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bked0n-lorazepam · 7 months ago

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"The Wrong Kind of Jealousy" p. hockstetter Oneshot

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Summary: A break up leaves Y/N heartbroken and feeling awful, and Patrick doesn't like it. He's the only one who should make you feel like shit, and he's determined to prove he can be worse than your boyfriend.

Warnings: Vulgar language, break up, kind of non-con, choking, passing out, dacryphilia, classroom setting, almost fingering, use of "slut."

A/N: My bad guys, I got botox up my bladder so I haven't gotten to my Wips 😭 Here's my apology, please don't burn my house down.

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“Aiden, please! I didn’t know he’d ask me out, I thought he was just being friendly.” You sobbed, breath raspy and scattered.

You had met a guy named Donnie in your science class while you were taking a test. He had asked for answers since he was new to the school and didn’t know much, and being the people pleaser you were, you gave them to him.

He asked for your number after and said that he’d give you the answers to the upcoming math test as a thank you, and you didn’t think anything of it.

You two started talking, and became friends over the few weeks you knew each other. Of course, nobody ever has kind intentions anymore, and he called you, asking you out on a date while you were making food in your kitchen. Since your boyfriend Aiden went to a different school, the two had never met. And he picked up the phone before you could.

“Does that really fucking matter?” He raised his voice at you and you flinched. He’d never gotten so upset over things like this, so it hurt to hear him yell.

You had a plethora of guy friends; many that he was also friends with. So why was he so angry now?

“You never thought to tell him about me? About us?” Aiden threw his hands on his head and laughed. He was pissed.

“I didn’t think about it, it seemed innocent!” You couldn’t recall the last time you had to defend yourself like this to someone over anything because you were an honest person.

He shook his head and ran his hands down his face, inhaling deeply. “I should’ve known you were gonna cheat on me. Nobody’s that perfect.”

“Aiden-”

“You’re a slut, Y/N. I should’ve fucking known. We’re done.” He growled, grabbing his jacket off of the counter and aiming towards the door.

“Aiden, please wait.” Tears fell down your face as you tried to reason with him. You loved Aiden, and you didn’t want to see him go.

“I don’t wanna fucking see you again.” Aiden slammed the door behind him, leaving you to cry in your kitchen.

–

Two days passed, and you were miserable. You cut it off with Donnie, and you hadn’t seen or heard from Aiden since that night. It was lunch and you were at school, eating your meal in an empty classroom, sitting on one of the desks. You’d usually eat with Aiden and talk about anything, but now it was quiet and lonely.

Holding your sandwich up to your mouth, you were about to take a bite when the door opened.

It was Patrick Hockstetter. The bane of your very existence.

He was such an asshole, and you hated him. He’d grope you, call you names, sometimes even hurt you if you two were alone. You had brought it up to Aiden a couple of times, but he’d always dismiss it, saying he did it to everybody and that you weren’t special.

You never had sex with Aiden, and he never saw you naked, so he also never saw any of the marks Patrick would leave on you. Burn scars from lighters and cigarettes, bruises, cuts, the initials he carved under your belly button. The hickeys.

You never thought it counted as cheating since you never reciprocated anything Patrick would do, and you never told Aiden about it in fear that he’d break up with you for it. But you knew deep, deep down, that you were cheating.

Because a sick, sick, part of you liked it.

Aiden was never rough with you when making out. He treated you like fine China, which you were thankful for. But he never went further, not like Patrick would.

Aiden would kiss you softly, never pressing too hard on your lips. Patrick would make you choke on his tongue and bite your lips, making you bleed every time.

You hated him, and everything he did. But sometimes you’d look at your scars and remember how awful it felt, and you’d get hot and red in the face.

“Figured your cunt would be in here.” Grinning, he slipped through the crack in the door and closed it, locking it behind him. You shivered, knowing that you weren’t going to leave the classroom without some kind of wound.

“What do you want?” You croaked out, voice hoarse from crying. You put the sandwich back in your lunch bag and crossed your arms over your chest, regretting the tight white shirt and pastel pink skirt you wore today.

Patrick snickered at your poor attempt to cover yourself and he turned the lights off, making the only light in the room be from the cracks in the blinds that covered the windows.

“What do you think I want?” It was only then that you noticed the blood from his nose, and the blood on his hands. Usually you’d never think anything of it, but you were somewhat worried.

Patrick never liked Aiden. He hated how much attention Aiden took from you, and he made sure you knew. He hated how upset you’d get when you remembered a date you two would have to go on, especially right after he’d make you suck him off.

You’d be a complete mess, mascara running down your face, lip gloss smudged, hair sticking up everywhere, drool on your chin, and your clothes would be ruined.

He liked you better when you looked that way and begged him to stop. He made sure to take a picture once, and when he couldn’t see you, he’d jerk off to it.

Patrick loved when you looked ruined, but you always wanted to look put together for Aiden.

“Patrick, what’s on your hands?” You asked shakily, eyes trained to his blood soaked fingers.

Patrick tutted and started a slow stride to the desk you were on. “You know, Aiden was never a good choice for ya’, toots.”

You crossed your left leg over your right and your skirt rode up your thighs, and Patrick licked his lips.

“I mean, he always controlled what you did. You couldn’t go anywhere without him. And you surely wouldn’t be wearing that skirt if you two were still together.” He stopped in front of you, and put his right hand on your left knee, and his other on your calf.

He uncrossed your legs and stepped between them, removing his hands and placing them on the desk.

Patrick’s eyes never strayed from yours, and you were shaking.

“What did you do?” You caught your breath and questioned him, fear evident all over your face.

“You never cried for me as much as you did a couple nights ago for him.” Patrick’s face held no emotion, and you had no idea what was happening inside his mind.

It filled you with dread.

“Patrick, please.” His right hand moved from the desk and he placed it up your left thigh, moving it under your skirt. His left hand went around your throat, and his fingers placed themselves skillfully against the sides of your neck.

He squeezed, hard, and slipped his fingers underneath the waistband of your underwear, pulling them back and snapping the elastic back onto your skin.

You yelped, and it took away most of your oxygen. Patrick’s fingers teased down your leg and to the back of your knee, leaving a trail of blood as it went.

You didn’t ask him, but you knew it was Aiden’s. You didn’t want to know what happened to him.

You were hyperventilating now, taking in any air that you could. Patrick would lessen his grip every now and then so you wouldn’t pass out, but then he’d tighten it again. The process repeated until you were wailing, and your hands were clawing at his.

His right hand was resting on your thigh again, and would etch up closer to your groin whenever he’d let go a bit. You were full on sobbing, and you looked perfect to him.

Mascara down your face, red marks on your neck that would surely leave a perfect blue and purple handprint later. You were trembling underneath his touch, and he loved it.

Aiden could never make you cry like he could, and Patrick carried that pride with him.

You tried to beg him to stop, but your words were broken and you could barely keep yourself conscious. Black spots dotted your vision, and you kept thrashing against him.

He had never gone so far when choking you, and he’d usually leave you with some air. But he didn’t now, no matter what you did.

Patrick’s fingers climbed up into your underwear, and he smirked when he saw the fear in your wet, drowning eyes. Two fingers touched your entrance, and he dragged them up and down, pinching at your clit.

You’d never been more terrified as to what Patrick was going to do next, but you never found out. He squeezed your throat much harder, completely blocking your windpipe from getting any form of oxygen.

The black spots took control of your vision, and you went limp in his hands. Your legs stopped kicking, your hands fell to your sides. Your head lolled back, and your face relaxed.

Patrick hummed and let go of your neck, letting you fall back on the desk. He made sure your pulse was still beating, and his fingers went into your entrance with no more resistance.

Aiden could never make you feel anything like he could.

#x reader #fem reader #patrick hockstetter #pennywise #it #patrick hocksetter x reader #stephen king #smut #tw noncon

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soapskies · 1 year ago

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Hey! I'm after reading your platonic yandere Riddler with a teenager/kid that tried to escape and it got me thinking 🤔.

What would it be like if it was with arkham knight scarecrow?

(Same prompt as riddlers one just with scarecrow)

Please and thank you ｡⁠◕⁠‿⁠◕⁠｡

YANDERE AK SCARECROW CATCHES READER ESCAPING

MALE CHILD READER. PLATONIC HCS.

You couldn’t stop yourself from clenching your fists every time you thought about Scarecrow. Every waking moment you had to spend in his lab was starting to drive you crazy. All the screaming, fighting, fear and helplessness…last time you helped him restrain his victim , you came out of it with deep, ugly scratches on your arms, far worse than previous sessions.

You tried to hide them from Jonathan, god bless anyone who becomes the recipient of his anger, but it’s difficult to keep things from someone who’s worked with all sorts of people in his career, who knew every tell of yours down to the last uneasy twitch. And tears are hard to hide for a child who’s fought to keep their emotions down for so long.

Suffice to say, that test subject never left the session with his face intact. That dose of toxin was far greater than you’d ever seen administered; the poor man writhed and clawed like he was trying to dig it out of his very flesh, and nobody seemed to care that you were standing right there to witness it all…

You tossed and turned all night, wishing your memory could be scrubbed with a sponge. Why did you put up with this? Why would a “father” act so callous? Sure, he may feed you, clothe you, soothe you through your nightmares… but that all must be a front, for a man who enjoyed to watch people suffer.

All you needed was the perfect distraction. Something that would disrupt his routine enough that you would be the last of his concerns.

That’s right. The fear toxin! It would be a real shame if he got a taste of his own medicine.

Scarecrow didn’t mind you exploring all that much, it was only natural for a child, and besides, he was hoping you would start to gain genuine interest in his work eventually.

You knew exactly where he kept his pressurized containers of nightmare fuel. They were sitting in the lab with that macabre exam table, sharing a wall with your bedroom…

So you set up a trap, one that would trigger the room to fill up with toxin when Crane went in for his next experiment…

And while that was going on, you would hopefully be halfway across Gotham

Just as you were about to jump down from the window, you felt your body start to tremble, and suddenly the drop seemed much farther below…

You scrambled back onto your bed, only to be confronted by shadows that ran across your walls and the malicious tentacles of a monster reaching for you from under your bed.

You spent the whole night hiding under the covers, praying for it all to be over, until morning came.

Scarecrow seemed particularly smug the next morning, prodding you about how well you slept.

When you went to check what had gone wrong with your trap, you realized that the containers were purposefully set up so that the toxin would move through the vent connected to your room…

You never tried anything like that again.

Scarecrow wouldn’t be a violent yandere, especially to a child, but he loves to fuck with you.

You always feel like something’s wrong, but you can never prove that Scarecrow had something to do with it. You didn’t dare ask him about the fear toxin incident. You knew it would only confirm to him that you had tried to gas him…

For the most part Jonathan doesn’t punish you for it, only throws your attempts back at you like they were nothing, instilling the fear into you that if you ever tried anything, he is more than capable of hurting you ten times greater.

If you do try to escape again after this, he’ll start to grow worried. Why aren’t you being receptive to his ideas? Hasn’t he been a good father to you? Hasn’t he shown you the power fear holds?

Maybe you wouldn’t mind having your pillowcase laced with his toxins at night… those bedtime monsters sure do keep little boys like you in line, don’t they?

#scarecrow x child reader #jonathan crane x child reader #jonathan crane x male reader #scarecrow x male reader #scarecrow x reader #jonathan crane x reader #tw yandere #yandere

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lwh-writing · 1 year ago

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Hope you don't mind if I just cut in real quick--

*****

'That Gaara kid is just as much of a bastard as Sasuke,' Naruto thinks as those three weird ninja from Sand? Wind? Wherever turn their backs and start walking away.

Sasuke is already scoffing and turning to give him the same old 'you idiot' look that has been driving Naruto crazy since that mission in Waves when the sound of footsteps stop and the Makeup Boy and the Rude Girl stumble into Gaara.

Naruto turns his head at the sound, and notices the looks of absolute, soul-deep fear on the boy and the girl's faces. Something about it rubs Naruto the wrong way. He can't quite put his finger on it until Gaara slowly turns back around and he sees the hateful look in his eye.

'They're scared of him,' Naruto realizes as the boy and girl start making ridiculous apologies for accidentally bumping into him. 'Why? Teammates... teammates shouldn't be scared of each other.'

"Mother, why... why him, why now? Would the chuunin exams not be suffic--" Gaara cuts himself off, as if someone is speaking over him. As if he's hearing instructions, no, orders from a voice no one can hear but him. He grits his teeth. "Fine."

"You, Uchiha," Gaara says, turning to face him, "Prepare to die."

Naruto shouts out just at the same time as Sasuke and Sakura.

"Do you truly wish to do this in the streets?"

"Hey! You can't just go and attack a Leaf shinobi in their own village, even if you are in Konoha under permission!"

"Bring it on! Nobody gets to kick The Bastard's ass other than me!"

Gaara ignores Sasuke and Sakura, but focuses in on Naruto.

"You," he says, "You too shall die and prove my--" he cuts himself off again and listens. "What? But, why-- are you sure?!" More listening, and then. "Fine. Fine. You, blond one. Mother wishes to know if you have ah, 'plant powers' this time?!"

"Plant powers?" Sasuke scoffs.

"This time?!" Sakura screeches.

"Ugh, no?" Naruto answers honestly, "I mean, obviously I can do a whole bunch of awesome things, believe it! But, ugh.... no plant powers."

Gaara nods. "Mother finds this acceptable. She wishes to speak with you at a later date, uncle--"

"Uncle?!" Makeup Boy and Rude Girl screech, turning to look at Naruto in horror.

"--but for now would be content with you holding onto this." Gaara pulls some sand out of that giant gourd on his back and forms a little critter out of sand with it. It's small, and ratty, and absolutely adorable. Plus it doesn't try to kill him like Tora did, so that's a plus!

"Awwwwwwww!" Naruto coos, "I'm gonna' call you Trash Bear!"

"Mother says his name is Shukaku, not Trash Bear!"

"Too late! Trash Bear! Trash Bear! Trash Bear!"

Gaara sighs. "Mother says she will correct this behavior later. As for now--"

And that's when he starts trying to obliterate Sasuke.

Honestly, when Naruto fantasized about saving Sasuke earlier this morning, it involved a lot more cool ninja stuff and a lot less hugging a sand critter and its respective boy into submission, rushing Sasuke to the hospital before he bled out, and the Kyuubi swearing at him about 'Stupid fucking siblings pulling the same shit across generations. Of all the whelps I could've been sealed in, I just HAD to get that bastard's reincarnation, of fucking course--"

On the bright side, Naruto eventually was able to calm down Gaara and the sand critter enough that they're both curled up and sleeping on top of him as he, Sakura, Makeup Boy, and Rude Girl sit in the hospital waiting room to see if Sasuke is officially brain dead or not.

Makeup Boy and Rude Girl are now a lot less rude and are giving Naruto these half-awe-struck, half-scared-shitless looks.

"He made Gaara sleep, holy shit," Makeup Boy murmurs.

"Hey, Kankuro," Rude Girl says slowly, "Konoha's got the Nine-Tails, right?"

"...yes?"

"And we've got the One-Tails?"

"Yeah?"

"So that means Gaara's 'uncle' here is, in theory, nine times stronger than him?"

Makeup Boy looks at Naruto, looks at Gaara's sleeping head laying on his shoulder, and then starts swearing violently.

Kakashi-sensei chooses that moment to pop into the hospital waiting room. He barely looks up from his porn book before saying. "Well, looks like the chuunin exams nomination is a bust."

"Kakashi-sensei!" Naruto cheers. "Come meet our new friends! They tried to kill The Bastard, but I think we figured everything out."

"Yeah, yeah, we're friends now." Makeup Boy is quick to agree. "And friends don't let friends get tortured in T&I, right? Right?!"

"Nobody hurts my friends!" Naruto agrees.

Makeup Boy nods. "Good enough for me." He then turns to Kakashi-sensei. "Hypothetically, what would be the proper protocol for someone reporting a hypothetical invasion of this village? Hypothetically?"

Rude Girl slaps her forehead as Kakashi-sensei snaps his book closed. "This is why I never wanted a genin team."

Shukaku isn't insane enough for this shit.

AU where Shukaku recognizes Naruto and Sasuke as the incarnations of his brothers… and hilarity ensues. [Meeting Gaara] Gaara: Uchiha Sasuke! I will see you in the Chunin ex- what? No, no, I can do it, but why? Okay, okay, o k a y. Ahem. I must kill you right now, for some reason. Mother really wants your blood.

Sasuke: I haven’t even spoken to you!?! Naruto: Bring it, no one knocks Sasuke but me!

Gaara: You too, will prove my exis- what? Why!?! Fine. You, blonde one. Mother is … conflicted… about you. As long as you do not have plant powers, uh, “this time”, as apparently that is a deal breaker, I am supposed to ask you to stand aside. And also to hug this tiny racoon made of sand I have made.

Everyone: ?

Kurama: …ooooohhhhHHHHHHH. Shit, NNOOOO. I suddenly know WHERE I AM, AND IT’S GROUND ZERO OF THESE TWO AT IT AGAIN! FUUUUUUU~~

#naruto #gaara of the sand #shukaku #temari #kankuro #kakashi hatake #sasuke uchiha #sakura #kurama #fanfic #writing #i had way too much fun with this #drabble

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chaotic-super · 2 years ago

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Back To Krypton - Chapter 18

Alex paces at the foot of the bed, ignoring the group all bunched together atop of it. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

“We all do, Alex.” Kara flops back on the bed in a half-reclined position, her head falling onto Lena’s lap where lithe fingers eagerly burrow into her soft blonde tresses, not scratching nor combing, simply resting in the golden locks like each fingertip is being tucked into bed.

The air is thick with apprehension, it’s suffocating. Not a single person in that room has anything but every possibility for what Astra’s people may require of them running through their head and not a single person can fathom of a single way to express their thoughts in a coherent way.

