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littlepadika · 3 years

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hi angel 🥰 i’m just in the middle of rereading calling home !!!! i was just wondering, could you ever do a one shot of like sweet pea calming frankie during the middle of the night if he has like an anxiety attack or nightmare? i love the dynamic between those 2 and would love to see how sweet pea calms frankie 🥺

Hi bb sorry this took me a hot minute to get to. First off... i'm thrilled you are re reading my series! Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: PTSD, anxiety, comfort, fluff

AN: This is early in their relationship. Probably right after chapter 5. Therapy also referred to in this drabble

source: @uuuhshiny

You blinked up at the ceiling, sleep momentarily thinning. You heard low muttering beside you.

"Frankie?" You turned reaching over to his side of the bed. He was shaking and sweaty under your hand. "Frankie!" You sat up, this time going to the other side of the bed to flick on the bedside lamp. The dim yellow light revealed Frankie twitching and muttering incoherently. Sweat clung to his forehead. His mouth was pursed in between a frown and snarl. His jaw was clenched tight. His whole body was stiff as a board. He was deep in a nightmare. You heard him say something like "no no".

You had been over this scenario with Frankie. He advised you not to touch him when he was having nightmares in case he acted on instinct and accidentally hurt you. But now that it was real, you couldn't just watch him endure a nightmare like this.

"Hey... hey..." You stoked his arm with your fingers lightly. He jerked away from your touch with a grunt. When he turned his head you saw that there were tears in the corner of his eyes. "Oh, Frankie... Wake up please. Come on, baby. Please wake up." You just continued to slowly stroke his arm, his chest, eventually making your way up to his face. He seemed to be calming down.

Then he abruptly sat up, scooting away from you reflexively.

"Wha-What's..." He looked around the room and then trailed off when he saw you watching him, concern evident on your face. He wiped his wet eyes.

"Nightmare." You explained though you were sure he already knew.

"Did I hurt you?" He immediately asked, looking away in shame. His humiliation mixed toxically with his adrenaline and fear from the dream.

"No. You didn't hurt me." You answered quickly, pushing yourself up, but you resisted hugging him for fear he was still overstimulated. You offered your water bottle to him. "Do-do you want to talk about it?"

Frankie shook his head, looking down at his sweaty self. "It's the usual dream. The helicopter crash." He shuddered, trying to pull himself into the present and away from his distorted memory. He took a couple sips of water and then handed the bottle back to you. Mentally he did the exercises he had practiced. Name one thing you see: Sweet pea. Name one thing you hear: A passing car. Name one thing you feel: Soft sheets. Where are you? Home. Home. Home.

You waited patiently through all of this, giving Frankie space to speak when he was ready. He took a few deep ragged breaths, his fists clenched on the bed below you. Too scared to touch you yet. He worried that he may have scared you off. That now you would have seen that all of his demons were real.

"I'm sorry I woke you up, sweet pea." His gruff voice was dripping with guilt. You frowned, not in frustration at him but at the stigma that led him to feel so terrible about dreams he could not control.

"Frankie...you didn't bother me." You couldn't resist laying a hand over his bare stomach feeling him relax at your touch. "I'm glad I woke up. I want to comfort you."

He sniffed, new tears in his eyes. He was still looking away from you. You understood. It was such a vulnerable state for anyone, let alone someone who had endured as much rejection as Frankie had.

"Can I hold you? Is that okay?" You feel your own voice shake with emotion. Your power and your love was limited with him not in your arms. As much as you knew your voice could move mountains, you needed to console him with more than words.

"Yes. please." Frankie exhaled finally looking at you, his brown eyes misty and wanting. You wasted no time climbing over his legs and pulling his face into your neck. His arms linked around your back, holding you close.

His skin, that earlier vibrated like it was trying to break apart, settled under your touch. Solidifying enough so he could finally sense each part of his body. Hands, wrists, elbows, shoulders, and so on. He mentally listed each one as it related to you. Your hands on his head. Your chest on his chest. Your breath on his neck.

"I have you." You promised, knowing the words would help ground him. "I have you. I'm not going anywhere. Just be here with me."

"I'm so tired of this." He whispered into your warm embrace. "I just want to be better."

"I know." You sat back cupping his face in your hands, rubbing your thumb over that patch of grey in his beard.

"I was doing so well." He continued to beat himself up. He had been so pleased to have gone nearly a month without any nightmares or PTSD. He tried to think of something that could have triggered him but yesterday was a normal Thursday. He didn't drink. He didn't have a stressful customer at work. He had sex. He showered. Sometimes there was no trigger and that was the most unsettling type of episode.

Frankie ducked his head, resting his forehead in between your breasts. He wished he could crawl inside you and away from his thoughts. His PTSD made him nauseous and too hyper to sleep. He was both hyper-focused and dazed at the same time. Every nightmare always felt like an omen that things were going to get bad again. He was going to start craving and then eventually relapse.

You rubbed his back in slow circles trying to coax him into a more normal breathing rate. A minute passed, the only sounds were Frankie's rough breathing and your slower one.

"What else do you need?" You asked gently.

"Can you- can you light the candle please?" He requested in a muffled voice.

"Sure." You smiled, reaching over to his side of the bed and pulling out the lighter. Your candle, already well used, was soon flickering brightly. The floral scent you and Frankie loved, filled your brain making sleep slowly start to edge its way in. You could feel his breathing slow. "That better?"

"Mmhmm." He grumbled. Something about the scent grounded him to this chapter in his life; the one with you in it. He wasn't that lonely guy anymore. He wasn't in a war zone. He had everything he could ever dream of right in his arms... and yet... this still happened. "I'm sorry, sweet pea."

"What for?" You tousled his hair affectionally.

"For-for being messed up."

"Frankie..." You nudged his head up so you could kiss him deeply. You let him take the lead, pressing him tongue into your mouth and pulling you tighter against his chest. At your quiet moan he pulled back letting you finish your thought. You didn't care how many times you had to say it, touch it, kiss it into reality: Frankie was perfect the way he was.

"You aren't messed up." You murmured, holding his eyes with your earnest gaze. "You're strong. You're resilient and brave. I love you because of that. You're like... a phoenix. You rise from the ashes." Then you giggled. "Sorry I just thought of a hybrid between a catfish and a Phoenix."

"Ha." He laughed shakily, tightening his arms around you. "A fish on fire. Sounds about right."

"Or a bird with whiskers." You snorted.

He kissed you again, relishing your little giggles against his lips. You laced your hands with his.

"I'm here to remind you to be kind to yourself. Remember how far you've come. I'm so proud of you, Frankie."

Once again he reflected on how lucky he was to have you in the flesh. Your empathy amazed him. It had from day one but his awe grew monumentally tonight. You weren't scared. You saw all of his brokenness for what it was and you only loved him harder. He had to trust your vision of him when his own internal compass failed.

"You tired, little pea?" He chuckled when you yawned cutely, after trying to hold it in.

"No." You told a small lie, just to keep him from trying to put your needs first. You weren't going to sleep until you knew he felt safe. "How are you feeling? Be honest, please."

Frankie searched his body with another deep breath. "Better. I'm just really amped up from the adrenaline. But go back to sleep, little pea. I'll read or something.”

"Mmm read to me?" You asked holding back another yawn.

"Sure." He chuckled. You rolled off of him pulling the covers back over you both. Frankie grabbed his copy of The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue. You latched onto him like a koala bear and hung onto his deep voice. Frankie appreciated the weight of your arm on his stomach and head on his chest. You could hear his heartbeat below your ear slowing.

Frankie paused his quiet oration to peer down at your relaxed face and fluttering eye lids. "I love you, sweet pea."

"mmm love you too." You breathed in reply.

