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unknownjpegs · 10 months ago

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something

Benji blinks rapidly and takes a slow, careful step backwards, his eyes locked with a pinpoint focus to the opposite end of the long, tubular hallway. It is dark, the only illumination offered by the bloody red glow of the ship’s blink-ebbing emergency lights. Low, minimal power. Crisis mode.

Yeah, fucking crisis mode.

“Corporal,” Benji says in as even a tone as he can manage, considering the horrific sight before him. “Corporal, m’gonna need you to finish that up a bit faster, yeah?”

Behind him comes an angry, impatient scoff that is breathless with effort. The hydraulic door barring them from their next checkpoint is jammed. Nomi’s hack had been successful, he thinks maybe she’s never been unsuccessful, in that regard. But code can’t fix an analog mechanism if it shits out, and the door is well and truly stuck.

Xavier’s got the tools and knowledge to get it open, he promises, with just a bit of time.

But — they do not have a bit of time now.

Because the suit — the body, the body, Benji reminds himself, it was a fucking body slumped against the wide, thick window of the hallway just a moment ago, blood and gore splattering the glass, red against the expanse of stars.

Right, well, it’s not a body anymore, is it?

Or maybe… it is. Maybe never was.

Fuck. Benji can’t tell. Is trying very hard not to think about it, actually, because he well and truly does not want to fucking know the details. He’s not here by choice, and if he’s got a say in the matter, he’ll decide where his brain power’s goes to be spent. It isruminating on the nature of some freakish, dead-not-dead-human-corpse-monster.

Mostly because he’s seen all manner of things during his years roaming the galaxy. First body at nine, because colony life was tough. He’s seen somebody, mostly tech, gored from the inside and replaced by machinery. Seen them short out and die and walk around because the cybernetics kept them — kept their fuckin’ skin and meat suit — going.

Benji has witnessed a lot of bodies. Many of his own making, by his own hand or fist or gun. Bodies sucked out into the vacuum of space. Bodies with chunks of flesh punched out, smoking from the quick beaming slice of a blaster shot. Bodies with eyes that bulge and burst in zero gravity. Bodies with the blood and guts and other sorts of innards from all manner of species in the universe.

But Benji has not seen something or witness a body that horrifies him as much as…this. Because the walking suit is wrong. It ebbs from the human shape of it as if visible, that wrongness. It looks — it looks…

And really, it doesn’t even look wrong, not really. Not if he thinks about it, which he does not. But it isn’t absurd, like some species or beasts or monster. It is a standard exo suit, a bit bulkier than the sleek updated thing Benji’s got, an older style suit meant for a spacewalk. And it’s filled out, so there is somebody inside.

Something.

Helmet on, visor down, normal. Normal. Normal except for the missing limb, normal except for the pretty bloom of fluid on the front that looks less and less like blood the longer he looks at it. The liquid, whatever it is composed of, drips down the torso between the thing’s shambling legs, leaving a splattered, dotting trail as it moves closer. Brings itself closer. Because there is something inside that wants to get near them.

Something inside that Benji, very whole-heartedly and with every fiber of his being, knows is not human. Or even even alien. Or even…of here. Not this star system, this galaxy, or plane of fucking existence. From where, he can’t be sure — he just knows it is something else.

He can’t see it for specifics, but it’s moving towards them real slow, making a sort of noise that he’s never heard before. In the back of his brain, that tingling scratch of awareness. Animal fear; sharp, sweet instinct.

If it gets close enough to you, it is going to hurt you.

When he was young, instinct was a spasm of his leg muscles. Fight or flight, before the question could even be asked, was flight, and Benji was built for endurance. Used to be the response to that instinct was: run.

There’s nowhere to run now. And he’s got the nice little intelligence officer to worry about, even if he could run somewhere at all. And he’s got…

“Hah,” the soldier huffs, straining. “‘Finish up a bit faster’. You know, first time I’ve heard that.” He pauses. Then, with an embarrassed, frowning note: “Wait, no. Hold on, that’s not what I meant. It’s…fast isn’t —”

“Xavier,” the tech says, her voice high and terrified. “You have to hurry up.”

Benji steps forward and to the side, in front of her, stretching his arm out to push her slightly behind his body. He reaches between his shoulders, unhooking the gauntlets from their notch on the suit.

She looks up at him, pink eyes wide and wet with quickly creeping fear. “Does your head hurt?”

Benji’s good at compartmentalizing pain. But the second she asks that, he notices. It’s a faint, twisting pulse in the center of his forehead. Like he’s stared at a screen too long, stayed up too late, caught a punch to the temple. Rather than a fever ache in his skull, it feels like pressure — as though someone has a knuckle pressed to the inside of the curved bone between his eyes and is kneading at it.

Trying to get free.

“Yup,” Benji says. He does not like how it feels. The pain, and he huffs an absurd laugh at this, seems alien. Not in the not my species sort, but…wrong. Worse than foreign, than intergalactic, than strange and unfamiliar. Worse.

Unknown.

He moves then, takes the corporal’s shoulder and shoves him aside. He goes with an angry shout, the tool stuck in the lower control panel of the door, lodged within metal. Benji wrenches it out, tosses it between his legs.

“If you fucking bent that, you’re — ”

Benji takes a step and lurches forward, bringing the heel of his boot against the door.

“…paying for it. Oh.”

His momentum and the force of the kick bends it, but otherwise doesn’t budge: it’s at least twenty-five centimeters of solid metal.

“Xavier…” the tech says again, her voice pitching higher. Benji glances over his shoulder — the suit is closer. Too close.

He swears and takes another step away from the door, nervous sweat dripping down his spine and a shout of go away go away go away don’t go near it bad bad bad echoing in his head. He shivers full body, hair on the back of his neck standing up. As if being an atom nearer the thing makes the whole of him recoil — flesh and mind and soul, even. If he’s got one of those.

Benji kicks again and the bend gets deeper with an ear-splitting crunch. Again, again. Hard, loudly resounding bangs of his boot against the door, and then —

The fifth kick doesn’t break it full open, but it parts the two sides enough for Benji to grab the little tech and shove her towards the gap. She goes, squeezing herself into the control room.

“Find us a way out,” Benji demands, jerking his chin towards the monitors on the far end. “Vent, crawlspace, hall, out the fuckin’ window if we have to.” He points at her firmly, but there’s no cruelty to the gesture. “Quick. I am not croaking’ on this piss bucket of a ship.” Can’t help it, hooks a thumb over his shoulder. “Especially not with this prick.”

“Kinda unnecessary.” Xavier has swung the gun up into real proper form; pose that Benji might admire a little closer if the survive iciness wasn’t crawling cold and slow up his spine.

The door at the far end, behind the moving corpse, slips open.

“Aw, fuckin’ hell,” Benji complains at the sight of four more bodies. With a shake of his fists, the gauntlets switch on, kick into gear with a hissing release of vapor. “That is what isn’t necessary.”

“Are those…” Xavier swears too, colorful enough that Benji snickers.

“The lot of ‘em that croaked on the bridge?” Benji adjusts sideways, stanced with one foot forward. “Yeah, reckon the same.”

“That…that one’s head.” It’s gone. The decapitated one that had been slumped in a chair outside the bridge. First body they’d found.

Benji glances up at him. Can’t see much, because he’s got the rebreather up again, but his shoulders are stiff with something like…

Fear.

“Yep. Let’s hope the lack of brain works to our favor, hey?” Benji elbows him, eyes darting between the approaching group and the soldier. “Shape up, mate, need you here. Don’t think about it.”

Xavier nods. He breathes in slow, chest expanding, and then seems to shake it off.

Doesn’t last long, that calm stillness. Because the body — the suit closest to them makes a noise like a steady hiss, a hole-punch in a balloon. In a lung full of air.

“Did you see?” It asks, and the voice makes Benji feel like throwing himself against the wall and cowering. “Did you see? Did you see? Do you want to?”

“Nope.” Xavier clips out, voice rough, and punches the thing through with several rounds.

Fair enough. Benji doesn’t quite feel like asking any questions or thinking about that horrifying, lyrical burr of a voice either.

They burst into motion. Benji works well in a team — he’s run with Matilda and Maran too long not to be a cog, or chip, in a nicely refined operation. He is at the end of the day an adaptable fighter. Prefers like Matilda, to it up close; unlike Maran and the wide swing of that blade, or his pistol. So Benji shakes it all out, the tension and the rib-slip knife of fear, shakes himself, and then lurches forward. The gauntlets are old tech, stolen from the home of some bespeckled, hermit inventor. Old and need constant maintenance, but man. Do they get the fucking job done.

The first suit comes towards him with a kinetic sort of movement that makes him think the person, if it’s a person at all, within isn’t fully in charge anymore. And the action isn’t sluggish, so he’s gotta adapt to that. Gotta adapt when, from over his shoulder, the pop of Xavier’s rifle catches it in the leg and makes it stumble.

Good on him. Lets Benji keep his balance.

The first punch is quick, powerful impact to the center of the crewmate’s chest. It stumbles back on the bad leg and falters; Benji darts forward and winds another, claws slipping from the knuckles of his armored left fist to swipe in bury deep in the neck of the suit. More air hisses out along with the stench of death as the seal breaks.

Benji doesn’t have the interest nor time to wonder why the crew were all in no-oxygen ready suits, or to recoil in revulsion at that smell. The next one is on him, and Xavier’s occupied with the third, the decapitated one. It moves forward with twitching, eerie steps that make him pause.

“Fuckin’ watch it,” Benji growls. Instead of punching, he slips under the suit before him’s arms, takes it by the back of the sleek fabric and swings.

The body stumbles to the side, colliding with the one after Xavier. The metallic thud of armor and suit and body into a heap startles him out of that pause. Benji watches the flickering explosion of the gun light cup his face, the color as it splash him with bright, washing yellow. Makes him — makes him look…

Xavier wipes a smear of blood, not his, from the black shell armor over his shoulder. His eyes as they slide over to Benji are cold and focused in a way that has Benji…well.

Has him fucking shivering, all right? He shivers. Not with fear or revulsion, but the sort of shiver that comes right after a zip of energy that drags down a spine and presses warm, promising swipes into the gut. Because fuckin’ hell, Benji hadn’t been the one to fight the guy when they were initially caught stowing away. Maran had handled him, smirked and lifted his chin and said gimme the tall one, and Benji had watched.

Maybe a bit too closely, even then. Now he’s thinking real hard about how it might have gone, had it been him instead of Maran. How it might have felt being on the receiving end, squaring up, getting —

“You too, asshole.”

“Yeah? How about you watch for me?” Benji sneers, offering a flirtatious jerk of his head to the side. “Seem to like it.”

But then the bodies move. They all move. Same time, same jerk, like something has gathered their strings and jerked. All droids or robots, all received an identical order. They all stand, and it starts a-fucking-gain.

This time, the fluidity is a bit more planned. They’ve got some idea of each other’s style. Benji it seems is not the only one quick to adapt. Able to work together — he thinks of that other soldier, the now with shrewd, dark eyes. Would bet anything that is Xavier’s Maran, the way they gravitate together and interact.

And even if Benji and this bootlicker lack even a shred of that history, the tether of companionship…fuck, he’s gotta admit that they work well together.

He almost cracks a joke about recruiting him, cutting a slice, but the breath for snark has better space to fill. Because the bodies are just as energetic this time around. They move as if unslowed by the injuries that have been inflicted — which, Benji supposes, they haven’t.

So they adapt. And they do it together. Harder punches, bladed claws of the gauntlets out for every one. Shredding, tearing. Less bullets from Xavier, more swings of the insanely heavy-looking hammer. He does it with an ease, a ferocity that has saliva pooling in Benji’s mouth.

Nomi’s taking a bit too long, but Benji can’t pause to peevishly snap any sort of encouragement to the contrary. The things won’t fucking stop, keep getting up no matter how many rounds Xavier unloads into them or how many heavy, bludgeoning punches Benji lands.

Xavier points this out in an annoyed sneer, sounding less fearful now and more…impatient. It’s so frantically absurd, circumstances considering, that it makes Benji laugh wildly on the next one-two swing. He’s full of energy, adrenaline; loves the vibrating shock of an impact up his arms, loves when its hard enough to chatter his teeth.

“How quick are you to shooting blanks, huh?” He grunts, aiming a kick to the thing’s knee and sending it sprawling to the ground.

“That’s — fucking — awful,” Xavier gasps back. The words stutter out between heavy, dark noises of his own as the butt of the rifle comes down again and again, splintering the first thing’s helmet. “Oh, fuck.”

Benji shoves the suit he’s fighting away, and it stays mostly still as it lands next to the other. He stumbles over to Xavier, breathing hard, gauntlets resting on his knees. Both men peer over the fractured visor of the crewmate, where the mess of a face has been…twisted.

“Fuckin’ hell.”

“You said it.” Xavier sounds sick.

The face isn’t just a mess of flesh and blood. It looks — fuck, he can’t explain. There’s no words to help him understand what he’s looking at. Whatever it is, brain and bone and flesh, is something else now too. Pulsing in a way that hurts to look at. That makes him want to look. Colorful, more than a body should contain, and it all swirls together. Writhes.

Do you see?

It’s a voice in the back of his head that isn’t his, and the worlds curl around his brain like a physical thing. Like a serpent, except stranger. Something sleek and alive and there, there, there, right fucking there.

Benji does not like that. Does not like the idea of someone else being in his skull, taking up occupancy with his frontal lobe. He struggles to glance at Xavier, eyes widened with fear and…somme tiny, distant slick sheen of curiosity.

Xavier probably doesn’t like it either. Who would?

With a concerning amount of effort, Benji puts his hand on the soldier’s elbow and tugs at his sleeve. Xavier looks slowly down at him, freckled face pale.

“Don’t.” Benji says, his throat feeling thick and tight, his voice gone tinny. Thin, small, croaking with anxiety. Don’t look at it. Don’t look at it anymore, I won’t either. Don’t fucking look. Look at me instead.

Xavier nods jerkily, and then his eyes widen at a spot over Benji’s shoulder.

The world spins suddenly and he flips with a shocked, wild noise. His back hits something — the wall, he thinks distantly — and then there’s the crk-crk-crk of Xavier’s rifle.

He’s shoved against the exterior windows with a firm hand, held at arm’s length.

“Shit,” he laughs nervously, glancing down at Benji. “Shit, that thing almost — fuck.”

They stare at each other, two chests rising and falling rapidly. Both panting, both frantic with eyes adrenaline-shined, pupils small and focused. Xavier’s huge palm splayed wide over his sternum moves with the heaviness of Benji’s gasps for air. They both look down at it simultaneously, linger for the same beat, and then slip upwards to connect again.

It feels — it’s —

“Saving a wanted criminal,” Benji’s voice is low and airily suggestive. Sounds strange and resonant with the modulator’s timber. He adjusts his feet a little wider, noting how Xavier’s focus drop there and then snaps back with a slick little twist of victory.

“Going from rank and file to beating some fuckers down, helpin’ out scummy ones like myself?” The visor lightens, going transparent to show Benji’s crooked smirk. “Getting your hands dirty. Mm. Must be goin’ soft there, soldier.”

I want you so fucking bad, Benji wonders if he can see it, loud and obvious on him like vibrant flashing messages on a huge sign above his head:

I don’t know you, I don’t know a single thing about you, but I do know it would be good. I can tell. I can always tell, looking at someone, but you? It would be so good, I’d make it so good, holy shit, look at you, look at you use that gun and swing the hammer and look like that, sweaty and off a fight and saved me and shoved me and fuck I want it. I want it rough or not. I want you to look at me. I want you to touch me more — skin. Where else are those freckles, that color, huh? I want to find out. I want it — I want it — however you want it, every fucking way we can do it, oh fuck.

Xavier lips — pink, wet with exertion — part a little like he means to speak. Gives Benji a hint of flashing white teeth. Of tongue.

Benji swallows audibly, imagines slinking forward. Slip under the strong length of his arm and press up close to the warm expanse of his chest. Lean up, yank him down, lick into that mouth. Sigh into it, moan, get fucking devoured.

He’s been wondering what the guy tasted like since he’d tilted Benji up by the chin, put that finger gun to him and grinned.

Something’s wrong with me, the thought is so obvious that it makes him huff out a laugh. Xavier’s bright, living-thing green eyes drop to his mouth. Like he’s having some thoughts along that line of his own. Like he —he wants to lean in, too; and he does, he starts to and then —

Then the thing at their feet, bullet-punched full of holes, makes a sound. They both jerk in surprise, Xavier’s hand slipping from his chest as it comes to cradle his gun again.

The think doesn’t rise, doesn’t move except for a strange, all-over twitch. Its limbs, or the mashed remnants of them, heave. As does its chest — pulls down and up like it’s drawing air, except Benji knows it’s got no use for it like that. So it can’t be breathing…and that means it’s doing something else.

“Is it fucking alive?” Xavier whispers, horrified. “Were they fucking alive?”

No, Benji wants to respond. No, they can’t be alive. They were dead. Right? We saw them dead. They were monsters. They were suffering, maybe. Whatever was under that helmet…

“I don’t know,” he says instead, swallowing the wash of anxiety and wrongness and shuddery, ghostly sliver of animal instinct still coursing through him. “And I don’t want to, yeah? They’re…they’re not gonna stop, so we need to see if —”

“Nomi.” Xavier blurts suddenly, and darts past him towards the door Benji’d kicked in. He purses his lips at that, eyes narrowing slightly, and then shakes whatever that feeling is off his shoulders. Daft.

She’s fine, thankfully. Taps away at the computer for another few minutes while the two of them watch the bodies — never straight-on, just from the corner of their eyes. Scared of what they might see, that strange unknowable mass of wriggling flesh or not flesh or — Anyway. They don’t look head on, and they also try not to look at each other. Because as much as the fizzle of fear and fight ripples through the air…so does the other thing. The hot, stomach-warm, eager thing that zips between them. Makes Benji tap a beat, makes him clench his muscles in an effort not to touch until his calves cramp, until his teeth audibly grind together.

Their eyes glance off each other just once, right as Nomi is finishing up. Crack of fucking electricity, intimate. Somehow cruel because his visor’s down — Xavier doesn’t and can’t know exactly where Benji’s eyes are but finds them anyway. They look at each other at the same time and it nearly makes him launch his body across the scant space between them.

“Done!” Nomi calls, and a panel in the wall next to Benji slides open fluidly.

“Thank fucking God,” Xavier mutters under his breath, tearing himself away from the strange, gravitational energy to investigate. The space is small — more of a vent, really.

“You goin’ in there?” Benji grimaces, peering into the dark interior of the walkway. It’s thin.

“We are, yeah,” she sing-songs in her posh, clean little accent. “You two are going to have to squeeze, but we can’t go back. I’ll close it behind us. There’s no other door out of that security room.”

Xavier ducks his head slightly into the space, flicking a flashlight on the front of his suit on. There are dust motes in the air, but there’s nothing else within the passage. Far at the other end, there’s a bit of light — otherwise, wherever it leads.

“We going further in?”

“Have to to get back to the airlock,” Nomi says with more than a hint of nervous, fluttery laughter. “We have to.”

It sounds like she’s hyping herself up, and Benji feels a wash of sincere pity. She must be fucking terrified, must have felt helpless going as fast as she could and listening to them fight it out. Must have wondered if anything happens to them, what do I do, other than stay here stuck?

Benji puts a hand on her shoulder. Nomi stares at it, and then looks up at him with something he chooses to read as gratitude.

It drops from her face when he smirks and tilts his head towards the passage. “After fuckin’ you.”

