#violently shaking in his arms and soaking his uniform again | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dollwrites · 4 months

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ᴀɴɢᴇʟs ᴏғ sᴍᴀʟʟ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ ! ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ᴜʀᴏɢɪ & ᴋᴀʀᴀᴋᴜ

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!hashira!reader, noncon, breeding kink, descriptions of blood and injuries, instant loss / bad end trope, dvp, the boys are meanies, choking, degradation, lots of cum, brief oral sex ( m! ), fingering, all characters featured are aged 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗺𝗶𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗲𝗱 𝗯𝘆 ∣ @serenesaku [ thank you so much, i hope you like it! ]

“If you drop her, our fun’s over before it even starts!” you can faintly hear Karaku harping, and your head rolls around on your neck— it feels like jelly, hardly able to support the weight of your head as it droops backwards to look up at the demon who has you in his grasp. his talons are wrapped so tightly around one of your wrists that you can see a trickle of ruby, feel it as it runs down the length of your forearm. the blood mingles with the dirt and scuff that clings to your skin as you hang there, suspended in the air by merely his claw’s grip on your arm. “Give her to me already!”

all of the muscles in your arm were on fire, sore and aching, and you felt as though the pull of your weight on the one limb had knocked it out of socket. that wasn’t the worst of your injuries, however, but most of the pain from the battle had numbed at this point, anyways.

you don’t even remember where your sword had clattered, broken and useless. wherever was, it was well out of your reach as the demon flies you higher and higher, as if planning to perch you atop the moon itself.

it had been quite the game to him already, flying you higher, and then loosening his grip to let you slip just far enough to gasp and fear the plummet, before he gripped your arm again. at this point, you were praying to whatever god could allow this to happen that they would simply kill you already and get it over with. being toyed with would’ve been scary enough, but you were Hashira, and you were supposed to win this fight. not become a demon’s marionette under the moonlight.

Urogi glances down, smirking with putrid delight as he sees the dulled, defeat-snuffed gaze as you take in your position. “Wishing I would really drop you, demon slayer?” he was mocking you, spitting the words as if they were soaked in acid. “Let you die this easily?” a low cackle bubbles up from his throat, amber eyes burning. “Not a chance.” the violent flap of his wigs send blades of cold wind through your hair and ruffles your torn uniform, you could swear the sheer force of it nicks your cheek as he swoops downward, diving towards the ground. “We’re not done playing yet!” the speed makes your head spin, but you’ve not enough energy to squirm or try to stop the impending collision, so you close your eyes, brows furrowed, and brace for impact.

it comes, but not in the way you expect. with a flick of his talons, Urogi flings you from his grasp and into Karaku’s, who laughs wickedly at the way you smack against his chest like a sack of potatoes, and then try your best to grasp his shoulders. you wanted to regain some semblance of control over yourself, find your footing, but he wasn’t having it. both fists grasp your wrists and pull them back. your knees buckle with a gasp of pain, and you’re once again supported only by a demon’s will, and his hold on your arms. you dangle there, clenching your weak fists. “‘M… going to…”

Karaku’s emerald gems light up, “You’re going to what? Kill me?” you didn’t have to nod, but you do so weakly, and he leans close. only inches from your lips, his fiery breath washes over you. you shy away from a demon for the first time in your life, letting out a soft whimper, “You’re not going to do anything, girl, but let me tell you what we’re going to do to you.”

as Karaku speaks, his lips moving and grazing your cheek the closer he gets, you feel the ground shake beneath you when Urogi lands behind you, talons cracking rocks beneath his powerful feet.

“We’re going to rip this demon killing uniform off,” Urogi’s claws work diligently to make good on his counterpart’s promise, shredding the fabric of your top, down through your pants until the black garments fall away in defeated, little strips. Karaku croons yo you, in amusement, “it’s not like it’s useful, anymore. Your demon killing days are over.” you let out a grunt of discomfort, feeling the drag of his talons against your stomach, biting at your vulnerable flesh. “But your demon serving days? Well, those have just begun.”

“— And we’ll defile your defenseless, human body.” Karaku flashes insanely sharp teeth in a daunting grin as Urogi finishes his threat, his talons grasping your thighs to hoist them up. your feet, that were dragging against the ground prior to this not sweep from the ground, and dangle helplessly as he spreads your legs. completely exposed to the one thing you were meant to hate in this world, the thing you’ve trained your whole life to kill, you felt disgusting and shameful, and your thighs twitched and fought against his strength to close. “Until it all but gives out.”

Karaku takes one look at your cunt as it’s presented to him, and a low gurgle of lust rumbles in his throat, dropping your hands to, instead, jab two fingers inside abruptly. you cry out and immediately grapple at his arm with one hand, trying to pull his hand out, while the other grabs for his horn and forehead, pushing with all your might, squirming and writhing, but you’re trapped. “Stop—!!” but Karaku’s guffawing drowns out your weak demand. his fingers are thick and rough as they pump into your unprepared core, though the rough treatment coaxes your arousal to life, encouraging you to soak his knuckles as he scissors them inside you. pressing his calloused fingertips against your inner walls, he can feel them spasm and tighten.

“Tighter than I expected,” his voice is a low, raspy growl as his fingers work relentlessly inside you, pummeling over delicate nerves. you can’t help but pant and groan, but you try to steel your glare, and push him off. “Your little Hashira buddies haven’t fucked you out yet?” his digits spread, testing the elasticity of your insides, and you moan, haplessly. “All those muscles and no brains. They promote a useless, little piece of fuck meat and don’t even take advantage?”

Urogi giggles from behind you, his lips close to your ear as he hisses. “Don’t worry, we’ll take care of that.”

Karaku, using his free hand to retrieve his cock, wraps his fist around the girth and pumps it to life at the same velocity with which he finger fucks you, and his fangs peek out against his bottom lip as he bites down on it, moaning low and guttural. “I broke her down, so I want to fuck her first.”

Urogi had been taunting you, kissing at the shell of your ear, whispering threats and excitedly watching you jerk and squirm to get away from him, but when Karaku says this, he pauses. you can feel the air behind a powerful grit of his teeth, as if Karaku’s claim annoyed him. “We broke her together—“

“Shut up,” Karaku waved off his counter’s nagging, grasping his ready cock at the base and guiding between your thighs. replacing his fingers with his cock was a sudden switch, and a size difference your body wasn’t prepared for. “I’m already in.” your eyes widen, your nails scraping at his horns and his face as he forced his way inside you. your walls spasmed and fluttered around the intruder, clamping down, instead of trying to push him out, and your back arches. the movement was intended to bring you a moment of reprieve, and shove him out of you, but the curve of your body only gives him the room he needs to slide hilt deep.

“F—fuck!” you exclaim; you can’t help it. the force behind his nesting is almost too much to bear, and you grind your teeth, glaring up at him weakly, with your thighs trembling. Urogi’s claws dig into them, blood beading to the surface as you struggle. “Y—you despicable, vile… uh!!” you were just about to make your stand, demand he pull out of you or else you would find a way to kill him with your bare hands, but his hips rocked suddenly. back and forth, falling into a rough and hungry pace that had you scrambling for breath, your feet flopping in the air. “Y-you can’t…!!”

Karaku howls with pleasure, both of his hands now wrapping around your throat, instead, a wild and primal look in his wide eyes. his lips are etched into a permanent, open mouthed smile as he fucks you with reckless abandon, cackling and crowing as he does so. “Aha! It’s been such a long time since I’ve had tight, warm human cunt!” his thumbs press against your windpipe, teasing it closed until you’re clawing at his wrists, gurgling pleas to breathe. it was hard to focus on anything but the lack of oxygen, and yet the sound of your squelching and the smack of his balls against you pounded in both of your ears. “It’s good,” his tongue flicks at his teeth, his breaths coming out in ragged breaths, “the more I choke you, the tighter your cunt squeezes me!”

Urogi was smiling again, his eyes flickering down to the join of your bodies to watch Karaku’s cock slide in and out at a rapid pace. if he zeroed in, he could see your entrance clench down on him, as if to keep him anchored within you, and he chortles low, nipping at your earlobe. “It almost seems like she likes it, listen to how wet she is. Choke her harder, I want to see her cheeks turn purple.”

you shake your head, fervent, “D-don’t!!”

you didn’t want them to hear how your body betrayed you, how it spat and sputtered, grateful to be decimated with demon cock, but even that scream sounded less reluctant. your sounds were changing, twisting from protest to pleasure, and you couldn’t stop it. the tighter the demon gripped your throat, the more pleasure you derived from being taken against your will. the wetter you got.

Karaku’s brows knit together, focusing all of his energy into pounding deep, as he hissed through clamped teeth, “Cumming for you, little demon killer. Going to fill up that belly!”

you didn’t have time to process what his threat had been, because a few, forceful thrusts against your limit, his tip battering your insides, and he erupts with a wail, giving your neck one final, right squeeze that you thought for sure would crush your trachea. it doesn’t, somehow, and when his grip loosens, you choke on a massive influx of air, uttering a defeated, “N-no, not inside—“ though it was too late. you could feel his cum in your guts, much more than a human could produce, sloshing about as he continued. he didn’t pull out, or even slow his pace. dribbling white release out with every buck of his powerful hips, his climax only seemed to spur him to fuck you harder.

“Do you feel that, Hashira?” Karaku taunts, grabbing your hair at the roots to pull your head up, forcing you to stare deep into his eyes. every thrust pushes his release deeper into you, and you mewl and groan, “You’re full of demon cum.” your eyes roll around in your head when it shakes, but Karaku swipes his mouth over yours, tasting your kiss with his long, invasive tongue. “You’re my breeding bitch now.”

“Ours. We’re supposed to be sharing her, did you forget?” Urogi nagged, dropping one of your legs to free a hand. your toe scrapes against the ground, leg limply dangling, but you don’t have the energy to use it to fight back— all of your resistance Karaku had already fucked from your body. you assume, with Urogi’s shifting behind you, that he too was grabbing and readying his cock, and you groan at the thought of being handed off for this to happen again. if you had to satisfy them both, you would surely not survive this night. “Give me room.”

“She’s too tight,” Karaku barked, “give me a minute to open her up some more.”

Urogi snarls, and rubs the swollen head of his cock against the brutal fucking you’re getting, causing your eyelids to flutter as you try to look back at him. surely, he didn’t intend to force his way into the same hole at the same time?

“We’ll stretch her out together. I’m not waiting anymore, I want to break her, too.”

Urogi worms his way inside, spearing your elastic entrance and forcing you to stretch to not only accommodate Karaku’s brutality, but now Urogi’s cock, too. they were roughly the same size and shape, at least they felt that way, but the sensation of them rubbing together inside of you, bulging against your inner walls, was utterly maddening. you felt like you were being torn in half, or as if you were a rope in a vicious game of tug-of-war between the two demons. Urogi was just as eager and cruel as his counterpart, falling into a merciless rhythm opposite of Karaku, so as Karaku was retracting, Urogi was pounding deeper, keeping your limits brutalized with not a moment to recover.

it was difficult, at this point, to do anything short of blacking out. your eyes rolled around in your head, your mouth hanged open, drool leaking from the corners and mews and helpless babbling fell free. your body slumped, in between the two sturdy demons as they all but fucked right through you.

Urogi moans, much louder and huskier, breathing hot on your neck and in your ear. “She’s so much more receptive now that she’s been tenderized,” he takes a sharp inhale, his talons tickling your chin as he tilts your head back, instead, to smash his hungry lips against yours.

the kiss is wrong. rough and forceful, and you can’t fight it, so your mouth hangs open, gurgling quiet pleas for some sort of mercy. Urogi ignores them, and kisses you deeply, so deeply that you worry his tongue, that was prodding at every inch of your mouth, would eventually choke you as fiercely as Karaku had with his hands.

he breaks the kiss for a moment, to pull back and admire the broken expression on your bruised countenance, before he tilts his head. “You’re being ruined, you know? Turned into a mindless fuckdoll.” a wide grin teases his taut lips, “Your body is ours, demon slayer, to destroy as we please. To breed when we feel the need.” if you had any tears left, they would’ve streaked the dirt on your cheeks, but you couldn’t cry.

it felt too good.

“I’d… rather… die…” you breathe out, uneven and trembling, trying to hold on to what little denial you could still muster.

“Shut up, breeder.” Karaku chomped at your clavicle, sucking and biting, leaving his mark on you. “We’ll kill you if we get bored of stuffing your holes, but you won’t get that lucky for a good, long while.” Karaku was grunting again, speeding up, as he must’ve caught on the trail of a second orgasm, and you started to whine and whimper to punctuate each thrust. all of the stimulation— the rubbing against his shaft as Karaku pounded and the way you clench and milk the two cocks fighting for ownership of your pussy— must’ve pushed Urogi over the edge, because he dropped off along the way. coming undone and bucking his hips madly, whimpering with sordid delight as he kisses you again, his release joining Karaku’s and the load already inside as they cum together this time.

a strangled cry bubbles out of your throat, the pressure on your belly more than you’ve ever felt. you could feel a faint bulge, as if they’d inflated you like a balloon, as the excess that refused to fit seeps out between your legs, splattering on the ground underneath you. you could hold absolutely no more, and they both knew that, too. as if coordinated, they both release you, and you crumble to the ground on your belly, sliding off both of their cocks in the process. another eruption of their release oozes out from your abused cunt as you lay there, fucked out and weak.

“Look at you.” Urogi swoons, planting one claw on your arm to pin you in place, squatting down to your level. his cock swung in front of your face, still hard and smelling of your body. it made you dizzy, so you tried to look away, smearing your face in the dirt to escape. “You’re no soldier, girl. All of that training did nothing for your weak mind or your easily ruined body. Break your sword and feed you a couple of demon cocks, and your true purpose is revealed.”

you hear footsteps on the other side, and only a moment passes before Karaku grasps a fistful of your hair. you were familiar, now, with that terribly painful grip. and, upon jerking your head upwards, your open mouth is plugged by his cock, giving you no choice but to taste the cum that frosts it. it’s raw and musky, and your eyes roll back upon swallowing the taste, gurgling weakly. he laughs at this, pushing your head down to force it deeper. “Hanging off our cocks like a pathetic, human puppet.”

#karaku #karaku x reader #Karaku smut #karaku x you #urogi #urogi x reader #urogi x you #urogi smut #hantengu #demon slayer x you #demon slayer smut #demon slayer x reader #demon slayer #kny #kny x reader #kny x you #kny smut #kimetsu no yaiba

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birboon · 10 months

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BBC Ghosts: My OC

NAME: Roméo Boutin

GENDER: Male

SEXUALITY: bisexual

NATIONALITY: French

DEATH: Accidentally drowned as a Prisoner of the British during the Napoleonic war

BACKSTORY:

The hand was there again, rough and callous as it pushed down. The grip on his neck was bruising; pale skin mottling a violent purplish-blue beneath the thuggish fingers that pressed into it. Roméo tried to tear himself away but the hold was too strong, too tight. He saw little more than a flash of red uniform before his wet curls slipped into his eyes; heard nothing more than the brutish guffaw of one of his jailers before the force on his neck was increased ten-fold. And suddenly he found himself heading face first back into the tin basin, trying miserably to suck in a final breath of air before the shock of ice-water flooded his systems. Weakly, he tried to push himself from the water to no avail. His hands found purchase on the bucket, rusted edges biting at his palms, yet no amount of upwards pressure would shake off the hands holding him down. There were fingernails scratching at his scalp, entwined in his knotted, soaked curls to keep him beneath the water line. Roméo’s time was running out.

He’d stopped trying to call for help after the first few submersions, been dragged from the frozen tub gasping and shivering and choking out slurs towards his captors. The Frenchman had, inevitably, given up. But in the hands of such an unforgiving enemy, was it really a surprise? Broken, that’s what he was: he’d been broken in like a yearling, sent galloping by the whips straight into the welcoming arms of his handlers. The ones who pulled him from the cold touch of death with a harsh tug, meaty hands yanking on the blue ribbon that kept the golden locks from his face.

A shiver coursed through his body, a chill shock sweeping his veins. Roméo’s mouth fell open in a horrific realisation, chest clenching tightly. He hadn’t been pulled out yet - why hadn’t they pulled him out? A cold gush of water filtered down his throat to his lungs and his tongue grew heavy with the metallic taste of it. The Frenchman tried to yell, a burbled cry dimmed and dull reaching the ears of the men holding him hostage, but there was no alleviation from the drowning sensation that burned the back of his eyes like a dozen pin pricks. There was a knock on the back of his legs followed by a hefty weight, and only when they were tied down did he realise his legs had been flailing out, kicking and thrashing to gain purpose on the growing puddle seeping through the wooden floor. There was a tug on his chest cavity, something innate and ancient, dragging him down further into the water and he caught his eyes sagging closed. New thoughts came slowly, cold flashes of memories buried deep and long forgotten: Jean-Marc Pierre, his childhood friend and the farm-hand-next-door. His first kiss with her, soft and quick on cherry-red painted lips; his first kiss with him, intoxicating and dry but strong and eager. Lessons with professors, speeches from his father on the family business. Hearing of the war as a fresh-faced man, just of age, with a yearning to fight and die like a martyr; stealing away in the dead of night, astride his great chestnut stallion, to march with his brothers under orders of the great general. Nights in an orchard under the stars, fumbling with one of the Privates under his command, the taste of sour-apple on his tongue. Fighting on the beaches, rapier swinging in the air and slashing through flesh. Feeling his steed shudder and fall beneath him. Being taken, stolen, forced to watch the massacre of his men. The darkness of the lower decks as the boat cast him away from his homeland and across the channel. The grandiose mansion they dragged him to, far from the sea and deep in the wilderness. The brutal beatings, abuse, assaults on his person and now… this.

It seemed his time was finally over. He was drowning. Roméo could feel his pulse slowing - could hear his heartbeat gradually die down. His body writhed like a snake trapped in a sack, unable to escape his fate as dark spots overcame his muddied vision and the burning began to pierce into his deflated lungs. Pain, pain, pain until the hurt just finally… stopped. Welcomed to his watery grave and driven from it all too quick, gasping for unneeded breath as he shot from the water and climbed unsteadily to his feet.

He knew he was dead, of course. That much was obvious, when you could see your corporeal body still warm and jittery with the last shock of nerves. Roméo stared down at the scene that lay before him, feeling oddly warm despite the dampness of his uniform pressing into his skin. He watched as the three english soldiers in charge of his torture finally tore his pallid face from the water, pushing an uncomfortable two fingers into the side of his throat and murmuring about the lack of pulse. Roméo flinched as they simply shrugged, flinging his limp form to the floor, water leaking from his overflowing lungs, and kicking into his ribs one last time - as if he hadn’t suffered enough whilst alive! The frenchman’s face soured in distaste and he straightened his blue collar penchantly.