For the first time, Frankie was able to go back to sleep after his nightmare.

~~~~~~~~~~

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lyrical-panic · 3 years

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Some Scars aren’t Physical: PART 2

Iida X GN! Reader

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Allusions to past abuse, swearing, slight panic attack, L-bombs, and the obligatory Izuku texting POV 😜🤪

Summery: (Y/N) had a terrible boyfriend in middle school. He was possessive, manipulative, and just plain awful. Since breaking up with Him, (Y/N)’s had pretty bad relationship anxiety. It’s so bad, that it makes them afraid to pursue their new crush: the kind, earnest class rep, Tenya Iida.

Link to Part 1

Masterlist

Please note: Reader is a little short. Like, Iida’s a tall boi, and Reader’s implied to be short enough to at least have to tilt their head a little to fully see them. If you’re 5’10 or taller, (first of all, fuck you, can I have your height?) then kindly overlook every time reader is described as short. I’m 5’2, leave me alone.

Btw, this is the end, y’all. I only planned 2 parts. Enjoy 😘

. . .

Summer came. Villains attacked, a classmate was kidnapped and rescued, and you moved into the new school dorm system. You and Tenya had been going out for a little over a month. You were thrilled to be closer to him with the dorms, and he had shared your enthusiasm, even if it was somewhat more contained.

“Y’know what’s funny?” You looked up at Tenya, swinging your interconnected hands between you. “I still don’t think I’ve gotten used to the convince of the dorms.”

“Well, we haven’t been here very long.” The bespectacled boy mused with a smile.

“Yeah, but it’s like… somethings I forget that we’re even in the dorms.”

“Really?” Tenya pressed the Up button on the elevator, running his thumb over your knuckles as you waited for the doors to open.

“Uh-huh. Just yesterday Izuku and I were texting and planning a movie night, I made said something like ‘wanna come over to my place or should I head over to yours’, and he was like ‘we’re literally within the same 500 yard radius of each other. It doesn’t matter.’ My dumb ass really thought I was still in my own house.”

Tenya laughed as you pulled him into the waiting elevator and punched in your floor number. “What movie are you planning on seeing?”

“I’m going to make his sit through all of Mama Mia!, and possibly the sequel if we don’t start too late.” You cut your eyes to the side to squint playfully at your boyfriend. “Why? You want in?”

“If you’ll have me, I don’t want to encroach on your “bestie time”.” Tenya pulled his hand out of yours to make over exaggerated air quotes.

You scoffed, lightly shoving him out of the elevator as it opened on your floor. “I highly doubt he’d care. Homeboy won’t say it to your face, but you’re his bestie too.” You grabbed his forearm, hugging it to yourself.

“If you’re sure, I wasn’t kidding about not wanting to intrude on you and Midoriya’s time. I know he’s important to you.”

You smiled warmly up at him, coming to a stop in front of your dorm room. “I really appreciate that, but you have nothing to worry about. If I didn’t want you there, I wouldn’t offer.”

“Hmm. I just might take you up on that, then.”

Tenya took both your hands in his own, brushing his lips against your knuckles. You giggled softly, squeezing his hands in response.

“I had a lot of fun tonight,” You said quietly. “It’s been really weird lately, we defiantly needed a night out.”

“Yeah. Things seem to be settling down, but I think the training camp incident’s still heavy on many of our minds.” Tenya sighed. “I know it is on mine.”

You hummed, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Then you certainly deserved a date night.”

He chuckled, a soft, blissful expression painting his sharp features. He cleared his throat, his cheeks beginning to darken. “(Y/N), uh, I’m going to ask you something. Before I do though, I want you to know that saying “no” is an expectable answer. I’m not going to be upset, I promise.”

You raised both eyebrows, brows furrowing. “Okay,”

Tenya took a deep breath, squinting his eyes shut for a second before reclaiming eye contact with you. “Can I kiss you?”

You swore the world stopped. You vaguely heard laughter from the dorm a few doors down, but it didn’t register. All that mattered was Tenya. Beautiful, respectful, wonderful Tenya, and how he wanted to kiss you. He hadn’t asked when you’d had your first kiss back in middle school. He just swooped in and-

Nope. You’re not thinking about Him. He’s not here. He can’t hurt you anymore. Tenya’s here, and he’s asking if he can kiss you.

And you want him to kiss you.

“Yeah. Yeah, I would really like that.”

A small smile cracked across Tenya’s nervous face. He gently cupped you face with his hand. “You’re sure? Absolutely sure that you…”

You stood on your toes, knotting your fingers behind his neck. “Kiss me, Tenya.”

And he happily, albeit nervously complied.

. . .

After a draining school day and the mountain of homework that followed, all you wanted to do was collapse. You flopped over on your bed, groaning into the blanket. You were so tired you didn’t even feel like going down to the main floor for dinner; you figured you could raid your mini fridge when you got hungry.

Tenya’s gonna have a heart attack if he thinks I’m skipping meals, you thought with a dry chuckle. Just as you were unlocking his phone to text him, you heard a knock at your door.

“Yeah?” You called, refusing to leave the comfort of your bed.

“It’s me, Tenya.” He replied. “Can I come in?”

“Sure. Yeah, get in here.” You sat up to greet your boyfriend, tossing your phone aside.

He entered, pressing a kiss to your forehead before joining you on the bed. “How are you, dear? You’ve been hiding in here since the class ended.”

“Tired. So tired.” You mumbled, leaning into his large frame.

“Oh, well, that certainly explains your absence.” Tenya remarked. “Are you hungry? I was thinking we could go out someplace to get something to eat. Somewhere off campus.”

“Um, I…”

You’d never liked saying no, especially not to Tenya. You’d never really had a reason to; you usually agreed with whatever he suggested. He’d never liked it when you said no to Him. He’d guilt you into giving into whatever it was He wanted. He’d twist your emotions until you couldn’t do anything but halfheartedly agree to His whims.

You were still far too tired. You couldn’t even bring yourself to go downstairs, much less out of the school. You didn’t want to. You wanted to say no.

But the word wouldn’t form.

“(Y/N)? Honey, are you okay?” Tenya asked, a concerned expression taking root on his face. “You look distressed, and you’re shaking, what’s wrong?”

“Uh, I-” You swallowed thickly, breathing going funny. “I don’t-”

“Shit,” Tenya muttered under his breath. He slipped off the bed to kneel in front of you, taking both your hands in his own. “Shhh, (Y/N)? I don’t know what’s going on in that head of yours, but I promise you’re going to be okay. Try taking some deep breaths, okay? It’s alright. I’ve got you.”

You slowly calmed down, your anxiety settling as Tenya whispered soothing words and caressed your hands. “I’m okay. Thanks.”

“Of course,” He murmured, brushing hips lips against your knuckles. “Can you tell me what happened?”

You hung your head, shame twinging in your gut. “I’m too tired to go out, but I wasn’t sure how to tell you no. I guess I got nervous.”

“Okay, why is that scary to you?” Tenya retook his seat next to you, rubbing a gentle hand across your back. “‘No’ is an acceptable answer, (Y/N). You shouldn’t force yourself to do anything you don’t want to do.”

You tugged on his shirt, eyes beginning to brim with tears. “Can I sit in your lap?”

“Oh, come here.” Tenya encouraged, opening his arms.

You crawled onto him, sitting sideways on his thighs and leaning against his chest. He tenderly wrapped his arms around you, tucking your head into the crook of his neck.

“I had a boyfriend in middle school who wouldn’t let me say no to Him.” You muttered, nuzzling more into Tenya. “He’d guilt me into doing whatever He wanted. He did a lot of other shit too, I don’t think I can get into all of it right now, though. You’re nothing like Him, and I know that. I really like you a lot, Tenya, and I trust you, but I still get nervous sometimes because I keep thinking about what it was like with him and it’s ruining things with you and I don’t wanna fuck this up and I hate it and-”

“(Y/N), you’re crying.” Tenya interrupted, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, honey.”

You nodded mutely, wiping the rest of your tears. “ ’m sorry,”

“Please don’t think you have to apologize. I understand. You have nothing to be sorry for.” He assured you, gently rocking you back and forth. “None of this is your fault.”

He held you for another few minutes, rocking you until your tears stopped falling. “Thank you, Ten.”

“You’re welcome, dear.” He kissed your forehead, smiling loving at you."Can you promise me something?”

“I don’t know, what is it?” You asked, squinting.

Tenya laughed softly. “That you’ll say ‘no’ to me when you have to.”

“I’ll try,” You twisted your shirt in your fingers. “I don’t want you to be upset with me, though.”

“For what? Having your own opinion? Not wanting to do something?” He pulled away from you a little to look you in the eyes. “That’s unfair to you. You’re far too precious to me. I don’t want you to feel like you’re trapped being with me.”

You laughed breathily, smiling for the first time all night. “That’s just it, Tenya. I don’t feel trapped. I feel free.”

Tenya let out a dumbfounded laugh, blush spreading across his face. “W-well, I’m glad.”

You softy threaded your fingers into his hair, kissing him sweetly. He melted into your touch, pacing a hand on the back of your head.

“Thank you,” You whispered against his lips.

“For what?”

“For just… being you. You’re amazing, Ten.” You pursed your lips, organizing your thoughts. “And… I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you.”

Tenya’s grip on you suddenly slackened out of shock. You would’ve slid right out of his lap if you hadn’t anchored yourself by griping his shoulders.

“Woah, sorry,” Tenya quickly gathered you into his arms again, face burning. “You surprised me. Um, did- did you mean it?”

“How could I not?”

Tenya let out a dazed puff of air, a flustered smile tugging at the cornered of his lips. He lightly kissed your jaw, his fingers dancing over your waist with a feather-light touch. “I love you too, (Y/N).”

. . .

(Y/N): Yeah, I was just too tired to go down to dinner. Don’t worry, I’ve got food up here. Tenya wanted to go out for dinner, but a minor panic attack changed his mind 😎

Izuku: Wait, panic attack? What happened?

(Y/N): He asked if we could go, and I got a little nervous about telling him no

(Y/N): I freaked out a little bit, and he held me for a while. I told him a little about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named

Izuku: …Voldemort??

(Y/N): 😑

(Y/N): Yes, Izuku. I dated Voldemort in middle school.

Izuku: Lol, how’d that convo go?

(Y/N): Really well, actually. Tenya was supper understanding. God I love him.

Izuku rolled his eyes, snickering as he texted back, Totally news to me. 🤣 When did you come to that realization?

As he hit send, a different text notification slid across the screen.

Iida: (Y/N) got anxious about something and explained a little of their “bad dating experience” you mentioned to me. They were a little distressed about the whole thing, but they still managed to fluster me.

“What am I, the middle man?” Izuku asked himself, sighing as he texted his friend back.

Izuku: Ooh boy. What’d they do?

Another text from you. Izuku navigated back to your thread. This was already getting tiresome.

(Y/N): I dunno. We had a date a month-ish ago, and we had our first kiss afterwards. I think I may’ve had some sort of idea that I was in love with him then, when he asked if he could kiss me.

Iida again. “Good grief,” Izuku muttered.

Iida: They told me they loved me. It threw me for a loop, but I managed to regain control of my senses to tell them that I loved them too.

Izuku: Geez, you two are hopeless.

Iida: What do you mean?

Izuku: I’m currently switching back and forth between texting both you and (Y/N) gushing over each other.

Iida: Oh.

Izuku: Yeah man. This is fun and all, but (Y/N) called me as their wingman first. Go get your own, lmao

Switching back over to your message, Izuku sent one last text:

Izuku: That’s really sweet. Anyway, Iida is also texting me at the exact same time as you are. Thought I’d pass along a message he didn’t ask me to pass: he’s head over heels for you. I’m now muting my phone. Being friends with you two is exhausting.

#mha #bnha #iida #tenya #tenya iida #iida x reader #tenya x reader #tenya iida x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #deku #izuku #midoriya #izuku midoriya #deku x reader #midoriya x reader

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dinogoofy · 3 years

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Scorpion/GN!Reader.

Might kiss you, might rip out your guts.- part one

If you think you've read this before, you've read the earlier version! I've edited and changed enough of the story to need a new post about it, so here it is!

A short summary would be that this is a enemies to friends to lovers fic between a winged reader and Hanzo Hasashi. It will be split in 2 or 3 parts!

I also feel like I should clarify that Hanzo is only referred to as Scorpion because the reader does not know his name until the next part.

MAJOR TW FOR DESCRIPTIONS OF GORE

You could still remember it.

The arena. The smell of the blood, the stench of death. The bodies you saw wheeled out in masses of champions. Blood spattered weapons and walls. A picture was clear in your mind of the horror you felt. Of the anxiety and fear you had to push down every moment you remained in that coliseum. After all the training you had been through, nothing could've prepared you for this.

Being a renowned half breed, one of earthrelm and outworld, you and all your feathered glory was never under the radar of the Gods. After spending your life in earthrelm with your mother, Raiden believed that he could trust you. He had tracked you down and informed you of the details months earlier. Asked you to ready yourself the best you could, earthrealm couldn't lose this. And there you were, stalking the hallways before your battle.

You were nervous. Who wouldn't be? You were a hunter, not a fighter. You tracked your targets from the sky, taking them down before they had a chance to truly fight back. Your fighting style had never been meant for a closed in fight like this. You had almost told Raiden no for that reason, but with the fate of Earthrealm in as the prize, you couldn't do so with a clean conscience.

You remember the little girl, the servant who was being harassed by a separate contestant. One that was sure to die, if you got your hands on him at least. You had separated him from her, roughing him up just a bit so that he'd run off. Keeping at least one person out of harm's way. You had no idea of the powerful ally you had just made.

When the arena was ready for you, it was safe to say that it was more than a bit overwhelming. The cheers deafened you, the bright white outside blinding your first steps out of the dark corridors. You had splayed your wings wide, trying to make yourself look bigger than you were. You kept your head high as your enemy entered the arena.

When scorpion's form stalked into the arena, your stomach had dropped. He was confident. He knew he was going to win. You hoped you didn't look as afraid as you were. He was a renowned powerhouse. Strength, agility, he had it all. You were at a disadvantage, the huge wings that sprouted from your back becoming a curse. It was nothing you couldn't handle however, you had been in tighter spaces than this.

Hadn't you?

The fight started quickly. You weaved out of his range and dodged his attacks. It was wearing you down. After narrowly missing a particularly nasty kick, you knew you couldn't keep this up for forever. Lifting yourself into the air to try and get an upper hand was easy. You circled the arena around him, preparing to swoop down on him from a nose-dive when-

"GET OVER HERE!" The blade pierced though your right wing, through the muscle and into the bone. A scream of pain ripped through your throat as you were yanked back onto the ground.

A string of explicit words left your mouth as the blade was yanked out. You got your feet just in time for Scorpion to charge at you again. You couldn't dodge this time. He managed to land a punch, but when you blocked the second you had a horrific realization that you were too close to him. There was no chance to evade the attacks easily now, he could just yank you back to where you were. You blocked his blows as best you could, landing a few hits of your own, when he reached a hand out and grabbed your wing.

The excruciating pain had burned itself into your memory. His hand lit up in flames in a split second, charring your wings. You cried out in pain, trying to push him off of you, but he remained unmoveable. Your wing caught fire, and the flames tickled and singed the feathers of the other one.

The pain was all you could think about as your lifeline burned and faded, and you hardly noticed when his blade ripped through your throat. He dropped you to the floor, the fire starting to burn out all the while you gasped and gurgled for air.

It went black quicker than you expected. You had died. What a pitiful ending. Slaughtered in the arena, killed while fighting a pathetic fight. All your years of training, and still you weren't good enough.

The first breath that came back to you felt awful.

The room was quiet. Muffled cheers and screaming was heard from outside the dark brick walls. You brought a hand up to your throat, wincing from the pain that erupted from the charred wing as you stretched. The wound was closed. It was healed. Small, delicate hands steadied you as you sat up. Kind brown eyes watched you with concern. It was the servant girl from earlier. You tried to speak, but let out a horrendous series of coughs. You took a deep breath when they finally stopped.

"I… I thought I was… What happened?" She gave you a tight-lipped smile, showing you her blood covered hands. Runes were carved into her skin. The child had revived you with a magic you couldn't recognize. Your intreage turned to concern as you reached out for her. Holding her hands gently.

You never learned how she knew such powerful magic, and you didn't press her about it. In fact, she never spoke. The servant girl beckoned you to follow her, and led you through tunnels underneath the raging battlefield. Twist after turn, corridor after another, she stopped at a small, empty room.

Three, dead end entryways sat in the circular surroundings. The small girl sat down, giving you a smile, before plucking a sharp, glass dip pen out of her pockets. Out of all the horrors you had seen, your stomach churned and wanted to revolt at the sight of the kind girl cutting along her hands.

Stroke after stroke, she created runes on the backs of her hands, connected them to the ones on her palms and intertwined their meanings. When she had finished, she pocketed the pen again. You went to call out to her, to ask if she was alright, but the words died in your throat as she slammed her hands onto the floor.

With a bright flash, blood ran from her hands, trailing across the floor in dripping, intricate lines. The streams of blood ran straight up the corners of the doorways, lining all three. She sighed deeply and the center doorway lit up.

It was a portal. To home. To earthrealm.

It was beautiful. The chance to leave it all behind. To go home. To rest and recover and… and live.

You couldn't leave her like this. Not without a thank you. Not without something of worth. The girl looks up at you as you move to stand in front of her, hands glued to the floor. She smiles, and in a raspy, broken, almost intelligible string of noises, she speaks.

"F… feather…?" You teared up at the sorry sound of the sweet girl's voice. And knelt down to her, careful of the lines of blood. With a wince, you plucked a feather from your one, good wing, one the size of her forearm. You gently set it in her lap, but she shook her head.

You understood what she meant. With a shaky breath, you finally look over at your charred, destroyed wing. The pain was easy to ignore as long as you avoided the sight. But know there was no ignorance, no pretending it never happened. Your bad wing twitched in a motion that had you crying out in pain, but amongst the remaining, once soft down that fell, a single, black, ashy, sooty, burnt feather fell to your knees. You gingerly pick it up, and give her a skeptical look before setting it in her lap with the other. She smiles again, softly. And bows her head to you.

You turned to look back at her after you stepped through the portal. She finally stands, and bows to you again as the portal closes.

You never saw her again. In fact, you never saw Outworld again. But even though you didn't believe that a feather offering would ever be enough to thank her, you did not forsake her gift to you. It took years for your wing to heal, for the feathers to grow back. A patch of scarred skin still remained where Scorpion's hand had touched you, but with the addition of many different salves and medicines gifted to you by kind strangers, the fluffy, beautiful feathers returned to you. Flight, However. Was harder to take back.

You read almost every book you could find- created every exercise, every lesson you would need. But the burns left behind nerve damage along with the scars. It hurt to move the places that weren't numb. But you couldn't lose this. You couldn't lose your flight. It was the one thing you would refuse to give up. Eventually, and you did mean eventually, you had it back. You were a little wobbly, sure, but once you got up there… once you got in the sky, floating along the wind currents, relaxing in the cool air… It was almost like you have never lost the ability in the first place.

You never fought again. Nor did Raiden ever ask you too. You imagined he still believed that you were dead, but it was none of your concern anymore. You left that life behind. It took years to heal both emotionally and physically from what happened, and in the meantime you realized that the life you had before… it really wasn't for you. You didn't want that pain again. Didn't want the chance to have everything taken from you again.

You sighed, flipping onto your back to glide along with the wind, wingspan on full display. You had taken up traveling after you had learned to fly again. Hopping country to country, island to island, exploring the beauty of your own realm. But all this traveling had started to wear away at you. You longed for home. For your old friends. For family. But you refused to settle back down, traveling despite your homesickness. You'd find a place eventually, but only once you had seen the world. You didn't want to die a second time without experiencing all the lands had to offer.

This time, you didn't actually know where you were traveling to. You had just been cruising along the wind current, relaxing in the sky. The lands below were lush and beautiful, the sky a cloudy grey. A nice, cloudy day had always been your favorite to fly in. Days like these being a kind reminder of the days you were young, and energetic, and still learning the sky. You close your eyes, breathing in the fresh air, the tenseness in your back completely disappearing as you glide. For a moment, all you felt was peace.

Your heart rate spiked as a scream sounded off in the distance. Your wings faltered, and you bobbed in the air. Regaining your steady glide after a moment. You frantically searched the ground, shaky hands flexing into fists. You spotted a Cliffside, eyes immediately focusing in on the small form hanging onto the edge.

It became harder to focus. You started to panic at the sight of a small boy holding on for dear life. One of his hands slipped away, and you flinched, almost dropping into a dive by reflex, but you had to stop and think as his final hand remained.

You debated with yourself on if you could carry him, or if trying would kill you both. He would die from that kind of fall. You could die from that kind of fall. Could your bad wing take it? You didn't know, but you were running out of time. You dropped into a nosedive as his strength gave out.

The adrenaline almost put you into autopilot, the wind against your face becoming your only sensation. You hadn't gone this speed in years. The base of your bad wing started to tingle at the thought, reminding you of just how numb the rest of it was.

Stop. Calm down. You can do this.

Your panic cooled into a still determination as you grew closer. The boy faced up towards you, eyes wide and panicked and scared. You fought the wind with your arms, finally looping around his waist.

You caught the little boy just 20 feet from the ground. He clung onto your shirt tightly as you started to slow, wings struggling to lift you up after how fast you were falling, after a few, difficult, sore, flaps of your powerful wings, your weight slowly carried you into the gravelly ground below the cliff in a heavy thump. Your knees buckled at the landing, and you cradled the boy underneath you as you collapsed onto your elbows, panting for breath. Your wings surrounded the two of you like a limp cage.

Your bad wing twitched as you struggled to relax it again, and the soreness started to set in. Shit. You really should've practiced that dive in your self-taught physical therapy. Then again, you never thought you'd have to do that ever again.

"Are you ok?" A little voice asked. You opened your eyes to peer at the scared, worried face underneath you. You tried your best to muster a tired, pained smile, and sat up, letting him go. He didn't move far, crouching beside you. You realized that he couldn't have been much older than a six year old.

"I'm fine. I just need a moment…" You mumbled. "Where are your parents, kiddo?" He frowned for a moment, sitting down beside you with his knees underneath him.

"My grandmaster is somewhere in the forest, " He gestured towards the lush greenery of the field around him. "-but I think I might have to search for him." He said, glancing up at the cliff. You nodded in response. Grandmaster huh? You analyzed his clothes. A ninja in training maybe, you didn't know how you hadn't seen it before.

"Don't worry. I'll help you." You smiled up at him while splaying and retracting the bad wing back and forth. After a tense moment, you collected yourself. Making sure that your bag was still secure on you after the fall, and standing. The bad wing drooping limply while the other folded behind you. The boy stood with you, gazing at your wings with wide eyes. You chuckled at his curiosity, holding out a hand for him to take. He stared at it for a moment, and then back up at you.

"Well? Let's go find him." You nudged your hand forward again, and he smiled, taking your hand. You smiled back at him, trying hard not to grimace at the painful soreness of your wing.

Glancing around, you managed to pick out landmarks you had noticed while flying. Creating a path in your mind of how you could make it back up to that shady, tree covered cliff, you tugged the boys hand lightly. He quietly followed beside you as you walked.

You wandered away from the gravely clearing and into the forest around. Helping the child pick his way through the bushes. The short journey took only about twenty minutes. Mostly consisting of following the edges of the cliff until you could find a slope, and a path that he recognized.

He only let go of your hand when the two of you had to climb a steep side of the path. He quickly scaled it, turning towards you. You smiled up at him, stretching your wings to boost yourself up there out of reflex, but you stopped. Wincing at the soreness once again. The boy looked at you quizzically, and you shook your head at him. You slowly climbed the slope, and continued on. Soon enough, you were moving through the flat patch of shady, woody, land just before the Cliffside clearing. The boy took your hand again.

"Thank you." He said softly. You smiled at him again, squeezing his hand, but not speaking. "...I'm Takeda." You were taken aback for a second, and determined whether or nor you should be giving the child your name. It couldn't hurt, could it? Your voice cut clear through the silent woods as you spoke.

"My name is..."

You started to trail off as a man silently emerged from the brush on Takeda's side, knives at the ready for just a moment. His eyes locked with yours, and then widened. Shocked at the sight of you, his defense faltered a bit, but still remained. You, on the other hand, bristled. Huge wings defensively folding around you and the boy.

You wished it was rage that invoked such a reaction, but it was fear. Your eyes stinged with watery tears that you desperately tried to keep under control.

"Takeda, get back." You commanded, pulling him closer to you by his hand. Takeda tried to speak, but you couldn't hear what he was saying. The awful flashes of memory, the smell, the pain, all of it was running through your mind. Your bad wing twitched and almost retracted back into your body, but you painfully forced it still, desperate to protect Takeda.

"I'm not here to fight you, and I'm certainly not here to hurt Takeda." Scorpion spoke, gaze soft. He hesitated for a moment, but sheathed his weapons. He held his hands out to show you that there were no tricks. Bullshit. You didn't back down, keeping an angry stare set squarely on him. You could see it in his eyes that he knew that you weren't convinced. Takeda quickly put himself between you two, and you almost reached out to yank him back.

"This is my grandmaster," He spoke in a loud voice. Your eyes widened, flickering back and forth between him and Scorpion. It didn't seem like he was lying, he didn't seem like the kind of kid who would lie- but a child being trained by the deadliest member of the Shirai Ryu? You looked squarely at Scorpion with suspicion, looking him up and down. Your defensive demeanor never let down for a moment. You scowled at him, but when Takeda came back over to you, and reached up for your hands again…

You gave Scorpion a warning look, and relaxed your wings. Feathers smoothing out and wings folding behind your back. You squeezed Takeda's hands gently.

"I thought you were dead?" Scorpion's voice was clear and unwavering, but the question portrayed more than his voice would give away.

"I wonder why." You spit the words like venom. Your bad wing twitched again, this time it felt a little more painful than the twitches normally did. You hissed as you held it still. Takeda frowned, looking like he was about to tear up himself. Scorpion's face fell in a guilty look. This supposed new persona of his had to be a trick. Takeda turned to face his grandmaster. Speaking a few quiet words to him in Japanese that you didn't understand. You were to focused on the pain in your wing to care anyway.

You gazed fondly at the little boy, and sighed. It was clear to see that he was indeed Scorpion's student. You were no longer needed. You inwardly scolded yourself for becoming so attached to the boy so quickly. Sure, you had been longing for a connection… for a family… but this, this was not the place, nor the time.

You looked around, the clearing and cliffside edge was close enough that you could see it through the trees. In an almost dejected manner, you started to make your way over to it. The cliff would provide a great spot to make returning to the sky much easier.

"Will you be able to fly?" Takeda's voice called out to you. You stop in your tracks, turning just slightly so that you could see him, and stretched your wings. You winced as you did, the movement bringing back the soreness and pain you had glimpsed while climbing the slope earlier. You pressed your lips together, only glancing at Takeda before looking back at the sky that shone between the leaves.

If you couldn't leave, where would you go? You certainly couldn't stay here. Not with that Man. Not with Scorpion.

"The Shirai Ryu will extend our kindness to you, if you will accept it." You side-eyed Scorpion as he spoke. Fully prepared to decline before you saw the worried look on Takeda's face. You fully turned towards the two, wings low behind you.

"What does that 'kindness' entail exactly?" Your voice came out just above a whisper, but the malice behind it remained. Scorpion's serious face was a contrast to his student's.

"I am offering you shelter at the fire gardens until you have re-gained your strength." You looked at the boy, and then back at the man who killed you, and then at the sky. Who should you trust? Takeda? Or your own broken body? If you took a fall-

You took a deep breath, bit your fear back, and approached Scorpion and Takeda.

#scorpion x reader #hanzo hasashi #scorpion #scorpion imagines #mk scorpion #mkx #mk imagine #mk x reader #mortal kombat x reader #enemies to lovers #if you are still reading the tags i applaud you #part 2 is coming soon i promise

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thegirlwhobrokeintothetardis · 3 years

Text

Tricked Into It (Greg Gerwitz x Reader)

Word Count: 1,957

Pairing: Greg Gerwitz aka Mouse x Reader

Summary: Ever since your last breakup with someone who cheated and abused the love you had for them, you have been wary of dating. And it doesn’t help when your friend Kim Burgess won’t stop pestering you about some cute techie guy at the 21st District.

Warnings: talk of bad relationship (cheating, emotional abuse, PTSD from the relationship), descriptions of what might be an anxiety attack (I described feeling anxious but it ended up bordering on what could have almost been an attack.)

A/N: So I am working on a Kelly Severide Imagine, but I’m a but stuck on it so I came up with the idea that I take the last imagine I wrote, the other Mouse Imagine and make it into a little series of one shots, mainly cause I wanted to explore the relationship of Mouse and this librarian!reader. So this is a sort of prequel to the first Mouse imagine, how they first met which is talked about in the other imagine.

HERE is the first Librarian!Reader fic if you want to check it out!!

If you want to be added to my tags, just ASK!!

“Kim, I swear to god!”

You slammed your book shut with a snap and looked up at the Chicago police officer, aka Kim Burgess aka your best friend, in front of you. She looked almost as annoyed as you felt, rolling her eyes and sitting down on your couch across you in your reading chair. Kim had come over after her shift at the 21st District ended, and only after a couple of minutes of peace, Kim started up on her latest crusade; your love life.

“Y/N...”

“No! I get that you care, believe me, but I don’t need you trying to set me up with someone.” You said with a heavy sigh.

Kim scooted closer to you and leaned forward, trying to catch your eye which was avoiding hers, “Hey,” She paused and waited for you to look her in the eye, “I just want you to be happy. And I think this guy is a good match for you. Much better than -”

“Don’t say their name.”

“...Fine. But Mouse is so your type!”

You were about to start arguing again when her words actually registered into your head, “His name is Mouse? There is no way that this cop’s name is Mouse.”

“Okay one, he isn’t a cop. He is a tech expert that works with Intelligence, a civilian hired by the unit and the department. And two, Mouse is just what everyone calls him, its a nickname from when he was younger.” Kim explained.

“Tech guy?”

“Yeah, crazy smart when it comes to hacking and stuff like that. He got the job after hacking into Voight’s cell phone in like a couple of seconds. And he was in the Rangers with Jay, plus he is pretty funny and cute.”

You looked away from Kim as you thought it through. Clearly Kim was just looking out for you, but there was no way this guy, this super-smart-tech-genius-ex-ranger, could ever be interested in someone like you. You were just a simple librarian at Chicago Public Library, living alone aside from your cat companion, Geraldine. You hadn’t done anything extraordinary with your life, and as your thought process started to spiral in an anxious tizzy, you started to shake your head.

“No, no I can’t see this guy. He wouldn’t want to get stuck with some boring librarian.” You said, your body shrinking in on itself as your self confidence crumbled. All the comments your ex significant other made to you while you were still dating came popping up into your mind one after the other after the other. Comments on your weight, your looks, how you were boring and that was why they stepped out and cheated on you any chance they could. Tears were misting in your eyes and you tried blinking them away, not wanting to cry in front of Kim.

“Y/N-”

“I mean it Kim. Drop it.”

Kim looked you over and saw how you had retreated into yourself, clearly looking uncomfortable with the topic. That’s when she sighed and nodded, forcing a small smile on her face, “Okay.”

---

A week has passed since the confrontation with Kim about that techie guy, and you were slowly trying to purge the whole instance from your head and get back to your quiet life. Every once in a while, the conversation would slide to the forefront of your mind, along with your anxiety-fueled spiral about your ex, and you would try and shake away the ordeal. It had made you feel small and disgusting thinking about your ex and how your self worth was diminished because of them, and you never wanted to go back to that place again. Even if that meant never being in another relationship again.

On Friday, you had gotten a text from Kim around midday about having a girl’s night and heading out to have a drink at Molly’s, this pub which had become pretty popular with the cops of the Intelligence Unit. You had been once before, and one of the owners, Gabbie Dawson, was really nice to you when Kim introduced her. So you agreed, excited to go out and hang out with Kim.

Once you got out of work around 6, you got back to your small one bedroom apartment and fed Geraldine before retreating to your room to figure out what to wear. You settled on a pair of slender black pants and a long sleeved dark green blouse matched with a pair of green heels. Once you showered, dried and got your hair the exact way you like it, added a little makeup and got dressed, it was time to head out and meet Kim at Molly’s. You drove to the neighborhood where the pub was, some cars already lining the streets letting you know that Molly’s would probably be busy.

You parked, and hurried to get inside, pulling your winter coat around you a litter tighter as a gust of wind tried to chill you to the bone. The November night air was lung chilling and while you weren’t dressed like those young twenty-somethings with short dresses and no coats, you still did not want to waste another second with the wind chill. Once you got in, you saw that your assumption about the pub being busy was right, many people scattered around the bar, others in groups were seated or standing next to tables against the other wall. You looked around, trying to catch Kim’s face in the crowd but having trouble with how crowded. You pealed off your coat and made your way to the bar where you saw an older man behind the counter, cleaning off a glass.

“Excuse me?” You said, slipping into the space in front of the bar, and accidentally grazing your arm against the guy sitting down to your right, “Oh sorry.” You said quickly to the guy, not really looking in his direction so you didn’t notice when he started staring at you in awe.

“What can I get ya?” The older man said as he put the glass down and gave you his full attention.

“I know this is probably a long shot, but my friend comes to this bar a lot and I was just wondering if you’ve seen her tonight? Kim Burgess?”

“Ah! I know Burgess. From the 21st District?”

“Yeah! Yes, that’s her.”

