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league-of-sam · 21 days

Text

Don't Be Shy | Konig x Reader

Kӧnig x TF141 x AFAB!Reader

PART FOUR

Summary: Transferred against your will to a new task force to calm a troubled soldier, you felt way in over your head - especially when you came face to face with a 6'10" mountain of Austria. 18+ MINORS DNI! t.w // angst, mental health, language, violence, human trafficking, death, sexual themes/SMUT, military inaccuracies, language inaccuracies (google translate).

1 / 2 / 3 / 5

It was mission day.

Training over the last two weeks had been exhausting, but the payoff was right around the corner.

The mission was simple – get in, get the hostages, get out.

Fender had been given intel of another AQ human trafficking den on the border of Serbia, and it was KorTac’s job to get them out and get them to safety.

Simple enough, and something this task force has done a hundred times over. That didn’t stop the nerves from creeping up from within you, though. it didn't feel right, being on a mission without the 141, without your family.

How much could you truly trust the people around you?

Now you sat, clutching your rifle to your chest, surrounded by the rest of the team; all of you clad in the best tactical gear that Laswell had to offer.

You scanned the room, desperate for a glimpse of the giant man that had clouded both your heart and your brain, frowning when you came up empty.

Kӧnig had been…odd to deal with.

But you were quick to learn that that was just him. He was sweet, quiet, kind, thoughtful, fidgety. It made you like him all the more, and you were so incredibly bad at hiding it. Ghost almost had a heart attack when you admitted about your little crush, the man had to be held back by Soap, Gaz, and Price to stop him ‘coming down there to get you and shoot him’.

And people said Price was the father of the group!

After spending three hours convincing Ghost you were just fine, Kӧnig had knocked your door, ready for his next lesson. You’d made an agreement – he opened up to you, working on his issues with social interaction, and you would teach him to be a better sniper.

It worked, you thought, and you were finally breaking down some of his walls.

“If you don’t mind me asking, why are you so quiet and closed off?” You asked tentatively, putting your rifle back into its protective carrier.

“Was, how you say, bullied? As a child, I was always big, and the other children made many comments and hurt me.”

Your heart hurt hearing him say this. You were no stranger to bullies, having been picked on your entire childhood also.

“Yeah, I know the feeling.”

“You do?” he said, voice surprised.

You smiled softly, “Yeah. Kids aren’t nice. Adults are even worse. Still happens every now and then, people underestimating me or thinking I don’t deserve to be here.”

“That’s horrible.”

“It is. I can understand why you wear the hood all the time, keeps people away from something else they can use.”

“Ja.”

“I sometimes wish I had something, but Ghost always told me not to go down that road. He says it’s a hard one to come back from.”

“It is true. It’s scary, revealing yourself.”

“I’m sure it is, but it’s scary wanting to cover up, too.”

“Why would you want to?”

You frowned, looking away from him as you continued to pack your things, “Because I don’t like the way I look. Sometimes, I wish people couldn’t see me.”

He looked at you, dumbfounded, “Aber du bist so hübsch. (But you’re so pretty.)”

“What?”

He blushed, looking at his shoes, “Oh, um, you are just kind. I am sad for you.”

“I’m sad for you too, Kӧnig.” You smiled, “But it’s alright. Those people mean nothing now. I used their hate to help my anxiety, and now I’m here to help you improve yours.”

“(Y/N), I think you are helping.”

“Yeah? I think so too.”

He stepped a little closer to you, his movements stopping you in your tracks.

“Ich habe noch nie ein so schӧnes gesicht gesehen, Schatz. (I have never seen such a beautiful face, sweetheart.)” He whispered, his fingers barely touching your chin as he tipped it, making you look up at him.

Your breath was caught in your throat, heat rising to your cheeks as you melted into his touch. You reached up, your hand cupping his as it moved to your cheek.

Your heart thudded in your chest as he stepped closer to you, the other hand slipping around to rest on your waist.

Before you knew it, your body was pressed against his, the two of you searching each other’s eyes for any sign to stop.

There was none, but as soon as your fingers grazed the bottom of that damned hood, moving to lift it away, the familiar jingle of the ringtone set for Price echoed around the walls.

You fumbled, stepping back from the giant, “F-fuck…I- sorry, it’s Price I-I have to take it.”

Kӧnig released a long breath as you moved away from him, whispering to himself, “Oh, mein gott. (Oh, my God.)”

He barely paid notice to you speaking with your Captain, until something you said caught his attention, making his heart shatter.

“Yes, Price,” you laughed, “As soon as the job is done, I’ll be on my merry way.”

You were leaving?

“Yeah!” you spoke again, turning to smile at him briefly, “He’s doing well, I think he’ll be fine here. No- Captain, listen…you know what Ghost is like! It’s just a job, right? So, when I’m done, I’ll be back, promise.”

What?

‘It’? Were you talking about him like that?

Did you really think of him as nothing but a mission, something for you to fix and then leave behind once the work was done?

“I’m just a job?” he said, voice small as he watched you put your phone down.

You stood confused for a moment, until you looked back at your phone, reliving the conversation with Price.

“N-no, Kӧnig, t-that’s not what I meant by that-”

“I’m just another task for you to complete before you go leaving to your elite task force, ja?”

His voice raised with every word as he angrily collected his own things. Hurt seeped from him, and you could understand exactly why.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” you pleaded, “Yes, I was brought here to do a job, but you are not just a job to me. You’re a human being!”

“A human being you were brought here to babysit.”

“Yes! I was! But that wasn’t my fault! I didn’t fucking want to!”

Your frustration got the better of you, and you snapped. No, you didn’t want to be someone’s babysitter. You were an SAS-trained sniper, for crying out loud. But you’d seen someone in need and stayed.

And you were so glad you did.

But he didn’t see it that way, who could blame him?

“Okay, sergeant. Danke for the lesson.” He said, and he nodded to you, turning towards the exit.

“Kӧnig, please- don’t leave, I’m so sorry I didn’t mean-”

He ignored you, shaking his head as he flung the door open, the noise echoing around the shooting range. You winced, tears welling in your eyes as you watched his hulking form stalk away from you.

That’s the last he spoke to you.

It was the last you’d even seen him.

For three days.

He didn’t come to the shooting range, he hadn’t been showing up for training, and he hadn’t been eating from the canteen.

You never meant to hurt him or pry too far, but it was why you were here. To help him understand about teamwork and morale, to help him understand that not every person was out to get him. But you never meant to make him feel like he was just a job, just another assignment.

In a last ditch effort, you scanned the room again, and your heart skipped a beat as blue eyes pierced yours.

He was leaning against the concrete pillar on his left, arms crossed over his vest, hip stuck out as one of his feet rested in front of the other. Your eyes examined his frame, subconsciously licking your lips as you took in his appearance. He looked even bigger with all the gear on…even better.

Kӧnig blushed furiously under your gaze, flustered as he tore his eyes away from you to look back at his superior, who’s voice was booming around the room.

“Karma!” his voice made you jump, head snapping forward, “You will be taking primary overwatch. The snipers are to follow your command.”

“Yes, sir.” You answered.

Fuck.

“Now, the mission is simple. We will take the trucks down through the mountain pass, and there is a guard under our pay to let us pass without issue on the border. Roze.” Fender spoke, passing the baton to his second in command.

“From there, Contact Team 1 will press west, taking the building from behind. Contact Team 2 will follow after breach, collecting the hostages and running them to the van that is waiting. I will be driving that.”

“The Sniper team will head east, setting up overwatch to take out any stragglers that push through from the breach, am I clear?” Fender finished.

Several voices answered in unison, nods and encouraging looks thrown around the room between comrades.

You only squeezed your gun tighter, teeth sinking into the flesh of your lips.

KorTac was so different to 141.

The journey to missions would be silent, all of you quiet from the weight of what you were about to endure.

But not here.

People were chatting away, making jokes, making plans for the evening as if they were so certain they’d even make it home. It completely terrified you. The only thing keeping you alive was the promise you made to get back to your boys.

No wonder Kӧnig hated it here…so did you.

Somehow, the journey felt like it took forever, but no time at all at the same time. Something wasn��t right, you could feel it deep within you. Even the encouraging texts from the 141 group chat weren’t helping, despite Soap insisting that his flurry of memes was appropriate.

It wasn’t long until you were in position, the front of your body damp from the moisture in the grass surrounding you.

“Karma to Actual, Sniper team in position, waiting on count.” You spoke quietly, nodding to your team to settle.

“Copy that, Karma. Contact Team 1 is on route for your position.” Fender replied.

As soon as he said that, the sound of combat boots connecting with the ground flooded the air around you, legs wading past with guns held high on the target. Your heart skipped as you caught a flash of red and white stripes as Kӧnig moved past you.

He moved swiftly and silently, completely in his element.

Now was the time you’d see him in action; you’d see the crazy that everyone warned you about.

“In position, sir.” He spoke, his accent thick as he whispered into his comms, taking up position in front of the doors.

Moving the scope to settle on him, you peeked through, gasping as you saw he had no weapon at all on him. It was just him and his fists.

They genuinely did just use him as a human battering ram.

“On your count then, soldier.”

You watched him as he took a final breath before his voice flowed in your ear, “Eins…zwei…drei…

Einsetzen! (one…two…three…engage!)”

On cue, the splintering of wood echoed around the trees, and the popping of gunfire and the screams of women followed.

“Okay everyone, on your mark! Let’s clear the way.” You commanded.

One by one, you shot your rifle with ample precision, taking out the AQ soldiers that tried to escape the hands of Kӧnig, and the rest of Contact Team 1.

“This why they call you Karma?” Calisto’s voice sounded.

You let out a laugh, “Indeed it is.”

“Badass!”

As yours and König’s team cleaned out the AQ, contact team 2 made their way in to collect the hostages. That’s when you got the ‘all clear’ to move in, offering any aid needed to the poor victims.

You moved quickly, throwing your rifle over your shoulder as you stumbled down the hill towards the building, your team following swiftly behind you. The doors swung open, and a crowd of dirty and frightened women poured out, Roze pulling up with the van and ushering them in.

It was seemingly over, and you threw a small smile to Kӧnig as he helped one of the smaller girls out of the building. He looked back at you, holding your gaze for a moment, until screams and cries and yells of commands tore your attention away.

Running towards the group with a fully loaded semi-auto was a straggler, the last AQ soldier that had apparently been missed, and he was headed right for Kӧnig and the little girl.

You tossed your gun aside, not even taking a second to think, and ran as fast as your legs would take you towards them.

You ignored every order to stand down, every yell from Fender to fall back.

But no one was as quick as you to react.

You reached them just as the bullets started spraying, the force in which you banged into Kӧnig knocking him to the floor as you scooped the girl in your arms to shield her.

Somehow, you’d managed to save them both from the oncoming assault, but your complete disregard for your own life came to bite back at you as you screamed, a searing, burning pain shooting through your thigh as a bullet struck you.

Roze yelled, reaching for the child as you tossed her forward, falling to the ground when another bullet shot into your back.

Your vest protected you from deadly harm, but the force of the impact had you fall to your knees, landing on your front in a daze.

The rest of the team didn’t even get a chance to unload their own weapons into the enemy, as Kӧnig shot up, tears pricking his eyes as he ran at the soldier, tossing him into the air and bringing him back down over his bent knee.

A sickening crack of bones echoed through the valley, until silence fell, and the only sound was your laboured whimpering in the grass.

Until that wasn’t heard either.

Your body went limp.

And your vision faded to black.

81 notes · View notes

neonovember · 1 year

Note

Hi babes!

Could you possibly write a battinson x sunshine vigilante!reader where the reader is just an absolute sweetheart in and out of the suit. Like she's super sweet to literally everyone she meets but she's also a badass vigilante. Maybe her and Gordon are close friends and that's how Pattinson meets her and he is just absolutely lovestruck when he meets her for the first time. Like a love at first site kind of thing, he's just absolutely whipped and enamored by the reader. Maybe written from Batsy's pov.

Much love babes

thank you so much anon for sending this prompt! I know this is super duper late, but it was a wonderful idea I truly wanted to do it justice. I made the reader a little morally grey cause I think it would be a little different, so I hope you enjoy darling! Feel free to send in any of your requests and asks and even if it takes time I’ll make sure it's done. (who I write for)

Carved in stone

pairings: bruce wayne x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of drug trafficking, morally grey!characters, Gotham itself (its a warning alright), mentions of loss and grief, and a hint of touch!starved bruce if you turn it upside down and squint.

word count: 4.6K

The darkness that surrounds Bruce as he steps into his cave is one that he embraces like an old friend. The light that shines from every frosted window of the Manor stabs his eyes with an insistent twinge akin to a razor blade that had been left to rot on a windowsill during one of Gotham's thunderstorms.

There is a child-like fear in the air of the glacier cave sheathed in its darkness, the kind that materialises into green monsters and pale ghosts in the thin veil of nightmares. The kind that causes your parents to check under your bed, behind your clothing rack, in your closet.

Places where shadows and darkness would settle and make a home for itself. For most children, that gripping fear would outgrow itself over the years, replaced instead with reaching the 5th bar on the playground, failing driving tests, and falling in love for the first time. That was life, but Bruce Wayne was hardly a normal child. He had surpassed his pupils years before they had even begun to walk on two feet, and yet, that gripping fear of the dark still sprouted open deep within his stomach every time.

He has to shake it off of himself, as he reaches for his seat in front of the blaring screens projected from his desk. What he had found was too important to be tainted by the pathetic fears he allowed into his mind. Placing the contacts into the surveillance reader, Bruce combs through the hours of footage captured by the camera placed over his pupil.

He had been trailing a shipment of drugs and armed artillery that was masked as a children's book delivery that had frequently made its route through Gotham's city streets. You didn't need to be Batman to know that it wasn’t the next edition of Captain fuckin’ Underpants being delivered to the underfunded children's orphanage. No, greed had taken over any sliver of humanity within Gotham governors long before the barrel of murders rocked through the suburban neighbourhoods and left hundreds orphaned.

He could hunt those killers down, but the crooked thug that had massacred his family was something Bruce would never be able to make it right.

The irony burnt a hole through the veil of what was left of him.

