#this really is just how it feels when you raid while you work

[fashion-runways]

hi!! new pinned post, because the last one had gotten long again-- if you want to read previous posts, here's the first one, here's the second one. the tl;dr from those is that my dad got wrongfully imprisoned abruptly, our place was raided, the cops broke a bunch of shit and took a bunch of our things and still haven't returned them, they left all the broken things for us to spend money in repairing, we had to spend money on a lawyer, trips to visit him, new clothes, medicine and food for him in jail, etc. it was a mess, way more details in both posts. he's back home now, with an ankle monitor because technically his case isn't being investigated yet, they haven't done anything about it at all, the case hasn't moved one ounce lmao it's great, always trust the judicial system and cops!! ugh, anyway!

we found a therapist for my dad who can help her deal with all the stuff he had to deal with while in prison, all the bullying, the depression, the starving, the separation, etc. he needs to get a bunch of other medical appointments, has to get surgery, among other things, but for now things are much better on that front. that being said, he did lose his job and my old redbubble account got suspended without a warning months ago, plus argentina's economy is... really bad right now. food prices rise every day, public transportation prices went up like a 200% in a couple of weeks, salaries are low and stuck there, subsidies are gone, the local peso keeps falling, we have an absolute psychopath as a president who spends more time insulting or threatening anyone who oppose him than caring about people. it's a disaster. for updates on argentina in english, this person on twitter makes very good informative threads if you're interested.

anyway, i used to make around 30/40 dollars a month in redbubble, and that used to help adding up to the donations i got here, and it got suspended, so now i make like 1/2 dollars on teepublic monthly. so... it's a huge loss. there's a lot of things me and my mom are in charge of paying-- groceries, power and water and gas, medicine (she's diabetic, i have some sort of chronic sinusitis), our dog and cat's food and medicines, wifi, phone bills, public transportation, healthcare, my dad's new therapist... so, you know, i really need anything people can donate. even if it's just a single dollar, literally any amount helps. i love fashion so much and i love this blog, i work really hard on it even when my brain says no, and i really appreciate how much you guys love it too. i love seeing people discover new styles, new designers, new things to be inspired by. so, yeah... i'm never going anywhere, but i do need help to basically stay afloat.

as usual, my kofi link is this one: https://ko-fi.com/fashionrunways and my teepublic link is this one: https://www.teepublic.com/user/dinah-lance. thanks for being around and sharing and reblogging my posts, thanks for asking questions about fashion, and of course thanks for helping to the ones who can, and thanks to the ones who can't too, i know how that feels like, don't worry about it. love you 💖

#text posts

[azaarchiive]

yk what i keep thinking about?

pro hero izuku that has changed a shit ton since middle school, you remember his shy demeanour and his cute personality. you had a little crush on him back then and helped him from bullies when you could since izuku really couldn’t defend himself back then.

after you both graduated, you never saw him face to face, sure you’ve seen him a little on TV but never payed that much attention to him. esp since you are a doctor now that literally on duty almost everyday so there wasn’t much time to ogle at your middle school crush

then, the hospital gets raided by villains and everyone gets held hostage, luckily dynamite, red crimson and deku are here to help!

you get carried out by deku, which is there where you get a better look at him and lord of mercy.

he looks roughed up and you never knew that was a thing you had until now.

looking at him, cuts on his face, his nose slightly bleeding, a serious expression on his face, his muscles literally begging to be released from his tight hero suit, his taller frame and beat of all, his head band to keep his hair out of his face.

you couldn’t… you really couldn’t.

he sets you down and unties you, asking if you’re ok but you can barely respond because when the fuck did his voice get so fucking deep??

he goes off, fights the villains and all you and your colleagues watch those heros defeat those villains in awe because those three together were a dangerous combination for single women.

those three come back and you all thank them tremendously.

izu gives a speech about how it’s just what they do or whatever, you really couldn’t concentrate because his smile is even more angelic and his freckles are just so beautiful.

your friend tells you it’s so obvious that you’re staring at him and to stop because the media is probably making a meme out of you but you don’t care. if you take your eyes off of him, it feels like he’s going to turn into a succubus at this point.

you take your shot and ask if you could heal him, your quirk enabling you to do this.

you take him to the ambulance van, away from prying eyes as you friends cheer you on and the two other hero’s teasing him.

you make some lie about how your quirk works better with skin to skin contact, he’s ever so understanding and takes off his suit to reveals the whole of torso.

and fuck me is he BUFF

scars littered everywhere across his body, freckles are adorning his body and your salivating at the mouth.

you quickly put your hands on him, longing out the process by feeling him up everywhere and muttering some random medical shit that you know he wouldn’t get.

he’s just looking at you skeptically, but you couldn’t see him anyways as your eyes are closed.

but he just allows you to have your moment.

you just keep going while he keeps looking at you and after a fat 2 mins of this, he just says your name

your surprised he remembers you so you just look at him just for him to say sum shit like

“if you want something else to feel, that can easily be done.” while leaning back and smirking so seductively

And you’re just shocked bc when the hell did he get this confidence??? like actually??

you’re getting hella flustered

and he’s just looking at you

and your like “fuck it sure”

after like 15 mins (head cannon that izu loves his quickies) you both come out and he’s like “thanks for healing me” and your like “no problem” playing it off in front of everyone

while literally everyone else is looking at you guys shocked because it’s not like you both were quiet (izuku made sure of that)

katsuki is hell bent on proving you both fucked but izu is a scarily good liar

so they go off and all your colleagues are literally begging for details about what happened but you don’t spill a thinggg

you feel something weird in your bra however and realised that izuku literally put his business card there, that’s sly bastard.

should i write this up? 😝

#authors #mha x y/n #mha x you #mha drabbles #mha x reader #mha fanfiction #mha #izuku midoriya #mha izuku #bnha izuku #izuku x reader #izuku mydoria #izuku midoria x reader #mha midoriya #midoriya x reader

[cutielando]

period ~ charles leclerc

Summary: You’re having very bad period cramps but not to worry, Charles is here to save the day!

Words: 1.1k+

Other works: my masterlist

a/n: thank you so much @rayaharper for requesting this !!❤️

♡♡♡♡♡

You hated being a woman.

Well, that wasn’t technically true.

You hated specific parts of being a woman. Like periods, for starters.

The pain that always enveloped you every month was the most barbaric thing you had ever felt in your entire life.

From headaches, backaches, all the way to your tummy cramping up and simulating what it would feel like to get stabbed in the gut hundreds of times over and over again. That’s how you would describe the cramps.

Charles, of course, tried to help as much as possible. He knew the signs that your period was approaching a week before that. 

You would be crankier and more emotional than normal, you’d complain about the fact that your breasts were sore, you’d be bloated and would raid the cupboard you had with chocolate and all kinds of junk food.

He knew you already. 

And when your period would finally come, it would be like a switch was turned on in his head.

He’d turn into the most attentive boyfriend and human being you had ever met. Asking you if you needed anything, if he could bring you anything to eat or drink, encouraging you to take some pain medication to help ease your suffering, offering to just lay with you and hope his presence brings you some comfort. 

He had even mastered the art of heating up your water bottle to perfection. 

You really couldn’t have asked for someone better to handle you when you were on your period.

And just like every month, you were now bound to your shared bed, snuggled under 3 blankets with your head buried into your soft pillow, small groans and whines coming from you every once in a while.

Your period had just started a half an hour before, but it was already swinging in with fresh forces.

Charles has been on the simulator for the past hour, so he didn’t know that you were currently dying of pain in his bed. You figured there was no reason to bother him, it happened every month and you were already used to it.

But you regretted it as soon as your body hit the bed. You wanted the warmth of your boyfriend, his arms around you in a hug that only he could give you, have his undivided attention and just lounge in bed with him.

And yet you couldn’t even find the energy to get out of bed and go to him. You couldn’t even find the energy to take your phone and maybe send him a message.

You would just have to wait for him to finish his game and come looking for you. He shouldn’t be that much longer, right?

God seemingly took pity on you, because not even 5 minutes later the bedroom door opened and Charles stuck his head in to see what you were doing.

“Amour?” his voice was soft, thinking you would be asleep and not wanting to wake you up.

You only grumbled from under the covers, which immediately alarmed your boyfriend.

“What’s wrong, mon amour?” he now fully opened the door and hurried to your side of the bed, slowly caressing your cheek and brushing your hair back from your face.

“Cramps” you mumbled out, almost sighing in relief once his hand made contact with your skin.

He immediately knew what you meant, mentally kicking himself that he had not come to check on you sooner.

“I’ll go get you some medicine and prepare your heating pad. Do you want anything else? Something to eat, maybe?” he said, smiling when you opened your eyes to look at him.

“Maybe some chocolate?” you smiled cutely, making him smile and nod.

He leaned down to kiss your forehead before he hurried out of the room and towards the kitchen.

Immediately getting to work, he put some water to heat up and got your medicine, also finding the chocolate that you always craved when you were on your period.

As soon as the water was heated, he poured it into the heating pad he had got you and hurried up the stairs, not wanting you to be in any more pain.

“There we go, amour. Drink this” he said as he sat next to you and handed you the pills and a glass of water.

You slowly sat up and swallowed the pills, taking the pad out of his arms and putting it on your belly.

“Did you bring the chocolate?” you asked, searching for the sweet relief.

He nodded and handed you the bar from behind him, smiling when he saw how your eyes lit up when you saw the chocolate in your line of vision.

“Do you need anything else?” he asked, caressing the side of your leg.

“Cuddles?” you asked, making grabby hands at him and patting the empty spot next to you.

He smiled and immediately got rid of his clothes until he was only in his underwear, knowing that you loved the warmth of his body when he had nothing on.

The moment he laid down next to you, you latched onto him like a koala, wrapping your arms around his waist and burying your face in the crook of his neck to inhale his scent.

You guys stayed like this for half an hour, having turned on the tv in the meantime to pass the time quicker. 

Charles tried to be as still as possible, thinking that you had fallen asleep.

“Thank you, Charlie” you mumbled, making Charles surprised that you hadn’t already fallen asleep.

“For what?” he was confused, he hadn’t done anything that would require something like that.

You lifted your head from his chest, his eyes softening when he saw the adoration in your eyes as you looked at him.

“For taking such good care of me. I know I get cranky and irritated and all, I appreciate you being patient with me” you explained, settling your head on his chest again and starting to play with the string hanging from his hoodie.

“You don’t have to thank me for that. Being on your period is normal and I know how bad your cramps can get. I just want to make you feel better in any way that I can” he said, wrapping his arms more tightly around your frame and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“I love you” you whispered, eyes closing and sleep finally coming to you.

“I love you too”

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[solarmorrigan]

Steve is always the first to fall asleep.

The first time Eddie had insisted Steve stay the night, he and Eddie had stayed up late watching a movie and Steve had looked like he was about to pass out. Eddie wouldn’t have been able to live with himself if Steve had fallen asleep at the wheel on his way home, so he’d told Steve to just stay. Then he’d gotten up to brush his teeth and had come back to find Steve already zonked out on the couch. From that very first time, Steve has always fallen asleep before Eddie.

When their movie nights run long, Steve starts nodding off against the back of the couch, and then later against Eddie’s shoulder. On nights when being alone just doesn’t feel like an option, when occupying the same bed just seems like the most practical solution, it’s always Steve whose eyes slip closed first, who starts up that whistling little snore that he vehemently denies when he’s awake. Later, Eddie finds out that Steve will fall asleep even faster with Eddie all wrapped up around him, arm tight around Steve’s waist.

Once, when they head out to the lake to smoke in the back of Eddie’s van, doors thrown open to let in the clear night, Steve falls asleep half on the mess of blankets Eddie had thrown down as cushioning, and half on top of Eddie. Eddie himself doesn’t really sleep that night; it isn’t safe for them to both fall asleep – not out here, not like this, but Steve looks so fucking exhausted that Eddie doesn’t really want to wake him. Steve drives them home in the morning, and Eddie catches a nap then.

The only exception, really, is on the nights when Eddie has nightmares, when Eddie is feeling jumpy, when Eddie can’t help but look at every fluttering shadow as a threat. Then, Steve will sit up against the pillows and pull Eddie back against him and promise to keep watch; and with Steve solid and steadfast at his back, Eddie can’t help but fall asleep.

At least, Eddie had assumed that was the only exception.

D&D runs long one night—the kids’ parents don’t seem to mind their staying out late as long as they know they’re all at Steve’s house, and Eddie will never let him live down his popularity with the suburban moms, considering how many parties he’d thrown during his high school years—and they agree that it would be easier to simply crash at Steve’s for the night than it would be to go dropping everyone off at home at goddamn midnight.

They pop a movie in and set up around the living room with blankets and pillows raided from closets and spare rooms. The boys are relegated to the floor while El and Max cohabitate in the easy chair. Erica stretches out on the couch, but since she’s short and the couch is enormous, it’s easy for Eddie and Steve to curl up together at the other end.

“You gonna make it to the end of the movie?” Eddie teases, even while draping Steve’s arm over his shoulder like it’s his favorite blanket.

From the floor, Dustin snorts. “Are you kidding? Steve never falls asleep first.”

“I think I’ve only seen him sleep once, but that might’ve been a trick of the light,” Will adds, and Lucas snickers.

Eddie turns to glance at Steve, because what the kids are saying is patently untrue, but Steve only raises his eyebrows at Eddie. “I think I’ll be fine,” he says, and turns back to the screen.

And, in fact, by the end of the movie, nearly everyone else has dropped off, but Steve is still perfectly alert. Even Eddie, who at some point ended up mostly horizontal, with his legs parallel to Erica’s and his torso in Steve’s lap, is starting to nod off. He wants to ask Steve if there’s anything wrong, ask why he hasn’t gone all sleepy and soft at Eddie’s side like he always does, but then Steve’s fingers work their way into Eddie’s hair and Eddie’s out like a light.

They’re woken in the morning by the sound of teenagers trying to be quiet in the kitchen, and it’s like nothing at all out of the ordinary has happened, but Eddie’s curiosity is piqued now, so he starts paying attention.

Any time the kids are with them for the night, any of the kids at any of their houses, Steve stays awake. He stays up while everyone else falls asleep around him, while even Eddie falls asleep, and Eddie realizes – he’s keeping watch. He’s looking out for threats while everyone else is vulnerable.

But he almost never seems to worry about staying awake when it’s just him and Eddie.

Eddie tries to puzzle it out. He spends half an hour or so potentially offended that Steve apparently cares what happens to the kids but not to Eddie, but he knows that isn’t it. Steve is always awake when Eddie needs him to be – and what’s more, he doesn’t think he’s ever seen Steve sleep more soundly than when he’s curled up against Eddie, circled by his arms.

It’s not that Steve doesn’t care at all, it’s that he trusts Eddie. He trusts Eddie more than anyone.

This is a mind-blowing revelation, somehow. Eddie has no idea what he’s done to earn it, but he knows immediately that he’s going to do his damndest to keep it.

The next time they end up in sleepover formation, it’s in the Wheeler’s basement. They’re all crunched up on chairs and the old sofa, though the braver party members (or at least those more inured to the stains on the carpet) have decided to take their chances with the floor.

It’s been a bad week; one of the few nights Steve had decided to simply head home to sleep after a late shift instead of coming over to Eddie’s had been a nasty, blustery night, and the power in Loch Nora had flickered, and flickered, and then gone out entirely.

Steve, the idiot, had stuck it out the whole night, but Eddie doubts he’d slept. And he hasn’t slept right since, twitching at every noise and shifting restlessly against whatever his dreams were assaulting him with. For once, Eddie had actually been the safer option as carpool driver; Steve has looked ready to drop all night.

Now, Eddie looks up at him from his spot on the floor, where he’s been leaning against Steve’s chair, half asleep against his legs and resting his head on Steve’s knee. He can see Steve’s eyes start to droop closed, his breathing going slower, deeper, and then, almost as if shocked, Steve sits up again, blinking and shaking his head, searching the room for danger that isn’t there. It makes Eddie’s chest hurt.

Quietly, he stands up off the floor, patting Steve on the hip.

“Up,” Eddie orders, and, sleep-deprived and half on autopilot, Steve obeys.

He watches in confusion as Eddie pulls over a milk crate full of old magazines and then sits down in the chair Steve has just vacated. He scoots back as far as he can and spreads his legs to make room for Steve in front of him.

“Lean back,” Eddie says softly, once he’s tugged Steve down into the chair, then gestures at the crate. “Put your feet up.”

“Eddie...” Steve protests, barely more than a mumble as he practically melts into Eddie, hands coming up to cover the ones that are clasped over his waist.

“Shh. I’ve got them. I’ll keep watch.” Eddie presses a kiss to Steve’s temple, murmuring into his ear, “Get some rest.”

And, miraculously, Steve does.

Eddie doesn’t sleep a wink that night, and the position he’s resigned himself to is deeply uncomfortable, but for the grateful look Steve sends him in the morning, for the renewed light in his eyes, Eddie figures it’s worth it.

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #stranger things #eddiesteve #solar wrote #this whole thing is unconscionable fluff

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SFW

Not a morning person, wakes up grumpy and will sulk around until about lunchtime. Food makes him slightly better, so when you cheerfully set down the meal you made for him he can't stop the corners of his mouth from twitching up.

He's not exactly irresponsible, he just prioritizes...differently. Food first, money second, you third. When he notices he's spending too much time away he'll casually call you and act like he hasn't disappeared for week(s)! "I was busy, I'll be home soon." He says, knowing damn well he isn't coming home for another day or two.

His eyes give away his mood, so you can tell when he's happy even though he rarely smiles. They scrunch, and when you giggle at him they narrow. "What's so funny, Doll?" He'll ask, leaning in so your breath hitches.

He likes picking you up, he finds how small you are endearing. He purposely puts things you use on high shelves just to hear you call for him. He'll lean over you, chest pressed to your back and grin when you grumble. "What? I'm helpin'."

Heavy meat eater. Beef and pork are his daily diet, taking up most of his plate. When you whined to him about healthy habits he just grunted and rolled his eyes.

Definitely has a garden behind the house. It started as your hobby and then one day you came home to him shirtless in the sun, tilling the land and planting while humming to himself. From then on, you've let him handle all the crops. It keeps him fit and you...entertained.