#writing #ua #xw #nw #bp #space horror au

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lanadelreyscokewhor3 · 3 years ago

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steve rogers.

smut or implied smut = *

one shots

go go dancer *

you’re steve’s girl, and everyone knows it. he takes you with him everywhere and flaunts you like a brand new rolex. at the most popular club in NYC, he wants you with him, dancing and for a business deal.

beautiful player *

you’ve always watched steve from afar,and at a party one night you decide to really get to know him. you may REALLY get to know him later on in the semester…

505

you and steve are going back to 505.. except the room only has one bed. this would be fine on normal circumstances right? except one thing.. you cannot stand steve’s guts. at least thats what you keep telling yourself.

melodrama

when you go through your rough patches, your boyfriend steve is always there to guide you through them.

butterfly *

after comforting his little butterfly, steve shows you just how special and pretty you really are.

the meeting *

your boss mr. rogers is a mean mean man, but you find he has a sweet spot- just for you. perks of the job? he’s hot. and his best friend is too.

it’s artistic vision, pumpkin *

sexual tension has lingered between you and your best friend steve for weeks. instead of him asking you to paint the two of you having sex, he decides maybe its best if the two of you actually have sex instead.

copy cat *

steve hurts people. its something he’s not necessarily proud of… but his actions never falter. when he spots you in a bar, he’s intrigued. one thing leads to another, and you end up at his manor. he has plans for you, but little does he know, you’re just as insane as him.

religion *

steve’s prayers have finally been answered after all these years, as he finds you waiting for him in the church he calls home. captivated by him and his charm, you get swept up in his arms, to soon find out steve isn't the saint he painted himself out to be.

touch *

boyfriend!steve discovers your size kink & love of being manhandled

if you’re too shy (let me know)*

you’re the new girl at school, and the more steve rogers sees you, the more his crush grows. after a few weeks of texting, a date is set. but he doesn't hook up on the first date, because that's not being a gentleman. right?

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blurbs

birthday suit *

you give sub! steve a little birthday surprise.

lover

you n steve are lil lovebirds, and neck kisses in bed is the nightly routine.

tag, you’re it *

a sweet, innocent, game of tag becomes something much dirtier when steve finally catches you, his sweet little bunny.

a sweet treat *

while eating the best ice cream you’ve ever tasted, you teasingly confess to your roomates you’d let ben and jerry do anything they wanted to you. the next time you open the freezer, their names have been crossed out, and replaced with bucky and steves. be prepared for a treat much sweeter than ice cream...

matilda

steve and bucky take care of you when you’re struggling.

skinny dipping *

you and the gang decide to have a little camping getaway before the summer 'officially' ends. what better way to end it then to go skinny dipping with your hot ass boyfriend?

alphabet boy *

you despise steve and his constant teasing with you- the younger sister of his best friend bucky barnes. little do you know that teasing is flirting, and it comes in handy when you’re trapped at a costume party with no way home.

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headcannons

dating steve rogers

interlude- the trio *

drabbles with steve, bucky and peter

#claires masterlist #steve rogers

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k-s-morgan · 3 years ago

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Don’t you think that Will letting Hannibal stay in prison for 3 years was far fetched? Is that from the book, the 3 years I mean?

To me that was way too long Will wouldn’t even wait 1 year (he waited 8 months to be precise) while he was recovering from being gutted in the hospital to go after Hannibal in Florence. It just seemed an exaggeration that Will would stay away from Hannibal for 3 years.

Of course that Will only stayed away from Hannibal for the duration of the trial, which makes more sense but don’t you think that the 3 years was too long/unbelievable for them?

When I first realized there was going to be a time jump, I was very nervous. I was scared they'd have them meet again like 10 years later, so when I saw that it's only 3 years, I felt deep relief :D But as for the necessity of these 3 years… I don't think it's unbelievable that Will would wait for so long, though I can imagine other scenarios that wouldn't require it.

After S2 finale, Will was almost sure Hannibal loves him. He understood what Hannibal keeping Abigail to gift her to him meant; he was told that Hannibal cut him in a way he could live; he quickly realized Hannibal wants him to find him in Europe. During those 8 months, Will felt hurt, but he was also full of hope. As we see from Primavera, he blamed himself for what happened and for betraying Hannibal. He was reverent about him. But there was still a sliver of doubt.

Will: Hannibal follows several trains of thought at once without distraction from any, and one of the trains is always for his own amusement ... He's playing with me. Always.

We know it’s not the case, especially here, but Will has trust issues and a low self-esteem. He’s worried that Hannibal’s feelings for him aren’t as strong as he thinks they are, which is why he’s not sure how to react himself. He’s almost certain that Hannibal loves him, but the fear is still there. And once Will sees Chiyoh, another person Hannibal was supposed to love yet abandoned, when he sees Bedelia, alive and well, playing the role of Hannibal’s wife, his doubts resurface. He’s not certain Hannibal is capable of loving him, after all, if this is how easily he replaced him.

After this last round, Will felt emotionally drained and confused. Seeing Hannibal with Bedelia as his replacement, knowing she walked away and he supported her alibi to protect her, being almost killed by Hannibal - this hit all Will's triggers. This time, he wasn't hopeful, unlike he was at the start of S3: he was depressed and he needed a break. Things got too overwhelming. He chose to retreat into his shell by putting on his human suit. That's when he started his most important mission, which was getting one final confirmation that normal life is not for him.

Before, Will only thought about how he'd like to have a regular life, but he never actually tried it. He hardly bothered with Alana in S1, but in S3, he decided to take his chance. So he found a "ready-made family" and started molding himself into the role of a happy family man. Like you noted, Hannibal's trial was ongoing for this period, so he couldn't be far from Will's head - it was like until it's over, they weren't truly parted. When Will was living with Molly, I can easily imagine him hearing Hannibal whenever he does something - feeding the dogs, with Hannibal pondering philosophically over the artificially free style of their life and commenting on the meat Will prepares; when doing stuff with Walter, with Hannibal rebuking him and whispering about Abigail; going somewhere with Molly, listening to Hannibal ridiculing the facade and teasing him with a chance of something real.

I don’t think Hannibal was ever far from Will’s mind, and I think these three years was the time Will needed to give the normal life a final shot. He had to marry and play at raising a child & being a husband to see if he could be happy this way.

Of course, he wasn't.

#hannibal #will graham #hannigram #meta #s3

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im-in-vin-ci-ble · 3 years ago

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Hello~ Can I request a Mark x fem reader who’s a lot like starfire and is very Powerful close to omni man and is also an alien princess but she lives on earth and they go to the same school and she’s also a solo hero who one day sees invincible fighting off a tough villain with the teenteam but is losing so she steps in to help and he recognizes her and starts getting all nervous since he has a crush on her and then after that they introduce themselves get to know each other and eventually work they’re way up to mark confessing and she says yes :3

(If possible can it be a slow burn im a sucker for slow burn tropes and stuff 😤)

A/N: I gotchu, this bout to be a lil long 😮‍💨 making the fem!reader a little more human, figured since she’s in an actual school for humans she’d need to adapt to the humor/culture so she doesn’t get suspicious

Pairing: Mark Grayson x Fem!Reader

Rating: M, some swearing and gross monster guts

Warnings: N/A

Summary: Mark is finally joined in battle by an alien princess who has caught his attention. Turns out she goes to the same high school, and if he can throw around 150-pound monsters across the street, surely he can confess his true feelings to a girl... right?

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?!" Rex Splode yelled as he wobbled up off the ground. "We've been on this thing for hours and it only has one damn cut!"

"Calm down Rex," Atom Eve said from behind, "You're gonna get even more tired from yelling."

The two watched as Dupli-Kate attempted to distract the scaly kaiju, replicating herself second after second to give space for Invincible to hit the monster by surprise. The kaiju's screech echoed throughout the city and shook the foundations of the surrounding buildings, forcing Rex, Atom Eve and Robot to move aside and save however many civilians they could.

"Invincible," Dupli-Kate shouted, "I can't keep up much longer!"

A sonic boom overcame the surrounding noise and Invincible appeared from the clouds. Dropping in at maximum speed, the young superhero balled his hand into a fist and took a deep breath. A loud battle cry escaped his mouth but it was cut short as the kaiju's heavy arm slapped him away just in time, throwing him through destroyed buildings until he landed on the pavement.

Out of breath, dizzy, and in a serious amount of pain, Invincible laid on the broken road for a second to regain his strength. The wind softly blew down on him as he focused his sight on a contrail leading towards him, and he watched as a girl in purple land right next to him.

She bent down and held him upright, "Invincible, are you okay?"

"Mmhmm," Invincible croaked with a defeated smile, "Totally fine."

His sight reverted back to normal and the first face he saw shocked him alive. It was her. They never talked in school and he was almost sure she didn't know his real name, but here she was, basically cradling him in her arms and calling him Invincible.

So she knows who I am. At least with the suit.

"Come on, that kaiju is about to be destroy the entire city," she said, helping him get back on his feet and flying away to the seemingly unbeatable figure.

He huffed, "Stay cool, Mark. She's here to help," and he followed suit.

This marked the first time he really interacted with the new superhero; he'd only ever see her on TV or read about how she saved people on the newspaper. He'd be lying if he said he didn't find her attractive — as do most guys his age — but watching her blast the kaiju with the green bursts of energy from her hands made her only even more appealing.

Invincible regrouped with the rest of the Teen Team. "I don't know what else we can do to this thing," Atom Eve admitted.

"I do," the girl spoke up. "Distract it as best as you can but stay far away from the stomach. When I tell you to take cover, make a run for it."

Robot replied, "That seems highly dangerous."

"Let's do it," Invincible quickly replied in a high-pitched voice.

Everyone looked over at him, surprised at the sudden change in his voice and just how fast he reacted in agreement.

"Uh, it's a good plan," he nodded, causing the girl to shoot a warm smile his way. "I definitely think we should do it... if all of you... uh, think, we should."

Exhausted and out of options, the rest of the group followed her orders and took different corners of the monster. Dupli-Kate handled one leg, Rex Splode handled the other, Robot and Atom Eve took the arms, and Invincible went back to the head. The kaiju struggled to keep its focus on just one of the heroes, and while it remained preoccupied, the girl absorbed all the energy she could muster and flew straight for the stomach.

"Take cover, now!"

Invincible and the Teen Team moved away and they watched as the flying hero's eyes opened in a bright shade of neon green, both her arms extended out as a large ball of green formed around her hands. The rays exploded right through the kaiju and it shrieked in pain as she briefly disappeared into the stomach. The kaiju lost balance and slowly fell forward as the girl, her eyes still green, appeared on the other side and harshly fell down on the ground.

The kaiju landed on the street with a loud boom and the group ran towards the girl who was now covered in parts of the kaiju's digestive system.

"Okay, that's kinda gross," Rex Splode commented, to which Dupli-Kate quickly responded, "Shut up."

Invincible dropped down on his knees and wiped the blood and guts off her face. Subtly admiring her facial features up close, he couldn't believe (and almost felt stupid) that he never recognized her despite the fact that he almost saw her everyday.

The girl groaned in agony softly shook her head, her eyes fluttering open to the sight of Invincible's dark hair, goggles and yellow mask.

"Hey, hey," he whispered, "Are you alright?"

She sat up and hissed at her injuries, holding her head with her bloody hand. "Mmhmm," she gently nodded with a half smile, her eye one still shut. "Totally fine."

---

Mark had a hard time focusing on school. His body ached from yesterday's injuries and he suffered a few bruises from literally tearing through buildings. He made his way to his locker and rested his head on the metal door, dreading the fact that he still has an entire afternoon of classes to go. Closing his eyes in hopes to quickly recharge, his moment of peace was disrupted when a shoulder rammed into his chest and several books landed right on his toe.

"Oh god, I'm so sorry," a voice exclaimed.

Mark's head snapped up at the sound of the voice. It's her. He momentarily froze and watched the girl bend down to pick up her things, and when he finally regained movement a split second later, he also bent down to help her out. He kept quiet as he tried to think of the coolest possible response to make her think that he was actually the coolest guy in school, but all he could think of was how heavenly and badass she looked yesterday.

"Thanks," she said as he handed her the book. "I hope your foot doesn't bruise."

They both stood up and he shot her a nervous smile. "T-totally fine," he replied, clearing his throat afterwards.

She crossed her brows at his response and nodded, and a look of suspicion replaced her worried demeanor.

"I'm Mark, by the way," he cleared his throat again and reached out his hand, "Grayson."

"Mark... Grayson, huh?" she responded, scanning his face as her suspicion grew. Her eyes finally landed on the hand that was waiting, and she took one last look into his eyes before deciding to shake it. "I'm Y/N," she introduced herself with a skeptical smile, feeling his sweaty palm wrapped around hers. "I'll see you around, Mark Grayson."

She walked away and Mark's eyes followed her trail as far as he could see. He quickly pulled out his phone to send a text to Eve, who was actually watching their interaction a few classrooms down.

"Mark," Eve called out as she moved towards him. “So I’m assuming...”

"You knew?” he asked her in disbelief. “Why didn't you tell me Y/N was a superhero? I just introduced myself to her as Mark Grayson and I'm almost positive she knows I'm Invincible."

"First off, it's not my secret tell," she answered with a shrug. "Second, you guys didn’t trade secrets or whatever?”

Mark shook his head in a panic, "No, but I'm guessing she also knows that I know her secret the same way I know she knows my secret." He rested his forehead on the locker door once again and groaned, "Ugh, I'm so into her, it isn't even funny. And this whole superhero thing just made it even more awkward."

Eve laughed, "Look, I'm not going to force her to tell you if she isn't up for it, but if you want, I can ask her to hang out with us later. Maybe — emphasis on maybe — my presence will make her comfortable enough to admit who she is."

"Okay, okay," he sighed, turning around to rest the back of his head. "My insides are dying."

"After the kaiju yesterday, be thankful you don't mean that in a literal sense."

---

Where in the hell is Eve?

Mark pulled out his phone for the third time in 10 minutes. Still no call or response from Eve to his text. He was getting evidently nervous; his palms were sweaty again and it felt like someone turned up the heat in Burger Mart. His left leg jerked up and down in anxiety as he stared at his phone, looking at the seconds on the clock icon tick by. If he were left alone with Y/N, he'd have no idea what to say. What does she like? Should I bring up the kaiju yesterday and praise Invincible? No, she'll just think I'm full of myself.

"Hey Mark."

He jolted and saw Y/N standing by the corner of the booth. "Hi!" he replied in that irritatingly high-pitched voice. Mark's heart began to race and the thoughts in his head ran wild. "Um... Have a seat. Sorry Eve isn't here yet, she actually hasn't answered my calls or my messages. Teenage girls, huh? What can you do?"

She crossed her brows again and chuckled, "That's fine, we can wait for Eve. But I think I'm more concerned about you."

"What do you mean?"

Y/N chuckled again, "You seem... nervous.”

He faked an obnoxiously loud laugh, “Me? Nervous?”

She watched him from across the table in silence, waiting for him to regain his composure.

When Mark couldn’t hear Y/N laughing with him, he finally shut up and shook his head. “Yeah, I am nervous, sorry,” he admitted, shutting his eyes tight.

She giggled, “Totally fine.”

Hearing her say those two words calmed his racing heartbeat. A smile crept on his face and she reciprocated, their eyes locking for a few seconds before both their phones buzzed.

“Oh, I just got a text from Eve,” Mark said.

“Me too.” She opened the message and began to read it out loud, “Sorry, can’t make it tonight. Something came up.”

“Have fun, you two,” he followed, his voice faltering. He placed his phone, screen down this time, back on the table and sighed, “Sorry, guess you’re stuck with me. That is, if you do want to stay and... hang out, and stuff.”

"Why wouldn’t I?” she replied, her warm smile easing Mark back into a relaxed state. “It’s nice to have a friend who...” she trailed off, “understands.”

“Understands what?” he asked.

“This thing people like us call life,” she answered. “You know, it took me a long time to acclimate here. I didn’t think I ever would, then I met friends who made this place feel like home. And home is a feeling I hadn’t felt in a really long time.”

Mark rested his elbows on the table and leaned in closer, “Well, I’m always here. You know, a-as a friend... or an acquaintance, even. I don’t, I don’t want to push it.”

Y/N giggled again, “You’re a funny man, Mark Grayson. This planet is lucky to have someone like you.” She reached out and held his hand, “And I’m even luckier to have you as a friend, or an acquaintance.”

He felt the heat rush to his face and he could swear his heart nearly jumped out of his chest. The afternoon flew by in a hurry as they engaged in lengthy conversations, fatty fast food, and childhood stories. While Mark was open to sharing every tiny detail — down to the color of the bleachers at the park where he played little league — Y/N kept hers pretty vague, leaving out descriptions of family members and even the places where these stories happened.

Mark’s phone buzzed again, but the vibrating pattern indicated it was a phone call. He turned the screen over and saw the unknown number; it was time to suit up.

“Shit, I’m sorry Y/N, but I need to go,” he said in a rush. “I have a... uh, an emergency.”

You couldn’t have thought of anything more specific?

“It’s cool. Um, don’t worry about it,” she said, shaking her head with her eyes glued to the vibrating phone.

Mark’s one leg was already out the booth before he decided to finally just go for it. Sitting back down with his now quiet phone in his hands, he took a deep breath.

“Y/N, I think you’re really cool. Can I maybe, like, call you sometime, or something?”

Her lips formed into smile that extended to her eyes, and it was enough for Mark to melt a little. “Of course. Yeah, sure,” she replied in excitement and typed down her number on his phone. She handed it back, “Now you know how to reach me if you’re getting your ass whooped again.”

His mouth fell open as his shaky hands grabbed his phone. “Wait—”

She smoothly slid out of the booth, “See you later, Invincible,” she winked, “Don’t get killed today.”

---

Luckily for Mark, no one got killed today. Maybe a few wounds here and there, but nothing painful enough that will land him in the GDA hospital. After spending an hour in the shower, he finally managed to lie down on his bed and rest his body. He sank into the mattress and closed his eyes, taking in the seconds of undisturbed peace that have become rare moments since he got his powers.

As he replayed the events of today’s fights in his head, his mind drifted off to the hours he spent with Y/N. He pulled out his phone and mustered the courage to press the dial button, and the repeating sound of the ringing was making his pulse race.

“Hello?”

“Oh good, you didn’t die today.”

Mark chuckled and sandwiched his hand between his head and the pillow. “It wasn’t that bad today, just took a few hits,” he explained. “So listen, Y/N, I was wondering, uh—”

She cut him off, “What are you doing right now?”

“What?”

“What are you doing right now?” she repeated.

“Um, nothing, just getting some rest” he sat up and looked around. “Why?”

“If you’re not too tired, do you maybe...”

Mark smiled, “Maybe...?”

“I don’t know, sneak out? My roof is pretty comfortable.”

Silently fist pumping, he fully stood up and nodded, “Text me the address.”

Just as quietly as he exited his room via the window, he softly landed on Y/N’s roof. Swiftly flying up and greeting him, she took the place next to him and crossed her legs.

“You’re right, your roof is pretty comfortable,” Mark said.

She chuckled at his remark then noticed a gash by his right temple. Her brows furrowed in worry, “You have a wound,” she said, making sure not to touch it.

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied, softly holding her hand and placing it back down with his. “Totally fine.”

Those words brought her some sense of comfort as her eyes softened, causing her to unconsciously squeeze his hand. Mark’s eyes widened and he looked down at their tangled fingers, frozen for a moment.

“Is this... okay with you?” he asked.

She nodded. “Wanna lie down? Since my roof is so comfortable?” she asked with a smirk.

“Sure,” Mark chuckled, removing his hand from her’s and stretching his arm out as they lied down. Y/N rested her head on his shoulder, keeping her eyes up at the stars.

