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mandos-mind-trick · 9 months

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Compromising Positions

Summary: As an aide to Senator Amidala, you have an appearance to uphold in public. Little do they know what goes on behind closed doors.

Pairing: Captain Rex x reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, established relationship, massage, oral sex, overstimulation, unprotected sex, Rex is kind of a service dom but not really intentionally, a little bit of a breeding kink if you look closely, Rex is a little bit in love (or he's obsessed the author has no idea what healthy relationships look like), Rex and reader know about Anakin and Padme, this is so unintentionally soft.

A/N: This is shockingly romantic for me. I'm shocked at how sappy this got omg. There's something wrong with me, this was supposed to be just straight filth but it developed feelings 😭.

MASTERLIST

He likes you in this position.

There’s something so beautiful about the way your back arches, held that way by the pillow under your hips. His hands trail along your soft skin, thumbs tracing the line of your spine. You sigh contently under his touch, forehead pressed against your arms. You’re so beautiful like this, pliant and relaxed under his hands. The tension is gone from your shoulders, worked out by his skilled fingers. You’re always so tense, shoulders and back riddled with knots when he finally gets his hands on you.

An unfortunate side effect of your job.

He leans forward, pressing his body into yours. You hum quietly, feeling the bulge in his blacks press against your ass. His lips press gentle kisses along your shoulders, trailing across the back of your neck.

“Rex,” You breathe, hips pressing back against him.

“Hmm?” He presses even closer to you, kissing the side of your head.

“Missed you.” You murmur so sweetly, grinding your hips back against him.

He smiles, kissing his way down the line of your spine. “Missed you too.” He murmurs against your skin. He pulls back once he reaches your ass, sitting up on his knees behind you. “You’ve been busy lately.”

You hum as his hands grip your ass, kneading your flesh. “How can you tell?” Your words are broken by a gasp as he spreads you open, the cool air in the room kissing the wet patch between your thighs.

“The knots in your shoulders.” He muses, his thumbs spreading you open for him. “How wet you are. Has the Senator been working you extra hard?”

“Can’t help it.” You gasp as his thumb traces your slit. “We’re at war.”

“So long as she doesn’t need you tonight.” He leans down, nipping playfully at one of your cheeks.

“I think she’s rather preoccupied herself.” You laugh, shifting in his hold as his thumb brushes your clit.

Rex smirks, slipping an arm around you to flip you over onto your back. The only two people in the galaxy that know their secret, and here you are in a rather compromising position yourselves. Rex leans down, tossing your legs over his shoulders before diving into your pussy, lapping at your slick folds before he focuses on your clit.

He circles his tongue around the small bud in the way he knows you like, the way that has you squeezing your thighs around his head. He wraps his hands around your thighs, holding them open as he works your clit with his tongue. You let out the sweetest noises, every chant of his name sending blood rushing between his own legs. He’s so hard, desperate for any sort of friction but he won’t allow himself that pleasure yet. He wants to cum inside you until you’re dripping, making a mess of your sheets.

He can tell you’re close by the way you’re grinding against his face, knuckles white as they grip the sheets under you. He toys with the idea of letting you cum on his tongue, but it’s been too long since you’ve seen each other. He wants to savor the moment as long as possible.

He pulls away before you can cum, the most desperate sounding whine leaving your lips as your hips try to follow him, chasing the pleasure you were so close to.

“Rex!” You whine, pouting a bit.

He chuckles, leaning forward to tug at your bottom lip with his thumb. “Not yet, cyare.” He drags his hand down your front. “I want to be inside you when you cum.”

Your eyes darken, teeth sinking into that bottom lip. He tugs off the bottom half of his blacks, tossing them somewhere behind him. Your eyes shamelessly take in his form, every scar, every line of muscle, down to the hard cock standing at attention between his thighs.

You push yourself up onto your elbows, legs falling open as you motion for him to come closer. He crawls onto the bed, slotting himself between your thighs as he presses his chest against yours. His arms wrap around you, caging you against him as he kisses you.

You moan softly as you taste yourself on his tongue, hips pressing into his as you search for any sort of friction. He grinds his hips into yours, his cock pressing against your slick folds.

“Please, Rex.” You whine against his lips, fingers digging into his shoulders.

He’d love to keep teasing you, dragging this out until you’re a boneless mess, desperate for him to ease the ache between your thighs, but he’ll take pity on you this time. He lifts himself up just slightly, slipping a hand between your bodies to grip his cock. He drags the head through your folds a couple times, making you mewl beneath him before he’s sinking into you, your body opening for him like you were made for him.

He groans at the tight squeeze of your walls around him as he presses his body back against yours. Your thighs close around him, holding him tight against you. You stare up into those big brown eyes, getting lost in the softness of his stare. His eyes contrast the danger you know he could pose if he wanted to. He’s a well trained fighter, an experienced soldier, and yet he can look at you with such softness, touch you so gently with hands that are capable of complete destruction.

His head dips to your neck, softly kissing the skin, careful not to leave any marks. How he’d love to paint your skin with his teeth and his hands, he knows the risk is too great. So, he resigns himself to simply tasting your skin, leaving gentle kisses in his wake.

Perhaps someday, he can dream.

He knows better than to believe it will ever be a reality.

He slowly begins rocking his hips, holding you tightly against his body. They’ll be shipping out tomorrow, leaving for another battle, another risk, another chance it may be his last. He knows that time could come at any moment. He’s not supposed to think like that. He can’t help it sometimes.

Your hand lifts to his head, gently cupping the back, pressing him closer against your neck. You always know, somehow you can tell when he gets too deep into his own thoughts. “Don’t think.” You whisper, warm breath fanning his ear. “Just feel.” You tighten around him, trying to draw him deeper into you.

His moan is muffled by the skin of your neck, his hips stuttering for a moment. You stroke the back of his head as he rocks into you, slowly picking up his pace. You wrap your legs around his waist, coiled around him like a snake.

He’d be more than willing to be devoured by you if it meant he could spend every moment of every day with you.

You’re close to cumming already, whining and moaning in his ear. The bed creaks as he thrusts into you, the wet sound of your flesh meeting loud in the room, but he doesn’t care. It’s certainly not illegal what you’re doing, though it would raise some questions if anyone saw you two together.

He’ll worry about that later.

Your nails dig into his shoulders as you cum, spasming around him. He groans into your ear, hips stilling as he spills inside you, filling you with his cum. Your legs are shaking, whole body trembling in the aftermath of your orgasm. You lay there with him for a few moments, breathing heavily as you hold one another.

Rex gently unravels your bodies, turning you back onto your stomach. He slips the pillow back under your hips, holding your legs apart. He watches his cum start to slide out of you, dripping down your pussy. You make a quiet noise as he runs his cock along your pussy before pressing back into you.

You groan into the sheets as he stretches your already sensitive walls, forcing his cum back deep inside you. His hand smooths over your back, his touch just as gentle as it had been earlier. He’s deep inside you at this angle, cock brushing places you didn’t even think were possible. He’s ruined you forever. Not even your own fingers can make you feel the way he does.

No man will ever compare to him.

His cock brushes that spot inside you with every thrust, forcing pleasure through your body despite the overstimulation. It burns so good, his thrusts dragging your clit along the pillow stuffed under your hips.

"Rex!" You cry his name, back arching as you writhe under him.

His eyes follow the beautiful bend of your spine, hands coming to rest on your hips as he pulls you back against him with every thrust.

You're cumming again, hips jerking in his hands as you whine into the sheets. His head falls back as he fills you a second time, stuffing you full of his cum. You moan at the feeling of being stuffed so full of him, his lips trailing along your back to your shoulder. He slips his arms under you, rolling you gently to the side, his cock still stuffed inside you.

You lay boneless in his arms, feeling more relaxed than you have in a long time. You know tomorrow things will go back to the way they were. Rex will leave to fight the war, and you’ll go back to the Senate and stress about the war and the people dying because of it. You’d stay in this bed forever if you could, in his arms, stuffed full of his cock.

“We should get married.” The words slip out of your mouth before you can stop them.

“What?” He laughs, taken aback by your words.

“We should get married. Secretly. I think it would be exciting.”

He hums, pressing his nose against your shoulder, his lips brushing your skin. “Is this your way of telling me you love me?”

You swallow thickly. You haven’t said it to him directly. You always assumed it was implied. He hasn’t said it either, but you can tell. You just know. “Yes.” You finally say, fingers tightening the grip you have on his hand. “I want to get married to you.”

You can feel him smile against your shoulder. “You think you can pull something like this off?”

You shrug. “I know someone I could ask for help.”

“They’ll want to come to the wedding if they find out.” He says, tightening his hold around you.

You shrug. “Is that such a bad thing?”

“We’ll never live it down.” He kisses your shoulder. “But you’re right.”

Your stomach flutters in excitement at his words. You turn your head just enough, pressing your lips to his. “Your next shore leave. Come prepared for a wedding.”

He smiles. “Should I invite the rest of the 501st?”

You slap his arm playfully, settling back into his hold. You’re too excited to sleep, mind already racing with the promise of the future and marrying Rex.

Taglist:

@rosechi @bobaprint @star-trekker-0013 @wolffegirlsunite @jedi-hawkins @starrylothcat @blueink-bluesoul @freesia-writes @anxiouspineapple99 @wings-and-beskar @dystopicjumpsuit @littlemissmanga @deejadabbles @sinfulsalutations @523rdrebel

#star wars #star wars fic #the clone wars #the clone wars fic #captain rex x reader #x reader #clone thirsting

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curtsycream · 3 months

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Cg kiribakudeku x little reader where kiri and deku use the reader to tell bakugou when they die something wrong bc they know bakugou wont be mad at her like they Set her in the floor so she can crawl to bakugou and tugs on his pants to get his attention and is like "dada makes the Vase bwoken" and bakugou chase them everytime they do it 😂💗

Broken Vase

BakuKiriDeku x Little!Reader

Hope you enjoy! Thank you for the request, was a cute idea to write for.

It was an accident Midoriya wasn’t looking where he was going as he typed on his phone. It was no secret that he wasn’t the most coordinated even when he was being careful. He was simply walking down the hallway when he bumped the stand. A hiss left his lips the second his foot made contact with it.

He didn’t notice the way the vase rattled and tilted before it fell off the table. By the time he reached out for it the vase was broken on the ground. There was a puddle of water and flowers. The mess was easy to clean up but the simple fact that it was a vase Bakugou received from his mother made it special.

Panicking Midoriya picks up the vase pieces outing them on the table. In his frantic attempt to clean up the mess he passed by her play room. Inside she was happily building a house with her legs with Kirishima beside her handing her parts.

An idea came to mind one that always seemed to prevent Bakugou from going into a fit of rage. “Pardon me Eijirou, I’ll be borrowing her..” he said picking her up by the waist.

Let out a noise she wraps her arms around his neck believing he was going to play with them. But as they left the playroom and she was carried into the hallway she noticed the bag of vase parts. “Uh oh..”

“Big uh oh..which is why I need you to tell dada..I’ll give you three scoops of icecream after dinner tonight.”

That was all she needed to know before she was nodding her head eagerly. “Okay!”

Bakugou was busy in the kitchen he was focused on cleaning the stove. Until he noticed Midoriya place her down on the kitchen floor before jetting off. He stood frozen watching as she crawled up to him holding out a bag of broken vase pieces. “daddy makes the vase broke.”

His eyes darted between the bag and the smiling little in front of him. The anger he was feeling boiling under his skin but he didn’t act on it. Instead he smiled as he picked her up placing the bag on the counter. “Hey muffin, what did daddy promise you this time?”

“Three scoops!”

The enthusiasm in her voice was met with a chuckle on his end. Carrying her out of the kitchen he makes his way to the playroom. Placing her down beside Kirishima he looked around the room before spoofing a tuff of green hair in her playhouse. “Deku..” he growled out before walking over and picking up the man by the waist.

“Wait Katsuki! I didn’t mean to-”

“SHUT UP!”

Kirishima shrugged before looking at the happy little, “so what kind of house are we building?”

“Boat,” she said pointing at the Lego pieces randomly out together. Nodding his head Kirishima got to work helping her as the two ignored the pleads of Midoriya.

#x reader #poly!reader #fluff #poly fanfic #bakukirideku x reader #bakukirideku #bakugou katsuki #izuku midoriya #kirishima eijirou #little!reader #agere fic #agere little #age regressor #sfw agere #age regression #kiribakudeku blurb

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iwritefandomimagines · 1 year

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KISS AND TELL — ROBERT CHASE

masterlist

pairing: robert chase x reader

description: after endless mutual pining, you and chase finally hooked up over the weekend. you agreed to keep it a secret while you figured things out, but it doesn’t last long with the team around.

warnings: swearing, possibly a tiny bit ooc while i’m trying to figure out how i write the house characters, nothing else really. just the team teasing you both and a lil kissing in a closet

author’s note: am a sucker for house atm so pleaaase keep house related requests coming 🫶

“Mm,” you hummed against Chase’s lips as you pushed his chest gently away across the front seats of his car, “Taking things slow, huh?”

He smiled guiltily, pulling the keys from the ignition as he pulled away from you and pocketed them, “A little kiss is hardly rushing things after the weekend we’ve had, don’t you think?”

You shook your head, rolling your eyes.

You’d been (badly) concealing feelings for Chase for almost as long as you had been working in close proximity to him.

Everyone else was more than aware of it, but it had taken a drunken dinner to finally ease confessions from you both.

It was supposed to be a friendly dinner to round off a really stressful week.

But a few bottles of wine had stripped away your inhibitions and you’d made it more than clear that hiding your attraction to him had been an almost impossible task.

He’d confirmed his reciprocation with a quick, dazed kiss, and before you knew it you were staying at his house and wouldn’t be leaving until almost 48 hours later when you made a quick stop at home for a change of clothes before work.

Okay — taking things slow had been your idea, but even you knew it wasn’t going to work. Not when you’d felt the way you felt for so long, and especially not after all that had gone down that weekend.

Truth be told you were dizzy with how he made you feel, and as much as you wanted to keep scolding him for the PDA (well, hidden away in his car), the feeling of his lips on yours was one you wouldn’t get sick of.

“I guess you’re right,” you bit your lip, beginning to gather your things to head into the hospital for another long week, “But we have to keep this from them all, at least for now. I’m in no mood for House’s ‘I told you so’s today.”

“Gotcha.”

And so you entered separately, pretending to have arrived conveniently at the same time but not together.

Unbeknownst to you, Foreman had seen you get out of the car — and though he didn’t see you kiss, his suspicions got the better of him anyway.

So when Chase entered House’s office as was customary of a morning of late, Foreman followed close behind with a smug smirk on his face.