He likes to kiss your shoulders when the two of you cuddle. He finds comfort having you close, although he'll rarely admit it. He always has an excuse on why he has to cling to you instead of just saying how he really feels. "It's jus' cold, don't make a big deal out of nothin' "

Bulks constantly, eating three courses every meal time. He gets hangry quickly, so if you don't cook trust the kitchen will be raided. You've come home to see him feasting on breadrolls, sometimes the entire loaf will be gone before you even use a slice for toast. He eats like a teenage boy going through puberty and sometimes you worry he'll eat your money too. The thought has crossed his mind once.

He's not broke, just extremely frugal. He doesn't even want to buy medkits. He'll boil water and pour it on a cut. You walked in on this once and he was confused as to why you were so panicked. When you explained how batshit crazy his methods were, he let you open the jar he had tucked away. There was at least five-hundred dollars in coins stored and when you asked him about it, he told you it was Megumi's college fund. Yeah right.

He wants a big family- but only with you. You're a good mother to Megumi, and he knows you'll be even better with a couple more kids.

NSFW

Taunts and teases you during sex, from degrading praises to purposely slowing his thrusts. He likes making you beg, especially when he edges you and your left pleading with him for pleasure.

He's got a monster and he never give you time to adjust. Once he's in, he's not pulling out. He'll start gentle for your sake but the moment he hears that first moan from your sweet lips he's done playing nice. "Come on...this much is nothin', take it like a big girl."

Wakes up hard, goes to bed hard, he's constantly horny. No matter how many times the two of you fuck in a day he wants to ram back in. He's insatiable, but you're to blame really. It's not his fault he's addicted to the way you squeeze his shaft with those slippery wet walls. How is he supposed to go more than ten minutes without you coiled around him?

The two of you got into a heated argument once, he bent you over and fucked you from behind until you caved. Who needs communication when you can have hot rough make-up sex? By the time he's done with you, you don't have the energy to stay mad at him. "Ready to admit I'm right?" and if you say no, the two of you go for another round.

Loves french-kissing you and making out in general. He does tricks with his tongue in your mouth but loses control when you suck on the scar on his lips.

He loves having you in his lap, especially when you're wearing a skirt. All he has to do is push your panties aside and push in- perfect. Being bigger than you has its perks, especially when it comes to holding you down as he thrusts up into your womb, fucking you hard and fast until you're a sobbing soaking mess.

He told your dad that you also call him daddy. He's no longer invited to family events.

He won't fuck you with his fingers because he knows how dirty they get from yardwork, so he uses his tongue and damn is he good at it. He loudly slurps up every juice spilling from your cunt, groaning and grumbling about your taste and scent. "Fucking hell, Woman..." is all he can manage to mumble, too pussy-drunk to say much else as he buries his nose between your folds.

His favorite petnames for you are Doll and Slut.

Will not wear a condom. Don't even ask. He gives you the meanest side eye when you even mention it. He wants to knock you up again, and there's enough space in the house for another kid. He'll consider condoms when you have five kids- maybe. "I'm givin' you all of this good cum and you want it wasted in a plastic bag? Ha."

He didn't see the point of aftercare but it grew on him, mainly because of how pretty you looked laid against him as he massaged your shoulders. You're his woman, and if cuddling after fucking makes you feel good, fine, he'll do it.

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[kimberly-spirits13]

How Bruce Wayne Is On Your Period

This is really just meant to make me feel better tbh- lol kill me

He won't tell you, but he knows that it's starting 

like come on- the mood swings are terrible, you get more violent on patrol (you put Joker in the hospital for a few days), you're quicker to be snide towards shady business partners, you cried when you dropped a cracker and then went right back to normal, like seriously 

When you start to get bad PMS symptoms, you don't do patrol for the week

It's hard to control feelings, thoughts, and painful cramps while fighting crime

You're basically on probation from patrol

You and Alfred make a lot of food (or Alfred makes it happily and you devour it)

Bruce tries not to stay away during patrol for too long since you start to worry about him and he really, really worries about you when you're not feeling well

He makes sure to bring home lots and lots and lots of chocolate and meds if that's what you need

Goes to your favorite bakery and gets a massive amount of whatever you want 

Makes sure that you get plenty of water

like all the water because it helps so much 

Is totally fine with you raiding his closet for any sweatpants and massive t shirts

doesn't care if there's blood anywhere or if you ruin a set of sheets

he's a billionaire, it's not a loss 

he makes sure you aren't uncomfortable or if you need space, that you have it but you know that he's there when you need 

Sometimes being around guys when you're on your period is gross and idk why it's just like ugh get away from me you trash bag 

speaking of trash bags, if anything grosses you out or starts to make you feel icky (even if it usually doesn't), he totally removes it from your presence 

for me, it's cheese and weird or strong smelling things 

or anything that looks slimy or too rough *bleh*

If you're ever feeling bloated or just really really gross, Bruce is the hype man

"no gorgeous, you're stunning, exquisite, perfect, amazing, I'm in the presence of an angel babe." he'll spin you around and press kisses all over you 

"No, don't say that about yourself, you're so pretty, you're not gross."

I mean he's like this all the time, but he'd definitely play way way into it if you're feeling down

If you're married and wearing a wedding ring, he gets the ring custom made to be adjustable incase you fingers swell 

I can see you expressing something nasty about yourself like that you hate a scar or you feel like you're stupid or something and he'll start crying when you start crying 

like don't say that dude it's not nice to yourself 

You feel like a sweaty hog because your body is pushing out blood and tissue 

you're going into mini labour, leave yourself alone

When you can't sleep, he pulls you very tightly into him and plays with your hair 

braids it into a hundred tiny braids or brushes it 

anything that relaxes you

you probably have a treasure trove of comfort movies and tv shows and if you can't sleep or just want to watch something, he'll happily stay up with blankets wrapped around the two of you and watch whatever

rubs your back and makes sure that you're taking pain medicine every few hours to stay in your system 

sometimes when he's working in the cave and you're lonely but not feeling good, you'll wrap yourself in a large blanket and sit on his lap, head against his chest while he works

He thinks you're like a cat and finds it adorable 

You basically turn into a cat for a week and maybe some change and he finds it very very funny

makes sure that there are no galas or any meetings that you have to deal with

plans events and meetings around your periods to make sure that when you're on it, you don't have to deal with high society because they make anyone's blood boil (no pun intended)

When you get mad or start crying, he doesn't take it personally at all and just lets you get it out

sometimes laying in the fetal position for a few hours and falling asleep is the best thing that can happen for periods and he will happily cuddle you the entire time, even if it's not the optimal position for cuddling 

he tries to stay as neutral as possible on subjects when you're on your period so that you don't kill someone because he seemed equally as unhappy 

trust me, period mood swings are incapacitating, it's not a snarky thing, it's just so so sosososoososososoooooooo bad

please don't talk to me when I'm in my mood swing phase, I'll accidentally insult you and then cry about it later or decide never to talk to you again 

Local villains will not pull insane shenanigans while you're on you're period because they're terrified 

Terrified. 

if batman has to call in the calvary, its the calvary call out of hell

You're busting skulls and taking names the entire time 

Bruce is scared, the villain is scared, everyone is terrified of this blood thirsty being that wants everyone to be in as much pain as they are

Bruce knows that the world is insufferable and being super hormonal and feeling disgusting and being in pain doesn't help ignoring that fact, or even just living with it

He just wants you to feel better 

Bruce gets sad when you don't feel well 😂

#dc x reader #dc comics #dc characters #batfam x reader #batboys x reader #batfam #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne x batmom #bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne fluff #bruce wayne x reader fluff #batman x y/n #batman x batmom #batman x you #batman x reader #batman imagine #batman fluff

[sunboki]

⎯ THE DEVIL'S PLAYTHING a Christopher Bahng fiction

💣 : Christopher Bahng x fem. reader

TROPE. bodyguard au, demon au, friends to lovers, eventual smut, minors DNI

WORD COUNT. 6.6k words

WARNINGS. chan & han are demons(NO POLY), mentions of lucifer/the devil, eventual smut, descriptive violence, smoking, fighting, cursing, blood, wounds, drinking, reader gets drunk/passes out

PLAYLIST

AUG'S NOTES. this started as a random blurb while in the bathroom(tmi i know) but i just HAD to make a longer adaptation!! as usual, if you enjoy the fic please feel free to leave feedback & a reblog!ised ya’ll bodyguard chan would be back.. your wish is my command~

SYNOPSIS. A petty robbery leads to deep debt for Chan, a white-eyed demon occupying Hell. So eventually, he finds himself faced with no choice but to go job hunting. The best offer available? A bodyguard gig in the human realm. Oh, and the worst part? Jisung’s here too.

or alternatively :

When Chan had to leave Hell to "babysit" (a.k.a. protect) you in the human realm, he wasn’t expecting for things to turn out the way they did — in more ways than one.

SMUT WARNING. usage of the nickname “bunny” and “good girl”, somewhat hinted size kink, praise, dumbification, barely dubcon (reader gives consent ; nonverbal), creampie, chan cums inside (use protection ya’ll), monsterfucking! basically lmao

There’s an infinite list of reasons why humans shouldn’t associate with demons. But was it really all that important? Maybe the humans wanted it.

Or, maybe the demons did too.

Maybe, the demons didn’t have a choice.

What a funny thought.

Although, for Christopher Bahng, a demon himself, it was reality.

So the real question stood. Is it the humans that shouldn’t associate with demons, or the other way around?

The thought occurred to Chan at some point, but his head, ringing with the sound of silver coins clattering on glass surfaces, drowned out every ounce of sensibility. Blood, flesh, he was a demon. And right now, he had hell to pay as Lucifer’s underling. No pun intended.

Demons were an ideal choice for bodyguards, too obsessed with their own greed to pay any mind to the consequences, dogs to somebody else’s beckon, minds trained like hunting dogs.

Taking care of the dirty work, for a price.

A price that Chan needed, desperately. Because one thing demons, including himself, love doing is tormenting.

That is until he’s the victim of the tormenting, and all of a sudden the experience doesn’t feel too welcoming.

Raiding his home was an understatement considering they had utterly demolished every inch, not leaving a single fragment remaining in one piece. Granted, he didn’t cry about it. Instead, he lived up to his name, his title.

..Let’s just say he doubted the red stains would ever leave that shirt of his, metallic scent strong enough to make your nose burn.

Unfortunately, Lucifer wasn’t the greatest at forgiving, and he determined rather quickly this was only the start of his problems regardless of how sweetly the demon lord threatened explained he would dissolve Chan into ash if he ever got tired of him.

Alas, two weeks later, he gets a call.

Combing a frustrated hand through raven-colored locks, he holds the phone up to his ear, repeatedly snapping his fingers. The girl kneeled between his legs raises up begrudgingly, wiping her mouth and disappearing into his bathroom.

Well there goes a good blowjob.

Yet, finally, a job was proposed.

Multiple, according to the drone of a fumbling assistant. Jobs comprised of one he’d primarily work and occasional hitman gigs on the side.

Catch? The job was located in the human realm. Not impossible, but not as easy as sleuthing in Hell, where common folk were demons and not big-eyed, nosy, mind-your-damn-business-mortals.

The job in question? Babysitting. Specifically for Lucifer's right-hand man, otherwise known as the Devil’s Plaything. And, despite not being a demon, served Lucifer as if he was one. How cute.

Or as the trauma-induced auditor phrased it, “guarding” some girl.

“Guarding” was something he was mildly familiar with, but never a human. Never in the human realm. So when the suggestion was offered, Chan’s first instinct was to reject—remind Hell’s moderator that he wasn’t just a regular, but a demon of impressive status. A white-eyed demon, who, in fact, ranged most powerful of its kind.

His first instinct was also to punch the man working at the register of this putrid smelling burger joint right in the face, maybe frame his head as a part of a collection while he’s at it. Demons are creative like that.

Because being in this situation, nonetheless currently walking around in the human realm he swore to never step foot in has his stomach jarring.

“Chan, look at this! It’s called K-E-T-C-H-U-P, what a funny name!”

Oh. Yeah. The walking headache, Han Jisung. Forgot he’s here too.

Digging through his pockets for spare change, all he could find was a few meager pennie’s as the obnoxious noise of his demon-companion scarfing down a double cheeseburger had Chan’ jaw progressively tightening.

“Um, sir, that’s not enough to pay for-“ Without hesitation, Chan lifted his upper lip with his index, revealing the sharply pointed canines underneath and effectively silencing the apron-clad employee, frantically printing his receipt without another word.

Yes, apparently there are perks of being a hell-spawn.

Although, the burger still tasted like shit. What a shame.

Heading to the location wasn’t all too difficult, being that it was rather easy locating such an enormous property surrounded by tall, black hinged gates. The passcode… was another story.

Lucifer was likely laughing his ass off watching them try figuring this out.

“Okay, It’s probably like 666 or something- JESUS— you guys scare me sometimes.” Clutching a hand to his erratic heart with panic, a pacing Jisung nearly toppled over as his soon-to-be Boss suddenly appeared out of nowhere, gates slowly opening behind him.

He may not be a Demon, but by how nonchalantly he appeared from thin air, he seemed to gain some attributes over the years.

It didn’t take long for either of them to figure out why the title “Devil’s Plaything” was attached, because the more he toured them around this palace of a house, the more he told of his reasons for hiring them in the first place. Well, more like why Lucifer sent them here.

Easily speaking, his and Jisung’s role would be to protect you at all costs, considering your father’s current predicament (a.k.a coming under investigation for the bodies discovered in Hanuel Park). Not to mention the countless assassins sent on a daily basis, scouring the property for entryways.

Although he’s not surprised by their hesitance. This man, Yoon L/N, was the closest resemblance to the Devil on Earth.

He was terrifying, and coming from a demon, that said a lot.

Chan has to watch his tongue, because he’s not guarding another one of hell’s representatives, a creature of unprecedented rudeness and hatred, he’s guarding a human.

Someone who falls in love and cries, someone who can’t get away with murder when they’re annoyed and go uncharged.

Humans are pitiful. They’re emotional and too trusting and—

You step down the stairs.

They’re pretty and soft and really, really fucking pretty.

The sound of your father clearing his throat rips him from his trance, your trance.

He can practically sense Jisung choking on his laughter.

“Y/n, these are your bodyguards. Bahng, Han, this is Y/n,” He gestures, and Chan notes the gleaming watch on his wrist.

Best guess that thing’s averaging $70,000. Not to mention that this entire house, though naked to the human eye, is laced in traps.

Whether it’s the more hollow wooden plank on the floor that triggers some alarm or the multitude of switches under your kitchen’s island, the security system is certainly intact, and for good reason.

However, you couldn't have made Yoon L/n’s actions look more hypocritical, appearing so opposingly sweet.

“Nice to meet you,” You hold out a hand.

He doesn’t miss the half-smile you give him.

Shit. Don’t look at him like that.

Introducing themselves, you momentarily slip past, and in your stead, your father beckons either of them to the side.

“I’ll only say this once,” Yoon smiles, but it’s a leery smile, one that causes his gums to gradually show, like it���d belong to a murderer, a serial killer of some kind.

Fitting.

“Get her into danger, hurt her, or disobey my orders under any circumstances and I kill you, understood?”

And even though at the snap of a finger Chan could have this man drop dead, he believed him, both simultaneously nodding their heads without complaint.

Meeting eyes with Jisung, a common denominator sits heavy between them, most likely the first thing they’ve whole-heartedly agreed on this entire time.

This is gonna be one hell of a job.

.. .

District 9’s nightclubs are always a bust. If you’re looking for a drink without it being laced you might as well give up, and the only thing that keeps a person from getting swept away in the expansive sea of high heels, go-go boots, and awkward teenagers that miraculously managed to get past the bouncer is a lone, blinking red sign that reads “OUT”.

The first time you ever came here you never thought you’d be so relieved to open a squealing door.

Leaning against the side of the brick building sits the girl responsible for an entourage of drunk-calls and random texts of her location when she sneaks out.

Her moth-eaten sneakers are pulled up to her chest, bleached hair messily arranged into a spiky up-do while she aimlessly scrolls on her phone. Although you know she’s noticed you by now.

“I feel like..” She sighs, black mascara smudged beneath her waterline. “I should’ve taken that Vodka shot.”

You wrinkle your nose, dropping down on her left.

It’s fairly easy conversing with Ha-joon, a girl who didn’t require a reaction or a response, who didn’t talk much but had a whole pocketful of opinions. And you listened.

She swivels her head ever so slightly toward you.

“Do you think drinking a laced shot will make my life more interesting?” Her remark scarily nonchalant, you chuckle, snatching the joint from between her thumb and index and tossing it against the neighboring business’ wall in front of you.

Unfazed, she rises to her feet, pulling a Marlboro pack from her back pocket, palm cupping the lighter’s flickering flame.

“If you count fentanyl as a good time, then sure,” Lifting your chin to cock a sarcastic brow, she rolls her eyes before abruptly snapping her fingers, remembering. The sound ricochets off trash bags stashed at the furthest end of this deserted alleyway.

“You said your Mafia-daddy hired new bodyguards?”

Ah, you forgot you mentioned that.

Don’t mind the “Mafia-daddy” part.

Nodding, there’s a beat of stillness before she lightly nudges your calf with her shoe, Ha-joon’s sign for you to list some sort of detailed description for her to piece together.

This happens every time you meet somebody new. Her little guessing game before the first impression, apparently.

And so you do, spilling information to the best of your capabilities from the fifteen seconds you met them. Their hair, height, eyes (you recall Han’s especially, huge and hypnotizing like black-holes), clothing, and all the details your jumbled brain can pour out to your overly eager, easily bored best friend.

“So this Chan guy..”

One clever glance and you’re already predicting her next words.

“Does he have a big nose?” Smirk growing the darker your cheeks redden, you pathetically groan, burying your face in your hands.

Of course she’s cornered you, because you can’t deny your yes of an answer without evidently lying and digging further into your self-made rabbit hole.

Leave it to Ha-joon to secretly slip the raunchiest sentence you'll hear all night.

Smugness gradually dissipating, the barely-blonde shuffles back down, phone screen displaying countless messages you don't ask about.

Like earlier, Ha-joon doesn’t talk much, but she has a lot to say. Additionally, if she doesn’t bring it up herself, don’t mention it.

Years by her side taught you that.

