#...until i inevitability burn out and have a break down lmao | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dr3amofagame · 3 years

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uhhhh ,, , hi ??

i feel bad bc i havent been here in. LITERALLY forever lmao - hope you guys r all doing good!! ive been working on some stuff but it’s been pretty slow going, and school is also A Thing, so i definitely havent been writing as much as i’d like.

as an apology, have this? really self-indulgent feel-good syndicate + c!dream centric oneshot bc i felt like writing this so u know. why not.

tws: implied torture, abuse, self-harm, disordered eating, starvation mentions, prison arc themes - overall everything’s just blink-and-you’ll-miss-it mentions, not too much angst here for once! c!sam and c!quackity critical, sorry guys but we r still in the prison arc and they still r on their “fuck human rights” arcs.

Dream leaves.

It’s a surprise - or maybe it isn’t one, Niki isn’t quite sure. She’d never grown to quite trust the man, she knows, and she can’t really tell if the bitter twist of emotion that swells up her chest when Phil comes to her city with the news is betrayal or resignation - what can she say. She’s gotten more than her fair share of broken promises. They don’t exactly faze her anymore.

None of them seem all that surprised, save Techno, who entirely fails to hide the worry that flickers over his face when he calls the Syndicate meeting to officially inform them of what’s going on. She shares quick, careful glances with the other members when his back is turned - despite how many times he’s been burned, Techno still seems so adamant at holding onto every thread, trusting all too easily those who would use and leave him behind without a second glance. He can handle himself, she knows. Still, that’s not going to stop her from slapping Dream upside the head for being yet another worthless person to betray her friend’s forgiving nature.

Nothing much changes in the next few weeks. Niki has to admit, it’s strange without Dream around - he’d not been an ally, much less a friend before dipping completely, but he had been some sort of constant - and Niki is self aware enough to know that she misses him, a little, the same sort of way you might miss an old routine once it’s gone, if only for the familiarity. She still visits Techno and Phil with various baked goods, knowing that Phil would have his hands full just keeping Techno from running himself ragged - makes sure to check on Ranboo, whose nerves have inevitably returned with Dream’s disappearance. To be honest, she doesn’t worry as much as he does - ally or not, she’s spent enough time with the Dream that had left prison to expect that he won’t exactly be able to get himself very far should he come for the four of them, and doesn’t particularly care about he might pull with the rest of the server - if things get bad, she’s sure Phil and Techno will have it handled. She asks Phil, once, what happened, and he shrugs.

“I don’t know, mate,” he heaves a chest to the side, pulling out a stack of stone blocks that Niki gladly holds for him. “One day we woke up and he was just- gone. Everything. Was like he wasn’t ever there at all.”

Niki hums. “Why’d you think he’d do something like that?”

“If I could understand half of why Dream does what he does, we wouldn’t be having this conversation now, would we?” He smiles at her from behind a crate. “Shall we bring these things upstairs and start on dinner?”

Niki laughs, knowing that the conversation about Dream is over. “Of course, Phil.”

Dinner is a welcome distraction; all of them have gotten better at cooking in recent months, between her baking and the veritable library of recipes Phil knows that she’s never even heard of, but Phil is still the only one she really trusts to hold his own behind the stove - Ranboo is still a little too nervous around water, and fire, and much of everything, and though Techno can be a perfectly capable cook, he’s been distracted as of late. She has a strong feeling that left to his own devices, he’d just grab a stack of steak and disappear for another few weeks, searching the server for information.

Honestly, she’s a little thrown off by his behavior - he’d not done anything like this with Tommy, if she remembers right, and had hardly seemed affected by Wilbur’s betrayal on the Sixteenth at all (then again, she was a little too lost in her own head to notice if he was.) She tosses her head over to ask Phil, who’s leaning over a few carrots he’s slicing to throw into the stew he’s making, and the man pauses, frowns.

“From what I know,” he starts, words slow, careful, “they’d spent three months in there together, and the conditions weren’t exactly- stellar. According to what Techno said, I’d assumed they had come to some sort of understanding.” He goes back to the carrots, expression dipping into shadow and out of sight. “Guess I was wrong.”

Niki hums. She can see it, sort of - spending months together with someone, no matter how insufferable, probably would end with some degree of attachment - she thinks back to plotting through sleepless nights with Jack, anger and grief leaving them simmering, crabs in the same pot of boiling water, remembers looking into his dead-eyed gaze and seeing her own stare back - and feels a brief pang of guilt. Besides, Techno is Techno. She’d never met someone so willing to forgive, understand, reach out despite everything that’s happened - for Dream to take advantage of that feels almost too obvious. Of course he would - what were they all thinking?

“He’s Dream,” she says as if that explains everything, flipping open the oven door and feeling a wave of heat blast her face. Phil hums lowly, understanding. “I hope Techno will be alright.”

“He’s tough,” Phil cracks a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “And he has us on his side. He’ll get through.”

Niki opens her mouth to reply, only to be interrupted by the front door slamming open. Outside their quaint little cottage, the wind howls - it sounds like the beginning of a blizzard out there, flurries painting the world in a thick blanket of white. In the door, Techno strides into the entrance with loud, decisive movements, shutting the door loud enough to make the walls shake. Inadvertently, Niki finds her eyes drawn to the small pile of snow that he’s tracked into the house - Techno’s usually so careful to kick it all off on the porch, never liked it much when there was a pile of melting ice and snow dampening the floorboards and soaking into his shoes. He huffs harshly, stripping off a snow-dusted scarf from his face - a long, multicolored abomination that had been the product of her attempting to teach Ranboo how to knit. Phil has reached his side, hands splayed over his upper arms, eyes soft in the corners from concern.

“Techno, mate-” his tone is chiding but his movements gentle as he brushes snow off of Techno’s signature cloak, “you’ve gotten snow everywhere. What were you doing, dueling a blizzard?”

Techno shakes his head, not meeting Phil’s banter as usual, fur sticking up from the snow melted into it. His voice is gruff and holds little humor - unconsciously, Niki feels her shoulders tense.

“Phil, call a Syndicate meeting.”

---

Phil, per usual, is unrelenting, so it’s not until a quick dinner and some hurried messages to their final member later that the Syndicate is gathered in their meeting room, Techno pacing the length of the room as they wait in their respective seats. He looks less frazzled than he did when he first entered the house, in part due to Phil’s sitting him down to eat and picking through his fur to smooth it out of its windblown spikes and tangles - Techno had grumbled at him to stop preening him, but looked a lot more relaxed by the time they were all finished with their food. Still, his ear flicks periodically, twitching toward ssome sound that Niki can’t hear, movements tighter and jerkier than she is used to. He’d always been a little flightier after the prison, but not quite like this - everything here feels like that but dialed up to eleven. Inexplicably, it reminds her of Dream.

“Techno?” Phil gestures towards his seat, prompting, and he settles into it with an obliging huff.

“Y’know, Phil, the code names are kinda pointless if we never use ‘em,” he says, words carrying no real heat - he looks back at the rest of them, lips thinning into a line. “Anyway. I called this meeting because I found a couple leads on Dream.”

“O-oh,” Ranboo stutters, tail lashing behind him.

“You don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to, mate,” Phil reminds him gently, a sentiment that Niki affirms with a determined nod.

“There’ve been some reports- rumors, really,” Techno says, calling their attention again, and they all turn towards him, “of increased activity around the prison again. The Warden spending more time on its grounds, movement seen around the walls and around the portal- so I decided to go check it out for myself.”

Niki frowns, and watches as Phil does the same beside her - Techno had seemed to avoid the prison if he could help it, save for when he went on the initial mission to break Dream out. It was no secret to them that he didn’t exactly like the place.

“We could’ve helped if you asked,” Phil reminds him, and Techno shakes his head.

“I know, Phil. It’s just- that place is bad news. I’d rather keep you guys away from there if I can-” his hand goes to his head with a poorly hidden wince. “Sorry, Chat’s a little- worked up, at the minute.”

“Sorry, we’ll stop interrupting you,” Niki says, cutting off Phil before he says anything else. “So you went to the prison?”

Techno takes a second to gather his thoughts, mumbling quietly in the way that usually means he’s telling off Chat. “Right- I decided to stake out the portal. The rumors were right- Sam has been hanging around there, entered and left the prison four times yesterday. And today-” he hesitates, expression visibly darkening. “This morning, about an hour after the Warden arrived, Quackity came to the prison and went through the portal. He left the grounds about six hours later.”

“Quackity?” Niki frowns, eyes flicking over to how Phil has stilled in his seat. “What is Quackity doing at the prison?”

Phil ignores her question, reaching towards Techno, something indiscernible in his gaze. “Mate…”

“He smelled of blood when he left,” Techno says, words sharp, and Niki feels her heart skip a beat. “Warden left about half an hour after, and I came back here.”

Ranboo clears his throat, sounding tentative. “Okay,” he drums his hand on the table when they turn towards him, eyebrows drawn, “but what, exactly, does this have to do with, uh, Dream?”

Techno and Phil trade glances, one of their bouts of unspoken conversation that Niki’s grown extremely used to. They seem strangely hesitant, she notes internally, Phil looking towards Techno with a question written clearly in the planes of his face. Techno sighs, a long puff of air through his lips as he closes his eyes and turns his face towards the table.

“You know how Dream was- injured,” he starts slowly, looking back up at them. Niki shifts uncomfortably - of course she noticed, it was impossible not to - if not the bandages that peeked under his sleeves and the cuffs of his pants, then how skinny he’d been, all skin and bones curled up uncomfortably in a pile at the corner of Techno’s couch. She’d not know the extent, by any means, and had always assumed that they’d been self-inflicted - she’d been in a bad enough place on her own before to know how your head can make you want to hurt, sometimes, how eating food can feel like choking on sawdust and the world could feel so much smaller when focused into delicate pricks of pain. Phil’s eyes are trained on Techno - on his face, then on the pinkish raised skin of a still-healing scar along his forearm, and she feels understanding settle like a rock in her gut.

“The Warden had apparently been lettin’ Quackity into the cell to torture Dream for the revive book,” Techno trails off, eyes narrowed and seemingly fixed on a random point of the opposite wall. “By the time I go there, it’d been goin’ on for months.”

“But wait,” Ranboo’s tail moves even more erratically behind him, “You mean you think he’s back- there? How?”

“He has to be back in the prison,” Techno points out. “I can’t imagine anyone besides him that the two of them are goin’ to just start torturin’- Sam had been iffy about the whole thing when Quackity started in on me. It has to be Dream in there again.”

“But how did he get in there, then?” Ranboo asks, visibly confused. “Last time it took the entire server to lock him up!”

“There were no signs of a struggle,” Niki points out, matter of fact. “I believe you, Techno, but I don’t really know how they managed to drag him back so easily. I can’t imagine he was jumping at the chance to go back in there.”

Techno shakes his head with an uneasy sigh.

“I have a feelin’ of what might’ve happened,” he says quietly. “And I really hope that I’m wrong and he’s less of an idiot than I think he is.”

---

They set out to investigate - and maybe attack - the next day, Techno and Phil taking on the bulk of preparations as Ranboo stays behind. He’d been understandably uneasy about the whole mission, so they’d left him back by the Syndicate room to set off their pearls in case anything went wrong. (“By the end of the day,” Techno had said, giving Phil a look with the corner of his lip quirked upwards, “don’t be like Phil here and think I meant the end of the month, alright?”) They’d all be supplied with armor and weapons, thanks to Phil, but she’d been handed the bulk of their potions, arranged neatly in her inventory by type in case they’d be needed. She lingers in the back of the room as Phil and Techno chat amiably over the sound of making last minute repairs on their armor, listens to Techno’s ceaseless reminders for Phil to be careful, watches as they make sure that their stasis chambers are properly prepared should they need them.

(She watches as Phil nudges Techno’s shoulder when he lingers behind a certain chair, empty as long as she’s been part of the Syndicate, the fountain behind it bubbling quietly without a pearl inside. Techno sighs, expression strange.

“Should’ve set him up with one,” he says, quiet, and Phil pats him on the back.

“You couldn’t have known, mate. We wanted to wait a little before telling him about the Syndicate, remember?”

Techno hums, noncommittal. “Still.”)

They Nether travel to the site of Techno’s lookout, which ends up being a little shambling thing with dirt walls dug into a small hill looking towards the prison portal, having hardly enough space to fit the three of them. Phil looks at it with no small amount of apprehension, and Techno shrugs lightly, wearing an expression that makes Phil turn to him with a look that makes Niki break into giggles. Techno crosses his arms- “in my defense-” and Phil looks up at the dirt ceiling with a long-suffering sigh.

“You couldn’t have made this a little roomier, mate?” Phil asks, voice dry as kindling, and Techno raises his hands by his head.

“Hey hey, it’s discreet, it gets the job done, it’s perfectly structurally sound-” the sound of the leftmost wall crumbling, along with the cloud of dust that puffs from it and fills their tiny space, undermines the tail end of his statement and leaves him sputtering, Niki falling into another fit of quiet giggles. Underneath it all, Phil sighs again, raising his wings behind him.

“...these are going to take so long to clean out.”

To his credit, Techno looks sheepish. “Sorry, Phil.”

They sober up quickly; Techno turns around to the opposite side of the hill, where he’s hidden some peepholes inside the dirt - Niki settles herself by one, leaning forwards to put her eye to it and catch a glimpse of the prison looming over the water. It’s been repaired since the breakout, she notes, the gaping hole in the roof completely gone and replaced with obsidian, as intimidating and undamaged as it had been before, if not more so. Phil makes a considering sound from behind her.

“Same plan as last time?” He asks, and Techno shakes his head.

“They’ve probably reinforced it, and Dream’s blueprints won’t include anything new the Warden’s added. I wouldn’t be surprised if they moved Dream to a different location completely. We don’t want to draw too much attention, either, we were cutting it pretty close during the breakout.” He narrows his eyes. “I was thinking we’d try something a little stealthier, this time. “

He gestures at Niki, who blinks back at him with wide eyes.

“You got a couple of invis potions for us?”

She distributes the potions among them all, one regular and two splash potions of invisibility each, and Techno points towards the prison once she’s done.

“The most important thing is to get through the portal,” he says with a grim expression. “Worst comes to worst, once we’re inside we can always blast our way through - but gettin’ through that portal is our first priority.”

