#n their non-rare counterpart's name)

[oh-meow-swirls]

thus far the last chapter of the rewrite has two (2) funnies.

#puppy rambles #puppy's yw rewrite #yo-kai watch #cadable #appak #rattelle #badude #bruff #(< the white yo-kai are so confusing why are bruff n rollen specifically those two when they're the recolors) #(esp weird since impass isn't walldin so???) #(i'm keeping it the same in the rewrite though it just isn't important n i alternate between calling rollen n bruff their names #n their non-rare counterpart's name) #there's not very many funnies but there is a lot of katie being sad-

[sprout-fics]

Mind the Drop

(Captain Price x F! Reader)

Call of Duty Masterlist

Rating: M Wordcount: 7k Tags: BDSM AU, Dom/Sub, Subdrop, Comfort fic, Non-sexual kink, Non-sexual intimacy, Aftercare, Pet names, Platonic BDSM, Cuddling, Subspace, Sleeping together, Praise kink, Mutual pining, Safe Sane and Consensual Warnings: Subdrop A/N: This is an experimental piece that takes place in a BDSM AU verse, where a certain segment of the population is hormonally disposed to being a submissive or dominant. This is not inherently sexual, as you see in this fic. Dom/Sub negotiation is commonplace, but societal stigmas surrounding these roles persist, such as discouraging subs from entering certain industries, such as the military. For more details on BDSM AU within a CoD context, I highly recommend you read "Surviving You" by WhisperedWords12

“Do you know why you’re here, sergeant?” 

Price’s voice is calm, firm. There’s not a reprimand there, no gruff warning or the cold, leveled anger of immense displeasure. No, your captain stares at you with his hands folded under his chin, as you stand at a lazy parade rest before his office desk. His eyes are intent, focused in the way he always is, but there’s a concern there hidden by the attentive glint in his eyes.

You don’t look at him, staring down at the surface of his desk instead, not answering. Your eyes rest on a mug of coffee sitting atop a coaster, the steam gone. It’s long since gone cold. It speaks to his own distraction. With what, you’re not really sure. You can’t find yourself to care.

You haven’t slept in days.

It’s nothing to do with your workload. Nothing in regards to any sickness or fever of any sort. In fact, things have been rather quiet recently as the team awaits new marching orders. You’ve all been taking advantage of the downtime as much as possible, relishing the long lapse of respite for your own enjoyment. You’d even taken the chance to recently meet up with someone.

Being a sub requires a certain level of attentiveness to your self regulation. Doms, such as the ones on your team, can go long periods without needing a scene. Eventually they will need to scratch that itch, have someone soft and sweet kneel at their feet and be good for them. The aspect of control, of caretaking and dominance is a necessary part of their existence. It makes them good soldiers, able to take charge and provide insight into their missions.

Subs are uncommon in the military, and the surrounding societal stigma of their existence often relegates them to desk duty or intelligence work. It’s rare to find one in the field, and even then they don’t last long due to the frequent harassment from their dominant counterparts. It’s the reason you’ve concealed yourself for so long, posturing to stand alongside these men who are your comrades, feigning an aura of authority as you go willingly to your duty.

It doesn’t erase the thing inside you- the urge to kneel for someone safe, to listen to their low, rumbling voice as it rocks you into a floaty, warm surrender that relieves you of all tension and stress.

Too long without a scene, without subspace meant you were prone to an itchy, uncomfortable sort of irritation. It manifests as annoyance, a short temper, but eventually transitions into a depressive spiral with little end. Most of the time you can use one of the endorphin injections provided free by the infirmary to even yourself out. Such medical kits, known as SubStop and DomStop, were common in the field, designed to even out the irregular moods and imbalances left by a sudden twist in hormones. You’d gotten used to the nasty side effects, the inevitable crash that came in the wake of the adrenaline. It was easier than dealing with the team knowing your true designation, that you’ve been concealing yourself from them all this time.

Even so, sometimes you required a little extra handling to be able to regulate, feel comfortable and get out of your own head.

In your recent downtime you found someone just like that. A local dom who was calmer, more level headed than younger men on base who were interested purely in the sexual side of submission. You had talked for some time, had explored each other, and had ultimately agreed to meet up for a single session. You had both enjoyed yourself, had a welcome release of rushing endorphins, and for a moment you wondered if perhaps this would lead to something more. It all came crashing down as he began to dress following your scene.

“I don’t do aftercare.” He said blandly, and left.

You haven’t been the same since.

You’d gotten back to base tired, drained, and had curled into your bunk that night to cry yourself to sleep. In the days that have followed you’ve been exhausted, listless, entirely unfocused. Constantly dazed, you try to ignore the whimpering, festering emptiness inside you, feeling as if the world is too big, and you yourself are so very small. You turn into your bunk early in desperate search of sleep, trying vainly to power through the dark loneliness that permeates your entire being.

Subdrop. You knew as soon as your one night stand left, and promptly ghosted you. You knew by the sudden wash of cold, the tremble in your limbs, and the clenching, terrible regret of something wrong. Like tossed into an ice bath straight from the fire, the shock to your system makes you gasp, clutch at your chest at most random moments, wanting to double over due to the phantom pain there.

You know the solution. You know that pure, blissful aftercare will alleviate the effects of your scene gone wrong, but there’s no one to turn to. You can’t disclose to anyone on the team about this. They understand, they know, and they’d be ready to help you. It wasn’t that they weren’t available, but that disclosing yourself might somehow change your rapport with them. The idea that somehow they’d change their view of you, see you as less than was worse than the spiraling side effects of your freefall drop.

Maybe you can find someone to help off base, but even then you don’t trust your own judgment when your insides constantly feel scrubbed cold and raw. If anything, it might make it worse.

You have no choice but to just bite down and deal, and hope that in the coming days that the drop will naturally work its way out of your system. Nevermind the sleepless nights, the hours scrolling mindlessly in the darkness of your bedroom, the way you stare off into space and don’t hear the voices of others. 

The team is concerned about you. You’re not hiding your inability to cope very well. The bags under your eyes deepen with each passing day. You move as if pushing through water. You excuse yourself from the rec room when others enter for fear they’ll pull you aside and ask about your listless, depressive state. It’s all for nothing though, because here you find yourself in Price’s office, glassy eyes avoiding his stare.

“Sergeant?”

You blink as his voice prompts you from your reverie, and force yourself to glance up into his eyes before averting your gaze once more. 

“Apologies, Sir.” You force yourself to rasp, and frown, not knowing what you’re even apologizing for.

Price is silent. Observing. You feel pinned beneath his stare, try not to squirm under his scrutiny. 

“Sit.” He tells you, nudging a chair beside you with his foot. The command itself plucks inside your chest, the needed authority of his voice making something uncomfortable twist inside you. You slide into the seat, perching uncomfortably on the edge, hands folded in your lap. “Look at me.”

You do, you make the effort to look up into his unwavering stare, trying and failing to hide the fatigue in your eyes. 

“You’ve not been yourself lately.” He tells you, voice soft, and you grimace. “You’ve been walking around base like a ghost, barely completing your duties, and you’re clearly ignoring the rest of your team.”

The unsaid “Would you like to explain yourself?” Hangs in the silence that follows as you offer no response. There’s nothing to say, nothing you can say without the repercussions that follow.

“I’ve…just had a rough few days.” You tell him, voice tight. “It’s nothing I can’t manage.”

“You know you can rely on your teammates, love.” He reminds you gently, and you swallow hard at the endearment, feeling your shoulders tense. “Whatever it is, we’ll find a way to help. We all care about you.”

Find a way to help. Of course. With the one thing they can’t help you with.

“You can’t help.” You tell him, composure crumbling. “There’s nothing you can do.”

Price is silent, and if you were to look at him, you’d see the inklings of distress etched into his face. You fiddle with the hem of your shirt, mouth pressed into a bitter frown as you try and hide it from him with little success.

Price rises from his chair, circles the desk to you before hesitantly laying a hand on your shoulder. You shudder a sigh at the contact, feeling yourself relax under the needed contact.

“There’s always something we can do.” He reassures you. “But I can’t help unless you tell me what it is.”

If only he could. If only your unwavering, steadfast captain with his guiding hands and gentle, smoky voice could help you, could alleviate the festering emptiness inside you. If only he could hold you the way you so desperately want, remind you what happened wasn’t your fault, allow himself to comfort you from the hurt clenching deep in your chest.

It all comes crashing down.

It starts as a hiccup, a stifled little sound you try to hide, and then your eyes are warm, wet with tears. They spill down your cheeks as you take an unsteady inhale, trying desperately to rein in your volatile emotions, conceal them from the man you admire so much. Try as you may, it’s without any success, because soon you begin to sob quietly with your head bent, face scrunching in an effort to stop your tears.

“It’s alright.” Price encourages softly, hand squeezing your shoulder. “Let it out.”

You do. It’s not a proper cry, not the true chest squeezing kind of cry that entirely empties you, but it serves a purpose in relieving a bit of the pressure inside you. Price stands beside you throughout, his hand drifting to knead gentle circles into the top of your spine as you shiver.

When you finally manage to get yourself under control, you scrub at your face with your jacket sleeve, heave a final shuddering exhale before summoning your resolve.

“Sorry, Sir.” You try again, voice muted, throat raw. “Truth is I…had a bad experience off base. It just shook me. I’ll get over it.”

You don’t need to go into further detail. It’s common knowledge soldiers hook up off base all the time, and Price knows this.

Yet suddenly his hand is tilting your chin up so you look directly into his grave, serious eyes. 

“Did they hurt you?” He demands, voice suddenly deeper, grim with a scarcely concealed anger. You blink at the sudden change, the fierce protectiveness in his eyes that sets something in your stomach aflutter. 

“N-no.” You manage, realizing what he’s referring to. “No, nothing like that-” You feel warmth crawl across your face, embarrassment prickling your skin. “It was all consensual.”

“Then…?” He presses, and you bite down on the words, refusing to bare this secret to him.

Price pauses then, shifts every so slightly and narrows his eyes. He’s thinking, considering, and you fear he’s seen straight through you. You don’t expect the words that come next.

“Are you dropping?” Price asks, strangely hesitant.

You freeze.

The silence that follows, heavy and persistent, tells Price all he needs to know.

At last, he sighs, letting go of a breath you didn’t realize he was holding.

“Oh love.” He murmurs, voice sad. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

You hunch over at that, hiding yourself from him, curling in on the physical sensation of disappointment that he’s given you. 

Price sees it for what it is instantly, realizing his words have only furthered the festering ache inside you. 

“Easy.” He gentles, and his hand is firm as it strokes between your tight shoulder blades. “I’m not angry.”

You sniffle into your shirt. “You…you’re not angry I hid my designation?” You ask in a raw whisper.

“No.” He replies instantly. “Only that we failed to make you feel safe enough to tell us.”

“...’s not your fault.” You murmur quietly. 

“And what happened isn’t yours.” He offers, just as gently. His hand continues its long, slow strokes between your shoulders, and you feel yourself easing under it, comforted by the mere touch of another person.

“Do you have anyone to…?” He presses carefully, retaining space between you. Not advancing, not without your permission.

It takes you a moment to snap yourself out of the glow beginning to simmer across your senses to understand. He’s asking if you are seeing someone, if you have a partner to provide assistance with your drop. A bitter frown tugs your lips downwards, remembering the words of the man you met before he vanished. 

“He…he said he doesn’t do aftercare.” You confess, voice small.

Price freezes.

You hear him take in a deep breath to steady himself, releasing it just as long in an effort to measure his anger.

“He did not do right by you.” He tells you, and in his voice you hear the ire, the offense on your behalf that clenches his hand atop his knee. Yet he unfurls it, and reaches out gently between you to gingerly rest it on your hand perches in your lap.

“I don’t mean to overstep.” He begins. “However, I can offer some assistance with this. Entirely on your terms. If you need someone to help, I can act as a…stand-in, as it were.”

You blink, face falling open in surprise as you stare down at your lap where his hand is. Reassuring but respectful, not crowding into your space. Asking for permission.

“You mean that?” You ask, finally looking up at him, voice cracking in a whisper that speaks of hope.

Price’s eyes are steady, calm as he regards you, Unflinching, intent, an anchor from the storm of your emotions.

“I do.” He returns easily, voice firm.

You swallow, face pinching as you consider. “And…what about after? Will it…” You trail off, the unspoken thing hovering in the air between you.

Will it change anything?

“No.” He replies quickly. “This is strictly between us. If you want to pretend like it never happened after, that’s what we’ll do.”

You hold his gaze for another minute, finally able to bear the stare of his blue eyes. You look for doubt there, an inkling of hesitation. Yet all you find is resolve and open, offering hands.

“Take some time to consider it.” He tells you in the lapse of silence that follows. “If you decide you’d like some help, you can come to my quarters tonight. If you decide against it, let me know.”

You manage a nod at that, swallowing the thickness in your throat and adjusting your hand under his in a small squeeze of thanks. It seems to be enough for him, because Price offers a smile, one that feels like it eases the tension radiating from your form just a little more. It takes a moment, but you sniffle and return the smile shyly.

“Right.” He announces, and gently withdraws from you to stand, assisting you to your feet as well and gently escorting you to the door of his office. You lean into his touch eagerly, feeling the firm grip of his palm at the small of your back. His voice rumbles with a gentle authority as he guides you forward. “In the meantime I want you to take the rest of the afternoon off, and to visit the infirmary for a check-up. You’re sleep deprived and dehydrated. Let them sort you. Understood?”

“Understood.” You echo dutifully, and once more that hand returns to your shoulder in a familiar grip, offering a small squeeze before he opens the door for you, his voice soft in a parting farewell.

“Take care, love. Let me know what you decide.”

—

In the end, you come to him.

It’s not a hard decision, but it does take some thought. You know his offer was genuine, with no ulterior motives. Almost clinical, doing his duty as your superior, in a way. You don’t deny that it hurts, considering the beginning of your feelings for him, but the doubt there is pressed down by the need for the assistance he offers. You hesitate only because you’re terribly afraid that things will change despite his words.

Would he try and bench you during missions? Have you hang back, underestimate you because of your designation?