“They’re only gonna get you in trouble, I have a feeling,” She murmurs prior to taking a long drag of her cigarette, lipstick shade perfectly contrasting with the soaring puff of smoke sifting from her mouth and nose upon exhaling.

She’s always been on the rougher side. Spontaneously rough, the type that would impulsively send you a text she’s going backpacking tomorrow despite an exam scheduled, the type that would continuously run away on a whim.

In essence, everyone on campus has some sort of crush on her (apart from yourself, obviously), whether it comes down to her rumbling persona or how much of a hard-core lesbian she is, you’re not sure.

You click your tongue, glaring at her flippantly.

“And that’s not doing you any better.” Musing in regards to her bad habits, she laughs lowly, low-rise jeans bagging down by her ankles while bending closer.

Your hands brace in anticipation, coughing when she blows a heavy smoke plume right in your face.

You choke a giggle, shoving her senselessly giggling frame.

“The only thing I’m letting do me is that waitress in there,” Painted nails pointing to the entrance while making utterly obscene gestures, you dramatically gag.

Well, until she spins on her heel, fetching a plastic bag holding two bottles of Cass beer from behind a metal trash can.

You tilt your head, the girl wordlessly cracking one open with her teeth and the other using the junction of her shoulder.

‘A Ha-joon thing’, you think as she hands you a glass, chilled exterior sending an unwelcoming wave of shivers throughout your body.

Your initial response is to decline, but her index to your lips shushes your reasons.

“I know you don’t drink often, but just a few sips just this once, please?” Batting invisible puppy-dog eyes, you sigh, gulping down a haphazard swig.

Last time you had genuinely gotten drunk was back in junior year of high school, all the kids swarmed in a rando’s basement, acting appropriately irresponsible for your age.

You recall your fat crush on Hwang Hyunjin (before realizing he was actually in a relationship) being the main component in getting so drunk that you blacked out, though you’re sure the highly unflattering pictures Ha-joon took would jog your memory.

Yet just a few sips was an understatement, something you should’ve known. Because conversation turns into more conversation, funny conversation, deep conversation while your wrist unconsciously lifts to your mouth till your friend transforms into nothing but a blurry figure illuminated by the moon.

And you wonder, as you feel yourself tilt further and further toward the cement below, if Ha-joon will snap unflattering pictures of this moment too, of stupid decisions leading to stupid consequences.

Most likely.

.. .

"Mmm." You mumble, face stuffed into his sleeve as Chan carries you from the alleyway, ushering a loopy Ha-joon into a taxi with a short bow.

Clad in his work attire primarily made up of black elements, he carefully places you in the back seat of the SUV and pulls off his dark coat to wrap around your body, ensuring you're fully swaddled to secure as much warmth as possible from the biting cold.

"We're going home, so hang on just a bit longer for me." The man assures, patting your head lightly before sliding into the driver's seat and pressing his foot to the gas.

Han, who was sitting in the back beside you while Chan drove, took experimental peeks at the pink-hue decorating your cheeks (evidence that you'd be drunk) to your puffy lips pursed in a pout.

He internally squeals, fiddling with his phone in his pocket, unveiled demon tail practically wagging with glee.

"Hyung, can I? Pleasee Hyung- just one photo she looks so cute–“

“No." The older of them responds sternly, one hand clutching the steering wheel.

As much as he normally wouldn’t care, this was his- their first actual order in fulfilling their duties, and Chan wasn’t willing to pay the price of fucking up Yoon’s guidelines.

His companion huffs, deflating by your side as he directs a childish frown at Chan in the mirror, only met with an equally stern gaze reading "no nonsense".

Chan had always been one to take his job seriously, not that Han didn't, he just liked having a little bit of fun jumping from side to side across those permanent marker drawn lines.

In actuality, if it weren't for his friend, Han would've never gotten the job in the first place.

Stark glowing of your houses’ lights lining the driveway ripped away his thought process, quickly intervening when your door opened.

"I can carry her," He claims, arms crossed while the older bodyguard simply cocks a brow, an action that shouldn't have Jisung shying away like he was.

There's an immense staring contest until Chan releases a hefty sigh, gesturing for Jisung to go ahead.

"If you drop her, I kill you, then myself."

This earns a giggle while Han unbuckles your seatbelt, softly cooing with you lying in his arms.

You're cute, very cute in fact.

Very off limits, in fact, he reminds himself, grip tightening the creepier he pictures your father—and it’s the adorable scrunch of your nose in discomfort that reminds him of his strength, immediately relaxing his hold.

Like Chan said, any wrong moves and they're both off the radar in seconds. Business.

The entirety of it all was a bit hilarious considering how things were when you'd first been introduced to the two, not appearing to be the type to get drunk like this, to get drunk at all in a secluded area next to some nightclub.

Chan wasn’t wrong when he said it’s always a surprise with clients.

Well, he was referring to his hitman job then, but it's still applicable in this situation, right?

…Right?

Forget it.

Slowly, oh so slowly your eyes peel open, instantly noticing the familiar smell and interior that definitely wasn't where you'd been five minutes ago with Ha-joon.

Ah. There he is.

Chan.

Peering over where you're tucked in bed, dressed in pajamas.

Hold on, pajamas?

Scrambling up and simultaneously wincing from the throbbing headache settling a dull ring in your ears, you send him an incredulous stare, face incessantly warming the longer you think about it.

Hangovers provide another of the many reasons why you don’t drink anymore, because this hellish predicament led to a single hellish explanation you certainly didn’t want to face.

"You... My clothes.." Stumbling over how to phrase it, you suppress a scowl watching the ghost of a grin make its way on his lips. Maybe you're imagining it.

One of his veiny hands reaches up to cover his eyes, leaving you to instead infatuate upon plush lips moving when he speaks.

"My job description, along with the papers you read and signed before I was hired gave me consent, but whatever I see is strictly confidential between you and I."

Gathering your sanity, you scoff, humiliation and embarrassment flooding your system at an alarming rate.

Flopping back onto the bed, you slam a pillow over your face, muttering a "strictly confidential my ass" that he had to have heard from the low laugh uttered in reply.

He stalks over, fingertip tapping the water you hadn’t noticed sitting atop your nightstand.

Cautiously stealing a glimpse out from your pillow to see where he distanced himself across the room, you finish the cup in a swift motion, wiping your mouth with the back of your sleeve.

“You huma- You aren’t good with your alcohol, are you?” He starts, quite entertained witnessing your annoyed gaze, one which very noticeably doesn’t stay focused on his eyes.

Sucking your teeth, you slouch, mirroring his crossed arms.

You’re fine with playing feisty, and by the awfully attractive way he’s cocking his head, he’s also willing to join this biting game.

“And what makes you think that?”

“Because I’m never passed out and in need of someone to call for me when I go drinking.”

At this you practically hiss, grasping any futile chance to retaliate to no avail.

Opposed to his teasing nature, he drags a stool to your bedside, insisting you drink more.

Even more opposing, a gentle hand presses to your forehead, checking that you haven't contracted a fever.

To say your heartbeat pounded didn’t credit the surprise to its full extent, and thank whatever God above the experience only lasted a few more seconds, giving you plenty of time to freshen your haywire sensibility and brush your teeth before any more soul-sucking Chan run-ins continued.

You should’ve known better than to think he’d truly leave you be though, said soul-sucking bodyguard currently propped against the bathroom’s door frame.

“How did you get into this anyway? Y’know, bodyguard stuff..” You begin to ask, voice muffled from the toothbrush deterring any fully audible sentence.

He cocks an eyebrow.

“I have my ways.”

“Your ways?”

Within split seconds he’s right next to you, making rather intentional eye contact through the mirror.

You inhale sharply.

“Look, sweetness, my job as your bodyguard is to keep you safe,” He pokes his tongue into his cheek. “And if I tell you, I can’t guarantee that.”

There are three things you realized in that moment.

One, Chan is so, so close.

Two, he has an unfairly gorgeous face.

And three, your mouth is smeared with toothpaste.

Great.

You’d like to admit the first night of meeting these new bodyguards, more specifically Chan, went as normal and as non-Ha-joon-influenced as possible, but this effect on you causing your bloodstream to erupt in a hormonal frenzy of attraction told you the story had just begun.

.. .

"Jisung. Hold. Still! Keep moving and this wand is going in your eyeball."

Three weeks in and one thing after another has lead you closer and closer with either of them, whether it's convincing Jisung to go on ice cream runs (where Chan always ends up tagging along) or attempting to remain focused while they help you study (more like trying not to laugh at Jisung and averting your eyes off of Chan’s biceps in that muscle-shirt of his), the three of you are practically conjoined at the hip, and not on bodyguard standards.

"Okay okay! I was itchy. Can you move the piece of hair by my eyebrow?" He whines, grasping an apologetic squeeze on your waist while you focus in his lap.

You’re currently brushing mascara through his unfairly long lashes, but if anyone saw this without knowing the situation, chaos would likely unfold.

Although for you and Jisung, it's your average Friday night spent watching the weekly scary movie he’d decided on, Insidious. One he’d been commenting on for the past thirty minutes or so about how the “representation of demon’s was wrong” while you absentmindedly agreed, looping your index around the strand before abruptly stopping.

Residing slightly above his temple lay a scar, a decently sized scar at that.

Strangely enough, it's circular, like some type of horn or something had been there at some point. Maybe a biking incident?

"Ji?”

The boy's eyes drift up to you.

"What's this scar?"

Below you, he freezes, frantically thinking up the best excuse.

Lots of options, not a lot of time to decide.

"Ah.. that? When I was younger, I developed a weird kind of bump there, 'had it removed." And thankfully, you grunt a response, resorting back to applying his makeup.

Truth be told, those scars (another you hadn't seen yet) were his old horns, forced to be removed in order to initially land this job.

It still sends shivers down his spine thinking about when they had first been cut off, the recovery process resembling something out of nightmares.

Trust, the headaches were awful.

Chan, on the other hand, could keep his, considering he had the ability to conceal them on command. For Jisung, an inferior red-eyed demon with a few years beneath him and in such desperate need for income, chose the painful way through. As for his tail, that was luckily simple to hide (much to his pleasure).

Nevertheless, you could confidently say that your test-subject could easily land a modeling career after your makeover, and by the way he kept staring at the mirror, he seemed equally as enamored as you.

Well, that’s before a jumpscare leaps upon the screen and either of you shoot up, your clumsy companion whacking himself in the face with the mirror.

Staving your giggles, you try soothing the boy; you really do, but the uncannily gory scene that decorates the screen has you cringing back, and when you look at Jisung, expecting to find him cowering, your blood runs cold.

His lips are parted, but the only thing your horrified eyes are drawn to are the hooked canines peeking there. Not to mention his eyes.

Ghastly crimson, glowing.

Except when you breathe in an unsteady gasp, his head snaps to you, sudden facade appearing unaltered, like you hadn't seen something borderline terrifying.

Softly pulling your face close to him despite the screaming instinct to flee, he observes your bewildered expression, brows taut with concern.

“Y/n?”

Sweet tone contradicting, you immediately double backward toward your bedroom door, awkwardly honing the “I’m going to bed” excuse in hopes that suffices for the night.

Frenziedly closing the door, you determine rather quickly you don’t plan to go to sleep. Not that you think you could, but because this discovery isn’t normal.

None of this is normal.

How they found your location back at the alley despite Ha-joon never contacting anyone, how you “coincidentally” walked in on Chan “washing” his hands despite the water running red. Oh and you can’t forget about the rag left behind, putrid stench characteristic to a specific substance.

Blood.

You weren’t stupid. No father disappears the majority of the year on so-called “business trips” only to come back with new cuts and scratches he makes a sorry effort denying, and no daughter of his has literal bodyguards (yet you’re not sure they’re even official bodyguards thanks to your suspicions) glued to her side 24/7.

He does something dangerous, you know without doubt. But according to this hunch of yours, your father may not be the only one tied up in illegal madness.

.. .

Slipping into the car unknown to them was far easier than you anticipated.

You didn't plan on sneaking in in the first place, sure, but upon overhearing their hushed conversation regarding some type of “target”, you assumed whatever topic they were discussing may answer a select few of your billions of burning questions.

So, crouched in the floorboard of the backseat, you try muting your breathing, noting the clutter of metal sounding from your left, whatever responsible assumed to be shoved in the trunk.

Weapons. No mistaking it.

Your discovery is short-lived however, and you flatten yourself the best you can as Han twists around in his seat to grab something, already thirty minutes into your nearly secret mission.

Shit.

His shocked scream tells you enough.

Chan is fuming.

"Jisung, you told me she was asleep. So care to explain why the fuck she's in the back of the car?"

Han frantically flails. "For the record I told you she was lying down–”

"I. Don't. Care! She's not supposed to be here and all that matters right now is that she's at home and in bed, understood?"

As Jisung's lips pull into a tight line and Chan cranks the gear shift into drive, you glance around, a sudden–though risky–idea coming to mind.

"Hey, I could always tag along?"

"No!" They both shout in unison, heads jerking back to face you as if you suggested driving off a cliff.

That sounded much better in your head anyway.

Well there goes that.

Or so you thought.

Because unfortunately for them, wherever needed them needed them urgently, and through many clearly vocalized “she is staying in the car”’s, you weren’t driven home after all.

Fluorescent green lights cast an eerie glow across the perimeter, the location gnawing at your gut. An equestrian center by exterior, though there’s something else.

Wrong. You can’t explain it, but this place is wrong.

Discreetly unloading the guns, you skin crawls observing Chan messily stuff bullets into the magazine of a M240, the mere size of the thing setting your nerves ablaze. And as rightful asking questions seems, you can’t.

That feeling from earlier glues your mouth shut, like if you spoke too loudly, someone, something, would find you.

Thick foliage lay highlighted by your headlights, paving depth into sequential darkness.

You squint, zoning in on a small expanse of branches ajar. An ideal hiding spot.

Wait.

Bright flashes of iron spur your legs into motion, the switchblade cleaning slicing your wrist while mid-duck.

It forks into the car’s interior where the trunk had been opened, your cry of pain muffled by Jisung who basically throws himself inside a stall with you, the stomping of horse’s hooves muting your ragged breathing.

Firing belonging to none other than the machine gun Chan had been wielding pierces the air outside as either of you stay pressed to the stable wall, the pad of footsteps drawing nearer, causing your eyes to squeeze shut.

This is it. You’re going to die.

Much to your relief, it’s Chan, tactical holsters slightly torn, sweat beading his forehead.

The two share a look, remaining silent before delivering an eventual, affirming nod.

Short-lived.

An additional attacker sifts from the shadows, facial expression ushering no other logic than to kill.

Manic eyes, estranged eyes.

The older bodyguard spins, successfully blocking the first hit. Supplies are scattered everywhere, horses beginning to shift uncomfortably.

The perpetrator is faster, smaller, and lands a decent punch into his abdomen. However, the attack is futile, and just before he can stake his knife into Chan’s leg does the bigger man utilize his own weapon, ammunition positively bludgeoning every square inch of the assailant in baited seconds.

You understand why machine guns are strictly used for long range now.

Immediately, soft numbness floods your senses due to Han’s hands covering your eyes and ears, and you sit there for a while, blocked from the grotesque view of impalpable violence being enacted right before you.

You’d forgotten you were huddled together on the other side of the wall, too horrifically immersed.

It's strange. So much is strange.

These two men that you've grown effortlessly close to, grown effortlessly friends with, murder. Defensively in this case, yes, but they hadn’t brought those guns by chance, they brought them by intention.

Not just a twisted hobby like dissecting animals or something along those lines, but murder.

You’re sure they have their reasons, but it's difficult even imagining it. People who are extremely gentle when with you, responsible for such doings.

Talk about a duality.

The faint clatter of gun shells rattling against the marble flooring earns a subtle flinch, Jisung's hands cupping closer to your skin.

Then you smell it, what he'd warned you of no matter the cleanliness of the job.

A metallic, burning scent of blood, causing your nose to burn and your throat to grow increasingly dry.

Your stomach churns.

"You don't forget that smell" Chan had said before leaving the vehicle, and you knew what he was referring to now.

Putrid reek of rot and gunpowder beckon your lungs into fight or flight, but you remain still, ignoring the sharp sting of your wrist, bubbling blood dripping down your arm and onto the floor below, right atop your shoe.

Faint falling of bullet shells put an end to the fighting, then you’re blindly directed out the door without so much as a glance behind you. For your own good, you assume.

Hell, you’re not certain they’ll be much left of the bodies after Chan’s wrath.

As for right now, your top priority is your wrist. Swollen, skin tainted a grueling red shade.

Speeding home, you find yourself blurily recalling events, though all the little details simply swirl into strange shapes.

Shock is what it’s called. That state of monotonous wandering, occurrence too unfamiliar to take in, senses turning off. A coping mechanism of some sort.

Blearily you see the two men, talking, stepping out of the room, grabbing medical supplies. Like you’re in a time warp, dreaming. No pain, hurt.

On the other hand, your bodyguards were frantic, spewing curses and scouring the household for proper first aid materials.

Meanwhile, Chan was finally wrapping your wound in the bandages Jisung spotted, blinking madly in hopes his fogging headspace eased up.

Demons and wounds were not a good combination. Especially not human wounds.

Uncontrollable urges instructed him to tear you apart right this minute, do something, anything to quench that inexplicably demanding thirst.

Vulnerable, easy prey. His thoughts chanted, forcing him to step out of the room for a moment to where Jisung perched, close-pin fastened on his nose to block the mouth-watering smell.

“I’m losing my fucking mind,” He heaves, carding stressed fingers through matted hair.

“What, a little blood getting to a white-eyed demon?” His companion muses, hastily dodging Chan’s swinging fist. Immune to his threats.

It’s obvious to Jisung that’s only half of the story, but he’ll wait for his superior to admit it himself.

“It’s not just the blood,” He inhales deeply, gratefully accepting the water Han offered. “It’s her.”

Go figure.

To be honest, Jisung wasn’t good at pretending.

Well, in terms of lying he was a natural (a given, after all), but pretending he hadn’t caught onto his friend’s enormous attraction to you was technically impossible.

Quite surprising though, to think such an arrogant demon would’ve ended up like this.

Susceptible, willing. For a human.

Who would’ve thought.

.. .

