly down the hall, careful to keep his pace.

"...as do you." He choked out, a blush tickling his ears.

"Did you get all done up for me?" You pressed, hand tightening around his bicep.

"No." He answered, although he was partially lying, the truth was all he could think about as he dressed, was you. How would you be dressed? Was he to match you? Or was he expected to wear his usual military dress? He had opted for the latter, and it seemed to work well, the inky black dress coat and the gold medals that decorated his lapels seemed to compliment the emerald in your dress.

"Well, I sure hope that you will at least dance with me." You pouted, shooting him a hopeful look.

"Tch." He clicked his tongue, truthfully it was all that he could mange, he was nervous enough about joining you this evening. But you asking him to dance? He had never danced in his life, and with his legs in the state they were in now?

The two of you stopped, overlooking the ball room which was already filled with guests, milling about with flutes of champagne. You snuck a glance at Levi, who was looking down at the crowd with a bored glaze over his eyes.

"Ready?" You asked, squeezing his bicep once and he nodded, chin held high as the two of you slowly made your way down the staircase. Levi's eyes scanned the crowd, searching for familiar faces, which he found in their designated spots. He knew that the king had asked him to accompany his daughter largely as a political move, not for protection as he had in the past. But old habits die hard, he double checked exits and kept an eye out for shady people, it was easier than looking at you after all. Not because you were ugly, rather the opposite, you were stunning and that intimidated him.

After at least forty five minutes of socializing, the dancing began and you tugged impatiently on his arm, which you had yet to let go of.

"Please Levi, just this once." You whispered so only he could hear, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end at your closeness.

"Princess." He said sternly, although his voice did shake a tad, and you grinned, knowing that you had nearly convinced him.

"Captain." You countered, taking a step towards the dance floor.

"Just one." he said after a moment's hesitation before falling back in step with you.

"Just one." You affirmed with a wicked grin as you led him into the mass of bodies.

Levi felt his pulse race, his anxiety was roaring he had absolutely no clue how to dance, especially with his legs in the state that they were. You seemed to sense this, carefully taking his hand and resting it on your hip as you stepped ever so closely to him. Your chest was pressed against his, and he was sure that you could feel the pounding of his heart as it threatened to escape his ribcage.

"You just follow my lead." You whispered as he brought his other hand to rest naturally in the palm of yours. He nodded, eyes wandering down to glance at his feet, which were partially concealed by your skirts.

"It goes something like this, step-" You took a step towards him and he took one back.

"Then to the left," You instructed softly and he obliged, the two of you moving slightly out of sync.

"Then forwards again." You nodded as he stepped forwards and you stepped back, skirt swaying.

"Then to the right," You chuckled as his brows remained fixed in a tight knot as he tried to focus.

"Then we do it again." You seemed satisfied, and he nodded it was simple enough, although he could already feel the strain of the activity in his joints.

"Easy." He huffed, taking the lead and you giggled and fell into step with him.

"Tell me Levi, when you went across the ocean and fought those men, who were you fighting for?" The question caught him off guard and he nearly forgot the next step.

"That's an odd question." Levi shot you a mean look and you shrugged.

"I want to know what pushed Humanities strongest to be so strong." You answered, unfazed by his sour look.

"I fight for the people." He replied curtly and you sighed.

"That's a boring answer, I want to know what really drives you." You pressed and Levi frowned.

"Its the truth."

"Then tell me a lie." You raised a brow, challenging him and he screwed his nose up in distaste.

"Why would you want me to lie to you?" He asked out of genuine curiosity, no one had ever given him such a request.

"To spice some things up I guess." You hummed nonchalantly and squeezed your hand that held his.

"Then I would tell you I fought that war for you." He regretted the words, but you seemed to be pleased by them.

"Aw so you did think of me while we were apart." You cooed and Levi nearly broke away from you, but he only gripped your hand harder.

"You were the last thing on my mind." he huffed and you let out a throaty laugh. A lie, he thought of you often.

"You really are funny." You let your head fall affectionately into the crook of his neck and he swallowed thickly, as your scent washed over him.

"I didn't mean to be."

"I know, that's what makes it funny." Your breath tickled his neck as you spoke, you seemed to be in no hurry to pull away.

"Hmph." He hummed stupidly, unable to form words with you so close.

The song ended and you lifted your head, one of those wide grins sprawled across your lips.

"That wasn't so bad was it?" You whispered cheekily and he scoffed as the two of you exited the dance floor. You both found a seat at one of the tables set on the outskirts of the room, taking a break to drink and enjoy each others company.

Levi rubbed his knee under the table, the dance had truly taken a toll on him and he barely suppressed a groan. You noticed, shooting him a concerned look.

"Does it bother you often?" You asked, dragging your chair closer to his. He rolled his eye and pulled his hand slowly away from his leg.

"No."

"You're lying, just tell me the truth."

"I thought you wanted me to lie to you." He snapped back and you scoffed.

"Not about this." You reasoned and he sighed deeply.

"Yes, it hurts like a bitch." He turned to face you, his knee knocking yours and you frowned.

"You should've told me, I wouldn't have made you dance."

"I-" He paused, catching himself before the words left his mouth. But after one look at your open and concerned face he couldn't not say what he had been wanting to say.

"I wanted to." He admitted and your eyes widened a fraction.

"You...really wanted to?" Your words were raw and clearly Levi had caught you, the witty young princess off guard.

"I did."

"Would you do it again?"

"Yes."

"Hm." A smug look crossed your face and Levi scowled at you, not liking the way you seemed to be plotting something unbeknownst to him.

"What?" He snapped and you let out a short burst of laughter.

"I knew that you weren't lying when you said that you thought about me." You teased and he growled lowly under his breath.

"Maybe that was your last dance with me."

"Easy now, let's not be hasty, we have the whole night after all darling." You patted his shoulder, standing slowly and walking around the back of his chair to squeeze his shoulders before slipping off into the crowd.

He hoped that you meant it, that you would come back even if he could not dance with you again. He hoped that you had thought of him too, that his fighting had all been worth it. To spend the rest of his life by your side, even if he was just your guard or even a political ploy. He would do it for you, and he would do so happily.

297 notes · View notes

kirishimaswife2819 · 4 years ago

Note

heyy! i was wondering if you could make a headcanon for todoroki, midoriya, kirishima, kaminari and bakugou with a female s/o with dermatillomania and particularly bad scars on their arms and legs so they are insecure about showing them? (if five are too many the first three or four are fine) ☺️✨

Them With a Fem!S/o That Has Dermatillomania and is Insecure About Showing Their Arms and Legs || Midoriya, Bakugou, Kirishima, and Todoroki

Masterlist

↠Author’s Note: Hi! Thanks for requesting, I hope this is okay. I focused more on the s/o being insecure about the scars than them just having dermatillomania in general, so I hope that’s okay. I also originally planned on doing Kaminari as well (since you requested him too) but I really couldn’t think of any for him, so I’m really sorry about that. I also made a new layout because I got bored of the old one and wanted to change it up a little bit. Anyway, I hope you like this! -Danielle <3

↠Characters: Izuku Midoriya, Katsuki Bakugou, Eijiro Kirishima, and Shoto Todoroki x Fem!Reader

↠Summary: The boys with a fem!s/o that has dermatillomania, and has bad scars on their arms and legs, so they’re insecure about showing them

↠Genre: Fluff/comfort

↠Word Count: 800

↠Warnings: Insecurities

↠Notes: None

Izuku Midoriya:

It doesn’t make any sense to him, at all

He gets being insecure about your scars, he’s insecure about some of his, but how are you about to constantly praise his scars and then go and hate yours, it just doesn’t make any sense to him

He might try to see if there’s something that can help to make the scars less visible, so you aren’t afraid to show your arms and legs

But if he can’t find a way to help the scars, he will one hundred percent make you feel better about it

He might try to be like, “It’s alright, I have scars too, and you think they’re amazing, right?” and after you reply with a “yes”, he’ll reply with a, “Well that’s how I feel about yours :)”

He still won’t purposely make you uncomfortable by forcing you to show your arms and legs, he’s there to make you feel safe and happy, not to make you uncomfortable

Complimenting you gets him all flustered and a blushing mess but if his compliments make you feel better about yourself then he’ll gladly push through being all red and flustered, as long as it makes you happy

Katsuki Bakugou:

It pisses him off

Why the hell would he, or anybody for that matter, care about some scars on your skin? He thinks you’re hot as fuck either way, and nothing’s ever going to change that

He might get mad at you for covering your arms and legs up when it’s really hot out, and he’ll probably yell “Dumbass! You’re going to overheat!”, which may be part of the reason that he wants you to show your arms and legs but it’s also because he wants you to be confident in who you are, because he thinks that you’re amazing

If you cover up your legs/arms too much he may take away your long sleeved shirts/pants (ik that sounds kinda toxic but like if you were genuinely that insecure about it and you were upset that he did this then he would give them back, he’s just trying to help)

His compliments aren’t very good but if you’re acting insecure or you’re worried about what your arms or legs look like he’ll gladly shout a “You look fine! Now, let’s get going, I don’t have all day here!”

Eijiro Kirishima:

He genuinely gets upset at the fact that you’re insecure about the scars when it’s something that you really can’t control

Like he literally cried after he first found out, he just can’t stand the idea of you being insecure about yourself when he thinks you’re the prettiest girl that he’s ever laid eyes on

While he hates the fact that you feel the need to cover up your arms and legs, he’ll still help you do so, if it makes you happy

He’ll find thin but not see through shirts for you to wear, as well as pants, and then give them to you

But while he does this, he also tries to raise your confidence and he constantly goes on about how nice your legs and arms are, and how much he loves seeing them

He will not stop praising and complimenting your skin/arms and legs until you’re confident in what they look like, and you’re not insecure about them any longer, and even after that he’ll probably still compliment them a lot

Shoto Todoroki:

He really doesn’t get it

Like Izuku understands the insecurity in general just not your logic when it comes to it, but Todoroki does not get it at all, not the insecurity, not your logic when it comes to it, absolutely nothing about it

Why would you be insecure about something that you can’t really control? It’s not like it makes you ugly or unattractive to him, he honestly couldn’t care less and he will tell you that

Shoto’s not the best at comforting you when you’re upset or insecure, so he’ll just offer to do whatever you want him to do with you

If you cover up your arms and legs, he’ll do the same, even if it’s in the summer, he doesn’t want you to be all alone and the only person wearing a long sleeved shorts and pants in the middle of summer, so he’ll do it with you

He doesn’t like the fact that you do it, but if you are going to do it then, he might as well do it too

Oh, and if you get too hot while doing it, during the summer, he will use his ice side to cool you down a little bit, so that you don’t overheat and hurt yourself

173 notes · View notes

prurientpuddlejumper · 3 years ago

Text

A Lipless Face That I Want to Marry, Ch. 16

<- Part 15 | Part 17 ->

Summary: A flirtatious moment in the hospital garden turns sour.

Warnings: Brief nsfw themes, injury-recovery angst, post-traumatic stress/flashbacks, graphic past injuries, KISSING, hurt/comfort. Love and fluff.

3,700 words

After being gutted left him with a limp, a cane, and an overbearing sense of weakness, Frederick Chilton began copying Hannibal Lecter. His patterned suits, his clean-shaven face. The mimicry wasn’t deliberate exactly, but he looked to a man who radiated calm dignity and strength, and tried to capture some of it for his own.

It didn’t work. Frederick Chilton was still Frederick Chilton.

But shaving the beard did make him look younger. The razor glided over his smooth cheek as he cut through the facial hair that had grown unruly in the hospital. A new man stared back at him. One not traumatized by Gideon’s knife.

Only a few months later, he was shot in the face, and let the stubble grow back to distract from the scar. To obscure the hollowing where maxillary bone was missing. Like a chameleon, Frederick was always changing—hairstyles, wardrobes, colognes—always imitating someone, drawing the eye away from a flaw, never comfortable with himself. Ever improving. Refining. Hiding.

Every day, the burn ward’s physical therapists had him using one exercise machine or another. A pedaling machine lowered over his bed so he could build muscle while lying on his back before he was able to walk. The next step was a tall, rolling frame that he strapped into like a fighter pilot hanging from a parachute harness, which allowed him to take a few weightless steps. His legs shook. His feet did not know how to align themselves on the ground anymore. He hissed curses when you cheered him on just for shuffling one foot forward along the smooth grey linoleum.

One damned foot.

As if he couldn’t walk before. As if one shaking, machine-assisted step was an accomplishment. He was an overgrown baby in a Jumperoo.

While he could not walk on his own yet, he could get into and out of a wheelchair without screaming bloody murder. This allowed him a new level of freedom, if not autonomy. He still required two nurses to lower him into the chair. Still needed help getting to the bathroom. But he could at least use the bathroom instead of a bedpan and catheter.

Healing came at a cost.

Until now, he had caught flashes of his reflection in polished surfaces. Warped teeth in a metal IV pole. The fuzzy silhouette of a mask in the black of his computer screen.

He stood with his hands on the bathroom sink, staring. The nurse at his left elbow tugged him, told him it was time to sit back down in the chair. He needed support to stand, a babysitter to ensure he didn’t fall, and she was tired of waiting.

The thing staring back at him did not move.

When he took the compression mask off for the one hour per day he was allowed to remove it for cleaning, he somehow expected to find his own face beneath it. Skin. What he saw was a stranger. Gnarled scars made an uneven backdrop for one dead blue eye and a skeletal grimace. His own bones were buried somewhere underneath like bedrock, but the flesh was rearranged and distorted.

If he had met this man a year ago, Dr. Chilton would have felt inward pride at his ability not to sicken at the sight. He would have shaken his hand with a smug, professional detachment that said, “I am accustomed to horrific things in my line of work—abnormal psychiatry. This does not shock me as it would a layperson.”

He was a creature to be pitied.

Then a familiar reflection appeared out of the blind spot of his left side. Your image wrapped its hand behind the broken stranger, and he felt it land on his lower back. Warm. Comforting as your face, which was knit with worry. You told the nurse you could handle it from here, and she retreated out to his room.

When she was gone, Frederick began to laugh, dark and cruel, eyes never leaving the matching set staring cruelly back.

“What is it?” you asked, tightening your grip on his arm as he began to tremble.

“Do you think I look younger without a beard?”

The laugh cracked in his throat. His shoulders heaved as he finally looked away. It was too embarrassing to watch a grown man cry.

***

The heat of July was not easy on a body that could no longer sweat and was covered head to toe in a compression suit, but Frederick Chilton was thrilled to be outside. As the automatic sliding doors opened, he breathed in deeply through the nose and exhaled the spinning summer fragrances with a blissful sigh.

You resisted the urge to tease him. Of the pair, you were the more outdoorsy by far, and the last time you dragged him camping, he’d managed to complain the entire two days. He was not, generally, one to appreciate sunshine and birdsong. But this was different.

It was his first time away from the lifeless hospital air—the same smells day after day—in four months.

Now a breeze hit his face—a breeze! He had forgotten what that felt like—and brought with it the smell of cut grass and flowers, and exhaust fumes from the nearby roadways. The scent of gasoline urged his stomach to wring itself empty, but it was faint and easy enough to shake off as sparrows chirped and flitted about the hospital’s “meditation garden.”

Gently curving paths snaked through the landscaping of lush greenery and small trees. Few flowers were planted, out of respect for patients with allergies, but a fountain at the center babbled soothingly. The walkways were wide and smoothly paved, so the grey wheels of the hospital-issue wheelchair rolled over them easily, performing their function despite being over-worked and worn down, not unlike the staff. The black rubber handle grips had a dull patina from hundreds of hands, yours being the latest to circle around them as you pushed.

It was nice to have a private courtyard to enjoy the fresh air without the eyes of the general public watching.

Frederick was able to wear clothes from home now, but they had to be loose-fitting and short-sleeved to not interfere with his treatment. In a navy polo shirt and athletic shorts, he felt horrifically under-dressed, and did not want to be seen that way. The fashion crime was almost as bad as the face he could not bear looking at.

An elderly patient and what appeared to be her adult daughter sat on one of the benches between two daylily patches, blooming garishly cheerful red and gold. The daughter looked up, and Chilton looked away.

“You are certain you checked the bedroom closet? Left-hand side, second drawer to the bottom?” he asked again, agitation rising.

He was looking for the more fashionable Chino shorts he rarely wore, preferring to overheat in long pants than expose his pale, door-knob knees to imagined ridicule. You told him the housekeeper must have misplaced them.

He clenched his fist as tightly as the pink, shiny-scarred claw could manage and went on a gruff, impotent rant about the help growing careless without him to keep them in check. (If anything, the “help” were desperate to keep you in check without him there to manage your habit of leaving everything out—your clothes on a chair, the cereal box on the counter.)

