#you can’t see it but there are tears comically streaming down my face and a puddle surrounding me 😭

[mci-writing]

RIP to my cringe era on Wattpad. So many middle school roleplays gone before my very eyes and erased from the locked depths. Memories never to be revisited again and eventually lost to the workings of time or whatever

[works-of-fanfiction]

Toothbrush || Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: It’s still early days for Lando and the reader, but he’s ready to start seeing more of her.

Song: Toothbrush by DNCE.

Warnings: None, just a wholesome read.

Word Count: 2.3k

a/n: every time I listen to this song, I imagine little fanfic scenarios in my head, so I finally wrote one! I’m a George girl at heart, but I think I’m in my Lando era rn. short but sweet - hope you like it!

With Lando’s arm strewn across your chest and his soft snores in your ear, you didn’t dare to move. Streams of sunlight bled into the room through the gap in the curtains, illuminating his tanned shoulders that poked out of the covers. Pins and needles prickled at your feet as you fought desperately not to leave the bed. He looked so comfortable and he deserved the extra rest after all the busy weekdays preparing for the new season.

You turned your head to catch a full glimpse of his face, his mouth hanging slightly open and eyelids twitching involuntarily. You often wondered what he dreamt about, as you did with anyone who fell asleep in your company. Dreams fascinated you; the weirder the better. Your workdays often started with your colleagues all sharing their wild and wonderful dreams from the night before, with the odd nightmare sprinkled in. If only you had a pound for every time your manager dreamt of losing his teeth…

Your bladder deceived you, the pressure growing the more you tried to ignore it. Sighing, you pushed the covers off your body, careful not to disturb the half that covered the sleeping driver beside you. You shuffled to the right, fingertips gently lowering Lando’s hand onto the pillow, hoping he didn’t stir. The fresh morning air whipped around your bare frame, and you resorted to hugging yourself as you tiptoed into the ensuite.

You moved with caution, tearing the toilet paper slowly and studying the squares as they ripped apart bit by bit. As much as you hated not flushing, you didn’t want to startle the poor guy, so you opted for closing the lid. That too was done carefully, not letting the wooden pieces make a single sound as they touched. You washed your hands quickly, scrubbing them dry on a towel, a comically bright orange towel with the McLaren logo plastered all over it. You’d laughed at it the first time you stayed over, Lando cursing himself for not hiding it before you arrived. You’d wondered where else random pieces of McLaren merchandise were going to pop up. Tea towels? Bed sheets? Branded cereal, perhaps?

On your way back to the bed, you scooped up Lando’s t-shirt from the night before, slipping it on and appreciating the fabric against your skin. It didn’t make a huge difference, but at least it covered the goosebumps scattered across your cold chest. Catching your reflection in the mirror, you combed your fingers through your hair, pushing loose strands out of your eyes. Hearing a rustling in the covers, you turned to see Lando stretching his arms above his head, his eyes still squeezed shut to avoid the morning light.

“Mm… Come back to bed.” He mumbled, propping his hands behind his head like he was laid on a sun lounger. You sat on the bed beside him, resting on your right hip and tucking your legs in to lift your feet off the ground. Feeling the mattress dip, a lazy smile spread across his face as he prized his eyes open halfway. “There you are.” You laid a hand on his chest, smiling down at him before his eyes fluttered closed once again. “Beautiful.”

You exhaled, amused by his compliment. “You can’t even see me.”

“I don’t need to.”

He could be cheesy sometimes, but part of you loved it. You’d always enjoyed making fun of your friends in their honeymoon phases, mimicking their partners and overusing their new nicknames. You’d waited a long time for it to be your turn, so you planned on soaking up every pet name, pick-up line, and spooning session until they grew tired of hearing about it. God knows you’d heard more than your fair share of romantic tales.

All you wanted to do was lie back down beside him and burrow your head beneath his arm, but the grease in your hair and mascara stuck in your tear ducts begged you to go home and shower.

Being in the early stages meant that overstaying your welcome was still a possibility. You had yet to lie in past 10am with Lando, and were always dressed and out of the door before he’d even shed the covers. You’d made a promise to yourself at the start that you wouldn’t let yourself get too attached or seem clingy. Whirlwind relationships always sounded good until they weren’t, and you’d experienced them one too many times to allow it to happen again. Besides, Lando never seemed to argue when you slipped out of bed and left before breakfast. To him, it seemed like you just enjoyed your own space. For the past eight Sundays, you’d detangled yourself from his grasp, thrown on your clothes from the night before and left him with a simple kiss on the cheek, all before he’d even managed to open his eyes properly. Most of those mornings he’d rolled over to your side of the bed, inhaling the traces of your perfume and replaying the events of the evening over and over in his head. One day he’d tell you to stay; he’d hide your keys if it meant he could spend a few more hours in bed with you... What did you like for breakfast? If he ordered pancakes, would you stay and split a plate with him? Was it brown or tomato sauce you had with your bacon?

Lando felt you fidgeting on the bed and rolled over to grab your arm. You looked down in surprise, turning your wrist to take his hand in yours. “What’s wrong?” You asked, his fingers soft and featherlike against your palm, following the lines from left to right.

“What time is it?”

“Um…” You leaned over, checking your phone on the bedside table. “It’s almost 9.30.”

He groaned, slumping forward to rest his head against your arm. You laughed, moving so his head fell into your lap and your hand settled in the top of his hair. Catching a curl around your finger, you studied the tones in his hair and how they each caught the sunlight. Sitting there quiet and content with him made you a little sad, as you didn’t want to leave. Part of you longed for Sundays spent together, movies on the sofa with last night’s leftovers heating up in the microwave. You knew it was a fool’s dream considering he ended up in a new country every weekend. You cursed yourself for following your silly little rule and not taking advantage of the time you did have. In less than a month, he’d be calling you from hotels in the middle of who knows where with bad reception and voices urging him to hurry up and get back to work.

Sighing, you tapped Lando’s shoulder, whispering for him to sit up. “I should get going.” You said hesitantly, forcing yourself to stand.

“Stay. Just a little longer.” He gazed at you with puppy dog eyes, his hair unruly on his forehead and cheeks lined with crease marks from his pillows.

“Look at me, Lando.” You scoffed, waving your hands in front of your face. “I am in serious need of a shower.”

“I have a shower.” He stated obviously, his eyes finally widening to their normal state as he propped himself up against the headboard. “Towels are in the cupboard on the third shelf.”

“I… Lando – “

“Y/N.” He tilted his head, looking at you with raised brows. “You’re allowed to stay and take a shower.”

His words were laced with so much more than what he was saying. He wanted you in his shower, stepping out to wrap yourself in one of his towels with your damp hair leaving droplets on the countertop. He wanted your footprints on the bathmat – hell, he’d even put up with your hair clogging the drains if it meant there were traces of you in his home. He wanted more than just the ghost of you at his kitchen counter or out on the patio.

He kept his eyes on you, watching as you stood up and approached the cupboard, choosing a fluffy blue towel from the shelf. He rolled out of the bed, following you to the bathroom and flicking the extractor fan on above your heads. “Alright. You’ve got the rainfall shower which you turn on by twisting this towards you.” He instructed, trying to hide the smile that was creeping its way onto his face. It was crazy how long he’d waited to show you something so simple.

He turned the rainfall shower on, letting the water heat up for you. “The detachable showerhead is the same, just turn it in the other direction towards the wall.”

He stepped to the side, letting you slip past him. You stood shyly, his shirt still hanging off your body. “Well, I’m not going to shower with you watching!” You laughed, folding your arms and waiting for him to leave.

“Why? It’s nothing I haven’t already seen.” He smirked, mirroring your stance. Your cheeks flushed red at his words, visions of last night swimming around your mind. You needed him to leave the bathroom before you dragged him under the water with you.

He turned to leave, mindlessly adjusting the hand towels on the rack. “I’ll leave some clothes on the bed for you. There’s a spare toothbrush in the cabinet too.”

“Are you saying I have smelly breath?” You gasped, watching as he turned back to face you with the same cheeky grin on his face.

“Oh yes. That is exactly what I’m saying.”

Pulling the shirt over your head, you screwed it into a ball and threw it at him, hitting him square in the face and blocking his view. You turned to face the shower, leaving him with a foggy view of your backside through the textured glass. “Not fair!” He shouted over the running water as you dunked your messy hair beneath the stream.

“Get out, you pervert!”

He left the bathroom laughing to himself, closing the door behind him. He rushed to tidy the room a little, making sure to leave the clothes he promised on the bed. He took the liberty of putting your clothes in the wash with his, hoping you’d be okay with it.

When you surfaced from the bathroom with the towel tucked around your body and a beaming smile on your face, he swore he could feel his heart thumping against his ribcage. “Better?” He asked, sliding the pile of clothes your way.

“Much. Thank you.” You took the clothes, Lando turning away to give you some privacy whilst you changed. “Where should I put the towel?” You asked, giving him the all-clear to look at you.

“Just throw it in the hamper. I’ll sort it later.”

“Oh, I didn’t know where to put the toothbrush so it’s just in the pot beside yours.”

He smiled, looking at you but not saying a word. “What?” You asked, glancing down at yourself then back to him. “What’s wrong?”

Patting the space next to him on the bed, you sat down, pulling your wet hair over one shoulder. “I was thinking…” He started, reaching to grab your hand. Running his fingers over your knuckles, he studied the curiosity on your face as he rehearsed the words in his head. “Why don’t you leave the toothbrush in the pot?”

You didn’t catch on at first, but his words soon made sense as he shuffled closer to you, his thigh pressed against yours. Your face ached from smiling, Lando’s expression perfectly reflecting yours. “It’s convenient, you know?” He played it cool, earning him a playful slap on the chest.

“Yeah, sure! Convenience.” You mocked, leaning into him as he wrapped an arm around you, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

“By the way…” He spoke into your ear, his lips brushing against the lobe, tickling you. “I put your clothes in the wash, so you won’t be leaving anytime soon.” He drew back to look at you, surprised to see you still smiling.

“Good job I wasn’t planning on it anyway.” Throwing a leg over his, you straddled his lap and rested your arms around his neck.  He leaned forward, catching your lips with his and kissing you gently. Wet droplets from your hair fell onto his bare shoulder, making him shiver and laugh into the kiss. Pulling away, you swiped the water away with your hand, sliding off his lap and linking your fingers with his. He stood, grabbing the nearest hoodie hanging on the bed post and throwing it over his shoulder as he led you out of the bedroom and towards the stairs.

“So… breakfast?” His voice was muffled as he squeezed the hoodie over his head, stepping cautiously so he didn’t tumble down the stairs.

“Sounds good. What are you in the mood for?”

“I’m easy. I’ll have anything.” He opened the fridge and grabbed a carton of orange juice, turning to find you resting your elbows on the kitchen island. Something about you in his house, in his clothes, made his stomach do somersaults. It quickly became his favourite sight.

Pouring two glasses of juice, he slid one over to you, taking a seat on one of the stools. “How did you sleep by the way?” He asked, sipping his drink and snuggling up to you to rest his chin on your shoulder.

“Pretty good. You?”

“The same… But I did have this really weird dream.”

Your ears perked up at his words and you turned to look at him eagerly. “Tell me all about it.”

[ooihcnoiwlerh]

Good evening, my Darlings! I'm sorry about the lapse between updates, but I have a new chapter up on AO3 with the full fic and full content warnings and will have the newest chapter chapter down below.

Chapter Summary: The Reader tries to understand the Harkonnens and gain favor with her husband the old-fashioned way (Part Two.)

Tagged: @alexandrainlove @richardslady121 @blazeflays @wo-ming-bai @cavillandevanssandwhich If anyone else would like to be tagged, please let me know!

Content Warning: 18+; problematic smut; arranged marriage; dubious consent; implied/referenced child abuse; under negotiated kink; problematic BDSM; internalized shame; mild degradation; oral sex (m+f receiving) throat training, come eating, collars and lashes, nipple clamps/nipple play; Feyd-Rautha; impact play/slapping; semi-public sex; vaginal sex; vaginal fingering; knife play; switching; riding; Feyd's strange and fucked up methods of showing affection

Chapter Nine: Quick to Learn, Eager to Please

Your training continues.  You wouldn’t call your progress astonishing, but after a week, and then two, you find yourself first sliding into the familiarity of your old training and then picking up on new techniques.  You can’t help but smile to yourself when you get in an offensive, notice an opening that you can take that you wouldn’t have just a week earlier.  When Feyd-Rautha says, as he watches you spar with Korvo, “You remembered what I told you about your footwork.”

His own regimen is far more extensive, of course.  There’s one morning when he strips off his sweaty training shirt and you notice striations in the muscle fibers in his chest that you don’t remember seeing before.  Perhaps it’s the brighter lighting compared to your bedrooms.

The soreness becomes normal, stiffness you stretch out every morning before you leave for the Training Halls and soothe in the afternoons a couple of times a week in the Relaxation Chambers before resuming your self-imposed Harkonnen language lessons.  The routine is its own comfort that tides you over as you receive letters from back home that all sound relieved that you’re still in one piece.  And, somehow, you are.  These elements–the training, the moments spent in the library and studying the Harkonnen battle language–make you feel a little more like this Fortress is a home that you can live in.  You’re not confident enough to try and impress Feyd yet with what you’ve learned but have found that Idrisa’s an easy tutor.  The first time you tried speaking, unprompted, in battle language to her she did an almost comical double-take before politely offering advice on how to improve your pronunciation.

“The Na-Baron will be delighted to know that you’re making an effort to learn more about his culture,” she added to soften any potential blow to your ego.  Since then, every day, you exchange basic greetings and sentences in Harkonnen with her, and each day you try to add a little more.  Idrisa’s gentle, but honest once she realizes that you won’t be offended by her critique.  

The matter of your pregnancy is still in question–it’s still too early to tell, not for lack of trying.   The collar and leash make a reappearance–on a night he also placed metal clamps on your nipples and took your mouth again until between the shock of the clamps barely fading with time and the suffocating pressure of his cock venturing further and further within the wet cavern of your mouth had tears streaming down your face and silent pleas for him to finally fuck you–but strangely enough the flogger, as he calls it, hasn’t.  When he strikes your backside he seems to prefer his own hands, maybe because for every time his hand descends it stings his palm as well.  Sometimes he brings out ropes, one night ties your arms behind your back and takes you from behind, one hand in your hair until he comes hard and pulls out only to bury his face against your backside and lick your cunt, tasting his own spend as it leaks out of you until you shudder and climax around the flicker of his tongue.  You’re past the point of being shocked by the idea of your husband tasting his own semen; it’s funny to think that such a thing would’ve horrified you a few weeks ago.  Most of this probably would.  

The night that he introduces the clamps you use his bathroom afterwards, see your splotchy face and worn body, and wonder how much of your enjoyment is genuine and how much is simply a tool to acclimate to it.  Does it really make a difference?  The pain from the clamps had gone from sharp pain to an insistent ache that left you trembling.  The way he’d held your head in place as he’d guided his cock into your mouth and kept it there, pulling out only long enough to let you breathe and pushing back in for longer increments until you felt almost light-headed.  Does it really matter how or why it made you sufficiently wet to take him inside of you?  Is it not just easier to accept it than to dwell on the accompanying shame of it?

So far, you’ve realized, he hasn’t asked you to hurt him beyond scratching his back and arms when he’s inside of you, or biting down on the meat of his shoulder until you break skin.  Hasn’t asked you to subjugate him with the silver collar and chain he keeps, always noticeable but never mentioned after that night.  Perhaps he’s waiting for the right time, the right sign that you’d be able to hurt him as deliciously as he does you.