The man smiled before turning around and grabbing something from behind the bar and then turned back to you, “I haven’t seen her, but she called about 5 minutes ago saying that her friend would be stopping by tonight. She also said to get her a vodka cranberry on her and to give her this.”

He handed you a napkin and then turned away, most likely to get your drink ready. You looked down at the napkin with a rough note written on it, reading out loud the note, “Hey, something came up super last minute, have a drink on me and enjoy the night. Sorry, --Kim.”

“Sorry about that, kid.” The man said as he returned with your drink, giving you a warm smile that also had a hint of pity in it.

“No problem. It’s not your fault.”

With one more smile he headed towards the other end of the bar, leaving you with your drink. You let out a sigh and brought the drink to your lips, trying to figure out what you were going to do next when a voice from next to you started speaking.

“You’re friends with Burgess?”

Looking over, it was the guy you had apologized to earlier. Now that you weren’t in a rush to find Kim, you got a good look at him. He had brown hair, you could almost consider it floppy-like if it didn’t also have a clean-cut feel to it. The man’s eyes were bright blue, and they looked at you with a mix of intrigue and surprise. He was wearing a blue button-up which matched his eyes, the first few buttons undone.

“Yeah, do you know her?” You asked. He nodded and looked down to his beer bottle, his fingers anxiously playing with the paper label.

“I-I work with her at the district.” He explained. “Are you one of her flight attendant friends?”

“No, god no. I’m a librarian at the Chicago Public Library.”

“Oh, that’s cool.”

“You don’t have to lie. I know it’s boring..”

“No! I genuinely think it’s cool. I-I mean I’m not a huge book guy myself but-but I did read a lot of Shakespeare in school and that was really cool, especially the-the one about the guy who dressed as a woman to hide from a mob or something and everyone thought he was a witch?” The guy rambled, his face flushing as he tried to save himself. You smirked at the clumsiness of his words and took a drink of your cocktail.

“The Merry Wives of Windsor?” You offered, and the guy snapped at the name.

“Yeah, yeah. The whole play now that I think about it went over my head at 16. But I was too interested in the Blackhawks and code. Like-Like the game that happened the other night, I was invested until that left winger from the Rangers totally checked Hartman and they put-”

“Hartman in the penalty box! Yes!! With only 3 minutes left on the clock and the take out the best right winger on the ice.” You jumped in, a smile growing on your face as the topic of hockey came up. “If he was still playing the Blackhawks would have got at least 2 more points and would have won instead of losing to the worst team in the league.”

The guy sputtered his drink and starts laughing, and immediately think its cause you had embarrassed yourself and he was laughing at you, not what you said. That was until he smiled at you and nodded his head.

“I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

You felt a small fluttering in you chest when he smiled, something about him not making you nervous or anxious which was a change. With a smile on your own face, you put your hand out to him, “I’m Y/N by the way. Y/N L/N.”

“Greg Gerwitz.” Greg took your hand and shook it, lingering for a couple extra seconds before pulling away. “Or you can call me Mouse.”

You froze as he said that, your eyes widening in shock. He seemed to see your reaction and frowned, “Or not?”

“No, sorry.” You said quickly, trying to recover. “It-Its just that Burgess has been trying to set me up with you for the last few weeks.”

“Wait...oh! You’re that librarian! Burgess has been telling me about you too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, says how you are the best person ever and that I would like you the minute we met.” He chuckled. Greg smirked and turned more towards you, “And she wasn’t wrong.”

You flushed, feeling the heat of your blush against your cheeks as his smirk widened. It was quiet between the two of you as the pub continued with it’s noise like it wasn’t watching the start of something amazing. Greg then spoke up, getting your attention again, “Hey, I know this might seem fast but I really like talking to you.”

“I really like talking to you too.”

“Really?” He asked, his face getting red again as his smirk melted away into a nervous smile, “Well, what would you say about a date? Maybe the Blackhawks game tomorrow?”

It took quicker than you thought, but all your anxiety from the week before seemed like a long lost bad dream and you just wanted to spend some time with Greg Gerwitz.

“I would love to.”

ONE CHICAGO TAGS: @carnationworld

NORMAL TAGS: @l4life @ithoughtiwasflying

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

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Good Help - chapter 2 - ao3 link

Despite the circumstances of their first meeting, Meng Yao mostly appreciated A-Jue for his quick mind and fearlessness – and, yes, occasionally for his towering height that made grabbing books from high places infinitely easier – rather than his muscles, however impressive they were. In fact, after the first few weeks, he had very nearly forgotten that A-Jue was a guard of the inner hall.

The assassination attempt put an end to that oversight.

It wasn’t that Meng Yao hadn’t anticipated such an attempt, nor that he hadn’t taken precautions. He was careful to take his meals in the communal kitchen at unexpected hours and tested even the snacks he kept with him before consuming them, and naturally avoided any unsupervised hallways or attempts to lure him outside, but he had underestimated the enmity that greeted his appointment: he had not thought that they would launch a direct attack.

The perpetrators entered his office as petitioners, posing as clerks for an influential merchant, and launched the attack just as they were settling into the rhythm of negotiations. They were hoping to catch him distracted, which they did, but Meng Yao had always had good instincts; he realized what was happening the first moment they moved. He was out of his chair and reaching for the flexible sword he stored around his waist almost at once, already calculating how many injuries he could incur and still be able to fight back enough to preserve his life – he just needed to survive until the guards came in, unless they’d somehow gotten rid of those, in which case he needed to run –

The calculations proved unnecessary.

By the time Meng Yao’s hand reached the hilt of his blade, A-Jue was already in front of him, catching one assassin the chest with a vicious palm strike and knocking him into the path of another, turning fluidly to slam an elbow into a third.

He didn’t even draw the saber that hung low at his waist, just knocked aside the assassin’s swords and daggers with his bare hands and then beating them with his fists and feet.

Meng Yao stood there for a moment, blinking, and by the time even his quick-moving mind caught up with everything the assassins all were unconscious or paralyzed, the merchant was on his knees begging for mercy and swearing to his ignorance, and A-Jue was standing there, frowning slightly at one of the still-twitching assassins like he was considering going in for more.

“Why didn’t you draw your saber?” Meng Yao asked, both because he was curious and because it was a better reaction than saying I forgot you could do that or I thought I’d be facing them all on my own again, or, even worse, thanks.

“I thought you’d want them alive to question them,” A-Jue said, blinking at him – he had the same expression of good-natured puzzlement as he did any time Meng Yao corrected him, whether as to his calculation of accounting errors or underestimating the malice inherent in mankind, which remained a subject of recurrent disagreement. “Was I wrong?”

“Not at all,” Meng Yao said, and felt once again the thrill of power when A-Jue nodded and called for other guards to enter and remove the bodies, although he crouched by each one first to check them over for any suicide pills or arrays that might interfere with an interrogation. His professional detachment and efficient resolution of events was truly suitable for a guard of the inner hall, the finest of Wen Ruohan’s soldiers; there could be no complaints.

There was something truly delightful about having a powerful man at your beck and call, Meng Yao reflected, and wondered briefly if A-Jue had been sent his way deliberately as a plant to infiltrate his confidence. It seemed unlikely, given the random nature of their meeting, and certainly A-Jue didn’t fit any of Meng Yao’s known pre-existing preferences, other than in terms of bedpartners. And yet he grew suspicious, if only because A-Jue suited him so very well, just right in every way…

Meng Yao spent the next three days conducting a series of covert tests to see if any information was being leaked from his office through A-Jue, but there was nothing. Ultimately, he was forced to conclude that A-Jue might actually just be – like that.

Straightforward and blunt, fearless in both speech and action, decisive and capable and yet willing to take orders from Meng Yao, never judging him for his birth but respecting him for his abilities…

Good help, he reminded his suddenly over-active libido. Hard to find. Don’t ruin a good thing.

It was hard to remember, though. A-Jue was just the sort of man Meng Yao liked when he went for men: handsome and powerfully built, well-born or rich or both, stern and unyielding in demeanor, the sort of man for whom life generally went the way they wanted. The sort could easily get a girl, even one of good breeding and appropriate lineage, merely by snapping his fingers. The type of man that might tempt even a practiced whore.

Meng Yao liked to break those types of men.

It was a trait he shared with Wen Ruohan, and one of the ways he had managed to get the Emperor’s attention – that first job he had taken had been in the Fire Palace, the Emperor’s torture chambers, and he had worked out a considerable portion of his anger and anxiety through the torment of his enemies, defined liberally as anyone who insulted his mother. He’d matured since then, growing calmer, but he still liked to put proud men on their knees and make them service him, to rub their faces in the fact that he was the one with the power, to make them crawl and plead and cry for him. Though he supposed for someone like A-Jue – he wouldn’t need to break him, really.

It’d be enough to see him bend. Willingly, for him.

And yet, if Meng Yao did that, wouldn’t A-Jue start to flinch from him and turn away from him – seek to preserve his injured pride by fleeing Meng Yao’s presence, the way so many others before him had? It would make working together much more annoying, and A-Jue was perfect the way he was.

Almost irritatingly so. If only A-Jue were more inclined to make errors, Meng Yao would feel freer to take advantage of him.

“Have you ever thought less of me because of my parentage?” Meng Yao asked one evening, apropos of nothing, when A-Jue was already exhausted and more than a little wild-eyed from having to review every single one of the reports on wheat yields in their northern provinces as part of Meng Yao’s random audit of the files.

“I mean, Jin Guangshan’s a waste of space, but you’re nothing like him, so not after the beginning,” A-Jue said automatically, then scowled at Meng Yao when he started laughing. “What? Give me a break, I didn’t know you then! How was I to guess that you’d actually be competent? Or – not awful?”

“I was,” Meng Yao said with dignity, even if his lips insisted on twitching, “referring to my mother.”

“But you hate it when people talk about your mother,” A-Jue said blankly, then shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, is this some sort of mind game? If so, can it wait until tomorrow? I’m going to dream in wheat prices.”

“It can wait until tomorrow,” Meng Yao agreed, pretending to be solemn. He wasn’t sure if he was more amused at A-Jue’s ridiculous perspective on things or the fact that he seemed to think Meng Yao was not awful simply because he’d indulged him a few times when he was being especially insistent on doing things the soft-hearted way.

“You’re making fun of me again,” A-Jue grumbled. “I don’t know why, but you are. Fuck you.”

The next day, Meng Yao asked A-Jue if he’d ever been to a whorehouse.

“Yes, while on campaign,” A-Jue said, blinking rapidly as if he were trying to hide something, or more likely not think of something. Either he’d had a bad experience or he thought Meng Yao was going to cut off his balls for admitting it.

Which he wouldn’t, of course. There was nothing wrong with the better sort of customer, and Meng Yao felt certain that A-Jue would have been that sort, could imagine him sitting in the corner with a jar of wine and a blush until he was coaxed upstairs and then paying too much for the privilege, after...but it was cute that A-Jue worried about such things.

Meng Yao put a friendly hand on A-Jue’s shoulder – the man flinched, briefly, but quickly mastered himself, just as he did any time anyone touched him – and said in his best sugar-sweet sympathetic tone that he hadn’t had to use on anyone in ages, “Did she touch you in a bad place?”

“The honored viceroy can go fuck himself any time he damn well pleases,” A-Jue said, and he had no idea how much Meng Yao would like to ask him if he’d prefer to do the honors himself.

“Do you know any other curses, or is it just variations on the term ‘fuck’?” he asked instead, thinking good help, good help, good help. “I know at least three dozen involving farmyard animals, if you’d like to learn.”

A-Jue’s laugh was in no way like a braying donkey, no matter what Meng Yao pretended to insist.

“Have you considered the benefits of a regular routine of physical exercise?” A-Jue asked.

Meng Yao glared at him.

“I’m just saying,” A-Jue said. “It would make your life easier.”

“Shut up and help me get down from up here,” Meng Yao hissed – A-Jue had taken care of the vicious snarling creatures that had somehow gotten loose, an obvious follow-up assassination attempt now that the poisoning he thought he’d identified in a late-night dessert had been demonstrably unsuccessful, even if A-Jue had insisted that they were just “sweet little puppies” and Meng Yao was “overreacting”.

“I’d be happy to help train you, if you’d like.”

“I’m far too busy,” Meng Yao said with what little shreds of dignity he still possessed. “I do three times as much work as you do, I don’t have capacity to running off to go wave a stick in the air multiple times a day like some people.”

A-Jue grinned at him, utterly unmoved, and Meng Yao huffed, rolling his eyes at him.

“If I agree,” he said, with no intention whatsoever of agreeing, “will you finally show me your saber?”

If there was innuendo in there – well. He was only a man, after all.

“Perhaps one day,” A-Jue said. “It’s not a privileged I give to everyone.”

Meng Yao tried to parse whether that was flirting. He couldn’t quite tell.

“Well, your saber is very large,” he said, probing. “Maybe you should take it out more often.”

“When I take out my saber, someone dies,” A-Jue said, and – probably not flirting, then. “I wouldn’t want to accidentally skewer you.”

Possibly very strange flirting? Meng Yao wouldn’t put it past A-Jue.

“Yes, well,” he said, straightening his robes and settling back into professional mode. “You have fun with your exercise, but leave me out of it.”

A-Jue escorted him back to his office first, conscientious as always.

Once he was gone, Meng Yao rang a certain bell and summoned Sisi, whose freedom was probably the best investment he’d ever made – she’d merged into the palace staff without leaving so much as a trace behind, acting as though the other girls were her sisters and she’d been there forever, and she was more than willing to report on everything she learned.

Also, she’d retained enough of her looks that everyone thought that Meng Yao only summoned her for sex, making A-Jue’s occasional disappearances for training purposes the perfect time for Meng Yao to meet with her without suspicion – he’d given up most of his paranoia surrounding A-Jue, but that was no reason to share all of his tricks.

Besides, he wasn’t sure he actually wanted A-Jue and Sisi to meet.

“When you’re done fucking him, can you share?” Sisi asked after she put down the tray of snacks – buns and a pot of tea, all of which she sampled before his eyes in the name of sharing food. “Man like that deserves to be common property.”

“I’m not whoring him out,” Meng Yao said, a warning in his tone, and Sisi sighed dramatically.

“Tell me you’re at least having a good time with all those muscles,” she said. “Someone ought to be.”

Meng Yao rolled his eyes.

“Where’s the trouble coming from this time?” he asked, deciding to elide the issue entirely. “I keep hearing whispers and people look nervous, the way they do before some sort of trouble, but neither gentry nor merchant class seem to have produced anything out of the ordinary, and I can’t imagine it’s the farmers again after last time.”

“You’re looking out, you should be looking in,” she said.

“The Emperor’s court?”

That could be a serious problem. Any political turmoil that happened within the Nightless City would have ramifications well beyond it.

“His harem,” Sisi said, her face alight with the pleasure of gossip. “Word’s come back from the south – turns out that the Emperor took one of the Imperial Consorts with him for his trip.”

Even Meng Yao’s eyebrows raised.

“And with the Empress in seclusion, well…”

It wasn’t as though the Empress had a strong maternal family as a backing – no one even knew what her surname was – but she’d been there for years and years, practically part of the décor. Replacing her with one of the Consorts would be…a change.

The Nightless City hated change.

“Could you ask to see her?” Sisi asked. “Just as proof of life…”

“I could,” Meng Yao said, because technically he had authority over everyone, “but I won’t. Why would I invite trouble for myself? I’d have to explain to the Emperor why I interfered with his harem.”

“Good point,” Sisi said, although she looked disappointed.

“Which Consort?”

“The rumor says A-Sang,” she said. “The one that likes to carry scholarly fans.”

“A-Sang? Really?”

“I know! We all thought that the Emperor didn’t even like A-Sang – everyone agrees that A-Sang never got any imperial visits before this; the Emperor never spent a night in A-Sang’s rooms, never even shared a meal, nothing. But why else would he take A-Sang with him on a months-long journey?”

Why indeed. The Emperor remained as unfathomable as ever. Meng Yao wondered briefly if Wen Ruohan really had murdered the Empress in her seclusion, faking her presence with a note…still, it seemed implausible. Why would he bother?

“I heard a rumor once,” he said instead. “About A-Sang.”

Like all good spies and shit-stirrers, Sisi was immediately at full attention – she knew that Meng Yao was not inclined to gossip for the pleasure of it, the way she was, and therefore he would only volunteer information if he intended for her to spread it.

“A-Sang is the Empress’ family,” Meng Yao said, and Sisi’s eyes went wide. “Younger sibling.”

Younger brother, he thought, though he didn’t say anything – he didn’t actually know for sure. It was hard to tell. Wen Ruohan didn’t lock away his wives the way some men did; on the contrary, he enjoyed bringing them out for celebrations to show them off. But the Empress was invariably veiled, swathed in silks without a hint of skin showing, always seated in her chair as if she were kneeling in penance, never moving; Meng Yao, who only saw her from a distance during the celebrations, sometimes almost thought she might not have legs. In daily life, she sometimes attended the Emperor’s court, but always remained seated behind her veils and sometimes even a screen, little more than a silhouette from which, rarely, notes emerged but no voice ever did.

Naturally, if the Empress preferred to be veiled, that meant the other wives had to at least pretend to follow her lead. And that meant veils and concealing clothing, even if some of them interpreted the concept rather loosely, with sheer veils and even sheerer clothing, meant to entice – A-Sang fell somewhere in the middle of that spectrum, wearing a veil that revealed his eyes and clothing that allowed him flexibility of movement without too much restraint, and while he was slender and delicate, Meng Yao was moderately certain that he was indeed male.

Not that it mattered.

Wen Ruohan had never much cared about that.

“Amazing,” Sis breathed. “So all these years, the Emperor has been refraining from touching A-Sang out of respect for the Empress, and now the little sister wife has finally made her move…”

Meng Yao had said none of that, but it served him to muddle the waters a little, mostly to see who would try to clear it up. Not that it could be, as his information about their familial connection was accurate – gleaned from a careless comment by Wen Ruohan himself, no less – but it interested him to know who would try regardless.

“Go,” he said, and Sisi left, all but floating, and it wasn’t long before A-Jue returned, all shiny with sweat and exertion, looking incredibly fuckable.

“You worked near the harem, right?” Meng Yao asked him, mind still focused on the bubbling little scandal that he just knew would become an issue that could wreck his thus far successful regency. “Do you have any connections there?”

“Not really?” A-Jue said. “Most of the wives are scared of me.”

Typical.

“Is there something you’d like me to find out for you..?”

“No need,” Meng Yao said. He’d never met anyone less well suited to be a spy than A-Jue. “But it may be an avenue of future threats, so keep it in mind.”

“I’m not going to let anyone from the harem harm you,” A-Jue said, oddly fierce. “Not anyone. Don’t worry.”

#mdzs #meng yao #jin guangyao #nie mingjue #nieyao #my fic #my fics #good help

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passable-talent · 4 years

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May I perhaps request a part 8 for the dai li series? I'm very very hype for what's to come for the finale!

should’ve figured this would happen within 20 min

ya boi returns after a week of classes with significantly better mental health! not enough to make me think I’ll be here more often than I have, but enough to give me the passion i need to f u c k i n g d e l i v e r

and now...

THE MOMENT YOUVE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR

The day of Sozin’s Comet.

The comet tore its way across the sky behind Appa, vaporizing clouds and turning the sky blood red, as though it knew the terror and destruction it was meant to bring. Seated in Appa’s saddle behind Katara and Zuko, you looked over his tail at it, its brightness in the sky that rivaled the sun. You wondered when it would behind to effect firebenders- you wondered if Zuko could already feel it.

“Zuko, don’t worry,” said Katara, catching the anxiety you had noticed slipping off of him like waves. “We can take Azula.”

“I’m not worried about her,” Zuko said, “I’m worried about Aang. What if he doesn’t have the guts to take out my father?” You made brief eye contact with Katara before moving forward, getting closer to the conversation.

“What if he loses?” Zuko’s voice was clear in its trepidation.

“Aang won’t lose,” Karata said, confidence in her tone. “He’s gonna come back. He has to.” You put your hand on her shoulder, settling down on your knees between the two of them.

“Of course he will,” you said, looking over your shoulder once again at the comet. “He wouldn’t let us face Ozai without him.” Zuko caught his reaction before it made its way to his face, controlling it. But all the same, he had to wonder- had he even told you his father’s name? And referring to him as ‘Ozai’, rather than ‘the Firelord’- a disrespect that even some of the others of the team hadn’t done.

None of the three of you wore armor. What would metal do against fire, anyway? You wore the uniform of a Dai Li student, or what had once been. Its long, loose sleeves had been ripped at your biceps and the baggy pants ripped just below your knees, so that all that was left to be recognized was the symbol of Ba Sing Se on your chest, and the gold trim as it hung at your waist. If you were going to win the war, today, you’d do it for your home city.

You didn’t wear shoes.

“There’s the palace,” Katara said, leaning forward to get as good a look at the courtyard as she could. “It’s almost empty.”

“Except for Azula,” you said, narrowing your eyes as though that would help you see. “And those guys.”

“Those are the Fire Sages. Everyone else is either with the fleet or at home, waiting for the victory,” Zuko said, his normal brand of anger yet nonchalance gracing his voice. Drawing closer, the words of the Fire Sages drifted up to where you could hear them, high on Appa’s back.

“By decree of Phoenix King Ozai, I now crown you Firelord-” he hands swung down to place the crown in Azula’s hair, but he paused, noticing Appa beside one of the towers. Appa bellowed as he approached, and Azula’s words were lost beneath the sound. Appa landed at the steps of the palace, and Zuko stood.

“Sorry, but you’re not going to become Firelord today.” He leapt down, leaving you and Katara on the saddle. “I am.” Azula’s laugh ground on your ears, shivering you to the bone. She looked... unkempt.

“You’re hilarious.” Katara approached Zuko’s side, and you flanked his other.

“And you’re going down,” she levied against Azula, and you couldn’t help but find a smile sliding to your face. Azula has had this coming, just like you said to Iroh only hours ago. You were happy that you got to be a part of the force that took her down, after all the pain she had brought into your life. She was a monster.

“Wait,” Azula said, stopping the head sage from placing the headpiece on her, “You want to be Firelord?” She stood, and walked toward the edge of the stairs. You didn’t like standing beneath her. “Fine. Let’s settle this. Just you and me, brother.” She spat the word with contempt that you wanted to wipe right off of her face. “The showdown that was always meant to be- Agni Kai!”

“You’re on,” Zuko growled before you could even react. You turned your head, noticing Katara had done the same.

“Zuko-” you said, concern in your voice. You’d come all this way to help, and Katara had too, and now he was going to take her on without you?

“What are you doing? She’s playing you,” Katara said, narrowing her eyes. “She knows she can’t take all three of us, so she’s trying to separate us.” You wanted to reach out and take his hand, as though to pull him toward reason, but something held you back. You stole a glance at Azula, and the sick, gloating smile on her face.

“I know,” Zuko said, and your eyes widened slightly, surprised that he knew the trap but still walked into it. “But I can take her this time.”

“But even you admitted to your uncle that you would need help facing Azula.”

“Zuko, that’s why we’re here for you,” you added, finally breaking your gaze from the princess.

“There’s something off about her,” he said, “I can’t explain it, but she’s slipping.” It was like you could feel her gaze on the side of your head as you looked at her brother, like you could feel her weighing her decisions, like she did back in Ba Sing Se, when she manipulated you and Zuko both. It made you shiver.

“And this way,” Zuko said, reaching out and taking your hand while he looked at Katara, “no one else has to get hurt.” You squeezed his hand, tightly, before letting go and circling him to Katara’s side. The courtyard before the steps of the palace were cleared, and the two siblings took up positions facing away from each other. You stood with Katara, not far from Zuko. It may have been against the rules, but still you wanted to stand by, in case you needed to interfere and help him. You were sure Katara felt the same way.

Slowly, the siblings stood, what felt like miles separating them.

“I’m sorry it has to end this way, brother,” Azula said in a near snarl, slicking her robe from her shoulders and discarding it to the ground. Zuko stood steadfast in his ready stance, calm.

“No you’re not.”

Azula took up her ready stance, and before you knew it, the battle had begun.

Until this moment, you hadn’t seen firebending under the influence of Sozin’s Comet. You understood the effect it was supposed to have had, but the pure size of the awful flames was something you could never have predicted, nor truly understood, if it weren’t for this moment, this amazing and intense shot of flame Azula conjured, her blue contrasting the sky and sun of dark red, and Zuko’s return, his bright yellows and oranges filling your vision and blocking Azula. The impact of the powers of the siblings created a wall that bisected the entirety of the palace grounds, and the heat and wind pushed your hair from your face.

From the fading wall burst Azula’s fire, four waves of flame accompanying her movements, and as Zuko split and deflected each one, you kept your eye on him. His footwork. His stance. He had learned from Aang, just a bit- don’t go straight to the attack. Weave with your partner. He had absolute control, but still your fists flexed, making the ground roll beneath your exposed toes. Your feet were firmly planted to the ground, so even when you blinked, you could follow the fight.

The two traded blows, their deflected flames launching up and out of the courtyard, coloring the clouds. Azula’s misfires tore through homes and set rooftops ablaze. Zuko’s blast toward her was matched, and as he adjusted his position it moved past him, a wall of cyan sliding past a wall of amber. Planting a foot to the floor, you rocked your fist up, a wall erupting from the stone floor to split Azula’s blaze in front of you and Katara. For the moment, you huddled together, watching as the fire circled you like a predator before disappearing. Quickly, you shot it down into its place, and once again took your eyes to the battle. The front of the palace was ablaze, and in a rage, Azula leapt toward Zuko, raining down on top of him what looked like a whip of fire. Planting his stance, he split it, a pathway opening straight from him to his sister. You recognized that move- Toph had taught it to you.

Azula was on one knee, collecting herself, and from far away it looked like she was breathing hard. Zuko, on the other hand, stood strong, and steady. He moved toward her two interwoven streams of flame that roared and grew as they moved, which she slid out from beside. You couldn’t look away, even as tears fought to moisten your eyes from their onslaught of heat. Azula gave him a sloppy attack, and so he did what you could only describe as ascending, rising on a pillar of fire until he could swing an arc at her as he fell back down, splitting her next offense.

She swung around him, weaving, and he stood his ground, protecting himself. But he sensed the weakness that you could not see- as long as she was sliding on her flames, as long as she wasn’t connected to the ground, he could break her root. He sent a wave of flame in all directions that broke up her fire, and sent her crashing to the ground.

She collected herself up, her hair fallen from its updo, fluttering around her and into her eyes. She had a madness in those eyes, a bloodthirst, but her stance was weak and her back hunched, like something was giving out beneath her.

“No lightning today?” You heard Zuko taunt. “What’s’a matter? Afraid I’ll redirect it?” He brought himself into an offensive stance, and, sensing danger, Katara ran closer. You followed, remembering your last run-in with Azula’s lightning. The night Aang died.

“Oh, I’ll show you lightning!” Azula snarled, and, following your instincts, you pushed Katara behind you. Rock would fare better against lightning than water.

With movements to her right, then her left, Azula collected her lightning, thunder echoing off of walls and mountainsides and clouds all around you. Through the earth you felt as Zuko took a deep breath, his heartbeat calm, but your eyes remained on the princess.

She gathered her two fingers to her chest, readying to fire. But then, you saw her eyes land on you.

Sometimes, a person sees a million moments pass in less than one.

You saw her stance pivot to you, and her arm extend toward you and Katara. But she wasn’t targeting Katara- she knew what you were, and what you had become. You had become a weakness, not in yourself, but in Zuko, and she had seen it in the way you looked at him in Ba Sing Se, and she had seen it in the way he had reached for your hand at the steps of the palace. You had endangered Katara, and so with the world moving by at the pace of a million moments in less than one, you launched forward to plant both feet, sweeping your arms from your sides and in, up, and from the tiles began to rise a wall.

And you saw, at a pace of a million moments in less than one, the way that Zuko ran between you and the lightning, the blue of it drowning out any other color. The strength in your arms faded, and the wall in front of you, meant to protect you and Katara, vaporized to sand, and crumbled back to the ground. Zuko absorbed the lightning, and shot it out above the walls of the volcano.

There he was left, then, trembling.

“Zuko!” you shouted, and Katara the same, both of you meaning to run toward him. But Azula reminded you that she was still a threat by slamming the ground in front of you with lightning, and you snapped your gaze to her.

Once, in a cavern deep beneath a palace in Ba Sing Se, Azula had come between you and Zuko. And that day, you’d been too scared- you were a kid who had never seen war. You weren’t ready to attack, and if you were, maybe that day would’ve changed how the war played out. Once, in a cavern deep beneath a palace in Ba Sing Se, you’d failed to keep Zuko from his sister.

It wouldn’t happen again.

You let out a scream and lifted a dozen boulders from the tiled ground, launching them at the princess, each in turn. Her laughter grated against your skin and you’d never moved with such rage in your bones before, the strain on your joints nothing compared to your heartbreak. Your hair and clothes whipped around you, put to the test by the speed with which you were moving. And yet, Azula alluded you.

“Y/N!” Katara called, and you wisened up for just long enough to realize that she was all too used to fighting off a rage-fueled attacker. You weren’t going to win this way, and now, winning was up to Katara and you. One more shot you pressed toward her, and using that as a distraction, you knocked her from her path with a stone launched from just beside her. It gave you enough time to slip with Katara from the battlefield into the awning-filled pavilions nearby.

You could barely keep your legs from turning you back to where Zuko still lay.

Azula brought her fire down from behind the pavilion where you and Katara had taken shelter, and so she chased you out, back toward the open yard. Katara made a break for Zuko, covering her hand in water so she could heal him, and as you ran, you threw your open hands down toward the ground, walls slicing up beside him, hopefully to keep him safe. But your path was interrupted by Azula’s flame, her laughter rocking your core as she conjured lightning, and so you shot back a boulder to divert her long enough for you and Katara to put just a bit more distance between you and her.

Still, her lightning caught up to you, and the explosion sent you both flying. Katara rolled, and you brought up a platform to land on properly. Azula landed on a nearby rooftop, giddy smiles on her face.

“I’d really rather our family physician look after little Zu-zu, if you don’t mind!” Her voice gave you pause, even as you launched to the side to avoid her lightning. What, really, was she doing, attacking her own brother? What had brought her to being the bloodthirsty murderer she was so prepared to become?

More flame chased Katara as she joined you behind a pillar, and you stomped your heel to the floor to raise even another wall between you and where Azula had just been.

“Zu-zu, you don’t look so good!” Azula snarled, and with her scream sent another bolt of lightning to Katara, the crack of thunder nearly deafening you as it split you from her, sending you in opposite directions.

After all that, though, when choosing who Azula would go after, who Azula would see as a threat, it wasn’t you. She went for Katara, and after a moment, you realized her goal- Katara was the only one, now, who could save Zuko’s life. And so you slipped to the side, running between columns, one eye on Azula and the other on Zuko. Katara froze both her and the princess in place, and immediately you knew who would come out the winner. You bolted to Zuko’s side, your feet carrying you shakily, until you crashed to your knees beside him. You lowered the walls you’d put up around him and rolled him to his back, finally laying eyes on the deep, raw wound on his stomach.

“Stay still,” you ordered him, extending one foot out to ground yourself, and you punched the tile in order to raise up a platform underneath him, where Katara could hope to work better. Shaking hands extended toward his face, and those tears that once tried to protect your eyes from the heat now tried to protect them from something far, far worse- the pain in Zuko’s expression.

“It’s gonna be okay,” you promised him, even as he flinched and groaned, even as your voice shook, even as you slowly cupped his face. The sound of a crash of water made you look over your shoulder, and the sight you found was relieving- Katara chaining Azula to the ground.

“It’s gonna be okay,” you promised again, your voice shaking even as this time, you knew you weren’t lying. Katara was there only a moment later, water already coating her hands, ready to press it down into his wound. It began to glow, and you watched as Zuko’s face first flexed with more pain, then relaxed. A tearful smile crossed your face and a small sob escaped your lungs, and he looked first to you, then to Katara.

“Thank you, Katara,” he said, taking a deep breath, and settling his muscles down onto the stone beneath him.

Azula had been defeated. Zuko was to be Firelord. For the moment, the world was triumphant, and you saw him smile. You’d waited a thousand moments for this one, right here, when everything was okay, and when he was safe.

You’d waited a thousand moments, but in this one, you couldn’t remember the ones where he’d hurt you, where you’d hated him. You couldn’t remember the ones filled with pain, and anger, the ones in which you walked away from him in anger, or threw up a wall between the two of you, or yelled at him. You couldn’t remember the ones in which he hadn’t done what you’d needed him to, or in which you had kept yourself at arms length.

All you could remember where the moments that truly brought you to this one, right here.

Finally, you leaned down, and you kissed him.

Your fingers slid into his hair at the back of his head, and cupped his head away from the hard stone beneath him. Your eyes closed, all you could do was feel, your instep pressed to the ground beneath you, your lips pressing against his. And you didn’t want him to move, to push himself, but he did cup your face, letting his fingertips feel into your scalp, as your hair fell down past your cheekbones.

When you parted, for a moment, you couldn’t do anything but stare.

“I love you,” you said, and a smile pulled at his lips.

“I love you, too.”

You brought your legs to your side to help him sit up, and then stand, one of your arms around his waist. Seemingly overwhelmed by her brother’s total victory, Azula truly fell, tears and screams leaving her while she flailed and spit fire. Finally, as you stood in front of her, in her truest, basest form, you recognized what you had never, any time you’d faced her.

She was never in control. She was just scared, and finally, she’d been beaten, just like she always feared.

Katara looked away. You couldn’t bring yourself to.

