#and they never immediately realize hes a cop unless it's some he knows
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miguel o’hara x reader || “te amo” (masterlist)
the first night miguel is in your universe fills him with all sorts of conflicting emotions.
wc: 1,063
cw: an angsty line or two, light mention of blood. (minors/ageless blogs don’t interact)
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when miguel quite literally inserts himself into your life he‘s not always sure what to do or what to say.
yes, he’s watched your miguel; he’s seen all his similarities and all the intricacies of this earth and memorized them through screens and study but he hadn’t plotted or planned to be here.
this earth’s miguel died. he saw an opportunity and he took it. a spur of the moment decision to pursue this happier life.
it should be easy.
just be miguel o’hara.
but when he first comes through the door of his house so early in the morning that the outside is covered in darkness, being “miguel o’hara” is the hardest thing in the world.
this is not his home. its layout is similar, but it’s filled with a love he’s never had before.
the fridge is decorated with baby photos and newspaper clippings of spider-man, a suit identical to his own. love permeates through every inch of the place.
it permeates through pictures of a precious baby girl who couldn’t be more than a few months. the daughter of the other miguel. the one he gets to father.
and you - the wife. his wife. the most beautiful woman in the world.
the woman who doesn’t know that her real husband is dead and replaced. the one rushing towards him before he can even process any guilt of what being that replacement might mean.
“¡míguel! do you have any idea what time it is?!”
he does.
he knows it’s 3am and that you were like likely waiting up for your husband - for the miguel o’hara of this earth to come back. he knows all to well that the bloodied, beaten miguel he walked by never will come back - there’s only him for you to chastise for worrying you so badly.
and he knows this is the moment where it is too late to turn back, too late to leave to his own nueva york because how could he? it would be unbearable to leave you alone with your sweet little girl to wake up in the morning in a world with no husband, no father and no spider-man.
he’ll take the anger and worry of coming home late if he can prevent that.
it’s better for the both of you.
it’s better that he’s your miguel o’hara now. it’s better that you’re his wife now.
it’s better this way, he convinces himself.
“we made a deal, papí!” you huff, all too ready to reprimand him. “tonight was your night to put her down! we said no web-slinging unless there was a total emergency…”
you trail off, eyes meeting his. they look relieved and tired and overwhelmed for a reason you can’t configure. your voice immediately softens once you realize your words, be they english or spanish, have no way of getting through.
“¿míguel…?”
he doesn’t respond, and when you put your hand on his grizzled cheek he sinks into your touch wordlessly as if it is the first time he has ever felt such romantic softness.
“qué te pasa, papí?” you stroke his face, taking a long look at him. “there…was an emergency, wasn’t there? you know you can tell me anything - ay!!”
you let out a yelp of surprise as he pulls you into him, leaning down to smell your hair and squeeze your small form tight - he wants to memorize everything. all the sensory details that he couldn’t get through lyla or a screen.
he mumbles, gruffly. “we lost a good one today… couldn’t save him. i’m sorry…”
and you whisper his name and hold tight, unaware of what he really means because how could you be? but he doesn’t feel any remorse for deceiving you - for letting you think he means some good natured cop.
after all, so many spider-men have lost one before. how is this any different?
how could he feel remorse when you hum in sympathy and kiss up and down his face? your lips are so soft and reassuring, as is your voice.
“it wasn’t your fault, papí. even spider-man can’t save everyone. i’m just happy you’re home safe and alive.”
that almost breaks him and his hold gets tighter. your fingers are in his hair - your breath calm and unsuspecting. he could get used to this.
finally, after a hold that seems to lasts an eternity, your voice rings out and breaks the two of you apart.
“estás herido, mi amor? there’s blood on your suit…”
“no. i-it’s… not mine.” he’s both lying and telling the truth. it isn’t his blood, it’s that of the miguel left behind. but right now and forever, they’re the same.
“i’ll wash up. get some sleep, querida.” he takes your hand from his cheek and kisses your knuckles - relishing in your touch before letting you go off to bed.
“i’m sorry for making you wait so long for me.” he barely manages to whisper out and you give this gentle smile and coo, arms around his neck.
“you don’t have to apologize for saving people, miguel. it’s what you do and it’s why i love you.”
for being a man so much bigger than you, he seems small and soft. he melts at the proclamation and puts his forehead to yours, desperate to hear it all again.
“dime de nuevo.” tell me again. he needs to hear it again - that he’s loved. that he’s celebrated by someone as kind as you.
all his anxiety melts when your soft lips slot against his once. “te amo, míguel.”
then twice. “te amo, spiderman.”
and then a third time. “i love every part of you. good and bad. the one who saves people, the one who looks out for others, the one with secrets, the one who fails sometimes and has to come home late because he’s doing what he thinks is right. sharp teeth, webs, scars and all, entiendes?”
and for the first time he kisses you - because this means you love him. every version of him including the one he is now.
“eres una bendición.” he murmurs, kissing the shell of your ear. you’re a blessing. because only a blessing could have given him the opportunity for something as amazing as a beautiful you and your daughter.
if only he could have found a way to make it last forever.
#miguel o’hara#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel o’hara x black reader#spiderverse spoilers#atvs#spiderman across the spiderverse#across the spiderverse#x latina reader#x latina!reader#x black!reader#spiderman x reader#fluff
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SAVIOUR COMPLEX (Pt. 4)
(Pt. 3)
Rated: M
TAGS: language/past abuse/stalking/Mark Hoffman being a c*p/sensuality/reader is normal and likes to do normal things/Mark is protective bc it's his job but he's also problematic/because he's a c*p
Mark can't sleep that night because of the one thought that turns over in head on repeat.
Who the fuck was at your apartment?
Compartmentalize.
1. Mark is Jigsaw
2. Mark is not hunting you
3. Jigsaw is not hunting you
4. Someone else is hunting you
5. The police think Jigsaw is hunting you
6. He'll likely have to continue watching you unless you put up a fight about it.
At the end of it all last night, you seemed to hate him
And for some reason, that's the part that bothers him the most. Did you somehow think he's the one stalking you? You have no reason to suspect him of anything.
Of course, he's not stupid. He saw the look in your eyes last night. You put up a nonchalant front, but you are terrified of something- someone. That's who has to be hunting you.
Mark feels a sort of tightening in his chest. Is it because he's somehow jealous? Like no one can commit such acts other than him?
Or, shock of all shocks, he's come to care about you in some small measure?
He has to admit, as he stares at his bedroom ceiling, that he's grown fond of you, in the ways he can. This, despite you intentionally antagonizing him.
His biggest gripe before last night was that his work as Jigsaw has been out on an indefinite hold, and now that hiatus will have to continue.
This puts Mark in two compromising positions:
Find who's stalking you.
Dispel any concerns that Jigsaw is hunting you.
Both are difficult but the latter will be impossible if he can't get away from you. Shit, maybe you should ask for a different officer.
The thought makes him feel strange. It haunts him until he steps into the precinct the next morning. With a heavy sigh and bags under his eyes, Mark stalks to his office with a cup of coffee in hand. But when he opens the door, he finds you standing inside, arms across your chest, staring out the window.
You turn at the sound and he clocks immediately that you didn't sleep, either. He hesitantly closes the door behind him and takes a seat at his desk.
“I'm gonna be honest. I didn't think I was gonna see you again after last night.”
You move your arms to wrap around yourself.
“Yeah. About that. I know that you only ever try to- that you only ever help me.”
You bite your lip and come to sit across the desk from him.
“I have a hard time opening up. Especially to men. Especially in positions of power.”
What a damn fool Mark feels like. He suddenly realizes how he recognizes you.
He sees the same strands building through you as he did Angie.
“So…what didn't you tell us? What didn't you tell me?”
“I wasn’t at the plant by random chance. And…I know who was at my apartment. “
“Not Jigsaw, was it?” It’s a statement, because of course he knows it’s not Jigsaw.
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“I couldn't tell the cops why I was really there that night. So I can't tell you.”
He’d laugh if he isn’t so genuinely curious what the truth of the situation is.
“You have to.”
“The fuck I do.”
Your abruptness forces the next words out of his mouth. “Don't force me to do something neither of us want. You tell me, and I'll decide if it's a secret worth keeping.”
You squint at him with scrutiny. “Why would you do that?”
“Personal interests. Why were you at the plant that night?”
He watches your eyes narrow at some middle-distance point.
“My ex-boyfriend. Cliche, I know. He was horrible in all the ways you could imagine him being. I think that, if he hadn't been arrested, I never woulda left him.” You take a shaky breath.
“What'd he go to prison for?”
“Assault, battery, theft, drug charges, you name it. And yet, before two weeks ago I never stepped foot in this building. He was released early on parole- good behavior if you can believe it. I never said anything. People like me don't often get justice and, no offense, the PD doesn't have the best reputation.”
Mark rolls a pen between his fingers and the desk.
“And? You went looking for him?”
“Yes.”
“To confront him?”
You take a breath. “I was gonna kill him. At least, that's why I went there. But once I was outside I just…couldn't do it. That's when I saw Jigsaw. Or, at least I think I did.”
Mark nods and mulls over your words. It makes sense so far, even if some of the moves are stupid. “Okay… I understand why you wouldn't tell the cops you were there to kill your boyfriend-”
“Ex-”
“But what if he's the Jigsaw killer? Ever think of that?”
That’s right. Get the target as far away as possible.
You shake your head too fast for his convenience. “No, he couldn't be.”
He can’t help the bite that comes with your words. “Why the hell not?”
“He's a bastard, and some days I do wish he were dead. The things he did…but he's not a killer. He's also not smart enough to pull something like that off.”
“What if he's muscle? Doing Jigsaw's dirty work?”
“He's not.”
“Then why the hell would he show up back in your life?”
“I think… When someone let slip that I was a witness, and what I saw and where…he probably figured out I was looking for him. It's stupid. But I'm still scared.”
“You said he's not a killer.”
The look in your eyes makes him sick. “There's things worse than death, Mark. Things I know he's not above doing. But he's not a meticulous serial killer. He just isn't.”
Mark takes a moment to think in silence, slowly turning his chair back and forth. You shift in your seat, antsy.
“Look, you don't have to believe me but that's the truth of it. The whole truth.”
Then, a thought strikes him.
“Well…what if you told the police you think he's the Jigsaw killer?”
You freeze. Your mouth falls open.
“What, lie again?”
He spreads his hands like it’s obvious. “There's a chance he'd end up in jail, probably get a life sentence. Then he can't hurt you or anyone else ever again.”
“I want him to answer for his crimes, not someone else's. And if he goes to jail, then the real Jigsaw killer would still be out there hurting people. And then he'd be let go anyway. Why would you even suggest something like that?”
A look of disgust comes across your face and he’s genuinely taken aback at your reaction. His next words are honest.
“I just want to help you. Protect you.”
“If Ted goes to prison and Jigsaw kills again because I lied, then I'm complicit in murder. You get that right?”
“So, what? We just keep doing this dance until…?”
“No. I know I lied and I’m sorry about that. You can tell the chief that you think I’m not in anymore danger-”
“He won’t believe me-”
“You can even tell them I lied. But…it’s not fair to you to be strung along because of something I said.”
He watches you. You…feel remorse? For protecting yourself?
The image of Angie mutilated flashes across his eyes and he squeezes them shut, shakes his head.
“I’m not going to do that. We’ll wait this out. You’ll stay safe. If Ted pulls something like this again, we’ll get him. That’ll confirm that he’s the one stalking you and then this whole thing can be put to bed.”
When he’s plotting, he doesn’t notice you watching him. If he had, he would’ve noticed the confusion and then the dawning realization on your face. He cares about you. He won’t tell your secrets. He’ll lie for you.
He looks at you and you nod your head.
“Y-yeah. Okay. If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.”
Mark stands and you follow suit. He tries to gauge a reaction as he places hands on your shoulders. You don’t move, don’t tense. Then, carefully, he pulls you into a hug.
You sigh into him and the sound tightens his chest. Maybe he sees too much of Angie in you. Maybe he's glad to have someone else to protect. Or maybe…
You must be compelled by some strange force because when he pulls away, you've got your hands on his lapels, then one on his cheek.
And before you can get any further, Mark pulls your hand down, his palm dwarfing yours, and he sighs.
“It would be… problematic to take advantage of you.”
He's a serial killer. A sadist. Why should he care?
You bite your lip. “And how would you be doing that?”
“I'm in a position of power.”
And yet he doesn't move.
“Protecting me. Following me. Let's face it. You talk big shit but if I say jump, you don't even ask how high. You just do it.”
A growl reverberates from deep in his throat. He's uncontested. Always in control.
But here…he doesn't move.
You put your hands on him again. Your fingers curl under his lapels again and this time you use the grip to pull him down to you as you kiss him. You don't get too heated with it. Just to test the waters.
He returns the kiss, though. You feel good. Your lips seem to fit perfectly with his and, to his surprise, he doesn't mind you taking over.
At least, not first.
You back him up to the desk and with the impact he's forced to sit. He feels a hand snake down to palm at his hardening crotch and when he gasps, you take the opportunity to slip a tongue in his mouth.
“How many times have you fantasized about this?” You ask against his panting breaths.
“About this? Not yet. But me bending you over my desk and fucking you from behind? Plenty.”
“Wouldn't kill you to give up some control now and then,” you whisper, undoing his belt.
“It would, actually.”
He watches through lust-hazed eyes as you sink to your knees between his legs.
Christ, it's too good to be true.
He uses his hold on your hair to gently guide you away from his crotch.
“As much as I love this view- and make no mistake, I do love it. I think we should save it for later. This carpet’ll ruin your knees.”
He helps you up and pecks you softly on the lips.
“Let me take you out to dinner.”
You smooth down the front of his jacket where you rustled it.
“Such a gentleman.”
“Better than taking you straight home.”
“Not here?”
He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and leans in to whisper.
“Because when you cum, I want it to be as loud as possible.”
He relishes in the way you shudder from his words. But you compose yourself quickly enough to catch him before he pulls away.
“I was thinking the same thing about you.”
And you bite his ear and it takes everything in himself to not take you right here and now.
“You gonna get home alright?” He asks, his eyes softening.
“Yeah, I'll make it.”
“Nah, I'll drive you home. Gotta run an errand anyway.”
“Shit. You gonna become one of those possessive guys that never lets me out of your sight?”
“Don't tempt me.”
You gather yourself and he follows you out the door of his office, but not until he gives your ass one final squeeze.
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Could I request hc’s abt how the ersb gang falls in love? And how they act while pining over their eventual S/o? I miss them :v
Aw, certainly! I can never say no to these! Every time it pops up from the ether it puts a smile on my face
Elphelt
-Elphelt falls in love hard and fast, the actual difficult part is giving the whole thing more depth instead of it just being an idealized concept
-To try and clarify that idea, Elphelt goes in expecting a lot of things about what a relationship could be, y'know, classic scripted romcom trappings up to the nines. The first time something goes undeniably wrong, she'll have a moment of confused realization when the relationship doesn't immediately explode once she's strayed away from some imagined script
-Does not hesitate to make her feelings known, she's the sort to leave love notes in lockers and heap unsubtle praise on her object of affection
-Despite that, she still wonders whether or not she's being too subtle
-Frequent daydreamer, if you approach her in the midst of it she's probably doodling romantic scribbles all over what's nearest. Be careful not to leave any political documents nearby unless you want them plastered with 'Elphelt x s/o' and hearts with arrows all over it
Sin
-He doesn't have a lot of personal experiences with romance, so at first he gets a little confused and wonders why he wants someone to be best friends really, really badly
-He has that infamous 'oh' moment where it just slaps him across the face several weeks in.
-His parents aren't exactly great with advice given their own weird romantic history, but they're at least good at emphasizing the idea of loving deeply even if the circumstances are strange.
-Any attempted confessions ends up taking a long tangent about chairs
-Has no idea how pining works, if anything he'll just end up shouting it and/or dumping everything out to the first person who asks why he's being so absentminded today
Ramlethal
-Ram is the sort of person who believes that a partner isn't too different from a very very good friend. As such, she'll want to make sure she considers someone a friend before she can fathom the thought of being her partner
-Sometimes she gets a little ahead of herself, she can have a hard time knowing what to do in a 'normal' relationship and isn't fully certain whether or not it's appropriate or crossing a boundary . She's trying, but there isn't exactly a manual available
-She knows people like dogs, though, so Ketchup is a good secret weapon. Even if it's painfully obvious she set him out and guided him over in order to have an excuse to start a conversation.
