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garbinge · 9 months

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You, Me, and Italy

Michael Berzatto x F!Reader From these August Prompts: Italy Word Count: 3.5k Warnings: All my fics are 18+, angsty, mentions of suicide, death, grief, loss, broken heart, drug use, addiction, being high, someone close to ODing, uncomfortable, sad, mentions of sexual situations, it's based on canon mentions of suicide and death and grieving, but a little more in depth. So just be weary of any triggers one might have in reference to these things.

A/N: This is not apart of my Richie Jerimovich multichap. This is heavy. I try and steer clear of fics like this because of my own triggers and trauma around drug abuse and addiction but this just was an idea sitting in my head probably because of all that trauma. The Bear Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics @quixscentsposts @dadbodfanatic-x @adorable-punk-superheroes @lodeddiperrodrick @isalver @captainweasleybarnes @musicwithteeth @fancyvoidtragedy @shinebright2000 @knight4xmas

The kitchen was always your favorite place to be when you couldn’t sleep. Something about the ability to hear every single noise in a space where usually you’d be lucky to hear the person next to you speak at a normal tone.

You had come in through the back, placed your stuff down in the locker that had your name written on a green piece of tape, your insanely patterned bandana was snug around your head just above your forehead, something you always wore when cooking. Now, the sounds of the water running as you washed her hands filled your ears and was followed by the clunks of pulling the knives out, the blade tinging as you set it free from its case. Now slicing, the quick quippy sounds of the thin slices of all the items you needed to prep. Basil, onions, garlic, fig, and parmesan cheese. All the ingredients you picked up from the grocery story that was still open this late. The chopping and the sizzling filled your ears in a similar way that music would fill someone else’s. It kept you grounded, kept you calm, kept you in the moment.

“Late night snack?” A voice interrupted that tranquility but surprisingly, there was no reaction from your side. You kept steady as your hand tossed the garlic and basil in the olive oil, other hand equipped with a spoon ready to add in the parmesan ricotta mixture.

“You’re lucky I don’t scare easily.” Your voice was steady as you focused on the pan in front of you.

Mikey looked down and laughed before he made his way from the office over to his best chef and best friend. He leaned against the prep area, hands crossed as you had your back to him.

“You should toast the breadcrumbs.” Mikey said as he took in what you were doing.

Immediately, your head turned to look over your shoulder and shot the man a look. “I’m a one-woman show here, Mikey. I’m getting to it.”

“You know, I can help you out.” He had crossed his leg over the other now as he waited for a response. “Only if you want to.” His arms were now uncrossed as he raised them in a surrender.

Your head tilted, the only invitation he needed to start helping out.

“I’m making arancini, fig and garlic arancini.” You specified.

“Rice balls. You’re making rice balls.” Mikey teased. “What inspired the fig?” He asked as he toasted the bread crumbs at the stove next to you.

“Remember when we went to that bar the other night?” You looked up at him, despite being a few feet down from you, he still towered over you in height. “While you and Richie were off doing God knows what, I ordered shit from the bar. They had this fig, arugula, and goat cheese pizza.”

“Jesus Christ, what fuckin’ bar were we at?” Mikey laughed at the fanciness of how it all sounded.

“That place, Porta. I’d say it was more hipster than fancy.”

“God, I don’t even remember.” Mikey laughed before placing his attention back on you and continuing the conversation. “So the pizza was good?”

“It was, and I just kept thinking what would go well with fig and landed at a rice ball.”

“Arancini.” Mikey corrected you with the biggest grin growing on his face.

A laugh left your mouth as you took the sauce off the heat, wanting it to cool down slightly before pouring it into the egg mixture that was already placed in the fridge.

The silence fell over the both of you and you both continued to move around the kitchen. Mikey stood with the bowl of rice in his hands, resting it on the prep counter as you stood over and poured in the egg mixture. Mikey was whisking it around rapidly, that way the eggs didn’t scramble. The smell coming from the bowl was filled with savory scents of garlic and sweet touches of fig reduction.

“You good, buddy?” Mikey was looking at you as he stirred everything around. It wasn’t so much in reference to your current state, which was focused as you concentrated on pouring the egg mixture in, but more in reference to why you were here late.

Buddy. Such a Mikey term. The two of you knew each other for years, meeting when you were smoking in the back of the restaurant you used to work out. To put it in simple terms, he poached you. He had just grabbed a bite at said restaurant, with his brother Carmy, a detail you found out later since Mikey came alone to the alley in the back where you had been taking a break. He asked if you had made the slow braised beef and proceeded to tell you about his restaurant. You never walked back into that restaurant again and started at The Beef the next day.

As time passed, things got close with Mikey. The two of you just fed off each other, you vibed effortlessly and one day that led to more. You spent a majority of the night locked in the office making a bed out of the table, the floor, the bookshelf, anything that had an inch of a flat surface, Mikey took you. That however, never amounted to more. It was always just sex. There was no label on what the two of you had, no real dates, no holding hands, just stolen moments around the restaurant, late nights in the kitchen, nights out at bars, and overnights spent at each others places. But that never made anything awkward because despite their being no label, everyone knew there was something between you two. It was impossible to miss. The way you two got along, the way you spent every waking moment together, whether you were at the restaurant or not. But what the real dead giveaway was, you two moved in the kitchen like you had perfected a choreographed dance, every, single, time. There was never any missteps, any arguing, no bumping into each other, you just glided by each other, calling out kitchen terms and directions. It was a sight to be seen, everyone thought so. Including the family. Sugar and Carmy were impressed when you came by for the first time maybe a month into starting at The Beef. Richie had already seen how the two of you worked together but both Berzatto siblings were shocked by it.

“Hey, you good?” Mikey repeated himself and bent down a little to look into your eyes.

“Yea, sorry.” You shook your head from your thoughts.

“I don’t buy it.” Mikey pressed you again for more information. “What’s with late night rice balls?”

“You ever feel stuck?” There was no point in trying to hide what you were feeling from Mikey.

“Uh, just every day of my life.” You let out a breath through your nose in a sort of chuckle. “I just, wish I could get out of here.” The frustration was littered in your voice.

“Where would you go?” He set the bowl down now that everything was stirred, and he turned to face you.

“Anywhere.” You turned too so you were facing him.

“So let’s go.” His voice raised, like what he said and meant didn’t need planning, didn’t need money, he spoke it outloud like it was the easiest thing to achieve.

“Yea, where?” You were about to start naming off places around here in Chicago as a joke but he was quick to answer you.

“Italy.”

You frowned but a smile was growing on your face. “Italy?” You questioned.

“Yea, let’s go to Italy, we’ll eat all the rice balls in the fuckin’ country, we’ll learn how to make ‘em like a true Italian. We’ll eat our way around Rome, Sicily, Naples, it’ll be great, just me and you and Italy.” He was so energetic in how he spoke, his hands were in the air, his voice was echoing off the kitchen walls.

“You, me, and Italy?” You questioned him as your head nodded in agreement.

“You, me, and Italy.” Mikey nodded with the biggest smile on his face.

____

Time might’ve passed and a lot of things might’ve changed, but sometimes stayed exactly the same. You were pushing through the back door of The Beef, bag and kitchen tools in hand as the clock ticked past 1AM.

“Mikey?” You called out, expecting to see him appear in the kitchen. You called out again and heard nothing. It was odd, but also maybe not. He had been distant lately, you picked up on that when most nights he didn’t come back to your place. You knew things had been tough for him, he was having money issues and as a result moved back in with his mother, he was stressed. Every time you did get the chance to see him, he wasn’t fully there, sometimes you’d taste alcohol on his breath, others you could tell his mind was caught in a thought or 20.

Moving to the lockers, you saw the door open just slightly and the lamp on illuminating a ton of paperwork. You saw his hand resting on the table and slowly peaked in.

Now, you had your suspicions, they were probably more than suspicions, you knew. You knew Mikey was hooked on something. But you didn’t want to accept it. But there it was, slapping you right in the face. It had been functional, he had been functional, which is what made it easy for you to question, for you to say nothing. After tonight, you’d regret it, you’d regret staying silent, not giving in to your suspicions, voicing them out loud.

You took in the sight of him, he was so out of it, you could see his glazed over eyes even from the distance you were at. The giveaway as if everything else wasn’t so obvious was the pills scattered all over the paperwork in front of him.

“Mikey.” The urgency hit you just as much as the the scene of him. You were next to him in seconds, shaking him awake.

The smile that filled his face as he stared at you, the smile that warmed your heart, the smile that melted you, the smile of your best fucking friend was breaking you.

“What–what’re you doin’ here?”

“How much did you take, Mikey?” You moved forward to the table to search for a bottle, a pill count, see how many were on the table, but Mikey’s hands began to grab your arms.

“No, no, no, no, no. Stop, you’re ruining the fun.” Mikey complained, his voice was slurred.

You pulled back immediately, uncomfortable and unsure what to do. Your heart was beating fast and before your tears could even start falling, Mikey started yelling. “You’re ruining the fun!!” It was a repetition of what he had said before and all it did was secure your feet frozen to the ground. “That’s all anyone ever does anymore. Ruin the fucking fun.” He spun in the swivel chair like a child and when it stopped spinning he looked at the bookshelf and began speaking again, but this time more at a whisper.

“Even my own fuckin girl. I can’t have anything.”

You snuck out the door, searching for your phone in your pocket. The irony that in your hastiness, you spent more time looking for it than if you searched for it with purpose and patience.

As you picked your phone up to your ear, your hand was shaking. “C’mon, pick up, pick up.” You mumbled, taking your other hand to pick at your lip.

“It’s 1 in the fuckin’ morning, I’m neck deep in shit diapers, if this is you and Mikey asking me to go out, I’m blocking your number for eternity.” Richie seemed stressed in a completely different way.

“Richie, it’s Mikey, he uh, I don’t know, there’s pills, he’s awake–sort of?, he’s angry, I don’t know how much he took but he, he uh, I just need help, I need you down here, can you get down here, please?” The shakiness in your voice was the dam holding back your tears.

“I’ll be there in 10 minutes. Keep him up.”

With that Richie hung up and you were moving back into the office, you squatted down and turned the chair so he was facing you. “Mikey, babe?” You tried to keep your voice soft. His red, glossy eyes met yours as he plopped his head down to look at you.

“My girl.” A little bit of hope filled his face, he reached his hand up to cup your face. The impulse to pull away was strong but you stayed there, you stayed there with him and let him speak to you.

“You’re so pretty, you know that? So pretty. And you’re so talented, you can throw down, you know that? Best fuckin slow braised beef I’ve ever fuckin’ had.”

The amount of compliments he was giving you, it should’ve had you elated, floating, with butterflies but instead it was making you sick–uneasy. And you just had to sit there and let him say it, over and over again. You were counting in your head, hoping that once you got to the 10th 60th second count, that Richie would be here.

“Hey hey hey, you listening to me?” Mikey moved slightly to look at you, even in his fogged state he could tell your mind was elsewhere.

“Mhm.” You nodded, tears welling up in your eyes as you stared into his eyes.

“You, me, and Italy, baby. You, me, and Italy.” The second time he said it, it was in a whisper like he was desperate for it to be true. Like if he said it low enough the world would grant him the wish. That’s when you really saw him, saw what was happening in his brain. Alongside that hopeful look was one of peace and happiness. The absolute gut wrenching emotion you felt in your heart when you realized it. How being high set Mikey free, set him free from his demons, in some weird twisted way this was the closest you’ve seen Mikey to his usual self.

Before your heart could break anymore, you heard Richie’s voice behind you and he was slipping into your spot and picking Mikey up.

______

“You know I remember this one time, we went over to Mikey’s place, the one on Courtyard, me, Carm, and Richie, and it was Sunday, Braciole night. We walk in, Mikey’s got the game playing so loud in the background, we start prepping, cooking. I remember he told me not to put raisins in the braciole even though that’s how mom did it. And he just, he had this smile on for those first 30 minutes, like he had something planned, like he was in on the joke. But the thing is none of us knew what the joke was. And then, the door opened, we were all confused at who it was and then, this woman appeared. Mikey introduced her to us, he was so happy, and we were like shocked, cause Mikey, our big brother, the player, brought this girl over to our fucked up family Sunday night dinner. She didn’t care that the TV was loud, that we were even louder, that Mikey and Richie would tell the most insane stories, over and over again, and in fact, she moved around the kitchen like, well, like she’d known us all our whole lives. I don’t know if I ever saw Mikey so happy.” Sugar was sitting in bed, her phone on speaker while you sat silent on the other line.

“You at the restaurant?” Sugar cleared her throat.

“Standing right outside it.” You spoke up, trying to hide your tears from the story Sugar just told.

“I’ll be there soon.” There was rustling on the other side of the phone, like she had started to get up and get ready.

“Sugar?” You questioned, worried she was about to hang up.

“Hm?” She hummed.

“Thank you.” It was two words but sometimes you needed to hear it. How much Mikey loved you, he didn’t tell you often, but you felt it, you saw it. But now, that he was gone, that all that was left of Mikey for you was the things he left at your place, the memories you shared, you took the antidotes Sugar occasionally told you and kept them someplace special.

“I’ll see you in the chaos.” Sugar replied back to you in which you did the same.

For a few seconds after the phone call, you stood there, staring at the gutted restaurant, staring at the mayhem happening behind the glass, which was normal for the restaurant, whether it was in business or not. But right now, standing outside, in the peace of the quiet reminded you of those late nights in the kitchen, and you were destined to hold onto that peace for just a few more minutes.

Eventually, you joined the chaos. Greeting everyone as you made your way through the renovation. Finding yourself getting swept up into something in the immediate first seconds you entered the front door. After an hour or so, when you wrapped up your job in the front, you made your way to the kitchen.

“What’re you doing?” You placed your stuff down in the office as you walked past Richie, Fak, and Marcus who were gathered around someone’s phone watching a video, arguing back and forth. Natalie stood up from the chair in the office and placed a hand on your shoulder in a half greeting and walked over to the arguing men. Your eyes lingered on the office table and chair a little longer than normal, letting the memories flood into your brain for a short few seconds before you turned to put your attention back on everyone.

“Scraping and painting and fighting over moving the lockers.” Marcus spoke up.

You turned around and stepped out of the office, staring at them trying to attempt to move the lockers. Carmy had appeared now, yelling at them to keep it down and when the mention of Mikey’s locker still being locked was announced, that’s when everyone silences.

“Just fuckin’ open it.” Carmy spoke up.

A hat. June 5th, 2010. Taste of Chicago. The booth.

You smiled at that. You weren’t there for the booth, but you heard all about it. From the family, but from Mikey, it was one of the many stories he’d tell you over and over and honestly, you’d do anything to hear him tell it 200 more times.

Carmy handed the hat to Richie, and as he turned around his eyes fell on your.

“Yo, uh, I got something for you.” He said and walked right past you into the office, searching for something. As everyone went back to working, you turned and took a few steps towards Carmy as he moved the papers around looking for something.

“So, uh, we’re sending Ebra and Tina to culinary school, for them to stay sharp, learn some new shit, and uh, I–we, Syd and I figured you didn’t want or honestly really need that, so uh–here!” He proclaimed the last word louder than the rest as he found the envelope with your name written on it and handed it to you.

You looked down at it for a second and then back at Carmy, you two didn’t talk much in general, but you definitely didn’t talk much about him.

“You and Syd…” You started to say as you mindlessly tapped the envelope against your skin. “You uh,” You wanted to say that the two of them reminded you a lot of you and Mikey, the effortlessness in the kitchen, the way their ideas just bounced off each others and how they brought this new sense of life to each other. But it was that last thought that weighed heavy on you. There was a point that Mikey brought a new sense of life to you and you did the same to him but unfortunately that emotion, that feeling, had changed at some point, at no ones fault but it didn’t stop you from not cherishing it more. “Just, don’t take it for granted.”

“Yea, yea.” Carmy nodded, getting where you were coming from but also not really wanting to get into it and you were okay with that because you didn’t want to get into it either.

Carmy’s eyes moved down to the envelope and back to you. Taking the hint you nodded. “Right.” You said quickly and began to rip the envelope open. As your hand reached in and pulled out the papers in the envelope, you saw the word United and then followed by a seat and time and that’s when you saw the airports.

ORD – NAP

Naples International Airport.

“Carmy.” You looked up, eyes shocked.

“It’s what Mikey would’ve wanted.” Carmy nodded and walked by you, taking his hand to rest on your shoulder and then tap it as he exited the office.

You stared down at the tickets, trying to take in everything.

“You, me, and Italy, Mikey.”

#The Bear #The Bear FX #The Bear fanfic #Mikey Berzatto #Michael Berzatto #Michael Berzatto x Reader #Mikey Berzatto x Reader

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nerdraging4point0 · 3 months

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Power Play // Chapter Four // Hockeyplayer!Noah AU

Tropes and tags: RPF:AU hockey player romance, angsty romance, hidden relationship, forbidden relationship, smutty, MF, multiple POV.

Content Warning: angsty romance, hockey player shenanigans, locker room talk, smutty, aggressive hockey players, PinV, MF relationship, possessive male, protective male.

This work below is fictionalized ideas and stories involving real people but does not directly reflect their thoughts, feelings, or behaviors. Please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction.

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Two days. Forty-eight hours. That's all I get to train before they toss me headfirst into the role of head athletic nurse. Just a couple days shadowing Naomi and then - bam! - she's gone on early maternity leave. And if that's not enough, I can't find a single affordable apartment in this insane city. I was so determined to make it on my own, but after 24 fruitless hours of searching, Dad insisted I take an apartment in the complex where the hockey players live. Move in ready next week, free rent, close to the rink. I should be grateful, right? I mean, it gets me out of Dad's place at least. But now it's game day and I'm nowhere near ready. My head's spinning and my stomach's in knots. I have no idea what I've gotten myself into. This is way too much way too fast. Breathe, girl. Just breathe. You've got this.

My heart pounds as I frantically take stock of my supplies. Tape, ice packs, ace bandages - check. It's not that I don't know how to treat injuries. As a nurse, wounds and fractures are second nature. But this - this is new territory. I didn't sign up for the intensity of trauma care on the sidelines. My expertise is in orthopedics, urology, neurology - slower paced clinic work. Not split second emergency response.

I sit on the sidelines watching warmups, taking in the sights and sounds of the rink. There's a smattering of early bird fans already in the stands, but more are still filing in, arms loaded with popcorn and hot dogs. The boys glide and weave across the ice, firing pucks into the gaping net, muscles coiled as they launch themselves into sharp turns.

McClain and Sanders emerge from the tunnel, bundled in pads and skates. They ease towards the goal, McClain positioning himself between the posts while Sanders hangs back, stick resting casually on his shoulder. The other players start peppering McClain with shots - his glove flashes out, quick as a cat's paw, snagging the pucks from the air. He drops into a butterfly, legs splaying wide to kick away rebounds. I can't take my eyes off him, enthralled by his reflexes and fearless focus.

My stomach is in knots as the warmups wind down. One by one, the players skate over to tap fists with Coach and Jack before heading off the ice. Sanders, Dominick, McClain, Ruffilo - they all make sure to bump fists with me too. I force myself to take some deep breaths as the opening ceremonies begin. I watch anxiously as the puck drops for the first faceoff. The boys look sharp, moving the puck around cleanly, getting some good chances early. My nerves start to settle just a bit seeing them come out strong in these crucial opening minutes. But I'm still on the edge of my seat, ready to jump into action at a moment's notice.