Phil narrows his eyes at him. “The portal is locked, though. We’ll need to follow someone else inside- and I’m pretty sure Sam uses pearls, so he’s out.”

Techno nods. “Which is why I’m bankin’ on the prison gettin’ another visitor today. We’ll just have to wait.”

Niki swallows. “Do you mean-”

“Quackity?” Techno turns away, not quite meeting her eyes. “I’m not totally sure, but he’s not exactly the type to just give up on his goals. He’s pretty predictable- an empire needs an emperor, always needs something new to rule- you know the type,” he says, tipping his head towards Phil. “He’ll be mad at Dream for disappearin’ on him and won’t miss the opportunity to prove he has the upper hand again. I’m not sure that he’s going to come today-”

“-but you wouldn’t really be surprised, either,” Phil finishes for him, eyes steely with cold determination. “I trust your judgement, mate. Just stay safe- from what I’ve heard, Quackity has been...erratic.”

“When is he not,” Techno huffs a short laugh, shaking his head. “I’ll be fine, Phil. Just be careful, both of you. Don’t get too close. And if things get messy- which is what we’re tryin’ to avoid, by the way- then don’t do anything too risky. Our priority is gettin’ in and out alive.”

“We can handle ourselves, Techno,” Niki reminds him with a small smile. “And Ranboo is there in case anything goes wrong.”

“Alright, then. Here’s the plan.”

---

It takes quite a long time for Quackity to arrive, long minutes that Niki spends fidgeting in the corner of the room, brushing her hands over seams of the netherite plates that Phil had shoved into her hands, back at the Syndicate room. The set is inexplicably light - not weightless, by any means, as it is still netherite, but not nearly as bulky as any set of netherite armor she’s owned or seen in the past. The runes are precise, lines thin and exact, written with graceful strokes of lapis.

“Phil’s the best metalworker I’ve ever met,” Techno tells her with a small grin, catching her in the middle of tracing what she can make out as an Unbreaking rune along the metal strapped to her forearm. “But then again, he’s had the time to practice.”

“Are you calling me old again?” Phil huffs, and Techno flashes a smile her direction before looking at Phil with a slight grin.

“Well, Chat is,” he says, lips twitching when Phil glares back.

“You can’t just blame Chat every time you insult me, you little shit,” Phil groans, and Techno only grins wider.

“Phil, my ad revenue,” he complains, a dramatic lilt to his voice that has Niki stifling a snort, and Phil’s glare only grows deadlier.

“You’ll have more than your ad revenue to worry about if you keep this up,” he mumbles, going back to keep watch at one of the peepholes and stilling as he does. “Shit- Techno, Quackity’s here.”

Techno straightens up, hindered slightly by the low ceiling of their room. “Alright- we all know the plan, right?”

Niki nods in the affirmative, pulling out a splash invis and letting it settle in her hand, the glass cool beneath her fingertips. She reaches into her inventory and lets her armor fade into it, takes a deep breath and watches as the two across from her do the same. She doesn’t wear armor often, but so close to the prison, feeling mining fatigue settling deep into her bones - she’s never missed the security it offers more. Techno keeps watch, waiting- drops his arm in a signal. Now.

Niki throws the potion at their feet, flinching back at the sound of shattering glass and feeling its effects seep into her skin. When she opens her eyes, she can’t see anything but the inside of the room that they’d holed themselves in and the faintest of wisps rising from where their feet must be, curling around the grass.

(Please let this work, she begs to no one in particular as they walk towards the prison. And if you can hear me- please keep us all safe.)

She hardly breathes as they follow Quackity across the path, holding someone’s hand in her own - Phil’s, by the feel of it - careful to muffle her footsteps in the grass and stand still whenever Quackity’s eyes come a little too close. Thankfully for them, he seems focused, hardly stopping or looking around at all as he walks towards the prison’s portal, movements stiff as he walks forward. He punches the button on the wall particularly harshly, and Sam’s voice comes crackling through a speaker a second later.

“I’m here for my visit,” Quackity says, punctuating the sentence with a snort of laughter that doesn’t sound particularly sincere. Niki hasn’t seen him in a long while, not after everything that happened in Pogtopia, and she feels a chill worm down her spine - this man looks nothing like the one that had laughed and danced and sung at her birthday party what feels like an eternity ago. What happened?

Sam sighs, the sound turning into a sharp burst of static through the speakers. “Hello Quackity,” he says, voice deep and tired. “Please step into the portal after I tell you to and then wait on the other side.”

“I know the drill, Sam,” Quackity rolls his eyes. “Just because the bastard was gone for a few weeks doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten how this damn place works.”

“Just going through protocol, Quackity,” Sam replies, and something about this response has Quackity exploding into a brief fit of laughter, the sound grating against Niki’s ears. She feels her grip tighten on Phil’s hand, air caught in her throat.

“Protocol- ha. Whatever you wanna tell yourself, pal.” Quackity smiles, cold and cruel, and Niki tries not to think about how she’d seen that same grin on Wilbur, eyes sparkling from the light of the lanterns hung from the bridges and walls of their ravine, remember how she’d looked into them and realized her old friend wasn’t there, anymore. Quackity disappears into the portal, and after a second, the hand around her own pulls her inside of it too.

On the other side, Quackity taps his foot impatiently, crossing his arms and waiting- Sam’s voice comes through the speakers again, words clipped.

“Go through the portal,” he says, and Quackity does- once again, they wait for a second for his body to disappear, then go within it themselves, pressed close enough together within its frame for Niki to feel the warmth of a wing wrap around her shoulders for a quick second before they’re out of the hot, stifling air of the Nether and into a large, neatly made lobby of blackstone and quartz. They duck into a corner, watching as Quackity moves towards the front counter, the Warden waiting there with his arms crossed over his chest. He looks- tired. His movements are slow, footsteps loud against the floor, shoulders tense and back hunched. He walks around the counter, sword strapped to his belt, and Niki feels her breath hitch at the sight of dried blood still stuck to the blade in patches and splatters.

“He ready?” Quackity asks, holding his hands out - Niki catches a flash of metal as Sam drops something into them, watches as Quackity raises what ends up being a pair of shears, dangerous-looking and gleaming with enchants, to the light.

“Yes,” Sam says, side-eyeing Quackity with a small glare. “You know, it’s supposed to be your job to clean those things off when you’re done with them.”

“I told you, busy day back in Las Nevadas yesterday,” Quackity waves a hand- “I’ll do it, alright? Don’t get all pissy now. What happened to being partners?”

“You said we’d be done with this months ago, Quackity,” Sam sighs, and Niki feels a light tug on her arm as Quackity and Sam begin to walk towards the wall to the right of them, breathes in slow and deep as she follows Techno and Phil towards the others. The wall yawns open with the hiss of redstone firing and pistons pulling blocks upwards, opening into a dark hallway that feels like entering the maw of some sort of giant, insatiable beast. They step inside as one, and the door shuts behind them.

“We’ll be done soon enough,” Quackity says, and Niki feels hairs rising on the back of her neck. “Trust me.”

They stalk forwards through a labyrinth of blackstone, Niki brushing the palms of her hand against her clothes when it goes clammy from adrenaline. Halfway through, she pauses to tip back a second potion of invisibility, careful to keep her movements slow and steady as not to make a sound - the liquid is silvery, cool and light on her tongue, and she lets the effects wash over her with her breath caught in her lungs before moving forward. The tunnels are simpler than she’d expected, bearing little obstacles or checkpoints - Quackity makes a wry comment a second after (“Guard tunnels today, huh? Appreciate the hustle, pal-”) that confirms her suspicions. Despite the potion particles still whirling around their bodies and the sounds of their footsteps, too loud in her own ears, they manage to make it forwards without much trouble, entering a large room with a doorway filled completely with a curtain of lava.

“Set your spawn,” Sam says, still stoic, and Quackity rolls his eyes again before doing as told. Niki keeps looking back at the lava flowing past the wall, its heat filling the room and making her already slick palms even worse, and Sam moves to the side to flick a lever, eyes trained on the lava slowly bubbling in front of him.

“Give me your tools?” Quackity asks, and Sam sighs before doing so - Niki watches as he hands over a netherite axe, then potions, then a few raw potatoes that Quackity accepts and puts into his inventory. Sam raises an eyebrow once he’s done, hand tight around the handle of his trident.

“You bring your own sword, today?” He asks, seeming irritated, and Quackity shrugs.

“Sorry pal, I need to make a new one. Guess I’m borrowing yours again.”

Sam sighs again, louder, and hands over his sword as well, watching as Quackity swings it a few times experimentally. The blade skims a little too close to her on one swing and she can’t quite help the squeak that escapes her lips as she throws herself out of the way, feels her heart hammer in her ears as she backs up against the wall. Please don’t hear that please don’t hear that please don’t hear that please don’t hear that-

“Quackity, wait.” Sam raises a hand, ear twitching as he looks over in her direction with narrowed eyes. “I think I heard something.”

Oh fuck.

“Well, guess show’s up then,” Techno drawls, and both of them whirl towards his voice, giving Niki enough time to pull her armor back on, scrambling to get her sword and shield in her hands as Phil does the same besides her. Pieces of armor appear where Techno is standing, then a bucket of milk- oh, why must her friends be so dramatic- and Techno’s standing there, smiling sharply, with Orphan Obliterator held loosely at his side. “Let’s get this done, then.”

As one, Techno and Phil blur into action - Techno moves forward to catch the prongs of Sam’s trident on his blade as Phil parries Quackity’s blows with his own sword- they move fluidly, easily covering each other’s backs as the room devolves into chaos. Niki remembers their guidance as she flits in and out of the fight, scoring quick hits to keep the Warden and Quackity off balance while remaining out of range from their weapons, and it’s not long before both of them have fallen with a spray of items and experience orbs scattered all over the floor.

Techno moves over to block off the exposed face of the bed with a block, looking over at the two of them with an uncharacteristically severe expression. “They’ll be back soon- we have to move fast. Niki, you have those fire res, right?”

She nods as she reaches into her inventory, finding the potion’s orange-pink glow and smashing it at their feet. They dive into the lava together, Niki scrambling to keep up, her arms struggling to move through the thick lava, loses sight of both until she flails into something directly in front of her and hands are pulling her up out of the lava.

“There you go, mate,” Phil smiles down at her as hauls herself to her feet, making a face at the feeling of the lava clinging to her clothes. “Yeah, swimming through lava isn’t exactly fun. You good?” She flashes him a thumbs up, and he laughs- “Niki, you’re still invisible.” She flushes pink- right.

A few sips of milk later, she gives him a proper thumbs up, and he laughs, loud and bright. She looks past him to where Techno’s crouched over something- someone, she realizes with a start, in the corner. Dream’s back in prison clothes, ragged and ill-fitting, and he’s curled up with his back towards the front of the cell, shaking enough to be obvious even from where she’s standing. Techno speaks lowly, voice barely more than a deep rumble in the air, almost inaudible.

“You there, Dream?”

She watches as Dream turns his head, looking up with wide, bleary eyes. His hair flops in front of his face, and something within her itches to brush it out of the way. “T-Techno?”

“Yeah nerd, who else?” Techno smiles, and Dream seems to blink awake, drawing himself up with a shuddery breath.

“Techno- it’s a trap- what are you doing here?” he hisses, and Techno gives him a look, deadpan.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s a trap- come on, Dream, we’ve been over this by now, bro. You have to know that their traps aren’t goin’ to do anything to me by now,” Techno rolls his eyes, reaching forward to steady his hands on Dream’s shoulders when the other man sputters and struggles to breathe. “Easy, now. Geez, you wanted to prove me wrong about being homeless bad enough that you came back here? We could’ve just made you a house, you know. You didn’t have to go this far.”

“I- they were gonna kill you,” Dream breathes, face twisted up uncomfortably, and his eyes flick past Techno’s face to where Phil and Niki are standing at the opposite wall of the cell. “All of you- they said-”

“And that’s what I thought you’d say,” Techno groans. “Come on, you idiot, I thought you were smarter than this-”

“They were right there, Techno!” Dream fires back, eyes alight. “You- they were right there, what were you thinking, they could’ve-!”

“And my best friend is a necromancer, remember?” Techno shakes his head. “Come on, Dream- Sam and Quackity? You know we can handle them in a fight, especially when you can just revive us if anything goes wrong. You don’t have to do this whole self-sacrifice thing, bro- there’s only so many times I can break into the same prison, y’know.”

“You’re so stupid,” Dream huffs, but he leans in anyway, head just barely settling against Techno’s shoulder. “I- I can’t believe. You’re so dumb.”

“Hey, don’t be sayin’ that to the guy that’s breakin’ you out of prison,” Techno laughs, slinging Dream over his shoulder with an easy motion and laughing harder when it makes him yelp. “That’s just bein’ ungrateful. You’re making Chat sad, man, and when they’re sad they don’t subscribe-”

“I regret this entirely,” Dream says, voice muffled against Techno’s shirt, tone completely flat. “Put me down- you idiot- I’m staying here. You’re worse than Quackity.”

“Rude. Now you’ve really made Chat mad. I demand an apology-”

“Boys, boys.” Niki can’t help giggling, watching the way their gazes snap towards her, rolling her eyes as she moves forward with a few potions held loosely in her hand. “Dream, do you want a health pot?”

Dream seems to deliberate for a second, before nodding at her, expression slightly strained. “...sure.”

“You two can finish your argument after we’ve broken out of the biggest maximum security prison on the server,” Phil drawls from behind her, arms crossed at his chest. “Come on, now, before Sam gets back.”

“Isn’t this the only maximum security prison on the server?” Techno asks aloud, an amused expression on his face - one that only gets worse when Phil glares at him with one ice-blue eye.

“Shut-” he sighs, shaking his head. “You two are chaotic little shits, you know that?”

“Don’t compare me to him, Phil,” Techno complains, Dream mirroring his words with muffled protests of his own, and Phil breathes another drawn-out, long-suffering sigh as he rubs at the bridge of his nose.

“Niki, give us some fire res please?”

She finds the potion bottle between giggles, throwing it to the ground as she tries to choke down the laughter rapidly bubbling up her throat. “Of course, Phil.”

