#will the memory wipe stuff come up in the finale??

[littlemissshoei]

TREEHOUSE || Mr. Machete x Gn!reader || homicipher

story synopsis: You meet a strange, lonesome monster as your search for a way out of the eerie complex. Little did you know there's more to him than that tough exterior he shows.

content warning: mr machete x gn!reader (no pronouns used), spoilers to mr machete's route and ending (with some non-canon stuff added) strangers to lovers, mr huge face being a little (huge) bitch, mentions of blood, continuation of his endings, Mentions of mr Hood, Crawling, Mrs Chainsaw

word count: (1.9k)

inspired by "treehouse" by Alex G and Emily Yacina

YOU DON'T REMEMBER how much time had passed ever since you woke up in the strange building complex. The awful headache you started feeling as soon as you opened your eyes was making it hard to concentrate, and the room was nothing but a blurry mess. You were accompanied by the soft buzzing of something, yet you weren't curious enough to find out the sourch of the irritating sound.

When the pain finally subsided you stood up, scanning the dimly lit room for any sort of familiarity, not even slightly surprised when you found none. How did this even happen? The last thing you remembered was dumping another body into that eerie so-called ghost apartment. Everything after that was as good as wiped from your memory.

As you wandered down a hallway, a strange, crawling creature made its way towards you, causing the adrenaline to kick in and your legs to start taking off on their own, leaving you breathless in another room. Your chest heaved as you looked around, feeling your throat burn as the aftermath of that ear piercing shriek you let out. It wasn't until a little while after you calmed down that you noticed the hooded figure in front of you.

Before you could freak out again he extended a hand, helping you stand up. While he had no face, you could still make out the worry he felt through his actions. He let out a few unfamiliar sounds, but stopped as soon as he noticed your eyebrows scrunching in confusion.

His finger pointed towards you, followed by a strange yet familiar word. "you" Trying to imitate the gesture you lifted your finger, pointing it towards yourself. As you did that, he continued, pointing to himself. ”me"

You repeated the gestures, doing your best to imitate the words, and once the man was satisfied he nodded, taking a step back into the room. You hadn't expected him to start teaching you words, but you were convinced it would come in handy. Soon enough you found yourself repeating after him, seemingly ready to continue.

AS YOU WERE about to walk out of the room, a strange figure appeared next to the man you called "Mr Hood." You franctically pointed in the reaction, hoping he would notice, but it dissapeared not long after he glanced to his side.

Although you were frightened by the encounter you continued forward, coming across entities and monsters of all kinds, some friendly, some strange. One of them was Mr Chopped, who you helped out. You took a liking to him, one of the few things that felt truly normal.

During your journey, you also met the creature that caused you to jump into survival mode. You decided to name him Mr Crawling, as that was what he did. He stuck by your side as much as he could, even going as far as helping you find the severed head that damned child had hidden against his will. It was risky, but worth it, seeing Mr Chopped smile as the kid held him out to him.

You knew the building's outlay would change the more time you spent down there, but you were determined to make it out, even if it meant wandering around endless hallways for God knows how long.

Things weren't looking all too positive though. During a moment of overwhelming emotions, you lost sight of Mr Crawling, leaving you all alone and vulnerable. You had to run away from hungry creatures, and even a giant head. But just as you stumbled upon a seemingly new part, a strange whistle caught your attention. You looked up, meeting eye with an unfamiliar creature.

You could tell he was mocking you from that cocky grin playing on his lips, and soon enough you found yourself in another messed up situation — making it out in one piece all while avoiding his terribly big machete! You barely managed to dodge it before he stood right in front of you, hand clasped around your throat. You felt yourself growing dizzy with each passing second, as as you finally collapsed onto the ground an overwhelming urge to kill that stupid guy enveloped you. You felt yourself growing bigger, stomping left and right in hopes of hitting your target.

HE WAS VISIBLY surprised by your switch in attitude, intrigued even, bur before you could even proceed what had happened, the giant head you had been on the run from showed up, whisking you away into a room.

"Dammit!" You groaned, pacing back and forth, thinking of a plan to get out. You even stumbled upon Mr Gap, whose irritating request only worsened your situation. Give you his heart? Did he really think you were that stupid? As you closed the from which he appeared you sighed, catching a glimpse of something in the corner of your eye. It was... A machete?

One moment you were in the room, and the next you were on the run alongside Mr Machete, someone you wouldn't have expected to show up to your rescue. Nevertheless, you were glad to meet a familiar face.

Once the two of you made it to a safe spot you stopped to catch your breath. Curiously, you tried striking a conversation with the individual before you. “Why help me?” You asked, reciting some words you had learned over the course of your stay, hoping he would understand. He simply shrugged. “You funny.” What a weird way to put it. Since he seemed in a good mood you decided to continue the topic. “Know other world?”

His curiosity seemed to have been piqued by your choice of words as he shook his head. “Me not know.” He replied, before asking a question. “Seek other world?" Finally everything was going well! You nodded. “Me seek exit” He hummed thoughtfully as he suddenly started walking again. “Me help seek.”

Knowing it wouldn't hurt to have someone accompany you down these crazy hallways you smiled, following behind the tall individual. You certainly had not expected the radical change in his behaviour, but it was relieving to know he wasn't trying to kill you anymore.

Aside from ocassional, unimportant questions there was a pleasant silence between the two of you. But things couldn't be calm for too long as an overwhelming sound reached your ears. Your eyes widened as you backed away a little, watching as Mr Machete reached for his weapon. “Monster close. Hide." he exclaims, his tone slightly commanding. You squeezed your eyes shut, and the sound of the door slamming open was followed by a scream and other strange noises. Your eyes opened, and you were met by a gruesome scene, the machete piercing a strange, feminine entity. “Monster gone. You safe now.” He replied coldly, watching the blood seep out of her body.

You offered him a smile, thanking him. His lips formed a thin line, and you noticed an open wound on his arm. Before he could continue walking your hand reached for it, causing him to quickly turn around, confused. “no walk. Stay.” You said, reaching for the piece of bandage you had received from Ms Nurse. You had stuffed it into the pocket of your rain coat, perfect for situations like this. Although his eyes weren't visible, you could tell he had a puzzled look in them as you carefully wrapped it around his wound, securing it.

He tipped his head slightly to the side, watching your face as you smiled again. “Good?" You asked nervously, hoping you hadn't upsetted him. The silence lingered for a little longer before he lifted up his uninjured arm, ruffling your hair. “Grateful.” He replied, resuming his usual grin. You felt relieved knowing he appreciated it, and the two of you continued your journey.

THE LONGER THE two of you walked together, the more you started to figure him out. Mr Machete was very strong, but even he knew his limits. Whatever could be pierced by his machete was a guaranteed win, but if it were to go through it — like it went through a ghost they encountered — he immediately fleed, admitting that not everything can be fought with brute force, meaning that you sometimes need to acknowledge nothing can be done. His rough exterior might be scary, but deep down he seemed like a nice guy, and his actions proved towards it.

You weren't all too happy when he threw you across that gaping black hole towards the other side, but it was better than having him leave you behind. He even tried to throw you considerately as to not hurt you. Things were going well until you stumbled once AGAIN with that huge faced idiot. You were seperated from Mr Machete and forced to fight him on your own, and it went surprisingly well.

After your fight you felt yourself growing dizzy, and in his own peculiar way Mr Machete showed worry. “You okay?" He asked, approaching you. With all the power you had left you shook your head. “No blood.." You said, voice faint and almost inaudible. “Blood?" He repeated after you. You rambled on in human language, believing he wouldn't be able to understand you, yet you didn't expect the otherwise cold Monster to slice a deep cut into his uninjured palm, allowing you to drink his blood, ultimately saving you from a black out.

The gesture while a little rough made you realize that he might've started caring about you, and the two of you headed out towards the elevator you noticed into the distance.

YOU DON'T REMEMBER how much time has passed ever since Mr Machete and you arrived into this strange place filled with endless hallways that seemed to have no exit, but in all honesty, you didn't care. As time passed, the two of you became closer. You wandered around daily, some days filled with talkactivity from his side while other times it was you that rambled on. It was pleasant knowing you were comfortable around each others. What started as a way out of that horrible place ended in a relationship you had never expected to have.

And for him, he hadn't felt the way he feels about you before. He wasn't used to showing emotion, nor was he used to feeling them, but he liked it. He had to admit. he only went along with you in hopes of finding a new thrilling experience, but maybe that wasn't as important as it seemed anymore, he had you now after all.

Day in day out the two of you got closer and closer, understanding each other better with each passing moment, and while the memories of the others seemed so distant, fading away deep inside your mind, the warmth you felt each time Mr Machete held you in his arms was so close yet so far, stuck together for an eternity and beyond, unsure of what the future would hold for the two of you. Not like that mattered, as long as you had each others, everything was going to be okay.

Right now you were cuddled up against him, his arms tightly wrapped around your waist as he kissed down your neck. “You pretty." He whispered into your ear as he kissed up. You smiled, you could never get enough of his compliments. “Me grateful.” You replied, already imagining that huge grin on his face. “Me love you.” He continued, letting a yawn escape his lips. “Me love you too. Rest, now?" He hummed in reply, and soon enough you found yourself entering the dream realm with your beloved by your side.

[resonmalvo]

OMG IT FUCKING DID

QIMIR in THE ACOLYTE 1.02 ⋄ Revenge/Justice

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

déjà vu

déjà vu : a french term that translates to "already seen." It is a phenomenon where an individual feels a strong sense of familiarity or recognition with a current situation.

bnha chap. 362 n 403 spoilers ! childhood friends to lovers can you tell i'm inlove with this trope oooorrr…, angsty?? bittersweet hurt/comfort ?? fem reader, reader's height isn't specified but is shorter than katsuki's, reader gets a bit insecure but katsuki fixes that up rq, reader is very mushy n inlove with katsuki, (but aren't we all) katsuki loves reader very much in return

in his final moments, katsuki thinks of you.

he thinks about primary school. you’re both ten, double digits. foolishly believing you were all grown up. katsuki’s fingers are white and dry from cleaning up the chalkboard, since you guys were tasked for clean up duty today.

or at least, you were. but your classmate suddenly vanished without a word and katsuki, as nice and helpful as he was (to you, at least) decided to stay behind to help you, don’t ask him where your cleaning buddy went, he has absolutely no idea and has absolutely nothing to do with it. at all.

“ y’know—” he starts, soaking the soggy sponge into the water bucket next to him, then squeezing it out. “when we’re done with this stupid school stuff, i’ll go pro.” he states, slapping the sponge onto the board, creating a loud splat noise.

you, having heard this time and time before, simply look at him and smile, placing your classmates chairs on top of their desks row by row “mhm, i know !” you grin “ 'n you’ll be number one, right ?” you’re standing in between two desks, hands playing with your uniform skirt behind your back.

“hell yeah i will !” katsuki boasts, smirking. he scrubs at the board a little more vigorously.

“bad word !” you tease, giggling as you point at him “ 'm gonna tell miss you said a cuss word again !”

he huffs, turning around to scrunch his nose up and stick his tongue out at you, you stick yours out back playfully. “as if i care ! yer too much of a wuss to snitch on me anyways.”

“no I’m not, i’ll do it right now !” katsuki rolls his red eyes at you, returning to his task and wiping the board down in a zig zag motion. “ i don’t care” he reiterates.

you pout at his back and just then get an idea you’re sure will piss him off, a cat like grin pulls at your lips.

“okaaayy … then i’ll just tell your mom !” you sing, bursting into giggles when he swiftly turns around and waves the wet sponge in your direction. he’s too far to reach you but you dodge anyway, just to mess with him.

“no you won’t.”

“yeah, i will !” you counter, blowing a raspberry at him. you both break out into a fit of giggles when he aggressively dips the sponge into the water and flicks the droplets at you once more, before he decides to close the distance and chase you around your cramped little classroom growling and screaming, threatening you with the dirty sponge.

you’re squealing and giggling and laughing, trying to fend him off with a broom and even then, at ten. then when the concept of cherishing memories of the time you spend together wasn’t even an afterthought in his mind, katsuki remembers wishing he could stay with you like this forever.

when you’re both out of breath the classroom is just as messy—if not messier than it usually is. you give eachother a look then belly laugh some more.

you’re picking up chairs again and katsuki’s helping you, so it goes even faster. you don’t wanna go home because you won’t be seeing him anymore, but you have to admit your eager to finish and leave school.

katsuki’s back is to you on the second row and he can’t see you looking at him from the back row, he decides it’s time he says what he wanted to say before you got distracted. he clutches the legs of the chair he’s holding a little tighter.

“hey,” his voice comes suddenly in the quiet, it surprises you a little, you hum in response “ 'm really gonna go pro when we’re done with school, y’know.” he insisted.

you tilt your head wearily, looking at him with his back still turned to you. “yeah, i know.” you respond “you said that already.” you’re confused, he can’t hear the scrapping noise of the wooden chairs anymore, it’s annoyingly too quiet now.

“ you’re coming with me” he pauses, turning to you a little so you catch a peak of his quickly reddening face. it sounds like a statement but even then you know better. you don’t miss a beat, nodding furiously “uhuh, always !” his cheeks flare up more as he turns fully towards you. he walks over until the only thing separating you is the desk in between. he turns his back to you again to lean against the desk seperating you both.

“you’ll be with me, and we’ll be pro's together” he maintained. he feels his chest tighten when you offer him more of your pretty bright smiles and nods, you smile at him the way he knows you don’t with the other boys in class who are stupid enough to think they deserve even a second of your time and it makes him feel a little bit more confident as he speaks more clearly “a-and I’ll be number one, and you’ll be number two. but not behind me, with me, yknow ?” he feels stupid for having to explain himself but you don’t mind, as long as you can stay with katsuki you don’t mind which number you are. you move across the table so you can stand next to him. you nod and he let's out a little huff and a smile starts pulling at his mouth.

"a-and" he gulps " 'n then—i'll marry you."

it's quiet for just moment.

and then you register what he said and feel your entire body heat up.

"w-wha ?! " you sputter "marry me ?!" your wide eyes startle him as he glances at you but refuses to look over again. he's red to the tips of his ears, pulling at the bottom of his now longer tucked in shirt. despite the growing lump in his throat, he nods.

"mhm," he kicks at an eraser laying on the floor, the only noise heard coming from it hitting a wall a little further. you don't see where, you're still looking at him. " my ma says i can't do it now, since it's...illegal, or something." he scoffs dissaprovingly "b-but..when 'm older," he sucks in a breath, then suddenly turns to you causing you to sit up straighter in suprise, you feel your hands gripping the desk tighter and tighter as your face feels more and more on fire. "when i'm older—i'll do it. that way, none of those other losers will look at you."

he looks way more flustered than you but he's sitting up straight still, eyes determined and unwavering and it knocks the wind out of you, because for as long as you can remember katsuki's been the coolest.

there's absolutely no doubt in your mind he's embarrassed. if his face wasn't a dead give away, his posture and demeanor give it away just as much. you've known him for a long time now, since you were 6 years old and he had walked up to you. little newbie you, who had transferred in the middle of the school year and with nobody to play with. he was there, head held high with his friends in tow behind him, demanding to know what your quirk was and the rest was history.

katsuki persists even when he knows the odds are low, he perseveres and keeps kicking and punching and blowing up everything in his path where anyone else would've given up while they had the chance. like when he fought against those 4th graders while you were all still only in 2nd grade. his face was all messed up and he had a nosebleed, but he ended up winning. because he swore he would keep winning.

'cus that's what heroes do.'

katsuki fights and keeps fighting even if you think the odds are low, because he doesn't. to him, there's absolutely no doubt in his mind he'd win. even here, when he isn't fighting, instead confessing to you. he's red-faced, embarrassed out of his mind and nervous, but his shoulders are squared and there's no doubt in his eyes after he had just told you he would marry you. when he thought about being older, he thought about you being there with him.

and even after what you'd heard all you can think is that your katsuki is so cool.

so with a bright smile, bright eyes and the summer sun slowly setting in your empty little cramped classroom, you give him your response.

"mhm ! "

katsuki thinks about his last year of middle school.

today's the last day of your middle school life before you go off to high school and katsuki couldn't be happier to leave this shitty school. he's 15 now. older, but besides his features, remained the same (to you, at least) .

it's your last day and you finish it off with cleaning duty, ironically, and he remembers that day back in elementary. then proceeds to shake it off, hoping to shake off the embarrassing memories. but it doesn't seem to work because it feels like the universe is seriously fucking with him.

you're the one tasked with cleaning duty again and with your cleaning buddy, yet again, being nowhere to be found. katsuki yet again staying behind to help you out. and again, katsuki has absolutely no idea where your buddy went and has absolutely nothing to do with it. at all.

it shouldn't be anything new, he stays and helps, albeit begrudingly, every time you have cleaning duty. but it feels different somehow. katsuki chalks it up to it being the end of the year.

the only difference from last time is you actually finish in record time. usually, that would've been great news, less time at school and even more free time katsuki can spend with you.

but you're quiet today.

you usually chat his ear off, and just because it's you, he chat's right back. wether you're messing around teasing each other or just talking about your day at school or who's house you're staying over at for the afternoon and which movie you're watching, you're always talking about something. it's comforting where he'd usually think it to be annoying with anyone else. but they aren't you.

and he doesn't like it.

when you finish you reach for your bag sitting neatly on top of your desk but katsuki stops you, grabbing your wrist. the feel of your soft skin has him involentarily flushing lightly, he ignores it in favor of squeezing your wrist when you don't immediately look back at him.

"what's up with you ?" he questioned gruffly. it comes out harsh, but that's not what you hear. you've known katsuki for a long time, after all. he's worried, you can tell. his words are rough around the edges but his eyes are soft, filled with care and the soft stroke of his thumb against you skin sends slight shivers down your spine when you turn to look at him shyly.

you open your mouth to deny him, but he can practically read your mind "don't give me that 'nothinngg' bullshit" your nose scrunches at the way his voice raises in pitch as he crudely mimicks you and a little smirk pulls at his face for only a moment before it falls again " don't go lyin' to me. know i hate that shit" he rasped.

you sigh, he's known you just as long as you'd known him after all.

you lean against your desk and he copies you, your shoulders brushing as he scoots himself a little closer to you. you jump up a little to sit on your desk, you're the same height as him like this. he scoots a little closer and turns to look at you, placing his hands on your desk to lean on it, fingers inches away from yours.