“I know, I know. Awful,” you nodded along to the music of his words, if not the lyrics. You wished he would change the subject, but he pressed on with his investigation of the Case of the Missing Shorts.

“Mrs. Pérez brought a load of laundry down from the bedroom last Wednesday,” he noted. Frederick had taken to watching the security feeds remotely from his laptop. “Has she been using the cheap dry cleaner on Cherry Street instead of the good one so she can skim the difference? I have explicitly instructed the staff not to use them—they have lost or ruined several articles over the years. Inform Mrs. Pérez that I will not stand for lazy—what?”

Your tense smile began emanating a tenser whine.

It was rather suspicious.

Frederick watched you for a moment, puzzled, and then resumed, “The new security guard shares my pant size. Perhaps—”

“I DID IT. I brought them to Good Will.”

“You what?!”

Clicking the wheelchair brake, you doubled over the back of it, laughing at your childish ruse and how seriously Frederick had taken it. God, the man could never let anything go! “Over a year ago! You never wore them!”

“Come here.” His clipped tone did not invite argument.

You walked around to the front of his chair, the repentant pout on your face strongly undermined by rounded cheeks that were barely holding back a chuckle.

He growled with affectionate anger—the kind where he wanted to grab behind your knees and pull you into his lap, telling you with a low purr exactly how much trouble you were in. Except at the moment, your weight crashing onto his skinny, bony lap would have bruised a femur and torn five stitches. And if he was not confident enough for a kiss, he was in no condition to promise punishments of that nature.

So he gave your rump a sharp smack and tried to make his mouth smirk in that playfully disdainful way that said, “I love you, but I am going to kill you. You know that, right?” Sometimes wanting to kill someone can be such a personal, intimate love language.

“Doctor Chilton!” you gasped, feigning shock. “Such a naughty patient. I have told you time and again, this is simply unprofessional.”

The old woman and daughter had moved on, leaving you alone in the garden.

He let out a soft huff of amusement, catching on to the new game you were playing. Back when he was the administrator of the BSHCI, you would often saunter into his office playing the oversexed patient to his sleazy therapist. Now the roles were reversed.

“You protest,” he said in a low, lecherous tone, “and yet you continue to lavish extra attention on me. Do not think I have not noticed.”

“I don’t know what you could mean,” you deflected coyly. “Please keep your hands to yourself, sir.”

He grabbed your hand and spun you to face him, skeletal fingers interlocking with yours. Even through the compression glove, you could feel how skinny they had become, knobby knuckles protruding.

“Doctor,” he corrected.

You swallowed. “Doctor.”

“Why deny it? You guard all my treatments for yourself like a prize when other nurses could do it. You crawl into my bed to warm me with your body heat—hardly standard practice. I think you like the attention,” he said, giving your ass another lurid slap.

“D-Doctor! I’m not supposed to—we’re not supposed to…”

“If you worked at my hospital, I would fire you for such fraternization. Yet you call me unprofessional.” His hand still rested on your ass.

“You would fire me, doctor? Why fire me when there is so much I could offer?”

“And what is it you would offer me?” he asked, voice thick with meaning. His fingers kneaded the fat of your ass gently. It would have been harder, more possessive, if his hands were at full strength.

Not long ago, getting an erection had been painful, though he’d had several corrective surgeries since then, and the grafting had time to heal. Perhaps the sunlight was sparking him back to life. He was in a flirtatious mood—more excited than you’d seen him in a long time, and you were not about to tell him to slow down.

“Anything you want, doctor.” You lowered yourself in front of his chair, kneeling between his legs and looking up at him expectantly.

His Adam’s apple bobbed.

No one else was in the garden, and statues and shrubberies hid it from the road, but it was not entirely private. Anyone could walk in or see from a window of the tall buildings. You were just pretending. You weren’t going to slip his cock out right there and suck it for all the world to see. And yet… it had been so long. The thought of your moist lips closing over his lonely, aching hardness, your head bobbing in his lap…

“You… are fascinated with me, nurse,” he observed, licking his non-lips. His composure was holding, but barely. “You have seen many patients, but never one as badly burned, have you?”

“No.”

“Does it excite you?”

You took a moment before answering. Part of him resented you for still finding him attractive. At his lowest, he even blamed you for wanting these brutal injuries to happen. A bird sang a few metallic notes on a nearby branch before fluttering down to drink from the fountain. You stroked the top of his narrow thighs, careful not to push too far by going near his cock, but he showed no sign of hesitation today. The heat in his eyes as he watched you was not accusing, but hungry.

“Yes,” you panted. “You are striking. I’ve never met anyone so strong, so resilient.”

“Do you dream of kissing me? Your most striking patient?”

“Yes.”

The sun beat down hotter, but it was only your own internal temperature rising. The birds seemed to pause in their songs, and the leaves on the trees ceased to flutter.

You had waited so long—was he really asking?

His gloved hand reached down between his legs, and nailless pink fingertips stroked the side of your face thoughtfully a few times. Then he motioned you to get up off your knees, offering his hand as a symbolic gesture only. You put some of your weight on the padded rubber armrest as you stood.

“It will not be pleasant. For either party, I imagine,” he said, breaking character.

“It will be for me.” Your voice was soft.

“I do not know what to do like this. Mash my teeth against your face?”

You laughed a little. It was probably more nuanced than that, but that sounded basically accurate. “We’ll find out together.”

He looked off into the distance, toward the humming road weaving through the city. A warm breeze brought the smell of sea off the harbor: salty, humid, and stagnant with rotted fish and garbage. “The memory of your lips against mine is already fading,” he said. “That memory is all I have left of them. Whatever this will be, it will not feel the same.”

“I know.” You rested a hand on his shoulder. The dark blue polo was informal for his old life, but the woven cotton texture was rich compared to the thin hospital gowns you were used to him wearing. The last kiss you shared with Frederick was preserved behind a glass display case in your memory palace. A new kiss might break the hermetic seal. You could forget what it felt like to kiss him before. But it seemed worth the price to build new memories—a future just as full of love as the past.

He looked up at you like a broken ceramic being pieced back together with gold. His eyes shone with love, but his shoulders were slumped low.

“You may say I’m a slutty nurse for wanting to kiss my patient, but you’re to blame!” you said, playing the game again. “How could I resist your charm? I bet you seduce every nurse—I’m only your latest conquest!”

A smile tugged the corner of his mouth.

“No, my dear,” he purred, grabbing your arm and pulling you down to him until your face was inches from his. “Only you. I only want you.”

“Can I kiss you?”

He breathed in. He nodded.

You leaned the final inch down, and pressed your lips to his teeth.

The Red Dragon’s teeth sunk through flesh and tore deep. Coppery blood flooded his mouth, the taste so metallic and strong it drowned out almost everything else out—the pain, the unnatural tearing, little pops of veins, ligaments, and muscles stretching to their limits before giving up, his own screams. The truth of his face with all its illusions of grandeur was revealed before him: it was just meat. Nothing but raw, shredded meat.

“NO!” he screamed, and pushed you hard.

It was different than the peevish denials other times you’d tried to kiss. He pushed you away with so much force you staggered backward, and his wheelchair nearly tipped over. It reared on two wheels like a panicked horse and would have fallen except the worn brake gave way, and he shot backward several feet until the vacant bench stopped the chair’s momentum.

“No, no! Get away! No!” he begged no one, shaking and thrashing so violently he risked ripping his healing scars.

His back, legs, and arms were glued to the wheelchair, and he couldn’t escape. No—could have if he were desperate enough, strong enough. But he was terrified of ripping his skin off. The thought made him break out in a cold sweat and made it difficult to think straight. Dear god, he was afraid something happened to his back. Of being disfigured again.

He was afraid to die, but he dreaded even more the thought of surviving yet again to find another piece taken from him.

Not another. Not again.

If he cooperated, he had to be spared this time. He would cooperate. Do everything The Red Dragon said, and fate would be merciful. He had to go home. He had to go home. To see you again. It was not fair that he survived two attempts on his life only to die here. It was not fair! He was going to get married to the love of his life. Things were finally going right. The Dragon’s shadow fell over him. The acrid stench of his breath as he leaned down toward Frederick’s mouth—

“Frederick!”

You ran after him and tried to restrain him before he climbed out of the wheelchair and fell to the pavement, but it only made him struggle harder. Fuck. You weren’t sure if touching him again was a good idea, but you didn’t know what else to do. He was going to hurt himself.

“Shh, I’m here.”

Crouching next to him, you tried to keep him seated, murmuring soft, reassuring words. Eventually, he stopped thrashing to escape, his jerking limbs resigning themselves to passive trembling. His eyes were open, but they didn’t see you. They didn’t see anything but a dark room with a flickering projector.

You laid your head on his lap. “I’m right here. It’s OK. You’re safe, Frederick. You’re safe. Shh, shh...”

It took several minutes, but his breathing began to slow, and he began to calm down. His fingers found your hair and stroked it, mindlessly running over the contour of your scalp. Familiarity. Recognizing you, he grasped at your shirt to draw you closer, clutching you like a teddy bear to his chest. It was an awkward angle, but you shifted so your butt was partially supported by the bench he’d crashed into, and used the chair’s armrest to hold yourself in the bent position. Frankly, even if every muscle in your body cramped up, you weren’t going to leave him as long as he needed to hold onto you.

Finally, he whimpered your name and asked what happened.

“I… kissed you. I’m sorry.”

“Oh.”

He sniffed and wiped his face, which he discovered was soaked with tears, and looked off into the trees. You sat back onto the bench, straightening your crooked spine, but keeping a firm hold on his hand, staying close as he returned to reality. He would be embarrassed. Add this to the growing list of Ways Frederick Chilton is Broken and Useless. But for now, the humiliation was dulled by the fact that he was not in that room again, with the projector flickering. You stayed that way for a while, sitting in the dappled shade of the garden and the warm breeze, the fountain burbling a constant, relaxing, tuneless song.

“The last man to bring his lips to mine bit them off.”

“I’m so sorry, Frederick. I shouldn’t have been so stupid...”

He squeezed your hand. Straightened up in his chair. “I heard the FBI has the video. Have you watched it?”

You shook your head, then quickly added, “No,” aloud, knowing his vision was poor and still focused on the tree branches swaying and morphing in the wind. Jack Crawford had offered, but you didn’t want to see it. You couldn’t bear to.

It had been hard enough hearing him describe how Francis Dolarhyde glued him naked to his grandmother’s wheelchair and made him watch macabre home movies of the families he had slaughtered. His voice was too calm, too distant from the memory as he dictated graphic details for the Journal of Psychology, desperate to tell his story, grab his fame before he died.

You should have known how your mouth coming at his would make him feel. You were so caught up in your romantic imaginings, you forgot how kiss-like that moment of horror must have been, just before the pain.

The nightmare his life had been for months already, and would continue to be. The scar tissue that wouldn’t fully mature for two years. Two years wearing a compression suit to help them heal. Years of follow-up procedures so that he can continue to move. To breathe. To hear. Longer until he could get a new face. His entire life altered forever.

It started with a kiss.

“We don’t have to kiss. I should never have pushed you to,” you apologized, wincing preemptively.

You expected him to be angry. To sarcastically tell you, “Now you decide we don’t have to? Now that it is too late? What fine timing.”

“I am not weak,” he bristled instead, but his agitation only spanned the length of a breath. He squeezed your hand softly, and pulled you halfway into his chair to wrap his arms around your waist and back. “I did not think that would happen either,” he spoke comfortingly into your hair. “Attempting it for the first time in a wheelchair was a mistake. I should have been more aware of that, but I grow tired of not being able to show my affection. You are not the only one impatient for my recovery, darling. I want to try again.”

“Now?” You pulled back, widening your eyes at him.

“No,” he said plainly. “I think not.”

• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● •

@beccabarba / @itsjustmyfantasyroom / @thatesqcrush / @dianilaws / @permanentlydizzy / @mrsrafaelbarba / @madamsnape921 / @astrangegirlsmind / @neely1177 / @onerestein / @dreamlover31 / @isvvc-pvscvl / @shroomiehomie / @storiesofsvu / @welcometothemxdhouse / @feedthemadness-sweetie / @law-nerd105 / @amelia-song-pond / @michael-rooker / @xecq / @madpanda75 / @alwaysachorusgirl / @bananas-pajamas / @leanor-min / @mad-girl-without-a-box / @katierpblogg / @worldofvixen / @sassyada / @barbingchilton

#Frederick Chilton x reader #my writing

53 notes · View notes

ladykissingfish · 4 years ago

Text

Highschool with the Akatsuki

*Modern-Day*

Hidan

Behavioral nightmare. Fidgets, drops things, disrupts others’ work, talks during study/quiet times. Has to be constantly reprimanded for his inappropriate jokes and foul language. Sent to the principal‘s office so much that he was asked his opinion when the man was choosing new carpeting. Most of his friends are exactly like him, so if they’re in the same class they have to be seated clear across the room from each other. Can be a good student when he TRIES; but doesn’t see the point in trying, so will just barely be passing his classes with C’s and D’s. Skinny jeans and Vans with open flannel shirts over white or black tank. Wears a necklace with strange symbol on it, when asked what it represents he’ll say “my religion” but won’t elaborate. In the bathroom between every class grabbing “a quick smoke”. Dyed his hair silver as a joke in the 6th grade, has kept it that way ever since.

Kakuzu

As serious as a heart attack, no matter the situation. Incredibly tall and with a stern face; is almost always mistaken for being the teacher by new kids. Has an impressive collection of “old-man” sweaters. The stingiest guy alive with a buck; will actually make you hand-write him an IOU slip over borrowing 50 cents for the vending machine. Decent in all subjects but a star in Economics. Has one or two “friends” but doesn’t seem particularly close to them (or anyone else for that matter). Doesn’t talk a lot in class but when he does it’s usually because he disagrees with a point the teacher is making, and he isn’t afraid to debate him or her until he’s acknowledged as being correct.

Deidara

Deidara is one of those people who needs constant stimulation to keep him engaged in whatever’s going on. Since school tends to involve a lot of tedious repetition, paying attention in class isn’t something he’s the best at. Most likely to “finish up” his homework assignments five minutes before class starts. Grades tend to fall in the B-/C+ range. The type to always pick a seat that’s in the back of the room and/or closest to the window. Has a sketchbook that he carries around with him wherever he goes. Style consists of ripped jeans over fishnets, combat boots, fingerless gloves, band t-shirts and oversized pullover hoodies. Super-long hair tied back in ponytail. One of the first (and only) people at school to *openly* identify as pansexual; gets asked out a lot but always declines everyone because dating “would interfere with his artistic process”. Doesn’t speak a lot in class unless the topic particularly interests him, in which case he will ramble on and on until politely stopped by the teacher. His table at lunch will always be full because others are drawn to his energy and charisma. The art room is his home away from home; on a first-name basis with the instructor.

Sasori

The smart, quiet kid. Tends to keep to himself and always appears to be in his own little world. Doesn’t ever seem to be paying attention in class, but when the teacher randomly calls on him, he has the right answer every single time. Always gets A’s but will get upset over a “low A” (in the 90-94% range). A good budgeter of time and will usually manage to get most of his homework done at lunch or during study hall. Has a (small) core group of friends and not looking to add to it anytime soon. Wears a lot of khakis and long-sleeved shirts or sweaters (even in the summer). Because of his organizational skills, technical mind, and proficiency in using tools, he excels in woodshop; often informally used by the teacher as an “assistant” to help other students with their projects. Absolutely hates gym (his small stature and delicate nature make physical exertion difficult for him); this will be the only class he doesn’t try for an A in, as he skips it as often as possible.

Itachi

Dear God, the girls ((and quite a few guys)) are crazy over this boy. Is thought of as being brooding, and mysterious ... and gut-wrenchingly handsome. Very quiet, rarely speaks in class, but when he DOES, it’s always something deep and profound. Top student grade-wise. Long dark hair and soulful eyes. Style is all black, distressed baggy pants with chains, long-sleeved band or anime shirts, boots, fishnet gloves, heavy silver bracelets and rings. Is polite to everyone but only has a handful of actual friends. Submits poems and short stories anonymously to the school paper; always gets published. Is occasionally persuaded by his teachers to volunteer as a student tutor; line will be literally out the door from people seeking his “help”. Has friends in the drama club so will go to every single school play to be supportive, even if all friend did was lighting or scenery.

