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xxchumanixx · 8 months ago

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Hii, I have a request Tim Bradford X Grey!reader, I really liked the other one where she is Sergeant Grey’s adoptive daughter.

So basically she is a detective in another station, because you know, conflict of interests since she is his daughter.

she is younger than Tim, so age gap, 25 or so. She is a complete badass fr

and she goes to an undercover mission, a fancy party or something like that, alone. and things kinda get complicated, so the sergeant of the station where she works calls for backup, her father, because they are closer to where she is and also because he thought Wade would want to know his daughter is in danger.

so they get the call, and go to the place, and at first they don’t know she is grey’s daughter. They didn't know he had another daughter and that she was a detective, just because doing this dangerous job he was trying to protect her.

but she was handling things beautifully💅🏻💅🏻, and once they got there she had the suspects under control and was just slightly injured (like her arm idk). And she did it in a dress and in high heels 💅🏻💅🏻. I imagine she would be very sassy like Grey, also kind brag about what she just did. and then she starts flirting with Tim, HARD, in front of everyone and he starts blushing, absolutely melting because of her duh. everyone thought that was it, but no, she then transfers to her father station and from there her and Tim start dating, even if they shouldn’t, so once a few months has passed (and EVERYBODY knew but her father 💀💀, Angela and Nyla were for sure teasing them about it) he goes to Wade and gives up his position (Metro Tim has me in a chokehold 🥵🥵, y/n’s will agree with me for sure, with that cargo pants damn)

and that’s it, sorry it’s pretty long and there are for sure some mistakes, I’m not a native speaker 🥺🥺. Thank u if you will do it ❤️❤️❤️

Give it all

Tim Bradford x Grey!reader

Warnings/Tags: fluff, reader is Grey's daughter, swearing if you squint, canon typical violence

Word count: 3.386

Authors note: Hello love, thanks for the request! I know it's a hell of a lot late, but I didn't get to write it, because you sadly spoilerd me (I was mid season 2 when you sent your request I think) and I didn't even know what you meant with the cargo pants at first😂 But now that I've watched til the end of season 5 (still waiting with bated breath for season 6 to air in Germany with German sync) I can finally write it.

And I know about those cargo pants now and I have to agree with you. Metro Tim is🔥!

Also, I made the reader a little older, just to stay in the possibilities of becoming a detective at a young age (don't know if it's really possible to become one at 25, so she's 27).

Still hope you'll like it, though!

I suck at titles I'm sorry.

Enjoy!

God damn it.

Why did everything you so neatly planned with your team have to go bust?

It was supposed to be an easy mission - get in, get the intel, get out.

Simple as that.

But nothing ever really goes to plan, does it?

Not to mention the dress you were wearing, intoxicating yet so unpractical. Or the heels at your feet, making it all the more harder to fight.

You were worried about the seam of the dress ripping, as you kicked the guard in front of you down to the ground, sending him asleep with a blow to his face.

It was pretty, but so hard to move in.

"Grey, get your ass out of there and wait for backup!" your commander yelled into the small earpiece you were wearing, making you flinch at his high pitched voice.

If you hadn't known his face, you'd mistaken him for a woman.

Swinging at the man in front of you, you hit his jaw, your fist stinging at the harsh contact. The man reeled back, releasing an angry yell, as he made a run for you.

God damn it.

Ducking away from him you kicked at his legs, using the momentum to disbalance him. He stumbled, but managed to catch himself rather quickly, before he pulled a knife out of his boot.

Really?

Groaning inwardly, you tried to avoid the shiny blade, dodging the blow with a jump to the side. It grazed your skin though, a line of blood soon trickling down your left arm.

So much for the dress now being ruined.

The man ran after you, but you pushed a cart into his way. He fell down on it, his weight being his disadvantage, the knife clattering to the ground.

You pinned him down from behind, cuffing him with the binders you'd found earlier. He tried to push you backwards, but you kneed his groin hard, causing him to cry out in agony, as he stopped struggling.

Pushing him to the ground where the other man was lying, you did the same to the unconscious one, tying his wrists together.

"Backup is there!" Granville gave through the earpiece, your eyes rolling at the information.

A bit late, weren't they?

Huffing, you left the men behind, returning to the grand hall where the gala was being held.

Your dress was ruined, stained with the blood that continued to trickle down your arm, dropping to the floor, and your feet hurt.

The room was earily silent, no music or chattering people. Police crowded the room, guns drawn.

You groaned, when you spotted your father amongst them, rolling your eyes for the millionth time this evening.

They watched you, as you walked towards them, your father's eyes widening at the blood. "You're late." you announced loudly, stopping right in front of the aligned officers. "They're in the office back there."

Wade rolled his eyes, motioning for some of the officers to gather the attackers, and for the rest to back down.

God only knew where your constant eye rolling came from.

"Get an ambulance!" he shouted, as the crowd started to disperse, before he walked over to you. Your eyes swiped over the officers, stopping at a particular handsome face.

He was tall, walking towards you and your father, with a female officer on his tail. "Sarge, what about Torres?" he wanted to know, eyes darting to you in curiosity for a brief moment.

Tilting your head, you gave him a once-over. "Didn't know mid Wilshire had such handsome officers." you pointed out, causing his gaze to snap back to yours.

Your father inhaled sharply, not saying anything though. They didn't know you were his daughter, him trying to shield you from threats.

Bradford, as his name tag read, grew a bit red in the face. Clearing his throat, he returned the gesture of giving you a once-over.

"Oh, upstairs are three more guards." you told your father, crossing your arms over your chest. "They should be still asleep, like the ones in the office."

One of his fingers tapped on his waistband, as he tried to calm himself. You were an adult, a detective working at a station farther down the city. You knew what you were doing.

He was still worried as hell, though.

"Good work." he muttered, avoiding to look at you. He couldn't deny that he preferred you to have a normal job, not risking your life when going undercover like this.

Your gaze went back to Sargeant Bradford, the stripes on his sleeves matching your father's. "I'm detective Y/N Grey." you introduced yourself, holding out your non bloody hand for him to shake.

His breath hitched in his throat at the name, still shaking your hand as he introduced himself as well. "Sargeant Tim Bradford."

"I thought we'd talked about this!" your father interrupted you with a hiss, just as your eyes were about to roam the broad figure of Tim Bradford once more.

Rolling your eyes yet again, you smirked at Tim, ignoring the fuming form of your father right beside you. "Nice to meet you."

Some of the other officers where already looking at you, watching the commotion. The woman that had followed Tim - officer Chen - bit her lip to stop from laughing.

Tim's face grew a deeper red in the meantime.

"Are you in a relationship?" you wanted to know, his eyes widening, as your father grabbed your non injured arm, deciding he had enough.

"Look, the ambulance is there." He tried to be calm, his grip harsh though, as he left you no choice but to follow him.

Sending Tim a wink, you smiled. "Hope we'll meet again, sargeant Bradford."

He didn't answer, only watching your retreating figure with deep interest.

_____

After a rather tiresome talk with your father, resulting in both of you shouting at each other, your captain decided to transfer you - to mid Wilshire.

Your father wasn't happy, knowing he'd now have to watch his own daughter getting in harms way.

Things with Tim were getting interesting, after a few weeks had passed.

You'd kept flirting with him, even though he was a bit hesitant at first. Now that you had transferred, everyone knew who's daughter you were.

He didn't want to end on your father's bad side, though still giving into your flirts after a while. Somewhere along the way he'd asked you out on a date.

It resulted in marvelous sex and more dates. It had clicked instantly, things going beautifully between you.

Feelings sparked, soon resulting in a confession.

You'd been walking through the park in the evening, watching the water from a bridge you were standing on.

His arm was around your waist, his warmth engulfing you. You'd been going on dates for two months now, just having left the restaurant. He'd planned to do it in a more romantic way, telling you how he felt.

As the water rippled beneath you, the moon and the lanterns shining down on it, he turned you towards him, your gaze finding his.

"I'm glad you transferred here." he began, taking your hands in his, entwining your fingers. You leaned more into him, heart beating faster in your chest.

"I'm glad we met and I'm glad you still kept flirting with me, even when I was hesitant about it at first." he continued, thumb brushing over your knuckles. "And I'm glad you accepted to go out on a date with me. I really like you, Y/N... I want you to know, that I've grown feelings for you."

He held his breath, waiting for you to respond.

Your lips split in a broad smile, leaning even closer. "Well, I'm glad that you feel this way." you replied, face inching closer. "Because I've grown feelings for you too, Tim."

He sighed in relief, tugging you closer to cover your lips with his. You returned the kiss, his hands on your waist, as yours brushed through his hair, locking behind his neck.

He was like a drug for you.

He'd swept you off his feet when you first saw him, catching your gaze in an instant. For him it was the same, even with the blood that trickled down your arm, the light scar a reminder of the night you met.

_____

"So, when do we get an invitation for a double date?" Angela quipped, stirring her coffee, as she sat down opposite you. Cocking a brow you looked up from your phone, that goofy smile still glued to your face without you noticing.

You'd been texting with Tim, his own shift a later one that had yet to start.

Angela's smile grew warmer, her head tilting. Your brows furrowed at her, confused about the way she was smiling at you.

"Don't act like you don't know what I mean." she told you, eyes narrowing the slightest bit. "It's obvious that you and Tim are dating."

Your cheeks grew warmer, eyes looking down on the table. "Please don't tell my father about it." you asked of her, knowing that denying the obvious wouldn't get you very far.

She huffed in amusement, shaking her head. "Don't worry, I won't tell him."

"Tell whom what?" someone spoke up behind you - Nyla. She poured herself a cup of coffee as well, joining you at the table. "Tell her father that her and Bradford are dating."

Nyla made a dismissive gesture, shaking her head. "Don't worry, it's so obvious, we wouldn't even have to tell him. He'll find out on his own."

Eyes widening, you sat up straighter.

Where you really this obvious?

They must have read your thoughts, snickering into their cups. "It's cute." Angela pointed out, sending you a wink. "But yes, it really is this obvious."

_____

"We can't go on like this." you told Tim the same evening after your talk with Angela and Nyla, forking at the food on your plate.

Tim cocked a brow, wondering what you were talking about. Looking up from your plate, you placed the fork down. "I mean us."

He froze, the pasta falling from his own fork back on the plate, before he placed it down as well. "What do you mean?"

He couldn't shake the fear that suddenly gripped him, eminent in his voice. He'd thought you'd love him?

"We can't keep this a secret anymore." you explained, leaning on your elbows. "Angela and Nyla are constantly teasing me about it. It's obvious, everyone knows except for my father - he would have decapitated me already if he'd know."

His heart stumbled, though relief filled him at your words.

You weren't breaking up with him.

"Then we'll make it official." he proposed, leaning forward as well. You bit your lip, contemplating it. Someday they would find out anyway.

You nodded, sending him a smile. "Let's make it official."

_____

You should have known it would be a bad idea.

You had a deja vu at the way your father was yelling at you, whilst your mother was shaking her head constantly at him.

She knew better than to interrupted him.

It felt like the time you'd set the bathroom on fire, trying to alter a dress of yours when you were young.

Your father had his very own opinion about you trying to be a fashion designer.

You were waiting for him to finish his speech, knee bouncing as you stared at the wall behind him.

He inhaled deeply and you used the opportunity to interrupt him.

"I love him." you told him firmly, standing up from the chair.

Wait, what?

You loved him?

Well, yes, you did.

"I love him and I won't leave him just because you tell me to. You don't like it? Well, you don't have to. I'm an adult, I'm 27 and I can decide on my own. I can choose who I love and who I date, I don't have to ask for your permission."

He was stunned, noticing once more that you were in fact, an adult. You're mother was smiling to herself, never having had any problems with you dating Tim, even if he was a few years older than you.

Wade grumbled something to himself, wondering when you'd grown so much. To him you were still his little girl, he had to protect you.

"I'm okay with leaving mid Wilshire, if I have to. But I won't be leaving Tim." you clarified, crossing your arms over your chest.

He shook his head, wiping over his face with his hand in a tired manner. "Since when are you this grown?" he wanted to know, voice defeated. "You're my little girl, I have to protect you!"

You couldn't help the smile that fought its way onto your lips. "Dad, you don't have to protect me - protect Dom, not me. She's still so young. I'm a grown-up, I can look after myself."

Luna chuckled, agreeing with a tilt of her head. "Our daughter should be free to decide what she wants." she spoke, putting a hand on your father's arm. "Let her date him, don't ruin this for her."

He sighed heavily, head hanging low. Nodding, he looked at his wife, before he looked at you.

"But you're not leaving mid Wilshire."

_____

"I have to." Tim pressured, pecking your lips. "And I want to. Metro is great, it's an opportunity I want to take."

He had proposed to transfer to the metro, after a position had been cleared, giving him a chance he wanted to take. He secretly hoped he'd get the job - it would make things a lot easier and he had thought about it even before you two met.

He'd be going to your father today, giving up his position if the metro was willing to take him in. He'd already talked to their chief, meeting her in a few minutes to discuss things.

You were nervous about it.

Sure, you knew he wanted to go to the metro, but you were worried he'd regret it. But you knew you had to let him do this.

They rest of the day went on like chewing gum.

Whilst you were working on some cases, he talked to the metro. You bad trouble concentrating, Angela soon noticing.

"What's up with you?" she wanted to know, leaning on the small wall that divided your desk and the hallway. Looking up from the papers you'd read three times already, you pushed them aside.

"Tim's trying for a position at the Metro." you told her, leaning your head on your hand. Her eyes widened, letting go of the air inside her lungs. "Wow."

You nodded, biting your lip. "Im happy if he gets the position, but I fear he's doing it because he feels pressured to do." you explained. "I don't want him to regret his decision."

Angela shook her head, adjusting her position. "He won't." she assured you. "Tim knows what he wants. Just as he knows that he wants you. He'd have done everything in his power to ensure that, believe me. If he tries for the position, than it's because he wants to."

You nodded, trying to belive her words.

You really hoped she was right.

_____

Tim wrought his hands nervously, trying to calm his racing heart, before he would face your father.

He had been a bit harsher on Tim since he knew you were dating, but he refused to let it bother him.

Entering the watch commander's office, he braced himself for the conversation ahead of him.

Wade looked up when he entered, putting his pen down and crossing his arms on the desk. "Bradford, what can I do for you?"

Tim closed the door, sitting down on the chair opposite Wade's. "I want to transfer to the Metro." he spoke, getting right to the topic.

Grey's eyes widened - even if he kept a closer eye on him due to the relationship with his daughter, he wasn't willing to give him up that easily.

"Are you sure?" he wanted to know, his eyes wandering to your desk for a brief moment. He couldn't really see you, but he knew you were there - and Angela was as well, still talking to you.

Tim nodded, licking his lip. "I've talked to their chief and their willing to take me in." he explained, swallowing. "I think it's better this way."

Wade rubbed his chin, humming to himself.

"Are you doing this, because you want to, or because you feel forced to?" he inquired, gaze fixed on his Sargeant.

Tim cleared his throat, never breaking eye contact. "Because I want to." he responded. "I was thinking about going to the metro for a while now, not just because of your daughter."

Wade nodded, contemplating.

"Do you love her?"

Tim was taken aback by the question, still nodding fervently. "I do. Why?"

Wade nodded too, looking down on his desk. "Do you plan to marry her?"

Tim choked on his saliva, growing red as he desperately tried to regain his breath. Wade cocked a brow at his flustered face, eyes wide as Tim stared at his watch commander.

"I think it's a bit early for that." Tim gave back, swallowing hard. Wade huffed, leaning back in his chair with crossed arms. "But when the time comes, I would want to."

Wade was pleased to hear that, the smallest smile gracing his lips.

"Well then, if you want to transfer to the metro, I'm sad to see you go but I won't stop you." he told him, sitting more straight again. "It was my honor to be your watch commander."

Tim looked up from his lap, where his eyes had landed moments before, disbelieve evident in his features. Grey sent him a smile, nodding slightly.

"It was my honor, too, Sarge."

_____

You didn't see Tim, before you went home that evening.

Did he get the position?

When he entered his house - you had a key, already having cooked - you couldn't help the impatience that overtook your senses.

"Did you get the position?" you wanted to know, greeting him in the hallway.

He cocked a brow at you, fighting a smirk. "Let me get home first." he chided, shaking his head as the smirk won.

Rolling your eyes, you walked back into the living room, waiting for him to join you at the dining table.

When he did, his hands found your hips, tugging you closer to kiss you. You returned it, sighing contently. He deepened the kiss, but you separated from him.

"Did you get it?"

He rolled his eyes at how impatient you were, but smiled down at you eventually. "I did." You smiled back, happy for him, as you kissed him again.

He smiled into the kiss, before he leaned back. "And I talked to your father."

Your smile fell, a sigh leaving your lips.

"He didn't want to let me go, but he eventually agreed."

Nodding, you bit your lip, the smile slowly returning. You knew that Tim was one of the best at mid Wilshire, and your father knew too.

"Let's eat, baby."

_____

"Damn, those cargo pants make me want to stay instead of going to work."

You bit your lip as you watched him dress, the pants definitely going to be a weak spot for you. He smirked, capturing your lips with his own. "We have to get ready, I don't want to be late on my first day."

The pants in combination with the boots made you go weak in the knees. It was tempting to just seduce him and stay, but you knew he was right.

It didn't mean you wouldn't seduce him later in the evening, though.

"It'll be hard to concentrate when I see you in these pants." you admitted, staring at them. He chuckled, redirecting your gaze with a finger under your chin. "We have to go." he reminded you, grinning.

He had trouble not giving into you and stay as well, so he tried to get you two on your way to work as fast as possible.

You let him walk in front of you, so you could stare at his ass, as he ushered you out of the house.

Damn, those pants would be the death of you.

Tag List

@newobsessionweekly @laheysfilm

@augustvandyne @rookietrek

#the rookie #the rookie imagine #the rookie x reader #the rookie x u #tim bradford #tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x you #tim bradford imagine #imagine

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ghostf1ux · 23 days ago

Text

"Who the Fuck are you Calling a Twig?"

Day 1: Broken Bones

Word Count: 3.8k

TW/CWs: Broken bones, drug talk/usage, Venom, guns, graphic violence, graphic injuries, general DCU-ness

-------------------------------------------------------

“Wow, boys, you really know how to make a guy feel welcomed.”

Jason's dry words echo mechanically through the warehouse, making it impossible for the men below to figure out its origin. He counts fourteen masked heads crowded around a large moving truck that whip around at the disturbance. Nine of them brandish some kind of automatic rifles– the others seem to just have handguns. Nothing he isn't used to.

“Who's there?” One of them calls out hesitantly, nerves clear by the way their voice wavers with the question. He smirks.

Much to Jason's amusement (and maybe disappointment) they never just look up. Despite years of Batman and his flock swinging around Gotham, its population, home to some grade A dumbasses, have never learned to just look up.

“Damn, guess I'm gonna have to get some more heads,” Jason sighs, shifting from his crouched position in the rafters to one knee. He continues without answering the question. “So, here's the deal: you take yourselves, sans your drugs as well as your dignity, and skedaddle. In return, you retain use of all your limbs for the foreseeable future.”

Personally, Jason thinks this is a good deal. He understands that these guys are probably just trying to get by, so he'd rather not have this turn into something more than it needs to be.

Plus, he was looking forward to an easy night.

The goons all look between each other, conversing quietly. Jason notes the way some of them shift uncertainly, glancing around despite the weapons in their hands trained on the surrounding shadows. It's a little pathetic.

Finally, one speaks up.

“How about you try saying that to our faces, or are you too chicken?” The goon near the driver's seat of the truck tightens his grip on his rifle, before motioning to the others to start searching the warehouse. Jason decides to call him the leader of this little ragtag group of thieves, though he isn't sure exactly who they're stealing for. His intel only pointed to there being a pretty big load of Venom that was missing from a drug bust he had orchestrated weeks ago.

“You aren't from around here, are you?” Jason drawls curiously, tilting his head in consideration. Of course, the voice modulator makes it come out a whole lot more menacing, the effect made worse by the fact that they still haven't found him, despite how some of them have spread out. The immediate effect it has on them almost makes Jason laugh. Almost.

“What's it to ya? We ain't stayin’ for long,” a different voice answers. Jason stands, silently prowling the length of the beam he's on until he finds a group of four guys loosely tucked behind a stack of crates.

“No, you aren't.”

He grins, and drops.

The first two guys are on the ground before they even notice he's there. He rips the rifle out of one of their hands to use as a bat to strike the third, putting him out instantly with a resounding crack. He uses the momentum to launch a high back hook kick at the fourth, who slams into the stack of crates and then crumples to the ground.

He manages to clip three more in the shoulders before gunfire is raining down on the crates between Jason and the truck. He thinks he hears shouting somewhere behind it, but it's unclear.

What he definitely hears is the start of a truck engine– listen, with how many god damn trucks he hears in this line of work, he can practically tell you the specs just based off the starting sound of the engine– and the squealing of tires against cement floors.

Swearing under his breath, Jason turns to dive through another barrage of bullets, racing through the maze of bullshit strewn about. He doesn't have time to worry about the hired guns getting away, what's important is getting that Venom before it can end up on the streets. His streets.

He fires a few shots blindly behind him– a twisted bit of satisfaction making him smile at the sound of bodies dropping on the floor with pained yells and swears– before whipping out his modified grapple gun, aiming for the ceiling above a hole in the upper wall– looks vaguely like it was exploded– above the exit the truck is taking off towards.

He grins when the line pulls taut and he's yanked past the truck– tracking his speed– tracking his trajectory– flying upupup–

And releases at just the right moment to fling himself through the hole and into the moist Gotham air. The truck pulls out far below him, gaining speed, but it isn't enough. He's too good at sending himself flying for anything else.

It's a hobby he takes great joy in.

Jason unsheathes one of his many knives mid-air, turning his body to dive and land in a roll on top of the hood of the moving truck. His speed and momentum was accounted for– he supposes he should thank Bruce's numerous lectures about thinking before pulling stunts like this– even if the rain wasn't as he tumbles over the roof of the storage and onto the hood over the driver and passenger seats themselves. Slamming the blade of his knife through the roof, he scrambles for purchase despite the way his weight wants to send him barreling past the windshield.

Fortunately, he recovers before they can start trying to shoot what little of him they can see (he has the ruined edge of his bowie to thank for that) and he swings around to kick the passenger through the window– wait, wasn't this guy on the driver's side? Why is he in the passenger seat instead of driving–

But the goon doesn't knock the driver off course with the force of his kick that should've sent both out the driver's door.

