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marvelwitchergilmore · 5 months ago

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First Name Basis

Summary: Aaron Hotchner x Fe!Reader -> You and Hotch have never been on First Name Basis, but as the years go on, thing begin to change.

Disclaimer: Mentions and descriptions of blood, bombs, life being in danger, slight spoilers for S4-Ep3 (Minimal Loss - Reader takes Emily's place) (But that isn't the whole fic). BAU found-family fluff, romantic fluff, soft fluff, happy ending. Not Proof Read.

You were on a first name basis with everyone. Everyone save from Hotch.

Of course, he would introduce you with your first name when it came to meeting police departments or official personnel but to anyone else, specifically yourself, he always used your last name.

And you did the same with him. Like the rest of them.

It was always “Sir,” or “Hotch,”.

Never Aaron.

However, this all changed after a case in Colorado.

Yourself and Reid had gone undercover as Child Protection Agents. And it wasn’t long until things went wrong. An unknown police raid meant everyone was taken underground. And a media segment revealed that someone was FBI.

Between yourself and Spencer, you took the rapt. You weren’t willing to watch him get shot and die.

On the other side of the planted bug, the team could hear everything.

And it was killing Hotch.

And Rossi could see it.

They all could.

His own mind was fighting against listening because he had to, and not because you were being beaten.

A small grunt left you as you were thrown into something, and then a crash came. A mirror most likely. More grunts and one scream before…nothing.

It was the first time in a long time his emotions had started pushing to the surface.

Every day, he had to become an emotionless yet empathetic profiler. But at that moment…he didn’t know what he was. He was a profiler, a friend, a…he didn’t know what he was.

“Y/n…”

His voice was barely audible. A hair above a whisper.

But Rossi saw it.

Even if Aaron didn’t know it yet, Rossi knew.

Then you spoke.

“I can take it.”

There were more sounds of fighting before another.

“I can take it.”

“She’s antagonising him!” Derek shouted.

“No, she’s not.”

“She’s talking to us.” Hotch told them both. “She’s telling us not to come in.”

And he didn’t.

It was killing him not to do so, but he didn’t.

But the moment he got a chance, writing the time of “3 am” on the takeaway box, he wouldn’t be turning back.

When he finally saw you, a wave of relief washed over him. And the same happened for you, too.

Once you both caught clear sight of one another, you ran towards him.

He could see the dried blood on your face, partly washed away. And your eye was bruised. And your arms were cut up, most likely from the mirror that had broken.

But you were alive.

Finally reaching him, you hugged him. And he hugged you.

“Are you okay?”

You nodded, “I will be. Where’s Morgan and Reid?”

“They’re inside-”

The place blew up.

Hotch covered you a little, both of you feeling the aftershock of the bomb. The hand you kept on his shoulder pulled him down a little with you. But after you made sure the other was alive, you both turned back to the building. And you started walking closer to it.

“Morgan! Reid!”

They stood up.

“Oh, thank god.”

Making your way up the stairs, you met a coughing Morgan and Reid before Reid finally stood tall and you hugged him.

After that case, everything seemingly went back to normal.

Until another case came, only a few months later.

A bomb had been planted in a building. And, when tracking the Unsub into another one, yourself and Hotch had found yourselves stuck.

The Unsub held a trigger, and by the looks of it, he was wearing one.

But you couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling in your stomach.

Something wasn’t right.

“So, what happens next? You blow yourself up? What happened to “getting all the glory”? That’s what you said, isn’t it? In your message. It was all about the glory.”

Yourself and Hotch took another step forward, but then he unzipped his jacket.

“Another step and I take my finger off the trigger.” He warned.

Neither of you moved, but your gaze did switch.

The bomb the Unsub was wearing wasn’t one you recognised. It wasn’t his type.

By the time SWAT and Bomb Disposal met you at the top of the building, it wasn’t long before he just…gave up.

“He took hostages from the last site.”

“But we found them all.”

Hotch nodded in agreement. “I still want to do a sweep just in case.”

“I’ll come with you.”

By the time you both reached the fourth floor, you still couldn’t shake the feeling.

And just as Hotch reached a small storage unit, it clicked.

“It was a fake.”

“What?”

“The bomb, around his chest. It’s a fake.”

“Why fake a bomb and then give yourself up?”

Then it clicked with the both of you.

“How many agents are in this building?”

“Enough to keep this case in the news for the next fifty years.”

“We need to clear the building now.”

By the time you both reached the floor, calling for every agent to clear the building, someone came and found Hotch.

“We found his briefcase. You’re gonna want to see this.”

Walking over, both yourself and Aaron peered inside. There were plans, memos, and enough cash to give him a whole new life in any country he could possibly want.

“Get all of this processed as soon as you can.”

And Hotch walked away.

But you stayed.

However, the longer you stayed, the bigger that gnawing feeling in your stomach grew again.

And once you finally lifted a pile of cash, you saw it.

A watch with a timer.

“Morgan! Clear the area, now!”

People started running but when you did so, Hotch was still in his place.

“Aaron!”

Grabbing his arm on your way past, you both started running. And whether it was luck, or fate or…whatever it was. Yourself and Aaron managed to clear the site fast enough so as to not die from the explosion.

You both were propelled forward, and landed, rolling onto the ground. And for a few moments, were stunned from the blast.

“Are you okay?”

You nodded, managing to catch your breath. “I’m fine. Are you?”

“I think so.”

Once you were able to open your eyes, you sat back on your heels and took a look at Hotch. He was sitting in a similar position to you, except he was bleeding.

You pushed yourself closer to him, “Jesus, Hotch. You’re bleeding.”

Once you touched it, he seemed to feel it and tried to move his head away from your hand, but you pulled him back.

“Don’t move.”

Through your wire, you called for a medic.

“Y/l/n, I’m fine.”

“Hotch, you’re bleeding. You’re not fine.”

“So are you.”

You shook your head and turned away for a moment, pulling out your pocket knife and cutting the torn piece of your t-shirt.

“Wait.”

Hotch took the cloth from your hands before tearing it into two and handing you a piece back, but keeping one for himself.

Just as you pressed the cloth to his head, he did the same for your cut. There wasn’t much blood coming from your head, so once he knew that had slowed at least, he dabbed at the wound on your arm before tying the piece tight around your arm.

Once the medics finally reached you both, you told them what injuries Hotch had and might have.

“Check her over, too. She’s got a cut on her head. She could have a concussion.”

“I don’t have a concussion.”

The medic had helped you up from the floor and when they did so, you felt a little dizzy.

Hotch didn’t even have to say anything.

“Shut up.”

Thankfully, the next time either of you talked on a first name basis was when on a short vacation.

Considering the fact that no-one of the team was due to go on holiday or drive out of state for at least three more days, Penelope Garcia took it upon herself to plan a small getaway for the entire team that meant even if they got called back (as you all usually would), you would have, at least, a break away.

So, on a random Friday morning, you all drove to the beach.

And it was fun, to say the least.

By the time you arrived, you parked next to Will’s car. Both himself and JJ were getting Henry ready along with the beach bags and diaper bags. From what you could tell, everyone else was already on the beach.

“Need some help?”

JJ nodded. “That would be great.”

“Hi, Henry. Is this his first trip to the beach?”

JJ smiled and nodded. “It is.”

“We did try and take him a few weeks ago but then he got a fever.” Will told you.

“Well, it’ll all be worth it.”

Will handed you a couple of the bags whilst he carried the rest and JJ carried Henry, along with her beach bag, onto the beach.

The minute you spotted Morgan flirting with a group of women a few feet from the water, you spotted Jack playing in the sand with Emily and Penelope. Spencer was trying to avoid the sun and Hotch was finishing setting up the area with a couple of windbreakers and chairs, with Rossi.

And once you, JJ and Will arrived; the two dads continued setting up with the addition of sun parasols.

It wasn’t long before Jack had come running up to get his dad and yourself to join him. JJ handed you Henry for a moment whilst she dug through the diaper bag to find the fruit pouches she had brought with her.

From behind you, Aaron set up another parasol giving both yourself and Henry shade.

“I’ve put Henry’s fruit pouches in the cooler. Ready to go?”

Lifting her son from your arms, JJ carried Henry down to the water whilst Will grabbed his camera. And yourself and Aaron joined Jack, Emily and Penelope.

By the end of the day, you had all swam in the water, built sandcastles, sunbathed, read and even been chased by Morgan when he realised yourself. Reid and Hotch had been hustling him in a game of football.

And at some point after all of that, you must have fallen asleep because you woke up to someone lightly shaking your shoulder.

“Y/n, hey, y/n…”

As you slowly came around, you realised it was Hotch.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything is fine.”

It was odd.

His voice was soft. It was rare, if slightly unbelievable, that Hotch showed this side of him. The one he had for Jack. The one he had for those he held close to his heart.

“The others went for some food, they should be back soon. Garcia said she knew your order. Pizza with fries and a side of pickles.”

“That’s my girl.” You said with a sleepy smile.

“Pickles? With Pizza? Really?”

“Hey, don’t knock it till you try it.”

Then he laughed. “Okay, I won’t.”

You smiled at his laughter. And then you thought. In all the years you knew him, you couldn’t think of a time where you had heard him laugh. Sure, you’d seen him smile a little over the years. But before The Beach…you had never heard him laugh.

And it was like music to your ears.

Unknown, at first, but then very quickly became your favourite song.

By the time the others got back, Jack was excited you were awake and ran over to you, jumping towards you and you fell back with him in your arms.

Aaron laughed again, “Jack, let Y/n breathe.”

“Penelope got you pickles.”

“Extra pickles.” She said as she handed you the pizza box and takeaway tub with fries and pickles.

“Have I ever told you you’re a saint?”

“Yes,” she smiled. “But I don’t mind hearing it again.”

“Well you are a Saint, Penelope Garcia.”

“She has to be, for buying you pickles with pizza.” Morgan added.

The rest of the evening passed with stories, smiles and even more laughter.

It was also after that day you noticed when Hotch called you by your name. It hadn’t clicked with you right away, when he woke you up. But when you fell asleep in the round table room after more than 30 hours of work, you noticed it more.

Usually, whenever you fell asleep when case hours ran over, you would be jolted awake by someone (typically Hotch) calling your last name.

But since The Beach, you were woken up with a soft touch to your arm, shaking you lightly, before he said your first name.

“Go home, get some rest.”

“No, it’s fine.”

“No, it’s not.”

You grumbled, sitting up. “By the time I get home, I’ll be on my way back.”

Hotch sighed. “Fine. But you can use the sofa in my office. It’s better than your desk.”

“Thanks, Hotch.”

However, a few months later, something else changed.

A case had been brought into the roundtable room, and everyone was there. Except for you.

“Not like Y/l/n to be late.” Rossi said, pulling out his chair.

“Try her again.” Hotch told Garcia.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Maybe she’s just catching up on sleep.” JJ offered.

“Why would she be catching up on sleep? We all landed back here two nights ago.”

“Is she dating?” Morgan asked.

Hotch looked up.

“No, but her neighbours are.” JJ told them.

“Ooh, that’s gotta be tough.” Prentiss said. “Back in college, I had a roommate the same. Many sleepless nights. That was when I bought my first pair of noise cancelling headphones.”

Garcia called you three more times.

“We’ll continue with the case,” Hotch told everyone. “We can catch her up when she wakes up.”

Except two hours later, you still hadn’t picked up.

And then Hotch got a phone call.

“Is everything okay?”

“I’m going to find Y/n,” Hotch told Rossi as he passed him.

“Do you know where she is?”

“A good idea.”

“I’ll come with you.”

After thirty minutes, and eventually passing the turn for your apartment complex, Rossi spoke up.

“Her apartment-”

“I know, but she won’t be there.”

“Then where is she?”

