#imagine working at a rage room while I’m yelling FUCK YOU FOR DYING AND FUCK MOM FOR FUCKING STRANGERS AND NOT CARING

[milo-is-rambling]

Why have I been so angry recently. Like violent rage angry. Like scream until I can’t talk rage. Like need to punch a window and watch the glass shatter. Like so fucking angry. I’m not even pmsing. Like what is happening to me????

#looking at rage rooms in Florida and being tempted to go when I get my first pay check #I have so much shit I have to pay for first ugh #I have to pay my mom back for buying funk which is like 600 dollars and I owe her money for a million other things I’m sure bc I should pay #her for even giving birth to me if I’m such a fucking interruption to her life #ugh. #anyways. I need to go break shit and scream and punch shit and scream again and again and again #taking my meds and now instead of being sad depressed I am violently angry at everything #ughhhhhhhhhh why can’t my brain be normal why am I broken forever what the hell #I would bring up a rage room with my mother but I want to go alone and yell shit about my parents kmao #imagine working at a rage room while I’m yelling FUCK YOU FOR DYING AND FUCK MOM FOR FUCKING STRANGERS AND NOT CARING #you’d just be like 😬 #I think I need to gif another stuffed animal that will fix me #I had a ponyo stuffed animal that my ex girlfriend gave me and like a year after we broke up I got really mad about it all over again and #cut the stuffed animal open and then cried and threw it away and I felt better #I need to do that with everything in my life

[djarinsbeskar]

Foul - Boxer!Din AU

Definition - To break one of boxing’s rules (i.e. hitting an opponent below the navel, ear or while they are down), which can ultimately lead to point deductions if they are repeated.

A/N: The results of my Boxer!AU poll told me that the majority were interested in a jealous/protective boxer so I hope I have delivered! As always, relaxed fit = unedited, no beta. We also have a sneaky introduction to Paz in the Boxer verse which is super exciting! His concept art has been completed by the insanely talented @ronnieiswriting when I said I saw a mix of Jason Momoa and Winston Duke as our heavy. PLEASE heed the warnings in this chapter. There is nothing explicit but the topics hinted at might be triggering.

Word Count: 7k

Rating: 18+ (NO Minors)

Warnings: SMUT! (unprotected sex), blood and violence, toxic masculinity and derogatory speech, hints at discussions of non-con, somewhat possessive behavior, spanking, dom!Din and everything that comes with it.

Main Masterlist | Boxer Materlist

He might as well have been in hell. A colosseum of decaying humanity and dirt floors that erupted in a burst of dust like poisonous ash every time his next opponent fell. The hollow thump of pure muscle meeting the ground of the makeshift ring only drowned by the cheers of spectators. Masked, shadowed—unseen as they dropped hundreds – thousands sometimes – on which gladiator would remain standing in the end.

He felt like a king, a god among men within the confines of his realm of rope and canvas. It was easy to forget—standing under the spotlights that highlighted the sweat and blood and sculpted beauty of primal masculinity that it was a hollow victory any time he fought in the seedy underground rings of Akiva.

Every gladiator was a slave. Even the victor.

Why the fuck did he think it was a good idea to let you come to one of these fights?

“Enough!”

Paz’s unassailable strength banded around Din’s chest, pinning his arms to his side—attempting to contain lightning in a glass jar. Sweat, blood—it all dripped into Din’s eyes as he growled at his opponent, passed out in the middle of the dirt ring—face swollen and puffy from Din’s fists.

Laser focus and animosity spilled from charcoal eyes as he tried to break free of his friends hold with a vicious yank forward of powerful shoulder and an unfaltering purpose. The bastard had it coming. One round a few punches wasn’t enough to slake Din’s anger, the fumes of rage seeping into his skin and clouding his senses until all he could think of was making the asshole on the ground before him pay.

The practiced speed that Din wrapped his hands slowed at the rowdy group on the other side of the room. Dammit, for all the money they brought in, could these cheapskates not provide separate fucking changing rooms so he didn’t have to be subjected to idiots jacking themselves up on testosterone and false hope?

But pissing contests and fragile masculinity weren’t what caught his attention. He could tune that bullshit out like a fine art. What caught Din’s attention was the obvious death wish one of his possible opponents had – if he even managed to get that far up the ranks to Din – when he waved a red flag in front of the boxers’ metaphorical bull.

“See that one in the front row? You know the one I’m talking about.”

Bawdy agreements and asinine gestures raked up Din’s spine, thorny—and prickling nerves of instinct that made him pause the music blaring in his ears. He fucking hated the scum he came across in these fights. Gang members, criminals—the dredges of humanity he sometimes worried he was part of.

“Gonna get her on her knees choking on my cock before the night is out. Sluts like that love titles, champions—why else do they attend? Good excuse to win tonight, eh fellas?”

“Do you wanna completely destroy your career?” Paz yelled over the chortles and raucous cheers for more, for revenge—for everything under the poor fallacy of a sun that strung in dim, bald bulbs along the notoriously infamous Avika fighting ring.

Din thought you would be safe, arrogantly assuming people would avoid even looking at you once they saw who you were with. And you had been—you were safe, but even he couldn’t protect you from the thoughts of others.

The larger man struggled with him, dragging him out of the ring when it was obvious his words were falling on deaf ears. All Din could hear was the little pricks voice in his head from hours before.

Din stood.

Inhaled, exhaled—tried those bullshit breathing exercises that were supposed to focus his mind before a fight. Help to rein in a temper like his from overflowing in devastating tidal waves to destroy all around him. Din didn’t lose his temper often—but when he did, it was lethal.

The breathing exercises didn’t work.

Because the idiot kept talking.

“Did you see the ass on that?”

Leers sounded from his group of friends. Encouraging the vile words that Din always knew came from a man who felt entitled to a woman’s body. He had seen enough of the underbelly of the world to know what that led to time and again. Din might have been shameless in his youth and even until recently when it came to sex, to one night stands, to women—but he fucking respected the girls he fucked or didn’t fuck.

“Traipsing around in a dress like that? She’s looking for the attention,” the asshole defended himself when one of his party voiced an alternative point of view. They were promptly shut down and didn’t speak again.

Din’s blood turned to ice. An image of you running a hand down his arm on your way to your seat when you parted ways for him to get ready, dress sinfully tight but effortlessly classy—a zip front he was dying to pull open with his teeth later that night.

“It’ll look so good with my cock buried in it…”

The ice in his blood turned to fury, white hot and molten as he tied off the tape at his wrists—throwing the roll into the dingy locker he had been given for the evening. The clatter of noise from where it slammed against the metal back was the only warning he was planning on giving them. The lull of conversation was fleeting, his warning going unheeded—when dim-witted morons didn’t read the murder in his gaze.

Looks like they weren’t nearly as intelligent as the pigs he thought them to be.

Grabbing his water bottle and phone, Din stalked towards the chipped door—distracting himself with a text of “don’t go anywhere alone in this place, sweetheart. Ask Paz to go with you” sent to you without a second thought.

The immediate response of “Yes yes I know, for the thousandth time. Don’t worry and focus on yourself” did little to assuage the roar of blood in his ears. There was only one thing he heard over the noise, one thing as his vision became hued in red and fixated on a single target.

“Wonder if she’ll let me fuck her there too—can’t imagine she’s a virgin but her ass will still probably be tighter than her cunt.”

Bald headed and littered in scars and tattoos of a gang known for their viciousness, the other boxer – if he could even be called that – thrust vulgarly into the air, mimicking the hold he would have on the girl. Din’s girl.

The fucker had a death wish.

And Din was only too happy to play the part of the grim reaper.

His friends voice hardly registered over that same ringing in his ears, the roar of protective aggression at the lecherous sneer on the other man’s face who now lay in a heap in the dirt, the filth he spewed about his masseuse, his girl. How beady eyes, cold and villainous dared to drift away from Din before the bell sounded—over his shoulder, to where he knew you were sitting. Knowing your body had been tainted by the gaze of a man who would sooner take what he wanted from you by force than look at you with anything akin to the respect you deserved—it made something snap inside of Din.

And he attacked.

He was lucky he had only been disqualified.

He was damn lucky no one called the cops.

But the perks of underground fighting, was that everyone who attended had something to hide. And no one wanted to be caught in the middle of shady transactions or betting on fighters to beat each other to a pulp. Hell, the savagery Din subjected the other guy to was exactly what half the fuckers who showed up hoped to see.

Din wasn’t just a nameless street fighter though, not anymore. He had something to lose. Any smear on his record for assault and he would be suspended from tournament participation quicker than the asshole’s body dropped after a crushing blow under the jaw by Din’s right uppercut.

Thank fuck Din’s main sponsor was equally as shady. A good man by Din’s logic, but merciless when it came to succeeding. Din being benched was the surest way to make his benefactors patience run out. No, Paz was right—Boba even more so when he clocked Din good in the cheek after Paz wrestled the irate male out of the ring.

“You fucking idiot, bloodlust is an ugly image, boy—”

“I am not a boy—” Din snapped at Boba, teeth bared and bloody from his split lip, neck straining when he spat the words viciously at his long-time coach. He ran his tongue over the metallic tang of blood before spitting it out of his mouth onto the dirt flooring by the chaotic rows of metal seating.

“You almost killed a guy in the ring, you little shit,” Boba snarled with equal venom, matching the anger reflected in Din’s gaze with furious sense Din didn’t want to witness.

“Let me go,” was all Din growled, eyes never leaving his coach’s even when Paz loosened his arms around his chest. Heaving, coal black eyes darkened dangerously and stabbed the former boxer with a dare to try and restrain him again. The other man shook a rope of dreadlock that had come loose from the strip of leather he kept his hair tied in and made to say something when Din interrupted,

“Where is she?”

Paz closed his mouth, heavy brows furrowing over his eyes as recognition dawned in their dark hues,

“Is that what this is about? Dammit, vod—it’s not like she’s your girlfriend, isn’t that what you always say?”

“Don’t fucking try me tonight—” Din snapped aggressively, the threatening hum between the two men charged to dangerous voltage.

“Din?”

Your voice washed over him – aloe on the burns his fury had scorched his skin with – and he was making his way over to you in the next moment, mind battling with instinct as he ignored the calls and curses of his friends.

Mine.

Not yours—

Mine.

He moved with feral grace, parting the sea of people who bleated from the sidelines but cowered in his presence once his attention was facing them and there was no canvas or rope to separate boxer from spectator. They were lucky. He didn’t see them. Would step on them if they were stupid enough to stay in his path. All he could see, was you—watching him with confusion and concern marring those pretty features, absent of fear in the face of an incensed, adrenaline fueled boxer post fight.

He exhaled a growl as he came to stand before you, the sound cavernous and deep in his chest—the hands you had lifted to examine his face intercepted by his own when he grabbed them. His fingers wrapped fully around your wrists, and he was reminded of how fragile you were – even if you worked out whenever you could and had a will of iron that would make you whack him for saying that – and just how easily a man like him, any of the fighters here tonight—could hurt you.

Never.

They wouldn’t dare.

Not with him around.

But how could they know?

How would they know to stay the fuck away from you?

Knuckles stained with dirt and blood; his hand rasped against the softness of your palm as he dragged you in the direction of the unused backstage waiting room fighters had been offered as a changing room. Where this whole fucking thing started.

“Din—Din, what the hell happened up there?”

You jogged behind him to keep up with his pace, long legs taking him farther than your shorter ones could when confined to the heels you had worn for the night out. He stalked through the dimly lit corridors to the flaky, chipped door with a temporary sign on lined paper with “ATHLETES” scrawled along the front of it like some ironic joke.

He almost bent the worn, cheap metal handle in half—nearly pulled it from its socket with how hard he tore the door open and dragged you over the threshold inside.

You whirled on him with a huff, eyes flashing and hands planting on your hips in growing annoyance.

“Din will you just—”

You didn’t get another word out.

His wrapped hands cupped your cheeks between them, his mouth on yours hungrily when he bent over you. Biting, clawing, desperate—the kiss was more a battle of tongue and teeth than anything else. There was nothing soft, nothing slow or affectionate about the way his teeth sank into your bottom lip so hard you gasped. The way the blood seeping from his split lip painted yours in a crimson rouge—smeared and varnishing you in a visceral mark of his claim.

“Mine,” he snarled unknowingly into your mouth, lapping his tongue along the prairies of your tastebuds, plundering the depths of your mouth to brand every inch of you he could reach. Inside and out. His hands had the same idea, forming down over the shape of your curves as he walked you back blindly to the disused vanity pushed against the closest wall. Topped with a row of mirrors undoubtedly used by performers for whatever this place had once been used for, the glass was now aged with discoloration.

It didn’t matter.

He didn’t have eyes for anything but you as he hiked your legs up to perch you on the edge, your fingers curled into the taut muscles at his neck and clawing down over the sweat slick muscles of his pecs—catching on flat nipples that made ripples of pleasure heat his body further. Mad him tangle a hand in your hair, yank your head back harshly and meet your eyes with dark desire before dropping to your neck. His newest target.

“Din…” your irritated, questioning tone had morphed to fervent sighs. His tongue mapped a trail from the corner of your mouth – tasting the tang of his own blood – to the rapid tattoo of your pulse, a delicate sheen of perspiration beginning to shimmer on your flushed skin from the arousal. Another layer of flavor for him to get drunk on.

So fucking hot under his hands.

So beautiful.

So his.

“Mine,” he repeated into the curve of your neck, framed by tremulous stretches of muscle either side that he carved with scrapes of his teeth to leave tracks of slow fading pink grazes before he bit into it. Your legs – already open and inviting him to settle between them – crossed at the ankles around his narrow hips to keep him close. It was fucking intoxicating the way he could make you feel, the desperate need he had for you.

Months of sleeping together, of knowing his body so intimately had given you a rare insight to his emotions whether he knew it or not. And you knew he didn’t need to talk right now, he needed to fuck. To work through whatever had affected him so badly in hard kisses and rough hands on your soft flesh. It didn’t stop your stomach from flipping at his possessive words though, deliriously spoken but whispering the unacknowledged desires you had for him beyond his body.

“Yours,” you admitted before you could stop yourself, your hand cupping under his jaw to lift his mouth back to yours. His raspy moan at your agreement turned positively filthy when you carded short nails through his damp hair. Din was weak to having his hair stroked, his staunch dominance buckling in violent shivers of pleasure when you dragged those skilled fingers down the back of his skull and neck.

Traipsing around in a dress like that…

His eyes flew open, and he broke the kiss—ripped his mouth from yours to press his forehead to yours, eyes searching while his free hand ran indulgently up your torso to the neckline of your dress,

“Never let anyone disrespect you, sweetheart—” he rumbled, his fingers already undoing the zip of the dress, the nude pink material tempting to the eye and celebrating those features you were most proud of—that he found irresistible to know you loved. That someone could make you uncomfortable in those clothes… fucker. He snarled and pressed a long kiss to your mouth, large hands spreading the sides of the dress open wide – no underwear, baby? – and shucked the material down your arms to leave you bare before him.

His appreciation for your body – fucking gorgeous – was only tampered by the frustration he had with himself at the noise of confusion you made at his words. Of course, you hadn’t heard anything that asshole had said thankfully—but fuck, he couldn’t get it out of his head. You read his desperation somehow, and nodded slowly with puzzled eyes, teeth sinking into your swollen bottom lip as you leaned back on your hands.

So trusting…

Fuck.

It made alarm and something akin to fear rise swell uncomfortably in his throat.

He tried again.

“Never let anyone take advantage of you,” he whispered against your mouth in earnest, his hands running up your bare thighs to press his thumbs into the seams of your legs and hips, “tell me—”

His mouth dropped to your collarbone, funneling those feelings into lapping down to your heaving breasts, sucking a nipple into his mouth with a groan and befuddling your mind to his request until he nipped the swollen peak – say it, baby – and caused your head to fall back against the mirror,

“Yes—yes,” you moaned, “I won’t—”

He snarled internally, dammit. Hearing you say it didn’t help. He wanted to say how he wouldn’t let anyone disrespect you, how he wouldn’t let anyone ever take advantage of you. But he couldn’t. Had to frame it like advice he would give any woman he knew instead of speaking it like the promise he wanted to make.

Din had been fucking you for the last few months now, exclusively after only a few months—but it never went beyond that. He had no reason, no excuse to be worried over your life or safety or what you did when you weren’t in his bed. He wasn’t expected to be involved in your life the way a friend or family member was. Not the way a boyfriend was.

He didn’t do relationships. Never had. Too much trouble and frankly—he liked his privacy, his space—and liked not being accountable to anyone but himself. The consequences of any shitty decisions he made would fall on him and him alone. If he demanded that of the women he slept with and then insisted on inserting himself into their lives in the next breath, he would be a hypocrite. And Din hated hypocrites.

He couldn’t.

But fuck. He never wanted to hear someone speak that way about you, never wanted them to think they had the slightest chance with a woman like you. His blood boiled at the notion of someone else’s hands on you, his tempered flared when he imagined your pleasure or smiles, or laughter give to someone who didn’t deserve you.

Like he did?

Fuck no, he knew he didn’t.

He never said he wasn’t selfish though, and he coveted you with sinful greed.

“Fuck me, baby—please, please—” you mewled into his neck as your hands that had started all of this with that first massage, fit into the sliver of space between your bodies to stroke along his cock over his shorts impatiently. His head fell back, and his mind blissfully emptied for a moment, grunting your name at the frisson of pleasure before those damned memories resurfaced again.

Look at the ass on that.

That.

Her. You weren’t a thing, a possession. You were—

He snarled. Misplaced anger manifesting in aggressive passion as he grabbed your wrist from where you stroked him to pin behind your back on the vanity.

“Always so eager, aren’t you—” he grinned darkly when you nodded, “turn around.”

The command was delivered low and dangerous, more a rumble of noise—deep echoes of jungle predators crackling like the kindling of threat, inspiring awareness that one wrong move would be fatal. But you never made a wrong move—not for as long as he had known you. Whether it was alleviating a pain deep in his muscles that had bothered him for months or pushing yourself slowing off the vanity to your feet as you were now—you always knew what he needed.

Wisps of hair fell into his eyes as he watched you—the decided turn of your naked body to dace the mirror—eyes never leaving his even as they caught them again in the aged glass. Bending forward, your ass pressed into the front of his shorts, and you rested your elbows on the vanity.

Perfect.

He didn’t realize he had whispered the word as he pressed his mouth between your shoulder blades, tongue trailing down the arch of your spine while his hands kneaded plush cheeks—spreading them and exposing your slick cunt to the cool air. The hitches in your breath, small squirms of your hips for relief—they all fed into his desire for you.

And he desired you. Constantly.

“I’m gonna eat your pussy until you can’t stand, baby—and then I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t speak,” he muttered against the shell of your ear, massive bulk bowed over your back and shadowed eyes – the duality of warm walnut and lethal obsidian – bore into yours through the glass.

“I want them all to know who you belong to,” he nipped your ear, flicking his tongue along the cartilage—the black ink on his back catching the light as his muscles rippled with movement, a roll of pleasure from your ass grinding back against him with a whimper of his name, “so don’t be quiet this time, sweetheart.”

Your eyes fluttered open molasses slow from where they had dropped closed at his words,

“What—what hap—” you tried to turn your head, the concern mingled with lust in those gorgeous, honest eyes making warning bells blare painfully – too close – and he silenced you with a kiss. Swallowing the worry that hinted at feelings that surpassed those expected from a fuck buddy, he buried it deep inside himself, in the shadows like a coward. To be locked away where he would remain safe from it.

Your tongue grew sloppy with a moan when he ground his crotch into your ass—dragging the solid thickness of his clothed cock between your soaked folds and up against your tight rear entrance.

Wonder if she’ll let me take her there…

Bastard.

He sucked on your tongue with a groan of your name, hand releasing your cheeks to fan up your ribcage and cup your breasts. You jerked in sensitivity when rough hands pinched sore nipples – he fucking loved how sensitive your tits got just before your period. The cry you released was nothing short of musical, tempting him lower as he kissed down your spine—wrapped hands sanding down over your ribs again when he lapped around the rim of your ass, circling it before he traced lower.

You were dripping.

He dropped to his knees behind you, eyes drunken with an ingrained pride that he was the one in this position, looking at the petals of your swollen pussy glistening with arousal he inspired from just a few kisses and rolls of his hips. He kept his eyes on the steady trickle of wetness from your twitching entrance, his teeth grazing distractedly down the back of your thigh as he did so.

A finger ruddy with flecks of dried blood caught a string of your arousal – don’t waste a drop – and he sucked it between his lips with an approving groan, the noise of your whimpers the perfect accompaniment. Blood and lust. The essence of humanity, that was what he tasted when he sucked his finger clean. It tasted like life. And he wanted more.

A sharp crack echoed through the room when his hand came down hard on one cheek, and again... and again—each strike making that dripping wetness gush until he couldn’t hold back anymore. He buried his face in your cunt, nosing at your entrance and tongue spreading puffy lips apart so he could trace in pitter patter swipes through your folds—greedily gathering anything he could get on his tongue before swallowing. Dehydrated on the sands of depravity and sordid company—your cunt was an oasis of relief where he eagerly drank his fill.

You tried to move, your hips slamming up against the edge of the vanity – that’ll bruise – and you keened with a shuddering cry when his mouth simply followed your attempt to escape the onslaught of pleasure that was too much too soon.

“Fuck—fuckfuckfuck—” you gasped, dropping a hand back to tangle in his hair, dragging him closer despite your protests. Mm, he loved when you got like this—overstimulated from the first touch. No matter how much you whined, no matter how many times he wiped tears that smudged your makeup when he unraveled orgasm after orgasm from the knots inside you—he knew you loved the intensity as much as he did.

He spanked you again – take it – your cheeks red and beautiful when he spread them side for him to spit directly onto your quivering cunt. His saliva dribbled and mixed with your juices to gather over your clit, his mouth forming over the little bud enthusiastically, urged by your slow ruts back against his face to streak his face with your essence.

“More—” you whimpered.

“Greedy—” he growled back.

The sound of your breathless laugh meshed delightfully with the swallow of a moan – guttural and primal – and made his cock twitch in his shorts. His hips snapped up uselessly from where he was kneeling—finding no purchase or warm embrace to bury itself in as his tongue took that pleasure for itself.

It licked and curled with practiced, seemingly illogical strokes along your clit and up to your entrance—sloppily kissing it before his tongue dove into your tight depths, thumb working in quick circles over your clit. He knew exactly what to do to make you come undone.

Your first orgasm was sudden—strong and surprising. He hadn’t even fucking fingered you and you were already spasming around nothing. Your muscles tensed as you went on your toes to lean even further on the vanity, trying to escape his tongue that worked you through each wave—drowning you in the pleasure he knew only he could give you. You were his. His his his his h—

You sobbed his name, a raw answer to his internal mantra his mind struggled against and failed to overcome.

Din wanted you.

He wanted your body, your mind, your time—he wanted what Paz had.

Fuck.

The way the older man mooned and gazed with shameless adoration for the little baker he had fallen for in so short a time. Hell, Din teased him over it constantly. And maybe he didn’t want that—but he wanted something. Din wanted something with you. Wanted you to visit him in the gym and stop him mid set just to kiss him and tell him that you would wait for him to finish so you could go home together. He wanted to buy you flowers without having to think of a fucking excuse like last time to distance himself from the sentimentality. He wanted to open his front door and feel our presence as more than just a visitor. That a toothbrush and the stray pieces of clothing you forgot at his place would turn to shoes at the door and your taste in décor mixing with his.

Din wanted you.

But he had no idea how to do anything but fuck you. He didn’t know how to date or be romantic. Was clueless to things like companionship—to the softer emotions he knew you craved. That all people craved. Din had no idea how to do any of it.

You lay with your cheek on the wooden surface of the vanity, eyes half-closed and spacey as you watched him lift his head from your pussy, face shiny from your release and when he licked over his lips, still hungry for more—you mewled.

“Don’t tap out on me yet, sweetheart.”

You shook your head, a whimper and almost childish refusal while your cheek remained plastered to the vanity, all strength having left your body and an adorable pout trying to lie and tell him you couldn’t take any more.

“Mm, yes you can—” he answered you, dragging his mouth back up your slit and along your tight ass where he lapped at the rim again. Later. It took time for him to stretch you to take his size—it was better left for when he had you in his apartment and could take his time.

His hand followed his mouths direction as it continued up to meet your mouth—smirking against your lips at the whimpers you made from the slaps he gave your pussy—the obscene, wet sound filling the area with each slap slap slap until his hand was damn near slipping every time he struck your cunt from how wet it was.

A bang on the door—a harsh slap to your pussy so you would moan just right for him, and he growled out a threatening “occupied” to whoever was outside. You were too high strung to even notice.

“No one else can have you,” he rasped darkly into your temple, his free hand tangling in the strands to pull your head back against his shoulder—the position no doubt edging on uncomfortable with the way your spine and neck were arched back—moUlded into his hard frame. Your eyes fell to half mast even as your lips parted—still smeared with specks of blood you hadn’t yet licked or chewed off—and he bit your jaw in warning.

“No one else—” you parroted, your hot breath fanning over his cheek even as you rocked back against him, a steel confidence entering your fucked out gaze—mercurial in the swirling heat, “just like no one else can have you.”

The boldness of your words, the conviction spoken in that voice of wooden flutes and bubbling creeks made his blood light with fire—yes. As much as he anted you, he yearned for you to crave him in return.

“No one else,” he repeated your words back to you, rutting his hips against you when his cock pulsed with a negligent ache that demanded to be addressed. He kept one hand in your hair when he pushed his shorts down enough to free his leaking cock, the turgid length swollen and angry as he rubbed the tip between your lips.

Maybe he would buy you flowers tomorrow, after all.

Din gave you no time to prepare yourself – that’s my girl – sliding inside you with one brutal thrust that had you pushed up against the mirror and his cock engulfed in fiery bliss. He felt the heat run up his spine, a volcanic metamorphism into marble as his muscles froze in an immediate pause to stop himself from spilling inside you after one damn thrust.

You weren’t doing much better—one hand clawing for purchase on the mirror and the other digging your nails into his hip as you panted his name, an incoherent string of curses and praise as your sensitive walls convulsed around him. The position had him pressed right against that one spot he cock curved up against that could make you see stars and your care for being caught dissipate in cries of ecstasy.

“Baby—fuck please, so—too deep—” you whimpered in inane babbles, tightening in residual spasms from your orgasm and the sudden intrusion of his cock, still a stretch after all these months. Too deep… he snorted, rolling his hips hard to try shove himself deeper still. He could never get deep enough, always wanting more—always seeking to conquer the untouched lands of your body.

“Mm, want me to stop?” he teased, dragging his hips back with a smirk at your immediate rejection of no no no fuck—please, no—hand pathetically trying to drag him closer to you by the hip. Lovely little thing… thinking you were strong enough.

“That’s better…” he purred, relief washing over him when he pulled out—the walls of your cunt stretching around him, refusing his exit, and trying to keep him nestled inside you. The pace he chose was brutal. He fucked you like he fought tonight. Violently, mercilessly—and deaf to the calls to relent. But where he wanted his opponent to suffer, he wanted to devastate you with pleasure, enrapture you with ecstasy and leave you moaning his name where others would curse it.