“Ça alors!” he murmured quietly, voice swollen with grief and disbelief. There was a scuffle behind him, the sound of dragging footsteps, and Roméo whipped around defensively. His green eyes locked with the deep set ones of… something. He wasn’t really sure if he’d call the thing a person. Some primitive form of human, maybe, with a giant forehead and rags wrapped around their body fashioned from what appeared to be fur. The Frenchman grimaced at the sight. Perhaps this was another of the prisoners?

“Small man dead!” the creature huffed, sounding almost as though he were trying not to laugh. “Small blue man die, come look!”

“Oh, no, I don’t want to… okay!” A brilliantly-dressed young woman phased through the wall behind the odd-looking neanderthal, face beaming. “Oh look at him, the poor dear! So handsome!”

Roméo scrambled backwards at her approach, chest heaving. He was dead. And he wasn’t alone in being so.

“C'est pas possible! ne pas s’approcher!” he cried, holding his arms out before him wildly. He flinched as he felt his foot travel through something odd, movement slowed, and blanched as he looked down to see his legs passing through the slump of his own body.

“I think ‘es gonna be sick!” came a new voice, common and whiny and grating to his ears. He snapped his gaze to the soot-covered woman stepping into the room behind him, falling to his knees. They were speaking english - the language was not natural for his tongue but he understood enough - he’d had the best of tutoring, of course. Boarding school had not been wasted on him.

“What is, uh-” he tested the words on his tongue, letting the forgein syllables slide from his mouth. “What is going on?”

“You dead,” the primitive man commented unhelpfully and Roméo felt heat flood his face as he flushed angrily.

“Yes I- I know that!” he snarled, eyes flickering - but paying no heed - to the young woman as she giggled and blushed at his words.

“Oh he has an accent!”

“‘Es one of them french folks ain’t he?” the burned woman asked nobody in particular, digging her finger in her ear.

“Imbéciles!” the Frenchman spat. “Oui, I am french. What is ‘appening, I should be in heaven no?”

“You die...” the caveman said steadily, hands gesticulating wildly and uselessly. “Become ghost like us!”

The others burst out clapping at the man’s excited state and Roméo collapsed to his knees, staring down at his body. He was… stuck here? With them?

He’d rather have gone to Hell.

#bbc ghosts #ghosts #oc #oc backstory #oc background #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom

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duckymcdoorknob · 2 years

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(tw) hi! this is actually my first time requesting so im sorry if this sounds a bit odd, but could i request saiki k comforting/helping a s/o whos struggling with sh and just relapsed? i tried to make sure you're comfortable and writing for these things/people but im not sure if everythings up to date so don't worry if u cant! emergency request and romantic if possible, thank u in advance and its okay if not:) have a good day or night!! <3

Of course!! Thank you for reaching out to me!

First and foremost, this relapse does not define you nor your progress.

I like to think of relapses in the way of war. This is your Valley Forge (if you’re familiar with the American Revolution)

This is the toughest part of your final outcome. You may lose some progress along the way, and the world may be against you, but as we can see in history books, you’re Washington and you’re going to win this war!!

Please don’t be shy to give me a holler in my DMs if you ever need any assistance!!

CW UNDER THE CUT: Mentions of s3lf h4rm

𝐾𝑢𝑠𝑢𝑜 𝑆𝑎𝑖𝑘𝑖

As an attentive boyfriend, Saiki knew that life had taken a downward spiral for you.

He wanted so desperately to use his powers and fix everything.

But, he couldn’t.

He just had to hope that you would come to him, and ask him for help with something.

Unfortunately, you never asked. Saiki was left with nothing more than the world’s biggest desire to help you.

He promised himself that he would be very careful to never use his powers on you. He told himself he’d let life take its course.

That was until you did what he feared most:

You put yourself in danger.

Granted, he didn’t know that it had happened for a while. He had gone back home and sensed that something was really wrong.

He took a breath and waited for a minute or two, just to get a level head.

He would regret those two minutes for eternity.

When he had reached your home, he used clairvoyance to find you were in the bathroom.

“No… no, no, no!” He cursed himself for waiting this long as he had seen what had happened to you.

He ran to your bathroom door, knocking gently. “(Y/N), you’ve gotta let me in. Please.”

He heard nothing but labored breaths and sobs from your end.

“I will open this door myself, and you know that.”

And when you still didn’t reply, he did. Saiki turned the lock with a paper clip in his pocket and quickly opened the door.

He saw you shaking violently on the ground, inches away your the weapon of mass destruction. He picked it up and swapped it with a random thumbtack.

“(Y/N)? Is it okay if I touch you?” He asked in a sweetly tender voice.

You were able to just nod slightly, trying to sit up. Kusuo sat down behind you and helped guide you to a seated position.

Your lover held you around your waist, resting his head atop of yours, and gently rocking you back and forth.

“I-im sorry… I- I couldn’t-“

“Hey, don’t be sorry.” He whispered in response, “There’s no reason to feel remorse for this. You tried your best.”

He swayed back and forth with you for as long as you needed, inevitably dirtying his uniform on the bathroom floor.

“Can I help you get washed up?” His voice was low and gentle, not wanting to scare you.

“Please.”

With that small allowance, your boyfriend opened up the cabinet and grabbed a few cotton rounds. He reached up to the sink and soaked them in water, then grabbed some vibrant bandages.

“Ready?”

“Mhm.”

Every step of the way, he made sure to make his presence known. “Alright… it’s just me on your left arm. Near the top, okay?” And after your give him a confirmation, he’d begin.

His touch was ghostly, practically nonexistent on your burning skin. Regardless, you relaxed into Saiki as he gently cleaned your arms off.

“This part is going to hurt just a little bit, but I have to make sure that you don’t have anything bad in your cuts.” He said softly.

You sighed out a breath and agreed, waiting for the pain to arrive. When it did, it was barely there once again. You didn’t feel the pain of the ointment cooling your blazing arms, you only felt the feather-light touches of the boy you adored most.

“Last step is bandaids.” He thought out loud, “Oh wow, I only need three? You’ve made so much progress, (Y/N). “ he cooed with a stoic face.

As you felt your lips curl up into a smile, Kusuo put the bandages gently on your open cuts. After he was done, he pulled your sleeves down and hugged your torso once again.

“I love you, Ku’. Thank you.” You mumbled as you let yourself fall back into his chest.

“I love you too, (Y/N). I know today was hard, and I know you’re not very happy right now, but I beg of you to please talk to me. Anytime that you may need me, I’ll be there. Anything you could possibly want, I’ll travel the world for it. Any help you might need, it’ll be granted to you.”

“Okay.”

“Yeah?” He asked, hugging you tighter.

“Yeah.” You whispered in response, tears of relief and joy flooding your eyes.

Saiki adjusted you in his arms, now hugging around your upper body. He held your head gently, guiding it to rest over his heart.

“This does not define you, nor your progress. You had a bad moment, as do we all. One little slip isn’t going to completely ruin what you’ve worked so hard for. I mean, you went from over thirty, down to three when you needed relief. I’m not sure how long you’ve been here, but I’m so happy that you’ve had the self control to keep yourself clean for this long.”

“The clock rewinds, the day changes, the timer resets. Everything is temporary. That means that you have the power to make the change, and I’ve seen you doing it so far. One mistake May reset the clock, but it doesn’t burn it to the ground and completely derail all that you’ve worked for.”

“You are strong. You’re talented, passionate, ready to seize your moment whenever it’s presented to you. These are all the reasons why I adore you, and why you only make my heart grow fonder each day. I love you so much, (Y/N). Please don’t ever think negatively of yourself for something like this.”

“I love you more.”

“And I love you most.” He whispered kissing your forehead, once again pulling you close.

—————♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎—————

#ducky’s emergency requests #saiki k emergency requests #the disastrous life of Saiki k emergency requests #tdlosk emergency requests #Saiki k x reader #kusuo saiki x reader #saiki kusuo x reader #Saiki comfort #Saiki k comfort #Saiki k x reader comfort #cow self harm #tw self harm #emergency #the disastrous life of saiki k x reader #saiki k imagines

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wkemeup · 3 years

Text

Losing Riley

summary: Before she met Bucky, Y/n’s world was shattered. Sam was the common thread that helped her pick up the pieces again. pairings: riley x reader, hinted future bucky x reader warnings: character death, grief 🧡 series masterlist / series playlist

You woke to cold sheets. A hand slid over to the left side of an empty bed and your heart clenched. The startling realization settled in each morning as the distant glow of the sunrise peered through the curtains – Riley was still an ocean away and you were still emphatically alone.

But you were determined to make the most of the day, even if Riley wasn’t there to spend it with you. It was his mother’s birthday whether he was stateside or not and you were insistent not to let the ocean waters sweep you under in his absence. So, you pressed on a smile and dragged your feet to the bathroom to tame your hair and dry your eyes. His family would be expecting you and one of your homemade cakes by the evening.

You dared a glance at yourself in the mirror, clad only in the US Air Force t-shirt Riley had left behind. It was rich in army green color and the logo stood bright against your chest. You wondered how much wear the shirt could handle before it started to fade. It had lost Riley’s scent after you’d worn it for a week straight, the lingering glimpses of his presence dimming night by night. You could only hope it wouldn’t shrink in the wash.

You spent the day perfecting the cake his parents had grown to crave; three-tiered and coated in layers of chocolate frosting. Billy Joel sang on the radio and you mumbled your way through the verses of We Didn’t Start the Fire to distract yourself from imagining Riley seated at the countertop, watching you with love struck smirk on his face and a dab of frosting at the corner of his lips. The book on the counter held a gentle layer of flour on the pages. It kept you company until the timer rang.

The dress you wore was one you’d purchased with the intent to wear for a date night when Riley came home after his first tour. Though it was red in color, it was not striking or bold – instead, it was soft, almost muted, and it carried a sort of gentle effervescence to it. Modest but charming. You’d hoped it would make him smile. You hadn’t counted on how the war stealing his ability to do so.

It was the first time you wore the dress since you bought it. Maybe you’d ask his mother to take a picture of you with the cake to send to him. He might like that. He seemed to be himself more when he was away than when he was home in your arms these days.

You had the cab drop you at the end of the driveway. It was long enough to catch the glow of Christmas lights still draped around the trees outside and hidden under layers of snow, despite the fact that it was well into January. The suburbs were so quiet compared to the city; you’d forgotten how much you enjoyed spending time at his parent’s house. They’d welcomed you to their table, even in the months Riley was overseas. It was a burden you shared together – to be left behind.

You’d only made it halfway up the driveway when you noticed the two men standing at the porch. They were dressed in formal uniforms, white hats held down by their hearts. You hadn’t realized you’d stopped moving until the snow started to soak into your shoes. It piled on the pointed toes of your heels.

Riley’s mother stood in the open-door way, a vacant look upon her face. Her husband was at her side, shaking his head as he struggled to grab onto his wife before she let out a wail that echoed so painfully, birds scattered from nearby trees.

Her knees gave way from under her as she fell to the ground in sobs. The two men in uniform did their best to comfort her, only to be shoved away. They stood back and watched a mother grieve her only son at a respectful distance.

“Y/n?”

Your hands were shaking. The cake tray had slipped from your fingers and fell into the snow. A mess of sweet chocolate amongst pavement and ice. The voice called your name again, concerned, frantic, and you could only vaguely make out a blurred figure racing towards you.

Everything around you tunneled, your knees weakening as you struggled to fight against the ice under your heels and the weight suddenly barreling down on your shoulders. All you could hear was the screams of Riley’s mother as she held onto her husband, unable to move from the comfort of the ground.

“Y/n, come with me,” the voice eased and you looked up to find Sam Wilson standing a few paces ahead of you dressed in his formal Air Force blues, gold wings on his shoulder and a series of colorful pins on his left breast. He held out a hand to you.

“Let’s go inside, okay?” he tried again but you shook your head, eyes darting back to Riley’s mother.

You tried to take in another breath but found it shallow, as if your lungs had collapsed beside your heart in mutual surrender.

“You’re having a panic attack,” Sam told you calmly. “I need you to listen to me, okay? Focus on my voice.”

You nodded quickly, tears burning in your eyes, though you couldn’t tell if it was from the shattered remains in your chest or the light headedness pulling your vision under. Sam bent down and grabbed a handful of snow.

“Here. Feel this,” he ordered evenly, placing the snow in your bare hand. He stepped back, shaking out his gloves. “It’s cold, right?”

Yes, you tried to say though the word didn’t quite leave your lips. It stung, but there was a comfort in it. You watched as it melted in your palm, your skin burning from where it had been.

“Smells like Christmas trees out here, doesn’t it?” Sam added, taking in a deep breath. He smiled. “Reminds me of the tree farms I used to go to with my dad every year growing up.”

You followed his lead, taking in as much of a breath as your body would allow. He was right, it did smell like pines. Riley’s family planted a few along their property line because his mother loved Christmas so much. It smelled like Fraser and Balsam Fir all year round.

You concentrated on the smell of the trees, the chocolate that had scattered into the snow in clumps of frosting and cake; the sound of Sam’s voice, of Riley’s mother’s cries; the feel of the chill on your skin and the snow in your hand. You focused until you could draw in a full breath enough to make sense of the destruction around you.

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” you asked, voice trembling on the verge of tears.

Sam’s shoulders fell, a terrible longing pressed over his features. “I’m so sorry, Y/n.”

Despite your efforts, your knees buckled in mirror to Riley’s mother. Sam caught you before you could hit the ground, his arms encasing around you as your body fought the violent tremors shaking through you. You cried against his jacket, as the snow built upon your shoulders and wet your hair. You cried until there was little else your body could give.

***

You barely remembered the funeral.

A folded flag had been placed in the lap of Riley’s mother as she sobbed. A casket had been lowered into the ground. Guns fired in salute and you flinched at each one as they echoed against the stormy grey skies. Sam held your hand through the entire ceremony, squeezing it hard enough to leave a mark when it looked like you were teetering on the edge of an endless void. He stayed on your couch that night and pretended not to hear as you cried yourself to sleep.

There was an emptiness that took hold of you when Riley left for his first tour, but there was still a lingering hope. You’d managed to hold onto the image of a man at war and his woman waiting for him to return. He wrote often and you kept each letter in a shoe box under the bed. It was a script of a movie you’d learned to follow – the scraps of love you could grasp from the shores of the Atlantic.

When he came home, he was hollow. He wasn’t the man you’d kissed goodbye with a cheesy, hopeful grin on his face. He’d lost the spark behind his eye and the glow in his skin. He became withdrawn and angry; lashing out when you reached to him with an anchor in your hand as if he favored the unforgiving currents pulling him under.

The time you spent with him before he left again hurt worse than when he was gone. He longed for the sky like a bird with a broken wing. It was within reach, so close and so impossibly far from his grasp. He pushed you away, convinced you would never understand the resentment he carried towards civilian life and the utter inability to conform to it.

Perhaps he was right. You’d shouted it yourself one night until you were both hoarse and in tears. You would never understand, but it didn’t mean you couldn’t try, that you didn’t love him any less.

You’d seen the way the war had hurt him. It shoved nightmares to his dreams and panic in his veins. It made him hypervigilant and paranoid. It isolated him from his friends and family. It made him feel like a monster in the skin of a man, pretending to be someone he wasn’t; smiling through aching muscles as if he were a portrait hanging in a museum.

He pretended to be fine. He pretended to try. He never was.

It didn’t surprise you the day he told you he was going back.

Still – you begged. Despite the tears, the months of heartache and panic attacks and night terrors, you were desperate for him to stay. You were desperate to rebuild what the war had broken between you. You loved him and it wasn’t enough.

After he left, you tried to pretend as he did – that everything was fine, that you didn’t feel an ache in your chest at the thought of him, that you were a woman waiting on your soldier to return home.

He was more himself when he called. He became the Riley you remembered in the beginning; full of hope and eager to prove himself. He smiled often and laughed as his friends teased him for the blush in his cheeks when you appeared on the screen. It was those moments that encouraged you to hang on, that reminded you why he was worth the pain and heartache.

Those moments gave you hope that this time would be different. When Riley came home, the two of you would be just fine. The soldier and his girl.

Always optimistic. Always sunny. Always finding silver linings.

You should have known better than that.

***

Mrs. Jefferson was surprised the day you showed up at work dressed in shades of grey and black, returning the piles of books you had yet to read.

“You should go home, dear,” she eased, slipping the glasses from the bridge of her nose to rest on the beads against her chest. “It’s too soon for you to be at work.”

“I’m fine,” you mumbled. You didn’t put much effort into the lie but you couldn’t stand to be in your apartment another second longer. It was too quiet, too empty. You’d never lived with Riley but his things were scattered around your place. The Air Force shirt sat crumbled at the foot of your bed.

“Honey, you forget that I know what you are going through,” Mrs. Jefferson sighed, placing a trembling hand over yours. You paused. “Be patient with yourself. Have kindness for the man you lost. You’ll see the sun again, my dear. I promise.”

You didn’t know whether it was the tenderness in her words or the way her aged hand curled around yours that broke you. Tears blurred over your eyes and you sank into her embrace as she drew circles against your spine. If the visitors noticed your grief, they did not say anything. For that, you were grateful.

***

It took time before you could think of Riley without crying. Months, maybe, but it was progress. Sam stopped by daily in the beginning, showing up with coffee and donuts from Luciana’s and forcing you to get out of bed just to open the door for him before he woke the neighbors. You’d come to expect him and started to ready yourself before he arrived.

He swung by after work some days with takeout and some weekends he dragged you to his friend Steve’s house where they watched football and you filled your stomach with nachos and buffalo chicken dip.

He taught you to smile again despite yourself because Sam was infectious no matter how deep the void you’d caged yourself in. It was impossible not to return his smile, impossible not to try for a man who so genuinely wanted you to succeed. He was Riley’s partner and he knew Riley on a level not even you had seen. Sam grieved different than you did, but he grieved nonetheless. It was something you shared in. Something you overcame together, too.

The day he brought you to the VA, you’d dragged your feet the whole way.

“Trust me, kid,” Sam urged, yanking your hand along the sidewalk, but you planted your feet. Sam rolled his eyes. “Do it for Riley.”

Your jaw dropped, though Sam started to smirk. “Don’t evoke Riley’s name to guilt me into working for the people who took him from us, Sam!”

“I’m guilting you into volunteering. Let’s make that clear,” Sam retorted. “I’m not paying you shit.”

You laughed despite the frown on your face.

“Second, these guys aren’t the big shots who sit in their cozy offices while our boots on the ground see the real fight,” Sam said, squeezing your hand. He wasn’t teasing anymore. His smile was genuine as his features softened, a sad sort of memory on his mind. “They’re guys like Riley, Y/n. Guys who could use the help he should have had.”