“She has a second home.”

Rossi didn’t say anything but he couldn’t help but notice that Aaron knew the way, without having to put anything into the GPS.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

Hotch sighed a little. Part of him didn’t want to, because he didn’t know if you would want anyone to know. But he’d gone this long without telling Rossi.

“There was a crash this morning. Don’t worry, she wasn’t hurt. But one of her friends was. They’re okay, too. They’re being kept in the hospital for a few days but were more worried about Y/n’s reaction.”

“How did she react?”

“She didn’t.”

“Well, that’s not good.”

Pulling up outside of your home, Aaron stepped out and rushed towards the door, finding the spare key and letting himself in. The doorbell camera would have let you know they were there.

And then he called your name.

Rossi took in the structure and the decoration of your home. He didn’t know you owned a property outside of your apartment, but by the looks of it, you spent more time outside of work here than you did at your apartment.

There were photos of yourself with your friends, as well as the team. It was tidy, and the place smelt of blueberries and cinnamon.

Turning around the bottom of the stairs, Aaron took them two at a time before reaching the top and when he did, Rossi could see him standing on the landing, as well as stall when you called back.

“Aaron?”

Coming from out of your room, you walked down the hall and Rossi watched as Aaron’s demeanour changed. In the car, he had been tense. In fact, he had been tense since you hadn’t walked into the office.

But standing at the top of the stairs, hearing your voice as well as seeing you, he relaxed.

And his voice became softer.

“Hey,”

You walked towards him and he hugged you instantly.

“How did you find me?”

“The hospital called. The nurse said Abby was worried about you. Are you okay?”

Aaron moved back a little to examine your face. You had been crying. Your eyes were a little puffy and your cheeks were tear-stained.

With his thumb, he wiped away the streaks and you melted into his touch for a second.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Are you?”

You nodded, “I just…it scared me, you know?”

Aaron nodded. “What do you need?”

“A hug?”

A light smile graced his lips for a moment. “I can do that.”

And he embraced you, tightly. Securely.

Rossi smiled for a moment before quietly walking away to snoop through your house. And by the time you both walked downstairs, you hand in Aaron’s, Rossi was in the kitchen.

“Next time Penelope tries to arrange a dinner party, we’re holding it here.”

“So long as you cook.”

“But I don’t see any-”

You and Aaron gave each other a knowing look before you moved and opened up two cabinet doors. It contained three different spice racks, a selection of dry herbs and all standard ingredients to make any one of Rossi’s signature sauces.

He’d given you enough recipes over the years (not that you didn’t have to work to get them – there had been so many coffee runs) that you made sure you always had the main ingredients needed, and you could always pick up fresh ones on your way home.

“You’re not the best snooper.”

“I’m a profiler. Not a detective.”

“You’re still an FBI Agent.” Aaron added, backing you up.

“So, sue me.”

After that case, nothing else changed.

Both yourself and Aaron remained on a first name basis. Especially considering that two years later, you and Aaron started to share the same last name.

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ariaste · 2 months ago

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If you could sit the vampire polycule/diabolicule down in a row on a sofa to watch one (1) movie with the intent of causing the maximum amount of psychic damage and/or drama, what movie would you pick for them? I'll go first: Moulin Rouge. Hear me out.

Louis is upset because he's a pretentious snob (affectionate) when it comes to Art and he's complaining that it's just a ripoff of the opera La Traviata. He's correct but he doesn't need to say it, he is allergic to camp and he's harshing everyone's vibes with his barely-under-his-breath scoffing.

Daniel is ruefully identifying way too heavily with Ewan McGregor's character. Daniel is sitting here with his mouth firmly shut like, "Nobody call me out for being exactly Like That when I was 20, nobody look at me, nobody read my mind, nobody make eye contact with me, god this is cringe. Look, he's even got the drug use going on." (This is show!canon that we're talking about so thankfully Daniel doesn't have to also cope with the "AND he's embarrassingly into a hot redheaded theater nerd, god just kill me now, nobody Perceive me please" vector of embarrassment). Daniel is also not having a good time with the creepy older men skeeving on this theater nerd sex worker once he thinks the words "Hm, Marius vibes"

Daniel and Louis also feeling kind of mutually overstimulated from how their heightened vampire super-senses are reacting to all of the Colors and Flashing Lights and Whippy Camera Movements etc. They have matching headaches and are feeling slightly nauseated.

Everyone is feeling some degree of slightly triggered, emotionally, about either Paris In General (Daniel), or Niche-Theater Life In Paris (Armand, Louis, Lestat). Big mixed feelings also about tuberculosis, a disease that makes people cough up blood.

Armand and Lestat are profoundly NOT allergic to camp, unlike some people on this wretched sofa. Armand and Lestat cannot be overstimulated by Colors/Flashing Lights/Whippy Camera Movements/etc, bc their vampire neurodivergence goes in the opposite direction. They have not blinked or moved in 90 minutes except to breathlessly clutch each other's hands. Lestat is muttering feverishly under his breath like "armand. armand. armand. is it maybe time for us to found another theater together, do you think???? armand??? what if we just. are you doing anything after this. how much cash do you have on hand right now." his ADHD hyperfixation on a new-old hobby is going BUCK WILD. He has to recreate this except EVEN MORE. Armand is watching Satine Suddenly Die At The End, just like how in all of his silly little plays someone also Suddenly Dies At The End, and he is deciding that this is maybe god's perfect movie. This is the greatest film either of them has ever seen. They think this is Cinema.

Armand and Lestat will have never agreed with each other for so many consecutive minutes as they will when the credits roll and Louis starts monologuing about how much it sucks to the point of VAST OFFENSE AND HURT FEELINGS on Armand and Lestat's part

the whole mess devolves into a screaming fight between the three of them while Daniel both refuses to referee and also won't stop making bitchy comments once he twigs to the fact that nobody else seems to have noticed that he was Going Through Some Cringe Nostalgia. The night is ruined, no one is happy, Louis takes Lestat floating the idea of founding a new theater with Armand since "you clearly don't understand art, LOUIS" as one of Lestat's top five greatest betrayals. Armand is not giving a straight answer about whether he is on board with the theater idea or not, which upsets everyone equally, unlike if he had said yes or no clearly and at least gotten one ally locked down. Louis appeals to Daniel to oppose the theater idea; Daniel does a bad job of doing so because he chronically believes that maybe having some hobbies will Make Armand Worse, which is a thing he's into sexually. Everyone goes to bed mad. The passive-aggression for the next week could be cut with a knife.

#interview with the vampire #loustat #devil's minion #vampire polycule #iwtv

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icarryitin · 5 months ago

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Episode 24: Trade Deal

spencer reid/gn!reader

i started this bc i was ill and feeling sorry for myself and it turned into a very not to me not if it’s you kind of vibe, mostly bc i frankensteined a couple of my favourite translations of That Scene so they could have their own version🥰🥰

series masterlist

word count: 1.5k // warnings: reader has a cold and all the grossness that comes with it, spencer is so Cute™️ it causes me physical pain

summary: In which Spencer Reid, known germaphobe, pretends he doesn’t know exactly how many pathogens have made their home in your sinuses.

It starts with a scratchy throat on a Tuesday morning.

You don’t think much of it, blame it on seasonal allergies, knock back a multivitamin - you’re not about to be bested by a cough of all things. That is, until it gets to Friday afternoon. You’re trying, you really are. Your immune system has other plans.

“You stay right there, Patient Zero.”

Rossi’s comment would be funny if you didn’t think that laughing might trigger a coughing fit that could very well be the end of you, right there in the doorway of Hotch’s office. That’d be one hell of an epitaph - too stubborn to take a sick day, choked to death in boss’s office. Hotch, at least, already seems to know why you’re hovering.

“I’m-“

“Going home, I hope.” He interrupts you with all the fondness of a concerned father. You don’t have the energy to argue, or to hold up an unaffected front. The men standing by the window soften a little as they watch you visibly deflate. Dave promises to send you his Nonna’s minestrone recipe, there’s nothing it can’t cure; right now, though, you’re only thinking about your bed.

The well wishes follow you through the bullpen, old wives tales and family cures that have never failed. JJ tells you to sweeten your tea with honey, Derek swears that a hot water bottle on your back will work magic. Even Emily pipes up from behind her germ shield, the folder held across her face so you can only see her eyes, and tells you to take a hot shower first thing in the morning - the steam will clear you out for the day. There’s a chorus of agreement, or disagreement you’re not sure. It’s a struggle to hear much over the cotton wool in your ears.

“We’ll see, with any luck I’ll die in my sleep. Love you!” You sniffle as you back out of the office, feeling all kinds of sorry for yourself, and determined to make it as far as you can without touching anything. Lest you actually start the next plague.

Spencer watches you go, shuffling backwards out of the office and turning towards the elevators. He’d elected not to add his own suggestions to the plethora of options supplied by the rest of the team. Unable to focus on much beyond just how tired you look. You’ve been fighting this thing all week, he’d passed over his own supply of hand sanitiser only that morning when you ran out. Ultimately, you put up a good fight, but there’s no cure for a virus. It just has to run its course. Just like his own feelings.

Okay, maybe he shouldn’t be comparing a virus to whatever it is he feels for you. Has felt, will feel - if there’s an end to this tunnel, he can’t see it yet.

“What about you, Spence?”

JJ’s voice pulls him from his thoughts before he can start spiralling down that particular hole. It takes him a moment to recall what they’d been chattering about before your long overdue exit - drinks, right. Yeah, that’s not happening.

“I’m busy, actually.” He shrugs, content to miss out on one night in favour of the plan currently coming to fruition in his mind. They won’t miss him too much.

“Busy? You weren’t busy when we talked about it last week.” Emily makes no effort to conceal her surprise. To be fair to them, it’s not like him to blow them off. There’s just something that’s come up, something decidedly you shaped, that’s far more important.

“Yeah, I forgot. Sorry.”

Spencer doesn’t miss the look that JJ and Emily share, he doesn’t miss the eyebrow that Derek raises in his direction. He simply chooses to ignore them.

At least the walk to your apartment is short, there’s still heat leeching from the plastic bag around Spencer’s wrist as he fumbles with his keys. You’d given him a bright pink key cap, so he’d know which one was yours, as if he wouldn’t know anyway. Eidetic or not, that’s one he would have committed to memory. The excuse had been because he was helping you out whilst you were down an arm, takedown gone wrong, you’d dislocated your shoulder. And then you’d insisted he keep it, because someone should have your spare key, and he’s the least likely of the lot of you to lose it.

He thinks you might be asleep at first, open plan living area lit only by a salt lamp and a set of fairy lights draped over your kitchen window, it’s cosy. And then you appear in the bedroom doorway, wrapped in a jewel toned blanket. The low light is forgiving, but Spencer would be able to spot the bags under your eyes from a mile away. Without his glasses.

“I brought noodles.” He says as he turns back to set the steaming bag on your kitchen counter.

“I’m so gross right now.” As if to demonstrate your point, another cough racks your body. You just about manage to catch it under the swathes of blanket clutched in your fingers, but at least he can’t claim you’re not truly disgusting in this moment.

“I don’t mind.”

You’re so set on denying him entry that you don’t even really register what he said - Spencer Reid doesn’t mind that you’re ill. He doesn’t mind. A younger, healthier version of you would swoon. You might anyway, although that’s probably the vertigo talking.

“You’ll get sick.” Your rebuttal is weak, resolve crumbling. Warm noodles do sound pretty good right now.

“Will you let me help you, please?” It’s the firmest he’s ever been with you. No room for argument, doctor’s orders. So you have to relent. Not that you have much of a choice, he’s already pottering about in your kitchen in search of bowls. As if he doesn’t remember where they are.

“Did you get me a number three?” Your voice is brighter than he’s heard it all week.