You think of the silver collar and how it would look against his pale skin as he waits patiently for instruction, like a fierce but loyal guard dog.

The image of it makes something you can’t quite name unfurl like black smoke in the pit of your stomach.  

Between training you to fight and training you to take his cock in a variety of positions, Feyd gives ample reason for you to enjoy the soothing attention you get in the Relaxation Chambers.

Once, when you enter the chambers, you see another woman walking by you; she’s well-dressed, clearly the wife of a high-ranking member of Harkonnen militia, and you speak before you can stop yourself.

“Hello,” you tell her, and she stops, blinking in confusion.  You’re starting to get better at gauging peoples’ ages around here without hair or eyebrows, and you guess her to be in her early thirties, with a round face and hazel eyes.

She stands, awkwardly, clearly wondering why you’ve just spoken to her, before inclining her head.  “Good afternoon, Na-Baroness.”

“My apologies.  I don’t think I’ve learned your name yet,” you tell her, extending your hand.

She takes it in a gentle shake.  “Indeed you have not, Na-Baroness.  It’s Liana Druganin, wife of Piter Druganin,” she says, managing to keep a polite tone before she drops your hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Druganin,” you tell her with a small smile.

She reciprocates and it looks as manufactured as the fake wood paneling.  

You’ve seen this before, but until now have been spared actually experiencing it: that moment when an attempt at friendship is made and the recipient can only think, Why are you talking to me?  Go away .  She won’t say it, not in a thousand years, because you outrank her.  But the look on her face, almost bordering on panic at the idea that you’ll keep trying to talk to her, says it all.

You clench your jaw, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach.  “Well,” you say, “Have a lovely afternoon, Lady Druganin.”  You both know that it’s not true, and that it’s also not true when she replies with a feeble echo of your sentiments.

She turns to go with a polite bow of her head and a stiffness in her shoulders that hadn’t been there before you spoke to her.  You watch after her and for a moment, she starts to turn around before thinking better of it.

You try to stay resolute.  No matter , you tell yourself.  They will start by respecting me.  They don’t have to like me yet .  My children will play with their children and I will be their Baroness.  They’ll learn.

Still, the sting of it is enough that you have to look over a letter a friend sent you to remind you that you’re perfectly capable of making them.

You write another.  There’s a growing pile of letters that you keep in a desk drawer and in moments like these pull them out and re-read them and remember that even if they’re not here, there are still people who love you.

Feyd’s birthday is almost here–in a week the Bene Gesserit will visit and Feyd will execute prisoners in the arena under the guise of sport.  There will be hours of celebrating afterwards with more flash than the solemnity of a Harkonnen wedding.  You want to ask if there will be dancing, because there wasn’t at your wedding.  You’re not sure what Harkonnen dancing would even look like.  Or music, beyond ceremonial war chants.  The party afterwards will also be the first time you’re properly presented to the Fortress as the Na-Baron.

Not that you’ll be expected to make any speeches or hold anyone’s attention, but a dress is being made for you to commemorate the occasion and you’ll represent not a person but an idea, a symbol.  This is the part of marriage you’ve been preparing for most of your life.  When you were younger your mother was honest about what marriage would look like for you; that your husband would probably be someone you didn’t know very well or perhaps not at all until the wedding, and that it would be your duty to represent the best qualities of your House and, if your groom was from a different House, his as well.  That for you, marriage would be about politics first and that love would come eventually as you got acclimated to your new husband and the role you’d be playing, and even then that it might not be a passionate or easy kind of love.

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen isn’t a creature compatible with something like love.  You were almost surprised that there’s a word for it in his language.  You’re not sure if you could ever grow to love him, or he you.  You’re not sure if it’s an emotion he’s capable of feeling or if the strangely companionable routine you’ve developed with him is the best you’re going to get.  

Your children, though, you’re certain you’ll love, even if they’re raised to be cold, even as they’ll never quite look like you, and you’ll teach them how to express it.  You’ll make sure that no matter how strict and unforgiving their father will bring them up that they’ll always have you.

In a letter addressed only to your mother you ask her what you can barely form in your own mind and couldn’t possibly ask anyone else here. You ask her how early she was able to tell, because you can’t.  You must be, or else something’s very wrong, but you haven’t had a moment after he’s finished inside of you that you felt life growing there.  You don’t feel different yet, and certainly don’t look different.  When do you feel a tithe to them?  You look at your stomach in the mirror as if expecting it to swell already and wonder if the rush of maternal love will come once you can confirm it or if it happens once you have the baby.  There’s no shortage of information on the physical aspects of pregnancy but nothing on that.  The closer it gets to the Bene Gesserit’s visit the more real all this becomes: you’re going to be a mother, on a brutal and unforgiving planet that you’re constantly torn between assimilating into and rejecting to maintain your own sense of self.  You’re going to need all the help you can get.

There’s another shift, four days before Feyd-Rautha’s birthday.

It starts out as a normal training session, with Feyd putting you through close range maneuver drills.

While the rest of the Fortress is busy preparing for his birthday celebrations, he seems somewhat detached.  You’d assumed he’d be more excited at the chance to kill more prisoners in front of an adoring crowd; he’d seemed like he was having a decent enough time killing drugged men for Geidi Prime’s entertainment before the wedding.  This, however, he treats like an obligation that he discusses only in the most pragmatic terms and as part of his responsibilities as Na-Baron.  You’re not entirely sure why, or what if any moral quandary he might have now that he didn’t nearly a month ago.  But you decide that your grasp of Harkonnen pronunciation has improved enough that you can give him an early birthday present and surprise him with your efforts so far.

It’s while you separate long enough to take a minute-long break that you decide that now is as good a time as any.  You take a breath and remember how Idrisa taught you to say the words before offering him a friendly smile and throwing out the words in imperfect but improved Harkonnen.

“ Do you know what you want for your birthday, Husband? ”

He blinks, taken aback for the sweetest of moments before tilting his head and giving you a small smile as if to say, Huh.  How about that.  Like you’re a dog that’s performed an amusing trick.  It would feel embarrassing were it not for that he could have had a much worse reaction.

He responds in kind, with what you can only partially interpret as “ Yes, wife, and I ….” something garbled or a phrase you haven’t learned yet, “ what is mine .”  

Well.  Tone and implications count for a lot.  You might not understand the wording exactly, but you think you get the general picture he’s painting for you as you feel yourself blush.  He circles around you and adds, speaking faster than the instructions you’re used to hearing and a few words are indecipherable, “ I’ll eghl as my wife, lawswh you off to all of Geidi Prime .”

Before you have time to respond he locks you into position, his front to your back and his blade against your throat.  “ To zxncoh to my people that you took my seed and you’re sadghl my heir .”

Other people can hear, you think, scandalized.  Maybe not all that well, he’s not speaking loudly, and other people are focused on their own training but still…

His cock is hard and flushed against the small of your back.  Your head is spinning.  He inhales sharply, as if he can smell the growing wetness between your legs.  He withdraws his blade, holsters it in his scabbard, and turns off his shield.  On instinct, you turn off yours.  There’s a couple of seconds you’re both still, and he opens his mouth, nuzzles your hair.  And then…

“Everyone out!” he calls out, the gravel of his rasp not suited for yelling, but he manages all the same.  A servant opens the door and everyone files out without a word in less than a minute, and then the door slams shut.

He turns you around in his arms and kisses you hard.

He’d talked about doing this the first day he trained you.  It’s really a testament to his self-restraint that he’s waited this long to do it, you think as he backs you into the wall and braces one forearm beside your head.  His other hand sneaks into the waist of your pants and beneath your undergarment.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and gasp into it as he brings his fingertips over your bud and circles lightly, at first anyway.  One fingertip slides along the slit of you, feeling for your growing wetness as he rests his lips against your hairline.  You feel him break into a self-satisfied grin as he says, “I think you can handle two, don’t you, pet?” and slips his middle and index fingers in without waiting for you to respond.  You try to tamp down on your whimpers, the way the echoes of the room amplify every sound, including the slick wet noises of his fingers twisting and pumping inside of you, finally crooking forward the way you like.  It’s hardly fair of him to use that against you.

Oh, Great Mother, they’ve probably got their ears pressed up against the door, listening in, hearing everything—

–And then he slides in a third finger and crooks them again.

You buck your hips, the wind knocked out of you in a silent scream.

“You like that?” Feyd asks, his voice in your ear.

You know I do.  For fuck’s sake, Feyd, just do it again.   You let out a desperate whine, biting your lip as you nod and he rubs you down again, feeling you shake around him.  You feel searingly hot, knowing your face is flushed, knowing that everyone outside knows what the two of you are doing.

You made this choice weeks ago.  You made this choice over a month ago when the Reverend Mother told you who you were to marry.

You still his hand, giving a small nod as if to say, I’m ready, and he withdraws, tilting his head and waiting.  You hardly take a breath before you turn and descend to your knees, pulling your pants and smallclothes down your thighs and spreading your legs as far as you reasonably can before bracing your hands against the wall.  Your breath is already ragged.  You rest your forehead in between your hands.

“ Fuck me, husband ,” you manage in Harkonnen.

Feyd huffs a laugh and settles down behind you.  The sound of him unfastening the front of his pants is shockingly loud within the cavernous expanse of the room, and even as you’d wanted to hold back on your noises he punctures them out of you with each thrust.

You’ll forgive yourself this indignity.  You’re doing it for a greater purpose , you tell yourself.

And then Feyd thrusts at just the right angle that has you letting out a strangled moan, shaking around him, barely able to hold onto the wall in front of you before he brings a hand between your legs.

“That’s it, pet,” he murmurs in your ear.  “Don’t hold back.  Make all the pretty noises you can,” he says and brings his fingers back to your bud.  You cry out, tears pricking up at the corners of your eyes and you’re not entirely sure from what, clenching hard as he uses the pressure around him to power through, pulling you onto him as he growls and snarls and fills you to the brim.

You tremble through it all, shutting your eyes.  A few months ago you would never have pictured yourself doing this, letting a man fuck you from behind while over a dozen people in a hallway mere meters away could hear, and certainly would never have pictured coming from it.  A few months ago you would never have pictured marrying a Harkonnen.

Afterwards, he holds himself to your back, giving one last soft thrust before pulling out.  You yank your smallclothes and pants up as fast as possible to avoid any kind of spill, wincing at the mess of fluids smeared between you and the gusset.

“Is it always messy like this?” you ask as Feyd tucks himself back in and rises to stand.

“If you’re doing it right,” he says, offering a hand to guide you up.

Once he has you he cups your chin with his hand that had fondled you under your smallclothes.  You know immediately what he’s about to do and open your mouth, allowing him access as he slips his fingers inside.

“Clever thing, aren’t you?” Feyd says, watching his fingers go in, watching your eyes as he pushes them until they reach your soft palate and you just barely manage not to gag at the taste and scent of your own juices on his fingertips, the brush of his fingertips pressed too far in for comfort.  He withdraws them as he says, “Quick to learn, eager to please.”

You shut your eyes, exhaling shakily as you lower your head.  You can’t name the twisted combination of shame and pride at his condescending praise.

He cradles your face again.  “None of that, now.  Look at me, pet,” he says.  And when you do, swallowing around nothing, jaw clenched, he looks at your face, studying the look in your eyes as if he can understand what you’re feeling better than you can.

He kisses you again, bruising, searing, burying his other hand in your hair.  He gives you a moment to catch your breath when he releases you, and then looks at the door.  His eyes flicker between you and it for a moment before he strides towards it to let everyone back inside.

“I would never have done what we just did for anyone other than you,” you call after him before he can get there, before you can stop yourself.  “ Never .”

He stops and looks at you.  “I believe you believe that, Y/N,” he says.  “You were the first virgin I think I’ve ever been with.”

You furrow your brow.  “Really?” you ask, his response briefly taking you out of the embarrassed pit you’d started digging for yourself.  You’d sort of assumed that he’d had a history of deflowering frightened young women.  Sort of assumed that it was one of his Na-Baronly duties.

He gives a mono-syllabic grunt in the affirmative before opening the door.

You don’t envy everyone shuffling in, avoiding looking at either of you directly as they offer quick honorifics and resume their training.

You’re too shaken to be of much use for the rest of your session, not to Feyd’s surprise.  

“Let’s call it a morning, Y/N.  Go to your quarters, take a shower.  I’ll see you at breakfast,” he says, and you’re biting down on a sarcastic, why thank you, Na-Baron. The squelch of your come leaking out of me is a bit distracting.  I appreciate you noticing , when he leans in and gives you a brief kiss on the mouth.

You blink in surprise.  He seldom kisses you when there are other people around, and certainly not in front of his soldiers while he’s training.  You hesitate before returning it.  

“ Thank you, husband ,” you tell him in Harkonnen as you pull away.  The curve of his mouth twitches in what you hope is a smile.

You’re certain after that you’ve gotten a good amount of leverage, as much as you’re probably going to get until you become a mother, but what then?  

You can learn to live with Feyd as the father of your children, with him being the formative authority figure in their lives.  You’ll never try to convince yourself that deep down he’s a kind and decent man, but you’ve noticed that he has his own, albeit twisted, set of moral standards.  It’s the idea of the Baron being in their lives at all that worries you.  You can’t imagine any way in which his presence could be a good thing, especially for any sons you’ll have–and surely Feyd must know this?

A thought forms and grows even as you try to shut it out.  It’s impossible, you tell yourself, and still you can’t help but wonder.

At dinnertime the following evening your grip tightens on your fork as at the head of the table the Baron eats roasted bird down to the bone and you wonder how fragile his own must be after what must be years now of not being able to move on his own.  

There’s not a chance that you’d be able to get rid of him personally.  You’d be killed long before such an attempt could come to fruition.  But you’ve read a bit about Harkonnen history, and Barons have been usurped before, ones in declining health replaced by those who’d go on to prove more capable and more ruthless than their predecessors.  Feyd knows his own history far better than you do, he’s read about this.

He tried to kill his uncle once.  What’s stopping him now that he’s entering the very prime of his life?  When he has a wife and, soon, children to think about?  When the Baron’s over seventy and hasn’t been able to walk on his own in years?

Can he be convinced?

You keep your head down, glad that no one here can read your mind, glad that the Baron only seems to pay attention to you if he seems to be wondering if it’s too early for you to start showing.  

I’ll spare you the suspense: it is, you’d tell him if you had the nerve. 

That night Feyd comes to your room and takes you and there’s a moment between when he finishes and when he decides to sleep in his own quarters that you think about suggesting it to him.

The people respect and fear you .  It’s your time.  You’re ready.

You have a duty to Geidi Prime and the Bene Gesserit and me to keep our children safe and there’s no guarantee of that unless you get rid of the Baron.

In the end you can’t bring yourself to say it.  Not yet.

You wake up to the feeling of a body behind you and cold steel against your throat, and it takes you less than a second to realize that you’re not dreaming, and the person shifting in behind you and bringing both arms around you is very much real.

You let out one scream, to alert any guards nearby, but nothing else to waste your precious breath as you reach for the forearm leading to the hand that’s holding the knife and jerk one shoulder up as hard as you can, trying to dislodge him.

This is so much easier standing up than laying on your side, you realize with immediate clarity, having never felt more awake in your life as you try to duck your head in the scant gap that you’ve made, grabbing his wrist and struggling as he refuses to give you enough space to properly move.