“Hey Mark?”

“Yeah?”

A moment of silence.

“Thank you for coming.”

He looked down at her as she met his eyes, “You’re welcome.”

The two shared a smile, and Mark took a deep breath as he prepared himself for the words that were about to come out of his mouth.

It’s now or never, Mark. Now or never.

“Watching you kick ass yesterday was... really a sight to see,” he began. “You’re powerful and strong, but more importantly, brave. And you’re so fucking beautiful and kind and smart and...” Mark trailed off, sighing, “I never thought I would be in this position — with you next to me in a very comfortable rooftop under the stars.”

“Mark...”

“And I really like you. Like, really, really like you.”

“Mark.”

“It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way, but I just wanted to let you know. It’s important that you know—”

“Mark,” she cut him off. “I like you too. A lot.”

He breathed a sigh of relief and covered his eyes with his free hand. “Oh thank god. Thank god!” he exclaimed.

Y/N shushed him, “You’re gonna wake up the neighborhood, Invincible.”

“Sorry,” he giggled quietly, “I got excited.”

She laughed and faced her body towards him. They locked eyes again, and Mark didn’t know if it was gravity or just the adrenaline that pushed him, but he finally leaned down and met her lips. Static ran through his body as he deepened the kiss, and he felt an excitement that was even more exhilarating than the first time he flew.

She pulled away and Mark ran his hand through her hair, resting his hand on her cheek. “How was that?” he asked.

She smiled gently and placed her hand over his, “Totally fine.”

#sorry this turned out way longer than expected #mark grayson x reader #invincible x reader #mark grayson #invincible fanfiction

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thesunicarusfellfor · 4 years ago

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Mortal of Gold - Part 4

(Yandere!C!Techno x GN!Shy!Reader x Yandere!C!Philza)

Shorter than my normal chapters, but I want to make the story a little longer chapter-wise. I get into the habit of writing 20k length chapters and I NEED to get out of that habit before I go into severe burnout.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

TW: Mention of amnesia, memories being altered, panic attack, manipulation

Send me a message via inbox if you wanna be added to a general or series tag list. Make sure to turn off anon, please.

You were sitting on the couch with a glass cup filled with tea in between your hands, your (e/c) eyes flicking between the two immortal gods that were seated across from you. Techno was lazily slouching against the back of his chair, reading a crimson coloured book he had just randomly conjured up when you weren’t looking, meanwhile, Philza was casually feeding a few of the berries that were on one of the cakes to Chat, “Now, where do we begin?”

“The… Beginning?” You couldn’t help how your voice sounded a bit shaky. Well, you were in a room with no memory of who you were, and only a slight knowledge of the two men in front of you. One of them was more than a little intimidating, while the other was extremely unbothered and carefree, but they were both still scary in their own way.

“I suppose that’s fair,” Phil gave a soft chuckle, his voice almost a laid back and lazy as he was but also had a twinge of sadness intertwined in his voice, “Well, I can tell you that you’re (Y/n) (L/n). That’s a good start. Now, I won’t be able to tell you everything you want to know right away. Your mind is still extremely fragile from just waking up after being asleep for two months.”

“Then… What caused it? My memory loss I mean…” You watched as Philza became visibly saddened at the tone of your voice, “Please? Or… At least who was I before my memory loss?”

Technoblade looked up from his book, glancing over at his old friend curiously. The avian sighed softly, taking a moment to gather his words as he took a drink from his cup, “You were... An offering to us. Your village, in exchange for safety, offered the most stunning mortal in the village. Crossing over from the Mortal world was too much of a strain for your mind, but that's not important. You belong to us now, darling..."

Technoblade sat up, staring at his friend in shock from behind his glasses, “You-You actually told them that?” He stuttered in complete shock and awe that his friend actually had the guts to lie to you, “But-But I thought-”

Philza silenced Techno by a single glance, leaving the piglin to stutter to himself while sitting up straight, but the hat-wearing male caught sight of the grin that split across the Piglin's cheeks, "Don't worry, we'll treat you well, mate..." He smiled at you but quickly noticed how your breathing picked up.

Techno and Phil watched you like a hawk. They watched as the hue quickly seeped from your (s/t) skin... Leaving behind a pale grey that almost seemed to make a mockery of the beautiful colour your features once were, "Phil... They're gonna pass out again." Techno warned softly, shutting his book after placing a marker between the pages, "I don't think we should've told them that so quick..."

"Mmm... They seem to be going into shock again..." Phil murmured back to his old friend, "I hope that they don't faint..."

Your mind was blank.

Sure, these two gods were heavily attractive in their own ways, but you had little to no memory of them and now they were saying they owned you! Your lips were moving, but no words were coming out, while you were faintly aware of the murmuring coming from the pink-haired male and ruffling of feathers coming from the avian.

Slowly, you felt the porcelain cup be taken from between your shaking hands and a gentle but calloused hand quickly replaced it, “(Y/n)...” Philza cooed gently and a rush of ice flooded through your veins, but… It was calming, “I know… But we’re going to take it one step at a time…” Looking down, you saw his hand had a silvery sort of glow coming off of it. Was he the cause of the icy feeling in your veins? Oh! Right… He’s a god.

You were in the presence of… gods…

It burned... Oh, gods, it burned...

Now what exactly burned wasn't clear in your mind, or what was causing it for that matter. You just wanted it to stop.

Run... Run...

Were... Were you screaming?

"Perhaps... This lie wasn't the most calming... Techno, please knock them out again. The sleep spell won't work twice in a row."

Wh-What?

It was soothing... You almost felt like you were floating in a way. It left you dizzy while also leaving you clearheaded at the same time... While you felt extremely light and airy, your arms and head were heavy enough to where you couldn't lift them in the slightest...

“(Y/n)?”

Who was that?

...Was that you?

That seemed to ring a bell in your mind, but not as loud as a clock tower. Instead, it was similar to a small decoration bell, quiet... Yet audible.

"(Y/n)... Please, come back to us..."

I'm trying...

You tried to speak to the disembodied voice but quickly discovered that your jaw would not move...

Mentally exhaling, you pursed your lips and closed your eyes again. Wake up... Wake up... Wake up, (Y/n)!

Save me...

Whatever gods are listening...

Save me... Please!

As if the gods themselves heard your desperate pleas, a golden and silver light invaded your vision, only seeming to get brighter and brighter without any sort of mercy. Shutting your eyes tightly... You became enveloped in icy cold wind and a burning hot warmth...

Protection... Safety...

"(Y/n)?"

With a small gasp, your eyes shot open and you saw two figures invading your vision, while also successfully blocking you from the light that was trying to seep through the silk chiffon curtains caging you in.

"Morning, darling." The male with golden braided hair and inhuman blue eyes staring down at you with a loving fondness. On top of his head was a large hat that was decorated with white and green stripes, thin golden chains and coloured beads dangling from the brim, "What's that look for?" He asked, large appendages covered in black silky feathers fluffing up every so often.

"You look... Confused..." Murmured the other male. This one was much taller than the blond, and as well as plenty more muscular, but his pink braided hair was an excellent accent. The golden crown on his head, his tusks coming from his lower jaw... and even the darkened eyes behind the cracked glasses framing his face... Nothing about him looked human as well.

You think... You would remember such strange-looking beings...

"Who... are you?"

====

General Taglist- N/A

Mortal of Gold Taglist - @generalalmond @binas-idea-vault @ohworm-writes @sylum @aikochan4859 @simp4theblade @bananaaddictmilkshake @bloodgoddessoftherealm @aikasnow @montygator17 @obey-me-mammons-world @weabtrash @imapotatoandimconfused

#philza x reader #technoblade x reader #techno x reader #yandere philza x reader #yandere technoblade x reader #mcyt #mcyt x reader #yandere mcyt #dream smp x reader #technoblade dream smp #philza dream smp #techno dream smp #mcyt au

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cinnamonest · 3 years ago

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//fucked up, gore, npc torture, eye/finger stuff, kinda necro mention but it's not really necro there's just a dead body involved to the side, asphyxiation, fem reader, fearplay I guess?

I really liked the violent Razor post so now you get violent Childe post. I'm gonna start making more violence/gore posts bc I have a lot saved in my notes so block the tw: violence if you need to!

Childe does genuinely get off to killing.

Like, that's usually said as a joke but in all seriousness, murder sprees and acts of violence are a sex thing to him in some capacity. The psychology is not complicated: it makes him feel powerful, and feeling powerful makes him hard. Simple as that.

He's definitely jerked off over dead bodies before, the just-slain and still warm ones whenever the mission was one he completed alone. It feels like a fitting end to all that exertion. Not that he likes the bodies or anything, no, he's not *that* fucked up, it's more like he just likes the rush.

But anything he had before from regular mission work pales in comparison to once he has someone he loves. It feels a hundred, no, a thousand times better if he thinks of it as for your sake. Even if it *is* normal mission work, in his head he pretends he's killing for you, killing people that are in the way, he projects the faces of the ones in his life that he hates - the people he sees you talk to, your significant other if you have one - onto the insignificant faces of victims.

And, consequently, he starts getting far more brutal. Work is work, and usually the goal is to get in and out as fast as possible - direct shots to the vitals, slit throats and guts split open down the middle. You find the fastest way to get it done and hurry to the next task.

But now he's got a lot more anger than usual stored up. A lot more frustration. He thinks about you, he thinks about all the people who interact with you that he doesn't like. His brain is clouded with hatred and lust and it can only be alleviated with excess violence. Imagines it's all for love. Gives him that same rush, soothes the burning inside.

It becomes slower, messier, he ends up with a lot more blood on him than usual. There's no need for limbs to come off, chests to be split open, bones to be snapped and crushed, heads to be caved in, organs to spill on the floor, but he likes it that way.

It's a lot like sex, when you think about it. Repeated motions over and over, stabbing the other party -- well, with different... Instruments, but a sort of "stabbing" in both cases nonetheless. Sliding in and out of their body, like he'd like to do yours, but just replace the knife in his hand with his dick and tongue and fingers and their torso with your cunt. Over and over. They squeal and scream, noises he'd like to hear from you. It's all leading up to that moment of climax - they convulse, jolt, spasm, and finally collapse... and he likes to imagine it's you instead, making those motions for a very different reason.

Sometimes he gets blood on his skin. He likes to take his gloves off, scoop some of it onto his fingers, rub the fluid between his thumb and fingers - it's warm, wet, viscous, and if he closes his eyes and ignores the coppery smell he can pretend it's clear grool slicking out of your tight little pussy when you cum on his fingers.

The littlest things make him think of you. Organs and entrails spilled out on the ground sparks the word "insides" in his brain and he can't help but think of your insides - in a much different sense of course, but something so unrelated can keep his mind distracted for an entire day.

Sometimes he has to interrogate people, and by "interrogate", perhaps "torture" is a better word - do what's necessary for information. The parts make him think of you.

Dismembered fingers or hands cleaved off - they're from some dude's gross sweaty calloused hands. Not like yours, so fragile and soft. Makes him think of you holding his hand, how warm it would feel. A gouged eye in his hand. When he closes his fist, it mashes with ease, the gelatinous tissue dribbling down onto the floor from between his fingers. The eye is - well, was - a different color from yours, not nearly as pretty. It makes him think of how much he likes your eyes, and when you look at him. This one was dull and empty, but yours sparkle, full of light.

They scream so loudly, it's unpleasant, the shrill shrieks and deep bellowing hurts his ears. Your voice would sound so much prettier shrieking like that. Not that he'd ever do this to you, but, maybe scaring you would make you squeal. Maybe you're a screamer in bed. Who knows. He hopes so.

Sometimes people don't give in too easily, and he ends up with a corpse on his hands. Most of the time he just throws it onto the ground, rolls it off a cliffside with a kick. But sometimes, when the body is smaller and still warm, he likes to princess-carry it to the edge, picture in his head it's you, wrapping your arms around his neck while he carries you. Unfortunately, rigor mortis has already set in, so he can't exactly move the body's arms to mimic that, and half the time the arms are severed from the interrogation anyway.

And admittedly, you're cute when you're afraid, when you're horrified, so maybe he was subconsciously aiming for this, even if he didn't realize it. Going about it when you were close by. Hoping you'd hear. Hoping you'd walk in on it. You freeze up, you can't move even if you tried, your body won't listen. Your eyes go wide and fill with tears. You tremble, you retch and cover your mouth and grab your stomach as your body finally allows you to take a step backwards, and you stumble and fall flat on your back, scrambling back up on shaking hands.

And you definitely hear him say wait, but, well, you'd definitely rather not, so you bolt out the door anyway, screaming at the top of your lungs. Dumbass. You were dragged all the way out to this abandoned place for a reason. No one's gonna hear you, and you won't be able to reach civilization before he can catch up. He finds it funny, really cute to be honest, you're crying and squealing even though he promises you he's not gonna hurt you or anything. Feeling the warm fluid on his hands when he grabs your arms, watching it create dark stains on your clothes even visible in the nighttime darkness, it only makes you panic more, thrashing and crying, but it doesn't do you any good.

And as tempting as just fucking you out here is, he realizes that deep down, he's wanted this for a long time, so dragging you all the way back is worth it. He can restrain you with one hand, use the other to undo the bindings on the now-cold limbs of the unfortunate bastard on the table and slide his body - well, what's left of it - off, letting it crash down onto the floor. Slamming you down on the table in it's place. The room is cold, the outside is cold, but your body and your insides are so warm, and the panic and terror makes you so tight. You're not screaming so much, letting out little sobs mixed with some lewd little mewls you can't keep back. Your wide, terrified eyes keep flicking to the side, staring down at the body. Even when he grabs your jaw to keep your head from turning, your eyes still move, and it's actually really annoying. He already told you he's not gonna hurt you. So instead he just grabs your throat. The more you look away, the more tight his grip gets, and likewise the more you look at him, the more oxygen you can take in.

The cum and squirt mixes with the blood that's already on the table, and once you're sitting back up, some of your tears get added to the mix. You tremble, you go numb and still and you lean forward into the warmth. It's all you can do to just bury your face in his chest so you don't have to look at it anymore. It's nice, really, he likes it when you cling to him for comfort. You two will have to do this again sometime.

#tw: violence #.ch #scheduled post

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honeypiehotchner · 4 years ago

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Normal (Spencer Reid x BAU!Fem!Reader) -- oneshot

I know this is def not my normal content because y’all know I’m a huge Hotch girl, but sometimes I slip back into being a Reid girl. It’s hard not to! I see a lot of myself in him and it led me to write this, so enjoy this (very real, actually) glimpse inside my head in the form of a fluffy Reid story xx.

I listened to “Normal” by AJR a lot while I wrote this!

Summary: Spencer has recently returned to the BAU after a short period of leave, and he comes back to find you, an agent-in-training filling his Resident Genius shoes. He admires you for who you are. You think he hates you. He tries to convince you otherwise.

DR. SPENCER REID MASTERLIST

At first, you thought it was because of the way you read books.

You’ll never forget the first day you met the infamous Dr. Spencer Reid. He had returned from leave for his injured knee (he was shot, you were told) and this was apparently the second time he had attempted to step foot in the office. The first time didn’t go over well when Hotch found Spencer’s file that said his doctor did not clear him for work yet.

Regardless, you were sitting in your desk chair, legs crossed underneath you, “like a human pretzel,” Morgan always teases. You were reading a book, one of your favorites, to pass the time when Spencer walked in.

You knew it instantly because Morgan’s loud and affectionate, “Pretty. Boy!” could be heard all over the BAU.

You didn’t get up from your chair or stop reading -- besides the brief moment when you looked up to see what the commotion was about.

You still remember your internal monologue. Should I get up and hug him like Morgan? No, no, I don’t know him that well. I don’t want to hug anyone today, anyway. Shake his hand? You remember your hand tensing at the mere thought. Okay, not that either. I could wave, but I can’t tell if I even need to. I’ll just keep reading.

You had heard of Spencer before this. Hotch made it abundantly clear to you and the team that you were not replacing Spencer when you joined. You aren’t even officially a member of the BAU yet. You’re on a bit of a trial run, so to speak. That’s how Hotch explained it.

Yes, you were and still are well aware that the timing looks awful. An agent who is vital and loved in the BAU is shot and out of work right as a new, younger, and less experienced but surprisingly intelligent agent steps in for a “trial run” (which no one ever does).

To anyone else, it obviously looks like you were sent here to replace Dr. Reid under the disguise of a short “trial run.”

But that isn’t the case at all.

You thought Spencer didn’t like you because of the way you read books. You immerse yourself in them. You use a pencil to track what line you’re on, so nearly every page has a vertical, light gray line in the margin where the tip of your pencil lead barely grazed the page. You underline keywords and phrases. You draw arrows. You write commentary in the margins.

You thought that was what annoyed him until you saw him highlighting a book and writing in the margins, too. He doesn’t even necessarily need to, especially since he can read so damn fast and remember everything.

That’s also what you suspected -- that he didn’t like you because you could read almost as fast as him.

Keyword here: almost.

You can scan a page and spit the information back out in layman’s terms, sure. But you won’t remember what you read in great detail the next day, sometimes even the next hour -- especially when you were sort of filling the Resident Genius shoes and you’d have to read through stacks of evidence every hour.

You had thought your speed was just another thing Spencer didn’t like because it was just one more thing pointing to the conclusion that you were hired to replace him.

But he doesn’t care. You gladly let him read the evidence and memorize it, but you’ll help him out sometimes by scanning something first to see if it might have what he’s looking for. If it might, then he goes through and catches the fine details.

He’s never once acted as he hates you -- even though you’ve had “friends” who hated your guts and you had no idea (true story: high school is brutal and you were always shocked when your childhood best friend told you how “fake” others were acting toward you). But you’ve tried to look for specific signs, and he shows none of them.

You’re grasping at straws at this point. You’re on a profiling team and you had to Google how to tell if someone hates you. It’s pathetic, truly.

He doesn’t avoid you -- but he also is a really private person like you who likes his time alone.

He doesn’t drop a conversation with you after it’s been started -- but he also rambles so much anyway that you don’t know if he himself is capable of dropping a conversation abruptly.

He doesn’t avoid eye contact with you -- but even that one is tricky because you’re still working on it yourself, and you definitely have some days where you avoid eye contact. Sometimes you can hold it too well, though, and you always wonder if that’s rude.

Going through the rest of the signs that you found on Google goes exactly like that. He hasn’t done it, but then again… There’s always a catch.

It’s exhausting.

It’s a straight week of this before you finally cave and go to the one person you know you can always trust.

“Morgan, does Reid hate me?”

Derek stops stirring his coffee and tilts his head, furrowing his eyebrows at you. “What?” He goes back to stirring before tossing the stick in the trash. “Kiddo, why would he hate you?”

You misread this, too, and think Derek is confirming that Reid has hated you all along. “I don’t know. Why would he? What did I do?”

Morgan pauses, staring at you for a second before he realizes. “Ah, alright. It’s not clicking?”

You and Morgan have this phrase for when things completely fly over your head. “It’s not clicking?” is all he has to ask and all you have to do is nod, and he explains things to you.

So, you nod.

“Okay, listen, he does not hate you,” Morgan says. “I mean that. He’s been struggling to get settled after being out, but he doesn’t hate you. He’s far from hating you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just, trust me. He doesn’t hate you.”

“Okay,” you say slowly. You do trust Morgan, but somehow his words don’t ease your mind this time. “Should I talk to him about it? Or is that overstepping?” You pause. “I don’t wanna be annoying.”

“Kiddo, you’re never annoying,” Morgan smiles, raising his coffee at you. “I’m serious. And sure, if you think talking to him about it will help, go for it.”

“Okay… How do I ask him?”

