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mrs-foleys-baby-boy · 7 months ago

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Some Backstory on Wrestling and Me

I was quite young when I first got into the WWE. It was something that my dad had been into for a long time, but I only really took notice of it around 2004, 2005. I was quite young at the time so it's hard to remember. My dad can be a pretty abrasive, won't take shit dude, and so his appreciation for the WWE has historically centered itself around a respect for the ability to get the shit kicked out of you. He paid attention to the kayfabe and the story arcs but they took a back seat; the star of the show was the fights.

Which for a lot of outsiders looking in at the world of professional wrestling, I can understand how you might think that wrestling... Is about wrestling. And it is, to an extent. But it's truly so much more.

Even from that young impressionable age where I was grappling with anger issues, I think I always had a lot of appreciation for the theatrical side of the WWE. Truly my budding love for the theatre and my love for sweaty men yelling at each other walked hand in hand. I loved the costumes. The character designs. The backstories. These fantastical larger than life characters that in practice boiled down to a big guy in a cool looking jacket, but by god these men knew how to sell it. Raw and Smackdown in these eras had a habit of focusing on darker, edgier characters, and a tiny me lapped it right up.

As a child, my favorite wrestler was Kane. A big, foreboding figure who by this point had stopped wearing his cool mask and shaved his head, admittedly a much less cool looking wrestler than he was when he debuted as Kane in the late 90's, but he had the dark backstory and the fire and the chokeslams so I loved it.

Despite my love for the brooding heels, I also had love for the babyfaces. John Cena was getting a lot of screen time, beginning to distance himself from the edgy gangster image he had once had where he would tell the Rock he was going to give him a Cleveland steamer (yes, really)

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But I also had a soft spot for Rey Mysterio. A relative newcomer to the promotion who was a huge babyface that would play the David to many much larger, meaner wrestlers' Goliaths (particularly Big Show, another favorite of mine.)

On some level I think I saw what many young children see in pro wrestling, role models who face endless adversity and continual strife in their lives but go out and prove themselves every single week to be strong. Tough. Bigger than the hardships they had to face.

It also provided me a nice outlet for my budding artistic creativity. The time-honored tradition of hand-making signs to hold up in the audience was alive in my household, despite the fact that I never actually got to see an event live. I would draw my signs on printer paper and store them tidily in a cardboard box beneath my TV, with my Rey Mysterio mask. Frequently I would make them for wrestlers I didn't actually care all that much about, just because I wanted to make another sign.

But then at some point around 2007, (or perhaps sometime after, time dilation is a bitch) I stopped watching Monday Night Raw and Friday Night Smackdown. I don't recall there being any reason for it. When you're young these passions can burn very brightly but flicker out without a moment's notice for unclear reasons. The interest simply wasn't there anymore for one reason or another.

And so life moved on. I abandoned my wrestling hobby, although the WWE still moved on without me. As did a number of other promotions that people have come to know and love. I would carry a vague shadow of my once intense passion forward with me in life, but it didn't really come up a lot. The friends that I made didn't really have any interest, or if they did it was a long-lost childhood one like mine. That is until 2017, when I discovered what would become my new favorite band— the Mountain Goats.

If you're not familiar with them, they are a post folk band with a very eclectic and poetic lyrical style. They are much more than this, and I have much more to say on the matter, but I'll try to keep it brief for the purpose of this post; John Darnielle, singer-songwriter for the band is quite fond of concept albums. In 2015 they released Beat the Champ, a concept album about professional wrestling.

In these songs lies a haunting and deeply personal exploration of a profession that involves injuring yourself for the attention of screaming fans. It grapples with mortality, with the shortcomings of the human body when you treat it so harshly for so long, with the emotional turmoil that comes from sacrificing your own well being for the happiness of another, and in an angle that speaks specifically to John's own experiences, it explores the relationship an abused child has with his abuser, and with searching for justice in the form of a moonsault press off the top rope.

This album floored me. I loved it musically, lyrically, and the subject matter spoke to a part of that young wrestling fan that I never even knew existed until that moment.

When a long-time wrestling fan accepts you into the fold and teaches you how wrestling works, generally they're going to tell you that while the things that they're doing are dangerous and shouldn't be attempted at home, the people performing these stunts have an extreme amount of knowledge on how to perform them as safely as possible, being able to sell it for the camera but not actually sustaining (major) injury.

For much of wrestling, this is true. But it fails to consider the side of wrestling (i.e. "hardcore" wrestling) that is predicated on actually getting hurt, and much more importantly it downplays the fact that these men and women do still get legitimately injured on a regular basis. It's not unusual at all to see wrestlers going about their high impact job with a broken foot. A brace here. A cast there. Sure, many of these injuries are played up for kayfabe, but to say that the risk of injury in the sport is negligible is simply ignorant. It fails to take into account the horrifying cases of people like Jimmy Snuka and Chris Benoit.

But as a child you're more likely to accept what you're told as fact. And I watched wrestling understanding that at the end of the day, these people would be okay. But that didn't stop the queasy feeling in the stomach you get when you see someone get hit really hard, when you see them start dripping blood from the head. When I listened to that album, it put things into perspective. That fear that I felt was justified. It was vindicating. But also saddening.But though I had a newfound respect for my childhood passion, I would not get back into actually watching wrestling until August of last year. And it was all because of Mankind that I did.

I've always loved Halloween, and I've always loved putting together costumes and playing characters, so as the autumn months approach I'm on the lookout for what I can put together. As a taller, heavyset guy with a beard and hair that I prefer to keep long, I sometimes struggle finding characters from things that I enjoy to dress up as and feel like I properly represent the character. The year prior I had been Brad Armstrong, protagonist of the game LISA: The Painful RPG who is an emotional wreck who solves his problems with his fists. It's funny the sorts of characters I find myself gravitating towards.

But that August I had stumbled across Mankind, a wrestler that I vaguely knew to exist but had never really properly engaged with. Mick Foley, despite his long tenure with the WWE, was largely absent for the years that I watched as a child. The most I knew of him was his appearance as an unlockable character in the PS2 game Smackdown Vs. Raw, which did him no favors.

But as I looked more at him, I discovered how much I loved the character design. A relatively simple design, but an odd juxtaposition of deranged and disfigured while simultaneously trying to look professional. And the body type was perfect. The biggest sticking point was the mask, but I found a nice quality latex replica on Etsy. All the rest could be easily thrifted and weathered by hand.

And the more I researched Mick Foley, the more I came to discover that this was a man that was the epitome of everything I had ever loved or respected about pro wrestling. A man who played not just one larger than life character, but three interchangeably. Intriguing and iconic costume designs (Though I say this, I recognize that they probably look really fucking corny to a lot of people, but it's The Aesthetic). He explored the subtleties of these characters on a regular basis while presenting them as human, as emotionally complex people going through struggles in their lives.

And perhaps most famously, he was a man who was really good at getting hurt. You see him seemingly take massive amounts of punishment and then continue to keep fighting. He loses blood. Teeth. Appendages. Okay maybe just one appendage but that's still too many. And he wears those scars and injuries as a badge of pride. Every one is an audience full of people for whom he performed and left everything he had out on the mat. Because he loves the art. He loves the fans. Pro wrestling is historically a subculture for outcasts, and he draws on his own experience as an outcast to empathize with his audience, and to say "I see you. I will fight for you. We can make it through life together."

And by god I love the man.

He's also just a genuinely very good person with (to my knowledge) good opinions, which is surprisingly rare for WWE superstars from the era. Remember my childhood favorite, Kane? Yeah, he's the Republican mayor of Knox County, Tennessee now. Like. What. But Mick has come out in vocal support of LGBT rights (trans rights in particular) as well as donating his time and labor to various good causes. Also he plays Santa for children and makes Christmas a big part of his personality. While I try my best to keep all of my "idols" at arms length because the human experience is multifaceted and anyone can turn out to be a very specific brand of shithead at any time, everything I've seen seems to suggest that Mick is good vibes.

Which brings me to the current day, where I currently sit, progressing my way slowly through the WWE catalog at a rate that will never catch up with reality, but I'm enjoying myself nonetheless. I started, of course, with the episode of Monday Night Raw that saw Mankind's debut, April 1st, 1996, and as of now have only just gotten to June 9th, 1997. It's slow going, and it only stands to get slower as the programs get longer and they start adding more pay-per-view events. But I've found myself engaging with something I love, which is always a nice feeling.

If you've made it this far, I thank you for reading my ramblings, it really does mean a lot to me. I don't intend to post anything nearly this long going forward, but I feel like a bit of context for my specific perspective is good.

Have a nice day!

#wrasslin #wrestling #wwe #mick foley #mankind #wwf #wwf attitude #fan blog #Youtube

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orphanedwolfandfriends · 2 years ago

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Verse: Cowboy Bebop Character(s): Cayla (who has no name in this verse), Baron (labeled as the doctor) Content warning: Mental child abuse. Please don’t read further if you’re not able to handle it. Ily, muah.

“D...dog...caaat...” The little one points to the pictures of the aforementioned animals to practice on her speech. For being close to the age of six or seven, she had about as much knowledge on how to talk as a toddler did. She wasn’t diagnosed with any disabilities, it’s just the fault of her ‘teacher’, who would toss her into a dark and isolated room whenever she did something he didn’t like. The doctor himself was assigned to teach her how to function like a human, despite the animal features she’s been sporting since birth. But rather than do that, he was doing what he found to be more important than being her teacher.

She had no parents that she could no remember. Not even pictures to show what they looked like. As far as she knew, she just poofed into existence like magic. And besides these one word sentences, she could barely talk. “Mm...moowwse.” She said, pointing to a picture of the mouse. She then got bored...and wanted to doodle on paper. Taking a black and gray crayon, she scribbled something that only she could identify at first glance. That awful ‘punishment’ room...nothing would be in there but pure, suffocating silence, and sometimes monsters that her own brain would conjure up, some taking shape of the man assigned to teach her.

Suddenly, the gloved hand of the man slumped to the table, catching her attention as he picked up the drawing with narrowing eyes. Had the girl not looked afraid and try to reach up for the drawing, he wouldn’t have pieced together what it was. He then crumpled it up in his hands. “Just who do you think is gonna lose his job if his subordinates find this, hmm...?” He asks softly, such a question bringing chills to the girl’s spine. She twiddled her thumbs, trying to apologize, but the fear was making her choke up. The doctor shook his head with a ‘tsk.’ “You don’t think, do you? You thoughtless little girl...” He said, before grabbing her on the arm. She pulled back with noticeable strain in her voice, and before she knew it, she was tossed back in to the room, the only light illuminating from the hallway before it slammed shut. Small hands banging on the door in demand to be let out, before sitting to her knees. She shook and covered her eyes as she sat down, her tail around her knees and soft sobs escaping her. Like all the other times she’d be thrown in here, she had no idea how much time has passed, nor what kind of chaos would come next.