“With extra toppings, of course.”

And those extra toppings go down a treat, of course they do.

Spencer watches you carefully as you eat - usually he’d be a little more subtle about it, but there’s not a lot that could pull your attention away from the bowl in your hands. You’re cross legged on the couch, blanket bunched around your middle, happy as a clam. Something his mother would say. He wonders what else she might say, what she might think about the abandonment of his germaphobia. Convenient, probably. Diana would say it with a raised eyebrow and a sly smile, the one that’s just for him. She has always liked you.

He promises he’ll be back tomorrow, once dishes are washed and leftovers are tucked neatly in your fridge, to make sure you get that hot shower Emily mentioned. The steam will definitely help, he’s read about it. Arguing with him would be pointless. You don’t have the energy, he’d only show up anyway, and it’s kind of nice to feel looked after. Spencer’s never failed to make you feel like that. You’re far too delirious to start thinking about that, not while he’s still standing in front of you at least. So you let him tuck you into bed, let him leave a glass of water on the table, let him dote. Pretending is a comfort when you feel as awful as you do. You’re already drifting off before he’s even ready to leave, content enough in your bed with the sound of him in the other room. Just, tinkering.

The sound of your front door opening rouses you the next morning, just about. Just enough to raise your head from your pillow and witness the sorry sight in your bedroom doorway.

Spencer’s trying - key word, trying - to suppress his sniffles, but the red rimmed eyes and tissue clutched in his fist give him away. It’s impossible to keep the sad little smile off of your face.

“Oh no.” You reach out a tired arm to pat the space beside you. There’s enough room for the two of you in amongst the blankets, and Spencer’s so far gone that he doesn’t even argue. His shoes and bag find a home at the foot of your bed as he lets himself collapse into the nest you’ve built. Tension leeches out of his body the moment he hits the mattress.

You have to lean across him to get your phone, right arm outstretched over his back - you can feel the heat rising off of him through his sweater and yours. Fever, that’s day two. Which means he spent yesterday evening taking care of you whilst he began to feel worse and worse. Softie.

“Egg or no egg?”

There’s an affirmative grunt from where his face is buried in your blankets. Egg it is, then. You dial the number mostly from memory, elbow still resting on his shoulder blade when you put the phone to your ear. You feel a little better than you did, but dragging yourself to the front door is still probably all you’ll be capable of today. At least you won’t be suffering alone. The line rings for a moment, then clicks, and a grainy hello sounds from the other side.

“Hi, can I place a breakfast order for delivery, please?”

i’m stuck on which chapter to work on next, do we want angst or yearning or fun flirty activities????🧡

#the canyouniverse #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #criminal minds #lou writes

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mlmxreader · 15 days ago

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Feverish | Art the Clown x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ Or even a fic of him getting sick after being out in the snow with the Santa costume in Terrifier 3?

I can imagine him curled up on the reader’s couch, blanket over his lap whilst he’s pouting. And him silently sneezing into a handkerchief (despite him having to be told multiple times to cover his nose and finally doing so)

And the reader putting a thermometer in his mouth to take his temperature.. oh my god ❞

: ̗̀➛ Art comes to you when he's at his very lowest, but thankfully, you're tolerant of him enough to put up with it.

trigger warnings : ̗̀➛ mentions of gore, swearing, depictions of illness, mentions of murder

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

Art crashed onto your sofa, appearing to sigh heavily although no noise left him in the slightest as he reached to rub his nose; you frowned upon noticing him. Unsure of whether or not demons could even get sick, but judging by his demeanour, he was weak enough to pick something up. His suit was covered in blood, and his big black bin bag was partially torn; you knew what you needed to do.

With careful hands, you tugged at the front of his costume, and he understood; he waited for you to turn around before he stripped himself and allowed you to carry away the bloodstained and soaked costume. Clearly, the snow had gotten to him as well, as the costume was damp enough to quickly drip onto the light coloured laminate.

You didn't mind much, though, shoving it into the washing machine and taking no notice of the bits of blood and sinew attached to the torso half on the front and the ends of his sleeves. He had come home with worse before.

You never did understand why Art was always so... placid with you, though. Sure, he scared you every morning by honking that fucking horn in your face, but he never attempted to hurt you. Unless the time he nearly burned down the kitchen trying to make toast counted, but you doubted it.

You didn't think about it much anymore, though; but you were quick to grab a hoodie and some jogging bottoms that you kept behind for when you had to clean his clothes. You lugged them back to the sofa, and tapped him on the shoulder so he could get changed.

Again, you turned around until he was decent, and when you finally looked at him, you smiled.

"So, where'd you get the Father Christmas costume from?"

Art shrugged, and flapped his hands around to mimic what he had done, standing up but still hunched over slightly; his mouth extended and open wide in an overexaggerated smile before he slapped his hands on his stomach and silently laughed.

His lips curled like he was in pain, and he bent his head forward, sneezing; you grimaced as snot and phlegm landed on your floor, and you tutted.

"Sneeze into your fucking hands!" You told him loudly, huffing and grabbing some tissue to clean it up.

You never raised your voice at Art, let alone swore at him, and he did pout a bit before he did it again; more phlegm and sticky snot splattering onto your floors.

You glared at him, shaking your head; you huffed, pulling out a handkerchief from your pocket and shoving it into his hands.

"Use that, for fuck's sake."

He started to pout and flap his hands again, childishly acting up in protest of being asked to show basic manners.

But then he stopped, doubling over and coughing into his hands; his eyes squeezed silently shut as he appeared to strain in what you only assumed was a sneeze. You frowned, pushing him back down onto the sofa and covering him with your old fluffy Batman blanket. You pressed your hand against his forehead.

He usually felt a bit warmer than the average person, but this time, you could feel the sweat beading and cascading down his forehead. Leaving streaks within his white makeup. You grimaced again and shook your head, disappearing quickly and coming back with a thermometer.

"Open your mouth," you told him, but he shook his head. "Art. I need to know how high your fever is."

He pouted at you, raising his brows to try and give you the puppy dog eyes; hoping that your concern could be easily melted away.

"Art," you grumbled, glaring at him sternly. He relented, and opened his mouth for long enough that you could get the thermometer in there. "Do not bite it. That one was expensive."

He chewed it slightly, letting the glass clink against his teeth until you pulled it from his mouth and looked; he was definitely running hotter than you had ever seen.

"You stay here," you told him. "I'm gonna get you some painkillers."

He nodded, almost excitedly, and watched you disappear. Again, he slapped his hands over his mouth, coughing against his palms. The only noise he made was the shuffling of the blanket once he settled down and turned onto his side, feeling sorry for himself.

But you weren't gone for long, and allowed him to cling to your wrist as you popped the tablets in his mouth and helped him to wash them down with a small glass of water.

"Your bin bag," you started, "do you want me to get a new one?"

He nodded again, this time excited as he pointed over to it; but his usual rapid and frantic pointing wasn't present, and you knew that that meant he was definitely not himself this time.

You were quick to grab the bin liners from the shed, the extra large ones, and you used three to make sure that none of his tools could poke through; you were actually quite surprised, really, as Art usually slapped your hand away whenever you tried to touch it. But he knew he was weak, and he knew that you were his only ally left.

Maybe ally wasn't the right word.

He did, in his own way, care about you; like a wild animal, he would come and go as if he owned the place and didn't care if he trudged in a boat load of blood and bone.

You learned pretty early on not to tell him about people who annoyed or wronged you - not unless you wanted him to send you a video of him bashing their fucking head in against a window or stamping on their head and peeling off their face.

You learned quite quickly not to do that.

He was, in his own way, protective. He didn't allow the little pale girl or Victoria inside your house, didn't even let them know what you looked like. You could still remember the former trying to look at you while Art closed every window and door and curtain to make sure she didn't.

You didn't even ask why, you didn't want to know.

Slowly, Art reached out his arms, and you knew what he was asking for; you lifted the blanket, and squished yourself against his side as he tapped his fingers on your arm like he usually did.

You often fell asleep with him like that, only to be woken up by him shaking you to make sure you were still alive. The worst was when you were snoring and he spilled water on your face.

It made you laugh so much, mostly because you didn't know what the fuck he was thinking.

But you loved that about him; he could always make you laugh, even though if anyone else so much as tried it, you would have kicked them out and told them to never contact you again.

He jerked suddenly, his body spasming as he silently sneezed against your shoulder; you felt the puff of air, and frowned.

He really was in bad shape, and you wished you knew how the fuck he caught it.

You silently promised that you would look after him until he was better; you could take the time off of work just to make sure he didn't get into too much trouble, and you could always ask your friends to pick up some books from the library to see if there were any on sickness in demonic clowns.

So, you relaxed into his arms, and you gently grabbed his hand, hoping that it would at least make him feel better.

hi! thank you so much for reading! if you enjoyed this fic, then please spare me just a bit more of your time! Sara and her twin sister Huda are both 12 year old Gazans, and need to relocate so that Sara can access medical care and they can both survive the genocide; so far, they've gotten $14,802 of their $25,000 goal, so if you could spread their link or donate then you could really be saving childrens lives!

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months ago

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Long Snake Moan 8

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Loki

Summary: your boss gives you a task you’re not prepared for.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Your clothes hang off of your body, a slake of sweat running down your thighs and stomach. You’re not sure how you’ve ended up this way, legs curled around Loki as he pins you to the wall.

The office lights blaring outside your eyelids. His breath plumes into your scalp as he presses his nose into your hair. You tilt your hips as your overwrought nerves cluster and ping off each other.

Another orgasm swells in the ebb and flow of pleasure. Minutes, hours, days, you don’t know how long you’ve been at it.

It’s another of his tricks. The way he uses your body against your mind. How he can twist your desire like a cage around your reticence.

“Mm, darling,” he slithers, “shall we go home?”

He doesn’t stop his steady thrust as he speaks, a hand under your ass and the other on the back of your neck. He dips his head down to nib at your ear lobe.

“Home?” You murmur dumbly. What does he mean?

“As man and wife...” he puffs along your throat, “yes, darling, I think it’s time.”

You push your head back as his lips tease your skin. You hate how he makes your insides rend. You clutch his shoulder and whine. You squeeze him tighter with your legs, hooking your feet together to keep him locked in.

“A little more,” you rasp to your own horror.

He snickers, “I never said we’d stop.”

Confounded by his words, you flick your eyes open and a sudden flash of green paints your world. You feel a lurch around you. It’s as if you’re plummeting for that split second, then the world still again.

Loki falls onto you. A silky sheet tickles your back beneath the crumpled fabric of your loose blouse, hanging at your elbows. Your shorn skirt fans out under your legs as Loki carries his motion, not missing a beat as the walls around you appear anew.

Your head lolls as you take in your new surroundings. Behind the green tint, there’s something family. You can’t think. You don’t care where you are, you just care about that spiralling coil inside of you. You clasp onto Loki’s neck and sink your nails in, pushing your pelvis up to take him in.

You cum again. Shaking violently as you’re battered in the eruption of hot and cold. Your arm splays limp and dangles over the edge of the sofa. Loki persists as you tremble helplessly.

As you wade in the afterglow, fighting the tiding of yet another orgasm, your eyes flit around. This... this is your apartment. How--

You slap his shoulder and cough, “Loki, stop--”

“Darling, I’m nearly--”

“I don’t care, get--”

He rams into you and your voice shrivels up. You drop your head down and gnash your teeth. He ruts into you furiously as he snakes his hand up to cover your mouth. He pumps into you as he pants against your cheek, muttering a flow of sultry delight.

“Mmm, darling, just you try to get away,” he snarls, “I feel you clinging to me. You want me, hmm?” His taunts peter out into thick grunts and groans and he sinks his head down to growl against the cushions.