I've got my eyes glued to the ice as the Avalanche roar down the rink with the puck, making a beeline for McClain's net. Sebastian bursts forward, moving in to intercept. Sticks clash and sparks fly as he battles for possession. With a mighty swing, he breaks free and shovels the puck away. But his opponent doesn't take kindly to being shaken off. As Sebastian streaks up the ice, the guy charges after him and slams their bodies together, crushing them both against the boards. The glass shudders from the hit - you can feel the aggression pulsating through the arena.

My eyes are glued to Sebastian as he shakes off that nasty hit. The guy is seeing red, flexing out the arm that just got plastered into the boards. He's back in position now, still fuming, and drives hard to defend the net again. A few more plays and another try for a score but McClain is quick as ever and snags the puck. Sebastian eases up to circle back, but that same goon swoops in and crunches him into the wall again. Suddenly it's mayhem - helmets flying, sticks tossed, bare fists grabbing jerseys, going for faces. The refs dive in to break it all up. My heart's pounding as I take it all in. This game just got heated.

As the whistle blows, Coach bellows for Sebastian to hit the bench and sends in Dominick. My stomach drops. Sebastian's face is as red as his jersey as he skates over, and I shuffle closer, dreading what I'll see. His lip is swollen and split open, a trail of blood oozing down his chin. Coach grabs Sebastian's cheeks and gives him a stern once-over before nodding my way. Our eyes meet briefly before Sebastian clambers over the boards on wobbly skates, weighed down by pads and gear.

My heart races as I rummage through my bag for the gauze and antiseptic. I gently dab the wet gauze on his rugged, battered face, taking care not to hurt him. He winces ever so slightly, pulling back as I tenderly clean the gash on his lip.

"This will need some ice," I murmur, transfixed by his mouth. The wound isn't deep, but it would still hurt if I tried to kiss it. Stop it, Sarah.

"I could just lay on the rink, would that help?" he jokes, flashing me a roguish grin.

I can't help but smile, lost in his sparkling eyes. Even bruised from the game, he makes my stomach do somersaults. As I gently dab the last of the blood from his rugged face, I ask for his hands.

He turns them palm down, rough and shaking. I trace my fingers over the tattoos marking his skin, checking for any hidden injuries. Through my gentle touch, I feel his warmth, his strength. Our eyes meet and my heart flutters. I take his hand in both of mine, lightly pressing each knuckle, thrilled by his closeness. He doesn't flinch. If he's in pain, he doesn't show it. Or maybe it's just the adrenaline.

"Looks good," I say, my eyes lingering a little too long on his handsome face. "Nothing too badly damaged."

He smiles, though it turns into a wince as the wounded side of his lip curves up. "Just my pride," he replies ruefully.

"Ah, pride," I tut, leaning in conspiratorially. "A tricky thing to find once lost. But if I happen to stumble over yours rolling around, I'll be sure to scoop it up and return it to its rightful owner." I give him a playful wink, unable to keep from flirting. Even banged up, he's cute as hell.

NOAH'S POV

As I hop over the boards and back onto the ice, my legs feel a little shaky. I skate slowly back to position, my head still spinning. Man, her smile just melts me every time. So sly and sexy. And that hair... She's such a little fox. I can't stop thinking about her. I've got it bad for this girl. Focus, dude! Gotta keep my head in the game. The way her black and red scrubs hug those round curves of hers. Alright, deep breaths. Back to the action.

I'm back defending our goal after that goon got himself tossed for busting my lip. The blood's dripping down my chin but I've got no time to worry about that. We're up 4-2 with the clock winding down. Karlsson and me, we go together like peanut butter and jelly defending our net. A winger tries to blow past me but I plant him into the boards. I knock the puck loose and pass it off to Karlsson but their center snags it. I shake off the winger clinging to me and slide across the crease to rob the center's shot. I scoop up the puck and send it flying down the ice. I'm throwing hits left and right, keeping their forwards outside our zone. The final horn blares and we've done it again - chalk up another W. My jersey's soaked with sweat but the pain doesn't matter.

I'm beat as we drag our battered bodies back to the locker room. My muscles are screamin' under these pads after the torture session on the ice. That bone-crunchin' check into the boards left my shoulder throbbing with a deep bruise. I grunt and roll my arm, trying to shake out the pain.

The locker room erupts when we stumble in. The boys are hootin' and hollerin', dancing around half-naked and drenched in sweat. I toss my stick and lid in my stall and collapse on the bench, rip off my gloves and gingerly touch my busted lip. The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth as I wince.

I peel off my jersey, wincing as the sweaty fabric sticks to my skin. The pads come next, and I sigh in relief as my shoulders are freed from their restrictive embrace. The locker room falls silent as all eyes turn to me. I run a hand through my damp hair, pushing it back from my forehead.

As I sit on the bench, spent from the game, a shadow falls over me. I glance up to see Little Fox standing there, ice pack in hand, trademark smirk on her lips. She holds out the bag, ice cracking inside, and I take it slowly, letting my fingers brush hers. Her eyes trace over my bare chest and I see her throat tighten as she swallows hard. She wants me. My teammates watch us, eager for the show.

I stand tall in front of her, watching those dark eyes go wide. Her lips part slightly as she takes me in. "F-for your face," she stammers, pressing the ice into my hands before slipping away, a new bounce in her step. I grin as she goes.

Game on, Little Fox.

We roll into Sully's still riding high after crushing Washington 4-zip on the ice tonight.

That game was a brawl, I'm still aching all over. But hey, at least my mug is still pretty this time. The split lip from the last match is finally scabbing up enough that I can wolf down a burger without wincing. The shiner's faded and I clean up alright for a night out. The boys and I threw on our nicest threads, my black slacks and a soft navy shirt with the sleeves rolled up to show off the ink running up my arms.

The second I open the door, this total dive hits me with that sweet stench of stale beer and chicken wings. Road signs and hilarious bar quotes plaster the walls from floor to ceiling. Three monster TVs behind the bar blast sports on full volume - college ball, NFL, and of course our boys lighting up the NHL highlights.

With the game pumping through the speakers and the home team plastered on every screen, Sully's is our scene tonight. Loud, messy, no pretensions - just how we like it after a big win.

We snag the biggest table in the joint and start pounding 'em back, one after another. The energy is through the roof thanks to that W. Jolly's already facedown in his third pint, trying to sweet talk the waitress in his sloppy Swedish. The swedish isn’t working but the way he is batting his eyes at her and has her laughing tells me she is into him.

Sanchez is working his magic on a couple hockey bunnies in the corner, likely wanting to take both of them back to the hotel with him. Meanwhile, Nick and Andy are talking trash and seeing who can balance more empty bottles on their domes. As for me? I'm just taking it all in, boys - the brews, the brotherhood, that sweet taste of victory.

"Check it out, McClain," Nick says, words running together as he balances a third bottle on his head, swaying to keep it steady. "It's all about that balance, bro."

Andy scoffs, clutching his six shot glasses in one hand and snatching one of Nick's to perch on his middle finger. "Balance? I'll show you balance, you little punk," he slurs back.

The dim lights of this hole-in-the-wall bar make it tough to see much of anything. Shadows dance across dark wood as my eyes adjust. The dance floor packed tight with bodies grinding up against each other to the pulsing beat. Through the mass of writhing shapes, I catch a glimpse of foxtail curls swaying in time with the music. She's gorgeous, sipping a cocktail through a black straw, full lips wrapped around it. Hips swaying hypnotically in that little red dress that hugs every curve. She laughs, head thrown back in delight, and her friend with the messy bun joins in.

I'm transfixed as I watch her move across the dance floor. The sway of her hips and bounce of her curls has me hypnotized. I down my drink in one gulp, no longer interested in anything else tonight. Pushing through the crowded club, I keep my eyes locked on her - my prize. A few eager ladies try to divert my attention but I'm relentless, driven by desire. I have to feel her body against mine.

Finally reaching her, I slide my hand across the curve of her hip, fingertips digging into the silky fabric of her dress. Pulling her into me, I bring my lips to her ear and growl, "Dance with me, beautiful."

The bass is pulsing through my body as I sway my hips to the beat. Me and my bestie Marissa hit up Sully's after the Kraken game for some much needed drinks and dancing. She looks bangin' in her tight black dress, fending off guys left and right. "Not worth your time, honey!" she says with a flip of her hair.

I laugh but I'm feeling that itch, you know? It's been too damn long since I've felt those hands on me, those lips on my neck. I wore this sexy red number hoping to lure in a hookup, but with Marissa running cockblock patrol, doesn't look like that's happening tonight.

Then, I feel it. Strong hands grasp my hips from behind and pull me back against a hard chest. Mmm I can't help but melt into him as we sway together. Now this is exactly what I needed after that hockey game. Looks like Marissa can't stop me from having a little fun tonight after all.

"Dance with me, beautiful," he murmurs, his voice low and sultry against my ear. I feel the rumble of it through his chest pressed against my back, sending a shiver down my spine. His hands slide around my waist, pulling me closer as we sway to the music. I'm intoxicated by his presence, melting into his embrace. Our bodies move as one, passion smoldering between us. His breath hot on my neck, his touch electric. This dance is full of promise, an invitation to something more.

I'm swaying to the beat, drink in hand, when Marissa leans in close so I can hear her over the pounding music. "I want details," she says, planting a kiss on my cheek and taking the drink from my hand before disappearing into the crowd.

I close my eyes again, letting this mystery man's hands roam as we move together. When I finally open them, I do a double take - it's Noah! Those intense brown eyes boring into mine with that look of determination he gets on the ice.

His strong hands grip my hips, pulling me flush against him. I know I shouldn’t give in, but the heat radiating from his body thaws my resolve. If Daddy found out his little girl was messing around with a player, he’d blow his whistle for sure. Not that his rules have ever stopped me before. That goalie with the dreamy eyes almost made me forget curfew back in high school. But getting caught now might mean so much more than grounded from prom. Still, a girl’s got needs. And this player’s touch tells me he knows exactly how to satisfy them.

"What's the matter, little fox?" His words are a sensual purr that makes my knees weak. The heady scent of beer, whiskey and woodsy cologne intoxicates me. I'm helpless against him, my body craving his touch despite the risk. My breath catches as his lips graze my neck.

#bad omens #noah sebastian #bad omens cult #noahsebastian fanfic #bad omens band #hockey player noah #hockey #bad omens au #bad omens smut #hockey romance #hockeyomens #hockey player!noah

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sparrowsingsstories · 1 year

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💕 self-love time! talk about which ones of YOUR creations (edits, artworks, fanfics) you like the most then send to other creators to do the same 💕

Thank you @theartofblossoming! Warning - long post ahead!

Currently, it's a toss-up between Cry Mercy (which has a chapter ready to upload, but uh...I need to upload it) and Sparrow's Story (Fly Away Little Bird) and Frankie & Beau's story.

Cry Mercy because...yeah, this story has been pulling me along for well over a year now. We're over 150K words (I think), I'm getting into the last 1/3 of the story, and I'm looking towards part 2 - which I'm tentatively titling No Mercy. Mercy is just great to write. So much emotion, so much grit, so much poly craziness. And incorporating SS2 has been interesting. A new way to look at the game and plot. Of course, this story started the insane OC creation between @alder-berry and I and the weird and wonderful Jamaica Plains settlement so yeah...I have a lot that I love about this one.

Fly Away Little Bird and Sparrow are dear to me. So very dear. She's my favorite OC. She encompasses so much of who I am, what my struggles are, my hopes and dreams and more all wrapped up in a 4'9" package. She's morphed from a character who was made on a whim into somebody living and breathing and worthy of a story of her own. One that will span Cry Mercy and end with No Mercy. A story about found family, loss, love, friendship, and growing. She's dear to me and when her story is done, I will probably mourn it. I've never written a story about a character I love so much, and yeah...yeah.

Frankie & Beau's story (title to be determined still). Alright. Frankie is my second most beloved character. I mean - it's really close here. She's all of my Southern wrapped up in my religious trauma (poor Frankie) who found love in an unlikely place and now has to go home to realize it was never home to begin with. Her story spans from Jamaica Plains to the Dallas/Ft. Worth area of Texas and then up into the Cascades of Washington state. Besides Darcy in Fly Away Little Bird and Grace Williams, Sparrow's adopted mother and @alder-berry's most amazing character ever, Beau just has my heart 110%. Look - if Beau Adams stepped into my life right now, I'd just go with him. He's just...he just IS. A man who doesn't want to kill anymore, but for the person he loves, for his family, will kill anybody. And for Frankie? He'll ride that motorcycle to hell and back if she asked. Not that she would. Though going to Texas kinda feels like it. Hah.

#ask answered #oh this was amazing and wonderful #thank you for giving me the opportunity to answer this!#Mercy Hamilton #Sparrow Williams #Frankie #Fallout 4 ocs #Fallout 4 writing #Fallout 4 fics #My writing #Maggie Writes

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aquadestinyswriting · 8 months

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Hey you!

Hope trip went well 🧡️

8) 🧢 CLOTHING: What is your MC currently wearing in the most recent scene of your WIP?

13) 🌸 PERFUME: Describe the setting of your WIP using the five senses.

and cuz I am a sleepy little thing rn:

2) 🛏️ BED: What do your OCs dream about?

Hiya hen, trip was quite up and down. Was ill with the dreaded c-word the first week, but the second week was fun, if tiring. Thank you for the asks :D.

The random generator chose Fangthane's Folly for these questions. Oh boy.

8) 🧢 CLOTHING: What is your MC currently wearing in the most recent scene of your WIP?

In the most recent scene Meredith is in, she's still wearing the vestments she was caught in, because no one's been able to go get her a change of clothes. For reference, the vestments are cream coloured heavy linen with a deep red lining and gold thread embellishments and her stole is the same deep red as the lining of her robes with gold thread inscriptions from the Book of Moradin stitched around the edges. They are starting to look a little grotty by now though since she hasn't really had a chance to change since arriving in Fangthane. She obviously no longer has her armour or mace since those were stripped from her once she was processed and tossed in the cell.

13) 🌸 PERFUME: Describe the setting of your WIP using the five senses.

This is a fun question to get for this WIP in particular since it gives me a chance to describe Fangthane as I see it during the WIP in question.

Sight: During Fangthane's Folly, Fangthane is a lot more dark and grimy, with only the smallest lights visible in the gloom. There's a constant haze in the air obscuring the detail of things off in the distance so you can't quite make out what's in front of you.

Hearing: Distant echoes of water dripping from somewhere, the slow grinding of stone on stone, the ringing of metal on metal from the various smithies of the trading district, the low mumble of people talking in low voices over pints of beer and ale, too afraid to speak too loudly in case attention is drawn to them, the slow tolling of the bell in the cathedral somehow muffled by the gloom pressing in around it.

Touch: rough stone walls, uneven cobbled streets, constant, stifling heat from the forges and the chill of cooler, damper air in the deeper parts of the mountain. The pressure of having a whole mountain above your head, weighing down the air around you.

Smell: smoke and iron, again from the forges, the heady smell of hops and yeast from the breweries and the hundreds of pubs found in a city of Fangthane's size, the smell of damp that seems to permeate the lowest levels of the mountain, the air that's dry is stale. Towards the cathedral it smells a little too strongly of incense and there's a constant, faint whiff of b.o and stale coffee nearly everywhere you go.

Taste: It's a little cliché but Fangthane, at this point, tastes of slightly stale beer and under-seasoned stew or stovies. You can practically taste the incense and hops in the air as well. It all tastes a bit sour and sickly sweet at the same time.

2) 🛏️ BED: What do your OCs dream about?

Answering for all of the OCs in this WIP is insane, so I'll stick with four of them.

Meredith: This was already answered in the story Fire-Hollowed Souls, but to summarise; Meredith's dreams are all a little on the dark and semi-prophetic side. Girl's been getting constant alarm bells from Throff since getting back, so her dreams reflect the warnings the Goddess is trying to send to those even remotely faithful.

Yoruk: Yoruk's dreams for this WIP aren't too much better than Merri's if I'm honest. His are far more normal though, and usually involve being chased by some sort of unknowable evil entity. In some of them he fights back and the dreams become awesome power fantasies. Hooray barely acknowledged childhood and young adulthood trauma?

Vera: Vera's dreams are very ordinary despite the circumstances she finds herself in. They're leaning a bit more towards nightmares at the moment, but that's to be expected. Her most recent dreams, like Yoruk's, involve being chased by some dark, unseen entity.

Firetome: Firetome's dreams are all about him winning and getting the chance to execute King Storri, his family, and all the filthy, filthy Moradhir who have families involved in the genocides following the end of the War of the Red Hammer (which is pretty much every clan in Fangthane, most of his own included, but let's not sweat the details, eh?). At the moment, Firetome is having the time of his life.

#writeblr asks #answered ask #aquadestinyswriting #titan fighting fantasy #fangthane's folly and the anvil's fall #meredith gruksdottir #yoruk bloodvein #vera #skarld firetome

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creepypasta-archive · 2 years

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Underminding iNSaNiTY

by Anonymous

No tmuch to say about this story. But I like the imagery it creates. It's vivid in my head and it's also very greeen and dingy.

CW// death, blood, trauma, laceration, knifes, murder, poor representations of mental illness.

Click below to read the original unedited story

The young girl brightly smiled grabbing a hold of his hand. She pulled him along, forcing him to walk faster than his normal speed. Another boy followed after them, chasing them really. She giggled leading the two boys towards a large bush. She moved her black bangs behind her ears, away from her green eyes.

"Isn't it pretty, Jeffrey?" She asked turning towards the boy who was named 'Jeffrey'.

The boy nodded. The older boy walked to the girl he stare out at the trees, sighing softly.

"You wanted to show us trees, Harley?" The boy asked.

The girl, Harley shook her head. "No, Liu!" She pouted, "it wasn't this, there was something on the other side, something secret, but I'm afraid of going inside along, that's why I want to tell you guys the secret." she smiled brightly.

"Come on Jeff!" Harley yelled.

She grabbed Jeff's hand pulling him into the bush.

That was before, before she went insane. It was before she lost everything, her friends, the guy she always hung out with, her family, everyone, just because of a mistake, a large mistake she made. She admitted to him that they would meet again someday, reunited. But those were just children promises, something that would never happen. She was stilling living in the past, still trying to find that spark that ruined her life.

She pulled herself up from the ground, looking down the alley to the exit where lights shined. Cars speed by, quicker than anything Harley could imagine. She walked along the side of the street, pulling her large black, over-sized hood over her head. People eyeballed her as if she was poor, as if she was gambling for money or part of a gangster group. She wasn't neither, behind that hood was a girl with a past of killing, murderous killing.

She was looking for anyone to kill, it could be anyone. Yet she doesn't acknowledge her victim, she just marks down on her arm the number of kills she down. The thing she does acknowledge is the guy called "Go to Sleep", the one who's making more people die then her. Ruining her victims and records. She looked up towards the sky, raindrops starting to fall from the orange, red, blue sky, lights shining all around her. She rolled her green eyes looking forward.

She kept walking for minutes, it could have been twenty minutes but she stopped making a turn. She walked into an apartment building, a one that had only three floors, grubby white walls, and carpet flooring. She walked to the top floor, entering her apartment. She was able to fool everyone, making them believe that her parents burned her, then commit suicide during the process, she just then simply burned down the house. Many conclusions came around from different people, family, friends a lot of people. Some said that the "Go To Sleep" guy struck again, or that a accidental house fire happened and they just didn't make it out. But that wasn't it. She sliced both her parents heads off, then started laughing. It reminded her of Alice in Wonderland, her favorite kid movie. She always thought Alice had a little, dark secret, but Harley never knew that SHE had a little, dark secret.

