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stinknoodle · 1 year

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Just One Dance

Summary: Steve bumps into you after dropping Dustin off at the Snowball and decides to stop and catch up, unintentionally uprooting long forgotten feelings within the both of you.

Fic Flavor: Childhood friends to lovers(kinda), mutual pinning, mild angst

Word Count: 5,316

As Steve pulled away from the gym entrance, jaw clenched, he spotted a familiar form in the distance, one he hadn't taken in for a while. You were perched on the edge of the sidewalk, your leather jacket pulled tight around your body and a cigarette in hand. He frowned, this was an odd hour to be sitting alone outside. With recent events weighing heavily in his mind, he pulled up to park about a yard away. He'd just check up on you, maybe offer to give you a ride home, just in case. He only harbored fond memories of you and the thought of something bad happening to another person he knew made his stomach turn.

As he approached, you didn’t take notice. A skateboard, your skateboard, sat upside-down on the road, pushed against the sidewalk. The bottom was decorated and seemingly hand painted, your name in an edgy font surrounded by haphazard doodles of skulls and flowers and all sorts of other clashing designs. Your shoulders jumped slightly when you finally became aware of his presence.

"Uh- hey." He greeted awkwardly, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

Much to his relief, a wide grin split across your face. "Well, well, well, if it isn't King Steve, in the flesh."

He scoffed lightly at the faux title, choosing pointedly to not comment on it; the only thing he'd felt like "the king" of lately was the losers. "Glad to see you haven't changed too much, (Y/N)."

Which isn't to say you hadn't changed at all, you held yourself very differently than the last time you had really talked. You sported some new piercings and dark eye makeup that made the color of your eyes pop. A couple chains hung loosely at your belt loops and a few wrapped about your neck. The alternative style you'd taken to was starkly different to the softer, preppier one you had worn the last time he had checked, but then again that was, what, eighth grade? He tried to not be too surprised. You seemed much more comfortable in your skin now anyways; it was pleasant to see.

"What's Mr. Harrington doing out here all alone on this fine night, hm?" You tilted your head with a smirk.

He scratched the back of his neck. "Just dropping off a, uh, friend at the Snowball." It felt a little weird to call Dustin a friend, but at this point it would be weirder to call him anything but.

"Ah," You grimaced slightly, "s'that why you look like a kicked puppy?"

"What?" He snapped, a little more irritably than he had meant to, immediately regretting the tone.

Thankfully, you held your hands up in mock surrender and chuckled. "Sorry, I just saw Nancy in there and assumed. Teach me to make assumptions."

"No it's-" He sighed, dragging a hand down his face, "it's fine, I'm sorry."

You shifted a bit and leaned back on your free hand. "You are forgiven, your highness. Care to take a seat with a lowly peasant, have a smoke?" You offered up the cigarette with a friendly grin.

He sat next to you gratefully, hesitating a moment before taking the cigarette from you and taking a long drag. The quiet between you was filled with the distant thrum of music wafting from the gym. Your shoes tapped the pavement, but there was no anxiety to the movement; it was more like you were bursting with energy that your body was hardly containing. It had always been like that with you, though you had tamped it down more in your younger years.

"Do you remember our Snowball?" You suddenly spoke up, a fond smile on your lips. You weren't looking at him, but at the hole in the thigh of your black jeans, which you were picking at with bored hands.

"Uh, kind of." He shrugged, the memory felt so distant now.

Suddenly your gaze shot up, your grin widening impossibly. "Wait, do you not remember?"

He blinked at you, brows slowly knitting together as he tried to scrounge for what you could be talking about.

You laughed easily, catching yourself on his shoulder as you leaned back from the intensity of the movement. "Holy shit, you really don't! That's fucking wild!"

"What are you talking about?" He finally relented, cheeks flushing lightly with embarrassment. You gently plucked the cigarette from his hand, taking a short pull from it before pushing the smoke through your teeth.

"Way back when, I asked you to go to the Snowball with me. You said yes." You snickered as you watched recognition slowly leak back into his face. "Then, when we got there, you completely ignored me. Didn't even dance with me once."

Guilt boiled through his stomach and up his chest, remembering vaguely with horror. "Oh, God, right. I- I'm so sorry-"

"Don't be!" You laughed again. He didn't understand, especially as you propped a warm arm up on his shoulder, looking up into the sky with a fond expression on your face. "It's kinda funny now. I mean, obviously it was absolutely devastating at the time, but now I look back at it and laugh. I mean, what did I think would happen?"

His frown deepened, confusion marking up his face. "How is that funny?"

Your smile didn't falter as you turned your gaze to him. "Just- what did I expect? You're Steve Harrington and I'm- well, I'm me." You shook your head and chuckled, lowering your gaze to your lap. You sucked in another breath of smoke and blew it out of the corner of your mouth. He didn’t miss how you used the present tense in your statement, implying that this was still a current dilemma.

Quiet fell over you once more, but this time there was a mild tension to it. Steve floundered for a way to express the thoughts in his head as he recalled that night.

"I'm sorry I did that to you, it was really shitty of me to ditch you." He spoke genuinely, picking at the sidewalk.

You glanced at him with a funny look and you shook your head. "Nah, there's no hard feelings, really. I just get it now, y'know?" You shrugged. "It's probably for the best you crushed that when you did, we would've never ended up suiting each other."

"What does that mean?" It stressed him out how casually you sold yourself short. You tapped the ashes off of the tip of the cigarette on the thick sole of your shoe and placed it into his hand in favor of toying with a safety pin on your jacket.

“I really liked you, Steve. Like, a lot.” You smiled. Before he could respond, you continued on. “But, if you had indulged me even a little, I’m certain things would have turned out much worse. You let me down arguably easily, I never would’ve survived the popularity you garnered.”

He let the words settle in for a bit before he shook his head. “I wouldn’t have let anyone give you shit.”

You smiled appreciatively, but still mirrored him with the shake of your head. “Nah, look at us. You would have been a social outcast just from being around me. It’s better like this. I’d rather us be distant than ruining everything over some stupid, shitty eighth grade break-up anyways.” You laughed.

“I guess… I just feel bad for screwing you over, even just as a friend.”

"Don't worry, Stevie. You'll find a nice girl to settle down with, make a little family, and I'll- I don't know, find someone more my speed. Things will work out one day."

He rolled the cigarette between his fingers in thought, swallowing hard. Why did that sting so badly? He hadn't thought about you like that in years and yet it hurt to be written as completely incompatible, for you to paint your respective futures without the other in them. He knew you hadn’t really talked in years, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t start again, especially with how well things were going tonight. He took one more drag before putting out the stump of the cigarette, discarding it in the street. The two of you listened to the music, a light hum starting in your throat.

"I actually did want to dance with you." He suddenly confessed. You gave him a confused look and his cheeks burned under your gaze, a hand scratching at his neck. "At the Snowball. I remember thinking that you looked really pretty and uh, I wanted to dance with you. Really badly. But I-" he coughed into his fist anxiously. "I let my friends talk me out of it. Which fucking sucks and was really rude, and even though you say it's fine I'm still sorry."

Your lips parted slightly, something unknown sparkling in your eyes. As he finished speaking, you smiled warmly and let your cheek press to his shoulder, almost like you were hiding.

"Thanks, Steve…" Your voice was softer than before.

"Yeah…" He replied, tentatively wrapping his arm around your back to softly grip your forearm on your far side. The silence rolled back in, but it was softer this time, and lasted much longer.

"I'm sorry about Nancy, by the way." You spoke quietly, hands fiddling in your lap. "I was- uh, I saw you guys kind of get into it at that dumb Halloween party. And then I saw you leave without her and Jonathan and-" you sucked in a breath, like you'd said too much. "Yeah, I'm just sorry."

He squeezed your arm lightly, swallowing the lump in his throat before replying simply with, "S'fine."

You chewed your lip for a long pause, but when the distant song changed to something slower, you suddenly sat up straight; Steve quickly missed your warmth.

"Well, I believe you owe me a dance." You grinned brightly at him and held out a hand.

He stared into your scraped up palm, bewildered at the sudden change in mood. "What?"

"Hey, it's the night of the Snowball, I'm dressed in my best,” you gestured to yourself almost sarcastically, “and you always look good,” you gestured to him, sounding a hair more sincere, “and you owe me at least one dance." You snickered and pushed yourself to your feet, offering up your hand again. "Unless, of course, you've suddenly decided you don't want to associate with undesirables."

He rolled his eyes and took your hand, albeit gently to accommodate for the scuffs there. "Stop talking like that, I'm not really that much of anything anymore, and you’re not," he scrunched his face up and shook his head, “undesirable.”

You tugged him to his feet with surprising strength, and he was mildly grateful for your thick-soled shoes; it put you at the perfect height difference, which made it easier to dance. You guided one of his hands to your waist and trailed your fingers lightly up his arm to rest on his shoulder. The two of you slowly began swaying awkwardly, a little stilted and bodies just a little too far away from each other.

You laughed sweetly, head thrown back in a way that exposed the pretty skin of your throat. "Harrington, I don't think any teachers are gonna come tell us off if we get a little closer. I didn't take you for being shy." That smirk pulled back onto your face.

He rolled his eyes, cheeks burning hot as you stepped into his space without hesitation. He released your waist and brought your joined hands above your head to give you a quick spin.

"How's that for shy, huh?" He said as his hands returned to their previous placement.

You only laughed again in response.

As you both relaxed, you slowly drifted closer and closer, as if being drawn together by an invisible string. Soon, your head was pressed to his chest, his hand released in favor of joining your other hand behind his neck. Both of his hands stayed respectfully on your waist, his chin lightly pressed to the top of your head. While you swayed, he was suddenly very glad he had decided to stop and talk to you. That reminded him, however, of the reason he'd stopped in the first place.

"(Y/N)?"

"Yeah?" Your voice was like a fluffy blanket, soft and warm.

"Why were you sitting out here alone?"

You laughed shortly, leaning up to his ear. "To be honest?" You hesitated, voice shaking with hardly contained humor, with an ever widening smile. "I ate shit while riding my skateboard around and was trying to pick the gravel out of my body, but it made me nauseous so I stopped."

"Oh my God." Steve laughed through the words, delighting in the way you hung off of him as you lost it. You hid your face in his shirt, muffling the high, hysterical sounds of your giggles.

"Do you want a ride home after this, then?"

You looked up with tears of laughter in your eyes. "I thought you'd never ask.”

Despite your protests of being okay to walk on your own, he helped you into the passenger seat of his car, giving your hands a light squeeze before drawing back to shut the door and head over to the driver's side.

"So, how's about we head over to my place to patch you up first, hm?" He spoke as he pulled onto the road. "It's pretty late, though." He added, more to himself than to you.

You chuckled, "Sure, Steve. My parents aren't home anyways, they won't even notice."

He nodded knowingly. Some things never change, and that had been one of the reasons you two had originally gotten so close in eighth grade. Neither of your parents were ever home, so you'd just walk to each other's houses after school. Sometimes just to hang out, but mostly to spend the night. It made you both feel just a bit safer, to have another body in the house with you. He realized how much he had sorely missed that feeling of security as he pulled up to his house.

"Do you… do you wanna stay the night?" He cleared his throat and tried to sound more confident than he actually was. You winced and opened your mouth to reply when he suddenly realized how charged with implications that question now was.

"Not to like- not like that, just, y'know," His voice died as he concentrated on parking the car and finally turned to look at your hesitant face, "like we used to. Obviously I have the guest room and you can say no of course you can always say no but-"

"Steve," You pressed a reassuring hand to his shoulder, "I'd love to stay the night."

He sent back a small, apologetic, and grateful smile. To be truthful, he hadn't been sleeping very well, if at all. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was those things. He heard them between every baited breath, and when his eyes slipped closed, he felt them watching. The rational part of him knew it was all over, that he was probably safe in the confines of his room, that the only creatures he had to worry about in the tender hours of the night were wild animals typical to the area, but he just couldn't shake that feeling. The feeling that he was being watched, that the worst was only yet to come, that something was waiting just beyond their sight, watching, waiting.

"Steve?" Your voice pulled him out of his spiraling thoughts, hand clenched around the cold bathroom doorknob.

"Sorry," He mumbled before twisting the handle and stepping in.

"It's fine," you stated gently, closing the toilet seat and sitting atop it while he dug through cabinets to locate the first-aid kit. "Where were you?"

"What?" He glanced up at you without turning his head.

You waved a hand, lips pursed. "You looked like you were… somewhere else. Somewhere bad."

It took a moment for him to get what you were saying, but once he did a lump formed at the back of his throat. He knelt at your feet, trying to roll up your pant legs with careful consideration for your knees.

"Nowhere, it's fine. I'm just kind of… tired." Not a lie, he felt like his limbs were made of lead.

You hummed, leaning forward to rest an elbow just above your knee and perching your chin on your hand. "This'd be easier if I was wearing shorts. You got anything I could borrow?"

He stood up, relenting and letting your pant leg drop back down to your ankle. "Yeah, I'll be back in a sec."

It was only when he had started digging through his dresser that he realized how readily he agreed to lend you his stuff, how easy you had found it to ask him to. There had been no hesitation, it almost felt natural, like it hadn’t been nearly four years since you’d even spoken a word to each other. He felt something warm in his chest, and he decided to be grateful for the comfortability that still remained between you two.

When he got back, you were picking at the open wounds on your palms, wearing a bored expression. "Stop that, you're gonna make it worse."

You looked up and gave him an award-winning smile of innocence. "Doing what? I've got no clue what you're talking about."

He tossed you the shorts and t-shirt in his hands and headed for the door. "Let me know when you're done changing."

You tilted your head curiously. "Why's there a shirt? Something wrong with mine?"

"Just figured you'd want to sleep in something other than your street clothes, you're free to just give it back." He called over his shoulder before pulling the door shut behind him.

The bathroom was nearly silent behind Steve as he leaned against the wall beside the door. He was almost nodding off when your voice suddenly sounded.

"You can come back in, pretty boy."

The pet name made his cheeks glow with blush, taking a calming breath before opening the door with indifference forced onto his face. It got even harder to keep the expression when he saw you, in his clothes, in his bathroom, staring up at him. Your street clothes were folded neatly on the edge of the sink, your socked feet lightly tapping at the tile. A smirk tugged at your lips, and you were opening your mouth to say something when he quickly ducked the statement to kneel at your feet once more.

"Christ, how were you even standing?" He lightly ghosted his fingers over the bloody gashes at your knees. He pressed his palm just above your knee and stroked the skin there with his thumb. "Why didn't you say something sooner?"

As he looked back up at you, he found your mouth still hanging open, cheeks flushed. You coughed into a fist and cast your gaze to the side. "Looks a lot worse than it actually is."

He scowled lightly. "Really?"

"Yeah, I've experienced worse." You chuckled. "Nothing will compare to when I broke my leg sophomore year." You grinned down at him, an attempt to reassure him gone wrong. "The bone was sticking out, it was pretty sick."

He looked horrified and you laughed, loud and hearty and so very you. "That's terrible."

"It's fine, really. I've recovered, obviously." You chuckled. He finally withdrew to start digging through the first-aid kit, shaking his head in disbelief as he did so. That definitely explained the massive scar on your left knee.

"Okay, here, this'll probably sting a bit, but it's important that we get them as clean as possible." He narrated as he pulled out some hydrogen peroxide. He dug around for a small hand towel and dumped some of the liquid on it.

"I'm a big kid, I'm sure I can handle it."

He shook his head again. "You can squeeze my shoulder if it hurts too bad, and we can always take breaks if you want."

Your grin turned mischievous, "Oh, yeah? You gonna take care of me?" Your flirtatious tone made his face light up like a Christmas light. He quickly pressed the cloth to your right knee.

You gasped loudly, hands flying down to squeeze at his shoulders. "Jesus Christ, Steve! A little warning would've been nice!"

He didn't respond, opting to rub your left thigh apologetically. He would've apologized out loud if he had trusted his voice to not shake. By the time he was done wiping down your knees, you had two fistfulls of his red shirt in each hand. Your makeup was running down your cheeks and neck, forcing yourself to swallow back a pained sound.

"You did such a good job, we're almost done, alright?" He spoke softly, setting down the cloth in favor of antibiotic ointment and bandages. To give you some credit, they did in fact, look a lot worse than they actually were. Still, he hadn't been expecting any reaction less than the one you’d had.

"Give me your hands?" He asked lightly as he finished up bandaging your knees.

You gave him a hesitant look, paired with a sniffle, but extended your hands at his patient expression. He felt you relax in his grip as you realized those didn't hurt nearly as bad as your knees.

"There," He practically breathed the word out, having to clear his throat to continue, "all better."

"Gonna kiss 'em better?" He looked up into your watery grin, and he found himself having to scramble to regain his footing in the situation. He looked back down, and leaned in to press a soft kiss to each knee.

"St-Steve-" you stammered, but you choked on your words as he took your hands into his, looking into your eyes as he pressed light kisses to your palms.

Satisfied with your silence, bright red cheeks, and gaping mouth, he stood. "Better?"

"Y-yeah." Your voice trailed off, quickly glancing into your palms to trace the kisses with your eyes.

