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the-scythes-pen · 10 months ago

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Bleeding Pastels (Kabukimono x Reader)

The puppet's life is colourful; while tainted and stained with a dark smudge in the middle- originating from his creation- at least it won't discolour the world he lives in...

right?

Yandere!Scaramouche x Reader

Kabukimono era

Canon-divergent. Some abuse briefly described later on. Symbolism-heavy. Read between the rainbow to find the shadows that the light casts.

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I. Pink

The day that the boy first saw you, he almost mistook you for a god.

You sat alone underneath wispy sunlight that broke through the gaps in the bright pink petals above you. Gently fluttering down around you, picking up with the occasional spring breeze; sakura petals adorned your atmosphere and lay like a bed around your form.

The shade of pink that dusted the boy's cheeks was only somewhat darker then the beautiful pale pink of the sakura and it's flowers.

The boy could only stare in awe, lost in his own world of reverence and admiration- that was until a beautiful, soft voice pulled him out of his head.

"And who might you be?"

The puppet blinks. Your bright, vivid irises held him captive among the falling blossoms; his pale pink lips open and close without a sound- the boy unable to find a response.

You laugh. Gods, that sound makes something within him stir. It steals his artificial breath and replaces it with something so soft and light that he does not dare to look too deep into.

"Well? There's room for both of us here, if you want." You say with a smile, palm patting the soft grass beside you.

It takes a moment for the puppet to register your words, but as soon as he does it's like a string has been pulled taut- and he longs to loosen the tension that has formed. He makes his way over to you, his knees folded underneath him as he merely stares at you silently.

"You're that boy that guy brought with him a couple days ago, right? What's your name?"

For once, the puppet speaks.

"I... Don't know." His voice is soft, light, and almost somewhat childish. He sounds so innocent and boyish.

Your eyes wander down his face and trail down his arms. He doesn't say anything, but he can see you stop and stare at the joints in the middle of his arms; the ones attached with a ball and some hinges.

"Hey, you're not human, are you?" You say with curiosity in your tone, as you pull yourself onto your knees to take a closer look. Your hands are soft as they take ahold of his wrist and hand, pulling it out to a stretch as you stare in wonder at his unblemished skin and the way his arm connects to the rest of his body.

The puppet watches as a bright pink petal flutters down against the untainted sky and lands delicately in your hair.

"I hope you forgive me for oogling you; I've just never met someone like you before..."

Your eyes flicker up to meet his wide-eyed stare; and you offer him a smile as bright as the sunlight above.

"Your skin is so soft, and the way your elbows are designed is so cool! Are your knees like this too?"

The puppet doesn't say anything; instead unable to find an appropriate response as all he can do is nod his head.

"Really? That's so cool!" You say with wonder to match his own.

"I'm (Y/N). I-"

Your mouth hangs open, but no words escape you as you watch the puppet's hand slowly move atop your head. Delicate fingers pluck what his eyes are so intensely trained on from your hair, before bringing it down infront of the both of you to see.

"This... was on you."

You blank at the pink petal between his fingers, and for a moment the puppet's mind whirs to life with questions of whether he had done something wrong, but you soon snap out of your trance with a laugh. The boy sits still, confused about your reaction.

"Thank you. You don't have to show it to me though." You say before snatching the soft object from him and swiftly placing it atop his own head.

You laugh at the expression on his face from your actions, and the puppet finds the wonderful sound brings a smile to his face. He doesn't quite understand why you did that, or why you're laughing, but he finds your joy infectious all the same.

II. Purple

Over time, the people of Tatarasuna as well as the puppet himself learned how he differed and how he was similar to the humans around him.

He felt pain and bled just like they did. Yet, he didn't seem to have a heart. He didn't need to eat or drink either, but he claimed that he could and that he wanted to do so to 'become more human'.

The puppet- now called Kabukimono by his peers- also didn't quite understand social ques and what was wrong or right. After finding out that humans would often disrobe and bathe when they became dirty, the puppet had tried to do the same in the nearby stream of village. That little event had a few people swiftly ushering him to put his clothes back on while laughing awkwardly; as if he was a child who didn't truly know what he was doing.

Which, in all honestly, was pretty much what he was. A child who knew nothing about the world or people around him. But he was learning.

The pastel purple clothing that he was so often seen in flowed freely in the breeze; the smell of lavender was picked up by the summer wind off his freshly washed robes and filled his nostrils with the calming scent. It was the smell that adorned him whenever you were the one responsible for washing his clothes (as you often took turns among the other villagers to look after him).

He had grown to love that scent.

"Just... like... this." You said as you dragged the teeth of the comb through his wet hair; letting the Kabukimono watch your actions through the mirror.

"Think you got it?" He nods at your question, and you hand him the comb.

His hand is steady as he mimics your previous movements; dragging the teeth of the light purple comb through the strands of dark indigo atop his head. After a few strokes, he pulls the comb away; a deep violet staining the teeth as if to remind him that he wasn't like you.

You smile at him. "Perfect! Just like that. Now you're all set to wash yourself next time you need to."

The Kabukimono stares down at the comb in his hands; staring down at the violet that taints the pastel shade. You had gotten him this comb, it was one of the first objects he had ever owned. And now, because of him, it was stained a dark purple from the dye that was used for his colour- that still coated his hair.

And yet, the same dark stain that now marred his gift from you had dyed your palms a similar shade to that of the comb- a bright, pastel purple. Originally, he had panicked and apologized profusely for staining you, for tainting you, but you merely had laughed and said you didn't mind. That it would go away eventually.

And while others wore gloves when taking care of him and his hair, you didn't. You let your fingertips run through the dark locks and dance across the top of his forehead; you let him feel the warmth and softness of your touch as you scrubbed the dirt and dust that had accumulated in his hair. You let his colour stain you; and somehow, you managed to make the dark purple such a bright and beautiful shade of lavender once it touched your skin.

"My... arms hurt. Can you do this for me?" He says quietly, turning towards you and holding the comb back up to you with a pleading look in his eyes. You smile, the corners of your eyes crinkling in adoration at the Kabukimono's barely-concealed lie.

You had done a lot to take care of him and teach him about various things; he knew that lying was 'bad' and that he shouldn't do it. But even so, on rare occasion- like right now- he would say something small that didn't match what you already knew. And it would always end up with you taking a little extra care of him then you otherwise would have.

You knew you shouldn't let him keeping lying, but he was so bad at telling them, and it was adorable how he yearned for attention... so you couldn't make yourself scold him for his behaviour. You let this lie slide like all the others.

"Alright, alright. Come on then, turn around."

You can see the corners of his mouth tip upward in a smile, however subtle, as he did as he was told and let you run both the comb and your fingers through his hair.

The Kabukimono couldn't help but watch your hands. To seek glimpses of the bright purple staining on your palms that could only have been from him. He always loved when the other humans would point out your coloured hands and comment on how you practically took sole care of him with how often your hands took on the familiar shade.

Even when he wasn't by your side like a loyal puppy, it was like a part of him was still with you. Even if at first he saw the colour as a stain upon your otherwise perfect skin, you had assured him that it was harmless, told him you liked the colour, even.

You had taught him that being 'selfish' is one of the 'bad' things, and he shouldn't be 'selfish'. But if it was so 'bad', then why did it feel good? Why did it feel good to leave a piece of him with you, as if to claim you as his own human?

The teeth of the comb grew ever darker as they sorted through his indigo hair.

III. Yellow

For a being that was supposedly crafted by the hands of the god of thunder, the Kabukimono couldn't help but jump at each loud roar of lightning that dared to light up the dark night.

"Oh, Kabuki..."

The puppet was shaking; his arms wrapped around his knees as he sat staring at the floor, trying to ignore each jolt of thunder only to be hyper aware of every crash of it outside the window.

The pity in your voice somehow comforted the puppet, even more so when you kneeled beside him to pull him into a hug.

"It's ok, you're not in any danger. The Electro Archon would never hurt us."

The Kabukimono still shook. Sure, she may never hurt you, but to him- every bolt that struck the earth was searching for him; the fruit of the anger and hatred he knew his mother held for him.

Each flash of lightning lit the inside of your warm home a bright yellow. A stark contrast to the usual deep purple of the electro element he knew so well.

Your hand smoothed over his back, the other wrapped around his shoulders as you held him close. Another flash had him jump once again; burying his face into your shoulder as if to try to hide from the storm.

"Oh, hey, hey... It's ok..." You tried to soothe him, your voice gentle and low as his arms wrapped around you to hold tightly to your clothes.

Your arms wrapped around him were warm, firm, secure, as if you were the one shielding him from the tumultuous rain and deafening thunder.

"Ok, c'mon, lets go to bed."

The boy in your arms sniffled as you pushed him away from you, guiding him towards your plush bed.

"B-But... My bed..." He mumbled out, his eyes falling onto a small mat off to the side that you had done your best to make comfortable. And as shabby as it was, the Kabukimono loved it. You had made it for him, after all.

"You won't be able to sleep if you're over there, will you? This storm doesn't look like it's going to stop anytime soon, so... Why don't you stay with me? That way, I can protect you."

The deep purples of his eyes were wide and glossy with tears at your proposal; but he swiftly nodded and climbed onto the bed with you following suit.

The two of you got settled underneath the blankets, and the Kabukimono couldn't tell if your bed was just more comfortable then his, or if he really liked being beside you that much more then being alone. He watched as you shifted around; moving the pillow you normally slept on to rest underneath his head as you lay flat on the mattress next to him.

You smiled at him, a smile that made his chest tighten and something within his artificial body malfunction. His breath caught in his throat at the feeling of your fingers brushing along the side of his face, pushing his bangs out of the way of his eyes.

"Do you think you'll be able to sleep? I'll be right here if you need me."

The rain was loud on the old glass of your home; a flash of lightning bringing attention to the lack of purple that the Kabukimono had so loved to see on your hands.

But the fear of the thunder triumphed over his sadness that his hair no longer stained your palms; and he couldn't help but jump at the noise that shook him to his core once again.

Trembling hands grabbed your soft, steady one and brought it up to his cheek. The Kabukimono rested your palm against his flesh, nuzzling into it even as he shook in fear. You couldn't help but pity him, the pad of your thumb brushing over his cheekbone as you indulged him.

"You won't leave me, right?" He says quietly, warily, as if he's afraid the storm will hear his weakness and aim straight for his non existent heart.

The smile you give him almost looks sad. But it remains as sweet as it always does nonetheless.

"Never."

"You promise?"

Another crash of thunder has him jump once again, but with your hand against his cheek, he's quick to recover.

"I promise."

He peers at you and sees no trace of malice; no trace of annoyance or deception or betrayal. All he sees is you; your beautiful smile and crinkled eyes, glistening even in the darkest of nights.

The next flash of yellow lightning that illuminates the two of you only proves to show that even against the Electro Archon herself; your light is so much brighter then anything the god could conjure to harm him.

He doesn't jump at the sudden thunder. Instead, he lets out a shaky breath and pulls you forward- bringing your head onto the pillow that you had given him before he buries his head right underneath your chin; pushing himself into your body as if he wished to become one with you.

You can't help but smile at his unintended affection. Your hands move to embrace him; to smooth over his back and run your fingers through his hair.

"It's... bad to break a promise." He mumbled into your chest. "You won't break your promise, right?"

You let out a soft chuckle, tightening your embrace as you let the boy cling to you for life.

"Of course I won't. I love you too much to hurt you like that."

Your words were accentuated with another jolt of thunder. Another flash of yellow. And then a second bolt of lightning- this time, right through the cavity where his heart would have been.

I love you.

The words repeated in his head like a prayer; and he nestled himself deeper into your embrace in an attempt to muffle his thoughts and hide the pink on his cheeks.

The innocent, pure little Kabukimono had heard the words before. Humans who were close, who kissed and slept in beds together would say it to one another. Humans who were bound for life by little bands of metal on their fingers would whisper it to eachother whenever they pleased.

His tongue burned- yearned to repeat the words back to you, but something inside of him refused. Rejected the idea of feeling the intimacy of human love... of the idea that he could be with you just like all the other humans who loved eachother.

That night, when the puppet and his human had fallen asleep, the Kabukimono found himself without a single dream.

IV. Blue

Even when the Kabukimono wasn't under your care for that day, he still hovered near to where you were.

The old woman who was tasked to care for him that day was a vile creature. One who refused to acknowledge the puppet as anything close to human; instead treating him as merely an object, a plaything, something that could do whatever she wanted of him without complaint.

Because the poor Kabukimono didn't know how.

The puppet watched from where he sat by a large bucket. His hands were filthy; red and sore from scrubbing away at the clothing that he was forced to wash by his current caretaker.

He watched as you bid farewell to your fellow villagers; a basket hung off your arm as you walked into the nearby woods.

Oh, how he longed to follow you. To see where you were off to, to accompany you and watch every move you made.

He looked down at the water in the bucket, browned with dirt and dust. Surely, the water flowing through the stream in the forest would be nice and clean, right?

He's quick to set everything aside; emptying the water into the nearby crops like he was instructed, and then following you into the forest.

It was like your presence had merely teased him; he stumbled blindly through the brush hoping that you would be found in this direction. That he could, at the very least, be able to lay his gaze upon you once more and lighten this heavy feeling in his chest.

What the Kabukimono hadn't thought about, though, was just what you may be doing out here in the forest. And what he saw when he finally approached the familiar babbling brook stole his artificial breath away- the feeling all to familiar to that time had first laid eyes upon you.

The water was a beautiful crystal blue; your clothing lay next to the stream, a telltale sign of what he had stumbled across.

You looked divine. Beautiful. The way the water ran by your bare form and dripped so deliciously from your skin had the puppet star-struck. Pink was quick to dust his pale cheeks.

Then, like an all-too-familiar flash of sickeningly-yellow thunder, a thought occurred to him.

He shouldn't be seeing this.

Sudden panic washed over him, a fear he had felt so many times before now baring it's fangs at him once more.

If you caught him, you would leave him too.

He bolted.

The trees rushed by him in a blur of green; sticks cracking beneath his feet as he retraced his path out of the forest. Birds flew and squirrels panicked as he went by them like the roaring wind; and finally he reemerged from the trees to the sight of the village before him.

He felt warm. He couldn't get the image of you out of his head. The picture of you bathing in such beautiful blue waters was ethereal. He felt his chest tighten even further at the memory.

"You damn puppet! Where have you been!?"

The Kabukimono's face paled instantly at the shrill sound.

"You thought you could just go for a stroll through the forest, huh?! You didn't even finish your chores!! And where's my water pail!?"

The voice boomed. It's origin angrily stomping up to him before grabbing his wrist so harshly, he was sure it would have bruised if he were human.

If he were human.

"You damned-... Can't you do anything right!?" The old woman shouted, dragging the shrinking boy along behind her and towards her old, decrepit house.

"I'm sorry-" He tried to speak, tried to make himself heard over the pounding in his ears.

The woman was like a constant flash of thunder; waiting for the perfect moment to strike the puppet where he stood. And this time, it looked like he was all alone in this storm.

The woman tossed open her front door before dragging the Kabukimono inside, harshly slamming the door shut before she turned to him with a wild look in her eye. The puppet looked absolutely pathetic as tears welled in the corners of his violet eyes.

She shouted at him. Cursed at him. Pushed, pulled, hit him in whatever way she felt fit to.

The Kabukimono shut his eyes, and recalled the divine scene he had stumbled across just a little while prior. He pictured you, standing within the crystal blue water of the stream, and he pictured himself standing infront of you. The sky such a rich, pale blue above the two of you as you found comfort in one another's embrace.

"Are you listening to me!?"

The puppet opened his eyes, and all he saw was blue. The world was blue, he was blue, the old woman was blue, and the constant patter of liquid splashing onto wood from his cheek was blue as well.

A sad, soulless, cold blue. The blue of loneliness and pain.

He remembered how beautiful you looked underneath the cherry blossoms that day he first met you. The shade of pale pink that so beautifully complimented the darker pink on his cheeks that day.

He remembered how tightly you held him under the flashes of yellow that threatened to consume him whole. How you told him you loved him- how you promised you would never leave him.

And he remembered the blue of the water running by your hips. The blue of the sky above, the blue of the cotton of your clothing.

The pounding in his ears was overwhelmingly loud.

A blue hand raised itself before him.

Before it could hit it's target, the pounding stopped.

Everything stopped.

V. Red

The world's colours had returned. But they were so much darker then before. As if drenched in thick shadows that clung even to the most well-lit areas.

And it was like the Kabukimono was just seeing the real world for the first time.

The green of the foliage outside had turned from a beautiful bright shade to a deep, forest colour. And even darker still were the greens inside; where moss and mildew grew along the corners of the old house, and the various stains from archons-know-what seemingly having appeared from nowhere now dotting the surroundings with the deepest shade of black.

The puppet had seen black before. But this was different. Darker. And it was like the entire world had been tainted by those stains of black.

Even the deep brown of the rotting wood below almost seemingly started turning black as a dark red seeped into it's pores.

Such a deep shade of red it was. The colour akin to the same that flowed freely from his cheek; although his was so much brighter then the vile woman who stained the floorboards.

No- if he wasn't a human, then she wasn't either. She was merely a creature, a worm- that now lie pathetically limp at his feet.

Her words, despite his attempt to drown them out, had seeped into his head regardless.

You will never be human.

You will never be wanted.

You will never be needed.

Perhaps she had been correct.

After all, she had only been repeating what he had been telling himself already.

But, if she was correct, then what did that make of the words that the other villagers had said? What, pray tell, did that make the humans themselves?

Liars. All of them. Filthy, red-stained liars.

They had never once truly cared about him. Merely tossing him scraps, at best; demanding that he do things for them and barely leaving him to fend for himself.

Barely giving him space in their village, barely caring to try and be 'polite' with him- even when they demanded that he be polite around everyone he interacted with.

At first, he just accepted it. Of course he did. The world was bright, colourful, beautiful- but now, he's seen it for what it truly is. He's seen the suffering, the pain, the lies; the shadows etched into every crevice of this forsaken world.

He knows that they had lied to him when they said they considered him a fellow human.

And you had taught him, the saint that you are, that liars are bad.

Oh, you... how beautiful you are. How wonderful and amazing and kind you are. Out of everyone in this damned, pathetic village, you had been the one to treat him like an equal. To treat him like a human.

To love him like a human.

His chest tightened at the memory of your voice above his head that night; "I love you" falling so effortlessly from your lips as you held him close.

Archons, you loved him. You promised him you would never leave him. And you had never broken your promises before.

You loved him.

Deep purple eyes fell to the human shaped insect on the floor. And a laugh bubbled up from within him.

He did something bad. Terrible. He had made the woman who hurt him stop moving.

But it felt good.

And if it felt so good, then... why stop?

He was already stained a deep, dark black. He could never go back to being as pure as you had seen him. Perhaps, he had always been this way- perhaps that's why his so called 'mother' and her fox-pet had decided to seal away what was rightfully his. The power that she had inlaid within him.

The power that now pounded so freely through him. And it seemed like the only way to silence it was to let it go.

As the puppet exited the house, a trail of red followed behind him. Electro crackled at his fingertips as he walked towards the center of the village, and he revelled in the hushed and desperate whispers of the humans he passed by.

The pounding in his ears- in his head- only grew stronger with each passing second. The crackling electro a disgusting shade of darkened, tainted yellow as it emanated from him.

And like a bolt of thunder that once had scared him so; flashes of yellow now flew through the open air and showed no mercy to the humans he was surrounded by.

Screams filled the air, filled his ears- and all he could do was laugh. Such pathetic insects, all scrambling to seek shelter from his divine wrath. It was chaotic, beautiful, as red stained the ground and painted the houses in it's corruption.

A gentle breeze kissed the cheek that had rapidly healed it's wound. With it, it brought delicate pale pink petals from the sakura trees that were so abundant in this land.

The village fell still. Nothing but the blossoms that danced on the wind dared to move; to catch the eye of the puppet-murderer.

"K-Kabuki...?"

A voice so small called out to him, stirring him from his thoughtless-thoughts.

He turned to you, and it was like your very presence made the surrounding area brighten to how it was before. Suddenly the world was perfect again; bright and happy and welcoming and loving.

Your eyes, so beautiful and vibrant, were wide and tinged with fear. Your hair was still wet- evidence of your bath, but all it served was to remind the puppet of what he had seen. Of the divinity he had been so blessed to witness.

You didn't move as he walked up to you. You couldn't. Shock had it's tight grasp on your body and mind, and you were unable to even speak at the bloody scene around you.

The puppet smiled so sweetly at you. And despite being the same smile as he had always given you, it no longer looked so innocent.

"I love you." He said, voice proud and unwavering.

Your eyes darted to meet his. He looked so...

dark.

"What...?" You couldn't even process what he said.

"You said you loved me that night, and I never said it back. I love you, (Y/N)."

"What-... what did you do..?" Your voice trailed off into a pathetic whisper, and it made the puppet smirk as his hand moved up to cup your cheek- much like how yours had once done for him.

"They were... bad. All of them. They could have hurt you, like they did to me..." The pad of his thumb spread a deep red over your skin as it rubbed your cheek. "But you love me. You promised you would never leave me. And I know you would never hurt me like they did..."

It was like his eyes had become gateways to the abyss itself; dark, devoid of life- of the boy you had once loved. Black stained his beautiful purple irises; tainted the beautiful colour with darkness and something sinister. Just like the blood that now stained your cheek.