You still manage to keep your hand on his forearm, ducking just enough to squirm out of his arms and plunge his knife into his ribs and then…

The knife hums but doesn’t pierce his skin.  

He has his shield activated , you realize, panic setting in, eyes trying to adjust to the dark.  If I can evade him just long enough to get his shield off then maybe–

You bite down on the man’s other arm, hard, breaking the skin and drawing a moan out of the man behind you that you don’t have time to recognize sounds familiar– you just need to get on top of him, get the upper hand –and duck under his arm long enough to turn and swing one leg over the man’s waist and pin him on his back to your bed, finally wrenching the knife out of his hand as you point it as his chest and…

You stare, panting and stunned.  It hadn’t occurred to you to question how someone could get into your chambers, hadn’t registered that your assailant was wearing pants but no shirt.  All you could think about was the knife at your throat.

Pinned underneath you is your husband.  He fixes you with a smile, looking utterly pleased with himself.

“You’re improving; that’s good,” he says.

You nearly drop your knife, barely having the mind to set it on the bed next to Feyd’s shoulder, realizing that you’re sitting directly on top of his stiffening groin.  Feyd turns off his shield device before propping himself up on his forearms.

“I had to make sure that you were prepared.  If you’re ever ambushed it won’t be in a training room with a warning,” he says.  He ignores your ragged breaths and stunned expression quickly turning to anger.

You slap him as hard as you can.  The cracking sound could deafen you; pain shoots down your wrist from the impact.

What the fuck?!  I was terrified! you almost say before he sits all the way up and pulls you into a ferocious kiss.  You give back as good as you receive, almost snarling into it, gripping the back of his neck, before pulling away for breath.

“I’m fucking furious with you,” you tell him.

“Good,” he says, and pulls you into another kiss.  He gives a quiet moan at the taste of his blood in your mouth, staining your teeth, and licks it off of you.  He draws an arm across your naked back and buries his other hand in your hair.  Anger turns to adrenaline turns to arousal that has you panting against his mouth before something occurs to you.

“Wait, what happened to–” there are always a couple of armed guards at each end of the expansive hallway.  They would’ve been able to hear your screaming.

“I told the guards that I was conducting a drill and that if they interfered that I’d feed them alive and screaming to my Darlings,” he says.

You’re deranged , you think, and reach for his pants with only one goal in mind, and for a moment you picture him flipping the two of you over, fucking you into the mattress like he does every night and sometimes in the mornings, reducing you to mewls and whimpers.

No.

This time he can be the one who gets fucked, that follows the rhythm of your hips.  You’ve only come close to that kind of leverage once before but if he wants to be inside of you tonight this is what he’s going to get.

You grab the dagger left on the sheets and press it to his collarbone.

“You nearly killed me,” you tell him.  “I’ll take what I want from you.” 

He grins at you with his black teeth and gums.  “I was only trying to make you think I would kill you, but you did well, so you can take whatever you want.”

You exhale through your nostrils.  Think I’m bluffing? you want to ask as the tip of the blade just barely pierces his alabaster skin.  An image flashes like lightning in your mind and grows like the clap of thunder–him prone underneath you, laying back and taking everything you give him.  Your mouth falls open at the idea and shuts again as you push at his chest, watching as he goes down.

Something flashes in those blue eyes of his as he has just enough reach to turn on the light and you relax the blade just enough to let him do it, let him give you a good look at him.

“Go on,” he says.  “Take your reward.”

You huff an-almost laugh, stunned, delighted.  You think of him collared but quickly dismiss the notion.  Next time.  You’re too impatient to leave the room.  You look down at Feyd, pliant and waiting beneath you, and press the tip of the knife just barely against his skin.  “Help me get your pants off,” you tell him as you raise your hips enough to give him access.

His eyes blaze as he does as he’s told, raising his hips to push them down his legs, kicking a little to get them further down.  Do they come all the way off?  Probably not.  You don’t care.  His cock stands at attention, and you relinquish the knife in order to brace a hand on his stomach, your other hand positioning him at your entrance.  Feyd’s hands in turn cup your hips.  It takes some finessing, moving on top of him; it’s not a position you’ve explored much before but you’re slick enough that it’s effortless to line him up against you and slide down onto him.

“You wanna ride me?” he says as you rock your hips for the first time and a moan spills from your lips.  He feels so good, you think, almost dazed, mouth falling open.

“Is that what this is called?” you ask, resting your hands on his chest, taking the opportunity to squeeze and grope whatever you can find.

Feyd lets out a breathless laugh, sliding his own hands over your hips, bringing one up further to squeeze one of your breasts in turn.  “Among other things,” he says.

You almost laugh as well; this way it’s almost like his body’s a fun toy you can use to amuse and please yourself.  You have better access to the rest of him this way, and he you.  He’s never really let you touch him like this, and you wonder–he doesn’t have breasts, but would he still like it if you touched his nipples?  You rock your hips, still getting a feel for the rise and fall, the drag of it, as you circle your thumb around one of them before pinching the bud between it and your forefinger.  For a moment you expect him to snap at you, grab your wrist and growl a warning at you, but he twitches and gasps and you repeat the gesture.

Your breath hitches and you can’t help but smile for a moment, delighted at the new information you have on this man, the vulnerability of him under you.  Would he, under the right circumstances, allow the clamps he’s used only once on you?  You bring one hand to his bare thigh as you try out different movements and speeds, oscillating between a rolling grind, bouncing up and down, a combination of both as the friction from this position is a unique thrill that builds the heat within you just as fast as the drag of him inside of you.

He brings one hand to your neck, thumb to your pulse point, and gives a light squeeze.  You just bear down and ride him harder as if to say, You think that scares me?  I know you, husband.  You’ve hurt a lot of people and you’re going to hurt more, but not me.  Not in a way that I can’t handle and come back from.

The clarity of it is almost shocking, but you know in your heart that it’s true; even tonight is his own perverse kind of fondness.

What a strange fucking husband, what a strange fucking marriage you have, that minutes after you thought you were about to be killed you feel safer than you have with him so far.

Your orgasm rips through you faster than you’ve ever managed with him inside of you, has you crying out as you shut your eyes and throw your head back, stomach and thighs clenching and every nerve on fire.  For a moment everything’s red and everything’s hot and you feel like you’ve just incinerated yourself, and then you come to, mouth open and hips still jerking in short thrusts on top of him and all you can see are Feyd’s pupils blown wide as he stares up at you.

There’s a moment you realize that you could deprive him of an orgasm.  One of the first nights you were together, the moment it seemed like you were about to come, he’d smugly withheld it from you.  Now that you’ve gotten yours, you could stop, climb off of him, and tell him he can finish himself off.  Right now he seems dazed, mouth open, his grip on your throat more of a loose hold.  For a moment you picture the lost look on his face if you do it.

That moment breezes by, and you start rocking onto him again, panting and moaning as you scratch down his chest, your nails catching onto his nipples, making him buck his hips and moan, the movements jostling your insides.  He’s close–and somehow, you’re building again with your frayed nerves, but you’re going to need his help to bring you over with him.

Well, maybe not need.   But you’re going to tell him anyway.

It takes you a few tries, mouth open, trying to form the words, before you say, “Touch me,” and you’re pretty proud of how it comes across as an instruction rather than a plea.

In turn it takes him a moment to register your orders before sliding his hand to your neck down to one of your breasts, squeezing and fondling one and then the other, and finally, mercifully sliding his other hand from your hip and resting it high up on your thigh, rubbing his thumb along your apex.

“That’s it,” you manage, closing your eyes, gritting your teeth at how frustratingly close you are while still so sensitive, so determined to make it over the edge before he does.  He’s panting underneath you, his heart pounding, sweat dampening his chest and his thigh and he shifts his legs and���oh.  Oh .  That’s it.  You don’t register your own moans and cries as you shut your eyes against it, feeling him coming inside of you, hearing a guttural moan ripped out of his chest as he arches his hips up into you and for a moment you feel like everything’s shattering, everything bursting into air.  After a moment you still your hips, taking in shuddering breaths, waiting to come back to yourself.

You open your eyes again and look down at Feyd, who looks at you like he’s never looked at you before and you realize this is what it’s like for someone to be in awe of you.  It’s a powerful feeling, especially from him.

You kept this away from me for nearly a month? you want to ask.  You let out a laugh.  You’re soaring.  You’re delirious.  You want to go again even as you tremble.

Feyd ends up talking first.  “Now what, pet?” he says, running his hands over your shaking thighs.  “Anything you want.”

You catch your breath.  He’s still under you, still subdued and tamed–for now.  You lean forward, bracing your forearms on either side of him, enjoying the shift of the angle of him inside of you even when softened.  He gives a slight hiss as you roll your hips once for good measure.

“I want to keep you inside of me until you get hard again, and then I want to ride you again until I can’t anymore,” you tell him.

You haven’t seen him drunk but you can imagine that it looks a little like this, the way his head rolls to the side and he grins, still looking dazed and bedazzled.  You can hardly blame him; you feel almost out of your own body as well.

I have you.  I have you.  I have you.

[heli0s-writes]

kiss each other clean

a/n: Another Pacific Rim crossover because it truly is the best. Reader/Steve/Bucky with a side of Clint/Nat. I am writing comic Clint bc I love him most. Everyone is hot and sad and potentially poly. I am assuming this because of Reasons. Prompt is panic attack, "if only we could hold on" 1.8k words.

moonchild masterlist

Circumventing the Apocalypse makes Atlases.

Clint jokes that your Jaeger—Atlas Ronin—must have sired every Ranger in the Dome. Her namesake, after all, is both a reminder of the weight you carry and the outcome if you’re too weak to lift. The world splitting in half. Monsters streaming out.

Many Rangers lift their weight with so much grace and poise they could be trying out for pageants.

Not you, though. You’re a real crapbag when it comes to keeping your cool. You say that if you’re ever graceful about someone’s knife to your throat, you might as well be eating it. You’ve never tried to be any other way because it keeps you fighting, keeps you alive.

So when Ronin touches back down in the hangar with so much damage that you can hear her joints screech, hear Clint gurgling blood in your head, you’re worse than ever.

The medical staff refuse it when you limp alongside the gurney. They want you in a bed, hooked up to an IV and not plodding after Clint—not threatening to amputate a doctor if they touch him wrong.

But you tell them to fuck off, bursting through the swinging doors of the ICU unit, barely another word out before Barnes is wrestling you back, Rogers on his other side with his brow scrunched.

“Quit it,” Barnes hisses. “You’re making a goddamn scene.”

“Did you see him?” You jerk against them, your shoulder threatening to dislocate. “He’s got brain damage— he seized!” You swipe at Barnes, knee Rogers the side, but they’ve had enough experience handling you that they just take it in silence.

You’re a terror, according to Bucky, but you’re the only one who can make any sense of Clint when he’s drifting. And when Atlas is in play, she’s so close to unstoppable, Pentecost would personally punch out a senator before they shut your Jaeger down.

They need you. And maybe you abuse that power too much as you thrash around again, take your teeth to Bucky’s shoulder. Sometimes when you return to the hangar you’re still too worked up, can’t quite figure out how to leave the fight behind.

It’s much worse when Clint’s been hurt because you defend him how Steve defends Bucky— but Steve’s got some sense out of the field and you can only see red after drops.

They’ve never tried to make you be otherwise, though. It’s easy to see that 6’4” Clint Barton—who can shoot with immaculate precision, who’s more clever than anyone gives him credit for—has been beaten down so badly by something that he walks with a perpetual slump, makes jokes at his own expense like it’s the only way people will find him deserving of their effort. If they can punch him, at least he’s useful.

Steve had to coach that out of Bucky. After the war, he was always shrinking himself, and it killed Steve to witness.

Clint’s harder to reach. You’re soft on him, hard on him, begged and pleaded and threatened him, but he’s mulish and self-loathing. And in the end, all you could do was hold on, drift alongside him, keep him going one step into the future at a time.

You slacken, the adrenaline ebbing away and leaving you a boneless mess. Your face is puffy, eyes hot and wet with tears, gasping for air and digging your nails into your fists.

Steve keeps propping you up, holding you tight by the waist and leading you down the hall. “Come on,” he urges, “that’s enough.”

They take you back to your room, give you water and space and stick to the walls. Bucky crosses his arms, frowning. “You got me good.” He touches his chin to his shoulder where the indents of your teeth still remain on the cotton shirt.

You cover your eyes, the light too bright, the room too much, and manage, “You were in my way.”

“What’s not in your way?”

You shoot Bucky a hateful look and he only rolls his eyes.

“Clint Barton’s not the only person in the world. And he’s not a kid, either. Give him more credit.”

Your chin trembles. “If he dies, he’ll get what he wants.” You glare, bitterly disclaiming, “We’re all gonna fucking die, but if he dies—”

“Stop,” Steve says firmly.

You look away.

You’re not a dog, but you’ve been trained to follow commands for longer than you’d like to admit. And for as much honor as carrying the world can get you, you’re still following orders one way or another.

If you’re the only one who can make a lick of sense out of Clint, Steve’s the only one who can pull you in when you’re spinning off course. Bucky’s the only one who can keep Steve grounded when he’s tearing through the Shatterdome on a warpath to dismantle the Corps one dignitary at a time.

And the strings animating all of you are Pentecost, who owns some part of everyone for better or for worse.

“Natasha will be there when he wakes up.” He raises one eyebrow as if asking you to really make him explain the situation anymore. “He’s more than fine.”

You begin to argue, but Steve cuts his eyes to yours and you resign to rest your elbows on your knees, leaned over in a pathetic lump at the edge of the bed.

You feel sick to your stomach, sick to your bones. You love Natasha for being able to complete the facet of Clint you can’t and don’t want to— and yet still— want to.

“If you could be,” you start, swallowing the same lump that forms in your throat every time, “enough—” and the hiccups that threaten—the gasping fit that always takes over, whites out your vision--

“Get rid of that,” Steve says.

You put your face in your hands. You can kill a primordial beast. You can tear it to shreds and this is the thing that takes you apart.

Steve understands your pain. He used to want to be enough. Used to want to be the only person Bucky ever needed because didn’t that just make perfect sense? They were each other’s brains. Past and present and future and why would Steve let anyone else mishandle Buck? Get too close to him, trigger him into self-immolation? Steve knew all of Bucky’s haunted foxholes, all of his deepest secrets. Anytime Bucky wanted or needed, he could excavate or ignore with Steve. Why entrust him to anyone else?

But Steve learned that asking why he wasn’t enough was as helpful as decrypting alien speech. There was no language for it that he understood. He just didn’t know. But others could do it, and others could pick up what he couldn’t. And in the end, if Bucky needed another shitshow to love more than himself because it’s just wired in him or something, Steve wasn’t going to keep him from that.

Steve felt lucky enough that Bucky could love one shitshow in the first place.

Bucky pats his thighs and you grudgingly crawl into him, wilting on his chest. And this is where everything slots into place, all the things Steve can’t do, all the things Bucky is naturally good at. He can be terse and serious, make his impact known in a couple of phrases, but Bucky could just open his arms and handle the rest.

The three of you quiet, settling in.

“Sorry,” you offer.

Bucky gives Steve a grin, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Whatd’ya think Tasha’ll do when Barton tries to run outta the med bay? Punch him back down?”

Steve hums, “You got the wrong person.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, “Guess that’s you, huh?”

You put your hand over his face in a weak slap.