“You and Y/N, huh? Finally,” he teased, arms folded over his chest as he watched the panic flush Chase’s features, “I saw her get out of your car with you.”

“I—We— I didn’t think anyone saw us,” he replied, flustered, and House’s head snapped up from the crossword he was busying himself with to join in with the teasing, “You finally made a move, then?”

Chase’s head fell back in dismay.

Not only had he promised you not to tell them, but he was going to have to endure their teasing all fucking day about it.

What he should’ve done was say your car had broken down and he’d offered you a lift. Shit. Why didn’t he just say that?

Now he watched you approach the door to the office with a bright smile on your face and had to deal with knowing that it would soon be wiped away by your stupid friends because of his stupid mistake.

“Good morning, Y/N,” House smiled, and your eyes narrowed at the unusually cheery tone gracing his words, but you matched it anyway, “Morning Greg!”

“Wow, someone woke up on the right side of Chase’s bed this morning,” Foreman snickered, and immediately your eyes snapped to a panic stricken Chase as his eyes flickered between you and Foreman repeatedly.

You drew in a sharp breath, contemplating how best to express your irritation without completely losing your cool.

You weren’t embarrassed by everyone finding out, but you really didn’t want their teasing comments and constant watchful gazes to ruin the early stages of a relationship you’d been pining for for what felt like forever.

“What did you tell them?”

Posing the question to Chase that way meant you weren’t confirming anything, and he seemed to understand your angle as he gulped and scratched his head.

“Nothing— they assumed because Foreman saw you get out of my car that there must be something going on,” he rambled, and you rolled your eyes.

“And, if I recall correctly, your reply was that you didn’t think anyone saw you,” House quipped, “Which is hardly a denial, lovebirds.”

You scoffed, “Can friends not give each other a ride to work without it meaning they’re fucking?”

You saw Chase’s face flush crimson at your choice language, knowing it was far more than that.

“Hold on, nobody said you were just fucking,” House corrected you matter-of-factly, “You two are always staring at each other all gooey-eyed and it’s frankly revolting. But at least you’ve acted on it, finally.”

“You’re not gonna let this go until we admit it, are you?” you sighed, defeated.

Neither House nor Foreman said a word in response to that, instead choosing to silently smirk at you both.

“Fine,” you gave in, sauntering to Chase’s side, “We are seeing how things go. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“I’d argue that it is,” House’s lips were pressed together in a thin line as he paused for a moment, “But at least I’ve made a lot of money out of this.”

You rolled your eyes at him, glancing over at Foreman who was pulling money from his wallet from their apparent bet about how soon you and Chase would cave and admit your feelings.

“You guys are insufferable, you know that?” you huffed, half-joking, “If anything you make me want us to be more in your face about it.”

“Oh please, don’t pretend you want to shove excess PDA in our faces to annoy us,” Cameron laughed, hand on her hip as she smiled at you. She was genuinely happy for you, if not frustrated you hadn’t told her, “We all see the way you look at each other. You’ve wanted to eat each other’s faces since you transferred here, Y/N.”

You scoffed, “God, was it that obvious?”

You looked over at Chase now, and watched him ogle at you with his puppy-dog eyes.

Maybe they were right, maybe it had always been this obvious.

“I’m going to go get us some coffees, alright?” you glanced around the room with piercing eyes, “And when I get back, you are all going to go back to pretending none of what has happened this morning happened.”

“I’ll come with you!” Chase flew back to your side as you left the room, and you heard the team mumbling about you both as he did so.

You nudged his shoulder as you left, “I can’t believe you, Chase!”

“Hey, they didn’t give me a choice,” he pouted, but he was sure all the stress of pissing you off melted away entirely at the sound of your sweet laughter, “But—,”

He tugged you into a storage cupboard just shy of House’s office, “I’m kind of glad they know. I know I still can’t kiss you at work and stuff but, it’s relieving not hiding it from them now.”

“Now? We didn’t even have five minutes of hiding it anyway,” you giggled, enjoying the close proximity to him again, “C’mon, as much as I’d like to hide away in here with you all day, we do have work to do.”

His lips found yours quickly, and your hands tangled in his hair in a moment of weakness as you leaned into the kiss.

“Sorry, had to indulge myself once,” he sing-songed as he pulled away, opening the door and shuffling out, “Back to work, Dr. Y/L/N. Well, back to the coffee run.”

You giggled as you followed him out, checking that nobody was around to see you slip out of a closet together for god’s sake.

Unluckily for you, Wilson rounded the corner towards House’s office just in time to catch you staring doe-eyed at each other as you began to head down to get the team their coffees.

A smirk spread across his face, soon replaced with a scowl as he leaned into House’s office, “You’ll never guess who I just saw together.”

House shrugged, “Sadly, Sherlock Holmes, I can. And I’ll take the 50 bucks you owe me now.”

———

i hope this was okay !!! let me know if you enjoyed please because feedback motivates me massively!

if you have any requests please go ahead, and in the meantime here is my masterlist!

#robert chase #dr robert chase #robert chase x reader #robert chase x you #robert chase x y/n #chase x reader #house #house md #house md imagine #robert chase one shot #robert chase imagine

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apompkwrites · 1 year

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the guardian kingscholar || leona kingscholar

masterlist characters: no canon, atiena, nuru, jabali, jabori (OCs) genre: angst contains: death, uh mwezi miji is under attack idk what to tell you, some weird magic lore :), very few fighting scenes, injuries summary: with mwezi miji under attack, (name) finds that misfortune follows them wherever they go. notes: have been planning for this ever since atiena... honestly became a thing in the black sheep universe. big big plans because we're getting closer to NRC :DD maybe next chapter? hopefully :D parts: [og post] | [the lesser kingscholar (1)] | [the broken kingscholar (2)] | [the two kingscholars (2.5)] | [the runaway kingscholar (3)] | [the outland kingscholar (4)] | [the grown-up kingscholar (5)] | [the guardian kingscholar (6)] | [the mourning kingscholar (7)]

"...that's why i'm here," you shrugged, the pit in your stomach growing larger and larger the more the silence remained.

having to spill your secrets to the people you now called family ate you alive. the lingering thought that they may very well turn you in was a constant, almost buzzing in your brain.

although, you wouldn't blame them. not at all.

if anything, you preferred them to turn you in. because if they did, you knew that at least they would be compensated for it. you loved this town and if your suffering at the hands of the elders allowed them to thrive the way they deserved?

you would live that life a million times over.

and despite all of that, it would still hurt. you knew that. deep down, you hoped and prayed to whatever god would listen that they would allow you to stay. you would grovel if you had to. or at least, you think you would. thought and actual action were always two separate beings.

"(name)," of course nuru was the first to say something. honestly, you would feel hurt if he wasn't.

"...nuru?" all you could do was utter his name, your ears flat against your head.

instead of responding, he dived at you, his wings spread to wrap around you. they seemed to form a wall, separating you from the rest of the world. here, it was just you and him with his arms thrown around your body.

his breathing was erratic as if he were the one that suffered all those years of torment from the elders. his body shook but his hands remained still, grasping at the back of your shirt in a death grip.

"...they're not gonna hurt you anymore," he muttered into your shoulder, a promise both to you and himself. "i swear on my life."

"get a room, you two," jabali grumbled, swatting at nuru's wing and making his way closer to the two of you. "but... he's not wrong."

"we're not going to turn you in, if that's what you're worried about," jabori promised, saddling next to his twin. "i think you're pretty much stuck here now."

"we're not letting you go anywhere," nuru muttered, pressing his nose into your neck. "not even the king of beasts will take you away from us."

now more than ever you prayed to whatever god would hear you. you prayed more than when you were mourning the sickness of your father. you prayed more than when the elders began their training with you. you prayed more than when you ran away from the kingscholar territory or when atiena was interrogated you about your identity.

you prayed.

and prayed.

and all that you could think as you chased after nuru towards the mwezi miji border was "let me be there on time."

and much like the other times you prayed, no god was there to answer.

what greeted the two of you at the outskirts of town was carnage. you had no clue the beastmen of the dens were this violent. maybe that's why it took a bit for the older people of mwezi miji to adjust to your presence.

bodies were strewn across the ground, blood seeping out of their scratch marks and punctures, pooling underneath their eerily still bodies. the sight made your stomach churn. you knew these people. you knew them and if you were to survive this, you would have to bury their bodies.

the gods were cruel. although, you already knew that.

"ma!" nuru cried out as he soared through the air. his yell tore you out of your thoughts, the harsh realization of your current surroundings dawning on you. you were on a battlefield and there was no time to mourn. not yet.

your eyes immediately landed on the twins, their backs pressed against each other as they fought off a crowd of lion beastmen. jabori took it upon himself to guard against the more violent attackers, pushing them away with his spear. jabali, on the other hand, was more straightforward with his method, punching and throwing the aggressors down to the ground. as expected from the twins.

a few of the remaining guards held their ground, albeit struggling with staggering stances and wounds covering their skin. but what tugged at you the most was atiena.

the guardian of the night, her black wings no longer granting her flight due to a spear lodged in the middle of it, stood in the center of the chaos, now donning her bird mask that covered her entire head. she heaved breaths as she stared down her opponent, who seemed to be on the same level as she was.

"guardian!" you cried out alongside nuru, who called out to his mother as opposed to his boss. the two of you raced towards her only to be stopped in your tracks, as if some force were pulling you back.

"stay back!" she demanded. oh gods, she sounded so tired. "we've lost too many people! deal with the rest of them!"

"...yes ma'am!" was all you could say in response. with a heavy feeling in your gut, you and nurru split off towards the side with more casualties.

atiena knew what she had signed up for the day she became the guardian. she knew that the beastmen from the dens were violent people. she knew what they were capable of.

she had experienced it firsthand when she had come searching for refuge with her newborn son.

she remembered fleeing from the dens, her wings barely enough to ensure her escape with her son completely unharmed. if she were being honest, she was surprised they healed after that.

she remembered the joy and relief she felt the moment she found mwezi miji. it was nothing but a small village with no more than a couple dozen people living there, all of them surviving the outlands due to their collective fear of the dens pushing them together.

that was when she dedicated herself to the town. she raised her son alongside the village, watching as it grew and grew into what it was now. and she was there every step of the way, protecting her saviors in the dead of night.

the bird mask that covered her entire head became a reminder of the fact she had a duty to fulfill. it was sewn together crudely with mismatched patches lining the skull and beak.

she loved this town with her entire body and soul. almost as much as she loved her son, her precious nuru. oh, how she wished to apologize to her beloved boy.

she was sorry, that much she was sure of. she was sorry he would no longer have a mother at his side.

the influx of magic burned under her skin. it hurt to conjure small bits of it, let alone the entirety of it. the magic of the night, as she called it, was something she dreaded using. she hoped that she would die without ever having to conjure it.

and yet, here she was. she knew it was the only way to save the rest of the guard. to save her children.

she stared the beastman down. she had to take him down with her. even if the rest of the dens remained, she knew the overwhelming loyalty they felt for their pack overweighed all else.

and so, with apologies the only thing on her mind, she allowed her magic to overflow.

"ma's really powerful, d'you know that?" nuru grinned, a little giggle following after his words. "she's got this really cool magic trick she tells me about!"

"yeah? well, i bet you my big brother has cooler magic," you snickered your tail swishing behind you.

"no way! ma's totally cooler than your stupid brother!" nuru stuck out his tongue when you punched his arm. "she always tells me that she'll never use it, though..."

"why?"

"because... she said..."

"no..." nuru was glad he was still in the air. he was able to see what his mother was doing. "no, no, no, no!"

"nuru!" you shouted his name once one of the beastmen fell to the ground. "what's going on?!"

"mom!" he didn't answer you. directly, at least. he was quick to ignore the beastmen scrambling underneath him, opting to turn all of his attention to where atiena was.

and what greeted you when you looked over to where he was headed made you feel as if you were watching your father become bedridden.

atiena had engulfed herself and the beastman in black as dark as the night. it was as if she had grabbed the night sky itself, stripped it of the stars and moon and clouds, and draped it over the two of them like a blanket.

it terrified you how one minute, she seemed to disappear. but the next, all that remained was her.

she lay on the ground, her wings stripped of their feathers, leaving behind black bone and the weapon that was lodged in them before. her mask was still on her head, but the top layer was ripped off as if a beastman had torn at the top of it.

what scared you the most was the blood. it was pitch black but it flowed just like blood. it smelled like it, too.

it was as if the entire battlefield was set on pause. no one moved or made a sound. no one until--

"mom!" nuru's cries were harsher than they were before. his voice scratched against his throat, the guttural scream that accompanied his cry tearing at your heart, just enough for you to drop your weapon and race after him. you knew the twins weren't far behind either.

"mom... mama..." he whimpered once he reached her body, ripping the mask off her face and pulling her head to lay on his lap. "mama, wake up... please, please, please wake up."

"she said it would be the last magic she would ever use."

"you used it... you used it, mama, why?" his shoulders shook as he cried, grasping at her fur jacket as if he were a child exploring the world again. "you told me you'd never use it, mama... why'd you lie?"

she never answered him.

taglist: @brokenncrown @help-meplz @destinationdesignation@rainys-personal-garden@kalims@sxftiebee@luxaryllis@auld-a@the-dumber-scaramouche@ayra2452008@tinywho-man @spadecentral @justeclem44 @bajifairyy @mulandi@minteaspoon@kitty-chan33@hornehlittleweeblet2@letskeepitsimpleshallwe@atsuki-mitsuri@catgirlwannabe@miss-puregotti@havens-not-here @valka-230 @sacrificialwife1@cherrykissesss890@nothing-leave-me–alone@carmelchocola@mulandi @a-random-bored-person @shuriiiewrites @chaos-inperson @o01101bean11010o @zolev @psiioniicmatesprit

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland headcanons #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland scenarios #twisted wonderland angst #twst angst #twisted wonderland leona #twisted wonderland leona x reader #twst leona #twst leona x reader #leona x reader #twisted wonderland leona kingscholar #twisted wonderland leona kingscholar x reader #twst leona kingscholar #twst leona kingscholar x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #black sheep

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bensolosbluesaber · 2 years

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The Co-Worker Rule (Steven Grant, Marc Spector, and Jake Lockley x Reader)

Summary: With the Avengers’ ranks depleted in the aftermath of the blip, your team needs heroes. Your mission is to recruit the Moon Knight. What you didn’t expect was to fall for him.