Your lips parted, unable to come up with an excuse to say next. You thought of Riley curled up on the floor with his hands pressed over his ears as fireworks lit up the sky on New Year’s Eve. You thought of the dark circles under his eyes from sleepless dreams and the toll it took on your relationship. You thought of the shame he felt for pushing you away, for being unable to stop himself from hurting you, too.

You shook your head. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough for that, Sam.”

“Just come with me to the open house,” Sam tried, tugging on your hand and this time, you let him drag you a few steps. “If it’s too much, I won’t push it again...” he bit his lip, “until next year.”

“Fine!” you laughed, falling in stride with him as he fist pumped the air in victory. “I don’t know how Riley put up with you for so long.”

“With much reluctance,” Sam snickered.

It felt nice to be able to talk about Riley without it hurting. It still ached, but it was a pleasant ache – like maybe remembering him didn’t have to be a bad thing, like maybe it could bring you a little joy, too.

Sam brought you into his office first to draw you away from the crowds. It gave you a chance to take off your coat and ease yourself into the surroundings before Sam inevitably threw a handful of strangers on you with terrible stories and sad faces to convince you to stay.

“I just gotta find a file for Steve and we can head out to the main room, alright?”

You nodded, taking the time to look around Sam’s office. It wasn’t anything like you’d pictured it to be. You’d expected it to be in chaos – disorganized, with papers stacked high on the desk and a basketball hoop hanging over the trash bin – but it was rather professional. He had awards framed on the wall, metals encased in glass. File cabinets labeled and not a pen out of place.

But it was the photo sitting on his desk that drew your attention. You picked it up, recognizing Sam at the center in his Air Force uniform and a younger, more doe-eyed Steve Rogers who stood beside him dressed in army greens. But there was a third man hanging off Sam’s left shoulder you didn’t know.

He was handsome. Smile bright enough to rival even that of Sam’s. With short, brown hair and eyes as blue as you’d ever seen, you wondered whether his face might be one you’d see out in the crowd of veterans gathered in the lobby.

“That’s Bucky,” Sam grinned, pointing to the man in the photo. “He’s still out on tour.”

You handed Sam the picture, tucking your hair behind your ear nervously, and he seemed to enjoy how flustered you were.

“He’s scheduled to be home next year though,” Sam added, studying for your reaction. “I’ll see if I can get him to swing by if... you know... you’re volunteering here.”

You glared at Sam until he broke into laughter.

“Come on, I’ll introduce you to the regulars,” Sam grinned, grabbing your hand and dragging you out into the crowd in the lobby.

You knew before Steve’s presentation on the services at the VA even began that Sam had tied your heart with string to this building and the people in it. You saw Riley’s face in everyone who shook your hand – from the petite, red headed woman with a questionable background and kind eyes to the son of a billionaire who had joined the Air Force in rebellion and found he rather liked being just ‘one of the guys.’

It was as if you could feel a hand on your back, urging you forward, into the arms of these people and the compassion they could give to you. You wondered if Sam knew that it would be as much a kindness to you as you could be for them, to be able to give your time to this place. Ideas began to spring in your mind of how you could bring your love of books to your work here and how much you’d missed reading yourself.

Maybe this place could heal you, too.

It took a single glance from Sam across the room to know he’d convinced you. He smiled, raising a glass of cheap red wine, and nodded. It was the first time in months you’d felt a glimmer of hope, a reason to be excited, a possibility for good amongst the broken.

You clung onto it with everything you had.

#Idk how to tag this?#riley x reader #bucky barnes x reader

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overflowing-with-words · 2 years

Text

'nightmares'/ haunted | jay w., nya s.

Febuwhump Day 4: 'Nightmares.'

TW: Mentions of death

Jay dreams of Nya. Later, he thinks its worst than a nightmare. A/N: Realized I could finish day 4 faster and I did it and its a rushed ending but I can edit them after febuwhump lol yay

• • •

Jay, doesn't have nightmares.

It's a blessing as a child. He doesn't suffer from recurring nightmares of falling down a dark, dark hole, or facing his deepest fears in sleep. There's no explanation, he just doesn't

He kind of wishes he did, though.

After Zane sacrifices himself for them, he doesn't dream of razor-edged icicles exploding around his world, doesn't have nightmares of the snowy glaze freezing everywhere, doesn't dream of the nindroid shattering into a million pieces, unable to take the pure power that courses through him.

His dreams hold memories, instead. Memories of good times, times when they didn't have to worry about saving the world or another new, badder, villain out to get them. Come to think of it, they didn't have a lot of those times. Not enough, at least.

He dreams of normal times with the team, joyful conversations he can't quite remember, sunlight gleaming off Zane's metallic plating and not a worry in the world, besides who's turn it is for the laundry and whether or not they had enough food to last the week.

"It's Kai's turn." Nya says steadfastly, and the fire ninja shoots up from his seat on the ground, shaking his head. "No. It is nOT-"

"It is. My calendar says so," Zane says helpfully, and the brunette scowls, the expression not holding any real annoyance. "Yeah, sure, gang up on me-"

"It totally is your turn. I did it last week!" Lloyd pipes up, as if to rub it in, and Kai collapses back onto the ground dramatically, sprawling on the grass. "Fine, fine, push all the work onto me."

Jay laughs at Kai's disgruntled face, and the feeling is lifting, painfully normal, like nothing could hurt them now.

It's unhelpful, and he tries to forget them, throwing himself into his work, rising early morning after morning to host the show.

Later, the nindroid returns, and the dreams fade away to nothing again.

They mist into black, dreamless sleep, and Jay wonders why. He never gets another.

Until, Nya disappears.

The inky blue waves pull her into the sea, away from his sight. The last of the water droplets roll off his arms, and he feels tears dripping down his cheeks, staining his uniform.

Jay clenches the edge of the building, fingers tightening around the rough stone, and pushes away from it violently, as if the building can feel his pain.

He hates her. He hates her for leaving him. He drags a pale blue sleeve across his face, wiping away the tears with a harsh sniff. Jay stares out across the city for one last time, as if Nya will magically come back, somehow transform back into her old self.

He wishes more than anything she would.

That night, the silence is almost deafening. Everyone retreats to their own room as soon as they reach the monastery, forgetting even the usual mandatory injury checks without a thought.

Jay doesn't bother peeling off his soaked uniform, arms burning from the scrapes received during the fight. He falls onto his bed immediately, clutching a pillow over his head. His hair splays over the sheets, staining them dark with water.

And blood, he notes faintly, but the lighting ninja can't think about anything except that fact that- Nya was gone. Because of him. Because he'd been dumb enough to go ahead and get fluid in his lungs, and she was stupid enough to sacrifice herself for him.

He didn't deserve it. Jay would've rather he died, for anything else to happen except for Nya to leave forever.

He throws the pillows off his face, and stares up at the ceiling, watching the shadowy sunset gleam across the white wall. It turns dusky dark soon enough, and eventually a dingy black settles over the room, making Jay wonder for a second how long he's been there.

It doesn't matter, though. His eyes slide shut, enveloping him in a black that's almost comforting. In sleep, he doesn't have to go over the day's event in his mind second by second, he doesn't have to think about how Nya will never come back, he doesn't have to hurt.

• • •

It's a bright day, shadows cast aside by the golden sun peeking out of the clouds, and the team is sitting out in the courtyard, cracking open peanuts and enjoying the sunshine.

Jay perches on the nearby stairway, and flicks a nut shell at the back of Kai's head, giving a small cheer in victory when it hits it target. The fire ninja jumps, picking up the husk and turning towards him, scowling. "Ve-ery mature." He doesn't bother to retaliate, too comfortable in his seat to move.

Jay doesn't reply, but picks up another shell once his head is turned back, taking aim carefully.

A small laugh tinkles next to him, and Jay looks up to see Nya standing at the doorway, holding a painted mug. Her raven hair is let down from the familiar ponytail she were during missions, spread over shoulders. She steps over the edge, long pajama pants trailing against the ground, and a baggy t-shirt hangs over her small frame.

"Hey, Nya." He says, small smile spreading across his face. A burst of excitement fills him, like every other time he sees the water ninja.

"Jay!" She exclaims, eyes glinting dangerously. The mug in her hands suddenly comes flying towards him, sparkling droplets sprinkling across the air. "Catch."

The lighting ninja splutters in surprise, hands flying up to shield his face from the projectile, waiting for the inevitable cold splash of water to shower across him. It never comes, and the mug lands dry across his lap with a thunk. He squints his eyes open suspiciously at the water ninja, confused.

She smirks, and reveals the bubbling sphere of water hovering behind her, taken from the cup before it hit him. "Got you."

"Traitor." Jay grumbles, and holds the cup out, letting the clear liquid fall into the opening neatly. Nya smiles and slides into the step next to him, and gives him a small kiss on the cheek. "What are you up to?"

He blushes, face burning crimson, and shrugs. "Nothing much." More than a year has gone by they started dating, but he's never not surprised at

"Liar, he's been throwing stuff at me." Kai calls out from in front of them, and Nya snickers, face lighting up in amusement. "I used to do that as a kid. Only I threw rocks, not shells,"

"I remember that." Kai mutters, face darkening. "And stop tossing things at me, I'm not a bin."

A strangled laugh makes it way out from Jay's throat as he tries to hide it, and Kai glowers at him for another second, but turns back to whatever he's preoccupied with.

Nya leans her head against his shoulder, warm skin pressing against his neck. "Boy, I did not get enough sleep last night." She yawns, and Jay hardly dares to breathe, incase he jostles her.

"Uh, you could take a nap?" he suggests, but the water ninja shakes her head drowsily, eyes slipping shut. "I'll jut close my eyes for a second, I've got some repairs to do later," she sighs, and Jay nods. "Oh, okay."

He wishes he could stay in that moment forever, without missions, or fuss, or having to worry about the world ending.

Just, peace for once.

• • •

Jay wakes up in the morning, eyes opening when the room is still shrouded in early dawn sunshine, cold yellow light peeking through the windows. It's a habit to wake up early by now, he knows.

His duvet is still neatly folded at the edge of the bed, and Jay suddenly realizes he's still in his uniform. He sits up, dazed, and gazes around the room, confusion filling him.

Then the events of the former day slams into him like a bullet, and the earlier morning containment fades away as quickly as it came.

He pulls his knees up to his chest, and buries his face in the damp cloth, eyes squeezed shut to stop the tears from flowing again.

He didn't want to cry again.

Thoughts of the earlier dream floats into his mind, and a sob escapes his throat, hazel hair falling into his face.

He hates it.

Hates the unreliable fantasies his brain puts him through at night, just to jerk him awake in the morning to a terrible reality, making it all the harder to go through.

His dreams are worse than nightmares.

#nightmares #febuwhump #febuwhump2022 #febuwhumpday4 #jay walker #nya smith #seabound #ninjago #ninjago fic #fanfics #writing #angsttt #I liked this prompt it was fun to take a twist on

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paperpocalypse · 4 years

Text

vector.

50 Wordless Ways to Say “I Love You”: 38. Letting them warm their cold hands under your shirt.

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Reader

Word Count: 1,328 words

Warnings: Mild swearing, implied/referenced child abuse (as per Reggie’s A+ parenting)

Magnets function better at low temperatures. And obviously, you want to function better.

But after sitting on the balcony for who knows how long, wrangling with the pile of spoons and paperclips and refrigerator magnets in front of you, you still can’t get your stupid powers to cooperate for more than ten minutes.

It’s so cold. You want to go inside.

“Come on.” Shaking out the numbness in your hands, you pick up a tablespoon for the fortieth time, pressing the tip of it to your index finger. Anxiety churns in your gut as you start the stopwatch with your other hand.

Beep. The numbers run underneath the dim lamplight.

“Stay, stay, stay, stay …”

You whisper the word like a mantra, concentrating every last bit of energy towards the end of your finger. The first minute or two is fine, but after the stopwatch hits 07:36:27, your hold starts to weaken.

10:54:01. The spoon clatters painfully back onto the table.

“Dammit.” You stop the timer, forcing back the sting behind your eyes. There’s a rattle as the door opens; unable to meet Sir Hargreeves’ eyes, you stare down at your traitorous hands. Your bones ache. “I’m sorry, I’ll get it soon. Just … give me more time –”

“Any more time and you’ll get frostbite.”

That’s not –

You look up. Five stands in the doorway, regarding you with an unreadable expression.

“I’d call it a night if I were you,” he says.

“I,” you stammer, both relieved and more mortified than if it had been his father, “I can’t go inside until I –”

“Get it to stick for more than fifteen minutes, I know.” Though his tone isn’t scathing or mocking, you still flinch at the reminder. He glances at the mess of things lying on the table. “It’s been two hours, so you might as well come back inside.”

You swallow. As per usual, he has a point – you don’t think you’ll be able to improve much more today, either. But you could try one more time before asking – begging – Sir Hargreeves for an extension.

(He probably won’t give it to you, but you’re fortunate enough to have that possibility in and of itself, with your mom being so involved and all. You’re – what was it she called you? – an investment. One with a slow return in terms of powers, apparently.)

“[Y/n].” Five steps out onto the balcony.

A breeze passes through. Shivering violently, you manage a grin to pair with his frown. “I need to stay out here until I get it right. I almost have it, Five. Seriously.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do.” You sit up straighter and clench your hands in your lap, trying to be more offended because you still have pride, dammit, and falling short of expectations again threatens what little is left of it. Five just scoffs.

“No, you –” The boy cuts himself off when his voice begins to raise, closing his eyes for a second. When he reopens them, they’re the slightest bit softer. “Look,” Five says tightly, “the temperature’s still dropping and it’s dark. Dad’s gone out, anyway.”

“Where’d he go?” you ask quietly.

Five’s gaze remains steady, but his jaw clenches a little. “He took Klaus out to the mausoleum.”

Any warmth still lingering in your body leaves as soon as he mentions his brother. You stare at Five with wide eyes.

Klaus’s weekly trips to the tombs are nothing new to you. But a few weekends ago, he had gotten even more anxious about it than usual and drugged himself into a near coma right before going, rendering his powers – and that trip – practically null. As a result, Sir Hargreeves had started choosing random nights and times to haul him over there.

The most you’ve been able to do is see Klaus off at the front steps. Tonight, you hadn’t even done that.

Guilt fills the pit of your stomach.

“If I had just finished my training –”

“Stop,” Five interrupts. “Don’t blame yourself, alright? Just get inside.”

Blinking away an embarrassing blur of tears, you study his face. Behind the stern features is concern.

“… Please,” he says.

So, with a large exhale, breath escaping in a white cloud of vapor, you nod and slowly stand up. Five steps aside to let you into the house and closes the door behind him.

The difference in temperature is huge. Looking to your right into the living room, you see a fire burning merrily in the fireplace, its glow bright and incredibly warm. A furious shiver wracks your bones at the thought, reminding you where you had just been.

“When do you think he’ll be back?” you ask Five, catching your breath.

“Well, who knows.” He heads toward the couch. Without much of a thought as to why, you follow, sitting down right beside him. “Could be an hour, could be the whole night.”

“I hope it’s not the whole night,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around yourself and sinking back into the thick cushions. As you stare into the fire, you think you see Klaus and his ghosts in the flames. “That’s way too long.”

Trying to focus some feeling back into your limbs, you glance over at Five. He crosses his arms, watching the wood fall apart into chunks of red coal before meeting your eyes. You shiver again.

“You’re not warming up?” he questions.

You smile, shrugging weakly. “I think it’s the magnetism thing. I don’t warm up easy.”

Unfolding your arms, you cup your hands around your mouth and blow into them. It only helps a little. Klaus’s hugs usually help a lot.

You wish you could give him a hug right now.

“Do you need a blanket or something?”

“A blanket?” Idly, you blow again. “Yeah, I guess. But … someone warm is usually better.”

“Klaus,” he says plainly.

“Yeah.”

Someone warm. You lower your hands, a delayed thought finally rolling into the station. And that thought makes you feel shameful again because Klaus is, after all, locked up in the freezing cold with the dead, and you have the privilege of having good company – Five’s company – in the warmth of the Hargreeves mansion. The idea doesn’t seem right. You don’t deserve to get comfortable right now.

But … you wouldn’t want Klaus to stay cold if he could help it, would you?

“Five –” still fighting the persistent guilt, solemn but hopeful, you shift to face him better on the couch, “um, would you mind …?”

He just looks at you suspiciously. You fold your still-cold hands, and for the first time, you feel slightly awkward in his presence.

Why?

The silence is deafening. But then Five twists his mouth as if tasting something odd but not entirely unpleasant, and without even a word, he parts his uniform jacket to let you sneak your hands underneath. You take the opportunity instantly.

And oh –

Your hunch is very, very correct. Five is warm. Sliding your arms around his middle, you press your hands against his back, closing your eyes as heat soaks into your skin like a salve. The relief is immediate and cozy and wonderful.

Unable to help it, you release a contented sigh into his sweater vest. Five exhales softly, shallowly; his hands hover over you before tentatively lowering to rest on your back. You can almost feel his heartbeat.

This hug feels different than the other ones, somehow. You haven’t the slightest idea why.

(But you like it a lot.)

“You good?”

“Just – just a little longer, Five.”

“… Okay.”

(It makes you feel selfish.)

Minutes pass, and bit by bit, Five settles back into the couch. Eventually, voice nearly lost in the hiss of the fire, he murmurs, “He’ll be fine.”

“I hope so,” you mumble. The last thing that stands out clearly in your mind is the wish that Five will be right.

When you open your eyes again, tucked into your own bed, it’s morning.

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221bshrlocked · 3 years

Note

Holding onto the Comandante's vest as you ride him or he rails you against the wall. Take your pick.

I had a feeling one of you ✨whores✨ was going to send me some unsolicited fucking message like that and I shouldn’t be surprised but then you had to bring the goddamn vest into this conversation and I’ve literally just been talking about that last night with Javier and-

There was no time to react as you felt the strong grip tighten around your neck and push you back until your back violently hit the wall.

“What did I tell you about questioning me?” You should have been afraid of the anger and forced control of his tone. You’ve heard it many times when someone disobeyed him, saw what happened immediately after it went back to normal. The question was, how was he going to kill you tonight?

“I- I didn’t mean to...” Your voice broke and you vaguely felt his hold loosen a bit before his lips skimmed over your cheeks. You barely held back from smiling at the man above you because even after all this time, he still held back. You’ve lost track of how often you told him he could do his worse but he still managed to control that last bit of him and you weren’t sure if it was because he didn’t trust himself to not crush you or if he cared too much about you to show you that side of him.

“Hmm, te puedo oler señorita.” The Comandante grinned at you as he licked your neck before sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of your skin. You hissed at him and felt his vest dig uncomfortably into your chest. He kissed the teeth mark forming on your lower neck before pulling away, not bothering to waste any time as he held the top of your shirt between his fingers and roughly pulled it apart, the sound of buttons flying everywhere letting you know there was no way you were leaving this room tonight.