The door would suddenly come open, and an arm would take the girl by the back of her cardigan before giving her any time to react. Everything around the two was fire, and smoke coming from different rooms, some of them exploding. Everything seemed to be a terrifying blur color and smoke, not to mention the other staff members of the facility scrambling to get out. Her ‘teacher’ would carry her in one arm like baggage and leave his colleagues to their doom. However...the only other thing he needed before leaving? She couldn’t make out what it was, but it could’ve been important. To his outrage, there was no way for him to get to his own office, so with nothing else to stay in for, he bailed out of the building, unnamed child in tow. Once they were out, there was even fire and burnt debris around them, but not without an open path. He dropped the girl, and dropped to his knees. The girl coughed for the smoke to not linger in her breath, and put in a surgical mask she always kept around for when others got sick. The man screamed out at the sky in a fit of rage, and punched the burnt soil beneath him.

“You...” He said in a dark tone, grabbing the girl again by her cardigan. “If I didn’t have to be STUCK babysitting you, I would’ve gotten to those documents! My research, everything I worked for, GONE!” He yelled at her, the girl whimpering and trying to get away before he shoved her to the ground, hand still gripping tightly on her clothing. Presumably, none of his colleagues would’ve known how badly he treated this child, but it’s not like it mattered to him anymore. “You defiant little..-!” He would’ve continued, but suddenly he was having difficulty breathing. He let her go, and coughed harshly. She took this as an opportunity to run away, but despite him practically dying, he grabbed her by the leg. “What the hell...what the hell’s going on-!?” He said, his coughs becoming more guttural. She kicked her leg to free herself from his grasp. Whatever was effecting him, he was being mighty stubborn to let it kill him, even when the smoke from the fire was no help for his immune system in the slightest. A foot came down hard on the back of the doctor’s skull, and the girl’s leg was free. She covered her eyes, only hearing the shuffling and frantic thuds against the burnt soil as the doctor suffocated and died shortly after. Besides the crackles of fire, and debris toppling over itself, there was silence. And the small girl, with her animal ears and tail, stared up at the figure who, quite literally, made this unlucky doctor eat dirt right in front of her.

#cece's dribble drabble #With this Heart I hold I was on my own {Cayla}#Cowboy Bebop verse tag TBD #:3c

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belamuse · 5 months ago

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You're allowed to lie in poetry

inviting your inner shadow self to play

“The poet is a liar who always speaks the truth” - Jean Cocteau

One of my favorite things about poetry (and fiction) is it’s a lot like acting. You can create a narrator who says what you would never say in real life, or someone who goes back in time and changes the course of their own history. You get to use real emotions, pieces of memories, but change any and everything you want to make it more dramatic, more exciting, more painful, more intense, or just more satisfying in the mouth.

Chiaroscuro

Before I became a writer, I was a visual artist. While I work in many styles, I have a particular love for black and white photography and charcoal drawing, both of which deal primarily in light and shadow, or Chiaroscuro.

In order to create the illusion of a three-dimensional form, both light and shadow must be tended to in equal measure. In drawing or painting, an artist might even start with a brown or grey paper tone and add elements of white and black to the image in order to create this desired effect; the darker the shadows, the brighter the lights appear.

Art, poetry, and good spiritual practices are all areas that must tend to light and shadow in equal measures.

The concept of The Shadow self has been around for as long as we’ve had myths, but psychologist Carl Jung helped popularized the idea in the 1950's.

"Jung proposed that at a young age, as we begin to develop a conscious ego and sense of self, two interdependent psychological systems begin to form: the persona, and the shadow. The Persona is the socially acceptable personality mask we wear to ensure we attain a sense of belonging, smooth relations with others, and success in the social world. While the shadow is the dark and unconscious side of the conscious ego, composed of the qualities we reject and repress into the unconscious.” - The Duality of Man

When we write from flow, we can go into the deepest and most hidden parts of ourselves. In my opinion, we go past that into the space where ideas and archetypes live, we have access to every emotion or thought that has ever been.

I know this will date me, but one of my favorite examples of the Shadow is Dark Willow from Buffy - she’s just so terrifying and satisfying at the same time. This week, I invite you to create your own Shadow self and write some poems or a story in her voice.

It is important to remember what Natalie Goldberg says, “We are not the poem,”

"The problem is we think we exist. We think our words are permanent and solid and stamp us forever. That's not true. We write in the moment. Sometimes when I read poems at a reading to strangers, I realize they think those poems are me. They are not me, even if I speak in the "I" person. They were my thoughts and my hand and the space and the emotions at that time of writing. Watch yourself. Every minute we change. It is a great opportunity. At any point, we can step out of our frozen selves and our ideas and begin fresh. That is how writing is. Instead of freezing us, it frees us."

Some Prompts for your own writing

The themes this week are about light and shadow, multiplicity, the many selves, diving deeply into uncomfortable places, owning our darkness and our light.

Creative prompt

Take some photos of yourself using interesting light,

make shadows on the wall, hide or reveal aspects of yourself

use an app to make them black and white and play with the contrast.

Journaling prompt

What are some things that annoy you in other people?

Can you see how some of those traits may be shadow desires of your own that you have denied yourself?

When was the last time you lied? What truths did it tell you?

What pieces of yourself would like to be seen, acknowledges, integrated?

Some words for you to play with

shade, stark, deep, mirror, reflection, shatter, ombre, gradient, light, bright, soft, hard, sheen, night, shine, shimmer, glimmer, sun, exposure, tint, lens, gaze, shadow

10 Poetry Prompts (set a timer for 5 mins, pick one, and go)

It cut the room in half…

it rose from the shadow…

I tried to hide…

the light came from…

I let it out…

The truth is…

If they ask me…

the darkness whispered…

the new me…

I remember the light…

Thank you for being here! I’d love to see any work you write from these prompts! Post them in the comments or tag me <3

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snowstark · 3 years ago

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counting to 100. 🍒

For @tonystarkbingo | Fill: Peter Parker/Spider-Man For @peterparkerbingo | Fill: Villain Redemption The one where the Superior Iron Man finds himself having a soft spot for Little!Peter who regresses after a stressful day as Spider-Man. READ ON AO3

The first time Peter saw him, it was when he was out on patrol.

He remembered hiding behind the line of hedges on the penthouse rooftop, stilling his breath like he was terrified that he could hear him. He remembered letting out a little gasp when the— the thing—armour?—wrapped around his body, enveloping him like a snake slithering up his torso, and remembered the way his blue gaze had snapped to his hiding spot. He’d known he’d given himself away that night.

But the Superior hadn’t done anything; his gaze lingered on Peter for a few moments before he disappeared, leaving behind a trail of dust as he shot off.

The second time Peter saw him, it was when he was sitting on the curbside of the empty playground, humming under his breath as he traced the alphabet into the sand. He’d had a rough day, and he could feel the familiar haze of warmth and safety and softness approaching him when he was interrupted by a set of sharp, clean black shoes at the corner of his vision. He jumped to his feet and stared with wide eyes. It was 4 in the morning; no one ever came to this area by now.

But this was the Superior, and he played by his own rules.

Peter’s chest tightened with fear and he stammered, “I— ‘m not—”

“You’re young,” the Superior noted, and Peter fell silent, wringing his mask in his hands.

Then, he looked down and gasped. His mask! He was— he wasn’t supposed to let anyone see— he tried to yank it back onto his face but a silver tendril shot out and wrapped around his wrist, making him choke on another gasp. “Please,” Peter whimpered.

“So fearful, little one. What scares you this way?”

And that— that was just a ridiculous question. The Superior was scaring Peter, and there was no way he didn’t know that. Peter knew who the Superior was, knew what he could do, but he was little right now, and fear only made him feel smaller by the second.

“I don’t—” A pitiful noise escaped Peter’s throat again, and the tendril retreated to hover over the letters scrawled into the sand. Peter followed the movement with his gaze. He’d stopped at ‘P.’

Then, the Superior wrote, slowly: ‘Q.’

Peter’s lips parted in surprise.

“What comes next, little one?”

Peter’s gaze jumped back to his face, and the armour melted away like a melting snowman. The Superior raised his eyebrows, and Peter bit his lip, then said softly, “R.”

The Superior’s lips quirked into a small smile. “That’s correct. Smart thing, aren’t you?”

Peter felt his cheeks tinting with warmth, and he ducked his head. The warm, fuzzy feeling was approaching his vision again, strong this time, even though deep down, somewhere in his brain, he knew he should be making an excuse, should be trying to put some distance between them, and get home safely.

But thoughts were hard. It was like trying to swim in mud. Fuzzy mud. And Peter wasn’t a caterpillar.

So, he looked down at the sand, bent down, and wrote ‘R.’ Then, he looked up at the Superior, who nodded, and he wrote ‘S,’ then ‘T’ and ‘U.’ He continued until he reached ‘Z,’ where he ended it off by drawing a little heart.

“‘m done,” he said softly, looking up at the Superior.

The man had his hands tucked into his pockets, and he gave Peter an impressed look, drawling, “Look how smart you are. Now can you count to 100?”

Peter blinked, and said uncertainly, “��s— ‘s a big number.”

The Superior’s lips tugged into a smile, eyes crinkling the slightest bit. “It is, isn’t it?” Then, he turned his head, like he was concentrating on something far away, and Peter got on his tip-toes to try to see too. Except he didn’t see anything but the dark, black sky.

Then, the Superior said, “Practice your numbers, little one,” before the armour covered him in a shimmering case of silver. He was gone within moments, leaving Peter standing there with nothing but the English alphabet etched into the sand.

--- --- ---

For some inexplicable reason, Peter found himself back at the playground again the next day. Someone had erased the alphabet, but he wasn’t upset. He could start again.

The weather was getting colder now. He’d have to bring a jacket or something to wear over his suit when he was done patrolling. He always got a little more chilly when he was slipping into that safe space too, like he was being poked by icicles.

He was sitting on the swings when the Superior arrived, as if they’d planned a rendezvous.

He looked up, surprised. The first day had been a coincidence, this was not.

The Superior was silent as the armour melted away, and Peter fidgeted nervously before squeaking out, “Hi.”

The Superior lifted a poised eyebrow. “You’re out late again.”

“Um, I patrol.” Peter lifted his mask up, blinking uncertainly up at him. “‘s my break time right now. And ‘m hungry.”

“Patrol, huh?” A coil of metal reached out to flick Peter under the chin, making him jump. “Brave boy, keeping this place safe.”

“Sometimes,” Peter said softly. “Because sometimes I see bad things on TV at school ‘n I have to go fix it.”

“Oh, do you? Is that why you can’t count to 100? Been skipping class too much, little dove?”