“She’ll be peeling an apple,” Steve says, “And he’ll start getting squirrely.”

“And she’ll just point it at him.”

“That’s it.”

Bucky taps the top of your head. “Let’s go talk to her. You forget you like someone if you don’t see them for a while. You need to remember that you like Nat.”

“I do remember.” 

“Kissing her on the mouth when you’re drunk doesn’t count.”

Steve sighs from inside of his bones. It truly is astonishing how you and Clint can be the most effective killers inside of a Jaeger but take you out of one and you’re two college fratboys at best.

“Why do you think she chose Banner? I mean, Clint, you know? She could have picked Clint.”

Bucky touches your chin, tilts your face up to his, quiet and serious. “Do you think Natasha wants Clint in her head? Do you think it would be good for him? Would it be good for you to be in mine? Ask yourself honestly if it would be your first choice to be in mine.”

And Steve, more straightforwardly, “Do you want war?”

No, you don’t.

“Yeah, yeah,” you say. “You’re always right, whatever.”

Bucky wipes a dried tear from the corner of your eye, “Don’t forget it.”

-

Clint’s unconscious when you knock. As predicted, Natasha’s by his bed, reading a book with two apples neatly peeled and sliced.

“Hi,” she says, looking up, smiling sweet and small, and sly.

“Hi,” you reply, staring at your shoes, “Thanks for being here.”

“Mhm. Sit?”

You don’t know why you clam up around her. Clint would cut off his own hands if Natasha needed a new pair, and it’s a funny little thing, the way you’re all connected. Clint can’t seem to do anything but annoy Bucky, yet fixes his collar and starts calling everyone ‘sir’ if he hears Steve down the hall.

“You don’t have to stay, you know,” you say dumbly.

“I know.” She smiles again and looks at you, really looks, her eyes big and bright and you get a little lost in them. “He woke up earlier and said he can’t die yet because he didn’t want you to be mad at him. Or you might die out of spite so you can kill him ‘extra dead’. His words.”

And sometimes you're not sure with her—if she says things because they’re true, or if she says them because they’re true enough, and what matters more is you just need to hear them.

She reaches out for your hand, squeezing it, and it takes just about everything for you not to burst into tears again. You can feel her relaxing, ready to let go, but you hold on, and she smiles again. That beautiful, otherworldly smile that almost reads your mind, and suddenly you understand why Clint would cut off his hands for her.

“Thanks,” you say.

Natasha offers you an apple, glancing to the door where Steve and Bucky stand. They're connected, too. In a way you're not, in a way only they know, but you don't seem to mind it anymore.

“Yeah,” she says, and this time you know she means it. “Anytime.”

[potteryheadd]

No Time To Die Ch.1

Pairing: (Eventually) Bucky Barnes x enhanced!reader

Summary: Endowed with the Infinity Stones, Reader is racing against time to save the universe with the help of MCU hero’s they meet along the way. 

Chapter Summary: Reader makes a tough decision that changes not only their life, but the universe. 

Warnings: angst, Suicidal Ideation (and plans), mild(?) Torture, kidnapping, medical equipment use (tube inserted in body), 

Word Count: 2.6k

a/n - Ahhhhh this has been a long time coming for me. I started this story a year and a half ago when I was in a very dark place. Thankfully with much deserved self reflection and support I am ready to come back to this story. Now, with the help of some of the BEST beta readers I’ve had the pleasure to meet, the first chapter of this series is ready for your enjoyment. ^.^

 p.s I envisioned the reader as plus size and black (cause that’s meee) but it can be read regardless.

Big thanks and love to my beta readers: @srhwho​ @beating-a-dead-plot​ @the-singular-peep​ @who-you-gonna-message​

It’s all gone. 

I’ve finally finished selling all my things, and an empty apartment lies before me. A ghost of what it used to be, really. From furniture, appliances, wall art and throw blankets, down to the Marvel comics and movies I never finished. Given away. I had thought to keep everything the way it was when I left but I know the money I’ve saved can go to a good cause.

The tub is warm and soothing, water nearly spilling out but stays bubbled around the edge as I slip deeper into it. The smell of my last Christmas candle lingers in the air and, if it weren’t for the bottle of pills on the toilet seat cover next to me, I might’ve said this was a pleasant experience. As I stare at them, I can’t help but think how long it would take, would it hurt, should I have picked another way?  

It’s okay, this is what I want. Right? I promised myself if I did everything I could and nothing worked, this could be it. 

A glimmer catches my eye and I turn to see the last thing I own, a photo. A photo of the only thing I wanted to see before I go, my friends. The ones that really made me believe things could change. We met by chance but were held together by our love of nerdy things. What would they say about me now?

Tears stream down my face as I grab the photo, wishing it could save me from this. From what I’m feeling, what I’ve been through, what I’m about to do. I see my smiling face and wonder what I could’ve done to get that back. To feel hope again. I turn the photo over and find my list of reasons to stay alive. 

10.I deserve good things 9.I want to make a difference 8.Heavy rain and hot chocolate 7.What if they invent space travel after I’m gone? 6.Eating cheesecake at 3am  5. Sunny days 4. Looking for shooting stars 3. The neighborhood cats 2. Spite 1.Love

I remember all the jokes my friends made when I wrote down the first two. It’s true though, spite has gotten me so far in life but love feels like healing. It made me appreciate the small, beautiful wonders of the world all of which I’m leaving behind. Can I really leave all of this behind? I close my eyes and list my reasons like a prayer till my voice goes hoarse. 

Maybe waiting one day won’t hurt

The door to the bathroom slams shut. 

Whispers begin to fill the room, creating a cacophony of almost unbearable sound. Dropping the photo to cover my ears does nothing to drown out the voices, all of which are too quiet to hear more than a word or two.

“...protect…” 

“...chosen…”

“...chosen…”

“...chosen…”

“...find them...” 

The bathroom light blows out and I jump splashing water everywhere as a giant reflection appears in front of me. It looks like moving water. I think for a second then go to touch it, my hand completely passing through. 

Holy shit

Yanking my hand back I see my fingers tangled in a necklace with 6 gems, each radiating a different color. Why the hell is this so familiar? Before I can inspect anymore, the room begins to shake and the jewelry falls out of my hand into the tub. I grip the edge of the tub and sweep my legs inwards to catch the necklace and quickly put it on. 

The room goes still. 

What the hell just happened. I touch the center of my chest, smoothing my fingers over the chain. Rising from the tub, prior motives long forgotten, I towel off and find myself lying in my empty bedroom with my phone plugged into the wall.  

Search: Real Infinity Stones MCU

As I scroll through the results, mostly containing plastic versions of the stones for sale and Marvel movie ads, nothing resembles any sort of answer. 

I mean sure I’m off my rocker a little bit right now, but I know I didn’t just imagine that. Infinity Stones!? I’d heard rumors about Hydra being real, maybe even multiple realities – but this? How am I even holding it!?

BANG BANG BANG

The front door startles me and, as I get up to answer, my stomach tightens. Something doesn’t feel right.  As I tiptoe towards the door, the banging becomes louder and louder, until I’m in front of the peephole. No one. Suddenly glass shatters from my bedroom window and footsteps bound towards me. I rush to the kitchen, hoping to find something, but feel a slight pinch on my neck and darkness takes over.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The room I wake to is nothing like my apartment. Cement walls covered in cracks and dirt and grime, the strong smell of bleach and mold hangs in the air.  Head pounding, I can feel soreness in my arms and legs. My heavy eyes open to see that I’m strapped down to a chair, incapacitated. My shirt has been ripped open and a small tube has been hooked up to my chest, connecting to 3 giant machines placed around me that are filled with a blue liquid. 

“Finally, you’re awake.” 

Behind me, in the far right corner, sat a man in a long tattered white coat with a clipboard in his hands. He watches me through his broken glasses as I struggle against the restraints, careful to not move the tubes. 

“What are you doing to me?” I ask weakly.

“Only saving our asses, now please sit still. I can't get a proper reading on the stones when you move like that,” he replies, crossing the room and opening the door for another man. This one had on all black tactical gear, a gun fastened to his hip, and a black arm patch with a bright red skull and six tentacles. He stays close to the door and crosses his arms. 

“Who the hell are you? You’re not doing shit except keeping me hostage with the Hydra reject over there!”

“Actually, he was a top asset to Hydra in the days before Thanos.” White coat chuckles, “And think of our relationship more as that of Frankenstein and Monster.” 

My eyes go wide with fear. “What the hell are you doing to me!?” 

White Coat stands between two machines and flips a switch, sending me doubling over in pain. Blue liquid from the machines starts seeping through my tube. After a minute, he flips the switch again and begins asking questions,

“How’s the clarity of your mind right now?”

“Could you feel anything happening with the stones?”

“Are you noticing any hardening in your muscles?” 

This guy is insane

I huff leaning up, “Just please tell me what you’re doing to me, I don’t know why I have the stones or how to use them. If you want them so bad why haven’t you taken them?” 

“Trust me darling, we tried,” White Coat says, pointing to my chest. I look down in horror noticing a faint, oval shaped scar around the necklace. “Those stones don’t want to be taken.” 

Did they fucking cut me open? I’ll kill him I swear…wait-

“Why is it healed so much, I just got here?” 

“The stones healed you, of course. Can’t have their protector getting hurt, now can they?” He sounded bitter.

I raise an eyebrow and he steps around the machines with a small metal chair and clipboard and sits in front of me.

“This last test really messed with your memory, huh? The stones chose you as their protector.” 

It hit me like a train. The voices. Most were too quiet to even hear but I know they said this. They must have been trying to tell me, or warn me. But what does “find them” mean? Find who? There’s no way it’s these guys.  

“Chose me? Why would they have chosen me?”

Tactical Gear turns to me. “Trust me, sweetheart, we’ve been trying to figure that out too.”

“Oh and…you’ve been here a while my dear, about 6 months now?”

“6 months tomorrow, Doc.” Tactical Gear sports a grin as he speaks.

“W-why can’t I remember? Have I been asleep?”

Tactical Gear snickers, “You wish, sweetheart, we’ve spent a lot of quality time together. And your memory? That’s all Doc.”

“It’s truly the kindest thing we could do for you, this work doesn’t happen without some… side effects” 

Side effects!? “What kind of side effect warrants memory loss? What’s going on here!?” 

“Jesus Christ, Doc just tell them, it’s no fun fucking with them when they’re like this.” 

“I wanted to give them time, but … alright,” White Coat lets out a breath. “I assume you aren’t aware of the multiverse, yes?” 

“Like in Marvel movies?” 

He sighs, “This is much more complicated than that but yes, and similar to the movies, Thanos is also very real and very much on his way for those stones. He destroyed Hydra looking for them many years ago, and I have no doubt he senses their presence now.”

“My theory is that, combined with my version of the super soldier serum, the stones will react to your new strength and be our ticket out of here. You’ve been quite stubborn these past few months and have refused to willingly participate in my work so this,” he gestures to the restraints, “is our last resort.”

"You're seriously making me...what, like a super soldier? Like Captain America? I could literally die!" 

“ Do not worry my dear, you will be my greatest creation! You are going to lead Hydra into a new age across the timelines.”

“The only thing I’m going to lead is my foot up your ass, now let me go!”

White Coat only shakes his head before getting up and walking back around the machines. He looks as if he is going to mess with the machines again but decides against it, instead walking towards the door. 

“Take them back to their room, we’ll pick up tomorrow.” 

Tactical Gear pushes off the wall and unties my arm restraints. “Now don’t get feisty, wouldn’t wanna have to hurt you.” 

He smiles. 

Dick.

Feeling comes back to my legs as he takes the straps off and lifts me up bridal style out of the room. He walks down a long blue lit hallway, avoiding the stripped wires hanging from the ceiling. If I had the strength in my legs I’d run, but… where would I even go? I don’t know where I am or how far I am from civilization. The room I’m taken to is bland to say the least. Four more cracked cement walls, a chair, and a bed that Tactical Gear throws me unceremoniously on. He turns and walks out, locking the door behind him.

A sob escapes my mouth as I turn over and clutch my legs to my chest. None of this should have happened. I know what I should’ve done, and now I'm here. I pay no attention to the necklace as I run my fingers over the scar – it’s healed but will most likely never go away. A familiar feeling begins to rise. 

After everything I’ve been through, THIS is where I end up? These stones saved my life and now I’m stuck with fucking Dr. Jekyll and Hyde? No.Fucking.Way. I’m getting out of here even if it’s the last thing I do. 

This is how most nights go now. Wake up, a breakfast of toast and expired fruit, and then continuous torture. Like cattle being raised for slaughter, only I’d be the one doing the slaughtering eventually. I can feel what the serum is doing to me, I’ve bulked up to the point Tactical Gear has a hand on his gun whenever I’m in the room. It would be an ego boost if it wasn’t so damn terrifying, especially since the man looks like he’s itching to pull the trigger!

 It’s been 3 weeks and I haven’t even thought of using the stones. My captors are less than thrilled, but I know Marvel like the back of my hand and, if they think super soldier serum will trigger these stones, yeah right. I just need to buy enough time to figure out where I am and how to leave. They haven’t said anything about it, but I know that’s what comes next. Brainwashing. It’s the only way they’ll ever get me to use the stones for them. 

I can hear footsteps through the thick concrete as Tactical Gear approaches, a new perk of the serum. He opens the door and gestures to walk out, hand readily on his gun. I slip past him and make my way to the room — there aren’t any exit doors in the hallway so he lets me by. I learned that my first week. I take a seat and allow him to strap my arms and legs to the chair. He begins inserting the tube and I reflexively wince as he purposefully pushes it too hard. 

“I’m hoping this test will be our final and all 3 of us can continue my work somewhere else,” White Coat says, not looking up from his clipboard. 

“Wait- you mean this is it? What if it doesn’t work.” My heart races as I think of the consequences of not using these stones.

“ Well, you’ll finally be done with the serum today, so training should be next.”

Sure. “Training”. I knew it. 

Looking down again, I feel a wave of nausea come over me. I had to get out of here and fast. Should I use the stones? Are they even in my control? I close my eyes and begin pleading with them.

Please, please, take away my tube and get me out of here! 

I wait a moment before opening my eyes and seeing everything still as it was.

“Get ready, dear, try to concentrate on a portal out of here!” 

And away from you

As he begins flipping switches again, the blue liquid crawls back towards me, and I can’t help but continue to plead with the stones as pain shoots through me. 

Please get me out of here

Please get me out of here

Please get me out of here

Swoosh

A bright light blinds me as the left wall collapses in on itself and is replaced by a smokey blue portal. White coat cheers and begins fiddling with the machines again while Tactical Gear steps over to me and starts untying me from the chair. After unraveling all the restraints, he roughly yanks me up from my chair and pulls the tube from my side. I cringe, expecting pain but as I look where the tube is I already see a scar forming on my side. Another new perk of the serum I’m sure. 

 He turns back around to grab a duffle bag hidden from behind a machine and I know this is the only chance I’ll get to escape. I leap over two giant bundles of wires to get out of his reach and dive towards the portal. 

“Stop them!”

I can’t tell who’s yelling but it’s the least of my worries as I pass through the portal and crash onto cement. Scrambling up I turn to see White Coat and Tactical Gear bounding towards me. Running through what I now see is an alley, I turn the corner onto the sidewalk and immediately crash into someone.

“Oh my god, please you have to help! These guys are cha-”

My eyes look up to meet large white lenses with black rims sewn into a red and blue suit, an all too familiar sight. 