You trust him, and that much is clear to you. You know Price won’t take advantage of you while you’re down. He’s a good man. You’ve handed your life to him in the field any number of times, trusting him to keep you safe and whole. This shouldn’t be any different.

…Right?

You swallow thickly as you knock thrice on his door, and almost instantly you hear his voice beckon you inside.

It’s dim, you notice, warm. There’s several blankets folded at the foot of his bed, a small assortment of snacks and water bottles set out on his dresser. Yellow light from his bedside light paints the room in quiet shadows. There’s a distant scent of cigars that lingers in the air, as if he’s done his best to air out the room before your arrival. It’s comforting in a way, a reminder of his scent in the few instances you’ve gotten physically close to him.

Price himself sits on the edge of the bed, limbs relaxed as much as he’ll allow them. He’s staring at you as the door shuts behind you, and if anything the dim shadows seem to make his eyes glint all the more. 

“How are you feeling?” Is the first question he asks you, and something aches inside you at the purposefully slow, soft tenor of his voice, still accompanied with a hint of his gruff rasp. 

“Shaky.” You tell him honestly, holding your trembling hands before your back. 

Price makes a small, considering sound, examining your rigid, tense posture and letting silence hang heavy between you both for a few moments. You squirm under his gaze, eyes averting shyly at the fixation of his gaze on you. 

Then he stands, takes two steps towards you. He stands just outside your personal space, tilts his head down to examine you with an unwavering, focused gaze. You have to restrain yourself from pushing forward, wanting desperately to fold into his arms, to let him hold you. It pulses inside your chest, tethered to the uncomfortably, empty ache sitting below your ribs.

“Will you let me help you?” He asks, voice a soft lull to your ears. It takes effort to not let your eyes flutter. You can already feel it creeping on you, that floaty, comfortable haze that offers to drown your senses in pillowy softness. You give him a small nod, only for a finger to tip your chin up towards him. It startles a breathy little sound from you, and you bite down on it a moment too late, teeth grazing your bottom lip. 

“Need to use your words, love.” He rumbles, and damn if your knees don’t wobble at that alone, the deep tenor of his voice, the gentle but authoritative force of his words. You can see the shadows of his eyes as he falls easily into his role, a gentle, insistent domination that you can’t help but follow like a moth to a flame.

“Yes.” You manage, heat rising to your face. “Yes.”

He smiles then, and this time you have to use your strength to stay upright, already wanting to go down to the floor in front of him, feel the wood beneath your knees. 

“We’re going to take this slow.” He tells you, his thumb brushing over your chin with a purposeful graze. “Need to work you through it, put you down and then bring you back up again. Can you do that for me? …Words, darling.” He adds when you once again nod silently. 

“Yes, sir.” You offer, trusting, sincere. 

There’s a dark look in Price’s eyes then, a hunger so swift and sharp it steals your breath in the single moment before it’s gone once more. 

“Good girl. Can you tell me your safe word?”

You blink at him a little dopily, distracted by his thumb circling slow circles on your chin. You wonder what it would feel like pressed on your tongue.

“Just colors, please.” You tell him breathily.

Price nods at that, satisfied. 

“Kneeling? Physical touch? Praise? Commands?” He goes on, and you nod eagerly at all of them before remembering to tac on your vocal approval. It seems to amuse him, your distraction, because you hear a chuckle rumble deep in his chest. 

“Very good, darling. Going to keep this nice and slow, get you all sorted. Can you be good for me?”

That does it, and you shudder a little into his touch, tilting your head so your cheek brushes against his knuckles with a whispered little “Yes, sir.”

Maybe it’s the drop, maybe it’s him, but you already feel like you’re gently descending into total relaxation, a surrender and trust to be taken care of. 

“That’s it.” He coos, wrapping one strong arm around your waist and gently guiding you back with him until his knees hit the bed. He sits, keeps you standing, one hand still tucked around your waist, just observing you. After a moment he reaches for a pillow, drops it to the floor just at your feet.

“Go ahead and kneel for me, sweet thing.” 

You try to gracefully lower yourself down, but with your wobbly legs you fall more than you descend. A careful glance up at him proves Price is trying to hide his mild amusement, his hand snaking from your waist up to your shoulder as you sink to your knees. It takes a few moments to settle, and once you do Price’s hand once catches your chin, tilting you to his gaze.

Oh. This…this is nice. You think, eyelashes fluttering. Here, kneeling comfortably, safe in his room, the quiet lull of base a distant murmur in the backdrop. It’s cozy, serene, and you can feel the low, cloudy sensation of subspace slowly wash over your senses. 

“Look at you.” He purrs, tapping your chin once to indicate you remain tilted up to look at him. “So far down for me already. Doing so well.”

The part of you that’s yet to let go, that clings on to that remnant, persistent tension of you swallows down the whine that threatens your throat. He seems to notice, tilting his head a little and blinking slowly, considering. 

“What do you need, love?” He asks, and you shake your head mildly, trying to find your answer amidst the confusion of your clouded senses.

“Don’t know.” You tell him honestly, and begin to fidget. “I…”

“Shh, that’s alright.” he soothes easily, knuckles grazing your cheek. “Need you to listen to me, angel. Can you do that?”

You nod quickly, eager, willing to entrust yourself to him, to listen to whatever commands he has to offer. 

“Good girl.” He returns, pausing to watch the shiver that traces across your limbs. “Go ahead and wrap your arms around my legs…just like that. Put your head right there on my knees. There you go.”

He maneuvers you slowly, gently, shaping you to his command as your arms settle locked behind his calves, chin pressed in the dip between his closed knees. He’s warm, and like this you can drink in the scent of him- smoky, musky, a hint of cologne he’s used to try and smother the smell of cigars.

In the dim, warm light you can see his eyes- dark, focused, unblinking as they gaze down at you settled comfortably at his feet. There’s a hitch in his breathing- a shallow indication of his reaction to the sight of you, with your hazy eyes and parted lips, well on your way down into subspace. 

“Give me a color, darling.”

“Green.” You breathe almost instantaneously. 

“Very good. How are you feeling?”

Your brow pinches at that, feeling the remnant tug of tension still pull as a dull ache in your ribs. 

“...Better?” You offer after an uncertain pause. Price looks a little dismayed at that, with his furrowed brow and down turned lips that tug the corners of his beard. It sends a little bit of alarm pulsing through you, afraid of his disappointment, perhaps a reprimand, and he feels it instantly in the way you stiffen against him.

“Easy, relax.” He gentles, a hand reaching to cup your nape. “Just checking in, love. There’s nothing wrong. You’re safe.”

You ease at that, eyelashes fluttering, sinking back into him once more.

“Good girl.” He purrs, thumb stroking in lazy circles across your nape.

“Thank you, sir.” You reply, voice slurring a little as you sink down.

If his fingers pause on your nape, you don’t notice, too distracted by the warmth and smell of him in your comfortable position.

It’s nice. You can feel yourself unwinding bit by bit, head propped in between his knees as you look up at him in the dim, warm light. There’s the beginnings of a relaxed sort of glaze to his eyes as he stares down at you wordlessly, taking in the soft, sweet sight of your open face. He’s falling into domspace, you can tell, allowing himself to relax into the role of taking care of you.

“We’re going to try some breathing exercises, sweetheart.” He announces after the long silence. “Deep breathe-” He sucks in a long, heavy inhale, and you mirror him, holding as long as he does, before releasing. “And out. Very good. Doing so well for me. Again.”

You mirror him as he breathes, feeling the tension slowly relax from your shoulders. With each inhale you drop your chin further into the cradle of his knees, feeling a warm haze descend over you. Each exhale releases a little more of the stiffness in your limbs, like loosening a knot tied in your chest.

You don’t even notice it when your cheek lolls against one of his knees, eyes half lidded as you gaze up at him. Nor do you notice the purposefully slow, even breaths he forces himself to take at your loose, pliant form crowded so close to him.

“There we go, angel. All the way down. So sweet and soft for me. Tap twice on my leg if you can still hear me.”

A small tap twice to the inside of his knee, and when Price smiles you feel gooey warmth bleed down into your bones.

“Very good.” He coos, knuckles grazing over the cheek not pressed to his knee in a featherlight touch. “Going to let you float for a bit. You can go down as deep as you need. I’ll be right here. Tap on my knee when you’re ready to come up.”

You cast a lingering gaze at him, eyes vaguely worried, but his voice hushes you easily.

“You’re safe. I’m right here, not going to leave. I’ve got you.”

You blink at him, slow, trusting, before you finally allow your head to drape across his knee, arms relaxing but maintaining their hold on his legs. A deep, fulfilling sigh breezes past your lips, and you feel yourself go sweetly down into a blissful haze of warm, dewy softness. Your breaths slow to deep, even inhales and exhales, and you feel your heartbeat pulse low in your ribs, where the ache and emptiness of your drop slowly begins to alleviate.

“There we go.” Price murmurs above you, a hand petting gently at your hair in a tender touch. “Went down nice and easy for me, didn’t you, sweet girl?”

You make a little hum against his leg, too comfortable and floaty to do much more than that. It seems to amuse him, somehow, and when he chuckles the sound warms you right through.

God this is nice. Just sitting here at his feet, pressed up close to his legs, snuggled in as close as you can get. With your cheek pressed against his knee you can drink in the heavy, comforting scent of him, let it cloud your thoughts and drift you further into blissful tranquility.

You don’t need to speak, to think or make decisions. Duties, secrets, resilience, you don’t need any of it. All you need is to just be here, pressed against Price, pliant and sweet as he rumbles soothingly down at you. 

“Doing well, love. Take as much time as you need. You’re safe.”

Yes. You’re safe. You’ve always been safe with him. There’s nobody in the world you trust more than Price. He’s saved your life many times over, has dragged you to safety, has slung your arm across his shoulder as he helped carry you, has offered careful, firm murmurs as he’s wrapped bandages across your wounds. He’s always taken care of you, in his own way. Each debrief comes with a hand across your shoulder, a long, sideways glance that says more than he can. 

You’ve never let yourself get close to him, too afraid of him finding out what you are, too afraid of his prejudice and judgment. 

Now that you’re here, curled up at his feet and drifting serenely, you wonder why you ever worried at all.

You stay like that for a long while, simply breathing, thoughts empty as you hug his legs, absorbing his warmth. The room is quiet, and in the soft after hours of base the only sounds you can hear is the slow, steady thump of your heart and Price’s low, measured breathing. 

You wish you could stay here forever, just being sweet and good for him, but eventually your knees begin to cramp up and you shift uncomfortably with a little whine.

“Eyes up, love.” Price tells you, words belaying a hint of firm command, and instantly you prop your chin to look up at him with soft, dewey eyes. 

You’re too lost to notice the way his eyes glint, the unblinking fixation of him as he simply takes in the sight of you- lost in the dopey haze of subspace, lips parted as you stare at him with a glassy, lidded gaze. 

“Look at you.” He breathes with a soft sigh, raising a hand to cup your face. You lean into it with a blissful little sigh. “Gorgeous thing.”

You squirm a little at that, skin warming with the praise. As you move to hide your face in his knees, Price keeps a hold of your chin, forcing you to stare up at him. 

“Mm, eyes on me. Just like that. Good.”

You wonder, amidst the cottony softness of your thoughts, what the purpose of this is, with him taking his time to just drink you in like he’ll drown without the sight. You can see his eyes tinted with the same wayward longing he offers you when you catch his gaze after missions- when he aches for you, longs to make sure you’re safe.

The ache in your knees returns, and a little whine bubbles up your throat, brow pinching with discomfort. 

“Feeling sore?” Price inquiries gently, and you nod into his hand. “Alright angel, sit up for me. Slowly…good. Good girl.”

You raise up a little on your knees, and soon Price leans over you, securing his hands on you to drag you further up and onto the bed. You allow him to arrange your heavy, sluggish limbs so you’re braced with your back against the headboard, nestled in his pillows. You go willingly, easing into his touch, content at letting him maneuver you as he pleases. 

When he moves away from you, however, you startle a little at the sudden absence of his touch. 

Price notices instantly, and once more you feel his hand stroke across your face, thumb descending to press against the plush bed of your bottom lip. 

“Just getting some snacks and water, love. Count to ten for me, I’ll be right back.”

That eases you some, and you nod, slowly counting. You get to eight before Price returns, dropping a bottle and a snack bar on his bedside table. 

“Scoot forward for me.” He instructs, and you obey as best you can, allowing him to shuffle you a little forward  further down the bed. It takes some maneuvering, but soon you find Price sitting up behind you, dragging you back so you sit inside the nest of his legs, back pressed to his front.

If you thought kneeling at his feet was nice, this must be heaven.

He’s so big and warm, and when an arm wraps around your front to keep you from falling too far down the bed, you distantly wonder if you ever want to come up at all.

Price adjusts, and you hear the sound of a wrapper being put aside before the snack bar appears in your line of vision. 

“Just a few bites.” He tells you, but makes no motion indicating for you to take the bar from his hands. 

You lean forward obediently, taking small bites from his hand as he provides them to you, quiet and appreciative, until the entire thing is gone. 

“Very, very good.” He murmurs, chin braced atop your head, huffing a pleased little sound when you squirm a little in his lap at the praise. “Like being told you’re good, don’t you, angel?”

You want to hide your face in his chest, but unable to do so your instead let your head drop forward a little, avoiding his eyes. 

“Shy thing, aren’t you?” He rumbles, pleased, and it only makes a rush of warmth trace across your skin at the deep, purring tenor of his voice in your ear. 

You get the feeling he wants to tease you a little more, but opts instead to wrap a hand under your jaw in a careful grip, lifting you up so he can graze the water bottle across your lips. 

“Just a few sips.” He encourages. “Then we can lay down and take a little snooze. How’s that sound?”

You nod eagerly at that, and readily drink down the water when he offers it to you. You’re about halfway down when you finally tilt your head away, and Price wordlessly deposits the bottle on the table. 

“Tell me a color, love.”

You have to think about it, past the hazy softness of you, brow pinching as your brain turns over the question.

“Green.” You reply with a little sigh, one that Price mirrors behind you. 

“Good girl. You ready to come up yet?”