The truck barely swerves. It only registers several seconds later why, when his ankle is grabbed and nearly fucking crushed.

See, a funny thing about hindsight is that it doesn't fucking help you. Ever.

That's what Jason thinks as he's ripped from his handhold into the tight front seat. The minimal skin of the leader goon he can see bulges with muscles that weren't there before, a yellow tinge to his veins just barely visible in the low light. His eyes are wild and bloodshot, pupils blown with the drug coursing through his system.

This is why Jason hates Venom. All it does is make his life– well, second life– harder.

Hm. Maybe he should call for some backup.

Jason considers this a moment before he grits his teeth as he's forcefully curled up and pushed against the windshield, the slowly cracking glass under his hands bracing against it like gunshots in his ear. It's taking nearly all of the strength in his legs to push back against the force and he's still losing, slowly, painfully folding up despite his joints grinding together.

A flash of metal (a gun, his mind supplies oh-so helpfully) in his peripheral catches his attention. Reflex and a burst of adrenaline makes him twist over the center console– fuck that stick did not feel good digging into his lower back– to wrestle the gun out of the driver's hands.

This time, the truck swerves. The gun goes flying– Jason thinks it ends up on the ground on the passenger side– before a sharp explosion of pain in his head nearly makes his vision go blurry. In reality, his head was just slammed into the steering wheel.

Maybe that shouldn't be said as nonchalant as it is, but… well. He's had worse.

He scrabbles against the body under him in the tight space, reaching for his thigh holster blindly. He manages to find it and draw the weapon in the tight space, but the leader– the guy high on Venom– snaps his arm like a twig before he can fire.

Jason hears himself scream and drops the gun– unable to do anything but scramble for something to stop the blinding pain– vaguely hearing unintelligible yelling that doesn't quite resonate in his mind– he feels himself get jostled around in his desperate movements–

And suddenly he hears shattering glass.

And suddenly he's in the air, all sense of direction lost.

And suddenly everything goes white when his body decides it's a good idea to shoulder check the ground– leading with his snapped arm.

He tries to curl up in a ball out of reflex– protect his vital organs– but the street (when did they turn on to a street?) has different plans for him, apparently.

His vision still hasn't returned when creaking metal bends– groans– breaks–

He can only let out a hoarse, breathless shriek when cold, wet, sharp weight falls on his chest and legs– nearly cracking the asphalt below him. Something in him– several somethings, he thinks– grinds and pops and snaps–

His breath is ripped out of his chest again as he gasps for air, this ever-present weight crushing him until his bones grind into dust and all that's left is squished, soupy remains.

Despite this, the first thing Jason can actually register when his ears stop ringing and his vision fades back in from the white it was before is his heartbeat and the blood roaring in his ears. It's like he can feel the rapid pulse of his life force in his whole body, desperately trying to do something– keep him alive, probably. Though he can't quite say for sure from what.

Then he feels the cold spatter of raindrops on his face. Distantly his mind tells him that his helmet is broken from when he got his face bashed into a steering wheel. Yeah, that sounds about right to him. But his face shouldn't be as warm as it is. Something warm is on his face. Steadily dripping down his cheeks, his chin, his neck– maybe it's starting to gather underneath him? That would explain why his neck and back feel wet.

Burning rubber assaults his senses, something more toxic hidden beneath it. There's smoke, and coppery tang of something he's intimately familiar with that would normally make the acidic green flames in him sing–

Blurry shapes begin to take form next. Lights, blinding lights– but not many of them close. Tall walls flanking the road he's on, panes of glass between them. Distantly recognizable, to the part of his brain that's still muddled. Trash. Trickles of rain in the street flowing into gutters along the sides. The far away lights reflect on the dirty water, keeping his attention on them. Distracting him.

Focus, Jason, a woman's voice cuts through the fog, silky-smooth but commanding all the same.

Assess, find an exit, another voice follows, this one gruff and deep. Masculine. It makes the fog clear rapidly in a way nothing else can.

Fuck, okay.

Jason's vision sharpens, fully registering the vehicle he's looking up at. He doesn't dare move his head, that deep voice vaguely rattling off possible head and neck injury procedures somewhere in the back of his mind.

Assess. He's on his back, trapped under a large vehicle. He's on the street, probably still in Crime Alley. No one is around, as far as he can tell.

The truck is on its side, the only saving grace for Jason's life. The side mirror is crushed directly to his left, between his chest and his arm, but it adds at least a little bit of leverage that keeps the full weight of the vehicle off of him. On top of that, his left arm– mostly uninjured, from what he can tell– is free.

Experimentally, he tries to move his hand.

He sucks in a sharp, white hot painful breath at the lightning bolt of pain shooting up his arm– it hurts like a bitch, but it isn't broken. His wrist might be fractured. Moving his arm fully doesn't hurt nearly as much as his wrist.

His chest protests though, loudly. He has to bite back a whimper when the truck seems to sink into him– that had to be his imagination, right? Surely this can't be how he goes; crushed to death under a fucking truck full of–

Something.

Something important.

Focus, Jason. What's the situation?

Right.

The roof of the truck is digging into his chest, but his stomach has a lighter weight on it. At least, comparatively.

But then the lower edge of the window– broken, shattered window– digs into his right hip and the upper area of his left thigh. He manages to wiggle his toes, but the motion sends sparks of pain flaring up and down both legs, all the way up his ribs.

He can't even feel his right arm where it's trapped under the edge of the roof and the side edge of the window.

Something tells him he really doesn't want to.

Glancing around, he sees his gun has fallen conveniently about arms length away on his left side. He doesn't try to reach for it. He wonders if he'd actually be able to get it if he tried. It's an expensive gun, he had it custom made as part of a set and it'd be really annoying to have to get another one–

Focus, Jason.

Shit, this is a bad situation, even by Jason's standards.

From what he can gather, there is no way to get out of this. Not by himself. He knows he's forgetting something. Something important. Something that can help him. But the thoughts slip through his fingers like smoke.

Fuck, he could really use a smoke right now.

Smoke.

Crushing weight.

Bones shattering under metal–

Waiting–

Pleading–

Alone–

No. Wait.

That's not right.

Someone was coming for him, then.

He's not alone. Not anymore.

Focus, Jason. What can you use to increase your chances of survival?

He slowly raises his free hand to a small switch on the unbroken side of his helmet. It's awkward and god does it hurt but–

“Need– need hel– help,” Jason manages to croak out, arm falling helplessly back onto asphalt. Copper drips into his mouth. He forces himself not to gag.

“What the fuck?”

“Hood?”

“Where are you?”

“What happened?”

“Hood are you okay?”

Voices clamber loudly over each other, but Jason is just focused on his rattling, forcefully shallow breaths. They all blur together into a cacophony of noise. That is, until one much deeper than the rest speaks over them.

“Hood, what happened?” the voice growls. Distantly, he recognizes it. The same one in his mind that echoed lessons from years past. Batman. Bruce.

Dad.

“I– I can't–”

Jason's words are starting to stutter and slur, becoming harder to form. The dots of his thoughts struggling to connect into lines.

“Robin, report,” the same voice barks, sharper this time. It pulls him back to a time before he had all the issues he has now. The words come tumbling out without him even thinking about them.

“Trapped– Venom bust– was chasing, got– got pulled in close– truck flipped– ‘m trapped– can't– breathing is–” the words get stuck in his throat, shallow breaths speeding up. The movement forces pained whines from his throat.

He doesn't have the breath for those right now.

“Oracle, send the coordinates. Nightwing and Red Robin, get to Hood. Robin and I will stop by the cave to get the materials needed to stabilize him,” Batman finishes. His voice is clipped. Controlled. Some part of Jason wonders why.

“Affirmative. ETA four minutes,” A younger voice– Tim, Jason's mind reminds him– answers immediately.

“Make it two,” Batman snaps.

“We're coming, little wing. Just gotta hold on for us, okay? We're gonna get you out.” Dick's voice is assuring, gentle. It's the one used for victims. Usually Jason would snap at him for using it on him, but at the moment, he can't really find it in himself to care.

All he can care about is the slowly increasing pressure pushing down on his–

Well. His everything.

“T's like– like the world– world's worse f– fuckin’– weighted blanket,” Jason finds himself saying out loud. A sardonic chuckle escapes him, which is a huge mistake because now he wants to sob.

He blinks back the burning tears before they can escape. He thinks, at least.

There's a small, sharp intake of breath before someone talks again. A woman, this time.

“I can't find him on cameras live, since Crime Alley is pretty spotty, but I found the footage of the crash. Hood, you need to be on the lookout for whoever was in the passenger seat. It looks like he got thrown from the truck, but if he was on Venom then he might get back up. You need to focus until Nightwing and Red can get there.”

Focus, Jason. Who can still hurt you?

“T– tall order there, Barbie,” he manages, glancing around. It takes him far too long to clock a peculiar lump on the ground about fifteen yards away.

A moving peculiar lump on the ground.

Jason blinks rapidly up at the sky, cursing every god that may or may not exist.

“Do you see him, Hood?”

“Yeah,” Jason breathes out, barely more than a whisper. His eyes trail down to his gun laying on the pavement. He almost whines with how far away it seems.

“Is he moving?”

Jason can only manage a vaguely affirmative hum as he begins dragging his arm towards the gun. Every muscle, nerve, and bone in his body screams at him to stop. To rest.

He chokes down a sob when only his fingertips brush the cool metal of the barrel. He reaches further and nearly screams, but manages to drag it close enough to get a good grip on it.

“Almost there, little wing,” Dick whispers, his voice taut with pain and worry.

Jason turns his gaze up to the man now hobbling towards him, sporting a bloody grin.

“Caged birdie all alone… shouldn't have bitten off more than you could chew,” the man chides menacingly. The zombie stumble he's got going on also isn't really helping.

Suddenly he's closer. Too close for comfort.

Jason raises the gun, putting all his effort into maintaining his steady aim. Only a small tremor betrays the agony his wrist is in.

“Twenty seconds–”

The man steps closer, picking up something off the ground with a pained grunt.

“Maybe this'll finally teach you a lesson about sticking your nose where it don't belong.”

There's a glint of metal.

A gunshot.

And then nothing.

---------------------

“--onna need the plane–”

“--wing, you with me?”

Gentle words coax Jason back to consciousness. Chatter continues in the background, but Jason is only aware of the pinched face of his brother above him. Despite the domino mask, he can see tear tracks on his cheeks.

Or maybe it's just the rain.

It's always raining in Gotham.

“Jay, come on, you gotta focus. We're gonna get you out you just gotta stay awake for a little bit longer,” Dick reassures despite the pained look on his face. He's trying not to worry Jason. He doesn't know if it's working or not.

“H– hurts,” Jason whines.

“I know, I know. I'm gonna take your helmet off, alright?”

Moments later there's a hiss of air before Dick gently works the broken helmet off Jason's head, setting it aside. He moves Jason's head into his lap, gently carding through the sweat-soaked curls.

It's comforting. Distracting.

It almost makes Jason forget how much pain he's really in.

“Ho– how–?”

“B's gonna bring the plane around, and we'll hook the truck onto it so he can lift it off you,” Dick explains. The waver in his voice is there, betraying his anxiety at the situation despite his calm demeanor, but only the people close to him would ever be able to make it out.

Dick turns away to talk to Tim. Jason isn't paying attention. There's something else. There's a flaw in the plan. One only he knows about, because they can't see inside the truck. Not without putting more weight on him.

Focus, Jason.

Weight.

A smaller weight.

Blood pooling.

But not his.

“Bod– body–” Jason rasps, quickly getting both boys’ attention.

“It’s fine, it was life or death. B won't be mad,” Tim offers him a reassuring smile. Jason grimaces, nearly shaking his head before thinking better of it.

“T– two. Stom– stomach.”

Dick furrows his brow, before his eyes widen. Tim seems to come to the same conclusion.

“Fuck, okay.” Dick rakes a hand through his damp hair, turning his gaze up to the sky as he takes a deep breath.

“B? Addition to the plan: Robin will need to repel into the car. There's another body in it, on Hood. We won't be able to get him out until it's gone…”

Jason lets the noise fade into the background, content to focus on Dick's fingers brushing through his hair rather than literally anything else. It's nice. The only nice thing in the cacophony of terrible no good awful things that make up his life right now.

But eventually, all good things must come to an end.

Distantly, he hears more talking. Organizing. Directing.

A weight gets lifted off his stomach.

Something hooks under his left arm. Someone else's arm, probably.

And then–

Well, being unaware of anything around you, thrown into a pool of evil magic battery acid mixed with mountain dew, and then subsequently ripped apart before being put back together was a really shit experience overall.

Being beaten nearly to death with a crowbar, then blown up and suffocating on smoke had been pretty terrible too.

This–

He won't remember being awake for this. It'll be a hole in his memory, one his brain will refuse to fill in… probably for the rest of his life. He'll think he passed out just before Bruce and Damien got there, and woke up safe and sound back at the Manor.

But his brothers won't be so lucky.

They'll never forget the piercing shriek that made all of them lock up as soon as the truck began to be lifted.

They'll never forget the wailing sobs that wracked the mangled body as pressure continued to be lifted.

They'll never forget the screams that echoed off the surrounding buildings when he was dragged off the asphalt and onto a stretcher.

They'll never forget how his teal, bright teal eyes finally rolled back and they had to see how both legs were nearly crushed and torn to shreds, chest still never fully expanding to get oxygen that was so desperately needed, how a piece of bone stuck so far out of his forearm that bent in a ninety degree angle right near the middle, on top of a shoulder that was so clearly out of its socket it probably shouldn't even still be attached.

But Jason wouldn't remember.

He'd remember knowing that whenever he woke up, he'd be out. He'd be safe.

And for now, that was all he needed.

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rootedinrevisions · 2 months ago

Note

Let's just say Nia Jax joined Solo's Bloodline around the same time that Tama Tonga joined.

Y/N was a member of the OG Bloodline along with The Usos and her boyfriend Roman Reigns, aka the Tribal Chief. When Roman went M.I.A. after Wrestlemania 40, Y/N along with Jimmy Uso were both kicked out of the Bloodline by Solo, and Y/N was attacked and injured by Nia Jax, which led to her being out with injury for a few months. At Bad Blood, both Y/N and Jimmy return, and they go after the bloodline, with Y/N attacking Nia.

Cue Y/N's emotional reunion with Roman afterwards.

Thank you so much for sending this request in! I'm sorry that it's taken me so long to get it written and posted! I've gotten a little behind with writing all of the Kinktober stuff, but hopefully, this is worth the wait!

The energy in the stadium is electric. Roman Reigns and Cody Rhodes are in the final stretch of their brutal match. Roman’s face is a mix of determination and exhaustion. Cody counters one of Roman’s final moves—a Superman Punch—and manages to hit him with a Cross Rhodes, but Roman kicks out at the last second. The crowd erupts.

Roman struggles to his feet, breathing heavily. He throws Cody into the corner and goes for a Spear, but Cody dodges, sending Roman into the turnbuckle. The momentum shifts as Cody seizes the opportunity and hits another Cross Rhodes, and then another for good measure. Roman is down. Cody covers him.

1... 2... 3!

The bell rings, and the crowd explodes as Cody Rhodes is declared the new WWE Champion. Roman Reigns is lying in the ring, stunned, his chest heaving as he stares up at the ceiling lights. He’s no longer the top guy. The reign is over.

Roman rolls out of the ring slowly, his face emotionless, but the weight of his loss evident in the way he moves. The crowd cheers for Cody, but there’s an eerie silence as Roman walks up the ramp, his head down. The camera catches the WWE Universe watching him, shocked that his 4-year reign has finally come to an end.

As Roman reaches the top of the ramp, he hesitates, looking back at the ring one last time before walking through the curtain.

The second he steps through the curtain, you’re there. You’ve been watching the match from the monitors, anxiously waiting to see the result. When you saw Cody pin him, your heart sank. You knew how much this match meant to him, not just for his career but for his identity as the top dog in WWE.

As soon as Roman comes through, you rush toward him, your eyes full of concern. He looks like a shadow of himself—defeated, vulnerable, nothing like the unstoppable force you know him to be. You don’t even think twice before reaching out to him, wanting to offer comfort.

“Roman...” you start softly, trying to get through to him.

But he doesn’t stop. His eyes avoid yours completely, and he brushes past you, almost as if you’re not even there. It’s as if acknowledging you would make his failure real. He can’t bear to see the disappointment he imagines must be in your eyes. Without saying a word, he keeps walking down the hallway, shoulders slumped, eyes fixed on the ground.

The sting of him walking past you hits harder than you expected. He’s never done this before—never shut you out like this. You stand there, frozen, watching him disappear into the back, feeling helpless.

After Roman disappears around the corner, you stand in silence for a moment, the noise of the arena a distant echo in your ears. You know this isn’t just about losing a title. It’s deeper than that. Roman’s silence says everything: he’s not just upset—he feels like he’s failed you, his family, and himself.

You try to shake off the sinking feeling in your chest, knowing that whatever Roman is going through, you’ll be there for him, even if he isn’t ready to face you yet.

* * * *

The lights in the arena dim, the crowd buzzing with anticipation. The New Bloodline’s music hits, and Solo Sikoa, flanked by Nia Jax and Jacob Fatu, makes his way to the ring. The faction’s presence is as dominating as ever, but something feels off. You can feel it.

As you step into the ring, Solo’s eyes bore into you. The tension is palpable.

You stand tall, despite the unease gnawing at you. Roman’s absence has been felt deeply by everyone, but for you, it’s been more personal. You’ve remained loyal to him, refusing to let his legacy fade. But now, Solo has taken control, and everything feels fractured.

Solo grabs a mic, his voice is cold and commanding.

"You’ve been standing in Roman’s shadow for too long. It’s time you acknowledge the real Tribal Chief. Me."

The crowd lets out a mixture of gasps and boos as Solo takes a step closer to you, his imposing figure radiating authority. His demand hangs in the air like a challenge.

You clench your fists, heart pounding, but your decision is clear. Loyalty to Roman runs too deep. You can’t betray that, not now, not ever.

You shake your head, standing firm. "I acknowledge...Roman Reigns."

The crowd roars in support of your defiance, but Solo’s face twists into a smirk of disdain. His expression is dark, filled with contempt, and you can feel the shift in the air. Something bad is about to happen.

"Wrong answer."

He steps back slightly and motions to Nia Jax. The crowd goes silent, sensing the danger. Nia steps forward, her eyes locked on you, a predator stalking her prey.

"Nia… deal with the problem."

Your heart sinks as you realize what’s coming. But before you can react, Nia charges at you, delivering a brutal clothesline that sends you crashing to the mat. The impact rattles your bones, but it’s not over.

You try to get to your feet, but Nia is relentless. She grabs you by the hair, dragging you up before hitting you with a devastating Samoan Drop, slamming you hard into the canvas. Pain shoots through your body, but it’s nothing compared to what’s coming next.

The crowd screams, pleading for mercy, but Solo watches on with cold detachment. Nia isn’t finished. She circles you like a shark, her eyes narrowing in on your knee.

With a vicious smile, Nia grabs your leg, twisting it in an unnatural angle. Then, with all her force, she slams her elbow down into your knee, and you scream in agony. The sound of something snapping echoes in your ears, and you know immediately—it’s bad.

The crowd is in a frenzy, medics rushing down the ramp, but Solo raises his hand, stopping them from interfering. Nia delivers one final stomp to your knee before stepping back, her job is done.

Solo leans down over you, his voice low and menacing.

"Roman’s not here to save you anymore. This is my Bloodline now. If you show your face again, I’ll make sure you’re not just out of the ring… but out of this business for good."

He tosses the mic down beside you, and with that, Solo, Nia, and Jacob leave the ring. The medics finally rush in, placing you on a stretcher as the fans chant your name in support, but all you can focus on is the searing pain in your knee and the betrayal burning in your chest.

As you’re carried up the ramp, one thing is clear—you’re out of action, sidelined for months, but this fight is far from over.

* * * *

The Bad Blood main event is at its peak. Roman Reigns, bruised and battered, fights on instinct alone. Across the ring, Solo Sikoa stands tall, the upper hand clearly his. At ringside, Tama Tonga and Tonga Loa are prowling like sentinels, ensuring that no one interrupts their plans. The crowd roars with a mix of anticipation and tension as Solo prepares to deliver the final blow.

Roman stumbles backward into the corner, clearly exhausted, his chest heaving. The look in his eyes—defeat seems inevitable. Solo stalks toward him, ready to strike, and you can feel the electricity in the air.

Suddenly, from the crowd, a figure darts toward the ring. Dressed in a black hoodie and bandana, the person’s face is obscured, but the intention is clear—they're coming for Tama and Tonga. The crowd erupts, unsure of who this mystery person is, but thrilled by the sudden turn of events.

Tama and Tonga’s heads snap toward the intruder. They move to intercept, but the figure is too quick, dodging their blows and delivering a series of fast, brutal strikes that send both men tumbling to the ground. The figure stands over them, breathing hard, before pulling off the hood and yanking the bandana down.

It’s Jimmy Uso.

The crowd explodes in a frenzy of cheers. Jimmy stands tall, glaring at the chaos around him before his attention shifts back to the ring. Solo’s eyes widen with shock, but before he can react, another distraction comes into play.

Nia Jax’s music hits.

The powerhouse walks down the ramp, her focus solely on the ring. She climbs onto the apron, shouting at the referee, who is caught between her and the chaos unfolding. The distraction is working—until your music hits, and the crowd surges to life.

The roar of the crowd swells as you sprint down the ramp, your knee healed and ready for revenge. With determination in your eyes, you target Nia. Reaching the ring, you grab her ankle, yanking her down from the apron. She stumbles but turns to face you, a menacing glare in her eyes. But you’re quicker—you charge, hitting her with a swift, decisive running knee strike that sends her crashing to the floor. The crowd loses it, chanting your name as you stand over Nia, breathless but victorious.

Back in the ring, the distraction is all Roman needs. As Solo turns back around to refocus on Roman, he walks right into a massive Spear. The impact is earth-shattering, and the arena trembles with excitement. Roman covers Solo, hooking the leg, and the referee drops to the mat.

One… two… three!

The bell rings. Roman has won the match, but there’s no time for celebration as emotions swirl. You and Jimmy slide into the ring, and the crowd’s roar grows even louder. The reunion they’ve all been waiting for.