-Ram has an impeccable poker face, but conversely to her sister, she thinks she's being too obvious and is genuinely surprised when someone says otherwise.
Bedman
-He is too intelligent and rational for such sappy displays. He has some level of dignity
-No, that little tchotchke on his shelf isn't the same one that you offered and he reluctantly took, Sin. What are you asking for. Are you a cop.
-He gets very, very mad about having a crush and it's kind of adorable. The thoughts do go away as soon as he wants them to and he scrunches up his face like a grumpy dog
-Unsubtle. Painfully, painfully unsubtle. He does everything shy of walking up to them and shouting 'I'M NOT THINKING ABOUT YOU AND YOU CAN'T PROVE I AM'
#aww doing one of these again makes my soul feel cozy#I've been so busy with the new blog that it's a surprise to see an ask sent to this one now#ask#imagines#guilty gear#elphelt valentine#sin kiske#ramlethal valentine#bedman#ESRBverse#...man when's the last time I've gotten to use that tag?
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Mob wandanat x ftm reader
Summery:feeling really dysphoric y/n goes to seek comfort in his girlfriends only they don’t he’s trans
Word Count:1,498
Warnings: typical mob boss fic violence(not to R)
“You had one job! Make sure a small shipment of weapons get to the Asgardians. But what do you do?” Natasha had enough of this guy, he almost never did his job well no matter how easy. She was surprised he wasn’t a fed or a cop.
Wanda put her hands on the table. “You fell asleep.” Wanda’s tone was light and mocking but still threatening. She too, had had enough of his shit.
Wanda was seen as the more emotional of the two but in reality Natasha was just more restrained and better at hiding it.
Wanda leaned in closer, tilting her head slightly. “We have given you more than enough chances. So unless you were up at the hospital for a loved one all night-" Natasha cut in for a second. “Which we know you weren’t.” “Than there’s no excuse.”
“Wait! Please I can explain!” No one was listening to his attempt to save himself. Wanda leaning back with her arms crossed rolling her eyes.
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The day had sucked so much for you. Dysphoria was really being a bitch today. You’d been home alone all day just trying to cope. Putting on the baggiest clothes you, Nat, and Wanda had, and trying to do things that make you feel masculine.
Key word “trying” but for the most part you were to depressed to actually get out of bed to do them.
You called Peter, a young guy Nat had taken under her wing, he mainly did office and tech type stuff for them. He was trans too so you were able to rant to him about it, but he had work to do so you were only able to talk for a little bit.
Wanda and Nat said they were in their office in the basement about 20 minutes ago. You knew that that meant they were either having a meeting with people they deeply trusted like the Asgardians, or someone was probably about to die.
You knew you should probably not go down there but you needed them. But they also didn’t know you’re a guy, you’d realized it after you’d already started dating. Them helping Peter pay for stuff like top surgery and testosterone helped you feel better but you were still worried.
You wanted to tell them, especially after you learned Peter’s trans too, but he’s the only person you’ve told. Your overly anxious brain knew they probably wouldn’t mind, especially with Wanda being pan and Nat bi, but the 0.001% chance they wouldn’t be scared the shit out of you. They’re your girlfriends after all, you love them to death so the idea of not having them was terrifying.
After quite literally an hour of debating it you decided to go down.
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Walking up you heard them talking quietly then some guy yelling begging for this life pretty much. Yep, normal week with your mob boss girlfriends.
The door was cracked open so you peeked in and saw your girlfriends and a few of their people and the begging guy.
Natasha was in the middle of grabbing her pistol when she saw you. You usually never came down here when you knew they had others with them, but she immediately noticed how sad you looked.
Seeing her wife pause Wanda looked where she was and had a similar train of thought.
Natasha looked over at Bucky while Wanda was already going over to you. “Deal with this.” He nodded and she was out of the room with her wife.
Wanda gently held your face in her hands “What’s wrong? You look like you’re about to cry.” “Did someone do something?” Natasha asked making sure she didn’t need to go back in and tell Bucky about a change in plans.
You just shook your head no and leaned into Wanda’s touch.
They both looked over at each other. In any other circumstance they’d find you maddeningly adorable, in their baggy clothes with a small blanket draped over your head and shoulders, but with the look on your face all they were was worried.
Natasha put a comforting hand on your back. “How about we go back upstairs? It’s not exactly comfortable down here.” You nodded.
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Sitting on the couch in-between them was nice. It always helped you feel better.
“What’s wrong detka?” Wanda asked rubbing your back as you curled into yourself.
They knew this wasn’t a normal depressive episode. You usually just texted them or asked Pietro, Peter, or Yelena and Fanny to come over.
You opened and closed your mouth a few times trying to think of what to say but you didn’t know and didn’t really want to hear your own voice. You eventually just crumbled and finally let out the tears you’ve been holding back all day.
“Oh dorogoy.” Natasha said pulling you closer letting you cry into her shoulder. Wanda started singing old Sokovian lullabies she remembered her parents singing to her knowing they helped you relax, and Natasha just whispered things like “It’s ok.” and “We’re here.” to you.
It took a while until you felt like you could talk without your voice shaking, but you still didn’t know what to say. Luckily they talked first.
“Feeling better?” “A little.” Nat just nodded. “You feeling up to telling us what happened?” Wanda asked. “You sure we don’t have to kill anyone?” Nat joked, partly. You chuckled at her making them both relax. “Yeah, I’m sure.” You paused. “It’s just, been a really bad day.” “Why?” “Um.” They both could see you tense up again.
Nat gently lifted your head from her shoulder so she could look at you. “You can tell us anything.” Wanda cut in. “Especially if it’s something that upsets you.” You looked between them both then your lap. Wanda gave you her hand knowing you liked playing with her rings, especially when you’re anxious.
“Um, it’s just" you took a deep breath remembering all the things Peter had said when you’d talk about wanting to come out to them. “D-dysphoria has just been really, really bad today.” They looked at each other quickly but you didn’t see it to busy with Wanda’s rings.
“What do you mean detka?” Hey both had a couple guesses but weren’t sure about any of them. “Uh, gender dysphoria." “In which way detka?” “The trans guy way.”
After a few seconds of silence Natasha moved to kneel in front of you. “Hey.” She said in the softest tone you’d ever heard from her, causing you to look at her. “Firstly, that’s perfectly fine with us.” Wanda nodded now holding your hand. “Secondly, what’s your name?” You just looked a her surprised for a moment, you didn’t know if it was because you didn’t expect it or because of how nice it felt. “Y/N.” “It fits you.”
You sniffled and chuckled. “Damn it you’re gonna make me cry again.” They both chuckled as well. “As long as they’re happy tears this time.” Wanda said before kissing your forehead. “When did you figure this out?” Nat asked moving to sit next to you again. “Like, 4 or 5 months ago.” “Did you talk to anyone about it?” You nodded. “Peter.” They had a look of ‘of course’ on their faces. “Remind me to pay that kid more.” Nat told you, causing both you and Wanda to laugh.
“We love you malysh.” Nat said kissing you. “What’s that mean?” You asked, and they both just smiled more. Wanda kissed you. “We love you baby boy.”
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After a long talk about what you were and weren’t fine with, such as pet names, they immediately switched to what you liked and didn’t slip up once. And as soon as it was ok with you they told their people about it and would give anyone who messed up a death glare, even though most of the time it was a slip up. Natasha’s family visited shortly after they’d told everyone of the change and even Alexei got glared at and presumably scolded by Natasha in Russian. You felt a little bad for the Russian himbo.
They also did everything that you needed to feel comfortable in your body, whether it was hormones, surgery, or helping you change your name, they happily did it. When they were helping you find a binder at the beginning and found out from you and Peter that you have to buy binders online you both blinked and they started plans to make a binder store. They of course let you both name it.
New York’s a progressive place but god forbid someone is purposefully transphobic to you or Peter, with how many eyes they have around they will hear about it and that person will seemingly blip out of existence that week. They hid that from you both though.
People quickly learned that they may be ruthless bosses of a criminal empire but transphobia, especially to you, would put you at the end of said ruthlessness.
#marvel#wanda maximoff#black widow#scarlet witch#wandanat x reader#WandaNat x trans reader#Natasha romanoff#natasha romanoff x ftm reader#wanda x trans reader#wanda x ftm reader#marvel fanfic#mcu#mob natasha x reader#mob wanda x reader#mob wandanat x reader#ftm reader
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no but it honestly really is tragic how joker basically has no real identity. i think the content added in royal is really good (should have been in base game but lol)
like, there is at least a clear thesis statement for minato and souji ("being indifferent to death until its time to go and realizing you actually do love the world and your friends that inhabit it" and "whether its the city or the boonies what matters is your connections with others for better or for worse".. ofc this is my own interpretation.) and they are a little similar but they are stories written by the same guy and he's known for recycling elements though i DO NOT consider having similarities in this case to be recycling.
wtf is up with joker? society is bad? i want to reform it? but the cops are ok. and actually idgaf. also (specifically in vanilla) akechi who is a direct result of Society Bad is actually a terrible person who should die.
i have always maintained that p5 is hashino at his most self indulgent... and his most spiteful. everyone knows about the artbook exerpts where he talks about the female social link characters in weirdly disparaging ways. i think ikutsuki and adachi are also reflections of his spite, but they are also a bit "relatable" to him. despite this the thoroughline for all three of his twist villains are his hateboner for anyone who seems nice on the surface (all three) and are perfect/good at a first glance (ikutsuki and akechi). akechi he wrote fully to be some kind of hatesink, it is honestly seriously meanspirited how far it goes, if you look at it from that angle it immediately becomes clear. this is not a post about akechi but i think it is important to talk about because of how critical it is to understanding hashino. with akechi it was so... yeah no you wrote this character to assauge some kind of deep rooted insecurity.
it's the same with ikutsuki, but at least for him, he was an adult. with akechi hashino was lording over a 16 year old in an abusive situation. after a while of thinking i could not really seperate that, knowing how spiteful his writing is. even with the p4 gang! look at everyone's shadow selves. and then compare to the p2 shadow selves. it is so spiteful and it is super clear to me that it is at least somewhat influenced by how he sees other people which makes me very sad to think about. i think he needs to clean his brain for real.
because p5 is the most indulgent in hashino's spite it really falls apart... and that influences joker immensely. we can sit here and talk about how p4 can get really unpleasant but at least at its core even if its weirdly executed the message of p4 is there even if the commitment to it is incredibly questionable. the reason why royal is so good is because the addition of maruki (and kasumi) injects a much needed angle of empathy into p5. needless to say the humanization of akechi in royal whos hatesink status in vanilla was so excessive it made little to no sense also helps.
i can't even talk about joker even though this post is about him. because he is so nothing in his own story. there's nothing to talk about. his existence or lack thereof outside of royal exclusive content makes no difference. you could make mishima the protagonist or any rando really and not much would change. joker's existence might as well just be to be an actual self insert, which is insane to me, i never consider most protagonists in ANYTHING self insert unless i am explicitly told "this is You, form You however you want" (like for example harvest moon).
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This Christmas
Pairing: Benny "Borracho" Magalon x Reader
Word Count: 4,755
Summary: Benny tries to create a Christmas Eve for you during a hard time in your life.
Warnings: Kind of fluffy, but talk of grief, guilt, parental loss. Some foul language. If I missed anything else let me know and I'll add it in.
A/N: This is the first fic I've finished in over 20+ years so...it's probably mediocre at best. A lot has changed in how fics were written in late 90s and I'm still trying to grasp that. Fair warning: I am not a good writer unless it's an email. Apologies in advance if my inability to understand sentence structure is obvious and if there are any typos.
I love stupid lifetime and hallmark Christmas movies, so there are probably hints of that in this. I chose Benny because he had like 4 lines in Den of Thieves and he seemed easy to work with. The story has some personal meaning to me, so if you hate it just keep it to yourself lol
I also want to give a shout out to @mariamariquinha @the-hinky-panda @cheesybadgers @mysoulisasunflower and @bullet-prooflove for the encouragement and kind words when I posted about my hesitation in sharing this.
----------------------
The guys are sitting in their chairs, staring at Benny like he has three heads. He’d just spent the last 20 minutes explaining why he needs their help in a few days; on Christmas Eve. He wouldn’t be embarrassing himself like some love struck fool if he had any other choice.
“This is sick, Borracho. Really sick.” Zapata shakes his head as he breaks the silence.
“Didn’t realize you were so fucking romantic.” Henderson joins in.
Big Nick slaps his hand on Benny’s back as he passes him to go back to his office, “Count me out, shithead.”
Benny groans and hangs head. He really should have just figured out a way to do this himself. Now he’ll never hear the end of it from these miserable fucks. And calling him a “romantic;" these idiots wouldn’t know romance if it punched them in their faces. It’s not even like he’s that romantic. They’re acting like it’s a crime to be thoughtful.
He can’t help it if being a good detective makes him more attentive, more considerate in relationships. He’s always finding himself filing away little things that you mention–or don’t mention. He has a collection of these in his mind, some even from before you started dating. And now he wants to use all these bits and pieces of information to try to create the perfect Christmas Eve for you. Christmas Eve because he knows you love it more than the actual day itself. But the guys' blank stares and biting little remarks are not inspiring confidence. Benny runs his hands over his face and rolls his chair closer to the desk.
“Forget I said anything.”
“Look at this sad, sack of shit.” Connors is laughing and throws a paper clip at Benny. “You’re going to owe us big time, you know that right?”
Benny breathes a sigh of relief. The guys are definitely going to haunt him with this for as long as he lives, but it will be worth it.
“I know.”
—-
This is Benny’s first real Christmas with you. Although he secretly counts the morning of the previous Christmas Eve when he stopped by your donut shop Glazy For You. He wasn’t working and had no reason to be in the neighborhood. But he wanted to see you without all the other guys there. If they were all there, he wouldn’t have been able to work up the nerve to ask you out. They’d harass both of you to no end. When he stood in front of your counter and asked, he’ll never forget how you laughed. You questioned him if it was a ploy for a group of cops to get free donuts. Then you were quiet for a moment and he almost started talking to fill the silence. But then he heard you say yeah okay and it was like he had been struck by lightning. You wrote your number down on a business card and handed it to him. Benny struggled to play it cool while he was leaving only to break down and text immediately from his car. He thought if he waited even one second longer you’d change your mind.
The first date was the week between Christmas and the New Year. That week is like a brief interlude in your life where anything can happen. Benny remembers that he must have been on that night because you stared intently whenever he spoke. He also remembers how beautiful you looked when you were talking about your work. The way you lit up when talking about Maple Bars made him laugh. He’d never met someone so in love with one type of donut. He could swear at one point when you were talking about them he saw your eyes actually sparkle. There was a familiarity throughout the date that made Benny feel immediately comfortable. The first date turned into a second date, and then a third. At some point when he was loading the dishwasher at your house, he realized he had stopped counting.
You both tried to keep the relationship quiet whenever the guys had stopped by to cure their hangovers with donuts and coffee. He knows how obnoxious they can be and he didn’t want them ruining anything. Ultimately, Benny ruins it for himself when he breaks the cardinal rule of never smiling while texting. When Connors had grabbed his phone and started showing how he has your contact name as Maple Bar—he knew there was no chance of keeping you to himself anymore.
Benny was right, of course. The next time they went, they practically dragged him in while shouting “Maple Bar” at you. You laughed as your face turned red, trying to play it off, but the secret was out. After the novelty of the relationship wore off for the guys, they started calling you “Benny’s girl”. Whenever he heard, he felt like the pit of his stomach was going to drop out. Things between you and the guys stayed largely the same—you joked around with them before and you joke around with them now. The only thing that’s different is Benny feels protective of you even though he knows you’re fine. That was another thing he filed away—that you were the first woman to actually appreciate his bond with the guys. You know they have his back and that’s what’s important to you. It’s just one of the reasons Benny’s love for you grows.