She looks back at Techno and Dream before jumping into the lava, the two of them once again lost in some sort of argument, Dream draped over Techno’s shoulder. He’s breathing easier now, she notes, and Techno looks looser too - a little less tense, leaning back with a perpetual quirk to the corner of his lip as they fire insults back and forth. This is familiar, she recognizes with a soft twist in her chest, the same way that Phil and Techno can finish each other’s sentences and look at each other with laughing eyes sharing the same memories of the past, the same way Ranboo watches Techno’s every step as he adjusts his stance and lifts his sword and Techno laughs and calls him a main character in turn, the same way she and Phil will settle together on the porch over cups of tea and sit at each other’s sides for hours. The rhythm between them is one well-established, the road well-worn - she imagines them, huddled in this dingy cell for months together, and breathes in slow and deep.

“Come on,” she smiles, making sure to keep it on her face when Dream meets her eyes with wide, startled ones of his own. Dream still isn’t an ally, and isn’t a friend.

But - she watches as he smiles back, something inexplicably warm in her chest - maybe, one day, he could be.

#tw torture #tw abuse #tw self harm #tw disordered eating #tw ed #tw sh #prison arc #pandora's vault #tw starvation #c!sam critical #c!quackity critical #my writing :D #> my writing

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spencerreidscoffeecup · 3 years

Text

Cigars Before Sex (dom!spencer)

AN: PLEASE READ THIS NOTE! I made up the facts on cigars and stuff like that (like when spencer rambles to reader how she shouldn't be smoking cigars at her age bc of frontal lobe development). They aren't real lmao i just didn't wanna do cigarettes for this story so i decided on cigars and i wanted spencer to ramble to reader about how she shouldn't smoke cigars.

ALSO! I will be doing a lot more sub! Spencer x reader ones! I have a ton of them written down, I just need to write them (obviously lmao). For now, I get lots of Dm's asking to do a Dom! Spencer x reader, so I'm doing this one, then a sub! One. love you all! <33 (i may have a sub! Spencer story coming this weekend(maybe) Im not sure, my exams are coming up soon for school, so i may be a little behind in this book, but im trying my best!)

CW: smoking (but cigars lol not cigarettes), Daddy k!nk, choking k!nk, thigh riding (kind of) edging (sort of), heavy petting, teasing, oral sex (male- receiving), Dom-Sub relationship, sub-drop, pretty big age gap (reader is 20-21, spencer is like 38 ish) [--if you are uncomfortable with that sort of age-gap, please leave or proceed to the next chapter (although it is not mentioned necessarily, that is just how I envision spencer and y/n.) :) ], degradation k!nk, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, praise k!nk, overstimulation, sub-drop (with after care!!), cockwarming

Y/n's POV:

Spencer Reid was a busy man.

When Spencer wasn't working at the BAU, he was teaching college students at the university.

When Spencer wasn't teaching college students at the university, he was at home, in our apartment, grading papers.

I loved how successful he was, but it made me sad that we couldn't spend a lot of time together; the only time alone we got was on the weekends if Spence didn't have a case.

That being said, my needs weren't always fulfilled, and I know for damn sure Spencer's weren't either as he would eat, work, work, work some more, spend time with me, and then sleep; his arms encased around me as he cuddled with me in our bed every night (over course when he didn't have cases).

As much as I loved the weekends when we would spend all of our time together, I needed him.

Like, now.

But at the moment, it was a Thursday night, and Spence was sitting at his desk in our apartment grading papers, a cigar sticking out of his mouth as he rifled through his students' essays, his pen whizzing around each paper; correcting any mistakes that they may have made.

God, he looked so good.

I tried my best to refrain from staring at him as I sat on the couch in front of his desk, reading a book. I tried focusing on my reading- really, I tried..but it was inevitable that I wouldn't be able to concentrate on anything when I saw smoke flow smoothly out of Spencer's mouth.

Heat shot to my core, and I bit my lip softly, trying my best to be good for Spencer; I knew he didn't like to get distracted.. But maybe this particular distraction I was whipping up in my mind would be allowed by him.

So, I carefully put my book down, crossing over the room to where Spencer sat. He didn't seem to notice me-or he just tried his best to stay focused- as he not once looked up from his paperwork.

Not until I plopped myself right on his lap.

"Hi," I greeted, smiling softly as I wrapped my hands around his neck.

"Hello, angel." he said, looking up from his papers to meet my eyes with his; taking the cigar out of his mouth, kissing my nose then tapping excess ash from his cigar onto the ashtray next to him, then placing the smoking cylinder back into his mouth.

He didn't say anything more, going back to work and holding my hip with his other hand.

But that wasn't enough for me. I wanted more of him.

I needed more of him.

Thankfully, I had another plan.

Slowly, I used two fingers to take the cigar out of his mouth, placing the end of it on my lips as I inhaled; the smokey taste filling my mouth.. Spencer, in the meantime, had turned his head around to look at me.

I tilted my head back, then blew out slowly, trying to be as seductive as possible.

Spencer bit his lip softly, watching the smoke flow out from my mouth and into the air as I continued to make eye-contact with him.

Snapping out of his trance, he smirked; his tongue poking the side of his mouth. He took the cigar from my lips very carefully, then tapped some of the ashes off of it on the ash-tray once more.

"You know, you really shouldn't be smoking cigars at your age.. Even though you aren't necessarily inhaling it into your lungs, you're still absorbing it into your bloodstream through the undersides of your tongue. The tobacco can run up through your bloodstream to your brain. And when you're twenty, your frontal lobe isn't completely developed yet. Your brain is fully developed at age twenty five. So, any outside disturbances like smoking cigarettes, cigars, drinking lots of alcohol, can actually mess with your brain patterns and or developments." he rambles mindlessly, and I giggle softly.

"Oh come on, Dr. Reid. It's only a few smokes." I say, combing through his hair with my fingers.

"Mhm, that's what everyone your age says when they want to try something they shouldn't." he mumbles, and I roll my eyes.

"Everyone my age talks to you about smoking cigars?" I question, and he blows smoke out of his mouth once more, creating little ringlets in the air.

"No, but everyone your age talks about wanting to partake in drug and alcohol activity.. Although cigars aren't necessarily 'drugs' they still have tobacco in them." he replies, laughing softly.

"Whatever." I say, and Spencer starts to caress my back as he blows a few more puffs of smoke out of his mouth.. Then goes back to his work.

Ugh, he's so hard to distract!

Fortunately, another plan comes to my mind.

I switch my position on his lap; sitting more-so on his crotch than necessary, and I hear his breath hitch in his throat. I grab the wrist that's hand holds the cigar, and lead it up to my mouth so I can once more wrap my lips around the foot of it.

I feel his eyes burning holes in the side of my head, and I swear, I heard him groan a bit under his breath. I blow the smoke out slower this time, and then turn to look at him.. His eyes fixated on my lips, then bouncing from my eyes, to my lips, then to my body.

He looks at me in awe.

"You better not be teasing me, little girl." he says, breaking his trance and pushing a fallen hair of mine behind my ear.

"I'm not." I say innocently, putting my hands on the sides of his thighs so I can hoist myself higher up on his lap.

I can feel him already hard against my ass, and I slowly move on it; grinding myself on him.

He bites his lip down hard; trying his best not to make a sound so I think that I'm not winning.. But I know I am.

I know that I got him where I wanted him.

"Y/n," he warns, putting the cigar out on the ashtray and then holding my hips down. "If you continue this, you will be punished..do you understand me?" he asks, placing a kiss on my shoulder.

"Please, Daddy, please," I beg. "I need you so bad."

"No. Be a good girl for me, and wait until I'm done." he says simply.

I groan in response, tilting my head back slightly.

I'm pulled out of my trance when Spencer's phone rings on his desk.

"Shit, it's Hotch." he says under his breath, looking at the flashing title on his phone.

"I'm gonna take this, and I want you to be quiet." he says to me before answering the call.

"Hey, Hotch." he says into his phone.

Mentally, I'm groaning, but I have another idea to set him off.

Slowly, I slink down the chair, underneath his desk. Spencer looks at me confusedly as I kneel in front of him.

'He won't be confused for long.' I think to myself.

I take my hand and begin massaging his clothed already-hard dick.

"Y-Yeah, uh, o-okay." he stutters, trying to stop my hand with his, but alas, gives up as I unbutton his pants, sliding his underwear down with them.

I bite my lip, smirking a bit as I begin massaging his dick with my hand, swiping a thumb over the tip that's already wet with pre-cum.

"Fuck." he whimpers softly, his hand balling into a fist on the armrest of his chair. "N-no, sorry that w-wasn't meant for you I-I just, uhm, I j-just stubbed my-my toe." Spencer lies to Hotch and I giggle softly.

I waste no time putting his dick in my mouth; wrapping my lips around the tip of his cock; the same way I did with the cigar earlier.

I take the base of him with my left hand and begin pumping as I bob my head up and down on him slowly; Spencer whimpering softly as a result.

"O-Okay, yeah.. T-that sounds great!" he squeaks, his hand flying to the back of my head, and I take that as a que to go faster. I lightly gag around him, and tears prick the corners of my eyes as Spencer bucks his hips slightly.

I groan around him, and Spencer grabs my hair in a tight grip, trying his best to keep himself from hurting me by bucking his hips more.

"A-alright, t-thanks Hotch!" Spencer says before hanging up his phone and taking a quick deep breath.

He puts his phone down and pulls my head up by my hair.

"What the fuck were you thinking? Do you want to get me fired, little girl?" he seethes.

"N-no Daddy, I just miss you and I wanted to do something for you!" I squeak, and I see Spencer's eyes soften a bit. "I'm sorry." I pout sadly.

"That's okay, pretty girl. Now... finish the job." he says, caressing the side of my face gently with his thumb.

I smile softly, and Spencer's dominant side is broken by a gentle smile crossing over his features.

Quickly, I get back down on my knees and take him in my mouth again.

"That's right little girl.." he groans, petting my head as he tilts his back a bit. "Take it like I know you can- fuck."

I take him deeper into my mouth, and soon, Spencer's breaths become faster and more jagged, a moan ripping from the back of his throat. The sound is so delicious, I begin rocking back and forth; my thighs clenched together as my core begs for more friction. I moan around his dick and the vibrations cause Spencer to come undone. I swallow his seed.

"Good girl." he breathes, looking down at me as I let go of his dick from my mouth with a small 'pop!'

"Now, come sit on my lap while I finish up my paperwork." he says, helping me up and kissing my lips.

Confusedly, I sit on his lap.

"No, no," he chuckles, grabbing my inner thigh then pushes my panties down. "Sit on my lap."

I quickly catch on, biting my lip softly as I giggle; heat creeping up to my cheeks. I pull my panties down, throwing them on the floor.

I mentally thank myself for wearing a skirt as Spencer places his hands on my waist as I sink down slowly onto him; crying out at the feeling of him stretching me out.

"Fuck, you're so tight." he whispers, and I try to move but he stops me with his hand. "Nuh-uh, you have to wait until I finish my work."

"Please, Spencer." I say breathlessly, my pussy throbbing around him.

"No. This is your punishment, angel. Now, be a good girl and sit still." he says, reaching forward to scribbling things out on his papers.

After a moment, he begins caressing my breasts, playing with my nipples. He bucks his hips up, and I cry out, my walls fluttering around him, begging for more of him.

I begin moving but he stops me again.

"Stay. Still." he orders, laying a small kiss on my shoulder blade.

"Please Daddy! I-I promise I'll be good for you." I gasp, clenching around him and he groans.

"No." He says shortly, and I squirm around his dick. "Stop moving, Y/n. This process will only take longer -shit!- it'll only take longer if you don't cooperate." he says, cursing at the feeling of my walls clenching around him again.

"I'm sorry Daddy, I'll be a good girl." I say, wanting his praise.

"Good."

Spencer continues working away, scribbling notes on his student's paper. He bucks his hips up to meet mine once in a while, but otherwise stays still. After a few more minutes, he brings his hand around my body and begins drawing circles on my clit.

I groan, my nails digging into the armrest of the chair.

"Please, move! Please Daddy I need you." I cry, fondling with my hardened nipple.

"If you've got a problem, don't even bother telling me, because I don't really fucking care." as he spoke, he thrusted up into me, his hand gripping my waist with a possessive power.

I turn a bit to see lush flash through his eyes at the sight of me massaging my breasts; his pupils dilated.

"Please. Ugh! Please I need you!" I whimper.

After a minute, he responds back.

"Fine."

I gasp at the feeling of him briefly pulling out of me to flip me over on his desk, my back to his front. "Since you have to be such a little fucking slut and I can't get my things done.. I'll just finish with you first." he growls, entering me, and I choke on a sob as he thrusts himself into me without giving me more time to adjust to his size.

"Fuck, you're so wet little girl.. So wet for me." he says, thrusting inside of me faster. After a few more thrusts he stops, pulling himself out of me once more. I whine at the loss of contact.

"Don't whine, I just wanna see your pretty little face as I fuck you." he growls, kissing my lips hungrily before thrusting himself into me harder now; a book falling off of his desk.

"Fuck!" I sob, and he begins pounding into me relentlessly.

"Language." He shoves his finger into my mouth, and I try my best not to gag on them.

I whine around his fingers, and he moans at the feeling; pulling them out of my mouth, a string of spit dribbling on my chin. He puts his fingers that are covered in my spit on my clit, rubbing circles on it and my back arches off of the table as he puts his hand behind me, keeping me from hurting myself on the corner of his desk.

"Please!" I beg, and although I'm not entirely sure what I'm begging for, he thrusts harder and faster into me, shaking the lamp on the table.

"What's wrong little girl? Got no more fight in you, huh? What're you gonna do..Cry?" he mocks, bringing his hand up from my clit to the back of my head; grasping my hair tightly.

"Daddy, you feel s-so good!" I sob, tears pricking my eyes.

"You like that, don't you? You like teasing me; almost having my boss -fuck- almost having my boss find out you were sucking my dick under my desk?" he teases, taking his hand off the back of my head then caressing my sides gently; the juxtaposition of it all intoxicatingly funny if I weren't in the situation that I was in at the moment.

"Sp-Spe.." I try to talk, but everything is so amazingly overwhelming it's too difficult.

"Awe, can't even say my fucking name? Doesn't matter anyway, you know who you belong to." he huffs, his dick now pounding into my sweet spot, and I cry; my orgasm coming sooner than I anticipated.

As if Spencer could read minds, he bends down a bit to whisper in my ear as he thrusts into me at an unholy pace. "Don't even think about coming before I do, princess.. I get to go first."

I clutch onto the table behind me, my nails dragging on the wood as I try to keep my body upright.