A warmth blooms in you as he spasms and pushes himself into his limit. You twitch at the fullness and claw at his back. Fuck. As much as you hate that he’s right, he is. You don’t think you could make him get off.

He finally stills but that urgent need does not. It’s a low buzz in your pelvis but you feel it pulsing, waiting to thrum again. You blink and take in what you can of your apartment.

Your plain white curtains are now green satin, around a nightscape that assure you of hours of torture. The walls, usually just as bland, are painted with gold and green trim and your eyes narrow on the snake ornament mounted on the wall with--

Huh!

You tap Loki’s shoulder frantically, “get off, get off.”

“Darling?” He mutters.

“I mean it, off.” You try to push him and groan at the effort as your walls squeeze him. “Ayeee.”

“Mmm, as you wish, dear wife.”

He slides out of you and a full-body shudder constricts your muscles. You grit through the emptiness and sit up. You nearly tumble off the edge of the couch at the dizziness. You look down at your ruined clothes, barely hanging onto your figure. Fuck.

You stand and squeak at the tenderness between your legs. You cup your pelvis and limp, your other hand on your forehead. You squint at the metal plate on the wall with the snake curved in an infinity sign. Between each loop, are a set of initials; his and yours.

You pause and glance around again. You look at Loki as he works at untangling his dark hair. He is entirely too comfortable right now.

“What did you to my place?” You accuse.

“Our place,” he insists and sends you a smirk.

You stare back at him. Your eyes threaten to stray down. His shoulders and chest are forged in muscle and as much as you didn’t ask for any of this, you can’t deny his boasting is mostly true. It makes you hate him more that he was honest in that sense after being so deceitful.

You press your hands to your temples and his own eyes drift down. A cold wash flows through you as he purrs and you drop your arms. You pull your blouse up your shoulders and do up the only remaining button. Then you wrap your torn skirt and wrap it around yourself..

“I need a shower,” you hobble across the floor.

“A wonderful idea, I shall join you.” He stands, shamelessly naked. You can’t pick out in the chaos of the afternoon when he stripped off every piece. Given how he can throw you through time and space, it probably isn’t much effort for him.

“That wasn’t an invitation,” you stay far from him as you walk faster. “I need space. I need to think.”

You hurry down the hall and shut the door before he can catch up. You growl at the sight of the bathroom. Green tile, green towels. He’s taken over more than your body but your entire life. You huff and shuffle forward to the shower and pull open the curtain. As you do, you shriek in horror.

He reaches up to grip the metal bar and smirks down at you, “dirty mortal,” he tuts. “Time to get washed up.”

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #series #drabble #long snake moan #marvel #mcu #thor #avengers

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reixtsu · 5 months ago

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Lantern In The Shadows

Multi character x gn reader! Gender of reader is not specified.

Characters listed in the end!

Genre: Angst (comfort in the end)

Warnings: hints is self harm, mentions blood, darkness, self hate

He was the light within your darkness, a comforting lantern that stood upon your domain of blood. He was such a breath of fresh air, someone that you could tolerate in the cursed world you resided in.

However there was one thing that bothered you about him-out of all of the people he could have been with, why did he choose you?

In your opinion, you felt that there were plenty of better partners that he could have been with, and definitely have a healthier relationship with. You felt bad because it seemed like you were a burden to him, as you were always feeling down in the dumps.

Besides, you as the darkness did not want to dull the light that you loved so dearly.

The thought hurt so much, that 'he was making a sacrifice for the world by being with you'. You wanted him to be happy, to not deal with you since you were convinced you were a problem, something that should be wiped from this world. The aching in your chest only felt deeper day by day as you found yourself growing more and more distant from him.

Until one day, the medications were not seeming to work anymore. The emotions ran to its climax, and the feelings of negativity deep inside became shadows that blurred your vision.

The pain, it was too much to handle.

It was suffocating, as though you were drowning a cold sea of your own blood. You reached for the knife, hoping to dull out the agoney, only to be stopped.

"My love, what are you doing?" His voice was god-sent, a comforting tone that brought you back to your senses ever so slightly.

He looked at you with such softness, gently holding your wrist to prevent you from hurting yourself.

Hot tears trickled down your face slowly, leaving traces of saltiness behind as you stared at the ground, ashamed to even look at his radiant gaze. "Don't look at me. I'm...so terrible."

His heart crumbled at your words, a wave of concern and protection washed over him as he took a step closer to you. "Don't say that. You're not terrible."

"But I am!" You cried out, tears falling nonstop as your throat felt dry from distress. "I don't deserve you. I'm such a terrible person, I made so many mistakes, and I never seem to do better!"

You coughed out the words that have been stabbing at your core every single day, but all you could see is blood everywhere, and your demons laughing at you, saying how much of a failure you were.

"I'm... a failure."

Warm arms wrapped around you and shielded you from the blood, demons, and darkness, suddenly making your cold, numb limbs feel lifelike again. Your lover kissed your forehead, a reminder that you were a treasure to worship.

"You are not a failure, or a terrible person," He whispered into your ear as he rubbed soothing shapes along your back. "You are such a great person with many great talents, values, and potencial. You might not see it yet, but everyone around you appreciates you. Take me as an example, I am so lucky to be with someone like you, who cares and takes care of me like no one else does. If you ever harm yourself, I will be devastated."

One sniff, then two sniffles. You tried your best to understand his words as he stared at you with love. You didn't really believe his words, but you knew that you could trust that he was being honest. The blood sea of darkness slowly seemed to fade away as the gentle light gave you a warm embrace.

In that moment, you knew you were loved, and you were worth his love.

- KAVEH, kazuha, Tignari, Aether, lyney, THOMA, neuvillette, JING YUAN, Gepard, dan heng, SIGMA, Atsushi, Odasaku (BSD), your faves

Author’s note: This story is meant to be comforting, so I know that I may give some people triggers, it sure gave me a small trigger as I wrote this, but I want everyone to know that people are willing to help those in need, no matter the form.

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ponderingmoonlight · 11 months ago

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How JJK men react to different insecurities part 1

Pairings: Nanami x reader with facial scars (reqested by @ynackerman9499) Megumi x fem! reader with small breasts (requested by anon) Sukuna x reader with acne (requested by @sanicsmut)

Word Count: 2,9k

Warnings: if you feel triggered by any of those insecurities please don't read it, I'm writing this out of an insecure pov - there's nothing wrong with having scars, acne or small breasts okay 🤍 Hope y'all enjoy 🤍

Kento Nanami - facial scars

You look at yourself in the mirror, eyes already starting to sting in tears. Why? Why did it have to end like this? You were never a pity person, never worried too much about looks. But this, this is something completely different.

“Hey darling, are you okay?”

“Yeah…”, you mumble in response, shaky hand mindlessly dropping your toothbrush into the sink.

You hate the way you look, the way those ugly scars are now a part of your face that will never fade away. Even though you are lucky you even survived, even though all that counts for you is that your precious boyfriend is still around, you’ve been avoiding looking at your own self ever since, covering yourself with makeup and masks even around him.

Him. Kento Nanami. The light of your life, the best boyfriend you could ask for. He told you over and over how much he loves you, that he couldn’t care less about a few scars decorating your face. But ever since that fateful day, you hid yourself very well from him – so well that he hasn’t seen your face ever since.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”, a gentle voice behind you mumbles.

Before you are able to react, he wraps his arms around you from behind and presses your body against his large frame. Frantically, you cover your face with your hands, your mask laying on top of the shelf on the other side of the room. Fuck, why didn’t you lock the door as usual? How could you be so careless? If he gets to see you like this, a jaw-dropping gorgeous man like Kento…

Would he still love you after seeing you like this when you aren’t even able to accept yourself?

“Please stop hiding from me, (y/n). I know the last weeks were rough, that you are insecure about the scars the fight left on your face. But please, just let me look at you without makeup or that mask, let me finally see the love of my life again. You are too precious to not be looked at.”

“I’m not”, you cough out.

Don’t cry, don’t make it more embarrassing than it already is. You have always been so strong, so independent. Crying over something ridiculous like this doesn’t suit you at all. You know yourself that it’s stupid, hiding from the love of your life because of a few scars. But every time you look into the mirror, you see nothing but a crippled version of what you used to be, a shadow of the person Kento fell in love with.

You couldn’t take it. Over and over, you imagined how he’d stare at you with disgust creeping up his face, turning away from you and never coming back. No wonder, Kento is a very attractive man after all, women hitting on him every time both of you go out. But you…One single glimpse in the mirror is enough to make you shiver, to let a single tear fall down your eye.

You are far away from being attractive by now.

“I hate seeing you like this and it truly breaks my heart that I’m not able to see your gorgeous face anymore-“

“Because it’s not”, you scream so suddenly that he flinches.

“I look nothing like the person you fell in love with years ago! I-I’m nothing but a shadow of myself, Kento! If you see me like this, you…”

You can’t put it into words, the thought alone cutting through your heart like a knife through warm butter. He’s better off without you and you know it, he’d definitely be able to pull a nice partner for himself, one that doesn’t look as worn down as yourself. But your heart simply can’t take it, just thinking about him with someone else feels like dying from inside.

You can’t lose him. Even if it’s selfish.

“(y/n).”

Gently, he positions himself in front of you and grabs your face. You want to run away, want to hide your ugly scars from his gaze. But instead, you just stare at him blankly, tears rolling down your cheeks like a waterfall by now. Is this the moment, the moment he realizes that he doesn’t want to be with you anymore?

“Just like I expected. You look as breath-taking as you did back then. These scars show nothing but how strong you are, that you are able to survive everything. Why would you ever suggest that I’d leave you because of something like this? You are my treasure, my everything, (y/n). Wouldn’t you love me if I had scars all over my face?”

“Of course I would”, you sniff immediately.

Kento smiles down at you softy, placing a kiss on every little scar on your face while you cry your eyes out.

How? How do you even deserve a caring man like him, how is he still able to look at you with nothing but affection in his eyes?

“See? Now, put away those masks and your makeup and be proud of what you did, okay? You saved the lives of our first years. Never forget how strong you are.”

“I love you more than anything else, Kento”, you mumble before pressing your face against his firm chest and getting lost in his scent.

“I love you too, darling. Maybe even more with those scars.”

Megumi Fushiguro - small breasts

You watch in sheer disinterest as a random girl from another Jujutsu sorcerer school positions herself in front of you, her cheeky grin almost eating you up alive.

“And who are you?”

“I’m (y/n) and a student here at Jujutsu High”, you remark dryly, not interested the slightest in her cheeky tone.

From the outside, she definitely looks like a dream girl. Tall but not too tall, blonde but not too blonde, doe eyes but not too innocent. And not to mention, the big pair of cherries that seems to stare right through your soul.

Even though you know that you are a decent looking girl, this one thing about your body always made you feel insecure. Every damn day of puberty, you hoped for a miracle overnight, that your breast might eventually start growing. But of course, that never happened.

Instead, you seem to be stuck with small boobs until the end of time. And while it definitely has its advantages here and there, it always makes you feel bad about yourself when you see girls like her, girls who are blessed with those natural curves.

“What kind of woman is your type?”, you suddenly hear from afar, ears perking up just the slightest.

“I don’t know.”

You swallow. That voice you know all to well, the voice of bored Megumi Fushiguro. Who is he talking to? And why on earth does your heart start racing, waiting desperately for his response?

“Are you more like an ass or a boob guy?”

“As long as they have an unshakable character, I won’t ask for more.”

“I saw the way you blinked when I said boobs.”

“There’s nothing wrong with admitting the truth”, Yuji interjects.

“Even if I do, what’s the purpose of all these stupid questions!?”

Your heart sinks. Ever since you’ve joined Jujutsu High, you always had both eyes set on that gorgeous boy. And even though it always seemed a little ridiculous, you thought he even liked you back from time to time. How stupid it was to think that a boy like him would want a girl like you, how stupid to even consider you are his type. Aren’t all boys nowadays into big boobs or big butts?