—-
Near the end of the summer your dad passed away suddenly. Benny was at work, but when he got your text, he called you asking where you were. He knew your family dynamics were difficult and he didn’t want you to be alone. He thinks maybe a different sort of man would have been scared by the rawness of the situation. That it would have been too much, too soon. But Benny doesn’t scare easily, so he sat with you on the floor, in the kitchen of your closed shop. He kept you close to him while you cried and listened as you told him how you felt stupid for crying because your relationship with your dad wasn’t the best. His chest tightened when you told him you felt like you didn’t deserve to feel sad. That sadness was reserved for a relationship that had been whole. Benny anchored you to him, afraid that if he let go, you might drift away.
Benny knows you tried to hide being sad after that. You sneak off to the bathroom to cry periodically and one time he follows you. Benny knows about stuffing feelings down—it’s part of his job—but he doesn’t want you doing the same. He gets you talking, you tell him you have this guilt for not attending the funeral. You couldn’t bring yourself to be in a room with his wife of only a few years making everything about herself. Especially after she wouldn’t let you come to their house to look through his things. He didn’t judge you for making that decision; he knows what it’s like to have to make choices not knowing if you are making the right one. Still, Benny’s heart would break when you would refer to yourself as a horrible person, a horrible daughter. He knows he wasn’t a witness to many things in your life, but he also knows you’re not a bad person. He’s seen how you always step up to help people—giving your money or your time. You even kept Connors fed while he was on leave due to an injury. You give to others what you seem unable to give to yourself and it makes Benny’s heart ache
You seem okay until Thanksgiving with his parents. It was your first time meeting his family and in Benny’s eyes, it was a success. His parents loved you right away. His mom loved the extra help in the kitchen. His sister delighted in telling you the secrets of his childhood. His dad was impressed you owned your own business. But as you both sat in the car outside the house you broke down crying. You kept apologizing while telling him how wonderful his family is; how being around them reminded you that you’d never have another holiday with your dad. You explained how Christmas was his favorite holiday. That he would spend hours stringing up lights around the house before making spritz cookies with you. You took some shallow breaths trying to calm yourself down before listing all the Christmas Eve traditions your family had. That those memories somehow always eclipse the shittier parts of your childhood. Benny held your hand while you spoke. He knows what it’s like to lose people, in his line of work it’s inevitable. But he doesn’t know what it’s like to lose a parent so he stays quiet. When Benny feels you squeeze his hand it sparks something in him. He suddenly becomes very determined to make this Christmas Eve perfect for you.
—-
When December 24th finally arrives, Benny feels as excited as he did when he was a kid. He knew you would be working which gives him time to decorate your house. The only person that backs out from helping is Big Nick—but he never actually agreed so Benny can’t really hold it against him. He puts Connors and Henderson on Christmas lights duty. Benny takes the inside, he knows the guys well enough to not trust them to go through your things.
Benny finds all of your Christmas decorations and another string of lights in the hallways closet. When he’s grabbing a box labeled ornaments off the shelf a box, wrapped in silver and red striped paper falls to the floor. When he picks it up to place it back on the shelf he catches a glimpse of the white tag on it—To: Benny. He can’t help but smile when he closes the door.
While he is untangling the lights, Zapata comes in with a tree. Benny looks at it and laughs. It’s so sparse and wide he can see through it.
“It’s the only one they had.” He shrugs as he props it up against the wall.
Benny touches one of the branches. “It is a tree, so I guess you did what I asked.”
Zapata shakes his head. “Man, this is a crazy, fucking thing you’re doing.”
Benny smiles to himself thinking that love will make you do crazy, fucking things.
“I know.”
Zapata leaves and he can hear him shouting up to Connors and Henderson on the roof. Benny can hear them talking about him using their standard terms of endearment: dickless, crazy asshole, and idiot. Benny doesn’t care, because Benny has you.
It only takes a handful of hours for the guys to put the lights up outside and for Benny to finish decorating inside. The tree doesn’t look as bad once he wraps some lights around it and puts your ornaments up. He’s charmed by the fact you kept all these ornaments from when you were a kid–one for every year until you turned 18. He got some frosted glass spray and tries his best to make your windows look wintery. Finally, Benny wraps your gift in some plaid wrapping paper he found. He surprises himself by the fact that it doesn’t look like complete garbage.
—-
Your car is conveniently having its brakes repaired so Benny told you he would pick you up once you closed for the evening. You’d come back to his place for dinner and a movie and then call it a night. But Benny is sending Connors to pick you up instead. Benny is going to need the extra time to do something he hasn’t done since he was a kid—make cookies.
There’s a reason why Benny hasn’t made cookies in decades. He’s lost when it comes to anything more than standard kitchen fare. Spaghetti, grilling, he can do that just fine. But baking might as well be nuclear science. He’s grateful your kitchen is 90% baking supplies, it saves him from having to fumble around a store looking for all of it.
You have so many recipe books he doesn’t know where to begin. He tries looking through them, but gives up and resorts to googling one on his phone. He thinks maybe it’s cheating to look up the recipe online, but how many variants of this could there be? Somewhere between the 1st and 10th recipe he looks at he finally notices the jump to recipe feature; saving him from the life stories of food bloggers. He settles on one that has minimal backstory, thinking that means it’s an easier.
By the time Benny is done he has what seems like 10 dozen cookies and has made a mess of your entire kitchen. He doesn’t know how he used almost every single dish you have to make one kind of cookie. He tries one of them and he can’t tell if they are supposed to taste like that or if he fucked something up. For Benny, the most pathetic part of the whole thing was that he had to call his mother. A grown, adult man Face Timing his mother because he couldn’t figure out how to work a cookie press. He didn’t realize it would be more complicated than cleaning a gun. He knows he’ll never live this down.
—-
You’re waiting outside of your shop for Benny when you see Connors’ car pull up. Your stomach tightens automatically when you see him step out of the car. Your mind goes to the worst, that something’s happened to Benny.
“Hey Murph, is everything okay?”
“Borracho got called into work. Asked me to take you home.”
Once you know Benny is okay your mind goes to how much you hate his nickname. It’s so totally unrepresentative of the man you know.
“Oh, he should have texted. I could have just taken an Uber or something.”
“You can pay me if it makes you feel better.”
You laugh as you double check the lock on your security gate.
“I know how you drive. If you get me home in one piece, then we can discuss your fee.”
As you get in the car you can hear Connors go on and on about how excellent of a driver he is. You roll your eyes as you put your seatbelt on.
You’re thankful for the mostly quiet car ride to your house. Connors fills you in on why Benny had to go into work. For whatever reason he seems to be laying it on a little thick—a string of toy store robberies makes it sound like he just watched Home Alone 2. At any moment you feel like he is going to mention a woman covered in pigeons. You don’t think you’ve ever said ‘uh huh’ so much in your life.
On the drive you see so many houses lit up with Christmas lights and decorations in yards that it starts to make you sad. Sad that you didn’t even get a tree. Sad that you won’t be able to spend your first real Christmas together, together. The Christmas Eve when he asked you out probably only counts in your mind. It still feels strange—the fact that he asked you out. From the first time he came in you developed a little crush. Initially, you didn’t know he was a cop. If you had, it might have stifled your growing crush a bit. You liked that he stood out in that pack of loud voices by not being one. The first time he spoke to you, you wondered how a man with a neck tattoo could have a voice as soft as his. And he was so handsome on that first date in his dark green flannel. You loved the gray speckled in his facial hair; it gave you the impression he was a serious kind of guy, not prone to playing games.
You sigh loud enough that Connors gives you a weird look and you try to pretend like it was yawn. You look back out to the houses and think maybe being alone tonight is better. You’ve been a real fucking downer lately and why ruin a perfectly good Christmas Eve for someone else.
—-
Connors stops at the bottom of a driveway belonging to a house that’s not yours. It looks like your house—a small, one-story, dark blue house with white trim, a small porch, and a window looking out to the street. But you know your house does not have Christmas lights. And this house masquerading as yours, is all lit up.
“This is not my house.”
“Yeah it is.” Connors points and you see Benny standing on the porch, illuminated by the lights.
“You’re such an asshole.” You blink back the tears that are on the edge of falling.
He laughs, “Yeah, I know.”
You thank Connors before getting out of the car. You have a feeling he did more than just give you a ride home. When you step out of his car and close the door behind you, you stand for a moment staring at your house. You don’t think you've ever seen it look so beautiful. It looks like a painting with Benny standing there looking so beautiful too in his dark green flannel buttoned all the way to the top.
“I knew something was up when Murph was reciting the plot to Home Alone 2 as your work emergency.”
You give a sly smile as you walk up your porch steps. You can hear Connors’ car idling until Benny waves and he drives off.
“I knew I should’ve had Henderson pick you up.”
You kiss Benny lightly and wrap your arms around his neck.
“If I’d known you were breaking out the formal flannel, I would have dressed up.”
Benny laughs as he takes one of your hands in his. He looks at you in your sugar and icing stained t-shirt and jeans. You look so pretty standing there he almost says what he’s been holding in for months, but stops himself.
“You look perfect.”
Benny squeezes your hand as he brings you into the house.
—-
You’re overwhelmed when you see everything. You see the tree decorated with your ornaments. It’s so breathtaking, better than any tree you’ve ever seen in your life. But you know that even if it was just a branch tacked to your wall you’d feel the same way. Before you can turn around to tell Benny how much you love it, he’s next to you.
“It’s a little sparse, I know.“
You look at him looking at the tree.
“Benny,” you stop to choke down the sob that’s building in your throat, “it’s wonderful. This tree is perfect. It’s all perfect.”
And everything is. The garland he’s hung around your house. The haphazard fake frostiness added to the windows. The cinnamon scented candles he’s lit all around your living room. It’s like being in a snow globe after everything has settled.
“A lot of sap in here! Looks great. A little full. A lot of sap.”
You didn’t even catch that the television was on, but when you hear it, you know exactly what it is. You turn around and see that Benny has Christmas Vacation playing. That’s the thing that finally pushes you over the edge. This movie that you watched every Christmas Eve since you can remember. The movie that perfectly encapsulates what Christmas meant to you as a kid. The sadness you’ve been feeling and now suddenly the joy you’re experiencing because of Benny finally all bubbles to the surface.
You bury your face in his neck and start to cry for everything that you know you’ll miss but also for what you have right now. His body acts as a solid mass you can lock yourself to. Benny is kissing the top of your head and you’d be embarrassed if it was anyone else witnessing this. But with Benny you know he won’t judge you. He will give you exactly what you need, even when you don’t know you need it.
You pull back and look at him. He cups your face in his hands and brushes the tears from your face with his thumb.
“I miss him, Benny.”
“You’re allowed to miss him.”
When Benny says it, you feel like a weight has been lifted off of you. The weight of the self-inflicted punishment for mourning something that wasn’t perfect. You take a step back from him and look around the room again. You want to remember this moment as it is.
“This means everything to me. I hope you know that.”
“I have something else. Stay here.”
Benny can feel his heart vibrating in his chest as he goes to the kitchen to grab a plate of cookies. He holds it behind his back until he’s in front of you. When you look down at the plate he sees you smile as you grab a wreath shaped cookie off the plate.
“You made these?”
Before he can answer you, you take a bite. He can see your face changing from excitement to what can only be described as delighted horror. Benny’s chest tightens knowing he messed something up.
“Uh….what’s wrong?”
“I think you mixed up the salt and sugar measurements.”
You see Benny’s face fall and you feel so bad that you finish the cookie in your hand and grab another one.
“Don’t eat it!”
He quickly knocks the cookie out of your hand. You grab another one and he does the same thing. He drops the plate on the floor and it’s all so magically bizarre that you start laughing and can’t stop. You try to say something but you end up in a fit of giggles that makes Benny start laughing.
“It’s happened to me before. Don’t worry about it.” You manage to wheeze the words out as you wipe the tears–happy tears–from your eyes.
Benny gets serious for a moment, “I just wanted this whole night to be perfect.”
You step over the pile of cookies on the floor and kiss him gently on the lips. He rests his hand on your low back and sighs into you.
You whisper against his lips, “I can’t imagine anything more perfect than what you’ve done for me.”
Benny rests his forehead against yours, “I have one more thing for you. I didn’t bake it, so don’t worry.”
You smile, “I have something for you too.”
You break out of his hold and go to the hallway closet. Benny crouches down and gathers the cookies that dropped on the floor back onto the plate. He can’t believe he used so much salt and didn’t even notice. As he’s placing the plate on your coffee table he sees you by the tree holding the wrapped box he spotted earlier. You pick up a thin box wrapped in plaid paper. You walk over to the couch and hand Benny his gift.
“Open yours first.” Benny nods to the gift wrapped in plaid paper that you’re holding as he sits down.
Benny watches you sit down as you carefully undo the ribbon and slide your finger underneath the tape. He’s never seen someone unwrap a gift so carefully and it makes him smile.
“Oh Benny, you remembered.”
Benny watches you run your hand over the open box containing The Polar Express book set with the silver bell and cassette tape. He remembered the time the movie came on and you complained how it could never compare to the book illustrations and the William Hurt narration. You told him that you always listened to it as a family before you got too old to think it was cool. When you said it he saw the look on your face and he did what he always does; he filed it away.
“Guess who learned about Etsy this year?”
The face Benny makes, causes you to laugh. The thought of him making an account and searching for this is a gift in and of itself.
“I would have paid to see that.” You look back at the book, “This is the best gift. Thank you.”
You lean across the small gap between the two of you and kiss him. It’s deeper this time and you can feel the little moan that comes out of Benny’s mouth making you smile. The scratch of his facial hair on your face is a reminder to you that even though Benny seems tough on the outside he’s the exact opposite with you.
You shift back to your seat and nod at the gift Benny is turning over in his hands. He holds it still for a moment before opening it. He takes an opposite approach in unwrapping; ripping the ribbon off, and tearing through the paper. When he opens the box he’s surprised to see a watch that looks exactly like the one he had lost while he was out working on a case. This was right around the time you two had started dating and he wasn’t even aware you had ever paid attention to it. It was a watch he had worn forever—his favorite watch. And when he couldn’t find an exact replacement, he settled on a lesser watch, a watch that never quite measured up. But this, this was it. This was his watch.
“How did you—“
“You’re not the only Etsy user around here.”
Benny laughs as he takes off the watch he’s wearing to put this one on. You had planned on finding it for his birthday, but it took longer than expected. You can’t even remember how many places you went searching for a watch you could only describe from memory. It was a gift that you bought to hopefully express your love to him when you were afraid to say the words out loud.
Benny grabs your hand and yanks you on top of him. His arm wraps around your waist, his brown eyes looking into you, trying to determine if it’s something he should say now or if he should wait. He knows he could have—should have—said it months ago. Now, there’s something now about the way you’re cradling his face with your hands. Or how your eyes are locked on his own, that is making him loopy.
“I love you..” he stammers to correct himself, “I’ve loved you.”
He blurts it out like a criminal breaking down and confessing a crime. You’re both still and Benny’s worried he’s made a mistake. But then you run your hand over his hair and back down to his cheek–it makes Benny twitch. You kiss the crown of his head, the side of his nose, his jaw, and then his lips.
“I love you too, Benny.”
Benny’s skin prickles when you say his name. He shifts so he’s more upright, holding you in his lap.
“You’re so beautiful.” He buries his face in your chest and squeezes you against him. “I love you so much.”
You’re thinking of how Benny’s hold on you feels like you’re finally home when something catches your eye through the window.
“I think it’s snowing?”
You climb off of Benny and you both turn to look out of the window. There’s a flurry of white flakes all around your front yard. Benny sees you staring slack jawed through the window and starts to laugh.
“Come on.” He stands up from the couch and tilts his head towards the front door.
You get up and follow him outside onto your porch. You see a layer of snow covering the grass in your yard and don’t understand how it’s snowing in Los Angeles when it’s 70 degrees out. You stick your hand out and feel the crisp flakes land and melt into your palm.
“How?” You look at Benny and he’s smiling. He points to a man in the corner of your yard with some kind of machine and you finally realize where it’s coming from.