Wet cock slapping as he pounded into you in short, frantic ruts – need you baby… fuck I need you – there was no time for you to catch a full breath before he was knocking it out of you again. His fingers had to tighten in your hair to keep you up – your body trembling under his as he sank his teeth into the taut muscle at your neck and his cock sank into your welcome body – exposed and waiting for him to litter in his signature.

He would never get enough of the way his marks looked on your skin—the way you decorated him in yours. You were powerless to do much else than accept them right now – likely getting him back later – boneless and weak under the attack of his mouth and the dominance of his body.

He would make sure everyone in this fucking shithole of a place knew who you were with. They would have to be blind not to notice the blotches of poppy bruises snaking down your neck with the elusion to more hidden from unworthy eyes. The smudge of your mascara as tears pearled like crystals in the corner of your eyes when you glanced at him in strung out bliss.

“M-more—” you begged, dropping one of your hands between your legs to rub at your clit—fingers splitting around the girth of his cock as he fucked you to feel the thick length disappear into you over and over, the soaked mess amassed from your frantic desire for each other trickling down your thighs.

“Yeah?” he grinned, breathless and sweating for much more pleasing reasons than he had been in the ring, a languid kiss to your neck as he hiked one of your knees up onto the vanity—spreading you wider for him to sink deeper.

You spasmed, your head falling back against his shoulder with a cry.

“Yes—there, there baby, fuck you feel so good…” you rambled, fingers working feverishly over your clit in wet strokes, grazing his balls every time they slapped against your skin and making him muffle his moan in your neck.

Rolling a nipple between his fingers, his large—bloodied hand completely swallowed your breast, squeezing it and tickling sounds that belonged to him from you and into his mouth when you kissed him. One last kiss before you collapsed back onto the vanity, and he stood to his full height so he could ruin you with his cock.

His name was the only thing you remembered as he split you open with full, hard thrusts—the entire length of his cock stretching your tight walls around it and playing along raw nerves already on the brink of another orgasm.

“Gonna cum, sweetheart—” he strained, desperate for release as he watched himself fuck you in the mirror—him behind your smaller body, squirming under the pleasure while his muscles bunched and relaxed with each snap of his hips—the veins in his forearms prominent and tendons taut as he poured all that training and dedication and determination into you, into pleasing you.

“Inside—inside, Din fuck, please—”

His mind emptied. Nothing else mattered about tonight—not the fight, not the disqualification, not the rage. Your eyes—cloudy with lust and achingly trusting as you looked back at him were all he could think about. Nodding without even realizing, the thought of filling you running in his mind on a loop.

“Fuck—!”

He wanted you to cum before him, he always did—but he was so high strung, so tense that he couldn’t stop himself, burying himself to the hilt with several punched out moans—exhaled rapture with every pump of his seed against your waiting womb. Your eyes rolled closed at the amount, bloating you with his release and as he came, you worked your clit frantically—chasing that addictive edge you gladly hurled yourself over at just the thought of him coming inside you.

Din dropped his forehead to your shoulder with a gasp, your spasming walls too much on his sensitive length but he had to stay inside—the contractions of pleasure, the gush of your release might push his out. He couldn’t have that. So, he gritted his teeth, mumbled husky praise – good girl, that’s it—just like that, soak me – to work you through your orgasm and pressed open mouth kisses to sweaty skin, the salt tickling his tongue as he caught his breath.

His mouth worked over the sweep of your shoulder, up your neck to your jaw when your orgasm subsided, purring your name and nonsensical strings of words he had no idea made sense or not. He finally eased his softening cock out of you slowly when you shifted your hips—testing your strength and finding it lacking when you realized both he and the vanity were what kept your legs up.

“Feel… feel better?”

“Mhm…” he confirmed noncommittally, nuzzling the marks beginning to bloom and darken like a forbidden garden only he was allowed indulge in the scent of. One of his hands ran absently down the back of your thigh, feeling for his release—pleased to feel nothing but your sticky arousal, his own still nestled inside your sore cunt.

“Want one of those crepes you’re always raving about from that twenty-four hour place?” he purred, helping you stand—going so far as to pull the straps of your dress back up so that zipping the metal teeth would be easier. Your eyes brightened despite the lazy, satiated fatigue hiding in their orbs.

“Gino’s?”

“Mm,” he nodded, looking down from his greater height and lips quirking in an annoying desire to smile when one – bright as daylight – broke out on yours.

You nodded quickly, looping your arms around his neck to drag him down to your mouth, kissing him good and proper while his hands fell under the still open sides of your dress to settle on bare hips,

“Are you ever going to tell me what set you off tonight?” you mumbled against his lips cautiously, the ghost of a smile from the promise of dessert still lingering but a hesitant worry entering your gaze, unsure if his mood would sour again.

It didn’t.

He nudged his nose along yours, aquiline curve slotting along yours as he hummed in thought, thumbs rubbing lazily into your hips,

“Maybe later,” he settled on and captured your lips again.

You left the changing room together, his gym bag slung over one shoulder and his free arm wrapped around your shoulder—nose never leaving your temple or nuzzling into your hair with blatant affection as you blushed at how obvious it was to anyone who saw you what you had been doing.

You had both tried to tidy yourselves—cleaning the corners of your makeup and trying to flatten your mused hair was about all you could do. Din didn’t even attempt to cover the freshly fucked look of messy hair and heavy eyes as he pulled an unzipped Mythosaur Gym hoodie on over his muscle shirt.

A group were passing in the corridor as you asked him something—his former opponent with one eye swollen shut from the bruises forming around his eye, jaw, and cheeks. Din answered you easily, an automatic response to whatever you were asking as his eyes met his opponents, cold fury and arrogant pride flashing in their depths.

You remained none the wiser as you passed the group, Din’s body protectively placed between you and them. He probably should have told you; he knew you wouldn’t be swayed by it—comfortable in your body as you were, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He could protect you from slander and toxicity at the very least—and he planned to. Even if he had to do so in the shadows for now.

For himself, the swelling and bruising on the idiots’ face weren’t the only thing he had to satisfy himself with. He was the one whose cum was still buried inside you, clinging to your thighs and keeping you slick and wet for him to add more to later when he got you back to his place. And as you glanced up at him with a disarming smile after he dropped his hoodie over your shoulders without a thought once you both were outside in the crisp air of the early morning darkness—he secretly hoped that he would be the only one to have that privilege from then on.

Taglist | Form

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A few who might be interested! @thepoisonofgod @absurdthirst @highsviolets @astroboots​ 

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin smut #boxer!din #the mandalorian smut #mando smut #din djarin #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #mando x reader #mando x you #pedro pascal #din djarin fic #din djarin fanfic #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian fanfic #star wars smut #star wars fic #star wars fanfic

[mercy-burning]

Affection

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Spencer and Y/N decidedly hate each other. But when a near-death experience puts one of them in a coma, their mutual hatred might have to take a backseat— Or will it? Category: Angst / Happy Ending! + Humor and a lil bit of Fluff Content: Strong language, Reader is in a coma, mentions of injury, kissing Word Count: 2.6k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: This one’s for Pom’s ( @imagining-in-the-margins ) September Writing Challenge, Enemies To Lovers! I have another one coming up as well, but this idea wouldn’t get out of my head ever since I watched The Abyss with my dad and I had to get it out 😅 I hope you like it!!

———

I swear to fucking God, if this motherfucker really thinks he—

That was the last thing Y/N thought before she was knocked out cold.

With her line of work, it was natural to assume that she was thinking about the unsub, but unfortunately the criminal she and her team were tracking down was the farthest thing on her mind. Spencer would have chastised her for it— letting something else cloud her thoughts while she was in a dark alley, alone, and with a serial killer on the loose.

"You should be smarter than that!" she could hear him say in that high pitch he always carried when he was upset— especially with her. "If you don't get yourself killed one of these days, then it'll be the rest of us!"

Thinking about it made her blood boil.

"It's your fault," she wanted to tell him. "I had to blow off some steam because you were pissing me off!"

The only thing was... She couldn't tell him.

Well... She could.

He just couldn't hear her, because no one could.

It was like some stupid, cliché movie, where you found yourself standing over your dying body and having to choose whether to live or not. It seemed like the obvious choice, to fucking live, but... Y/N found herself wandering around her hospital room, yelling into the void and attempting to jump back into her own body.

Nothing was working.

And when Spencer showed up, his face red and his hair and clothes all messed up, she wanted to scream at him.

"Hey!"

Nothing. He was practically lifeless as he drifted to the chair next to her bed and sat down. It was nearly impossible to read from his expression and body language how he was feeling, and that alone was enough to make her angry again. (Not that the anger had really gone away since waking up next to her comatose body, of course.)

"Hey! Dumbass!"

Still nothing.

As Spencer just blankly stared down at Y/N's bed, she decided she'd had enough.

"SPENCER FUCKING REID, IF YOU DON'T HELP ME RIGHT NOW I SWEAR TO GOD I'LL HAUNT YOUR ASS UNTIL THE END OF ETERNITY, AND I'M GONNA LAY FAT, STINKIN' GHOST SHITS IN YOUR SHOES, DO YOU HEAR ME? AND—"

"I hate you."

It was a bold enough statement to stop Y/N in her tracks, no matter how quietly he'd mumbled it. She knew for sure that he didn't like her, after years of constant bickering and dirty glares and whatever else, but... The word 'hate' was like a knife that sliced through her joking rage and stopped the whole world around her.

If she wasn't already out of her own body, she just knew she would have felt her soul leave.

Spencer didn't hate anyone. Not that she was aware of, anyway. He found nearly everyone delightful, and vice versa... But for some reason, he hated Y/N.

She scoffed, crossing her arms. "Yeah, well... Feeling's mutual, I guess..."

"You're stupid, and reckless, and you don't think. And you're a goddamn nightmare to work with... You know what— You're a stone-cold bitch."

His words made her physically step backwards, and it felt like if she were a cartoon, there might have been steam coming out of her ears.

"Yeah, well jokes on you, you make it easy," she seethed. "Fuck you!"

"How... How dare you..." he continued, anger reddening his face.

Y/N watched as he balled his fists and leaned in a little closer to her body, his voice tight and strained. "How dare you walk into my life and boss me around and make it impossible to breathe... From the moment I met you, you've brought out this... this fire in me that I can't put out no matter how hard I try, and it's insufferable—You're insufferable, and I hate you, how dare—"

Whatever he was going to say next was cut off by a shortness of breath. Spencer breathed in, loud and choked, and the next breath he let out was nothing short of a sob. His eyes squeezed shut, tears rolling down them and his hands clutched the bedsheets with a vigor and rage that Y/N had never seen from him, even in all the years she'd spent visibly getting on his last nerves.

"N—No," she choked out, feeling her throat tighten. "Don't... Don't turn into a sappy mess on me now, do you hear me, Reid? You hate me, don't... Don't..."

"I don't hate you," he whispered, wiping his eyes and reaching out to grab her lifeless hand. "I hate that you make me feel this way, but... I could never hate you..."

She wanted nothing more than to be able to squeeze his hand back, to tell him, not even necessarily with words but with a simple gesture, that she was right there and wasn't going to go anywhere.

She just... had to figure out how to make that true.

Still, Spencer kept going, a small laugh bubbling up through tears and phlegm. "But I will hate you if you die, because I just know you're gonna come back and haunt me for eternity... Probably... shit in my shoes or something."

Y/N barked a laugh that was true and pure... Happy, even.

The genius may have acted like he hated her, but it turns out he knew her pretty well, perhaps even fondly in one way or another.

To think— All those years she spent seeing him sneer at her, feeling his glare burn into her soul, the amount of times she caught him making faces or inappropriate gestures behind her back, all of it... And the whole time, he was probably doing it with a little flicker of fondness deep within the confines of his heart, which he swore to fill with nothing but hatred for her.

The thought made the little flicker in her own heart burn brighter.

As she wandered closer to her bed, beside Spencer and in front of her own body, she reached her hand out to see if she could touch his face, to give him something...

Even though she had no luck, something shifted when he spoke.

"Just... Come back to me, please? I know I'm not good at apologizing, but if it means I get you back... I swear that I will make up every horrible thing I've ever done or said to you. Just... Please don't leave me."

He laid his head down in his hands and tried not to cry again, every said horrible thing replaying on a loop in his brain like some kind of taunt. He wished more than anything for a chance to make it up to Y/N, and now he might not ever be able to.

"You think I'd leave this mortal earth without getting the chance to kick your ass?"

Everything was so fuzzy and light and brimming with these high emotions that Y/N almost didn't realize she was saying these words and Spencer was hearing them. She almost didn't feel the warmth of her bloodstream beneath layers of skin, the beat of her heart slowly coming back to life at the sounds and smells of the hospital room.

She almost didn't realize that Spencer was grabbing her now, his warm hands covering her cold ones and bringing them back to life as well.

"Screw you," he breathed with absolutely no malice to be detected in his voice.

They shared a smile so bright, no one would have been able to guess that they never got along.

TWO WEEKS LATER

Not only was she stuck at home doing nothing while on suspension (Yes, it turns out that storming off into an alley and not paying attention while on the job, just because a co-worker pissed you off, can get you suspended by Chief Strauss), but Y/N was also being visited by a daily rotation of her co-workers and friends and family, and her house was nearly covered in flower bouquets and baked goods.

It was a nightmare.

The sentiment was nice, sure, but if she had to move one more vase, she was going to start throwing them.

God, maybe Spencer was right, I am a stone-cold bitch...

Thinking of him also put a little damper on her mood.

He hadn't been to visit her once... And she figured that after their nice little moment at the hospital, he'd at least stop by with flowers or an "I'm glad you're not dead!" call, but there was nothing on his end. Not even a text message or a letter.

But for all she knew, their small moment of kindness could have been a figment of her concussed imagination.

Please, she thought, if I brought it up to him he'd probably just laugh in my face.

Rather than a laugh, Y/N heard the bright sound of her doorbell, which normally would have meant a fun unexpected visit or a date she was getting ready for, but by now it only meant another vase of flowers or a pie from a neighbor she still didn't remember the last name to.

Either way, she answered the door with as polite a smile as she could muster, and instead of finding a vaguely familiar neighbor or acquaintance, she found Spencer.

Though, to be fair, he was holding a bouquet of flowers.

"Well, this is a surprise," Y/N drawled, crossing her arms. "I don't even think you've ever been to my house."

She was surprised to see him nervous around her, rather than irritated. And she would have found it endearing had they not been practically mortal enemies from the moment they met... She was suspicious.

"O—Oh, yeah... I know, I just thought... I wanted to come see how you were doing... These are for you."

He held out the flowers, which were truthfully the pretties set she'd received, and it irked her. Because of course he of all people would be the one to tell which kinds of flowers she'd prefer.

"Thanks," she said, taking them from him and allowing him the space to come inside. "Watch out, it's a maze in here..."

While she looked for somewhere to put the flowers on display, she could feel Spencer looking around her space, probably profiling what he could behind a sea of flowers.

"Hm."

Y/N sighed. "What?"

"Nothing. I'm just... I'm surprised this many people actually like you."

Despite the nature of his observation, she found it comforting. That level of playful contempt was what she was used to, and it brought a sparkle to her eye as she turned to face him. "Ha... I'm not a complete bitch, you know."

"Sure."

Between the growing grin on his face and the smirk forming on her own, Spencer and Y/N found themselves falling back into a familiar rhythm. And yet, something about it was still... different.

So much so that Y/N felt honest-to-God butterflies in her stomach when he approached, hands retreating from his pockets and head tilting off to the side. His expression held that look he got when he was trying to figure someone out, usually an unsub. She hated to admit it to herself, but a little part of her always found that side of him extremely attractive.

And now that it was right in front of her?

She didn't know what to make of it.

"What?" she snapped, looking for an excuse to hide any and all attraction she was feeling.

Spencer stepped back a little, breaking away from whatever trance he'd just been in. "God, why do you always have to do that?"

"Do what?"

"You push away every single show of affection! Any time I'm trying to be nice, you just act like it's some big inconvenience to you!"

Y/N laughed. "Ha! That's what that was? Just now? When you insulted me, and then started stalking towards me with that look you get when you're interrogating an unsub? That's what you call affection?"

"That's not... That's not what that was!"

"Oh really? Then what was it?"

"It was part of the routine! Banter! Y—You know, that's our thing! We insult each other, and we act like we hate each other but we... We don't, really..."

The longer he went on, the faster her heart raced. This was the moment in the movie where he inevitably blurted out that he loved her, and in turn she would either kiss him or slap him, or slap him and then kiss him...

But Y/N was still feeling rather playful despite the swarm of butterflies in her stomach begging for some relief.

"Oh?" she prompted, taking a slow step closer to him. "We don't?"

Spencer seemed to get red immediately, and he avoided her eyes. "U—Uh... Well I... I thought... Maybe I read it all wrong, a—and I'm sorry if I did..."

She'd been getting closer meanwhile, and now they were practically toe-to-toe. He did his best to ignore her, taking a few steps back until she cornered him against the front door. And with the way he wasn't doing anything to get out of his predicament, she took that as his acceptance and took another leap.

"What..." she cooed, crawling her fingers up the front of his chest like a spider. "You like me? Hmm?"

When he finally looked down at her, she allowed herself to smile, albeit slowly and with calculation.

In a flash Spencer went from nervous to fed-up, weight seeming to visibly lift from his chest as he sank against the door. "You're messing with me..."

"It's so fun."

"You know what, screw you."

"Is that a promise?"

"Maybe it is. What are you gonna do ab—"

She didn't let him finish.

In an instant, Y/N lunged forward and pulled him down for a kiss.

Even though she thought he might have tried to take control of the situation, he ended up surprising her with a wanton moan as his hands clutched at her sides, holding on for dear life. Their bodies and tongues collided in a mess of years worth of pent-up tension, chaotic and wild and fiercely beautiful in a way that put even the greatest first kisses to shame.

And of course, Spencer had to go and ruin it.

He pushed her away and looked almost panicked. "W—Wait, are you even cleared to do this?"

Y/N rolled her eyes, reaching out for him again. "I'm fine."

"Y/N, you were in the hospital! I thought... I thought you were..."

She appreciated the sentiment, but with her entire body on fire from his touch, she decided she needed more of it. "Yeah, but I'm not... I'm very much alive, and you know what?"

He blinked back at her, watching carefully as she leaned in close to him and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"It's because of you. You make me feel... more alive than I've ever been."

"And... You're not messing with me this time?"

With a laugh,  Y/N shook her head and leaned up to brush her nose with his. "Nuh-uh... But if you'd like to, I'd love to mess with you in a more fun way. And maybe I'll even let you do it back..."

Spencer hummed, feeling himself gravitate towards her more with every passing second. "Deal."

He barely got the word out all the way before she was dragging him through the maze of flora and contained food and into her bedroom, where piece by piece, their hatred and fondness for one another combined to create the most exquisite of nights.

———

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#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x reader angst #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds angst #enemies to lovers

[hiccanna-tidbits]

The RotBTD+ Gang Plays DnD! (Feat. my ships, sorry not sorry XD)

So highkey I’ve actually been wanting to do a “The Gang Plays DnD” type post for AGES now, but then I saw @hobie-brown and @ohlooksheswriting-wips do DnD AU posts for RotBTD, and then I was like “Ah shit, I really should finish mine, eh?” So thank you to both of you for inspiring me to get off my ass and actually write the post!!!

Hiccup DMs. He comes up with this super complex plot revolving around dragons (because of course) where the party has to dismantle this society ruled by evil knights who want to genocide all of the dragons. Imagine his chagrin when the party wants to do nothing but fuck around in towns and aggravate NPCs 90% of the time.

They usually end up playing at Jack’s apartment, mainly because Hiccup’s dad doesn’t really want a bunch of loud nerds yelling about 20-sided dice in his household while he’s trying to work, if he can at all help it. Jack’s sister regularly barges into their living room and roasts the fuck out of Jack and his friends for being such damn nerds and eats all of their DnD snacks they’ve set out. If they’re in the middle of a combat session, she always gleefully proclaims that they’re all going to die. While Jack is annoyed by this, the rest of the party finds it deeply hilarious.

Jack Overland plays the absolute mayhem warlock Jack Frost, who got his powers through making a deal with the archfey Prince of Frost and has absolutely no qualms about being an evil god’s mortal Sower of Chaos. He spends the vast majority of the campaign doing such useful things as creating ice slicks under annoying NPCs and freezing people’s drinks. He also plays a Tiefling because absolutely no one can talk this boy out of playing the creepy demon race.

Rapunzel plays a woodland nymph druid who is also the party healer (because of course she is). Her name is probably Sunlily or something else suitably hippie-esque. Whenever there’s downtime (or whenever the rest of the party is also dicking around, and she can get away with it), Rapunzel likes to go into the nearest forest and pick the best berries and nuts for the rest of the party. She also loves baking fruit pies and cooking the best nymph food for her companions when given the chance. Definitely the party Cinnamon Roll (every party has one!). She often will turn into cute animals to distract the guards while the party infiltrates a building.

Merida’s character is the party archer and general ranged weapon master, as well as a raging lesbian. Hiccup learns very quickly that any male NPC who tries to flirt with her will very quickly get impaled with an arrow. She can’t ever decide if she wants to be a ranger or a rogue, so she multiclasses in both for flare. She also plays a Tiefling, and continually insists that her character is both scarier and sexier than Jack’s. In combat, she either Leeroy Jenkins her way in with a sword and just starts slashing every which way, or just shoots 90% of the enemies with arrows before the fight even starts. There’s really no in between. She can get away with this because she’s highkey one of the party tanks, and consistently deals a shitton of damage.

Anna plays a human bard, basically having read over the class options and going “Wait, in this one I get to make stylish medieval music??? And wear dramatic and garish outfits and a dumb hat??? And cast wacky illusion spells??? And do silly little magic tricks??? And INSPIRE EVERYONE??? Hell yeah, I’m in!!!” She mostly uses magic attacks in combat (definitely favors Tasha’s Hideous Laughter), but occasionally when she’s out of spell slots she’ll just take to slamming enemies in the face with her lute. She also has WAY too much fun with Vicious Mockery, let’s be real.

Elsa, upon hearing Jack’s character concept, rolls her eyes so far up in her head she can see her damn brain, and vows to play his concept, but serious–solely out of spite. She rolls up a super OP elf Chaos Sorcerer, filled with lots of brooding angst about how uncontrollable her winter powers can get if she isn’t careful. She combines it a bit with Storm Sorcerer so she can create literal blizzards, and Hiccup ends up allowing it just because he thinks it’s cool. Although Elsa’s character is undoubtedly aggravated by the rest of the party’s antics, she starts becoming grudgingly protective of these idiots and can deal some pretty crazy damage when her companions are threatened. She also contains one of the party’s only brain cells.

Eugene of course plays dashing rogue master thief Flynn Rider. Although his high deception and lockpicking skills certainly come in handy, he’s the most chaotic neutral fucker you’ve ever met and will take any excuse to rob NPCs blind or cheat them out of every cent they have in a tavern card game. It’s nigh impossible to get him to cooperate with the rest of the party much of the time, and often Elsa’s character has to either bribe him with some of her family’s gold or threaten to freeze him to stop him backstabbing one or more party members. Eugene’s character forces Hiccup to add in many more heist plotlines than he originally intended. This delights Eugene immensely, and sometimes he goes a bit crazy planning elaborate heists.

Moana plays a sorcerer water genasi. She can control any body of water, but she has a special affinity for controlling saltwater (i.e. the ocean lol). She also requests an animal handling bonus, but only with marine animals, solely because she thought it would be funny. She’s also an ex-pirate who robbed a lot of wealthy merchant ships and freed their slaves back in the day, which Merida thinks is incredibly badass. Moana tends to get bored and unengaged when there are no bodies of water to play around with, so Hiccup ends up having to add a lot more lakes, rivers, and oceans to the campaign than he originally planned on. Moana also takes a sailing skill, and thus the party often ends up traveling by boat. Typically Eugene and Rapunzel will infiltrate and hijack it, and Moana will sail it. Moana probably contains the party’s only other brain cell.

Astrid plays a gigantic berserker orc barbarian who is never without his trusty axe. Astrid is hands down the party’s top tank, and unquestionably deals the most damage every combat session. Much like Merida’s character, Astrid’s character is absolutely a shameless power fantasy. Hiccup pretty easily picks up on this, but is too polite to say anything about it. Jack also picks up on this, but is hardly as courteous as their DM, and teases Astrid mercilessly. Astrid is not amused.

Rapunzel requests that her weapon of choice be a frying pan, her justification being that her character found a discarded one at the edge of a human village outside her woods and mistaked it for a highly-dangerous human weapon. Hiccup is like “…you know what? Fuck it” and rolls up stats for a goddamn frying pan. Jack has nigh-endless admiration for Rapunzel for choosing such a goddamn memey, absurd, yet oddly effective weapon and it definitely makes the poor boy even more smitten with her than he already is.

Eugene and Merida have a bet going on who can sleep with more sexy barmaids. Merida is currently winning, much to Eugene’s chagrin. She’s not even inherently better at seducing NPCs, she and Eugene have the same charisma stat–she just consistently rolls better than Eugene. Eugene is incredibly salty about this.

Anna and Elsa want to be sisters in-game as well, but neither want to change their race–so Anna decides her character was adopted. Hiccup and the rest of the party go along with it, mainly because there’s something deeply hilarious about a regular human bard being adopted and raised by a family of high-powered elf ice mages.

Astrid is absolutely the sort of player who tends to get bored and restless outside of fights, and tends to fidget and twiddle her thumbs waiting for the next combat session. Jack picks up on this, and purposely does more roleplay for longer just to piss her off. He’s also just a very dramatic fucker and highkey loves roleplay.

When she’s not causing mayhem around the town or sleeping with hot women, Merida tries to entertain Astrid between combat sessions by offering to spar with her. Unfortunately, this does not usually end well for poor Merida, as even the most hardcore and badass of tieflings is prone to getting dumpstered by an 8-foot-tall barbarian orc with an axe. Astrid is, nonetheless, grateful to have someone to fight.

Rapunzel, Elsa, and Moana will humor Hiccup and attempt to actually play the main plot. Meanwhile, Jack, Merida, and Eugene are a DM’s worst nightmare. They constantly derail the damn campaign to fuck around, cause mayhem, and do inane shenanigans in every. Damn. Town. They go to. Anna is kind of a wildcard–she’ll typically go with whatever group looks like they’re going to be doing something more interesting. Astrid will go along with whichever group is more likely to get into a fight–which, often as not, is Jack and his posse of terrible Chaotic Neutrals (who have definitely pissed off a number of NPCs into attacking them).

As the campaign goes on, Elsa and Eugene become the beleaguered Party Mom and Dad. Both are quite aggravated by this–especially poor Eugene, who just wanted to play a morally-gray charming rogue who stole everything and got away with it and then accidentally ended up caring about these idiots he got stuck with.

Anna initially joins the campaign because she has a planet-size crush on Hiccup, and inevitably is the one who dragged Elsa into it too. Being the hopeless romantic that she is, Anna writes a love interest into her backstory. Hiccup eventually has the party run into said love interest, and Anna is overjoyed. He starts flirting with her as the love interest, and it’s easily the best 30 minutes of Anna’s life.

Moana and Elsa also give Hiccup pretty detailed backstories, and he works in little subplots for them. Moana gets to bring water back to a dying part of the jungle in the middle of a draught, while Elsa gets to go on a whole sidequest to explore her family history and how they came to be sorcerers.