Spencer pushes his books off of the desk and lies my body down on the cold wood, throwing my legs over his shoulder as he pounds even deeper inside of me.

"Please don't stop." I squeak, and clench around him.

"Wasn't planning on it, princess." he growls again, kissing me ravenously on the mouth; our tongues fighting for dominance.

"Fuck me harder, please!" I beg, rocking my hips to meet his.

"God, you're such a little slut, you know that? You fucking like this." he responds, driving into me as the table rocks. "Oh my- fuck- I love you so fucking much." he groans.

Butterflies erupt in my belly, flying up to my chest; making my heart flutter.

"I love you so much, Spence." I cry, spit dribbling down my chin.

His eyes soften at my words, until he remembers his dominance and lust flashes through them.

"Fuck." he growls through clenched teeth, and I feel him cum deep inside of me, although he keeps thrusting even deeper. "Go ahead little girl, come for me." He says, bringing his hand from my waist back to my clit and begins rubbing it with his thumb.

"Spencer!" I gasp, and my orgasm hits me like a bus, my walls fluttering around him as I come. He thrusts deeper inside of me, and my back arches as I squirm underneath him, the feeling of euphoria so strong, I become light-headed.

After a moment, we both come down from our highs, and Spencer pulls out of me gently.

We catch our breaths, and Spencer kisses all over my body as I wiggle, giggling at his hair tickling my skin.

"How are you?" He asks, brushing hair out of my face.

"A little slut." I tease.

I meant it as a joke, [of course], but I see guilt flash in Spencer's eyes.

Quickly, I cup his cheeks with my hands. "I loved it, Spence.. Like I normally do. And I love you." I say, squishing his cheeks a bit as he smiles down at me.

"Do you wanna have a bath?" Spencer asks, and I squeal with excitement.

"Yes, please!"

I grab his hand, and we walk to the bathroom. Spencer turns on the water as I go pee, and takes off his tie. He unbuttons his shirt, getting completely naked.

He takes off my sheer pink tank top for me, and kisses my neck and chest.

I smile softly, emotions coursing through my veins.

I cling onto Spencer, not letting go once as we step in the bathtub; my back against his front as he wraps his arms around me once we sit down.

"I love you." I whimper, tears pricking my eyes.

"Hey, look at me." he whispers, and I turn to him, my eyes no doubt red from tears.

"I-I'm sorry I don't know why I'm crying, I just love you so much." I babble, my bottom lip puffing out a bit.

"Baby, it's okay.. It's just sub-drop." he says, brushing away the fallen tears. He puts his forehead on mine, kissing my nose gently. "And I love you so much."

I wrap my arms around his neck, and he caresses my back gently.

We whisper little I love you's to each other, and he brushes some hair away from my neck to kiss the soft skin.

I pull away, seeing Spencer's face flash with love but guilt.

"Y/n, if I hurt you.. You'd tell me, right?" he asks nervously.

"Spencer, you didn't hurt me. I loved everything about what we did." I say reassuringly, brushing some of his unruly curls out of his face; some of his hair sticking to his damp forehead.

"I know, but you'd tell me.. Right?" he asks again, his golden eyes looking into mine.

"Yes, of course I'd tell you.. But you have never hurt me, nor will you ever." I say, kissing his lips then his forehead.

"Okay, good."

There's a comfortable silence that stretches over us for a moment until he breaks it.

"Also, Y/n, I-I'm sorry for being so busy. This upcoming week is my last week at the university so I'll be able to spend more time with you. I know we barely have time to spend with each other but-.." I cut him off.. I know Spencer rambles when he gets nervous, and as much as I love his rambles, I need to shut him up this once.

"Spence, I'm so proud of you. And although I wish we could spend more time together than just weekends and small breaks.. I'm happy that you have other things besides me that make you happy."

"I rather be with you everyday than work... or anyone else for that matter." he says, swallowing thickly, but smiles at me through somewhat sad-eyes.

My eyes soften, and I kiss him softly on the lips. "I know. But I'm always here.. And I'm sort of glad that this week is your last week teaching.. is that bad?" I ask, giggling lightly.

"No, I'm glad too.. I get to spend more time with you." he replies, blushing a bit, and I kiss his nose and forehead once more.

Spencer and I smile at each other.

The rest of the bath is filled with Spencer washing me off, kisses, and cuddles.

"I love you." he whispers, tenderly caressing the sides of my body, kissing the top of each of my breasts.

"I love you." I say back, bringing his head up with my hands to kiss his lips.

I love him.

More than anything.

#spencerreid #criminalminds #spencerreidxreader #fanfic

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in-tua-deep · 4 years

Note

I would like to see Hargreaves family time please :3

HMMMM have a bonding scene ;3c

it is unedited though bc i never got around to it lmao

...

The thing they don’t tell you about recovering after escaping from terrible experiences, is that there are some things that you miss about them. You can be glad that you escaped while still mourning what you left behind, even if as far as you are concerned there shouldn’t be anything to mourn in the first place.

Five hated the apocalypse with something heavy and terrible that settled deep in his gut and that tended to be vomited out at the most inopportune times. Or perhaps it wasn’t hate at all, but fear that he experienced. Not that he would ever admit it, mind you.

But there were just some things that just - well. Five had spent over forty years in the apocalypse, sifting through rubble and ruin and scratching out equations on walls that were too broken to offer even the memory of the comfort and safety they’d once upheld. He’d spent forty years clinging to life by his fingernails and re-reading a book that was the only thing he had of his siblings outside of the grave sites he refused to visit,

He didn’t want to go back there. His entire life’s work was getting out of that hellscape and making it so that it never existed in the first place. Five hated and feared the apocalypse, but oh there were some days that he missed it with such a terrible fierceness it rather took his breath away.

He missed it on the days when nothing seemed to go right, when every word that came out of his mouth was wrong. When people looked at him with tightness around their eyes and pinched lips, and his siblings looked at him with pity in their eyes. Poor little Number Five, who couldn’t even accomplish the simplest of social interactions without inevitably fucking it up. Poor little Number Five, who forgot that people weren’t supposed to write on walls or hoard food in their rooms or freak out when someone burned food in a kitchen.

Adapting to a normal life was a challenge that Five hadn’t ever thought about - because what about his life had ever been normal? He was a child soldier, and then an apocalypse survivor, and then a temporal assassin and then - he wasn’t quite certain what he was now. Was he a child, or an adult? What was he supposed to do with himself now?

He missed that sense of purpose in the apocalypse. He missed Dolores. His one companion for so many years. He’d actually known her for longer than he’d known his own family, and wasn’t that an odd thought?

He missed the spot he’d holed up in before an earthquake had ruined it almost ten years before the Commission had found him. It wasn’t much, but he’d found a handful of records that had miraculously survived and an old record player that had even more miraculously done so.

He’d admitted to Dolores that he didn’t really know how to dance, not beyond the general flailing and swaying his siblings had used to drag him into when Luther played something from his budding collection.

(Five hadn’t had the heart to go rooting through the remains of the Umbrella Academy for things that could be salvaged, but he wondered about it often. He wondered if he’d find a whole entire collection of records, of if Luther would have lost interest and gotten rid of them all. He wondered if Allison still read through all the trashy magazines she could get her hands on as an adult, if she still tried to balance books on her head and walk regally through the house just because she’d read it once in a princess book or if she’d grown out of that.

He was back now, and perfectly capable of asking, but he didn’t. He looked at his siblings and saw strangers and missed his childhood even with the shadow of Reginald looming over them all. He loved his siblings as they were now, but oh he ached with the knowledge that the siblings he had known, the ones he had tried so hard to get back to, were lost to time. As good as dead. But then again, perhaps so was he.

He wasn’t the child who left on that fateful November day. He would never be him again.)

He missed Dolores teaching him to dance under the pale moon. Or well, not perhaps dancing so much as gently swaying together with his arms around her, cheek pressed against hers, as he closed his eyes and pretended for a moment that he hadn’t met her in the apocalypse at all. That they’d just bumped into one another in the street and gone on dates where he made her laugh and where he stressed about what to wear - a million inconsequential moments that meant nothing and everything at the same time. He’d wished they’d had a life together instead of the slow drawn out death that was the only thing that existed in the apocalypse.

And perhaps, there were other things he didn’t know he would miss until they were already gone and out of reach. Things he didn’t even think about, until he looked up at night and wondered where all the stars had gone.

It was a silly thing to get upset over, to go tearing through the house like a man possessed to figure out what had happened to the stars.

(Or perhaps it wasn’t so silly after all - the almost-apocalypse he had witnessed destroyed the moon. Was it such a reach to wonder about the stars, as well?)

Light pollution was the simple answer. It wasn’t that the stars were no longer there, just that they were drowned out. Only a few pinpricks bright enough to shine through and be picked up by the human eye. There had been no human lights in the apocalypse, with no one to turn them on or off except one lonely man who had a flashlight with scavenged batteries. Not nearly enough to make any difference.

The stars had been so beautiful. On the clear crisp nights, he’d lay next to Dolores on the ground staring up at the brilliant specks of light and tried his darnest to remember the constellations that once upon a time Luther had enthusiastically outlined for his unattentive brother at the height of his space phase.

(“When we get back,” He’d whispered to Dolores ever so softly, in the way he whispered every wish that only seemed appropriate to utter out loud under the night sky, “I’m going to get Luther to tell me them again, and I’ll actually listen this time. I won’t tell him to shut up, or that stars aren’t important. I’ll listen.”

He’d never been very good at listening, even as a child. But outside of a seven day deadline - the apocalypse had taught him patience. It was something the Commission found to be a boon as well - there was nothing more deadly than a very patient predator on the hunt, after all.)

Klaus had told him that the apocalypse was an addiction, and Five had done his best to quit cold turkey.

He’d returned Dolores to her store, mourning what could never be between them. In darker moments, he wondered if she would have ever actually chosen him - in that imaginary world where they met on a crowded street by happenstance. They’d been forced together at the end of the world, and even though he loved her he wondered about things like choice and happiness and shared trauma. Them breaking up was the right thing to do, he knew that, he just hadn’t realized quite how much it would hurt.

So it shouldn’t come as a surprise that Five sought comfort where he could. That he stole a record from Luther’s collection (it had gotten bigger, a passion pursued into adulthood which was one question answered) that he must have played dozens of times on that record player in their little sanctuary at the end of the world. That he slept on the floor instead of the bed that was far too soft in so many ways.

That he crept up to the roof and lay on his back and stared at the stars that were visible, remembering a sky filled with diamonds and a cool hand in his own and whispered hopes and dreams and secrets from one terribly lonely boy to the uncaring infinity of the cosmos.

And maybe it shouldn’t come as a surprise that it wasn’t long until he was discovered up there, gazing at the sky with such careful mourning carved across his face.

(He hated and feared the apocalypse, but he mourned it as well. It had raised him, in the harsh and terrible way that was all the apocalypse knew how to do. He’d been raised by Reginald Hargreeves and forged in bruises and thoughtless brutality, and then delivered into the arms of something else that didn’t care for him either.

He grew into a boy with careless cruelty and harsh criticisms and a love for his siblings that burned hotter and longer than any fire the apocalypse could produce. He grew into a man, or perhaps just something man-shaped, in starvation and desperation and terrible all-consuming loneliness.

Reginald had been fond of telling them, “You will learn through suffering.” It was something trotted out whenever the children were forced to skip meals or run up and down stairs until their insides twisted and they retched on the floor barely held up by burning thighs and weak knees. It was being tossed behind locked doors until they promised their unrelenting obedience to a man who had done nothing to deserve it.

If suffering was a teacher, then surely Five was one of the wisest people alive.)

“What are you doing up here?” Luther asks, too loud in the stillness of the night. Five doesn’t begrudge him it though, it wasn’t every day one was confronted by their teenage shaped brother laying listlessly on the roof at hours when everybody should be tucked away in bed.

“What are you doing up here?” Five parrots back, melancholy mood sharpening the edge of his words into something more pointed than he perhaps meant them to be.

Luther shuffles, looking awkward in his own skin as he so often does. It’s enough to make Five soften, just ever so slightly. After all, Luther isn’t exactly the only member of the house who feels alien in their own body.

Perhaps it’s cruel to take comfort in his brother’s discomfort. But perhaps Five is cruel. It isn’t the worst thing he’s been called in his life.

(No one speaks about the dinner where Five and Diego had been sniping at one another and pushing each other’s buttons where Diego had brought up Five abandoning the family. That had been his exact word - abandoning. Five had frozen and Diego had pressed on, snarling about Five not getting an opinion about Reginald because he’d ditched so early and left the rest of them to Dad’s tender mercies. He’d said far more, but the rest of that dinner was a blur of sound and colors for Five.

Diego had apologized over the incident and then proceeded to not look Five in the eye for the next week. The whole family were so good at picking at one another’s weak spots and hitting them hard and fast. It was practically second nature. They knew which points to leave alone when it came down to it for each other, but not for Five. Not yet.

They didn’t know him anymore. It was a work in progress navigating their respective minefields of trauma in the meantime.)

“I asked you first.” Luther says, childish statement bringing Five out of his own thoughts. At the end of the day, they are brothers.

And perhaps it is that brotherly spirit that prompts Five’s lips to quirk as he offers the equally childish response of: “I asked you second.”

Luther scowls, but he’s fully aware of exactly how stubborn Five could be. That’s Five, built out of spite and pettiness, who never knew how to just lay down and give up. But if he’d been any less himself, they would never be there that night on the roof irritating one another. The thought fills Five up with something that could almost be called fondness.

Luther crosses his arms, and looks away. “I like looking at the stars.” He admits haltingly, and it makes Five sit up from where he was still sprawled on the ground. “I just - on the moon - I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.” Five cuts in with a fierceness that surprises them both. Five doesn’t look at Luther, just the sky. “There’s not as many stars, here. Not that you can see. It’s supposed to look different, but what’s left is still comforting because the sky is a constant. Because the stars don’t really change, even when the rest of the world does.”

“Yeah.” Luther sounds surprised at Five’s insight. There’s a moment of hesitation before Luther is gently lowering himself down to sit on the roof a few feet away from where Five is. When Five dares to sneak a glance, Luther’s eyes are trained on the sky with an almost wistful look on his face.