You and Jimmy embrace first, the weight of the last several months lifting off your shoulders in that single moment. As the two of you pull back, your eyes naturally shift to the man standing just a few feet away.

Roman Reigns.

He stands in the middle of the ring, sweat dripping down his face, chest heaving from the effort of the match. For a moment, he looks stunned, his eyes wide as he takes in the sight of you and Jimmy standing together in the ring—his family, reunited.

Roman's expression softens, the weight of everything he’s been through—the loss, the disappearance, the betrayal of his own blood—seems to crash over him all at once. He turns to Jimmy first, pulling him into a tight, brotherly hug. The crowd erupts, the bond between the two undeniable.

But then… Roman’s eyes meet yours.

For a split second, everything else fades away—the roar of the crowd, the lights, the chaos—it’s just the two of you. Roman's gaze is intense, filled with everything he hasn’t said, the regret, the guilt, the longing. His lips part as if he’s about to say something, but instead, he just opens his arms to you.

Your feet move before your brain catches up. In a daze, you find yourself walking toward him, and before you know it, his strong arms wrap around you. The instant you feel his touch, your body melts into his, the months of separation, pain, and uncertainty dissolving in his embrace. His hold on you is firm, like he never wants to let go again.

He leans down, his breath warm against your ear as he whispers softly, his voice thick with emotion. "I’m sorry… I’m so sorry."

You don’t respond with words, but your arms wrap around his neck, your face buried in his chest. Tears sting your eyes as you hold him, and you can feel the tension in his muscles, the way his body shakes ever so slightly from exhaustion and emotion.

Without thinking, Roman lifts you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he holds you tightly against him. The crowd’s cheers reach a deafening pitch, but it’s all background noise to you.

Roman is holding you like he never wants to let you go again, and it's all you can focus on at the moment.

You pull back slightly, your forehead resting against his as you gaze into his eyes. The connection between you is undeniable, electric, and for the first time in months, you feel complete.

Smiling softly down at him, you lean in, your lips finding his in a tender, emotional kiss. Roman’s arms tighten around you, his lips moving against yours with a desperation that speaks volumes—he missed you, he needed you, and he’s never letting you go again.

The crowd cheers wildly, the reunion of the three of you—Roman, Jimmy, and yourself—something they had all hoped for.

As you pull away from the kiss, you rest your head against Roman’s, still wrapped around him, savoring the moment. The weight of the world seems to lift, if only for this moment, as the three of you stand united once again, ready for whatever comes next.

#Roman Reigns #Roman Reigns Fanfiction #Roman Reigns Fanfic #Roman Reigns x reader #Roman Reigns x you #WWE Fanfiction #WWE Fanfic

111 notes · View notes

lanormie · 1 month ago

Text

blipped - mcu crossover au (pt. 2)

what if? the event of Thanos snap happened in the BNHA universe? you're forced to navigate the aftermath of The Blip, where half of the population get thrown back into existence after disappearing for five years. pairing: pro-hero!Shouto x f!pro-hero!reader (ft. slight katsuki x reader) read on AO3 previous part - next part

As soon as you step outside, it becomes very apparent why the entire agency was mobilized. Absolute carnage has descended everywhere you turn. Vehicles are piled up in clusters on the streets, there are screaming and honking and smashing from all around you.

You quickly realize you’re not alone in your fate as you witness dozens and dozens of people materialize from thin air, one after the other. Some are lucky enough to turn up on the sidewalk, while some get unceremoniously dropped off into oncoming traffic, barely having time to process anything before they mercifully get scooped up by some speedster hero.

And by the time you stop someone mere feet from smashing into the ground on their way down from the sky, your commute home is thwarted as your hero instinct kicks into gear. You re-materialized in the same space you had disappeared from, so it’s not hard to deduce that some might have been on a plane when they got zapped away.

You take to the sky and find yourself dotted among dozens of airborne heroes, all flying in frantic patterns as more and more people are dropping from the sky in frightening velocity. You push as high up as you can go without your oxygen gears and take full advantage of your quirk. Where your telekinesis quirk lacks in strength, it makes up for it in range. You’re able to grab people within a large radius and set them atop tall buildings nearby without having to move an inch.

Though as proficient as your quirk is, you have never been trained to deal with such a bizarre scenario where it’s literally raining men. So when you’re busy holding up two people and two more suddenly appear right on top of you, your footing slips. While you’ve managed to bring the latter two into your hold, you’re losing altitude quick and struggling to brake. The building below is approaching at such a speed that would guarantee you more than a few broken bones, but grant you enough momentum to push back and cushion the touchdown for the four of them.

You’re clenching your jaw and bracing for impact when something red zips past your face. Then all of a sudden the weight of all four people gets lifted off of you as they get sent to a soft landing nearby by the collar of their shirt.

Finally able to change course, you dash back upwards to catch up to your savior, his strawberry blond hair dances in the wind as he cheerily grins down at you.

“Heya kid! You were about to eat it there!” He chirps, his crimson wings filling back out as a few feathers rejoin their formation.

“Thanks, Hawks.” You offer him a small nod in gratitude, feeling utterly inadequate in front of the Number Two hero. Wait, is he still Number Two?

“What a day to be off-duty huh?” He tilts his stubbly chin at your gym clothes and severe lack of flight gears. Rawdogging the clouds , as Denki once called it.

You shrug. “Apparently I’ve been off-duty for a very long time now.”

Hawks freezes at the insinuation, just as another person (re)materializes in the distance behind him. Before you could move a muscle though, a feather jets out and swiftly escorts them to the nearest surface. Damn Hawks and his super hearing.

“So you all–” He points at you then to the person he just saved, gears visibly turning behind his golden eyes. Something snaps him out of it as he takes a sharp inhale. “Sorry, I– I have to make a call.”

“Wait, Hawks!” You yelped. Questions are clawing at your throat now, vying for solution. “Just a second please! Can you tell me what happened?”

“Oh, uh,” He stumbles for the right words. “This may sound crazy, but half of the entire universe disappeared a while ago ‘cause of a villain named Thanos. He’s uh, he’s an alien– It’s a long story.”

Half of the universe . An alien . Neither concept is registering to you at any meaningful speed.

So you focus on the thing that’s been bothering you the most.

“How long has it been?”

“The five year memorial was a few weeks ago.”

Hawks watches as his reply sends you into a stupor. The avian hero’s only ever known you in passing, a friend of a friend of a friend, and in this moment, he wants to help, to say something. But there’s no protocol for this, no guidelines on how to proceed when these things happen. It’s all uncharted territory.

So he sticks around, making quiet phone calls to his staff, urging them to check the Lawson near the agency where Touya had headed to before his disappearance, while keeping an eye and ear out to make sure no one meets concrete at lightning speed, including you.

And you, despite still absentmindedly handling the wave of people blipping into existence, is struggling to quantify how long five years are.

Five years ago you were leaving Musutafu for another city and started high school in Ketsubutsu. That alone feels like a lifetime ago. So much has changed during those years and it terrifies you how vastly different things could be now. After all, your boyfriend– as if he’s your boyfriend anymore, seemed to have moved on already.

No , file that thought away for god’s sake, people are literally falling from the sky and you can’t afford to let any of them slip through your fingers.

Cause maybe, just maybe, their loved ones haven’t abandoned them yet.

The resurgence didn’t last much longer than twenty minutes, but the chaos persists as you part ways with Hawks and head for the ground. Weaving your way through the clashing waves of people running and yelling into their phones, one step in front of another, you resort to muscle memory to take you towards your apartment, the calamity before your eyes doing absolutely nothing to help guide you there.

The street names are the same, but you don't recognize the shops. The paint and decors are all wrong . Even the trees are different. Even the–

Even the name of your apartment building is different.

A foreboding feeling looms over your head as you plug the front entrance code into the little key pad attached to the door handle. 0425.

It flashes red.

You try again. 0. 4. 2. 5.

It flashes red once more, this time with a warning beep.

The panic you’ve been repressing starts to unravel. It seeps into your blood, hitching a ride to every part of your body till it’s oversaturated, driving you to start banging on the door like a madwoman.

Thankfully, it’s a familiar face who answers it.

“Mrs. Hatanaka!” You almost cheer at the sight of the elderly receptionist.

“Heavens almighty,” She adjusts her glasses with shaky hands and looks you all over. “Oh it’s really you!” She gasps and pulls you into your third bone crushing hug of the day. You suspect there will be many more. “Where have you been, dear?”

“I honestly have no idea.” You speak into her graying hair, all too quietly. “Mrs. Hatanaka,” You stand back as she pulls away. “I left work in a hurry and forgot my keys, would you mind lending me the spare from maintenance?”

For a moment, she just stares at you.

“Sweetheart,” She finally manages. “Your apartment got repossessed years ago.”

Something shatters in your brain and your vision goes blurry.

“The building was turned over to a new owner when the previous one went missing with everyone else.” She continues. “They terminated all the leases from the reported blipped folks, even though someone was trying to pay your rent for a while– oh dear, do you need to sit down?”

“What– oh.” Your eyes manage to refocus enough to spot all the floating potted plants and small items swirling in the air around you. “I’m sorry.” Reeling your quirk back with slight difficulty, you set everything back down just as a mop of red and white appears in your peripherals.

Shouto jogs over, disheveled and huffing for air.

“Things got out of hand on 7th Ave so I got delayed.” He rests his palm on a nearby column, trying to catch his breath. “But I figured you’d be here.”

“Not for long.” You run your hands back and forth over your scalp to chase away the tingling numbness. “I don’t have a home anymore, Sho.”

“I see.” He nods, straightening up. “Neither do I.”

* * * * *

The Todoroki family home looks almost identical to the last time you set foot in here. The furniture have stayed in their exact same spots, down to the light blue shawl draped over the back of the couch. The tatami mat under your feet is cold to the touch, yet the familiarity and the memories of running up and down these halls offer so much warmth. You used to call this place your second home, having spent a whole lot of time here growing up, your cousin-turned-guardian being too swept up in work to really be present more than necessary.

You breathe in this moment of respite along with the toasty aroma of the genmaicha Auntie Rei has made for you and Shouto, and let your shoulders drop for the first time today. You pick up bits of and pieces of Shouto’s recount of running by his apartment and seeing an office building instead as he’s talking to his mom and sister, but you mostly stare at the steaming tea cup. Their reunion was a teary one, at least on Rei and Fuyumi’s end, so it doesn’t feel right to intrude no matter how much you still have trouble wrapping your head around all of this.

To you, no time has passed. You were just here yesterday . Not here in Shouto’s family home but here on this Earth. Then in a blink of an eye, you lost your boyfriend, your home, and five years of your life. Where do you even go from here? Do you just wake up and go to work tomorrow like normal? No, the agency is the last place you’d want to find yourself in right now. And do you even work there anymore?

“Mom, Nats just heard from Touya!” Fuyumi exclaims from behind the kitchen counter, phone in hand. “He said Kei will try to drag him over tomorrow. Said Toto’s super confused and cranky at the moment.”

“That sounds like him.” Shouto deadpans, completely overlooking the fact that Rei’s tearing up again.

“Yeah.” Fuyumi starts sniffling too. “Yeah it does.”

You stare harder into your tea. You’ve been in so much shock that you haven’t shed a single tear the whole day, but now you’re approaching the end of the rope and the sight of them crying might hurl you over that threshold.

As if sensing your distress, Shouto attempts to change the subject and blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.

“By the way Mom, where’s Dad?”

Nice going Shouto, nobody gets emotional around here about good ol’ Endeavor.

“Enji’s been in a coma for a couple months now.”

Oh.

* * * * *

There is no footage from the battle at the Avengers Complex, so the news turns to cover the sacrifice and death of Iron Man instead. A purportedly quirkless hero, though it’s highly speculated that he has some sort of intelligence quirk, considering all of his astonishing achievements.

Apparently he’s had a hand in bringing everyone back today. You have mad respect for the man, yet in this moment you can’t find it in yourself to be grateful.

You try changing the channel, but it’s a constant repeat of his story and images of the chaos during the resurgence, so you turn off the TV and flop down.

Fuyumi’s pajamas, though extremely soft and comfy, feel super strange on your body. So does the futon you’re sprawling out on in a corner of the Todoroki’s guest room. Even the air you’re breathing in is heavy with something foreign. Everything feels…wrong. It’s like you’re not supposed to be here. Like you’re not supposed to exist .

A knock on the door disrupts your thoughts.

Sliding the shoji screen door open, you are greeted with Shouto, in PJs that he’s clearly grown out of, and two steaming mugs of something that smells invitingly sweet.

“I promised you hot cocoa before we ‘died’.” The quotation is implied as best as it can in his even voice. He hands you your mug. “Caramel and a pinch of sea salt.”

Your favorite way of jazzing up a hot choc. “Thanks, Sho.”

You and Shouto sit quietly across from each other at the kotatsu, sipping your respective warm drink. It’s comfortable like this, his long legs tangling with yours under the blanket as you let each other arrive at the conversation at your own pace.

Sometimes, the conversation never comes at all.

“Sorry about Katsuki–”

“Sorry about your dad–”

Today, the conversation comes at the same time.

You bust out a laugh, the taut string in the back of your head snapping. Shouto follows with his own chuckle, you both falling into a manic sort of hysterics from the sheer ridiculousness of your reality. This is it, the dam has broken, you can’t hold back anymore, and your laughter promptly turns into tears.

Before you know it, Shouto has left his side of the table to crawl over to you. He holds you over his right side, he always does when you cry, to cool your eyes down so they don’t swell and sooth your skin as it inevitably becomes raw with salty tears.

He lets your sobs even out to a steady sniffle before reaching for your mug with his left hand and gently heating it back up.

“Your shirt’s wet.” You frown.

“I’ve got plenty more.” He gives you the mug.

You sit back, holding your drink and knees to your chest. “What do we even do now?”

“Right now, you need to sleep.” He points at you with his spoon, then moves to aimlessly fish for tiny pieces of marshmallow in his mug. “As for tomorrow, I don’t know.” He sets the mug down, seeing that the marshmallows would just all fall apart. “But you don’t have to do it alone. Cause if today tells me anything, it’s that you can’t get rid of me .”

He finishes his sentence with a light boop on your nose, causing you to genuinely smile for the first time in what feels like five actual goddamned years .

You hold out your hand.

“Friends even in death?”

He grabs it and gives it a firm shake. “Even in death.”

#todoroki shouto #shoto todoroki #todoroki shoto x reader #todoroki x reader #shoto x reader #shouto x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #mha #bnha #mha x reader #bnha x reader #hawks #keigo takami #mcu

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sarahghetti · 9 months ago

Text

direction to perfection; j.l.

pairing: jake lockley x reader, marc and steven are briefly alluded to but do not make an appearance

summary: one day, your vigilante lifestyle leads to you to crossing paths with a moon-serving weirdo in white bandages. jake promises that he won't get in the way, but there's something about his smirk that has your spidey-sense tingling, and what do you know—

he sets a building on fire.

it's not supposed to be romantic.

warnings: depictions of fighting and violence, injuries, hurt and comfort, reader is a spider-person and thus has a spider-person sense of humour😭.

word count: 3.8k

notes: part of the @MOONKNIGHT-EVENTS bingo! prompt: “'bonfire”

MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST | ALL MASTERLISTS

You have a love-hate relationship with your spidey-sense—it’s useful enough to give you a heads-up, but it’s not exactly a get-out-of-danger-free card.

It kicks in as you’re soaring through the air, an errant pulse in your veins that tells you one thing: MOVE. But there’s no time—before you even manage to lift your web-shooter, one of Doc Ock’s mechanical arms whips around and collides hard against your torso. For a moment, you feel your ribs crack underneath the metal, the sharp pains accompanied by a real stupid thought, even by your standards: guess I’m going to call in sick tomorrow—

—and then you finally hit the brick wall behind you. The air is ripped from your lungs and your thoughts short-circuit into nothingness. New York’s evening rush hour is drowned out by high-pitched ringing. If it weren’t for your wallcrawling ability, you’d be falling forty stories down onto the traffic below. Instead, rooted into the small crater you’ve made into an office building, all you can do is languish in what surely must be multiple broken bones and a slightly bruised ego for not being able to dodge a hit that you saw coming.

Speaking of—there’s another one heading towards you right now.

You leap upwards without a second thought, just narrowly avoiding becoming a shitty claw-machine prize as the arm lodges into the wall where your head used to be. Spots dance across your vision and you groan—your body does not want to move.

Suspended between two buildings, Doc Ock’s mechanical arms dig into concrete and brick as she follows you up. Her voice is deceptively empathetic. “Down so soon, little spider? I expected more from you!”

One of the arms rears back again but distantly, there’s the clench of a trigger—and it gets pinned behind her by a golden grappling hook.

The wire grows taut then there he is, using the reeling mechanism to lunge upwards. All the momentum is channeled into his crescent blade as Jake jams it between the plates of the trapped arm; it jerks like a wounded animal, suddenly uncoordinated and stiff. When it lashes out again, he easily dodges and jumps across the buildings onto the fire escape next to you.

“Mierda! You okay?”

Glowing white eyes, wide with concern—the sight is enough to shake you out of your concussive stupor. Jake extends a hand, and you take it readily, allowing him to help you up onto the rickety platform.

“Just peachy,” you wheeze as you lean almost your entire body weight against him.

This was supposed to be a simple mission. It wasn’t even supposed to be a mission in the first place, but one detained drug dealer led to another, which led to a smuggler and a mercenary and a goddamn gym teacheruntil you were faced with a whole corrupt laboratory that tied back to Doc Ock’s operations.

Jake got looped in somewhere between the mercenary and the gym teacher, apparently answering some kind of divine calling of his own. Egyptian god of the moon? Protecting travelers of the night? You just call the people you save New Yorkers, no fancy labelling here.

But you’re not so prideful as to turn away help when you need it, especially when it comes gift-wrapped in superhuman strength and a bullet-proof cape. Even though you catch him giving himself these looks in the windows you pass by or having whole conversations to himself under his breath—you’ve seen weirder.

Like now: There’s a clear conflict happening in—on?—Doc Ock. The damaged arm flails wildly through the air, and the other three can’t seem to decide between trying to calm it down, retreat, or kill you.

Those white eyes turn to you. “Sure you don’t want me to shoot her?”

“No!” Now you remember why you were initially wary of him—because when you first met, he was holding one of his blades to a lackey’s throat. Danger, danger! You didn’t even need your spidey-sense to tell you that; he wears the warning like a badge of honour. “We just need to subdue her till the cops come. Follow my lead.”

Jake gives you a mock salute. Fortunately, Doc Ock’s lab was deserted—except for her—when you crashed the place. Whatever supersecret bioweapon she’s cooking up will still be waiting for you to destroy it after you capture her.

With just one press of a button, you’re soaring back into action. The arms seem to have coordinated themselves again—having decided to kill you, how lucky—but so have you and Jake. One lunges towards you, and you pull upwards on your web, going feet over head as you as you flip backwards out of the way.

In that split-second moment when you’re fully upside-down, your arm extends downwards and thwip!—your web attaches to the titanium plating. The world realigns itself, and your momentum carries you in an arc below the arm, dragging it behind you as you continue in your original direction.

As soon as you land on the side of the opposing building, you yank hard. Immediately, your other hand comes up to shoot a dozen or so webs to attach the claw onto the wall. It won’t last—the brick is already crumbling under the force—but it gives Jake enough time to shake off Doc Ock’s attention and join you.

Closer than you were before, you can see just how much force it takes for him to drive his blade through the circuitry. Sparks burst like little fireworks around his hand. He makes it look easy, but a shudder crawls down your spine—you just know what he’s capable of.

You both leap out of the way as the arm thrashes erratically; Doc Ock cries out in frustration. That’s two arms down, and two that are busy suspending her in the air. You’ll have to catch her once you take out another one, but that’s no biggie.

“Jake!” You gesture towards the nearest arm, and he nods in understanding. Despite the pain radiating through your limbs, you grin. For all his snark and murderous tendencies (which you hope are just a joke), he’s a half-decent partner.

It’s too bad, then, that Doc Ock doesn’t seem to care about how good of a time you’re having. Her mouth twists into a snarl, and in a blink of an eye, she’s scrambling away. Retreating? Your poor, bruised head is hopeful for the night to end.

In a way, it’s right—she is trying to get away from you. Unfortunately, it also recognizes that she’s retracing your steps, right back to the lab where you first found her.

“Oh, damn it!”

Your injuries and Jake’s limited modes of superhuman transport make it impossible to gain any real ground as you chase after her. Doc Ock climbs through her shattered window half a minute before you do, and even if your conscious mind doesn’t realize it, some part of you does—it’s an ambush.

You dive to the ground just as a mini fridge is thrown in your direction. Pain shoots down your side, your vision blurring with tears. The sheer wave of nausea that washes over you makes your mouth water and fuck, you might actually puke like this.

There’s something else coming but you can’t do anything other than half-heartedly roll behind the nearest object. The workbench shields you from—what, a chair? You aren’t afforded anymore time to think about it because she rips off the counter next, several important-looking valves raining down around you. Through the noise, you just barely manage to pick up a quiet hissing in the air as you try to gather your bearings.

A line of workbenches down the centre of the room, an aisle on either side.

On the right: sinks and fume hoods.

On the left: whiteboards.

Directly in front of you: the absolute bane of—and possible end to—your existence, holding up that chunk of black countertop as if it were a hammer and you are a nail.

You brace yourself for the hit, but it never comes. There’s a surprised yelp from above you, and your peer through your arms at just the right time to see Jake land a brutal kick into Doc Ock’s chest, sending her flying. You don’t see her land, but you do hearit; equipment crashes to the ground, glass shattering on the linoleum.

With a hand from Jake, you’re back on your feet. Doc Ock is reeling at the far end of the room. The walls are littered with long, deep gashes—some from your initial confrontation with her, some likely from her mechanical arms flailing from Jake’s hit. Several of the fume hoods are missing their windows entirely, which definitely bodes ill considering that there are still chemicals in some of them.

Gritting your teeth, you somehow manage to get the words out, “Just stand down, Olivia!”

A hand is clutched at her side, and some petty part of you hopes that her ribs are broken too. “This isn’t over.”

You gesture to her mechanical arms, two of which are still malfunctioning like headless chickens, then to yourselves, who are (mostly) in one piece. “Well, it sure is about to be.”

She raises her eyebrows at Jake. “You raid a Spirit Halloween and suddenly think you can defeat me?”

“Yeah, sure, let me just take fashion advice from someone cosplaying as an octopus.”

Jake leans towards you. “Do you always talk this much?”