She dropped onto her bed throwing off her hoodie, she tossed it across the room sighing softly as she stared up. She could hear knocks at the door, it silenced for a bit then more knocks came, then bangs, multiple bangs. Harley stood up walking into her kitchen, she grabbed her axe which was in the bottom door just in case of emergencies like this. It could be the police, or the drunk man from just down the hall.

She gripped onto the knob turning it slowly. She opened it coming face to face with a guy. White leathery skin, really, really pale skin, a wide cut in smile like the Jokers, and dark, black rings around eyes that appeared to have no eyelids. His hair looked oily as if it hasn't been washed for years, or months. She took a step back, her heart starting to pound.

"Hello Harley," she was welcomed with a wide, cracking smile which stares into her soul; if she had one. Multiple sickening laughs started to come from the 'freak', he walked towards her pulling out a knife from his jacket pocket.

She swung her axe, missing the killer's head. She gulped stumbling backwards as she tripped, hitting herself on the carpet floor. The killer was just steps away from her, at least three. She could count them in her head, three, two, one. She felt herself being pushed into the ground as a knife was stabbed into her stomach. She winced and screamed in pain trying to get loose.

She was going to die she knew it. But she didn't want to, she didn't want people to find out she wasn't dead, she didn't want anyone to know what happened, and she knew who this was. Jeff.

"Damn, Jeff," she hissed in pain.

The killer's eye's widen more bigger then they were, really in just surprise. The knife stopped moving from his hands and he lost control. Eventually she would die from blood-lost. Harley was going to be exposed to the truth, just from a mistake with opening the door.

"So much for promises," she gritted her teeth, trying to hold back the pain.

He pulled out the knife then placed it to her neck. They both knew what would have to happen, she would have to die, to die to live a new life, to die to become a new person. To restart her own life.

With that, he sliced her neck, blood spluttering from her. She was dead, her body went limp, her eyes losing it's colour. She was dead.

#creepypasta #jeff the killer #fanfiction #jtk #horror #story

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turtletaubwrites · 7 months

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Take Me With You

Chapter 1: Fuck This Town, And Everyone In It

This is a dark and smutty romance that starts shortly before, and then follows the OPLA timeline. Please heed the tags below, and I hope you enjoy this vicious love story with our favorite clown! THIS FIC CONTAINS DARK CONTENT. 18+ ONLY. MDNI. HEED THE TAGS.

Pairing: Buggy the Clown x Fem!Reader

Chapter Summary: You volunteer for Buggy's final act, hoping that he'll take you away from this awful town and the predators and enablers that live here. First you have to pass the audition, and choose who throws the knives. Will you make the cut?

Word Count: 1285

Take Me With You ~ Masterlist

Ao3 Link

Author's Note: Non-Con is not described, but the Reader murders their unnamed abuser with Buggy's help. Reader experiences a lot of feelings of hatred and trauma. Buggy is a villain in this story, except for how caring he is toward the reader. This romance is dark y'all, with a bunch of violence and angst mixed in with their sweet love. Please heed the tags, and DO NOT read if any of these themes may be triggering for you.

Rating/Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ ONLY, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, SA/Non-Con occurred in the past - not described during story, reader murders the abuser with Buggy's help, Reader has symptoms of trauma and dissociation, torturing and murdering an unnamed abuser, Knife Throwing, Buggy understands consent except when it comes to his captive audience of course, Consent, Knifeplay, Eventual Smut, Praise Kink, Angst, Inappropriate Use of Akuma no Mi | Devil Fruit Powers, Smut, Dark Romance, Slow Burn, Fluff and Smut, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sex, Rough Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Comeplay, Aftercare, Throat Fucking, Cunnilingus, Hair Pulling, Biting, Overstimulation, Orgasm Delay, Comeshot, Anal Play, Alcohol, Bisexuality, Accidental Exhibitionism, Face-Sitting, Choking, Dom Buggy

“Take me with you.”

The spotlight almost blinded you, but you could still blink up at the captivating figure of the pirate clown on his makeshift throne. He had asked for a volunteer, and although you were just as much of a prisoner as the rest of the residents of your little town, you stood tall, your mind made up.

When Buggy asked for your name, you only gave him that request, that demand to take you with him. He could have been angry that you’d failed to obey him. Instead, the menacing clown paused, tilting his head before replying.

“Why should I?”

Chills ran through your whole body. This insane impulse was causing your life to tear away from you, lost in a tailspin.

“Because I’m more interesting than any of these assholes on this island. I want to be one of your freaks, and follow your flashy show across the seas.”

“Well folks, it looks like we've got an audition!”

Buggy laughed with what sounded like genuine delight as he clapped his gloved hands, leaping out of his seat. He gestured widely, dramatic movements keeping him at the center of your attention.

“Why don’t you climb onto the wheel, and I’ll toss some blades your way? Or you can choose one of our captive audience members to strap up instead, and you can be the one to fling the blades?”

This felt like it was supposed to be a lose-lose situation. Buggy’s smile seemed crisp at the edges, but you shivered with the hope that you’d be leaving this shithole town behind soon, one way or another.

“Him.”

Buggy exaggeratedly followed your outstretched arm until his gaze landed on a quivering man.

“This guy? He looks boring.”

“He is. That’s why I want to throw knives at him.”

The clown laughed at your words, his smile seeming to deepen as he watched you more closely.

His freaks grabbed the man, unlocking his chains and dragging him to the center of the ring. Buggy demanded that the audience applaud for your target as he was pulled into the spotlight.

Your eyes glazed over as you watched him being strapped onto the wheel, until your hands were yanked forward. You met Buggy’s eyes, and saw a spark of annoyance that you hadn’t noticed him so close.

Buggy’s gloved fingers traced down your own, then shoved a belt with five sharp knives into your hands.

“Try not to kill him. Or do. Either way, it should be a fun show.” Buggy directed those words toward you, but kept his voice booming for the audience to hear.

“Now, gentle viewers, feast your eyes upon this rare treat! Will this boring man survive the rain of daggers? Will this amateur prove herself worthy of joining our freakshow? Let’s find out!”

Buggy’s voice was so playful, yet so dangerous. Part of you was horrified at the situation you’d put yourself in. But when you looked at the whimpering man on the wheel, you took a deep breath as you pulled a dagger from the belt.

You stared at the man strapped to the wheel, not spinning yet, just bound. You saw his labored breathing, his snot dripping down his chin, his pathetic eyes squeezing open and shut while he blubbered.

“Hurry up now, unless you wanna join your buddy up there.” Buggy’s voice was impatient, and you shook yourself back into the moment.

“Please, Y/N! You don’t want to do this," the man on the wheel begged.

“Yes, I do.”

Taking another deep breath, you focused your throw as best as you could. You hoped that your drunken darts games would translate into some skill with the shot, but the release fell short, landing a few feet in front of the wheel.

“Come on, you can do better than that!.”

Buggy’s voice boomed, covering the man’s whimpers for a moment.

“Please, Y/N, please help me. Don’t do this!”

Exhaling, your second throw actually hit the wheel by his left foot. It didn’t stick into the wood, but the dagger bounced off, brushing against his leg before clattering to the floor.

The pirate clown began to speak, but even he paused to listen to the man’s pathetic cries now.

“You ugly bitch, fuck you! You’re nothing but a stupid fucking whore!”

A languid breath moved through you, the corner of your lip twitching into a hateful smile.

“If I was a whore, then you should have paid for what you took.”

You threw the third dagger with cold rage flooding your veins, and it hit. It scraped along the outside of his left thigh, sticking into the wood, leaving a thin tear in his pants along with a slow trail of blood.

He screamed, and you barely heard it as Buggy made the captive townsfolk applaud your violence. The town full of people that had turned a blind eye. This small, idyllic seeming village was full of trash. Disgusting predators, all of their enablers, and the bystanders who never wanted to ruin their own day by giving a shit about anyone else.

Fuck this town, and everyone in it.

Before you could pull your arm back for the fourth shot, Buggy was standing in front of you.

“Would you like a few pointers, freak?”

His eyes sparkled in the lights, and it took you a second to realize what he’d said, and how quietly he’d said it. Those were the first words that Buggy spoke that were meant for your ears alone.

“Yes, please,” you whispered, eyes wide as his hand gently took the knife from yours.

Turning from you back to the audience, Buggy lifted the dagger high, demanding their full attention again.

“Our lovely amateur has earned herself a lesson from the Genius Jester himself. Don’t try this at home folks.” Buggy ended with a wink, and the audience was forced to laugh along with him, all while the man on the wheel continued to whimper and beg.

Buggy stepped up beside you, and you shivered as he spoke quietly again, just for you.

“Is it alright if I touch you to show you how to throw?”

You were stunned for a moment, and had to shake yourself before replying. The thought of Buggy the Pirate asking for this small consent from you in the midst of this theatrical hostage situation was jarring.

“Yes, Captain,” you managed to breathe out while still caught in his piercing gaze.

The look of sinister pleasure on Buggy’s face at your words should have scared you, but you had a feeling that it was the man on the wheel that needed to fear him now.

The man continued to cry while the clown gave you a short lesson on knife throwing. It almost felt like you were alone with Buggy, so focused on his instructions. He stood beside you, demonstrating the stance and movements, showing you how to find the balance of the blades, and what angle to release them at. Then he stood behind you, and helped you line up your aim toward the center of the target. You noticed that Buggy didn’t press himself against your body, only touching you lightly along the arms and shoulders.

You went through the movements a few more times, until the pirate beamed at you.

“Good girl.”

Buggy's praise sent chills along your neck before he leaned toward you with a wicked grin.

“Do you want me to make him spin for you?”

You glanced at the wheel for a moment, realizing that you’d almost forgotten about that pathetic man while the clown trained you.

Meeting Buggy’s eyes again, you dove off the deep end, and answered with a smile.

“Yes, please.”

Likes, comments, and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you so much!

a/n: This was my first fanfic, and it means so much to me. I hope you enjoy it!

Chapter 2

Operation Olive Branch has compiled a working spreadsheet of ways to help families fleeing from the genocide in Palestine. If you enjoyed this fic, and are able, please click the link to find a list of GoFundMe's, as well as other ways to help.

#buggy smut #buggy x reader #long fic #buggy fanfiction #buggy the clown #smut #reader insert #fem!reader #one piece smut #opla smut #angst #one piece x reader #x reader #opla x reader #turtletaub fics #cw dark content

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randomshyperson · 2 years

Text

Rulers of The Multiverse - Wanda Maximoff x Reader - Chapter Twelve

Summary: Strange’s faulty spell will cause a series of unexpected events, from your reunion with the love of your life in another world to the appearance of a child capable of traveling across the multiverse. This story follows the journey of a very tired Guardian alongside mischievous America Chavez and Scarlet Witch.

Warnings: (+18) explicit language and sexual content, violence, a lot of magic, found family, mentions of abusive past and trauma, mind control, use of illicit substances, mostly top!reader, soulmates analogies. CW: smut, violence, mention of murder || Words: 8.236k

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad | Series Masterlist

--//--

Chapter Twelve - A Bunch of Books and Dreams

"The Scarlet Witch is a legendary being of great power, who at her peak, will be able to transit through the multiverse and is therefore destined to reign over all Worlds."

Wanda lets out a loud sigh with your reading. The three of you are sitting on the floor of the Library of Alexandria with dozens of open books around you. And since you lost patience with the Book of Vishanti citing the Gods as the most benevolent creatures on earth, and decided to join Wanda in her research - along with little America, who had already reread your little guide a couple of times and offered to make notes that Wanda needed - you had already found over a dozen different descriptions for what a Scarlet Witch was and her fate.

"That's another point for a ruling entity." America commented writing in a notepad on her own lap, and you - who was holding one of the Books of the Wise and Great Masters, Entities of Power from Earth-721 - closed it and tossed the item on the pile of readings before moving to grab the next one: The Book of the Damned, Earth-28.

"Just to make sure, you're certain that Chthon won't start whispering my worst fears if I try to read this, right?" you ask Wanda in a light tone, darkhold in hand, and she rolls her eyes, hiding a small smile as she straightens the Book of the Vishanti she picked up from you in front of her face.

A few more minutes pass before Wanda finds what she was looking for.

"Hey, Y/N, listen to this." She catches your eye, tracing her finger across the page containing the drawing of the Scarlet Witch and the Guardian of the Order with their backs to each other, familiar to her from one of your memories. "A Guardian's oath is taken on the first Full Moon of their Forge, with their Master Teacher and their knights present."

You frown softly, taking your attention away from the book to look at Wanda, who continues to read, "If the presence of the living Knights is not possible, the ritual must be done in close proximity to their bodies."

"That's so creepy." You grumble with a grimace, to which Wanda agrees with a nod. She mumbles a bit, skipping a few not-so-relevant sentences, before speaking again.

"If the forging is not complete, the Guardian must find a way to earn the attention of the Elder Goddess of the Eastern Star, Oshtur. The only known case of a sworn Guardian in arrears was of the Insane Aeneas, who offended Oshtur's justice by fraternizing with demons and dark magic in pursuit of greater power, falling into delirium for a millennium by performing a Malignant Forge. Aeneas paid his punishment after a thousand years, by freeing the In-Between Realm from the dominion of the Devourer of Worlds, Dormammu. Aeneas sacrificed himself and all his magic, and the benevolent Oshtur allowed him to rest beside the fallen order."

"I swear, how many times are these guys going to write Belovelent..." You mutter, managing a small laugh before Wanda snaps her fingers for you to focus.

"It doesn't say anything in here about getting sick for not carrying out an oath." She comments and you sigh thoughtfully.

"Yeah, I noticed it too." You say. "But that's the interpretation of all the masters, isn't it? And it would come as no surprise if Oshtur is a Narcissistic-"

The room shudders as if the thunder outside is on the wall, and Wanda and America give you a warning look about offending Oshtur in that place. You sigh, raising your hands in surrender before flipping through the Darkhold again.

"Write that down then, America, great heroic act for the gods to notice me." You mutter half-ironically. "And I thought killing the mad titan was going to be enough."

America giggles but scribbles down what you asked. Wanda goes back to her reading, and you find the description of darkhold in the next fifteen minutes.

"[...] Yep, another one for the Destroyer of Worlds pile, babe." You comment as you finish reading. "Sorry."

Wanda sighs but doesn't comment at all, closing the Book of Vishanti and putting it in another pile while you lean over to look at America's notepad, commenting with a smile that her handwriting in English has improved greatly since last time.

Wanda feels her heart warm with moments like this. Part of her mind screams at her not to get attached, but she can't help but notice how much more like a family you and America feel to her with every second you spend together.

Suddenly the cuckoo clock is ticking in the room, and the books start to turn transparent, and the three of you let out soft exclamations, trying to hurry to the exit and sharing soft laughter at the angry librarian's complaints about the hour.

Outside, it is raining heavily.

"I swear it seems like time passes faster every time we go in there." You comment waving your arms and looking at the amount of water that doesn't look like it's going to subside anytime soon.

"I wouldn't doubt it." Wanda murmurs in agreement, and she is about to suggest that you conjure up umbrellas when America runs out in the rain. "America!"

"Come on, you old ladies, it's fun!" Chavez retorts between one laugh or another, and you waste no time before going after her.

Wanda bites back a smile, watching you run around in the rain, and you stop with open arms, waiting for her. And she thinks you look beautiful.

"Come on, Wanda, I promise you won't melt." You tease with a laugh, but Wanda thinks you're wrong.

She melted a long time ago.

—--

Later and already inside the van while America - now wearing clothes that smell of sweet fabric softener and with wet hair - is sitting at the dining table with what looks like a strange card game, Wanda bumps into you on the way out of the bathroom when she decides to prepare something to eat.

It probably doesn't do her and her dreams any good to see you in a towel, but there's not much to be done when you offer an almost embarrassed smile, entering into a little dance about who will move first through the short space between the bedroom and the bathroom exit before you worsen the state she's blushing in by holding her waist and pressing her gently against the wall for room to pass.

"Sorry." You murmur and are hurrying off into the bedroom and closing the door the next second.

Wanda can see your silhouette, and you tug at the towel, so she looks away before America asks about the redness of her face.

Dinner is as amazing as all the other little moments the three of you have together. Wanda can feel her heart warming with how familiar it is to watch you make bad jokes or America steal your fries. She doesn't want to think about the stolen glances between you two or the natural complicity of doing the dishes or saying good night to America.

Despite her growing anxiety, Wanda is impressed by how casually you crash into your bed and fall asleep - as if the thought of sleeping next to her doesn't affect you much - and Wanda wishes so much that she could do the same.

She is considering an incantation when without expecting it, she falls asleep. And this time, she doesn't like her dreams one bit.

It begins in a room dimly lit by candles in chandeliers, and she is sitting in a chair that looks very much like a throne.

There is a knock on the door, and she straightens up before allowing you in. You, in what looks like creedal clothing - a brown cloak and a belt with a sword in its holster - come in and offer a short smile before approaching, wasting no time in kneeling down.

"Your Highness, I have brought what you requested." You say without looking at her, and Wanda feels a smile form on her face.

"Where is it?" she asks.

You waste no time, pulling something out of your jacket pocket. Wanda lets out a gasp when the yellow glow of the Mind Stone is in her range.

She reaches out of her dress cover, but before she can touch the necklace, she removes her glove, and when you get a glimpse of the black color of her fingers, your natural reaction is to hesitate, which is a mistake, because Wanda uses her free hand to grab your chin and force you to your previous position, her black fingers closing around the necklace.

"F-forgive me, my highness!" You ask quickly, fear stamped in your eyes. "If I may ask, what happened to-?"

"None of your concern, little dove." She cuts in with an icy voice, and pushes your face hard, the position causing you to fall backward with the loss of balance. Wanda is not affected one bit, her attention returning to the necklace in her hand. She inhales deeply, and then, "That's not the one I seek yet."

She presses the stone against her palm, shattering it as if it were pure glass, but it is a real infinity stone because a great wave of energy comes out of the object, and it has shattered and knocked down almost every bookcase, silverware, and mirror in the room.

You crawl away, scared and in shock, but Wanda watches herself conjure some kind of chains around your ankles and pull you back to her.

She throws the shards of the Stone on the floor and holds you down with her own hips, her face hovering over you.

"Shh, there's nothing to be afraid of, I haven't even started playing with you yet." She says macabrely, and when you try to scream for help, she simply shuts you up with magic, a wicked little laugh escaping her lips. "Let me take a closer look..." She whispers, ignoring your desperation as she holds your face, and forces it to the side to get a wider view of the back of your neck. She scratches her fingers on the skin at the nape and lets out a disappointed sigh. "Not my guardian yet, just another pretty knight."

Suddenly, chains of magic are holding your hands high above your body, and you try to struggle, begging gasps as you see Wanda reach for one of the shards of glass closer.

She meets her own gaze in the broken mirror across the room, a short smile escaping her lips that whispers "Noisy" which makes her whole body shiver from head to toe before she watches herself turn her attention to you twitching in despair below her, and without any fear, she snaps the shard against your neck and rips-

Wanda jumps out of bed gasping with fright. She is surprised that she hasn't yelled out honestly. The dream is so vivid that she has trouble blinking back to reality, and recognizing your concerned voice and touch on her shoulder.