Gordon had been no help in tracking those marked vans down, whispering under the guise of the moonlight one night atop Gotham PD’S rooftop that it made his officers nervous. ‘Jittery and anxious’. Especially after so many of their dear brothers in blue ended up neck-deep in the underground crime syndicate they were meant to investigate, only to have their heads on a stick at the bottom of Miller Harbour.

Oh yes, Bruce knew all too well how greed had the habit of seeping into the morals of even the most respectable men, corruption had a way of appealing like salvation when you had no choice. That's what Gordan had said, and Batman laughed at that, shook his head and spit out in venom,

“There is always a choice, Gordon”

So it was up to Bruce now, the vigilante sheathed in darkness to uncover every small detail that could lead him to where these vans were heading too. This was different however, there was an unsettling itch behind his eyes, something pressing into his mind, begging him to see. And it isn't until he catches the flash of silver from the corner of the warehouse that he notices that someone else has been watching them too. Clicking on the magnified frame, Bruce leans in to try and decipher the glimpse of a face turned to the side, obscured by a black hooded cape that seemed to camouflage them into the darkness. The facial recognition software embedded in Bruce's computer pulled up nothing, not even a single trace of a face like theirs, obscured as it was.

Someone that lived in the shadows as Bruce did, someone who made it a home for themselves.

Bruce needed to find out who they were.

Now suddenly, Bruce has an actual reason to go to Gordan.

You rip off the latex body suit that enabled you to glide through the air, and shove your face into a navy hoodie in the backseat of your car parked outside the GCPD parking lot. It wasn’t safe but you had no choice, anonymity wasn’t pretty, and it sure isn’t easy.

But what you had found tonight, trailing after those marked vans that drove down the streets of Gotham like they fucking owned the place, was too sensitive to hold onto any longer than you had to.

Your eyes strain and survey the dark city streets filled with drop heads stumbling around and the thugs that fucked with them, for that same marked van charging towards you. You knew they wouldn’t dare come within the vicinity of the police department, and most importantly, you were smart enough to not leave even a hint of a trail.

It was irrational, but you knew enough of this life to know not to bet on rationality to keep you alive. You have to force yourself to shake it off before slamming the car door behind you and marching towards Gordan's office.

Officers decked out in uniform, glance at you twice before recognition fills their features, barking out hushed hellos and waves of acknowledgement towards you with confused faces as you walk through the department walls. You couldn’t blame them, your dark makeup had smudged from the humid air of rainfall and fog, and the incessant itch of your eye didn’t make it any better, even your cover outfit was washed in a deep midnight black.

They were used to seeing you in bright colours and skirts every time you met with Gordan to transfer any knowledge you had gathered the night before during your vigilance. Usually, you would wait until the next morning, when the mask of your pedestrian outfit and a sunshine smile would keep any questioning looks from the Officers around you at bay. To them, you were just a friend of Gordan who happened to actually like the last few pieces of Old Gotham.

It wasn’t like you were putting on a facade, despite the incriminating outfit you wore now, you loved the colour as much as a child loves colouring outside the lines, your home itself was true to that. A true reflection of the warmth and sunshine you radiated, filled with potted plants hanging from ceilings and in corners, dyed pane windows that reflected warm hues of orange and yellow when the sun set over your studio apartment.

But that didn't mean you would let crime syndicates tear through your home, and this couldn’t wait until the next morning, no, no it was too personal, and oh how you loved mixing pleasure and business.

You couldn’t wait until you got their jaws crushed beneath your boot, watch their blood run through the city streets until it washed away all the crime, and the filth was clean.

You had a special hatred for people who exploited children, using them as a cover to transport drugs and arms had motivated you enough to spend the entire 3 nights straight documenting their every move, where their vans lead to and from when they would start their daily route of drug trafficking. It was imprinted into your brain, an obsession you would have to pretend was for the good of peace to Gordon, and not for your own twisted vengeance.

You don’t knock as you charge through the office doors of Gordon's chief floor, your connection to Gotham City’s Police commissioner gives you free clearance of the department, and your baked honey biscuits were good enough to bribe even the stone-cold assistant parked outside Gordan's office anyway.

You shut the door with an even loud ruckus, causing Gordan to sigh as he rummaged through papers stained with smoke scattered across his desk.

“Now what do I owe the pleasure of having Ms Sunshine in my office this goddamn late in the night?” Gordan says, not even having to look up to know it’s your loud boots against the hallway floors.

“Gordan” You reply, marching towards his desk until you are standing across from him.

“Yes?” Gordan replies, still skimming through the backlog of case files and police reports that seemed to double every night.

“Gordan.” You reply again, this time with an edge of urgency in your tone, and it’s sharp enough to cause Gordan to flicker his focus towards you.

“Those vans I was telling you about? The ones I’ve been trailing since August? I’ve finally found something, the cold must have loosened them up a bit because they got pretty fucking lazy” You start before Gordan cuts you off with a half-hearted sigh.

“You’ve been on them for months now Sunny, every bit of information you’ve squeezed out of them has led us to dead ends. Every time we’ve found a trail to their hideouts it’s packed up and shut down by the time we arrive.” Gordan replies before you shake your head quickly

“No, listen, Gordan, we’ve been looking at it the wrong way” You press on, but Gordan shakes his head

“I can’t afford the manpower Sunny, you know how my men have been feeling lately, the whole department is just holding their breath. Fucking restless, you damn near scared me marching in like that”.

You grit your teeth as you mutter under your breath, Gordan wasn’t listening to you, you didn’t need his men, they were all cowardly corrupt assholes on a power trip anyway. You just needed him, and he wasn’t listening.

“Sometimes you won’t always get to win every battle alright? It doesn’t work that way for us, you gotta save it for the big ones, the ones that are so bad you can’t even see them yet. You start putting your heart into it like you're doing right now? You’re gonna lose yourself along the way”

“They’re using fucking kids Gordan” You bark out when he begins another speech, you can’t help it. Gordans acting as if this is some small drug bust in a crack house. It’s way bigger than that, more sinister, it always is.

Gordan looks towards you wide-eyed, eyebrows furrowing as he opens his mouth to talk before closing it again.

You see that as a guide to continue,

“We’ve been seein’ those vans' as transporting the drugs through the cover of the orphanage, but they’re only using it to get to the warehouse. We can never find the drugs on them because it never was, they’re using the goddamn kids to traffick it, Gordan, fucking middle schoolers”.

“Jesus Christ”

“Okay, alright-uh” Gordon mutters under his breath as he gathers the paperwork strewn in front of him. He reaches into an unmarked drawer, pulls out a white card, and scribbles a mix of numbers onto it you had never seen before.

“Take this-” Gordon begins, motioning to hand you the card before you shake your head

“Gordan-”

“Take this, and meet me tomorrow, please” Gordon pleads, looking up at you, you wait a bit before nodding and taking the card from his palm.

“Come at the same time, but maybe next time you come barging in you at least change first” Gordon groans, knowing the litany of questions he was bound to get hounded for the second you left.

You roll your eyes, “I did” You mutter under your breath before saying Gordan's name again

“Thank you, Gordon, seriously, you're the only hope I have left in Gotham you know, the only one who actually cares what happens to this goddamn city,” You say

“I’m sure that’ll change soon Sunny” Gordan hides a smile, nodding towards you, before you leave his office quickly. You are too absorbed with the hidden message Gordan had said just before you left, to notice Gordans secretary staring into your back, what did he mean?

You ruminate over it as you pass the officers and down the precinct stairs, piling into your car and driving through backlit streets illuminated by just the moon in the sky and the sound of bats.

The visions of the cries of children fill your nights and leave you restless in the morning. You know you shouldn't, but you spend the break of dawn surveying the barren city streets for any sign of their presence, and when your obsession leaves you coming up empty you pull over and step out into the harbour bay.

You stare off into the Miller manor, watching the violent waves of the river crash into each other. Some people had an unrelenting fear of the ocean, of what may lay in its depths, but you had grown to fall in love with its beauty.

It was simple in its destruction, washing away the dirt and filth of the world. You had wished to escape in it, swim down to the bottom where you would lay for eternity, let the waves crash into you and take you away from it all.

You spent the entire morning standing there, blinking back hot tears and the brick that formed in your throat when you began to think too much of what you had lost.

You went home, for the first time since yesterday, and slept until you forgot.

-- -

Decked out in a light-coloured skirt and your face free from the dark black eyeshadow streaming down your face, you marched into the police department once again.

This time the officers greeted you with a genuine smile, seeming to forget about the events of yesterday, and were even more elated when you uncovered the Tupperware filled with the cookies you had made. You figured food would make them forget about it all but it seemed Gordan had beat you to it.

Opening the door to Gordan's office, you can't help but let out a chuckle when you see the commissioner in the same position you had stormed into last night. Gordon perks up at the noise, rolling his eyes before collecting the papers into a neat file and walking towards you.

Gordan begins to say something before a loud commotion muffled his reply, you reach for your gun fitted into the holster on your waist, and shift your body to point it towards the door of Gordan’s office.

It begins to shake as the loud sound of metal on wood gets increasingly closer and you can't decipher it until it stops at the front of Gordans office to understand what it is.

Footsteps.

Your eyes catch the door handle and begin to turn slowly, and you take a tentative step closer to the door, forming into a defensive stance with your gun pointed straight ahead and your finger dangerously close to the trigger.

The door opens much like it had before, with a loud bang, and you aim your gun towards the darkness that follows.

“Wait!” Gordon screams towards you, but you don't dare to take your eyes off the dark figure missing your perfect shots. There is a release of compartments before the figure uncovers itself, and there he is, in all his beautiful and dark glory:

Batman.

Batman’s POV

“What the hell Gordon?” You murmur, the glow of the table lamp illuminates your features, highlighting every dip and curve and line and Bruce can’t help but stare.

“Listen, please put your gun down Sunny, I invited him alright? Because there is no one in this precinct who can help you half as much as he could'' Gordon says, and Bruce catches your scrutinising gaze that seems to penetrate him through his cowl.

He raises his eyebrows as if testing the waters to see if you'll really do it, but you sheath your gun back into the holster hidden under that patterned skirt that's got Bruce thinking thoughts he shouldn’t.

“Uh, I think this conversation is better equipped somewhere more..discrete. Follow me” Gordon coughs, before opening the office doors. Bruce follows the dark patterned shirt of Gordon back from a short distance, you by his side, the heat emanating from you causes Bruce to step further away.

Bruce moves like he knows the ins and outs of the building, his shoulders tense, and his eyes always searching, but his body moves fluidly through the halls like muscle memory etched into him and you can't stop staring. Bruce catches your eyes once, his cobalt blues stare right back at you with no hesitation, a flicker of recognition flashes over his eyes and Bruce begins to piece the face that's got his heart stopping and his hands reaching all at once.

You shift your eyes to the wainscotting lining the walls of the precinct, and Bruce's chest burns with a desperate need to see you seeing him. Bruce didn't know what overcame him, it seemed like the fear of the dark was replaced with the fear of never seeing you again. Bruce didn't even know your name, just Sunny. Bruce wanted to see how it would taste on his tongue, speaking your name and having your reply.

“You sure you know your way ‘round this building Gordan?” You sigh, as it seemed you both were through endless hallways

“We’re here” Gordon replies, before pushing a lever door that opens into the precinct rooftop.

Bruce steps out into the rooftop courtyard, the cold chill of the night breeze does nothing to the burning hot in his stomach, but your visibility shivers and Bruce has to stop himself from covering you with his own damn cape.

Gordan passes you his worn-out leather jacket and you take it gingerly before he nods to Bruce in understanding moving to the far end of the roof.

You step towards the edge of the roof, knuckles turning white as you grip the handrail and Bruce watches you gaze out into the sky-scraping towers of Gotham City, glistening under the pale moonlit sky.

“It doesn't look so bad from up here you know?” You murmur, and Bruce's eyes flicker from the city streets below to your gaze.

Bruce shakes his head “No, no it doesn't”

“But then, doesn't everything get uglier up close?” You continue, your gaze flickering back to the city skyline

“No, not everything” Bruce replies in a whisper, but it's loud enough to hear and you shift your gaze back to Bruce

“You were there, weren't you?” Bruce says, the recognition hit him the second you stared off into the city, that same dip in the cheek, that same mark on your jaw. You were sheathed in the cover of the warehouse darkness then, and adorned an outfit akin to what Bruce was wearing now, but it was you the entire time.

“I suppose it was, but how were you there, Batman?” You reply, eyes flickering down to Bruce's tall stature,

“Been trailing them for weeks, but every single thread of their trail-” Bruce says

“Is a loose end” You murmur, and Bruce nods in agreement.

“I know it may look like it isn't, but I've been after them for even longer, and it’s like this has become my entire life now you know? If they can’t be stopped, if I can't stop them then’”

“What’s the point” Bruce replies

You nod thoughtfully, it was why you had barely slept in the last month, barely ate, this vengeance, this thirst for justice, it consumed you. And now it seemed you had met someone who was consumed by it too.

“How did this” You gesture between Bruce and Gordan “alliance even form” You question, it didn't really hit you then but this was the known vigilante that had been plastered on the front of newspapers across Gotham, now standing, comfortably on GCPD’s rooftop.

Bruce hides a chuckle, shaking his head “It’s a long story, but you see that light projector there” Bruce gestures his chin to the signal hidden near the edge of the rooftop, tilted to the sky.

“It’s a distress signal, carved out in a bat wing, and whenever Gordan turns it on, I always come, no matter what”. Bruce says

“I’m not foolish, these people we're both after, aren't the normal crooks and pickpocketing gangs, and together we can put an end to all of this, and I know you I haven’t made the best defence compared to the hundreds of newspapers calling for my head, but I care, I care about Gotham-

“I know, Batman” You stop Bruce mid-way through his erratic tangent, reigning him back in with that heavenly voice of yours.

“Bruce” He replies, after a heated silence, and a flash of recognition fills you.

How could you not have pieced it before? You don’t know if Bruce sees the surprise in your eyes but it dissolves right back into the space between you.

“Bruce” You nod, his name taste sweet on you tongue and it has him yearning to hear it again.