Sometimes, there is no coherent way.

Somehow, little Esme is the only one to have the courage to state the obvious. “They aren’t good people, are they?”

Kelly holds her daughter tight, keeping her arms wrapped around her as tight as she can, unwilling to ever let her daughter go because she fears that if she does, it could be the last time, as rational or irrational as that is.

“We’re still figuring that out.” Kara offers when nobody else speaks. “But I’m going to go find some answers.”

Everybody jumps when Kara sits up, wincing as she does so because Lena’s fingers instinctually latched on and pulled her hair slightly with the motion.

Alex pauses her pacing. “Now? You’re planning on going out there now?”

“We’ve been waiting in here for hours now, waiting for my aunt to come up with some plan or talk to some people we know nothing about. We don’t know what she’s planning, and I need to know. I’m going to talk to her and then I’m coming right back, I promise.” Kara grabs hold of the door handle, holding a hand facing outwards towards Alex when she tries to step closer, probably to try and stop her.

Nobody gets the chance to say anything else then because Kara is already out of the door, not sticking around to hear the others try and probably succeed in telling her that they should all stick together.

That may be true, but some things are better off done alone, it tends to get messy when they go in as a group. Wires get crossed and they won’t get all of their questions answered, there’s too much potential for something to go wrong.

She barely makes it to the end of the hallway back to the living room when a guard steps out in front of her, blocking her path and preventing her from leaving the hallway.

It takes no time for her to recognize the guard as the same one that was in the dining room with Astra, Lena and herself the night they were first brought back here.

“Zin-Ra? That’s your name, right?”

A brisk head nod tells her that she’s right, but it takes no genius to see that the snap of his neck holds anger and distrust. He definitely doesn’t like her.

“I need to speak to General Astra In-Ze.”

Words are spat at her then. “Rrip si ehwor i kehp dhid ukep. Rrip ehwor vahdhan taiium.” (You should speak your own tongue here. You speak like a foreigner.)

“Now that’s the kind of hatred towards diversity that I’d expect from the council. Perhaps you should be trying to raise yourself above their primitive values instead of agreeing with them.” Kara retorts, tone hardened into that which she usually reserves for when she’s wearing her cape.

Zin-Ra steps forward into her space, challenging her to back down, which Kara will never do, her pride will never let her.

The second he realizes that she isn’t intimidated by him, Zin-Ra strikes, setting a firm jab into her ribs and knocking the air out of her lungs. Kara stumbles back from the force of it, caught off guard by it and the audacity of the man to just punch her out of nowhere just to prove his intelligence-lacking point.

She instinctually curls over herself slightly, a hand coming up to wrap around her middle. Zin-Ra takes the opportunity for another sly hit, a cowardly hit if there ever was one. He strikes her across the face once her eyes shift away from him, not being dignified enough to conduct himself in the general rules of a fair fight.

The punch brings Kara back to herself though and just in time too because her eyes flick up as he brings his fist back up again.

She ducks beneath the swinging arm, pushing herself close enough to get her own hit into his stomach and then a knee to his face when he doubles over.

Kara figures that a couple of hits in the same places she got hit would even the score a little, but Zin-Ra doesn’t care about equality. He just wants to win and winning for him seems to include grievous bodily harm at the very minimum.

He rushes at her, grabbing her by her shoulders and slamming her into the wall of the hallway with as much force as he can muster, which given that he is a trained soldier, is quite a lot.

She hits the wall with a loud thud, her body overflowing with the pain from the force of it and falls right to the floor after the impact.

Kara really isn’t used to fighting without her powers, even the sessions she used to have with Alex stopped because the kryptonite room was destroyed along with the DEO months back so this is a new one.

That doesn’t mean that her training from the early days of the DEO has left her. She got a lot of training that she had always thought was pointless but right now, being taught how to fight through her pain is something she’s grateful for and it has her stumbling back to her feet and throwing her entire body weight at the idiot that dared to attack Supergirl.

She knocks him to the floor, dazing him. He clearly wasn’t expecting her to fight back, and it takes a second for him to realize that he’s now flat on his back with Kara straddling him, her fist pounding into his face with a rage that he hadn’t anticipated.

Kara gets half a dozen punches in before she’s being dragged off of him though, two sets of hands grabbing her arms and holding her tight.

Her fist aches, as does most of her body but her knuckles are screaming at her. Her biceps are being pinched in the grips of two other guards and when her fury-induced tunnel vision clears, she can see another guard hunched over Zin-Ra, trying to wake him up by tapping the side of his bloodied face. She must have knocked him unconscious.

“What is going on here?”

Astra storms into view, drawn by the ruckus and the sounds of the guards berating Kara, not that she’s paying them any mind, her eyes now glued to Zin-Ra, in utter disbelief at what just transpired.

The guards fall silent at the entrance of their general.

“I suggest you let go of my niece this instant, we will have to conduct an investigation into this but until then, you have no right to restrain her.” Astra steps over Zin-Ra, who is now being tended to by another man, one who is very clearly a medic of some kind.

The guards not only release her but also take a step back as their general approaches. Astra stops in front of Kara, her hand falling to her niece’s forearm. “Are you alright?”

Kara clears her throat, well aware that she isn’t and from the pain she’s in, worsening now that the adrenaline is wearing off. “I’ll be fine. Can we talk somewhere privately? I was looking for you before Zin-Ra decided that he wanted to get his ass handed to him.”

“Disrespect towards any members of The Rebellion is not tolerated, Kara. You are not to speak of any of my guards or anyone else in such a manner again. I will however listen to your truth of what happened here, and we can discuss anything else you need. Come, we will talk in the library, and I’ll have someone bring me some medical supplies to get you cleaned up.”

Astra tightens her grip on Kara’s forearm, but she knows that it’s just for show, she isn’t pulling her or forcing her to go with her, just merely guiding her and holding a pretence. Kara knows better than to speak until they are away from everyone else, Astra is already going to have a job getting her out of this situation that Zin-Ra created by attacking her. She knows that the other members of The Rebellion are not going to side with her on this.

Astra takes her to the library just as she said, pulling her through the door and sending someone off to get some medical supplies. She is taken up to the desk and placed into one of the chairs while Astra waits by the door for the supplies to be brought to her.

As soon as they are in her hands Astra is right up next to her, dragging a chair beside her own so she can see how badly Kara is injured.

The time alone gave Kara time to think and notice the amount of blood on her knuckles and the tightness of the skin on her face from her own blood drying in place.

She wonders if the others heard the fight, if they are going to be questioned or if they are even safe here after that. She has to keep them safe, she has a duty, and she has to fulfil it.

“Will the others be dragged into this?”

Astra focuses on her face first, wiping away some of the blood so she can see where it’s coming from. She finds the source as the cloth drags over Kara’s split eyebrow and around her rapidly swelling eye.

“I will try to keep them out of it. It helps that they were not present at the time of the fight. What happened Little one?” Astra cups Kara’s cheek, eyes darting over Kara’s visible injuries.

With a deep breath, Kara explains the best she can. “I was coming to find you, to see if you have any updates but he blocked my way through and was mad that I didn’t speak to him in Kryptonese. He insulted me and when I didn’t back down he attacked me, I defended myself.”

“Why didn’t you stop when you had him on the floor?”

“He already got up once and attacked me a second time, I wasn’t going to let there be a third.” Kara tries not to flinch away from any of Astra’s touches. “I knew he didn’t like me from the second he reached for his weapon when I hugged you in the dining room when I was brought back here. I didn’t think he would do anything about it though, that’s on me for not taking it into consideration.”

Astra shakes her head. “It’s not on you. I gave you my word that you would be safe here. I will sort this out, Kara. There will be justice for this. I’m sorry I had to be stern with you out in the hall. I have a pretence I must uphold in front of the other members lest I lose respect and with it, what little control I have.”

“I get it. I would get it if you had to do something about how I spoke about him, but I am glad that it probably won’t come to that, I’m already going to be sore tomorrow, and I don’t need anything else on top of that.” Kara’s arm is wrapped around her ribs, protecting them unconsciously from any more harm.

Astra pulls it out of her way. “I have to see.”

Kara helps lift her shirt enough to show the darkening bruise already forming on one side of her torso from the punch she took. “He has a good punch in him. I’d be more impressed if I wasn’t the one on the receiving end.” Kara laughs a little, trying to ease the tension.

Astra’s own fury is palpitating off her in waves. “He will pay for this. I will be sure of it.”

“He already has.”

“He has not.”

“He was the one who ended up unconscious on the floor.” Kara watches the way Astra’s eyes trail over each injury she finds, even lingering on some of her old scars.

Astra tugs her shirt back down, instead aiming her hands for some sutures for her eyebrow and the bridge of her nose, the only other place her skin broke. “Are there any more injuries?”

Kara shakes her head, “he threw me against the wall, my back is a bit sore, but I doubt that there is anything major there, probably just more bruises. My knuckles will heal in due time too. It’ll all heal, Aunt Astra.”

Kara was already convinced that Astra is on their side, loyal to them as much as she is to The Rebellion, but now she’s sure. There’s no denying the love and care that she is showing her now, the rage that comes with knowing that someone just attacked her family.

“Show me.”

Kara turns in her seat, her movements slow to not jolt the bruises that are setting in now, all adrenaline drained and the pain hitting her full force. He did some damage, that’s undeniable.

Astra once again pulls up her shirt, her fingertips falling to her scarred back. Kara knows that it’s the part of her body with the most residual damage, she has some major scarring from the reign incident and her fall from the top of the building where she was dropped off but in the moment that Astra asked her to turn, she forgot about it.

It doesn’t even enter her mind until she hears the gasp. She pulls at her shirt, dragging it back down and trying to turn back around but Astra’s firm hands stop her and in her injured state, she doesn’t have the strength to fight.

“I did not realize how brutal the battles you have fought in have been to you.” Astra brushes over each scar with the faintest of touches. “Little one…” Her voice trails away, no words enough to express the despair she feels at having her most precious family member sitting before her with every major wound she’s ever had on show before her.

“I know it’s bad. I’m not ashamed of them but I know they aren’t pretty. You’re the only person other than a couple of doctors and Alex that knows that they’re there. What happened tonight will be forgotten soon enough, I have been through worse and probably will do again. I need everything here to go smoothly so I can keep everyone safe.”

Astra finishes looking, gently turning Kara back towards her and enveloping her into a hug. “We’ll keep them safe together, and I’ll keep you safe.”

They both know that it might not be possible, but they both know that she’s going to do whatever she can to make the words as true as she can make them be.

Kara sinks into the embrace, revelling in the feeling she has now that she has someone to protect her, someone she doesn’t feel like she has a duty to protect of her own. She can be completely vulnerable without worrying. It’s something she doesn’t have with anyone else and losing Astra again when the mission is over is going to destroy her all over again. She has to make it last while she can.

“I will do everything in my power to do so,” Astra whispers into her hair and Kara is half convinced that Astra is making the promise to herself.

Kara sniffs as she chokes back tears that are threatening to fall. “Is there any way you can get the others into their own rooms before I head back down there in a little while? I don’t want Esme to see me like this.” She gestures to her swollen eye, well aware that she’s got a nice shiner forming.

“Of course I can. Would you like me to bring Lena up here for the rest of our discussion? I have a feeling that you have some questions for me about my earlier talks with my people.”

“I think that might be best, Lena is probably in a better frame of mind for this than I am.”

Astra takes her hands. “We can talk about this tomorrow, Kara.”

“No, we can’t. I need to know what’s going on and I don’t think that I can wait another day. I need to know everything I can because the apprehension is killing me.”

With a solemn nod, Astra agrees. “There are no faults in your logic. I will escort the others to their own rooms and Lena up here myself. Your partner should be with you at such a time.”

Kara isn’t denying it at this point, Lena and herself are entering the territory where they can’t deny that they are becoming partners. It is no secret between them by now that their feelings have developed and neither have been open to talks on the matter. That’s another thing to add to the to-do list. Tomorrow. Maybe.

“I’d like her to be here.”

“I know. Nobody is permitted to come in here without my say-so, so when you hear the door open again, it will be me. If it’s not, use this.” Astra reaches around to the back of her own pants and beneath her jacket to pull out a small knife.

Kara is shocked by the action, her brain frozen at the implications.

Astra’s strong footsteps echo as she makes her way out without another word, just a small shoulder squeeze and the room suddenly feels freezing.

Even Astra doesn’t trust these people, and she’s their general.

She’s their general but she is very obviously not in total control anymore.

Astra doesn’t think she’s safe here.

Astra just gave her a knife.

Astra is on her side.

This probably isn’t going to end well.

Read the first 17 chapters on A03 here!

Read all 23 chapters so far on Patreon here!

#cw supergirl #supercorp endgame #supercorp #supergirl #supercorp fanfic #kara leaned in #kara x lena #kara danvers #kara zor el #lena luthor #fanfiction #fanfic #wlw #back to krypton #chaoticsuper

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fatuilady · 4 years ago

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— 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐝𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐬 - 𝐡𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠. (headcanons)

✦ word count : 2.6𝐤

✦ feat : 𝐆𝐍 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 , [𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐭] 𝐚𝐥𝐛𝐞𝐝𝐨, 𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐭, 𝐝𝐢𝐥𝐮𝐜, 𝐤𝐚𝐞𝐲𝐚, 𝐫𝐚𝐳𝐨𝐫, 𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢

✦ context : 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐝𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐡𝐮𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 ~

✦ cw : 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐲, 𝐩𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 (kaeya lol)

✦ note : apologies this one took so long, work had been swamping me ;-; ! quite long, pretty wordy, almost oneshots, but i hope you all enjoy anyway :)

𝖆𝖑𝖇𝖊𝖉𝖔 :

✦ This particular chalk prince is all too enthralled with delicacy. His very mantra is all about the fragility of life and creation, surely, you're no exception. He has a unique fascination with life and death, yet seemed to focus little on the precious moments between the cradle and the grave.

✦ Albedo is always gentle, shy and chaste when he embraces you.

✦ At first, he was unfamiliar with the sentiment as social contact had never been his forte, since he was in fact a wall of stone (or chalk?). He'd declined your open offer from his own inexperience, he failed to consider that it may portray him as cold, distant or unwelcoming.

✦ Soon enough, Albedo would begin to ponder how such a simple interaction could bring strong emotion to humankind, yet the more he dwelled upon it, the more he found his arms feeling empty. It was as if his hypothesis was proving itself wrong.

✦ Eventually, he'd come to terms with his growing curiosity, always one to initiate an experiment, he'd offer himself to return the affections - he was very glad he did.

✦ Albedo's coy nature would let him drape one arm around your shoulder, the other taking your hand. He'd wrap his soft hands around your own, placing his head beside your own. His hair would smell soft, newborn and clean, the scent of fresh cotton, baby powder and angel feathers beside your nose as he buried into you.

✦ The chalk prince unfortunately would struggle to find the time for such intimacy on the regular, but when he did find the chance to embrace you, he'd make them last as long as he could.

✦ Perhaps this still lingered from his limited understanding of social cues, but he'd hold onto you for many minutes, more than you could count on one hand. Taking you in his arms, he would touch you as if you were a blooming Cecelia, tenderly and lovingly. You'd return his care, cuddling him and wrapping both arms around his back.

✦ During his hugs, he'd also sometimes find himself tracing over your body with inquisitive hands. Albedo had never had the chance to properly appreciate your anatomy in such a manner before, but he quickly fell in love with your form.

✦ Albedo soon began to realise the adoration behind hugs; his adoration for you also began to grow. Slowly but surely, he actively began to seek out your displays of affection, whether to feel your warmth, play with the fabric of your clothes or caress your shape, he wasn't sure.

'Thank you... deeply, for sharing this moment, you... resemble a statue, I couldn't think of anyone better suited for such an embrace.'

✦ What he was sure of was that he had appreciated the beauty of life in the same way ever before than he did when he was swaddled in your arms.

𝖇𝖊𝖓𝖓𝖊𝖙𝖙 :

✦ The young adventurer is notoriously unlucky, his clumsiness an infamous curse that seems to follow him wherever he goes. It's precisely the reason he's very hesitant to come too close to you, for fear his awful fortune will wipe off on you. No matter how careful he seems to be, there's always something the archons never seem to be on his side.

✦ Instead of his bad luck rubbing off on you, maybe your good luck would rub off on him, at least, that's what you believed.

✦ Bennett was more than surprised when you asked for a hug, your request catching him quite off guard. He'd think on it for a moment, face painted in light pink as he reached for an invisible itch on the back of his neck.

✦ As the leader of Benny's Adventure Team, he'd find it fitting to stand alongside you, carefully tossing one of his arms over your shoulder. He'd snatch you closer with a squeeze, the marigold colour bandana he wore knotted around his upper arm tickling your chin.

✦ The hug itself would be friendly, full of total and mutual trust as you too curled an arm around his front and back. You'd both sway, beaming as laughing as he flashed you an appreciative thumbs up, the sunkiss on his skin making the clumsy boy hold the same warmth as a summer beach.

'I think you're my favourite adventure buddy, I must have been lucky for once to meet someone like you, traveller!'

✦ Bennett would hope to keep moving through Mondstadt with his arm around you. The idea was short lived, to say the least.

✦ As ever, his curse would catch him at the worst moment, a measly loose stone in the plaza floor catching his foot. Bennett tumbled, and so, you tumbled as well.

✦ The active boy would try his best to manoeuvre himself to catch you before you scraped the ground. You'd end up likely crossed over his lap, a compromising position, but it was all in good fun. You loved Bennett's antics, he brought excitement to what could have easily been a mundane life.

✦ Caught up in giggles, Bennett kept his arms crossed over you as he drew his head around to press both yours and his cheeks together. The moment was another perfect instance for a scrapbook, even some of Mondstadt's more grouchier personas sparing a chuckle for you both.