~~~

As you took Zuko into the palace to rest, Katara traversed the palace city, putting out fires. It would take work, but the city would be inhabitable again, once Zuko took the throne. He had a lot of recovering to do, but by the time the world had gathered for his coronation, he was well enough to walk on his own, and to kneel to receive the crown. Still, though, he had trouble reaching behind himself to put on his robes.

Luckily, you were always there to help him.

“So I suppose, after all this, you’re going to go home,” he said as you lifted his clothing to his shoulders.

“Hmm?”

“Back to Ba Sing Se. I know you miss it.” A small smile graced your lips, but you shook your head as you smoothed the wrinkles across his shoulders.

“I do. I miss the city, but it hasn’t been my home. Not for a long time.” You circled around Zuko to take his hand just beside him, regarding him with a warm expression, warmth toward him that you could only match with a few moments before.

“I thought I made it clear that this- right here-” you lifted his hand, interlocked with yours, up to his sight. “-This is my home.” He brought your hand down so that he could lean into a kiss, and you could enjoy it only for a moment before you had to pull away.

“I’ve got to go,” you said, a bright smile on your face. “Toph saved my seat, and Aang is waiting for you!” You rushed to the door, a small exit that wouldn’t be noticed by the crowd gathered out front, but you paused. “Good luck,” you said, giving him an honest and traditional Fire Nation bow.

“Your Highness.”

-🦌 Roe

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clearlynotjanus · 3 years

Text

Whumptober: Day Two, Talking is Overrated

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Chapter Summary: Ever since Remus returned from his isolation in the Imagination, things between Janus & Virgil have been strained. Virgil can’t deny that he finds Remus attractive, & Janus doesn’t seem to have a problem with this, but there’s a lot lurking just under the surface of his feelings that makes being with either of them far more difficult than it should be. CW: Dubious consent, panic attacks, anxiety, crying, blowjobs, deepthroating, graphic description of sexual acts Word Count: 5160 Genre: Hurt, Smut, Angst, Whump Rating: Explicit Ships: Dukexiety with a dash of Anxceitmus Author Notes: Soooo you’ll notice that this is very out of the realm of the stuff I usually write. I’m giving everyone a warning right now, this is dubcon & it’s all hurt, no comfort. If you’re familiar with my writing, right about now you’re asking who the fuck is this because this sure isn’t Andrew-Moceit-Fluff-Anderson, & you’re right! This is extremely out of character for me! But sometimes you just gotta hurt the anthropomorphized version of your panic disorder to get through some shit, you know? lmao. Maybe that’s relatable, maybe you’re wondering if my hitaus has turned me into a psycho; who knows! But anyway! I’m using Whumptober to explore some...less than savory topics. So honestly, a big fat “Don’t like, don’t read” / “Dead Dove Don’t Eat” on everything I post this month. But if you’re into it! Hell yeah! I hope you enjoy! :D

Taglist: @sanderssidesangsttrash @catalinaacosta @whatishappeningrightnow @anxiousbean4404 @vexelore @ranboo-but-booran @serpentinesomebody @poptartsaysurloved @robertdownerjr @dangitsbrightinhere @iamuncomffy @sanderdarksides @dragonfander @virgilstarantula @a-rudethude @indubitably-emo @gay-artist-626 @edupunkn00b @wouldntyou-liketoknow @awesomerandomgirl1 @cosplayhanna @rizzyluke @all-panic-nodisco @remy-the-lemon-berry @their-royal-fiensishness @xravynsflamex @imma-potatoo @obsxdiannn

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Hearing the television downstairs, Virgil decided that four in the afternoon was as good a time as any to leave his room for the day. With ghostly silent steps, he descended the stairs - only to stand awkwardly at the foot. His eyes settled on Janus who was staring at the flickering screen, a gloved hand bore the weight of his head with a cupped cheek. Virgil’s heart rate thrummed in his ears like an approaching war drum, nearly drowning out the indecisive show clips. The irregular pattern of noise began a pressure between his eyes as he strained to keep up with alternating sounds of unfamiliar shows.

“Oh is that o--” Virgil started, recognizing a voice finally with several ounces of relief. His head turned as Janus clicked past a rerun of The Twilight Zone.

He blinked, pausing on the following station as he looked up at Virgil with furrowed brows.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” Virgil said, shaking his head. With long steps he quickly retreated to the kitchen as Janus shrugged and resumed his mindless clicking.

Virgil collapsed against the kitchen counter, a palm splayed heavily behind him as though his life depended on it, the other gripping his stomach. Breathe, he ordered himself sternly, tightly closing his eyes and drawing in a breath he struggled to keep quiet. In, 1, 2, 3, 4. Hold, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7. Out, 1, 2, 3, 4 --

“Virgil, since you’re in the kitchen,” Janus called, hardly louder than his speaking voice, but the sound made Virgil jump regardless. Instinctually a hand slammed over his mouth to keep the inevitable squeak on his tongue. “Would you be a darling and make us some tea?”

“Y-yeah! Sure!” He said, peeling his palm off his lips. As Janus remained silent, Virgil sighed heavily.

He repeated his breathing exercise as the water boiled, again as he dumped a ridiculous amount of sugar in one mug and a single teaspoon in another, once more as he placed a bag of Red Rose strawberry cheesecake flavored herbal tea in one mug and a bag of standard Lipton black in the other. His hands had stopped shaking by the time he carried both steaming cups out and placed them on the coffee table.

Typically he wasn’t one for hot drinks outside of the occasional hot chocolate in fall, but the idea of bringing Janus something without one of whatever it was for himself had always felt...off. Awkward maybe, or just weird; Virgil couldn’t say, but it always compelled him to inevitably join Janus, even if that was the last thing he wanted.

“Oh delightful,” Janus said, immediately wrapping his hands around the molten mug. Virgil flinched just thinking about touching something that hot, but Janus simply leaned back against the couch with a look Virgil could only describe as stupidly content.

“Yeah,” He mumbled and again found himself standing there.

Why was he always so awkward? Virgil internally lamented, wondering what normal people did with their hands. He’d been with Janus on this side of the Mindscape for four years now; had watched television and drank tea with him plenty of times. But it never felt easier. Janus put him on edge, for more than a handful of reasons; some harmful and some not.

Fight or Flight - more aptly upgraded to Paranoia these days - in theory was necessary for something like Self Preservation. A healthy dose of Anxiety kept one vigilant about their health and surroundings; it provided information for Self Preservation to react to and plan for. On paper, they should be a smooth running machine; Virgil would alert Janus to dangers and Janus would provide the escape route. The wrench was that communication was neither of their strong suits; but after four years, Janus didn’t really need Virgil to speak. He knew his problematic little spider well enough by now.

“Sit down already,” Janus waved a hand to the open end of the couch. “Your angst is suffocating.”

“S-sorry,” Virgil mumbled and sat on the opposite side of the L shaped couch.

“Tsk.”

The two sipped their respective cups in a smothering silence. Virgil’s shoulders ached under the weight. Should he talk? Was Janus going to say something? He stole a glance at his partner, and a sigh caught at the back of his throat at the sight. Janus sat upright, drinking his tea and staring at the television without even a furrow between his brow. Why was he always so goddamn content?

“You’re still upset.”

“No,” Virgil rushed, the sudden observation pumping adrenaline through his blood. Janus hadn’t even looked at him - how the hell had he made any sort of observation, true or not? The air around them sweetened. Janus narrowed his eyes condescendingly, finally sparing a glance at him to offer the expression. They both knew that was a lie. Virgil bowed his head, needing to look away.

“You should really know better by now.” Janus complained into this teacup, but to Virgil’s ears, it just sounded like an insult.

He should know better by now than to lie to Janus’ face. Or maybe he should know better by now than to get upset at Thomas’ lies. But Virgil struggled to say it wasn’t the thought of Thomas lying that lurched his stomach. The words knotted his tongue and tightened his throat until even the tea wouldn’t go down.

Of course Janus knew this; knew every bit of Virgil’s simple psychology. His words were being misconstrued in that buzzing mind of his at this very moment. Even his intent from yesterday; misunderstood, which is what got them here of course. What was bothering Virgil was very easy to understand; when continuously faced with the fact that Janus unflinchingly told Thomas to lie, manipulate, and do whatever he must to get what he wants, it was only a matter of time before Virgil began to wonder if those very same morals were at play in their relationship.

The answer was equally obvious, Janus thought, and therefore Virgil should know better by now.

“Yeah,” Virgil agreed with a sigh, but the bitterness continued to strangle him, and Janus felt no need to get into the topic. If they continued pretending as though things were fine, eventually they would be, which was usually his philosophy in dealing with Virgil’s anxiety.

The crushing silence rang in Virgil’s ears despite the ease it came to Janus with. Paranoia - it was a very difficult experience and talking himself off the ledge was getting harder every day. The thought of Janus hurting him was haunting. How far would he go to get his way? The things he implied Thomas should be willing to do...were they things Janus was willing to do to him? Virgil gulped, and then jumped five inches off the couch.

“Sup, emo,” Remus greeted nasally, having barrelled down the stairs in microseconds. Virgil’s heart all but stopped as he cursed at the warm tea that had splashed on his hand with the shock.

With no amount of hesitance, Remus flopped on the couch and forced his head into Janus’ lap. Though Janus looked generally disgruntled about the loud interruption, he still lifted his arms and adjusted to make himself available.

“Aw damn,” Remus continued gruffly, ignoring Virgil’s flinch and discomfort as he gave a grotesque sniff to the air. “You made tea and didn’t even heat me up any bleach? Booooooooo.”

“Sorry,” Virgil spat sarcastically, scrunching his nose, “I try not to think about you.”

“That’s not what you said last night.” Remus mocked and Virgil choked on his inhale, going red.

“Be nice, Remus.” Janus bounced his leg gently, jostling him. “You know he’s much too frigid for that in this clearly public space. I mean, anyone could walk in at any moment.”

Remus snickered, folding his arms behind his head as Janus spoke with mocking alarm. He looked at Virgil expectantly and only had to wait a second before the bickering began.

“I am not frigid,” Virgil said, blushing still.

“Prove it, Daddy Long Legs,” Remus wiggled his brows suggestively. Virgil glared, but couldn’t keep the paranoia from creeping up on him; anxiously, he glanced at Janus, struggling to keep his attention on Remus. Janus, as though entirely separate from this conversation, seemed to be minding his own business now; he took a loud sip of his tea and kept his vision trained on the television that was quickly being drowned out by their arguing.

“H-how?” Virgil asked when he realized Janus wasn’t going to butt in, immediately regretting his decision to indulge Remus.

“Suck my dick,” he said quickly like he had just been waiting for Virgil to ask. “Right here in the living room!” His hands reached for his waistband. Covertly Janus reacted; as though he had inhaled at the wrong time, he quietly cleared his throat into a cupped hand.

“No!” Virgil protested immediately, recoiling as he nervously looked towards the staircase.

“Prude.”

“Am not!”

“Virgin.”

“That’s just plain wrong!”

Virgil’s face had gone a deep scarlet and again he regretted his words. Anger seized his throat; though he hadn’t raised his volume, his words were heated and bitter. Remus, for all his apparent disinterest as the insults were slung, just couldn’t do away with the pleased sparkle in his eyes that always came with riling Virgil up.

“Is it really now, Screamo?” Remus taunted and Virgil pushed his tempered tongue against the side of his cheek.

“You know it is,” His words came out slow and ground between his teeth. He hated Remus for making him say these things out loud, for making him acknowledge the truths he purposefully left hidden under his bedsheets.

“Do I?” Remus dug a finger into his ear, giving Virgil a stupid and ignorant expression. “Sorry, Cindy Lou Boo, must’ve just…slipped my mind.” He finished with a shrug that held both his hands open.

Virgil groaned and pulled his knees to his chest, slamming back against the couch in a show of edgy annoyance. He glowered straight ahead, unseeing at the window as his rage-filled heart hammered against his ears.

“See what I mean?” Janus mumbled, a smirk just barely hidden behind his teacup. “Frigid.” He raised a shoulder in a half effort shrug.

The words cut Virgil deep, deeper than Remus’ digs had. Janus was always cold and pointed with his insults. They hit hard and lingered with murderous precision. Remus’ were fast and easy to ignore in the long run. Virgil forced himself to take a breath; his lungs expanded against his legs. This was a stupid arguement to be having. They both knew what Virgil was like in bed, which he guessed was why they liked teasing him, but it wasn’t fun. Not for him anyway. Even so, it made Virgil feel like he had something to prove.

Maybe it was some sort of twisted aspect of toxic masculinity or something, but he couldn’t just let their jeering go. It festered in him, the need to be recognized as one of them, because these days it really was feeling like Janus and Remus were against him, which was fucked up if you asked Virgil. He’d been with Janus the longest, so why was Remus able to just swoop in and act like this? Virgil steeled himself with more deep breaths before opening his mouth.

“Talking is overrated,” Virgil started and Janus peered through the corner of his eyes, recognizing how uncharacteristic of him those words were. “If you can’t remember, I’ll just have to remind you.”

“Hell yeah,” Remus immediately enthused, a wide grin cracking his face as he reached for his waistband.

“N-not here,” Virgil rushed, desperately clinging to the cool tone he had used just a moment ago. Remus pouted and Virgil raised his eyes to insinuate one of their bedrooms above them. “Later.”

“Fiiiiiiiiine,” He bemoaned, crossing his arms and sinking back into the couch, his head colliding Janus’ lap again.

“Well then,” Janus mumbled and reached for the remote.

-----

Remus maintained a rough grip in Virgil’s hair. When his fingers had first tightly laced at the roots, Virgil had yelped and felt the familiar tingle of adrenaline prick down his spine. Now, even though Remus hadn’t let up at all, it felt mostly numb - at least in comparison to everything else. His boney knees had begun going red against the carpet, even behind the fabric of his jeans. The color was both from how harsh Remus had pushed him down onto them and for how long he’d been kneeling. His throat ached something raw. His lungs strained against his ribs. His cock struggled for friction against the boot between his thighs.

Virgil’s subdued cries fell on sadistic ears; not apathetic or deaf ones. Remus was spurred on by how Virgil’s protests interrupted the wet sound of his cock colliding against the back of his throat. Virgil knew that of course, and it was a thin line to be riding. Tonight, the margin for error felt smaller than usual.

Perhaps it was his interaction with Janus earlier or maybe it was the instigation this was founded on, but Remus’ grin seemed to glow maliciously down at him. The walls of his throat squeezed unusually tight, reluctant to relax no matter how many deep and even breaths Virgil forced through his nose. His hands shook against his thighs with the restraint of keeping his fight or flight at bay. It wasn’t typically this difficult, taking Remus’ cock and swallowing his violence. For all his objection in the living room earlier, the crude mockery of love that was his lewd time spent with Remus was enjoyable for him. Usually.

Tonight his body reacted like a great duality sliced a canyon in his mind; though he could feel his cock throbbing against his pants and his hips aching to press down against the rigid surface of Remus’ shoe, the familiar animal of panic surged through him, screaming danger like a mating Bellbird. Remus’ hand pressed Virgil’s head down further, his cock searching for the give that’d have him sliding down with ease. Virgil’s eyes watered; even in pain he struggled to maintain eye contact. His vision swam as he glanced between Remus’ unwavering, heated stare and the ceiling just behind his head.

“Relax already, Virge,” Remus complained, reaching with his other hand to tip Virgil’s head back by his chin.

He whined, though the sound quickly became strangled against the obstruction. He was trying, he was trying so hard to let Remus cram himself down, but the more Remus pressed, the more obvious it became that Virgil’s throat wasn’t letting up; and the more obvious that became, the more distressed Virgil got. He was trying, why wasn’t it working? It always did, he was always able to do at least this much. If he couldn’t even deepthroat Remus…maybe they were right. Shame tightened his chest as Janus’ voice rang through his mind. You know he’s much too frigid for that…

Janus couldn’t be right about that. Virgil wouldn’t let Janus be right about that. Rallying, Virgil shifted forward on his knees, straightening his back. His crotch slid further up Remus’ boot, and despite the tears in his eyes, Virgil looked desperately stubborn.

“Ooooh,” Remus almost sang, his voice entertained as he tugged the tuft of Virgil’s hair in his grip and earned a gargled cry. “You’re finally ready to try, Scare Bear?”

He winced; he was already trying, but it was probably a good thing, Virgil thought, that Remus didn’t realize that. It’d just make him look that much more pathetic.

With a deep breath, Virgil squeezed his eyes shut. His knuckles went white as they gripped the hem of his shirt. He forced his jaw to relax, his tongue to press flat against the bottom of his mouth. This would hurt. He steeled himself for pain. The Bellbird rioted in his ears and every other thought hazed as he pressed forward of his own volition. Remus’ hands guided him forward as his cock split through the anxious knot in his throat. The courage of determination and humiliation wasn’t enough to numb the agony. His eyes shot open and the muscles in his neck tensed to pull back as Remus’ cock penetrated beyond his soft palate and teased at the entrance of his esophagus.

Remus’ eyes fluttered shut as he moaned, his head falling back as though it was a great effort to stay standing as pleasure coursed through him. Virgil’s panic rose and no amount of nonverbal approval could prevent him from jerking away - or at least trying to. As he pulled back, feeling his lungs burn for air, he realized the real reason Remus’ hands had stayed lodged in his hair and gripped on his jaw; to hold him in place when he inevitably changed his mind. At the revelation, Virgil squirmed, his hands unconsciously reaching for Remus’ pant leg as muffled pleas wedged between the walls of his throat and Remus’ cock. Virgil struggled, his movements frenzying the longer Remus went without a reaction. He clawed at Remus’ leg as his jaw reflexively tightened. His front teeth grazed the intrusive member between his lips and despite Virgil’s misery, he attempted to keep his mouth open. Tears streaked down his cheeks and his thoughts crescendo to their steepest point of doom; he would die here.

Remus sighed and loosened his hold on the back of Virgil’s head, enough for him to slide backwards several inches until his cock rested at the back of his throat, no longer obstructing Virgil’s breath. But Virgil continued to push back, wanting to eject the horror completely. He shook his head and stared up at Remus with pleading, terror-filled eyes.

“God, Dee’s right, you’re such a Drama King. Breathe already,” Remus said with an exasperated eye roll.

The mention of Janus felt like a slap across the face. How often did they talk about him? Did they only have bad things to say? His stomach flipped and he forced his eyes closed. He already suspected it was like that; he shouldn’t act so shocked. Ever since Remus has come back from the Imagination, he was closer to Janus than Virgil had ever been. It made him beyond jealous, beyond paranoid - but could it really be called paranoia if he was proven right?

Though Remus’ words were harsh, Virgil eventually obeyed, realizing he was right as a slow and even breath went through his nose and down to his lungs easily. It didn’t matter what Janus said about him, Virgil lied to himself. It didn’t matter if they talked behind his back. He’d prove them wrong.

“Good, now stop being such a wuss already,” Remus continued as Virgil’s panic began to subside. Little by little his deep breaths chipped away at the looming wall of his anxiety until eventually, only a line of bricks remained.

He was fine. He did this all the time - well not all the time but frequently enough that it was pretty ridiculous of him to make such a big deal out of it. He blushed, thinking about how pitiful he must’ve looked, struggling to get half of Remus’ cock down. Embarrassment swelled and he swallowed against the feeling, closing his lips around Remus in the process. He gave a small nod and readied himself. This time, he wouldn’t be such a coward.

Remus’ hand tensed in Virgil’s hair and a flinch coiled in his muscles; but the moment remained paused as Remus hesitated.

“Pull your pants down.”

Virgil blinked up at him, a dumb look on his face as his fearful mind struggled to keep up.

“Pants. Down.” Remus repeated like it was the most obvious thing in the world, his tone bewildered. He lifted his foot which remained pressed against Virgil’s cock; the jolt of sudden pressure seemed to get the point across finally.

Virgil unfurled his hands from Remus’ pant leg. His knuckles cracked from being released for the first time in several long minutes. The blood rushed back to them as he fumbled with his zipper and button. Clumsily he maneuvered them down his thighs and below his knees enough. With that done, he looked back at Remus, wanting to just get on with this already. His hardon had shrunk significantly with his earlier pain and even thinking about getting off now made his skin crawl. He wanted to get this over with. His throat ached, his head was pounding, and his knees were raw.

“Boxers too, Spidey,” Remus said impatiently.

Virgil sighed through his nose. He should’ve seen that coming. He looked down, though from his angle he couldn’t see very far without taking Remus’ cock out of his mouth, which was very clearly unallowed by the hands holding his head still. The color on his cheeks darkened at the realization; if he took his boxers off, there’d be nothing between him and Remus’ boot. Disgust overtook him. He didn’t want to touch those things with his hands, let alone his cock.

“My shoes are clean, Sir Bite.” Remus said, tone full of disdain as though it was completely out of the realm of possibilities that his shoes were dirty. “I’m going soft,” He lamented, pushing Virgil’s head forward an inch to feel some friction, making him squeak in surprise. “Hurry up.”

Dejected, he repeated the process, albeit a bit quicker this time, and exposed his half-hard cock. He held it in his hand as he shifted himself back into position; spine straight, thighs separated, head tilted back with his jaw slack and lips tight - though he hadn’t had much of a choice with the latter part. Remus bent his head to the side and peered with dissatisfaction at the way Virgil refused to let his cock touch his shoe. Again he lifted his foot, pointedly pressing against Virgil’s hand as his eyes rolled to lock their gaze. Virgil’s cock twitched in his grip as Remus nearly glared at him with expectation; he resented the thing for it. There was no way such a revolting insinuation should get that sort of rise out of him…and yet, it had. His stomach churned and his nerves frayed as Remus refused to move. It was clear nothing would start or end until Virgil released his cock.

Slowly Virgil closed his eyes again, resigning himself to a very hot, very soapy shower later. He released his hand and rested both, once more, on his thighs. His cock pressed against the leather of Remus’ shoe. It felt…demeaning, Virgil thought. He especially hated how it curled his muscles with anticipation. He cursed internally and refused to meet Remus’ knowing stare. Bastard.

“Good. Now deep breath, emo.” He warned a second before he began to press forward again.

Panic exploded through him like a bullet with the words as his eyes shot open. He rushed to inhale as told in the moment that Remus’ cock inched beyond the back of his throat again. The adrenaline of fight or flight flooded his blood, electrifying his brain with the lone command to flee. But Remus’ hands and eyes paralyzed him; even if Virgil could find it in himself to move as irrational fear crippled him, he’d be prevented. He hadn’t noticed at what point he had stopped crying, but a renewed wetness began trickling down his cheeks, dripping onto his shaking hands.