The puppet-murderer intently watched your face drain of colour; intently watched as your pupils shrunk into pinpricks- and made note of your body starting to tremble.

He knew the signs of fear- he himself had expressed the same many times before. He knew you were scared. His chest felt like it tightened around a non-existent heart... he didn't want to see you scared. Not of him.

"...They were going to hurt you. I-I heard them. T-They were waiting for you to come back, a-and they would have... I-I couldn't let them do that. I couldn't let them be bad. I-I wanted to protect you..."

You still continued to tremble. It was like you had barely heard the lie he had told- but you didn't push him away when he pulled you into a cold, blood-stained embrace. And that was enough for him.

"I will... protect you. Stay with you. I will... be good for you."

...another lie. He was no longer good- he could never be good again. His soul- his hands- were now permanently stained red... a red that would be drained of colour as soon as you left his side- and he refused to be seen with that vile black ick. He refused to let you go.

It was almost sickening how swiftly he was able to return to how he was just hours ago... innocent, sweet, gentle. Even as the vibrant crimson stained his once-white flesh. Tainted him. Changed him.

As you gazed at him with a slacked-jaw expression, you could see the surrounding area- the massacred village- devoid of colour... of life. As if the puppet-murderer had drained the pinks and purples and blues and reds and it all congregated into a swirling black in the center of his beautiful indigo irises.

Was your beautiful, sweet little puppet-boy always so... heartless?

The way he pressed his lips to yours was robotic. Stiff and almost forced- but you knew that this was just his way of doing things, until he got used to it.

Until he got used to kissing you. Loving you. Tainting you.

A colourless tear cascaded down your cheek, your eyes closed as the puppet continued to kiss you as sweetly and gently as he could.

When he pulled away, he gently took your hands into his own, and looked down to see you trembling in his grasp. He noticed just how pretty your hands were covered in red.

And his violet eyes flicked up to your face, your hair- his red-stained fingers reaching up to pluck a crimson petal from your hair.

The pretty pink looked good on you, he once thought.

But he thinks you look so much better covered in red.

#reader insert #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #scaramouche x reader #kabukimono x reader #wanderer x reader #yandere scaramouche #yandere #yandere genshin impact #yandere x you #yandere wanderer

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sarawritestories · 11 months ago

Text

Unwavering Presence Chapter 3

Cassian X Archeron Sister (Reader)

Summary: Y/N looks forward to the next time her and Feyre go to the Night Court. Choosing to stay out of the way in the Spring she is visited by the High Lord and threats are made. Few months of learning how to read and Feyre finally warming up to the Night Court, the next time they return to the Spring Y/N is caught of guard and chaos ensues.

Content Warning: 18+ brief depictions of abuse, Tamlin being a dick, Ianthe appearance, unwanted groping (Not from any of our beloved night court folks or Spring court), blood, separation.

Word Count: 5.6k

chapter 2 Masterlist

A/N: I'm sorry if it seems to be a bit sped up but I simply could not bring myself to write more filler chapters! I hope you enjoy!

After my argument with Feyre, I locked myself in my room for the three weeks. Feyre had tried to come apologize and she tried to come in, but I had made sure my door was locked. I didn’t really move from my chair other than to change and sneaking into the kitchen late at night to eat. To avoid running the High Lord, Lucien or my sister.

There had been a continuous warmth on my tattooed wrist, Rhys’ reminder that I wasn’t alone. On the bad days where sleep evaded me, I tried to send back a wave of appreciation, unsure if he could feel it. Chances were he we were sleeping when I sent so he probably didn’t even know, but I did appreciate him.

Feyre and I have never had many fights and it was even rarer that the fight had resulted in us not talking and working it out. The last time was right before Tamlin took us away.

Feyre slammed her bow on the table. “You should have been here. What were you thinking going out there?” I scoffed as I dropped the wolf carcass on the table, facing my twin whose eyes flared with anger and a hint of fear. “You could have died!”

The door creaked open, and I glanced to see Nesta and Elain emerge from the bedroom. Their eyes went wide taking a look at the beast on the table. Our dad remained near the fireplace not acknowledging that Feyre and I had returned. Not like he noticed when we left. “Feyre, you could have died to. I have just as much skill at hunting like you, we work better together, and it worked out look at what we caught.” I held out my arm to show the wolf. “I love you, and I didn’t want you going out alone tonight. I’m glad I was there to help you take this beast down.”

Feyre blew up, “I could have killed you! I didn’t know you were there!”

I gave her a doubtful look and cross my arms, “I have been able to sense your presence since we have been children, you definitely knew I was there.”

Feyre ran her fingers through her brown hair not caring if she got blood in it. “Maybe I wanted to be alone, figured Nesta would give you some good quality time. At least she doesn’t despise your presence.”

My mouth dropped and quickly recovered, “Are you fucking serious, Fey? What the fuck does that mean?”

“Girls,” Our father croaked from his spot in the fireplace, only then that I noticed he was carving something in his hands. “That’s quite enough. Y/N your mother and I have taught you better than to use that type of language.”

I rolled my eyes, “Whatever you say.” I grit out and was about to push past my sisters when the door flung off its hinges and a beast with emerald eyes locked his gaze with mine.

A knock caused me to jolt from my seat and the book I was attempting to read on the table next to the chair, “Go away,” I yelled trying to conceal the fact the knock on the door frightened me.

The sound of the lock turning, and the door opens causing me to jump out of my chair, to see Tamlin strolling in. He shut the door and made a spectacle of locking the door. His eyes met mine and his eyes held nothing but cold and controlled anger. “Long time no see, Y/N.” He drawled and I tried not to shiver as fear locked up my joints. He slowly approaches me with his hands clasped behind his back, “You’re breaking Feyre’s heart you know. Locking yourself in here.” The sun from the window hit him and in any other situation I would have found his beauty mesmerizing, but his beauty looked sinister.

I crossed my arms and Tamlin takes notice of my tattoo decorating my skin before its tucked away. Feigning indifference, tucking the fear deep down and lifting my chin. “What do you want, Tamlin?” Shifting my weight back and forth.

Tamlin closed the distance, and I took a step back, “You’re coming down and having dinner with us tonight.”

I rolled my eyes, and I could hear the growl in his chest, “No thanks, as you can see, I’m quite busy here.”

Tamlin bared his teeth, “That wasn’t a request,” he took another step toward me.

“I don’t care,” I muttered and made the error of trying to step around him and in a flash, he gripped me and pinned me against the wall his muscled his hand moved from my arm and moved to my hip his free hand clamping down over my mouth. His gaze turned feral and crazed, letting his anger unleash and I could only produce a whimper through his hand.

He brought his face closer to mine and I could see the pure ire in his eyes. “Listen to me carefully. You are going to clean up, put on a pretty dress, come downstairs and apologize to Feyre for causing her stress and pain. Then you are going to eat in silence you will be seen and not heard.” I tried to yank my head, but he has my face in an iron grip, and he gripped my hip in bruising force keeping me pinned to the wall, “Like the good little human girl you are.” He released my face.

I quickly spat in his face, “Fuck-“he clamped his hand back over my mouth and I lashed against him.

Tamlin tsked, “No, no, the only thing I wanted to hear from you at all is ‘Yes Tamlin.’ And an apology to my soon to be wife.” He gripped my hip so tightly I gasped, and a tear slipped down my cheek. Tamlin kissed it away, the gesture going against his words. He met my eyes again his grin anything but comforting, “Blink if you understand, Y/N,” my name almost a snarl against his lips. I slowly blink and more tears fall. He lowers his face to kiss my forehead and I thrash my hands trying to push him away, but I couldn’t move him. He pulled away and released my body giving my cheek a not so tender pat, “Good Girl. Now go clean up there will be a dress on your bed,” he turned and made his way to the exit.

I wrapped my arms around myself, and I noticed Tamlin paused, “Oh and Y/N,” He turned his hand still on the handle, “Make no mistake if you don’t come down, I will drag you to the dining hall and tie you to the chair. Feyre’s happiness is important to me I will do anything to keep a smile on her face.” With that he left, and I let the emotions of the interaction fully take over and slide down the wall and bury my face in my knees to stifle the uncontrollable sobs. I barely notice how warm and tingling my tattoo is through the tears.

Cassian’s POV

I sat in the lounge of the townhouse with Rhys, there was a throbbing in my chest that caused discomfort. I rubbed my chest, but the pain wouldn’t subside, it felt like my heart was aching. I creased my eyebrows sadness consumed me and I rubbed that spot tighter as I closed my eyes.

“Cass, you alright?” Rhys’ voice pulled me from the wave of emotion overtaking me.

“I just have this weird feeling; my chest feels tight.”

Rhys gave me his full attention, his glass of whiskey forgotten. “Do you need me to get Madja?”

I shook my head, “No, just feels like something is wrong.” Another wave overwhelmed me, I closed my eyes, and I took a deep breath to neutralize myself. When I opened my eyes, my brother had a painful expression on his face. He was gripping his glass tightly his knuckles were white. “What is it?” I asked.

Rhy formed his lips into a tight line, and he clenched his hands into a fist, “Something is wrong over there,” he gritted through his teeth as he rubbed his left arm, causing me straightened I didn’t need him to fill me in. “She is sending utter turmoil down the bond.”

I grimace, “What kind of male torments their partner like that. To cause that much dread.”

Rhys shook his head, his eyes meeting mine the stars winking out, “It’s not Feyre, Cass.” My grip on my own glass tightened, “It’s Y/N’s.” Rhys stood and downed the rest of his drink.

Rhys began to walk out, and I called out, “Where are you going?”

“It’s the beginning of the new month, brother.” Rhys turned and winked at me, and darkness consumed him as he winnowed out of town house.

Reader’s POV

After a bath and getting the tears to finally stop I walked into the bedroom, taking a look at my hip fortunately there was no bruising from Tamlin’s grip. A lilac dress was laid out for me. The gossamer fabric chaffed my skin. The skirts were heavy against my hips, the spot where Tamlin squeezed still tender, I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths and my wrist tingled. I looked down and grazed my tattoo calm washing over me, “Thanks Rhys.” I whispered.

I walked over to the door and opened it to find Feyre on the other side biting her nail, a nervous habit she started when we were kids. Her eyes widened as she saw what I assumed is my puffy eyes from crying, and in turn I saw how her eyes looked bruised and I know she has still not been sleeping, “Hi.” She whispered.

I drifted my gaze to my feet, “Hi.” I looked back at her and look at her thin frame and her sunken cheeks and Tamlin’s words flooded my brain.

You’re breaking Feyre’s heart.

Guilt racks through me as I lightly pull her hand from her mouth, “Feyre, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lash out at you.”

Feyre squeezed my hand, “No, I am sorry. I know that this transition has been hard on you. I should have been more considerate to your feelings.”

I gave her a small smile tears pooling in my eyes again, “Let’s just put it behind us,” I patted her hand with my trembling one.

If you don’t come down, I will drag you to the dining hall and tie you to the chair.

“Y/N, you look like you’ve seen a ghost, and you’re trembling like a leaf. Do you want to lie down I can tell Tamlin you’re not-“

“No!” I blurted, causing Feyre to step back stunned. I composed myself, smoothing my skirts willing my hands to stop shaking, “Let’s just go have dinner with our…friends.” Feyre beamed at me referring to Tamlin and Lucien as friends as I tried to keep the bile from creeping up. We made our way to the dining hall. The closer we got the more nervous I became even the comfort of the tattoo felt vacant. I was trying to keep my hands from shaking by keeping them clasped.

The doors opened as we approached and Lucien and Tamlin were standing in their seats, snarling at something and as we got deeper into the dining hall to find Rhysand his hand tucked into his pockets. Feyre stilled and I fought every instinct to run and hug him. “Fuck you, Rhysand, we are to have a nice dinner. You can’t just take them.”

“Per our agreement it doesn’t matter when I come pick them up in the month.” Rhys spoke with cool indifference. “But I am a reasonable male,” He turned to us, “Ladies, I’ll give you the choice you can enjoy the meal with the High Lord and his loyal pet,” Lucien scowled, “Or we can go right now.”

Feyre moved to her seat by Tamlin Rhys tracking her entire movement, “I would like to have a meal before being whisked away.”

Rhys pulled his gaze away from Feyre and met mine. For a moment, I looked at Tamlin and could see his lips move the message clear Sit down. I met his gaze to his and hoped he understood what I was trying to convey with my eyes as I began to move to the seat next to my sister.

Don’t leave, please don’t leave. Don’t go.

Rhysand meandered to a seat on the opposite end of the table as Tamlin growled the claws peeking from his knuckles, “They want to have dinner, you can come back when their done.”

Rhys pulled the chair and plopped in it kicking his feet up as if he owned the place. “Where’s your hospitality, High Lord? I think it’s best I stay and join you. I’m sure Feyre and Y/N wouldn’t mind.”

Feyre scowled and I just lowered my gaze, finding the skirts of my dress very interesting as I took a seat. “Fine.” Tamlin grumbled and food appeared on each plate filled with lavish meats and cheeses.

I looked at the table and Tamlin’s fierce gaze met mine, “Y/N, so wonderful for you to finally join us tonight, care to say anything to Feyre.”

“Tamlin, leave her be she already apologized to me.” Feyre scolded her hand gripping my thigh with a gentle squeeze.

Tamlin bristled and I shifted in my seat under his scrutinizing gaze, “Well I’m glad she apologized. Let’s try to have a meal together with everyone present moving forward.” I looked to Lucien who avoided eye contact with me...Coward.

Feyre gave a small smile, “Sounds great.”

I moved my food around with my fork, not having an appetite. I felt a prickle in the back of my mind. You need to eat. I tried to reign in the shock of Rhys’ voice in my head. You BOTH do.

I looked at him, to see he was eating the food, but his eyes were locked on me and Feyre, I looked to my sister, and noticed she was doing the same thing. Looking at the High Lord of the Spring and his emissary, the two were engaged in their own conversation eating paying us no mind. I took a few bites of my food and out of the corner of my eye I saw Feyre following suit.

One the meal was finished Rhys stood and Feyre rising from hers, Tamlin reached to grab her hand and she casually moved her hand. I made a note to ask her about it when we’re alone. Feyre gave him a small weak smile, “We’ll see you in a week.”

A hand lightly gripped my shoulder, I looked up and met Rhys’ gaze, “Ready to go?” I nodded and rose from my seat. His hand slid down my arm and gripped my hand. “Feyre Darling,” Her gaze met his as he held out hiss free hand for her to take. She approached him with less fury than the first time we went to the Night Court. When she places her hand in his we are consumed by the darkness, and we are back in Rhys’ home. Feyre looked at me, “I’m going to go to bed. You are coming?”

Rhys gave Feyre a comforting grin, “She will be there in a moment. I need to talk to her real quick.” Feyre to my surprise give him a silent nod and her lips curve slightly upward and I swore that Rhys stopped breathing for a moment. “Good night, High Lord.” She said and turned and headed back to our shared room.

Rhys turned to me, and I averted my gaze to my hands that were interlaced. “Y/N, look at me,” I refused and kept my gaze on my hands, look at me, please his voice echoed in your mind. I sighed and met his gaze, “What happened? I felt an unnerving turmoil earlier today through,” he grabbed my arm with the tattoo. “It was like you were screaming down the bond.”

I slipped my arm from his grasp, and he let me, “I don’t want to talk about it.” I murmured wrapping my arms around myself, “I doubt you would believe me anyway.”

Rhys scowled, “You don’t have to tell me what happened. You don’t have to talk to me. But don’t ever say that I wouldn’t believe you. The pain I felt today was real your pain was real.” Rhys’ face softened, “Just don’t bury this down and forget about it, it will eat you alive, okay?”

I gave him a nod and he turned to leave probably to head to his own room, “He pinned me against a wall,” I blurted, and it caused him to still, he turned, and I could feel the tears building up as I placed my trembling fingers over my mouth, “He clamped my mouth so tight I thought he would break my jaw and he gripped my hip to keep me pinned to the wall.” I sobbed and Rhys in three strides made his way back and without saying anything else wrapped me in his arms and I let the sobs take over and buried my face in his shirt. A comforting hand placed on back of my head and he rubs my back in almost a brotherly way. “I tried to push him away and I couldn’t,” whether he could understand the words and tears just wouldn’t stop. “He told me I needed to remain silent except to apologize to Feyre for locking myself in my room. He said that he going to tie me to a chair and force me there.”

Rhys arms were the only thing keeping me upright, “It’s okay.” He whispered pressed his cheek atop of my head, as my sobs racked out of my body. “What can I do? Tell me what I can do to help you.”

There was a calm emotion that slowed down my sobs slowed, I take a deep breath, “Can you help me not feel as weak and powerless as I felt today? I never want to feel that way again.”

“Yes, you will never have to feel that way again.” He pushed away and looked at me, wiping tears from my cheeks. “I can train you.” I nodded in agreement as exhaustion began to take over my body. “It’s been a long day,” I gave him another nod, “Want to go to your room?” He gripped one of my hands, “I can take you there.”

I shook my head and his brows furrowed, “Can I go to the library?” He smiled and gave the top of my hand he held a kiss.

“Of course, you can, let me take you.” I gave him a small smile and sniffled as he led me to the library. The small journey was quiet, but the door opened, and the books came into view. “Tomorrow, we can start your reading lessons I’m hoping your sister will want to partake as well.” I turned to him, and he held hope in his eyes that Feyre would be willing. “We can start training whenever you want, Y/N. I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner.”

He released my hand and began to walk away. I grabbed his hand again and he looked back at me, “I don’t know what I can say. What I can do to repay for your kindness.” And I wrapped my arms around his neck, “Thank you, Rhysand.”

He returned the embrace, “You don’t need to thank me.” He pulled away and cupped my cheek, “Have a good night, Y/N.” He places a chaste kiss to my forehead and heads deeper into the hall. I walked into the library and the fireplace lit and I welcomed the warmth as I sat on the large chair. Sinking into the cushion I laid my head back and in the comfort of the library my eyes shut, and sleep overtook me.

Cassian’s POV

She looked beautiful and peaceful on the library chair fast asleep. Rhys had casually let me know she would be there and before I went to bed after a long day in Windhaven, I stopped by to see if she might have needed anything and found her sound asleep. Rhys didn’t tell me what happened in Tamlin’s court, but he had mentioned that she was interested in training. The red around her nose and the smell of dried tears told me she had been crying and my mind only went to the worst-case scenario of what happened.

Leaning off the door I tucked my wings to not have them drag across the floor I approached, Y/N’s sleeping form, the way her neck was angled she would wake up in immense pain. I lightly scooped her in my arms trying my best not to wake her, she only stirred to move her head and leaned it against my chest and the sweet smell of Jasmine and lilacs flooded my nose. She smelled as beautiful as she was. I walked over to the couch that was placed right in between two bookshelves against the wall and lay her down making sure her head pressed against the pillow. The house placed a blanket in my arms and in no hesitation, I placed the blanket on her. She snuggled against the softness of the blanket and let out a content sigh.

I smiled and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, “Sleep well, Sweetheart.” And with that I left the library and went to my room.

Reader’s POV

The next morning, I woke up and found myself on the couch in the library, and there was a blanket over me. I remember falling asleep on the chair, but don’t remember moving. The scent of leather and Sandalwood lingered in the room and was a comforting embrace. Feyre opened the door her eyes frantic, “There you are! I was so worried!” She donned a peach dress that fitted her figure with sheer sleeves that had rhinestones on it. Her hair was pinned back to the side, and she looked beautiful even though the dress looked like it was wearing her.

I stretched and smiled at her, “Sorry, Fey, I fell asleep in here. I like it in here.” I sat up and put the blanket to the side, “I’m hungry.”

Feyre nodded, “Well go change and we will go get breakfast.” I nodded and went to the bedroom to change into a purple top with sheer puffy sleeves that showed a little more cleavage with matching pants and put my hair in a simple braid and made my way to breakfast.

At breakfast Rhys broke the news to my sister that we would be learning to read, write and shield against Daemati fae, which he explained to me is how he was able to speak to me in my mind. That went as well as I anticipated but with some coercing, she joined me in the office to get our first lesson. “I don’t understand why you care about our education.” Feyre grumbled.

“Oh, are you saying having this ability wouldn’t have been useful under the mountain?” I stilled at his question and Feyre went pale and silent. “We don’t know what the future holds, its in my best interest to have you two, well versed and ready for anything.”

He explained to us how to put up mental shields that we worked on, and we spent an hour writing the ridiculous phrases that made Feyre roll her eyes and mutter, “Insufferable,” causing me to chuckle. After an hour of Rhys scolding us for keeping our shields up and checking our work, he released us for the day. Feyre and I went back to the room and fell into a comfortable silence and that evening I went back to the library and grabbed a book to practice my reading.

The rest of the week was spent that way shielding, reading and writing and towards the end, Feyre was eating more and smiling more to Rhysand which I swore the High Lord soaked in her smiles like sun rays. When we returned to the Spring Court, we both spent some time together reading and despite my utter disgust I would join for meals to appease Tamlin and keep his temper at bay.

Months went by and fell into the same rhythm. Rhys threw in a few fighting lessons, but we started with balance and stretching. He said he would only show me the basics but when his General came home that I would start training with him for more intricate training. I wanted to ask Rhys what Cassian’s role was in his court or just even to learn more about him, but I refrained, I didn’t want to pry, and he never wanted to divulge in the members of his court.