𝖉𝖎𝖑𝖚𝖈 :

✦ For a pyro wielder, Diluc Ragnvindr doesn't present himself warmly. Seemingly tired, uninterested and slightly callous, he concerns himself with practical matters when he is alone: economist by day, vigilante by night. Stuck in his ways, he'd see no purpose in day to day public displays of affection.

✦ This doesn't mean he dislikes contact in private, however.

✦ The common misconception would leave one to believe Diluc was a stone gargoyle, incapable and unwilling to act in any other way. Alone with you, he couldn't be further from it, in fact, in most cases, he's the one to initiate the contact, sometimes without even asking.

✦ When, and only when, perfect conditions are met does Diluc lets go of his tough exterior and ultimately boils down to a lovesick puppy. However, he much prefers to be alone alongside you, of course, in these endeavours.

✦ With nobody else in sight, he would be quick to start loving, his stature still ever strong as he discarded his gloves. The dark side of dawn much preferred to hold you with his bare hands to further lift your caring skinship.

✦ Diluc would wear a sincere smile, one of patience and relief as he drew closer to you. He'd wait for you to signal him with your own charming grin, and only then would he leap into the biggest, most tender bear hug one could conjure.

✦ Strong arms suffocated you as one hand rested on the back of your head, savouring the softness of your hair. The other would cross behind you and after a few compassionate minutes, he'd concentrate his strength to lift you up, up and further into his arms.

✦ If you would like to be put down, he'd place you gentle back onto the floor, releasing you slowly. The flaming hero would notice the mess he had made of your hair, tussling it back to it's usual shape with his fingers.

✦ Otherwise, you could wrap your legs around him, and whilst supporting you, he'd spin around and hold you tightly. Head against his chest, you'd twirl stray strands of his strawberry coloured ponytail in your fingers, relishing in the lingering scent of warm booze, sweet flowers and flecks of ash.

'I apologise for the wait, I'm glad you're still here, you know how dearly I treasure your touch.'

✦ He almost seemed a natural, more so than his love driven brother when it came to private intimacy, but truthfully, he still held small amounts of insecurity. His worry would be holding you too roughly, but the more you insisted you loved his hugs, the more the people of Mondstadt would notice him acting much more chipper during his day shifts at Angel's Share.

𝖐𝖆𝖊𝖞𝖆 :

✦ Smooth talking, smooth moving, smooth loving, there's nothing about the Favonius Cavalry Captain that doesn't radiate utmost self confidence. He acts on his own accord, conducting how he pleases. Still one for manners, he'd clear the water with you far in advance before laying on the next level of his flirtatious affairs.

✦ Kaeya Alberich is incredibly touchy, his behaviour consistent in public, private, wherever he happens to be in the same space as you. His hugs are amatory; romanced laced in the most teasing way.

✦ You could be communing with citizens of Mondstadt, researching in the library, helping sweep away stray leaves at the cathedral on behalf of a desperate attendee. Kaeya makes a habit of catching a glimpse of you as he patrols the city, making a discreet beeline to catch up to you.

✦ Regardless of if you were courting or merely on mutual acquaintanced basis, he'd know exactly which places to stir up when he hugged you from behind.

✦ The frostbearing swordsman would care little about an outside audience, and would enjoy it in true deriding manner if you grew flustered at simply the thought of being intimate in public.

✦ Kaeya would snake his arms around your waist, hands smoothing over the angles or curves. Afterwards, he'd lean into the crook of your neck to place a gentle kiss on your skin.

'I simply couldn't wait another moment, you're heavenly~'

✦ His hair, much like is brothers, would flow over your shoulder like a rich waterfall, scented with rose oil, glistening jasmine and chai.

✦ In private, Kaeya would be even more adoring, favouring a gentler approach opposed to his more teasing public affections. He'd love for you to sit between his legs on the couch, back rested against his chest.

✦ A master of fine swordmanship, he'd be oh so gentle, his touches feather soft, sometimes even so gentle you wouldn't even notice they were there. Regardless, he loves more than life to make a fuss over you when you hug, he loves to play with your hair, he loves to spin circles into your skin with careful fingertips, he loves to whisper every word you'd like to hear all with the intent of making the moment stretch for as long as it could.

✦ Kaeya knew he was free to share his love with you at any moment, but that didn't keep him from making each hug count, after all, he simply just adores the way you fit perfectly into him.

𝖗𝖆𝖟𝖔𝖗 :

✦ Razor is a curious soul, one of primal roots. Human intimacy is worlds apart from the care he shared with his Lupical, so he craves the best of both worlds. The wolf boy wants to learn, who better to verse him in human affection than you?

✦ When you'd ask him if he would like a hug, he was unsure what it was. He'd tilt his head to the side, clueless, but eager nonetheless. If he had a tail like his canine brother and sisters, it would surely be swaying side to side by now

✦ You'd find it adorable how he'd mimic your movements like a puppet, you raised an arm and he'd do the same.

✦ As you brought yourself closer to him, he'd hesitate slightly, his feral nature urging him to step away, but his human mind knew he trusted you, so he stayed in place and allowed you to cuddle him.

✦ When wolves displayed the same behaviour, it was one of threatening origin, normally the kickstarter of an incoming fight, but with you, he felt no threat at all. Admittedly, he seemed a little stiff when you engulfed him, not quite sure what to do with his limbs, he marvelled in place for a moment.

✦ Razor felt a flurrying heat collect in his face as he gasped, gradually relaxing his shoulders as he melted away into your embrace. He also might have felt his eyes sting a little with joyful tears, it was something new, surely, but the half wolf didn't mind it.

✦ He tried to sneak a glance at how you were holding him so he could do his best to replicate it. Hesitantly, he placed his arms around you in return, though they almost seemed to lag as he moved them. Once they were securely around you, Razor felt himself click into place and squeeze tightly.

✦ Gentle wind breezed over you, catching his distinct scent of earth, fresh rain and crushed berries. He seemed a little cold from the touch, but this was expected from somebody who spent his life outside in the roaming scape of Wolvendom.

✦ His hair, though mildly knotted in some places, truly did feel plush like a wolf's pelt, ideal to pat and stroke.

'You are...warm... Razor likes it, I will... stay, for a while'

✦ Razor had discovered two things: He now loved hugs possibly more than hunting, but what he loved most was your hugs specifically.

✦ He'd be more subtle, yet increasingly obvious in the future. Whenever the overgrown puppy of a boy would crave some attention, he'd shuffle close to you, raising his arms in the same way you did when you introduced the concept to you. Moreover, he'd be seeking you out a lot-

𝖛𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖎 :

✦ A carefree and free flowing spirit by design, Venti is true to his element when it comes to hugs. He's a very affectionate boy, but in a more innocent sense. Always full of mischievous laughter, he appreciates the silliness and fun behind the little things.

✦ The windborne bard would be very open about hugs and public affections, often asking both if he could receive and give. When accepting his proposal, you'd get to see him close his eyes in delight, cheering to himself in a childish manner.

✦ He'd be all about the performance, being a bard and all gives him this habit. Laughter, singing, general sounds of delight, whatever he can conjure, Venti would beam with happiness from even the smallest contact with you.

✦ Venti would run and spring into you through the long grass strewn across Starsnatch Cliff, gusts of anemo following his excited behaviour.

✦ What's most humouring is the rather short boy propping himself up on the tips of his toes in order to better the hug, draping both of his arms around your neck.

✦ The bard would love to look into your eyes, placing a cheeky kiss on the tip of your nose. Another common practice would be cupping your face with one hand, holding it in his palm with nothing but adoration.

✦ Another curious trick of his involves his elemental skill. Charging it, he'd hold onto you tightly, chirping as you'd both lock into each other.

'Ehe, hold on tightly, I don't want you to fall!'

✦ In one single burst, you'd be launched upwards by a powerful gust, high enough to see all of Mondstadt in the unexpectedly strong arms of your favourite Archon.

✦ Brushing stray hairs that came loose from your hairstyle during the departure, he was something freeing, a breath of fresh air as you drifted contentedly to the delicate grass below.

✦ Everything about the old young bard seemed peaceful as you'd stay warm, knitted together laying down amongst the dandelions.

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nights-legacy · 4 years ago

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Aizawa x his student reader with a plasma quirk (basically has plasma beams) and nobody wants to be their friend because they are scared of her? How would he comfort her ect;

Here you go!!! I hope you like it!!

That's on Them, Not You - Aizawa x Student!Reader

Main Masterlist MHA Masterlist

Platonic Student/Teacher relationship

Hints of Kiri and Kami comfort at the end.

I sat alone at a lunch table just picking at my food. I pushed the rice around the bowl. I looked up when I heard hushed chatter nearby. A group of students at the table next to mine quickly turned around as my gaze met them. I could see them glancing over their shoulders at me. I sighed and looked down at my food again. What little appetite I had was instantly gone.

“Whatever.” I said to myself before getting up and leaving the table. I threw away my food and left the cafeteria. I wrapped my arms around my stomach and wandered the halls. Lunch had just started so I had time before class.

“Shit, watch out.” I looked and saw two students. They were looking at me and went to the complete other side of the hall to walk past. My eyes fell to the floor when I could nearly feel the fear roll off of them.

In reality, everyone seemed to be scared of me. I was a late entry into UA. I was a part of Class 1-B and have yet to even make one friend. Some people seemed interested in being friends but the changed on my first day of quirk training. I accidentally blow something up with my quirk the injured a few students and even the teacher pretty badly. Ever since then, everyone has avoided me.

Someone even started a rumor that I did it on purpose. I even heard the word villain used once or twice. The teachers had quickly shut that down but the damage was done. I was black balled. Not even Monoma wanted anything to do with my quirk.

I made my way outside and sat under a tree. I lit the plasma in my hand. I watched as it glowed and dimmed, swirled, and sizzle. I could feel the heat creep up my arm. I deactivated my quirk and curled into myself. I pulled my knees into my chest and set my head down and cried. I quietly sobbed until a hand on my shoulder scared me.

“Sh, it’s alright.” I looked up to see Aizawa-sensei. I furiously wiped the tears from my face.

“Sensei. Is something wrong?” I asked, tucking my legs under me.

“Yes something is.” He squatted down in front of me. “Something has you crying, outside, all alone during lunch.” He looked at me expectantly.

“I, I, I…” I stuttered before clamping my mouth shut and looking down at me hands in my lap. I heard him sigh. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying not to cry again. A sob escaped from my throat. “They call me a villain!” I choked out and then heard him move and sit next to me. He set a hand on my back.

“Let it out.” He said quietly.

“They call me a villain! All because of me not being able to completely control my quirk. It was an accident!!” I exclaimed. “I can only hold it and send the plasma out in a beam and be able to control it. Everything else is still touch and go.” I took a breath. “God! Everyone is freaking scared of me. My quirk is only slightly different from the Bakugo kid and people aren’t scared of him…well yes people are but they still go around him and he has friends. People don’t actively avoid him, go to the complete other side of the hall way to avoid being near him, and and and I just don’t get it!” I screamed before I started to lose my breath.

“Hey, hey. Alright.” He rubbed my back. “I need to calm down a bit. You’re starting to hyperventilate. Try and breathe deep. In and out. In and out.” I tried to follow but the few sobs that escaped hindered my progress. He sighed before he pulled me to sit back against the tree. He moved in front of me.

“I can’t…breathe. Sen…sei.” I choked.

“Sh, hey…” He made me look up at him. There was black rim appearing around my vision.

“Aizawa-sensei? Is everything alright?” I heard male voice.

“Oh shit.” Another come up. A red head boy knelt down next to him. A yellow haired boy stood behind him. I recognized both of them from Class 1-A. “What happened?”

“She’s in the midst of a panic attack. Can you two back up a bit?” They nodded and backed up. “Close your eyes, L/N. Try to not think of anything. I know it’s hard but at least try. Or try and only focus on your breathing.” I nodded and did as he said. I was able to clear my head and only focus on my breathing.

“I’m sorry.” I said.

“No, don’t be sorry.” Aizawa whispered. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” We all sat quiet until my breathing went back to normal. I opened my eyes and the two boys smiled at me while Aizawa checked me over. He even went as far as to check my pulse. “Good. Now, listen to me. What everyone says about you, the being a villain, that you hurt your classmates and teacher on purpose…you know they’re all false. I know that and the other teachers know that.”

“But…”

“No. You know who you are, what you can do, and your limitation. If the other students don’t see that and believe the overdramatic rumors flying around, then that’s on them. Not you. So don’t listen to them. You prove to them who you are and if they don’t want to have anything to do with you, don’t quote me on this, screw ‘em.”

“Yeah!” The red head whose name I remembered is Kirishima exclaimed. “And I sounds to me like your trying to associate yourself with the wrong people.”

“I agree.” The yellowed hair one nodded along. I couldn’t remember his name unfortunately.

“You’ll be alright. You have only been here for a short time. I am sure you will find where you belong and the right people to share your time with.” He said glancing over his shoulder lightly. Aizawa placed a comforting hand on my shoulder.

“Thank Aizawa-sensei.” I got up and so did he.

“Ahh, soft Aizawa. This is a change.” Kirishima joked. Aizawa turned towards his students.

“If I find out this ever left your lips, you two are as good as expelled.” They paled and nodded. The yellow one even went as far as to salute. I giggled and Aizawa nodded and walked off. I turned to the boys before blushing in embarrassment.

“Hi, I’m Eijiro Kirishima.”

“And I’m Denki Kaminari.”

“Hi…I’m Y/N L/N.” I said softly.

“You’re the girl with the plasma quirk right?” Kaminari asked. I flinched a little but nodded. “Wicked. It’s so cool.”

“I agree, man! You definitely shouldn’t listen to the haters. They are just jealous.”

“And scared.” I said. Their expression turned to ones of sympathy.

“Yeah but that doesn’t mean that you have to reserve yourself away.” Kaminari said. He held out a hand. “Now come on cutie. We still have time before lunch is over. We know a few people who definitely won’t be scared of you.” I looked at him surprised. I looked over at Kirishima. He nodded. I smiled before taking his hand.

“Thanks.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it. It’s our pleasure.” Kirishima said chuckling. “Just don’t take offense if Bakugo insults you right of the bat. That is just how he is.” I laughed and shook my head. They led me back to the cafeteria. In the corner of my eye is saw a black clothed figure. I looked and saw Aizawa. He smiled and nodded at me.

Thank you. I mouthed to him. He bowed a bit in return.

If you ever need anything, don’t be afraid to come to me. He mouthed back. I nodded. He set a hand over his heart before his stature turned to his normal sleepy self. He turned and walk away.

“Wait a minute. Did you call me cutie?” I suddenly remembered. Kaminari and Kirishima laughed.

“Yeah, he’s a hopeless flirt.” Kirishima said.

“Hey!” Kaminari whined. I laughed as they began to argue. Maybe it’s not so bad.

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junhorhee · 2 years ago

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charlotteoh:

The way she left things with Efe will go into her long list of regrets, except this one is a regret she can’t and will never be able to do anything about. She can’t fix it and she can’t bring Efe back. She merely has to live with it and find it in herself to eventually forgive herself, something she’s not sure she’ll ever get to. The memory of Efe is still so fresh in her head, and it makes everything all the more painful and excruciating. She forces herself out of her own head, to focus on Jun, who’s surely struggling way more than she is and clearly needs her, evident in the way he held onto her. He lost his best friend, his ride-or-die and that’s a type of pain Charlotte fears. She doesn’t know what she would do if Kyle’s name ever appears on the TV. The mere notion frightens her. She looks at Jun, focusing her eyes and attention on him, thankful that he is still sitting here in front of her, because she couldn’t bear the thought of losing him either. For the first time in forever, she’s not thinking of all that went wrong between them, she’s thinking of how in time of need, they resort to each other, and that’s something so big and valuable. She lets him move his fingers in her hair, that simple gesture making her feel some semblance of safety, stability, ease, and warmth in a world that is so far from that right now. She moves closer to him, needing to hold him again and comfort him to the best of her abilities. “You don’t need to thank me.” She takes his hand, giving his knuckles a gentle kiss. She’s not thinking of what’s right or wrong, of what’s allowed and what’s not. Nothing really matters at this specific moment except being there for him. Just you. Just you. Just you. “You have me,” she promises. It’s so much bigger than her staying with him throughout his time of grief and need. It’s a promise she failed to keep two years ago, and is slowly working to prove to him. She tugs him a little closer to her so she can hold him again. “I’m not going to go anywhere, alright?” She pauses. “Talk to me?” she urges lightly and softly, not wanting him to keep anything in, but she’ll respect his wishes if he decides he doesn’t want to talk about it.

He's experienced heartbreak before, but it feels as if nothing compared to the loss he faces right now, the way his heart stings at its very core. Jun knew anything could happen, that nobody was truly safe and remaining in this town meant the possibility of dying or losing someone you cared about so much. Beyond blood, Efe was his brother through and through, and he's someone that keeps his family close to his heart, which is why he finds it so hard to pick himself up right now. Jun thinks about Derin too, how far the younger man had come and how proud he'd become of him, only for what remained of his future to be ripped away too. He misses them both, and it hasn't even been long. So for a moment, he forgets the complicated past he has with Charlotte and clings to her, because the thought of missing her again too, except this time in an entirely different way than their breakup, is too hard for his mind to bear. For someone that had always been eloquent and open with his feelings, he found it difficult to speak right now, to vocalize the feelings in his heart. Jun can only let himself steady for a moment, the gentle touch of Charlotte making his eyes close tight, dropping his head for a moment. "Why was it him?" he whispers as if there would ever be an answer or an explanation that would make anything hurt less. "It doesn't..." he started, feeling any words get caught in his throat and another stray tear falling from his eye. "He didn't deserve it. Neither of them did."