His cock hardened against Remus’ boot despite himself, the feeling of being trapped somehow translating to arousal as Remus began violating his esophagus with paced thrusts and deep groans. Virgil knew that was exactly what Remus wanted; for all his pain and dread to transform into surrender and lust. That’s how it usually went so it was no wonder his cock dripped against the leather, preparing for the moment Virgil’s desire to run flipped on its head and he embraced his instinct to fight instead. But it was so much more difficult tonight to simply let that happen.

Virgil choked out a defeated whine, blinking rapidly as tears blurred his vision. The sound made Remus’ cock twitch aggressively; his movements hastened and Virgil gargled on his welling spit as his lungs began burning again.

“You know what to do,” Remus grunted, gripping his jaw tighter as he plunged deep enough to press Virgil’s lips against his crotch. He could feel his Adam’s apple taut against his skin. “To make it stop hurting so much.” Virgil thought if he wasn’t preoccupied, the words would’ve sounded like a laugh. Instead they were rushed, like Virgil’s pain was an annoyance rather than a concern.

Twenty seconds had passed and Virgil started to think he was going to die again. It hurt so much, all of it, and Remus was right; there was one way to make it stop, or at least dull it a bit, but Virgil didn’t want to think about that. The idea of moving his hips to gain friction against Remus’ shoe was…outrageous, ludicrous, crazy. But His cock ached for it, dripped precum against the cloth laces for it. Disgusting, disgusting, disgusting. He shook his head as much as he could and choked out a wet wail. Remus clicked his tongue and seemed to shrug about it; it wasn’t his problem if Virgil didn’t take him up on the relief he was offering.

The obscene sound of Remus’ cock pushing all the way down Virgil’s throat filled the room. It invaded his mind and seemed to be in rhythm with his heart, drowning the sound out. Ten more seconds and he struggled to keep his eyes open. Five more and his heart desynced from the even tempo of Remus’ thrusts. His pulse slowed and it was like he was standing in the living room, listening to Janus rapidly flick through the television channels again; a pressure formed between his eyes as he strained to keep up with what was happening. A dull panic nauseated his stomach. A sudden flash of heat like a desert wind beaded sweat at the back of his neck.

Was this enough? Did he live up to the expectation now? They couldn’t still call him frigid or a prude or accuse him of being a virgin after this, right? If he held on long enough and let Remus cum like this, maybe they’d even stop teasing him so much. Virgil hoped that was true, oh, he hoped so much. This could be just like a hazing ritual; he’d pass with flying colors if he could just sit still and take Remus’ brutality without flinching.

His thoughts became nonsensical as his body ran out of oxygen. This wasn’t a hazing ritual. This was just how Remus was. He’d never be comfortable around Janus again. He’d never have Janus to himself anymore; Remus would always be standing in the way like some twisted guard. Even in moments of peace, the inevitability of his unsettling nature put Virgil on edge. No amount of Deceit could cover the truth anymore. Thomas was sick and Remus was the proof.

As his vision went dark, Remus released his grip on Virgil’s hair. His fight or flight returned all at once as he was finally able to pull away. Falling backwards, a hand clawed at his throat, the other bracing himself up in a shaky way as he gasped and choked for air. Everything he knew about steadying his breathing had exited his mind somehow. He scrambled for ways to calm his now pounding heart; his wide eyes snapped across the room, up at Remus, across the room, up at Remus. What was it again? Something about counting, right? Panic climbed higher and higher until Virgil was sure his throat would close or his heart would burst, whichever came first would be the end of him.

Remus watched, a brow raised as he stroked his reddened cock, inches from finishing himself off. He wasn’t stupid, he knew the telltale signs of Virgil’s panic whatevers. He just didn’t understand them; why they happened, why Virgil made such a big deal out of them. If Virgil knew even a fraction of the things that went through his head, then maybe he’d have something to panic about. Virgil had it pretty easy in comparison.

“What’s with the hissy fit, Purple Heart Attack?” Remus said, voice strained with labored breathing as he closed the distance between them.

Virgil made a high pitched sound and went to crawl backwards. He was only successful for a moment before Remus caught his hand and brought it up to his cock. Reluctantly, Virgil wrapped his fingers around the width as he was physically instructed.

“C’mon, loser, I’m almost there.” Remus grunted as he forced Virgil’s hand to move against him; eventually he began to mechanically move his arm without aid.

Just a few more minutes, Virgil told himself, but the dizziness grew a heavy fog behind his eyes as his throat continued to clamp down on itself. His rhythm was uneven, his arm grew numb and Remus’ impatience surmounted into an agitated sound. He slapped Virgil’s hand away and took the final steps to tower over him. Grabbing his own length roughly, Remus stroked fast and hard, his sounds cresting to a loud moan of release as his eyes squeezed shut. Virgil froze, unable to look away until Remus came; his semen landed in streaks across Virgil’s face and the floor behind him.

They both panted, hard and heavy with shaking hands. It was over, but as Remus’ high faded in the afterglow, Virgil’s panic only continued to rise. With a quiet and involuntary cry, Virgil’s hands reached out, searching for a comfort his logical mind, if at all present, would have realized didn’t exist in Remus. Predictably, Remus stepped back, adjusting his pants into place as he avoided Virgil’s grip.

“What?” He said, tone so condescending, Virgil had almost thought Janus was in the room. “It’s like you said; talking is overrated, right?”

Virgil’s arms fell as tears burned his eyes. When did Remus get that good at cutting deep? Weren’t his insults always easy to avoid, or at least get over? Even though Remus had just spoken those words, Virgil felt them settling deep in his bones. They would haunt him forever, he could already tell.

“Right.” He sniffled as Remus turned away and headed for the door. Virgil wiped his nose wetly on his sleeve.

Remus left, not caring that he had closed the door so hard, the wall decor had rattled. Virgil flinched at the sound and pulled his knees to his chest, which certainly didn’t help how difficult it was to breathe. He was glad they always did this in his room; he didn’t think he would’ve had it in him to stand, pull his pants up, and sink out before the loud sobs began. Equally, he didn’t know if the sobs were from anger, embarrassment, or loneliness. Maybe it was some unfortunate mix of all three.

#dukexiety #remus sanders #virgil sanders #tss fanfiction #whumptober2021 #no.2 #talking is overrated #fic #dubcon #smut #nsfwhump

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beanie-beebo-writes · 3 years

Text

Call for Action

Series Summary: You finally get your dream job, but it comes with a cost.

Warnings: Description of panic attack

Masterlist

Chapter 2

It was a nightmare that set you off the next day. Even though you couldn't remember it, you knew there was no way you could go into work that day, which was a nightmare in itself. Your second day on the job and your anxiety already had to butt itself in at the worst possible time, of course.

You tried anyway, knowing how vital your job was to the process of the series being made. You didn't even bother with breakfast, knowing it would upset your stomach even further. You took a cup of coffee to go just in case, fearing if you drank it, the jitters would only add to your anxieties.

On set, everybody was mostly in their places except for a few PAs as always. You had forgotten to check your phone, so you went to the front office yet again to pick up another schedule. The day was already turning out to be a wreck and it barely started yet. Thankfully, Paul noticed you weren't in much of a talkative mood and let you be in your thoughts this morning.

The schedule was even busier today, making your heart drop into your stomach. You knew a panic attack wasn't far, but you didn't have much time. You tried to forget about it as you ran to the stage for today. Your heart was pounding, and no amount of breathing exercises could quell the deep settled anxiety. You knew people were starting to notice, but your thoughts were too loud to pay much attention.

"Alright, is everyone in their places?" You called aloud, still out of breath.

"Just about, give us less than five!" An A.V tech said from somewhere.

"That's fine." You said.

It gave you a minute to try and control your racing thoughts, if that was even possible. You bent over and held your knees as you tried to control everything bubbling inside you. Great, look at you. Someone definitely noticed that you're acting weird, next thing you know you'll be outcasted and fired. Hell, maybe even blacklisted if you decide to keep up this charade of job to job. Maybe-

A hand to your shoulder rescued you from drowning to the depths of darkness, startling you in the process. You stood up a little too quickly, starting to see dark spots. You blinked them away and looked up at your savior. And of course, it was Jensen.

"Hey I just-" He began before taking in your appearance. "What's wrong?"

You inhaled a deep breath, finding calm in his voice. "It's nothing, just a bad day." You said.

"Are you sure? Because it seems like a bit more than that." He said.

Your thoughts faintly began to start up again. "No, it's okay really. Get to your mark, Jensen." You said, half reassuring yourself and him.

"Alright, just remember what we talked about yesterday." He said.

You nodded and waited until he walked away to pull out a compact mirror, something you kept on yourself for situations like these. Yes everyone had already been likely staring at you when you had a moment, but you didn't want more lingering eyes if your panic attack had screwed up your appearance.

You wanted to roll your eyes in sheer embarrassment. You looked like you had run a mile and you had begun to cry. You thanked yourself that you didn't wear makeup like other higher ups, as you were sure it would be more noticeable. Before anyone could take notice, you set the mirror back down and made your way to the director's chair.

"Alright, everyone set?" You asked aloud.

You got a bunch of affirmative replies before making the decision to call "action" for the scene to start.

Sam and Dean sat in a motel room, arguing about the aspects of a current case.

"There is no way you're going in on this one solo. Absolutely not." Dean said, throwing his arms up.

"Dean, you said it yourself. Going with two people is just asking for trouble. They'll instantly catch on and it'll blow our cover. I understand needing backup but.. I got this." Sam replied.

"For the last time Sam, no." Dean said.

Interrupting their argument was one of Dean's ringing cell phones; it was Bobby Singer.

"Yeah?" Dean asked.

"Well, I found that information you wanted, turns out they are also killed with silver to the heart." Bobby said on the other line.

"Yeah, that's easy." Dean said sarcastically. "So did you hear about this genius plan of Sam's?"

Bobby sighed tiredly. "What now?"

"He wants to go in under cover, but when guns go blazing, no backup." Dean said animatedly.

"Well, he may have a good point you know." Bobby said.

"Excuse me? Bobby, that's suicide!" Dean argued.

"You watch your tone with me, boy." Bobby said. "You said the place is like an underground bar, right?"

"Yeah but-" Dean began.

"And that means he already is going to stick out like a sore thumb. Two of you would mean you're dead meat. He only needs the alpha and the rest will scatter. Now which plan sounds like suicide again?" Bobby asked.

Dean was silent, knowing there was no use arguing with the aged hunter.

"That's what I thought. You can stand by, just give him a lot of space outside the building. Got it?" Bobby said.

"Yeah Bobby." Dean said defeatedly.

"Good. Let me know how it goes." Bobby said.

"We will, talk to you later." Dean said.

"Bye, and be safe ya idjits." Bobby said, ending the call.

And then everything was quiet, too quiet. You felt a nudge from next to you bring you back to the modern world.

"And scene!" You called out, cheeks tinged slightly pink. "Sorry guys, got swept away there."

"You're good, we can just cut it later in editing." Bob Singer said, standing up from his chair.

"Cool. Alright everyone, settle for a minute and then we'll start scene 26." You called out to the stage.

--------

Before you knew it, lunchtime had rolled around again. This time though, you made the move to sit by Jensen and Jared, who had beat you to the table first. They were in a light conversation before you asked to sit with them.

"Of course (Y/N)." Jared had said.

They were currently talking about some sports team that you didn't follow; you listened in and tried to understand where you could.

"Who's your favorite team?" Jared asked.

"Oh, I don't really follow sports, it isn't really my thing." You admitted.

"Aw really? Bummer, another one." Jared teased.

"Hey, knock it off." Jensen said lightly.

"No, it's okay, I know he's only joking." You said, smiling at Jared.

"Okay, just checking." Jensen said with a wink.

Your heart flipped sideways and missed a beat. If you didn't have anxiety, you would have never distinguished the feelings you were starting to feel towards Jensen. Your feelings with crushes were always different from your anxiety, and yet so similar at the same time. Sometimes you wondered how you could tell the difference.

You still remembered the first time you had a crush. You were a late bloomer, so it didn't happen until 7th grade. You were so confused; anxiety was always something you were used to that when you were hit with all of these feel-good endorphins along with the anxieties, you threw up. Literally, in front of half of the grade and your crush, Nathan Sullivan. You had bumped into him in the middle of your moving-up ceremony in the middle-school hallway. You had wanted to say everything and nothing all at once, and ironically your brain chose to vomit instead. Now that you thought about it, you wondered that's where some of your current anxieties began.

With Jensen, it wasn't that different in a sense. You felt all of the bubbling emotions, the confusing anxieties telling you to either go for it or stay low. But you were past that for the most part. Or maybe it was the fact that Jensen made you feel safe, unlike the other guys. There was just something about him that you couldn't quite understand.

"Hey, have you guys ever dealt with anxiety?" You asked as the conversation headed to a lull.

Jensen swallowed his food before answering. "Actually yeah. About a few years back, maybe even longer, I had this huge fear of what others thought of me."

"Really?" You asked.

"Mhm, anything done on set or stage that was seen as funny to everyone else, was actually a huge anxiety factor for me. I was beyond embarrassed and hated being the one everyone laughed at, even if it was literally for comedy." Jensen explained.

"Oh wow, I never knew it was that bad." Jared said.

"I was too embarrassed to tell you at the time, honestly." Jensen admitted.

"I actually deal with anxiety sometimes too, just not as bad as Jensen." Jared said.

"What helps you guys through it?" You asked.

"Honestly? For me it was therapy, lots of it." He said with a chuckle. "But the main thing I keep with me all the time, is to remember that most people are more likely to be absorbed in their thoughts, than they are paying attention to you or me. At the end of the day, what you do may not even matter to them at the dinner table. And if it does, it does."

"Wow, that's some good advice." You said.

"Thank my therapist for that one." He said.

"I use a lot of deep breathing techniques, it tends to quell a lot of things for me." Jared said.

"Why you ask? Something on your mind?" Jensen asked.

"No, just curious. My one friend back home deals with this kind of stuff and I figured it would help to know." You stretched a bit.

"Ah." Jensen said.

"Well, send her some love from us, okay?" Jared asked.

"Of course." You said, finishing up your lunch.

A beat of silence surrounded the three of you.

"Hey, are you busy later?" Jensen asked. "I know you're technically my boss and all.."

You looked up from your food and almost choked. Was Jensen asking you of all people, on a date? This had to be a misunderstanding. Yet again, Jared was practically all over Jensen, just by looking at him with his head in his hands.

"Huh? Uh, no, not really. I usually just pass the time by watching netflix or something I guess." You said.

"You want to grab a bite?"

You felt the tips of your ears burn like a hot stove.

"As a… date? Or…?" You asked.

"Depends."

"On?"

"Well, do you want it to be?" Jared asked.

"Would it even be appropriate? I mean.. Like you said, I'm practically your boss, Jensen." You said.

"Don't see why it wouldn't be. It's not like you're doing any special favors to get me top role or anything." Jensen said with a knowing smile.

You smiled back and lightly rolled your eyes. Oh, this man is definitely going to be something if I date him. How could you say no?

"Yeah true." You said, probably still with a red face. "Sure, let's make it a date then."

"Yessss!" Jared whispered.

He did a silent victory dance on the way to the trash can and shut the trap closed with his hip. He strode proudly all the way back to the stage as if his son had won a competition. Jensen put his hands over his face a moment and exhaled lightly.

"Just ignore him." He said, muffled behind his hands.

"Couldn't if I wanted to." You said with a giggle.

#jensen x reader #Jensen Ackles #jared padalecki #spn reader insert #call for action series #call for action

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wickedmilo · 3 years

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BITTERLY HUMAN | MILO SOLO

PLACE: An abandoned building near Friction TIMING: 2:11 AM SUMMARY: Milo contemplates Dani’s words, and ends up finding answers he isn’t sure he still wants CONTENT WARNINGS: Brief mention of needles, brief implied drug use (not explicitly mentioned), vomit/vomiting

Milo wasn’t sure how much time he spent on the ground before whatever was holding him down released its grip. Part of him almost enjoyed the inability to move. If he couldn’t move, he didn’t need to think about where he was. And if he didn’t need to think about where he was, he could ignore the voices in his head, the feelings threatening to overwhelm him. But when the pressure disappeared, and his lungs filled with air once again, he tore his gaze away from the stars, shakily pushing himself to his feet. And he decided to do the one thing every instinct in his body was telling him not to; explore. If he didn’t do this now, he might lose this location. He might forget Dani’s words, or how desperate he was to seek out his answers. He should know the area well, but alcohol and drugs always made his memory unreliable, so he started small, picking the glass out of his palms to carefully run them along the brick walls. A vain attempt to trigger any memories he might have, anything lurking in the deepest recesses of his mind.

Dani’s words were still ringing in his ears, and he could still feel the gaze of the man responsible for killing him, even though he must be long gone by now. Seeing his face, looking into his eyes… even being in his presence alone, it was nothing like he had expected it would be. Largely due to realising who he was after he had successfully made his escape. He had been secretly hoping an identity, any form of contact, might help him to accept his fate, or at the very least understand it. But his stomach wouldn’t settle, his entire body was shaking. He didn’t even get the chance to talk to him. Not here. What did that mean? He had more questions than answers, which was utterly infuriating. Continuing to the end of the alleyway, his footsteps unsteady, and hesitant, he took a deep breath as he emerged onto the high street. After being in the dark for so long there were so many sights, smells, and sounds attacking his senses. Each distracting in their own way, each demanding his attention. He forced himself to focus, which wasn’t difficult to do considering his mind only wanted to dwell on what had just taken place. How stupid he had been.

Glancing down towards the direction of club, he was begrudgingly forced to accept it was the most logical place to start, and he began his impulsive journey, his quest to find something more concrete than the information Dani had provided him with. Building by building he paused, carefully analysing the scenery, observing every brick out of place, every scratch, or mark, or unusual scent. The anxiety in his chest was growing in strength with each passing storefront, or boarded up window. Something didn’t feel right, something other than the strange way he had been pulled to the floor by an unseen force. This wasn’t coming from the Weird of White Crest, this was a very natural, and very human feeling of dread. One connected to something he couldn’t quite grasp. It felt like trying to remember a dream, desperately clinging to details even as they faded away. Having long since lost any concept of time, when he eventually reached the club, instead of trying to get back inside, he slipped between it and the abandoned building that stood towering next door. It felt undeniably familiar, but of course it would. Hadn’t he walked this way earlier? Hadn’t he passed this ominous structure in his evening’s mission to get drunk? He so wanted to believe that was it, but ignoring the way his skin was crawling, the way his throat felt tight, the way his vision blurred uncomfortably at the edges, would be counterproductive. He resisted every urge to turn and run, allowing muscle memory to lead him. Following his own footsteps rather than contemplating a possible destination. It was easier to move forward that way.

Until he was close enough to touch the building next to the club, that is. Only then did the feeling return to him. Dirty, and incredibly old, it was all too obvious people used it as a place to get high, to hide away from the prying eyes of bartenders, and club security. Which should probably make him feel at home, he would be lying if he said he wasn’t used to such specific environments. But the sense of dread was only growing, rising steadily in a way that made his lack of a heartbeat painfully obvious. Swallowing his fear, he brushed his fingers against a faded poster that had been pasted to a wooden board. He couldn’t read what it said now, but something about it drew him in. So he moved to the next board covering the next window. And then the next, and then the next, until an entryway became apparent to him. Faltering, he stared at it, and then through the doorway to the darkness beyond it. He was met only with a limited view of exposed brick wall, and concrete flooring. It wasn’t an awfully interesting view, but it was undeniably triggering something inside of him. Hurriedly attempting to light a cigarette, struggling to catch the flame due to how severe his tremors had become, when his lungs filled with smoke, and his mind filled with undecipherable noise, he stumbled over the bottom half of the boards keeping it sealed. The top of them had been torn away, so they only managed to reach his ankles.

He wasn’t entirely sure what he had been expecting. Some life altering flashback, or a spiritual revelation. Maybe a neon sign saying MILO, THIS IS WHERE YOU WERE MURDERED. But there was nothing out of the ordinary. He wasn’t disappointed, or even relieved. He felt absolutely nothing but the sick, twisted sense of something being terribly wrong. Reaching up to brush away a fresh wave of tears, his steps were small, as though if he didn’t commit then taking them wouldn’t feel as terrifying. Tapping ash, he reached the centre of the room. The far wall was aggressively demanding his attention but he couldn’t understand why. There wasn’t anything in here, the entire trip was proving to be pointless. It felt as though the only thing he was achieving was a heightened state of anxiety, and that wasn’t going to benefit him in any way. There were a few needles, a burned spoon, some broken bottles, and empty cans. Nothing should be standing out to him, and yet he had the awful suspicion something horrific had happened here. More specifically, something horrific had happened to him here.

Taking another shaky breath of smoke, his gaze followed an invisible path to a room on his right. Smaller, and darker, further away from the high street than the one he was currently standing in, this room seemed to emanate the overwhelming scent of old blood. It hung thick in the air, only becoming more obvious as he grew closer. He could almost taste it as he crossed the threshold, his tears falling freely even as he fought to maintain his composure. He couldn’t bring himself to step into the centre of the room, not this time, and inched around the outside of it instead, his back firmly against the wall. His chest was heaving as panic violently clawed at him, and when he finally, finally looked down, he was hit by an unexpected barrage of emotion. It was almost too much to feel at once. Fear, anxiety, confusion, desperation, hurt, anger… and a sharp, physical pain in his neck. Choking back a sob, he stared at the source of the scent; a large deep, rust red blood stain. It was crisp, and dry, but still coating the concrete as though whatever had taken place happened days ago, and not months. Only it had been months. He knew it had been months, because as the cigarette fell from his hands, as he dropped to his knees in horror, he realised it wasn’t just blood. It was his blood. It was human, it was painfully, bitterly human, but it belonged to him.

“Fuck…” He breathed, his voice cracking, barely louder than a whisper. He should look away, this wasn’t healthy. The pain in his neck was only growing worse, and he reached up to press a hand against the scars at the base of his throat. “I-” He broke off, not understanding what was happening until it was too late. Bile burned in the back of his throat and he crouched forward in discomfort, unwillingly emptying the contents of his stomach. Blood mixed with alcohol hit the floor, pooling beside the only evidence of his attack, what was left of his death. He really needed to get a grip, he needed to pull himself together. But how? He had seen his killer, had managed to find the place where his heart finally stopped beating. Why didn’t this feel like closure? Why did everything feel so much worse than it had? When he managed to stop retching he scrubbed at his face with the sleeve of his hoodie, collapsing to the ground again for reasons entirely unrelated to gravity. Maybe he just needed time, maybe he would be okay when he had come to terms with what he had seen and suffered over the course of the evening. Maybe Dani would find him, and she could rub his back, and tell him everything was going to be okay. Even in his current state he knew that was a ridiculous thought. But that didn’t mean there weren’t people willing to help him. Not for the first time, he curled up into a ball, ready to spend the night on a cold, bloody, and unforgiving floor. But he wasn’t here to die again. Maybe he was here to prove he could keep on living. Clumsily pulling his phone from his pocket, letting it rest beside his head, he used speed dial to call Evelyn’s number. It rang for a moment, and he listened to the repetitive sound. By the time she answered the call he was halfway through convincing himself to hang up. But when he heard her voice, he knew he had made the right decision, a genuinely good decision. “Hey…” Even he could hear how different he sounded. No doubt Evelyn would realise immediately that something wasn’t right. “You know how you said I could call you if I ever needed someone… I think I… I really need someone.”

#milo solo #milo #vomit tw #drug abuse tw #thank you ci for helping me choose a title

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idontblushsrry · 3 years

Text

Do You Know That I Do Love You

Chapter 1: Do You Still Think Of Me Fondly?

Next>

Word Count:

Warnings: Some swearing, smut in later chapters

A/N: This is purely self indulgent at this point. I will get my black nobility/courtly romance fic and it just so happens to be with Han Ju-Do from Yona of the Dawn (great show if you ask me I think everyone should watch it and that it deserves more but, whateverrr) I don’t know how many chapters this is going to have, I thought 2 but maybe I’ll do 3 or 4 it all depends on what I feel like is gonna complete the story the best. Reader is black, she has a Korean last name to match with the rest of the show characters. Spoilers ahead for parts of Yona Of The Dawn anime/manga

A/N Pt.2: This is based off of the concept of courtly love but w tweaks bcus I have like no ability to stick with angst permanently, like if asked nicely, I’ll do a happy ending (Also Reader and Ju-do are both single so). This fic is also based of this song if you want to get into the vibe.