“I know I’m not supposed to miss it,” Luther begins, and the thought sounds so much like what Five was just pondering that he can’t help but startle. Thankfully, Luther doesn’t see. “But - it was always my dream, you know? To go up there, into space. I know it was just a rejection now, that Dad didn’t want me around so he wouldn’t have to face his failure.” Luther’s face twisted as he spat out the last word. He’d taken it hard, learning that he was just as insignificant in the grand scheme of their father’s plans as the rest of them.

“But.” Luther continues, his face smoothing out, “It was still four years of my life. I had a routine. It was lonely, but god Five. The weightless feeling? The stars? The sunrises? There’s nothing quite like it.”

There’s a silence between them for a moment that Five decides to break. Because he’s trying, he really is.

“Sometimes,” Five says, so softly that Luther actually shifts closer to hear him, “Sometimes the apocalypse was beautiful. A decade or so in, when the plants just tentatively started realizing it was safe to grow again, and the weeds came back first. Just spots of green and bright yellow dotted through the cracks and crevices.”

(Five had spent many springs of his life wandering through the rubble, leaning down to pick dandelions to admire before he ate them. Even when he was terribly hungry, he’d never eaten all of them - always leaving some to mature and bring more the next year. Picking them up and blowing softly and remembering the first time he’d seen one - on a mission where Ben had quietly and excitedly informed them that they had to blow on it and make a wish. That he’d read about it in a book.

Five had made the same wish for forty some years. He wasn’t sure what he’d wish for now, now that it had come true.)

“And when the skies were clear, at night - the stars were beautiful.” Five admitted, Luther made a sound but Five ignored it to carry on because if he didn’t speak his mind now he might never. “There were so many Lu, way more than we ever saw out our bedroom windows. And on nights where the moon was just a sliver, there were even more. We’d lay out there for hours.”

Luther coughs. Five looks over and isn’t quite sure why there’s a guilty look on his brother’s face. “’We’ would uh, be you and uh, Dolores, right?”

Ah, that would explain it. Luther always got that look when Five brought up Dolores, no doubt thinking about when he’d held her out of a window as leverage to prevent Five from killing someone. Luther hadn’t known then, Five thinks, about exactly how much Dolores meant to him. He’d known she was important, but hadn’t known why. He hadn’t asked.

There’s nothing Five can do but nod though, in response to the question. “Yeah. She likes the stars, she’s always loved things that glitter.” It was why she loved sequins so much, and Five was secure enough to admit that he liked them as well.

There’s an awkward silence between them now, one that Five can’t help but try and break. “I tried to remember the constellations.” He blurts out, grasping at the connection the two of them had shared before it slips between his fingers and results in them quietly going to their rooms and forgetting this conversation ever happened.

He can’t look at Luther, not as he admits this. So he doesn’t, he turns his gaze upwards to the pinpricks of light. “Do you remember, when we were eight and Mom gave you that book of constellations? And you wouldn’t shut up about it for like, a whole month? You kept waking all of us up and dragging us to the roof and you said we had to listen to you because you were Number One?”

Luther surprises Five just a little by laughing, “Yeah! Yeah I do remember that. Diego threatened to throw me off the roof if I ever woke him up in the middle of the night again after the fourth time and I’m pretty sure Klaus learned morse code to complain about me to Ben.”

Five grins, “Nah, don’t flatter yourself. He learned morse code with Ben to gossip at dinner. Your little nighttime shows were just something else he could yell about in front of Dad without anyone the wiser.”

“Of course he did.” Luther just sounds exasperated at their most colorful sibling’s antics, which is a big improvement on how he would have felt about it when they were actually eight. “To be honest, I didn’t think any of you actually listened to what I was saying at the time. I’m surprised you remembered.”

Five shuffles, not exactly wanting to admit he doesn’t remember most of the content but not quite willing to lie to his brother either. “I only remembered bits and pieces. Some names, other shapes. Those three stars that make up that one dude’s belt or something.”

“You didn’t just find some astronomy book?” Luther asks, looking puzzled. He doesn’t look offended at least, that Five didn’t pay that much attention during those lectures so many years ago. To be fair, he’s had plenty of time to come to terms with the idea.

“It felt disloyal.” Five admits after a heartbeat, only half grudgingly. He isn’t exactly the king of heart to hearts, but there is something about Luther that seems to encourage them in him. Even during the stress of the days preceding the apocalypse weighing on him, it had been Luther who Five had told about finding their bodies and who Five had told not to waste his life.

Maybe it was the certain level of kinship between them, both of them trapped in bodies that they did not choose and did not want. Both of them left alone for years on end, having to relearn how to interact with the general populace. Luther was loyal where Five was rebellious, but they had enough common ground between them to be significant.

“Disloyal?” Luther’s tone isn’t quite questionioning, just offering a way for Five to continue his thought where he’d trailed off.

Five’s stomach squirms at the blatant emotion, but it would have to try a lot harder than that to stop him after he’d gotten used to the hollow aching pain of starvation. “I didn’t want to learn the constellations from a book.” He says, and it’s easier to admit to hopes and wishes in the dark with the stars above him. It’s familiar. It’s not Dolores next to him, but Luther isn’t half bad company when he’s by himself. “I wanted to learn them from you, except you weren’t around to ask anymore.”

Now that he’s out of that hellscape, he can half admit to himself that not allowing himself to pick up an astronomy book might have been him giving himself even more incentive to go back and fix things. Not that he needed it but - half of it might have also been a sort of punishment for abandoning his family to whatever fate left them buried in rubble and dead at the end of the world as well. Never let it be said that any of Five’s coping mechanisms were actually healthy.

There’s a silence where Luther mulls that over, before he opens his mouth with a soft expression, “I’m around now.”

It’s an offer and a question rolled into one. It’s not Luther immediately launching into a lecture assuming that’s what Five wants or needs at the moment, it’s him asking, which is an improvement all in itself. If Five was too raw tonight, he would accept that without a question and they could look at the sky in silence together until the dawn came.

The ball is in Five’s court.

“What - what’s the name of the dude with the belt?” Five asks, hesitant and careful and feeling as brittle as the porcelain vases that Reginald decorated the halls with.

Luther’s answering smile is bright and tender enough to hurt.

“His name’s Orion...” Luther explains, and Five closes his eyes and lets Luther’s voice wash over him. When he opens them, it seems like the stars twinkle just a tiny bit brighter than before.

Or that might just be his imagination.

#ask me #yeAH i volunteered to do a luther and five piece bc very few people wants to tag in for luther #look i'm not luther's biggest fan but he has some rights #then again i haven't seen s2 maybe he loses what few rights he has #but i can't help but draw parallels between his and five's experiences #me holding up luther: stinky but still good #tua #the umbrella academy #far tua long #long post #five hargreeves #number five #luther hargreeves #i don't THINK i posted this before but correct me if i'm wrong #should i put this on the masterlist ????? what would i even put it under idk #Anonymous #oneshots

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ultraintrovertedgryffindor · 3 years

Note

Yes ! Can you maybe do an imagine where the reader breaks up with Will because they dont think they’re good enough for him ?? But with a happy ending where they get back together because he really wants to be with them

Of course, sweet Anon!😊 Man, y'all really love angst lmao In retrospect, this might be a bit too angsty😬I blame Bo Burnham's Inside

This imagine is going to be really depressing, like a lot. There will be mentions of attempted suicide and self harm so, SEVERE TRIGGER WARNING.

~~~~~~~~~~

It had been over a year since you broke up with Will.

You'd never felt more depressed in your life, but you thought it was the right decision at the time. What bullshit that turned out to be...

Your crippling insecurity forced your mind to think you didn't deserve to have someone as amazing as Will, he was so thoughtful and you were so, well, so dependent.

You weren't in the best stage of your life when you met Will, you were in a really dark place and you had even more trouble getting out of it. You haven't really made much progress since then, but you tried.

You just wanted to feel better for once. Every day, you just felt like you were drowning and taking Will with you.

He was your rock, and he made sure that he was right beside you every time you felt bad. Of course, being an actor, he had to go away sometimes and you always told him that you'd be fine. You weren't, of course, but you were always so happy for him whenever he'd book a film or TV show because it made him happy.

There were days you just felt numb, mostly when Will wasn't with you. Those days you'd just lay in your bed, sob uncontrollably until the exhaustion would put you to sleep.

Will felt helpless, and you could always see it on his face. He was worried about you, he wanted to help you, but it wasn't something that he could change or do anything about. Him worrying about you day and night made you feel even worse, that was not what you wanted for him. He deserved to be with something that lifted him up and encouraged him, not someone who's depressing all the time and unintentionally bringing him down with them. No...you didn't want that for him at all.

It was inevitable, but it didn't make it any easier to break up with him.

Will's heartbroken face would forever be engrained in your mind, but you kept telling yourself it was in his best interest.

You cried the hardest you ever cried in your entire life. You loved him so much, you didn't want to let him go, but you couldn't let your toxicity ruin his life. And you honestly thought that it would get better in time, but it only made your mental state deteriorate ever more.

One night, when the pain got too hard to handle, you took and broke your shaving razors, taking out the blades.

In hindsight, you really wished you hadn't, you felt embarrassed about it for the longest time. But trying to look on the bright side, it did force you to finally get the professional help you needed. Therapy, medication, the whole nine yards. You kicked yourself for not getting yourself help sooner, because you felt better now that you were going to therapy.

You still struggled a lot, but you knew once you found the right medication, it would become more bearable, and it did eventually. It took a lot of hard work.

You thought about Will a lot, what he was up to, if he found someone else that he loved. The thought was painful, but all you wanted for him was to find true happiness.

One day, you decided to go out to a coffee shop one morning, as opposed to just Postmateing yourself like you normally did. Your therapist did say you needed to get out more, so you took their advice.

You walked through town, a simple little coffee shop catching your eye. The name sounded familiar to you, though you couldn't quite place why. You didn't think you'd been to this place before, you usually made your own coffee, but you wanted to give it a try.

The light ring of a bell filled your ears as you opened the front door. It was a really cold morning, so the warm heat hitting your skin and inhaling the strong smell of coffee and freshly made bakeries put a small smile on your face.

You were thankful that there wasn't a line, possibly to early in the morning, maybe you got there before the usual early birds. Though looking around, it was a small place, only a few book readers scattered amongst the small tables that were set up opposite of the counter where you ordered.

While waiting for your coffee, a wall full of art caught your eye. You walked closer to look at all the pieces, all of them painted by customers. Hmm, cute...

You didn't really acknowledge the bell ringing once more, signaling an arrival of another customer, to focused on the pretty art.

"Hey!" You heard one of the workers say cheerfully, probably addressing the new customer. "Your usual, Will?"

Your smile dropped. Ha, what are the odds, right?

"Yep, of course. Thank you."

Then, your heart dropped.

You recognized that voice anywhere. Now you knew why this shop sounded so familiar, it was Will's favorite place to get coffee, he had mentioned it to you before. Of course, of all the coffee places in town, you had to pick this one.

You slowly turned around, your heart beating out of your chest and almost coming to a complete stop once you laid eyes on his face. That face you always thought about, even in your dreams. "Wi-"

"Y/n!" You cringed as the coffee shop worker called out your name, telling you that your coffee was ready.

Will immediately snapped his gaze over to you, clearly having trouble believing it was actually you. You stood there awkwardly, having a hard time reading his expression. Was he mad? Sad? Happy?

"Y/n." Will almost whispered, taking a couple steps closer to you.

Will looked the same, just as handsome as when you last saw him. His eyes were locked onto you, looking you over in awe. He thought you looked so much healthier now, but always thinking that you look stunning, no matter the circumstance.

"How...how are you?" Will started, a small smile finally stretching across his lips. "You look," He chuckled softly, "amazing."

You looked down slightly when your face started to burn, all of your blood seeming to rush right to your face from one simple compliment. "Thank you." You said sheepishly. "You look amazing too, as usual."

Now it was Will's turn to blush, his easy to spot with his fair complexion. "Uh, do you wanna, maybe, sit down? Or we could go somewhere else, if you want to, that is. Don't feel pressured or anything." He rambled.

You smiled. "Yeah, sure." You grabbed your coffee and joined Will at the table he chose to sit at. "So, uh, how've you been?" You asked, taking tiny sips of your hot drink.

"Good, good. I'll be filming a new project soon, so that'll be fun." Will paused for a beat, then sighing despairingly . "I've been, uh, thinking about you. A lot."

"I've been thinking about you too."

"I kinda lied. I am filming something soon but, I haven't been good. Ever since we broke up, life just...kind of feels a bit grey now."

You frowned, biting your lip hard to keep tears from welling up in your eyes. "I'm sorry, Will..." You whispered. "I thought you'd be better off without me to drag you down. I was such a burden."

Will furrowed his brows, shaking his head with a frown. "No. You weren't dragging me down, I loved you, Y/n. I would've done anything for you. I know that you struggled a lot with your mental health, but I wanted to be with you through all that. I never thought you were a burden, not for a second."

"I just," You wiped an unwanted tear from your cheek, "I don't think I was ready to be in a relationship then. I've been working really hard on my health and now that I have a clearer mindset, I think it was probably for the best that I broke up with you when I did."

Will took a deep breath. "I respect that. I do. I'm happy for you, that you're better now. I don't want this to come off as selfish...but I still love you. I want to be with you. But I understand if you can't be in a relationship right now. I'll wait for you, as long as it takes if you'll let me."

You blushed furiously once more. At this point, you practically wanted to throw yourself at this man. You didn't care if it didn't work out again, you still wanted him, badly.

"I still love you too, Will. Always have."

Will smiled softly. "I don't want you to be my partner again if you're not ready."

"I don't know if I am, I'm still working on myself, but...goddamn I wanna kiss you so bad right now." You said, eliciting another blush and a shy laugh from Will.

You answered him by leaning forward slowly, rubbing your nose against his before gent as you smiled widely at him, leaning closer. You almost shivered as his cold hands reached over to delicately trace your jawline, the gesture automatically putting you in a sort of trance where you could only look into his eyes.

"I really want to kiss you." Will giggled, fully cupping the side of your jaw. "May I?"

You answered him by leaning forward slowly, rubbing your nose against his before gently connecting your lips with his.

Over a year of wanting and missing Will, you ignored your dislike of PDA, you've needed this for so long. The spark you always felt when you kissed him was still there, still giving you goosebumps along with an intense desire you definitely couldn't act on in this coffee shop.

Will pulled away, only to rest his forehead against yours, his eyes closed just relishing in the moment. "I've missed you so much."

"Me too." You chuckled breathlessly.

"I don't want you to feel like you have to rush back into things. We can take it slow if that's what you want."

This man was always such a gentleman, but it just made you even more eager to take him home with you.

"Right now, I don't think I'm capable of taking things slow." You said, a almost seductive tone to your voice.

Will smiled playfully, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "That's absolutely not taking things slow."

"How about we go to my place? Make up all the lost time?" You asked not as confidently, the feeling of rejection making you nervous, but Will smiled gently, taking a hold of your hand and kissing you once more.

"Lead the way."

