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thornybubbles · 4 months

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Blood Red String of Fate (Yandere Risotto x Reader)

Scenario: The reader discovers that they are Risotto’s soulmate. Risotto is thrilled. The reader is not.

Warnings: Yandere themes, canon typical violence, kidnapping, attempted self harm, forced relationship, and other “fun” stuff.

You thought that it was just a story; an urban legend spread between lovesick teens and desperate young adults. You never believed for a moment that the whole “red string of fate” thing was true. Soulmates didn’t exist. Relationships didn’t come into being from a whim of chance. You didn’t believe in destiny or naive notions of love at first sight. But all of that changed the day you woke up and found the seemingly endless crimson colored string tied to your pointer finger. It wasn’t endless, of course. You knew that it was attached to the finger of your soulmate (something that you believed to be a fairy tale only a day before). It horrified you, not because you had an aversion to love or the idea of it. It was just that you believed that love should be something that is a mutual choice between two people. It should never be something that was forced onto people by fate. But that wasn’t what had you feeling like your stomach was doing cartwheels. You could actually sense the person on the other end of the string. You could feel their thoughts, emotions, and their very presence as if they were in the room with you. What you felt from them appalled you. You could feel their love for you and it almost had you returning the sentiment, but the warm feeling it gave you was overshadowed by the strong possessiveness that you felt, too. This person, whoever they were, genuinely thought that the string being attached to you meant that they owned you. Not only that, but you could feel an overwhelming blood lust and violence coming from them. Whoever your soulmate was, they were dangerous and the thought of being with them did not appeal to you. As far as you were concerned the two of you were not compatible, soulmate or not. You didn’t give a damn what fate or destiny had to say about it.

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Risotto stared at the red string tied to his finger. He didn’t know how to feel about it at first, but once he sensed you on the other end of the string, it stirred in him an uncontrollable obsession. He never asked to be attached to you, but now that he was, he wanted you. He couldn’t imagine life without you. It wasn’t enough to be bound to you, though. No. He needed you by his side. He had to find a way to bring you to him. It was strange, Risotto never imagined himself to bother with a significant other. He always felt that it would be too dangerous and an inconvenience to him as a member of Passione. Suddenly finding out that he had a soulmate was a bit bizarre. It didn’t matter. Now that he was connected to you, he could feel what kind of person you were. You were everything he needed, everything he desired. He found himself craving you the way a starving man craved food. He truly felt that if he didn’t bring you to him soon, then he would die. He had to have you here. NOW!

“Boss? Whatcha starin’ at your hand for? Didja get hurt?”

The voice pulled him out of his thoughts. He looked up to see Formaggio looking at him with concern.

The others couldn’t see the string. No one knew of the bond that he shared with you. It gave him an odd sense of comfort and made him feel even more connected with you. You were meant for each other. No one else could interfere. No one could break the bond that he had with you. The obsession that he felt for you grew even greater knowing that.

“I’m fine.” Risotto answered his subordinate. He glanced at the string, following it with his eyes as it ran along the ground and out of the room. He could follow it and it would lead him right to you. He could find you easily. He could…

Risotto shot up from his chair and yanked his hand into the air, effectively pulling at the string. He could feel you just then. You were about to do something awful, but he managed to put a stop to it. He glared down at the string as if he was glaring at you. Why would you ever attempt something like that?!

“Boss?” Formaggio asked, giving his Capo a concerned look. “What was that about?”

Risotto didn’t acknowledge him right away. He gave the string another pull. He wasn’t completely sure how the string worked or what he could do with it, but he quickly figured out he could send his very will through it somehow. He did that just then, to stop your foolishness. It was clear that he couldn’t put off meeting you any longer.

“Get in contact with the others. Tell them that I’m going to pay someone a visit.” he said suddenly.

“Huh? What?!” Formaggio cried in confusion.

He watched as Risotto passed him by and left the room. Formaggio clambered up from the sofa and trailed after him.

“Wait a minute!” he called. “You’re leaving now? Who’re you gonna visit? Is this a mission? Ain’tcha gonna tell me anything?”

“This is a personal matter.” Risotto said, his tone implying that Formaggio should stop asking questions. “I won’t be gone long, but I have to leave immediately. Continue with business as normal until I get back.”

“Wait!” Formaggio said, trying once more to reason with his Capo. “Shouldn’t you tell the others this yourself? Why do you have to run off in such a hurry?”

Risotto turned his red gaze on his subordinate.

“I trust you to let them know that I’m gone. Just tell them that I had an emergency that I needed to tend to. I’ll explain when I get back. I have to go now, Formaggio.” he said.

And with that Risotto left the building. Formaggio stood staring at the door wondering what was going through his Capo’s mind. Risotto was a mysterious guy, but he was acting very strangely all of a sudden. He thought about it for a moment longer before throwing his hands up and turning away from the door.

“Eh. Can’t be helped. Orders are orders. Guess I’ll let the others know.”

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You’d tried everything. You tried cutting the string with scissors, a knife, or any other sharp thing you could find. You even tried biting through it. Nothing would cut the string. There was only one alternative that you could think of for ridding yourself of the unwanted bond with your equally unwanted soulmate. If you couldn’t sever the string, then you would simply sever the finger that it was tied to. God, you didn’t want to do it, but what choice did you have?

Every moment you spent bonded to your soulmate, you could feel more and more of what kind of person they were. They were a killer. They’d killed a lot of people and you could tell that they would kill a lot more. It would be just your rotten luck to be stuck with a murderer as a soulmate. You knew that they could sense you and you hated it. You didn’t want a killer knowing as much about you as you did about them. You wanted them gone from your life. So you would disconnect from them. With luck, once the deed was done, they would just think that you died or something and wouldn’t seek you out.

You set some medical supplies to the side, to be ready to deal with your self inflicted injury. The plan was simple enough. You would cut off your finger, ridding yourself of the bond, then you would quickly patch up your injured hand, wrap and place your severed finger in a container full of ice you had set alongside the medical supplies, then call 911 and have them take you to the hospital where you could hopefully have your finger reattached. You had no idea how you would explain what happened to you. If you told them you cut off your finger to disconnect the bond with your soulmate, they’d have you committed. So you would have to think of something more normal to tell them. An accident cutting food maybe?

Hesitantly, you paced your finger on the edge of the kitchen counter. You held the knife in your other hand. Suddenly a thought occurred to you. What if you didn’t cut it off in one chop? What if your strength wasn’t enough to cut through the bone? What if the knife wasn’t sharp enough? What would you do then? You glanced at the knife. It seemed very sharp. Still, it would require some level of strength to cut through the bone. Oh God! What if you had to saw through the bone with another tool? The thought of the prolonged agony made you feel queasy. You could feel the color draining from your face and you swayed on your feet slightly. You shook your head. Determinazione! That’s what you needed now. You had to suck it up and deal with the pain. This was the only way you knew to deal with this.

You raised the knife high over your finger. You took a few deep breaths and mentally hyped yourself to do what needed to be done.

Don’t think about the pain. Don’t think about the blood. Think about being stuck bonded to a murderer. You thought to yourself.

You let out a cry of resolution and raised the knife even higher.

Suddenly there was a powerful yank on the string that pulled your hand away just as the knife came down on the counter. The blade sank into the countertop, leaving a notch in the Formica. Yeah, that blow definitely would have cut through the bone. Too bad something stopped you. You grabbed the knife by the handle and tried to pull it from the countertop. You managed to pull it free but the string was tugged again with much more force this time. The action caused you to lose your hold on the knife. It fell into the sink as you were yanked nearly to the ground. You fell to one knee in an attempt to regain your balance. You yanked your arm backwards only to find that it wouldn’t budge. The string was somehow pulled taut and you were practically being dragged across the floor.

“STOP PULLING ON ME, ASSHOLE!!!” you shouted, anger in your voice disguising your terror.

The pulling stopped and the string went slack again. They stopped you! Whoever was on the other end of the string knew that you planned to chop off your own finger to sever the bond with them. They didn’t want you to disconnect from them! Why? Did they really put value in the bond? Didn’t they know that you had no interest in them? Why would they bother? It was madness!

Suddenly you could feel a strange sensation through the string. It was as if your soulmate’s presence felt stronger somehow. You couldn’t understand it, until you realized… they were getting closer to you! They were coming for you! Well you wouldn’t be there when they arrived. You jumped up from the kitchen floor and ran to your room. Quickly, you packed a few clothes and other essentials. You didn’t know where you would go, but you weren’t going to fall into their grasp no matter what!

---

Risotto stared down at the string on his finger as he sat in the back of a cab. He allowed himself a small, bitter smile. You were a fool. Did you really think that you could escape him? Apparently so, because he could sense you moving away from him. It was frustrating, but it didn’t matter. He would find a way to get to you before you got too far away. The problem was that you could sense how far away he was from you at all times. Did you really mean to stay on the run from him for as long as he tried to pursue you? What if there was a way that he could hide himself from you? An idea came to him. He asked the cab driver to drop him off at the next block. The driver did as told and drove away. Risotto looked around. He was standing outside of a vacant lot. It seemed that this was an abandoned part of the city. Good. He could experiment here with no one around to intrude. It was a long shot, but if he used Metallica’s ability to camouflage himself, he might be able to disguise his presence at his end of the string. Risotto activated his Stand’s secondary ability and waited. He could feel you on your end of the string. You stopped pulling away from him. He began to follow the string, half expecting you to start pulling away from him again. You never did. You were staying put. He followed the string until he was in a better part of town. Still, you didn’t move. It worked! As long as he stayed invisible, you couldn’t sense him! You were as good as his!

----

You had just driven into an unfamiliar part of town when you felt the presence at the other end of the string disappear. What happened? Did they die? Did they disconnect the bond? No, you could still see the string wrapped around your finger. Maybe they just stopped following you? You sighed. Thank the Lord. In the distance you spotted a sign for a hotel. You would stay there for the night and think about what you were going to do in the morning. You pulled into the hotel and walked into the office, dragging your bag along with you. You got yourself a room and collapsed on the bed there. You’d been running from your soul mate for days now. Why did they just stop following you? Did they give up? Did they realize that you weren’t interested in them? What was their game? You had only planned to stay at the hotel for the night, but decided to stay there until you felt that it was safe enough to return home. That was only if your soulmate didn’t decide to start following you again.

That night, you dreamed of a man in a strange black costume resembling that of a jester, with white hair and red eyes with black scleras. You seemed to know each other, but you couldn’t remember from where. You were afraid of him, but you weren’t sure why.

----

Risotto strolled into the parking lot of the hotel you were staying in. He was overwhelmed with joy at having tracked you down, but he would have to be careful from here on out. If you got so much as an inkling that he was nearby, you would start running again. He couldn’t allow that. Not when he was so close. He’d been walking for ages, sleeping in hotel rooms that he broke into and stealing food. If anyone got too nosey about his invisible activities, they met a swift and horrible end. He was exhausted having to travel on foot (an invisible man couldn’t flag down a taxi after all), but it was all worth it now that he finally tracked you down.

He followed the string until it led under the door of a certain room. Your room. He grinned at the feeling of your presence on the other side of the door. You were sleeping, so he would have to be quiet. Using Metallica’s magnetism, Risotto unscrewed the screws around the doorknob to your room. He was thankful that the hotel was an older one that hadn’t yet converted to the use of keycards. The door knobs popped out of their sockets and clattered to the ground. Risotto froze, afraid the sound would wake you. He was relieved that he could still feel that you were asleep. Carefully, he opened the door and let himself in.

He spied your sleeping form on the bed. He smiled fondly at you before coming out of his camouflaged state. There was no point in hiding from you anymore. Abruptly, you sat up in bed, gasping and sobbing.

----

What a horrible dream. You’ve been having nightmares about the strange man with the scary eyes ever since you started staying at the hotel. The dream was always the same, the man would corner you somewhere, tell you that you knew each other, then try to drag you off somewhere you didn’t want to go. If you weren’t sure before, you were certain now, that man in your dreams was your soulmate. He had the same aura you felt at the other end of the string. The same aura of blood and death that you felt so strongly that it caused you to wake up in a panic… The same aura that you could still feel as if it were in the room with you at that very moment.

You turned to face that overwhelming presence you could sense nearby and your blood ran cold.

“You!” you gasped. “It’s you!”

The man took a step towards you, smiling sweetly. You cringed away from him, pulling the bed covers up as if they could shield you from him.

“How did you find me without me sensing you?” you demanded.

“Not important,” he said in a deep voice that would have had your heart fluttering in any other situation. “What matters now is that we are finally together, as fate intended.”

“To hell with fate and to hell with you! I want nothing to do with you! Now get out of my room before I call the police!”

The man laughed at your poor attempt at bravado.

“You can fight it all you want, but you and I will be together no matter what.”

You jumped up from the bed and made an attempt to run out the door, but he stepped into your path and you ended up in his crushing embrace.

“Let go of m-- mph!” your demands were silenced by one of his massive palms covering your mouth.

You struggled in his hold but he was far stronger than you. You could barely move in his grip. Something sharp pierced your neck and you screamed into his hand. You struggled a moment more before dizziness overwhelmed you. Your limbs felt heavy and it became impossible to move them. Your vision grew blurry and you felt yourself going limp in his arms. Just before you passed out you heard him say,

“You tried to hurt yourself all because you didn’t want to be bonded to me. I couldn’t allow that. I know that you don’t want me as your soulmate, but I know that you can learn to love me. I’ll take you somewhere where I can keep an eye on you and make sure that you never try to hurt yourself, or sever our bond again. Whether you want it or not, you and I were meant to be. You should know by now that you can’t fight fate.”

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morgana-ren · 10 months

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Overstimulation with Astarion makes w head go burrrrrrr

Astarion is a vampire. And vampires can go on forever—

In more ways than one.

Maybe it's the dead blood that courses through his veins that gives him the extra vigor. Maybe it's the hundreds of years that he's had to learn to move his body in ways that leave you breathless. Maybe it's that he doesn't have to stop and catch his breath— ever.

Either way, you see those pale, pillowy lips crook upward just enough to show a slip of ivory fang in his mouth as you approach your peak. That same mischievous smile that drew you into his bed to begin with.

Again.

And hey, you can't be blamed. It's fun!

At first.

But after the second or third time, it borders on a form of painful that words can scarce describe. Raw edged and red, body spasming and mind pleading— screaming— enough. Suddenly your body isn't big enough for the two of you and he's not leaving any room for you to exist or even breathe. Thighs rubbed to dust and chafing around his hips as he spears in again and again and again, hissing a pointed giggle as he does.

Every languid gyration of his pelvis hits somewhere that has you screaming and clawing at him, leaving red, ragged streaks across his skin that he wears like a tiger would wear its stripes; a badge of honor— of pride. You can't even pant out his complete name into his mouth, stumbling and stuttering across syllables that he greedily swallows down.

His claws are so terribly sharp but he only uses them in the best ways, and as the pale pads of his fingertips find your core, dread mingles with excitement and then the inevitable onset of 'Oh Gods, oh Gods, oh Gods—' because you physically cannot handle it.

Save it doesn't really matter what you can or can't handle. He finds it fun to push you over the edge again, so over it you go.

Maybe it's the ego boost, or perhaps it's the power. Maybe it's the vulnerability of you clinging to him against your own will, quite literally putty in his skillful hands. Maybe it's the way your body squeezes and milks him dry every time he does it, damn near sucking what's left of his eternal soul clean from him and into you. Maybe it's the way your bleary eyes blink little silver tears that fall down the delicate curve of your cheek as you beg him enough.