To be honest, you have neither.

“Why are you looking at me so sad now? Oh, are you jealous? Don’t worry, not everyone has the right to be blessed by mother nature. You’ll find someone who loves you the way you are, though – looking like a stick.”

Her words. Her venomous words shouldn’t hit you with full force, her words shouldn’t make tears sting in the corners of your eyes.

But oh they do.

With a swift motion, you get up from the stairs you were sitting on, running up as fast as you can to avoid curious looks. Damn, how was a bitch like her able to make you feel this miserable, why does it even bother you this much that you have a smaller chest?

Because everyone around you doesn’t have this issue. Because it seems like you’re the only one who isn’t blessed. Even Nobara and Maki have bigger boobs than you, even though Maki is well-trained. Why do you have to look this way? And why…

Why isn’t this what Megumi wants?

“Have you seen her? That looked like (y/n) running into that room”, Megumi mutters, looking after you in confusion.

Why would you run into a storage room so rapidly? You almost looked sad, as if something hurt you. He clenches his fist, not even caring about Yuji’s answer anymore. Out of all people, you are the one who shouldn’t feel bad a single moment, whoever did this to you will-“

“(y/n)”, he breathes out.

There you sit, back against the wall and your face in your hands, tears visibly running down your face. His heart almost stops. Megumi has never seen you cry, you were always the cool and composed one. What made you sit there, crying your eyes out?

“Don’t look at me”, you spit at him, turning away in an instant while hugging your knees.

Your words hit him with full force. Why did you sound so furious, did he do something wrong?

“But (y/n), I want to know what-“

“You’re not interested in my anyway, aren’t you?”

You know all too well how ridiculous and childish your words sound, but you can’t keep yourself together. All these months you roamed after him, thought you’d really stand a chance. And now…

And now Megumi Fushiguro isn’t into girls with small breasts?

“Why would you think that?”, he replies in an instant.

Instinctively, he rushes to your side, his mind racing. When did he ever give you the idea that he isn’t interested in you? Of course, he wasn’t exactly clear about it. After all, he himself was scared that you might not be interested in him and everything would turn out awkward after his confession. But did he really treat you this badly?

“Didn’t you say it yourself?”

The venomous tone of your voice makes him flinch. Even with your face puffy from all the tears and twisted in agony, you still look absolutely breath-taking. God, when did he mess up so bad? He can’t lose you like this, not when he doesn’t even know what happened-

“If you’re not attracted to girls with small breasts, I’m certainly not the one for you.”

Megumi has to blink a few times, mind trying to understand the words that just left your mouth. He, into girls with big breast? He, not into you? It doesn’t make any sense. You, the most wonderful girl walking on this earth? You with a body that makes his knees go weak in an instant? You, the girl he’s hopelessly in love with?

“What are you talking about? You are the only one I care about”, he clarifies before thinking twice.

Your heart skips a beat, eyes darting towards him in an instant. One look into his innocent orbs tells you that he isn’t just lying into your face, that he actually means what he just said. Does that mean…?

“B-but…Just a few moments ago, you said it yourself!”, you demand weakly.

“You mean my conversation with that guy from Kyoto? (y/n), I couldn’t care less about things like that. The only think that’s important for me is your character made of pure gold, okay? And also, I love your body the way it is. You look absolutely stunning. And your breast do too.”

In an instant, your cheeks turn bright red. Oh god, did he really just say that? Megumi wants to punch himself for his unfiltered words, for the fact that he clearly made you uncomfortable. Is there a way out of this misery?

“I-I mean…I think they look really good. You look really good. You don’t need big breasts for that. And I imagine small breast have their-“

“Please”, you interrupt him.

“I get it, but can we please stop talking about my boobs like that?”

Ryomen Sukuna - acne

“A pretty bad position you put yourself him, huh?”, the king of curses in front of you sneers.

Your hands fight desperately against the invisible chains, eyes searching for the tiniest possibility of a way out. But it’s impossible. After all, you aren’t held hostage by anyone. No, the man who’s sitting in front of you with his head resting in his hand is none other than Sukuna himself.

“Rather a position you put me in, idiot”, you bite back.

He chuckles unpromising, hand grabbing your chin before you’re even able to fight back. His eyes let your blood freeze in your veins, heart pumping so loudly that you bet he can hear it from afar.

“I don’t need to remind you that you’re here because you’re fighting for the wrong side, right?”

“The wrong side? Whose side is right, then?”

“Mine, of course.”

You snort disdainfully, yanking your chin out of his firm grasp. This guy has some nerves, talking down at you when you were out there enjoying yourself.

“I bet you’d fit well right by my side. You’re strong, you’re hot-“

“Don’t call me hot”, you interrupt immediately.

Out of instinct, you turn your face away from him. The face that makes you feel uncomfortable every time someone looks at it, the face that is responsible for multiple dumb comments you received when you were still at school. You know it’s a quite common thing. Many people fight against acne, some worse than you. But god, how much you hate to look at yourself, to see a new red spot on your face each and every day. No one at Jujutsu High ever pointed it out or looked at you in disgust. Yes, the times were people picked on you because of your acne are long gone.

But oh, their comments still haunt you, they still make you believe that you will never be able to be fully beautiful with those things covering your damn face.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

May the ground swallow you whole and get you out of this uncomfortable position. Why on earth does it have to be Sukuna who gets curious about you rejecting his compliment? Why can’t Yuji just regain the control over his body and put an end to your suffering?

“Because it’s a lie”, you press out.

Again, Sukuna gets a hold of your chin, his face now so near that you aren’t able to escape his stinging gaze anymore.

“Why are you saying that, brat?”

“Are you blind or something?”, you bark at him.

It feels like back then when your classmates used to pick on you. But this time, it isn’t a dumb kid that just wants to make fun of you. No, this time it’s actually the king of curses who toys with your insecurity, the only sore point you have about yourself.

“You may be. Because I don’t get why you’re talking down yourself like that.”

“Don’t you see that stuff covering my whole face?”

You can’t take it anymore, his intense staring paired with your own embarrassment. Within the last months, you really thought you got over the fact that your acne won’t go away that fast, that you’ll have to fight for it to disappear. And since no one ever mentioned it at Jujutsu High, you began to tolerate the red marks covering your skin. But at this moment, your sensitive confidence seems to shatter.

“And what about it? I don’t get what you’re talking about, brat”, Sukuna remarks dryly.

You blink a few times. The bored expression on his face tells you more than clearly that he isn’t making fun of you at all. Is it really possible that Ryomen Sukuna meant what he said, that he isn’t bothered about your face?

“I have acne all over my face”, you breathe out.

He rolls his eyes and shrugs his shoulders, hand moving your chin right and left.

“I don’t give zero fucks about that.”

It’s a simple answer, an answer spat in your face with disinterest. But oh does it make sparks fly around you and your heart almost beat out of your chest. The king of curses doesn’t care about acne.

The fucking king of curses called you hot despite your face is covered in red spots.

“I don’t know why anyone would care about shit like that. You’re strong and you’re hot, what about those spots?”, he continues while rolling his eyes.

“You really mean it”, you mutter more to yourself than him, a smile creeping up your face.

You feel like a little girl, the urge to giggle and jump up and down almost becoming unbearable. He really finds you hot. He really saw your face and lost not a single thought about your acne.

And he’s the king of curses.

“Why are you looking at me like that, brat? Did you forget that I kidnapped you?”

“Oh, you can kidnap me anytime”, you answer almost euphoric.

Sukuna tilts his head, eyes scanning you up and down.

“Humans really are strange.”

Tags: @arehzhera @ploylulla @tzubaki @beatrexworld @kenstarsworld @dazaisdick @hellkaiserinphoenix @lauv4chuuya @shadowfoxey @starlightanyaaa @sindela @kayleegomez @sunshine7queen @magalimachete @mokoartpost @gatitam @idontknow1123 @creative1writings @sanicsmut @mynahx3 @sad-darksoul @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @chuyasthighs0 @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @wxwieeee @lovelyluna1 @froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso @gojosrealwife @coffeeluvr96 @mahi-tamashi @weebotaku21 @chaoticwinnercupcake @lees-chaotic-brain @risuola @sugurulefttesticle @wordskeeper @baku2345 @polarbvnny @ruixrei @bam-bam-bam-bame-blog @lavenderdrxp @localhehecat @alicerhr @kayleegomez

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izurou · 2 years ago

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most nights, katsuki will sit under the covers with his debriefing file and a blank, uninterested stare—flipping through the documents as you prance around the room getting ready for bed.

he’s seen you do this an endless amount of times, and has even been dragged into the commotion on numerous occasions—ending the night with a green face mask and a faux frown.

still, he doesn’t really get it.

of course, brushing your teeth is a given, and he won’t fuss about you washing your face—but the line has to be drawn somewhere, right?

pillow mist—the latest villain.

“babe, seriously?” he coughs, sitting up a bit as he sticks his tongue out and holds a hand over his throat. maybe, you went a little trigger happy with the black chamomile, but he’s being dramatic. “it’s in my fuckin’ mouth!”

“there’s an easy fix for that, y’know,” you smile, running your thumb and index finger across your lips in a zipping motion.

his eyes grow wide—not out of anger, or shock, but amusement. your smug comments are never ending and supremely annoying, but he fucking loves them—they’re cute. you’re cute.

he watches, tonguing at his cheek as you plop down in front of the large floor length mirror like a heathen—skincare splayed out in front of you.

you would do this in the bathroom, but you’ve been told not to by your boyfriend—who’s just looking to maximize his precious time with you, even if it means choking back the polluted air.

though he’d still argue that you are the only one who should be choking on anything while in the bedroom—not him.

“katsuki, stop that,” you laugh, catching his gaze through the reflection as your fingers run along your cheeks, working in your moisturizer.

“huh?”

stop what? existing? he’s just sitting there, hasn’t moved a muscle or opened his mouth in almost two whole minutes, and you’re telling him to stop? what the hell do you want from—

“you’re staring.”

oh, well—you’re wearing his shirt, the black long sleeve that hangs off your shoulder just a tad and drowns your hands in excess fabric. he gave you this shirt after your first night together, and while it’s no more than a piece of cotton—it’s special.

it reminds him of that morning, when you padded into the kitchen and asked what he was doing. he was making breakfast, obviously, but you insisted he come back to bed.

you were annoying, selfish—he had no more than an hour before he had to be at the agency, and you were asking him to skip the most important meal of the day to cuddle with you. unbelievable.

nevertheless, it was then that katsuki knew he was in love—with you passed out on his chest, in his shirt, just ten minutes before he had to leave.

so yes, he’s staring.

“am not,” he scoffs, keeping his eyes glued to you as you dab yet another cream onto your fingers. what the hell are you concocting over there? “i’m makin’ sure you don’t kill us with all that shit.”

if anyone were going to kill us—it would be you. the sentence pops into your head, but dies before it ever has a shot at tumbling out of your mouth.

maybe, that would’ve been something you said to the katsuki you first met years ago—but never to the one sitting in your bed right now. if you told the public what you did on that morning, you’re almost certain that half the population would be wondering how you lived to tell the tale—because no way in hell would the dynamight let that slide, right? everyone and their mother knows that his job as a pro hero is incredibly important to him.

but, not once in your relationship have you ever felt an ounce of unease, anxiety, anything, that’d make you doubt your safety for a single second—because you are more important to katsuki.

“you still with me?” he interrupts your selfish train of thought, pushing himself off the headboard to get a better look at your face. you’re a little zoned out. “fuckin’ fumes are gettin’ to you, huh?”

“i’m fine kats,” you grin, stepping back into reality as you screw the lid back onto your eye cream. you turn, sharing your smile with him.