Jack, Merida, and Eugene also give Hiccup fairly elaborate backstories, but Jack’s and Merida’s are like 99% memes and Dumb Shit. Hiccup tries to give all of them backstory-related plot hooks, but inevitably any hooks he provides are either stabbed, robbed, or frozen. Honestly any plot hook offered to these 3 will be all but spat in the face of and tossed off a cliff.

The one relevant part of Eugene’s backstory is that he and Rapunzel decide they used to be partners in crime before the campaign started. Rapunzel would infiltrate and scout out places he wanted to rob as small, unobtrusive animals (her preferred Wild Shape is a chameleon) and later distract the guards as a bunny or kitten while he went in and took every gold coin in sight. In return, Flynn Rider would bribe builders to not develop into Sunlily’s forest. Rapunzel and Eugene partly came up with this For Funsies, but also it was Rapunzel’s sneaky way of tricking Eugene into having prior connections in the party so he’d be less likely to betray them. It works pretty well–although the entire party is protective of Cinnamon Roll Sunlily, Flynn is certainly especially protective of her.

Astrid does the absolute bare minimum as far as backstories go. She is literally just here to smash stuff, slice people, and beat some fuckers up.

Rapunzel has a backstory, but she’s typically so invested in the main plot and the other party members that Hiccup rarely needs to bring it in to keep her engaged. She’s highkey the party emotional rock, and probably the only one keeping them all together.

On that note, Rapunzel’s character is the ONLY one who can get Jack’s character to take the plot even REMOTELY seriously. Like he’ll be dicking around in the nearest tavern challenging the nearest orc to a drinking game, and Rapunzel will come in and ask him to help them on a Main Plot Quest. And he’ll be like “come onnnnn I’m having funnn” and she’ll be like “Jack pleeeeeease?” and you just. Can’t resist Sunlily’s puppy dog eyes. At all. Also, whenever Sunlily is genuinely threatened, any silliness immediately goes out the window and Jack Frost is OUT FOR BLOOD.

For better or for worse, Rapunzel is not immune to being looped into Jack’s shenanigans. Occasionally if either Merida or Eugene have a particularly hare-brained scheme she’ll go along with it, but by and large Jack is the most successful in convincing her to temporarily abandon the plot and cause mild mischief with him. They once wasted half a session creating an elaborate “ice theme park” for some squirrels in the forest.

Hiccup tries to get Merida to play the main plot by eventually having there be no more sexy female NPCs to seduce in the towns they go to. Unfortunately, this backfires–Merida just hooks up with Moana’s character instead. When asked to roll for how good the lay is, Merida gets a nat 20–and thus her character and Moana’s character end up hooking up regularly throughout the rest of the campaign.

Hiccup introduces a few Wise Old Mentor-type NPCs to guide the party throughout the campaign. While Rapunzel, Elsa, Moana, and Anna actually try to listen to them and take their advice, Merida, Jack, and Eugene absolutely refuse to take them seriously and mercilessly play pranks on them.

At one point, Hiccup gives the party the option to attempt to tame a group of wild dragons and use them as mounts. They all have to make animal handling checks. Anna, Rapunzel, Elsa, and Moana pass. The rest of the party fails, with Jack and Eugene crit-failing. Hilarity ensues.

Hiccup ends up bringing back Anna’s backstory love interest as an NPC regular. Anna thinks he’s just being a good friend and a good DM and trying to incorporate her backstory as much as he can, but really, he just wants an excuse to regularly flirt with her. He hardly has the balls to out-of-game.

Merida comes out as gay toward the end of the campaign. Everyone in the group is extremely supportive, of course, but everyone is also like “Merida…with the amount of barmaids you’ve banged…and the amount of times you and Moana’s character hooked up…this isn’t exactly surprising.”

Hiccup actually finds a way to use Jack and Elsa’s same-concept-opposite-execution characters to the plot’s advantage. He decides one of the main villains will have a prophecy saying he’ll be taken down by a powerful ice mage. The party manages to fool this guy into thinking this ice mage is Jack, and sends Jack to fight him. As soon as the villain sees Jack, he’s like “WHAT??? THIS clown???” (word has absolutely spread throughout the land of Jack not using his ice powers for anything besides mildly annoying trolling). Naturally, the bad guy lets his guard down after thinking he’s going to fight this literal joke, and then Elsa crashes in from the side and absolutely dumpsters him.

Jack tries to defeat the final boss by just annoying him so much that he leaves. Unfortunately, he just annoys him so much that he attacks Rapunzel’s character. Jack’s just like “oh HELL no” and attacks with absolutely nothing held back. Turns out he’s pretty terrifying when he’s not using his magic for Dumb Antics.

During the final boss of the campaign, the Big Bad tries to one-shot Moana’s character, and Merida’s character super theatrically jumps in front of her to take the blow instead. Rapunzel just barely manages to heal Merida’s character, but it’s a really close call. During all this, Merida is like “ah shit...maybe I’m NOT just in this to get fantasy-laid.” After the fight’s over, her and Moana’s characters have a big dramatic love confession and share a Big Damn Kiss in front of everyone. It’s pretty epic.

After the final session of the campaign, Merida drags Moana outside Jack’s apartment and sputters and trips over her words for a solid minute before she finally gets out that through all this nonsense...well...maybe it’s not just in the game that she thinks Moana is hot. Moana just gets this HUGE grin on her face and says “c’mere, Leeroy Jenkins” and just pulls Merida in and kisses her. Cue the rest of the party barging in on them. Merida and Moana freeze, and there’s a moment of terrified silence...and then the entire party starts cheering them on like “took you long enough!”

The entire rest of the party could detect the sexual tension. Literally all of them.

But Eugene is like “HA, THIS MEANS IF WE DO A SEQUEL CAMPAIGN I’M WINNING THAT BET! BECAUSE YOU’RE GONNA BE DATING MO’S CHAR AND THUS NOT ABLE TO SLEEP WITH ANY MORE BARMAIDS!”

By the epilogue session, Jack and Rapunzel are dating. Merida and Moana are also dating. Hiccup and Anna STILL haven’t figured out why they’re so prone to spending half the session flirting when Anna’s love interest shows up, and Hiccup STILL hasn’t figured out why he likes to have Anna’s love interest show up so often. Bless their souls. Maybe they’ll figure it out next campaign...?

Damn I actually really like this...maybe if people like it I’ll do some incorrect quotes or a drabble or something??? Or maybe some HCs from next campaign???

#rotbtd #rotbtfd #rise of the brave tangled dragons #the big four #DnD #D&D #Dungeons and Dragons #jackunzel #hiccanna #moanida #modern au #jack frost #rapunzel #merida dunbroch #hiccup haddock #princess anna #queen elsa #astrid hofferson #flynn rider #eugene fitzherbert #moana waialiki #headcanons #hcs

[heli0s-writes]

IV. Symbiosis

Summary: “Since you’ve been caught—” Fury squints, “Canoodling With The Allegedly Injured James Barnes, I wouldn’t be surprised if someone’s already halfway finished with digging you up. Forgeries. Petty theft. Grand larceny. The damn rest of the kitchen sink. So, Ranger…” The way he says it is both lazy and threatening, completely on brand and irritatingly calm.

“Here’s my suggestion: get ahead of this thing before it knocks you on your ass.”

A/N: 4.8k words. I’m a liar who lies because after 4 months of overthinking and coming up with diddly squat, here is part 4 of Trinity Epoch sans smut. I’m sorry! I’ll double your pleasure next time. xx Thank you for sticking with me, I’m so sorry it’s taken so long.

Warnings: Language. References to canon-typical violence.

Trinity Epoch Masterpost

Bucky stays like that a while longer, just breathing.

Your fingers trace his hair—running through the strands, over the shell of his ear, then resting briefly on his cheek. All the ways you used to with Natasha when she’d break her own heart, or maybe ways you would have liked her to have done for you when you felt like you were dying a little bit.

You feel it now: a small death in the wake of last night’s simple touches. Your body and Steve’s body curled around each other sprung something immeasurable, as if the drift flowered then and ripened beneath your skins. You bit into it. You savored its taste. You could have lived on it alone.

Everything smears together like a child’s careless hand in a mess of paints until all the brights muddle dark. A shaky breath as you work yourself into calming, trying to find coherent words while your head remains a pot of sideways soup, at best.

Bucky shifts until he’s looking up at you, nose millimeters away. His irises are just a touch more gray, a sprinkle less green. You can see Steve in him, just as he can see Steve in you and then your eyes begin to prickle, Nat’s face undulating behind the burn.

You don’t really know what you want to say. Maybe apologize, run, beg for forgiveness, grab Bucky by the shoulders and shake him until he understands that you didn’t mean it— you didn’t mean to hurt him. That you love him. That he lives inside you, too.

His ghost from the drift— the aftermath phenomena of the neural bridge when pilots take on a bit of each other’s consciousness out of the cockpit and into the world with them. Take two people with a predisposition for the drift into the cockpit into each other’s brains and they exit heightened—sharper, better—imbued with each other’s strengths and knowledge. Mind-meld long enough, deep enough, and your core endures, but you become a different beast.

When Steve’s consciousness bled into yours, so did Bucky��s. If you walked away with half of Rogers, you also got a quarter of Barnes and it only compounded worse during Polidori’s drop. Resurrecting trauma, agitating itself, making a mess of your weary soul.

You relived his amputation last night, just as fresh as you relived Nat’s death. More visceral than the first trial run, you witnessed him—felt him—torn and hoarse, clutching his shoulder as he rocked helplessly inside Orion’s chest, frayed wires sparking across his cheek and landing in his own blood. His teeth gnashing together as he tried to hold on for Steve’s sake, steering his co-pilot’s panic back on course. Terrified and agonized, but he was hellbent on making it out.

Bucky who made you laugh. Bucky who took you to dinner. Who walked with you, gave you his jacket, listened to your rambling and crying, and kissed you because you reminded him of his co-pilot, or maybe of himself.  

How could you not love him, after all this?

Armageddon slows for nothing though, and before the first letter of his name can fall out recklessly from your mouth, three precise thumps jostles it back in.

Steve’s voice is muffled through heavy steel. “You in there?”

The door slides open with a tremulous croak but neither of you bother to separate. Nothing seems to matter now.

“Buck...” Steve looks from one raw face to the other, stepping forward and reaching out. He grasps Bucky’s hand. “We should talk—” he closes his mouth into a thin line, shoulders slumping heavily before letting go. “I’m sorry. Later. Shit’s hit the fan.”

-

The office is stagnant air full of questions but other than the squeak of the marshal leaning back in his chair, nobody makes a sound.

Fury untucks a finger from the crook of his elbow before pointing it between your eyes.

“Culpability.”

Across the room, you flinch in his crosshairs. Standing apart from them, you’re partially slack against one of many steel filing cabinets, using it to prop yourself up in case your knees might give out as vertigo descends.

It’s been a lot to take in. Everything— the night, the morning, emotionally, mentally, physically. The hull is a steel cage, and pilots are well armored, but you’re still hooked up to the robot enduring damage, taking hits at barely .0001 percent, but taking it all the same. You’re bruised up good beneath your clothes— Polidori’s claws leaving four tender imprints of a scratch to Orion’s right shoulder. Your shoulder. Steve’s shoulder.

To your right, he shifts. A tiny hint of pain streaks over his expression before it falls serene again, fixed on Fury.

“Since you’ve been caught—” the marshal squints, “Canoodling With The Allegedly Injured James Barnes, I wouldn’t be surprised if someone’s already halfway finished with digging you up. Forgeries, petty theft, grand larceny, the damn rest of the kitchen sink. So, Ranger…” The way he says it is both lazy and threatening, completely on brand and irritatingly calm.

“Here’s my suggestion: get ahead of this thing before it knocks you on your ass.”

This thing, being any story a 13-year old kid with two thumbs and a twitter account can spin between now and when you let Pepper Potts spin it for you first. There’s not a lot imagination can’t conjure to fill in the blank pixelated space between Bucky standing on the curb and you right behind him wearing his cap and jacket. Not to mention that once speculation goes live, it starts sprouting all sorts of appendages with minds of their own, and no matter how diligently you might cut one off, two would only sprout in its place.

The marshal stands up and takes heavy steps before turning the corner of his desk, absently tapping a pile of folders together like they’re not already in a perfect column. He slips a manila folder out from the stack and it becomes obvious that his suggestion is just buildup to some other type of impetus.

When you open the file up under his sharp gaze, you feel the blood drain from your face and possibly from your entire body.

The bullet he aimed between your eyes hits home. Cue your brains blowing out slow. Impetus met.

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky appears over your shoulder, staring at the same grainy photocopied document. “You can’t be serious.”

“Do I look like I make a lot of jokes?” Fury leans forward, pointer curving over the top edge, tapping emphatically one, two, three times, even waving it back and forth in front of your unseeing eyes. “I’ve got a good contact inside the PPDC who risked a lot to get this out. They’re just plans for now, dogeared behind other pages, but don’t doubt the Corps’ cowardice for a second. The second this program looks like it might not hold up, they’ll turn their efforts there.”

You’re gone. Trapped between the lines, vehemently scanning the page, reading the same words over and over until they no longer make sense. But it’s not like they made any sense in the first place.

ANTI-KAIJU WALL: CONSTRUCTION AGENDA. SPRING 2020.

The conception of a perimeter stretching around the Pan Pacific—North and Central America, East and South Asia to isolate emerging Kaiju. It’s a fetal skeleton at most, the roughest of outlines for a plan, and truthfully, it’s no plan at all.

It’s shameful. It’s shit.

The so-called Wall of Life implies the portending death of the Program—of all Shatterdomes and Jaegers. It implies no support, no funding, and no repairs. No Kodiak. No juniors. No future.

Back and forth, you’re still desperately inspecting as if the words might shift into a new message, maybe one that didn’t spell out certain extinction, but despair is rippling across your face. Bi Fang and Polidori had wings, and they were only Category II. Bi Fang massacred one of the best pilots you’ve ever known—and it was only a Category II. Any higher and they’d blow through that wall like a ribbon of wet toilet paper.

Hysteria creeps up at the mere thought of it, fear stubbornly lodging itself in your throat. Nuclear-powered automata—the only proven defense against the terror of massive alien attacks are being dismantled in favor of steel rods and cinderblocks. They might as well build it out of Legos.

Anti-Kaiju Wall. A string of ants meeting a boot.

You’re panting softly, tongue swollen in your mouth, shaking with equal parts terror and rage, on the verge of breaking into inappropriate laughter and yelling.

“What—what do they expect?” You croak, “The breach opens, the fucking thing comes out, sees a fence, and what—they think it’s—going to crawl back in…?”

“Hey, calm down,” Bucky curls his fingers around your elbow. His hand and its black plates are peering at you, purring, dull gold bands threading at the knuckles. For a second, the prosthetic disappears. For a second, he’s blood red again.

“Hey!” Bucky grips tightly when you sway. “I’m fine! Don’t—don’t.” Steve’s jaw is set firmly on your other side, arms crossed so severely his biceps bulge with the strain.

“Nick,” He’s abruptly brusque as he eases the file from your grip. “Give us a minute.”

“You’re in my office.” But the marshal’s words hold no bite. He’s already won; he knows. Cornered again, he’s got you same as before in Red Cloud. 

You get the gist: play out your redemption arc and come clean with your record. Win over the public, hoard all the additional support and funding you can because you’ll need every goddamn cent of it when the PPDC rips it away. The gossip. The photos. The headlines. It’s the perfect opportunity for a few hundred million when the media is putting a magnifying glass on your presence in Hong Kong.

Duty. Duty. Duty.

You’re just one small part of this colossal puzzle—a negligible smear of guts across the battlefield trying to keep the rest of the pieces together while the PPDC sits in their panic rooms throttling the entire fucking thing.

Fury steps to the cabinet and slides the file back in its place, keeping the illusion of it being just another unremarkable envelope in a row of hundreds of others. The metal drawer shuts with a clang, housing the most damning piece of information you’ve ever seen. His tact aside, you know he would never show you his hand like this if it wasn’t completely necessary—or pertinent.

Steve was right, you understand now.

The world owes you. And it owns you.

-

The next six—seven?—hours scatter like pulled teeth with your head spinning like a top the entire way. Pepper had been outside the door for the conversation, waiting on standby to whisk you off for princess lessons. Having already (and correctly) predicted your compliance, Fury scheduled an interview for precisely at nine. Then you were off, towed along by Miss Potts and her hasty strut.  

You try to find perspective, reminding yourself that you’ve successfully gone toe-to-toe with the Empire State Building with fifteen rows of teeth seven fucking times and come out on the other side alive and if not in one whole piece, then at least 2-3 relatively serviceable pieces. You’re functional. A little damaged, but fine enough. But there’s also the fact that you’d just hopped out of Orion not even 24 hours ago coupled with how you’re suddenly in the middle of something that feels less like a confused love triangle and more like divine providence at the end of the world.

Fuck. No time to think about it now. The human brain is not programmed to multitask, and you’re hanging on by a mere thread. You prioritize making it through the night just as alive as you can make it out of a drop. Just a couple of hours and you can rest. Just a couple more.

After what felt like an eternity and a half of simulating Q&A, practicing your posture, smiling into a mirror, and one horrible limo ride where you stared dead-eyed out the window—Steve and Bucky’s steely gazes after you—the building finally comes into view.  

Hair. Makeup. Wardrobe. You wear pants. You smile for the camera. You don’t stand in the middle of the group photo.

8:55 and time halts to a near stop. You can hear your heart in your throat, or in your skull. Your eyes feel switched from their sockets, or stomach rotated 30 degrees. Someone fixes your mic wire, your blouse collar, asking you to turn just a little over there. Three cameras are pointed to capture every angle, punitive red dots angry and glaring.

A live broadcast was agreed upon to ensure the least amount of potential edits and skews, as well as the charmingly quaint idea that it’s unscripted. The rub, therein, lies upon the burden of poise and a flawless performance. You rehearsed lines until your jaw felt like it was coming unhinged. Then you did it again. 

Everything requires precision, and you keep that in mind with your hand on the glass of Dom Perignon being constantly refilled. An amicable gesture by the hosts, but their intentions are cunning: loose lips sink ships, and they’re betting on yours to sink the S.S. Orion Bravo.

Out of view, the translator sits with her legs crossed, listening to the questions before turning the words over in English.

You take a sip of champagne and it fires off like a gunshot—Cantonese and English in rapid-fire verses.

<2017 was a fateful year for both the Jaeger Program and the world. Beloved pilot Natasha Romanoff sacrificed her life to protect Alaska’s coast in a final battle against Category 2 Bi Fang. Memorials dedicated to Romanoff’s efforts appeared across every nation to lament her death and celebrate her heroism. Yet, somehow, no one seemed to be asking the million-dollar question: Where is her co-pilot?>

<Two days ago, pictures were taken in Hong Kong of James Barnes and a mysterious woman. Our sources here at TVB have worked tirelessly to uncover her identity.>

<Today we have the pleasure of introducing her to everyone tuning in. This is the first time you’ve ever been in the public eye, and astonishingly, next to two of the best pilots in the Program. There are so many questions, but first, the whole world wants to know…. why keep it secret?>

The host’s open hand urges your reply.

The lights seem to turn up even brighter. Your back starts sweating. The room is about to collapse. In short, naturally­­—infuriatingly—you choke.

Seven hours of droning like a broken wind up toy, already knowing how to answer this question by heart, prepping yourself for the interrogation, the relentless demand to publicize your grief, to placate the people about your relationship with their heroes—and, you choke.

Bucky’s chin tilts microscopically in the corner of your line of vision. You’re fine, he’s saying, you got it. He’s strangely calm, even pleased, as you stutter involuntarily. Like he’s the first to remember an inside joke you’d long forgotten, his grin widens the longer you look at him. Steve turns next. Focus. Don’t fight the drift. The drift is silence.

And suddenly, your shoulders ease. The static in your exhausted brain slides out of your ears.

You sit up tall. You smile. It doesn’t quite feel like your smile, but, it’s a good one. You know this smile; it’s Steve’s smile. Like a seamless assembly, you fall into rhythm.

The white of his teeth slip out from between Steve’s lips. He notices too.

You calmly recite the introductory speech you’d been practicing for the last two hours, feeling out your new voice, borrowing from his bearing—deeper, smoother, certain. The major points get run through: your record and own personality traits keeping you from the spotlight, admitting genuinely that you’re pretty damn uncomfortable now, so they’ll have to forgive you for any slip ups. It goes over well, as Pepper predicted; “candid” blunders made Rangers human—made them likable.

When the subject of Anchorage rolls back around, you can practically feel Steve’s jaw bulging preemptively. You graze his foot with yours as a warning to back off.

<It’s remarkable that you were able to bring the Jaeger back to shore, there has been only one pilot who was capable of that—>

“I’m thankful to have had Stacker Pentecost as my mentor. I owe so much of my resilience to him. It was difficult, but simply put, I had no other choice. I feel so lucky to have survived it.”

<Natasha Romanoff-->

“She was one of a kind.”

<Was it hard to—>

“Yes.”

The host clears his throat, visibly awkward that you’re being so terse, but taking the hint until  Bucky turns into the spotlight, that divorced happiness he’s so skilled at beaming into the lenses. 

Steve easily picks it up, steering the conversation where he wants it to go. He’s disarmingly sincere as he relays the process of Bucky’s injury, replacement, apprehension, and finally success

His bright blue eyes flicker secret messages and you decipher them all.

“The connection was like—"

There’s a bell chiming in your ears. Bright, crisp chirps of it, cutting through laughter and bickering. You taste summer air in your throat, Bucky’s hair flying in the wind. “Riding a bike…”

“Exactly. New bike, same motions, and it worked. It was great. We learned things about each other. Some good, some bad—”

Crosshatched pencil lines of their shared apartment. Smudges of charcoal in a sketchbook. “He’s an unbelievable artist, but—”

“No— don’t say it!”

Bucky smothering a small kitchen fire. Steve throwing a damp rag on him in a frantic attempt to assist. Your voice is bubbling out gleefully. “—an awful cook!”

“It’s true,” Bucky smugly chimes in. “The boy can’t boil water. Breakfast eggs come with shells every time.” You can taste the grit between your molars—crushed grains inside an overdone omelet, Bucky spitting out spinach and feta cheese.

“Oh my god,” you sputter into a sip of champagne. “It’s so bad.”

“Do you see what I have to deal with? Two people knowing my secrets. Two.”

<Fantastic! Already we can see a great friendship here—>

It seems congratulatory, but there’s determination to drive into scandalous territory, poking at any rumor to lance and leak. A sly smile crosses his face as his assistant shows photos of you and Bucky in the city, but the lurid suggestion only gets shrugged off. “We’d gone out for dinner. It was the first time I’d left the Shatterdome after Seigehook and I needed moral support.”

<The jacket tells a different story.>

“I’d give you my jacket if you looked cold.”

<Steve, Ophelia isn’t concerned that your new co-pilot is a woman?>

“No, absolutely not. ‘Lia’s the first person to support Orion—and the loudest. I don’t know what I’d do without her. You don’t have her behind the curtain, too, do you?”

<Well, what about personal memories? Won’t you know everything about each other…? Private things?>

“Sure, but what pair of pilots don’t? You got twins and siblings, not just married couples. Look, here’s the thing: the neural bridge doesn’t take you to a filing cabinet. It’s not open like that. It’s more like—somebody help me—” Bucky snaps his fingers your way, “—what’d you call it the other day?”

You didn’t, but you say, “A dream?”

“Right, a dream. If you think about it, you can pull on it, but if it’s not in the forefront of your mind. It’s a non-issue.”

“We’re all adults here,” Steve confirms.

<Do you plan for James to return to the cockpit? Is that the goal? James, how do you feel about all of this, taken away from your own Jaeger?>

Steve’s palm faces outward as if keeping the host at bay— or, you think, keeping himself at bay.  “Hold on. This isn’t about replacement. Nobody is framing it like a nail in the coffin—we’re in the interim of a period of time, readjusting. Short of death, nothing is going to take him away.”

Sunlight. Recruitment. Ice baths. Training until they had to carry each other to bed. Your eyes flutter, head pilfering through the memories like instinct.

“James is still Orion’s co-pilot.” You agree. Apprehension. Dread. Terror. Confidence in each other even when they didn’t believe in themselves. They were together. Nothing else mattered. “Steve’s co-pilot.”

The tight look on his face is temporarily wiped as he beams proudly, “He’s my Bucky. Always has been, always will be.” He claps Bucky on the back twice and each thump’s echo bounces its way into your chest.

Bucky bristles and sputters, but a healthy pink dusts its way across his cheeks, “Don’t embarrass me, Rogers.”

“Are you blushing?” You tease, elated.

“Don’t you start, either.”

<Well… this is very wonderful. Is there a possibility we’ll be seeing a triple-piloted machine? The Tang triplets have been in talks for a new model.>

Steve shakes his head. “We haven’t discussed it yet. Nothing’s off the table, by any means. Just not priority at the moment.”

<What is priority at the moment?>

“Normalcy, as much as we can get in the middle of all this.” Bucky holds out his hand, closing it into a fist, letting the camera zoom in. “We’re… still working through all the kinks, balancing the personal and global.” 

He flexes his fingers, letting the microphones pick up the drone of machinery, but his meaning is another secret. Clicking Morse codes of well-oiled obsidian plates purring two names. You’ve stopped listening to everything but the echo incandescent in your heart.

You down your glass.

-

Champagne tipsy, you try not to stagger through the lobby. The doorman nods toward the limousine parked faithfully by the curb.

The barrage of questions slowed after it became apparent that there would be no sensationalist headline. There was attention to Bucky’s arm, his handsome face, of course, before the banter quickly devolved into entertaining frivolous sidebar queries. Five flutes bubbled down your throat and by the end of it, you no longer wanted to grab camera one and shake the shit out of it, anger whittled down to a dull hum of annoyance.

Thirty million stupid dollars for inane reels of:

What’s in your purse? What do you eat? How do you stay feminine in a Shatterdome full of testosterone—have you tried any K-beauty skincare routines? Do you have anyone special in your life?

Bucky went in, then, leaning forward until he was nearly rocking off and leveled his glare. You know she’s on the other side of the same robot, buckled up into a ninety-pound rig steering two-hundred tons of—

It took a miracle (see: Steve’s firm hand discreetly on the back of Bucky’s neck and Pepper drawing a sharp line across her throat) to effectively halt the derailing train.

“I can’t believe,” Bucky grouses now, opening the door and waving the driver back to the front. “Those goddamn questions.”  

“Does wiping my sweaty face with my even sweatier shirt count as skincare? What’s the K stand for?”

Bucky smacks the back of your head with one hand, other clumsily yanking the door open with the other. “For Korean—have you been living under a rock? Just—get in the fuckin’ car.”

You slap him back. “Quit it, you invalid.”

“Invalid? I’ll show you a fuckin’—Steve, did you hear—”

“Both of you, get in the car.”

And you shriek, scrambling in and yanking Bucky along by the scruff of his jacket. Mischief courses beneath your skin, encouraged by clever alcohol, now fully buzzed its way to every extremity.

Still giggling and leaning into the thrill of it, you slump over the smooth plastic molding of the door and press your face against the tinted window. It’s a cool reprieve on your warmed cheek, frosting when your temperature meet the glass. Bucky’s easy Cantonese, albeit slurred, is requesting a ride back to base. His hand has found its way into yours, fingers laced large and warm, clasping tight before he lets go.