Fluff, Adventure

Pairings: Mainly Steven Grant x reader, Marc Spector x reader, Jake Lockley x reader

Warnings: I did my best to accurately represent DID but please tell me if there are errors, canon typical violence, some blood, broken bones, super-powered reader, not really edited yet, I cannot write a fic where I don’t talk about Oscar’s nose and hair

A/N: Based on this request: I absolutely LOVED secret identities!!! Do you think you can do another avengers!xreader and marc/Steven/jake story!! Mange the reader is sent to recruit moonknight and then end up falling for each other?

This is not the Secret Identities sequel (my other Avengers!reader fic). The sequel is coming soon!

---

Marc Spector. Steven Grant. Jake Lockley. Three men, two superheroes, one body, and exactly who the Avengers needed. Well, to be fair the Avengers needed anyone with superpowers.

That’s how you found yourself in London watching Steven Grant sit on a park bench, eat a sandwich, and stare into the sunset. The crowds were gone by the time dusk fell, and it was just you and Steven. You wouldn’t risk civilian casualties if he turned out to be a lose cannon, so you’d waited.

You approached carefully and sat on the bench beside Steven who stared silently into the distance. He’s really very handsome with his curly hair and dark eyes, and the silhouette of his nose and jaw in the setting sun has you swallowing hard. Without so much as a glance, he holds out a foil wrapped panini from the stand he stopped at earlier, offering it to you like you were an old friend.

“Probably cold now,” he finally says in a thick British accent. “Saw you following me when I left work. Thought you might be hungry too. S’not poisoned or nothing’.”

“What do you mean it’s not poisoned?” Jake hisses. “I told you to drug them.”

“Jake, we don’t have access to anything to drug someone,” Marc is confused. “Do we?”

You can’t help but smile a little bit at Steven Grant and take the food he’s offering. You are hungry, and though the hours old food would sit badly in a normal human’s stomach, you’re unconcerned. And if it’s poisoned, well, poison didn’t really work on you.

“So what do you want then?” Steven finally looks at you.

You have a mouthful of food, and all you can do is freeze as the full weight of Steven Grant’s gaze settles on you.

“Ever heard of the Avengers?” you opt to cut right to the chase.

“What? Are we stupid?” Marc hisses.

“Hasn’t everyone?” Steven filters Marc’s snide remark.

“I’m an Avenger.”

“Bullshit. Give me the body!”

“We know about,” you debate the best way to sound non-threatening and end up gesturing vaguely to his whole body. “you and are interested-”

The man hears nothing else that you say, just Jake’s voice.

“Steven, give me the body,” his alter says with deadly calm.

Steven doesn’t, just keeps staring at you. Sadness fills his deep brown eyes.

“Don’t try to take me in,” he mutters. “It won’t end well for you.”

“No, no,” you put a hand on his knee. “I’m not here to arrest you or anything like that.”

Steven glances down at your hand, and you draw it back quickly, apologetically.

“We want to recruit you for the initiative,” you explain, rubbing your hands together as you talk. “After Cairo, Moon Knight is a bit of a hero amongst us Avengers.”

Steven looks at you with slightly parted lips. The sun catches in his dark curls, and as you’re staring at him thinking that he is one of the most beautiful human beings you’ve ever seen he’s staring back thinking the same thing.

“Keep it together, buddy,” Marc says. “I don’t disagree with you, but-”

“This is dangerous. Someone knows about us! Mierda! Do the Avengers know about all of us?”

You look him up and down. God, you want to touch those curls. Stop. Focus. You have got to focus. You cross your arms, leaning forward onto your knees and pulling your gaze away from Steven to look into the distance.

“After the blip, the battle, we lost so much. The team scattered, but our enemies didn’t. I’m not asking you to live in a tower or at the new compound. We just need heroes willing to defend those who can’t defend themselves,” you let the sadness tinge your voice, sadness for your lost team. “Heroes who will answer the call when it’s time.”

“I’m not a hero.”

The accent is gone. You glance over at Marc Spector, his brows furrowed deeply as he studies you. He thinks he believes you, even though Jake is still suspicious. It’s the tragic honesty of your plea that makes him comfortable enough to front. And it’s the perfect opportunity to see just how much you know.

“Nice to meet you, Marc.”

“Looks like the answer is everything,” Jake hisses. “Everything!”

Reluctantly, Marc allows Jake to front. You can tell instantly by how his mouth sets in a tight line that you’re looking at the third alter. Jake clearly sees you as a threat. All you know from the file is that he is “the most violent of the three,” which is an assessment you think is unfair. It seemed to you that Jake only fronted when the system was in real danger, only took lives when absolutely necessary, did anything to protect Marc and Steven. You admired him for it, respected him.

But if he saw you as a threat, then you were in trouble. Shit.

You jump to your feet, taking a defensive stance as Jake stands too, looking at you with a slightly tilted head and menacing eyes.

“You want us to be an Avenger?” He growls. “What if I don’t believe you?”

He steps closer, closer.

“Jake, I think she’s telling the truth,” Steven interrupts.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he says aloud then lunges for you.

You side step him, raising your hands and blocking his punch easily. He spins and kicks. You slide back to avoid it, totally on the defensive, not having any desire to really fight Jake. That is, until he finds your ribs with a hard kick. Something cracks. Instinct takes over then. You kick him right in the chest, sending Jake staggering backward.

“Not bad,” he grins like this is some sort of game.

You glance around, making sure the park is still empty. You don’t want the cops called on an Avenger fighting a vigilante. There’s no one. You leap at Jake, tossing punch after punch that he blocks easily. Just as you intended. He’s distracted and doesn’t notice you step in to sweep out his leg, knocking him flat on his butt.

He kicks your ankle hard, and you fall forward to your knees. By the time you realize what’s happening, he’s back on his feet in a low crouch. You use your momentum to roll forward, back on your feet in an instant only inches from Jake. He strikes forward; you catch his arm, locking out his wrist and elbow and spinning him around. You raise a knee to strike his face, and he grabs your thigh.

Add some degree of super strength to Moon Knight’s list of powers. He hooks an arm under your leg and flips you onto your back, shaking your grip free as the air whooshes from your lungs. Pain shoots through your side. Jake’s body collapses heavily on yours, pinning you beneath him. He straddles your waist, leaning forward over you.

You bring an elbow across his face and blood sprays from his nose.

“Alright, I’m definitely buying the Avengers thing,” Marc says.

Jake wasn’t quite convinced. He draws back a hand and you jerk your head to the side to avoid the punch. He hits the ground instead. You use his shifted weight to get your legs around his waist, and flip him to the side so you’re on top with him pinned beneath you.

“That was hot.”

“Steven, you are just one giant intrusive thought right now,” Jake replies silently as he stares up you.

For a moment, you think you’ve reached a truce and relax your body ever so slightly. That’s exactly what Jake wanted. He reaches for your neck. You bat his hand away. He tries again. You block again, and he grabs your wrist instead, yanking you closer so he can wrap his strong arms around your back and flip you back over.

“That was hot,” it’s Marc’s turn to admire you.

A flash of gold then a cold blade is pressed to your neck, pricking the skin.

“Easy, Jake,” Steven warns.

Blood from Jake’s face drips across yours as he glowers down at you.

Power flares in your hands, but you will it back to sleep. He’s not really going to hurt you. He was pulling his punches. This is a test, some sort of strange initiation to see if you’re trustworthy enough for Jake Lockley. You meet his gaze with a measured look of complete calm. He tilts his head.

“Hmm, te creo,” he sheathes the crescent shaped blade. “I believe you.”

He sits back and offers you a hand, pulling you to your feet. You feel the tiny mark on your neck that’s bleeding a surprising amount. Jake touches his nose tenderly. It’s definitely broken. And so are your ribs you realize as you struggle to take a deep breath.

“Here,” you reach for him first, letting your powers flow through you as you trace his busted nose with a feather light touch.

When his nose snaps back into place, he doesn’t so much as flinch. But he is staring at you with raised eyebrows. You run a hand over your neck, healing the tiny cut, then press your palm to your side. It hurts like it always does as your bones click back together.

“Fuck,” you hiss under your breath, trying and failing to bite back a pained moan.

“Now that was hot,” Jake says silently

“Imagine hearing that sound because of us,” Marc adds, the image of you squirming underneath them flashing through their minds courtesy of Marc.

“We are hearing that sound because of us,” Steven snaps. “Someone - Jake - broke their ribs!”

“Lay off Steven. I was assessing a threat.”

“Whatever you say, mate. Threat assessed.”

“So the Avengers?” Marc asks, wiping blood from his face with the back of his hand.

“I take it I passed,” You remark wryly, not even blinking at the appearance of Marc.

It was the weirdest recruiting mission you had ever been on, but if beating the shit out of each other for a few minutes convinced Jake, Steven, and Marc that you were genuine, then that’s what you’d do.

Marc stepped close to you and raised his hand to your face, touching the spattering of blood there. His face changes, softens. Steven’s palm flattens over your cheek, and without realizing it you lean into the warmth.

“My flat’s a few blocks away,” he offers. “You can clean up there, talk to all of us about the Avengers.”

His eyes are wide as his gaze roves your face, a little smile quirking his lips up. You’re equally as enraptured by him, by all of them really.

“Oh, he’s got it bad,” Jake remarks.

In the end, Steven walks you back to his flat, listening to you talk about the new Avengers Initiative all the while. Marc and Jake jump into the conversation here and there, and in the fifteen minutes it takes to reach Steven’s door, your mission is complete. Moon Knight is an Avenger.

You could go. Right then, you could turn around, wish Steven - and Marc and Jake - the best, tell them you’ll see them later, and go back to the compound. You should go, but there is something magnetic about the three men that makes you follow Steven Grant into his flat.

He sits you on the edge of his bed and cleans the blood from your face with a damp cloth, kneeling between your legs the whole time in a way that makes you feel… things. Damn it. When you were recruited to the team, you made a personal rule that a romance, however brief, would never be an option with a fellow Avenger. Steven is by all rights an Avenger now. The co-workers rule had always kept you out of trouble before. So yes you could admire how handsome this man was, but no, there could be no romance, no sex, nothing.

When your face and neck are clean, Steven absentmindedly puts a hand on your thigh, high on your thigh, and sits back on his knees. There is fire where he’s touching you. Damn it, you curse to yourself. Remember the rule.

Trying to distract yourself, you take the cloth from him and dab at his face that is still bloody from the broken nose. It forces you to lean closer as you hold his head still with one hand and wipe blood away with the other. His face is soft with just a hint of afternoon stubble on his cheek and jaw. This was not a good choice for a distraction.

He’s looking up at you with those big dark eyes, and when he makes eye contact, he hold you still with just his gaze.

“Come on, Steven!” Marc cheers him on.

Steven doesn’t think. He takes your face between his hands and kisses you like a dying man taking his last breath. He leans you back, pressing you flat to the bed and moving to hover over you, kissing you all the while.

“I-is this alright?” Steven asks, pulling back so your noses are barely brushing.

No. It’s breaking the rule. That’s what you should say. But your hands are pressed to the smooth muscles of his chest, moving almost of their own accord to feel him through his shirt.

“Yes,” you decide right then to take a leap of faith.

The smile that lights up Steven’s face is contagious. You would break every rule in the world just to see him smile. You’re grinning back at him as he shifts his body atop yours. Fighting Jake had been - dare you say it - fun, but this was better. Steven is warm and gentle in all the right ways, and you think that if you ever get the chance you’d find that Marc and Jake would be rough in all the right ways. But for now, this is enough. More than enough.

Steven’s hands roam your face like he’s trying to memorize every bit of it. You’re raising goosebumps along his side as you slip your hands under the soft fabric of his shirt.

And just as you are about to tear this beautiful man’s clothes off, your phone vibrates loudly in your pocket. The moment is broken. You fumble for the device, brushing the back of your hand awkwardly across Steven’s… oh shit. He huffs softly.

“Sorry,” you mutter, feeling how hard he is with that quick touch.

He moves his eyes up, averting his gaze from you with a slightly embarrassed half-grin, half-grimace.

“Hello,” you answer, calming your breathing.

You’re still laying under Steven who is braced on his elbows with hands hovering awkwardly around your head.

“Any updates?”

Why did it have to be Sam Wilson calling you right now? It felt like your older brother had just walked in on you having sex. It wasn’t sex… yet, and Sam wasn’t your older brother… biologically, but that might has well have been the situation.

“Yeah, it uh… went well. He’s on board.”

You glance at Steven who is watching you curiously, actively running a hand through your hair now.

“Good. So we’ll see you back here early morning then?” Sam asks.

“I um… I missed my flight,” that is technically true.

“Missed flight?” You hear Bucky shout and pull the phone from your ear as his voice gets louder. “They’re fucking. I knew it! I saw those pictures of him, and I knew this was the end of your stupid co-worker rule!”

“We’re not-” you start, then stop; lying to Bucky and Sam has never been your best skill. “We-”

Marc grabs the phone from your hand; you don’t know when the change occurred. He could definitely hear Bucky’s yelling.

“We’re trying to,” he speaks into the phone.

You can hear Bucky’s happy shouting on the other line, Sam trying to calm him down. Then Marc hangs up and tosses your phone aside.

“Now where were we?” Marc’s voice shifts to Steven’s British accent mid-sentence.

You bury your fingers in his soft curly hair, dragging Steven’s face down to yours and pressing your lips to his soft ones. You’d followed your co-worker rule for years, but not anymore. Steven moans quietly, a deep throaty sound that shoots heat through your body.

It was like Stark had always said, rules are made to be broken.

Tag List: @love-on-the-murder-scene @bookfrog242 (Let me know if you want added to my Moon Knight list or if I missed you. I’m really bad at maintaining these.)

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tyunni · 2 years

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤhow you met enhypen - maknae line edition

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤenhypen masterlist | library | hyung line ver.

a/n: MAY IS BACK IN TOWN BABY 🙌🙌 WHAT'S UP Y'ALL I'M FINALLY FINALLYYYYY BACK UGH anyways i've made u wait so long for this didn't i 💀💀 finally the maknae line version IM SORRY LMAO and if u can tell i wrote the jungwon one separately for a diff post but it blended in so...

genre: high school au, fluff, v v v v slight angst; wc: 2.8k+ warnings: cursing (esp in jungwon's part, be careful!), mentions of vomiting but nobody actually vomits, getting chased by a dog, if u find anything else please lmk!!