“Compliments of Big Nick!” The man yells it across the yard.
Benny can’t believe that shithead Nick came through. He knows he’ll be paying him back for the rest of his life. But when he looks at you watching the snow like it's some kind of Christmas miracle it doesn’t matter, Benny would pay him back ten lifetimes over. He feels the sting of tears in his eyes and pulls you to him resting his head on top of yours.
“Merry Christmas, Maple Bar.”
“Merry Christmas, Benny.”
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Chapter 22 - Thunder
Marc Spector/Steven Grant/Jake Lockley x Female!OC
Summary: Marc never expected to see his childhood friend Simone ever again. To Simone, Marc may as well have been dead. However, when Simone met Steven 15 years after Marc disappeared, she couldn’t help but notice how familiar he was.
18+ | 2.9k Words | Third-person omniscient | Darkfic | AU/AT |
Warnings: Heavy language, OC with religious trauma, childhood trauma, sexual trauma, the effects of this in adulthood, smut mention, death mention, graphic descriptions of death, missing persons, maybe some typos, kidnapping, torture, violence, blood, gore, bodily fluids, DARK STUFF.
Tagging for the loves: @ahookedheroespureheart
A/N: This one is particularly brutal and has moments of graphic grodiness. Only proceed if you can handle the themes included in the warnings.
Minors DNI, DL;DR, if I miss a warning, please let me know.
Chapter list
"Sick of chasin'
Highs and lows in all these different places
Devils workin' I can feel it, I know he's obsessed with me
Please don't catch up to me runnin' from
Fear in my mind"
-"Thunder" by 99 Neighbors
It took several tries for Simone's recording to work for them, not for lack of trying, and plenty of excuses were made for why before they were honest with themselves:
It's just not the same. She's not here.
Their last-ditch effort to get hypnosis to work without Simone being present seemed like a more comical approach with unnecessary steps like earbuds for concentration and spritzing her perfume all over the room in her apartment. They thought it would be hopeless until Marc remembered what she had told him:
I need your undivided attention, no skepticism.
That was the ticket, and they were standing outside Marc's body, which was cross-legged on the floor of Moni's living room, with Steven in the same suit as before and Jake in the cap and jacket. They stood around his real body just the same as they did before in the astral plane.
"Fellas," Jake spoke first, now open to their existence enough to notice them this time. Marc and Steven had heard the recording enough times to know the next part was for Jake to take the body and for them to go to the mirrors, but that step didn't come.
The two stared at each other, waiting and realizing it was taking too long.
"Did the earbuds unpair?" Steven asked. Marc shrugged,
"I don't think so." He answered, stepping dreamily to the wall on their left and seeing that the charger wasn't hooked into the outlet. "Fuck." He hissed. "The phone died."
Steven immediately remembered that he was the one who suggested plugging it in, but nobody thought to see if the phone was actually charging. "So, we're stuck here?" He asked with a bit of panic.
"Not unless we get this sorted out this time." Marc replied, referring to coming to some kind of agreement with Lockley.
"I already told you, schmucks, I don't want what you're sellin'." Jake piped up. "Not unless you can give me something to work with."
Marc felt the same biting irritation for Jake as he did before. The smug, asshole-for-the-hell-of-it attitude was radiating off of him, and it made Marc want to be an asshole back.
There's no time. Marc thought before he spoke. "Moni's missing. We need your help finding her."
"Missing?" Jake started, crossing his arms and shifting his weight to his left leg. "The hell did you two do?" Jake asked, assuming Simone ran off to avoid them. This assumption got under Marc's skin, but that didn't stop him from explaining what they knew. At the mention of Walton, Jake cut Marc off. "Yeah, I remember a couple a' cops showing up at her door askin' about that guy. You think he's got her?"
"No other reason she'd be gone. He's a real psycho, too, so we must hurry up with this." Steven answered his question, trying his best to ignore that Jake was at Moni's place.
Jake stood for a moment, unbelieving of what he was hearing. He realized if they were willing to put aside the bargaining and make this work, he was also ready to look past it. "Alright, how do we do this?"
Marc and Steve looked at each other knowingly, having gone through the motions before, as Marc answered Jake's question. "Let's start opening some doors, see what connections we can make."
Simone woke up several times throughout the night, still tied to the chair and still trying to wake up from what could only be a horrible dream before Walton would zap her with her own hot shot. Soon after, she would fall back to sleep due to her groggy state that reeked of concussion city.
This time when she woke up, a small beam of light shone through the boards covering the single window of the room she was in. It wasn't much, but it burned her eyes and made her already achy head pound more. Once she could get her eyes opened enough, she studied the space around her. Cement floors, brick walls, and no doubt a single level.
She imagined the rancid smell that had offended her nostrils all night was from the garbage pile in the corner to her left nearest the window until she dared to look to the right corner. The sight horrified her beyond screaming. She was entirely frozen by the stack of her patients, one on top of the other like a sick collection. Each was brutally beaten and strangled, just like the victims that initially landed Walton in prison.
Simone began to retch and heave, unable to look at poor Corey's face directed right at her with bulging eyes and cold, dead lips. Her mouth was still taped, and she hadn't eaten since noon the day before, so hot bile was the only thing to come up. It filled her mouth, and with no way of expelling it, Simone had no choice but to swallow it again.
The sound of a door opening behind her startled her again and caused her to stop her weeping, afraid of getting shocked or hit again. Heavy footsteps circled behind her, and the feeling of another presence caused the hairs on her neck to stand. Once Walton was in her view, she saw him smiling like he was revisiting an old friend.
"G'morning, doctor. I brought you some breakfast." He said, holding a plastic takeout container and placing it in her lap. She eyeballed it, scared to react. "I'll remove the tape, but you can't scream."
Right, you probably have my fucking zapper in your pocket, you fuck. She thought to herself. Walton took the corner of the tape into his fingers and pulled it slowly, causing Simone to relish the feeling of air on her lips pruned again.
He let the tape drop to the floor and pulled a metal chair over to her from the other side of the room, sitting in front of her. He opened the takeaway container to reveal two pieces of toast and some beans with a disposable fork. It didn't look appetizing, given the smells and sights around her.
"I'm not hungry." She said, voice barely reaching above a squeak from her raw throat. She was thirsty if anything. Walton's eyes filled with confusion that Simone couldn't help but mistake for stupidity.
I know you got a lot of shit wrong with you, but fuck dude, you think I wanna eat right now?
"Now, doctor, you'll need to eat something some time." He told her, smiling again and revealing his gnarly teeth. She could smell his breath from where he sat and couldn't tell what was worse: the bodies or his halitosis. "I'll go get you some water, and we'll begin our session. How about that?"
Walton obviously brought her here because he thought she could help him. She knew there was a small chance she could reason with him, and she took the opportunity.
"John, you know how this whole thing looks, right?" She asked, turning on the tone she would use with him during her visits. It was tender but stern.
"Yes, I know it looks proper awful, but you understand me. You know why I had to do all of this."
Walton wasn't an idiot. He knew right from wrong but did not feel remorse or fear punishment for wrongdoings. Where ordinary people had a conscience, Walton had an empty space. From what Simone could gather, he saw her as a way to fill in for that, like Jiminy fucking Cricket. She pushed harder.
"This won't end well for you if you keep me here, John. Let me go with you to turn yourself in. We can get you in a facility instead of prison."
Walton seemed to think about it seriously, and Simone almost called it a victory until he shook his head. "I can't do that, doctor. My only option is to keep you, and we can work on me."
Simone suddenly found it hard to keep the kind voice with him. He didn't understand that holding her against her will wouldn't do him any good and that he didn't have a good track record for keeping victims alive. "Walton, you can't keep me here."
"But I can, and I will."
"No, you need to let me go, asshole!"
Her word use caused him to pull the zapper out of his pocket and hit her with it on her arm, sending a jolt through her entire body. She squeaked and squirmed the moment it touched her skin. "Fuck you!" She let out in response. Walton didn't take kindly to that either and hit her with the device again, this time to her bare, sweat-sticky thigh. She didn't outburst this time. She only sat and acknowledged the pile of her patients in the corner.
I deserve this, don't I?
"That's the last of the memories, but I don't think that broke down any barriers. We're still in our head." Steven said as he closed the door to the flat behind them.
"I'm still thinkin' this won't work." Jake piped up with a shrug.
"It has to work. This is our only option." Marc responded. The three stood in a triangle shape with his body in the middle again, just like before. The haziness of the ultra-focused state was making him exhausted, but he knew they needed to find a way.
"It wouldn't've come to this if you'd protected Simone better," Jake said. He was getting frustrated and worried just as much as the other two about Simone's safety. Jake realized he probably liked her more than he initially thought and wanted to see her okay.
Jake's fingerpointing was nearly the tipping point for Marc. He had enough of dealing with the alter's mouth through their walk down memory lane. He didn't need Jake to blame him for her disappearance because he had blamed himself enough already. "You didn't exactly do a fantastic job either, pal." He responded, stepping toward him with an extended finger. Jake squinted,
"I'm just sayin', for the star of this show, you sure fuck up a whole lot." He said with a huff. It was already established that they could touch each other in this state, and once Marc remembered that fact, he brought his fist up to hit Jake for his criticisms.
"Enough! Both of you!" Steven objected, stepping between them before it got too heated. "Fighting won't bloody help. I've got another idea."
Marc blinked away the red and took a step back, observing how collected Jake looked through all of this. Jake was used to pissing people off.
"Whatcha got, English?" Jake asked Steven first. Steven tweaked an eyebrow at the nickname before turning his attention to Marc.
"You remember in the Duat? When we accepted ourselves and all that jazz? You've got to do that again."
"I dunno, buddy. I can't accept that this guy is any part of me."
"Well, he is. He's a bit rough around the edges, yeah, but he wants to find Simone just like we do."
It was hard for Jake to come to terms with not being his own man. All this time, he thought he was the original. He didn't want to accept it but knew there would be no other choice. "So I gotta accept that this is real shit, eh? I gotta say that I'm not... me?" Jake asked, unable to hide the disappointment in his voice. He didn't know if he could do it.
"You're still you, Lockley. You're just a piece of the puzzle. Doesn't make you any less real." Marc answered, sounding much more reassuring now that he saw Jake show a human emotion that wasn't cynical prick.
"Alright." Jake started, exhaling heavily. He wanted to believe in it for the sake of his hermosa. "I'm Jake Lockey, alter of Marc... uh-"
"Spector," Marc said with an eye roll.
Can't remember my name for shit. No wonder he calls Moni all those stupid nicknames. He thought. Jake snapped his fingers and pointed to Marc like he had come to the conclusion on his own. "Spector!" He exclaimed. "Did it work?"
The three looked from one shared face to another like confused triplets. Nothing felt different. They weren't sure exactly what they needed to feel, but they all figured it wasn't happening.
Steven, being the one who remembered their time in the Duat the best because obviously, though dead, it was the most exciting thing that ever happened to him, answered the question. "There's more to it. You and Marc have to accept your place in the system. I, for example, was the protector when Marc was young."
"That means you're the protector from dangers in adulthood. You popped up when I was in the Marines." Marc added his own point.
Jake thought of the memory they revisited, where he fought with a lance corporal before stealing a humvee and making a break for it. He remembered being confused, unsure of why he was there in the first place. That was until he saw what transpired before he took over.
"I guess I am, huh?" Jake confirmed, more to himself than the other two.
"And no matter how much I want to obliterate your face for sleeping with Moni," Marc stepped forward, holding back his tone. They were working together now. "I know you're here to help, not harm."
"So, uh, do we hug now?" Jake asked.
"We can start with a handshake," Marc answered, holding his right hand out. Jake gave it a once-over and brought his own hand to it, sealing the deal.
Before anything else could be said, Jake was suddenly awake, sitting on the floor with Simone's phone in his lap and earbuds in. He looked around, realizing he had woken up and taken over as usual.
"Did it work?" He asked the open air, fearing the other two wouldn't make it out.
"Right here, mate," Steven answered first.
"That makes two." Marc chimed in. "Alright, let's get our girl."
Simone couldn't tell how long she had her there. After an hour of listening to Walton ramble on and on about his homicidal tendencies and trying to pretend to care, he finally left her alone again. From there, she fell asleep again due to the haziness of her head and lack of nourishment.
She soon couldn't tell if it was a new day or still light outside, but the dimness told her it was sundown or sunup. She had already wet herself several times. The room's funkiness only worsened, and the smell alone was almost enough to drive her mad. From the darkened corner, she saw a figure emerge. Large, tall, balding... it was her tío. His mouth wasn't moving, but he laughed at her and told her she did this to herself.
"Eres un bastardo y un perdedor..." She responded, knowing he was a thing of fantasy but called him a bastard and a loser. Once the words fell out, the door behind her opened again, and the same footsteps as before followed.
"What did you say, doctor? I don't speak Spanish." Walton said, coming around to the metal chair with another takeaway container.
"It wasn't meant for you." She answered honestly.
"Talking to yourself's not healthy." He replied, pulling a slice of toast from the container and attempting to slip it into her mouth. Simone, for a moment, wanted to eat it and willingly took the bite before she chewed and grew disgusted. The lack of flavor and the smell of blood and rot made the taste unbearable. In response, she spat it onto the floor. "You're probably losing your mind because you're not getting nutrients. I need you better, doctor."
"You only try to feed me fucking toast and beans. You clearly don't know how to care for another human being." Simone bit angrily. Walton tutted at her,
"You're right. I didn't plan on keeping you this long, honestly."
"Solo déjame morir," Simone replied. She told him to let her die. Not begging, but in a way that expressed her misery with the conditions. She started to believe she would be better off.
Walton raised an eyebrow and got close to her face, "I already told you I don't understand." He whispered. She was getting under his skin with her use of another language. Walton ultimately wanted control but couldn't if he didn't know what she was saying.
"Fuck you, inmate." She spat, emphasizing the first word. Walton began making a tsk sound at her, seeming disappointed that she wasn't cooperating. He reached into his pocket, and instead of the zapper, he pulled out a pocket knife.
"I need you to work with me, doctor." He said before opening the knife and bringing the highly sharp blade across the skin of her right cheekbone. She winced away from the knife as the stinging grew worse, carving into the meat of her face and drawing enough blood to bead down to her jaw. Walton raised his other hand to the opposite end of her face, keeping it still. "You did this. Your scars are your own doing."
#moon knight fanfic#moon knight fan fic#moonknightedit#moon knight#marvel smut#marvel mcu#marvel fanfic#marvel#mcu fic#mcu fanfiction#mcu#fan fiction#fanfic#fan fic#darkfic#dark!fic#tw: death#tw: dead body#tw: blood#tw: violence#tw: kidnapping#tw: murder#marc spector#steven grant#jake lockley
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Fic Prompts: Folklore Friday
Spooky Season is nearly upon us, my loves! And so in advance celebration of the air finally freaking cooling down a couple degrees, I bring you badly retold ghost stories from my home state of South Carolina!
I'd have suggested Florida, since that's where I spent my early childhood, but tbh Florida is just so...Florida...that ghosts can't upstage the shenanigans of the living.
1. The Lizard Man of Scape Ore Swamp
My dude starts out in 1988 with police reports about a woman's car having claw and teeth marks, with muddy footprints and hair left behind. Ah yes, lizards: famously hairy creatures. After a teenager calls the cops about a seven foot tall "green" "wet-ish" critter doing its darndest to go car surfing -- and maybe snack on some teenage drivers if he gets the munchies -- the two reports kinda get conflated and the Lizard Man was born. Very shortly thereafter, the local chamber of commerce realized they could capitalize on a local cryptid, and he’s been a regional meme ever since.
Worth noting: 2 years before our scaly friend debuted, The Swamp Thing was filmed in the same state 🤔
2. Lavinia Fisher, the Demon Barber Innkeeper of Fleet Street Charleston
Because who doesn't like beds that are secretly trap doors, right?
That's the legendary modus operandi, at least. This was the 1800s, so what we know now might be as badly retold as anything I could make up, as a disclaimer.