Peter’s lips formed a small pout before he could help himself. “I can count,” he protested, affronted. “‘s just a little bit hard, sometimes.”

“Well, that’s okay. You can always ask for help, can’t you?” The Superior approached him, watched his feet skitter nervously on the sand of the playground.

Peter nodded timidly, then asked, “What’s a dove?”

The Superior’s lips twitched. “You’re a dove.”

Peter looked down at himself, confused, then back up at him. “‘m not! ‘m just— ‘m just Peter.”

The Superior didn’t say anything, just watched him fidget some more on the swing before he murmured, “I have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?”

The Superior gave a slight nod.

“I like surprises,” Peter admitted softly.

“Well, then, you’re a lucky boy.” The Superior extended a silver tendril behind the bushes to draw something out.

Peter slid off the swing, eyes wide. Then, when the object was close enough for him to make out what it was, he gasped. “For me?”

The Superior nodded again, pressing the white teddy bear into his chest.

Peter grabbed it immediately, pressing his fingers into the fur. It was softer than anything else he’d ever touched; it didn’t feel like a cheap dollar-store purchase, but more like the type you would see on display at fancy clothing stores, sitting on the counter. He pressed his face to it, rubbing his cheek against it as he let out happy noises.

“What do you say?”

Peter’s gaze jerked up to meet the Superior’s expectant gaze. “Thank you,” he said breathlessly. “I love her.”

The Superior looked smug. “I knew you would.” Then, he turned around again, just like he’d done last night, staring at what only he could see, and Peter clutched the bear closer to him.

“Um— Mr. Superior?”

“Hm?” The Superior didn’t turn his head.

“Can I— she’s mine?”

“She is.” With that, the silver armour began to ghost over his body again, and Peter almost watched with an air of desperation as his face disappeared from view.

“Mr. Superior?” he blurted out in a rush before he could leave.

The Superior waited.

“Um— thank you. Can I have 100 bears?” The words left without Peter realizing it and he gasped, mortified that he’d even asked such a thing. He sounded spoiled.

But the Superior just chuckled. “Maybe if you learn how to count, sure.”

“And um— will you— will you be here tomorrow, maybe?” Peter bit his cheeks, flushing.

The Superior tilted his head. “Do you want me to be?”

Peter ducked his head, shuffling his feet.

When he didn’t respond, the Superior told him, “I’ll be here,” before he turned and left the playground.

Peter watched him disappear, then looked down at the bear in his hands for a long time before heading home.

--- --- ---

The Superior met him every night after that, and that was just incomprehensible to Peter. He knew the man had better things to do. Maybe he was just interested in him because he knew he was Spider-Man.

But even that didn’t make sense, because the Superior never brought it up, nor did he try to hurt him. In fact, Peter found that the urge to go on patrol and be New York’s brave superhero was lessening in favour of being small with the Superior.

The Superior was nice to him. Nicer than anything he could’ve ever imagined. He always brought Peter nice gifts, like a snack, or a warm hoodie for him to wear, and even some hot chocolate.

He always said nice things to Peter too, like you’re a smart boy and such sweet manners, little one, I’m impressed.

But then, one night, for the first time, the Superior was upset with him.

Peter was terrified, and had nearly started sobbing as he collapsed into the swing, the meat of his palms pressed to his eyes.

“What did you say to me?” the Superior demanded, and Peter had never heard his voice like that before.

“I don’t— ‘m sorry—” he whimpered, breath quickening when he felt a tendril of metal wrap around his wrists, pulling them down from his face. “Just— just don’t wanna keep takin’ gifts, M-Mr. Superior, don’t want anymore—”

“Oh, no, no,” the Superior interrupted, his ice-cold gaze burning into Peter, and that didn’t make sense either, because ice was supposed to be cold, not hot. “That’s not your choice to make. It’s always the same thing with you little ants. Never happy, never grateful, only little brats.”

“‘m sorry!” Peter cried again, sniffling.

The Superior was quiet for a few moments, and all Peter could hear was the sound of the man’s harsh breathing in the space between them before it gradually deepened into its regular soothing rhythm. Then— “You’re a sweet boy.”

The words made Peter’s eyes fly open in confusion, and he asked tearfully, “I am?”

The Superior nodded. His gaze was more gentle now. Not soft like it usually was, but gentle. “And that’s why I keep bringing you gifts, little one. It’s rude to deny them when I’m being generous. I’m not always a generous man.”

“Just to me,” Peter sniffled.

“That’s right,” the Superior crooned. “Smart boy, always learning so fast. C’mere, little one, let your Superior teach you how to repent properly.”

Peter stumbled forward, scrunching his face as he mumbled, “I dunno what that word means, Mr. Superior.”

“It means you show me how sorry you are.” The Superior cupped his chin with a hand, tipping his face up. “Because you were rude, weren’t you?”

“Uh-huh,” Peter hiccuped. “‘m sorry.”

The Superior’s thumb stroked over his cheek. Then, he said, “No more tears, little one. I can tell how sorry you are. Had a bit of a scare, didn’t you, poor thing?”

And that was confusing too, because the Superior was comforting him like he’d just woken up from a nightmare when he was the nightmare. But Peter just pressed into the touch and mumbled again, “‘m sorry.”

“I know, little one. But you’re going to be so much more well-behaved now, I know it. You’re a good boy.”

Peter nodded timidly.

For the rest of the night, the Superior watched Peter struggle to complete the hopscotch he’d drawn for him in the sand before leaving.

--- --- ---

Peter was considerably meeker the next day, and he knew that the Superior knew. But he couldn’t help it; he just wanted to be good.

Eventually, the Superior said, “Want to do something fun, little one?”

“Fun?” Peter blinked, then asked softly, “What kinda fun?”

“Mmm.” The Superior tilted his head, eyes glinting. They almost looked like the moon in the sky, glimmering with light. Like a night-light, almost. “Do you want to fly, little one?”

“Fly?” Peter gasped, eyes wide. “I— I can kind of fly.” He held his wrists out in demonstration of his web shooters.

The Superior chuckled, reaching out—with his hand, for once—to gently grip his wrist and tug it back down. “Oh, sweet thing, that’s not true flight. I can show you how to really fly. I promise it’ll be fun. A reward for being so good today.” He crouched down now, eye-level with Peter sitting on the ground. “Do you trust me?”

Peter stared at him, breath shallow in his chest. He wrapped a hand around the Superior’s finger, looked down at it, then back up at his face. “Yes,” he whispered.

The Superior reached out and picked him up, and Peter let him. “Good boy. Hang on tight.”

“Yes, Mr. Superior.” Peter did exactly as he was told, clinging to the Superior’s arms as they stood with his back to the Superior’s front. He could feel the familiar shift as the armour wreathed over the Superior’s body, but it didn’t cover him.

“Are you ready, little one?” The words were spoken in a low voice, quiet enough that Peter had to strain to listen to him.

“Uh-huh.” Peter tightened his grip, heart beginning to pound. He knew he’d be fine. The Superior hadn’t hurt him yet, and he wouldn’t now. And if he fell, well, he had his webs. He might be a little more clumsy with how small he was feeling, but he could do it.

Or maybe the Superior would be the one to catch him.

“Good.” With that, the Superior lifted off the ground, making Peter inhale sharply.

They went up, up, and up, until Peter was convinced that they could touch the sky. Then they were going forward, picking up speed, and Peter gradually found himself relaxing as fear left him, replaced by pure delight at the sight of the twinkling buildings illuminated against the night sky.

The wind was cold against his face as the Superior let them swoop down. Peter let out a thrilled yelp and let his arms fly out, the Superior’s grip on him the only thing keeping him held and safe.

There was a chuckle from above. “Little dove, flying through the air, hm? Daddy taught you how to fly?”

Peter grinned and twisted in his grip, and the Superior held tight. “‘m flying!” he shouted, feet kicking before he could help himself.

Another laugh, and the Superior didn’t say anything else.

Peter kept his arms extended as they shot through the sky, and the Superior even did a loop-de-loop when he begged him enough. Then, Peter pointed at a little apartment building that they zoomed by and squealed, “‘s where I live!”

“Is it?” the Superior murmured, sounding interested. “Do you want me to drop you off at home, little one? Is it bedtime for you yet?”

Peter shook his head adamantly, pouting. “Nooo, I wanna stay with you.” He glanced up, craning his neck, and found the Superior looking down at him.

“Always saying the right things, little dove.”

Peter smiled. He was being good, and now he got to fly with the Superior, and he’d ask if they could do the same thing tomorrow night, too. He was sure he’d get a yes in return.

He turned his attention back to the buildings they shot past, then gasped. “What’s that?” he pointed at the large tower standing tall and proud amongst all the other buildings.

“That’s my tower.”

“Yours?” Peter gasped, eyes wide. “You live there? ‘s so big!”

The Superior nodded, speed picking up the slightest bit. “Do you want to see it?”

Peter didn’t hesitate. “Yes! Please!”

The Superior chuckled. “Well, only because you asked so nicely. I do have a weak spot for pretty words.” With that, he held onto Peter tighter before shooting off towards the tower.

Peter squealed, covering his face with his hands. “Can’t breathe!” he proclaimed dramatically, hearing the wind whip past his ears.

The Superior laughed above him. “Don’t be ridiculous, little one. You’re perfectly fine.”

Peter gave a little wriggle, but he didn’t voice any more protests as they neared the tower.

It was even more grand up close, with big fat letters that said “STARK” and windows that reflected the moonlight that shone down on them. Peter squirmed to get down, and when their feet landed on the platform, their shadows painted streaks across the floor.

“Wow,” Peter breathed, craning his neck to stare up at the sky. They were so close to the moon, he could feel it. He wondered what the moon would feel like in his hand. Cold and heavy, maybe. “Mr. Superior?”

“Hm?”

“Can you get the moon for me?” Peter turned big, pleading eyes to the Superior.

The Superior chuckled. “Perhaps one day, little one.” He outstretched a hand, and Peter took it, obediently scampering by his heel like an excited puppy as they walked towards the open door.

The Superior led him inside, then let go of his hand. Peter immediately ran to the large windows and pressed his nose against it. “‘s so pretty.”

“Do you like the view?”

Peter nodded without turning to look at him.

Then, there was a hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly to get his attention. Peter looked up and met a pair of pale blue eyes. “You see that, little one?” Peter followed the Superior’s finger to stare out of the window and at the sparkling city before him. “This is my world. This is my universe. I own it all. And if you’re good, I can give you some of it too.”

“For me?” Peter’s eyes widened. “But— but I dunno how to own it.” He could barely keep track of where he left his stuffies, never mind buildings.

The Superior chuckled. “Well, it’s why you have me. You can always ask for help.” He ran a soothing hand through Peter’s wind-tousled hair. “Are you hungry?”