“Haven’t had a drink—oh--” you murmur, catching yourself as the wheels shift.

“Since Red Cloud.”

“Outta my head, Rogers.”

“Says the person who kept finishing my sentences during that interview.”

“It’s the champagne! It makes me—“

“Stupid?”

“You’re an ass, Barnes.” But you’re laughing at him, at the way he’s smirking— cheeks gone ruddy. Both of them, open beside each other, heads inclined intuitively together. It makes you ache to see—to experience again after disruption—Rogers and Barnes. Barnes and Rogers. Perfectly fitted.

The partition slides up. The sunroof tugs open with a whistling draft.

Hong Kong’s lights are vivid—too much to properly see the extent of space’s beauty, but there are a few twinkles you’re able to make out in the moonless night as light poles and skyscraper tips whiz overhead. They’re brighter than most, simple to spot patterns in the dark.

“Orion’s out tonight,” you mutter, moving to catch the line of its belt, “Look. Beneath his feet is Lepus, the hare, pursued for all time.” From across, Steve follows, also looking to find their hero as your hair rustles wildly, making a hurricane against your ear.

“Don’t be so fucking dramatic,” Bucky scolds. He’s annoyed and comfortable on leather, ankle crossed over opposite knee. “You’re not being chased by anything. Besides, if you were a constellation, you’d probably be the soup ladle.”

You laugh. He’s always playing the part of a stoic so well. “Hey, I’ll have you know the Little Dipper’s got the north star in it. That soup ladle’s gonna be the thing that gets you home when you’re lost.”

The tone shifts—time dragging its pace as you look at them in wonder. The city’s overripe heaviness of the blows through, making goosebumps on heated skin.

“Buck,” Steve says, and Bucky slips his jacket from his shoulders to slide over yours. He tugs the lapels down like he’s trying to keep you on earth and your hands clasp on his wrists for a second before you let go. They’re both sitting up now, watching your bleary gaze unfocus.

Steve and Bucky oscillate in front of your eyes, their lines blurring until it doesn’t really matter who you’re looking at—until they become one. So easy, like this, just them like two sides of the same coin, belonging so seamlessly to each other.

“Sorry,” you blurt in shame, “I feel like I fucked it up. Ruined a thing that wasn’t mine to ruin.”

“Think you put it together,” Steve responds quietly, and the simplicity of his statement throws you off. “We found our way.”

“Soup ladle,” Bucky jokes.

“But, aren’t we just trading one war for another? World peace only made it because of monsters.” Unspoken questions hidden inside large-scale metaphors— symbiosis could only be achieved under the lies of other relationships. Whatever this would be, it wouldn’t be accepted. Steve still retains his supermodel girlfriend and you and Bucky dutifully fall in line for your own packaged little PR lies.

He shrugs. “I’m fine with losing a few battles in this war, but Orion’s got a good track record, doesn’t it, Buck?”

“Twelve— thirteen kills, sweetheart.” Bucky’s grin is lopsided. “Don’t forget you made that happen.”

“Thirteen’s an unlucky number.”

“Feels lucky to me.” Steve’s hand wraps around your wrist, thumb resting on your pulse. He taps your skin, looking genuinely apologetic. “Listen, all I can do is ask— and I’m not good at asking for things. I just want to make them happen.” A quick glance at the watch under his cuffs and he tugs at your arm like a lost child, “So, before we get back… will you come here?”

As he said, he’s not really asking. More like reaching his will out to you, finding you when you’re caught in the undertow and pulling you back to safety. To them. Okay. Okay.

Your footing slips, but they take your hands and turn you carefully, letting you settle in between. Bucky hums a low sound, fingers curling around your waist. Steve does the same to the opposite side and you feel both torn apart and held together by them.

Steve nuzzles your neck, hot on your skin.

“She was wrong,” he whispers, barely audible over the sound of your rising breath, “You know that? She was wrong, and I was wrong. I thought it couldn’t happen—thought I had other priorities, other things to manage and settle and save and... I lost sight of what matters most. But I’m gonna really fix it this time—I’m gonna do it right by you.” 

He looks to Bucky, pained and relieved, “Both of you, I promise.” He takes Bucky’s hand in his own and holds it to his mouth, kissing his knuckles, his palm, saying softly, “I love you, Buck. I’m sorry you waited so long.”

“Hey stupid,” Bucky says shakily when your chin starts to quiver at the sight of them. He’s sniffling and swallowing his syllables, unable to stop himself from staring at Steve’s face in his hand, how Steve kisses the blue pulse in his wrist. “Ain’t you—too pretty to cry?”

The rocking of the car flattens out as Steve gently presses his lips to yours, letting the trail of salt bursting down your cheek into his mouth. He moves to the line of your jaw, promising,

It’s okay. I got you. Nothing’s gonna hurt you anymore.

They kiss you and the world turns itself right.

They kiss you and then they kiss each other. Again and again and again.

#marvel #stucky #stucky x reader #pacific rim au #steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes #fanfiction #reader insert #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader

[kyle-valenti]

burnout only feels like burning

2.7k / Summary: kyle valenti doesn't have the same quarantine as his friends; an exploration of kyle's trauma during covid as a doctor. (tw depression & other triggers you’d imagine with this subject)

read & comment/ ao3

A little like the virus itself, Kyle’s relationship with his mask begins with worry, annoyance, and then pain. He’s more than happy to have the proper N-95 mask as they begin to get their first case at Roswell General but then a couple more patients trickle in and within a few days his skin is irritated and itching. Maybe it’s the news, maybe it’s the texts from his friends that he’s increasingly missing, but when the Regiment starts spouting off about how COVID is a joke he thinks it might be affecting his nerves too. By week three his former red mark left by the mask has become a permanent feature to his face and by week five it’s not a mark but a bruise instead. Blisters and cracks in his skin litter his hands from over-washing. His feet become so overused the pads of his feet feel numb and bruised and he wears through an entire pair of shoes.

Positivity has fled from his life by week seven and now he’s inside of a survival mode he’s never experienced. He thought after last year he’d be used to anything the world (or universe, rather, given all these aliens) could throw at him. Now what feels foolish, he had believed that there was nothing that could be worse than the previous pain of losing a patient or finding out his father had experimented on people’s lives. 

When he’s out of ventilators and CPAP machines because Albuquerque needs them more and he has to choose whether or not to save the life of an eighty five year old or a thirty two year old he remembers from high school, he breaks.

 Guilt is one thing, grief is another, but the pure rage he feels knowing that Max Evans is out on the town patrolling as some fucking cop and not someone who could heal most of this hospital makes him want to commit actual murder. Maybe trading the blood of an alien on his hands would feel less heart-wrenching. But no. Max had brought back Rosa and had paid the price. Quelling his anger, he went back to work.

 He slept at the hospital most nights in the height of it. Sure the couch was rough, but it was better than the other on-call doctor beds down the hall. Three twelve hour ER shifts of a usual work week doubled to five days of thirteen hour shifts. Soon there’s a week where he pulls double shifts for an entire week when one of his nurses is urgently hospitalized herself. Hospital directors had left them with no PPE except contaminated masks to reuse. Maria, Isobel, and Rosa are in the forefront of a drive to make and donate masks to his hospital after some social media posts that he doesn’t even see until the cloth masks arrive and his medical assistants give him their handwritten note. It makes him smile, but smiling feels so foreign that he almost wants to break from that.

 Visitors are no longer allowed which means Kyle isn’t allowed to use his bedside manner to comfort the family of patients. He has to facetime mothers, spouses, and children and hold the phone over a patient who can’t breathe without machine assistance and pretend that everything is fine and that there’s still hope despite the hypoxia and lack of rising vitals. Ignore that if the patient goes into cardiac arrest more than once, the kindest thing to do given prognosis is to let the patient pass. Resuscitation and DNR (a patient’s begging request to not be resuscitated) becomes a word he uses in his daily work and not simply for intense surgeries.

 Exhaustion isn’t a deep enough adjective to describe the fugue state he goes into. File to file, room to room, ventilator to next… he isn’t surprised when his body starts to wear down. When he no longer feels hunger and instead feels all too hot and dizzy. Telling himself it’s just because of how much he’s exerting his body while covered in layers and layers of protective clothing doesn’t help the fact that he’s starting to have more trouble breathing as he walks the hallways at a fast pace. When he begins to cough, he does what he promised himself he wouldn’t do and drives out post-shift to the desert cabin of Max Evans.

 Part of him is too desperately tired to knock, but when he arrives on the property with the cop car idle and the house dark and at peace for the night, his fury greets him with the embrace of a long-lost friend. Knuckles pound at the wood and Max answers the door with surprise and a general look of defense, and Kyle tries not to immediately punch him in the face at the fact he looks like he had woken up from a comfortable sleep.

 “Heal me.” Kyle manages to spit out.

 “I—what’s wrong?”

 “Beginning stages of respiratory distress, fever, nausea—what do you fucking think?”

 “Kyle—,” Max starts to say, the hesitation deepening, and that does it.

 “No. I have not asked you for anything in all of this, Evans. Anything!” He shouts, voice hoarse. “Not when people got sick, not when they started dying, not even when we started having to let people die on purpose. And you know what? I wasn’t going to even come and ask you now, but I can’t get sick when I’m the one here fucking saving lives out of the two of us and you’re just cruising the streets handing out goddamn traffic tickets.”

 Max’s face isn’t stony like it usually is when Kyle’s yelling at him; this time it’s crushed and guilty but not nearly enough. “What kind of hours you work this week, Evans? A nice 8 to 4? Did you get facetime with Isobel or your mom, maybe binge through a few books and movies after you’re home? Did you sit down and eat a nice dinner and or go over to drink a few beers with Guerin since you can’t get sick? Even get a nice eight hours of sleep in your own bed in your nice quiet home?”

 No response.

 “I am not asking to sequence your DNA like Liz. All I am asking is for you to let me heal people since you don’t want to.”

 A night breeze is all that makes noise for a moment as Kyle catches his breath and glares at Max, who stands quietly but is staring down at his boots before he finally looks up and nods. Max steps forward then, and Kyle sees that his eyes are actually filled with tears. Temper deflating, but still not subsiding entirely, given that not much else is able to be done; Kyle lets Max place a hand on his shoulder and feels the extremely weird feeling spread throughout his body. Something more electric than anything else, which God knew made a lot more sense concerning his powers and how the body operated with electrical nerve impulses, but that is a train of thought better left for another day. He wants to just walk away, and he almost does, but he still mutters a “thank you” before he does so.

When his nurse dies a few days later and he watches as the staff double bag her body to take to the morgue, he escapes to his office and crashes on his couch with sobs. There’s no one here to support him. He can’t go to his mother’s home and collapse into one of her comforting embraces without risking infecting her. He can’t get wasted at the Wild Pony with Maria when it’s closed. He can’t visit Rosa or Arturo at the Crashdown. Keeping his friends and family safe meant keeping them away from him. Keeping them safe meant he needed to stop pushing his head into his hands to try and control the sound of his crying and get back to work at saving the lives around them.

He gets put on leave by the hospital administrator when he’s almost arrested for decking Wyatt Long in the hospital parking lot as the idiot stood outside with a sign rallying Regiment members to make sure the hospital was told it was killing people on purpose for the election. If Jenna hadn’t been the officer on duty he would have been cuffed and put on record, jeopardizing his license, but there was some self-preserving part of him that desperately wished for his practice to be over anyway. He’s not even sure how Jenna handles it, honestly, all he remembers is her dropping him off at his house from her patrol car like she had been nothing but an uber. No matter how angry and adamant he gets, his boss refuses to bend, saying it’s for his own good given the connections the Long’s have in the town and how Kyle has worked almost 74 of the past 76 days.

Alex is the first to visit him, unannounced. When the doorbell rings Kyle is mindlessly pretending to watch some tv show in his living room that’ll distract him from his consuming thoughts about patients, so he doesn’t get up to answer. He checks his silent phone to see if he was forewarned of a visitor but sees nothing. Unsure if it’s his boss or a patient’s family, he forces himself up onto his sore feet and opens the door after grabbing a regular mask off the coffee table. Black face mask on and standing further out from the door on the porch is Alex, the usual gruff hello turned into something soft. “Hey.”

Kyle heaves a sigh. He had wondered when the pity visits would begin. “Hey. You really shouldn’t be around me, you know.”

“I’m clearly a minimum of eight feet away in an open space while masked.” Alex smarts back. “Either way, I’m worried about you.”

Scoffing, he shakes his head. “Don’t fucking worry about me. Worry about getting sick, because if I have to see another person I care about die, I--,”

“Kyle.” the other says too kindly, the sort of pacifying voice Alex reserved for only the most dire situations. “I have no idea what you’re dealing with in specifics, but my experiences do overlap with yours in some places.”

“And?”

Maybe it came out a little too rude, because Alex raises a brow, but then sighs instead. “And I’m just checking in to make sure you know people care about you.”

“Thanks, Manes.” Kyle huffs in return, managing not to roll his eyes because focusing on being blunt and abrasive was so much easier.

“Just be careful.” Alex interjects before Kyle could close the door and turn back to his show. “Dealing with the trauma of what you’re dealing with gets dark very quickly.”

“Because I punched Wyatt Long?” he spits back sarcastically.

“No, because the suicide rates for healthcare professionals are drastically increasing along with the rates of PTSD diagnoses.” Alex says flatly, ever one to be unfazed by sarcasm. “And I’ve lost more active duty members to suicide than I have combat.”

Kyle pauses, caught. Maybe Alex had known he would be, because there isn’t some way he can give a smile and reassuring wave with him like he could his mother or Liz. While Kyle hadn’t actively thought of a plan, he couldn’t pretend he had noticed signs of depression the second he was alone in his house. 

“The quiet is the worst part, right?” Alex says, all but reading his mind. “Not always because of the flashbacks, although those are horrible, but because if things are quiet then--,”

“--people are dying.” Kyle finishes, his voice raspier by the end of the three words. “Yeah, well, mine still are.”

“They’re going to.” Is what felt like a cold response, but somehow gave Kyle the understanding he’s been craving. “They’re going to die and because of your profession you’re going to be able to save some of them. Which will make you think you’re responsible to save all of them and because you’re a good person you’re going to feel guilty in ways that no one will understand for being human and failing to.”

“Failing is all I do lately.” Kyle replies. “Usually the wins feel higher than the losses as a doctor, but with this-- and no one outside of it cares. They go outside and yell about how this is about a fucking election and when it’s not the patients, it’s the hospital pretending they don’t have enough money to buy us proper protection. Or the government saying this will all go away and that it’s just a light cold.”

Alex gives a small nod. “I know. I also know telling you the same advice that you’d give another doctor of trying not to burn out and instead taking a small rest is useless. So I’m just going to drop off these dvd’s and make you report back to me the difference when you’re done.”

Star Trek and Star Wars. Kyle finds a smile tug on his lips. Alex leaves with one on his as well.

When he gives a response to Alex a few days later on how Star Wars is better not more than a few minutes later Deluca is texting him with recommendations on joining her Buffy the Vampire Slayer rewatch. There’s something sweet about the fact that people have been clearly talking about him, even if definitely borderline creepy with how nosy his circle of friends can be, but he sighs and lets Maria add him to the group chat she has with Rosa and Liz where they review each episode after the fact and even chimes in every now and then. Isobel gets added not long after due to an Instagram story Maria shares and then the group has moved onto Friends after everyone shoots down Liz for suggesting Grey’s Anatomy on behalf of Kyle. Alex is also in there, even if it’s rare he chimes in with an opinion, but once they start Friends his commentary about how much he hates Ross that gets the entire group riled up does tend to make him laugh. Even Kyle agrees with Forest-- whose opinion had been shared by Alex-- that Chandler had all too many queer-coded scenes with Joey.

His mother facetimes him daily, which given how they both don’t exactly go out much starts to become monotonous, until she begins to give in and talk about memories she has of their father. Tidbits she never would have shared with him about their adult life when he was a child or teenager. He in turn facetimes Rosa and shares some of the memories of their father as well, which as much as she tries to pretend she doesn’t want for Arturo’s sake she clearly does with the million questions she asks every single time and the small smile she gives him at the end of their calls.

Liz updates him on her work which is a nice reprieve from everyone’s normalcy and lack of medical jargon sometimes, especially when she gives him inside info on covid vaccine studies not yet published to the general public yet. Everything in him wants this more than anything else in the world right now and he texts her almost every day asking if she’s heard more news even when he knows things take time. She’s a good sport about everything, even when he shares in a very angry rant about Max Evans and how they could have helped so many more people so much more quickly with his DNA-- however selfish that might have been.

When he goes back to work, he feels refreshed, even when it makes things hit like a freight train once more. Lost in a sea of inadequacy, his feelings extend past the pandemic. Even when things return to a level of normalcy and the cases subside he gets alien medical drama thrown in his face once more, and he starts to wonder if he’ll ever recover. If he was wrong to choose this calling. If the fact he can’t help Max or Maria is a sign from above or his father that it’s time to make some career move or change location like his mother and Liz. But, like he tells Michael Guerin. He can’t think he can face his future children and say he walked away from this. Or let people die by quitting, just like Rosa warns. And so he stays and tries to heal both other people and himself.

#so yeah this was the lighter version #i had to stop before things got to dark for my own mind #also genuinely feel like the mentions he gives to rosa about feeling lost #should stem from this if the writers aren't cowards #kyle valenti #rnm fic #kyle valenti fic #roswell new mexico #tw covid #tw depression #my fic #my post

[onlyhereforangst]

WWR

I’m baaaaack bitches 😘 let’s be honest the last two episodes were shit & you wouldn’t have wanted that wwr anyways. SO let’s get into the ✨angst✨ that was Nick’s episode under the cut…

Oh but before I start, why yes, yes I called this theory too. Me and this writer share a goddamn brain or something because I’ve literally always guessed big plot points of his episodes correctly 😅

Ok Nick’s dad leaving like that, with poor bby Nick all sweet asking if he promises to bring him back his favorite pastry and him hesitating before he’s going to promise- NO. 

*picture Michael Scott gif here*

It’s not faaaaaair, little Nick deserved so much better- so MUCH better. And it’s only going to get worse as the episode goes on, so strap in for the walk down emo lane. 

Quick pit stop for cute banter because duh. Nick giving the real estate agent Ellie’s number cracks me up because bro you want this house with her don’t you 👀 you still keep her business cards on you when you could have just as easily gotten your own (or McGee’s) by this point 👀 you just want to maaaaarry her and move iiiiiiin with her I knooooooow it 👀 Ellie’s reaction the split second we see also has me dying because she’s like ha ha this is funny you had to talk to real estate agent you drew the short straw hey wait what the fu— you did not! Before McGee interrupts any protest she can hurl back Nick’s way and that’s just gold right there. Pure middle school flirting as per usual for them and I love it.

Oooooooh Kasie’s lab scene. The growth in this one. Nick worried his family and by extension him, is going to get implicated for murder (or is guilty) even though it sounds outrageous to him, he’s got PTSD from Mona Lisa (and who wouldn’t tbh). But Ellie immediately, like IMMEDIATELY goes and defends him. Is like uh-uh don’t even GO there, it’s not a possibility its just person of interest I don’t care if it’s literal hair at the scene of a man stabbed brutally seven times, he’s not a murderer. The grooooooowth Ellie, I’m so proud of you 🥺 we went from using that logical head to realizing it’s ok to listen to your heart and wade into situations with empathy (especially for the boy you ~*looOOoOoOve*~) And then Nick talking about his dad being dead and a deadbeat and walking out when he was 5, he looks at Ellie almost the entire time, only barely glancing over at McGee like he needs to have that connection with her, she grounds him when this is suddenly very jarring having a relative by semi-involved in a murder. And Ellie isn’t the slightest bit shocked when Nick dumps this news so clearly she’s heard it and by her look, not only has she heard this, but she does not like the man for what he did to Nick. She looks pissed his father hurt Nick like that because how dare any one hurt her man 😤

And oh here it is, we back on emo lane. Nick recognizing and seeing his dad for the first time in 30 years. It’s gonna hit like a 🎵freeeeeight traaaain🎵 at first he can’t even believe its him, he blinks like a thousand times because *surely* his eyes are deceiving him and then his dad goes and uses his nickname, his nickname people the CRUELTY. YOU DON’T GET TO JUST SHOW UP THIRTY YEARS LATER AND CALL HIM BY HIS CUTE LITTLE NICKNAME YOU GAVE HIM AS A CHILD. YOU DON’T MIGUEL. NOT IN THIS GD HOUSE. Ok and now nick is in pure shock because he just got confirmation that his dad is not only *not* dead, but he’s here in front of him, in DC no less, possibly a murderer no less. AND he’s finding this out by chasing him down *not* by Miguel reaching out to him while in DC. The shock and confusion and hurt my poor baby.

And when that shock wears off and it’s just barely contained rage, my heart 🥺 so of course Ellie goes in there with him and nows she needs to immediately be the support she knows he needs but he won’t admit to needing. Nick tries to deflect with a joke at first but oh honey it’s no use. But quick comedic relief for us on emo lane “sit down, no I don’t like sitting” AHAHAHA like father like son I’m cackling because the look Ellie and nick share and nick’s eyes warn her like don’t you dare fucking say it and she’s like yep yep nope I wasn’t gonna say a damn thing I’ll just look down and try to contain my laughter because now is NOT the time. But see I’m on my couch and I can laugh all I damn well please at this scenario that was gold from the writers thank you. On a more serious level this probably hurt nick even more seeing that he’s even got the smallest something similar to his dad. He’s probably desperate to be the exact opposite, he doesn’t want to even consider being capable of what his father was capable so this - while seemingly insignificant - thing like not wanting to sit in a chair will hit deep for him without him realizing it. If something so trivial is the exact same, wouldn’t something much much heavier like commitment to relationships and family be the exact same? Wouldn’t it?? And good god poor nick for going through that mental anguish, on emo rollercoaster lane. Because it just gets better when Miguel’s excuse for being in DC is “visiting family” like call your BULLSHIT Miguel you certainly ain’t visiting family and Nick now knows oh he lies too, great, another win for the Torres blood, fan-fucking-tastic. 

Quick peek at viewing room and we don’t believe in personal space, Ellie wants to be as close as possible to her hurting bby 🥺

But back to the emo stuff - Miguel just lying off his ass and Nick fed up with his father’s games because it’s truly just twisting that knife in his back that’s been stuck there for 30 years deeper and deeper. AND THEN Miguel has the audacity to yell out for “Nico” like bitch you do NOT get to call him that either. You walked out on him and never came back gtfo. And Ellie is trying so hard to keep it together but man she wants to do one of two things if not both at the same time - wrap Nick up in her arms and shield him from this deadbeat and/or punch this man through the glass to cause just a fraction of the hurt he caused Nick. But instead she just has to keep her cool to be the supportive girlfriend she is and ask nick what he thinks and then. Then. “He’s lying…because his lips are moving”

Well FUCK. Murder me right now. The anguuuuuuuish. Poor five year old Nick in a 35 year old Nick’s body. That little boy who was promised a big hojaldre in the morning from the next town over is right there. Right there to witness the father he thought he had, hasn’t changed. One of the only memories Nick probably has of his father is him leaving. Him lying and leaving. And what does he do when he finally shows up again? 

HE LIES AND LEAVES. HE FUCKING LIES AND LEAVES. (I know I’m getting ahead and technically at this point we don’t know he’ll leave again but whatever sue me because this shit is too much.)

Side note: Ellie talking about a “conflict of interest” that Nick didn’t interrogate his father is laughable considering she should have never interrogated Xavier but ok. 

Ooooo lets see some pissed off Nick. Let it loose baby, you deserve this. And I know I wrote about this in the tags somewhere but can we take a second to appreciate McGee’s growth??? Like bro went from straight up denial to acceptance and giving Ellie the look of “go talk to your boyfriend ok we need to make sure he’s alright and we both know your support is going to go a lot further than my support” and Ellie wordlessly kNOWS EXACTLY WHAT HE’S SAYING. She’s like yeah, of course I’ll go help my man why wouldn’t I. 

I don’t know why but Ellie asking Nick if he’s talked to his “mom and sister” is just so 🥰 I can’t explain this one to you but I love this dialogue ok. Actually I love this whole ensuing conversation. Nick still is bitter (he has every gd right to be), Ellie playing the supportive girlfriend but *tiiiiiniest* bit of devil’s advocate with saying he might be innocent. Once again, so much growth because honestly she knows what it’ll do to Nick if his dad actually *is* a murderer. Like can we for a second imagine if his dad actually was guilty, right? Nick already saw he was like his dad in trivial things like not wanting to sit in chairs. Nick has already had serious, serious doubts to what he’s capable of aka worried he could, if the right buttons were pushed, be a murderer on multiple occasions. Ellie has been there with him for all of that, she knows how low his confidence is when it comes to his perceived “goodness” and she knows just how much it would break him if he learned his direct bloodline IS capable of murder. She knows how he’d spiral if that was true and so she’s gripping to any small possibility his dad is innocent. But nick, oh poor Nick my heart- he’s done. He opens up to Ellie without literally any prodding. He’s baring his long buried soul to her, that troubled, broken childhood that he surely keeps locked away in fear of letting anyone see a weakness. He bares it without question because he feels so safe in her presence he can let her in to see his deepest shame and by extension his deepest worry 🥺🥺🥺 and poor Ellie, she’s a little lost at how to go about helping him because she does have a good relationship with her dad, so yes all she has here for him is saying his father was guilty of a crap dad but it’s because she’s still trying to convince them both he has to be good. He has to be good for Nick’s sake. Buuuuuuut it doesn’t really work does it, because oh shit pissed the fuck off Nick is a site to behold isn’t it 🥵 kicking down doors once again and his smart “still think he’s innocent” oooooooo damn. Ellie’s face says it all- she’s trying so hard to hold out hope for Miguel, so hard. She needs him to be innocent she’s willing to speak it into existence a thousand times but her face is like fuck this is going to kill him and I can’t do a damn thing about it other than just watch. 

More pissed off Nick 🥵 but when you think about it is so so painful, all I can picture is that little 5 year old boy who woke up the next morning waiting, waiting, and waiting. Staring out the window at each car that slows down but ultimately passes. Tugging on his Mami’s shirt asking for the hundredth time when papi is coming back from the bakery with his hojaldre, oblivious to the tears that are slowly sliding down her cheek because she still can’t find the words to tell him what she knows deep down. That little boy who when the sun starts to set the confusion sets in with it. Why hasn’t my papi come back yet? Where is he? He promised. The sadness and sense of rejection that starts to fill his little heart when his mami tucks him and his sister into bed and he asks one final time where papi is and will he say goodnight to them and his Mami has to say she’s not sure when he’s coming home and quietly to the side, “if he’s coming home.” The little boy who weeks later has finally abandoned watching out the window every, single morning. The little boy who had his heart ripped out and thrown to the side of the road when he realized his papi didn’t go to the bakery and instead he was thrown out by his father like a day-old hojaldre. So yeah pissed Nick is fine af but good god the angst underneath is suffocating. Because Nick in this moment doesn’t know the *true* reason Miguel left. He knows what he lived and what he lived is a piece of shit. Nick’s response to “is that what you think of me” is amicable because OOF he could’ve gone the fuck off right there and told him what he really thought of him but he stuck with only a slight dig. TO WHICH MIGUEL. FUCK YOU MIGUEL. IT HASN’T HURT YOU MUCH. FUCK YOU MIGUEL. FUCK YOU. SOUNDS LIKE YOU WERE A SHIT DAD SO YEAH PROBABLY A GOOD THING YOU LEFT. THANK HIM NICK WITH YOUR FISTS BECAUSE HE’S A LITTLE SHIT. FUCK YOU MIGUEL. TOUGHENED HIM UP SO MUCH HE SHUTS EVERYONE OUT. YEAH FUCK YOU. 