"It's okay, Wanda, it was just a bad dream." You whispered in a sleepy voice, kissing her cheek and stroking her hair. And Wanda could only cry.

Did her just-

"I'll get you some water." You mumble but she holds your hands tightly.

"N-no." She asks in a whining voice. "Don’t go anywhere...just… it okay if we sleep in the same bed?"

You blink in surprise but offer her a smile so sweet that Wanda can only feel an even worse wave of guilt over the dream.

"Of course my love." That is all you say to her before passing your arms around her. Wanda hugs you back, hiding her face in the curve of your neck, and inhaling deeply.

It is only when your beds are together again, and you are snuggled completely underneath one comforter, and Wanda can hear your soft breathing and your heart beating in your chest, that she can go back to sleep.

—---

The next day Wanda is practically running on automatic.

You woke her up completely entwined with her, kissed her cheek, and made pancakes, and Wanda could only remember her own horrible nightmare.

She was convinced that so much magical reading was driving her insane, and was about to suggest that they stop it when America found a passage in the second edition of her pocket guide-which Aarif said had been added to her record and the girl had been devouring for the last few minutes - and Wanda almost fainted.

"Listen to this, people!" America started to get your attention, the little book at eye level. "Rare are the beings capable of traveling through the vast multiverse, but it is common knowledge that the vast majority of creatures have been gifted with the ability to connect with their other lives. Forest people can converse with their versions through natural rituals at sunset, and humans have the ability, from the first second of life, to glimpse, and even connect, with their alternate consciousness from universes other than their own. This ability receiving the name of dreams-"

"No fucking way!" You cut in with an excited exclamation, moving closer to an equally excited America. Wanda would have said something about language around a child, but she was busier trying not to despair at having just discovered that the other night's dream was actually a memory from the other life. "Oh my god, that's so cool! When I was a kid, I once dreamed of a park completely made of cotton candy! Some variant of me is having a blast!"

America laughed, beginning to share dreams as well. But soon you noticed Wanda's silence and interrupted your own babbling on the subject by asking if she was all right.

"You look a little pale, sweetheart." You commented with a frown, but Wanda's forcing a laugh.

"What? No, I'm fine. It must be because we've been locked in here all day." She lies quickly, getting up. "I'm going to ask Aarif something, I'll be right back."

She's getting out of the room faster than you might ask.

It is Aarif who finds Wanda actually - trying to control a panic attack behind a pillar - and he sighs softly.

"Are you having some of the human diseases?" He asked, and he had a Medical Guide to Diseases - Earth Species flying into his hand in the next second. "Please do not vent any kind of human residues on the edges of the library."

Wanda laughs breathlessly, shaking her head. She takes a deep breath before raising her gaze to him. "I'm fine, you don't need that." She says speaking over the book. "It was just a malaise."

"Excessive reading can cause exhaustion, and pushy travelers often get tired, so time speeds up for the preservation of your health." Comments the birdman, offering nothing more than a gentle nod to Wanda's surprise before he begins to walk away into the distance.

She wastes no time in going after him. "Wait, Aarif!" She says, and the man, despite slowing down, continues to push his cart of books that fly by as they are in the right aisle. "I wanted to ask you something."

"Aarif doesn't like questions." He retorts.

"I know, but can it be just one?" Aarif sighs but nods quietly. Wanda swallows dryly. "Is it true that dreams are vision's of other worlds?"

"Yes."

"Shit." Wanda immediately grumbles, receiving a raised eyebrow in surprise from the other, "Sorry."

"Curses are expressions of anger in the language of human beings. Did Aarif upset you?"

"Oh, no Aarif, not you!" Wanda quickly assures half-heartedly. "I just... Well, I had a really bad dream last night, and it's not the best of news to find out that it actually happened."

He sighs in understanding. "Aarif doesn't know if it will be any consolation, Miss Maximoff, but there is no temporal connection between the dreams. You may have watched something that happened a thousand years ago in a dead universe. Or something that is happening in the same cosmic time equivalent."

Wanda frowned slightly. "I'm sorry, what does that mean?" She asks and adds quickly. "I promise that's the last question!"

Aarif laughed softly. "Time works differently in each universe. Each world has its own flow of time happening, and the dreams that humans share can sometimes come late, in a way. Some masters even believed they could come early, but Aarif thinks it's impossible."

Wanda bit her tongue to avoid asking why next. Instead, she decided to skirt around it. "It was something really scary, Aarif. Something I would never want any version of me to have done."

Aarif sighs again. "I am sorry, Miss Maximoff. In the vast multiverse, creatures often find versions of themselves committing atrocities that are beyond imagination. The laws of probability reach everything, and everything that can will happen. It's nothing to take to your heart."

Wanda swallows dryly, nodding. "It's really a shame that I can't stop some things from happening."

Aarif murmurs in agreement, returning some books to the shelves. Wanda is almost leaving him alone when the man adds:

"Look on the bright side of things, Miss Maximoff. Your friend, the Chavez girl is here, even if her world is not yet born, you were gifted with her. Sometimes being early isn't always a bad thing."

Wanda's eyes widened at the revelation, but when Aarif asked if she was feeling sick again, she quickly clarified that she was just tired.

The clock sped up.

—---

Aarif led you all to the door.

"Three days, goodbye, goodbye, don't come back in this life." Dismissed the birdman, using his wings to push you three out.

You laughed in spite of everything. "At least you got us to the door, eh, bird-face!"

"Don't come back here even after death, please, guardian L/N." Murmured the man and you gave a soft grimace.

America was waving goodbye, but you stepped forward before the man closed the door.

"Please, just one last question, about the way back-"

Aarif sighs interrupting you by raising his hand.

"The road, Miss Maximoff." He says. "It is called the All-Way Road, Aarif assumed you would have realized by now that you are in the In-Between Realm, but travelers never know. The road gets you where you need to go, but if you are in a hurry, Miss Chavez can help. Goodbye."

He closes the door without fear, and this time, the doorknob disappears.

"What were you going to ask him?" Wanda asks curiously, and you shake your head.

"If I could back up the sidewalk at the library, but that was far more instructive." You reply getting giggles from the other two.

America uses the step to jump on your shoulders, and you carry her to the van at a brisk jog.

"I guess we're on the road to the gods now, I hope they're planning something heroic so I can kick their asses." You comment once you're behind the wheel, and despite the shuddering skies, the car starts moving.

Wanda was trying to find the right moment to tell you about what she had discovered, both about the dreams and about America and her unborn world.

While she didn't want to scare the girl, she also knew what it felt like to have the truth kept from her, and she didn't want that between them. So, about fifteen minutes down the road, she took a deep breath and got up from the passenger seat - squeezing your shoulder gently and receiving an affectionate smile - and joined America on the couch, busy with a magic cube that would never complete itself, and which Wanda was sure had been your magic trying to keep the girl occupied.

"Hey sweetheart, can we talk?"

America offered Wanda a gentle smile, but when Wanda told her what she came to say, she had tears in her eyes.

"[...] So, does that mean I can't go home?"

You let the car drive itself, and joined them.

"I don't know America, I'm sorry." Wanda continued as you knelt at their height, holding one of America's hands. "Aarif just said that your world hasn't been born yet, but maybe, we just need to wait. And look, Y/N is going to meet with the gods, and maybe she can ask..."

You shake your head quickly, exchanging a look with Wanda. "Hey, kiddo, I know it's not very good news, but... um, you're not going to be alone okay?" You assure her with a smile. "I'll keep my promise until your world is born. And even if it never happens. We get to travel, and I could even buy a house if you want, and you learn to control your powers and -"

America cuts you off with a tight hug. She's crying a little, but you stroke her back gently, and Wanda strokes her hair. "Thank you." She sniffles softly.

"No problem, darling."

When she breaks the hug, you offer her another smile, but America swallows dryly and asks hesitantly.

"Can... Can Wanda be with us too?"

You give a surprised laugh. "If she wants to..."

But Wanda swallows dryly, frowning.

She wants to. With all her heart. But she can still remember the feeling of the shard of glass against her fingers.

"Let's just find your heroic act first, guardian." That's what she says, and you give a weak laugh, muttering to America that you could still convince her.

Wanda backs away back into the passenger seat, and America says she's tired and retreats to her own room.

You returned to the wheel in silence but didn't stay that way for more than five minutes.

"What else did you ask Aarif, sweetheart?"

Wanda swallowed dryly. She could lie, but there was no reason to prolong this, even if her chest was burning with guilt and shame.

And honestly, you knew her so well it was almost annoying.

"I had a bad dream and I wondered if it was really a memory from another life."

You sigh softly at her confession, but you don't take your eyes off the road even though you don't really need to pay attention.

"In that dream...did you hurt me?"

Wanda felt the air leave her lungs, but when she looked away and noticed your not at all guilty and almost embarrassed semblance, she frowned.

"How...?"

"I dreamed about you the day we got here." You interrupted without meeting her gaze, twiddling your fingers together. "I had some kind of sword, and I used it to stop you. It was some kind of corrupted world, and when I was done with you, it was my turn."

"Y/N..."

"I'm sorry for not saying anything." You cut in again with a sad smile, and when you meet Wanda's eyes, she can see the tears. "But it's just that it's not easy to say these things. I will find a solution for us, Wanda, even if I have to remove my forge to do it."

Wanda reaches out for your forearm.

"Don't say that." She urges. "I know what the Book of Vishanti says about the forge. And yours saved your life. Removing it would be the same as taking it away, and I can't-" Wanda interrupts herself before she starts to cry. Taking a deep breath, she forced a smile. "Besides, you love your magic. We should keep our agreement, and when this is over, we each go back to our own universe. You'll have America, and I..." She swallowed dryly. "I'll be fine."

But you shook your head softly. "I'm sorry, but I'll never leave you alone again, Wanda. I'll just go tell the gods and their prophecies to fuck off." You assure her, scrunching your nose adorably, and turning your attention back to the steering wheel because the road vibrated a little, and you didn't want the car to lose control.

Wanda lets out a shy chuckle, settling back into the passenger seat and hugging her own legs.

"Hey, what kind of heroic act do you think would be enough for the gods to notice me?" You pull up a conversation a moment later, moving your hands to turn on the radio.

Wanda smiles, "I could conjure up some monsters for you to kill."

You widen your eyes and open your mouth in an excited expression as if Wanda had come up with the best idea of the century, and she laughs in immediate denial.

—----

It must be almost two in the morning - if time has any meaning in this place - when you start to yawn.

Wanda is practically asleep in the passenger seat, and you poke her gently in the ribs to call her into the bedroom.

"You know I don't trust that spell." She murmurs over the enchanted steering wheel but doesn't insist too much because you are pushing her by the hips toward the bed.

You lie on your backs to each other and fall into a comfortable silence for long minutes until you realize that neither has really managed to catch up on sleep. You turn at the same time as her, resting your face on your folded arm as Wanda settles hers on her own pillow.

"I'm scared." She confesses softly, her eyes half tired but watching you intently.

"Of falling asleep?"

"Of hurting you." She retorts and you lift your fingers to her cheeks, caressing her skin that warms to your touch.

"You could never hurt me." You whisper, moving your hand away to your own t-shirt. Wanda blinks in confusion, and it didn't help that you suddenly sit up in bed, and remove the garment with one motion. "See here. First Avengers training, and you were my partner. You threw an energy ball right here." You counted pointing to your shoulder. "And of course, I was too busy drooling on you to deflect it. But see, no marks. And here, one time, we were trying power-free training and you hit me right in the face." You continue telling with a sweetness and nostalgia that makes Wanda smile while you’re pointing at your chin. "It hurt like hell, and it cut a little, and the first thing you did was get a first aid kit."

You continued counting for a few minutes, until Wanda swallowed dry, and found her hand on the bed.

"This is all very sweet, but you know I'm not talking about training injuries or pretend fights." She interrupts upset, and you swallow dryly, nodding.

You shift a little on the bed to get closer and pull her hand until Wanda's palm is on your low back, and she blinks in surprise and curiosity.

"Most of them have faded, but you can still feel those." You murmured, and Wanda traced the thin scars on your skin.

"They are from..."

"The Mirrored Dimension." You clarify with a nod, and Wanda swallows dryly, pushing your hand away. "I'm just showing you that-"

"I can hurt you." She interrupts making you sigh in frustration. Before she pulls away completely, you grasp her forearm and pull her palm against your chest, the position making Wanda sit up begrudgingly. "Y/N, what-"

"Try." You ask earnestly. "Try using your magic on me."

"What? N-no, I-"

"Come on Wanda." You insist, placing your free hand on her chest. "I'll do the same to you."

"That's the worst idea you've ever had, I swear."

"Trust me."

The worst part is that she did trust. So she concentrated, guiding the magic into her palm as she felt yours become warm as well.

You offered her a small smile. "On 3."

"2."

"1". You counted and she closed her eyes before stimulating the magic outward. Expecting a noise, and expecting the pain of yours, Wanda was surprised by the sound of your chuckle.

"It tickles." That's what you whispered, and when you pushed magic into her, she giggled too, sharing the feeling.

"What...?"

"I told you." You casually retorted as you shrugged and lowered your hand. "Equivalent magics, Wands. We're not meant to hurt each other, no matter what the gods or the books say."

You offer her an assuring smile, and stretch, saying that you are tired. You lie back down again, and Wanda swallows dryly, twisting her fingers in her lap.

"Go to sleep, witchy, we have a heroic act to look for." You scoff softly, and with your eyes closed. Wanda smiles a little and lies down beside you.

She manages to resist the urge to touch your back for almost 30 whole seconds and thinks it is one of her greatest achievements.

You sigh softly as you feel her fingers, but it turns into a soft choke as Wanda lets the magic flow through them, and watches the scarlet witch tattoo form.

"There was nothing in the book about this." She comments tracing her fingers across the design. You swallow dryly, trying to disguise the growing excitement in your body as you adjust your face against the pillow.

"Maybe it's just a coincidence."

Wanda gives an incredulous chuckle. "A magic tattoo on your back about me? I don't think so."

"Wanda..." You moan softly when she scratches unintentionally, and the woman blinks in surprise at the sound, feeling her face burn, though her touch doesn't waver.

"How does it feel..." She begins in a mix of curiosity and desire, bringing her mouth close to the height of your ear while pressing her open palm into your back. "When do I touch you here?"

You gasp again, hiding your face in the mattress. Wanda watches in wonder at the other signs: the way your thighs are pressed together, one hand gripping the blanket tightly, your shallow breathing, the heat emerging from your skin-

"Stop doing that." You murmur, your voice muffled against the pillow. "I...fuck, it's really hard not to kiss you when you do that."

Wanda pulls away with a surprised sigh, and when her hand isn't touching your back, she watches you grunt against the pillow, trying to breathe normally again.

"I’m sorry, Wanda." You mumble almost guiltily, still on your back, and she doesn't even know what you are apologizing for. She doesn't think she even cares. "Just give me a minute."

You take another moment to take a deep breath, running your hand over to wipe away some of the excess sweat before you look at her, your cheeks half reddened.

"Hey." You greet embarrassed, clearing your throat at the way Wanda is looking at you in anticipation. "Sorry, I don't...I don't mean to make things awkward."

"What was that about?" Wanda asks more impressed than anything, but you, trapped in your own shame, understand that she is repressing you.

"Damn, sorry, I know it's... weird." You mumble frowning. "I don't know what happened either. But I think it's some kind of bonding spell or something. I had only felt it once before, when I helped my Wanda get forged, and it was nothing like now. It was painful and suffocating. B-but with you, damn it, with you it's incredible!" You explain affectedly trying not to blush so hard. "I had never felt the spell again, I didn't even know it was still here until that day in the cube. It must have to do with your magic because when we... hmm, were first together, you didn't, well that hadn't happened. And now it does."

"But what do you feel?"

You sigh in frustration. " Well, come on, Wanda, it's almost like-damn it, it's almost like you can make me finish with just a touch!"

"Oh." Wanda exclaims in surprise, feeling her face burn as well. But you sigh again.

"But it's not just that!" You continue. "I feel like ... well I just feel you."

"Me?" she asks affectedly, and you swallow dryly, nodding.

"Yeah, all you." You retort. "It's an attraction, very, very strong. It makes me want to touch you and hold you. Not just... fuck. But to be close. Every inch of me."

Wanda swallows dryly, nodding and leaning in until your foreheads are touching. "I feel that too, my love. Even without the magic tattoo." She confesses in a soft tone, managing to get you to laugh briefly at the joke at the end.

"I didn't say anything before because I didn't want it to be weird." You mutter with your eyes closed. "That, and well, you kind of broke up with me."

It is Wanda's turn to laugh softly. She brings a hand to your cheek and sighs softly when you entwine her waist to pull her closer.

"There's something I didn't tell you, too, because I thought it would make things awkward."

"Really?"

"Mm-hmm." She replies by tracing lines along your face. "Promise you won't make fun of me."

"I probably will." It is your response that makes her chuckle softly, burying her face in the curve of your neck. You caress her back for a moment, and it's almost as if she's not going to tell you anymore when Wanda suddenly whispers: "I've had other dreams about you."

You blink in surprise, already preparing to repeat to her that nothing bad was going to happen to you two when Wanda's hot panting on your skin makes you lose your line of thought. She seems to have taken the courage to confess more when she brings her mouth to the height of your ear.

"I dreamed we were fucking." She whispers huskily, the thick accent making you roll your eyes softly, your body shuddering with the wave of heat that hits your lower abdomen. "But I want it to be more than just that in reality."

You nod, coming closer. "It's already more than that, Wanda." You tell her softly and she hugs you back, sighing as she feels your bodies fitting together.

She calls your name in a whisper receiving a hum back. "Can you.... can you kiss me to sleep?"

"Oh, I would love that." You meekly confess before breaking the embrace, only to hover over Wanda waiting for a confirmation.

She smiles at you, returning her hand to your cheek, "And it's okay if, tomorrow, we kiss again?"

It was your turn to smile, nodding before resting your forehead on hers. "Wanda, darling, I would kiss you every day of my life for as long as you let me."

"Start now." She demands half impatiently and affected, managing a short laugh before you break the distance.

You kiss her slowly at first, trying to satisfy the craving you felt for the sensation with one of your hands steady on Wanda's hips as she leaves hers on your face, matching the intensity as she follows your tongue.

But then it gets hungrier, one of your hands sliding to her thigh to guide it to move over your hips - the cue Wanda gladly follows - and the affected sigh you both let out makes your body warm, and your heart races in your ears.

Wanda takes control of the kiss and explores every inch of your mouth, her hips following the pace, wiggling on top of you as she moves, and the feel of your breasts together and your thigh between her legs from where you can feel the heat of her center gets a sound from your throat that makes her break the kiss with a bite on your lower lip, a teasing tug to gets a groan out of you.

She stares at you with completely darkened eyes and parted lips, and you can't find any reason to have ever stopped.

"Wanda, can I..." You begin in a hoarse voice, swallowing dryly to push the desire from your brain and speak clearly. "Can I take off your clothes?"

She smiles mischievously, raising an eyebrow at you, and pulls away a little only for with a flick of her fingers, all the clothes are gone. You grunt softly at the image of her breasts, or the feel of her core now without any covering on your thigh.

Wanda bites her lip watching the effect she has on you, and you pull her closer by the hips, getting a soft sigh from the friction of the movement.