“Woah woah it’s okay! I’m Spider-man, I can help!”

[bluejaysandblackbats]

into the silent land

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam

Summary: Willis Todd is arrested before he can cheat Two-Face and be murdered in this AU. He regains custody of his twelve-year-old son, Jason, and they rebuild their relationship. Can Willis make up for his mistakes, or is he doomed to repeat history?

(The title comes from a line in the poem, Remember, by Christina Rossetti).

Chapters: 6/?

Characters: Jason Todd, Willis Todd, Original Character(s), Faye "Ma" Gunn

Additional Tags: Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Canon Divergent AU, Father-Son Relationship, Good Parent Willis Todd, Willis Todd Redemption, Mentioned Sheila Haywood

Chapter Six: A Tale of Two Cousins

Pete drove Willis to the post office after he finished cooking, and Willis sat in the car, wringing his hands. “Are you alright?” Pete asked. 

“No, but I’ll get there. How’s Lissy?” Willis questioned in reply. Their exchange softened Willis. 

“Melissa’s alright. She’s got the kids. Do you remember Melissa’s oldest?” Pete questioned. 

Willis chuckled. “Yeah. I drove Melissa to the hospital with no license when she went into labor. I was scared to death… And her husband was out of town, so she made me stay with her. Twenty-six hours… Man, oh man that was terrifying,” Willis replied, “You know, Melissa was the only person other than you that ever cared about me. The time I stayed with her were some of the happiest years of my life. Melissa, Danny, and Au—.”

“She’s Amber now,” Pete whispered. 

“Oh, Amber. How’s she doin’?” Willis corrected himself.

“She’s good. Amber’s into art and books now. She uh—. She’s been asking about you a lot,” Pete replied as he stopped at the light.

Willis looked up. “Are we headed to see Lissy?” Willis questioned. 

“Not if you don’t want to. I just wanna spend some time with you,” Pete replied.

“I could… I could handle seeing Melissa today,” Willis whispered. 

**

Willis sat in the car while Pete went to the door. He looked away, frightened of what his sister would think. He chewed his bottom lip, fidgeting with his jacket. He heard footsteps in the snow and frantic knocking on the window. He turned to see a rapidly greying blonde woman with tears streaming down her smiling face. Willis half-smiled, opening the car door. He barely had time to step out before she embraced him. “Billy, how are you? You’ve still got a baby face,” Melissa whispered as she held his face. “Wow. I can’t—. I’m glad you’re here. What are you doing here?” 

“ I can’t come and see my sister? Lissy, Dad said you were worried about me… Do you—? Do you want to have dinner at my place sometime this week?” Willis whispered. She embraced him again. Willis wrapped his arms around her, smiling uncontrollably. He hadn’t seen her since he met Sheila. Melissa pinched his cheek. 

“Of course, I do. You’re here. Come in. Come in,” Melissa urged him. She dragged him toward the house, and Willis froze up. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to enter, he was afraid of what he’d see if he did. “Melissa, I—. Lissy, can we sit outside for a second?” Willis whispered. “Here, I don’t want you to get cold.” He took off his jacket and draped it over her. 

“Billy—.” 

“Come on. You know me. I never get cold,” Willis half-joked. She pulled his hat over his ears. “I have a son now… Did Dad tell you that?” 

“He didn’t. Maybe he wanted you to tell me. How old is he?” Melissa gently asked as she took Willis’ hand and looked at his tattoos. It was a tender gesture on her behalf. She was always careful with Willis, treating him like a fragile little boy. 

He didn’t mind. “My kid’s twelve… He’ll be thirteen in August,” Willis answered, “You had any kids after Amber? Dad told me about her. She’s writing now. That’s pretty cool. I’ll have to look into it. Amber Vreeland the artist. I know you’ve gotta be proud of her.” 

“She wanted to write about you. I didn’t know what to tell her. I wasn’t sure if you’d be okay with that,” Melissa confessed, “And yeah… After Danny died, I spiraled for a little while, but I had a few other kids. I had twins in ninety-one. Gabriel and Gavin. Gabriel’s in culinary school in Los Angeles, and Gavin’s in modeling. They’re roommates. Then, I had Olivia in nineteen-two, Sarah in ninety-four, and Dillon in ninety-seven. Amber and Dillon are at home still. Dillon’s in junior high. He’s in seventh grade. Olivia’s in school for computers and Sarah’s a ballerina at the Metropolis School of Arts.” 

“Sounds like you’ve got some pretty good kids. What junior high does Dillon go to?” Willis asked. 

Melissa answered, and Willis bellowed. “No way… Are you serious? I was getting ready to pick him up,” Melissa laughed, “Dillon doesn’t have a lot of friends. He’s a little shy. His best friend is a nice boy, though.” 

“That’s alright… My son’s a little quiet, too. One of his teachers lives in my building. Ms. Cobb—.” 

“Dillon has Ms. Cobb! Are you going to the parent-teacher night?” Melissa interrupted. Willis nodded. They smiled at each other, and Willis turned away. “Why didn’t you come back to visit, Billy?” 

“Aww, Lissy—.” 

“I thought you were dead. I haven’t seen you in fourteen years,” Melissa chastised him. He rubbed his neck. “Are you doing okay at least?”

“I’m in AA and therapy. I’m staying out of trouble, and I—. Look at me, I sound like a kid—.” 

“No, you sound good. I’m proud of you. Did you leave because of what I said to you?” Melissa questioned. Willis ran a hand over his face. He didn’t want to cry in front of her. 

“Melissa, I don’t wanna talk about that. I don’t wanna—.”

“I shouldn’t have pushed you—.”

“Did you tell anyone?” Willis interrupted. She shook her head. “But you told Danny?” 

“I didn’t… I couldn’t. Did you leave because you were scared I’d tell someone?” Melissa asked. She rubbed Willis’ back. “Come inside, Billy… It’s cold.” 

Willis lay his head on her shoulder. “I thought you wouldn’t want me around anymore… And then I looked at Amber, and I thought about what would happen if she turned out like me,” Willis whispered. Melissa frowned. The front door swung open. 

“Uncle Billy?” a young woman’s voice whispered. 

Willis turned around and looked at the tall blonde with brown eyes and tattoos. “Amber?” Willis asked. 

“Pappy Pete told you?” Amber questioned in reply. Willis nodded. “Well… Are you gonna give me a hug, or what?”

Willis laughed as he stood up and opened his arms. They hugged and when he pulled away, he squeezed her nose between his knuckles. “How’s it going, Chunks?” Willis grinned. She had the same gap he did. “I can’t believe you’re grown up… Did your mom ever tell you that I cut the cord when you were born?” 

“She told me you passed out after you did it,” Amber laughed, “You don’t look forty to me. I thought you’d look older.”

“Thanks, Chunks. Do you remember me at all?” Willis questioned. 

“Uncle Billy… Of course, I remember you. I couldn’t sleep without you in the house,” Amber smiled.

“I know. When you were a baby, your parents used to sneak in my room and put you on my chest, so they could get some rest. They used to say your favorite sound—.” 

“Was your heartbeat… I know. I um—. I wanted to write about you. A collection of poems and short stories,” Amber interrupted. Willis’ smile faded. 

“Do you live in town?” Amber asked. 

“I do… I live a few blocks from Restyffe Junior High,” Willis replied. 

“Dillon goes there. Mom, did you tell him about Dillon?” Amber asked. Melissa nodded, sweetly smiling at her eldest daughter. 

** 

Willis waited by the front gate as the kids poured out. Jason trudged along, half-exhausted before he caught a glimpse of Willis. He ran at full speed, and Willis caught him and swung him around. “I’ve got a few surprises for you, Kiddo,” Willis grinned. 

A boy with big glasses and green eyes stopped beside Willis and smiled at Jason. “Hey, Jason. I was in the counselor’s office … Do you have a partner for the math quiz on Friday?” the boy asked. 

“Nuh uh. We can be partners if you want,” Jason answered. “Dad, this is Dillon Weiss. Dillon, this is my dad.” 

“Dillon, is your mom’s name Melissa?” Willis asked as he set Jason down. 

Dillon scrunched his nose up to adjust his glasses. “Uh-huh. Jason knows my mom. There she is, right there,” Dillon pointed to his mom and waved. Melissa walked over. 

“Hi, Dilly. Do you know who this is?” Melissa whispered. 

“This is Jason’s dad—.”

“Jason’s your son?” Melissa asked. 

“Small world,” Willis chuckled. Jason and Dillon exchanged looks. “You two kids are cousins. Melissa’s my big sister. We have the same dad.”

Jason and Dillon lit up. “Cool,” they grinned. 

“We’ve got a lot of catching up to do, Billy,” Melissa chuckled as she took her son’s backpack.

[iambatmuppet]

i'm somewhat new to (sharing my) writing but here's an excerpt from one of my newest wips!

CONTEXT: this is set in the Young Justice Comic (New Earth/Pre-52) universe, though RR’s costume is from the new 52 bc no cowl duh!! featuring BAMF Tim Drake AKA Red Robin, and also BAMF super sweet boyfriend Kon

-----

Red Robin stands alone, suit all but shredded and hanging off of him, surrounded by bodies. The grainy camera feed combined with the dim lighting of the cage isn’t enough to see the look on his face but the blood running in rivets down from his forehead is obvious; he doesn’t even flinch as it drips into his eyes, a peek of his tongue momentarily flicking some more of the red liquid from his lips.

Shit.

They all watch as his chest heaves, head bowed as blood streams onto the floor beneath him. Kon ignores the echoing sounds of the loud keycaps in favour of staring at Rob's face.

“Got another angle!” 

The view switches, focused on Tim’s side profile as he stares blankly ahead, lips pressed firmly together and jaw clenched. The blood on his forehead is seeping from a slash above his eyebrow, and more is coming from a broken nose and a split lip, although his nose has obviously been set so it must not be from this fight.

There’s a tinny noise in the background, like from a low-quality speaker, but even with his hearing it’s unintelligible. Through his mangled domino, Tim’s eyes harden as he looks up, glaring out into the crowd. His mouth starts moving, tendons in his neck flexing as if he’s yelling but Kon can’t hear anything outside of just a faint murmur.

“What’s with the sound?” Dick clacks away, murmuring to himself, but nothing comes of it. He relays that the BatComputer’s audio features are all fully functional, so the issue isn’t something to be resolved on their end. 

Kon wants to scream, to throw something, but he knows with his anger where it is right now, it isn’t safe to do anything surrounded by humans like he is, bat-clad heroes or not.

He pushes off the desk where he was hunched over a screen – watching pain flicker across Tim’s face before he closes himself off, eyes cold – and stalks across the room, bracing a hand on the wall, the cool stone distracting him from the current situation. 

He can’t help but attempt to listen in for Tim’s heartbeat again and again, but there’s nothing; no steady thumps, no flighty jumps in fear, nothing. It’s like the volume dial has been turned all the way down.

“Kon? You should see this.” 

He turns back towards the screens and freezes. Tim is flying across the ring, all spinning kicks and hard punches before he takes down his opponent with a sweeping throw – a move that Artemis was still trying to successfully replicate whenever they sparred at the Justice Cave – and launches him into the chain-link fencing that separates the fighters from the audience. 

He … Kon knew that Rob was an amazing fighter, deft and dexterous, all concussive kicks and fast jabs when faced with combat sans his trusty bō, but this … Kon had never seen him fight like this, like there was no one watching over his shoulder, in his ear, critiquing his every move. Like he was finally out of his own head and just letting go, trusting in his instincts; like it was as easy as breathing.

From the current angle spanning the ring, they sit silent as Tim creeps forward, keeping an eye on the man crumpled on the ground for movement, swiftly knocking him out with a hard punch to the nose when he stirs. He looks relaxed, casual as if he didn’t just dominate a fight against a man thrice his size but the tension in his jaw, straining the muscles in his neck and shoulders, speaks for itself.

Kon wishes his x-ray vision worked through cameras because the way Rob favours his right side, both torso and arm, means there’s obviously an underlying injury – one he can’t fully see, minus the select few showing through the tears in Tim’s suit. 

His previously-dislocated shoulder, only a month healed, must be acting up from however long he’s been forced to fight; he’s been missing for 4 days, not including the half-day where no one had realized he was even missing yet, and Kon can only guess how … busy they’ve kept him, based on the cuts and bruises in various stages of healing.

Let me know what you think!!! :D

[trash-laurry]

sweet death

TW: death, bestfriend in distress, meme

The sudden thunder wakes you up for a split second, and in that moment you suddenly realize exactly where you are. Your surroundings quickly come into your focus, dizzying your senses and amplifying the horror.

Dry earth sits beneath your bare knees, poking through in uneaven tears from your pants. Somber cold blue tones pour over the sky and everything you’re able to see, like if it was a thick, hard to swallow cough syrup of impending doom cascading over your eyes. You’re afraid to look down at the whimpering mess your subconscious already knows, and is trying to shield you from. But your heart reminds you that that, lying with their head on your knees and your arm clutched into theirs, is your bestfriend. Your bleeding, crying, dying best friend.

Doom washes over your vision, fuzzing it up at the edges into a blurry mess of lines you can’t really tell apart from one another, the familiar uneaven glare of tears pooling in your eyes, resisting gravity before they give up, and give in, falling onto the tight embrace where your skin, and your bestfriend’s meet.

Darkness. Dark goey liquid covers that gesture once so sweet, so rare, too, as you never really were one for such deep spontaneous touches. But the irony touches you, and makes your head hurt, of how you rarely had one embrace like this, overflowing with love, and now you’re having one, probably your last one together, overflowing with visible life threatening loss. They look at you like they’re shocked, like it’s almost your fault, like the pact you had -“if you die, i die”- is not being respected. You seem to struggle managing the few seconds you can scrape from the bottom of the barrel, that is your friend’s ending life, now that your hands are almost invisible, covered under layers of dark, dark shiny liquid and grime.

And then time seems to stretch, like if you actually did pray out loud to a god you don’t believe in, for a miracle, and like if that god actually listened for once to your silent cry. Asking for a few seconds more, or for a few centuries more with them alive, standing and thriving by each other’s side. It stretches and it makes it almost awkward. The guilty thought of “ i have to say something, like i think they are about to die, cause when they’ll wake up in the hospital they’ll take the piss, and I’ll never stop hearing about how I didn’t tell them i loved them, or tried to save them when they were about to die”. So in what makes you feel like an egotistical sociopath, you scramble your energies like at the end of a play, when you have to fake happiness, and energy although you’re actually just trying to stay awake, and fully turn your energy into saving your platonic soul mate. You reach for the center of distress, press down on the source of the thick stream of life, and then if dawns on you.

Your friend is no longer struggling to stay, no longer breathing as if they hosted in their lungs the rattle of a snake. Confusion. That’s the best word to describe both of your state.

A weirdly sweet smell comes from the deep wound you imagined in their chest, the syrupy consistency seemed too thick, all of a sudden, to be the one of blood. And once again they seem to talk instead of drawl, and soften their expression into question, not into an excruciating twist of pain…

Slowly you look at them, as if to ask for permission, while doing something that seems to comically weird for the context you’re in. But ultimately they sustain the eye contact as if to say “go ahead, I’m just as confused” while watching you raise your hand to smell the liquid covering your clothes and their chest. Your dripping hand reaches your nose, with a tentative, insecure whiff you finally understand.