Veracruz shamelessly let his eyes roam down your skin, feeling carnal pride when he saw how hard you were heaving from the simplest of touches. He didn’t care that his men were standing right outside or that anyone could walk in and watch him fucking you into the next country over. All he cared about was having you bending to his will, sinking into the sweet cunt that’s been on his mind all day long, feeling the drag of your nails across his neck until he bled.

He met your eyes again before reaching down and undoing your pants, losing his patience when he tried to rip them off of you and your shoes got in the way. You barely managed to kick the pants away from one foot but your boss had decided already that he didn’t care for the other side. Veracruz bent down and squeezed your ass, slamming you against the wall as his other hand worked the zipper of his pants down.

“W-wait please...your vest- it...it hurts.” You tried to push him away but he snarled at you, biting the wrist of the hand on his cheek until you screamed his name and wrapped your arms around him instead.

“You’ll take what I fucking give you señorita.” The Comandante chuckled at your whines and moans, knowing very well how much you secretly loved that nickname even though you told him a million times to stop calling you that. As soon as you made eye contact with him, Veracruz sheathed himself completely inside you, growling when he felt your cunt spasm around him, almost as if he hadn’t fucked the breath out of you the previous night.

“Mierda,” his head fell against your shoulder and you combed your fingers through his damp hair, trying your hardest to not scream as he pounded into you. Veracruz was not a man that made love, no, he fucked. He fucked and took what he wanted every time. You swore beneath your breath when you felt the harsh material of the vest scratching your skin, feeling tears already rolling down your cheek when the vest caught against your nipples and continued to push into them until they were painfully hard.

He shut his eyes, losing all control of his movement as he fucked you against the wall and felt your cunt sucking him in more easily as your juices flowed down his cock and stuck to his balls. He could smell your arousal, wanting to fuck you with his tongue even, but he needed to relax a bit first or else he was sure he was going to bite every inch of your skin. His grip on your ass cheeks tightened before he smacked both of them as hard as he could.

“Ahh gahd- please...”

“Pinche tu puta madre...could fucking stay in this cunt for ages. Always so good for me señorita, so ready and wet for me. Soaking my uniform baby...making everyone know who fucked you numb.” He whispered in your ears as he took you over and over again, and you wished you could tell him to ease up a bit, maybe at least take the vest off. But this wasn’t the time. You knew your skin would be as red as a rose once he was done with you and both you hated and loved it.

“Fucking shit, you’re so tight. H-how are you always so goddamn tight baby? Shit ah shit, no matter how many times I fuck this pretty little cunt...fill it up every night...you always squeeze the shit out of me.” You spasmed in his arms, thankful that he was able to hold you up against the wall as he brutally thrust into you, prolonging your orgasm and groaning into your ears as you scratched his neck and cried out his name. He didn’t let up once, driving his dick in and out of you as if this was the last time he’d get to have you.

You almost went limp in his arms, unable to hold your neck up as it fell against his shoulders. He sighed your name like a sweet benediction and you bit into his vest when you felt his arms tighten around you. You weren’t sure why he was always so adamant on leaving bruises on your skin, well, that wasn’t true. You knew why, but it felt weird at times because he’d make sure his handprints were on the parts of you that remained hidden. Call it desperation or the primal need to make you his, you didn’t complain once.

“Ah fuck fuck I’m so close señorita...so fucking close, shit fuck fuck ahh I’m c-comning fuuuckk.” He pushed you into the wall with a few more thrusts, and you bit harder into his vest as you felt him shoot hot spurts of cum deep inside you, shivering against him as he bucked his hips to make sure that not a single drop went to waste. You stayed unmoving for a few short moments, vaguely feeling the man in between your thighs kissing your neck and shushing you.

Your eyes began to shut slowly and you smiled at him as he carried you to the couch. As gently as he could, he laid you down on the soft furniture, hissing when he pulled out of the warmth of your cunt and watched as a few drops threatened to trickle down. He couldn’t hold back from pushing two fingers past your wet folds, his eyes snapping to your face when he heard you moan at the actions.

His chest tightened when he saw your teary face scrunching at the sensation.

Fuck.

The Comandante should have felt bad for how rough he was being with you. He should have tried to wake you up instantly and apologized. But as his eyes trailed down your exposed skin and saw the dark reddened patches forming on your breasts, around your nipples, and across your stomach, he found that there wasn’t a single cell in his body that regretted how he took you. You were bearing his marks, the mean touches he thought he was holding back, and my god did he feel primal at the thought of you waking up and touching your skin to smooth it.

He wanted to be certain you knew who owned you. And he hoped you would understand, without him saying anything, that he didn’t do that with anyone. Only you.

He only wanted you.

And he was amazed that you didn’t once yell at him what the two of you agreed upon ever since the first time. You’d taken everything that he’d given you without so much as a complaint. Maybe you secretly liked him fucking you like an animal. Lord knew that was the only thing he ever thought about every minute of every day.

Leaning down, Veracruz kissed your forehead before fixing himself and looking around the room for something to cover you with. His eyes landed on a blanket at the end of the couch and he smiled when he remembered how you brought it in once and laid it on his shoulders when he slept at his desk. Without waking you up, he pushed the other shoe and the pants off of you before bringing the blanket and throwing it on your shaking form, kissing your temples one more time before shutting the lights and walking out before he did something he regretted.

#how are we doing on this fine afternoon??#this came out of nowhere but i just had a feeling this man would fucking destroy you during sex #idk why #maybe it's that dangerous look #or the way he clenches his jaw #either way #i stand by what i said #i wanna lick him #comandante veracruz #burn notice #pedro pascal #comandante veracruz x reader #comandante veracruz/reader

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osamiiya · 3 years

Text

Pairing: Tendou Satori x Reader

Type of fic: Angst (But make it like, the middle to end)

TW// Death, panic, slight panic attack

Summary: Tendou's in love, and he'll stay in love, because, how could he forget you?

A/n I'm back baby, also I cried while writing this so good luck 🤩

Songs I listened to while writing: Love Like You (Caleb Hyles) , Be my Mistake (The 1975) , Mr Loverman (Ricky Montgomery), Lonely (Noah Cyrus), She used to be mine (Jessie Mueller), Before you go (Lewis Capaldi)

"Satori~" Tendou turns around, grin only growing as he hears your sing song voice call from around the corner.

He watched with bated breath, letting out a soft sigh and a heartwarming smile, as he holds out his hands and pulls you into his chest. Taking a deep inhale and exhale.

"How did you sleep?" His grin is soft, and those who've only seen a sinister smile on his face from volleyball would be surprised at how full of love and adoration it held. Truly, Tendou's paradise from the rest of the world, a breath of fresh air from those who found him creepy or weird.

No, you weren't like them. Ever since the beginning you were always the first to jump in to defend Tendou, who had just started to shrug off the looks and whispers of those around him.

"The best sleep I've ever had."

"Yeah?" Tendou sways the two of you in his arms slightly, his tall and thin frame trying it's best to keep you warm from the fall air.

"I had a nightmare." Tendou hums, clearly not worried about it.

"You did?" Tendou's heart squeezes in a way he can't describe as you look up at him with innocent eyes.

"Yeah, your bus was in a car crash." He hums, chills running down his back as remembers the rush of feelings that accompanied the dream.

"Well, I'm here now, besides it's just a dream." Too engrossed in his conversation with you, Tendou isn't aware of the worried look Semi sends him and then Ushijima.

But before he can formally say anything, Ushijima interrupts him.

"He'll be ok. He always is."

---

Tendou's absolutely sure that the looks he's gotten from people in the halls have passed just staring because he was weird looking, there was some underlying message in the stares now, something he couldn't decode.

"Don't mind them Satori." You tug on his uniform blazer, marching ahead of him slightly, eager to get to the convenience store.

"You know y/n. Eating ice cream in the winter leads to all sorts of bad things." Tendou leans over you as you pick out an ice cream from the ice chest, hands coming to your hips and subconsciously rubbing circles into the uniform fabric as he pretends to compare the different ice cream types, as if he wouldn't get the same ice bar he always got.

Tendou's eyes sparkle with happiness as you pick out a new flavour, turning over your shoulder to smile and show him the ice cream you picked.

As always, Tendou pays. Something about how you can repay him later, maybe when a manga he really wants comes out.

"Satori, do you want to try?" There's a mischievous smirk playing at your lips as you hold out the ice cream. After stopping on a park bench, not to far away from the school, the two of you just couldn't wait to have the slowly melting ice creams.

Instead of licking the ice cream as you expected him to do, Tendou leaned over and planted a kiss on your lips, humming as he pulled back and licked his tongue over his lips, smirking at your bewildered expression.

"Tendou." Ushijima's curt voice pulls both of your attentions away from eachother and to the stoic boy above you.

"Ushiwaka, sorry we didn't get you an ice cream. You don't like them anyways, but I did get you..." Tendou trails off, rummaging through the white plastic bag you had acquired at the store, a polite smile on the underplayed college student's face.

Tendou lets out an 'Ah ha!' as he procures the mint chocolate flavoured protein bar you've seen Ushijima eat during practice before.

Ushijima takes it from Tendou's outstretched hand, a polite and curt thank you as he sits next to Tendou.

"We were about to talk about the literature project." Tendou hums, sending you a wink and taking a careful bite of his ice cream.

"Tendou, y/n is gone." It's like ripping off a bandaid, it hurt to see his best friend push himself deeper into a fantasy he created of his own imagination.

"Silly Ushiwaka, they're right-" Tendou's stomach drops as he turns and sees you with a sad smile spread over your features, eyes glassy.

"No, they're- Ushiwaka they're right here." Tendou's confused, was this a prank?

"Tendou, y/n's bus was in a very bad accident, and they didn't make it out of the hospital." Tendou lets out a dry and nervous laugh.

"No, that was my nightmare last night, there's no way..." Tendou's blood runs cold and his hands are shaking.

'Not my Y/n. He's talking about the wrong Y/n.' Tendou's thoughts are too quick for him to keep up with, quick breaths coming out in short bursts.

Words are trapped in his throat as he looks between you and Ushijima. Ushijima's face uncharacteristically full of pity, and your's sad, a tear rolling down your cheek.

"Ushijima I think I need a minute." Ushijima nods at Tendou's serious voice, on the verge of breaking, and gets up, walking a good distance away.

"You're gone?" Tendou's hands are shaking as his voice cracks, wanting to reach out to you.

"Satori, listen to me ok? I love you. Don't ever forget that." A tear rolls down Tendou's face as his thoughts become clearer by the second.

What was once incomprehensible static in his head taking the shape of a word, then two, until they formed a sentence.

'Y/ns gone.'

A sob claws it's way out of Tendou's mouth, and he feels like he's in elementary school again.

"Make sure you don't give Goshiki too much of a hard time ok? He's always trying to impress you guys." Both of your hands are on Tendou's face at this point, and it scares him that he can't feel you, your warmth gone, your presence hanging on by a thread.

"Always eat enough ok? I know you don't have a big appetite, but don't get sick while I'm gone ok? Don't skip out on your meals, please." There's tears running down your face, and Tendou finally notices how you're not really there, tears falling quickly, like rain on the bench.

"You're not here?"

You stop wiping his tears away, giving him a sad smile and a kiss on the cheek.

"I'm at Tokyo Cemetery, darling." A bone shattering shiver rolls through Tendou as he lets out another sob.

"You can't go, I need you." Tendou's shaking, trying to suppress a scream in pain, his body overflowing with realizing and pain.

"You've been in denial Satori." You wipe his tears and leave a kiss on his cheek, and it kills Tendou inside because he can almost feel it. He wants to feel it. Tendou wants to feel your lips on his cheeks.

"Be good ok? Remember how we were going to go to Paris? Take my memory there, take me around Paris using that photo in your wallet. Kiss me goodnight, don't forget me." Your voice is strained and Tendou can't breathe.

"You hear me Satori? Don't forget me, ok?"

"Ok." He manages, it comes out forced , and very much real. A contrast to the life he's continued to live with you in his head, his body and mind now painfully aware that he'd been walking around like a husk of his last self, his mind entertaining the hope and the denial that, you y/n, were still alive. And Tendou could kiss you, and hold your hand, and see you in his jersey one last time.

'Y/ns gone.' And with that Tendou's back to the reality he hates, where you're gone. Tendou can't breathe and his mind feels like it's a tape recorder on 3x speed.

His heart is beating and his hands are grabbing for something to ground him. Seeing his best friend break apart, Ushijima speeds over, taking big steps and allowing Tendou to grip tightly to his shirt, sobbing loudly.

"I didn't get to say goodbye." He chokes out, burying his head into Ushijima's stomach, letting out a yell of pain and heartbreak.

Ushijima feels his heart constrict at the demonstration of his best friend's pain, the red haired boy screaming into his maroon shirt, soaking through the fabric as he rests his hand on Tendou's head, rubbing it in a way he's seen you do it before.

"I loved them and I couldn't say goodbye." Tendou screams, voice raw and filled to the brim with pain, lanky body shaking violently.

"I didn't get to kiss them one last time. I didn't get to tell them I loved them. I never got to take them to Paris like we planned. I never got to give them my volleyball jersey and see them in the stands, cheering for me one last time."

Tendou and Ushijima stay like that for what seems like hours, Tendou buried in his best friend's embrace, needing to be grounded from his raging thoughts.

"I loved them Ushiwaka." Tendou whispers, no longer shaking, voice and eyes hollow.

"I know Tendou." Ushijima tried his best to sound gentle, he knows that Tendou needs it.

"I didn't get to say goodbye." Tendou's like a broken record as Ushijima helps him get off the park bench, plastic bag filled with two uneaten melted ice creams picked up and thrown out.

"We were going to see the eiffle tower." Tendou whispers from his bunk above Ushijima's.

Body heavy with exhaustion, he's about to sleep when he sits up suddenly, hands panicked as he searches for something.

"Tendou?" Came Ushijima's voice from the below bunk.

"My wallet, where's my wallet?" He's stammering and his voice is raw from sobbing and his hands are shaking as he looks.

"Tendou." Comes Ushijima's calm voice as he gently hands Tendou the wallet.

Immediately Tendou opens it, digging through to find the picture he's sure he kept in there.

Pulling it out, he smiles gently, all run out of tears, as he brings the photo shakily to his lips, kissing the photo gently and smiling, looking into your eyes, frozen in time, no idea of the future, just pure happiness.

"Goodnight, my paradise."

---

Permanent Taglist

@sachirou-senpai @prayerofthehaim @ryusex-wife @x-ia-n @wompwomphq @elianetsantana @jovialnoise @yuujiya @peteunderoos @curiouslilbeast

#Anyways what did you think.#*?#tendou angst #tendou x reader #tendou imagine #tendou satori x reader #tendou satori #tendou satori angst #haikyuu angst #haikyuu x reader #tw// death #tw// panic #tw // panic attack #tendou scenario

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hummanbirb · 3 years

Text

The Final Objective: HCCW AU

TW: SUCIDE AND PANIC ATTACKS.

“It’s over Deku!”

“I know, Katsuki.”

He hasn’t called him Kachan since this began.

Kirishima was the first to go. He knows that the only reason he was targeted first was because of him.

Kaminari was next. Not to die or be put out of commission, but as a traitor. He took down Iida with him.

Sero was found wrapped in his own tape. Hanging off the edge of the building, a threat hanging from his neck. When did Deku learn how to tie a noose?

Uraraka was still there, her and Todoroki taken hard by the loss of Iida and the betrayal from Deku.

They were out raiding the villain base while he went after Deku, who was hiding on the roof of some empty school. All the buildings were empty. This was a war after all.

Didn’t mean it didn’t hurt when Deku blew half the city up.

The thought makes his hand itch, the familiar flex of his arms as he clenched his hands awaiting the satisfaction of the pop and crackles from his sweat soaked palms.

He couldn’t feel it.

“Why can’t I use my quirk!?”

He was still turned away from, but Bakugou could still tell what he was saying. His shoulders were back, strained from being forced back after so many years cowering, but still relaxed. The bastard was looking down on him, mocking him.

Deku laughed before he turned.

“This entire area is built with the same technology as the quirk suppression cuffs. You’re essentially quirkless here.” Deku said, his eyes alight with that unnatural sadistic gleam.

Oh, this fucker.

Bakugou screams as he swings his fist, “I CAN STILL FIGHT YOU!”

The damn nerd dodged before he could land a hit, always just that bit faster than himself, always just out of reach before he could pummel him. Before he could beat it into his skull to give up. It still pisses him off.

“If you want to lose.”

That stops him.

“What?” he snarls teeth clenched in a grimace of hate. He can’t feel the heat from his quirk. The calm rush that comes after using it. Its not there. It’s useless.

But if its not there than why is Deku’s shirt burnt? He’s not wearing his usual get up, but it’s still familiar. Why does it look so…?

He’s wearing their old middle school uniform.

“Right now, the remaining members of your team are raiding the villain’s headquarters, but they won’t find my people there.”

His people. The extras that turned against the rest of the class.

Mina and Kaminari.

“They’ll find a trap.”

No.

“At this moment they’re my hostages.”

He’s shaking. He’s furious and he can’t use his quirk. He lost.

He lost to fucking Deku.

“So, you win…Why isn’t it over!??” his throat is scratched and raw from screaming.

He still can’t use his quirk.

“Because I haven’t said so yet. Because I haven’t given you an ultimatum. Because I still have one objective left.”

Deku smiles, cruel and unforgiving, gone was his teary-eyed smile of determination. That smile of defiance. This was like a different person.

But at the same time, it wasn’t.

This was Deku. The same one he bullied relentlessly. The spark behind his eyes whenever Bakugou knew he went too far. The one that Deku let him see, let him know.

It made him angry, so so angry.

That spark was burning from the inside out. Until now.

“Bakugou?! Come in!? This is Uraraka, please answer me! We can’t get out… it’s a trap.”

“I know Round-face! Just…SHUT UP.” He barks back into the coms.

His quirk isn’t working. He can’t fight. He’s powerless. He’s useless. Just like last time.

No. He still has control. This is Deku. This isn’t like last time.

This isn’t the League.

This isn’t the sludge villain.

“What’s your ultimatum?”

“In order for you to win…you have to lose.”

What the fuck? What does that even mean?

“Right now, you are quirkless. You’re alone with no one to help you. Your former best friend standing in front of you. Sound familiar?”

He’s so done with these fucking mind games. He’s going to kill him.

“Tell me how the fuck to win and let’s get this over with you damn-!”

“I’M GETTING TO THAT.”

He never yelled like that before. Deku never acted like this.

That spark of malice was raging now. Deku’s face contorted before slipping away, back to the slightly manic calm it was before.

The spark was still in his eyes.