"Good, you had anything for dinner yet?"

You shook your head wordlessly, jumping a bit when his hand reached into your view.

"C'mon, I think I can whip something up for us." He didn't actually expect you to take his hand, you would probably just push it away with another hearty laugh. That's what would have made sense with what knowledge he’d gathered on you. You did no such thing, however, taking his hand and letting him pull you to your feet. He felt your hand squeeze at his lightly, lingering just a little longer than what was probably acceptable, and let go.

What was happening? Why were you both acting like this? Steve was absolutely puzzled as you started talking his ear off, it was almost as if none of that had just happened. He was only half listening as you rambled, but you didn't seem to mind his distant expression; you must have just wanted someone to talk to. The entire time all he could think about was how bizarre tonight had turned. He felt almost bad at the fluttering in his chest, but it was kind of soothing and certainly preferential to the ache that had been there earlier in the night.

After dinner, you had cleaned your makeup-smudged face off and gone your separate ways. You had patted Steve's shoulder with a splitting yawn and mumbled out a "G'night." The knowledge that you were in the house with him did less to soothe his nerves than he thought it would, less than it had when you were little. Then again, he had had less things to worry about at that time, As he laid in his bed, his eyes kept drawing back open to stare at the window. Every little sound was some nightmarish creature, every shadow was hunting him. He dragged a tired hand down his face, stretching out the heavy bags under his eyes. Suddenly, he ripped the blankets back from his body and stood, a hand quickly being pressed to his desk to steady himself. He couldn’t help but look out of the window at the pool. His stomach lurched and he forced himself to turn away, a sad attempt at shutting out the millions of thoughts spinning through his head. It’s bullshit, we killed Barb, we killed Barb, bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. He tried to be quiet as he stumbled to the bathroom and splashed his face with palm-fulls of water; it took at least 30 minutes to stop himself from retching.

With any chances of sleeping officially ruined, he made his way to the kitchen. He got himself a glass of water and sipped at it morosely, trying to convince himself that he was safe. The creak of the stairs set him on edge, hand gripping at the cup. His heart pounded in his ears as the sound of something moving through the house got closer and closer until-

“Steve?” Your groggy voice immediately shattered the tension. You gave him a tired smile, your tone teasing as you continued. “You too cool for sleep, huh?”

A heavy sigh of relief tore through his chest, the inhale proceeding it shaky. “Yeah, something like that.”

“You okay? You look…” You sleepily searched for an adjective as you made your way over to him.

“Like shit?” He provided.

“Scared.” Oh. “Terrified, actually. Did something happen?” Oh.

It was humiliating how that simple question nearly brought him to tears. He liked to blame the lack of sleep for how vulnerable his body was trying to be. It took a massive amount of effort to dam up the flood of tears and the selfish explanation that came rushing in. The less of the truth you knew, the safer you would be, and he refused to be the one who put you in that kind of danger just because he couldn’t keep his shit together.

“Bad dream?” Your fingers lightly brushed the back of his bicep as you unknowingly provided a helpful excuse for him to escape with.

He nodded, teeth clenched tightly. He averted his gaze quickly to stare into the wall and attempt to blink back the tears.

You were quiet for a long beat, fingers drawing soothing patterns into his skin. You took the glass from his hand and took a sip from it. “D’you wanna build a blanket fort in the living room?” When he looked back at your face, you were grinning childishly.

“Okay, that should do it,” You groaned with a stretch as you gave one last tuck to the corner of the blanket draped over the top of your soft structure.

“You’re still really good at that; you been practicing without me?” He teased with a tired smile.

You laughed and shook your head. “Build a fort? With another man? What do you take me for?”

He let out a responding laugh, combing a hand through his hair to push it out of his face.

You grinned up at him, clearly pleased with that response. “Well, what are we waiting for?” And with that, you were crawling in through the entrance.

Steve waited for you to settle inside before heading in out of fear that he would tear the whole thing down. You were snuggled into the corner, surrounded by pillows and trying to set the flashlight up in a way that it didn't need to be held to still shine light into the makeshift cove. The fort was not as spacious as it had appeared to be, or rather, the two of you were a lot bigger than the last time you'd built a fort together, and you hadn’t accommodated for this factor. His legs ended up snug against yours as he laid next to you, your shoulder pressing into his chest.

"There." You finally let out a quiet, excited woop as you succeeded in putting up the flashlight. "Now," you turned your gaze to Steve, suddenly holding a faux air of severity, "you gonna come here or what?"

“What?” He laughed the word out, feeling the tops of his cheeks and the tips of his ears heat up at your opened, welcoming arms.

“Well,” you wiggled a bit to get more comfortable, “this is a pretty small fort, and you look pretty cold, and I’m pretty sure you’d benefit from a good snuggle.”

“You look pretty,” He grumbled out, the words a failed knee-jerk attempt at sass. Your cheeks leaked rouge and you beamed back at him.

“C’mon, I won’t make you do anything if you genuinely don’t want to, but you seriously look like you need a hug.” He was grateful that you hadn’t brought up his comment.

You were right, of course, he definitely needed a hug. The longer he stared at you in contemplation, the harder it was to resist giving in. Finally, he slid closer to you, careful to not press his entire weight into your body. Your arms wrapped around him and your hands came up to hold his head, all to pull him closer into you.

“There we go, c’mere big cat,” Your smile was evident in your voice as you gave him a tight squeeze. “Isn’t that so much better?”

He grumbled a half-hearted complaint about your fingers being cold, but his body language spoke very clearly that he was in pure bliss. His arm slid up to hold across your waist, grip a little stronger than you had expected. His other arm was pulled up against his chest, fist tucked up under his chin. Your breath ghosted over the top of his head, one hand stroking gently through his hair, picking softly and splitting apart hairsprayed strands. The other hand rubbed a line up and down his back with a firm tenderness; every careful touch pulled him into a state of calm that he hadn’t known for quite some time. A soft, embarrassing sound came from his throat as you pulled your hand away from his back and you chuckled.

“Just grabbing a blanket, s’that okay?” Your voice was somewhere between speaking and whispering.

He nodded against your chest, letting you lean up slightly to grab a blanket and he helped you pull it over your bodies. You tucked it gently up to his chin, sending a small smile down at him when he met your gaze. Your fingers were warmer than before as they slid down from his hair to gently cup his cheek, thumb brushing under his eye.

“You comfy?” You smiled brilliantly when he nodded again. “Good. Try to get some sleep, yeah? You look like shit.”

He huffed out a half-laugh and pressed his cheek back down to your chest. “Easier said than done.”

“Yeah, I get that…” You continued to stroke his hair, apologizing when one of your rings caught and tugged a strand.

Despite his snarky comment, he found himself slipping into the clutches of sleep in your arms. He could hear the rhythm of your heartbeat through your ribs underneath his ear, and he felt the rumble in your chest when you started to quietly hum. His tight grip around you slowly eased as he drifted away from the conscious world, finally letting his tired body rest.

You could feel the moment he fell asleep, could see it in the way his expression relaxed. His eyebrows finally drew up and apart, his lips parting just slightly and the softest snores started to leave through the gap. He looked very pretty like this, all relaxed and peaceful. You leaned down to press a feather-light kiss to his forehead, and eased your head back into the pillow. You squeezed him one more time, his arms unconsciously tightening around you a hair, and you let yourself finally be taken from the world by sleep as well.

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mika-writes-fanfics · 1 year

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As It Was

Dabi x Reader Angst

Warnings/tags: angst, hurt/no comfort, brief mentions of burns, major character death, pre-established relationship, reader cares for flowers

Synopsis: Dabi returns to you after completing his life's mission, his body now badly burned and damaged. He wonders, will you accept him with open arms? Will you take what is left of him?

Author's note: I've been on a Hozier binge. "As It Was" from Wasteland, Baby! was giving me major Dabi vibes. This is kind of different from the content I usually like to write and read, but I felt so inspired I just had to write it. Word count: 1.1K

He’s now thankful your home is on the outer reaches of the city, tucked in a secluded pocket between the border of the forest and the concrete hell of the city. After what he’s done, there’s not a person in Japan that wouldn’t recognize his face. Had you not lived in the middle of nowhere, he’d already be arrested by some weak police officer or jumped by some rookie hero.

It’s ironic, the thinks, that his opinion has changed. He hated it, at one point. You lived so far away from his shitty apartment at the time, meaning that every time he wanted to see you, he had to take the agonizingly long train rides. It was like you lived in a fucking retirement community since all the elderly would take the same train, giving him judgemental stares all the while. It pissed him off to no end. And if that wasn’t enough, being in the forest always reminded him of Sekoto.

But still, he bore it all for you, back before he let his rage consume him.

Before he devoted himself entirely to revenge.

Before he started burning himself all over again.

Before he fucked it all up.

Despite the way he left you, he hopes you’ll be kind enough to him to accept his return, to not instantly slam the door in his face.

If he even makes it to your doorstep, that is.

Each step he takes feels like a battle between life and death. These heavy and labored movements exhaust him, made worse by the state your driveway is in. Of all the days for it to rain, it just had to be today. The torrential downpours make the path harder to traverse. Mud clings to his boots with every trudging step he takes, threatening to suck him into the earth, burying him at his final resting place.

The puddles of water settling in the tire tracks of your car show him grim reminders of his appearance, showing him glimpses of just how ghastly he’s become.

He’s a burnt husk of what he once was.

Nothing is left of him now that he's achieved his life’s purpose.

The only thing that remains of him is this homing instinct to return to you.

To go back to the start.

To give you what’s left of him.

To feel his final sensation of comfort.

To feel loved again.

He’s faced with the reality of how long it’s been when he finally catches sight of your home. In the year he was by your side, he never saw those Foxgloves bloom once, as he met you in the late summer. But now, judging by the towering violet, bell-shaped flowers framing the sides of your window, it’s been three years.

It’s in this moment that his mind replays the memory of the following summer, the one in which he noticed you agonizing over the flowerless plant beds. He remembers it, with surprising clarity amongst the mental fog.

“Why do you bother taking care of those stupid flowers if they never fucking bloom?” He asked you, critically.

“They’re foxgloves,” you answered.

“So?”

“So, they do bloom, just biennially, and their flowering season just passed. You’ll see why I keep ‘em around in another year,” you explained.

The fact you even implied he’d still be in your life a year from then filled him with a sense of security. Whether you meant it or not, he took it as a promise, and kept it tucked in the darker reaches of his heart.

Three long years have passed since he left you, since he abandoned you without a word. But he has known you have a patient side to you, he’s seen it in the way you always gave him space in his darkest days, how you allowed him the time to come back to you when he was ready, how you never took his frustrating habit of pushing you away to heart, weathering his toxicity with love and carefulness. Maybe, since you’re so patient, you have been waiting for him. If you welcomed those flowers despite their long absence, maybe you’d accept him, too.

Normally, he’d sneer at the thought of you turning him into such a hopeless romantic, a weaker version of himself, but considering how there’s nothing left of him anyways, he’s fine with the idea. Maybe the positivity you give him would turn him into something beautiful again.

He finally climbs up to your doorstep and stumbles against the door. When his shaky and weak hands turn the knob, expecting to be met with a locked door, it turns easily without resistance. Your door is unlocked, which in his state of hopeful delusion, he interprets as you waiting for him.

Maybe you knew he would come back.

You had made it easy for him to crawl back into your life.

Or maybe you just forgot to lock it.

He swings open the door as he leans against the door frame. Any other time, the sound of the groaning hinges would grate at his ears, but right now, the sound feels familiar and comforting. It feels like nothing has changed, everything is as it once was.

He trudges deeper into your home, shambling past your living room and tracking mud all over your floors. There’s a pit of anxiety forming in his stomach the longer he walks through your home without seeing a glimpse of you. But it’s when he approaches the kitchen that he hears you humming, the sound calming his mind.

His boots thud on your tiled floor, loud, and uneven. He sways as he walks, bumping into one of your dining chairs, the movement scraping the chair against the floor. Your humming abruptly cuts off at the sound and you turn to the source, on high alert, only to see him propping himself up against the walls.

A sharp gasp escapes your lungs.

All he can see is you as the edges of his vision grey out. Against your better judgment, you rush over to him as his legs start buckling underneath him.

He starts to collapse on the spot. You close the distance and open your arms around him, catching his fall and attempting to bear the brunt of his weight.

Despite what he’s done, despite how he left you so suddenly, he can still feel your love for him.

It’s in the way you try to make sure he doesn’t fall, despite tripping being the least concern to him given his injuries.

It’s how your voice sounds frantic as you ask him if he’s okay if he can hear you, if he’s still in there.

It’s how you start to sob at seeing the state he’s in.

You’re so worried about getting him to lie on the ground safely and checking his pulse that you fail to see him softly smiling at how you fuss over him, what’s left of his burnt face forcing out a peaceful expression.

The last thing he hears, the last thing he feels, the last thing he thinks about, is you.

#dabi angst #dabi fanfic #dabi x reader #dabi x reader angst #major character death #Major character injury #tw: mentions of burns #tw: death #hozier inspired fic #dabi x y/n #dabi x you #bnha dabi #mha dabi #dabi #reader insert #gender neutral reader #no pronouns mentioned for reader #dabi x gender neutral reader

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dont-blame-it-on-the-kids · 1 month

Text

Feel You in My Bones

Even when wounds are scarred over, when time has passed and she’s grown older, she still feels them in her bones.

TW Assault, Child Abuse, Major Character Injury, Self Harm, Domestic Abuse, Drowning

/Ao3 Plink/

Scar Study of Lin by @mgthejerkbender

(commissioned by me for my hc lmao)

#feel you in my bones #my writing #tw assault #tw child abuse #tw major character injury #tw self harm #ish #tw domestic abuse mention #tw drowning #bad dad hc #drowning hc #scars hc #mgthejerkbender

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visionspiral · 4 months

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BIJAN MOUSAVI _

_ 43 years old _ from Tabriz, Iran _ cis-man, he/him _ microbiology professor / health researcher for the World Health Organisation _ has been in New York City for 5 years _ is living in Manhattan _ Omid Abtahi fc

BIOGRAPHY_

Bijan was born and raised in Tabriz, Iran. He moved to California for his Masters in Microbiology. Adjusting to the American Life wasn't easy for him, most of the summer holiday, Bijan would fly back home to continue studying while in the presence of his large extended family. After he got his masters, Bijan returned to Iran for at least a decade, making many trips back and forth for conferences and studies. His family, while proud of his achievements, was mostly concerned about why Bijan was not married yet. So eventually at age thirty-two, Bijan moved to the States, this time to stay. He landed a job as a microbiology professor, then later a researcher, until reaching the job he'd always dreamed of having: working for the World Health Organisation. He came to New York City five years ago, and has great pride in his work.

HEADCANONS_

Bijan has moments where he can get completely lost in some subject or other, mostly related to biology, microbiology, and cloning/genetics. He just sort of fades away in his research, hiding behind folders and books.

He has had several relationship that have all ended in about the same way: with him getting bored or distracted and not giving the same attention to the relationship that the other had.

Bijan is quickly interested in something, he tends to over-think a whole lot, but mostly in silence. He has the tendency to just fade out of a conversation or let long silences pass before answering. You really need to have patience with him.

[ major injury tw ] An accident earlier in 2023 left Bijan with a torn muscle in his foot, resulting in him needing a walking stick to get around.

He works as a professor of Microbiology so he can continue to use the lab for his own studies. His field of study is bacteria and engineered diseases. His work for WHO is tied in to his research, but while he is a researcher, his role is more that of an advisor than him getting to do actual data collection.

#BOROUGHS.INTRO #bijanintro #major injury mention tw

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likesomekindofcheese · 1 year

Text

Promised Series, Part Eleven (The Great Arranged Marriage AU)

Pairing: Fem! Reader x Grigor Dymov

Word Count: 4K

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of sex, use of guns, and some violence, and a major character gets injured. Some fluff and Hurt/Comfort and DRAMA

Series Summary: When Emperor Peter's behavior towards your family threatens the alliance between them and Russia, the only way to solve it from breaking is through an arranged marriage with his friend, the handsome but heartbroken Count Grigor Dymov. A man you barely know.

Chapter Summary: Grigor and Y/N arrive at the Dymova Manor and Vineyards. But Marial is on her way, ready for a showdown...

COMMENTS. AND REBLOGS AS WELL AS ASKS AND MESSAGES ABOUT THE FIC ARE DEEPLY APPRECIATED

Previous Chapters: One//Two//Three//Four//Five//Six//Seven//Eight//Nine//Ten

Buy Me a Ko-Fi!

A03 Link

As you awoke late the next morning. Both of you were smiling and giggling over all sorts of things as you ate your breakfast. A few fellow guests rolled their eyes over their cups and plates, but neither of you cared. Then, dressed in your peasant clothes, you hopped inside to cuddle, kiss, and talk for the rest of the journey.

The carriage kept wheeling by. Both of you were smiling. Your ribs hurt from laughing so hard with Grigor recalling memories and chatting.

“So, you both ate it?!” you cried.

“Yes! And you should have seen Peter’s face hours later! We were both curled up with our stomachs hurting on the floor! That’s what you get when you’re 15 and stupid!” he recalled.