It’s nothing short of a roller coaster regaining your stable consciousness. Chest wracking, world spinning. You’re situated in bed, injury carefully wrapped(though you can’t recall by who).

The doorknob rattles, and in walks Chan, except, you don’t feel happy, relieved.

Scared. You feel extremely scared.

“What- What are you?” Waver revealing your anxiousness, you curse the subtle tremble.

He smiles.

“Aren’t you a perceptive little one,” His voice dips lower, and as he edges closer, you find yourself pressing further into the pillow behind your head.

“I’m sure you’ve had your suspicions, so I’ll make it easy for you.” He lifts his curls, two perfectly placed horns residing there.

“We’re demons. He and I are different species, but both demons.”

Demons.

Demons.

Instantaneously, a tidal wave or realization crashes salty water into your lungs, expertly piecing your observations together. Red eyes, horn-like scars.

How had you not caught on earlier?

Momentarily, you meet his eyes. Still brown, although you wonder how deep of a red they’d stain, glaze over stunning vermillion or dusky cinnamon tones.

“Species?”

He hums.

“Red-eyed are the best at persuasion, that’s Jisung. I’m a white-eyed demon.”

So neither crimson nor cinnamon, you decide. Perhaps pale, opal color.

“White-eyed demons are usually Satan’s lap dogs, but what lots of people don’t know,” You crane forward to hear his next words, and he leans in as well. “Is that we’re also the most desired species, the most lustful.”

Lustful.

The words don’t truly sink in, and by the time they do, it’s impossible to rip the mischievous look from his eyes.

"What’s that supposed to mean.." You grumble, avoid his darkening stare.

A subtle tap on your thigh has your attention immediately shfiting, your entire body instinctively jolting.

"You want me to show you?" He begins with a laugh, a low, husky laugh that has your stomach tying knots. Not the usual, squeaky laugh, but one that's different, very different. "But if you say yes, I’m sure no one else can satisfy you the way I can."

Your expression pinches with annoyance, a bit offed by his sudden cockiness.

Granted, he looks heaven-sent despite being a demon, and you doubt he'd be any different in bed, but c'mon now, you have a right to be suspicious.

"And how're you so sure of that?" Leaning back on your arms where he sits in front of you, you fixate on the way kinky locks perfectly line the crown of his head, one particularly messy strand tipping over to linger above chocolate pools for eyes.

"Sweetness, Jisung are I are carved out of sin, there's not a particle in our body not built to fuck."

God. Hearing "fuck" come out of his mouth shouldn't have been that attractive. Chan had always been well-mannered, well-spoken, so to hear him say something vulgar for the first time, nonetheless "fuck", effected you more than you'd like to admit.

Slowly, oh so slowly he crawls on the bed, kind tip of his head betraying sinful intent.

“You want this?” He whispers, and your arms immediately wrap around his neck, tugging him into your lips fervently, needily, with a short nod of approval between sighs and stifled groans.

Your wrist aches, but from how heated this kiss is becoming, that matter is the least of your problems.

He feels like fire, tastes like it, nectarine on your tongue.

You waste nimble time undressing, suppressing a high-pitched mewl the longer he sucks deep purple love bites into your neck and down your collarbones, likely to be bruised tomorrow.

He’s careful, learning your body, your sounds. Touch light as a feather, not enough.

He’s big, that’s a given. Head red and angry with thick beads of precum apparent, you can’t possibly think straight, his name the only sensible word falling off your swollen lips.

Chan Chan Chan.

Brows knitting as his fat head bumps your entrance, you murmur pleas, practically delusional on his pleasure, his love.

Most desired, you understand what he meant by that.

“Feel good? Yeah? That's a good girl."

You can feel your entire body keen at the praise, utterly blissful from how amazing he was making you feel.

The stretch of his fat cock has your common-sense threading dangerously thin, head falling back, fingernails raking his back. Delirious.

When he actually started moving? Yeah, you’re convinced you paid a visit to cloud nine, fucked-out brain recognizing only the squelch of your bodies connecting and the squeaky, absolutely desperate sounds he’s pulling from your throat.

Not to mention his voice, accent thickening tremendously the longer he ruined your drooling cunt.

His, his, his.

"Shit- you feel fuckin' divine," He kissed the sweaty skin of your calf hiked over his shoulder, ankle held by a strong hand while the other occupied your hip, squeezing and kneading with each heavy thrust.

Chan wasn't lying about being carved out of sin, fucking like an absolute animal to the point tears began welling in your eyes, overstimulated and euphoric beyond belief as your hands shakily reach upward.

Obediently, he lowers himself, letting you hold his face for some sense of security while feeling so vulnerable.

You pathetically search his eyes, head thrown back after one particular roll of his hips that earns a rumbling moan from the man.

Each time he bottoms out it feels like you're losing it, rubbing that gummy spot that makes your heels dig into his shoulders and your moans transform into high-pitched cries, shuddering.

"Channie- Oh fuck Channie- I can't It's too much-"

Practically gasping for air to ease the buzzing fuzziness blinding you, you cherish the equally mind-numbing kiss he soothes, pressure in your lower tummy building and building at a flying pace.

"Yes you can, bunny. 'Need to cum? C'mon, cum for me, 'atta girl." He tuts, slowing himself down with each squeeze of your cunt signaling your approaching release.

Torturous.

Nothing like this, never in all his life had he felt something like this. So delicate and fragile as you look up at him, glossy dolly eyes far too tempting.

At this point it was an obligation to stuff your pussy full.

Rolling your puffy nub in tight circles, your thighs twitch, gripping the pillow behind your head like a vice as the sharp knot in your stomach finally snaps and a near pornographic sound rips from your throat, back arching off the bed.

The sight of you has his eyes nearly rolling back, so ruined and angel-like. You're a white rose in a field of wilting grasses. Bloomed in his ill-fated fingertips.

His pants stifle, big hands holding the back of your thighs spread for him. His pace stutters, and with a gritted whine of your name he slams his hips, painting your aching cunt white.

The last thing he anticipated visiting the human realm was to find himself in this situation.

And whether he liked to admit it or not, if the Devil had your father wrapped around his finger, you had him tied up without a chance of escape.

So while you both scrambled to clean up your evidence and not fall over your own feet hearing Jisung clumsily drop a clattering frying pan in the kitchen, he thinks, if only for a second, he’d be okay with it.

Being yours, that is.

FIC TAGLIST. @y-ur--i @atinism @darknova2319 @producedbyhanjisung @knightoftime21 @leonswifesstuff

sunboki, may 2022 ©

#stray kids fluff #straykids x you #stray kids x y/n #stray kids x you #stray kids x reader #straykids x reader #stray kids smut #straykids smut #skz smut #skz x y/n #skz x you #skz x reader #bangchan smut #bangchan x y/n #bangchan x female reader #bangchan x you #bangchan x reader #bang chan x female reader #bang chan x y/n #bang chan x you #bang chan x reader #bang chan smut

[luveline]

what about reader tispy or high at a party and tellin steve how pretty he is and he doesn't know how to handle it?

steve versus a very drunk and slightly high reader who really likes his face (warnings for implied drinking and r eating a weed brownie <3)

Steve takes in your drunken state with something close to horror, remembering exactly how this scenario had panned out for him the last time. You’re sitting on the arm of somebody’s sofa giggling down at your hands, clearly tipsy, your head lifting up slowly when he calls your name. 

“Stevie,” you say. He can’t gauge any one emotion from your voice. 

“Hey, what happened? I was only gone for ten minutes. The bathroom's an en-suite, by the way.” His bitterness over having to search the upstairs three separate times for a toilet is obvious. "D'you drink a whole fish bowl by yourself?"

You take the bottom of his jacket in your hand and pull him towards you, wrapping your arms around his thighs. He dips his chin to his chest to take you in, looking down at your glassy-eyed expression with some sympathy and more apprehension. 

“Are you okay?” he asks nervously. 

“I’m really stupid, Steve. When we first got here and I went to speak to Donna, like an hour ago? At the snack table? I had one of her brownies.”

Oh! You’re high. Of course you are. The weed must’ve just kicked in while he was gone. And then, “Hey, why were you at the snack table? You told me you weren’t hungry.”

You shove your face into his abdomen and sigh. “I lied, Steve.” Your voice, your tone, makes him want to laugh, suddenly so solemn.

Steve pushes his arms over your shoulders and dips down until the side of his chin brushed your temple. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m actually really hungry.”

His eyes slip closed in exasperation. He pats your back. “Idiot. This is why you shouldn’t lie.” You laugh. “What’s funny, Pinocchio?”

“Pinocchio!” You laugh harder, dizzy giggles that warm his chest before saying, “Steve, are you saying my nose is a foot long? That is so awful.”

He rolls his eyes and pulls away from your grip. “Here, get up. Let’s go raid the pantry.”

The pantry is stocked pretty well with snacks and Steve doesn’t feel even remotely bad for raiding it in the name of his girl.

“Hey, do you like the strawberry Pop-“ he cuts off, having turned and found you sitting on the floor. “Babe.”

“Yuh?” you ask, looking up. 

He sighs deeply and sits down in front of you, offering the box of Pop Tarts tentatively. You take them without looking at them, your gaze roving over his face greedily. He scratches his neck and tries not to show how shy he feels when you're looking at him like that. 

“Take a picture,” he says dryly.

“I don’t have a camera.”

He chuckles to himself and shuffles as close as he can, his crossed legs brushing your knees. You struggle with the Pop Tart packaging, fingers clumsy with the cardboard. You rip open the foil and it splits wide, the Pop Tarts falling out and into your lap, a hail of crumbs over your clothes. 

He takes the tarts into his hand and uses the other to brush you down. 

“Dummy. Are you sure you’re feeling okay? I know you didn’t mean to… take anything.”

“You don’t 'take' pot.”

“You didn’t smoke it,” he argues, forgetting the point.

“I ate it,” you say agreeably, taking back your tarts. “I feel great, Steve. Super. You want one of these?”

“No, you’re okay. You have them both, baby.”

You grin and sandwich them together, taking a big bite that sprays another wave of crumbs down your front. He doesn’t bother brushing these ones away, staring at you unabashed. He’s worried you’re going to get upset though he knows it’s unlikely. Even so, his body remembers, and he feels nauseous as you work your way through your sugary snack. 

You get a stripe of pinky-red icing on your face, from the corner of your mouth and over your cheek. 

"Here," he says, waving his hand at your face. You melt towards him and he wipes it away. 

You're looking at him intensely.

"What?" he asks through a laugh, paused with his hand on your cheek. 

"You…"

"What?" 

"You're so pretty. Handsome," you correct hurriedly. 

"Pretty?" he asks. 

You nod heavily. "You're pretty. My…" Steve slides his hand under your ear. "My pretty boy." 

You smile, lashes kissing at the corners, nothing but love on your face as you lean into his hand. "You have the nicest face ever." 

"What's the matter with you?" he asks, rubbing your cheek with his thumb just rough enough for your head to bob backwards. Your eyes close fully in response. Your smile grows. 

"Nothing," you say adamantly. 

Steve pulls you towards him. You're pretty floppy, your side falling into his chest, your face to his collar. "You're full of it." 

"You're soooo pretty," you whisper. 

"Stop it." 

You look up at him, your crown brushing his chin. "You are! Look-" you bring your hands to his face. His eyes widen and his hands tighten where they rest, arms wrapped around you lightly. "Look at your face." 

"I can't look at my own face." 

"Okay. I'll do it." 

He presses his lips together and lets you play with his face, gently squeezing his cheeks, then less so. Your eyes track over his eyes, his nose, his mouth. 

"Steve," you murmur, pouting at him. 

"Y/N." 

Your teeth appear as your smile grows blinding. You get another case of the giggles and they're infectious, the two of you laughing as your hands fall from his face to his neck and you wrap your arms around him, climbing into his lap. Steve accepts you readily, letting a big breath escape him as he tucks you into his arms. 

"Alright," he says, sighing, palm spreading over the breadth of your back. 

You press your face to his neck. "Prettiest boy ever."

"Give it a rest," he says sternly. Only glad you can't see the blush blooming over his skin. 

#steve harrington #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things

[cinnbar-bun]

One Piece Characters w/ an S/O who celebrates Ramadan

Characters: Luffy, Sanji, Crocodile, Robin

Rating: SFW

Notes: Muslim!GN!Reader. So yeah, obvy talking about religious beliefs and practices- if those make you uncomfortable please feel free to skip <3

A/n: this is for me and the three other Muslim OP fans here just vibing 😂 cultural notes at the bottom in case you didn't know/just curious about some of the terms here.

Luffy 

Absolutely does not get it, I think he has a heart attack hearing the words “no food or water” and does not listen to anything else after. 

“WHY CANT WE EAAAAT??? WHAT????” 

Blows his mind you would do this… he’s trying his best, poor guy <3

I GOTTA STRESS HE IS TRYING- HE WANTS TO DO THIS WITH YOU 

But you know, he’s Luffy, so that means after an hour or two he gives up and just raids the kitchen. 

Task failed but you know he’ll always stay up late for iftar and wake up early for suhur. 

Sanji 

He at first thought you were trying to- god forbid- starve yourself or diet and nearly screamed. 

When you explain the reasoning, he’s touched and wants to support you! So that means he’s absolutely doing everything he can to make sure you’re hydrated and getting all the nutrients you can get whenever you can. 

He makes you a completely separate dish from the others while you’re working or resting (so your food is fresh and ready when you break your fast!). 

Self-indulgent thought he’s so so so on top of things when it comes to your meals in general, he will never put wine or meat in your meals, and he makes to sure clean the area and use separate pans for when he cooks your meals. Absolutely refuses to give you anything that goes against your beliefs (I need him in my life). 

Please, he’s buying you dates and getting up with you to make sure you’re drinking plenty of water and eating right. Sleep schedule be damned, he’s not messing around with your health!!!!

Crocodile 

Now, he’s one of the few who actually knows what Ramadan is- he’s made Alabasta his “home” for a while and has participated in many celebrations or events to keep up appearances.

He kinda just humors you at first like “yeah, yeah, go be spiritual or whatever” and chuckles at you with that sexy voice of his. 

But he sees how dedicated you are, maybe sees you reading or praying and okay… his heart kinda melts. He’s never really believed in such things, not finding it useful for him, but seeing you just kinda makes him curious. 

Easily can fast alongside you, he just doesn’t make a big deal of it and insists that it’s simply due to him ‘not feeling hungry’ or ‘finding it boring to eat alone’ (sure, sure you big tsun). 

Makes sure your chefs are giving you only the best and freshest foods possible- he’s especially harsh about the food when it comes to Ramadan. 

I’m trying so hard not to inject my MENA!Croc addled brain into this piece so so hard I AM TRYING OKAY GUYS 

But can you imagine him going to the mosque with you or listening to you discuss or read the Quran and he’s just playing it cool but his eyes are so drawn to you and he wonders if you’re an angel and that he really, really does not deserve someone like you because he’s done so many bad things and wheeeeeeze-

Robin 

She’s an elegant and refined woman, one who will 100% want to be involved in your traditions. 

She finds your beliefs fascinating and takes it upon herself to join you in your Ramadan. 

It took her a bit of getting used to, but after a few days, it quickly grew on her. 

Robin likes having tea with you during suhur, alongside a few fresh fruits Sanji had gotten. Light meals are best for her and she prefers to enjoy your company and take it easy before the dawn. 

She likes to keep track of the days and times of when you two begin and break your fasts- she’ll make sure to keep note of the Shawwal moon so you two (and the rest of the crew) can celebrate the Eid together!

Since it’s a time of reflection, Robin decides to sit quietly and talk about her feelings and experiences with you. She did have some reservations and guilt that she was too “demonic” to celebrate this with you, but through your encouragement, she felt better and continued it alongside you. 

Oh, she loves getting the henna done, too. She makes sure to have lots of flowers on her arms and is in love with the patterns.

Cultural Notes: 

Ramadan is the 9th month of the Islamic calendar, which is based on the lunar cycle- hence why you’ll often see debates on when Ramadan starts/ends or why it begins about a week or two earlier than before, since the lunar calendar is shorter than the solar calendar (or Gregorian, the one we normally use). 

Muslims fast for a month from dawn until sunset (there are restrictions of course) so no water or food from that time. 

Sahur/Suhur/Suhoor: the meal you eat before the dawn comes. 

Iftar: the meal you eat to break your fast at sunset. 

Shawwal is the 10th month of the Islamic calendar, so Ramadan ends when you see the Shawwal moon that starts a new month. 

Eid: the big celebration that marks the end of Ramadan. Usually you go do a special prayer or have a big gathering with your family and enjoy yourselves.

#one piece #one piece x reader #x reader #reader insert #sir crocodile #one piece hcs #crocodile x reader #luffy x reader #monkey d. luffy #nico robin x reader #robin x reader #nico robin #sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji #muslim reader #op x muslim reader #muslim reader hcs

[apocalypse-shuffle]

RED HOOD | BATFAMILY (assorted canon)

────────────────────

────────────────────

“Long Overdue” (Jason Todd & Batmom!Reader) and (background Bruce Wayne x Batmom!Reader)

| Reader was with Bruce in the past but grew distant after Jason’s death. No one tells her when he comes back from the dead until Bruce is forced to bring her in on a raid when they’re overwhelmed. -Jason and Batmom!Reader reunion.

| SFW, canon typical action/violence, cursing?, crying?

| This is like half fanon half UTRH/Batman:Hush. I’m really just fucking around with canon rn. Also the pictures used are just for aesthetics and have no contextual meaning to the story. (pic source - Batman: Three Jokers comic)

| 2k+ words

| parts: one, spurt, two, three, four, five, six/six point five, seven.

Ma. God, no one called you that anymore. The way your eyes begin to prickle is a clear indication.

With you Dick wasn’t the type. Once he’d worked himself up to it he’d called you mom; slightly different from the few ways he referred to his bio mother, but something shared between the two of you all the same.

And Tim? Well he wasn’t your child plain and simple. Tim still had his parents for one, and for two he was intrinsically Bruce’s. By the time he’d figured his way into the Batcave you’d been gone, most of your shit moved out of the manor, and desperately waving divorce papers Bruce refused to acknowledge in the air. You didn’t have anything to do with his indoctrination outside of exactly one instance of him finding you to ask if you’d reconsider the separation. Some Batman needed a Robin and Bruce Wayne needed his wife type shit.