“Mhm.” Peter blinked up pleadingly. “Pizza.”

The Superior rolled his eyes. “You always want pizza.”

“‘cause it’s good!” Peter pouted.

“Fine. But only one with veggies on it.”

Peter pulled a face, but he knew he’d already lost the fight. Maybe he could pick them off when the pizza came. He followed the Superior towards the kitchen, counting the number of windows they passed by. Then— “Mr. Superior?”

“Hm?” The Superior looked down at him.

“Can you— can you help me? Um, to count to 100?” Peter asked softly.

The Superior appraised him, then smiled. “Oh, little one, you most definitely asked the right person.”

Peter smiled, biting his bottom lip happily, then got up onto his tip-toes to plant a quick, shy kiss to the Superior’s cheek. “Thank you.”

He knew he could always ask the Superior for help.

part 2?? maybe?? tagging: @vaguekiwi @carelessannie @starkentrprises @thegreenmetblue @professional-benaddict

#starker #ironspider #sim!tony #peterparkerbingo2021 #tsbmv #little!peter #daddy!tony #my fics #please i did not mean to turn this into a 3k fic #idk if i’ll do a part 2 but maybe :0

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pingutats · 4 years ago

Text

be this close, forever and ever

you and harry have been together for a while. your nights at home are quiet and comfortable, and, well, you’re both just so in love.

warnings: sexual content (soft giggly sex), mostly fluff

word count: 2.5k

. . . . .

Living with Harry, the two of you start to fall into the same rhythm. It’s not easy with his schedule as chaotic as it often is and your lives so profoundly different, but the nights when he’s home are the quiet sanctuary you need from all of those stresses. His little rituals seep into your own. The evenings are for being together, enjoying each other’s company without distraction or pressure. It’s just you and him, and the routine you’ve constructed so delicately together.

It starts with a face mask. Just because he’s so famous, he receives packages from different companies hoping for endorsements. He doesn’t really do those but he keeps the boxes anyway and most nights the two of you pick out one to try. He reads through the ingredients while you wait for the prescribed fifteen minutes to pass: pumpkin extract, baobab oil, a white flower extract.

“Which white flower?” Harry asks, looking up at you.

His mask is wrinkled between his brows where he’s frowning and you reach up to smooth it out again, your hands coming away sticky. You wipe them on his sweatpants, which just makes him frown again. “Dunno,” you say, “but it must be a pretty powerful flower if it—” you snatch the packet out of his hand “—de-puffs, hydrates, and brightens our skin.” You scan the printed text for a moment. “I think this one’s supposed to be used in the morning.”

“Oh, fuck. The moon’s out. Was this all for nothing?”

After peeling off the masks carefully in the bathroom, you coo over each other’s soft skin ridiculously and move back into the living room for the next unspoken event of your night. Harry is borderline religious about meditating, somehow possessing the discipline to do it for twenty minutes day and night. You aren’t like him, but sometimes you join in. It is good for you, after all.

The two of you sit on the carpet, legs crossed and backs straight, side by side and within arms reach. The itch to reach out and touch him or lean over to put your head on his shoulder is strong, but you know it annoys him when you do that. He is so serious about it — “It doesn’t work if you keep poking me, the point is to be completely focused” — and even if you’ve never reached his fanaticism about the practise, you respect it so you keep your distance. Two minutes in, though, you’re starting to get bored. He can meditate for ages: twenty minutes is his standard, and you simply don’t have it in you to sit still for that long. Quietly, so as not to disturb him, you uncross your legs and stand up, padding across the soft carpet into the kitchen to turn on the kettle.

When the soft alarm he’s set on his phone rings and brings him back to reality, he blinks open his eyes to see you in front of him, holding two steaming mugs. It’s the tea he buys especially to have before bed, something a friend recommended to relax him. You aren’t sure if it really does anything, but it tastes good so you always have a cup too. When you think about it, you do almost always have a good sleep the nights that you drink it. Those nights are the ones you’re sleeping with Harry, though, so maybe it isn’t the tea. You set the mugs on the table nearby.

“Thank you, love,” he says softly. He reaches to take hold of your hand and then suddenly drags you down to the floor, a tangle of limbs as you collapse on top of him.

You giggle and then shriek as his fingers find the ticklish spot along your ribs. “Harry! Get off!”

His attack ceases very quickly when you accidentally elbow him in the stomach in your attempts to escape.

“Sorry, H.”

“’S alright. Probably deserved it.”

“You did.”

But he’s mostly quiet in the evenings — doesn’t like to talk too much as he decompresses from the busy-ness of his days, so he shows his affection more through his actions. As the two of you sip your tea (still on the floor, because with the plushy carpet he has it’s just as comfortable down here as on the couch) he reaches out to drum his fingers over your knee while he tries to remember all the things he needs to do tomorrow. He’s always written himself to-do lists and he got you hooked on them too. You were sceptical at first, but they do make life easier. The little thrill of ticking off boxes in your black notebook with your initials monogrammed on the bottom right corner (Harry’s gift) is a bonus. He’s less driven by those superficial rewards, so he chooses to keep his on his laptop, which is rose gold. His hand leaves you only to type the next line of his to-do list, then he’s back to tracing patterns over the fabric of your borrowed sweatpants. He emails the list to himself when he’s finished. You’ve always found that funny, and you tease him for being grandpa-ish, but it’s just another one of his eccentricities that makes him more endearing.

You probably wear his clothes just as much as you wear your own. He loves seeing you in his stuff. He’s practically throwing t-shirts at you as soon as you walk into the house. He’ll take your stuff, too, sometimes. Dating Harry comes with an unspoken agreement to merge your wardrobes. There are a couple of pieces — a hoodie or two, sweatpants that are too big for either of you, a pair of extremely fluffy socks — that have been passed between you for so long that you can barely remember who owned them first. The sweatpants you’re wearing right now (paired with just a sports bra) are his. The old band tee he has on is yours.

He carries the empty mugs back to the kitchen and loads them into the dishwasher while you finish the last of your planning. There’s no discussion around it, just like no one asked you to make the tea in the first place. The two of you just now how to work together now, with all the times you’ve practised this routine. Sometimes it’s him who makes the tea, sometimes you finish your list first, but you never really have to talk. Harry usually picks out an album to play in the background over these moments, and that’s the only thing you need to listen to. It’s good. It makes you feel more connected to him, like you understand each other on a deeper level than just being able to talk. You know Harry like the back of your hand. He knows you almost as well as you know yourself. It’s a quiet kind of euphoria, to love and be loved back. You don’t need the fanfares and the grandiose displays. You just need each other.

Later, you pull faces at each other in the mirror while you brush your teeth, bumping hips as you giggle around your toothbrushes. He’s finished in the bathroom before you are, so he lies in bed in just his boxers and watches you through the open doorway while you do your last couple of skincare and hair rituals. Satisfied, you switch the bathroom light off and enter the bedroom that you share, decorated with framed artworks you both chose, a bedspread that you picked out together. You quickly change into just a long loose shirt, then collapse into bed with him and crawl under the covers, his greedy arms pulling you to nestle into his side while he presses a kiss to your forehead. He likes to read before he sleeps, but you aren’t in the mood for that. You shuffle down until your head is at his chest and you throw your arm and leg over him, letting him rest his paperback against your bare thigh while he reads with you wrapped around him.

After a couple of minutes of just the sound of pages turning and your soft breaths, you start to sponge kisses over his bare chest. He ignores you at first, but you hear his breathing stutter as you move up to his collarbone.

“Let me just finish this chapter,” he murmurs. “Just a couple pages left.” His eyes don’t leave the page, but he gropes around until he finds your hand and brings your fingers to his mouth, kissing them before he lets your intertwined hands drop.

You don’t reply. You pull your hand out of his loose grasp and run your fingertips up the subtly defined lines of his abs, softened by the way he’s sitting. You trace the wings of the butterfly tattooed over his stomach, then draw a constellation between his four nipples — he chuckles and pulls your hand away, holding it tighter this time.

“Baby,” he says, a little firmer this time.

You kiss his shoulder again.

He sighs, closing the book (he doesn’t tear his eyes away from the page until it’s fully closed and you almost feel bad for distracting him until —

He throws the book on the nightstand and reaches over your body to plant his hand on the mattress, pushing himself up so he’s hovering above you. “You’re a pest,” he says, leaning down to nudge his nose against yours.

You giggle and bite your lip, wrapping one leg around his hip and pulling him closer to you. “Kiss me?”

He obliges, pressing his lips against yours. “That all you wanted?” His tone is slightly teasing. He’s always liked to see you squirm.

You shake your head, wrapping your other leg around him. You can feel the bulge underneath his boxers against your crotch and it sets a fire in your core. You thread a hand into his hair and pull him down to kiss him again, less chastely this time. You roll your hips against him, just slightly, and smile against his kiss when you feel him twitch.

He breaks away from the kiss and smears his lips over your cheekbone to your ear. “Tell me, angel, tell me what you want you want and I’ll give it to you,” he whispers.

You barely contain a whimper at how deep his voice has gotten. “Fuck me,” you say, gasping as he starts to place hot openmouthed kisses down your neck. When you first slept together, you were too embarrassed to ask him so openly. You don’t get embarrassed around him anymore. “Harry, please fuck me.”

He pulls back suddenly, smiling down at you. “See? All you had to do was ask nicely.”

“Harry!”

He’s laughing as he pulls his boxers down to free his cock, but his giggles fade into a low moan as he takes hold of himself and strokes a couple times. “Ready for me, baby?”

“Yeah.”

He pushes into you with one fluid motion, making your eyes roll back. He fills you so perfectly. Every single time he’s in you is better than the last, it never gets old — there’s no feeling that’s as good as how he feels. Sometimes it’s explosive, sometimes he’s brutal in how he fucks you, or passionate and needy, or the both of you get caught up in the roles you make up to play, but you treasure the times like this. The times where he’s on top of you, face-to-face, alternating between kisses and whispers and little giggles — this is where you feel the most love for Harry.

He takes his time, in no hurry to end this moment. The pace he sets is slow but he reaches deep into you on each thrust, his breath coming out increasingly ragged every time he buries himself to the hilt. You have your hands in his hair and splayed across his back — he has one clutching the pillow beside your head to hold himself up, the other roaming over your chest. It’s like he can’t decide what he wants to do with his mouth: he’ll kiss your lips, then along your jaw, down your neck, then back up to your ear where he whispers all the sweet little nothings he can think of.

“So pretty, baby, love you so much, taking me so well, always my good girl, my best girl, my girl, always feel so good…” He chants it like a prayer, his words taking on a firmer tone each time he thrusts in, starting to pick up the pace a bit. “Touch yourself for me, darling, want to see you cum underneath me.”