“Well once, I was with my friend, we were about six, and we both snuck into my mother’s closet to try on her dresses until she caught us with them on!” you recalled.

You reached the gates, and they opened. Both of you exhaled deeply as you saw that familiar home.

A young maid was sweeping at the front door. She looked up and the broom dropped from her hands onto the ground, she let out a loud gasp. She ran inside, forgetting the broom, and soon in a panicked hurry, lines of the servants and serfs outside. They got into their lines with big eyes and struggling to smooth their clothes. The housekeeper’s jaw was still dropped as she scurried to her own place at the center.

The carriage stopped before the front door. Grigor went out and then skipped his way to the front and helped you out.

“Here, my lady, take my arm,” he offered

“Grigor! How gentlemanly of you!” you replied.

“On occasion, I have been known to be a gentleman,” he boasted.

“Well, perhaps I should try and press my luck!” you retorted.

You accepted his arm with both hands curled around it demurely. You walked off the step onto the ground to face them. He turned to greet them, his free hand tipping off his hat.

“Hello everyone!” he chirruped.

��Master Dymov!” greeted the housekeeper. There was an echo of “Mousier Dymov, welcome!” among the staff as they bowed their heads.

Grigor cleared his throat and looked down towards you. It was comforting that those many familiar faces were smiling at you, eyes beaming.

“Everyone! I trust you are well acquainted with my wife already!” he announced.

He led you by the hand forward and they all bowed their heads respectfully again, keeping their smiles.

“Of course, we are,” said the housekeeper.

“How is the dog? Where’s Sonya?” you asked.

“She’s quite used to being the sole mistress of the manor now! Spoiled little thing!” The housekeeper joked.

As if on cue, little Sonya ran forward from the house letting out excited whines and barks. You leaned forward and picked her up, cuddling her as she licked your face eagerly in greeting. You laughed from how the little pink tongue tickled your nose.

The staff began to look at the carriage. One serf looked at Grigor with a tilted head.

“Mouseier Dymov, there’s no luggage!? And why are you dressed in peasant garb?”

“There are clothes here! We had to run from the palace- I’ll explain it later before dinner,” he said.

You bent down and released Sonya to the ground where she skipped around, sniffing and wagging her little tail.

“Would you like us to bring you both a change of clothes?” the housekeeper suggested.

Grigor grinned devilishly and then went over to you, scooping you into your arms as you let out a little laugh and smiled ear to ear.

“My wife and I have some catching up to do. And I’d like to test the sturdiness of the antique bed in the master bedroom,” he explained with a wink at her.

With a squeal from you, he ran through the house, passing the servants, with you still in his arms. He went up the stairs quickly and into the master bedroom. He kicked the door behind him and plopped you onto your feet before he began to embrace and kiss you, then he buried his face into your neck to pepper little pecks across it.

“A woman beautiful as you shouldn’t have an inch of clothing on her, it’s a crime,” He said, reaching his arms to undo the buttons behind your dress.

“You say that like it should be a law!” you teased, removing his coat off his shoulders.

“Remember who my friend is. Don’t tempt me more, Y/N,” he countered.

Once it had been only you and contained scenes of both peace and misery, and now as you shred each other’s brown clothes off each other onto the floor.

The next morning, you sighed happily as you yawned and stretched to the morning sunlight. Grigor was propped on his stomach. You turned around just to watch his lovely face and form.

His brow crossed and he let out a groan, signaling awakening. Eyes still closed he began to reach his hand out to tap the other side of the bed only for it to land on you. His eyes shot awake to see you.

“Oh…that’s new…” he muttered.

“Good morning, husband,” you greeted, kissing his cheek.

Just like yesterday, you ate your meals practically huddled together. He would give you part of what he had and him part of what you had. Sonya was on your lap, trying to reach to get bites directly on your plate.

“I missed you so much!” you cooed at the dog, scratching her ear.

You spoiled her with a large portion of leftover ham. Proud of herself, she hopped off you and onto the floor, prancing as she went to a corner to work on eating it.

“My turn,” Grigor said.

He placed you on his lap and was kissing you, both of you just overjoyed to be in each other’s company when there was a knock on the door. You opened it to a young male servant.

“There’s a visitor- he says he is family of Madame Dymova,” he announced.

You shot off of his lap. Both Grigor and you looked at each other. His eyebrows lowered, and he reached a hand up to calm you, clutching yours.

“It’s a male visitor, you have no reason to panic, Y/N,” he assured.

“Be with me…just to be careful…” you asked.

He nodded. He then strided forward as you followed.

You walked downstairs only to see your brother. His hair was windswept, his coat and boots dirty, and there were circles under his eyes. On his face, there were two distinguishable bruises and his knuckles had cuts on them. He gave you a smile.

You let out a gasp and ran up to him. You let him into a large hug.

“You’re alive! You’re alive!” you cheered.

“I am, Y/N, and you’re going to be alright,” he comforted.

“Well- huzzah then,” Grigor said quietly.

The three of you went into the parlor and sat down on the couches. You and Grigor close together and your brother on the opposite side. A servant was rung to offer a plate of sandwiches, water, and strong coffee. Even Sonya was running up to bark at him in greeting, begging to be petted on.

“What happened?” Grigor asked nervously.

“I confronted her. We fought. She got me good. I got her good. But not enough to kill either of us. Guards ran in from the Empress. Said she was passing by and heard a scuffle. She sent them in and tore us apart and she gave us a scolding- she detests violence.”

“So Marial is still alive…” you confirmed.

“Yes she is, but I burned the paper with the address- there’s no evidence where you are. She won’t be able to find you,” your brother said.

But not for forever you thought grimly.

He reached over and began to drink some coffee in a blue porcelain cup. Grigor himself took out a small flask, poured a bit of alcohol into his cup, and began to drink it.

“You may stay here; you will always find a sanctuary with us- you’re my fucking brother now, after all!” Grigor confirmed.

“Thank you- I can’t stay forever. I promised my wife I would return before it was time for her. I’ll stay by for a week, just so my sister can have some peace of mind. And…just in case Marial locates you both…” he said.

You looked outside. Birds were flying from tree to tree. Some snow had melted, as it was now getting to be late winter. The ground was either white or brown and the trees were mostly bare.

“Can we hunt in the forests around here?” you asked.

“Whenever we like, I have guns and grounds here for that,” Girgor said.

“And are there some targets? Or can we have some made?” you asked.

You turned your head to look at the men.

“Yes, that can be done,” Grigor assured.

You took your hands and folded them onto your lap.

“I need you both to teach me how to hunt. How to shoot a gun…” you said seriously.

Your brother choked on his coffee.

“What?”

“You heard me. Both of you. Teach me how to hunt. Teach me how to fire a gun. I’m not suggesting, I’m not hinting or even asking…I need to know how to shoot. How to kill.” You commanded.

Your brother scratched his head. Then he let out a sigh and nodded. Grigor set his coffee down and began to chew on a sandwich.

“Well…Sure thing! We can start this afternoon. We’ll go to the forest and practice with something small, easy- like a squirrel. I’ll show you myself how I load a rifle when I go to hunt, Y/N…will you join us?” he asked, turning to your brother.

He blinked and then nodded.

“Yes…. yes, I do…”

It was your second week back and so far, almost all your free hours were spent either hunting or shooting.

Just this morning, your brother said his goodbyes and began the journey home. He made sure to give you plenty of advice on how to aim. He was a bit hesitant, but you assured him that with this new, developing skill and your husband and servants constantly at your side, you would be safe. You would not be left alone with unwanted company.

One of the serfs, a skinny, short teenage girl named Olga, was helping you out. She flung discs made of clay into the air. You lifted the long, thin rifle and began to aim at them. You pulled the trigger.

FWOOM!

To your delight, you hit it. That was tricky. Only until yesterday were you finally hitting them. The disc shattered mid-air and the pieces rained onto the ground.

“I don’t think most ladies shoot guns or hunt, Madame Dymov,” Olga commented.

“Most ladies aren’t being threatened to be killed by their husband’s ex-lover,” you replied.

She shrugged.

“Huh, hadn’t thought of it that way…” she mused.

She ran over to the grounds to pick up the clay shards like a squirrel collecting nuts.

“I’m going over to the targets, should you need me- just be careful, I’m going to shoot at them,” you informed.

“Yes, Madame Dymov,” Olga replied sweetly.

There was a string of targets painted white with red circles getting smaller until the center. You made sure the servants kept Sonya strictly inside. If anyone was to reach out to you, even if it was your husband, they had to approach you from behind. With all this shooting you were intent on mastering, no innocent would be hurt. Only the guilty.

You lifted the gun and pointed at the first of the line of targets, squinting at the center. You fired. Then, reloading with a bunch of bullets from your pocket, you walked across to the next one, firing again. Keeping it up, despite the soreness of your arms, the muscles developing, you kept walking and firing at the targets. You only stopped once you had reached the end of the line.

Then you looked back, the smoke clearing, lowering your weapon.

A quarter of them had a bullet hole right where you aimed at the center. The timing was off, but you did it. You managed to do it- it was a small improvement. Well, that and the fact that you were able to shoot the clay discs. Any was better than none. It meant you would be ready.

“Y/N! Y/N!”

You turned around to see your husband running towards you with a paper in his hand.

“What is it?” you asked.

He lifted up the paper. You saw it was an envelope with a pink wax seal.

“A letter from the Empress for you!” he announced.

“Oh shit! Let me see!” you insisted.

You reached for it, but he kept it high up. He smiled.

“Nope! You’ll have to jump for it!” he teased.

You kept jumping up, but with his tall height, he was able to keep the letter away from you easily. He even laughed a little.

“Nah-ah! Give me a kiss and I’ll give it to you!” he said.

Huffing, you reached forward, grabbed his shoulders, and pulled him down to you, kissing him right on the lips.

His eyes were open in surprise from the boldness of it, his hand voluntarily lowered. You ended it and grabbed it.

“You’re a brute,” you teased, admiring the wax seal.

“And you’re my dear,” he replied.

As you opened it, you read these words. You felt his hands over your shoulders, reading it too.

“Dear Y/N Dymov,

I am so dearly sorry. Please forgive me. These past few months mail coming into the palace has often been tossed and intercepted. Keeping myself, my claim to the throne, and my child alive has been occupying every minute of my time. I never received your letters since many on Peter’s side would toss and burn them at every chance, so I never got word from you. Then one day, a soldier of Peter’s confessed he had one from you saved. I asked him for it and read it.

I am glad that your dear Grigor wasn’t harmed as well as you. And as I am a merciful empress, I will make sure in the future, he will receive pardons for his activities with Peter and be safe, per your wish. Just if he remains no threat to my reign and claim as ruler.

If you have any more concerns, please reach out to me. There won’t be any more soldiers burning letters for war. Just ask, and I will gladly help you.

Sincerely,

Your friend and ruler,

Catherine.”

Grigor blinked. His hand opened and you gave him the letter to read for himself. Then he lowered it, his blue eyes tearing up a little.

“You…you wrote to the Empress…asking her…to spare me?” he asked.

“I wrote to Peter and asked him to keep you safe too,” you sighed.

You reached a hand to cup his face and he leaned into it. You swallowed.

“All I did here was worry for your safety…. I thought any minute you would die, and it tortured me…” you recalled.

He reached his arms around and hugged you, then kissed the top of your head.

“Thank you, Y/N…” he spoke sincerely.

“It never got to her.” You pointed out.

He let out a snort.

“Still! Not the fucking point!” he retorted.

You released the embrace. Then you went inside and at once wrote a response:

“Dear Empress,

I was glad to receive your letter. Your word, befitting our divine ruler, was like that from the angels.

But I must humbly ask for your help again. You will not like it, but you must be informed.

Marial is threatening to kill me to have Grigor for herself. She is being forced to marry to keep her family’s fortune. She gave Grigor an ultimatum- either have her or she would kill me.

She has killed before- Lady Svenska. Even bragged about it to him. She has taken a life and is willing to do so again-specifically, mine. And she won’t rest until I am dead.

We fled the palace safely and are staying in the Southern Dymova Manor.

I must ask for your protection from Marial, if possible. I know that our Empress of Russia is a kind, generous, beloved woman who will grant protection and assistance even for me, her humblest of subjects. At least, a little. Nevertheless, I need your help, Empress. Please help me. Please keep me safe. I am terrified for my life.

Please burn this letter after reading so she does not find it and locate me.

Your obedient servant and subject,

Y/N Dymov.”

You ordered a serf for it to be sent to the palace soon.

You paced around the house for the rest of the day. Conveniently, you found where the stairs leading to the roof were. Once you opened the door, you saw you could even walk around on the roof with a balcony overlooking the Dymov lands. It was not a bad spot for a picnic in the future, you noted.

For extra measure, that night at dinner, you did not use your sharpest meat knife. You brought it to your room in a drawer. That day forward, you always kept it strapped to your leg and bullets in your pocket. Then you asked for a rifle or pistol to be placed in every room of the manor. Just in case.

However, two weeks later, inevitably. It happened. Part of you hoped it never would.

And it began as a normal, if not peaceful day. You were sitting in the room with your beloved pianoforte trying a lovely minor sonata when you heard rapid footsteps across the hallway.

When you turned to the commotion, you saw Grigor at the doorway.

“Y/N! Y/N! Great fuck! We have to flee! Right fucking now!” he begged, his arms wide.

“What, what do you, uh, mean?” you asked.

A pit fell into your stomach. You knew what he meant. But you wanted him to say it.

“She’s here! Her! Marial! She’s outside the doors and she’s armed! Everyone’s rushing to lock and close the doors and windows!”

Despite the wobbliness of your legs, you stood up. You forced your breaths to be long despite your racing heart.

“Grigor…I’m not going to run from her,” you announced.

“What?”

Picking up your skirt, you hurried over to the corner where a rifle was prepared.

“I’m fighting back. And don’t stop me.” You ordered softly.

Before you went to the hallway, you paused and then looked at him.

“Should anything happen, I love you, Grigor. I love you more than I can say. And should I die, tell my family I love them. And I died fighting.”

Before your husband could protest, you ran. Past the panicking servants. You didn’t hear Grigor after you in footsteps or in voice.

You couldn’t live like this. Always running. Always afraid. Cowering in corners with false hope she would show mercy. No, you had to face her.

Attempting to calm yourself despite the lump in your stomach and the shaking in your hands, clutching the pistol as if it was a stuffed toy, you walked up the little flight of the stairs to the roof.

Quietly, you crept over to barely peer out of the balcony on top to the ground below.

You could even smell the vanilla of her perfume up there.

There Marial was. The top of her auburn head was giveaway enough. She was knocking on the door with one hand and waving a pistol with the other.

“Let me in! Let me in! Shit!” she insisted.

Madly she turned from the front door to the windows, eyes forward at them.

Good, you thought.

You squatted, one eye shut and the open one squinting to clear your vision, your aim.

“C’mon, Y/N, come out! What a fucking coward that bitch is! That fucking cunt, Y/N! I’ll kill you here!” she threatened.

You pulled the trigger.

FWOOM!

The bullet hit her skirt and she jumped, falling to the ground and the pistol skittering across the dirt.

“FUCK!” she yelped.

She looked up before you could duck and hide yourself.

“Y/N…you BITCH!” she yelled.

“Two can play at that game, Marial” you replied.

You reached in your pocket and quickly loaded the next bullet.

Before she could reach for it, you pulled the trigger again.

FWOOM! Her hand jumped, releasing the pistol. It fell a distance away from her. You used the time to load in a few more bullets. She tried to scramble, and you kept firing, Marial only niftily dodging the shots. But from how frantically she was jumping away, she was frightened.

Good, you noted again.

Quickly, you put another bullet into the gun and aimed it at her again. Your time with training had paid off. You could see her clearly.

You aimed it right into her heart and fired. Marial lurched one way but then let out a scream in pain.

“FUCK! My arm!”

You heard footsteps from behind and that voice you loved so much.

“Y/N! Y/N! Where are you? Where is my wife? Y/N!? What- holy shit, Y/N!” Grigor cried.

He pulled you close to him, his arms over your body as if to protect your vital organs. But not to restrain you from firing. He peered over to see Marial on the ground below. She held her arm, leaning over in pain and groaning. Then she turned her gaze up, her face turning white.

Without saying a single word, you aimed it at Marial and fired again. This time, it landed onto her leg. She let out another cry.

You felt Grigor’s heavy hands on you, but he was blinking, amazed. Marial reached for the gun and then quickly you shot into her other hand. She screamed again.

Then she finally paused, her injuries causing her to be unable to move. The gun was further away than she could reach and even if she could reach it, you doubted her ability to shoot at you with bullet holes through her hands.

She gazed up at you and you sat down at her. Her jaw lowered and she was unable to speak.

Keeping your glare at her steady, you raised your rifle, aiming at her heart.

Suddenly, there was a loud neigh of horses as soldiers on horseback arrived, surrounding the front yard. The surprise took you out of your aim and your finger left the trigger, not wanting to harm one of them. Right behind them was a carriage that rode up quickly along. It was there before you could even process what was going on.