You shake your head at that, frowning. Honestly, a part of you knows you have to come up at some point, but if you had it your way you’d stay like this forever, caught in his arms, warm and fed and cared for as his chest rises deep with every inhale. 

Price chuckles at your pouting little expression. When he bends forward to reach for a blanket at the bottom of the bed, he’s forced to curl over you, pressing you down with his weight. It’s startling how quickly you have to stifle a moan at the sensation, with his larger frame bracketing you in, engulfing you with the firm line of his body against yours.

He pulls back all too soon, drapes a blanket across your lap and up to your shoulders. It’s soft, a little worn, but it smells like him, and that’s all you need. You snuggle happily into it with a little hum, leaning back against him a little more until you’re completely situated. 

“There we go, angel. How’s that feel?”

“ ‘S nice.” You slur, tucking your head a little further down to nestle into the blanket. “Comfy.”

Price hums a pleased little sound, one hand still wrapped around your front, and now the other resting easily on your thigh, pressing in soft, lazy circles. It’s instantly soothing, and once more you can feel yourself drifting a little further down into that wordless, worriless meditation. 

“Close your eyes for me, love.” Price murmurs gently. “Slow, deep breaths.”

You comply readily, and as you feel his chest rise slow and deep behind you you force yourself to match it, dragging in a warm inhale that’s heavy with his scent. You follow him as he exhales, and then repeats once more. 

“Just like that.” He murmurs as you grow completely limp in his arms. “All the way down. Perfect.”

You’re too far under to even acknowledge him, senses heavy and sated as he curls himself a little further around you, hand stroking lazy patterns along your thigh.

“Rest now, darling. I’ll be here when you come up.”

Regardless of the command, you find yourself drifting easily into stillness, a languid little sigh releasing all the tension in your body before sleep descends dusky and tender over your senses. 

—

It’s still dark when you finally wake up, sluggish and heavy. The room is still warm and dim, quiet with the low, steady thump of your heartbeat. It’s the first thing you notice aside from the contented weight of your limbs.

The second is the pair of arms wrapped around you, tucking you close into Price’s front as you both lay on your sides. 

“Awake?” He rumbles, and with the soft hoarse of his voice you can tell he’s been dozing as well, not fully asleep, still present for you to wake up and he told you he’d be.

“Mhm.” You mumble, ignoring the self conscious little flutter at being caught in his arms like this. 

“Feeling better?” Price asks, and makes no move to shift away or dislodge you from his hold. 

“Much.” Your eyes are level with his collarbone that peeks beneath his shirt, and there you see an old, silvery scar that snakes up towards his jugular. You wonder about the story there, about how this man has seen so much violence and yet somehow can still be so gentle.

“Thank you.” You whisper, feeling that warm haze now gently ease, and in its place a comfortable awareness free from the empty, clenching side effects of drop. “For all of this.”

Price is silent for a moment, and you wonder if perhaps you said the wrong thing. His voice is low, deep as he speaks.

“He shouldn’t have treated you like that” He rumbles, and there’s a hint of darkness there, one that melds with his hold on you tightening just a fraction, as if he’s too possessive to let you go. “If I-”

He stops himself then, words biting into nothingness. You hold your breath, waiting for more, but it doesn’t come. Instead, the silence envelops you both, soft and warm, a touch bitter with unspoken words. 

“I understand why you didn’t tell us, love.” He speaks at last. “And I trust you’ll understand when I say we will never judge you for anything but yourself.”

Emotion, hot and thick, rises up through your belly. It scrunches your face, warms your eyes as you sniffle against him.

This is what you wanted. The entire time, all of this hiding and secrecy and anxiousness. You wanted to be accepted, to be held, to be cherished, by him.

“I wish it was you.” You whisper, scarcely audible. “The entire time, I wished it was you.”

Price stiffens at that, and you’re certain he’s going to pull away, to declare this scene is over and gently escort you out. You wonder vaguely if you’ll hurtle straight back into drop with his rejection. 

“If I had known-” He murmurs in an echo of his previous words. “I would have offered myself much sooner.”

You look up at that, tilting your head so your eyes no longer look at his chest, but into his eyes. Soft, sincere, achingly tender in a way that plucks the defenseless heart strings inside you.

“You mean that.” You state then, voice scarcely containing your hope. 

Price makes a little rumbling hum down at you, his hand flexing at the small of your back. 

“Only if you’ll have me, angel.”

Angel.

Now, here, out of subspace, away from the cottony softness of him guiding you down. Instead he calls you this beloved endearment because it’s you, because he wants you.

It’s all you’ve ever wanted- to be here, to be in his arms, to entrust yourself to him so wholly and completely that he becomes the only thing for you with his gentle guiding hands and stern, smoke laden words. 

“I’m your captain.” He tells you, one hand grazing your cheek in a beloved touch. “But if you ever need more, all you need to do is ask.”

The words inside you seem to buzz soundlessly in the cavern of your thoughts. There’s so many things you want to say, to confess, to ask of him. Yet here, in this moment, the only thing you can offer him is the thing you’ve said from the beginning.

“Please.”

And- oh. Oh, his smile, the way it tugs at his beard and makes the smile lines crinkle at the corner of his eyes, pleased and soft even as his eyes glint in the darkness. A quiet, profound gratitude of which he speaks little, and yet feels so deeply. 

“Can I stay?” You ask, voice small but hopeful, and Price’s eyes twinkle with an amusement that swoops low in your stomach.

“Who said you were leaving?”

You smile at that, and if anything it makes the corners of his lips tug tighter, a low, pleased rumble vibrating through his chest pressed close to yours. 

“Rest, darling.” He encourages once more. “There will be time in the morning.”

There will be. There will be time come morning, and there will be time after. There will be time for the touches that follow, and the words that precede them. There will be time for his familiar control to settle comfortably over you, for you to slowly but fully surrender to him. There will be time for you to become his entirely, and for you to go willing into his guiding hands. 

Yet here, in his arms, safe and whole, you silently wish that dawn will never come.

I already posted this over on AO3 but figured I would post this on here as well. Enjoy!

#price x reader #captain price x reader #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #john price x you #to add to masterlist

[amive2567]

Ingredients: Shinsou x GN!Reader (you, petnames like cutie and kitty)

Contains: fighting, drugs, violence, strangers calling you petnames, no angst but also no fluff idk, little argument, slight hurt/comfort

Type of order: cupcake (oneshot)

Words: 1413

A/N: Might have mesed up with the tenses. :)

The hooligans' ecstatic yells could be already heard from afar. You had to wrinkle your nose since the air smelled like perspiration and booze. With a quiet click, you opened the Topcase of your motorcycle and put your helmet inside. You hurriedly made your way inside this priceless environment. “Hey sweety, do want a shag with us.” babbled a man and tried to pull you into a hug. You grasp his arm and fling him to the ground. “Don’t touch me.” you spit in his before you entered the stuffy hangar. Mumble rap was playing in the background, making you gag, what dreadful music. The air is thick with smoke and the odors of various narcotics.

“What a pig,” you mumbled angrily and wiped your hands with a clean handkerchief. Being a detective had ups and downs. Why did Jonas have to be sick now? Now you have to do the dirty work. Capturing Barny Miller, the most famous drug dealer in all of Hosu, was the shittiest job you ever had. You already searched for him for over two months now. The loud screams of the crowd earned your full attention now. "Kick him, Knuckles," they repeated in a cheering manner. You had to cover your ears at this volume. The men in the ring beat each other up, without a break. “Let's goooooo, Knuckles.” with one last punch the tall hairy man knocked his opponent out. He fell to the ground with a loud boom. Two other bulky men carried the unconscious man away. “Yesss, Knuckles.” cheered the crowd. “"Give me the money, I bet correctly." Money was exchanged, and several people departed the hall unsatisfied. The cheery atmosphere was interrupted by an announcement. "The next bout is ready; quit fucking smoking or the combatants won't be able to bash their skulls in. The first is kickboxing vs. Kill. Consider betting and don't cheat, you bastards." At least someone cared about this heavy wall of smoke. A masked person entered the ring and spoke into the little silver mic. “Bitches, bros, and non-binary hoes, this night we can’t only offer you the dreadful McKill, but also the newbie Kick. These two will serve us the bloodiest fight in history. McKill is placed in the left corner, the 6,2 foot (190 cm) tall man weighs exactly 176 lbs (80kg). He's from Hosu, and he kills people faster than they can react to the first punch." A man covered in scars and tattoos entered the ring and showed off his muscled body. He bared his teeth and grew like a grizzly. “And in the right corner is the charming Kick. He is 5,9 foot (180cm) tall and weighs 165 pounds (85kg). Kick's lightning-fast kick knocks people out. Nobody expects him to appear. Even the strongest quiver under his calm attitude and steely glare." Now a gorgeous, strong man enters the arena with an impassive expression emphasized by his black eyeliner. His purple hair cascades across his brow. You watch the warrior named Kick with bated breath till you finally notice him.

“Hitoshi,” you muttered, still in shock. “Do you know this bro, little miss?” a spectator who still seems sober asks you. He is probably one of the rare sober ones. “Yeah, I guess.” you stuttered in response, even if you were no longer sure if you even knew your boyfriend. Your feelings were all over the place, if he would come home this night he will definitely sleep on the couch. “How much do you bet, kitty?” “115574 Yen on Kick,” you answered with confidence. Even though you disliked that he called you kitty, you played with him. Your counterpart looked at you in shock, apparently, he didn't expect such a large sum. “Jesus, then I will bet 115559 on McKill.” The mission is set aside for now, now you had to show Shinsou what he did.

“Are both fighters ready?” asked the Speaker, both competitors nodded and the show began. The speaker dropped the little mic and left the ring. With a ring of a bell the fight started. They shake hands, more or less brotherly. This was the starting sign. At first, they analyzed the other one, until it came to the first exchange of punches. McKill tried an uppercut, but Shinsou dodged it. As revenge, he tried to kick McKill into his tattooed stomach, but he dodged it. So they still jumped around each other like kangaroos, ready to fight. You didn’t even notice how you stopped breathing. With another uppercut, McKill finally landed a hit on Shinsou. Now you suck in the air sharply. "Damn girl, that guy means something to you." noticed the sober guy next to you. He seemed to be sharp, not like the other dumb gorillas. “You could say something like this,” you answer tensely, without even taking your eyes off Hitoshi. "Geez, McKill lands the first punch but Kick hits right back and kicks him in the face." cheered the crowd. “Yeah, that’s what he deserves. Take him down.” you roared and everyone who was standing around you looked at you confused. Not only did your loud shouting amaze the spectators, but also Kick, who looked at you in shock. He got distracted, McKill took his chance and threw him on the ground. Kick gave up and didn't even fight back. Three long beeps came from the intercom before the bell rang. “McKill won the game once again. Now place your bet money and please come back afterward, because the next fighters will not be long in coming.” said the speaker. “Save your bet, have enough money myself. I don't need it. Go to your lover, Kitty Cat."With these words, the stranger disappeared into the crowd and you set off to find Shinsou.

You found what you were looking for behind the hall in a run-down ten. A nurse who looked more or less professional doctored Shinsou. He sat dazed on a couch made of boxes and tarpaulins. You cleared your throat and the nurse noticed you. “You aren’t allowed to be here.” said the nurse, but you didn’t give a shit. “Nice, but not that one either. Leave us alone or I'll call the police." you mean and crossed your arms impatiently. “Damn Karen, I am already away.” groaning, the sick brother left the tent. An awkward silence spread. "What are you doing here?" Shinsou mumbled groggily, barely able to lift his head. “I'll tell you when we are home,” you said cold-hearted. “First, I disperse this commotion. Wait here," you command, in your detective manner. In a few simple steps, you inform the police.

As you waited for the police, you looked for your drug dealer in the crowd, but he was nowhere to be found. With an exhausted sigh, you made your way back to Shinsou. You help him up from the makeshift couch and together you drag yourself out of the tent on the way home.

Annoyed, you open the door and together you step into your small apartment. "So what were you doing there?" Shinsou wanted to know, but you remained silent. "Go to the bathroom," you command him and he does as he commands. He had clearly screwed up. Shinsou sat on the toilet seat and waited. In the meantime, you were looking for your first aid kit. “It might sting a bit,” you warned him before you disinfected his cuts. He sucked in a few hisses of air, but his expression didn't change. You're pressing a little harder than you should. “How long?” you asked. His eyes wander up to you, and he blinks perplexed until he stutters in reply. "Four years." "Four…Four years, that's longer than we've been together and you never said a word. That's wow…” you couldn't believe it. "Why? Do you trust me so little?" He avoided your hurt gaze and stared ruefully at the floor. "I didn't mean to worry you," he murmured. “Ah, and why did you even start this shit. You're a fucking cop Shinsou that can take your license away." you got angry. "It was actually just a kind of stress reliever, but then I kind of got hooked.'' I can't stop, these guys, this vibe, it's just like family. Do you understand?" "No not really, but if it makes you happy then so be it. For the future, I hope that you will tell me everything." A slight smile spreads across his tired face. "Everything, I promise."

#ami writes #mha #bnha #mha x reader #bnha x reader #shinsou hitoshi #hitoshi shinsou #hitoshi shinso x y/n #hitoshi shinso x reader #shinsou x reader #shinso x reader #hitoshi x reader #i translated this with google #my brain was too tired to do the work #pls dont come at me #why do I sometimes write stuff in my native tongue #why #translating takes longer than writing

[lifesliced]

name: losa brava cooper alias: linda (リンダ, rinda ) age: 19-20 (second arc)** dob: feb 06, 1990 dod: n/a gender: cis-female pronouns: she/her/hers sexuality: bisexual hair color: light blonde eye color: green height: 5′2 (157cm) weight: 108lb (49kg) ethnicity: english, irish

occupation: famous painter alignment: wammy house

special skill: excels in art, specifically realism (can capture human likeness perfectly). linda has a photographic memory and an IQ of 190. she is also fully ambidextrous.

personality: polite, friendly, and professional. she is witty and intelligent.

linda is well socialized in comparison to some of her wammy counterparts, and was never in the running to “be L.” while she was a gifted child, she was not considered for the role of the next great detective. her talents were always more in the artistic field, though she was a good student with high marks, holding her own at wammy house. 