“c’mere,” he rasps, leaning back onto his freshly scented pillow and discarding his papers onto the nightstand.

“or what?” you challenge, looking to rile him up a little before you inevitably go over there.

“you wanna find out?” he smirks, mind flooding with a tidal wave of lewd thoughts that he’s most definitely going to share with you later.

the voice in your mind screams yes, and you rise to your feet—shuffling over there in your slippers a little too eagerly, you’re sure.

you climb atop the covers and sit beside him—milliseconds away from opening your mouth to say something that would’ve gotten you into even more trouble—but he pulls you down for a kiss.

maybe he knew what was coming and saved you, or maybe this is you finding out. reason aside—he’s kissing you. slowly, his mouth moves against yours, and subtly, he tugs on the collar of your shirt—pulling you impossibly close.

“katsuki,” you sigh, running a thumb over his cheek as you lean your forehead against his. he’s pretty—strong, sharp features contrasting the softness behind his eyes. you know this look, it’s the same one he gave you that morning. gosh, how did you get so damn—

“hey,” he barks, grinning wide as he wraps a hand around your wrist. “you starin’ at me?”

#izurou #bakugo x reader #bnha x you #bnha x reader #bakugo x you #bakugo fluff #bakugo hcs #bakugo headcanons #bakugou x reader #bakugou fluff #mha x reader #bnha fluff #bakugo katsuki x reader

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httpseungmxn · 2 months ago

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Plushies

Quackity X Streamer!Female Reader

🍬 - fluffy

Authors Note: Hi there Angels, welcome back to another Quackity fic! I had some very sudden inspiration to write this fic and hardly any plans for it aside for that it continues off from the last one, so I’m just going for it! Hopefully it isn’t too bad and you guys can enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it! <3

Warnings: slight bit of cussing because its Q and he is brushing off onto reader:p, reader is called “hermosa” again!

Triggers: None as far as I am aware!

Since your birthday stream last month, your streams have been constant and exciting. You figured when the birthday stream ended, everyone would unfollow and disappear, but they didn’t. People actually enjoyed the content you did, and thought the streams were fun to watch. It was the same way with Alex. You assumed he would just unfriend and move on with his life, but instead he was constantly inviting you to calls to stream with him.

You two were now known as the chaotic duo on twitch. You both were constantly causing chaos everywhere. Streams, calls, games, etc. How were you causing chaos? In minecraft, tnt and mobs were constantly being dropped by the both of you. It was just little things that erupted into big messy things.

Speak of the devil. Interrupting yet another one of your streams was Q who had a very specific ringtone that the fans knew. Declining the call to focus on the timed obby your doing, just to get another call from the boy.

“ Yes chat, that’s Q calling. This is like the fourth time since I started streaming. “

The chat was blowing up making comments about Alex being clingy and shipping the two of you together.

Finally deciding to answer the call when he called one las time.

“ Alex Quackity, if you cause me to lose this record, I will be coming for you next in the minecraft event. “

“ Its so rude to ignore me, ___, I’m your bestfriend! “

Letting out a snort at the slight whine in his words, knowing it was just a teasing thing. You focused back on your task while waiting for the man to speak up about what he called you for. He never did though. Instead he stayed eerily silent which was definitely not like him at all.

Letting out a yelp when he suddenly let out a scream.

“ alex, what the hell! “. Not getting a response but instead a notification that he had begun streaming as well to which you pulled it up on your phone. As soon as you caught sight of him, you busted out into laughter.

There he sat in his chair with a box in his right hand, staring at the camera with a deadpan, covered in little stuffed cats and bunnies. The look on his face would surely be later turned into a meme by one of his fans.

“ ___, care to explain ? “ , waiting for your giggles to calm down. Looking down at the toys covering his lap, before looking back up to the camera.

“ happy birthday? “ ,was all you could muster before you were laughing again.

“ my birthday isn’t till December! What am I gonna do with all of these! “, regretting the question as soon as he said it, because of what chat began saying next.

“ no chat! I am not using it as a personal body pillow! Don’t bring ___ into this! Shes in big trouble, chat! “.

Your laughing suddenly came to a stop at his words. Glad the chat can’t see you because you know they’d all be freaking out over how red your cheeks were. Letting out a soft cough and focusing back on the obby until you made it to the end. “ we did it chat! “.

“ ___, chat is wondering when you’ll do a face reveal “,

“ I’ll do a face reveal when you do a hair reveal “, “ so never? “. Letting out a soft laugh and shaking your head.

“ No, I’ll do one. I want to, just hadn’t really put two thoughts in it to be honest. I have a facecam attached to my computer. “, the dramatic gasp Alex let out had you giggling again.

“ you’ve been denying us from seeing your face, hermosa? Are you crazy? Let us see you! “, his nickname had you red all over again.

“ you guys really want to see? “, you knew you really didn’t have to ask that question because you already knew the answer both from chat and Alex, you just wanted to see the reactions. Feeling satisfied when both chats blew up, and Alex began to frantically nod his head.

“ well, okay, here we go. “, feeling nervous as you turned on the Facecam and looked to it, waving shyly at it as a greeting to them. Rubbing your hands gently on your thighs as you looked to the chat to read over reactions. Smiling brightly at all the compliments you were getting. You looked to alex’s stream to see his reaction and held yourself back from blushing when you noticed him just staring at you.

“ Earth to Alex, are you there? “

“ ____, why did you deny all of us this sight? You are absolutely stunning, hermosa! “, that brought out the blush. Thus forth causing chat to go wild over the interaction between you two. “ thank you, weirdo, now do you want to play a game with me? “.

“ yes! Lets play baddies “.

Somehow you knew that he was going to want to play that, but truthfully you didn’t mind. You would play anything right now if it turned the conversation to something else. You didn’t think you’d be able to live if Alex tried to have a whole conversation with chat over how pretty you were.

The both of you streamed together for about another hour and played together on facetime for another four hours. More than half of the time spent with him making comments denying him the sight and the other percentage was spent kicking his ass in Baddies. He didn’t seem to mind much and took the time to admire your beauty while you beat his avatar to his demise.

When you both were tired of gaming it was late. You both were exhausted but wanted to talk a while more. You didn’t mind staying on facetime so late, Alex made you feel comfortable. Comfortable enough to listen to his voice talking to you about streaming as you fell asleep. The facetime staying on the whole night with both of you sleeping peacefully.

This was the day you learned your feelings for Alex.

Authors ending note; Soo how was that? This one was definitely more lengthy than the last one and I didn’t really know how to format the talking so I just kind of made it work! Hopefully you guys enjoyed this one because it was really fun to write! Also this gif is going to be at the end of every q fic because its like hes cheering at me for finishing! Please let me know if you want more Quackity fics and send me in some asks! Until next time, My Angels 🫶

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nowimjustastranger · 14 days ago

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Somebody to Call My Own Lore | Part 1

I can't get enough of this trope so here I am, letting the brain worms win.

Edit: Refined the lore for this AU, so this is the revised version!

Trigger warning for suicide and torture! Neither are graphic.

Old Man Ford (Dimension 419"3) & Mullet Stan (Dimension 77/H)

While exploring the multiverse, Ford 419"3 had come to the distressing realization that Stan suffers in every dimension. So 419"3 Ford made it his mission in life to travel through dimensions and help as many variations of Stan get the happy ending that he deserves by stepping in to correct the course of the timeline to produce the best outcome.

The reason why Ford is so determined to alter Stan’s grim fate in so many dimensions is because Ford had lost his own Stan to suicide while he was still in college, which is what drove him to completely bury himself in his studies and invent dimension travel with Fiddleford. Ford had left time travel alone because he could never get the timeline to remain stable in his calculations, so going back and changing even the smallest detail could very well cause his dimension to collapse on itself (like the butterfly effect).

Ford uses a portal gun to jump between locations within a dimension and a wormhole gun to travel between dimensions.

Ford wears a black helmet with red accents, but his visor doubles as a screen and shows every choice and the paths that diverge from these choices until he can narrow the series of events down to one action. The data is encrypted so only he can read it.

Ford doesn’t have the data displayed all the time since he doesn't want to rely on it too heavily and also because it's not absolute. There are several choices and, while Ford can narrow them down, he can't know for sure how something will go down. So he tests the waters the old fashioned way, determining how to proceed based on how the targets react because then he knows what path is the most likely outcome and he can guide it back on course.

Yes, he does use the data during combat, it makes him practically omniscient. He doesn't utilize the data when dealing with a human (or humans) because he can handle that fight with ease. But in the multiverse, he’s normally going up against opponents who are stronger/more powerful than him, so he uses the data to give himself the advantage.

Because of Fiddleford McGucket, Ford can get involved in the timeline directly, carrying a gun that alters/erases memories. Unlike the memory gun in canon, Ford and Fiddleford worked on it together and tested it thoroughly (on Gnomes who volunteered) before ever using it on humans (cough themselves cough). It still has an addictive quality, but only when it's used on the same person several times, so Ford usually tries to only use it on someone once.

A few weeks after Ford officially started exploring the multiverse, he met a variation of Bill Cipher, who taught him the ropes (teaching him languages, helping him build a translator for alien languages that Ford physically couldn't speak, getting him out of rough spots while he was still getting the hang of traveling). But Bill was only making nice because he was after Ford's technology, the ability to accurately predict fate a tantalizing power that would make Bill akin to a god. But Ford simply wouldn't give Bill the cipher to read the data no matter how close they became and Bill eventually dropped the act around two years into their friendship.

Bill took Ford to one of the dimensions that he and his freaks had conquered and tortured him for the information. But he didn't break and Bill didn't really have any leverage to make him crack since Ford's first act in the multiverse was to lock his dimension in a protection bubble (with the unicorn hair spell) to keep those he loved safe just in case something like this were to happen.

Bill gets frustrated after years of silence (outside of screaming during torture) and gets overconfident that, even though Ford won't give Bill what he wants, Ford's broken beyond repair both mentally and emotionally.

On the contrary, Ford was simply biding his time, waiting for Bill to slip up. And Bill does, ten years into Ford's captivity, he leaves Ford's mutilated body on the ground when his freaks drop in for a visit.

Ford heaves himself up, his pain tolerance having steadily climbed until most of the torture was easy to block out. Ford fashions a crude bomb that he had been designing in his head for years using the materials around him, killing Bill and his freaks with the equivalent of a black hole compressed into a tube. Ford barely made it out of the dimension before it was consumed, the Axolotl saving him by pulling him out right as the bomb went off.

The Axolotl wants Ford to continue his journey, because at the end of the road there is also a happy ending for Ford. This translates to Ford thinking he’s simply on borrowed time because he believes that he was meant to sacrifice himself and take Bill with him (the dude is damaged), fully committing himself to his mission to make the multiverse a kinder place for his little brother.

Because of his years of suffering at Bill’s hands, Ford is morally gray/borderline dark. Not toward Stan though, obviously. He had also developed touch aversion, Stan being the sole exception since he subconsciously perceives his brother’s touch as safe. This mindset extends to every variation of Stan, but is eventually reserved for one Stan in particular (the Stan from 77/H).

Ford calls all his counterparts "Stanford" to avoid confusion. Later on in the series, 77/H Stan will be referred to as “Lee”, also to avoid confusion.

#gravity falls #somebody to call my own au #stan pines #ford pines #stan twins #bill cipher #fiddleford mcgucket #tw: suicide #tw: torture

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probablyspooky · 9 months ago

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Strength p. 2 (Feral Predator x Fem!Reader)

Trigger warning : Abuse, swearing, nsfw, white men

As days turn to weeks, and weeks to month, you've settled into your new life fairly well. You're never hungry, and he'd never raise a hand to you, and he makes sure that no harm comes your way. As the warm summer air grows colder, and the snow begins to fall, your new lover stays inside more with you.