“Everyone! Stop! By order of the Empress!” a loud voice announced from one soldier.

The carriage screeched to a halt. To your shock, out of the carriage was not only Orlo but also Empress Catherine herself. She got out and let out a gasp at Marial

“What is this? Are you hurt?”

“No, just having a nap on the ground! Of course, I’m fucking hurt!” she replied.

A soldier came by and swept Marial into his arms, but still holding onto her, restraining her. Orlo saw the pistol and ran up to it, he retrieved it and brought it to Catherine. Her pale face turned red, and she stepped forward, the bump of her pregnant belly aimed at Marial like that itself was a weapon.

“Have you threatened Y/N? What…what are you doing?” Catherine asked furiously.

You kept the gun up. Not sure what would happen. Not sure how badly she would be hurt. You couldn’t risk it.

Every head turned up to you. Orlo even adjusted his glasses and squinted at you high up.

“Holy shit!” he cried.

Marial leaned forward and began to yell, so hard, you could see the veins tightening at her neck/

“Grigor’s mine! He loves me!”

You heard your husband yell back from behind you.

“I fucking do not! I love Y/N! How many times do I have to tell you! And aren’t you already married by now?!? It’s done! For both of us! Go back to your husband!” Grigor protested.

He let go of his grip on you and ran forward to the balcony to face her from above.

“He’s a child! And you love me!”

“I don’t. I fucked you once years ago! Get. Over. It!” he spat back.

Marial let out a hiss, she tried to reach for the pistol but the soldier kept her away.

“I’ll kill you, Y/N!” she threatened.

You loaded another bullet and aimed the gun at her head, people ducked.

“Not if I kill you first.” You replied.

“EVERYONE STOP!” Catherine roared.

The soldier carried Marial to sit in the carriage. They began to dress her wounds with strips of cloth.

“Marial…I heard word from Y/N you were threatening her life. I hurried at once! I was going to ask you and her…but here…you already proved what was happening…” she said.

Orlo stepped forward. He handed the pistol to a soldier and then folded his hands in front of her. You could hear the seriousness in his voice all the way below.

“Marial, you are arrested by order of the Empress for the murder of Lady Svenska and for the threat of harm to Countess Dymov.”

“She shot at me! And got me!” Marial protested, attempting to wave a hand up at you.

Catherine looked up.

“Self Defense, Empress!” you protested.

Her lips were tight, but her eyes were soft.

“I see…but this will serve as a warning, Y/N.”

“Yes, Empress…” you agreed.

She then looked again at Marial.

“You are to be brought to the palace and once the physician sees to your wounds, you will be brought to trial. You won’t be able to breathe without a soldier watching you in the palace once you get there. Should you end up in prison, I’ll make sure it is decent.”

Marial’s jaw dropped and she blinked. The carriage door closed on her face. She was screaming protests and banging her fists on the window as it began driving away.

Finally, you let the gun drop from your arms. You felt dizzy. Turning around, you felt your own heart continue to race and felt your hands continue to shake uncontrollably.

“Oh God,” you voiced.

Your husband opened his arms and you accepted it.

“Grigor I…I did it…I can’t believe I did it…I…I almost killed someone-and I got her. I hurt her. I…I’m alive…I was…I was so scared…I thought I was going to die…” you voiced.

You half collapsed into his arms, and he met you there. You were crying a little and shaking and he still held onto you, embracing him like a koala and he embraced you in return. He rubbed your back.

“It’s alright, Y/N, you’re safe…you’re home, the empress is here, she’s gone, and you’re very safe and you’re with me…”

“I always feel safe with you, sweetheart…” you replied.

Both of you let out a huge sigh of relief. You were still embracing when there was an open door. Orlo had ran through, with the Empress right on his heels.

“Mouesier and Madame Dymov! What the fuck just happened?!” he cried.

“Come on downstairs, we’ll all have a drink and I’ll explain everything,” Grigor offered.

You reached over and grabbed his hand, and he squeezed it back. As all of you walked over to the parlor for drinks and to answer the numerous Imperial questions about the threat on your life, Grigor’s hand never left yours.

General Taglist: @stardust-killer-queen @queenlover05 @seraphicmercury

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cryptidwritings · 1 year

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Don't Bite The Hand

How Uno escaped his whumper

story masterlist

@badthingshappenbingo - Pushed From a Moving Vehicle

CW: Blood, broken bones, restraints, use of a bit and muzzle, dehumanization, stress position, conditioned whumpee, blunt-force trauma, murder, minor character death, left for dead.

Uno whimpered like an injured dog.

The bit in his mouth cut at the inside of his cheeks, sending drops of blood down his throat as he stared up at the chain that held his chin aloft and kept him on his knees with his hands stretched above his head.

A secondary chain rattled down his spine, clenching onto an iron ring hammered into the ground. His grunts of pain had faded with time as his whole body went numb, and even the small movements of the other dogs were drowned by the hollowness in his chest.

Maybe he passed out, because he was spurred awake by the feeling of falling.

Uno's eyes flickered open with a groan as his face landed on the ground.

A shadow leaned over him as chain fell.

"Get up." Simon ordered.

Uno moved to plant a hand on the ground. Both moved together, still bound and tingling as blood flooded them again.

He pushed himself up and faced his master.

Simon grabbed the chain leading to Uno's hands, and yanked him out of the shed and down the hill, past the house where a horse-drawn cart was waiting. Uno stuttered, and Simon whirled around, striking Uno's temple with the blunt end of his cane.

Uno teetered to the side, seeing stars, unable to catch himself before tumbling to the ground again. A groan of pain issued forth from his injured mouth as Simon gripped the buckle that held the bit on the back of his head, giving a hard yank to pull Uno down the hill.

Gravity did the work, and Uno scrambled, rolling down until his body thud at the back of the cart.

"Get in!" The order echoed off the trees, making Uno wince. He reached up, grasping the edge of the cart, and pulled again. Blood rushed to his ears as he felt another groan escape his mouth, and he pulled himself onto the bed of the cart, sprawling with exhaustion as the sun blinded him.

Simon fixed the other end of Uno's chain to a clasp that was driven into one side of the open cart before sitting next to the driver.

They moved, spurred forward by four pairs of hooves grinding into the path, leading away from Simon's mansion - further away than Uno had ever been.

Uno lie on the wood as his head was jostled about by the uneven terrain grinding underneath the wooden wheels. He stared up at the sky, blinking back the sun as it disappeared behind the spattering of trees that broke up the unceasing blue and white. He blinked. His whole body melted down.

He could see red along the floor of the shed, swallowed by the ground as the flickering candle began to lean on its spindle, dripping hot wax onto the ground. The others were silent; muzzled and obedient as Uno screamed underneath the strikes of the clanging metal pipe, taking each hit until the candle burned brighter, illuminating a strange face - not the face of Master Simon.

Uno snapped. The sound of bone being crushed by metal was a horror, but rage drowned the ripping screams as Simon opened the shed door to witness Uno delivering another blow to his son's fractured skull.

Simon's foot crashed down onto Uno's chest, and Uno's eyes snapped open again to see the blunt end of his cane dropping down upon his head. He screamed and put up his hands, feeling the cane snap on his forearms.

"You insolent-!" Simon kicked Uno again, catching his muzzle that drove the bit through his cheek.

"Mmm!" Uno screamed and blinked as black spots filled his eyes, blinding him.

Simon roared and brought his foot down again, this time into Uno's ribs. Uno tensed, rolling as the cart turned. Simon staggered backward, and Uno looked up from the floor.

His master's eyes were red, swollen, with his lips snarling as he bared his teeth and raised the fractured end of his cane like a dagger. Uno rolled away, into the other side of the cart. He pushed himself up and turned.

He held his hands out, begging Simon to stop, but it all came out as grunts and yells around the metal that secured his jaw shut. The hooves carried on, kicking up thick clumps of dirt as the hard path changed, teetering more as the horses pushed forward through a thick path of trees.

"Dog!" Simon yelled, "down!"

His bruised knees crashed into the floor of the cart, frozen, staring at the wood as his bound hands balanced him on all fours. His muscles were shaking as Simon neared again, rearing back and delivering another kick to Uno's side. Then another, and another.

Uno toppled over, gasping for air, and Simon spit on him, snarling again as he took a deep breath, watching Uno take deep breaths and blink back the pain.

Simon kneeled, still holding the broken cane in his fist, probably unaware of it as he stared into Uno's eyes.

"I gave you a home," Simon began, quietly, through deep breaths as he held back, "I clothed you. Fed you. Gave you purpose and order," he shook his head, then grasped the buckle again, pulling Uno's face to his own as it shook with raw anger.

"I'm going to teach you what happens to a dog that bites the hand that feeds them."

He pulled the bit further, and shoved.

Uno screamed as his body flew over the side of the cart, hitting the dirt right before the chain caught and yanked his body across the ground, dragging his skin over rock and kicking dirt into his eyes.

He tried to grasp it in his hands, falling time and time again as the cart continued on a turn, swinging him into the underbrush of the trees where his legs smacked against bushes, and he rolled back onto the path with twigs and thorns embedded into his skin.

Simon sat, catching Uno's eye as the cart picked up speed. Uno's body rolled and jumped, thudding into the ground again and again. He screamed. He begged; but Simon could only hear the muffled pleadings through the muzzle. He grasped the broken cane with white knuckles as he waited and watched.

Everything hurt. Uno grit his teeth and gripped the chain, feeling the speed of another turn as his body rolled across the ground, careening at incredible speed through brush. He shuffled his legs, using them as a rudder to avoid going further into the tree line.

"Faster!" Simon screamed, "I want his body broken!"

"But sir the turns are-"

"I said faster! Or do you want to be next?!"

The driver slapped the reigns, and Uno felt the speed pick up as his clothes were shredded, exposing his bare skin to the hard dirt. He looked at Simon again, taking in the unbridled look of anguish and rage that descended upon him, and understood that only his death would satisfy his master.

So, feeling the force of another turn, Uno closed his eyes... and let go.

Wood splintered and a horse screamed. Heavy hooves retreated as the squeak of a spinning wheel slowed. Voices called, then fell to complete silence while Uno, not able to feel anything at all, descended into the abyss.

#bad things happen bingo #left for dead #guard dog whumpee #guard dog whump #escape #escape whump #murder mention tw #minor character death #about time I start using this bingo card #bthb #bthb card #uno isn't dead y'all his caretaker is coming #major character injury #dbth by jovi

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smolvenger · 1 year

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Stella of Essex or The Vicar's Wife Betrayed Chapter 17: Blue Wildflowers (A Fix-It Fanfiction of The Essex Serpent)

Series Summary: The Essex Serpent is reimagined through the perspective of the saintly, sickly Vicar's Wife, Stella Ransome, giving her a new ending rather than her canon fate. A bildungsroman of Stella was raised to be a proper lady and married a handsome vicar Will Ransome. She did everything to be a perfect wife and to uphold his ministry. However, after receiving a fatal diagnosis, she learns her husband is having an affair. Her heartbreak, grief, and repressed anger are released. She finds hope, happiness, justice...and even revenge and new love.

Pairings: Stella Ransome x Male OC: Harry Cavaradossi, some Stella x Will Ransome but focusing on the angst of him cheating on her.

Prologue//One//Two//Three//Four//Five//Six//Seven//Eight//Nine//

Ten//Eleven//Twelve//Thirteen// Fourteen//Fifteen//Sixteen

Chapter Summary: The final chapter. Harry explains why he read the letters. Stella makes decisions regarding her past...and her future. There is a visitor by the name of Seaborne. A party brings back a memory absolved from past miseries into a happy present moment. And Stella, now content, finishes her tale.

Chapter Warnings: A super brief spicy scene towards the end, swearing, discussions of penises, bodily functions, marriage, death, children, and illness are discussed. Discussions of a Major Character Death (sorry not sorry Will Ransome girlies). Stella has PTSD, gets to actually mourn the affair, and becomes Eliza Hamilton for a minute. I get to shit talk both Will and Cora, so if you like the pairing of Will/Cora you have been warned. Religion is portrayed, esp towards the end. But LOTS of fluff and comfort in this chapter.

Chapter Word Count: 6K

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A/N: THANK YOU GUYS so much for following through with this series! It was very therapeutic to write. And thank you for following Stella on her journey! So now here is that eventual happy ending I promised! Enjoy! COMMENTS, KUDOS, ASKS, AND DMS ABOUT MY WORK ARE DEEPLY APPRECIATED!

“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted. Blessed are the meek, For they shall inherit the earth.”- Matthew 5: 3-5.

“Harry! What are you doing!” I cried, rushing forward.

He jumped up where he was but kept the papers in his hand. I curled my fists- every letter was sprawled across the desk! His pink lips began to mumble out an explanation as I saw the blood rush to his face.

“You’re home early…you wouldn’t be here for another hour and…”

“Why are you doing this? Why are you reading these!? I told you not to!” I cried again, gesturing to the papers.

He leaned forward, gaining resolve.

“Stella, I’m worried about you!” he replied.

I paused. He held onto the letters, keeping them to his chest. I noticed that the old journal I kept during my time in Aldwinter was also laid open on the desk as well. On the page were words I wrote upon hearing about the threat of the snake:

“He sent the serpent into Eden’s beflowered garden, and he sends it now and the penance must be paid…”

Oh, how little I knew then! If only I could have gone back in time and warned that lovestruck church girl of what would come from marrying that curate! Or that housewife so concerned about a snake devouring her children to make sure her vicar husband stayed away from widows!

“You’re worried about me?” I echoed to him.

“Since that night you saw me with a beard, I kept worrying about that look on your face, and I kept hearing you get out of bed to sob at night. I was concerned! I wanted to know more about what happened in Aldwinter and what happened between…between Will and…and…what was her name?”

He went through the papers to check again. Taking in a shaky breath, I walked towards his chair and clutched onto it to steady myself. I hadn’t said her name out loud in a long, long time.

“Cora…her name was Cora Seaborne…that was William’s lover,” I answered softly.

I found that though I spoke her name, I didn’t die on the spot and despite the unpleasant, anxious feelings inside me, I was still very safe. She was just a word spoken and dissolved into air.

Cora was a person, not a monster, I reminded myself. A person as I am a person. We both had blonde hair. We both were mothers. We lived in Aldwinter. We loved William. We both became widows. We both have hopes, dreams, fears, and dreads. We both committed cardinal sins.

Harry continued; his forehead knotted in anguish.

“I wanted to know what happened between Will and Cora to hurt you like this…So I’d know…I’d know…how best to comfort you. How to be the husband Will never was to you…”

I let out a sigh as I picked up one letter from them.

“I used to think and wonder at that time what sin we did to bring forth the Serpent in our town…now I wonder what on earth I did to have this happen to me…” I commented.

“You did nothing wrong, Stella. Cora and William did something wrong…the blame is entirely theirs, not you…” Harry assured.

I looked down at one page. It was a draft of a letter kept praising Cora about how she lit up Will’s soul and left him speechless and filled with longing.

“I’d try to convince myself not to be jealous of her, try to tell myself I wasn’t… All that changed when I saw them at the tree…I will always be second to Cora. Worse than her. Inferior. And that was why Will strayed….” I replied.

A bitter and petty phrase was on the tip of my tongue. The sound of her name- Cora- the first syllable rhymes with the word “whore.” But that was going too far, even for me (a murderess!). I forced my lips tightly shut until the temptation to connect her name to the word faded away.

Harry got up and offered me the chair, which I sat on. He went to the hall and asked the housekeeper to bring some tea and sweets, then returned. A tear dripped down my chin. Harry gave me his handkerchief.

“How many of their letters did you read?” I asked him.

“All, I think. And a little of the journal.”

“What do you think- not as my husband now, but as someone neutral to the case- what do you think? Of them?” I asked.

Harry looked down at one letter and then let out a scoff, looking back at me.

“Honestly, what n’er do wells!” he replied.

“What?!” I gasped.

He picked up two letters, gesticulating with them with both hands.

“Will and Cora- I haven’t read interactions between two people more self-obsessed and obnoxious!” he snarled.

“Really?” I asked softly.

“Yes, really! Must this woman- Cora- drag every person she met into the mess of her life!? She and Will did nothing! Nothing but ruin everyone else’s life!”

“Mine included…” I prodded.

“Yours worst of all!” Harry agreed.

He then picked up another letter.

“Here she is talking of all the research she did around the town- how would her little hobby help anyone? She could have found ways to trap or kill it. She could have tried to find ways one could protect oneself and educate the folk frightened for their lives. And the family of the girl who went missing-What of her parents? Or the other victim’s families- William could have made tithes to help them. He could have comforted and prayed with them. Will and Cora could have done anything productive but walk around outside, bantering about science and faith and swooning over each other!”

“She told me it was love when I asked her about it,” I informed him.

“If she did love him, she would let him be with his wife and let him go!” he ranted.

“And what do you think of her…is Cora better than me…I thought because she was always so much more…more spirited and… if I was only more like her, Will wouldn't have…never have… Is she truly better?” I asked gingerly.

Harry lowered the letters and folded his arms.