And then man here is the point where it all just muddies in Nick’s mind. The poor dude. He knows this line of work, hell he was undercover for almost a decade. He understands how that leaves almost no room for a family. He gets it, so deep deep deep down a tiny part of him realizes why Miguel likely *thought* it was ok to ditch his family. But for thirty years he’s felt abandoned- no reasoning can change that. 

“It’s good to know he was making a nice living while my family was starving” fucking GET HIM NICK. Damn I wish Miguel had been in the room for that. He deserved to hear that one. Ruthless. 

I do not know how I missed this the first time around but holy shit Nick asked to be removed from the case. Nicholas Torres- a man who does not back down. A man who bullied his way into finishing his first ever case with this team that he was arguably way too close to that one too. This is how much pain Miguel brings him. A man who does not quit, not in his vocabulary - was so pissed at getting sent home back when Reeves died, he asks to get sidelined. He actually asks to get sidelined. Holy shit Miguel did a number on Nick and I mean we knew this but 🥺😭😭 poor bby. No wonder you don’t trust yourself in a serious relationship. It’s not the girl you’re worried about it’s you. You don’t think you’re capable of staying, you’re terrified you’ll be just like your dad and leave. once again, you’ve seen the similarities with trivial things and so this just cements your fear of failing at commitment. And this is Nick in just so much pain he asks to step back. oof. I do love Leon stepping into a slight fatherly role for Nick right there though, he shows his support, his pride in Nick and in that moment I think Nick realizes while his father by blood is shit, he’s got several other strong role models in his life that care and that’s why he agrees to work with him. 

Nick’s smarts comment about leaving the note behind 🤣 oh classic Torres move. Also do yourself a favor and pause it on Ellie’s reaction to him. GOLD hahaha she’s like ooo-kay did you really feel the need to say that, let’s not. Honestly I think I’ve given this look to my husband almost daily. They married y’all. 

So married that she overhears Miguel trying to talk to Nick and her hackles raise!!! She’s like hold the fuck up do not traumatize my baby even more, Nick do you need me??? Because I will get you out of this, I will be here for you, I will fight this man, just say the damn word!!!! And Nick ugh, his look. They can communicate with just a simple look, he knows all that she would do for him in that moment and still nods her off, but that tiny bit of gratitude is present. Then we find out that yes Grace is really good at guessing theories “in order to keep his young family safe, it means he has to leave. Of course he can’t *tell* them why he has to leave so that they continue to stay innocent and safe. So he plays it like he’s a deadbeat dude who was “too young” to be a father and is just now realizing it and leaves his wife, little daughter & son behind. Flash forward thirty years and the NCIS case leads them to him. A piece of evidence pops up with his alias, they go knocking down doors to interrogate a potential suspect (Nick’s father) before our lovely CIA agent interfere and claims he’s innocent because he’s a CI…” like DAMN, I’m good. Hahaha any ways the reason I bring this up is because I feel like I predicted/analyzed Nick’s feelings really well back then in this theory and after seeing his expressions, they hold true. Nick is just absolutely warring with himself during this explanation, searching for anything to confirm his dad truly is a deadbeat (and yes he is still absolutely a piece of shit for what he did, but there’s a “good” reason for his leaving and that’s what makes it so- hard.) and as I said when I first broke this down, Nick understands undercover work and his dad (being the POS he is) brings that up to Nick. Like he should “get” it because wouldn’t he do the same thing since he’s in that life? But here’s where (and Nick doesn’t totally realize it yet) Nick and Miguel are different. Because Nick came back, Nick stayed. He stayed y’all and he says it here but he does not realize the implications of his words quite yet. He is NOT the same as Miguel. Yeah he doesn’t like to sit in chairs but he has stayed. He has stayed through some tough shit too but he’s stayed nonetheless. More than Miguel could ever fucking say, that’s for sure. So yes, when Nick has the come to Jesus and realizes that he is not the same as his dad and he can and will stay? Damn I can’t wait for that moment. Also I wanted to slap Miguel when he called Nick “mijo” because BITCH YOU DO NOT GET TO CALL HIM THAT. YOU DO NOT GET TO CALL HIM YOUR SON. NO. “I’m not perfect but I did the best I could” well fuck you too Miguel because look at this broken five year old boy inside a thirty five year old man’s body. Does that look like the product of a “best you could”?? Does he look “ok” to you??? Fuck you. 

But yes here’s my take on where Nick is at: how do you forgive someone you’ve despised for thirty years once you know they “didn’t have a choice” (even though it will always feel like they had a choice or they could’ve explained it to you even if you were only five) and left in reality token you safe and give you a better chance at life? How do you reconcile the real dad and the one you lived with in your head for so long?? How???

And then you’re stuck still reeling from the night before and the bomb that was dropped and the reconciliation you’re attempting to your dad bringing in the ONE THING. The ONE THING he promised to bring home in the morning thirty years prior. How the actual fuck does one come back from that. Can I give another big FUCK YOU to Miguel Torres? Because seriously??? Why do you ever think that’s ok??? Hey I promised my kid I’d bring him hojaldres in the morning for breakfast thirty years ago so may as well make good on that promise right, only thirty years late that’s totally fine right? He won’t tell the difference right?

Fuck you, Miguel. 

And they’re still clearly Nick’s favorite because he’s brought Jimmy to a restaurant specifically for them and that just makes my heart break for the man he had to become without a father. He still held onto that love for them even though they were probably always associated with a horrible, horrible memory of being abandoned 🥺🥺 god damn Nick you’re so broken I’m so sorry. 

Ellie is still as supportive as ever and good god we clearly have lost all pretense of personal space at this point, what is her we don’t know her isn’t this normal for coworkers? But this conversation implies he called her after his talk with his dad and ugh yesssss 😩❤️ I still think he called her immediately after leaving the building, talked the entire car ride home and while getting ready for bed, needing the comfort of her voice on the other end of the line as he worked through his whirlwind of emotions and tried to come down off the cliff he felt himself on. All pretenses of a bad boy with a mysterious flare forever gone, his heart is open for her to see and he doesn’t give two shits about it anymore. But Ellie does a damn good job of girlfriend duties here and not only supports him but also gently prods him to see if he can maybe one day have a relationship with his father. The parallels she brings up makes him think (and also makes him look at her lips twice 👀 he’s just so close to her how could he not I mean right 😅) and I love that she’s still being v supportive but also trying to help him grow. 

And then Ellie giving Nick the option to go with his dad or go to the other location because she’s not going to push anything on him he doesn’t want and then when he chooses the embassy to avoid his dad her reaction had me laughing 🤣 but she respects it. And yet shortly after Miguel tries to team up with Nick and Ellie hears it from the other side of the bullpen, immediately all ears to step in if he wants to avoid him again despite giving him flack for it earlier. Nick can sense her worry and support and this is the moment he takes her advice in just a tiny step and accepts teaming up with his dad. But OMG KILL ME WHEN NICK THINKS HIS DAD IS DEAD BEFORE HE GETS TO TRY AT A RELATIONSHIP AGAIN. HIS WHISPERED “papa’s” I CAAAAAN’T. 

Ugh and then his last conversation with his dad while Ellie is checking on him constantly. It’s just too much, that little boy is back, desperately hoping for his dad to stick around. And Ellie is just so happy she can’t contain it for him and it’s perfect. He walks right to her, her hand on his back because they just need to touch each other after such a heavy couple of days and Nick echoes her advice back at her because he’s showing he listens and he values her insight and I just love it. 

AND THEN MIGUEL HAS COME TO RIP MY HEART OUT BECAUSE HE’S A PIECE OF SHIT REMEMBER. 

My poor bby Nick’s face when he realized his dad LIES AND LEAVES. REMEMBER. HE LIES AND LEAVES. God Wilmer killed it because Nick is literally on the verge of tears and my heart breaks and then yes he goes to Gibbs to see his pseudo-father who he then realizes is more of a father figure than Miguel will ever be and hell that’s okay but STILL. 

I will end this WWR with a I love supportive girlfriend Ellie and another big Fuck You to Miguel Torres.

Goodnight.

#ellick #ncis #wwr #18x12 #there's a lot of yelling #there's a lot of swearing #there's just a lot yall #this ep was angst central and you know me 😅 #enjooooooy #hopefully i can get 18x13 out tomorrow before 18x14 lol

[peppermint2d]

Love your hcs!!!! Can I get some for Murdoc? <3

Of course! Thank you so much for your ask, you literally made our day we've been freaking out since we got it! These headcanons are a little all over the place, but we hope you like them ♥ If you liked this, please send us an ask!

tw: Murdoc

Assorted Murdoc Headcanons

is a midnight snacker and likes to snack especially after sex

will cook an actual meal at 1 a.m.

an actual meal meaning kraft mac and cheese

he loves driving but has terrible road rage

but most of the time he doesn't have a license because of his DUIs

because he can't drive, you have to drive him around, and he is the WORST BACKSEAT DRIVER

he yells nonstop

"Take the left"

"Google says to go straight"

"Who is smarter me or google?"

he puts his shoes up on the dash and leaves dirt there

he is always late everywhere "it's fashionable, love"

he blasts music too, so loud you can't hear the GPS, so loud he broke the speakers

he will talk about how he is better than what is playing unless it's David Bowie

he sings along loud too

if the music isn't making you deaf, then he is

he loves to fuck with the buttons in the car, always moving the windows up and down and adjusting his seat

sometimes you gotta put him in the backseat with the child lock on so he will stop moving the windows and opening the doors while you're driving

he also tries to GRAB THE WHEEL WHILE YOU'RE DRIVING

one time you had to use a dog collar to leash him to the backseat so he won't climb into the front and TOUCH THE STEERING WHEEL

he doesn't mind the collar because he's a kinky bastard

"babe make the collar tighter babe"

"Murdoc shut up I'm literally trying to drive"

he sticks his head out of the window like a dog

if the other cars are bad drivers he will stick his head out and yell at them and you gotta drag him back in like cyborg noodle in stylo

he cracks dad jokes and they are really bad

"Wanna grab lunch? Are you hungry?"

"I'm not hungry, I'm Murdoc!"

cue the sound of everyone groaning cuz it's the third time he's said that joke today

We thought long and hard about what his ice cream order would be and we decided on:

a waffle cone since he likes to use his tongue 🥵

fruity flavours like rainbow sherbet, cotton candy, and definitely piña colada

he tops it all off with whipped cream, rainbow sprinkles, and a cherry

He does the thing where he ties the stem of the cherry to really show off what his tongue does 😏

Ficlet

"Murdoc, this is a bad idea... You don't even like chocolate!" You really didn't think that bringing your boyfriend to an ice cream shop would become this intense.

"Love, bad idea is my middle name." He licked his lips and turned to the cashier. "I want to do the banana split challenge."

The cashier was in shock. The Banana split challenge has never been successfully completed. Many have tried and many were fools. "Are you sure you want to try it, sir? You only get five minutes..."

"No, Murdoc, this is insane. We have to go meet the band after this for dinner. This will spoil your appetite!" You tugged on his arm, trying to break the determined stare he was giving the challenge advert.

"Garçon," he said with a bad french accent and too much flair, "bring me the banana!"

All the other patrons were looking at you two now. Whispers filling the air. "Not the challenge..." "He has so much still to live for..." "Another gone too soon..." "What is a banana..."

You took the table for two by the window since Murdoc wanted "the pedestrians to know of my greatness!" You ate your scoop while he waited for the server to prepare the dish, trying to avoid the gazes of those looking at you and your green man.

"Now, let's talk strategy." Murdoc reached out his hand in a gimme motion. Usually, that hand gesture meant that he had a new lyric to write down and that he needed your purse notebook, however this time, he started to sketch his enemy. "I say I eat the banana first. Give the ice cream time to melt so that I won't spend so long trying to break off pieces, yeah?"

"I mean, I guess, but wouldn't liquid ice cream take up more room in your stomach than solid?" You pointed out.

"Love, if the ice cream is solid, I'll have a brain freeze!"

"That only happens to people with brains, you should be fine."

"You wound me."

When the banana float arrived, it was monstrous. Even though Murdoc may act like a child, they used adult sized portions.

The whole thing may as well be bigger than your head. You stared wide-eyed as they placed it down on the table with an audible thud. Murdoc, however, only seemed to grow even more excited. “You’re really doing this?” you looked at him with the last bit of hope that maybe he’d just give up.

“I am.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Oh shut up.” You listened as the employee who brought out the ice cream quickly explained the rules of the little competition one last time. 5 minutes. Finish the ice cream. Then finally, they set the timer.

Murdoc wasted no time, immediately working through the ice cream. It was, quite a sight, you thought. Like a little kid presented with dessert, eating as fast as they could. It was actually very amusing. Kinda gross, but still amusing. He tried his best to go along with his plan, moving the ice cream around to eat the banana first. It seemed though, that he did not account for how fast he could eat the banana. “It’s still so frozen.” he pouted as he tried to scoop off bits of ice cream, breaking the scoops up in what you assumed to be an attempt to melt it faster.

“It’s ice cream, Mudz. I don’t know what you expected.”

“Ha ha.” he rolled his eyes at you, then turning back to the huge bowl in front of him he committed to just eating the incredibly cold, and still not liquid, ice cream.

He ate all that a lot faster than you expected him to. You could only imagine the brain freeze, or how cold that would feel on your teeth. Murdoc seemed unfazed though. He powered through. And you weren’t sure if it was a surprise to you or not, he finished on time. You were shocked he ate all that in so little time but the more you thought about it, was it really that surprising? This is Murdoc we’re talking about here. When the timer went off, the employees came out to cheer for him, and the other patrons as well. Apparently, no one had ever done that before. Murdoc however, had pushed the large bowl away from him and had his head laying face down on the table.

“Mudz? You alright?”

“Brain freeze.” he groaned back at you, but he still didn’t lift his head.

“Oh you poor thing. You’ll live.” you rolled your eyes at him, but he still didn’t move. “Come on, you beat your challenge, we gotta go now.” you stood up and walked around the table to his side, nudging him slightly.

“Noooo it’s so bad, love, you have no idea.”

“Babe, I’ve had brain freeze before.”

“Not like this.”

You rolled your eyes at him again, not that it did much as he was barely looking at you. “You did this to yourself.”

“I’m dying.”

“You’re not dying.”

“I am.” You stared down at him, and after a moment, decided it was enough of his whining. “Ok, we’re going now, let’s go.” You pulled him up by his shoulders, then dragged him up the rest of the way. The whole time he complained and whined. He really was a child. The whining continued as you dragged him out of the shop, out to the parking lot and into the car. Constant mumbling of “brain freeze” and “love it hurts so bad” had you wanting to laugh at him if it weren’t for the fact that you were the one putting up with him. Even in the car, his whining continued.

“Murdoc you’ve been whining about your damn brain freeze longer than that stupid challenge even lasted.”

“Cuz it hurts.”

“Well, what do you want me to do? I told you not to eat all that.”

“Alright, mom.”

“Ugh” His whining continued on and on for what seemed like forever to you. You blocked it out after a while. Then suddenly, he just stopped. “Hey babe,” he said, and you looked over at him to see him staring at you with a shit-eating grin. Well, that was a change in mood.

“Yeah?” you asked him, almost cautiously.

“I won that challenge.” Oh. That’s where he was going.

You sighed, “Yeah, you did.”

“Told you I could.”

“Mhm.”

“I think that calls for celebration. And also, an apology from you love. For doubting me.” You looked at him again to see him wiggling his eyebrows, one of those signature Murdoc smirks on his face.

“You’re gross.”

#i love you anon #ask #murdoc niccals #murdoc #murdoc gorillaz #gorillaz headcanons #gorillaz fanfiction #gorillaz fandom

[holy-stevie]

His Little Girl

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Daughter Reader

Summary: After a fight at school Ransom and Y/n get into a nasty argument. 

Warnings: swearing, bullying, anxiety and panic attacks, arguing, bad writing

a/n: i have a few fics that have been requested and i promise i’m working on them i just haven’t been in the right mental space to follow a planned fic right now. 

Masterlist 

Please do not repost my work anywhere else! 

Ransom Drysdale was a lot of things. Playboy, Trust-fund brat, Clever, Wicked, Heartless, Black sheep, Grandson, Cousin, Nephew, Son. He never thought that he would ever add Father to that list. He never anticipated that one quick fuck without protection when he was seventeen would result in him becoming the sole caretaker over a tiny little girl, his tiny little girl.

~

“Y/n are you paying attention?” A voice startles you out of your little daydream you had found yourself in. Your math teacher stands at the front of the room with her arms crossed, a sour look on her face as she watches you snap up and give a small smile.

“Yes ma’am.” You mumble, clenching your hands as you feel the stares of all your classmates on you, the situation not helping your already overwhelming anxiety. The teacher huffs before turning back to the chalkboard, making you sag into your seat with harsh breaths when you hear a few snickers around you. Breathe, in and out, hold it together.

When the lunch bell goes off, you’re the first out the door. Rushing through the hallways to your locker and then outside to the spot you feel safest in, a single dying tree at the edge of the big schoolyard. Sitting below the tree with a sharp breath you close your eyes to centre yourself, going through all the breathing exercises your therapist gave to you for the bad days.

You’re coming down from the small anxiety attack when you hear them approach, the playful laughs and taunting whistles making your chest freeze up again. You had never really had friends at school. In your younger years’ parents would pull their children away from you because of your last name, That’s Ransom Drysdale’s daughter, they’d whisper to each other every day you exited the car. When you reached high school they just simply hated you because you were Ransom Drysdale’s daughter, your fathers shadow clouding over you.

“Well if it isn’t the little rich girl, crying over your hair again?” The snarky blonde at the head of the group mocks as she kicks the bottom of your foot, earning snickers from the four other girls crowding around you. Macy was her name, she was the richest girl in the school, besides you of course, and her mean girl show was what made her pray on you every day.

“G-Go away Macy.” You stutter out, your chest was aching from the lack of air, the panic swirling in your mind dangerously.

“Aw she’s going to cry. Why don’t you call your daddy to come s-save you?” She mocks you, rubbing her eyes like she was crying and laughing in your face. You feel the flame of anger rise through you and before you can stop yourself you kick a leg out from under her and quickly jump on top of her, delivering two solid punches before you’re ripped off of her by a nearby teacher.

“Miss Drysdale to the principle right now!” The teacher barks in your face, dragging you away from a now crying Macy. You don’t even try to hide the little grin on your face, satisfied for a whole two minutes before you’re told to sit on the plastic seat outside the office while they call your father.

You groan and bury your face into your hands that are propped up by your elbows planted on your thighs, your fingers tangling in your black hair as you get a hold of yourself.

You cringe as you hear the sharp clicks of heels walking down the hallway towards you, you lift your eyes to confirm your fears. Your father walks powerfully down the locker clad hallway, his expensive scarf draped over a cream sweater, his usual brown coat and pressed slacks that ooze money. That’s not what bothers you, though his angry expression is going to cause another panic attack later, no it’s the busty blonde that walks besides him in a barely there red dress and black coat. She was his newest girlfriend, an accountant or something like that, that thought she was your new mother.

“Mr. Drysdale, this way please.” The old bald man says from the doorway, not even acknowledging you. Your father tells (Veronica? Vivian?? You couldn’t remember her name) to wait with you and closes the door behind him. The blonde sits next to you awkwardly and tries to talk to you, but you aren’t listening to her, instead closing your eyes and gripping your hair tighter until it starts to sting lightly.

Five minutes later when your father emerges from the office he doesn’t say anything, grabbing your arm and yanking you up to your feet and dragging you to the car roughly, his girlfriend walking behind the two of you trying to get his attention. He almost throws you into the car when he opens the backdoor, slamming it shut after all of your limbs are inside the car.

Ransom doesn’t say anything as he pulls up to his girlfriend’s house, seriously what the hell was her name, just stopping the car and waiting until she gets the hint and gets out of the car. The ride home is silent and tense as you dig your nails into your hands at the anger you know was waiting for you at the place you called home.

He doesn’t wait for you when he pulls up the house, immediately going inside and grabbing a glass of the oh so desirable brown liquid. You however wait in the car for a few minutes to gather yourself before going inside, standing patiently in the doorway to living room as you watch your father down the glass in a single mouthful.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” He yells, not even trying to calmly talk this out. You swallow heavily as you try to find your voice through the lump in the back of your throat.

“I was-” You’re immediately cut off as he whirls around to face you and holds up a dismissive hand.

“I’m not done. You think you can just walk around being a brat? Ruining my date because I had to come deal with you ONCE AGAIN.” His voice booms through the house, tears rising in your eyes at his anger. The cloud of disappointment overwhelming you, a constant let down to the only person in your life.

“Dad I-” Your throat once again closing up and causing panic to spread through you like a wildfire, but he doesn’t notice. He never notices.

“God can’t you be fucking normal for once in your life!” He shouts again, glaring at you. You feel the tears that were held tightly in the corners of your eyes drip down your cheeks, that same flame of anger raging through you again as you connect your eyes to his identical ones.

“I’m sorry I’m not normal, that I can’t go five minutes without getting lost in my head. I’m sorry that I cause you so much fucking trouble, that I can’t even make a single fucking friend in that shitty school. I’m sorry that I am and will never ever be enough for the great Ransom Drysdale! I’m fucking sorry that my existence is such a burden to you.” You don’t wait around for a response from him, instead bolting up the stairs to calm yourself down in the safety of your room.

~

The house is quiet for the rest of the afternoon, the faint sound of the tv downstairs waking you up from your nap. Groaning in disgust at the stickiness of your face you have a quick shower, padding downstairs barefoot half an hour later in one of your dads’ old sweaters and a pair of comfy pj pants.

You don’t say anything as you approach the living room doorway, your dad is sitting on the couch with a blanket draped over his strong form. He doesn’t say anything either as he lifts one arm, inviting you to snuggle into his warm side. You smile sadly before taking the offer, curling into his side as you lean your head on his shoulder when he wraps his arm around you lightly.

“You’re not a burden.” He says, not looking away from the tv. You sigh as you close your eyes trying to push away the screaming thoughts.

“The day I first held you I cried, like embarrassingly hard.” You giggle a little bit at his confession before he continues.

“I couldn’t believe I made something so perfect, something so wholeheartedly mine. I knew things would be difficult, I mean I was seventeen for heaven’s sake, but I also knew that none of that mattered because you were mine.” He looks down at you with a small smile, that type of smile that was rare to see from him, and cups your soft cheek in his big hand.

“I knew from that day that I would try my hardest to be a good dad, to be the dad you deserved. Today I didn’t listen to you, I didn’t ask for your version of the story and immediately placed all the blame on you. Today I failed as your father and I’m so sorry y/n.” He chokes up a bit on your name, making you frown and pull back to look up at him.

“Dad it wasn’t your fault, I know it wasn’t. I was just angry, a-and you were angry, and we aren’t really good at communicating.” You frown at the last part making him chuckle lightly, his hand coming up to soothe away the frown in your brow. He sighs and shoots you an apologetic look, the guilt eating away at both of you for hurting each other.

“I’m still so sorry baby girl.” He mumbles, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to your forehead. He raises an eyebrow in confusion though when he sees the mischievous smile on your face.

“I know how you can make it up to me.” He narrows his eyes at you, looking way too innocent.

“And how is that?” He asks warily, amused at the little grin that lights up your whole face.

“Buy McDonald’s for dinner.” He groans at your request, making you giggle.

“That stuff is so bad for you y/n.” He complains but gives in when you pout at him.

“Fine.” He says with a roll of his eyes, laughing himself when you get up from the couch and cheer, the child like glee making his attitude completely melt away.

Taglist: @scarletsoldierrr​ @chrisevans-imagines​ @patzammit​ @onetwo3000​ @yoncevans​ @harrysthiccthighss​

#ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom thrombey x reader #dad!ransom #daughter!reader #chris evans #angst #anxiety

[shibarirobot]

Aizawa fic - CH 5 - Entrapment

 18+ ONLY! SFW (for now)

Shouta Aizawa x Villian!OC/Reader(?)

CH1

CH4

Okay this chapter kinda fucked me up. I got very emo while writing this lmfaoooo, but again sooooooo sorry that I’m so inconsistent, I care about this story and I want it to actually be good before I post ((also I have the shittiest laptop on the face of the planet so I can barely use it)) more like I just dont have the patience to deal with it XD, mais oui! le chapter is done! Please enjoy! x

-

The chair I’m strapped to is stiff and uncomfortable at my back. I haven't been able to move for awhile and it’s driving me fucking insane. My back aches, my thighs are sore, I can literally feel my pelvic bone, not to even mention the cracked rib still throbbing and I’ve started to remember the broken nose I gave myself. It’s hard enough to keep my head on straight, I can’t really seem to focus on the questions I’m being asked, let alone my answers. I’ve been here for hours, maybe days. I have no clue. I have absolutely no fucking clue. This dumbass, Detective Aiko just comes and goes, sometimes followed by a short man with a clipboard and glasses. He just asks a few questions and leaves, I’ve lost track of how many times he’s entered and left as quickly as he comes. This time he comes in dragging another metal chair and flips it around on the other side of the table, sitting on it backwards, like he thinks he’s fucking cool or something. He’s large, I’ll give him that. His thighs swallow up the chair easily and I’m surprised he can actually sit on the thing.

I look at him with my tired eyes. We’ve been at this too long, I’m so fucking tired and I can hardly hold his eye contact. My lips are so unbearably chapped they feel like they might split open at any moment, they might have actually, I can taste iron. I’m parched. My mouth feels like it’s full of cotton. I’m about to crack, I can feel it. “Water.” My voice is tiny at this point, crackly from the dehydration. “I need water.” My eyes start to sag and I press forward slightly, straining against the straps on my torso, skin raw beneath them after so much of my writhing.

Detective Aiko blinks at me from across the table and reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. He easily taps one forward and plucks it from the box between his lips. I can tell it’s a practiced movement, he does it without thinking. His habit has become muscle memory. He shoves the pack into his pocket again and retrieves a zippo lighter. If I was more conscious I probably would have rolled my eyes, if it didn’t feel like they might fall out of my head if I did. Of course he has a zippo, ugh. It’s like he learned how to be a cop from watching cheesy cop movies. He flicks it open and closed in a split second and the cigarette is lit. He takes a deep breath, sucking down the entire thing, inhaling so deeply that his chest puffs and swells almost double. He holds that breath for a long moment, releasing it slowly. I expect the smell of burnt tobacco, but there is none. The smoke pours from his nostrils in thick swirls, but it dissipates quickly, without a single trace that it had once been there.

I can see his eyes go glassy from the nicotine high, his shrouded eyes have barely left me. He stares at me like I’m a caged panther; cunning, dangerous, volatile. All things I might have been if I could possibly think straight. “You’ll get your water after you cooperate.” He shifts in the chair slightly, flicking the used cigarette butt to the side. It falls to the ground unceremoniously and I can only imagine how often he flings those things haphazardly and how many thousands he has personally littered into our environment. I’m instantly seething again. A moment ago, I had no capacity for anything really, and now I’m filled head to toe with rage towards this stupid fucking cop. This man withholding my fucking water, my fucking life source.