"i just—" you faltered "this our last day of school. when the day is over we'll be high schoolers." you stated. katsuki scoffs jokingly and leans a bit closer to you "what ? you tellin' me youre gonna miss this dump ? last i heard, you were the first one who wanted to leave so you wouldn't have to deal with mr. nakamura anymore." he jests, trying to lighten the mood as best he could, the worry in his eyes still shining bright. a smile pulls at the corner of his lips when you huff out a little giggle.

"yeah well, i won't be missing mr. nakamura. or his stupid tests" you pretend to shiver as you cringe "at all." katsuki let's out a cute chuckle. he's like a magnet, you feel yourself scooting closer to where he's leaning next to you, like you're being pulled closer to him, you don't mind. you never mind being close to katsuki.

"but..?" he coaxed, knowing that wasn't all you wanted to say.

"but.." you continue "but i'll miss this, yknow ? like—the school itself wasn't..the best" katsuki scoffs in response but doesn't interrupt "the teachers weren't either. but—i dunno—this. being here." you confess, you stare down at your shoes as you kicks your legs aimlessly into the air " we've spent such a long time here, and now we're leaving. we went from being the youngest—to the oldest, to going back to being the youngest again, and that in itself isn't the problem.."

"then what is ?" he raises a brow.

"we're gonna be in a completely different school, with completely different people—"

"but we'll be together." he interrupts "you said you wanted to go to ua too" you said you were gonna stay with me is what he wants to say, but it's childish and that wouldn't be fair to you.

"of course, i still do !" you reassure "but—there'll be tons of new, strong, cool people at ua.."

"maybe even stronger and cooler than me.." you trail off. you don't need to say more for katsuki to understand what you mean and it pissed him off.

"shut up." he growls.

"katsuki—"

"no. shut the fuck up." he's right in front of you before you can blink. you reflexively part your legs and he takes the opportunity to stand even closer to you, right in your space. you feel your cheeks warm at the proximity, you’re close enough to see it's apparently affecting him too, his cheeks turning a cute pink but as stubborn as your katsuki is he doesn't budge. as usual.

you don't exactly know what you and katsuki are. you know you like him, you know you have for a long time. and you'd like to believe he likes you too. he doesn't act the way he does with you the way he does with his other friends (or his lackeys as he calls them, you're the only one he openly calls his friend) but he doesn't really have anyone close to him besides you, so you don't know if he'd act this way with someone else.

the thought leaves a nasty taste in your mouth, so you decide to focus on something else. something else being katsuki, of course, he's all up in your space. his gaze not allowing you to look or even think about anything else but him.

"who i meet at ua doesn't fuckin' matter, they'll all be weaksauce compared to me anyway" he states smugly, causing you to huff out a laugh again " i don't care if theyre cool, or strong" his nose scrunches up in disgust as he quips venomously "i don't care about any of that—and i don't hang out with you because of that either—i fuckin' care about you because you're you."

your heart stutters.

" what, you think i hang out witcha because of superficial shit like that ? you mockin' me or something ?"

"no, no course not !" you insist, shaking your head.

" exactly, so don't..." he huffs, looking away from you towards the ground, there's a random eraser lying on the ground and he kicks it "don't go saying dumb shit like that."

"i don't waste my time with just anyone, 's why i'm wastin' it with your ass" he jokes, chuckling when you squeeze his nose in response. supressing a smile you whine at him when he leans forward to bite yours.

"katsuki, you're gross !" you giggle as you push at his face, he smiles lightly at the sound of your laughter, one of his favorite sounds. "ya started it." he disputes weakly, his smile turning into a smirk when you groan and then it falls again as he looks at you seriously.

" but seriously" he starts "i mean it, y'know. don't just say shit to say it"

"i know" you smile. he grunts in acknowledgement then continues.

"i don't care about how cool those future ua asshats are gonna be. you're different, you're not like that—i mean—that's not what i look at—what i see with you" he fumbles around for his words and groans, slamming his forehead against your shoulder. you're used to katsuki being physical, but that was usually when he was being annoying, pinching and prodding and biting at you. he's rarely ever this affectionate. it's different, but nice..really nice, so you savor it while you can. your fingers twitch a little closer to his and you decide to take a leap of faith, placing your hands ontop of his. he flinches and you're about to pull back when he grips your hands, intertwining his fingers with yours. you feel him huff into your uniform. his hair tickles as he shuffles his head deeper inside your shoulder.

"you're not like those other losers, y'not like anyone" he explains "you're—when you're around it's like you're glowing. you're bright and when you talk, everyone sorta—gets pulled towards you like you're some typa magnet" his hands get warmer against yours as he speaks. you're surprised that he sees you this way, when that's practically the same way you see him.

" you pull people in so easily, and it pisses me off that you don't realise it. you are strong, and cool and everything else but that's not all you are. s'not all i care about."

"you're annoying. and whiney. extremely annoying, actually" he chuckles, and you pull at his ear "but—" he continues "but you're..fun to be around or whatever, wouldn't be around you otherwise. you're too fuckin' nice and your taste in music isn't bad" katsuki grumbles.

he wants to say more, so much more. he wants to say he thinks the way you immerse yourself when you're watching a movie together is adorable. the way you hold yourself back from commenting during the movie so as not to be annoying, even thought he could listen to you naming street signs and never get bored. the way your eyes light up when you get your grade back for a test you had studied your ass off for, when you come to him showing off your hard work it makes him want to hold you and never let go. he wants to say the way you're not scared to banter and bicker with him, the way your nose scrunches up when you try to hold in your laughter when he passes you a crudely drawn picture of your homeroom teacher, the way you smile at him whenever you see him, whenever he shares his umbrella or your lunches even though you have your own and he has his, makes him want to kiss you silly.

he wants to say all this and more, but he knows the words won't come out right, they never do. but somehow you understand and it's another thing he admires—that he loves about you.

"i...didn't know you felt that way" is all you can quietly muster up. you're cute, he feels you squeezing his hands a little tighter " yeah you didn't, cus i didn't tell you" he ribbed. you huff out a 'dont be annoying" gruffly and he chuckles. the asshole.

your asshole, though, your heart decides.

you're both quiet, everything is quiet and you're happy, reassured. you'd be happy if this is where the conversation ended but katsuki never fails to surprise you today it seemed.

" 'sides" he squeezes your hands tighter "i promised you i'd marry you didn't i ? how can i do that if i'm not around you, hah ?"

you're heart skips approximately three beats at the memory of his promise and you lean back to look at his fully red cheeks and his fleeing eyes.

"you still remember that ?" you ask incredulously. he rolls his eyes but you can tell it's simply to save face as he responds " of course i do. wasn't that long ago."

"but—we were like—ten when that happened. "

"so ?" he responds simply "doesn't change nothin'. i told you, i don't say shit to just say it."

you're flustered and so utterly confused, but there's a happy feeling bubbling in your stomach at his words " but we're not even dating !"

"we're not ?" of course not , he knows he hadn't properly asked you to be his girlfriend. but he figured if he talked about the memory that seemed to refuse being pushed aside, he could casually sneak by what he was too embarrassed to ask. but of course, you never make it easy for him.

"no, we aren't" you pout, crossing your arms at him. he grumbles, reaching to pull your arms away from your chest but you're stubborn, he was right about you being extremely annoying. "cut that out," he hissed.

"mm-mm ! " you shake your head "you can't just decide we're together. i didn't even know you liked me like that.." you trail off shyly. katsuki looks utterly baffled "hah?! whaddya mean you didn't know ? you don't see me actin' like this with anyone else do you ?"

"that's cus you're mean to everyone else !" you choked out, puffing your cheeks out at him.

"well yeah ! but—that's the thing, i'm not mean to you !" he defends, faltering when you raise a brow at him "fuck off, m'not that mean ! i'm just messing with you !" he rebutted. you simply roll your eyes at him and after a moment he sighs.

"fine" he concedes "i should've told you i liked you, i don't just decide that i want you to be my girlfriend when it's convenient for me or something" he keeps quiet about how you could of also told him you liked him as well for now, for fear of you getting moody at him again.

you still look away from him and he groans "hey c'mon, look at me." he utters sincerely. after a minute, you offer him a glance and he takes his opportunity, turning your face towards him, holding back a grin when he feels how warm your cheeks are.

"do you...wanna be my girlfriend ?" he stammers, looking at you with his red cheeks and bashful red eyes, and yet his gaze doesn't falter.

so cool.

it's your last day of middle school, your last day before you go off to a different school with different people. but with your katsuki by your side, and that's all that matters to you.

and with a bright smile, bright eyes and the summer sun slowly setting in your empty classroom, you give him your response by pressing your lips to his softly.

katsuki thinks about the night before today, when you'd knocked at his door in the dead of night.

usually, on any other day, he'd have scolded you for being up so late but would've ended up letting you in anyway. but lately, things hadn't been as they had been before..everything happened. and he could tell you were upset, so he simply let you in without a word.

you take the liberty of laying down in his bed like you used to back at his house and back at the dorms. he doesn't mind. it feels familiar, comforting.

he lies down next to you and you immediately latch onto him, seeking his warmth. with your head in his chest, you hold onto him tightly, like he'll dissapear if you don't. he clings to you just as tightly.

"what's up with you ?" he mumbles sleepily, softer than when he would've if he were more awake, but still focusing all of his attention onto you.

he feels you shake against his chest "jus' wanted to be wif you" he hears you mumbles. he presses his lips to the top of your head, pressing a sweet little kiss onto it as you breathe "you know that's bullshit." he reprimands, he feels you squeeze him tighter. he squeezes your waist twice, his warm hands running up and down your sides "c'mon, talk to me" he prodded

you look up at him and he looks down at you. your eyes are glossy, he can tell even in the dark and he's sure you were crying a little. his theory is confirmed when he hears you let out a little sniffle, his heart breaks at the sound. his heart breaks even more when you squeeze your eyes shut, gripping at the front of his shirt.

"baby," he pleads softly, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, mouth and cheeks when you whine. "tell me what's bothering you, yeah ?"

"m'just—you're gonna be fighting tomorrow, and we all are and i know you're strong but you'll be in the front lines against him" you blubbered, you hiccup as tears roll down your cheeks " and i know you're strong. but katsu, i can't—" you gasp. he shushes you softly, pressing kiss after kiss to your lips. he knows what you're gonna say, he knows you're worried. he's known you for so long after all.

he hated himself the day he woke up after the first war. when he woke up to you crying at his side, with you yourself still being injured. he hates how much he worried you that day and he knows that the fleeting glances you give him whenever you have a briefing with the pro's, the way you stare off at nothing whenever you catch a glimpse of his scars, are all out of worry for him. he did the same after he had found out you had also been heavily injured during the brawl, so he can't say he wouldn't do the same way.

"baby, babe—look at me" he intones softly, grabbing onto your tear stained cheeks to get you to look at him, he's close so he's sure you can see him despite the darkness. he can't help pressing another kiss to your lips " nothing's gonna happen, okay ?" he reassures, rubbing your cheek softly.

"i can't see you like that again, katsuki. i just can't" you whimper, leaning into his hand.

"you won't, promise you won't." he vows. he knows you're even more worried because you'll both be in different areas and he hates he won't be able to keep his eye on you. but you're strong and cool and everything else, so he trusts you'll be okay "i need you to trust me"

"i do" you sniffle, taking a deep breath "i do trust you, but i just—don't wanna see you get hurt, kacchan"

he sighs softly, staring at you lovingly as he pulls you towards his chest. you nuzzle against him and he presses his mouth to the side of your head. "i can't promise i won't be gettin' hurt, s'gonna happen on the job" he says carefully, rubbing your back "but i promise i'll always come back to you. no matter how fucked up i get, i'll win. for you." he declares, feeling you shove your head deeper against his shoulder.

you remember how despite getting extremely injured by shigaraki, he recovered in record time. it seemed nothing could stop your boyfriend from proving to the world he was the best. because katsuki fights and keeps fighting even if you think the odds are low, because he doesn't. because to him, there's absolutely no doubt in his mind he'll win.

and despite the worry and the fear gnawing at you, you can't help but think your katsuki is so fucking cool.

so you nod against his shoulder and he feels the collar of his shirt grow wet, but he doesn't mind as your grip on him loosens lightly until you can feel yourself falling asleep.

before you fall though, you hear katsuki speak.

"besides, i promised you i'd marry you didn't i ?"

he feels you smile into his neck, and you give him your response by happily nodding into his shoulder with a hum.

in his final moments, katsuki thinks of you.

he thinks of the promises he's made. he thinks of the promise he made to his old hag to not cause you, such a sweet girl, too much trouble. he remembers the promise he made to his old man to stay safe while he went out on patrol and when he'd fight against shigaraki for the second time. he remembers the promise he made to himself to get his limited edition all might card signed one day. and he remembers the promise he'd made when he said he'd always, always come back to you.

and he remembers the promise he'd made to marry you. the promise that you both would be together and none of the other losers would look at you.

so when he awakens, katsuki doesn't bother to ask why or how.

he simply fights and keeps fighting, so he can win, no matter how fucked up he gets.

and always, always come back to you.

[agi-ppangx]

love song (bang chan x gn!reader)

angst with a fluffy ending, both chan and reader are producers/songwriters, chan is kinda an asshole for a while but he quickly apologises, not proofread; 1,3k words

author's note: a little fic requested by a lovely anon !! i kinda wrote it in one go and didnt have time to properly correct the mistakes so i apologise for typos and any other stuff >< please remember that feedback and reblogs are highly appreciated🫶🏽

“time for a break,” you announced with a smile as you entered your little homemade studio holding two bags. “i got us some food and coffee.”

chan looked up at you from his laptop and mirrored your smile, taking both bags from you with a soft thank you. you sat down on the couch with a loud huff and chan handed you your food. 

“you wanna listen to the song? i made a few touch ups to that part we were struggling with,” he asked, sipping on his americano and you nodded, mouth full of the pasta. 

as soon as chan played the song you closed your eyes, letting yourself be completely engulfed by the music. 

it was a rather upbeat melody, but when you were writing the lyrics a while ago you tried to make it really emotional and, what’s most important, true. some might think it’s cliché to constantly write songs about your lover, but it comes naturally to you. the emotions you pour into the lyrics, the memories and wishes, everything is about you and chan. and even as you sell your songs to various artists, you always know exactly who it’s about when they sing it. 

you snapped your eyes open around the middle of the song as one fragment of a few seconds did not sound as it should. 

“wait, let me listen to it again” you said with a frown and he wordlessly rewinded the song for a few seconds. “why does it sound so weird?” you mumbled to yourself as that one part was just not right. you took a sip of coffee from your cup, trying to understand what changed about the song. you two were talking about that part a few days before and…

“channie, did you change the melody?” you asked in disbelief. he turned around to look at you, but your irritated expression didn’t make any impression on him. 

“yeah, it sounds better now, right?” you huffed loudly, getting up from your place on the couch to walk your anger away. 

“i told you i want this part to sound specifically as it did before! why would you change it? we talked about it,” you let out, your voice getting louder with each word spoken. 

“relax, baby, it’s not a big deal,” he explained calmly, trying to reach for your hand, but you were quicker, taking it away and putting it in the pocket of his hoodie that you were wearing. 

“no, it’s the fact that it’s the first time we finally work together and you already don’t listen to my advice.” 

it was chan’s turn to huff, he was visibly getting annoyed by your words. “this wouldn’t be a problem if you wouldn’t make one of it.” 

“this wouldn’t be a problem if you wouldn’t ignore my opinion.”

“alright, yn, let’s just stop this. i’m getting tired of this conversation,” he said, turning around and putting his headphones on, pretending to work on some other track just so you wouldn’t bother him anymore.

you stood in the room for a while longer, staring at chan in pure shock. he may have pretended to be busy, but as you finally decided to leave the studio he noticed how you wiped your face and he sure heard the loud thud the door made as you slammed them. you went straight to your bedroom, wrapping yourself in the blanket and trying to stifle your sobs. 

hours passed as you finally sat up, grabbing your notebook to write some ideas for new songs. your eyes were still puffy as you scribbled down random words and rhymes, desperately trying to take off your mind from the argument, but no matter how hard you tried the situation came back to you like a boomerang. you weren’t sure if chan did it purposely or if he simply forgot about your conversation - you knew he was busy, so it might’ve slipped out of his mind. but it didn’t change the fact that it hurt you. 

both of you dreamed of working together for a long time - someone might think that you two could easily just write some songs for each other in your home studio. isn’t that enough? people say, but you always say that it’s different to play around on a saturday evening with a glass of wine and to write and produce tracks for other artists. it is a big deal to you - the fact that the song you both worked on will be featured on another artist’s album, heard by thousands, if not millions of people, and they all will hear about your love for chan and only you will know who it’s about.

a soft knock on the door pulled you out of your thoughts. you put down the notebook, keeping a firm look on chan as he quietly closed the door behind him. he was already in his pyjamas, ready to sleep, and you fought the urge to send him to sleep on the couch.  

“you still mad?” he asked with hesitation dripping down his voice. you didn’t say anything, waiting for him to say something other than the obvious. “listen, i feel really bad.”

“as you should.”

he sighed, scratching the back of his head. “i know. but i don’t wanna go to sleep without talking.” he said desperately, taking a few steps onward and carefully sitting on the other side of the bed. 

you exhaled loudly. you also didn’t want to leave it like this. “it really hurt me, y’know?” you started, feeling as the tears started to well up in your eyes. “we literally talked about the song a few days ago and i told you how i want that particular fragment to sound like and you agreed. then why-” your voice broke a little as a few tears ran down your cheeks. chan was quick to wipe them off and this time you didn’t stray from his touch. “-why would you change it now? i just don’t understand.”

chan took a moment to think before he spoke again. “i have nothing to say in my defence,” he started quietly. “i was just bored yesterday when i couldn’t sleep and decided to change a few things about the song and i just forgot to leave that part be. i’m so sorry, baby, i know i shouldn’t have behaved like that earlier, i don’t know what had gotten into myself,” he confessed, his cheeks now cherry red as shame filled his body. he didn’t look at you, he couldn’t, because he knew he fucked up.