“I thought I would be scared if I ever came face to face with Batman, but, all I feel, all I really feel is understanding. I know you, Bruce, I know you because I see myself in you. This long life of fighting, of putting your everything in your purpose. It gives you a reason to survive in this hellscape, but it also fucking destroys you.” You say, eyes searching Bruce’s .

“How did you get into this life?” Bruce says

“I know from this darn skirt that is yellow of all things it may not look like it but I’ve been fighting the plague of crime and greed that had taken over this city for years”

“First with the power of books that could lead me to become something those rich fucks needed and then with my fists after this city took something from me it had no right to. And honestly? I’m surprised I hadn’t run into you sooner”

“Don't say sorry because I’ve hated that word ever since it happened” You reply

Bruce nods, his grip on the rooftop rial tightening as he stares off into the city skyline, Bruce wore his loss like a tattoo imprinted on his forehead, anyone could see what the violence of this city had done to him without having to read the hundreds of newspapers detailing his parent's gruesome death.

But you, at first glance seemed like a damn tourist in this city, unfazed by the crime and death that seems suffocating to Bruce, radiating a kind of glow and kindness Bruce had long forgotten exists.

“And for the record, I don’t read the newspaper” You reply, causing Bruce to let out a chuckle

“Oh yeah? You’re too prestigious for ink on paper?” Bruce replies

“No, not really, I just like to get my news first hand, as an observer. My uniform may not be as prestigious as yours, but it gets the job done and is a hell of a lot more discreet” You reply, a smile pulling at your cheek.

“Discreet is definitely the word to call it, couldn't even decipher your face in a damn near million-dollar computer” Bruce replies

You look at him in confusion, but he simply shrugs in response and before you can let out a reply, Gordon comes back into view from whatever dark corner he had ventured to.

“Now that you have acquainted yourselves, why don't we find a way to take those sick fuckers down” Gordan replies, and Bruce catches the delighted expression that forms over your features. You nod enthusiastically towards Gordon's words, interjecting pieces of information that even Bruce himself had not acquired. Bruce watches you in your element, formulating a plan with a million other plans B’s, that same unstoppable desire to protect this city that drives Bruce to put on that cape each day, and it’s like Bruce is falling in love.

“So we’ll hit them from the orphanage rather than from it, hopefully, their lack of diligence continues in our favour, Batsy, you okay?” You reply, eyeing him in worry as Bruce stares back with a glazed expression before snapping back at the sound of your nickname.

“Batsy? Now that's a good one” Gordon chuckles

Batman eyes you in question to which you reply with a shrug

“Batman is too long, and I figured if you're gonna be callin’ me Sunny, I’ve got to give you a nickname too, right?” You justify, and Bruce fails to hide the smile that erupts across his face at the mention of him calling you Sunny.

“He’s smiling Gordan!” I made Batman smile!” You giggle, shaking Gordan's shoulders, and if Bruce could he would bottle that sound and keep it forever.

“That's definitely a first, isn't it Batsy” Gordon replies, and Bruce simply shakes his head

“Can we get back to what’s important here?” Bruce replies, but the smile in his voice is clear as ever, and you don’t know why but it fills you with a burst of joy in a place that had remained empty ever since your sister had left.

“Mhm” You reply, and Gordan shares a knowing look towards Bruce as if to say “I’ve found you out”, and for some strange reason Bruce wants him to, he wants the entire world to know he's completely enamoured and enthralled by you the second he stepped into Gordan's office.

“Alright, whilst you both were arguing over costumes, I got a distress alert from one of the squad cars surveying the area near the orphanage. One of the vans seems to be making some sort of detour, we’ve got to hit them now, I don't know when they will be this unprotected” Gordon replies.

“I’ve got a car waiting for me, so Sunny, you’ll ride with Batsy” Gordon replies, and Bruce doesn't have a hard time seeing the smile hidden behind Gordan's stern face.

Bruce bristles at the mention of having you so close to him in such an enclosed space, fearing you would protest out of fear of him and all the other insecurities Bruce had burdened. But you nod and smile towards him, and it's like every doubt, every worry is dissipated, and every anxious thought sounds so stupid because nothing else matters but you.

And so, just like moments before Bruce walks side by side with you down the endless corridors of the Gotham Police precinct, but now, with the heart scorching desire to follow you down a hundred endless corridors, to dampen the burn in his chest with your silken soft voice.

Bruce didn't believe in prophecies, or soulmates that transcended time and space, but right now it was as if you both were meant to be. A sacred bond that was carved into stone long before Bruce had started to lose himself in his own purpose, long before the fear of darkness had seized him all those years ago.

Bruce had thought you made a home in the darkness within you, but it was so different now. You embraced this darkness, this thirst like a mother embracing a child, carved it into you like a relic, until it transformed within you to become the light Bruce had been blinding himself to.

And Bruce pleaded for the first time, he begged to the midnight sky for the first time since he cried out for God to will the loss of his parents to be erased. Bruce was left with the bitter taste of a silent sky then, but now he’s on his knees, begging that you would make a home for him too.

Bruce wanted to take the darkness you carried, wanted to uncover it from your skin and bones until all that was left was the illuminating glow Bruce knew he would ruin. But he didn't care, for the second first time today, Bruce wanted to be selfish, and have you all to himself.

Wanted to feel your touch hold him until the burn of your absence was stamped away, wanted you to uncover his cowl and run your fingers through his hair, wanted to curl into your body and under your skin at night, wanted everything.

Bruce wanted it all.

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yuri-for-businesswomen · 9 months

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the whole system of a brothel is just appalling too.

women pay rent for the rooms, rents that are usually 1/3 of their pay, then they have to pay another 1/3 in insurance and taxes (where prostitution is legal). many women have to have sex with 5-10 men per day before they even start making a real profit.

this is why many prostituted women live in the brothels, to save additional rent for personal accommodation. this in turn makes them even more dependent on prostitution and the brothel owners. their personal and professional lives blur, their whole social circle is often only other prostituted women and sex buyers. especially because many women are immigrated and dont have a social network in their new country.

the brothel owners are boss, landlord and pimp at the same time. they have all the power.

this puts prostituted women in an especially precarious and vulnerable position.

many women choose this exploitation because it is safer than the street, that‘s how prevalent violence is in prostitution. instead of being at the volition of the sex buyer alone, in a brothel they have a bit more protection - now at the volition of the brothel owner.

brothel owners are often also a part of organised crime, which makes total sense because then they can threaten prostituted women who want to leave, they can provide them with drugs, and they can get new women in via human trafficking.

and this isnt even touching on the children and women in illegal brothels, who have no rights, in countries where prostitution is illegal, who are sold by their families to brothel owners, who are kept there with violence. on the street they are at least visible, but in a brothel they disappear. and a brothel can be inconspicuously, just an apartment in a regular building where neighbors dont pay attention.

#mine #anti prostitution

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scarletskiesinthepaths · 1 month

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can you talk about kuchel and levi pls i loved your last post abt levi

Hi, thank you so much for your question! I'm really excited because this is the first time I've received an ask like this :) Thank you as well for your kind words on my post!

Off the top of my head, I'll lay out some of my thoughts in general about Levi and Kuchel and some of the speculations I have regarding the circumstances they were in together:

Kuchel seemed to be a victim of sex trafficking. She fled to the Underground City to escape persecution, but prior to that, we can assume that she lived a relatively sheltered and privileged life, as the Ackermans served and protected the King. Because of this, it is unlikely she would have had the skills or knowledge to defend herself once reaching the Underground, so I'm assuming she was preyed upon—especially since it doesn't seem like she ever awakened her own Ackerman powers. We also know that human trafficking is common underground, given Mikasa's backstory and some of the "Bad Boy" panels that have been released.

Given that Kuchel became pregnant with Levi by one of her patrons while working as a prostitute, Levi is essentially the product of rape; Kuchel's occupation was more akin to forced labor and sexual slavery than it was willful employment. I'm certain the circumstances of his birth were never lost on Levi, as I'm sure he witnessed his mother being forced to have sex on a highly frequent basis due to their living arrangements.

To elaborate, I'm fairly certain Kuchel and Levi lived in the brothel she worked at. When Kenny went to search for Kuchel's address, the man he spoke with referred to her as "Olympia" (her prostitute name). That man was also aware of her health status in reference to her ability to see clients, so I'm assuming he was the brothel owner. Building upon Levi witnessing the sexual violence toward his mother by her clients, the reason I think this is the case is because I doubt Kuchel would have felt secure in having Levi leave the room. Given the danger of their situation and how hostile of an environment the Underground is, Kuchel would have wanted to ensure Levi's safety from kidnappers by keeping him in her presence. From what we see of the room Levi was in when Kenny found him, there was only one relatively small bed and a paltry amount of furniture. Not many places for Levi to hide, unfortunately.

The likelihood that Kuchel had postpartum depression (PPD) is quite high, as certain psychosocial circumstances increase the risk factors for developing PPD: stressful life events during the pregnancy, unplanned pregnancy, food insecurity, violence against women, low socioeconomic status, low social support, single marital status, sexual abuse history, and more. All of these aforementioned factors apply to Kuchel. It is exceedingly unlikely Kuchel would have had access to treatment for any PPD she may have had as well. Furthermore, it is well-known that PPD can adversely impact the maternal-infant relationship, particularly untreated PPD. This would have affected not only Kuchel's ability to attend to her own needs, but also Levi's needs.

Levi was dying from starvation when Kenny found him. I imagine Levi was stuck with his mother's decaying corpse for around a week, and one does not reach that level of starvation from going without food for a week. Simply from those panels alone, it is evident Levi had probably gone without sufficient access to food for months at a time. This demonstrates that Kuchel was having significant difficulties providing for Levi's basic needs. Based on this fact alone, Kuchel would not have had the capabilities and resources to provide Levi with higher-level needs, like the feelings of love and belonging that children need to thrive. I think Kuchel clearly loved and wanted Levi deeply, just based on the panel of her crying tears of happiness while holding Levi as an infant; however, the reality of her situation would have precluded her from properly relaying this love to Levi.

Let's take a look at Maslow's hierarchy of needs:

Basically, human needs are arranged in this hierarchy, with lower-level needs required for survival having to be satisfied before moving on to higher-level needs. Higher-level needs cannot be met if lower-level needs are not. The more one progresses through this hierarchy, the harder it is to continue to move through the hierarchy due to the practical and interpersonal barriers that inevitably occur. Physiological needs are the most important because no other needs can be satisfied unless those are met. Practically none of Levi's physiological needs were being met during his childhood:

We've established he had no food.

Given the poverty they were in and the nature of the Underground, a lack of clean drinking water makes sense.

The barest minimum of shelter was provided, given the small room they lived in. The shelter itself was inadequate and unsafe.

Levi was dressed in rags when Kenny found him, so we can extrapolate that he did not have much clothing.

Due to the lack of sunlight and the known effects on circadian rhythm, as well as Levi's known issues with insomnia during adulthood, consistent sleep was also an issue.

Clean air quality also seems like it'd be an issue Underground, given the lack of electricity. Torches and oil lamps probably contributed significantly to air pollution, along with the proper lack of air ventilation.

On a different note, we know from Kenny's conversation with the man who I assume was the brothel owner that Kuchel got sick from one of her clients. Of course, it's possible that Kuchel may have gotten some other sort of illness from her client, but given the occupational hazards of her labor, I'm assuming this was a sexually transmitted disease (STD). We already know Levi is extremely wary and concerned about disease when he's older to the point of being seen as a "clean freak"; it seems pretty easy to trace this concern to his experiences living underground. Given how Kuchel became sick, it's not a leap to think Levi might associate sex with disease, especially if he ever learned about the concept of STDs. Levi probably internalized some very negative messages and associations regarding sex from his childhood with his mother.

Anyway, those are some of the basic thoughts I have in my head regarding Kuchel and Levi's circumstances. I do have some more, so I would definitely love to write more posts at some point on this topic. Thanks again for reaching out!

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #Levi Ackerman #Kuchel Ackerman #aot #snk #attack on titan meta #shingeki no kyojin meta #c: levi ackerman #c: kuchel ackerman #r: kuchel & levi #aot.meta #meta.levi #meta.kuchel #ask #asks #my thoughts

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cheerfullycatholic · 3 months

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The path to peace calls for respect for life, for every human life, starting with the life of the unborn child in the mother’s womb, which cannot be suppressed or turned into an object of trafficking. In this regard, I deem deplorable the practice of so-called surrogate motherhood, which represents a grave violation of the dignity of the woman and the child, based on the exploitation of situations of the mother’s material needs. A child is always a gift and never the basis of a commercial contract. Consequently, I express my hope for an effort by the international community to prohibit this practice universally. At every moment of its existence, human life must be preserved and defended; yet I note with regret, especially in the West, the continued spread of a culture of death, which in the name of a false compassion discards children, the elderly and the sick.

From the address of his holiness Pope Francis to members of the Diplomatic Corps accredited to The Holy See, January 8th 2024

#catholicism #pope francis #vatican #pro life #pro life catholic #surrogacy #anti surrogacy

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lumine-no-hikari · 2 months

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Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #76

You know. After a day or so to process this version of events, I think I can finally put into words why so many people cry out for your blood, but not Rufus's or his father's, even though they've done things that are arguably far worse than anything you've ever done. Goodness, but isn't it the same age-old story of people villainizing abuse victims for striking back while excusing the abuser that broke the survivor to that point? And we see it all the time in my world; nobody does anything about bullying at school until the bullied person finally punches their bully in the face, and then the bully gets off scot-free while the victim gets suspended. I think of spouses who, backed into a corner and trying to defend themselves, strike back at the spouse who has been abusing them, and the spouse defending themselves gets charges pressed while the other one who had been abusing them gets pitied. I think about trafficked humans (many of them are snatched up as CHILDREN) who, in an effort to get free or to defend themselves, strike back at the person trafficking them and escape, only to then face a world who hates them for having been trafficked. And all of these things have one thing in common: the price for escaping from being "owned" is often another form of punishment or imprisonment.