At that, Doc Ock’s eyes narrow, filled with determination. She’s not backing down this time, which means neither can you.

You both ready yourselves like you have countless times before, straightening your stance and setting your shoulders back. But Jake doesn’t show the same patience. No—he sees the remaining mechanical arms twitch in preparation, and a blade is already leaving his hand with deadly-precise aim.

Wait, wait, the hissing sound—the gas—

“Get down!” You ram your body into Jake’s, bringing you both to the ground as the blade makes contact with the titanium, sparks flying out and—

BOOM.

It’s like your heart stops.

For several moments, you don’t register anything at all. You aren’t even sure if you’re still breathing.

Slowly, your senses return. The scent of burning plastic invades your nostrils—even the air tastes like it too. Something’s landed on top of you, pinning you down with a surprising amount of strength. Warm and sturdy and pressing into all the wrong places, but you can’t even hear your own whimpering—there’s nothing but ringing in your ears.

Are your eyes closed? You can’t bring yourself to check. All you can do is try to remember how to live, and figure out what the hell is happening.

Your spidey-sense has gone quiet. That’s—that’s good. Hopefully. Or maybe it’s just been knocked out of you by the blast. You let that last thought get washed away into the muddled mess of your head; you could probably use a bit of positive thinking right now.

Everything hurts. That’s been true for the past hour, really, but there’s no gut-wrenchingly painful burn anywhere on your body like what you expected from a lab explosion. The closest thing is just that warmth against your back, in a thick arm across your chest, and encircled around your wrist, where it lingers along your pulse point.

Something brushes up against your cheek, roughly textured but trying to be so, so gentle. Words start to pierce through the hearing damage. “—estás bien, te tengo. No te preocupes, estás bien.”

“Jake?” Your voice comes out small and tinny, unsure of how loud to speak when everything sounds like it’s underwater. You receive an affirmative rumble, and the tension seeps out of your limbs, just a tad.

Tentatively, you open your eyes. And there’s—nothing. Just a white sheet of fabric covering your entire field of view. Jake huffs out a laugh at your confusion before finally standing up, his cape pulling back from where it was draped on top of you.

“Oh.”

It’s like a bomb went off. Nearly every surface has been scorched black, save for the perfectly untouched flooring around you where Jake shielded you both from the blast. Any equipment in the room has been reduced to pieces—if not completely combusted into ash and soot—and fires still linger despite the efforts of what’s left of the sprinkler system.

No sign of Doc Ock anywhere—she must’ve gotten away. Jake lets out a long string of curses under his breath, then finishes it off with an eloquent: “Fuck.”

The fire alarm is incessant, and the sprinklers have all but drenched your suit. If you had half a working brain left, you’d feel the shivers wracking your body and realize that you’re still bleeding out in several different places, but the only thing that crosses your mind is how tired you are.

You throw your mask off with a groan. The sirens in the distance only add to your growing headache. So close, you were so close this time.

“Come on.” Jake’s stands over you, mask retracted, and you can see the grimace on his face from how the mission turned out. Wordlessly, he offers to help you up, and is promptly ignored. He keeps his hand extended towards you, shaking it a little for emphasis, but you refuse to budge.

That is, until your mind so helpfully strays and wonders—how big was the blast?

Your eyes widen, and your body jerks upright as though electrocuted. Oh, God—you didn’t see anyone else in the lab other than Doc Ock when you arrived, but what about the other floors? What about the pedestrians on the sidewalk below, who might’ve had glass and debris rained down upon them when the windows were blown out?

It takes several tries to get to your feet, none of which are entirely successful because Jake has to intervene halfway through to hold you upright. Your second wind catches him off-guard and his brows furrow as you try to leap back into action. “Whoa—talk to me, bug. What’s happening?”

“Need to—” You try to shrug him off. His grip loosens for all of a moment before you’re stumbling again, and then he returns, as firm and steady as ever. “Was anyone hurt?”

“You.”

“Not what I meant,” you scowl. It’s thoroughly ineffective. The only response you get is a subtle tilting of his head, then a loss of his undivided attention as he listens to something—someone—in the room that you aren’t privy to.

His gaze flickers back to you, marginally softer. “No one else was hurt. You need to rest.”

You don’t dignify that with a response. What’s the point of superhealing if you can’t bounce back after a fight? This time when you struggle against him, Jake lets you go, crossing his arms as you limp around the room.

Fortunately, most of the smoke is being pulled out the windows; what’s left is enough to burn and scrape down your larynx, but you push through it. Doc Ock has to have left some kind of trace—if not during her escape, then in the work she left behind. But kicking around in the ashes yields nothing. There’s no conveniently placed folder full of evil plans, or vial labelled SUPER SECRET BIOWEAPON (ONLY COPY - NO NEED TO SEARCH ANY FURTHER).

Jake sighs. “What are you looking for?”

What are you looking for? The building is still on fire, for Christ’s sake—you should have been gone ten minutes ago. Still, your stubbornness is steadfast. “There has to be—something.”

He sweeps out an arm, gesturing to the resounding nothing around you. With wet curls stuck to his forehead, his tone veers on sardonic. “Oh? Your little spider-sense tell you that?”

“Spidey, and—and it’s not a radar, I can’t just turn it on,” you bristle. His ensuing snicker lands all wrong, and your mouth twists into a scowl. “Funny, is it? Blowing up a building?”

“Hey.” The lightness disappears from his expression. “How was I supposed to know about the gas leak?”

It’s a valid question. Still, the anger in you can’t help but flare up anyways, running on his words as if they were diesel. You bite back a retort at the last second, which isn’t enough because the resulting silence is accusatory in and of itself.

He takes a step towards you, chin raised as water continues to rain down on you both. Solid, sturdy—unyielding. The sight twists your stomach into knots, but you stand your ground, placing your hands on your hips even though it pulls painfully at a handful of your muscles. “Shit happens, bug. It’s no one’s fault—well, maybe a bit my fault, but—”

“I had her.” It’s a blatant lie, but full of conviction as it leaves your lips.

He’s nothing short of incredulous. “Did you?”

“Yes—”

Faster than your hazy mind can register it, his hand shoves at your shoulder. Not hard, but it didn’t need to be—you practically crumple, hands scrambling to find something to hold on to before you land flat on your ass, but Jake wraps an arm around your waist, steadying you.

You swat at his chest. You hate that his warmth is familiar. “Let me go.”

He counters: “What’s wrong?”

“You, asshole.”

“’m the bad guy now? You want a fight that bad?” His eyebrows cock upwards, regarding you like some unruly child.

He’s being inflammatory on purpose and it’s working. You’re an elastic band in his fingers, one that he keeps stretching and stretching and stretching until you snap. “I don’t want a fight, I want a—”

Win, you almost admit. You wanted a win, after all this time you’ve spent chasing after Doc Ock. Countless sleepless nights and lackeys thrown behind bars, only to fail in the final moments when it really mattered. The realization is debilitating, even in the confines of your own head, and so you lash out again, distracting yourself from the bitterness on your tongue by spewing it out instead.

“We’re not all out for blood, you know.” Then, because you can’t help yourself— “I’m not you, Jake.”

“Is that what this is about?” His hand tenses almost imperceptibly against your back, but you manage to catch it. Of course you do, with every sense on high alert, blood rushing in your ears. “You mad ‘cause I’m a killer?”

Something dangerous underlines his tone when he says the word and you flinch, trying to create some distance between the two of you on instinct. Jake doesn’t grant you that—his other arm comes to hold you as well, pulling you in even though you think you might suffocate in his presence.

“You knew this from the start. Don’t tell me you’re going to try to turn me in now.”

“Maybe I should,” you say in a rush, gaze steely as it meets his. For all your superhuman powers, none give you the ability to read what’s going on behind the storm in his eyes. You’re so close, you can almost feel the heat radiating off his skin, hear the words in his mouth before he even says them.

“You’re the one with the spidey-sense.” His voice is low. Somewhere in the back of your mind, through the shame and anger and desperation—you note that he’s called it by the right name this time. “You tell me. Am I a threat?”

Your heart is beating a mile a minute and your stomach is all fluttery and weird but—no. There’s no tingling at the back of your neck, no hair-raising along your arms. Petulance makes you want to lie and say yes anyways, but you can’t bring yourself to form the words. It just… isn’t true. And for some reason, you have feeling that this would be going too far, even as a rash potshot.

When you don’t respond, Jake’s expression softens, the lines of his face giving way to an understanding look that makes you feel smaller than his antagonism ever could. The fires have mostly died down now, but warm reds and oranges still flicker along the side of his jaw, in corners of his irises. His arms feel less like a cage and more like a lifeline, keeping you from drifting out to sea.

“Just—thought I finally caught her,” you mumble, and he pulls you the last few inches into a proper hug. Exhausted, you let yourself melt into his arms, the adrenaline beginning to seep away despite the cacophony of sirens in the background. “It’s been so long, Jake.”

“I know.” He doesn’t, not really—you haven’t divulged just how far this rivalry goes, but you don’t have to think very hard to realize that he’s speaking from experiences long before he ever met you. “We’ll get her next time.”

You snort softly into his suit. “What, you staying?”

It’s silly, the tinge of hopefulness that laces your voice just minutes after you’ve essentially accosted him. But Jake’s grinning when you pull back to look at him, all boyish confidence, and you nearly forget to breathe. “I could be convinced.”

Wait—what? He’s thrown you off-kilter. You—you didn’t think he’d actually— “Well—!”

At your stammering, he lets out a laugh, throwing back his head. It’s a wonderful sound, and when you flick his arm in response, there’s no real force to it.

“Well, you know what they say,” you sniff, trying to maintain your composure. “Friends close, enemies closer, and all that.”

“Right, right,” he nods gravely. The effect is severely diminished by the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Keeping one arm around you, he starts to lead you towards an exit. “Don’t know how you’ll handle it—your spidey-sense going off all the time with me around.”

On the way out, he picks up your mask from where you discarded it, slapping it a few times against his leg to brush off the soot and ash. His own mask and hood come up to envelope his face as he hands it to you. Distantly, you wonder how his glowing white eyes would look in the dark. Probably a bit stupid, is your conclusion.

“I’m sure I can manage,” you sigh, and once you slip on your mask, he gives you a little pat on the head before you can bat him away. Jake leans away enough to avoid your attempts to tug at his hood, but at the next opportunity, he reaches over again, the little shit, hand drawing in close, and your spidey-sense, superhuman and extraordinary, it’s—

It’s never been quieter.

#moon knight x reader #jake lockley x reader #moon knight #jake lockley #moon knight fanfic #my writing #at time of posting i feel like dogshit ✌️#pls enjoy i am going to bed now goodnight #mk bingo 2024

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just-aake · 1 year ago

Text

Trust Me

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: A side story/prequel to Come With Me but can be read standalone. You work with Clint to eliminate a dangerous Russian spy in Budapest.

Warnings: fluff, violence

Words: 2851

Budapest, Past - 2003

“I got eyes on the target,” Clint’s voice comes through your earpiece as you slowly move up the staircase of the apartment building.

“Any clear shot?” you whisper back, adjusting the grip of the gun in your hand.

“Not yet.”

“Are you even going to shoot her if you do?” you criticize him, still mad at the fact that he didn’t take the shot when he had a chance, letting your target escape and forcing you to track her down all over again.

Clint sighs tiredly.

“I’m telling you, there’s something different about her. She has potential.”

You roll your eyes at his words. You were quickly moving up in rank at Shield, becoming one of the best trackers in the agency. The last thing you need is a failed mission to derail all of your hard work.

You slow your steps as you near the door of the apartment room.

“Still nothing?” you ask.

“Yeah, she’s keeping to the center of the room,” he grumbles.

Checking your gun one more time, you nod in determination.

“Okay, you create a distraction and I’ll go in.”

At the sound of broken glass, you kick the door open and rush inside. You spot the target quickly enough, her red hair flipping behind her as she snaps her head toward your direction.

You shoot at her twice, but she dodges in time for the first bullet to just graze her arm while the other one misses her completely.

You are about to advance further into the room when a chair flies at you, causing you to duck back behind a pillar as it crashes into pieces against the wall.

You quickly turn back into the room with your gun raised when her hand grabs your wrist and slams your arm against the pillar. The force causes your gun to fall out of your hands and onto the floor.

With your arm still in her grip, you raise your leg to kick her, striking her stomach.

The impact pushes her back, but she doesn’t release you. Instead, she uses the momentum to pull you forward and flip you onto the ground.

You can only focus on the pain in your back for a second before there is a pressure against your neck.

The target is on top of you now, pinning you down while pressing her arm hard against your neck. From this position, you can see her face more clearly. Her fierce, cold eyes focus on yours.

You can now understand what it meant when her file described her as beautiful.

Your lack of oxygen reminds you of your current position, and you internally curse at yourself for losing focus, beginning to struggle against her hold.

She doesn’t budge, but you don’t give up. You glare determinedly at her even as it gets more and more difficult to breathe.

Her eyes suddenly widen in realization as if snapping out of a daze, and in the next second, she releases her hold and moves off of your body.

You take in a deep breath, coughing, before rolling shakingly to your feet, picking up your gun during the process. You point your weapon at her, your finger hovering near the trigger.

But you hesitate when you see her. She hasn’t moved from her position on the floor, and her posture now appears heavy and tired. She has an apathetic expression as she stares at you. It’s like she’s given up completely.

You keep your gun pointed at her cautiously as you try to catch your breath.

“So you’re the Black Widow,” you manage to rasp out.

“Natasha.”

You tilt your head in question.

Natasha nods at you.

“You were sent to kill me right? I figure if someone should know my name, it should be the one who finally gets rid of me.”

This was supposed to be the most ruthless assassin? The thought runs through your mind as you watch her.

You lower your gun slowly at her response, raising your other hand to your earpiece to ask Clint.

You don’t notice the red dot that appears at the center of your chest.

“Clint–,” you’re interrupted as Natasha tackles you onto the sofa, and a gunshot shatters the window of the apartment hitting the area where you were standing.

You look at the bullet mark. From the angle of the shot, if she hadn’t pushed you, you would have been fatally wounded.

Clint’s voice comes through your earpiece. “A truck just pulled up with a lot of armed men entering the building. You need to get out now! I’ll take care of the ones on the rooftops.”

A small grunt of pain catches your attention as you look at Natasha. Her arm is bleeding from where you had shot her previously, and she had landed on the injured area when she saved you.

You look between the exit and Natasha, shaking your head as you make an admittedly reckless decision.

“I’m taking her with me.”

There are sounds of fighting in the background when Clint replies. “What!?”

You ignore his exclamation, standing up.

“Just meet us back at the safe house.”

Throwing her uninjured arm around your shoulders, you pull her up and wrap your arm around her back, supporting her. You ignore the questioning look Natasha throws at you.

Honestly, you’re not sure what you are doing either.

Rushing out the door, you stop at the sight of two armed men down the hall. They spot the two of you and raise their weapons.

In the next second, your body is pushed behind a pillar as gunshots are fired at your position, sending pieces of wood flying. You realize Natasha is pressed close to you, shielding you with her body.

When there is a slight pause, she pulls out her gun and shoots back at them. After they are subdued, Natasha looks back at you to check your condition, and she finds you staring at her curiously.

You were speechless, unsure of what to say after the supposed assassin protected you for the second time. You are about to thank her when you spot another man over her shoulder, appearing from one of the other apartment doorways.

You quickly push her behind you before firing at him, his body slumping to the ground.

Turning back to her, Natasha has an impressed expression as she looks at you. You ignore the warm feeling when you see her intense gaze, grabbing her hand and pulling her towards the direction of the staircase.

You stop abruptly when you see more armed men sweeping the floor around the corner.

Backing up quietly, Natasha pulls you into another open apartment room.

You close the door, locking it, before pushing the dining table against the entrance. Turning back around, you find her standing on the window sill.

“What are you doing?” you hiss at her, grabbing her hand.

“I’ve got an idea. Just follow me.”

She begins to move along the edge outside of the building, but she stops when you don’t release her hand.

You look down at the long drop skeptically.

“They’re going to break in any minute now,” Natasha warns.

At the sounds of stomping and yelling in the halls, you curse as you reluctantly climb up onto the edge with her.

The two of you move carefully around the building until she stops suddenly. You gasp in surprise when she jumps off the edge.

Natasha lands gracefully on a balcony two floors down of the building next to yours, straightening back up. She looks up at you expectantly.

“Come on, I’ll catch you.”

You scoff in disbelief.

“Sure, I’ll just trust an assassin with my life. What could go wrong?”

You close your eyes, resting your head against the building as you prepare yourself. You don’t see the small, amused smile on Natasha’s face as she watches you.

Letting out a deep breath, you leap off the edge. Her hands wrap around you, catching you and bringing you safely to the ground.

You stumble into her as you try to stabilize yourself, your hands holding her shoulders tightly. You stay in that position, taking deep breaths to calm your beating heart.

When you finally pull away, she raises her eyebrows at you in a silent question.

Huffing, you shove past her into the building, grumbling under your breath.

“I should’ve just killed you.”

Natasha lets out a small smile at your words, looking away, before following after you.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The two of you arrive at the safe house first. After checking the locks, you turn to the supposedly deadly spy. She has an impassive look on her face as she settles on one of the chairs.

You frown when you notice a dark color on the sleeve of her arm. She must still be bleeding from when you shot her. You go to the bathroom to grab the first aid kit, a clean towel, and a bowl of water.

Natasha looks at you curiously when you pull up a chair next to hers. You were laying out your supplies on the table before grabbing a pair of scissors and reaching for her arm. Her years of training cause her body to instinctively tense and move away.

You pull your hands back at her guarded posture.

“I’m just going to cut off the sleeve to patch you up. We need to get that clean unless you want to get it infected,” you reassure her.

You wait until her body relaxes and she moves her arm back to you before getting closer to remove the piece of clothing.

You observe the injured area. It didn’t look too deep since the bullet only grazed her, so all you would need to do is dress the wound and bandage her up.

You are careful not to jostle her arm too much as you begin your work. Dipping the towel in the water, you dab it gently around the edges of the wound, cleaning off the dried blood. When you finish, you grab the disinfectant spray.

You look up at her apologetically.

“Sorry, this is going to sting.”

Natasha doesn’t respond to your words, but you see a slight nod of acknowledgment.

Sighing, you spray the disinfectant solution on the wound before covering it with a dressing. Besides a tiny sharp inhale of breath, she doesn’t even flinch at the contact.

Fully focused, you unconsciously blew lightly on the surrounding area to provide some relief from the stinging sensation.

Your action causes Natasha to look at you in surprise. It’s been a long time since she has been cared for this gently before.

You begin to apply the bandage. As you carefully wrap her arm, you decide to speak up.

“Thank you, by the way, for saving me back at the apartment,” you tell her sincerely.

When you look up at her, there is a pained expression on her face. You are about to ask if you had hurt her when she spoke first.

“Why didn’t you kill me?”

Her question causes you to pause for a second. You shake your head, looking back down to continue your process of wrapping the bandage.

“I could ask you the same thing,” you respond, referring to when she let you go.

“You know who I am. What I’ve done. I’m not a good person. As long as I’m alive, bad things will happen.”

You finish the last wrap, securing the bandage in place before looking at her.

“From what I saw, you saved my life. Twice. I don’t believe a person who does that can’t have a little bit of goodness in them.”

Natasha’s eyes widen in surprise.

You give her a small smile and a few gentle pats on her arm.

“All done,” you tell her.

Standing up, you gather your supplies to return them to their places. Glancing at the corner of your eye, you see Natasha examining the newly bandaged area, gingerly touching it.

At the sound of the lock opening, you both snap to the door, cautious and alert. You relax when you see Clint stumbling in, a little frazzled but otherwise unharmed.

Clint stops at the doorway as he looks between you and Natasha. Letting out a deep exhale, he presses his hand to his head in disbelief.

“Oh wow, you actually brought her with you. This is going to be fun to explain to Fury.”

An hour later, you and Clint check in with Shield on the status of the mission.

Fury’s face is fuming by the time you both recount the events that took place earlier.

“I sent you to eliminate a very dangerous, very deadly Russian spy. Instead, you bring her back with you. What on Earth were you two thinking?”

Clint flinches away from the video call before addressing Fury.

“It’s not Y/n’s fault. I was the one who suggested not to eliminate her. I’m telling you, Fury, she could become a great asset to Shield.”

You look over at Natasha as they continue to argue. She has a cold and impassive expression on her face, seemingly already resigned to her fate.

You decide to interrupt, “I’m also backing his recommendation for her recruitment to Shield.”

Clint turns to you in surprise at your change of opinion, but you don’t look at him. Your eyes stay focused on Natasha who's now giving you a questioning look.

You continue, “Clint’s right, Natasha has amazing skills and abilities. She’s not irredeemable.”

You look back at the screen.

“She just needs a different option, Fury. We can give that to her.”

A brief look of surprise passes on her face as she stares at you.

You see Fury contemplate your words, his eyes looking into the distance in thought. He shakes his head in resignation.

“Ah, what the hell, fine. One chance. Take down the Red Room, and maybe I’ll consider it. But you two are responsible for her. Everything she does, it’s all on you and your jobs. You two better hope you’re not wrong about this.”

You nod your head at him, “Don’t worry, sir.”

You lock eyes with Natasha confidently.

“I trust her.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Unknown Airspace, Present Day - 2018

“Ow, that stings.” Natasha winces as you clean the cut on her hand.

“Stop moving,” you chastise her, as you begin to gently wrap the bandage around her hand.

“You know, back when we first met, you didn’t make a sound when I was patching you up.”

Natasha gives you a teasing smirk, “That was because I didn’t know I would get a kiss from the pretty agent if I showed a little pain.”

Letting out a huff of laughter, you finish tying the bandage in place before turning her hand and pressing a soft kiss on her palm.

You move to stand up to put away the supplies, but a tug on your hand causes you to stumble onto her lap, narrowingly avoiding her newly bandaged hand.

“Nat!” You shouted, examining her hand again to make sure nothing was affected.

After you finish your inspection, your concerned expression changes into an unserious glare when you finally look at her.

Natasha has an amused smile on her face, as she raises her eyebrows pointedly at you.

Rolling your eyes, you cup her face, bringing her in for a soft kiss. Natasha’s smile widens against your lips before pressing closer to you, deepening the kiss.

You were slowly losing yourself in the kiss when you felt her hand caress your thigh. Her injured hand.