김 SUNOO

February 14th, also known as valentine's day. the day of letters, confessions, flowers, heart-shaped chocolate, and candy; the day of love!

you and your friends had decided it was a good idea to confess to your crushes! so the day before valentines day you were running around the stores buying chocolate and writing love letters that you would later slip into their lockers and hope that they didn't reject you.

you fancied this boy in your math class, 100% sure that he also felt the same way about you. you guys flirted back and forth and you could feel a real connection between you two, so you decided it was the perfect opportunity to confess your feelings to him and ask him out on a date. but everything... didn't go as planned.

as you walk through the school entrance, you notice a crowd surrounding one of the students' lockers. you can't help but peek, curious as to what all the ruckus is about. and as you get closer and closer to the locker you catch a glimpse of it. it is adorned with flowers and glittery stickers, the decorations are stunning! a pink sticky note - which you assumed was a confession letter - stuck right in the middle of the metal door.

wow... honestly the owner of that locker was extremely lucky! oh, and there she was. pushing through the crowd, her jaw dropping in shock at the sight in front of her. you could see her eyes brim up with happy tears as she peeled the note off and read it, orbs glancing around the hallways hoping to catch her secret admirer.

you assumed she already had a boyfriend or a guy in mind, and to your dismay you were correct.

there he was, your crush, walking up to the happy girl and wrapping his arms around her waist as he pulled her in to plant a kiss on her lips.

you were the first to leave the crowd that was now slowly dying down, hand clutching harder onto the box of chocolates you had bought for the boy you admired - who completely led you on, by the way.

you had decided it would be better to sit your first period out, to mend your broken heart… by eating the heart shaped goodies you were supposed to give to him.

you leave the school building and find a place where no teacher would spot you, sitting down on the cold concrete as you munched on the delicious chocolate.

you grab your phone and text your friends that the plan didn't work, disappointed and frustrated over the fact that he flirted with you while he had someone else. were you going to be anyone's first choice?

you feel your eyes brim up with tears, so before you wet your phone with them you put it away, sighing.

a few minutes later you hear someone's footsteps. too lost in the thoughts to even care if you got caught by a teacher, or even worse, the principal, you simply brace yourself for the scolding you're going to have to endure.

yet instead, a soft, quiet voice snaps you back reality.

"hey, are you okay?"

you feel a tap on your shoulder. quickly wiping away more tears that were threatening to spill out, you turn your head to the side, your wide glassy eyes meeting his sharp ones.

isn't that the boy your friend, sunghoon, hangs out with… why was he here? wasn't he supposed to be in class? or maybe his confession didn't go as planned either. but who would say no to kim sunoo? and why exactly is sunghoon hiding inside a bush?

"i'm okay…"

the boy doesn't look convinced at all. he rummages through his pocket and hands you a tissue, offering you his bright smile. you can't help but smile back, thanking him for being so kind. as well as scolding him for skipping first period.

"well i saw you crying all alone, how could i not come up to you and help you out?"

"just say sunghoon convinced you to skip, sunoo, no need to come up with dumb excuses! i can see him, by the way."

you hear the rustling of the bush sunghoon is currently "hiding" in and you can see the top of his head disappear under the leaves.

sunoo snorts, throwing his hands up in defeat. "you caught me! we are skipping."

after a few minutes of silence, well… more like a few minutes of you blowing your nose, sunoo speaks up.

"so… what happened? did you get rejected?"

he takes a seat beside you, staring at you intently as you put aside the now used tissue, waiting for an answer.

"well sort of. what about you? did you get rejected as well?"

your eyes meet his once again, but this time his are the ones widened. he chuckles nervously before pulling out a bouquet of flowers and a confession letter, stretching his arm out for you to take the items.

"i'm about to find out…"

양 JUNGWON

it's a cold rainy day, students already in their respective seats listening to their teachers go on and on about something they're too tired to pay attention to. adults hunched over their desks in their offices, typing away and then mindlessly stopping to reach for their mug as if on autopilot - never once tearing their eyes away from the screen adorned with countless of numbers and words - and sipping their coffee. their fingers that were previously wrapped around the mugs handle now moving back to their keyboards and softly pressing down on each letter.

it was so peaceful, so calming...

and yet here you were, sprinting for your life, your clothes drenched by the rain and throat aching from all the screeches and yells you had been letting out ever since that damn dog decided it was a good idea to chase you away from the bus station you were waiting for your only way of transportation at.

god why did it have to be you of all people?! you were already running late for class, but now you were quite literally running. your aggressive stomping disrupting the silence that had once taken over the streets.

unfortunately for you, there was no one around to hear your embarrassingly loud cries for help. your legs were already getting tired, ready to give up on you, probably resulting in you busting your kneecaps and getting bit.

i mean yes, it was a small dog, but wow was it mad! its abrupt barking rang through your ears as you pushed further and overstimulated your already sore muscles.

and just as you took a turn from the alleyway, there he was, your only hope.

a boy, probably somewhere around your age, a backpack slung over his shoulder as he calmly and peacefully walked his way to school. probably because he wasn't getting chased by an angry animal. hmph, lucky!

you swallow your pride and muster up all the courage - and all the air that's left in your lungs - to yell out to him:

"EXCUSE ME, SIR!!! SIR?! HEY, YOU!!! FUCK-" is he deaf or something?!

you take a deep breath in and try your best to catch up to him, the cold air hitting you square in the face, making your eyes fill with tears and your nose turn redder than the roses in mrs.park's garden that you had previously stomped all over while trying to not get teeth marks - of that small imp its owner likes to call their dog - on your thigh. but you have to suck it up, he's the only person around and you can't risk getting your asscheek bit. that beast has been on your tail for 10 minutes now, one more bark and you swear you're going to lose your sanity. yet he still can't seem to hear anything, making your already mad self now furious.

"OH MY FUCKING GOD ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!!! WHY CAN'T YOU HEAR ME YOU BITC-"

and just as you were about to finish cursing the poor, oblivious boy out, he turns around to face you - plugging out his earbuds that were playing an unfamiliar melody - with a little 'eh?'

it's like a question mark is visibly floating atop of his head, his nose scrunched up in confusion, eyes like ones that would remind you of a curious cat now turning even bigger and rounder at the sight of some random ass high schooler, who looks like they'd gone through hell and back, getting chased by a dog.

his dog.

"MAEUMI?! STOP RIGHT THERE!!!"

you watch him run right past you with an angry scoff. that's all you can remember. other than hearing him scold, who you assumed was his, puppy for scaring you. everything else was a blur, your heart beating out of your heaving chest as you try to calm yourself down (and not vomit all over your shoes), hands on your shaking knees as you pant and cough.

great. now there's really no way you're going to make it to your first period.

"oh my god, i am so sorry!! i thought i locked the dog door before leaving and-"

his eyebrows furrow at the sight of you slowly laying down on the cemented ground, not even caring about the fact that it was probably extremely dirty.

"...are you okay?"

"do i LOOK OKAY TO YOU?? YOUR DOG JUST CHASED ME DOWN LIKE 10000 BLOCKS AND I'M TWO SECONDS AWAY FROM BLACKING OUT AND YOU GOT THE NERVE TO ASK ME THAT?! I'M OBVIOUSLY NOT OKAY YOU DUMBASS."

it's like he felt his heart skip a beat at the sight of an exhausted you, your seemingly soulless body sprawled out on the ground, eyes screwed shut and mouth spilling out foul curse words.

he couldn't help but snort, finding you adorable, yet a tad bit scary.

"what are you laughing at?? like owner like dog i guess, you're both assholes."

you scoff, finally opening your eyes after a good minute of trying to regain your breath, only to have it taken away by the sight that you see in front of you the second your heavy eyelids lift up.

the boy you were previously cussing out is kneeling right in front of you, his face inches away from yours and a smile plastered on his face, his dimples adorning each side of his cheeks, making him look even more innocent and hard to stay mad at.

you shriek in surprise at the sudden close proximity and shove him away, huffing and puffing, mumbling something about "personal space".

"hey, um... i'm sorry about what happened earlier, i swear maeumi is a nice dog!"

he chuckles awkwardly, and you can't help but smile. maybe because he's extremely adorable, maybe because what he said was unbelievable 'cause his so-called "nice" dog had been chasing you for 10 minutes straight, or maybe because of how ridiculous this whole situation is in the first place? but the atmosphere is definitely lighter, and you're glad whoever saved you from that puppy wasn't a creepy old man.

"it's okay, i guess. i'm not quite sure that..." you point to his dog, circling your finger around its form as you do so, "... little devil is nice, but i'll take your word for it."

the cute boy takes notice of your jacket, HYBE high school.

"guess my 'little devil' caused you to be late for class. my apologies!" he bowed, scratching the nape of his neck out of embarrassment as he did so.

"dude, it's fine! i was running late anyway, i'll just skip the first period."

"well, judging by your jacket i think it's safe to assume that you go to HYBE. you're lucky i go there too! i know a great ice cream shop, i can treat you to something if you'd like? then we can walk to school together."

"sweet! walking with you sounds better than getting chased by maeumi." you chuckle, shuddering at the thought of having to run as fast as you did a few minutes prior ever again.

"oh, right. speaking of maeumi, i need to take him home and lock the dog door properly this time. would you mind joining me? we still have 40 minutes before the second period starts and i live nearby."

"sure, let's go! what's your name by the way?"

"yang jungwon," he says, picking up his pace as he whistles for maeumi to follow along. "you?"

"y/n l/n." you answer, jogging up to him, ignoring the cries of your sore muscles.

にしむら RIKI

you had caught him stealing glances at you from time to time, eyes wandering your way and then darting right back to his notebook that he shields away from everyone else in the classroom, including his closest friends.

you are convinced he's making fun of you, i mean there's no other explanation to it!! he hates you, for sure!

whenever his upperclassmen friends visit him during lunch, their eyes always land on you as they enter the classroom and you can see the smile that's tugging onto their lips when they look away, snickering a bit.

are these guys really that bored?! i mean, what's so amusing, why do they always pick on you? and you didn't even do anything to that nishimura kid either!!

you can't help but shoot them a glare whenever they aren't looking your way because 1. they're SO loud, 2. you can feel their eyes boring into your soul as they giggle and chuckle, you have to pretend to not notice their gaze that's set on you and you only for whatever reason.

now, usually, you don't even bother paying any mind to their disruptive noises and constant teasing of their younger friend, but this one day in particular you decided to be a bit nosey.

seeing that they snatched nishimura riki's most precious possession, his notebook, out of his hands you couldn't help but be curious as to what he was hiding in the first place.

and looking around the classroom, you're glad to find that it's not only you whose eyes are set on the mystery that is niki's journal.

although it was shut as fast as it was opened, you could have sworn you saw a doodle resembling none other than you. or maybe you're just imagining things, why would he draw you if he dislikes you enough to poke fun at you with his buddies? maybe he gave you an ugly mustache, or drew a booger.

you opt to go back to eating your delicious lunch, seeming that your peers had done the same with a glint of disappointment in their eyes at not being able to find out his secrets.

yet you, and everyone else except the upperclassmen that were cooing at him had failed to notice the blush that had crept onto the boy's cheeks, his shakey pupils wandering your way yet again as if to make sure that you didn't see what he was trying so hard to hide for quite some time now.

he sighs in relief as his eyes land on an uninterested you who's back to eating bread and scrolling through their phone, and he goes back to yelling at his friends for almost exposing him in front of everyone! the noise making you want to rip your ears off because they're just so irritating.

after a few days of the boys' increased teasing and glances your way, one day you had decided that you'd had enough. and the thing that had pushed you off the edge was two of the "let's all collectively agree to bully y/n" friend group members, one being the infamous riki and the other you assumed was jay park, supposedly "talking shit about you" in another language.

you decided to step your foot down! being an asshole is one thing, but being an asshole while talking down on others in another language is a low blow!

your name leaving the older male's lips for the 50th time that day followed by a string of words in japanese had ticked you off. were they even trying to be discreet?!

you scoff, your chair screeching against the hardwood floor, resulting in everyone's eyes being set on you as you stand up and stomp over to riki. your palm hitting his desk, surely you would have winced in pain if it weren't for your pride,

eyes narrowed down at the boy who had been mentioning your name to his buddies for as long as you can remember, you move your face closer to his, causing him to move his back. he swallows dry, the proximity being so close that he can't help but blush, butterflies roaming his stomach at your sudden bravery, heart fluttering because just one face twitch and his lips would be on yours.

"listen, nishimura, do we have a problem? if you have anything to say then speak to me directly, got it?! no need to talk shit in japanese, i'm all ears."

"... i said i have a crush on you."

©tyunni please do not copy, translate or repost my work.

taglist: @hyukaas @yeonify @junityy @uygmoeb @sunghun @krewified @eternallyhyucks @pshjae @marknaeroni @feyregels @yyx2 @koishua @kac-chowsballs @echo-of-a-writer @w3bqrl @liz-riz @duolingofanaccount @goldenhypen @sungniverse @enhasimpeu @sieuneo @acciomylove @soobin-chois @anik-4 @yjwfav @ja4hyvn @ddeonubaby @deafeningballoonnacho @squiishymeow (bold means i can’t mention you, if you want to be a part of my taglist fill this out!!)

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rainydayathogwarts · 5 months

Text

Nightingale - Peter Parker

In which reader works for her evil dad and bumps into the man who's been chasing after her for months out of work. wc: 830 Italics = flashbacks. there's a hint of tony stark in here if you squint Nightingale: a small passerine bird best known for its powerful and beautiful song

There was something familiar about him, you told yourself, but it seemed just about impossible to pin point where exactly you knew the man from. You blinked twice, breaking the eye contact with him to glance down at the packet of bandages you held in your hand. Clearing your throat, you made your way to the feminine hygiene section, looking for a pair of tweezers that would hopefully fix your problem. When you looked up again, the same man reappeared in the same isle as you, but he quickly looked away when your eyes met his once more. Jesus, you had too many enemies.

The hand free from the grocery basket you held went into your pocket, securing a grip around the pocket knife you held; it would be too risky to use your powers unmasked in public. Your father would be furious if your identity was discovered. Putting your head down, you sped up your pace, making your way towards the check out, when you bumped into someone. A loud clatter of your basket hitting the floor alerted a few customers, and your now unoccupied hand came up to grip your opposite forearm. You groaned as the man scrambled to get your things, the glass shards in your covered arm inevitably having been pushed deeper into your skin.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to- you're just, I swear I feel like I've seen you before." It was him again. At the lack of an answer, he looked at where you were gripping your arm, and it looked like something in him clicked.

It dawned on you. Oh, him and his stupid spider-tingles.

"You know there's no use in running. Just tell me what you know and maybe we won't be so harsh on you." He teased. You laughed whole-heartedly, flicking through the pages of the magazine on the desk. "How bold of you to assume I'm running. I'm just getting the job done, Spider-man." He crossed his arms, the eyes on his mask getting smaller, so you assumed he wasn't very happy with you. "Just wait for it." You stated, and immediately, he was back onto you.