Kisame

Tall and athletic; captain of the swim team. Isn’t the most handsome guy but popular because of his personality. Not really the best student, but keeps his grades up enough to be able to keep playing sports. Sweatpants, Nikes, and Letterman’s jacket. The type to step in when he sees somebody getting bullied. Has a secret love for Orchestra music and likes to sit outside the band room when it’s members have rehearsals. Friends with/friendly to absolutely everybody. Will go through more than one tray at lunch. Shines the brightest during gym class. Also a surprisingly good cook; will voluntarily take Home Economics as an elective and be one of the best bakers in the class.

Obito

Known around school as “that one guy with the mask”. Was apparently in a bad accident as a child that left the side of his face heavily scarred; adopted the practice of wearing solid-color face masks to cover damage. Teachers are made aware of his situation so no one ever tries to make him take it off; although he will do so at lunch, at a table of his close friends. Smart and articulate, everyone turns to look at him when he speaks in class. Tall and moves quickly (and silently); nobody ever knows he’s there until he’s right behind them. Dark jeans, boots and will always wear a leather jacket or trench coat, even on ridiculously hot days. Doesn’t laugh a lot but when he does, the sound of it could make anyone fall in love. A big eater of sweets; will always have some kind of candy on him that he will quietly slip beneath the mask and eat during class. When caught by teacher, will claim he had low blood sugar, and because he’s a good student otherwise he won’t be questioned further on it. The type to, at the beginning of the school year, sign up for a ton of after-school clubs, stay in them for a week, decide they’re boring, and duck out.

Zetsu

Oddball kid who sits by himself and talks to himself more than seems normal. Teachers have learned early on not to call on him in class, because he’ll just sit there and give them a silent, intent stare until they move on to someone else. Surprisingly good grades despite never talking/participating. Wears cargo shorts, T-shirts and sandals with socks, no matter the weather. Always goes outside in-between class periods; sometimes misses class altogether just to nap under a tree with his face in the sun. Eventually founds and is “captain” of the school’s gardening club; not many members but the ones that do join are very environmentally conscious, modern-day “hippies”.

Pein

Legitimately has like, 9000 piercings. There’s not an inch of this guys face that doesn’t have a shiny silver stud in it. Red and black seem to be the only colors in his wardrobe; lots of button-up shirts and zip hoodies. Has a ridiculously deep voice and is always super-intense, even when just hanging out with friends. In group projects, he’s always very quickly designated as the Leader. In his group of friends, it’s clear he’s the Leader. Not the best grades but above-average. Spends a lot of time with the blue-haired girl; it’s always rumored that they’re dating although both parties have claimed to be “just friends”. A terrifyingly persuasive arguer; joins and becomes star of the debate team within a week. The type to ask a very deep, pointed question during class and change the entire course of the teacher’s lecture.

Konan

The type to have a lot of close male friends but almost zero female ones. Tends to be the “mom” amongst her group. Excellent student, always the top marks in her class. A lot of admirers but always politely turns down potential suitors. Some piercings but nothing very extravagant. The school used to have a very strict rule about dying one’s hair “wild colors”, but she dyed hers blue and led a successful protest regarding freedom of expression. Her favorite class is literature, especially when they get to the Greek Mythology and Shakespeare units. Does origami as a hobby; when bored in class will sit and tear up bits of paper or napkins and create gorgeous little flowers. Clean and organized in every aspect EXCEPT for her locker, which is a (legendary) jumbled and unholy catastrophe.

#the akatsuki #headcanon #high school #hidan #kakuzu #deidara #sasori #itachi #kisame #obito uchiha #zetsu #pein #konan

93 notes · View notes

actress4him · 4 years ago

Text

Querencia 2 - Abandoned

(Prompt #4 for Summer of Whump)

Taglist: @darthsutrich

Previous | Next

Warnings: lady whumpee, teenage whumpee, mild blood, fantastic prejudice (for lack of a better term??), parental abandonment, foster system

Some people’s powers manifest when they hit puberty. Others when they face a traumatic event, whether they’re a child or an adult.

Liliana isn’t really sure precisely when hers started, but she’s fourteen when she discovers what she can do. It’s a normal day at school, she’s hanging out with her friend Camila on the playground during recess, unaware that her life is about to change. Then Camila falls off the monkey bars and scrapes her elbow.

As she begins to cry, blood beading up around the torn skin, Liliana rushes to her and takes the injured elbow in her hands. Suddenly there’s some kind of blue aura dancing between the two girls’ skin. Gasping, Liliana lets go and falls back, but it’s too late. Camila is staring at her with impossibly wide eyes, cradling an elbow with only a bit of blood as evidence that it was ever hurt, and Liliana’s own elbow is smarting. She can hardly pay that any mind, though, not with her thoughts swirling around what she just saw.

Because she’s one of them. She’s a Non.

She’d been young when people with strange powers started popping up on the news all of a sudden, so she doesn’t know where the slang term came from. All she knows is that Nons aren’t to be trusted. Her father has said so, many a time over the dinner table. Her mother watches the news stories about Nons with a hand over her heart, frightened.

Camila’s mouth gapes open. “You...you’re…”

“Don’t, please.” She shakes her head frantically, tears stinging her eyes. “No lo sabia, I swear, Mila, por favor no...you can’t tell anyone.”

Her friend’s eyes are wide, uncertain. She looks from her own elbow, to Liliana’s hands, to her face. “Okay. Está bien, no lo haré. No se lo diré a nadie. I promise.”

And she keeps her promise. Camila never breathes a word of Liliana’s newfound powers to anyone, and Liliana makes sure not to touch anyone who’s hurt for a very long time.

Or at least she tries.

One time she touches her brother’s forehead when he’s sick, and he makes a ‘miraculous’ recovery. She, on the other hand ‘catches’ his cold, only she never actually runs a fever or needs to blow her nose. She just feels sick.

Thankfully no one suspects.

Another time she bumps into someone in the grocery store and hisses as her arm begins to throb. At home, she pushes up her sleeve to find out what’s wrong and sees nothing. Just her skin, smooth and brown as always. It feels like there’s a giant purple bruise there, though, the pain much worse when she brushes a finger across it.

Accidents happen. Liliana takes to wearing shirts with sleeves long enough to pull over her hands, no matter what the weather, to try to further avoid contact. She’d wear gloves all the time if that wasn’t sure to raise questions.

And all the while, the foreboding news about the Nons continues.

A Non robbed a bank. A Non killed three people. A Non cut off the electricity to an entire city.

She’s convinced that she’s the only good person with powers in the world. And her power could be so helpful for so many people, too, if only she was free to use it. Sure, it seems to transfer pain and sickness directly to her, but it never lasts. Even the scar that she got from Camila faded after a while, about the same time she stopped noticing it on her friend’s elbow, too. It’s possible that she could save people’s lives, rather than threatening them like all the other Nons seem to do.

Liliana manages to keep her secret for over a year before everything falls apart.

Her whole family is at the neighborhood’s Fourth of July celebration. Her mother is introducing her to Mrs. Bently, an elderly woman with kind blue eyes and wrinkled, gnarled hands. One of those hands is reaching for hers, and Liliana is frozen, wanting to pull away, afraid of what it will look like if she does, knowing somehow without a doubt that she cannot let this lady touch her hand, but unable to figure out how to stop it before it’s happening. The small white hand is clasped around her own. Liliana’s wearing long sleeves, as usual, despite the heat of July, but that doesn’t keep her fingertips from sticking out and touching skin.

She doesn’t dare to look down. She can feel the power going out of her, can hardly bite back a gasp as her fingers stiffen and begin to ache. But there’s still a smile on Mrs. Bently’s face, she hasn’t looked down, either, hasn’t seemed to notice. Maybe she can get away with this one more time, maybe her luck will continue and no one will know…

A strangled sound comes from somewhere to her right, and she remembers. Mamá is watching.

Don’t look don’t look don’t look she might not have seen she might not know if you look she’ll know she’ll see it on your face

Mrs. Bently’s friendly smile fades into a frown. Releasing Liliana’s hand, she brings her own hand up to look at it, flexing her fingers in a way that Liliana knows she can’t do herself right now.

“That’s...that’s so strange. My hand...it…” She laughs, incredulously, and Liliana wants to laugh with her, anything to break through the fear that’s pounding in her eardrums, but all she can do is pull her sleeve farther down to hide her aching fingers, pull until the shirt is threatening to fall off her shoulder. “It’s almost like when you touched my hand, my arthritis just...disappeared.” Another short laugh, and she reaches the same hand up to softly pat Liliana’s cheek. “Either I’m finally starting to lose my mind, or...or maybe you’re an angel sent to help an old woman.”

Another strange noise from the right, and Liliana finally gives in and looks.The expression that she sees is exactly what she feared. Mamá knows.

The rest of the day passes in a blur. All she’s aware of is that she’s bundled quickly into the car, harried excuses are made to friends, and she spends the evening in her room, hiding underneath the covers.

She doesn’t know what her parents are thinking right now. Are they mad? Disappointed? Scared?

“Anyone who says not all Nons are bad is an idiot,” Papá’s voice echoes in her mind. “An idiot who clearly isn’t keeping up with what’s going on in the world. None of them can be trusted. They all need to be rounded up and locked away for good.”

Liliana buries her head further and tries desperately to let sleep take her away from her worries.

The next morning someone knocks on her bedroom door. It isn’t locked, so she sits up quickly, combing her fingers through her mussed up hair - the fingers of her left hand, after she discovers that those on her right aren’t fond of the motion - and tries to rub away the restless night of tears from her face. “Come in.”

It isn’t her mother, father, or even her brother who enters. It’s a stranger, a tall, thin woman with her blonde hair pulled back into a severe bun. Liliana bolts upright, heart thumping wildly.

“¿Quién eres?”

“You need to pack your things.”

Shaking, Liliana attempts to back away, her thighs quickly bumping into the mattress. “What? Why?”

The woman sighs, pursing her lips, though it’s unclear whether she’s actually sympathetic or she’s just aggravated that whatever this is about hasn’t been explained yet. “Your parents have turned you over to the care of the state. I’m here to escort you to your new home.”

Liliana’s mind goes blank other than a high-pitched screeching in her ears. The woman is saying something else, she thinks, but nothing is processing. Finally she finds her voice enough to murmur, “No, no no no no no, that can’t...que no puede ser cierto, that’s...that’s not right, they wouldn’t...they can’t…”

The next thing she knows she’s pushing past the woman, ignoring whatever protests she’s giving. The house is quiet. Too quiet. There’s no music coming from her brother’s room, no pots and pans clanging in the kitchen, no tv incessantly blaring the news. But she searches each corner of the downstairs anyway, still hoping that she’ll find someone in her family who will tell her that this is all a mistake, a nightmare, maybe, that they would never, ever, send her away just because of something that she can’t control, that she would never use for anything but good.

She approaches the front door and it opens suddenly, letting in yet another stranger, a broad-shouldered man who just stands there, blocking the exit. “I’m going to have to ask you to follow the lady back upstairs and do what she says.”

The blonde woman appears behind her, at the foot of the stairs. “Your parents aren’t here. Everyone knows that Nons can be...volatile. It’s generally best if the family isn’t present when they’re taken into custody.”

Tears finally begin pouring down Liliana’s cheeks. “But I’m not, I’m not, I swear...I’ve never...I wouldn’t hurt anyone! My power is healing, anyway, I don’t…” Her babbling trails off, lost in the tornado of her thoughts.

Her family really called the government on her and...and left her.

They never even asked her any questions.

They didn’t try to find out what was going on, didn’t ask what her powers could do, weren’t concerned about the fact that she apparently has arthritis now, at the age of fifteen.

The fact that she’s their daughter, that they raised themselves and that they know, means nothing to them. She doesn’t even get the benefit of the doubt.

The blonde woman plasters a fake smile onto her face. “I know, sweetie. I’m sure you wouldn’t. But I’m afraid there are rules in place that have to be followed in cases like this.”

She doesn’t really have a choice. Between the two of them, they have her trapped, and what’s her alternative, anyway? Stay here and wait for a family that doesn’t want her anymore? Live her life with them always watching her, always distrusting, always waiting for her to snap and turn evil like the Non she is?

Liliana follows the woman back up the stairs and throws a few belongings into a backpack. She’s numb, moving on autopilot, no idea what she should actually be bringing. It feels like she’s packing for a weekend trip, not for the rest of her life.

The tears never stop the whole time.

As she’s escorted out to the black sedan waiting in the driveway, she swears she sees a glimpse of her parents’ car across the street. The driver is staring straight ahead, refusing to look this way, but the woman in the passenger’s seat’s cheeks glisten.

It’s probably just her imagination, though.

Spanish translations (please please let me know if I got something wrong):

“No lo sabia, I swear, Mila, por favor no...” - I didn’t know, I swear, Mila, please don’t...”

“Está bien, no lo haré. No se lo diré a nadie.” - Okay, I won’t. I won’t tell anyone.

“¿Quién eres?” - who are you?

“que no puede ser cierto” - that can’t be true

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump4 #abandoned #querencia #liliana the healer #lady whumpee #lady whump #teenage whumpee #backstory #mild blood tw #parental abandonment tw #foster system #prejudice tw #magical whumpee #magic powers #healing power #painful healing

35 notes · View notes

falcor-thee-luck-dragon · 4 years ago

Text

Love Cuts Deep

Chapter 11- Fond Memories

Summary: It’s just a memory, but it’s a good one.

Warning: fluff, smut ur welcome

Masterlist

June 21, 2016 - Bucharest, Romania

Wandering down the crowded streets of Bucharest, your eyes casually survey the surrounding area until they land on a little news cart holding the latest universal gossip that may spark a possible interest in the random civilian, among other things.

It’s hot out on this fine summers day, so all you carry on your person is your usual travel boots, black jeans, and a tank top to show off those guns of yours that Bucky loves so much. In your right hand is a plastic grocery bag hung loosely in your fingers, filled with two oranges and a cold lemonade, Bucky’s request. Though it’s slowly losing its chill from the afternoon heat.

As of recently you’ve become the designated grocery store adventurer since it’s the middle of summer and Bucky’s usual attire is to wear pants and a long sleeved shirt with gloves because of well, his arm. And since he doesn’t want to feel too out of place, also considering he’s incredibly cautious about where he shows off his metal appendage. You handle business on the streets, which today happens to be getting some fruit and a cold beverage back home to your man.

Though you’re admittedly a bit distracted by the local newspapers seated comfortably on their propped up stand. Soon you’re at the young teens cart, eyeing up the paper with curious eyes, “Hello miss.” Greets the boy in Romanian as you give a nod in acknowledgment, “That was sure something that happened in Sokovia huh, people still talking about it even now...glad I don’t live there. But uh, I guess the Avengers saved the day, well, most of it I think.”

“No doubt they probably helped cause it.” You add bitterly, eyes scanning over the heroic faces of Ironman and Captain America as they stand with great pose and purpose on the front magazine. Heroes? What a bunch of bullshit and flashy images underlying the darker truth to these people. These so called saviors.

If they truly cared, if real heroes actually gave a shit besides attempting to clean up their own messes, Hydra would be completely eradicated from the face of the earth and trafficking rings wouldn’t exist. But here we are.

“Uh, you wanna buy a paper?” Asks the young boy, smiling a shy yet hopeful grin.

I’d rather get stabbed, you think.

“No thanks, just here to look.” You add bluntly before turning on your heel and walking away, sauntering down the street as more people pass by you on your way to the apartment complex just over the next block. In no time have you reached the building, heading up the long flight of stairs before at long last do you stop at the front door.

Your relationship with Bucky is still relatively new, so you don’t want to startle him by just bursting in, so instead do you knock a couple times to gather is attention. Hopefully he’s not snoozing again. Taking a step back, you can hear shuffling from the other side before he reaches the door. You smile, knowing he can see you through the peep hole, “I got lemonade.” You add, holding up the bag as he unlocks the door, opening it up a crack before cautiously glancing to either side of you.

Realizing the coast is most certainly clear, Bucky opens the door fully to reveal nothing more then some grey sweatpants and a loose sleeveless black t-shirt hung perfectly against his body, amplifying his beefy muscles that not only could crush a man but can most definitely get you feeling all sorts of ways when used appropriately.

“Yes, get in here Y/N.” Urges Bucky with a humored smile and a small wave as you quickly wander in past him before setting your bag on the far counter near the sink.

Taking the decently cool beverage out, you turn around to face Bucky, who’s standing semi-awkwardly out in the open. A small dust of pink covers his stubbled cheeks as you take him all in. It’s not like you haven’t seen him bare ass naked before, it’s just, he feels comfortable enough to let his guard down with you and that's somethings he’s never truly ever felt before. He gets a little shy sometimes, so what?

“They finally had it. So I snatched this beautiful bitch the second my eyes landed on her. Hope it soothes all your troubles away and sends you on a spiritual journey through the meadows of....uh, wherever this place is from.” You mutter, trying to figure out how to pronounce the name of the company as he walks over to you; giving up on that curiosity, you decide to hand Bucky the drink instead, “Yeah, whatever I hope it tastes good.”