** “Although there is no official confirmation, Linda possibly appears in Death Note Relight 2: L's Successors as the unnamed child who asks L what he fears.”

keep in mind that there is little / next to nothing known about linda, so i had to fill in details such as middle and last names, date of birth, and even eye color, along with other details. some of this could be subject to change at any time based on further development.

** her dob is based on matt, near, and mello’s birthdays, making her 19 when light, matt, and mello die. she is a year and a half older than near, and is five days younger than matt.

light yagami dod: jan 28, 2010  mello dod: jan 26, 2010* matt dod: jan 26, 2010

* there seems to be conflicting info on the wiki.

WIKI INFO:

APPEARANCE: “Linda is a young girl with long, light hair of which is held in two ponytails. She wears a hooded sweatshirt.”

CHARACTER: “Linda appears to be friendly, as she asks Near to come and play with the rest of the children. She is also said to be a very talented artist.”

PLOT: “Linda's only appearance is when she attempts to get Near to come and play with the other children at Wammy's House. In a later chapter, she is referred to as a successful artist who drew pictures of Near and Mello for Aizawa and Matsuda when they are sent to Wammy's House by Light for information about L's successors.”

“When Light Yagami learns of Wammy's House, he sends Aizawa and Matsuda to investigate. As both L and Watari are dead, Roger tells the two detectives what he knows, including information on L's two successors. However, as even Roger does not know their real names, and there are no photos left of them, the only evidence of their identities that the investigation team and Light have to go on are two portraits drawn by a former resident named Linda, who has since become a professional artist.”

“ [ ... ] Mello refuses and leaves the orphanage. While his whereabouts during most of the five-year time skip are unknown, he joins the Mafia in America three years after leaving Wammy's House. Near and Matt depart from the orphanage at some point during the time skip [ ... ] ”

VERSES:

part 1: linda’s time at wammy house with near, matt, and mello. she’s a budding artist.

intermission: wammy years cont. this is after mello leaves, then subsequently matt, and eventually near. linda leaves when she turns 17, departing after the three to pursue her art career independently of wammy house. she continues to affiliate with matt, but has lost contact with mello and near during this time.

part 2: she works as a famous painter, having consulted once with matsuda and aizawa for yagami. she publicly goes only by her alias — "linda.”

post: she continues working as a painter, hearing from L (near) rarely, if ever. she lives her life quietly, albeit it somewhat in the public eye for her artistic endeavors.

modern: non-death note modern au! linda is an art student who eventually graduates to become a professional painter. she was an orphan who "graduated” from a place called “wammy house for gifted youths” when she turned 18.  she attends x university in y place in z year. she goes by linda, an alias she used actively at wammy house.

#linda tbt #tagged for length #tagged for length // #this will get edited a bunch im sure but here it is #ive had it up for so long and ill add the graphic later but #here it is

[thewitchandtheassassin]

What Would An Angel Say, The Devil Wants to Know Part Five (Lena Luthor x Reader)

Summary: History rears its ugly head.

Words: 1284

Warnings: language, non-graphic torture, mentions of torture

Taglist: @natasharomanoffswife @natasha-danvers @aaron-despair @username23345 @xjiasx @nowthisisliving27 @higherfurther-romanova @summergeezburr @marvels-writings @onlyafewfindtheway @captain-josslett @hayleyokami @aznblossom @everything201197  @hayleyokami @b-5by5 @lostandsearching @evilcr0ne @softgamerking​

A/N: If I missed anyone in tagging, I apologize. I’m trying to remember who all is attached to what anymore lmao. But also... this series isn’t dead. You’re welcome.

-X-

The flames of the chains licked at your arms as you kneeled before your masters, head bowed, awaiting the punishment you knew was inevitable. No amount of pretty words could undo what was coming, not with Lockwood and Alexander standing among them.

Both demons were out for blood – wanting to separate your head from your body if they could – and they’d only antagonize until you were a puddle of darkness; of nothingness.

“To see such a promising hunter become such a disappointment is disheartening,” Zod hummed disapprovingly, glancing at Doomsday (an aptly named demon) and Darkseid (a god turned demon with a thirst for blood like no other). “We had such faith in you, (Y/N), yet you let a little guardian of light pollute you. Going soft. Helping their little “star” succeed in keeping those creatures alive. It’s tragic. It’s disgusting. Retribution is required. Only then will we consider redemption.”

“She colluded with the light!” Lockwood protested. “She deserves only death.”

Doomsday hissed at the arrogant demon. “Silence, boy. You have no say in these matters. You are only here to witness. Not speak.”

Lockwood’s jaw closed with an audible snap and if it weren’t for your current position, you would’ve relished in his reprimand but now was not the time.

“We must know. Are you capable of redemption?” Darkseid mused, his burning eyes peering into the depths of your soul. “Or have they poisoned you beyond reclamation?”

Shuddering at the cool tone, you swallowed. “If the council so wills it, I wish to atone for my crimes against Hell and the hunters.”

“We know you let her succeed in completing her mission, therefore forfeiting your own,” Doomsday added knowingly and you barely concealed your flinch, knowing it would only be seen a sign of weakness. “This misstep tells us enough and it now calls into question what else you’ve let her accomplish without conflict.”

“It’s tragic to see such potential swayed,” Zod said with a shake of his head. “Truly.”

“We have all had our temptations,” Doomsday reminded them, glancing at the man residing in one of the three thrones. “So we should not cast her away just yet. (Y/N) has been loyal for quite a long time. To forget it all is…unwise.”

Alexander grunted from his perch beside Lockwood, a nasty sneer on his already ugly features.

“A punishment befitting such crime should make a lasting impression,” Darkseid chimed in, his voice booming and venomous. “You shall bear the scars of your treachery for all eternity. A permanent reminder of who you are and who you will always be. No pretty little angel will change that.”

The chains on your arms tightened, forcing them apart until you were bared before the heads of Hell.

“Begin.”

-X-

Lockwood jumped in surprise at your sudden appearance. “Fuck, (Y/N)!”

“We need to finish this. I can’t stand this place,” you snarled, narrowing your gaze upon the hesitant blonde stepping out of her work. “I don’t care what we do. I want that bitch dead.”

Stunned by your sudden attitude, Lockwood kept quiet. It was rare that you would lose your temper, since you were considered impassive and calm compared to your lesser known counterparts, and he knew if he poked the demon too much, you’d keep your promise of removing his head.

“We’re going to lure the girl away from the crowds and end this once and for all. I’m done playing games like a child. I have better things to do than scope out some sad, pathetic little human city waiting for an opportunity. Those only spell trouble and heartbreak.”

-X-

“Do you ever think about it?” Lena wondered, her eyes lingering on the setting sunset as you both sat idly near her charge. “What it must be like, to be human?”

You hummed, leaning back on your palms as you considered the angel beside you. “I’ve only wondered if I was one before this existence but I don’t often ponder such things anymore. I accepted the calling I was given. There’s nothing else I can do.”

In another time, you would’ve been horrified to see yourself relaxing with one of Heaven’s chosen, chatting instead of battling for the human you were meant to kill. It was slowly becoming increasingly more frequent, these moments, and you worried what your masters must think.

If they cared.

“I do. I wonder what it would’ve been like to live. To…love,” her eyes drifted hesitantly over you for a moment. “I think of who I might’ve loved and who might’ve loved me too.”

You smiled fondly at the raven-haired woman, unwilling to admit you would’ve loved her.

-X-

“Just get her away from the other humans? That’s your brilliant plan?” Lockwood balked.

Staring coldly at your fellow demon, you dared him to challenge you.

“What makes you think you won’t give in to your little angel again?” he couldn’t help but goad, though a swift hand wrapping around his throat and lifting him high silenced his mocking.

“I won’t.”

-X-

“I have to kill him,” you muttered, dodging every blow Lena attempted with ease. “It’s the rules.”

“Are you not tired of it? Constantly killing the best of humanity to keep your masters happy?” Lena pleaded. “The Earth could be such a good place if you stopped taking the good humans before their time.”

Brushing a ball of energy aside like it was nothing, you tilted your head. “This is my job. My existence. I can’t end that all because of silly human ideals or angelic beliefs. The humans serve one purpose. To expect anything greater from them is ridiculous.”

“They could be so much more,” Lena replied wistfully, the powerful wind from her wings sending you stumbling back. “You don’t have to sabotage them. In fact, if you were to let them live, the humans might surprise you. They aren’t all bad. They’re imperfect and damaged but they could still do good.”

You knew it was coming. Knew Lena’s next move would send a dagger of light aimed at your shoulder. You knew she was expecting you to avoid it. To drag out the fight like always but her words struck a chord within you. It always amazed you how passionate Lena was about doing what was “right” and “good”. She cared so deeply for a group of people who would never know she existed. Often denying her existence.

You never understood why she cared so much.

Bracing yourself, you barely flinched as the light embedded itself into your shoulder. You could feel it burning through your body, feeling the warmth trying to consume you. It wouldn’t last for long but it’d be enough for your masters to drag you back home, your mission becoming a failure amongst those who knew of it.

Lena’s eyes widened in panic, watching the light climb its way up your veins before you dissolved into nothingness before her.

-X-

You could still remember every nasty remark as your masters’ demons marked your body, the blood and pain unbearable but somehow - survivable. Her name was only ever associated with that pain, any mention of the angel bringing nothing good. They reminded you how far she’d made you fall. How useless you’d become to your own people. A demon willing to protect humans was nothing but a disgrace.

Eventually, you could only feel pain when you thought of her. How devastating she was; the beauty marred with memories of anguish and wishes for death.

You hated her. How could you love something that only brought pain? How could you love anyone? You couldn’t.

“I…understand…” Lockwood wheezed, trying to pry your iron grip from his throat. “Let…go…”

And this time? You’d prove it.

#lena luthor x reader #lena luthor imagine #arrowverse imagine #supergirl imagine #dc comics imagine #dc imagine #lena luthor #DC comics #reader insert #reader imagine

[punkgrogg]

Doorway Duo pt. 1

Pairing: Hybrid!Taehyung x Reader, Hybrid!Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Hybrid!BTS, Non idol AU, fluff

Warnings: Pregnancy

Summary: Y/n was abandoned by her long time boyfriend and moves back home to help prepare for the baby. She’s surprised to find two unfamiliar hybrids at her house.

Length: 3,902 words

Notes: This is my first Hybrid story. Feedback would be greatly appreciated. I have two more parts outlined and will update as soon as possible because this quarantine has done nothing but give me time to write.

Date Posted: 4/24/2020

My hands cradled the ever-growing bump I have for a stomach. I still can’t believe I’m pregnant. If you would have told me four months ago I was going to be pregnant and alone I would have never believed you. I was in a loving relationship with my high-school sweetheart and we were against the world.

Until I found him pressed in between the legs of some random girl from his accounting class. That was three months ago- exactly a week before I found out I was pregnant. I let him know immediately and he admonished me for thinking he was the father. Apparently, there was no way he could be the father- we had only had sex four times in the past year. 

It only takes one time, I thought as I picked up the last of my bags. He had moved out of our apartment the week I found him cheating on me and I was more than capable of keeping the place myself but with a baby? No way. I knew nothing about being a mother and thankfully my parents insisted on me coming back home at the end of the semester so they could help me. I’d be finishing my degree online until I got more settled with the baby. 

Until. This was only temporary until I got my life back on track. 

This has been my mantra for the past few weeks. I’ve repeated it daily in hopes of quelling the anxiety of bringing in a new life. I repeat as I drive twenty minutes out of the city and back home. Parking in front of the house I grew up in, I can feel the dread knotting itself in my stomach. This made everything all the more real and I was scared. Scared to face my future. While I was battling my inner demons I never noticed Hoseok approaching the car until he pulled open my door.

“Y/n! You’re finally here!” he squealed as he awkwardly wrapped me up in a hug. My waist was pinned back against the seat with the seat-belt but he was pulling me out of the car. Hoseok was my adopted brother.  He was a hybrid my parents saved when we were both young and he’s been my brother ever since but most people don’t agree with my family’s ideology. 

“Hobi you’re hurting me.” I gasped and he instantly released me his fluffy black ears falling flat against his hair. I unbuckled before hopping out and wrapping him in the biggest hug possible. He welcomed the hug with a tightened grasp. I missed him. 

“How’s the baby?” I hear my mother call from the porch and Hoseok releases me. He reached past me into the car to pop the trunk before going to unload. I turn towards my mother to see two men beside her as they all make their way down the driveway. Both of the men were taller than Hoseok and like Hoseok they were hybrids. They seemed to be total opposites as far as their fashion choices went. Monochromatic would be the only way to describe their appearance; one an entirely dark presence- his clothes were tight and black from top to bottom, the other was a soft entity- his clothes were light, ashy gray that matched his hair.  They both walk past me and assist Hoseok without a glance towards me. My mother captures me in a warm hug.

“They’re doing fine and your baby is doing great too.” I finally answer, returning her hug. As we part, she lays her hand on my stomach with tears in her eyes.

“I swore Jinnie would give me my first grand-babies but here you are, breaking through every expectation once again.”

“I thought I would be an aunt before I was a mother too but I figured it’d be Joon. he was always the ladies’ man in high school.” I sighed exasperatedly. My other two older brothers were back in the city and have already started their careers. Seokjin was engaged and Namjoon was so focused on his career that I don’t think he’s been on a date since high school.

“Well, life has a funny way of making things happen. Have you found out the gender yet?”

“As I told you three days ago, they’re sitting weird and we can’t figure out what it is,” I said as we walked into the house. I could hear my dad in the kitchen, presumably cooking tacos from the smell of it. He was always the best cook in the house and insisted on cooking every meal. I followed the scent of cumin and sizzling beef as I could hear the pounding of feet up the stairs behind me.

“Baby girl, I’m making your favorite,” He says as he comes over for a quick side hug. As quick as he was here- he was gone. Back to tending to the tortillas and chopping the onions.

“I haven’t had tacos in forever, whenever I smelled any kind of beef I became nauseous,” I commented idly, my father’s face turning up in disgust and my mother’s showing sympathy.

“I couldn’t eat eggs for any of my pregnancies, especially during the first trimester.” she patted my shoulder gently and moved towards the fridge. I heard the stampeding feet once again and was quickly tugged into someone’s side.