You dodged the webs he shot at you, instead stepping closer to him and whispering "I heard a secret..." Your voice echoed in the room, which hinted at you that he was under your spell, but a bang from behind you had you off your feet, your back slamming against the the floor. There was a ringing in your ears and a blinding pain in your left arm, which you tried to shake off, getting back on your feet instead. A muffled "I had everything under control!" told you that now was the best time to make your escape. "When I fucking hear 'I heard a secret', no one is in control but her!" The job was done, and clearly all pleasantries were over.

While Spider-Man continued his argument with his mentor or teammate, you made your way over to the glass window that had just been broken from behind the second hero. You continued your spell "I heard a secret that Spider-Man would take off his mask for me." Just as the man took off his mask, hair falling into his face, his mentor yelled, spinning towards you and shooting at you to protect his teammate. You leaped out the broken window, barely getting a glimpse of Spider-Man's real face...

"Nightingale..." He whispered, his wide brown eyes now frozen on you. "Well who knew I could've saved myself the trouble of making you remove that mask for me?" You joked, still clutching your arm. "You're hurt." He said, reaching for your arm. You flinched away from him, snatching the basket from his hands. "What? Do you care about me Spider-Man?" He shushed you loudly, looking around at the other customers whose attention was still on you. "I didn't want to hurt you- I just wanted to do my job."

"Oh don't worry, it wasn't you. That little mentor of-"

"He's not my mentor!"

You both went silent. You nodded at him in acknowledgement, spinning on your heels. "Well it was good to see you Spider-Man!" Scurrying footsteps behind you told you that he wasn't done. "I can't just let you go!" He whispered, now walking beside you. "Why don't you come home with me and I can fix you up and then... Then we can talk about it?" You chuckled, smiling up at him. "Hey, I can't just go home with someone whose name I don't even know." You joked.

"I'm Peter Parker." You went still, stopping in your steps. Turning towards him with wide eyes, your jaw went slack. "I'm Peter Parker and I know you wouldn't do what you do if he wasn't your father." You gasped, quickly breaking eye contact with him. "How do you-"

"Come on, we'll talk about it."

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chaoticallyfragmentary · 1 year

Text

Kuroo Tetsurou x Reader

This is a bit of childhood friends to lovers, lots of pining and just Kuroo being a dork and Kenma, a sneaky little shit. Includes some fluff and initial hurt to comfort.

You freeze, teetering between steps when Tetsu—Kuroo accosts you at your door. You are tired, a bone deep exhaustion clinging to your bones, a little aching and caught off guard by his presence. He sniffles, nose pink from the biting cold or from his tears, the quiet ones that he’s crying.

You withhold a sigh, a scream for help because it is Kuroo, the boy who put band aids on your knees and held your hand through the first day of school, because snow clings to his hair, a snowstorm incoming and he is here, at your doorstep with tear tracks on his cheeks and fury in his eyes, earbuds dangling uselessly from the ipod, where you are sure, he was listening to the playlist you made for him, holding up a letter in your writing, long since opened.

Shit, you thought you’d be gone by then.

You poured so much of yourself onto those pages, long muffled secrets and wistful sighs, long harbored feelings, a final concession before trying to forget, leaving for good.

“Hi love,” he says and you are ten again, a bit broken and battered, moving halfway across the world with your grandparents, an outstretched hand of a boy your age, both of you crying as he chased your bullies away, lips wobbling as he tries so hard to be brave.

“Kuroo?” you clear your throat, suppressing an urge to flee, mouth twisting to a sad shape.

“Does this mean what I think it means?” he asks, pleads really.

You are seventeen again, listening to Kuroo laugh, a wonky little thing, a bit like a dying goat but you would bottle it up if you could, but then your eyes land on the girl on Kuroo’s arm and something in your chest aches.

“What do you think it means?” you ask instead, a watery laugh bubbling from your throat.

He smiles, a tiny little thing, reminded of nights like these, when neither of you could sleep, questions were answered with more questions, sneaking into each other’s bedrooms, the pebbles thrown at windows, the chemistry study sessions, the lazy cuddle nights with Kenma, the midnight train rides and the warmth of terrible decisions.

He is fifteen again, realizing that his best friend had gotten pretty. Sixteen, realizing that he wanted to kiss the said best friend, wanting to throw himself off the tallest building he could find. It was as if he’d never had a crush before, Kenma snickering under his breath about how he was so very fucked.

“It’s not my job to say it chibi,” he says and he is twenty two again, eyes looking for you at the party.

“Kuroo!” your yell pierces the air, hands perched on your hips in the most accusatory kind of way as you stare Kuroo down.

“I’ve just been busy chibi, organizer of the party and all that”

“You haven’t looked at me, Kuroo”

Oh, but he has, and you look so beautiful, black gown that hugged all your curves and revealed unknown stretches of skin and he wanted nothing more than to sink his teeth into it. You looked like his, but on Iwaizumi’s arm and fuck it all if he didn’t feel like his heart was a desiccated, dying thing performing the actions of something living.

(Met abroad, studied at the same university, blah blah, bleh. Anyone who tells you he’s been giving Iwaizumi the stink eye throughout the party is nothing but a filthy liar)

“Do you want to dance chibi?” he asks, one tiny want seeping out from the aching places inside his chest.

Your head tilts a fraction, eyes teetering between cautious hope and blinding joy. You let yourself take his hand and learn, for the span of a single evening, what holding Kuroo Tetsurou in your arms felt like.

You wilt, what option did you have but honesty?

“I-I-I,” new tears spring from your eyes at your inability to articulate even the barest of words but you plough through. “I love you— I-I d-don’t know since when, o-or for h-how l-l-long. I’ve done a piss poor job of n-not falling for my best friend b-but it’s always been you, me and you, you and me. W-We have always been an ‘us.’ S-Sorry” the confession slips out of your mouth before you can yank it back and shove it down your throat.

“I am so fucking furious, chibi”

He’s breathing heavily, emotion pouring out from him and your throat feels like it might swell shut.

“I’m so sorry but please don’t cry.” You hear the strain in your voice, self control rapidly dwindling as you barely resist the incessant throb behind your ribs, to just reach out and hold him close, wrap him in a blanket burrito, get him some hot chocolate and beat up anyone who dared to make him cry.

“I’d stop if I could,” he snaps, wiping another stray tear, furious at himself for crying.

“You mean to tell me,” he takes in a measured breath, like a man on the verge of starvation, fighting every impulse to reach for a feast in front of him.

“You mean to tell me that all this time the two of us wasted on pining away after each another, we could’ve been making out?” he shouts.

You bluescreen, a blink and a breath.

Once your brain processes the words, you release the deluge, laughter spilling over as your resistance buckles, pulling his bottom lip between your teeth after so many years of fantasizing the same.

When Kenma takes all the money from the bet your friends seem to have made, Kuroo calling him scheming filthy liar, you laugh coasting over Kuroo’s outraged noises about how could Kenma bet against him, how he’d known you would confess first… Kenma winking at you, mouthing fucking finally, as happiness tints your vision golden.

#kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #hq kuroo #kuroo tetsuro imagine #kuroo tetsurō #haikyuu #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu drabbles #kuroo tetsuro x you #kuroo drabble #kuroo fluff #hurt/comfort #fluff #hq fluff #mentions of iwa and kenma #friends to lovers #pining #mutual pining

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spooky-pomegranate · 1 year

Text

Pablo's Ghost (Part 2)

Colonel Carrillo x F Reader Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: In the middle of the night Javier Peña drunkenly knocks on your door. (Part 1)

—————————————————————

Several hours passed until a loud bang jolted you and Carrillo awake.

“Hey! You in there? Come onnn let me innn.” The stench of tequila, cigarettes, and cheap beer stung your nostrils before you could even open the door. At this hour there was only one person who would show up unannounced. You opened the door and found Javier Peña wobbling back and forth. He stared at you blankly with hazy and bloodshot eyes.

“Can I come innn?” He slurred.

“Yeah, of course.”

You stepped aside and watched as he nearly tripped crossing the threshold. You offered him an arm but he gently pushed it away.

“Want some water, Peña?”

“Got anything a lil’ strongerrr?” As Javier spoke his words lazily sloshed into one another. You’d seen Peña drunk dozens of times, but never like this.

“I really don’t think you need anything stronger Javier. Come sit down before you break something.” You kept your voice low, hoping that Carrillo would be able to go back to sleep. Javier plopped himself onto your couch with a huff before kicking off his shoes.

“How come you didn’t come out with Steve and me?” He asked, this time trying harder not to sound so inebriated.

“Just didn’t want to end up with the nasty hangover you’ll definitely have tomorrow.” You said playfully while joining him on the couch.

Peña turned his head and stared at you blankly. He knew that was an utter bullshit excuse. It wasn’t like you to turn down a trip to the bar. If you were sick or drowning in paperwork he could understand. But fearing a hangover? That didn’t add up. He had come here to check up on you and this only made him more concerned.

“Your eyes are different.” He said leaning in and studying your face.

“What?”

“Have you been crying?” He shifted further close. You could taste his heady cologne from this distance.

“Peña I-” A shallow groan came from your bedroom and interrupted you. Peña’s eyes widened as he jumped up from the couch.

“Is someone here with you?” Javier asked, realizing maybe he had been wrong. Maybe you didn’t come out tonight because you had someone to comfort you. Someone you kept secret who could hold you and take care of you on horrible awful nights like tonight. He felt stupid, embarrassed, and slightly ashamed.

But then your face shifted.

“No, no one’s here,” you said.

In his drunken state, Javier couldn’t see through your little lie so he panicked and assumed the worst. He took off running toward your bedroom. He drew his gun as he staggered against the wall in the hallway and a picture frame shattered collided with the tile floor.

“Peña wait!” You chased after him as quickly as you could while trying to avoid the broken glass but by the time you reached him, Javier had already thrown your bedroom door wide open.

“Holy shit!” Peña rushed over to the side of your bed and tossed his gun on your side table, knocking several pill bottles to the ground.

“Holy… holy fuckinggg shit!”

“Shh, not so goddamn loud Javier.”

“He’s aaalive?!”

Peña paced back and forth, running his hands through his dark hair. Your heart ached for him. You never wanted him to find out like this.

“Javier please be quieter.” You said softly as you watched emotion after emotion crash ruthlessly into him. First Javier was hit with doubt, then shock, followed quickly by relief. Each surge of emotion was temporary and fleeting until ultimately Peña settled on bitter and seething anger. The unabridged fury took hold of his body, darkening his eyes and tensing his muscles. He turned to you.

“He’s fucking alive and you’re… you’re hiding him here?! Are you kidding me?! What the hellsss wrong with you?! Why wouldn’t you tell me?!” The anger soaked through his voice and he spit out each word like they were venomous.

But you couldn’t fault him for being upset with you. You knew Peña had blamed himself for the ambush and for two days while he drank himself into a stupor you had hidden the truth.

But it was also more than that. Over the past several years he had come to trust you with his life but this… this was an incomprehensible betrayal. You were supposed to be his partner, his ally... his goddamn friend.

The liquor in his veins made his head spin and he stumbled in your direction. He thought about running back downstairs to his apartment and chugging another bottle of tequila until he heard Carrillo’s faint voice.

“Not her fault.” Carrillo groaned lowly, “Be mad at me. Told her…” He paused, taking a shallow pained breath, “Told her not to tell you.”

“So what you trust her but you don’t trust me anymore? I thought we understood each other.” Javier said, turning back towards the bed.

Carrillo remained silent. Only the sound of the machines humming and beeping filled the room. Every passing second ate away at Javier until he couldn’t stand the quiet anymore. Peña crouched down next to Carrillo and tears welled in his eyes.

“I…I didn’t know it was a setup. You have to believe me I didn’t know that. I would have never, I swear on my life Horacio, I would have never sent you out there if I had known.”

“I know,” Carrillo responded, looking up at his friend.

“Then what was the reason? Why didn’t you ask for me? I would have protected you too.”

“Doesn’t matter Javi. You know now.”

“I… I gotta get outta here.”

Peña stormed past you and ran down the hall, somehow narrowly avoiding the broken glass on his way to the couch. He couldn't stand to be in your apartment a moment longer. He sat down and tried to put on his shoes.

“Peña stop!” You chased after him and snatched his sneakers out of his hands. “I can’t let you leave.”

“You can't whattt?” Peña said as he stood and tried to grab his shoes. You gently pushed against his chest and he stumbled back onto the couch.

“You’re drunk. I can’t let you leave knowing what you do. But you can sleep it off on the couch and we’ll all talk in the morning okay.” You tossed his shoes across the room and reached out, gently grabbing one of his hands. “He’s just tired. I haven’t even seen him talk this much since… since everything happened.”

“Fine.” Peña eventually relented. "That's fine." He gave your hand a gentle squeeze.

“Javi, all of this it… it isn’t your fault. No one blames you for what happened.” You had meant the words to be comforting, but when you saw the way Javier’s jaw clenched you knew they had the opposite effect and you immediately regretted saying anything at all.

The venom returned to his voice and his eyes grew dark again.

“You can’t keep him here like this forever you know. He’s not going to just magically recover in your apartment because you want to play doctor. You have to know that. He doesn’t look good.”

“Fuck you. Of course, I know that Javier!” You bit back, dropping his hand and looking down the hall toward your bedroom.

“Do you?! Then what are you doing? What exactly is your fucking plan here?” The liquor had made him brutally honest and the truth he dolled out so unabashedly was hard to swallow.

“I don’t know!” You snapped as tears rolled down your cheek. “I don’t fucking know Javi!”

You stood frozen in place for what felt like ages. A clock on the wall ticked and ticked and ticked, growing louder and louder with each passing second. The walls and floor swirled in dizzying circles and you felt an immense pressure build in your chest.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Javier said eventually, snapping you out of your trance. He stood up from the couch and gently laid a hand on your shoulder. “I know you have feelings for him.”

“What?” Your eyes shot to his.

Peña’s gaze was softer. The rage and anger were gone, replaced by a sweeter and gentler kindness. He offered you a small smile before continuing.

“You’ve hidden it well, but I know you do. I’ve known for a while now. I can see it when you look at him. You get this… this fire in your eyes whenever he’s around. You don’t look at anyone else like that. But this,” Peña said gesturing toward your bedroom door, “it isn’t going to work. You won’t keep him this way.”

Peña's words struck you with a sense of déjà vu. There was one other time he had mentioned seeing a fire in your eyes, and it was a day you thought about often... because on that day Horacio Carrillo unknowingly broke your heart.

————————————————————— A little over a year ago, you, Peña, and Steve had tagged along with Search Bloc to raid a drug lab. Things had gone sideways quickly after a fire broke out and you were separated from everyone else. Pinned down and out of ammo you had almost made peace with your own end until you saw him. At first, you thought he was a mirage brought on by the fires suffocating fumes. It wasn't until he called out for you, yelling your name over a hailstorm of bullets and gunfire that you realized he was real. Somehow Colonel Carrillo had come through fire and fury to rescue you.