The story goes that John and Lavinia Fisher ran an inn called Six Mile House, which is a strange thing to name a house, except when you have built it six miles from Charleston. Nice little place, but people started noticing that it seemed to be a branch of the Hotel California: you could check in anytime you liked, but you were never going to leave. But considering the lack of a Yelp column in the newspaper, this took a while to be noticed.
Lavinia would welcome wealthy guests in, make them comfortable, make them feel at home, and then make them poisoned tea. Not enough to immediately kill, just enough to drug them.
Now, you may be wondering what I initially wondered: But Radio, wouldn't they have tasted something odd?
And now I regret to inform you of the peculiarity that is South Carolina Sweet Tea.
Sweet Tea is definitely a Southern Thing around here, but I'll say this: the sweet tea I've had in other typically southern states at least tasted like tea. The stuff we have here around the capitol? It's syrup in a cup. You could put it in a feeder and attract hummingbirds. Pour it on some decorative ivory and your knickknacks will develop cavities. Its served cold because if you drank that much sugar while hot your teeth would instantly mutiny and flee your mouth.
Lavinia could've put whatever she wanted in that stuff and it probably would've been hard to tell. And Southern Manners would mean those poor saps would just pretend not to notice the taste. Either that, or their taste buds were already so destroyed by their own preferred blends of sweet tea that they wouldn't have known the difference anyway.
Once a guest got sleepy, John and Lavinia would show them to a guest room and leave them to go to bed. But seeing as you read the beginning of this section, you already know where that bed is going: straight through the floor.
I don't know how they set that up, but I'm picturing like, the frame just opening and dropping the whole kit and caboodle down.
Supposedly, they kept a row of spikes in the basement for the guest to drop onto. Honestly though, that would tear up the mattress or pallet wouldn't it? That's not a cost effective way to mug your inn guests and still hide evidence. So unless they had an unlimited supply of replacement bedding, we can probably ignore the spikes in favor of the rather more Sweeney Todd theory: that John was waiting downstairs with an axe to finish what the blunt force trauma started.
It all had to come crashing down eventually, of course.
The scheme, not the trapdoor, mind you.
Eventually a guest with taste came along: a word here used to indicate that he could tell the difference between tea and syrup in a cup. When Lavinia made her special brew, he took a sip and had a perfectly reasonable reaction:
But he didn’t want to hurt his host's feelings. After all, we can't all be skilled in measuring an Appropriate Amount of Sweetener. So he waited until Lavinia was busy, and dumped the tea down the sink. Of course, this had the side effect of him not being sleepy when he went to his room. He was still up and puttering around when John and Lavinia pulled the lever, and saw his bed disappear into the floor.
Naturally, he beat feet and informed the authorities that Six Mile House was not, strictly speaking, up to code. As a result, John and Lavinia were arrested and charged with highway robbery and mass murder, for which both were later executed. Nobody actually knows how many people died in the inn, nor exactly how involved Lavinia actually was.
3. One more for the road: Bigfoot
Yes, I said Bigfoot.
Generally, we stick to our Lizard Man, and maybe the Catawba River Runner. But there have been just enough Bigfoot Incidents for police in 2017 to put out a warning for locals not to shoot at any Bigfoots (Bigfeet?) Lest they harm a prankster in a monkeysuit.
Aaaaaand then September arrived. And with it, a surprise cameo by the big fella himself at Hunting Island State Park. I, personally, stand by my theory that many "Bigfoot" sightings are Regular Animals In Places They Definitely Shouldn't Be (like the monkeys that live in Wekiwa Springs, FL). I personally find that explanation both technically still a cryptid, and also very entertaining. Brownish black fur, five or so feet tall, walking upright, according to witnesses.
The park superintendent says he's taking it as a "credible incident", so make of that what you will.
#fic prompts#writing prompts#folklore friday#explaining folktales badly#explaining ghost stories badly#no actual ghosts though#cryptids#bigfoot#scape ore lizard man#sc lizard man#true crime#true-ish crime
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I know that a lot of people want it to be true but if I'm honest? I really don't want Sun Wukong and Macaque's strained relationship to be a result of a miscommunication. Like I think it'd be a huge cop-out from what they're already building up with Sun Wukong. Do I think he actually killed Macaque? No. But I also don't think that their troubles started there. Macaque speaks as though he's harbored resentment for Wukong for a WHILE and for a variety of reasons that eventually all circle back to the kind of friend that Sun Wukong was. As we've seen in the show up to this point, it feels like they're showing us that-- while Sun Wukong is a good person-- he's also INCREDIBLY messy with the way he handles not only problems but his relationship with people too. Not to mention that they keep bringing up how Wukong managed things in the past (i.e. his legacy being built on him being reckless) and how he really hasn't.. changed. S3 had Mei straight up tell him that he doesn't see how he keeps hurting the people who care about him the most. So no it wouldn't surprise me if he really did end up doing certain things that led Macaque to feel like he was nothing more than this Hero's Shadow.
S1 when we first get introducted to Macaque, during the final fight, Macaque makes the statement: “The real Sun Wukong would’ve leveled this whole mountain to try and stop me! but you’re scared because you think you’ll hurt some kid!?” The emphasis on "some kid" makes more sense when you take in the context that they give us during S2 about their past with one another. Macaque and Sun Wukong were friends who fought alongside each other. And if this is the case, then Macaque wouldn't have made a statement like that unless he knew what lengths Sun Wukong would go to in battle even if sometimes that meant putting the people around him in harm's way (and people he cared about at that). Which is why it baffles him that Sun Wukong holds back during their fight because MK is a kid SWK only just met a few months ago. The SWK HE was friends with wouldn't have cared to put HIM in danger.
Then we get Shadow Play where Macaque's whole deal is that he's been watching as MK begins to leave his friends behind. And a lot of this lesson to MK felt PERSONAL. As if he knew what it felt like to be the friend on the sidelines as he watched the hero take on the burden all on his own, forgetting that he has people behind him. Which is what MK was doing. In the Spider Queen episode, as soon as MK saw that Pigsy didn't open shop he immediately freaked out because Pigsy never forgets to do that and thus he comes to the conclusion that he's missing (which he was correct about)! But during Shadow Play, when he comes across Pigsy's closed shop he doesn't bat an eye. He doesn't realize that hey. Maybe my friends didn't ditch me at the theater because why would they have done that in the first place? And I get that MK was going through a lot at the time and was trying to process it, but I get the feeling that it was kind of the point. Macaque was watching as MK followed in Wukong's footsteps and isolated himself to the point where he took it upon himself to be the hero on his own. He has all this power now and suddenly his friends can't help him with that anymore? He's purposefully keeping things from them and Macaque sees this. Because maybe it's the same thing Wukong would do.
And its clear through Macaque's little Shadow Play that Macaque had some insecurities in their friendship based around playing second fiddle to Wukong. He keeps mentioning how Wukong eventually forgot about him or cast him into his shadow. And yet.. Wukong throws this exact thing in his face on multiple occassions. "Aren't you ever going to get tired of living in my Shadow?" Not to mention the hints we get during S3 that further drive home the fact that he fully believes that Sun Wukong is the type of person to cast someone aside unless they were useful to him. And while that might not have been Sun Wukong's intention with whatever actions he took to get Macaque to ride that train of thought, it is still evident that perhaps he has in the past been careless with his friendships.. as he is with MK's group which led them to where they ended up during the S3 finale.
And the last thing I want to point out is the interaction between MK and Macaque as Mei is being consumed by the Samadhi fire. Macaque tells MK that they need to go and MK retaliates stating that he would never leave Mei when she needs him because she's his best friend. Or something along those lines. And Macaque looks on at him like he can't believe what he's hearing. It's almost like "This isn't something I'm used to because this isn't something I was given as a friend". And it's shocking to see this! Which!! further solidifies in his mind what he said to MK during S2 "You know.. you are just that BIT too much like him [Sun Wukong].. buuut its good to see there's SOME potential" because in his relationships, MK will always look to his friends first and foremost. Monkie kid 101 is doing things together and sticking together.
THIS KINDA DERAILED FROM MY MAIN POINT I THINK A LITTLE BIT BUT. BASICALLY.
I hope Macaque's resentment does come from like. Actual conflicts with Sun Wukong and not just a misunderstanding. I think it would add to an arc with SWK where he realizes "You keep doing things the same way you always have and it doesn't work out for you. Something needs to change because you've hurt people in the past and you'll continue to hurt people in the present unless you start approaching things differently". You know? It'd be more impactful if we've got more instances from the past where he's clearly messed up but never knew how to grow from it.
#demic rambles#OK TRYING THIS AGAIN#bc for some reason my text vanished which was odd#anyway again this isnt me justifying macaque's actions he's fucked up and needs help#especially considering he involved people outside of SWK in his feud with him
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jesse & clementine.
If there was anything jesse could proudly proclaim that he liked about the compound, especially since it fell months ago, was that it was incredibly remote. Before it all, long before the existence of the undead, jesse mostly appreciated the isolation from the rest of society. Sometimes, it felt like the andersen compound was a world of its own, far away from civilization; they were halfway to being sovereign citizens anyway. It wasn’t as if he knew much of anything else, quite young when their family built the compound (he couldn’t remember if his younger sister was even born then), so how could he remember what it was like to live in the real world? How could he know what he was missing if he never had it in the first place?
So, he had become accustomed to their distance from society. His father preached to him about how it was necessary, because soon the world would end and the people would become covetous. Those that mocked them would soon rely on them, and it was up to their mercy to help those that couldn’t help themselves—anyone else, namely cops and government officials, were left to their own devices. Jesse had been raised under the threat of federal decimation. He had been raised by a man that stockpiled assault rifles and taught the children of the compound how to assert their rights if ever stopped by a cop. His upbringing made him wary of any stranger, immediately defensive, but the living human he saw through his rifle scope didn’t look like a human anymore. The living human crumbled to the leaf-covered forest floor.
Jesse never played the hero if he could avoid it. His father instilled in him to be a loyal follower, to do anything that tyr said, but he never taught his son to help others unless they would do something in return. Even in their own compound, people quickly learned not to go to Jesse with their whining because he didn’t want to hear it, they’d only get blank stares in return; when he did assist them with something such as shoeing horses or stringing crossbows, he usually did it wordlessly until he finished, then he’d promptly call them an idiot before walking away. From his perch above the compound wall, eye still held up the scope, he hesitated for a moment to see if they’d get up and just walk away. He wanted them to just walk away. When they didn’t, he cursed, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. “Damn it all.”
When he saw the person fall to the ground, his first thought was: what an idiot. His second thought: shit. Jesse climbed off the turret hurriedly, boots slamming on the ground. He kept his rifle raised as he approached the body, finger itching to shoot but kept firmly off of the trigger. Just in case. Slowly, he walked closer, eyes darting around the trees; there was a chance that this person was simply bait, that they had an army in waiting and just needed him to step out of his compound before they could attack. He didn’t grow up in a paranoid, anti-government cult to not think through every possible scenario, and sometimes, he had to act even if a certain scenario was likely. Jesse Andersen was no hero, but occasionally, he could be.
It wasn’t until he was practically standing over her that Jesse realized it was a woman that collapsed onto the ground. He thought she was dead. He thought she was undead. Jesse lowered his rifle to use the muzzle of the barrel to poke at her shoulder. There was some reactive movement, a small moan. She was alive, barely so. Even if she was alive now, it didn’t mean she wouldn’t be dead soon, and he couldn’t identify the source of the bloodstain blooming on her side by sight. It could’ve easily come from a bite. It would probably be a kindness to end her misery now, like he had to do with some of the heifers a few years ago when they contracted foot-and-mouth disease. Jesse sighed. “Damn it.” slinging his weapon over his shoulder again, jesse settled onto one knee and snaked his arms underneath her torso and legs. Easily, he lifted her off the ground and returned to standing position. Giving one last cautious glance at his surroundings, just in case he was the sucker that took the bait, jesse turned around and carried the bloodied bride over the muddy threshold of the fallen compound.
FAST-FORWARD…
The room of his sister had been virtually untouched since the beginning of the outbreak; some compound members complained privately about an unused room when other families were crammed up to the rafters in their own houses, but no one dared to say anything to tyr’s face. Or jesse’s, for that matter. Hunter’s room had been a forgotten shrine ever since they kicked her and mary lou out, door shut tightly and rarely opened again since. Not until a wounded woman fell practically on his doorstep. It would have to work as a temporary jail-hospital room until she either woke up or Jesse had to bury her. He placed the woman ungracefully on the bed and begrudgingly searched for a source of the blood dried on her clothes. He felt over her shirt, expecting to find a bite mark, but her wound felt more like a stab puncture. Frowning as he lifted the shirt enough to reveal the wound, it wasn’t weeping blood anymore, but the skin around it was puffy and so red it was almost purple, and a yellow substance was growing in the edges of it. “Great.” jesse grumbled, recognizing the signs of infection; his knowledge of human anatomy was far exceeded by his knowledge of animal anatomy, but he knew enough. He left momentarily to collect a warm compress, polysporin, tylenol, and a bandage. By the time he finished taking care of the wound, the sun had lowered into the horizon and he heard the soft patter of rain on the roof.
Finishing as best as he could with what he had, jesse left a small oil lamp on the bedside table and draped an old blanket over the woman’s sleeping form. The bottle of tylenol and a glass of water joined the oil lamp on the bedside table, but he left her in her own clothes and didn’t place her body underneath the bed sheets. The less contact he had with her, the better. Giving one last look at her, jesse turned and walked out of his sister’s room, pointedly ignoring the mirror.
FAST-FORWARD…
It had been about five hours since he put the woman in hunter’s old bed. In the time since patching her up, he had fed the animals, returned to the gate to check on his perimeter and lock things up for the night, then returned back to the andersen home to make some sort of dinner for two if she didn’t succumb to her fever. Every other night, he ate by himself, mostly a can of soup or beans, but he figured he’d have to actually cook something that night. The few chickens still left on the property hatched more eggs than he knew what to do with now that he was all alone, but he figured breakfast for dinner would have to do if he was cooking for two.
He lit a few oil lamps in the kitchen and switched the propane tank on before he gathered a handful of eggs and placed the frying pan on the gas stovetop. Busy cracking the eggs into the pan once it was hot enough, he didn’t notice the woman entering the room until she was leaning up against the wall. “Oh.” jesse looked at her over his shoulder. She looked a little better, but he didn’t really have much to compare to—when they met, she was nearly dead. “You’re awake.” his voice was deeper than usual, scratchy from disuse. “Do you feel okay enough to eat?” he asked, turning his attention back to the frying pan as he scrambled yolks together.
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I am like an old lady if I see some young whipper snapper...running up the road at me with his shirt off to show off disproportionate male funding I would have if I thought I would be hit just let my cart roll down the hill at him...it's some young whipper snapper potentially
I told the security at mc Donald's that if they can stalk up to me in tight clothes and face coverings they should right away call the cops and definitely keep records of all they do here....
David told me I looked young so I said no David I look older then 42 the lines in my face look deep enough to be cuts I believe in homosexualism I really do and I had to look like the please help it photo at whole foods and the blanket web page....so there is an artist though you can follow serial killers that gets to really kill dudes about me their dudes and there is hazards everywhere
It looks like I am smart enough to find sex funny so he went at me till my face looks cut up...
It's the landscaping programs it was politicized okay those crop rows offend your politic...if they were going to rip it out and cause holes and piles of plants and strange depressing landscaping scenes around them they were suppose to immediately replace what they did with a different landscaping idea....
It....the post structural argument of differential health benefits or iatrogenic disease to explain contradiction in class structure...It's white so a subject of the clinic but it's also privilege or poor?
Post modern social theory.....it's white so a Geneva convention already exists and there is all this theory from Mendel but it has to be given and free whites are told not given unless white man papers so it's a historic anachronism people who live after extensive research but don't benefit from it and look like it's historic genocide never stopped
It had to have its gum line mutilated with a scalpal a small fishing knife that looks like a letter opener and so I will do all these things these french papers after Mendel suggest to prove austra can build a super brain like no other I want my body back from slavery....