Of course, I am not saying that people should call for Rufus's or his father's blood, either. Or even for Hojo's. They are not different from you - either they have congenital defects in the parts of their brain that are responsible for empathy (and pretending like this is a moral issue instead of a brain wiring issue is ableism), or they've lived lives that have beaten their psyches into a shape that makes them think that hurting other people and treating them like objects is the only way to survive. This is ALSO a brain wiring issue - though this kind of brain wiring issue is better classified as a psychological injury (due to attachment disruption or childhood trauma) than as an illness or congenital defect.

Yeah, you read all of that right. I said what I said and I meant it, and I know that people aren't gonna like it, but today I am tired and bitter from all the shit I'm seeing, and out of fucks to give as a result. I don't demonize Rufus or his father. I don't demonize Hojo, either. They have done horrific and inexcusable things and I feel very angry in response to that, but they need HELP. They, too, are capable of making a different choice and turning around. Imagine that. It's almost as though calling for mercy for you (or in other words, "being a Sephiroth fan" or a "Sephiroth apologist", as people like to call folks like me for the purpose of degrading us) has absolutely nothing to do with your looks or with trying to "fix" you so I can date you (I'm sorry, but the idea of "fixing" a person to get with them is absolutely 🤢🤮), or whatever other bullshit nonsense that people who have never been through severe and ongoing grooming or abuse without any kind of support (support can be from a teacher, friend, other family member, etc.) like to accuse us of. Hoodathunkit?

I think, too, that lots of people see that potentially destructive side of you in themselves, and I think they would rather see people who lapse in reining it in die than acknowledge that it's within them, too. Or perhaps living a life that is painful enough to break them into such a horrific shape is unfathomable to them. Either way, one fact remains: people don't want to own up to the fact that literally every single one of us has the capacity to do something similar to what you did, if their life circumstances break them in the way that leads to that kind of terrible, tragic, infuriating, and wholly inexcusable outcome. You're not some especially monstrous thing. You're not a lone goddamn wolf or a rare exception to some general rule or an isolated fucking edge case. And I know it because people in my world make choices similar to yours EVERY SINGLE DAY, even if their means of enacting those choices differ from yours.

The capacity to inflict horror upon other living things is part of the human condition. It is in ALL OF US, whether we want to fucking acknowledge it or not. And all it takes to bring it out is a long enough string of psychologically damaging events in the absence of appropriate support. Cases like yours are NOT random events caused by "inherently bad people"; there's no such fucking thing as "inherently bad people". There are conditions and events that lead to people doing horrific things, and these conditions and events can be found and prevented before they get to that point, if only everyone keeps their eyes open and pays attention! I spend as much time as I can trying to reach those that conventional wisdom says are "unreachable" PRECISELY in service to trying to keep my eyes open and pay attention!

Because horrific events and bad choices are like bacteria - they DO NOT spontaneously generate ("spontaneous generation theory" used to be a thing that people believed about microorganisms a long time ago)! Conditions LEAD TO THEIR GROWTH. And the solution to a person afflicted with bacteria is NOT to kill or demonize them (though this is how they used to be treated; check out most of human history!)! You're supposed to give them antibiotics to REMOVE THE CONDITIONS THAT ALLOW FOR BACTERIAL GROWTH. And the same rules apply to people who make violent choices - you remove the conditions that produce the choices, NOT the person who made them. But goddammit, I am only one person, and… fuck, there are just SO. MANY. STARFISH… stranded on the beach sand…

Also, you know… even as far back as the original game, anyone with half a brain understood that you must have been crying, weeping, sobbing openly during your time at the library. In this version of events, we saw you do that for just a moment before it was choked back and replaced with… something else (I know what this is like; I still have the capacity to cease crying immediately via dissociation; this skill was literally beaten into me, and I imagine it's the same for you). And in my world, it's popular to believe that men should never cry or be vulnerable in any way, shape, or form (this bit of socio-cultural bullshit is actually generational trauma, and it's literally fucking killing people, in the form of internalized or externalized violence), so lots of people here are going to have less empathy for you at least in part because you defied the "cultural norms" of what it means to be a man and a leader (again, this is generational trauma mistaken for culture, and it needs to fucking stop because people are dying over it). And it's so… it's so…

Ugh… Sephiroth, all of the things I know, all the suffering in the world, all the causes of it… it's all swirling around in my head today, and it's heavy. It's so fucking heavy. Watching all the people, every single one of them beautiful and good, doing what they do to themselves and each another, hurting themselves and each other, psychologically or physically maiming themselves and each other, even torturing and killing themselves or each other, all because somehow doing these things feels easier than trying to repair and restore everything… they don't know what they're doing. And there's not… there's not a damn thing I can do about it. I look at the state of things on a large scale. Our dying planet. The endless wars. The marginalized groups of people. The violence and the hate crimes. The genocides. I want to cry and to scream and to throw up all at once.

…But I suppose much of that is neither here nor there. Suppose anyone with "conventional wisdom" would tell me I'm "reading too goddamn much" into a "silly video game", but… given that the media in our world LITERALLY PERPETUATES STEREOTYPES THAT KILL PEOPLE, I gotta say I'm more than a little fucking bitter about that today.

In any case… you - an abused, exploited, and bullied person most of your life - escaped being owned by Shinra (in the clumsiest and most ridiculous and horrible fucking way possible, but still), only to find yet another goddamn chain around your neck. If it's not Jenova controlling you, then it's your trauma and conditioning pulling the strings. Either way you're acting like a goddamn puppet. There, I said it. And as much as I love you, if you don't like that I said it, then too fucking bad; maybe try actually DOING something about it.

Sephiroth. As much as I love you, I am always going to be more than a little pissed about the fact that you squandered your voice so recklessly back then. I'm always going to be more than a little pissed about the fact that you fucking! abused! yourself! for a week! until you broke! WHAT THE FUCK.

If you had simply! Told people! What you had been put through! If you had told them what Shinra was doing! If you had simply opened your freaking mouth to talk about your experiences to a bunch of people who practically worshipped you, you would have eventually had millions of people rallied with you to put an end to Shinra! Sephiroth, for fuck's sake, YOU WERE A GODDAMN GENERAL!! You know how to lead people! And you know how to protect them! Get a goddamn grip!

And I know that the mayor guy acted all entitled to your time while you were exhausted and still grieving for your friends, and it was shitty of him to pass judgment on you when he had no idea what you were going through. But ultimately, it is up to YOU to communicate your needs and feelings, not up to the people around you to anticipate what they are! And I know that the guy took your picture without your permission, and I know they didn't heed when you said "not today". But there is a difference between "having no respect for your word" and "being so excited and happy about your presence that they are unable to contain themselves". It is still up to YOU to maintain your boundaries even if other people don't like it!

Sephiroth! I know that you were struggling! And I know that you spent your whole life being bullied and abused to the point that you felt as though your voice had no power. I know that. I understand that. I am still dragging myself up out of that hole. I know that you were trying to punish evil, and that you saw these people as being complicit in the system that hurt you, your friends, your mother Lucrecia, and your planet. I get that you were trying to punch your bullies back in their faces, but you punched the WRONG PEOPLE. And even then: why punch people when you can instead wield your voice!

Sephiroth, despite the harshness of your upbringing and all the other things that make you stand out, you still have privilege! You have status! You have fame! You have power! You have a remarkably able male body! YOU ARE THE KIND OF PERSON THAT PEOPLE LISTEN TO! You have a face that people are willing to see! You have a voice that people are willing to hear! And there is a difference between holding people accountable for being complicit in a system that benefits them, and punishing people for existing in a system (even if that system benefits them) that they did not consent to being born into!

You can't even begin to imagine what I would be willing to give up in order to have a voice like yours, so that I could call for compassion and mercy in ways that would get people to open their eyes and take action in service to putting a stop to all the suffering that exists in this place that I live in.

But no. Instead of being brave and coming out of your shell to use your voice and social power in response to injustice and exploitation, you simply defaulted to your instinctual behaviors. You did the thing you've been trained to do. Like Pavlov's dog, the bell was rung and you drooled everyfuckingwhere. You used your power to cut everything down, instead of using your voice to rally people together for a cause that they ABSOLUTELY would have followed because YOUR face and YOUR voice would have been the one leading it.

Sephiroth. This fucking sucks. What you did to yourself in that library - starving, dehydrating, and sleep depriving yourself and pushing yourself past your limits while you were already strained - fucking sucks. And what you did in the throes of your agony also sucks. Punishing the people around you because your brain was addled and you didn't fucking fact-check what you were reading fucking sucks! And I do understand very well why you did all this; I was abused similarly to you, albeit in a far less extreme way, and thus a long time ago I used to think similarly to the way you did after your fall (I don't think that way anymore because I had help, thank freaking goodness). But IT STILL FUCKING SUCKS. And it was STILL unacceptable. You can't change what you did. But you can make a different choice, moving forward!

Conventional wisdom says that there is no coming back from having fallen, but I am living proof that in this case, "conventional wisdom" is not at all true. I would not be sitting here, imploring you to turn your eyes towards a kinder, more compassionate worldview - one that exists in stark defiance of everything I used to believe because of what I was taught as a child - if "conventional wisdom" were true. In addition, I have met other people in the course of my derping around on this broken fucken planet who also serve as proof that anyone, no matter what has happened to them or what they've done in the past, can rise up into making a different choice. And these cases, too, are not "edge" cases. They are not exceptions to a rule. The capacity to heal and grow and change - just like the capacity to hurt and regress and stagnate - is part of the human condition. And this means that anyone can turn around! No! Matter! How! Far! They've! Walked! In! The! Wrong! Direction!!

Goddammit, Sephiroth! Turn yourself around!! Because although I understand what you're trying to do, what you're doing is NOT the way to get it done! What you're doing is BULLSHIT! Maybe you think you're demonstrating your "phenomenal power" or whatever by breaking everything around you, but what you're REALLY doing is yielding to your conditioning like it's got a chain around your neck and a cattle prod in its hand! It's weaksauce! You ALREADY KNOW HOW TO BREAK THINGS. You've spent your whole life being forced to do that even when you didn't want to!

So you gonna, you gonna what? Sit here and claim that you're "the chosen one" or some fucking horseshit, as though you've taken your power back? When really you just took the easy route of doing the same old shit you've always done - bending over and making yourself a slave to someone else's fucked-up agenda, and becoming the very thing you reviled against SO HARD that you burned down an entire fucking village in disgust, despair, and rage? I ain't buyin' it, and neither should you! All you've done is exchanged one codependent relationship for another! And it's getting fucking old! You can do better than blind, subservient obedience to some random fucking space parasite that don't give even two shits about you as much as it cares about your capacity to allow it to resume its life cycle! You've gotta know that even if you really did manage to break everything (you won't, because I fucking promise you that you'll be stopped), as soon as you've served its purpose, it's gonna toss ya like yesterday's trash, if not outright consume you like a female mantis after it's done using its mate like a fucktoy!

The developers said that we've only seen 1% of your power or some shit, but you fucking know what? You could wipe the whole goddamn universe clean. You could extinguish every last star. And STILL some random fucking autistic chick from some random fucking planet in a random fucking solar system in a random fucking galaxy has your ass beat in ALL the ways that count! And that's NOT ACCEPTABLE. I am nothing! I am NO ONE. Sephiroth!! COME ON ALREADY!!

You want strength? Do the work to break your conditioning. Do the work to love the broken things. Do the work to become someone who does no harm yet takes no shit. Do the work to become someone who can remain soft even in this sharp and unforgiving world. Do the work to get out of your own damn way. Do the work to become someone who can treat yourself like you actually fucking matter. Do the work to get up off your knees and LIVE. DO! THE! WORK! Don't just do the same thing you've always done and claim you've won! You haven't broken free of the pattern! All you've done is changed masters!

You have to stop blindly giving away your power to anyone who claims to love you! You have to stop using your power in service to the conditioning that tried to snatch away who you really are on the inside! They tried to steal away your gentleness! They tried to steal away your emotions! They tried to steal away your ability to cry, your ability to be vulnerable, your ability to be compassionate and loving! Are you just gonna sit here and let them? Are you going to keep pretending like you're cruel and hard-hearted just because a bunch of people who cared nothing for you told you that's how a proper warrior is supposed to be? Are you going to keep on like this, doing the same thing you've always done, just because taking the time to grieve and to make choices that are actually in alignment with your nature are things that feel too difficult for you to do?

…Fucking hell, but some days, clamoring for you to get your shit together feels A LOT like Atreyu trying to pull Artax up out of the swamp:

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Come on!!! Turn around!!! You have to, NOW! You have to try!! You have to care!! You can't let the darkness overtake you! You gotta move or you'll die!! Please!! There's still life on the other side of mistakes. There's still life on the other side of despair. There's still life on the other side of rage, of loss, of shattering. It doesn't have to be permanent!

…I won't give up. Even if you leave those of us who care for you sitting and weeping in the middle of the swamp, staring forlornly, or in shock and in disbelief at the place where you sank, I'm not going to quit. I will keep calling out your name in hopes that you'll follow the sound back to the light. Because you're worth the effort. You're worth the pain. You're worth the grief.

I'll leave you with these:

Take the hands outstretched to you and get your ass out of the goddamn swamp. Having a swamp ass is not a good time for ANYONE involved. So please. I…

…I'll write to you tomorrow. Because I love you. In the same way that any person loves their friends. Do everything in your power to keep yourself and your planet and your friends safe. I'm begging you. Please.

Your friend, Lumine

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silverlullabies · 2 years

Text

Always Been You

Summary: Aizawa knows that just because his students graduate, doesn’t mean he stops being a mentor to them. They’ll reach out to him for help and he’ll drop everything to assist, every single time. And then you show up at his door, asking for help that may cross a boundary he can’t come back from. But what kind of teacher would he be, if he says no?

Pairing: Aizawa x Reader

Word Count: 7.4k+

Warnings: Smut (18+), hurt/comfort, teacher/student relationship if you squint, dirty talk, porn with a plot, references to dubcon acts and drugging, afab reader, oral (fem receiving), creampies, Aizawa drinks his respect-women juice daily, social constructs of virginity are fake and toxic but for the sake of the plot Reader believes in them, references to toxic sexual education, talk of human trafficking, panic attack, college boys (because they need their own warning)

A/N: I haven’t written a reader insert in years y’all but I woke up the other day thinking of this plot and it hasn’t left my brain since. I just? Love? Aizawa so much??? But I’ve always had a thing for every teacher in any manga/anime so that’s not surprising. (Kakashi, Urahara, Gojo, Stein??? They just do something for me). Anyway, this really got away from me, especially at the end, but I wanted to end it on a sweet note. I have a small bonus chapter in mind to tie off the (possible) cliff hanger at the end of this chapter.