Your eyes snap open at the realization, and you quickly jump off of her lap. Natasha remains frozen in her position, eyes blinking in confusion at your sudden disappearance.

“No, none of that, you are on bed rest until we get to Wanda’s and Vision’s location.” You reprimand her, moving away quickly towards the door in case she pulls you in again.

Natasha stands up to follow you, disbelief on her face.

“It’s just a small cut.”

She grabs your hand to turn you around and sees the concern in your eyes.

“What else is bothering you?”

You sigh as you look down at your joined hands, gently caressing the top of her bandage.

“I’m just worried. It’s not like them to not check in.”

“They probably just lost track of time and forgot.”

Natasha brings her face close to yours.

“Trust me. Everything’s going to be okay.”

You give her a short peck on the lips, smiling at her.

“I always have.”

Natasha smiles at you with love in her eyes before walking backward, pulling you with her.

“We still have an hour before we reach their location.”

She tilts her head at the bed and raises her eyebrow suggestively.

You give her an exasperated look.

“You’re injured.”

She has a teasing smirk when she replies.

“There are other things I can do to you that don't require my hand.”

You roll your eyes and shake your head fondly at her, but you don’t resist when she pulls you on top of her, your body melting into hers perfectly.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff x you #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff fluff

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hheaven-sentt · 8 months ago

Text

meet me in the woods

summary: dreams of the woods and being someone else | leon kennedy x reader

word count: 2.3k

warnings: the softest angst ever, fighting & sparring, mentions of injuries, language, wanderlust, love confessions, unfortunate situations, slightly forbidden romance, krauser mention (i hate that guy)

notes: 'm where have you been?' 'm when are you coming back?' i'm back. i'm alive. i am free from the shackles of college for three months lawd have MERCY | ao3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The kick to the stomach should’ve been something you expected. You’d been calculating his moves the whole time, able to evade them without even thinking because you saw them from a mile away. But he wouldn’t stop talking. That’s always how he got you; opening his mouth and letting pretty words fall out of it. So when he said that the sunlight made your eyes a different shade, a prettier shade, you lost your touch. It was replaced by a boot to the stomach.

You let out a sound you didn’t even know you could make, a rush of air blowing past your lips. You hit the ground hard, half expecting a plume of dirt to come up around your shoulders. Leon is over you in an instant, locking your arms across your chest. He’s grinning. The sun outlines him like a halo.

“Yield,” he says, lips wrapping around his teeth in an obnoxious grin.

“Never,” you say, pushing back against him. You know it won’t matter so much, he’s always been stronger than you.

“You just don’t know when to quit, do you?” he asks, teasing. You notice your legs are still free, remaining unpinned by his. You finally return his grin.

“Never have,” you answer, managing to force your leg between his chest and yours. You plant your foot against him as best you can and give a hard kick. It’s enough to loosen his grip on you, and you’re back on your feet in minutes. You shake the dirt off of your shoulders.

You feel more at ease now, more in control. So long as Leon stays quiet, you might actually win this one. You put the voice in your head to bed, the one that says you’re still going to lose.

Leon tilts his head a bit, grin still hanging on his lips. He squares again, feet shoulder width apart. You could mirror his stance without even thinking. You know his strategies, you know his moves, you know the way his body works. He bounces on the balls of his feet before he swings, it gives him more momentum. He blocks too often with his right forearm, it’s covered in bruises that make it a weak spot. Yes, you know him. That doesn’t always make it easier.

You’re circling one another, waiting for the other to strike. Leon likes to bide his time; he knows you hate going on the offense so he tries to make you, tries to goad you into it. You often fall for it, but you’re trying not to. But he’s still grinning at you, which is mildly infuriating, like an itch you can’t quite reach.

“You’re thinking too much,” he says. You raise a brow. “Are we just going to stare at each other, or are we going to finish this? I’d like to get something to eat, and half the mess hall will be closed by the time we’re done,”

“Then hit me,” you return. “Finish it,”

He lets a breath escape him in what seems like a chuckle. You try to ignore it. “Why don’t you hit me, huh? Why do I have to do all the work?”

“Because when you swing, your balance is off. Makes you easier to topple,”

“You’re a quick learner,”

He rushes you then, throwing a right hook that would most certainly hurt if it were to connect with your jaw. You angle your head back at the right moment, using his forward momentum against him. You slip behind him, spinning on your heel. Before you can regret it, you send a hard kick into his back. The satisfaction rises in your throat when he stumbles. He turns to face you. The sunset is peeking at you over his head. You smile. He laughs as he swings again, and you duck beneath the fist hurtling at your nose. He grunts when he takes a punch to the kidney, but you doubt it even hurt that much. It’s a dance of fists and feet, attempting to land a single blow on the other. You can see the sheen of sweat on his brow, something you try to ignore. If you think about it too long, you’ll be face down in the dirt below. You throw a punch, one that lands hard against the smooth planes of his cheek. You worry it will bruise. You push it down. When you’d first started this, he didn’t care if you bruised. He said it would motivate you to do better.

Use everything to your advantage, even losses, he’d said.

Four hours. Within four hours you had managed to lose every fight against Leon you’d started. They didn’t even last that long, so there was no telling exactly how many you’d lost. A kick to the back of your knees sends you down this time, his forearm coming to rest around your throat. His labored breath is hot against the shell of your ear.

“Yield,” he says. The anger in you is too much.

“Fuck you,” you say, ramming your elbow into his ribs. He grunts, the wave of breath cascading over your shoulder. It gives you enough of an edge to wriggle out of his grasp.

You swing with abandon now, anger and frustration and exhaustion haunting your body and movements like a poltergeist. It’s only a matter of moments before your back is on the ground and his boot is pressing into your chest.

“Yield,” he says again. You grit your teeth, feeling tears resting in your eyes. You will not cry in front of him. With anger and resentment, you hammer your palm into his leg twice, signifying your yield. He relents, allowing you to stand.

“You let your anger get the best of you,” he says, turning you forcefully to dust the dirt from your back. “It makes you sloppy,”

“I’ll show you sloppy,” you say, stepping away from him. He laughs.

“I’m serious,” he says, schooling his features as you look at him. “You need to stamp it out or use it to your advantage,”

“I don’t know how to do that,” you say. Your voice is hoarse from the lump in your throat. Defeat weighs heavy on your bones.

“You will learn,” he promises. “Use everything to your advantage,”

The punch to the jaw is a shock to the system. It wakes you up in a way. You feel that anger coming back, that refusal to accept defeat. With a breath, you swing your leg up, landing a solid kick to his side that knocks the wind out of him. Taking hold of the moment, you land a right hook to his face, which causes him to stumble. You can hardly believe your eyes when he falls to the ground. You stand above him, triumphant.

“Yield,” you say. You’re not even pinning him, just sort of hovering near him, hands on your hips.

He’s grinning at you. It’s not teasing, it’s not to get a rise out of you. It’s the most genuine smile you’ve ever seen on him. Without a word, he taps out. Two hard beats against the ground are like the sweetest melody you’ve ever heard. Even in your exhaustion, you can’t help but thrust your fists in the air in celebration.

“Holy shit,” you gasp, extending your hand to him to help him up. “I actually won,”

When he’s standing in front of you, half drenched in sweat and smiling at you with so much pride, it’s hard to deny how beautiful he is. Constructed by the gods, you might say if he ever asked. You’re laughing, cackling actually, and he grips the sides of your head as he laughs with you. Your nose is bleeding, you can taste the rust on your lips. He brings your forehead to his, celebrating with you even though this was definitely a blow to his ego.

After a few moments of bliss, you realize how close you are and how unprofessional it looks, and you back away. You’re both still grinning as he unwraps his knuckles.

“Don’t let this go to your head,” he teases, dropping the wrappings into the trash. The sun has nearly fully set. “You’re not the heavyweight champion or anything,”

“But, damn, don’t I feel like it,” you muse, smiling so wide that your cheeks hurt. He shoves your shoulder.

“Let’s get something to eat,” he says, grabbing your hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Maybe it is.

The mess hall is practically empty when you arrive, save for a few stragglers and the staff. Your usual seats are open, which is a relief. You feel like you can’t breathe when you set your tray down on the table. Leon sits beside you, like he always does, knocking his shoulder into yours.

“You have not won the war,” he teases. You roll your eyes. “Tomorrow night, you’re going down,”

“Who knows?” you return, sinking your teeth into a hard roll. “Maybe this is the start of your losing streak,”

He grins, stealing a piece of broccoli from your tray. In response, you shove the tray his way, a silent gesture to allow him as many as he would like.

You hate it here. It’s hard and trying, and it often makes you want to run away and live in the woods. But Leon makes it passable. Sometimes, after a particularly hard day, all you want to do is hit him. The thought brings comfort to you, settles it over your bones like a warm blanket. It makes your relationship with him strange, sure, but it works somehow. You hit him, he hits you, you get dinner, and the world can turn again. You don’t remember the last time someone had this effect on you, especially in this way.

Sometimes you wonder, on the days where the woods look like your best option, if he would come with you. Leon doesn’t like it here either, but he’s good at it. He’s good at following orders, he’s good with sparring, he doesn’t lose. He’s the star pupil if you’ve ever seen one. But there’s a part of you that thinks he might follow you. Maybe it would be under the guise of protecting you against bears and other woodland fauna, but you think he might just like an escape. Maybe he would go with simply because it was you.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, knocking his shoulder into yours again. You look at him through your lashes.

“What comes after?” you wonder aloud. He quirks a brow, asking for elaboration. “When we leave? When I am no longer allowed to conquer you?”

He laughs at this. “I wouldn’t go that far,”

“I am David, you were my Goliath,” you say. He shakes his head.

“I don’t know what comes after,” he says. “I’m sure I’ll find a way to knock you on your ass every now and then,”

Something brightens in your chest. “A noble cause,”

“I’m serious,” he says. Your smile falters for a moment. “I think we’ll figure it out. One day, we won’t have to bruise each other anymore,”

“Maybe I’m only doing it to get your attention,” you tease.

“It’s working,”

The statement makes your cheeks flush. “Don’t get sentimental on me now. There’s no place for that kind of talk here,”

He laughs. “You sound like Krauser,”

“Take that back,” you grin. He shrugs, then laughs when you playfully hit his shoulder. He looks around for a moment, gauging your surroundings.

“I meant it,” he says after a while. You look at him. “That we could make it work. Guess I’m sentimental when it comes to you,”

You roll your eyes. “You say that like you’re about to confess your love for me, Kennedy,”

He laughs, a real laugh that rumbles in his chest and warms your flesh. You like when he laughs like this, and you like it even more when you’re the one who causes it.

“Would that be such a bad thing?” he asks. His head is bent toward you, closing you into his space. He smells like dirt and cedar, a scent that you would let choke you.

It wouldn’t be a bad thing if you were anywhere else, anyone else. But you’re not. You’re you and he’s him, and you’re stuck somewhere that bleeds the love out of you one punch at a time. If you were in a coffee shop on a dreary street with a warm mug in your hands to unfreeze them from the rain, it wouldn’t be a bad thing. It would be a wonderful thing.

“Here?” you say. “With me? Yes, that would be a bad thing,”

He grins at you. “Then I’m not confessing my love for you,” he says. “But if we were in the woods somewhere, lost and wandering, I would,”

Your heart hammers in your chest. “In this hypothetical situation, lost in the woods and confessing love, I would welcome your confession,”

The conversation dies with that. You know your days will continue, the secret dream of the woods stuck in your heart somewhere. You refuse to allow that to be beaten out of you. You would spend your life trying to reach whatever woodland he dreamt up.

He walks you back to your bunks, like he always does. There’s something lingering between you, but it’s not a fire worth stoking, not now. His smiles are easy, his jokes even easier, and you allow things to continue as normal. That seems easier.

“Same time tomorrow?” he asks, voice soft and sweet and low. You let it wash over you. You grin.

“Only if you’re prepared to lose again,” you tease. He laughs, a low whisper of air.

And he kisses you, soft and sweet like honey on a sugar roll. Plush against him, you feel like putty, ready to be molded to do whatever he could ever need. When he pulls away, he lingers in your orbit for a moment. Your eyes remain closed, just standing in the feel of him.

“I will not be losing tomorrow,” he says. “I won’t go easy on you,”

With that, he’s gone. He’s never gone easy on you, so it’s not much of a threat. But that doesn’t mean he’s never soft. He’s always soft for you.

#m writes #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil #resident evil fanfic #x reader #leon kennedy #fanfic #my fics

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capt-mactavish · 1 year ago

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POW Pt. 3

Summary: Male reader whose part of the 141 gets captured during a mission and team rallies to rescue them.

Pt. 3/3

Pt. 1 Pt. 2

Rescue

The tension in the air is palpable as you and Ghost struggle for control. Ghost’s grip on your wrist is unyielding, but your desperation fuels your strength. Your movements are wild, erratic, and driven by a primal rage that blinds you to everything except the need to fight and survive.

Soap, beneath you, manages to plant his feet on your chest and shove upwards. His action pries you and Ghost apart, and the knife in your hand is wrenched free of your grip, flying away and skittering across the floor. Reacting quickly, Soap rolls to his feet and grabs you from behind, locking his arms together around your front and pinning yours to your side.

“(Y/N), stop, it’s us! Ghost and Soap!” Soap hissed through gritted teeth as you struggled in his hold. “We’re here to rescue ye.” Your eyes are wide, unseeing, and you fight against him with a strength that catches them both off guard. It’s as if something deep within you has been triggered, and you’re acting purely on instinct. “(Y/C/S)!” Ghost bellows, his voice authoritative, hoping to jar you back to reality. “Stand down!” he commands, taking a cautious step closer.

You snarl, and lash out at the approaching figure, landing a kick to his midsection. Ghost lets out a grunt but effortlessly catches your boot in his hands. However, With a surge of strength, you use the leverage from Ghost's hold on you to bring your other leg up, landing a powerful kick squarely on his masked face. The impact sends Ghost stumbling away from you, clutching at his face, caught off guard by the blow. The momentum has you and Soap tumbling backwards, and as you crash to the ground, Soap’s hold on you breaks, and the air is knocked out of his lungs as the two of you are sent sprawling on the floor. Momentarily disoriented, you struggle to regain your bearings, rolling out of Soap’s slackened grip and stumbling to your feet. You watch as the masked figure turns back to face you, and your breath hitches at the sight of a large crack now adorning the skull that covers his face, splitting it nearly in half. Something about the sight tugs at a deeper part of you, a sense of guilt gnawing at your subconscious.

For a moment you and Ghost lock eyes, your breaths are heavy and labored. It’s in that fleeting connection that Ghost sees something flicker in your gaze, a hint of recognition buried beneath the frenzy. His heart skips a beat as he realizes that you might be coming back to yourself.

Soap recovers quickly, taking advantage of your momentary distraction as he scrambles to his feet. He lunges forward, tackling you around the waist and driving you both to the ground again. You wrestle with the Scot, each trying to gain the upper hand, but he’s determined to subdue you, to bring you back from wherever your mind has taken you.

In the fray you manage to bash the back of your head into Soap’s face, and he lets go of you with a pained groan, his hands instinctively coming up to his now bleeding nose. You plant your hands on the floor beneath you, and are about to throw him off, but Ghost moves quickly, coming in beside him and grabbing your arms, pinning them behind your back as Soap tries to keep you from thrashing.

With both of them working together, they’re able to overpower you, your strength waning as your already battered body starts to tire. Your breaths come in ragged gasps, and as the haze of your rage lifts, the reality of the situation settles around you.

“(Y/N),” Ghost says, his voice softer than before, but still firm, laced with relief and concern as he feels your body beginning to relax under his grip.

The fight leaves your body as if a switch had been flipped. Your remaining strength drains from you, and you sag against the floor as tears begin to prick at the corners of your eyes as recognition finally floods your senses.

It’s really them. They’re really here. They really came for you. “Y-Yes, sir,” comes your voice eventually, hoarse and gravelly.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” Soap mutters in relief, his own muscles relaxing, slumping a little, but still holding on.

“You back with us?” Ghost ventures further, his fingers slowly loosening their grip on your wrists.

You swallow thickly, “Yes, sir.” Ghost radios the rest of the team, then nods to Soap who stands up before helping the Lieutenant haul you off the ground. You stumble and sway, knees threatening to give out, But Soap pulls you against him, putting your arm around his neck and helping you stand.

“Easy, lad,” he speaks to you softly as you lean heavy on him. “I’m sorry,” You choke out. “I… I…” “We know,” Soap says, his tone low and comforting. “Dinnae you worry.” “It’s good to have you back, (Y/N),” Ghost says, his voice ever calm and even, but tinged with a hint of relief.

Your limbs start to feel heavy, as if they’re made of lead, and the last thing you see is Ghost’s eyes widen just a fraction as consciousness slips away from you.

---

You awake suddenly to hands on you.

Just like before.

Pushing, shoving, pressing and holding you down.

Had it all been a dream?

Thrashing violently, your body jolts into action as your instincts take over.

You’re vaguely aware that there are blurred figures looming over you as you lie flat on your back. Their hands burn your skin, and panic rises in your chest.

Without a second thought you begin to swing at them with every ounce of energy you have left. One blow connects, and there’s a grunt of surprise as your knuckles make contact with flesh before you hear something hit the ground.

“We need to sedate him!” Someone shouts. “Hold him down!”

Suddenly strong hands clamp onto your arms, restraining your movement. Panic surges anew, your heart racing as the fight against your captors intensifies. “(Y/N),” you hear someone say firmly, and you still immediately, the voice provoking a sense of recognition and trust.

“You’re alright. You’re safe,” they assure you, and your muscles begin to relax, soothed by the familiar baritone of the voice.

Suddenly something pierces your skin, and almost immediately a calming numbness spreads throughout your body. Your limbs grow heavy, and any residual tension melts away as your body slacks against whatever you’re lying on.

As the sedative lulls your senses and the darkness encroaches, you catch a glimpse of concerned faces hovering over you. The frantic energy in the room seems to dissipate, replaced by a hushed sense of urgency as you succumb to unconsciousness once again.

Ghost steps back with a heavy sigh, retreating to the far end of the room as the medics continue their work. Soap and Gaz pass by in front of him, escorting the doctor you had knocked onto the floor out of the room, but Ghost’s gaze remains fixed on you.

Exhaustion seeps into every fiber of his being, a weariness that goes beyond the physical. Seeing his teammate in such a state, so lost and tormented, fighting for his life from what he thought were his captors, had pained him to watch.

What nightmares had you endured? What trauma had driven you to lash out so violently, to forget yourself in such a way and act purely on instinct?

Ghost’s eyes never falter, beneath his mask his expression was awash with guilt. He should have reached you sooner, found you faster. He never should have let this happen in the first place.

He’s vaguely aware that someone is speaking to him, then he feels a warm hand on his shoulder, and he turns his head to see Soap at his side. “Let’s leave them to it, L.T.,” Soap says to him softly, his eyes conveying a sense of reassurance that has him turning to face Soap completely. “He’ll be alright.”

---

Your senses awaken gradually, and the first thing you register is the steady beeping of medical equipment and the sterile scent of antiseptic. The room is bright, and you blink back the harsh light shining down on you before you become aware of someone sitting in a chair beside what you presumed to be your hospital bed.

As you begin to sir, Captain Price looks your way, and a warm smile graces his features as his eyes meet yours. “Good to see you awake, (Y/N),” he greets, his voice a comforting presence.

“Captain…” you rasp, managing a weak smile.

He nods in response. “You’re back,” he says. “You’re safe.”

The door to the room opens and more familiar faces flood in. Gaz rushes to your side immediately, his smile a beacon of warmth, clutching your hand in his.

“(Y/N)!” he cries, pressing his forehead against yours affectionately. Then he pulls away and levels you with a glare, despite the tears in his eyes. “Don’t you ever pull something like that again! When we go, we go together, from now on!” You smile and try to chuckle, but it turns into a coughing fit that has Gaz’s eyes welling with concern. You wave him off and compose yourself before replying, your voice still weak but gaining strength, “Affirmative, we go together, from now on.”

“It’s good to finally see you awake,” Soap says, standing just behind Gaz. Your eyes meet his and immediately you were flooded with guilt at the sight of dark bruising across the bridge of his nose. It stirs memories of your captivity, fragments of your struggle to escape and the clash with your teammates. Your smile falters.

“Fuck, Soap, did… did I do that? I’m so sorry,” you say, your voice soft with remorse.

Soap’s reassuring smile is quick to follow. “Go’ me good, ye did. But dinnae you worry about it.”

Before you can apologize again, he adds, “Besides, I go’ off easy. Ghost go’ the worst of it.”

Soap jabs his thumb over his shoulder and your eyes follow, gaze shifting to the dark figure leaning against the far wall. Your chest tightens when you take in his masked face, noticing the jagged crack running down the usually smooth surface of the skull.

Soap lets out a wry chuckle, “I think ye gave him quite the shiner under there.”

You push yourself up a little straighter, swallowing thickly and offering Ghost an apologetic look. “Sir, I-” Ghost holds up a hand, halting your words. “No hard feelings, (Y/C/S), you weren’t yourself,” he says in his usual, gruff voice. You can sense the understanding in his presence, even without seeing his expression, and the weight of your guilt begins to lift.

Soap’s hand on your shoulder draws your gaze back to him, his grip steady and reassuring, and the smile he offers you is warm and comforting.

Price clears his throat, shifting the focus to more pressing matters. “When you’re ready, (Y/N), I need to know what happened. Everything you can remember.”

Your heart skips a beat at the thought of having to relive those memories, and the fear must have found its way to your face because Gaz squeezes your hand reassuringly.

“Take your time, (Y/N),” he says. “We’re here with you.” It’s a struggle to find the words at first, to try and recall details about your captivity when all you wanted to do was forget. But with the support of your team, you gather your courage and begin to recount what you can remember.

The room fell silent as you finished speaking, the weight of your words handing in the air like a heavy cloud. But then, as if to dispel the darkness that had settled, Gaz squeezed your hand again gently, his eyes brimming with empathy.

“You’ve been through a lot,” Price spoke up, his eyes conveying understanding and his presence a steadfast source of strength. “But you’re back now, and we’re here for you.”

In that moment, under the encouraging gazes of your brothers in arms, you felt enveloped by a sense of belonging, a reminder that you are not alone in this battle, and your teammates were there with you, ready to help you fight.

---

This was a long time coming I know, and at times I considered just abandoning this unfinished. But today I felt some inspiration and some determination to finally finish it! Hope you enjoyed reading! Thanks for all the kind words!