I will do these slaveries yes I will do all that's required give all my blood back give it to me
Uhm I told David I read this nobel peace prize winner who just explained human motivation is to do anything necessary to not feel young and beautiful anymore because beauty is the most embodied and counter terrorism is to do what it takes to help people locally modify instead of seek desperate violent ends so they can be completely restructured
Why there is a lot of pride parade about lesbianism and Christian wives....it's some of the easiest stuff to do at economics to not have to be a mean whore or bitch
The Muslim world conquered by its simplistics and ability to calm down to learn basics and low functioning activity
It's a bitchy war a bitch keeps telling them to mow the lawn....
David told me his name is David ho jarry so ya know when you can't tell if someone is trans or a pimp or gay or what's going on for them....so he told me his street name
We were suppose to do the jobs together and like do peer to peer therapy so we aren't technically suppose to know each other personally so he confessed he is a ho...
I had asked him if he had a partner to do stuff with because under the peer to peer stuff I'm not technically suppose to be off the study and didn't want to be like are you gay or not it is kind of annoying to not know...
He kind of physically looks like he is realizing about being Mexican that he is maybe indigenous looking but it oh my God your so pale we mistook you for a beurocrat not a two spirit...
Local modification requires these new assimilations....
You can't tell for the feminine requirements of conscription if people are gay or not
Do I want to be a boob queen or do I want to be miss Kathryn....miss Kathryn I probably do want to emphasize my abuse does leave me child like...
Then I told him evolutionary speaking people do all they can to be left alone....because the culture community meeting tends to instigate alone activity for the group ...I can be alone now to do these things because the group will eventually regenerate if these ideas are finally planned out
No I didn't want to walk down Torrey pines but I did like love people and things in Wisconsin it's where I grew up and now that this catastrophe of everything possible to be with corporate central on the West Coast is exposed the Wisconsin group can re solidarity......
There has to be a crisis theory or emergent idea or the group can't go back to being sure their happy with their common demoted life....
No I don't like extreme cultures at it's being very selfishly used that type of homosexual can't feel or question it's life choices till it realizes it could force something other then a dog in the road and finally gets to change it's life because people could die...
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i love when columbo encounters a cop and theyre like um what the fuck is this thing, you are so hopeless let me give you an escort to the crime scene
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the run-in
pairing : jason todd x detective!reader
summary : 3 times you run into the red hood, and the one time it’s jason todd
word count : 1.8k
warnings : mention of blood & violence
“Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to play with fire?”
You spin around quickly, your gun pointed at the chest of a man you had never met but had heard all too much about.
The Red Hood.
“Sounds more like something the Commissioner would tell me,” you speak calmly, but don’t move the gun away.
There are bodies lying around you – some brought down by your own hand and the others brought down by his. Groans of pain fill the air, but you know some of the men are dead.
“Commissioner Gordon—” his voice is mechanical, any real traces of what he sounds like hidden by the mask he wears, “—how is he doing these days?”
Your gaze turns into a glare. “He’s fine. Would you like me to call him up? I bet he’d love to talk to you.”
Under the dim streetlights of Gotham, the Red Hood is a startling figure. He’s almost terrifying as he stands in front of you, but in a city full of heroes and villains alike, you don’t let his imposing structure intimidate you.
“I’ve actually got places to be,” he quips, before turning his attention to one of the men lying on the ground.
They were all members of a local drug ring you had recently been trying to bust. You know the names of a few, recognized them from photos you had found, but now they were just bodies to fill the jail cells, or for some, the morgue. You had been on a stakeout, trying to find some last bits of evidence you would need to finally make the bust, but you were ambushed.
The Red Hood had appeared out of nowhere.
He kicks at the body closest to him. There’s no groan of pain. Letting out a huff of air, it’s almost masked by the static of his mask. “Looks like you have a lot of paperwork to do.”
“No thanks to you.”
His head turns. You briefly wonder what he looks like under that mask, wonder what he sounds like.
“I’ll make sure to leave a few for you next time.”
You can practically hear the smile hidden away underneath the false voice he carries with him. Finally, you drop your gun. “I’ll let the Commissioner know you say ‘hello’.”
-
“It’s not like you to sit up on roofs. That’s more of my kind of thing.”
You sigh, bringing your camera away from your face to look at the man who’s saddled up next to you. “What do you want, Red?”
“What? Can’t stop by to see how my favorite detective is doing?”
“You hate the police,” you reply flatly.
It had been a few weeks since you had last seen the Red Hood. He had popped up occasionally, always when you were working alone. You figured he had found some sort of trust in you, helping you out on the occasional case by offering information if you turned a blind eye to his criminal activities. You had a sort of trust in him too, you had decided, trusting him to never lead you on a wrong turn when it came to the leads he gave you.
You still bickered with him, though, almost treating him like an old friend rather than a deadly vigilante.
“I only hate the police that don’t do their job.” He leans against the concrete barrier surrounding the roof, the one you had been hiding behind as you spied on the gangsters in the window across the street. “That doesn’t include you.”
“I wouldn’t think you’d be here if it did.” You scroll through the photos you had taken so far on your camera, making sure you have what you need before turning to the man standing next to you. “What do you want, Red?”
“Heard your name from some of the men you’ve been scouting.” He nods toward the building. “I think you need to be a little more careful.”
“Isn’t that what I keep you around for?”
This is one of the moments where you wish you could see the face beneath the mask. You want to be able to read him, be able to know what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling. Instead, you’re forced to look at the masked man in front of you and be completely unaware as to who sits beneath it all.
“Just be careful. Keep someone with you when you’re out here doing these kinds of things.”
You shake your head, turning to bend down and grab your equipment from where it’s spread out on the roof. “I’ll be alright, Red. Now, how about you walk me home, hm?”
You stand back up, but he’s nowhere to be found, almost as if he was never there.
-
A bullet flies past your head, planting itself into the man who had been pointing his gun at you.
You don’t need to turn around to know who the bullet belongs to. Instead, you let your arms fall to your side as a huff of air falls past your lips. “I had it.”
“Sure, you did.”
He appears next to you, sliding his gun back into the holster strapped to his hip. You feel the anger rise up in you as you turn to look at him, and without thinking, you’re shoving at his chest.
“I had it!”
“I told you not to do stakeouts alone anymore—”
“You don’t get to decide what I can and cannot do.” You lower your voice, trying to calm yourself. “This is my job. I shouldn’t even be talking to you—”
“But you need my help.”
You rub your hands across your face. “I don’t need your help unless I ask for it, and I didn’t ask for it this time.”
A mechanic scoff. “You could’ve died.”
“I needed more information out of the guy.”
“You could’ve died. Do I need to keep repeating it?”
“Well, I’m fine. And now I have to find an explanation of why this guy is dead.”
“Better than finding you dead.”
Sirens sound in the distance. Someone must’ve called the cops before you ever got the chance to call it in.
“Go,” you say quickly, “get out of here so I don’t have to explain to my coworkers why I’m talking to a man they’re actively hunting.”
By the time the patrol cars arrive, spotting you with your hands raised in the air, the Red Hood is long gone.
-
The lights above you hurt your eyes. You try to lift yourself off the ground, but the pain stops you. You’re not sure where it stems from, but it’s spreading like a wildfire. Your whole body burns. It hurts to turn your head, but you manage to do so and almost let out a sob at the sight of your partner laid out on the ground.
Blood drips out of his nose, and his eyes are lifeless.
You cough, suddenly feeling like you can’t catch your breath at the realization of everything that had just happened. You had convinced your newest partner – a newer recruit, almost 30 – to do a stakeout with you. It was supposed to be a simple watch, one to get more information on one of the newer crime families in Gotham.
Instead, the two of you had been ambushed and laid out. Your partner was dead and you were close enough to it.
You don’t hear the footsteps or the panicked shout of your name until there’s a man standing over you. It’s hard to see anything but his shadow under the streetlight, but you would recognize the voice hidden beneath that mask anywhere.
“Red,” you manage to get out softly before your throat begins to burn and you’re coughing out any next words you have.
“Stay still,” he orders. He reaches for your side, his gloved hand covered in blood when he pulls it back before immediately pressing it back against your side in order to stop some of the bleeding. "You've been shot.”
You hiss at the pain that shoots through you, your eyes shutting . “Feels like I’ve been hit by a truck.”
“Hey, hey,” he pats at your cheek, “keep your eyes open for me.”
“At least I didn’t come alone.”
He looks over at the fallen body of your partner, letting out a sigh. “Look at how well that worked out for you. Where’s your phone?”
“Don’t know. Car maybe.”
“Fuck it,” he spits out, keeping one hand pressed against your gunshot wound while the other digs his own phone out of his pocket.
“What are you doing?”
You watch through blurry vision as he brings the phone up to his ear.
“Commissioner,” he speaks into the phone, quickly explaining what’s happened and where to find you. When the call ends, he looks back down at you. “Help is on its way.”
Beneath his mask, the Red Hood has a confused expression etched onto his face as he listens to the soft laugh you let out. “What are you laughing at? You’re bleeding out in an alley and you’re laughing.”
“You called the Commissioner to help me.” Your voice is broken, breathy words falling from your lips. “You’re risking the police finding you here in order to get me help. You’re doing all this, and I don’t even know your name or what you look like.”
A turn of his head towards the end of the alley, looking to see if there’s anyone watching. There’s sirens in the distance. He only has a few minutes.
With a click, he removes the helmet and tosses it next to him. His black and white streaked hair falls onto his forehead, and his face is still partially covered by the domino mask he always wore underneath, but he’s all-too-familiar even without revealing everything.
You smile. “You’re supposed to be dead.”
“I was dead.”
“And Jim knows?”
“Yes.”
You try to sit up again, attempting to ignore the pain, but Jason’s free hand finds your shoulder and holds you down.
“Don’t move. It could make it worse.”
“What’s next? Is Nightwing about to appear from the rooftop?”
Jason laughs. “We’re not exactly speaking at the moment, so I assume no.”
You shake your head as best you can. “Jason fuckin’ Todd. Back from the dead. Can’t believe I made friends with a zombie.”
“Real original.”
The sirens are closer now, too close.
Jason lets out a sigh when he hears a car door slam shut. There’s blood on your face and he reaches up to smear some of it away with his glove. “I guess that’s my cue.”
Gordon appears first, clearly keeping the other officers away to give Jason time.
You watch the two nod at each other before Jason grabs one of your hands.
“Almost there,” he tells you softly, removing his hand and placing yours over the gunshot wound in your side. “Keep pressure there, help is here.”
Jason reaches for his helmet, slipping it back on before taking off into the shadows.
You realize he never said goodbye, but as the Commissioner and the EMTs reach you, you know that you’ll see him again.
#jason todd x reader#jason todd#jason todd imagine#jason todd fic#3+1#red hood#red hood x reader#red hood imagine#my fics#recently got back into my batman phase and im having a grand time#also lemme know if you like the new format#i have another writing blog where i use this format and i just happen to like it better
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There's something so disturbing about Cage's casual, token inclusion of Asian characters.
There's Tina, that other cop that doesn't technically exist, the Traci, the scared android that has to be comforted at the Pacifist barricade, and the Bathtub android in Zlatko's house.
Androids are supposed to be the 'Oppressed PoC' analogy. If you want to be very generous, Tina skews towards okay-ish representation, because she's a human Asian woman with a career who gets speaking lines in one optional scene assuming you make the right choices. Nothing bad happens to her. We can tell that she's got a decent life around her.
The Traci - the unskippable Traci - is an android that, according to Hank and North, is a "toy designed for human pleasure" who will be "used until she breaks". She doesn't deviate, and she's in an unskippable scene that exists purely to further the plot and joke about how haha threesome and "oh wow, isn't it goofy that this trafficked rape victim (y'know, the thing that North realizes she can't suffer anymore and deviates to escape) got rented and assumes that Hank wants sex, when haha that's not what Hank wants at all lol."
I dunno - I do think it's a funny bit in total isolation, but in the literal context of a scene saying, "Hey, this human died because he tortured two androids to the point where one died and the other North'd him so let's rent this Traci to see where that Blue-Haired Traci went to hunt her down for trying to escape her rape," Cage letting the story go, "Harr harr back in 2 ur rape tube 4 l8r missy" isn't - like... super cool. That's not a great fate for one of the few Asian characters in the game, even before we get into how *definitely* the Eden Club is going to nicely let everybody go, yessir, absolutely.
The Barricade Android needing to be comforted is very 🙁. In total isolation, it's fine. It shows Markus' character in caring for his people. But a) we already know that and b) this doesn't show any new side to how Markus takes care of Jericho denizens. That boils this down to being an android who's so hopelessly overcome by fear that unless the player successfully convinces him to download a spine, we lose him entirely. So the awkward tone-deafness of that being one of the few (two?) Asian men in the game, who's reduced to a coward in a *war* for basic rights where the only other option is an American internment camp/straight-up death in a Nazi concentration camp is - y'know - not in great taste when that's the second biggest speaking role for an Asian character in this game. You actually get options with him! You don't with Tina or the Traci.
But oh boy, that Bathtub Android.
The gibbering mess of "You must always obey the master."
The immediate betrayal of Kara's location as it calls for Zlatko.
The body trauma and mutilation topped with being dumped into a bathtub for - I'd assume - further 'tinkering' later, instead of away with the other and more skinless victims in the basement cells.
The fact that this would've been a deviant android following the call to Zlatko's house for help.
That's what they decided would be a good opportunity for Asian representation: you leaving this tortured-to-insanity victim who's been broken of his free will to burn to death in a bath tub should you decide to light the house on fire. No saving him, just like you can't save the Traci. No option for him to help you, because of course he'd be too consumed by fear to resist like "The Big Strong Black Man Who Breaks Free Through The Power Of White Women In Constant Danger" or the white androids in the cells who at least get to take some revenge (outside of the burning house to boot). Nope - just a thank you for almost blowing my cover, you optional security alarm who I might never even encounter if I didn't go that particular way.
And that's it! I can't even think of any South Asian rep in this game. All four are the exact same colour and Tina's a cop, so they're really all uniformly sad and disappointing ways to portray an entire diaspora.
Hey, maybe it's a good thing that David Cage from France which is a country that is absolutely not embroiled in Islamphobia didn't bother putting any hijabi women in his game. God knows how many more Tracis he would've added. 🤷🏽♀️
#dbh#detroit become human#dbh tina#dbh traci#dbh bathtub android#??#dbh pacifist sad man#????#fuck david cage#racism#tw rape#tw abuse#tw torture#anyway i am going to go eat pizza#that's unrelated though#my stuff#good job tartra
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Speak Easy Part 13
Dabi x Reader , Bakugo x Reader
Words : 3125
Masterlist
Reader has a siren quirk and has spent the past several years of her life as a captive being experimented on by “heroes” Now that she’s out she needs protection and safe place to heal. Who will be the one to put her pieces back together.
Words with ‘this’ is dialogue written in her journal rather than said out loud and and words with ~this~ is dialogue said in sign language rather than out loud.
********************************************************************
You watched as Dabi paced in front of you as you hugged your knees to your chest. Shoto had come to sit next to you and you were grateful for his calming presence. He kept giving you a weird look and then looking at his brother. He obviously wanted to ask what was going on between the two of you, but you mouthed, “later” at him and he shrugged it off.
“Ok. So what? He has a list of my safe houses. That’s okay… That’s arguably a good thing actually.” Dabi was thinking out loud trying, and even though his voice sounded calm, you could see the way his hands balled into fists so tight his staples were pulling.
“No one knows about this place. This is the safest house out of all of them. I bought it after I left the League, it’s in the middle of nowhere, and the security is the best money can buy.” He stopped his pacing and looked at his brother, “So…”
Shoto draped a lazy arm around you and you released a tense breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. He quirked his head at his older brother, “So…? What? Why is that a good thing?”
Dabi’s eyes got this scary look. They practically glowed and you could tell whatever he was thinking probably wasn’t good. “It means we can pick them off. Set up traps for them at my other safe houses. It might take some time… we won’t know what houses they’re targeting so at first it’ll be a lot of guess work.” You could see a scheme hatching behind his eyes and for once he truly looked like a villain. “You said Bakugo was already out looking for them, right? I can meet up with him! They’re my houses after all, no one knows them better than me.”