~~~~~~~~~~

Hope you enjoyed! Hopefully it wasn't too depressing and dark in the beginning.

#will poulter #will poulter imagine #will poulter x reader #tw depression #tw sh #trigger warning

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mypoisonedvine · 4 years

Text

Closer | Bucky Barnes x reader

I wrote this for @mariessecretfantasies’ 500 follower challenge, took me forever but it’s done!! congrats on 500 love, although I bet (and hope) you’re well past that now.

my ‘prompt’ was a song, specifically Closer by Nine Inch Nails… so it’s filthy. purely filth, no plot. don’t say I didn’t warn you. special thanks to @evnscvll for the proofread!

warnings: SMUT of course, mild(?) dub con, d/s dynamics, oral sex (m receiving), vaginal sex, anal sex (and the prep is...not that good), ass-to-mouth (i’m literally blushing as I type this oml i’m so sorry), mentions of blood, slapping, spitting, degradation, semi-public sex, pain kink, and some other generally unhygienic behaviors… this isn’t a dark fic per se but it’s got 0 fluff. not even one ounce of fluff detected. definitely no aftercare lmao. ain’t nobody got time for that.

word count: a bit under 3k

He couldn’t drink anymore-- well, he could, but he couldn’t get drunk, so there was no use. Couldn’t get high on any drug, either. Pain didn’t affect him the way it did other people. But everybody has their vice, their way of hurting themselves to feel something when they can’t feel anything else. You were his, and he was yours.

You couldn’t even remember now how it started. There was definitely alcohol involved, but past that you weren’t sure what had compelled you two to stumble into bed together. Even at the time you had realized it was irresponsible and probably not worth the trouble, but it seemed inevitable in some weird way.

That was how it always felt, actually. Like tonight, when he met your gaze from across the bar. His eyes were so dark, demanding-- it made you shiver even though it only lasted for a moment before he looked away, pulled into conversation with Bruce. But you knew what it meant.

Didn’t matter anyhow; it was a big party, the whole crew and nearly all of the Tower staff were crawling the halls. There was no guarantee of privacy at a time like this.

You were chatting with Wanda when you felt a hand slip around your arm, pulling you back into somebody’s form-- of course you knew it was him, you could tell by the roughness of his skin, the smell of him, the way he pressed against your back…

“Can I speak to you privately for a moment?” Bucky requested with poorly-suppressed irritation, his lips almost pressed against your ear.

“S-sure,” you stumbled over your response. You got the sense that there wouldn’t be much speaking, but you couldn’t turn him down in front of these people without giving yourself away.

And that was how you ended up in a broom closet, pressed against the wall with his tongue dominating your mouth and his hands somehow feeling like they were touching you everywhere all at once.

“Buck, wait,” you managed to murmur against his mouth as his lips crashed into yours.

“Tired of waiting,” he growled in reply. “Turn around.”

You didn’t even think to question it, just obeyed his command blindly as he slammed you into the wall and began pushing your dress up, pulling your underwear aside.

“Not here,” you groaned.

“Shut up,” he hissed.

The absolute second that his cock was free he was shoving it between your legs and fucking you with unmatched speed and ferocity. It nearly burned, the way it forced you open, but it was exactly what you needed. You arched your back to accept his length more easily, your head falling back in pleasure. He responded by grabbing your hair and pulling it until your back arched even more.

“Oh god, Bucky,” you whimpered. In response, he slammed his hand over your mouth and fucked you even harder, as if it were punishment; he didn’t like when you said his name in times like this. He didn’t want to think about who he was, or who you were, or what the two of you were doing. He just wanted to feel you and nothing else.

Funny how a man who’d been unwillingly brainwashed actually craved the chance to forget.

His other hand moved from your hair and slipped down between your legs, roughly rubbing your clit as your hips bucked and thrashed in response. He held you still through it, biting down on your neck hard enough to make you worry about the skin breaking. But he knew by now that you liked the threat of pain, which is why he slipped his left hand down from your mouth to your neck. The sound of your breath halting to silence was so perfect that he had to bite his lip to keep from moaning.

Already your vision was spotting into darkness, starting at the corner of your eyes and moving in. As you lost your connection with the visual aspects of your reality, everything else became stronger, and it felt like you were somehow seeing better than ever.

He stopped thrusting and leaned closer to your ear. “When I let go of your neck,” he explained quietly, his voice dark and rough, “get on the floor on your hands and knees.”

He released his grip and your lungs sucked in air faster than they could handle, making you cough and sputter a little. Still, you turned around to begin following his instructions. You got a better look at him than you had before. His eyes were so blown out that they were nearly black, watching you with hungry rage. Or maybe it was raging hunger.

You felt his gaze follow you as you stepped around him, bending down and getting on the floor. It was cold and a little bit gritty, both of which made you shudder. You became aware of the wetness which had leaked from your opening, smeared over your thighs and made an uncomfortable patch on the edge of your panties. You didn’t have to worry about that much longer, though, as he kneeled behind you and ripped them off.

“Buck, I need those--”

He slapped your ass, with the vibranium hand. It was so hard that you perceived the sound before your body processed the pain. As you lurched forward, your squeal of pain tore and cracked in your throat, so much that you could barely recognize it as yourself.

One hand slid your dress up further, admiring the warmth and smoothness of your skin, two fingers running along your spine; the other guided his cock to your pussy again.

You weren’t quite ready, not exactly wet or warmed up enough for this angle. You were sure this was the most your body could take, if not a little bit more. The way he pushed into you-- ignoring the resistance of your inner walls, your skin breaking out into goosebumps, your arms and legs quivering-- put you entirely at his mercy. Just as you were about to cry out in response to it all, he roughly shoved three fingers into your mouth: flesh, sweaty and dirty, tasting slightly of scotch and gun oil. They pushed your cheeks out from the inside, stretched your chapped lips until they cracked and you tasted blood. You swirled your tongue around them anyways, ignoring the way it caused drool to lewdly drip down his hand and your chin.

He smiled, in a twisted way, as he looked down at you. “You need it so bad, don’t you?”

You nodded feverishly, groaning around his fingers and letting your eyes flutter shut.

He used the hand on your back to guide your movements, watching your body as it swallowed his length to the base. He could tell you were struggling with his size, and he was almost impressed with your fortitude. Unfortunately for you, it only made him want to push you further.

Pulling his fingers from your mouth, he grabbed your arms at your elbow and held them behind your back, using them to keep you upright as he slammed into you. Each thrust made your knees scrape on the concrete, and your shoulders were twisted into an awkward position that made your muscles burn, but you didn’t care. All it did was add tinder to the flame of pleasure.

Tears stung the back of your eyes. You always cried when he fucked you like this, and he either didn’t care or didn’t notice; it was just so intense, you couldn’t stop yourself. You would probably be bleeding when he was finally done with you, and you would definitely be sore (on the outside and inside) tomorrow.

“Gonna cry, bitch? Can’t take it?” he hissed. You always got wet when he talked like that. Then again, you got wet whenever he talked at all.

Your voice came out hoarse and cracked when you spoke. “Harder,” you barely managed to grit out through your teeth.

Instead what he did was pull out and flip you over, slapping you straight across the face. There was nowhere to hide from him now, with your legs spread and your clothes torn to shreds, so you didn’t even try to suppress the moan when he hit you. He grunted and hit you again, spinning your face the other way. You wanted to ask him to hit you again but he just shoved himself inside you again, putting his weight on your neck as he wrapped a hand around it. You couldn’t moan but you could arch your back; he pushed down on your stomach until you couldn’t do that anymore either, and it forced your g-spot to push right into his cock. You would’ve screamed if you could; it felt so fucking good, too good, too much all at once.

Who could say how long that went on for? It didn’t feel subject to time or space, it all just felt like sensation-- sensation which washed over you until you didn’t know how to experience anything else. So often our bodies feel like machines, slaves to routine. A body which must rise in the morning, rest in the evening; a mind which must toil over the past and worry for the future. Now, you didn’t even know your own name-- you didn’t even understand what a name was for. Your only purpose now, and your only goal, was to feel.

That was what you craved about this: the chance to forget about everything else.

At some point you were pulled back into reality by the way he was manhandling you, tossing you back onto your knees and pulling your body flush with his by your hair.

“Beg me to let you come,” he growled, but you couldn’t even think long enough to put a sentence together, let alone actually get it out. He bit down on your shoulder and you whimpered in pain.

“P-please,” you sighed-- it came out so quiet that even you could barely hear it. His teeth sunk in deeper; you tried to say it again but it was caught in your throat.

He pulled your head to the side by your hair, and slapped the half that was exposed. “Beg me to let you come,” he repeated, slower, “you dumb fucking whore.”

“Please… please, let me come,” you mumbled.

“Louder.”

You hesitated, about to remind him that the hallways outside probably had people passing through and someone might hear you, but your hesitation was rewarded only with more violence as he hit you again-- even harder than the last time. You yelped and bit down on your lip.

You hadn’t realized how weak you were until he let go and you instantly fell to the floor, your hips held up by his hands but your face pressed against the cold cement.

“You can come,” he decided, almost flippantly, as he fucked into you deeper and harder. It seemed like he knew your body better than you did: he made you come faster, for one, and he saw it coming sooner as well. It was slightly embarrassing, but then again, you were on your knees in a broom closet so that was sort of beside the point.

It seemed to hit you all at once, and with no sign of stopping. You reached up to claw at the wall but it did nothing to keep you stable as shocks reverberated through your body. You were about to space out again when you felt the metal tip of his thumb press against your tighter rim.

“W-wait,” you gasped, but he pressed in further and your words were lost to a whimper.

“Oh, you can’t play innocent with me, sweetheart. I know you want me to fuck this little ass. Go ahead, say it.”

“F-fuck my ass, please,” you begged. It sounded shameless, but there was certainly shame (and fear) tingling in your gut.

The thumb pushed in all the way, and before you could deal with the way that felt, it was replaced with two fingers. You hissed from the sting, but willed your body to relax as you fell back into that headspace and simply let everything happen to you.

The transition from two to three fingers was barely noticeable. But you definitely noticed when he pulled everything out of you, guiding the head of his cock higher up. He moved your hips closer as you went limp in his grasp-- a drooling, mindless fuckdoll who, apparently, spread your legs for him whenever he wanted. It was some undefinable mixture of demeaning and liberating.

His cock pressed against your opening, and when it finally pushed past the tightness with a nauseating pop, you bit your lip.

You almost felt prideful when you heard him moan; he was usually pretty quiet. How you managed to feel any sense of achievement or value when you were face down in a broom closet getting fucked up the ass… that was a different issue.

He didn’t give you much time to adjust as he picked up his speed, fucking you so much gentler than he ever did but still rougher than you were expecting, somehow. Each time he was buried all the way inside, you felt like you were miles beyond your body’s limits, fuller and wider than was possible. It made you wet, uselessly.

When he moved faster, his balls slapped against your pussy and you could hear how much you were loving this, even as disgusting and painful as it was. He leaned forward to push your face into the ground and fucked you harder. The new angle pushed him even deeper, opened you up even more brutally, and you couldn’t suppress a cry of pain.

“How’s it feel, huh?” he taunted.

“It hurts,” you told him with a voice much whinier than you intended, but you weren’t exactly complaining. And you definitely weren’t asking him to stop.

Not that you were worried that he would. If anything, it only inspired him to push you further as he grabbed your hips tight to slam you back onto his cock.

He didn’t announce that he was close, but you could just barely tell based on the way your hazy brain couldn’t ignore the rapid increase in his thrusts. A broken growl was your signal that he was filling you with come but you were too numb to feel any difference. He kept fucking you through it, only stopping once every drop was inside you. When he slowed to a stop you sighed with relief, wincing a little as he pulled out and trying to ignore the lewd way that your hole flexed and constricted. You felt his come leaking as it dripped down over your pussy, down your thighs and onto the floor.

The smell in this cramped space was inescapable, and putrid, and only now did you really become aware of it.

“Don’t just lay there,” he scoffed as he stood up, “come over here and get on your knees.”

At this point, you were so well-trained that you were obeying his words before you’d even processed them or taken the time to question what his intentions were.

You looked up at him with watery eyes as he stroked his cock right above your face. He was looking at you with the most uninterpretable expression… cold eyes, tightened jaw, lips curled into a grimace.

“Clean me off,” he demanded, shoving his softening length into your mouth, “come on, clean my cock off.”

You grimaced but did as he asked, sucking and licking as it slid down your tongue and back into your throat. Didn’t take much of him for you to start choking, considering his size.

“Breathe through your nose,” he offered as a solution, but you had been trying to avoid smelling or tasting it. You didn’t even want to think about it.

You even took the time to lick his balls clean, too, and they tasted like your own arousal, bringing back some memories which managed to disturb you in spite of their recentness. When he was satisfied, he pushed you back onto the floor by your throat, and you swallowed thickly.

As per usual, he said nothing as he stuffed himself back into his jeans, or as he made a hasty exit. When he shut the door behind him, you were left there used up and tossed aside; dress ruined, mascara smeared, panties torn, come seeping out of you, gasping for breath. You had no plan for getting out of here without everyone seeing you; you had no plan for getting out of this sick, addictive cycle with him. In the meantime, you would sit in the empty room and wait for the blood flow to return to your numbed extremities, wait for the aftershocks of arousal and orgasm to subside, and let yourself bask in the comfort of the dark.

#maries500challenge #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes smut #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan x y/n #bucky barnes x y/n #winter soldier smut #winter soldier fanfiction #winter soldier x reader

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aangarchy · 2 years

Note

📕📖 pls :) Im very curious

This one is an apocalyptic scenario set in europe (bc i'm tired of every apocalypse story taking place in the US). It's a story that continues to flash back to the past and forth to the present, so we get the current situation as well as how we got there. There's four main characters and all of their stories get told, they all end up meeting and having to survive together. The apocalypse is a virus that basically eats at ur organs. When it enters the brain you kind of go feral, and for humans it takes two weeks to get to the brain. Symptoms start with what looks like the flu, but eventually you turn into a mindless creature that only lives to eat human flesh, and the hunger can never be stopped.