But it's only over when he says it's over. It's only over when he's had enough, and as he's told you before, he's a man of tremendous appetites. He's had ages beyond ages to understand how to pluck the delicate strings of the human body apart piece by piece and he plays you like a damn fiddle every time you dance with him.

And even as the orgasm subsides as you peer up at him with pleading eyes, he only smiles and hushes you with a devouring kiss, movements only slowing to draw out every whiny breath from between your lips before spurring onward again in ruthless, reckless rhythm. Even as your vision tunnels and you lose any sense of coherency, he's as constant as the winds and the tide, and just as eternal.

He'll leave you wrecked and ruined, dashed on the rocks only to be drawn back out into the hazy pink sea of pleasure once more. And as you feel that pressure spring in the base of your spine start to coil like a serpent once again, all he does is laugh into the crook of your neck, asking if you're tired already.

Perhaps next time you pick a bedfellow, make it one who needs to sleep eventually, because Bane knows he does not, and he is hellbent on making that your problem.

#morgana and friends #astarion #if you want an actual story or scenario let me kno #im getting back into the groove of writing #sorta #trying anyway

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eddiemuonson · 8 months

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Break Free - Bucky Barnes x f!Reader / Part 2

Summary: You were an infiltrated nurse working for HYDRA and takes care of Bucky Barnes, who's still triggered and being used as The Winter Soldier.

Part One

Warnings: blood and some kind of violence, fluff

Word count: 2.2k

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You definitely shouldn't have taken Barnes to your apartment, and you shouldn't have definitely lied to HYDRA when you told Pierce you had a family emergency. But that was the first thing that came to your mind when you saw the Winter Soldier looking miserably lost when he woke up in the alley, after you knocked him out accidentally.

As you closed your door, you made sure it was locked. It's not like being digital would decrease your chances to be assassinated by anyone.

You looked over your shoulder as James was still confused, trying to keep cool and not freak out, when inside his brain all he wanted to do was ask what the fuck was wrong with him.

He sat on the couch, and you grabbed a glass of water, trying to provide him some comfort. You were as confused as he was, but obviously, it was just like he wasn't triggered anymore.

You both just didn't know it could ever happen so soon. And then it hit you. He was trying to kill you, or at least that's what you thought.

"James, why were you after me?", you asked, giving him some space on your couch as you weren't sure how to approach the man. After drinking the water with just one sip, he didn't look at you. He stared into the window and sighed heavily. He knew why.

He was working on his mind to clarify himself what he was doing. It felt like an eternity when he didn't respond. Some string of hair were falling over his face, hiding his expression, but it was still there.

"They made you my-", he stuttered, he couldn't say that out loud now. His brain was malfunctioning, he was horribly trying to avoid that part in his mind that made him a killer. You saw him make a fist with his metal hand, backing up a few inches from him.

"You were my mission. They know something about you", the last part made you numb for the second time that day.

Of course they would, you were only doing it for a private journalism company, and it's not like they wouldn't know about that. HYDRA just makes everyone's lives miserable, an actual hell. And there you were, standing next to a killing machine who was triggered to kill you.

Maybe you just were too lucky you knocked his head and he was himself again. But for how long? Your eyes became foggy, and you were short of breath, trying to focus on what your next step would be. You just had made yourself a living death.

"I'm sorry, I- They just have to say the damn words. I can't control it", he looked at you with pleading eyes, he was trapped inside his brain, killing every person without his own consent. "I need to stay away from you".

Barnes got up from his seat and stumbled on his feet while you helped him up. He literally had his brain wiped, and then you hit his head on a wall, the man would be lucky if he didn't have a concussion by now.

"I think it's best if you stay in. If we both stayed in", you said. Your breath hit his right ear, and it felt like a lullaby somehow. Something he's never experienced before becoming the Winter Soldier.

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James was looking over your window behind the curtain, not too certain HYDRA was figuring out something might have happened since both of you were MIA. He asked Steve Rogers for help, and he told his long-lost friend to stay low.

Of course you would, but how about the man standing next to you? He would probably be the first one to storm out of there and find HYDRA to blow them all. The more you looked at him, the more you could see how broken he was, how emotionally unstable he was after all he's been trough and done.

You were in the kitchen making something for dinner, you've spent a long stressful and uneventful day. As you were preparing the table, Barnes kept staring at you from across the room, realizing you got yourself and himself out of a tragedy.

Even in such a traumatizing event, he couldn't shake the feeling in his guts that he needed to protect you, and how grateful he was of you for taking care of him even when trapped in his own mind.

"James, I'm sorry if that sounds very nosy. But how did you end up like this?", you were both sitting on the table trying to enjoy the meal you made. You were in complete silence, but it's not like it was uncomfortable. You just didn't want to bother him, but you felt like you needed to know about his past.

"I was a soldier. Last thing I remember about that time was I was in a train with Steve. He tried to save me from falling, and I lost my grip", the was some bitterness in his voice, you felt. But you also learned they knew about each other's existence, specially because Barnes also tried to kill him once.

"And you can call me Bucky, that's how I go for".

You saw a slight grim on his face before facing down your plate. You, somehow, have always been fond of his sweet side. Obviously, he was always impersonating an assassin, but even in his most sensitive moments, like from last night, you would notice it.

"HYDRA took me with them before that, and I was a prisoner in 1943 when they used me and other soldiers as test subjects in Zola's quest to recreate the serum. Two years later, Rogers and I led an attack on the HYDRA train that was transporting Zola to another base. That was when I fell. I only survived because of it, losing my left arm", he explained.

You watched as he looked to his shiny arm, letting a sigh escape. If he could, he would've chosen to die. Bucky would never be that type of man, he would never wish to be in that position, even if it meant he would live decades.

You only knew the smallest part of him, besides the brainwashing, you knew he was capable of doing things any normal person wouldn't.

Right after dinner, he helped you clean the dishes, and you could feel the warmth surrounding you because he was too close. You were just enjoying each other's company there, the TV was on and had a low volume. Bucky exhaled almost loudly a few times and you looked from the corner of your eye, checking on him.

You didn't notice he was having an anxiety attack until you saw his hands trembling after grabbing a fork.

You tried to keep your distance and let him deal with that himself, but the object fell on the floor, and you realized he was having trouble breathing.

"Hey, Bucky. Hey, look at me", you gripped his face as you placed one hand on his chin while the other held one of his hands. Barnes was panting, sweat streaming down his cheeks, and his hair was glued on his forehead.

You looked at him, making him follow you with some breathing exercises. You weren't sure it would help, but you're a nurse, and you learned a lot from health care. He tried to block a panic attack he felt coming, but his hands started to shake even more, and you were losing his grip as his palms were also sweaty.

"Bucky, look at me. Just try to breathe in and out, okay?", you were starting to feel stressed seeing him like that. But the soldier had trouble trying to find pace and started gasping for air.

Things were getting out of hand, Bucky was leaning on the sink and pulling all the air he could inside his lungs, but his brain was working against him. As you tried to help him, you heard him groan aloud.

"Fuck", he complained. "I can't do it". He looked at you, his eyes were watery, and you noticed he was having a hard time with himself. He was still trying to breathe, his chest pounding fast and he was all sweaty.

He still had those same pleading eyes from earlier. The eyes of someone who couldn't understand the things that were happening to him all at once. You had compassion for him again.

You weren't sure if that was clinically effective, but you got closer to him. You were almost also having a panic attack yourself, but you decided to give it a shot when you wrapped your arms around his shoulders.

Barnes looked sort of confused when he looked at you while you were too close, and he didn't have time to realize you were doing it to help stop the attack.

You brushed your lips against his, feeling his breath shaky. Steady, you held him tighter and kept your mouth shut, still glued to his. Bucky used his metal arm to wrap your wrist, as he used his flesh one to cup your chin.

It took you minutes to finally breathe after you were both in the same position, and he wasn't panicking anymore. His breathing was regular, his chest stopped pounding, and he wasn't sweating anymore.

Somehow, he didn't want to let go of you, finding himself in a warm environment, which made him forget, just for that moment, about everything else.

"I thought this would help stop your panic attack", you said under your breath, your mouth still brushing his. You both let out a small laugh, before he rested his forehead against yours.

"It was certainly useful", James affirmed. You were still holding each other when the door was smashed, and you saw Alexander Pierce across the room, looking quite amused by the scene. You felt the metal hand squeeze your skin before the soldier threw your table against the enemies with the same hand.

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Bucky made you jump out your window with him. You were so glad he used his metal hand to slip through the wall. It felt like he was spider-man, but when you stood on your feet, you knew it would he much harder to run away from Pierce.

The soldier looked for an attempt to escape, knocking down a man from his bicycle, hoping on it, waiting for you. Shit, this was going to be a wild ride with him. There were cars everywhere, you even saw some helicopters flying around following you two.

You were tensing while holding his abs as he was speeding, passing through dozens of vehicles in a matter of seconds.

You didn't have Steve's number. Hell, you didn't have anybody's phone number and you couldn't call anyone else. While you were figuring a way out of this, you tried to tell him to go underground. A motorcycle would fit into, but not the cars and certainly not even the helicopters.

HYDRA was always one step ahead of their sights, so when Bucky drove past the stairs into the subway station, you nearly hit your head on the floor when he lost his grip from the bike's handlebars.

The last thing you saw was Rumlow snapping his hand across your face before blacking out. You woke up to the sound of footsteps and tried to clear your eyes, before realizing you were trapped in a room inside HYDRA's building.

Your stomach flinched at the thought of Barnes, you knew they were probably going to kill him. Either that or they're going to trigger him again. And you couldn't help but think this time you wouldn't be able to hit his head against a wall only to see Bucky and not the Winter Soldier.

You heard loud screams next to your room and you realized it was him. You didn't know what they were doing, but it was obviously painful.

"I give you a mission and you disappear. When I go after you, you're all lovey-dovey with her?", you heard Alexander ask. And then he laughed. "Are you out of your fucking mind?".

He was yelling and torturing Barnes at the same time. How were you going to help him now you were trapped there? You were probably dying soon anyway.

"That bitch is your fucking mission. Give me one reason I shouldn't kill you, either. You're a lousy soldier", Pierce snapped. Bucky screamed again.

It was when you heard the first words coming out of Pierce's mouth, you knew you were about to become a mission again. “Longing, rusted, seventeen".

"Stop!", he yelled. You could sense he was forcing himself to not get triggered again. But he was trapped inside the room with the others.

"Daybreak, furnace, nine". You heard yourself telling them to stop. One of the guards showed up in front of your cell, holding a gun at you and told you to shut up.

"No!", Barnes said. He was trying to fight it, he was too strong and still couldn't get himself out. "I'm not your pet anymore".

"You keep telling yourself that. Benign, homecoming, one, freight car", each word he pronounced, you could hear Barnes trying to rip free from his restraints.

A deathly silence surrounded the space around you. You could hear your heart pumping in your ears.

"Soldier?", Alexander asked. Bucky had a dark frown on his face.

"Ready to comply". He was there again. Only this time he was just triggered which made him stronger, more powerful and carrying a death stare in his eyes. Which meant you were not going to be able to save him from himself right away.

When you saw his footsteps approaching your cell, you flinched by his gaze and tried to not look afraid of him.

"Bucky, it's me". You said. You couldn't almost be heard, you were just hoping he could recognize you in the back of his mind.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x female reader #the winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier fanfiction #the winter soldier fanfic #userashe #bucky barnes imagine #the winter soldier imagine #marvelouslizzie #sebastian stan #sebastian stan fanfic

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yandere-kokeshi · 1 year

Text

Yandere Obanai Iguro Headcanons

Warnings: Yandere behavior, spoilers for his mask, punishments, and stalking; lmk if I missed anything.

Authors note: Obanai is one of my favorite characters so this may be a bit longer; I also do not own this character!

Rarely, does anyone he encounters or secretly watches is worthy of his time; yet… you, the most prized, kind, and the lovely person he’s ever seen, wrapped his heart in tight strings, making him fall for you. Getting his attention is quite a hard thing to do, but once he realized the feeling of butterflies hitting everywhere in his stomach, making him sweat profusely and act ‘awkward’ around you; almost acting like a different person.

At first, Obanai will try his best to avoid you or rather not let you see him. Not because he hates you or dislikes the emotions that are coming forward, but rather because he believes that he might not be the best decision for you; his clan following him like a trail of blood with an eminence feeling of guilt. He’s rather insecure about his past, including his wide mouth that he rarely shows. He fears you’ll hate him, causing him to make sure you see him as ‘normal’ and ‘human-like’.

Of course, this shows that he’ll be stalking you like no other, watching you from afar in awe, a small smile projecting on his face under the mask. Much like the other Hahsira’s, he will try to find out everything about you: likes, dislikes, pet peeves, and many things that’ll make you happy. Once he does find out, Obanai is leaving small gifts on your doorstep, hoping you’ll like the clothing, hand-written notes, and flowers he left for you.

If you decide to have a crush on someone, or someone has the urge to pursue a relationship with you (romantically), they are immediately taken down by Obanai. Either, he would try to find information that they wouldn’t want anyone to know, blackmail them to never be around you or, threaten them and belittle them to the point they’re scared to be even around you.

This also goes along the same line of your loved ones, not that he enjoys seeing you happy and content with your loved ones, he just has high paranoia about anyone that’s around you. He believes that they’ll take you away from him, possibly stealing you away forever and completely forgetting about him; in which, he fears highly. In this case, if he sees you getting hurt (verbally, emotionally, or physically), they are getting hurt and killed in the most gruesome way.

Most likely, the way you caught Obanai’s attention was the fact that you were a strong Hashira; you had a kind, caring, and gentle personality that drew his attention. You treated him like a human being, something that he wasn’t used to. You always tried to talk to him, in which he'd always blow you off: “Leave me alone, you’re annoying.”

Yet, you continuously approached him, even when he spewed out threats that would hurt people and lead them to tears. But, now, since you’ve caught the eye of a snake, he becomes extremely protective of you, even if you’re a Hashira.

Obanai knows you aren’t weak, you’re a Hashira for damn sake; but the moment he starts to realize he loves you, your privilege as a Slayer is quickly stripped away. Either, he would come up with an excuse to Oyakata-sama about needing you to stay home; resulting in you ‘retiring’. Or, force you to quit by guilt-tripping and manipulating you.

Even though Obanai is very possessive of you, he wouldn’t kidnap you unless you were hurt very badly. Whether that’s you tripping and breaking a leg, someone assaulting you or almost getting eaten by a demon: Obanai would only take severe precaution if needed. He knows what it’s like to be caged inside a box, which he doesn’t wish upon you at all. But, he will manipulate you to keep you home as much as possible, using the excuse: “I can save you if any problems come forth. You have everything you want here, right? So why not stay to keep yourself tight, I’m only doing this to protect you. I love you, you’re safer here.”

Though, if you were to get hurt and end up in the Butterfly Estate with multiple injuries, Obanai is sitting right next to you, holding your hand, planning a way to get you ‘home’. Once you’re awake, he’s right beside you, ordering you to never scare him like that again: “Since you were hurt badly, Master has made it clear you’re retired. You’re not leaving without me anymore, it’s final.”

Back on the track of manipulating, he would order you around to stay by him at all times. This includes ‘accidentally’ slipping into a relationship with him and moving in with him; controlling you from the moment you step foot in your now-shared home.

Obanai’s yandere tendencies consist of being very overprotective, paranoid, semi-worshiping, and possessive. He’s always watching over you, paranoia covering his thick skin as if someone will come into the home and steal you away. Rarely does he allow you to leave the house, at least without him that is.

From his experience, he knows you need sunlight to function. He would allow you to come out, shop, and eat out at your favorite restaurants as long as he’s alongside you. Of course, anyone who dares to eye you is immediately stared down by him.