He took off towards the bedroom mumbling something about needing to pack. Your wide eyes connected with Shoto’s, “How long before he remembers he’d have to leave me behind and panics?”
Shoto hummed, “I’d say about thirty seconds after he’s done packing.” He shrugged, “It’s not a bad plan honestly. I see he’s gotten rather attached to you lately though.”
You could hear the unspoken question and you weren’t sure you were ready to jump into that conversation just yet. It was bad enough that Katsuki knew. You shrugged and averted your eyes back to the door Dabi had disappeared behind. “We’ve gotten pretty close. You learn a lot about someone when you’re stuck in a house with them.”
“SHIT!”
Shoto sighed, “Sounds like he just remembered.”
Dabi stomped back into the living room and stopped a few feet in front of you. His stare was intense almost like he was trying to see through you. You could see his frustration growing as he battelled internally over what he should do. “I can’t leave you here by yourself… I don’t want to leave you at all. But- But I can’t take you with me either.” You could see his mind running a mile a minute trying to come up with a solution.
“You can leave me here, I’m not totally useless. I have the collar, so you can call me, check on my location and vitals and all that creepy shit.” You gestured to the younger Todoroki sitting next to you, “And I’m sure your brother and Izuku are dying to have some time to catch up. They can keep me company. Kiri too if need be.”
Dabi kneeled in front of you and laid his arms on either side of you, caging you in. “It would drive me insane leaving you here.”
You brushed your thumb over the spot between his eyes, smoothing out his worried expression. “More insane than if you stayed here and let Katsuki handle this on his own?”
His body sagged and he leaned his forehead onto your shoulder. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say it sounds like you want me to go.”
You leaned your head on his. “Of course I don’t want you to go idiot. But I hate to break it to you, I know you pretty well… And I don’t think sitting here day after day listening to you complain about how you could do it better, sounds like fun.” He groaned because he knew you were right. “So, go ahead and go. I’ll be fine here I promise. Go catch some bad guys with Katsuki.”
“Ugh don’t say it like that. You make is sound like a cheesy buddy cop movie. I just hope your little hero friend isn’t squeamish because I’m not going to hold back.”
Shoto cleared his throat, “Some of us… little heroes… have seen enough shit to last a lifetime. Bakugo’s the hardest working and grittiest out of us all, so believe me when I say you don’t need to worry about him.”
Dabi narrowed his eyes at his brother who he had just realized was practically cuddling with you. “Seeing death and dealing it out are two different things. I know he’s capable of killing someone, but mentally I don’t think he could cross that line.” He held a hand up to stop Shoto from arguing with him. “And I don’t care if he doesn’t want to get his precious hero hands dirty. Because that’s what I’m here for, and I’m honestly looking forward to it.”
You huffed, “Listen, I really don’t like the look you get when you talk about killing people. It’s sick… killing isn’t supposed to be fun you psychopath.”
His eyes shifted back to yours, “Baby girl. I want to make something clear. I will find the sick fucks that kidnapped you. I will torture them in the most painful and humiliating ways possible. By the time I’m done… they will welcome death with open arms. I’ll be doing them a favor.” His forehead pressed against yours. “Unless you’d rather I save them for you…My destroyer of men.”
You hit his shoulder, “I’d rather you let Katsuki arrest them! You know how I feel about killing villains.”
His hand gripped the back of your neck hard to force you to look at him, “…No. You know I can’t do that. The sooner you accept that, the easier all of this will be.” His thumb rubbed your cheek, “I know it sucks. But this is the world you live in now. We can’t trust anyone but ourselves.”
Shoto cleared his throat, “Listen I don’t know what is going on between the two of you, but I would appreciate it if you refrained from being kinky in my presence.”
Dabi growled, “Fuck off! You literally let yourself in unannounced… When all of this over I swear we’re leaving the fucking country. I’m so sick of you brats just coming over whenever you feel like it. We’re gonna leave and you’ll never see us again.”
Shoto quirked an eyebrow, “So… Even after all of this is resolved… you plan to still live with y/n?” You could see the gears turning in his head as he pieced all of this together. “Hmm interesting.” He got up and stretched. “Well I guess I’ll give you guys some alone time to… do whatever this is… just without me having to witness it.”
“Hey before you go… You sure you’re okay with keeping an eye on her while I’m gone?” You hadn’t heard Dabi sound so uncertain before. Usually he carried so much confidence that it was overwhelming. But now he sounded lost.
Shoto nodded, “Yeah it’s not a big deal. Izuku and I can take shifts. Kirishima will probably take over every now and then depending on how long you are gone… But we don’t mind. Y/n was right when she said we’d like to catch up with her.” He gave you an awkward wink that was completely out of character for him. “You’ve been hoarding her all to yourself for months now.” He walked down the hall and shouted, “Try not to be too loud. I’ll just pick the room that smells the least like sex.”
“Good luck! I’ve fucked her on every surface of the hou—” You slammed a hand over Dabi’s mouth to cut him off.
You hid your face in Dabi’s shoulder to stifle your laugh. “I love your brother so much. He has no filter and it’s honestly so refreshing.”
A quick slap to your thigh had you gasping, “I don’t appreciate you talking about my brother that way.” He nipped at your earlobe harshly, “Especially after I just agreed to let him stay here while I’m gone.”
Before you could respond he was standing up and throwing you over his shoulder, “I think I need to remind you who you fucking belong to.” He slapped your ass as you shrieked, “I might be gone for a while, so I think I need to give you something to remember.”
“You are so ridiculous! He’s literally in a committed relationship with another man!”
Dabi tossed you onto his bed and immediately fell on top of you. “He’s also my brother and I know that slut swings both ways.” He bit down hard on your shoulder, “I’m going to leave my fucking mark all over you before I go.” He sucked a bruise into your neck, “Tonight… I’m going to claim every fucking inch of you.”
He had you naked underneath him within seconds, kissing down the column of your neck. He continued down to suck a nipple into his mouth and you had to bite down on your lip to keep from screaming.
“Come on baby, let him hear you. Let him hear how good I treat you. Let him know that there is only one Todoroki for you.”
You wanted to argue with him. There was no way Shoto was interested in you at all. He’d been in love with Izuku since high school. But you were also enjoying the way Dabi was marking his territory. There was something so peaceful about giving up control to another person, especially someone you trust.
You let him kiss and suck and grope every part of you. In this moment you were his to do with as he wished. You didn’t care he was leaving mark after mark on your skin. He was claiming you, he was daring others to lay a finger on what it is his. And you fucking loved it. You loved the peace and the comfort that came with the idea of him declaring that you are his. The security of knowing he wouldn’t let another soul touch you.
He bit harshly into your inner thigh, making you yelp and buck your hips.
He chuckled darkly as he came back up and rubbed his nose against yours. “Baby girl, just look at your face. I haven’t even touched your pussy yet and you already looked so fucked out.” He dragged his fingers lightly over your stomach, across your ribs, over your breast, and finally let them settle on your neck.
You shivered and closed your eyes, “Dabiiii, stop teasing me.”
His fingers tightened around your throat. “You said some shit earlier that really got under my skin. And now I can’t decide if I should punish you or not.”
Your head spun as it tried to think about what you possibly could have said to upset him. “What – what did I say?”
Dabi leaned in sucking your bottom lip into his mouth before biting down hard. “You said…. You loved my brother.”
Your heart pounded in your chest and you felt an intense heart overwhelm your face and neck. Was he saying what you thought he was saying? Was he jealous? Did he want you to say you loved him? Is that really what he wanted to hear?
You hadn’t noticed him pulling his own pants down until he was thrusting into you. “I’m a selfish man y/n. I’m greedy. I don’t share. And hearing those sweet little words said about someone else.” His hips snapped into yours harder, as his fingers got even tighter around your neck to the point where you were sure there would be bruises.
His pace picked up and you could feel the sweat dripping from his forehead, “I wanna hear you say it. Who do you love?”
Your eyes rolled back as you croaked out a horse “you”
“That’s not good enough doll. I said! WHO do you FUCKIN LOVE?”
His fingers let go of your throat and as intense pleasure washed over you, leaving your legs shaking, “YOU!”
He fucked you through your orgasm before he followed right behind you, “That’s what I fuckin thought.”
He only parted with you long enough to clean the two of you up. He wandered to the bathroom to get a warm, wet towel. You hummed contently as rubbed it all over your body, especially over the sore new marks he had made on your skin. When he was satisfied, he tossed the rag to the floor to deal with later and rejoined you in bed. He pulled you to him, your back to his chest, and let out a huge sigh. “I’m really nervous about leaving you here. And it honestly makes me angry. I’ve never cared about another person like this, hell I’ve never even cared about my own well being this much.” You could feel him resting his chin on your shoulder, “It makes me feel weak and I hate it.”
You intertwined your fingers with his that were wrapped around your middle. “You know what they say about bravery right? Bravery isn’t not being scared. Only stupid people aren’t scared of anything. Bravery is being scared of something and doing it anyway.” You sank further into his embrace. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m scared too. Which is equally as frustrating.”
You could feel him kiss your shoulder, encouraging you to continue. “I used to be incredibly independent. I lived alone, I worked alone, because of the classified nature of my job I was pretty isolated. I didn’t need anyone, and I was more than happy to get shit done on my own…Now the thought doing anything without you gives me anxiety.”
He sighed, “If anything that makes me feel worse… I believe we have a classic case of codependency… it’s your fault by the way. For sucking me in to your annoyingly needy arms.”
“Says the guy who has his arms currently wrapped around me like a vice.” You wanted to stay in this sweet moment. He was never this open with you, never this soft. “And even though it’s not my fault, I will admit that I did kind of need you for everything when I first got here.” You felt his chest rumble with silent laughter. “But you never really complained, did you? To be honest I had thought you would have been… I don’t know… a little more… cold I guess.”
His hands heated up as they rubbed circles into your stomach. “To anyone else I definitely would have been.” He turned you around so he could pull your chest to his and rolled onto his back, tucking your head under his chin. “I was fucking toast the second you fell into my arms though.” He groaned, “UGH! I sound like such a pussy. I hate it.”
You pressed several kisses to his chest, “Well I don’t hate it.”
There was a long stretch of silence in which the two of you just held each other, not wanting to burst your bubble.
Dabi cleared his throat and you knew he wanted to talk about it. “Listen… While I’m gone all of the laws are still valid. You still need to take care of yourself. Just because I’m not here to force you to eat lunch doesn’t mean you don’t have to.” His fingers rubbed up and down your spine. “I’m sure if you ask the guys, they’ll work out with you, but they need to keep their filthy hands to themselves.” His hand stopped at your collar, “And as much I hate saying this. Don’t call me.”
You lifted your head and gave him a confused look, “What? You worried your side chicks will hear?”
He reached down and slapped your ass, “Shut up. I literally live with you and we never leave the house. That jokes not even funny.” His hand started to rub the same spot he had just slapped, “I’m being serious though. I don’t want you to call me. If something happens and they get my phone, or hell if they somehow capture me, I don’t want anything tying me to you. Shigaraki suspects you’re with me otherwise he wouldn’t be going through my safe houses. But he doesn’t know you’re with me, and I want to keep it that way.” His voice got quitter as he mumbled into your hair, “Besides… I think if I heard your voice I’d give up and come home.”
You froze, “Okay, that is officially the softest thing you’ve ever said to me… and I love it.”
He growled low in your ear, “That’s it, I’m going to start calling you whore, and making you call me sir. I’m losing my damn edge.”
You just giggled, knowing he was bluffing, but then again… he did get you a collar.
“I’m going to miss you… sir.”
“I’m gonna miss you too… my special little whore.”
You sarcastically beamed at him, “Aww you think I’m special?”
That night, you barley slept. You were so worried he’d leave without waking you up to say bye. So, as a consequence you woke up several times throughout the night and every time, he’d pull you closer and mumble a sleepy “still here.”
When morning finally came you sat on the bed with your kneed tucked under your chin as you watched him finish getting ready. Your eyes followed him as he walked around the room, taking his time. He knew the sooner he got dressed the sooner he’d have to leave.
Finally, when he had no other choice, he laced his boots up and looked at you. “Come here…” He held his arms out to you and you quickly slid into his embrace. “You be a good girl while I’m gone, okay?” He kissed the top of your head. “Listen to Shoto and try not to give him too much shit. Follow the laws, don’t watch any of our shows while I’m gone, if there’s any big emergencies have one of the guys call Bakugo.”
You nodded and looked up into his bright blue eyes, “You be safe, and don’t do anything stupid. Come back preferably in one piece please.”
He chuckled, “I will do my best doll.”
************
Tags: tags: @falling4fandoms @wifunozomi @here-in-never-land @whore-for-anime @klecksstorys @aurorahoneybuns @theunknownrandom @insane-without-delirium @frenchsfryys @officiallydarkgeek @neofixcs @music-is-all-i-need @katsuki-bakubabe@unadulteratedtastemakerpoetry@dabislittlemouse@aimee1602@pinkhatlizzy @kunaigirlx44 @nii-sanfucker@bestgirlb @silver-stardrop@bakubby99 @squichymochi
#bakugo katsuki imagine#katsuki bakugo x reader#bakugou x reader#mha bakugou#bhna bakugou#bakugo katsuki#bakugo x reader#dabi my hero academia#dabi imagine#dabi#yandere dabi#dabi x y/n#dabi x you#dabi x reader#dabi bnha#mha dabi#dabi todoroki#mha fanfiction#mha x reader#my hero academia
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Text
Permanent Chaos (4/?)
Pairing: MGK x Female!Reader
Word Count: 4k
Warnings: mild swearing
Part Summary: While Y/N is out shopping with Cara, news breaks that ties her with MGK.
Masterlist
Masterlist
Two days later...
Cara and I go out shopping and have lunch for a girl’s day. I have yet to talk about the other night with Sam. Cara hasn’t mentioned it and I have no plans to either. Cameras have followed us up and down Rodeo Drive. By this point, Cara and I are both used to it. Carrying my bags however, I doubt I look graceful for these videos their taking. Oh well, they have fifteen thousand more of me.
“CARA! EXCITED TO WALK IN THE CHANEL FASHION SHOW?”
Cara ignores the paparazzi and points out a dress in the window at Dolce and Gabbana. I request to go inside to try it on. I’m not sure where I’d wear it to, but that doesn’t really matter.
“Welcome ladies!” A woman in a black dress approaches. “Can I help you find anything in particular?”
I point over to the dress in the window, “could I see that in a size six please?”
She leaves us to go find the dress for me and we roam around a small section while she does. My phone rings and I see Nicole’s name pop up. My heart immediately begins to race. She doesn’t call me unless absolutely necessary, usually we text. I step away toward the corner to be discreet.
I answer the call hesitantly. “Nicole? What’s up?”
“I got a call from Stephanie,” she sounds agitated on the other end.
Stephanie is my publicist, she handles everything that Nicole can’t basically. They bicker a lot since they’re both so headstrong and constantly need control. It’s the classic good cop/bad cop scenario, yet I don’t know who’s who. These two cover every aspect of my career, God bless them.
“Oh no, sounds bad,” I grumble anxiously.
“Depends how you look at it,” she lightens her tone.
“What is it?” I press.
“Well…” she hesitates.
“Nicole!” I drag out her name.
“It’s all over social media, magazines and it will be on TMZ tonight,” she stammers. “I’m surprised you haven’t already heard if I’m being honest-”
“Nicole! What?” I rush her.
“An article about you and Colson Baker just dropped on some gossip sight,” she explains. “It says that you and Colson Baker are dating. Stephanie and I figured no one would believe it but it’s everywhere! They have videos and photos of you two leaving The Ivy plus talking by Sam’s car. If I didn’t know you, I would be convinced.”
My head hangs low as I rub my forehead, letting out a deep sigh. “Oh dear God.”
“We can handle it, don’t worry!” Nicole assures. “This story will be gone soon!”
“I need to go, talk to you later!” I hang up on Nicole right when the woman shows me the dress.
“I’ll take it” I attempt to hurry up the process.
Cara comes up next to me “don’t you think you should try it on first?”
“I’ll explain later but we need to go” I whisper to her and just like that, she’s hurry the woman along at the register.