“let that be your first warning,” you said firmly after what felt like eternity to chan. “i’m not that experienced as you when it comes to producing songs, but i would really appreciate you actually listening to my ideas. just talk to me whenever you want to make changes like that, okay?” chan nodded quickly. 

“i will. i’m really sorry, my baby.”

“i know you are.”

“are we okay now?” he asked hesitantly. 

“yeah, we are.” you smiled softly as chan’s body visibly relaxed at your words. “but i’m still hurt though.” 

“will a kiss make it better?” he proposed, a bit bolder now as the atmosphere around you wasn’t so tense anymore. you didn’t respond, leaning over to place a peck on his lips with a smile. 

“maybe a little bit,” you giggled. chan captured your face in his hands, looking you deeply in the eyes. 

“by the way i changed that part,” he confessed. “it sounds exactly how you wanted it to.”

you grinned, whispering a soft thank you, and chan finally kissed you, making the world around you disappear. you didn’t know how long it was before you finally broke the kiss, panting heavily.

that night you held him in your arms, letting him rest his head on your chest so he could hear your heartbeat and to his surprise it was his favourite love song that you ever created.

taglist ! @astraystayyh @laylasbunbunny @l3visbby @like-a-diamondinthesky @hanjsquokka @xichien @xocandyy @minhosbitterriver

[morbidlcve]

Saw that your requests are open so how about a drunk reader confessing her heart out for natasha not knowing they're already dating and stuff (or something along those lines) 👀

Drunk words are sober thoughts.

pairings: natasha x reader

word count: 0.9k

CW: alcohol consumption, vomit, use of painkillers.

an: this was SO fun to write, i hope you like it!!

"One more!" you squeal excitedly, reaching for another shot lined up at the bar. It was girls' night out with you and your friends; you insisted Natasha should come, and you told her that the rest of your friends were bringing their other friends and partners, so she was allowed. "1,2,3!" one of your friends said, and you all downed the shot, sighing heavily as it burned its way down your throat. You jump around with the music that's playing in the background, pulling Natasha by the hand to the dance floor.

Time didn't seem like a concept to you as you partied your little heart out with Natasha, clinging onto her, your arms around her neck swaying back and forth, and your mind adjacent to your body. Natasha stuck by your side the whole night, her warmth always in your proximity; you were safe.

Drinks continued being placed in your hands, and soon enough, your world tilted on its axis, your stomach flipping. "Natty!! You whined, pulling her with you to the bathroom. Ever the lady, Natasha held your hair and rubbed your back gently, muttering soft words of comfort to soothe you.

You leaned back against the stall, staring at the recessed lights, your eyes fluttering shut, attempting to calm yourself down. Natasha had brought wipes with her and began to wipe your mouth, pulling out a new one for the running mascara around your eyes, then your face, to cool you down.

Feeling the cool wetness against your face, your eyes coming into contact with the most beautiful woman you had ever seen. Her soft eyes bore into yours, and her lips are turned into a slight smirk. "You're so pretty", you mutter, cupping her face.

She rolled her eyes dramatically. "And you're far beyond intoxicated. Let's get you home", she replied, slowly pulling you to your feet; she wrapped her arm around your side, putting your arm around her shoulder, propping you up against her.

You and Natasha stumbled out onto the bustling street, trying to call a cab while trying to keep you upright. She finally managed to put you into the taxi; she climbed in next to you, noticing you fumbling with your seatbelt. She gently took it from your hands, clipping it in.

As the cab made its way through the streets of New York, your eyes swipe across the woman's features, admitting her to memory. Your hand works its way into hers, pulling her arm into your lap; you continue to stare at her, the many lights on the outer world illuminating her face and the unnatural beauty she seems to possess.

"Do I have something on my face moya lyubov'?" she smiles, turning to face you. You shake your head, "Do you have a girlfriend?" you slur, "Because you're too pretty not to have one."

She laughs lightly, "I do, and if my girlfriend finds out that other girls are trying to hit me up, I would be rather scared for them." She smiles, looking down at your hands entwined.

"Who is your girlfriend?" You ask, your cheeks flaming slightly, "Is she pretty?" you say, looking up at her from your head resting on your shoulder. She meets your eyes. "She's the most beautiful girl in the whole world. I don't think I could ever be without her", she admits to you, her thumb stroking over your knuckles.

Your eyes begin to flutter, and you end up falling asleep against her.

The cab pulled up around the corner of the tower- Natasha softly woke you up, her thumb stroking your cheeks. "We're here, love, wake up"- not wanting to give the driver Natasha's identity, given that he didn't seem to recognize her, she paid him and then took your hand guiding you out of the vehicle.

Natasha hobbled the rest of the distance with you to the tower, where she scanned her card and walked in with you clung to her. She called the elevator and waited whilst it came to pick the two of you up. Her hand stroked your head as you stood there still groggy from your near thirty minute sleep.

Once you got back to her room, she led you to the bathroom so you could go to the toilet, and whilst you did, she quickly changed into her PJs and met you washing your hands. "Sit down, pretty girl", she told you, pulling out your face wash slightly wetting her hands before rubbing the cleanser on your face, removing your makeup.

You just sat there, letting her clean you, putting your toner, serum, and lotion on, your arms wrapped around the back of her legs. She soon moved to brushing your teeth, standing you back up so you could spit out the toothpaste and rinse your mouth. She gave you two painkillers and made you drink a glass of water because she knows you're going to be "dying" tomorrow.

"Go get into bed," she said softly, kissing your nose. She quickly washed her face and brushed her teeth, then came to join you. You were slowly falling back to sleep when she slipped in next to you. "I'm your girlfriend, aren't I?' you whisper, shuffling into her, wrapping your legs into hers. "Yes, you are, my love. Now go to sleep; you're going to need lots of it, " she mutters back, kissing your forehead and slowly drifting off once she hears your soft snores and even breathing.

thank you for reading!! <3 please leave feedback!!

(reqs are open for now!!)

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Hi !!!! I’m sorry if this is bothering you and if so you can totally ignore this but…

I’ve been thinking about how Ghost would react to reader gradually pulling away from him because she gained some weight and is self conscious and ashamed and doesn’t want to be seen by him, so sculpted and beautiful… but of course he’s feeling low because he wants to be close to reader and so he asks and she finally explains it to him (ready to be broken up with…)…. And I’d love to read your take on it !

You can make it female or gender neauteal I don’t really care !!!! Thank you anyway ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Wildflowers Grow in Ruins

(Ghost x F!Reader, word count: 5 k)

Summary: Reader tries to break up with Ghost because she thinks she's not good enough for him.

Tags/warnings: FLUFF, soft sensual smut 🔞, hurt/comfort, light angst, Jealous!Ghost, Soft!Ghost, self-loathing & self-body shaming. Good girl talk/praise kink. Reader is female and wears a skirt for smut plot purposes.

A/N: I hope you like this take & I hope you don't mind that I tweaked this request just a little bit!) Also: JFC I'm wordy. The "I need to explain why they're fucking!" meme comes to mind every time I write anything.

Wars are exhausting. 

You know fighting for something can empower people. Fighting against something usually just depletes your strength.

But waging a war against yourself… 

Now that is pure hell. 

It started somewhere in your youth. You thought adulthood would take it away; that reason and tolerance would take it away. You were supposed to feel more confident in yourself, more positive about life. And for a moment, you thought you might just succeed.

But standing beside a god of war is no easy feat.

He came into your life like a walking myth, swept you away, and you only laughed as you went. It was fun at first. He was supposed to be your savior, the solution to all your problems. If a man like him found you attractive, perhaps it was the world that was crooked and not you.

But then you got soft: you started to gain pounds. Meanwhile, he became even more magnificent. It reminded you that it had all been just a dream.

Perhaps it was his eyes that seemed to worship you, that seemed to look past your every flaw. Perhaps it was the hands which never seemed to get enough of your skin. Whatever it was, it was too much. And at the same time, never enough.

The day has finally come to let him go.

You think yourself heroic. It's like it should be: it's only right that you finally release him to someone better than you.

But inside, the noble feelings twist and turn and curl around your throat and stuff your stomach full of ice - the kind they fill glasses of mojito with. The drink you'll always remember him by because he teased you about it: that you wanted an ice-cold summer drink even in the middle of winter.

Now you feel cold all over, and wish he could warm you like he used to. 

You would forsake all the mojitos of the world to keep him. You would renounce the whole drink if it came to that; if you could make him yours.

But he's not yours. He never was: he was just on loan to give you a taste of what it would be like to have a man like him. That taste should be more than enough for a lifetime. You should feel grateful.

So why is it so hard to let go?

The key on the front door turns, and your heart shoots up your throat: you're supposed to settle this thing once and for all. You're supposed to let go of him today. 

And still, when he arrives, you can't find the courage to say what you need to say. The words are stuck in your throat, but tears are not. He should already be a memory, but you find yourself suffocating on memories as you cry. You've learned to do even that in silence, like the rest of your suffering.

You take a few deep breaths, wipe the tears away, shove the rest of them down your throat – you save them for later, later, when he's far away and you can finally curl up and cry your heart out without no one there to look. Fucking later.

Good. 

Good.

Great.

You put your heaviest armor on. It protects weak and soft flesh because you can't meet him all bare. Then you step forward with the knowledge that you’re a thoroughly wounded guerrilla while he is a seasoned, well-rested veteran. The fight is nowhere near even, but it's ok. You are not meant to be in the presence of immortals anyway.

The man looks at you warily as you finally enter the room. That haunted look has followed you for some time now as the distance between you has grown. 

It should be easy, what is about to come, because he hasn't touched you in weeks. You haven't wanted him to.

Or you have… But it's not easy to have his hands on you when your body is only a vessel you hate. How can you even think about pleasure when all you think about is how it must feel for him to caress something as awful as this?

The man is a vision, and he settles for a peasant. It should be against the law, but it's not… so you figured a some time ago that you should simply find the strength and grace to do ii: do what's right.

"I need to talk to you." 

Your voice comes out neutral, and it makes you more confident, if only for a second or two.

He lifts his chin: already knows what's coming, because he's not stupid. You've been shutting down for weeks, and he hasn't done much about it. But when the thunder rolls in, he doesn't flee. Probably because he fears nothing.

"Go ahead then," he says, equally as neutral, equally as icy. Got his armor on, too. 

This should be easy…

It's really not, so you decide to rip the band-aid off in one yank.

"I think we should go separate ways."

The following inhale from across the room pierces the air like a bullet. You can hear his breaths gain depth and speed all the way to where you're standing.

"Ok."

It doesn't look or sound like he's ok. If anything, he looks like he's trying to process the sudden storm. 

"Ok…" His eyes are on the floor as he rubs the back of his neck. Then he starts to pace around the little kitchenette you've shared for almost six months, just before you started gaining weight.

He stops to look out the window, then turns to you, and the hurt in his stare comes through like a thousand needles pushing through skin.

"Is it because of my work?" 

"No."

"What is it then?"

Your breaths are getting out of hand, too. He looks like a lost, tired creature in an abandoned animal shelter for a moment, and it breaks your heart. It squeezes the organ inside a flaming fist until it shatters like it has never been nothing more than ice.

Your lip starts to tremble, and he notices, as per usual. Nothing escapes this man, except perhaps the true reason for your anguish.

"Hey. Hey."

He comes to you and hugs you like it's the only thing that matters: to comfort you when he sees you're about to cry, no matter how crushed he's feeling himself. The sudden warmth, the intimacy after weeks and weeks of pain is knee-buckling. 

"Is there anything I can do to change your mind?"

His voice is soft, so soft… The tears rush forth now; there's no way of stopping them. What the hell can you even say to a question like that? That you wish he could grab a magic wand and turn you into someone gorgeous, the woman he deserves?

His embrace feels good, kind of. It also feels smothering because your self-hate makes you want to disappear from existence entirely. His eyes are equal to physical touch, a probing scan that sees every little flaw, not to talk about massive faults, the ones which make you feel like you're simply disgusting. His touch only reminds you how you must feel like to him: soft, too soft, weak.

And he must hate weakness.

"What do you need me to do? I'll do anything," he tries with a parched throat, then swallows. 

It's fucking horrible. This isn't going at all like you had imagined.

"It's not about you," you struggle out of his hold, and he lets you go with reluctance. You have to basically fight your way out of a bone and steel prison. Why would he even want to hold a pathetic woman who's on the brink of ugly crying on top of everything?

"What do you mean?"

He's slightly breathless – and restless as fuck. He's usually so calm; nothing can get to him, nothing can rattle the tower of raw strength. Now you've not only pierced some invisible armor; you can hear pieces of it falling on the floor.

"Have you found someone else?"

What the…

"No." You put as much weight on that word as you possibly can. To imagine that he thinks you are cheating… Fucking cheating on someone like him. "Jesus Christ…"

He takes a deep breath and sighs deeply, sighs out relief, perhaps. Then his razor-sharp stare fixes on you again, and you can see the fear turning into something akin to concern. You suspect you have to tell him the truth, otherwise he will dig it out of you. 

"I'm just…" 

Jesus, this is just humiliating. 

"I'm just not your type."

"What the hell are you talking about," he mutters, the impending fury giving way to momentary surprise. 

He gets intense sometimes. This time, the ferocity is born of barely concealed distress. He's broad and magnificent, even in despair. He’s just so fucking fine… The perfect man, someone you had never even imagined yourself with. Pulled down to the world of puny mortals, evidently stressing about losing one. 

Losing you.

"If you have someone new, you can just bloody well tell me."

"It's not that. You don't understand–" 

"Try me."

"I just…" A tear escapes down your face as you finally break for him. "I'm fat. Okay? And ugly. And–"

"Stop right there."

The look on his face is just… It's priceless, you suppose.

"Bloody fucking hell…" 

He looks at the floor, then runs his fingers through the short cut hair on top of his head. You've yanked those blonde strands more times than you can count, nearly every time he's been between your legs, and you miss it – you long for it, like fallen angels long for heaven. 

And if there was a time this man was rendered speechless, you would say you were witnessing that moment right now. His brows knit together, then he looks up at you again with blaring disbelief.

"You're serious?"

"Yes."

"This is the reason you wanna break up?"

Ugh.

"Yes?"

His voice grows rougher with every question until it resembles thunder, and you suspect this is the commanding tone his soldiers are used to hearing. 

But you're not: it's gravelly, harsh, and betrays the feeling of having been insulted. You feel even more devastated with yourself – it appears you can do nothing right.

"Where has this… idea even come to your head?"

"I don't know." 

"And you never thought to ask my opinion?"

"Would you please stop yelling," you whisper and blink back some putrid tears. His mouth is snapped shut, his head pulls back just a little as he realizes what he's done. 

"Sorry," he says with a half-whisper, and you catch the strain in his throat. You've never seen him cry, but now his voice is suddenly thin and frail. "I'm sorry."

He takes a step, then another, places fingertips on the counter as if to take the faintest support.

"Can I touch you?"

You don't really want him to do that, but you feel pity for the man. He's trying to find a way through this mess, and you want to help him.

"Yes," you whisper, and he immediately comes and takes you in his arms again. Hot tears disappear into his shirt, and you sniff a few times. He feels so good, so safe, even when you're about to lose him. His hold tightens around you, and the kitchen is silent; the whole world is silent. You don't know if you're being put to a grave or if you're in a deaf womb, waiting to be reborn.

"Now I don't know who's said this shite to you but ugly is the last fucking thing I'd call you," he declares above you. As if it was some bully whose fault it is that you were this way, a bully he could deal with with his fists or a gun. If only things were that easy…

"Have I said or done something? To make you feel this way?"

Then the blade is turned against himself. The man desperately searches for a culprit so he can deal with them.

"No," is the only thing you can say because it's true: he has never done a thing to make you feel like you weren't good enough; quite the contrary. But then again, he doesn't have to. It's enough that he exists and resembles a god.

"Then why do you think you're not my type?"

"Because you're so perfect," you hear yourself wail, no, cry into that shirt that smells of sweet safety and familiar musk – his scent, another thing you have missed like it's the only way to heaven.

"That for sure ain't true."

"But it is."

He seems to have the utmost difficulty in grasping what the issue here is. You can almost hear the wheels turning in his head with a rusty, laborious creak.

"Can't believe you wanna break up because of this," he finally says. You've chipped his pride, the ego that lives off of pleasing the ones he loves: the few chosen ones who he wants to give his whole life to. 

"To me, you're perfect," he then says, and you simply… You stop breathing. "You're like… my dream woman. Ever thought about that?"

It can't be true, even if you vehemently, desperately want it to be. You reach out to his words like they're precious food after years of famine. Like they're sun and spring rain after being buried in the cold, dark soil whole winter.

"No…?"

"Never occurred to you that I might find you fucking beautiful?"

"Stop," you whisper, because it's too much to take in. He sounds so serious, so sincere.

"No, I don't think I will."

He pulls back a little and cups your face. Brushes away a tear, looks at you with so much love that it physically hurts; you feel like it's a lance that slowly drives through your heart.

"How about I kiss every part I love about you?"

You let out a soft little whimper. Fuck, that you want him to… 

It would also be uncomfortable as hell. To try and let him love you and your body, which you have grown to loathe.

"It's gonna take all night, though. Wanna be as thorough as possible."

"Simon–"

"Love. I want you. Thought I'd made it pretty clear, but apparently I haven't. If you only knew how much–"

He sighs deeply. The man is frustrated with his shortcomings, thinks that this is all his fault. You cry a tear or two just for the sake of how absurd it all is. 

"I don't want you to go. I fucking love you. Everything about you."

For the second time this afternoon, your lower lip starts to tremble as if this was some stupid, romantic movie. He can be so soft when he wants to, more romantic than the soft-spoken gentlemen in Jane Austen's novels. It doesn't even require any effort: underneath the cynical surface, there's fiery emotion, so powerful and raw that it almost bleeds out of him. Fuck… Does he even know what he's doing to you?

"I love you too," you whisper back, and the warmth that starts to bloom in his eyes is an entire sun on its own. It's hope, and you believe him, almost believe him.

"Then I'd say it's a bloody bad idea to break up."

You chuckle while few more tears push through to the surface.

"Simon…" You sigh and look back up at him, your armor falling to the floor too. "I feel like a wreck."

You allow him to see the pain, all of it. His breath is sharp as it hits him, but he still doesn't waver.