I could tell after Rhysand dropped us off that both Feyre and I were feeling better and stronger as Feyre was begging Tamlin to go out and hunt and help the people in town and met with stonewall refusal. So, she would dive into reading with me, but her face was fuller, and light shone back into her eyes, the color in her hair was vibrant again. Turns out that verbal sparring with Rhys was doing something for her.

Dinner that night after Tamlin told Feyre he didn’t want her hunting, Tamlin was utterly sweet, to her and to me. I welcomed the change even if Ianthe had graced us with her presence and her saccharine grin making my skin crawl. It felt as though things were finally falling into place. I drank the wine that Ianthe had poured for me and when I went to my room, sleep overpowered me and I moved to my bed my head landing on the pillow as I slipped into unconsciousness not even realizing that I had left my door wide open.

I awoke with a start as the warm breeze caressed my bare skin, I sat upright my surroundings spinning but trees surrounded me, I was in the forest. Someone had put a sheer nightgown on me my hands were bound behind my back and female laughter caused my blood to chill. I turned my head to find Ianthe there. “Ianthe, help me please.”

She approached me and gone was any warmth in her features and cold viper took her place as she crouched to meet my eyes, “I’m under Tamlin’s orders. To take you far away from the manor”

I gritted my teeth, “Bullshit, he wouldn’t hurt my sister that way!” I sent panic down the bond in hopes that Rhys would be able to answer my call.

Ianthe stroked a finger down my cheeks moving to my neck and down to my clavicle, “Unless we tell her you ran away.”

Fear ran down my spine I masked it with indifference, “You think she would believe that I would abandon her like that.”

Ianthe traced her finger right above the swell of my breast and I jerked away from her, “Well we could also say that you were influenced by the Naga lured out by a lesser fae and with your fragile human body you couldn’t resist.” I bit my lip, and she smirked knowing she would believe that as she held a dagger and sliced quickly above my clavicle, and I hissed, refusing to scream. Though she sliced off one of the straps to my night gown. She placed a kiss to my cheek before she murmured, “I’d run if I were you. Won’t be long before the monsters that live in these woods smell your blood and come looking for you.” And with that she vanished.

I gritted through my teeth as I rose to my knees, ignoring the pain of twigs and rocks pressing into my knees as I rose to my bare feet and began to run. I wasn’t sure which way I was running and there was minimal moon light to help but I just kept running and sending my fear down the bond. Even opening my mind:

Rhys, help. Please help me!

There was no response, but I kept pushing, kept sending waves of fear down our tattoo and shouting my thoughts in hopes he would hear. It felt like hours I was in there before I tripped over a stump I didn’t see and fell hard on my back. My vision blurred as my head collided with something hard, but the silence was palpable in the forest. My breathing was labored, and I could feel the warmth trickle of blood running down my face. I knew my feet were cut up, but I still rose to my knees and willed myself to try and stand. Dizziness dropped me back to my knees and a sob raked out of me. “Rhysand, please.” I whispered.

A low chuckle echoed behind me, and I began to tremble. “What a delicious treat we have brother, a human girl” The sound of slithering made me want to vomit but I forced the bile down and kept my head down. The slithering halted and the images of the Naga Feyre had painted flooded my memory the serpent-like creatures with talons and vile creatures.

Another low sinister voice followed, “What a pretty little thing and tied up just like a present.” A sharp finger moved my hair away to look at my bleeding wound. I looked up and met yellow eyes and a pink serpent tongue sticking out. The hand that moved my hair gripped the back of my neck and I whimpered as the Naga licked the trail of blood from my forehead. The free hand groping my exposed breast, the beast hummed in approval, “She is delicious.” The Naga gripped my hair and I yelped in pain as he approached, bringing his mouth closer to mine but keeping my head in place so I couldn’t move.

Rhys, I think I’m going to die. If I do, it was an honor being your friend.

I could have sobbed when Rhys’ voice came into my head.

No one will be dying tonight.

There was a slash of metal and the howl of the Naga who was gripping me as he was yanked away a flash of blue propelling it back. The sound of wings booming above and a thud on the ground. I couldn’t see my savior’s face only that blue gems blazed in the night as he approached the creature that put its hands on me with a blade in his hand.

The creature’s brother tried to slither its tail around my waist only to be met with steel cutting in clean off. A blast of red power forced the beast back against the tree. The Naga was about to approach again ready for a fight when a dagger flew and landed right in between its eyes, and it slumped back against the trees. The clouds parted and moonlight was able to help me see but a hand grabbed my shoulder and a jerked out of the grip turning slightly to meet familiar hazel eyes. His eyes held fear and he held his hands out palms open, “Y/N, do you remember me?” He whispered.

I nodded, “Cassian,” I whispered my voice hoarse and dry.

Cassian gave me a warm smile, “Good, Can I untie you?” I nodded again and he took another dagger and made his way behind me to cut my ties as the other winged male approached. My hands were free, and Cass took my hands in his and began to massage my wrists to bring the circulation back into my hands. “Is this, okay?” he asked, ignoring his friend who had just approached. I nodded again words not forming.

The other male knelt and gave me a small smile, his eyes a similar hazel to Cassian’s but just like Rhys and Cassian he was utterly beautiful, “I have heard a lot about you, Archeron.” His voice was pure honey, “I’m Azriel.”

I give him a small wave. Cassian released my hand and slid off his jacket sliding it over my shoulders to cover me. I slide my arms into the sleeves. “We have to get going before more come.” Cassian whispered to me, “Will you let me carry you?”

I nod but force myself to say, “Don’t bring me back to the Spring Court.” I whisper as my eyes met his and pain flashes in those eyes. “Please.”

“You are not going back there, Sweetheart. We’re taking you home.” Cassian scoops me up and holds me close to his chest, where the scent of sandalwood and leather fills my nose and my eyes widened, was he there that day in the library? Did he move me over to the couch? My thoughts whirled but the dizziness caused me to lay my head on his chest. “You alright?” He murmured the words thrumming from his chest causing warmth to spread through my body.

“I hit my head, and a little dizzy but I’ll be alright.” Azriel rose nodding to his friend and gripped Cassian’s arm as darkness consumed us until we emerged into a house I had never seen before.

Rhys was in the hall his eyes frantic, “Mother above, Is she alright? Where's Feyre?”

Tears welled up at my conversation with Ianthe bubbled to the surface of never seeing Feyre again, “I'm alright” I croaked, “They’re going to make her think I’m dead.” I whisper and tear slips from my face. Cassian’s grip tightens on me his thumb rubbing circles on my back, and I wrap my arms around his neck and bury my face letting his scent soothe me.

"Who is?" Cassian asked.

"Tamlin and Ianthe." I whimper as pain erupts from my head. I pressed on, "They are going to tell her I abandoned her."

Rhys sounded as though he was clenching his teeth, “Cassian go take her to one of the rooms upstairs and have Madja come take a look at her.” I could hear his footsteps and a hand was on my arm giving it a comforting squeeze, “I’ll check on her in the morning.”

You didn't abandon her and when she sees you again she will know that Rhys' words in my mind brought me comfort as I heard his steps walk away with what I assume was Azriel's not far behind.

With that Cassian took me up the stairs and into the room I took a look around there were two twin sized beds and he laid me down on the one farthest from the window, He looked at the wound on my head, "I'm going to go get our healer, I'll be right back." He got up and I on instinct grabbed for his hand, hissing at my fast movement.

"Stay. Please don't leave me." I whispered.

He bit his lip and he nodded he looked off into the distance for a long moment and then he grabbed the chair from the small desk and brought it by my bedside. "Rhys, is calling for our healer." He sat letting his wings dip slightly as he grips my hand again and rubs the top of my hand. The soothing motion lulling me into a dreamless sleep.

Chapter 4

Story Tags: @hellodarling1357 @hnyclover @waytoomanyteenagefeels @amara-moonlight @impossibelle @esposadomd @sleepylunarwolf @stressed-reader @kylaisra @marvelouslovely-barnes @magicstrengthandcourage @spideytingley @awkardnerd @donttellthecats @Tastydewdrops @vermillionwinter @asweetblueberry2 @bunnyredgirl @homeslices @azriels-mate2 @oksloan3 @wallacewillow0773638 @fandom-crashlanding @writingstreetspirit @hannzoaks @minnieoo

#cassian x reader #cassian fanfic #cassian acotar #cassian x you #acotar #acotar fanfiction #rhysand acotar #rhysand x reader #azriel x reader #archeron sister #unwaveringpresence

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ectologia · 1 year ago

Note

love your stuff!! would you be ok with making something about bakugo just being a bully?

HARD TIMES

KATSUKI BAKUGOU X F!READER

𝐂𝐖 ♱ DUBCON/NONCON, BULLYING, ABUSE, SWEATY ARMPITS, PISS, HUMILIATION, MISOGYNY, SIZE KINK, SIZE DIFFERENCE, CRUEL NICKNAMES, DEGRADATION, OBJECTIFICATION, PROFANITY

“Hey.”

You shuffle down the corridor quicker at the deep, rumbling snarl. Twisting the straps of your bag tighter in your clammy fists as you take long, purposeful strides, almost skipping in your steps.

“Hey, don’t ignore me.” A heavy palm lands on your shoulder, squeezing like a python once your back collides with the wall.

Your eyes follow the stocky blonde’s form all the way up his hard chest, chasing to confirm the two crimson rubies placed atop his tanned features like the gems of a crown.

Bakugou juts his chin upwards in an abrasive fashion the moment you whimper under the pressure of his fingertips.

“I didn’t see you in math today.”

You sweep his hand off, shuffling backwards beneath his stoic gaze. “I.. Uhm.. I switched classes..” You mumble, barely coherent under your meek breath.

“Why’s that.”

It’s not a question, nor does he care for an answer.

One thudding foot after another and he’s in your shadow, looming over you like the sun swallowing the moon.

Two thick biceps come to rest by your spinning head, propped against the wall at the perfect angle for the heady stench of his sweaty armpits to suffocate you in the tight space.

“I’m disappointed, I was looking forward to seeing my little cock-sock today.”

You turn, raising a defensive fore-arm. “Please, Bakugou. Not today, I—”

He curls a set of scarred fingers around the flimsy joint, stretching it upwards until he has you pinned like a butterfly, helpless and vulnerable against the wall.

“What’s my name?” He scoffs.

You squeal once the calloused digits tense, popping and rolling your delicate bones in a painful hug.

“Katsuki! Katsuki!”

His fist goes limp once again. “There we go.. stupid bitch.”

The heavy appendage drops back down to his side, as does yours. You rub at the red stripes left across your skin, encouraging the blood to pool back into your veins.

“I ain’t got much time, training’s in 20 minutes.”

“Huh?” Your head snaps up, brows knitted in pardon.

His eyes roll in their sockets. “Get your pussy out, need to fuck something.”

Panic strikes and you’re flinching away.

“Hey, stop acting like such a little victim — just spread ‘em.”

It takes him less than 3 seconds to do it himself. You’re hoisted up onto the window-sill with one large palm splayed across your ass, while the other comes down to paw at the fabric stretched across your chubby mound.

“Thought I told you to stop wearing these shitty shorts under your skirt.”

“I can’t, they’re part of the uniform policy!”

“Blah, blah, bitch.” He tugs at the black spandex. “All I’m hearing is you want your pussy lips burnt off.”

The fibres twang and snap under the crackling heat of his quirk, disconnecting until a grand burning hole is left in the garment.

“Katsuki!”

“That’s me.” He snickers with a toothy grin, pulling away to inspect the tiny slit between your legs.

“Did you get looser?” He cleaves the swollen folds apart, hooking two thumbs around the gooey rim of your pussyhole.

You tuck your chin into your chest, frowning down at his ministrations.

“Only joking babe.” He spanks your clit, chuckling at the way your legs jump. “She’s still good for another fuck or two.”

He wastes no time, pulling the stiff length of his fat dick out to slap against your puffed up pussy.

“Let’s do this quick, yeah? Don’t really wanna be seen piping a loser, no offence.”

You’re swung back and forth by the hinges of your knees with your feet left dangling in the air, clumsily knocking his back with every hop.

His hips clap against the crease of your thighs, pumping in and out of your sloppy cunny as the bulbous head of his cock pokes at your cervix.

“Oh, fuck, yeah. Bounce that fat-ass back on me, just like that.” He howls through the thin space of his pursed lips, huffing and puffing as he lifts you up and down on his prick.

“B— Katsuki!”

“Shh, shut up.”

He squeezes your face in between his fingers, smothering your mouth in an attempt to keep your cries to a minimum.

A dewy sheen bubbles along his hairline, darkening the beach blond spikes until the ends droop from the humidity. The way his large frame tips forward to knock his sweaty forehead against yours has you mewling, clawing at his shoulders for stability and some form of comfort as he uses you like his own girlie little flesh-light.

“Mmh.. Fuck on it, fuck on that cock, fuck on that big fat monster cock.”

His rapid thumping slows to a mellow pace as a ponderous expression befalls him. “All this humping’s making me need a piss.”

At this, you yelp. Thrashing around in his arms like a fish out of water.

He takes one step, two steps, towards the window until you’re squashed and squished against the glass.

“Well done piggie. You’ve just been promoted to Katsuki Bakugou’s new toilet.”

The torrid stream has you feeling almost bloated, on the brink of bursting as you’re pumped full off cock and piss, dribbling and squirting out of the tiny seam left in the space that Katsuki has yet to fill. Your toes curl and cripple from the positively sickening warmth of his urine spraying out of your cunt, sloshing around in what you can only assume is your womb.

“Oh, yeah. That’s the stuff…” His ears twitch at the sensation of releasing inside your body.

Your head lounges against your shoulder, floating in and out of consciousness until a stinging smack to your cheek has you shaking yourself awake.

“You passin’ out on me already?” He adjusts his position, bringing your pliable, fucked-out body closer towards his chest.

“I ain’t even cum yet, baby.”

#𝐊𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐈 𝐁𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐆𝐎𝐔 #bnha #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bnha smut #katsuki bakugou x female reader #bakugou smut #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo mha #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugou #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugou smut #katsuki smut #bakugou katsuki smut #bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugou katsuki x reader

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love-bitesx · 2 years ago

Note

is it possible for a Hobie X fem reader on her period? Like maybe he swings by her place thru the window, goes in and the first thing he sees is reader lying face flat on the bed or ground, hand clutching her stomach 🤯

: ̗̀➛ JUST NEED YOU. hobie brown x fem!reader

genuine question: do i write hobie too soft?? idk if he's too ooc or not, any feedback would be amazing! thank u for the req !!

summary: hobie comes home to find you curled up on the floor in pain. words: 952 REQUESTS OPEN! warnings: no pronouns are used, but reader is on their period so, apply that as you choose! gn friendly. obviously, mentions of period, no graphic blood description but mentions of bleeding. hobie being a softie, as per usual.

all he could think of is you.

gliding through the streets, his shoulder aching at the joints slightly from swinging all day, his evening consisting of darting around the city and scanning the streets for any mishaps. pulling himself along, his fingers itched for you, needing to be close, smell your scent and kiss your skin.

almost crashing down onto your fire escape, he scaled the staircase to your room, sighing to himself at the familiar orange glow radiating from your window. it was open just an inch, the warmth spilling into the cold london air, and he couldn’t help but smile thinking you’d left it open just for him.

letting the glow swallow him whole, he dragged the window off it’s latch and kicked through to your bedroom, comforted by the familiarity. your laptop was open on the visibly slept-in bed, the duvet ruffled, no longer molded on the mattress. worn clothes discarded onto the carpeted floor, there was all evidence of your presence, but you weren’t anywhere to be seen.

“darlin’?” hobie called out, kicking his boots off and pulling your bedroom door open, met with the darkness of the rest of your apartment, “y/n, it’s hobie, you ‘ere, love?”

a muffled rustle in the bathroom sent a tingle down his spine, and he turned to see the door shut, the gentle white illumination spilling from underneath it. knocking gently, not wanting to alarm you, his brows furrowed at the silence that followed.

“y/n?” voice softer than his usual harsh exterior, apprehension beginning to bundle in his stomach at the lack of response, until he heard a soft, exhausted groan from within, “you okay?”

another groan sounded, and he immediately reached for the handle, shaking it rushedly to check if it was locked. it wasn’t, the door creaking open on it’s hinges, revealing the harsh white light from within. his eyes went straight to you, his heart dropping at the sight.

curled up on the freezing, tiled floor, you clutched at your stomach in pain. crouching to his knees, his cold hands reached to pull you to him, cradling your head to his chest. fingers running along your skin to check for wounds or injuries, he furrowed his brows.

your skin was drained of colour, the subtle bags under your eyes damp from tears. gently, he brushed the hair from your face, the familiarity of his touch melting you like putty in his hands. he was just the comfort you’d been craving.

“what ‘appened, sweetheart?” his hand cupped your face, bringing it up to look at him, your eyes filled with water, “use your words for me.”

“it’s silly,” voice cracking with tears, you pressed your cheek into his hand, the chill of his metal rings a weird solace.

“tell me, i can help,” a kiss to your forehead cracked a soft smile on your lips.

tearfully you begun, “i just, i woke up and- and i was bleeding…you know,” your cheeks warmed in an innate wash of embarassment, “the cramps just, they hurt so much and i didn’t know what to do.”

he’d be lying if he said he didn’t panic a little bit. not that he was uncomfortable with periods, he was never conservative about that kind of thing, but the feeling of helplessness created a conflict within him. in almost every situation, he lived to save you, it was part of his humanity, his purpose in the world. this felt like something he couldn’t save you from, it unsettled him.

“what do you need?” he spoke against your hairline, thumb caressing your plush cheek.

bringing your hands to his vest, you pulled him impossibly close, breathing in the scent of him and nuzzling into his chest, “just need you.”

melting, his chilled heart turned soft at your words, chest spreading with warmth at the feeling of you, small in his embrace. something itched at him, he was a compassionate man, but prided himself in his cool, harsh exterior at times – until you came about. a spring of safety in his dangerous conscience.

“come on, darlin’,” he muttered, securing his strength underneath you and picking you up from the inhospitable bathroom tiles. you clung to his neck, arms fluid against the sharp collar.

carrying you through to the bedroom, he placed you softly on the mattress, kissing your cheek delicately on the cheek before stepping away, “’ll be back in a sec, love.”

left without him, you tucked yourself under the covers, wincing as a wave of aching pains split your lower abdomen in half – a tear falling down your flushed face. shooting up your spine and fuzzing your head, you barely noticed when hobie stepped back into the room.

opening your eyes at the weighted feeling of hobie sitting on the bed beside you, you’re met with a fresh glass of water and painkillers, hobie shrugging off his vest and jewellery to climb in beside you.

“you didn’t have to get all that,” you smiled gingerly, sipping the liquid and sighing at the feeling.

“’course i did,” he kicked off his jeans and pulled the comforter over you both, snaking his bare arms around your waist, careful not to put pressure on your abdomen, burying his face in your neck, “need to look after you. love you too much.”

“i love you, too, hobie.”

#hobie brown #hobie brown fanfiction #hobie brown imagine #hobie brown x you #hobie brown x reader #spider punk #spider punk x you #spider punk x reader #across the spiderverse #hobie x reader #hobie #hobie my beloved #atsv hobie #hobie spiderverse #spiderpunk #love-bitesx

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knight-says-rollout · 2 years ago

Note

Would you mind telling us about more disabled Cybertronians?

Oh boy would I

For this list let’s focus on physical disabilities, both because they’re the most commonly dismissed by the fandom and bc if we try to cover everything we’d be here all day (that can be another list, maybe, if y’all want)

This isn’t going to be comprehensive bc I’m tired but!! I will aim for a broad variety of examples nonetheless

Bumblebee - You all know him, you all love him. He’s the most obvious and most well known example of a disabled Cybertronian character.

In many iterations he is mute

Not by choice but because he lacks a voice box. Bee physically isn’t capable of speech and depending on the version has different tools to work around that. Sometimes he uses his radio to repurpose song and radio dialogue into speech, in cyberverse he also makes use of the internet for clips. In the aligned continuity (tfp and connected media) he speaks in binary, a very simplified form of language using beeps and buzzes, but still lacks a real voice and can’t form words.

In IDW he has a cane

At one point in the comics Bumblebee was shot by a human protester and as a result used a cane for a good bit of time. I haven’t had the chance to read that far into IDW yet so I’m not sure how long he had the cane for but it was enough time that it’s a solidified part of the charcaters history. I’ve seen little models of the cane for sale, to be paired with bee figures.

TFP Ultra Magnus - everyone’s favorite awkward commander, despite his popularity he’s surprisingly overlooked when it comes to this discussion

An amputee, he lost his hand

During an energon raid with wheeljack, magnus’ hand was crushed. Ratchet couldn’t save it and had to amputate, replacing it with a hooked prosthetic. I call it a prosthetic rather than replacement part because despite him being able to move it, it’s not a hand. Not in the way he had previously, and he has to relearn how to use it at all.

I think that’s an important distinction to make when discussing disability and transformers. Some bots might have only ever had one hand, or no legs, or etc but that’s always been their level of ability and since they Are robotic. Yeah they might not have the same capabilities as another bot but that’s a hard metric to go by. Seekers can fly but a grounder isn’t disabled because they can’t fly too, it’s a different standard.

WFC Shamble - far lesser known than Magnus, and reasonably so, this background character is Also missing a limb

Amputee, leg edition

His prosthetic is a lot less fancy than magnus’s, it’s a simple peg leg. Put em together and you get a pirate. Not much to say about him since i don’t know how he lost the leg, just that he did.