He gratefully accepts, “Thanks Y/N, you’re the best. Seriously.” Praises Bucky as he twists the lid off and takes a drink, face appearing to rather enjoy it as he proceeds to down the whole 8oz sugary bittersweet contents right before your vary eyes.

Well, he certainly wasn’t lying.

He finally pulls the bottle from his wet lips, taking a deep breath as you raise a brow at him, “I’m gonna take that as you finding nothing wrong with it whatsoever.” Licking the sweet wetness from his pink lips, Bucky chuckles before shrugging.

“I haven’t had lemonade since the 40’s so even if it was actually kinda bitter, I don’t think I would have noticed.”

“Damn. That long?” You question as he nods, “Fuck those assholes,” You growl, taking a step closer to Bucky so that he can pull you into his arms as you raise your head to greet him, “now they can never keep you from such rare pleasures ever again.”

Bucky reveals a beautiful white toothed smile, thick arms holding you close as he presses his forehead to yours, “And what would you do if they did?”

Running your hands up and down his muscular back, you gently place a sweet kiss against his plush lips, “I’d fucking gut every single one of them until you’re safe with me, drinking all the lemonade you could ask for.” He chuckles lightly before pressing his lips against yours once again, the taste of sugary lemonade reaching your tongue as he lets you explore his mouth a bit, Bucky doing the same with you.

Hands feeling your enticing vessel up as he takes in everything about you that he could possibly get from this positioning with you wrapped up in his arms, you fully enjoy this wonderful moment with your sweet man. Somedays he gets all cold and withdrawn, nightmares seeping into his scarred mind that pull forth dark memories back out into the open.

He’ll wake up next to you in a cold sweat, breathing heavily as he quickly scans the small apartment for any signs of possible danger threatening himself or even your own life. Then for the rest of the day he’ll stay considerably more quiet then usual, agitated with himself and the general world, though he’s never short with you when he gets like this. You hate to see him when he’s like that, frustrated, distant, and in a low pit of despair from everything Hydra put him through.

But he never once has lashed out at you when he’s having a rough day, he’s well aware how Hydra has toyed with your head and pulled the strings time and time again before you broke from their inky black tentacles. He knows you understand how he feels, and he knows how your mental and physical resilience has aided in your self healing from the trauma they’ve given you.

Although for Bucky, he’s still marked from deep within, everything they’ve ever burned into his brain is still there. Just below the surface. All the memories, all the commands, all the deaths, everything they imprinted on him still clings to him like an unrelenting demon.

But the days when he’s more soft and clingy appear to claim Bucky the most, and those days are your absolute favorite. Sure his handsome face still reveals a bit of that usual Bucky darkness that gives his eyes a tinge of roughed beauty, something that admittedly draws you in even further.

He’ll choose to speak with you on his own accord, tease you if he’s in the mood, and hold a part of your body that intrigues him the most for that length of time. He gravitates in your direction when he’s having a good day, seeking out your attention in any way conceivable and making it an absolute necessary goal of his to give you as much loving as he possibly can try in a single hour.

You love days like this, you love feeling wanted and appreciated for your very existence when so many would rather see you dead. You love having those big beautiful blues studying every single curve, muscle, and blemish on your skin like a student to their books. He practically drinks you in, making it his mission to hold you close and speak sweet nothings that will be remembered for a hundred years more.

So when you have to leave for supplies or pay the rent, Bucky feels like a lonely and lost old house cat with nothing to do all day except wait as patiently as he can until you arrive home safe and sound. He obviously doesn’t slip this to you about how he feels when you must vacate the premise and venture out into the unknown for however long it takes.

But you know, if it wasn’t already evident on his face when you greet him after such travels. The way his face lights up in excitement and relief once he finally sees you, the telltale crinkle in the corner of his eyes, and the way that his lips pull into a positive grin that could make you swoon in an instant.

You could absolutely just about die happy, you’ve never been more catered to and loved on in your entire life since you’ve started living with Bucky in Romania, well, since your once fragile relationship took a turn for the best. Resulting in whatever beautiful thing you two have going on now, though neither of you have outwardly labeled your growing relationship.

It’s more so an unspoken thing that’s adherently mutual, the both of you clearly understanding this isn’t some friends with benefits type shit. Oh no, definitely far from that. So what you have with Bucky right now is something so deeply special and bound by so much more then physical love and personal feelings.

You two have lived a past like no other, survived like beasts of war for masters who threw the command and controlled the reigns. Fought together, bled together, and kept imprisoned by Hydra together. Your pasts are blooded and heavy, but it’s only worked to make your relationship stronger. And perhaps that’s the only positive of what those fuckers did to you, without them, you’d never have met the Winter Soldier.

Without them, you’d never have lived this long to find Bucky Barnes, never have been given the opportunity to see him for all that he’s worth. And to you, he’s worth more then all the stars in the sky.

Your lover kisses your lips once more as you smile into the soft embrace, causing him to laugh as you pull away, “What’s so funny?” Wonders Bucky, revealing his own beautiful smile that could light up the darkest room.

Raising your hands to gently touch the sides of his stubbled cheeks, you give him a small peck, “You taste like lemons.” You muse.

“Oh, is that good then?” He asks, brow raised as you give him another quick kiss in reply before he smiles a lovestruck grin back down at you, “I think I’ll take that as a yes.”

You smile brightly before tugging on a lock of his dark shoulder length hair, “You plan on turning into the wolfman soon? It’s touching your shoulders now.”

Bucky side eyes your fingers laced through his admittedly long hair, “I guess......maybe it needs a little cut.” He begrudgingly admits, “But only a little cut, okay. Not a lot.” Worries your sweet man as you let go of his dark mane to pull away from his muscular vessel.

Hands outward and forming the shape of a square as you size him up for a photographic image sent directly into your brain, “Yeah. I can work with this, you got the looks. The face, very nice. Body, oh dear lord is it fine. Mhmm hmm, and that hair? Absolutely glorious, a lot of volume, shiny, good bounce to it....oh yeah I can work with this...”

“Are you done?” Chuckles Bucky as you drop your hands to your thighs.

“What? I was just pretending to be your photographer, was I not convincing enough?”

“Well..”

You take a step forward, gently touching the bottom of his chin before making a cheeky face and turning to wander towards the bathroom, Bucky slowly following your lead in curiosity as you explain, “I’ll have you know Barnes, I once convinced some high end Bulgarian official that I was actually a Russian princess in hiding. He believed it too.” You mutter while rummaging through the drawers under the bathroom sink. Bucky leaning against the doorway as he watches you intently.

“Honestly, it was rather pathetic too. Old fucker was so drunk I could have told him I was a pixie from the realm of toxic waste baskets and he would have believed me.” You add, searching for wherever the fucking scissors went, “Of course his idiot companions were none the wiser and I got the intel I needed out of him. How you ask?” Grabbing the silver coated utensil from out of the drawer, you rise to your full height.

Cutting the air, you throw him a wink as you move to wander past him, “That information is top secret. But let’s just say he never made it back to his friends.” You smirk, setting the scissors on the small center table before snatching the tiny plastic trash can and taking it with you over to the table once again.

Bucky watches as you pull the two chairs to face opposite of one another, placing the trash can in the center of the two wooden seats as you bring your bum down on to the flat chair. “Now sit. This may get messy.”

Bucky snorts, moving to do just that, “I don’t wanna see any blood, Y/N. I know how you are with sharp objects.” Jokes your man with a telling smirk as you simply roll your eyes before pulling your right leg up, leaning it against your left thigh as you begin unlacing your boots. “Whatcha doing there Y/N?”

Tugging on the sides of your boots to loosen them up, you throw him a side glance, “Getting comfortable.”

Bucky nods, “Of course. This is serious business.”

You chuckle, pulling off your boot and throwing it to the side before exchanging your one leg for the other, “Gives you more time to check me out.”

Biting his bottom lip, Bucky leans his metal elbow against the table as he shamelessly watches you do your thing, “Well, no.....I wasn’t doing that, definitely not....but uh, I like your socks. Very interesting choice.” Points Bucky while you toss your other boot to the floor with a small thud. Shaking your head while Bucky makes fun of your current socks that reach above your ankles, a multitude of cartoon rainbow kittens dancing all about with a solid grey background. One tiny worn down hole showing some skin on the back of your heel that would most likely have blistered by now if not for your healing capabilities.

“Huh? Oh, these fuckers?” You snicker, sticking one foot close to his face as he leans back to avoid your teasing, “Fought them off a homeless guy in the park.”

Bucky makes a humored expression ranging between slight disgust and great amusement at your theatrical antics, reaching his flesh hand out to catch your ankle before you can smack him with your extremity. “I’m sure you kicked his ass.”

Setting your foot down, you nod, “Oh I did, you should have seen it, I’m sure you could have learned a thing or two.”

“Okay.” Mutters Bucky sarcastically whilst rolling his eyes, “At least I’m not the one in the care-bear socks.”

You raise a brow at him, legitimately impressed by this reference, “I’m surprised you even know what that is.” You tease before sticking your one foot out and pointing both hands in its general direction, “These. Are cat socks for your information....but no one ever said pretty people were smart so I won’t hold it against you.”

“Ouch.” Laughs Bucky, “Take a look in the mirror hot stuff.”

Smacking his metal arm, you pick up the scissors, “Okay smartass now I’m going to give you a weird haircut for that one.”

“I said you were hot.” Protests Bucky with a laugh as you slice the scissors in the air menacingly, “Forgive me.”

“You implied I was lacking in smarts so now you’re getting a shitty haircut you dumbfuck, come here you coward!” Bucky leans backwards towards the table as you press your freehand on his chest, your other hand held upwards by Bucky’s metal fist as you practically lean your whole body against his. Scissors snapping in the air as he attempts to restrain you.

“Y/N! I’m sorry please don’t cut my hair weird I’ll never leave the apartment again.” He pleads through amused giggles as you playfully let him keep you from doing any sort of damage to his beautiful dark locks.

“You don’t leave the apartment to begin with!”

“That’s true but still!”

“Let me go and I will be nice about it.” You reason, “I promise.” Bucky gives you a half nervous glance before letting go of your wrist, smiling down at him, you slide off his body before seating yourself back down again. “See, not so hard. Now take your shirt off and turn around.”

Bucky’s brows raise instantly while he breaks out into a suggestive grin, “Y/N, that’s kinky.”

Rolling your eyes, you bite your bottom lip to keep from giving him the satisfaction of a genuine smile, “Do it or I’ll hurt you, and not how you like it.” Bucky snorts as you break out into a smile, “Come on muscles I wanna see some skin.”

“Is this really necessary?” Wonders Bucky as he grasps the bottom of his shirt.

“Yes.” You reply, watching as he removes his tank top with ease before setting it atop the cold surface of the table, “It’s so you don’t get hair all over your shirt Barnes, and don’t say it’s not a big deal cause I know you’ll get itchy.”

“Whatever. Just don’t cut me.” Grumbles Bucky as he shifts around in his chair so that you have a clear view of the back of his head and all that glorious hair just screaming to be snipped to perfection. “Seriously be careful.”

Scooting your chair closer so that your legs are parted for a better angle, you semi-roughly tug down on his dark locks causing the super soldier to grunt in pain, “Y/N!” Grumbles Bucky through clenched teeth, “What the hell?” He whines as you chuckle mischievously from behind him.

“Oh shut it you big baby, I know what I’m doing.” Bucky’s mouth opens to protest, but before he’s able to throw something witty at you to counter your sass, you’ve made a loud snip snip sound with the scissors.

“Careful.” Worries Bucky as you hold a chunk of his hair before letting the utensil slice right through the brown follicles like a knife through some soft chocolate cake. Soon more and more tuffs of discarded hair fall into the wastebasket as you work around the back of his head. He doesn’t say a word the whole time as you skillfully cut your way to a half-descent haircut.

After a good five minutes, you lean back to examine your work, “Okay, looking good.”

“Can I see.”

“No.” You deadpan with a small chuckle before pressing the handle of the scissors to his bare back, “Turn around wolfman I need to do the front.”

Sighing, Bucky shifts, turning around to finally face you. Both your legs staggered side by side now as he looks into your eyes like a beaten down puppy, “Oh don’t look at me like that Barnes. Your torture session is almost over.” You add before kissing your fingers and pressing them against his lips for a brief second of silent affection.

Bucky cracks a handsome grin while your left hand messes up his long bangs, “Must you do that too.” Complains your grumbly lover in annoyance as you slice some areas near his face. “Yep. I’m not cutting all of it, I’m just giving your eyes some trim to see. Bucky you’ve been putting your hair up in buns for a week now.”

“Okay fine.”

“I mean, I like it. But you need a cut, I miss seeing your pretty face.” Bucky closes his eyes as you make quick work of his hair, deciding it best to just keep his thoughts to himself and let you do your masterful work, hopefully resulting in a decent job well done.

Soon he hears one last snip before you dramatically gasp causing his eyes to shoot open, “What did you do!?” Worries Bucky as you start smiling like an idiot.

“Oh my...ha, you look so good!” You affirm with an excited squeak of joy, setting the scissors down on the table before reaching your hands out to dive your fingers through his soft mane like an excited child petting a furry cat for the first time.

Bucky’s hands wrap around your forearms as he smiles, “Okay, okay, Y/N...” Starts Bucky as you take your hands and gently push his hair back to see his handsome face.

“Why, hello there Mr. Barnes.” You slyly jest as he studies your smirking face, “Don’t you just look absolutely dashing.”

“Am I free to look now?” Implores your lover with a shy smile as he rests his hands to either one of your thighs, squeezing lightly while you nod. “Go for it.”

He lets go, getting up from the chair to saunter on into the bathroom to observe your skilled work as a terribly underpaid hairdresser. In the meantime, you’ve cleaned off the few stray hairs coating the table and dumped them in the small trash can. Setting the chairs back into their normal positioning as you place the trash back in it’s usual spot by the window.

A mischievous grin coating your features as you stand causally by the fridge, awaiting Bucky who soon walks out of the bathroom. Smile on his beautiful features before his face falls into a confused yet oddly amused expression. “Y/N what are you doing? You look like Hitler.”

“What? No I don’t!” You protest, removing Bucky’s discarded lock of hair from your upper lip and tossing it in the trash, “Well you look.....uh, you look like uh.....I don’t know. You look really hot, I’m kind of distracted not gonna lie.”

Bucky smiles, cheeks dusting a light pink color as he walks closer to you. Noticeably still lacking an actual shirt which is doing wonders to your swirling thoughts that are turning a bit dirty, and those grey sweatpants? Hanging dangerously low on his beautiful body, you can see his famous V line in your peripheral vision as you strain to keep your eyes locked with his.

Oh he is challenging you big time.

Bucky, too observant for his own good, takes the hint that you’re starting to get a little hot and bothered with him looking like that all shirtless in the room and whatnot. Fresh haircut, low pants, and nothing better to do on this fine summer evening.

He raises an intrigued brow, “I know that look.” Muses Bucky with a knowing devilish grin as you shake your head at him, eyes darting to the newspaper covered window. You hate getting caught.

“Nope. What would make you think I’m thinking of...of, whatever you’re thinking. Alright listen, my mind is all pure and good up in here...so I, I have no idea whatever the fuck you’re talking about.” Bucky chuckles, chest rising in little spurts as he humors you, taking a couple more steps closer as you bite your lip in anticipation. Shit, he’s got you right where he wants you.

Ever so gently does five metal fingers reach up to caress the side of your cheek, trailing sweet icy lines down to your chin as his bare chest presses sweetly against your clothed breasts. Flesh hand holding your lower back, pressing you into him, “Y/N.” Whispers Bucky, sounding more like a genuine question as he tilts his head to the side, “What’r you thinking of?”

Pursing your lips together to keep from revealing a full grin to give him that proud satisfaction of turning you on without much effort, you raise a brow, free hand reaching downwards to gently palm him through his sweats that are indeed beginning to tent.

“Hmm. Guess I got you too, and all I did was stand here.” You proudly conclude, slipping a hand into his pants as you trail your fingers up and down his hardening length, causing Bucky to groan in arousal at your playful teasing. “Fuck me I could listen to that voice for a thousand years and never get tired of hearing you moan Buck.”

Bucky grabs your hand currently exploring his neither regions, pulling it out as he takes both your hands with his, face leaning in real close to yours, “I was not moaning.” He confirms with a sly grin, “This...is a moan.” And a second later he’s pressing his flesh digits into your clothed heat, rubbing your growing arousal with the pads of his skilled fingers as your face shifts with pleasure.