You moan and reach down between your legs, rubbing little circles around your clit while he starts to fuck you at a faster pace. “Feels so good, Harry,” you say, your words choked slightly by the intensity of what you’re feeling right now.

“I know it does,” he replies, kissing you again, swallowing your moans. That edge of cockiness, the way he knows how to take care of you, when you just need his mouth on you and he can’t keep off you — you love all these little traits. You love him. And he loves you. That’s maybe the feeling to triumph over all the others.

“I’m close, I’m close,” you chant, the hand on his back digging fingernail marks into his skin as the warm feeling in your core rises, threatening to explode.

He thrusts into you faster, his rhythm growing slightly sloppy. “Yeah? Let go for me, baby, let go, I’m right behind you.”

You cum, legs shaking around him and brows pinched as you stare up at him, while he watches you cum undone with an intensity behind his gaze that wasn’t there before. You say his name, over and over, trying to put all you want to say into just that one word. You hope it’s enough. You think it is. He gets you.

“I’m gonna cum,” he says, words cut off by a pant, as you feel the aftershocks of your own orgasm and the growing over-sensitivity. “You feel so good, baby, gonna cum so hard…”

You feel him spill into you as he cries out, his body collapsing over yours so his entire body is pressed against yours. You thread your fingers through his hair until he starts to come down from his high and rolls off you, his cock slipping out and you hiss at the slight friction.

“God…” he murmurs into the air. “That was so good.”

You giggle, twisting around and propping your head up with your hand so you can look down at him. “You say that every time.”

“It’s good every fucking time,” he says, a smile spreading across his face.

You poke his dimple and he tries to catch your finger with his mouth, biting the air playfully, but you pull it away. “You’re such a weirdo.”

He pouts for a second, but then his features soften. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You drop your head back down to the pillow, watching him stretch his arm out to turn off his bedside lamp. After a couple of swats at the switch, he finally manages it, and brings the same arm back over to drape over your body. It’s totally dark now. “Love you so much,” he tells you, kisses your forehead.

“Love you more. Goodnight, H. Sweet dreams.”

“Night, angel. Sleep well.”

. . . . .

hope you enjoyed -- let me know if u did, i like reading ur replies/tags !! i rlly loved writing this fic, it’s just so domestic and sweet and happy. the meditating and the to-do list (including the emailing !! ) is from the real harry.

btw !! my ask box is open for requests & general chatter, so come say hi :D

#harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles #fic

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writerofthecourt · 3 years ago

Text

reciprocal

pairing: sakusa kiyoomi x reader

summary: for the past few days, the injuries on sakusa’s body couldn’t just be attributed to his soulmate’s clumsiness anymore. it was up to him to figure out the truth of the matter

warning: some references to bullying, some blood and injury

a/n: if this story seems familiar to anyone, it’s because i had a quotev account back in the day that used this same premise with different haikyuu character

Bruises and scrapes were a common sight that littered Sakusa’s body. With a soulmate such as yourself, it was no surprise to anyone that Itachiyama’s ace was usually painted black and blue from his injuries.

Soulmate bonds were both a blessing and a curse. To be so intimately connected to someone to the point of sharing and manifesting their pain was the tragic beauty of having a soulmate. Some people found this to be romantic, while others found it to be a liability. For Sakusa, it was more of a nuisance than anything, considering your unique ability to be so undeniably clumsy.

For the past few days, the injuries on Sakusa’s body were becoming much more frequent and annoying, especially since they were starting to become a hindrance during volleyball practice. When he had asked you about this issue, you had just smiled and pretended to be clueless. His worrying only lessened once you had repeatedly assured him that you were fine and sent him off to practice with a peck on the cheek.

Of course, everything would have been fine if it wasn’t for the pain now igniting from his right shoulder. The pain was so great that Sakusa felt his knees hit the floor, his hand clutching the spot where the pain was radiating from. Practice immediately halted as his teammates gathered around in worry.

Komori was the first one to reach him as he kneeled next to the ace. “Are you all right, Sakusa?”

“I’m fine,” Sakusa managed to say, though that was a complete lie. His shoulder felt like it had been set ablaze, and the wince on his face wasn’t convincing anyone.

“Maybe you should sit out for the rest of practice, Sakusa,” Iizuna calmly suggested.

“I said I’m fine. Let’s just get back to practice.”

Reaching out for Komori’s hand, Sakusa hoisted himself back to his feet and returned to his place on the court. Soon enough, everyone else began to follow his lead.

“I wonder what that was all about,” Sakusa heard his captain mumble.

“[Y/N]-chan probably fell or something,” Komori tried to rationalize before noticing the confused look on Iizuna’s face. “Oh, [Y/N]-chan is Sakusa’s soulmate, and she’s super clumsy. Don’t worry, this is normal for them…I think.”

“If you say so…but make sure Sakusa checks up on his soulmate. Just in case.”

Sakusa couldn’t help but scoff as he tuned out the rest of Komori and Iizuna’s conversation. He didn’t need to be told to check up on you, he was already planning to have a ‘little’ talk with you sometime tomorrow, and he was expecting answers.

Returning his attention back to practice, Sakusa tried to focus on his spikes and not the wave of concern that washed over him when his mind drifted off to the thought of you.

At the beginning of lunch the very next day, Sakusa promptly left his seat and made his way down the hall to your classroom. Loudly sliding the door open, a few students jumped in surprise and fear as Sakusa glared into the room, searching for his target. Spotting you at your desk, he quickly marched in and took a hold of your wrist, dragging you away to a remote corner of the hallway.

“Kiyoomi, you’re hurting me!” you said as he trapped you against the wall. Realizing that the pain was beginning to manifest on his own wrist, Sakusa immediately let go of your arm, but his glare stayed ever present.

“What happened?” he demanded more than asked.

“I-I don’t know what you mean.”

Not wanting to play this game, Sakusa brought up his hands and started to undo the first few buttons of your uniform top without a single word.

“Kiyoomi!” you whispered indignantly as your face began to heat up in embarrassment.

Ignoring your protests, Sakusa pulled the sleeve of your shirt down to reveal your right shoulder. His eyes widened in shock before anger overtook his pretty features. Your skin, once beautiful and perfect, was now decorated with a dark purple bruise. He had seen the same discolouration on his own shoulder earlier that morning when he was getting dressed, but he didn’t want to believe it.

He raised a hand to gently brush his fingers against the injury, but he immediately retreated once he saw your face contort in slight pain.

“I guess there was really no point in trying to hide it, huh?” he heard you say.

“What happened?” Sakusa repeated in a lighter tone this time, now looking at you with gentle concern.

Sakusa saw something spiral within your eyes before you diverted your gaze, suddenly finding the floor to be much more interesting. He lowered his hand and laced his fingers with yours. If not for the current situation, he would have mused about how perfectly your hand seemed to fit in his.

“[Y/N], tell me what happened.”

“I-I bumped my shoulder against a shelf while cleaning up my room yesterday,” you mumbled as you started to play with your sleeves, a habit of yours whenever you lied.

“You don’t get a bruise this big just by bumping into something,” he reasoned with a frown.

“It just happened, okay?” you snapped quickly.

“I don’t see why you just won’t tell me!” Sakusa retorted angrily, now matching your tone. “You’re supposed to-”

“Kiyoomi!” you shouted, and Sakusa felt himself slightly taken aback with shock. “Just trust me, okay? I can handle this myself. I don’t want to keep relying on you for everything, so just trust me!”

“…Fine,” Sakusa conceded after a moment of silence.

Feeling agitated and defeated, Sakusa backed away from the wall before letting out a frustrated sigh. As he began to walk away, he suddenly felt something knock itself into his back. Your arms locked around his stomach as you leaned your head against his back.

“Thank you,” you whispered. “Thank you for trusting me, Kiyoomi.”

Turning around to give you a proper hug, Sakusa securely wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his chin on top of your head, not at all minding the possible germs that came from this interaction. You were always worth it.

“You really are a lot of trouble, you know that?” Sakusa sighed while rubbing circles on the small of your back.

“I love you too,” you giggled.

Using the tip of your toes to reach him, you pulled down Sakusa’s mask and gave your soulmate a quick farewell kiss. After fixing his mask and your shirt, you sent Sakusa a small smile and wave before walking off to class. On the way back to his own classroom, Sakusa couldn’t help but wonder if he had made the right decision.

“No,” Sakusa tried to convince himself. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

Sakusa hated days when you had cleaning duties. It meant that you couldn’t walk with him to practice. His schedule was always busy, so Sakusa tried to spend as much time with you as possible, even if it was something as simple as holding your hand while walking to volleyball practice.

“And then he said, ‘What will you have after 500 years?’ And Mark was like—you aren’t even listening to me, are you?” Komori asked with an exasperated sigh, finally noticing that Sakusa’s attention was elsewhere.

“I can’t find my math notebook,” Sakusa replied plainly, still focused on rifling through his bag.

Komori paused for a moment before snapping his fingers in realization. “Didn’t you lend it to [Y/N]-chan at lunch today?”

Sakusa’s eyes lifted from his bag when he realized he had lent you his notebook. It wasn’t in his character to let anyone borrow his belongings, so whenever he did lend you something, it usually escaped his memory.

Sakusa muttered a low curse. “I’ll be back in five minutes.”

Komori only grinned in amusement before walking off to the gym on his own. “All right, I’ll see you soon.”

Nodding his head, Sakusa turned back towards the school. If he had to guess, you would have to be done cleaning up the classroom by now, meaning that he’d have to hurry if he wanted to catch you in time.

Hurrying down the halls and up the stairs, Sakusa soon found himself turning the corner that led towards the second year classrooms. Although there was no one in sight, Sakusa picked up on the quiet murmur of some voices, along with girls’ laughter. He thought nothing of it until a large crash captured his attention, and everything turned dead silent. At that moment, Sakusa felt the air being knocked out of his lungs as pain jolted throughout his body, and he almost staggered off his feet to the ground.

That could only mean one thing.

Running to the classroom, Sakusa saw a sight that had his blood boiling like never before, and he felt his mind go numb. He didn’t even notice how his nails were slightly drawing blood, as he only felt rage at that moment.

You were lying on the floor, blood pouring from the cut on your head that you had probably received from being pushed against the desks. Three girls surrounded your unconscious body, looking around frantically and panicking at the turn of events.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Sakusa managed to shout out.

“S-Sakusa-san!” one of the girls jumped. “W-we were just playing around, honestly! We never meant for this to happen!”

“I’m not in the mood for your excuses,” he said before his expression turned dark. “Leave, now.”

In an instance, the girls were gone, shivering in fright as they ran off. Sakusa felt himself calm down a bit after releasing a shaky breath, but he soon felt his rage reignite when he saw that the wound on your head was still bleeding profusely.