Your heart raced as you scrambled to him, hiding behind broken furniture and stepping over dead narcos as you went. When you finally made it to his side he tossed you a clip and together you started to push your way back out of the lab.

You had thought the nightmare was over but mere feet from the exit Carrillo was blindsided and tackled by a sicario. You watched as his gun fell from his hands and his head bounced off the concrete floor with a sickening crack that echoed around the lab. The sound was so loud you froze in fear, utterly terrified of the damage it might have caused.

Seizing your hesitation the sicario quickly scrambled off Carrillo and darted for the loose gun. But just as he picked up the weapon you snapped back to reality and fired your own. The bullet ripped through the narco, hitting him in the dead center of his chest and the man's bloody and limp body collapsed to the floor. It wasn't until you heard Carrillo muttered a string of Spanish curse words that the air, you had unknowingly been holding in, flooded back into your lungs. You should have known it would take more than a concrete floor to take down Colonel Carrillo. But fear is never often based on logic.

As you helped Carrillo to his feet you came to a haunting realization. The abject fear you felt at possibly losing him was more consuming than it should have been. Somehow over late-night drinks, long hours listening to wiretaps, and countless raids, Colonel Horacio Carrillo had become more than a partner and more than a friend.

He had become a series of fervent wants.

Physically you wanted him. You wanted to touch him, to hold him, to feel his muscular body tangle with yours under soft bedsheets. You wanted to know what his hands would feel like if they intertwined with yours and you wanted to know what his lips would taste like if you kissed them sweetly.

But your wants included more than just raw physicality. You also wanted to understand him, to know what thoughts swirled in his mind behind his stoic expression, and to know what dreams he held for the future.

And you also desperately wanted to help him win the war against Escobar. You wanted to fight with him side by side and reign together in the new Columbia that he was trying so fiercely to carve out.

But most ardently, you wanted to be his... and that was a terrifying notion. Because how could a man who so evidently gave his entire heart and soul to Columbia ever feel the same way about you? How could he even have anything left to give you? How could Horacio Carrillo ever be yours when the world already demanded so much of him?

You felt doomed to unrequited love.

“You alright? You’ve got this fire in your eyes like I’ve never seen,” Peña had said to you when the raid was finally over. You brushed the comment aside but felt the fire spread to your chest when you looked at Carrillo. Even if he could never feel the same, you knew that fire would never die. It burned too brightly.

—————————————————————

When you walked back into your room you were surprised to find that Carillo was still awake.

“I’m sorry I didn’t think he would come in here.” You said softly, walking across the room and kneeling beside your bed.

“No, I’m sorry cariño.” He whispered in return and that time you caught it. That sweet little word you never expected him to say to you. It made your breath catch in your lungs.

“What did you call me?”

Carrillo ignored your question. He had things he desperately needed to say to you and he didn’t care how badly his chest hurt. He would use as many words as he needed to tell you the truth.

“I’m sorry you have had to do this without much help. I’m sorry you had to go to my funeral today and mourn for me. I’m sorry I can’t tell you how this is going to end and I’m…” Carrillo’s voice faltered. This was the most you had heard him speak since the ambush and you could tell how painful it was for him. But he closed his eyes, furrowed his brow, and continued.

“And I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you what you mean to me earlier.”

“Carrillo…”

“Mi querida,” he opened his eyes and looked at you more gently than you could have ever expected. “That night when I called out for you it wasn’t about who I trusted more and it wasn’t about who I thought could protect me. I said your name because you were all I could think about. You were the only thing on my mind when I thought I was at the end. You were the only thing that mattered and I couldn’t say that to Peña before I told you that I…” Another crippling wave of pain crashed into Carrillo and he groaned loudly and clenched his fists.

“Before you told me what, Horacio?” His name whispered so sweetly from your lips helped him push through the pain. He reached for your hand and you interwound your fingers with his.

“Before I told you…” he paused, taking a deep breath, “Before I told you that I am in love with you.”

“Horacio,” you sobbed his name and tears streamed freely down your face. A year ago you had resigned yourself to loving Carrillo from afar and you had made peace with that love being a one-sided affair. But it wasn’t true, because the man who always put Columbia first thought of you in the end.

You pushed forward and softly pressed your lips against his. You could taste the salt from your tears against his chapped lips and you gently thread your hand into his damp and messy hair. The kiss was gentle and fleeting but you hoped Carrillo could feel how much it meant to you. You hoped he could feel how much he meant to you.

“Lay with me,” he whispered against your lips.

“Are you sure? I… I don’t want to hurt you, Horacio.”

“You could never hurt me, mi cielito. Please.”

You carefully climbed into bed, mindful of his injuries and the wires and tubes that ran from his body. You laid your head down on a pillow next to his and rubbed your thumb gently back and forth over his jaw. You stared into his tired eyes.

“I should have told you sooner,” he whispered softly. You tenderly rested your forehead against his.

“It’s okay Horacio. Just tell me again tomorrow. You need to rest.”

“I will cariño,” he promised. “I will tell you every day for as long as you let me.”

But he lied. He wouldn't tell you the next day. Because the next day, Horacio Carrillo didn’t wake up.

—————————————————————

(Part 3)

#narcos fic #narcos #javier peña #javier pena #horacio carrillo #horacio carrillo x reader #horacio carillo x you #colonel carrillo #colonel carrillo x you #colonel carrillo x reader #colonel horacio carrillo #maurice compte #pedro pascal #i'm sorry #don't hate me #this is not the end

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befuddled-calico-whump · 1 year

Note

i dare you to write a drabble or something based off of that dream

Dare accepted. (the aforementioned dream)

cw: beating, broken bones, mean friends (lol)

"Why can't I go with you?" Even as the question passed his lips, Romulus knew how stupid it was to ask.

He wasn't the newest member of the Order of Ruin, and he sure as hell wasn't the weakest. He'd even wager he was the Order's best mage; at the very least their best evocationalist. But none of that changed the fact that he was the grandson of a lord. Even disinherited, his education had been the best money could buy, and his surname granted him a facade of respect in most cities, at least until people figured out who he was working with these days.

"Six people's already pushing it. Seven would be damn near impossible," the leader of their little group, Meryn, said in reply, not even glancing back at him. She was sat on a fallen log, shaping a wrist-thick oak branch with a dagger. "Besides, I have a job for you."

"Oh?" Rom cocked his head, feigning interest, though he was already wary. Only the gods could've counted the number of pointless details he'd been sent on, seemingly for no other reason but to temporarily get rid of him. "What kind of job?"

"Infiltrating Dusken Keep is only half the work," she said, a sliver of bark taking flight as she made a rapid slice down the branch. "We still need to get Sir Gilean and his merry band of nitwits to show up."

"I take it that's where I come in." It sounded useful at least, and even had the potential to be fun. If he played his cards right, maybe he could impress the rest of the team, and the Order would stop letting his talents go to waste. "What were you thinking? I could cut off the roads. Start a storm. Herd them towards the keep and force them to take shelter. Or--"

"No," Meryn cut him off. "They've overcome obstacles before, and I don't like our odds of facing them head-on. The only way to defeat Gilean is by springing a trap on him. " She cast a smile over her shoulder. "And you'll be the bait."

Naturally. Rom couldn't quite hide the scowl that darkened his features. "I see."

"Oh don't look so upset, Hart. Your role is essential."

"What am I to do?" Rom snapped. "Wave my arms, fire a few lightning bolts at the sky, and hope they'll chase me all the way to Dusken?"

"I had something smarter in mind." At last, she spun fully around. Good. If she was hell-bent on giving him stupid orders, she should at least have the decency to look him in the eye throughout.

"You'll guide them there personally," she said, "and ensure they don't veer off course."

"Guide them? You don't think they'll recognize me?"

Meryn rolled her eyes. "Not everyone knows or cares who you are, Hart."

"Gilean's seen my face. He knows I'm with the Order," Rom protested.

"So you'll tell him you've had a change of heart." She sheathed her blade, flicking a residual chunk of bark off the makeshift club in her lap. "That you've 'seen the error of your ways', and wish to redeem yourself by leading him to a secret meeting at Dusken Keep."

Not only did she want him as bait, she wanted him to play a traitor. The insult wasn't lost on him. "I'd never betray the Order," he said indignantly. "Even someone as thick as Gilean will see right through that lie."

The corner of Meryn's mouth quirked up. "You're right. He'll never fall for it, not unless you've dressed the part."

Before he could ask what she meant, the newly-carved club struck him in the stomach. Rom doubled over, more surprised than anything else, and dumbly remained there as Meryn cracked a second blow into his ribcage.

In his peripheral, he could see the rest of his teammates emerging from the treeline, surrounding him, but by then his initial shock had worn off. The incantation for a shielding ward was on his lips; the familiar buzz of lightning sprung to his fingertips---

"I thought you'd never betray the Order."

---and immediately fizzled out. Damn it all, this was how it was going to be? He could fight back. He knew he stood a chance, even six to one, but he also knew that was what Meryn wanted. One blow, one move in self-defense, and she'd have a reason to kick him out. The only way to avoid that, to prove all of them wrong, to show that he was serious, that he belonged here, was to shut up and take it.

So Rom did.

As the blows hit him in a flurry---the unskilled kicks and jabs of the mages, the sharper punches from the group's muscle, the bone-cracking swings from Meryn's club---all Rom did was try to protect his face and not bite off his own damn tongue.

Even when he dropped to his knees, then to his side, curling up to protect his abdomen, the attacks didn't cease. The world was a blur of boots. A haze of pain, spiking white-hot whenever someone scored a lucky hit and he felt something break or give in a way it shouldn't.

The beating went on beyond logic, zipping right past 'because it'll look more believable', right into 'because we hate you'. Rom tried to pretend the tears distorting his vision were only because of his probably-broken nose, and dully wondered if a real betrayal was part of their plan. If they wanted him to call it quits and actively turn against the Order. Hell if he would. He wouldn't give up so easily, he'd show them--

"Enough." Meryn's voice rang out above the soft thuds of boot on flesh, and for a moment the clearing was quiet, the only sound Rom's shuddering gasps.

He whimpered through clenched teeth, aware of every inch of himself, how the pain throbbed like an uneven heartbeat, how it drove spikes through his chest with every breath.

Meryn's fingers tangled themselves in his hair, forcing his head up. Not gentle, but not overly rough either. Rom tried to hold her stare, but the world spun around him.

"There. Think that's enough to fool him?" she said, still half out of breath.

Rom didn't try to answer. He knew anything he managed to say wouldn't be coherent anyway.

"Gilean's party will be traveling through these parts in a day or so," Meryn said, releasing him. He didn't have the strength to hold himself up, and went face-first into a cluster of dead leaves.

A day or so. Gods, was she just going to leave him here? Was he supposed to drag himself through the woods, calling for help until Gilean maybe stumbled upon him?

She must've wanted him to protest. To give up, to go home. To cry, and beg her not to make him do this.

But he wouldn't. He'd show her, show them. Romulus Hart was worthy of the Order of Ruin.

When he said nothing, Meryn shrugged. "Well. You know the plan. Bring them to Dusken Keep. We'll be waiting."

Her boots crunched over dead leaves as she walked away, leaving him alone.

#a liiiittle longer than i expected #the best part? he goes on to complete his mission and drag himself back to the order #rom is just a little pathetic like that #still deciding on stuff for this particular world but this will probably be canon #his early days with the order #long before he was better accepted #romulus hart #whump #whump writing #fantasy whump #villain whump #beaten #tw beating #defiant whumpee #wildbluethunder #anon #and thank you lol #starburdened

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hawnks · 2 years

Text

To Kingdom Come Pt. 1

shinsou hitoshi x reader

r18 (mdni)

wc: 6,800

[childhood friends to enemies to lovers (yes ALL of the tropes), life stories, oranges as a love language, reader has a quirk, reader has what is essentially a necromancy quirk, explicit descriptions of death, description of injuries, a little bit of grinding]

summary: it was never going to be easy. but maybe, with a lot of effort, with a lot of luck, it can be yours.

or: monsters, the pair of you. Isn’t that special?

...

You are eight years old and quirkless. A martyr in your primary school, a model of “perseverance and alternative strengths.” Whatever that means.

You don’t really see yourself as different than your peers, but everyone coddles you, parents, teachers. You attend quirk parties for late-blooming classmates, and their moms place a sympathetic hand on your shoulder as you watch the others play, dangerous and fast. Late quirk presentation runs in their families; your parents were both born with theirs.

Outside, your friends tug you along after them, hands clasped like a leash as you run through quiet city blocks. Someone is always responsible for you. They call your name with a downward cadence any time you run off, almost a warning, almost a sigh of relief. Still here. Not lost.

Anytime you make it anywhere it’s a miracle. You’re praised for simply surviving.

It seems like everyone is holding their breath around you. They think you’re as fragile as glass, but you don’t feel different. Although you’re not really sure what quirkless feels like, only that you collect scrapes and bruises with the same tenacity as the other kids, only that when you fall asleep at night you don’t dream about futures filled with powers, about being stronger, or finding a missing piece. You feel already whole.

Shinsou Hitoshi, strangely, is the only one who gets it.

On the playground he watches you stumble, fall onto the cement and scrape both your hands. He grabs you by the elbows, hauls you back up, silent as you brush off your clothes.

You know him, but not well. He doesn’t get along with the rest of your class — not because he’s mean or can’t keep up. He’s just slow to smile, slow to laugh. It’s unsettling, puts people off.

You meet his untroubled gaze. “Aren’t you gonna tell the teacher?”

“Why would I?” he asks.

“Everyone always tells the teacher when I get hurt.”

He looks you up and down, a perfunctory inspection. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” you tell him.

“Then why would I?”

He becomes your favorite person with an immediacy that stuns and offends your other friends.

He’s scary, they insist. He goes into people's brains.

You know that, of course— it’s not a secret. He’ll tell anyone what his quirk is, if they ask. You know logically that his power could be used for the wrong reasons—but this is Hitoshi, the boy who tolerates your presence to a shocking degree and once cried because he couldn’t solve a puzzle in Ocarina of Time. You chase after him and he lets you. You’re not afraid of him.

The other kids stop playing with you. That’s fine. You’re Hitoshi’s responsibility now, and he bears it with grace. When he calls your name, it’s not to make sure you haven’t gone too far afield. It’s to show you a cool bug, or because he’s bored. To have you hold your hands cupped against your belly as he peels the orange he brought from home, placing soft segments into your palms as you laugh.

...