“oh.” Softly escapes from your parted lips, the sound coming out as more of a breathy gasp of air then anything really comprehensible.

Soon a large grin has found its way onto your flushed features, “You bastard.” Bucky chuckles at your less then heated curse given freely to him before removing his fingers from their pleasurable assault on your sensitive area that’s calling for some real attention, you kiss him again before muttering, “Come on Barnes....”

His lips dance in time with yours as he keeps you from speaking anything otherwise witty back at him, flesh and metal hand trailing up your body until they find the lower rim of your tank top. He pulls the material upwards, breaking the kiss for but a swift moment to let the fabric completely slide right off of your body and onto the floor below.

Lips on yours in an instant as his nimble fingers skillfully unclasp your bra, you’d have praised him for the semi-troublesome work if not for the fact that he’s now using those talented hands of his to knead your naked breasts like the most valuable and sweetest dough in all the land. Touching them with the tenderness of a skilled lover who knows just how to get his lady feeling all sorts of good.

Trailing your digits up and down his bare back, you shift your face to the side so he can keep stealing away more kisses while you try and form a sentence, “Buck...mhmm....mmmm.....Bucky, I need you, mhmm, I need you in me...right, right now.” You mutter in between moans while Bucky’s hardness rubs through his sweatpants and onto your thighs.

His hands trail up to gather the sides of your face in his palms, lips finally parting from yours as his beautiful blues gaze lovingly into your blissful expression, “I think that’s a fantastic idea Y/N. Now if you could lay on this table so I can take your pants off that’d be great.” Softly adds Bucky as you quickly steal a kiss in reply before scooting yourself upon the wooden table.

Leaning your body back as he quickly removes the clothing from your lower half, underwear sliding off next to leave you in nothing but your wit and will, and naked everything. His lust filled eyes trail hungrily down from your protruding breasts to your soaked neither regions hot and ready for his willing member.

“Enough drooling over me Barnes, I wanna see what you’ve got.” He chuckles at getting so easily caught; listening to your inquisition, he swiftly removes those annoying grey sweatpants before slipping off the tight boxers with ease.

Your eyes widen in excitement at the hardened length dripping in precum, his king jewels swollen and ready to send you into a world of wonders soon enough.

Bucky, noticing how your eyes swirl with hunger, takes a step forward, placing his hand on your knee, “This angles kinda weird so...can you turn around?” Asks the super soldier apprehensively, you two have never done it this way before. It’s pretty tame all things considered, but it’s something you’re more than willing to try.

You nod with a mischievous grin, “That’s a little kinky.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, snorting with laughter nonetheless, “Why are you..never mind.” Muses your lover while you swiftly scoot your naked bum off of the table before kissing his cheek and turning around. Laying your stomach against the warmed surface of the wood as you bend over for Bucky to begin his godly work.

Soon his hands are feeling up your beautiful bum before wandering to your sides, “This good? Are you comfortable like this, just tell me if we need the bed instead and I can..”

“Bucky just fuck me.” You quickly interrupt, pushing your ass against his member that’s quite literally poking provocatively at your naked cheeks. “Yeah, okay, right on that.” Replies your man as he holds your left hip in place, flesh hand steadying his cock as he approaches your slick folds.

You can’t see him from this angle, relying on sounds and feel alone; you’re soon pleasantly relieved of the lack of contact when his manhood finally touches the surface of your two mounds before Bucky pushes himself into you.

Spreading you wide open and bare unto him as his length slides completely into your dripping core that’s heated and buzzing with your arousal. He feels good, really good. The slight discomfort gone in an instant as you quickly adjust perfectly in tune with his fullness and girth that stretches your walls so beautifully.

Bucky lets out a pleasant sigh before gently squeezing your hips, “Y/N are you good?” Wonders your sweet man, balls deep inside you but still making it important that you’re feeling as fantastic as him. How considerate.

With one hand gripping the far edge of the table and the other one thrown back to smack affectionately against his hip, you nod while face is pressed against the flat wood, “So good Buck....so good.” You mutter happily.

Taking this as a positive sign, Bucky smiles joyously before pulling a good ways out of you and thrusting himself back in again. Replicating this wondrous action for a good thirty more seconds as he draws your vessel into a new plane of pleasure with each fantastical stroke.

You’re left with soft moans reaching Bucky’s ears while the poor table attempts to keep in its place as Bucky thrusts full force into you over and over again, the legs of wood scraping against the flooring with each pump into your core. Grunting with effort not gone unnoticed by you in the slightest.

Nothing in the small apartment is heard except for the familiar skin on skin contact associated with this or any type of lovemaking, though right now, this angle, and those beautiful groans dripping off of his tongue sets this scene as more of a good fucking between the two of you if you’re being completely honest here.

Bucky’s cock pulses and twitches in excitement as he pulls in and out of you, hands tightly gripping the sides of your hips enough to bruise when all is said and done, luckily for you, quick healing is one of your attributes. Paying no mind the dull ache of his fingers against your flesh, you grip the edge of the table as the titular coil of growing pleasure begins its usual act upon your womanhood.

Bucky’s relentless, pushing himself into you just right with that delicious cock of his, sliding in and out of your slick walls as he works his magic. “oh God Buck...” You moan in absolute bliss, brows raising upwards at the growing sensation building up into your persistent climax.

He smiles to himself, proud of his fruitful efforts to turn you into a moaning mess underneath him, soon he’s picking up the pace with vigor and palpable stamina that you’re all to willing to match. “Buck....oh fu...fuck, I’m so-I’m so close....mhmm..” He slams into you harder now, causing the table to slide across the floor as he continues his pleasurable assault on your core that’s bringing you quickly to the edge of paradise.

“Ah shit.” Mumbles Bucky, realizing this current positioning is messing up his groove since this damn table keeps annoyingly moving in time with his thrusts. A second later his metal arm his lifting your stomach upwards, body to much of a mess to protest, you’re soon pleasantly surprised when your naked back falls flush against his sweaty toned torso as he holds you close.

His metallic hand slides up to hold you in between your breasts as his flesh hand trails down your body until it finds your sensitive bud, Bucky’s skilled fingers rub deliciously against the swollen flesh as he thrusts up into you vigorously. You suppress a whiny moan as your one hand grips tightly onto his forearm holding you to his body. While your other hand reaches up to take a fistful of hair as his head drapes over the side of your shoulder, plush lips planting wet kisses all along your heated skin.

“Mhmm you taste so good.” Praises Bucky as he licks your naked flesh before gently biting down playfully, leaving more love marks as he continues to play with your clit as the coil inside you threatens to unwind.

“Buck, I-I can’t...I’m gonna...” Bucky listens as you begin mumbling incoherent Russian when your orgasm finally hits you full force now, your warm walls tightening around his cock as you emit a plethora of loud moans. Tugging on his hair as he smiles against your skin for the work he’s done.

Your fingers quickly slip from his thick dark locks as you fight to keep your legs from giving out at the intense rush of pleasure flowing through your vessel as Bucky’s fingers spell circles on your sensitive bud. You’re soon getting overstimulated when suddenly he pulls his hand to wrap around your stomach as he finally cums inside you.

The beautiful sounds of Bucky’s low groans and moans filling your ears as he spills himself up into you, cock twitching as he releases it all. The feeling of his cum rushing into your hot center never fails to turn you weak, especially when his body shakes with pleasure as he subconsciously holds you closer while riding out his orgasm.

He thrusts into you a couple more times just to feel it through as he unknowingly sparks more electricity into your already fucked out core that’s now dripping with not only your natural arousal but his hot liquid. Bucky’s head falls into the crook of your neck as he stops pumping into you, plush lips kissing your heated skin as he just embraces the moment of standing butt-ass naked in the kitchen balls deep in you, his loving and beautifully fuckable girlfriend.

He stands like this for about forty whole seconds until you reach a hand up to tug playfully on his hair, “I think we need a shower now.”

Bucky’s lips smile against your skin as he picks his head up, kissing your neck while he pulls himself out of you. His cum slowly trailing down your inner thighs as he turns you around to face him, “I think you’re right. Let’s go before that gets on the floor.” Chuckles Bucky as he takes your hand and walks you into the bathroom.

You stand by the sink as he turns on the shower, fumbling with the settings while you snatch a tissue and begin cleaning yourself up a bit until he turns around, “Wait Y/N, let me do that.” States Bucky as he takes the tissue out of your hand, kneeling down to get a better angle, “It’s kinda my fault anyways and you’ve done enough...”

“I could handle it Buck, but I mean yeah, go for it.” You muse as he whips off the milky liquid trailing lines down your inner thighs, “I don’t doubt you know how to clean a crime scene.”

“This isn’t a crime scene.” Asserts Bucky as he whips away the last of it while you chuckle at his confused facial expression.

He stands as you saunter past him, taking a step into the shower before looking over your shoulder, “Well, guess you’re just gonna have to murder this pussy again and we’ll find out how well your clean up really is.” You tease with a knowing wink before disappearing into the plastic curtains.

Bucky’s brows raise in surprised excitement as he quickly follows you in, soon his hands are feeling you up in all sorts of places. Drawing soft moans of the sweetest sounds into the sexually charged atmosphere, no doubt riling you up for round two. God you love him so fucking much.

Waking with a start, you’re surprised to find your heartbeat racing a mile a minute. Then the wonderful memories of last nights dream hits you like a truck, that wasn’t just a dream, that was a real memory with Bucky. One of the many fantastic ones between the two of you before Zemo happened, before Tony tried to kill him, before Wakanda, and before Thanos ruined it all with a simple snap of his goddamn fingers.

Just a fucking dream. Another good memory. That’s it.

Tagged: @diegos-butt @minigranger @bibliophilewednesday @holyhumorliteraturelight @lilacs-lavender @a-girl-who-loves-disney @starkssnarks @vikingqueen28 @bizarrebibitch @atomicpersonacheesecake @jmstz @staygoldsquatchling02 @marvelbros-oneshots @shawnartmendes @mischiefmanaged71 @jckie94 @iamasimpingh0e @mjaudrey @thescarlettvvitch

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #the winter soldier #the winter soldier x y/n #the winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier x you #marvel #marvel x y/n #marvel x reader #marvel x you #marvel imagine #fanfiction #fanfic #bucky fic #bucky smut #james buchanan barnes

50 notes · View notes

whump-town · 4 years ago

Text

BAU Pool Fic

I wrote @davidrossi-ismydad bau pool fic... it’s 3,000 words bro I took it way too far

“Jack Attack!” Emily Prentiss finds herself with an armful of overly excited five-ear-old. “How are you doing baby?” She brushes a strand of his hair back from his face, rubbing in a spot of sunscreen on his temple. She loves all her nephews. They’re her maternal outlet and Jack just eats it up. Even if that does crush both her and Hotch.

Jack smiles broadly, “I’m super!” He moves, twisting so she can see the floaties on his little arms. “Look!” Jack points on his floaties, “Daddy got me floats with Cap’n ‘merica!” Sure enough, a cartooned Captain America is sitting on his bicep. “Uncle Dave is gonna let us swim!”

Emily is nodding along, used to his quick pace. She knew about the Captain America floaties last week when Dave first brought up opening the pool. Hotch went from timidly sipping the Scotch Dave gave him to panicked because Target hadn’t gotten in their superhero floaties yet. Of course, in the safety of Dave’s office, she’d chuckled at seeing his DadMode activate. Then she had Garcia show Hotch how to order the floaties online, where they were in-stock.

“I know,” she agrees, trying to match his enthusiasm. “Are you excited to swim?”

Jack nods, “Daddy said he would too!”

A sigh comes from behind her and Emily turns to find Hotch. He’s got a beach bag over his right shoulder while his left-hand twists his sunglasses by the side. “Buddy, I said I might swim.” He loves his team, really does, but getting in that pool with both sets of ‘the boys’ might be a bit much. That and he has to do his best to keep water out of his ears unless he wants to nurse an ear infection all summer long.

JJ and Garcia laughter cut through any further conversation, coming in through the side door. Their drinks already in hand, sent by Rossi to greet whoever he heard just pulled in. The two of them had been expecting Emily, she’d sent a text as a ‘heads up’ when she stopped for gas on the way here. It’s just a pleasant surprise to find Hotch and Jack too.

“So, that’s what you’ve been hiding under all those suits.” JJ cocks her head to the side, smirking at Hotch. She, of course, knows about her best friends rocking bods. Everyone has seen Morgan topless, so he’s no big surprise. The real treat in today’s plans was 100% figuring out what Hotch and Reid hid under way too many layers of clothes.

Garcia agrees too, sipping some white fruity white canned alcoholic drink. “You look hot, sir.”

Hotch looks down at himself. He’s wearing a dark green, thin button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He hadn’t buttoned the first three buttons, leaving a good bit of his chest visible. His trunks are dark blue and come up just above his knees. They were shorter than what he’d expected when he ordered them but pants are always a problem at his height. So he considered it an overall win they didn’t come up higher.

Compared to his usual attire around them, he might as well be naked. Not to mention his pale skin which is startlingly bright in the light of Rossi’s parlor. Hot isn’t exactly what he’d seen in the mirror when he’d put it on. Just… clothes.

“Thank you,” he responds, with a tense smile. He really needs to work on accepting compliments. “Nice… bathing suits.”

That is the understatement of the year.

JJ has on a one-piece that cuts up very high on her hips. She’d chosen the color maroon and damn if she wasn’t right about it being her color. It’s cheeky and risky and Garcia was absolutely here for it. Refusing to hear JJ’s excuse she couldn’t pull off bathing suits like this one anymore. She has a mom-bod.

Emily’s rebuttal had been that JJ was right. She does have a mom-bod because JJ is a total MILF.

With two hype-women, JJ had to get the bathing suit.

Garcia’s own is white with red and blue flowers. There’s a perfect triangle cut out between her breast, drawing tasteful attention to them. Her selection had come easy, ‘I don’t need your help on this one. It’s speaking to me’. She too looked killer but saves her boss any grief on his compliment falling short.

Emily snorts at the comment but covers it up by addressing how her best friends had betrayed her. “Evidently, this year we were going one piece.” Emily gestures to her own body, to the bathing suit she’s hidden under a maxi dress. “I didn’t get the memo.”

Garcia caves first, “babe, we said we were sorry!”

Seeing this as his only ticket to get away from a conversation he has no idea how to be a part of, Hotch extends his hand to Jack. “Come on buddy.”

Emily puts him down, patting his head as he takes Hotch’s hand and follows his father with a little skip.

“See daddy,” he says brightly. “I told you, you looked han’some!”

Emily watches them leave, tucking her arms around her body. It’s protective and comforting. She smiles sadly at Jack’s comment, it turning bitterly into a frown

JJ cups Emily’s cheek, “we are sorry.”

The worst part is, she’s not mad they got one-piece bathing suits. It’s about her own insecurities. JJ has smooth, perfect skin, and Garcia’s gunshot wound makes her look like a badass. The memory is… murky but she’s a fighter because of it.

Emily’s scars are tainted. A reminder of just how awful their lives have been lately and when she takes her dress off it’s just going to be that much more in their face. She’s a walking horror film, a damn slasher movie.

“It’s fine,” Emily promises. “I’m just…” she blows out a breath. “I’m in a mood, I guess.”

Her arms are still crossed so JJ finds that a little hard to believe but before she can start to dive into a line of question and dredge up whatever is bothering her.

“I didn’t know the party was in here,” Rossi states, stepping into the house. He sees the tension in Emily’s body, frowning when Emily places her hand over the one JJ has on her cheek. Squeezing the thin digits before moving them away. “Bella?” His relaxed smile falls, “is there something wrong?”

Pappa Rossi has come out and he’s a fierce mister to mess around with.

Emily shakes her head, picking up her bag and stifling all her concerns. “I’m fine,” she promises. She motions for the other girls to follow and she meets Rossi at the door. “You just worry too much, vecchio uomo.”

Old man? She wounds him.

He’s dressed simply, no desire to swim in the pool with those little animals (whom he loves dearly but the point still stands). Dad jean and an opened button-down, he looks too good. He squints his eyes but his sunglasses hide his skepticism. “Mhmm.” He opens the door for them, “you’d better get out there. You’re missing out on a party.”

The party greets them before they can fully get out of the door.

“Oh, Spence,” JJ covers her mouth, the only person merciful enough to hide her smile at the sight of him. “Honey, what did you do?”

Someone, definitely Derek, had pushed him into the pool. He looks like a drowned rat. An adorable drowned rat but a rat none-the-less and in his clothes too. He shakes his head, looking down at his wet clothes. “I got pushed in.”

“Uncle Derek,” Jack explains helpfully, padding up to them. He’s visibly wet, obviously an eyewitness given his pleased smile.