"Then let me help you."

The arms around you gain more strength, and you're crushed against a chest made of power. He tries to turn shit to gold, and threatens to succeed. You allow yourself to soften in his hold. How good it feels to be supported – no, loved.

"You don't even let me touch you anymore."

It's a filed complaint, but also heart-rending, soul-wrenching longing. You have evaded him for weeks now – hell, this shit began months ago and has escalated gradually, stealthily, until the moments together were a rarity, the space between you was full of frost; and not the crispy, happy summer drink kind.

"I thought you'd found someone else. Could've found out if that was the case in minutes, but honestly, I didn't wanna know."

Oh my God…

Has he lived with a growing suspicion and dread all these months? 

That would explain why he has avoided you too…

He has allowed you to go to your supposed lover, has given you space to be alone and without too much attention. The man has shielded himself from pain. 

Jesus fucking Christ.

"I'm so sorry," you say with a strained little breath. "I swear it's nothing like that. I just… I feel like a mess."

"Never seen such a gorgeous mess." 

He speaks on your skin, the kiss on your forehead feels like an absolution. 

Then you notice it's not only his words which try to assure you. He's growing harder by the minute against your stomach, just from a simple hug. Just from being pressed against you like this, after weeks of dry, bitter longing.

"Miss your taste," he murmurs to your skin, his voice like sand wrapped in burning velvet. "The sounds you make when you want it hard."

Oh God–

"Miss your smile when we go to shower after."

"Hmh…"

"Don't wanna live without that smile."

You don't have to. 

God, you don't have to…

"How about we make a deal," he draws fingers down your chin, coaxing you to look up at him. His eyes are stripped from the cold distance that greeted you just moments ago: now they are filled with warmth that spreads to your chest and belly and bones. You drink him in like summertide.

"You come to me every time you feel bad and I'll make you feel good. Alright?"

"...Ok." 

He tilts his head a little to the side, not entirely satisfied with your shy little answer.

"Come on. Make me believe it."

"It's a deal," you say with more grit to it, even if you're nearly crying again, this time from relief.

"That's my girl."

Oh fuck…

He knows exactly what strings to pull, the good girl talk being one of the things that instantly makes your legs feel like jelly. 

And why does he always have to use that voice when he calls you a good girl or his girl, that sultry smoke that makes you want to swoon until he catches you and carries you to bed?

The man seems to be a mind reader as well, because he sweeps you off your feet and does exactly that: carries you to your bed which has mainly seen silent tears and painful sleep last months.

"Poor thing doesn't even know how lovely she is."

He sounds amused in the face of your darkness: sees it in full and still doesn't fear at all. He's ready to battle your demons for you, and you feel like shaking: from his touch and that voice, from the stress and loneliness that starts to release as he lays you down on the bed.

He looks so different from the man that has haunted this place for the past months, the complete opposite of the reserved soldier retreating into the shadows.

He moves to kiss you, and it's been – what? Weeks since your last kiss? And even that was only a quick peck, nothing like this… Wet, and desperate; a devouring. It makes you clench around nothingness, and you finally surrender. 

No one can fake such fervor.

You try to accept it: accept the fact that even if you hate yourself, he does not. For some reason, he adores you. His breaths hit your face hot and urgent, and he can't keep his hands to himself anymore. They wander over your waist and hips, they even risk to steal a feel of your breasts, and then he groans in your mouth.

"I've missed you. Fuck, I've missed you..."

You taste notes of burning leaves; tobacco, his only weakness. You fantasize on the thought that you might be another weakness, too.

"Remember when I fucked you in my office?"

"I've missed you too," you utter softly in between the kisses that threaten to turn into a sloppy mess. "So much..."

He smiles at that, and it makes you weak, even when lying down like this.

"Yeah…?"

"You were so loud I had to put a hand over your mouth."

His voice is thick as he laughs a short chuckle. Your inner walls clench again at the sound, you throb among the warm syrup surrounding you.

"Never seen you so wet. Almost dripped all over my gear."

"It's that stupid mask you wear," you hear yourself breathe like you've just been underwater. Feel yourself throb some more, feel a burning sensation in the nether areas from the scorched desert turning wet again. You want him so much that it actually hurts down there.

"Knew you'd like it. That's why I kept it on."

If this man keeps talking, your underwear is going to be utterly ruined. And of course he does; of course he continues to pour more love in your ear.

"Everyone looked at you like you were a queen," he grunts in your ear, sounding almost… pissed.

"Don't be ridiculous," you try to form sensible words. It's only a faint breath, really, but he huffs at your modesty. 

"You don't have eyes in the back of your head, love."

Wow… He is a bit pissed.

Had they checked your ass out when you visited him? 

It was the first and, what you thought, the last time you got to visit him at his workplace… but you never would have guessed the reason for him not asking you to visit again would be jealousy. 

"Don't worry. I put those fuckers in their place after you left." 

Whoa. 

Ok…

First, he had fucked you senseless in his office – a highly inappropriate move for a man in his position – then got jealous because some soldiers had checked you out as you left with his cum practically dripping from your cunt.

You put yourself in his shoes for a moment: he's had to live with thoughts of you running to some other man's arms when he's not home, and then watch you waltz around his workplace after making what was supposed to be the last effort to make him love you… When he has loved and adored you this whole time, has watched the sway of your ass with the rest of those home-deprived, horny soldiers, thinking you had fallen out of love and were on your way to go see some other guy.

Had he invited you there to try and win you back, too? By showing himself to you in all his puffed up, masculine glory? A desperate man in a skull mask, hoping to get love from you…

There's so many misunderstandings; they rip your throat. A sob escapes, and he stops his caress.

"Love… Tell me to stop if you–"

"No. No, I don't want you to stop." 

Your request comes out with such demand that he hesitates only a second or two. Then he moves on top of you and tugs your skirt up. You don't even have time to realize what is happening before he has worked himself out of his pants.

He's hard and heavy between your legs, and your eyes go wide as you realize he's not going to bother to take your briefs off. He just slides a hand under the skirt and draws the fabric aside, and the fat tip of him is pushed in the middle almost clumsily. It's hot, and slips down to your opening with ease.

Oh f–

"Been jerking off to you nearly every night at the base," he says just before he pushes himself in. 

"Uh–...."

Your thighs spread wide as he fills you slowly, inch after inch. The sound that leaves him is starved: a dry, painful sigh. He's been waiting for this for god knows how long, and you're just as hungry to take him in. He seems endless, the way he finally works himself fully inside, spreading you even wider as the thickening base of his cock reaches its end. 

"Thought you were getting railed by someone else while I only get to fuck my hand."

"Oh god…"

There's really nothing else to say as his balls press against you, heavy and taut. He's not going to last long.

"Yeah. Imagine that," he admits, breathless like you. 

You look at him with what must be the most helpless stare of longing in your eyes. Then he moves, and you want to grip him to keep him inside. The first thrusts are divine, they're pure heaven, and your head sinks deep into the pillow as you try to get enough air, try to not scream from pleasure already. Somehow, all you are able to utter is a desperate little whisper.

"Simon–"

His cock is good enough to bring tears to your eyes. You're starving too, you're pulling him in with fierce hunger, and he groans, then nearly falls forward, his weight pressing against you, swallowing you, until you feel like you're an idiot for thinking that you're too big. The thickness of his chest rubs against you as he makes love to you with passion that echoes the first times you did this.

"Just wanna adore you, love." He's panting desperate somewhere above you. A god and a man, both furious and gentle. "I wanna adore you. Just like this."

You answer him with what must be those sounds he told you about, the sounds you make when you want it hard. 

You want him to fuck you, to wreck you after weeks of loneliness and hate. To love you until you break into a million pieces.

"Simon," you whisper. "...Love me."

He halts, huffs in your neck. It's almost a sob. There's so much emotion and desperation in the air that it could be scooped up and sold in the streets.

"Always," he rasps in your ear, then moves to kiss you again. "Always."

The promise echoes around you, it coats your lips as he loves you with all he has. It's been so long, and he feels so good that you nails dig into his shirt, his shoulder, you try to hold onto him even though he's the wave that rocks you.

"You feel that?" He goes deep; he's out of breath and desperate, even more desperate than you. "That's love. You feel it, yeah?"

"Yes," you sob in his shoulder, tears trying to escape your waterline as you're going dumb from the pure sensation, the sensuality of it all. 

"That's it, love. That's a good girl," he turns to your neck and gruffs in your ear as you whimper and moan. "Always such a good girl."

Shit…

"I, I'm gonna…"

Your legs wrap around his middle, your muscles twitch and your hands reach and grab – they claw and yank and tug everything they can: his back, shoulders, shirt, something sturdy to keep you from drowning in a glorious orgasm.

He laughs in your neck and continues to grind you through your climax even when you're shattering, sighing, moaning, writhing under him. He just laughs, the man who never laughs: from witnessing you respond to him calling you a good girl.

Fucking bastard…

Lovable, infuriating bastard who knows you to your core. 

You're an overstimulated heap by the time he comes as well, not long after you, but long enough to make you feel like you're only a tender bunch of nerves. Your legs have fallen to the side, he has open access to take what he needs: you, your love, all of it.

His whole middle goes tense as he cums, he groans and swears somewhere deep into your neck, rolls his hips over and over again like it's a must that his balls press against you with every thrust that shoot his load. 

Then he falls slack, nearly collapses on top of you, reminding you of what it feels like to be small under a giant like him. You're throbbing together, you're full and fulfilled, and he is still lodged deep inside you, panting and broken in a sweat.

"Jesus Christ…" 

He sounds dazed. 

Relieved. 

"Should've done this weeks ago."

You laugh at seeing him so done – a man in love, torn by jealous yearning, finally taking what's his. You stroke his neck, his back – it's so good to have him finally there… So close, with no barriers in between.

"I should've talked to you weeks ago..." 

"Yeah. You should have."

"Are you going to punish me?" You giggle a little – the flirt is light and frees your heart further from its recent jail. He moves to look at you with all the tenderness there is. It's too much... His love is too much. But you won't run from it anymore.

"Nah. Think I'm gonna spoil you some more."

He spoils you right away with a kiss. You surrender to his treatment with happiness: happy tears, even. 

The medicine to your anguish has been the exact opposite to what you had first tried, what you had originally thought. The true remedy for your sickness is mercy. Perhaps some spoiling…

And love.

[szasfuckingwife]

LOSING MY RELIGION

WIFE!READER X HUSBAND!SIMON

SYNOPSIS: After his comrades death, Simon comes home and remembers what he has to lose. His family.

WARNINGS: Heavy angst :(, Spoiler!!

Your husband was coming home. Forget the stress of school rushes and sorting out the girls’ packed lunch. Forget the stress of ringing up your mum to look after the girls for a day (or two) Forget all of that for your husband was finally coming home.

With his favourite dish cooking in the oven, you wondered what wad taking him so long. Maybe something’s holding him up at the base? Maybe-

Knock, Knock!

You walk- no!- practically run to the door, excited to see your Simon. But once you open the door, and hug him and kiss him like you always do, a cold feeling runs down your spine. He didn’t hug you back nor kiss you back.

“Simon..?” You asked quietly. Your husband’s face was completely still, looking anywhere but your eyes. “Babe? What’s wrong?”

In your years of marriage and dating, you’ve seen Simon cry three times (when you gave birth to your three girls). But never have you seen him just cry and sob, until now.

He grips you tight and sobs into your neck, “Babe? Tell me what’s wrong!” You feel tears sting your eyes too.

“He’s dead, Y/N….Johnny’s…” He choked on his own words but you got the message. Johnny, the Godfather to your youngest child, was dead. Memories come flooding back of the moments you spent with him and Simon. The pub nights, the wedding, the Christmas parties.

Thoughts of Johnny’s partner also came to mind, how would they deal with this? Do they know?

Once Simon calmed down, and you gave him a cup of tea, he explained everything to you.

“Me, Price and Kyle…we had to err tell her the news this morning. That’s why I was late. And…She was pregnant and none of us knew…” You wiped a stray tear from his eyes as you listened to him. “She didn’t cry. Didn’t even sob. I think it was shock she was just so still. I wondered if she heard Price when he said that Johnny is dead. It was fucking awful.”

He continues, “I guess, seeing her pregnant reminded me of when you were pregnant…And how you’d struggle when I went on deployment and stuff…Made me think about what would happen if I didn’t come back. Like…It’s fuckin jarring…”

You kiss his shoulder as he speaks. After a while, he stops speaking and settles in silence with you. Nothing but the sounds of both your hearts beating filled the room.

He needed this, his wife, his kids, his house. Not once has he ever thought of quitting his job, until now. Simon knew you’d be a wreck if he passed away, and his girls would be a mess too.

In his mind, it was settled. He’d quit. For you.

[rosenclaws]

Come back (erased part ii) || Logan Howlett x Reader

summary: Logan doesn't remember you but he can sense you. He can tell you were someone important so when the team hatches a plan to find you he's the one leading the charge.

warnings: she/her pronouns, violence, killing, blood, reader gets hit/threatened, mental torture, injuries, logan goes feral, illusions.

wc: 3.5k

link to part 1

a/n: Part two is here!! Finally omfg im sorry this took so long. I hope this is a good part two i had a fun time writing the angst and stuff. It maybe ended a little darker than I meant but oh welll. We love some angst. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy!

The sound of the grandfather clock echoes in Logan's ears. The faint sound of students walking around the halls, playing outside. All drowned out by the clock. The heart necklace sits in his palm, his rough fingers tracing the shape over and over again.

When Logan had gotten back to the mansion he was bombarded with questions. All about a person he had never heard of. He grew angry and confused, wondering who they were talking about. It wasn't until he saw the look on all their faces that he realized something was wrong.

Memory wiped. He was fucking memory wiped again. Charles tried to explain it all but his brain went fuzzy. He tried to restore them but whatever you had done was too powerful. Only faint distant feelings. They tried to jog his memories with pictures but nothing worked. Whoever you were you were, you and him were close.

He's got a look on his face that he doesn't even recognize. One of pure adoration. The stories they tell, it was like hearing stories of someone else. He went through his room. He could smell this faint vanilla scent. The same one from the motel room. It was you. He was with you. But just who are you?

He turns the heart around in his hands. It’s faintly familiar. He closes his eyes and tries to wrack his brain for anything. Just something. There's a gaping hole in his chest, a sense of dread and something lost. A surge of anger takes over him as he shoves the necklace back in his pocket. He feels helpless and confused and he fucking hates it.

They're planning something in Chuck's office and they kicked him out. Why he doesn't know. They're planning a rescue for you and apparently he was the most important person to you so why wouldn't he be in there. Even if he doesn't remember. He should be in there. He stands up and barges through the doors, not caring anymore.

"Tell me what the hell is going on. Now." He stands with his arms crossed, a scowl on his face.

"Logan..." Jean starts but he brushes her off.

"I don't fucking care if I don't remember her just fucking tell me the mission." They team exchange looks and Logan resists the urge to roll his eyes. He's not a child. Whether he remembers you or not you were important to him and to the team. He needs to get you back.

"The mutant group, apparently she knew of them. She used to work with them years ago before any of us knew her." Charles explains and Logan listens. His hands tightening into a fist.

"We believe that she went after them for reasons we do not know. But what we do know is that they're dangerous. More dangerous than what she remembers." He can feel somethings off. The way the team shifts in their seats. The way Ororo won't even look him in the eyes.

"Logan, we think they have her." Scott says slowly.

"So we go find her."

"It's not that simple-"

"No it really fucking is that simple." Logan growls.

"You all talk about her like she's the heart of the fucking mansion so why am I the one who seems to care the most right now! I can't even remember her!" Logan slams his fist hard onto the table it almost breaks.

Why aren't they as worried as he is? Why don't they seem to care? Silence casts over the room but slowly everyone nods, agreeing with him.

"We leave in 15." He says with such severity that no one argues. Logan turns and leaves. Ready to come and find you.

-

The jet engine hum is the only sound inside. Everyone is quiet. Waiting. Normally Logan hates flying but right now he's too focused on getting you back. His eyes are closed as he tries to pull anything from his head. The faint sound of laughter, the feeling of warmth, the smell of vanilla. All of it was right there. Locked behind a door he couldn't get through. He feels someone sit in the seat next to him.

"What." He growls as he turns the necklace in his hand around and around.

"Are you okay?" It's storms voice. He sighs and opens his eyes.

"Just fine." She's quiet for a moment before she decides to talk.

"We're going to find her Logan." She says with a confidence he just doesn't have.

"You and her, I've never seen two people more meant for each other. She made you happy and you made her feel less alone." He wishes he remembered you.

He really does.

He can't think of all the moments he's been told about or the pictures that have been taken. He doesn't know what it was like to love you or to be loved by you anymore. It kills him. If he was happy, if you made him happy, then he's lost it all. Why would you take that away? From him and from you. Why couldn't you trust him with this?

Even though his memories are gone he can feel this sense of worry building in his chest. He needs you to be okay. He needs to protect you. Fuck he doesn't even remember you but that deep primal urge is still there.

"Five minutes out. Everyone brace for landing." Logan tucks the necklace into his suit, keeping it close to his heart as he unsheathes his claws and waits for landing. He will find you. There's no other option for him.

-

Your whole body ached. After leaving Logan you tracked down Mack and his gang but they had the one up on you. New, powerful mutants. They already knew you were coming the second you had the thought. They ambushed you. Attacked you and rendered you useless. They should have just killed you but Mack wanted to keep you. To lure your team out as a trap.

"They aren't coming." You hiss as he stands in front of you. He's crouching down and grinning.

"I don't know sweetheart, my sources tell me there's someone on the team who is quite fond of you." He brushes your cheek and you recoil in disgust.

"Get your fucking hands off me." He chuckles and one of his followers hit you hard in your leg.

"Feisty. Tell me, is that because of Logan? Did he rub off on you?" Your blood runs cold. If they do anything to him.

"Don't touch him." You lunge at Mack but you're restrained. to the ground. Mack presses his foot onto your throat and his smirk turns into something dark.

"You're funny. Tell you what." He puts more pressure on your neck and you start to see dots in your vision.

"When the Wolverine gets here we'll make him watch you die...and then kill him." Mack laughs and another hard blow to your head sends you into darkness.

You can only hope that Logan stays far, far away from this.