#junho / interactions #c; charlotte oh #i made it shorter im sorry i cant live like this

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lily-drake · 3 years ago

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Death

Death was nothing new in Marinette’s life. In fact it played a large role. Her friends and city had died a hundred times over. Her brother. Her funny, smart, loving, dramatic brother had died at the hands of a mad man. She didn’t think it was wrong for her to use the horse miraculous to visit her brother's grave. It was officially five years after all. He would be 20, he would have loved to plan out her 16th birthday this year. She sat down and read Pride and Prejudice out loud, only a few tears falling as she glanced at the grave every so often. She had also brought a bouquet of white lilies, statices, red carnations, and white daisies. Soft grass laid over the dirt, the sun gleamed above, and sometimes when she would lean against the grave it was almost like she could feel him.

Dark storm clouds began to cloud the sky, and she knew she would have to leave soon, though she didn’t want to. Dad would be upset if he caught her, though considering how many weeds she had to remove from the grave and how abandoned it looked, she doubted anyone had visited any time soon. Suddenly the rain began to pour down and it felt like the earth shook. She felt a great imbalance, but where, and how? She touched both of her ears and she could feel her miraculous still there, Tikki even poked her head out from her bag with a look of fear. A shiver ran down Marinette’s spine as rain came pouring down soaking everything in sight. She looked around, and she kept spinning searching for something, anything that could have caused or been affected by the imbalance. She waited there for many minutes just waiting, when she felt the dirt beneath her feet begin to shift a little. She quickly moved away and watched as the dirt slowly moved and shifted. She felt sick, because the dirt moving was directly where Jason was lying in eternal rest. This couldn’t be right, this must be some mistake! Her brother had died, she had seen the body, it haunted her nightmares for so many nights. He’s been gone for five years! This can’t be possible without some type of wish.

The grass began to move and shift away, and a fleshy mud covered hand raised from the ground causing a scream to rip from her lungs. Her body sprung into action before her mind caught up to her beginning to help dig up her brother's grave, and when she saw the jet black hair covered in dirt and mud she knew that it was him. She heaved him out from the hole and stared in shocked horror as he just sat there staring at her. His eyes were the same blue she remembered, but they were so clouded. Fear, confusion, and nothing shown in his eyes, like he wasn’t even truly there. This must be a dream, it has to be, no, a nightmare. Her brother shouldn’t be back, he died, she saw his limp body in dad’s hands, even if Alfred and bluebird tried to stop her. But the imbalance was real, she could tell, and he was affected by it.

Slowly she raised her hand and hesitantly placed a hand on his cheek. He leaned into her hand, though his eyes were still clouded and void. He may be alive, but he wasn’t fully…alive. She tackled her older brother into a hug and began sobbing onto him, but just sat there, head leaning against hers. Pressing her ear against his chest she could hear his gentle heartbeat, and just for a moment everything seemed like it would be ok. Then she felt a sharp prick in her neck and the world faded to black.

________

Marinette awoke to darkness. She tried to sit up and felt her hands held behind her back being held together by something cold and thick. Memories flooded back into her mind and she snapped into awareness and looked around. It was dark, though there was a small light coming from a window far above where she could not ever reach. The walls seemed to be made of thick stones and there was a heavy iron door a few feet in front of her. Jason wasn’t there though, he wasn’t in the room, she didn’t understand. Suddenly the door opened and she looked up and saw her mother’s green eyes. Her panic grew again, how did she get here, was she captured too? She had visited her often in Paris. She was very vague about her job, and she knew it was probably sketchy, but could it be bad enough to be captured?

“Marinette, My Darling. I apologize for your treatment, I did not realize that you were part of this.”

Talia rushed towards her daughter and unlocked the chains. She was pulled into a tight hug that Marinette quickly returned. After a few moments she pulled away but held her shoulders gently.

“I must show you something, come.”

Talia quickly stood and helped her daughter to her feet and walked swiftly through the calls of Nanda Parabat.

“What is mom?”

Talia smiled at that, she had always loved when her daughter called her that.

“It’s a surprise, My Flower.”

A few more twists though hallways and they stopped in front of a thick wooden door.

“I want you to meet someone.”

The door was pushed open and there sat a small baby in a crip with dark black hair, tanned skin, and dark green eyes. Marinette gasped and covered her mouth,

“Meet your brother, Damian.”

Marinette slowly walked over and stared at Damian through the top of the crib. He silently watched and studied her without making a sound.

“He’s about 3 months old.”

Talia said, smiling happily as she watched her daughter run her fingers through Damian’s small tresses of hair. With a snap of her finger one of her shadows stepped next to her.

“Bring Jason.”

And with that order they were gone returning a few minutes later with a boy who was alive physically, but was mentally gone. She could fix that though, it would be the last resort if all else failed, but she could fix it. Marinette looked up when she heard Jason’s footsteps and her bright smile fell slightly into a small sad one.

“Jay-Jay.”

She whispered softly as she took slow steps towards the boy. She quickly ran and hugged him again. He no longer smelled like mud and he wasn’t wearing his suit, and he was….he was alive again! Tears fell down her cheeks, because she missed him so much.

________

Marinette stayed with her mom in what she learned was Nanda Parabat. She trained with Jason, but he was catatonic, just going through the motions blankly. It worried her, especially as she watched her mother grow more anxious. She cared for her little brother, and wondered if her dad knew, or if he would even care. She often looked at Paris news for when she needed to go for Akuma attacks, but if her host parents even realized she was gone. They hadn’t, nor had any of her “friends” apparently as they hadn’t sent her a single thing from the weeks she’s been gone.

Marinette knew that Nada Parabat wasn’t a good place, knew that the people were bad, knew that her grandfather was the head of it. He didn’t seem to care who she was, he just thought she was some nurse for Damian, and she was thankful for that. She knew that the Lazarus Pits were here, what they did, how they were made, how her grandfather used them for selfish purposes. She didn’t do anything though, she was mad at her father for sending her away, mad that he adopted a bee kid only a year after he sent her away, mad that he never talked to her, mad that Dick never fought for her or looked for her, mad that Jason was forced to wake up and climb his way out of his grave only to be practically brain dead, mad that her classmates believed lies over her, mad that her host parents believed them and treated her like dirt or an invisible object meant to seen and not heard, mad that Chat Noir would leave her during battles because she didn’t return his affections, and mad that no one cared that she was gone! So she trained as hard as she could, made sure that she perfected everything her mother threw at her. Took care of her family and made sure they knew how thankful she was for them and loved them. Then when she finally got a text from someone it was insults for being a horrible person and hurting Lila when she hadn’t been there for weeks!

She threw her phone at the wall and the crack echoed around the room. Her breathing was harsh and ragged and then the tears she had been holding back finally fell. Sobs wracked her body as she bit her lip to keep silent. She tried to take in deep shuddering breaths, but it was no use and the sobs came out. Her knees felt weak and she crumpled to the ground. The door burst open and she saw her mom there knife in hand looking around the room with swift deadly eyes. When she didn’t see any visible threats she kneeled in front of her daughter and looked directly into her eyes. Eyes a storming blue that flooded with tears and made her heart ache and her want to murder whoever made her precious daughter look so broken.

“My Flower, what’s wrong?”

“N-nobody cares ab-about me! No one cares that I’m g-gone. Everyb-body hates me, and I’m so tired of it! I’ll n-never be enough for an-anybody and I’m t-trying so h-hard to do wh-what everyone needs or exp-ects me to be!”

Marinette stuttered out between sobs. Talia glared at that and felt anger at Bruce. She thought that he at least checked in with her every once in a while. She had guessed wrong then. She pulled her daughter into a hug and let her cry against her shoulder.

“Shh, shh. It’s okay. You are perfect the way you are Marinette. You don’t have to prove anything to me. You’re such a good sister, you train so hard, and you have so many amazing skills and talents. You are enough, don’t let anyone say anything different.”

Marinette gripped onto her mom and they both just sat there in silence as Marinette finally just cried. After who knows how long Marinette gently pushed away and looked her mom directly in the eyes with complete seriousness said,

“I want you to help me fake my death. If everyone wants to pretend I’m gone or wants me to disappear, then fine. I will. I don’t want to be seen anymore.”

Talia stared at her daughter in shock for a moment then gave her a small smile.

“It will be done my dear, you will be free.”

“Thank you mom.”

Taglist:

@queenz-z @aespades @fandomsaremylifeline @stainedglassm @toodaloo-kangaroo @prettylittlebutterflie @trippingovermyfeet @liquid-luck-00 @unoriginalmess @buginetye @miraculouslydumb @laurcad123

#maribat #BDBWM2021 #marinette dupain cheng #marinette al ghul wayne #talia sugar #class salt #tom and sabine salt #day 13 #death #sibling au #sibling jasonette #sibling daminette #damian is a baby #angst #fluff

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tomurasprincess · 4 years ago

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Kinktober Day 21: Drugging (Here Comes the Bride)

Day 21: Drugging Title: Here Comes the Bride Pairing: Kirishima x F!Reader Word Count: 2.5k Warnings: Noncon, dubcon, drugging, cheating, bit of mindbreak, yandere Note: Thanks to @pleasantanathema for talking me through this idea when I was like “I DUNNO WHERE TO TAKE THIS.” I really appreciate it!

Kinktober Masterlist

Today is the happiest day of your life. You're finally getting married to the man of your dreams, hero and former classmate, Izuku Midoriya. He was always so determined at UA to be the number one hero that nobody had any doubt that he would manage it. You were always friends through school, but after you graduated, the two of you drifted apart. None of your friend groups truly kept up with each other either, because of busy lives at various hero agencies, so you never really even crossed paths.

But when you got to work with Deku on a joint mission, you had hit it off again, like there had never been any distance between you at all. A year later, you were engaged to be married. And now, a year after that, you are standing in the bridal room looking at yourself in your beautiful wedding gown.

You turn every which way in the mirror to inspect your dress, your jewelry, your shoes, before finally deciding that everything was in place. The ceremony itself is quickly approaching, and you’re just about to step off the platform and head to the main ballroom. But before you can leave, someone you don’t expect comes storming in.

“I have to talk to you,” Kirishima Ejirou declares instantly as he strides towards you. He’s a mutual friend of you and Deku, attending UA and graduating along with both of you. Deku had an easy decision when he chose him to help participate in the wedding.

“Okay, but it’s got to be quick. Can’t be late for my own wedding,” you smile at him.

Kirishima doesn’t share your smile, however. In fact, his eyes seem to darken and narrow a bit, but he shakes it off as he hands you a champagne glass. “Here, thought you might want something to drink first.”

“I’m okay, really - “

“Come on, you’ve got to be a bit nervous,” he coaxes you, still holding out the glass. “This will help calm you down a bit, I promise.”

You pause for a second before reaching out to accept the drink. “Thank you, Eijirou,” you smile at him as you take a drink. “You’re always so thoughtful.”

The champagne is actually quite good, and you find yourself drinking it too quickly, causing your head to swim with dizziness.

“Whoa there, don’t fall over,” Eijirou teases you as he grabs your arm to hold you steady. He helps you down from the platform you were standing on to admire your dress in the mirror, and leads you into a sitting area in the next room.

“Here, sit down for a second,” he lowers you down onto a large couch before sitting beside you. His thigh brushes your own, sending pleasant sensations running up your leg.

“I - I suddenly don’t feel so good,” your voice trembles a bit as the room begins to spin.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Eijirou whispers as he pulls you into his lap. His hand moves to cup your face, finger trailing along your lower lip.

Your brain feels like it’s full of a thick fog, leaving you off balance and unable to process what’s happening. “I can’t be on your lap like this, I have to go - “

“No!” His harsh voice causes you to jump a bit. “I mean, no you don’t,” he says in a much quieter voice. “You don’t need to go because you’re not getting married to Deku.”

“What do you mean? Of course I am! Me feeling a bit weird isn’t going to stop me from marrying the man that I lo-”

“No, you don’t love him,” Eijirou’s hand comes up quickly to cover your mouth and prevent you from finishing your sentence. “You love me, you just haven’t accepted it yet.”

“This is crazy, you’re acting crazy!” You try to pull yourself up, but his fingers dig into your thighs, forcing you back down on his lap and causing you to feel the bulge inside his pants.

“You’re wrong,” he says firmly. “I’m not crazy, just in love.”

You’re struggling even harder now, trying to loosen his firm grip on you. But Eijirou has always been inhumanely strong, and you don’t manage to do anything but grind yourself down on his erection. “You’re not in love with me! And it doesn’t matter anyway, because I’m marrying Izuku.”

“No, you’re not,” he snarls as he hardens his fists, ripping away the lower section of your dress. “I love you, I’ve always loved you. Why am I not good enough?”

You begin to shake in fear and horror as he throws part of your dress away, watching it fall to the floor in a crumpled heap. “It’s not that - “

“Then what is it?” He kisses down the column of your neck, pausing occasionally to nip at your skin with his sharp teeth before lapping at the marks he makes to soothe them. “I’m just as much of a hero as he is, so why did you never look my way?”

He fumbles with the buttons and latches at the back of your dress before finally getting frustrated, tearing the halves of your top apart just as easily as he ripped the train of your dress off. “Just let me prove to you how much I love you, how well I’ll treat you.” He kisses along the tops of your now bare breasts, reaching to cup one of them in a large hand.

As he works one of your nipples with his fingers, he takes the other one into his mouth, grazing gently along it with a sharp tooth before suckling at it until he feels it gets hard.

The room is spinning so wildly now that you feel as if you’re on a merry go round, and you find yourself unable to keep your eyes open. You try to clear the haze from your mind for a second as you ponder what’s wrong with you, before it hits you like a lightning bolt.

The champagne he gave you.

“Did you drug me?” Your voice comes out sounding slurred, as if you’re drunk. “You must have.”

“I wouldn’t have had to if you just accepted my love,” he whispers in a slightly pained voice. “So really, this is your fault that you made me do this.”

His hips are moving now as they hump against your core, and when his clothed cock rubs along your slit, you can’t help but let out a small moan despite yourself.

“See? There it is,” he chuckles in relief, “I knew you wanted me. You just needed a bit of a push.” He sits you down beside him for a few seconds as he hurriedly undresses, removing his suit jacket and shirt first before slipping out of his pants. You glance at the door, wanting to make a break for it while he’s distracted. But instead, you lean your head heavily back against the couch, unable to hold it up on your own.

After he’s naked in front of you, he finishes removing the rest of your dress, marveling at your pretty lacy panties. “These are so cute,” he says as he rubs a finger up your pussy, causing you to tremble. “I’m so glad you’re wearing these for me.”

He lifts you back up, sliding his cock along your folds to lubriate himself. You’re humiliated to realize that despite everything, you’re absolutely soaked. “Please Eijirou, please don’t do this,” you beg your friend to reverse his decision, to stop this madness.

“I promise, it’s going to be okay, you’ll see,” he murmurs as he begins to lower you onto his cock. He’s so thick, and you’re so tight that it seems like he’s not going to be able to fit it inside of you. But he’s determined, making short shallow thrusts as your muscles begin to relax and loosen, aided by the drug that’s making you feel as if you’re floating.

He glances down at one point to see a streak of blood along his length, looking at you in shock. “You were a virgin,” he whispers in awe. “I’m so glad you saved yourself for me.” You no longer have the energy to refute his words. You know it won’t matter anyway.

Now that he’s past your entrance, the rest of his cock goes in easier, your wet walls allowing him to slide in without trouble. When he grazes your cervix with his cock, he stops for a second, allowing you to get used to his size. He coos at you, rubbing his hands along your back and down your stomach. “You’re being so good for me.” He kisses your forehead and pulls your sweaty hair out of your face. “It was always supposed to be like this.”

He grips your hips and begins to bounce you gently, bottoming out inside of you with every thrust while still taking it as slowly as he can. It doesn’t take long for you to begin panting, pussy getting even wetter as you drip along his cock and onto his balls. Your head falls forward, burying your face in Eijirou’s neck. It’s better this way, anyway. This way he won’t see the tears falling from your face.

“Getting a bit sleepy, there, sweetie?” He laughs quietly. “Here, maybe this will be better.” He picks you up and lays you down across the couch, removing his cock just long enough to situate you before he’s plunging back inside. A sharp gasp is pulled from your throat as your walls stretch around him, and he groans.

“Fuck, your pussy is sucking me in so well,” he groans as he laces his fingers with yours, pulling them above your head as he begins to move faster. “Clenching around me like you never want me to pull out.”

He sucks at the pulse point of your neck before biting down, breaking the skin and causing blood to roll in rivulets down past your chest. You whimper in pain at those sharp teeth being buried in the skin of your neck, and the wound stings as his tongue laps at the blood. “That’s going to scar,” he says proudly as he removes his teeth and examines the wound. “And then everyone will know you’re mine.”

His hips smack against yours roughly as he pounds you, your breasts bouncing with every move and the lewd noises of your bodies joining filling the room. “Deku would never treat you this well, would he?” Eijirou’s voice is loud, demanding, almost desperate. “Admit it.”

Your eyes flutter closed again, but he grips your neck firmly until you open your eyes again. “Please admit it,” he whispers, big sad eyes reminding you of a puppy begging for love.

Despite everything, you feel your heart break a little, and you find yourself nodding. His smile returns, the easygoing smile you’ve always liked since the first time you met him. “Tell me you love me, that you’ve - ahh, hgg - that you’ve wanted this for so long.” You feel his pace become a bit erratic, eyes closing for a second before he regains control of himself. “Tell me you love me,” he growls out the demand as he speeds up, shifting his angle to smack against a soft, sensitive spot inside of you. You whine as you feel tension building, seeming to be even stronger because of the drugged weightlessness you’re feeling. You do love him, don’t you? You were always so close, and you’ve certainly said the words to him before.

“I’m doing this for you, sweetie,” he says in a broken voice, that puppy dog look returning to his eyes. “I didn’t want it to be like this, but you left me no choice.” A tear trails down his face, and you find yourself unable to stop yourself from reaching up to wipe it away. “If you had just accepted me from the beginning - “

He reaches down to rub your clit in tight circles when he feels you clench around him, causing sparks of pleasure to run through you. “Sweetheart, just admit it, I need you to admit it,” he’s outright pleading with you now, pace becoming ragged.