It was not blood at all, and they got it from the immediate poker face you gave them

And for once you where the one who wanted to kill them, as they realised what it was, clutched their jacket and yelled:

“OH NO MY VANILLA EXTRACT! MY SECRET STASH-GODDAMN-“

Oops <3 Don’t hate me. You know i had o do it to em- nix

[sharonaparadox]

[Images: uncolored, traditionally-drawn fancomic of Adam and Lucifer from Hazbin Hotel. The former is depicted as a demon with dark gradient arms ending in claws, darkened eyes, long floppy ears, and horns like those from his exorcist mask sprouting from his unmasked hair. The aforementioned prompts of “Day 5 Hurt/Comfort” and “Day 6 Music” are written in the top right corners of the first and second pages.

The first image starts with a panel showing Lucifer looking ahead with a slight annoyed frown as he slings one of Adam’s arms around his shoulders to walk with the injured and grimacing first man, a note pointing to him that reads, “Lucifers jacket wrapped around wound” The rest of the picture is taken up with a shot of Adam lying on his side in bed with bandages around his chest and head as he looks down at one of his hands with a frown. Lucifer is sitting on the edge of the bed with his back to Adam as he sighs and holds up his jacket with a note reading, “used magic to clean it”

The comic continues with a note reading, “*2 weeks later*” as Lucifer walks into the room with a plate of pancakes, opening the window curtains while he cheerily sings, “♪ Adam ♪ ~Rise and Shine~” He frowns with furrowed eyebrows as he looks over his shoulder and sees untouched meals before he sits down on the edge of the bed beside Adam, who is curled up and facing away from him.

Lucifer huffs and says, “You know, you can’t actually permanently die from starvation down here.” He waves his hand upward as he pulls a disgusted face and continues, “Once you reach a certain point, you kinda just shrivel up and fall into a limbo of being too weak to move and experiencing terrible hunger pains as you starve to death over and over.” He leans back slightly and looks up with a thoughtful expression, musing, “It’s one of the worst kinds of suffering down here actually…” He then turns to Adam, looking irritated as he asks, “So how about you get up and eat something before that happens?”

Adam is already glaring but becomes even more furious as he turns and shouts, “I don’t need anything from you traitor!” The word “you” is capitalized for emphasis. Adam leans in toward Lucifer, who sneers as the first man continues, “Why is it always you? A millenia later and your still ruining my life!” A shadow crosses Lucifer’s face as he tenses when Adam begins to tear up, putting one hand to his forehead and the other against Lucifer’s torso as he looks down with a pained frown and asks, “Why does my life keep getting shittier?”

Scenes from the past are shown as Adam continues speaking. Lilith is looking over her shoulder with a glare as Adam says, “I tried to start humanity with Lillith.” An apple is shown as he says, “I never wanted for more.” Finally, Adam is depicted looking up with an exhausted frown as he uses a carrying pole over both shoulders to move what looks like food while sweat runs down his thin, scarred body. He says, “I spent my whole mortal life providing for my family.”

The scene cuts back to the present as tears stream down Adam’s face, one hand running through his hair and the other rubbing his neck as he squeezes his eyes shut and says, “And I still ended up down here just like you…” He buries his face into his arms as he asks, “How could He abandon me so easily?”

Lucifer leans forward to pull Adam up to his chest with one hand atop Adam’s head and the other around his shoulders as the devil begins humming a lullaby, frowning slightly with his eyebrows furrowed as if troubled. End description.]

Sorry it took so long. I had the urge to make this into a longer comic and it took a bit. I combined prompts 5&6 Hurt/Comfort & music.

What did you imagine Lucifer humming? I was thinking of Boats&Birds by Gregory and the Hawk.

*also sorry i just realized I originally cut off some text in the original version*

I know Adam’s hair is nice and tidy in the last slide. I’m just gonna pretend that Lucifer magicked it back to normal while comforting him.

[somemydayy]

Tokyo Revengers | Marriage Proposals Part 2

Part 1 here!

It was a usual afternoon at Keisuke Baji’s house. He loved it whenever you played with his hair. And on particular day, when you stayed over at his place you were playing with his hair, you decided to give him a present. In the form of a message. You raked your fingers throughout his loose locks, and pull slightly. He let out a breathy moan before he then grabbed your waist towards him. You started at him, expectedly, but were met with a lustful gaze, and passion kiss against your throat and lips. As you parted, you gave him a smile, before tilting your head to the side. “Did I ever tell you how sexy your moans are?” With a shake of his head, you were pulled in, and whispered into his ear. “Oh really now, please do try let me remind you, every single night of my life?” With a cheeky twist of your lips you let out a breathy moan of “Baji” in his ear, running your hands in his hair, and pulling the ends slightly. “God, women stop your teasing, and just marry me, now.” You felt a burning sensation creep on to your face, and you hid your face against his neck. “Sure, I’ll marry you.”

During the time Kazutora Hanemiya was committed to Juvie, he was miserable. He knew he needed to pay for his crimes, and so he had no regrets. Or so he thought, but he couldn’t help; but worry about you. He knew Mikey wouldn’t fault you, for being associated with him. But what about your peers, teachers, and family? Going out with a criminal like him? He couldn’t help, but clench his fists, and shake his head as he tried to not let the tears stream down his eyes. And so Kazutora always ended up rejecting the mere idea of seeing you; and so visitation consisted of you handing the office administration a book to give to your boyfriend every time you visited. He would always find it so sweet how you would write notes, and doodle hearts in the margins of the books you brought him. This continued on until a week to his upcoming release. On the day of his release, he half-expected you to give up on him, but the other-half held on to that small glimmer of hope. That maybe, you both could be together, again. He knew it was extremely selfish, but he wanted you to wait for him just even but a little. And so he was honestly shocked when he saw how beautiful you had became. And with a gentle smile on your lips, did he take you in his arms, and tell you how much he adored you. Kazutora could finally return that book to you, and as you flipped to the first page, your heart literally leaped out of your chest. In dark bold letters was written. “Will you marry me?” “Yes— hmm.” With the cheeky smile Kazutora could muster he didn’t wait for you to answer, before he kissed you. Under the setting sun, and book in a tight clench, and hands entangled in your hair, did he whisper into your ear. “Miss me that much?” “Shut up, idiot!”

Seishu Inui loved you since youth, and Akane was the first one he told of his plans to marry you. And so with some thought, he invited you out to the movies, and the arcade. And Seishu won many prizes, but the best of all was the toy ring he won in the quarter slot game. And just like that, almost comically, and rather abruptly the young elementary schooler Seishu was, he proposed to you then and there. And like he saw in the many movies he saw his mother, and older sister watched, he got down on one knee, and held up the toy band up to you with a wide smile. You could only share a look of panic as he looked back at you. He held a equally as shocked face, but it wasn’t because of what had just transpired, no it was the way you bursted out into a fit of tears as you told him “Seishu I can’t—” With tears now in his eyes, he could only hang his head down in defeat until he hear the sweet melody of your voice say his name lovingly. “We’re only in Elementary School, and mom says I can’t date boys. But I’ll marry you when I’m older. Promise.” With the biggest smile he could muster Seishu looked back at you. “Really?” “Yeah, really!” “Promise.”

For long as you knew him, Hajime Kokonoi was a very extra guy. He wanted to give you the whole Cinderella experience. He took you out to buy a dress at a luxury boutique. Took you to your favorite restaurant, and bought it out. He smirked as he gave you the title to the establishment, he now owned. Telling you, it was all yours now. And how you’ll never need anything else, since he’ll take care of you now, and for the rest of your life. He ordered all your favorite dishes, but just as you were going to eat the bread sticks you caught sight of it. A ring adorned the bread stick. You couldn’t help, but laugh as you took it, and plopped it in your mouth. Kokonoi was too stunned, and dreaded the thought of you accidentally swallowing a million dollar ring. No it wasn’t the money, no that wasn’t the point. It was you, being completely absent minde, and eating metal like it was candy. Damn million dollar stone didn’t mean a thing, if you chocked on it. On anything other than his cock, was completely inexcusable. You’ll choke, and he couldn’t help, but frown and get teary eyed at the thought of you having to shit out the diamond. But all you did was stick up your left hand, and there on your ring finger he saw it. You were a beautiful daredevil, who made him almost die of worry. “Don’t worry Hajime, You know the only thing I’ll ever swallow is your future children.” And at the sound of your lewd words all Hajime Kokonoi could do was shake his head in embarrassment as a smirk graced his lips. “I won’t let you swallow them this time.” And with a hearty laugh, the Bonten Exclusive could only shuffle you out into his convertible, driving you back home to your shared high rise apartment. And you were soon met with a long steamy night.

© Somemydayy 2022 | Please do not copy or alter this writing on Tumblr or any other platform.

[jisungjorts]

Unwanted help

cc!Karl x gn!reader

Summary: You have always helped Karl out with small things what happens when your help is unwanted from a broken Karl

Genre: Angst

Notes: arguing, cursing, and breakdown (Karl)

Wheezy’ s 3k writing event @mcytwheeze

This is my first time participating in a writing event so enjoy <3

Prompt 15 : “What more do you want from me?”

You walk into Karl’s house, with a few bags of groceries. It was something you always did for Karl to help him because of his really busy schedule with Mr. Beast videos, streams, background projects like his merch, comic book, and literally anything in between it was the least you could do for him.

It had been two weeks because Karl had just come back to town and straight to work. As you walk in, you notice a big mess right away, which wasn’t something you were ever used to. Cans all over, take out food, and wrappers. As you set everything on the counter picking up the trash around, you call for Karl, wondering if he’s even home though his car being parked outside.

“Karl?? Are you home?” Making your way upstairs to see if you could find the boy, only seeing more mess on your journey up. As you near his office you hear him-

“I can’t do this” sobs leave his throat breaking with each word as he slams his hands down on his desk. It broke your heart as you got closer to the door, hearing his sniffles.

“Karl-” knocking on the door gently before entering, finding a broken Karl in his chair, face in his hands. “Karl, are you, okay your house is a mess?”

His head shoots up, sadness, anger, and failure flash through his eyes as he snaps. “What are you doing here? I told you not to come.”

“I know but I didn’t come the last two weeks, you just came back and I knew you were gonna be filming for Jimmy and I-” you ramble before he cuts you off.

“Y/n, please leave…” His voice was shaky holding back tears.

“Karl… Look at you, you’re not fine. Your house is a mess, I mean look at your office.” Sadness in your voice strikes a nerve in Karl.

“I’m alive aren't I?” raising his voice before completely snapping “WHAT DO YOU MORE WANT FROM ME? I ASKED YOU NOT TO COME!” Yelling out before standing up “Yet here you are!”

“Karl you clearly aren’t thinking straight, you aren’t taking care of yourself. I came to check in on you because I haven’t heard from you,” you speak calmly trying to not make it worse for you or Karl.

“I’m thinking perfectly fine.. Look, I try and I try!” Running his hand through his hair, before sighing in frustration. “I work day and night!” Pronouncing sternly for every word trying not to cry in anger. “What more do you want? HUH? I told you not to come. You are the last person I wanted to see okay? Is that what you wanted to hear? I never asked for you? If I wanted your help I would have asked!” The anger rises in his voice taking you back.

“You don't mean that?” You say almost questioning it trying not to get your feelings hurt.

“I do. I do mean it, I don’t want you here. You’re never here anyways.” His voice stern and clear, as he wipes his face.

“Kar-” you try to speak but he stops you from continuing.

“No! Because it’s never my turn to ask for help. When I need help, who's there to help me? Huh? Tell me when? I'll never be able to ask because someone always needs more help than me. But you’re there for them. AND ME? I'm left in the dust and lost why? Because I’m the happy-go-lucky guy! GUESS WHAT? I’m not happy and I can’t do this anymore!” Anger filled Karl’s entire soul and body. “You are the last person I want to see! So fucking leave! I hate you being here! Leave!” He shouts, stabbing at your heart with venom behind every word.

You bite your lip and just nod “Fuck you Karl! I was just trying to help.” You put your hands up in defeat not wanting to argue with someone who doesn’t even want you there to begin with. “Your shits in the kitchen, I'm leaving like you want me to. I am so sorry i cant fucking read your mind to know you needed help or the fact you don’t fucking want me here at all. But I hear you loud and clear now.” Tears are now falling from your eyes burning your skin. You wipe your eyes before you turn to walk out the door, down the stairs.

Grabbing your bag from the entryway, feeling a pair of eyes burn the back of your skull, as you open the door, from the top of the stairs. The air was heavy, no longer a cool fresh night nothing but still air that weighs heavy in your lungs. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay… I guess you didn’t want that. Goodbye Karl.”

Walking out, shutting the door behind you felt fire in your mind, wondering if you should leave or head right back in. But the pain in your heart wouldn’t allow you as you make your way into your car, tears flowing.

As you drive home one thing stuck in your mind

“What more do you want from me?”

Your heart ached wishing he let you speak. Why? Because you just wanted for him to be happy, now you know you aren’t a part of that equation.

Ta Da!!! Hope you enjoyed reading! I love writing angst so yeah! <3

[comatosebunny09]

@world-of-hearts 😭😭😭 The ideas!!! Can you imagine…

Heading to your door when someone rings the doorbell, and you’re dressed in something sultry because you were expecting Sylus to stop by later, anyway.

But when you open the door, it’s MC, and she falls into your arms bawling. You don’t know what to do when she’s babbling like that, smushing her cheek against your chest. She draws herself away, holding you by the arms. There’s a pout on her face, tears and snot comically streaming down.

“I’m sorry,” she blubbers around a sniffle, giving you a once over. “Was I interrupting something?”

You straighten, subconsciously tightening your robe around your waist to hide your state of dress. “Not at all, hun. Just getting ready for a show.” You’re surprised at how easy it is to lie. “What’s wrong?” You pull her closer, fondly smoothing back her hair and transitioning into maternal mode.

Her lip wobbles, and she falls against you again, sobbing harder. “I dunno what to do!”

You’re stricken by something cold. Rooted to the floor. Does she know? Did he finally tell her about your little…trysts?

You lead her into your home by the hand. Guide her to the sofa, a lump in your throat whilst you watch her drivel. A bead of sweat forms on your temple as you offer her a tissue, and she blows into it like a trumpet.

“I can’t understand you when you’re crying like that, sweetheart,” you say, a little exasperated. Hold your hands up as if to comfort, but you only provoke another onslaught of wailing.

“I’m sorry,” she sniffles, calming down. “I’m just baffled. About Sylus, about everything. I don’t know where his head is. What his intentions are.” She hugs herself, rubbing her arms to self-soothe.

You blanch and sputter. Swallow thick. Shit. Here it comes.

“What do you mean, hun?” You try to mask the nervous waver of your voice.

“Don’t know. I just…I don’t know. Sylus. He seems distant. Like he’s pulling away from me. Don’t know if I pissed him off or something.” She suddenly turns to you with the biggest puppy eyes, and you shrink back with a goofy look. “You know him better than I do. You think I set him off? Pushed him away?”

You’re the wrong person to ask about this, especially considering you betrayed her trust. Sullied her relationship because you’re greedy and selfish. “Never. The man’s obsessed with you.”

Something tugs in your chest. There’s a warming sensation washing over your body. Suddenly, you feel your eyes water as a melancholy smile rounds your lips. You tamp down the feeling with a chuckle. “No way he’d leave someone like you alone. Dude went through hell to see you. Maybe he’s been busy, being all nefarious and whatnot.”

She seems to perk up a little. Laughs between her sobs, swiping at her tears with a smile of her own. “I’m sorry. I know I must look and sound really stupid. But that’s not the only reason why I’m so upset.”