Either way Tim didn’t call you any rendition of mom because you weren’t his. The most you got was him addressing you by your maiden name and then eventually your first and you were content with that.

Then if he didn’t call you mom, the girls sure as hell didn’t either. Outside of Barbara the others never even became regular conversation partners. Cass was a rare sighting in your life and Stephanie and you’s relationship would never progress past the casual advocacy you tried giving her because she was another dead Robin to add to what’s now technically a list.

At the end of the day, out of all the people who considered you a mother, only Jason added that ‘a’ and you wanted to grip that name tight and hold it to you. Break your ribs open and force it into your chest cavity. The need to fulfill that ache cuts deep and you take a step forward.

Jason startles though, undoing all his own forward progress, and you falter. That’s right. Jason didn’t like for people to touch him. Definitely didn’t like hugs either. Not surprise ones at least. Before his death you’d gotten close enough he didn’t mind when you swooped in, but now?

“Can I-? Can I hug you?” You press trembling lips together for another horrible swallow. “Please…?”

Jason jerks, two hastily aborted movements at once, before his obstructed voice meets your ears.

“Fine.”

You practically fall on him before pulling him into you. Unfortunately he’s just as stiff as his voice and you have to take a second to figure out how to slot against him.

Jason fits in your arms differently than he used to - broader and taller by a mile - but after a few beats he relaxes into them just the same. The subtle addition of weight makes a sob bubble up your throat.

You rap your knuckles on the side of the helmet.

“Take this shit off.”

He hesitates and a sharp pang manages to worm its way into the already shitty cocktail of emotions you’re feeling. It hits your spine like lightning, forces you up and has you an arms length away in half an inhale.

Maybe before now you’d been going through too much all at once for the trepidation to hit, but it was hitting now. You’d never seen Hood without- well without the Hood. Only Jumbie raised from the dead the way Jason did, and while you’d take your son anyway you could get him you wouldn’t accept some Thing parading around in his skin.

Reading your burst of movement for what it is, Jason backtracks, rising arms dropping to his sides. “Maybe I shouldn’t…”

“Jason Peter-” you inhale deeply, catching yourself, and hold a hand up to stop him. You both ignore the obvious way it trembles. “-only… if…if you want to. I’m not trying to force anything.”

He’s slow to nod, weight shifting from his left to his right leg and back again before he says something too low for you to hear. You’re about to ask him to repeat when he speaks up, this time aiming his voice somewhere around your shoulder while bowing his head.

“No, I- Alright. Just hold on.”

Haunches suitably raised and heart in your throat you pay close attention as the helmet comes up, Jason having released some catch in the back.

It goes over, the helmet clatters to the ground, and the man who stares back at you is…hard to place.

The low fluorescent lighting of the narrow room combined with the concrete walls casts soft enough shadows over his face that while his features are warped they’re not discernible. Which means you can’t completely rule out the uncanniness wafting off of him as just your brain (along with your entire perception of the universe) splinting in half.

It makes your face heat up. He looks familiar, but you can’t say you wouldn’t have passed him straight if you’d seen him on the street. He’s too big for one, even for how you’d all imagined he’d look grown up, standing more than a foot taller than the last day you saw him. Taller than malnourishment would’ve ever let him be.

The sob you let out makes you both flinch.

One hand snaps to your mouth, the other waving him off.

“I’m sorry I- I don’t-. This is just-”

Even with the way he’s leaning away from you he shakes his head. “I get it, it's fine.”

His voice is faint, cut up and hoarse like he hasn’t used it in a while, and it’s the prettiest thing you’ve heard in ages.

“Oh,” you laugh. The wet kind that makes your throat sticky. You can only stare at him, blurry form and all, words lost to you.

Eventually, after watching your fervent effort to wipe away tears that are in no way inclined to give you a break, arms crossed Jason takes a half step forward with a shrug.

“We can…try again?”

The next little laugh you let out you practically choke on but you nod all the same.

When Jason’s the first to move your heart starts speeding away like an overexcited middle school drumline. You roll with it though, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes so they’re dry enough for you to actually see him clearly for a few seconds.

When he’s directly in front of you your hands come up slowly, giving him plenty of opportunity to move away. Or maybe to vanish.

When he does neither, only giving you a guarded look, you allow yourself to touch.

Problem is, the domino mask he’s wearing very quickly gets in your way and on your nerves when you move to frame his face. Quickly feels like if it’s not gone, if you can’t see his eyes, you’ll throw up.

To stop yourself from taking the risk and ripping it off you have to take a deep breath. Have to force down the thick build up of saliva gathering in your mouth so it pushes back the bile climbing up your throat.

“I’d like to see my son, Jason. All of you.”

To emphasize your point you tap the tip of your nail against the mask. There’s no intention on your part to cross his boundary but Jason’s hands snap up to hold onto your wrists all the same.

You look into the white lenses of his domino, fingers buzzing along the corner of the mask closest to them. His mouth twists into a frown.

“Please?”

You beg with the same ferocity a grieving mother once used when begging for her child back.

“You’re asking for a lot.”

He lets go and he takes a couple steps back and you don’t cry.

No, instead you swing your hands behind you. Clasping them together in a poor attempt to stop the buzzing sensation that travels from the tips of your fingers to take over your entire hand.

“Mmm,” you incline your head. “Well. I did help a boy get over first date jitters with a made up song once. Let that same boy talk me through an entire dissertations’ worth of his analysis of Their Eyes Were Watching God - as choppy as it was - because TWMS wouldn’t allow him to present it in class. Let him skip going to that same school and cry to me for hours after the death of Gloria Stanson. Remember a knife hidden in the corner on the highest shelf in his closet, and I remember not revealing any of that when I gave his eulogy because he once asked me to keep the important things between the two of us. So you don’t have to show me, but I think I make a pretty good qualifier when it comes to keeping this safe.”

You point straight to where his heart is tucked safely behind layers of gray armor before shrugging.

From the way his brows furrow over the domino you know he’s at least thinking about it so you step away to pick up your disregarded mask and stuff it in your waistband.

One blink. Six.

“You remember Rena?”

In front of him again, you rock back on your heels. “Mhm. And the ‘how to tie a tie’ lessons me and Bruce walked you through even though you didn’t wear a suit to that date. Remember that too.”

Jason’s smile is crooked on his face but it’s nonetheless present as he makes a noise of agreement.

“I’d just wanted to spend time with you two, I was never planning on wearing a suit to go to the skating rink.”

“We figured.”

You’re rolling onto the balls of your feet when that small smile drops and he shakes his head.

“I’m not that same boy anymore.”

You take in the way he could raise his hand and so easily touch the ceiling without having to jump. You clear the phlegm from your throat.

“I can tell.”

Jason grunts and makes a general gesture indicating something somewhere behind you.

“And I got no interest in trying to live up to whatever fucked up embalment Bruce’s got going on with my burnt suit in that case.”

That suit. Bruce’s memorial. His warning. Your breath hitches as you think of the smell of crisped blood and methanol. If Jason didn’t want to talk about it you sure as shit weren’t going to.

“I will one hundred percent take that into account.” You keep it simple, rocking on your heels again. He wasn’t asking for anything unreasonable so there wasn’t really any debate to be had. “You wanna be treated as you are? I can do that.”

Moments pass once you’ve said your peace where Jason does nothing but stare at you. The only indication he’s at all alive being his shoulders still moving - and you are watching. Eyeing that tell tale up and down like your own life will end at its falter. The pattern is slow enough to come off as pacivity but the time between each rise and fall is too measured to be uncontrolled. Exactly three point eleven seconds one way and three point eleven seconds the other. Every time.

Then he sighs, curses, and the little veil of dissolvent for the adhesive that adheres the mask to his face is in his hand. A different vial and color than when he was Robin; you don’t know why you thought it’d be the same. Or why it makes your heart clench that it’s not.

Between one thrum of the fluorescent lights and the next Jason is peeling away the domino, and you would be lying if you claimed to know where it disappeared to after that. Too caught up on what he’d been hiding to track it.

Blue. Nothing more and nothing less. Just blessedly familiar, vibrant blue. Not the dull gray they’d become by the time you were given the chance to put a gruesome sight of a child six feet under.

The “Oh wow,” tumbles from you without permission and then there’s zero hope for the waterworks you’d been holding back. The levee fails and you’re bawling before you know it. Barely holding back snot and who knows what else since you already feel like screaming.

At that point there’s no carefully thought out sentence for you to spew, no more hesitancy, no more measured breathing, and linear thought. Just the crushing need to have him close to you again.

You’re rushing forward before you know.

Wrapping your arms around Jason the next go around is both the best and the worst thing. You accommodate his new size faster, already writing over the ways he used to fit against you with the ways he does so now, but he’s still so stiff and he’s not reciprocating the hug either.

Maybe you should let go. You crossed the boundary too fast. Were too reckless. You literally have training on this and now you’re crowding him.

Okay, you’re pulling away. It’s a herculean effort but you’re forcing your arms from around his middle. You’ve got to, you don’t want to scare him off. Not when you just got him back.

There’s a soft “Not yet,” mumbled into your shoulder and then arms finally come around yours and you don’t hesitate to snap your own back into place.

He’s hugging you back.

You cry a little harder and bring one of your arms up to drape across his shoulders, pulling him closer. When you start rocking and Jason copies your momentum you press a kiss onto his temple.

“Hi,” you stutter out. Another sob. “Hi baby.”

Since he’s finally letting his arms wrap around you you don’t hesitate to run dark fingers through the truly unruly mass of black curls on his head. His hairs’ damp - most likely from sweat - but cool. Probably being tempered by the cold air blowing into the room.

It’s when you press a kiss to his forehead that you feel something else wet and your breath stutters.

“It’s okay. I got you, everything’s okay,” you whisper.

“God Ma-” his voice cracks and then you can hear the sobs he’s trying to muffle into your suit. “No it’s not.”

“I know,” you sob. “I’m sorry- so so fucking sorry.”

You sniffle and pull away to see him better. Jason’s face is flushed, his eyes wet, and cheeks streaked with tears shed. You hold your hands up to frame his face for a second time and run your thumbs through the tear tracks. His chest heaves as his body tries to regulate his breathing.

Jason clears his throat, gaze boring into yours. “Hi,” he says.

You smile, finally beginning to map out his face. First you move to frame his cheeks, too feel the warmth in them. To see if they still feel familiar. They don’t; you force yourself to accept that fact without letting it show in your expression, letting out a measured exhale before continuing. You find his jaw is more defined now too, cheeks devoid of the baby fat of five years prior.

From then on brushing your thumbs along his brows, over the bridge of his nose, traveling over his ears and skirting around his hairline - it all fills your mind with incoherent cheers.

Your thumbs hover over Jason’s eyes and you hum when he closes them for you.

The skin underneath your shaved off pads is soft. The thin layer of protection allows you to feel how his eyeballs shift, to see the way his veins show stark under light skin, to clock the life thrumming through him.

It makes your heart feel so goddamn light. You can’t stop smiling at the sight of him. Eyes still wet but clear.

“I feel like such a horrible mother,” you hiccup, hands slide down so you can once again cup his face. “I barely recognize you.”

Jason’s breathing shakes nearly in tandem with yours and his eyes squeeze tighter shut, head turning away.

“Don’t.” He takes a second to look up. Look right through you. Lashes wet and glassy eyes open, voice grating over his next words. “Don’t blame yourself. It’s not your fault. I don’t blame any of you for that, but especially not you.”

What you want to do is argue. You should’ve never let him put on that suit in the first place, one fucked up son should’ve been the end of it. You should’ve dropped the case you were working the second you’d heard he’d run away and you should’ve found him. Instead you keep your thoughts personal, pinning them to your brain as if it’s a cushion so that you’ll never forget, and pull your son closer. An action which he allows, resting his head on your shoulder.

“I’m glad you’re back,” you whisper into his hair. The way he instantly shakes his head makes the cool strands tickle your jawline.

“You can’t mean that.”

“If I didn’t mean it I wouldn’t have said it, Jay.”

Jason tenses before responding, words spewing without warning.

“Yeah except I’ve killed people, and I don’t regret it, and Bruce hates that - and you probably do too - but his way isn’t good enough. The people in this city deserve better so I’m doing what’s necessary-”

And that has you bristling. He must notice too because he stops short and edges away, face steeping. Caught somewhere between wanting to leave and wanting to fully kick start an argument.

…TBC

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed! I had to split this bitch in two cause it was 5,000+ words and I’m not in the business of under-indulging myself.

Listen, I’ve looked into it. Every mother/mother figure Jason’s ever had he’s referred to as “Mom”, but me personally, I didn’t grow up addressing my own mother that way so I wanted to play around with “Ma” (differentiate a little). What's funny though, is that I’ve read Dick referring to his mother as both “Ma” and “Mom” so that’s fun.

• TWMS = Thomas Wayne Middle School

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it. this is a sideblog tho so I won’t respond.

Tagged: @aarinisreading, @niphredil-14, @mxtokko, @calsjack, @brunnetteiwik

#jason todd #red hood #black!reader #black y/n #black!batmom #•long overdue (the series) #batmom & jason todd #jason todd x batmom #jason todd imagine #red hood imagine #jason todd angst #batfamily x black!batmom #batmom x jason todd #batfamily x batmom #bruce wayne x batmom #divorced!batmom #batmom angst #batmom #batmom!reader #batfamily x black!reader #bruce wayne x black!batmom!reader #bruce wayne x black!reader #x black reader #jason todd x black!reader #jason todd fanfiction #batfamily fic #batfamily angst

[dotieeee]

The Gamemaker's Apprentice

Level 1

Pairing: Dark!Young!Coriolanus Snow x You, named!Reader

Overall Warnings:

NON-CON, DUB-CON, Dark!Young!Coriolanus Snow, Snow himself should be a warning, lots of blackmailing, gaslighting, manipulation, obsession, possesiveness, eventual forced marriage, eventual loss of virginity, breeding kink, canon-compliant major character death, will have canon inconsistencies, and other stuff that may be added

Masterlist

Level 1 Warnings:

Graphic depictions of gore, death, creative depiction/signs of untreated PTSD, some bullying, subtle hints of Sejanus x Reader, mentions of going hungry (poor Snowball 🥺), mention of bribery, otherwise a light chapter

Ready? Level 1 Start:

“Nellie, we’re going to play a game.”

You groan audibly at your dad’s playful tone. You always hated his games. He’d always jokingly cheat and say he’ll let you win this once, and the prizes at the end would always be something you could’ve gotten from the cupboard yourself when propped on a booster chair.

Grinning from ear to ear, your dad shakes a tiny paper bag in the air. He says he has a handful of caramels, a rare treat these days, which he had been able to get his hands on in exchange for one of his golden pocket watches.

“Come on, little plumcake, humour your dad?” your mom pipes in just as cheerfully. “He really liked that pocket watch, you know.”

“The fastest to the car gets two pieces after dinner!”

Your dad hops across the parking lot, leaving you and your mom behind, with her laughing lightly and you pouting at the thought of earning dessert by something as trivial as getting to the car first. Your mom walks ahead and follows him at a leisurely pace.

You contemplate whether running in the midday sun across the parking lot was worth two measly pieces of rancid caramel. You had just come from an apartment of one of Dad’s friends. A friendly visit, Mom had told, but you’ve been on many of these visits to know they were buying food from these so-called friends. Food is hard to come by, you know that much, so you’re thankful. It was better than in District 3, they would say, because Dad would make so much more money working for the Capitol.

“The fighting will be over soon, and you’ll be able to eat as much candy as you liked once President Ravenstill fixes everything.”

You wonder how long ‘soon’ would take, and whether it’ll arrive just as soon as Dad opens the car door and gets inside.

“Nellie, I’m getting the keys to the car! Last chance, plumcake…”

Mom beckons you to follow before letting out another chuckle. “Nellie, come, dear, we have to be quick, dad’s winning! He’s getting the keys, he’s about to open the car!”

It was unfair, really, this stupid game. Dad’s got really long legs. But you take a few steps forward. Besides, it had been a while since you had heard them laugh like this. You don’t get far when you realise you had dropped your pink stuffed rabbit.

“Mommy, wait! Bunny is missing,” you call out.

“You must’ve dropped Bunny, plumcake. Oh, there it is, just right behind you. Go pick it up, I’ll wait.”

“Okay,” you sidestep to where Bunny is, making sure you could still see your dad. The game is still on and once you get Bunny, you’ll be running as fast as you can to the car. You’re getting those caramels and you’re demanding four.

But you don’t even reach Bunny. You get thrown back as you feel little bits of something hit you and whizz past your ear. The wind is knocked out of your lungs, and you hit the ground hard. Your left side takes the brunt of the fall. You could’ve screamed at the pain, but you concentrate on your breathing. The first greedy gulp of air you take is used to let out a pained scream, because even breathing hurts, and you don’t hear it. Instead, all you hear is this ringing in your ears, unbearably loud and louder than the raid shelter alarm that blared all over the streets of your home. The first thing you call for is your mom, so when your vision clears, you try to spot her, but you see nothing in front of you through a thick cloud of dust, except for a raging fire where the car had been just seconds ago.

“Mommy!”

Your arm is hurting so bad it hurts to even move your fingers. You remember Dad’s words to you as he was bandaging your first scraped knee: be brave no matter how much it hurt. You had learned since then to dress and bandage your own wounds when they’re not around. With his words replaying in your mind, you limp forward, covering your mouth so you can breathe through the thick smoke. The dust is now clearing slightly and there’s a lump of something just a few steps more from where you are.

Another sound starts coming through amidst the ringing: the faint sound of car alarms. The lump is moving, slowly rising, but it doesn’t get to its feet. It just lies back down, trying to use its arms, bent awkwardly, to get up. The glint of the watch on the wrist catches your attention.

“Mom?”

Your voice is faint and muffled, but you rush to her side. You try to ignore the distant screaming you hear around you and the throbbing pain around your arm reverberating through all your muscles. Mom needs your help. Concentrate.

With great effort, you turn her over. You find it odd that her legs don’t move with her body even as you turn her torso. She’s wet as you hold her. The liquid coats you and seeps through your soiled clothes – thick, pungent, metallic, dark.

“Mommy?”