Shadow Striker - Most awesome lady in cyberverse. Unlike the above two, she Was able to get actual replacement parts rather than prosthetics. Despite this, she is both shown throughout the show and implied to have

Impaired mobility

Chronic pain

She was able to get replacement parts yes but they were needed because she was blown up. The limbs she was given were kinda just what the others could Find and as such are mismatched and don’t fit her very well. Her motor skills took a blow especially when it comes to combat, something she used to excel in. Her new limbs are described as unstable and prone to malfunction. The loss of mobility and implied chronic pain that come along with her situation are rough, but she makes do.

SG Soundwave - my favorite little guy, he’s in a bit of a different situation than the previous.

Bad Joints ™

His body was entirely overhauled multiple times, successfully, but the latest frame change was done with conflicting metals. Earth and Cybertronian materials clash in his joints, making them prone to getting stopped up. The most affected hinge being the one on the door to his tape deck. It is so prone to getting stuck that his cassettes refuse to dock with him at risk of getting trapped. To work around this, Soundwave has the aid of a personalized case he carries around that they dock in instead.

IDW Sunstreaker - speaking of assistive devices, this guy was (for a time) a wheelchair user! Or,, hoverchair.

Temporary,,, paraplegic? Correct me if another term fits better

Taking this moment for an aside to say hey!! Lookit that, both canes and hoverchairs are things that canonically and casually exist on cybertron!! It’s not too wild to assume there are bots out there who use them long term!! Yes both characters on this list were repaired eventually but they’re also both very popular old characters from an action based franchise and hasbro doesn’t have the balls to make something like that permanent yet. We the fandom are not hasbro. We can do whatever we damn want with our OCs. It’s canon that ur little guy can use mobility aids.

Ok, PSA over, anyway yeah Sunny’s body was basically wrecked and alpha trion was able to repair all of him except his legs. This put him in a hoverchair for a good amount of time.

Finback - he’s a con, a pirate, who developed a “metal wasting disease”

He’s on permanent life support

The disease is going to kill him eventually, and it’s explicitly stated that he’s come to terms with the idea of his death. In the meantime he’s using pretender tech, kinda like fancy armor, to reinforce himself and boost his immune system

Perceptor - for a microscope, the fact he’s got vision issues in multiple continuities is kinda ironic

He’s fully blind in cyberverse

He lost an eye in IDW

Between the two we get to see both routes taken to work with this. Adaption and technological aid. In cyberverse he uses his scope to compensate for the loss of vision Toph-style. In IDW he built himself a monocle that basically replaces the pieces that are missing.

Now we get into the uniquely Cybertronian disabilities, one’s that don’t quite translate to human conditions

Transmutate - is a beloved bot from beast wars

They can’t transform, they don’t have an alt mode

I’m hazy on the details of their character but afaik they came from a damaged stasis pod. Described as deformed and handicapped for their both their lack of an alt mode and general appearance, they are probably the oldest explicitly disabled Cybertronian character

Xaaron - from G1 is in a similar situation

He can’t transform, it would kill him

Unlike transmutate he does have an alt mode, a tank, but after thousands of years without transforming he is no longer able to. The new stress it would cause on his body would kill him.

Broadside - continuing with the subject of alt modes, this clumsy boy is a boat! That’s not a good thing.

He’s very prone to motion sickness

As you can imagine, chronic sea sickness isn’t the most helpful thing when you are the boat. This brings in the entirely new element of mobility issues that are inherent to alt modes. A bot that functions fine in root form might not in alt mode and vice versa.

Trailbreaker - is another instance of this. He’s not a fast car by any means but that doesn’t stop the fact

His frame has a very high energon cost

Possibly the least fuel efficient autobot, he’s got an outlier ability on top of it all that only further increases his required energon intake. He needs to pay more attention to his energon levels and refuel more often overall.

G1 Knockout - yes that’s right the shiny medic himself is on this list, though not for the same reason as his tfp version, g1 knockout still lives up to his name

He’s prone to fainting

A knockout in the more literal sense, he faints when he gets too excited. Fully collapses and everything. Since he’s a fall risk, his teammates take care to keep an eye on him.

Annnnd Yknow he probably should’ve been earlier in the list along with the “human-ish” issues but I’m tired, it’s late, and I’m bringing this list to a close

Im sure there are more characters that I didn’t mention but I hope this helped! Thank you for the ask

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nocturnesmoon · 1 year ago

Text

And no room for error (1/2)

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x John "Soap" MacTavish x Reader Word count: 5.6k Tags: Angst, Hurt/comfort, Happy ending, Established throuple, polyamory, military inaccuracies, Mental instability, Ambiguous reader CW: Kidnapping, Human trafficking, Torture, Panic Attacks, Anxiety, canon typical violence, Allusions to unhealthy habits A/N: Forever holding these two close in my heart. Can be read as a standalone but might do a part two i dont know yet (Part 2) (Read on Ao3) -They come home to an empty apartment-

Johnny feels sick.

As he stares at the open door at the end of the hallway, he feels sick. The one he spotted when he wasn't even fully up the stairs and made him sprint the last few steps only to stand frozen when it's in full view.

He feels the worry gnaw the insides of his stomach, all the excitement that was eating him alive only moments prior, now transformed into a wretched beast of anxiety. The clutch on his duffel bag tightens, the string underneath his palm cutting uncomfortably against his skin.

He doesn't even need to be all the way there to see that the door is halfway off its hinges, or the hole that's been punched through it. It’s all types of wrong, something that shouldn't ever be, not on their apartment, not with you in it.

It’s as if a part of him fully blacks out, no thoughts, no feelings, only one purpose. He walks the short distance like a man possessed, dropping the duffel just outside the broken entrance before marching through it.

He calls out your name and finds no answer. His voice is hoarse, unrecognizable as your name falls from his lips again, over and over again in a desperate prayer. He moves like a jittery animal through the apartment, he doesn't take notice of its state, he doesn't spend extra time investigating, seeing the damage, he doesn't have to.

He knows what it means, the horrible implications and the terrible outcomes. He flays open the door to the bathroom, nothing, he opens the door to the home office with his shoulder, nothing, he carefully opens the door to your shared bedroom, terrified at the emptiness. The lack of your presence was something he never wanted to feel, something in his heart reaching out to you and failing to find you.

He stops, standing in the middle of the room that's in shambles. He sees the dresser that has its contents flipped upside down, some of your favorite clothing pieces torn to shreds on the wooden flooring.

He sees the splintered wood on the bedframe, a place that they had spent so many orange mornings with you in, the sheets now ruffled and unkempt void of a morning glow. He sees the broken mirror, the same one you insisted on having when the three of you moved in, you said you'd use it, but you never really do.

He sees the damage; he sees the sign of struggle.

The evident feeling of what happened here makes his muscles stiffen, his joints feels like they're about to snap. His head blacks out, fills up with an angry fog, tears prickling at his eyes and cold shame bleeding through his back.

It's a horrible feeling that makes him want to puke up his emotions, a habit they coaxed you out of after extensive support. He wants to think better thoughts, that you are at your friend’s house, and this happened while you weren't here.

But as he feels the looming presence behind him and hears the duffel bag crash against the ground out of shock, he knows this is happening and it's the most terrified he's ever been.

Where were you? Who were you with? Are you hurt? Are you even still alive?

Questions of horror plague Simon's mind as he paces the living room of disarray. The place had been completely ransacked, not only were you gone, but everything they had of sentimental, or material value had been destroyed, not taken, destroyed.

A nightmare come true, no, something worse than. It made Simon's skin crawl, his stomach doing twists in hopes of finding a better feeling. He felt freezing cold, the apartment was frosty, the heater you loved to sit in front of on cold winter mornings hadn't been used in too long.

How long have you been gone? How long has it been since they took you?

He hadn't felt fear like this in a long time, something that came to compare with a certain unspoken Christmas. A fear that kept him from getting too attached to anyone, not until he met Johnny who tore down his defenses, or you who phased right through his walls of reinforced steel.

Now it creeped its way back into his senses, reminding him that they failed to conceal you, they failed to keep you out of view, they did not keep you safe, and you were suffering the consequences of it.

Simon called the cops as soon as he got out of his own shock, he called Price immediately after knowing which of the two would be faster. Price had always been fond of you since the day they introduced you to him. Various holidays spent with Price and his family since they didn't live far, and you clearly enjoyed his cooking just a tad more than Johnny's, even if you didn't want to admit it to their faces.

Simon was still holding the phone to his ear long after Price had hung up with the promise of being right there. The phone was still warm against his skin, making him want to not pull it away and feel the eerie chill that the apartment shouldn't have.

He looks towards Johnny who's sitting on the couch, even more eerie than the apartment itself. He's too quiet for any of this, Simon had halfheartedly expected him to go off the rails in this type of situation, but no. He's completely quiet, staring down at a pair of dog tags in his hands, clutched tightly like they might disintegrate if he lets them go.

It's the dog tags they gave you, the fake ones they got made with each of their names since you were so fixated on their actual ones. Despite how much they adored the look of you with nothing but their tags, they would still need them in the field when they went out. To remedy it, they got you your own, one with Simon’s name and one with Johnny's, a mark to claim you as theirs.

You never went anywhere without it after you first laid eyes on them. You'd always have them dangling around your neck if you went out, or if the outfit called for something else, you'd have them wrapped around your wrist, or safely tucked in your pocket.

It was your piece of them, something to hold close whenever they weren't home. A testament to the fact that they still had their own, that they were not gone forever and would come back to you. You weren't wearing them now; you didn't have them with you.

"Who do ye think it was?" Johnny's voice interrupts the cold dread silence that filled a living room that was supposed to be warm and safe.

Simon's head snaps up, the muscles in his arms finally relenting and letting him take the phone away from his ear. "What?" much like Johnny's, his voice had that constant tinge of fear ever since they entered the apartment.

"Ye know how many enemies we've made" Johnny sighs, his head bowing down to rest his forehead against his knuckles, "Which of the sick bastards do ye think took 'em." It makes Simon sick to even consider, but it’s becoming blaringly obvious that it was what happened to you.

Nothing else would make sense in their heads, this was no ordinary break in. If you were staying somewhere else, you'd answered their dozen calls, and their 50 messages. There was no reason for you leave, no reason for you to ghost them and leave the apartment like this.

"We must've been made a mistake somewhere, left a trail, led them right to here," Johnny continues, going down a spiral road that promises a fall to every turn. "Right to them" he tries to conceal the crack in his voice, biting down on his tongue to stop the rising panic in his chest.

It’s no use, there's no getting past Simons observant gaze, not a feeling to be hid when his eyes flickers over you and brings out every little thought you've ever had. "I called Price," Simon's voice becomes a tether between them, something to bind them together and hold the uncontrollable explosions in their chests at bay.

He pockets his phone and moves over to where his lover is sitting. Every step feels like his legs are full buckets of water, sludgy movement accompanied by a certain lightheadedness. He has to stay strong for the both of them, for you, wherever you are now.

He positions himself between Johnny's legs to take his attention away from your dog tags. His roughened hands gently glide over the stubble on Johnny's cheek, guiding his eyesight upwards and bringing him into an encompassing hug. One to keep him tugged away from the scene, away from the reality. A hug to compress them both together, to stop them from falling apart in your absence.

Simon doesn't view himself as a religious man, spiritual or anything of the sort, but right now he prays. He prays to any god that will hear him, any entity that will look upon his bloodied soul and carry pity for him. He prays for your return, your life, your being, that when they find you, and they will find you, that you won't be hurt, that you will still be you.

Price comes first, as expected, the police shortly after. When he first saw Simon's number pop up on his phone, he felt confused. There was no fear in him yet just confusion because Simon doesn't call ever, unless it's important.

When he found out the reason, he felt the claws of fear himself. A situation everyone in the 141 grapples with, when they have the knowledge of loved ones at home. Knowing it was you only made the fear worsen.

Though skeptical, he had been happy when the boys had introduced you to him, happy that they found something to care for and trust other than themselves. He had multiple times admitted to himself how well the three of you fit together, each of you completing something that the other would be missing.

The paternal or brotherly instinct in him that he held for his boys in the 141 quickly translated over to you as well. Much like for anyone else in his family or the 141, he'd go to great lengths for you. In fact, he's pretty sure he broke a traffic law or two to get here so fast.

He watches from afar by the staircase, Simon was talking to one of the police officers that came by his body rigid ever so tense. He knows that this is something that could destroy these two to a new level, a level Price would not have seen before.

He knew Simon better than Johnny, and while Simon prided himself in looking like he had it all together, he had seen the man in his worst times, and it was destructive. A place he could barely pull the man out of once he sunk down to it.

Johnny had placed himself on the staircase, unable to face the direction of what was once a home of warmth and safety. He was quietly talking to Kyle on the phone, informing him and of what they knew and what they didn't, in a sense helping each other calm down while preparing what needs to be done.

Kyle had offered to come over there asap, sounded practically halfway out the door but Johnny managed to talk him out of it. Price was already here, along with him and Simon and the police it was already a crowd that didn't need more attention than necessary.

Price had stopped listening a while ago, trusting any other finer details for Johnny to deliver. He was focused solely on Simon and the officers. They looked almost bored as they listened to Simon explain the needed details, their general lack of respect firing irritation into his veins.

He knew that he cared for them in a way no superior technically should, this wasn't just about keeping his soldiers in one piece so he could have use of their skills in the field, it was about the bond they shared, the traces of family between them all. It brought them together when needed, they could trust each other to see things through, and help when things seemed hopeless.

That trust extended to you too, a heart full of so much emotion you never failed to surprise Price with your range. He had met so many different people in his time, and rarely did he ever find someone like you, a personality of range so raw it repelled the wrong people and drew in the ones that could handle you.

He looks towards the door that creeks open, red fiery curls, that you had described one time over tea, poking out along with a set of curious eyes. A nosy neighbor you had particular disdain for, finally now looking to see what all the noise is about.

He gives them eyes sharp like daggers, promising blood, and vengeance if they didn't kindly close the door again. It often fell into topic during your teatime with him, petty gossip shared between the two of you. You had called them creepy, perverse, gross, eyes that stared too long at you when you passed in the hallway, and words drawn out as if you keep you close longer whenever you talked.

Price already had plenty of reason to distrust and dislike them, but even more so now because of their plain ignorance. Even if they didn't know how long ago the deed was done, the damage is noticeable, the noise it must have made when it was done isn't something you just miss.

No, your neighbors had deliberately ignored the obvious signs. Walked past it thinking someone else will call it in, someone else will help, but nobody ever did. The red curls disappeared again, most likely got bored with the lack of a scene to watch now that the police were searching the home.

"You think they will find anything?" Price's attention was promptly brought back to Johnny, who had seemingly finished his phone call. Now looking up to him with worry and fear, occasionally glancing back at the open door and wincing at the reminder.

He wants to assure him, to tell Johnny that yes, they will find everything they can, they'll build a case, your sweetheart will be safe and sound within the morning, but Price doesn't like to lie to them when it doesn't benefit them.

"No…" Price answers with a sigh, his arms coming to cross over his chest, "But we will find something."

He can already feel it in the way the officers halfheartedly take on the case, the disinterested stares, their overworked faces. They won't find anything, and they certainly won't find you. Even if they wanted to it's more likely that this is beyond them.

This isn't something simple, it’s something that could go way back. A deliberate hit on the two of them, revenge maybe, or a message. Time would reveal which one, only one thing was certain right now, you were their top priority.

The first few days back on base are like hell for Simon and Johnny. Having to go back to work with the knowledge of your absence makes both of them go a little mad. They know Price is doing everything he can to speed it along, to find out something about your whereabouts, but it takes time.

Meanwhile they're left with nothing to do except work and wait. They both know they can't return back to their apartment with the intent to live there anymore, but the task of looking for a new place is all too daunting. Not to mention it would feel wrong without your input, with your acceptance of their new flat, a big decision they didn't want to make without you.

They have different coping mechanisms in your absence. Johnny is a lot more withdrawn, in his own head all too much thinking about you and what state you could be in now. He draws but its barely an escape anymore, it doesn't help him unwind like it used to, so he goes to the gym, he works out, he punches the bag imagining it’s your captors face whatever they might look like.

Simon swamps himself with paperwork, taking on way more than he can handle, because if a single thought of you presses into his head, he might not be able to keep his composure. He's barely keeping afloat as is, holding Johnny close every night calming each other down the best they can.

Even so there is a definite distance between them, the lack of overlap in their activities and work putting them at bay from each other during the day. The constant separation in the morning and the sleepless nights take a toll on them both.

One that Simon only truly realizes when he opens the door to his room and sees Johnny broken down into a heave of sobs. He wasn't unfamiliar with panic attacks, having them himself on an annoying basis, but he knew they didn't plague Johnny as much as they did now.

Johnny felt sick ever since the apartment, he hadn't been eating properly because how could he when you might not have food, he hadn't been resting because how could he when you might not be rested, he couldn't do anything unless it was to further the task of finding you. Every time he tried, he was filled with an unbridled shame that bled into his bones, and made it infinitely harder to do.

Simon softly closes the door, making his presence known but still being quiet as to not startle him on either end. He walks over, watching his partners state of panic, kneeling to take him in his arms and hold him close.

"Breathe…" he whispers against Johnny's scalp; he's still crying and gasping for air but he melts against Simon like he's always meant to be there. Johnny shifts, pressing fully against him and burying his face into his chest.

"I need you to breathe love…"

Johnny tried gasping for air again, tried to focus on the steady heartbeat in Simon’s chest but it felt futile. "I..I can't…" his voice broke over midway "What…what if we never find them Si….what if they're not even ali-"

"Stop."

Simon pressed his partner even closer, halfway into his lap at this point in an attempt to soothe him. He knew how many times he must've gone there by now, entertaining the thought that there will be nothing to find anymore, that what they're looking for is no longer a thing. He doesn't want to go there, he refuses to believe it as a possibility, because Simon isn't sure what he is going to do with himself if that turns out to be the case.

He might crumble fully this time, fall with nothing to catch him. He desperately wants to be there for his partner no matter what, but losing either of you would destroy him, and he knows this as a fact.

"What if…what if they think we're not coming" Johnny tightens his hold against Simon’s shirt, "They know that right…they can't think we're abandoning them…they can't."

"We're going to find them Johnny," He promises him, "We're bringing them home" he promises him something he isn't sure if he can keep.

Slowly but surely, they get moved onto the bed, not bothering with removing any layer of clothing. As much as the skin on skin might help, Johnny would still be too out of it. Right now, he needs a steady hand, something to rest against as he cries himself dry.

Simon pulls him against his chest as they lay down, barely even separating at all. Their legs tangling, heartbeats together, Johnny begins to calm down. His sobs become quieter, but the pain in his heart is still at large.

Simon can feel it in his own, from Johnny's, all around them. He doesn't let it be known, nor does he do it loud, but a few tears escape from the corner of his eyes, falling down his cheeks. It makes him hug Johnny tighter, to keep the one thing he still has left close in his arms, because if he lets this go now, he will truly be lost.

Crack

Johnny winces as he hears another finger snap, watching it bend the wrong way and eliciting another broken scream from the guy in the chair.

They've been at it for an hour by now, the fifth guy they've managed to bring in this week alone. It didn't take long before they started finding potential leads of your whereabouts, bringing in blokes who might have even the tiniest clue.

Price was technically supposed to be here as well but had conveniently left them alone with the poor guy, for better or for worse. It was one thing Price knew he could do nothing about, if he didn't help the two bring them in, they'd do it on their own anyway and with a much higher chance at getting themselves killed before they even find you.

Another crack and pop.

Johnny lets out a sigh as he watches his partner interrogate the terrified fella. It almost looked intimate, with how close Simon was in the guy’s face, tapping his hands over the man's hands before snapping another finger. Fortunately, Johnny did know better than that, there was nothing intimate about this, the things said in low threatening voices were things whispered with pure malice, a promise of revenge against the people that took their love.

He was getting a bit dejected however, this guy’s wasn't the first and certainly wouldn't be the last. They hadn't found a single thing about your location; they had a slight idea of the people that took you, but it didn't add up with other evidence they had. Every new thing they learned was either a lie or well-orchestrated plan, something that put them back to square one.

"No no no! Not that anything but that!" The man screamed trying to squirm away from Simon. There had always been something terrifying about the way Simon did his work in here, it made Johnny incredibly grateful to be on the same side as him, to not be the guy in the chair on the receiving end of all that.

"Johnny, do you mind?"

"Not at all LT" There was a certain venom in both of their voices, a danger whispered into the chords. It made them move as one, the same thoughts flowing through two brains almost like telepathy, one goal in mind.

Johnny moved over to the steel table, moving a bloodied wrench out of the way. He pitied whoever was going to clean this up, because it likely wasn't going to be them. They were still counting that this guy had some sort of information. In truth he did give them all sorts of info that they will catalogue and report later, but nothing about you.

He picks up the jumper cables and moves it all closer, onto the tray with squeaky wheels that Price promised to get changed months ago. He looks at the skull mask that’s now faced towards him, he sees behind it, the brown eyes a little duller and not as full of life.

He knows that Simon could go all night if it meant that he would finally get your location, but he was tired, not just physically but mentally as well. They could both use a break, a long one, the type that could give their very souls the needed rest, but neither of them stopped, it wasn't an option.

Johnny rolled the small table over to Simon, letting him do his thing. He lets out a sigh as he listens to the pathetic pleading from the guy in the chair as Simon hovers the cables near his crotch. With a heavy sigh Johnny excuses himself, having had enough of the whining and moaning, and feeling a headache come on.