Kneeling next to your body, Sakusa hoisted you up and began his trip to the nurse’s office. In the middle of his maneuvering, you had quietly woken up and reached for his forehead where blood was spilling from the same wound.

“Kiyoomi, you’re bleeding…”

“And why do you think that is?!” Sakusa snapped at the mention of your matching wounds.

Ignoring his comment, you chose to ask where you were going.

“The nurse’s office to fix your idiotic mistake,” he replied harshly.

After arriving at the office, the nurse gave you and Sakusa a questioning look, but she said nothing as she swiftly wrapped and bandaged your injuries. She soon left for a faculty meeting, leaving you at the mercy of a very angry soulmate.

You sat against the headboard of the office’s medical bed, while Sakusa stood across from you with his arms crossed and a glare on his face. His mask was no longer present, having been abandoned, as it had been contaminated by the blood of his injury.

“So,” you began. “Lovely weather we’re having…”

“That’s not funny, [Y/N]. Now, start explaining.”

“All right, all right,” you sighed. “I guess it started a few days ago. At first, they were small favours, like buying them a few drinks. Then the favours became more demanding…I tried to tell them today that I wasn’t going to be their little servant anymore, but you know how that turned out…”

“So the bruise…?” Sakusa asked inquisitively.

“Yes, it was them,” you answered quietly.

You said nothing as Sakusa continued to frown before he eventually asked, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because,” you started. “I knew that you would worry. You’re already so busy with school and volleyball, I didn’t want to add to your list of worries…”

“…You really are an idiot,” Sakusa mumbled before running a hand through his hair. He soon moved to sit next to you on the bed and took a hold of your hands in his. “I’m only going to say this once, so you better listen carefully. We’re soulmates for a reason. We’re supposed to be there for each other. Whenever you have a problem, we’re supposed to solve it together.

“I know that I don’t always act like it, but I care about you, a lot. So just like how I can trust you, you need to know that it’s all right to trust me. You can always depend on me to be there for you.”

When he was done with his rant, Sakusa felt his cheeks lightly flush red as he saw your blank expression. He hoped that he didn’t say too much.

“All right, Kiyoomi,” you finally said, a smile beginning to appear on your face. “No more secrets.”

Smirking in approval, Sakusa leaned in and lifted a hand to tilt your pretty face so that you were staring directly into his eyes. His voice was low and seductive as his thumb lightly brushed against the corner of your mouth.

“Good. Because the next time you keep a secret from me, I’m going to have to punish you.”

#sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa x reader #sakusa kiyoomi #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu reader insert #soulmate au #think sakusa think

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speuradair · 3 years ago

Text

Late-Night Comfort With Bakugou Katsuki, Midoriya Izuku

Request: "Okok so I had the best idea for some angst/fluff. So what if bakugou and Izuku (sep) live with their s/o. And one time they are drifting to sleep but they hear their s/o silently crying, they know their s/o doesn't like crying infront of people so they don't do anything, but then it happend again and again (their s/o just cries every night ) and the boys can't ignore it anymore so they comfort them? (Srry my depressed a$$ is really going through it)"

Contains: implied depression, crying

Katsuki was always in bed before you. With such a strict bedtime routine, it wasn't hard to make sure you were the only one awake during your nightly breakdowns. He was comfortable in bed, getting the sleep he needed for work, and you were awake by yourself, crying your eyes out just like you did every night.

Part of you ached for your lover's reassurance and support, but your shame was too strong to ever turn to him. Instead you'd keep it all to yourself, only letting your true pain slip out when you were certain he wouldn't be bothered, that he couldn't hear you.

But he could hear you. Katsuki was a light sleeper. Between his hypervigilance and hero training, he was aware of his surroundings even when he was asleep. He heard every sniffle and shaky exhale that left your lips.

Usually he would just bite his tongue and let you soothe yourself beside him, giving you the privacy you thought you had. For whatever reason you didn't want him to know what was going on and he knew he should respect that- no matter how much it broke his heart to sit by uselessly as the love of his life sobbed violently on their side of the bed.

It killed him. Complacency made him sick. After the fourth consecutive night of you silently breaking down when you thought he was asleep, Katsuki couldn't take it anymore. Fuck your privacy- he was scared for you.

He rolled over and wrapped his arm around you in a swift moment. Feeling you freeze beneath his touch, he pulled you into his warm chest.

"Look, you don't have to tell me what's going on. Talking about things can fucking suck sometimes," his voice is heavy with sleep as he speaks against your ear, "but you don't have to deal with it alone either. I'm here for you, idiot. You don't have to hide from me, you got that? We deal with shit together."

Izuku didn't have a solid sleep schedule. Sometimes he'd come home from patrol at 5 AM, sometimes he'd be dead asleep by 9:30 PM. It was hard to know exactly when he'd be asleep each night, but with some practice, you'd thought you had it figured out. Once he started to let out those small, hushed snores, you felt comfortable to finally rip off the happy mask you wore and let those choked sobs slip from your lips.

That wasn't a fool-proof plan, though. Izuku wasn't a sound sleeper. Even without any disruptions he had a tendency to wake up frequently, so when his lover was crying and trembling beside him, he was sure to wake up.

And wake up he did. He woke up each night when you started to sob, his heart twisting in his chest at the all too familiar sound. How long were you going to try to handle this alone? Why were you trying to hide it from him?

As you fought your inner demons in silence, Izuku laid beside you, lost in his own thoughts. He was worried about you. Had he done something to make you feel like you couldn't ask him for help? How was he supposed to help you without making you more uncomfortable? Clearly you didn't want him to know you were hurting, but it hurt so badly to hear you so distraught.

Izuku had to draw the line on the fifth night in a row. He didn't want to invade your privacy or make you mad, but he just couldn't take it anymore.

The mattress creaked slightly as he rolled over. Moving slowly so he wouldn't startle you, he reaches a large scarred hand to brush your hair away from your eyes.

"Hey," he mumbles softly, his tone almost cooing to you, "Don't shut me out, okay? It's okay to cry, baby, but don't hide it from me. I love you so much, please let me hold you. You don't need to fight this alone, I'm here."

#bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #bnha #mha #bnha x reader #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #imagines #x reader #fanfic #blurb #self insert #one shot #rae writes #requests

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beann-e · 4 years ago

Text

Mha Characters reacting to being hugged randomly by their s/o

Shinso

-shinso would welcome you & your hug & words & then fight you to see who’s better with their words

-i take from his character that he loves winning — no matter if it’s something small or not he’ll act like he doesn’t care for it but won’t stop until he wins

It’s been a hard day he’ll admit.

Today was his first day being around class 1-A — and he could honestly say

they were just as annoying as he thought

Everyone was too quick to welcome him and surround him which just pissed him off

well, apart from the asshole with the red eyes who he refused to keep eye contact with

just bakugous mere presence or even his mouth opening pissed him off

Knowing deku and going off of how they first met when he shoved him out of the arena

showing him yet again that the hero course was not to be messed with

he thought he was prepared to meet the same person only for him to be wrong and walk in to see hero deku and class deku were two different people he was not yet ready to meet

To him hero deku was hardcore and fight fight fight

class deku was a loser

a loser who got bullied , fell on the stairs flat on his face, and got embarrassed by aizawa when he for the 4th time yet again in one class started staring at shinso with wide eyes like a tiny pervert and writing like a stalker his notebook

He took a deep breath before he grabbed the handle to your door just knowing that being by your side he may feel a little better

he silently prayed that today you weren’t doing something weird in your room like he often’d find you.

Thanking god when he saw you at your desk a small wave coming from you at his entrance

“ drawing — give me a sec “

he grunted as he sat on your bed hands holding him up while he flicked through his phones many apps — well not many seeing as though he rarely had time to get on his phone

Which is why he was confused when he found himself actually going through it pausing when he noticed he’d ended up on google trying to figure out different dog barks and their meanings hoping he could find a way to talk to bakugou and tell him to shut the hell up

“ you uh — “ he threw his phone behind him on your bed propping himself up to lay back “ you still drawing “

“ mmhm “ you said softly as you traced on the paper in front of you attention focused on your new hero design

“ oh “ his voice was soft you knew something was wrong he wasn’t a man of many words but he would always try to string a sentence along for you

“ hey shin you good “ you put the pencil in your mouth as you erased a line you’d messed up on

“ yeah “ he moved to stand up “ yeah “ he let out while looking around your room “ just tired baby “

your eyes creased as you ran the words through your mind until you both sat in silence the room growing cold

‘ somethings off ‘

“ well my uh — my girlfriends too bus— “

his mouth fell open in a wide o as he looked down to see your face pressed into his chest hands tied around his back your feet planted right in between his as you two stood in the middle of the room

His heart beating out of his chest when he noticed what you were drawing

“ y/— “

“ shh “

you pushed yourself further in his chest “ hug me back please babe “

he jumped forgetting that sometimes he had to return your affection and couldn’t just accept it.

That was hard for him to let himself do the things you do so freely.

His arms hung loosely around your back making you smile “ your getting there “ your voice came out muffled “ I’m so proud of you pretty boy “

he shook at your praise “ p-pretty boy “

“ yeah — your fucking hot babe “ he felt himself sinking into you

“ h-how — how am I hot ? “ the word fell foreign on his lips

“ your quirks so amazing — you look so good when your trying your best it makes me feel warm inside — and I especially like when you use your voice mask “

he found himself smiling

“ don’t get me started on your looks who can pull off purple hair like you shin “

“ you — you could “

“ oh god see and your an amazing liar — your all around awesome shin “

“ t-thank you but I don’t des—“

“ you deserve it “

you two fell quiet as he gripped you harder finally giving in to your affection

‘ he’s ok now ‘

“ how did you know something was “ he sighed out as he pressed his head in your hair “ off “

“ your always tired shin — always — you’ve never actually voiced it though so I was — I felt off myself when you said it —it felt weird “

“ you knew off of one phrase “

“ one phrase “

he smiled into your hair pulling your face back to plant a kiss to your forehead

“ see so fucking beautiful baby “

your thumb traced his face making sure to run under his eyes feeling just how tired he actually was when you felt his eye bags

“ no after school rant today “ he laughed mocking you in your own voice

“ get to sleep baby you have class tomorrow— shin if I see any new eyebags i’m kicking your ass — bab— “

you pushed him away as he fell back on your bed

“ what ? what I was just saying — i mean am i wrong you do say all of those things “

“ get out “ you protested sitting back in your chair continuing your drawing “ come look at this “

he sat confused as he blinked “ I uh “

“ choose the latter “

he smiled as he walked over to your chair draping himself over your shoulder “ your so talented “