Summer comes and with it a modest tide of misfortune. Crime spikes in your neighborhood. Your family home is broken into twice, each time your father standing between you and your mother and armed robbers, his quirk settling over the room like a fog, Let’s everybody calm down, now, he’d say. And they would. They always did.

Your mother is run ragged at the hospital. A small band of anarchists have been trolling the streets, attacking seemingly at random, leaving people battered and broken. The past few weeks your mother has been dispatched to deal with punctured lungs and cracked skulls, bodies twisted into such bad shape it’s hard to believe they’re alive at all. It’s hard to keep them that way.

She overuses her healing quirk. The consequences are reaped on her own body. She comes home in the dead of night, shoulders slumped, face sunken. Her wrists have gotten so thin you’re afraid to take hold of her, afraid she’ll snap like a matchstick under your fingers.

You always know when the worst has occurred with a patient. You can sense it in the air, like a dog scenting a coming storm. Even from your room, your tiny twin bed tucked into the corner, you know.

Sometimes you sneak downstairs trying to locate the source. Trying to understand it. The days are longer and your parents spend the extra hours slumped against each other on the couch, holding one another up.

Sometimes they catch sight of you. You always expect them to scold you for being out of bed, but they just stare, faces steeped in tepid fear. The world is such a dangerous place; you are such a fragile creature.

Hitoshi walks with you to and from school now. He holds your hand, but not because he’s afraid to lose you on the way. His fingers are sticky and damp in yours, the dense summer air blanketing you both. His grim face gives away nothing.

“I think something bad is gonna happen,” you tell him after another long night, on another humid walk.

His grip tightens, sweat pooling between your palms. “We’ll be okay.”

...

September comes; your grandmother passes away. It’s expected, but it still tears you up.

This is your first real experience with death, and your parents explain it to you in measured tones, seated beside you on the couch. You mostly aren’t listening. You know all this, somehow. You’ve always known.

Still, the sight of your grandmother laid out all pale ruffles and closed eyes in the casket sends something raging through you. It feels like pure cliff side drop, the tummy sinking sensation of falling falling falling. All you can think is you wish she were here to hug you, to pet your hair with her soft, rose scented hands.

You lean in, little chubby fingers reaching for her cold cheek. Someone is yelling at you, telling you to stop. But it’s too late, you’re already touching her, wishing she was back, and then—

She’s sitting up.

There’s a chorus of gasps you don’t hear, too focused on the fact that she’s reaching out for you, grabbing you just the way you wanted, but not. Her hold is infirm. There’s no warmth to it.

It’s not real.

Without thinking you push her away, and she falls hard. The casket rattles on its stand, almost tipping it over. Her eyes are open and filmy, her body is stone-still.

Dead. Still dead. Dead again.

There are murmurs all around you. You don’t hear any of it. Your mother is grabbing you by the hand, gently pulling you away. “Come on, sweet pea. It’s time to go.”

A swarm of faces watch you go, a rainbow of emotions reflected in their eyes. Shock and fear and anger. Pity.

You don’t have time to parse any of it, too focused on the feelings simmering in your own chest. Why your hand shakes in your mother’s grasp. Why your lungs feel weighed down with gravel.

So maybe you’re not fragile like glass, but like dynamite.

...

Spectacularly, not much changes. Your quirk is kept quiet. It’s an unspoken but unanimous decision. No one knows but your mom and dad and your doctor, who answers your parents questions with an insouciant smile.

“It’s quite likely it’s been with her since birth, it just never had the chance to manifest.”

Your parents seem uncomfortable with the thought, both of them so soft in nature, their quirks only supplementing their docility. You’re less put off by the notion. Any other train of thought is pointless to pursue. This is, irrevocably, irreparably, who you are—

Just a little bit terrifying.

And yet, the thought of this getting out makes you feel slightly vulnerable. Slightly nauseous. Everyone, even Hitoshi, goes on thinking that you are quirkless, and you let them.

Years pass without much incident. You and Hitoshi navigate middle school as an army of two. You get into fights constantly in his defense, raging at the people who whisper under their breath as he passes by. You even throw a punch, once.

It’s that asshole who sits in front of you, chattering at his friends as they pack up for the day.

You perk up at the mention of Hitoshi’s name, peering at them as they laugh, their insults childish and pointless. Somehow that makes it even harder to listen to. You snap.

It’s not the worst thing anyone has said about him—or you, for that matter. But you’re exhausted, everything convening to one knife point, and your body moves before you know what you’re doing.

It’s a dirty hit, to the back of his head. There’s not much power to it, but the boy looks about ready to toss you out the window, absolutely incensed, when he turns to see who did it.

Your fists are shaking as you raise them, ready to defend yourself as the three boys close in on you. You say you’re not afraid, you’ll do it again, and the boys egg you on, mocking you. The one lifts a hand to retaliate. You brace yourself, and—

You’re being hauled back by the collar of your shirt, and again, further, when the boys continue to leer after you, grabbing for you.

“Touch her and I’ll break your arms,” Hitoshi snaps.

They continue to call after you both as he drags you out of the classroom and down a vacant hallway. You’re breathing hard, rage still boiling in you. Hitoshi doesn’t release you once you’ve stopped, holding you by the elbow instead, keeping you at arms length. He peers down into your grimacing face.

You feel like you have to defend yourself. “I wasn’t—“

“You were.” His lanky form casts a long shadow over you. When did he get tall enough to loom? “You don’t have to keep doing this,” he tells you.

You peer up into his weary face. He doesn’t sleep well, anymore. He listens to sad, quiet music. He accepts everything that happens to him with a sigh and a shrug. “Yeah,” you return. “I do.”

His grip on you slips lower. Until he’s holding you by the wrist, middle finger bushing the center of your palm. “Listen,” he says. “I’m going to UA.”

Your fingers close around his, holding on. “Oh?”

You can’t be sure, you want to respond. What if you don’t get in?

But he will. Of course he will.

He’s talked about it in passing, dodging discussion of any real feelings. It’s easy to see through him though — he wants to be a hero. He’s always wanted it. Only now he’s brave enough to admit it. And it makes sense. Even “scary” quirks have their uses. His power has ridiculous potential. He could decimate, out in the field.

The thought makes you incredibly lonely.

“I’m okay,” he says. “You don’t have to do this.”

He’s asked you, a few times, about your own future plans. What you want to be when you grow up, where, why. Your answers are vague and ever changing. When he asked if you’d ever consider going to a hero school, you’d snorted.

Now you wish you’d approached the subject with a bit more sincerity.

There’s no way you’d get in, though. Even for the general studies department, having no quirk would have been a mark against you. Then after you found out your latent ability, all you wanted was to keep it hidden.

When you had to fill out your own career aptitude test, your answers were mild, unexciting. What do you want to be when you grow up? Something useful and harmless. Something good.

Whatever you have to be.

Hitoshi knows you’re not pleased by the news. He shakes his hand, wiggling your own, wrapped around him. He says, “C’mon. Let’s get udon.”

The last leg of middle school passes without incident. Bullies are less keen to tease Hitoshi when they know you’re willing to attack people for it. The two of you are quiet, keep to yourselves.

When school is out you spend hours on each other’s floor, talking about everything, nothing. You swap homework answers and Final Fantasy cheat codes. You complain about your well meaning parents, how they love you but don’t understand. Sometimes he rests his head in your lap, catching up on all the sleep he’s been missing. Sometimes either one of you spaces out, staring at the other, swamped in a new awareness, a delicate curiosity.

You notice the way his front teeth overlap a little and how his shoulders are starting to dwarf yours. He takes stock of the shape of your hands, the color of your inner lips. Neither of you do anything about it, content to go on in the quiet refuge of friendship together. The two of you, an island. Nothing more, nothing less.

He doesn’t hold your hand on the way to school anymore.

But he wants to.

...

Your high school is one of the top thirty in the country. It’s no UA, but it’s something. You miss Hitoshi, but he’s doing what he needs to. He makes time for you when he can.

You make new friends in the meanwhile. Other quiet people, who understand the need for space. For secrets.

A whole year goes by without much fanfare. Hitoshi moves general studies to the hero department. Your family moves house.

You and Hitoshi make plans, for when you’re done with all of this. He’ll go on and sidekick at someone’s agency, earn his stripes while you go off to college. It will be hard, the both of you too busy to meet up, even as often as you’re able to now with his limited free time. But when it’s over, he’ll take you with him, wherever he goes.

The notion keeps you going, helps you slog through. The promise of someday, glittering and safe.

But today is a wrench in your perfect life plan.

Your home economics teacher is lecturing the class about quirk practicality, uses outside of hero-ing, or even jobs that necessitate quirks. “I’m sure you can all find different ways to make use of your abilities,” he's saying. You’re barely listening. It’s the class just before lunch break, and you’re ready to be done. “Sometimes it requires thinking outside the box, but there is no such thing as a useless quirk. Anything and everything has its uses. Isn’t that right?”

It takes a moment to realize he’s speaking to you.

“Sure,” you say, mildly unsettled. In middle school, quirks were need-to-know. But in highschool, after it’s assumed everyone’s powers have already manifested, teachers were all given rosters with them listed.

One of your friends turns to you. “I didn’t know you have a quirk?”

You don’t even get the chance to deny it.

“Necromancy quirks are always an interesting challenge,” your teacher says. “I’m surprised someone hasn’t reached out to you about public service, with a quirk like that. But there are other, more home-based applications, I’m sure. Does anyone have any ideas?”

A loaded silence falls. Seconds tick by, fraught with the unasked question.

Finally, someone blurts, “You can bring people back to life?”

You wish the floor would swallow you whole. You wish you could just run away.

“No,” you answer, voice small, heart in throat.

“So you just use them,” someone else says. “That’s fucked up.”

A chorus of agreement strikes up. One person, then two. Then the whole class chiming in, asking you horrible questions, making horrible assumptions.

Your teacher seems to realize his mistake, and demands silence. He quickly moves the lesson forward, but the damage is done.

Instantly your world shrinks. It doesn’t matter that your quirk isn’t the killing itself, or that you never voluntarily activate it. Your name is synonymous with death. People don’t want to think about either one of you.

The rumor spreads immediately. The whole school begins to avoid you, terrified or disgusted to even be in the same room as you. The principal even has to field a few calls from irate parents, demanding to know why their child is sharing class space with a killer.

You’re given the rest of the day off. You call Hitoshi on the train ride home, in a daze.

“They found out about…”

You don’t know how to tell him. There’s too much backstory he’s not privy to. You feel dirty admitting that you have secrets that even he doesn’t know about.

He’s silent for a moment, waiting for you to get your bearings. When you don’t finish your thought, he does. “Your quirk?”

And you should have known. Of course he would see right through you. Of course he would know and not push you to share. Of course.

He skips class to come to you, two trains and a healthy walk away. He enters your room without knocking, scoops you up into his big arms.

“Sorry,” you mumble into his chest.

“Don’t apologize,” he returns.

He splits his lunch with you, trading the chopsticks back and forth, or just picking from the box with your bare fingers. Bits of rice fall apart in your grip, and he scoops it up, drops it into your hand.

“Are you mad at me?” you ask, the question that’s been on your mind, even more than what’s going to happen tomorrow at school, how the others will treat you. What does Hitoshi think? “For not telling you?”

He considers that for a moment, flicking a piece of rice off your thigh. “No,” he says. “I’m just concerned, and confused.”

“I am too,” you tell him. It just never felt right to reveal it. Too vulnerable. Too private. Not even that you don’t trust him, or ever thought he’d judge you for what you can do. You could have bonded over the news, probably. Shared your plights, your fears. You could have told him. At any point, you could have told him.

But it’s different, loving someone unconditionally, and expecting to be loved unconditionally.

Hitoshi doesn’t ask you to elaborate, or investigate why you didn’t have enough faith in him. He doesn’t punish you for any of it; he passes you another slice of cucumber.

“So,” he drawls. “Are you gonna tell me what it is?”

You chew, considering. Hitoshi just keeps eating, not even looking at you.

“It’s called anastasis,” you say finally. “I can move … dead bodies. Ask them to do things, as if they’re alive.”

“But they aren’t alive,” he surmises.

“No,” you say, your tone just a little too sad to be ironic. “No, I can’t bring people back to life. Just use them.”

Your room is too small for the both of you, ever since Hitoshi hit his growth spurt. You can feel his presence all around you, like he’s filling up every corner, every nook and cranny. Like he can see and touch everything, and has.

“Yeah.” He nods. “That’s a tough one.”

He looks at you, then. His eyes are bright in the afternoon light, the odd color seeming to glow almost, like halogen streaks, like electricity gone molten in the sky.

“You can puppeteer dead bodies and I can control people’s minds.” He laughs then, a breathy, half-there thing. “Monsters, the pair of us. Isn’t that special?”

“A match made in Hell,” you agree, picking some rice off his thigh.

The last thing he has is an orange the size of his fist. He peels it deftly, then breaks it apart, handing you piece after piece. He only stops passing them to you when you press one against his cheek. He flinches at the cold touch of it before huffing a laugh. He tilts his head so he can take it into his mouth.

His lips brush your fingertips. He won’t meet your gaze.

He hands you the last half of the orange. You share it in silence.

…

No one bullies you. They don’t push you, or call you names. They don’t even look at you.

You’re a ghost.

…

After graduation, Hitoshi is quickly recruited as a sidekick for an espionage agency. Suddenly his whole life becomes a mystery, from who he’s working with to where he’ll be in the morning.

You are accepted to a moderately impressive university, decide to major in something lucrative. Your time is dedicated mostly to your studies. You’re more than willing to break the mold whenever Hitoshi shows up at your dorm in the middle of the night, fresh off a mission.

You feel a little silly, sharing your standard twin bed with him. He’s filled out, in all the ways hero work requires. He’s so much bigger than you, stronger. And he’s got his life figured out, even if it runs him ragged sometimes.

He’s an adult now. He takes his coffee black except on weekends and he’s never been late to patrol. He’s become so well versed in de-escalation tactics that he rarely has to activate his quirk. When he does his fighting style is logical, quick. No casualties, no property damage.

Some of the older folks say he’s following a little too closely in Eraserhead’s footsteps. Hitoshi disagrees; he’s always been slightly more empathetic and a lot more optimistic than his old mentor. Still, he doesn’t see much wrong with being like Aizawa. He was one of the best, before his retirement. Hitoshi can only hope to live up to his legacy.

The two of you are propped against your headboard, squished together on your tiny mattress, when he reveals the Commission is asking him to come on as a private hero, someone who does their business outside of the public eye, for the greater good.

“All of the work, none of the glory?” You poke him in the side. “Sounds like a big bummer.”

“Someone has to do it.” He shrugs. “And it’s safer for me.”