Morgan shrugs. “Say you’ve felt like there’s been underlying tension and you want to clear the air.”

“Underlying tension and I want to clear the air. Got it,” you chant to yourself. “Thanks, Morgan!”

“Anytime, kiddo.”

Fast forward an hour or two and you finally have enough courage worked up to confront Spencer. The first hour was spent rehearsing what you plan to say and the second was spent rehearsing what you might be asked and what you can say. And finally, you were ready to walk around the set of cubicles to get to Spencer’s.

Spencer looks up when he sees you walking over and he raises his eyebrows. “Oh, Y/N, I just found this really good book about the strategies of--”

“I’ve felt like there’s been a lot of underlying tension between you and me and I wanna clear the air,” you blurt.

Spencer pauses, eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

“Are you mad at me?” You try again.

“Why would I be mad at you?”

“Do you hate me?”

“What? No!” Spencer sets his book down on his desk. “Of course I don’t hate you.”

“Oh...okay,” you nod slowly. “That’s...that’s all then.”

As you’re turning around to go back to your, Spencer stands. “Wait, Y/N.”

You raise your eyebrows in question. “Oh, right,” you chuckle nervously. “What book did you want to tell me about?”

“Oh,” Spencer looks down at his desk, then shakes his head. “I’ll tell you that later, I wanted to ask first if...if you wanted to get dinner later? There’s a reading downtown for this new poet and I thought you’d like to go.”

“Oh,” you nod. “Yes, I was actually already going, but yeah. We can get dinner.” You mentally rearrange things in your schedule as you speak.

“Okay,” he smiles softly. “Oh, the book. Here, you can--” He pauses and grabs a chair, rolling it over for you.

Derek watches from his desk as the two of you sit down and Reid starts rambling.

+++

You and Spencer leave straight from the BAU to get dinner before the reading.

One thing you’re grateful for that comes with spending time with Spencer is that you never have to worry about conversation. He carries it and if there’s ever a silence, he fills it. Or, like tonight, the two of you enjoy a mutual silence.

You opted for a table outside on the patio because the dinner rush was crowding the restaurant indoors, and it made the lights seem a little too bright. You could feel a headache coming on when Spencer asked if the two of you could sit outside.

It’s a little chilly outside, so you guys are alone, but you’re both always bundled up, so you aren’t cold. Spencer is always in some form of layers and a scarf, and you are, too. Minus the scarf, though, because some days it doesn’t feel right on your neck (and lately it doesn’t). But you’re always in a sweater and a cardigan.

Winter is your favorite season because of this. You can wear as many layers as you need and not suffer from a heatstroke.

After a quiet dinner (that you actually kind of needed, though you didn’t realize it at first), the two of you walk down the street to the small bookstore where the poetry reading is taking place.

“So, you said you were already coming,” Spencer begins.

“Hm?”

“To the poetry reading,” he clarifies.

“Oh, right,” you chuckle. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he says, unfazed. “Do you read a lot of poetry?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “I’ve always loved it, I think. I write some, too, but I don’t know how good it is. Probably not very since I’m in the FBI.”

Spencer laughs softly. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Do you write poetry?” You ask.

He shakes his head. “Not often, but sometimes.”

“That’s cool.”

“Yeah,” he says. “I like it. Not enough to do it for a living, of course. Actually, I almost got a Masters in Poetry a few years ago.”

“That’s crazy.”

“I can’t imagine being a poet,” he says, slowing his steps as you reach the bookstore. “But I guess that’s why I’m not one.”

You’re not sure what else to say, so you stay quiet while he opens the door for you, gesturing for you to go inside.

Bookstores are your forever safe haven. The quiet stacks, the mutual agreement between everyone inside not to speak to anyone else unless it’s dire. Not to mention, being surrounded by words.

Even events like these are small. Every event you’ve been to, you’ve been one of maybe twenty people attending. It’s your Heaven. It’s the kind of social interaction you’re somewhat good at.

Spencer is surprised when you willingly sit in the front. He would’ve expected you to sit at the back, in the middle row, even, but not the front center. He doesn’t question it, though. He just quietly sits next to you.

You pull the poet’s book out of your bag and it’s a well-worn copy. You flip through the pages and Spencer catches glimpses of underlined words, commentary, everything that lets him know this must be your favorite.

“Do you um…” Spencer pauses, waiting until you tilt your head, showing your attention. “Do you come to readings here often?”

“Every month,” you nod. “It’s a weird routine I’ve had ever since I moved here. I went to readings almost every week in college, and I didn’t want to stop.”

“I don’t come to a lot for poetry,” Spencer says. “Mostly novels -- and mostly conventions for academia-based writings.”

“Those have always scared me,” you chuckle, only half joking.

“Really? Why?”

“Oh, just the idea of hundreds of people crowded in a hall. That kind of thing just isn’t my speed.”

“You know, if it’s too scary to go alone, you’re welcome to come with me,” Spencer offers.

“Okay.”

“There’s one next Friday,” Spencer says. “If we’re not out on a case, we can go together, right after work.”

“Okay, yeah,” you smile. “What time?”

“It starts at 7, so we could leave work at 5:30 and get dinner beforehand.”

You mentally begin piecing next Friday together in your head and you nod, thankful for his mention of specific times. “That sounds good.”

Soon the chairs around you are filled and you recognize a few people who smile at you, so you smile back. Before long, the manager of the store is stepping up to introduce tonight’s poet, and Spencer watches you eagerly crack open their book.

+++

Somehow, spending time with Spencer has gotten worked into your routine.

You go with him to academic readings, and he comes with you to your poetry ones. The two of you have dinner together most nights because it’s your routine to eat right after work, and most of the time he’s already rambling about something to you when 5 o’clock hits and you begin packing up your stuff.

Tonight is no different, only this time when you’re walking next to Spencer to the bookstore for another poetry reading, he fills the silence.

“Can I tell you something?”

You pause, but nod anyway, wondering why Spencer is asking this time when he hasn’t before -- not that you can recall.

Spencer takes a deep breath. “I know you thought I hated you, and honestly when you told me that, I couldn’t believe it. Because I don’t hate you and I never have. I...I like you a lot, Y/N.”

“Oh,” you let out a breathy chuckle. “I like you too, Spencer. I’m glad you don’t hate me and thanks for saying it again. Sometimes I need the reminder.”

He chews on his lower lip as he listens to you, and it’s obvious you didn’t catch what he is really trying to say. “Y/N, I mean...I like you. I have feelings for you -- romantic feelings,” he clarifies, watching your face intently.

You’ve never made the most facial expressions, but when you do, they can be exaggerated. Which is what happens now.

Your eyes widen and you make what looks like a grimace with your lower lip. “I’m sorry,” you say, scrunching your nose. “Have these…have these all been dates?”

Spencer shrugs. “Only if you want them to be. I just like spending time with you.”

“I like spending time with you, too,” you smile softly. “You don’t hate me for not realizing, do you?”

“Of course not,” he laughs. “But I wanted to tell you because I like being honest with you and...if you feel the same, then...we can go from there, but if not, it’s okay. Like I said, I like spending time with you.”

“I do feel the same,” you blurt. “At least, I think I do. I don’t know. I might need to think, but I know I’m interested and...and I know I really like spending time with you.”

Spencer smiles. “Okay, uh...do you-- Can I hold your hand? Is that okay?”

You can’t help the smile that crawls onto your face in that moment, and you nod.

Spencer stretches out his hand and you take yours out of your pocket, hissing through your teeth for a moment at the cold air, but when Spencer’s fingers tangle with yours, you feel better.

Everything feels better when you’re with Spencer.

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mercy-burning · 3 years ago

Text

Losing You Twice / 1: If I Hated You

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: It’s Valentine’s Day weekend, and it turns out Y/N isn’t the only one struggling with the breakup. Category: Smut (18+), Angst Content Warnings: Language, drinking/getting drunk, penetrative/unprotected sex (If I missed anything, please let me know!) Word Count: 5,538

SERIES MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST

“My bedtime is the darkest, that’s when I’m brokenhearted. The nighttime is the hardest. It’d be easy, if I hated you.” —FLETCHER, If I Hated You

FEBRUARY 13th

It was Valentine's Day weekend, which sucked this time around. Every year for the past three years Y/N looked forward to Valentine's Day, but that was when she actually had someone to spend it with.

Well, someone she actually cared about, anyway... Whether or not Spencer actually knew it, she did really care about him. She was just stupid and didn't say it when he needed to hear it the most.

And now Valentine's Day was on Saturday and Y/N was still without him. Not alone, but still without the man who'd spent the significant holiday with her for the past three years. Memories of their dates and 'afterparties' flooded through her mind as she got ready for work like a montage, a cheesy love-song playlist she'd found on Spotify acting as the soundtrack.

Eventually she sighed and turned it off, opting for something more loud and obnoxious, and therefore not tainted by Spencer's memory. She applied what was left of her makeup and added a pair of earrings before turning the music off altogether and shoving her phone in her bag alongside her keys and other necessities.

Even though she wasn't emotionally prepared for all the cheesy Valentine's things she'd see and hear and experience throughout the weekend, it was still kind of nice to see that things in the bank never changed during the holidays— Everything in her life was so severely different at the moment, that if Marjorie had somehow decided to throw out all her elaborate decorations for each holiday, no matter how small, Y/N would have thought the world was truly ending.

Speaking of, she was met with Marjorie's brighter-than-the-sun smile almost immediately once she set her things in the breakroom.

"How's my little macaron this morning?" she chirped, Y/N chuckling slightly at the nickname— She brought macarons from the bakery down the street on her first birthday she spent at the bank, and ever since then, the older woman had adorned her with the namesake.

"She's alright, Marj... Better now that she's seen you..."

"That boy still on your mind, hon?"

Obviously Marjorie's intentions were good, but Y/N couldn't stand to think about the situation at all, least of all at work... So, setting her jacket on the rack, turned away so that her coworker wouldn't see the visible discomfort on her face, Y/N squeezed her eyes shut and cleared her throat. "So, what are your plans with Geno tomorrow night? Anything special?"

There was a brief pause before Marjorie cleared her throat as well. "Nothing short of our usual dinner plans, my dear. He's been so caught up with work at the Mill lately, I think we're just going to spend the night relaxing."

"Hm," Y/N said shortly, finally turning around and giving her the best smile she could. "Maybe I should take a page from your book and stay in..."

"You weren't going to?"

"No... Britt's been nagging me about getting out there so we're going out tomorrow night. We both haven't been single in a long time, so... Should be fun."

Marjorie didn't look convinced. Either way, she nodded with a smile and walked over to Y/N with something glittery and bright red in her hand— A cheap beaded necklace to clip her nametag onto. She draped it over Y/N's neck and patted her shoulders. "Well, I want you to have fun. And remember that you still have to come to work on Monday. Whatever shenanigans you get into should be reserved for Saturday night only so you can rest properly on Sunday, got it?"

Y/N laughed, thankful for the playful tone in Marjorie's voice. "Yes, Ma'am."

"Oh, I joke, I joke," the older woman said with a bright laugh, turning to walk out of the break room. "A little..."

The smile on Y/N's face only really lasted until after Marjorie was out of sight, then she went into her bag and clipped her nametag onto the red beaded necklace with a sigh.

Was she excited to have a good night out with Britt? Of course. Hell, had it been literally any other day of the year, she would have been practically bouncing off the walls with excitement at the idea of going out to a bar, letting men hit on her until she finally let one of them take her back to his place for the night.

But it just felt like it was too soon.

Either way, she was glad that she'd get to see Britt again, after she'd been on vacation for Christmas and New Year's to see her family and only got back a few weeks ago. She'd seen her on Facetime of course, and they met up once for coffee right after Britt got back from her trip, but a well-needed night out and quality time getting ready together was something that had been missing from their friendship for almost a year.

Y/N knew Britt would most likely spend her time trying to hook them up with end-of-the-night dates, but maybe it wouldn't be so bad...

Even still, sleeping alone the night before was probably one of the worst spells of loneliness she'd ever had. It was normal to be sad spending the first Valentine's Day in years away from a significant other, but knowing how things ended between them—bitter and stained with words left unsaid—this time was just... cold.

And that was putting it lightly.

Y/N laid in bed that night, her eyes wide open and staring at the plastic glow-in-the-dark stars that adorned the ceiling. They used to give her comfort, but now they just reminded her of all the nights she'd spend with Spencer, listening to him tell stories about the constellations. They were some of the most peaceful memories she had.

And now those, too—those stars that had grounded her pretty much all her life and reminded her of the better days—were tainted by her inability to properly communicate.

She almost thought about taking them down.

But if she was really going to get over him this time, for good, then she'd have to learn to make new memories with the stars. Even if it was painful. Even if replacing those memories and writing new ones over them absolutely tore her soul to pieces.

And, as if that pain wasn't enough, that night Y/N dreamt of him, making love to her amongst the stars in every galaxy, only to wake up the next morning cold and alone.

FEBRUARY 14th

She promptly decided that she hated his guts.

It was Valentine's Day, Y/N was respectfully buzzed, and courtesy of two beers and four shots of tequila, she'd just deleted Spencer's number from her phone.

"I'm done," she said, waving a hand at Britt and shoving her phone in her purse. "He doesn't deserve my wallowing."

"Yeah!"

Britt was significantly the more drunk of the two, resulting in a fit of giggles after gaining some stares from the people around them at her sudden outburst.

Y/N smiled, finishing off another shot and shaking her head. "We need more!"

"More shots!" Britt hurried off to grab them, leaving her friend behind with a half-drunken smile that also only felt half-genuine.

Sure, she decided she hated Spencer's guts, but her heart didn't exactly agree well with that sentiment. Even after deleting his number from her phone, after downing all that alcohol, her heart still ached.

Y/N knew deep down that getting over him was going to take some time. A lot of time... But maybe one night of distraction would help.

So the shots kept coming, and by the end of the night, Y/N was just about at her limit.

Which was near black-out drunk. And when you're that drunk you tend to make decisions you wouldn't soberly condone.

Britt got into a cab, and she begged Y/N to come with her, but she assured her friend that she had someone to come pick her up. Eventually the cab driver got tired of their inability to decide, and when Y/N told him to go, he did, leaving her alone on the side of the street at 1am.

Unfortunately, it was incredibly cold, and she didn't really have anyone to come pick her up. And that's where the bad decisions started.

Y/N pulled her phone out, a long sigh escaping her as she dialed the number by heart.

Would he even pick up? He hadn't answered any of her calls or texts before, so why would it have been any different now? Not to mention it was Valentine's Day Weekend. With her luck, he was probably in bed with someone else. Someone who wasn't her. As she listened to the dial tone repeating in her ear, images of him wrapped up with somebody else—sleeping in the bed she'd slept in many times before—clouded her drunken brain and made her more angry than anything.

Her gut twisted, and she almost hung up.

But then the low buzz of the dial tone abruptly stopped and in its place came his voice.

"Y/N?"

Her name on his lips, even through the phone, was grounding, the anger in her system melting away and revealing a coat of drunken relief.

"Spencer! You answered!"

"Yeah... Are you— Is everything okay?"

"Pff, yeah, 'm-fine. Just really fucking cold."

"You're not outside, are you?"

"Duh, I'm outside... I wouldn't be cold in-side... Besides, I didn't call t'alk bout the weather, I need you t'come pick me up."

There was a brief pause, and for a moment Y/N didn't think he was going to say anything she wanted to hear. She swayed on the sidewalk, shivering and praying that he would throw her a bone, even if she'd regret it all in the morning.

"Where are you?" he said finally, and despite herself, she smiled.

FEBRUARY 15th

Spencer couldn't believe he was picking her up at near two in the morning.

Honestly, he'd initially thought about ignoring her call again, but remembering the day it was and taking note of the time, he figured she was most likely in some type of inebriated trouble.

His instincts were right, of course, but he wished that he could have been wrong. He wished she'd only been calling to drunkenly ramble on about how she missed him or maybe how he was stupid and she never wanted to see his face ever again, because that was normal. At least then he could have hung up after she was done and never thought about it again— it was a normal step in any relationship that helped move things along. They could have gotten on with their lives and it would have all been over.

But of course it was never that simple.

Y/N was never that simple.

He pictured her on the street near some bar, alone and cold and drunk, and of course he would have been the only one she could call to rescue her. After all, he'd been pretty much the only thing she'd ever known to make her feel safe.

Still, he wished he was capable of only giving her a ride home and then leaving.

But again, it was never that simple.

It was easy getting her into the car— that wasn't what he was worried about. Rather, it was the fated moment where she'd ask him to stay after he finally got her tucked safely into bed that worried him. Because it was bad enough that it was Y/N... It was her in all her alluring glory, and he'd never been able to deny her anything no matter how badly he tried or wanted to.

Now add on the fact that she was drunk, and most likely sad on their first Valentine's Day apart, and it was a recipe for disaster.

Even if she'd broken his heart, Spencer still cared about her.

Which is why he inevitably agreed to stay, at least until she fell asleep.

He knew her well enough to know all the ways she'd try to get him under the covers with her, so it was a familiar amusement that settled in his being when he was finally able to get on top of the covers with her underneath. But as he entertained her silly little questions with the right answers until she fell asleep, Spencer noticed something else accompanying that amusement.

Guilt.

And then anger for feeling guilty about her sadness— sadness that could have been avoided had she just gotten over whatever was holding her back and either returned his "I love you" or told him she wasn't feeling the same way just yet.

All she had to do was talk.

He had a right to feel upset about Y/N holding back when he'd been nothing but patient, spending almost every year of their relationship trying to make her see that she had nothing to be afraid of. He'd given her every chance to talk about what she was feeling, whether it was happy or not, and every time she pushed it all away in favor of sex.

That wasn't what he wanted in a relationship, so he ended it. And there was absolutely nothing wrong with that.

So why was he feeling so fucking guilty?

He blamed his good nature and innate need to please people, to make them feel good and happy. But he also blamed Y/N and her adorable drunken sleeping face.

He watched as she slept, willing himself not to forget the way she hurt him. She'd completely stolen his heart and shattered it at the same time, and if he was being honest, she still held some of the pieces. But he couldn't get them back, not if he didn't want to risk shattering her own heart in the process.

It felt like they were tied together by some strong, invisible force that wouldn't break unless both of them broke right along with it.

So... maybe he could afford to leave those pieces of his heart with her. He'd have to if they were going to get out of this alive. Not unscathed, sure, but alive nonetheless.

Once he was sure she was deep in sleep, Spencer quietly and carefully got off the bed and navigated through her apartment, getting her a glass of water and leaving it on the table next to her bed. And because he couldn't help it, he cleaned up some of the clothes that were scattered around her floor, depositing them into the hamper and straightening out a few more things that were out of place.

He looked over at her sleeping figure one more time, sighed, and then left, keeping her bedroom door open just a crack.

***

Spencer knew he shouldn't have stayed longer.

Despite his better judgement, he'd plopped himself down on her couch after making sure she was sound asleep, hoping to catch his breath and sort through what he was feeling before he got behind the wheel. But of course, it was 2am and he was exhausted, and he couldn't stop himself from closing his eyes and drifting off.

And now he was sitting up, looking around the apartment through the lens of morning.

Though the curtains were sheer, they didn't provide much light, but enough of it showed him just how familiar the space was. Y/N hadn't moved anything around. The same art was on the same walls, the potted ivy plant on her mantle sat un-watered and withering, and every book and record and DVD on her shelves was in the exact same spot as they'd all been the last time he was there in December.

Meanwhile, after the breakup he'd re-arranged everything. He was so sure that they were through for good this time around that he wanted a clean slate. Not that he wanted to rid himself of her memory completely, but if he was going to move on from the hold she'd had on him, he had to do something...