"Does this always happen?", he asks, holding you to his lap

"What does? The snow?" you turn to him

"It doesn't happen where I'm from." he replies, clicking softly

"It happens at the end of the year, and the beginning of the new year, it gives plants a rest..." you reply softly, leaning into his chest

"I should hunt to get pelts...warmth is important in these times?"

"They are, but are you sure you wanna go out? Could I perhaps come with you?"

"You have no warm clothing, I don't want you to work too hard, conserve your heat. I will return shortly."

With that, he slid you off of his lap, and walked out of the den, cloaking into the winter air and disappearing.

Leaving you to your lonesome, you curled up in a thin fur and laid down, trying to hold as much heat in as you could, the heat radiating off the small fire Feral had left behind was not sufficient enough for you to keep as warm as you'd had hoped.

Closing your eyes you remind yourself of an easier time, in the dark stone bowels of a building, it was dark and leaky, but at least the coals in the fireplace kept you warm.

However the price of warmth is not worth the comfort of the fire, as you were often mistreated and harshly punished by those above you.

Yet here you are, safe, in cave with your love, not the love you expected but it didn't matter.

As your thoughts flooded your head, your throat became parched, peaking over to the bowl that usually contains water, you noticed it was sadly empty (just like your brain, no valley or bumps)

Taking initiative, you decided to slide on your boots and head out into the cold world to retrieve water. The cold was bearable, as the fur was tightly held against your body as you traveled down hill towards the stream.

Once you arrived you knelt down to slide the bucket into the chilling water. Your mind was elsewhere as the familiar smell of cigar smoke filled your lungs, as you turned in panic, your world went dark.

Waking up and feeling an aching pain on your head, your head lifts to see the horrifying realization that you were in a camp, his camp. Struggling against your restraints, you alerted him that you were awake.

With a rough hand, your former master lifted your head up, that disgusting beard of his littered with bits of meat, and that stinking cigar in his mouth.

"Well well, I thought you dead, but call me surprised when I saw your little head when we was hunting," he chuckled, blowing a cloud of sickening smoke into your face

Coughing, your eyes began to water, fear replaced the comfort in your heart at your new situation.

"P-please...let me go" you asked quietly, tears beginning to fall down your cheeks

"Well... you see I would, but you're still technically my property as you didn't die during our game last season. Since I am a humble man, I'm willing to let bygones be bygones if you tell me where you got a fur this nice." he asked, holding up the fur Feral had gotten for you.

"I-I can't, please, let me go"

A harsh slap stung against your cheek as you let out a loud cry of pain. A being, who was currently about a mile away, perked out at the sound

"I won't ask again, I could make a lot of money from these furs, they seem to be cleaned so finely, I doubt these are your work, so did you meet up with a native?" he sneers at you, taking the cigar out of his mouth, turning the searing red hot end towards your cheek

"Speak darling," he whispered as it moved closer to your sensitive flesh

You began to pull back, but where could you go, you had nothing, you were going to go through it all over again, feeling the heat radiate off the cigar, you braced yourself for the painful burn that was coming.

But it never did, off at the edge of camp, one of the men fired off into the distance, everyone's attention was turned, as everyone began to shout, and then the screams, the screams of agony, as they faced a being that could not be seen, your former master turned and dropped his cigar.

"What the hell..." he mumbled, drawing his pistol.

A man flew through the air, as he fell to the ground in agony and fear, he tried to crawl away, but it seemed all the air had been pressed out of his lungs, and with a sickening crack, whatever the force was broke his spine, and his eyes glazed over as his body gave out.

Your former master (who will now just be called master because I'm lazy), stepped forward, looking around at the group of men that now littered the ground in bloody heaps.

"Who goes there?" he shouted, pointing his pistol into the air, unsure of where the enemy would be.

You felt the rope holding you back loosen, as you felt a warm presence on your side, safety now covering you, you stepped back as the presence stepped forward, sparkling as his cloak slowly turned off, showing his form, his height and his menacing self, he stood behind your master, and clicked, tilting his head.

Master turned, and let out a scream of horror as Feral grabbed his face, and lifted him up into the air, masters screams filled the forest, you covered your eyes, and heard a sickening crunch. After a bit, two large hands pulled your hands down, and with a playful lick, Feral assured you of your safety.

Climbing onto his back, you nuzzled your face into his shoulder, finally being rid of your greatest enemy at last.

#predator #yautja #predator x reader #feral predator x reader

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tipsynight0 · 1 month ago

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Ghosts in the code

Paring - ben drowned x female reader

Synopsis - reader dies on a mission, in ben's grief he makes her in the digtal realm to cope.

Trigger warnings: death, shooting, guns, blood, grief, i think that's all but its super sad so be warned??

Word count - 2.1K

Author’s note - so I woke up at 7:45am and decided to finally write this damn story, I had made it in the draft but never completed it. I thought, huh they’ve had too much fluff and to much Jeff the killer. Soo I hope you guys like being emotionally traumatized this early in the morning <3

It was supposed to be an easy mission. Jack was off to find his next meal, and (Y/N) just had to make a target disappear—another loose end tied up. She could’ve handled it alone, but Jack insisted on tagging along. And Ben, always the overprotective one, had been unusually tense, practically forcing her to let him come. That last mission had shaken him. He hadn’t been able to let go of how close she’d come to dying.

"Jesus Christ, Ben, I’ll be fine," (Y/N) snapped, stuffing long sleeves into her bag, her irritation spilling over.

Ben hovered near her, eyes clouded with worry that he couldn’t hide, no matter how hard he tried. He wasn’t his usual laid-back self—not this time. "You almost got yourself killed last time, (Y/N). This isn't something to brush off," he muttered, his voice low and laced with concern.

She rolled her eyes, zipping up her bag. "I know. But I can handle this. I don’t need you breathing down my neck." She sighed, softening a bit as she saw the tension in his face. "I’ll be back in no time. I love you, okay?"

But Ben didn’t respond. He just stared at her for a long moment, his face hard, jaw clenched. Without a word, he turned and walked out of the room. The door shut softly behind him, but it felt like a wall slamming down between them.

(Y/N) exhaled, the weight of his silence settling on her. She hadn’t meant to fight with him before leaving, but it always seemed to end like this when it came to her missions. Shrugging it off, she grabbed her bag and headed out with Jack.

The house was old, creaky, the kind that seemed to breathe with the wind. The floorboards groaned beneath her boots as she crept down the dimly lit hallway, gripping her knife tightly. The air was thick with tension, heavy with the kind of silence that made every noise echo louder than it should. She was looking for a blue door. Inside, a scared twenty-year-old kid was hiding, a witness who’d seen too much—a fleeting glimpse of the mansion’s dark secrets.

It was routine. She’d done this a thousand times before, but something felt off. Her skin prickled with unease as she approached the door, the silence pressing down on her like a weight. Then, a scream—low, guttural—pierced the air. The door flew open with a crash, and she froze.

The kid stood there, trembling, his wild eyes locked onto hers. In his hands was a shotgun, shaking as violently as he was. Fear twisted his features, but before she could react, he pulled the trigger.

The blast was deafening. In that moment, time seemed to slow, her world narrowing to the sound of the explosion and the searing pain that followed. It hit her square in the chest, a force so strong it knocked her off her feet, her body crashing into the floor.

Her back slammed against the hardwood with a sickening thud, but it was the burning that consumed her. The heat spread through her chest like wildfire, every nerve screaming in agony. She gasped, choking on the blood that filled her lungs, her breath coming in shallow, ragged bursts. The room spun, her vision blurring as the pain became unbearable.

All she could think about was Ben. His stupid, overprotective warnings. He had been right. He had been fucking right, and she never told him. He didn’t even say “I love you” back.

Tears welled in her eyes as she coughed, blood sputtering from her lips. The taste of iron coated her mouth as her hands clawed at the floor, trying to grasp onto something—anything. But she was slipping, fast. Her vision grew darker, the ringing in her ears louder, drowning out everything else. Ben’s face flickered in her mind, that crooked smile, the way he laughed when he beat her at video games, the warmth in his touch when he wasn’t being so damn stubborn.

A final breath rattled in her chest, and everything went black.

Jack pushed through the wet forest, his steps heavy and labored, (Y/N)'s limp body cradled in his arms. His hands were slick with blood, her blood, the smell thick in the cold air. He moved as quickly as he could, but her weight, combined with the dread gnawing at his gut, slowed him down. He knew—he could feel it—that this wasn’t just another injury. This was different. Worse. The kind of wound you didn’t walk away from.

Her pulse was barely there, faint and fluttering, like it was already halfway to giving up. Her skin had turned ghostly pale, and the blood, it just wouldn’t stop. It soaked into his clothes, warm and sticky, every step leaving a trail of red behind them. The mansion wasn’t far, but it felt like miles, and with every step, Jack’s fear grew.

He burst through the mansion doors, frantic, his voice hoarse as he shouted for help.

Jeff and Ben were on the couch, immersed in a game of Mario Kart. Ben, still brooding from their earlier fight, didn’t even look up. His anger kept him rooted to his seat, eyes fixed on the screen.

But Jeff’s gaze drifted to the hallway, to the trail of blood that smeared the floorboards. The sight made him drop his controller, his face twisting in confusion and horror as he followed the crimson path to where Jack stood, soaked in it.

"Ben…" Jeff’s voice was tight, like he already knew what was coming. Ben ignored him at first, too wrapped up in his frustration to care. But when he finally turned, his blood ran cold.

(Y/N) lay cradled in Jack’s arms, her shirt torn open, exposing the gruesome mess of her chest. Buckshot wounds peppered her torso, blood oozing from every gash. Her chest barely rose, barely fell, and her face—oh god, her face. She was so pale. Too pale.

Ben stumbled forward, his legs weak beneath him, until he collapsed at her side. "No. No, no, no, no, no!" His voice cracked, raw with panic and disbelief. He reached for her hand—her hand that had once been so warm, so full of life. Now, it was cold, stiffening with every passing second. His fingers curled around hers, squeezing, as if he could force life back into her with sheer will.

"Jack, what the fuck happened?! You had one job, one fucking job! You were supposed to keep her safe!" His voice rose, laced with fury and heartbreak. But there was no answer. Jack stood frozen, guilt etched in every line of his face.

Ben’s anger melted into desperation as he cupped her face, brushing her blood-matted hair back, pressing frantic kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, her lips—anywhere he could. "Please, don’t do this," he whispered, his voice shaking. "I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything. I love you, just—please. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me, (Y/N)."

But her chest had stopped moving. Her pulse had gone. (Y/N) was gone.

She died wrapped in Ben’s arms that night, her body slack against him as the life drained from her. He held her tighter than he ever had, as if he could somehow hold her soul in his embrace, keep her from slipping away. But there was nothing left to hold onto. Jeff and Toby had to pull him off her, restrain him as he screamed her name, his voice raw and broken. He fought against them, desperate to stay with her, but they carried her body out. The Operator spoke of capturing her soul, of preserving her somehow, but the words were meaningless to Ben. Ben had spent countless days and sleepless nights locked away in his dimly lit room, the walls closing in around him as the weight of his grief pressed heavily on his chest. The world outside felt like a distant memory, a place where laughter echoed and sunlight broke through the darkness—a world that no longer existed for him. Instead, he found himself drowning in a sea of despair, surrounded by his computer screens, each one a window to a digital realm that was both a refuge and a prison.

He scoured the internet obsessively, combing through files, piecing together fragments of code like a mad scientist trying to resurrect the dead. Hours turned into days as he meticulously recorded long sessions of every proxy’s voice—voices that had once brought him comfort now echoed with haunting reminders of what he had lost. He captured every laugh, every snarky remark, every heartfelt confession, determined to weave them into the fabric of his creation. It had to be perfect. It had to feel real.