“I love you,” you manage to slur out, toes curling and eyes rolling back into your head as you finally climax around him. “I love you, Eijirou.”

“Fuck,” he hisses as his orgasm tears through him at your confession, holding you still as he empties himself inside of you. Not that he has to be very firm with you as you become increasingly weak.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he chuckles a bit as he kisses you, cupping your chin and lifting your head so that he can get more access to your mouth. “See how much better things are when you tell people how you really feel?”

You give a mindless nod at his question. It really is nice, you think, and he feels so warm and strong, holding you as you tremble.

“Now, I have some clothes over there for you. Going to help you put them on, and then we’re leaving. I’ll take you out of here and then you can get some sleep, okay?”

Another tired nod from you. Sleep really did seem good right about now. You feel like you are on a boat rocking back and forth, and your eyes will barely stay open anymore. You feel like you’re forgetting something important, but you just can’t recall it at the moment.

He dresses you carefully before pulling back to admire you with a satisfied smile on his face. “You look so beautiful,” he murmurs as he cups your face and kisses your forehead. He helps you up, heading to the door before he pauses like he forgot something.

“You don’t need anything else here, do you?”

You try to sort through your muddled thoughts, but it gives you a bit of a headache and so you stop trying. “No, not that I can think of.”

He beams at you, a look of pure pride as he wraps his arm around you. “In that case, why don’t we get out of here? Only 30 minutes left, and I want to be gone by then.”

You almost know what he means by 30 minutes, somewhere in the back of your mind. Something that should be important to you.

But then Eijirou, the man of your dreams, is pulling you to the door as he tells you how much he loves you, and you realize that if it truly were important, then you’d remember it.

Wouldn’t you?

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ❋ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

Kinktober: @thewheezingwyvern, @vixen-scribbles, @katsukisprincess, @hisoknen, @trafalgar-temptress, @leeswritingworld, @burnedbyshoto, @bakugotrashpanda, @dee-madwriter, @kittycatkrissa, @reinawritesbnha, @yanderart, @dabilove27, @fae-father, @anxietyplusultra, @flutterfalla, @angmarwitch, @nereida19, @babayaga67, @fromsunnywithlove, @dabis-kitten, @bakugos-cumsock, @yumeneji, @the-grimm-writer, @iwaizumi-chan, @slashersheart, @bunnyywritings, @bakarinnie, @angie-1306, @emplosion22, @lalalemon101, @videogameboiwhowins, @f4nficbaby, @tenkoshimmy, @baroque-baby, @bbyspiiice, @thirstyforthem2dmen, @blissfulignorance2000, @bluecookies02-main

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the-last-kenobi · 4 years ago

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*kciks down door* ReQuEsTs?!??! uh, 18. “Is it all right if I hug you?” with Obi-wan and character of your choice (please, this boy needs a hug so bad)

Hugs!!!! What an excellent ask.

Took me forever to pick a character though. I came this close to writing multiple hugs throughout the years but it would’ve been very long...

It’s still long. Whoops.

Note: I skipped the actual sentence and instead went for ✨vibes only✨

(From this various prompts list.)

Obi-Wan is twenty-three standard years old, very nearly twenty-four.

It is a delightful stage of life. (It’s awful.)

He’s growing in independence, so close to Knighthood he can almost taste it. (Is he? Nobody seems to have a clear opinion.)

He’s receiving more and more solo assignments, and on his missions with Master Jinn, the older Jedi makes an effort to at least await the Padawan’s input before making a decision, sometimes even deferring to Obi-Wan’s word. (Only in public, though, is there a sense of equality. Behind the scenes, Obi-Wan is still very much the learner.)

He longs to be free. (He doesn’t want to be alone.)

The confusing clash of thoughts and emotions is, in and of itself, a creator of more clashing emotions, all resulting in a bundle of self-doubt that crouches near his heart, like a greedy bird, picking away at his strength and certainty when he most needs it.

Doesn’t your doubt show you that you’re truly not ready? the pestering creature asks.

Doesn’t your longing for freedom prove you don’t deserve it? it says, tapping against the veins of ice and fear that lie right against the heat of his heart.

Doesn’t your need to be reassured tell you that you’re too hesitant, too weak to be alone?

His desire to fly is wrong. His desire to be sheltered, even more so.

Both together, coexisting in his heart and mind, could quite possibly mean the one thing he had been dreading for over a decade now, the thing older Jedi, real Jedi, had put into words and addressed to his face when he was only twelve, only eleven, only ten.

You are too emotional, they said.

You are overeager, they said.

You are not destined to be a Jedi, Qui-Gon had told him. I will not train you.

He had, in the end, and Obi-Wan has been wondering in the depths of his heart for all these years of it had not been a dreadful mistake. As much as the Force sings in his ears Jedi, Jedi, Jedi, endure, Jedi, Jedi, it felt like everything he touched, everything tangible, argues back failure, weak, selfish, foolish, unwanted, not fit.

Obi-Wan is twenty-three, almost twenty-four, and he is years into adulthood and light years away from proving that he’s capable of handling it.

When will he be Knighted?

Nobody seems to be expecting it from him.

Do they know, he wonders, have they known since the beginning that I am doomed to fail? Has this all been a gracious attempt, a thank you for my actions on Bandomeer, and they have drawn this out and out and out as long as they can?

How much longer can this go on?

Still, there are moments when he is at peace, when Obi-Wan is sure. When he meditates, when he accomplishes something new, when he walks away from an assignment feeling unashamed when he translates his memories into a tidy mission report.

When he has one of his long talks with Master Yoda, or Master Windu, who despite their revered status have taken to talking to him more like a friend than a child, outside of the Council chambers.

When he remembers the Force whispering inside, Jedi Jedi Jedi Jedi, endure, Jedi...

And then, on one of the missions assigned to both himself and his Master - still the overwhelming majority of his assignments - he and Qui-Gon are separated during a violent uprising.

There are bodies in the streets and buildings are aflame; children weep over the bodies of their parents and parents cradle the bodies of their children and scream as if the sound is their only companion left in the world. The standing government has a point, the rebellion has a point, the civilians caught in the crossfire don’t say which point they agree with because they’re too busy screaming and perishing, and Qui-Gon is simply gone.

Obi-Wan, faced with the threat of further bloodshed right here and right now even as the air is still clogged with ash and flame and as another body topples from a rooftop in front of his feet, raises his hand in surrender and calmly proposes a truce, offering himself as a legal hostage against the government that brought the Jedi here.

Obi-Wan is led away with his hands bound behind his back and his lightsaber taken away, and though his face is calm, the furrow between is brow speaks of his inner turmoil, which sounds like tapping against the cracks in his heart and Qui-Gon, where is Master Qui-Gon, I don’t know what I’m doing, if I fail more people will die, if I fail it will be my fault, is this taking charge or stepping aside, am I a leader or a victim?

He spends not days, not weeks, but three standard months as a hostage. He spends a terrible amount of time sitting in a cell and pondering his uselessness, the gravity of his foolishness, but every time someone opens the door and escorts him out to hold parley with the leaders of the rebellion and the ministry of the planet, he holds his head high, tempers his fear, and speaks to them with all he has.

Which is honesty. Humility.

You don’t know what to do, he says. Neither do I.

We all know we must do something. No matter how much blood you spill and how much earth you scorch you will eventually come back here to this table to have this same discussion until either both of you are broken beyond belief or one of you has been crushed, and half your planet’s voice stolen away. And you will have sacrificed two of the Republic’s Jedi along the way, a black mark against whichever victor is left standing.

Or, he says, we choose to pass over the violence and talk here and now, and choose this again and again and again. You have already had your fighting. Your people are already hoping for negotiation.

Are you here for their sakes or to kill them for show?

He does not use these exact words.

He sews them into his brief speeches, hammers in the point sharply when he must, weaves the common thread over and over again.

He knows they fight while he is locked away.

But he believes, from the growing respect in the eyes of these people who hold him both by his and against his will, that he is making a difference. He must be.

And Obi-Wan is twenty-three, very very nearly twenty-four, when he finally walks free to witness the signing of a treaty like this planet has never had before, to witness the formation of a new government, and he discovers not ashes and mass graves when he sees daylight for the first time in three months — but instead, a city and a planet marred only by scattered battlefields, and marked more clearly by the way its people have fought to keep it clean, to keep it safe.

Children race through the streets, unafraid, because they have had real shelter during the war. It has not entered their homes since that first terrible day.

Neighbors from opposing sides of this fight and friends who staked no claim in this war mingle freely. Their smiles are a little hesitant, but they are there.

The dead are all honored equally.

It is leaps and bounds, it is a civilization that propelled itself through years of struggle in three months, and Obi-Wan is awed by them.

He knows it cannot be this way everywhere.

He knows that there will be wars where no one wants to surrender, or where one side will be so certain of their point of view that they would rather raise hell than cease, and he knows there will be people who resist them.

But today it is real.

Obi-Wan looks at his pale and clammy hands, the marks around his wrists where he was so often bound, and feels the way his limbs shake from months of too little sunlight, not quite enough food, and more than his share of fear and doubt and self-recrimination.

As he smiles for a camera that will record this moment forever, he glimpses Qui-Gon amongst the crowd.

Someone explains to him, when he asks, that his Master had been injured during the uprising and spent the first three weeks of Obi-Wan’s captivity in convalescence. The remaining time, he has spent on the sidelines, forced there by his Padawan’s actions. With Obi-Wan a willing hostage, playing negotiator and leverage both, Qui-Gon had no role except to mingle with the people, offer them comfort and aid.

Something Obi-Wan knows his Master loved, but — he had still stolen his Master’s role.

He had thrown himself into a stupid, foolish situation, and how many times had Qui-Gon teased him about playing damsel in distress? And here he has gone and surrendered of his own accord. What would Qui-Gon have done if Obi-Wan had led them all to ruin?

Obi-Wan slowly loses his confidence, his relief, his silver tongue, as the press and the people recede, and he and his Master walk to a room that has been prepared for both of them, as honored guests by this new government.

Qui-Gon says nothing to him.

They walk in silence for twelve minutes.

And then, as soon as the door has shut behind them, Obi-Wan finds himself pulled into a fierce embrace, one of his Master’s hands buried in his hair, Qui-Gon’s chin resting atop his head.

Obi-Wan hesitates.

Does his Master think him a child?

Perhaps Qui-Gon senses his thoughts, because the man pulls away briefly, still holding his Padawan by the shoulders, as if unwilling to let him go completely, else he vanish like smoke.

“Padawan,” Qui-Gon says, and his voice is loud and strong and brimming with warmth that washes over Obi-Wan like sunlight, like water, like an embrace. “Well done, my Padawan.”

And then he is pulled again into Qui-Gon’s comforting arms, and Obi-Wan breathes in and gives in, folding against his teacher like a child, and if a few tears stain Qui-Gon’s robes or drop into Obi-Wan’s hair, neither of them speaks of it.

Obi-Wan lets his Master hold him, lets go of fear and pride and doubt, and finds that he is safe.

#star wars #my writing #star wars fic #obi wan kenobi #qui gon jinn #qui gon and obi wan #master & padawan #padawan obi wan #look they are just a slightly repressed and off kilter #father and son #that is all #hugs #hugs!!!#more hugs needed #tw blood #tw death #tw bomb #tw war #tw child death

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spectaclespencer · 4 years ago

Text

P.H. // Part 1; Alone

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

A/N; Here’s the first chapter! Let me know what you think <3 this is based off of this request I got. Any and all feedback is appreciated. Please know I know this theme/part has little to nothing to do with the actual meaning of the song, but some lines work if you ignore the rest 😅

Summary; After Gideon leaves, Reader takes up chess to comfort Spencer through the difficult time.

Category; Fluff, Angst(?), Hurt/Comfort

Content Warnings; Sad Spencer otherwise none!

Word Count; 3.5k

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Next

It started when I found Spencer one morning. He had fallen asleep on a chair at the bau, and he explained to me that he’d been waiting for Gideon because he promised to play chess with Spencer that night.

“Is Hotch in yet?”

“No, he will be soon. We have a case, JJ is gonna brief us and we leave in 30.”

He thanked me and left the room, with his head down. He kept the same mood during the briefing, he kept drifting off as JJ was talking. Spencer was known to be stuck in his head often, but this was far more unusual behaviour. I figured maybe he slept wrong, or maybe just was simply looking forward to playing chess with Gideon. That was their usual routine, to have a game or two after cases to relax. It was understandable to see him on edge after not hearing from him all night.

As we got on the jet he didn’t sit with me on the couch right away as he usually did, instead he walked over to Hotch in the back corner. I craned my neck to try and see what he was doing and hear what he was saying. He spoke in soft whispers, seemingly asking questions I assumed were about Gideon’s presence. I saw Hotch shake his head, to which Spencer’s expression dropped. He thanked him, then made his way over to the couch beside me.

“You okay?” I asked.

He gave me a quick nod -- yet didn’t meet my eyes -- then curled up at the end of the couch to presumably take a nap before we landed.

We were all worried about Gideon, none of us had heard from him since the last case. We figured he just needed a break from the chaos; having a loved one die would take a toll on any of us. It was logical really, any one of the team would need time to recover when presented with that situation.

Spencer remained more quiet throughout the case, not engaging in conversation when it wasn’t crucial to the work. We ended up sharing rooms but even then he didn’t budge. He mostly sat in the corner and played chess against himself, often zoning out and staring at the wall. It was hard to see, and even harder to sit back and let him try to get through it. I could tell he was fighting himself in his head, probably going over scenarios on Gideon’s whereabouts. I imagine the stress was affecting him heavily -- or at least it was clear with the way his forehead had been creased all night.

Chess. Nobody on the team had a fair shot at him besides Gideon. Sitting there staring at the pieces probably wasn’t doing him too good, only making him worry more.

It wasn’t that I didn’t care because I did, but when it comes to certain things Spencer can be defensive and refuse help, so I wanted to give him a chance to get better. It wasn’t unlike him to refuse help, and I didn’t want to make the situation worse by opening my mouth. Instead, I opted to ask, “Mind if I join in for a game?”

“What? Uh- no it’s fine. I mean, okay yes. Sure,” Spencer stuttered, spooked by my sudden appearance beside him.

“Stop slouching, you’re gonna make your posture even worse,” I chuckled lightly, patting his shoulder to remind him. He shot me a small smile, watching as I rounded the table to sit across from him. I wasn’t too good of a player, but I wanted to make Spencer feel just a little less alone.

“Do you even know how to play?”

“Ouch,” I mocked offense, slapping a hand over my heart. “So cruel, Spencer.”

He raised his eyebrows in a form of asking again, to which I replied with, “Kind of. I haven’t played for years but I’ve observed you.”

“Y-you’ve observed me?” Spencer questioned, resetting the chess pieces on the board.

“Well, yeah. Kind of hard not to. You’re a pretty interesting guy.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

I smiled when he finally made eye contact with me. He looked tired -- more so than usual -- with his eyebags a deeper shade than they were normally.

The game didn’t last long. In only seven minutes, he managed to beat me. I groaned at my loss, lips pulled into a tight line. Spencer didn’t react, however.

“Okay that’s enough for me,” I said, heading over to the bathroom to brush my teeth before bed. “Goodnight Spence. Get some sleep. No offense but you look like you need it.”

He hummed at me, cleaning up the table before he climbed into his own bed.

I could tell he didn’t sleep much that night, as he kept a lamp on and littered his bed with various books. He looked cute, all swaddled up in the blanket he brings with him on every case for a sense of stability. His glasses were perched on his nose, and he was chewing his fingernails -- a habit I’ve tried to get him to kick over the past two years.

We didn’t talk during the night, but we both knew that each other were awake. I was kept up by my thoughts, trying to figure out how to get Spencer out of his slump. Re-learning how to play chess seemed like a decent enough idea -- yet one that would take some time. I was proved tonight that my skill needed to be greatly improved. It was nice in the moment, but realistically it would take a few weeks, if not more, to get the hang of.

The next day at the precinct I was stationed at the map, trying to figure out our geographical profile. I heard faint chattering coming from outside, and looked over my shoulder to see Spencer and Derek talking. I couldn’t hear much, but I did get that Spencer mumbled about calling Gideon, to which Derek answered that he might’ve just missed the call. It was possible, but likely deeper than that.

“Six times? Six calls? Something’s wrong,” Spencer sighed, rubbing his eyes.

I didn’t intervene with the conversation, instead deciding to finally speak to him about it after the case had ended.

On the last day, we all headed to our rooms after grabbing some dinner, to get a good rest before we took off early the next morning.

“Hey Spence, you awake?”

He hummed in response, and I could hear the rustle of the sheets as he rolled over in his bed to face me.

“I know you’re worried about Gideon. How about when we get back tomorrow I’ll drive you down to his cabin? We can go check on him.

“Would you really?” he asked softly. I couldn’t see him fully in the darkness, but I could sense he was looking at me with pleading eyes.

“Of course. I don’t like seeing you this stressed and down. I want to help.”

“Thanks ____, goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Spencer.”

After our conversation it was like a blanket of grey was lifted over his head. He settled in more, drifting off to sleep within minutes. I hated seeing him sad, and I did my best to try and fix his mood whenever I could. Spencer didn’t like change, I knew that, and the team knows that. A part of me had a sneaking suspicion that Gideon wasn’t coming back, and I had fear for what that would mean for Spencer.

-----

“Do you want me to come in with you?” I asked, pulling up in front of the cabin and turning off the engine. The only sounds were the faint hum of rain outside, splattering against the windows.

Spencer shook his head and took a deep breath, before unbuckling himself and opening his door. He mumbled something about being right back, as he headed off towards the building. It wasn’t dark yet -- only being four pm -- but it wasn’t too light either.