She tries to open her mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a gurgling sound, along with blood, which trickles freely down her skin. That’s when you realise what you’re drenched in.

Right where her stomach should be is gaping nothing, where the blood is coming out in spurts.

Her legs are no longer attached to her torso. You stare at the exposed, bleeding flesh and begin to feel the panic creeping in. You try to gather her, and what’s coming out of her stomach, together.

This had to hurt. The last time you saw blood from a careless nick of a sharp kitchen knife, it had stung like hell and it made you cry out so loud your dad had to rush to you. But your mom...she hasn’t a made single noise since that awful sound she made. She’s unable to speak, so she must be mouthing you something. Now desperate, you search that normally animated face, those bright eyes that would crease around the edges when she smiled – but the face you know so well isn’t moving at all, and her eyes: they were empty, glassy, unseeing. Something in your mind clicks in an instant. Somehow, you know. You just know you couldn’t help her anymore. There is no amount of bandages you can place that could make her right.

You aren’t going to cry, no sir, not now. You had to find your dad. He can help, right? He’s much better at bandaging wounds than you could ever be. You place your mother back down on the pavement as gently as you can and tumble closer to the burning car. Dad is right there, you think. Your pace increases, and then you trip over something.

You scrape your knees on broken glass. It should hurt, but the pain does not come. Not anymore. You find that strange, but before you can try to find out why everything in you stopped hurting despite the pain you had just dealt with when you came to, your eyes land on the object you tripped on.

A hand.

There’s an arm that’s supposed to be attached to it. Except it isn’t. In an instant, somehow you know whose hand it is. Or was. That gentle hand had bandaged you so many times more than you could ever remember. That hand had admonished you on the many occasions you got too curious and landed yourself in trouble. That hand had ruffled your hair every chance it got as a way of saying it was proud of you and it loved you.

That hand had just been holding a paper bag full of caramels just a few seconds ago. You know that hand.

Just like you know whose hand it is waving right in front of your face.

“Hey, Nellie. Prunella. Nellie!”

Your eyes focus on Sejanus Plinth, who had taken the empty seat across the library table.

“I’ve been calling your name several times now. Ms. Metzer’s been giving me the side-eye.” He jerks his head at the old woman arranging books not far from your table. “I was wondering where you were, we’re about to start. What are you doing here?”

What are you doing here? Clearly, you had a book spread open on the library table, which you seem to be reading. You’re on page twelve, it seems, and your open notebook seems to indicate you had attempted to scribble notes, except you had seemed to abandon the attempt and resorted to doodling on the paper instead. Vaguely, you remember rushing to the library after that dreadful announcement: that twenty-four of the best of the best in your senior class were to be chosen to actively participate and be complicit in the murder of twenty-three innocent human beings for the sole purpose of discouraging the Districts against rebellion and entertaining the minds of sick, superficial Capitol pigs. You remember seeking peace and quiet, but all you got were flashes of chaos no child deserves to ever witness, and Sejanus wrenching you out of both. It’s welcome, nonetheless.

“Studying, in case the open books, the notes, and the fact that we’re in a library don’t give the hint,” you finally respond with a bit more sarcasm than you had intended. “Start what?”

Sejanus merely laughs at your clipped tone. He’s used to it, after all. It’s the kind of banter your friendship has taken to – one interlaced with dark humour, witty remarks, and a genuine care for each other’s welfare. He makes a quick swipe at the notebook you’re writing on. He purses his lips comically when the librarian stares at him pointedly with her hands on her hips for the laugh he let out that had absolutely no place in her sanctuary.

He responds with just as much bite. “So studying just means doodling a bunch of creepy-looking hands on paper, wow. Is this some sort of new fetish?”

You reach across the table to snatch the notebook back in mock irritation, unable to hide your grin of amusement. “What’s about to start?”

“Most of the class is brushing up on their Hunger Games knowledge, starting with watching the past ones in the projector room. I’m obligated to ask, but I already know your answer,” he shrugs. It’s nonchalant, the way he brings it up, but the mention of the games tenses the atmosphere between you two. Out of all your classmates, he’s the only friend whom you share an open disdain for the Games with.

“I mean, we can just hang out if you’d like…not here though,” he says in an attempt to lighten the mood. He tilts his head in the ageing librarian’s direction and whispers, “Not with that old crone breathing down on our necks. The coffee shop, maybe?”

“No, you go watch with the class,” you say as you absently run your fingers on the macabre drawings. “You’re a sure pick at that mentor thing, you’re going to need that more than I am.”

With a scrunched-up face, Sejanus asks, “What are you talking about? You’ll be there, too, you’re third place.”

“Not for long.” From your periphery, someone tall and blond is making his purposeful way in your direction. “Oh look, there’s your boyfriend. You should go with him, Janus. He looks cross.”

Sejanus whips his head behind him, only to roll his eyes at you. “He always looks like that,” he mutters under his breath.

Coriolanus Snow finally reaches your table and without a preamble, questions, “Are you coming or not?”

Ms Metzer shushes him loudly.

Coriolanus completely ignores the warning but lowers his voice. “We’re not waiting for you, they’re putting the films in the projector.”

Sejanus’ brows are raised questioningly as he stares at you.

Come with? He says with a look.

But you simply cross your arms to drive the point.

“Fine,” he sighs in defeat and gets to his feet. You wince at the noise his chair makes as it scrapes the floor.

“You too,” Coriolanus nods in your direction.

“Nah, I think I’m going to stay here,” you flippantly reply. “Have fun watching heads blow up, I guess.”

Coriolanus opens his mouth to speak, but Sejanus drags him away, waving you goodbye as he does. You notice Coriolanus’ jaw tick for a fraction of a second just as Sejanus grabs his arm. He could be an elitist little prick sometimes, manifesting in subtle ways just like you witnessed. Maybe it’s what makes it hard for you to trust him like you do Sejanus. Maybe it’s something else you can’t see yet, something in him that is yet to surface. It’s stupid sometimes, the way your instincts refuse to give him – and other people for that matter – a chance, despite being presented with no proof of any wrongdoing. Sometimes you wonder if that’s your fate: keeping him, and other people, at arms’ length because you’re so damn scared of what’s underneath those masks they’re so fond of wearing. If only you could get to peek underneath without being wary of injuring yourself in the process.

Except you know that isn’t how the world works.

With a sigh of resignation, you pack your books in your bag once they're gone and decide to go home. There isn’t any point studying for the final terms now when you can barely get past three sentences and the thought of getting soaked in your own mother’s viscera is heavy on your mind.

“Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”

Juno’s mocking voice floats to you from across the locker room as you retrieve your stuff. The entire senior year seems grateful that the teachers are being so generous with handing out free periods, and there is an overall sigh of relief that the finals are over. A whoop of victory for some, especially for those whose names have topped the finals result chart on the senior bulletin board.

Strolling past you with a taunting tone, Arachne’s annoying pitch calls out, “Hey Nellie, did it hurt? When you landed at the bottom?”

You ignore the loud guffaw she lets out as she exits the locker room with Juno in tow, who joins along with her laughter.

Festus pokes his head out of his open locker door, clearly miffed at two. “Hey, cheer up, Nellie. Grades don’t matter,” he says with a shrug, before adding with a more playful tone, “You still get to pull the pretty face card. That should count for something. Hey, got any of those fruit mints left?”

“Nice pick-up line, Festus. Try not to use that one on Persephone, though, I don’t think she’ll like it very much,” you tease back as you throw him the entire bag of candy from across your locker.

“Hey, shut your mouth!” he whispers, almost missing to catch the pack of sweets. He looks around nervously to see if anyone has heard you. Another wave of your classmates enter, with Persephone among them. He is momentarily distracted by her entrance, then glares at you and hisses, “How did you know?”

But you’re already leaving with a book in tow as you reply, “Have fun guessing!”

Of course, you know. You had an inkling, then, even before you saw the way his face lit up in your third-year History when he learned they’d be partners for a two-month-long project. There are things that you just know.

And it irritates you at times how irrational, yet correct these instincts could be.

You hurry as much as you can to your favourite hidden spot in the Academy. It’s the shadiest tree in a grove south of the Academy, where other students rarely go, even for romantic trysts. Probably because there are rumours of a dead peacekeeper's soul wandering among the trees looking for his missing lover from the districts. It’s hidden from view, but you could spot other people coming from a long way away, giving you enough time to leave (or run if absolutely necessary) before they even reach you.

It’s the perfect location to get some reading done now that your mind is oddly clear of ghastly flashes of dead parents and disembodied hands. Before Sejanus finds you and begins interrogating you for what he would call self-sabotage.

As if on cue, your eyes catch the incoming blur of brown curls and red uniform.

You let out a groan to yourself. You’ll never finish this book at this rate. Sejanus doesn’t even bother to sit down.

“Twenty-six,” is all he manages to say. “Twenty-fucking-six.”

“Problem?” You glance up at him from your book with an innocent wide-eyed look. He rubs his face with his palms and furrows his brows.

“Look, I know you’ve been distracted lately, I get it. But if you were having trouble with anything, you could’ve said something,” he rants flailing his arm. You keep yourself from commenting on how dramatic he’s being; it’s not like you betrayed his deepest secrets. “You could’ve asked me, borrowed my notes, or some shit.”

Instead of your normally clippy tone, you opt to try and calm him down. “Don’t worry about it, Janus. I’m perfectly fine. Best I’ve felt in days. Honestly, I didn’t think it’d work, but it’s exactly how I predicted.” You give him your best reassuring smile. He doesn’t seem so convinced.

“Well, enlighten me,” he presses. “How exactly is dropping from the third place to the twenty-sixth going according to your pla- oh.”

“Finally caught up, have you?” You flash him a grin while you watch his brows unfurl and his features relax, your purpose dawning on him.

Sejanus does not offer any more words to confirm his thoughts. He sits cross-legged right in front of you and simply takes your hand in his. His gaze is soft, as is the squeeze he gives the hand he’s holding. It’s the same look of understanding, the same squeeze of reassurance he gave you the day you allowed him to get close.

You were in a bathroom stall hugging a toilet as you emptied what little contents of your stomach you’d managed to down for breakfast. You had just run away from the class, a free period graciously given by Professor Demigloss in favour of watching the 7th Hunger Games being broadcast live on TV. You had not even lasted an hour, and what drove you to excuse yourself was a tribute hacking another tribute in half with a blunt machete and dragging the severed torso across the arena.

It had made you see red.

Your classmates were quick to call you a wuss. A crybaby. A chicken.

Honestly you had not known what you had expected then. Your Uncle Cas had always been transparent about what the Games were when you were eight and had not spared you of its horrific nature. You had actively avoided watching then until Demigloss.

The urge to vomit had finally died, and you had been readying yourself to get back to class with nerves of steel to endure the other kids’ taunts. But then you heard him call your name.

You thought he was there to make fun of you.

“Nellie? Nellie, I know you’re in here,” he had called, knocking on every bathroom stall. Before he reached yours, you had spoken up.

“Sejanus? Go away.”

But he didn’t. “Nellie, are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“You’re in the girl’s bathroom, that’s what’s wrong,” you had said in a biting tone, already on the defence.

He had seemed just as stubborn as he is now.

“Well, I’m not leaving until you come out and tell me what that was all about.”

It took you a while to budge.

“Nellie? Please?” his voice had seemed so genuine then. “Or, I could just stay here all day, get caught peeping, and eventually be branded a freak and a pervert...”

You nearly laughed at that. Maybe it’s what made you emerge from the stall. You wiped your mouth with a handkerchief and ignored him as you washed your hands.

Eventually you reveal, “No one ever comes here. They think it’s haunted.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Any place the students claim is haunted is a good place to be alone in.”

And that’s when you had burst into tears and sat on the cold, tiled floor.

Sejanus followed beside you, awkwardly patting your back.

He never left your side then, waited until your sobs died down. You had spilled everything to him. How there was nothing left of your father you could hold close, how your mother died in your arms as you desperately tried to cram her innards back into her, how you got so soaked in her blood and guts it had taken a week for you to get rid of the pungent scent, how you often wake up screaming and thinking you’re still soaked in it, how at the present you couldn’t stand seeing a single drop of it without getting sick to your stomach...

Everything.

And then you laughed, because you had found it ironic how you’re being called a chicken for not wanting to ever relive that day in any way.

“They can call me a wuss all day, I don’t care. But no one in the right mind would willingly watch more of that over and over, especially not on TV, advertised as a show like it’s a fucking primetime, family-friendly sitcom.”

And you had talked about so much you had forgotten to read him, what he thought of all of it. Would he judge you just like the others? Call you a weirdo?

But he never did.

He had taken your hand in his. You didn’t know back then what his expression meant, so were gauging whether it was a farce or not.

But then, he squeezed a little, and then you understood: that look he had on, the same look he has on now, told you everything he couldn’t put into words: that he wasn’t, he isn’t going anywhere. The corners of your mouth curled in a small, thankful smile.

The same smile you’re showing him right now.

Your corner vision spots a glint in the horizon, of warm yellow rays hitting platinum blond curls. You let go of Sejanus’ hand and abruptly get to your feet as soon as Snow reaches the cool shade of your tree.

He has on an annoyed expression, just like he does when things don’t go his way, except he normally tries to mask it with cold indifference. Today, he doesn’t bother keeping up that appearance. He associated with you in some way, after all. A friend, one might conclude at a glance. Maybe he does consider you as one, and the hint of disappointment in his eyes means he expected better of you?

“What kind of game are you playing?” he snaps, clearly directed at you.

Sejanus is immediately at your side in an attempt to intervene, but you shake your head at him once. You can fight your own battles. “In case you haven’t connected the dots yet, Coriolanus, I’m trying not to play at all.” You ignore his look of realization and affront and continue, “And it worked. Twenty-sixth means I have two places worth of buffer zone in case a couple of you lot backs out. I’m not trying to rebel, I just don’t want bloo-“

You pause as flashes of shrapnel whiz past your ear and loud ringing invade your senses, your hands coated in a thick, red, sticky substance –

You swallow that lump in your throat to regain composure. “I’ve seen enough of that.”

Maybe that’s a flash of understanding in those calculating eyes you see, and he hides it well with a squint. Maybe you imagine it. Maybe it’s a look of contempt. Maybe he couldn’t comprehend the fact that you were arrogant enough to throw away an opportunity he wanted so badly merely because you hate the sight of blood. Maybe it’s all those all at once.

“You’ve lost your mind,” he said simply as he puts on a blank mask and purses his lips.

“Yeah, and everyone here is the textbook definition of sanity.” You do not wait for their reaction to your retort. You waltz past the two of them, but you could feel Snow’s stare burning holes at the back of your head even from a distance away.

Monday rolls by. The day of the Reaping. A day when district children are gathered, and from among them the chosen twenty-four who would go on and forced to become adults overnight, face gruelling horrors they’ve likely never seen before – which is funny in its own, dark right, seeing as some of them had already endured hunger and abuse and loss even before they’re thrown into a pit to kill each other for survival.

In other words, a special Monday morning in the Capitol most of these pigs look forward to.

Speaking of pigs...

A classmate of yours, Livia, had just emerged from the girls’ bathroom. As soon as she sees you, she comes marching to you in her pointed heels clacking against the floor, wearing a fine suit dress with gold trimmings on the neckline.

“Nellie. You’re wanted at the Dean’s office,” she says with a sneer. “Hey, don’t be nervous! If they ever kick you out, you can always go back to being the district trash you always were.”

Livia, ever the lovely Capitol lady she is, is somehow attempting to be meaner today, you observe. Snow appears from around the corner and follows right behind her, looking smart in a double-breasted waistcoat over a crisp, white shirt. The red rose clipped on his vest completes the look. To you, it’s no wonder why some of the younger girls at the academy fawn over him. Odd, however, that despite how good he looks today, he keeps glancing around him and fidgeting at his collar. What could Coriolanus Snow possibly be unsure of?

He seems to hear Livia’s backhanded comment and raises a single eyebrow. “The name Innis has been consistently topping in the quarterly Math and Sciences Hall of Fame charts since our first year. I’ve only seen Cardew thrice on that list, barely scraping top ten.” He tips his head slightly in your direction and adds, “You’ll be fine, Nellie.”

A compliment? From Snow? The world has truly gone mental. Perhaps another effect of this so-called anticipated Capitol Monday. Maybe it’s like a fever and it’s spreading among your classmates. You might have to wear a hazmat suit tomorrow if this goes on.

“Tch. Whatever.” Livia dismisses him with an eye roll. “Excuse us, the top performers are needed at the Heavensbee Hall.”

He doesn’t follow suit, though, smoothing over non-existent wrinkles on his vest. As soon as the sound of Livia’s heels fade, you address the other classmate before you.

“Thanks, Coriolanus. You too. At the Games, I mean. You’re good at that kind of stuff.” Crafty. Cold. Calculating. That’s him. You know. He’ll be just fine. Hell, he might even win, too. He blinks at your compliment and lets out a subtle sigh as his shoulders relax a little.

“Thanks.” His eyes roam on your uniform-clad state with a small frown. “Why aren’t you dressed?”

“I forgot,” you reply with shrug. “Works just as well. I think I’m just about to be suspended.”

Coriolanus just scoffs, a corner of mouth lip tugging upwards. “High-as-a-kite-bottom can’t suspend you. No matter how thoughtless and ridiculous what you did was.”

There it is. The old Coriolanus you know. You find yourself grinning back at him and peering into his face a little better. Handsome, truly, but you could also tell he’s paler than usual and his cheeks have never been hollower. Has he had anything to eat?

“Again, thanks for the vote of confidence. I’ll see you around, Coriolanus.”

You both proceed the opposite ways with a wave. You catch a faint whiff of roses as you pass by him.

Before darting over to the Dean’s office, you had to make a detour. The senior locker room isn’t too far off and you had done this too many times to count. You reach the locker labelled ‘Snow, Coriolanus,’ enter the lock’s combination (he’s never bothered changing it since Sejanus figured it out) and from out your bag you fish a box of chocolates you had taken from the fridge this morning.

Using one of Coriolanus’ post notes and his pen, you write “Don’t let Festus see this or he’ll eat all of it,” and place it on top of the box. Remembering you had a pack of lollipops in inside your own locker, you move quickly to get it and leave it beside the chocolates, labelling it “for sharing.”