He closes the door behind him to the room just in time, the muffled screaming from inside combined with Simon's incessant yelling quickly drowned out. He feels the cold breeze on his face, letting the feeling of fresh air fall over him. The warm stench that always got into a room during the torture finally washing away from his nostrils.

It's cold out, he notices as he feels the goosebumps ride up his arms. If you were here, you'd be chewing him out about going outside without a jacket, telling him that he can't get a cold, because if he gets a cold then you'll get a cold, and you really don't want to be sick. He'd ruffle your hair, much to your annoyance, and tell you that he wouldn't get sick, but of course he would a few days later, and even then, you'd be taking care of him so sweetly, despite complaining before it.

But you aren't here.

He takes a few deep breaths and tries really hard to keep the panic looming in his body concealed. He had to stay tactical, calm, and in control, but they had hit too many dead ends. Their first thought was that they somehow had let you be known to their enemies, and that some had come to take you as leverage but the chilling realization that nobody they had tried knew anything about you became an uncomfortable itch.

Maybe that was what was the scariest thing about this situation, it having nothing to do with them and everything to do with you.

The moment they get a proper lead on a location is when things start to go fast. Not even 2 hours after the briefing are they on the plane and landing on a base that would be close by the revealed location. It doesn't take a lot of convincing to have Price agree to the mission, perhaps just as eager himself to finally put an end to the madness.

Was it logical? Not all the way, smart? Fuck no, but it was hope, and Price knew at this point that if he didn't find a way to make it happen fast, then Johnny and Simon would just steal a plane and go on their own, Gaz would likely join them too if they asked.

But the fact remained, someone had finally cracked, who it was, Simon barely even remembers. The past week or so he's been avoiding thinking about you like were you a vicious disease that spread whenever someone mentioned its name, but now you were the only thing that consumed his thoughts, along with a overwhelming brooding rage.

He's not even sure you're going to be there, a human trafficking ring, their supposed base of operations revealed to them. If it wasn't for the anger boiling in his veins, he'd feel sick upon learning the knowledge of all the kidnappings that had been happening in your area.

You hadn't ever said anything, but he didn't doubt that you knew, you just also knew that they would worry too much and wouldn't go do their jobs if they knew. He wants to scream at himself, yell at a mirror for being so stupid and careless, if he had just stayed up to date then maybe he could've prevented all of this.

You might still be at home, waiting for them to join you in bed, the three of you cuddling together in your favorite position. If only he could go back and change his mistake. He knows he can't, he knows he can't change what he did or didn't do, but he will correct it now, and get you back in their arms.

The place is massive, but he barely even registers it, nothing feels real as he pursues anything and everything that could lead his way to you. He's mauling people down with scary precision, unleashing his rage on them while somehow still keeping them covert. He can feel that Johnny is behind him, watching his back, but he never actually turns around to confirm.

They've passed several rooms, or cells more like with plenty of victims, but none of them had you among them. After securing the victims safety, they left it to the other soldiers behind them to get them out of there while they continue to comb through the building.

Johnny starts losing hope once they've nearly been everywhere, all enemies neutralized, and victims secured. Though they have a few rooms left, they've seen no sign of you or anything that might've belonged to you.

And of course, that's when it happens, when they turn the handle on the last door, the last of their hope almost extinguishing, only to spike in their throats from the scene revealed to them.

The room is bigger than expected, at first hand it seemed more or less like another one of the rooms they kept their poor victims holed up in, but there was only one person in there. A body in the corner, naked, bruised, dirty, with unmistakable features that they used to caress at night within the safety of their own bed.

Once again Johnny feels sick, almost bends forward to wretch everything up right then and there as well but he has to keep it together. He wants to scream and cry, rip the person who did this to shreds, but it's likely Simon already did that unknowingly out there.

His partner doesn't stand frozen beside him for long, but likely going through a similar round of emotional turmoil. They both sprint to your side, trying to check your state both for injuries and your awareness.

Cuts and scrapes litter your body like a fucked-up pattern, your naked skin covered in dirt, dust and perhaps even mud. Your eyes are barely open, void and tired, they can practically see the redness and the crust from your crying stained onto your face.

Johnny smoothes a hand over your thigh to check a wound but flinches away when he hears you whimper. They feel a crack in their hearts as they watch you spur a little to life, pathetically trying to inch away from them but having no more energy to do so.

"No no…Sweetheart it's okay…it's us" Johnny tries to be soothing, not forcing touch on you but still trying to guide your vision in his direction. He almost can't bear to look at what they've done to you, inhumane things and then just to leave you here in a room by yourself.

When your eyes finally meet his, he chokes back on a wretched noise, your terrified look is something he never wants to see directed at him or Simon. Not from you. He gently guides you hand up to his hair, in the moment he doesn't care about the blood or the dirt, all he wants to do is remind you. He helps your fingers tangle through like you've done so many times before, hoping to kickstart your memory.

At first, you're stiff, unwilling, but slowly your hands start squeezing at his hair out of your own volition. A little more clarity in your eyes as you choke out his name, and when he hears he nods rapidly. His hold on your hand tightening as he looks down at you with tears in his eyes.

He wants to hold you, crush you against him, but he knows he has to be careful. Along with your visible injuries, they have no idea if you have broken bones or worse going on inside. "Yes, love…it's me….we're here…we found you…" he nods and brings your weak hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles gently.

They have to move you, and get you out of here with the rest, but Simon is afraid to touch. Scared that one motion from him could make everything infinitely worse. He's been sitting paralyzed next to Johnny and you, watching as Johnny brings part of you back to reality instead of the mental prison you've no doubt locked yourself in.

He looks away from your hand and back to your face, almost horrified to see that you're now staring up at him. He missed you greatly, but right now, he almost can't bear to have you look at him. He reaches his own hand up, wincing when he sees the blood on it but continuing regardless to pull his mask off.

He sees the tears forming in your eyes as you see him again, his hand gently cupping your face and wiping away the falling tears. "It hurts…" you sob quietly, and all Simon can do is nod, because he knows, he knows all too well about the pain you're in.

"I know love…I know…" He lets out a shaky sigh, giving an affirming glance to Johnny before moving around. They need to get going, and they need to get you to safety. He gently hoists you up, tries to not think of your desperate whimpers of both fear and pain.

He holds you close to his chest, Johnny's hands tugging your matted hair away, so it didn't get stuck on any gear. Simon's grip on you is fierce, a grounding touch you've needed for so long, and with Johnny's warm voice softly assuring you, you start to settle away from your panic.

They keep you close the entire time, assuring you, holding you, keeping you tugged away from the gore and the defiling monsters that lay dead on the ground. They keep you close, closer than ever before, and they won't let you go, not again, not ever. They'll carry you through the recovery, they'll get you back on your own feet again, back to yourself again.

They will never let any of this happen again.

#noctmoon fics #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #john price #ghoap #ghost x soap x reader #ghoap x reader #ghost x reader x soap #soap x ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x you #john soap mctavish x you #simon riley x you

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devilmademewriteit · 2 years ago

Note

Drabble request for dbf!joel getting blown under the table or something while he's having a convo with reader's dad?!?! IDK I just love your dbf!joel!!

You Can Be the Boss

pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!afab!reader

warnings: rough oral (m receiving); petnames (angel, baby, sweetheart); age gap; choking; hair pulling; (yall this is pure pure daddy issues FILTH, I warned you. I warned you hard).

Hi y’all ty for sending me all ur requests. ummm you guys are insane ! and so am I ! maybe more because I’m actually the one writing these ! this one is so dirty ! don’t say I didn’t warn you !

more to come hehehe. I don’t tag ppl for my smaller drabbles / fics so turn on notifs or whatevs ;)

-em<3

—

“As close as I’ll get to the darkness, he tells me to, ‘Shut up, I got this.’”

- You Can Be the Boss

—

It was still a secret, after all.

Sneaking into his apartment, late nights in alleys, abandoned cars lining the streets of the QZ… you’d managed to keep your joint intoxication with one another under wraps.

Today… today was risky. You usually waited until the wee hours of the morning to even walk by his place, let alone enter, but you’d needed to drop off a sweater that Tess had leant you the previous week, intending to leave it folded up on the doormat before bolting down the hall. Your footsteps were nervous and heavy, which led to the door swinging wide open on its hinges, a gruff “where you runnin’ off to, Angel?” and a set of rough hands pulling you through the doorway.

Then you were spread open against the tattered table cloth of his (busy) kitchen table, underwear shoved to the side, watching a hunched over Joel Fucking Miller spit on his hand and run it up down his heavy, hard length.

“Shouldn’t come here during the day,” as he’d lined himself up, “Can’t fuckin’ help myself.”

That’s when you heard the definite sound of a key twisting inside a lock. Joel’s head shot up — your eyes barely had time to widen before he was shoving you under the table, panties still twisted around your ankles.

A quick zip, then footsteps.

“Oh, sorry man—”

Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

“—Tess said you wouldn’t be home.”

It’s your father.

You thank God for your his poor observation skills (and the tablecloth) as Joel responds, “ah, no worries,” frustratingly non-chalant as ever.

“While you’re here though,” and your heart sinks, identifying your dad’s intention to stay, “Was wondering if we could go over the plans for our new routes. FEDRA assholes blocked off another south-east one today.”

Your blood turns to ice inside your veins as both men pull out their chairs, settling into a purely-business conversation. Joel barely hesitates, cool as ice.

Not fair that he gets to be so calm while you’re so… not.

Not fair.

If only there was a way to even out the playing field.

Crunched into yourself, you scoot closer to Joel’s calves, clinging onto his denim and doing your best to make as little noise as possible. When it’s clear, however, that your father’s far too invested in the practicalities of the conversation to suspect or inquire into or even notice anything else, your eyes wander towards the slowly softening bulge, still visible underneath Joel’s belt.

And you get an idea.

The man always tortured you, and you were well aware that what made your arrangement especially enticing — for the both of you — was the taboo-ness, the wrongness of it all.

So your pussy drips just thinking about it.

Slowly, delicately, you slide your hands up Joel’s thighs, feeling his every muscle respond, tensing, turning to stone, or jolting with electricity beneath your playful touches.

It’s hard, quietly pulling down his fly. Still, metal tooth by metal tooth, you eventually succeed, unable to hold back a smile of vindication when his cock springs up, swelling and hardening between your fingertips. Joel covers his choke with a cough.

Just as you duck down to lick a fat stripe up his cock’s dark underside, noticing how the lungs above you constrict — freezing — the conversation changes.

“You been seeing a lot of my daughter?”

Joel takes an uncharacteristically long time to grunt out a “here n’ there.”

You hold in a laugh, both at your dad’s timely question and the reaction it causes. Placing a hand at the base of him, you consider this the perfect moment to start teasing his tip with patient, innocent little kitten-licks.

“Been acting weird,” your old man continues, unphased and unassuming, “Worried she’s been gettin’ herself into trouble.”

Trouble? You’re looking at him.

Your dad’s whole “fatherly concern” (not like he’d ever shown any before) angle makes you bold. You want to make it harder for Joel to deny your father’s suspicion.

You want to make him lie through his teeth.

You part your lips, wrapping them adoringly around the entire head of his cock before gliding down, using your hand to assist you as you please every inch of him.

While he mostly manages to keep it together, his legs don’t, gently parting with desire to allow you better access.

“She-she’s a good girl, man,” Joel manages, and while his delivery borders a groan, he stays surprisingly level (your body doesn’t forget to note his praise, either, aching cunt growing wetter and wetter at his every word). “‘Bit juvenile sometimes, and reckless—” he pauses, and it’s very clear he’s not speaking to your father, “—but good—” you work every inch of him with your hands, throat, and mouth, savouring the feel of his ridges and veins, the taste of his salt on your tastebuds, “—so good.”

You freeze, scanning the room for tension as both you and Joel try to figure out if his desire-stricken tone’s given you away.

It hasn’t.

Of course it hasn’t.

Your dad continues on as if everything were normal, as if Joel’s tip wasn’t kissing the back of your throat. “Just not sure if I’m raising her right—or… or if I was much of a father at all.”

Yeah, probably not. You know, given that I’m under the table sucking your best friend’s dick.

You watch, head still slowly bobbing up and down his length, a hand carving a careful path down his leg. Joel’s fingertips breach your shoulder, his palm slowly graduates to cupping the back of your head.

And he shoves you forward, forcing every punishing inch of himself down your little, gasping throat.

“Just needs a little discipline,” your torturer responds, raising his gravelly voice to mask the definite sound of choking.

“A heavy hand.”

You huff against his abdomen. Just like that, Joel’s taken the reins of your little operation.

Like he always did. Like he always does.

“You’re probably right,” your father responds, sighing with concession. Tears begin to well in the corners of your eyes while your lungs burn for oxygen, mouth stuffed and nose pressed into Joel’s skin. He chuckles, slapping the table. “Give ‘em an inch and they take a mile, huh?”

“That’s right,” Joel responds, a soft coo, tightening his grasp in your hair and somehow forcing more of himself between your lips.

Making his point.

You hold back a whimper, nails hopelessly clawing at his jeans.

Your dad raps his knuckles against the wood, pushing his chair back to leave. Unfortunately for you, Joel doesn’t move, holding you there like a prisoner — suffocating you.

He clears his throat. “I’d walk you out, but, you know—” your eyelids grow heavy, little stars beginning to dance in your vision “—been goin’ hard recently. Wearin’ myself out.”

A huff of understanding and concurrence from the other side of the room.

Eventually, after what seems like an eternity, hinges squeak, goodbyes are uttered, and your father’s left you alone with his buddy again.

Joel’s chair scrapes back — he pulls you along with him, attached to him, out from underneath the table.

Finally, finally, he releases his grasp.

You jump off of him, strings of saliva trailing from your lips, gasping for air as if you were seconds from drowning.

You aim to collapse against his knees, but he quickly grabs you by the throat, presses his big thumb under your chin, and forces your wet, tear-lined eyes up to meet his.

They’re filled with a lust so dark, you wonder if just that look might swallow you whole.

“Prouda yourself?” He speaks, voice low.

Dangerous.

And you just smile, dazed, nodding. Nodding because you know where it’ll get you. Nodding because you just know how much it’ll entice him.

“‘Course you are,” he continues, softer, “Shoulda been honest — shoulda told your old man he raised a fuckin’ slut.”

Joel lifts you up, indelicately shoving you down on the table, right back in the position you’d originally started the visit in.

His eyes darken to black when he sees how wet you are, how fucked-out, needy, and unapologetic you are.

“And you know what, baby?” A deceiving coo as he lines himself up at your entrance, using his other hand to squeeze your jaw — tight.

You look at him with big, begging doe eyes, eyebrows already knitting together from the tantalizing contact.

“I’m really fuckin’ glad he did.”

And as Joel Miller roughly sheathes his cock inside your young, tight cunt, you find yourself agreeing with him.

—

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST

AO3

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x y/n #Joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller tlou #joel miller fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel #Pedro pascal smut #Pedro pascal x reader #the last of us #tlou #request for em’s answering machine: answered<3

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caplanbuckybarnes · 1 month ago

Text

Change Your Mind (Bucky Barnes)

Summary: After an intense fight between you and Bucky, you vow to get your revenge on him. He thinks your kidding around until he wakes up with an arm made of metal. Will he forever have the metallic limb? Or will you both resolve your issues and cause his arm to become human like once more?

Warnings: readers a witch of sorts, this would take place in an AU where bucky *doesnt* have a metal attachment

WC: 600

Read on ao3!

Bucky didn’t usually slam doors. But tonight, the door to your shared apartment rattled on its hinges as he stormed out of the room, leaving you standing in the middle of the kitchen, seething.

He’d crossed a line. You weren’t even sure how the fight had started—something small that spiraled out of control, words sharpening like blades until you both drew blood. But what stung the most was how dismissive he’d been.

“Do whatever you want,” he’d snapped. “It’s not like I care.”

Those words echoed in your mind long after he’d disappeared into the other room. Your hands trembled, but not from sadness—oh no. This was anger, white-hot and unrelenting. Fine. If he thought you were bluffing when you said you’d get your revenge, he was in for a surprise.

Bucky had no idea what you were capable of.

When Bucky woke the next morning, the sunlight streaming through the window felt... off. Something about his arm felt heavier than usual, the weight pulling awkwardly at his shoulder. Groaning, he sat up, running his hand through his hair—except it wasn’t his hand.

“Holy—” Bucky stared down at his left arm. The sleek vibranium he was used to was gone, replaced by something disturbingly familiar: the exact same metallic construction as his right arm.

“What the hell?” His voice was hoarse as he flexed his fingers, the joints moving with unsettling ease. It felt real—too real.

He scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping over himself as he stumbled into the living room. You were there, sitting cross-legged on the couch with a cup of coffee in hand, your expression as nonchalant as ever.

“Morning,” you said sweetly, taking a sip.

“What did you do?” Bucky demanded, holding up his new metallic arm.

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “Oh, that? Just a little reminder to be nicer during fights. Thought you could use a taste of your own medicine.”

Bucky’s jaw dropped. “A taste of my own medicine? Are you kidding me? This is permanent!”

“Only if you keep being an ass,” you shot back, setting your coffee down.

He stared at you, a mix of disbelief and frustration written all over his face. “You can’t be serious.”

“Dead serious,” you replied, crossing your arms. “Maybe next time you won’t storm out in the middle of a fight. Or, I don’t know, tell me you don’t care?”

Bucky flinched, guilt flickering in his eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Well, it sure felt like you did.”

For a moment, silence stretched between you, broken only by the faint hum of the fridge. Bucky sighed, running his flesh hand over his face. “I shouldn’t have said that. I was mad, but that’s no excuse. I’m sorry.”

You raised a brow. “Go on.”

He exhaled, his shoulders sagging. “I care about you. More than I should’ve let on last night. I was out of line, and... I deserved this.” He gestured at his arm, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. “Even if it’s kind of overkill.”

You huffed, but a small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. “Apology accepted. And maybe it was a little overkill.”

“Only a little?” he teased, stepping closer.

You reached out, brushing your fingers against the metal, and with a whispered incantation, the metallic surface shimmered, melting away to reveal his human arm underneath. He flexed his fingers, marveling at the change.

“You’re not just scary,” he murmured, meeting your gaze. “You’re terrifying.”

“Good,” you said, smirking. “Maybe next time you’ll think twice before pissing me off.”

Bucky chuckled, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close. “Lesson learned.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #winter soldier #winter soldier x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x oc #bucky james barnes x reader #james bucky barnes x reader

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thinemoonshine · 10 months ago

Text

𓆰𝒷𝓁𝑜𝑜𝓂𝒾𝓃𝑔 ♡𓆪

cha hyun su x female reader genre: romance, angst , fluff (because hyun su is a cutie) type: series (but can be read as a oneshot) word count: 1,791

part 1 of series ◄◄ ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ part 3 of series

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ synopsis: cha hyun su and (y/n) go on a mission together to find items requested by eunhyuk but then, meets an unexpected danger that threatens their life and death. monster hyun su makes a small appearance ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

"Hyun Su."

(y/n)'s call snaps the said other to whip his head to her- eyes widening and brows raise along with the makeshift spear in his hands. "Huh?"

"Let's check this room," she says and points to a door she then, swings open. Hyun Su follows her inside before taking the lead once they slip through the entrance.

They're now on a joint task to find a couple of things needed for the livelihood of the residents. Okay, well one of them was assigned on a mission and the other made the choice to tag along. Guess who's who?

Asking Eunhyuk wasn't option. Everybody knows how uptight and aloof he can be- for good reason of course but, that's exactly why (y/n) had to go behind his back. She went ahead and stalked Hyun Su like a tail the moment Eunhyuk left after giving him a rundown of his objectives for the day.

"You shouldn't have come," Hyun Su quietly expresses his disagreement to her decision but (y/n) just shrugs and scans the room for valuables.

Contrasting Eunhyuk's constant character however, Cha Hyun Su had changed little by little. He's more vocal regarding his feelings now compared to before and he's less solemn. He's also less hesitant to reach out to (y/n) when it comes to asking for comfort although, it rarely happens. Still, there a lot of things he keeps silent about such as when he was zoning out before; what thoughts were he thinking, he won't say. All those time (y/n) used to accompany him in the quarantine room bore fruit.

"Ooh! Batteries," she alerts with subtle excitement and points to a torn 4-pack battery set peeking out from under a shattered mirror. She reaches out to grab it but is intervened by Hyun Su who quickly picks it up.

"...You'll get cut," is all he mumbles while stuffing the batteries into his backpack. A small smile stretches on (y/n)'s face at his attentiveness towards her. "These are my tasks."

Her smile widens at his proclamation that indirectly means for her to just do nothing. The search continues.

"So, duct tape's the last one. Where can we find that?" (y/n) wonders aloud after they found the rest of the items in the list. She's responded with a tug on her sleeve to which she reacts with letting Hyun Su drag her away gently to the upper level and in front of a door. "Janitor room?"

Hyun Su nods and quickly pulls his hand away from her shirt- afraid he'll get greedy for her hand if he were to hold longer. "I once saw the janitor tape the hinges of the electric box together before the electricians came. I think, he should have one. Hopefully."

The words he speaks sound incoherent to (y/n)- the letters blurred and jumbled in her head as his rapid action of pulling away causes a slight undesirable tug in her heart. But she manages to brush it off and reach for the doorknob.