You kiss her again, still calm but intense, and Wanda melts. As she slides her tongue against yours, making your head spin, you let out a deep moan before feeling her rub against your thigh, the wetness dripping onto your skin and making your body warm. Wanda shudders when the friction is precise, breaking the kiss with a gasping moan, and your hands hold her by the waist to guide her movements. She meets your gaze again, her brow slightly furrowed and her cheeks rosy, but she doesn't stop moving, the friction of your skin against her clit pulling gasp moans from her lips.

You bite your lips as you watch her, your own core throbbing with the absolutely sinful image in front of you, and when Wanda wriggles around again, starting to bounce more frantically against you in an attempt to reach her high, you can't help but latch onto her breasts at your eye level. She almost screams when your mouth wraps around her nipple, sucking hard.

You continue licking and sucking the tip of her nipples, giving them both equal attention as you guide Wanda's movements against your thigh. All she can do in return is whimper, feeling the knot in her belly about to break at any second.

"Detka, you're gonna... m-make me come..." Wanda tries to warn you between breathless moans, and you give a husky little laugh, releasing her nipple with a pop, and lifting your face to her.

"That's the goal, baby." You prompt back, one hand releasing her hip to move your fingers to her clit and the new pressure of your thumb makes Wanda throw her head back. "Come on pretty girl, cum for me."

That alone is enough for Wanda to fall off the edge, a loud moan ripping through her throat as she spills herself onto your thigh, and you watch her with adoration, letting your hand rest on her waist as she spasms through her orgasm on top of you.

Wanda kisses you again, hard but slowly and making you smile.

But your grin turns into a gasping sigh when she slides her hand down, taking advantage of your distraction to guide her fingers to your pussy, collecting your wetness and spreading it all over your entrance and swollen clit. Wanda breaks the kiss with a satisfied hum.

"Just watching me made you this wet, malyshka?" She teases hoarsely against your lips, and you feel your face heat up, Wanda's fingers motioning up and down along your soaked folds and making you shiver in anticipation, your hands dropping down to grab the sheets as Wanda adjusts herself to get a better look at you.

"Don't torture me, Wanda." You beg breathlessly looking up at her with a slight frown, and your abdomen twitching. The redhead licks her lips.

"You look so pretty like this." She compliments leaning her face toward you again, but you can't kiss her, the intention to reciprocate turning into an affected moan as Wanda slides two fingers into you slowly, filling you as deeper as she can go and watching every reaction of your body with a smile on her face. "Begging for my touch." She adds in a whisper against your lips, and you can only grunt back, throbbing in her fingers.

She holds still until you grow impatient, your body vibrating. You throw your hips against her hand, a gasping sigh escaping as you command "Move." that makes Wanda bite her lips and raise a brow at you. She just slides her thumb to your clit, and presses into circling motions until you whimper. "W-wanda."

"What, is there something you want?" She teases without stopping her movements, applying a little more pressure in your clit that makes your walls clench tight in her digits, the feeling taking a heavy sigh from both of you. "Ask nicely."

"P-please, Wanda." You whimper at once, your face burning but embarrassment doesn't overcome the liquid arousal in your body, and the redhead murmurs contentedly, sliding out and making you choke as she enters you again, trying to find a rhythm as she watches your reactions.

As she finds it, and figures out the way to curl her fingers inside that make you arch your back, hips trying to match the speed, Wanda kisses you again, swallowing all your breathless moans until the knot in your belly explodes and waves of pleasure spread through your body, curling your toes. You fall backward off the bed, breathing out of rhythm, and Wanda watches you with adoration shining in her eyes, her fingers slipping in your cunt with ease. The overstimulation makes you jerk, and you lift one hand to grasp her wrist.

"Too much, baby." You warn, and Wanda sighs, sliding her fingers out. She feels her face heat up when you guide her hand to her face heigh. "Open it up. You can have a taste."

Wanda tries to hold eye contact, but as soon as she tastes you on her tongue, she rolls her eyes and closes them, sucking her own fingers eagerly, and you groan, a strong heat wave hitting your lower abdomen with the image. "Come sit on my face." You ask.

Wanda lowers her hand from her mouth, letting it rest on your thigh, her brow slightly arched. "But I wanna make you feel good, too." She reasons, making you chuckle breathlessly.

"I promise I feel amazing with your pussy in my mouth." You retort and her cheeks turn pink, but she giggles shyly. She looks ready to follow your command when as she straightens up, her gaze notices something in the bedside drawers, and she bites back a small smile. She leans over you - breasts at face height that you waste no time in putting your mouth on it, sucking and making her flinch and almost lose track of what she was doing - until she reaches for the toy.

She settles back against your thigh, holding the fake cock in her hand, an impressed and surprised expression in your direction.

"I suppose this is your subconscious solution?" She mocks and you shrug, hands on her thighs.

"We could try it." You say drawing patterns on her skin. Wanda bites back a smile, nodding in agreement. She pats your leg to get you to open up more to her, and you sigh as you settle better in the bed, getting ready. She goes to adjust the toy, grinning mischievously when the strings of the strap magically appear as soon as she is at the correct height, and works quickly to fasten. But once it fits, you let out a gasping sigh that makes her look up with curiosity.

"Wanda, I can fucking feel it." You explained with a warm face, your gaze on the fake cock she still squeezed between her one hand. She frowned softly.

"Bullshit." She retorts, but seeing the redness of your cheeks, she gives a tentative squeeze and you gasp, twitching on the mattress. She lets out an incredulous giggle. "Oh my god."

Your fingers try to pull her up quickly. "Sit on me, please, baby." You practically whimper, and Wanda moves excitedly, but you both miscalculate how good the feeling really is when she lines up your cock, tip teasing her warm entrance just for a second before she slides it in at once, a scream ripping through her throat - you have a lot of trouble ignoring the absolute delight of having Wanda's pussy squeezing the toy to cover her mouth with one hand, and the other behind her head - while you muffle your own moan with a bite on her shoulder. She doesn't move at first, trying not to come all at once while being stretched out. You need a few seconds to calm down as well, moving your hands back to her hips just a moment later.

"Fuck malyshka, it's even warm." Wanda moans softly as she gives a tentative wiggle on it and you choke as you are able to feel her entire cunt, the way she's soaking wet, walls clenching with her quick heartbeat.

"I'm gonna start moving, okay?" You ask and Wanda nods quickly, and you quietly settle her better, moving your face back to hers to kiss her and waiting for Wanda to reciprocate to thrust your hips upward, eliciting a loud moan from her when your fake cock hits a sweet spot. You try a slow speed, thrusting deep inside her cunt and feeling her dripping onto the toy and her thighs; but Wanda is on the verge of combustion - whimpering each time your cock fills her - and she instinctively hugs your body, her hands on your back and shoulder.

"Baby, you're so fucking tight." You moan affectedly being able to feel her pussy throbbing against the toy, and you grab better at her hips to increase the speed, making Wanda moan loudly while throwing her head back. You carry on your motions, and the prolonged strokes into her sweet spot make Wanda dig her nails into your back, sending a strong wave of warm pleasure straight to your core. "God, f-fuck me." You whimper, feeling your whole body burning and twitching with the magical stimulation. Wanda whines when as you turn her over on the bed all at once, pressing her against the pillows and sinking inside her again, the new position drives your cock even deeper.

"Detka, d-don't stop...I'm going to..." She begs breathlessly, but she doesn't even need to, because you are fucking her with such intensity now that Wanda is seeing stars, the strokes so deep and hard that she has to dig her nails into your skin for some support. She feels the knot explode, and her whole body is wrapped in waves of blinding pleasure, but you don't stop your thrusts, her pussy clenching your cock all the way in and out as the toy keeps filling her to the bottom. She twitches beneath you, but all you do is swallow her moans with intense kisses as you slide your fingers back to her pussy, pressing her swollen clit with your thumb, circling around until the slight pain of the overestimation of your thrusts turns to burning pleasure again, and Wanda whimpers against your tongue, one of her legs closing behind yours to pull you closer.

The toy feels funny - really very warm like the rest of your body - but it's not a real extension of you, or so you assume. But Wanda is so tight and soaked, the sounds of your thrusts echo in the room along with yours and her moans, and you just want to ease the knot in your abdomen and make Wanda feels good - and by the way her pussy is clenching tightly onto your cock, her hips frantically trying to match your pace and her nails are digging into your back and arm, you can tell she's almost there too.

So you call out to Wanda, asking her to look at you. She has trouble doing so, and you grunt when she finally does, impressed to find red irises, not realizing that yours are golden as well.

You feel yourself falling over the edge, and you thrust hard inside one last time, your cock slipping easily between her soaked folds, and deep inside, you come. With the feeling of your warm cum against her throbbing walls, Wanda comes with a cry of pleasure, arching her back in the bed and spilling down the toy and her thighs. You both let out satisfied moans, and you rest your face against her collarbone as you calm down.

"That was something else, right?" Wanda comments breathlessly, to which you just give an affected laugh, agreeing in her collarbone. "Hey, I felt..." She starts but seems to lose her nerve. You blink wearily, raising your head slightly to look at her.

"What?" you insist and Wanda chuckle shyly.

"It's no big deal, I kinda felt pretty good actually, but I just... I think you came inside me."

"Oh." You murmured in surprise, looking down. You could still feel Wanda - pussy clenching just softly throughout orgasm - and you slid out quickly, getting sighs from both of you. You bit your lips at the state of the toy, soaked up with your juices, and just as magic worked quickly to release the item from your waist, you took the toy in your hand, spinning it around a bit. "Hmm, I think it's one of those pre-filled types." You explain, making a small grimace afterward. "Is it weird that my subconscious has something like that?"

Wanda laughs softly, her hands on your face to make you look at her. "No more than any of the other things." She comments making you laugh as well. "Don't worry about it, I was just surprised at how it felt. And it's not like you can get me pregnant." She jokes to which you also laugh, throwing the toy back in the drawers and moving your hand to Wanda's hip.

"The advantages of sapphic sex, I suppose." You murmur and Wanda laughs again before kissing you more intensely now.

--//--

A/N-> I'm like soo busy and i'm sorry this took the whole day to be up, but at least is here!! In case you're not familiar with the comics, America is from the Utopian Parallel, a dimension created by the Demiurge, who Billy Maximoff will yet become.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff imagines #scarlet witch x reader #marvel imagines #elizabeth olsen x reader #Rulers of The Multiverse

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jayktoralldaylong · 2 years

Text

I could write papers on the complexity of Jayce's relationship with Viktor.

I don't think any other relationship is as complex, as co-dependent, as beautiful, as toxic, as entwined with other characters, specifically Jinx, Mel and Heimerdinger. Jinx doesn't even know this relationship exists but she's been affecting them since the day she tossed her first accidental bomb. She created them, and now it seems she's going to end them.

I've talked nonstop about Jayce's trauma. How he was thrown into politics as a pawn that was doomed to fail from the start. Manipulated, trapped and pulled every which way by nearly every single character because he's so stupid and naïve.

But when you look at it from Viktor's perspective it's easy to see why people hate Jayce.

Viktor's story is that of a lonely scientist with intense social anxiety and an extremely low self esteem. He has lived all of his life as someone else's shadow. People don't even know or remember his name. Think about it. How many people call Viktor by name?

I can count.

There's Jayce.

There's Heimerdinger.

There's Sky.

That is three people in the entire Arcane verse.

Everyone else calls him assistant or partner, nameless without another name to stand on.

As time goes on even Heimerdinger stops acknowledging his existence. As soon as he finds out Viktor is sick, he so easily let's go. He really only showed up to tell him to give up on his dreams and die. This doesn't mean Heimerdinger doesn't care about Viktor but he's too old and Viktor's really not his first and he won't be his last. He also knows encouraging him to do dangerous things is no good, but damn Heimerdinger.

You gave this boy his name.

Viktor said he came to the topside without a name and Heimerdinger said he picked Viktor up from the undercity. This means not even Viktor's sort of stand in 'lab father' knows his name. He really just recognises him as the cripple.

Heimerdinger doesn't even show up when Viktor gets sent to the hospital. Jayce is the only one at his side when he opens his eyes.

Can you imagine how suffocating it must be to have no identity whatsoever. People love to call out Jayce as someone who stole credit for Viktor's work without realising the reason Viktor is slowly going insane is because it is in fact NOT his work. It's Jayce's idea, Jayce's plan, Jayce's dream, and no matter how many times Jayce says "Our", Viktor still knows that it's originality comes from Jayce.

For the first few years their relationship is stable because Jayce is there to constantly to remind Viktor that he's important and keep pushing him to go on. Jayce is the first person to see him and even acknowledge him as superior (because Jayce also has a sort of inferiority complex). It fills Viktor with life, because for the first time in his entire existence he feels needed.

And then Mel comes out of nowhere and snatches that away.

She makes Jayce a politician, which suffocates Jayce with work. So much work that he can barely find time to be in the lab anymore. But then he does find time and that sincerely impresses me about Jayce.

The second he has any form of free time he's spending it with Viktor. He's asking about his health. He's trying to see if he's okay, but he's also so easily manipulated that before he knows it he's back before Mel.

I can see Jayce struggling and fighting and drowning, doing everything possible to be there for Viktor in every way that he can.

But what Viktor sees is a friend who keeps leaving and coming back and leaving and coming back and leaving and coming back on constant repeat. There is no knowing when Jayce will leave and when he will come back. That sort of uncertainty starts to cause a dent in their relationship. Especially when Jayce can't even remember that Viktor is from the undercity.

Because now Viktor isn't scared of dying without Jayce, he's scared that Jayce won't even remember him, and that one thought destroys him more than anything.

Viktor starts attempting to take big steps on his own. He starts doing more. Becomes reckless. Stops sleeping, stops eating, starts going mad. He wants to create something independent of Jayce. He wants to live. He wants to be remembered. He's tired of being nothing more than a shadow.

And in the process of struggling and risking, Sky gets hurt.

Now I always wondered, why Sky getting hurt is what stopped Viktor, because everything in Arcane is significant. And he clearly never once saw her before.

And THAT IS EXACTLY THE REASON.

Because Sky was also invisible 🥺 And he made that permanent. He became the very thing that he was terrified of, at the exact same time that Jayce did.

When Jayce hurt that little kid from the Undercity it was like he'd just hurt Viktor. The very life that he was trying to protect. He'd tormented himself on and on about his technology being used to hurt people and went and did the exact thing he was scared of others doing. That ended things for Jayce.

The same way Sky ended things for Viktor.

No one.... remembered her. Not even Jayce.

It was terrible. Viktor broke down.

He'd never seen her once. The entire time she'd been right there. A shadow, and he'd ended her.

And he realised in that moment that being remembered didn't matter if this was the kind of memory he became.

He and Jayce choose to give up at the same time.

Jayce decided to end his politician career to give it all up and return to Viktor's side. Viktor gives up trying to achieve his break through and choses to live the rest of his life as a shadow, whether or not he's remembered by Jayce.

It is a difficult decision.

They both even seem to decide to shut down the lab. They are absolutely done.

They pushed so far and hit rock bottom hard, and then had the common sense to give up.

Which is impressive because a lot of people would have made excuses to keep going. But Jayce and Viktor didn't do that. They stop.

They chose peace. It's hard but they chose peace. No matter how much it destroys them both thinking of what this peace will cost they chose it.

Viktor struggling so hard to hold on to sanity because he doesn't want to ever hurt Jayce.

They chose peace 🥺

And Jinx throws it all out the window.

Jinx really goes "The mental asylum has room for two more."

#arcane jayce #arcane viktor #arcane jinx #arcane mel #jayce x viktor #jayvik #hextech husbands #codependency #arcane headcanon #arcane thoughts #arcane theory #arcane netflix #arcane #i can't stop thinking about this help #arcane sky

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marauderundercover · 3 years

Text

The Strings that Bind Us: Ch. 3

AO3

Marinette is nervous. It’s worse than any other nerves she’s ever felt. Today was the day she was going to meet Bruce’s sons. They’d been dating for almost two months and even though she’d met Alfred (and often called him to talk and trade recipes), she had yet to meet Bruce’s sons. Mostly because she didn’t want to interrupt their lives. She didn’t want to walk in and meet them and then be gone. Neither of them deserved that. So, she had waited. And now the day was here and she was panicking. She glances around the small grocery store, determined to get the ingredients to make dessert for dinner tonight. Bruce had told her that Dick had an insane sweet tooth, and she didn’t want to bribe the kid, but she really did want him to like her. Bruce had already warned her that Jason was a little less welcoming, but she had hope that the cookies would work on him as well. Grabbing a bag of chocolate chips, she heads over to the frozen section to pick up a few staples.

“I don’t understand why we have to hang out today. I thought you hated us.” A voice says, and she frowns.

“I don’t hate you. And I just wanna warn you, make sure you know that just because she’s here today doesn’t mean she’ll be here tomorrow.” A second voice says. Shaking her head, she moves past, trying hard not to listen to the boys’ conversation as they walk away. It wasn’t her business, after all. She grabs a couple bags of frozen veggies before heading up to the checkout and paying. She leaves the store, taking note of her surroundings as she walks. She looks both ways before crossing the street and heading into the bank. She needed to send some money back home to her parents for the anniversary since she couldn’t be with them in person this year. She’s just about to get to the teller when a loud bang echoes throughout the bank. She whirls around and eyes widen at the man who just entered the building. His suit was interesting, half of it was a solid gray color and the other half was bright and patterned. But that wasn’t what shocked her. What shocked her was the way half his face was completely red and scarred. Well that, and the ten men with guns that walked in behind him. Her eyes dart around the room, searching for anything that may be helpful, when her eyes land on two boys. Both tense as they look at the man, but instead of fear (like everyone else had on their face) the two looked determined.

“Ah, how nice to see the two of you here.” The man says, walking up to the two boys and grabbing the younger one’s wrist tightly. Marinette’s eyes narrow as the boy winces slightly.

“Let him go.” She snaps, storming over and glaring at the man, trying hard to ignore the way the guns were now trained on her.

“Oh and what, you volunteer instead?” He asks, and she scoffs.

“I never said that, now let him go.” She demands, giving the man her worst Ladybug glare. His eyes narrow, but he lets go of the boy and she shifts so that she’s between the two. “Now, why don’t we talk about this like grown ups.” She suggests, crossing her arms.

“Do you know who I am?” The man practically growls. She raises an eyebrow.

“Non. I haven’t been in Gotham for long.” She admits, trying (and failing) to come up with this man’s name. He was obviously one of Gotham’s villains, if the reaction of everyone else was anything to go by. And the fact that he came with goons instead of by himself made her believe he wasn’t your everyday bank robber.

“Tell you what. Since you decided to take the kid’s place, we’ll let the coin decide your fate. Unmarked side, I let you go and you can go on with your day. I’ll even leave the bank.” The man starts, and her stomach drops. Two Face. That was his name. And he was leaving her fate up to chance. To luck. “Scarred side, I shoot you in the head. Or, if you don’t wanna play, we can let the kid play. Whaddya say?” He asks with a grin. She grits her teeth and hopes that her years with Tikki had left her with enough residual luck to make it through this encounter.

“Go ahead. Let the coin decide.” She says, whirling around and hushing the boys behind her who are objecting suddenly. “Not now.” She hisses, terrified that if they object he’ll move along to them next. She turns back to Two Face and nods, watching as he tosses the coin in the air and catches it. Her heart beats out of her chest as she watches him reveal...the unmarked side.