-

He can hear them. Fucking idiots not even trying to hide. They're bragging, laughing. Well they won’t be laughing for long. Logan’s claws gleam under the moonlight as he stalks like an animal.

The plan was to create a diversion while a rescue team goes in to get you. He wasn’t exactly know for his subtlety but no one wanted to argue him being the one to find you. It was a one man rescue team.

The sky rumbles and a loud explosion from far away leads the mutant group away. Logan springs into action. He takes out the few bodyguards around camp with ease.

He finds you alone and unguarded. A sense of relief washing over him as he bends down and scoops you up in his arms. Though he can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong. That this was too easy.

“Logan?” Your voice is quiet, broken.

“Hey, we’re gonna get you out of here.” He gently holds you as he looks for a way out.

“No.” You say. Your voice stronger than before. Confusion washes over him as you push him away. The injuries on your body seemed to disappear as the world fades around him.

“You think I want you to save me? I ran away from you Logan. Couldn’t you get the fucking hint?” Your words spit like venom. You were not the person he thought you were.

“It was all a lie, a cover.” His claws come out, teeth baring as his anger grows. But then he catches a whiff of someone unfamiliar. He hears the faint calling of his name.

“Yeah?” He walks closer to you. A taunting look on your face. Without warning he swings his claws right next to your face.

“Tell him that it will take more than a weak illusion to fool me.” Logan whispers in your ear.

Slowly the world he thought was reality melts away. Your tied up, held by force by one of Mack’s followers. Had he given in and swung at you he would have killed you. That must have been their plan. He looks to the side to see a body with three claw marks on the ground.

“Well, you’re smarter than I thought. Well done Wolvie.” He hears a slow clap behind him.

”Fuck off bub,” Logan growls as he holds up his claws. Ready to pounce. He hears the rustling around him. He’s not alone, they’re hiding, waiting.

“It’s a shame really, we would have gotten along great.” Mack smirks as Logan grows angrier.

“Fat fucking chance.” Logan lunges at Mack but he’s tackled to the ground. Held down by some sort of force he can’t fight.

“You may be physically strong but let’s see how you do when someone fucks with your mind. Just like she did.” Logan struggles baring his teeth as he tries to fight out of whatever hold they have him under.

“Stop!” You cry out. Your voice is strained and tears are falling down your cheeks.

“Mack please, just leave him alone.” You fight out of the grip on you with all your strength. Falling to the ground roughly. Your hands are still tied behind your back as you struggle to get up.

“Please don’t hurt him.” Your desperate.

Mack stands up crouches over you. He grabs your face roughly, digging his nails into your face tightly. Logan growls when he sees you wince in pain.

“Aww so cute.” He taunts and throws you to the ground.

“The question is which one of you has the biggest hero complex hm? You left us because you thought we were wrong, evil. You wanted to play hero.”

“What we did was wrong Mack. We hurt innocent people for our own good.” Logan stares at you and you can’t find it in yourself to look him in the eyes.

You can’t bare to see that look of nothing. He doesn’t know who you are and its your fault. But this is for the best. You can get him out of here and he can walk away from you without the pain.

You feel a sharp pain as Mack slaps you hard. “We were surviving!” He yells.

“Why should we care about the world when they don’t care about us!” He takes out a pocket knife and you tense up.

“Get the fuck away from her.” Logan roars and Mack just grins.

With a snap of his fingers one of the other mutants starts to crush Logan. It was a subtle pressure at first but he could feel the discomfort. They were sinking him into the ground. They were going to bury him alive. You can see a flash of panic. He hates that suffocating feeling. So reminiscent of his nightmares.

“Mack please, we were family once.” You beg as you watch Logan struggle. You can’t let them do this to him.

“Stop please!” Mack grabs your face and makes you watch.

“We were but you picked a new family. Now you can watch him suffocate.” Your eyes meet with Logan’s and you start to cry. He’s afraid. Its your fault. This is all your fault.

“I’ll stay! I’ll stay and help you again just let him go!” You cry out. The weight is lifted off Logan and he scrambles to breathe.

“I promise. I won’t fight and I won’t run. Just please, leave him alone.” Mack thinks for a moment, its a tempting offer. Your powers are strong and he was never able to find anyone quite like you.

“No! Logan shouts, he can’t let you do this. Not for him.

“You got yourself a deal. But if you ever try anything. We’ll hunt him down and kill him. Then the rest of your little family.” Your eyes flash with fear and you nod.

Logan’s heart twists as he sees the broken look on your face. You’re condemning yourself to a torturous life for him. When you look at him he feels a horrible feeling. He longs for you. Your eyes are full of a love he’s missing from his life. You love him and he can’t even remember what it was like. Did you calm his nightmares? Keep his deepest secrets? Did you know all his faults and choose to love him anyways? He needs to know. They pick him up and force him onto his knees.

"Tell your team to stay away." Mack wraps his hand around your neck, his knife pressing against your skin, taunting Logan.

"Logan...I love you and I'm sorry." Your voice is raspy as you choke out the words. He needs to know. You smile painfully as Logan just looks at you.

"Go on, run away Wolvie." Mack snarls.

Even in pain your eyes are full of love just looking at him. He was your everything. You love him so much you're willing to sacrifice yourself, your happiness, all of it for him. How? This kind of love...he's never felt this before. He may not remember it all with you but fuck he wants to know what its like. He wants to learn what it was like to be loved by you. He can't let you go. Not when his future happiness is in your hands. The rage builds. He will not leave you. Doesn't matter how much blood will be shed tonight. He will save you.

With a loud roar Logan unsheathes his claws and with all his willpower throws off the weighted feeling. He's like an animal, snarling and growling as he drives his claws into your captors. There's no mercy in the way he takes each and everyone of them out. They try to stop him but when they realize their efforts are futile they start to run.

"Where do you think you're going?" His voice is cold, void of any emotion as he digs his claws deep into someone chest. Mack's confidence fades as he watches Logan's rampage. He grabs you and tries to run. Dragging you along the forest floor.

"Logan!" You shout and he instantly turns around.

On all fours he uses his claws to launch himself towards you. Chasing Mack down like prey. It's really a pity how fast he catches him. At another time he would have enjoyed playing with him, toying with his fear. All the pain he's caused, not just your pain but the innocent people he's ruined. He deserves to pay.

"Not so tough now huh?" Logan stabs him right through the heart.

When he's sure he's dead he stands up, blood soaking his claws. His head turns to you and you freeze. You know he won't hurt you but apart of you worries this is a trick. Another one of Mack's illusions just to fuck with you. Logan gently bends down and cuts you free.

"He's gone sweetheart." Tears start to fall down your cheeks as he scoops you up in his arms.

"I'm sorry I'm so sorry." You babble over and over as Logan holds you tight. You fit just like a puzzle piece into his arms. This feels right. This feels like home. The sound of footsteps sets him on edge but he calms down when he sees the familiar faces of his team.

"Where the hell were you guys?"

-

No one dared bother Logan. They let him take you back to the jet. He held you the whole time. Even when you fell asleep from utter exhaustion he kept you close. He was with you every step of the way. Bringing you to the lab, watching as they run tests and stick needles into your arm. On your recovery bed with the ugly white lights he sat until you woke up. Sometimes you stirred, whining and you sounded afraid.

He wonders what fucked up things Mack made you see. The bruises and scars on your body told only half the story. With each fearful sound he wishes he would have taken longer to kill that bastard. But he's gone now and you seem to calm down when he's with you. Sensing him through your sleep.

The necklace sits in his hand. After he got back he had to make sure it was still with him. It was bloodied now, and had some wear and tear from the past. So he busied himself fixing it up, cleaning it until it shined like new. He doesn't know when or why he bought it for you but clearly it was special. The two stones meant something. He knew they did.

When you finally came to he jumped into action. Calling hank to come check on you while he slipped away to get you water. There was a big fuss, people scolding you for leaving and crying from happiness that you were back. Apologizes poured out of your mouth as you faced your family. Logan hung back and watched you be embraced, be loved. Your powers seemed to settle after this. The fear of touching other people was gone as you hugged people without a second thought. He waited and waited until it was just the two of you.

"Hey there," You can barely look at him as he sits in the plastic chair next to your bed.

"Logan I..." You can't get the words out. How do you even begin to apologize.

You bury your face in your hands but Logan isn't having it. He had a lot of questions but they could wait. He takes your hands away from your face, cupping your chin to make you look at him. Your heart breaks a little when you look into those eyes. He still doesn't know you. Of course, his memories are still gone.

"Why did you come? You don't remember me." You ask him. He risked his life for you, he killed for you. The Logan you knew at the start wouldn't have done that for you. Maybe with the team but to risk all of it alone. Why?

"I don't have to remember you to see you were important to me sweetheart, though I would really like those memories back." Of course.

You never took them from him. If anything you locked them away. You couldn't bring yourself to truly erase yourself from his mind. With a gentle touch you release his memories like a tidal wave. They pour into his brain, flooding his senses as memory after memory flash into his mind. Ending with your final moments together in that motel room.

Your first kiss, you told him you loved him. You took that from him. He should be angry with you. You stole his memories just like they did before but when he opens his eyes there's no anger.

Only love.

He smashes his lips onto yours. Capturing you into a heated kiss. This is what he dreamed of. Getting to touch you like this, to show his love. He's rough with his motions. He should be gentler but he can't help himself. Years of desperation building up into this. He can finally hold you, finally claim you as his.

"Logan I'm so sorry." You cry. He shushes you with another kiss.

He doesn't care about that right now. You were afraid and though he wishes you came to him he's just glad to have you back. You scared the fuck out of him.

"I love you too sweetheart, you didn't give me the chance to say it but fuck I love you." You claw at his shirt to get him closer.

You need him to be as close as he can. He ignores the wires and climbs into the bed with you. Situating himself so that you're as close as you can get. Legs intertwined with each other. He takes the necklace and places it around your neck. Clasping it and smiling as it rests above your heart.

"I'll always fight for us sweetheart. I'll fight for you." Even if he doesn't remember you he knew deep down that there was something there. That you were important to him. No one could take that away from him.

You curl into his arms, finally feeling at peace for the first time. Not worried about your powers or about your past. You felt protected and loved. Logan lulls you back to rest promising to keep watch. He knows that what you suffered won't go away easily but he'll be there every step of the way.

Nothing will take you from him again. Not ever. He'll make sure of that.

[trying-harder-then-u]

Philip wasn't used to all the stares he was getting from his workers; for god's sake, he was the CEO, and they should be paying respect to him, but instead all the builders to whom he paid the salary just stared in confusion and pity at the tall man in his suit guiding the investors around the construction site.

His black suit, thin build, and clean-shaven appearance drew a harsh contrast to the men that watched. The bored faces of the investors showed that they were just as interested in this as he was, so it was a respite when he managed to excuse himself to go to the bathroom.

Stumbling along, dirt and dust caking his boots, he finally ran into the manager of the property, a bulky man with a short fuse. "Where is the bathroom?" he inquired, only greeted by a judging glance as he stared down. "It's employee only; the public bathroom is a block away." Philip was shocked by the never-ending argument, but he made a mental note to find some recourse for the attitude. He picked his way through the clogged city blocks, finally coming to the public bathrooms.

As he walked into the graffiti-covered stall, he felt his disgust build as he saw a strange liquid covering not just the floor but the bathrooms and walls as well. and judging from the smell, he could tell where this liquid came from. Knowing that he didn't have time to waste, he quickly rolled up toilet paper and wiped down the seat of the toilet. After a few seconds, he went to chuck it when he stepped into a large puddle of cum, glaring at the gunk stuck on his heel. Using the wall to support him as he tried to scrape it off, he only managed to get it on his clothes before finally feeling more drip from the roof on top of his bald head.

Now thoroughly disgusted, he went to leave but found he couldn't; he seemed to be...

rooted to the spot? Phillip's whole body began to shiver as his eyes moved rapidly in his sockets. The shivering began to localize on his legs as a cracking sound filled the air. Did the door seem to grow bigger and bigger, or was he getting smaller? He remembered from the view that his height had gone from 6 feet 3 to 5 feet 6. His mind kept screaming as his body tingled, his thin arms tingled, and he began to thicken along with his legs, a small gut growing out.

His pale skin soon would change too as his skin darkened and tanned, matching that of his many workers. changed rapidly now, his once clean, shaven body growing hair all over and his slightly below-average "tool" shrinking a few inches. Finally able to leave, he felt his head fuzz as if his thoughts were being yelled at him through glass, but he did begin to panic when he didn't return to his investors but rather to the man. "Where have you been?" Phillip thought he was yelling; he couldn't hear anything, though. Looking down, his clothes also changed to a plain tee and some shorts; he truly looked just like a worker now.

The next 5 hours, his body went on autopilot, working harder than his old body ever had, but when the work day finally ended, he kept walking to a house he had never seen, climbing stairs after stairs before finally coming to a door that reeked of cum and sweat. Opening in, he saw a young Latino man, no pants, and busy playing some kind of video game. He somehow knew that this was the man whose cum had covered the bathroom that had caused all this.

glancing over the man—his boyfriend? No, that can't be. He was married, and his thoughts were getting harder. Mmm, Phillipe could see the bulge in the other man's underwear, and the other man obviously could see Phillipe's eyes. "Why don't you come help Daddy out, baby?" excitedly he moved forward and began stripping his BF. "That's it, ik you liked the stuff you found in the bathroom you slut, come get some from the source" as he greedily sucked away his memories. Natural, his Spanish accent? attractive to the ladies, not like he needs it with his boyfriend around. His memories shifted fully, and Philip was gone. He was Philip, a Mexican immigrant working hard so his hot boyfriend could play games. His life was difficult with working and then doing all the chores, but at least he got some good dick. and not a person would miss who he was...

[n0phis]

my finger hurts so bad i have a blister now BUT

FULL L’MANBURG LINEUP BAY BEEEEEEE

worm curseworm helped immeasurably with the headcanons and details! they r responsible for most of the wicked sick stuff here!!!! worm curseworm supremacy

buckle in. this is gonna b a long one

wilbur: does his best to keep his meticulous but he kept wiping his fucking hands on his pants while brewing and got Ingredience(tm) on them that wont come out. he wanted to add that kinda like… hierarchy shit to the sleeves but also was going off a vague memory of what he thought ranks look like and kinda bullshitted it all (why are the pips and chevrons combined man)

tommy: the one who sewed all this shit, he had a coat like wilburs but being Tommy (see; pants) absolutely wrecked it through roughhousing and Existing and finally pitched it. he made a replacement that was a little less fancy and more like tubbos but with SO much more red because it’s ‘sick as fuck wilbur shut the fuck up’.

eret: looks the most similar to wilbur’s (due to his maturity compared to tubbo/tommy/fundy and the amount of trust wilbur placed in him) save for a few things like the boots, collar, and length of the undercoat. INCREDIBLY pristine save for a slightly damaged lapel and concrete dust on the sleeves from working on the wall (since they were able to avoid a lot of the fighting). up until their betrayal, their ability to stay as regal and clean as they did was almost taken as a threat to everyone’s perception of wilbur as the leader of the revolution

tubbo: dirty as fuck, torn as fuck from various escapades in caves and while gardening; he never wore other clothes for menial labour and shit hes goofy. loose on him with a very crumpled collar and lots of stitches for minor tears in the fabric.

fundy: he has little boy shoes he has little boy shoes his outfit is somewhat infantilizing canonically so thats a fun little nod to it! he is just as Rambunctious as tubbo and tommy but makes a much stronger effort to clean his clothes because he is very afraid of his father’s judgement. there are *very* slight dirt stains as a result that just will not come out. while his uniform was being made, he asked if he could get his more similar to his father rather than tubbo/tommy, hence the short tail while everything else looks like wilbur’s. ALSO loose on him, moreso at the start to give him room to grow into it

niki & jack: they joined after the l’manburg war and so theirs are very fresh, with a slightly altered design (red underside vs gold, inverted colours on the sash and pants/shirt/collar) compared to the prior default and marginally more saturated colours as a sign of how crisp and new they are. straight lines to keep the sleeves visually interesting without signifying a wartime rank. both are fairly well fitted as tommy has honed his skills and has tubbo and niki to help

WHOOF. there we go!

[writing-mlm]

Hiii, can we please have more college!damian x male reader? Like a scenario where damian loves to draw reader but reader doesn't know this? Maybe friends to lovers? Idk your pick. The artist and his muse type of thing. Also, i LIVE for soft damian on this blog ong.

Forever my Muse

Summary: Damian has his finals coming up and he wants you to join-- at least that's his excuse to get you into the art venue. An artist needs their muse and for some reason, most of Damian's drawings include you in, naturally, he could fill museums with drawings of you. Pairing: Damian Wayne x Male reader WC: 5.8k

Dust-covered fingers were always something you had associated with Damian. Graphite, charcoal, pastels— anything he used to draw or even paint would inevitably stain his hands. It wasn’t intentional, and neither were the fingerprints he left on your stuff, or the paint you could never remove from your favorite sweater, but that didn’t stop him from apologizing. From buying you cleaning products and a new sweater; never mind it has never been worn in the year you’ve had it, Damian felt terribly sorry whenever he felt he’d stained something of yours. 

But never sorry enough to show you his drawings. 

You’d ask, you’d beg, but he would never give in. He’d show you when he was done, sure. You’d see the finished still-life drawings of whatever object had been in the line of sight, the paintings he’d done of his pets whenever he missed them, and the random sketches he did to loosen his wrist. But, damn, sometimes you wanted to see an unfinished drawing that wasn’t a warm-up. 

Even now, as the two of you are on the campus bus heading towards the music hall, he’s drawing. Sitting across from you on the bus, Damian easily adjusts himself to the movements of the bus as it jerks to a stop. He’s nice like that, you’ve never caught him off guard, he’s never fallen or stumbled in the time you’ve known him. 

Studying him, you wonder if he’s naturally so agile. You’ve seen him in your dorm's gym, during all-nighters you can sometimes see him running around campus, and once you had caught him doing one of those athletic challenges for some guy's video. He won. Of course. 

The bus comes to a complete stop and you look away, double-checking that it wasn’t your stop. It wasn’t. You knew that. But still. The need to check was far too great and you slipped back into a conversation with Damian. Only this time, you’re looking down at your phone to double-check the event and his eyes switch from staring at his sketch to staring at you. 