His biggest problem is his insecurity, fearing that you’ll abandon him and betray him like everyone else. This makes the affection between the two of you (at times) very confusing, he will believe he’s not good for you, pushing you away to the point of desperation of physical contact. Then, other times, he wants a cuddle session the moment he comes home, bringing you in a tight embrace whilst he smells your hair.

Because of his insecurity of his body and face, he would never ever drop off his mask around you, scared you’ll run away once you see it. But, when it comes to a year within the relationship, he’ll allow you to pull it down, unexpected by the gentle kisses plastered on his face given by you; it may lead him to tears.

The punishments you’ll receive are pretty slim in advance; he hates hurting you in any way. Normally, if you decide to act out, he would either ignore you or lecture you to the point you’ll feel bad.

Throw insults towards him? He’ll bluntly ignore it. He’s heard those before, it doesn’t affect him as much as it did when he was younger; go ahead, he’s heard worse.

If you decide to try to break out or try to hit him? He would be annoyed and hurt. Of course, he would snap at you… yelling at you as to why ‘are you stupid?’ or ‘try that again and see what happens next.’

However, the most he would do to ‘hurt you’ is when you escape; bruising your wrists. Either after he finds you stumbled into the dirt outside or he catches you before you make it out into the woods, Obanai is yelling at you and dragging you back to your shared-room. You’d have a few scratches from trying to get away and the now reddish-bruise forming on your wrists from him dragging you inside.

You will be spoiled with everything you want if you act good. You want jewelry? You have a basket full of it, plus that haori you wanted. You love to read? You get as many books as you want, letting you admire the book cover as he blushes at your happy face. Whatever you want, is yours; all he asks in favor is you allow him to cuddle you, get many kisses and hugs from the desperate snake Hashira.

—

Masterlist || Please consider reblogging and commenting instead of liking, stay well!

Do not plagiarize, repost, modify, translate or copy my work.

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misspickman · 8 months

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tim and helena for 29?

"Do you know how to use a first aid kit?"

A string of colorful swears falls from Tim's mouth as he combs through the thick black hair with his fingers, looking for a wound or a bump. Helena has so much hair. It's absurd. It's not making any of this easier. It has always been on his mind; why don't they tie it back? Stephanie, Helena, Cassie, he's gotta ask them. Later.

Amongst the sticky strands of hair there's blood coming off of the back of her head, which is bad.

“Ow,” she croaks and Tim's shoulders slump. He was afraid she'd passed out. “Fuck.”

“Yeah, it's not great.” She groans. Tim silently agrees. “You're bleeding.”

Helena groans again around a swear. Tim can't tell if the crease between her eyebrows is caused by pain or plain frustration at their whole situation. He holds her head steady.

“Kid,” she squints at him, and Tim tries not to bristle at it, “did they take anyone else?”

No, and that is the single good part, isn't it? Everything else can go to hell. “No.”

She tries to nod. Tim snaps at her to not move. Maybe he's being too grumpy for a helpless civilian in danger, but that too is what he is so grumpy about.

The tricky thing about being a vigilante with a secret identity is holding one intact in situations where some more-luck-than-sense assholes get a drop on you in civilian mode. There is, Tim has discovered during his years in the business, a whole new type of frustration you unlock at times like these.

“What do you remember?” he asks, forgetting himself and taking on the role of the defender instead of the other way around. It's a hard habit to crack. Especially now, when his brain can't help but blur the lines between Helena and Huntress, and his own identities. Aren't they the same? He knows the answer is no. Doesn't make it feel any less like there's a thin membrane about to pop between them.

Helena gives him a curt recount of events, slurred and painful to listen to in a way that makes him wary. She needs to get to a hospital. He should get her to Leslie. He so does not have a handle on this situation.

“This is so damn stupid,” Helena says, voice airy and thin. Tim silently agrees. He tries to think of a way to persuade Helena to take off her mask so he could check her pupils. By the way, hi, I know who you are already, so it's chill. It's me, Red Robin. Your Robin, remember? Of course she would. That's exactly what would be the problem.

“What about the boy?” she asks.

Of course Helena would still find a way to think of someone else's wellbeing before her own even when she's bleeding on the floor with a definite head injury. It's what makes her a good vigilante; Tim would call it admirable, if it weren't making his job at the moment more difficult. Admirable, yet so frustrating.

“He'll be fine—stop moving. I managed to call the ambulance before they got to me.”

“Oh,” Helena exhales, with something like a surprise in her voice. Tim is offended for a moment before he catches himself, though he doesn't find calling for help the most demanding or heroic of acts, even for a civilian. He could have done more. He must have—he should have felt it when the panic started overflowing and everything went off the rails, and done something. A million excuses swarm his brain and he stomps them out. Not the time.

At least Helena got to punch some to-be robbers. Tim tries not to be bitter about it. He shouldn't be, considering how it's ended. But really, it had not even been night proper yet. How quickly can a teacher run out of school and be ready to punch criminals?

He checks the bleeding, making sure it's nothing more than a surface wound. Mask or not, her left eye is visibly swollen shut. He can still tell that she's staring up at him as well as she can, probably woozy but still trying to keep focused. He doesn't like it, her watching his unmasked face this up close. For a moment he's almost thankful for the concussion.

He resists the urge to list her the sustained injuries that he can see like they would in costume. It nags at him, sits underneath his tongue, as he tries to avoid making eye contact through the mask. It's really annoying being on the other side of this.

“Hey, kid,” Helena grits out, voice faint, “Do you know how to use a first aid kit?”

Does he—of course he does. Tim opens his mouth to snipe back and remembers, right. She doesn't know. To Helena right now, as bruised and concussed as she is, he is just a random student with a serious bedhead from his recent library nap, and a hostage. He knows what she must be feeling; the frustration and shame at being rendered helpless when others' lives depend on you.

Luckily for her, Tim knows what he's doing. But she can't know that. Better play it cool.

“Uh. More or less.”

Out of her belt, Helena pulls out a small, impromptu first aid kit. Tim nearly hisses at her not to move, again, as she flinches in pain. “Good enough. Can you—please.”

The fact that she pleads is proof enough that she doesn't recognize him. Tim wants to be proud, but the whole situation would be ten times easier if she just knew.

He does a quick job of wrapping gauze around the wound, all very practiced and swift in a way that would probably be a tell if Helena wasn't so out of it. There's a strong urge in him to put her head in his lap—it would be more comfortable than the cold, dirty floor of the back of the van, but that'd be just stupid. He holds her head instead, gently, to minimize any movement.

Just as he puts away her kit, she stirs.

“Hey,” it falls from his mouth a bit too loudly. He's not nervous. Being cool, calm and collected at times like this is a must-have skill, once he's had more than enough practice at. They've been in way worse situations than this, too, so why does he feel so shaky? “Don't do that.”

Helena mutters, like she's just remembered something, “I'm going to throw up.”

“Try not to?”

She rolls to her side and throws up. Tim tries to gather her hair up and hold it away from her face as she retches, and also avoid getting thrown up on. When he's sure she's done, he helps her lie back down away from it and wipes away the edges of her mouth.

“I think…” Helena grumbles, and groans. “I think I have a concussion.”

Tim sighs. “You think?”

Maybe that was too harsh. It's just hard to keep himself in check and be a good, scared citizen when it's Helena he's patching up. He tries to muster an apology but Helena snorts, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. His intentions aside, Tim feels his shoulders drop in relief.

He can see her squinting at him with her good eye. It feels much like being scanned, even with the state she's in.

“You're…” she trails off, again, and that's a bad sign. At least she's still mostly aware of her surroundings. “You're very relaxed. About all this.”

“Well, you're here to keep us safe, aren't you?” he mutters. Flattery, a shot in the dark. Keep her busy, or something.

Helena scoffs. A gentle smile spreads across her lips. It's one that Tim is very familiar with—or used to be, back when they ran as Huntress and Robin more often. It would usually be followed either by a careful flick of his ear or a hand mussing his hair. He almost moves out of her reach instinctively, but the hand doesn't come.

The van stops. They both stop breathing.

Not thinking, Tim whispers. “We've stopped.”

“No shit.”

“This is perfect,” he continues, eyes glued on the back door and the footsteps nearing it, “or very bad.”

Helena groans. “They have guns.”

And they have the element of surprise. Maybe. It's worth a shot. What else is he supposed to do? Keep sitting here helplessly?

They only had one gun, and only two of them fit in the front of the van. Tim remembers watching most of them scatter when shit hit the fan, before he got thrown in here. He can totally beat a gun and two guys.

“It's worth a shot,” he says. He can hear voices outside—two, he was right. They're arguing. Not much of a unified front, are they now?

“No plan B?” Helena asks. She doesn't sound happy about this, but she is also way less upset about it than Tim would assume, or than he would be if he was in her spot.

He shakes his head. “We don't need it. Have some faith in me, would you?”

Helena tries to push herself up. Tim glares at her. Instead she grabs at her belt again and hands him a throwing knife. It's a small thing, heavier than it looks, and fits between his fingers nicely.

“I always do,” she says, and ignores Tim's frown. “That doesn't make this plan suck any less.”

***

He visits her in Leslie's clinic afterwards. Stupid idea? Maybe. He bets on her still being passed out, and loses. It's Leslie's fault, too, for giving him no warning.

He freezes at the door the moment Helena's tired brown eyes zero in on him, costume on, and he knows he's been caught. It makes him feel uncomfortably young. Like she's caught him cheating on an exam or something equally stupid and mundane.

She smiles; Tim considers backing away. It wouldn't do him much good.

“Doc tells me a very nice young man brought me here,” she says, in a mockingly light tone, as Tim sits beside her bed. He hands her a jello that she immediately puts aside, face scrunched up in disgust. “You know anything about that?”

Tim makes a face, feigning ignorance, and watches her squint. “I guess you owe him a thanks.”

“I suppose. Too bad I don't know who it was.”

Rude. Tim bites his cheeks to keep his cool. “Can I eat that?”

“Of course. Consider it a thanks.” She leans over a bit to knock their shoulders together, and Tim just barely resists the urge to tell her to stay still, please. But Leslie said she's fine, not much to worry about, so maybe he's being dramatic.

He pulls down his cowl and shakes off his sweaty hair. There's a domino mask underneath, always, just in case, but it feels pointedly comical now. Sure enough, Helena snorts at it.

“I don't know what you mean. I just got here.”

The stark fondness on her face is annoying, really, because it reminds Tim how he messed up. It's embarrassing. He's a professional vigilante, and yet.

It also brings him at ease, because it's familiar, because it means she's okay and reminds him of her laughing at him calling her old as they rode on horseback. He would rather eat his own fist than admit that he misses the old times. That's usually the sort of Helena would be saying.

She moves to flick his ear and Tim dodges, nearly knocking over an IV stand of the empty bed beside them.

“I've known you, bird boy,” she says, smiling, “since you were but a hatchling.”

“Ugh.”

“Eat your shitty jello.”

#sorry for the lazy time skip i did not want to write an action scene #thank u for the promp<3 sorry it took so long<3 #my writing #i did try to look up more for head injuries but i got lazy and handwaved it u know. thats not the point. the point is i love them

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randynova · 2 years

Text

ᴅᴇᴠɪʟ's ᴘʀᴏᴍɪsᴇ

ʙᴇʀʟɪɴ/ sᴏɴɢ ᴊᴜɴɢ ʜᴏ x ғᴇᴍ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

A.N.: I was so disappointed there wasn't much on this fine piece of a man yet. Then I remember, "Wait, I can write…." Sooo, I put something out! Enjoy while I work on requests.

✦✦✦ ✦✦✦

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ(s): sᴍᴜᴛ ᴡ/ᴏ ᴘʟᴏᴛ, ᴀɢᴇ ɢᴀᴘ, ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ʙɪᴛ ᴏғ ᴄʜᴏᴋɪɴɢ, ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴs ᴏғ ᴏᴠᴇʀsᴛɪᴍᴜʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

✦✦✦ ✦✦✦

"Hahh… hahh, sir…! Ahhh!"

A nip to your helix has you shuddering, the rumbling laughter of the man having goosebumps run across your body. "Shhh, you don't want to alert the others, now do you…?" He whispers, his clothed chest flush against your bare back as hot breath tickles your ear, hands gripping your waist and pulling you back into his hips. "It'd be such a shame if we can't finish. You wouldn't want that, right…?"

You shake your head, mewling as he sinks you back onto his cock, gasping at the stretch of his thick girth, clenching your thighs together whilst tears lear at your eyes. For a criminal, he really knew how to break a woman, how to have her melt into a babbling mess under his touch and still wish for more.

A stream of pants and small whines slip past your parted lips, gripping onto the desk presiding in the main office of operations, eyes rolling to the back of your head as the crown of his cock presses against your cervix. He groans, burying his face into your hair, screwing his eyes shut from your tight cunt constricts around him. The man could feel himself getting lost in your warmth, knowing it would be difficult to push back his own release from coming early. God, he was grateful you two were the only ones awake — for now.

He laughs breathlessly, a single hand trailing up your body and wrapping around your pretty throat. He gives a few squeezes, eliciting an adorable whine from you. Berlin hums, satisfied with your answer, knowing the cute little assistant wanted this just as much as him. "Of course you don't, darling…. Can't have my favorite girl left in such an unsatisfied position. Mm, f-fuck…!"

The feeling of his palm against your windpipe had blood rushing to your head, head spinning as your senses heightened, whimpering pathetically as you gushed around his shaft once more. You couldn't keep count how many times you cummed, but you didn't care. Fuck, you couldn't care as long as he keeps fucking you like you were nothing more than his own damn personal coccksleeve. Shame bubbled in your chest at the thought, only to be ignored by how his tongue ran across the flesh of your shoulder, painting the canvas of your body with dark welts, bringing you back to your own filthy desires.

The world be damned, you craved the criminal and the pleasure he gave you — the attention, the compliments, the feeling of being wanted — you craved it all. And now, you were more than addicted and he knew it.

You start pushing your hips back into his pelvis, desperately fucking yourself on him in an attempt to reach the famailar high again, to feel him spill his fertile seed in your cunny. You sob pitifully, "O-Oh, sir, please, please, want – ah—hahhh…!"

"Hm? What? Tell me, what does my pretty girl want...?" He coos, tightening his hold on your throat.

Throwing your pride aside, you plead to him, voice dripping with longing, "Need your cum, sir, please — please cum inside! Ngh–ahh!"

He stays silent for a moment, stuttering in his movements for a moment. His breath fans the shell of your ear, muttering, "Are you sure? Because once you agree, I will not hold myself back anymore…."

The dangerous edge dripping in his voice made your core throb, nodding frantically as he chuckled in pure delight. You truly were a whore.

Berlin bites his tongue and swallows dryly, letting go of your throat and leaning up. Who was he to deny your wish, he thought before rutting into you, clutching your plush. You were nothing but obedient and so very giving, now, it was up to him to graciously return the favor.

Dark hues trail to where you two connect, mesmerized at the sight of your dripping pussy, arousal stringing to his dick as he pistons his hips in and out your weeping heat. A squeal rips from your throat as he pumps inside your poor cunt with fervor, determined to coat your walls with his cum, wanting to see your young cunny filled to the brim. The sounds of slapping skin and squelching came in continuous wet clicks, resonating in the empty room. Oh it all created such a sinful symphony of lust.

A series of broken moans drifted in the air, mixing with your cries and chanting of his name, arching your spine and clawing at the wooden surface. Praises trickled from his mouth, shaft twitching and balls tightening as he dragged his cock, whispering how well you were taking him – how beautiful you were, how precious you were to him, and he couldn't wait to make you his for good.