“If you want to win, you need to lose. Think about that Katsuki. You’re angry, hotheaded, violent, and rash, but you’re not stupid.”

If I want to win…I need to lose?

“The only way I lose...is if I- “

“Yup.” The damn nerd says, popping the ‘p’ pleasantly. Fucker.

He can’t mean that. That’s too sadistic even for him.

(Is it though?)

Deku tosses something to his feet. A timer.

Its going. Four minutes left.

“What is this? WHATS YOUR AIM?!”

“You can’t be the hero and win at the same time. You can’t be the villain FOR TEN YEARS AND THEN ACT LIKE A HERO!”

Tears…its always tears, but he’s never cried until now. Not through all of this until now. So why is he bringing it up?

He’s smiling, hyperventilating. Crying as his hands shake, but all the while still feral and manic. He looks insane.

This isn’t really him.

(It is. He knows its him.)

Villain. Be the villain act like a hero?

That’s it.

Act like a hero, be the villain. That’s Deku.

His mind is whirling, trying to put things together, words on the rooftop spoken put together a story.

He can’t fight back. He’s quirkless. He’s alone facing the one person he never thought possible to hurt him, (and he hates to admit it) his once childhood best friend. An ultimatum, an objective.

It wasn’t Sero’s noose.

Act like a hero, be the villain.

…

So that’s the final objective.

It hits him like that time All Might punched him. He feels like puking. His sweat is hot, but doesn’t ignite. It’s not there.

Its crawling up his throat. Down his throat. He’s suffocating and his quirk isn’t working.

The com is alive again. She’s saying something but he can’t hear her.

“Deku?” the voice is quiet. Hesitant in a way he’s never known. He didn’t think anyone else was on the roof.

The roof of a school…

He can’t mean it. There’s no way he’d bring this up. He can’t save his team unless…

No, he can’t mean it. He can’t mean that.

He didn’t mean it.

“If you want to be a hero so bad, there’s always one way…” Deku looked up, a manic smile scarred across his tear-streaked face.

Bakugou didn’t mean it.

(He did at the time.)

“Just take a swan dive off the roof of the building.”

He’s standing on the ledge, but Deku isn’t the one whose going to jump. He’s just waiting for him. Izuku reaches his hand out for him to grab. Just like when they were little.

The final objective: make the hero the villain.

“It’s over, Kachan.”

_______________________________________________________________

“Bakugou?! Come in!? This is Uraraka, please answer me! We can’t get out… it’s a trap.” She finishes lamely, just in time for Bakugou to yell at her. Todoroki and her continue to search the room.

Its mostly empty save for a table and the several chairs surrounding it. On the table is a photograph of a class. The text says Aldera Middle School of XXXX. She see’s both Deku and Bakugou among the kids in the photo.

She spends longer than she should looking at them.

‘How did it come to this.’

“Uraraka, look.” Todoroki’s voice is urgent and draws her out of its morbid and depressed reverie.

She looks up to see him staring at the corner.

On the wall is a timer.

Less than 2 minutes and going down fast.

“Bakugou, there’s this timer? It’s….it stopped? Bakugou it stopped! We-!”

“The Leader of the Hero Team is dead. That concludes the end of the exam. Please exit the facility to receive the scores.”

________________________________________________________________

This is for a fanfic I probably won’t ever write, but I loved Hero Class Civil Warfare by RogueDruid you can find it down below. Please be kind because I haven’t written anything for this fandom, this is my first time posting anything of my own on here, and I haven’t really written any fanfic since 2017-ish? Anywho, hope you like it!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14446512/chapters/33370263

#mha bakugou #villain deku #hero class civil warfare #my hero academia #fanfiction #mha fanfiction

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thewatermelloncat · 4 years

Text

Blankets

Deleted Scene

Summary: A Five sickfic I wrote inspired by @too-many-umbrellas post here and the notes from it, because people have amazing ideas and this story barely scratches the surface.

Author’s Note: I might do a whole story with all the siblings causing chaos like in the original post eventually.

I also have a bonus story which I will post up later on tomorrow that I’ll link onto this one. (Edit: Linked up top)

Warnings: Swearing

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

The weather report said it would be sunny – it lied. Thunder crashes outside as Five staggers back into the living room, the booming sound reflecting his frustration. He looks exhausted as he makes his way back to the couch where he had been seated a minute earlier.

“It’s really kicking your arse isn’t it?” Luther observes.

Five nods minutely, closing his eyes and sniffling miserably into his sleeve.

Taking pity on him Luther tosses him the box of tissues from the coffee table. Surprisingly Five manages to catch it before taking a few and blowing his nose as he sits back onto the couch.

“How far did you go this time?” Klaus asks from up on one of the barstools.

“Upstairs and round the corner a bit” Five tells him, sounding weak and raspy.

“Why didn’t you just jump back?”

“Gee, Klaus. I wish I thought of that” Five’s voice drips in sarcasm before he covers a few hollow coughs behind his fist, wincing slightly afterward.

“How’s your throat?” Five’s pained expression doesn’t pass Luther by.

His seemingly younger brother only shakes his head, both not answering and answering his question at the same time.

“How many times has it been today that you poofed off somewhere?” Klaus chuckles slightly as he spins on the chair, his feet lazily dragging behind him in the air.

“Lost count.”

“Well there was when you got sent to the kitchen. Oh-ho and the one where you teleported into Diego’s room just as he was about to leave for work. That was so funny, scared the living daylights outta him” – Klaus laughs, ticking them off on his fingers before Five cuts him off.

“Klaus, stop… It-it really doesn’t matter” Five sighs pulling the blanket from on the couch around his shoulders and tucking his legs up to his chest, resting his head on his knees. He knew his brother was only having fun but it wasn’t helping his headache any.

Klaus pauses his listing while his brother speaks but decides to scrap his list entirely seeing the pointed look Luther gives him. Pursing his lips, he swings his legs forward propelling himself off the chair then makes his way to sit next to Five.

“This has really got you down hasn’t it, old man?” Klaus teases him.

“I’m fine” Five’s voice already muted and now muffled by his knees, does him no favours in proving his point.

“No, wrong letter” Klaus says, wrapping an arm over his brother and pulling him into his side. “It’s said ‘Five’ not ‘fine.’”

Five immediately pulls out of Klaus’ grip, fixing him with a look which would have been a lot more threatening if he didn’t look like he was half asleep.

“Come on!” Klaus whines. “That was clever.”

Five only just has time to roll his eyes before his turns away into his elbow, “Kihh'tschh!!!” and in a flash of blue he’s gone.

Klaus blinks in bewilderment at the now lonely blanket in a heap on the couch before he immediately turns to Luther. “Bet he went” – his voice is cut off by Five’s unimpressed tone sounding from behind the wall near the doorway.

“Klaus if you’re placing bets, I swear” – Five’s raised voice cuts off, leaving them in silence for a few seconds. “Huh’Tschh!”

Suddenly there is a crackle of energy and a faint blue spark that casts rays of light on the doorframe.

“Fuck!” Five’s curse sounds muffled through the floor boards, having been teleported further away up to the third floor.

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

The first few times Five had spontaneously teleported he’d come back looking annoyed, now as he re-enters the living room, he seems completely over it. If anything, he’s glad that neither of his siblings make a joke out of it. Sure, he might find it funny later but not now, exhausted from the long trek down various flights of stairs.

“Come here” Luther interrupts Five’s beeline for the couch, gesturing for him to come over to him.

Five bites back a huff of frustration but obliges, only because he can’t be bothered arguing. Slowly he comes to stand in front of Luther who reaches out a hand to place of his forehead.

None of them need anymore clarification to know that Luther’s hum of disapproval means that Five’s fever is going up. “You dizzy at all?” it wouldn’t surprise Luther if he was with all the teleporting he is doing.

Five shakes his head, one of the few things he is grateful for. “Just tired” he sighs as he sinks back into the couch next to Klaus, who wraps the blanket back over his shoulders.

“You hungry?” Luther asks. “Think we’ve still got leftovers in the fridge.”

Five shakes his head.

“Get some sleep then, yeah?”

Five’s hum of content as he goes to snuggle back into the couch quickly turns into a groan of frustration as he pushes himself back up, rubbing his hand against his nose. “Please God, no” he begs, closing his eyes tightly trying to will the itch away. He just got back for fuck’s sake. But there’s nothing he can do and his chest inhales involuntarily. “Ktt'schh!!” and in a poof of blue sparks he’s gone again.

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

As the last of the blue sparks fade into nothing, the steady sound of footsteps echo from around the corner.

“Is Five here? I swear I just heard him” Allison says as she stops in the doorway to the room.

“Sneezed and poofed away” Klaus tells her.

“Where did he go?”

“Dunno” Klaus admits quietly, seeming confused that they haven’t heard Five cursing from somewhere by now.

Allison seems confused as well as she looks around the edge of the upper floors from the base of the staircase, “Five?”

At the lack of response to his sister’s calling, Luther pushes himself out of his chair and walks forward to join her. “Five!” his deeper voice carries further, echoing around the foyer.

“He can’t have gone far, can he?” Klaus asks worriedly, coming to join them.

“Doubt it” Luther shakes his head, “it is been draining him.”

“Do you think he could have passed out?” Allison’s question is answered nonverbally as they all share worried looks before splitting off in different directions.

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

The raindrops Five blinks out of his eyes may as well be tears from the amount of resentment he currently feels. Except crying is a waste of time, and it would be pointless to cry over an ability he can’t change. So instead he draws in a deep breath beginning to trudge through the puddles on the footpath, already drenched by the rain.

He’d tried to jump back when he first landed but only succeed in turning the air around him blue, too weak to teleport again. He’d given up after his third try and surrendered to the cold walk home.

There aren’t many people around to judge why a boy is wondering around the street without an umbrella, only a few who run along sheltered by their coats above their heads, ducking under overhangs. He makes it to the next street down before he draws in a breath and ducks into his elbow, “hah’kshhhuu!”

He wishes that it could have teleported him back to the academy, but it only manages to fizzle out blue sparks like a battery dying.

His teeth chatter as he crosses his arms with a shiver, and he forces himself to think of something positive. At least he knows where he is and he’s not too far from the Academy. Still, he wishes his uniform had a hood or he had teleported with the blanket that had been wrapped around him, either way he would have had something to shelter him from the rain.

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

Diego’s brow knits in confusion as he walks through the foyer seeing no one around. He’d left them all in the lounge before he left for work, and he’d thought they’d still be there. At least Five who was supposed to spend the day crashed on the couch.

Seeing nothing but a blanket he shrugs before heading for the stairs up to his room. Suddenly he turns around at the sound of hurried footsteps behind him, running up the stairs from the kitchen.

“What’s wrong?” he asks Allison as she looks around frantically.

“We lost Five?” she says, barely sparing him a glance as she moves back into the lounge to have another look around.

“What do you mean you lost him?”

“He sneezed and disappeared!” Klaus calls out from the railing of the second level.

“Have you tried his room?”

“He’s not there!” Luther’s voice echoes from a place where Diego can’t see him before he steps into view behind the railing on the third floor. “I hate to jump to conclusions, but you don’t think he” – he doesn’t need to finish his sentence to get his point across.

A few seconds of silence fall over the siblings as they contemplate whether accidental time travel is even on the cards for him.

Allison is the first person to shake her head. “I doubt it, he wouldn’t have enough energy” she speaks assuredly, but part of her doesn’t know whether it’s denial.

“Is there anywhere you haven’t checked?” Diego asks immediately, not feeling that it’s necessary to dwell on it.

Klaus’ sarcastic comment about how there are over 60 rooms to look around in dies in his throat at the sound of the front door handle turning.

“Oh my God, Five!” Allison all but squeaks as she rushes forward to her brother shutting the door behind him, drenched with rain.

As soon as she’s next to him her hands are all over him, brushing his hair out of his face, checking for fever on his cheeks, then pulling off his soaked blazer after noticing how violently he shivers.

“Where’d you go?” she asks as Klaus steps forward with the blanket in his hands, having raced down the stairs and into the lounge.

“Half a block down the street” Five stutters through shivers before his breath hitches and he raises a hand to his mouth in preparation for a sneeze.

Klaus, having almost touched the blanket to his brother’s shoulders, yelps and jumps back using the blanket as a shield, not wanting to touch him and be hurtled through time and space.

Allison having a completely different reaction, quickly reaches forward placing a hand on his shoulder, hoping that he won’t have the strength to teleport the both of them.

“Heh’tshh!” Five pivots slightly away from her and she feels static run up her arm.

Shaking it out she steps back from Five as he turns back to them.

“I can’t – uhm” he swallows seeming distracted with his eyes unfocused. “I can’t – Ah’Tchhhh - teleport, anymore” he finishes sniffling into his elbow.

Deeming that it is safe to come near him again, Klaus gives him the blanket and the tips of his cold, red fingers turn white as he grips onto it like a lifeline.

“Shower, go” Allison instructs, her voice demanding yet compassionate.

Five nods, and Allison keeps her eyes on him as he walks through the group of his siblings and up the stairs. “Not too hot, all right?”

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Five doesn’t mean to announce his presence back in the lounge by coughing loudly into his elbow, that’s what Klaus would do for attention, but completely against his own character. Either way it couldn’t be helped.

He tries his best to ignore his siblings’ looks of sympathy, particularly Luther’s, as he makes his way to the couch dressed in a pair of Allison’s trackpants and a hoodie. It’s weird to see a guy that big with a face that looks like a kicked puppy. Then again, it’s weird for anyone to see Five out of his standard uniform, let alone with his hands bunched up in the sleeves.

Fighting back the want to shiver, Five sinks into the couch and makes to lie down before Allison stops him.

“Hold up Five” she says, stepping closer to him with a thermometer in hand.

“Do I really have to?” he mumbles, not really seeing the point. He’s had a fever all day and doubts that it would have gone anywhere.

“I just want to check.”

“I just want to sleep.”

“And you can after this” Allison promises him.

“I’m fine” Five groans. “I’m just tired.”

“That would be a lot more convincing if you could speak clearer” Diego jabs at him over the stuffy quality of his voice.

“You’re one to talk” Five bites back, immediately realising his mistake even before Diego falls into silence. That was too mean, even for his standards. “I’m sorry Diego. I-I don’t mean that” he sniffles congestedly into his sleeve, adjusting his position on the couch out of awkwardness. “Just feel horrible.”

“You’re all right, bud” Diego murmurs affectionately, shaking off the last of his hurt expression.

Allison breaks the last of the tension waving the thermometer in the air. “I’m about to start making aeroplane noises.”

“You will not” Five staggers out a response, taking the thermometer out of her hand before she has a chance to shove it in his mouth for him.

As Five goes to slip the thermometer under his tongue Klaus takes his chance at making an aeroplane noise, but quickly cuts off when Five glares at him. Though he can only look so threatening with a pale face, pink nose and cheeks, and a stick of glass protruding from his lips. Still Klaus feels sorry for him and picks up the blanket from the couch and wraps it around him as a peace offering.

His peace offering seems to be overly effective as Five leans into him, resting his head on his shoulder. After taking a second to get over the shock of Five wanting physical contact, Klaus wraps his arm that had slightly flailed in the air around his brother’s shoulders.

Before anyone can make a comment about Five and Klaus showing affection to each other, the front door opens and footsteps head towards the lounge.

Even before they can see her, they hear Vanya’s voice starting to ramble something about one of her violin students, and stopping at the store. When she comes into view, she greets them and they respond in various ways. Klaus feeling Five move underneath his arm, raising a tired hand in a small wave.

“How’re you feeling, Five?” she asks him, her expression falling into sympathy that could rival Luther.

The question doesn’t really need to be answered given how Five has surrendered to physical contact in order to remain upright. He can’t really answer her either with a thermometer in his mouth. So, he tiredly blinks at her, figuring that she will understand.

“We’re not doing too great” Luther answers for him anyway.

“Had a little adventure out in the rain, didn’t we?” Klaus adds squeezing Five closer into his side, making him shift uncomfortably. Whether it was because of the increased contact or the fact that his siblings are speaking about him as if he is a child, Klaus doesn’t have the brains to question it.

“Ah-ha, the glitching” Vanya chuckles lightly as she turns around to place her violin case on the bar.

Diego hops up from his chair and goes over to help her unload the snacks and things that she got from the store, explaining the events in more detail.

At the same time Allison moves back in front of Five to collect the thermometer from him.

After handing it over to her Five releases a few coughs that he had been holding back into his elbow, leaning away from Klaus. In the midst of that activity he misses Allison reading out the verdict and he’s not interested enough to get her to repeat it. Figuring it can’t be too bad or she would have placed her hand back to his forehead or gone back to study the measurement again.

“You can go to sleep now Five” Allison withholds her promise, smiling sadly down at him.

He sighs deeply as he shifts against Klaus who moves so his brother can rest his head on his lap. As they get settled, Allison turns and walks toward the bar to wash the thermometer in the sink. With her back to them she hears Five sniffle slightly before sneezing softly causing Klaus to yelp dramatically.

“’m not going anywhere” she hears Five mumble to him tiredly.

“The blue flash says different!” he accuses.

“We’ll he didn’t go anywhere, did he?” Luther points out so Five doesn’t have to.

“If even if he could go somewhere, there’s no way he could take you with him” Allison tells Klaus as she reaches the sink and turns on the tap.

Her reasoning doesn’t seem to settle Klaus and she looks up from the running water to catch Vanya’s eye, shaking her head and rolling her eyes playfully.

Vanya returns the look, switching up the rolling eyes for a smile before she turns back to the group. “Five, I got some NyQuil from the store if you want any.”

“I don’t think we’ll need it” Klaus says, his voice much quieter than a few seconds ago. Adjusting the blanket over the shoulders of the boy who rests his head on his legs, already asleep.

#tua #The Umbrella Academy #umbrella academy fanfiction #five hargreeves #the boy #sickfic #luther hargreeves #diego hargreeves #allison hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #vanya hargreeves #sneeze

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xmyshya · 3 years

Text

Shoved it: chapter III - Kickflip

summary: You don’t like skaters. They’re unruly, misbehaved and rude. But this one encounter just might change your view. genre: fluff warnings: tooth-rotting fluff (seriously, make a dentist appointment), slow burn, mutual pining betas: @vanille–kiss as always I’m eternally grateful to you, I love you lots a/n: Written for ANILYSIUM (former HQHQ) Server Collab with the prompt “Meet Ugly”. Check the event’s masterlist here! series navi: masterlist | previous | next wc: 1.7k

This is it, you think staring out the window. This is the last tutoring session. Something makes you sad about it, and as if the world tried to be sympathetic, it’d been raining since morning. Early afternoon brought thunders and a downpour so dense, it looked like a fog. You shift your gaze to refocus on the boy on the opposite side of the desk.

“So, ready for the big day?”