Those asked to be tagged: @neon-lights-27 @jasperthechaosgremlin @@dominos-palast @c0nny3917 @1ntefly @soupinasock @itsvlynne @cumbermovels @mysticalzombiecheesecake @katsukiarchives @cptg00s3 @peter-the-pan

also, you didn't ask to be tagged, but I figured you might like to be @patrickbatemanismybabygirl

#mw2 141 #cod fanfic #male reader #cod x male reader #141 x male reader #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #captain john price

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darkdemeter · 4 months ago

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Fem child reader x Strife/War fluff! War was heavily injured from a nasty fight and they had to make camp to rest. Both brothers didn’t even notice the girl was gone until later, making them panic. Before they could find her, she returned, carrying a high-quality healing potion with a nasty gash on her arm. She wanted to find something for War and even got injured just to get it for him. Instead of herself, she gave the potion to War, showing an act of kindness and selflessness to him.

GUIDE HER WAY HOME IV

◤✘DARKSIDERS REQUESTS | CATALOGUE (Platonic!) Strife and War x Female Child!Reader

NOTES ↳ GIF POV: You pissed War off. HAHAAAA! I loved writing this one for the setting, just little reader plotting around in the snow is just *chef kiss* so many cute possibilities. WARNINGS❕ ↳ War gets injured — reader gets hurt — Strife says a swear word — reader just being a good-hearted soul — Strife calls reader "baby" because he is secretly becoming a dad — Vulgrim "almost" dies by proxy cube — I think that's it?

✎ 2.7k ────────────────────────

“You and having to use your big head as a battering ram, huh?!”

Strife vaults high to avoid a fallen tree in his path, spurts of snow kicking up under his heels. He flicks the reloaded barrel of Mercy into lock before firing several rounds that assault their chaser but does little in keeping the large beast at bay. A beast of the snow no less, covered in long, wiry hair. It’s head adorned by two, large spiral horns that twist round and round until they almost knock against one another. A horribly deformed and smooshed face that only a mother could love. A broody male.

The creature’s heart was worth quite the fortune to Vulgrim. A simple token of gratitude for bestowing upon you a wardrobe of garments suited for the colder climates of the realms.

“I did insist on being the one to cut its heart out, didn’t I?” War spits venomously in return.

“Hey! I could have done it if someone—”

“Look out!” You shout suddenly, voice squeaking and eyes wide. An avalanche of snow rushes towards you as a giant and consuming wave, the Horsemen and yourself are blasted in a taken sweep. War clutches hold of you tighter to his chest, your face buries against his cowl with a helpless yelp as you clutch onto him tightly. The wave keeps barrelling through the gorge.

“Strife!” War calls out. His head twists this way and that only to catch sight of his brother tumbling and being tossed around, visor going under every few seconds.

“Strife, take her!”

You’re launched through the air and you squeal out, mesmerised by the flutter in your stomach before you drift downward, Strife’s arms stretched out wide to catch you.

“I—pfft— I got her! I got her!”

Strife pulls you close the moment he has you. You tumble together before he manages to get above the surface and you have a clear view of War. He lets himself get carried with the avalanche’s momentum before he breaches through with a fiery trail behind him, Chaoseater unsheathed from his back, he pivots himself to face the giant beast with a cleaving swipe of his sword.

The two behemoth’s clash against each other. War grunts heavily at a sharp pain shooting across his sternum, knocking him back. The beast howls with a stunned toss of its head, a portion of its horn snapped off and flung to the gorge’s wall.

It falls forward and sends another wave towards you. Strife yells for you to hang on and you do, the fur hood of your cloak knocked back in the process. War’s form finally meets with you and Strife, the two keeping close to one another as you come up for a hollow ice tunnel and a suspicious looking cut off—

The golden glow of Strife’s eyes widens, beaming brighter and his hold on you increases. “Ooh shit, hang on!”

It all moves quickly. For a moment, you’re falling before Strife curls a hand around you, snatching you out of gravity’s clutches before you can fall down into the frozen lake below. You hang there, suspended and wide eyed. It’s a very long way down…

You turn your head with a whimpered call. “D-don’t let go…”

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” Strife assures through a ragged, worn out exhale. War serves as the anchor point against the ice wall, Chaoseater’s blade embedded deeply into it. Rivers of the avalanche pour down over the glacial wall, a deep rumble following it as the snow beast prowls forward. Its large form descends, twisted and gnarly nails scrape the wall with hatcheting marks and its face bears a sneering maw and a shrieking roar.

It’s instinct for your hands to cover your ears, wincing with a tightly furrowed grimace.

Because of its overbearing weight, the ice begins to grumble, slivers crack in fractured paths and both brothers freeze, their eyes growing wide.

“I think it’s about time we jumped,” Strife pants out, steadying his breath and adjusting you in his grasp before they disconnect. With a nod, War breaks Chaoseater from its place with a rattling thrum and you begin to fall.

Wind sweeps past your ears in loud gushes during the fall and you cling to Strife. Flakes of white whip into your vision almost blinding but then it all slows, you’re floating; hovering. You look to see the misted mantle of wings without feathers, they shimmer slightly as if struck by the cold before they level out until Strife reaches the ground.

They disperse with a shrinking hiss, fading in towards his back and only a faint cloud remains to be carried away in the breeze. You see that War also possessed the very same wings and your eyes blink, fluttering in your growing amazement.

Picking up on it, you hear Strife chuckle through a sigh. “Didn’t think we had wings too, huh?”

You shake your head slowly. “Uh-uh.”

Strife turns to War, noticing the heavy limp in his step and his giant gauntlet that holds firm to his ribs while he sheathed his sword, almost faltering in the act to do so.

“Hey, come on now, you got hurt pretty bad back there—” Strife’s concern is immediately dismissed with a sharpened tsk of War’s tongue.

“I’m… fine… it’s just a scratch,” he hisses.

Strife clicks his tongue. “Yeah. Just a scratch…”

War leans himself against an outcrop of rocks, teeth clenched hard to conceal a pained snarl as he rests a hand over his wound.

You watch, gaze torn between the two. Strife pats himself down before he sighs. His head falls forward, chin hidden beneath his scarf. “And we’re out of healing potions.”

“I said I’ll be fi— argh!”

“Yeah, you’ll be fine if we had a healing potion. If we don’t get you patched up, we’re going to be known as the three Horsemen.” Strife snickers to himself. “And that doesn’t sound menacing enough.”

Your cheeks puff out when you take a moment to consider the situation War finds himself to be in. He’s hurting, you can see it on his face, and you don’t very much like it. You don’t want to see him in pain. So silently, you slip away from the bickering brothers. Body maneuvering over a fallen tree trunk tucked between some boulders, you move away in search of something to aid War. Maybe there were some herbs to help him, or something Strife could use to craft an ointment to serve as a healing potion.

Your small boots thunder against the thinner blankets of chilly white, padding small prints in your wake. You’ve travelled some distance before a structure that appears old, abandoned, comes into view on the lower horizon and you approach it hurriedly.

“Whoa…”

Rubbled pillars of an ancient ruin lay in the barren waste of the ice, bitten by the frost. The wind passes through the crooked and fallen architecture as howling whistles. Only drawn in to investigate further, you soon happen upon a hole in one of the thick, stone walls of the ruin.

You shuffle a little closer to the steep ledge, looking down into the chamber below, pupils large and wide. Something crumbles, the lip of the edge gives way and you stumble forward with a cry as your arm slams against a protruding rock face. The drop pulls you down fast and you roll numerous times before your fall is broken by a softened pile of snow with a muffled plumph!

“Brrr!” You shake your head and dust off any remnants of snow that clings to you, climbing out from the little hole you found yourself in. Attention brought to the painful sting on your arm, your mitten pats against the bleaching stain of crimson on your sleeve, dabbing it with a grimacing hiss.

“Ooch…” you sigh, doing your best to blink away the tears lining your vision. You wander onward into the ruin chamber, head raised and lowered to take in your surroundings.

In the gloomy and dark atmosphere of the ruins, you squint your eyes to peer at a mysterious, intriguing glint. Shiny, a trickle of the light grazes the gold with an ombre highlight. You gasp, wandering over until you're almost fumbling forward over your boot laces.

Your hands grasp the coiled frame around the elixir bottle, the liquid contents inside a dull and almost forested green. Grumbling to yourself, lips curled into a thin line, you shake the large bottle and swirl the contents inside. The glassy reflection of your eyes is illuminated by the now vibrant glow of green.

“Oh…” you sigh wistfully, enthralled.

You twist the lid loose with a grinding squeak and you tilt the bottle’s rim to you slightly, nose leaning in to smell and you sputter with a startled cough. Whatever it is, it smells strongly of a scent you cannot place, its closest being that of a terrible medicine you had to swallow with honey to cover the bitterness. You tighten the lid and affirm with one final checkover that this bottle may help War.

With an effort of huffed breath, you tug the bottle loose from its embedded status among the snowy mound, pulling a little harder when it doesn’t give easily. You begin to shift between carrying it a few steps before setting it down, the bottle almost your entire size, and dragging it carefully over the worn and cracked stone floor. You endure and exert what strength you can with striking determination to get back to War and Strife, ignoring the throbbing ache in your arm. Each tousled motion of the bottle stirs the green liquid to emit a glow that fades after a moment.

Through the haze of snow, you wind up a sloping pathway, careful to hurdle over the obstacles in your path no matter how big or small; the bottle nursed to survive the otherwise perilous journey.

“Where did she go?” War growls, ignoring the gnarly gashes and internal bruising that brings a powerful sting over his ribs.

“I don’t know, she was right here,” gasps Strife. He darts around, able to move quicker than War. He checks every corner, under every log and in every gap between the sharp rocks.

“Baby? Baby! Where are you?” The masked Horseman calls, his voice growing fuller of panic with each passing moment you don’t respond.

“Little one, are you– argh… under here?”

“I already checked there!”

War’s nose curls up slightly with an offended sneer, blue eyes glowering with a thinned glare. “You’re panicked. You could have missed her.”

It didn’t mean that War held any lesser sentiment. His heart was hammering in his chest and though he would stumble slightly in his search, he went above and beyond in hopes that he would find you safely tucked away somewhere unhurt.

“I’m here!”

Both turn on their heels in an instant at the sound of your voice. They watch you fumble and crawl up over the rise of a mound of snow, something anchored close in your grasp. You shift forward and let yourself use the slope as a slide, cooing with glee as you cling onto the bottle, hugging it to you.

War and Strife meet you there swiftly and immediately begin to assess you. War tsks venomously, almost choking on his next shuddered breath.

“Little one, you’re hurt.” His smaller hand comes forward to your injured arm and his brows fall.

You look at the small gash on your arm, the blood having stained through the sleeve a bit more. You had ignored the bite of its pain to get the bottle back to them.

“Ah…” you mumble, nose touched by the cold wriggling. “I found this.”

Strife was also closely examining the wound, far too engrossed to pay attention at first to the elixir you had found until you brought attention to it.

He picks it up, its size more natural in his hand. “War, this is— how– where did you find this?”

Strife’s twisted words make you giggle and you then point your gloved hand off in the direction you went. “In a rwuin.”

War can see the noticeable astonishment on Strife’s face through the way his eyes flare alone. He almost laughs at how absurd it all seems that you found a high quality healing potion all the way out here, and just the thing that War would need no less.

“You’re something special, kid,” Strife chuckles but it’s quick to dissipate as he then looks at your arm.

He despises the scene of crimson smeared on you, the iron taste of blood lingering on the air so profound he can smell it. It makes his fanged teeth grind and clench.

“Did you not drink some already, little one?” War questions, grunting as he lowers himself down to kneel at your side. When you shake your head, War frowns deeply and he takes the bottle from Strife, removing the lid and holding it out for you.

“You must drink some. It will heal your wound.”

“No,” you say adamantly, tilting your head away and your hands push the bottle away from you. “You are hurt, you must need it.”

Though War means to immediately protest, you tilt the bottle further towards him instead and regard him with a kind smile.

“I will be okay. You dwrink it.”

“Let’s get that gash tended to, yeah?” Strife says, finalising that War was to drink the potion.

War is torn, his code being confronted by a child. You care very much for him and his brother, War finds. You went out of your way and risked leaving the protective sanctity of their presence to find something to help him. But what if you hadn’t found the potion? What if something worse transpired?

He’d be crushed. Honour disgraced because he wasn’t there to save you. But you pulled through. You defied all possible dangers in order to help him. And to that, he is grateful while he sips slowly from the elixir, noting your grin every time you see him do so and watch as that mystical aura whirl around him; healing him.

Still… he leaves just a little left.

Now camped in the ruins you had guided them to, the fire burns with a warm crackle. You rest against War, his red cowl once again wrapped around you and the hood pulled far over your head.

Strife had cleaned your wound and dressed it, but to him — to them — it wasn’t enough. Your kindness, your bravery wasn’t repaid in full. So, moving quietly and carefully, War keeps you steady as Strife uses the potion’s unfinished swig to pour onto a new bandage and change it over.

“It should heal throughout the night,” War says and he hears Strife’s sigh. “I can’t begin to imagine Fury being in your place.”

War chuckles, the noise small and almost not there. But it is. Light-hearted and amused, Strife finds the tiniest of smiles hiding behind his mask.

“Fury would have no choice in the matter.”

“And we thought Death was stubborn.”

Strife sits across from War, crouched before the flames as he ponders in silence. The flare of his eyes blurring into that of the dancing fire.

“Why do you think that Humanity is so important to the Balance?” Strife asks. “I mean, the Creator makes a race whose strength is unmatched against the likes of Angels, Demons… us.”

A moment of silence falls over them. War’s eyes watch you stir and hum, adjusting yourself to curl into him.

“Perhaps… it is because like her, they offer what no other race can? It could also be that they are not as weak as we’ve been made to believe…”

Strife’s head tilts to the side, scarf moving with a muffled fold, the flutter of its purple fabric idly swaying in the wind’s hollow breath. A question for the ages. One that would not be answered any time soon it seems.

Returning to Vulgrim without the snow beast’s heart was surely to be met with a grouchy soul trader. But not with what was offered in its stead.

With a triumphant puff of his chest, Strife kicks forward the large, metallic cube with the heel of his boot. War saunters after his brother, his hand securely held to keep you seated on his bronze pauldron. Vulgrim lets out a throaty yelp and dashes out of the way. His scornful criticism turns around when he examines the cube, humming and chuckling with a clattery chink of his nails against the object. The sphere within its center buzzes to life with currents of zapping electricity.

“Yes… yes, this will certainly suffice as payment. Now Horsemen, I have peered through the scrying eye and it has given me a location…”

#STRIFE SEPTEMBER #headlinesxcomics publishing #happyfic hour #darksiders #darksiders genesis #darksiders fanfiction #platonic darksiders war x reader #platonic darksiders strife x reader #darksiders x reader #darksiders war #darksiders strife #darksiders fluff

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shini--chan · 9 months ago

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I really like your ~Cantin~ story with the dark Canada. It's my favorite! Can you write please what will be next when the reader wrestle the phone from him and trying to call Alfred for help. Maybe with a little bit yandere Alfred too. Thanx and sry for bad English!

Of course, let’s see what will come of this. And darling, your English is better than you probably think ;D

Yandere Canada - Sanctimonious

Your body simply moved of its own accord. Maybe it was the hope that hadn’t died already, maybe it was pettiness and you just wanted to see Willams suffer; either way, you found yourself lunging at the phone in his hand. Although surprised, your false lover managed to side step your attack and the unstopped momentum sent you sprawling in the snow to the side of the snow.

Spluttering, you spat out snow that you had nearly swallowed and shook your head to cast off the snow that had gotten caught in your hair and the outside of the scarf you were wearing. Sadly, some snow had slipped beneath your clothing - the uncomfortable cold was spreading across your neck and chest and your calves. However, you had bigger fish to fry - there was a phone you had to get your hands on.

Quickly you scrambled to your feet and lunged again, this time managed to get your hands on his arm and then his wrist. Fruitlessly, he tried to keep the phone to his ear but finally saw that he wouldn't be able to simply ignore you for much longer.

“A moment Al, gotta take care of something”, he quickly shouted in the speaker and then grasped your wrist. The phone was held high in the air and with him being taller than you there wasn’t really a chance of you grabbing it from him.

So you did the next best thing that came to mind - kicked him in the kneecap. You didn’t care which knee you had damaged, or how much damage you had inflicted. The only thing that mattered was that the hand went down and you could pry the phone from his grip. Turning around, you set off into a light jog and put the phone to your ear.

“Hello, hello! I need help, sir”, you hissed into the phone.

“Jeez, who are you kid, and why do you have Mattie’s phone?”, came an enthusiastic voice from the other end. American, judging by the accent. Matthew had told you he had a brother but this couldn’t possibly be him. What sense did it make to have a blood brother that was of another nationality? Difficult parents could be a reason but it would be unlikely.

“I was kidnapped by Matthew Williams and am being held against my will. He claims to love me, but it can’t be love since… since I’m just his captive and plaything that he uses as he pleases. Please, please sir, you have to help you”, you pleaded into the phone, tears welling up in your eyes.

There were a few moments of silence on the other end and hopefully it was because he was thinking of how he could rescue you. To your horror and confusion, however, the pause was ended by laughter.

“You must be the one that stole Mattie’s heart. Christ, I can see why he loves you - so polite and still feisty. I’m even tempted to steal you to have you all for myself, but don’t tell him that”, he remarked once he managed to calm down a bit.

“What the blazes do you mean? You have to…”

“Not so quick kiddo. I don’t have to do anything and since you’ve stopped being so nice, I sure am hell not gonna do that now. Not that I intended to do anything really before, but that is besides the point

“The point here is, that while Mattie and I have some fundamental differences, at the root we are cut from the same cloth. So sweetie, I can’t say that I would have done anything different than my bro. We talk, y’know, so I’m completely in the know of what is going on between you two love birds. Hell, he even asks me for advice on how to handle you.

“So let me give you a tip, for free ‘cuz it’s you: Just give in and it will be all smooth sailing. Don’t make it more difficult than it already is.”

#yandere hetalia #yandere canada #x reader #yandere x reader

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cozage · 2 years ago

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Hello! This is my first time on this lol I’m shy:,)

Anyway can I get a luffy or killer x female reader that has wings like a angel and loves to tickle them with the feathers? And the reader covers her face with her wings in embarrassment? SO CUTE <<<<33333

Thank you!

Have a wonderful day/night/afternoon!💛

A/N: So cute indeed :) I hope this is what you were looking for!

Characters: female reader x Luffy

Cw: just fluff :)

Total word count: 580

Wings of The Pirate King

You walked around the ship, looking for Luffy. You hadn’t expected him to hide this well, or stay hidden this long. It had been about thirty minutes since you had agreed to play hide and seek, and a very long thirty minutes you had spent looking for him.

You weren’t going to be the one who gave up first. It would have to be him who came out of his hiding spot, because you refused to lose. But you had checked all of his normal spots and came up completely empty. The bunkhouses, the kitchen, Usopp’s workshop, and the med clinic had held no sign of Luffy. You even flew up to the crow’s nest and bothered Zoro for a moment, but he hadn’t seen Luffy either.

You walked around on the deck, trying to think of where to look for your captain. It wasn’t until a barrel off to the side made a weird gurgling noise that you discovered his hiding spot. Of course his stomach gave him away.

You opened the barrel with a triumphant smile, only to find Luffy curled up at the bottom of the barrel, asleep. You giggled at him and combed through your wings quickly, trying to find a loose feather. A few fell out, and you gripped them between your fingers, reaching down to tickle Luffy’s neck with the feathers. He twitched in response, but you continued dragging the feathers over his skin, and finally his eyes snapped open.

He swatted your hand away, but you kept up your relentless attack of tickling with your feathers. Luffy tried to get out of the barrel while he shrieked with laughter, but you stopped him from escaping up through the small hole. He finally resorted to breaking the barrel apart, a last ditch attempt to get free from your ambush.

“You’re going to pay for that,” he said deviously, and he ran at you. You yelped out in surprise and took off down the deck of the Sunny, Luffy right on your heels. You kicked off the floorboards and flew into the air, trying to evade your boyfriend’s rubber arms that were shooting out to grab you. You manage to get away from him, but his arms shoot off again, and your lack of ability to move in the air allows him to grab your waist this time.

He slings himself towards you, and you cry out a warning, but it’s too late. His momentum topples you over, and the two of you crash back onto the deck. Your fall isn’t as hard as you thought it would be, though.

A muffled voice comes from below you. “What the hell?!”

You scrambled to your feet to find Zoro and Luffy below you, both of them spitting feathers out of their mouths.

“Can’t a guy take a nap around here?!”

Your face reddens in embarrassment and your wings wrap around to cover your face. “Sorry Zoro!” you squeak out.

Luffy begins to cackle, pointing at the swordsman’s face of shock “Zoro!! We really got you!”

“I’m gonna kill you, Luffy!” Zoro growls, gripping one of his swords. But the swordsman's darkened face doesn’t faze your captain, and Luffy continues to maniacally laugh at him.

“Thanks for the landing Zoro,” Luffy says, turning his attention to you. “I have a score to settle with you.”

He chases after you, and you take off again through the ship, both of your screams of glee echoing across the waters.

#one piece #one piece imagine #one piece scenario #one piece x reader #one piece x you #monkey d. luffy #luffy #monkey d luffy #luffy x y/n #luffy x reader #cozage #✧˚ luffy✧˚

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mackjlee9 · 1 year ago

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Okay, person A needing to kiss person B to make sure they properly swallow a potion to safe their life

Maybe something small with Leon if you want

I just saw something with and just thought its a good trope maybe you want it, also morning probably hehe

Puppy~ I meant to post this soon but I couldn't 😭

Leon Kennedy x Male!Reader [Fluff]

Masterlist.

Resident Evil 4

(M/n) never said anything to Leon just to not make him worry, they had a job to do, a mission to complete, and Ashley was their priority right now, after all, it was his dumb mistake.

Turns out a Plaga-infected dog was even more dangerous than a normal dog. They were out in the maze that was Salazar's garden, and he stayed with Ashley while Leon did his thing to get the door opened. And now he and Ashley were walking back to the blond, keeping a close eye out for any more infected dogs but still chatting with Ashley.

And he saw it. One of the dogs that had been laying down since it was shot was slowly getting up again, its red eyes locked onto Leon who's back facing it. (M/n) didn't think about it, "Leon-!" He yelled while running toward him, moving him away as quickly as he could, his non-dominant arm extended forward to stop the momentum of the dog.