Each sugar-coated word had you reeling and soon, believing every promise as your orgasm washed over you in waves, clenching and releasing around him as your juices dribbled down the curve of your ass. He did not deter and merely quickened his pace, chuckling darkly at the irony of the situation.

Berlin, however, was not even close to being done and now that you made it abundantly clear how much you wanted him, he would use it to his advantage. You were a wicked rapture of his own creation, and he would be stupid to not abuse the emotions you held towards him.

Afterall, he needed some way to pass the time and someone like you to make the stress of the heist all the worth bearing.

You'd forgive him though, right?

✦✦✦ ✦✦✦

©ʀᴀɴᴅʏɴᴏᴠᴀ || ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛs ʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ || ɴᴏ ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴs, ᴇᴅɪᴛs, ᴄᴏᴘʏɪɴɢ, ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛɪɴɢ, ᴇᴛᴄ. ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴄɪʀᴄᴜᴍsᴛᴀɴᴄᴇs.

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jishyucks · 1 year

Text

Walls, Brawls, & Sudden Rainfalls (Teaser) ‣ hrj

‣ pairing: renjun x reader

‣ genre: enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, slow burn, college au

‣ teaser wc: 1.9k

‣ final wc: expected to be 15k+ (could be more), currently 12k

‣ summary: Your first impression of Huang Renjun wasn’t the greatest. In fact, the first two encounters you did have with him were enough for you to conclude that he was just some cold-blooded boy who genuinely didn’t care about anyone else but himself. That was, of course, before the (damn) universe brings you both together to work on the local daycare’s mural.

↳ Alternatively where first impressions blind the fact that you two actually fit quite well together.

‣ warnings? (so far): Brief mention of underage drinking, Renjun and reader argue really childishly lots, when I meant slow burn, I really did mean slow burn ‣ an: I've never done teasers for my longer fics, but maybe I do want one for this because I've worked a little too hard on this one, so pls enjoy!

“Chalk, white paint, string, ruler,” Renjun mumbles, taking the supplies up into his arms.

You grab the paint brushes, “Why do we need half of what you just said?”

Renjun’s walking out of the room, paying almost no mind to you and your question.

“Huang Renjun,” you say firmly, “Can you answer my question?” You both are outside at this point, “Or… or else I’ll chuck this brush at you!” Although it was a joke, you subconsciously knew you would if he seriously didn’t open his mouth within the next minute.

“So I can draw a grid?” He speaks to you as if you were stupid.

Oh, he’s going to get it, you think, but your thoughts and your body think and do different things. Your body decides to stay grounded where you were, “And why would we need a grid?”

Renjun huffs and turns to his bag. He fishes out the draft you both had made last week, only there’s a graph lightly drawn over it, “So we can replicate the picture onto the wall.” Renjun thought this over the past few days. If he and you wanted to mural to turn out exactly how you both had drawn it, eyeing it wouldn’t be the best to go about it. Hell, even drawing out a rough sketch of it could be difficult through eyeing it.

“Can’t we just free-hand it?” You’re not understanding why Renjun wants to make the job more difficult than it was. There were only two of you. If there were maybe four of you working on the mural, then sure, go ahead and draw a graph, but there were only two of you.

Renjun shakes his head, “I think it’s worth it to draw the graph, that way there’s no chance of messing up.” He fiddles mindlessly with the string he’s been holding. You can tell by the expression on his face that he’s serious about this. You want to tell him that, ‘bro, this is a mural for a daycare, it doesn’t need to be one-hundred-percent perfect,’ but Renjun looks like he’s ready to fight for what he wants.

“Fine, let’s draw the graph,” you say.

Renjun looks at you confused. Why’d you back down so quick? “Huh?”

“But you do it all on your own.”

Ah… There it is.

“I’ll just sit here and wait for you to finish.”

Renjun wants to laugh out loud, not because the situation was funny, but because he can’t believe you’re actually saying what you just said. “Are you serious?”

You sit down at a nearby bench and nod, “Why would I be joking? You sure do act like you know what you want to do… so, go ahead. Do it.” A spiteful smile rises upon your lips and you wave for him to go on with his task. Being the stubborn boy he was, Renjun gives you one firm look before turning towards the small ladder. He drags it towards the right end of the wall and begins preparing the materials.

You watch him out of curiosity, wanting to know how he’ll manage to do it all on his own. You want to see if he’ll ask for your help, or end up wanting to free-hand the rough sketch in end. But as you do observe Renjun, it’s clear that he’s not going to ask for help or give up.

Renjun measures out string that’s about the height of the wall, 3 metres tall, and then the length, which was nearly 4 and a half metres long. Grabbing measuring tape, Renjun uses the ladder to measure and divide the wall into foot-by-foot squares, marking the corners of the squares with dark chalk lines. The job’s going to take long, that’s for sure, and watching him move up and down the ladder, while he tries his best to keep his marks aligned, you can’t help but feel bad for making him do it on his own.

But then again, he wasn’t asking for help.

Renjun on the other hand is struggling and he hopes you don’t see it. Yes, two hands were enough for the daily tasks he has grown accustomed to, but two hands weren’t enough to do this very task efficiently. There’s a voice at the very back of his brain that was itching him to ask you for help, but as always, Renjun and his stubborn ass refuse to do so, even if he’s on the edge of falling off of the ladder.

“Can you hand me the black paint?” Renjun asks about forty-five minutes later. His hairline is drenched from sweat and the lack of expression on his face reveals how tired he was, “Please.” He hopes that you’d at least help with this.

Without another word between the two of you, you stand up and pick up the bucket of black paint. You quickly plop it down next to the foot of the ladder before looking up at him, “Are you done with the graph?” You try your best to sound disinterested, eyes moving across the wall.

Renjun blinks down at you, “Does it look finished?”

There’s a caring instinct in you that notices the exhausted look in Renjun’s eyes. His eyelids are drooping, and he’s sniffling from the constant moving he’s been doing. Renjun’s sweating profusely from the sun beating down on the both of you, and you’re brought to wonder if he was prepared to be worked up to this degree.

When your eyes meet his, you’re instantly pulled from your thoughts and you remember that you’re not supposed to give a single fuck about Huang Renjun, even if he’s working his ass off like this. He looks like he’s waiting for you to answer or leave to go sit back down. But a rogue idea somehow assembles itself in your head and you decide to just go with it. You roll your eyes, “Well, I’m going to the washroom if you aren’t.”

“Whatever.” He gives you one last glare before turning to the black paint and the string.

You start making your way to the front door of the building, sending Renjun sneaky glances. The second he’s paying you no attention, both direct and peripheral, you make a break for it and start sprinting towards the centre of campus. There was no doubt that you look like a madman right now, zooming past students who were still on campus despite the day of the week, but you didn’t care. If you want to pull this off, then you need to do this quick—and quick means running like you were in a life or death situation.

Finally reaching your destination, you decide to take a breather, hands on your knees and everything. Your mind wanders back to the day you applied for the gig, getting deja vu from the exhaustion you’re feeling right now.

Once you finally are able to catch your breath, you make your way into the building and sigh at the air conditioning.

“Y/N! Hi! The usual?” The Starbucks worker, one you’ve obviously seen plenty of times, looks at you in an odd way but goes with the flow nonetheless. She’s smiling at you, finger hovering over the screen in front of her as she waits for a response.

You nod and add, “Add an iced matcha latte to that too. Make it venti, please.” She nods and continues on with the usual routine.

You left as quickly as you came, although this time, you’re sprinting with a bit more caution, not wanting to spill the drinks you’ve used your own money for. You can’t help but wonder what Renjun was thinking right now—what were you doing in the washroom for so long?

The two drinks you were holding in both of your hands said it all, though there was still no explanation why you decided to sacrifice some of your time and money for Renjun. It was just the nice person instinct inside of you that decided to do so.

You’ll complain about it to yourself later.

When you finally return from your little mission, you’re lucky enough to arrive when Renjun’s distracted with the graph. You notice he’s done the vertical lines within the time you were gone.

“That was a long washroom break,” Renjun muttered rather loudly. He’s pressing the paint-soaked string against the wall, face angled slightly to the side in focus, “I was beginning to think you ditched me.”

You shoot him a glare behind his back and contemplate whether you should throw the drink that you bought for him at him. Instead, you say nothing and put the drink down next to his things, making sure it was in a spot that was safe from the surroundings.

Renjun looks back at you, instantly noticing that you were now holding an entire Starbucks drink in your hand, completely missing the one sitting by his things. “Didn’t know they had a Starbucks in the washroom.” His tone is dripping with sarcasm and hints of irritation. He still can’t believe he’s actually been working on the graph for almost two hours on his own.

“Oh yeah, they just opened one a week ago,” you shoot back. You plop into your previous place and sit there, taking out your phone to distract you from Renjun.

You don’t realize how much time has passed when you see a pair of feet stop in front of you. You’re brought to look up at the owner, “What do you want?”

“I want a break.” Renjun answers flatly, “I’m done with the graph. Now work on transferring it.” He holds out the same draft he had shown you earlier, waiting for you to take it. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to show his shoulders and he’s using a small towel, that was originally supposed to be for the paintbrushes, to wipe his forehead.

“Sure” was all you said before snatching the draft from his fingertips.

All the hard work was done for you. Transferring it was easy.

Gathering the supplies you needed, chalk, paintbrushes, and white paint, you get going on transmitting the draft onto the wall. The moment you start the rough sketch of the mural, you feel a wave of nostalgia hit you, remembering the countless activity books you completed as a kid. You can distinctly recall the pages where one side displayed a cute drawing of an animal or character of some sort, overlaid by a graph, while the page next to it shows an empty graph in which you were instructed to redraw the completed picture. This was exactly like that, only bigger and not for leisure.

Your delight in starting distracts you easily from Renjun, who you unknowingly finally notices the drink you had gotten him not even thirty minutes earlier. Although he’s a bit puzzled by the drink, remembering damn well that he never got the drink himself, he lets his line of sight drift to your half-finished drink sitting by your things. When realization begins settling in, he does one more thing to confirm his thoughts.

Twisting the drink in his grasp, Renjun faces the sticker label towards him, eyes instantly finding what he was looking for.

*Y/N*

His eyes flicker up to you, standing firmly at the top of the step ladder, unaware of the fact that his eyes have widened and the corners of his mouth have climbed higher on his face. Despite the fact he’s thankful and a bit sorry that he was giving you attitude the second you got back from your ‘washroom break,’ the larger part of Renjun that’s still certainly irritated with you doesn’t say thank you.

Not out loud at least.

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yanderelovlies · 1 year

Text

Note: This is a modern setting.

Fandom(s): SWWSDJ

Character(s): Joseph

Au: Vampire

Part 1

Ever since that vampire incident months ago, you began to feel uneasy. It felt like you were constantly being watched and followed. Yet you couldn't find any proof that you were. So you stayed silent till they would reveal themselves, or at least you tried. Until one night.

As you lay in bed, trying ever so desperately to fall asleep. You let out a groan before opening your eyes again. "I wish whoever it was would either reveal themselves or leave. I'm tired of this suspense."

It was silent for a bit longer before you sighed. however, almost immediately, you heard rustling outside your window, making you sit up. You reach for the nearest object shaking slightly. Maybe you didn't want this after all.

The window open as a head pops inside. In panic, you throw the object, hitting the person head on.

You heard a thunk followed by a string of curses and hisses. "Damn doll! if I didn't know any better, you did that on purpose."

"J-Joe....?"

His head popped up again as piercing red eyes met yours. "Who else?" He pulled himself up and through your window. As his feet meet the floor, he rubs where the object hit "Damn that might leave a bruise.

You glared at him, bringing your blanket up to your chin. "What the hell are you doing here?! I thought you said this wasn't gonna be a normal thing!"

He turned to you, giving you one of his signature smirks. "I mean It's been a month since then. So I wouldn't call it a normal occurrence."

You glared hardened. "Get out."

His smile fell into a look of almost pleading. "Come on, doll. One more time... it's been so hard feeding lately..."

"You said something similar the last time you were here."

Joesph carefully walked closer to you, his pleading look more obvious. "Trust me, doll, I wouldn't be here if I had no choice."

With every step he took the more he desperately prayed to whoever was listening. He NEEDED to taste you again. Nothing tasted as good as you did, making him reject the usuals he went to.

You watched him wearily. He didn't like that. He didn't want you to be afraid of him, so he came to stop. "Why has been hard?"

He thought for a moment. Should he tell you? would it scare you away if he did? Or would you be more upset if he didn't? "I...."

He sighed as you raised an eyebrow. He knew he couldn't keep it from you, and he didn't want to. "Do promise to hear me out. All the way through?" You looked him up and down before nodding. He sat down on the floor a bit of a way from your bed. He didn't want you to feel pressured by what he was about to say.

He took a deep breath before his eyes met your own. "It's been hard to...feed because no one compares to you. My mate."

He never broke eye contact as he watched you trying to determine if you heard him right. "Mate?"

He felt a shiver go down his spine. "Yes. Someone we are bound to forever. Blood from others will never be my interest again."

"Is....is that why you've been following me?"

He gave you a guilty look as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I just wanted to make sure you were safe..."

You sighed, looking down. "This... This is a lot to take in Joe..."

"I know....I'm sorry."

You were silent for what felt like forever until you finally made eye contact. "I can't just... jump into something with you. This is the twilight, but I am willing to get to know you first." He perked up. It wasn't what he was hoping for, but he was willing to take whatever you would give him. "and since you have to be kept fed to be around, you can feed from me, but can we set dates instead of appearing at random?"

He nodded vigorously a smile on his face. He could feel relief and excitement wash over him. "Of course, doll! whatever your comfortable with."

You nodded before hesitantly lowering the blankets. You moved your shirt, allowing your neck and shoulder to be exposed to him. "M-make it quick..."

Joesph's narrowed at the pulse on your neck. He can't promise that. He wants to savor every second of it, but he will keep that to himself.

#sunny day jack #swwsdj #something's wrong with sunny day jack #x reader #yandere x reader #something's wrong with sunny day jack x reader #swwsdj x reader #joesph x reader #joesph cullman x reader #joesph cullman #sdj joseph x reader #sunny day jack joseph #sdj joseph #joseph x reader #joseph cullman

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yuckie-obsessive · 1 year

Text

Just The Start

Set up: Dark has followed you through the misadventures Mark has taken you on. Fighting for your freedom and on the look out to finally break you out.

“For the Best Ending” is the conclusion for this.

Tw: swearing, mentions of manipulation, implied mind control

Darkiplier x Reader (gender neutral)

~★~

Words: 879

He watched as you were taken through the motions again. Looking for the opportune moment when he isn’t watching. Waiting for a single moment when he lets his guard down.

Mark

This actor.

This imposter.

Always concocting new stories in order to string you along. Just a little fly trapped in his web being spoon fed ideas of control.

Feeding you lies.

Not like there was anything you could do. Frustratingly unable to remember a thing beyond the life you’ve been written into.

It was his fault, of course.

Dark

The unstable force that stole your body to use as his own.

It was his fault that he left you trapped in that mirror-

In that damned house.

And it was ultimately his fault that he left you alone in the hands of that monster.

Through countless years of regret and fighting with gritted teeth, he had finally managed to get this close to you.

You were the only reason he was still here, after all.

Always watching from a distance, never able to get anywhere near close enough to interact with you. To hear you acknowledge him again…

The rage that had built up over these countless charades was finally starting to break the surface.

Mark knew it was too.

But remained far too self-assured to do anything about it.

Until that one instance, that one story that boiled his blood so badly that he nearly tore himself apart to reach you.