The thought that he’s actually killing me passes and I pull at the cuffs around my wrists. “Fucking water.” The chains scrape across the table and I can feel the blood on my mouth, my lips have definitely cracked in multiple spots, blood pooling between my teeth. “I fucking need water!” Now I’m just shaking the chains, trying to make enough noise to get him to give in, annoy him into submission. “Water!” His eyebrow twitches, he seemingly has a very short tolerance for my behavior now, no longer amused by my sass and antics.

He quickly rises from the chair and kicks it to the side, it goes clattering against the wall and loudly falls to the ground, tipped on its side. The sudden jolt silences me and the room is tense with the lack of sound. “Who do you work for?!” He yells at me, full chested. The same question Eraser Head asked me in the alley. Where my allegiances lie. There’s another moment of silence before I bust into intense, manic laughter. They still really think I work for someone?

My throat threatens to give out on me, but I can’t control the laughter. “Me, motherfucker!” I shout back, only not as full, my voice is dying quickly, my laughter soon falling with it, replaced by a hacking cough that I’m pretty sure just shredded the dry skin inside my very dry throat. That doesn’t really seem to satisfy him though. He just grunts and picks the chair back up, setting it upright, but not sitting down in it like before. He just stands there, so tall and trying to be intimidating.

He crosses his arms over his chest and scoffs at me just once. “So we’re gonna keep playing this game, huh?” He pulls out another cigarette and huffs it down just as quickly as the first, barely even savoring the drag. His eyes close and he shrugs. “I guess you don’t want that water.” He quickly strides out of the room, leaving me alone and tortured. I can’t move, my body is giving out, I can’t speak because of my hoarse, abused throat, I can’t do anything at all, but sit here. My mind flashes back to when I felt this way before, tied to a dining chair in front of my drunk birther. My eyes start to water and I am amazed that I even have the moisture left in my body to cry. The parallels are too similar and I can feel myself reverting back, the whimpering that’s beginning in the back of my throat. A couple tears start to fall and I’m slowly slipping into that mindset when I hear the door open again.

I try my best to harden my face, trying to mask the depravity that I had just been wallowing in, refusing to make eye contact with Detective Aiko as he rounds the table again and sits in that chair. He sets something on the table and I’m surprised when I look up, to see Eraser Head sitting in that chair across from me instead. There’s a water bottle on the table and I honestly have nothing to say. I’m overwhelmed by this change of events and the tears come faster now, silently streaming down my face. I feel so vulnerable and this man that I have only prodded and teased is the one here to help me. It’s like the universe is laughing at me, it feels like a trick, but one I’m knowingly and willingly letting myself fall into. I suck in a deep breath, hoping he won’t say anything about my tears. “They haven’t cleaned you up at all, have they?” His voice is low, but he honestly sounds concerned. I lamely shake my head, unable to tell him that I’ve been sitting strapped to this chair since the moment he left. He grunts shortly then stands, slowly grabbing the water bottle and cracking the lid open.

My tears lessen as I watch him, he’s looking at me like I’m a wounded animal and deep down I can’t blame him. All I’ve done since meeting him is lash out and hurt him. In spite of all that he reaches out to me slowly, the cold water bottle in one hand, the other gingerly gripping the side of my neck and tilting my head back. I look at him hesitantly. I’m just supposed to let him pour water into my mouth? That feels too weird, and intimate, and needy, but I can’t really pour the water into my own mouth, so I part my lips for him. He gently presses the rim of the water bottle onto my bottom lip, easing the cold, fresh water onto my sandpaper tongue. His fingertips graze the skin on my neck as the pad of his thumb softly wipes away my tears. It’s so gentle and intimate that I can’t help but cry harder. I’ve never felt such a sincere caress and it’s like my heart is breaking into a million pieces, astounded by the tenderness that I haven’t allowed myself to even realize I was missing. The silent resentment falling away for a moment and letting something new replace it. Adoration? Sympathy? Genuine gratitude?

I take in this new feeling hesitantly as I try to gulp down the water as quickly as he’s pouring it into my mouth. I relish in the feeling of the cool liquid on my tongue and into the back of my throat, soothing the burning I had endured for so long. The tears continue to fall even after the water bottle is empty and I realize his hand is still gently stroking my cheek in an attempt to calm my tears. He tosses the empty water bottle aside and peers down at me. I stare back up at him, my eyes starting to puff up from the tears I had just shed, cloudy with the residual moisture on my lashes. He’s even more beautiful now than ever before, caring for me so tenderly, and I think I understand now. I love him. I must love him. The way I was drawn to him before, it all makes sense. I’ve never felt anything like this before, no one has ever given me even a sliver of a second thought, but here he is. This man I don’t even know caring for a tortured criminal that’s done nothing, but awful things. It must be love. It must be... something at least.

I realize the moment’s been too long and I turn my gaze away, squeezing my eyes shut. I can’t help but feel embarrassed. Here he is helping me, giving me the water I so desperately needed and I can’t even choke out a ‘thank you’. Should I? Would he want me to? His hand falls away and I hear him start to shuffle to the door. Dammit. I’m breathing heavy, trying to catch my breath from the way I gulped down water like a dying horse. “I’m going to get a first aid kit.” I almost don’t hear him, but my eyes snap open. He’s coming back? To help me even more? Eraser Head is… going to tend my wounds… that I got fighting… HIM. This is all so bizarre and my head spins a little, but I can’t help the trace of a grin that tugs on my lips and the slight twinge of heat in my cheek.

I hear that knock on the door again, but before it opens I mumble out a small, drained. “Thank you.” My throat is still destroyed, but it’s enough that I hope he heard me. I guess I’ll never know if he did or even cared because the door opens and closes with no acknowledgment that I had said anything. Once again, I am left by myself, in this too bright room, strapped to a metal chair. As I sit here, it’s hard not to fall back into my miserable thoughts. Self loathing and what if’s come easily. What if that really was a trick? What if he’s never coming back? What if I just imagined the whole thing? What if he’s disgusted by me and just taking pity? I internally cringe at myself. That one is probably closest to the truth. He thinks of me like a charity case, someone who can’t help themselves. He’s a hero after all, that good ole savior complex will always rear it’s big, nasty head at some point. He’s helping me to make himself feel better, not to make me feel better. I sneer at myself. I almost fell into his trap, but no. I’m better than that. I was almost that dumb cunt I used to be, trusting people, needing others help. Fuck no. I promised myself I would never be that person again. I’m better now.

But then the indignation fades and all I’m left with is the reality of the situation. I do need his help. I’m broken and bleeding, strapped to a chair in an interrogation room. I start to cry again. It’s not a heavy cry, just one that makes you realize so much in such a short period of time. I cry as I realize I do need help. I need more help now than I’ve ever needed before. I’ve probably needed help this entire time and refused to see it, refused to ask for it. Asking for help never seemed like an option, it seemed like a burden. Yet, Eraser Head isn’t even offering me help, he’s giving it. Willingly. Of his own accord.

I continue to struggle with my thoughts on the situation far longer than I would deem necessary before I admit to myself it doesn’t matter because he’s simply not coming back. It’s been too long for him to have actually been going to get a first aid kit. He’s gone forever now. Poof. Might as well stop thinking about him. I can’t though. Can’t stop thinking about his perfect face, the way he touched my neck, the tenor of his voice, the scruff on his chin, the scar under his eye, the heat of his body behind mine. It all sends a thrill through me, but more than that, just a deep sense of longing. I yearn for him. I just want him to come back to me, I don’t care if he has the first aid kit he left for or not. I just want him to be present with me because everything just hurts less when he’s here. The open wounds mean nothing when he’s here. He’s the only reason any of my pain has ever been eased. I need him. I love him.

I start to allow fresh tears to fall, but my eyes are already welded shut from the fat tears I had shed earlier, too heavy to open and crusted over with dried tears because I still can’t wipe my eyes. The new ones gently come and allow me to crack open my eyes just slightly. I’m honestly on the brink of exhaustion, but my body has miraculously found a way to push forward. I’m taking a deep breath, trying to re-center myself. Get a grip on reality. Stretch my fingers and toes, get some feeling back in my aching body, crack my neck as best as I can. It’s not much, but it helps. I’m the only one that can do anything for me now. I start trying to survey the room to a closer extent than I had before, but honestly it’s still the same, too bright, all white room. I guess I can see a vent in the top right corner, but it’s too small for me to even think about escaping from. Not to mention, I can’t see a camera, so it must be in the corner behind me, watching, recording my every move. I grumble. There’s also the two way mirror, that I assume has had at least three people on the other side of it at all times. I’m completely under thumb.

I sigh, there’s not much I can do in this situation, and this dumb collar is still canceling my quirk. I’m chained up and defenseless. Fucking great. The door scrapes open again and I startled to see Eraser Head quickly invade the room, that wild look in his eyes again. The tips of his hair are flicking back and forth angrily, but not like it was before when he was erasing my quirk, more like… he’s just worked up. He’s breathing deeply, standing up straight and crossing his arms, a full 180 from his calm, gentle demeanor he had earlier. He’s actually quite intimidating like this and I start to shrink into myself, not knowing why his mood has changed. I didn’t do anything. He looks to the door and reaches out to flick his wrist in a ‘get the fuck over here’ motion. Detective Aiko comes into the room and unlocks my cuffs, releasing my arms from the table. He seems reluctant and I’m insanely confused by this sudden turn of events. My eyes are wide and I look to Eraser Head again, confusion evident on my twisted up face. “I’m taking you to the hospital. The collar will stay on and I will cuff you down when we get there.” He says it all so blankly and I’m even more confused that I was before he answered.

Detective Aiko doesn’t look up, he just grumbles out a gruff, ‘bad fucking idea’ before moving onto the straps at my torso, allowing me to pull away from the chair just a little bit. I struggle to force my muscles to keep myself upright, wanting to slump over and crumple to the floor. He undoes the one at my lap and I barely feel it because my entire bottom half has gone numb at this point. He lowers down further and unlocks the cuffs at my ankles, fully freeing me from the chair. I’m immediately elated to be liberated once again, getting overzealous and springing from the chair. Blood rushes to my head and my numb legs remind me how bad of an idea that is because I tip forward, falling into the metal table, the wind knocked from my lungs. I let out a wheeze and feel strong hands pull me back up onto my feet from my shoulders.

Eraser Head wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me flush to his hip to support my weight. I can feel his hero muscles swell as he pulls me off the table, shifting so we can shuffle towards the door. I’m still dazed and weak, trying to work with his movements instead of against them, but my legs can barely hold myself up and he ends up dragging me along with him more than anything else. My head is right next to his shoulder, tucked tight to his body and I press myself closer, nuzzling my cheek onto his collarbone. He feels so good against me. I’m so woozy, I feel like I’m dreaming. This all could be a mirage, I am dehydrated as hell. But it feels so real and so good that I just submit to it immediately. I press even further, trying to get up to his neck. Trying to be closer. The moment crashes around me in an instant as cuffs fall around my wrists. Damn. It’s Detective Aiko standing behind me, cuffing my wrists together and ruining the moment I was just having with Eraser. I glare up at him and he just ignores me, squeezing the cuffs tighter, too tight. I yelp, but he just looks over to Eraser Head like, ‘Really?’. Eraser grunts and holds his hand out for the key, he still has that wild look in his eye and I realize now that it’s pointed at Detective Aiko. HE’s in the doghouse, not me. Well, I am still arrested, but it doesn’t really feel like it when Eraser Head is personally escorting me to the ER, cuffs or no cuffs. Detective Aiko drops the key into his outstretched hand with an eyeroll.

Eraser Head spins me around, so I’m facing forward. My head is still dizzy, but my legs are starting to get some feeling back and I’m able to stand on my own now, even if I am a bit wobbly. He pulls me close to him again, gripping my bicep with one hand and supporting my weight with a hand on my hip. He’s taller than I remember him being. Glancing over my shoulder, I have to look up at him. His jaw is set, clenched with the anger he’s trying to hold back, silently seething. He’s still eyeing Detective Aiko with a menacing nature, I know his quirk is eye related, but it seems he also has a natural affinity for staring anyways. I watch him tuck the key into his front pocket, then grip my arm again, his hands are so large. I gulp, now realizing my ass is basically pressed up to his hip. He’s still taller than me, it's more like his thigh, but that doesn’t change the fact that my ass is on this man. My mind goes crazy as he holds me there, having some kind of stare down with Aiko. Neither of them has moved, but after a moment the detective shifts back with a grumble. Eraser Head grunts and guides me forward, supporting me as we exit the interrogation room.

Eyes follow us as Eraser Head leads me out of the room and down the hall. The receptionist at the front desk gasps when she sees me walking (semi) free. I can tell they all know who I am. I can tell they’re all scared of me. I don't need my quirk for that. I take advantage of the tense scene before me and grin, lurching forward at the woman sitting at the desk. Eraser Head is still gripping me firmly, so I don’t make it very far before he yanks me back to his body, but I do make it far enough to scare that bitch gawking at me. She screams and drops the phone receiver in her hand, stumbling backwards. I didn’t really expect such a dramatic reaction, did she really think I was gonna rip her head off or something? I’m fucking handcuffed… and doesn’t she fucking work at the police station? She should be used to this by now, why is she so fucking scared? Dramatic bitch.

Eraser Head pushes me forward, obviously still riled up from previous events. I stumble forward a bit, but his grip on me is so firm I couldn’t fall if I wanted to. We continue walking through the waiting lobby, until we reach two large glass doors. Outside the doors, it’s day time, probably late afternoon by the look of the sunlight. I take a deep breath, ready to take a step out those doors, ready to leave this awful fucking place, full of these awful fucking people. Eraser presses the handicap button and the door swinging open, the air is warm as we step out and it’s a little joy in this shitty situation that I bask in for a moment. When we step onto the sidewalk, I look up at Eraser Head. This protective stance, the hand on my hip, if I just ignore the handcuffs it’s like we’re a couple on a stroll. I smile up at him, thinking about how sweet he looks with his hair catching the late afternoon light. It’s golden hour and it settles on him nicely, highlighting his stark features. His eyes flick down to me and an expression of genuine surprise passes his face for a split second. He looks away quickly, a blush coating his cheeks, but his face returns to its stoic default.

We continue like this for a moment until we come up on his vehicle. I’m not sure what I expected, but a small wave of sadness washes over me as he opens the rear door, shoving me into the backseat. I didn’t really think he would put me in the front with him, but this feels so… impersonal. I guess that’s what we are. Impersonal. I mean, I don’t even know his last name. I slouch into the black leather of the car and pout to myself, feeling defeated. Eraser Head buckles me into the seat, leaning over me with his whole, big body. Heat floods my stomach and suddenly I’m feeling something… else. I huff, breathing in his scent, I can still smell the bergamot on him, but the other scent on him still eludes me. It’s sweet and musky, almost earthy. He pulls away before I can breathe in again, shutting the door on me, boxing me into this car alone again. He’s in the driver’s seat about 4 seconds later, but the silence of being alone again still stands out to me. I shake my head, and try to focus on the sounds of the car as he roars the engine to life and pulls out of the parking lot.

Thank you for reading! :)

I love reading yall’s comments so please leave a note for me! (see that double entendre hehe im so smart) 

but seriously, thanks for the love and the followers especially for only one fic

(also I hope u all can tell how much I fucking despise the cops for this chapter)

#Entrapment #YOU GOT OUT! #kinda #i would genuinely throw hands at aiko so just know im fully about that life #gratatatataaaaaaa #acab #aizawa #aizawa shouta #bnha aizawa #aizawa x reader #mr aizawa #bnha #bnha oc #bnha x reader #bnha shouta aizawa #fanfiction #fan fic #my hero fanfic #mha fanfiction #fan fic author

[lunarnirvana]

Beach Baby

꧁☮︎︎☽𓁹☾☮︎︎꧂

TRIGGER WARNINGS:

Please not read if these subjects upset or trigger you in any way. Heavy themes are often present in my writing.

𓁹 Anxiety symptoms, fighting, cursing, angry/rude Reid 𓁹

Prompt: None

Summery: This is based off of Beach Baby by Bon Iver because I love that song more than myself. Reader and Reid get into a fight so Reader goes to the beach to calm down.

Category: Angst with fluff/comfort at the end??

Word Count: 1k

Paring: Spencer Reid X Reader

A/N: I love this song and all I can think of when I listen to it is when I’m upset and I walk down to the beach while it’s foggy right before it rains so I’m excited about this one ahh hope you enjoy. also sorry for angry Reid/so much angst I promise to write fluff soon

“All the clouds in me are raining,” - R.h. Sin

Never mind the alluring frigidity of the landscape wrought before me in the luster of morning dew. The sky was pale and blanketed with a hazy shroud of cloud cover, concealing the sun’s brilliance. Fog hung low against the ashy dunes and as I walked toward the ocean I felt the sand become firmer under my step. Each footprint sank deep into the dampening earth and I could hear the sloshing of the ocean.

The sound beckoned me toward the sharp daggers of the mavericks. Each wave break, each peaking tide that stabbed the horizon and made the once linear display jagged and discouraging. The sky was grey. Everything was a grey, pale sloom.

How did I get here?

I stood there against the stillness of the beach like a chip in the paint of a white wall. I was a black speck of pepper in a pile of stark salt. My mind felt completely detached from my body and I was suddenly floating on the sea. The wind carried small particles of sand that stung the exposed skin on my body. I was cold.

I wanted desperately to cry, to scream, and so I did. I released all the air in my chest and pushed the waves back with the force of my cry.

With everything in my body expelled by my sobbing wail I collapsed in on myself. A dying star crumbling into nothingness. My hands latched onto my arms and I sat on my heels, just holding myself together by my weak grip.

I couldn’t help but recount what he had said to me. It was destructive and torturous to remember but I still replayed it in my mind until I was numbed by the memory.

𓁹𓁹𓁹𓁹𓁹𓁹𓁹𓁹𓁹𓁹𓁹𓁹𓁹𓁹𓁹𓁹𓁹

Spencer threw his satchel on the recliner as he walked into our apartment, slamming the door behind him. It startled me off of the couch, my legs pathetically kicking the blanket from entangling my limbs in the knitted fabric. I looked at Spencer, tugging my face into a frown at the sight of him.

Frustration would have been a relief. He was fuming, His hair fell in his countenance and disrupting any aspect remaining of him. He blew out an exasperated breath as he pushed his hair back but his attempt was only met with more strands obstructing his view. I waited for him to apologize for the ruckus, to envelope me in a hug and kiss me and tell me what was bothering him.

It never came. He began to walk into our room wordlessly but my voice stopped him in his tracks. “Spence?” I asked, almost too timidly for being the one expecting an apology. He turned around begrudgingly, leaning against the wall as if to say ‘I guess this is going to take a while’. As if greeting me was a burden.

“Yes?” He spat the response.

“What’s wrong? Is everything okay?” I asked, standing to meet him. If he wasn’t going to hug me I assumed I’d have to go to him. He stepped back slightly as I approached and I felt something in my gut twist.

“Yeah, a lot is wrong. You called me, what, six times while I was on the case? When I’m at work I need to be focused on saving lives. Not what kind of food you plan on making for dinner,” It was a completely unprovoked defense but I knew it wasn’t what was actually bothering him.

“You were gone for two weeks, Spencer, I’d say six calls is justifiable considering we’re in a relationship,” I didn’t want it to sound as antagonistic as it did. I tried to soften the blow, “What’s really bothering you?”

“What’s really—“ he cut himself off, looking almost baffled at the question, “What, do you think you’re a profiler now? I’m mad because you’re being clingy, Y/N.”

“Excuse me?” I didn’t bother trying to sugarcoat my wordspeak. He was just being irrational at this point.

“Did I fucking stutter?” He retorted.

I let my mouth hang open at his curt dictum before resorting to blatant reprimand. “You need to leave,” I said finally. I felt something hot prick at my eyes and only realized I was crying when I felt the rolling water flowing down my cheeks. The tears pooled in the creases of my mouth and all I could taste was salt and disappointment.

“I need to what?” He asked, dumbfounded that I would even suggest kicking him out. His face softened when he noticed I was crying but not enough to stop the endless flow.

“Did I fucking stutter?” I mimicked his reply.

He wasted no time towering over me, losing any remorse when I changed my tone to a much more aggressive one. It wasn’t a conversation anymore, it was a challenge. Spencer never backed down from the opportunity to debate someone into the dirt. What he didn’t seem to realize was, I didn’t see it as a debate.

It was a fight. And likely the worst one we’d had. His behavior stunned me into matching his seemingly blind rage.

“You’re seriously kicking me out after the week I just had? Do you realize how important my work is?” His voice raised a decibel each word he uttered.

“And mine isn’t?”

“I didn’t say that—“

“You implied it.”

“Stop putting words in my mouth, Y/N. Stop being manipulative,” he didn’t hold back anymore. I seemed to only fuel his anger.

“How am I being manipulative when you’re the one attacking me?”

“Attacking and manipulating are two completely different words with completely different meanings. Do I need to get you a fucking dictionary?”

“Stop treating me like I’m an idiot, Spencer!” I was screaming now. Composure wasn’t my strongest suit but the more we argued the worse my breathing rhythm got. My chest felt constricted as I began violently sobbing. I was choking on snot and mucus and trying hard to muffle my cries against the palm of my hand but they still broke through between my fingers.

“Listen, I’ve had a really shitty case and I need to get some sleep,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“So that’s what this is all about? A bad case?” I finally managed to say.

“Yes! Of course it is! How are you that clueless that you couldn’t see that?” He was yelling just as loudly now, his voice booming over mine. His words shrunk my demeanor into a shaking insect. I felt my breath hitch finally, having expected this reaction from such an aggressive interaction.

“I—I can’t be here right now. I have to go,” I suddenly breathed out and grabbed my coat from the hook beside the front door. Feeling the wool fabric in my hands was the only thing that brought me comfort. Something that was supposed to be Spencer’s job.

I didn’t hear any protest but I was sure there would be. No matter how mad Spencer got at me he’d never let me drive in such a condition but regardless, I did.

After running two red lights on my way there, I was finally standing barefoot in the cold sand. It was teetering on springtime but the crisp residual chill of winter still stained the temperature.

I buried my face in my palms and continued to weep, softer now that I expelled any volatile emotion from my fragile being.

I felt something warm snake around my waist and shrieked in surprise, thrashing back at the assailant. I was suddenly pulled tightly into someone’s chest, suddenly on my feet. Spencer swayed back and forth as he enveloped me in his bliss. I felt his lips connect to my temple as he graciously kissed the surface.

“I’m sorry. Oh god, Y/N, I’m so sorry,” he mumbled the words against my face, refusing to disconnect his face from mine.

“Why the fuck would you say any of that to me? You—you can’t treat me like this every time you have a bad case,” I managed to blubber the words out. As the expression flowed endlessly from my mouth I felt him tighten his grip on my frame.

“I know, I know. I’m an idiot and I screwed up. I’m so sorry,” his voice was cracking and he swallowed to try and clear his throat to no avail. Then I felt his chest heaving against my back and realized he was crying himself.

I tried to pull away but he latched onto me. “Spence let me go.”

“Not until you’re breathing slows down,” he said and I realized I’d been hyperventilating since he arrived. As he held me and made me realize I was, I began to try and correct the rhythm.

Finally, I managed to calm down in his embrace. Once I did he spun me around to face me but didn’t let go of my waist. He never lifted his hands from me, only slid them across my body to new locations. He was afraid I’d run away again.

“I know I can’t take back what I said. I know I made a mistake and it’s going to scar us for life but I will do anything to make it up to you. I love you, Y/N. I can’t live with myself knowing I hurt you like this,” He was pleading while he leaned down to meet his forehead to mine, “Please forgive me. I don’t deserve it but I can’t imagine being without you. I know this isn’t going to be easy to bounce back from but I want to try if you’re willing to do the same.”

I blinked in the pasty light and watched his eyebrows furrow, his tear stained skin now speckled with sand that had blown against it. I reached my hand up hesitantly but the feeling of my palm against his veneer was overwhelmingly consoling. He leaned into my touch before cupping my own hand with his.

“I forgive you,” I said softly.

“We’re gonna work on this. I’m gonna work on this, I promise you, love.”

I attached my other hand to the opposite side of his face and pulled him down to my lips. He kissed me like I had left him for good and he finally found me at the end of his journey. He ravished my waist and back and body with his hands as he did before he pulled away. He began freckling my face with pecks before making his way across my jawline and down my neck.

“Spence?” I asked softly. I didn’t want to interrupt the moment but curiosity overtook the pleasure.

“Yes, darling?” He asked as he pulled away and searched my expression for vacillation.

“How’d you know where I would be?”

“You always come here when you’re upset. Come on, it’s freezing out. Let’s get you home,” his hand fell behind me on the small of my back as he guided me to his car. I relished in the heat of his body, leaning my head against his shoulder as we walked.

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[scandalousfemale]

Fall to Pieces

Rafe Cameron x Y/N

An unexpected and unnecessary part 2 to Lists, though it can be read as a stand-alone.

Y/N helps Rafe get sober after he told her what he had done. She’s conflicted because now she’s getting glimpses of a better Rafe but she can’t forget or forgive him so he makes it right the only way that he knows how.

WC: 5,308

Warning: smut, mentions of shooting the sheriff (but he did not shoot the deputy), mentions of jail, mentions of drugs and withdrawals, mentions of funerals (they think Sarah and John B are dead), spoilers, unprotected sex, mention of birth control, mentions of anger, mentions of parental unit dying/going to jail, mentions of PTSD, mentions of nightmares, y/n pulls a knife out on Barry and regrets it immediately, mentions of drugs 

A/N: Hello! Thank you for taking the time to even look at this fic, I worked really long and hard on it and I had a great time writing it. It was my first time ever writing smut so if it sucks, I’m so sorry. I’m also running on no sleep because I’ve been editing this all night. That being said, I tried my best to proofread, I’m sure that there are tons of mistakes anyway. Again, thank you for reading my fic! I ended it the only way that felt right to me. Oh, and it’s inspired by Fall to Pieces by Avril Lavigne

It’s been 7 months since Rafe showed up at your door and ripped your heart out of your now gaping chest. 6 months and three weeks since his family held a funeral for his sister in which he couldn’t attend because he was going through withdrawals. 6 months since his friends and family started asking you about his whereabouts. You’ve lied to everyone you knew back on the Outer Banks, telling them that you haven’t seen him since that summer.

You’ve convinced yourself that you were okay with taking care of him even if you weren’t together but for the first three weeks while he was at his worse, every time you had to touch him, you wanted to throw up (most times you did). You just can’t help but picture him killing Peterkin, sometimes you have dreams where you see it happen and you didn’t do anything to stop it, then you’d wake up next to him and have to move to the sofa just from the disgust. Though you’re not exactly sure what really happened that day, and he wouldn’t tell you, your overactive imagination filled in the blanks for you every night for those first few weeks.

The fifth week was better, in the sense that your disgust was slowly being taken over by hate. You hated that he had put you in this situation. You hated that you allowed yourself to care enough to take care of him. You hated that you love him but most of all, you hate his father for screwing up his children so much that one would rather die than go back to him and the other couldn’t stay sober long enough to know right from wrong.