“What’s my nephew’s name?” Hoseok asked loudly, his cheek pressed to the top of my head. I glanced quietly towards the doorway where the two men stood as still as a pair of statues while intently looking towards me.

“It might be a niece you’re getting.” I retorted while pulling myself away. I stepped towards the doorway duo with an outstretched hand. “Hi, I’m Y/n, sorry that no one else introduced us.”

The first one to shake my hand had broad shoulders and ashy gray hair. He had a long tail that reached the floor that was the same gray as his appearance but was accented by black spots. He held my hand gingerly and dipped his head towards me. “ I’m Taehyung, its nice to meet you.” His hand lingered as I turned to the next guy.

The second man had more muscles than I had ever seen on your average person. His face was jarring with the baby fat still clinging to his cheeks, he had short-cropped hair that accentuated his tall pointed ears. And unlike the first, he hesitated on taking my hand. 

“Jungkook,” He said tersely before shaking my hand once and dropping it like it was hot coals. 

“It’s nice to meet you both,” I said while stepping away once. Taehyung took a half step forward, his gaze still trapped on my face. Jungkook’s gaze was firmly focused on my stomach, an intense look that made my heart skip and subconsciously pull my hands forward to protect them. 

“You’re not going to ask?” Taehyung asked, his face screwed up in confusion. I could feel Hoseok’s presence towering behind me- his hand reaching up to grasp my shoulder. 

“Ask what?” My head cocked in confusion before realization dawned on me. “Oh, how rude of me. How was your day?” Hoseok chuckled from behind me before piping in.

“He meant asking what they were.” embarrassment made my face flush, how could I be so dense?

“Oh. Uh. Well, you can tell me if you want. I honestly don’t really care about that, I’m not too sure about what Hobi is.”

“Great Pyrenees. Goodness, you’d think after sixteen years you’d know that.”

“All I know is that you’re fluffy and a cuddle bug.”

“I’m a snow leopard hybrid.” Taehyung quickly interjected, his ears pointed up, they rose mere centimeters above his wild untamed curls. They were the same color as his ashy hair but had accents of black on the tips. 

“Really? That’s so cool, I’ve never met a snow leopard hybrid before.” He mirrored my smile, his eyes crinkling into feline-esque slits. Faint patches of freckles were mapped across his cheekbones, curling up around his eyes. 

“We’re as rare as our animal counterpart.” His eyes glanced quickly towards Jungkook meaningfully then flickered away just as fast. “Jungkook here is a German Shepherd hybrid.”

“Wow, that’s really cool.” Jungkook couldn’t meet my stare and quietly excused himself, high tailing his way back up the stairs. Taehyung ignored his retreating form and instead stepped into the kitchen, sitting at the counter. Hoseok followed after him relaxing  into the  second to last stool

“Sorry, he’s a bit apprehensive, Hoseok warned us about your pregnancy and that you might have crazy mood swings.” The gray man added conversationally, his eyes scanning over my face approvingly. He cracked a grin at the disbelief that spread across my face.

“Crazy what?” my father chuckled at my incredulous tone, “Hobi I will kill you.” I stepped towards him menacingly and he shot up off his perch.

“See Tae? It’s already happening. Mom, get your daughter.” he cried out as he circled around the counter towards mom.

He tried to duck behind her smirking form as I neared but he underestimated the drama mom lived for. “You only brought this on yourself, honey.” She flitted over to dad’s side and taste-tested the corn salsa.

“Who’s gonna save you now?” I smirked at him as I crept closer, my hands poised to pinch the ever-loving shit out of his cheeks.

“This isn’t fair, I can’t fight a pregnant woman,” Hobi whined as he resisted my efforts- his entire upper body leaning away from me.

“If either of you scoundrels hurt my grand-baby I will ground you both.” my dad intoned, halting both our figures. My hands cupping his face and his pushing against my shoulders lightly. Taehyung was laughing at us- he had melodic giggles.

“Taehyung dear, will you go tell Jungkook it’s time for dinner? Y/n and Hoseok go set the table.” Mom ordered and all three of us obeyed instantly. Hobi pulled a stack of plates out the cabinet and I rounded up the silverware. Taehyung was up the stairs by the time Hobi and left the kitchen and headed over to the dining room. I straightened out the red table mats and laid out a set of silverware while Hobi was a step behind me laying out his stack of plates. 

“So, all jokes aside, how has it been?” he asked as we finished up, I leaned heavily against the chair in front of me. It sucks. I’m about to be responsible for a whole person. I’m scared and alone.  Is what I thought but there was no way I could actually tell him that.

“Well, it’s not what I had planned but I’ll get through it. It’s weird being back here when I’ve been living in the city for the past three years.” A wry smile managed to take residence on my face.

“You’ll get used to it, and like you said you’ll get through it. Have you heard from him?” Hobi settled into the chair directly across from me. He started to fiddle with his spoon as I sunk down into my seat.

“No, and I don’t want to. He said he wasn’t the father and that he didn’t want to be.”

“Jin and I will still kick his ass if you want us to.” He was focused on the spoon in his hand, but I could tell that emotionally he was struggling. He was always the more empathetic of my brothers and showed to be more protective of our family at every turn. He was the first one I told when I found Henry was unfaithful and he was the first to know I was pregnant.

“No, it’s fine. We don’t need that loser anyway.” I smile at him, hoping to convey my appreciation to how he’s been so strong in supporting me. My eyes strayed up to the stairs, the question finally breaking through. “Uh, what’s with our two guests? Friends of yours from work?”

“No, the shelter caught on fire last week, and since mom and dad are certified for fostering they brought them in. Mom didn’t tell you?” Hoseok cocked his head to the side, his brows furrowed. 

“She didn’t but that sucks about the shelter. When will it be fixed?” The shelter was where hybrids could stay and be safe. And, as unfair as it is, where they could find their next home. Hybrids had a terrible history and humans were horrible when it came to them. Many held no regard for their hybrids- considering them no better than an animal. Thankfully by adolescence hybrids usually find their place in life and the shelter typically only houses kids being adopted out. There were cases where a family who could no longer provide the care for their hybrid had to surrender them to the shelter. Cases presumably like Taehyung and Jungkook.

“Boss said a couple of months until the renovations are all finished.” Hoseok was a volunteer at the shelter, he has been since high school. Hybrids weren’t allowed to work without the permission of their family (something that outrages our family to no end) and most could only work in volunteer positions. 

“Maybe they’ll finally fix the break room's window.” I teased, for as long as I can remember the window has been duct-taped together. No matter what- renovations or accidents being repaired- the window has remained duct-taped together.

“That window has been broken since Hoseok came into the family,” Dad chimed in as he swept into the room. He was carrying the frying pan full of steak in one hand and a table protector in the other. He laid it in the center of the table as Mom, Taehyung, and Jungkook followed behind with their arms full of the side dishes. 

“There’s always hope.” Retorted Hobi, ever the optimist.

“I highly doubt it- it’ll probably be the only thing missed by the renovations.” Dad shook his head, having lost hope on that window years ago.

“What’s being missed?” Mom asks, situating the chopped tomatoes and the tower of tortillas.

“The shelter’s break room window.” I supplied, helping pull out the chair to my right for her to sit. Jungkook settled in the seat in between Hoseok and my dad; Taehyung claimed the seat on the right of my mother. 

“Oh that thing has always been broken, I figured they’d fix it years ago. Anyway, Hoseok dear pass me the sour cream.” at that, we all settled into making our plates. 

“Dad, this is sublime, I’ve been living off of pizza and ramen for the past few months.” The taco was by far the best thing I’ve eaten in months. The seasonings and fresh ingredients almost overwhelming my poor college student tastebuds. Dad smiled down the table at me.

“Is that healthy for the baby?” Hoseok asked making a face of concern directed to my stomach. 

“You can worry about yourself- I already got an earful of complaints from mom about prenatal vitamins.” Jungkook snorted at the retort and smiled at me for the first time.

“Honestly what's the difference between prenatal vitamins and regular vitamins?” Taehyung asked, turning towards my mother and I. I shrugged and shoved another taco in my mouth. Mom said they were important and I believed her- plus my doctors said it was great when I had told him I was already taking the vitamins.

“They have more iron and other nutrients that pregnant women don’t get enough of.” Mom explained and Taehyung nodded thoughtfully.

“Pregnancy is so much work, I don't know how you did it three times mom.” Mom laughed at that- covering her face with a napkin. 

“Raising you four was way more work, pregnancy was a breeze compare to four teenagers.” She looked at me with pointed eyes. Ah, yes, the dreaded teenage years I would soon face. I grimaced at the thought of hormone-fueled years. Hopefully, I’ll have a daughter, I knew how girls worked throughout puberty.

“Hey, Namjoon wasn’t nearly as bad as the other three.” Dad defended, he was always on the defense of his supposed angel child.

“Joonie almost slept with the entire highschool our junior year and I’m surprised he even got through college without a baby,” Hobi interjected loudly causing Taehyung to laugh.

“No really, Jin, and I thought he was going to catch something.” He continued, turning towards the gray hybrid. His eyebrows were raised and his eyes expressed the utmost of sincerity.

“Your brother did not.” Mom joined the defense, her and dad believing the facade Joon had put up throughout our childhood. 

“That’s what you think, he was a sneaky little bastard.” I chimed in joining Hobi’s side. Jungkook and Taehyung were giggling to themselves watching us all bicker.

“Middle children always are,” Jungkook said joining the offensive.

“They’re nowhere near as spoiled as the youngest.” Hobi suddenly turned on me, the shock of betrayal apparent in my scoff.

“She’s the only girl, you guys never stood a chance.” The unexpected support form Taehyung had me smirking at my new enemy.

“It’s not my fault I’m the favorite,” I flipped my hair over my shoulder and leveled Hobi with a teasing glare.

“Seokjin might beat you there.” Mom rebuked, completely sideswiping me. 

“Hey! Does your grandchild mean nothing to you?” I cried out in mock surprise, Jin was mom’s angel child.

“Honey, we promised not to tell them.” 

“Honestly, high key offended but not surprised.” Hoseok shook his head as he continued on with his taco. The room dissolved into chatter as we finished dinner; I excused myself from the table to unpack. 

I slowly made my way up the stairs while taking the time to look at all the photos of my brothers and me throughout the years. My room was the first room at the top of the stairs- Hoseok’s was directly across. Namjoon and Seokjin’s rooms were the other two rooms but both have now turned into guest bedrooms ever since they graduated college. My room used to be our parents’ when we were really young but soon after bringing Hobi into the family, they renovated the garage into the master bedroom of their dreams.