I have the dress and exit the store in a rush. I must act cool, the paparazzi will take notice of my mood change.
“HOW’S COLSON, Y/N?”
“SEEING HIM TONIGHT?”
“HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN DATING?”
“HOW ARE GONNA HANDEL HIS FANS?”
“HAS HE MET THE FAMILY YET?”
“What’s going on?” Cara asks concerned.
“I’ll explain once we’re somewhere private,” I whisper so the cameras don’t pick up on it.
We speed walk to the car and I offer to drive since I made us cut the day short. Once we’re on the highway towards home Cara asks what the heck is going on.
“Why did they keep asking about Colson?”
I turn on the radio and Elvis Duran, along with his team, are discussing no other than me and Colson.
Danielle summarizes the article for the listeners. “The article says they’ve been dating for the past few months. They’re very happy but the relationship is still new. The pair has not yet met each other’s families but Colson is going on tour soon so maybe Y/N will join him and eventually meet the family. Throughout, there are tons of photos of the cute young couple leaving The Ivy Wednesday night. There’s even a link to a video showing them, what appears to be, having a deep conversation by Sam Merka’s car. If you watch the video, the two are clearly looking at each other very lovingly. I mean, he’s looking at her the way I look at a fresh pizza!”
The rest of the cast laughs and I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Actually, scratch that, I can believe it. I’m just pissed.
“If MGK and Y/N are officially an item, why did she leave with Sam Merka?” Elvis questions.
“I’m glad you asked! According to sources, they’ve been very close friends since the start of TSL. In fact, the duo have taken many vacations together along with their co-star Penelope Glass.”
Cara turns down the volume and looks to me with a steady expression. “Is it true?”
I narrow my gaze at her in bewilderment. “What? No! There’s no way in hell!”
“Okay, just checking,” she lets out a sigh of relief.
“Never ever!” I add and change the station.
Colson Baker is everything I despise in a person. I’ve never hated someone so fast as I’ve hated him. Us together as a couple is impossible. It’s completely irrational.
_________________________________________________________
Later in the afternoon, Stephanie sets up a meeting for us to meet with Colson and his publicist. I had to drag myself to her office. My Fridays aren’t well spent in an office building with enemies. In fact, my whole day could be tarnished by this incident. The meeting room we’re all ushered into is freezing and I’m still in my sundress from earlier. Cara and I were never able to get lunch so I’m starving on top of being cold. The photos of us play in a slideshow on the meeting room’s tv. An endless cycle of false advertisement is how I see the photos. The media is selling us as something completely far from the truth. On top of everything, I’m in a meeting with the one guy in all of Los Angeles I can’t stand. Death would be less painful than the current situation. I tune out the debate between Stephanie and Colson’s publicist. He told me his name but my brain is so numb from the temperature in here I can’t recall it.
“Y/N!” Stephanie calls my name and I search for her around the room until I find her in the doorway with Colson’s publicist.
“We’re going to go make a few phone calls. You two will stay here while we handle the press.” I nod “sounds good.”
I send her a weak smile to charm her out of an apology for zoning out. She huffs and escorts Colson’s guy to her office so they can talk on speaker privately. I stand up from my office chair and stroll over to the windows overlooking the courtyard. I watch the cars zoom by on the street and businessmen and women shuffle in and out of the Starbucks below.
“If it means anything, I’m sorry,” Colson says quietly behind me.
I nearly miss it, he speaks so quietly. I lean against the wall, crossing my arms as I face him.
“You’re sorry?” I shrug, not really seeing his blame. “Why? It’s not your doing.”
I return my gaze to the chaos below us. I watch as people with office jobs travel about. I wonder if they’ve heard of me? I wonder if they like me or think I’m a stuck up actress? I shouldn’t care what people think, but it’s easier said than done. When millions watch TSL every week, it’s hard to ignore the wondering.
“If I hadn’t walked you to the car none of this would be happening,” Colson reasons guiltily.
I shake my head, finding humor in the situation now. The paparazzi can make nothing into a months long romance. A brief conversation outside a restaurant and suddenly we’re meeting each other’s families.
“We were only walking to a car. How could either of us have predicted the amount of attention that would come of us walking?” I justify, not to ease his mind, but my own.
My flicker over to the tv, I examine the slideshow of us. Examining the photos I realize it wasn’t all in my head, the way in which Colson was gazing at me is a tad bit gawk-like. Images of us walking to the car while I’m answering the paparazzi’s questions depict Colson glancing at me with what seems to be such admiration. A picture of when Cara calls for Colson comes up and I’m stunned by how we look. Even I appear to be in awe of him in return. It’s evident Cara is speaking yet neither of us react. We were so caught up within on another.
“I have one question!” I blurt out suddenly with my arms crossed I walk back over to the table. Just one and then I wish to put all of today’s events to rest.” Colson perks up and hums for me to continue. I point over to the photos on the screen “why did you look at me the way you did?”
Turning his head, he reviews the photos blankly and I wait anxiously for some sort of reason. “I’m not looking at you in any particular way,” he disregards my accusations.
I chuckle, amused by his horrible way of lying. “Lies!”
He’s thrown off by my reaction and I storm over to the TV screen to point it out to him.
“It’s clear as day to the press, the public and now me included. You’re clearly lost in some kind of thought! You were there, so was I and our friends! Say all the lies you want but you’ll never convince anyone.”
His jaw clenches and he avoids my gaze. He leans back in his chair, staring out the windows. “Colson,” I sigh, slowly approaching the table. “Maybe the truth could help the lies disappear! If we’re honest then maybe the press will leave us alone!”
He shakes his head low, letting out a brief laugh. “I highly doubt that.”
I have a thousand questions but I’m aware none will go answered. He’s a lost cause. I’m in this alone I guess. Turning my back to him I return to my position by the window. Observing the worker bees swarming around the spaces below. The sound of Colson’s chair rolling back comes from behind me but I don’t even shift. Out of the corner of my eye, I see his figure in the reflection of the window beside me. My attention remains outside. He won’t give me the time of day so why should I treat him any better?
“You wanna know why I looked at you the way I did?” His presence hovers of me and he feels like a wall surrounding me.
“Please,” I mutter a subtle beg.
“I... I had this imagine of you in my head, pre-judgements. You’re supposed to be America’s Sweetheart, Little Miss Perfect! You told me you had been working for this for years, had drive and trails.” He confesses. “You’re not what I expected... It caught me by surprise is all.”
My eyebrows furrow close, “So you thought I was just some pretty face, goody-two-shoes, ditz? If it’s because my image, my past, you said so yourself it doesn’t matter!”
“No, no, that’s not it!” he runs his hand through his hair nervously.
Narrowing my eyes, I press further. “Why then?”
The door swings open and I straighten up before forcing a warm smile to my face. I step back from Colson before the person ever appears in the doorframe. One of Stephanie employees informs us that we’re free to go. Steph doesn’t want to keep me here all day and since I’m allowed to go Colson’s publicist is releasing him. I clasp my hand together, walking over to fetch my purse.
“Thank you so much!” I gush. “Have a good day and please tell Stephanie “thank you!””
The young intern eats up my pleasant expressions. “You too Miss Voss! Will do!”
The young woman shuts the door behind her and I return to the state I was in. Expressionless, I gather my belongings and Colson does the same. Checking my phone for any missed emails or calls I can tell he’s staring me down.
“Does it ever get tiring?” His tone is light, but I can hear the ounce of mockery beneath the surface.
My attention is locked on my phone as text after text pops up from Penelope. She’s more likely than not has seen all the articles and Twitter posts. I should call her and explain.
“Y/N!” Colson shout pulls my from my thoughts.
“Huh? Does it ever get tiring?” I restate his question back to him. “What exactly are we talking about?”
I slide my purse over my shoulder while stepping over to the door, leaving Colson behind. That is until he follows me.
“Your whole act.” He forces a fake smile and tosses imaginary hair over his shoulder. “The “happy go-lucky goody goody All-American girl?””
I scoff, eyeing him up and down. “You’re ridiculous. It’s not an act.”
I swing open the meeting room door, eager to leave here. My heels clink against the white shiny tiles on my walk to the elevators. After hitting the down button, I call up Blake now that I have some time to kill. She’s my oldest friend, I’m sure she sees right through all of the tabloids and is only checking in.
“Calling your boyfriend?” Colson mutters over my shoulder and I quickly move away.
“Don’t have one,” I answer plainly, waiting for Penelope to pick up.
He smirks and props himself up against the wall beside the elevator doors. I side eye him, all he does is smile all the time and he calls me out for acting so happy all the time.
“Can’t you find anyone else to annoy?”
He grins proudly, “sure I could. None would as entertaining as you though.”
“Geez,” I mumble under my breath.
I pace outside the elevators as I wait for one to arrive and for Penelope to answer. Classic of her to text me non-stop but not to answer when I call her back. The elevator doors open and I step inside, ready to get out of here. I hit the ground floor and Colson strolls in lazily not rushed at all. He checks the button and doesn’t add any. The doors shut then silence sits flat in the small space with us. My phone buzzes continuously, I check the name at the top of the screen.
“Frickin’ frackin’!” I clench my teeth together in a growl.
Colson’s eyes widen at my sudden explosion. Closing my eyes, I exhale to calm myself then bring the phone up to my ear. Smiling helps to fake enjoyment when talking to someone on the phone. Sometimes I can fool myself into thinking I’m not miserable during discussions.
“Finn!” I greet. “What’s new?”
My southern accent surfaces. I flip the switch whenever I speak to my family or friends back in South Carolina. I can’t have them thinking I’m not the same Y/N from Charleston. Colson eyes me with his eyebrows raised, surprised by my sudden transition. He makes fun of me in a whisper for my fake enthusiastic voice. I wack him on the arm and it only encourages him more.
“Hi ya Y/N, uh so ya prolly already know butcha face is everywhere along with this MGK fella...” Finn’s voice falters at the end.
I sigh and press my forehead to the wall. Finn asks me if any of what he has read is true and I instantly deny.
My tone goes timid, “who all knows?”
“Just us, Odelle, Greyson and Myself,” he assures.
A sense of relief rushes over me. I turn back around and Colson sends me a sympathetic look, it shocks me. Going from mockery to sympathy from him has my entire mood shifting.
“What ‘bout Momma or Daddy?” I ask, keeping eye contact with Colson.
“Nah, at least I don’t think they do,” Finn guesses. “I’m not entirely sure. Greyson is sayin’ they don’t. He’s the only one that’s home at the moment.”
“Heavens to Betsy,” I exhale deeply, looking up to the heavens. “Let’s hope to the high heavens they don’t. Thank you Finn.”
I go to hang up but he says one last thing. Bringing my phone back up to my ear I reply. “Sorry, missed that.”
My brother becomes stern on the other side, “do you and this guy spend tons of time together?”
I shift uncomfortably, preparing myself for the older brother advice I already see coming. “From time to time but I promise, we’re just friends.”
There’s a pause on his end, an unbearable pause. “I trust you Y/N,” Finn finally speaks. “It’s him I don’t trust. He’s not the best sort of guy. Ya’ll aint right for one another.”
I hope Colson can’t hear any of what Finn is saying. To keep him from becoming suspicious, I keep my replies indifferent. “Sure thing. Uh, talk ya later Finn.”
“Bye, talk to you soon.”
We hang up and I slip my phone into my purse.
Colson leans back onto the railing next to me. “Who was that?”
“My older brother, kinda overbearing,” I laugh nervously then bite my lip. My accent begins to subside again.
“I didn’t know you had a brother,” Colson remarks.
A faint smile appears across my lips thinking of my brothers. “I have two actually and an older sister. The order is Finn, Odelle, me then Greyson.”
Colson returns a kind and gentle smile. “That must’ve been nice to grow up with so many siblings.”
“It was.” I nod as memories flash across my mind. “Finn and Odelle were grouped together and so was me and Greyson since our age gaps are less.”
As we pass each level on the elevator there is a “ding.” Facing toward the doors again, I absentmindedly watch the numbers go down as we pass the levels. My mind wanders to the many memories I’ve made with my brothers and sister.
“Finn is about Sam’s age, so he likes to believe he’s almost a co-parent for me and Grey,” I describe with a pleased expression. “He’s the total opposite of Odelle.”
Colson genuinely shows interest, “how is she?”
“She’s a total wild card! We all joke that it’s every other kid. Finn and I are the rule followers. He was student body president, quarterback of the football team and still managed to graduate with honors. I’m nowhere near him on the perfect child spectrum but I’m supposed to be “America’s Sweetheart.” My parents eat that up. Then there’s Odelle, she’s the total opposite of Finn. My parents had to beg her to improve her grades so she could graduate. I remember being twelve, it was the middle of the night when I got up to get a drink. I went downstairs and saw her sneaking out of the backdoor. She made me promise not to tell our parents. I haven’t talked about it until today. There were days she’d fake being sick just to ditch school with her friends. By her senior year nothing had changed. She ended up graduating but my parents forced her to go to a college close to home so they could keep an eye on her. Her antics continued the entire time I was in high school. College for her was a playground. For some reason, I envied her. I still do. I suppose it’s because no one expects anything from her. She messes up, well, that’s Odelle for you. She causes trouble, just another day. For me, my parents have me up on a peddle stool. By the time I turned sixteen people out here started taking notice of me. When I reached seventeen the title of “America’s Sweetheart” popped up and from then on, I was longer a teenager. I had a role to play and an image to uphold. I could never make mistakes like Odelle. I have to be “perfect” constantly. Sometimes I feel like a doll, plastic. None of it is real.”
The bell rings for the floor. I comprehend the words escaping my mouth and snap back to reality. I revealed so much about myself while I was in that daze, private facts about myself that I’ve never spoken of before.
Straightening up and adjust my dress, I apologize. “I’m so sorry. I have no idea what came over me.” The doors slide open and I step out. “Good to see you Colson,” I rush out a farewell before speed walking towards the exit.
I mentally slap myself for all I confessed. If only Nicole found out, my head would be on a stick. My life, my background, every aspect of my being is supposed to be flawless. An All-American girl from South Carolina with a wholesome up brining is who I’m supposed to be. If word gets out that I’m not so perfect then… then I would be finished. My hand digs for my keys in my purse.
“Y/N! Wait up!” Colson jogs up next to me then steps in front of me, blocking my path.
“Colson, please....” I practically plead in a mutter, stepping around him.
He wraps his hand around my wrist, stopping me. “Let me buy you a drink!”
Workers around us walk around in multiple directions like zombies. I wonder if they’re taking notice. Hesitant, I narrow my gaze at me. The reason we’re in this mess is because we were seen with one another.
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” I admit and release myself from his grip.
I only make it a few feet before he’s in front of me again.
“Fine, no to a drink! How about we go get some coffee? Or tea? If you prefer tea!”
His chest rises and falls rapidly, his desperation is evident. The reason behind is desperation is still unknown to me, along with the reason he looked at me the way he did last night. Who is this mysterious man who stands before me? So many questions I wish to ask but I can’t get passed his eyes. Puddles of crystal blue settle on a white canvas. Confused beyond belief, for a reason unbeknownst to me, I accept. Could be my curiosity is getting the best of me.
“Coffee it is,” I give in to his request.
He grins ear to ear and steps to the side so we can leave side by side. “Unless of course you prefer we get tea!” he suggests, sounding a tad nervous.
Honestly I like both drinks but I prefer coffee. He holds the door for me and the bright sunlight of California weather strikes me.
“Nah, I normally drink a cold brew with a shot of espresso,” I describe.
He winces and pretends to gag. “Ew! That sounds horrible!”
“It gives you a boost in the morning! Nice and strong!” I laugh.
“You’re nasty!” He waves his hands in disgust.
“Eh, you’ve called me worse,” I laugh, unfazed by his insult.
He chuckles, “you’re not wrong.”
Our laughing dies down a little as we stroll over to the Starbucks. I peer up at him with a side eye. When our eyes meet we begin laughing again uncontrollably.
___________________________________
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#mgk smut#mgk imagine#mgk fanfic#mgk#mgk aesthetic#machine gun kelly#colson baker#colson#machine gun kelly fanfic#imagine#fanfic
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