Aizawa Shoto knows all too well that just because his students graduate doesn’t mean he stops being their teacher. Maybe other teachers in other schools had that luxury, but not him, not in this profession.

He isn’t surprised when he gets emails or texts from students asking for advice and his professional opinion. They taper off the more settled into being a hero his former students become. What starts out as multiple messages a week slowly filters into a couple messages a month into a few a year until all that remains is well wishes on holidays and birthdays.

His coworkers go through the same thing. It’s bittersweet, he thinks, when they no longer send panic filled messages at simple villain encounters and only reach out with greetings instead. Despite them receiving a graduation ceremony and a license; not reaching out at every turn is when Aizawa and the other teachers truly consider their former students as full-fledged heroes.

Some of those students become closer to the teachers. What was once a student-teacher relationship blossom into friendships. Despite how much Nemuri and Hizashi tease Aizawa about adopting all of his students, they’re both just as bad. Nemuri alone has been named God Mom to no less than 8 former students' children and Hizashi is honorary uncle to 12.

Aizawa has always extended an open door policy at school, which for some of his former students, translates into an open door policy for his home. They come to him with wounds that need patched, or a place to crash for the night if exhaustion after a long patrol makes it unsafe to travel further than his front door. A few times, he’s had to work them through panic attacks or episodes of self doubt after a particularly bad fight. Usually if he sees on the news one of his former students involved in an attack where civilians are killed, he preemptively sets out what he knows will bring that particular student comfort before they even stumble to his front door.

Every once in a blue moon, some of his former students (who are all little shits, he swears) will come knocking with no other purpose than to check up on him bother him. They’ll breeze past him once he opens the door, bags of groceries or piles of take out in hand. They’ll mumble a half hearted “I was in the neighborhood” not convincingly at all and set about guilt tripping persuading Aizawa to eat a proper meal with them (because you don’t spend three years with Aizawa as your teacher without learning he’s horrible at caring for himself).

You’re one of them. Despite having been in the first class Aizawa had ever taught as a teacher, you still reach out constantly show up several times a month, the same excuse falling from your lips as you slip past him and into his apartment with a cheeky grin. Aizawa always grumbles as you replenish his fridge with actual food instead of jelly packets before cleaning up parts of his apartment all the while cooking him dinner, filling the air with polite talk and the smell of food that never fails to make his stomach rumble.

So he isn’t surprised when you knock on his door one evening even though you were just over two nights ago. He is surprised when he opens the door to find you standing there with nothing but a file in your hands, face flushed, and gaze averted.

“Y/N,” he grunts, eyebrow raised.

“Uh. F-fancy seeing you here.” Your eyes dart everywhere but his face. This was not the cool confident person that he knew. Your shoulders are dragged up to your ears, the folder held in front of you like a shield, while you shift your weight back and forth on the balls of your feet.

“I live here,” Aizawa responds.

“Right! Right…” you trail off, before blurting. “I need your help and you’re the only one I could think of!”

He looks at you, taking in your uncharacteristic stance, before sighing and moving to the side, holding the door open for you to come in.

After the both of you are settled at the dining room table, cups of fresh coffee steaming in your hands, he clears his throat. “You needed help?”

You jump slightly and bite your bottom lip, before sliding the folder over towards him. He picks it up and begins to flip through it, eyes raking the pages as his eyebrows begin to steadily climb his forehead. “The Commission wants me to go undercover in a sex trafficking ring. There’s been a recent uprising in human trafficking and the ring they want me to go undercover in has a massive influence in Japan. At least 27% of all trafficking happens due to them and another 36% happens through connections with them.” Aizawa grunts, reading through the same information that you were providing verbally.

“This operation has been in the works for years now and my part in the mission could destabilize the human trafficking in Japan and provide us with some breathing room to put some contingency plans in place for the next trafficking ring that pops up.” You tap the side of the mug with your perfectly manicured fingers.

Aizawa let out a breath. “That’s a lot. Jesus kid. Congratulations.”

An operation like that would rocket you into the top 100 easily, if not the top 50.

You hum in reply, a bouncing leg joining the rhythmic tapping of the mug in what he recognizes as a nervous tic. You’ve never been one to be nervous so immediately his concern and curiosity is piqued. His eyes slid to your face over the top of the folder calculating.

“What do you need my help with then?” He asks. If they wanted to bring him in for information or as a hero on the case, why send you and not someone from the Commision? Before he can start processing this enigma, you reach over, pulling the folder from his hands and flip through to the back, taking out a section of the folder once you find what you’re looking for. You slid it to him.

He takes it into his hands, looking down at it briefly to read the information, and then raises his gaze to meet yours.

“Your undercover identity?”

You nod. “They want me to go in as one of the victims. It would be easier and less time consuming than trying to infiltrate as a villain. But sources think they’re subduing them with drugs to make it easier to hold and transport the victims as well as prevent them from fighting back. With my Quirk, I’ll be able to infiltrate easily and find their base or bases of operation without being inhibited. We’re confident they’re bouncing the victims around several locations to make it harder to track. While I’m in, I can tag the locations for a future raid so the heroes can hit them all at once and minimize the chance of escape or loss of life.”

Your Quirk neutralized drugs, poisons, and other toxins on yourself and other people. You were primarily a rescue hero that took care of things like toxic spills, gas leaks, and exposures. He recalls one time a child who suddenly got their Quirk (a simple but powerful ability to change the structure of molecules at will) and wound up turning the air in a grocery store to carbon monoxide, poisoning everyone inside. While emergency workers and other heroes wore gas masks, you simply waltzed inside and gave the scared kid a dose of Quirk suppressants to temporarily nullify his power until he saw a Quirk counselor and learned to control it. All the while you sat there with him in your arms agreeing with him that space was very cool, not at all affected by the deadly gas while you went about ventilating the place. Aizawa could see why the Commission reached out to you for this assignment versus someone else with more experience in infiltration.

“And where do I come in?” He asks again.

“Sensei… I’ll be going in as a victim. I’ll be undercover for a while. Best guess is several weeks, worst is several months. I’m under no illusion that I’ll be able to walk away with my…,” you purse your lips. “… dignity still intact. I’m… not ok with it per say… but I’m willing to do it to save lives. Besides, I've already been set up with mandatory therapy before and afterwards.”

“Y/N… that’s a lot.” Aizawa’s eyebrows furrow together in concern.

You nod your head. “Yeah. But I’m the only one. I can neutralize the drugs and leave me in the right state of mind. Not to mention that bacteria and viruses count as a toxin to my Quirk so I’m at no risk for picking up anything. And I’ve already started on long term birth control. Nobody else can fill these parameters.”

He got that. It sucked, but he got it. “So when do you leave,” he asks, sliding the paper back to you, which you tuck neatly back into the folder.

“In two weeks.” His eyes widen and he sat up straight.

“So soon??”

You look up at him, something simmering beneath your gaze. “For you maybe. This has been in the works for a long time now on my end. I’m only telling you for two reasons. I… uh… got permission to explain it to you.”

His eyes narrow. “Why?”

“The first is to ask you to look after my cat, obviously.” You give him a cheeky grin. He nods, well used to former students asking him of this when missions took longer than a day to be completed.

“And the second thing?”

You avert your gaze again, back to fiddling with the mug in your hands. “Sensei… do you remember the night of the typhoon nearly a year ago?”

He nods, heat rising to his ears. Of course he remembered. How could he forget?

You showed up on his doorstep halfway through a typhoon that hit Japan and effectively shut everything down. The only people out were emergency workers and pro heroes that could handle the rampaging storm and assist in relocation of citizens who’s homes had been destroyed or help them towards hospitals.

He had pulled you inside, soaked to the bone, and helped you dry off while grumbling about how illogical it was for you to be out in this. Despite offering you a change of his dry clothes, you were still freezing, so he got to work on setting up the heater for you. It ran for four minutes before the electricity in his building cut out.

He debated for exactly ten seconds before pulling you into his bed with him, limbs tangled together, while he attempted to rub feelings back into your skin.

All the while, he was hyper aware of how you had taken off your underwear, leaving your breasts squished against his chest, while your legs were tangled together. He fought against the growing erection in his pants, diligently thinking about everything that would turn him off like the statistics of cats that die in shelters year round.

Your shivers die off slowly which leads to your eyes flickering up at him, gaze too wide, lips parted into a soft sigh. “Aizawa-sensei…”

And then he was taking your lips into a slow deep kiss, lips parting slightly. He drew your bottom lip between his teeth, mouth slanted across yours. One arm snaked behind the small of your back tugging you closer, while the other trailed under your shirt, fingers lightly caressing your skin in a way that had you arching, as he settled his fingers under the curve of your breast teasingly.

You sighed under his touch, as he deepened the kiss, tongue darting out. He moved, positioning himself over top of you between your legs. The hand that was behind your back was suddenly cupping your face in a way that seemed to sear your flesh in its intimacy. His other hand cupped your breast, fingers dragging along your hardened nipple in a way that had you moaning, pushing up into him, pelvis grinding into his hard on in a way that made him see stars.

His hands trailed down to your hips, tugging at the waistline, and just as you lifted his hips to give him access, the lights flashed back on, freezing Aizawa in place.

Shame flooded every ounce of his body. Here he was, taking advantage of you when you needed his help. What kind of pro hero was he? What kind of teacher? What kind of friend-?

“I-“ he started, eyes dancing around to avoid look at your flushed face. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

He untangled himself from your limbs, unable to fully look at you through his guilt. Before you could even say anything, he was gone.

The next morning you were gone too. You stayed away for several weeks, the longest amount of time for you, to the point where he had convinced himself he had ruined that relationship you had with him. He hated himself for it. Sure, he had thought about you in that way before. Sure, he had had dreams of you before (starting after Nemuri teased him, saying you were always acting like Aizawa’s wife so when was he gonna make it official?) that spilled over into fantasies when he touched himself or even when he entertained other women. But he had never let himself act on those thoughts because he was respectful and responsible. And he didn’t want to risk driving you away. Until now.

So when you showed up a few weeks later, arms full of groceries, breezing in and acting like nothing had happened, he nearly collapsed in relief. And then proceeded to follow your lead and never talk of it again, even if it meant the fantasies became more frequent and intense.

“Of course I remember.” He shifts in his seat, this time averting his gaze. This was the first time you had brought it up.

You brought the mug to your lips and drank deeply from it, before settling it back down between your two hands. “You asked me why I was out in such a storm and I never answered you, but the truth is, that was the day I officially learned of everything this assignment detailed. And because of that I… I wanted to see you immediately. Enough to risk the wrath of Mother Nature herself.”

“Why,” he murmurs.

Fingers tap the side of the mug again as your eyes shifts. “I knew what I would eventually have to do. But the truth is…I came here that night with ulterior motives. Because I haven’t… done that kind of thing before. You were the furthest I’ve ever gone with anyone, that is. And I was willing to go further. Of course your guilt complex and morals had to get in the way of that.” You give him a cheeky grin, before the smile falters. “And in the end I was too embarrassed and too much of a coward to explain that to you at the time. What you must have thought of me… I became convinced you were disgusted and believed I was indecent. Therapy has helped me overcome the idea that salacious desires are wrong, but I grew up in an area where we were taught carnal wants were misguided and bad. So you can imagine the internal war I was waging with myself.”

A blush stains your cheeks as you become interested in the whorl design of the wooden table.

“I’ve never thought that way about you,” Aizawa says in a way that leaves no room for argument.

You smile softly up at him. “I know. You’re much too kind.”

He looks away at that, unable to find the words to say to counter your statement. He swallows hard, his mouth too dry. “So you‘ve never….”

“Had, uh.” You clear your throat. “Sex. I’ve never had sex. With anyone. There’s only ever been one person. That I’ve been interested in, that is. But I’ve never gone further than holding hands. And kissing. But mostly just holding hands. After that night, I tried to find someone else… but I could never go through with it.”

“I still don’t understand what that has to do with your mission…” he trails off suddenly, as he connects the dots.

Oh.

Oooh.

He swallows hard again and straightens in his seat. He gets it now. But he needs to hear you say it.

You bit your lip, continually tapping at the mug with your fingers. “I don’t want my first time to be with some sleazy guy in a dingy back alley room. I want it to be with someone meaningful, someone I trust. Someone I respect and admire and care for deeply.”

“And who is that,” he says, voice lower than normal.

“You,” you whisper, tapping at the mug like it’s your lifeline.

He could feel his restraint failing him and his knuckles turn white with the effort to not… do something, anything. “Y/N… do you know what you’re asking?”

Your eyes find his obsidian ones. “Of course. It’s always been you. It wasn’t until that day, when I became aware of all that my assignment truly entailed, and I knew I needed to be with someone else first so I had that memory not be tarnished by this mission… that’s when I understood then that I’ve liked you for a very long time, when I realized I could think of no one else but you to go to. That there was no one else I wanted but you and that I’ve subconsciously been wanting you this whole time and why I’ve never entertained another man in my bed even after overcoming my views on sex or had relationships that lasted longer than a few dates. It has always been you.”

There’s a blush glowing on his cheeks. He falls quiet and the silence lasts for so long, that with nothing but the sound of a clock ticking in another room and the frantic tapping of your fingers, your mind begins to wander in panic and you slowly begin to doubt, wondering if maybe you’re asking your former sensei too much. You had thought after that kiss that maybe he felt the same way as you, but perhaps you’ve just been deluding yourself this whole time. The silence eats at you and your stomach turns, causing you to swallow and clear your throat. You need to speak now, to salvage this before it’s too late. “If this is crossing a line… if this is crossing a boundary, I understand. I recognize I’m asking a lot of you.” You try not to let the disappointment in your voice show.