“Well, if you were in her place and a woman’s husband declared his love for you, a woman who had tuberculosis and was likely to die…if you knew without a doubt, he was married to this lady- would you say yes to him?” Harry asked.

“Of course not! Never!” I cried.

He shrugged upwards and his thin, pink lips curved to smile at me.

“Yes, there is a difference between you two! You are selfless, and she is selfish. That is what selfish people do. Hurt others without thinking of it. Therefore, you are better than her…do not compare yourself to this Cora Seaborne. my dear. You are my light and my warmth. What is a candle to a star, hm? Or a coral shell by the sea to the Milky way or the constellations?” he said.

He kissed the top of my head.

“When you met her, what else happened?” he asked.

“I threatened that I’d shoot her if I ever saw her again.”

He patted my shoulder in congratulations.

“Good! Remind me later and I’ll lend you one of my old soldier pistols. If you won’t hurt yourself, you have my blessing to fight back and avenge yourself.” He said sincerely.

I nodded my head.

He then leaned against the desk. He checked to make sure the housekeeper was not around and then leaned to me to speak quietly.

“It seems if there was an Essex Serpent, it was Will’s cock…”

“Harry!”

“It’s true! The only Serpent that one needed to fear was the one between his legs! That was the real god Will was a priest of- his own cock! And Cora was the priestess, and you were the lamb at the altar…” he elaborated.

He brought out an arm and slithered it through the air as a snake does in the grass.

“Can you imagine Will’s cock slithering around Essex like a snake? A giant cock hissing? SSSSSSSS!” he teased.

“I don’t know what would horrify me more- a giant snake or a giant penis slithering about!” I replied quietly.

I couldn’t resist a smile and put a hand over my mouth as I began to chuckle. Soon we both were crying and guffawing with aching bellies, howling with laughter at the obscene metaphor.

“But you are no sacrifice here…” Harry said, bending a knee to look me in the eye.

“Then what am I?” I asked.

He clutched both of my hands as he knelt.

“Goddess divine, of course,” he declared.

I put my hand on my chest in reaction and felt a blush creep up my cheeks. He kissed my hands tenderly.

“I wanted to understand all that happened. And now I do…can you forgive me, my love?” he asked.

“I forgive you, Harry…”

“I only hope I…I will be better, a better man and husband for you.”

Looking over at a corner, there was a table where there stood an empty wine bottle. He sighed.

“Who did you even marry? You deserve a knight in shining armor, Stella, not some drunken fool…” he sighed.

“You’re not that! Well, you still drink a bit much, but you are no fool. You are my knight in shining armor, Harry, my dear!”

With a surprise, he pulled me onto his lap, wrapping his arms around me.

“Then give your knight a kiss.”

We kissed once when the housekeeper walked in with tea and slices of cake. They were drunk and devoured, but the letters remained.

“What should we do with these?” Harry asked.

I got up from his lap. I began to gather the letters. One by one, and then into one neat pile. Anger began to burn again in my throat.

“We could give them to the children when they grow up. Let Will’s legacy be that how he humiliated their mother…” I spat, feeling my grip tighten.

“And carry the blame for their father’s actions? And sour any of the good memories and feelings they may feel for him- he was their first father, after all. And what if they discover the truth of how he died…then how sympathetic shall they think of you? Besides, Stella…I don’t think Will Ransome should be a part of our marriage. It’s a joining of two souls, not three.” Harry suggested.

I glanced down and released my breath.

“You’re right…I could…I could send the rest of them to the church back in Aldwinter…ruin his legacy after death!” I said bitterly.

“And have your whole family be blacklisted and frowned upon for one man’s sins? How will your children live when their father’s actions have condemned their whole future? And if they notice the similarities between your possession of those letters and the suicide scrap by Will’s corpse that time ago and connect the pieces…you would be practically tossing yourself into a jail cell, Stella.”

“Oh God, I’m a selfish, petty, person….” I lamented.

“You’re a human, Stella…” he reminded me.

We paused. He placed a hand on my shoulder. When we looked up, he gestured to the little lamp on the desk. On the inside was a lit candle.

“I think you know what to do,” Harry advised.

“I think it’s time…I kept these for when they would be useful. To have others believe me. To see those guilty punished. And then to free myself…” I mused.

Harry half smiled. He pointed to the second page of one letter where Will signed his full name.

“Ah- you were held prisoner by Mr. Ransome and in need of a ransom- and it seemed you ransomed yourself out of being a Ransome!” he teased.

“I’m not a Ransome in name or the word…I’m a Cavaradossi now…”

I let out a little chuckle at the string of puns. Then I filed them all into one pile. But Harry slipped his hand and took the first page.

“Let me have this one.”

“What do you need that for?” I asked.

“I need to wipe when I relieve my piss or shit!” he said.

I let out a laugh.

“I’m ready now…I’m ready to do this…” I said half to Harry and half to myself.

I went into our room to our fireplace, carrying the letters. I got the matches on the mantle and struck one until a little flame emerged from it. I then put the match to one page of Will and Cora’s letters. I watched as it curled up black, their words and banter and love confessions and declarations bleeding into darkness. Before the flame would reach my fingers, I tossed it into the fireplace. One by one I burned each page and placed them into the fireplace.

Yes, I was dying. But William, you are dead. I thought. I still have life in me, fragile as it was. And now you have none, Will. None, none, nothing.

The flames kissed and danced over the pages. It digested their words so full of selfish lust and then made it a black crumple of dust at the bottom of the fire. Again, I saw the small blueness in the center of the flames.

I watched as I destroyed each last page. They burned and then dwindled to nothing but dust.

Now any trace of William Ransome, my Will, the true Essex Serpent, was gone. I walked with lightness and slept like a babe at night. And Harry kept his promise- I had a small but loaded pistol hidden in my purse. Ready to make good my promise to Cora if I were to ever see her again.

▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬ Though I was glad to continue life as normal, the London smog did not agree with me. It made me cough furiously while walking outside for errands. The doctor’s words haunted me.

“Get some clean air.”

One evening, after the children were in their rooms for their post-dinner hobbies, Harry and I sat down by the fire for him to read and me to sew. The dog laid down on the floor to nap, though his dark brown fur almost made him blend into it. After ten minutes, I set aside the needle and thread and looked at him.

“Harold…can we please see a doctor? The fog is getting to me. I can hardly walk for coughing…” I explained.

He set down his book.

“Any blood?”

“Rarely.”

“Then…then who says we have to live in London?” he suggested.

“What…what about your bank? Or your parties!? Or your plays?!” I asked.

He shrugged them off.

“I can throw them here! I can always travel to London if there’s a show I want to see. And I’m head of the bank- I can move headquarters. We could find a place just outside of London…would you like that? The children will understand- your health improved because of the clean mountain air. They’ll much prefer you alive and well.”

“Then by all means…let us move…”

After some searching, we found a lovely place in Kersey, Suffolk. We packed and gathered our things and moved out. A local building chosen as headquarters for the Cavaradossi bank thought the branch in London remained open. It was a comfortable cottage for all of us. A tree grew outside and stretched its branches out like a greeting friend. And there was fresh air- beautiful, bright fresh air. I loved taking a deep breath once I stepped outside. The air was crisp with winter and a light dusting of snow.

On our first day in the new place, once the boxes were set down, our faithful spaniel wagged his tail as he wandered in and out to the backyard to run about- he was far more used to being a country dog. Harry wrapped his arm around me.

“So help me, you will get all the exercise and fresh air in the world, Stella. We will walk daily- you can have a garden in the springtime. We might even try hiking if the path isn’t too steep- all of us as a family! Oh! And the lakes! We must try rowing- you a little bit! You’ll feel like new as if you were never sick again!”

Though it hadn’t and would never leave my body, I could walk about more, even if I was slower or more fragile. I coughed blood even less. I had more appetite. Only on the rare occasions, I felt myself a little dizzy while walking or a brief pain in my chest, I would use a cane. But only rarely. And of course, that first spring, I planted seeds to become a garden.

▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬ It was seven years after my diagnosis on a Sunday when we had a visitor. The housekeeper we had approached Harry and me as we sat on our chairs.

“Excuse me, there’s a Seaborne at the door!” She announced.

I froze where I sat. I reached for Harry’s hand who clutched mine in return. I felt the color drain from my face. I wondered how quickly I could get out the pistol from my purse.

“Is it a Mrs. Seaborne?” I asked.

“No! It’s a gentleman…a very young gentleman, a Mr. Seaborne.” She corrected.

Harry and I stared at each other dumbfounded.

“Let him in,” I said.

I stood up, clutching the shawl on my shoulders.

In walked that same pale face but matured. His body was still thin but far taller. I felt myself relax seeing him, saying that old cliché that has been used before and will be used again:

“My, how you’ve grown!”

Frankie, in a nice black suit and cravat, tipped off his hat.

“Mrs. Ransome, hello! I wrote to Martha and Fanny and heard you now lived here and you…you remarried, is that right?” he asked, though his eyes darted distractedly to look around the living room.

“Yes, Frankie, I am. I’m Stella Cavaradossi now. Here is my husband- Mr. Harold Cavaradossi.”

Harry walked forward and shook hands with the young man.

“Please stay- I think you’re in time for tea!” I suggested.

He sat down at the table in the kitchen with us. His eyes flitted about, but his voice was addressed to me as he poured milk into his tea.

“It’s odd not thinking of you as Mrs. Ransome…” he commented.

“It’s odd for me too…Frankie, what brings you here?” I asked.

“I just…I worried about you. For years. I…I thought…I even wondered if you were dead…” he confessed.

“Well, she is not. Clearly.” Harry cut in.

“I just was worried, I felt…I felt bad for you. I…I didn’t know how to feel about Mama and…I was angry at you for that letter, at first, but I’m not…not angry anymore. Mrs. Ran- Mrs.-Cava….Cava- ra….“

“You can call me Stella…” I advised.

“Are you happy, Stella?” Frankie asked me. His eyes, so much like hers, softened.

I smiled at the young man.

“Yes.”

“I’m glad you’re in good health- I felt so bad for you back then. All stuck in that bed, coughing that blood. How’d you get better?” he asked.

“I was sent to a Sanatorium. They didn’t cure me, but they helped me, Frankie. And you? How have you been?”

He paused hesitantly and I froze.

“I…I live in a flat now with roommates. I go to University now and…and…I’m not on speaking terms with mama as much anymore…only on occasion,” he sighed. He sipped his tea meditatively.

“But Stella…I cannot be mad at you at all now. I remember the old days when I was in Aldwinter. Of all those adults there, you didn’t fuss at me for something I couldn’t help…you made bread. You welcomed me to the town. You let me play with your children. You made me dinner and sweets- I can still taste those chocolate biscuits! I always remembered, Stella. I never forgot your kindness.”

I felt a few tears on verge of showing, but I blinked back.

Despite his small oddities, he was wonderful company. Harry enjoyed him even. Before Frankie departed, I got some scraps of paper and wrote down an address and then a recipe.

“Frankie…you may write and visit any time you like. Come visit when James - he’d be thrilled! He’s with his brother seeing Joanna at her college today, else they’d be here!”

I then showed him the recipe.

“This is how you make those chocolate biscuits if you’d like,” I explained.

He put it in his pocket.

“Of course! And thank you for the tea as well!” he wished with a smile.

As he put his hat on, tipped it, and left, I crossed my arms. I was tearing up, but I was also smiling watching him go to his taxi. I was glad I didn’t kill that boy out of my rage. My anger did not sniff out the life of an innocent, only the guilty. And here Frankie was, like a flower in full bloom. I went out to the garden and began to cry again. But they were tears of immense relief.

From then on, Frankie was like another son to me. He regularly wrote and even visited when he could. I like to think he saw me as a second mother. Though he was wise enough to never speak of his own to me.

▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬ There was one party we were throwing two weeks later. Harry’s favorite wine was flowing, and the guests were all laughing and socializing among themselves, including some of my own family members and of course my children. We finished our dinner and two friends who played violin and piano were warming up for dances.

But as it began and guests paired up on the wider floor of our room, I felt dizzy and a slight pain in my chest. I coughed, noticing only a little blood on my handkerchief. I then dashed upstairs. I sat down on the chair. I didn’t feel completely weak, but I was taken aback my heart racing. There was the sound of footsteps and the bedroom door creaked open.

“Stella, are you alright?” Harold asked, poking his head through.

My blood froze when he stepped in, and I took in his tuxedo from the party. It continued downstairs. And beyond, there was music.

Oh, dear God, this again! I saw this scene before, and I didn’t like how things ended up. Here again was my husband in a tuxedo, me feeling bad, and a party with dancing going on. My eyes started up, dreading seeing William’s beard, dreading reliving that moment in Aldwinter…

But there was no beard on my husband’s cleanly shaven chin this time. This wasn’t the past anymore.

“I am…I just coughed a little blood and got scared, but I feel alright…” I explained.

I heard the music and some clapping and chatter going on. Even my children’s laughter.

“Do you feel well, Stella? I’ll call the party off early if you like…” he offered.

“No, don’t! it’s just…it’s just…and you with your suit I…I just…” I muttered.

I sighed deeply and wiped away the tears with my handkerchief. I saw Harry’s shoulders soften.

“Harry…I don’t know if I will get better or get worse but for tonight…tonight you won’t leave me, will you?” I asked.

He stepped forward and touched my shoulder softly.

“Oh, of course not, Stella…” he vowed.

“Hold me, Harry,” I requested.

He wrapped his arms around me and held me tight. Anything, anything, I would change this- the past would not repeat itself again. Not with me.

“Is the dancing starting?” I asked.

“Yes, it is! The first one is ending- the waltz is next…” he recalled.

“Harry…I haven’t danced in a long, long time. I’d like to try and dance again…could you dance with me?”

He led me to stand.

“You only need to ask.” He responded.

As we headed to the hall, he draped his arm around mine. Then I looked at him and stopped my feet, I leaned closer to talk to him while we were still alone.

“I don't speak much of Will anymore, I try not to…I don’t want to bring him into this marriage, but I will be honest. This scene… reminded me of a memory I had with him. Do you remember me telling you about when I told him to dance with Cora?”

“Oh god, I remember now. I almost forgot…so you think that will happen again?” He puzzled.

I nodded. Harry cupped my cheek, keeping his other hand on mine.

“Stella, for each hour of your tears, I’ll replace it with an hour of happiness. I’ll take each moment of anguish and create ways to make you laugh. For each minute you felt unloved by him, I will make you feel worshipped. And if anyone, even you, tells me to dance with some other lady, I’ll refuse and dance with you instead.…”

We pressed our foreheads together, feeling the warmth and smoothness. I felt my tears had dried and I was smiling.

“Let’s dance, Harry,” I said.

We went into the main room, all cleared out. John already had one young lady as a partner on the floor. Joanna stopped her chatter among her new circle of friends to watch and James was watching as he sat, a plate of chocolate cake on his lap. Their eyes were on me, seeing if I was well enough. If I would fall or faint in dancing. Harry placed a hand around my waist, and I took his free hand in mine, our fingers intertwining. I kept a hand on his warm back. The violin and piano duo began playing. The waltz began.

We waltzed at a steady pace. I stepped into that square formation. He met mine with equality. His feet never once grazed my toes. I was keeping up without feeling breathless, weak, and with no pain or urge to cough. There was only dizziness as the crowd turned into a blur around us. I felt the warmth of his hand and Harry smiled the kindest, gentlest, most loving smile I had seen on a man, on a husband, on a person. And I returned it. I focused on his eyes as the music swelled as if giving us wings so we could fly up to the heavens and the clouds and stars themselves. Time itself stopped and there was only us as we moved together. The only feeling surging in my chest was that of joy.

Then finally, the song ended, and we paused. We clapped our hands in thanks. I glanced to see my children all looking at me with cheerful relief. When I looked back at Harry, he smiled and kept an arm around my back.

“You’re a wonderful dancer Stella, we should do this hourly,” he praised with a wink.

“Let’s drink some lemonade and then have another dance then!” I responded.

▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬

As I write this, I have been married to Harold Cavaradossi for about ten years. Eleven years after I heard I was dying.

Harry was, is, and will be faithful to me. I know this with confidence. If there was something that needed novelty or something he lacked, something that he felt was wrong with me, he would tell me directly, his heart and eyes never wandering from mine.

I have seen the nineteenth century become the twentieth. I have lived to see Forty and past it, I may turn fifty if this keeps up. I have seen all three of my children grow up and become adults themselves.

Joanna has gone to a woman’s college, relieved it didn’t just teach women domestic arts but academic ones. She moved to London and has embraced the idea of the New Woman- she even has a suit complete with pants she enjoys wearing when she bikes. She works as a nurse for her income. She regularly writes to parliament insisting on a woman’s right to divorce her husband and does so all while she puts curls in her hair.

John is set to inherit the seniority of the Cavaradossi bank from his stepfather. He always hides sausages and treats in his pockets to spoil any dog he comes across. After schooling, he works alongside his father fervently at the bank. He is courting a young lady he is deeply in love with and intent on proposing. We are confident she will accept. To think I may live to see him married and perhaps as a grandmother!