And yet, he ended up at her apartment the morning after Valentine's Day all the same.

He heard the shower running faintly a couple rooms away. You didn't have to pass the couch to get there, so maybe she hadn't seen him sleeping and he could get away cleanly.

Spencer scrambled off the couch, thankful that he hadn't removed his jacket or his shoes and that he could just sprint towards the door without having to find any of his belongings.

But as luck would have it, the second he took a step, the shower turned off. He had to get out of there quickly, but if he did then she'd definitely know he'd stayed overnight. But if he went quietly, he wouldn't have enough time before she caught him.

Maybe I could hide...

He shook the thought with a roll of his eyes, settling on the clearest course of action, which was to make as quick of a getaway as he could. He'd try to be quiet as well, though the creaky door was going to be nearly impossible to get through without a sound.

His hand was on the doorknob when he heard her voice.

"You didn't think you could spend the night and then leave without saying goodbye, did 'ja?"

The pure amusement in her tone made his stomach churn, and it wasn't unpleasant in the slightest.

Spencer turned and smiled softly, avoiding looking at her completely. "Sorry. Didn't want to bother you."

"You're never a bother."

That sentiment held less amusement and more sincerity, which was what guided his eyes to meet the woman who said the words.

His stomach twisted again when he saw her, exactly like he knew she'd be— wrapped in nothing but a thin towel with near-dripping hair cascading down her back. Her legs were bare and exposed, the towel not only thin but short, which meant that her chest was also practically spilling out of it. Despite the obvious and inevitable hungover look in her eye, there was also a good splash of that mischief that'd always been there— the kind that spelled out trouble.

He needed to get out of there.

"Well, um... I'm glad I got you home safe," he said, clearing his throat. "I should... I should go."

"You sure you don't wanna stay for breakfast?"

Spencer could have sworn she was teasing him, dangling her body in front of him like a meal they both knew he wouldn't be able to resist. But then she added, "I've got everything I need for your favorite omelet," and he exhaled with a small smile, exhausted with his own mind for convincing him that she was out to pull him back in.

Still, he declined. "No, I... I shouldn't. But, uh, thank you..."

"You sure?"

This time when he looked up at her, she was closer. She was gently striding forward to meet him, and he half thought about backing up towards the door until he realized he was already there.

"I—I'm sure. Really."

"But you drove around all night just to take me home when I was drunk, the least I can do is feed you..."

"Eh, it's alright. It's... Nothing I haven't done before."

She stopped then, her eyes briefly dropping to the floor. It was like her whole demeanor changed—just for a second—from the prowess she'd always been, to what seemed to be a woman filled with sadness and regret. It didn't last long though, just enough for Spencer to notice it before she looked back up at him with that wicked gleam in her eye and a remark right at the tip of her tongue.

"Still. I feel bad, making you do all that for me... Especially now."

He wasn't sure what to make of this... It seemed like she was sincere, but she was also alluring, calling to him like a siren leading him to his ultimate demise. And while he'd come to know that as merely a part of her nature, he couldn't help but shake the feeling that she was doing it on purpose.

She was in a skimpy towel, after all, and she definitely knew how to use that to her advantage.

It didn't help that he didn't have the courage to leave. Everything inside of him right then longed to drop that towel and indulge himself once more. Putting aside all the heartache and the differences they shared, all he felt in that moment was the need to touch her— to get lost in her and never be found again.

She was his fatal flaw, and it was painfully obvious.

Spencer knew he shouldn't have stayed longer...

He was over to her in just three strides, throwing off his jacket and tossing it aside before cradling her face with his hands and bringing their lips together for the first time since Christmas Eve.

The small whine in her throat signaled that she hadn't expected it, but welcomed it all the same. The moment she lifted her arms to wrap around his neck, the towel fell to the floor, and there was no going back.

"What about breakfast?" Y/N breathed out once they pulled away for air.

Spencer contemplated, studying her face, seeing the way her eyes sparkled, and decided on the two words that sealed his fate.

"Screw breakfast."

Their lips were melded together almost as soon as the words left his mouth. And it wasn't long before every other part of their bodies were melded together as well.

Y/N helped him take the rest of his clothes off as they danced around the entryway and the living room. Everything was open, no walls separating the living room from the kitchen, so to compensate for the lack of breakfast they'd be eating, they migrated to the kitchen counter once Spencer had off everything but his boxers.

He trapped her against the cool marble of the countertop, her back hitting it solid and sending a shiver up her spine. Meanwhile his hands roamed her body, unsure of where to be other than on her at all times, whether it be her waist, her stomach, her arms, her breasts, or her ass. He wanted to feel all of her, and quite frankly she wanted the same.

She even told him so, in her own way, by bringing one of her legs up and wrapping it around his waist, pulling him closer to her as she wove her fingers through his hair and tasted his tongue with her own.

The action elicited a groan from his mouth, low and desperate. Spencer settled his hands on her waist and gripped it tight, silently telling her what to do.

So she jumped up and he helped guide her swiftly onto the counter. Her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist again, and he found himself grinding into her hips, urgent to feel every part of her. And thankfully she was feeling rather desperate herself, because she rolled her hips up into him in return, breaking their mouths apart just briefly to speak.

"Fuck me..."

There was so much he wanted to say to her in that moment— how badly he was feeling about keeping her entertained while he was slowly deteriorating inside from her emotional detachment and rejection, how much she frustrated him, and more prominently, how she was so goddamn impatient and that he was getting there...

But all that he could manage was a broken, desperate whisper of her name.

It was all he'd ever known.

All that frustration... All that anger, heartache, passion, and time apart combined beautifully into those few syllables that made up her name and tore him apart from the inside out.

And his hands were just as destructive.

Spencer deftly dropped his boxers to the ground and pushed forward, almost losing all sense of self the moment the head of his dick finally made contact with her cunt. He made his way inside of her and then used both of his hands to grip her waist and bring her closer, their mouths connecting harshly as they found one another once again.

His grip was bruising— not possessive in any way, but desperate, like he had to cling to her for dear life or he wouldn't live to see another day. He held himself inside her, sighing and whimpering into her mouth as she clenched around him. It was so familiar, so comfortable and exhilarating that he almost didn't even want to move. He thought about staying there, still inside her forever.

But as always, Y/N was insatiable.

She wrapped all her limbs around him and held on, rolling her hips and seeking friction in any way possible when she briefly tore her lips away from his.

"I need you, baby, please..."

Even as his heart started to rumble in his chest, well aware of the fact that she still probably didn't love him the way he loved her, Spencer gave her everything. He pulled out and snapped his hips forward again, setting a strong, steady pace that had Y/N's eyes rolling back, and the payoff of hearing her sigh out his name was more than enough to keep him going.

Her nails dug deliciously into his shoulders, the faint sting adding something reminiscent of gasoline to a fire. The flames grew taller and brighter the more he fucked her, and with each gradual increase of volume and intensity, it was a wonder the whole kitchen around them hadn't literally burst into flames.

That's how they always were.

Together like this, so lost in the high of each others' bodies, it was easy to forget the things that made their relationship so hard. It was easy to let all the negativity slip away into the throes of pent-up, well-needed sex. The high they gave each other was merely that— A high...

A distraction.

And while that's exactly what Y/N needed, what she preferred in most cases, it's what Spencer recognized as completely unhealthy, despite his coming back to it every time.

It's also why he dreaded the moment ending. Because once they came down from the high, all that's left would be sadness, regret... Guilt... Their fire burned hot, brightly and wildly, but in the aftermath would lay only a thick layer of deadly smoke between them— hard to navigate, and nearly impossible to breathe in without suffocating.

So they simply burned and burned and burned...

Spencer gripped her so tight he was sure to leave her with bruising. And in turn Y/N dragged her nails down his back and dug them into his ass, her palm laying firmly over the muscles that aided in fucking her into the marbled surface. She whined out curses and moans, and he cried out broken whispers of her name, pet names, and curses alike.

Even once she'd come, he kept going, willing himself to hold on as long as he could. She whined into his ear at the overstimulation. And rather than keeping her legs wrapped around his body, she decided to spread them wide, perching her heels up on the counter as far as she could go and anchoring her fingers through his hair.

And though she might not have had enough orgasms in her to keep up with him, she welcomed it all the same—She welcomed the burn just as much as he did.

Even still, no fire can burn forever.

All concept of time was lost by the time Spencer finally collapsed forward, completely spent and barely standing on weak legs after coming twice. Y/N held onto him tightly to keep him upwards, lightly massaging his scalp with gentle fingers and closing her eyes as she focused on his breathing— the way it fanned over the skin of her bare shoulder and how it sounded, perfectly in time with hers...

It was the most peaceful she'd been in a long time.

She felt him pull out of her, the both of them groaning at the feeling, and a little at the mess it would make.

Spencer gently peeled his body off of hers, sniffing once and avoiding her eyes. "Sorry... You just got out of the shower..."

"It's fine," Y/N breathed. She begged him silently to look her in the eye, but he remained still... Most likely thinking. She could practically see the cogs turning in his brain.

So, in an effort to lighten the mood a bit, she added with a breathy laugh, "Besides... It's nothing I haven't done before."

The callback to his words—and memories of all the times they'd found themselves in this position before—got Spencer to laugh a little, but he still wouldn't meet her eyes.

Finally, he cleared his throat. "I'll... I'll grab the wipes?"

"Oh. Sure," Y/N returned with a thankful smile. It was hopeful, too, though the moment he was out of eyesight, it turned rather sad.

She'd known that behavior before, seen that hesitation in his movements and that sound in his voice.

It was guilt.

Regret.

Probably a bit of self-hatred, too.

When he returned, a pile of her clothes in hand and the bag of wipes on top, she took them from him with a kind smile and cleaned herself up while he put his clothes back on.

The silence was more uncomfortable than anything either of them had ever experienced.

So much so, that Y/N couldn't even muster up the courage to ask him to stay for breakfast— and she always did after one of their post-break hookups.

Maybe this time really was different.

Spencer was just at the door again when she stopped him.

"Thank you," she said. Her voice was so small, he almost didn't hear it. "For bringing me home..."

But he paused, turned, and finally looked her in the eye.

He almost sunk to his knees right there...

Seeing her, arms crossed like she was trying to keep warm, as her head hung low and she looked up at him through sad, hooded eyelids...

It reminded him of the woman he fell in love with.

But in his peripheral, he saw the towel on the floor and was reminded of the woman who'd shattered his heart.

Spencer cleared his throat. Once upon a time he might have returned her thanks with, Anytime, but... Honestly he wasn't sure there could ever be another time. For his sanity, he'd have to avoid 'anytime' at all costs.

So, he settled on, "You're welcome."

He was glad to see her return his kind smile with one of her own, even if it was tainted with sadness, and a small wave goodbye.

Maybe this time it would stick.

Even still, as he closed the door behind him and made his way to the parking lot, for some reason it didn't quite feel like goodbye.

And some of that deadly smoke that settled in his lungs as he drove further and further away from her apartment was inclined to agree.

***

Neither of them could sleep that night.

While Spencer stared out the window of the jet, a little annoyed to be called out on a case so late but at least thankful for the distraction, Y/N laid in bed, staring at the stars on her ceiling.

The same constellation caught their eye.

Columba.

The Dove.

She hadn't even meant to arrange the stars like that, but one night after a date, they were laying in her bed and Spencer pointed out that the cluster of plastic stars right in the corner of the ceiling looked like Columba.

Y/N fondly remembered Spencer telling her about how it was originally named to represent Noah's dove, which searched for dry land during the great biblical flood and returned carrying an olive branch to make news of its recession— of peace at last.

The memory made her smile. It tugged at her heart and made her dreams of him even more vivid.

All the same, Spencer noticed the constellation outside the jet window and remembered that same night. The smile on her face as he told her the story, the feel of her fingers gliding softly over the bare skin of his forearm...

It was the first night since he'd met her that he thought it.

I love her...

He almost told her then, too, but he was afraid it was too soon. So he refrained.

Looking back, Spencer was starting to regret that— Maybe without that extra time together, breaking up would have been easier. But instead, he gave her more time. He gave himself more time to fall deeper in love with her, and in the end it still wasn't enough.

Now they were both looking at the same constellation, one made of plastic and the other of gas, wondering if their flood would ever recede.

And in the event that it did... Who would be the dove, and what would be their olive branch?

“You know I dream about getting back together in the future, I could focus on you. But if I leave right now, I hope that you don’t find someone that touches you the way that I do...”

***

SERIES TAGLIST: @reidyoulikeabook @yourmisosoup @fortheloveofcriminalminds @bellzo17 @altsvu @flipperpenguins @mcumorningstar

TAGS NOT WORKING: @reid-to-me @totallyclearwitch

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid smut #spencer reid angst #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds angst #losing you twice

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loving-all-for-loki · 3 years ago

Note

Can you write one where the Rogers is assigning a new recruit to each avenger for training? Loki gets the new girl and he’s irritated thinking she’s just some normal human that hasn’t a clue how to fight properly because of her petite size. When it comes time for them to spar, she gives him hell. She fights with swords and is very skilled in the art. He says something to piss her off and she ends up blasting him away with powers she never told anyone about. Loki realizes what she is since he knows the magic she used. She’s part light elf but being half human she was abandoned and left to die just like Loki was. They end up bonding and work together on the team.

A/N: I hope you like it! I didn't focus a whole ton of them working together, but I feel like you get the point. It's a bit longer than my other one shots.

The Moon And Her Darkness

Summary: Y/N, the newest avenger, starts her first day of training. An unimpressed Loki’s doubts are proved to be wrong when she reveals herself to be stronger than he knew.

Word count: 2744

Warnings: angst, dick Loki

Forever Tags: @mm2305

Your blood pumps fast through your body as you stare at the raven haired god. Ever since you joined the team, he’s been giving you dirty looks and eye rolls. You tried to not pay attention to it since you know of his past (and have been warned by Tony), but as the newest Avenger trying to prove herself, you find yourself longing for his approval.

It has been a week since Nicky Fury showed up at your home, extracting you from it, and throwing you into the lion's den you called the Avengers. You never signed up for it, but given that you were on the government’s radar for a long time, you’re not surprised. A couple mishaps here and there made them take you on their own terms. They’ve decided that having super powers is not something to be normalized and that you couldn’t live like a normal civilian.

Although you want to be home, the Avengers have already shown to be a great family. Nat and Wanda have already taken you shopping while Steve gave you a tour of the tower. As far as the others, they have been out of sight. Bucky avoids everyone, Sam with him because they’re glued to the hip, and Tony is somewhere else working on new technology with Bruce. Clint? Thor? Who even knows. You’ve been thankful for the attention they have given you.

Except for Loki.

You remember the attack in New York and you won’t lie when saying that approaching the god is intimidating. He stands with great pride and power, it’s hard not to feel small, but when he stares at you the way he does, it’s harder. He doesn’t stop looking at you as if you were a rat he found in a sandwich. Disposable. Replaceable. Disgusting. You don’t expect much from the God being that he’s only staying here out of punishment for the attacks, but you had hoped for a little something more. Even a prank or two.

When Steve told you that you were going to start training, you expected hand to hand combat like the rest, not whatever involves Loki being in the gym at the same time as the two of you. He hasn’t said a word, but just stared at you as Steve goes over some basic disabling techniques and defense. Most of it is already burned in your brain from your childhood, being a warrior and all, but you still manage to learn some new things.

But learning as to why Loki is there, that still remains unclear. Everytime you throw a punch or try to block one of Steve’s, Loki scoffs at you and rolls his eyes. He looks completely relaxed on a bench in the room, yet he could not be looking at you with a more tense gaze. He looks worried, as if you’re going to get beaten to a pulp.

“Okay, what’s wrong?” You yell at him.

Panting, you block Steve’s last hit and turn to the younger Odinson.

“Sorry?”

“Oh, don’t sorry me. Cut the crap, Loki. What’s up?”

“I believe the sky is.”

You grab a knife off the wall and aim it in his direction, startling him slightly but not even shocking Steve.

“You stare at me with daggers in your eyes and judge my every move. You have yet to even talk to me since I joined the team. What do you have against me, you ass?”

“Y/N-”

“Shut it, Steve!” You yell, quickly aiming the dagger at him before returning to Loki, “You. Talk.”

“It’s just pathetic, that’s all.”

“Pathetic? You’re calling me pathetic?”

You start to charge at Loki, but Steve quickly wraps his arm around your waist, holding you back from gutting the god.

“Y/N, I wanted you to spar with him after me,” he cuts in.

“And why would I do that?”

“Because he's a skilled fighter who matches your level.”

“Oh, so I spar with the tricker who decides I’m too pathetic to fight. He’s going to teleport or some shit and stab me like he does with Thor.” Loki’s eyebrows raise at the mention of Thor getting stabbed. “Yes, I’ve heard the stories. I’m not that naive, Steve.”

“I won’t leave you alone with him. I’ll be here to watch and guide.”

“What do you know about fighting with me? I have magic beyond belief” Loki asks the both of you.

“I know more than you think,” I spit, turning back to Steve, “Can we do something else?”

“Well, you coud-”

“I am not sparing with Loki.”

“Okay, then how about weapons? Whatever one you want to start with?”

Loki scoffs again at the mention of you fighting any other way than hand to hand combat. He’s lucky you’re on the same team as him or else you would have decapitated him by now just because of annoyance. How can a man so attractive be so obnoxious?

You walk over to the wall of weapons were Steve and quietly discuss which ones you’ll practice with. He recommends knives so you can spar with Natasha when he’s gone, but the swords are more up your alley. They remind you of your childhood, the weapon of your people. Some days, you miss them, but you know they are fighting their own battle that is too dangerous for you.

Picking up the swords, Steve warns you he is not good which makes Loki laugh again. He has the right to this time because how do you practice with a man who doesn’t know what he’s doing. You can’t last ten minutes with Cap before you’re tired of his flailing. He’s really not good.

“Loki, you wouldn’t happen to know how to use swords would you?”

“I have some experience. Asgard knights and Valkyrie used them, we were forced to learn.”

He stands and takes Steve’s sword from him. Turning to you, he smirks, taking you in. Your frame looks so small compared to his, nothing but a mortal. He’s never admit it, but he finds you slightly adorable, in a helpless baby sort of way. You take proper stance and stare at Loki dead in the eye, determined to prove him wrong.

The two of you run at each other, swinging at any unblocked area you can, yet never hitting. He blocks your swing, pushing you back but not down. Looking up at him, you scream and run, thrusting your sword towards his neck and legs. He blocks you again, but not without stumbling. Before he’s able to get up, you land a blow right to his chest, knocking the air out of him. He hooks his foot around your leg and flips the two of you over so he hovers above you, sword to throat.

“I’ll admit it, you are good, but not great,” he laughs.

He stands up and walks off, setting the swords back on their holder on the wall. You gradually stand up, fury in your bones for the way he speaks to you.

“You… are irritable!” You yell.

Right before Loki gets to the door, he turns to face you. Steve rushes to your side.

“Y/N, stop. He’s not worth it.”

“Oh, he’s not worth it, alright,” you mutter to Steve, “He’s not worth the pride. The praise. Whatever the ‘glorious purpose’ he thinks he has. He’s just an insecure little boy who needs to prove himself over others, make them feel small so he feels superior. Just a bully.”

“I’d watch your tongue,” Loki warns.

“Or else what? You’ll challenge me to a words competition? See who has the best insults or can sound like the biggest douche because I think we all know who would win! Another check mark for your book of things you’re better at than ‘midgardians’ or ‘mortals’ or whatever degrading nickname you think of next.”