It looked as if the lights inside the cabin were off, and I could just hardly see Spencer as he knocked on the door. He waited on the porch for a moment, waiting to see if anyone would come to the door.

Nobody did.

It was hard to just sit there and watch, as his desperation grew stronger by the millisecond.

-----

I took deep breaths, trying to even out my intake of air and remain calm. When nobody answered the fifth time that I knocked, I reluctantly grabbed a hold of the knob and turned it. Much to my surprise the door opened, creaking inch by inch as I stood there unmoving.

“Gideon?” I called into the home, taking one step inside. “Jason?”

I wasn’t greeted with an answer, he didn’t come to the door and thank me for coming to visit. It was eerily quiet -- so quiet I took a few more steps inside to create some sort of volume.

“Hello?” I spoke again, louder this time. Shutting the door behind me I took off my jacket and hung it on the coat rack next to the entrance.

The place had been mainly cleared out, there weren’t many personal items behind. I stalked over to the kitchen, to see if there was any trace of someone within the last few days. It’s been officially a week and a half since anyone had last heard from him that I was aware of. I thought someone must have eaten, or at least left a bit of a mess behind them that would signal a presence.

As I turned the corner to enter the new room I noticed something on the table. I stopped in my tracks, leaning down to take a closer look.

Gideon’s badge, gun, and an envelope.

I swallowed thickly, walking around the table and took a seat in front of the items. When I saw the envelope had my name on it, my heart dropped. With shaky hands I picked up the paper and opened it, seeing there was a letter inside.

Spencer,

I knew it would be you who came to the cabin to check on me.

You must be frightened, I apologize for that. I never meant to cause you any pain. But then I also never envisioned writing this letter. I’ve searched for a satisfactory explanation for what I’m doing, all I’ve come up with is: a profiler needs to have solid footing. I- I don’t think I do anymore. The world confuses me. The cruelty, indifference, tragedy.

I stopped there, my eyesight becoming blurry from tears. I shoved the letter in my pocket, not caring at the moment if it got crumpled or not.

I was out of the cabin in no time -- choosing not to stay there and sulk in a deeper sadness.

-----

Waiting in the car for Spencer felt like torture. It was difficult, letting him go in there alone to be met with possibly no answers. I was thrown out of my thoughts by the sound of the cabin door slamming shut, Spencer jogging over to the car.

“Hey. Hey, what’s wrong?” I asked, red flags hanging immediately as he climbed in the car, tear soaked face pointed down towards his lap. It took me a moment to realize he was crying -- the rain had completely soaked through his top layer of clothes. He didn’t reply with words, instead reaching into his pants pocket to retrieve a piece of paper. He handed it over to me, still not meeting my eyes.

I unfolded it and began to read -- it was hard, through the tear stains smudging the ink across the page.

“Oh, Spence…” I whispered and stopped after the first few sentences, leaving the rest for him. I didn’t know what to say, how to comfort him.

“He’s gone,” Spencer sniffled, wiping his eyes on the sleeves of his nearly drenched jacket. “He just left. He didn’t say goodbye. He left me a note,” he froze, taking a few deep breaths. “Just like my dad did when I was a kid.”

“It’ll be okay. Wherever he is, I’m sure he’s okay,” I assured him. “You know he cares about you, right?”

“I know he is. It’s just-” he started, trying to find the right words between his gasping for more air. “Can you just take me home, please.”

I nodded, while turning the car back on to drive away. Spencer kept his gaze towards the window, refusing to let me see his face. I’m selfishly almost glad for it, because I don’t know if seeing his heartbreak is something I could handle.

It was a long, quiet drive, taking around an hour and a half to finally reach his apartment. He scrambled out of the car fast, but I still walked him up as I usually did. He got to the door before me, thanking me for driving him home. He shut the door just as I got fully up the stairs, leaving me standing with my mouth open.

‘Baby, when you fought me at the door

Kinda hard to force what's natural

Maybe you don't want what you need most’

-----

The next day when he came over after work he was almost back to normal. It was weird to see, to see such a shift in his behaviour after less than twenty-four hours. As much as he tried to hide it, I could tell just how hard it was for him. The sudden change didn’t go well with anyone, we’d all been informed that Gideon wouldn’t be returning and that he’d moved on from the BAU. It was especially hard on Spencer too, since Elle had just left not too long ago, and then Emily joined the team. First he loses a friend, someone who truly understood him as I did, and then someone he considered a father figure.

And neither of them had said goodbye to his face. It was scary, knowing a member of your team could walk out and never return before you know it.

We were seated on the couch, a game of chess displayed on the middle cushion between us.

It wasn’t anywhere near a fair game -- Spencer’s skills were still far ahead of mine. However I noticed it made him smile, and that’s all I wanted. For him to feel loved, and secured. It was a sense of grounding, a routine that was regular in his life. I still wasn’t very good -- not having played since high school and that night on the last case. But I downloaded an audiobook and several player’s guides for the plane ride home to study, because I wanted to learn for Spencer’s sake. However I soon realized it was easier to watch Spencer and how he plays, and to ask him questions. He seemed to enjoy it, having someone else in his life to play with.. And he loved to teach, to help people learn. He was so good at it too, his big brain being used to help people no matter the context.

Eventually he won the game as usual, causing me to groan in frustration..

“You bastard.”

“Not my fault you kinda suck,” he laughed bashfully, lips curling up into a small smile. It was nice to see a bit of happiness on his face, no matter how temporary.

“You’re so rude to me,” I joked, moving the board to the coffee table. “I thought we were friends.”

It was silent for a few moments, with me figuring out what I was going to say next.

“Spencer I know you haven’t wanted my help, but please tell me what I can do for you. Tell me how you feel, at least?”

‘Maybe you don't want what you need most’

“It’s nothing, ____,” he breathed, looking away from me and instead at the wall the couch was facing. He could see our reflection on the blank tv, and instead opted to just look down at his lap. “I’m better now.”

‘You ain't even there for me

Now you're scared to be alone’

“Respectfully, that’s bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh come on. I know you don’t want to talk about this but at least give me something. Don’t keep it all in. It’s not healthy.”

His face screwed up at my words, eyebrows furrowed and lips twitching. I could tell he knew I was right, as much as he hated it.

“I’m just- I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“I don’t want you to leave,” Spencer whispered, barely loud enough for me to hear.

‘Got me thinkin' that you scared of yourself, not me’

It all made sense -- the way he’d been distancing himself lately. It took me promising candy and Star Trek for him to come over tonight, and even then he almost declined. Too many blows to the heart made him afraid to get attached. He didn’t want anyone else from his life to disappear in a flash.

“Look at me,” I said, and he snapped his head to face me. “I’m not going anywhere. I can’t claim to be far in the future, but right now? I’m here. You’re stuck with me for a while, Spencer.”

He smiled, closing his eyes as a stray tear graced across his cheek. I used my thumb to wipe it away, and pulled him into a tight hug. He relaxed against me, I felt the tensions in his shoulders deflate as I held him.

“I’ve got you,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. His breath shuddered, and he wrapped his arms around my middle tighter, pushing his face into my shoulder to muffle his crying.

We sat for a while, my hands tracing patterns along his back. It took a few minutes for his cries to calm down, but eventually his breathing evened out with only a few hiccups here and there. He was practically sitting in my lap with his legs flung over mine, suddenly not caring about his personal space. I couldn’t blame him -- the boy was so touch starved he so clearly craved all contact he consented to.

“Do you want to spend the night?” I asked, quietly so I didn’t scare him with the sudden sound.

“Could I please?”

“Of course,” I smiled, pulling away. He still held on tight, not wanting to let go.

We made our way to my bedroom, repeating our usual routine. This wasn’t the first time we’d had a sleepover, and it won’t be the last I’m sure. Sometimes after particularly harder cases he would spend the night, just to be close to someone.

I went into the bathroom to change, giving him the opportunity to do the same. When I returned, he was dressed in a t-shirt and flannel pants he left at my place for sleepovers like this. He was already in bed, and when he saw that I was done in the bathroom he lifted the side of the blanket to welcome me in.

I joined him, grinning as he scooted over and pressed his back to my chest. I felt him breathing softly, my right arm slung over his torso to bring him in closer. He held onto my hand, and didn’t let me drift away. I was happy to comply, happy to feel his body warmth radiate through me.

“Thank you, ____. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight Spence.”

From that day on for the foreseeable future, I swore to myself to have check-ins with Spencer whenever it seemed necessary. Whether it was in the form of words, sleepovers, movie nights, or chess.

His smile got brighter everyday, and eventually he no longer felt as much weight on himself a few weeks down the road. He still cried to me about how he missed Gideon, but it had gotten less frequent. And I was always there for him, offering my shoulder and the promise of my embrace. I knew he appreciated it too.

After a few months since our first game, I beat him in a game of chess. We were on the jet on the way to Montana for a case, and Derek was sitting beside Spencer. He kept annoying him, doing little things like twisting his hair and fanning him with files. Spencer kept shrieking quietly -- trying not to alert Hotch of the bickering.

“Checkmate,” I said, biting back a smile.

“What?!” Spencer froze, arm raised in what looked like to be a poor attempt of whacking Derek’s head.

“Awe, pretty boy. You’ll get her next time,” Derek threw his head back in laughter.

“What?” Spencer repeated quieter, eyes darting across the board, likely running calculations in his head.

“Better luck next time,” I smirked, tilting my head to the side. I wiggled my eyebrows, my small victory boosting my ego.

Spencer tried to keep a neutral face, but I could see by the tension in his cheekbones that he was happy. He was enjoying it.

-----

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no-droids · 4 years ago

Text

The Secret

Pairing: Anakin Skywalker/Reader

Word Count: 4.2K

Rating: Explicit

Summary: On a dark and dreary night, Anakin tries to see if he can influence your dreams.

A/N: idk what in the hell this even is tbh I just started writing it two days ago idk what happened this is some inception shit but not the crazy ass mind bending plot twist part at the very end of inception but like just the cool middle part where you kinda get what’s sorta going on but not really okay anyways I gotta go

Warnings: There are DUBCON/NONCON ELEMENTS to this, smut/oral sex, a splash of m/m (sorta?), dark Anakin uses the force to mess with your dreams without your knowledge or consent so please read at your own discretion

***

Anakin knows it’s wrong.

It’s the middle of the night on a moon he never bothered learning the name of and Anakin knows it’s wrong when his eyes shift over to you for the fifth time in the past minute. Curled up with your back to him and the crackling firelight illuminating this tiny little cave, breathing soft and quiet through your nose as you sleep, the wind roaring monstrously outside. Anakin acknowledges it—the moral impropriety of even sitting here thinking about things he shouldn’t be with you so close by. It’s wrong, no getting around it.

But there’s also something inside him that… wants the wrongness.

He likes it. Anakin likes having secrets, he likes breaking rules even when nobody is consciously here to witness it. It makes him feel alive in a way that battlefields just can’t anymore, not after two years of constant conflict where the only enemies to feel his wrath have been comprised of nuts and bolts, their robotic cries never leaving him with any satisfaction anymore. At the start of the Clone Wars, sure, it was a thrill to slice through voice boxes and body parts, even if they were mechanical. But the droids aren’t afraid of death, they’re just programmed to stay alive. It’s like killing large, dumb swarms of bugs—it needs to be done for the common good but there’s never any true fulfillment in it anymore, it just feels like a task to be completed instead of an earnest, hard-earned goal.

He’s also been given direct permission to do it. He’s even been ordered to carry out enormous droid massacres on behalf of the Republic, but that’s the thing. Anakin isn’t looking for permission, see, it takes away half the thrill.

No, he wants to feel wrong. He wants to wonder if he shouldn’t have. He wants the quiet guilt, the sparkle of holding a secret he’ll never breathe a word about, the addictive power trip from having real influence over something, something equally as real.

Technically, Anakin is supposed to be on lookout right now. He’s meant to stay awake and patrol the perimeter of the cave for enemy combatants, but he doesn’t even bother pretending to be diligent when it’s just you two here. It’s not necessary. He’d be able to sense another lifeform miles away in this secluded, barren wasteland; there’s no threat to be found right now. He can keep warm by the crackling firelight in this cave, sheltered from the dust storm that spontaneously broke out a few hours ago. He can stay awake without moving a muscle and listen to your slow breathing all night long, letting it fill him with shameful desires he spends the daylight hours fighting and suppressing.

He silently flicks his gaze over to you once more, blinking as he studies you. He can sense your mind becoming creative in its slumber, beginning to swirl into dreamlike possibilities around yourself, about to choose a path for your consciousness to follow tonight. Yes, this is what he’s waiting for. He can’t force you to dream—that’s beyond his expertise as a Jedi. But if he finds himself in the right place at the right time, he can certainly try his best to… give you a suggestion.

The wind whistles outside and the fire pops quietly and you continue to breathe. In, and out. In, and out.

Anakin closes his eyes, and begins.

He first maps your body with the Force, trying to understand it on a deeper level. Gauge it—its proportions, its ambience, the thrumming lifeforce flowing through your veins even as you sleep. He has to be careful—as a fellow Knight, there’s no guarantee you won’t immediately be able to spot him exploring your energy in this way, there’s nothing to stop you from suddenly rolling over and asking just what exactly he thinks he’s doing.

But Anakin is patient. It’s one of the only times he can remember truly exercising that untapped potential inside him, perfectly content to allow you to drift while he works to find his bearings with you. Minds are complex, especially when they’re unconscious. They’re finicky and never stay in the same spot for long—it’s not like they evade, necessarily, but instead, they just… float around. Pulsing. In and out of existence, hiding behind and under immovable things, no rhyme or reason for it, vanishing into uncertainty and nothingness as soon as he thinks he’s found it. Like trying to find a microscopic air pocket in the depths of a pitch black ocean. He’s not losing any oxygen by existing right at the edges of your sleep, but it takes hard concentration to stay here, hidden, not allowing himself to slip. He’s looking, he’s looking… but he soon realizes he just needs to wait longer. He needs to wait until you float your way back around to him, until you present the opening yourself.

So Anakin waits.

And waits…

And then suddenly—

—There. He locks onto a flicker in the Force and holds, finally isolating and breaching the surface of your inner subconscious. Anakin smiles softly, a bead of sweat slowly dripping down his temple at the effort it took to locate you without alerting you of his presence. There you are. Maker, it sure is pretty in here, isn't it? He has you, he’s cradling the buried, hidden, most fragile part of your soul as you slumber, not knowing any better.

His heart thumps with excitement even though he’s barely done anything yet. To someone without sensitivity to the Force, they might just think the both of you are asleep right now. Just the two of you sitting still in this relatively small space, eyes closed, neither of you are touching, nobody has said anything or made any substantial movements in hours, nothing has changed in this world. All of it is existing in another plane, a place most people wouldn’t be able to recognize unless someone informed them of its existence, and even then, it would be beyond understanding.

But he has you now. He’s there, and he’s not going anywhere. He can allow his focus to dip just slightly, knowing your mind will pull him along through the comatose current. He senses you already working through the beginning whispers of dreams, but they’re not the kind people can ever remember. These aren’t formed, there’s no substance to them—it’s just pure, abstract dreamspace for your mind to drift through while you slumber.

Finding your true consciousness through all the murky, shapeless slumber was the test in skill. Now comes the luck.

Very carefully, without arousing any suspicion or drawing undue attention to himself, Anakin begins to drag the tip of his tongue against the back of his teeth. He doesn’t open his mouth, he doesn’t move a single muscle outwardly—he just lets his tongue begin to flitter around slowly in its enclosed cavern as he breathes, making the movements as soft and hypnotic as he can, matching the aimless way you’re carrying your mind and his shadow through the darkness.

He’s tried this before. Once or twice, with a pretty Ambassador he was tasked with protecting for a few months at the start of the Clone Wars, but the results were always less than ideal. He could never seamlessly transfer his desires through her consciousness before she awoke, perhaps because she wasn’t Force sensitive. The dream would either never happen, or he would push too hard and it’d turn into a rabid nightmare that fractured her thoughts and made her terrified to close her eyes for weeks. Not this time, though, Anakin isn’t going to allow it. Not with you, not after all the unprecedented effort it took to even just get himself here.

He finds a bit more passion to put into his movements, his jaw beginning to work with more purpose. Stars, he wants this to work, and while it’s probable that there’s an easier way to accomplish it, this isn’t something the Academy trains for. There’s only so much he can do except just be patient and giving with his soft, muted thoughts, urging you to make use of them without ever saying them aloud.

And suddenly, like the dark waves of your sleep decide to illuminate for him all on their own, your subconscious mind responds to the gentle stimulus. It carefully reaches out and studies the suggestion he’s silently offering, having spent what feels like an eternity trying to entice your rawest, most fundamental being into going somewhere it normally wouldn’t go, all without letting you know he’s even there.

His tongue is still moving. With purpose, with a specific intent in mind, Anakin allows his head to slowly fall back as he lifts his chin up towards it, wanting it more and more the longer you take to consider it, as if your mind is actively trying to tease him by playing hard to get. He can feel you right there, feel you thinking about it, and the whole thing is almost like some elaborate courting ritual while he waits with bated breath for you to decide whether or not to humor him.

But then, just when Anakin fears you may be too strong to be swayed, too powerful in the Force to be tempted by an outside source, you abruptly snatch the idea from him and start to run with it.

Suddenly parts of your spirit begin illuminating that should be dormant right now, and Anakin follows you, wherever you’re leading him. He knows none of this is necessarily intentional on your behalf—nobody can consciously pick and choose their dreams, not even Jedi. But this endeavor proves that it’s absolutely possible to subtly inspire them in each other, regardless of the morality behind it.