My room was still the ugly lime green color that I begged my dad into painting it when I was in middle school. The furniture was a yellowing white and had layers of neon colors splattered on it. Coming home really incited the cringe-worthy memories of my early teen years- swore it was cool at some point. My suitcases and duffel bags were resting on my bed. I decided to shuffle my music while unpacking the impossible amounts of clothes I managed to pack. 

~~~~~~~~

“Now all your love is wasted, then who the hell was I?” I sang along, lost in the moment of hanging up all of my shirts. One bag remained after I finished my shirts- my underwear and socks. I was startled out of my peaceful reverie at the abrupt knock at my door. I whipped around to see Jungkook hesitating at my doorway with a shy smile. 

“Your mom asked me to bring this up to you,” he answered my unasked question and held out a plate with chocolate cake. My mouth watered just looking at it.

“Thank you Jungkook, just set it down on that dresser and I’ll get it when I finish this up “I waved towards the surface closest to him with the hanger in hand while hooking on a sweater. I watched him from the corner of my eye as he slowly stepped into the room and laid the cake on the dresser.

He stood in place while looking around at my room his gaze finally settling on the pile of luggage on the floor at the foot of my bed. “Do you need any help?”

“No,” My answer was quick and he seemed to flinch at it. To soften the unintended blow I smiled awkwardly, “but you’re more than welcome to hang out in here.”He meandered over to edge of the bed as I hung up the last shirt from my bag. It was silent as I shoved the bag off the bed and onto the pile of other emptied ones and made my way over to my cake. I hopped up onto the dresser to sit so I could face Jungkook while I ate. He avoided looking at my face and instead looked at the posters hung on my wall that were of artists that never really charted on any kind of chart.

“What kind of music are you into?”He looked at me quizzically as I finally broke the awkward silence between us.

“Well, that’s a tough question. A little bit of everything I guess, mainly pop if I had to settle on a genre.” I finished my cake and set it to the side as I smiled at him wildly.

“Me too, I kind of go in phases though, like it’ll be pop and then I’ll really get into 70s indie rock for a couple of weeks.” He softly grinned at my enthusiasm before snickering.

“You sound like Tae when he gets into his movies, it’ll be a week-long showing of all marvel films and then two months of obscure Buster Keaton films.” His tone sounded as if he’s experienced this far too many times to count.

“Buster Keaton was the shit though,” my proclamation was met with the horror of a man too well versed in debating Buster Keaton.

“Oh god, not another one.” he groaned, flopping back onto my bed. I laughed a little until he sat up again, his smile sobering me up.

“So how long have you and Taehyung known each other?” Were they from the same home before being placed in the shelter? It wasn’t that often that people were able to bond so well when in the shelter with how short their stays typically were.

“We have been roommates at the shelter for, I guess, about a year now. He’s my best friend.” Jungkook’s smile was the complete opposite of what should accompany that sentence. A month was the maximum I had ever heard of someone staying in the shelter. I schooled my features to not show the shock I felt.

“Who me? It better be me or else I’m chopping heads off.” Taehyung entered the room in the most dramatic way possible. Unlike Jungkook he hadn’t waited for an invitation and instead strutted into the room while Jungkook rolled his eyes at the theatrics.

“I hear you’re a fellow Keaton aficionado.” My statement caused him to falter in his stride, he quickly recovered with a beaming smile directed towards me.

“On occasion, noir is where my heart is truly.” His hand clutched at the thick gray cardigan right above his heart.

“Your heart changes every other day.” Jungkook rebutted, his eyes rolling so far back he might lose them back there. 

“She’s noncommittal okay, we don’t judge here.” Taehyung glared at his best friend and it made my heart swell at how cute they both were.

“I’m most definitely judging,” Jungkook muttered falling back on his elbows and staring up at the ceiling, feigning annoyance.

“Can you believe him Y/n?” The deep timbre of his voice negated any nasal squeak he might otherwise have from his whiny tone. 

“He’s a real scoundrel, the worst of them all.”

#bts #bts fanfic #bts fanfction #hybrid bts #hybrid!bts #hybrid AU #hybrid taehyung #hybrid jungkook #hybrid hoseok #kim taehyung #kim taehyung x reader #kim taehyung x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #jeon jungkook #jung hoseok #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #fluff #kpop fanfic #Doorway Duo #pt.1

[lu-undy]

Valentine’s Day 6 - Confession/Heart

I had two ideas so here you go! First one is Heart + Confession, read it here on AO3!

Or under the cut!

"Would you like more wine?" 

"If you still don't charge for it, yeah." 

"I might start doing it."

"No, you won't…!"

Spy chuckled and filled Sniper's glass again. 

"Oi, no, Hootsy, wine's not for you, mate." Sniper gently pushed his pet owl away from the glass. "You got water with Spy's kitty." 

"Hoo!"

"What's this talkin' back now, eh? Who taught you that?"

"Meow!" Spy's long haired, white cat jumped on the coffee table and supported her feathery friend. 

"Course, Spy's kitty taught you that, eh?" 

"How dare you?" Spy answered and his cat hopped on his lap. She purred as the man in the mask ran his fingers through her luscious fur. "Perle's manners are irreprochable, Bushman." 

Sniper chuckled. Spy looked like a Bond villain stroking his cat like that, one leg on the other, sitting on the sofa next to him. The light from the fireplace added to the theatrics of it.

"Yeah, as much as yours, eh, you thief."

"Are you talking about the cigarette from the other day, again? It was not theft." 

"What was it, then? Robbery?"

"Non, a magic trick." 

"Oh, right, yeah, a magic trick where you steal my cigarette off my very lips never to be seen again?" 

"Besides, how could you possibly know it was me?" Spy asked with a playful smirk.

"Cause the cig started floatin' on its own. Not a lot of people can cloak and do that, Spook." 

"It could have been the enemy Spy, non?" Spy teased further. 

"Nah, it was you."

"Again, how could you know?" 

"The other Spy would've just backstabbed me and gone away. You're the constant pain in the neck!"

Spy chuckled and took a sip of his wine.

"So if I understand correctly, the pain he inflicts is in your back, while the one I do is on your neck?"

"Yeah, somethin' like that." Sniper answered his friend's chuckles.

"Well then, no wonder why you keep complaining about your back, hm? And look at your posture… Straighten your back, Bushman." 

"Can't. Hurts too much." Sniper tried but the pain stopped his motion. 

"Has it always been hurting like that? Perhaps you should see Medic about it?"

"Nah, it's just the rifle's weight. I used to be doin' a few contracts here and there so I didn't really have to hold it and strain m'self for days on end. Now in Mann Co., things are quite different."

"Hm. I see. Still, maybe it is worth having it checked by Medic if it is indeed that painful?" 

"Nah, the guy's a freak. Chances are he'll open me up and put a brain or something in my back, ugh!" Sniper winced.

"As much as he is a freak, he is the medical expert here and knows his trade." 

"Meow…" Perle went to Sniper's lap and he scratched her jaw. She purred. 

"Yeah, I know… Still, the idea of goin' to him gets me more tense." Sniper answered.

"Do you want me to go with you?" 

Sniper looked at Spy. He expected to see mischievous eyes with a hint of mockery in his voice. He found none of that. Spy seemed genuinely in the mood to help him.

"Nah. I just don't like goin' there unless I really have to. But uh, thanks, eh?"

They exchanged a gaze and a grin. 

"May I then suggest something else?" Spy asked. 

"What?" 

"Give me your back." 

"What? No, you're a Spook!"

"Bushman, I am not the one who stabs you in the back. Apparently, I only weigh on your neck…!"

Sniper was still hesitant. 

"And who have you shared most of your evenings with as of late? And who are you getting drunk with today, on a Friday night, hm?" Spy raised a playful eyebrow. 

"You…"

"Getting yourself drunk with me is way more dangerous than facing the other way and giving me your back. Now, please…" Spy gently pushed his cat aside and scooted closer to the Aussie. "Your back." He gestured to Sniper to turn. 

"Right…" Sniper sighed and turned on the sofa. "But I swear, if you put one of your butter knives there…!"

"Breathe." Spy put his hands on Sniper's shoulders. "And let your shoulders fall."

"Mph…" Sniper grumbled. 

"Silence and follow my instructions, Bushman. To think that you normally are the least sociable… And now, when you would benefit from remaining quiet, that is when you decide to speak…! Good. Now…" 

Sniper didn't see it but Spy removed his gloves before putting his hands on the Aussie's polo shirt again, on his shoulders. 

"Here is your spine…" Spy let his fingers slither down slowly, gently tapping Sniper's vertebrae. 

"Playin' the drums on my back now?"

"Shush! I am counting!" 

"What the hell are you counting? The places to put a knife?" 

"Non, you fool…" Spy chuckled. "I am counting your vertebrae. And to answer your worries, if I were to put a blade in your back, I would put it here." Spy gently pressed his index and middle finger slightly left from Sniper's spine. "Hm. I can feel the stab scars left by my counterpart through your shirt."

"Yeah, you both stab where it hurts, eh?" 

"Namely, straight to the heart." Spy said and Sniper chuckled. 

"Almost romantic, eh?" 

"It is absolutely so!" Spy answered as his palms slid to Sniper's shoulder blades. He started pressing harder. 

"Oh, is it now - ouch?! That hurt…!"

"Oui, I can feel the knots." Spy confirmed. "Take a deep breath, I will work on them." 

"Right… Be gentle, ok? It hurts when you press it down…"

"Never has anyone complained about my massages in the past. Relax." 

Sniper thanked the Lord Spy was behind him and couldn't see the pink on his cheeks. 

"Here… Do you feel this…? This is one knot… It is a bundle of muscles that has decided to stay tense because you are making it work too much…"

"Spook?"

"What now, Bushman? A witty remark about how muscular your back is? Oui, it is more muscular than what I thought, now, please, remain silent and continue breathing deep and slowly."

"N-no, Spook…" Sniper's cheeks turned a shade more pink. "Shouldn't I be lying down for this?" 

Spy stopped sharp and his eyebrows jumped. 

"Oui, you should. But seeing how reluctant you were to give me your back, I did not want to suggest anything more."

"It's ok. If you think it's better for me to lie down, then I'll do it." Sniper answered. 

"You can't lie on this sofa, you are too tall and wouldn't be comfortable. I am afraid the only piece of equipment that might work is my bed." 

"Uh…"

"I have no issue with this but will understand if you would rather sit here."

"No, it's fine. Let's get there. My back's been killing me for long enough." Sniper answered. 

"Are you sure?" Spy's hand sank down and Sniper turned to him.

"Well, if you wanted to stab me with your tiny knife, you'd have done it by now, right?" He smiled.

"I would have indeed." Spy nodded and returned the grin. "Follow me." 

Both stood up and Spy led the way to his bedroom right next door from his smoking room. 

"Jesus, that's the biggest bed I've seen in my life, d'you never drown in there?"

Spy rolled his eyes and gave a small chuckle. 

"Lie down on your stomach."

"D'you need my shirt off?" 

"Almost romantic, eh?" Spy quoted Sniper. 

"Alright, Spook, don't make it weird…!" 

"You are the one who suggested removing your shirt as you entered my bedroom." Spy answered. 

"Yeah but not like that…!" 

Both chuckled. 

"If you so wish, you may, it would indeed be more practical for me. In that case, let me get more comfortable too." Spy removed his tie and undid his cufflinks before rolling his sleeves up along his forearms. 

"Wooh, Spy with no tie? You alright? Not feelin' too naked?" Sniper snickered. 

"Barely." Spy answered with a smirk. "Now, if I am to work on your bare back let me bring some oil." He walked to his night table and opened the small cupboard door. Sniper saw multiple bottles there.

"Oil? What're you gonna do? Season me and cook me? I knew you Frenchies ate weird stuff but come on…!" 

Spy retrieved a small glass bottle. 

"Says the man who can eat whatever crosses his scope in this God forsaken desert." 

"Yeah well… It's good if you know how to grill it. Should come around one day and try. I'm good with a barbie." Sniper removed his top, giving his back to Spy before turning to him. "So, want me on my belly?" 

Spy raised one interested eyebrow. It might have been because of Sniper's invitation, or his physique, perhaps even both.

"Oui, please. And you are inviting me to play with dolls? I did not take you for one with such interests, Bushman."

"What?" 

"You said, and I quote, 'I'm good with a barbie.' Barbies are dolls for little girls." Spy motioned his colleague to lie and Sniper did, on his stomach and laughed. 

"I'm not talkin' about Barbie dolls, you genius. A barbie for us is a barbeque!" 

"Ah…" Spy smiled. "It would make more sense than a feral Bushman playing with little girls' toys." He spread just a splash oil in the palm of his hands and rubbed them together. 

"Oof, your hands are cold, Spook…!" Sniper's body tensed at the first touch with Spy's hands.

"Like my blood, if I believe your words…" 

Sniper smiled. 

"Right, I'm sorry. I don't think you're that cold." 

Spy rolled his eyes with a sweet grin. 

"I know, Sniper, I know." Spy rubbed his hands slowly on Sniper's back. "Are you comfortable here?" 

"Your bed's the best thing I've ever laid on in my life… You must fall asleep in the blink of an eye…"

"Believe it or not, I rarely do."

"Really…?"

"Mh-hm." Spy let his hands explore Sniper's back. Slow circles, pushing his palms between the shoulder blades, kneading the skin and soft muscles underneath.

"That's where you get yer beauty sleep from, eh?"

"What? You make no sense, mon ami. The wine is getting to you." Spy softly chuckled.

[My friend]

"No… It's yer hands… And yeah, I'm as comfy as I could ever be…"

"That, I am not sure of. Here, lay your head on my pillow." Spy pushed it and Sniper obeyed. 

"Christ, what is it made of? Angel wings' feathers…? That's gotta be the softest thing ever…" Sniper felt his head delicately sink on his colleague's pillow, and took a deep breath. Gosh, it smelt of a mix of Spy's perfume and the scent of his shampoo, it smelt expensive, subtle and minty...

"Almost, almost… But oui, now you are comfortable. And please, relax." Spy started running his fingers around the Aussie’s spine again.

"It's hard…"

"Why?" Spy was now whispering. 

"Cause… I don't know." 

"Let me help… Please." Spy went on whispering, and between the slow waves of his menthol-tinted whispers whirling in the air and the movements of his hands, sliding on the Aussie's back, pushing the muscles to surrender, Sniper gently closed his eyes. 

"Spook…?"

"Hm?" 

"Thanks." 

"You are more than welcome." Spy was on his knees, next to Sniper's body. 

"No… Really…" 

"And oui, really, you are welcome." Spy didn't realise it but the smile he had lingered on his lips for a long while, while silence fell in the room. The smell of the oil rose and filled the air. It was pinetrees, a fresh forest under Spy's skilled and warm fingers. 

"Sniper, please, I can feel you are tense…"

"Sorry… Havin' a spy behind my back isn't easy to accept." 

"Hm. Let me try something." Spy stepped off of the bed and behind his shut eyelids, Sniper saw the lights in the room drop. He opened his eyes and saw that Spy had indeed switched the lights off.

"Spook?"

"Shh, now," Spy hopped on the bed to resume his position next to Sniper's body. "Close your eyes again."

"Spy, it's worse, now I can't see you."

"You couldn't see me before either, your eyes were closed." 

"Y-yeah, guess you're right." 

"Close your eyes again and breathe in long and slow breaths, from your lower stomach preferably." Spy started the massage again.

"Why?" Sniper asked yet obeyed anyway. 

"Because this is how newborns breathe, from their lower stomachs, not filling their chests with air. Carefree, baby breaths are from your diaphragm, not your lungs." 

"Really…?"

"Oui."

"How d'you know that…?" Sniper's words were slower and Spy smiled. 

"Contrary to you, I live in the city where I experience these wild exchanges called social interactions…"

"Spook…?" Sniper's lips pursed up in a smile.

"What that means is that I use my vocal chords to communicate with other human beings." Spy went on with his teasing, as well as with the massage. He could feel the knots below his hand.

"Spook, I know what you mean…"

"Oh, my apologies. I assumed a feral Bushman like you would hardly understand." 

"Pfff, you and your big words…" 

Spy smiled. 

"But you like my big words, as you call them, and you don't want me to stop talking."

Sniper's lips retracted and his smile slowly vanished.

"W-what…?" 

"I have never heard you ask me that many things or question me that much for as long as I know you."