~★~

“(Y/n)…” He called.

That nagging worry that you won’t hear him again played in his mind. Though, he’s gotten you this far before. Pulling you into a pitch void that was quickly constructed just for an attempt at your freedom.

Then a hard prickling excitement washed over his skin when you nervously looked around for a source of the call. A deep anxiety followed when he remembered there wasn’t much time.

He moved forward, hardly thinking of his image when approaching you.

“(Y/n)!” He called again

It sounded desperate and he knew it.

You spun around, now aware of where the call was coming from, but began backpedaling when you saw the source.

A quickly approaching figure with shattered reflections appearing to chase him. Screaming and wailing, all reaching out for you.

You stopped in sock fear from a particular roar that thundered all around you. One that forced you to cover your ears. Your eyes clamped shut- this was just a nightmare you were about to wake from, it has to be.

Fate decided otherwise.

Dark enveloped you in his arms. Thinking that the safety of his form was enough to prevent you from being ripped away again. As if he could surround you with himself in order to steal you away.

His hand clutching tightly at the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair in an attempt to keep you from separating. His arms pulling you in closer. He could feel how fast your heart was beating, your quickened breath in his ear- oh, how sweet of a sound after all this time.

“(Y/n)-“ his own breathing was hard against the adrenaline. The shattered reflections dancing around the both of you, frozen with expressions of a certain desperation.

“I have you- I’m here, I’m finally here,” somehow there was still space to let him fold onto you as his grip tightened, “I’m sorry it took me so long.” All he wanted to do was hold this moment for as long as he could, but cracks were already starting to chip away at this temporary space.

He moved to hold your face with his hands. Forcing your gaze to meet with his.

“We don’t have much time, but I need to you know that I have never given up on you. I’m going to set you free.” you tried pulling away from his hands, but Dark’s grip was far too strong, “I hope you can forgive me for all I have done. Even if you don’t remember…” his hold softened, you had stopped pulling away. Visible cracks in the void began splintering all around you, “I’m going to fight for you, no matter how long it takes.”

Your mind had been struggling against you as if reaching out for clarity. Then suddenly, a thought awaken from its deep slumber within.

Your eyes started to water.

“… Damien?”

Eyes wide and mouth open in shock, he took a breath to respond-

Wind took you down to the ground as a blinding light consumed you. The distorted sound of an anguished roar faded along with the wind.

Your eyes opened to the sky.

“Woah there (y/n)! You okay? That was quite the tumble-“ you looked over to see Mark coming up beside you. You felt… fuzzy.

“Here,” he offered you a hand.

You took it and stood, not catching his subtle smirk as he watched your eyes glaze over. His influence taking hold once more.

"Let's get back to it, yeah?"

Dark seethed.

This wasn’t fair.

To get so little time with you after how long he’s waited.

But now he was getting through to you. Just the start of breaking you out, finally getting you away from all this.

Despite it all, he held resolve to see you make it to safety. This was the first victory and there would be more.

He remained determined to make sure your story didn’t fracture like everyone else’s.

#darkiplier x reader #darkiplier #ego #dark #markiplier egos #kie writes #text #fanfic #kie’s post #reader insert #x reader #(y/n)#gender neutral fanfic #actor mark

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herofics · 2 years

Note

Hey so, uhm, can you please make a comfort with midoria, and dabi where the s/os family is manipulative and y'know, s/o is just, well, tired and attempts suicide by cutting themself. Can they (seperatly) save their s/o from the despair.

My exam is done, so I’m back. Oh boy, this is very differently written from a lot of my previous stuff since I haven’t felt suicidal in a long time and I have some difficulty remembering how it felt, which is of course a good thing. I didn’t really use the manipulative family thing in the Dabi one and even in the Deku on it’s more like them being super shitty to the reader. With Dabi it’s an s/o who lives on their own, in the Deku one they live together in his pro hero days

~Dabi~

Dabi hadn’t heard from you for a few days before he got the text. He had been incredibly busy the last week, so he hadn’t even really checked up on you, he had just expected that you would contact him if you needed something.

“I can’t do this anymore. I’m sorry” it said.

The second he read the text, he could feel it in the pit of his stomach, that feeling of dread. He tried to call you, but you didn’t pick up.

“Damn” Dabi growled as he hurried to your place.

He didn’t even knock, he just kicked the door open and started looking around the small apartment. It didn’t even take him a minute to find you, slumped on the bathroom floor.

“What the hell did you do!?” Dabi yelled as he approached you.

He slipped in the pool of blood that was covering the floor next to you and fell backwards onto his ass.

“Damn it (Name)!” he growled as he crawled towards you on all fours, trying not to slip again.

You weren’t awake, but you did have a weak pulse. Dabi didn’t want to take you to a hospital, he wasn’t about to get caught now that he was so close to achieving his goal, not even for you. To his luck though, he did know a guy with a more than convenient healing quirk that owed him a favor.

Dabi made the call, with the mandatory threat of bodily harm to the guy if he didn’t show up of course

Dabi wasn’t about to move you anywhere, he didn’t want to risk causing more harm to you. He just sat there, just outside the pool of blood, that didn’t seem to be getting bigger any longer. He wasn’t really sure if that was a good or a bad thing.

“What the hell is wrong with you, you damn idiot” Dabi grumbled as he sat there with his head in his hands.

It felt like forever before his acquaintance showed up. The minutes were going by so slow he felt like time had stopped. It felt like he couldn’t hear anything but the beating of his own heart, everything else was just buzzing. He was dissociating quite heavily..

When you had been treated, and ended up somehow surviving, Dabi managed to check back into reality.

“If they end up dying, I will find you and kill very slowly and painfully” Dabi assured his acquaintance before letting him leave.

Dabi ended up moving you onto the bed, not giving a single crap about how bloody it got. He sat there on the bed, looking as your chest moved up and down. It was proof of you being alive.

When you finally woke up, you were incredibly weak. You didn’t say anything, but your eyes fluttered open, which Dabi noticed right away.

“Finally” Dabi growled.

“Hmmm?” you muttered, not yet coherent enough to string together an actual sentence.

“Now I can beat the hell out of you for being a damn idiot” Dabi said, sounding incredibly annoyed.

You felt very groggy and your head was spinning, so it took a minute for Dabi’s words to sink in.

“What did-did I do?” you muttered, trying to sit up, but you were too weak to do so.

You didn’t really know why he seemed to be so angry with you and you weren’t sure why you were feeling like crap.

“What the hell do you mean: “What did I do?”. You tried to kill yourself”

“Oh” you said very quietly.

It was all coming back to you now, and as the confusion started to clear, all the bad feelings you’d had before came rushing back.

“Why did you even save me? You should’ve just let me die” you said, tears welling up in your eyes.

“No way in hell am I gonna let you die” Dabi growled and stood up abruptly.

“There’s nothing here for me, and I’m tired of fighting this feeling every day. It’s never gonna get better so what’s even the point” you argued.

Dabi was selfish, he knew that, but if that’s what it took to keep you alive, he would continue on his current track.

“What about me, huh? I’m here, aren’t I?”

For some reason his comment took you by surprise. He hadn’t checked up on you for the last week, so you had assumed he just didn’t give a damn. You didn’t really know what to say to him.

“Do me a favor, sweetness, keep going. Even if it’s out of spite for everyone who’s ever wronged you. Even if you don’t want to live for yourself, live for me, because I promise I’ll make it worth your while” Dabi said with a smirk, but his eyes were serious.

“You promise?” you asked.

“I swear I will make it worth it for you”

You weren’t really sure if you believed him, but it was enough for you to keep going for now. It was enough for you to keep fighting another day.

~Midoriya Izuku~

Midoriya had been speaking at a hero conference for the last few days, and he was more than ready to go home. He was sitting in the train and looking out the window. Many of his friends had been at the conference as well and of course they had gone out as a group last evening. He’d sent you a few pictures, and a message telling you he’d be home in a couple of days. You had told him to have fun and after that he hadn’t heard from you.

Midoriya decided to shoot you a message, since he had been able to leave the conference earlier than expected telling you he was on his way home. He also asked iif you’d want to come meet him at the train station, so you could walk back home together. You didn’t answer, which made him a bit worried, but he was going to be home soon anyway, so he could just talk to you in person.

When Midoriya got home, it was really quiet and all the lights were off.

“(Name)? Are you home?” he asked, but there was no answer.

Maybe you really weren’t home, he couldn’t really figure out another reason why the apartment would be so dark and quiet. Midoriya decided he would try to call you.

He could hear your phone ringing in the back of the apartment, so you must have been home. You never left your phone when you went out. He walked to the master bathroom, and the sight that greeted him was nothing short of terrifying.

You were sitting in the bathtub, and the water around you was a deep red color. Midoriya was frozen in pure shock and terror.

You noticed someone standing by the door, so you turned your head tiredly. You were having difficulty keeping your eyes open, and you felt like you were slipping away.

“Izu?” you whispered.

Hearing his name got him moving again.

“(Name)!”

You were so close to just slipping away, you wanted to, you really did. You tried to push him away as he picked you up from the bathtub, but you didn’t have any strength left.

“Let me go” you muttered weakly.

“Never” Midoriya answered, his voice wavering.

He rushed you to the nearest hospital, he got there way faster on his own than an ambulance ever could.

You were taken away and Midoriya was left standing there, covered in blood, and trying not to sob.

“Do you need something sir? I could take you to the closest waiting area to where they took your partner” a nurse said.

“Yes, thank you” Midoriya muttered.

He was in a daze as he followed the nurse who led him to the correct waiting room. He didn’t sit down, but instead walked to the nearest bathroom.

Midoriya started trying to wash the blood from his hands. He couldn’t really do anything about his clothes though. He just wanted to get the blood off his skin, there was so much blood, your blood.

After he had gotten off as much of the blood as possible, he returned to the waiting room.

After a while he suddenly realized he should probably call your mother and tell her about the situation. Midoriya knew you and your mother weren’t exactly close, but she should still know her child was in the hospital.

He dialed your mother’s number with his hands shaking.

“Hello Midoriya” your mother answered, sounding like she was already waiting to hang up on him.

“Hello, Mrs. (Last Name). I-I have some bad news, (Name) is in the hospital, and-”

“What did that idiot child of mine do now? Whatever it was, they probably deserve it” your mother scoffed.

Midoriya didn’t even realize he had crushed the phone in his hand at first. He was so incredibly angry at your mother for what she had just said about you.

“Mr. Midoriya, if you could come with me” a nurse said, pulling him out of his daze.

He sprung up from the chair and followed the nurse to a hospital room.

“They are going to be okay. It was good you got them here so quickly, a few more minutes and we wouldn’t have been able to help them” the nurse said, before opening the door to the room.

“Thank you” Midoriya exclaimed, tears welling up in his eyes.

He moved an armchair next to your bed and sat down on it. He waited for hours before you woke up, holding your hand the whole time and talking to you and crying quietly.

When you started stirring and waking up, he was so incredibly relieved. Midoriya started crying even harder as he raised your hand to his lips and placed a kiss on the back of your palm.

“(Name)” he whispered and placed his other hand on your cheek.

“Izu? Where-where am I?”

“You’re in the hospital, love. You’re going to be okay” he said with a gentle smile and brushed your cheek with his thumb.

“I’m sorry” you said, turning your face away from him. “I’m sorry”

“You don’t have to apologize for hurting, but you shouldn’t do… this” Midoriya said, gesturing to your wrists.

“What am I supposed to do then? What am I supposed to do Izuku? I don’t want to feel like this, I don’t want to be this thing that I’ve become” you pleaded. You just wanted someone to tell you what you were supposed to do.

“To be honest, I don’t really have any answers for you, all I can really tell you is that it’s gonna be worth it someday. One day in the future you’re gonna look back and you’re gonna be glad you made it through these times. I know there’s no miracle cure for you, and if I could, I would take all your hurt for myself, but I can’t” Midoriya said, such sadness in his voice it made your heart ache.

He knew this wasn’t about him or how he felt about what you had just attempted to do. Midoriya wanted nothing more than to help you, but he didn’t know how to do that.

“I’m just exhausted, Izu, so exhausted” you said tiredly.

“I know, love, I know” he said.

He didn’t know if he could help you, but he was sure as hell going to try. He wouldn’t leave you alone with this, not now, not ever.

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 2 years

Note

I LOVEDDDD that headcanon of Eddie and his ghost child friend! Can I request a oneshot of Eddie and his Child Ghost friend reacting to the ending scene of season 4 with the snowing of the upside down particles? Mainly fluff as like ghost child friend and Eddie spending time and talking about there battle in the Upside down or about the time they met.silly shenanigans before the big s h o o k

I had no idea so many ppl would love the ghost!kid!y/n concept ghshghs ya’ll are great I got a lot of content with them planned.

Starting with this sequel :)

..........

In the aftermath of the earthquake, Hawkins was still reeling. Hellfire remained the prime suspect of the disaster, along with the string of high school murders that were now believed to be “human sacrifices” to the devil and a catalyst for all the mayhem and destruction.

Eddie never did it, none of the club members did. But clearly the media was still out for his blood. So until his name could get cleared, he decided to lay low under the presumption that he died in the earthquake.

Of course, you stuck by him and found a safe spot in a cabin within the forest. Your new friends had to sneak food for him every so often (although you could also enjoy food, you didn’t need it to survive). Considering his trailer was completely destroyed by the gate, there was nothing he could take with him.

Everything he ever owned except the clothes on his back were either burned or unsafe to retrieve. It was all gone.

However you did hold onto a single DND dice--specifically the one that led to you two meeting back in the highschool’s hallway. Although the game meant so much to him, Eddie let you keep it as a show of gratitude; or at least until he somehow got the Hellfire Club back together and could do campaigns just like normal.

Unfortunately, things in Hawkins were anything but normal right now.

Yet you remained onto hope, trying to convince yourself that Vecna was slain and that if the Upside Down’s monsters should come back..you’ll be there to help your friends.

But more importantly, you’ll be there for Eddie.

“You know, if someone told me a month ago that I would be talking to a ghost, venturing through an alternate dimension, and fighting against a horde of demonic bats..I would’ve laughed in their face and thought they were seriously tripping.”

Chuckling at the metalhead’s remark, you pocketed the dice you were previously fiddling with and sifted through the cabinets, looking for the Honeycombs cereal. “Yeah. This was the most excitement I’ve ever gotten in my afterlife.”

“For real?” From his relaxed position on the couch, he looked to you with a raised eyebrow. “You’ve just been..wandering aimlessly ever since you uh..became a ghost?”

“More or less, it gets pretty bori--oh damn it.” Your hand phased through the cereal box. “C’mon the one time I’m actually hungry..”

His snickers made you huff in annoyance, but you kept trying to rematerialize your hand until it managed to grasp onto the box. You smirked in triumph as you got a bowl and spoon. “Hah. I’m victorious. You want any cereal, Ed?”

“Nah, I’m fine. You’re getting pretty good at that, by the way.”

“Thanks. This would’ve been nice to have before but..I guess the Upside Down helped me discover a lot about myself.” After getting the cereal, you settled on one of the nearby lounge chairs. “I had demobats and demogorgons trying to tackle me left and right. It was pretty funny. Honestly I think I scared them more than they scared me.”

“Yeah, I bet you did..”

Hearing his voice trailing off, you looked to Eddie in question, wondering why his tone suddenly changed. “What’s wrong?”

“O-Oh, nothing..uh..” He seemed like he wanted to ask you something, but he just shook his head and looked back at the magazine in his lap. “It’s dumb.”

“Eddie, I know a fantasy nerd like yourself has a thousand and one questions about ghosts. Shoot.”