“Yep,” Henry confirms from his best friend’s side. Smiling just as bright as Jack. “Untle Derek push’ted him in!” He jumps happily at the end, nodding his head to his mother.

The uncle in question sneaks up behind the boys, grabbing them by their waists and hoisting them up. “Are you boys tattling on me?” One on each side, Morgan looks between them faking an angry frown. Both boys know exactly what he’s going to do and start squirming excitedly. Claiming simultaneous denial.

Morgan’s face sobers for a split second, his attention on the adults. “Pretty boy had it coming,” he says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I brought him a bathing suit and he wouldn’t put it on.” He shrugs and his playful smirk sinks back into place as he announces, “and since someone tattled on me… I’m forced to get my revenge.”

“No! No!” Henry and Jack shout, gleefully screaming as Morgan turns around and heads for the pool.

“Hold your breath boys!” Morgan jumps in and there’s a large splash as all three submerge. The boys pop up first like little apples, laughing uncontrollably.

Reid is standing in front of them shivering, looking rather pathetic soaked to the bone. “I pulled him in with me,” Reid states, moving to get past them.

Poor Reid had not been expecting it at all. He’d gone to the pool’s edge to talk to Henry and Jack. They were chatting away, Jack showing him the Captain America’s and Henry telling Reid that he was gonna learn how to swim without floats with Uncle Hotch too. So he and Jack could both be big boys.

That’s when Morgan had come up from behind, lifting Reid off his feet in a swoop and throwing him in.

In his mind, it was payback. Morgan brought Reid a very bright red speedo, a gag gift of course. After that fun had ended, the fun being seeing how red he got having to hold the atrocious garment in his hand, Morgan had gifted him light purple swim trunks.

So that he could swim. Except, Reid refused. So Morgan took the matter into his own hands. Then he felt guilty.

Offering Reid a hand up had, of course, been a mistake because the second the genius’ hand met his Morgan felt a sharp pull. Then he found himself in the pool.

Jack and Henry, who hadn’t recovered from how hard they’d laughed watching Reid get dunked in were wheezing by the time Morgan’s head popped back up.

It seems as if they really did miss a party.

“Prentiss,” Hotch greets, walking up alongside her with a drink. “It’s a strawberry daiquiri, Dave said it’s your favorite.”

She takes the drink with a smile, watching her friends mingle and laugh amongst themselves. While she stands off to the side, isolating herself. She takes a small sip from the top, smiling. God, if Hotch and Rossi weren’t just the sweetest men she knew. Which is a strange thought to have once she considers it. Hotch is the bad cop to her good cop and Rossi is the reason they have such strict fraternization rules.

“Do you think I can just be Emily, today?” she asks hopefully.

Hotch smiles, nodding. “If I can be Aaron,” he barters. They tap their glasses together, a silent agreement. He takes a sip of his beer, watching the others around them. He’d gotten word, from Dave, about Emily and the bathing suit thing. She could play the other’s stupid but no one can lie to David Rossi. Not even Hotch. “Not swimming?”

She sighs and she knows exactly what this is. “Aaron...” she sighs, shaking her head but she can’t think of what to say. She can’t say he doesn’t understand. Her wounds might be larger but he had more. Quantity to quality and God, that’s awful.

He takes her hand lightly, his eyes intense and sad.

And she’s terrified.

He lets go and she thinks that it. He’s going to let it go because they’re messing with demons here and she’s learned her lesson with stirring them up. But he does something so much worse.

He takes his shirt off.

“Hotch-”

His hands are trembling despite this being some act of courage because it’s only been two years and he knows the scars look awful and-

“Uh-oh!” JJ yells from the other side of the pool. She’s very drunk and drunk JJ is very supportive… and has no filter. “DILF alert!” She sends them two thumbs up and Will waves, a stressed smile stretched across his face.

Hearing the commotion, Garcia turns away from Morgan and their current conversation. “Holy shit…” Garcia mumbles, pushing her sunglasses down to get a better look. “Does the FBI do a wet t-shirt contest or something? We have to get you boys in it.”

Hotch tilts his head expectantly.

“Oh shut up,” she rolls her eyes and sits her daiquiri down. She takes back every nice thing she’s ever said or thought about him. Especially that internal monologue from before about him being one of just the sweetest man she knew. In fact, she doesn’t like men at all anymore.

Pulling her dress up over her head, she shakes her head.

That’s right, the Aaron Hotchner, a certified DILF, and federal agent had turned her 100% gay… well, until she forgives him.

She frowns at him, realizing how dumb they both look just staring at each other mostly naked. “Satisfied?”

He raises an eyebrow, playfully shaking his head, “are you trying to get us both sent to a sexual harassment meeting, Agent Prentiss?”

“Morgan and Garcia could use the company.” She’s trying very hard to keep her eyes on his face which is also making it hard to be mad at him. The scars aren’t even that noticeable and, while his abs might not be as defined as Morgan’s they are still visible. And nice.

Before this conversation or frankly, anything else about this day, can get any weirder, Rossi calls out that the burgers are done.

First come first served.

Which really means Reid, Henry, and Jack eat first while the rest of them fend for themselves.

The chaos, as always, really gets going after dinner.

JJ, Emily, and Garcia were standing and discussing whether or not Emily should get a different bathing suit for the beach trip her mother’s planning when the boys come from nowhere.

Will, Reid, and Morgan.

All three girls end up in the pool. Garcia slung over Morgan’s shoulder. JJ scooped up by Will. Emily dragged kicking and screaming by Reid. It’s declared war and Emily, seeing Hotch chuckling at the sight of them, decides it’s against all of the men.

The other three aren’t that hard to get.

Will is lured in the way any man is into a trap, by thinking with the wrong head. JJ takes him out at the knees and Emily is the final blow. Execution style. Will considers it to be a bitter defeat.

Morgan is stupid. Emily sends off to get more drinks and together Garcia and JJ rush him as he walks past the pool. He goes in mid-wave to Jack and Henry, who are playing in the shallow end.

Emily just picks Reid up, doing the same as he’d done to her. Ego soaring and the alcohol she’d consumed clouding her judgment, Emily takes on her main target. Aaron Hotchner.

He’s standing at the edge of the pool, with his shirt back on but completed unbuttoned, and telling Jack and Henry to come to get another layer of sunscreen on. His back is completed turned when Emily pushes into him. She’s expecting to hear his body hit the pool water and then her name to be grumbled out when he bobs back to the surface.

It’s like hitting concrete. The man goes nowhere.

He turns to face her, frowning disappointingly. “Is that all you got Emily?” He shakes his head and turns back to the boys, “chop! Chop! The faster you get out the faster you get right back in.”

Emily attempts to conspire with the others but they’re cowards.

“Oh, no, princess. Not a chance in hell.” Morgan shakes his head, he already thinks she’s crazy for trying the first time.

JJ is too drunk to really tackle.

Garcia thinks it would be cruel. Hotch has done nothing wrong.

Will is a coward.

Reid is scared of him.

Rossi is too old.

“You’re all boring,” she pouts. So she tries again on her own.

The boys are back in the pool, Hotch asking when the last time they had some water or a juice box was. That alone almost stops her. Because it’s adorable. She decides she really doesn’t care and takes the approach of shouting his name and then tackling him.

He catches her. She hits his body but he moves at the last second and wraps his arms around her waist. “Is this what you were trying to do?” Right over his shoulder she goes, plop- right in the pool.

The boys get a proper kick out of it.

Emily, with a towel wrapped around her shoulders, sulking in a chair watches as Jack and Henry shout for Hotch. He pretends to be surprised as they run at him. They jump up and he catches them to his chest, making a dramatic show of pretending to be knocked back into the pool.

When he comes to the surface he shakes his hair out of his face and she frowns, hating him for making that look hot.

Ick... men.

The afternoon wraps itself up well.

Rossi lures the boys out of the pool with sweets and movies. It’s a picture perfect moment.

Jack and Henry are exhausted and the moment they settle in the living room, both sharing Uncle Dave’s lap in the lazy boy, they’re out like lights. There’s the smallest bit of chocolate smeared on their lips and Rossi dares Hotch or Will to take his boys away. They can stay the night.

And they do.

Emily says goodbye to all three, pressing kisses to their temples.

“Did you have fun, Bella?”

She got free food. She got drunk.

Her boss took his shirt off in front of everyone to make her feel comfortable in her own skin and then dunked her in the pool.

She laughed until she cried with JJ and Garcia.

She played a very dangerous game of chicken with Morgan and Reid...

“Yeah,” she admits. “I had a lot of fun.”

Rossi’s eyes crinkle, “mission accomplished then.”

#BAU pool party #emily prentiss #is the main character #think about it #reid is a baby #and totally wears purple swimming trunks #hotch is a dilf #i'm just going over things we all know #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #jennifer jareau #derek morgan #spencer reid #penelope garcia #david rossi #jack hotchner #henry jareau

335 notes · View notes

elsac2 · 4 years ago

Photo

gothic klonnie day I: white

something about one’s nature can be a matter of inquisition or barbarism

Bonnie stands before the iron gate with the majestic engraved initials. One now stood for her name. An hour ago, she had lost her name to a stranger. The carriage who keeps her from falling slightly moves, and she looks over her shoulder.

“You should put a smile on your face,” the voice came in before the step came to an halt. “Brides are usually happy, but here, you wear a frown. You do wear it prettily, but a frown is an ugly thing.” She finishes cheerily. “Cheers up, you have escaped a cruel fate. marriage should not frighten you.” Bonnie makes a callous attempt to smile. Pearly white teeth stand defiantly on a crooked jaw, and her unusually bold lipstick frames her fading smirk. “Maybe, you should only frown, child.” She retakes her suggestion to suggest something rather insulting. "You are at your prettiest, frightened. He might prefer you that way,“ She sighs.

Bonnie looks at the woman who she met two days ago. Her headache has not dulled since their odd encounter. She speaks too much when Bonnie’s comfort is silence.

"I am assuredly older than you are, Rebekah.” Bonnie clings to the odd detail.

Rebekah chuckles, and she takes Bonnie’s hand. She looks at the pale and drained of blood fingers, which she took her time to paint white.

“My experience of life is not a reflection of the years I lived, and I do not wear my age on my skin. You will learn soon enough,” Rebekah states with a gleeful tone that Bonnie can only allocate to youth.

"Anyways, my age is not the heart of your preoccupation.“ She adds as she picks Bonnie’s hand, and she pries it away from the white lace of her gown.

"He must be in the garden. He is not too happy with the idea of a wife. The one before you was disappointing to say the least, and Klaus detests disappointment."

Bonnie blanches before the implication of the comment. Her fingers close around Rebekah’s palms while the nails of her other hand become prisoners of her corset, as she steals a breath and begs her heart to hold still. "Klaus?” She becomes aware of the name of her husband.

“Silly me, I must have forgotten to tell you his name amongst the pointless details.” Rebekah softly says. “Well, you cannot blame me. I have never arranged a wedding on such short notice. What an idea to pick a bride from a cage. The brothel would have been more sensible I believe, but even the whores have people, who care about their whereabouts.” She finishes without any concern for the harshness of what she implies. “It could have been worse. you could have been worthless. You could have burned for your sins.”

Bonnie swallows the air and her emotions with it. She looks at Rebekah and her oddly white skin in the raging heat of European summer. There is no redness to her cheek. Bonnie wonders if her husband is one who looks sickeningly white despite spending hours under the sun. It is an odd sight because even her immaculate wedding dress borrows the reflection from the sun.

“Do not look so thoughtful. He might believe you are one to complot.” Rebekah warns. “And it is an unforgivable flaw.” Bonnie nods, and it feels as if her head will slip off her neck for being too big and heavy for the bone sticking out of her skin.

“You should not worry, dove,” Rebekah says after a glance at Bonnie’s closed expression. “If he does not like what he sees, it will end swiftly.” Bonnie thinks of asking what should end. Is it her marital life which has yet to start? From the groom, she knows nothing. She has never met him, and she has not met anyone in the last days or even weeks.

“We should hurry,” Rebekah mentions as she pulls on Bonnie’s arm, and the girl, because she happens to be a frail girl, winces. “Your wounds will heal.” She says with a comforting tone. “He is waiting, and he sounds impatient.” Rebekah groans. “Time to meet your spouse.”

… Bonnie does not immediately meet Klaus. He is not in the garden like Rebekah predicted. She strolls around the crowded space. Bonnie has never seen flowers growing on top of each other. It seems as if they feed off each other until one blossoms into beauty.

For a garden, there is almost no green. The flowers and orchids are a translucent shade of white. They are so white that they burn her cornea, and the sights become nauseating as too potent and psychedelic. Bonnie looks away, and her eyes draw the silhouette of the imposing castle. She cannot stand what her senses predict.

Rebekah has gone and left her without a chaperon. The wait of loneliness still heavy on her mind, Bonnie is nothing but tense as she explores the small path amongst the flowers. There is mud, and she has not bothered to draw up her skirt. The hem of her skirt has become grayish, and lost its immaculate nature. She finds some joy in the act of desecrating her wedding gown.

The dress poorly hangs on her shoulder while bones protrude. Bonnie’s stomach growls as if to mock her emaciated appearance. Her throat is dry, and she cannot tell if it is from hunger, thirst, or the fear that held her from demanding a meal.

Bonnie looks at her priceless dress, and it is not the richness of the fabric that makes it an item of luxury. She would not know how to tell fine material, but she is thankful that it does not scratch her skin cover of red plaques. Again, Bonnie winces after moving too fast. She draws in a breath, and it is too hard to hold. Her vision blurs, and the sight of flowers worsens her condition. White fills her vision until there is nothing.

… Bonnie awakens in a bed, and her gown lies not too far. Below her, she feels coldness, and it is familiar. She trembles while her guts twist around themselves. Her mouth is bitter, but not from bile, it is as pungent.

Water hits her skin, and the drops break on her forehead. Bonnie grabs what lies below her hand, and it is crisped fabric that frees a scent when she holds it so desperately. She withholds her breath and the sobs grow loud as the drops become water pouring. She whimpers when her skin burns under warm water. “Please no,” Bonnie pleads.

There is noise that comes with the swift arrest of a hand. “I have no intention to drown you,” the voice is deep and posh. She would not know the difference, but Bonnie knows to recognize a man. She struggles to escape. Her feet tangle on fabric, and today, she has not woken on the floor. A hand closes around her legs, and Bonnie cannot move. “I am no man of god. You fear me for the wrong reasons.”

Bonnie goes still, and his words are reassuring. She opens her eyes, and the white lights assault her eyes. She blinks until she finds focus. In a few seconds, her eyes find a visage, and it is not one of the most attractive. It is a hard face molded by apathy. His look is plain and disinterested. His eyes are intensely green while contrasted against a powder white skin. Bonnie looks a way growing sick at the sight. There is almost a sensation of dizziness.

“You are more bone than flesh,” He judges with a look. “And those bones are broken.” He sighs before the evidence. Bonnie waits for the pity to kick in, and it does not. He looks at her through a curtain of blonde eyelashes.

“There is a meal.” He announces and waits for her to speak. “Which awaits you.” Bonnie does not utter a word. She is intuitive enough to know who he is. He looks in her eyes, and she draws a breath waiting for what should happen. Her muscles ache from the memory embedded in their fibers.

He does not react how she expects. He crouches to be at high level with her, and Bonnie moves further up on the bed. His hand closes on her legs, and Bonnie finds him surprisingly strong. She can no longer move.

“I have one interest in you,” He says with emotions that he holds on a leash. “It should not worry you unless you cannot fulfill the request.” He continues. “In the hypothesis that you fail, I could be cruel and return you to the council, or I could be clement and…” There is no ambiguity in his statement despite his reluctance to finish. “That being said there is no need to rush. Have your meal so you don’t suffer another absence.” He extends his hand, and the tips of his finger collect the drop of her cold sweat. “There are less peculiar ways to meet a wife.” The fabric of his white shirt sticks to her cheeks.

When he removes his hand, Bonnie’s dry blood stains his sleeve. She looks at him with aghast eyes, and Bonnie wonders if he cut her or opened an old wound. He pulls his sleeves over his palm, and he wipes the bleeding corner of her lips. She chewed the rosy flesh until she made a dent. The wound is new but lays next to an old one. He has no curiosity for the fading scars but appears taken by the trail of blood down her chin. He looks at her with a small smile.

“There is an orchid in the garden that has the rottenly sweet scent of your blood. I think I will have to cut them for both our sake. Their leaves are gorgeous and red. A sight to behold. If you can, have a look at them before they are gone.” He stands, and Bonnie only notices that he has been on his knee to appear less frightening.