"It's the wine, Spook…"

"Non, it is not. We have been drunk before, together, and more than just this. Non, there is something else." Sniper fell silent.  "Something that annoys you, I can feel you tense again under my hands." 

"Mmh…" Sniper grumbled.

"You may speak it out if you so wish." 

"I just… I like your voice. It's calm. That's it." 

Spy smiled.

"And I, your sense of humour." He answered. 

"Hm, that's just cause you're a posh snob but deep down… You're just a simple bloke…" Sniper's voice was different. He sounded almost sleepy. It made Spy's smile widen. 

"I might be." He simply replied as he moved on to the next knot. Now, he applied pressure to specific points, circling around firmly yet not too much, just what was needed to slowly bring the tension down. "Since you seem to like hearing me, may I tell you a story?" 

"Sure…" 

"This is a classic French poem. It was written to educate Louis the 15th as a young boy." 

"Mmh…" Sniper smiled. He didn't have the energy to mock his friend. 

"It is called Le corbeau et le renard, the crow and the fox." Spy started and then recited it in French. 

To Sniper, it was gibberish. God only knew what Spy was reciting. But it rhymed, the rhythm was soothing, it rocked Mundy almost to sleep and what a velvet voice… He could listen to it for hours without tiring. 

As he recited the poem from memory, Spy untied the remaining knots on Sniper's shoulders. When he finished, he did not stop massaging. He went on, because he liked hearing Sniper's soft mumbles, his groans as the tension exited his body and dissolved away. 

Sniper was somewhere between asleep and awake, in that limbo where nothing was exactly real or a dream. His body had completely sunk in Spy's mattress and pillow, and everything felt heavy now, so heavy… 

The Frenchman finished the poem but went on, seamlessly. He jumped from one poem written more than a hundred years before for a prince, to one he was improvising for a friend.

"Et je n'oserais jamais t'avouer, 

[And I would never admit]

Ce secret qui me hante, qui me fait rêver,

[This secret that haunts me, that dream,]

Sentir ta peau, glisser sous mes doigts curieux, 

[To feel your skin slide under my curious fingers,]

Sentir ton repos, et te voir aussi heureux. 

[To feel you rest and to see you so peaceful.]

Si j'étais un homme de grand courage, 

[If I was a man of great courage,]

Je te le dirais.

[I would tell you]

Qu'avant de dormir je vois une image,

[That before falling asleep I see one image,]

Celle de tes yeux sur moi pour l'éternité."

[That of your eyes on me for eternity.]

Spy stopped and sighed. The whole room now smelt like a forest in winter, yet the air was warm. He winced and started regretting it. Even though it was in French, declaring his love for his colleague was… odd. Arh, he shouldn't have. Such words don't need a translation to be understood. 

"Spook…?" 

"Oui?" 

"That prince's poem…"

"What about it?"

"Longest poem I've ever heard in my life." Sniper answered, his mouth half in the pillow, and his voice slightly muffled. Spy grinned.

"Well, I do apologise. I did not want to bore you." 

"Nah… It's fine. But uh… The end…"

"Oui?"

"Rhythm's different…" 

Spy raised an eyebrow but then shook his head.

"Indeed." 

"Why…?"

"Because it is not part of the poem." 

"What d'you mean?" 

"I… took the liberty to add a few verses, which by the way have nothing to do with the poem itself." Spy admitted.

"Oh…? What did you add…? I mean, what's it mean?"

Spy smiled, albeit sadly. He fell silent, thinking of the best way to answer. Meanwhile, Sniper sat up and turned to him. 

"Spook…? What is it?" He sat cross-legged in front of Spy who was sitting on his knees, his head lowered. 

"Sniper?"

"Yeah?" 

"If… If you were to put an arrow through me," Spy started, and Sniper listened carefully. They felt alone in the world in the intimacy of Spy's bedroom, in total darkness. "Where would you put it?" 

Sniper raised his index and poked Spy on his chest. "Like you with your knife, through your heart." 

Spy nodded and lowered his head again. He sat on his behind and raised his knees in front of him before wrapping his arms around his legs. 

"Why are you askin' this?" 

"Because you did exactly that, thus answering your own question better than I could have."

"What…?" Sniper took a moment to think. He had asked Spy what were those words that he improvised at the end of his poem, and the Frenchman had made him say that he put an arrow through his heart? "But I'd never shoot you, you're a teammate." Sniper answered. 

"I am a teammate?" Spy answered and Sniper clearly heard distress, maybe even disappointment. 

"Yeah, and a good mate." Sniper put his hand on Spy's shoulder and the Frenchman sighed. "What is it, Spy? Tell me?"

"And I would never admit

This secret that haunts me, that dream,

To feel your skin slide under my curious fingers,

To feel you rest and to see you so peaceful.

If I was a man of great courage,

I would tell you

That before falling asleep I see one image,

That of your eyes on me for eternity."

Sniper's jaw dropped. 

"These are the few verses that I added." Spy sighed and put a hand over his eyes. "Of course, it rhymes in French." 

Sniper opened round eyes of surprise. 

"Spook…" 

"Non. You don't need to say anything." Spy wiggled his shoulder to move Sniper's hand away and stood off of the bed. He headed for the bedroom's door. "You may dress back up and leave. I apologise and will understand if you wish to not spend more time with me." 

Sniper was about to answer but Spy left the bedroom and shut the door. He leaned his back on it and sank to the floor, hiding his face in his hands. 

What a moment of weakness…! Bravo, Spy, bravo. Four decades of existence and romantic adventures to ruin this. Remarkable! One would think that with more than forty years of existence and more than twice that number of romantic conquests, Spy would know better. But non. Or at least, not when it counted. 

If the seduction was part of the mission, then yes, of course, it would be a piece of cake. Spy would just be himself and chances are the person would fall. 

But Sniper was not part of any mission. He just happened to be the kind of company that Spy so rarely experienced. Witty remarks, banter, teasing… Everything was perfect with him, it flowed naturally and he didn't have to hide his job to the Aussie! 

There was close to no lies between them. Well, apart from Spy's feelings for his colleague. 

"Spook?"

Spy removed his hands off his face. Sniper was right on the other side of the door. 

"Spook, I know you're here… Uh… Can I open the door?" 

Spy pushed his heavy self back on his feet and adjusted his shirt. 

"Oui, you may. My apologies." He turned and went back to the sofa where he saw the bottle of wine, the glasses on the coffee table. Next to them, Hootsy was sleeping, wrapped in Perle's fur. 

Sniper pushed the door and entered the smoking room. 

"Uh… Spy?" He approached the sofa from behind.

Spy raised his hand to cut him short. He didn't want to drag this situation and make it more awkward. 

Sniper sighed. He stayed there, planted behind the sofa for a second. But then he frowned and walked around to sit next to the Frenchman. 

"Spy?" 

"What now? I told you, you may leave." 

"Where would you put your knife if you wanted to stab me from the front?" 

"What?" Spy finally turned to Sniper.

"Show me."

"Sniper-"

"Where?" He insisted. 

"You know where."

"Spook, just show it to me." 

"There." Spy nodded to Sniper's chest. 

"With your finger…" 

Spy sighed and pointed at Sniper's heart. 

"There, are you satisfied, now?' 

"No." Sniper wrapped his palm around Spy's finger and kept it hanging in the air in front of his chest. "Open your hand." 

"What?"

"Open your hand, c'mon." 

Spy obeyed and opened his palm.

"Now close your eyes." 

"Sniper, where is this going?" Spy asked, irritated.

"Nowhere if you don't do what I'm sayin'. Now, eyes, shut." 

Spy sighed and frowned but obeyed.

"Here…" Sniper pulled Spy's entire hand to his chest. "Now tell me what you said again."

"What? Why? You want to humiliate me now?" Spy opened his eyes.

"Shut up and bloody do it!" 

They locked eyes and stared madly at each other until Spy's eyebrows relaxed. If those were his last moments of friendship with Sniper, he would do anything the Aussie asked him. He closed his eyes again.

"And do it in French, please." 

Spy rolled his eyes behind his shut eyelids. Oui, Sniper, anything you want, he thought.

And so he repeated the few verses of his improvised poem. Spy knew how to appreciate poetry, not only in words but in any situation. Yet, he wasn't as good when it comes to making some of his own. 

As he recited the lines that he started to know by heart now, he felt Sniper's chest bumping against his palm harder and faster. Spy opened his eyes and looked down at Sniper's chest, then back up at his collar that he saw was trembling. He frowned, not understanding why Sniper’s heart would wake up while hearing gibberish…

Soon enough, he finished.

“D’you feel it?” Sniper asked and Spy frowned, lowering his eyes.

“I feel your heart, oui.”

“No, you felt it. Stop lyin’, Spook, be clear!”

“I am!”

“No!” Sniper answered and Spy looked away. “Please… You’re not making it easy for either of us. Just say what you think.”

“Fine. Oui, I felt your heart beat faster as I spoke. Why? Were you holding back laughter?”

“Why d’you always have to think that I’m mocking you? No! It’s the opposite, you idiot, I was bein’ moved!” Spy’s eyebrows jumped. “Yeah, I was bein’ moved! I… Look I have no idea what you just said meant, but I can feel it, ok? Listen to you when you speak French, you sound completely different! You don’t sound like a cold-blooded snake and you don’t sound like you’re just a mate, you sound so… so… sensitive!”

Spy’s blush was visible, even with his mask on. He was thankful the lights were off. Sniper tightened his grip on Spy’s hand.

“C’mere…” He pulled Spy from behind his neck and stuck his head on his chest. “Listen… D’you hear that?” Sniper whispered and Spy nodded against his chest. “What is it?”

“Your heart.”

“Yeah, now sit up, let me listen…” Sniper pushed his head against Spy’s chest and the Frenchman blushed beyond his ears. He started sweating under his mask. “I can hear yours. It does the same thing as mine.”

“What do you mean?” Spy asked.

“Gosh, you’re thick sometimes! Well, I love you too, you idiot! There, I said it, is that clearer? It’s gotta be, can’t make it more clear than that, eh?”

Spy slowly grinned, and his smile transformed in a smirk.

“Why’re you smug now?”

Spy poked Sniper’s heart.

“Boom, stabbed right in the heart, and you confessed before I did.”

“Wha-Spook!”

Spy chuckled. 

“I love you too, Bushman. Viens ici…”

[Come here...]

Spy pulled Sniper from his collar and kissed him passionately. When the surprise passed, and it soon did, Sniper wrapped his arms around Spy, one hand around his waist, the other on his back, pulling him to himself equally strongly. When their lips parted, both chuckled.

“I hate you when you play me like that, Spook.”

“Non, you don’t.”

“Shut up...” Sniper chuckled. 

“Not a chance.”

“Pfff…”

Their embrace lasted and they clung to each other, Spy’s head beneath Sniper’s jaw.

“Sniper?”

“Yeah?”

“Straighten your back.”

“Not my fault, you’re small.”

“It is your fault. You are too tall.”

“Tiny snake.”

“Giant kangaroo.”

“I love you.” Sniper tightened the hug.

“So do I, and I don’t intend to massage you everyday, so please, straighten your posture.”

“Nah.” Sniper answered.

“Why? Is it just to annoy me?”

“Partly, yeah.”

“What is the other part?” Spy asked, his eyes closed in the safety of the Aussie’s arms.

“The other part in me thinks that it wants more massages from you. You got amazing hands.” Sniper answered.

“Mh, you have seen nothing of what my hands are able to do, Bushman.” 

Spy smirked as he heard Sniper’s heartbeat jump under his masked ear. 

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy #dontneedavalentine2021

[mysterious-prophetess]

BnHA/MHA Thoughts

Spoilers be ahead so I’m putting these thoughts under a read more. 

Click if you dare. 

 So, to the real reason I’ve written this post: One for All. 

From what I can gather the fact Shigaraki and the LoV are after it has gone public. That is, if I’m interpreting Fuyumi’s little “Ah-ha” moment correctly.

This means both pieces of the puzzle are out in the world. By which I mean, both All for One and One for All are out and known-to a degree.

Overhaul mentioned All for One was a sort of boogey man, so the underworld knows about him and with his recent breakout (and assimilation of Shigaraki), I’m sure the underworld is acutely away of him again. 

I don’t know if he was known to the public as anything other than the Kamino Villain after All Might punched him out.

But that also means the Criminals would have One for All as a puzzle piece and the name similarities would probably make people go...

“I wonder.....”

People connecting the two will end badly for Izuku since that’s a bit of guilt by quirk association (and that’s even if DfO doesn’t pan out)

Side note: I had a Three Musketeers Phase in High School, so when I saw that All Might and Izuku’s quirk was called “One for All” I had a bit of a moment of, “Like “All for One and One for All”?” 

I didn’t let my brain go any further, for some reason, or I might have caught onto the fact that there would be a counterpart pretty early into my journey as a fan of BnHA. 

Knowledge of One for All is a bell that cannot be unrung, to sort of misquote the phrase. 

I can see this going a few different ways. 

The Heroes get out ahead of this and release some sort of statement. Especially if they are stonewalled by All Might, and put out something to the effect of either “Classified” or “We’re still investigating that.” 

This wont’t satisfy the already upset public. This may even cause rampant speculation which could only make things worse especially if the villains come out and say EXACTLY what it is, leading into the next point.

The Villains get out ahead/or follow a non-statement from the Heroes and post another tell-all story time and this time it’s about a quirk that was “stolen” from AfO/Shigaraki (depending on the face sending the message). 

It’ll be a skewed story but they’d also reveal who has it and likely spill the beans that not only was Izuku the current wielder of All Might’s power but that he was born Quirkless. 

Might even throw Toshinori’s past quirklessness out there too. Maybe a sort of,

“See, your Symbol of Peace was a Symbol of Lies and stolen power!”

It’s dramatic, but All for One does seem to go for that. 

The Heroes could also spill all the beans (they shouldn’t but I don’t trust the people in power in both IRL and the world of BnHA/MHA)

The results are pretty much the same:

The truth being out there could end up BAD. 

People could naturally be upset All Might lied to them (even if all he ever did were lies of omission since he never did claim to have been born with a quirk and never answered questions about his quirk).

People could demand Izuku give One for All to someone “better” or “more worthy” like a Pro or someone like Bakugo or Mirio with strong quirks. 

People could be angry at All Might for not giving it to someone more “worthy” and for being “selfish.” 

People could hound Izuku, Inko, and All Might over this. Over the sheer power that was never fully registered with the powers that be (this isn’t even taking into account One for All is a rare sentient quirk so, there is that extra layer to deal with). 

Then there’s that thing I mentioned above: People making negative associations between the two related quirks and it causing nothing but trouble for Izuku. 

Which would be horrible because now he’d have run the gamut of quirkless to having a quirk to  having a villainous quirk. Plus, we don’t know what the other quirks in One for All are. So far we’ve got (in order) One for All Vanilla(energy/consciousness/quirk) stockpile, 2 unknown, 3, unknown, 4 Not!-Spider-Sense, 5 Black Whip, 6 Unknown, 7 Float, 8 N/A, 9 N/A (though maybe he has a secret trouble magnet quirk) and manifesting other quirks with All for One running around will not cause good things for Izuku and cause even more distrust from the association between the two quirks.

Or...

People could be inspired by All Might’s story. Here’s a man who dedicated his life to helping others and once he got power, he used it to continue helping others and once he got too hurt to do so, passed it on so someone else might help others.

Either way, Izuku’s normal life is over. Inko is now an even bigger target than ever. Because, let’s be real, the LoV know who Izuku is ergo, know who Inko is. She’s already a huge target. 

Hell, someone pointed out that she’s not at the hospital. 

Granted, I don’t know where the hospital is, so maybe she just couldn’t get there yet. Or she’s already in danger. 

This is a paradigm shift for BnHA/MHA. One for All will cease to be a secret following this arc. 

What shape the effects will take have yet to be seen, hence my speculation.

#bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #boku no hero academia spoilers #bnha 303 #mha 303 #my hero academia spoilers #spoilers #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia

[myherorp]

THE QUIRK DATABASE HAS BEEN UPDATED !

incoming information on hero, hokusai.

get to know them !