After a bit of silence, he put it down and turned to you. “Can you see other ghosts? Like..of those who died in Hawkins?”

For a few moments you remained quiet, knowing exactly why he asked that. Though you nodded. “Yeah, they come and go. Usually many are quick to pass on, so I don’t get to chat with them. But one did stay for a bit, and she....” You fell silent, unsure of whether it was okay to bring up her name when he was still tormented by her death.

“Y-You mean..Chrissy?” He swallowed the lump in his throat, his whole body tense as you nodded. “And what did she say?”

Given your hesitancy, Eddie was expecting the worst, imagining this vengeful ghost with bloody eyes and broken bones damning him for leaving her behind. For not saving her and for running away.

But as much as it would hurt, he wanted to know how she felt about him.

Yet you gazed at him with the softest of smiles. “She doesn’t blame you for what happened. And she heard your concert..she loved it.”

Immediately all of the tension was gone, making him exhale shakily. His closed smile was watery as he thought back to the guitar solo he performed atop his trailer.

He’s so glad Chrissy heard it.

“A-Awesome..” With a quiet sniffle, he looked back at the magazine, frowning as he saw an article on the “satanic panic” of DND. “You know, I think she would’ve found DND pretty cool. That night...I was gonna suggest that she ditched the cheerleading squad and her dumb boyfriend. She didn’t seem happy with either.”

“She wasn’t.” You agreed. “That reminds me, uh..I saw Jason for a short time, too. He got split in half somehow.”

"You’re kidding..” He stared at you with wide eyes. “Well, serves that prick right. At least he’s not around to preach about how “evil” the club is anymore. Did you tell him what really happened?”

“Yeah, he didn’t believe me. He still thinks you summoned me and opened the gates of hell.”

“Figures. He’ll believe that till the day he----wait..nevermind.” Eddie just shook his head, which made you chuckle as you both fell silent and shared smiles.

For once, everything seemed...okay. Obviously far from perfect given what you two have been through together, but this was just a moment of peace that you desperately needed.

However, you heard a distant rumble coming from outside, and you looked to the window, noticing something peculiar was happening. At first you assumed it was rain, but you set down the now-empty bowl and stood up.

As you looked out the window, your stomach dropped into a pit of horror. “Eddie..”

“What’s up?”

“It’s...snowing.”

“In March? Impossible.” Getting up, Eddie went over to the window as well, and he was just as shocked by what he was seeing outside. “No fucking way..are those..?”

Sure enough, tiny white particles were trickling down like snow.

And there’s only one other place where you’ve seen them...

You quickly phased through the window, and he nearly rammed into it trying to follow you. "Shit-” He opened it instead, climbing out and running to catch up to you. “[Y/N], wait!!!”

As soon as you both made it into a clearing, you stopped and looked up at the sky in bewilderment--upon a sight that would forever haunt you:

It was burning. Dark smoke and red clouds were pouring out of the gates opened within the town, mingling with the blue sky and white clouds. The thunder sounded closer, rumbling louder than ever, as a slight tremor in the earth made Eddie flinch. “What’s going on, [y/n]?!”

“The Upside Down’s leaking into the real world.” You muttered, placing your hand on his arm. “We need to find the others.”

“Goddamn it, we killed that son of a bitch so he wouldn’t do this!!!”

“So we thought..but...”

You didn’t need to finish that statement for Eddie to understand the truth..

The truth that Vecna lived.

#clanask #stranger things x reader #st4 x reader #eddie munson #ghost reader #child reader #platonic #stranger things spoilers

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zedif-y · 6 months

Text

it's gonna hurt like hell (to become well)

Cross posted on AO3 (mind the tags)

(Part 2/5)

NOTE: This story is likely going to stay UNFINISHED, so read at your own risk!

---

When Skizz wakes, he doesn’t get up immediately.

He doesn’t have to, to be fair. It’s the weekend. But it’s more than sleepiness and a comfy bed keeping him there.

Skizz sighs, eyes fixed on the ceiling. His arm stings.

Another thing he doesn’t want to deal with. Ugh.

Gaze trailing the wooden grain of the ceiling, Skizz’s thoughts drift– though he doesn’t fall back asleep. He scoffs. Of course he wakes up early when he can actually sleep in. Of course.

Dried blood sticks to his arm, staining his sheets brown. He keeps them wrapped around him anyway.

He doesn’t feel very rested.

Skizz lets out a sigh. You’d think that being visited by your Guardian Angel in your dreams would, you know, at least restore your energy, but Ren doesn’t seem keen to get off his ass–

Skizz stops that thought right then and there, breathing in deep, then letting it out. Yeah, no. No. That won’t lead him anywhere good– He’s just… In a bad mood. That’s all.

His eyes drift towards his bedside table.

The envelope sits innocently next to the rest of his things, though Skizz wishes he’d just dreamt it.

He doesn’t want to think about the letter—hell, can he even call it that? The map—that Tango sent him or what it means.

And– okay. Part of him knows he’s going to follow it, if there’s any hope that, maybe…

He shakes his head.

On the other hand, the village needs him. He can’t just leave on some mission that could be some sort of trick.

His mind lingers on the familiar writing, considering. He doesn’t remember Tango’s handwriting being so neat.

A cacophony of clattering metal and pots banging comes from the kitchen, shocking him out of his thoughts. It’s followed by a string of curses, and Skizz chuckles.

Joker’s up. How long did he lie here thinking?…

He sighs. Reluctantly, he sits up, pulling the sheets aside. At least he slept some; a couple more hours would have been nice though. His body aches as he stretches the sleep away. Damn the long nights.

A sharp sting makes itself known again, and Skizz frowns, examining the cut on his arm. It’s a decent size, and man it hurts, but it’s stopped bleeding for the time being. There are scratches around it too, but he’s not worried about those.

Shrugging, he places his arm back down on the bed. He’s so used to it at this point; he’ll just slap some bandages on when he gets into the bathroom and then forget about it.

As he swings his legs over the side of the bed to stand, he grabs the map and letter to bring with him for Joker to see. Maybe he’d recognize it.

…Should he tell him who it’s from?

With his wound wrapped, Skizz heads into the living room. The smell of eggs wafts over to him, and he spots Joker at the stove. He sets the map down and heads into the kitchen.

Joker glances over his shoulder as Skizz walks in, “Morning.”

“Mornin’,” Skizz replies, leaning against the counter.

Joker nods to the bandages. “How’s your arm?”

“Still there,” Skizz retorts, making them both snicker. “All good, we’re running a little low on bandages.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem to get more. Especially for you, Mr. Cleric Man,” Joker teases.

Skizz grins and chuckles. “Yeah, yeah.”

Joker turns back to the sizzling eggs and flips them with a spatula. It’s smooth, practiced ease, and Skizz smiles as he thinks for a moment about how much he’d improved. When Skizz first moved in with him, Joker might flip the entire pan over before he could get an egg to flip all the way.

The thought sobers him, the smile fading from his face. It only reminds him of how much time has passed.

“I hope you’re hungry, ‘cause these are ready,” Joker tells him, reaching for a plate. Skizz blinks, brought back to the present.

“Ooh, yeah!” Skizz sits at the table and adds, “You know I’m always hungry for your cooking.”

“Aw, you shut up! It’s just eggs,” Joker responds, but he’s grinning as he sets a plate in front of Skizz.

They’re prepared just the way he likes it, the yolk still runny and the edges crispy. Skizz chuckles, Tango always liked them near burnt—

The thought hits him like a whip. Skizz almost groans.

Can he not catch a break? For two seconds?!

It’s only then that he realizes Joker’s looking at him weird, he’d been quiet for too long, just staring at the food. Right.

He starts to eat as Joker sits down across from him, clearing his throat, “Well, they’re delicious.”

“Thanks,” Joker squints at him, “Are you okay? Is it Ren?”

Skizz shakes his head, “No, it’s…”

He thinks about the letter again, the stupid thing glaring at him from the living room. He needs to show it to Joker, but he almost… doesn’t want to. It can’t become a problem if he just ignores it, right?

He grits his teeth. Right?

Skizz sighs.

…He knows that’s not true. Unfortunately.

“Jokes, you remember that letter I got yesterday morning?”

“Mhmm?” Joker hums, mouth full.

“I opened it last night. Didn’t wanna wake you to show it to you, but I need to when we finish breakfast,” Skizz says, then takes a sip of his drink. Mostly to hide his face.

They’d gotten good at reading each other over the years. Skizz doesn’t want to worry him too much.

“Alright,” Joker shrugs. “I’ve been kinda wondering about it anyway.”

It doesn’t take them long to finish eating, Skizz’s thoughts occupied as he scarfs down his food. He helps put away the dishes, his body on autopilot– it takes nearly slamming his face into a doorway for him to snap out of it.

“Dude,” Joker says, eyebrows raised. “Seriously, how bad is it?”

Skizz grimaces. He doesn’t reply.

Instead, he beckons Joker over to where he left his things, a hand smoothing at the wooden table.

“C’mere.”

“That’s… worrying,” Joker frowns. Skizz huffs out a small laugh, though it’s more like a scoff. Yeah, no kidding. “What is it?”

“It’s a map,” Skizz says as he grabs it and unfolds it, “but I don’t know what it’s showing. The only other thing that came with it is a note that says to follow it.”

Skizz lays the map on the table. Joker hums, looking over it.

“I’m not super familiar with anything either, but… I think I recognize this one town.” Joker taps a dot near the bottom of the map, “Heard about it somewhere. It’s a good ways north of us.”

“How far we talking?” Skizz asks, apprehension prickling at him. How far was Tango—supposedly Tango—asking him to go?

“If you make really good time, maybe a week. I’d guess more like two, though, but even that’s optimistic,” Joker answers, not looking up from the map. “Who was this from again?”

Oh, here we go.

Skizz fiddles with a string on his shirt. Joker looks up, narrowing his eyes a little, “Skizz, who is this from?”

“Uhm, it’s— it’s from Tango,” Skizz blurts out. Joker’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Tango?”

Skizz grimaces. “I was surprised too. I— we’ve had no contact since… y’know.”

“And you’re going?” Joker asks, baffled. “Skizz–”

“I’m not sure yet,” Skizz admits, looking back at the map. “I just don’t understand. Why is he making me go all the way out there? Why didn’t he leave me a letter?” His eyebrows scrunch up, frustration flaring in his chest. “I… You know me, Jokes. You know me. And you know part of me still wants to go, but– that’s stupid, isn’t it?”

He folds the map again, fighting the urge to crumple it up. “It might not even be Tango,” He says, just to try and believe it. To try and make it true. “It could be someone else. But why would they use–?” He flops down on the couch with a groan. He looks up at Joker, a quiet plea in his voice as he says, “Dude, tell me I’m being crazy.”

Joker stays silent, a frown on his lips.

“Tell me that—” Skizz swallows, “Tell me you think this isn’t legit. That it’s not worth it, and I should– I should throw it away and burn it.”

Skizz’s hands shake, “Please.”

Joker sighs. “I wish I could lie to you, Skizz,” Skizz holds his breath, "It looks legit. But at the same time, I’m not saying it’s worth it.”

But… Skizz breathes out, shaky. “I mean, if it’s legit, then—”

“He’s not giving you a reason, dude. Just ‘follow this’?” Joker cuts him off. “For all we know, it could be a trap. That you’d be walking blindly into.”

“It’s him, Jokes. At least, it says it is.” He still doesn’t want to give himself hope, but it lingers anyway, “And if it’s not him, then… surely it’s someone who knows him. But if it is really him—” Skizz clasps his hands together, stop shaking. ”Dude, I have to go. I have to. I’ll take any damn chance, you know I will.”

Joker is quiet. Skizz can practically hear the gears turning in his head, trying to figure out how to talk him out of this, worry written on his face.

Skizz sees the exact moment he gives up. His shoulders deflate, resignation in his eyes.

Then, “Yeah,” He sighs. “Yeah, I do. Unfortunately.”

Quiet falls again. Skizz starts to fidget— the silence is uncomfortable, tension hanging in the air. He knows Joker’s not mad, but frustration shows in the furrow of his brow.

“I know I can’t- I can’t stop you from going,” Joker says. “But at least think for a second. What if it is a trap, or heck, even something happens to you on the road? It’s a long trip, dude.” He shakes his head, “The village needs you. You’re the only cleric.”

“I’m not! There’s—”

“Well, yeah,” Joker grumbles, “There’s the crazy one that no one goes to and he complains constantly about it. He doesn’t count and we ignore him. You’re the only real cleric.”

Skizz pokes at the rug with his foot. Joker’s right, he knows he is, but—

He’s gotta go. Doesn’t he?

“There’s one more,” Skizz says slowly, almost reluctantly, “And I don’t wanna put this kind of pressure on her, but…”

“Your apprentice?”

He sounds disbelieving. Skizz suddenly feels defensive, twisting around, “I know she just started recently, but she’s got skill. She’s learned so much! And she’s a fighter too, so she can protect the place way the hell better than I ever have—”

“I’m not doubting Gem’s intelligence or skill,” Joker interrupts, softer this time. “And I know you’ve trained her as best you can. But she started months ago. Dude, how long did you take to become a full power cleric? Years? Half your life? There’s only so much of a skill you can learn at one time, man.”

Skizz falters, deflating. That’s– yeah, okay.

He twists his hands, “I guess you’re right,” He mutters, ignoring Joker’s huff. “But I… I feel like I need to go.”

A beat. Joker’s fingers tap against his chin, eyes narrowed in thought.

“Tell you what,” Joker says, moving to sit next to Skizz on the couch. “Go talk to her.”

Skizz blinks, “What, really?”

Joker’s lips twitch into a smile, “Really. I’m sure she’ll understand a weekend interruption for this. Ask her if she thinks she’s up to it, and if she is, then you can think more about leaving.”

Skizz studies him for a moment. Joker’s still pretty tense, but…

“Yeah,” Skizz sighs. “Thanks, homie.”

“Of course. Someone’s gotta be the smart one in this relationship,” Joker replies with a smirk.

“Wh— Relationship? Buddy, that ship has sailed long ago–” Skizz teases. Joker barks out a laugh, “And, uhm, hello? Who’s the doctor? I am not calling you smart—”

Joker grins. “And between the two of us, who touched hot oil to see if it was ready–?”

“We don’t talk about that!” Skizz sputters, then coughs, “But you did, obviously. You did that.”

“Sureee. We’ll go with that,” Joker snickers. He slaps Skizz on the thigh, grinning as he yelps, “Now go talk to your apprentice!”

- - - - -

Once Skizz gets properly dressed and ready to socialize, he heads out and makes his way to Gem’s place. It’s a cute cottage, luckily not too far from them, with a small stable next to it. Tall, light-speckled trees hang over it, creeping vines going up the side of the house. Overgrown berry bushes frame the outside, just the right amount of wild— but Skizz is pretty sure all the greenery is a style choice.

The berry bushes are smart, though, good at keeping mobs away. Brains and brawn, indeed.

Skizz steps up to the door, anxiety swirling in his stomach. Gem was going to indirectly make this decision for him, and he didn’t know if he hoped for a no or a yes.

He knocks. Barking comes from inside in response, then footsteps.

The door opens, and Skizz waves, “Hey, Gem!” Her eyes go wide, a giggle on her lips as he opens his arms for a hug, “How are ya?”

She accepts it easily, giving him a squeeze. “Hey, Skizz!” She chirps, “I’ve been doing good, how–” More barking cuts her off, and she looks over her shoulder into the house, “Hush, Winnie, it’s just Skizz!”

The dog barks a couple more times, then stops. Gem turns back to Skizz, grinning sheepishly, “Sorry about that.”