Yet once again, being interrupted by her knight in shining armor who sneakily slips to the front and opens the door. He walks in to search for the tape and lets (y/n) to just stand and watch. He mimics a cat when his face snaps towards the tape with large eyes sparkling with quiet glee.

"Here's the ta—" His sentence is cut after he takes the object and turn to (y/n) whose hair gently flutters to the side from a breeze. His brows furrow and (y/n) shares the same reaction.

She turns her face to the direction of the source and lips part in shock at the sight of a broken window. "Hyun Su, that window's broken. Something must've got in."

"What?" Hyun Su blurts and throws the tape in his bag before rushing out to shield her. His eyes then darts to the camera before belatedly realizing that the CCTV on the floor had broken down. This meant that whatever it is that happened here, Eunhyuk would be unaware of. No one will know if anything is to happen to them here. If anything happens to (y/n).

Dread fills him as panic ensues like a sprout rapidly growing its stems and roots to every end of his figure- a siren blaring in his head and heart pounding faster than ever. "(y/n), we have to go."

A faint whimper follows.

He frowns, confused by her lack of response despite feeling her standing behind him. So he turns- and the sight is enough to shatter him whole.

A monster with what seems like the deformed head of a spider and a twisted figure of a sea creature with debris and broken glass sticking out of its back had coiled its tentacles around (y/n) who's frozen with fright. Her eyes are wide with horror as she stays still- trying her best not to agitate the monster who only captured her soundlessly yet have done nothing after.

In fact, it's now staring at Hyun Su with its 8 black protruding eyes that look like they'll pop any second- all blinking in different times which rises goosebumps in their skin.

But Hyun Su's much too terrified at the possibility of losing (y/n) that he sees nothing but a target to kill.

SLOSH!

He stabs his spear into one of its eye, causing it to explode and inadvertently loosen its grip on (y/n) who quickly limps to the ground.

"(Y/N)!" Hyun Su shouts and pulls her up before dashing through the halls with her almost floating behind him. "In here!"

He slips into a room and shuts the door before falling to his knees to be eye-level with her who's desperately trying to catch her breath. The monster's tentacle had suffocated her, turning her skin and lips a shade of blue. Her head's spinning from the lack of air.

"(y/n)! (y/n), are you okay?" Hyun Su asks frantically as he constantly brushes her hair away from her face as she holds her head in his hands. His gaze heavy with concern scans her but is interrupted by a large growl, followed by a slam near their door. "...It's going to find us."

(y/n) sees nothing but colours and shapes and suddenly finds herself in an enclosed space before seeing Hyun Su's face near hers.

His lips form words. He's saying something. But (y/n) can't hear them. She's having trouble keeping her eyes open as her chest heaves for air. Seeing her dazed state, Hyun Su then forms a small smile, a smile that doesn't reach his eyes but for some reason, it reaches so deep into her chest. It... stings.

His shadow then swallows her when he bends down slightly- letting their foreheads touch for just a few seconds long before he hesitantly pulls away.

The light then disappears around her as the closet doors are closed by Hyun Su who leaves a gap big enough for air but not enough to replenish hers completely.

And so, she faints.

She awakes with a gasp and she quickly shoves the doors open- tumbling forward as a result but feels something minimally soft cushioning her.

Hyun Su's backpack.

Panic overtakes as she recalls the mangled monster and the life threatening situation she experienced. And yet, it's now strangely quiet and... Hyun Su is nowhere to be seen.

"Hyun Su," she mutters and rushes out the room with the bag only to gasp at the large volume of blood smeared on the floors and walls- but what scared her the most is the bloody handprints scattered around the windows which eventually increased on the layers of duct tape used to cover the crack they saw before. "He covered this. He's alive! Hyun Su!"

It's as if she's a madman- running around the hallways in search of him and completely disregarding the fact that there could be another monster. It's unlikely, anyways, or else they would've came out before.

"Hyun Su! CHA HYUN SU!" She shrieks and drifts to a stop in front of the janitor room where the door is open by ajar. She's scared to swing it open wider. What if what she sees is worse than a 'missing' Hyun Su? What if... he's not just gone?

But relief settles in the moment she sees him collapsed on the ground, breathing and alive- although, battered and bruised.

"Cha Hyun Su," (y/n) sobs and pulls him into her arms. He stirs.

He pants onto her back as she lays his head on her shoulder. "...(y/n)? Why are you h-here?"

"For you," she answers without pause and she feels him flinch.

"I told you to not come for me... If I don't come back, don't search for me," he strains his voice and (y/n) pushes him up- tightly holding his cheeks against her palms with a glare.

"Stop being sappy and just rest up, will you?" She scolds and Hyun Su's eyes flicker between her angry ones- feeling a thump in his chest and question marks seem to appear on his head. "Now, shush."

She pulls him back down to her shoulder and hugs him tightly in hopes to hide the tremble of her arms and the tears that brim her eyes. Acting tough seems to work, thankfully.

No, it doesn't. Not at all.

And yet, as selfish as it sounds and as much as he wants to hit himself for it, Hyun Su feels... grateful that she's so deeply affected by him. That she's moved by him. His lips stretch to a grin as he nuzzles further into her shoulder- shuffling to the crook of her neck to feel the warmth of her skin.

"...If you try to sacrifice yourself for me again, you better stay alive," she suddenly says.

"Alri—"

"So I can kill you personally."

"Oh..."

Despite her death threat, the joyful miens they each wear show their heartfelt feelings for one another.

'I'd like to see her try,' a voice that's eerily similar to Hyun Su's chuckles in his head and his smile drops- eyes turning completely black before they fade just as quickly.

'Shut up,' Hyun Su snaps back in his head and wraps his arms around (y/n)'s waist- unintentionally leaning towards her for security and comfort which causes a blush to creep on her cheeks.

a/n: do leave a like and reblog if you like them because they will totally help in motivating me!! thanks for reading ઇ♡ଓ

#cha hyunsu x reader #cha hyun soo x reader #sweet home x reader #cha hyun su x female reader #sweet home #cha hyun su #fanfiction #cha hyun su imagines #cha hyun su fanfictions #sweet home fanfictions #sweet home imagines

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rogueddie · 1 year ago

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Friends With Benefits Steddie Fics

Important: READ THE TAGS! Also, leave a comment and kudos! These fics are amazing and I love them and I hope y'all do too 👀

let me be your (every)thing

starsdontsleep

Nancy has broken up with Jonathan and the moment Eddie hears the news, he realises his "thing" with Steve is about to be over.

Words : 2,882 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Teen and Up Audiences (Mature)

AO3 : x

tangled up in barbed wire love

twelvexclara

“You’re so fucking—”

Before he can finish what he’s saying, Eddie grabs him by the shoulder, switches their position. Presses him into the door harshly and his head thumps back into the wood, sends a spike of something through his veins. He’s got a forearm at Steve’s throat, digging into his pulse point.

Daring him to say something.

He blinks dizzily up at Eddie, ignores the hinge digging into his back. They share breath, panting at each other, frozen for a moment. Steve’s heart is a hummingbird in his chest and he hopes, prays even, that Eddie can’t feel it.

Words : 39,260 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Explicit

AO3 : x

Say Something Stupid

murdertrashbabyrat

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, shit fuck, goddamnit.

Steve cannot fucking believe he’s realizing this right now, when he is literally inside Eddie, cannot believe he is watching this man smoke a goddamn joint as he rides him and thinking oh shit, I love him.

Words : 6,159 Chapters : 4/4 Rating : Explicit

AO3 : x

It was only a kiss

corrodedbisexual (mishabawlins)

Steve and Eddie's nighttime coping with the horrors of their past brings them close in ways Eddie never would have expected. But that's all it is. Moments of mutual comfort, a fun distraction from the endless string of nightmares.

...Or is it?

Words : 5,377 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Mature

AO3 : x

if my body told the truth

literaldisneyprincess

“Hey, hi Eddie, hey, it’s Steve. Uh, do you know anything about cats?” he asks.

There’s a pause. “Steve, did you get a cat?”

Words : 19,321 Chapters : 3/3 Rating : Explicit

AO3 : x

Friends and Benefits, and Maybe Something More

oddermoths

“You know Harrington,” Eddie set his arm on the armrest of the chair. “If you weren’t straight, I’d kiss you silly right now.”

“Then do it,” Steve found himself saying before he could think.

Or, Steve and Eddie enter into a friends with benefits relationship, and Steve finds himself wanting more.

Words : 6,445 Chapters : 5/5 Rating : Teen and Up Audiences

AO3 : x

How to Be a Heartbreaker

literaldisneyprincess

Steve has a plethora of methods under his belt for getting his conquests to leave soon after they’re both satisfied. He’s used them all, with varying rates of success.

He doesn’t have much experience in getting someone to stay.

Words : 8,715 Chapters : 4/4 Rating : Mature

AO3 : x

Are You Flagging?

soidade

“Look, I’m just asking, okay? Not– I don't mean anything by it. But, uh.” His eyes darted back and forth, then he leaned in close to Steve. Steve had gotten used to that, kind of. The guy had no concept of personal space. “Are you flagging?” Eddie finally finished.

Steve shook his head slowly, eyes narrowed. He had no idea what that meant. He had no answer. “What?”

Eddie leaned away from Steve, facing forward again and nodding. “Okay, got it. That answers my question. Carry on.”

Words : 40,991 Chapters : 17/17 Rating : Explicit

AO3 : x

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #fic rec #ficrec

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carminecherry · 3 months ago

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RULES? THIS IS A STREET FIGHT | hanma shuji

KINKTOBER 2024

this is PART ONE of the series NO TAPPING OUT

⇝ PAIRING: timeskip!hanma x fem!MMA fighter!reader

⇝ SERIES SYNOPSIS: after winding up in a street fight, you catch the eye of a sick bastard whose mental wires are so horrifically crossed that pain and pleasure have become one. he lives for the fight and once he has his eye on something or someone there is no getting away unscathed. he wants to sink his teeth into you and see how good of a fighter you really are. you will never go down without a fight. and you will never tap out. (Basically, Hanma is a fucked up, horny weirdo who has an unhealthy obsession with you)

⇝ PART ONE LENGTH: 3k words

⇝ PART ONE WARNINGS: graphic descriptions of violence, animal death (18+ minors do not interact):

all characters are 20+; Alternate Universe! Canon Divergent. you're nearly recovered from a life-threatening injury and got the go ahead from your physical therapist to do some light exercises. however, your walk to the gym is cut short when you find yourself caught in a street fight.

⇝ AUTHOR'S NOTE: Welcome to Kinktober 2024! After not thinking hard about it, I figured Hanna is the perfect scary, fucked up guy to write about. For plot reasons, Y/N is a seasoned MMA fighter. Hanma is a fucked up, horny weirdo who develops an unhealthy obsession with you.

keep an eye on the tags and stay safe this kinktober! <3

Spotify Playlist to listen to while reading:

DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS WORK IF YOU ARE A MINOR. BY CLICKING THE READMORE, YOU CONSENT TO VIEWING ADULT CONTENT.

Your footsteps on the pavement echo as you cut through a dark alley between the city buildings. The air nips at the skin of your face, forcing you to nuzzle into your jacket. Winter has set in, draining the city of life and color, the brittle corpse of a vibrant fall. The sun sets quickly these days, light retreating earlier and earlier.

The air feels more hollow now, carrying sound further. The scuff of your shoes and the rustle of your jacket as you adjust your arms to cross; the tips of your ears growing rosy with cold.

The worst thing is how it cuts right to your bone. Like ghostly fingertips trailing up and down your skeleton. Prodding in their icy nails, finding points of weakness and wrapping their fingers there. Gripping ferociously tighter and tighter. Locking your joints, making your movements stiff.

You shake off the spectral grip, but the tightness in your body clings to the ghost of past injuries. You’ve racked up quite a few over the years, on and off the ring. But you’re no stranger to discomfort.

You roll your shoulder as it starts to cramp, laughing curtly to yourself. You can feel the hourglass of time trickling away, especially on days like today. It was catching up to you, your scrappy younger years of street fighting. Your short-lived wrestling career.

You were still on hiatus, living on the money you saved from your brief stint in the spotlight. Your body kept score. You rub absently at your locked elbow.

Physically, you’re more or less healed. The physical therapy has been hell but you’re through the worst of it. You had only a few more weeks until you could start training properly again. All of those hours of practice, all of the years of building up your body to be taken away in an instant by a stupid accident.

You stretch your arm in front of you, staring at the hinge of your elbow. You test the range of motion, flexing as far as you can, remembering how when you opened your eyes it had been bent the wrong way. This time, it’s the memory that makes you shiver.

It had come back to you in flashes, large chunks still missing. You laid there, phasing slowly in and out of consciousness. The last thing you remember is riding on the back of your motorcycle, cruising down the city streets, the world blurring between oranges and reds as the seasons changed.

You can’t remember the exact moment, but the police report stated you had been sideswiped by a drunk driver. You lost count of how many times you read those crinkled pieces of paper. A thin file to encapsulate the biggest moment of your life.

Your precious bike had been totaled. Seeing all of the pictures, you don’t know how you survived. The drunk driver hadn’t been so lucky. You don’t forgive him and you don’t mourn him, the feelings sit complicated and unprocessed in your chest even now.

You remember the sounds first. The drone of his car horn through the crunched metal of his vehicle. The screaming, your screaming, ripped from your throat. It sounded foreign. The sirens in the distance, growing louder. The rush of traffic as vehicles swerved around you.

You couldn’t move the first time you awoke, body shocked. Whether it was a gentle breeze rocking the tree branches above you or if your vision was wavering you’ll never know But the leaves swaying side to side had been hypnotic, a moment of calm in your calamity. Your eyes followed as one deep-ruby leaf detached and floated to the earth.

Turning your head to see where it landed, you saw your mangled arm. It looked fake, bent in all the wrong ways. You couldn’t feel it, move it. This couldn’t be real, that’s all you could think. The safety gear on your body was torn to shreds.

There was red. So much red. Another crimson leaf fluttered to the ground. The peace was in such contrast to everything else. Your blood pooled, the edge trickling its way over the leaves adding a sick, glossy red to the autumn colors.

There were more memories. The ambulance arriving, the swarm of bodies blurring your vision. Asking you questions, the words sounded strange; just noise. The electric shock of pain when they put you on the gurney. The blackness that ate at the edge of your vision.

They said it was a miracle that you survived, bones set well, you could walk, could use your arms… Everything was a miracle. The word lost meaning over the months as you recovered. Now, here you are. A miraculous, spiteful force of nature, freezing her ass off walking to the gym. You’d finally gotten the go-ahead from your doctors to do some light exercises. You were happy to be able to do something, anything. Body growing restless after months of unuse.

This walk had never felt this long though. Your legs are heavy and tight, slowing you down. You round another corner, the sun dropping below the buildings, shadows creeping farther and farther. A new sound slices through the hollow night air. You pause, looking around. It was far away, but it’s piercing. Like the feeling of falling through ice and being plunged into the freezing waters beneath.

It was an inhuman cry, hissing and wailing out. You hear the hushed laughter of boys beneath the sound. The tightness in your joints are forgotten as they’re drenched in the adrenaline that rushes through your veins.

You surge with power as you hurriedly approach the sound, quickly finding the small posse at the alley’s dead end. You don’t stop, you don’t hesitate, you don't assess the situation before you’re running, swinging, knocking one of the three boys to the ground; his hair is a crispy box-dyed bleach mess. He let out a startled cry, his voice cracking; he couldn’t be older than 16, the youngest looking of the group.

The two other boys turn, startled. The shorter with tightly permed black hair and the other with a buzz cut close to the scalp. Little gangster wannabes. They back away from the crumpled, trembling lump of fur at their feet. The cat lets out a weak cry. You feel strange, like you're out of your body. There is a feeling. Is it anger that flares? Your body moves on its own.

You kick the boy on the ground, a yelp followed by a wet heave wracks his body. The other two break from their stupor, springing to action. You still feel heavy, tight. Like trying to run in a dream. But the motion is familiar, the strength is still your own as you connect a solid right hook with the shortest boy. A sick pop clicks in his jaw as he goes stumbling back. The final boy looks terrified, but lunges at you nonetheless.

You sidestep his attack easily, tripping him as he approaches. You pause there, with all three on the ground. Logical brain finally clicks on as you snap back into your body. Your eyes sweep the narrow space.

The dirty ground littered with trash, the blackened brick of the walls that feel like they’re closing in on you, the quivering mass of fur, matted in blood, crawling its way to the safety of the corner. You stand as the barrier between the three young men and their feline victim as they get back on their feet. Shit.

3-on-1 would’ve been a challenge in any condition, but after months of strict bedrest you’re utterly unprepared. You had the advantage of surprise, but now… With your back to the wall, you had very few options.

You take a deep breath, cracking your neck in anticipation. “Come on, bring it you little fucks. Fight with someone who can fight back” They hesitate. “COME ON!“ You agitate. They share a look, the shortest boy seems worse for wear as his jaw hangs limp in his hands that cup it. Dislocated. That has to suck. The buzz cut boy leans to whisper to the permed boy who nods gingerly before taking off. “COWARD!” You shout after him.

This leaves you with two. You’re liking these odds more. They were slightly taller than you, but still children. Gangly and uncoordinated. Any natural athleticism they have is unfocused, untrained next to you; hardened over years of practice. “Come on man, let’s just go” says the box-blonde on the left. The other boy, with his buzz cut barks back, “Nah, let’s teach this bitch a lesson” with fake bravado. The blonde looks nervous but nods, squaring his shoulders.

You stretch, bouncing on your feet, prepared for them to make a move. The buzz cut boy charges with a battle cry. You bite back a laugh at the childish attack as your foot connects with the side of his head in a signature roundhouse kick. It’s like punting a bowling ball. You hop it off, rolling your ankle through the tingling sensation of impact.

He tumbles to the ground with a grunt. Blood mixing with saliva that drips from his mouth. The box-blonde is shaking. Arms up in fists but makes no move. “Come on! Get her! Don’t be a pussy!” The buzz cut shouts to him from the ground, lobbing a big ball of spit and blood to the icy concrete with a splat.

“You’re pathetic.” You goad. Your wrestler persona peeking through after all of these months on the sidelines. “Sniveling children. Get out of my sight.” You seeth, eyes, boring into the lanky blonde. You hold him there, under your gaze. His decision is clear. He links arms with his fallen colleague and pulls him down the alley as they make their escape.

You exhale, letting your body relax. The only sounds now are your breaths and the shuffling of your shoes as you back into the space further, eyes still on the empty space where the boys had run away, the darkness setting in as the veil of night raced across the sky.

Your back meets the dirty brick of the alley wall as you slide down, the stupidity of what you’d just done really sinking in. If things had gone south… You risked more than your safety, you risked thousands of dollars of P.T., all of those months of recovery, even the future of your career.

The jagged breathing from the lump in the corner pulls you back. That's why you did it; risked it. You extend a brittle finger to the creature. It tries to curl away from you but it’s… Fading. Your chest clenches. You reach further, giving a gentle scratch to the cat as it tries to bite. It can’t move enough.

You continue, giving soft strokes over the cat’s forehead, avoiding the open wounds. One eye is… Gone. The other blinks at you, teary. The sound is unreal. Like a weak gurgle, mewl of agony. Your throat constricts, swallowing hard. Tears blur the edge of your vision.

The cat, with what little strength it has left, doesn't fight you. Instead nudging up into your finger, still shaking. You scoot closer, slowly, letting its body rest against yours. You feel its coldness pressing into your leg, siphoning your heat. It vibrates there. Twitching occasionally. It’s whimpers soften. A small noise replacing it. A staccato purr.

The breaths come slower, body stilling. You look down, each beat of your heart clenches in your chest painfully. You feel warmth on your cheeks, wetness, tears finally falling. You share one final look with the cat before its eye closes, slowing in its spot next to you.

You lean your head back into the bricks, feeling like you're sinking. A fiery gnawing at your chest like your drowning. And then you’re alone in the alley. The light glittering of snow crystals float from the inky sky, not enough to make proper snowflakes. They twinkle, catching in the low light.

The cold wraps her arms around you, sinking into your bones once more. Locking you there as the little heat left beneath your fingers seeped from the soft fur, unreplaced. You breathe, a cloud forming before you as the temperature plummets.

You could've sat there forever, but you’re stirred by the sound of footsteps approaching. Three… Maybe four people. You harden your face, pulling yourself up from the pavement, bracing for whatever or whoever turns the corner.

You feel yourself detaching from the moment as it sears into your mind. The long shadows of four men are cast along the frigid brick. Three familiar silhouettes, one taller, larger, meaner looking man between them. His head was shaved close to the scalp like the smaller boy next to him; the family resemblance is unmistakable. An older brother, perhaps, your age or slightly older.

He turned a scathing look to his miniature, “You’re wasting my time with one, little bitch?” “She’s strong, bro. She’s gotta be running with someone.” The older brother brings a fist down on the younger’s buzzed head, “You fucking pussy, wasting my time. This better be worth my while…” The little brother massages his head, “She’ll make it worth your while…” The elder turns his eyes to you, looking you up and down. The look in his eyes makes you feel sick, alarm bells going off.

You’re in deep shit. No escape. Feeling the effects of your healed injuries. You can’t stand this. Feeling weak. It made the sick feeling intensify. You put your fists up. Once again, bouncing lightly on your feet as though second nature. The large man’s face changes, intrigued. “N-nothing to say now, huh bitch.” The box-blonde sputters out.