His eyes flicker between you and his drawing, erasing and adding lines where needed. He catches your eyes traveling up and he looks back down, working from memory as you start up a new conversation. 

Eventually, the bus reaches your stop and he carefully closes his book; he always worries he’d smudge his art, while he follows you out of the bus. 

It’s the end of the semester, ergo, it’s finals week. And for one of your music finals, everyone was to prepare a song and perform it. Truthfully, Damian doesn’t understand why you’d picked him to accompany you. He knows he’s not the best comfort, his demeanor often being the reason people don’t stick around too long. 

But, you reassured him. Telling him that his presence was more than enough for you. Knowing that he was somewhere in the crowd calms you down more than you ever cared to admit. 

The walk to the music hall isn’t short, but you can see the large building in the distance. The size is daunting on you as you see the crowd forming at the entrance. People aren’t allowed inside yet, but performers and their guests can head inside before anyone else. 

“I’m nervous,” You admit, wiping your hands on your shirt. “What if I fail?” You mutter, your eyes desperately searching to find solace in his green eyes. 

“You’ll do as you’ve always done,” He nods, looking ahead as you approach the building. “Exceptionally.” His sketchbook bumps against your folder of sheet music and you sigh through your nose, trying to calm down. 

“I’m so gonna choke,” Seeing your reflection in the glass, you feel as if you’d forgotten everything you learned. Every lesson, every mistake you fixed and learned from, the late-night practice performances with your friends. The song you’d composed nearly slips from your mind as you see yourself, walking in that suit and tie you’d worn several years ago. All of it left your mind and you felt like a beginner again. What even was a solfège?

“I'm trained in CPR.” He opens the door for you and gently encourages you inside, his fingers grazing your back. “You weren’t nearly as nervous for your accounting finals.” He notes, falling back into step with you. 

That’s another thing. Maybe that’s why you were so stressed. Double majoring was hellish. Twice the finals, quadruple the headaches. 

“Those were tests,” You scowl, showing the security your campus ID. “I’m going to be performing a live concert in front of nearly a thousand people. I cannot fuck this up, Damian. This is going to be posted for everyone to watch, too,” You ramble on. 

“Which you’ve done before, no?” He presses the elevator button and your heart hammers. You swear you’re going to pass out. He notices, of course, he does, and digs in his bag to find the fidget cube he keeps in there. 

“I have— thank you,” Taking the cube, he nods. “It’s just… I don’t know. Tests suck.” Rolling your thumb along the metal ball on one side of the cube, you stare at the numbers as they slowly tick down to the first floor. 

“That’s true,” He steps inside the elevator and you follow suit. “But you’ve made it thus far, you can go further.” He squeezes your shoulder as the doors close. There’s a silence in the elevator as it goes up to the second floor where you see your teacher waiting at the door to the waiting room, talking to a pair of students. 

“I can,” You affirm, dipping your head down as you smile. 

“You will.” 

—

You’re fifth in line to perform, watching a singer, dancer, another other pianist, and an opera singer go on before you go on did absolutely jack shit to help you. As you’re announced, you step onto the stage and try your best not to accept that there were thousands of eyes on you. Instead, you smile and wave as you walk across that large stage. Desperately looking for Damian in the sea of people. 

He’s in the front, right in front of where you could see when you glance up from the piano, you find out as you’re standing next to the piano seat. 

Damian’s eyes don’t leave yours, making eye contact with you as you fiddle with the buttons of your coat. He motions for you to stop and then does a breathe in breathe out motion with the same hand. Nodding, you blink away from him and hold your hands behind your back. Focusing on your breathing, you listen to the teacher as you’re done being introduced. 

The applause settles as you bow in, take a seat, and flip the page where your music sheet is. Slowly, you start. As a general music major, you weren’t restricted to just playing the piano. As emphasized by the microphone taped to your cheek. 

You aren’t the strongest singer by any means, you’re good for singing in the shower or on drives but you doubt you’d actually make a career off of your voice. What you hope will carry you is the piano, as you press each key your eyes flicker to Damian. He’s attentive, a smile on his face as you perform. 

Testing the waters, you glance at the people around him and they seem… pleased. Happy. Moved, even. You grin and return to staring at the sheet music. All of the notes flood back to you as you reach the last bit of the song, your eyes closing as your voice reaches a peak, holding a note. Then it’s just the piano, your voice echoing in everyone’s mind as the notes get slower and slower until you end it. 

Applause fills the hall and you stand up, taking a bow. Standing there, even if only for a moment, you can’t imagine why you’d been so nervous.

Collecting your sheet music, you exit the stage and hand the mic to the stage tech before leaving. 

When you’re nearing the exit, you spot Damian holding a bouquet of flowers. 

“When did you have the time to get these?” You laugh as he hands them to you. His eyes merely twinkle, refusing to give up one of his many secrets. “Thank you, they’re dope.” 

“You did it,” Damian reminds you as the two of you exit the building. 

“I did! Ugh!” Grabbing his shoulder with your free hand, you give him a little shake. “Thank you so much, you’re honestly the best. Was it good?” Falling into step with him, Damian doesn’t bother to fix his shirt. It’s hardly even moved, but you know he was detail-oriented in stuff like that. Hell, he hates it when he messes with his clothes. 

“It was mesmerizing.” He promises. “I do believe the woman behind me was crying.” Grinning, you stand at the bus stop, suddenly buzzing with excitement. Wanting to do it again, you start to imagine creating your own side business. Wedding musician, you can see it now. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” He avoids looking at you as he’s speaking. A rare occurrence on his part. But he does his best to look at you after building the courage. “I have an art showing next week. I understand the notice is short and you’re—“

“Send me the details.” You grin. His shoulders drop and he nods, clearly more relaxed. “I hope the attire is fancy. I got this fancy turtleneck I’ve been wanting to wear and slacks from my high school graduation just waiting to be worn!” 

—

With all of your finals out of the way, you finally had time to start removing the items from your dorm. One by one you removed posters and trinkets scattered across your end of the room. Pack your clothes into boxes, and save for enough outfits to get you through your two weeks left on campus. 

Damian was held up from finishing his art showing, unable to see you in person but he was more than happy with a Facetime call. With both your laptops placed in a space away from disturbing you, the two of you worked on your tasks. 

“I do need to be at the showing two hours early,” He tells you as you’re dragging the anti-suicide chairs to the closet, trying to see the top shelf. “But I’ll have arrangements to bring you to the venue.” 

“And my outfit is okay?” You ask, the chair wobbling as you stand on it. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea. But hey, you’re not the one who installed a closet tall enough that only Shaq could see the top. “Because I can always swap out the turtle neck for a green button down— the silk one that Maddison made,” Always gave a fashion designer friend. She had used you as a model for of her projects a couple of months ago and with your measurements being unique to you, let you have it after she’d gotten her grade. 

“The button-down would be better suited,” He nods, leaning close to his painting before adding a tiny stroke. “The turtleneck is a little… on the nose.” Leaning back, he checks his reference picture before frowning. It goes away quickly as he picks up a bit of white and dabs it onto a dry brush. 

“I was afraid it was,” You laugh, grabbing a first aid kit from the shelf. Listening to him lightly brush the paint over the canvas, you toss the kit onto the bed and grab what little items are scattered up there. “Holy shit! Do you remember when that frat dude lost his frat ring?” 

“Unfortunately,” Damian glances at his screen, watching as you haphazardly get down from the chair. Nearly tripping, he wonders how you've made it this far in life without breaking a bone. 

“I think I did take it! Look!” Showing the screen, Damian looks almost impressed as you hold up a fraternity ring. It’s a shiny gold, likely fake but engraved with the initials of the Frat house. The two of you remember the guy had been going around to every single campus building with a missing ring poster. 

“What a thief,” He chides, setting his brush down and taking a physical step back from the painting. Harsh glares scan over brush strokes, ripping apart his painting bit by bit before he nods to himself. His glare morphs into a soft sort of gaze and he signs the back of it. 

“Is that your final painting for the semester?” You ask, the ring forgotten about as it’s tossed in a box of trinkets and you’ve moved on to ordering food. Probably Panda Express. Or maybe Chipotle…. really it’s whatever is closer and cheaper. 

“Hopefully,” He sighs through his nose, his paint box clicking shut. “I’ve been drawing and painting these past couple of days. My canvases take up an entire section of the art studio. I’m sure my professor cannot wait for them to dry and get glossed. Which I should probably start doing.” 

“How does that taste?” Setting your phone down, Damian’s face goes sour as he looks at you. “Personally, I think the gloss would taste tarty.” You add. “Or maybe like the frosting for Toaster Strudel.” Picking your phone back up, you continue your order. 

“Neither is correct.” He blinks. “It’s a toxin and filled with chemicals, it most likely tastes as good as acetone does, Hab—“ He pauses, and you look at him wondering what the issue is. “Habits of tasting chemicals shouldn’t be one you pick up.” He finishes his sentence with a bit of force. 

“I just love chemicals. Violin resin is my favorite.” Making a chomping noise Damian huffs. As you’re finishing up your order, you look at him. He’s halfway across campus and judging by the rack of canvases he wheeled over, he won’t be back until well into the night. Eh, it doesn’t hurt to ask. “I’m ordering some food, do you want something?” 

“No, thank you, though.” He shakes his head. “I have food from the court in case I get hungry.” He quickly adds. Humming, you place the order and scan over your room. The only things that need to get packed are things you’re still using. Now it’s just a matter of organizing the boxes and bins so you can still move around your room. 

“After the glossing, what’re you doing?”

“I have to write short summaries for each painting. No less than one hundred words,” He explains as he’s putting on a pair of latex gloves. 

“So, a breeze?” He laughs and nods. 

“I’m afraid I’ll go over the word limit,” He admits, sparing you a glance as you’re lugging a box to a corner of your room. “My paintings harbor a lot of my emotions and they’re far from short.”

“Real as fuck.”

— 

On the day of his art exhibition, you spend extra time in the bathroom. Making sure your hair is neat, and presentable, fixing your outfit, making sure you don’t stink. Anything and everything you could check over, you did. 

This nervous feeling was different from your pre-show nerves. Especially since you don’t even know why you’re nervous. Probably because you’d never actually gotten to see his paintings, at least the ones he was showing. He’d been ultra allusive about those, citing the exhibition would be the best place to view them. But even he was nervous and that’s a lot considering he’s Damian fucking Wayne. 

He texted you two minutes ago saying that the car was going to arrive within the next ten minutes and you rushed out to the front of the dorms. No need to lock the door behind you, since your roommate was busy sleeping and would stay in there until you came back. Plucking at your shirt, you watch a sleek black car pull up in front of you, and Damian texts you that the car is there. 

The ride is long, far too long for your liking anyway. But considering it’s in the middle of the city, it’s not unwarranted. 

The art… museum? What should you call it? The space where the exhibition was being held was a well-known art gallery— that’s the word! The gallery was well respected, talked about within art circles, and incredibly high-brow. Thank fuck you didn’t go with that turtleneck. 

There’s a woman in front of the gallery, greeting everyone who enters. She sees you and there’s a flash of recognition across her face. 

“It’s great to finally meet Damian’s muse,” She smiles as she shakes your hand. 

“His what?” You ask but Damian pulls you inside. 

“How was the ride?” He asks, his eyes darting between his professor and you. 

“Good but what did she mean?” You ask, looking around to see the other people around. Like your performance, it was open to the public and with Bruce Wayne’s son being in attendance, many people had showed up. Including his family. “Bruce Wayne is here?” Your head whips to Damian as you spot him in the crowd. 

“He is my father…” He trails. “Would you like to meet him?”

“Fuck no!” You gasp. “The knowledge of his wealth is burying me as we speak— but this is about you,” Turning to him, you smile. “Where’s your paintings? Those don’t look like your style,” Eyes flicker across the paintings and you can’t see Damian’s strokes, his colors or his lighting in any of them. A sort of pride swells within him, knowing that you’ve looked— studied his art enough to know that the ones around you weren’t his. 

“It has its own section,” He tells you, guiding you through groups of people and halls. “It’s going to be revealed in around half an hour. My professor insisted,” He stops at a section of the gallery covered by a curtain and two security guards. You never knew it was that serious, but damn. 

“Mr Fancy. Why don’t you catch up with your family? I’ll look around?” In truth, you were going to the nearest bathroom and making sure you didn't look stupid. 

“I’m more than certain they’d be more pleased if you accompanied me.” He shakes his head as you raise your eyebrows. “If that’s something you’d be comfortable with, of course.” 

“Sure,” Once more, he guides you past people until he spots his father and brother talking in a corner. 

“Father, Richard.” He calls as the two of you approach. “This is (Y/n).” Richard’s lips twitch as he fights back a smile, the smile only furthered curbed by his brother's glare. 

“Hello,” Waving at the two men, they reach to shake your hand instead. Bruce has a firm grip, probably tighter than it really needed to be but Richard is more than welcoming. He’s more than excited to meet you, although you can’t imagine why. 

“My other siblings are still in Gotham,” Damian explains, physically taking Dick’s hand from yours with a pointed look. “Although I’m surprised you didn’t bring Cassandra, father.”

“She’s here,” He shakes his head, glancing around for the mop of black hair. “In the bathroom, probably.” 

“Is that her?” You ask, looking at the woman in the corner. She’s standing there, downing a glass of champagne before returning to a conversation with a man. She looks like how Damian had described her, although he downplayed how intimidating she seemed. 

“Oh boy,” Dick huffs. “Let me go help her,” Excusing himself, you’re left with Damian and his father. The two of them talking with their eyes. 

“So, Damian’s told me you’re a double major,” Bruce breaks the silence and their weird eye conversation. He talks about you? Glancing at Damian, he’s making a point to look anywhere but you. That’s sorta cute— totally not in a romantic way, totally. 

“I am,” You nod, wishing a man with drinks would walk past you. “Accounting and a performing arts major.” He hums and there’s another beat of awkward silence. 

“From what he tells me, you’re excelling at both. That’s incredibly hard. Do you have any job prospects lined up for when you graduate?” He asks and you shake your head. 

“Not yet,” You admit, picking at your hands. “Since I'm not sure where I’d like to settle after I graduate it’s difficult finding places.” Bruce nods, quickly making sure Dick and Cassandra are okay. 

“Well, if your grades continue to stay or improve, Wayne Enterprises is always looking for accountants, especially one so esteemed.” He smiles at you, that sort of small smile that makes you feel more relaxed in his presence. A fatherly smile. 

“Yeah, praise from Damian is a lot.” Dick grins, leaning his weight on his younger brother. Cassandra agrees, leaning against the wall Bruce was standing in front of. “And he talks about you a ton!” 

“That’s enough.” Damian huffs, pushing himself away from Dick who frowns. “Let’s look at some of the artwork,” 

“You talk to your family about me?” You grin as he’s hauling you away from his family. He looks at you, clearly licking the inside of his mouth before he blinks and gives one strong nod. 

“Of course I do, it would be a shame to hide someone so talented.” He explains and then looks forward, his eyes swimming across the faces around him. “I do believe in your talents and my father is someone who can help them flourish; it would seem awfully cruel if I didn’t at least try.” You go to speak; to thank him but his attention is pulled away by the director of the show. 

“It’s time!” She gleams, ushering the two of you after her. 

There are already people gathered in front of his top secret exhibit, cameras and people wearing PRESS lanyards like the front and sides. Much like a moth drawn to a flame, they find Damian walking and try to hound him, only to be stopped by his family. They’re far more intimidating now but Damian pulls your attention from them and towards him. 

The two of you are in front of the whole crowd, the two guards holding one piece of the curtain and waiting for a cue to open them. 

“We welcome everyone to Damian Wayne’s very first art show,” The director says, her hand ghosting over his shoulder. He takes that as a sign to step forward, barely leaving your side as he explains his art. 

“Through My Eyes is a collection of various pieces I’ve created over the course of two years,” He explains. “The music that accompanies the art are pieces composed by my muse.” His eyes find yours as the curtains are pulled aside and for the first time, you notice the way he looks at you. The way his eyes never seem to want to leave yours, how he takes you in the same way he takes in the art around him. 

Then you hear it. More specifically you hear yourself. 

You hear the piece you’d played during your final, hearing your voice fill the spaces where people aren’t talking. Each key, and each note floods your ears as you turn to see his art. 

It’s you.

All of it. Each painting, each frame has something of you in it. 

“Holy shit.” You breathe, moving to the closest one. It’s a painting of you, wearing clothes you’d only seen in shows like Merlin, holding onto a statue of an angel. It’s almost impossible to not know where the inspiration had come from. After convincing Damian to go exploring with you and some friends, you’d come across a newly abandoned church with a large angel statue. On a dare, you pretended to dance with it. 

Sure, you’d seen the picture before but it was nothing compared to the painting. It looked amazing, you had never looked better. Your features were captured in the best way possible, you’d been posed in a way that made it seem as if you were guiding the angel in a dance. 

The description catches your eye next. 

One Last Dance wasn’t the first drawing of Muse, but it was the first drawing of him that I truly loved. He’d resparked a passion for painting for me. The painting had been on my mind for two weeks before I finally started to work on it, having it become my only focus for the two days that I worked on it became the norm for the next two years of my life. 

Muse doesn’t personally care for the Renaissance era, but it seemed fitting for such a painting. The feeling of dressing Muse in modern clothes didn’t ruin the drawing but it didn’t make sense, in my head their dance is accompanied by the sounds of the wings and their feet gliding across the floor. Just outside is probably a mob, unbelievable of a true angel. Muse would probably say that he was dancing to the sounds of Sleep Token and outside was a bunch of ‘angel fuckers’, but who knows. 

D.W

The next painting was smaller than the first, but it’s a close-up of your face. Your eyes are wide and you’re desperately pulling at your eyelids as a light twinkles inside of it. 

Blinding Gaze came about when Muse had gone to the eye doctor, fearing he was going blind. Turns out he was just extremely stressed to the point of temporary blindness. When we spoke about it, he joked that he was developing powers from that time he drank a sports drink mixed with a crushed-up Tylenol and he could shoot lasers from his eyes. While Blinding Gaze doesn’t follow his original plan of lasers, I imagine developing eye lights could be frightening. 