You’d been told tales of the Crimson Dragon Castle just nothing could’ve compared to the majesty of seeing it in person. The gates opened and guards announced your arrival as your carriage pulled inside. You stared in awe at the sheer size of it while your attendants whispered something to each other that you didn’t quite pick up on.

“What was that?”

You turned and your attendants immediately went silent, squirming and failing to meet your gaze each time you tried to capture them in it.

“Nothing milady just the talk of lowly servants that you shouldn’t concern yourself with.”

You could tell though from the guilt in her tone and the way the other attendant looked as though you’d have her thrown out if you heard what she said that you knew they were discussing the reason you’d even come to the palace. You were much too old to be an unmarried woman and the constant rumours of your status ranged in believability, the most outrageous being that you were a succubus and having a husband would get in the way of your appetites.

When you’d heard it, that made you cackle because you were the furthest thing from a succubus.

It’s not like you felt ashamed of being a virgin, you were a grown woman after all, and it’s not as though you were the sole heir to your family’s name. You had plenty of siblings to carry on the family name. The issue lied in the fact that you were the oldest, your family tradition dictated that none shall marry before the oldest and as such you’d been on the receiving end of anger from your siblings, parents, potential suitors, and all in between.

When your father first proposed the idea of marriage to you, many of your siblings were still too young to care or remember. You could feel the concern coming from both of your parents as they urged you to meet with suitors from other clans and families. And you could feel their growing rage as you rejected one after another.

Now nearing two decades later, your siblings, the ones who were unconcerned with your marital status so long ago were now resentful of you. Many of them had approached you individually and together with their grievances, claiming you were holding the family back and restraining them from true love, all the things you’d heard before.

They’d brought those same complaints to father and he brought up the idea of a palace visit to you. No not in so few words nor with such direct intent but the message was there. He’d brought the idea up while you fed the fish in your private reserve.

‘I think that this place is too stifling of your abilities my dear. I’d like for you to go to the Crimson Dragon Palace in my stead, I’m getting rather old and the whole thing is nothing but a diplomatic affair anyways, I’m sure you can handle it.’ You were going to turn down his offer. Not consciously out of spite but because you knew what he wanted you to do. His words seemed like the ones of a trusting father but the undertone of ‘return with a fiancé or I’ll disown you’ rang clear as a bell through your head. You may have been stubborn but you weren’t a fool, your family had grown impatient with your antics and if this behavior continued, they’d send you packing without so much as a goodbye.

You’d contemplated that idea and thought up the pros and cons to being disowned. It wasn’t until you heard two maids whispering outside your room that night that you made your decision.

‘Poor Master Seong I heard that Lady (Y/N) is preventing him from meeting his heirs.’

‘Eh? What do you mean, how could she do that?’

‘She refuses to let any of her siblings get married and as the next clan head, any marriages from her siblings that occur before her own are forbidden.’

‘Wow! Really, then why won’t she just get married already?’

‘Who knows.’

By the following night you were in a carriage on your way to the castle. Coincidentally with the two maids that spoke ill of you that night. It seems that they still haven’t gained the ability to shut up even when it’s in their best interest.

The carriage pulled up to the guest exit and you didn’t have to wait long before the carriage was opened by one of the palace servants.

“Welcome Lady Seong”

You were rushed to yet another carriage that would take you to your quarters while your attendants followed someone else to the servants’ quarters. For the first time in the weeks it’d taken you to travel here, you could feel yourself begin to truly relax. The servant next to you was stiff with rigid and tense shoulders especially compared to your unladylike and unrefined composure. But, they were quiet. You weren’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth and you didn’t particularly feel like talking to ease the tension in the carriage, so, you ignored it. Most of it was coming from the servant not knowing how to react to you anyways.

You closed your eyes to think of the last time you felt truly happy and all your defeated mind could conjure was an image of a chubby outstretched hand handing you a six-petaled flower.

“Milady? We’ve arrived at your quarters.”

You stepped out of the dark carriage into the courtyard of the place you’d be staying. Only to find that this courtyard was slightly nicer than you’d expected a standard nobles courtyard to be. There was an abundance of flowers, rocks lining the foliage. A bridge that spanned a small river that begun with a waterfall. Birds, a gazebo lined with jewels in the far corner, and the fragrant scent of jasmine flowers.

The servant, seemingly unfazed by the extravagance, urged you to follow her with a motion of her head. Her feet leading you through the courtyard with practiced expertise, you managed to keep up with her strides by clutching your dress up some and resisting the urge to gawk at every element passing you by.

She brought you to a spacious room similarly sized as the room you slept in back home. The room was relatively bare save for a large bed pressed against the wall in the center of the room, a wardrobe, vanity and an incense holder among other things.

She turned to you and bowed before turning to leave. “Before you leave, what’s your name?”, she froze as though she wasn’t expecting you to actually speak to her. She turned back to you with a close eyed smile.

“My name? It’s Ha-Neul”

You’d received the first and arguably the most difficult of your diplomatic duties when within 3 days of your stay, you were being summoned by King Suwon. While the letter came as a shock to you, you nearly had a heart attack when you learned you’d be meeting in the King’s personal tea gardens. You’d take it as a compliment, however, you were 1) essentially all alone with no one to back you up should you fail to be adept at conversation and 2) you’d only met the new king as a boy and in passing, you were somewhat underprepared and knew nothing more of him than what you’d heard in passing.

‘No. Don’t think like that (Y/N)’, you looked at your reflection in the mirror, your braids hung down, the tight coils of your hair wrapped up inside of them as they hung down from your scalp to frame your face. ‘You are more than capable, if it weren’t for your intelligence, you wouldn’t have made it this far. You can do this.’ You took a look at your outfit. It was unfit to meet the king. But before you could begin working yourself up into another nervous tizzy, Ha-neul knocked on your door, her consistent rapping against it breaking you out of your anxious reverie.

Ha-Neul was truly a miracle worker. She’d managed to make your previously tense body appear completely calm and put together with a few twists of her wrists and some careful thought into what she’d have you wear to meet with the king.

By the time the carriage had stopped, the anxiety in your gut had settled to a deep thrum that would remind you of its presence at the very center of your being but wouldn’t seize control of your body. This mercy provided by your anxiety allowed you to put one foot in front of the other like you’d done since you were a child, albeit with a more conscious effort.

You’re led by a flurry of servants and guards to where Suwon was sitting so tranquilly in his tea gardens. It was amazing how much he’d grown since you’d last seen him but those same features he had as a child seemed to have aged with his spirit. You didn’t know why but you got this deep guttural feeling that he’d done something akin to a betrayal of himself. It showed oh so subtly in the way he drank his tea with an air of practiced indifference that he tried to cover with a layer of oversaturated artificial happiness.

“Lady Seong, it’s good to see you. I hope your quarters are to your liking.”

Showtime.

You bowed respectfully to him before replying, “Yes, the room is lovely and even more so the courtyard. I’d love to speak with the person who designed it. How have you been your majesty?”

You’d hoped flattery would work with him, all your cues were being taken from him but it was near impossible to get a read on him. You kept your tone and demeanor light and cheery but eve still that was all he was giving you. It was like he was trying to gauge you at the same time.

Oh, you realized embarrassingly belatedly, this is a test.

The new king couldn’t afford any threats to his power and securing allyship while weeding out untrustworthy people was the most effective way for him to achieve that in lieu of starting a full-scale war.

But Kouka didn’t need that.

Since you were attending in your father’s stead, he’s likely assumed that you’re the new head of your clan, ‘If only he knew’.

Well, if it’s a test he wants then a test he’ll get. Two could play that game and you always were very good at mind games.

It feels as though it’s been about 30 minutes of you and King Suwon exchanging formalities, trying to see who’d crack. But finally, the tea and snack get delivered and you realize that for now, you’d reached a stalemate with the King. You could count it as a win but judging from the fact you still couldn’t tell what he was thinking, you mentally conceded to the standstill with him, and from the sigh he let out it seems he’s resigned himself to the same fate.

“Let’s eat then shall we.” he says good-naturedly, like the careful tension of your previous exchange never happened, so you nod in agreement. Waiting for him to take the first bite and sip before following suit. You close your eyes and simply enjoy the gentle floral taste and aroma of the tea. You take a moment of respite in the tea and neglect your surroundings for a moment.

You hear big clunky footsteps hurry their way down the hallway you and Suwon are staying in before, “My King, I apologize for my lateness, and while inexcusable, I hope that you can forgive me.”

You recognize that voice, you move to open your eyes at the same time the man stands up and before King Suwon can get his answer out, you interrupt him with “Ju...do?”

He looks down at you with a sneer looking ready to give you a tongue- lashing for interrupting the King and calling him out of his station. Before a look of recognition flashes in his eyes and he looks away hurriedly, calling your name with a formal “Lady Seong, I didn’t know you were at the castle."

Ok, ouch. Few things hurt worse than the person you’d spent an embarrassing amount of time fawning over as a teenager (and young adult) dismissing you with such a dismissive and cold formality.

You’d already fucked up by interrupting the King and you weren’t about to fuck up again by not responding to a General when directly addressed by one. “I didn’t know you were at the castle either, General.” If you were nothing more than a formality to him, then he’d be nothing more than a formality to you.

Yes you were aware of how petty and flimsy that logic was. He hadn’t seen you in years, of course he was going to be cordial with you. But the other part of you, the person who was heartbroken by the same man who stood in front of you right now, someone that you thought you buried long ago, hoped that calling him General hurt just as much as hearing him call you anything but (Y/N).

#yona of the dawn imagines #black reader #x black reader #han judo #han judo yona of the dawn #akatsuki no yona #general judo x reader #han judo x reader #yona of the dawn x reader #general judo #general han judo #pls lmk if yall like this #or if you watch yotd #there isnt a really big fandom for it and i am searching pls #idontblushsrry #x reader #anime imagines #imagines #smut

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imjusthereforbatfam · 3 years

Text

Never-Ending Encore, ch3

Chapters: 1 2 3 4

Chapter Summary: Everyone has opinions, Eden is Lonely™, and grocery shopping late at night is the best way to fight off a panic attack in Gotham City. Nothing bad could possibly happen. Nothing at all.

Warning: anxiety/panic attacks, canon-typical violence (attempted assault), nonchalance towards death/dying, swearing, blood

—

Chapter 3:

Eden was an actress in a big city, not a baker on a farm. But she grew up in a bakery on a farm, and over the years she'd amassed a long laundry list of things to do on said farm that helped ease her nerves. She'd always loved that simple things like taking long walks, racing horses, bucking hay, cleaning stalls, shooting targets, blasting music, and putting in extra time at the bakery were enough to clear her head and calm her racing mind. But in Gotham, those simple things were incredibly hard to come by.

There were no fields or woods to walk through near her apartment. No horses to ride or bales of hay to chuck. No stalls or animals to tend to. There must've been a shooting range or two somewhere in the city, but she didn’t have the time, nor money, to go to one every time she felt frazzled. All she had here was music and baking, and even then she had to compromise.

With thin walls surrounding her, she couldn't belt her heart out or freely crank music high enough to shake her bones. She had neighbors to consider! (Even if they rarely seemed to consider her.) And baking only calmed her down when she could really get lost in the process. That was easy when you could, say, whip up ten loaves of bread for tomorrow's hungry customers. But Eden was only one person. She couldn't eat more than a single loaf of bread or helping of muffins or whathaveyou in a week without making herself sick, and only making one batch of something was rarely enough to settle her down.

She needed to figure out something to do in this city. And quick. Because otherwise, she was going to drown.

Ever since finding that note from Red Hood, Eden had been bubbling with the urge to tell someone about their encounter. She almost called home to tell Kit or one of the boys. Almost. But that would’ve meant telling them where she was, explaining how she got there, and admitting what had happened in the days before she left. She wasn’t ready for that talk yet. She was especially not ready for Mama to know anything. Granted, she probably already knew more than Eden wanted her to, but talking to someone else back home would only guarantee it.

Eden couldn't risk that. So she settled on telling her coworkers instead.

The morning after the whole fiasco, Eden waited for their first break to tell her tale. She got about two sentences in when—

“Hold up,” one of the girls, GG, said suddenly. “You met the Red Hood last night?”

Eden nodded. “Yeah, outside my apartment,” she said again. It sounded better than saying on her fire escape.

“Whoa. You’re lucky to be alive!”

“I... What?”

“Don’t be an idiot, G,” one of the guys, Aaron, said. “Everyone knows Red Hood stopped killing people ages ago.”

“You seriously believe that?” she scoffed. “The guy was a mob boss. Decapitating gang lords and collecting their heads.”

“What?” Eden yelped, glancing frantically between the two of them.

GG ignored her. “You really think he just, what, gave all that up? Give me a break.”

“He works with Batman,” Aaron said rolling his eyes. “He’s one of the good guys.”

“If he was really a ‘good guy’,” she said making air-quotes, “he wouldn’t be shooting people up every night.”

"He’s not killing anybody," he pshawed, flicking his wrist to shoo the notion away. “Honestly, I wish he was killing people still. Gotham was so much safer then."

GG shook her head at him, clearly annoyed. Eden blinked at them, mouth open wide with questions on her tongue, but the director called for everyone to wrap it up. GG grumbled something at Aaron as they walked back to the stage area, and he glared at her, but rehearsal continued without any more talk of Red Hood.

Eden probably should’ve gotten the hint there, that maybe she should keep the night's events to herself, but she couldn’t help herself. Now she really wanted to tell someone about what had happened. It was ridiculous enough before, but hearing the vigilante she'd given cookies to – who'd helped her through a panic attack – was actually an ex-killer? A former mob boss who collected people’s heads? It was a whole new level of bizarre! She could barely wrap her head around it!

The whole thing fogged her mind for the rest of the day. When everyone was finally dismissed, she nearly exploded as she and a few others left for the subway station.

"I met Red Hood last night!" she announced.

"Ooo, lucky!" one of the leads said. "He's so cool!"

"Yeah, he—"

"He's not cool, Marsha," another lead, Veronica, interrupted to chide her friend. "He's a killer."

"Was a killer," one of the guys said. "He's a good guy now. He doesn't do that anymore."

"Yeah, he does," someone else argued. "Just not in Gotham."

"That's not true."

"Is too! And he's a total badass for it!"

They went into a detailed retelling of one of Red Hood's 'badass' exploits, complete with sound effects for the guns and explosions. One of the guys told a different story, painting the things Red Hood did as inexcusable and unforgivable. Someone else mentioned their younger sister getting a Red Hood toy from a fast food joint not too long ago. Veronica called that despicable and said it sent kids the wrong message; someone else said she was being too judgemental.

Eden listened quietly to them all, captivated by the native Gothamites' nonchalance as they went back and forth on the violent, graphic things Red Hood had done and how they each felt about it. Eventually, one of the girls, Marsha, scoffed and began explaining in detail all the good that had come from the vigilante's not-so-good deeds. The conversation got more intense as the group started to debate more seriously on whether or not Red Hood's actions were truly justifiable. A few passersby even added their two cents while the group was waiting to cross the street. It nearly turned into a full-on brawl when they started arguing if he was, could be, or ever should be considered a hero after all he'd done.

Eden could only stand there, flabbergasted by it all. Somehow she felt even more like a fish out of water than the day she'd first arrived in Gotham. Which, considering she'd stepped off that bus with only half a plan, a backpack full of belongings, and the duffel bag filled with Frank's cash, was saying a lot.

She watched them argue as long as she could — until she absolutely had to leave to catch her train. The group showed no signs of stopping.

“Are you a good guy or a bad guy?”

“Depends on who you ask.”

Talk about an understatement! Red Hood must've known how contested he was. Everyone in Gotham seemed to have a strong opinion regarding him and that... that was bad. Continuing to bring him up was bound to get Eden into some kind of trouble sooner or later. More trouble. That was the last thing she needed right now. As disappointing as it was, she knew she had to drop the whole thing and just keep it to herself...

But it was such a ridiculous experience! She'd met a vigilante – an apparently very dangerous vigilante – randomly on her fire escape. He helped her fight off a panic attack! She made him laugh— laugh! She made Gotham's big, scary, shoot-y vigilante laugh! And she gave him cookies! And he liked them enough to write her a damn note! And he was an ex-MOB BOSS! It was impossible! It was hysterical! And it— it—

It didn't matter.

It didn't matter. She couldn't risk getting into any sort of hot water here. Maybe if she actually had someone to talk to in this city, somebody she could trust, it would be different. But she didn't have anybody like that. So it didn't matter. She was alone and had nobody; the story would die with her and that was that.

A dismal ache punctured her chest. Eden was alone. She... hadn't realized how true it was until just now. She had nobody in this city. Nobody to talk to, no one to confide in... Not even with something as small and ridiculous as what had happened with Red Hood...

For the first time in her life, Eden was truly and completely alone.

The glowing, blissful solitude she’d reveled in for months was gone. Painful, heart-wrenching loneliness swallowed it whole. She had nobody. She had nobody. And it was all her fault.

For over a week, the tiny notebook she’d stored everyone's numbers in taunted her. Every night she sat at her small kitchen table flipping through its pages. She debated over whether or not to save them into her new phone or, heaven forbid, call one of them. Until, finally, it was too much.

She would throw the notebook, and her phone, into the depths of her closet to stop the temptation. She would drown out her thoughts with painfully loud music. She would throw herself onto her mattress on the floor and scream into a pillow in an attempt to get everything out. Then, when she was too exhausted to do anything else, she would drift into a restless, dreamless sleep.

The next night, she would do the same thing over again. And again. It was an awful, vicious cycle — much like her encores.

Tonight looked like it would be no different. Sitting again at her small, scruffy kitchen table, Eden bounced her knee and stared at the notebook. In her hands, she fumbled with the phone she’d bought with Frank’s money.

She debated, yet again, on whether or not to sabotage everything. Was giving everything up worth not feeling so damn lonely anymore? Was she so desperate to just talk to somebody she'd risk telling her family about everything she'd done before she was ready? Would she ever be ready? What if she wasn't? What then? Would she have to feel this way forever?

Eden stood abruptly, her chair legs scraping across the floor. She started pacing.

Her apartment was small. A single room shaped like an awkward U. One small room that wasn't even half the size of the barn. One small, damned room with no woods, no creek, no nothing out back to walk through. No fields, no pastures, no space to breathe in. Just a single, small, damned room.

Eden's hands shook as her headphones blared. There were no horses in Gotham. No animals at all. No hay, no stalls, no targets. No creek, no woods, no family. No friends. No nothing. No one. Just Eden.

Eden. All alone.

The thin walls around her got smaller and smaller until, finally, she could take it no more. Eden ripped off her headphones and threw them at her bed. She carelessly stuffed her wallet, keys, and a can of mace into her coat pockets as she hurried out the door. She left her phone on the table. Bringing it with her wasn’t a good idea right now. She couldn't trust herself; there were too many numbers she knew by heart.

She marched loudly down the dark streets, channeling her wild, palpable energy into something that could resemble rage. It was a long trek to the store but thankfully there weren’t many people out. Those who were took one look at Eden charging down the sidewalk – looking like a demon on a warpath – and quickly turned their heads. She was grateful.

The old man working the checkout didn’t make any small talk when she walked in – people here rarely made small talk – but he quirked a thick brow in her direction. He quirked it again when she only set down eggs, flour, sugar, vanilla extract, and yeast in front of him.

“Stress baking,” Eden told him.

He looked from her to the poorly lit streets beyond the store's barred windows. Then the old man nodded slowly like maybe she was crazy. Which was fair.

This was Gotham. It was nighttime. And she definitely felt crazy.

“Good luck,” he murmured, handing her her bags.

“Thank you.”

The walk back was harder. Worse, because her hands were full; no matter how angry she acted, she was still clearly vulnerable. That made everything feel darker and colder than it had before.

Even fewer people were out now, but Eden was easy prey. Some men took advantage and catcalled her as she passed. A few even followed her down a handful of streets, heckling and laughing while she reprimanded herself.

Why couldn't she have just gone through with her usual routine? It was unsatisfying, yes, but safe. Why hadn’t she just gone to the store tomorrow? She could've broken the cycle then, when it was safe to go out. Not now. Not right now. What in the world made her think leaving her apartment right now – in Gotham City, at night, in this neighborhood – was not only a good idea, but her only sane one? Had she been possessed?

Eden's heart pounded fiercely in her chest. Her vision tunneled. The sidewalk stretched further and further into the night, never letting her closer to home no matter how fast she walked.

“Excuse me!” she chirped as she nearly ran into someone turning the corner. A pair of men looked down at her, surprised.

Eden ducked her head and scurried away, grimacing. Nobody in Gotham excuses themselves like that. Nobody in this neighborhood excuses themselves at all. It was a rookie mistake.

“Hey, wait a minute!” one of them called after her. “You ain’t from around here, are you?”

“You lost, pretty girl?” the other crooned, sounding closer. “Need some help finding your way?”

“No, I—” Eden snapped her mouth shut and moved faster.

Don’t talk back, she told herself firmly. Don’t engage with them. And whatever you do, do not be Louanne Smith’s daughter. Or Frank’s. Definitely don’t be Frank’s. You’ll only get yourself—

“Here, beautiful. Lemme help you with that.”

“Fuck off!” Eden shrieked, jerking away from the man and firmly planting her feet on the ground. The burly men shared an eager grin as they moved closer.

Well. At least she’d tried not being her parents' daughter.

“Boys,” she said slowly.“I appreciate the offer. Really. I'm downright flattered." Her voice dripped with an eerie mixture of danger and hospitality — something she’d picked up from her mother. "But I'm not interested. So why don't y'all skedaddle on home, hm?"

The bald one furrowed his brows.

The other scoffed. “It's too bad you feel that way, sweetheart.” He pulled out a knife. “Cuz we ain’t offering.”

His friend started to chuckle, leering at Eden like she was their next meal. She just stared at the knife, looking bored.

She stood as tall and proud as Frank had taught her but tried to treat the situation as her mother might — like the knife and their ogling and their heavy builds meant nothing to her. Acting as if her body was a far more potent weapon than anyone could fully comprehend. But that's all it was. An act. On the inside, her heart was racing faster than lightning.

Where was her mace? Somewhere deep in the crevasses of her coat pockets? Had to be. Was it too late to start digging for it? Probably. Scrambling for it would just make her more vulnerable than she already was.

She cursed silently as she tossed her bags aside, careful not to disturb the eggs too much. Had she ever successfully wrestled a knife out of somebody’s grasp? Yes. Without getting stabbed first? Maybe, but it certainly wasn’t her strong suit. None of this was. That’s why she did do stuff like this. She only got herself killed trying. At least it was a knife this time and not a gun.

Her mind, already in a frenzy, jumped back to that fight with Chris Henriksen. Her shoes skidding against the gravel of the diner’s parking lot as he tried to swing her off him. His finger on the trigger while she tried to twist the gun out of his grip. The gun firing, him shrieking in pain. His hand free, aiming at her.

A ring of shots. Sudden, ripping pain.

Her, against the gravel. Him, standing over her. The gun, cocked. Him—

“Fuck off!” she screeched again, louder this time. “I’m warning you, shitbags! I’m not afraid of you or your stupid fucking knife!”

The one with the knife grabbed her by the shirt. He pressed the blade into her neck. “You shut that filthy mouth of yours, you dirty fucking bitch," he growled. "Or I'll give you something to be afraid of."

Eden stared him down. She glared at the other man, thinking. Could she win this fight? Two big, burly men against little ol' her? Maybe. Could she end it quickly though? Definitely. But it would cost her.

The man's eyes traveled downward. He licked his lips and Eden scowled.

Fuck it. She wasn't playing this game.

Eden lurched into action, grabbing for the knife — trying to bring it closer to her neck.

“Hey, you fucking psych—" Eden slammed her knee into him, cutting him off. He doubled over as she tried to steal the knife from his hold. The second man grabbed her like a vice, nearly crushing her arm as he yanked her away from his friend.