“ no I just — i draw “ you said softly

“ oh she just draws “ he copied “ the beautiful lady just draws as she proceeds to draw a portrait of my new hero costume “

he pouted “ you couldn’t have possibly done this all right now how long did this take you “

you looked away

“ I told you I knew you were sad “ sighing as you looked up at him neck bent backwards

“ so I started drawing it when I walked past you in the hallway like I said your always tired but today you were wiping at your eyes constantly — yawning and just then you confirmed it saying you were tired so I “

you looked away “ I drew what you’d been trying to “

he moved to place his lips on yours not letting up until the both of you had to tap out at the lack of oxygen “ your so fucking beau— “

“ Beautiful “ you cut him off words syncing with his up as you two continued the rest of the night with you yelling at him about how he had to open up to his classmates and accept their flaws first before he came to talk badly about them to you

except for bakugou he could talk badly about him

“ thank you for the hug “

“thank you for the acceptance on my drawing “

“ thank you for the praise “

“ thank you for being with me“

he scoffed as his face grew hard before relaxing into a smirk “ thank you for loving me “

“ y-you win “

he laughed as he met your face with one more kiss smiling down on you “ I win “

Bakugou

-you only know because he doesn’t get upset at your actions and your in total surprise

You moved your hand to poke at your boyfriend for the 7th time in a row

your body ducking under his bed in fear of his screams everytime you poked

you frowned when he didn’t acknowledge you

you were only doing it because you wanted to hear some kind of response from him most times when you annoyed him like this he would pick you up and plop you on his bed and tickle the life out of you until you both fell asleep

For some reason he was barely even moving from the spot he came in and laid himself down in

After class the both of you walked to his dorm and he unlocked it holding it open for you and walking in after throwing his backpack to the corner as he ripped off his uniform blazer hand outstretched for yours as he laid them over the back of the desk chair

squatting down to help you take off your shoes and then grabbing them to place at the door his own falling right off his feet with a loud thump.

Him moving to his bed grabbing you and sitting you down on the floor in front of him your legs crossed in front of you as he laid on the bed looking at your sitting figure on the floor

His eyes never leaving yours the whole time until he finally shook his head and turned away from you causing your body to fall

thus leading to your endless pokes

‘ wait now that I think about it ‘

“ babe— have you talked at all today “

you looked to the floor “ I— I don’t think you’ve talked all day “ holding out your hand counting off your fingers

“ at lunch you didn’t even ask me what I wanted you just “

your hands moved up with your shoulders in a shrug “ got it “

you played with the hem on your pants

“ at practice you didn’t partner with kiri you just stayed near me and when we got in your room you“

you looked to your feet voice soft trying to sort through your mind

“ you took my shoes off for me “

you sat for a moment moving to poke him again his body never moving no answer being given to you

“ I know your not sleeping kats —you breathe heavy as shit when you are so “

he didn’t laugh or even grunt nothing falling from his lips as your eyebrows quirked into a knowing furrow

Hands and body leaving the floor as you climbed on his bed to lay on top of his body

your chest draped over his right side

legs straddling his own and your mouth pressed right into his ear

“ I swear i’m not going anywhere baby “

you watched as his eyes moved from the wall across from you two to the pillow right next to him

in hopes of conserving his feelings

“ your doing great — your the coolest and strongest guy I know “

you kissed the outer shell of his ear

“ your so respectful and understanding of my needs“

you placed a kiss to his jaw “ your cuddles are amazing and you make me feel loved when you finally give in and let me win our fights — snuggling up to me on the couch “

you moved to kiss the end of his eyebrow

“ your so hot when you talk to me —that’s when I find you the hottest “

your eyes fell to his lips as you stared down on him

“ when you answer me — and acknowledge me “

he grunted a little in response

his eyes closing when your mouth found his neck kissing softly as you smiled

“ there you go pretty boy“

he groaned as you hugged him arms wrapping around whatever part of his body you could find

“ your kissing everywhere but where I want you to “

“ and where’s that “

“ you know babe “

his face flashed a look you weren’t fast enough to catch as you laughed at him

“ fine fine “

you let your lips hover over his as he turned his body so you were now laying directly on top of him

his hands coming to rest on your lower back

“ before I give you this kiss “

“ fuck—seriously y/n — you can’t just talk after—you worked me up expecting a kiss “

he shook his head in annoyance “ fucking tease — I knew I should’ve kept my mood “

“ but why “ your face dropped as you looked around his “ why did you have a mood katsuki “

he grunted “ because I “

he sighed as he looked directly into your eyes “ sometimes I feel like i’m not doing enough like I could do more for you and sometimes I feel like I treat you like an asshole and what — what girl wants to date an asshole “

he shook his head “ I don’t know if I tell you I love you enough or if I— if I show you that I can protect you if I wanted to or even that I can supply all your needs “

he mumbled under his breath “ I don’t even know if i talk to you enough “

you smiled as you ran your hand through the top of his hair “ you do — you do it all “

you laughed “ and your just fine “

he looked away as you pulled his face back

“ no kats look at me “ his eyes darted away hating how he just opened up to you and now you were begging for eye contact he felt stupid and way too open

“ kats look “ he slowly found his eyes moving to yours at your tone

he knew not to mess around when your praising him it pisses you off and one thing he knows he doesn’t feel like dealing with is a pissed off girlfriend

especially after he just cleaned up his room from your last outburst of firing off his gauntlet at his negligence to answer you

luckily he fell submissive right after mind racing at your attempt to kill him over a small eyeroll and scoff at your praise

Only sucking up his attitude so he didn’t have to run into another problem like that where aizawa flat out kicked his ass for the hole you created in the wall that he somehow took the blame for when he felt your stone cold stare on his back in the office

he was not about to risk his good moment with you right now

“ your amazing , Beautiful , smart and talented “ he shook at the praise body growing hot

“ your doing so good for me and I couldn’t ask for anymore “ you smiled slightly “ keep doing what your doing “

his heart thumped hoping you couldn’t hear it

“ and also i’m not complaining —if you y’know ever wanted to take off my shoes for me again “

he scoffed as he looked away from you and back “ how’d you know “

“ you always tickle me when I poke and annoy you “

you pouted as he spoke “ huh always ? “

“ always “

“ you know my routine that much “ you shook your head in a yes

“ so now that I know why your always pissing me off and what you want I doubt I feel like giving it to you anymore “

you moved to get off of him “ ok well i’m sure it’s a bit more fun with kirish—“

your loud laugh ripped through the room as you fell to his floor with a loud boom

his mouth curling up into a smile as he dragged you back on the bed your protest falling on deaf ears as he continued until he finally stopped speaking into your ear softly

“ I lov—“ he shook his head burying himself into your chest “ fuck you shitty woman “

you smiled at his words hand raking up the back of his neck and into his hair “ I love you katsuki “

kiri

-the only way I can see you understanding somethings off with kirishima is if he just hasn’t been smiling or making comments all day

-then your like :0 uh woah dude my boyfriend hasn’t smiled all day

“ how about ice cream and a movie ? “ you turned to the red head sitting on the couch beside you then shaking you head at your question “ nah sounds lame right “

you laughed “ I knew you would say that “

you pouted when your thoughts finally connected “ oh — nevermind babe i’m sorry I forgot I didn’t do my homework it’s the one midnight gave us I should probably get started—“

Your mouth moving so fast you missed the way the speed in his leg increased in its shakes , the puff of air he let out at your continued talking when he just wanted silence.

Sometimes he enjoyed being around bakugou because at least he had silence for a moment just a moment until he would scream his head off only to return back to the quiet environment he’d created before

“ so yeah it’s a lot and if I don’t get it turned in today I may just fail her clas -“

“ then get it done “ his voice was low and quick to snap at you which had your mind stalling

you laughed uncomfortable with the way he spoke to you “ aw uh where’s my happy guy “

he scoffed as he shifted on the couch his leg speeding up its pace “ where’s my annoying girlfriend “

he snapped his fingers pointing it to you “ oh I spy with my little eye “

his voice was dead as he spoke

“ she’s right next to me “

your eyebrows furrowed as you jumped back a bit

you couldn’t even make out words after his comments

you knew for your few months of dating kirishima that it couldn’t be possible for him to be happy and care about people’s feelings all the time

he had to open up and let you see him pissed off at least once to seal the deal on your relationship

this was it

this was the seal but for some reason you didn’t know if you could close it —much less address it and find the problem

“ kirishima what’s wrong with you “

“ you’ve just been talking all day baby i’m a bit tired of just— “

he felt his body growing a bit hotter than normal , you feeling the heat from his words make their way over to you everytime he spit them out

“just hearing you — I know I can go on and on for hours but if I can go hours you can go days and I just never noticed until now “

“ oh “

“ yeah I need some silence right now babe and your—your not helping” his voice was low even upset he was still trying to save your feelings not that it worked

“ no ones helping “

you looked from your boyfriend to everyone around the room

their voices echoing with laughter everyone spread out around the room as they spoke about what they all did today.

The kitchen full of people

bakugous yelling moving its way down the dorm halls

your face dropping as you stood and grabbed his hand that he snatched back quickly

“ I don’t want to leave “

you pouted settling yourself back on the couch you didn’t know how to deal with him like this and his best friend wasn’t here and almost everyone else he said was adding to his anger would just make him angrier right ? if you called them over

so who could you get to help ?

“ I may be pissed off by them but I — I still want to be around people I don’t want to be upset and alon— “

Time slowed as he felt his body weigh down almost as if he felt the weight of himself when he used his quirk.