The wind continues to howl outside the cave and remind him that an entire universe still exists beyond your beautifully soporose mind, but the dreamscape gradually begins unfolding around him without any further prompting, requiring nothing more than what he’s already provided. Anakin’s tongue continues to simulate and suggest regardless, only now he feels the ghost of it beginning to materialize somewhere else besides the roof of his mouth, the sensations appearing before the images can be conjured to fill in the gaps. His hands suddenly tighten on his thighs at the soft, enticing feeling beginning to take root in you.

And oh. It’s… good. It feels different when his own body isn’t really the target of the stimulation, when he’s doing nothing more than simply experiencing it vicariously. Anakin supposes he could’ve bypassed all this effort, just aimed the pleasure more directly from the very beginning instead of working to inspire and coax it out of your own consciousness, but that was never his intention and it misses the point entirely. Where’s the challenge in it? The finesse is lost, it doesn’t appeal to him. It’s brash and brutish and not his style. No, this is what he wanted. He wanted to get just close enough to plant the most basic, fundamental idea in your head and then witness the rest of it all play out as a phantom passenger. Step back, strap in, and see how you kindle and manipulate the desire yourself, exactly the way you want it.

Anakin starts to breathe a little heavier through his nose, shoulders tense as he works to ride the slow swelling of your own prolonged pleasure with you, not knowing if or when it’s going to peak. He’s never made it this far before, he has no idea what to expect. Your consciousness does all the heavy lifting for him, your floor muscles move and contract without him needing to do anything to encourage it, the dream he seeded now completely taking over and whisking you both away.

But then… then suddenly Anakin doesn’t understand. Because yes, your mind works exactly the way he hoped it would—everything goes the incredibly precise direction he intended, and yet the destination is somehow… here? Back at the very beginning?

You dream of a cave. It’s exactly the same as the one you’re both silently holed up in for the night, and no new faces have appeared. If Anakin fluttered his eyes open at this specific moment, absolutely nothing around him would change. Except, perhaps, the subtle glow around everything—the watery way the air seems to be moving, as if it can’t decide whether it wants to exist or not so it strangely succeeds in doing both at the same time. He’s not really here—at least, he doesn’t think he is, he’s just seated on the dirt floor, appearing as nothing more than an invisible witness to it.

No. No, actually, he takes that back, he… is here. It takes him a moment to see the full picture as you’re still putting the puzzle pieces together, but… that’s him. A projection of himself at least, looking only slightly different but recognizable enough. Dark robes, robotic right arm, steady gaze.

But where are you? Anakin looks around the empty cave, still trying to understand how you’re painting this, his conscious mind moving much more rapidly than your own abstract one and yet also somehow taking so much longer to catch up to you. You’re not here. Why aren’t you here? He’s getting stuck on the details, he knows he’s lagging behind.

It takes a moment longer. Just one, before Anakin suddenly realizes that… he’s not just an invisible witness, is he?

He looks back down to see his own head now buried between his thighs.

But they’re not his thighs, not really. They’re yours. He’s just seeing everything from your point of view, feeling everything you’re feeling from the small little space he’s occupying in your mind.

At this point, Anakin needs to anchor. He feels himself—his real self, the one currently stuck in a cave in the midst of an unexpected dust storm—curl inwards and clamp his legs together. This will work. If he focuses enough to pinpoint the way his knees feel pressed tight together, he can have a tether to separate himself from your dream, the way yours are currently… wide open. This is all too similar to your true surroundings—he didn’t expect this, he doesn’t want to get lost.

And yet… Maker, it feels good. His long curls feel so soft in your hands, his tongue drags slow magic between your legs. When Anakin first suggested the idea to you, he didn’t think you’d assign the role back to him. He assumed you had someone else in mind, somewhere else you wished to be besides this dull, dreary setting. He gave you just an inkling of a prompt, and this is what the most creative part of your mind created. Something he could be doing at this exact moment, if only he’d known you’d be interested.

Then again, Anakin thinks, you may have just recognized him subconsciously. You may have attached him to the idea already, if only because he was the truest originator of it. But it doesn’t matter now, he can’t process such complex thoughts while maintaining the suspended mental state he’s in—he feels like he’ll either completely fall into it or out of it if he tries.

But as your muscles continue to work and your pleasure continues to build, it becomes harder and harder to separate where he is in relation to you. Anakin clenches his legs tighter together as you open yours wider apart, the dream gaining more strength as it develops. Stars, it’s—it’s—

Anakin starts to lose it and he needs to tug on that tether to his surroundings again, but it’s way more difficult than it should be to recognize himself. His calloused fingers on his left hand tremble as he reaches up and uses them to cover his face, biting his tongue to stop the low rumbles of ecstasy that want to claw their way out of his throat. Maker, this feels so… different from the build he knows. He thought—if he was successful—that he’d be able to handle it as silently and stoically as he’s able to handle his own pleasure, but this is something else entirely. Why does it feel so… so spectacular? Maker, he never realized the sensation was all that different on the inside, much less that he was actually missing out by having a dick between his legs.

But then suddenly there’s a pause, a break in the way you’ve been rhythmically squeezing and flexing your body for him.

The dream adapts to it. Anakin looks down between your open thighs just in time to see himself pulling away from your warmth, putting two fingers in his mouth, before slowly easing his hand back down between them.

No, he thinks, a bright flare of panic sparking inside him as he immediately snatches and yanks the tether to reality, popping his eyes open and pulling away from your mind entirely, oh no—wait, that’s not what I—

But see. That’s the thing about being so meticulous about conjuring something that doesn’t actually exist. Once his brilliant creation decides to backfire on him—a fool-proof way to escape it doesn’t actually exist either.

He… he can’t wake up. No matter how much his body struggles backwards on the dirt floor of the cave, how wide he can feel his eyes are right now, how excruciatingly aware he is that none of this is real, none of this is actually happening to him, he’s caught in the dream he planted and you’re hauling him along for the ride. The closest he can describe it is like having footage play in one eye while the other can see perfectly fine. He knows where the line that separates reality is, but he can’t escape your consciousness’s crushing gravitational pull; it’s too massive and overwhelming now, he can’t gain enough velocity to get home. Real life exists but only through a window, and being stuck on the other side like this—knowing he’s dreaming but not being able to jolt awake when he’s very ready to leave—is suddenly more terrifying than any nightmare Anakin has ever experienced.

It also has unintended consequences. Clinging so desperately to his own body has made him completely aware of it in the purgatory he’s now trapped himself in, but the pleasure is still there so the source of the stimulation is still there. They’re not your thighs anymore, they’re his thighs again. But that’s also still him between his legs, continuing to ease his fingers forwards.

He keeps retreating back and away from them no matter what, but there’s nothing more he can do.

Anakin helplessly watches on as his own fingers slowly disappear up inside himself, and his eyes instantly lose focus and his jaw goes slack as he feels it the way you would. They’re not real, so there’s no pain, no true pressure or stretch, just… hard, unadulterated stimulation starting to burn up inside him.

He doesn’t realize his body kept moving until he suddenly feels the wall of the cave slam into his back and he has to brace himself against it, frantically shoving himself back into it as far as he can with his legs and digging his nails into dirt at the base, scrabbling for breath and stability. Anakin tightens up wickedly as you both bear down on the phantom intrusion, sweat beading at his hairline as he works to process the foreign sensation and you whimper quietly in your sleep. His cock is rock hard between his legs and he shudders to think that his mind will compensate for the difference and his alter ego will actually take it into his mouth—but no, the projection doesn’t change because it’s still coming from you, still being led by your own desires. Dream-Anakin’s mouth drops and his tongue comes out to keep licking your slit but to the real Anakin, it just looks like his mouth disappears somewhere near his balls, and then a magnificent swell of bliss suddenly kicks in before he can fight as savagely against it as he wants. He’d normally be repulsed, and maybe he currently is to some extent, but because your pleasure spikes so dangerously with it, his hips stutter into the sensation just as desperately.

He’s making noise, he knows he is—he can feel his throat working too hard for just air to be moving through. No, he’s whimpering, or moaning, or doing something but he can’t hear himself at all. His instinct is to yell as loudly as he can, to try and wake you up manually, but it doesn’t seem to work, you’re way too far gone now. He listens for the dust storm that should be screaming outside, the popping of the fire somewhere in this cave, but they’re suddenly nowhere to be found. He’s being dragged under by your enormous current that’s somehow still continuing to build in strength, losing oxygen by the second. He’s not ready for it, he doesn’t want it, he’s terrified, he needs to wake up—

Anakin slams his head back against the wall hard enough to make himself bleed and gasps raggedly as he loses his grip on everything, shutting his eyes tight with his fist shoved up against his teeth. Nothing exists at all anymore but the swirling typhoon that continues raging forth. Beyond purgatory, and then beyond heaven.

When you finally do manage to find the absolute peak of your climb, he’s sure he all but blacks out with it.

It’s pure, blinding rapture on all levels—physical, metaphysical, whatever else exists after that. It surges up with razor-sharp claws of merciless ecstasy and he’s just not equipped to experience anything anywhere close to it. The connection between your minds thrums and sparks violently; Anakin feels the way your body practically soars over top of the pleasure while his is just being ruthlessly pummeled into the ground by it. He’s not meant to handle this, he literally wasn’t made to survive the devastating anomaly—it’s as wicked and excruciating as it is dazzling, and he wonders if he’ll ever truly be able to come back from it.

Eventually, Anakin manages to find his way back to himself. Eventually.

His cock is throbbing, that’s the first thing he‘s able to notice. The dirt floor beneath him that somehow feels slightly different than before, the fetal position he’s assuming on top of it, the once sturdy wall now crumbling to dust against his back.

The next thing he notices is the utter, complete mess he made. Blood slowly drips in a line down his neck and more cum than he’s ever felt himself produce before drenches the front of his pants. Anakin slowly blinks his eyes open, trying to fight the vertigo and wondering if he might have a concussion right now. There are cracks and fractures in the ground that branch out from the small crater at his back, and the fire is completely extinguished now, charred logs splintered and strewn about like somebody detonated a bomb in here.

At some point, his gaze drags over towards you, and remarkably, you haven’t moved. Still curled up on your side with your back to him, still breathing slow and steady and undisturbed.

Anakin pants in exhaustion and waits for you to turn over to address him and what he did. There’s no way you’re still asleep, not after what just happened. Anakin couldn’t get through it without sending a giant shockwave through the entire cave and quite literally rupturing the ground beneath him, he’s surprised you even managed to stay in one spot the entire time. He doesn’t know if you feel violated right now and are refusing to acknowledge him, or if it’s just taking as long as he is for your brain to catch up and start functioning again.

That is, until he hears a small snore come from your unmoving body once more.

Anakin blinks.

No. You have to be awake, he figures, moving to prop himself upright and wipe the blood from his neck with the dark sleeve of his robe. There’s no possible way that the orgasm you both shared is actually… normal, no, the sheer power of it had to be influenced by his presence somehow. He must have… increased it, or something. Anakin doesn’t know how, but he knows he must be directly responsible, this had to have been the strongest you’ve ever cum in your life and you just don’t know how to confront him about it right now, so you’re pretending to sleep. Yes, that’s what it is, that’s what it has to be.

He’s not going to check, though. He’s not going to find any lingering energy left within himself to summon and look for the thick darkness of sleep still enveloping you, he’s not going anywhere near your signature right now. No, Anakin is fine just like this, exactly where he is. Instead of verifying or confirming his own understanding, he’ll just be extra confident in it, that’s always worked well for him.

So he just sits back and takes a deep, shuddering breath, feeling like his whole body is weak and trembling with fatigue. Maybe you are asleep, he shrugs. Maybe he’s wrong, and selfish, and an idiot. Or maybe.

Maybe you just like keeping secrets, too.

#anakin x reader #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker #anakin x you #anakin skywalker x you #Smut #reader insert #dark anakin #no-droids

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saeyoungchoismaid · 4 years ago

Text

The King

Pairing: King!Lucifer x f!reader Genre: angst, fluff Warnings: uh minor character death, mention of war?, fighting, near-death experience??? Summary: Prince Lucifer, the eldest son of King Henry, has been exiled from his kingdom, but when his father becomes sick, he's supposed to become king once his father passes. The future king is to marry (Y/n) to join their kingdoms together. Instead of him becoming king though, his father chooses Lucifer’s younger brother to become the king. Word Count: 5.3k words A/N: this fic is entirely based on the movie The King on Netflix!! I let you guys vote on who the fic would be about and most of y’all said Lucifer, so you ask and you shall receive!! If you want a better understanding to what’s going on, feel free to watch that movie!! The first part is from 13:25 and kinda just goes from there

You feel your heart drop to your stomach when the man announces to the king, “Your majesty. Prince of Wales.” Your husband-to-be leans forward to look down the long row of men at the entrance, confirming that, yes, his brother is in fact here. After all this time.

“My son,” the king starts, “come in.” You rise with the rest of the crowd, suddenly finding it hard to breathe as he walks down the aisle to the king’s throne, your hands starting to shake from nerves. Just how long has it been? Lucifer stops a little ways away from you, his eyes trained on his father. You could hear a dog barking outside the castle from how quiet it is in the room.

You stop breathing when his eyes flicker to the right to look at his brother, only to freeze when they spot you right by his side. You stare right back at him, the sound of your heartbeat filling your ears. Both of you look away from each other when the king takes in a deep inhale before speaking.

“I feel my life nearing its natural end, and yet, still even I must appear of ruder health than you.” He pauses and you watch as Lucifer blankly stares in his father’s direction but not actually looking at him. “The time has come for us to consider the issue of my succession,” the King announces, ending the sentence with a cough. This part makes you feel sick suddenly.

Lucifer doesn’t know yet of his father’s decision?

“You will not be king,” he states abruptly. Lucifer doesn’t react physically but you can tell, just by his eyes, that he is surprised, and maybe a bit disappointed, by this news. “While you are my eldest son, for reasons that are on display for all here to see, you will not inherit this crown.”

“Nor have I sought it,” Lucifer quips before you can even blink, venom dripping from his words.

“That privilege and responsibility will instead fall to your brother Leviathan,” the king informs him. At the mention of his name, Leviathan sits up straighter. Lucifer’s eyes move to him before once again finding yours, his brother not seeming to notice the look Lucifer gives you. Well, he didn’t really give you a look, per se. Again, it’s in the eyes.

I guess he’s starting to catch on to where this is heading.

“He is soft, but he is eager. He will lead my army against the newly treasonous Solomon.” Your eyes flicker to your fiance, seeing him take a deep breath and look down. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he’s nervous about tomorrow. He wants to serve his father and make him proud. “I will assume that this news comes as neither surprise nor disappointment.” When you look away from Leviathan to focus back on the king and Lucifer, you find that Lucifer is, once again, staring at you.

His gaze makes you feel pinned to your spot, air having a hard time finding its way to your lungs. “But it is my duty as king and father to say it to you directly.” His eyes finally leave yours to focus back on his brother, his eyes now pinning him to the floor.

“And what of miss (L/n)?” Lucifer asks, your heart lodging in your throat at the mention of your name. All eyes turn to you but you can’t take your eyes off of those piercing, dark eyes.

“Miss (L/n) is the bride to be of the next king, you know this,” King Henry informs. To prove his point, Leviathan reaches down and gently clasps your hand in his. You just hope that Leviathan doesn’t feel how clammy your hands are from how nervous you feel. You watch as Lucifer’s eyes flicker down to your conjoined hands, his own hands balling up into fists.

“When do you fight?” he asks softly his younger brother, suddenly changing the subject.

“I set off tomorrow,” he informs, hand tightening on yours. “We fight by week’s end.”

“You need not fight. These feuds need not be yours,” Lucifer reassures instantly. You can see the fear and dread he holds for his brother. He’s never been much of a fighter. When you two would get into arguments, he’d either avoid the subject, instantly apologize, or avoid you altogether. When you were informed of his battle, you almost wanted to laugh. You’re sure that you’d do a better job at leading a war than he would be.

“I have said what you were summoned to hear,” the king finalizes, bringing all of your attention back to him. Lucifer takes a deep breath as he looks up at the ceiling, clearly trying to keep his composure. “Leave us now.” Lucifer smiles, the clear disbelief he feels being evident.

You watch on with solemn eyes as he leaves, your posture suddenly slumping with dread. So that’s that, you suppose.

Luckily for your fiance and King Henry, you were the best healer in the country. Well, that might be a bit of an exaggeration but you were quite good. Because of this, King Henry allowed you to go with his son to the battle. No one would say it out loud but you were all sure that Leviathan would somehow end up injured one way or the other.

You walk alongside your husband-to-be, coming to stand beside him as he sits down in a chair. “Lord Simeon,” he greets before sitting. “Are your men ready for the day?” he asks once he’s sat down. You pull your bottom lip into your mouth to chew on it, a nervous habit that you’ve picked up over the years.

“They are, sire.”

“Very good.” A pause ensues. “Tell me of your preparations.” When Lord Simeon doesn’t immediately respond, you cringe a bit. Leviathan just seems so awkward and out of place here.

“My lord,” he warns, staring off behind you two. You turn around to find the true reason he had gone silent.

Lucifer moves towards you all on top of a horse, his brows furrowing for a moment when he sees you. He slides off the horse as his brother asks him why he’s here. “I will not allow this havoc to transpire. I’ve come to see it stopped,” he replies, eyes moving to look at you. You think he’s going to address you but Leviathan speaks up before he can.

“This is my battle,” his brother protests.

“If I have my way, there will be no battle.” He pauses before walking in between you two, his side brushing yours. It causes a shiver to go down your spine and you’re disappointed by your reaction to such a simple thing.

“You, come ‘ere,” he says to someone behind you. Your heart skips a beat at how demanding and confident he is.

“My lord.”

“You have no place here!” his brother declares as he turns around to face him once more. You keep your back to him though, afraid of how your body will react to him.

“Go to the rebel camp. Deliver the following message to Solomon. Tell him that Prince Lucifer challenges him to settle today’s score man on man. He and I. We will fight in our armies’ places.” This has you turning around to look at him, eyes widened and heart racing for a completely new reason now.