“I don’t think I’d be more ready, even if we sat for another week.” He shrugs.

“Time to go home, then.”

You lift from the chair and pack your things, and after a second he does the same. Even though it stopped raining some time ago, puddles are still lake sized and streets have yet to stop being rivers. You’re not really keen on leaving the school building, but it’s evening, your bus leaves soon, and you’re hungry.

“I’m gonna go on ahead.” You say before he can stop you.

This is it, he thinks after you disappear behind the door. He really wants it to last longer, to spend more time in a quiet empty classroom with you. A sigh leaves his lips as he runs a hand through his hair, looking around the dark room for the last time before locking it up.

There’s still at least an hour before his bus arrives, so Rin drags his feet to the lockers before switching to his street shoes and walking out of the building. Everything is flooded, and he sighs again, slumps his shoulders and shoves his hands into pockets. At least it’s not raining anymore.

Suna sees you still waiting at the stop and wonders if this is his chance. Maybe it’s a sign from heavens for him to speak to you, to be friends or maybe even ask you out. You’re focused on your phone, eyes not registering the approaching boy and the car, splashing fountains on its path.

Acting purely on instinct, he reaches you in a few long strides and pulls you away from the curb just in time. Luck isn’t on his side though, as the vehicle passes at the exact same moment, soaking him from head to toe.

“Well… fuck.”

Shocked; this is how you feel after realising what has just happened. The boy who has been pestering you for the past weeks, the one you did your utmost best to avoid, is standing right in front of you completely drenched. It would be you, if he didn’t react; it should have been you.

“Th-thank you.” You mutter while playing with the hem of your uniform. “Do you live far?”

“No, but I still have an hour before the bus arrives.”

Suna tries to wring the water from his uniform, but no matter how much he squeezes and twists, liquid still pours in thick streams. You try to suppress the urge to brush the wet hair stuck to his face and notice him shivering.

“Oh, uhh… My bus will be here in a moment, and” you feel the embarrassment heat up your cheeks, “I live 2 stops away, so you can come and dry yourself first. If you want, I mean.”

The weight of his stare is almost unbearable, but you miss the blush creeping up his neck and ears, not daring to look back. His voice is quiet and shaky, as he responds with

“Yeah, I think I’ll take you up on that offer.”

Rin still can’t believe he’s on the way to your house. Opting to stay by the door so as not to wet the whole floor he wishes the circumstances were different, and he wasn’t soaked to the bone, but he’s not picky. If this is what it takes to change your perspective, then so be it.

He sighs, as he runs his hand through sopping hair. Nervousness starts to get to him, words get lost in his head as his mind presses to say something, anything. Since when does he have trouble speaking to a girl?

For some reason his heart is pounding and palms are sweaty, though (he hopes) it might also be because of the incident. So for now, Suna opts to watch you stare at the passing landscapes, as if you were afraid to meet his eyes.

“This is our stop.” You finally say as the bus slows down.

***

Panic strikes when you enter home. Do you even have any clothes that would fit? There are some old sweats and t-shirts of your dad, but it’s difficult to say if the size is right. Not to mention that it’s the first time you invited a boy to your house, and your parents aren’t even here.

After leading him to a bathroom, you disappear in the storage room in search of something for Suna to change into. You grab some pants and t-shirt, and go back to him.

“You should take a hot shower, otherwise you might get a cold. I’ll put your uniform in the dryer afterwards.”

You hand him a wrapped bundle and pull a towel from a drawer. Just as you’re about to leave, Suna mutters a quiet “thank you”, and for the first time you genuinely smile at him.

When he walks out of the bathroom, you’re in the living room surrounded by piles of books and notes; your attention shifts to his presence only after he speaks.

“I hope you don’t mind, I already turned the dryer on. Didn’t want to trouble you.”

His hair is still damp from the shower, and the sweatpants are a little too short, but at least they’re dry. With each lift of his hand to rub the towel at his hair, the t-shirt slides up revealing his toned abdomen. It takes a lot of energy not to sneak a peek.

“Trouble?” You’re confused by his statement. “It’s my fault this even happened in the first place, I should have-”

“Listen, I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t want to, okay?” He rubs his neck nervously and the shirt rides up again. “So don’t blame yourself.”

You only nod in response, too flustered to push words through your throat. All of a sudden you remember about the mess around, despite having a guest.

“Oh god, I’m sorry, I just have so much backlog to work on, I’ll clean this up!”

“No!” Rintarou notices your little shiver. “I mean, you don’t have to… I’ve been holding you back, so just… don’t mind me.” A moment of silence fills his mind with guilt. “Hey uhh, do you mind if I get us a snack?”

Now you’ve done it. There’s a visitor, his first time at your place, and a first boy at your place, and not only are you ignoring him for the sake of homeworks, you also failed at hospitality completely by not offering any food. It is late, and neither of you had dinner yet.

“Ah! I’ll get it! You’re a guest after all!” You almost jolt out from under the table, but a hand on your shoulder keeps you in place.

“No no, please, I don’t want to be any more of a bother. You’ve been helping me with school and now I’m just intruding, so let me do this for you.”

“Okay.”

***

When Suna comes back with two plates of omurice, you’re deeply immersed in your studies. He places the dishes carefully in vacant spots, the gentle knock against the table grabs your attention, and cotton-candy-like warmth spreads in your chest. You expected a snack, some yoghurts or a bowl of nuts, or whatever else, not a warm dinner with a “ganbare” written on it.

Papers are shoved to the far end of the top, making space for the hot food. It looks delicious and you can’t wait to taste it. You clear your throat and speak hoping it would distract you from that feeling spreading in your chest.

“Would you like to watch something while we eat?”

“Sure, do you mind if I…”

He gestures between his and your side of the table; you shake your head and shift to make room for him, which he fills right away.

Omurice is indeed mouth-watering, creamy and well seasoned, and in response to your surprised expression he simply says “I have a younger sister, I can make a thing or two”. The more you know about the boy, the more you like him. You try to dismiss it as just admiring him as a person, convince yourself that it’s nothing but a surprise.

It proves to be difficult, however, when you barely register what’s on the screen, because of his proximity; it’s hard, when every brush of your arms against each other sends sparks to your brain; it’s tough, when you can feel his warmth radiating from his body and you want to be engulfed by it.

It’s nearly impossible, when you lean back on your palms, but his hand is already there, and you cover it with yours. Both of you jolt with hearts thumping violently, praying that maybe, just maybe, the other one doesn’t hear it.

After that neither of you moves, eyes trained on the screen but somehow not registering the events at all. In an attempt to ground yourself, you support your chin with your hand, and that’s the last thing you remember.

Rin hears your soft snores and, seeing your peaceful and relaxed expression, smiles as he brushes some stray strands off your face. He’s already overstayed his welcome, uniform long forgotten in the dryer. It’s wrinkled and still smells like a puddle, guess he’ll just have to give you these clothes back on the next day.

Not wanting to trouble you any more than he already has, Suna brings the plates to the kitchen, arranges books and papers in neat piles, and covers you with a blanket lying nearby. He catches himself almost planting a kiss on your forehead.

Before scooping all his stuff and walking out, he scribbles a quick note:

“My clothes were dry and I didn’t want to wake you. Don’t work too hard. See you tomorrow :)”

Taglist: @kageyamas-love @mikasbloodbag

#haikyuu x reader #suna x reader #suna rintarou x reader #suna fluff #suna rintarou fluff #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x y/n #suna x y/n #suna rintarou x y/n #hq fluff #hq x reader #hq x y/n #anilysium server collab #shoved;it #mysh.whitedwarf.[hq]

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scripts4dreamers · 4 years

Text

I literally JUST sat down, pt.2

Part One, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven

AN: The case stalls, but no one’s willing to give up on you just yet. Characters: Spencer Reid, Penelope Garcia, Derek Morgan, Aaron Hotchner, Jennifer Jareau, David Rossi.

Pairings: Spencer Reid x reader

Spoilers: None

Warnings: Mentions of crime and violence, alcohol

(Again! Massive shoutout to @pirateismywayofspeaking for the constant support and ideas! And lemme know if you want to be added to the taglist!)

—————————-

It’s a well known fact that there are three certainties in life; death, taxes and the willpower of one Penelope Garcia. In less than an hour she had somehow organized to get all your clothes and personal possessions delivered right to the BAU, packed in your favorite suitcases and all. A couple of things had to be kept in evidence because the UnSub might have come into contact with them, but all the important stuff was there. It was comforting, having your stuff safe with you and, as you sat through the long and rigorous process of being interviewed, you felt better.

“And you’re 100% sure that none of your employees could have possibly done this?” Rossi asked, “Maybe someone you recently fired? Or someone who has a history of violence?”

You gave him an incredulous look, “Rossi, come on. Do you really think I’d be stupid enough to hire someone with a violent past?”

“You checked everyone out?”

“Full background checks on all three employees,” you agreed, “the harshest thing on any of their records was a parking ticket and a decade old charge for underage drinking.”

Hotch sighed, rubbing his temples right where you knew he got headaches.

“We know the poem is significant to the UnSub. It’s an old love poem, so it’s got to be someone who has some sort of connection to you,” he repeated, “it's personal.”

You shook your head, “Hotch, I don’t know what to tell you. I haven’t had a romantic relationship in years. There’s not a lot of time when you work 14 hour days.”

“Don’t we know it,” Rossi agreed, “so, a stalker, maybe?”

“That’s a hell of a way to make first contact,” you scoffed, “a phone call would be less risky.”

“And less effective.”

You conceded the point with a head tilt, and then looked back at Hotch, “Hotch, can we take a break? We’ve been at this for hours.”

“Of course,” he agreed, “get some rest, Y/L/N.”

“No, it’s okay, there’s work to be done here. I can stay,” you assured, stretching your stiff limbs.

Hotch shot you a look, but said nothing, obviously sensing that you weren’t going to give in without some sort of fight. Instead, he just gave you a terse nod, and walked out, leaving you with Rossi.

“You’re impossible, you know that, right?” He said.

You smiled, shrugging, “What can I say, Ros? I learned from the best.”

He chuckled, shaking his head and ruffling your hair as he walked past you, “Good to have you back, kid.”

The bullpen was busy when you walked back in, suitcases in hand, striding your way over to your old desk. It’s scary how little had really changed in the year since you’d been gone. Aside from Spencer’s semi-annual hair evolution, everything was the same; the smells, the sights, even the comforting clack of Garcia’s heels against the floor. It was comforting, almost painfully so but, as you reached your old desk, you noticed something was wrong.

“Whose stuff is this?” You asked, gesturing to the stacks of files and piles of paper scattered all over the surface.

“Mine,” Emily said, not even looking up from her work.

“But...you have a desk,” you pointed out.

“And now I have two,” she replied simply, “you can sit somewhere else.”

She was being stubborn and you felt a lick of irritation flare up inside your chest. Emily Prentiss had been one of your closest friends for years and, when you’d left the BAU, she’d taken it the hardest. Any other time, you would have understood her resentment but, given the circumstances, you weren’t feeling particularly generous.

You crossed your arms over your chest, “And where do you suggest I sit?”

Emily shrugged and gave you a sickly sweet smile, “You can share with Reid.”

You felt yourself flush with heat. Emily had known about your feelings for Spencer, she’d even encouraged you to act on them. You knew she’d never actually betray your trust, but even that subtle dig was enough to make you want to argue. You opened your mouth but, before you could say anything, Spencer interrupted.

“Here, Y/N,” he smiled, patting a spot beside him, “I’ve got space.”

You pressed your lips together, but relented when he took the time to pull an empty chair over for you to sit in.

“Thanks, Reid,” you said, taking the offered seat.

“So, did you and Hotch figure anything out?” Spencer asked.

You shook your head, “Nothing we didn’t already know. Rossi thinks it might be some kind of stalker?” You offered.

Spencer frowned, “A stalker? That doesn’t make any sense, what kind of stalker starts off their pursuit with a murder?”

“A very, very desperate one.” Emily offered.

You wanted to snap something like; ‘oh, so now you’re talking to me?’ but you bit your tongue. You knew you were on edge, and now wasn’t the time to lash out at the only people who could really help you.

“Or very deranged.” Spencer suggested

You shuddered, picturing a faceless man in all black running his blood soaked hands across your walls, drawing a jagged smiley face above your bed, memorizing the faces in your pictures. You exhaled and pushed the thought away.

“Does this even count as an escalation?” You asked, “I’m not sure there’s really anywhere to go from here.”

You were met with stony silence as Emily and Spencer inspected their respective files. You knew what they were thinking, what everyone was thinking; whatever this was, it was bad news.

“Do we know who our victim is, yet?” Spencer asked.

“Nope,” you sighed, “the UnSub burned off his fingerprints and removed several of his molars before he dumped the body, the ME is doing her best to get a DNA match, but it’ll take time.”

“The mutilation is odd, considering there wasn’t any evidence of torture on the victim before they died,” Spencer said.

“It’s gotta be a forensic countermeasure,” Emily agreed, “but it’s extremely sophisticated. Our UnSub must have experience with law enforcement.”

“But as a perp or a cop?”

You sighed and buried your head in your hands, letting the familiar back and forth wash over you like white noise. You’d had this conversation before, many many times, and it never got any easier. Usually you lived for the puzzle but, now that you were the one under scrutiny, it felt like your brain was rebelling against you.

“Y/N/N?” Spencer asked, touching your shoulder gently and snapping back to reality.

“Mm?” You replied.

His face softened as he took in the exhaustion radiating off your body.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

You nodded, “Just a little drained, that’s all.”

The clicking of heels against the floor drew your attention and you looked up just in time to see Garcia swooping in with her purse.

“You ready to go, crime fighter?” She smiled.

“Go where?” You asked,

“Home!” She smiled, “I have the honor and privilege of hosting you tonight.”

“Garcia-“ you started.

“No! No arguing.” She insisted, “I’ve already found us a lovely little Thai place for dinner, and there’s a bunch of episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer lined up on my DVR.”

You groaned, rolling your eyes fondly, “I hate how well you know me.”

She smiled devilishly, “Sounds good, right?”

“It sounds incredible and you know that because you’re a super genius who knows literally everything.” You teased, pushing yourself onto your feet, “Okay, Wonder Woman, let’s go.”

As you made your way out of the office, you cast one last look over your shoulder, smiling when Spencer met your eye and gave you a small wave.

————————-

“Okay, Sugar Plum, spill,” Penelope pushed, handing you a full glass of wine, “how’re you really doing?”

“With what?”

Penelope shot you an incredulous look, “With, you know, all of it. The murder, the mystery, being back at work, the Spencer Reid of it all.”

You spluttered through a sip of wine, “The what? ‘Nel, you can’t be serious.”

“What? I’m just asking,” she insisted, “he followed you out earlier, you’re sharing a desk now...it wouldn’t be crazy if maybe your old crush came creeping back in.”

“Penelope” you started, “some creep dropped a dead body in my bookstore and broke into my apartment and you think I’m thinking about Spencer?” She didn’t answer, just raising her eyebrows and you sighed, sliding down the couch, “Okay so I’m pathetic.”

“No you’re not!” She insisted, “You guys were like two peas in a pod, back in the day. Plus, you’ve seen like a thousand dead bodies, you’re probably just desensitized.”

“Still,” you sulked, “I can’t believe I’m still thinking about Spence.”

“Naaaaaaaaw,” she swooned, squeezing your knee, “you called him ‘Spence’, you haven’t done that in ages.”

“Fuck off, Nel” you said without any real malice, burying your face in your hands and sighing again, “please tell me I’m being ridiculous.”

Garcia smiled, a knowing glint in her dark blue eyes as she sipped her wine and watched you squirm. She’d kept in touch with you when you left the BAU, insisting on weekly brunch meetups and girls nights and a million other things that you’re not sure you would’ve survived without. She’d been like a lifeline in those first few months and, because of that, she was the only one who really knew how hard leaving had been for you. She’d been the one who sat through the hours of crying and panicking and wondering who you were without your job, who’d held your hand when you went to get a small business loan, who’d sampled your cookie recipes and helped you design uniforms. Penelope Garcia had been there for all of it. You had a photo of the two of you together at the bookstore next to your bed. It was one of your most treasured possessions.

“Now, Sugar Plum, you know I’ve always had a soft spot for you and the Boy Wonder. He’s lovely, you’re lovely; he loves you, you love him, I love you both, it’s a match made in FBI heaven as far as I’m concerned-“

“But?” You prompted with a rueful smile.

“But,” Penelope agreed, “he took it really hard when you left, and I’m not sure how he’ll handle losing you a second time.”

You frowned, “He never lost me. None of you lost me, I just got a different job! It’s not my fault that basically no one bothered to keep in touch.”

Penelope’s face softened and she smiled at you sympathetically, “Pumpkin, you know it’s not like that. When you’re in the BAU, it’s like we’re living in our own little crime bubble, everything outside just kind of….fades, you know?”

“I know…”

“And with Spencer, well, you know he’s never been the best at dealing with abandonment, the poor thing’s been through so much already,” Penelope continued, “he tried to keep in touch. He really did, and he talked about you all the time.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

She sighed, “I don’t know. I guess I just-“ she shrugged and squeezed your knee again, “I don’t want you to think that he forgot about you, that’s all.”

You felt a small smile tug at the corners of your lips, and you gripped Garcia’s hand.

“Thanks, Nel.”

You knew she was right. Life in the BAU wasn’t like life on the outside; you lived by different rules, took different risks, valued different things. It was strange and intoxicating and you really couldn’t fault your teammates for continuing to play the game the way they always had. You’d chosen to leave and you had to live with the consequences of that.

“Can we talk about something besides boys now, please?” You asked, “I want this girl’s night to pass the bechdel test.”

She smiled and clapped her perfectly manicured hands, “Oh do not fret, ma Cherie because I’ve got so much to catch you up on-“

You listened with rapt attention as Garcia filled you in on the last twelve months of FBI gossip. You laughed together, ate Thai food and just relaxed together. With every Perfectly Penelope story, you felt a little more of your tension slip away and, by the time you made it to bed, you were feeling almost normal.

Penelope had made up the couch for you, complete with pillows and blankets and a homemade quilt. It was comfortable, too comfortable. So comfortable, that your brain had way too much time to mull over what Penelope had said earlier.

Spencer hadn’t just forgotten about you. What did that mean? He’d taken it hard when you left...the questions bounced around your mind like wasps, keeping you awake. Without meaning to, your mind started to drift, sifting through the years worth of memories you’d kept locked away in a box in the back of your mind.

————————

“You are the most insufferable person I’ve ever met,” you laughed, “I’m fine, Spence.”

“You’re not fine, Y/N, you got shot.” Spencer reminded you, his eyes still sparkling with the relief of seeing you alive and in good spirits.