He makes his exit before Bonnie suffers the anxiety of his presence. “Wait,” Bonnie breathes a thought, which he hears. He halts at the door and waits for her voice to gain strength after many breaths. “You are my husband,” Bonnie pretends to inquire. “Klaus,” He replies as he closes the door. …. When she finds the orchid tree, and Bonnie is certain it is the one, which smells like her blood. There is something magical and heavy underlying the air. However, she does not understand the intricate detail nor knows what her blood smells like. It is more peculiar that she does not question how Klaus can be aware of such things.

Perhaps, her worries about who she is makes her reluctant to question other’s nature. Bonnie focuses on the tree, and butchered, it is. Klaus has held on his promise.

Butchered is the word, and Bonnie refuses to sense it. She curiously looks around her, and she is afraid someone might misinterpret her care for a tree for evil. Bonnie shivers, and she remembers the finger pointing at her. Bonnie looks away from the tree, and her eyes fall on the garden surrounding her. Although, the tree is far from it. Another similarity with something, which is now dead, and it is where the real difference arises. Klaus happens to both of them.

Bonnie turns around, and she faces the sea of white. Her stomach lurks, and her blood boils. Bonnie’s mind whistles, and she shamefully looks away. There is something about that mare whiteness, which unsettles her. It infuriates her beyond what she can express. Drawing a breath, she walks away. …

Bonnie finds Klaus strolling in her room or the space, which he allows her to occupy without his intrusion, and that was until now. Bonnie finds Klaus’ presence overwhelming, and it is perhaps because of its sacrosanct nature. There is nothing holier than a savior, and Bonnie has a legitimate fear of holiness. She stands below the frame of the door, which he has left open in hope to meet her. Klaus looks over his shoulder, and his eyes encounter Bonnie’s ones.

He says nothing to an intense stare peculiarly empty. Bonnie fidgets, and she averts her eyes to her wedding gown, which lies neatly placed on the vanity chair.

“It is gone,” Bonnie speaks to crack an electrifying silence. She does not bother to clarify, and he does not strain to explain that he understands. Klaus halts, and he lowers himself in her bed. To Bonnie, it appears like the most sensible thing that Klaus has done since she met him. As her husband, her bed is his haven.

He seems to share that thought. Klaus closes his eyes, and he draws a breath filled with tension. Her steps hesitantly echo into the walls, and she merely dares to cross the door.

“It was for the best,” Klaus declares. “And I was wrong,” He adds. “Your scent is more subtle or subdued. Subdued is the words. Somehow held in chains or denied. It is a pity.” Klaus finishes.

Bonnie takes a few steps, and his words have teased her curiosity. She is sinfully curious, and she has grown accustomed to paying for her sins before she commits them. Castigation is enough to ruin one’s prudence. Bonnie drags the collar of her dress to her nose, and she takes in the smell.

“I missed the scent of soap.” Bonnie declares. “Or the idea of clean and unblemished. Maybe pure.” She confides in him without necessarily wanting her words to mean anything to him.

Klaus opens his eyes and renounces the acuity of his other senses. He looks at Bonnie, and some of her scars have faded completely. “Pure?” Klaus questions with dull surprise. "Should you not have the word in horror?“ He knowingly declares. "Purity,” Klaus enunciates. “A high standard to meet. If I trust your previous predicament, you did not pass that test.” Bonnie tenses, and she is compacted muscles curling into them as a carapace meant to withstand assault. He peers at her, and he is the least concerned by her state of absence. Klaus watches Bonnie go through the avalanche of thoughts.

"I did not have the money to pay for my release,“ Bonnie replied. "And so they searched my skin for the mark of evil. Something not pure, and it was the curl of the hair on my…” she stops as she clings on her decency despite how violated it has been the last months.

Klaus sits, and he undoes the button of his collar. She looks at his neck that is too pale, and she thinks that what many believe purity looks like. However, it is so pale that the white of his shirt looks yellowish laying on his flesh. “A bag of gold for your crime of heresy and a few pounds for the effort of the ecclesiastical authority.” He announces how much her freedom cost. The information is not news to Bonnie, and she knows when a debt should be repaid.

“Wives are cheaper,” Bonnie retorts in a timid tone. " and they come with a dowry.“ "I have no use of a wife,” Klaus replies. Bonnie fully stands in her room, and she notices the vase by the window. There is a bouquet, which Klaus brought. Bonnie recognizes the orchid even if she never saw them before now. “What of me?” Bonnie replies. “I am your wife.” She reaffirms. “And you could cease to be in a breath,” He retorts. “And you enjoy my name and the protection that comes with it. I am indeed your husband, but does that make you my wife.”

Bonnie shakes her head. She heads toward the vase, and her fingers graze the orchid. They are red, and they did not belong to the white garden. Klaus rightfully cut them off the garden. They ruined the purity.

“Why did you take me for a wife if you had no use of one?” Bonnie dares to ask. “Because it was the only way to sink my claws in you,” Klaus sincerely replies, and only the most deceitful person tells the truth to birth lies. “Your debts are your husband’s ones. Your sins are the result of your husband’s failure to guide you. Your life depended on it.” He finishes.

The petal melts between her fingers, and from her palms, life threatens to rise. Bonnie panics, and she promptly let’s go of the orchid. He watches her struggle with what is indolent to her.

“Why did you wed me?” Bonnie insists. She can break apart the truth to fish out the lie. He blames his second of naivety. Bonnie has been through too much to accept a truth without arguing it. “For the exact reason why you married me.” Klaus gives up all pretense. “ Were you to burn or drown?” Bonnie asks. “Was it after the torture? Did they break your bone and waited for some to heal.” She pushes up the sleeves of her dress to reveal a scar, which is white because the skin has grown and died too many times at the same place and now it is a thin layer of collagen barely covering the bone. “Barbarism requires a victim of lesser strength.” Klaus replies, and he undoes his collar to reveal his neck. “My skin is unblemished and as alabaster as the day I entered the world. My bones break to heal as if the rupture never happened. There is no pleasure to take from my pain, and it is not worth the barbarism.” He explains. “I’m hunted,” His hand brushes the collar of her dress. “it is not persecution, but it is oddly similar when a man of evil does it.” Klaus takes a step away, but Bonnie follows him. “So my reasons to marry you are the same as yours.” “I should rescue you,” Bonnie confusedly replies. “How?” She asks when reason resurfaces. Klaus smirks, and he places a kiss on her forehead. “From whom, should be the question.” He corrects her. “From the evil man,” Bonnie quotes klaus.

He chuckles in the face of her naivety. Klaus takes the hand where she wears her scar. His finger draws the contours of it. Bonnie shivers, and she does not dare to look at him.

Klaus’s thumb grazes her jawline that has healed into something crooked. It is an oddity, and so it is beautiful. His attention lingers on it, and Bonnie has never suffered such scrutiny.

“Were they evil?” His lips brush her neck. “Those who dragged you into a cell,” Klaus questions. “No,” He replies because her mind has other preoccupations. “They were holy,” He reminds her. “Godly,” Klaus emphasizes. “It gave them the right to burn you because you were evil.” Klaus finishes.

“I’m no witch,” Bonnie retorts. “I’m no witch,” she repeats with fear. “I’m no witch.” She stubbornly repeats as if her old jailers are present in the room. Klaus frames Bonnie’s face, and he presses his lips to hers. He pulls away before she knows what to do.

“It is not a question I have asked yet, wife,” Klaus retorts and he straightens the collar of her gown. “I hope you enjoy the orchids. They are fast to wither once cut from the tree unless… Goodnight.” … Bonnie has waited for the orchid to wither, but they appeared shielded from the work of time. They are impure and unnatural. Her window gives onto the garden, and so she avoids looking through it unless Klaus is strolling in the white hell, as she likes to think of the magnificent landscape.

Bonnie adores her orchid, and how abnormal it is that they grow despite being dead and pulled from their roots. She adores that sickeningly sweet scent, and she finds it consoling. What she loves more about those orchids is the company, which it affords her.

Klaus stands at her door with a jar of water and cubes of sugar. He waits for her to invite him, and she never does because an invitation is an opening to a conversation, which leads to frightening questions. How does she breathe life to the orchids?

“Does it crawl out of you?” Klaus asks when he comes to stand next to her. “They are taller today,” He says as he throws the cubes of sugar in the water. The white particles melt and ultimately disappear.

Bonnie stares at the garden, and she becomes restless. She knows that she should feel different while facing the beauty of that white garden. It is holy. However, she feels different as if sensing what must happen. She looks away afraid to face that future, and above all, her reflection unwitting of such holiness frightens her.

“I wonder what you wish from me?” Bonnie inquires. Bonnie understands that beyond Klaus’ overbearing presence, hidden motives exist. Klaus certainly does not pretend to have her well being in mind nor does he deny carrying for her.

“To have what I bargain for,” Klaus retorts, and he undoes a few buttons of his collar and sleeves.

Bonnie sighs, and she knows what he implies. Her hand ceases to move, and she closes her fists around the fabric of her squirt.

“There must be a bit of lunacy in your insistence,” Bonnie argues. “What torture has disproved how do you intend to convince me that it exists."

Klaus hooks his finger below Bonnie’s cheek. His fingers sink in her flesh, and she believes he has the intent to consume her. She is frightened because so many have attempted to eat her alive. Her bones continue to remember, and they wince beneath his caress. The fabric of his shirt, as soft as it might be, oddly scraps her bare palm. Bonnie breathes and it is a lot of his perfume.

"Barbarism,” Klaus declares. “Something like a sharp knife caving into your flesh until I mold what I desire."

Bonnie looks at him, and she lacks fear perhaps because she has exhausted her mind through the terror of months. "You will mold nothing but a wife out of me,” Bonnie declares. “If the church cannot make a witch out of me. Who are you to succeed.” Klaus smirks, and he takes hold of her hand. He drags her toward the bed, and he carefully lies her on it. He pulls up the layers of her skirt, and Bonnie looks at him with her breath hitching.

“If you will have me as husband,” Klaus pulls on the lace of his briefs. “I have no reason to deny you.” He replies, “but Am I a man who you wish to have?” He asks. His hand holds her corset, and he begins to undo it. “I have told you and hoped you will come to the right conclusion.” He pulls on the fabric of her undergarment until she is naked beneath him. “ I do not wish that you denounce yourself.”

It is different from when she was in her cell. Her skin does not suffer from the roughness of the granite. She is not bare because she awaits humiliation. There is no one promoting her to confess to what she knows nothing of, and there is no torture that follows her stubbornness. There is no cry to lament on her faith. She does not silently curse the name of the Gilbert girl who saw her care for nature. It is a quiet moment full of hesitations despites Klaus sure hand tearing through the layer of her garments to part her legs.

Klaus is half-dressed. He shows no sign of impatience. Bonnie does not know if the intensity of his look is for desire or for plot. She has never been with a man, and those who have seen her naked only did so to tear through her flesh. Her scars have faded. Without the ghost of a pain, the memory of torture is distant. It might have happened. Bonnie knows, and yet she is glad her body wishes to forget.

Bonnie looks at Klaus, and she waits for what must transpire. Violence, torture or something more frightening like care and tenderness, she does not know what she expects nor does she knows what terrifies her more at the moment. Klaus is her calm haven. In his absence and presence, he is the little Bonnie has. He is unholy for trying to ruin her purity, and he is heavenly for being the force driving her breath. It is an odd companionship. She does not know if she bores him. Bonnie is uncertain what faith he reserves her. Her vulnerability before him goes beyond the moment.

She cradles his face and kisses him. It is gauche and hesitant. Bonnie clings to nothing, and she attempts to prompt everything. Klaus places his hand on her shoulder, and he pins her to the bed.

Bonnie watches his eyes begin to glow a shade of golden, and her blood runs cold. His face morphs into one of a beast, and his teeth elongate into fangs. She panics, and her blood boils. She feels as her skin burns. “You’re no man?” Her voice trembles. “Is it that my soul is damned?” She crawls away from Klaus. “The devil has me in his bed.”

Klaus watches her curl into herself, and yet she refuses to run despite having the space to do so. She peers at him, terrorized. However, there is more to her curious look. Somehow, she is consoled by his impure nature. Bonnie halts her escape. She stares too long because she is moved by emotions.

“I’m nothing but the husband who you married in the desperation to escape the purging fire.” Klaus replies. “How you judge me is your choice.” He says as he stands to his full height, and he becomes more intimidating. “The devil maybe,” He replies. “If you want to believe those who skinned you while you wailed as a newborn,” He adds as he approaches her.

“Does it crawl out of you?” She repeats his words. “Does it come out when you are angry? Does it burn when you’re joyful? Does it always beg to come out? Is it unholy?” She crawls to him desperate to know the answer. “ Do you control it?” Her hand quickly brushes Klaus’ cheek. “Is it heresy?” Bonnie presses her lips to Klaus’ ones. “How do you control it?” …. To think that many do not recognize her, they swarm around her as if she was not the woman, which they tortured. She is a little different in her appearance, and her name has a certain weight.

The gown from her wedding day suits her, and Klaus is a sound of a distinctive laugh. She looks over her shoulders, and he smiles at her. Bonnie stares at the garden of white flowers. It no longer scares her as much. She moves through it with ease.

The wives are playing games meant for springs. The crown of flowers are made to fit on heads. Bonnie draws a breath, and she recognizes one of the judges. Salvatore was his name, and his eyes empty of recognition falls on her. “Mrs Mikaelson,” He bows in courtesy. “It is a pleasure to meet you. ” He approaches Bonnie. “Your husband has been promising to take you to our church, but he has yet to hold his words. ”

Bonnie smiles, and she bows too. Her smile is one who cannot stretch. “The church,” Bonnie declares. “ is weary of people like me.” She says. He looks at her with an air of absent disdain. Father Salvatore judges her difference acceptable.

“It is true women of your… lineage,” He correctly says. “Do not occupy positions when they are distinguished members of the church, but we are before excusable circumstances.”

“Women of my lineage,” Bonnie repeats. “I will tell you about the lineage. I will make a long overdue confession father. I, Bonnie Mikaelson, born Bennett agree upon the accusations of sorcery and witchcraft. So forth I should be judged before the rule of the church because I have sinned.” She finishes with glee. “And I confess burning father Damon Salvatore to purge his soul,” Bonnie finishes, and she barely enjoys the look of confusion on Damon’s face as he quickly turns into horror when the word leaves Bonnie’s lips. “ Incendia…”

The flames erupt, and they shall consume more than the rotting flesh of the church. They crawl upon the flowers, and those who cannot run burns. Klaus stands where he can see the carnage. He smiles and raises his voice to call upon his wife. “Witch.”

#klonnie #Klaus Mikealson #bonnie bennett #klonnie gothic #klonnie gothic 2020 #klonniegothic #klonniegothic2020

75 notes · View notes

hallowed-be-thy-username · 4 years ago

Text

First I wanted to say that I binge read a lot of your fics and I love all of them! Thx for sharing your amazing work with us 💜 I wondered if I may request a fic with J and a reader who's insecure about her body because she's a little bit chubby (really only a little bit). But she was mocked in her past, and now she hardly wants to show anything of her body, e.g. even in summer she never wears shorts etc. Fluff would be great 💚 Feel free to ignore my request if you don't like writing about it.

Hello, anon!! I’m back with your fic! Thank you so much again for your request 🥺💕 I hope you see it and I really hope its what you were looking for! It’s a very fluffy comfort fic with a very soft version of J. A girl needs some comfort sometimes!

Self-insert, Ledger Joker x fem reader, comfort, fluff, fluff fluff

Word count: 2, 574 ��

Warnings: body issues/low self-esteem, anxiety, triggers involving removing clothes, not quite NSFW but clothing is taken off

Heat

Sweat beaded on your forehead as you reached to turn on the fan by your window. The artificial breeze did little to relieve your discomfort brought on by the sweltering heat wave blanketing Gotham.

Summer decided it wasn’t finished yet and the temperature suddenly soared this late September evening with no sign of cooling down, even with the setting of the harsh sun. You hated the summer. Sweaty clothing sticking to your skin, the humidity in the air making you feel sluggish. Everyone walked around in shorts and tank tops, soaking up the sun’s rays at parks and on patios, or cooling off in the waves at the shore, comfortable showing their skin. You weren’t.

This time of year was hard for you. You didn’t want to show your body. Long pants and shirts with enough fabric to conceal your torso, thats all you wore, even when you were by yourself. People would see you walking around in jeans and a zip-up hoodie in ninety degree weather and look at you like something was wrong with you. There wasn’t anything wrong with you, well not in that way. You’d been mocked for your appearance so much during your life, especially when you were young, that if you spent too long in front of a mirror you’d find plenty of things. You’d look at your reflection and lament about the little extra weight you carry, your smaller bust, this crease, that stretch mark. People are cruel. People are shallow. If you don’t have a body that meets their standards, they’re sure to tell you.