James has grown so handsome that I often see young ladies eyeing him and he enjoys a good dance or flirtation. He enjoys reading books on theology and philosophy and shall debate them among his peers for hours, sometimes even going to church to discuss with the rectors themselves about their sermons. Though he is yet undecided as to what vocation he shall use for his life’s work, Harry tells him not to fret and to choose off on passion. He still has a weakness for chocolate and cannot resist sneaking bites of it during his classes.

I will indulge you with a glimpse into my private life in the marriage bed. It made the moment even more perfect; I think.

This morning, my husband, Harry, pleasured me in our bed. I felt the rise and bliss of that release as I repeated his name like a prayer. I went to heaven in that bed and floated down from it. We caught our breath. He removed his hand from my skirt, wiped it on the mattress, and held me close, our noses touching.

“Happy Anniversary, Stella.” He wished.

“Happy Anniversary, Harry,” I repeated softly.

I kissed the tip of his nose, his face bright red and scrunched with smiling. I reached a hand to play with his curls.

“How’s the loveliest lady in England today, hm? Not sick of me yet?” he asked.

“After ten years not yet…” I answered.

I placed both of my hands on his warm, solid chest as he stretched out, arms folded under his head. I then rested my chin on him as I looked up at his handsome face.

“Tell me the story about your adventures at sea…” I requested.

“I’ve already told that one hundreds of times!” he laughed.

“I don’t care, I like to hear it…let me hear it all, Harry, I’ll listen...especially the part about seeing the dolphins!”

He smoothed my hair as he told me about his time at sea. We hardly notice the hour pass by except for the sun slowly rising. I rose halfway in surprise, my stomach rumbling.

“I am hungry though…could we eat outside?” I requested.

Harry agreed. We dressed quickly and simply. I made sure my cane was right outside the front door, should the occasional bout of dizziness happen. Or a vision. Some say tuberculosis brings visions in a later stage but so far, they have been few and far between. I still have life in me yet and I’m determined to enjoy it. No matter how much time I have left.

We gathered our food in a picnic basket, held a blanket, and walked outside. I have a whole garden filled with flowers with as many blue ones as I could find seeds for. There is an apple tree in our front yard. Harry draped the blanket right under the tree, yet close enough that one could smell the flowers of both the garden and the apple blossoms of the tree.

Once we finished the meal, he at once grabbed me around the waist and pulled me to lay down on the blanket with him. He drowned me in kisses, and I giggled as if I was just an adolescent. I even felt one of his hands reach up to touch my thigh beneath my skirt.

“Harold! We’re outside! Our neighbors could see us!” I teased.

I saw his face, and just over the green leaves shuffling with the wind blowing through them. The sun alighting his blonde curls like a halo.

“Let them! Let them all see how much I love you, Stella…”

He kissed me with tongue and passion, tasting our meal again. We saw birds fly into the branches. They were singing their own songs and had twigs in their beaks. Soon there would be nests and eggs and chicks- new life. According to Fanny’s letters, Vincent said that the name of “Aldwinter” translated from German to English as “Old Winter”. Not here in Kersey where it was warm and so full of the promise of spring and life.

When I turned, right near the tree trunk among the grass, I found a little blue wildflower. I picked it up and bedecked it into one of Harry’s curls. He took my hand to kiss each of my knuckles and we melted into each other’s arms again beneath the shade and sunlight.

I know my time will come. And very, very likely, the consumption shall have that inevitable victory. But after such betrayal, such heartbreak, such tears, and rage …I was so at peace and happy that if I died at that moment, I thought, I wouldn’t have complained. I would finally be able to say I was content with my life.

I hope you too, no matter what may happen to you, no matter what betrayals you face or heartbreaks are forced upon you, no matter what struggles or hardships you have, you have strength. If I could, so could you. I pray that when you encounter someone like my first husband, when you find your Serpent, you stand up to him and tell him no. That you find someone like Harry or Fanny, or Mrs. Lee or Martha or the other Aldwinter ladies - someone to listen, to help, to love you and for you to love them. Or even perhaps fight for you- should the time arise- if you cannot fight for yourself.

May you go outside and if it is dark, try to find stars shining above you. Think of my name. Think of me. So, you will remember me and see that light in all the darkness and burning strong in a ball of fire, triumphant.

If it is light outside, go out and try to find a blue wildflower. Blue itself is a rare color in nature, so look very carefully. And once you find one, may you see it and be filled with that heaven-like tranquility and grace. If you like, you can try to press it. Or pluck it. Or leave it as it is and admire it before you continue your way. In a way, it’s like a piece of me watching over you, my dear reader.

For even amidst the deepest misery, as I have experienced, there are those who love us and who have yet to love us. There is life continuing without giving up. After we mourn, there is the eventual promise that one day, we will find the joy of being alive again.

I thank you so much for reading my words and hearing my story, whoever you are. Reader, I do not know your faith, but I will finish this with a prayer for your blessing. After all, you should know by now I am a woman of the Church of England.

Reader, may you be blessed. May you have hope and strength as a star or a blue wildflower. Because you have listened to me, may you be as listened to and come through your own challenges, as I have. Lord graciously hear us.

Reader, if you are one of my fellow betrayed spouses or lovers, I ask for heaven to bless you immensely. I am with you, holding your hand as you mourn and weep and rage. You are absolved, for you are the true innocents suffering from the sins of another. Lord, graciously hear us.

Even if you are not, Reader, may you reading this always ask for justice and find it, as I did. May you ask for love and find it again, as I did. May you always possess courage, as I learned to. Lord graciously hear us.

Your friend, Stella Harris Ransome Cavaradossi, wishes you the best as we depart for now.

I commend you, I commend you, I commend you all to mercy and protection.

Amen.

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rcdiostcrs · 10 months

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❝ i know you’ve always got my back. ❞ (zander to anakin) & ❝ if you’re gonna keep risking your life for me than you’re also gonna let me patch you up without a single complaint. ❞ (peyton to jakke) (both from the you can kill me, but don’t touch them meme)

kill me; don't touch them dynamic | accepting

"i'd hope you know, considering how long we've been dating and fighting side-by-side." anakin smiled, tossing a arm around zander. "love you."

jakke looked peyton in the eye. "that's not going to happen. neither of them." others were not to know of his weaknesses. "how about you fight your own battles before i can fight for you?"

#tw: injury mention #gamecn #*anakin #*jakke #anakin —☆— answered #jakke —☆— answered #//#[drops a casual 'love you' as one does]#neither of or either of?? which is right??#I AM AN ENGLISH MAJOR #since idk the answer i will just say that jakke speaks four languages so if it's wrong blame that.

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blue-nardo · 1 year

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//I am totally lost in what is happening with the role plays ewe

ALLOW ME TO CATCH YOU UP TO SPEED!

For the last few weeks the brother's have been investigating the Foot Clan, who have been trying to bring back the Kraang. They've had encounters with Sister Kraang, mutts, and an original creature I created called a face hugger. During one of these encounters, Leo's arm became infected with Kraang goop, slowly turning him to a Kraang mutt.

During last night's excursion to the Technodrome wreckage, the team was ambushed by mutts and face huggers. Sister Kraang had been freed, and she used her connection to Leo to make him confront the Kraang by himself, portaling his family home, where the Foot Clan were in the process of stealing the Prison Dimension Key.

They opened the portal, and the United forces of the Hamato Clan and the Samurai Rabbit Crew returned to the Technodrome to find that Leo had been possessed by Kraang Prime, who fought them and hurt Leo simultaneously. This fight resulted in Leo's shell being broken, and his heart stopping temporarily before Prime restarted it. Having been the only one who knew about Leo's infection, Yuichi used his magic Yo-Yo to seperate Prime from Leo's body, but that didn't clear the infection from Leo's arm. So, making the toughest decision of his life, Yuichi amputated the arm, and he and Donnie rushed Leo home where he's safe.

The fight between the rest of the crew and the Kraang/Foot Clan was swiftly, with Mikey, Venus April, Chizu and Casey managing to trap the Kraang back in the prison dimension. However the Foot had found a way to stick the Key to the pedestal, making it impossible to close the portal, so Miyamoto used his sword Willow Branch to destroy the Key, closing the portal and locking away the Kraang for good, and ensuring the future apocalypse never happened.

In doing so... Casey Jones Junior was erased from existence.

Hope that clears things up!!

#ooc #tw injury mention #tw major character death #tw amputation

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samurai-yuichi · 1 year

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What the hell happened?! -Beetle

Well... I'll try to summarise it...

Leo and his team (that's Leo, Mikey, Raph, Donnie, Venus, April, Casey and Cass) went on another run to the Technodrome wreckage to see if they could clear out anything the Foot Clan might want, or any remaining Kraang mutts. They were ambushed by a bunch of them and facehuggers, because as it turns out, Sister Kraang was freed by the Foot, and she'd taken residence on the ship again.

Me and Miyamoto went to go help, but it was too much. A bigger mutt appeared, and Leo... He teleported all of us out and stayed behind... He'd been infected for the last three days, unbeknownst to most of us, and that was why the Kraang were targeting him... They needed a proper host for Kraang Prime.

We were gonna go back for him, but the Lair was under attack by the Foot Clan, who were looking for the Portal Key. Because we were all so worried about Leo, we ended up losing the Key, and the Foot managed to open the portal...

We went back to the Technodrome, where we found out what had happened to Leo... Kraang Prime had taken full control of him, and used him to fight us off while Subprime escaped from the Prison Dimension. I... I'm pretty sure that Leo... His heart... Stopped... Prime was making an example of hurting him, and slammed him into a wall, shattering half of his shell...

I used my Yo-Yo to pull Prime off of him, but he still had the infection in his arm, and it was getting worse. There wouldn't have been any saving him if it spread so I made the choice to... To amputate his arm... Just like he asked me to when he'd told me about the infection...

Donnie and I got Leo out of there while everyone else stayed back to fight the Foot Clan off. We managed to keep Leo conscious long enough to cauterize his arm and get him on some painkillers, and then he ended up passing out from the blood loss... He's safe now, alive, but life for him is never going to be the same.

Then there's the fight... They managed to get the Kraang back into the prison dimension with Venus, April, Casey and Chizu's help, but they couldn't move the Key. The Foot Clan had some how locked it to the pedestal, making it impossible to close the portal. So my brother, Miyamoto, used his sword to destroy the Key, closing the portal once and for all.

We... Thought we'd won... But then Casey Junior... Because we completely erased any chance of his timeline happening... We erased him from existence... And now he's gone...

That's... That's what happened tonight...

#ask yuichi #yuichi usagi #ttatc #rise yuichi #plot #beetle anon #tw injury #tw blood mention #tw amputation #tw cauterization #tw major character death

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constellationcrowned · 1 month

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Roui's cropped ear is a source of pain for him regardless of how long its been or how healed it seems. He wrestles with physical, emotional and mental scars as a result of this traumatic event with the latter traumas resulting in (but absolutely not limited to) Roui having an extreme touch aversion.

If he's in a conversation with someone; regardless of who it is, the context of the conversation, and so on, and they make a move to touch his ear at any point (regardless if they make contact or not, just the attempt is enough) Roui will physically and mentally withdraw and shut them out instantly and it will be a struggle for him to return to the conversation.

Physically Roui will straighten his posture in an effort to create distance and both ears will flatten and be kept close to his head in spite of the pain holding his damaged ear at such an angle for an extended period of time can cause and he will step away from the other person in question. The pain caused by the exertion---which is largely a muscle based pain but it can also cause him to suffer pretty severe headaches and migraines---is almost guaranteed to last for the rest of the day or evening unless Roui drowns it out somehow.

Emotionally/mentally Roui will have an incredibly difficult time focusing and his anxiety might spike further if he can't rationalize the situation fast enough making it difficult for him to recall anything that might happen after the triggering occurrence, he'll be largely unaware of his own responses if he talks at all, and so on. In the same vein (but not as severe) Roui is also very aware if someone is looking at his ear; especially if they do so repeatedly without comment, and will subconsciously begin relying on body language and etc that will help divert the focus from his ear like adjusting his hair to cover it, tilting his head a certain way, and so on.

These reactions are defense mechanisms born from trauma and with enough time, self reflection and enough familiarity between himself and someone else Roui can become more comfortable in regards to his ear but the instinct will always remain somewhere inside of him because of how severe the attack he suffered was. The main takeaway is that Roui can, eventually, allow himself to have a fuller perspective both internally and externally and he'll just need time, patience and further healing.

#trauma mention tw #;;muse headcanons: roui #injury mention tw #anxiety mention tw #the damage inflicted to his ear isn't the only lasting impact from that event in his life but it's a major one #and yes his hearing is severely impared on that side but that warrants its own hc post

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doctordonovan · 3 months

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❝ you’re gonna be okay, just hold on. ❞ | kiwi

world comes and goes like a blur. fading and swirling into nothing but colours && too bright lights, the pressure from his hands on wound trembling yet never fading. ( she's strong in so many ways - yet still she's a slender thing, not built to be able to walk off a bullet, especially one that has already torn its way through blouse and flesh with similar ease. ) @goldshadows' voice has always been most reassuring thing in world: yet it is too painted with panic and desperation for her to be able to see it as further evidence of how red splatter stains him too.

if she dies, tired brain reminds her, bethany is too little to remember anything about her.

so she manages tiny noise in back of throat, a weak attempt to answer in any way, fingers simply gently tightening around his wrist. ( she's doing her best, after all, what more can she do than that? )

#goldshadows #𝗣𝗥𝗢𝗙𝗜𝗟𝗘𝗥 𝗔𝗨: // a curious constitution #𝗙𝗜𝗟𝗘: // answered asks #blood mention tw #major injury tw #guns tw #𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐒: // but i keep coming back this must be serious. [ kiwi & maeve ]#𝗙𝗜𝗟𝗘: // queue

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crvptidgf · 6 months

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Sharp Kisses

Mattheo Riddle x Reader (smut)

➸ summary: after begging Mattheo to mark you as his, he finally gives in

➸ warnings/notes: MAJOR TW & MDNI 18+, self-injury (ish), mentions of cutting & being cut, smut w/ little to no plot, p in v sex, heavy petting, oral (f! receiving), knifeplay?

➸ requested?: yes ↴ (i changed it up a bit in the fic)

- mattheo carves his name into reader’s upper thigh and one day she walks into his room and sees him coming out of the shower with her name cut on HIS ABS (requested by 💜 anon)

A/N: reader discretion is advised, i am not responsible for the media that you intake. i also do not condone any of the actions that are partaken in this, it is merely fiction. if you struggle with sh or self-destructive behaviors, please talk to someone. my inbox is always open!

word count: 1.2k

————————

GRABBING THE SHEETS harshly, your head was thrown back onto the pillows, breath uneven. There was a chance that your panting could be heard all the way down to the common room if it weren’t for the silencing charm put on the room.

Mattheo’s mouth was wrapped around you, his tongue flicking upwards, side-to-side, in circular motions. His movements were never-ending, not that you wanted him to stop. He pulled away momentarily, saliva connecting his mouth to your lips.

He only stared at you as he licked one long stripe upwards, collecting all your juices before diving back in. It wasn’t long before his soft hands began gripping the flesh of your thighs, practically suffocating himself between your legs. He picked up his pace, his moans reverberating into you as he reveled in your taste.

Your legs gave out, weakening under the feeling of your climax making it’s way up. Mattheo held onto you for dear life, supporting the weight of your limbs that rested on his shoulders. Once he was satisfied with the sight of you shaking under him, your hands pulling his head away from your sensitive area, he raised his head up.

He really never failed to pull your release from you.

You looked at him as you tried to catch your breath, trying not to pass out at the sight of his messed up hair and glistening chin. His lips were bright pink, the corners of them perking up upon making eye contact.

“You doing okay up there?” he mused as his breath fanned right over where he was previously buried.

“Mattheo,” you whined, “stop teasing.”

His hands rubbed soothing shapes into the back of your thighs which were hooked around his shoulder. Your pussy throbbed with every gust of air that hit you due to the quick breaths that Mattheo took. He continued to stare at you, not saying a word.

“You know,” you said, inhaling deeply as you tried to slow your heart rate, “it would be better if you used the knife on me.”

His breath fanned across your thighs as he sighed and pushed himself up, giving you a warning stare. “Love, we talked about this.”

“I know,” you practically groaned, “but can’t we try it. Just once? Maybe you’ll like it.”

Mattheo sat up fully now as he leaned over your face, his hands on either side of your head. He thought for a moment before he finally gave into your puppy-dog eyes.

“Fine. But if it’s too much, tell me to stop,” he said, his lips meeting your forehead in a hurried kiss.

The drawer beside your bed opened as he grabbed his wand, casting ‘Accio’ so he could get the dagger that you bought that rested on your desk across the room. You had been prepared for this, knowing that one day you would get to finally try out your fantasy.

Mattheo took a deep breath, asking if you were sure. Once he got a breathy ‘yes, please’ he began to slowly make work with you.

He knew how much you wanted this, and in all honesty so did he. What he was afraid of was doing too much, or causing you more pain than you could handle. He could never forgive himself if he out you in harms way.

Your breath hitched as the cold metal touched against your abdomen. It slowly travelled across your ribs, up your chest, and to your breasts. The tip of the knife touched the plump skin of your tit, and you shuddered with excitement as you closed your eyes.