Is he mad?

“Yes, my lord.”

“Who do you think you are?” the man who was answering to Leviathan just a few moments ago asks.

“I am nobody to you,” Lucifer says with a shake of his head. Lucifer then turns away from him to walk to a tent to get armor, eyes connecting with yours as he passes. You want nothing more than to chase after him, beg him not to do it, but you know better.

You know that once he puts his mind to something, there’s no stopping him. It’s something you’ve always both loved and hated about him.

Despite this, you still find yourself following after him.

You follow him inside an isolated tent, his back to you when you enter. You just stand there though, not knowing what to do or say. “You will not stop me, brother,” he says as he starts to unbutton his shirt. With no reply, he turns around and stops halfway down his shirt to look at you. Your eyes automatically move to his bare skin before you can stop yourself. To your surprise, he slowly continues unbuttoning it.

“I think you’re in the wrong tent, Miss (L/n),” he says lowly, almost playfully, causing your eyes to move up to his. You gulp a bit, trying to think of something, literally anything, to say.

“I’m not. Why must you refer to me in such a way?” you reply, slowly walking further into the tent. He lets go of his shirt when he’s done with the buttons, his upper half on full display to you now.

“In what way, Miss (L/n)?” he asks, eyes boring into your very soul. You suck in a breath as you stop at the table between you two, looking at the armor that covers it instead of looking at him.

“Calling me that. You need not do so. You used to just refer to me as (Y/n),” you reply softly, fingers brushing across a chest plate that is cool to the touch. You’d rather be touching his chest but you would lose that finger if you were caught doing so.

“That was when I thought you were my bride-to-be,” he informs. Your breath hitches at this, your fingers coming to a stop on the shiny metal. Does his heart beat for you the way yours does for him? Is he upset about losing you and not at the fact that he won’t be king?

“You may still refer to me as such. This changes nothing…” you argue, eyes still refusing to look at him. Your heart skips a beat when he starts to walk, moving to go around the table to meet you. You avoid him though by going around the opposite way.

“My brother’s sudden role of becoming the new king changes everything,” he argues, stopping on the spot where you once were. You stop in his old spot, finally moving your eyes up to meet his again.

You find despair and desperation lingering in his eyes but you aren’t sure that if he knows you can read him so well. He’s so used to hiding his emotions and being seen as emotionless nowadays.

“It doesn’t change the feelings I once held for you…” you whisper, suddenly afraid that someone might be listening in now. He stares at you silently for a long moment, your heart beating faster at his pause.

“Does my dear little brother know that I was your first kiss?” he asks, tauntingly starting to walk around the table again, to which you reciprocate by redoing what you had done before.

“Whilst I was yours too, if I recall,” you tease right back, a smirk coming to your face. He hums and stops at the other end of the table, pulling you to a stop too at your end.

“So, what are we going to do? Keep playing this game of cat and mouse?” he asks as he slips his shirt off and drops it to the table, bringing his hands to the table to lean against it. Your eyes flicker to his arms, watching as his muscles roll under his smooth skin as he leans against it. You gulp before flashing your eyes back to his strong gaze. It takes you a moment to realize what he just said.

You sigh and cross your arms over your chest, turning to look away from him. You don’t notice how his eyes move to your deep neckline then, drinking in the sight of your cleavage from the side. “Lucifer, you mustn’t say such things. You know we can’t…” you trail off, not wanting to finish the sentence. Maybe if you don’t say it out loud, it won’t come true.

Maybe there is still a chance for you two.

Before he can reply though, you hurriedly change the subject. “You’re a fool to want to fight Sir Solomon,” you jab. You wanted to beg him to take it back, to not risk his life for something that isn’t worth it but, again, you know it’d be fruitless.

“I am no fool, Miss (L/n),” he replies shortly, tugging on a new tunic that has a thicker material. With that, you leave the tent. You mustn’t get such fairytale ideas, like the possibility of you two having a future, in your head. You are engaged to his brother, to the future king, and nothing can change that.

“You have no place here,” Leviathan asserts as soon as his brother comes out of the tent. He fixes his armor as he converses with his brother.

“You do not know war, Leviathan,” is his calm reply to his frantic brother.

“I do know war,” he argues. He doesn’t.

“You do not,” Lucifer speaks your thoughts without knowing he did so. “You’ve been recruited to our father’s madness, to wars that need not be fought. These men are not our enemies. Our father has made them thus.”

“Why then are you here? You so disapprove of our cause and yet, still, you find it necessary to upstage me.” You aren’t able to hold back a snort. Leviathan is sounding more and more like a child throwing a tantrum by the minute. The duo turns to look at you at the sound, making you quickly start coughing to hopefully cover it up, knowing that if one of the other men heard you disrespecting the prince, the future king, in such a way, you’d surely be punished.

Leviathan is too much of a coward to say anything to you about it though.

“I do this not to steal your thunder, brother. I do it to save your life.”

“Pardon me, my lords. Our herald has returned from the rebel camp. They have refused Prince Lucifer’s offer. They want battle.” You can’t stop or deny the relief that fills your entire body. You watch as Leviathan walks away, once again reminding you of a child throwing a fit by stomping their feet. You don’t know why he’s acting in such a way though. He got what he wanted.

You look to Lucifer to find him already looking at you, your heart skipping a beat from his gaze. You wordlessly follow after your fiance, not trusting yourself to be alone with the handsome male.

Your eyes widen when you see the man of the hour ride up to your side of the battlefield, your fiance pushing through his men to reach the front. Without thinking, you follow after him. You don’t trust him to be civil or to not be a coward.

“Where is Lucifer?” he calls, making your heart fall out of your chest and onto the dry ground. Has he reconsidered? “I come to fight him in our armies’ stead.” Yes, he did. Oh god, you might be sick.

“No. His offer was refused,” Leviathan responds instantly, your eyes moving the back of your fiance’s head now. For once, you actually agree with the man-child.

“The offer has been reconsidered.” No, no, no.

“I said no!” he shouts, making you cringe a bit. You don’t mean to be so mean to your future husband but he just doesn’t sound threatening at all. He really does just sound like a child to you.

“Why is the little dog barking?” he asks and you want to laugh but you also know it’s not supposed to be funny. But, c’mon, he practically just read your mind! “Hm?” he hums with a taunting raise of his brow at your husband-to-be. “Where be the big dog?” he screams, making you flinch at his sudden volume.

In a flash, Lucifer pushes through men and comes to stand beside you. “It will be done,” he says with his eyes trained on your enemy. He goes to move forward but you grab his wrist before you can tell yourself not to, his squinted eyes softening when he turns to look at you.

“Lucifer, please,” you whisper for only him to hear, your eyes starting to sting. What if he gets hurt? Or worse.

Solomon chuckles to himself as he looks between the two of you. “And here I am with the whoring fool,” he starts, Lucifer seeming to not care about the words coming from his mouth. He was overall indifferent until his next words. “Have you claimed your brother’s wife to be as your own? I’m sure you’ve taken her innocence by now too. Takes a whore to know a whore.” Lucifer pulls himself from your grip and marches forward, coming to stand next to his brother.

“This fight need not be had, Solomon,” Lucifer warns, doing his best to remain calm when really, all he wants to do is punch him in the jaw. “My father will soon be dead. Your grievances will die with him.”

“Don’t be afraid of our small contest, young Lucifer. I promise to finish it quickly and not embarrass you too much in front of your new whore,” he taunts before turning away from him. “Come on.”

Lucifer is quick to move forward, his jaw clenched tight before it’s hidden by the helmet he slides on. His tongue poking the inside of his cheek is still very visible though, letting you know just how truly peeved he is.

“Your father is plague to England,” Solomon declares as he slides his helmet face down. “Come for me, big dog!” he shouts as he points his sword at Lucifer. Lucifer does the same before getting into position, your whole body shaking from how nervous you are.

They start to circle each other and do so for a moment before Solomon speaks up. “Once I claim your head, I might just claim your brother’s too before taking your whore. I think she’ll love bouncing on my cock and calling my name,” he taunts, trying to get a reaction out of him.

A reaction he did receive.

Lucifer instantly plunges forward with his sword, only to be blocked and pushed aside. The fight continues on for a while, each one getting in hits and gaining the upper hand before it’s the other’s turn. Your eyes leave them as three men ride up to the fight, watching the two hit and slice at each other.

Lucifer ends up dropping his sword while Solomon is attacking him, slyly grabbing one of the other men’s daggers as he backs away from his opponent. Once they fall to the ground, fear swallows you whole as it seems that Solomon will deliver the final blow. Before he can though, Lucifer trips him and brings him crashing to the ground and before he can recover, he moves on top of him and stabs him in the neck.

You almost cry from the relief that you feel.

He removes Solomon’s helmet before marching towards his brother with it. “Someday this will be your head. Dropped at the feet of a man who might otherwise have been your brother. Come with me, Leviathan. Please. Walk away from this field.” You stare at Lucifer in awe, feeling just how much he cares for his brother.

“After you just stolen its prized scalp?” He’s joking. He has to be. “This is what will be spoken of tomorrow!” He’s not joking. “This field was mine!” he shouts. God, you’ve already said this so many times but he really is just a child on the inside. He’s acting like Lucifer just took away his toy when it was his turn to play with it. “It was to mark my dominion. Instead, now it marks only this head. This bloody head!” You look between the two, hoping for Leviathan to just let it go and to realize that Lucifer just saved his life.

“Move!” he screams. Guess no such thing will be happening today. You watch him go before turning to look at Lucifer, only to find him gone. You quickly pick up your skirts and walk speedily to the tent he was getting ready in. When you arrive, you find him tossing his armor off and dropping it to the earth.

He stops when you come in, his eyes holding all of the words he left unsaid to his brother. He doesn’t say anything as he takes off the last of his armor, gently setting it down onto the table. Without thinking, you charge forward and wrap your arms around his neck.

“I thought you were to die out there today,” you whimper, letting your tears free and land on the ground by his armor. He softly shushes you as he wraps his arms back around you, gently rubbing your back with one hand while the other cradles the back of your head.

“Shh, it’s alright, (Y/n). I’m alright. I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers, kissing your temple. You sniffle as you pull back, staring up at him with your watery eyes. You didn’t have time to pull away from him before his lips found yours. Now that they’re there though, you can’t bring yourself to deny him. You greedily kiss him back, praying that no one should walk in and find you two in such a vulgar state.

He kisses you like you’ve never been kissed before, stealing the breath right out of your lungs and taking it for his own. Your hands move up his back to his hair, tugging on the long strands as he slips his pink muscle into your mouth. A moan tumbles past your lips and onto his without warning, making him hum and drag your body impossibly closer to his.

A man’s barking laugh from outside of the tent snaps you out of your moment of relapsed judgment. You pull away from him and listen to you both pant, breathing in and out the same air from how close you are. “I must go,” you breathe before disappearing from the tent in the blink of an eye. Once outside of the tent, your hand grasps at your chest, trying to calm your racing heart and the blush that is surely spreading across your cheeks.

It was odd hearing the news of Leviathan’s death soon after Lucifer had defeated Solomon. You had gone back to the kingdom, thinking the fight was over, only for your fiance to continue on in his desperate attempt to prove himself. He met his end in the western fields of Wales during battle. You didn’t cry though, you simply frowned and looked out the closest window to you. You never loved him, but you did care for him, just not enough for you to shed tears over his death.

Soon after his death, you find yourself standing amongst the priests and minions of the king, frowning at the ill king as he rests in bed. He wasn’t the best king to rule but he was usually quite kind to you, so you held no hatred towards the man. You look away from him when you hear screaming, a sigh coming from you.

His son doesn’t feel the same way, it appears.

You watch him walk in, flinching a bit when he refers to his father as a monster. He walks past one of the men, saying as he walks past, “Move. Leave him.”

“The king needs rest,” another man argues, standing up to the angered man before you.

“Soon he will have it,” he quips, moving around this man as well.

“He’s dying,” the man hisses, continuing to insist that he leave the king alone.

“Leave,” Lucifer breathes, the single word dripping with venom. The man drops his argument then, slowly moving out of Lucifer’s way. When Lucifer reaches for his father’s covers, you step forward.

“Lucifer,” you say softly but it was like you weren’t even there. He tugs the blankets off of him and drops them to the floor, moving around the bed to stand on the opposite side of you. It seems he also realizes that you’d be able to calm him if he just gave you the chance.

He doesn’t want to be calm though.

You stand still as Lucifer places his hands on the bed and moves to hover his head over his father’s, leaning in to whisper, “You feel this cold? Wretch.”

You’ve never seen him like this before.

Your eyes begin to water as his father shakily tries to raise his hand to touch his son, your hands squeezing at the sides of your dress as you watch him gently touch Lucifer’s hair. Lucifer begins to rock, seeming a little unnerved by this.

“Lucifer. Lucifer. You must be king, Lucifer. Please. You must be king, Lucifer.” It was honestly a strange sight to see him so weak, to see him begging his son for something so openly. Tears started cascading down your face as he starts to have trouble speaking, his face scrunching up in pain and...disbelief? Regret? Worry? Fear? You aren’t quite sure. “I know not what I have done,” are the king’s last words before he lets out one last groan before going still.

You wipe at your eyes and cheeks, turning to watch Lucifer leave his father’s side to stand before the others. They all start to bow and get on one knee, your eyes widening a bit at the realization that he really is the king now.

You lower yourself into a curtsey, watching fresh tears leave your eyes and fall to the wooden floors. “You know not what will become of you. So, I offer you this. The most blessed reprieve, the most dreadful misery. You shall suffer the indignity of serving me, the wayward son you so revile. But know now that you will be watched over by an altogether different king.”

With that, he brushes past everyone to leave the room. You raise from your curtesy to quickly follow after him. You don’t bother calling out to him as you follow him, wiping away your final tears before taking a deep breath.

When he finally stops, he is in front of a grand window that looks over the front of the castle and shows snippets of the town where he’s been living. “Lucifer,” you whisper as you come up to him, noticing that he seems to not hear you. You aren’t sure if this is because of how quiet you are or because he is stuck in his head.

Becoming the king can do that to you.

You quietly come up behind him and slowly wrap your arms around him, leaning into his back. You feel his body shaking, soft cries escaping him as you silently hold him. You feel his arms come up to rest on yours, tears splattering on your sleeves and skin. You let him cry though, not making a peep.

There’s nothing you could say that would heal him right now.

You’re there for every part of the ritual that Lucifer must complete to become king, your heart seeming to race the entire time. You don’t shout along with everyone else as he is pronounced king, everyone joyously shouting, “King Lucifer!” over and over again.

You’re right beside him at the table as you and the king's companions and allies eat to celebrate his success, your hands secretly conjoined with his underneath the table. Your new relationship, if you would even call it that, didn’t need to be a secret anymore, seeing as how he is king and you are to marry whoever the new king is to be, but just yesterday it was his brother and it almost feels wrong to be with Lucifer now.

Not that you were complaining one bit. The man beside you has had your heart since the beginning.

You watch as the gift bearer announces gift after gift and you continue to watch on as Lucifer gives every single gift away to someone else. He’s so noble. It makes you swoon each time you see him act in such a way. It wasn’t until Dauphin’s gift was presented that his mood suddenly shifted.

“From the Dauphin, son of his majesty Charles, King of France,” the announcer says before stepping to the side to allow Lucifer access to whatever was inside the decently sized box. Your brows furrow as you watch him stare down into the box, becoming more concerned the longer that he doesn’t move. He finally reaches in and takes out something that you cannot see. You don’t have to wonder for long what it is since he announces it.

“A ball.” A heavy pause. “There is no accompanying message from the Dauphin?”

“No, my liege.” Another long pause.

“I shall keep this gift. This one is sent only for me. For the boy I once was,” he says softly before throwing the ball against the wall and catching it single-handedly. You aren’t sure why such a simple action makes heat come to your cheeks. He then walks back over to his seat and sets the ball down but doesn’t set himself down.

“I have a gift of my own that I’d like to present now,” he says as he raises his hand to cut off the announcer from announcing whoever’s gift was next. Everyone appears just as confused as you, your eyes turning up to look at him instead of the announcer. You find his eyes already on you, along with a gentle smile. “(Y/n),” he says as he offers you his hand for you to take. You wait for him to continue but he says no more. You gently place your hand in his and allow for him to help you stand, your free hand gathering up your dress. He leads you to the fireplace behind your chairs, the heat of the fire not helping the blush that appeared only a moment ago.

“My darling (Y/n), ever since I met you, I knew you and I were to be wed someday. Now that I am king, that day is closer than ever before. I hope you will accept my gift,” he says softly to you, not really caring if others heard him or not. He then removes something from his pocket before going to one knee, your eyes widening even though you two are already engaged. You look down to your left hand and see the ring that has been passed down through his family for generations. His eyes move to where yours are, a small grunt leaving him as he brings one hand to take it off. “My gift to you is a proper proposal that you may decline if your heart so desires. I shall no longer ask you to be my wife because it is your duty. I shall ask you to be my wife because I want you to be.” Your eyes sting at his confession, your heart trying to beat out of your chest to fly into his hands.

“I want to be with you too, Lucifer,” you whisper, afraid if you spoke any louder, your voice would give out. He smiles brighter than before as he slides the ring he picked out onto your ring finger, putting the old ring into the box in place of the new one.

He then stands and wraps his arms around you in a hug, your eyes burning from the oncoming tears. He swiftly pulls back though to share a passionate kiss with you, clapping and shouts of joy ringing around you. When you both pull away from the kiss, you let out a watery laugh as you look down at the beautiful ring. “You and I will rule this kingdom together until we meet our end. You shall be by my side every step of the way, no matter what hardships we may encounter. I love you, (Y/n).”

You sniffle and wipe at your teary eyes with a big smile. “I love you more, Lucifer.”

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