“Oh?” you singsong with a raised brow.

She sits up now. Fidgets with her fingers, avoiding your gaze at all costs. “Yeah. There’s this…guy. An old friend. Someone I’ve known since I was a kid. Who also happens to be my doctor.”

Oh. Oh, this. Your curiosity is thoroughly piqued now. Forgive you for feeling a little hopeful at the sudden turn of events.

“Do I need to get the wine for this?”

The other woman solemnly nods, and you jet from the couch to your liquor cabinet. Slide back onto the sofa beside her with a bottle of Château Lafite and two wine glasses gleaming between your fingers.

“Spill it,” you quietly demand, a devious twinkle to your eye.

Later that evening, Sylus slides into your flat to see the pair of you cuddled up on your sectional and fast asleep. His only indication of the type of evening you had is three empty bottles of Château Lafite settled on your coffee table.

He pinches the bridge of his nose with a sigh. What is he going to do with you two?

@world-of-hearts Post-coitus Sylus texts you throughout his days, telling you how much he misses you and wants to see you while he’s in business meetings. And, like, he’s torn because he has to choose between texting you and the MC. One gives him butterflies while the other makes his chest ache. 😭😭😭

[tteokdoroki]

then they laughed | s.todoroki.

⇝ pairing: shoto todoroki x fem!reader.

⇝ word count: 1.7K

⇝ rating: suitable for everyone.

⇝ genre: fluff.

⇝ summary: you’d never been ashamed of your quote on quote ‘ugly’ laugh but you’re not quite sure what to make of it when your crush mistakes it for mild choking or the one in which shoto todoroki mistakes your laugh for choking in the middle of the school cafetria. 

⇝ warning(s): please read ! fluffy, angst if you squint,  clueless todoroki and mentions of choking ( non-sexual ).

⇝ author’s note(s): why hello there darlings, here’s a little drabble requested by @patricia-ceballos​, i thought this idea was super cute, i’m not sure how i feel about the ending but i had a lot of fun writing. oh and thank you so much for 600+ follows, i love you all. :( <3

⇝ masterlist | requests

you’d always thought that you had an ugly laugh.

it’s not that you were ashamed of it, never that, but you knew the twisted high pitch stream of giggles that passed your sweet unsuspecting lips could be kind of off putting to others. even so, that never put you off from laughing and joking about with your friends— if they truly cared for you, then having a slightly maniac-like laugh wouldn’t be a problem for them.

your classmates at U.A seemed to be those types of people. the good kind that you could trust wholeheartedly— the first time they’d heard you laugh, ochako had chuckled along with you, izuku had thought it was part of your quirk and bakugou had simply asked if you needed a ‘fucking throat lozenge?’  which only made you burst out into more streams of unintelligible giggles.

right now though, you try your best to stifle your giggles while you watch ochako and deku helplessly try to avoid admitting their feelings for one another over lunch. “what’s wrong deku? are you feeling sick?” the sweet brunette asks, almost impossibly close to the latter’s now beet red face. you can tell that he’s flustered by her proximity; the words he wants to say falling flat on his tongue.

ochako blinks for a second— as if to realise her mistake and quickly backs up, drowning in embarrassment and her silly crush on izuku midoriya. the girl stumbles back into iida, giving him only moments to process his now dropped food before he’s scolding them into next week— hands flying through the air while he barks out his complaints. trying not to laugh is becoming unbearably harder by the second, even asui is falling victim to the scene of comedy displayed right in front of your eyes and its not until you look up and meet the confused gaze of shoto todoroki that the dam finally breaks.

“what’s so funny?” the dual eyed boy says so blankly that even he is comical to you. you break out into fits of hysteria, slamming a hand over your mouth as your snorts launch their way across the table. shoto blinks, brows pinching in the centre of his forehead— is there a joke he’s missing? something he said?

the cluelessness of the half hot, half cold boy before you only sends you spiralling into more bursts of laughter— easing the embarrassment off of the two helpless flirters and effectively calming iida down while they join you in your chuckling session. “its...it’s just that—!” you can barely explain yourself, bold snickers punctuating each of your words as humoured tears begin to form in the corners of your dazzling eyes.

todoroki’s mood now shifts from bewildered to concerned, the short wheezes that pass from your pretty lips send shivers of worry down his spine. why is everyone laughing? can no one at the table see what’s happening? standing from his seat, the number one’s son brushes past tsuyu to get to your side— when he reaches you, your eyes sparkle with amusement despite the horrid sounds that leave you and a frown takes over his angekic face.

“don’t worry yn, i’ll help you.”

still trembling with a case of the giggles you have little time to process the dual haired boy’s words before he’s hoisting you from your seat, you think he’s trying to calm you down from the way his heated hand pats on your back ( five times to be exact ) but when his strong arms wrap around you— suddenly pumping your stomach, you realise.

todoroki is performing the heimlich manoeuvre on you.

shoto todoroki thinks your laughter is choking.

heat flushes to your cheeks as shoto moves to pump your stomach again, his broad chest pressed intimately against your back. the snickers from your friends at your lunch table stop— silence sweeping over them and you’re suddenly hyper aware of the stares you draw from other u.a students in the canteen. their judging eyes tear you down and crawl over you, leaving an uneasy feeling to settle in your bones but you’re too paralysed by embarrassment— too frozen to tell todoroki to stop.

you know he only means well, he didn’t know any better and he was only trying to help a friend in need but did he really mistake your laughter for choking? was it really that ugly?  

a fresh set of tears prickle in your eyes, this time however, they’re not laced with the happiness you gain from being around your friends. before shoto has another chance, you pull away from him slightly with a small whimper pours from your flustered form. “stop... todoroki, please— stop...”

the boy’s hold on you loosens, he recognises the broken tone laced with your usually jubilant voice which gives you enough room to make a dash for it. blinking, todoroki turns to his group of friends, confused  as escape the cafeteria and wolfish stares from your fellow students.

“s-she wasn’t choking, todoroki— she was laughing with us.” izuku explains carefully, fidgeting underneath his classmates strict gaze. the shorter feels almost bad for shoto, knowing he’s probably kicking himself for upsetting you even as you flee.

but his worries are soon eased as todoroki races after you.

launching yourself down the corridor, you use the sleeve of your grey blazer to run away the remaining tears that sting at your eyes. students from across all years watch you go by with looks of either annoyance or concern, but you move to quickly to care— throwing yourself into an empty hall and sinking to your knees. the heat of embarrassment blistering underneath the skin of your cheeks doesn’t ease up as you desperately paw at them, frustration intertwining with the air in your lungs… because, because it had been years since you last felt ashamed of your unconventional laughter, because you thought that enough time had gone by for you to no longer feel insecure about it.

you had good friends here at u.a, ones that didn’t judge you for your unusual habit but the scene yourself and todoroki had created back in the canteen only brought on bad memories reminding you of all of your insecurities from the past.  

sighing heavily; you brace yourself to return to lunch with your friends, tripping over flimsy excuses in your mind for your sudden disappearence when a pair of well polished, brown school shoes come into view from over the tops of your knees.

“there you are, ln.” shoto’s voice is warm while he speaks to you, you’d always thought that. its deep like melted chocolate ready to be tempered and somewhat soothes your nervously thumping heart. you can’t bring yourself to look at him, knowing that there’s probably a pink tint to your eyes from where you’ve been crying but the boy with the two-toned hair persists, still wanting your attention. “the others…the others and i, were worried about you.”

you shake your head, fixing your gaze on a lose thread on the hem of your skirt that sits above your knees. “ah!, todoroki! you shouldn’t worry about me…just head back to the cafeteria before your cold soba gets… well, colder!” a frown pinches at the corner of your lips, settling heavily on your face. you don’t even find yourself convincing but hope todoroki believes your hopeless words anyways. “i’ll be with you guys in just a moment.”

but to your dismay, the youngest son of endeavour slides his back down the wall to sit next to you instead.  “did i hurt you?” he mumbles awkwardly. todoroki itches to reach out and comfort you— it seems like something you would do for him but he’s never been good with situations like these.

“no! no shoto,” this makes you look up, catching the light in the cyan of his eyes. the pair of you blush, flicking your gazes away from one another. “i’m fine!”

“were you crying?”

��certainly not!”

“but your face—“

“shut up!”

“not until you tell me why you ran.” god, was he persistent. blunt and straight to the point, was shoto todoroki.

suddenly your feet become more interesting that the boy beside you, a silence sweeping over you both. “because,” you pause, trying to taste the words on the tip of your tongue before you say them. “i was embarrassed! the whole cafeteria heard my ugly laugh and thought i was—“

“choking,” todoroki finishes for you, finally finding the courage to rest an icy hand on your shoulder. “i’m sorry yn, i didn’t mean to make you feel embarrassed about your laugh,” sorrow litters the tail end of the half hot, half cold boy’s words— making them sit heavily in the air. “midoriya explained to me, i really didn’t mean to make you feel that way, i was just worried about you.”

you soften up, finally meeting his gaze once more and sniffle a little— chest warming at his concern for you. “shoto, it’s okay...” you’re quiet in your response, leaning into his cold touch but the dual eyed boy only shakes his head.

todoroki turns to face you fully, shrinking the space between you. he’s so close that you can see the flecks of grey in each of his eyes and feel the warmth from his breath fanning across your cheeks. “even if i can be...socially unaware sometimes, i still don’t want to hurt your feelings. they’re important to me,” he tilts his head, offering you a small smile enough to make a million hearts melt. “and for what it’s worth, i think your laugh is quite cute. not ugly.”

you blink, wondering if you heard him correctly and press a hand to your cheeks that now hear you’ll, as if you’ll be able to cool them down. “y-you think my laugh is cute?”

“yes, and i’d love to hear more of it over dinner sometime.”

his face is as serious as ever while he speaks, but the shine to his eyes tells you a different story as todoroki offers you a hand to stand up. “was that a pick up line, shoto?” you ask, barely being able to keep it together as little shots of laughter litter themselves through your sentences.

“i’m not sure...what’s a pick up line again?” you burst into joyful tears, obnoxious laughter filling the corridors as the boy on your arm guides you to your next class. you care little for the stares that your ugly laugh attracts, just happy that it puts a little smile on shoto todoroki’s face.

[gale-gentlepenguin]

Counterpart to this

(Chat noir's side)

Shadowmoth had entered here!

Chat noir was sure of it.

Ladybug had told chat noir to sit tight while she and Rena Rouge went to get help. Sentimonsters were running rampant and the trio agreed that it was too much for them alone.

But how could he when Shadowmoth was right there! This could be the only chance they had of tracking him down!

The Cats night vision helped him naviagate the dark underground of the city. It didn't take long for the cat hero to realize he was in the catacombs.

"Spooky. Oddly fitting for Shadowmoth."

He pulls out his communicator to contact Ladybug... but no signal.

"I can't connect, strange... Ill jump out and call..." Chat noir's sentence was stopped as he collided with a wall.

"What the... I could have sworn that there was a door way behind me." The cat commented.

He decided to start walking. Perhaps finding the villain would make finding the way out easier.

Chat noir began making his way through the catacombs. The place emitted a feeling of ominous dread. He never did like this place.

The tight dark spaces, the creepy feeling of being watched, and the nasty smell. Of course Shadowmoth would feel right at home.

Chat noir found himself hitting a dead end.

"Jeez this place is like a maze."

His nail to scratch an X on the wall.

"Thats one dead end."

The Cat hero made it a habit of doing that whenever he ran into a dead end.

As he encountered more and more dead ends her felt his calm start to shake.

"Is this place getting smaller?" He said in a joking manner to himself, but clearly was more panicked than he was trying to let on.

He started moving a bit faster, trying to find an exit, but every path seemed to take him to an X.

"No way, I know I haven't been down this way before..." Chat noir spoke in disbelief.

He was starting to get frustrated. Surely Ladybug noticed he was gone.

"Calm down Chat noir, Ladybug likely noticed you're missing and will be here to help."

"Hey where's chat noir?" a voice calls out. A familiar voice.

Chat noir focused on the sound, it was Rena rouge! He rushed to find the location of the sound.

"Rena! I am so glad to..."

Chat noir found himself looking at a wall, but something was different. Instead of a blank wall, it was projecting something. Chat noir could see Rena Rouge and Ladybug as clear as day. He could hear them.

"Where is that cat, I told him to wait here." Ladybug stated with a bit of annoyance.

"Should we go look for him?" Rena Rouge inquired.

"Look at the city! we don't have time to search. Im sure he will catch up." Ladybug insisted.

"Right!"

The two fist bump and run off as they head into battle.

Chat noir took that as a sign that he needed to find a way out. But as he turned, he noticed the way he came was gone. There was no door. He was just stuck in the room, with the broadcast. Chat noir finally realized it, this place was alive!

"So its a sentimonster's doing! Lets see how you like it when I destroy..."

Suddenly a pair of eyes show up on the wall. Then another pair.

The cat realized, the sentimonster WANTED him to use his power. It would cause the place to go haywire and he would be put on a time limit. He could be exposed if he tried it. What should he do?

Chat noir looked around the small room and noticed the broadcast was continuing. He took a deep disappointed sigh. All he could really do was watch. If things get really desperate for Ladybug, he will cataclysm the sentimonster and rush to her, consequences or not.

So Chat noir sat down and continued watching the broadcast.

He heard every quip, every word. He saw how Ladybug got down on herself when the guardian's Su Han had called got controlled.

He saw the reveal of Rena Rouge being Alya as she had to fight her akumatized family. That was a shock! And he could see the emotion of the whole situation.

He even saw Ladybug hit her lowest point which seemed to happen whenever Shadowmoth did something extra nefarious.

Chat noir tried calling out to her, trying to cheer her on, but he wasn't needed. Rena Rouge took over. She told Ladybug the encouraging words in his place.

"Even if its just the two of us, we can fight the whole world." Rena Rouge stated confidently. "Trust me."

Ladybug smiled as she met the fox's fist with her own.

"There's no one I can trust more!'

Chat noir felt his heart shatter. Was this real? Was this really happening? Was this just an illusion made by the sentimonster that trapped him? Regardless it was torture.

But he couldn't stop watching. He saw how Ladybug and the other heroes turned it all around. Scarlet shadow moth was shocked. He was in awe of ladybug and the other heroes. He was giving the cliché villain speech of how it wasn't possible, and then at the moment the Rena Rouge snagged his staff, the broadcast ended.

"I wasn't needed..."

He hugged his knees.

"Was I holding her back? Rena Rouge didn't need to sacrifice herself. She did everything I would have done but better..." Chat noir whispered as he felt his heart sink.

Was she just humoring me by keeping me around? Was I there just to be comic relief? Does she even trust me? Did she notice he was gone the whole time? Would she even care if he left?

These thoughts flooded the depressed cats mind.

Was she my partner only out of obligation?

That last thought made him stand up.

"CATACLYSM!" He roared as he hit the wall infront of him.

He heard the wailing of the creature that made up the maze. He saw the walls shifting like crazy! Some expanding and other's tightening. He needed to get out of there!

He still felt those negative feelings and it clouded his mind as he failed to dodge one of the moving walls, snapped on his leg like a mouse trap.

"No!"

Chat noir felt his despair grow as he noticed more walls moving and pulling him down. He was doomed.

"No wonder Ladybug wants to replace me." He said as a tear streamed down his face.

Thats when the cat noticed a black butterfly move towards him.