You were also able to convince your parents to help you co-sign and move into a house near the school instead of staying in the dorms. You said that it’s because of all the teens partying around you and that you couldn’t concentrate on studying but really, it’s because of the noise complaints that you’ve been getting. It’s been hell studying for finals while sleeping next to someone going through cold shakes or nightmares. You’ve told yourself multiple times that Rafe was going through withdraws while also suffering from PTSD but it didn’t make you feel any better when you started missing classes or came home to your living room completely destroyed because he had a rage fit due to the cravings. You’ve offered to send him to rehab but he wanted no trace of where he could be so you complied.

A month after getting everything straightened out, you were finally moving out. You were happy that you could go further into the city where Rafe could go out more, spend more time around other people than surround himself with his mistakes, and four walls. Though the process wore on him, you could tell that he was becoming a better person. He was more patient and understanding. It would be a lie to say that his fuse wasn’t still just as bad when someone would trigger it but it seems you’ve been doing a lot of that anyway—lying.

  Seven months into living together and him finally being sober, you want to say that he reminds you of the old Rafe but he doesn’t. He’s much more mature, his sad eyes tell a story that he’s seen way too much, too soon. Some days, you wish that you could take his pain away. Other days, you wish that he’d drown in it…at least you wish you thought that.

Renting a U-Haul, and maybe to fill your own fantasy of moving in together like a normal couple in college, you had Rafe help you pack. Was it a good idea? Probably not. Most of the time you ended up yelling at him for packing the bedroom things with the living room items. When you saw him put the dishes in with the DVDs, you had banished him to the house for the rest of the day, telling him that you’d pack the kitchen away by yourself. You were happy that you’d actually done that though because it gave you the excuse to give the two of you some space. You had found yourself getting close to him again. Leaning in when you laughed, touching his arm to show him something on your phone or when you window shop. You didn’t want to give him mixed signals but how could you not when you’re confused yourself?

So, you left Rafe unpacking all the boxes of clothes and moving around the furniture while you came back and tackled the kitchen. You almost wished that you had asked him to come along just for his company but after waking up in his arms last night, groggy from being tired, you figured that it was best to put some distance between the two of you.

A soft knocking sounded from your door and the smile that appeared on your face should’ve been criminal. You were almost too happy to see him. You couldn’t—wouldn’t let yourself forget what he did, though it was hard to remember when you’ve never seen Rafe in that state. Pushing your thoughts aside for the millionth time, you yanked the door open, your smile immediately dropping. You tried to shut the door as quickly as you opened it but a hand lands in the middle of the door and pushes it open the rest of the way.

“Now, that’s no way to greet an old friend,” Barry said, as condescending as ever.

“You’ve lost that title the minute you started selling drugs,” you narrowed your eyes at him.

He was right. Barry and you go way back, back before you were considered a “kook”, before you even knew what it meant to be a part of figure 8. Well, technically your moms go way back. You two were destined to be friends since you’ve come out of the womb. You shared secrets, scars, heartbreaks, skinned knees, all the same. You held him when his mom died and invited him over to your place every single day, unknowingly introducing him to his future clients. Your mom loved him like a child and if you ate, he ate. Until, of course, you started dating Rafe at fifteen and Barry started finding new friends. About a year later, the friendship was over. One night you walked in on him selling drugs to Rafe. You told them both that you wanted nothing to do with either of them if Barry kept selling and Rafe kept distributing but neither of them listened. Barry continued selling but stopped coming around, breaking your mother’s heart. As for Rafe, well, we know that story.

“Yes, of course. Big, bad, naughty, Barry,” he rolled his eyes and though his words had a hint of humor, his eyes did not. He shoved past you and made his way inside your apartment.

“What do you want?” You said in a clipped tone, eyeing his figure to see if he has any visible weapons on him or not because last time he showed up at your apartment, he was not so kind.

“Rafe,” Barry said matter of factly with a bright smile. As if he wasn’t talking about someone who supposedly dropped off the face of the earth seven months ago.

You stared at him and shrugged, “your guess is as good as mine.”

“Y/n, I’m not going to ask you twice and I don’t exactly do well to being lied to, where is Rafe?” He leaned against the refrigerator with his arms crossed in front of his chest, eyeing you.

“I haven’t seen him,” you lied through gritted teeth. You backed yourself into your kitchen, feeling comfort that there was an exit behind you while Barry was in your line of sight.

“Baby, if you only knew what he’s done, you wouldn’t be protecting him right now,” Barry chuckled as he took a step towards you, “he owes me a debt and I’ve given him long enough. Now, I’m here to collect. Listen, it’s either me or the SBI, it’s your choi-,” he didn’t have the time to finish before you found your hand wrapped around your kitchen knife bringing the blade down on the sink beside you.

You tried to speak between breaths, “Stop it! Stop!”

Barry’s irritating smile has finally dropped from his face. His hands out in front of him as if he was prepared for you to lose it and charge at him...and maybe you might. At this point, you’re not really sure what you planned to do. You just needed to protect Rafe.

“He’s mine,” you breathe out a declaration you haven’t let left your lips since the night of Rafe’s confession, “you don’t get to take him, the SBI doesn’t get to take him, fucking death doesn’t get to take him from me without my permission. Now, get the fuck out of my apartment right now because I do not know where he is and if I did, I would never tell you,” you said with an eerie calm washing over you. You keep taking steps toward Barry who hasn’t moved back once.

“Come at me, baby, I have nothing to lose,” Barry said with his arms at his side, faking vulnerability while his shifty eyes were telling another story.

“Yes, you do,” you assured him, “We both do, but the difference between us is that I’m willing to lose it all. Are you?”

“You think I’m going to just forget what his little sister did? She stole from me. Now I have leverage over my best seller— my best thief, and you want me to let that slide because a chick with a knife who can’t even keep it steady enough to point at me wants to threaten me? I’ll come back every single day if I have to.”

“His little sister is dead, haven’t you heard? Her and John B got washed away in the storm and you still have the nerve to talk about her? You can come back every day if you want to. I’ll give you the keys to the place. In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t live here anymore.” You gestured toward the empty living room and the boxes beside the two of you.

For the first time, Barry let his guard down long enough to take a look around the apartment.

“I left him,” you continued your half-lie. You did leave Rafe, at your new house, “when I found out what happened, I left him and I couldn’t handle being on campus where I knew he could find me,” where you knew anyone else could find him, “so I’m leaving.” You shrugged, feigning indifference. Setting the knife down on the sink as if that wasn’t the most insane thing that you’ve ever done. You dug into your purse. “Here’s something for your troubles, yeah?” Your mother always told you to have cash on you and finally, it has come in handy, you pulled around about three grand, almost 1/3 of what you got for selling your car.

“Take it,” you shoved the money against his chest. With no hesitation Barry’s clammy hands landed on yours, pressing both your hand and the money against his chest. The contact instantly brought you back from your previous panic. You couldn’t even believe that you had pulled a knife out on him, what were you even going to do with it? It’s not like you were…it’s not like you were Rafe. At the realization, you met Barry’s eyes with so much sadness, “this is the last thing I’m going to do for you, Barry. For your mom, I hope you can get a real job one day,” you said sincerely.

“Always had a thing for the bad boys, huh, y/n?” Barry said, the joking tone in his voice disappearing as he took the money from underneath your palm, letting your hand fall.

“Just the lost ones,” you admitted, “goodbye, Barry.”

He pocketed the cash, giving you one last look before turning around and leaving you to the boxes.

   The house was surprisingly mostly unpacked, except for the two new boxes that you had brought back with you, though in your defense, you didn’t have a lot of things to begin with. After a long-needed shower—more so on Rafe’s part since you left him to do the grunt work all day, you had fixed up dinner for the both of you.

Something had shifted inside of you since the talk with Barry. You could no longer ignore your feelings now that they’re right in your face but you’re still so conflicted. You love Rafe. You love him so much and he’s sober and trying for the first time. You’re seeing him in a new light but today, after picking up that knife, you can’t get over the horrible things that he’s done and it’s tearing you apart inside.

From the archway of the kitchen, you can’t help but look at the boy on your sofa. He’s probably watching some dumb show, his long legs stretched out in front of him while he’s nursing a bottle of water, the sadness in his eyes looking more and more permanent. Your fists clenched up beside you as tears threaten to fall as you made your way in front of him. You can’t count the number of times you’ve seen him like this, the number of times you’ve fantasized about him like this but with your children crawling all over him as you’d laugh and sip a cup of coffee. Now that’s really all it’ll be, a fantasy.

Rafe had set the bottle on the coffee table in front of him as if sensing a confrontation coming on and it fueled your anger even more. You hated that he knew you so well and that you two were so well connected that you could both feel the shift of the energy between the two of you without saying one word. You finally made it in front of him, your knees touching, you couldn’t take your eyes off of his.

He waited, looking back at you as your tears fell from your face and his hands twitched like he wanted to reach out towards you but thought better of it.

“I hate you,” you said pathetically as your shoulders slumped. You angrily wiped away your tears as you shook your head at him. The boy who once was your dream. Rafe didn’t even flinch at your words, he knew it already. He hoped that you’d change your mind about him but he knew from the very first night that things would never be the same.

Without saying a word, Rafe reached for your fists, kissing your knuckles knowing that you’d never use them against him. As if apologizing for even causing you to form them.

“I hate you so much and I can’t forgive you for what you did; I’ve tried,” you said through your tears, “but I also love you so much,” you whispered your confession. His head snapping up at you, searching for your lies and finding none.

Before you could even think, one of his arms snakes around your waist, pulling you down to straddle him as the other came up to your face, forcing you to now look up at him.

“You still love me?” Rafe finally spoke, brushing away a few of your tears with the pad of his thumb.

“I’ve always loved you but you make me hate you,” you said as you leaned your face against his palm, missing the feeling of intimacy with him.

It was almost like something had changed within him, as if he was arguing with himself and finally made up his mind when he leaned in closer to your face, his lips brushing against yours, “Don’t. Tonight just, just love me, okay?”

How could you say no to that? You nodded and it takes him all but a second for his lips to touch yours, knowing that the minute you gave him an inch, he’d take a mile.

The kiss was electric. It was something that you had no idea you were even craving until his were on yours and you couldn’t get enough. Your tongue swiped at his lower lip, taking it in between your teeth and giving him a soft bite, using his gasp as an invitation for your tongue to enter his mouth. Rafe didn’t deny you as his hands worked his way to your hips that’s been subconsciously rocking against his. You worked your hands up his shirt, lingering on his abs, feeling them expand and contract with every breath he takes before removing your lips from his just to pull off his shirt.

Heavenly. It was the only word that came to your mind when you looked at his body. Rafe didn’t give you much time to marvel at the sculpted figure that is his body before pulling your face towards his again, “fuck, y/n,” Rafe breathe and it sent a shiver down your spine. You can already feel the wetness pooling between your legs, knowing full well that the thin layer of your pajama pants is doing nothing but allowing him to feel it, too. Just like how you can feel him grow underneath you, making you whimper when you rock against him the right way. You made your way down his neck, kissing and biting him, marking him like you were teenagers again. Rafe growled at you when you bit a little bit too hard into his shoulder.

“Y/n, baby,” Rafe rasped, trying to get your attention but it was useless, “princess,” he said almost inaudible as you were about to rub out your own orgasm against him. Suddenly, his hand came down hard on your backside, and instead of yelping, you moaned for him to go harder which all but caused him to pull you away from him. Your arms suddenly empty and your chest heaving, you looked at Rafe’s plump lips and eyes that are dark with desire. He stood up and didn’t waste a moment, he allowed you to jump onto him, supporting your weight with his arms around you.

You quickly yanked off your top, allowing your breast to press up against him when you wrap your arms around his neck, “I need you,” you admitted against his neck. More than he knew. In more ways than he could give but for now, you could accept him like this. You felt your back slam against the wall as he fists your hair in his hands, forcing your head back so he could kiss your neck and leave some marks of his own. By the time he reached your bed, you needed your release. He had set you down on the bed, almost too gently. You reached for his pants but his fingers wrapped around your wrist, “I want to taste you first,” he said with what you thought was supposed to be a smile but he was already preoccupying himself with pulling off your shorts. You were almost sure that he moaned just by the sight of your spread legs as if he hadn’t already seen you like this a hundred times.

You laid back and spread your legs further, reaching for his head with his hand but instead he interlocked his fingers with yours saying, “don’t rush me, princess, I want to remember this.” It felt like an eternity before you felt his lips on your inner thigh, causing your body to shudder. Slowly, you felt his tongue delve into you, flicking your clit just right enough for you to buck your hips against him. He wrapped his lips around your clit as his tongue worked it just the way you liked until your nails are leaving marks on him as you scream, “Yes, Rafe, right there, please don’t stop!” Your words along with your moans, giving him the confidence that he still remembers how to make you cum; and you did. Hard. You could’ve sworn that you went cross-eyed for a moment as your thighs attempted to shut around his head. He brought his hands up to hold them back as he continued, bringing on another shaking orgasm.

“I need you in me, Rafe,” you said as this point, almost delirious but you needed the closeness. “I need you to fuck me like you just—like you hate me,” you said but you weren’t sure if you meant it. Granted, in your state, you’d take him any way that he’d come but you just thought back to all the times you’d slept with him in that last month before everything went to shit. When he was at his worst with drugs that most times, he couldn’t get it up, and when he could, it would be rough and fast.

Rafe crawled up your body, using his thumb to wipe his lower lip and then sucking it clean, causing your eyes to flutter. You pushed down his pants until they were around his knees and he kicked them all the way off himself but he didn’t pounce on you and started drilling you. He almost seemed…hesitant.

“I know you hate me but I don’t,” Rafe started, slowly as he began inserting himself into you, inch by inch, “I can’t fuck you like I used to right now. I can’t fuck you like I’m angry, I need to-,” he stopped himself with a moan as you clenched around him, “I just need you to fuck you like you love me okay?” He rasped, looking more vulnerable then you’ve ever seen him. You nodded, grabbing a hold of his hair as you wrapped your legs around him, you kissed him deeply before looking at him in his eyes, “I love you Rafe,” you breathe and that was all it took for him to lose his control.

After basically wrestling around in the sheets, you both came multiple times. Each time with whispers of promises of forever that you both knew was just something said in the heat of the moment. When you both felt spent, though not nearly having enough of each other, Rafe had gotten up to go to the bathroom and get a wet cloth to come and clean you up. You haven’t been this reckless since you two were sixteen and had a pregnancy scare, so you were thanking the heavens for your birth control right now.

Rafe had put the towel away in the bathroom again but didn’t bother to put on his clothes as he laid next to you in bed. You rested your head against his chest as his finger started trailing your spine.

“I saw Barry today,” you said suddenly.

“Yeah?” Rafe tensed, pulling you closer to him as if he could protect you, “What did he want?”

“Other than a trip down memory lane?” you offered, “you.”

Rafe didn’t say a word as he kissed the top of your head and you drifted off to sleep.

  The sun was evil, you were sure of it. The blinding light had awakened you and all you tried to do was burrow deeper into the hard body next to you. Only except, the body wasn’t there. Blindly, you reached out beside you, almost in a panic when you couldn’t feel anything other than the cold sheets, indicating that it has been vacant for some time. You finally opened your eyes and sat up; your body deliciously sore but you couldn’t even enjoy that right now. You walked into the living room, naked as the day you born, only to see a small duffel bag by the door.

“Rafe?” You called out, only to have him appear from the kitchen with an orange juice in his hand. He took a look at you and his eyes lingered on your body, the marks that he left on you. The marks you left on his neck and chest, obvious as well, but you couldn’t concentrate on that, “I can’t believe you,” you spat out as you turned on your heel and made your way back into the bedroom.

You didn’t make it past the door frame before Rafe’s arm snaked around you and pressed your back to his front, his lips coming down to your ear, “stop,” he said, his tone was almost like an order but you knew it was a plea, “whatever it is that’s going on in that head of yours, stop it.”

You turned around in his arms, willing yourself not to cave when his face was inches from yours. Willing yourself not to cry when his bag is inches away from the door, “you’re leaving me,” you stated.

“I’m not leaving you,” Rafe corrected, “last night was just…amazing but it did remind me that being sober isn’t the only thing that I had to get done. I have loose ends, y/n. I have things that I need to make right. So, yes, I am leaving but do not think for a second that I’m leaving because of you. I’m alive because of you.”

“Nice speech,” you said bitterly, crossing your arms across your chest as you stepped out of his grasp, “you’re leaving right after we had sex. It’s still a douchebag move to make.”

“Y/n, I told you. I had a realization. Trust me, if I didn’t-,” he stopped himself, watching you as you pulled his shirt over your head, “if I didn’t have to go, I wouldn’t but I need to like, I don’t know. Clear my head or find myself or whatever the fuck it is. I need to go back to my dad and show my face. Fuck, I need to visit Sarah’s grave.”

“And you can’t do all of that with me? Here I am again, re-arraigning my whole life for you and Rafe Cameron can’t eve-,” he cut you off by lifting you up, making you wrap your legs around his waist. His kiss was hard and bruising.

“Shut the fuck up,” Rafe parroted the line he said seven months ago, only this time, he whispered it with a smile ghosting around his lips.

“I love you,” he said as he caressed your face with one hand, the other still holding you up, “I love you and you do not fully love me like before. I can see it in your eyes, princess. We laugh and we might’ve fucked yesterday but it does not change anything. You don’t trust me so I need to go and make things right, okay? You told me that I needed to love myself before you can be with me again, before you can love me again. So, that’s what I’m going to do. Okay?” he said as he set you down on your feet again.

You nodded, you understood. You weren’t dumb enough to think he’d stay here forever anyway, no matter how much you took care of him and he was right. There are still days where you can’t look at him and having sex last night might’ve made it clear where you both stood with each other but it doesn’t change the fact that sometimes you still hated him-you were just too drunk off sex to act on it.

“Yeah. Okay,” was all you could say. Though you gripped onto his hand like a child as he walked to the front door, picking his bag off the floor and effortlessly resting the strap on his shoulder. He turned to you and reached into his pocket, leaving a small gold chain necklace in the palm on your hand. A lame replacement for his own hand, you thought, but you willed yourself not to grab onto him again.

“Thank you. For literally everything. For changing your whole life for me. For stopping everything. No amount of thank you will ever be enough,” Rafe said sincerely and though it looks like he wants to, he doesn’t kiss you.

“Will I see you again?” You asked, your voice small. You gripped the necklace to your chest.

“I don’t know. But I fucking hope so, y/n,” Rafe said before turning around and walking out of your door.

                                                        Epilogue

“It’s been two years, dad,” you fidget on the bar stool in your parent’s house, you were finally back in the Outer Banks for the first time since Sarah’s funeral. A small simple gold chain hangs from your neck. You don’t remember the last time you took it off.

“A lot of things have changed, y/n. He might not be who he was anymore,” your dad warned, his eyes trained on yours and even though you know he meant that maybe Rafe isn’t like the boy you fell in love with when you were fifteen, all you wished for was that he wasn’t like the boy he was when he was nineteen.

You held up your glass of water, as if you’re making a toast, “then here’s to changes,” you smiled as your dad shook his head.

 When Rafe had left your house, two years ago, he had come back to the Outer Banks like a boy on a mission. You weren’t exactly sure what had happened but rumor has it, he reached out to JJ, Kiara, and Pope to help put his father in prison. From there, they had recruited the help from Mrs. Lana Grubbs, who somehow had enough information to put Ward away for good. Of course, in the midst of getting his father in jail, he had to come clean about his involvement in the murder of Sheriff Peterkin—something that should’ve been a capital offense, but with the help of a very good lawyer (thanks dad) and being involved in the arrest of Ward Cameron, it was brought down to voluntary manslaughter. Rumor also had it that Ward Cameron could’ve gotten away, he could have stuck to his original story, seems like the police bought it anyway but once he heard that Rafe was basically selling himself out for this, he complied, knowing that his son would get less time. By all means, Ward was not a good father and even a worse excuse of a man but you’d like to believe that that was his way of telling Rafe that he loved him enough to do this, especially since he’s lost Sarah.

You sat outside of the prison, in your car. You saw the barb wires and the guards and almost got cold feet. You wrapped your hands tightly around the steering wheel until your knuckles turned white and took a deep breath. You didn’t know why you were so nervous but you felt like if you exit your car, you’d turn into a puddle of goo. After a couple of breathing exercises, you’ve gathered enough courage to walk up to the gate, giving the officer your ID, hoping that you’re still on Rafe’s visitations list. After a couple of minutes, just enough to make you sweat, they led you back to a room. Metal chairs had lined up against the glass, a phone at the side of each divider.

Reminding yourself to breathe, you sat down on the cold steel. You picked up the phone, eager to hear Rafe’s voice. As the rows of inmates started filling up each seat, sitting in front of their loved ones, your eyes searched for him. All the orange jumpsuits looking the same but then you felt it. That connection, that energy that you once shared with this man who was once the love of your life and now almost a stranger. He sat down across from you as you looked up at him, a grin painted on his face, and for the first time in a while, his smile reaches his eyes, “hey princess.”

tags: @millyelliot @snkkat

#rafe x reader #rafe cameron x reader #rafe x y/n #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron #drew starkey #HAAAAAAA DID I SLEEP? NO #DID I CRY? YEH #FUCK THIS IS LONG #outer banks #my drabbles #outerbanks #outer banks fic #outerbanks fic #my writing

[simsadventures]

Barely Hate You

Dean x Reader oneshot

Summary: You and Dean have a very difficult relationship. One moment you want to strangle each other, while the next you’re all cuddly and lovey-dovey. Maybe not after a risky vampire hunt.

Warnings: swearing, mentions of violence, mentions of vampires, angst, implied smut, fluff

Word Count:1369

A/N: This little something is for @mummybear ’s followers celebration #mummybears1.5kfollowerscelebration, and once again, sweetheart, congratulations, you deserve every single one of them! My prompt was the song Irresistible by the one and only Fall Out Boy, and because I’m a massive fan I couldn’t really choose anything else. Anyway, hope you’ll enjoy a little Dean, haven’t posted for him a while! Let me know what you all thought xx

Dean Winchester Masterlist __ Masterlist

“Oh my God, Dean, really? Like I could’ve known that there would be more than two fucking vampires there,” you rolled your eyes at the tall hunter, not standing down even when the dangerous glint shimmered in his eyes. You knew you were playing with fire, but you were fed up as it was. You didn’t need a lecture, and especially not from Dean.

“You would’ve known if you just waited for one goddamn second, Y/N! Stop being so fucking reckless all the time, and maybe start thinking about the people around. Y’know what? I don’t even give a shit you would be killed, but there were other people if you’re aware!” Dean yelled harshly, and you actually flinched at his tone.

Sure, you and Dean have been at each other’s throats ever since you met. The green-eyed hunter always getting on your nerves with his grumpy mood and his sarcastic comments. And you weren’t better than him in most regards. You just loved to see him all riled up because you knew probably better than anyone else what the riled-up-Dean could do.

You have been fuck buddies also as long as you could remember. Never putting a label on it, nor putting any boundaries around it, you just enjoyed each other’s presence. On the better days, that was. And today was obviously not one of those days.

You were staring at Dean, trying to come up with a come-back for his harsh statement, but the only thing you could hear was him saying that he wouldn’t give a damn about you dying. Not that you wanted him to confess his love for you, far from it. But you, at least, hoped he wouldn’t be indifferent if anything happened to you. But it not being the case made a little disappointed.

You couldn’t say you loved Dean, but you also couldn’t quite say you didn’t. And that was the main issue. You just weren’t sure about your own feelings, and there was a hope inside you that he would decide for you. But the dream was for him to exclaim his love, and not to blatantly told you he didn’t give a rat’s ass about you.

You looked him deep in the eyes, trying to see whether he actually meant it, but because you couldn’t find anything other than rage and hatred, you just shrugged and marched to your room in the bunker.

Slamming the door behind you, you slumped down on your bed, your hands against your eyes. You were both pissed and hurt, not really knowing which of those emotions was winning. But when you felt wetness on your palms, and then touched your face, you found out that you didn’t have to worry about which emotion won. Because now you were just sad.

The next morning wasn’t that m much better. You woke up with your eyes swollen from all the crying you did last night, and your head hurting like a motherfucker. But you didn’t pay it no mind because your stomach was grumbling like crazy, and you knew you needed to get out fo the room eventually.

You could hear voices coming from the library, but you weren’t about to go there and face them just yet. Especially not Dean. You knew Sam was also mad at you from marching into the nest pretty much unprepared, but the only thing you thought of at that moment you couldn’t think of anything else than saving the people trapped inside.

Could you have been a little more thoughtful? Sure, you always could. But nobody got hurt, after all, and that was the important thing. Well, not to Dean, obviously.

As you were making yourself a coffee, when you heard steps from behind you. Too tired to turn around, you just stared numbly at the pot on the stove. From the way, your body perched up you knew it was Dean in the kitchen with you. But you were adamant on not making your heart hurt even more. You needed at least a few more days to dump the pain and be your joyous self again. Maybe a little longer this time.

“Ehm,” Dean coughed awkwardly, but still got no reaction from you. He tried coughing a few more times, secretly hoping you would just turn around, yell at him some more, tell him that he was an asshole and all would be forgotten and forgiven. But even he could feel that it would be a little more serious this time.

When it was more than evident that his coughing was simply not enough, Dean took a step closer and put his hand on your shoulder.

You flinched harshly so that his hand fell from your body and stood a little closer to the stove.

“I got the message, loud and clear, Dean. You don’t have to pretend, or anything like that. Just leave me alone and maybe secretly hope and pray for my death, and Chuck might be merciful enough to grant you your wish,” you hissed at him, still keeping your eyes trained anywhere but on him.

Dean gasped, only now seeing your red eyes, and he didn’t have to be a genius to figure out you have been crying. He knew the moment he said those things that he crossed a line, but he was so pissed at you for risking your life once again, that he just couldn’t hold his tongue.

“Sweetheart, you know that’s not true,” he said as nicely as could, stepping closer to you, and bringing your face up by the tip of his finger underneath your chin.

“Look, I get it. You hate me, and you wish I died, easy as that. We don’t have to pretend-“

“I don’t pretend anything! I don’t fucking hate you, I was worried sick when I realised you went there, totally unprepared. You could have gotten killed, and what would I do then, huh?” You growled at you, and you pushed him away, seething.

“I don’t know, celebrate? And don’t tell me you don’t hate me after what you said yesterday,” you now yelled, mustering the last of your strength to fight this handsome asshole.

“I fucking love you, you psychopath! And I can’t, no, I don’t fucking want to imagine what my life would look like if you weren’t in it! You’re annoying as fuck, you’re reckless, you’re selfish. But I still love you, not despite, but because of all those things I just said! So stop fucking fighting me for a second and say it back!”

You gaped at him, your heart hammering in your chest, threatening to beat its way out of there.

“Love me? That’s, that’s not possible, you hate me!” You whispered, surprised and choking on your own emotions.

Dean smiled at you and took a step closer, hugging you close to his body. Just the familiarity of the whole thing brought peace to your mind. You needed him more than you cared to admit.

“I barely hate you, sweetheart. Sure, there are times when I would spank that cute ass of yours, or lock you in your room to not do anything stupid, but that’s not hatred. I’m scared shitless that Chuck’s gonna take you away from me. And you seem to be doing everything in your power to help him in that,” Dean mumbled against the crown of your head.