Eden kicked and screamed and thrashed against him. She smashed the back of her skull against his nose. He swore loudly as he dropped her, clutching his face. She grabbed his arm and yanked him by the shoulder, swinging him over her like a huge sack of potatoes. His back hit the sidewalk and he let out a loud, satisfying, "Oof!"

The first man grabbed Eden again and flung her into the wall beside them. She turned just in time to see the knife sailing down toward her.

It wouldn’t kill her. She knew that. A single stab wound rarely killed a person. She'd been stabbed enough times to know that. It would take a few more swings.

Her death tonight would be long and painful.

She shut her eyes tight, wishing it could already be over. An encore was better than the alternative but... the pain was her least favorite part.

She wondered if anyone on this street would bother calling the police. Hopefully, they wouldn’t. She didn't want to deal with that. She didn't know how to deal with that. Not without her family there to help her out.

More importantly, would anyone try to steal her groceries? Hopefully, not. That would be the real tragedy of the night. Maybe her dead body would deter thieves. Or at least make them—

BANG!

Eden shrieked and the man in front of her howled.

She opened her eyes. The man staggered away from her, clutching his bloody, bleeding hand to his chest. Eden pressed herself further against the wall and slid down, trying to make herself as small as possible. His blood-drenched knife lay a few feet away. She grabbed it and held it tightly; the palm of her left hand wet and burning.

The man looked up – high, up toward the sky – and paled. Fear overtook his features and he turned, screaming bloody murder as he ran. His partner was already halfway down the street, swearing frantically.

A gun went off again, twice. Eden flinched at the sound.

Her attackers kissed the concrete as they fell. Once they hit the cold hard ground, they didn’t move. She didn’t move either. If they were already dead there was nothing she could do for them anyway. And even if they weren’t, she was more than happy to let them bleed out on the silent, empty street.

Eden inhaled deeply, trying to calm her shaken nerves, but couldn’t catch her breath. Her heart thundered in her chest as something wet dribbled down her shirt, down her fingertips. The world swayed and her body slunk over, falling completely against the building.

Was she still going to die? That didn’t seem fair.

Then again, the universe didn’t care what people thought was fair. It had its own rules; the number one being that it did what it wanted.

Eden stared at her groceries, unable to focus on anything else. She silently begged the universe to leave them alone. If she had to die right now, going to the store again was uncalled for. The universe would just be kicking her while she was down. If it could just give her this one, little, tiny sliver of kindness, she would be happy. She didn't need anything else. Just let her die and her groceries stay by her side. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Hey,” a sudden voice said at her side. “You okay?”

—

Chapter 4

#red hood #jason todd #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd x oc #jason todd x reader #red hood x oc #red hood x reader #jason peter todd #Never-Ending Encore #oc: Eden Smith #my writing #cross posted on ao3

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stinkysidebitch · 4 years

Text

Leaked! (Shinso x Reader) Pt.2

-You and Shinso are ready to move on with your lives, but will something get in the way of that?

(Warning): Bullying, unhealthy thinking, unhealthy relationships

----------------------------

It had been awhile since Kaminari revealed himself to be the biggest douche at U.A. Maybe a little over a month but you weren’t exactly keeping track. What Shinso had told you before was true- Kaminari was the one who got kicked out of college, not you. Speaking of Shinso. Wow. You got lucky. Real lucky.

Waking up to a warm bed, fluffy purple hair, a sharp jawline and a fair, muscular body? Yeah. One could say it was going pretty well. School life wasn’t exactly easy for you though. At first you were ridiculed, but having Shinso and Midoriya as well as his friends stand up for you really turned the tide. As soon as Kaminari leaked your nudes Bakugo and his friends apologized to you in their own ways and distanced themselves from who they thought was a genuine member of their group.

But it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows. You were still hurting and recovering. Just because you had a new boyfriend didn’t mean your problems simply disappeared. No. Every once in awhile something would remind you of the relationship you had lost, or even just your weakened dignity. That hurt the most. But you were never alone. Not anymore.

Tap........... tap.......tap.....

You weren’t sure when the noise started, what time it was or really whether or not you should just go back to sleep. Everything was still a bit blurry while you tried to prop yourself up on one elbow. Maybe the source of the noise was coming from outside....or the window? It was inconsistent which worried you. Sounded manual.

Currently, you were in your dorm. Shinso was laying on his stomach next to you, his face towards the window. One of his arms was lightly wrapped around your middle while his other supported his head from under the pillow. The room was dark so either it was very early morning or very late night.

You didn’t realize Shinso was awake until he shifted a bit next to you. The first thing you noticed when he rolled out of bed and faced the window was how tired and annoyed he looked. Then you saw all those pretty hickeys on his neck, collar and chest that you gave him, illuminated only by the pale glow of the moon through the glass.

He rested his palms on the frame, leaned in with a squint... and then he saw something. His eyes shot down and the tapping stopped. A glare, no... a scowl presented itself on his face. Shinso looked pissed. After a fairly long pause he leaned back and closed the blinds abruptly, shuffling back to bed. You caught those pretty purple eyes of his and he clearly hadn’t realized you were awake judging by the expression on his face.

“What was it?” Your voice was raspy and deep as sleep clung onto your form.

“Don’t worry about it, baby.”

You had no idea that it was Denki throwing rocks at your window.

In truth he was desperate to talk to you. To explain everything. Guilt was eating him alive. Kaminari was alone. His friends didn’t talk to him, his parents and girlfriend were furious and now he was struggling... bad.

When morning came you didn’t even remember the noise. You had been half asleep when it happened anyways. The days sort of blended together. A normal routine, but never unwelcomed. You went to classes and saw or texted Shinso. Every once in awhile you would hang out with friends or go see a movie with one of them. Shinso took you out on dates now and again or just did them indoors. A sense of normalcy was returning. Life wasn't blatantly depressing or anxiety inducing anymore.. and you felt happy. Warm.

You had a boyfriend that cared about you more than you even knew. Someone who made you feel giddy without even trying.

You would've never guessed that Shinso was stressing over not being able to tell you the truth. Kaminari had reached out to him. It was after class. Shinso was studying in his dorm, classes had ended for him about two or three hours ago.

Notes were wildly sprawled across his desk and his phone rested in the pocket of his jeans. Shinso was in the middle of highlighting part of a paragraph when his phone buzzed.

It must've been you. But it wasn't. When he checked the notification the number was unknown. He didn't like that they knew this name.

With a confused expression he stared at the screen and awaited a reply. He didn't have to wait long. Turns out it was exactly who he didn't want to talk to. Kaminari. Shinso was still angry at the incident involving a certain (Y/N)'s windows. Guilty wouldn't quite describe how he felt about not telling you. He didn't want to lie to you but at the same time Shinso felt it was for the best you didn't know, so he typed a response.

Needed to talk to you? Ridiculous. And say what?

'I'm sorry I showed everyone your naked body in an attempt to tarnish your reputation?'

What good would that do?

Of course you deserved an explanation, of course you deserved an apology, but why would Shinso help someone like him do anything? Why would he expose a victim of revenge porn to the perpetrator?

Besides, if he was really sorry Kaminari would've never done it. And so he typed his final reply before blocking the number.

This conversation loomed over Shinso for awhile. He felt awful for not telling you. It seemed wrong.

But reaching out to your boyfriend to force a meetup and apology was worse. Way worse.

Maybe it wasn't his place.

Maybe he was overstepping a boundary.

Shinso carried this secret. This burden. He hid it from you and everytime he saw your face he felt so guilty. He doubted that jerk had anything of value to tell you but still... maybe it was something you had to hear? No. There was nothing to be said at this point.

But one day you noticed. You caught him staring at you in the cafeteria. He looked almost sad.

"You alright?" Shinso simply gave you a nod and turned back to his food.

He didn't eat. Just picked at the plate.

You ignored it. It kept happening. Shinso kept seeming down and whenever you questioned him he would simply brush it off. He was a straightforward and honest guy. That meant that whatever was going on was serious enough that he was willing to hide it from you. You had been friends with him for a long time and knew him well enough to know something was going on.

Then you started to get the suspicion that he was being distant from you because he didn't want you that way. Maybe it was too much for him and he realized he just wanted to be friends? You didn't want to get dumped again, but you also didn't want to sit around and theorize either.

It could've just been your paranoia from recent events but something was definitely wrong here.

You were going to have to ask him if he was going to break up with you.

One night you were sitting in your dorm with Shinso watching a movie instead of doing your work. The assignment wasn't due for a few days so it was left on the back burner for now. His head was resting in your lap as you played with his hair. It was something that you had always wanted to do but when Shinso let you try it he realized that it was one of his favorite things to do. Lay down and let you mess with his purple, fluffy head.

Shinso was supposed to be watching the movie but he was laying on his back, head facing the screen with closed eyes. It just felt too relaxing for him to focus.

"...Hitoshi?"

"Hm?"

You paused, scratching at the bottom of his scalp and earning a little shiver. It would've made you chuckle if things weren't so serious.

"Do I make you uncomfortable?"

You had never seen him look at you so quickly before. With him staring at you it made asking him these things more difficult.

"I mean... somethings been bugging you so I was wondering if it was me. You haven't been around as much and whenever I ask... "

"Look at me."

You didn't realize that you weren't until you felt his hand on your cheek. Doing as told, you made eye contact with him again. He was smiling at you. It was faint and gentle. It was something that no one else got to see. No one but you.

"You never bother me. I love you, (Y/N)."

It almost felt like you were having a panic attack, but somehow it was nice. Your heart was ramming against your ribcage and your palms felt clammy but there was a warmth too. It enveloped your chest in a way that you hadn't expected. You loved him too. And that was exactly what you told him.

He didn’t have to tell you what was bugging him. When Shinso went back to his dorm for the night and you got settled in the bed there was a noise outside your window.

Tap......tap....tap..........tap....

That was a rock hitting your window. Kaminari used to do that to get your attention. The same Kaminari that you had cut off completely. You waited for a few minutes and it didn’t stop. A heavy sigh left your tired frame as you dragged yourself out of bed. You peered through your blinds and were met with the sight of exactly who you expected. He looked anxious. You couldn’t yell at him out of your window or someone would find out he was outside.

You wondered what more he wanted.

Maybe it was because you were tired or maybe it was because you were delusional, but you snuck out of your dorm and into the night. From the exit you had taken Kaminari was visible, another pebble flying from his hand and onto the glass again. He didn’t see you yet so you figured you would scare the shit out of him.

“Hey!”

He jolted and turned in your direction. He knew he shouldn’t be here.

“What’s wrong with you? You aren’t supposed to be here.”

“I needed to talk to you, (Y/N).””

You folded your arms over your chest, an irritated expression forming on your features. There was a pained throb in your chest just being around him.

“About what?”

“I... I fucked up.” You didn’t realize he was crying until he stepped closer. He looked miserable. It was like looking at yourself a month ago.

“Are you saying that because you have to deal with the consequences or because you realized what you did was wrong?”

He dropped on his knees in front of you. It was pathetic, really.

“I’m so, so, so sorry! I shouldn’t have dumped you in the first place... I just got so distracted with school and then I took it out on you. I thought I needed...thought I needed someone else maybe but...and after that fight I got so angry-I was such a dick...”

By the time he finished Kaminari was fully crying, grabbing at your gym shorts and looking up at you like he was begging. If you were still single seeing him like that may have worked on you but it didn’t. Dick wouldn’t even begin to describe his behavior.

“Is there a problem here?”

Kaminari let go of your shorts and scrambled to his feet upon seeing your boyfriend appear so casually next to you. His hands were tucked in his pockets and his expression was that of tired annoyance. You jolted a bit at his random appearance but Shinso wasn’t stupid. You didn’t want anything to do with Denki. He had been literally clinging to you while you stood over him with your arms crossed. There was no reason for him to suspect anything was going on between the two of you.

Shinso only stepped in because you seemed uncomfortable. You placed a gentle hand on your boyfriend’s shoulder and he leaned down a bit so you could speak to him without Kaminari leaving his sight.

“It’s okay, Hitoshi. Kaminari is just leaving, actually.”

At that you sent the cowering man a glare.

“W-Wait! I have so much more I wanted to say to you.. please?”

Shinso took a step forward, his voice low and dangerous.

“If you don’t leave on your own I can make you. You know that, right?”

You didn’t realize how pathetic Denki was until you watched him jump a bit at the threat, stepping back. You couldn’t help but feel giddy when he talked like that. It was hot! Regardless, you pulled your boyfriend back a bit seeing as how close he looked to making your ex walk into traffic.

“Oh, don’t worry- if he comes back I’m calling the police, or even worse, Bakugo.”

Kaminari shrunk under his glare and your threat. After looking between the two of you he rushed off into the night. You cupped your hands around your mouth, shouting your parting words. “And don’t come back!”

When his figure finally disappeared you found yourself unable to resist the boy glaring into the dark next to you. Leaning forward you placed a kiss on his cheek. He flinched, cheeks warm from the sudden affection.

“What was that for?”

“Being a good boyfriend.”

The way his face fell worried you.

“But.. I’m not.”

Your brows pinched together in confusion as you watched him rub the nape of his neck nervously. Without saying anything else he showed you his phone. A conversation between him and Denki. To say you were suprised was an understatement.

“When was this?”

“A little after he tried throwing rocks at your window when I was in your dorm.”

“Oh. He did?”

“Yeah.”

He was surprised when you snorted at him. Then you started chuckling, which turned into laughter. A very confused Shinso waited for you to finish with a puzzled expression. Why were you laughing? He lied to you... Right? When you recovered a bit better you slipped a question between heavy breaths.

“Wh-why didn’t you just tell me? Was that what was bothering you so bad?”

“No. Lying to you was what I didn’t like. I don’t ever want to do it again.”

You shook your head at him with a gentle smile and stepped forward, cupping his face in your palms. He looked saddened and you didn’t like it. Leaning forward you pressed a gentle kiss on his lips that was slowly returned. Even though he was mad at himself you made it so easy to forget. You couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed when he broke the exchange, speaking in that typical slow manner of his.

“You should be mad at me.”

“But I’m not. You were just trying to help, babe. Don’t look so down... Besides, watching you threaten him like that was.. well, kinda sexy.”

You leaned in to whisper the last bit into his ear, pulling back with a sly smile.

A tell tale smirk formed on his face. You knew you were in for it now.

“Oh yeah?”

A yelp left your lips at his next move. Swiftly, Shinso hooked his arms under your thighs and lifted you up so that your legs were wrapped around his waist and arms round his neck. Really it was instinctual for you to cling onto him like this to avoid falling.

Jesus, he was stupidly strong too? Damn you really were lucky.

You giggled as he carried you back inside, leaving behind the dark hole left by Denki and filling it with something new.

Something happy.

Real love.

-----------

(A/N): Lmao the endings a bit shite but here you are!

#bnha #shinso x reader #shinso bnha #bnha reader insert #shinsou hitoshi #shinso angst

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introvert-no-chameleon · 4 years

Text

Chapter 2: Monstrous Consequences

I almost forgot to put the text version on Tumblr!

Here’s chapter 2 of Of Monsters and McGuckets. The next chapter will probably be a big one, since I have a better idea where the story is going now, so it might take longer than just a couple of days for me to write and edit.

Don’t worry, folks. I fully plan on seeing this fic through.

Chapter 1 on Tumblr, if you don’t use/like Archive of Our Own.

Fiddleford usually made a point to ignore the way the Pines brothers acted on the rare occasions where they all shared a meal, despite the offense it was to his Southern upbringing. His Ma would’ve slapped him across the head if he didn’t chew with his mouth closed or say grace before every meal (a habit he kept even long after he stopped going to church).

He’d hate to imagine what she’d do if he ever ate like his two housemates. Stanley paid as much mind to table manners as he did the law, which was none. Sometimes he’d chew with his mouth open just to tick Fiddleford off, and even go as far as putting his muddy boots on the table if he really wanted to get a rise out of his boyfriend. On the other end of the spectrum sat Stanford, who either inhaled his food in a hurry to get back to his research or left it on his plate until it got too cold to eat while he made field notes.

Yet even those memories were not nearly as bad as the scene unfolding in front of him. Stanford had his paws splayed on the table, his face shoved on to his plate. Egg and grease smeared all over his mouth, and Stanford didn’t seem to notice. The silverware lay unused next to Stanford’s plate, jingling whenever he shifted to get a better angle.

Fiddleford held the edge of the table in a death grip to prevent his employer from tipping it over, and only for that reason. It certainly wasn’t because he was getting very uncomfortable staring at those large, powerful jaws rip into his bacon with a growl, while he held it in place with one paw, like a lion would, he imagined, tear into a dead gazelle. Nor did it have anything to do with the earlier, far too casual comment about Stanford wanting to maul things.

Not at all. If Fiddleford happened to take a big gulp of coffee that felt like tar coming down his throat, that was just because of something else.

He took a chance to see how Stanley was doing. His boyfriend poked at his food with the edge of a claw, and Fiddleford wondered if he could even eat, or if he needed to in this form. Just as he meant to ask, Stan chewed his bacon, shrugged, tipped the contents inside his mouth, and swallowed his entire breakfast and the ceramic plate with a loud crunch. And burped afterward.

Fiddleford quietly sipped the rest of his coffee for the remainder of the meal and made a note to avoid eating with them until they got turned back to normal.

After the ordeal that was breakfast, they finally began retracing their steps to the lake. The woods in Gravity Falls managed to have an underlying, buzzing energy to it. It felt as if everything, even the trees themselves, were teeming with life, a fact that used to fill Fiddleford with wonderment. However, as he became aware of the fact that not everything in the forest was as keen as respecting sentient life as he was, that excitement got replaced by the kind of dread that settled heavy on his shoulders and wouldn't be shaken off until he was back in the safety of their home.

Stanford was excitedly talking about the notes he’d just made as they walked. Even with his ever-present anxiety, Fiddleford still found himself listening to what little they knew of their most recent discovery.

“I’ve decided to call the mysterious liquid in the lake Fluvius Cantatis,” said Stanford, ducking under a branch. “Judging by the fact that I saw a few deer drink from the lake and suffer no outward symptoms, I’m guessing the water only affects humans.”

Stanley walked right through the branch, snapping it by just walking into it. The man didn’t flinch. Heck, Fiddleford would be surprised if he’d noticed it.

“That’s mighty interestin’,” said Fiddleford. “Perhaps the water’s been enchanted? Or…cursed?” He shuddered at the thought. If exploring Gravity Falls had taught him anything, it was that curses were stubborn, tricky things that weren’t dealt with so easily.

“Both are a possibility,” said Stanford, nonplussed. “If it was, indeed, enchanted, then there’s a good chance that we may be able to figure it out with some study. I’ve learned a few spells from the walls of that cavern we explored while finding Mothman, so it may help us get back to normal.”

“I sure hope so,” said Fiddleford. “There ain’t no tellin’ what might happen if ya stay like this too long.”

“Yeah, like how I’m going to use the toilet when I’m a giant rock,” said Stanley with a smirk.

Stanford rolled his eyes and continued forward.

“Don’t be crude, Stanley,” said Fiddleford.

The gargoyle shrugged. “Just tryin’ to lighten the mood.” He noticed Fiddleford adjust his backpack for the third time in the last minute. “You, uh, need help there, Fidds?”

“If yer careful,” he said, placing the heavy bag on the ground. Now that he was free of the weight, his shoulders began to ache something awful. Fiddleford cracked his back as he straightened up, groaning. For the fourth time that week, he thought about finally getting around to making that appointment with the town chiropractor.

“Jeez, what’re you carrying in this thing?” Stanley picked up the pack and flipped the top open.

Inside were two pairs of thick rubber gloves, a few beakers wrapped in bubble wrap, metal tongues, a thermometer, glass jars with lids and an entire hazmat suit that Stanley had “borrowed” from some godforsaken government facility one night he and Stanford had gotten while drunk out of their minds. (Those were the only details he'd been given in regards to what went down that night, and after careful consideration, Fiddleford decided that it was probably for the best that it stayed that way).

Stanley raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “A bit much, dontcha think?”

Fiddleford huffed. “One of us has to be careful. That lake don’t sit right with me, an’ it’s better if one of us isn’t affected by whatever yer afflictions are.”

Stanley swung the backpack over one shoulder. “Relax, I’m pretty sure ya gotta bathe in this stuff for it to do anything. Me an’ Ford jumped right into it.”

“We don’t know that,” said Fiddleford. “An’ I don’t want to take any chances.”

Stanley cast a glance at his brother, who was walking ahead of them, focusing on re-discovering the path they’d went on yesterday. He put a hand on Fiddleford’s shoulder. Even with Stanley being as gentle as could be, the weight of his hand felt crushing. He sucked in a breath.

“Sorry! Shit, I didn’t mean—”

“I-it’s okay. Yer just stronger than usual, s’all.”

Stanley’s joints made a grinding sound as he retracted his hand and let it fall by his side. He cleared his throat. “Look, I’m right here whatever happens, alright? And uh,” He cleared his throat. “If Ford gets carried away, just let me know and I’ll wrestle him back to the shack with us if I haveta.”

“I-I may frighten easy, but there’s no need to be tip-toeing around me as if I’m some sorta newborn kitten.” He forced himself to fake what he’d hoped looked like a reassuring smile.

Stanley frowned, and Fiddleford didn’t need a magic spell to know that the man disagreed. “Look, Fidds. I guess we haven’t really talked about this, an’ this might not be the best place to have this conversation, but…I can’t help but notice you’ve been more on edge lately.”

The way he said those things made the Southern man bristle. He crossed his arms. “I don’t follow.” Fiddleford’s tone was about as inviting as a grizzly bear in a picnic. “Whatever happened to me bein’ more assertive?”

“Hey, I meant that. But…” Stan rubbed the back of his neck. The friction made a grinding sound that only served to worsen Fiddleford’s nerves. “Fidds. Come on. You jump outta your seat if you so much as see a gnome—”

“Those little devils kidnapped me, if ya haven’t forgotten!”

Stanley winced, probably remembering the “Gnome Incident”, as they all called it. It was a sore subject for Fiddleford. Not only did he get mistaken for a woman, but he also ended up getting dragged halfway through the forest by an army of small but astonishingly strong men while tied up like a hog. When Stanley and Stanford came to help after at least a half-hour of humiliation, they’d gotten so many bite marks and bruises from the whole rescue mission that they’d almost considered going to the hospital. The remaining shred of their dignities had been the only reason they hadn’t.

As if that all hadn’t been bad enough, the ropes had left some nasty cuts on Fiddleford’s wrists and ankles. It took weeks for them to heal, and to this day Stanley would still punt away any gnomes that were unfortunate enough to be in Fiddleford’s vicinity.

“Yeah, that’s my point. You’ve just been more jumpy, and…” Stanley seemed to be struggling to get the words out of his mouth. He was squirming where he stood.

In other circumstances, Fiddleford wouldn’t have given him such a hard time. Stan was being more open with his emotions, and that wasn’t easy for him. The young scientist just wished it hadn’t been this particular subject he’d decided to be open about. “An’ what?”

“Look, I’m getting’ kinda worried. You looked like you were about to have a heart attack this mornin’ when we came to the shack.”

Fiddleford set his jaw. “Is that what this mornin’ was? Ya thought that I’d still have my tail stuck between mah legs even after I knew it was you?” He hadn’t expected his anxiety to be so obvious, and now that he knew it was, it was like having someone tear his clothes off in the middle of the town. “Well, excuse me for exercisin’ some caution!”

Stan raised his hands at him, defensively. “Hey, that ain’t what I meant.”

Fiddleford squared his shoulders. “You think that just ‘cause I’m not as well-adjusted to this town’s strangeness as the two of ya, I should just stay inside and have my nose in a book or tinkerin’ away while ya and yer brother do all the dangerous work!”

In actuality, the thought of him doing just that appealed to him greatly, but he wasn’t about to admit that. “I’ll have ya know, I’m an inventor! I’ve made things that could fry a man in two flicks of a lamb’s tail!”

Stanley’s brows furrowed. “I have…no idea what that means.”

“It means, Stanley, that I ain’t some dainty thing that ya need to protect. I’m a grown man with a son of mine own, and I’m more than capable of lookin’ after myself!”

“Fidds, come on! Don’t be like that!”

But Fiddleford had stomped past Stanley, keeping his gaze straight ahead. He caught up with Stanford, who had just came across a couple of bushes that Fiddleford assumed concealed the entrance to the lake.