“So good for me,” Mattheo whispered as he dragged the blade back down your body. He pushed it further than your pelvis, wanting to explore your thighs as he made his way down to your legs.

He pressed chaste, wet kisses along your inner thighs as he played with the blade a bit more, experimenting with how deep he could press it without causing any harm. Pulling it along your inner thigh, he added a slight pressure, causing a moan to ripple from your throat.

Now that he knew how much you enjoyed it, maybe he could get used to this.

“Mattheo,” you said, your moans mixing in with the call of his name. “Make me yours.”

He cocked his head to the side, confused. “But you are mine, baby.”

You lifted your head to look at him, lust filling every corner of your eyes.

“Write your name into me,” you breathed out.

Mattheo’s head shot up. He definitely did not expect to hear that. Of course, the thought aroused him more than it should’ve, but he was also nervous. You were putting a lot of trust into him and he didn’t want to break it. For you, though, he would do anything.

“Fuck,” he muttered through gritted teeth. This was way more erotic than he had imagined.

He slid the blunt edge of the dagger across your clit before bringing the tip to the other side of your thigh. “Okay,” he said, “but-“

“If it’s too much, i’ll tell you to stop,” you nodded, your head already falling back onto the pillows.

Mattheo kissed soft, quick kisses along your pussy, teasing you before diving straight in. His tongue was slow and meticulous, licking across the most sensitive parts of you which he knew like the back of his hand.

You felt the knife begin to slice through your skin - not enough to leave a scar, but enough that you would be marked up for a few days. The thought that only you and him would be able to see it send a strong pulse throughout your pussy.

Mattheo smiled into you, his eyes peeking to the side to make sure he wasn’t cutting too deep. He pulled away from you for a second to lick into your entrance before coming back up to suck on you.

The feeling of his lips wrapped around, combined with the sharp tip of the knife was sending you over the edge. You tried to guess what letter he was on now, but you couldn’t focus if you even tried.

Your mewls and pants were all that could be heard in the room. Mattheo looked up again, his hand curving so that he could make the ‘o’ at the end of his name.

His hand came to replace his mouth as he drew circles onto your sensitive nub.

Mattheo’s tongue swiped against the new cut, your blood coating his tongue as he licked it up. Your injury was starting to hurt a bit, but with Mattheo’s saliva entering the mix, it soothed the pain slightly.

It wasn’t long before your orgasm overtook you, and you were a mumbling, idiotic mess under him.

Shit, he should’ve just done this a long time ago.

- - - - -

You were now bouncing up and down Mattheo’s length, his fingertips gripping into your hipbones as he held you in place, his hips coming up to meet with yours. He fucked up into you, his mind reeling with pleasure before an idea popped into his head.

It had been a week since the first used the knife on you, and he was curious.

“Cut your name into me,” he said, his breaths heavy as he stared at you with half-lidded eyes.

You rolled your head back, his demand causing you to feel a certain way that you had never felt before. He had never sounded hotter than he did right now.

“Where,” you gasped as his dick hit the perfect spot inside of you.

Mattheo’s hands gripped your hips as he grinded you on top of him now, halting your bouncy movements. “My abs. I know how much you love them, baby.”

- - - - -

#mattheo riddle headcanon #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo x reader #mattheo riddle fluff #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle fanfic #mattheo riddle scenarios #mattheo riddle x you #hp fanfic #harry potter imagines #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fancast #harry potter fandom #harry potter oneshot

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the-aisei-cousins · 2 months

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Event: Camping Trip

(Tw: mention and talks of Pedophilia, R@pe, child abuse, and cannibalism.(also sorry that I forgot to add this. I thought I did when I wrote this.))

You had received an email from Hope's Peak Academy

'You were invited to help Ms. Dai to take Class 82 onto a 2 week long camping trip starting tomorrow! Class 82 will be thankful for your participation.

We are not responsible for any minor damage, major injuries, any human beings being eaten, and/or deaths that Class 82 may cause.'

You decided to join. Probably your better judgment but to join, you chose none the less. The next day, you went to Hope's Peak Academy to see a group of 7 teens and one little robot girl. All had on a white shirt with brown shorts on.

One was a dark skinned girl with two IDs. One was a Substitute Teacher ID and the other a Student ID for the same school. She was in front and facing the rest of the students.

There was a boy with black hair and brown eyes. He had a bunch of scars on his body, some old, some new, some healed, some still fresh.

The robot girl was to his left. She seems to be design to look around 8 years old, but she seems to be an old model. The body was rusty in some areas and wore down by time.

To her left was a boy with an red jacket on. He had the hood over his head and sunglasses covering his face. His hands were in his pocket.

To his left was a young lady with long light reddish pink hair, dilated pupils, and a slightly jagged tooth. She was the tallest in her class.

To her left was Irofuka Nijiue. It was weird to see him not in a butler uniform. He was stilling wearing his red gloves and his hair was pulled into a short, low ponytail.

To his left was Yolei, wearing a light turtleneck sweater underneath the shirt. The also had leggings and a bag on. She was leaning towards Irofuka.

And finally, Yoshino, who had her hair in a ponytail and was wearing stockings under her shorts. She also had a small backpack on.

Yù: "Okay, let's go over the rules, one more time. No killing people, selling illegal substances or items, and no eating people. Alive or Dead. We will still be doing theapry sessions while camping. Don't wonder to far, especially at night. We have to introduce ourselves to our guests, even if we already met them. That means, telling them your actual names and Ultimate Talents, alright?"

"Yes Ma'am."

Yù: "Thank you Yoshino."

Do you say anything?

Tags:

@y0u-f4il3d-m3 @mikado-sannoji @low-activity-side-characters @yui-samidare-reborn @human-monokuma @kamon-of-hope @edens-garden-au @master-detective-archives @beautiful-despair @after-neo-world @scarred-smiles @i-spy-with-my-lethal-eye @sinistersmiles @xxcottoncandybitchxx @anyone else

#bloodthirsty maid: yolei aisei #buttons and threads: yoshino aisei #Event: Camping Trip⛺

722 notes · View notes

the-tangle-web · 2 years

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Headshot

CONTENT WARNING: major violence, like MAJOR violence and graphic depictions of injuries. Read tags for further warnings.

—————

Anthony has had frequent visits with the dean at school. After the first few weeks, they stopped trying. Even the principal just gave up after a whole year’s worth of detention. Nothing changed in his behavior.

For the teachers, it was especially nerve racking when the infamous founder of the Avengers stalks into their classroom for a teacher conference about his behavior. Nick Fury wasn’t the most reactive to it, maybe a few stern glances his way, but no real punishment.

So, whenever Anthony did something outrageously violent and very abnormal for a kid his age and for his build, they would tell him to go to the office and stay there for a few hours to cool down. He would either go back to class, or be told to wait until the end of the school day and leave with everyone else.

Nick Fury enrolled him in the school with a note saying

‘Sorry in advance for the destruction. I’ll pay for it.’

And he was right to send it. It didn’t take long for the teachers to recognize that Anthony was some sort of superhuman. For his peers? They all passed it off and played it cool. They would say the walls were very thin, so any student could be thrown through them. After awhile, everyone learned to avoid eye contact with him at all costs and don’t go anywhere near him. They called him ‘Anthony Fury,’ for that reason. His infamous short temper with no relation to Nick Fury, as no one knew anything about Anthony and his legal guardian.

Look at him the wrong way, and he can lift you up without a second thought by the collar of your shirt and throw you back quite a distance. After awhile, everyone at the High School got used to it, but the teachers never did. They knew more than the students, but Fury commands they keep quiet about it. Besides, he’s a senior now, he’ll be gone before they know it.

After Anthony picked up and threw a kid through a wall during lunchtime, the supervisor immediately sent him to the office to cool his nerves as they rushed the nurses to the other student’s side. Any major injuries caused by Anthony had to be reported to the parents, but it was reported to them in a vague way. They would never reveal his name and would say he’s been expelled and is being dealt with by law enforcement and they will call if they are needed. None of that is ever true. It was by Nick Fury’s request that any damage Anthony caused be covered up for the time being.

Anthony, knowing how this goes by now, exhaled sharply and made his way down the hallway, heading to the office. Most, if not all the students lingering in the hallway looked to the floor and pressed themselves against the lockers as far away from the storming teen as they could.

When Anthony arrived, he sat down in his chair as usual, the staff at the front desk didn’t ask questions and let the teen sit down and pull out his phone.

—————

The teen lifted his head as the final bell ringed, signaling the end of the day. He threw the strap of his bag over his shoulder, holding his phone in his free hand, and pushed the door open, leaving the office and off outside.

Lord, save me.

A black truck was parked to the far side of the building. Inside the truck was none other than the man himself. Anthony immediately lowered his head, pulling up his hood, and stormed over to the truck, gritting his teeth.

Nick Fury rolled down the window, as slowly as he possibly could with a blank expression.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” The teen snapped, gripping the edge of the open window,

Nick had one hand on the steering wheel, he had his other arm resting on the back of his car seat, “I’ve decided I’m driving you home today,”

“Why?!”

“Because,” Nick began with a stiff head tilt, “it’s a Friday and we’re going to take a nice drive around the city together,”

Anthony groaned, shoving his head into his hands, “Is this about that kid today?”

“I didn’t check my emails today, but thank you for telling me. We can talk about that when you get in the car,”

“Nick!”

“Anthony, you’re making this a bigger deal than it has to be,” Nick tapped the steering wheel with his finger, impatiently, using his free hand to adjust his eye-patch.

“I specifically tell you not to pick me up-“

“Well, today is special,”

Anthony pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled sharply through his teeth, “You look shady as fuck with these tinted windows pulling up at a High School!”

Nick raised a brow, his grip firm on the wheel.

Anthony didn’t fucking dare look behind himself, he could feel eyes on him. He had to pray to any god that would listen that no one payed any mind to the literal Avenger’s founder that’s picking him up from school. No doubt about it, some people from their angle probably saw Nick, but will play it off as a trick of their mind.

The teen exhaled slowly, staring at the ground blankly. Nick waited. There was a pause.

With a defeated sigh, Anthony opened the door to the passenger’s seat and climbed in, closing the door behind himself. He threw his backpack into the back seat and sat there, arms crossed.

Nick hummed, and turned forward, pulling away from the school and onto the road.

—————

It was a silent, awkward drive, as it always was when Anthony had to travel by car with Nick. He didn’t listen to music when he was driving, so it was just… silence.

Deafening silence.

Anthony tried mirroring Nick’s stern look as he stared ahead at the road. He still had his arms crossed and his brows furrowed, staring at the road ahead. However, it was impossible to match that stoic mask Nick always wore.

Silence…

“So, you’re growing up-“

Anthony groaned and leaned back in his seat, “Really?”

Nick clicked his tongue to his teeth, “We need to discuss this, this is a very important talk to have-“

“While we’re driving?!”

“Look,” he raised a hand, his eye still glued on the road, “I get that we already had ‘The Talk’ but this is a different talk. You’re superhuman, Anthony-“

The teen scoffed, “Never would have guessed-“

“Listen to me,” Nick said, sternly, “this is getting harder and harder to cover up. You wanted a normal teenage life, so I’m trying to give you options for one. I have you bank account and I’ve deposited a few loads of money. For anything you could possibly need if and only if you decide to leave for college,”

He turned his head to take a glance briefly at Anthony before turning his head forward again and continuing,

“Tony,” he shook his head, stiffly, his face still blank, not giving anything away,

“You need to control yourself,” that earned another annoyed groan from Anthony, but Nick continued regardless, “we need to work on these powers, alright? No getting out of it. This is important for you,”

“I know how to use my powers!” The teen raised his voice ever so slightly, gritting his teeth and gripping his biceps, his arms still wrapped tightly around himself,

“You know how to use them, you need to control them-“

“How the fuck do you control superhuman strength?! I would like to know!”

Nick narrowed his eye, not making eye contact, “Anthony Rossi, I don’t approve of your attitude-“

“You literally don’t even try to be my parent so I don’t even have to say it,” the teen snapped,

Nick exhaled slowly through his nose, his grip tightened on the wheel. His nose wrinkled as his lips lifted into a nasty scowl,

“I am trying to help you. This anger, you need to find a way to control it. I can’t constantly cover up for you, so I’m giving you options,” the man tried to keep his voice level, but it was getting harder and harder to do so,

“I’m trying to keep your powers undercover. We don’t want anymore scientists getting ideas on making more superhuman serums. It’s dangerous, and life changing. You understand more than me,” he sighed.

Anthony didn’t respond. He was turned away, staring out the tinted window and only looking at Nick through the reflection.

“Use your powers for something worthwhile,” Nick finally said after a short pause, turning the wheel, “not for backyard fighting.”

The teen stared out the window as they drove by building by building. He knew where they were going and he didn’t want to go, but Fury still had work to do and he wasn’t about to leave Anthony unattended someplace else. Yes, Anthony did have a room in the tower all for himself and it was technically his home, but even after a few years, he’s still not entirely used to it. He wasn’t sure how to describe it… it was something… uneasy. He just hated how loud it was sometimes, how bright it was because of the thousands of windows-

Well, as they always say, there’s no place like home.

—————

It started at a nearby plaza. A group of four people pulled guns out of the back of a van and opened fire.

Fifty were wounded, ten were already dead.

The people were scrambling for shelter in stores, the managers and clerks ushering people inside as they locked the stores to take cover.

They kept shooting, even with no people in sight. Shooting at the sky, at lamp posts, at store signs and steel doors to scare the civilians inside with loud cracks and booms.

One of the gunman was sitting in the back of the van, reloading their pistol as his companions laughed and joked, firing their guns with loud shots.

The van shakes.

The gunman inside froze.

The laughing outside stopped.

There were shots fired and a shout.

The sound of something hitting the ground with a loud thunk.

Another battle cry was heard, but cut off mid scream.

Another thunk. The sound of a body collapsing on concrete.

Faint incorrect whimpering and begging.

It turned to shouting for mercy.

Another thunk.

The man inside the truck didn’t dare move another muscle. He felt the blood pumping in his ears.

The truck rocked again.

Step… step… step…

Footsteps from on top of the vehicle.

The truck bounced up again.

Silence…

The gunman was frozen. He waited. After hearing nothing for a good few minutes, he loaded his pistol with a click.

He got up, crouching and slowly stalking towards the opening behind the van. He narrowed his eyes, it was dark out, only the bright light of the lamp posts bouncing off of faded grey concrete kept the plaza from pitch black darkness.

The man leaped out of the van, pointing his gun in all sorts of directions. He called out…

Nothing…

He looked around for his group…

No one,

No bodies,

Nothing.

He seemed to be alone.

He was walking backwards towards the front of the truck, pointing his gun this way and that. His breathing sped up. He used a free hand to feel for the van door. He grabbed the handle and yanked it open-

The man was pulled backwards by a pocket chain around his neck. The man thrashed and kicked, grabbing at his throat with his free hand, trying to find the chain around his neck to pull himself free. He was helpless.

He dark, looming figure tightened his hold on the chain and pulled back. However, the man wasn’t done fighting, he held his pistol with a shaky hand and fired it to the ground.

The bullet ricochet off of the concrete and fired back up on an angle into the man’s leg. The man let out a scream and toppled to the ground as the looming figure jumped back, the chain slipping off of his neck.

The man panted and clutched his leg, dropping his pistol. He fell to the floor, groaning.

The Tangle Web clipped his pocket chain back on his pocket and stepped forward, staring down at the wounded man. The blood from the bullet in his leg spewed everywhere and into the small crevasses of the concrete, creating a thick, dark red puddle where he lie.

The man was rocking back and fourth, staring up at the masked vigilante. He lifted a hand, his palm up, shaking violently. He was whimpering and muttering apologies, begging.

The Tangle Web stared at the man for a moment longer before yanking him up by his shirt collar, the man’s knees dragging on the concrete.

The man screamed and begged, eyes wide with fear. The masked vigilante opened the van door and tossed the man against the opening, their head falling into the cushion inside. The man tried crawling out before The Tangle Web slammed the van door onto his head,

Again,

And again,

Over,

And over,

And over.

The masked vigilante opened the door wide, the unconscious man falling to the ground, limp and unmoving.

The Tangle Web stared at the limp man, it was impossible to see what was going on behind that mask. His shoulders heaved up and down, chest expanding and falling heavily like he had just run five marathons in a row.

The masked vigilante grunted, taking a few steps back.

His open gloves palms clutched into fists.

—————

The next day, on the news, four criminals responsible for the shooting at the plaza were found tied up and hanging from a large web at the plaza. The web was hanging from a lamp post and a nearby building, covering almost the entirety of the plaza.

One man was dead and suffered from severe head trauma. A van door was found with his blood on it and a pool of blood was found at the tires.

Three of the men are being held in the hospital in critical condition.