He stumbled back and fell to the ground, the dog barked and wriggled against his forearm pressed to its neck, while (M/n) tried to reach his pistol, struggling to keep its sharp teeth away from his face. However, the dog managed to take advantage of how he tried to grab his gun to dive forward, sinking its canines on his shoulder.

(M/n) grunted at the pain that shot through his whole body, finally wrapping his fingers around the grip of his pistol and pulling it out, shooting the dog in the head, weakening its hold on his neck, and soon, Leon kicked it off of him, its body falling limp to the ground, a bullet hole in its head and neck broken.

He sat up, and frowned in pain, glancing down at his gushing wound, and sighing as he stood up with Ashley's help, "You okay?" He nodded a few times, hiding the obvious expression of pain on his face.

"Yeah, I'm fine, it's nothing..." He turned toward Ashley, noticing that Leon had stepped away and was scouting the area, more alert than before, "Thank you, sweetheart," Ashley smiled and giggled, but her eyes soon stared at his wound, observing the blood dripping down his chest, and the worry was obvious on her face.

"Are you sure you're okay?" (M/n) only nods with a chuckle, making their way back to Leon.

"It's not as bad as it looks, I'm fine."

//////

Turns out it was as bad as it looked, if not worse. (M/n) could feel his body getting weaker with every passing second caused by the blood loss, and he knew damn well he was running a high fever, he was dizzy and continued to stumble the whole way, until eventually, he passed out.

"(M/n)!" Ashley's scream made Leon stop and turn around, seeing (M/n) on the ground, his chest moving up and down rapidly due to his unsteady breathing, he definitely didn't look as good as he did hours prior, "Leon..." Ashley looked down at her hands, covered in blood.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, crouching next to (M/n) and dropping his good arm over his shoulder, holding him up in a sitting position and wrapping his arm around his waist, lifting him up on his feet with a grunt, "Okay, Ashley," the girl stood on (M/n)'s opposite side from Leon, and looked at them, "I need you to stay close to me, there's not much I can do to protect you, alright? We gotta get (M/n) somewhere safe first."

She nodded and remained close to them, holding onto (M/n)'s free hand tightly, listening to everything Leon told her to do or not to do.

Eventually, after roaming around the castle for a while, they found a room wide enough and with no Iluminados nearby. Leon laid (M/n) on the couch, and they realize how labored his breathing is.

"Now," he kneels next to the couch and Ashley does the same after a few seconds, "I need you to put pressure on his wound, or he'll bleed to death," with shaky hands, she nods and does as Leon told her, taking her handkerchief from around her neck and wrapping it around his bleeding shoulder the best she could, putting as much pressure as she could without hurting him further, "I'll be gone for a bit, stay quiet until I come back."

Ashley takes a shaky breath in and nods again, whispering a soft 'okay, be careful' toward him. Leon did his best to smile at her but found himself being unable to, so he leaned down and kissed the crown of her head, his blue eyes staring at (M/n), clenching his jaw and backing off.

Leon ran out of the room and wandered the halls as quickly and quietly as he could, making his way to where he had caught a glimpse of that purple fire.

When he arrives, the merchant holds back any of his remarks and comments, paying close attention to how Leon is frantically looking around his little shop.

"You don't... Have any herbs or sprays left?" The merchant shakes his head a few times with his eyes closed, hearing Leon cursing to himself a few times, and he sees him turn around.

"I have something that might interest you, stranger," Leon sighs and holds back from being rude to the man, he had done nothing but help him the best way he could after all.

"Listen, I don't have time for games, I have to find medicine..." He says turning back around to face the merchant, but his words slow down and get quieter when he sees him holding a vial with a blue liquid in it. It's not a big vial, it's maybe as long as his palm and rather thin, and... It sparkles? "What is that?"

The merchant cackles, and shakes it a bit, its color changing for a few seconds before going back to the same sparkly blue.

"This is a special recipe, stranger, I made it myself and I've perfected it," intrigued, Leon walks closer again, and holds the vial handed to him, observing it for a few seconds, "You can take it," he looks up at the merchant, a skeptical look in his blue eyes, "Your friend needs it, take it."

Leon sighed, unsure of giving this strange color-changing liquid to (M/n) in the condition he was in, but he had no other choice really, he hadn't spotted a single herb on his way with (M/n) and Ashley nor without them, so really didn't have many options here.

"Fine, I trust you," he muttered before leaving and sprinting his way back, confusing many Iluminados as they were only able to see a blur momentarily. Soon enough, he arrives and opens the door, watching Ashley peek her head over the couch and sigh in relief when her eyes meet with Leon's. Seeing that (M/n) had a sheet over his body told him that maybe he was gone for too long, and he was relieved to know that they were both fine.

"Did you find something?" Ashley asked him with a trembling voice, and Leon doubts for a moment.

"Not so sure, if I'm honest," deciding to not question him, Ashley watches how Leon opens the vial and leans over the back of the couch to hold (M/n)'s face, opening his mouth and dropping a few drops of the blue liquid inside his mouth. He groans when (M/n) coughs it out, probably because he tried to have him swallow something while he was unconscious and breathing rapidly.

He tries a few more times, and even does Ashley, but neither of them could make (M/n) swallow even the smallest drop, and it frustrated them enough to cause a few tears in their eyes.

"Leon..." Ashley has a few tears already running down her face as she watches Leon's frustration, which makes the blond panic when he sees her crying, his gloved hands holding her face gently.

"No, it's okay, (M/n) is gonna be alright, okay? Don't cry, please, I need you to be strong right now, Ashley," she closes her eyes and nods, continuing to press her hands on (M/n)'s wound that is still bleeding, but not as much as a few minutes ago.

Leon thought for a moment about what he could do to make (M/n) drink this potion-looking thing, and he ended up thinking of something.

They had done this together a couple of times... Mostly when they were drunk, but it was worth the shot.

Leon pressed the vial to his mouth, tilted his head back and arm up until all the remaining liquid was in his mouth. He made sure not to swallow anything of it, and leaned down, his hand holding the back of (M/n)'s head slightly up while the other kept his mouth open.

Slowly, Leon pressed his mouth on (M/n)'s making sure he drank every drop of the liquid, which he finally did. Sighing in relief, Leon dropped his head forward, blond locks dangling a bit at the movement.

"Finally," now they just had to wait for him to wake up. Or not.

But subtle groans and squirming got their attention, and they watched how (M/n)'s eyes started to open.

"What happened...?" He asks groggily, looking a little confused. Ashley chuckles through her tears and wraps her arms around (M/n)'s middle tightly.

"I'm so happy you're awake, now we can...!" (M/n) looks down and sees that Ashley fell asleep on him, making him smile and gently stroke her hair. He sat up on the couch and picked Ashley up so she wouldn't be on the floor anymore, having her next to him, her head resting on his uninjured shoulder.

"She was pretty worried about you," Leon adds as he sits on (M/n)'s opposite side, leaning back on the couch. (M/n) raises an eyebrow and looks at Leon.

"As if you weren't worried too~" Leon frowned and looked back at him, lifting his arm and applying pressure on his wound, making him yelp and try to get away from him, "Sorry, sorry!"

Leon scoffed and moved a bit until he felt comfortable on his spot, his arms crossed over his chest, "You didn't tell me you were hurt and that made me mad," (M/n) looked down at his hands, a little ashamed of his behavior.

He opened his mouth to say something, most likely to apologize, when he felt a particular taste in his mouth. It was... Rather sweet, and he kinda liked it.

"What did you give me?" Leon turned to him to understand what he meant, and he watched (M/n) open and close his mouth, licking his lips and tasting something. He lifted his hand, still holding the vial, and shook it a little bit.

"This thing, not sure what it was but it worked," (M/n) looked at the pretty much empty vial in Leon's hand, a little bit of its liquid remained inside and he glanced up at the blond next to him.

He noticed the same sparkling liquid dripping down the corner of his mouth, and he couldn't hold himself back from leaning closed and licking it off, effectively catching Leon off-guard. He tasted it a little bit, and a faint smirk appeared on his face.

"It tasted better from your mouth," Leon's face turned bright red and he had to look away, covering his mouth with his hand, curling in himself when he heard (M/n)'s soft chuckles, feeling his hand placed on his thigh. His touch left a burning sensation on his skin, very much like the heat he felt on his face.

#leon kennedy x male reader #leon kennedy x reader #re4 x male reader #re4 x reader #re x male reader #re x reader #leon kennedy #leon kennedy fluff #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy #fluff #male reader #x reader #reader insert #.mackjlee9 writes

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the-random-phan · 2 years ago

Text

Wow, tough crowd.

Summary:

Daniel James Fenton had lasted a total of one month in space until his fellow crew members finally caught on to him. Which was both disappointing and a feat to behold, in all honesty.

Word Count: 4,506

Ao3 | FFnet

Story below the cut!

The Janus was a brand new space station, freshly launched into orbit and in its first year of operation. The current squad were the first to inhabit the station, and thus their interpersonal roots went deep. They had trained together, worked together, bled together, and even lived together back on Earth. As a team, they muddled through the glitches and hang-ups that came with pretty much being the guinea pigs of the Janus program. There were 5 of them on the team, though only 4 and a half were human.

Daniel James Fenton was a critical team member on the Janus, the first consult for everything engineering and mechanical on board. He was also Danny Phantom, a super-powered ghost, which was a closely held secret amongst the crew.

Danny had truly tried his best to keep his dual identities from the crew, and had maintained his secret up until right after they were sent into space. Which was amazing in itself, looking at the menagerie of tests they had gone through to procure their spots and ensure their individual safeties in space. It was a miracle he’d gotten as far as he did.

It was the youngest of their group -Isabella (their resident master of technology, who could fix just about anything that had a computer in it)- who started the unraveling of Danny’s web of lies. It all started with the first time Danny went on a spacewalk. He moved fluidly, gliding with more grace than the clutz had any right to. He had even tripped up the steps when they boarded the shuttle that carried them up to the station.

Danny pushed off from a handle and then spun in midair to get to where he wanted. It seemed almost like Danny didn’t care for momentum and just… moved. Slid across space. Isabella didn’t see it at first, but once she did it was hard to ignore. He got sloppier and sloppier as the walk went on, almost like he forgot she was there. He kicked off from one place then made a 90 degree turn to get to where he needed. It was almost… unsettling. Uncanny valley?

Of course, Isabella didn’t tell him that. She took a mental note and proceeded with her day, deciding to watch Danny a bit more carefully.

“Come on in, I think that’s everything.” She said into her mic.

“Heading that way,” Replied Danny as he launched off, did a spin, and then came to the airlock. Isabella caught a grin on his face.

~~~~

Jamie caught on to it next. Jamie was a physics wiz, and spent a lot of time making observations on the celestial bodies that surrounded them. And thus he was quite good at observing his teammates as well.

He and Danny were using some of their down time to hang out in the common area. They chatted idly about what they were working on, but when Jamie mentioned his parents and what they did for a living, Danny’s expression soured. The awkward silence lasted for only a moment, until Danny proposed a game of Uno. He procured the cards from a pocket in his pants and dealt them out, letting the cards hang midair.

Such an action wouldn’t have normally been odd.

Jamie was the team lead, and thus knew for a fact that a pack of Uno cards were not among the list of items Danny brought to the station. But Jamie was not entirely certain in his memory, and he didn’t mention it. They played a couple of rounds and even got the rest of the team in on it, which Joel ended up winning.

~~~~

Joel was yet another member of the group. He had been reluctant to join the project at first but was practically shoved into it for his excellent performance in genetics research. Though at first unwilling, he got along with the rest of the team like wildfire and soon fell into their rhythm with ease. He was the resident biologist, and his green thumbs managed the small garden they had on board. It was where he could most often be found. He also had a running experiment with some creepy-crawlies, all of which he had named. No one was looking forward to the day when they had to hold a funeral for one of the bugs, as Joel had gotten quite attached. Joel had a floppy head of green-black hair (the dye had slowly faded as his roots grew) and a huge pair of glasses that dwarfed his face.

Joel’s realization that something wasn’t quite right came about on the day that Danny was in the garden wing. Danny was helping Joel record data on the state of the various plants they grew. Joel left the more complicated stuff for later and simply handed Danny a micrometer to use in measuring the plants’ stems and leaves.

It was Danny’s first time assisting, so Joel followed him closely. And in doing so he noticed how his teammate was distinctly avoiding a certain flower that grew in the back corner. Each time Danny floated near he would grab for a handhold and steer himself away. Joel thought that maybe he saw Danny’s eyes water.

But that couldn’t be right, could it? Due to his field, Joel had been privy to the allergy section of everyone’s medical records. He had carefully selected all of the specimens and seeds to be brought on board so that they wouldn’t aggravate any allergies the crew might’ve had. Maybe it was an undiscovered allergy?

Joel had just opened his mouth to speak when suddenly Danny sneezed. The sneeze was sudden and unavoidable. Danny brought up a hand to cover the blast as best he could, but droplets of gook still shot off into the air. Joel brought up an arm to protect his face from any stray droplets.

“Oh, Ancients.” Danny cursed, (though it wasn’t a curse Joel had ever heard before) as he looked down at the snot covering his hand.

“Don’t move-!” Joel said quickly as he shot off to grab a wipe from underneath the plant beds. He took his eyes off of Danny for a moment and when he looked back up he could swear Danny was now on the other side of him. Away from the flower.

Joel helped Danny clean the mess as best he could and sent him away. Danny didn’t offer anything about the allergy and Joel was so distressed with snot particles still buzzing around that he forgot to ask. And of course he still had to record the measurements of the strange plant. Perhaps he would research a bit more about it before confronting his teammate.

~~~~

Max was the oldest of the crew, and he certainly let everybody know it. He acted almost like everybody’s grandpa, making sure they were doing ok and that they didn’t need anything. He wasn’t really old enough to be a grandpa, but it was what everybody ended up calling him. Max still had a head of brown, though a few stray whites had appeared in his facial hair. He was the team’s jack-of-all-trades. He wasn’t particularly the best at any of the jobs required on board, but he had a wide array of knowledge stuck up in his head. He could help with anything from hydraulics to C++. He’d had his fingers in everything throughout the time of his life, and his well-roundedness helped to smooth out gaps with the rest of the team.

And as the grandpa of the station, he was reasonably concerned when he couldn’t find Danny anywhere.

Max had a bit of downtime as he waited for a diagnostics program to run, and he had realized suddenly that it was just a bit too quiet. Danny liked to mutter under his breath, and as they both preferred the more hands-on side of things, he and Danny often worked in the same area. Or at the very least in the same wing. But the boy was nowhere to be found.

It wasn’t like he could really go anywhere, really, but it was still cause for concern. What if he did something stupid like going for a spacewalk without an observer? No such thing was on the schedule for the day, but Danny tended to get wrapped up in his own head from time to time and skip safety procedures.

Curious and slightly worried, Max went around to their teammates checking if Danny was with them. He stopped at the garden first. It had a sealed door, for the purpose of measuring oxygen levels and keeping a controlled environment when needed. Max knocked and the door slid open. Joel was inside, at the door controls. He held a tablet loosely in the crook of his left arm, as though he had just been marking something down.

“What’s up?” Joel asked. He pushed off and glided back to a strange-looking flower, one with a red bloom and purple stems. Max had never seen anything of the sort. Max moved slightly into the space. He looked around, but didn’t see Danny.

“Have you seen Danny since breakfast?” Replied Max.

~~~~

As soon as Danny saw the rest of the crew gathered in the common area he knew he’d messed up. It didn’t help that he had a McDonalds Sprite in hand. (It was the closest thing he had found to downing straight ectoplasm). He debated for a moment on turning it invisible in his hand but from the speed at which everyone’s heads had swiveled to see him, he knew he’d been caught. (At least he’d had the tact to revert to human form before phasing into the station).

“What have you got there, Danny?” Questioned Jamie with a raised brow.

“Uh-” Danny stared blankly down at the drink in his hand. His brain froze.

“A smoothie?” Danny referenced. Sadly his joke didn’t seem to land. It was a very icy reception. Awkward, Danny glanced off to the side and took an idle sip from his drink. The tension in the air was so thick it could be cut with a knife.

Isabella was the next to speak.

“We know there’s something up with you, Fenton. Is it something that’s gonna endanger the team?” She asked coldly. She hovered up near the roof, grasping one of the bright blue handles. A tablet floated idly next to her.

Danny sputtered.

“No- of course not!” He said without thinking.

“So there is something going on!” She shouted victoriously. Heat rushed to Danny’s cheeks. Jazz pulls those mind-tricks on him all the time, how’d he miss it?

“Danny,” Said Joel seriously. All eyes turned to him.

“Are you an alien?” He whispered conspiratorially. There was a bright glimmer in his eyes.

Okay, that was a new one.

“No way he’s an alien!” Jamie interjected. “My bet’s still on vampire.” He said matter-of-factly. Danny just looked on in disbelief. They started shouting observations and evidence back and forth at each other and suddenly Danny realized he hadn’t been nearly as inconspicuous as he thought. He almost considered trying to sneak off and lock himself in the bathroom when suddenly a hand landed on his shoulder.

Danny jumped, making his head slam into the ceiling. Max idled beneath him, looking slightly guilty.

“You keep getting stuff from somewhere, and you’re acting weird. You might as well tell us what’s up with you. How are you going back to Earth and then appearing back up here?” Max asked, plain and simple. But Danny didn’t know how to respond.

His first instinct was to lie through his teeth, build up a toppling tower of falsities that would surely crush him when it finally collapsed (he still waited for his parents to see that his teenage life was full of plot-holes) but there was no way he could hide this. They caught him red-handed, and there was no way out. Danny couldn’t find the words to explain.

Luckily, Isabella found them for him. (Or not-so luckily, depending on perspective).

“Amity Park, huh?” She said sharply. The tablet was now held in her hands. She turned it around to show a paused video.

It was Wes Weston’s youtube channel. Specifically a video that Danny made him take down. Wes had promised he had, but by the ‘unlisted’ tag, it was clear he hadn’t followed through. Isabella tapped the screen and audio filled the common area.

~~~~

“-Everyone thinks I’m crazy, but I know I’m right!” Wes shouted in the squeaky tone of a teenager whose voice hadn’t quite settled.

“Danny Fenton is Danny Phantom! Here,” Wes gestured to a table behind him, pulled up on a projector that was aimed at his bedroom wall.

“-I kept track of all of Fenton’s bathroom breaks for the last month. Ninety-three percent of them line up with Phantom sightings!” Something clicked and the view changed.

Instead of the graph, it showed an image of 15-year-old Danny Fenton’s yearbook picture. Another click, and it was replaced by Phantom’s, in a remarkably similar angle. Though the expression was different and leaves partially covered the camera. A new slide and suddenly the two were overlaid, one right next to the other. They formed an almost-perfect face. One face.

~~~~

Isabella tapped it again and the video paused at that exact moment. She grinned, not out of maliciousness, but with the glint of a predator who knew they had already won. Damn. How far did she dig to get that?

“According to some old forums, up to like ten years old, Amity Park is infested with supernatural beings called ghosts. A lot of people chalked it up as a tourist hoax, but there are some pretty serious discussions out there. And official records of many deaths being declared as caused by ghosts. A lot of it was deleted or redacted or covered up in some way, but I managed.” She shrugged. Isabella spun the screen back around to herself and swiped down idly.

“The name Fenton also showed up so often, I could filter my search by it. Also repeated mentions of Fentonworks, and various patents filed under the company. Which were all redacted to hell, and had mentions of something called the ‘Ghostly Investigation Ward’ stamped all over them.”

“Looks like they were government funded somehow. Mixed with the forums’ details of them and even some published papers I found, it seems like they were pretty into the paranormal. And Danny ‘Phantom’ sounds pretty ghostly to me.” Isabella looked at him with an expression of inquiry. She feigned innocence.

“You’re too smart.” Danny scathed. Isabella just made a ‘hm’ sound and shrugged.

“It was on the internet. All I had to do was find it.”

“Spill it, ghost boy.” With that final statement, everyone turned to look at Danny. A wave of anxiety rolled over him. The temperature suddenly dipped, before he reigned it back in a split second later. It didn’t stop Max from shivering.

“My parents have been really into ghosts, since college.” Danny started. His hand found its way to the nape of his neck, a nervous tic he’d never really had reason to kick.

“Their life's work was to prove ghosts were real, but their theory was all wrong.” Danny tapped into his core lightly, letting it steer him towards what was technically the floor, and he sat down.

“They thought that ghosts must be evil, so they made all kinds of weapons to fight them. But their crowning achievement was this- portal. A gateway.” Danny looked up and didn’t see any looks of confusion or disgust, so he continued.

“They worked on it for a decade, and they finally finished it when I was 14. They booted it up and it didn’t turn on.” An ache started in Danny’s chest. It felt like swallowing sandpaper.

“My parents went out to get their minds off it and my friends convinced me to go take a look while they were out. Maybe they missed something.”

“One thing led to another, and I went inside. It powered up right on top of me.” Danny didn’t mention the button inside, how his parents’ stupidity had endangered him.

“Turns out ghosts are real, and dying isn’t an absolute.”

“Only a sith deals in absolutes,” Jamie quoted automatically. Then he realized what he’d interrupted and his jaw snapped shut with a click. But the statement was so out of left field that it made Danny bark with laughter. He lost control of the tears that had been threatening to spill down his face the entire time he spoke, and soon he was doubled over from the hilarity of it. It was infectious, and they all started cackling. All but one, that is.

“Is he laughing or crying?!” Joel worried. But he didn’t get a response. Danny was so startled that his core leaked, freezing the tears to his face in sheets of ice. The temperature plummeted, and suddenly no one was laughing anymore.

Danny could feel the tangible shift in the room and it only took him a moment to realize his slip.

“Ah- heck,” He said, still fighting off the last vestiges of laughter. He reigned in his energy, letting it sink back into his skin. It felt nasty, like sucking honey through a straw, but he didn’t want to freeze his crewmates.

“Holy- what was that?” Max asked. He clung to a handrail, where before he’d been hanging in the middle of the room.

“Sorry,” Danny apologized immediately. He formed a quick ball of hot ectoplasm and passed it to Max, who simply stared at the ball of green flames in his hand. He blinked owlishly at it, before Danny realized that most people probably didn’t expect to be handed a fireball.

“Ah- it’s warm, no burns.” He explained quickly. Max lagged for a moment before gingerly poking it. The flames licked playfully at his fingers. After realizing it wasn’t painful, he let Danny deposit it into his cupped hands.