Loki’s chest heaves in anger. You’ve never seen someone so angry or heard anyone yelling at you with concern like Steve. Nothing he says registers in your head as Loki’s daring looks fill your mind. You’d almost be scared if you didn’t know he’s full of empty threats. Just a scared little god boy.

“You imbecile, think you can scare me?”

“Actually, I think anything can.”

“I can take words from someone who does not know me, but to be called a coward is not something I take lightly.”

“So what are you going to do about it? Huh?”

“Nothing, I don’t waste my time on people like you.”

“Oh, people like me? Because the great Frost Giant Asgardian is sooo superior.”

“Don’t you ever say that.”

Loki rushes to your side, grabbing you by the throat and lifting you up against the wall.

“Loki, stop it!” Steve yells.

“This is not about you, Rodgers. I suggest you leave before getting in the crossfire.”

“I can’t do that. The safety of this team-”

“Is your priority. I know you are honorable, but I highly suggest you leave.”

Steve hesitates at the sound of you gasping for air. You cling onto Loki’s hand, tightly wound around your throat. His veins pop out of his hand like a dehydrated man. Steve looks back at you, eyes now closed to focus on your breathing.

“Put her down first,” Steve orders.

“Fine, always have to be the hero.”

Loki sets you down and your body goes numb. Everything hurts, your throat swelling. You gasp for all the air you can, feeling it go down your throat and enter your lungs. It’s fresh, comforting, healing. Leaning your head back against the wall, you barely open your eyes to see Steve by your side.

“Are you okay?”

Not energized enough to speak yet, you nod your head and place your hand on his shoulder. Steve looks over at you with worry before turning back to Loki.

“Leave, now.”

“Gladly.”

Loki turns to walk away, but doesn’t. He stands there to listen to you and Steve. At this point, neither of you care. You’re too focused on not dying.

“Can you breathe?” Steve asks.

You nod your head.

“I can get you help. We have a hospital room.”

“No,” you choke, “I’m fine. I just need a moment.”

Steve nods, but doesn’t listen. He gets up and leaves the room, rushing down the hallways to get a nurse, leaving you alone with Loki.

“Why haven’t you left?”

“No reason.”

“Please, just go. I’m tired of fighting. You’ve done enough.”

Loki turns to look at you. You look weak, but actually weak this time. The purple tint to your skin is fading as your lungs self regenerate as you keep breathing. Gripping onto the wall behind you, you stand up. Your knees are weak, making you wobble as you do. You’re not lying. You’re tired of Loki. You’ve barely spoken to the man and he’s made two attempts on your life in ten minutes. Sure, you teased him, but doesn’t he deserve it for being an ass.

“Weak.” He mutters.

That was the last straw. You look up at him. He stares at you as if the devil himself has entered you and your eyes glow bright red, but you know what is wrong. Holding out your hand towards Loki. A glow erupts from behind you, bright yet dark. It’s dark blue like the night sky and Loki watches it in awe. In seconds, Loki’s body is flung through the training room doors, blasting him into the wall of the hallways. He feels his rib breaking, his head hitting the wall. He yells out in pain as you slowly approach him, the anger seeping through.

“Never call me weak.”

Loki flips his head up to look at you, shock running through his body. At the sound of his body collapsing, the other Avengers come running forward. They look upon the sight of you towering over the trickster god with a look they’ve never seen before. Ethereal. Godly. You look as if you’re a queen staring at her peasant handmaid. Anger. Controlling. Power.

“What the-” Bucky mutters.

“You,” Loki gasps.

He struggles to stand as the team tries to help but he refuses. You two locked eyes but nothing was said. “You’re an elf.”

Everyone looks back at you with confused faces, but you don’t say anything. Your body goes hot at the mention of the word ‘elf’. The fire inside you fades out as anxiety places it, waiting for Loki to continue.

“I knew if someone was here to figure it out it’d be you,” you whisper.

“Light elf yes?”

“Yes, moon elf to be exact.”

“How are you here? Aren’t the-”

“Yes, they’re away. I was left to die. Our town got ransacked, everyone fled. No one stopped for me.”

“Then how are you here?”

“The Air elves. They got word of what happened and came. Found me. Took me back, but-”

“You weren’t suited. They found out.”

“Yes.”

There’s a moment of silence between you and the god. His eyes shine with sadness, tears coming to the corners. He looks at you with great pity as the wall inside you breaks.

“Can someone explain what’s happening?” Steve asks.

“Can you tell?” You ask Loki.

He nods, “Yes. Y/N is a moon elf, a tribe of light elves. They’re as high up as Asgard in the nine realms, powerful warriors. They’ve been at the center of every creature out there. People have been after them for their weapons, gems, and wealth. A landmark for every thief and warrior in the universe.”

“My town was destroyed when I was a little girl. Nobody wanted me because I was a child. I was a burden to them.”

“She was left for dead to be found by the Air Elves. Another tribe. Not as powerful. But they didn’t want her and there’s only one reason why they wouldn’t want a moon elf. She’s a half-breed.”

“Moon elves are the only ones who tolerate them. Half human, half elf. Considering many of them come from moon elves, they’re not despised, but Air Elves.”

“They dropped you off on Midgard to be picked up by someone else. I assume you hid your powers?” “I had to. I acted out once when I was little and my parents freaked out. They sent me away. I lived in a orphanage before some group took me, trained me, helped me hone in my powers. They saved me.”

“Until you got to old and left.”

“Didn’t know where to go. I became a waitress at some back alley bar, lived above it in an apartment with my manager. Lived paycheck to paycheck.”

“Then?”

“Nicky Fury came to me. I was on SHIELD’s radar and they wanted me on the Avengers.”

The room goes silent. Throughout your talking you missed the way Loki got considerably closer to you. You practically stand right under his nose. Loki raises his hands and places them on your shoulders, getting your attention. You two look each other in the eye for a long moment.

“I am… so sorry.”

You feel the tears forming in your eyes as Loki pulls you into his chest, holding you by your waist. The team watches in awe as the closed off god embraces you. Slowly, everyone leaves you two in the hallway. An hour goes by as you cry in Loki’s eyes.

Eventually, Loki picks you up bridal style and brings you to your bedroom. He helps you get dressed for the night and settled in bed before you grab his hand, making him turn back to face you. His eyes are no longer riddled with anger or hatred, but kindness and pity. He looks at you like you’re a little lamb to be protected.

“Yes, darling?”

“Stay with me?”

He nods before undressing and getting in bed with you. He pulls you close, your head leaning on his chest, and places an arm around your waist.

Every night goes on like this. No matter what happened in the day, even if you two got into an argument, Loki always found his way back by your side in your bed. You would have never expect it from how he treated you at first, but after the last few months since you met him, you find yourself growing closer to the god.

Loki slips into your bed for what feels like the 1482nd time. Resting your head on his chest, Loki pulls you close to his body.

“Goodnight, darling.”

#loki #loki fanfic #loki x reader fluff #loki x reader #loki fluff #loki x reader one shot #loki one shot #loki laufeyson #loki layfeyson x reader #loki laufeyson fluff #loki laufeyson x reader #lovingallforloki #themoonandherdarkness

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soulmate-game · 4 years ago

Text

This is an alternate ending for my Bio!dad Joker / Bio!mom Harley AU. Or really, the timeline itself will be entirely different starting from the moment that Marinette’s plane lands in Gotham. If you haven’t read the original, you can do so here.

—*—*—*—*—*

“He’s going to find out, Mom.”

“No he won’t, don’t be silly! I’ve been very careful about hiding you from him, Nettie-pie.”

“Mom… I just have a bad feeling. I don’t think we can hide who I am from him. If he sees me, I think he’ll know.”

The phone went silent.

“If he hurts you, I’ll kill him. If I was crazy about him, Sugar, then I’m head over heels for you. Not even he can stop me from caving his skull in if he tries his usual tricks with you.”

“... My plane leaves soon, I’ll talk to you when I land. And mom?”

“Yeah, honeycake?”

“I love you.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Marinette often hated how accurate her intuition tended to be. She had barely even stepped out of the airport before she had felt the prick of a needle in her neck and the sensation of being shoved into a small, dark space before her vision cut out.

Looks like her mom wasn’t able to hide her existence away as well as they thought.

And unfortunately for Marinette, her darling asshole of a father had apparently had ample time to plan his first meeting with her. If he had just used the much easier to acquire Chloroform on her, then Marinette likely would have woken up early enough to come up with a plan. Chloroform was unreliable and wore off fairly easily. But no, he had actually had the time to steal hospital grade anesthetic.

Which meant that Marinette woke up with her wrists zip-tied to heavy links of chain above her head, and her ankles connected to the chain below her with what felt like ten layers of duct tape.

Lovely.

“Ah, there she is! Good morning, sleepyhead!” Those were the high-pitched, dramatic words she heard when she came back to consciousness. She didn’t even need to open her eyes to know who the speaker was— she had watched enough videos online and not-so-legally obtained Asylum and Prison footage to immediately recognize the speech patterns and tone that was echoing around her.

Apparently keeping her eyes closed was not allowed, because it was only a few seconds later that Marinette felt a harsh slap sting her cheek and whip her face to the side. Oh, that would become a bruise without a doubt. Her teeth betrayed her, cutting into the inside of her mouth with the force of the hit. So, when Marinette opened her eyes to glare at the sperm donor responsible for half of her DNA, she aimed her bloody spit right at him. It landed on his shoe, which only a few seconds later slammed into her gut.

Marinette gasped for air even as the chain she was on swung violently, making her dizzy and upsetting her stomach. Too bad she didn’t have anything in there to throw up on him, she thought angrily. The chain links rattled loudly, ringing in her head alongside the electric pain of both of her newly forming bruises.

“Honestly, is that any way to treat your dear ol’ Daddy?” Joker cooed with false offense, one hand over his heart. Marinette glared at him as best as she could as she continued to sway in the open air, the chain she was tied to being the only thing keeping her from plunging straight down into a vat of sickly green, bubbling liquid.

Marinette didn’t need to be told what that liquid was. And joker knew that, the moment he saw her look down at that vat and saw the realization almost immediately cross her face. So instead of explaining, he laughed. Loud, high, and deranged.

“Good, good! That idiot Harley kept you educated, at least,” he said between psychotic chuckles. “Ah yes, and she somehow managed to choose the perfect name,” he glided over to her, as if he was some ethereal demon of chaos instead of a human. His paper-white hand reached out, grabbing her chin in a crushing grip and turning her face this way and that. Inspecting her as if she was a piece of china and not a living being. “So easy to adjust. Right now, you’re Marinette. Just like how, all those years ago, your mother stood here as Harleen. But just as she was dunked into acid and became my harlequin,” he stepped back and grabbed Marinette’s shoulders. He spun her like a top, making the metal chain creak and clink as it wound into a few weak coils and then released back out, trying to go straight again. It sent Marinette twirling through the air in a horrid half-spin, one-eighty degrees one way before sharply spinning to the other side. Joker laughed.

“Just like that, you’re gonna go from boring old Marinette,” he stuck out his tongue like a child, as if the mere taste of her name was bitter. “And you’ll be reborn as my new little Marionette. Aren’t you excited?!”

“Fuck you,” Marinette spat, even as she tried to blink and return her vision to normal. She was far too disoriented to even come up with a plan— but she was still coherent enough to register that the sky was dark outside the high windows of the factory she was apparently in. She had been missing for a few hours then, which meant that her mom and Momma Ivy would have called for help a long time ago. Maybe if she just stalled long enough, it would get there in time. “I’m not a puppet. Not for you, not for anybody!” She snarled.

Joker rolled his eyes, but his smile still widened. “Oh, that’s what they all say. In fact, your mother put up a good resistance there for a while, but her inner chaos couldn’t resist me. You’ll bend even easier, I have no doubt,” her ran his hand along her cheek in a motion that was so gentle that it felt foreign, wrong, to her coming from him. She knew what he was doing. He was trying to whiplash her, take all her hope away before dangling the option he wanted her to choose in front of her like a carrot on a stick.

Too bad he didn’t know her at all. She cringed away from his gentle touch, revolted by the mere feel of his skin on her’s.

“And your accent is a nice touch,” he cooed as if her reaction didn’t bother him at all. It probably didn’t. “Exotic. Just the thing I need to freshen up my usual act a bit, the Boston twang my old Harlequins had is just… stale by now, don’t you agree?”

Marinette clenched her jaw at the reminder that he had tried to pass off a cheap look-alike as her mom when she disappeared, back when she was pregnant with Marinette, to hide her baby from Joker. How he had discarded that woman like trash when Harley went back to him, only to replace her again when her mom left him for good.

No matter how badly Joker spoke of her mom, Marinette knew that Harley had been the only Harlequin of his to actually last. The only one he kept around, and there was a reason for that. Now, he was looking for another replacement. One that was more than a cheap knockoff, and he was hoping that a teenager with not only Harley’s genetics, but also his own, would be the exact kind of right-hand prop he wanted. An obedient little puppet of chaos, just for him.

But Marinette was nobody's toy. She had been used and taken advantage of enough back in Paris, she had spent her whole life struggling to escape the side effects of her parentage. To deal with the things she inherited.

The obsessiveness, the way she was so quick to get attached. She knew she inherited that from her mom. But there was also the rage, the anger that Marinette constantly had to stuff down. Hide below the surface before it hurt someone. Keep under a tight reign and hide away in the back of her mind, her own dirty little secret.

The constant reminder of just who her biological father was. Because that anger, that viciousness, could only have come from him.

She had spent her whole life trying to carve herself her own identity, to create beauty with the chaotic elements she got from her blood. And she couldn’t blame her mother, not really. Her mother at least did her best to help, and always leant an empathetic ear when Marinette needed it. But Joker?

Oh, she could, and would, blame him even long after he was dead and gone. Because he was the one who hurt her mother, he was the one who twisted her and drove her to feel unfit to be a parent. And sometimes, Marinette thought it would be better if Joker never existed. Sure, that meant she never would have been born. But wouldn’t that have been easier, too? To not ever have to experience the struggle that came with being his daughter, a title she never consented to?

But she couldn’t change the past. She was alive, and she would use her life to spite everything that the Joker stood for. That would be her revenge. He wanted a toy?

Joker had been monologuing, but Marinette drowned it all out as she kept her periphery vision on the windows above her. Shadows moved out there, with familiar bright yellows and shadowy blacks. The bats were there. She just needed to stall.

She opened her mouth. Joker pulled a lever.

Marinette dropped.

Wire whizzed through the air, knocking the breath out of Marinette as it wound around her torso. She was barely able to piece together what was happening; one of the bats shot a human-safe grapple to try and pull her away from the acid.

But the chain and her restraints were stronger, heavier, and just dragged the grapple down with her body.

The impact sent a large wave of sickly green liquid surging over the side of the vat, and Marinette was dragged from view underneath the surface.

It burned.

She distantly felt the tape around her ankles peel itself away from her skin, the combination of acid and wetness rendering it useless. She felt the chemicals burning at her, sending painful tingles across every last inch of her skin. It got in her mouth, she didn’t have any breath in her to hold and ended up swallowing some. It seared her throat and created a river of lava inside her. It hurt.

It hurt so bad, she just wanted out. Out. Out. Out!

Someone pull her out now!

The zip tie around her wrist loosened enough for her to pull herself free, right as something heavy slammed into the heavy metal bowl. The entire container sloshed, slamming to fall onto its side. Marinette’s body was pulled alongside the rush of liquid as it flowed out, and she was able to breathe air again. Sweet, cooling air.

And then she hacked up acid, spitting and spewing it in an attempt to purge every last drop she had accidentally ingested. Like a cat choking on a hairball, she coughed and hacked and her chest convulsed and contracted to try and help her. Her ribs ached, she figured that the grapple that had tried to save her had ended up fracturing or breaking a rib or two. But all she cared about was breathing and getting rid of the chemicals she had inhaled. She needed it out. All of it. Out. Out. Out of her!

“Try to take a deep breath,” a gruff voice commanded, soft but solid. Something stable for her to cling to. So she did as it asked, forcing herself to stop hacking and instead focus on inhaling. As slowly as she could. It was difficult, the first few breaths cut themselves off with more involuntary coughing, but the owner of the gruff voice stayed nearby. Repeated it’s request. “Deep breath. Steady, now. In. Out. Good.”

Marinette was just starting to calm down, just starting to claw herself out of the haze of panic and adrenaline, when that wretched laugh cut through the air again.

“There you are! Heheheheh! My cute little Marionette!”

Marinette froze. She could barely think, barely understand her own emotions. But she knew she was different now. She knew there was no way back, he had taken it from her. He had taken her normality, he had taken all of her years of hard work and burned them right in front of her.

He had won. The bats hadn’t been fast enough. But, if her foggy mind was correct, Batman was the one trying to bring her back to lucidity. Batman was the one trying to help her get air back in her lungs.

Not her so-called father.

If he wanted a toy, she’d be a haunted doll. She’d harass him, haunt him, until he wanted nothing to do with her. She’d come back, like a possessed porcelain doll refusing to be thrown away. She would make him regret ever awakening the monster that she had spent so long forcing down. Because she was her father’s daughter, yes. But she was also her mother’s daughter.

And most importantly, she was Marinette Quinzel-Isley. Her own damned person. The Chosen wielder of the Creation miraculous. And she would never bow down and be used by anyone, ever again.

Tikki’s words from so long ago echoed in her mind. Resounded even louder than Joker’s laughter;

“That’s all order really is, Marinette. The decision to take all the chaos and madness around us, and make it make sense. Make it do something good.”

And wasn’t that everything Marinette had ever done? It was a part of her now. Like a tattoo she had inked into her very soul.

She took the chaos she was given, and turned it into something beautiful. And right now? Right now, the most beautiful thing she could think of was Joker’s face when she slammed her fist into it.

“Easy,” Batman repeated, but for a different reason now. Marinette’s lungs still stuttered a little, but her breathing was mostly under control. Now, he was saying it because Marinette was forcing herself to her feet. Her legs trembled under her, threatening to lay her out on the floor again. But she was every bit as stubborn as Joker, which made for a terrifying combination with her all-consuming fury. The acid had broken the mental chains Marinette had been using to hold it back, and now it burned fierce and bright in her eyes.

So Marinette kept herself up right, cognizant of Batman’s hand on her shoulder but ignoring it. She grit her teeth against the burning light of the room, everything suddenly too bright and colorful. Too vibrant. But it did little to distract her. She realized that one of her hands still gripped the heavy chain that had sent her drowning in the acid, and sent a snarl at her darling, jackass of a father as she whipped it out right towards him.

“Marinette!” Batman yelled, his grip tightening on her shoulder. But he didn’t pull her back, which spoke louder than any words he could have said to her right then. He wouldn’t save Joker from his daughter, he knew the man deserved at least this much pain. And sure enough, the metal links slammed right into Joker’s side, winding around him like a crushing whip.

But that was all Marinette had the strength to do. As soon as she saw Joker’s body hit the floor, writhing in agony and painfully loud cackles, her hand let go of the chain and her body tumbled down. Batman caught her.

“Red Hood, Nightwing, get Joker back to Arkham,” Batman’s order faded in and out of focus. Now that her most pressing desire was taken care of, the effects of the acid reared their ugly heads with renewed ferocity. Everything was too bright, too loud, and her thoughts echoed in her head like voices wrestling for supremacy. “Robin, Black Bat, stay on alert. Harley said that she’s incredibly trained,” he warned his partners. Marinette didn’t begrudge him, the only other two people who had survived being dunked into those chemicals hadn’t exactly treated him with kindness and pacifism. But she could barely focus on them anyway, too distracted by trying to reign in the chaos in her mind.

But Joker would never stay silent, even as he was dragged away in chains.