Maybe that Capitol-Monday-fever had finally gotten to you, too. But no matter what your insides seem to keep telling you, he does not deserve to go hungry.

Satisfied with your handiwork, you take long strides to Dean Highbottom’s office to greet your fate like a martyr. Or a lamb leading itself to slaughter. You get past the empty reception room and softly knock on the carved wooden door. The door swings open to reveal Acacius Innis.

“Uncle Cas?”

Your puzzled look is met with a raised eyebrow from him. He steps aside to let you in, revealing Dean Highbottom sitting behind his desk with his fingers laced together. Your uncle takes a seat at the opposite side, his chin propped on his hand.

“Good morning, Professor. Uncle. I was told to come here.”

Highbottom points at the empty seat beside your uncle. You sit, folding your hands on your lap.

“Let’s make this quick, the Reaping is about to begin.” As the Dean fishes out something from his drawer, he adds, “I invited your uncle over to help get to the bottom of this. He’s an extremely busy man, what with the Games and all, but he was willing to come here because of this.”

He throws a test paper across the desk unceremoniously.

“Care to explain that?”

It’s your test paper for Literature, with barely any writing on it, and a big fat ‘F’ scrawled the in middle and encircled in red. You lower your head slightly and fidget at your sleeves in feigned embarrassment.

“I reviewed the wrong set of notes, sir,” you begin softly.

Dean Highbottom’s eyebrows raise as he slowly repeats, “You reviewed the wrong notes.”

Nodding, you explain further, “Yes, sir. I was under the impression that we were going to write short essays on 16th century literature and its impact on 21st century multimedia. But when I read what it was about, I kind of...blanked,” you end, trailing off at the last word. “I’m very sorry, it was my fault. I should’ve listened better.”

Highbottom releases a weary sigh and starts tapping his glass desk. “I guess there’s a first for everything,” he concludes finally. “Ms. Innis, in the history of the Academy, there are very few who have shown such aptitude for all advanced branches of mathematics the way you have. Minds like yours have great potential to shine at the University, which is why I am disappointed that you would make such a careless misstep at this crucial point in your academic career. Do you realise, if it wasn’t for this, you’d be in the gala right now? Placed in the mentorship program for the 10th Hunger Games?

“Simple mistakes can make you miss great opportunities.”

You know it isn’t a mistake, but his disappointed tone gets you nonetheless. You bite the inside of your cheeks, unable to find words to say.

“If I may, Professor,” your uncle starts, businesslike in manner. He leans forward on his seat with his palms on his lap. “I’d normally argue that grades don’t really matter in the end, here, but Nellie,” he turns to you with a rigid expression, “Dean Highbottom is right. The University would look at this gap in your records and think you got complacent.”

Dean Highbottom points his finger to him, showing he agrees with your uncle.

“Well, in any case, what has been done is done.” The Dean gets to his feet and pours himself an amber coloured drink from the mini bar cart on the corner, before adding a small vial of clear liquid that you suspect is morphling. He holds out the bottle to your uncle as an offer, which your uncle politely declines with a “no, thank you.”

“Ms. Innis, if you’d kindly wait outside my office so your uncle and I can discuss a solution to this quandary,” Highbottom says in an exasperated tone after a sip. “Also, I’d admonish you for not looking your best for the Gala, but, I suppose it’d be beating a dead horse, at this point. Dismissed.”

You bow lightly in thanks and do as you’re told.

Within ten minutes, your uncle emerges from the office like nothing happened. He waves his forefinger in the air and points to the office exit, beckoning you to go with him.

Acacius Innis, or Uncle Cas as he likes to be called, had been your guardian since your parents’ death. Before the accident, he and his younger brother, your dad, had already made a name for themselves in District 3 for being excellent inventors. The Innises had always been drawn to innovation, people kept saying. They established Innis Tech together and sided with the Capitol during the war, providing them with the technology they needed to quell the rebellion and eventually put an end to the fighting. Just like the Plinths, they were allowed to move from the Districts to the Capitol, only that your parents made the move while the war was ongoing. They hadn’t even lived in the city for two years before the rebels decided they were a threat and had them taken out. Your uncle has since then taken responsibility for you and managing the company alone at the same time. He often claims it was your dad who had a flair for business, but he grew Innis Tech to what it is today: the biggest tech company supplying the Capitol with its much-needed technological advancements.

As soon as your Uncle was satisfied with the company’s growth, however, he turned over the management to a distant Innis relative in District 3 and kept the majority of the company shares, so he could focus on his other passion besides computers: teaching. The University welcomed his tech know-how despite his lack of formal education. It was through his efforts that the University established a Computer Sciences College, to which he became the Dean.

Your Uncle Cas is a force of nature, and you love him for it.

The only thing that doesn’t sit well with you is how he became involved, inevitably, with the Citadel as a gamemaker.

He’s involved in designing the Hunger Games.

He knows you don’t approve of it, too, and out of respect for you, he tries as much as he can to keep you away from that part of his work, despite your shared interests in computers.

As soon as you get inside the car, Uncle Cas releases a heavy sigh. He instructs the driver to take the both of you home.

“Guess who’s been suspended for a day,” he says lightly to break the quiet. Mild mirth dances in his eyes as he leans heavily against the car seat, muttering to himself. “Fucking Highbottom getting high on the job...”

This is the Acacius Innis only you get to see.

“Ah, and you’ll be taking a remedial test tomorrow. So, think of it as a study-at-home kind of thing. And because I’ve so kindly promised to donate a state-of-the-art computer lab so the Academy can begin training kids like you a little earlier, they will overlook this misstep, erase that failing grade from your record and let you pass with high honors. No harm done, it seems.”

This is exactly the outcome you have been expecting, but you were hoping that your uncle wouldn’t have to shell out any money in the process.

Perhaps he’s confused as to why you’re being quiet, so he looks at you questioningly.

“What’s with that look on your face? You look like somebody just died. This is about the money, isn’t it?”

You nod, looking at him sombrely. He never had to clean up your mess before, so why was he acting like there was nothing to it? He hums to himself, glancing at you sideways with a thoughtful look.

“So, let me ask you this: you think manipulating your grades so you could avoid mentoring in the Games was worth spending a fortune and getting yourself into trouble?”

Your uncle never misses anything.

“Yeah...” you admit.

He raises a skeptical eyebrow at your tone. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you snap. It’s getting on your nerves a little how nonchalant he is about all of it. If he’s angry, he should be telling you outright, instead of whatever the fuck this is supposed to be. You’re not twelve, he doesn’t have to be this condescending. “Yes I am,” you repeat with a firmer tone.

“There you go.”

His softness surprises you. You peer into his face curiously, expecting to see disappointment, but all he has for you is the gentlest, most affectionate smile you’ve ever seen from him.

“That’s the spirit. Nellie. You fought for what you thought was right, and there should be no shame in that.” He places his hand on your head and ruffles your hair fondly.

You may have lost your dad, but your Uncle Cas more than makes up for it.

“I’m proud of you, little plumcake.”

Your eyes start to burn with tears of relief. You had not disappointed him, after all.

“Thank you, Uncle Cas.” It means the world to you. “I was scared I’d embarrass you, though.”

“Yeah, you should be,” he says with a chuckle. “That could’ve easily blown up on our faces. Loathe as I am to admit, image is placed a high degree of importance in this city. So, next time you think of pulling another stunt like that, consult me first and we’ll put our heads together to come up with something better, yes?”

“I will.”

Your uncle nods, clearly satisfied. “Well, since that’s settled, why don’t we get some ice cream?” He chirpily declares, and instructs the driver to stop at your favourite creamery.

“I thought they needed you back at the Citadel?” you ask.

He just dismisses your concern with a small shrug. “I told them it’s a family emergency. Besides, it won’t take us fifteen minutes.”

“So ice cream is a family emergency,” you make a mental note to yourself out loud with a hint of amused realisation.

Your uncle hears this, and jokingly narrows his eyes at you. “Don’t get smart.”

Enter Level 2

Author notes:

Please reblog and comment, it's always appreciated!!!

I'll work on putting this on Ao3 when I get the chance. Work is supposed to be hectic rn but the Muse wanted to feel loved today 😅😆

More of Corio next chapter, I promise. I just had so much fun giving the reader so much trauma 😈😈😈 all the more broken and delicious for our little Snowball 😈😈😈

#dark!coriolanus snow #dark!coriolanus snow x reader #young!coriolanus snow #young!coriolanus snow x reader #named!reader #18+ only #dark!coriolanus snow fic #dark!coriolanus fic #dark!fic

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Helloo !! ^^ Its me again ahaha 🙈

Feeling you with the number of RQs ! (': i have a lot of unfinished ones too, and I FEEL SO JORRIVLE FOR SENDING ONE in knowing that💔💔😭😭😭😭😭😭, but this has been in the forefront of my mind 😵‍💫. Please don't feel pressured to respond! 🫣 I won't blame you if you'd rather not to ☺️🙌//

...

Yandere Outlaw, having abducted reader, not at all having had anticipated the strength of their connections.

While reader isn't necessarily strong themselves, they have a strong family, a line of uncles and brothers that are feared across the West for their brutality, their violence, and most notably, their loyalty. This is especially jarring given that reader is the youngest in the family, so of course they would be overprotective over them, as weren't they just the baby of the family, their sweet lil pumpkin?

It's why they are second only to Outlaw himself in terms of criminality, notorious instead, however for how they are willing to kill for blood feud, and to wreak havoc in a bid to avenge anyone that crossed the path of their family member(s).

Now picture this: having heard of reader's abduction, to describe their reaction as fury, rage, even wrath, would all be an understatement. They would be getting together, coordinating a plan, and intending to shoot the damn bastard dead, as scum like him should pay for messing with the wrooong criminals.

Now this brings me to my question: what would Outlaw's reaction be to waking up one day to see not a trace of their darling, their hostage rescued by their cowboy brothers and uncles? (Or something more creative than this,, ^^"" ", i doubt that theyd leave him with lungs and eyes, let alone ALIVE after locating his whereabouts and saving their sweet lil pumpkin, thw baby of the family. My imagination can only take me so far an idk 😓💔)

Would Outlaw go after each individual member of the family down, on a furious witch-hunt in a bid to rescue their darling? After all, Outlaw has been on countless raids riding solo with nothing aside from a horse and his trusty shotgun, became infamous for being the West's deadliest gunslinger, has eliminated the wealthiest businessmen and robbed them of all their money, and made a career out of being a criminal.

Or would he accept defeat? This is clearly not a family to mess with, and it was a miracle that they hadn't put his beheaded head on a stake and set it on fire, condemnimg his corpse. He'd have to be a fool to risk this, wouldn't he? Was reader, his darling, really worth that risk?

Would love to hear your thoughts ! ☺️💞

ALSO SORRU FOE THE REALLY LONG ASKS I FEEL SO BAD BC I GDT CARRIED AWAY JDJSJAJAJASSS 😭😭🙏 PLS FORGIVR ME AAAAAAARRHEHSS

My sweet Anon, we simply must find a name for you ! Your ideas cannot go without an identity to which we can attribute their creation ^^. Thank you so much for sharing your wonderful mind with us <3 !

♡ This occurrence is very in-character for the Outlaw to encounter; albeit never on such an intimate level.

♡ He’s made enemies out of every criminal in the West – namely for resigning them to a life imprisoned while making off with his loot, gifting them a sentence he’d have served himself were he not so adept at the skill of escapism. In the early days when he first started working with other criminals, at least; he’d never make such a mistake now.

♡ You see, the Outlaw is the very definition of work smarter, not harder. So while he may seem as if he’s given up his pursual of you by hanging back, letting you go back to your family and re-integrate with civilised life, he’s tracking you. Watching you. Anticipating your every move.

♡ He’ll find you – eventually – but he won’t swoop in to retrieve you at the first opportunity; he knows that this will simply incur another rescue effort and his imminent execution.

♡ He’ll start to pick off the male authority figures in your family, starting with the weakest (however large and imposing they may be). 

♡ He knows that, without the leader, the pack will scatter, meaning that there will still be some of your family he missed during his executions – members who could still come looking for you upon discovering your kidnapping (again).

♡ Sure, picking off the weakest ones will put the strongest on-edge, but it keeps them packed together – around you – right where he wants them.

♡ The Outlaw knows of the Reader’s family’s reputation. He’s even met them during the occasional heist; opportunists by trade in their willingness to jump upon the corpse of the Outlaw’s victories as soon as his back is turned. But he also knows none are as keen and accurate a marksman as he, and he uses this to his advantage.

♡ While the Outlaw specialises in short-range firearms, he is more than capable with long-distance ones, too. And, once he lures your protectors away from you, he’ll ensure their execution is swift and unforeseen. He’ll perch atop a sturdy tree branch and steady himself, bringing the head of whoever fell for his diversion into the sights of a Whitworth he dusted off and brought from home.

♡ The minute he knows you’re all alone – that your uncles and brothers and cousins are too busy painting the town red with their bodies to stow you away – is when he’ll swoop in, plucking you out of bed and slinging you over his shoulder as he had all those months ago during your first meeting, winding you as he throws you atop his horse and bolting off into the horizon.

♡ So, to put it simply, Anon: yes. To the Outlaw, you are absolutely worth the effort.

Masterlist Yandere AI Masterlist Masterpost

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#sweet as an angel #yandere #original yandere #male yandere #yandere male #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #yandere x darling #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere outlaw #yandere outlaw x reader #yandere writing #yandere blog #tw yandere

[kaeyas-beloved]

a shot in the dark

Character: Wanderer

— his fourth and final betrayal…

CWs: gn!reader (no pronouns), ANGST, hurt/no comfort, death/murder, guns, Apocalypse AU, Wanderer is referred to as such and as Kunikuzushi

val’s no sympathy november masterlist

Started laughing like Light Yagami at work just thinking about the pain I’m about to inflict :)

“You promised me!”

Eyes the colour of a midnight sky - the same eyes you've spent the past few years memorizing, learning and getting lost in their depths during sleepless nights - bubble with tears.

At first glance his expression portrays anger, but you’ve known him long enough to know that there’s more to it. He’s angry, yes, but he’s not angry at you, not really. No, if anything he’s cursing out the world more, for doing him wrong once again, for torturing him by ripping you away from him. Everything he’s ever known feels as if it’s crumbling around him, the barely concealed tremble in his irises telling of the turmoil he’s fighting and losing to.

Denial quickly takes over, your body getting shaken by the shoulders. He starts pleading with you to cut the act, that the joke isn’t funny and never was. Ideas and theories cloud his mind; they say if you cut off the infected part of the body in time you can stop the transformation from human to zombie.

Yet, as he grasps your arm in a firm but not bruising grip, all it takes is one look at the bite on your forearm to know there is no saving you, not with how bloody and discolored the skin around it is. This is the end.

A soft sniffle echoes in the quiet night, his voice softer than before, the note of defeat unmistakable, "You… you promised…"

You did, and faced with the reality that you can't keep that promise, you wrap your arms around him. Whispers of hushes and apologies fill his ear; you're sorry for not being more careful, for acting before thinking, for leaving him alone in this shithole of a world. There will never be enough words or sentences in all the languages to convey the agony you feel at what you're putting him through.

Even though you pull away from him you keep a firm hand on his cheek; you have to make sure he's looking at you when you say what has to be said.

A broken smile appears on your face, your eyes darting all over him, committing each detail to memory, "You're not going to like what I have to say next…"

His reaction is immediate, tone all bark and no bite, "then don't say it at all! Fuck, why didn't you ask me to come along!? Then you could've saved that little girl, I would've dealt with the monsters and you'd be fine right now!"

For a moment you remain quiet; there's truth in his outburst, but you were the one in charge of scavaging today. Your group had scouted a particular place for a few days; no one had taken anything and the volume of zombies was near to none, all that was needed was one person to go raid the place, and you were the lucky sucker.

A tear slips down your face; it’s not like you want to say what comes next, it’s more of a need. As much as you hate to think it, everything from that moment on was business.

Pulling back fully, you reach for his limp hand while stretching to unclamp a gun from the holster on your waist. Anyone with a brain knew what you were about to say, and he didn't like it one bit, eyes sharpening into a glare. Retching his hand from you, Wanderer steps back, shaking his head vehemently.

“No.” He’s firm on his stance one the matter, voice deadly serious as he looks at the weapon you hold out to him. He won’t; he can’t. It takes you parroting the words he said to you before for him to even hear you out. all it takes is a second to stand in front of him again, setting the cool, heavy object in his shaking palm.

"You promised me that if this ever happened, you'd end my life before I turned." In one big step you’re in front of him again, setting the cold object in his shaking palm. Suddenly it feels like he’s holding the weight of tons.

“God I wish I could kiss you right now… I want to so, so bad,” you whisper, leaning your forehead against his, your noses brushing. You push the silencer attachment into his other hand, "but I don't want to infect you, so this little contact we have will have to do."

"I love you. I love you so much and I never want you to forget that. My dear Kunikuzushi..." Tears roll down your cheeks freely now as you gently rub under his eyes, “please, do this for me. I don’t want to hurt anyone…”

You’re hurting me, he thinks, but deep down he knows this must be done. It’s what you want.

He doesn’t say much as he nods, grabbing into your wrist again. This time it’s not with the urgency or hope that things could still be salvaged; this time it’s with the deep rooted need to comfort you, “I know you love the stars… I think it’s only right that you get to see them for all they are one last time.”

You’re silent as he drags you to a wide open clearing, the grass reaching just below your knees. The tiny gasp you let out was involuntary, as every time you see the night sky it steals your breath away. Even when you’ve seen them a thousand times in this very spot, they never fail to let you escape from your current reality. How fitting… the perfect place to forget the impending end.

Wanderer is deadly silent beside you as he screws on the silencer, refusing to look at you. He knows if he does he’ll fall in love with your wonder filled gaze all over again and back out in a heartbeat.

While looking around and taking in each twinkle of light, you hear a murmur from beside you, barely intelligible. You hum, asking him to repeat himself.

“I love you too.” He says clearly that time, “I’m sorry for not saying it enough.”

Smiling softly at him, you cup his cheek again, “I know. It’s alright, you didn’t have to say it for me to know you love me.”

In an instant you’re pulled into another hug - your last, you bitterly realize - and you wrap your arms around him without a second thought. God how he wants to kiss you too, he wants to say a proper goodbye.