Skizz shakes his head, “Oh, don’t worry about it. I’m sorry to bother you on the weekend.”

Gem steps back, waving a hand as she replies, “It’s alright! How can I help you?” She holds the door open, “Come in! We can talk inside.”

Skizz follows her in, taking a seat on one of her couches. The living room is a cozy, warm space, beautifully decorated… Though maybe he could make do without some of the animal heads.

(Gem’s awesome, really. Gem is great. Just uh… What’s her deal with beheading things?)

Skizz tears his eyes away. Above the fireplace sits a large, heavy-looking iron sword. He doesn’t need magic to tell it’s enchanted– it shimmers as he looks at it, thrumming with power.

She sits on the other, looking at him expectantly. Ah, right.

Here goes nothing.

“I received a letter,” Skizz says cautiously, “And I might need to go somewhere. I haven’t decided yet, though. It’s a week or two just to get there, and I don’t know how long I’ll stay.” He pauses, gauging her reaction. “And if I do go, I need someone to take care of the village.”

“And I’m the candidate to fill that role?” Gem guesses.

Skizz nods. “You’re… the only other skilled healer, even if it’s only been a few months. I was wondering if you’d be willing to take my place for a bit, dude.”

A few moments pass, each second making his anxiety ratchet up like crazy–

“Okay,” Gem says, making him blink. “Yeah, yeah, I think I could do that,” She adds. “I mean, I know how to do all the day-to-day stuff, and you’ve taught me well.”

“Are you sure?” Skizz asks, honestly a little baffled. He’d thought it’d take a bit more than that— “It’ll be a lot more work, and if anyone calls on you for an emergency, you have to be prepared.”

Gem is nodding before he finishes. “I know, Skizz,” She replies, smiling. Gods bless her, “I got this! I’ve… kinda been wanting a chance to really test myself, you know? Not that I want anything to happen, just… I’m here if you need me to step up.”

Skizz chuckles. “Alright! Well, this is that chance, for sure. If you do come across anything you don’t understand, especially magic-wise, feel free to drop by and borrow some of my books. Joker will still be home, he can point you to the ones you need. You can use my office too!” He pauses, then, “Uh… don’t worry about the paperwork. I’ll get to that someday. Oh, and—”

“Skizz!” Gem laughs, putting a hand on his arm. “It’s okay. I can do this.”

Skizz relaxes, laughing with her. “Thanks, Gem. This helps a lot.”

“Of course! I’ll make sure everyone here is nice and healthy, don’t worry,” Gem assures him.

Skizz smiles. She’ll make a perfect cleric.

“Okay! Yeah, I think I’m good!” Gem tells him, “I’ll go over the supplies this afternoon, so you don’t need to worry about that, either.” Skizz nods and stands, stepping towards the door.

Gem follows, waving him goodbye as she says, “Be safe out there, Skizz. And enjoy your trip!”

“Seriously dude, thanks,” Skizz says, giving her a smile as she closes the door. His heart clenches as he walks away.

Enjoy your trip.

He’d try, there was bound to be a lot of new scenery, with that long of a travel. But… Something tells him it’s not gonna be all butterflies and roses.

Something twists and writhes in his chest, anxiety bubbling in his veins. Skizz steels himself, letting out a breath.

“Of course it’s not gonna be easy,” Skizz mutters to himself, rolling his shoulders, shaking his head. “But you know what? You know what?”

He furrows his brow, “I can take it. Whatever happens, I can take it.”

I mean, come on, Skizz thinks, eyes trained forward. It’s not like I’ve lived this long and learned nothin’!

And then, quieter, it would’ve haunted me anyway, if I didn’t go. The last thing I need is another regret.

The anxiety doesn’t fade, not by a long shot. But as Skizz trudges back home, he finds it isn’t enough to stop him, worries and what-ifs be damned. A small smile tugs at his lips.

He’s always been pretty stubborn, huh?

- - - - -

Packing is a quiet affair.

Skizz doesn’t waste any time, counting his clothes and supplies, his mouth set in a line. Does he need more bandages, potions? Food?

He bites his lip. He’d packed more than enough, but just in case…

Skizz huffs. If there’s anything to thank his past for, at least it made him more careful.

And finally…

Skizz grunts as he heaves up his shield, the weight of it familiar, almost soothing. He turns to his mirror. He moves his shield this way and that, watching the light catch on the iron details, the carved wolf head, the polished ‘blood’ dripping down. His emblem.

His spell focus, a gift from his Guardian. Just in case.

He turns back to his things– a backpack of supplies, a bedroll strapped to it, and his shield. Magic hums in the air as he waves a hand over them, a thin net of light hovering over the items before they start to fade, pocketed for him to summon whenever he needs it. Skizz grins.

Magic’s awesome.

He takes a good look at himself, breathing in deep. His wings— too small, though they don’t look like it— are folded at his back, his clothing light enough for a journey, but comfortable enough for when things start to get colder up North.

(It covers up his arms, which is good, though the age-old urge to tear his sleeves off still itches at him— some habits never truly die.)

He exhales, rolling his shoulders. Okay. He’s got this.

He looks himself in the eyes, summoning all of his strength. The map appears in his hand.

“Ren,” He says, his voice low in prayer. “Angel of Winter, Protector of Hounds, lend me your guidance,” He closes his eyes, “Lend me your strength.”

He’ll need it.

The shield glows for a moment in answer.

No problem, dude!

- - - - -

As Skizz gets going, seated on his horse as he rides out of the village, he wonders if he should have left the next day so he’d have a full day to travel. It would’ve been smarter, maybe, but…

He’s itching to leave. Either to find out where this leads or so he doesn’t have time to change his mind, he’s not sure. Maybe it’s both.

Skizz sighs, stroking Gluestick’s neck. “We’ve got a long trip ahead of us, boy. I hope you’re ready.” He adjusts his hold on the reins, musing, “It’s been a while since we had an adventure, huh?”

Gluestick snorts. The clop clop of his hooves turns softer as the road becomes more of a path. Skizz reaches behind him for the map, folded in a pocket of his backpack. He’s stared at it for so long already, but still he opens it, scans it— none of it is recognizable yet, of course, but soon, soon it will be.

At least, he really hopes.

The sun hangs above him in a clear blue sky, a light breeze in his hair as he takes it in. Skizz grins— it’s a great day for traveling, lucky him.

He watches villages pass, many of which he recognizes, some he’s only heard of in passing. The hours stretch on until the bright blues of the sky soften into oranges and pinks, blending seamlessly into the dark purple night. He stops when he has to, going through the motions of eat, sleep, pack up, repeat.

It’s been a minute since he’s done this, but it’s not really the sort of thing you just forget.

Hours turn into days. Before he knows it, a week has passed since he’d left, and he’s– Skizz squints down at his map. He should be a bit over halfway there. At the rate he’s going, Joker would be right, it’d take him about two weeks.

But… Hm.

A sinking dread has followed him all day, no matter how hard he tries to get rid of it. A heavy feeling that sits on his chest, making his ribs groan under the pressure. Something is wrong, that much he’s sure– but Ren stays silent for the whole day.

He sets up camp as the stars peek through and begin to sparkle amongst the night sky, the long shadows cast by trees and branches making his skin crawl, just a little. The feeling grows tenfold, crashing into him like waves against the shore—

Skizz grimaces, tossing and turning as he wrestles himself into sleep. What the heck, man?

Eventually, his breathing evens out, his expression smoothing over as he drifts off, the evening breeze cool against his skin.

Late in the night, his emblem begins to thrum a holy white.

- - - - -

When Skizz opens his eyes, he’s met with snow.

And not the nice kind, either. It’s a howling, stinging force that prickles at his skin, a stabbing cold into his flesh. He can feel his wings behind him, and he tries to move them–

He whirls around. His wings, white and massive and strong– are frozen numb, a thick sheet of ice covering his feathers. Dread pools in his lungs.

It’s only then that he properly takes in his surroundings. He’s in the middle of a snow storm, kneeling on what looks like a small platform, smooth, cool deepslate forming a large circle all around him. It prickles at him, teetering on the edge of familiarity…

Ren appears in front of him in a coat of red. Skizz’s breath catches in his throat.

Oh. Oh no.

“No,” Skizz rasps, his wings weighing him down like lead. He knows better than to try and stand. “Not again,” His throat is tight, tears stinging at his eyes. “I can’t have lost someone already, I just left–”

A flash of light blinds him, just for a moment. The dread in his ribcage spreads into a sinking pit.

Ren’s axe appears in his hands. The cool, dark steel weighs heavy as grief, thrumming with divine energy. His eyes swirl with a deep sorrow, like the bottom of the sea, like the vastness of the abyss. His crown, his halo– it drips with blood.

Terror grips him in a vice. The last time he saw this, his entire village–

“How many?” Skizz asks, looking up at him, snow piling at his feet. “Who?” Ren lets out a sigh.

The sound reverberates throughout the land, the wind roaring in sympathy. Skizz can feel it rattling through his bones.

“One,” Ren replies, his voice echoing in his ears. Blood pools down the altar, seeping into the snow. “Someone you thought you had already lost.”

Skizz grits his teeth, “You can’t just give me that–!”

“I am sorry, Skizz,” Ren tells him. Even amidst the storm, his coat does not move. Pinpricks of ice solidify on Skizz’s cheeks.

“Just tell me who it is,” He begs, pleads. “Tell me– Is it Tango? Did he– Was I–”

Was I too late?

Ren winds his axe back to swing, ignoring Skizz’s protests. “His soul remains troubled. I beg of you, give him peace.”

“Wait–!”

Ren brings down his axe.

Skizz gasps awake. A searing pain rips him apart, a burning line from his right shoulder to the left side of his waist. A scream tears itself from his throat.

He swears he can feel the blade against his torn flesh, cleaved in half by the divine.

He expects his hands to come off bloody, his clothes soaked in crimson– but he is clean, and the pain claws at him, burning him like a thunder's strike. Skizz feels set aflame, like his skin is melting as he thrashes on the ground, writhing in agony as the wound– now a scar– glows a faint white.

Every movement is agony– his vision blurs, losing consciousness only to be jolted back awake, his throat raw and bloody. Dirt and blood cakes under his fingernails.

Through the haze, the screaming and the tears, Skizz grasps for an anchor. But there is nobody to steady him, no one to hold him– Skizz thrashes, alone as he’s ripped apart and welded back together.

He doesn’t know how long he lay there, eyes screwed shut through the pain.

It feels like years before he can really move again.

His chest heaves, a sheen of sweat on his skin. His clothes are all soaked, which is. Gross. Skizz lets out a weak groan, salty tears seeping into the grass. He needs… He needs to get up. He’s gotta.

For Tango.

Skizz grunts as he heaves himself up–

A lancinating pain makes him cry out, curling in on himself and making it worse. An ugly sob crawls up his throat, snot and spit dripping down his face as he clenches his teeth, doing his damn best to keep it together, keep it together.

He’s stronger than this, Skizz reminds himself, half-delirious with pain. He’s stronger than…

Coherent thought flits away, his head swimming as he tries to focus on breathing, each gasp of breath grating against his throat. Skizz’s shoulders hunch in, too exhausted to keep himself upright.

Years, days, hours pass. He’s not sure which.

Skizz sniffs, his eyes stinging and sore. He tries to speak, “Gosh,” He winces, clears his throat. “Bet I look real pretty right now, hah.”

It’s silent. Skizz can feel a sob working its way up his lungs, bubbling in his mouth. His expression crumples. His body, exhausted as it is, trembles like a leaf.

He wishes, more than anything, that he didn’t have to do this alone.

- - - - -

The next few days are nothing short of hell.

His travel speed is halved, his movements sluggish, his body more prone to fatigue. Skizz grits his teeth as he pushes forward, exhaustion bleeding into his very bones. And it’s not like he can just stay in some village and recover, either– he’s gone far enough that the nearest town is his actual destination.

His head swims, vision blurring for a moment before clearing again. The clarity is almost painful.

Skizz swallows his nausea, clammy hands gripping tightly on the reins. He can do this, he thinks, his thoughts muffled like he’s underwater. He can…

The world tilts.

Skizz sways and then jolts, a hand reaching out to steady himself but it’s too late–

Skizz screams.

His shoulder hits the dirt ground with a thud, searing pain shooting through him like a thunderclap. Gluestick whinnies, stopping as he writhes in pain. Black spots grow and dance across Skizz’s vision, his expression all scrunched up as his mouth opens in a wordless scream. His throat feels scratched raw.

What the hell is wrong with him?

Tears sting at his eyes like magma, a burning line down his face when he manages to sit himself upright. It’s the middle of the day, but he can’t– he can barely even stand through the pain, so he does his best to set up camp for the night, his fingers shaking and breathing ragged. He slumps against his bedroll.

Skizz shudders, eyes screwed shut and tasting bile. Gods.

He hasn’t stopped thinking of who it is he lost.

When Skizz dreams, he sees an empty, starless sky.

- - - - -

He stops pushing himself so hard, after that. He takes more breaks, even if it kills him a little that it’s slowing him down. He regains his strength over time. Little by little until he can almost move without much pain.

Skizz sucks in through his teeth as he gets off of Gluestick, his shoulder throbbing as it’s jostled. Almost.

Days pass until two weeks become nearly three. He should be near, he should be, and anticipation grows in his veins, swelling when Skizz sees the faint outline of a town over in the distance— finally.

Skizz damn near cries again. Can you even blame him?

As he gets closer, he frowns, squinting at the faint fog. He sees the outline of a handful of people, going about their day– but they seem pretty sparse for a town this large.

He slows his pace when he enters the village, hand steadier on Gluestick’s reins. There’s still so few people.

“Excuse me,” Skizz says, catching the attention of one of the townspeople, a heavily-scarred man with a cane. “Is this Frosthaven?”

The man gives him an easy smile, “Well hello there!” He greets, his voice bright, cheery. “Yes, you are within the humble town of Frosthaven, a place for the weary to rest and the rest to enjoy!” He says with a flourish. His cane, a sleek wooden thing with gold trims, shimmers a little under the light.

“I am the proprietor and proud namesake of GoodTimes and Co, Scar GoodTimes." He extends a hand. "And who might you be, new friend?"

He likes this guy already.

Skizz shakes his hand with a grin of his own, “Hey, Scar! Name’s Skizz, nice to meet’cha,” He replies, “Could you point me in the direction of the tavern? Oh, and the stables.”

Scar hums. He turns, gesturing, “If you keep going forward, you’ll find the town square. Then head left to find the tavern, the stables are right by it,” Then, he hums, “Interesting. It’s been a while since old Frosthaven saw any visitors, and now we’ve got two!”

Skizz goes tense.

“Two?”

Scar nods, “You should see him at the tavern, he only arrived a day ago,” He tells him, and before Skizz can ask any more, “Anyway, I gotta go. If you need anything, from magical items to winter gear alike— there’s my shop, right across, ol’ GoodTimes and Co.” He says with a wink. Skizz nods, smiling.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” He says, “Thanks, Scar!”

“Not a problem!” Scar chirps, before Gluestick trudges forward, hooves clip-clopping in the direction of town square. Exhaustion creeps up onto Skizz like a vine.

It doesn’t take long for him to get Gluestick settled in with the other horses, and Skizz lets out a breath as he hands over the payment, finally making his way over to the tavern.

A wooden sign hangs over his head, Bite & Brew.

Skizz sucks in a breath. Here goes nothing.

He doesn’t let himself hesitate, the wooden door creaking open…

A wide brown eye meets his own, the other covered by a patch. He freezes, his glass of mead halfway up to his lip.