Part of what attracted you to Joker was the fact that he couldn’t care less about what anyone thinks of him. His clothes were loud, his face was one that no one can ignore, his presence commanded attention. He basked in it, reveled in having eyes on him, but had no interest in their opinion. As long as he made a lasting impression, he was happy. Of course he knew that he would, no one forgot him.

You certainly didn’t. You saw his face and were instantly mesmerized. His eyes drew yours in and held them there with an invisible force. Of all places to find yourself, it had to be at Gotham National Bank that morning. Everything happened so fast. Fear turned into fascination and fascination turned into an unlikely new job for you. When he didn’t scare you away, curiosity flashed on his face. You couldn’t look away. He let you go on one condition, you worked for him now. You were his eyes and ears, a little birdie, listening for rumors and word of mouth from around the city. He found your inconspicuousness useful.

You managed to keep your feelings secret for awhile now. You couldn’t help your attraction to him, he was so enigmatic and charming. His charm was undoubtedly a tool he used for manipulation but with you, it felt different. He didn’t try to scare you. He towered over your shorter stature but you liked it, when he stood over you he was all you could see. He started calling you names like “doll face” and “kitten”, even “my little bird”, making your heart flutter every time he said them. You never saw him interact with anyone in a romantic way, but you had a feeling the ability was there, hiding. There was a softness in his hands that you could see. He always said his scars scared people, not you though. You wanted to run your fingertips over them, kiss them, love them. You felt this emptiness, a lack of intimacy, that you wanted him to fill.

But you couldn’t do anything. You didn’t feel like you were good enough for him. He’s the Joker, how could you be good enough for him?

You apartment door swung open and you jumped from your chair, scrambling to your feet.

“Jump-y little bird, aren’t ya?” Joker chuckled.

Your widened eyes narrowed at him before sighing and flopping back into your seat. “Well someone suddenly bursting into my apartment is a little startling, yeah.”

Joker grinned and giggled again, he always seemed to have fun getting you riled up so you’d be snarky with him. “Ahh what’s got your knickers in a knot, hm?”

“Its… its just so hot out,” you answered, your face darkening at his mention of your underwear.

It was so hot out he was without his trademark purple trench and suit jacket, even his vest and tie were missing. The sleeves of his hexagon shirt were rolled up so you couldn’t stop eyeing his bare forearms. He cocked an eyebrow as his eyes studied your attire. “Uhh it would prob-ably help if your weren’t dressed for a, ah, snow storm, doll.”

You smirked and huffed a giggle at his joke like you always would, trying to hide that the subject of your appearance was already starting to grate at your nerves.

“No! Not a snow storm! I just, um, I like to be comfortable,” you lied with a smile on your face.

But you couldn’t fool him. He saw right through your phony casual demeanor, tilting his head to the side while he stared at you, waiting for you to tell him the truth.

You still tried to change the subject. “S-so, uh, I heard something about Batman today.”

Of course he knew you were lying. He could see the hesitation in your eyes, the way your brow was slightly furrowed, your nervous fingers fidgeting with the loose thread on your shirt.

“Nooo you didn’t,” he said in a deep voice, his tongue flicking over his lip. He continued to wait with his eyes on you, breaking down the façade you were attempting to build in front of you.

You swallowed and stared at him, the forced grin dropping from your face. He wanted to be serious. Alright, you can be serious. You always joked about things but never this. It was too personal.

“You’re gonna make me talk about this?” you asked, your heart now pounding in your throat.

Joker nodded slowly. He didn’t like to be lied to, you knew this, and he wouldn’t let it go until you talked. He stepped closer, his expression like stone while he lowered himself to sit in front of you. Your instincts compelled you to hide yourself even more so you drew yours knees in to your chest. He wasn’t going to back down.

You kept your eyes on his and look a deep breath before looking away, your hands starting to shake. “I… don’t like the way I look. I cover myself with clothes so I don’t have to see, so no one else can see.”

Tears formed behind your eyes, burning with embarrassment. Why did you say that? You’ve never told that to anyone and you just told Joker. Why? Your head started to buzz and your chest tightened. You wished that the floor would open and swallow you up so you wouldn’t have to face his ridicule.

“You care about that?” you heard him ask.

Your heart nearly stopped and your gaze jerked back over to his face. What did he just say?

“Um… what?”

His heavy black eyelids blinked at you and he said, “That’s no way to live your life, my little bird.”

All you could do was blink back, your mouth opening to speak but no words came to mind. You never expected him to say something like that.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do. I wanna see. You’re gonna show me,” he said, completely serious.

Your stomach sank so violently you though you were going to throw up. “What?? No! N-no…” You couldn’t think of anything else to say, this situation was heading in an unexpected direction so fast it was making your head spin.

He reached out and gripped your wrist when you tried to stand up. He’d never touched you before. His hands were rough but also soft. His skin was so warm. You stopped and slowly lifted your eyes to meet his, your rapid breath slowing.

“I won’t force ya, doll, its not like that at all. But… you’ll feel better.”

You stared back into his eyes. They looked different. He looked at you with a sort of reverence, like you were the one that would be granting him the privilege. Something stirred inside you. He was suddenly holding the door open for your relationship to become something more. You’d always wished it so, but now you were nervous. Your pulse was racing again and you tried to come up with something to say. You didn’t think you could do it. What if he didn’t like your body? What if you disgusted him? What if…

“What if I do it too, hm?” he asked.

Your eyes widened and you almost choked as your throat when dry as a bone. You’d… get to see him too? Now you really couldn’t speak.

His eyes took in your expression before he leaned forward and slowly used his hold on your wrist to guide your hand to his chest, where his shirt was buttoned near the top.

“I’ll go first,” he said softly.

Your fingers touched his chest and goosebumps prickled your arms despite the oppressive heat. You stared at your fingertips that now touched him so lightly. You’d never touched him before either. A tingling feeling swirled in your belly and you looked from your hand to his eyes. His eyelids heavy, he silently nodded at you.

Your fingers trembled as your other hand came up to grip the fabric, sliding the button through. It was like you had no control over them as your hands continued to move down each button, his chest steadily rising and falling with his breath. You looked at his skin, small scars littered over his chest as it was slowly revealed to you. Then he slipped his suspenders off of his shoulders to pull his arms out of the shirt, leaving it on the chair behind him. He watched you stare at his naked torso before kicking his shoes off and bending to pull off his socks. Without hesitation, he stood and unbuttoned his pants to let them fall to the floor, stepping out of them to stand in front of you, wearing only a pair of black boxer shorts.

Now the room felt even hotter, your blood rushing to the surface and face flushed from watching him just undress in front of you, like it was no big deal. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him, his body like a magnet for them while your heart thumped against your ribs. You felt his gaze on you and you slowly looked up at him.

“Your turn, doll. Are ya ready?”

Your breath quickened and you bit your lip. Maybe he was right. You spent so much effort and went through so much discomfort to hide yourself from people. He made it look so easy. Maybe you would feel better.

You cleared your throat and said quietly, “Can, um… can you– can you do it for me?”

He nodded and put out his hand for you to take. A tingle traveled down your back and he lead you away from the windows to the privacy of your bedroom to sit you down on your bed. He caught you in his gaze once more before gently taking your arms out of your hoodie, his fingertips brushing against the skin on your arms to raise yet another ripple of goosebumps.

You took a sharp inhale when he lightly gripped the bottom of your t-shirt and he stopped. You tried to gain control of your breathing and stared at his hands. Fear tightened your muscles and all of your insecurities came bubbling to the surface. Memories of sports physicals, locker rooms, and swim class, anxiety about having to take your clothes off, flooded your mind. This almost didn’t feel real.

Then Joker let go of your shirt and started running his hands up your arms. It felt… amazing. His touch was light and gentle, comforting. It was so unlike what you’d expect. He was carefully taking in all of the bends and curves, paying attention to your details. You didn’t feel like he was scrutinizing, just appreciating. The urge to feel his hands on more of you made your stomach flutter you took his hands to guide them back to the hem of your shirt. He looked up at you and you nodded slightly.

Slowly, he lifted your shirt until it was over your head. Your eyes were squeezed shut when you felt his fingertips on your collar bone while he coaxed you to lay back. Your eyelids softened but you kept your eyes closed while he took his time tracing it before running his finger down the center of your chest, between your breasts. Your breathing quickened and he slowed down again, taking care to pay attention to how you reacted to where he put his hands. His thumbs grazed your belly when he ran his palms down your sides. You stiffened a bit as he entered an area you were self-conscious about, but you started to relax when he carefully caressed the plush skin from the center outward to follow your curves with his fingers. You sighed when he placed his hands on your shoulders to glide his fingers over your chest then down to your waistband. He gripped the button on your jeans and stopped, waiting until you opened your eyes.

His gaze was tranquil, putting you at ease and giving you a confidence you didn’t know you had. A soft smile tugged at the corners of your mouth and you nodded again before he unbuttoned your pants and gently pulled them down. You tried to keep yourself calm as you watched your legs become uncovered, marks and lines highlighting every area you’ve spent so long deploring, wishing you could change, hiding.

Your thoughts began to revert to their typical self disparagement until Joker laid his hands on your thighs, palms flat, one on each leg. He was knelt over you with your ankles between his knees. He slid his hands down toward your knees, putting light pressure, like a massage. He hadn’t said a word since he started undressing you but it didn’t seem like he needed to. His hands rubbed and kneaded your muscles, fingers traced your shapes, and palms soothed. You even felt cooler. He continued to explore your body, rubbing your calves and your ankles, with nothing but admiration, like he was grated access to appreciate something beautiful. You felt like one of those women in Renaissance paintings, reclined on soft cushions to be venerated by an attentive admirer.

He lifted his fingers from your ankles and sat back for a moment. His eyes scanned down your body while you breathed and he purred in a low voice, “Now you, well you are a sight to behold, doll face.”

A genuine smile stretched across your face and suddenly he moved to bring his face up to yours, his hands propping him over top of you. “Feel better?” he murmured, his lips so close they nearly grazed yours.

“I… I do actually,” you said softly, your hands coming up to grip his shoulders while your heart raced.

“Good.”

His lips took hold of yours to pull you into a deep kiss, wrapping you in a different kind of heat.

#heath ledger joker #ledger!joker #the dark knight #soft!joker #joker fanfiction #joker x you #ledger joker x reader #anon request #tw anxiety #tw body negativity #tw low self esteem

135 notes · View notes

kaito-is-baby · 4 years ago

Text

Shuichi, Kaito, Maki, Rantaro and Kokichi react to their bestfriend's old self harm scars

Okay, here is the answer to that request, thanks for requesting it and I hope you like it anon and personally I have a lot of scars and everyone think they are from self harm even if they aren’t so just remeber that you are beautiful no matter what and that your scars only remember you of how you surivived to a hard time, love you all~♡

And said this, let’s go with the imagine

TW: SELF HARM

I chose this sprite because it's my favourite Kaito sprite? Yes, I did, look at his cute face!!! I can’t! my perfect baby! awww

Shuichi Saihara

•Oh, boy, he understand the feeling so well

•He knows how it is to hide a part of your body for being ashamed

•But he wants you to know that those scars are nothing to be ashamed of

•And that he doesn't think at all that you are less for them

•You had a bad time and you dealt with it the best you could

•And now you are here and you no longer self harm, that's more than enough to be proud of yourself

•He at least is very proud of you

•And he wishes he could help you be more comfortable wearing short sleeves

•Because, well, you are going to melt if you wear those during summer

•So he decides to support you the best way he can

•If you wear short sleeves he will stop wearing his cap

•Poor boy, he is doing a big effort to help you, be kind to him and appreciate his love!

•You two go out with no cap and short sleeves

•And at first both of you are very awkward and uncomfortable

•But as the day goes by and you two have fun those worries disappear

•And now both of you are happy you have done this

•Because now you can finally see Shuichi's eyes clearly

•And also won't die of heat on the outside

•From this day Shuichi never wears his cap again and you manage to wear short sleeves when it's needed

•Shuichi's strength inspires you

•And if you are feeling less confident he is there to help you and remember you that those scars are only a reminder of your strength

Kaito Momota

•When he saw your scars, he was a little worried at first

•Why had you done this?

•But then you told him about how you felt on that time and assured him that everything was alright now

•But he notices that something is wrong and asks you about it

•You explain him that it's very difficult for you to wear short sleeves because you don't like people seeing your scars

•"That's stupid! Your scars tell the story of your life! How you fight to be where you are now! You should show them more often"

•Yeah, thanks but that doesnt work, Kaito

•"Besides, I think they are pretty cool, look, they almost look like little constellations and stars"

•He passes his fingers for your scars showing you their beauty, you don't see it at first but after all of his comments you start to see what he is seeing too

•They have their own beauty, that's true

•"Your arms are like unique skies, you should really show them!"

•At the end, he convinced you, that's the power of the great Kaito, luminary of the stars

•And you two went outside

•The first time it didn't work very well and Kaito had to give you his jacket so you could hide your arms

•But with time and a lot of tries you managed to feel confident with your scars

•And Kaito was at your side helping you all the time

•Plus he was right, those scars are beautiful in their own way and now you see it too

Maki Harukawa

•Simmilar to Shuichi, she understand you perfectly

•She knows how it is to be full of scars, she has quite a lot of them too

•And she is always covering them so she is no one to talk

•But she wants you to know that she doesn't judges you, maybe you were a little weak back in the time (from Maki's point, I personally don't think so, remember that) but now you are a lot better and she knows you are very strong for being able to stop self harming

•She doesn't really help you feel more confident or something like that

•But she does show you her scars in repay for showing her yours

•And from that moment you two are always confident enough with each other to show your skin even if it has scars in it

•You are glad you have her, now you can be wearing short sleeves when you two watch a movie or play videogames at home

•She's glad too, she was about to burn alive with those clothes

•And at some point you two are so confident with each other that you completely forge about hiding the scars when you go out

•And when you realise that everyone can see them you also realise that you don't care about it anymore

•You got over your insecurities together and you are now better than before!

Rantaro Amami

•The first thing he does when he sees them is ask you why you did that

•You tell him about your past and he listens to you with all of his atention

•Amd once you are done he doesn't give it any other though

•"Oh, well, if you are fine now that's great, we should go get some ice cream"

•You want to take your jacket but he grabs you outside before you can cover the scars

•Oh, what an smart idiot

•"Rantaro, listen, O feel a little uncomfortable without long sleeves to cover... them"

•It had been hard just to mention them in public imagine to show them, you can't do this

•"You talk about your scars?"

•Yes, Rantaro, now please, shut up!

•He is doing this on purpose, right?

•"Come on, they are just like a tatoo, just as beautiful and even more meaningful, you shouldn't be wearing uncomfortable clothes to hide them"

•"My clothes aren't uncomfortable"

•"It's burning outside and you want to wear long sleeves, come on, don't try and tell it is comfortable"

•You can't argue with him so you just give up and accept to don't cover them

•And even of at first is horribly awkward by the end of the day you don't even remember them

•To be honest, you were vey angry at Rantaro but he didn't bring you to any place with people until he saw you comfortable enough to face someone

•Even if you won't admit it you are glad he did this because now you can finally wear summer clothes

Kokichi Ouma

•You two were fighting when he saw them

•It was a game of course so he stopped

•"Why did you do that?"

•You don't really want to talk to him about this, I mean, come on, it's Kokichi, he isn't the most sensitive person to say

•"Come on~ pretty please~"

•No

•"Please! Please! Please! Tell me! Tell me! Tell me!"

•"Oh, God, I will tell you just shut up!"

•He has a smile from ear to ear now, he has won the game

•Yeah, the game is your trust, you know how Kokichi's mind works

•You tell him about that time of your life

•"But it doesn't really matter now, I don't care about it"

•"Are you sure~? Then why do you hide them?"

•His voice is scary and his face is even worse, you have a little demon with you

•"I... I don't hide them"

•"Then you wear long sleeves on summer because you like to burn alive~?" He is smiling so this question almost sounds as a joke, but what a scary smile, you could see that he is the scariest thing you have ever seen right now

•"Umm... yeah"

•"Then you won't mind to take them off, come on! I challenge you to it!" You hesitate a little "If you don't do it I will win the game~"

•Kokichi is sickly competitive but you are even more, probably that's why you are best friends in the first place

•So you go out with your arms uncovered

•After some time you even feel comfortable like this

•"Nishishishi, you wom this but I got to make you go out with your scars so I won too!"

•Thsi little idiot... you hate him but you have to admit that also love him

Hi~ here it's me again, having a hard time writting Kokihi but trying my best, hope you liked it a little at least

162 notes · View notes