“Ah, perfect,” said Stanford, blissfully unaware of the tension between Fiddleford and Stanley (business as usual, then). “It’s right past here. Allow Stanley and I to go first. After all, we have already been exposed, and there’s—”

That was it. Fiddleford walked ahead, ignoring whatever was about to come out of Stanford’s mouth. Which was not, he quickly realized, an intelligent thing to do, as his next step sent him sliding down a steep dirt slope that had no business being there.

The twins called his name somewhere behind him, but it was too late. He was tumbling down, the world a blur of browns and greens. He inhaled some dirt and coughed in a vain attempt to clear his burning lungs. Just as he thought he’d be doing this forever, he splashed into a body of knee-deep water and stopped moving.

And now there he was, on his hands and knees, looking like a right fool, in front of his boss and boyfriend, no less. He sighed, bringing a shaky hand to his face, staring down at his reflection. The water had a strange purple hue. Wasn’t that just his luck that he wiped his face with water that had probably been contaminated or—

“Oh,” he said, staring at his palms. The skin began to tingle, glowing with a soft purple light. “Shit.”

A headache that felt as if the Devil Himself had just driven spikes into Fiddleford’s head had him doubling over. The pain was strongest on the left and right sides of his skull. His legs ached, and his feet felt numb. He watched with detached, morbid fascination as they broke through his shoes and got longer, until he was staring, slack-jawed at a set of rabbit feet. He wiggled the toes, his brain still struggling to process his new, horrifying reality.

The entire bottom half of him was part hare, tufts of chestnut brown fur poking out of the waistline of his now torn-up pants. He tried standing up, gasping as his head swung back, heavier than he’d ever remembered it being. He quickly held it in place with his (thank goodness!) human hands. Licking his lips, he brought his hands up to the top of his head. His fingers caressed what felt an awful lot like two large antlers, and a pair of rabbit ears.

A jackalope. He was a jackalope.

Of all the things, of all the mythological creatures in all of existence, he was a goddamn hare with antlers, because life had decided that Fiddleford McGucket hadn’t suffered enough today. The only solace he found was the fact that his face was still human, if the reflection of the lake was anything to go by, which was at least something. He’d probably drown himself right then and there if he had a rabbit nose or some other nonsense like that.

Fiddleford dragged himself out of the lake. The water didn’t drip or fall off his skin. Instead, his body seemed to absorb it. That wasn’t worrying at all.

“Fidds, are you okay? Shit, hold on, I’m almost there!”

Stanley skid down the slope and ran towards him. His wings were raised off the ground so he could run without tripping over them, and his eyes glowed more intensely than he’d seen them yet. Stanford wasn’t far behind, his wings occasionally flapping to help him keep his balance.

The usual sense of relief he’d get whenever Stanley came to his aid was, to his increasing concern, being overrun by something else. It was like somebody had flipped a switch inside of him, activating a strong, fight-or-flight instinct that Fiddleford couldn’t ignore even if he wanted to.

Suddenly, his mind didn’t see Stanley Pines, his beloved partner, and Stanford Pines, his good friend and employer. All he could take in were teeth and jaws and claws that could gut a creature like himself in seconds. This new instinct was worse than any panic attack he’d ever had, his throat tightening, his breathing labored, his head throbbing, seemingly taking over his own body, which began to move as if on its own accord.

He ran back in the woods, getting as far away from Stanley as his legs would carry him, which turned out to be incredibly far, incredibly fast. His heart thumped against his chest as he kept moving forward, crashing through bushes, any coherent thought was far gone, replaced with the need to get away now.

Had he been in his right mind, he’d have noticed Stanley’s big, heartbroken eyes on his back until he was out of sight, swallowed up by Gravity Falls’ forest.

Stanford caught up to Stanley just as the latter watched his boyfriend run into the forest at a pace that would almost put Stan’s car to shame. He’d barely seen what Fiddleford had turned into after falling into the lake, but whatever it was looked like some weird bunny-thing that probably had little to no way to defend itself. Well, he guessed running like hell was a damn good way to defend oneself. Couldn’t argue with the results.

“Great.” Stanley held his head. “Just fuckin’ peachy.”

“That could have gone better,” said Stanford.

“You decide to become Captain Obvious today or somethin’?” snapped Stanley. He gestured towards the direction Fiddleford went. “How the fuck are we gonna find him?”

“Calm down, Stan. I have a plan.” Ford pushed his glasses up his nose. “Do you remember those microchips that Fiddleford made?”

Stanley stared at his brother as if he’d just started speaking another language. “Sixer, this ain’t time for your nerd talk, Fidds could get eaten by a mountain lion or bear if we don’t do somethin’!”

Ford glared at him. “This is why I’m bringing it up. Fiddleford it to help us track each other in the case that one of us gets abducted again.” Ford rummaged through the knapsack he always brought with him and pulled out a clunky metal remote with a glass screen. He turned it on. “Aha!”

“What?”

“It’s working magnificently! Fiddleford will be pleased to know that the remote has no problems picking up his signal.”

Stan loved his brother, he really did, but it was shit like his brother managing to be excited about some science gizmo while his friend was hopping around the woods in a panic that really tested his patience. “Yeah, I’m sure he’d also love to be alive to talk about it, so why don’t ya shut yer yap for five seconds so we can get him?”

Ford huffed. He stared back down at the screen. “He’s going towards the middle of the forest, so at least he isn’t near any caves.” He stopped talking, eyes widening. “We need to move. He’s coming across Manotaur territory.”

Stanley swore. “Then let’s go already!”

“Stan, you’re slower like this. You should let me—”

“Oh, hell no, Pointdexter. I’m not waitin’ here while you go off after him. He’s gonna freak out if he sees you alone.”

Ford opened his mouth, saw the expression that Stan had on his face, and let whatever stupid thing he was going to tell Stan, die. “Fine but try not to lose me. I’m going to have to…” He sighed. “Run on four legs.”

Even in his state of mind, Stanley couldn’t resist grinning. “Maybe this situation isn’t all bad.”

Ford took off his boot and threw it at his brother. It bounced off him. Stan didn’t even feel it.

“Fiddleford better be grateful for this,” muttered Ford as he freed himself of his other shoe and began to—there was no other word for it—gallop in the direction Fiddleford went.

Filing the mental image of his brother running around like a giant housecat for later, Stan lumbered behind him. He was determined to keep up, not wanting to waste more time.

#of monsters and mcguckets #fiddlestan #mystery trio #mystery trio au #monster falls #fiddleford hadron mcgucket #fiddleford mcgucket #young fiddleford #young stanley pines #young stanford pines #young stan bros #gargoyle!stan #sphinx!ford #jackalope!fiddleford #archive of our own #my writing

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brideofedoras · 4 years

Text

Happy Birthday, John Kennex

In honor of Karl Urban’s birthday, I wrote a little birthday fic to go along with Soulbound. John Kennex’s birthday is June 7, 2007.

Disclaimer: I only own my OCs

Word count: 1900+

Rating: 18+

Warnings: brief mentions of anxiety, asthma and self harm

-1-

Emily smiled and waved to the nurses on duty as she walked by the nurses’ station. Sara was on duty, she noted, rolling her eyes when the woman winked at her. She clutched the little malachite dragon she carried a little tighter in her right hand before letting herself into John’s room.

Her heart stuttered in her chest when she saw the detective, still unconscious. Someone had shaved off his stubble earlier and had given his dark brown hair a trim.

She had to swallow a few times before she managed to find her voice. “I… I, uh… have it on good authority that today is your birthday,” she blushed when she realized her voice sounded a little on the breathy side. Oh, lord… At least I’m not wheezing. “The big Four-O,” she placed the dragon on the bedside table next to the photograph of John and his partner, Marty Pelham, and Marty’s wife Maria and son Marty Junior. “But don’t worry,” her breathy voice took on a teasing tone. “I won’t tell anyone your real age. Sandy and I will keep it a secret.”

She busied herself with her normal routine upon arriving for her daily visits. She straightened his blanket over his chest, smoothed her hands over his chest and arms to make sure the wrinkles were out, grounding herself to keep her anxiety at bay. She blushed when she felt his heartbeat kick a little harder when her palm brushed over his chest. “I’m beginning to think you really enjoy my visits even though I’m the most boring and awkward visitor you’ve got,” she teased. “Yeah, I know. I shouldn’t talk down on myself like I do but I am awkward and I’m sure what I talk about is boring.”

Finally, she squeezed his fingers and ran her fingers through his shorter hair. “I miss the scruff,” she admitted softly as she traced her fingertips along his smooth jaw. Her blush darkened when she realized she’d spoken out loud this time. “Oh, god, don’t mind me,” she giggled nervously. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud. I…” She drew in a deep breath and slowly released it. “You look very nice when you’re clean-shaven, but you also look pretty hot when you’re scruffy,” she confessed with a half-sigh, half-whisper. “I… I don’t know why I find it so easy to talk to you, to admit things that I know I’d never be able to say out loud if you were actually awake… much less be able to open up to anyone else... I… I probably would never be able to talk to you if you were conscious… I mean, I’m… I’m nobody. And you’re… You’re you. You probably wouldn’t even give me a second thought,” she turned away from the bed to walk over to the window. “I’m such a painfully shy and awkward person with anxiety and asthma, no one looks twice at me as it is,” she wrapped her arms around her stomach before she growled at herself. “I’m sorry, ignore me. I’m just… I know I’m hard on myself,” she admitted quietly. “It’s your birthday. I’m supposed to be happy and in a celebratory mood, but you already know how I feel about birthdays. But I am happy, in a way. I’m hanging out with the best-looking guy in the world, even if he doesn’t know I exist.” She returned to the bed and leaned down. “Happy birthday, John,” she whispered before kissing his cheek. “I brought you a present. I know I didn’t have to, but after I accidentally caught a glimpse of the tattoo on your arm I knew what I would get you for your birthday or Christmas. I like dragons, but I prefer the European ones to the Chinese ones. I found a Chinese dragon carved in malachite at a shop near campus and had to get it for you. It’s really pretty.” She moved away from the bed to sit down in the chair. “So… I’m thinking about applying for an internship through the Synthetic Dispatch Division. Dr. Lom is open to taking on an intern. I’m scared to death I won’t get the internship if I do apply, but I won’t know unless I try, right? I haven’t talked to Sandy about it, not yet. We’re meeting for drinks later at McQuade’s.”

She grew quiet as she watched his chest rise and fall with each breath he took. “Maybe someday we could go out for a drink after you wake up.” When she realized what she’d said, she quickly backpedalled, stammering and blushing hard before she could string a coherent sentence together. “I… I really need to shut up, huh? Not go out like as in a date or something like that, I could only ever dream of going on a date with you.” She blushed harder and smacked her hands over her face. “Shit. God, Emily, you’re such a damned idiot!” She cussed at herself. “Drinks between friends.”

She scrubbed her hands over her face. “You’ve come to mean a lot to me in such a short period of time already,” she reached for his hand. “You let me ramble and babble when I get nervous or anxious and somehow I feel much calmer when I hold your hand. And I’ve rambled and babbled a lot already today.” She took a deep breath and grimaced when she wheezed. “It’s a beautiful day out today. Couldn’t ask for prettier skies. The sunrise this morning was gorgeous…”

-2-

Thunder rattled the windows of the hospital room. Must be storming. Dammit. Emily better not be out driving in this. I want her here but I don’t want her to get into a wreck either. Sam, I hope you and Lizzie are watching over your daughter, please don’t let anything happen to her. She has no idea how much she means to me.

Another rumble of thunder rattled the windows, drowning out the whoosh of the door sliding open. The scent of vanilla cupcakes reached him and he breathed an internal sigh of relief.

Emily was safe. She was there.

The door swooshed open again, followed by the scent of raspberries. Sara, his favorite nurse. She was nice, always talking to him when she was checking on him. Always making sure he had the softer blankets or more supportive pillow. “Here’s the towels you requested, Em.”

“Thanks, Sara, I don’t want Karen or Tim hollering at me for dripping all over the room,” Emily’s voice was filled with light-hearted amusement.

Sara laughed. “They won’t holler, Em. Karen will give you the look and chastise you before she hugs you, and Tim is such a good-natured soul. They’ll chalk it up to job security. Anything else you need?”

“Nah, thank you, I’ll holler if I do.”

The door swooshed open and shut again, leaving him alone with Emily. He listened to the gentle rustle of fabric, towel maybe, before the sound of a raincoat being shrugged off reached his ears.

“Hi, John,” her voice sounded a little regretful. “I wasn’t ignoring you, I promise. I’m dripping all over the place and don’t want the housekeeping staff to worry about my coat and boots dripping all over.” Her voice strained before he heard the slide of two zippers. “It’s nasty out today. The storm didn’t hit until I was halfway here.”

Should’ve stopped somewhere to wait it out, Sweetheart, I don’t want you risking your life just to spend time with me.

“I know, I could’ve pulled off to wait it out but it hasn’t let up at all and I didn’t want to sit in my car in a sketchy parking lot,” her hands brushed his chest as she straightened the blankets.

His heart thumped harder when he felt her palm settle over it. Good call. But I still don’t want you driving in a storm, Emily. I’m not worth you getting hurt.

“I couldn’t miss my favorite guy’s birthday today,” her breath puffed over his cheek before her plush lips pressed against the stubble.

Favorite guy, huh? Sweetheart… He wished he could turn his head, to feel her soft lips on his. He settled for feeling her smile curve on his cheek instead.

“Happy birthday, John. Whenever you wake up you’re going to have a lot of cards and a few gifts,” the chair scraped closer to the bed. Her hand curled around his. “Just because you’re in a coma doesn’t mean anyone who loves you can get away with ignoring birthdays and holidays. Sandy’s got a box she’s putting them in for you. I didn’t bring a gift with me today, it’s at Sandy’s. I wasn’t about to bring it with me.” Her breath hitched on a wheeze. “I finally worked up the courage to go through Daddy’s stuff and found a few guitars I never knew he had. Sandy told me you collect guitars, that you play a little, and I asked her if maybe I should give them to you. They’re vintage, from the 1970s and 80s. Or would they be considered antiques? I don’t know. They’re beautiful, though. One’s an acoustic and the others are electric. Daddy even had sheet music for some of the old classic rock songs. I sent those over with the guitars.”

Sweetheart, they’re your dad’s, you should keep them.

“I don’t have the room in my apartment for them, I don’t want for them to remain in their cases tucked away in a closet. They’re meant to be picked up and played and proudly displayed. I don’t know how to play, other than random strumming that sounds god awful. I never was musically-inclined growing up, I would’ve taken the amp apart to see how it works and if I could improve it,” she laughed softly. “Maybe that’s why Daddy had them in storage, to keep me from doing just that. I… I would like to learn how to at least play a few chords, though.”

I could teach you. Not that hard. I’ll get a guitar in your hands and sit behind you, wrap my arms around you to guide your hands. He groaned. Slow down, Kennex, he warned himself when he felt arousal stirring in his belly just from the image in his head. Dammit.

Her fingers laced through his. “I hope you will like them.”

I already do, Sweetheart…

-3-

The gentle press of soft, plush lips on his woke him up. John groaned, wrapping his arms around Emily. “Mornin’, Baby,” he murmured before deepening the kiss.

She braced her hands against his shoulder and shoved. “You’re ruining the moment!” She giggled when he pinned her beneath him and attacked her neck with voracious kisses. “John!”

He lifted his head. “You started it by kissing me awake, Baby.” He frowned when tears glistened in her baby blue eyes. “Emily?”

“I get to look into your eyes this time when I say it,” her voice cracked as a tear slipped down her temple into her dark hair. “Happy birthday, John.”

John cupped her cheek and brushed the tear away with his thumb. “Baby, don’t start cryin’ on me,” he chastised gently, shifting onto his back and tucking her to his side. “What are your plans today?”

“We’re not going to spend your birthday with you in bed and me in a chair holding your hand,” she retorted.

“How ‘bout we both spend the day in bed?”

She giggled. “John!”

“It’s my birthday, can’t I pick how we spend the day?” He quirked an eyebrow at her.

“What about your birthday cupcakes or breakfast or your present--”

He hauled her on top of him and silenced her protest with a kiss. “Later. Much… much later,” he growled between kisses.

#almost human #john kennex #john kennex x ofc #soulbound #soulmates #happy birthday #karl urban

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seducedbyseverus · 4 years

Text

Amor Vincit Omnia

Pairing - Professor Severus Snape x Fem Student Reader

Chapter One Rating - T for Teen

Tags - Angst, some fluff, flashbacks to an abusive childhood, mentions of past abandonment, mention of magic, mute reader, no sexual relationship with Professor Snape yet… since ya know… the reader is still a child…, and I think that’s it.

Beta - @winecatsandpizza

Word Count - 1.5k

Fic Aesthetic - Yours Truly

A/N - Hello, all you lovely people ♥! I have been writing fanfiction for a long time, but I am just now posting my fics that are related to the Harry Potter fandom. I mainly write for Severus Snape, but I wouldn’t be opposed to writing for other characters. Send me an ask if you would like me to write for you. Feedback is gold and my fuel to put out more chapters/new fics.

A/N 2 - **** Each chapter will have its own rating!!!! Heed all the warnings I post!! My work is NOT to be copied, posting anywhere else, or saved without my express written permission! **** The text in italics are flashbacks and the owl’s name is pronounced Air Uh Dell. If you’d like to be tagged in future chapters, please send me an ask or message. :)

Chapter One: A New Beginning

From the moment you turned six years old you’d known you were different. Something inside you stirred, aching to be released.

On the day it broke free you’d been outside playing with your friend Sara in the grass. The new dolls you’d been given for your birthday scattered around the two of you as you laughed and carried on. Before you knew it, your older brother Nathan snatched the one Sara was playing with from her hands.

He mockingly held it above his head just out of her reach making tears well in her eyes. You felt your blood boil as you stood in front of him, your hands on your hips. His mocking figure towered over you by at least a foot but had been determined to get the doll back in one piece to Sara. “Give it back to her, Nate!” You seethed. He cocked an eyebrow and clicked his tongue. “Aw, does cry baby Sara want the dolly back? C’mon then, let’s see you try and get it, Y/N!”

He laughed at your efforts to reach it before tossing it on top of the garage. “Oops!” Nathan shrugged before giving a sarcastic smirk. “Looks like your precious doll is gone forever.” The coil of rage inside you seemed to snap. All your anger focused on Nathan as you lunged at him, but before you could reach him something extraordinary happened. Your gaze alone seemed to propel him into the trunk of the big oak tree growing in your front yard.

His body fell to the ground with a thud and he groaned in pain before picking himself up. His eyes rose to yours in a fearful stare only for a moment before he took off towards the front door to your house.

If you’d only known that from that day forward your life was going to change forever.

Now, here you stood, five years later in Y/H’s common room. It was your first year at Hogwarts, and you couldn’t have been happier. This ancient castle was to be your home now. Outside in the muggle world, you didn’t have a real place to go. Ever since that fateful day when you’d done that to your brother your parents abandoned you without hesitation.

They were both muggles and no one in your immediate family had any trace of being a witch or wizard. You were dropped off at an orphanage with no education on the wizarding world you belonged in.

It wasn’t long before the Headmaster heard about you. Underage wizards weren't allowed to use magic outside of school and things were happening around you that you couldn’t explain. Immediately, he’d made plans for Professor McGonagall to take you in.

Even though you didn’t know Minerva very well, being with her felt right. It felt like you were where you were supposed to be. It felt like home.

Professor McGonagall helped you unpack your belongings in your dormitory to make sure you settled in okay. She’d known what you’d been through and knew the repercussions that came of it. The constant nightmares, the panic attacks, and not to mention the fact that you hadn’t spoken since the day everything went down. Only her and the Headmaster knew, and she didn’t want to push you.

Once you two were finished, she gave you a soft smile taking your hand in hers. “There we go, Y/N. It feels good to be all settled in, hm?” The nervous look on your face didn’t go unnoticed and she sighed before leading you to sit on your bed. “Y/N, I know this is a new place with people you don’t know, but I promise you you’re safe here. Albus, Professor Dumbledore, won’t let anything happen to you or any of his students. Hogwarts is a safe place where you won’t be alone in your abilities. Who knows, maybe you’ll find your voice while you’re here.”

She gently rubbed your shoulder and kissed the top of your head before standing to smooth out her robes. “You have class early tomorrow so don’t stay up too late. Professor Snape doesn’t like it when his students are late.

Goodnight, Y/N and remember should you need anything don’t hesitate to send me a message via your owl.”

You listened as the sound of her heels clicked down the stone stairs. Once she was gone, the only thing you could hear was the muffled voices in the common room. Even though you were a first-year, the other people in your house knew that you were a mute. They didn’t treat you differently, but you were still hesitant to make friends nonetheless. Honestly, you were afraid to get to close to someone for fear of something bad happening like what happened to your brother.

The soft chirp from your owl lifted you from your thoughts. Aradeyl tilted her small head to look at you through the bars of her cage and you suddenly felt sorry for her having to be cooped up all this time. Slowly, you padded across the room and opened her cage. She stepped onto your arm and sidestepped up to your shoulder letting out another shrill chirp. Your fingers softly caressed her feathers as she lovingly nipped at your earlobe. You brought her down to your lap so you could stroke the feathers on the top of her head.

The two of you stayed like that for a few moments before your eyes started to get heavy. Once Aradeyl was safely back in her cage, you climbed beneath your covers and tried your best to get a good night’s sleep.

The next morning you were the first one awake. Streams of sunlight seeped through the curtains as you blinked away the sleep in your eyes. Quickly, you changed into your robes and padded downstairs towards the entrance of your common room. The crackling of the fire filled your ears as you slipped on your tennis shoes.

It was still slightly early as you entered the corridor towards Potion’s class, but you were always early. It was in your nature. Being late to anything gave you anxiety, and that led to panic attacks.

The door to Professor Snape’s classroom was unlocked and the lights were on, but he was nowhere in sight. You figured he was either in the Great Hall still or was gathering ingredients for your class. Either way, you took the unlocked door as an invitation and strode inside silently. The back row of desks looked inviting and you took the desk in the far corner. Placing your parchment, ink bottle, and quill on your desk, you chewed on your lip waiting for the other students to file in.

Fifteen minutes later, the class was buzzing with life. Students chattered back and forth with one another and occasionally a paper airplane would fly across the room. You sat silently in your seat knowing full well that Professor Snape wasn’t to be messed with. You’d never met him but from the stories Professor McGonagall told you, he wasn’t one to tolerate students goofing off.

The door slammed open and the most daunting looking man strode in. His long black robes swished behind him like a cape, his shoulder-length black hair bouncing with each footfall. He stopped at his podium and glared at the shocked eyes staring up at him. “Silence! I will not tolerate talking out of turn in my classroom! I would expect you to have your parchment and quills out already, but alas I see none of you are that bright.” His low booming voice had you in awe as you continued to stare at him. Sure, he was intimidating, but something about him intrigued you.

Snape folded his arms across his chest and tapped the toe of his shoe on the concrete floor. “It would seem that the only one here ready to learn is Miss Y/N. Five points to Y/H. The rest of you hurry up and get your quills ready because I am only going to say this once.”

The rest of the day went pretty quickly for you, but one thing was constant in your mind. There was something about Professor Snape that kept him at the forefront of your thoughts. Why was he so angry? Sure, you’d seen anger before, but no one was ever angry all the time. Not like him. Maybe you could ask Minerva about him after supper.

As you walked towards the Great Hall the feeling of being watched grew stronger by the second. It wasn’t until you caught a glance of the vast forest outside the school grounds that you felt the goosebumps prickle your skin. The sun was beginning to set, and the trees seemed to make everything darker. A lone shadow-like figure with big red eyes made you gasp. It’s gaze seemingly bore into your very soul the longer you looked at it.

The sound of your name being called made you jump and you turned to see Professor McGonagall. She gave you a concerned look, but you smiled reassuringly before walking the rest of the way to the Great Hall with her.

The figure you saw at the edge of the forest treeline distracted you from eating. Question upon question flooded your mind as you pushed your food around with your fork. Should you write down what you saw and show someone? Would they think you were insane? Has anyone else seen anything like what you saw?

Were you really safe at Hogwarts?

#amor vincit omnia #professor snape x reader #severus snape x reader #snape x reader #severus tobias snape x reader #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fic #harry potter fandom #harry potter #seducedbyseverus writes #jessy writes

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