A look of annoyance flashes across the big man’s face. “Can you actually fight? Show me what you’ve got, kitten.” His arrogance, his tone. It makes your skin crawl. You were gonna make him hurt.

Muscle memory takes over, testing the new, healed tissue. You’re a bolt, closing the distance between the two of you in a blink. Feigning a hook and landing an admittedly low blow. Burying your foot deep between his legs. Your shoe presses into the denim of his jeans and the soft, sensitive flesh beneath, finally ending against the hard bone of his pelvis. The noise he lets out in guttural, sick.

But this is a street fight. He holds his crotch, huffing, a dry heave. The three smaller men back away. Veins pop along his brow and shaved head. Face red with anger. “I’m gonna fucking kill y-.” Your knee connects with his lowered face, your elbow ready to rebound the soft spot where his skull meets his spine. A dirty move you haven’t used since you were a teen. He stumbles, dropping to a knee.

You don’t stop, kicking once hard into his chest. You feel the crack of a rib. His meaty arms shoot up as the wind is knocked out of him, trapping your leg. “Fuck!” You twist, but his grip tightens. You punch hard, but can’t get enough force with your leg like this.

His eyes are murderous as he crashes his body to the ground, pulling you with him. He still hadn’t regained his breath, and this new position allowed you to snake your free leg behind his head, squeezing hard. Wriggling to get purchase on his arm, securing him in a headlock. The tide is shifting back in your favor before a dirty sneaker crashes into your face.

You see stars, grip loosening. Another kick to your shoulder, then your head. The other three boys were stomping you. You squint your eyes, tuck your chin, hanging on until the big man loses consciousness. If you can just hold on. You see red smattering the soles of the boy’s shoes.

This is what they’d done before. Trampling the poor creature that lay lifeless in the corner of the alley. Stomping on those who were vulnerable. You hate them. You hate them. Acidic, venomous, the electric feeling of adrenaline in your veins, pushing you.

The body in your grasp finally goes limp and you bounce up, feeling the world spin, skull knocking into the chin of one of the boys. There's something hot, sticky in your eyelashes, making it hard to see. You wipe, seeing red. You can’t help it, this is so fucked. You laugh. The sound ricocheting harshly off the walls.

“You could’ve just left.” You laugh, head spinning. They shift on their feet, uneasy, fists raised. Eyes darting between the man on the ground and you. You hang your head, another humorless laugh escapes you.

You cast your eyes to the man on the ground too, freezing when you see the tattoo peeking up above the collar of his shirt on the back of his neck. A gang tattoo that you’ve seen here and there around the ring. Bad news. These guys gamble on matches, big money, and deal in the darker, shadier parts of the underbelly of the city.

Very bad news, when he groans from his place on the ground. It’s now or never. You rush the boy with a dark perm, his jaw still slack and hanging unnaturally from his face. He flinches, jumping out of your way. You see an opening and you take it.

Sprinting down the alley. The heavy slapping of your shoes on the concrete and your heartbeat in your ears. You hear the hesitant steps of someone trying to follow you and a shout after you, but yours are the only steps that twist around the maze of alleyways. You could run them with your eyes closed. The alleys where you grew up.

You zip around, losing your pursuers. You feel the rush, the high as muscles reawaken, cold air filling your lungs. You didn’t know if you’d ever be able to move like this again after the accident. It’s melancholic; feeling so good to move but so shameful to run away. Your heart could burst with all of the emotion from tonight. You had no plan, no destination, Just to put as much distance as possible between you and the foursome you escaped. Coward your heart whispered. Weak… You would get back, get strong again. You would win. You never want to run away like this again. To lose.

#hanma shuji #hanma x reader #hanma shuji smut #hanma shuji x reader #kinktober 2024 #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers fanfiction #tokyo revengers x reader #tr x you #tr x reader #tr smut #carminecherry fics

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copperbezel · 4 months ago

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Zephyr Slip

At the end of last year, before I'd begun working on Bit Cobalt, I ran into some paleoart of Austroraptor, a dromaeosaur (raptor) from Argentina. Austroraptor is one of the largest dromaeosaurs, with a long, narrow, Big Bird snoot, conical teeth that probably point to fishing, and small forelimbs, as well as leg proportions that hint at a runner. Much of the paleoart I saw depicted Austroraptor in waterbird colors, which gave it a soft and friendly appearance, immediately my new favorite dinosaur.

So I drew an Austroraptor and then a robotic one, adding a quail topknot or ahoge feather, and started to think about making a transforming figure that would change from this animal into a humanoid robot. But a transformation from cute robot girl to cute robot girl, except one of them is a dinosaur, seemed a bit redundant, and there would be compromises in both directions that would detract rather than add.

But a couple of months later, I saw a particular motor scooter and something clicked, and the game was on. I love motor scooters, and they're a fantastic accessory for other figures on the shelf. I went through two foamcore prototypes to nail down the transformation, making it as simple and sturdy as I could manage and making sure both modes would scale well with other 1/12 scale figures.

I also started collecting some reference images for details I could nab and integrate, and to nail down the scaling of the scooter.

After I had something that worked, I drew up some concept art for both modes and started modeling. I was able to streamline the design a couple of steps further in the 3D model, and then it was all carving up shapes, fine tuning, etc. Probably the longest phase of modeling was after I had my model roughed out into shape, but needed to build the joints, firm up the edges, define all the contact surfaces, and apply subdivision surfaces. I found it useful to rig the model and set a couple of animation steps in Blender for the two modes so I could simply page back and forth between them.

I had to set the design on the back burner while I worked out the kinks with my 3D printer and built my last couple of projects. Then I made a test print to identify any trouble spots, and after a couple of tweaks to get the feel right, it was time to print and finish the real thing. Zephyr Slip is the first thing I've printed in "color", and thanks to some dyes I need to experiment with more, she won't be the last. That means a much more durable finish for parts that have to slide against one another or clip into place. I did add a gloss coat to some surfaces of the black elements, but it shouldn't show chipping much. (Unlike the kickstand, thanks to my terrible decision to paint its feet.)

Like my previous figures, Zephyr's eyes (and console) are just printed gloss paper under a coat of gloss varnish, and her headlights and taillights have some clear resin poured in over the paint and cured into place for lenses. Cutting plastic windows like the ones on my Vertigo GT for the lower headlights didn't have the same effect, so they got the same clear resin treatment. The decal designs themselves were made in Blender, because I've given up on Inkscape's interface, but I think they came out okay.

The joints are almost exclusively 3mm ABS rods, although her hip joints are Kotobukiya Hexa Gear joints, which gave me a sturdy pin and hinge in a compact package and without visible pegs. I'm looking into options to make the pegs show less while being easy to remove for the construction and painting process. Despite some care with the tolerances, I did have to widen some peg holes and mush some pegs during assembly to get her pose well and snap together tight into either mode. But everything does clip solidly into place, resulting in a really playable figure.

As my first fully transforming figure and also my largest, Zephyr Slip is definitely the biggest figure project I've tackled so far, and I'm extremely happy with the results. Posability is probably her weakest area, but she can pounce and emote, and with her solid handfeel and satisfyingly snappy transformation, I'm happy with the design.

Paleontologically, I've followed most of the proportions of the real animal, although her torso should be a little bit longer, and her tail half again as long. She should also have visible first fingers, and I'm playing into the paleoart meme of bare snouts on dromaeosaurs that shouldn't have them. The proportion of thigh to shin is exaggerated, and the tail should have some left-right sway even if it's inflexible in the vertical axis. But it pleases me that she is both a roughly accurately scaled Austroraptor, and also a fairly realistically scaled scooter (if a bit chunky).

As always, due credit to @aprilpowered and Workbenchmaniac for support and feedback along the way, as well as Nemocyte (Tumblr | Twitter), whose feedback helped me to work out (among other things) the articulation needs of a theropod figure, something I'd never had to think about before.

#3d printing #3d modeling #action figures #transformers #robot girl #dinosaurs #austroraptor #dromaeosaur #1:12 scale #motor scooter

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ms0milk · 1 year ago

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𝟏𝟐 | 𝐏𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥 𝐃𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫

ー✧ prince!bakugou x royal guard!reader

"You will spend summers in rainstorms and autumns in his orchards because you are Alderan and he will kill Takoban gods to get you there."

cw brief description of drowning and a claustrophobic struggle with the ocean. suggestions of suicidal intention and self harm. reader tries to fight the sea and your prince has horrible misunderstandings about it. bkg 🫱🏽‍🫲🏼 unethical rescue tactics pt 2, borrowed clothes, a fevered fireside confession in the bedroom you’ve been searching for 6.4k

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If Takoba is the edge of the world, Aldera is the center. You so starved for comfort, stand with your feet at the tip of the surf and tie your braids together.

You watch the sea at midnight and the winds coming off the water bite your scars before they chill your bones. Autumn at the edge of the world is miserable. Lakes freeze but the ocean is colder, it's full of tides, which you’ve spent the day reading about. The ocean has a taste, salt and decay. It is unfathomably ancient. You watch its many maws foaming under the moonlight and seashells burn in frigid water when you step onto them.

In the view from Bakugou’s bedroom, you’ve lined your boots up neatly in the sand and stand watch beside them for a moment. You’re dressed to stop a midnight siege, in your white nightgown and padded habergeon, staring so small and far away from the warmth of his fireplace. You in a dark blue world, framed by his open window. Bakugou would have sipped his tea and rolled his eyes at his newly fucked up sleep schedule and how ridiculous you insist on looking in public if his cup wasn’t spilt on the rugs where he dropped it. If he hadn’t already ripped his door off its hinges in his sprint out of the castle.

You couldn’t sleep. You have no appetite and no mobility yet for sparring. Just books. Just Uraraka answering your questions about the sea while watching her men train. The ride with Todoroki yesterday was nice but it left your throat stiff and you are still in your kingdom’s service. Today in Takoba, tomorrow and forever behind your prince. Long before the blue gardens and scars, before the kitchen, before sticky crowds and white horses and cold hallways, something somewhere started to die.

You take another step into the swollen water, it rises with the moon, to confirm your suspicions and grimace when a crab scuttles over your foot. Another step and you’re up to your hem. It would all be easier if your heart was still a forest fire. When did that stop? When did the rain come? Up to your knees now. Seawater climbs your nightgown.

As it stands you’re no longer a dragon, just damp tinder. The black sea sways you side to side at the hips now so gently– keep walking, don’t look back. You will free yourself from doubt and you will fight a god to do it.

“Moon makes tides,” Uraraka yawned and slouched and stretched as you sat on your knees beside her in the pit.

“Can you swim in it?”

“In the ocean?” she squinted, “Yeah of course. But don’t tell me you want to swim in this weather?”

Shinsou could only pretend not to hear for so long from his spot beside you both this afternoon, “The moon makes tides, and tides make storms.”

Good. Up to your ribs now. Wear the rock there like an anchor.

In the cold water your body heat becomes that much more apparent and it’s lovely like home. Genuinely hot for a second. Your nightgown floats up around you and you sink quickly from chest to nose when the sand under your feet drops to freezing nothing. The sudden dip shoots icy pain behind both eyes and the sensation of failing steeles every joint sickly sore. Walking through the ocean is like a fight, like driving a sword through someone solid, like braving a thunderstorm, but sinking into it is easier than sleeping.

You gasp and spit out the aftermath of losing your footing but you also fight too hard in anticipation of sinking and you’re suddenly in the open air up to your waist like a salmon leaping upstream. The weight of the nightgown settles you back down in the water to your shoulders and it’s silent except for the sound of waves kissing the beach and one another. Whistling wind. You bob only some ten meters out from shore, just short of where Todoroki held you back for fear of drowning and something wild like greed blinks open a sleepy dark eye.

You hardly have to move a limb to keep your head above water; the sea is free and gentle. You float easily here, where a lake wants to watch you fight. It’s part of the fun at home and in exchange you are safe in freshwater. Salt stings– saliva pools under your tongue to keep it from getting inside– but it also holds you up in the foam like two hands under the hip.

Is this what you were so afraid of? This is the god you planned on killing tonight?

Every day in this miserable place you have been beaten. You have fallen apart in some way, your hair is too messy, your new clothes don’t fit right. You lose Aldera with every step, heel toe– earrings that are no longer yours, heel toe– a weapon you can't return, heel toe and stand at attention– a brooch you’re too afraid to wear, to lose too, so you keep it under your pillow and wear silver seashells instead. Blue fire took the first victory in the forest and you salvaged your prince with your life thin in your teeth. Takoba took the second victory and strung you out in your nightgown for nobles to pick at like crows. A driftwood table took the third and Bakugou stole the fourth. The only time you have ever won here is when you decided to die. When you churn the water with your arms a pain echoes across your back not quite inside your scars.

Kirishima on the verge of tears, Shinsou above your operating table, Uraraka at your side, Todoroki holding you back from the edge of the world– your prince, wet to his knees– you have never, not once in your life have you ever failed. Their gazes make your throat hurt and you spit again into a tiny rolling wave that lifts itself over your chin and into your ears.

The goddess of the sea does not pity you.

She pulls you into her arms and laughs when you rub your freshwater eyes. She tossels your hair with silent waves you could never have seen coming. She reminds you of her strength. And Todoroki told you that you couldn’t possibly challenge her– eat your words sealace prince. Even just this once, witness me. You are a gem in the crown of Aldera, the left hand of the golden family. Takoba is no setback the sea is not your master, you are a chosen servant, not a mistake. It is so wonderful to be in the presence of a queen again and at night her water is soft and black.

The shore is farther than you remember when you finally glance back at the world. You bob like a peach, a frozen peach, and realize you can’t feel the cold anymore. Time to head back. Today was just a test anyway, to make sure you could put up your fight. Maybe sleep will come now that you’re starting to breathe heavy and now that your muscles ache again after days without real training. Ice creeps up the back of your neck from wet hair.

The goddess of the sea plays with you for a few more seconds and you can’t wait to come back in the warmth of the sun to lay on your back with her to whom you no longer need to prove yourself. The ocean pulls in its depths just as much as it pushes at the shore so you brace your eyes for discomfort and duck under the surface to kick a good length forward. It would have worked in a lake, at the center of the world.

When you resurface you are somehow farther than before and considerably shorter of breath. The cold starts to press on your lungs now that you’re truly using them. It’s okay, one more time. You kick once to let the goddess lift you up with her salt and breathe in the free air before diving under again but all you actually do is stir bubbles around you exactly where you started. If anything even farther. Your boots are too small to see now.

There are no storms, no raging waves, no rain, no thunder, hardly wind, what is putting up the fight? Whatever. You paddle above water, thankful for light clothes, and weary of the growing ache under your jaw– the start of a pulsing headache. More than anything you are finally excited for bed, but no matter how hard you push there seems to be a growing distance between you and safety.

Dread drops in your peachpit stomach and you start to feel long pretty fingers tickle your heels in black water. The ghost of the flame mage happy to drag you with him to the bottom of the sea. Irrational like a fear of the dark, but still there’s no more time for testing pride, you have to get back to shore. The little girl inside of you cowers when you take one more heavy breath and then release it to sink yourself as deep as the salt will let you. You can see the breaking point, all you need is to reach the seafloor and kick yourself to it.

As you drift down into the pitch black something so much better than sand or ghosts meets your feet. You connect with rock as your lungs begin to ache for air and kick with every well trained muscle your legs have, forward towards the shore. Faster than freshwater, you rocket to the surface and gasp excitedly, blink rapidly, and infinitely closer to white sand, and then immediately the goddess pulls you under again.

Sure you found the breaking point, sure your toes tease the start of the shore you want to reach so badly, but that’s what waves do here. Break.

Something so silent couldn’t possibly be this powerful, but your head is forced back under as your hips are pulled back out and you tumble head over knees, mouth filled suddenly with salt and sand in the darkness. Resurfacing is no fun task, choking. You’re thankful it’s easy to float in the ocean but saltwater dries out your mouth as you retch it back out from your throat into the foam and then there’s another break over your head to remind you that humans should stay far away from god.

You’ll die just thirty meters from the shore. Salt blinds you. Water deep in one ear keeps you just dizzy enough to let this sea carry you out once again, and shouting isn’t an option. Shouting or gasping, you have to pick one. Ache has turned to paralysis; muscles so beaten and a heart beating so fast you’re already at the last limit reached by your master, training to failure. Striking and swinging until you can no longer hold your weapon. Hours of training reduced to fifteen minutes at sea.

The bruise of your shoulder protests every paddle you force out of it and goes much stiffer much faster than the rest of you. In a way, the mage is drowning you. In every way the sea is much more claustrophobic than a war room.

The moon watches you heaving for air stuck between beating waves and being swept back out to sea. She doesn’t do anything. You are pulled under again. The rocks beneath you scratch your soft skin this time and your instinct is to flinch which fills your nose with water and drowning is certainly not as peaceful as poetry makes it out to be.

Of course it ends like this. A soggy creature fighting gods alone.

Of course he’s watching you, his captain, being stolen by the sea.

You surface forcefully with a grip on your scruff and while your body remembers how to breathe, magic every furious color of the rainbow arcs above your head. The water recoils for a moment around you in the force of his impact. Bakugou erupts from the sky as he always does into the tragedy of your life in Takoba and you have no control over your searing gaze when it turns to him above you, framed by sparks and stars. Halo from the moon.

You both fall back into the water but not so helplessly as a moment ago. Your prince hooks and arm across your chest, pressing your back to his front and with so much more strength than you could ever muster, rips his way through the water in half of a backstroke. Half of him focused on keeping you afloat and only half of him conquering the sea. His legs create their own current. He holds you and you’re sure you’re breathing loudly enough into his collar to hurt his ears.

You are an excellent swimmer. Weak children, drunk diplomats, tests from your master; you have dragged your fair share of victims out of rivers and as the victim yourself you know better than to struggle or panic in your prince’s grip as he drags you from the goddess, but you can’t help how your fingers scratch at his translucent tunic. Cling to the warmth of his bicep.

In twenty seconds he has reached the break. Strength like a war criminal, like a godslayer. He turns in the water, times it to match the swell of a wave for height, and pulls you chest to chest with a guiding hand on the side of your head to fold you into him. The sea drops you and you know what comes next. Bakugou anticipates your struggle, or a drowned man’s panic, any logical thing and wraps another arm around you tight as he pulls you both under, but you don’t fight a single second and neither do you breathe.

He knows the sea so much better. If you weren’t unraveling like a common soldier you would have realized too, just how much calmer the water is underneath its surface. Even with ears full of sand you can hear the wave crash above you but there is no pull underwater. The roll of the goddess back out to sea twirls through your hair but nothing else. She lets your prince push up to the surface and doesn’t stop you from catching your breath inside the crook of his neck. Eleven seconds to beat the break. What does he even need a captain for?

This time when the tide drops, you don’t quite drop with it. Knees in the sand. Back on solid ground you realize how hard a body can shake and then water is beating you down again from behind, and a warm hand has you by the back of the haubergeon to keep you from slipping out to sea or laying flat down to sleep in the surf.

Both hardly walking, and you more-than-half carried, you and your prince stagger over seashells like glass back to the spot where your boots rest like nothing bad has ever happened at all, chased the whole time by a disappointed tide. You collapse the second he lets you. You, useless with cold and vomiting seafoam.

“Why?!” Your prince chokes, similarly out of breath beside you, hunched over his knees from the effort of winning your war. You can feel the glare. You are warmed by it and then entirely numb again, in a terrible turn of events, to even his attention. The very last ember dies without smoke.

Bakugou, even in a temper tantrum, has never looked quite so disheveled. He’s been wet before, and pushed his hair back with big hands and caught his breath through his teeth just like this, but he’s never looked at you with such confusion. His eyebrows don’t sit right. Without a scowl his whole thing really falls apart, huh?

“Answer me, Eyes!”

You wheeze instead of speaking when you try to use your voice for the first time and spit out the last of the salt that comes up with it. He doesn’t move, catching his breath across the sand at midnight. Your prince really is so pretty and something inside is eating you alive to the beat of the wash of waves. He is a star and you are the bloody little creature beneath him always, not chosen at all.

You sit yourself up. Bakugou is beautiful. Broad chest and shoulders trained for his magic and a wet tunic that clings to every lovely shape, just a few feet too far away to touch. Unmarred face and shaggy hair. His eyes. His jaw slopes sharp, sharper still in the moonlight and dripping with water, up towards his hungry red eyes that eat everything they’ve e–

“Wake up!” He barks.

He’s not eating you. He brings back your focus and when you hold his stare this time it’s so obvious he’s not confused, or angry, not exhausted or embarrassed or exasperated. He’s six and he’s holding your hands in a velvet carriage, terrified.

Oh boy. You guess self-control died with your heart, because your shoulders start to shake in a chuckle.

Bakugou stares. Any fold of his brows melts immediately at the sound of your soft laughter but he hardens again when he speaks. “What about this is funny?!” and pulls himself up to his knees as you lower yourself to clamshells, not-quite-laughing but not fighting the smile either. This is exhausting. “You just tried to kill yourself!”

This makes you snort, which is ugly, and shuts your prince up entirely. One laugh like a lie and then another and you curl in on yourself, shivering arms folded above your head and forehead pressed flat to the sand. Something like an apology. You are redundant, not suicidal.

If it were a real apology you would wait until he spoke again to raise your head like Todoroki in the stables, but that’s not what you’re doing at all. You ache from the inside. Burn in fact. You chuckle again and spit salt one last time when you sit up, then grab for your shoes with muscle memory instead of feeling since the cold has stolen that too. Bakugou is staring again– it is irritating, you should do it less.