Our character Nora (self insert lmao) is a Belgian girl who's in college. When the apocalypse starts she gets split up from her family at the quarantine zone. She decides to camp out with her best friend, a girl called Maxine who goes to class with her and has a son. Maxine lives in the quarantine zone, in an apartment in Antwerp. Nora also secretly has a crush on Maxine. Maxine however ends up getting infected and bites her own son. Nora ends up having to kill both Maxine and the baby boy. This eats at her for the rest of the story. As the quarantine zone gets smaller and smaller Nora befriends three others. Manon, Mats and Annelies. Manon and Mats both end up dying when the quarantine zone eventually falls.

Annelies is a Chinese-Belgian. She's the same age as Nora. I haven't fully figured out her story yet, but basically her parents are stuck in China when the apocalypse breaks out (they went to see the sick grandma) and Annelies and her twin brother Axel have to survive together. Axel ends up dying. Annelies meets Nora once she makes it to the quarantine zone.

Then we have Josiah. He's a British construction worker, and about three years older than the first two. He lived in London when the apocalypse broke out, and because the apocalypse started in the US (bc ofc it did) a lot of them fled to Europe, he chose to join the American flood to Europe and made it all the way to Kopenhagen. But then the quarantine camp in Kopenhagen gets overrun by infected. He then basically jumps from camp to camp, watching all of them inevitably burn down, and then makes it to Antwerp, where he meets Nora. Nora often goes outside of the quarantine zone to loot, and they run into each other in an abandoned mall (this is where the story in the present starts).

Our last character is Nathan. I haven't worked on his past story too much. He is a Frenchman with Nigerian roots. He lives with his aunt in Calais. Aunt got infected and was killed by her boyfriend. Nathan only meets the other three once they make it to Calais, in an attempt to get back to England. That fails. Until Annelies remembers the Apocalypse Vault in Norway. It would give them the tools to survive. So they travel back across Europe.

This is when Nora gets bitten and discovers she's immune. She experiences a mild fever and then just lives. No explanation. She doesn't understand why she gets to live and it bothers her. She also hides it from the others, up until Josiah (Joss) figures it out. In Germany they run into a doctor who has been working to understand the virus. Obviously this doctor is very intrigued by Nora being immune and tests a bunch of things on her. She allows this bc what if they were able to reverse engineer a vaccine? Stuff goes wrong however, and Nora is presumed dead by the others and they are forced to leave her. Nora isn't dead though, and now has to survive on her own. She meets an 11yr old called Martin. The only reason Martin survived the virus outbreak in his local town, is because he is also immune. They stick together. Meanwhile Joss, Annelies and Nathan all got into a gated community in Germany. This community has electricity (powered by a dam) and is very strict on who they allow in.

That's sort of where i leave it off. Ofc Nora will run into the others again but i like to change up how and who she runs into first. There's also a little bit of an unspoken attraction between Nora and Joss (yes Nora is bisexual i told y'all she's a self insert) so that's something to figure out too! There's also a matter of where this virus came from and it potentially being created in the US with the intention of using it as biological warfare.

#wouldn't i be a great writer for netflix #like dude i wanna see this #ask dori #starfate #ask game #anyways #tw death mention

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mooglesorts · 3 years

Text

man. it's weird, because there's a lot of things about me that are Very Badger Primary, to the point where i would probably pick it with a strong bird model over anything else at this point... except that i hate dehumanization. i saw primaries described recently as 'things you wouldn't be you anymore if you went against,' and more than just about anything else that's it. even when i think people are monsters, i can't see them as not human; i'd be hard put to define exactly what i consider a 'monster,' but it's more about like. good faith than personhood, i suppose?

it's not necessarily a permanent status to be one--people can change--but my deeply held instinct is that once you have done something monstrous you will always be a person who has been a monster by your own choices, and that it's your duty to learn how to accept that while still living your life, and act accordingly from thereon out. you have to reconcile that you are a person with the fact that some doors are closed to you now, and it's up to you to decide what you do from there.

just. like. even when i hate someone and as far as i'm concerned they can go fuck themself, even in the multiple Heavily Badger social environments i've been in over the course of my life--church, progressive circles, the way the structure of the internet kind of just affects you in general--even on occasions where i've gotten swept away and given in to the pressure to dehumanize (or perform it) for a minute, there's always, always been a voice in the back of my head saying this is a person. this is a person. this is a person. this isn't right.

unintentional dehumanization sets off my '...should we really be doing this? we are getting into not good territory here, it's time to pull up and start questioning' alarms. explicit, intentional, purposeful dehumanization sets off the whole ass tornado sirens. if people on my side are doing it it's enough to throw me into a system-destabilizing crisis, because NO NO NO I WANT TO GET OFF THIS RIDE, I WANT NO PART OF THESE PEOPLE'S MORAL SYSTEM, I FEEL UNCLEAN. it's a good way to make sure i will never, ever, ever trust someone again.

things that are Really Really Badger, off the top of my head (after the cut because Long and trauma talk):

[[MORE]]

---

-i've always loved playing adoptable games, pet simulators, etc? any game with randomly generated characters that are Yours Now and a Community, in a deeply badgery way. including games where they can die (the satisfying part is making sure they don't). except that, no matter how much fun the gameplay is, if it gets to the point where they start feeling disposable, and the only way to really keep playing is to stop humanizing them, i lose interest. it's super fucking depressing. it feels like part of me dying inside a little. i don't like it at all.

-i've always been drawn to fandoms and roleplaying communities. i was fiercely loyal to, and proud of, my first rp community on dragoncave as a 13-year-old. when my abusive mom found out about it and completely isolated me for half a year, the promise of being able to make it back to them--just sneakier this time--kept me going; when i finally got back and the group had drifted apart in my absence, it.... was absolutely devastating. i never really recovered from it. even then, i spent years trying to get the group back together every now and then, until i finally gave up.

-i am always keenly, painfully aware of the life cycle of a community. every time i hear the sentiment 'you guys are all great and i love this group' my stomach drops, because i know it's only a matter of time before things go sour or the group dissolves. rp groups, skype chats/discord servers, fandoms, you name it, i am always bracing myself or staying away entirely to avoid the inevitable and it hurts. and it hurts to see people taking part in a community i don't dare be part of, which makes lurking in fandoms... really rough. frankly, it takes me a lot of courage every time i express my appreciation for the shc community because i've been burned so many times.

-on that note: i went through some really traumatic stuff at the end of 2020 that completely turned my life upside down, and i was doing bad until i stumbled across the shc community. the moment i started engaging, it was a huge boost to my mental health, and my ability to cope with circumstances under which i was about to break down spectacularly. and it has been ever since! contributing to The Group Project and seeing other folks being friendly with each other gives me the happy feelings.

-i used to go out of my way to build and run spaces, mainly fandom and rp spaces, and took a lot of pride in engineering them so that they Functioned Well. unfortunately it wore me the hell down over the years for Burnt Badger Reasons, and now i'm too jaded, bitter, and exhausted to give a shit about being a mod/community leader anymore because of it lmao

-among those burnt badger things i relate HARD to the Red Ledger narrative. hoo boy.

-i wish i could find it again, but there was an mlp comic i saw once which went into luna's observations of what each element of harmony Means. with the element of friendship, she says that twilight has a massive amount of love to give; right now it's all focused on celestia, but when she learns to expand it outward she'll have grown into her full potential as a person, and she'll change the world. that struck a chord with how i used to feel, hard, and it's really stuck with me ever since. (hello, unhealthy snake model)

-emphasis on 'used to feel,' lmao

-got super invested in a really toxic '''mental health''' community at a low point in my life; exploded HARD trying to help everyone i could; got into vicious, protracted fights with the shitty mods for years about the harmful way they ran their community until i finally managed to go 'fuck this it's not getting better' and leave.

-had to numb myself emotionally to the people around me for a long time once i really started learning about mental health and trauma stuff, because now i was seeing signs of their pain and baggage everywhere i looked, and i couldn't handle not being able to help.

-the imagery with which i think about my bird primary is overwhelmingly negative. whether it's my actual primary or a model, i uh. i feel like a healthy relationship to one's primary doesn't involve associating it with gore.

-i saw a conversation recently about how birds think of morality in terms of 'if you can, you should,' and how that's scary for badgers because their definition of 'can' involves destroying yourself for the sake of that 'should,' and... yeah, that's a mood. that's a BIG mood. thinking about bird primary stuff is hard--and i had to pick up my lion model to deal with it--because it's so easy for me to spiral into a self-shredding spiral of other people are counting on you to do the right thing, how dare you pull back for your own health and sanity. how dare you turn your back for even a minute. how dare you rest. the work is never done.

which is... a very exploded badger approach to exploded bird morality. whoops.

-fix-it and time travel fiction in which Everything Went Right This Time and It's Going to Be Okay are one of my very favorite self-indulgent fantasies. i will enjoy putting characters through the wringer in all kinds of creatively horrific ways which may or may not end on a downer note, certainly, i love that shit, but i will also 90% of the time have a backup version of the arc or dynamic that's softer and lighter and Actually Healthy This Time. it's the dichotomy there that really gets me tbh, a story where Everything Ends Happily by default will mmmaybe pull me in? but stories where there's the constant shadow of this could end horribly, it's supposed to end horribly, and we got a happy fucking ending anyway are just... that shit will make me cry, man.

it's also why i kind of really hate stable time loop stories where it initially looks like this is going to be The Good Timeline this time around, but OOPSIE everything went to shit anyway! we're right back where we started, just like it was meant to be all along! it's a tired cliche by this point and an unsatisfying one for me, and it makes me roll my eyes every time.

-this is relevant to the bird vs. badger because like... my gut instinct is to prioritize people over systems. when shit hits the fan, when someone's fallen into the machinery and is about to get hurt, i don't feel right about it if i just let it happen. i'll break the machinery if i have to to keep it away from them; i won't feel great about that, and it might cause problems, but fuck it, we'll figure it out later. throwing people into the gears of a system when i'm convinced it's the only option makes me feel Awful.

-related to the above, another trope that really speaks to me in fiction is when a character defies the rules of reality through sheer force of will. no, this is not happening, i don't give a shit what the limits are supposed to be. i refuse to let this be the way things are. (there's that lion model.)

-i've just kind of... always wanted to be an Everyone Badger. it makes me sad how much of that i've lost over the years as i've gotten more cynical, but it's what i wish i could be.

---

doubtless i'll think of more the moment i hit send, and there are just as many things about me that are Super Bird Primary, but like... mamma mia that's some spicy badger. the main thing stopping me is the Can't and Refuse to Dehumanize bit. i also... hm. i think i can function okay without a community? they just help a lot, and it sucks when i'm confronted with one i don't have a (stable) place in. any thoughts? is it possible for a bird system's foundation to run so deep that eventually it overrides the bird?

#shc #sortinghatchats #sorting hat chats #badger primary #bird primary #burned badger primary #exploded badger primary #exploded bird primary #burned houses #exploded houses #abuse cw #gore implied cw #moogle hat talks

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an-ambivalent · 4 years

Text

Making You Mine [Yandere! Bakugo Katsuki]

Warning: As this is yandere fiction, this deals behaviours that may be uncomfortable or triggering to read. Read at your own risk. This work is purely fictional, I do not condone this behaviour irl.

SPOILER WARNING: This has spoilers from Heroes Rising so if you want to avoid those, then probably not read this lmao.

A/N: my writing is really rusty. For one, I can’t believe I did actually manage to write 1.1K for this, if any at all tbh lol. So enjoy?

Pairings: Katsuki x Reader | Izuku x Reader

________________

Eyes burned holes at the back of your head. Sweat was being secreted by the sweat secreting cells beneath your skin a bit too often. Despite the weather being a bit on the colder side, you felt hot. The heavy weight of your clothes sticking suffocatingly to your skin and the feeling that it was hindering your ability to breath normally was too present in your mind; it made you feel uncomfortable in your own skin and prevented you from focusing. Although it was socially unacceptable to proceed with this action in public, all you wanted to do was throw away your heavy clothes, and claw your own flesh out of your body so the stares would stop and neither you, or the discomfort that these stares brought would exist.

Bakugo, ever the prideful and egoistic punk that he was, relished in the outcome of the situation and the amount of attention he received. The self-proclaimed greatest hero to be wasn’t stupid or ignorant. For that reason, you absolutely hated that he knew you so well, and used that knowledge to hurt you. He knew that you hated the attention, but he did not make a single move to do anything to change the situation in order to make it better for you, or comfort you through it. In fact, you were certain that he was insistent to not do anything about this situation just to seek petty revenge on you for not choosing him in the first place.

As Bakugo dragged you through the hallways forcefully, you heard the harsh words that were whispered without any consideration or thought behind it. For a school that was specifically for heroes to be, and their supports, one would assume that they would know better than to be judgemental without considering all the reasons and perspectives. But apparently that was too much to ask for, because they ridiculed you. They did not question the ferocious blond who was infamous for his viciousness, and gripped your wrist tightly enough to leave marks and cause you to grimace in pain. Instead, they gossiped about you and spread ugly rumours unethically.

By no means were you the nicest person ever with the sweetest smile; but you were far from being rude and vicious like Bakugo.

You were one of the first people to befriend Midoriya, believe in his strength, and return the kindness he showed everyone else. So, it was ridiculous, and more than that, infuriating, that others had the audacity to assume you left him because he was quirkless once again, and leached onto Bakugo, his bully, because he had become stronger. This ridiculous notion was far from the truth, and no one suspected that because Bakugo had become that much stronger, was the reason you were forced to leave Midoriya.

Since the beginning of your time in UA, you were not sure what it was, but something about the petrifying predatory gaze that Bakugo had stared at you with, made you avoid him. Your instinctive gut feeling proved to be right when you got to observe his brash personality. Particularly, when he would corner you and threaten you to break it off with Midoriya.

The sight of his sneering face looming over you, and the burning smell of smoke that would start to emit from his hand whenever he threatened you was an intimidating experience. Going through this scenario each time, and each time his level of agitation being worse than before, never made it any less terrifying. However, despite the fear, you never conformed to his demands. You stood up to him, and stayed devoted to Midoriya throughout. Primarily because while Bakugo was undeniably stronger than you and you would not be able to confront him on your own, you used to have Midoriya there to support you and fight alongside you if the situation ever called for it.