Eyes widened before they closed basking in the heat your body supplied as you crawled in his lap wrapping your arms around his neck legs around his own in a straddle

his body just relaxing into your hold not making any movements the occasional jump to follow you whenever you would move

“ come on tell me what’s wrong baby “

your voice was soft in his ear not wanting to draw attention over seeing as though he wasn’t in the best of moods “ who do you want me to fight “

you looked closely at his face as he was just quiet hands finally moving to push both your legs up so that he could get you as close as possible his mouth moving to kiss yours

happiness of the moment overflowing within you as you let him guide you in the kiss surrendering all control to him and letting him lead

“ just feeling a little background today ? “ you said smiling hands cupping his face

“ I understand it gets to someone after a whil— “

“and everyone acts totally brand new when they see i’m not happy for one day —baby one literal day —why am i just expected to be happy all the time “

he dropped his head to your chest “ i’m not no one is”

“ so then tell me what’s wrong why aren’t you happy today “

“ nothings wrong y/n “

his voice boomed loud through your chest

“ nothing is wrong I just feel like having quiet today but because of that —here everyone is —in my face asking me what’s wrong telling me i’m not myself “

he tried to bury his head further in your chest

“ when I want quiet everyones loud and I —I never noticed how loud i am —how loud everything is until I stopped talking and I hate it —I hate how loud everything is “

you sighed as his fingers ran along your thigh “ I thought if I followed you out here to watch a movie I would be comfortable “

his voice was sad “ I just wanted to come out here and watch a movie with my girlfriend but “

your hand running over his shoulders and back up finding a hold in his hair

“ I just got more pissed off when you actually started talking I just expected —if no one else could be quiet then you would “

“ well i’m sorry I wasn’t quiet “

“ you shouldn’t have to be not cause I want you to be“

“ that’s right “

“ I know “ he took a deep breath looking up at

“ I know you think i’m an asshole now because you’ve seen this side of me—the angry one but “

“ I don’t think your an asshole or you’d be sitting in bakugous room right now crying that there’s lemon juice in your eyes “

his mouth shut instantly as he stared at you in fear your thumb running circles over his cheek

“ h-how can say something like that and “ he shook his head “ that’s so manly god I love you so much “

“ I love you too but —you have to tell me things kiri I can’t just “

you flicked his forehead as he crinkled his nose in pain “ I can’t just read your big brain”

“ but you did it just now “

“ huh “

“ all I wanted was for you to hug me and like shower me in kisses to calm me down and you “

he kissed your forehead “ you did it —which kinda had me confused on how you knew me so well “

you laughed “ you looked sad —upset and I wanted to remind you that I was still here regardless of how you feel —you cat push me away that easily “

he smiled widely as you two felt heat radiate through your bodies

“ I really do love you baby months or years or days I love how well you know me”

your mouth opening to laugh as you cuddled into his neck

“ guys kirishimas fine “ denkis voice made the both of you shake

“ I told you he just wanted some attention from y/n —guys he just has a small case of simptitis “

your head turned quickly as you seen the shaking boy beneath you “ uh your room “

“ my room “

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echoalyssa · 4 years ago

Text

Phantom | Dick Grayson

Authors Note: There’s some light language in this, but thats about all!

“Phantom to Nightwing, entering dead zone now. Start the clock and come in if I’m late. I love you.”

You now had an hour inside the base, unable to contact anyone. You were collecting intel and because you were the stealthiest and smallest, (Damian was too young for this particular mission) Bruce had sent you in.

Your boyfriend, Dick Grayson had wanted to come with you but Bruce had rejected the idea because two people was more risky than one.

Dick had been livid, it was more risky for your life for you to go alone. He was your partner even though you were all a team. Ever since childhood, the two of you fought together and somewhat seemed to share the same mind.

You push a vine our of your dace. Your black masks shows the digital map of the quietest places to step. Your hood is pulled up to disguise your features and skin tone that obviously didn't fit in with the darkness of the air around you.

You had left your mottled cloak behind, opting to only have to worry about your body and where you place it.

Joker was extremely active underground lately, he’d evolved and Bruce had only your mission as a lead.

Your mask displays your one hour timer on the left hand side of your vision. Fifty minutes to get into the compound and back to safety.

The compound comes into view, a flat stone building that just didn’t fit in with the forest that surrounded it. You creep forward, staying in the shadows and hugging the walls of the building until you reach the only vent.

The stone was practically flat but years of training allowed you to look your gloved fingers into a crevice and wedge a booted foot into the building.

You begin climbing, scaling upwards twenty feet. The screws of the vent are all different and you have to pull away from the wall, your body straining so you can unscrew the bottom two.

You’re small enough that you can pry the vent open enough that you can squeeze yourself in. Forty minutes your clock reads. You were going too slow. You crawl forward on your elbows, you trek forward, you should have asked for two hours. Shit.

You hit the record button on your wrist panel and pull the microphone out.

It’s a tiny one but the quality is amazing. You’re peering through a small vent above a research lab now and you thread the microphone and it’s wire through the vent. The audio feeds into your ear piece and also saves to the hard drive in your panel.

You’re holding your breath, only breathing when you have to to minimize any chance of getting caught.

“We need to move in now! He’s only getting more recruits and it’s only a matter of time before they find us again.” Says a voice.

“If they haven’t already! I say we try the new weapon on some unsuspecting crowd of bystanders now. Then they’ll be too busy trying to save those silly citizens to deal with us.”

“Yes but is it ready..?”

“It needs to be tested again and we need to find a more powerful energy source eventually.”

And then the joker walks into view of the vent. He’s holding a blueprint and he spreads it on one of the tables. It’s the paint schematic for the weapon because of course, the joker being the joker meant that everything needed to be green, purple, and white.

You raise a hand to your mask and tap twice. It takes a screenshot of your view of the blueprint and sends it to the bat hard drive.

“Did you have any luck with batons inner circle? Would anyone snitch?”

“A couple...” the speaker listens. It’s valuable intel and now Bruce would be able to feed false information to the rats.

You begin to tap their names away into the panel and then attempt to wirelessly hack into the mainframes. The firewall were strong and plentiful but eventually they all fall victim to you. Sixteen minutes your timer reads. Shit. The data downloading from their computers and into your drive is only halfway done.

It won’t be very detailed. Just minuscule bits of information because you couldn't connect physically to the computers. It’s a line of script here and there that didn't make much sense to you because you weren't super tech-y. Though every line counted and that you knew. Several addresses also pop up.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, your panel signals that the download is complete. Seven minutes reads the timer. Double shit.

You scramble backwards knowing that you’ve done all that you can. Somehow managing to turn yourself around in the small space. You’re almost at the vent when you foot clangs against the side of the vent.

You freeze, no alarms go off, but then again why would they? The timer is still ticking and you continue on, sliding out of the vent. You fumble with the screws, attempting to get them back in in case your cover hadn't already been blown. You then plant your feet, push off and flip down to the ground. You land nimbly in a rolling crouch and then pop to your feet and take off, sprinting for the tree line.

They come from the shadows. Dozens of them. All focused in on you.

You suck in a breath and draw your longswords.

“Bring it on Goonies!” You call and they surge forward all at once. Some with guns, electric batons, and swords.

You stalk forward, meeting them in the middle. You begin slashing immediately at arms, legs, torsos, anywhere that wasn’t too lethal. You weren't a killer.

Except there were just so many, the sword in your left hand falls from your grip and you pull out a disc, throwing it into the incomers. It explodes, blinding some and wounding others.

You yank s taser out from your belt and stab it into an attackers neck while blocking an attack with your sword. And then it happens. A baton smacks into the back of your head and you stumble forward, dizzy. A blade slashes your thigh, splitting skin and muscle. A cry comes fro, your lips and you lash out desperately with your one remaining longsword. You're able to down the foe who had slashed you.

Two more take his place and then a dagger rips through your abdomen from behind. You scream, falling to your knees. Just as it gets put through your thigh, followed by your shoulder. You land in the grass face first and the world goes dark, sound fading out.

‘Dick.’ Is your last thought.

~~~

Dick is staring at the timer that is displayed by his make. 00:00:05. 00:00:04. 00:00:03. 00:00:02. 00:00:01. And the dreaded number... 00:00:00. It blares red and he stares at the forest, fists clenched. Where was she?

Tim steps forward and places a hand on his shoulder. “Give her five minutes okay? She’s smart. You know how these missions sometimes go overtime. She’s got this.”

“We never should have sent her in alone. It was too risky. Damn it!”

His fist rockets into a tree. He considers going after Bruce, giving him a piece of his mind. Then decides that it isn’t worth it and begins to prepare to go in after his love.

He makes sure to grab the miniature cauterizer and some other emergency medical supplies, stuffing them into the pouches on his belt.

“Wait, Nightwing, we’ll go together. We need a plan!” Damian calls.

His heart is pounding out of his chest and he can’t breathe. ‘What if he was too late? What if she was already gone?’

He doesn’t want to wait for a plan, time was ticking. He pushes past his adoptive brother.

“Dick wait!” Jason calls trying to grab his arm. But he keeps going, breaking for the trees to find her.

Jason and Tim look at each other, then they both look at Damian. “Stay here.” They say simultaneously/

“No way!” He yells back at his brothers.

The three of them take them off after Nightwing. And Bruce, having watched all his children run into danger, follows them in.

Nightwing is pushing through vines and branches, not caring if he makes noise or not. He knows the rest of his family will follow him, but quietly.

His mail enhances his vision in the darkness. He draws a thumb over his own panel and it activates the heat censor on his mask. Dick Grayson pushes forward quickly, scanning frantically for her heat signature.

And then he sees it. She’s always run cold. Her fingers and limbs always frozen. A small prone figure, running colder than the other surrounding bodies. He kicks up his pace, heading for her because he just knows.

“Phantom!” he yells, followed by, “Robin! I think I found her!”

He skids to a halt and falls to his knees, he can see the stab wounds. The way her blood has soared into the ground beneath her.

Nightwing rolls her over, jamming his fingers under her neck to find a pulse. It’s there. But weak.

He rips the cauterizer out of his belt and drapes her body over him just as Jason appears.

“Is she..?”

“Alive.” He grunts, “Not for much longer I need to..”

Jason helps him rip the uniform away enough so Dick has enough room to maneuver.

“Hold her down!”

Jason does as he’s told and Dick places the cauterizer to her skin.

“Only do what you have to, we need to get out of here. And soon.”

He pushes the two flaps of skin together and places the sparking tool to it. The heat melds the skin together. She’d need to be pumped full of antibiotics in case any of the blades were dirty and risked infection.

She only stirs slightly, too disoriented from her loss of blood. He talks to her the whole time he works on her.

He only does her abdomen, knowing that it’s her most serious injury. It might not even hold from the jolting and jostling that would occur in the journey back. Dick stabs a painkiller into her thigh, just in case she were to awaken.

He motions to Tim and Damian, who had been standing guard, to take up the rear. Grayson then scoops up his girlfriend, cradling her to his chest.

“Jason. Take point. Let’s get her home.”

~~~

He sits by her bedside. His hands are covered in her dry blood, along with his suit. He hadn’t bothered to change.

Y/N had needed a blood transfusion and he had offered immediately, hence why there was a needle in his arm funneling blood into girlfriend. Alfred had stitched do her wounds and hooked her up to an IV for hydration and anti-infection purposes.

She’d been changed out of her uniform after she was stable for cleanliness reasons and was now wearing one of his black shirts.

He’s holding her hand, his thumb tracing over the pulse point of her wrist occasionally.

It would be a long road to recovery for her though they all knew that she would bounce back and attempt to get back in to the field as soon as she could walk.

It’s days later when she finally wakes, her eyelids fluttering.

“Dick.” She whispers.

He’s right there, just like he had been, he’d only left briefly to shower but he ate and slept at her side. Jason had covered both of your patrols, with Bruce helping out.

“I’m okay. You’re okay, babygirl.” He places a hand on her face and she leans her head into his touch.

#nightwing #dick grayson #Tim drake #jason todd #Damian wayne #batfam #bat fam #bat family #dick Grayson x reader #nightwing x reader

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