“Looks like lady luck was on your side today.” He says, and his smile almost appears genuine, which makes her stomach churn. “Pack it up boys, we made a deal.” He says, and all of his goons turn to leave with him. They make it all the way out the door before she hears the sirens pulling up. She frowns. The police here were not great at showing up on time, were they? Her eyes widen when she sees Batman drop down, joining the fight. That’s definitely unusual. Turning away from the chaos outside, she turns to the two boys.

“Are you two okay?” She asks, scanning their faces.

“That was really stupid.” The younger one says, a scowl on his face. She ignores him, instead looking at his already bruising wrist.

“May I?” She asks, holding out a hand. He frowns.

“Let her look, Jason.” The older one says, sighing. She smiles at him in thanks before holding the younger boy’s wrist gently. She pokes softly and turns it, trying to make sure there isn’t a break. She glances at the boy’s face to gauge his reactions.

“I don’t think it’s broken, but you should definitely ice it when you get home.” She says softly. The boy just snorts and rolls his eyes, taking his arm back and frowning at her.

“Why’d you do that?” He asks, and her heart aches at how he looks at her. As if he’s suspicious of her. As if someone helping him has to have an ulterior motive.

“Because I don’t appreciate people picking on children.” Marinette says simply. The boy starts to answer, but is cut off by a gruff voice.

“Ma’am, other witnesses are saying you were targeted by Two Face?” She turns and is unsurprised to see Batman.

“Ah, not quite, sir. He actually went straight for these two. I simply diverted his attention somewhere else.” She says.

“Why?” He asks and she blinks in surprise.

“Um, because they’re children? And they’re innocent. I don’t see that there needs to be any more reason than that.” She says. Batman nods.

“The police want your statement. I’ll take the boys’ statements.” He says and she nods, but hesitates to walk away from them.

“Do you boys have someone who can come pick you up?” She asks, not willing to let them walk home alone after something like that. The oldest nods.

“Yeah, we’re fine. Thank you.” He says with a small smile. She sighs and returns the smile, turning to go talk to the police. If she could get through that situation, surely she could survive meeting Bruce’s sons.

---

Marinette squeals as Bruce lifts her and spins her around, before setting her down and kissing her gently.

“What was that for?” She asks, smiling up at him through her lashes.

“Being you.” He says simply. She snorts and whacks his chest gently, rolling her eyes.

“You’re such a goof.” She teases, turning and immediately heading towards the kitchen.

“Where are you going?” He asks, slipping his hand into hers.

“To say hi to Alfred and set down the cookies.” She says, swinging their hands as she drags him to the kitchen.

“Good evening, Miss Marinette.” Alfred says, a soft smile on his face.

“Evening, Alfred. I brought some cookies for dessert. I hope that’s okay.” She says, letting go of Bruce’s hand to give Alfred a quick hug. The two had grown close in the little time they’d known each other, and Marinette could honestly say that she adored the older man’s company. He was funny, and she often got to hear embarrassing stories about Bruce (not that she’d ever tell him that).

“Mari, just a warning, the boys might be a bit...distant tonight.” Bruce says suddenly, stopping the conversation that she and Alfred were having about his latest attempt at macarons. She frowns.

“Are they okay? Should I leave? We could reschedule, I don’t want to-” She starts to ramble, concerned for the boys. She may not have met them yet, but she’d heard enough stories from Bruce.

“They’re fine, please, stay.” Bruce says, grabbing her hands and turning her so that she faces him. He cups her cheek gently, smiling down at her. “They’re fine, love, I promise.” He says. She lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding before nodding.

“Did something happen?” She asks. He sighs and lets go of her face, running a hand over his own.

“They were caught up in a Rogue attack downtown.” He says quietly and she gasps.

“Bruce Thomas Wayne!” She scolds, frowning at him. “They were involved in a villain attack and you expect us to just, meet? I doubt either one of them wants to go through the trouble of meeting some completely random person after going through something like that. Mon Dieu Bruce, they may say they’re fine but that has to be emotionally draining.” She says, shaking her head. She pushes the loose strands of hair out of her face, sighing.

“Mari-” He starts, but she shakes her head.

“Bruce, honey, I don’t want to intrude.” She says, standing on her toes to give him a quick kiss. “We can meet on a day when they haven’t been through something traumatic.”

“Well shit. Looks like we’ve already met you little girlfriend B.” A familiar voice says. She whirls around and her eyes widen at the sight of the two boys from the bank standing in the doorway to the kitchen. She glances at Bruce and raises an eyebrow at his tired expression.

“Jason, what have I said about your language?” He asks tiredly. Jason shrugs.

“To not say things like that.” He says, making both Bruce, and the boy that Marinette assumes is Dick, sigh.

“I can still leave.” Marinette offers the boys, ignoring the frown on Bruce’s face.

“To be fair, you went through something traumatic too. Might as well stick around and deal with the trauma together.” Jason snarks. She smiles, though it’s a little forced as she remembers she had almost watched one of Bruce’s sons be shot today. If she hadn’t stepped in….

“It’s nice to meet you in a, er, calmer environment.” She says with a small wave, resisting the urge to lean into Bruce for support. “I’m Marinette Dupain Cheng, but you can call me Marinette. Or Mari, if you want.”

“I’m Richard, but everyone calls me Dick.” Dick greets with a small nod in greeting.

“And I’m Jason, but you knew that.” Jason says, crossing his arms. Marinette just smiles, but this time it isn’t forced. This was going to be interesting.

---

“So, Jason, Bruce tells me that you enjoy reading. Do you have a favorite author?” Marinette asks, trying to keep the conversation going. Both boys were still hesitant, and she wasn’t sure if it was her or the incident from the bank. She hoped it was the latter.

“Not really.” Jason says, hesitating before adding, “I like classics though.” Marinette grins.

“Really? I could never get into them when I was your age, couldn’t sit still long enough.” She says with a laugh. “But in the last couple of years I’ve found myself really enjoying Hugo and Dumas. Oh! And the Brontë sisters.” She adds, eyes lighting up as Jason grins.

“Have you read Hunchback of Notre Dame?” He asks and she laughs.

“They may have thrown me out of Paris if I hadn’t.” She teases. She feels herself relax as she talks to Jason about books, grinning at the boy’s enthusiasm and genuine love for literature. It reminded her of how much she loved designing before she got so caught up in Hawkmoth. She feels someone hold her hand, and she sneaks a glance at Bruce, smiling softly at him and squeezing his hand before turning her attention back to Jason. The rest of dinner flies by, with the conversation mostly being led by her and Jason. Dick is much less talkative. Which contradicts many of the stories Bruce had told about him. Though, many of those stories were from when he was younger. Once it’s time for dessert, Marinette stands to help Alfred clear the dinner plates.

“Miss Marinette, I can bring in the dessert just fine.” Alfred scolds, gesturing for her to sit down. She just grins.

“I know, Alfred, but you already made a lovely dinner. Let me help.” She says, grabbing some of the plates and following him into the kitchen. Once the kitchen door swings shut, she starts clearing the plates and glances at him nervously. “Do you think the boys like me?” She asks, worried.

“I believe young Master Jason does. And although he may not act like it, I do believe Master Dick does as well. He just needs time to be able to show it.” He says, and Marinette feels the tension in her shoulders seep out. She nods, glancing back towards the dining room.

“I really like him, Alfred.” She says quietly, afraid that Bruce or one of the boys would hear her. “I don’t wanna mess this up.” She admits.

“If I may be frank, Miss, Master Bruce has smiled more in the past two months than I’ve seen in years.” Alfred says, and Marinette blushes. She feels her chest warm and she sighs happily.

“I don’t think I’ve smiled this much in years either.” She admits, smiling softly at Alfred before grabbing the cookies and taking them out to the dining room. This was the happiest she’d been since Hawkmoth first started his reign of terror all those years ago, and she was willing to do anything to keep her little slice of heaven.

Tag list: @maribat-october-rarepairs @stainedglassm @kittenmywaythrulife @laydeekrayzee @doll246 @queenz-z @deathssilentapproach-blog @literaryhiraeth @unoriginalmess @ashbrea381writings

#brucinette #maribat #maribat fanfic #maribat fic #maribat bruce wayne #maribat marinette dupain cheng #maribat jason todd #maribat dick grayson #ao3fic #maribat batman #MaribatHalloween21 #maribatoctrp21 #mominette

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makeste · 3 years

Text

BnHA Chapter 301: All My Todorokis

Previously on BnHA: We learned that when a bunch of superpowered villains are suddenly set loose with nobody around to stop them, things get fucked pretty quickly. Old Man Samurai and a bunch of other useless people decided to make “I pretend I do not see it” their new mantra, and resigned. Endeavor had a moment of despair on account of being crushed by the guilt of having ruined the lives of himself, his family, and basically everyone else in the entire world. For various reasons the heretical notion of “person who has done bad things feels sorry for doing them” sent fandom spiraling into a meltdown, so that was fun. The chapter ended with the entire Todoroki clan descending upon Enji’s hospital room to have a dramatic chat about Touya and All That General Fuckery.

Today on BnHA: Horikoshi is all “here’s the story of how Baby Touya slowly went insane trying to win his father’s love.” It’s a tale full of subverted expectations and heartbreaking inevitability, and also like twenty panels of the cutest fucking kids who ever existed on planet earth, who are so fucking cute that I can’t stop thinking about their cuteness even with all of the horrifying family tragedy unfolding around them. It is absolutely ridiculous how cute they are. Touya is out here pushing his tiny body past its limits because he inherited the same obsession as his dad and neither of them can put it aside even though it’s destroying them, and yet all I can think about is Baby Shouto’s (。･o･｡) face. Anyways what a chapter.

so I have to confess that even though I managed to avoid being caught off-guard by the early leaks, the number of people reblogging my Endeavor posts from earlier this week and using the tag “bnha 301” kind of gave me an inkling that this chapter will include more Tododrama lol. that said, I don’t know anything else about it, so we’re still good spoiler-wise

AHHHHH FLAHSBAKC AHHHH. omg I know I typoed the shit out of that, but I’m just going to leave it lol I think it’s fitting

holy shit holy fuck. so this is Rei and Enji’s first meeting, then??

yepppp, oh shit

so wait, I know this is not even the slightest bit important, but are they meeting at Enji’s home or Rei’s? because I always figured that Enji was the one with the super-Japanese aesthetic, but maybe that was Rei’s side of the family all along

(ETA: from what I found during my very brief google search, omiai meetings are often held at fancy hotels or restaurants, so maybe that’s what this is.)

there’s such a period drama feel to this setting. like it’s so outrageously formal fff how can anyone stand this kind of atmosphere though seriously

OH THANK GOD

I mean they’re still stiff af but at least they’re not rigidly sitting in seiza and staring at each other unblinkingly anymore lol. Enji’s actually got his hands in his pockets now. why is this somehow almost cute

oh damn it’s the flowers

Rei seems so subdued and it’s so hard to get any idea of what she’s actually thinking. I want to see her side of this dammit

but anyway, so at least from Enji’s perspective it seems like even though the marriage was arranged and he picked her because of her quirk, he still loved his wife and wanted to do right by her. the fact that he was watching her and noticed that she liked the flowers, and remembered that detail for all these years -- there’s a reason why Horikoshi’s showing us this. we know what’s going to happen later on; we know how much fear and violence and breaking of trust is coming up ahead, and while it may seem like this scene is serving to soften Enji’s character further -- which to be fair it is -- it also helps drive home the full impact of his abuse. that it’s so terrible not only because of the trauma of the abuse itself, but also because of the way it retroactively destroys all of the good things as well. this could have potentially been such a sweet scene, but it’s inescapably tainted by the knowledge of what’s to come, at least for me. and that’s just brutal

anyways, shit. is the whole chapter going to be like this?? feel free to toss in something I can actually make a joke about sometime, Horikoshi

oop, back to the present

omfg lol

“are you all right” “NO I’M NOT ALL RIGHT WHAT THE FUCK.” “oh, right, because of all the stuff that’s happened with me abusing you and you having a mental breakdown and being hospitalized for ten years and then our son coming back to life and killing thirty people, right, right. I almost forgot.” whoops

omfg you guys I’m loving this new and improved steely-eyed Rei. I’m loving her a lot

and what do you mean “part one” fkjds how long is this going to be. TOO MUCH DRAMA FOR ONE CHAPTER TO HANDLE

oh, hello

yeah I’ll say you did. didn’t seem to bother you much at the time, though

HMMMMMMMMMMMM

Dabi Is A Noumu intensifies even further. anyways though would you fucking look at this boy lounging on this moth-eaten couch doing his best DRAW ME LIKE YOUR FRENCH GIRLS impression wtf

Dabi what if you actually had killed him??? what would you feel?? satisfaction?? regret?? anything at all?? tell me your secrets goddammit

who are you talking to buddy

Fuyumi-chan, Natsu-kun (is it common for brothers to address each other as -kun?? can’t recall seeing that in many other anime, but hey), and “dot dot dot,,,,,, SHOUTO” lol thank you so much for this bountiful heaping of Tododrama Horikoshi we are blessed

AH, WHAT DID I SAY THE OTHER DAY

ULTIMATE MELODRAMATIC THEATER CHILD. “I’M JUST GOING TO LIE ON THIS COUCH SHIRTLESS AND ALONE AND MAKE SPEECHES TO MY FAMILY MEMBERS WHO AREN’T THERE AND SAY THINGS LIKE ‘WATCH ME IN THE PITS OF HELL’ WITH A STRAIGHT FACE BECAUSE NO ONE’S THERE TO JUDGE ME.” WELL JOKE’S ON YOU MISTER CHATTERBOX BECAUSE I AM IN FACT JUDGING THE SHIT OUT OF YOU LOL

(ETA: and on a more serious note, it’s interesting to see that “look at me”/”watch me” theme being used again though, because we see that same sentiment uttered repeatedly by the younger Touya in the flashback. well kid, you definitely got your wish at last. don’t know what else to say.)

OKAY HORIKOSHI HAS DECIDED THAT’S ENOUGH FUN, TIME FOR MORE FLASHBACKS

oh my sweet precious lord

just as cute as we left him. giving us a child this cute when we all know full well what’s going to happen to him is just unspeakably cruel though

HOMG

I’m fucking speechless. you broke me, congratulations. what am I even supposed to do with this

I can’t get over this. moving forward my life will be split into two distinct parts, B.P. (Before the Pout) and A.P. (After the Pout)

and meanwhile there’s ALL THIS BACKGROUND ANGST BUILDING UP, AND I CAN’T EVEN FOCUS ON IT. Touya’s arm and cheek are covered in bandages (I’m guessing this is shortly after that “ouch!” panel we got some chapters back), and Enji is deliberately avoiding training with him because he doesn’t want him to hurt himself further. I can’t fucking get over the irony that all this time everyone thought Touya had died because Enji pushed him too far in his training, and it turns out that it’s the opposite -- the tragedy ultimately happened because he didn’t want to push him. but I’m jumping ahead of myself though I guess

by the way,

remember this?? just wanted to remind you that it exists just in case you forgot

so now someone is talking and basically saying that Touya is the exact opposite of what Enji was hoping for when he decided to start playing with quirk genetics

-- okay hold up

...lol no, never mind. for a second I thought “holy shit he looks kind of familiar WHAT IF IT’S UJIKO OMG” before I remembered that Enji would have recognized him during the hospital capture mission if that was the case. so NEVER MIND, PROCEED

IMAGINE THAT, ENJI DOESN’T QUITE SEEM SATISFIED WITH THIS SUGGESTION OF QUITTING NOW

(ETA: how the fuck did this man go around saving 62 towns in a single day what even is All Might.)

[clicks tongue several times] trouble a’brewin’

MEANWHILE BABY TOUYA HAS UNFORTUNATELY INHERITED HIS DAD’S STUBBORN STREAK

KLDIHWOEIJFL:KSDJ

!!!!!!!!!!!

oh my god. oh my god. what is this chapter. WHAT IS IT

so now Touya is all “YOU JUST DON’T UNDERSTAND MY MANLY DESIRE TO BURN MYSELF ALIVE” well you got her there champ

THEY’RE TOO CUTE. OH MY GOD. HIS FURIOUS LITTLE TEARS. HER CHUBBY LIL FACE. HIS STUBBY LIL FISTS. SOMEONE HELP ME

also are they just home alone lol or what. “hey Touya, you’re what, like six now?? do us a favor and look after your baby sister for a couple hours for us would you? make sure not to set yourself on fire or anything.” WHAT COULD POSSIBLY GO WRONG!!

now it’s nighttime and Enji and Rei are arguing, presumably about his decision not to train Touya anymore

whew. okay. so, a couple of things here

1. first of all I think this conclusively shows that Enji really was trying to do the best he could for Touya. he stopped training him as soon as he realized it was hurting him, but Touya was still determined so he tried to make it work anyway, and even visited doctors to try and figure out if there was anything they could do. then, once they were absolutely sure that it wasn’t going to work, he tried multiple times to explain to Touya why they had to stop. he didn’t just abandon him out of the blue, which is really important to note. “no matter how much I tried telling him...”

so yeah, that debunks another common fandom accusation. so by the time he finally makes this decision, which we all know is going to turn out horribly, it’s basically because he’s already tried everything else he could think of. which, by the way, still doesn’t mean he handled this right. but at the very least he was taking Touya’s feelings into account and he was trying, and he didn’t just abruptly toss his son aside (at least not yet)

2. buuuut, then there’s this panel right below all that

which is the other side of it. if he’d just quit like the doctor person advised him to, that would have been the end of it. Touya would still have been upset, but he would have eventually gotten over it and the family would have moved on and possibly even been happy. but what happens next happens because Enji can’t let go. he still has this maddening urge to surpass All Might, and so he and Rei keep having more children, and then Shouto is born, and Enji finally has a kid he can start projecting all of his hysterical ambitions onto once again, and everything starts spiraling out of control soon after

though p.s. none of that is Shouto’s fault though!! he’s one of the few good things to come out of this whole mess and I’m very happy that he exists. the tragedy is that his dad fucking lost his mind over his quirk and fucked everything up. but that’s on him, not Touya or Shouto

anyways, SLKFJLSHGLKJL

I CAN’T FUCKING TAKE THIS YOU GUYS??? LOOK AT THAT LIL BUTTON OF A NOSE??? I’M LOSING IT HERE???

AND TOUYA JUST SEEMS DEVASTATED OMG

because children aren’t stupid, after all. he understands that his dad is still looking to surpass All Might. and so he feels like a failure, and feels like his dad is trying to replace him because he wasn’t good enough. and even now, isn’t that what the adult Touya is trying to prove?? that he was good enough after all?? “I’ll show you what happens when you give up on me, dad”?? “I’ll show you what I can do”?? fuck my life fuck everything

AND YOU CAN SEE THE TOLL THAT IT’S ALL TAKING ON REI GETTING WORSE AND WORSE AS WELL OH GOD

really nice touch here with the panel outlines becoming all shimmery from the heat of Endeavor’s flames (and/or becoming more unstable as the family gets closer and closer to their breaking point). but man, Horikoshi I can’t handle this, please show us more cute kids or something I can’t

GKELKWFJLDKSHFLKL

WITTLE BABE. BEEB. BUBS. SMOL. lkj; oh ouch a piece of my heart just detached and latched onto him huh look at that

TODOROKI “I’M SO SMALL AND I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT’S GOING ON AND I DIDN’T ASK TO BE HERE” SHOUTO AHHHHH

crazy how they all just seem to know right off the bat lol. kid doesn’t even have object permanence yet, let alone a quirk. but do they care?? IT’S THE HAIR, RIGHT. WE’RE ALL THINKING IT, I’M JUST GONNA COME OUT AND SAY IT. they knew the minute they looked at him lol

AND MEANWHILE TOUYA IS OFF HAVING UNSUPERVISED TRAINING/CRYING SESSIONS IN THE MOUNTAINS OR WHATEVER, AND, UH OH

are those blue flames yet?? they seem pretty close

(ETA: this is one of the few cases where the manga being in black and white is infuriating lol.)