"No!" Chat noir tried to struggle but he couldn't get away as the akuma flew into his bell.

Chat noir screamed as the akuma tried to get into his head, but he can hear the sweet calls. It can give him the power to escape, he can have the power to show Ladybug he isn't replaceable.

He can show them all.

Chat noir did his best to resist. But all of the emotions he had been trying to suppress had burst to the surface, he couldn't resist.

He felt his resistance slip. The sentimonster stopped moving as Chat noir heard Shadowmoth's words.

“Chat Blanc! I give you the power of infinite destruction, to destroy anything and everything that causes you pain. In exchange, you will bring me Ladybug’s miraculous.”

Chat noir felt himself give in.

His black costume shift to become white. His green eyes turned a cold ice blue. His blond hair also matched his costume.

A new emotion filled him.

Pure rage.

"Mega Cataclysm."

A massive burst of destructive energy burst from his hand. He erased the rampaging sentient maze. He could finally see the outside.

He looked around and saw the Eiffel Tower.

"There." He said to himself before sprinting towards it.

Chat blanc noticed a few foolish individuals trying to stop his approach, but they were not strong enough to stop him. He casually swiped them without slowing his pace.

In a matter of minutes he had reached the top of the French monument.

“Excellent timing Chat Blanc.”

The Cat looked at the villain for a moment, expressionless. Internally he was seething in anger. All of the pain the villain had caused him. He hated him

“Ladybug we might need a lucky charm here”

The cat heard Rena Rouge say.

“It happened again…”

Ladybug muttered in horror.

She seemed to be zoning out. Was he not even worth her attention.

“Now Chat Blanc. Take the miraculous!”

Chat blanc had no interest in the villain's commands. But a thought popped into his head.

“I shall.”

Shadowmoth Laughed only to suddenly de-transform into Gabriel Agreste, right in front of the two heroes.

He had snatched both miraculous from him, and was looking at the villain with sharp eyes.

The cat villain was shocked for a split second. But it made sense in a sick cosmic sense. He decided he didn't care. His father was a monster that didn't care about him, so why should he care about his father?

“Chat Blanc! How dare you disobey me! I am your…”

“You are nothing…”

Chat blanc cataclysmed the man before he finished his sentence.

“… but a failure of a father.”

He turned his attention to Ladybug and Rena Rouge.

“Wow… that was excessive… But no worries. Just pass ladybug the akumatized item and we can undo all the damage done today.” Rena Rouge said as she composed herself.

The cat looked at the fox with contempt, how he wanted nothing more to destroy her for replacing him. But... a new more sinister thought pops into his head.

Chat Blanc raised his hand in the air.

“Cataclysm.”

A ball of white light formed in his palm and began growing.

Ladybug snapped back to reality as the gravity of the situation became real.

“Chaton stop! You can’t destroy everything! This isn’t you!”

He would destroy her legacy.

“Destroy Akuma Charms” He spoke.

Little balls of energy bursted out from the large cataclysm. The tiny energy balls located and destroyed every anti akuma charm Ladybug had ever created.

After that task was finished. Chat blanc lowered his hand, and a Cheshire grin appeared on his face.

“So I finally have your attention.”

[verbal--diarrhea]

White scars

Chapter 1:

Hot tears sprung from the side of your eyes, the sharp sting of the cold scythe left an open cut atop your left cheek. You stumble back from the impact, holding your cheek as your blood trickles down onto your fingers. In front of you stood Bela Dimitrescu, her hand still holding the scythe, your blood stained the metal. Both of you had been arguing in her bedroom, it was a pretty short fight, but things escalated extremely quickly. It was almost comical how fast her face changed, the icy rage melted into horrified regret. Bela threw the scythe to the ground as if it burned her; the weapon she once loved wielding filled her with disgust. You stared down at the floor, you couldn’t bear another minute in this room with her. 

 “I- I’m so so sorry- ” Bela began, her hands reaching out to touch you, her eyes wide with panic.

 You flinched at her movement, body turned away in a defensive stance. Hurt flashed across Bela’s face, and her hands fell to her side. Blood still flowed down your face, but the crimson liquid did not entice Bela at all. 

 “Y/N…”

 “Please- can I be dismissed,” you whispered, fear laced into your words. “I should go clean up the cut-” you stand up a little straighter, not daring to meet her eyes- “I-I’m sorry My Lady, I won’t forget my place again.”

 Bela wished she had been braver, “don’t go,” “I love you,” “please don’t leave me,” so many words she wished she had said before she quietly nodded and watched as you shuffled out her door. She could not even dare to look at your watery eyes, her own heart wilting. Hurriedly, you made a beeline for your room, the bubble of emotion within your chest mere seconds from popping. Your bottom lip trembled as you closed the door of your small maid’s bedroom, yet no tears came. In the corner of the room sat an old oak nightstand, your bare necessities laid atop and clothes within the small dresser next to it; pushed against the wall were your bed, the bedsheets, and pillows taking on a beige hue from years of use. You sat on the wooden stool placed in front of the nightstand, grabbing a rag to wipe away the blood. Looking up into the mirror, you dabbed away the blood, pink and gaping, the wound a grim reminder of Bela. 

 A sob ripped from your mouth, your shoulders shook as your body could no longer contain your heartbreak. A steady stream of water escapes your eyes, and though you could feel the burning of the cut, your heart burned more; you felt so foolish. You believed you were different. At least different enough to not be hit, but you were wrong. Anger, betrayal, grief all exploded out, bawling into your pillow, soaking it with tears. Part of you hoped Bela would knock on your door, apologize, even beg, but she never came. Little did you know, she was experiencing the exact same thing in her own room; not even her mother, Lady Dimitrescu, could not calm the girl.

 You thought back on the argument, your mind replaying the events in your head like a movie-

 “Daniela and Cassandra don’t have to hide their relationships with their maidens-” You crawled out from under the bed that Bela had hidden you under- “why do we have to hide ours?!”

 It’s been about five months since you and Bela started this...relationship? Could you even call it a relationship? Either way, five months of hiding and secrecy while Cassandra and Daniela could openly express their love to their respective maidens, why can’t you and Bela do the same. Sure, in the beginning, there was the thrill of being caught, the muffled moans in broom closets, and the occasional touches when passing through the corridors, but your relationship changed.

 Bela sighed, not this again, “Y/N you know why, I’m the eldest therefore, I must set a good example.” Silk sheets slid off her as she stood to help you up.

 “How is being with me not setting a good example?”

 “Because-” Bela sat back down on her bed, straightening her black dress, “you know how mother isn’t quite fond of us having pets, especially getting attached to one.”

 “Is that what I am to you? A pet.” You paced the floor, anger bubbling to the surface, “if that’s what you are so concerned over, your mother’s approval, I doubt she’ll care if she sees how happy you are.”

 Bela stood up, you could see her frustration clear on her face, “I can’t risk anything, she’s my mother, what do you expect.” Anger was not a good look on her, downward turned brows, lips turned into a sneer, her face cold and uninviting. 

 “I don’t fucking expect anything, Bela! I just want to be with you. Is that so wrong?!” 

 “Well, I’M SORRY I can’t be PERFECT for you,” grabbing her scythe from her bedside table, Bela’s hands clenched around the handle, a habit that you came to learn meant she was pissed, “unlike you, I hold a position of POWER, not some low-class peasant.”

 Not gonna lie, but that hurt you. Hell, you didn’t have a choice, you were fucking kidnapped, for all you knew, you could’ve been a doctor if they hadn’t abducted you a year ago. Smoke was practically blowing out your ears, you stared up into Bela’s ember eyes, they no longer held warmth, the hues swirled dangerously like a predator about to eat its prey. For some reason, maybe because you were so mad, but you weren’t afraid though a tiny voice of reason in the back of your head did tell you to calm down.

 In your fit of rage, you decided to take one more jab at her, “at least I’m not always sucking up to be loved like y-”

 It happened so quickly, the scythe flew towards you in one sudden swipe. You had barely any time to react or to move. Her face, that beautiful face you would cradle and kiss, that face that held such gentleness, that face morphed into something different, the fear returned. 

 Eventually, you fell asleep, bitter fear gripping your heart as the nightmares took over. In the morning, you will wake, you will work, back to the mundane order you started in.

Bela stood outside your door, her eyes puffy and red from crying, her throats coarse from her bawls. She placed an ear to your door, she could hear your heartbeat, soft and steady. You were asleep already. If only she had come a little sooner. In all her decades of life, a pain such as this hadn’t touched her. Biting back another incoming sob, Bela hastily morphed back into a swarm of flies and flew off to her room. 

 “What the fuck just happened-” 

 Cassandra and Daniela had been watching their heartbroken sister from the shadows, Bela too distracted to notice.

 “I can’t think of anything-” Cassandra scratched her chin in thought- “I did hear her say a name, though I didn’t quite catch it.”

 “Whatever it is, we better fix it soon,” Daniela cast a worried glance to Bela’s room, “I’ve never seen her like this, plus she’s no fun when she’s sad.”

 The two sisters decided, yes, they will help their poor sister. It was only a matter of time before they figure out what she’s been hiding from them.

[austajunk]

Please PLEASE go into detail about how protective he is over Chiaki!! I literally am begging to finally hear someone else actually acknowledge their friendship/relationship especially after having to deal with a pretty toxic anti-bi/pan Nagito rper I was on a server with for a good part of a year! (Sorry went kinda ranty but hopefully my anguish is understandable!)

Oh my lord, you’re giving me a chance to shine with my fixations?! I can’t thank you enough! Now, please understand that this is based on my perception of the series as I’ve played through the second game twice. I’m pretty good when it comes to being the person who has unpopular opinions and ships and I know claiming that Nagito is bi/pan/Demi is probably one of them. But honestly, it comes from the desire to see this boy get as much love as possible. Because he sure needs it.

Ultimately, Nagito’s sexuality is never canonly specified, so I think whether gay, bisexual, Pansexual, or what have you, we’re all well within our rights to just have fun and see what we want to in a really flawed and relatable character. And that’s what makes it interesting.

That being said, let’s talk about Nagito and Chiaki. Friendship or romantic, I don’t think you can deny that Chiaki is at least special to Nagito in some way.

Upon replaying the second game, I’ve realized how protective Nagito actually is towards Chiaki interestingly enough.

In chapter 2, she leaves to go question Fuyuhiko but Nagito stops her and tells her not to let Fuyuhiko get rough with her. Every time Chiaki’s skills help them advance, he deeply praises her. Even after he’s stopped praising all the others (which he does mostly after Chapter one, hinting he does not like some of them as actual people). But for some reason, especially during the trials, Nagito is quick to jump in and mention how wonderful Chiaki is and compliment her (only to be usually cut off by someone when he starts to ramble).

It should also be noted that Chiaki and Nagito both share an appreciation for games. Nagito seems to like more luck-based games for obvious reasons, but he also mentions that like Chiaki, he likes the Twilight Syndrome series. Both of them similarly state that they felt Monokuma was butchering a favorite game of theirs.

They also both have an odd way of trying to cheer Hajime up and joke with him, the examples shown coincidentally beside one another. Chiaki says she’s gonna look for a dirty book, throwing Hajime off and Nagito “jokingly” tells Hajime to lick his boots and now to him, but Hajime is extremely put off when he claims it was a joke. These oddballs get each other in the weirdest of ways is what I’m saying. They’re both incredibly antisocial, but their hearts are reaching the same place too when they try to make an effort.

In chapter 4, when Chiaki teams up with Nagito and Kazuichi, then leaves because they’re both being clingy, Nagito quickly follows and chases after her to make sure she’s okay. Then he chastised her for running off, looking deeply concerned. Even after his attitude change, he will answer her more directly and not ignore her. When she tells him to be quiet, he politely obeys... or maybe it’s because he’s deep in thought about her motives as he mentions he was watching the trial carefully to decide on who the traitor is.

I may just be mentioning this because they’re my OTP, but if you know about their school time together and pay attention to Nagito’s Hope versus Chiaki’s Hope, I think it’s fascinating.

Okay, now let’s head into Danganronpa 3 territory. Now this is the part where I am the most shaky as I’m still trying to determine what I take canon from this series. The thing is, a friend who got me into the series informed me that the production was way rushed and that Kodaka never wanted to do the anime in the first place. But! That being said, Chiaki and Nagito have some great moments in this and the anthology comics along with it, so let’s get into some stuff.

First of all, Nagito warmly mentions that Chiaki being their class rep makes her the true Hope of their class. And you can tell he’s serious because as he’s saying it, he’s doing that thing where he’s staring at his hand desperately like he wants eat it. You know the look.

Moving on, it’s clear that aside from Chisa, Chiaki is the only one to value and treasure Nagito. And this makes sense. In her own dying words, she loves her classmates. They are the world to her. All of them. And of course, she loves Nagito too with all her heart. As evidenced as she cradled him protectively in her arms while he’s injured. At first when Chiaki and the others are determined to stand up to Junko and get their teacher back, Nagito pleads with Chiaki not to. That his luck could not overcome them. He knows they can’t win in this situation and I do think he was actually trying to talk Chiaki out of it. But of course, when Chiaki pushes back and says she wants to go anyways, he literally can’t help himself when it comes to wanting to see Hope shine. So he agrees and praises her again because of course he does.

Until it all leads to the Pain Train with Despair coming out on top. Chiaki is brutally slaughtered and we see something new from Nagito. He breaks down crying. Tears are streaming madly down his face as a forced and twisted smile appears on his lips. He even beseeches Chiaki’s name. “You understand right? You know you’re a stepping stone for Hope!” “What has been done to Nanami is unforgivable...” Nagito’s already trying to cope. To rationalize something horrible that he just witnessed in his mind. He’s trying to protect himself as he’s utterly being destroyed and breaking down like all of his classmates. Chiaki’s death literally shatters his mind. It’s a pretty well done scene even if I’m not a big fan of the brainwashing stuff. Not to mention, the way he says “You understand right, Nanami?” As if he’s begging for her forgiveness as he falls apart. It’s so very very tragic. And of course, when being made apart of the Neo World Program, his desire to see Chiaki once more, just one more time like his classmates, brings her back to him(and the other classmates) in AI form.

Honestly... it’s pretty beautiful. Chiaki is apart of Nagito in some way and is imprinted into his mind and heart. He longed to see her as much as everyone else. This person, who doesn’t seek out relationships because his luck either gets them killed or he finds their Hope to be too weak, has a connection with Chiaki like that. This is literally a person who believes his life is just a stepping stone for better and more worthy people, someone who knows their existence is a formality at this point. And still, he does have connections. There are people capable of caring about him and loving him and Chiaki was one of those people. And he wanted to see her again in the Neo World Program. Like Chiaki said, it’s no less than miracle.

But alas, this is getting rather long, isn’t it? Well in the D3 anthology, Nagito also is concerned when Chiaki avoids eating because of her hyperfixation on gaming. Chiaki skipping out on self care?! Not cool, Chiaki. And so he challenges her to a game to make sure she’ll eat lunch. Fucking protective as hell. And yes yes, the anthology isn’t canon... but that’s the thing about Danganronpa. The series is over. Any additional info and stuff added to it is meant to enrich the experience for the fandom, so it’s canon to me. What’s the fandom gonna do? Whine at me and tell me it isn’t? That Nagito wouldn’t do these things when official anthologies and content that’s sold for Danganronpa tells me he would? So... yeah.

Ultimately, whether you ship them or not, I think this fandom is missing out on the Komanami side of things and how good their relationship is when you really observe it. :3