Blinding Gaze isn’t body horror, although I had intended it to be but I couldn’t bring myself to put Muse into that position. Even if it was completely fake. I did eventually remake the painting how I truly envisioned it, but I still prefer my Muse to the remake. 

Drifting to the next painting, you see yourself, dressed in your favorite smudged hoodie, dancing amongst the crowd. The people are drowned out in the colors of the background, nearly blending in meanwhile you’re ever so present. The light shone down on you in a way that made you seem like the main character in some movie, all eyes meant to be on you. 

A Night To Remember was undoubtedly one of the best moments of college thus far. Muse had been invited to a friend's party and insisted I come instead of remaining in the art room, drowning myself in oils and pastels. Although I’ve put his words in a more friendly manner. I hadn’t wanted to go, the noises and being pressed against unfamiliar faces was hardly something I ever enjoyed. But for Muse, I’d do anything he’d asked of me. 

Glued to him for the night, I found myself unreasonably drawn to him. I do not remember the song, in truth, I don’t remember much from that night aside from him. The way he danced, how he looked at me. How he looked in the room. I resented not bringing my sketchbook, but I would’ve been more out of place than I originally had been. 

Smoothening your shirt, you take a nervous glance around you. You’re unsure about how you feel, it’s a lot. You’ve never truly thought about Damian in such a light before, at least not to your knowledge. Sure, you’ve written compositions about him and sure, if you read between the lines in some songs they’re definitely about him. You and Him. 

Perhaps, without realizing it, you had made him your muse just as he had made you his. 

“I want you to see this one,” Damian says as he walks up behind you, finally free of people asking him questions. The music loops as he does and you count that there’s five songs on the set playlist. Each and every song was one you had created. Your song from the previous week plays again as you stare at him, smiling. 

“I’m your muse?” You softly ask, unable to remove yourself from the spot until you have gotten your words out. Damian dips his head down for a moment and wipes his nose. “You’re nervous,” The small tease makes his eyes roll and he clears his throat, the red settling from his tanned ears. 

“I want you to see this one,” He repeats and grabs your hand, gently guiding you past the people surrounding the room. They look at the two of you, watching as you walk up to a large painting in the center of the room. Clearly a last-minute addition but it seemed to be the focus. 

“Woah,” Is all you can say when you see the painting of you during your final. It’s painted in the same style as your favorite art era. The romantic era where colors were soft, even if they were dark. The painting itself had you in the center, a sea of people at the bottom and there are several ghostly figures of yourself, dancing across the stage leaving streaks of yourself at the top. The floor of the stage was covered in candles. 

“How long did this take you?” You ask, eyes darting between details and finding new ones each time you look. 

“Two days,” He shrugs. Slowly, you look at him and he looks back at you, confused. “I couldn’t sleep until I finished the painting. The way you looked during your final.” He takes a deep breath and shakes his head. “It’s truly beautiful— you’re truly beautiful,” He adds, looking at you. 

“When you paint me like that I definitely am,” You laugh, looking back at the painting. 

“I only painted you through my lens. Perhaps your eyes aren’t as good as you think they are because the paintings truly do not live up to their references. You’re captivating and the way you’ve consumed my thoughts is honestly intoxicating.” His eyes twinkle as you look at each other. You don’t know what to say, honestly. You can stroke your ego a little, you could crack a joke, or you could bear yourself completely to him. But definitely not in a room filled with people. 

“Ah,” Dick breaks the silence. “You know he used to be a junior poet?” Grumbling, Damian looks over at Richard as he’s staring at the painting, sipping sparkling champagne from a flute glass while holding a cracker with cheese and jelly. Gross. Probably, you’ve never had it before. 

“I do believe I asked for a moment alone,” Damian gives a half-snarky grin and Dick shrugs. 

“A whole lotta people here, doubt you’d be alone.” With a sweeping motion, he gestures to the crowd around you. It’s not elbow-to-elbow crowded but you can hear at least seven conversations happening around you. 

“I suppose you’re correct,” He nods, following his brother's line of thinking. “Fresh air?” He asks you and you nod. 

There’s a park in front of the exhibit and it’s mostly empty, save for two kids and their parents but they’re clearly about to leave. Damian heads towards the benches but you pull him to the swings. There are three but one of them is tossed over the bar and you don’t feel like fixing it. 

Sitting with your back to the exhibit, you look over the trees and the playground. The sandpit with someone’s lost doll sitting down, a bucket behind it. 

“What did you think?” He spoke up after a minute had passed. The entire time he watched as you gently rocked back and forth on the swings, tempting yourself to actually swing. 

“You’re amazingly talented,” You hum, turning your head to meet his gaze. “Although, I already knew that. You’re like Michelangelo with everything you pick up.” Glancing at him, you smile when you see his hands. “You still haven’t cleaned the charcoal from your nails.” 

“No,” He blinks, his eyes staying closed for a beat longer than a blink. “Not of my skill level, (Y/n). Of the drawings. That you’re Muse.” He looks down at his fingertips and starts to pick at the bits of charcoal. “That you’re my muse.”

Softly you sigh before looking back to the trees. 

“What is there to think about? You’re my muse, I'm yours.” 

“You’ve written songs about me?” He asks and you sheepishly nod, refusing to look at him. “Which? If you don’t mind me asking,”

“Birds of a feather, I wanna be yours, and Golden hour. There’s more but they’re too embarrassing to admit,” Hearing him take a deep breath, you pick at your fingernails and slowly stop swinging.

“What now?” You ask, finally looking at him. He shrugs and starts to slowly swing. He thinks for a moment before he checks his phone. 

“When are you free? I can make reservations to—“

“Applebees or Red Lobster,” You cut him off and he looks at you, confused. “Applebees is once every so often, birthdays or celebrations. But Red Lobster? That’s graduation or date.” 

“You could’ve gone for a five-star restaurant, you know that, right?” He laughs and you shrug. 

“I heard they’re pretty shit. And I want to fuck up a seafood boil. Oh wait,” Blinking, you try to remember the Red Lobster menu. “Never mind, I don’t think they have vegetarian options. We could do Olive Garden or whatever vegetarian places you like. I’m not picky,” 

“And I am?” He teases and you roll your eyes. “Friday, at five. I’ll pick you up and we’ll go to Olive Garden. And then to the movies to watch that new horror movie you’ve been wanting to watch.”

“That sounds perfect,” You nod and nudge your swing into his. 

“Can I admit something?” He slowly asks. “Forgive me if I’m being too forward but…” Watching as he licks his lip, you stop swinging. “May I kiss you?” 

“Yes.” You nod. Trying not to seem too eager, the both of you stand up and you watch as he raises his hands to cup your face. His fingers are warm, gliding across your skin as you hook one arm around his waist while the other holds his shoulder. “Do you want to lead?” You whisper as he looks at you, unmoving. His eyes dart down to your lips and he nods before closing the distance. 

His hands drag a little down your face, his pinky curving under your jaw before moving up into your hair. Slowly the kiss breaks and he dips back down for one quick kiss. 

“He’s been waiting months to do that,” Dick announces and Damian groans. You snicker and look behind Damian. Dick isn’t even looking, looking off into the distance before he’s sure that you’re done kissing before looking at the two of you. 

“Must he ruin everything?” He whispers to you before facing his brother. “I understand you have no concept of privacy, but this warrants that.” Dick frowns at the rudeness before he shrugs and points his thumb towards the venue. 

“They’re asking for you, thought I should come and get you before they spot you.” He explains through a sigh. “Would hate for our little demon’s kiss to end up on the front page. But, yeah,” He sighs and looks over at you. He stares at your face for a moment before he chuckles. 

“Take him to the bathroom, you got dust on his face.”

“It’s charcoal.”

[warning-heckboop]

A little something based on a sort of spin-off of @bunnieswithknives's Nature au that my partner and I came up with while chatting. The premise is under the cut because it's kinda of long :')

Conversation taken directly from Discord for efficiency's sake. Regular text is my own, bolded is @adhdemizel

The animal they witness the shooting as is a deer. The last animal Dale sees them as before they reveal their true form is a wolf

I have this concept based on the Nature au in my head of an actual changeling witnessing Dale shoot Dev, and because fae are all about rules and stuff, the changeling travels across the land as various animals until it finds Dale again, only to then reveal its true, monstrous form in the process of ripping Dale's own leg off. Because an eye for an eye and all that jazz

Using magic to blend in or to cover more ground, and finally finding them and SERVING JUSTICE--

After they rip Dale's leg off, Peri comes to investigate all the screaming because he's worried for Dev's safety, and he and the now-a-wolf-again fae, who's soaked in blood, lock eyes, and Peri sees the familar glint of magic, and he knows

Just an actual random changeling who lived in the forest. They aren't a god parent, but rather an independent fae

They have no tie to Dev, other than witnessing his injury, and then feeling the urge to restore the balance that Dale disturbed

They're acting on their own, but do you think they see Peri, another magic creature, and feel like he failed? Disappointed that they had to step up and make things right for another fae's human?

Mmmm not necessarily! I feel like an independent fae would still know the basics about god parents, and how strict the rules they're bound by are. I think they'd be more so angry at the god parent system overall

Peri, also angry at the god parent system

Secretly grateful for this other fae doing what he couldn't

Maybe he's supposed to report to Jorgen about this rogue fae, to keep them from hurting anyone else. But he doesn't

Turning away to let something huge slide because it was in defense of a kid he couldn't protect

I like to think that even Jorgen would have let it slide, if he'd known. Dale deserved it

He'd tell Peri he dealt with it as needed, but literally all he did was go "nice" and shred the report

The other fae goes back home and let's others in the area know to watch out for a one-legged fae hunter with sharp red hair, just in case he tries again

He probably would try again. Now that he knows they're real, he's determined to catch one

That might have been one benefit of Peri actually telling Jorgen--Jorgen would have wiped Dale's memory and made it seem like a normal animal attack

Do you think he'd drag Dev along again?

Oh, certainly. He needs bait, and he can't risk anymore of his own limbs. It was Dev's fault he messed up as bait the first time. He needs to make up for that failure

He plates his prosthetic with iron for extra protection

Not permanently, because it's unsightly, but also not for Dev. He doesn't want anything to ward fae away from Dev.

Surely any changelings who saw Dev would know he's much too young to be the hunter they were told about.... Right?

Fae have impossibly long lifespans, he might look like a child, but all humans seem too young to them

You're right. And he matches the description so perfectly...

I guess it will have to be up to Peri to protect him, when he comes down to it. Lord knows Dale has better things to do

Dale, not-so-secretly hoping Dev gets into a confrontation so he can swoop in- not to play the hero in any way, but so Dev doesn't get in the way again

[asharasasylum]

The Devil May Cry

Yandere brother x sister! reader (hotd) - part 2 here

author's note: hey guys trying something different. no character specified but characters i write for/have written for and think would fit, highlighted at the bottom. warnings: yandere. non con kisses. incest. abuse. talks of past child abuse. 18+

After everything he constantly puts you through, you still seem to always go running back. 

He’s cruel. Some people would even characterise him as vile, your parents included, but you saw through all of that. It was a reaction to the years of abuse and trauma your parents had buried him under as a child. So he lashed out sometimes, called you spiteful names and even scared you at times. But how was he supposed to know any better, especially when the people that were meant to love him had shown him nothing but hate. 

You felt it was up to you to show him love even when his cruelty was aimed towards you. He’s your brother, who neglects their brother. 

You took it. Every single bit of it. From the nasty venom he spat from his lips to the objects that skimmed you as they flew from his fist, smashing into the walls behind you. He terrified you most of the time and yet you still offered a hand out for him to bite. 

But he’s taken it too far. You repeat it over and over in your head again as you pack all your remaining stuff into a bag. 

You can still feel the indent of his rings against your throat and the touch of his lips pressed against yours. Bile rose up in the back of your throat as your mind tried to face the reality of what had really just happened. 

“We’re playing this game again are we?” You heard him sneer from the bed. 

You glanced up at him for a second, noticing how he was still sprawled out over the top of his sheets as if nothing had happened. Your stomach twisted in disgust and you turned away again. 

“I’ll see you in a few hours, yeah?” He asked rhetorically, genuinely believing like all the other times before you were going to come crawling back. But you couldn’t not when you could still feel his body pressing against yours as he forced himself on top of you, the feel of his body moulding into yours and the hardness that he had pressed against your crotch. 

You’re in the car before you know it, half an hour away with his mocking laughter still ringing in your ears. 

You can barely see out your window, it’s clouded by something only you don’t notice what it is till you pull over. Your hand reaches out to wipe it, only to realise it is tears covering your vision. 

Even as you frantically wipe at them, they’re thick and heavy as they rack through your body. They’re not going anywhere, along with the memory of what he had just done to you. 

It was only a kiss. You try to ease yourself with that thought. It had only lasted a few seconds before you stopped it. It was only a kiss.

//

You were meant to be gone for a few hours at best. Back before dinner, bringing him something home with a teary eyed smile and an apology as if you were the one in the wrong. Yet it is three am and you haven’t even so much as sent him a text. 

At first he’s worried, pacing back and forth in his bedroom thinking of all the awful things that might have happened to you. He’d never forgive himself if you got hurt. Especially when he had been the one to drive you away. 

Maybe he had taken it too far this time. But how was he meant to hold back when your eyes brimmed with tears and you pouted at his cruel words. He’s been desperate for a taste of you for years so who was he to deny himself when you were looking so delicate and ripe. 

His worry finally dies down when he tracks your phone down, finding your car outside a familiar building. That worry twists into a burning rage that courses through his body as he stares up into dimly lit windows

It’s only a friend, you had told him. No one he should be worried about, your words mock him as he taps his finger against his steering wheel. He felt like he could hear you laughing now. Besides you’re my brother and you’re way too old to be getting protective over me. 

The light flickers on in one of the apartment windows, and through the peak of the curtains he notices your silhouette. He knows it's you, recognising the tone of your skin under the flattering bright light. He knows the contours of your frame, even from a distance. 

You’re fine. But it isn’t relief that fills him as he realises this. He can’t describe the feeling that sinks into his skin as he starts his car up again. He’s never felt like this before, his anger mixing in with something else. 

His cheeks are wet suddenly and he wipes at them, only to realise he’s crying. But these tears aren’t for him, he tells himself as he drives off. No, these years are for you. 

HOTD - Aegon Targaryen. Aemond Targaryen. Jacaerys Velaryon.

HOTD - Fem x Male character Insert Master List

(Dividers by @cafekitsune)

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Witch /// Part 2

Part 1

The great part about Rhiana the Witch’s cozy cottage outside that small town was the privacy. Not just when her most wriggly meals ran; but because it was purposefully hidden. The faerie circles just outside the town messed with maps and satellites making her little place a safe haven from the enemies and ex-lovers experiments she’d made over her many centuries of being alive. But now that she was leaving to get closer to you, she was uncomfortably exposed. 

“Hey Rhi-Rhi you okay? You’ve looked so nervous since I picked you up.”

“Oh I’m fine it’s just all these people make me so nervous.”

“I guess it is kind of overwhelming.”

“Maybe you can take me somewhere private. Like your place maybe?”

She thinks it’s worth the risk as she’s allowed to use the same excuse to cling to your side. Pretend to be distraught when she gets hit on to have you pretend to be dating to drive off desperate and confident weirdos. She eats that up. Unfortunately though, her open fawning over you leaves her unguarded from soul searches. An old technique lovers of olde used to unite over long periods. Naturally, trouble just happens to be in the 500-meter radius and is well off enough to get in close to foil her plans.

“Hello there. I’m your new neighbor. I wanted to introduce myself to everyone since I’m completely new to the area.”

“Oh hi, nice to meet you! I’m (Y/n) and this is Rhi–”

“(Y/n) you don’t have to introduce me I’m only visiting.”

“That’s such a shame Rhiana. I would’ve hoped we could…get to know each other better.”

Trouble is one of her craziest exes–Narciness. He was a nymph and she was a witch. Back then, it made sense that they were perfect for one another. Both were a gorgeous couple, immortal and with plenty of magic. Not to mention he didn’t even mind that she ate humans for her youthful appearance. But it just wasn’t right for Rhea. Just as his name would suggest there was a deep-seated and well-masked narcissism that showed its ugly head at the worst times. She ultimately took the very mature option that she’s learned over the centuries when it comes to major obstacles. She ran. 

“Nice to see you again Rhiana. It’s always nice to know my girlfriend decided to disappear from me the last few centuries!”

“Quit whining. I left you a note didn’t I?”

“A note cursed to explode with a memory-wipe spell the second I finished it. If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were trying to leave me.”

“Oh genius, you’re finally getting it!”

“That can’t be right! You and I…we’re perfect together! And you instead cheat on me with the most imperfect human!”

“Do not ever talk about my (Y/n) like that!”

She’s almost glad he’s crazy enough not to hide his intentions. Had he been cut from the same cloth as she-she would have kept silent until after she devoured her prey. But Narciness is an idiot who so clearly had it out for you that she wouldn’t let him live another day without singing your praises. Unfortunately, the thing about killing a nymph is that it wasn’t easy, a child of the old powers of nature. He’s survived a lot of things and can withstand some of Rhea’s most fatal potions. And especially when she’s far from home spending time with you, she’s a little shorthanded. So she’ll come up with another remedy. 

“Hey Narc, I didn’t know you went shopping here.”

“I think instead of solely getting the organic stuff I figured I’d swing by here every once in a while. The gallery is truly immaculate.”

“Good for you. C’mon (Y/n) we’re going to miss our movie.”

“Oh right! Well, it was nice seeing you, Narc!”

“Oh (Y/n) before you go, there's something I wanted to tell you.”

“What?”

“I just love your smile.”

“Oh, thanks !”

“Let’s go, (Y/n).”

The thing she found that sparked her attraction to him was his smile. It lit up the room like yours and in the end, it’ll be what protects you from his violent protections of ‘their relationship’. Unfortunately, now that she’s used a spell to shift his affection she’ll have to figure out some way to end his life before he turns violent against her. Too bad it’ll be hard to figure out in the span of two days. Now she can miss her plane and extend her stay a little while but it’s just not enough time. Not enough time for her to make sure ‘Narc’ doesn’t try anything, she’ll have to do something drastic. 

“Narciness I was hoping we could find some common ground.”

“With you? Babe, didn’t I tell you I was done? Your old news.”

“For you, I might be but I’m the hottest thing in (Y/n)’s world.”