OH MY GOD AND STILL

so it’s not like he was so disinterested that he didn’t notice what was happening, and he was still trying to stop it and get through to him. trying to reassure him that it wasn’t the end of the world and there were other things he could do with his life, but this one particular thing just wasn’t going to happen

fucking hell. it’s agonizing seeing how close they actually were to fixing it. if he’d only said the right words, or if he’d realized at this point how destructive his obsession could be to his kids, and backed off from putting that same pressure on Shouto. we came so close to possibly having a happy ending

AND ALSO THIS HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH ANYTHING BUT PLEASE LOOK AT HOW TOUYA IS LIKE THREE AND A HALF FEET TALL AND HIS DAD IS LIKE NINE AND A HALF FEET. Touya barely comes past his knees flkjlkg. the Todoroki household must have been so filled with like plastic stepstools to reach the bathroom sink and all the little baby toothbrushes, and baby gates to keep the kiddos out of the important grown-up rooms and stuff. and also days-old half-empty cups of water and stale crackers and hot wheels and my little ponies strewn everywhere

“BUT EVERYONE AT SCHOOL SAYS THEY’RE GONNA BE HEROES” a wild Deku parallel appears?? how bout that

I know this is like a pivotal moment in the Todo Tragedy and all, but fucking look at this lil dumpling

“sup bro, it’s me, the manifestation of your fears of inadequacy and lack of fatherly affections. a GAAA. ba-baAA-baa [gurgling baby sounds]”

OHHHHH IT’S THE SOUND OF MY HEART BREAKING OH NO

HE WANTS TO BE LIKE YOU ENJI. good lord somebody please just get this family some therapy

“DAD YOU IGNITED IT IN ME” flkjslkj nope, nope. not ready for this pain here

baby Shouto, would you like to weigh in on this affair? “DA!! ba-ga-daaa, [pacifier chewing noises]” oh my, you don’t say. so insightful for one so young

OH MY GODDDDDD

IT’S SO DRAMATIC BUT ALL I CAN THINK ABOUT ARE THE SHOUNEN WOOSH LINES SURROUNDING FOUR-MONTH-OLD SHOUTO LOL HE WAS LIKE THIS FROM BIRTH OH MY GOD I AM DYING HELP

SHOUTO YOU’RE RUINING THIS ENTIRE CHAPTER!?!?!

“yo, the fuck kind of family was I fucking born into” oh, son. if you only knew. IF YOU ONLY KNEW!!

(ETA: lmao I got so distracted by the ridiculous cuteness that I glossed over the fact that Baby Touya seems to possibly be aiming at him?? it’s hard to tell because he’s also super out of it from heatstroke and may just be losing control in his attempt to show off his upgrade.)

ANYWAY THAT’S THE END EXCEPT WHAT’S THIS LAST LINE OMG

ffffff. and we’re in for ANOTHER chapter of this next week?? MORE drama?? MORE BABIES?? MORE OF EIGHT-YEAR-OLD TOUYA’S SLOW DESCENT INTO MADNESS. MY HEART CAN’T TAKE IT, BUT ALSO YES PLEASE SIGN ME UP

#bnha 301 #dabi #todoroki touya #endeavor #todoroki enji #todoroki rei #todoroki shouto #todoroki fuyumi #todoroki natsuo #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha

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mctherofdragons · 3 years

Text

A Sanctuary Heart | 3 | SR

summary / after her abusive husband lands her in the intensive care unit, y/n changes her identity and moves as far away as possible. upon starting her new life, she meets dr.spencer reid and his son, maddox, when she begins her job as a teacher. but can she keep herself safe and keep up the facade with spencer? can she be safe at all?

pairing / spencer reid x fem!reader

warnings / slowburn romance, fluff, angst, marriage, trauma, domestic violence/abuse, dad!spencer, wheelchair use, paralysis, injury, ptsd flashbacks, car accident/serious injury, bullying, mention of ableism, a singular mention of god.

important links / series masterlist + domestic violence resources

authors note / i absolutely adored writing this chapter, omg. we get more of spencer and maddox's backstory. and things start to get a little more exciting as the rest of the team makes their first appearance! thank you all for the great feedback so far, i'm so glad you're enjoying the series. also my tags are not working, so reblogs on this chapter would be insanely appreciated. Flashbacks are in italics!

Seeing the blood on your hand, Spencer instinctively reached out to grab your wrist gently. You snatched your hand back, bringing yourself up to your feet, wobbling. You grabbed your bag, wrapping your hand in your scarf that you had managed to take off in the cool October night.“Ivy,” he said the moniker one more time and you felt your insides reel once more.

‘I’m a liar, Dr. Reid, I wish you knew,’ you thought to yourself, stumbling to search for your keys under the warm glow of the moon.

“I have to go. Thank you for dinner,” you contended, making your way out of the side gate. Spencer watched in confusion as you made your way out quickly. He figured he ought to chose his battles, not wanting to startle you by following after you.

Once you were safe inside your car, you sat in the driver’s seat, hands gripping onto the steering wheel for dear life. You felt a sharp combination of embarrassment and frustration. You wanted the flit of light that came from the possibility of new love. But instead, the one before had taken everything from you. Even now, all these miles and a new name away, he was pulling you away from those little flickers of brilliance and back into the darkness of yourself.

_____________________________

2 years earlier.

“Maddox,” Spencer whispered, feeling his heavy eyelids open just slightly. He was disoriented, noticing that the once right-side-up roadway was now upside down instead. The loud blaring of the horn was constant. It sent a piercing sound into Spencer’s ears and head, which caused him to wince. “Maddox.”

Spencer tried to turn, but he couldn’t move. Something had him pinned in the driver’s seat. He looked into the review mirror, which by grace alone wasn’t entirely broken. Maddox was slumped in his car seat, blood trickling down onto his Toy Story tee shirt. Spencer let out a weak gasp, trying again with no avail to move.

Spencer noticed how cold it was. It had been snowing all night, and Spencer wasn’t sure how long they had been where they are now. The snow had fallen through the shattered glass, tiny flakes gathering anywhere they could.

Using all of his strength, he turned his head to his wife. Her eyes were half shut, a trickle of crimson come from her mouth.

“Baby,” Spencer whispered. “Are you alright?”

She began to speak, but began to sputter, her lungs sounding flooded. Her hand curled and uncurled, and Spencer could barely reach it. He was able to hold onto her fingertips with his. They felt ice-cold like she was already three steps into Eternity. Spencer knew that type of frigid touch. He had come in content with it a million times, and the person on the other end was never living.

“D-don��t talk, baby. Okay? The ambulance is coming. Do you hear them? We’re going to be okay.”

Spencer could hear the medics somewhere far off in the distance. The repeated echo of the sirens sounded like a band of angels to him. Spencer Reid admittedly didn’t believe in the Judeo-Christian God. He wasn’t sure what he gave credence to, in fact. But at that moment, inverted in the shattered glass, surrounded by the labored breathing of his dying wife...he prayed.

________________________________

Spencer walked into the Bureau, adjusting the brown satchel on his shoulder. His brow looked furrowed as he sipped from his paper coffee cup. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way you left, trying to profile what exactly had gone wrong between the Merlot and you rushing out of his backyard.

“Penny for your thoughts?,” Emily piqued as Spencer sat down, tossing his bag onto his desk. Spencer let out an exasperating sigh, taking another drink of his coffee.

“Just trying to figure someone out.”

“Oh, oh, oh. Is this a lady someone?,” Derek queried, wiggling his eyebrows. He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning onto Spencer’s desk with a sparkling grin.

“Maybe.”

Spencer felt himself smiling despite his best efforts. Emily opened her mouth in surprise, giving Derek a playful shove.

“I told you he would get back out there, Morgan!”

Spencer smiled. “Yeah, she’s sweet. I just...don’t know if I’m ready yet.”

That morning, Spencer had put on his wedding band. He still did it when he was scared, or nervous, or needing to feel close to her. He would feel the cool metal atop his finger and feel less alone. For a brief moment when the metallic touched his skin, he could pretend she was still here.

Derek gave Spencer’s shoulder a supportive squeeze.

“I hope you know me and Prentiss are just messing with you. We care about you, kid. We know these past two years have been hell for you. Just want you to be happy.”

“Yeah…I appreciate that. I just…,” Spencer paused, bringing his hands up as he spoke, as was so akin to him. His lip curled into the smallest smile. “Seeing this girl interact with Maddox. She...loves him for him..already?”

“Maddox is a great kid, Reid.”

“I know. I just don’t want her to find out---”

Spencer’s sentence was cut off by Hotch appeared, letting everyone know they had a case and to meet for Round Table. Spencer quickly shot a text to Maddox’s home health nurse, letting her know he’d need coverage for a few days.

________________________________

You sat in the front of your classroom, your eyes scanning from the test in front of you to the answer key. The students were working on a Social Studies project in small groups. Their task was to read a short story about colonial times and fill out a short worksheet. If they finished early they were permitted to color, which most of the children thoroughly enjoyed.

“Maddox can’t use crayons,” you heard a small voice snicker. You raised your eyebrow, hoping it wasn’t harmful, and rather just an observation.

You heard another child sling a slur at Maddox, who was sitting quietly with his aide, trying to ignore them. But as you looked up, you saw Maddox’s tiny bottom lip begin to wobble. One of the children picked up a crayon and threw it at Maddox, hitting him in the shoulder.

“He can’t even feel that! My dad said that’s why he’s in a wheelchair,” the bully jeered again, high-fiving his friend.

You stood up with a loud squeak of your chair against the linoleum floor.

“You two. Principals office. Now.”

The rest of the class erupted in a chorus of childish ‘ooo’s. You clapped your hands together - your universal signal to quiet down.

“I did not ask for comments from the audience,” you scolded. The children settled down, going back to their work, whispering amongst one another.

“Maddox, come talk to me in the hallway,” you offered. Tears were rolling down Maddox’s cheeks. His aide reached over with a tissue to wipe them, but he turned his face away, one of the only ways he could physically set a boundary.

Maddox’s aide helped him into the hallway and then left the two of you alone. You sat down on one of the small, metal benches in the hallway. At this angle, you were about Maddox’s height. He was blubbering, trying to take deep breaths as more tears came. You pulled a small, clean, cloth handkerchief from your pocket. He let you dab his cheeks, giving him a gentle click of the tongue.

“Buddy, do you want to talk about it?”

“T-they’re so m..m..mean to me,” he whimpered, closing his eyes as more tears fell. “And, and, and I can’t play with them even, that’s why. I can’t do anything!”

You nodded empathetically, gently catching more of Maddox’s tears.

“I hate school! My daddy wants me to like school. It’s all he talks about. I hate him!”

“Maddox,” you softly redirected. “That’s not very nice. You don’t hate your dad.”

Maddox looked a deep breath. You smiled, knowing Spencer must have taught him to do that when he was upset.

“You’re right. But I’m sad, and I wanna go home.”

You sighed, reaching up to blot the little bit of redness still present on Maddox’s cheeks. You adjusted his glasses, moving some of his curly brown hair from underneath the metal.

“Just a few more hours, okay? We have library at the end of the day.”

Maddox’s face lit up, his apple cheeks glowing beneath the rims of his glasses. “Library!”

“Yes, and just for this week, you can take home two books.”

______________________________

Spencer felt distracted the entire flight to Vermont. He knew he was going to be far away for a while, and that Maddox wouldn’t know until he got out of school for the day. The agent detested when he had to leave without Maddox knowing in advance, but it was usually impossible given the nature of things. Thankfully, Reid had a good setup of support through healthcare and respite so Maddox never went without someone to care for him.

Then, there was you. He couldn’t stop thinking about your reaction. He had seen it before in abuse victims. The way you flinched when he moved too fast, the apologizing like your life depended on it, even the way you looked at him with pleading eyes, desperate to avoid a blow. He bridged his fingers together, thinking to himself for a moment.

With that, he stood up, making his way to the back of the plane. He unlocked his phone while he chewed his fingernail with his free hand. Before he knew it, he was calling Garcia.

“Penelope. Hey, I need a favor. A personal one. If you could keep it between us, that would be great.”

“Anything for you, my precious string bean.”

Spencer laughed. “I need you to get all the information you can on someone. Ivy Porter.”

“Ivy Porter. That’s like a movie star name. What did she do?”

“Um..nothing, I don’t think. Just call me when you’ve got something, and email me everything you find.”

“You got it. Every in and out of Ms. Ivy Porter coming to you soon. Be safe. Talk soon.”

With that, Penelope clicked off of the call. Spencer sat back down, anxiously waiting for whatever information Penelope could find about you.

___________

series/criminal minds taglist: @hufflepuffhaze @omghufflepuff @txtdreamss @rainbows-dreams @bvttercupbby @k-k0129 @rexit-mo @britishspidey @graciehams @manuosorioh @shemarmooresfedora @big-galaxy-chaos @thatoneszesty13 @ssavanessa22 @awritingtree @sweetandsunny @rainsong01 @kuolonsyoja @taralewiz @bluelittleblackgirl @asexual-booknerd @the-wolfie

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid series

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ironwoodprotectionsquad · 2 years

Note

Trust me, I will never NOT be annoyed with how quick characters are to brush off this poor man's trauma when everyone else gets to have full on arcs about their trauma (whether they're well written or not is another story) I guess because if you don't get over severe PTSD as fast as possible your evil..? Anyway, I mostly thought of Pietro being the guy who works on James's prosthetics because he's the only character (that I know of) whose occupation is working on people's prosthetics.

I just wish that same guy wasn't a character written to dismiss someone's trauma so the narrative can push a really ableist point of view on PTSD survivors. And the fact that the black paralyzed man who works on people's prosthetics as a living was one of the characters throwing James under the bus? It feels very manipulative NGL.

Like they knew how this story would come off, but instead of not writing it and picking a better storyline, they just added another disabled non- white character and hoped that would cancel out the bad representation, not quite realizing that it was the use Ironwood's disabilities to turn him evil that was the problem and not just the disabilities existing. (Though, considering how many disabled characters in the media are villains anyway, that would still be really bad)

Yea it's insane how quickly his trauma is just brushed off as baseless. The other characters are allowed to be upset and still mourn the events of Beacon but for some reason James is....evil for it? It's insane honestly especially given the insistence that the show has that it does care about PTSD victims but only very specific circumstances (Read female) that actually matter. It is kind of ridiculous that we only see Pietro working on prosthetics, you would think their would be more then one person in the entire world apparently according to Maria who can work on prosthetics.

I agree, having the disabled black man of all people being the one to most adamantly brush off James's trauma and fear and act like he's overreacting is just....ridiculous and ableist. We're supposed to like and trust Pietro though because he built Penny and we like Penny (Just ignore the shady af things surrounding what he did in regards to what he still left like the backdoor to easily hack Penny) so therefore whatever he says is true and we don't need to examine the situation any further cuz a guy we just met and are supposed to instantly trust said so. (What is it with the show and forcing us to trust people we just met over people we've known for years?) The guy who is hurting and reasonably scared is just being tossed under the bus and left to bleed out with everyone glaring at him and yelling at him for getting hit by a bus when they shoved him in the way.

Oh gosh yea uh don't get me started on that. Putting in another disabled character doesn't change how ableist another story is. You hit the nail on the head their, their are just too many stories involving disabled characters or mentally ill characters who are made evil because of their disabilities. Or if they're lucky to not turn evil, they die a horrible agonizing death because it's "easier" to write them out of the story then to allow them the chance to heal and recover from the pain and suffering they endured. It's just not right that disabled people are constantly forced to see stories like that of people who are like them and those stories telling them they will either turn evil or die because its easier for the able bodied people. It's ableist and wrong and people should be allowed to point out how fucked up stories like James's are and how harmful it is.

#RWDE #james ironwood #ironwood protection squad #pro james ironwood #pro ironwood #general ironwood #general dadmiral #dadmiral ironwood

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thevindicativevordan · 3 years

Note

thoughts on toyman?

Love various aspects of the multiple Toymen we've gotten, and my ideal Toyman would draw from attributes of each while also incorporating some new ideas. Positioning him as the "Arkham freak" of the Superman Rogues Gallery is where I think he works best in terms of background and characterization.

Another Superman Rogue who has his beginnings in the early years of Superman, Toyman was pretty creepy right from the start. Much like Metallo and Parasite, Toyman is a villain who has managed to stick around for a long time despite never really getting that big breakout story. Not like they haven't tried however, writers have been attempting different angles with the character since the final days of Pre-Crisis. Replacing the original Winslow Schott with a new Toyman in Jack Nimball (love that name way more than Winslow Schott), making him insane, turning him into a child killer, Azzarello even went so far as to imply he was a pedophile in Luthor. DCAU Toyman really upped his creepiness and threat factor, his origin there is my favorite and I would make it the background for comics Toyman as well.

You can tell there's potential here for Toyman to be a great villain, but the reason he keeps falling short is that they haven't found a good way to make him a foil for Superman. Why Superman and why Metropolis are the questions that need answering before Toyman can really come into his own. What keeps him in that city and how does he serve as a contrast to Superman in terms of themes or ideas? Unlike Prankster I do think that Toyman has it in him to be one of those villains who can act as a dark reflection to Superman in deeper ways.

Anonymous asked:

hey man love your content! i read somewhere that toyman should be revamped into a magic villain as to differentiate him from prankster and add magic to supes’ rogues gallery. think the idea has any merit?

Technically Superman does have Rogues that do wield magic: Mxyzptlk and Silver Banshee for starters. I do think that Toyman should be a mix of magic and science rather than a pure science based threat. Reason why is that Superman already has a bunch of supergenuises, and foes such as Lex and Brainiac are always going to overshadow Toyman in the brains department. The Superman 2000 pitch did have an idea for Toyman that made him a more supernatural threat, perhaps that's what you're remembering? There the idea for Toyman was that:

The late Winslow Schott's spirit possesses a GI-Joe size figure which lies in a toybox all day and comes to life when the sun goes down. By day, he’s just another action figure in a kid's bedroom. By night, when the moon comes out and the kid is sleeping, Toyman wakes up and sneaks out of the house to run his criminal empire. Creepy, utterly ruthless, and in charge of an army of killer toys, Toyman's Achilles Heel is sunlight, which renders him motionless.

It's one of the weaker parts of the pitch, personally I prefer Toyman to still be alive rather than a spirit possessing a toy. Gotta give points for creativity however.

How I Would Approach Toyman

Driven by childhood trauma, Jack Nimball was the son of toy maker Winslow Schott Nimball who dreamed of running his own toy factory. Unfortunately for poor Jack, his father made the grave error of trying to fund his toy factory by taking a loan from Intergang. The venture failed to turn a profit and Winslow was unable to pay Intergang back what he owed. In retaliation Intergang murdered Winslow, and Jack was tossed into the uncaring and abusive Metropolis foster home system. Left struggling with mental illness as an adult due to a combination of seeing his father murdered in front of him, and enduring constant torment from his foster parents and his classmates at school, Nimball retreated into his own private fantasy world.