Skizz’s heart leaps into his throat.

He’s different from how he used to look, but Skizz could recognize him by presence alone.

Two horns, standing proud. Short brown hair, now a bit longer, in need of a trim. The same large frame, a scar on his right eye, peeking out of his eyepatch.

No, Skizz thinks, backing up a little against the door. No, no. What?

“Impulse?” He asks, hoarse. “Dop?”

#impulsesv #skizzleman #misterjoker #geminitay #gtws << for a second but hes There . he shows up more tho dw #hermitcraft au #mcyt au #mcyt fanfic #mcytblr #to become well #ryan's writing #tagging mostly for organization purposes

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peachycrime · 7 months

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Hi, I remembered your HC about Spider with cystic fibrosis and I was wondering how you think this situation would affect the Quaritch recom? I mean his thoughts and feelings, maybe he would pull the strings to get Spider new lungs?

ohhhh my gosh, i definitely did make a post about Spider having cystic fribrosis,

to recap this au, spider has CF, he lives on Omaticaya land in a local clinic created basically for him? When he was around 2 years old they found out and Norm pulled some strings to get not only the materials but the needed personnel to take care of him. Mo’at weaved a bag for his nasal cannula which is always on his hip. He grew up in the clinic since they deemed it too dangerous for him to be outside too much. He met the Sully’s while still young, Neytiri was of course hostile at first, but how long can you go being angry at an innocent, chronically ill child before you feel guilty?…. for Neytiri, pretty damn long but she got there. he still loves to climb and do superhuman shit . At first he was extremely reckless bc he undervalued himself but some scoldings and tears for the Sully kids after his actions caught up to him. He started being more delicate about his health.

Now for this ask, this would be him having CF in the canon universe. Oh boy. Lots of neglect on that part, adults always willing to scold him for being reckless but never willing to step up and look after him. especially being on Pandora where getting a lung transplant literally isn’t an option…not for the faint of heart. He came to accept his own mortality, had he been on earth, he probably wouldn’t had gotten a transplant due to overpopulation(longer waiting list) but he would’ve atleast had treatment. Here? i’m a world where he had it constantly push his body and organs to keep up? yea it’s not easy.

The recons at first thought he has using the cannula as an alternative to the mask. A visit to the lab and some blood samples later they find out that it’s not the case. Quaritch feels oddly guilty, he knows it’s a genetic condition, meaning the he was partly at fault for it. The other numbnuts don’t really care if i’ll be honest. They’re shocked Spider survived as long as he did, and lowkey respect it but that’s it. Not much pity or sympathy, it doesn’t really affect them since none of them carry the gene.

Spider let’s his guard down and mentions how he’d never be able to get new lungs in a moment of vulnerability. So Quaritch mentions the possibility of new lungs to one of the lab guys bc he’s a bit of a softie but mostly also wants to use to his advantage. Get the wild child to live you by giving him everything g he desires yknow. But of course, the general hears about it through the grapevine.

General Ardmore tries to bribe him with new lungs, it’s cruel. It’s something Spider had wanted since childhood and now it was so close but so far away too. He’d never betray the Sully’s but it still hurts to turn away everything he ever wanted. Quaritch tries to get him to accept which leads to a huge argument with Spider something like this,

“Fuck off,”

“You don’t t know anything about me, you I’ve been living with this for years, you think I’m that naïve? Fuck you, your general— and your lungs.”

“Get away from me, stop trying to be something for me. You were made in a lab, you’re not my father— you’re the reason I’m like this anyways.”

The words hurts more than Quaritch wants to admit, he realizes that he cares for the kid, his kid.

Sorrows, sorrows, prayers.

#avatar the way of water #avatar james cameron #spider socorro #avatar spider #avatar headcanons

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threadsun · 9 months

Note

Super meant to expand on this earlier but I had work to do

Joseph would take the most convincing of your harem to drink your blood. Not because he doesn't want to! He's just so fucking scared he's gonna hurt you. He also doesn't have any real sadistic tendencies like almost every other member of your harem, Ian doesn't really get anything out of it either. If you want Joseph to fulfil his dreams of tasting your blood you have to taste his first

You hold the beautiful ritual knife firmly in your hand, gently brushing the sharp edge against Joseph's collar bone, reveling in the way his hips squirm under you. You ask him one last time if he's ready for this, he chuckles "Born ready doll, please, I've been so sinful, please purify me" Always so quick to beg, you lean down and give him a quick kiss before trailing your kisses downward. With how loud he get when you reach his neck your half tempted to stay there and redefine his hickeys, but you move on. You trail your lips down to right over his heart, warmth filling you as you feel his heart beat against your lips

You sit up once more, making sure to straddle his hips with your own. You love Joseph, and you trust him fully, but you know he can't control the way his hips buck for you. It's cute, how much he needs you, how honest he always is. You trace the tip of your knife over his heart, taking this moment to remind him you're only cutting deep enough to make him bleed, you'd hate to hurt one of your boyfriends "I know, please, please make me bleed for you. I need it, I didn't know how much I needed it until you brought it up. Please, cut me open"

He's already breathless and you've barely even touched him. You can feel his hardened cock press against you through his jeans as you lean down ever so slightly. You're definition of careful, sure you could damn near bring people back from the dead but the thought of causing him more pain than you promised makes you feel queasy. You lightly press the knife into his skin, cutting through like butter

The cut isn't very deep but it's already overflowing with his rich blood. You lean down further, gently lapping up the blood that cascaded down his chest before bringing your lips up to the source, lightly sucking on the wound to drink up more of his blood. You're brought back up from your revery by Joseph's bucking hips "Sor-Sorry, so sorry, can't help it, fuck please don't stop" He's devolved into a whimpering mess, his massive hands gripping onto the headboard like it's his only life line

He whines as you pull your lips from his wound. You give it one last kiss before watching it stich back together as if you never even touched. You look up at Joseph, his eyes are filled with tears and desperation, silently begging you for more. You can't help but take pity on him. You lean up to his neck, sinking your teeth into that one spot right below his ear that makes him see stars. An endless string of thank yous leave him as he cums in his pants, aided by your knee lightly grinding against him, helping him ride out his orgasm

You softly kiss his tears away as he comes down from his high. You reach over to your night stand and grab the glass of water you prepared earlier. You tip the glass to his lips and he obediently drinks from it. You chuckle and remind him you didn't tie his hands to the head board this time, he lets out his own chuckle before letting go of the head board and wrapping his arms around your waist. You remind him of his cum soaked pants "Later...wanna hold you. Is that ok?" You tell him of course and snuggle into his chest, listening to his heart beat as you two relax in his after glow

I did it again, this was supposed to just be a headcanon drabble thing. I don't know how I got here

😳👀🥵 HOW are you so good at this????? Losing my goddamn mind over subby masochist Joseph!!! He's so needy and desperate and god I love him soooooo much!!!

#sunshine #cult town au #genuinely losing my mind over this!!!!!!!

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zv5x · 2 years

Text

Solitaire : 3

Dano!Riddler • GN!Reader

Warnings : romantic plot devices , references to the yandere trope , delusional and toxic mindsets , stalking , obsessive behaviors , implications / unrequited love , reader's boyfriend is a poor partner , breaking and entering

Taglist : @ravendgie , @repostingmyfavs @fr0gi-b0y , @chl0rinewater , @ur-moms-used-tampon101

Table of contents

He was young, promising and talented, and then video of his brutal execution started showing up on the news. His killer promised you love that your lover couldn't give, protection from the world, and now it's time to act upon those promises. Edward prays you're foolish (or trusting) enough to leave your windows unlocked.

Your home is perfectly tranquil and quiet, the perfect atmosphere to hold such a gentle and fragile being such as yourself. Edward has always admired what he could see from the binoculars he would hold to his face as he tried to get a good look at your interior sanctuary, you as well of course. He couldn't help but long to be inside such a sacred place, but the thought alone made him shiver and almost cry with anticipation and nervousness.

The thought of actually entering your home rather than imaginatively placing himself inside of you would finally become his own reality, and he was practically jumping at that fact. Finally, after all this time, he'd be able to be near you again, without the threat of that vicious scumbag this time. His time spent with the muse of his hatred was now long over, and now his time with the muse of his world shall begin.

Edward considered this romantic, as he not only was about to enter the apartment room he'd soon share with his beloved dove, but also because of the fact that he was wearing the same getup he wore when he publicized the murder of your abuser. It was almost heart stopping how giddy his outfit made him. He finally had the opportunity to tell you how he truly felt, and his clothes meant to represent his own persona will do just that, along with showing you every part of him like you've never seen before. He would have never found the courage to express himself to you if not for the Riddler, and he had to thank that side of himself for that.

He was looking into your room with his binoculars so intently, breath hitting heavy against his mask as he intently listened and watched. You seemed to be, no, that couldn't be right. You seemed to be crying? Oh dear. That just won't do, Edward knew that for certian. He couldn't have his beloved cry alone. What kind of soulmate would he be if he refused to follow the red string to his lover, who was desperate for consoling? It was settled then, he'd make his way to her. Ducktape in his pocket just in case he startled you, he made his way to your window quicker than he would have otherwise. You needed him, and he'll be damned if you didn't get him.

Staring far too intently at the television, you barely noticed the window of your apartment room opening. Tears were steaming down your face, sobs coming in between gasps and choking sounds. Of course, the cries you were emmiting weren't very pretty, but how else could you have expressed the despair the news was showing you right now?

Your poor, beloved Chad. Defiled and ruined for everyone to see. This isn't the way one would desire to find out about their lover's death, but thankfully you were given a death notification before the news was even allowed to air this story. It was so confusing at first. A cop car is the last thing you'd expect to see pulling up to your driveway, and you'd especially not expect to see two men coming up to your door right after. It was with a heavy heart, they told you, that Chad is dead. Murdered in cold blood by a man they have yet to even identity. A man so vile, a man of no compassion for the people's pain. They spoke of him like you would a horror movie villian, shivering as they talked like there was nothing they could have done to stop him. And now, here he is, posing and pruning next to your boyfriend who was sobbing in fear. Egotistical he was, insane he was more so.

This man, sick and demented, loved you. So much so, that taping a man to a chair and feeding him to your rat collection was a realistic option. This is a man who cared not for the optics of his actions. He simply wanted you, and he more so wished to prove to you that the people in your life were no good. That all you needed was him.

"Chad put on a good mask for my darling (Y/N), but little do they know that every night their precious boyfriend parades around town with whatever bitch he can pick up. Cheap whores are all he can manage." He laughs. "It's almost like he knew (Y/N) was far too good for him."

More evidence, more photos. And, most hauntingly, a voice recording to top it all of.

C : All I want is you. I completely forgot about them, what was even their name again. Fuck, see? I don't love them. They're nothing to me but a sack of meat I can take my frustrations out on

? : Frustrations?

C : Frustrations that you're not in my bed right now, babe

You nearly dropped to your knees hearing those words. All your fears were being thrown at you with evidence that confirmed them, and you could barely muster the strength to move to shut it down. The Riddler was back on screen now, tilting his head and shaking the camera as he screamed and yelled.

"NOBODY is allowed to exploit them and get away with it. I'll make sure all of you are in graves by the morning if I must. I'd do FAR MORE FOR THEM THAN YOU ALL EVER WOULD." He stopped to giggle. Long and drawn out, it chilled you to your core. "But that's alright, you can try and bring them down all you wish but I think we all know at the end of the day who they will always belong to."

You knew you desired police protection then, but you craved it now. You begged them for at least some kind of listing into a witness protection program of any kind. Please God's almighty, just anything to save you from that mental case. You told them, begged them for that, word for word. Alas, they did not listen to your cries.

You were far from on Chad's side now, seeing him with all these various women. Women with smeared makeup, and dress straps falling off their shoulders as they lean on your once boyfriend for support. Your blood was boiling, but your heart was aching too. You wished the Riddler had recorded the rats eating him alive so you could revel in his screams, and yet you wished for him to record himself going back on his plan and letting him run free in a bright, sunny park instead. Conflicted feelings poked at your heart, deflating it and allowing the blood to pool at your feet.

Having heard far enough, you mindlessly went to turn the television off. The remote shook in your hand, so much so that you could barely even aim it correctly to turn this damn report off. When you finally heard that click, it was a blessing to your ears. You didn't need to hear your boyfriend's whimpering, that man's heavy breaths beating against the camera, or the news reporters mumbling lies of pity and sorrow to the camera. Your boyfriend's, or, more accurately, former boyfriend's death was now sensationalized, and you were now a fool to the nation. Not only did you fail to realize that your boyfriend was a cheating scumbag, but you also unknowingly planted the seeds that allowed a serial killer to sprout and thrive as an invasive species.

Perhaps this was the situation finally hitting you, or perhaps it was years of trauma finally making their way to the surface, but you sobbed. Loudly, without care, you sobbed. Tears poured down your face as your couch began to change color due to the liquid, and you stomped your feet on the floor as hard as you possibly could. In the noise, you didn't realize who was standing there right in front of you.

This man hates seeing you cry. Chad has made you cry long enough, and it seems the man wishes to get you one final time before his soul finally falls downwards. Edward couldn't help himself, and he made his way down to the couch to sit right next to you. Immediately, feeling the pressure, your sobs stopped, and you looked up at your side slowly whilst sniffling in the process. Your eyes widened at the realization, and this man gave you no time to think before picking you up by the bottoms of your thighs and holding you on his lap. He almost shouldn't have touched you, because now he cannot control his breathing. It was heavy, unstable and varying in speed and length. His hands seemed to travel around you, paying special attention to your face and your thighs as if he had some kind of affixation towards them. You were absolutely sick now, squirming unconsciously and wishing for nothing more than for this to stop. You opened your mouth and went to scream, and that's when you wished you just took it.

Within seconds, you were on your back, neck slamming against the arm of your couch as you let out a gasp of shock and pain.

"N-no, please, I'll be good!" A few begs later, and ducktape was out of his pocket and being extended in front of your eyes, the man wrapping it around your head. Not before lifting your hair up of course, as he was trying to simply shut you up, not punish you. That will come only in dire circumstances, of course.

He had full access to you after some simple restraining of your arms. You could kick all you liked, he didn't budge, and he was sitting in a position that removed kicking his groin as an option unless you were built completely unbiologically. His hands continued their vicious assault on your purity, and you couldn't help but feel as if poison was in the fingertips of his gloves. Edward took your squirming and crying as you being pleasured by his touch, and of course you were! Soulmates can only be truly pleasured by their other half, and Edward knew for a fact that your bastard ex-boyfriend never was able to make you moan so passionately. Your love was untouchable. Your love was divine. Hands on your chest, sinking down to your inner thighs, he knew the love you shared with him was nothing short of perfection.

"What can you lose but still keep?" His voice matched the voice that echoed against your television just a few seconds ago, confirming the identity of his alias as the man straddling your legs right now. Out of all the perverted intruders out there, why him? Good lord, why him?" You whimpered, crying out, and he prompty shushed you with a finger and a soft hush.

"It's alright, you can think about it for as much as you'd like." He giggled, leaning into your chest and listening to your heartbeat. Edward adores every part of you. He loves you so very much, he'd even be willing to pull your skin open and rip your heart out just to make enough room for him to crawl inside and live there curled up forever. He needs you, craves you. He's got a demented, sick obsession, the most beautiful virus anyone could ever hope to catch. He's patient zero, and it will stay that way forever. Nobody else is permitted to have you.

"I'll be waiting for you forever, (Y/N). As long as you want to take, I'll be waiting. I'll never leave you."

He cupped your wet cheek with his hand, using his thumb to act as a windshield wiper to your tears.

"Not like he did."

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