However, now, even if Midoriya wanted to be there for you, he couldn’t. Compared to Bakugo, he was powerless.

Prior to passing the One-for-All to Bakugo, he was the main obstacle; of course it was him. Only Deku was stubborn enough to always be in Bakugo's way and try and stop him from getting what he wanted.

But that was no longer the case. Not only had Midoriya lost his chances of becoming a hero, Bakugo had also made him give you up. So now, you were finally his. You belonged only to Bakugo; it was your inevitable reality. Although, it seemed as if you were still not willing to accept that.

It was your own fault really, you brought this on yourself. If only you had submitted to Bakugo earlier, then this would not have had to happen.

Once Bakugo led you out of the hallways and had you pushed against the wall, without any warning, he instantly leaned down to kiss you. You moved to turn your head away, but since that was such an expected response, Bakugo had clutched your face tightly to prevent that from happening. Still, he stopped until his face was only slightly away from yours. He wasn’t kissing you, but it was close enough that you felt his breath on your face, and his lips brushed against yours occasionally when he spoke.

“Keep your attitude up, and not only will I continue to make you regret it for being a bitch, but damn Deku will regret it too. You don’t truly want to add more to his suffering, do you? He already sacrificed his ultimate dream to save you at Nabu island,” he murmured against your lips, while he caressed your cheek with his thumb.

At the mention of Midoriya, your shoulders tensed up. The guilt from being so pathetic and weak that you had been captured by the enemy at Nabu Island, used as bait, and were one of the reason why Midoriya was suffering, was still weighing heavily on your shoulders. That realisation made you realise that if you contributed anything else to worsen Midoriya’s circumstances, you would never be able to forgive yourself. So, in response to Bakugo, you shook your head.

The sight of your defiance weakening made Bakugo smirk.

“So you’ll be a good girl and do as I say, yeah?”

You shut your eyes tightly; your thoughts from earlier returned, and so did the urges. The idea of wanting to claw your conscious out of yourself so you didn’t exist now felt like a desperate need. But not being able to do that, or anything else for the matter, except for nodding to affirm your now complete obedience to Bakugo, you felt Bakugo press his lips against yours in a harsh and forceful kiss.

_____

if you need further clarification, this was basically what I think might happen if Bakugo did end up receiving one-for-all from Midoriya and used that against him and his partner if he liked her too and was a yandere (obv). so yeeee

#yandere x reader #bakugou x reader #yandere bakugou x reader #izuku x reader #midoriya x reader #yandere bakugou #yandere bakugo #boku no hero academia imagines #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou #bnha x reader #yandere bnha #yandere imagines #ambivalent writes

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adam-memeleri · 3 years

Text

Vacant

hey whaddaya know i wrote something. it’s not at all what i was supposed to be writing, but i’ll take it for now akdhka. basically i was thinking about the attack in oph, and what would happen if mc died. idk why, but yeah, so here’s something short

tagging - @bubblelaureno @lookingforsomethingcuzimbored @swimmingshoebakerydreamer @saratustra4 @alccaddsccup

if you do or do not wanna be tagged

Masterlists shameless self promotion lmao

M Rating (death and grief)

no pairing this time

~600 words

There’s a hole in the apartment.

It takes form in an open door, an empty bed, a desk that’s never sat at. In a vacant chair at every meal, extra space in the fridge, and a spare set of keys. In a quiet every morning, one less body packed on the couch during movie nights, and a storm cloud that always appears at the worst times.

And no one has the heart to fill it. No one has the heart to fill the room they occupied for so long, to toss out their belongings, to shut the door on Casey.

Elijah simply wheels faster past that door while Jackie avoids looking at all costs. Aurora coped by tidying the room until it was spotless, while Sienna stays on the couch most nights to prevent the inevitable tears from seeing it. Bryce tried cracking jokes to a heartbroken living room until even he was at a loss for words, while Rafael replaces the flowers on the desk every Sunday.

Not even Farley is immune, the brute lowering rent exactly Casey’s share.

Some days are better than others, no memories surfacing to tug at heartstrings, or at least only the good ones. Some days it feels like before, the apartment bustling as everyone goes about their day, Sienna’s baking wafting from the kitchen and Elijah’s games blasting from the living room speakers.

But not every day is so nice. Some days it seems as if one word could break everyone who sets foot inside, as if every empty heart is as physical as it feels, hollow in decrepit chests.

The worst day wasn’t immediately after, but rather the funeral. They all stood around that open door, dressed neatly in black, and waited. They weren’t sure what for, but they waited. Maybe it was for Casey to walk out, dressed for the day. Maybe it was for time to reverse, for none of this to ever happen. Maybe it was for the hole to fill. Maybe it was all three.

They still don’t know what they’re waiting for. Maybe a camera to pop up, for Casey to appear and say it was all a prank. Maybe it’s for the world to burn before they have to close that door. Maybe it’s for the door to close on its own, to fix all their problems without them.

Maybe they’re just waiting for things to get better for good, for the dip in their chests at the sight of that door to stop, for the uneasy quiet that seeps into the room at mentions of Casey to grow even more rare.

It’s getting better, day by day, truly. Sienna hasn’t broken down in weeks, and Rafael only brings homemade meals out of unwarranted guilt on his Sunday visits now. Jackie hasn’t punched the wall beside the open door since after the funeral, and Aurora hasn’t obsessively fixed it to maintain the perfect condition of everything they left behind. Elijah hasn’t blankly sat in the room for hours in a long time, and Bryce hasn’t stayed up all night studying at the kitchen table.

But there’s no going back. There’s no going back to before Casey left their door open for just another day of work, to before they were all gathered around a hospital room window waiting and praying for everything to turn out okay, to before they were donning black suits and dresses in an apartment with a hole in it.

#uhhhhhh #:)?#choices #choices fanfic #open heart fanfiction #open heart

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19tozier · 4 years

Text

i know your friends don’t like me (richie tozier)

warnings: swearing, that's it lmao

loosely based on the song high by 5 seconds of summer

[losers + reader are 16+]

“don’t look now, but tozier just walked in.”

you just barely manage to keep calm when your friend leans in and hisses in your ear. “we’re in the cafeteria, sandra,” you remind her steadily, writing another answer for your homework. “most people will come in here, including him.” you can feel richie’s burning eyes on you.

sandra rolls her eyes, turning to your other friends across the table from you. “tozier’s here,” she says crossly, and they give her the reaction she’d wished she’d gotten from you: they gasp, immediately looking up to spot him.

you don’t, willing your blush not to get too obvious on your cheeks. you want nothing more than to look up and meet richie’s eyes or see his beautiful smirk, but you have a role to play here.

“i hate him,” sandra pouts, crossing her arms. you want to roll your eyes as you’re reminded of the reason you have to hide in the first place. “he struts around here like he owns the place.”

“yeah! and those clothes he wears?” your other friend scoffs. “it’s like he wants to look like he just rolled out of someone’s bed.”

my bed, you think, working through another problem. and he looks fucking hot.

as if summoned by your thoughts, sandra claps a hand on your arm, making your pencil skitter and leave a dark mark on the page. you glare at her but she pays no attention to it, leaning forward and hissing, “he’s coming over here.”

all at once, you forget about your homework. your body tenses and you try as hard as you can to keep your heart rate down. you don’t look up as you feel him approach, certain that if you do you’ll give it all away and these past few months will have been for nothing. you bite your lip, glad you’re looking down at your homework when he casually slides in to sit right next to you, his thigh a long line of heat against yours.

“hey girls,” he greets, leaning forward on his elbows. he chuckles at the dark glares he receives from your so-called friends. “what, none of you are happy to see me?”

it’s directed at you, you know it is, but your friend takes the bait before you can. “you know we aren’t, tozier,” she snaps, tossing her hair behind her shoulder. “get lost.”

richie gasps in mock offense, laying his hand on his chest. “well i never! my, miss, you sure are a mean one. what did i ever do to deserve such treatment?”

sandra sputters, the way she always does when this is brought up and the way richie surely intended. “you broke my heart, trashmouth! you made me cry!”

and that’s the crux of the matter, isn't it, you think wryly. sandra had had a big fat crush on richie when you first started high school, three years ago, and he’d (kindly, oh so kindly) turned her down when she asked him out in front of everyone. since then, she’s hated him, and she’d gotten all of your friends to hate him too. she even had you fooled for a bit, before you were sat next to richie for a class and got to know just how sweet and funny he really is.

it was inevitable for you to fall in love with richie. your brand of humor mixes with his and you like all the same music, making a connection click between you instantaneously. you’d realized he wasn’t the sleazeball sandra tried to make him out to be and that he was really a sweetheart under all that vulgar armor.

you’d kept your friendship a secret, however, since you were certain sandra would throw a fit over it, and you weren’t keen on losing the only friends you really had. richie had always said the losers would love you, especially after you'd started dating, but by then it was easier to keep things a secret, as much as you desperately wanted to show just how much you loved derry’s resident trashmouth.

oh, how you regret it now.

while your friend goes on and on about her broken heart, richie takes the opportunity to slide his hand up your thigh, his palm warm through the fabric of your jeans. he leans forward, for all appearances to hear your friend better, but manages to murmur in your ear, “meet me at the bathrooms in five?”

you nod your head, so small your friends wouldn’t be able to see, and richie pulls back with a smirk.

“well, it’s been great, ladies,” he says, standing up and cutting off your friend. like this, he towers over your table. he’s so hot you have to stop yourself from kissing him right then. “but i have to run. places to be, people to see.” he winks at you before turning on his heel and slipping out of the cafeteria as quickly as he’d entered.

sandra scoffs as soon as he’s out of earshot. “i can’t believe him. he obviously came over here just to talk to me. why is he so infuriating?”

you resist the urge to snap at her, clenching your teeth and blowing air out of your nose. not for the first time, you wonder why you’re even still friends with her, or any of them really. they’re all bitches, and the more shit they talk on richie the more you want to strangle them all. you longingly think of richie’s friends and how cool you’re certain they are.

you slowly and painstakingly erase the line sandra had caused on your homework, counting down the minutes until you can go see richie. “he’s not into you,” you remind her, trying to remain patient. “he turned you down, remember?”

sandra shakes her head. “whatever, you know i’m too good for him anyways.” she rolls her eyes. “did you see how he was all over you to make me jealous?”

“oh yeah, i definitely saw that!” your other friend chimes in, always eager to please. “what was that about? he really can’t keep it in his pants!”

you grit your teeth together, trying not to lose your shit, but sandra just laughs. “he’s desperate, (y/n), really! just do me a favor, okay? don’t talk to him or else we can’t be friends anymore.”

it’s a thinly veiled threat, one she’s made several times. you and richie have been close to being found out by her, just for talking in the halls, but this time it makes something inside of you break. maybe it’s because you’re sick of having to hide, or maybe it’s because she’s such an awful person, but to hell with this shitty friendship, you think, suddenly so mad you see red.

you roughly shove all of your things in your bag, standing up and glaring into her stunned eyes. “well, then i guess we can’t be friends anymore,” you tell her snidely, acutely aware that you’re burning any bridge with her and your friend group. good. “considering we’ve been dating for three months and i’m about to go makeout with him, probably.”

you stalk a few paces before you turn back and plaster a fake smile on your face. “you’re a fucking bitch!” you say with real cheer, throwing your middle finger over your shoulder as you leave.

you don’t really know what you just did and you think you should definitely regret it a lot more, but you can’t bring yourself to care when you turn the corner and find richie leaning against the wall.

you don’t give him a chance to greet you before you pull him in by the chain around his neck and kiss him, swallowing the groan he makes as he wraps his arms around your waist. you kiss him harder, wanting to look as ruined by him as you always feel, so everyone knows he’s yours and you’re his. you also don’t really want to talk, still simmering with anger at sandra, and he must be able to feel it.

“not that i’m complaining, doll,” he mumbles against your lips, kissing you again and again, “but what brought this all on?” he pulls away, looking confused. “i didn’t think you’d want to do this here.”

you growl in your throat, stretching up to kiss him again, but he gentles you down and kisses your forehead. “hey hey hey, (y/n/n), what’s wrong?”

try as you might to hold onto it, all of your anger evaporates at his touch. you sigh, swaying forward to lean against his chest. he’s so stupidly tall that your forehead hits his collarbone. “sandra was just, y’know, being a bitch, and i finally snapped,” you admit. “i, uh, may have told her we were together? and that we were gonna makeout?” you blush, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “and that she’s a bitch?”

he’s frozen in surprise for a moment, long enough that you fear you may have messed up, before he laughs and wraps you up in a hug. “that’s my girl,” he teases, kissing your temple over and over. “god, i wish i could’ve seen that.”

you pout, trying to keep the smile off your face as he presses kisses to your cheeks. “it’s not funny! she knows we’re together now! and she’ll probably try to make my life hell since i told her off!”

richie shrugs, pulling you closer. “so? you always talk about how you don’t even want to be friends with her. and if she knows that means we don’t have to sneak around anymore.” he beams at you, so pretty your breath catches. “i can show you off now.”

“that does sound nice,” you confess loftily, as if it wasn’t something you’d dreamt of since you started dating.

his smile softens. “besides, now you can just come be friends with the losers. we’ll protect you from sandra’s bitchiness, and we’re better friends too.”

you slide your hands up his chest. “maybe i can even be best friends with bev now?” you say hopefully, thinking of the conversations you always overhear between her and ben; she seems like someone you’d love.

richie laughs, pulling you even closer. “sure, doll, i think that can be arranged. in fact...” he checks his watch. “we still have about ten minutes left of lunch. wanna come meet them now?” a sly glint enters his eye. “we can even makeout in front of sandra.”

you grin back, lacing your fingers together. “that sounds perfect.” you stretch up to kiss him softly, loving the way he feels against your mouth. “i love you, tozier.”

richie tucks you under his arm as you walk back towards the cafeteria, kissing your temple softly. “i love you too, angel.”

#richie tozier #richie tozier imagine #richie tozier x reader #richie tozier x you #richie tozier x y/n #the losers club #the losers club imagine #the losers club x reader #it (2017)#it (2019)#it (movie)#it movie #bill denbrough #mike hanlon #beverly marsh #eddie kaspbrak #stan uris #ben hanscom #my writing

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