His only remaining inheritance from his father Winslow were the toys that Winslow had made personally for him, and Nimball treated the toys as if they were real people he could have a conversation with. To him they were the only family and friends he had, and his dearest wish was that he could make them talk back. Mr. Mxyzptlk heard Jack's wish and thought it would be amusing to cut a deal with the disturbed man. Nimball would be able to make the toys talk back... and do much much more besides that. Mxyzptlk gave Nimball the power to bring any toy he created or modified to life to serve him, and furthermore anything he believed the toys could do, they could in fact accomplish. As long as Nimball believes his toys can kill with their weapons they can kill. As long as he believes that his toys can hurt Superman... they can hurt Superman. Never personally leading the attacks, Nimball prefers to speak through a small toy man who acts as his "face" to the world (think a mix of the DCAU Toyman and the Jigsaw doll from Saw).

Armed with this new power, Nimball aims to extract revenge on every single person he believes ever wronged him. Some of his targets are on account of his traumatic childhood such as his foster parents, his old classmates at school, Intergang, the company that bought his father's old factory, and more. Others are more a product of the Toyman's mental illness: the company who rebooted his favorite cartoon to be more diverse, the writer who killed off his favorite character in their book series, the film director who declared something canon that Toyman disagreed with, the executive who cancelled a beloved show of Toyman's because it wasn't bringing in high enough ratings. Toyman is a manchild a heart, a disturbed fanboy who interprets everything with the viewpoint that it's an attack against him personally, to which he responds in kind.

He also attempts to position himself up as a twisted take on being the "Champion of the Oppressed", reaching out to help children that he views as similar to himself. Kids at school bullying you and you need help? Parents neglecting or abusing you and you want protection? If you're ugly, weird, or socially an outcast, you have a friend in the Toyman who offers those he deems worthy the chance for revenge. Through toys seeded throughout the Metropolis Schools that act as his eyes and ears, Toyman is always watching for kindred spirits. Would not have Toyman killing kids or being a pedophile unless it would be a storyline about him completely going off the deep end and becoming irredeemable (which isn't how I would prefer Superman view him).

Toyman is a foil for Superman in terms of "what if a kindly couple hadn't found him?", but also in terms of rage at the world for perceived injustice. Unlike the Kents who treated Superman like their own, Nimball never experienced any affection after his father died, and being starved of compassion is what set him on the course to becoming Toyman. Much of Clark's rage comes from seeing the cruelty of the world and knowing he has the power to change it, but not feeling sure about how to approach doing so. In contrast Toyman has known exactly how he would make the world "better", but he's always lacked the power to do so. Difference between the two comes down to maturity. Being able to process his anger and channel it in a constructive way (most of the time) is why Superman is a hero, whereas Toyman is unable to act in any other way but the most destructive and childish.

Reason why Toyman hates Superman specifically and seeks to destroy him (besides Superman constantly foiling his schemes) is that he believes Superman to be a "Chad" who has had everything handed to him on a silver platter. Superman doesn't know what it means to suffer, to want love and approval and never receive it, to be ugly and socially awkward and have girls reject you. Seeing everyone fawn over the dumbass Superjock infuriates Toyman, especially since it makes him feel like he's back in school getting beat up by bullies every time Superman puts him in jail. Ironically Superman does understand Toyman's desire for approval and affection all too well, the need to have people like him is probably the second greatest character flaw Clark has after his temper. Because of this Toyman is one of the Rogues Superman tries to reform, constantly reaching out to him in an attempt to let him know that he does actually understand. Toyman rejects these attempts in rage, refusing to believe that someone like Superman could ever know what it's like to be someone like him.

As for why Metropolis, it's because the city is one that promotes itself as a shining beacon of civilization. Marketing the city as such drives Toyman wild as he remembers the cruelty and callousness he endured growing up in Metropolis, and won't rest until he has torn down the mask that the city wears so that all can look upon the ugly reality of what life is like in the City of Tomorrow. Hypocrisy is a pet peeve of the Toyman, and he will jump at the opportunity to punish it wherever it's expressed.

Given he's one of the longest enduring Superman villains, tends to be a shoo-in for adaptation into any Superman media outside comics, and actually has a pretty great design in both his human and doll incarnations it's a wonder he hasn't gotten more focus in the comics. Azzarello of all people seems to be his biggest fan currently at DC, I hope someone eventually gets a Superman book that can tell a great Toyman story for the modern era.

#superman #toyman #dc comics #dcau

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josy57 · 3 years

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Philosophy 101 (reprise)

Philosophy 101

It's now drawing to a close, This encore, this year as an echo I will depart again shortly and this time, it will be for good So this is a curtain call A bow so low my forehead grazes these old floorboards Their wood creaking untold secrets Splintering under the weight The compounded stampede of dozens of generations Layer after layer of teenage specters Hurrying down the hallways long after the bell has rung I watch them shuffle away Knowing I’ll soon join their fading ranks

This last month will unfold as a slow ritual Counting the steps of every flight of stairs Touching each wall, each yellowish stone Following the grooves in the bark of the chestnut tree in the courtyard Letting it memorize the swirling lines on my finger tips This place and I, united in shared remembering

II.

Yesterday I came back to your class For the sake of circularity So things can conclude as they began A page folding on itself in perfect Rorschach symmetry That day, the topic was freedom Whether such a thing even exists Whether man stands above Nature He alone, capable of choice Or whether we, like every other creature Are subject to the same cruel, unchanging rules Living on a tight leash A chain of causes and effects That, try as we might, we can never escape Are we tossed about in an uncertain flight By a thousand random happenings By our own misguided decisions? Or do we suffer to a precisely set tune As sure as water's boiling point Or the orbit of celestial bodies?

I jotted down your every word In a comfortably familiar frenzy But this time around, unlike I used to at seventeen I kept my mouth shut I did not raise my hand to offer my observations To remark that the question of free will can be rephrased thus: Is life drama or tragedy? Did we get a chance and failed? Was there a way out of the maze we missed? Or do we walk, from cradle to grave, in a trench so deep We never see the sky The hedges around us shifting Giving only the illusion of diverging paths?

III.

You don't say it, but I have an inkling what side you favor And so I’m curious what you think How you make sense of my presence here How you fill in the blanks In your attempt to unravel the strings of consequences That led me right back to where you first met me Part of the answer is that I love this place That in many ways, I was born here It was where my life first became something I actually wanted to live I emerged from the mire, a soot-black mass of clay And slowly took form Like a flipbook of evolution A fish out of water, growing lungs, legs And painstakingly becoming human Learning to stand, to pile each vertebra like a game of Jenga And see the horizon

Yes, these corridors, these classrooms That's where I discovered the great loves that shaped me Language, poetry, and him Because, of course, the truth is that he had a hand in it In my second coming I returned, not searching for myself but for a ghostly closeness to him Whichever spin you’d like to put on it He was my fate, the gravitational force pulling me in

I know you would not approve You never did like him But following your logic, you cannot blame me It'd be ironic for you to throw the first stone After explaining that a pebble thinks itself free Only because it doesn't know who cast it Pathetic as it is, it was all written from the start There is no alternative version of that story In which we pass each other by without a hitch Without some part of me getting caught and torn clean off The ripping sounding like a great gust of wind I love him and it's enmeshed in everything In the grief I feel at the thought of leaving once more No one in this world knows the extent of it How long I've carried it with me, How marrow-deep it runs But this place does It knew and held both him and me Enclosed together Two chambers in the same beating heart

You'd probably laugh at all my pretty excuses You explained that every action, even the seemingly gratuitous Is only us acting out some forgotten trauma Some imprint left on an impressionable mind So early the slate was wiped clean but the mark remained You'd most likely say that this fluttering in my chest Is just me trembling in the aftershock Of something from childhood that shook a screw loose Those insane recurring thoughts, merely its rattling in my brain And you’re likely not wrong It fits neatly, doesn’t it? The girl whom no one loved Choosing a boy who won’t ever look at her Because of the familiar dynamics The safe, distant yearning Or because of the mad thought That changing his mind would shift the whole world

IV.

Still, even if it did not come down To a simple game of mechanics If it wasn't ordained or predetermined It would still mean something That you and I stand here again That I have passed my disease along I can see it Kind as you are, it permeates our clumsy exchanges As we watch each other, you peer into me Trying, through the cloudy film of today Through the tarnishing of the last ten years To catch the gaze of the stubborn, bright, smart-mouthed girl Who once sat in the front row You wade against the current, And see the past, alive, squirming silver Strikingly vivid in the murky stream of present consciousness If I could speak plainly and turn the tables on you That’s the answer I would give That’s what I would teach A lesson like a curse Those who cannot seize the day Strive to recapture the eve Groping blindly for what couldn’t be grasped Closure or justice or vengeance Those who did not live the first time around are bound to return.

@lexiklecksi @distilled-prose

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ill-rip-myself-apart · 3 years

Text

FREAK - FRANK MORRISON X READER

*female reader

*Race Neutral

*TW ; small descriptions of gore, yandereish frank, blood, mentions of murder, mentions of anxiety and severe fear. Minors DNI

The days were winding down quickly, almost taunting you of what's to come. The cold month of February usually brought on the most snow in your little town. The population nothing more than 6000 people, although as the years went on it seemed like the number grew small and smaller. Part of you wondered if your whole town would cease to exist at one point. As if some entity would bring it down.

You pulled yourself out of your thoughts, moving away from the mirror in the bathroom you shared with your uncle. It's design was rather drab and plain, just how Charlie liked it although it'd be weird if it was any other color at this point. You have grown custom to the old scenery within your home. It was comforting.

You grabbed your dirty clothes off the floor, chucking them into wicker basket by the sink, making your way towards the door you were greeted with your uncles face. His bushy brows were raised.

"You'd just take a shower?"

"Yeah I did, don't worry I turned on the fan."

"Good, I don't need the room to be all steamy while I'm taking a shit."

You backed out of the bathroom with a snort, your uncle was always frank. No filter on that mouth of his but it was part of the charm. With a sigh you started heading towards the kitchen. It was just 10 minutes past 9 and the clouds were already in the sky, blocking any and all sunlight that dared shined today. It was never any match for the heavy clouds of rain or it's friends that consist of snow and fog. Chilly temperatures that seeped through your skin and past your bones, hitting you where it hurt most.

You washed your hands at the sink, looking out the window where it showed nothing the endless trees and hills of snow. These trees stretched out for miles, escalating till they reached the top of Ormond. The largest mountain in Canada. Surrounded by a backwater town no one ever heard of.

Every branch was weighed down by the white sparkling powder, it looked beautiful but beyond the shadows something sinister lurked. Creeping by in the dawn of wake, at least that's what the rumor was.

"Tomorrows the 14th, you think your admirer is gonna come again?"

Charlie's tone was nothing short of being playful but to you? The question felt like a itch that couldn't be scratched.

You dreaded thinking about this, cause you asked yourself the same question. Would they come again? Whoever they were and why?

About two years ago, on your birthday you woke up to a rather unsettling sight. It was a cold December morning (just for the sake of the story, pretend your birthday is in December) you looked outside your window from the second story of your house and what you saw was shocking. In the snow was a red heart. Maybe you think it's for someone else but it couldn't be when your name was right underneath it.

Only two questions ran through your head, one, how did this person know your name? And two, what was the red liquid? Was it paint? Food dye? Blood?

You feared the answer to either question but not as much when it happened again on Valentines Day, after that it happened again on your next birthday, same with valentines day. Just your recent birthday is when it seemed to stop, but you couldn't be so sure. It bugged you to no end that this person knew your name, your birthday and where you lived. Everyday felt like a checklist, lock the doors, scout the front yard, look behind your back... This anxiety of being watched was eating you alive and felt like everyone was mocking you. Your uncle somewhat seriously but mainly thought it was just teenage doings. Your friends saw it as a romantic gesture, instead of a threat or personal attack, and the police? They thought you were insane. It was frustrating, no one took you seriously and you starting to doubt everything yourself at this point. Trauma does that to you.

"y/n? You okay kid? You're kinda out of it."

Your eyes darted to your uncles, he stood in the doorway that separated the kitchen and the living room. It felt cold and dark, you started tugging on your shirt sleeves. The black fabric brought a certain comfort to your hands. Nodding, you turned to look at him.

"Yeah, no I'm okay. Still waking up a little."

Your voice waivers, he can tell your on edge. You and Charlie had a close bond, so he picked up on your moods rather quickly. His forehead creased, a sympathetic look crossed his features.

"Your still thinking about it, huh?"

You nodded, arms folding over your chest. That feeling of being watched crept back up, you felt exposed.

"Well, maybe it's a kid from your school? I wouldn't assume the worst y/n. That's a bad way of thinking."

He could be right, it'd make the most sense. Maybe you were negative, maybe it was the anxiety you had since you were little, maybe it was the excitement, nothing ever really happens here in Ormond. Deep down this could be just you wanting something more in life. You tried to calming yourself down, a deep sigh rustling out of you.

"Yeah, maybe you're right. I don't know, it just feels weird."

You decided maybe some food will settle your stomach, you went to the cabinet and pulled out some bagels. Ready to start your Saturday the best you could.

The clock had just striked 8 o'clock, by now it was dark out and your uncle wouldn't be home for an another hour so you were left to your own devices. The snow was falling rapidly on the ground, an inch already covering your yard. It looked feathery and light. The cold air perfectly whispy as the wind roared on, leaving the pine trees to shake in their wake. They looked like a puppet show, each tree black as silhouettes, covered by the dark night. It was a new moon tonight, something you could of enjoyed if your fear hadn't been eating you alive.

You really did try to take your mind off of things but it wasn't easy. Your mind wasn't one to rest, you overthink a lot and this was something that couldn't possibly pass by you or your mind.

Currently you were curled up on the couch, huddled into a ball with a warm blanket, the t.v. was playing in the background but it felt like it was static to you. All you could do was sit and stare, checking windows and the front door every other hour. The darker the night got, the more your anxiety burned. Your stomach felt like a hollow hole, your chest was heavy. Each beat of your heart felt like the seconds ticking by, almost as if it was racing against the clock. All you wanted was this night to be over.

Ten minutes passed and that's when things started happening, you looked to the left of you where one of the large windows sat. Next to an old bookcase that was adorned with nicknacks and thick books, all of which you read through. Your E/C eyes darted to the window and nearly fell out of your seat. You could of swore you saw a figure. Tall and broad shoulders, a gray hood, covered with a Navy blue jacket.

You could practically feel the bile climbing up your throat. It burned at your esophagus, fear had rattled your heart, leaving it to drum against your ribcage. The stuttering of your breath could of been mistaken for how cold you were, but it was fear.

Rushing to the window you plastered your hands against the glass, the cold caused your warm hands to tingle yet you felt like you were on fire. Your skin was hot and flushed, you wanted to rip off your hoodie.

Frantic orbs scanned the perimeter, seeing nothing but the long lines of trees and and darkness. We're you dreaming? Did your anxiety get that bad to the point you were seeing things? Your legs felt jittery, weak almost. Like they buckle at any moment.

Footprints, you could see footprints that tracked in the snow. Leading to the backyard. Quick to connect the dots, the back was a view you could see from your bedroom. Not that it was much different, the area was heavily wooded but that wasn't the only standing factor. The backyard was usually the place your so called "admirer" left their messages. They were here, you had caught them in the act!

Well, not really. Granted you were still in the house, sitting on the floor as your skin ignited with heat. You ripped off the heavy garment before tossing it to the side, left in a black T-shirt with a skirt and stockings, the cold wooden floor was definitely soothing but it didn't help ease any of your fear nor lessen the feeling of nausea twisting in your stomach.

They were here, you knew that much. You weren't crazy, or imagining things. The fear was real, which made it all the more worse.

With a quick dash, you found yourself in the kitchen raiding one of the drawers. Pulling out a rather sharp kitchen knife. You spotted yourself in its reflection. Wide, shakey eyes darted in every possible direction, seeing if they caught up with you in the home. Did they know you were here? Or did they think you were asleep? So many different possibilities ran through your head. It felt like a rush, your brain made everything feel woozy. The bile was practically in your mouth, your heart was burning.

Above every option you thought about, the one that seemed to make the most sense was to go outside. A scratch that you've been dying to itch for so long. Finally you could know who this person might be, with baited breath you tucked your knife into your side, buried in your skirt before grabbing some slip ons, facing the dark truth. Once and for all.

The cold air was like a shockwave. Instantly your skin was covered in goosebumps. A chill sinking into your flesh, hitting you where it hurts the most. But you continued on, across the street was your neighbors house. All the lights were off which meant they had been asleep, pale lights from the street lamps flickered on and off. A few moths circled around each pole. The snow had stopped completely and you felt alone. It was desolate on your street and your not sure how to feel about it.

You found yourself following the trail of Muddy footsteps, whoever this person may be, they definitely weren't clean. The tracks in the snow were large, gritty. They must be wearing boots. That definitely didn't help the sickening feeling in the pit of your stomach.

You stopped, there was it was. The red heart in clean white snow. It was splattered almost perfectly. Crimson red deep in icy thickness. The letter "I" Was before the heart and after it was the letter "U". I love you. Underneath it all? There layed your name ever so delicately, as if it was written with care. You swallowed the vomit in your mouth. You felt raw.

There was no mistaking what the color could possibly be. Too thick to be paint and too dark to be food dye. That was blood, the crimson color always ran deep, all of this felt surreal. You had to be dreaming, this wasn't real. You were imagining it all, why would anyone do this? The fear was getting to you, distorting all of your vision. Black dots floated around your vision as your breath slowed. We're you dying? Or are you gonna pass out? You couldn't tell. All you could feel was a blanket of nerves draping over you, collapsing into the snow, your whole body felt light. It was so warm yet so cold, and soft. God was the snow always this soft?

Wait, no you shouldn't fall asleep here. What's that saying? Don't fall asleep in the snow unless you never plan to wake up? But how could anyone resist? You felt ethereal. Like a bunch of morphine had been injected in your system and it was taking it's course.

Before your eyelids were too heavy, all you saw was your vision spinning slowly. The dark sky was perfect in your view, an ocean of stars reflecting with the crystal snow. Every bit of fear had left your body but deep in your psyche you were still scared. The fear was hidden away from the heavy feeling in your body. You were too tired to do anything.

A masked man had came into your view, peering down at you with heavy breathing. The mask had been a simple design, two eyes with a smile. It looked dirty and worn, multiple scratches had craved deep in its plastic interior. A swipe of blood across that mouth. What stood out the most was a tattoo along this persons neck, you feel like you've seen it somewhere. Maybe it was a dream? But before you could figure it out, your eyelids gave out. Only left with hearing the last thing your heard before you slipped into the abyss of darkness was heavy breathing and the sigh of your name.

Authors note ;

So I finally posted something 👉🏻👈🏻🥺, the ending is rather vague so you can imagine how the scenario might of ended, as always if you wish this to be written in either a different gender reader (male, female, non-binary, demis, I mean any and all) or maybe race specific just shoot me a pm! I hope you like it lol, I spent like three days on this and tumblrs formatting is kinda weird compared to wattpad so forgive me if I did this wrong lol.

#dbd #deadbydaylight #dbdxreader #frank morrison #frank morrison x reader #the legion #the legion dbd #the legion x reader #i just had to write about him #i plan on doing susie next since shes best girl 🥴

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