The others in the mansion watched him with a mix of concern and resignation. They agreed to his demands, knowing he was lost in his pain, hoping that his obsession might bring him some semblance of peace. But Ben wasn’t looking for peace; he was searching for a way to bring (Y/N) back. He wanted to trap her essence in this digital world, to create a sanctuary where she would never leave him again.

The night finally came when he felt ready. With trembling hands, he slipped the cartridge into the console, his heart racing as the screen flickered to life, illuminating the room with a soft glow. The title appeared, its letters swirling in hues of blue and green, memories end. He pressed play, and the familiar loading screen unfolded before him, sending him spiraling into the depths of his creation.

As he traversed the digital halls of the mansion, a sense of anticipation mixed with dread washed over him. Every pixel, every shadow had been crafted with care, echoing the real place they had shared so many moments. It was both exhilarating and gut-wrenching to see her face again—her features rendered flawlessly, as if she were just a breath away.

Then, he entered his bedroom, and there she was, standing in the center of the room, bathed in the soft glow of the digital light. His heart raced, a wild mixture of hope and anguish surging through him as her voice filled the air. “Ben, I have to go on my mission today. Don’t be mad, please.”

The sound of her voice pierced through the haze of his grief, and he felt a fresh wave of tears stinging his eyes. It was her—his (Y/N)—and yet, she wasn’t really there. This was a simulacrum, a mere imitation of the vibrant person he loved. He plastered on a smile, forcing himself to believe in the illusion, even as his heart ached with the reality of her absence.

“Of course, I could never be angry with you,” he said, his voice catching in his throat as he stepped closer. He reached out, gently brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear, the familiar motion bringing a warmth to his chest that he had thought lost forever. But as his fingers met her cool, pixelated skin, a rush of sorrow flooded him.

This wasn’t real. She wasn’t real. She was just a ghost, a whisper of what had once been. The weight of his actions crashed over him like a tidal wave; he had trapped her in a prison of his making, and for all his effort, he was still utterly alone.

“Ben, are you okay?” she asked, her eyes wide with concern—so genuine, so achingly familiar. But he could only nod, fighting to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over. “I’ll be back soon,” she continued, that same playful smile he had loved so much lighting up her face.

And yet, the more she spoke, the more he felt the chasm of loss stretching between them. Each word was a reminder that no matter how perfect this world was, it could never replace the warmth of her laughter, the touch of her hand, the way she had always known how to pull him out of the darkness.

“Just be careful,” he whispered, his voice breaking, a crack in the facade he had built. She smiled at him, and for a fleeting moment, the ache of his heart softened. But as he gazed into her eyes, he realized the painful truth no matter how many times he played this game, no matter how much he crafted her voice and presence, it would never fill the void left by her absence.

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 months ago

Text

The Man 8

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Character: mob!Lloyd Hansen

Summary: a demanding customer complicates more than your work life.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You gag into your hand, shaking. You gurgle and shake out your fingers, the motion of the car adding to your sickness. The man beside you growls.

"What the fuck is your problem?"

"Eeek, it's so gross," you drag your tongue against the roof your mouth, like a llama about to spit, "it tastes so bad!"

You give another repulsed noise and shudder. The salty, sticky, sweaty flavour stains your mouth. You feel like you can even smell it.

"You don't think it tastes gross?"

"Do you think I taste my own cum?" He snorts.

"Like I said, the internet--"

"Maybe you should cut that out and grow up. You might not be knee deep in shit if you did."

"I-- me. Sir, you're the one--"

He reaches over and flicks your throat, right in your esophagus, and cough in pain as you fold over.

"You think your funny? We'll see who's laughing soon enough," he grits as he slaps his hand back on the steering wheel. "Come into my town and.... bullshit... laughing..."

He rants under his breath as he drives on. You feel the daggers he sends in your direction as he drives. You'd rather he focused on the road because he just blew a red.

"So... if you're not the mayor..." you begin as you sit up. You see your reflection in the side mirror; yikes.

"Don't fucking start," he warns and points a finger, hitting the wheel, "I swear you want to die. Don't you?"

"Mayors don't talk like that so... no," you frown. "Look, Fl-- Lloyd," you enunciate slowly, "you keep saying I should know who you are but I don't, okay?"

"Are you going to keep talking?" He grumbles.

"Sorry, sorry," you rub your neck, your throat still throbbing, "I'm... trying."

"Not hard enough," he sneers, "all you need to know is to shut your mouth and listen. Got it, sweet lips?"

You nod and cross your arms, "got it."

He sighs and eases off the gas. You sit forward and crane around. Where the heck are you? You've never been to this end of town.

"Sit back," he shoves your shoulder so you hit the seat, "can't see through you despite the empty space in your skull."

You curl your shoulders in and lower your head. Your adrenaline slowly recedes. Oof, that hits hard. Not worse than anything you've been told before but having a moment to think about it, about everything that's happened on the last few hours, it doesn't feel good.

You languish in the silence and watch the blend of brick and pavement through the car window. This is just another I told you so. Your parents will be all too happy to laugh on your face. And those old friends who kept you around to make themselves feel better.

He huffs as he slows and rolls up to a large gate, "come on, cheeks, don't get all pouty now. The fun part's not even begun."

You lean forward to see beyond the gate as it opens at the touch of his phone screen. You can't help but feel awe at the sprawling yard and towering modern mansion. These places only exist on screens.

"Aw, baby face, you're seeing all sorts of big things today, huh," he scoffs.

You don't react. He sways dangerous between menacing and mocking. He might not have told you outright who or what he is, but you can guess by his flagrant threats and even more exorbitant wealth. No on is that cocky or that rich through innocent means.

He rolls through and the gate shuts without prompt. Like a motion sensor or something just as fancy as the rest of this place. You wonder how long it takes the army he no doubt employs for the task to trim and style the lawn. You almost understand why he was so finicky about his coffee. Almost.

Yet that glimmer of defiance needles in the back of your head. If he's so rich and better than you, why wasn't he hitting some high end place where they infuse their coffee with diamonds or whatever? You suppose he might enjoy feeling like a giant as he walks among the anthills.

Figuring out this man won't do you any good. Even if you could. None of that matters. You've stepped on his toes and he's not going to let yours go unstomped.

He pulls in along a row of egregiously expensive luxury cars; one for seemingly every day of the week. It wouldn't surprise you. Well, you’re in such a stupefied state, nothing can.

His seat belt repeals sharply and he swings open the driver's door. You jolt back and look around. Do you get out too? He slams the door and your doubt is quashed as he taps on the window with his knuckles.

You undo your belt and feel around the door. Where the heck is the handle? These things have to be so sleek and sophisticated that you can never figure anything out. The door opens before you can find the release and you look up sheepishly at Lloyd.

You get out and step aside as he shut the door with a flick of his wrist. You peer around and twiddle your thumbs. What exactly happens now?

You stop short as he heads toward the stone steps along the house's facade. You're struck by a startling epiphany. He might be right about you in some ways. How did it take this long to realise?

You've been abducted.

He stops at the door and looks back at you, "look, honey bun, I'm getting fucking tired. Stop pussyfooting around and come on."

"Um, sir, F--Lloyd," you put your hands up, "Mr. Hansen, so, when do I get to go home because this feels kinda... entrapment-y."

"If I have to drag you," he snaps.

"Alright, alright," you keep your palms put and scurry forward, "I'm just asking questions. It's been a strange day."

"Fucking tell me about it," he mutters. "Ah, ah, sweet lips," he puts hisbarm out to block you from the front door, "rule one: beyond these doors, you're naked. That's it. Full access all the time."

You double take. Full on Three Stooges pantomime. You nearly fall on your ass.

"Wh-at?" Your voice catches.

"If I have to keep repeating myself--" he warns.

"But what if I get cold?"

"Oh my fucking god," he grabs you by the shoulders and turns you to face him, "I should fucking break that jaw."

He claws at your shirt and rips it up your body. You flinch with the force of his rude undressing. You squeak as he untangles your tee then shoves down your sweats, nearly taking your undies with them. He snaps the elastic with his index.

"Everything, baby girl," he demands and glares at you, crossing his arms. His cheek twitches and his jaw squares. Without the lip fur he might be decent.

You wiggle free of your pants and step out of them, then your panties. Your bra gives you some trouble as one of the hooks is bent. As you stand naked out in the summer breeze you feel strangle calm. It's kind of freeing.

You look at him and find him eyeing you up and down; that's a little more oppressive. You make a face. "Shoes off or..."

"Everything. Fuck, you gotta ruin it with that mouth," he barks and turns to strut through the door, "...drive me fucking insane...for what...pussy?"

You stare after him and exhale, stepping over the threshold. A lot has happened and you still haven't got your head around it all. Maybe it's better that way.

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #drabble #series #the gray man #the man #au #mob au

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signanothername · 4 months ago

Note

have you seen underverse? if so, what were your thoughts of killer from that?

I have seen Underverse! Absolutely one of my favorite series

As for Killer, while it’s an absolute joy to see ma son gorgeously animated, it’s not my absolute favorite characterization of him, he’s too… emotional?

It started off well with him, him being a bit cheeky and saying shit like “I missed you” is something within character for him, I absolutely love his fight with Dream, his unconventional methods and aggressive style was a delight to watch (will forever love how he used his blaster to chomp on Dream’s legs aaaah) also the fact we see Killer using bones a lot during his fight is really awesome, cause we as a fandom really need to portray Killer using bones more, cause while he uses a knife obviously, he still uses bones regularly too, but not many people portray that (cough guilty of it too cough)

But then it went downhill a bit when fighting Cross, cause while Killer is absolutely a bit reactive during fights, he never truly gets frustrated/defensive unless it’s something to do with his personal life/ red lines, or his soul/inability to feel (and only when pressured/someone trying to get their nose in his business)

I think he got a bit too angry for a skelle that can’t really feel anything y’know? And while i absolutely think Killer can get angry, even during stage 2, his soul would still make his anger extremely mute to him, therefore he wouldn’t react too much to it, which isn’t what we see in Underverse

Then again, he got angry when he knew XGaster was controlling Cross, and in canon, Killer gets extremely stressed at the prospect of Gaster even existing saying that “he isn’t real” over and over, but that was before his soul had become a target

(Art by Rahafwabas )

I would’ve been fine with Killer getting that angry had he been reacting to XGaster, but i’d say Killer got angry more at the fact Cross was “cheating”, as he never really comments on XGaster himself but more about how he’s using his “puppets” on him

Which again, Killer really wouldn’t care, not in stage 2 (especially with the fact Killer canonically fights dirty, Killer himself is a cheater *flashbacks to Killer fighting Swap* and I don’t think he’ll be angry at anyone doing the same really), had Killer been in stage 1, I would’ve been a lot more convinced by his anger

The fact Killer’s smile slips so easily too is something that I think isn’t within stage 2’s ability, his smile is usually frozen on his face, unless it’s something that’s actually triggering to Killer enough for him to lose that smile

The fight ends with Killer saying “screw this, boss” basically giving up cause of being frustrated, which isn’t really something that i can see Killer actually doing, again, not in stage 2, as Killer finds fights thrilling as they’re the only thing that makes him “feel something”, not to mention his lack of self preservation and self awareness even, he would push his body to the absolute limits, a broken arm is nothing really, not to stage 2 Killer

Then again, that’s just the nerd in me talking, it’s important to keep in mind it’s one person working on this series’ story and animation, and I can’t realistically expect Jakei to keep Killer in character unless the episode went for an an entire hour hdhdhdhhd

Still, absolutely love the episode and ma son being beautifully animated just makes me ignore the nerd in me <3333

#anothers art #anothers ask #killer sans #underverse

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