“Hehehahahahaha! Paper white, paper white!” He jeered cheerfully. “That’s my girl! Violent just like Papa!” Red hood knocked him out with a harsh punch to the side of his neck before he could say another word. But it was enough— enough for Marinette to gasp in realization.

Her skin. It was paper white, just like his. Not even Harley’s skin had been bleached like the Joker’s after her dip in the acid. That had always been makeup. Her mom had a healthy, peachy complexion like anyone else. A complexion Marinette had shared— until now. Now, she was unhealthily pale. Just like him.

A painful screech tore itself from her already raw throat, and Marinette’s fingernails immediately began to tear at her own skin. Red. Red was better than white— she didn’t want to look like him. She couldn’t. White was bad. Bad. Bad. Bad.

“Marinette! Stop!” Strong hands clamped around her wrists, pulling her hands away from herself even as she wriggled and tried to keep clawing at herself.

“No! No no no!” Marinette howled. “I don’t wanna look like him! I don’t wanna be like him!” She managed to get one hand free and immediately tried to tear away at her face. Batman was able to wrestle her arm away before she could do any damage besides a few angry red lines. “I refuse! I refuse! I refuse!” She shook her head, not feeling as tears flung themselves off her cheeks.

“Okay,” Batman’s voice was solid again, soft and grumbly and stable. She grabbed at it again, drawn to anything that might help bring her stability. She needed his unflappable attitude right then, and he probably didn’t even realize how badly. “That’s good. But you don’t need to rip your skin off to do that, you know that right?”

Marinette hiccuped, finally sinking down to sob as the weight of everything she had lost pressed down over the chaos of deafening light and blinding sound that continued to jumble around inside her head. “He changed me,” she choked out. Batman nodded even though she wasn’t looking at him.

“He did.”

“Th-that f-fucking bastard,” Marinette managed a sad chuckle before devolving right back into sobs. “I wo-worked so h-hard. N-never hurt any-anybody. Never… never yelled. Ne-never hit… Not people who didn’t attack f-first.”

“I know. Your mom told me,” he confirmed calmly. Solid, tethering. Marinette swallowed another gulp of air, trying to calm down. But everything was too much.

“Mom!” She suddenly realized out loud, turning and grabbing at Batman’s chest, clinging to his uniform. She didn’t even care that she almost sliced herself on a batarang, she clung to him desperately with wide, crazed eyes. “G-get Mom and… and Ivy! They… they can help. They know—“ Marinette paused to breathe, then resumed. “Momma Ivy— she gave me—gave me a diluted… th-thingy, years ago, I can’t remember—“ Marinette’s eyebrows furrowed as she tried to get her mind to calm down. To work.

“The serum she gave Harley?” He asked. “The one that made her immune to poisons, and gave her increased physical abilities?”

“That!” Marinette agreed frantically, nodding. “I was too— too little, to give the real thing, so she diluted it,” she swallowed her spit and winced when it burned her throat. “It… I think it’s helping with the—the—the—“

“The chemical’s effects?” Batman suddenly sounded like he was paying much more attention than before, his shoulders a little straighter at her explanation. “You think it’s slowing down or numbing what it did to your mom and Joker?” Marinette couldn’t talk anymore, it hurt too much. Everything hurt too much, so she just nodded. “Good. That’s good, Marinette. Robin! Get Harley and Ivy down here, now!”

That was when the voices started. Sometime during the ten minutes it took to get her Mom and Ivy to her, they had apparently been waiting nearby anxiously incase the Bats had needed backup, the voices had built from ominous whispers to devious shouts, ordering her to do things like slam her elbow into Batman’s throat or see what happened if she splashed Robin with some of the acid that was still on the ground.

Her body didn’t move. She kept herself carefully still, focusing on ignoring her impulse to listen to one of the voices. She was still lucid enough to know that she would regret it if she did any of that. That the Bats were more on her side than any of the voices or the Joker were. But it was growing painful, and Harley and Ivy walked in to Batman trying to keep Marinette from hitting her own head. She had devolved to trying to knock herself out to get the voices to be quiet.

“Shut up,” she hissed, her voice hoarse and gravelly. “Shut up, shut up, shut. Up!” She was clearly talking to herself, her eyes screwed shut as she continued to try and hit her head. Harley gasped, hands flying to her mouth and eyes watering at the sight. This was something she had hoped she would never see.

“Harls,” Ivy spoke softly, putting a gentle arm around her wife’s back in support. It hurt Ivy to see Marinette in so much agony, but she knew it pained Harley even more. And much more personally. “Come on. We can help.”

“Y-you’re right,” Harley agreed shakily, taking a deep breath to try and compose herself before they both approached their daughter. Batman didn’t let go of Marinette, but did lean out of the way to give them access to her.

“Honeycake?” Harley called out softly, a little unsure how the chemicals were affecting her baby’s personality right then. The first few days were going to be the worst, and she knew that. The Dunk never took it easy on it’s victims. Marinette gasped, stopping her muttering and raising her head to look at Harley with wide eyes.

“Momma?”

Harley had to swallow heavily to shove back the sob that wanted to bubble up out of her. She had to be strong for her baby. She couldn’t break yet. But Marinette hadn’t called her Momma since she was little, now she called Pamela ‘Momma Ivy’ and her just ‘Mom’.

“It’s me, sugarplum,” she assured her daughter, kneeling down and cupping one of Marinette’s cheeks in her palm. And that was when she noticed it, and couldn’t help but widen her eyes in shock. But Marinette’s senses were so sensitive that she noticed it right away, and stiffened.

“Wh-what is it?” She grew frantic when Harley didn’t immediately respond, only winced in sympathy. Marinette knew that wasn’t good. “Mom? What is it? What did he do? What else did he do to me?”

��Darling,” Harley started, licking her lips nervously. “My sweet baby girl, your right eye… it’s green now, sugar.”

Marinette’s world froze. She tried to smile, but it came out lopsided and disbelieving. “No,” she somehow managed to breathe. “No, mom, I have your eyes. Your blue eyes. I love your eyes,” Her voice steadily got more and more panicked as she went on, not wanting to accept what her mother was clearly seeing. She watched as Harley’s face broke a little, a few tears escaping before the older woman could stop them. Marinette shook her head again, slipping her tiny wrist out of Batman’s hold and raising it to her eye. “No. It’s one of his tricks. He—he must have slipped a contact in my eye when I was passed out, that’s— that’s— that’s all—“ but her fingertip met her normal eye. No contact to be felt. Marinette’s hand fell into her lap limply. The room was absolutely silent as everyone gave her a few seconds to process just how much she had been changed, entirely against her will. She opened and closed her mouth, not sure whether she wanted to yell or curse or cry. Instead, her voice just came out in a very tiny, broken:

“...fuck.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Marinette had gone mostly mute. She would say a word here or there, but for the most part she was doing a good impression of a vegetable. She stayed silent, as still as possible, and just stared at the ceiling of her hospital room.

She had been like that for the past two weeks they had been monitoring her in the Acid’s aftermath. Her ribs, which had turned out to only be bruised thankfully enough, had healed. Her cheek and torso were healed up too, only the barest hint of sickly yellow to show as a reminder of Joker’s hits on her. Sometimes the cameras would catch her talking to seemingly empty air, only for a nurse to rush in and see that Marinette had gone silent yet again.

Tikki was doing her best to help. She had been separated from Marinette, but Pamela had found Marinette’s purse and returned it— and subsequently Tikki— when they had gotten her to the hospital. She was the only person Marinette regularly spoke to, because Marinette knew Tikki understood. Tikki had been around since the Big Bang, she had seen worse things than a little insanity. Tikki had always been there to help her feel at ease with her mind and body. She shared a piece of Tikki’s soul, even, according to the tiny god.

But talking to anyone else was too hard. Too scary. She still had those damned voices at war in her mind, trying to convince her to do things that made her lock her joints and keep her body absolutely still before she acted on any of the coaxes. Possibilities she had never considered before came startlingly easy to her mind now— like how it would only take two seconds to tear her IV out and stab it into her nurse’s eye. How she could use her blanket to strangle Momma Ivy, or how she could fake jumping out the window and Harley wouldn’t waste a second trying to save her.

They were horrible thoughts. Intrusive, ugly, and far too loud. She didn’t want to act on any of them, but sometimes she found her fingers twitching only a second before she could follow through on one.

She spent a lot of time meditating, because of it. Which is why most people thought she was ignoring them. She didn’t mean to, she just needed to meditate. It was like her brain was a giant room filled with filing cabinets that held her thoughts and emotions. Her whole life, Marinette had carefully kept this room alphabetized, organized, and neat. Every file in its correct drawer. Until Joker had come along, and ripped the entire place apart. Tore certain files in half, broke her cabinets, ruined her filing system. And now she had to put the room back together, one drawer and piece of paper at a time.

That’s what the meditation was doing. She was getting reacquainted with herself. Learning what had changed in her mind and trying to adjust. She couldn’t be the old Marinette anymore, but she’d be damned if she let the Joker turn her into someone ugly like him.

So she needed time.

One day, towards the end of those two weeks, she got a visitor slipping through her window. Considering her room was on the tenth floor, she had it pretty narrowed down as to who it could be. Batman had visited her every night, a silent shadow in the corner, but he had already left for the day so it couldn’t be him. None of the other bats had dropped by after the second day.

She turned her head to see that that was now changed; Red Hood sat on her windowsill with one leg inside the room and the other bent on the sill itself. He looked the very picture of comfort despite being a stiff wind (or quick shove— no, bad brain) away from falling to his death. And then Hood took off his helmet, which was ugly enough to inspire some of the more violent suggestions in her brain and make them seem appealing.

“Ya know. Red Hood used to be what Joker called himself,” were the first words out of the vigilante’s mouth. Marinette’s eyebrows pulled down, and it was clear she was confused (and a little angry) at what he told her. He grinned, his eyes still hidden by the domino mask on his face. “Eh. The bastard killed me, ya know. I was the second Robin, a lifetime ago.”

Marinette’s eyes widened at that, and the violent voices dimmed and seemed to grow muffled. Marinette couldn’t quite understand what they were trying to tell her anymore, which made her figure that she had better pay attention to what Hood had to say. She licked her dry lips, and spoke softly. Her throat was still damaged from the acid, so she couldn’t speak very loudly yet.

“Then how are you… you know, here?”

The man chuckled. “Another group of assholes happens to have a magic pit in their basement. It’s a glowing green lake, ten different types of bad news. But it brings people back to life, and they dunked me in it without even caring for a second if I even wanted to come back.”

Marinette’s shoulders relaxed all on their own. It seemed to sink into her brain all at once, a simple:

Oh. He gets it.

“I guess the water doesn’t take it easy on your brain, either?” She hazarded an educated guess. He laughed, shaking his head.

“Not at all. I went off the deep end for a while, and killed a lotta people. They deserved it at least, but I don’t like how violent I was back then. Before I learned how to cope. Attacked people who were innocent. Red Robin almost died when I attacked him, back then, when he was just Robin.”

“Then why’d you keep calling yourself Red Hood?” She asked, tilting her head. He finally turned his head to look straight at her instead of just staring out the window. His grin widened, but it was lopsided. The grin of someone who was healed from some serious shit, but knew that it would always ache. A bittersweet expression.

“Cuz he doesn’t own that name. I made it into something that stands for at least a little good. Something that scares the assholes who don’t care about killing or abusing innocent people. Hell, some people take comfort in the name Red Hood now. And you know what that means?”

Marinette shook her head, and his grin widened into a shark-like smile.

“It means I stole it from him. The name Red Hood. He’ll never use it again, and now it stands for the opposite of anything he’d agree with. You can do that too, you know. Find something to steal from him, or use something he gave you, and make it your own.”

“Turn the chaos into something good,” Marinette said dreamily, clearly quoting someone. Red Hood nodded.

“Exactly. It’s not gonna be easy, but you got the choice here. You ain’t going back to who you used to be, but you can take the victory away from him.”

“... make him regret ever dunking me in that stupid vat,” she agreed, narrowing her eyes as they filled with determination for the first time since her body hit the acid. “He wants a puppet, an obedient little doll, I’ll give him Annabel.”

“There ya go,” The vigilante slid off the windowsill and approached her bed, holding out his hand for a shake. “I can help you get to that. What do ya say?”

Marinette was silent for a long minute, staring straight into his masked eyes. And then, a slow smile spread over her lips. “I got one question, Red Hood.”

“Shoot.”

“How do you feel about black cats?”

—*—*—*—*—*

This took four hours, holy hell. I’m actually happy with how this turned out. What do you guys think? I even got to max length on Tumblr 😂

#maribat #ml x dc #mlb x dc #jasonette #bio!dad joker #bio!mom harley quinn #Poison Ivy x Marinette #platonic brucinette

485 notes · View notes

nancydfan · 3 years ago

Note

Okay but honestly everyone (besides Mia) doubted Ethan and his abilities the entirety of the game- especially Chris.

Obviously all the lords are like “ha ha you’ll never get past me!” And then insert picacho surprised meme when he does.

Even Miranda seems to be like “whAT THE FUCK” when Ethan stumbles his way back to fight her after she swore she killed him. Like yes she knew he was “special” somehow but never realized the full extent of his abilities.

But Chris himself doubted Ethan the most honestly.

I feel like when Chris and his team found and got Ethan and Mia out of the Baker’s house in RE7, he probably just thought Ethan was lucky. I mean, here’s this totally average guy and you’re telling me he killed/ severely injured the members of this family who had been infected with the mold, as well as killed Eveline himself? Like Chris was probably like while this man definitely was able to fight his way out there’s no actual way he was able to do this on his own, maybe he’s over exaggerating or whatever.

But he doesn’t say anything, and offers to teach Ethan military training (at least I think it was Chris, only because they seem to be more familiar with each other in RE8) because even if he’s over exaggerating the man clearly has talent and capabilities to make it out of that house in relatively one piece.

And then they get into training and Chris is incredibly impressed. For what appears to be your typical average dude he’s got pretty good fight tactics and techniques, and can handle a gun pretty well. Of course there’s always stuff to improve on and Chris teaches him to the best of his abilities, and here he gets to know Ethan.

This is a man who always offers help to anyone who needs it, and goes out of his way to comfort people whenever they need it. He truly loves his wife, he never makes a “gotta get back to the old ball and chain” or other “I hate my wife” jokes, he truly appreciates her and respects her with every part of him.

He has a great intuition, both in fighting and just when reading people. When Chris or someone around them has an off day he immediately picks up on it and is able to sense what that person needs. With Chris he will casually mention that his door is always open, he might not know the answer but Ethan is always willing to listen if Chris needs it. And though Chris at first insists that he’s fine, somehow Ethan Winters gets him to open up a bit (not completely, but Ethan’s genuine kindness begins to crack Chris’ ‘tough guy’ mask he puts on that lets Ethan see a glimpse of the real him. Chris’ squad is in utter shock of this because it took them YEARS to achieve this), and they both can sit down and share the horrors they both have experienced and for once in Chris’ life he starts to feel that maybe he can actually recover from what he’s seen.

Ethan also somehow knows exactly what to say. Though sometimes he’ll have to pause to get the right words and thoughts together, when he finally speaks his words are exactly what Chris (and others) needed to hear, even if Chris won’t admit it.

Ethan is the guy who when he sees injustice he doesn’t stay quiet, he is loud and makes sure that whatever happened doesn’t go unnoticed. He somehow remembers everyone’s birthday and gets them the present that they actually want, even if the person and Ethan have only talked once.

And though Ethan has the capability to be serious when needed he can be light hearted and funny, and though sometimes his jokes are simple puns or the same reiteration of the joke you’ve heard 100 times you can’t help but laugh because he somehow made it sound different, somehow breathed some fresh life into it. He has his favorite shows that he always makes sure he is home by to watch, and though he is at his core gentle and kind he can also be tough, and isn’t afraid to call you out when you’re wrong.

Ethan is the least judgmental person you will ever meet, and is truly open minded and will listen to you completely and openly. He isn’t afraid to change his opinion when he realizes he was wrong. When him and Mia throw a Christmas party they always invite Chris and he is always touched by it.

It is through their time together training that Chris realizes that while yes Ethan is a completely normal man he is far from completely ordinary and boring.

And when he announces he’s going to be a father Ethan’s eyes completely light up, and he spends hours of talking about all the beautifully mundane things that accompany preparing to become a parent and dealing with the trials of Mia’s pregnancy. There is no doubt in Ethan’s voice or heart that lead anyone to believe that he thinks that there’s a possibility that Rose might be unhealthy due to both of their exposure to the mold. Ethan runs on optimism and truly believes that she’ll be alright, that though they’ve been through hell him and Mia finally got the happy ending they deserve, and Chris has never been so happy for him.

And then, of course, everything comes crashing down.

When Chris learns that Miranda has infiltrated the Winters’ home he is infuriated on their behalf (can’t this family catch a fucking break?) and does all he can to help them (but little does he know he actually will make it worse). He doesn’t tell Ethan whats going on because they need the element of surprise to get Miranda and Chris knows Ethan will not lie low until he gets there. While Ethan was incredibly lucky to survive Dulvey there’s no way he can survive Miranda’s wrath.

(Also I think there was a document saying they didn’t know if Ethan was compromised or not, hence why Chris didn’t tell Ethan immediately what was going on but still he was over the line)

When Chris discovers that his team escorting Ethan, Rose, and Miranda had crashed and died, leaving Miranda in sole control of Rose he is devastated but thinks to himself that he must keep going, there’s no time to grieve or feel guilty for mistakes when Miranda is moments away from completing her ceremony.

And then he gets word that Ethan Winters has been spotted in the castle. And he shakes his head because of course he’s still alive, Ethan must run on luck and sheer will because how else would he have survived the crash?

And though Chris wants to go after him to tell him to sit his ass down so his team can do their job he can’t because again time is a luxury he can’t afford and he hopes Ethan’s luck saves his ass again this time. And though he hopes for the best can Ethan really take on these god-like creatures?

And then he again gets word that Ethan Winters somehow is defeating all of the lords. He’s going through them as if they’re simply ants beneath his feet and somehow he is still going. And though this is great Chris and his team are rapidly losing the element of surprise they’ve been trying to maintain since coming to this village.

And when he encounters Ethan again it almost hurts to see this man who once sat with him for hours talking about nothing, offering to help him with his taxes look at him with such fury and disdain that it almost sends shivers down his spine, that even though Chris is a highly trained operative he for some reason feels like if Ethan chose to kill him Chris wouldn’t last long. He wants to explain but time won’t let him (or is it the fear that he was wrong all along and once he spits his words out he’ll realize this).

And when Chris runs into Ethan at Karl’s factory he finally gives up and figures that he could use Ethan’s luck on his team, if Ethan can eliminate the four lords without any military help then he’s got to be able to have a shot and killing Miranda with Chris’ and his team’s help.

And when he hears Miranda kill Ethan on the phone it is a blow to his gut that he wasn’t expecting, because Ethan Winters has made a bigger impact on his heart than he thought possible. And it is in this moment of grief that he realizes his mistakes, that he was wrong to alienate Ethan, the man who went through hell twice without looking back to save his family.

The guilt only gets worse when he finds Mia, because he has to explain to her that it’s his fault that her husband is lying dead without his heart due to Chris’ own negligence. And when Mia tells him that he doesn’t understand how special he is he desperately wants to hear it, despite his mind telling him that’s she’s wrong, he wants Mia to tell him that Ethan can survive the impossible because he wants a second chance to make things right.

And when he gets the report again that Ethan Winters is somehow alive and is on his way to the ceremony site Chris’ heart soars and he wonders how could he have ever doubted Ethan Winters and his ability to come back to the people he loves time and time again.