The ocean makes a lovely noise when you are not drowning in it. It’s much quieter and sounds a bit like laundry sliding over itself. Or apples tumbling into a basket. You are the first to your feet, clumsily, and you are not so delirious that you forget you need proximity to a fire. Anyone else might not be able to stand through this adrenaline trembling but how many apprentices have come so close to death so many times as you?

“Oi,” Bakugou growls, confused again by the wrong emotion for just long enough to let you escape.

The hill between the castle and the sea is overgrown with dune grasses tall enough to tickle your hips and that is what you decide to climb. Empty stomach, ruined shoulder, shaking legs, deep dead eyes.

Your clothes cling to you. They make you small. He can hardly breathe in the cold as he rushes to catch up, dripping what he's sure are icicles, and you look as if you could hardly stay conscious in it. Does your face feel as red as it looks? Friction or fever? “Captain!” And it’s obvious Bakugou can’t decide on his volume, but bulldozes after you nonetheless husky with exertion, “fuckin wait–”

There are sandy paths beaten into this seaside hill, small like children made them on their happy little way to swim. Bakugou makes quick work of it. You hike. You put all your effort into staying on two feet through a chill you could hardly ever imagine. Heat pounds in your temples, cruelly imitating Alderan fire when really it’s something poisoned like liquor.

“Please don’t follow me sir,” you call over the wind when the prince gets a few steps too close to catching up and he makes a sound almost like words, like words you shot dead in his throat. You know that sound because you have been shot at the same exact angle. Deadly isn’t it? He falls back.

Just for a moment Bakugou stops and watches, filled with something neither of you have the words for yet. Recovering just as quickly as you are succumbing to exhaustion.

Wait, he stares. Just– “Y/n.”

Wrapped in white, you are framed by rolling seagrass in the moonlight. You finally stop climbing and turn. You like a half-drowned painting. In a furred cape you might be a queen. From your spot smiling sadly at the edge of the world, your nose has started to bleed.

“Give me an order.”

Six and shaking in his hands. Eleven soaked in a fruit filled hallway, always working and fond of libraries. Sense of humor that doubles over his queen. Often covered in blood, staring too earnestly right now for him to remember that anger might fix this. Bakugou doesn’t breathe.

You turn back towards the castle alone and for the very last time, your body keeps the tears at bay. On a hill of swaying green grass and bright in the moonlight, your prince, frozen, looks so much like his mother you should kill him for it.

You always thought you were hiding from him on duty, only slightly more stealthy than a dragon. It got better when Jeanist stopped training you in chainmail, but your excitement at every small job bounced off the walls of his castle so obviously. Squirrel duty? You helped a hundred bastards back outside without pause. Sent up to swept bookshelves under the Great Oak and you're the only person he’s ever seen hum to themself so high in the air. Stablehand? Stable master more like. Seven and stacking stools to reach the saddles before Jeanist set you back on the ground by your scruff like his kitten. Bakugou can’t remember what went first, your heartbeat or his hearing.

The very first time you snuck up on him was in August under a plum tree, nine years old. He slept beside his book in the shade on a perfect day, perfectly alone and free of tutoring for the afternoon. Maybe because you were barefoot, but somehow even out of breath, the only thing that gave you away was your voice.

“Careful Highness.” He shot awake with that and figured for a moment that you were a dream while his eyes adjusted to the light through the leaves behind you– panting above him and holding tight to a plum. Like premonition your other hand lurched to catch another as it fell toward him, “they’re ready for harvest.”

Bakugou sat up. Off at an impossible distance for you to have run to catch plums, Jeanist stood beside a hanging line of red uniforms waving a beckoning hand.

“Laundry calls,” you whispered. As the little prince turned stupidly back to you above him, you set both plums on the grass beside his book and bowed.

Wait.

“Maybe a nap in the vineyard? Grapes won't bruise.”

Wait, I know you.

He watched you bow one last time and jog out of the shade back to Jeanist and Alderan laundry, just as he watches you stumble now in the dark, towards the faraway lights of a castle without the fire you need.

Wait!

“Y/n!” Bakugou bursts over the ridge and back onto marble pavement, what the fuck is he gonna do– your name won’t work twice, he’s wasted too much time. “Captain!”

You pay him no mind drifting away with your back still turned and with even less coordination than when you were dragged from the sea. You are deteriorating– fuck, fuck it. Bakugou, brimming with something to the left of anger, charges. If you hear him coming you do nothing to stop him. Not as he closes the distance with eight good strides and slings you over his shoulder.

"I–!" you jerk to strike instinctively, “Put me down!”

Good, you can shout. He still has time, you’re still alive. He’ll apologize for touching you later, for hesitating and staring, he will say everything he set aside in anger when you are not trying to kill yourself.

“Put me down,” you hiss like you know you’re one of three people that can make his skin prickle with threat.

“Not a chance.”

You grip the back of his tunic, clinging so wet to his body that you grab equal parts flesh and he turns away from your path to the glowing front gates all those hundreds of meters away, to kick in a door on an insignificant corner of an insignificant annex in the shadows of the castle that is only unlocked because it’s the same one he flew from, instead of his window, when he was trying not to startle you with his magic and into the sea.

You will spend summers in rainstorms and autumns in his orchards because you are Alderan and he will kill Takoban gods to get you there. Your nails on his back begin to burn with your silence and it’s haunting not only because you weigh less to him than a phantom, but because the smell of the sea follows you inside when there is no one else left to close the door.

Immediately it is warmer without the wind but he will not slow until he finds fire, because you are gripping him instead of screaming again– because you are freezing to death and he will not let you win under new circumstances after he worked so hard to save you from the first.

This part of the castle is his, below the kitchens, the deep white underbelly in the cliff over the sea where no one will find him except cooks and staff who keep his secret and the queen who kindly ordered these quarters be built before she lost her mind. There is no difference of weight or warmth when he sets you down in front of the only red door in the hallway. You aren’t a ghost. Even if you aren’t convincing. He throws the door open.

You would win in a contest but Bakugou too can make a steady fire. It’s still chirping bright in his fireplace when he crowds you inside of his quarters. Wood and furs. The smell of bread, everything so unlike Takoba. Hard surfaces cushioned or covered in anticipation of winter with red and gold and wool, forest tapestries from home– and it is a small victory that you take another step, then another, deeper inside without hint or suggestion.

“where are we?”

“You need to change,” Bakugou dismisses when you’re far enough inside to close the door, and pulls open a cherry chest of drawers at the foot of his bed. It’s draped in pelts and pillows. Faded herbs hang in bundles above you.

“have clothes in my room.”

“Didn’t ask.” When he looks over his shoulder, you are wobbling towards the fire like a starving woman, with two hands reaching subtly from your side. Good, shut up and warm up. Bakugou rifles through his options one more time and grimaces, raising his own black Alderan riding tunic aloft; it’s the only thing that’s going to be long enough to cover all of you.

He’ll sort out this shitshow step by step– dry you off, shout scream scold, get you warm, shout some more– a good Alderan lecture, and then tie you to him if he must since you obviously can’t be trusted alone. Walking into the sea when you thought everyone was sleeping. And for what? He grinds his teeth and grips the sids of his dresser with the realization that he’s probably not going to sleep again tonight. He’d kill you if that wasn’t what you so obviously wanted.

“Alright asshole, get ch–” Bakugou chokes when he turns back to you, sitting politely fireside with a dagger materialized in your good hand, blade pressed flat to your collar. He jumps, black tunic flying and shouts indiscernibly in a lunge for the weapon.

Not fast enough because by the time he makes one step, you’ve driven the blade down your chest and clear through your shirt. It falls open and your bare ribs seize in goosebumps this close to the fire, “told you I’m not trying to kill myself.”

“Drop it!” He wails, as if to a dog.

Oh how you will haunt him until the end of time. Less than a month with you, just some soldier from his castle– a prodigal apprentice in a kingdom of geniuses– an impersonable, silent, invisible guard, who should cause harm only when necessary and appear only in danger– a woman who does this job to a tee, and still somehow steals his attention to any corner of the room she conceals herself in– just a month and you have beguiled him. Reaping grim satisfaction from watching you wreak havoc in this place he loathes.

You sit in front of his fire in his secret room, half bare now that you’ve decided to cut your clothes off of yourself, and entirely bare when you run the lip of the dagger across your shoulder to catch the fabric and then rough straight down the other side. You are pink from heat and staring through him entirely unfocused, all chaotic braids and parted lips. There’s a dry track of blood smeared under your nose and he shudders to think what part of his back it was wiped on while he was carrying you away. The fingertips of your scar peek into free air. Bakugou can’t spin around fast enough, howling in anger.

You sound like you’re smiling again mournfully like last time, “following orders, sir.”

“Don’t call me that!” He roars and shoves the black tunic behind his back towards you. This room is small, maybe five paces wide, and so he sits as far as he can from you on the floor beside his bed, still within arms reach. Back turned.

What the fuck is so funny? This isn’t a headache this is sustained torture. Bakugou’s own wet clothes cling to him in dry patches of salt and stick and grit that he’s desperate to bathe away just as soon as you are tethered to another magician. In another kingdom. You breathe heavily behind him in a mismatch between effort and task and then a sopping thud reminds Bakugou that you are stripping to nothing behind him and piling your rags onto his fine rugs.

“You’re a fucking nightmare.”

“you’ll be free of me in a moment.”

And it dawns on him, seasick irony, that there isn’t a person alive in this kingdom but him who could stop you from doing a single thing.

“If you think I’m letting you out of my sight you’re concussed.”

You pause your fiddling behind him for a second before resuming and you’re close enough that he can still hear your less than methodic pulling and ripping. A huff here and there. In the seconds it takes you to speak again your voice is still laced with the amusement that makes his skin crawl, “third time I’ve told you I’m not trying to kill myself.”

“Just hurry up.”

“was just saying a prayer.”

“Save. It. An excuse that fulla holes wouldn’t even work on Ei the naif.”

“right, because nothing gets past the champion.”

Bakugou erupts, out of unwounded fists to clench, and jerks around with every intention of barking at you. He’s not sure what he pictured before turning and he’s not sure where his voice went, but you are sat beside his fire draped in his black tunic with an expression he can hardly find the words for.

What is it in the way your shoulders hang? Exhaustion? The way your chin tips or your eyes flutter? Hunger? You watch him like you’ll eat him alive, like your life is the least of his concerns. The laces at your collar drape limp over your fingers from where you gave up their tying and so the shirt hangs loose and open, and much much too big. Bakugou has never thought of the shape your sternum makes between your breasts or what color the fine hair on your thighs might be. He knows the answers now because you’ve given up on posture like a selkie out of water and everything so unlike his captain– because something inside of you is slipping.

“don’t bother the champion with this,” your voice is still draconian. Even as your body fails, your eyes are still dark and infinite and possessive beside the glow of his fireplace and under a window that looks out over black water, “or Lady Mina, or your Lords. Don’t worry them with me.”

Bakugou mirrors you unconsciously in the way he sits close enough to touch. Why do you say that? You keep saying it, ‘Lady Mina,’ all month the same thing. Sir Sero, like he’s not a soldier in Jeanist’s rear guard. Like Mina and Denki didn’t grow up in the castle with you all to learn magic fifteen years ago.

“They’re not,” he admits because something about you unraveling by the sea sucks the malice like marrow from his bones. Maybe something inside of him is slipping too.

The pair of you slouch on the soft rugs from home and sticky with foreign salt, looking. Your next smile seems to take every ounce of strength, “what?”

“They’re not lords.”

And in a rush, horror ignites in the eaves of this tiny room like an Alderan dollhouse. It is a grease fire film of oil on water. He is the match. You drop your head to your shoulder and start to laugh like Bakugou isn’t watching the life evaporate from the top of your head and out his window in the heat that pinks your cheeks and blotches your chest. You laugh like you have life to spare, “course they’re not.”

You manage enough coordination to hold the chest of his tunic closed with one hand as you rise, still giggling bitter, nothing like the bells you rang for Todoroki.

“Stop–” Bakugou reaches for you as you walk past him towards the door but stops short of touching even the air.

“dream something sweet Highness, I won’t interrupt again.”

“Oi, wait–” He gathers himself awkwardly barefoot and still dripping seawater, to catch the door before you pull it open. You bow your head and reach for the knob at the same time as he manages to slam his palm and weight against it in case you decide you have enough life left to fight.

“Told you, you’re not leaving my sight.”

Maybe staring isn’t so much a habit as it is a system to keep you from collapsing under the weight of Alderan sun. You who watch the world carefully so that when you attack it is silent and succinct. As long as you’re only looking, just watching carefully, the world will never be in danger of you spilling the secrets obvious only to you, and your kingdom won’t have to acknowledge the war crimes it takes to teach a kid how to kill.

Bakugou looms above you and rests against his door on a forearm. You raise your head like it’s lead to look at him. Your mouth even opens to speak but then something like fire punches to life in the blacks of your eyes.

It’s not a blink this time, it’s a stutter at first– and your face is so flushed that it almost looks like you’re glowing– before something you see feeds the kindling to roaring. For a blessed second you aren’t smiling. You stare so deeply into your prince he can’t look away for long enough to realize that you’re reaching for him.

Why? Why are you leaning closer?

The first heat pools at the hinge of his jaw and then scalding follows. Why are your hands so hot? You pinch his earlobe between thumb and pinky and let your fingers graze over the ridges of ear just so gently that sparks itch where sweat prickles at his neck.

It’s still for a second before chills, agonizing, erupt up his spine, bone by bone as he realizes– as your prince’s face drops and his own hand jumps to reach his ears and what’s no longer there. His right hand grasps at Alderan gold, a tiny sun. His left only cups yours, so much smaller– and the ghost of your earring lost somewhere deep at sea. Six and bleeding in his hands, all grown up and at his mercy.

You smile in anguish, “I hate you.”

You don’t bother pulling your hand from his, only rest your head against the door and let your heavy eyes finally close. Nothing to hold back the freshwater tears now.

Bakugou almost isn’t fast enough in his shock to catch you when you begin to slide down the wall in collapse, “Y– shit– Y/n!” One hand pulls up on your own and the other reaches around your back to try and bring you into him instead of hard against the wooden floor like he’s still a prince and not just a man whose heart won’t stop racing.

“Y/n? Y/n,” he shuffles you in his lap where you landed, and breathes the shapes he hopes make the sound of your name as he searches, distracted. You are limp in his arms and entirely too warm to have been freezing to death a few minutes ago. Lips parted and rolling like you’re trying to speak. Running to safety with you on his shoulder, the seachill must have hidden your fever from him. He cradles your head to check for blood and holds your cheek when his fingers come out dry from your hair.

“majesty..”

Your heartbreaking laughter still bubbles up in quiet sobs and incoherence murmured, murmured, “..m sorry,” when you manage to see through the tears for a moment before falling unconscious again. Every apology laced always with “mitsuki.” You must have been holding it back. You must have been keeping the fever at bay by sheer force of will because now on the floor against him, your body is so hot it’s making his chest clammy. Sweat has soaked into the nooks of your black tunic and pools in salt licks between your breasts. Fuck Alderan fire.

Your prince gathers your shoulders and chest, your waist hips and exhaustion, into a bundle in his arms and pulls himself up with his doorknob because he will not let you drown, he will not let you freeze, and you will not win by setting yourself on fire. As he rises, blood leaks again from your nose. Tears fall aimlessly against his heart split to six like a pomegranate. When Bakugou is king there will be no child soldiers.

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peachy-panic · 2 months ago

Text

Shared Sessions: Week 1, Part 1

Grayson & Elijah cautiously give this group therapy idea a shot.

WARNINGS: Therapy setting, anxiety, past captivity

Grayson was the first to arrive at Dr. Collins’s office. Years of learned punctuality were not to be undone by a spiraling downfall to rock bottom, it turned out.

A week out of the hospital, he was still struggling to find his footing. He only left the house for his mandatory therapy sessions, and even then, it was only under the guardianship of his parents. He wasn’t sure if it was because they could sense his anxiety about going outside, or if they expected him to steer his car into the first big tree he came across. He didn’t plan on asking.

Today, though, a chaperone was a necessity. Grayson wasn’t sure his shaking hands would have had the dexterity to so much as start his car, let alone make the drive to Dr. Collins’s office on his own.

Grayson’s mother had even had the good grace to keep her opinions to herself on the drive over. Not that he didn’t know them anyway. Not that she and his father hadn’t made themselves abundantly clear leading up to the appointment on how poor an idea they thought it was for Grayson to share a joint session with “that boy.”

It was one of the first times Grayson Dawning ever raised his voice at his parents. He had left their stunned faces in the dim lighting of the dining room and slammed his bedroom door shut behind him, wishing grimly for the lock that had been removed during his hospital stay.

They hadn’t brought the session, or Elijah, up again after that.

A few minutes before the top of the hour, Grayson sat in his usual corner of the couch in the office, hands twisting in his lap. If his more-than-normal nerves or lack of sleep were apparent to Dr. Collins, he didn’t mention it. Instead, he settled into the armchair across from him, crossing one leg over his knee.

“How are you feeling about today?” he asked.

A couple weeks ago, Grayson might have tried to conceal his vulnerability behind a mask. Recent events had left him too tired for pretending.

“Scared,” he replied. “I didn’t sleep much last night.”

“Is there any specific element of today that frightens you most? Something that stands out?”

Oh, sure. The possibility that Elijah bails and never speaks to him again. The possibility that he shows up and confirms Grayson’s worst fears: that he does, in fact, hate him for every part he played in his torment. Hearing Myles Voss’s name spoken between them for the first time since they returned. Addressing Grayson's attempt. Bringing up what happened on—

“Grayson?” Dr. Collins pulled him out of his spiral. He was using his firm voice—the one he used when Grayson was starting to fall too deep inside his own head.

Grayson blinked a few times, curling his fingers into the fabric of his sweatshirt. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” his doctor said.

He nodded, relieved to have been spared from answering, but the reprieve was short-lived. A hesitant knock on the door turned him to stone where he sat.

Dr. Collins rose gracefully and crossed the room in a few short steps. Grayson heard, rather than saw, the door latch release, a slight squeal in the hinges.

“Elijah,” Dr. Collins greeted through an audible smile. “Welcome. It’s good to see you again.”

“Sorry I’m late,” was the first thing Elijah said. The sound of his voice—a bit winded, faint—unlocked Grayson’s muscles enough to glance up at the clock on the wall. It was only two minutes after. “I, uh. My mom had to take the car to work, and the bus was running behind.”

Grayson winced. He remembered, in the hospital, how Elijah flinched away when the nurses and staff brushed too closely, on guard against every potential touch. He couldn’t imagine how difficult public transit might have been.

“It’s no problem at all,” Dr. Collins said warmly. “We were only just sitting down. You can hang your jacket here, if you’d like.”

Grayson willed himself, at last, to look in Elijah direction’s.

Elijah pushed back a rain-speckled hood, freeing the few damp tendrils that escaped the bundle of hair at the nape of his neck, and shrugged out of the sleeves. Grayson took in the sight of him: black jeans that fit more loosely than they probably should have and a zip-up sweatshirt with thumbholes cut out of the sleeves. His fingers moved in quick, fidgeting movements that mirrored Grayson’s own anxiety. When Elijah turned from the coat rack to face the room, their eyes met.

In a blink, it was as if every inch of progress they had carved inside the hospital walls had existed in a vacuum. The half-lucid hugs and promises, the familiarity of company and the attempt at shared humor—all of it swept away like ashes in the clarity of the outside world.

In the hospital, Grayson had felt so sure that talking with Elijah, that airing out the festering wound between them, was the way to move forward. Now, in the light of day, doubt ate away at his optimism, a hungry, gnarled beast in the pit of his stomach.

What if he had made a mistake that they would both now pay for? He had hoped his days of hurting Elijah were behind him.

This was a bad idea bad idea bad idea—

“Hey,” Elijah spoke first.

Grayson swallowed a lump that felt a lot like the start of a scream. “Hi.”

Dr. Collins let a few seconds of quiet play out between them, then cleared his throat. “Please, make yourself comfortable, Elijah. Can I get you anything? Water, tea, coffee?”

Elijah shook his head. “No. Um, thanks. Is here okay?” he asked, pointing to the far end of the sofa from Grayson.

“There is fine. Wherever you’d like.”

There weren’t many other options for sitting in the small room—had the room always felt quite so small?—other than the plush carpet beneath the couch, but Grayson didn’t think they would get off to a very good start if he sat on the couch while Elijah sat on the floor, at his feet. If, though, for some reason he was more comfortable on the floor, Grayson could offer to sit down there with him, keeping enough space to—

Elijah’s weight sank into the cushion on the far side, leaving one space between them and putting Grayson’s internal spiral to rest.

Get it together. Keep it together.

“Thank you both for being here today,” Dr. Collins said, taking his seat once more. “I understand this year has not been an easy road, and I can only imagine that agreeing to meet in this setting was not a decision either of you took lightly. I want to remind you that the two of you are in charge of what happens inside this room. Anything you say will be strictly confidential.”

The doctor looked to Elijah, and Grayson could see the way he shifted under the attention in his periphery.

“Elijah, I understand that you’ve been seeing someone on your own. I will not share anything from this session with your doctor without your explicit request.”

“Okay.” Elijah’s voice cracked on the first attempt, so he repeated it, slightly stronger.

“Okay,” Dr. Collins echoed with a smile. “Let’s begin.”

TBC

****

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