You start to stand, draining the last of the now-cold coffee from the mug in an effort to not cry in disappointment in front of him. “Ah. Sorry to ask this of you. I know it’s inappropriate, and I can only hope this doesn’t change things between us. I’ll… uh, get going then. I’ll be back with my cat before I leave. I’ll be bringing her supplies, and some actual food for you too. It’ll be a lot this time- think of it as a prepayment for cat-sitting before I’m able to actually pay you properly. That being said, please clean out your fridge before I come over. I think I saw yogurt in there that expired two months ago, the other-“

“Where are you gonna go,” Aizawa’s voice cuts off your nervous rambling. “If I don’t…”

He trails off, but you know what he’s trying to convey. You shrug in reply, placing the mug in the cupboard after washing it and head back towards the front door. “I don’t know? The bar probably. Any random college kid would take me up on my offer-“

A heavy hand wraps itself around your wrist and yanks, spinning you around and slamming you against the wall. It takes you a second to realize Aizawa’s body is hovering over yours, hands on either side of your head caging you inside. You blink up at him and oh… you recognize that look. He’s angry. Why is he angry?

“A college kid.” He drawls, unimpressed.

You shrug at him again. “It’s my only option and they’ll be better than some sleazy guy in a dingy back alley- ”

He moves closer and your voice dies a swift death in your throat as you can feel his body heat through your clothes. You stare down at his chest, not willing to meet his eyes, suddenly finding your mouth too dry and your palms too sweaty with nerves. A finger snakes under your chin and forces your head up to look at him. Your eyes dart to the side, unable to find the courage to look him in the face.

“Y/N… look at me.” He murmurs. “Please.”

The desperation in his voice when he says please is what causes you to look at him and you something dark in his gaze. The hand under your chin slides to the back of your neck, causing your skin to prickle.

“What kind of teacher would I be if I didn’t help out one of my students when they need me,” He says and it’s enough to cause you to almost laugh and or collapse in relief. “Especially when it’s you.”

He dips his head, kissing you desperate and hungry, pulling you into his arms with a frantic sense of urgency. His kiss is sloppy and needy, nothing like the slow kiss you two shared a year ago. He hands slide down, gripping your thighs and pulls, wrapping your legs around his waist. You gasp into his mouth and his tongue almost immediately pushes past your lips with a swirl.

You kiss back with a feverish frenzy as he walks the two of you back towards his bedroom. His hand snakes up through your clothes, snapping off your bra, and drags it and your shirt off. You break the kiss long enough for him to pull your clothes over your head and toss them somewhere off to the side.

“Especially when it’s me?” You question, panting against his lips.

He draws back, eyes still dark. “Me too. It's always been you, to me.” He echoes your words from earlier and deposits you into his bed, climbing over top of you, while he drags his own shirt off.

Your mouth waters as you take him in. You always knew that Aizawa was fit, as a pro hero he had to be, but his baggy clothes really do hide how ripped he is. He bends his head, teeth dragging along the pulse point on your neck, latching on to the heated skin.

“Tell me if it’s too much and you want to stop. I won’t do anything you don’t want to do. Promise me, you’ll tell me.” He rumbles in your ear.

“I trust you,” you tell him.

“Promise me.” He demands soft but deliberate.

“I promise.” You answer him.

His hands slip down to your waistband, unbuttoning and unzipping your pants, while his teeth nip and suck open-mouthed kisses on your clavicle causing you to shudder. You moan, leaning into his touch, and dear God, nothing has happened yet but you’ve never been so turned on before in your life. Your head rushes at the surge of adrenaline that hums beneath the surface of your skin.

He drags his lips up to your ear. “Lift your hips for me.” You oblige, allowing him to grasp your pants and underwear and rake them down over your ass and thighs. He sits up, peeling them from your legs, and tosses them aside. You stare up at him, body flushed, and eyes wide, suddenly self conscious of the way he’s dragging his eyes over your figure admiring every single inch. You’ve never felt so exposed.

He must sense that because he leans over again, capturing your lips into his, distracting you from your embarrassment while he explores your mouth. He breaks the kiss, scraping his teeth along your jaw, down your neck, and across your chest. He nips and sucks at your breasts in a way that has you aching and rocking your hips to drag against the growing bulge in his pants.

He moans, gradually working his way down your stomach, biting at your hips, before he settles between your legs. Teeth and lips leave marks at the sensitive skin on your inner thighs that cause you to pant and tremble under his touch.

“Tell me if you want to stop.” He says again, looking up at you. You can do nothing but nod weakly at him, breath erratic, heart pounding in your ear drums. Every single nerve in your body feels on fire.

He smirks at your disheveled appearance, before he dips his head and licks a stripe at your glistening cunt. “Oh!” Your voice sounds so surprised, hands flying to his hair immediately, hips bucking up to meet his mouth. Your fingers have never made you feel like that. You need more.

He licks and sucks at your mound, going slow and hard in a way that has your entire body quivering beneath him. You whine, muscles straining, as electricity and heat swirl through your entire body making your toes curl. Every motion he makes with his mouth is molten pleasure seeping through every vein in your body. Just when you think he can’t get any better, he moves in a different way, and the crest of euphoria drags you up and up and up leaving you delirious and intoxicated from the feeling of teetering on the edge.

“Fuck, Aizawa.” You moan, head tipped back, as your fingers dig into his scalp to find purchase, anything to hold on to as he strings your body along hard. He can tell you’re getting close already, and slips a finger in your cunt, pumping it slowly, before dragging another one in. He curls them, finding the bundle of nerves that has you lifting off the bed chasing the pleasure you desperately crave. You fold into him, wailing as you cum, spasming around his digits so tightly, his cock throbs with want and need. He doesn’t stop sucking and fucking his fingers into you until your wails turn to sobs, thrashing in his iron grip as he drags your orgasm along for as long as possible.

You collapse back on the bed, huffing, body twitching as you come down from the high. Aizawa pulls himself up, dragging his pants off in one motion. “Good girl.” He coos, and oh- doesn’t his words just send sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine? Aizawa’s praise always did make you preen.

“That was better than anything I’ve ever imagined.” You breathe.

He pauses and slowly a smirk spreads across his face. “Better than anything you’ve imagined?”

“Yes.” You pant. “Do you think I haven’t touched myself to thoughts of you?”

Aizawa leans over you again, dragging your knees up to your chest, and settles himself between your legs, his cock bumping against your slick folds. He hovers, leaving a few centimeters between the two of you, and looks you deeply in the eyes.

“Still not too late to back out and go have your first time with someone else,” he mutters, wanting to hear you consent one last time before you never get this moment back. This is the last time you can ever claim to be a virgin and he needs to know you’re ok with him taking this from you. It makes you fall for him more to know that despite him not caring about concepts of virginity, he’s still taking this seriously because you do care about it.

You shake your head. “Only you. I want- no I need it to be you. It’s always been you.”

“Ok.” He breathes out through his nose. “I’m going to go slow. We can stop at any time. Tell me if you want to stop.”

“Aizawa, please,” you whine, aching with need.

“Tell me.”

“I will.”

And then he’s entering you, breaching your entrance leaving you both gasping and moaning. The self restraint on him is admirable as he thrusts into you shallowly and slowly, inching his way in bit by bit, ignoring the primal urge to just slam into you so rough and fast that it has you screaming. He wants to do so many other things, wants you in so many other positions, wants to whisper so many filthy things in your ear; but he doesn’t want to scare you away. He’s patient, he has to be, if he wants you to come back for more.

Even though he worked you open, you're tight, so impossibly tight, that he has to grit his teeth against your neck and fight against how much your silky walls are sucking him in too fast and too soon.

He hears you whimper and that has him freezing, eyes snapping to your face. Your eyes are shut tight, hands squeezing around his biceps, as you let out shuddering breaths.

Just as he’s about to ask if you’re ok, you open your eyes and look at him with so much adoration that has him feeling raw and exposed, choking on emotions that threaten to squeeze his throat shut. He sucks in a breath through his teeth when you reach up, curling your arms around his head and pull his face down to yours, whining. “Don’t stop. Oh please don’t stop.”

His mouth smashes against yours, wanting and needy, as you gasp against his lips, your begs tasting delicious on his tongue as he rolls his hips again, sliding the last few inches in. His forehead falls to yours as he moans in your mouth, stilling flush against your pelvis to give you a moment to adjust, stretched out and impossibly full. You feel so hot and warm, gripping him so firmly, that Aizawa rapidly recalculates his worldview, and comes to the conclusion that this is what pure happiness feels like, this is nirvana. He never wants this moment to end, wants to live in this brief period of time forever, buried to the hilt in your pussy that feels like the Gods personally formed it just for him and his cock.

He looks at you, brushing your sweat slicked hair out of his face and returns to the look of veneration. “You’re so perfect, so beautiful. You’re doing so good. Look at how well you took me.” He praises causing your cunt to squeeze him.

His eyes, more awake and alert than you’ve ever seen them, flutter for the briefest of moments at the increased pressure, before he looks at you again. “I’m going to move now, ok?”

You nod and so he starts with a slow and steady pace. You shake beneath him, back arched, chin tilted as fireworks explode behind your eyelids. He watches your face, adjusting his position or depth or speed anytime the look of pleasure starts to turn into a grimace. He wants this to be as good for you as it is for him, doesn’t want to be the cause for any discomfort or pain. Your pants are mixed with moans and you bring the back of your hand to your mouth to muffle the sounds. In any other circumstance, he would pull your hand away and demand you let him hear every sweet noise you make. But he doesn’t want to overwhelm you, so for just this one time, he lets you cover your mouth, to provide an ounce of comfort.

“Aizawa, I-“ you whine.

“I know, kitten. I know.” His chest rumbles. “That’s my good girl. You’re doing so well. Fuck, you feel amazing.” He can feel how wetter you’re getting with each passing thrust, how much more you’re squeezing him to the point where it’s almost painful to not just fuck into you with a fervor.

The growing pleasure is almost uncomfortable for you. You’ve gotten yourself off on your fingers before, but this is a whole new level. Everything is blurring together, swallowing you whole, drowning out every thought until there’s nothing left but Aizawa.

The growing pressure is agony, making you sob, hot tears splashing down your cheeks that he quickly kisses away, as the tension pulls tighter and tighter. You don’t know how much longer it can last, you’re sure the next second, the next thrust is the one that sends you over the edge, but it never does. It builds and builds and builds, the desperation leaving you trembling under his touch, babbling incoherently, lips slicked with drool, fingernails digging into his flesh as each roll of his hips brings you to a new high.

Your senses are heightened and dulled at the same time. You can feel his hands wandering your body, exploring the valley of your breasts, feather light on your navel, and bruising on your hips. His mouth kisses and licks and sucks and bites every bit of skin he can reach. He praises you in words that sound too distant, too far away, too soft to be heard over the roar of blood in your ears. It feels incredible. It feels like too much. It makes your head swim.

“Please, Aizawa, please, I need- I need.” You blubber, willing to offer up your soul to this man for the relief you so frantically chase.

His tempo changes as he moves a hand between your folds, fingers finding your clit. “I wanna spoil you so much more kitten, but I’m not gonna last much longer. Cum for me. I wanna feel you cum on my cock.” He circles his finger once, twice, three times and the thread inside you snaps, finally tumbling you over that edge.

Your arms wrap around his neck as waves of euphoria crash into you, gripping him like a lifeline as your mind threatens to smother you in it. He groans into your neck, hips thrusting erratically, as your walls clench around him, milking the cum from his dick. You’ve never felt so good before. Your body buzzes, head on cloud nine, toes curling, as he rocks a few more thrusts into you to prolong your orgasm. Your whole body sings, amplified by lightning that flutters in your cunt.

Your senses return as the pleasure ebbs away. You’re hot and sweaty, muscles aching and sore, tangled in Aizawa’s arms while he lays beside you (how did you not notice him move?) and strokes your hair. He mutters praises in your ear telling you what a good job you did and he’s so proud, while he peppers your face with feather light kisses.

“How are you feeling,” he asks when he can see your eyes clear and awareness flood back in.

“Amazing, actually. I had no idea I could feel that way. I can see why people like doing it so much.” You smile up at him drunk on the happiness while he peppers a kiss to your forehead and runs his hands up and down your shoulder.

“Good.” He hums, before sitting up on the edge of the bed. He looks at you with soft eyes and reaches out, smoothing your hair down once more. “Stay here and relax, kitten. I’ll be right back with water and something to clean you up with, okay?”

He grabs his pants and pulls them on as he stands before leaving the room. You watch him disappear around the corner and a tenseness you hadn’t known was bound in your shoulders suddenly loosens. This was better than you ever imagined. You feel so fulfilled, so happy, so so in love.

But…

You also feel…heavy? Satisfied and overwhelmingly happy to the point where it makes you giddy.

But you’re still heavy.

The feeling is enough to cause your chest to convulse suddenly from the weight, pulling a sob from your throat that you hastily try to stifle by shoving your fist into your mouth. Something in you breaks unexpectedly and despite fighting to swallow the wails, you collapse in on yourself, white hot tears rolling down your face as you gasp, gulping down spasming breaths, never quite able to pull enough air into your lungs. Dark spots break out in your vision as you try and fail to stop this emotional storm that rolls over you. Why? Aizawa is everything you ever wanted, and you’ve been dreaming of this moment for so long. It’s always been him. So why?? Why does it feel like your heart is breaking?

A hand suddenly slides under your shoulders and knees, pulling you into a broad chest, arm wrapping around your body in a way that makes you feel so safe and protected. Aizawa runs his hand up and down your back, making soothing noises as he works you through your panic attack. A blanket appears in your peripheral, wrapping around your body, tucking you into his large frame. Your sobs start to subside, leaving you with little shuddering breaths.

“I-I’m sorry.” you hiccup, looking up at him apprehensive, worried he’s going to think you’re ridiculous for crying after you two just had sex. There’s no such judgement on his face though, just concern and worry.

“You have nothing to be sorry about.” He assures you, reaching to his side to produce a bottle of water that he hands you. You drink from it, draining the whole thing in nearly one go, not realizing just how thirsty you were until then. The few seconds the action grants you, allows you to relax against him, suddenly so exhausted from all the emotions you’ve felt since you knocked on his door.

“I- I have no idea why I started crying.”

“Well, what are you feeling,” he asked, tucking your head under his chin. “Talk to me. Maybe we can find the answer together.”