“...I see. So we’re officially competing then. Would you like to fight this out now?”

“I’d like to try something new. A gesture of peace, if you will.”

“...oven mitts? You plan to make me bake? Why would I concern myself with such a lowly task?”

“Did I tell you (Y/n) has a sweet tooth?”

“...”

Rhea the Witch considers herself lucky her ex considered cooking for himself as a job for ‘someone uglier than him.’ She’s also glad she gets to stay another day due to food poisoning. Who knew nymphs gave witches so much nausea?

“Oh Rhea were you eating that bloody meat again? I keep telling you that rare steak is great but you got to make sure it’s at least cooked a little bit.”

“I know hon. I should really think about maintaining my diet better.”

“Yeah, I’m just glad this is happening now. Instead of on a plane or bus where I wouldn’t be there for you.”

“Yes…(Y/n) what do you think about me staying another week or so. So many things keep happening, it feels as though fate is telling me.”

She may have some serious indigestion but you were hers and the threat was…toast. For Rhea, her reward was being pampered by you. Finally able to rest with her love by her side. Nothing was better and nothing could bother her. Not even the distant thought of the new owner to the place next door. 

“I noticed your plants. I’m not a huge fan of nature but maybe you can show me the ropes. What do you say, neighbor?”

[bellesdreamyprofile]

a baby miracle: part 2

“So won’t you please, be my, be my baby.”, you sang softly as you continued stirring the batter for tonight’s dessert. The song made you smile and caress your little bump. The yittle baby hadn’t started kicking yet, but the doctors gave you promising news that it would happen in no time.

You wiped the flour off your hands on the handmade apron and looked for the muffin tray around the kitchen. Huffs fell from your lips as you couldn’t find the tray you had been using for two weeks straight. You stopped in trance and thought of the last time you baked muffins — Benny’s birthday! You smiled at the sweet memory - a very, very small, shy smile on his lips as you sat sideways on his lap, his big hand placed lovingly on your growing bump as you sang softly to him.

When you exclaimed “Make a wish!”, his eyes turned to you, taking you all in. Then he pressed his lips to your cheek and blew the lone candle on his chocolate muffin. You clapped your hands and turned his chin to face you, so you could finally give him the birthday kiss he deserved. You couldn’t put a price on that day - nor on the growing blush on his cheeks.

You sighed happily, coming back from memory lane. Benny did the dishes that night, saying you didn’t need any additional strains on your body. And that was when you looked up, catching sight of the muffin tray on top of the kitchen cabinet. Now, you weren’t the tallest nor the shortest, but you still needed a small chair to get up there. On your tiptoes and on the small chair, you desperately tried to even simply brush your fingers on the metal - but in vain.

“What’s the lil´ miss doin´ on the chair?”, Benny’s voice almost made you lose your balance as a shriek left your lips. His hands set on your hips as he gently gripped you and moved you sideways. “Especially when I told her that she shouldn’t be doing no heavy lifting.”

You rolled your eyes at his words and let out a little laugh. “Bennyyy.”, once your feet were on the ground, you let your head fall on his chest, a soft sigh falling from your lips. “I was cravin´ the muffins I made for your birthday.”, you quickly explained your actions, his hands on your bump and yours on top of his.

“Mhm. Those were very good muffins indeed.”, Benny placed a kiss on top of your head and tapped his fingers on your baby bump. “Still not a good reason for you to be on that chair and on your tiptoes.”, you unwrapped his hands from you and looked at him with a small smile - big puppy eyes and dimples and all.

“Don’t give me that look.”, he raised an eyebrow at you, making you pout. “It’s for your safety, honey. If you had fallen from that chair—“

You immediately cut him off at his negative view of things. “Alright, alright. Why don’t you reach for the tray, then? Since you put it up so high, mister.”, your finger pointed at the tray you had desperately tried to reach for. Benny looked at you and sighed, shaking his head, but he still followed your instructions.

“There you go, baby.”, he set in on the kitchen counter and squeezed your arm, giving your cheek a kiss. You couldn’t describe Benny as an extremely affectionate person, but his little touches and soft kisses, whenever he was in a good mood, brought you endless amounts of joy. The pregnancy brought you two impossibly closer - his hands always on your body as a testament of you and your baby’s safety.

“How long do they bake?”, you glanced over your shoulder and saw your man sat by the kitchen table. Puppy, blue eyes trained on you, following your every move.

“20 minutes, honey. Why?”, the muffins were finally in the oven, your feet carrying you towards your designated spot and sat down.

Benny’s lips formed a small smile at your clueless question. Baby brain, he thought to himself.

“We were supposed to get the baby stuff. The clothes, the bib, the whatever—“

You gasp and slapped your hand against your forehead. “I totally forgot!”, Benny smiled, wanting to pull you over his lap and kiss all over you at your sweet reaction. “I guess it’s because you and Johnny brought the old crib over so I-I thought that’s it! There ain’t nothing else to buy anymore.”

“Benny goddamn it, man, I said move it to your left, not your right.”, Johnny called out, but Benny only huffed and grunted at his words. You watched the two men carry the crib upstairs with your hands on your bump and a smile on your face.

“Johnny, don’t be so hard on my Benny.”, you said teasingly and watched them take another step, more grunts followed.

“Well your Benny don’t know his left from his right.”

“I swear to god, Johnny, one more word—“

“Alright, boys, just a couple of steps and you’re on the landing!”, you tried to show excitement as you had a feeling that the day was going to end with Benny and Johnny not being on speaking terms. And just like that, the crib was upstairs. You sighed in relief and started making your way up as well. You found both of them with their hands on their hips as they breathed out.

The crib was white, although chipped, since it was already used by Johnny’s kids.

“You didn’t have a lighter crib in that garage, huh?”

Johnny raised an eyebrow at Benny and shook his head. “This—“, he patted the crib. “Survived two little girls who had teeth as sharp as knives, look.”, he pointed at the little marks on the wood.

You let out a little laugh and finally approached them, Benny’s arm instinctively around your shoulder. “Looks pretty good to me. Thank you, Johnny.”, you smiled gratefully at him.

Johnny winked at you and moved to the opposite side of the crib. “Alright, man, let’s move this to the nursery, yeah?”

“Oh my goodness, Benny, look!”, you exclaimed and showed him a pair of pink boots. Benny glanced your way and then at the boots.

“We don’t know the gender yet, baby.”, he said slowly and took the boots from your grasp. He started inspecting them and let a small smile grace his lips. Benny looked up and noticed you were gone, making him sigh and set the boots in the basket he was forced to carry for you.

“Honey?”, he called through the aisles, but you were nowhere to be found.

“Oh. My. God.”, he heard your familiar voice, his head turned around and that was when he finally spotted you. Relief washed over him - despite being married for two years, he still wasn’t used to you disappearing on him like that.

“Baby. How many times have I told you—“

Benny started his usual speech, but as you turned around with an item in your hands, he stilled in place. 

Tears in your eyes as you had a mini denim jacket in your hold. Colorful patches all over the piece of clothing - needless to say, almost a copy to the one Benny was wearing right now.

“Honey…”, he said softly and reluctantly touched the small jacket, already imagining your little one wearing it proudly. “Is that for our honeybee?”, you looked up and nodded tearfully.

“I love it.”, Benny brought you into a hug, mostly for his sake as he was hiding the way his eyes suddenly looked really wet and blue. “Put it in the basket, baby.”, you threw the jacket in and covered your mouth with your hand to muffle any sounds.

Benny looked alarmed and looked at the basket and back at you again. “What is it?”

You pointed at the pink boots in the basket and at the jacket. “The boots. They match the jacket.”, Benny brought you into a side hug as you made your way to the cashier.

“They do match, baby. Ours is gonna be the prettiest baby in town.”, he looked down and smiled at the way you nodded at his words.

A/N: I can´t with these two

MASTERLIST PART 3

[sophrosynesworld]

The Night Shift (Pt.3)

Part 1:

Katsuki Bakugo can’t focus. No matter how many miles he runs or how many punching bags he destroys, the memory of your hands on him refuses to fade. It’s been three days since that motorcycle ride home, and he still feels you pressed against his back. He hadn’t realized how badly he craved your touch until then.

Panting heavily, he leans down, resting his hands on his knees, drenched in sweat. He wipes his brow, the sun relentless as it beats down on him.

His friends have already noticed his bad mood—worse than usual. They don’t understand why his temper is shorter, his fuse burning hotter than normal. But Katsuki can’t tell them. They can’t know how much he needs you. The way you ground him, calm the fire burning inside him, even if just for a moment.

Without thinking, Bakugo grabs his helmet and heads straight for his motorcycle. He needs to see you, to figure out why you’re trying to ruin his life. The engine roars to life beneath him, and before he knows it, he’s weaving through the streets, the wind whipping past as he makes his way toward the hospital. He hadn't planned it, but there he is, parking outside your work, scanning the entrance like a creep.

When he doesn’t see you among the staff or patients walking by, he clenches his jaw, frustrated. He needs more than a glimpse of you. He needs to talk to you, to feel you near him again. With a sharp breath, he swings his leg off the bike and heads inside. It doesn’t take long for him to track down your nurses—they know you, after all. With a bit of his usual charm (and a hint of his signature glare), they hand over your phone number, giggling to themselves as they do.

Bakugo stuffs the piece of paper into his back pocket, his mind racing. His palms are practically dripping with sweat. He’s faced death and fears you more.

The engine roars to life beneath him, the vibration grounding him for just a moment as he takes off. The streets of the city blur past, but his destination is crystal clear. Your apartment. The memory of you climbing off the bike, your body lingering just a second longer than necessary, replays in his mind. You’d looked at him like you wanted to say something, but the words never came.

If the hero has it his way, there will be no silence tonight. Katsuki swings off his bike, leaning against it as he punches in your cell phone number, looking up toward the apartments, trying to find yours.

“Come outside.”

Katsuki’s voice crackles through the phone, rough and impatient. You can’t help but smile as you sit up, tossing your legs over the side of the bed and scurrying across the room. Reaching the window, you carefully peel back the curtain just enough to peek outside.

“How did you get this number?”

Sure enough, Katsuki leans casually against his motorcycle, arms folded, a lazy smirk on his lips as he spots you spying. He raises a hand in a wave, and you yank the curtain shut, but his laugh still rings out, echoing faintly in your apartment.

“Your friends at the nurses’ station were eager to help,” he says, his voice dripping with mock innocence. “They said, and I quote, ‘She loves talking to smart, strong heroes.’”

You roll your eyes, already rifling through your closet, pulling hangers this way and that, trying to find something presentable to wear.

“I can’t, Katsuki. I have a very important meeting with my couch today,” you tease, placing the phone on speaker as you wiggle into a pair of jeans. You yank out several tops, trying each one in a frantic blur, tossing the rejects onto the bed in a growing pile of chaos.

“I am not getting stood up for a couch right now,” he snaps, followed by the unmistakable sound of pacing. You glance out the window again, catching him kicking at the ground in frustration before resuming your mad dash around the apartment.

“Does it hurt your feelings?” you ask, finally settling on a shirt that’s halfway decent.

“TMZ would pay good money to see this,” he fires back. “Come on. Don’t make me wait.”

You roll your eyes and sigh, slipping on your shoes and grabbing your jacket. Your heart races as you pause for a moment, tapping your foot as you pretend to consider his proposal. Leaning against the window once more, you bite back a smile, watching him impatiently fidget by his bike, the early morning sun catching in his hair.

“Alright, Katsuki,” you finally say, smirking as you grab your keys. “I’ll pencil you in—but you have to feed me.”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end of the line before his laugh bursts out. “Seriously? I just had to bribe you with food?!”

You hang up on him, slipping your phone into your pocket, swinging the door open before jogging down the stairs. By the time you step outside, the warm morning air hits your skin, and Katsuki is already watching you. His eyes flick over your hastily thrown-together outfit with a mixture of amusement and approval.

“You know, you could’ve just said yes the first time,” he says, pushing off his bike and tossing you a helmet. You catch it, raising an eyebrow.

“Where’s the fun in that?” you tease, slipping it on. “So, where are we going, Mr. Ego?”

Katsuki straddles his bike as you approach, standing in front of him while he tightens your helmet. He pats the seat behind him with a knowing smirk. “You’ll see.”

You hesitate for just a moment, but his confidence is infectious. It’s strange—the way you feel around him. Usually, you’re the one holding everything together, with colleagues and patients alike depending on you for answers. But with him, for once, a part of you just wants to let go.

Climbing onto the bike, you wrap your arms around his waist, feeling the low, steady rumble of the engine as he revs it to life. The bike speeds off, and the wind whips through your hair as the city blurs around you. Katsuki glances over his shoulder at you with a grin before changing lanes, and you can't help but smile. The early morning stillness gives way to the waking city, and you lean into his back, trusting his controlled, confident movements through every turn.

You think for a moment—if you had to trust someone completely, the hot-headed hero standing beside you would be your top pick. As much as his brash attitude clashes with your calm demeanor, there’s something about him that makes you feel safe, like he’d protect you with everything he’s got, no questions asked.

After a few minutes, he pulls up to a small café tucked away in a quiet corner of the city, ivy draping its quaint exterior. You reluctantly pull yourself off the bike, removing your helmet and shaking out your hair.

“This is where you bring girls?” you ask with a playful smile as the scent of fresh coffee and bread fills the air, making your stomach growl.

“Nah,” he replies, pocketing his keys and giving you a sideways glance. “Just doctors who save my life.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the smile tugging at your lips as you follow him inside. The café is warm and cozy, with mismatched furniture and shelves lined with books and plants. Katsuki slides into a booth by the window, and you sit across from him as he picks up the menu like he's been here countless times.

“What’s good?” you ask, leaning forward to glance at the menu, but Katsuki quickly snatches it away, calling for the waitress with confidence.

“I got this,” he says, ordering a ridiculous spread of food that makes you raise an eyebrow. “You said you were hungry.”

“I am hungry, you're ordering enough food to feed six teenagers,” you laugh, watching the waitress jot down his absurd order with wide eyes. Katsuki leans back in his seat, his trademark cocky grin in full force.

When the food arrives, plate after plate of steaming dishes, you dive in, savoring every bite. Time passes quickly between the laughter, banter, and shared food. Katsuki points out his favorite dishes, and you can't help but notice the spark in his eyes when he talks about his training, or how he barely hides his satisfaction every time you groan over how good the food is.

As you pop a berry into your mouth, you glance at him thoughtfully. “Can I be honest about something?”

Katsuki shifts in his seat, eyeing you carefully as he steals his coffee mug back from your side of the table. “Yeah, go ahead.”

“You’re nothing like I expected.”

He snorts, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Is that disappointment I hear?”

You laugh, almost choking on your drink, but Katsuki just leans back, arms crossed, waiting. “No,” you manage to say, smiling. “You're just… you’re fun to be around.”

For a second, his smirk falters. The way you said that—it hits him harder than it should. And maybe that’s why he’s feeling the way he is. But when he looks at you, seeing your eyes sparkle as you talk, he's caught off guard.

“You’re not such an asshole yourself,” he mutters, looking away.

After finishing your meal, Katsuki nudges you toward the door, holding it open as you both step out into the sunlight. Walking side by side down the street, the morning light casts soft shadows across the pavement.

“So, what’s next?” you ask, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder. Katsuki hesitates, looking like he didn’t plan that far ahead. He smirks after a pause, though.

“Actually, there’s something I want you to see.”

Just as you’re about to respond, Katsuki’s phone rings loudly in his pocket. He frowns, glances at the screen, and then answers, stepping away from you with an impatient gesture.

“This better be important,” he snaps, his voice sharper than it’s been all morning. You can’t hear the other end of the conversation, but Katsuki’s expression grows more tense as the person speaks, his jaw clenching. He glances over at you once before turning slightly, shielding the conversation from your view.

“No, I got it,” he says curtly. “I’m on my way. Just—don’t do anything stupid until I get there.” He hangs up abruptly, stuffing the phone back into his pocket with a frustrated huff.

“What’s going on?” you ask, trying to keep your tone casual, though you’re already sensing something serious.

“We should get you to work,” he replies, gripping his helmet tightly.

You frown, noticing the tension in his shoulders. “Is it serious?”

“I’ll handle it,” he says, flashing his usual cocky grin, though this time it feels more forced than confident. Before you can ask him what’s really going on, your phone buzzes loudly in your pocket. You fumble to grab it, the sharp voice of your charge nurse spilling out on the other end.

“There’s been a major incident in the next city,” she says quickly, her voice tense. “The hospitals are overwhelmed, and they're rerouting the most critical to you. Trauma centers across the region are on standby. We need all hands on deck, now.”

Your stomach twists. It's one of those calls—the kind that forces you into exhaustion, where you’re needed more than anywhere else. You quickly glance at Katsuki, his eyes dark with intensity, though he’s trying to act like he’s unfazed by whatever call he just got. But there’s no time for questions.

You need to get back, and fast.

“I’ve got to go,” you say, slipping your phone back into your pocket. “We’re expecting a mass influx of patients.” Your mind races as the adrenaline starts to kick in.

Katsuki steps closer, his gaze sharp as he reads the shift in your body language. Just as you’re about to throw your helmet on, he stops you, his hand gripping your wrist, eyes locking with yours.

“We’re not taking the bike,” he says firmly.

You blink, surprised. “Then how am I supposed to—”

He raises an eyebrow, a sly smirk tugging at his lips. “Ever flown before?”

You pause for a beat, eyes narrowing. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” He’s already cracking his knuckles, rolling his shoulders like he’s getting ready for battle. And in that moment, despite the chaos looming ahead, you don’t feel the usual crushing weight of responsibility. You don’t feel like the doctor who has to save everyone else.

You stand there for a moment, the gears in your mind turning. It hits you—you have to trust him. When everything else spirals out of control, he’s the one constant—a hero, always ready to catch you before you fall. And when the time comes, you know he’ll trust you just the same, putting his life in your hands once again without hesitation.

“Alright,” you say, stepping back and crossing your arms, trying to hide your nerves. “But if you drop me, I swear—”

“I’m not gonna drop you,” he cuts in, his grin widening. “I’ve got you.”

And for once, you believe him.

Part 4:

Tags: @simplyraeblue @moonfloweronmars @kalulakunundrum @froggy-crystal