You roll your eyes. “Such a gentleman.”

He wraps an arm around your shoulders, nuzzles into your temple. “Trying to be,” he says. You can hear the smile in his voice.

You poke him again, and laugh.

He takes up so much space in your bed that there’s nowhere for you to go when he retaliates, fingers nudging at all of your most ticklish spots. He could easily overpower you, but he lets you fight back, knocking his hands out of the way for brief moments before attacking again.

You end up half under him, his elbows propping him up on either side of your shoulders, caging you in. His leg is pressed against yours, his hips flush with your thigh. Something firm is pressing against you there, and your immediate desire is to investigate it.

Your stomach wells with the urge to touch, to learn the feel of him, to rub your thigh against his erection and see how he reacts. See if he’d like it.

There’s none of the self consciousness or anxiety your peers have described, just curiosity, and desire. He feels right on top of you, like this. The heat budding between you something known and familiar. Warm like a held hand.

The two of you stare into each other’s faces, waiting for a reaction, a decision.

Tomorrow he’ll be gone before sun up, pulled away for another mission. He’ll be gone for three weeks, this time.

You toss your arms around his neck, yanking him down. He tumbles on top of you with a grunt of surprise, but settles in just as quick. His own arms come around you, pulling you in with a quiet hum, turning you both to a more comfortable position.

Letting the moment pass. Letting the two of you just rest, anchored by the other’s presence.

There will be time for everything else, later.

Someday.

…

He’s gone more often than not, and for so, so long that sometimes you worry about forgetting his face, the little facets of him that a picture can’t truly capture.

“I feel like I’m being a bad friend,” he admits to you one morning. You’ve got a place you’re renting with a couple of classmates. You all keep to yourselves, mostly. They’re premed, or prelaw, and you’re engrosses in your own studies. No time for socialization, or uncomfortable small talk.

They give you space when Shinsou is around, some unspoken agreement. He’s charming when he wants to be, and he’s always able to sway people in his favor, even without his quirk.

You’re sharing a lazy morning, both leaned against the kitchen counter, on your second cup of coffee when he says it. He’s looking at the stained pages of someone’s research paper spread out on the marbletop, and not at you.

“Why?” you ask.

“I don’t know,” he lies. “I wish I was here for you, more.”

You put your mug down so you can cup his cheeks with both hands, meet his gaze. He’s so tall that sometimes it’s hard to look him in the face when you’re both standing, but he allows you to maneuver his body, always willing to go where you want him.

You shake his head a little, gently, squishing his cheeks, and he sighs at your unwillingness to take this seriously.

His hands cover yours, keeping you close. “I worry, when I’m gone.”

“About what?”

“Everything. And nothing.” His shoulders curl inward, his forehead nudging against yours. He closes his eyes. “You.”

He’s warm, always. You don’t have much experience with skin contact, and you wonder if everyone’s temperature runs so high, if it's peculiar how everywhere he touches leaves your skin blood-hot.

“So even heroes get scared,” you muse. Your own eyes drift shut. You don’t know how to comfort him, what to do. It all feels so outside your world that you don’t even know where to begin, if what you say will only make things worse. “I think that makes me feel better, for some reason.”

He says nothing, just pulls you in, both arms around your shoulders as he buries his face in your hair. He’s gentle with you, all ghosting hands and sheltered gaze, breath soft against you. Like he’s handling a hothouse flower, a delicate, delicate thing.

…

In the final year of your degree, they come for you.

A man in a charcoal gray suit who won’t stop smiling passes you a manila envelope. There can’t be more than thirty pages tucked inside, but it feels like a brick in your hands.

“Your power can help save lives,” he says. “It’s the right thing to do.”

Saving was never the thing that came to mind, when you thought of your quirk.

You flick to the first page. A COMPREHENSIVE PLAN FOR SUBJECT 219, it reads. Your name isn’t there, or on the second page. Not anywhere. There’s assorted data about your quirk, information you don’t know how they got a hold of. They call it Resurrection, and you bite back the urge to correct your visitor. Isn’t that a biblical reference? You don’t know much about Christianity, but you’re certain it has nothing to do with your quirk.

“What would I have to do?” you ask.

You were pulled from a bio lecture. It’s third period and the dorm is near empty. All of your roommates are gone. The sound of you flipping pages is almost comically loud in the dead silence. Even the man seated across from you seems to hardly breathe.

“Participate in a series of tests, to start. Nothing too invasive, we just need to find the upper limits of your abilities.” His smile widens when you meet his gaze. “Then, if everything goes smoothly, we put you in a snazzy outfit and get you out into the field.”

You’ve barely taken in any of the words in the packet. You flip to the last page, but there’s nothing you care about. It’s all jargon, impenetrable. Maybe they don’t want you to know.

“I can’t be a hero,” you say.

“Why not?” the man is quick to counter.

“My quirk works under very particular circumstances,” you say slowly, as if explaining to someone small. “It’s not very PR friendly.”

His smile doesn’t falter. “And sometimes, when particular circumstances arise, we need a particular type of help.”

You close the packet, fold your hands on top of it. You were supposed to call Hitoshi this afternoon, but you’re sure the agreed time has passed by now.

“I’m not promising glamor,” the man tells you. “You’re aware of the stigma around your quirk. That won’t go away, even with the kind of image management we’re capable of. You’d be kept, whenever possible, from the public eye.”

You look at your hands on the folder, your chipped nails and your soft knuckles. You’ve never had to fight anyone before, not really. Not the way Hitoshi does.

You know what he would do, if he was in your place. Hitoshi has direction, drive. He knows what he wants; to do the right thing.

“You’d be saving lives,” you’re told again.

“When would I have to leave?”

“As soon as possible. Right now, if you’re able.”

It’s simple enough to pack up your life. You leave a quick note to your roommates, promising to call and fill them in on the details later, not knowing that your phone will be confiscated in just a few minutes, as will the rest of your belongings. They’re tossed in the back of a nondescript van, and you’re shepherded into the passenger seat.

“Wait,” you say, reaching for the phone that’s already been tucked away in the man’s pocket. “Can I call my friend? Really quickly?”

“Later,” you’re promised.

The car ride is hours, through the late afternoon and the night. Out of the city. Away from everything. Strangely, all you can think about is the essay you had due the next day, how you would have been at the library all night working on it. It doesn’t matter anymore, none of it does, but your heart still races at the thought. Maybe you’ll write it, eventually. Maybe you’ll go back.

You’re swaying on your feet by the time you arrive, a white brick of a building that towers over the idyllic wooded landscape.

You’re too tired to ask questions, or make demands. You let another stranger guide you through the facility with a hand on your back. He says nothing as you walk, it’s not a tour and you’re not being filled in on anything.

“And here we are,” he says, opening a white door at the end of a long hall of white doors.

Spotting the cot in the corner of your otherwise empty room, you have no qualm about throwing yourself onto it. Sleep is dreamless, that night.

...

In the morning, they lead you into a warehouse, where there’s a gaggle of men in button downs and lab coats who nod along to their own words, as if in tacit agreement with themselves. They tell you they will be observing you for the foreseeable future.

The warehouse is frigid and empty, save for a folding table at the very center.

On the table is a row of dead mice. The men in labcoats ask you to reanimate them one by one, each with a different goal. This one to see how long you can hold it, this one to see how far your reach is.

It takes you three tries to even activate your quirk, and even then you don’t have good control over it. You never use it, try not to even think about it, and the new and constant exertion is exhausting. By the end of it, sweat is stinging your eyes and your whole body is trembling. You wheeze like you’ve just run a marathon.

When the last mouse hits the floor, limp again, you turn to the scientists watching you from across the floor. A few of them look up, meet your gaze for a brief second. Then they go back to writing.

…

You don’t get your phone back.

...

There are others being kept in this facility, and you are integrated after your first three days.

Your new regime is strict, and non-negotiable. Up with the sun, heart healthy breakfast, a morning run with the other people they’ve collected. There’s five of you, altogether, though you don’t know anyone’s name, have trouble keeping track of them even though they’re so few.

You’re the newest at the facility, and still under observation. You’re taken away for hours at a time for testing.

The others watch you come and go, trying to figure you out, intuit what you’re here for. Only one person is brave enough to actually approach you.

They call him Marionette. He can control the electrical impulses in bodies. In other words, “People do what I want.”

He has no problem telling you that, or using it on the other trainees he doesn’t like. It’s bizarre to see in action, someone losing control of themself, forced to walk away after giving you a vicious glare.

Marionette smiles and shrugs when he catches your expression. “All in a day’s work.”

You learn, through side-eyed observation and his own admissions, that it’s a messy process. “It’s easy to hurt someone,” he tells you. “Easy to get hurt.”

Mostly it’s about mental grit. It’s essentially a tug of war over the body in question -- whoever is stronger in mind wins. That had caused some problems, along the way.

You’re post-run, on the way to the locker room to wash off before your next lesson. He’s waiting for you at the end of the track, hands tucked in his pocket. He gives you a smile and a wave, falls into step beside you.

“How’s your first week treated you, fresh meat?” he asks.

Tired, you want to say. I am so tired.

“Fine,” you tell him.

He considers you for a moment, looking you up and down in a way that should be salacious but isn’t. Calculating, more like. It reminds you of someone.

“First week’s the hardest. Always,” he says. “New place, new people. They’re making your body do things you never thought possible.”

Part of you wants to ask if he knows who you are, what you can do. You almost want to see his reaction, to test him. If he’s here, he must be in the same boat as you. Unmarketable quirks. You’re sure his must be at least somewhat terrifying to witness in the field, though you don’t really think about it until he says, “One of the first tests they ran on me was a capacity check. They brought in this bull -- it was huge. I think they had it imporated or something because I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

You’re almost at the locker room now, the blank metallic face of it gleaming in the sun. Marionette is falling behind you now, just half a step, but enough that you have to turn and look at him. Enough to slow you down.

“And it was strong. Strongest thing I’d ever used my quirk on, at that point. Too strong.” His face is placid, mildly pleasant. He’s still smiling as he talks, but there’s a strange light behind his eyes that you can’t identify. “It was so loud, when it died. I couldn’t tell if the screaming was inside me or not, but it made my ears ring.”

You don’t know what your expression is, but you know it must be unpleasant. Marionette still has that smile on. He steps away. He shrugs. “First week’s the hardest. It gets easier.”

Then he leaves you, alone in the morning light.

...

It’s a full month before you finally get your phone back. Your first call is to Hitoshi.

“Are you there?” he says when he picks up, like you hadn’t been the one to call him.

“Here,” you confirm.

“I thought you—“ he lets out a clipped sigh. He doesn’t finish the thought.

“I didn’t have my phone,” you tell him. “Or my laptop. Or anything, really. I don’t even have my own clothes.”

“Your parents—” Hitoshi’s voice is a quiet rumble. Deeper than you’re used to. Holding back. “They said they couldn’t tell me anything, it’s all strictly confidential.”

“It is.”

“Where are you?” He sounds like he’s ready to hop on a plane and come get you.

“That’s confidential too.”

There's a long moment of silence. You wait, expecting more questions, or some kind of accusation. But he says nothing.

“I’m ok,” you say, finally.

“You better be.”

You think this is the closest he's ever gotten to yelling at you, even though he’s still whispering. The words are flush with emotion, unspent rage. He doesn’t know who he’s mad at, you or himself or whatever force has kept you away these past weeks. All. None. He doesn’t know what to do with the feeling.

You’re the only one who could inspire this in him. The intensity. The hurt. He blames you for it and he doesn’t. He just wants to know.

But there’s six different NDAs keeping him from the truth, and a thousand miles between you two.

So you say, “I am. Promise.”

And he says, “Okay.”

…

It’s the biggest thing they’ve ever asked you to use your quirk on.

A horse— a stallion, over 1,000 pounds.

Maybe they’ve imported it from somewhere; you’ve never seen a horse that big in Japan before. You want to ask how long it’s been since it was alive, why it’s not now. The body is still intact, almost pristine. Even the scent of death hasn’t set in. It hardly smells like anything, in the big, open space of the warehouse.

“Go ahead,” the men in labcoats tell you. Usually they give you instructions— move the body this way, or that. Far or near, or for a particular duration of time. But today they just want to see if you can. If your quirk is stronger than you are.

Hitoshi can lift a car. You’ve seen him do it, a shaky video posted on an underground forum dedicated to him. His muscles so honed and functional that they obey him beyond the extreme.

You can feel tension all through you as you lift the horse to standing, bring it up onto colt-trembling legs. Every atom of your being strains. But it’s deeper than sinew and muscle. It’s deeper than yourself.

The horse, all thousand plus pounds of it, is standing as if it were alive. It’s staring down the row of scientists as they make notes on their clipboards.

You’re already sweating so much it’s dripping down your face, as thick as tears. You feel your quirk about to fail. You’d never have thought to push this far—it feels simply wrong, stretched too thin to be possible.

But you press on. Move the body one stomping step forward with a gasping breath. Then another. You can feel the power behind it, the capability. It was a creature meant to run, fast, and you understand it intrinsically.

The two front legs lift, ready to lope right into a cantor. Aimed straight for the labcoats.

And you wouldn’t have done it, not really. But the horse collapses into a broken heap, the well of your quirk dried up, before you can prove that to anyone.

“Excellent,” someone is saying. You can barely hear it, so tired your ears are ringing. “Absolutely brilliant.”

…

On your first mission, you learn your place quickly.

Bad luck charm.

There’s four of you on the helicopter, riding out to an undisclosed location. You had all been briefed privately and individually about your prospective rolls. Now you know why.

They didn’t want anyone to know you’re coming with.

“Means they don’t expect us all to make it,” someone announces to the group. He meets the eyes of each person, one by one. “This is a suicide mission.”

It’s said with an air of finality that shocks you. How resigned they all are, how accepting of their fate. They look at you, and they see their futures, unfair and unyielding.

You don’t explain why you’re really here, for the body of some lab-made monster, power and fast. That you wouldn’t touch them, if you could help it. You don’t think it would soothe them, or change their opinion of you.

You watch death unfold before you like someone spoiled the ending to a movie. You know how this one goes— they told you to expect it, in your brief.

They don’t look at you, on the way back to the facility, like just your mere presence is some kind of jinx.

And maybe it is. In the back of your mind, you can hear your handler murmuring to you, voice hollow in the big space of the warehouse. If one of your teammates goes down, you must finish their task. This is vital.

No rest for the wicked, you think. Even in death.

#WELL.#Im sick of looking at this now so here you go <3 #shinsou x reader #hitoshi shinso x reader #shinsou hitoshi x reader #*narrator voice* she's doing it again. she's posting another two part fic

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