You looked down at your hands, flexing them around the bottle. “I- I feel…” you trailed off, unsure on how to put it into words. “I’m so overjoyed that it’s making me giddy. I’m exhausted from everything that happened but I’m so blissful that I can feel an energy buzzing under my skin despite that. I want to smile so hard it hurts. It’s always been you, probably since the first time I saw you walk through the doors of homeroom all those years ago and expel five people on the first day because they weren’t taking hero work seriously. You were only a couple years older than me, and yet already so confident and sure of yourself. It drew me in like a moth to a flame. I knew deep down, in that moment I would follow you to the ends of the earth. Everything you did was so breathtaking and it always pushed me to be better, to be the kind of person that could someday stand next to someone on your level. I wanted you to be proud of me. It’s why, even when I graduated, even when I debuted as a hero and became established in the pro hero world, even when I was no longer the naive child that wore rose tinted glasses about the world around us, I still came over whenever I could, because I still chased after you, still wanted you. I was captivated- enamored by you even back then. It was love at first sight, I just… didn’t realize it at the time.”

You smile softly, lost in thought. “And now that we’ve done this, I finally feel like I’ve gotten my dream. This is the happiest moment of my life. But…” the smile falters as you drag your hand to your chest. “Right here. It feels so heavy.”

Aizawa hums. “Well first, I’m happy you see me that way. It means a lot to me, truly. Second? I’ve always been proud of you. I’ve always thought you had potential. I didn’t expel you because I saw that, right from the beginning. I always knew you would make a fantastic pro hero, it was illogical to think otherwise. And I’ve always admired you. No matter what happened, you always remained kind and compassionate. I watched you calm down a terrified little boy who developed a scary new Quirk and accidentally hurt everyone around him, by only talking to him. Any other pro hero would have knocked him out, but you sat with him while his parents were treated by doctors and enthusiastically talked to him about rocket ships and astronauts. I guarantee that kid has never forgotten your patience and understanding in that moment. And even though it’s been almost a decade since you graduated, you still continue to show up to check on me. You still talk to the other teachers at UA regularly which means a lot to them. And every time one of your former classmates or teachers winds up injured in a fight, you show up. You say you were drawn to me like a moth to a flame but I don’t think you give yourself enough credit to how truly radiant you are. I think I fell for you a couple years after you graduated when you knocked on Mic’s door, lying horribly about being in the neighborhood, bringing him take out for no other reason than you found out he was injured in a fight and was concerned he wasn’t taking care of himself properly. That type of kindness is rare in this world.”

He takes a deep breath and loops a finger under your chin so you look at him, see the raw emotion in his eyes. “And I’m honored that you trusted me enough to want your first time to be with me. I didn’t take it lightly and I never will.”

Tears begin to mist in your eyes. Your throat squeezes and your nose burns. Oh… now you understand why you feel so heavy. Why you cried hysterically earlier. “It’s not fair.”

Confusion flits across his face but you let out a shuddering breath. “I’ve wanted you for so long and now that I have you, it’s almost time to go. It doesn’t feel fair. Suddenly, I wish I didn’t have this Quirk, that I wasn’t best suited for this mission. I want to be selfish and stay here with you.”

Aizawa is quiet for a moment, because what can he even say to that? To make this situation better. “I’ll be here. I’ll wait. For however long you take. I’ll be right here waiting for you when you come back.”

“I might come back changed.”

“I’m expecting it.” He already knew. At minimum he was expecting PTSD. It’s why the Commission already started you on therapy. This is the part of hero work that nobody talks about and scares him when he looks at new students. He seems them in situations- on missions like this- and it terrifies him to the bone. He would rather expel them than send them out unready for the reality, expecting big flashy fights on TV, only to find themselves mentally broken when faced with scenarios like this.

“It might be a while before I want you to touch me again, when I come back.” You point out.

“I’ll wait until you’re ready. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do.” He assured you.

Your eyes flicked up to him. “Why?”

He studied your face. “Only for you. I’ll wait forever if I have to, because you’re worth the wait. It’s always been you.”

You let out a chuckled sob and lean up, kissing him with bittersweet emotions, full of longing and regret. You memorized the way his lips fit against yours, the feel of his hands on your skin. You want this day to be the moment you thought about during your mission, to push you to keep going when you want to give up. Coming back to him is your new goal and you grasp it firmly in your heart, stubbornly refusing to let it go. He’s the reason you became a hero, the reason you kept going when the mantle was too much to bear sometimes. And now, right now, wrapped in his arms, you try to convey with your kiss that he’s the reason you’ll come back.

It’s always been him.

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silvermoon424 · 3 months

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I'm catching up on the whole MamaMax situation and it's wild. Honestly, this just further cements my opinion that people who obsess over child trafficking (which includes promoting myths like "stranger abductions are very common and parents should be paranoid") and "THINK OF THE CHILDREN!!!!" are all freaks.

Like yes, of course human trafficking is a huge issue, but these motherfuckers spread the myth that children from loving, well-off families are being snatched en mass at the park to be sold into sex slavery. In reality, human trafficking (especially sex trafficking) usually affects the most marginalized people in society who don't have people to fight for them.

Like for fuck's sake, stop making spreading misinformation that makes parents super paranoid.

#literally the sound of freedom all over again #I'm sorry I have such little patience for this bullshit because it directly feeds into stuff like QAnon #mamamax #youtube drama

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thecarnivorousmuffinmeta · 5 months

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Do you think that Tom Riddle was friends with anyone in the orphanage? I know that Dumbledore claimed he was terrorizing all the other children, but isn’t possible that the cave incident with Dennis and Amy may have been a ‘hey, let me show the other kids a cool magic trick’ gone horribly wrong?

It's impossible to know.

The beautiful thing about Dumbledore's memory selections is that he a) has an agenda b) openly admits he's making it all up and has no evidence for anything he's saying but it sounds really cool, Harry.

The cave incident especially, Dumbledore is told something happened by Mrs. Cole, who gives 0 details as she doesn't know what happened herself, we're not even sure it happened in that cave (Dumbledore just thinks it'd be really cool if it did), and we have no idea what it was that happened. We know they didn't die and were a bit funny afterwards but anybody's guess is a good one.

We do know Mrs. Cole didn't have a great impression of Tom, and she at least implied Tom was a loner/a very taciturn child, but she was also confounded at that point (as she'd been asking Dumbledore too many questions about this weird human trafficking boarding school she'd never heard of where Tom had gotten a scholarship he'd never applied for??? Since birth??? Who are you strange man dressed like 1940's Elton John???) And Dumbledore... was asking very leading questions to a confounded person who he then prompted to get drunk during the conversation in question.

So, I'm not even sure we can trust that conversation all that much.

We do know that Tom left the country in his twenties after Borgin and Burkes and that Dumbledore lost track of him for decades (briefly he popped in again in 1957, supposedly was meeting friends???? in pubs and Dumbledore purposefully double booked him for a job interview he never intended on giving Tom, then doesn't show up again until Voldemort really makes an appearance). But that doesn't mean he didn't keep in contact with anyone that wasn't Dumbledore/Dumbledore didn't know about, wasn't living any kind of double life, or... basically anything.

It's one of those I throw my hands in the air and say "It's possible". Because we really know jack shit about Tom Riddle, even after all those memories.

My personal feelings would be it's possible but doubtful it would have lasted into adulthood or even Tom's Hogwarts years. He'd be gone for most of the year at a boarding school he can't talk about, getting this ritzy scholarship no one gets to get, and would just be on a different life track from everyone else in the orphanage. This is the sort of situation where people would very much drift apart.

#harry potter #harry potter meta #harry potter headcanon #tom riddle #albus dumbledore #anti albus dumbledore #meta #headcanon #opinion

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league-of-sam · 21 days

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Don't Be Shy | Konig x Reader

Kӧnig x TF141 x AFAB!Reader

PART ONE

2 / 3 / 4 / 5

You'd been the new kid on the block, over and over again.

Late to training, late into the 141, and now, late into Task Force KorTac with a very special, and very specific mission.

A mission that was built for you.

A mission that required the utmost professionalism.

A mission that required somehow pulling a 6’10” brick shithouse out of his own head and into a team - but you didn’t know that, yet.

Oh, and fuck, did you protest it. Over and over and over again. It had taken you months to settle with the 141 boys, and now you were being shipped off, away from your family.

“You’re really good at that, uh, the empathy shit.” Price had said, placing a warming hand on your shoulder.

“I’m a soldier, Price. And you know how much I struggle around new people.” You spoke, the latter half of the sentence said in a hushed tone.

“Yes, but you’re good at, ya know, feeling." He replied, fingers lifted to place air quotes around the word, "You got Ghost to come out of his shell!”

At that moment, your lieutenant entered the room, making his way over at the mention of his callsign.

You rolled your eyes, “Okay, so send him! Lord knows he needs the practise.”

“Watch ya mouth, little one.” Ghost said, stepping next to you.

“Just because you’re a foot taller than me does not mean you get to bully me for it, Simon.”

Despite what people thought about the giant, skull-mask-wearing man, he was soft and caring; the relationship you had built together was that of siblings, and he had your back more than any ordinary brother would.

Ghost’s eyes were dark under his mask, but you knew he was smirking, “Not my fault you’re a short arse.”

“Yet I’m still a better sniper than you.”

“No, you bloody well aren’t-”

“Children! Please…” Price interrupted the sibling-like bickering; fingers pinched on the bridge of his nose. “If we could focus on the task at hand?”

Ghost poked your side, mumbling, “Yeah, (Y/L/N), focus on your task.”

“Go have Soap suck your dick some more, sounds like you need to relax.” You mumbled back.

Your retort had Ghost choking, the sharp intake of air he made as his head whipped to look at you causing him to cough relentlessly. Price shook his head, waving him off to sort himself out.

It wasn’t exactly a secret within the team that there was something a little less savoury going on with your lieutenant and Sergeant MacTavish, especially when the latter would constantly confide in you about his crush.

Especially, after what had happened with Hassan and the missiles.

But, thanks to your meddling, you had been able to get Ghost to open up, and it seemed like the two were much happier.

Not that you’d dare make a comment about it in front of anyone but Price and Ghost himself.

You valued your life, thank you very much.

And as much as Ghost loved you like a sister; he would absolutely kill you.

As Ghost walked away, you shot him the sweetest smile you could muster, resulting in him throwing you the finger.

“Look, you’re the only one I think can get through to him, kid. The task force needs you.” Price continued.

“I applied to be here, sir. I worked damn hard to make it onto the 141.”

He sat you down, taking your hands in his, “This isn’t permanent. I promise, we’ll be here waiting when ya get back, because I want to work with this guy. He’s bloody good, so I need you to make sure he can play well with others."

You sighed heavily, the weight of responsibility and leaving your family crushing your shoulders, "And you are my best sniper., Karma.”

Price had whispered that last part, for your ears only, a smirk across his bearded lips. You smiled widely, a giggle falling from your mouth.

It felt good to get that recognition from your superior.

He wasn’t wrong; the reason you made it onto the 141 in the first place was your incredible skill as a marksman…well, markswoman. You’d earned the call sign Karma from Soap, who watched you in a training drill he ran.

You’d been perched up high, completely hidden, and any enemy that your team missed in combat, you cleaned up, never missing a shot. Like the saying goes, if you can’t get ‘em, karma will.

It was also suitable for those who underestimated you. Every person you’d gone up against in hand-to-hand training doubted your abilities due to your smaller frame, but fuck, did you prove them wrong every time.

Broken noses here.

Fractured limbs there.

You were Karma, and no one messed with you.

“So, think you can do this for me?” Price said.

“Affirmative, sir.”

“That’s my girl.”

With that, you walked, albeit with a little sadness, back to your quarters, packing a duffle of your things. Price had said you’d only be away for a couple of months tops, depending on how the mission went.

At the car, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, and the rest of the 141 were there to say goodbye, all of them giving you a squeeze as they wrapped you in their arms.

“You be good, alright?” Ghost had whispered in your ear, “See you when ya come home.”

“It almost sounds like you’re gonna miss me, Lt.” You quipped, and he rolled his eyes.

“I’m sure you’d like to believe that.”

“He’ll miss ye, bonnie.” Soap cut in, lifting you off the ground, “As will I. Don’t forget me in the excitement of the big bad KorTac boys, will ya?”

“I could never, Soap. You’re my number one!”

With one final wave and various counts of love you’s, you were stuffed into the car with Price and Laswell, the two of them escorting you personally.

Your heart hung low as your team got smaller and smaller behind you, but you were honoured to have been sought out by another team.

KorTac.

Didn’t quite have the same ring to it as 141, but it’d do.

The journey was short from the training camp in London, as you were dropped off at Heathrow, where a private chopper awaited you. From there, you were shipped off to a covert facility in the mountains of Hungary.

The scenery was beautiful, but your nerves bubbled up inside you.

With a silent nudge from the pilot, you were shoved out of the chopper, greeted by several members of your new team.

“Sergeant (Y/L/N), yes?” the man said, a heavy Hungarian accent lacing his words.

“Uh, yeah, that’s me. Sergeant (Y/N) (Y/L/N),” You stuck your hand out, “But you can call me Karma, whatever suits.”

“Fender.” the man said, shaking your hand, “I run things here at KorTac. This is my second in command, Roze.”

A woman stepped forward from behind him, also taking your hand in hers, “We’re honoured to have you here, Karma. Heard a lot about you.”

“Well, I’m honoured that you guys wanted me.”

The pleasantries continued until you were being guided to their facilities, being allowed to drop off your bags before rushing to the tactical room, where the rest of the team was waiting for your arrival.

You were introduced swiftly, barely remembering anyone’s names before you were guided once again to another place, ending up in Fender’s office. He offered you a seat, sitting opposite at his desk.

“So, what exactly did Captain Price tell you of your purpose here?”

“Not a lot, really. He mentioned that I was needed because you have a soldier here that needs…help? And that there was a mission coming that required my particular skill.”

“Ahh, yes. That would be Kӧnig…” he sighed, pulling out a file and dropping it in front of you.

You opened the file, to find a picture of a man, a sniper hood that you recognised adorning his face. Scanning the information, you found that he was Austrian, joining the task force here through the KSK, basically being used as a front man for the teams on-ground.