You were sitting in the back of an ambulance, a throbbing pain resonating from the wound in your shoulder as the police searched through the nearby crime scene and Spencer inspected your face. It was cold and dark, but the sirens and flashing lights meant that it was anything but peaceful, and you knew it would still be many hours before either you or Spencer got any sleep.

“Yeah well, we’ve all been shot,” you pointed out, “and, statistically speaking, we have a 100% survival rate.”

Spencer rolled his eyes, but he was smiling so you knew he wasn’t too mad.

“You’re bastardizing my beautiful statistical analysis and using it for evil. Remind me why I’m bothering to check on you, again?” He teased.

“Because you loooooove me,” you teased back, jostling his shoulder with yours, “and because I just took a bullet to the shoulder for you.”

He chuckled but avoided your gaze, focusing on his shoes, “Yeah that would explain it.”

Something in the atmosphere changed and you looked over at Spencer, noticing the way he worried at the inside of his cheek with his hands in his pockets. His brow was furrowed too, like he was sad, and something in your chest pinched.

“You alright there, doc?” You asked.

“Don’t do it again,” he said, looking up and catching your eye.

You paused, “don’t do what?”

“Take a bullet to the shoulder for me,” he explained, “get hurt trying to protect me. Promise me you won’t do it again?”

You pressed your lips together, recognizing the same feeling of fear and guilt in Spencer that you, yourself, felt any time someone you cared about was in danger. You reached out, pulling one of his hands out of his pocket and giving it a gentle squeeze before letting go. Spencer held on for a second longer, his dark eyes filling with something as he took you in.

“You know I can’t promise that, Spence,” you said gently, “if we’re ever in a situation like this again….no way I’m just letting you die to avoid a couple of stitches.”

“No, you don’t-” he paused, getting himself worked up, “you don’t get it. I watched my girlfriend get shot right in front of me, I-I’ve lost so many people that I care about, Y/N, and I can’t lose anyone else. Not for something as stupid as my own life.”

“Your life isn’t some insignificant thing, Spence,” you insisted, “it’s important! To me, to the team, to everyone. We’re a family, Spencer, families have each other’s backs. Always.”

He took a deep breath and nodded, carding his fingers through his hair like he was agitated.

“Just-” he started again, “just promise me you won’t do it again.”

“I can’t.” you insisted, “I can’t make that promise.

He turned to face you, looking more tired than you’d seen him in weeks, “Then promise you’ll be careful. Promise me I won’t lose you too?”

Your heart ached, and you longed to reach out and wrap him up in your arms, but you restrained yourself.

“How about this; I’ll promise that you won’t lose me, if you promise that we’ll always be best friends, and that you’ll try to start valuing your own life as much as you value mine or Morgan’s, deal?” You offered, extending your hand for Spencer to shake.

Spencer frowned, opening his mouth to argue but, before he could, an agent interrupted.

“Agent Y/L/N? Dr. Reid? Agent Hotchner is looking for you.”

———————————-

You snapped back to reality with a jolt, and realised you were lonely. So much time had passed since that night, but you remembered it all perfectly, every detail. It wasn’t an especially meaningful night, there were a million moments just like it, but something about it had stuck. Maybe it was the potential, the wondering, that thing that he never got to say. You wish you’d gotten to hear it now.

You fumbled around in the dark for your cellphone, typing out a message and pressing send before you could think better of it. It was short, and to the point, and you would be shocked if he responded but, once it was done, you felt something in your chest loosen, like maybe you’d been wanting to send that message for a really long time.

To Spencer Reid: Hey, Reid? I’m sorry I left, I never meant to break my promise.

With the heavy weight of remembering suddenly lifted, you realised how tired you were, and you let sleep drag you under. If you’d stayed awake a little longer, you might not have missed the way Spencer kept typing, typing, typing away some message he never sent. Or the eventual response, which only came in three hours later:

You never broke your promise, Y/N. I broke mine.

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

Taglist: @ourfavoritesergeantbarnes, @confused-and-really-hungry, @word-scribbless, @reidloversisforever, @ashookykooky, @l0ve-0f-my-life, @shilohpug, @tangerinenotions95, @petitchatonbleu

#jordsie #jordsie writes #cm #cm imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds headcanons #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid headcanons #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler imagine #matthew gray gubler x you #matthew gray gubler #Penelope garcia #penelope garcia imagine

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adsosfraser · 3 years

Text

The Stone’s Toll - Chapter Four

Read on AO3

cw: medical trauma/abuse

They stripped her to the bone and prodded her towards the corner with the spigot about a metre above her head. Their eyes were focused intently on her every move, calculating each misstep. One of her guards called out into the hall and the water surged down in high pressured spurts. She had been naked with strangers before. Had been dressed by them. Bare and vulnerable. Mrs. Fitz came to mind. But this was not anything like that, it felt demeaning, dehumanising. It was intended to humble her.

The other guard threw a bar of soap which Claire fumbled with and fell to the floor. The grime on the floor had built up for years and mould dotted the edges of the shower. She scrunched her nose at the thought of picking the soap up from such an environment, but the stares of the guards burrowed deep into her skin.

“Two minutes.”

Claire carefully traced the spot above her heart. It stung less than before when she was weaned off of the pain medication. Claire was heavily sedated for those six days in hospital. She felt like she had when she returned through the stones, a crushing weight bearing down on her body. And she was all alone. Her injury was monitored until she could be properly transferred to Danvers State Hospital, or rather the Danvers Lunatic Asylum, where they placed her unceremoniously in her cage-like room. The pounding force of the shower left a dull pain, almost opening the wound on her breast again. She scrubbed the dirt, the pain off of her skin until she felt she had no skin left.

Claire was soon in the plain cotton uniform they provided everyone. Her hair flew wildly above her head because she was unable to comb through her curls. They at least deemed her safe enough to not need restraints on top of the guards that flanked her. How kind. Those were reserved for the more violent afflictions.

She watched as her tangled curls floated down to the tiled floor around her feet. Her hair was shorn to about her chin to conform with the other patients.

The institute had yet decided what to do about her condition, which they concluded was melancholia and the hysteria which accompanied it. All unnecessary consequences of her female persuasion.

“I assure you, sir, I am perfectly fine. Now if I could just speak to my husband.” She forced herself to put out the last word.

“He is still considering the terms of your release and treatment. You gave Mr. Randall quite a shock.” Doctor Lionel Brown quirked his eyebrows at his patient, placing the pairs of his pointer and middle finger against his lips in thought.

“I know. Now if you’d just-“

A knock sounded at the door.

“Mr. Anderson you may come in.”

“Mrs. Randall, this is Mr. Anderson, our specialist in mood disorders. He’s shed some insight with me earlier about what may be best in order for you to be released. If you don’t mind, Mr. Anderson.”

“I think our electroshock therapies would be very conducive for her recovery. When repeated twice a week, these treatments help ease pain and reduce memories that are hard to pass on their own.” Anderson glanced at Doctor Brown and continued. “Another option if the treatments are unable to hold and improve your condition is the transorbital lobotomy which is guaranteed to permanently improve it. I can assure you ma’am this avenue has been thoroughly researched and our patients report a calm demeanour within weeks of the operation.

“I highly doubt that’s necessary sir.” Claire scoffed.

Claire slumped in her chair and considered for a second. She could be free of the pain, of the man who haunted her every waking moment. She could stop mourning her husband, her family at Lallybroch, and her children. Maybe she would forget and finally be able to return to Frank as Jamie had intended. But she could never forget Jamie, no matter what happened to her. Her mind may forget but her soul would always keep him within her.

It was four doors later that she reluctantly followed one of the nurse’s in the ward down the dreary halls. No matter her reluctance to it, her treatments would begin according to the doctor’s schedule.

Claire was instructed to take off her shoes as she entered the room. She glanced around the room only to be met with unfamiliar faces. She had comforted the woman who went before her who was convulsing and writhing on the treatment table. Claire tried to soothe her and soon her breathing evened out and a dazed look took over her face. There was no fighting this. If Claire refused to comply, it would be much worse. The woman slouched to the floor and began her walk away from the machine.

The orderly wiped off the metal table from the woman’s sweat and perhaps even a small amount of urine: the reactions to the terror. He sighed and wrote on the chart, detailing exactly how the patient’s body handled the treatment. He pointed to the table, not even sparing a glance at Claire. One. Two. Three. She thought as she forced each step. Her back and limbs arched away from the shocking cold of the metal and her muscles tensed reflexively.

The nurse placed a flat wooden stick in her mouth and instructed her to bite down. Her arms and legs were strapped down before she could change her mind and start thrashing against her jailer. Two firm ovals suctioned to her temples and a strap ran around her head securing the device to her head.

Perhaps it was her indifference that led them to choose this method of torture. She would be sure to smile and have all the warmth of a womanly countenance when she next met with Doctor Brown. Her fate depended on her first husband, and the doctor that held her hostage within the suffocating walls of the institution. She had made her feelings quite clear to Frank, and perhaps he was enacting his vengeance this way.

As the first wave of electricity passed through her body straight to her heart and mind, her body convulsed under its strain. After the base time of thirty seconds for her treatment, her body slumped back down onto the cold surface that sent chills down her spine. She was left disoriented and stupid, waiting to gain back her senses.

“Who’s this, Smiley?” Claire’s mind could barely discern the shape of the figure hanging on the doorframe before her. The glum nurse who was addressed was the farthest thing from smiley.

“Mrs. Randall, your newest neighbour.”

“Oh, how exciting!” The girl who couldn’t be more than fourteen slipped something into the nurse’s pocket. “I think I’ll call you Miss Curly Wig.” She grinned and eyed the mess of curls fanned out around on the silver surface enviously.

The orderly nonchalantly slipped a lollipop into the girl’s waiting hands and a piece of gum, payment for whatever she had smuggled in for him.

“You’ll be just fine Miss Curly Wig.” The girl who was barely a teenager patted her shoulder in comfort. Claire couldn’t do more than stare blankly at the girl, no words appearing on her tongue. “Sure the first one is a bit of a shock. But you get over it. Your brain is like cotton the first few days, and you look as dumb as ever, but if you comply, they shorten it to every three weeks instead. I haven’t gotten the shock in four weeks now because I’ve been on my best behaviour. Haven’t had the urge to steal in months. Isn’t that right Smiley?”

Smiley grunted affirmatively in a way that reminded her of Murtagh while he put away the equipment from the day’s treatments. Her heart ached along with her head and tears pricked at the corner of her eyes.

“Can I escort her back to her room Smiley? You are done here for the day, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Miss Emily.” The nurse clearly was uncomfortable straying from protocol.

Claire walked back in silence to the plain white room, filled with only a white metal bed and mattress. Emily patted her hand on the sheets and Claire plopped down on them. The rambunctious child flitted out of the room, excited to find a new face in the dreary and tedious schedule of the ward.

Claire laid back against the stiff pillow of her twin bed. It was impossible to get comfortable here. Her brain was buzzing and her fingers felt tingly, like the static from the radio. In the night, when the other patient's cries filled her mind, she traced the fading scar on her palm where he cut her. The rings, sgian dubh, pearls and her old clothes were the only physical proof it had been real. Now she had none of them. No tangible proof in her grasp. The only reminder was the memory of the slight pain when he marked out the flesh into a J.

“Milady!” Fergus screamed into the empty air of the great room. His body curled up into one of the velvet chaises by the fire and his whimpers woke Jamie, who rested his eyes on the floor beside the inconsolable child. Jamie had almost drifted off to sleep himself, but his mind buzzed with thoughts of his wife. He rose and gathered Fergus in his arms, hushing the boy.

“Milady.” The tears renewed themselves and tumbled without end down his cheeks. Jamie stroked the hair from his son’s face and cursed when his hand felt the hot and sweaty skin.

Claire woke up shaking on the sweat-soaked sheets. “Fergus.” Her guilt of leaving him, her family was insurmountable. But she felt deep in her bones something terribly awful. A dread that squeezed at her heart. Just like any other person could feel the earth shift under their feet, before possessing the actual knowledge of what happened to their loved one. A fellow war nurse once told her of her premonitions, and the next day she was sent an impersonal letter declaring his death in battle.

She pressed the pillow against her ears, trying to block out the vivid visions of the young French boy.

Emily became an ally to Claire in the short amount of time she had been in the B ward. She followed her constantly like a lost puppy and accompanied her to the electroshock therapies every week. Claire supposed the girl had deemed her the sanest out of their fellow patients, so she must have felt more at ease in her presence. The girl had even taught Claire a neat trick, how to pretend to swallow her medicine and then spit it out later.

At night, the faces in the flecks of the popcorn ceiling above taunted her. Every move of the shadows was a demon reimagined in her mind. Of her family and those who wished her harm. They all played an equal role in the play stretched out before her. Two straight lines and a curve mixed together into one evil, Black Jack Randall and her husband. Her mind drifted to the sight of her son, curled up and shivering in his sickbed. She was stuck between the tormenting images in the ceiling or the all too real feel of Fergus’ small body pressed against her in a tight hug.

“Miss Curly Wig!” It took her a moment to recognise her young companion, the thoughts seeped slowly through her mind like molasses.

“Where on earth did you get these?”

“I filched them from Doc B when I was snooping through your files. I was going to trade them to Smiley, but I thought better. Hide them in your bra, they never look there.” The child winked at her.

“Thanks for the advice.” She slipped the silver down her shirt and was about to scatter the gold across the wooden boards of the floor when she thought better; it was a valuable chunk of money. “What do you want in return?”

“Nothing yet. But those locks of yours sure are pretty.”

“You want a lock of my hair?”

She stared at the child dumbfounded. Hers easily rivalled Claire’s, the fiery red waving around her ears and growing slowly towards her shoulders. What harm was there in giving a child a piece of a muddied brown curl? She gripped a strand of her hair from the base of her head and held it taut. Claire ripped the piece just below the hold her hand had on it so it wouldn’t be plucked directly from her scalp. Her palms opened, gifting the rare thing to the adolescent. Her face visibly brightened and she snatched it immediately. She tucked in safely within her shirt like Claire had done with her rings and skipped down the hall towards the dark wood staircase.

Claire plastered a sickly sweet smile as she sat on the plastic chair. Dr. Brown shuffled some papers on his desk and ignored her. He licked his finger to card through the pages and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He cleared his throat before finally acknowledging her.

“Ah, Mrs. Randall. And what, might I ask, lead me to the pleasure of seeing you in my office today?”

“As you can see, Dr. Brown, the treatments have worked splendidly and I would very much like to return home now. I see no need to be kept here further.”

“I’m sorry ma’am it’s just not how- oh looky here! Your husband signed for your release when he visited me yesterday.”

“Great, so now this has all been sorted.”

“Just hold on Mrs. Randall.” He emphasised her proper name. “Yes, he’s clearly signed your release here, but we’ll need to keep you here for an observation period of at least three more days. Make sure you’ll do no more harm to yourself or others. But, you’ll be glad to know we have seen an improvement from your treatments, and your last one will be this Friday, a day before your release.”

She bit her tongue to hold back the avalanche of defiant words and insults she wanted to fling at the man who held her fate in his hands. Finally, she settled for a simple, “thank you,” and left back to the empty halls.

The bastards in the hospital had made zero progress in truly helping her. If she was asked, Claire knew she wouldn’t be able to recall any detail at all about the last few months of her life. If she could call it that, she was dead living. The therapies only added to her already failing memory. Emily was the only bright part of her day, and now she was leaving the poor girl in the hands of these people alone.

Her final night, when her brain sludged forward through its thoughts, a consequence of her treatments, she finally allowed herself to relax back into her bed fully. But that was a mistake. Fergus sat before the fire at Lallybroch, playing soldier with some chess pieces. The sight of the son of her heart pierced through her chest. He turned around and smiled at her softly.

“Come back, Milady, please. Milord needs you. I miss you maman.” He had never called her maman before, only Milady.

On closer inspection, his eyes were wide with fear at the apparition before him. He knew Milady would never harm him, but there was something otherworldly about her appearance now, much different than her usual strange demeanour. Sensing his trepidation, she kissed his forehead gently, taking the pain and fear into herself from that small point where her lips met his curl that dangled there. A tear dripped down the edge of her nose to his cheek. A flash of red and blue entered the dream, but by then she was already awake.

#outlander fanfiction #adsofraser writing #claire beauchamp #claire fraser #jamie x claire #frank randall #insane asylum #fergus fraser #canon divergence #jamie fraser #medical trauma #I am inflicting pain onto my characters because I can #outlander fanfic

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trashmenofmarvel · 4 years

Text

Branded - Chapter 26

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Something went wrong. Very wrong.

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by araniaart . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

Chapter Warnings: Torture, violence, psychological abuse, brainwashing, demon slavery, implied past noncon, no actual noncon in this chapter (but it gets close)

AO3

You whipped around, heart in your throat, unable to breathe from the shock of the scream. It was strained, agonizing, and arrested the blood in your veins.

Bucky was sitting in a chair, his arms strapped down as a metal contraption encircled his head. Electricity sparked against his skin, and he continued to scream.

“Bucky!”

You tried to run but couldn’t move, your feet glued to the floor, and you were forced to remain where you were as Bucky howled in agony.

There were other people in the room, soldiers dressed in uniforms and men wearing lab coats. Catwalks stretched above your head, grey stone at your feet, and in the back of the room an iron chamber of some sort. Smoke or fog curled from the opening, strange glyphs written across its surface.

You ignored it all, your entire attention focused on Bucky.

What was going on? What were they doing to him?

The torment finally stopped. It must have, because Bucky slumped in the chair, chest heaving as hair clung to his sweat-soaked forehead, the metal device lifting from his crown. A man spoke a language you didn’t know, but the longer he spoke the more you understood the words.

The words themselves didn’t make much sense, but he chanted them like an incantation. Longing. Rusted. Furnace. Daybreak. With each one uttered, Bucky grew more calm, his twitching snarl smoothing into a neutral stare.

Only then did your eyes drop downward to truly take in his appearance. He wasn’t clothed in the jacket and jeans he’d been wearing a moment ago. A tactical harness covered his chest, combat pants and boots on his legs. His very human legs.

That was different. His guise was dropped, and everything else looked the same. The wings, the horns, his tail looped tightly around his leg. The armored arm with the pentagram carved into the stony flesh.

But why were his legs human?

Because, you realized, this was a different time. One where he wasn’t fully the demon you knew.

I’m trapped in his memory. The wrong memory.

“Bucky…”

Your pained whisper went unnoticed. Of course it would. You were just a passive observer over something that had already happened. But when had this happened? What exactly were you witnessing?

Seeking the answers, you paid attention to the man who was addressing Bucky. He carried a strange red tome with a pentagram on the cover, and it was from here he’d recited the nonsensical words. He closed the book shut with a definitive snap and set it aside, turning his cold gaze on the demon in the chair.