You nuzzled your cheek closer to his chest, revelling at the smell of him; so originally Dean that you knew you’d know him anywhere in the world.

“Don’t think I’m still not mad about you saying the shit yesterday. But I love you too, you big weirdo,” you mumbled, and Dean’s smile got that much brighter.

You swatted his chest as you pulled away from him, and he mockingly massaged the place.

“You did say something about spanking though, didn’t you?” You smirked at him, and all the playfulness from Dean was gone. In was dominant Dean as he picked you, throwing you over his shoulder and marching towards his bedroom.

He knew he would have to work hard for redemption, but this was the kind of work he would be happy to die doing.

Supernatural Taglist

@voltage-my2dlove @defenderrosetyler

Dean Taglist

@team-free-will-you-idjiot

Forever Tag:

@eileenalone @sasbb23 @p8tn0lish @coffeebooksandfandom @waiting4inspiration​ @caswinchester2000​ @mogaruke​ @justthatfangirloverthere​ @mushyjellybeans​ @livsheph​ @sebbbystaaan​ @notyourtypicalrose​ @itsunclebucky​ @rinkashirikitateku​ @leosandbuckysgirl​ @miraclesoflove​ @keithseabrook27​ @official-and-unstable-satan​ @bullshitantichrist​ @babypink224221​

#dean winchester #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester one shot #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester reader insert #dean winchester imagine #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fandom #SPN #SPN FANDOM #SPN Family #spn fanfiction #angst #mummybears1.5Kfollowerscelebration #fluff #implied smut #swearing #followers celebration #writing challenge #vampires #violence

[empathisex]

Cheating Prank! (Bakugou x GN!Reader)

Notice: You and Bakugou are in your twenties, he’s the pro hero: Ground Zero. You decide to be a bit rebellious since you both have a famous YouTube channel! lol that’s about it. Enjoy this! <3

• Today, you decide to pull a prank on your husband, Bakugou! Great idea right? Right..? Not. You want to have some fun meaning you want to come up with some tricks. Even though you’re risking your twos place getting blasted into oblivion. Why not take the chances?

• You already know, Katsuki isn’t the one for pranks/tricks. He has an extremely bad temper, he can’t contain his anger when you do such foolishness. You have only did minor pranks on him such as, putting different foods on his face while he’s sleeping, ignoring him, etc.

• But this prank you were about to pull off was about to be extreme, you can already imagine his reaction in your head, him screaming your name out loud, noisy explosions coming from both of his hands. It was almost like you could see the smoke coming out his ears, his teeth grinding together too. It did terrify you, but you made you giggle intensely.

• Plus, you and Bakugou have a YouTube channel, his old classmates recommended to you, they notice you weren’t intimate with Bakugou at the time. Now with almost to 1 million subs since you both have some sort of fame and popularity, why not spice things up a notch. Give your viewers a show!

• Katsuki hasn’t come home from hero work yet, so you take your chances heading over to your guys master bedroom grabbing a small camera from a drawer filled with items Katsuki’s has given you in the past. Rings, Jewels, even a necklace with your intintal and his. He spoils you of course, he’s your everything.

• With a soft smile you come to remembrance to set up the room with red and purples lights, some candles on the counters, and a nice rope around you to set up the mood. Now, how can you make it seem that a person was here? You knew Deku closely, he gave you advice on how to deal with Bakugou. But you rather not see that outcome...

• Boxes and a wig! Rummaging through the closet, you find about three shoe boxes, a green wig that looks similar to Midoriya’s hair that you wore for a costume party, you pull the wide sheets off the mattress, placing the boxes vertical the wig resting half on the box and the pillow.

• You couldn’t help but laugh while pulling the covers up, grabbing some cologne Katsuki used to put on spraying the bottle profusely around the side with the boxes. You totally forgot how strong the scent was, it made you let a few coughs as you shook your head.

• Later on, you sprayed it on the couch, leaving your undergarments on the couch and a pair of limited edition All Might boxers Deku probably would wear, you placed a alcohol bottle on the coffee table, leaving a second camera around the kitchen area, rushing over to the bed again.

• You started the camera, letting it face your way. You fixed yourself puffing but letting out a cheerful expression, “Hey everyone! And welcome back to our channel, um..I know it’s been a while that me and Katsuki have updated but I felt we should do a special just for y’all!” You winked at the camera giving a small finger gun.

• “Katsuki is on his way back home, and I’m doing a small prank on him, I set everything up so let’s see how he- Oh! I placed another camera in the kitchen so you could see his full reaction! Let’s see what he does!” You cheered as you set the camera where he possibly wouldn’t see. Looking at the window, you saw Bakugou coming towards the enterance of your home, he honestly looked exhausted, truly you realized he wanted to see you. Welp.. that won’t be the case. You slowly mouthed, he’s coming while running to the door locking it.

• Plopping yourself on the bed you could start to feel your nerves overwhelm you, but you leave that to the side grabbing your phone turning on some slow jams. Then overhearing the door open, that was your cue to start..to make Bakugou lose his mind.

• First, you began rocking your hips imagining Bakugou grinding his heat against your body. You jumped up and down in excitement even in thought of it making the bed creak, it made you let out a few soft moans, you giggled therefore you let out more thinking of Bakugou kissing your neck, his big hands all over your body exploring you, his fresh breath breezing in your ear.

• “Oi..cute face..where are you? God..I know you like pulling your stupid tricks on me but come on.” He sighed in exhaustion, not even realizing what was in front on him. However his quick instinct caught onto him, your precious underwear? The scent of cologne? All Might Boxers? Something fishy was up.

• You continued each time you got louder hoping that Bakugou would catch on and make this prank be a success. You kept moaning, letting out whimpers and whines like you were begging for him to fuck you. You purred like a kitten as you bit your lip. At some point, your moans became louder than the music.

• And you were exactly right, he caught out quite fast than you expected, he clenched onto the front doorknob trying his best to justify what was going on. His lover cheating on him while he was doing hero work..no way. He slammed the door shut, walking over to the bedroom door you were in. That definitely caught on you by surprise which made you gulp.

• Bakugou instantly started banging on the door, he didn’t want to blast the door down knowing you’ll get mad at him so he decided to be patient. Calling your names a bunch of him you let out, “Ohh, fuck! You’re so much better than my husband! Mm!” Which completely set him off.

• “[NAME] WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING IN THERE? OPEN THIS DOOR RIGHT NOW!” He kept banging trying his best not leaving a dent in the door. This made you stop the music making you gasp. “Oh my gosh..” You whispered looking over at the camera covering your mouth.

• “Damn it..go hide, Izuku..go hide..” You say a little louder, making Bakugou lose his marbles again. “DEKU IS IN MY HOUSE?! YOU CAN’T BE-“ He stepped away from the door raising his hand, releasing small explosions (crackle, pop!). He started kicking the door with full force.

• “[NAME] OPEN THIS GODDAM DOOR BEFORE YOU END UP DYING WITH HIM! YOU LET THIS PIECE OF SHIT IN OUR HOUSE?!” He yelled still kicking more, you rushed over to the closet acting like you were getting some new clothes to change to.

• “Baby, I’m changing! Stop, before you break down the door!” You huffed still holding in your laughs and chuckles. “YOU GOT A WHOLE FUCKER IN THE HOUSE AND YOU EXPECT ME TO- SOMEBODY IS DYING TODAY! IVE BEEN WAITING TO KILL THIS LITTLE BITCH TOO!” He punched the door hard enough to make it bend as he shouted loudly. Shit shit shit! You grabbed a random chair from the corner of the room to hold the door up.

• “Babe..Deku came to chat on some things..it’s not what it seems I swear..” You tried to explain but Katsuki didn’t seem to listen to a word you had to say. He wanted Deku to die. “So Deku came to chat to you and all of sudden you’re..FUCKING MOANING YOUR ASS OFF! MUSIC BLASTING, WE DONT PLAY MUSIC WHEN WE DO IT! OPEN THIS DOOR!” His explosions were louder, he was raging at this point.

• “Katsuki..what the fuck, what’s your problem?” You rolled your eyes, disgusted by his choice of wording. “You probably were sucking that fucker off too..you little slut. You couldn’t wait until I came home couldn’t you. OPEN. THIS. DOOR.” His response completely caught you off guard, you glanced at the camera your eyes widening in shock.

• Maybe it was time for you to tell him it was a prank before he’ll fuck up everything in the house. You clench onto the robe letting out a sigh, unlocking the door searching for Bakugou, “For Gods sake Katsuki it was a pran-“

• He didn’t waste no time running into the bedroom punching the boxes and the pillow with the wig on to. Bakugou burnt the side of bed, you yelling at him to stop. He grinded his teeth staring at you, as you let out a burst of laughs.

• “Goddamit, [Name].” He grabbed the wig looking at it then at you. “You got me..I’ll get you back, watch idiot.” He stomped out as you continued onward with your laughs.

• You rushed to the camera, still laughing as you made your outro, “Welp, that prank was a successful on Bakugou, make sure you like share and subscribe if you want to see more pranks and content! [Name], signing off!” You turned off the camera with a smile.

#bnha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha headcanons #bnha imagines #pranks #cheating prank #cheating #katsuki bakugo imagine #bakugou #bakugou katuski x reader #mha #bakugo katuski #mha x reader #mha headcanons #my hero x reader #hero academia

[tired0artist]

sing to me (part three)

<<part one>> <<part two>>

paring: female!V x Johnny Silverhand

summary: a street kid V falls in love with SAMURAI music and idolises Johnny Silverhand. years later she finally understands the saying “never meet your idols”

warnings: angst and fluff, Johnny being a dick as always, arguments, V plays the guitar, MORE JOHNNY AND V ACTION IN THIS ONE!!!, references to death, more/different warnings in the future parts

note: I’m describing my V, but you can imagine her however you want tho

•SAMURAI fan V (street kid)•

She was tugging on her hair, groaning in pain as she stumbled out of the elevator.

“Ughh..! Fuck!”

“The hell’s that?” Johnny questioned, looking both shocked and a bit panicked “No, no, dammit!”

V sat down on some box and focused on breathing, her chest and head feeling on fire. She saw him pace around and asked.

“Jesus.. the fuck do you want from me?”

Johnny’s head snapped to her and he stormed over, making her flinch in fear. But instead of attacking her, he grabbed a stool and sat down, saying.

“It’s all going too slow. Gonna decomish before we learn how to rip the chip out”

V glared at him “Wanted me dead. You don’t care if I die”

Johnny calmed down a bit, took off his glasses and looked at her. His nearly black eyes, soft and truthful.

“Made it pretty clear since, that I changed my mind. Want you to live now”

She was taken a bit back by the sincerity that she picked up from his tone.

“What do you want, Johnny?” she asked more calmly, calling him by his name for the first time.

He lit up a cigarette and said “I got a get-outta-jail-free card. I’d be a fucking fool not to take advantage. See me and Arasaka, we got a half-century-old score needs settling, and I plan to do it” he turned towards her adding “That’s. What I need you for, kid”

“So you just... want to use me? Great. Fucking fantastic, Silverhand. Listen I hate the corpos and Arasaka too. But I am still sane enough to know that it’s a lost fight”

He rolled his eyes “I didn’t ask for your opinion, kid. I just need you to take me from point A to point B”

“Fuck you. I’m not a Delamain!”

“Listen I know things. Where we can save your life, who can help us do that. You’ll get rid of the chip, I’ll smash Saka. It’s a win-win kid. Soul killer is what we need and Mikoshi’s how we grab it”

V sighed heavily and tugged on her hair in frustration “What’s this Mikoshi?”

“Okay, basics. If you’re jacked in, cruising the Net. Arasaka can use Soulkiller, an AI, to trap, fry and pack away your psyche, your mind and your soul. Following so far?”

“Yeah... that’s how you died. I saw it”

Johnny didn’t look pleased, as he said “Okay... seems we got a few more things to broach that I thought, but that will come later”

He continued on explaining the importance of Mikoshi and how it works. V nodded along, he had some points. Mikoshi definitely was a place that they needed to go to.

“—so you’re going to live and I’ll destroy Arasaka. As I said. Win-win, kid”

“No” she said, surprising him “We need to explore some options, find allies, find resources and then. And only, then we will attack Arasaka and get to Mikoshi. Not sooner or later”

With that she got up and stumbled away, subconsciously feeling Johnny follow her.

“Kid, we need to work fast! You don’t have time! You’re already falling apart!”

“I don’t have any other choice but to live through it. We need more time, we can’t go into all of this with a hot head”

Johnny sighed “You don’t get it—“

V spun around and pointed at him “No, you’re the one who doesn’t get it. You went into Arasaka, full of rage and devoid of reason. And see where it got you?”

He glared at her and clenched his fists. She nearly flinched in fear of him attacking her once again, but she stood her ground.

After glaring at each other for some time, V let out a cough, groaning in pain. Johnny sighed and grabbed her, leading her to a bench outside.

“Rest up, kid. You won’t do much, being dead”

V sat down, feeling a bit surprised to see Johnny sit down beside her. She coughed into her hand and saw a bit of blood there, V stared at her shaking hand. The proof was there.

She was really going to die.

“You’re not. I’m not letting you, kid. We’ll work something out” Johnny said from beside her, his arms crossed as he stared at the people passing by “Call, that braindance chick. You promised that you would”

V nodded and shook her head, trying to get rid of the blue glitches she saw. She then looked back at Johnny and noticed that he left. Bitting her lip she did as he said, called Judy.

After the call, she went back to her apartment for the night. Taking her guitar she played “Never fade away” singing softly.

Her take on the song was more heavy and calm. Each word consumed by the emotional state she was in.

“We’ll never fade away...” she whispered, ending the song, somewhat abruptly. Not because she forgot the lyrics.

But because her thoughts lingered on Johnny and what happened today.

He was still a dick and managed to annoy her to no end. But then again, he really seemed like he didn’t mean her any harm. Also as much as she didn’t want to admit it, he was being useful and had a lot of info on Arasaka.

V let out a deep sigh and started playing again, thinking.

Maybe I can try and trust him.

Few days later V was walking down the dirty corridor. The place was abandoned, but still she had her guard up. As she neared the door, Johnny appeared.

“Knock four times kid, or the dog will bite”

She sighed and did as he said.

After that things escalated quickly. One minute V was talking to Hanako and another she was falling through the floor.

V let out a groan, her body hurting as black spots danced in front of her vision.

“Get your ass up, samurai! We need to delta!”

She groaned and looked at Johnny, who was looking between her and the corridor where the soldiers were coming.

“—Takemura...” she whispered, worried for the man.

Johnny quickly grabbed her by the shoulders “He’s dead, but you’re not. So get up and get out of here”

V nodded and with his help got on her feet, reloading his gun she got to work.

Halfway through the complex she met and saved Takemura, thankfully Johnny didn’t comment on it. The rockerboy went into full soldier mode as he navigated her through the corridors and warning about possible dangers.

As she and Takemura exited the building, she fell on her knees. The relic and injuries catching up with her.

“V?!” yelled Johnny, kneeling next to her.

“We need to split up! I’ll contact you once it’s safe!” said Takemura, soon disappearing in the crowd.

It pissed Johnny off as he yelled on top of his lungs “FUCKING DOG! HELP HER!”

“Johnny... we need... need to go. I-I’ll be fine...” V said, getting on her feet and quickly stealing a car that was parked not far.

The rockerboy stayed visible all the time, his metal hand heavy on her thigh. He was talking to her the whole time, trying to distract her.

V soon hid inside of a old and nasty motel. There she sat on the bed with a gun pointed at the door as Johnny watched what was going on outside the window.

Not long after their arrival a proxy working for Hanako. V talked to her, agreeing to met her at Embers.

She waited for the proxy to drive away, to leave the room. Her whole world still swaying and glitching.

Johnny stayed visible, as he leaned against a pillar. His face showing that he disapproved.

“What Johnny...? Got some words about the... porcelain cunt?”

The rockerboy only shook his head just as V started coughing up blood.

“Fuck..! Not now!” she yelled, stumbling away trying to get into her stolen car.

“V wait! Shit! Get ready!” Johnny yelled after her.

She almost made it to the door when she completely fell on the ground. Johnny rolled her on her back and watched as she had something that looked like a seizure.

“—Johnny! I’m dying—ughhhh!!!“ she screamed, tears running down her cheeks.

Johnny grabbed her hands, looking at her with worry “No, no, no kid! You ain’t dying yet! I got you”

That’s when V’s whole world went black.

Next time she woke up on the ground, pills in her hand, her body weak and in pain.

“J-Johnny?” she asked, weakly trying to find him.

“That smell, is the sea breeze” he said looking down at her with a soft smile “Get up, Pacific’s beautiful this time of day”

V got up and leaned next to him, watching the sea.

“I almost flatlined yesterday...”

“Almost” Johnny quickly said, harshly as if to force the word on her.

V ignored it for now as she stared at the sea “It’s beautiful... I could wake up to such view everyday”

“Me too” said Johnny as he glanced at her from behind his glasses, unsure himself which view he was talking about.

V closed her eyes as the wind ruffled her already fucked up hairstyle. The air was clearer than in the city. Very... light and a bit colder too.

As she opened her green eyes she looked around asking “Pacifica? What’s this building?”

“Old hotel - the Pistis Sophia. We’re her sole guests right now. Wanted to show you something, come on” Johnny said, while slowly walking away.

V followed him, still feeling a bit disoriented.

“You took over” she stated, leaning against the wall while walking.

“What was I supposed to do? Leave you there? It’s not like I could carry you somewhere...” he said, his fists clenched as he looked annoyed at something.

Feeling a bit bad for calling him out, she simply nodded, saying “Thank you”

He looked at her and he visibly relaxed saying “What are imaginary friends for?”

V moved to follow him again, only to fall on the ground.

“Careful!” Johnny said, glitching to her side.

“I think that I’m going to die soon...” she said.

“Bullshit. We still have time” he denied, holding her elbow.

She smiled at him sadly and said “Okay... show me why we’re here”

Johnny led her to a room, watching as she weakly crawled over the broken window.

“There’s a hidey-hole where I’m standing. Open it. Empty it” he instructed as V got to her feet.

She did as he asked and took the dog tags that were there, sitting on the ground she turned to look at Johnny in question.

“Yours?” she asked him.

“They were. Belong to you now”

V was confused as she stared at her metal in her hand “Fifty years back... Mexican conflict?”

Johnny nodded slightly “When I was a young and stupid kid like you. I enlisted with a corp army. Was in Mexico when I realised that no matter the conflict, corps always win. Ordinary people always lose”

She nodded, seeing the truth in his words. All the corpo fucks got rich because of the wars, that they started. That got good people killed.

“Why are you giving them to me?”

Johnny shifted in his seat “Imagine we’re deployed together, fighting in a war side by side. Would you take a bullet for me?”

V’s eyes got wide, but with little hesitation she whispered “Yes. I would”

He smiled at her, shoulders relaxing as he said “Tags belonged to a man who sacrificed his life for mine in Mexico. Been thinking about our... predicament. Wanna be clear. I will do you no wrong. When the time comes, it’ll be my life for yours. I’ll agree to get wiped. Tags are proof of my promise”

She stared at him, the man that she was afraid of for a long time. Idolised once. And saw nothing but honesty.

V bit her lip and whispered “I would do the same for you Johnny. And... if it will be possible... I would like to try and save you too”

“That’s real cute kid, but impossible. Still, I appreciate the sentiment” he said with a smile “Now I got a request. Whatever happens to me. I want Smasher gone and for Rogue to be there when it happens”

“Okay. Done, but you sure Rogue will bother with it?” V asked getting up and walking over to the exit, along with Johnny.

“She will. I’ll ask her personally, besides you’ll need back up”

“Personally? What do you mean by that?” she asked.

Johnny crossed his arms “You’ll drop one of Misty’s pills and I’ll go talk to Rogue. Convince her to help us out. I promise”

V bit her lip, finally nodding “Alright. I trust you”

“Thanks, kid. Now let’s go home and in the evening we’ll go to the Afterlife” he said, disappearing.

She sighed heavily and got through the window, heading back to her apartment. The dog tags clutched in her hand.

•english isn’t my first language so sorry for any errors.

•you wanna be tagged in the next parts? leave a comment!

•thanks for reading! hope you like it. I will be going through some parts of the main story and beyond. I’m planning it to be a bit longer so if you want something longer than 5/6 parts, this is for you

•tag list: @signwriting @missweatherwax @axshadows

#cp2077 #cyberpunk 2077 #johnny silverhand #johnny silverhand x v #night city #female v #v

[ambersky0319]

Remus ducks out because of how everyone else makes him feel, and by the time they notice, it's because Deceit is panicking. Patton tries to say it's fine that he's gone, that he was only bad for Thomas, untill Roman grows sick and looses his color. Deceit tries to leave to find Remus but Patton tries to put it off thinking Roman will suddenly get better.while that happens Logan leaves and journeys into the falling apart imagination, to find a young Remus crying, yelling out for Roman -Rayne

Warnings: Unsympathetic Patton, Minor blood(it’s literally brought up once in very very little detail), lmk if there’s anything I should add!

Masterpost 

———————————–

It had been a happy day.

The sun was shining through their windows from Roman’s part of the Imagination, Patton was making lunch for everyone, Logan and Virgil were having a light debate about something that really didn’t matter while Roman doodled in his sketchbook.

Roman barely even noticed himself that he was starting to feel a bit off. It could have been the fact he didn’t eat breakfast, so he just pushed aside his inability to come up with anything interesting as just his brain saying he needed food. No one noticed Roman’s occasional shift and grimace or the way he looked slightly too pale.

They ate their lunch and continued with their activities, except Roman only felt worse after he had eaten. He doesn’t say anything as he moves on from drawing in his sketchbook to working on the script for their next video. But his hand trembles over the notebook and he feels chills roll down his back despite the house being fairly warm. Roman bites his lip, trying to force his hands to steady, though he only fails. The living room is fairly empty now though, Logan had escaped to his room to work on schedules, Patton was cleaning the kitchen, and Virgil was napping on the opposite side of the couch. So no one noticed Roman only growing worse and worse. And Roman just assumed it was one of his off days.

No one noticed, at least, until late afternoon.

Deceit had rushed into the light commons, looking behind every piece of furniture and swearing profusely when he didn’t find what he was looking for. Deceit didn’t acknowledge that he startled Virgil or that Patton had scolded him for cursing.

“Deceit, what’s got your snakes all tangled?” Roman asked when Deceit had checked behind their TV. Deceit’s eyes snapped to him and somehow grew even wider.

“Roman? What’s wrong with you?” Roman frowned when Deceit didn’t answer, so he turned his head a bit too quickly and huffed. The action, however, made Roman feel a bit nauseous, and he refrained from reaching up to cover his mouth. He was fine!

“Nothing, just an off-”

“Oh my God, Roman you’re turning gray-” Virgil was the first to point it out, scrambling over on the couch to get to the princely side. Patton was suddenly in the living room upon hearing this.

“What’s all the ruckus kiddos?”

Deceit just shook his head. “I need to find Remus- this isn’t- fuck this isn’t good,” Deceit made a beeline for the stairs, but Patton blocked his way.

“Deceit, what’s going on?” Patton kept getting in Deceit’s path any time Deceit attempted to pass him, and the dishonest side let out a frustrated growl.

“Patton there’s no time!”

“If you just told us-”

“Remus is fucking missing, and Roman is suffering because of it! What’s not clear to you?”

“So your solution is to go invade the Imagination? Roman’s fine! And I’m sure Remus is just planning to come and attack one of us again, there’s no need to worry.” Patton had rolled his eyes as he spoke, crossing his arms.

“Um, Pat?”

“Not now, Virge.”

“But-”

“I said not now!” Virgil flinched as Patton raised his voice, his grip on Roman accidentally tightening and Roman whimpered ever so softly. Patton took a deep breath. “Roman will get better, today’s just a bad day for him! He said so himself!”

Deceit looked past Patton, to the top of the stairs. He made brief eye contact with Logan before the logical side disappeared around the corner, and Deceit huffed loudly.

“Fine! But I’m not leaving until Remus comes back, alright?” Deceit’s voice was just slightly too loud, loud enough to cover the sound of a door closing upstairs. Deceit trudged over to the couch, settling on Roman’s other side.

Roman was looking far worse. He felt as though he could get sick at any moment, and Virgil had been right, he was turning gray. His sash was already a dark and unsaturated red, and his skin was growing paler by the minute. But Patton just waved it off with the explanation maybe Thomas was just losing some motivation, it wasn’t something new, and he went back to cleaning.

-

In the Imagination, things were falling apart just as quickly as Roman was getting sick. Logan hated the Imagination, it was no place for him. But Deceit would know if Remus was just pulling a prank on them, and Logan knew Remus wouldn’t go as far as to make Roman sick. Patton maybe, but not Roman.

The ground shakes softly under Logan’s feet as he walks briskly through what was once a forest. Roman’s forest. The trees are almost regressing, some turning into saplings while others disappear below the ground in front of his own eyes. He passes a lake that turns smaller and smaller, first going dry before refilling with dirt. And then the color. Everything was void of it, and Logan knew that wasn’t right. Roman’s land was vibrant and loud and alive. Nothing was supposed to be dying in his part of the Imagination.

It’s when Logan gets closer to the border, everything now looking like an empty field, that he hears it. A wail that could shatter glass in an instant, and Logan’s running towards it, calling out for Remus.

As he gets closer, he realizes the wails aren’t just cries for help. They’re cries for Roman.

Logan nearly trips over the curled figure, but he stops before he can hurt them. And the cries momentarily quiet into soft sobs as they look up at Logan.

“You’re not- you’re not Roman-” he hiccups and the young figure finally registers in Logan’s mind as Remus. Except… he wasn’t Remus anymore, not the one Logan had been expecting to find. Still, Logan crouches down so he’s at eye level with the child.

Logan tries to keep his voice as even as possible. “No, but I know where he is.”

Remus’s eyes darken slightly, and he looks down, sniffling as he tries and fails to wipe away his tears. “So he did leave me? The bright man made him leave?” He asked softly, looking back up to Logan with tears still streaming down his cheeks. Logan tilted his head.

“The bright man?”

“Yeah, in the- the light blue shirt! He wanted to take Roman- I haven’t- where is he? He left me, didn’t he?”

Logan had thought he had felt rage before, but that was nothing compared to this. “You mean Patton took Roman?” Remus seemed to think for a moment, and then he nodded, and it took all of Logan’s energy to not curse up a storm right then and there. He tried to keep a neutral expression. “I don’t think he wanted to leave you, Remus, in fact, I think Roman would be very happy to see you.”

“But what about the bright man?”

Logan reached out to brush away Remus’s tears and push his hair from his face. “Don’t worry about him.”

“But what if he hurts me- he took Roman away because he didn’t like me- I was bad! What if he does it again?!”

Logan offered a small smile, hoping it looked reassuring. “As I said, do not worry about him. I’ll deal with him if he tries, okay?” Remus bit his lip, a bit too hard as a small bit of blood seeped out from under his teeth. Logan sighed softly. “Remus, do you want to see Roman?”

Slowly, Remus nodded, and Logan scooped him up off the ground just as the area around them was turning white. “Hold on tight, okay?” Logan mumbled as Remus buried his face in Logan’s shoulder, nodding, and Logan sunk out, holding the child tightly in his arms.

It had been a happy day.

———————————–

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