“Wow,” Max stared at it, mesmerized. That is, until Joel interjected.

“So that’s it!” He floated near one of the wall-mounted computers. A page of search results cast light on his glasses, hiding his eyes from view.

“Rosa sanguinolentus are a rare blooming plant in the rose family which is known in folklore as being a ward against ghosts.” Quoted Joel. Upon receiving confused looks, he explained further.

“I have one in the garden, I noticed Danny avoiding it. He also sneezed when he got too close.” Joel offered. In response was a chorus of ‘ew’s. Danny’s nose crinkled at the reminder.

“Blood blossoms,” He said darkly. Danny floated back to his previous sitting spot. Max passed the ecto-ball to Isabella.

“I thought they were extinct. I tried to make sure of it, myself, but I guess I missed some.”

“In this form they’re just an allergen, but they can be deadly. Those buggers hurt.” He got a far-off look in his eye.

“Form?” Max inquired.

“Ah-” Danny started. He floated ever so slightly upwards, then triggered his transformation. He’d learned to minimize the energy wasted when he switched, and thus instead of rings it was a simple flash and Phantom settled over his bones.

Immediately, Danny’s freckles began to glow, as they’d done each time he transformed since being accepted into the program. In the place of a simple t-shirt and loose-fitting pants was instead a slim suit, covered with a dark green leather jacket and a menagerie of belts. Without thinking, a crown formed over Danny’s head. He realized his mistake quickly and spun around, shooing the thing away, making it fade back into energy.

“Was that a crown?” Asked Jamie. Danny was suddenly reminded they only had half the story. The before.

“...maybe.” Danny responded hesitantly.

“I, uh, may or may not have pummeled the former High King of all Ghosts and gained his title through combat?” He said quickly.

“But I can’t really accept it until I’m fully dead, so there’s a council of regents in place until the day comes, or if I’m immortal, then when I turn 180.” Danny ranted.

“I really hope I’m not immortal, but like I’ve only grown 2 inches since I was 14 and I still get handed kids menus, so like- maybe I might be?”

“I only really have two others to compare myself to, and one of them is evil so like he’s not a very good baseline.”

“Wait wait- back up. King? Ghosts have a social structure?” Jamie asked with curiosity in his eyes.

“Kinda..? I’m only half ghost so I don’t fully understand. I tried to avoid the whole thing but then there were a bunch of assassination attempts, so I had to accept it.” Now that Danny had started talking, the admittances just tumbled from his brain.

“Half-ghost?” Joel asked.

“Ectoplasm and electricity equals half death and a bunch of DNA stuff, that’s about all my understanding of it.”

Joel hummed.

“So do you know what that Ghostly Ward is?” Ask Isabella.

“It’s a secret branch of the government, they cover up all the stuff in Amity. Horrible ghost hunters, I don’t think any of them ever landed a shot. But rumor is their scientists are ruthless. They contracted my parents for a lot of weapons, and funded their research."

"I guess Ghostly Investigation Ward is their real name, but I only ever heard them called the Guys in White. They are like, super strict about dress code. I dunno," Danny shrugged.

"So Ah, yeah. Lab accident, half ghost, boom- ghost powers. I got a whole catalogue of 'em. I can go down the list if you want but it might take me a while." Danny reclined in the air. He let his core take hold so he didn't drift from his spot.

"Wait- so how have you been getting to Earth and back?"

"In this form I can withstand space, and I don't need to breathe." Danny suddenly remembered he still had a drink and took another sip.

"Using your powers would be such an asset!" Exclaimed Joel.

"No way can we keep this to ourselves. There's so much you could do!"

Danny's core stuttered in his chest. The temperature dipped.

"There's a reason I've kept it a secret." Danny said coolly, to keep his emotions under wraps. He felt a mixture of anger and he was scared. Scared of what could happen, the liability that had just been created.

"Every time my secret has been revealed I have been hunted and my family's been put in danger. That GIW is no joke- if they got any clue of what I am I'd be dead- fully dead- in a week. I haven't even told my own parents because I'm scared they'd attack me."

"I have more than earned my right to keep it to myself. I have saved the world at least three times, and that's only the times that a Time God didn't warn me beforehand! And you heard of none of them."

The crew just blinked owlishly at him. Danny realized he was floating in empty space.

“Ok…” Isabella said quietly.

“I think I got about half of that.” Jamie replied.

“Ghosts are real?!” Max looked like he was about to go through a midlife crisis. Or a breakdown. One of the two.

Danny steered himself back towards the apparent ‘floor.’ He dropped his ghost form, appearing as Danny Fenton once again. He lowered his voice and spoke more softly, genuinely.

“I’ve had superpowers since I was 14, and up until now only five people in my life knew about it.” ‘One of whom tries to kill me on a regular basis, but they don’t need to know that.’

“I spent my teenage years protecting my town from ghosts and it was a miracle that I finished high school. Let alone got up here where I am now, in space.”

“I’m not completely human, I don’t know what I am, really. But aside from the whole ghost powers thing I’m still the same as I was before my accident.”

Danny took a deep breath, and let it all out.

“Would an ice cream cone for each of you make it better? Or I can get cheeseburgers?” He was obviously trying to placate them. The best way to get somebody on your side was through their stomach.

“I…” Jamie started.

“It’d be a good start.”

~~~~

TWO MONTHS LATER…

“Danny!” Shouted Jamie.

“Where are youuuuuuu!” He called.

Joel appeared from around the hall.

“He’s off-ship, had some date with his partner. An anniversary?”

Jamie huffed.

“He was supposed to take me with him to pick up a cake for Isabella’s birthday.”

“There goes that set of plans.”Jamie threw his hands in the air and set off in the other direction.

“I didn’t forget!” Danny suddenly popped into existence behind Joel, who would have jumped had he not already been floating. Jamie whipped around and came back from the other end of the station. His white hair, black suit, and exorbitant number of belts had become a typical sight.

“Where were you!?” He yelled.

“Well for starters, that date is tomorrow. Also I found this rock outside, it looks unique!” Danny offered the chosen rock to Joel. It was shiny, and glittered in the light.

“Another one? I don’t have space for them all! I am completely overrun as it stands.” Joel sounded tired. Danny’s star-studded freckles dimmed. His pointed ears lowered.

Dang it. Joel couldn’t bear to see that face. Especially after Danny took him back to earth yesterday so he could re-dye his hair. It didn’t help that Danny always looked younger in his ghost form, closer to sixteen than twenty-two.

“Ugghh,” Joel put a hand out and Danny lit up as he handed off the rock.

“You’ll have to tell us more about it at show and tell,” Jamie joked sarcastically.

“For now, we have a walmart cake section to raid!” He announced. Danny laughed, and they left shortly to go procure their prize.

“They do know they aren’t being very slick, right?” Isabella’s head popped out of a nearby compartment. The birthday girl was smiling. Joel just shrugged and left. He needed to get back to his insects. Buggatrina wasn’t eating nearly as much as she should.

~~~~

“WESLEY WESTON!” A mad spirit rampaged the Amity Park News office, darting around and obviously searching for something. Or, more likely judging by his outburst, someone. This ghost’s presence was such a typical one that barely anyone even batted an eye as he flew over their heads.

The certain red-head in question ducked below his desk. His heart pounded so loudly it threatened to break right out of his ribcage. Oh heck, he’d messed. Up. What exactly did he do, again? Too many things came to mind.

Suddenly a face popped down from above his desk.

“Remember that youtube video you were supposed to delete?” That sweet tone was simply a veil for the threat underneath.

Wes gulped.

#fic #danny phantom #dp #astronaut!danny #ghost king!danny #ghostking!danny #wes weston #hehehhehehe #i had fun w this one #i wrote most of it months ago and completely forgot it existsed #my fic

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gooseloverfiction · 8 months ago

Text

I can't get enough

Part 2 to "Chains"

Colt Seavers x afab!reader +18

With too little time left, everyone gets bit desperate...

Part 1

Title from the 'new theme song' by amazing KISS

NSFW, piv, unprotected (wrap It folks!), lot of desperation and just Colt being Colt

Word count: 1,092

Colt almost sprinted, if not the slight throb in the knee and pull at his back. But he was back to his trailer in a record time. With a big hand on the silver handle, he pushed the door, which remained closed.

His brow rose as he tried again, with more force. Nothing… He stumbled down two metal steps and watched the small, wheeled house with a suspicious look. Nah, it was his place for sure. Finally he got a glimpse of the sticky note with scribbled hotel name and room number. He didn't even bother getting in, turning on the heel and stomping through the paths, on the edge of trailers’ park.

His phone pinged not even two minutes later and he had to shield it from the sun to make up what he was seeing.

It was a shot made in a mirror. Colt moved his head to the side and huffed seeing legs bend in knees and a hand between them, one of the fingers definitely dipping in.

The caption said: Plane takes off at 9 pm.

The stuntman looked at the beaten up watch. It was already 5 pm.

Desperately, he moved his long legs faster, purposely taking his aching body towards the parking lot.

——————————————

The drill was easy…

If you were staying in the hotel, Colt would come, ask for a second room key that you would ask to leave for him at the reception and then make himself home, whether you were there or not. Most often he would make himself home between your legs as you hardly ever was not waiting for him.

That’s why he was baffled, again, when the door to your room didn’t open. His keycard didn’t work and you weren’t answering despite his rather obnoxious knocks that were carried down the corridor.

“Babe?!” Colt tried to keep his voice at reasonable volume, looking at his watch and trying a card on the lock again. It beeped a few times and … nothing.

He growled and marveled how simple electronics hated him.

You’ve heard the commotion outside your door, when you stepped out from the shower, sure it couldn't be Colt. It was too early…

With another knock, you put the towel tight around yourself, grabbing the fluffy robe you left on the couch. There was silence for a moment and you turned the knob and opened the door, right when the stuntman tried to push it, after another swipe of the key didn't work.

He stumbled inside, momentum making him leap. His instinct made him roll and jump to his feet quickly. Everything looked like some crazy stunt and you stood there with wide eyes and a knob still in your hand.

“I hate those cards, what happened to goddamn keys?!”

You closed the door and locked them from the inside. With just a few steps you were both smashing your lips and hips together, as if tomorrow wouldn't come. Colt managed to pry himself from your mouth and teeth pulling at his lower lip and frantically started to push you toward the couch, pulling your robe and towel up.

“Bend over, please bend over,” the man was practically begging and you couldn't even say anything before you were flipped and pushed gently down, over the armrest.

He carefully kicked your legs wider apart, his fingers spreading you, the tip of his cock already at your entrance. You didn't even register when he opened his jeans or pulled out.

“Baby, waaaaa-” your voice died on you, consumed by the loud moan that drowned in Colt's long ‘fuuuuuuuu–”, as he pushed into your pussy right till his balls. For a long time nothing happened and you anxiously looked behind your shoulder, your man's face twisted in some sort of ‘superfocus’, as he liked to call it. He was so horrible with names…

“Don't wiggle, or I'll…,” he didn't have to finish for you to know. You chuckled, using your inner muscles to grip harder on his throbbing length.

His fingers dug deeper in your hips. A short slap broke the silence and stopped you.

You could feel a slight sting in your butt and chuckled even more. Colt was one big teddy bear but on the edge he would show some claws.

After what felt an eternity, he finally started moving, his rugged breath hot on your back. He leaned and tried to slip his big hand between you and the couch to reach your clit. He was more than aware that he can bust a nut any moment now, your tight pussy clutching him. He dipped his finger in you when his hips moved back and with slick pad started to tease on definitely too up-tempo. You tried to move yourself from him, only resulting in his cock hitting you right in your delicious spot.

His moans and groans were cut by desperate words ‘Please, cum, cum, cum…’

You almost rolled your eyes at his chivalry, he would die before he would cum first.

Colt sunk teeth in your shoulder and it was enough for encouragement, your body shaking underneath him, your pussy squeezing, gripping, milking him from every single drop as he cummed half a second after you, still fucking you hard and quick.

With the aftershocks falter and Colt stopping, you took a shaky breath and moved a bit to make him slip from your dripping entrance, letting you finally have a longer look at his red face. He was caging you with his arms, his cock sticking out from his open jeans that he kept on. He actually kept everything on, including his black and red leather jacket.

“Wow…you needed it quick, huh?” you joked, reaching to the zipper under the base of his neck but he stopped you, biting your hand.

“Ouch!”

“If you don't want to drop dead right here, don't open it,” he wheezed, putting his forehead on yours.

Your brows moved up and you shook your head in disbelief.

“You didn't shower…”

“I didn't shower…"

You tucked him back into his pants and jeans and just forcefully moved his large frame, slapping his ass to move toward the bathroom.

You loved that goof but loved your sense of smell a bit more…

Colt turned his head, looking at you with a pout,”You're not coming?”

Your eyes had to give him the answer, ‘cause he sighed dramatically and moved toward the humid room.

“I'll call you after the first one?,” the hope in his voice made you crack a smile.

“Call me after second…"

#colt seavers x reader #colt seavers #x reader #ryan gosling #fall guy #n s fw

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ochako-deserves-better · 1 year ago

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Touch-starved pt. 2 Katsuki Bakugo x Ochako Uraraka (romantic)

continuation of this post In this version, both Uraraka and Bakugo have romantic feelings for each other. If you want platonic Kacchako, read this!

"Stay?"

Bakugo doesn't answer right away. Right as Uraraka releases his wrist, however, Bakugo finally speaks. "Why?" he manages, his voice tight.

"Because I want you to?" she tries, replacing her grip on the boy's wrist. He flinches again. Uraraka frowns, "No retort?" she regrets the words the moment they leave her mouth. "Sorry," she apologizes quickly. "Come sit with me? We don't even have to talk, if you don't want to."

"Fine," he manages, allowing the brunette to lead him back to the bed. As they sit, Bakugo instinctively tries to put space between them but Uraraka doesn't seem to allow it. She matches his maneuver perfectly. Bakugo considers moving again, but opts to allow the girl's thigh to press against his.

They sit in semi-comfortable silence for a few moments before Uraraka spoke again. "Can I hug you again?"

"Why?" Bakugo asks. "I'll just crush you again."

Uraraka pouts, puffing out her cheeks. Bakugo suddenly can't look her in the eyes, coughing into his fist as he turns his head. "Will you stop?" she says teasingly, "I already told you it was just the angle. And it's not like I'm that fragile. You know that better than most people."

"That's true," Bakugo says with a short laugh. She has only gotten stronger as they've grown, not that she was ever truly weak to begin with.

"So? Can I?" Uraraka presses, praying she didn't come across as wanting too much to return to his arms.

"Whatever," he says in response, "I guess." Bakugo kicks his legs out, swinging them back in an attempt to gain enough momentum to stand. Uraraka stares at him in confusion.

"You just said I could hug you again. What are you doing?" she asks, the shame of rejection prickling her skin.

"I know?" Bakugo tilts his head slightly, seemingly just as confused as Uraraka. "I just assumed... I dunno. I needed to stand for that, or whatever." Bakugo's normally confident air fizzled into something Uraraka has never seen from the boy.

"People cuddle on beds all the time?"

"Cuddle?!" Bakugo exclaims, his eyes wide. "You said hug! Cuddling is--!"

"Just hugging but sitting down?" Uraraka snickers. She has never seen Bakugo so flustered, and likely never will again, so she's enjoying this sight for as long as she can. "Or laying down too, if you want."

"What are you saying?! That's some couple shit! I--We--" Bakugo growls in frustration, his face practically glowing in embarrassment.

Uraraka blinks a few times. "It's not like anyone would know. I won't tell if you don't want me to." She pats the mattress, "Are you joining me again or not?" Uraraka winces at her own tone. She was trying to comfort Bakugo at first, but her own annoyance has begun to twinge at her nerves. Is doing 'couple shit' with Uraraka that bad an idea for him?

Saying nothing, Bakugo flops unceremoniously onto Uraraka's bed. He seems upset. "Bakugo if you don't want to--" she cuts herself off with a squeak as Bakugo's arm wraps around her and yanks her to his chest.

The angle is awkward and a little uncomfortable. Uraraka tries to ignore the pain in her spine, Bakugo is holding her by his choice, when would she get to experience this again? Eventually, though, the pinch in her spine becomes too great to ignore. If she asks to move though, he might leave again. She'll have to be daring.

Uraraka leans hard into Bakugo's shoulder, twisting his body with the force. Bakugo makes a noise, confusion with a touch of irritation, but follows her lead, swinging his legs onto the bed. Perfect. "Lay down," she demands.

"Ha?" Bakugo stammers, "I-"

"My back hurts," she explains, separating from him to look him in the eyes. His eyes are wide, mouth slightly quivering as he seemingly fights against a new expression that attempts to take over his face. "It'd be better if we just.." She lightly pushed his shoulders, coaxing him down.

"You're.." Bakugo starts, he seems to decide against it, because suddenly Uraraka loses the resistance and crashes onto Bakugo's chest. He's going along with it?! Uraraka can't help but smile against the black fabric of his tshirt. "Is this okay?" He asks as his hand settles between her shoulders. His voice is surprisingly small.

Uraraka hums in agreement. Feeling brave, she slides one of her legs over his hips, settling her body, essentially, on top of him. "Is this okay?" she asks.

Bakugo says nothing, but the hammering of his heart gives him away. Uraraka suppresses a giggle. "Have you never done this before?" she asks.

"Have you?" Bakugo counters.

"Of course I have," she laughs. Her laugh quickly dies as she hears him scoff. She clarifies, "The girls have cuddle time, like, weekly, Bakugo. Remember what I said earlier? Hugs reduce stress. Other than Jirou, because she's not big on physical touch, the rest of the us all climb into Momo's bed all the time."

"....As a group?"

Uraraka rolls her eyes, "Of course as a group. It'd be too intimate if it was just... two.. people," Uraraka realizes her mistake too late and trails off, grabbing a fistful of Bakugo's shirt in her hand.

"Is this too-"

"No."

"But you just sa-"

"I know what I said. But it's fine. You're different." Uraraka's head is screaming. She vaguely hears Bakugo's breathing quicken, the gears turning in his mind. She has to change the subject right now if she wants their relationship to stay the way it is. "Why were you doing your work in the common room?" she asks again.

"Are we just going to ignore--" he starts.

"Yes," she mumbles into his chest, turning her face into the fabric of his shirt to avoid catching a glimpse at his face. Unbeknownst to her, her companion was staring at the ceiling, desperately trying not to overthink the situation they are in.

"Fine," he sighs. "I... uh." Bakugo struggles for a moment, starting and stopping the sentence a few times. "Nightmares," he relents. "I've had them since I was a kid, but it's only gotten worse. Being around people helps. For whatever reason." he explains, his voice rough as though the words physically hurt him.

"What happens in the nightmares?" Uraraka asks, rubbing soothing circles on his chest with her thumb.

"I don't know. I don't usually remember 'em. I just wake up feeling like I'm dying."

"Since you were little?"

"Since I got my Quirk, yeah."

"Did this help when you were little?" Uraraka asks, "like, snuggles from your mom?" She pauses. "Not that I'm comparing myself to your-- ew. That's NOT what I meant! I--" Uraraka lifts her head to better look at him in her panic.

Bakugo's laughing. Truly laughing. Granted, he is laughing at her expense, but Uraraka couldn't find it within herself to care about that. "Relax, Cheeks, I knew what you meant." His hand drifted from her shoulders to her hair, lightly pushing for her head to return to his chest. His hand didn't move, instead she feels his fingers tangle into her hair. "You're nothing like my mother." He murmured, more to himself than to her. "But honestly, I don't know. We aren't the hugging type."

"Not even when you were little?"

"Nah. Wasn't worth the risk with my Quirk. What if I got too sweaty and blew up my grandma? Be a surefire way to ruin Christmas."

Uraraka partially pulled away from him again, upper body straining in order to make eye contact with him. "That's bullshit! You were a little kid! They should've found a way! It wasn't your fault that your Quirk was strong!" Uraraka can feel the fire building within her. She sees him in her mind. Katsuki, maybe five years old, waking up from a dream only to have his parents turn him away. She feels her eyes burning with tears. He was probably so scared.

Bakugo visibly begins to stress. "It's fine! I'm fine. Uraraka, I learned to deal with it on my own! It-"

"But you shouldn't have had to!" she retorts. "You were little and you were scared!" The tears spill over and fall down her face, "You deserve to feel safe. You deserve to feel how loved you are."

Oops.

Bakugo's face twists in confusion. "What are you talking about?" Uraraka tries to scramble away to escape her own embarrassment but Bakugo quickly wraps his other arm tightly around her, locking her in place. "Nah, you don't get to leave after you said what you just said."

"Bakugo, please. I--" She hides her face into his chest again, her entire body ablaze in shame.

"How loved am I?" he asks. She whines. "You might as well say it."

"I don't like how smug you sound right now," she mumbles into his chest, ignoring the laugh she hears in response.

"Fine. It's getting late anyway." She feels him pull her off of him. "Goodnight," the bed shifts as he stands, shaking Uraraka out of the stupor she was in.

Swallowing her pride, she stands, snatching his wrist again. "You're so loved, Bakugo. By Deku, by Jirou, and Kirishima and Denki and..." she pauses, "a-and me."

She hears him take a deep breath, the sound more noticeable to her now that air refuses to fill her lungs. He turns around, wrapping his arms around her waist and picking her off the ground. He holds her there, red gaze boring into her. "Is that true?"

She nods, pressing a kiss to his cheek. When he didn't respond, she backtracked, "sorry. I thought maybe-- it doesn't matter. I can still, we can still-- if you have nightmares I want to help you, okay? This doesn't have to be weird-" he squeezes her, knocking the air out her lungs and silencing her.

"Will you stop?" He sets her down, before not-so-subtly wiping his hands on his pants. "It's not weird. I just--" he sighs aggressively. "I'm not good at this, okay?" He leans forward and ever-so-gently kisses the top of her head. "I have to go. But-- tomorrow? We can- I don't know."

"Okay, yeah. Tomorrow," she smiles, a giddy blush coating her already pink cheeks. "But Bakugo? I'm serious. If you have a nightmare..."

"You'll be the first to know." Bakugo echoes her smile with a small one of his own. "I- uh." he hesitates, "Goodnight."

Uraraka giggles, feeling what Bakugo couldn't get himself to say out loud. Not yet anyway. "Sweet dreams."

#bnha #bnha drabble #bnha writing #kacchako #mha #mha drabble #mha writing

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