“Good morning, Soldier,” he spoke in the language you didn’t know but could somehow understand. It sounded Slavic, possibly Russian.

Bucky answered in a low growl you barely recognized.

“Ready to comply.”

You wanted to run to him. Scream at him. Shake him awake from this nightmare. But it had already happened, and there was nothing you could do to change it.

“I have a mission for you.” The man held out a folder to Bucky, fully expecting his cooperation. “Sanction and extract. No witnesses.”

Bucky lowered his gaze… and looked up. Directly at you.

You’d encountered many things that had terrified you. Alpen. Heigore. A cursed flesh-book that communicated with your own blood. All those things couldn’t have prepared you for the existential terror that gripped your body in a vice.

Bucky took the folder without glancing at it, his dead, empty gaze still focused on you. He rose from the chair and walked forward. You flinched and braced yourself, but he walked past, close enough you could feel the displacement of air.

You were just a ghost to him. That fact didn’t erase the chill that clung to your skin like dread.

The scene blurred and shifted, and you nearly lost your balance. But of course, you couldn’t fall. You couldn’t tell what was different at first—the room looked exactly the same, though there were less people in it. Bucky and the uniformed officer were standing near the chair.

The man opened a silver briefcase while Bucky stood at his side, also gazing down at the contents. IV bags full of blue liquid. You didn’t understand the significance, didn’t even know what year it was, but it felt horribly important.

“Well done, Soldier.”

Bucky said nothing, eyes just as hollow and empty as before. This wasn’t truly Bucky. The looming, dark figure that wore his face was the infamous Winter Soldier.

“Would you like your reward now?”

“Yes, Colonel,” Bucky responded in that same low growl, the one devoid of personality and humanity.

You pressed the back of your hand against your mouth, but nothing came out except a shaky breath. Hopefully that meant you couldn’t vomit in a memory, because you were dangerously close to doing so. After what Bucky had told you, it wasn’t difficult to guess what “reward” this man planned for him.

Being unable to move did not spare you from avoiding the next scene. The air around you shifted again, and this time it truly did change. You sensed it was in the same research facility or bunker—the place had that heavy, underground feel to it—but it was in a smaller, warmer space. Dotted with furniture made of dark wood, electric lamps flickering on the walls, and to the side a large bed draped in a thick green blanket.

A bedroom.

Your stomach roiled violently, but the two occupants were ignorant of your presence and distress.

Bucky stood in the center of the room, his hands placed behind his back. His guise was back in place, his demonic features gone, but it did nothing to make him appear any more human.

“At first, I found this method of feeding to be… inconvenient.”

Your head turned unwillingly toward the source of the voice. Colonel. That’s what Bucky had called him.

“But as time moves on, and you continue to be a faithful soldier…” The Colonel traced a pale finger down Bucky’s jaw, the man’s stare no longer cold. It was interested, predatory. Simmering. “…I can see the benefits of partaking in such a meal.”

Bile rose in your throat, and you curled your hands into tight fists at your side. Your eyes stung so badly you had to blink to keep your vision clear.

Were you really going to have to watch this? This horrible thing that Bucky would never have wanted to show you of his own free will? Where was he? Why wasn’t he with you? Surely he would be just another observer of his own memories, not forced to be a participant.

Something had gone horribly wrong.

“I live to serve you, Master.”

It was the wrong thing to say. The man slapped Bucky across the face, open-handed.

Bucky did nothing but slowly turn his head forward again.

“Do not use such barbaric language,” the man hissed. “It does not become you.”

Bucky dropped his gaze, but there was nothing contrite in his deadened tone.

“My apologies, sir.”

Raising a hand, the man softly patted the cheek he’d just slapped.

“All is forgiven. You are the relic of a bygone era. It is not in your nature to adapt, only to obey and to feed. Isn’t that right?”

Bucky’s downcast eyes focused on the man’s belt buckle as he unlatched it. The hunger was the first sign of life that you’d seen in them so far.

This can’t be happening, you thought. Prayed. Please, no.

“On your knees, Soldier.”

Bucky obeyed without hesitation, dropping into a kneeling position as he stared up at the Colonel expectantly. The man finished unbuckling his belt and opened his pants, pushing them and his underwear down far enough to pull himself out.

You wanted to look away. Turn your head and pretend it wasn’t happening. But it had happened, to Bucky. He’d actually lived this while all you had to do was watch. Witnessing what he’d had to endure was the least you could do, and it wasn’t as if you had a choice, either way.

“Tell me,” the man said as he began to stroke his half-hard cock. “What was it like?”

Bucky said nothing but slightly tilted his head in an unspoken question. The Colonel huffed, a hint of impatience.

“What was it like to kill him?” he clarified. “The great Howard Stark?”

Howard Stark? you wondered, the name fresh on your mind from your recent search on Bucky’s past.

In your confusion, you almost missed it. The flutter of his eyelashes, the flash of tension in Bucky’s jaw. It was a sign you’d seen many times before when Bucky was irritated. Irritated and about to say something scathing.

The motion was quick, subtle, and the man didn’t notice. But you did.

Bucky remained silent, but the man above him, still stroking himself to hardness, kept speaking.

“I wish I could have been there to see it. America’s most brilliant industrialist. The Icon of America’s Strength. Butchered by nothing more than a Soviet ghost.”

The man’s smirk grew and Bucky’s frown deepened. His eyes were no longer staring hungrily at the Colonel’s exposed cock, but past him, far away. Growing darker with every word the man spoke.

“It is almost a shame no one will know the truth. That the boogieman they all fear is quite real and far worse than their deepest nightmares.” The man sighed wistfully, then blinked, seeming to remember what he was doing as he gazed down at Bucky.

“Either way, you served your purpose well. Now… open.”

Bucky stayed motionless. He didn’t seem to even hear the command, staring forward as the corners of his lips tightened.

The Colonel frowned, more perturbed than angry.

“Were you damaged during the mission?”

“No, sir.”

“Then, open.”

Bucky did not. The man scowled, finally noticing the Winter Soldier was no longer willing to take orders.

“Open, Soldier.”

Bucky winced, favoring his left shoulder. A painful punishment, you realized, for disobeying. The mark was compelling him to listen, and yet… he didn’t. He remained on his knees, posture rigid even as blood trickled from the pentagram carved into his skin.

Fingers wrapped in Bucky’s unkempt hair and yanked backwards, forcing him to look up. The Colonel gave him a cruel shake, eyes blazing with the aggression of a dominant figure being ignored.

“Obey me!”

Bucky stared at him. Truly. There was no vacant emptiness in his eyes now. There was only quiet fury.

“No.”

With Bucky’s answer, the air shimmered around him. Wings unfurled, horns swept backwards, tail angrily lashing against the floor.

The Colonel scrambled backwards as Bucky rose to his feet. The man clumsily stuffed himself into his pants, tripping over his feet as he grasped at something on his desk.

Bucky descended on him, raising his right arm and flexing his fingers to extend his dark claws.

The man spun around and fired. The sound was deafening in the small space, but you could still hear Bucky’s howl of pain

Bucky grabbed his shoulder, bleeding profusely from where he’d been shot at the exposed part of his arm. He stomped forward, determination twisting his features, but the man fired again, this time into Bucky’s chest.

A klaxon blared above and you covered your ears the same moment Bucky covered his, and he snarled miserably before stumbling out of the room. He fled down the hall, the tips of his wings brushing against the concrete walls on either side, but there were already soldiers coming after him. From many of the terrified, shocked expressions on their faces, many of them had no idea what Bucky truly was.

They gunned him down, all the same.

Up until that moment, you’d been so enraptured by the memory that you’d nearly faded into it, forgetting yourself and beginning to experience Bucky’s emotions as if they were your own.

Watching Bucky fall, bleeding profusely from multiple bullet holes, changed that. You were very aware of your own mind, of the horror and grief that gripped it as you sank to your knees beside him.

He gasped for breath, eyelids fluttering as he tried to keep them open. And then he looked at you. He looked right at you and saw you.

Blood bubbled up from his mouth, but his expression was… calm. No, more than that. Relieved. The nightmare was over. They would never use him again.

You reached out, tears burning your eyes as your fingertips brushed against his cheek. But he vanished under your fingertips; Bucky’s body collapsed and fluttered away as if dust.

Or ashes.

The latter felt more accurate to you, because the next breath you took was searing. The cold of the bunker was replaced by a barren landscape of red rock and burning, sulfuric air.

The pull you’d experienced earlier, the tug toward something deeper in Bucky’s memory, it was too strong to refuse this time.

When you opened your mouth to cry out, you coughed and gagged instead, and the next breath you took was not your own.

Next Chapter

#demon!bucky barnes #demon!bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #demon!bucky barnes x reader #branded #my writing #my fanfiction

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years

Text

Humans are Space Orcs, “Poisoned.”

Got this idea from a comment or ask someone made. hope this iw what they had in mind :)

Another galactic summit, more issues to deal with, and more problems to discuss, not the largest being the Burg war, and the attack on earth. Though it had been thwarted by the planet’s natural hellish landscape, there were still discussions to be made about whether the Rundi and the Vrul would help to provide a defense Nexus to the remaining planets. As well as disaster relief on the gromm home world.

The rundi home world at the GA summit chambers were, once again, rife with alien lifeforms. It was also, once again, rife with Rundi underlings who were trying very hard not to freak out with all the duties that were being placed on their backs.

At least one thing was made clear, there was no pint in getting human food for the summit, since the human delegates always insisted on trying all the other alien food. Leave enough of the nectar orbs from the Drev home world out, and that seemed to keep the humans happy enough.

Dr. Krill accompanied the Commander into the summit as was usual. Sunny was not with them today, seeing as she had work to do back aboard the ship

That left just the two of them.

Felt almost like old times.

The captain was dressed up in his fancy UNSC uniform, and as such, he was obligated to behave.

Apparently behaving didn’t mean avoiding arguments with his most important doctor, who --despite being a complete genius-- was hardly capable of getting the captain to agree with him.

“I just think that there should be better security at these things. All of the most important people in the galaxy are here.”

“Krill, there is an entire armada outside, I hardly think we need to worry about being attacked by the burg. Besides, their attack on earth completely broke their spirits. There is no way they would try getting in here.”

Krill crossed both sets of arms, “I disagree, Commander. I have been looking into human history of warfare, and I Think that a spy could easily-”

“Krill calm down will you. Besides, species rely on the fact that you can disguise yourself to look like the other side. The Burg are so fugly that they'd be noticed in half an instant.

They came around the corner, and the Commander was nearly knocked onto his back as an Iotin brushed past hurrying from the banquet hall.

The Commander tripped back into a wall, “Woah watch….yourself.” The Iotin disappeared around the next corner, and the Commander looked after him with a frown, “Didn’t know those guys could move that fast. Wonder why he could be in such a hurry.”

Krill waved it off as the Commander poked his head into the banquet room, “Oh look, pink orbs!”

“Commander, don’t you think we should wait until after the summit, when the food is being served.”

The man waved a hand, “Oh no one will notice one missing.”

He quickly snuck into the room and Krill rolled his eyes as the man came out munching on one of the pink fruits.

“And they made you leader of the fleet.”

“Technically they are thinking of making me leader of the entire Galactic armada, but I digress.”

“Lord help us all.”

The captain made a face.

“What it’s true.”

The man shook his head, “No, not you, this fruit tastes…. Weird.”

“Good weird or bad weird.”

He shrugged and took another bite, “Not bad enough for me to stop eating it, so good weird I guess.”

He stuffed the rest of the orb into his mouth and licked the juices off his fingers.

Krill sighed, “I still can’t believe they would choose you.”

“Better believe it.”

The two of them walked into the main conference chamber to sit down with the other delegates. The human delegation was near the top tier, and so that is where they went, taking a seat just to the right of the Rundi chairwoman’s box.

The entire room was alive with the sound of alien life.

Commander Vir leaned over to speak with one of the delegates and krill was left to watch the room. Most of the delegations were here, though the iotin delegation had arrived late. Seemed strange considering he had seen one of their number not long ago.

The light dimmed a couple of times, and the chairwoman took her pedestal and began to greet the delegates. Krill looked on politely as was his want though he wasn’t entirely interested in the whole thing.

The charwoman could be rather long-winded when she got going.

He sat there through a good few minutes of it glancing over at the other human delegates on occasion. Vir looked almost sleepy, though that was almost to be expected, he was never very good at politics, even though he was involved in them so much.

He turned back to the delegation.

The commander shifted uncomfortably in his seat during a discussion about intergalactic trade laws, and Krill looked over again.

The man had taken to licking his lips repeatedly.

“Are you ok?” Krill muttered.

“Yeah fine, just thirsty.” He muttered

Krill let it go through something made him turn back not to long after. The human was rubbing at his mouth, which appeared red, though he supposed that was supposed to be expected. Little lines of sweat were trickling down from his hairline.

He scooted a bit closer.

“Commander, are you feeling alright.”

He was waved off, “yeah, I’m ok, it just got a little hot in here as all…. Feeling kind of…. Faint. Maybe a little nauseous. I am sure I’ll be fine. Probably just need something to eat.”

The talks continued, but Krill wasn’t focused on them anymore. The commander was not looking very good. He was sweating enough that the collar of his dress shirt was almost soaked. The tint of his face had gone from healthy blush to a yellow parlor. He looked as if he was about to pass out. A few of the other human delegates had stared to notice.

Someone placed a hand on his shoulder, “Commander are you feeling alright.”

“I…. I think I…. Just need to…. Walk around.”

His voice was slurred.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea commander?” Krill said turning his head to face him.

His pupils were unusually wide despite the dark space around them.

“The human was breathing hard now, one hand over his chest. His dry mouth from earlier had gone, replaced by saliva production so excessive he was having to clear his mouth every couple of seconds.

He looked at Krill, and the expression on his face was enough.

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

The other delegates had leaned over sensing the commotion, and they stood to let Krill and the commander pass as he stood and wobbled his way towards the stairs.

Krill could sense something was wrong almost immediately.

Dizziness, shortness of breath, nausea.

“Someone, help him walk.” Krill ordered not caring about the delegation anymore.

Their sudden movement had caused a bit of commotion on one side of the room. The commander paused on the stairwell, and instead of turning towards the exit, he turned towards the delegation floor. Krill tried to grab him, tried to stop him, but the human -- even in his weakened state -- was still too strong.

A muttering had grown up around the crowd as he staggered onto the floor.

The chairwoman stopped speaking looking on in confusion, “Commander, are you alright.”

The human paused at the center of the floor.

IN the main lighting he looked absolutely horrific. He was so pale his skin was almost yellow. The skin around his mouth was red. Sweat drenched the side of his face. He was drooling so badly that it was, at this point, impossible to control.

“The...food…. Has been poisoned.” He choked out through heaving breaths.

And then he collapsed to his knees vomiting violently on the white marble floor.

The entire delegation stood shock and uproar filling the room. Krill ran over to help the human whose arms and hands were shaking as he tried to hold himself up.

The sight was horrifying. Saliva dripped in strings from his mouth. His clothing and hands were stained pink from the orb fruit from earlier.

Krill remembered he said it tasted weird.

Could he really have been poisoned.

A couple other human delegates vaulted over the railings and onto the floor grabbing the man by the arms as his strength began to fail him. His body was shaking violently now.

Krill practically scream ordered one of the assistance to grab a medical kit.

The entire room was in an uproar.

Krill jammed his finger at the Iotin representatives, “Don’t let them leave!”

The Iotins stood in shock as the delegation turned on them. The Drev delegation, weaponless, still managed to make a circle around the group, “Someone, go grab the food, and get me a sample!”

The commander had been rolled onto his side. His body continued to reject whatever toxin it had been given, though Krill desperately tried to avoid him aspirating and choking. That only got harder once the man began to cease and convulse. He had to reduce the absorption, but he also needed to keep the man from throwing it back up.

His kit was open on the floor, and he had the others help him With the tubes and medication. Adam wouldn’t be helping him now, so he would have to get directly to the stomach himself.

He had one of the other humans hold him as he inserted the tube and began with the activated charcoal. Hopefully that would be enough before they got test results back. One of the Rundi came sprinting into the room holding one of the pink orbs handing it over to one of Krill’s assistants who was ordered to test the fruit with one of the testing strips.

They did as told and the entire group waited for the results.

When the strip turned blue, krill knew what it was.

It was at least similar to some toxins he had seen before and attacked the central nervous system in humans through absorption in the gut. The dosage had been too high however, and while the human could potentially choke to death, much of the toxin had already been rejected by the body.

“Someone cut open his sleeve.”

The uniform was ignored as the sleeve was cut open and Krill placed an IV reaching into his kit for the antitoxin.

“You…. Just have that lying around?” one of the other humans asked.

Krill nodded, “I work with humans. I expect them to ingest stupid things that could kill them on a regular basis.”

He was calm on the outside like a doctor should be, but on the inside he was panicking horribly. The commander was not looking good.

But he placed the IV and made the injection.

“Someone test the other food. I want to know if this was planned for just the humans or for the entire delegation.

His orders were quickly followed, and they found the toxin in almost every dish that had been in the banquet hall.

“You should be glad it was the human who took it first.” Krill was saying

“Why is that?” The chairwoman asked

“Because, the human body is the only one that would have noticed the poisoning before it was too late. The human brain responds to toxins that affect the central nervous system with dizziness and nausea. For any other species, you would have been dead before the symptoms kicked in.” On the floor the human convulsions had stopped. His heart rate was depressed now, but krill was keeping an eye on it.

The Iotins were still looking around in panic as the Drev glowered at them.

“What is the meaning of this.” Their leader called.

Krill turned on them anger in every line of his body, “We saw one of you leaving the room before we entered, and they were in a hurry. So forgive me if I am a little suspicious.”

More uproar, but the Drev kept the delegates in check.

‘Come on, Commander.” rill muttered

If he was going to wake up, it would be in the next few minutes if only for a little bit.

One of the other humans had ripped open his uniform jacket removing his tie and pulling the coat off discarded to the side. Krill was more than grateful for their help. Even more pleased when the commander opened his eyes bleary, his pupils almost back to normal.

“What… happened.” He slurred

“Congratulations, sir, you saved the entire delegation from death by poisoning. You’re a hero.”

He groaned, “I don’t feel like one.” he leaned his head back onto the floor, “Catch the bastards who did this for me will you.” He licked his lips, “I’m gonna pass out again.”

And he did as promised.

Once again the human body had managed to save the day.

Because as it turns out humans are actually a lot harder to poison that one might first assume. Give them to high of a dose, and they will throw it up, give them too low of a dose and it won’t kill them. Plus the human body is very good at letting everyone know when something is wrong.

It is especially difficult to poison a human when their best friend is an experienced doctor.

Whoever had done this, had not succeeded in their end goal.

And they wouldn't likely be free for long.

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