“Kӧnig has…issues. He came here wanting to be a sniper, but, as you’ll see when you meet him, his physical attributes do not allow it. He didn’t take that well, but he excels as part of the contact team.”

“So, what exactly is the problem?”

Fender sighed, leaning forward in his chair, “He seems to have some problems with anxiety. I was informed that you used to suffer with such issues but were able to overcome them.”

You scoffed a little, “So, I’m here to be a glorified babysitter?”

You felt bad for this Kӧnig.

You couldn’t imagine wanting nothing more than to be a sniper and then have it taken away from you because of your physicality.

That would fucking suck.

“We just need someone to calm him, teach him control. A lot of the other team members are so scared of him they can barely stand being in the same room.”

“Arseholes…” you whispered under your breath, “That’s hardly fair, sir. By the looks of things, he is an essential member of this team.”

“That maybe so, but I can’t have my soldiers acting that way off the field. Unfortunately, if you cannot help him, he will no longer be welcome on any task force.”

You shook your head in disbelief.

How fucking unfair.

Before you could say anything, the office door opened. You stood to greet Roze but gasped slightly at the giant shadow behind her.

Stood in front of you, was a complete mountain of a man.

He had to duck down considerably to make it through the doorframe. Every single inch of him was huge. Ghost used to make you feel intimidated and tiny, but this…this was fucking ridiculous. Kӧnig had to have been at least 6’10”, and the size of his muscles would put both Ghost and Soap to shame.

Truly, this was a big, big man.

Oh, you thought, the sniper hood stayed on?

“Ah, Kӧnig, there you are. Thank you, Roze, you may go.”

“Sir.” She nodded, smiling to you before leaving the room and shutting it behind her.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” Kӧnig spoke, barely sparing you a glance as he addressed his superior. A thick accent tainted his English, but he was well-spoken.

Fender stood, moving around the desk to the two of you, “Yes. This is Karma, she’s the new addition to the team, and will be your new…partner, as such.”

“Uh, p-partner, sir?”

Fender nodded.

“Hi.” You spoke, a soft smile on your features as you stuck out your hand for him to shake. “I’m (Y/N) (Y/L/N), but you can call me (Y/N/N), or Karma, whatever you like really.”

Your hands shook from nervousness as you rambled on.

New people always made you anxious, but this…this was intense.

Was it the accent?

The sheer size of him?

You couldn’t tell if you were intimidated, anxious, or frankly, maybe even a little turned on.

“Kӧnig.” He grunted but refused to meet your hand.

It hung in the air for an embarrassing amount of time, causing you to clear your throat as you lowered it, heat rising to your cheeks.

Yeah, this guy’s people skills were shite.

“Uh, right. Pleasure to meet you.” You finally said in an effort to shake off the awkwardness.

With that, Fender led the two of you back out, and towards the training centre. As you passed various soldiers, many of them looked to you, whispering.

By now, stares and such were just water off a duck’s back for you. Being part of the infamous 141 always brought a lot of unwanted attention. But that didn’t mean it didn’t make you uncomfortable, nonetheless.

Kӧnig, on the other hand, walked slightly behind you and Fender, his eyes not leaving the back of your body. He was used to the stares and whispers, the team never failing to make him feel like a freak of nature on the daily.

But he didn’t care at this moment.

He was fascinated by you.

The bright pink slivers of colour that peaked out from beneath the rest of your hair intrigued him; he was sure that went against regulation. You were also so sweet and tiny, the sniper rifle strapped to your back was almost as big as you were.

So, you were a sniper.

Why the fuck would Fender pair him with a sniper? Like he didn’t get mocked enough!

And now here you were, walking around with your head held high, like you fucking owned the place.

His own personal fucking babysitter.

The more he looked at you, the more his heart filled with rage, gloved fists balling at his sides.

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ssaflorencem · 6 months

Text

The thrill of killing you| BAU x unsub reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI. This contains mentions of SA and CSA. It is not graphic detail at all but please do not read if that is something that triggers you. Mention of weapons. Murder (not graphic detail at all again). Also I hope this all flows and makes sense, I’ve read over and over again so it kinda of feels like it doesn’t make sense.

Summary: this is both from your POV and Hotchners POV. This is present day, and the BAU are catching on to there been a serial killer.

Chapter two: Death of a party

Your POV:

You hadn’t been caught so far; you were safe for now. You left no DNA, you changed your location, you didn’t kill in the same state for at least a year. You hadn’t changed a lot since your first kill, accept you now never left letters, you couldn’t have a signature, you couldn’t let anyone knew that you existed.

Sometimes, when you were just doing your day-to-day activities, you would look at someone and wonder if they were a rapist, a murderer, or someone just as bad. That’s when you would think of all the people you had killed, and what they had done. Then you would think about the people who were still alive and whether they were like those people.

You had a strict moral code, but you did what you did to protect others, it was the only thing you were certain of. It was the only thing you had be certain of for a while.

‘The moral code I follow is simple, it is this:

I will not kill unless I know for a fact the target is a rapist.

I will kill rapists, even if they are not in my area.

I will kill serial rapists/child molesters/abusers/human traffickers.

I will not kill anyone who does not deserve it.

I will not get caught.’

And while you had this moral code, you still enjoyed the rush your kills brought.

You were doing what the police should be doing, but you found out a long time ago that the police, especially the FBI, do not care about abusers they only cared about murderers. They only cared when it resulted in someone’s death. The people you killed had to die, that was the only way the people they had hurt would get any justice. You knew it was only you who could make the difference. You had committed yourself to this. You had no choice.

See, when the FBI did go after a criminal, they used profiling, or to put it in a better perspective, guess work. They would use the minimal evidence they had and find someone who fit the profile. You though, you had information you had names, you had the faces of abusive. You did research, you made sure the person you were about to kill was guilty.

You just wished that you could have hunted all abusers, but unless you were part of a team that would be nearly impossible.

You were not going to get caught, you knew that. You made sure all evidence was covered up, you made sure all your bases were covered. You did your research, and you knew that you were safe.

You read about a story of a man who was a rapist, not as bad as some of the others you had killed, but he still did it. His name was John Andrew Hamm, he was a teacher and would give his students alcohol or drugs and then rape them. He was a sick bastard. He had been abusing since the eighties. He was arrested numerous times, but his charges were dropped every time, the main reason was because his victims were too afraid to speak up. They were his students, and with the influence he had on the school board he was protected. He was a monster.

You knew everything about him now, his routine. He was, apart from been a monster, a simple man. While he had a lot of influence, and he was well known, he had no friends, he was not married, and he had no children of his own. He lived by himself, he never had anyone over, and he never went out. God, you almost felt sad for him, but then you remembered everything else about him.

*Ten years ago, *

You only talked Dutch at home now, your mom refused to speak English and she didn’t dare to talk Swedish anymore. It had been seven years since your mom and dad divorced, and they had a good co-parenting relationship. You often stayed weekends with your dad, which your mom with fine. But then once you turned 18 your mom refused you to see your dad.

“Ik wil niet dat je, je vader nog ziet. Hij is niet de persoon die je denkt dat hij is.”

I don’t want you seeing your dad anymore. He is not the person you think he is.

“Mam, ik begrijp het niet. Tot nu toe vond je het goed dat ik hem zag. Nu ik volwassen ben, wil je niet meer dat ik hem zie. Dat is niet logisch.”

Mom, I don’t understand. You were okay with me seeing him, until now. But now I’m adult, you don’t want me to see him anymore. That doesn’t make sense.

And every time you brought up your dad, she would basically say the same stuff. It had been a year of her saying; he just isn’t the person you think he is. You were sick of hearing it, why couldn’t she just say who he truly was.

You knew if you truly wanted to find out who he was then you were going to have to find out all by yourself. Which was going to be hard as seen as your mom wouldn’t say anything, and you knew your dad wouldn’t.

*Present day*

You waited for Mr Hamm to start his typically Saturday routine. Which was going to his local grocery store to do his weekly shopping.

As you followed him around the store, you couldn't help but feel disgusted by his presence. You watched him as he mindlessly placed items in his cart, completely unaware of the fate that awaited him.

You had planned this for weeks, meticulously going over every detail to ensure that there was no way you could get caught.

As you followed him out of the store, you made sure to keep a safe distance. You didn't want to give him any indication that you were following him.

He walked down the street and into his car, not noticing you following behind. You waited until he drove off before starting your own car. You had already prepared everything you needed in your trunk, including the tools necessary to carry out your plan.

You followed him for another ten minutes, watching as he turned into his driveway. You parked a few houses down, making sure that your car was hidden from view. This was the moment you had been waiting for.

You stepped out of your car and walked towards his house. He was taking his food in to his house. You took a breath; you had planned this, and it wasn’t your first time.

“Erm, excuse me.” You said in a low tone, it was loud enough for him to hear you. He slowly turned around, his face was neutral, no smile, no nothing really. If you didn’t know what you knew about him you wouldn’t have been able to guess, not from just looking at him.

“Are you okay?” he said in an almost friendly tone. His voice suited his looks, but not his personality.

“Yes. Yes, I am. I’m new to the area, I was wondering if you knew the woods are good to hunt it?” His neutral face had contoured into one of a happy face. His brown eyes were looking you up and down. He was trying to get a feel of you. You felt like he was undressing you with his eyes.

“They are. I can show you some of the best areas if you want?” Man, that was just a friendly gestured. If you weren’t genuinely asking for help you would have fallen for his trap.

“If you don’t mind, I would love. I’ve got my gun in my car. I’ll go grab it” You wanted to let him know you were armed.

He nods his head, not suspecting a thing. As you make your way back to your car, you feel the adrenaline pumping through your veins. You know what you have to do, and you're ready to do it. You grab your weapon and make your way back to his house.

He's waiting outside for you when you arrive, smiling as he takes you deeper into the woods. You keep your guard up, knowing that he's still dangerous despite his friendly demeanour. You follow him for a few minutes before stopping in a clearing.

"This is one of my favourite spots," he says, gesturing to the trees around you. "You should be able to find some good game here."

You nod, pretending to be interested in his hobby. You keep your eyes on him, waiting for the right moment. It comes when he turns his back to you, looking out into the woods.

You raise your weapon take aim at him.

“What’s good game to you Mr Hamm? School girls? The students you teach?” He looks at you, shocked you knew his name and what type of person he was. His friendly, happy demeanour had gone. His face was now full of fear.

“How do you know my name? Why are you saying such terrible stuff about me?” Oh god, did he really think this was going to work on you. You weren’t new to the game.

“Shut up. Let me talk, you hold no power here. Don’t lie to me, I know everything about you. If you were smart, which you really aren’t, I’d start praying now. Because you won’t be able to soon.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve never done anything wrong.” You sigh, this guy is such a terrible liar.

“Oh, but you have. You’ve done so much wrong. Do you know how many victims you have?” He looks down, nervously shaking his head. You smirk. This was too easy. He had no game; he had no plan. He was nothing.

“You have 17 victims. I know that for a fact. I’ve seen the proof.” He looks at you in disbelief.

Aaron Hotchner POV

The BAU had been called in for a case, one happening in a small town in Montana. The police chief that had called us in had a hunch, he said we didn’t have to take the case, but he would like us to look over the case files.

I called the team in and gathered them around the round table, I didn’t want Garcia to present this one as she didn’t have all the information. I looked at everyone around the table, I knew if we did take on this case it would be a hard one. The person who had been killed was an apparent rapist, it wasn’t for me to comment on whether he deserved to die but it was on us to find out who killed him.

“Okay guys. This case is different. I mean we have had ones like this before, but there is only one apparent body at this time. A body of a man called Mr Hamm has been found in Lewistown, Montana. He has been accused of some crimes, and the police believe this was a vigilante kill”.

The team nodded in agreement, knowing what this case would entail. I continued, "This is going to be a tough one. We need to find out who did this and bring them to justice. We don't condone vigilante justice; it only leads to chaos."

We all got to work, looking through the files and interviewing the people in the small town. It was clear that there was a lot of tension between the locals and Mr Hamm, who had a history of sexual assault. But it was also clear that the locals were protecting whoever had killed him.

As the days passed, we started to get some leads. We discovered that Mr Hamm had been in a relationship with a woman named Rachel. She had suffered at the hands of Mr Hamm and had been seeking revenge. It was plausible that she had killed him, but we needed concrete evidence.

We decided to bring Rachel in for questioning. As we were driving to her house, I couldn't shake off the feeling that something wasn't right. There was multiple people in this town who could have killed, who had a motive to do this. But his body was clothed, he wasn’t tortured. It was a quick and simple kill.

I got a call from Garcia;

“Hey sir, I’ve been doing some research, and this is the fifth kill in Montana over the past five years. I mean there has been more murders, but I mean of this kind. A man murdered in some woods, but the man has been accused of crimes but never convicted. I think there is a connection.”

“Well, I mean there could just be a lot of vigilante murderers happening. This isn’t just a hunch is it Garcia, you’re better than this.”

“No, it’s not. They all are killed by a similar gun, and nothing else is done to them other than been killed.”

“I’m sure there is more than just five accused rapists in Montana, and a year is a long cooling off period.”

“Well, I’ve been looking across the entire US and, in every state, apart from Alaska, there are these kinds of murders happening for the past five years. I mean in Ohio there have been a few more. But I think, I think there is a connection here I just can’t see it.”

As Garcia spoke, my mind was racing. This was not just a simple case of vigilante justice; this was a serial killer. A serial killer who had been operating for five years and had somehow managed to avoid detection. I knew then that this was going to be the toughest case we had ever worked on.

We arrived at Rachel's house, and she willingly came with us to the station. As we questioned her, I could see the fear in her eyes. She denied any involvement in the murder of Mr Hamm, but I could tell she was hiding something. We needed to find out what that was.

As we continued to investigate, we discovered that there were other suspects in the small town. People who had a motive to kill Mr Hamm and had the opportunity to do so. It was becoming clear that this case was not going to be solved easily. We were going to have to dig deep and work hard to solve it.

Days turned into weeks, and we were no closer. We had to go back to Quantico as there was other serial killers to catch but I knew everyone had been keeping an eye on this case, especially Garcia.

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