“Go enjoy that stars…” he whispers to you instead, reluctantly letting you slip away from him.

Kunikuzushi was a sharp shooter, known for always hitting his target. It was a trait he took pride in, but as he aims for the back of your head now… he doesn’t know exactly how to feel, knowing what will happen, able to picture the next few minutes in his mind.

Eyes the colour of a stormy night follow you as you walk into the middle of the field. Silently he counts to thirty, then continues to count. By time he reaches fifty he sees your shoulders ease up, your head tilting this way and that, no doubt looking for constellations.

He chose then to pull the trigger, feeling sick to his stomach as he watches your silhouette fall, knowing that you won’t be rising next to him in bed come tomorrow morning.

Tag list (both regular and event exclusive): @spoopy-fish-writes // @that-enby-alien // @xenuuu // @kaeyaloml // @mariposa666haruka // @quackquackmfs // @kunikuzushiii // @genshin-impact-writings // @ventisweetheart // @lordbugs // @leena-shi // @ari-the-wr1ter // @xiaos-wife // @milkwithspiceyicecubes // @stygianoir // @francisnyx

+

@kaiserkisser // @multipleshadesofblue // @moloteco-real // @kithewanderingme // @scaramood // @kochothehoe // @ii-lily2 // @esuz

#val’s nsn #wanderer x you #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin x you #wanderer x reader #genshin impact x you #wanderer x gender neutral reader #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x gender neutral reader #genshin angst #genshin wanderer #genshin fanfic #genshin scaramouche #scaramouche angst #wanderer angst

[pholla-jm]

Please Pull Through

IMAGINE: PLEASE PULL THROUGH ~ MIHAWK X READER GENRE: FLUFF/ANGST WARNING: DESCRIPTION OF BLOOD *******************************

In your description, being married to Mihawk was bliss. It was the perfect domestic life in your opinion. Sure, he was a warlord, but he was perfect to you. You loved the castle. Sure, it was big and can be a bit lonely sometimes. But when Mihawk was home, the castle seemed livelier than ever. It was filled with your laughter and soft music. All Mihawk could do was watch your figure with a smile on his face.

He enjoyed how everything seemed to light up around him when you were around. The love he held for you was indescribable. He just couldn’t live without you. That’s why he hated it whenever he had to go on missions or attend a boring meeting. It would take days, weeks even for him to return back. Whenever he was gone, all he could think about was you.

However, there were days when you felt lonely and bored. You swore that one day it would drive you crazy. So, while he was gone, you would travel to the neighboring island and sell goods. Mihawk didn’t like the idea at first. He said that it could be dangerous since he couldn’t protect you if needed. He also tried to reason that you didn’t need to do this because he has enough money to provide for the both of you and more. You just laughed at him, telling him that you were an independent person that knew how to take care of themselves. To ease his worries, he got both you and him a vivre card. Gave him peace of mind. That way if you were ever in trouble, he could get to you as fast as he could.

He was fortunate that he had never seen the paper burn or even light up in the slightest.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright, darling? I will be gone for quite some time. That’s why I’m offering you to come with me.” Mihawk says while holding onto your hands. You give them a slight squeeze, “I’m sure. Plus, I plan on going to the next island. I’m also gonna buy some stuff to do some redecorating.”

A sharp breath of intake came from him and the way he tenses was a sign of how he felt about that.

You laugh at his reaction, “Oh come on. It won’t be that bad. You’ll love it.” “We’ll see about that.”

Mihawk leans down to place a chaste kiss on your lips. “I’ll see you in a month then.” You say when you pull back.

Mihawk internally grimaces hearing the work month. He really couldn’t stand being away from his partner for that long.

“See you in a month.” He whispers before letting your hands go and leaving the castle. You can only stand at the window on the top floor, where you can see his figure slowly start fading away.

Once he was out of sight, you quickly started to get to work. You wanted to prepare the bedroom before placing the new decoration. You wanted to lighten up the room a little, but not too light because you knew Mihawk wouldn’t like it.

It took a couple of days to prep and plan things out. But once everything was done, you gathered your own things and headed to your own boat. It took another day for you to reach the island that you usually docked on.

You were immediately greeted with familiar faces and friends. The island was quiet and friendly. There was never a sense of danger so there was no need to feel any sense of fear. It was a peaceful island, almost perfect.

“Hey (y/n)!”

It was one of your closest friends from this island. You excitedly waved back to your friend. Both of you decided to go to a small café to catch up on each other’s lives. The café was small and quaint, but the food was really good.

The two of you were chatting away, when suddenly a shrill shriek ripped through the small village. “Pirates! Pirates!”

At those words, everyone got up and scrambled around. This was the first pirate raid in the village, and no one really knew what to do. Most people were scrambling around, some grabbing a weapon of some sort.

You turn to your friend, “go back home and find yourself a hiding spot.” Your friend nods and runs in the direction of her home.

You run around, helping people find hiding spots before the pirates actually stepped foot into the village. However, it was too late. The rampaging stampede of pirates could be heard and soon you could see the pirates. They didn’t waste a second rummaging through things. People were crying and screaming for them to stop.

Your only goal was to stop this mayhem as soon as possible without any of the villagers getting hurt. You turn your head, spotting a child on the ground. Trying to pick up their toy. The child didn’t notice the pirate sneaking up on them. Without a second thought, you run towards the child ready to pick them up and get them to a hiding spot. However, as soon as you reached the child, you felt a sickening blow against your back.

A pained gasp leaves your lips as you fall to the ground, blood immediately filling your vision. The sounds of screams and cries slowly start to get quieter and quieter. And you wonder why. It started to make sense as you started to feel lightheaded, and your vision slowly starts to fade. The only thing that could fall out of your mouth were the whispers of your beloved’s name.

Mihawk could feel something slightly shift in his pocket. Before even reaching into his pocket to check, he could feel that something was wrong. His instincts were right as he pulls out the vivre card with your name on it.

The paper was halfway gone. It was slowly burning away. Only meaning one thing. You were slowly dying. Without wasting another second, he disappears from the room. Not giving a single explanation to anyone in the room.

He knew exactly what island you were on, and he hated that he couldn’t get to you quick enough. It took him half a day to get to the island. Mihawk is a man on a mission, and nothing will stop him. And I mean nothing.

So, it was only natural that it didn’t take long to find you.

He was a bit surprised at what happened to the island. He knew it was a very safe island, mainly because everyone knew not to commit any heinous crimes on the island. Because if his dear partner got injured on that island, then there would be hell to pay.

It was quick for him to come up with the solution that the village was raided, and he asked around about these pirates. He would have to pay them a visit later.

When he’s shown to the infirmary, where you lay unconscious, it was like time stopped for him. There was barely any life in you. You looked peaceful though. There were machines hooked up to you, most likely keeping you alive, he concludes.

A doctor enters the room, momentarily surprised by his presence. The doctor knew of him, and he knew that this wasn’t a good situation at all. The doctor continues to tell him how you helped the village during the attack.

Mihawk could only stare blankly at you as the doctor talks. It was like you to help people, but he really hates that you have to pay like this. You didn’t’ deserve this.

When the doctor leaves the room to give Mihawk some time, he looks at the vivre card again. The paper was still slowly ebbing away. His heart clenches at the sight. He really didn’t want to think about the fact he was about to lose you. But seeing the paper burn away was only a reminder that it was true, he was going to lose you. He couldn’t do anything but sit next to your side and hope for the best.

He pushes your hair from your forehead, placing a soft kiss on your cold forehead. “Please pull through for me darling.”

#one piece #mihawk x reader #dracule x reader #mihawk x you #oneshot

[fluentmoviequoter]

You're Safe

Requested Here!

Pairing: David 'Deacon' Kay x fem!wife!SWAT!reader

Summary: Being on the same S.W.A.T. team as your husband provides plenty of opportunities to protect one another and share words of affirmation.

Warnings: quick fight scene, nondescript injuries, super fluffy!! kind of a suggestive joke but not really? it's married flirting so it's fine I think

Word Count: 1.2k+ words

Picture from Pinterest

You trust every member of 20-David, but when you feel Deacon’s hand tap your shoulder before a raid, you are especially protected. Knowing that he has your back, he’s right beside you, makes you happy.

“Two, two, two,” Street yells.

Rushing into the house, you and Deacon break off to go right while the rest of your team goes in their assigned direction.

“30-David, right side clear,” Deacon radios.

“22-David, left side clear.”

“20-David, we’re Code 4. Suspect isn’t here,” Hondo alerts.

Deacon turns toward you, reaching out with his left hand as he lowers his weapons. You take his hand, nodding to let him know you’re okay. Though you can’t feel it, you know his wedding ring is under his glove.

“You did great,” Deacon says, leading you back toward the door. “Point is a good position for you.”

“You just like the view when you follow me inside,” you argue playfully.

Deacon shrugs before chuckling. 

“Thanks for staying with me,” you reply. “You’re the best officer I’ve ever worked with.”

“She has to say that,” Hondo adds, returning from the kitchen. “It was in the wedding contract.”

“That’s called a pre-nup,” Street jokes.

“Look at them, they wouldn’t get a pre-nup, playboy,” Luca replies.

“Guys!” you call, shaking your head. “We have a suspect to find. Remember?”

“You started it,” Street grumbles.

“Mrs. Kay is right,” Hondo says. He tilts his head to the side, clearly in thought, before he asks, “Should we give one of you a nickname, since you’re both Kays?”

“Deacon already has one.” You raise your hands in confusion, looking between your husband and team leader.

“But, your nametags say Kay,” Hondo continues. “What about ‘Kay’ and ‘Prettier Kay'?”

“Sure,” you answer quickly. “Now, can we go?”

“I agree. I mean, I love to talk about how amazing she is, but we need to find this guy,” Deacon reminds everyone.

“Yep. C’mon, Prettier Kay,” you say over your shoulder as you walk toward the door.

“Oh, I’ve made a terrible mistake,” Hondo complains.

“Let’s go!” you yell.

✯✯✯✯✯

Sitting beside Deacon in Black Betty, you lean against his shoulder. Being physically affectionate isn’t always something you want or need, so you and Deacon show your affection with your words more often, complimenting and trusting one another and reminding your better half that you have his back while knowing he has yours.

Watching your spouse risk their life is never easy; you and Deacon are good at your jobs, and working side-by-side eliminates the fear of not knowing, the majority of the time, at least.

“You’ve got this,” you tell Deacon. “I’m with you.”

“I’ve got it because you’re with me. And I’m with you, too,” Deacon replies.

“Anything I can do better?”

Deacon rolls his eyes as he smiles. “Yeah, don’t ever doubt yourself.”

“I was hoping you’d say, ‘tell your husband you love him every thirty seconds’ or something like that.”

“If it wasn’t a tactical no-no, he wouldn’t be opposed.”

“I guess I’ll have to stick to telling him before and after and show him in between.”

“Who needs to worry about motion sickness when you have to listen to this?” Tan asks.

“One day, Tan, you’ll know what it’s like to be in love, and then we will pay you back for every single one of these comments,” Deacon responds.

“You too, Street,” you add before he can jump in.

“We’re here!” Luca announces, parking a few blocks from the residence on the no-knock warrant.

“Luca, you’re with me, we’re breaching the one side,” Hondo explains. “Tan, Street, you’re three side. Deacon and Kay, take the four side. We clear and meet in the middle. Stay liquid!”

You nod, pulling your helmet down over your face before following Deacon to the western side of the house, waiting at his side as he sets an explosive on the door.

“20-David, breach!” Hondo radios.

The door blows open, and you tap Deacon’s shoulder before following him into the kitchen. You cover him while he clears the kitchen and pantry before he covers the hallway as you check the bedrooms. When you open the last door, the suspect lunges toward you, knocking you back into the hallway and against the wall. You keep him at arm’s length, twisting as you push him.

“LAPD S.W.A.T., on your knees!” Deacon yells.

“Don’t think he’s gonna do that,” you grunt, raising a foot before you push off the wall, slamming him into the door he exited.

When the door falls from its hinges, you collapse onto the suspect, pinning him between your body and the door. Moving your knee to hold his legs down, Deacon moves beside you, aiming his weapon as he demands for the suspect to remain still.

“You body slammed me!” the suspect groans.

“Yeah, well, he told you to stop,” you reply breathlessly.

“Prettier Kay,” Hondo says as he approaches. “Well done.”

“I want a lawyer!” the suspect yells.

“Oh, you’ll get one,” Hondo guarantees, hauling the suspect to his feet after you move to the side.

Kneeling on the bedroom floor, you remove your helmet and take a few deep breaths. Deacon ensures the rest of the team has the suspect under control before he joins you.

“That was amazing, Prettier Kay,” he compliments, brushing his knuckles over your cheekbone.

“Thank you,” you reply. “You make everything better. Especially when you keep someone from attacking me again.”

“I appreciate that, but you impress me daily.”

“Keep talking,” you request, catching your breath. “You’re safe.”

“I love you,” Deacon says. “And I want to be a safe spot for you until… for forever.”

“I said talk to me, not make me cry, Deacon. Help me up?”

Deacon chuckles as he pulls you up, wrapping an arm around your waist to lead you to Black Betty.

“Are you hurt?” he asks.

“Just knocked the breath out of me. Kinda like you do every time you smile, just with a whole lot more force.”

“You should still get checked out.”

“That’s part of your job, Prettier Kay.”

Hondo, however, forces you to allow a medic to examine you before you can return to HQ. Deacon stays by your side, complimenting your fighting after each question you answer.

✯✯✯✯✯

After you change, allowing Deacon to press an ice pack to your back for a few minutes, you return to the S.W.A.T. common area.

“Hondo, can we go home?” you ask.

He glances at his watch before nodding. “Are you that ready to get away from us?”

“Yes,” you answer honestly.

“I think we deserve some free time after that incredible takedown,” Deacon adds.

“Get out of here. As long as I don’t have to hear this, I don’t care where you go,” Hondo teases. “Good job,” he calls after you, “glad you’re okay.”

“I’m okay because of you, Deacon. Thank you,” you tell him.

“I love to do it. I love you.”

Wrapping your arms over Deacon’s shoulder, you kiss him until you’re breathless because of him.

“Do it all again tomorrow?” he asks, gently rubbing your back.

“Every single part of it. Especially this part, though.”

Deacon turns away to grab your bag so you can go home, and you add, “I love you, and I’m glad I get to spend this much time by your side.”

“I enjoy it more than you do, this is my favorite place to be,” Deacon promises. “I love you, more than I could ever say.”

#david deacon kay x reader #david kay x reader #deacon kay x reader #deacon kay fluff #david deacon kay #deacon kay #swat cbs #requests #fem!reader

[heartfullofleeches]

Alright awesome, uh aHEM-

Y/N trying to comfort Theodore: “Listen man I’m really sorry about the divorce, you two really loved each other so it must’ve been really rough.. If you need any help or just want someone next to you then know I’ll be right here for you okay? And hey on the bright side, there are plenty of fish in the sea! I’m sure you’ll find your one and only eventually”

Meanwhile Theodore is internally flipping out cause: Oh my god the divorce was actually a blessing in disguise she’s finally gone and fuck I think I really love Y/N and they’re sitting here comforting me and touching me I want them so bad what do I do fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-

Theodore never liked coffee. The bitterness clung to the roof of his mouth and caffeine gave him jitters til next week if he drank too much. With the kids and all his school work pilling up, he needed something to keep him awake and everything else he tried had no effect. He experimented with different creamers and sugars, and created the perfect mix to help it all go down. He figured it wouldn't be too much of a crime to ask his then girlfriend to pick up his drink of choice whenever she bought drinks for herself - only to be handed a black coffee everytime.

"Ta-da! One iced latte. They didn't have that toffee creamer you like so I raided your fridge. Once you're feeling better, we really need to get you out of this house, mister."

His blanket falls from his shoulders as he reaches out. "... thanks."

His voice was hoarse and scratchy; startling even him as it crawled from his throat. It sounded foreign to him, but that's exactly what that woman did. Somedays he couldn't look in the mirror without seeing a glimpse of the shy, awkward teen he used to be - and the stranger that person had because. He was a wreck. He hadn't slept. He only showered when he had to pick up the kids from their grandparents. He hadn't eaten anything in days... until you brought him food. Back in your highschool days you'd pay him with his favorite foods in favor of completing some project you forgotten about. While his tastes had changed a lot over the years, he gorged himself on everything you brought until he felt ill.

Theodore tears the lid of the cup and swallows the concoction, not stopping for a breath. Your hand flies to his back as he chokes. "Take it easy, Theo. Give me that."

You pry the cup from his hands as you sit beside him, weighting his palms against his lap until his shakes quiet. "It's going to be okay. You'll find someone when you're ready to look again and I'll always be here to support you."

You always have been. Years went when he forgot about his own birthday and it seemed like the entire world had to - and there you were, cake and a new book in hand. You were his rock through thick and thin; a vow he made with his ex. The guilty euphoria when people mistook you as his spouse instead of her. Beside what he did with his kids, Theodore had forgotten what it was like to enjoy another's company - reminded each time you came around. He couldn't make this about himself. He couldn't.

"The kids.... Erin's still so young. How am I going to tell them."

"Sometimes, a separated home is better than a dysfunction one. It won't be easy and they'll always come before anything, but right now you need to focus on yourself and what you want in life."

Your hands tighten around his. What does he want? He wants to go back to the night he took that cigarette from her. He wants to scream and hit his younger self for following her at that party. He wants to go back and stop the arrangement that kept his mind off the study partner that always came up with an excuse when it was time to hit the books, but there when he needed them most. He wants to tell them how they made him feel. He still does. He wants to love you - and now he finally.... finally can.

"Hold me.... Please, I just want...you to hold me."

His glasses fog up. You wipe the tears from behind his lenses as your arms envelope him. Eyes misty, all he feels is the pull of your warm embrace and he breaks. Theodore wraps the blanket around you and centers his hearing on the steady beat in your chest. It's the most beautiful thing in the world. If he has that to listen to every night, he won't need caffeine - or anything else for that matter. All he needed was you. All he ever needed was you.

#yandere oc #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere x reader #yandere headcanons #yandere insert #yandere scenarios #male yandere #yandere blurb #yandere x you #yandere fluff #Theodore my oc #soft yandere