faceclaim: takada kenta, jbj95

name: matsuoka taichi

hero name: hokusai

gender & pronouns: he/his

age: 25

sidekick or pro?: pro

type: support

reputation: as a support hero he has never really liked being in the limelight. he’s quiet and rarely takes fame for anything he ever does, simply happy to do what he can to help and give credit to those who want to take it. taichi would not be surprised if people don’t even know who he is because of how little his name appears in public. and because he never really goes out in the first place and most of his work is done locked in his room in front of his tablet.

the quirk !

quirk name: illustrated reality

quirk description: the power to create objects and edit things in the real world from drawings

abilities:

able to summon objects into the real world from anything he draws. he can also alter the world around him through drawings such as adding or removing doors to walls previously without one or changing the colour of things, for example.

can use any medium he wishes to draw or even paint with, just so long as it’s done by his hand then it will work.

summoned objects will appear completely real and fully functioning and you will unable to tell the difference between them and non-drawn things. this also includes food and drink with correct flavours and textures. though objects will appear exactly as he has drawn them including colour and any other details he might have added to the drawing.

objects will usually appear right next to him if he doesn’t specify a location, but he can pick and choose a location if he draws it into the image. this also includes directly drawing things onto other people such as changing their clothing.

is able to save previously drawn pictures and use them over and over again regardless of how long ago he had drawn it or how many times he had used it previously. it does not have to be a new drawing every time.

weaknesses:

must have access to something to draw with and can’t just create things out of thin air. cut off from anything to draw with or with his hands incapacitated he is completely useless and vulnerable.

the drawings must have been created with his own hands and he can’t use things drawn by other people.

it takes time to draw things, there is no way of speeding the process up so it can sometimes take hours or even days to draw one thing completely realistically.

his drawings must be realistic looking and fully detailed if he wants them to function like real their real life counterpart.

it doesn’t work with living organisms like people and animals and it only works on inanimate objects and he also can’t physically alter any living thing.

if editing something about the real world, the drawing has to be completely accurate to the location he wants to change. he has to be able to sit there and look at it for reference or have access to a reference picture to copy from.

spending long amounts of time drawing has taken quite a toll on his wrists and fingers and he can get very stiff joins making it hard to draw over long periods of time so needs a lot of breaks to avoid doing any serious damage to his own health.

the history !

triggers: n/a

matsuoka taichi came from an artistic family, so maybe he was always destined to have a quirk dedicated to art. he is one of six kids born in kyoto, japan. their mother a musician and their father a traditional dancer, though taichi himself never really took much of an interest in either of those things. of course, he was somewhat forced to learn but never really enjoyed it. instead, he always much preferred to sit in a quiet corner with a pencil and paper aimlessly doodling for hours at a time.

he was a quiet kid growing up and never really spoke much, though was always incredibly protective over his siblings. taichi was more than willing to take the fall for any of them and went out of his way to try and protect them like a good older brother. when one of his siblings were in trouble or if they were having trouble at school he was always one of the first to try and help out. family always came first in his life and nothing was ever going to change that. and no differences between them was ever going to change that fact that he was their big brother and was always going to be that.

for the longest of times it seemed as though taichi didn’t have a quirk of his own. it was a little disappointing, but he never really minded that much and was still happy to support the siblings in his family who did. but, it turned out he did and just didn’t know it until he was in his teens and finally took on a more realistic art style than his usual cartoonish one. he soon found out that drawing something realistically would allow it to manifest in the real world as well. and with more experimentation he found he could alter the real world as well with his art so long as it was realistic.

of course, he was thrilled. as was his parents, always joking that if he had never taken an interest in drawing he might never had found his quirk. and it was true, he had just gotten lucky in the end.

when it came to high school, taichi decided to try his luck at hero school on the support course, wanting to put his quirk to use and do some good in the world. and while his quirk wasn’t as flashy and as cool as other people’s, his was rather useful and suited the support role perfectly. and it was during school he realized what he could really do with his drawing. he bought himself a proper tablet, making his drawing even easier and faster and started experimenting what what he could really do. he found he never had to buy anything, he could just draw whatever he wanted and it would appear for him. food, clothing, expensive things he could never usually afford, he could just draw it and there it was. and he certainly saw no problem in doing that, either and didn’t see how it was the wrong thing to do.

eventually he graduated hero school and started life as a support sidekick. and it was alright, he supposed. he was helping do some good in the world and was always happy for the hero he was helping to take all of the credit. the limelight was never really his thing and he didn’t really want any of the credit and fame which came with the job. he was only in it to help people.

then home life became a little difficult when one of his younger brother’s, kenta, ended up getting suspended from school and he became the family disappointment. taichi decided to step up after that, taking extra care to look out for kenta and giving him support no matter what and becoming far more protective over him than usual. so, when kenta decided to move to south korea to start hero training there, taichi decided to go with him without hesitation.

it was not like he could protect him properly and look out for him from another country.

the personality !

taichi is a pretty quiet person by nature. he much prefers sticking to the shadows and letting other people take all the credit and fame for themselves. while he is capable of having a conversation and is actually a pretty funny and friendly person when he opens up to you, it is actually getting him to open up which can be the problem. but don’t think that just because he can be quiet that he can’t be aggressive when he wants to be. friends and family mean everything to him and he will do anything he has to to protect them and keep them from harm, even if that means sacrificing himself in their stead. he is simply a man who will not hesitate to jump into the line of fire to try and protect someone he loves and cares about. even people he doesn’t know, going out of his way to protect and help the innocent – which is why he became a hero in the first place.

though he can look pretty innocent, he does have a bit of a chaotic streak and really doesn’t see the issue in using his quirk to get what he wants for himself and others. when it comes to your birthday you can be assured you will get whatever you want regardless of price. buying anything isn’t an issue for him any more as he can just draw what he wants into existence just for the price of the electricity bill. though he is aware this could make him a target for villains wanting to use that power for evil, so he is careful not to flaunt his quirk too much. just in case.

#myherofollow #myheroaccepted

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Witness : 8

Been Here Before

moodboard created by @chuuulip

Character (s): dark!Bucky, later dark!Steve, too

Warnings: this is a dark!fic, it contains non/dubious-consent elements. Some violence as well at the beginning. It goes without (and with) that this is 18+.

Summary: The reader finds herself back in a familiar setting.

Notes: I am reposting this fic here. It was originally on ao3 but now it’s on tumblr too! If you read, I love feedback and would love any comments you have. And if you can, please share! Anyhow, enjoy :)

Bucky left you alone for the rest of the week.  You couldn't decide whether it was a rare spurt of pity, which you knew he had little of if any, or he was busy. Likely it was the latter. He was after all a mercenary. He was out there committing crimes far more sinister than those committed in your apartment. The thought sent a shudder through you. He murdered people. He could have murdered you. When faced with the prospect of his company, it seemed a tempting request but you had always been rather fatalistic.

It was Sunday night and you still hadn't received your assignment for the next week. It was unusual but it happened before. Sometimes there weren't enough placements to go around and you weren't needed until midweek. This was awful timing. You needed the work to distract yourself.  You sat on the couch, laptop open, waiting for the little blip which would save you from your untethered thoughts. As you readied to shut the lid, the chime went off and you eagerly opened up the email. Fuck. It had to be a coincidence. Had to be.

Stark Tower again but this time it was further up. Three month assignment. This was a prime placement, the type temps would kill over. And you wanted nothing to do with it. It smelled of more than chance. It had to be him. It would be so much easier for him to keep you under his thumb. But it was good money; $24 an hour this time. You couldn't have said no if you wanted, and you really wanted to. Accept, you hit the button and quickly shut the laptop. Your life had already been bartered away, what was one more thing?

It was a stifling development. It was the last straw. You were wrong when you thought that all had been lost before. How much had changed in less than a month; how much had you lost?  You would deal with it tomorrow. You were tired and your lack of sleep was starting to overpower your obstinate paranoia. You laid back on the couch, still unable to rest in your own bed. It wasn't yours anymore, it was his. Your whole life was his.

You recalled the process. Temporary parking pass, identity check, fingerprints, photo. You took your lanyard and directions to your new post. All the way to the top floor. Oh, you didn't think it would be so far up. You took the elevator, your bag clutched by its strap tightly. You quaked as the doors dinged open and you stepped out into the lobby. A desk greeted you, chair vacant, computer lifeless. You could assume that was meant for you.

“You the temp?” You turned as a woman with copper hair approached, her face steely and unkind. “Pepper Potts” She introduced herself without shaking your hand, too busy for a mere secretary. “Over there.” She waved towards the desk and brought her phone up, turning back from where she came.

“Gee, great to meet you too,” You grumbled as you watched her disappear around the corner. “I'm Y/N. So happy to work here.” You crossed to the desk and sat behind the half circle, booted up the thin monitor and tucked your bag underneath.

A man appeared from the elevator, his long leather duster flapping behind his legs. You greeted him but your words died in the air. He waved you off, his one eye looking past you as he walked off down the same hall as Pepper. You shook your head and cursed. This was by far worse. These people didn't have the time for courtesy. You may as well not even be here.

“Don't worry about Fury,” The voice caught you off-guard. You recognized it on the first note. “He's more of a codger than I am.” The super soldier formerly known as Captain America smiled down at you. He wasn't supposed to be friendly, he was a murderer. His smile was more a snarl to you, the gleam in his eyes sinister; calculating. He was taking the measure of you.

“Uh, yeah,” You swivelled so that you weren't directly facing him. You could feel him watching you. “I've dealt with worse,” You assured him bluntly.

“You're new here,” He commented, “I'm surprised they replaced Gill so quickly.”

“I'm just a temp,” You said, “Only here for a couple months.”

“I'm not bothering you, am I?” He asked, leaning on the desk as he stared down at you, or rather stared you down.

“No, no,” You lied. It wasn’t professional to be rude, even if this man was a killer. He hurt others as easily as he stood there talking to you. “Sorry, just trying to get organized here.”

“Of course,” He smiled. Why was he talking to you? Did he know? Was this a game he was in on? “Maybe I'll see you later when you're not so busy.” He pushed himself away from the desk. “Steve Rogers,” He held out his hand. Slowly you reached to shake it. He took it firmly, his strength plain enough by his grip. “Y/N.” You replied meekly and he reluctantly released your hand. His eyes followed the movement as you rescinded your arm and grabbed a pen out of nervousness, trying to still yourself.

He slowly back off and headed down the hallway, leaving you to ponder his motives. You didn't think long on it as you turned back to the computer. A roster of names for the day. You were the first point of contact; “take a seat and you'll be called soon.” You were by no means a peer to Miss Potts.

That first day was busier than most of your jobs. You saw Steve again when he left but he was talking to a short blonde you recognized as Natasha Romanoff; Black Widow. She was as deadly, if not more than her counterparts. It dawned on you that you were surrounded by dangerous characters in this tower. A defenseless hare caught in a trap.

Bucky found you by the end of the day. You weren’t surprised but neither were you prepared. You weren’t at your desk when he approached, you were outside in the shade on a concrete bench, eating a sandwich you had bought from a kiosk. Your half an hour was all yours, free from the desk and stony patrons of Stark Tower. Well, the first ten minutes had been.

A single bite was missing from your sandwich as you stared across the street, losing yourself in melancholy. The shadow sat beside you, shaking you from your daze. You looked over, dropping the sandwich onto the wrapper on your lap, barely saving it from sliding onto the ground. You folded the paper over the bread and looked nervously at the passersbys, though none seemed to notice the infamous mercenary perched beside you.

“How’s your first day going?” He asked. His hand was just beside your leg, gripping the lip of the bench.

You blinked at him and glanced around once more. It felt so surreal sitting with him in public. All interaction had to that point been concealed behind closed doors. Such an overt setting had sirens ringing in your head. You felt as if everyone knew. Everyone knew and was laughing at you. You stilled the tremor in your hands and crossed your legs, trying to face him stoically.

“So, you did have something to do with it,” You said evenly.

“You should be thanking me. A dozen others would sit in that chair for less,” He smirked, “The last girl, Gill, she was sweet on me. It never turned into anything but I did entertain the fantasy. Now I can live it out.”

“You’re disgusting,” You turned your focus back to your sandwich, peeling back the paper, “I’m on my break. Leave me alone.”

“Break?” His hand settled on your knee and he squeezed, enough that your kneecap felt as if it would shatter with a flick of his fingers. “That’s where you’re wrong.” He leaned in, keeping his voice low. “You don’t get a break from me. Ever. Your life is mine now.” You gritted your teeth against the pain of his grip, “Until I grow bored of your existence...and trust me, you don’t want that day to come.”

He released you. A woman with a stroller passed and he smiled at the baby, waving to it with the hand which had formerly been threatening to crack your kneecap. You stayed silent as the trolley rolled by. Bucky stood, turning back to you as he adjusted his belt to hide his sudden excitement. He cleared his throat and stretched his legs as if he had been sitting for too long.

“I’ll leave you to your lunch, Y/N,” He announced as he shoved his hands in his pockets, a cocky display and he shifted from one leg to the other. “And I’ll be seeing you for dinner.” He sniffed as he began to turn away, pausing to remark over his shoulder, “I like steak. Rare.”

He carried on before you could reply. Truly, it took a minute to process what he had said. You looked down at your sandwich and crumpled the paper over it, standing to toss it in the bin just across the breadth of sidewalk. You clapped the crumbs from your hands and checked your watch. Bucky was right; there was no escape from him.

#dark!bucky #dark!bucky barnes #dark bucky #dark bucky barnes #dark!fic #fic #darkverse #au #marvel #mcu #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #series #witness