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wispystar · 1 month

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☁︎·̩͙✧

spencer reid

✦ = finished | ✧ = not finished

Feel free to recommend me some more fics! If there is any author that doesn’t want their work on here pls let me know and I’ll remove it. Series are at the bottom. Be warned for spoilers. I will not be adding spoiler warings so tread lightly please lmk if links arent working

—-

A Well Kept Secret by @astrophileous

genre: angst, fluff, fem reader | summary: While working on a case in D.C., Spencer didn't expect to hear a familiar name being mentioned as the sole surviving witness. Or, in which the team discovers Spencer's well-kept secret. | tw/warnings: established secret relationship, mentions and/or depictions of death/physical violence/gun violence/injury/attack, signs of trauma, survivor's guilt, curse words, hurt/comfort, nudity but it's not sexual, allusions to sexy times, mentions/implied alcohol consumption

A Little (Major) Crush by @radiant-reid

genre: fluff, slight angst, fem reader, bau reader | summary: Spencer's coldness is interpreted as hate for a very long time until a little admission leads to him accepting th truth

A memorable hero by @/radiant-reid

genre: fluff, fem reader | summary: Y/n jumps into the arms of a random FBI agent when she unknowingly talks to a to unsub.

All stitched up by @/radiant-reid

genre: fluff, fem reader, nurse reader | summary: Spencer's unexpected arrival at Y/n's work worries her

all is fair in love and war by @/radiant-reid

genre: angst, fluff, fem reader, bau reader | summary: Can the team convince two arch-enemies that they’re in love with each other?

Already gone . ii by @favficarchives

genre: angst, fem reader, bau reader | summary: The reader decides it’s time for her to move on, and Reid realizes it might be too late to stop her.

Appalachian by @/imagining-in-the-margins

genre: fluff, slight angst, gn reader, bau reader | summary: Reader is tired of Spencer purposefully pushing their buttons and demands an explanation.

babied by @reiderwriter

genre: fluff, fem reader, bau reader | summary: Can I request a Spencer babying the reader BAU and everyone on the team is so done with it but reader is confused and oblivious...?

Bolinus Brandaris . ii by @violetrainbow412-blog

genre: fluff, fem reader, bau! reader summary: Reid loves the gift you just gave him and the whole team can notice.

Bedtime Stories on the Jet by @imagining-in-the-margins

genre: fluff, gn reader, bau reader | summary: You and Spencer accidentally cuddle on the jet.

Betting game by @/radiant-reid

genre: fluff, fem reader, bau reader | summary: the team betting on the two youngest agents relationship

combat practice . ii by @/reiderwriter

genre:fluff, fem reader, bau! reader | summary: pining spencer reid and bau!reader who are brushing up on some hand to hand combat and reader is really invested on winning finally pins spencer down and reader is straddling spencer | notes: there’s a part two but I can’t find it :|

Comme des garçon by @/imagining-in-the-margins

genre: fluff, fem reader, bau reader | summary: Reader chooses an interesting way to finally confess to dating Spencer.

cuddles by @/radiant-reid

genre: angst, fluff, fem reader, dad! spencer | summary: A cuddle with his son is just the thing Spencer needs when he gets home from a hard case

clingy by @/ddejavvu

genre: angst, fluff, gn reader | summary: When Spencer chides you for being too clingy, you decide to give him exactly what he wants; space.

carriage six . ii by @avis-writeshq

genre: fluff, fem reader, strangers to lovers | summary: Spencer Reid prides himself in his routine. Wake up at half-past six. Leave his apartment at a quarter past seven. Get onto the seven thirty train. Arrive at Quantico at eight forty five. He has a plentiful of reasons as to why he does it; it’s efficient, it gets him to the office early, it works. But the biggest reason is the girl that always sits in the seat a few rows across from him, headphones on and always reading a book.

color theory by @inkdrinkerworld

genre: fluff, fem reader, bau reader | summary: okay wait i could totally see like kinda maybe insecure chubby reader who obvs likes Spence cuz who wouldn’t but afraid to make the first move and early seasons Spencer makes some off handed comment about how beautiful reader is like not even thinking about it maybe during a little tangent or something and r is just like

Caught in a lie by @/radiant-reid

genre: fluff, fem reader, established relationship | summary: spencer catching you in a lie about a certain cardigan.

despise by @leahblackk

genre: angst, fluff, fem reader, bau reader | summary: Reader is new in the BAU, Spencer doesn’t like changes therefore he doesn’t like reader.

double vision in a rose blush by @irndad

genre: fluff, fem reader | summary: she is the best part of his days, his life, these days, really. the only problem is she never touches him

Different ways to say ‘I love you’ by @aneveningsword

genre: fluff, gn reader | summary: 3 different ways Spencer shows he loves you

Dad Spencer by @golden1u5t

genre: fluff, fem reader | summary: bringing lunch to the bau and hanging out with Spence

Defining Family by @/imagining-in-the-margins

genre: fluff, angst, fem reader, dad Spencer | summary: Spencer finds out he’s a dad… to a twelve year old girl. Your twelve year old girl, who just broke into the FBI.

Every single day by @/astrophileous

genre: fluff, angst, fem reader, dad Spencer | summary: When his daughter demands him to tell the story of how the two of you met, Spencer can't help but oblige.

Flirt by @luveline

genre: fluff, slight angst, fem reader I summary: bombshell!reader hears one of the team members teasing about how she's torturing spencer and she kinda backs off with the flirting and maybe it's his turn to hold her hand and call her cute names because even though he always says he doesn't mind, maybe he does and he just doesn't want to tell her

Familiar by @/radiant-reid

genre: angst, fluff, fem reader, bau reader | summary: Spencer’s secret way to sleep is revealed in a moment of upset

Fever Dream by @/imagining-in-the-margins

genre: fluff, fem reader, bau reader | summary: Reader makes an accidental confession, which starts the most intense game of hide and seek.

Flowers by @/ddejavvu

genre: fluff, gn reader(?), bau reader | summary: could you write abt spencer & bau!reader (secret relationship) and spencer having flowers delivered to their work and the note is really sweet (clearly from a boyfriend) and the team trying to figure out who she's seeing?

Glasses by @/luveline

genre: fluff, fem reader summary: i NEED anything with glasses reid or munch reid i'm literally frothing at the mouth

Guilt . ii by @holly-the-trash-writer

genre: angst, fem reader, bau! reader summary: Y/n lies unconscious in a hospital bed while Spencer drowns in guilt. You had felt that Spencer was cheating on you with Maeve and were going to stay with someone else before you got shot. Finding this out causes Spencer to snap and lash out at one of his closest friends.

his picture in a gold locket by @luvingspence

genre: fluff, fem reader, early season Spence | summary: spencer gets emotional once he realises how much his girlfriend loves him <3

how everyone found out by @/radiant-reid

genre: fluff, fem reader, bau reader | summary: a little blurb about how each of the team members found out about a secret BAU relationship

In Ruins . ii by @weehelers

genre: angst, fem reader, bau! reader | summary: spencer reid has always had something against you. during a particular case, spencer snaps and says something he shouldn't have said leaving you in ruins. but what happens when your in danger and he still hasn't explained why he reacted the way he did. will he have the time? tw/warnings: kidnapping, normal cm warnings

I can see you by @/reiderwriter

genre: angst, slight fluff, gn reader(?), bau reader | summary: Six months into your secret relationship, you're beginning to think that maybe Spencer doesn't love you the way you love him

If you won’t do it, I will. by @/eideticallys

genre: fluff, angst, gn reader, bau reader| summary: you were so engrossed with images of you kissing Reid and him kissing you back that you forgot one detail—the man could wake up at any moment without you noticing. and he did wake up. You just failed to notice, too busy ogling his pink lips.

I’ll Hold Your Weight When You Can’t by @shewroteaworld

genre: angst, fluff, fem reader, bau reader | summary: Brilliant sunshine!reader gets heat stroke on a case. Your best friend, Spencer Reid, is predictably worried about you. What he doesn't expect is to be forced to come to terms with his feelings for you. | tw/warnings:

Just some light stalking by @constantlyembarrassed

genre: fluff, fem reader | summary: Penelope has been pushing Spencer Reid to get some form of social media for years. Suddenly, he has an Instagram acount?

Key by @ddejavvu

genre: fluff, gn reader(?) | summary: spencer and reader start getting more comfortable in their relationship and they exchange keys to each others places, reader starts going over while hes away. just to chill because she misses him or borrow something or get something she left. but then dhe notices his apartment is a little messy and he doesnt have a lot of food in the fridge.

lovely by @lighteyed

genre: fluff, fem reader, bau reader | summary: you think spencer's lovely.

lipstick by @/radiant-reid

genre: angst, fluff, fem reader, bau reader | summary: Maybe, the secret to putting a murderer away is kissing someone you dislike

little touches by @/radiant-reid

genre: fluff, fem reader, bau reader | summary: Just a few moments where Spencer learns how much he loves touches

Misplaced by @/ddejavvu

genre: fluff, slight angst, fem reader, bau! reader summary: can i request spencer reid w bau!reader and their married but reader forgets to put her wedding ring back on and derek's asking spencer about what happened/if theyre having marital problems and spencer starts panciking but she just forgot about it in her pocket

Meeting the team by @tinyluvs

genre: fluff, fem reader | summary: Being spencer’s girlfriend and meeting the team for the first time?

Mirror by @moonstruckme

genre: fluff, gn reader, bau reader | summary: BAU!Reader and maybe her and Spencer starting to mimic each other because they've been together for a while and spend so much time together? Like the way they talk, etc!

My wife . ii by @golden1u5t

genre: fluff, fem reader, bau reader, secret relationship | summary: where you and spencer are married in secret and someone says reid and they both turn around and say ‘yeah’ that’s how the team find out they’re together

my petite protégée by @somethingubercool

genre: fluff, fem reader, bau reader | summary: Y/N is new to the BAU and works under Garcia. she finds herself being able to see something in the case no one else does, impressing the team, including a specific doctor

New Shade of Green by @sweatervest-obsessed

genre: fluff, angst, gn reader, bau reader | summary: Spencer Reid and reader are in established relationship and on a case it happens that reader's best friend since childhood assists. And Spencer gets really jealous of their close friendship but is in denial.

newly creds by @pathologicalreid

genre: fluff, fem reader, bau reader | summary: in which the BAU team wants to see your newly issued credentials

Profilers Profiled by @/radiant-reid

genre: angst, fluff, fem reader, bau reader | summary: Cat Adams exposes a secret relationship

Patch Me Up? Always by @weird-is-life

genre: fluff, fem reader, emt! reader I summary: Spencer accidently reveals your relationship, while you patch him up

Packed Lunch by @john-get-the-salt

genre: fluff, fem reader, established relationship, secret relationship | summary: One morning Spence is in a rush to leave for work and forgets his lunch. You know he gets cranky when he gets hungry, so that only leaves one option.

Perhaps One Day by @amberjazmyn

genre: fluff, fem reader, bau reader, established relationship | summary: five times the bau think spencer has proposed to reader + the one time he actually has

Play Dates by @/imagining-in-the-margins

genre: fluff, gn reader, bau reader | summary: Reader finds out Spencer hasn’t had enough dates to play Best/Worst Date with the team and offers several Play Dates, but quickly realizes it’s hard to have a bad date with Spencer Reid.

Personal Google . ii by @reidyoulikeabook

genre: fluff, gn reader, bau reader | summary: Spencer is your own personal Google. He always knows the answer to anything you ask him.

Recharging… by @railingsofsorrow

genre: fluff, fem reader, | summary: spencer's best remedy is his little family.

Short Circuit by @/tinyluvs

genre: fluff, gn reader, established relationship I summary: dating spencer and you come to visit or something and make him so distracted that he literally can't info dump on something and the rest of the team is just shocked

Sweater by @/radiant-reid

genre: fluff, fem reader, bau reader | summary: On a case in Montana, Y/n’s only coat gets ruined. Luckily, Spencer had a hoodie

Soft spot by @/luveline

genre: fluff, fem reader, bau! reader | summary: your singular soft spot for spencer rises to the surface when you get hurt in the field. tw/warnings: hospitals, injury

still mad at you by @/irndad

genre: angst, fluff(?), fem reader | summary: Spencer can’t sleep without you, even if you’re fighting.

sick by @/ddejavvu

genre: fluff, fem reader| summary: What about spencer with a reader who is normally so independent and does everything for herself but she’s so soft for spencer and lets him dote on her and take care of her and the team is like :o bc they can’t believe she is letting someone do things for her

Smells Fishy by @/radiant-reid

genre: fluff, fem reader, bau reader | summary: Out of place perfume and cologne give away a secret relationship of the BAU.

Soulmates by @/radiant-reid

genre: fluff, fem reader, bau reader | summary: Everyone knew Y/n and Spencer would be the perfect couple, it was just a shame he left the BAU before she joined.

secrets . ii by @007reid

genre: fluff, slight angst, fem reader | summary: spencer will never be able to escape the effortless wrath of derek morgan, not even when it's the weekends and breaking bad is playing and you're pulling on his hair.

surprise by @toriwakes

genre: fluff, fem reader | summary: reid’s new girlfriend decides to surprise him at work.

Secrets out by @/radiant-reid

genre: fluff, fem reader, bau reader | summary: a coffee cup reveals a relationship

secrets and onesies by @/wheelsup

genre: fluff, fem reader, dad Reid | summary: in which spencer is hiding two secrets from you. one, that he knows you’re pregnant, and two, that he’s more than ready for it.

The jacket . ii by @in-my-shifting-era

genre: fluff, fem reader, bau reader | summary: when in Boston for a case in mid January reader regrets not being a warmer jacket.

The guaranteed way to get sleep by @/radiant-reid

genre: fluff, fem reader, bau reader | summary: Spencer is the only one who can recognize the signs of needing someone in the new agent

Two of us . ii . iii by @spencerreidreads

genre: angst, fem reader, bau reader | summary: working with your partner can be hard especially when the relationship is over

Tying the knot by @/radiant-reid

genre: fluff, fem reader | summary: a blurb or fic about reader and spencer reid’s wedding day? just lots of fluff and happiness can you do one based on “we belong together” by ritchie valens

thats my wife by @wheelsup

genre: fluff, slight angst(?), fem reader, bau reader | summary: you and spencer have always had a relationship that some refer to as 'work spouses'. it's not until the addition of a new, handsome employee, that spencer has to challenge what that really means to him.

Unwell by @/radiant-reid

genre: fluff, fem reader | summary: Instead of getting looked after, Spencer is the one doing the looking after when he realizes his girlfriend is sick.

unexpected . ii by @michelle-is-writing

genre: angst, fluff, fem reader, bau reader, pregnant reader | summary: it’s hard being in love with a man whose heart is already taken.

Unbelievable but verified by @/radiant-reid

genre: fluff, fem reader, bau reader | summary: The BAU's newest member comes prepared to join the team with a tiny crush on the man who wrote her three favorite thesis papers.

Under the Rain by @aperrywilliams

genre: angst, fem reader, established relationship | summary: Reader is waiting for Spencer in a restaurant to celebrate their 2nd anniversary. What happens when Spencer doesn't show up?

worried by @/moonstruckme

genre: slight angst, fem reader, bau reader | summary: Spencer is losing his mind when reader is in a dangerous situation and the team doesn’t understand why he’s panicking so much but then he accidentally reveals to the team that he’s been dating reader for awhile

White Lies by @/moonstruckme

genre: fluff, gn reader(?), bau reader | summary: when you come back to work soon after getting injured on a case, your priority is keeping the public safe from your latest unsub; Spencer's priority is keeping you safe

Winter Cold by @/john-get-the-salt

genre: fluff, gn reader, bau reader | summary: A run-of-the-mill winter cold becomes the thing that finally reveals your secret to the team.

Worry Free by @/radiant-reid

genre: fluff, fem reader | summary: After the issues of Spencer’s past year, JJ is worried for him, until she finds out an incredibly interesting piece of information

Who's Your Barber? by @eideticallys

genre: fluff, gn reader, bau reader | summary: “you move fast, kid.” he turned to spencer who looked like he was on the verge of passing out. “letting Y/N cut your hair without going on a first date.”

What’s in a name . ii by @/radiant-reid

genre: fluff, fem reader, bau reader, mom reader | summary: Spencer accidentally gets misidentified by a little kid whose mom means the world to him

Your Casanova by @dr-spencer-reids-queen

genre: fluff, fem reader, pilot reader | summary: You're the team's jet pilot who always looks forward to spending time with Spencer Reid. His love for you is unconditional.

You Already Said Yes by @/dr-spencer-reids-queen

genre: fluff, fem reader | summary: Spencer comes home to find your wedding ring on his office desk, and his thoughts run wild.

You Think I'm Delicious? by @/eideticallys

genre: fluff, fem reader, established relationship | summary: all your dreams and hopes of getting cuddly with spencer were shattered when he uttered those six words “i don’t like your new perfume.”

4+1 cuddling by @/radiant-reid

genre: fluff, slight angst, fem reader, bau reader | summary: The four times they cuddled before becoming a couple and the one time they cuddled afterward.

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✧ A-Z by @spencereidluver

genre: fluff, angst, fem reader, bau! reader | summary: moments of your life with Spencer

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more this way ---> spencer reid . ii

#♡ — fics #Spencer Reid x reader #Spencer Reid angst #Spencer Reid fluff #criminal minds angst #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds x reader

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