(Also I could be wrong here because I don’t remember if Miranda blocked Chris out once she realized he was there but the rest of this is going to go off of the assumption that Chris was present and could see what was happening)

It is not until Chris makes it to the ceremony site and sees the battle between Miranda and Ethan that Chris truly realizes that he has severely underestimated this man for 3 whole years.

He’s seen Ethan fight before- he saw it in training and heard his squad give him the summary of what they saw when Ethan fought the other lords, but this is the first time Chris has seen Ethan TRULY fight, and on his face where Chris is so used to seeing compassion and love and carefreeness is suddenly replaced by anger, resentment, and pure determination because his daughter’s life is on the line and he will fight until there is nothing left of him to keep that little girl safe.

Chris watches in awe, because even though Ethan looks like he is barely staying together, like he is one breath away from falling apart he is still fighting. Maybe it’s because the mold is being destroyed or maybe Ethan’s injuries are so severe that the mold can’t be bothered hiding itself anymore but he finally sees the proof for himself that Ethan Winters is no longer human- Miranda is tearing into him and Ethan does not care- the long gashes she makes onto his body are desperately trying to suture themselves back together with small tendrils of black, this mold desperately trying to keep Ethan together when Miranda is so intent on tearing him apart.

He watches in amazement as Ethan somehow manages to avoid her claws and her own tendrils of mold reaching out to pound him into dust. He watches in amazement as it doesn’t matter how much Miranda damages Ethan- he gets back up again to unload another round of bullets into Miranda without slowing down, and watches in amazement as Ethan actually begins to win this battle- this perfectly normal man versus a god-like creature and Ethan is actually winning despite all the odds stacked against him.

This is Ethan Winters, he thinks, and while the mold might have given him regenerative properties the mold did not give him the drive and determination Chris sees before him- though Ethan Winters is infected but he is still Ethan Winters, each bullet he fires is coming from him, and his pure will to survive and save his daughter. The mold did not change him to a super hero because this is who he is at heart, a man who is willing to risk it all just to make sure the ones he loves are all right.

And if he didn’t already respect Ethan before he certainly does now, and he curses himself for being so ignorant and not letting Ethan in when he had the chance.

But that’s alright- because Ethan Winters has just eliminated Miranda before his eyes and is running to his daughter, and now Chris will have a lifetime to make it up to him.

But then he sees Ethan collapse to his knees in front of him, and his feet are moving before he even thinks to go because there’s no way, this man did not survive this hell just to die on him now.

Chris is relieved that Ethan is still (barely) conscious as he puts his arm around the man to help him out. Time has never been on their side and it certainly isn’t now, as Chris practically drags Ethan out because he has failed him too many times and he refuses to fail him again.

He tries to get Ethan to keep fighting because it seems that all of the life has drained from this man, the only part of him that’s full of life is the arm carrying his daughter because even when he’s on the brink of death he will not let anything happen to her. Chris brings up Mia and it pains him to hear the loss in Ethan’s voice, as if he’s already decided he’s a lost cause. Chris will not let this happen, he points out that they’re going to blow the village sky high and that’s why they need to get a move on and-

Suddenly Ethan is pushing Rose into his arms, and Chris can’t believe he gets the privilege to hold this man’s daughter after all he’s done and Ethan is draping Rose in his worn out coat and begging Chris to teach her to be strong and Chris won’t have this, Ethan Winters will not die on his watch he will get home to his family and live to live a perfectly normal life, when suddenly Ethan pushes Chris out of the way of a mold tendril that acts as a barrier between them and Chris watches in horror as Ethan stumbles backwards, the man looking more and more like a walking corpse versus the man he just saw moments ago, full of life and determination to kill Miranda.

“Goodbye, Rosemary” Ethan chokes out as he starts to stumble his way back to the ceremony site, and Chris can almost feel the pain of Ethan’s loss at not being able to be with his daughter and wife just within the utterance of these two words.

And Chris is calling Ethan back because dammit it doesn’t have to be like this but Chris knows what a man hell bent on something looks like, and Ethan is already almost out of his sight and the whole village is collapsing around him.

Cursing Chris turns around, cradling Rose close because Ethan somehow miraculously chose to trust Chris in protecting her and like hell will he let something happen to her after this. Chris will teach her to be strong and how to be brave, and not because he’s a man and Mia is incapable of it, but Chris will teach Rose how to be strong like her father was, and how to defend herself because both he and Ethan know that Rose’s abilities will make her a constant target for people to use for their own gain.

When Chris hands Rose back to Mia the joy on her face is short lived and suddenly she’s demanding where Ethan is, begging them to put the plane back down because there’s no way in hell he’d leave them willingly and just as Chris utters that Ethan chose to sacrifice himself the bomb goes off and he feels another blow to his chest, and it’s as though he can’t breathe for a second. He sees the realization hit Mia, and that though Ethan has survived the impossible time and time again can he really survive being blown to bits?

Chris can barely contain the grief and guilt that is consuming him as he looks out the window at the site where Ethan Winters’ luck has run out, the site where Ethan Winters has now died for the second time.

He glances back at Mia and Rose, and each sob Mia lets out cuts him like a knife because he knows he is responsible. He promised this little family that he would protect them and he failed. He failed Mia, he failed Ethan, and now he has failed Rosemary as she must now navigate her life missing a father who would have done anything for her.

Chris will not let Ethan die in vain. He will protect Rose, he will teach her how to fight and how to defend herself. And though he wants to reach out and comfort Mia he knows it will be unwelcome, but looking at Rose he will not fail her again.

He made a promise to Ethan Winters that he fully intends on keeping.

I’m sorry what did I do to be so emotionally attacked like this 😆

I’m SOBBING OMG. Ty really. I feel like I have nothin I can add to this because GAH MY HEART. You get it. You understand these characters and I was smiling so huge as you described Ethan because YES ALL OF THIS. Then the pain as Ethans end approaches. AND CHRIS’ PERSPECTIVE THROUGHOUT AND HIS PROMISE GOING FORWARD.

Anyway someone get me tissues. This was so beautiful. Bless you 💜💜

#thanks for the ask nonnie 💜💜💜#resident evil #resident evil 8 #ethan winters #chris redfield #resident evil spoilers #mrs joe speaks #long post

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suicidalslasher · 4 years ago

Text

forever & always. ➤ tom. h.

Happy Valentine’s Day~!!! I couldn’t contain myself and or stop myself from writing about my favorite Valentine’s day killer. So, here you go :)

WARNING: descriptions of gore and blood. in this one-shot, the reader’s pronouns are she&her. i might make a part two of this, depending on how well it does. maybe not. i like how it ends, regardless. either way. enjoy.

The news spread like wildfire. No matter which way you went, there was always a flame, reaching out towards those to burn. Try as you may, you can't get away. The words that littered the air was nothing more than burnt ashes fluttering around, burning each object as it flies above said thing or said person. In this case, the people of a small town called Valentine Bluffs were the ones burning from the inside and out. They felt trapped within the smoke, unable to seek out which way to escape the dangers that had followed. The terror; the trauma; the panic and anxiety attacks; All of it - they thought it was long gone.... they were finally going back to being normal, how things used to be.

They were going back to a life that wasn't full of fear, having to look behind your shoulder constantly and being careful of who you trust. It was all going to be okay, happy once more. They'd finally be able to celebrate their favorite day once again. But... as you may have guessed, it's not quite easy to put out a rapid wildfire. All it takes is a small fire to expand out into something bigger, bolder, and scarier. You can't escape the flames. No matter how big or small. You cannot ignore the overwhelming burning sensation that glazes across your skin as the fire around you grows larger, making you feel smaller and smaller by the second. The words, however, the statement that was fluttering around like specks of ash, wasn't at all a sentence (nor an actual fire) but a name - Harry Warden. 1997. Valentine's day. Everybody, in & out of town, knows what happened. For a brief period of time there, nobody celebrated Valentine's day, having thought it out to be cursed. Yet, as time went on, there was no sign of Harry Warden. No copy cat killer version of him, neither. So, the people went back to celebrating. Writing hand written love letters, buying cheaply made cards at the local supermarket, buying and or receiving overly priced chocolates. Anything, everything, people did it with love in their hearts and a smile on their face. Today was Valentine's Day, once more. Expect it wasn't the way it had been for the past 9 years. It was exactly like the day in 1997. History was repeating itself. Instead of love, presents, and reserved dinner dates being celebrated and shared, the town of Valentine Bluffs got decomposed, rotting corpses, instead. Blood scattered outside and inside of buildings.

It was worse than before, more bodies were showing up without their hearts and the missing body piece would be found neatly placed in between a plastic heart shaped box. All of which would be sent to the police station as a joke, as a threat. Even a card would be taped on top or under the container, though the sentences were far from cheerful and loveable. A few of them had been thrown aside, only having been read once. Those who opened it and read it aloud usually found themselves cringing in dismay as they read the paragraph out loud all while shifting around in their seat, uncomfortably.

Once they read it, they shook their heads as tears welled up in their eyes before they threw it into the trash bin or ripped it into hundreds of tiny pieces, not daring to open another letter that's brought in. Evidence or not, the workers couldn't keep their breakfast or lunch down when they'd read the cards. The recent two cards had said; From the heart comes a warning, filled with bloody good cheer, remember what happened as the 14th draws near! And the last victim, a girl named Maryanne Anderson, had gotten a card right before she was found dead, her body laying in a ditch to rot. Her card had read; Roses are red, violets are blue, one is dead, and so are you. Nobody knew who the new killer was, or if it even was a new killer, copying Harry's schemes and following in his footsteps. It could have very well been the same man all those years ago. That's what they were saying. (Y/N) (L/N) was in her car, driving back home from work when her favorite song had been replaced with an alarm, cutting off her favorite part. "Oh, c'mon!" She groaned, hands hitting the steering wheel in annoyance before she goes to turn up the volume anyways, wondering what's so important that the town and the police station had to turn off her favorite song.

She knew about the murders, she knew there was a serial killer around, she already knew this already. And yes, she was petrified, as most people were. When the first body showed up, the mayor of town announced there'd be a curfew until they found out who is doing all of this. Whether it was one person or more, they'd find a way to capture the killer. No matter what. There was not going to be another murder.

(Of course, there was more.)

(The original curfew was getting home at 9:30. Now, it had gone down and you'd have to be indoors, at your house, by 6:30 PM.) Students in school would get out earlier, as well as the adults in town. The only ones who didn't get to go home so early in the day were those who were trying to protect the people of Valentine Bluffs. "We are sorry to interrupt that song there," came the radio host's deep and groggy voice. "However, this is more important than your favorite throwback jams. I've gotten an officer here with me, he had just shown up not even a second ago to tell us more news on the situation we are currently in. So, please, listen carefully." "Yeah, whatever. I already know what's going on. Tell me something I don't know." (Y/N) turns off the radio as she pulls up in her driveway, feeling a sense of comfort clouding over her, another day, she's okay; safe and sound, unlike a few of her old high school friends that were gutted like fish and butchered like pigs.

She shivers at both the bitter and harsh wind brushing against her as she steps out of her vehicle and the obvious visual of whatever masked man (or men) that's around, killing innocent people for whatever given reason. Hurrying along the steps to her porch, she digs her keys out of her jacket pocket, finding them within seconds before she's pushing them into the door as quickly as she could. She didn't show it, tried not to show it, but she was as anxious and paranoid as everyone else was.

(Y/N) was trying to hold back her fear but the moment she gets home, locking all the doors and windows, the uneasy feelings creep up on her and every negative emotion takes charge. With a sigh, she falls down onto the couch with a plop, reaching for the remote, she turns on the TV, attempting to try and get her mind off of things. Of course, every station wasn't what she wanted to watch, the news replacing every channel. She skipped and skipped but it all remained the exact same. With a groan, she decides to listen to what they were saying, even though she really didn't want to hear it as it'd only make her anxiety worse. "I am Jonathan Godfrey. We're sorry to interrupt your daily scheduled programs, however, a man you may know as Tom Hanniger has escaped from his stay from a mental hospital." (Y/N)'s eyes nearly budge out of her head at the mention of the man's name, the remote she had in the palm of her hand goes flying, falling down onto the ground by her feet. Tom? Mental hospital? It didn't make any sense! Everyone... including her, thought he was dead! She, with shaky fingers, grabs the remote to turn the volume up. Jonathan's own eyes were wide as he read the teleprompter, his voice now grew shaky as he spoke. Fear was written across both his and his co-worker’s face. "Unfortunately, we don't have any more information or news as to where he's escaped off to. Or where he may be as of the moment. All the reports, every last piece of information we have been received has said he's been missing since two days ago. He can be anywhere. More importantly, he can be here, hiding out." His voice trembled as he spoke, it was also very faint - almost ghostly. Quiet as a mouse. His skin was pale, making it appear as if he was a ghost rather than a living person that sat in the chair there.

Jonathan couldn't continue, this much was obvious, therefore his co-host, Abigail Miller, continued where he had left off. "This being said, please, lock the doors and windows of your home. If you have a weapon to guard your own life and protect your ground, get it out now. Please, protect yourself the very best you can. And do not, I repeat, do not answer the door. Do not leave your home whatsoever. Whatever is outside of your house is surely not more important than your life.

“Whether it is Tom that has been doing this or not, we're not exactly sure. All we tell you is to be careful and remain indoors until we can find Tom and or find the Valentine's killer. This has been Jonathan Godfrey and Abigail Miller, with the news. Stay safe and God bless." The program that was previously playing showed up finally, the neon colors swirling together to form the title of the show, along with a fairly way too cheerful theme song playing faintly in the distance as the introduction played out. (Y/N) had never heard of it before, but from a quick glance, it appeared to be a sitcom from the late 70's. The only source of light was coming from the television screen, casting colorful shadows across (Y/N)'s face. She had felt too tired to have turned on the lights upon entering her house. Work was short, the hours having grown thinner because of the curfew, however, it was still tiring all the same. She instantly regretted not doing so now, however.

She sat in the dark, her heart thumping loudly against her chest as she pulled a near by blanket around her shoulders as if the thick fabric would comfort her and protect her. The room had gotten colder ever since the report was announced. Goosebumps ran up and down (Y/N)'s body, the baby hairs on her neck stood on end as a shiver slid up and down her spine. Despite the blanket being around her body, she felt nothing but cold, numb. Suddenly, the TV went out with a soft 'ping'. (Y/N) gasped and her heart stopped beating all together. She felt like she couldn't breathe, she couldn't tell if she was going crazy either when she heard what sounded like footsteps coming down from the hallway. She sat, frozen, on her couch, unable to move, unable to breathe. Then.... a knock. Followed by another and another. It was right outside, coming from not the front entrance but the back yard. "(Y/N)? (Y/N), please..." came the voice. And (Y/N) recognized that voice anywhere. She knows she shouldn't.... everybody said not to but... she couldn't help herself. Getting up as quickly as she could, she runs down the hallway, the sounds of her feet echoing against the thin walls as she reaches the door, tugging it open. There, on the other half of the door, stood nobody other than Tom Hanniger himself. He looked up, surprised she had answered the door. Giving her a weak, lopsided smile, Tom's pulling her into a tight hug, his head falling down in the crook between her shoulder and neck, tears flooding his eyes as he soaks her shirt, silently weeping. "(Y/N).... fuck, I've missed you so much, missed you so bad." Tom confesses with a sniffle. "Tom... I- what're you doing here? They're looking for you, you know this, right? Everybody's looking for you. And.... and I- fuck, Tom! I thought you were dead. Everybody in town thought you died the day your father did." (Y/N) didn't hesitate to hide her true feelings. She was a mixture of emotions. Angry, happy, sad, scared - she was feeling every single emotion there possibly was. "I know... I know. I-I have a lot to explain and a lot to tell you but please, right now, can we just- can we just play pretend?" He asked, moving away from her shoulder as he wiped his nose on the sleeve of his sweater, his eyes remained watery and his skin was flushed as he looked up at (Y/N). (Y/N) guessed it was a mixture of three things - running away from the mental hospital to where her house was to the bitter and harsh February air. Plus, the crying he had just done, too. His face was red and blotchy from all three. Despite it being so cold, sweat trickled his face, a few drips of it falling along side his cheeks. "Play pretend?" (Y/N) echoed, tilting her head to the side, unsure of what he meant. "Let's play pretend." He repeated, licking his lips. "Let's play pretend and imagine none of this horrid, crazed shit is going on right now. Let's pretend it's only me and you. It's Valentine's day, isn't it? Let's celebrate. After all, it was one of our favorite days to spend together." Heat rose to (Y/N)'s cheeks and she bit on her bottom lip, rocking back and forth on the bottom of her feet. "Tom.... I-I'm...You want-" She couldn't from sentences, her thoughts were mushing together and it was all too much for her to handle. She felt like she was going to pass out. "I want you, (Y/N). I want you as bad as I did then and I want you just as badly right now. There has never been a day where I wasn't thinking about you. You were the love of my life. I still love you, maybe even more, now. Let's celebrate, please. We can talk about everything tomorrow morning. I promise I'll tell you everything. Right now, let's play pretend, let's act like it's just us again, like when we were teens.... I've missed you. And.... and I know you've missed me too or else you wouldn't have opened the door." And, yeah, okay, he was right. "Tom..." "(Y/N)." He stepped closer to her, closer than he had done before, as he rests his hand against her cheek, fingers brushing against her skin as he looked into her (E/C) eyes. "I love you. I never stopped. And I know you love me, too.... so, please, baby girl.... can I just show you how much I love you?" (Y/N) shouldn't have answered the door. She should have called the cops when she heard his voice. Everything was too much of a coincidence.

Her power was working perfectly fine until Tom had shown up.

Now that she was thinking about it....

There was also no victims until she had heard the news Tom had left the asylum. Three days ago....

Three days ago, there was the first victim; Maryanne. If she thought too much about it, got too deep into the rabbit hole, she would have assumed Tom Hanniger was the Valentine's killer - The Miner. Yet... looking at Tom, she knew he wasn't - couldn't - be the killer. If he was, he would've killed her too, right? Tom Hanniger's been through too much, and just like she was there before, she was going to be there for him now. Through Hell and back.

She would stay by his side, no matter what. She still kept the old promise ring he had given her in high school, along with the note in which he confessed his feelings. In which, he told her - one day - he'd marry her. She was the perfect girl for him, as he was the perfect man for her. A promise is a promise. When she said 'forever and always', she meant that. (Y/N) knew Tom meant it, too. "I love you too." Tom's quick to place his lips on (Y/N)'s and (Y/N) is quick to kiss him back just as hungry, just as fierce. She tangles her fingers through her hair and pulls on it, earning a groan from Tom. Satisfied with the result, she tugs him into her house by the sleeve of his shirt, slamming the door shut with her foot.

"I've missed you, baby." He says, not daring to pull away from the kiss.

"Show me how much you've missed me then, baby." She mumbles against his lips. "Oh, I'm going to." "Let's go celebrate Valentine's day the right way then. Come on, let's go upstairs." Tom grins and (Y/N) smiles back before she's pulling him up the stairs and into her bedroom.

Forever and Always. It was them until the end. Nobody would ever separate the two of them, again.... not even Harry Warden was going to destroy Tom’s happiness... not this time.

#Tom Hanniger x reader #Tom Hanniger x Y/N #slasher imagines #slasher one shots #slasher x reader #Jensen Ackles x Y/N #My Bloody Valentine #Jensen Ackles x reader #Slasher fanfictions #Jensen Ackles fanfictions #Jensen Ackles imagines #Tom Hanniger imagines #Jensen Ackles one shots #my works #Tom Hanniger one shots #Tom Hanniger fanfictions #Harry Warden x reader #Harry Warden x Y/N #cierra's stories

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