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merakiui · 3 years

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Diluc, Kaeya, Xiao, and Childe Finding out That You’re Being Abused HCs

cw: mentions/descriptions of (physical and emotional) abuse, injuries, depressive mood/thoughts, implied violence **please proceed with caution and do not read if this is triggering! note - submissions are confusing for me, so I wrote it in this format. I hope that was okay!

@tuestika said: Hi! Sorry that I send my request through submission, tumblr has sometimes eaten my asks either wholly or have omnomned whole ask xD Usually my requests sent through submissions arrive intact so…. I saw that you had done Scaramouche reacting finding out their s/o is being abused headcanons, may I request headcanons for Kaeya, Diluc, Xiao and Childe finding out their their s/o is being abused? Keep up good job! <3

🔥 Diluc 🔥

Diluc might not be the most vocal person in the world, but he’s definitely observant. He’s gotten rather skilled at picking apart your social cues because he’s spent a lot of time with you.

So when you barge into his tavern one evening, looking absolutely disheveled and asking for one of the Knights, he’s feeling two emotions: confusion and irritation.

For one, you shouldn’t even entrust your issue to those inadequate Knights. Nevertheless, you are his friend and he isn’t going to kick you out just because you mentioned them.

He waves you over to the bar and is thoroughly shocked when you beg him to let you hide behind it. Then he notices your split lip and the fresh injuries on your face and forearms, and he wastes no time in getting to the point.

“Why were you out so late fighting hilichurls? I hope you haven’t led any here. We don’t need that sort of trouble right now.”

“Sorry. No, that’s not it. I just—you’re the only one...” You’re struggling to piece a coherent statement together, too busy looking over your shoulder to keep track of your thoughts. “I didn’t know where I could go. I mean, I thought of you and—“

“Please slow down. Start at the beginning.”

More concerned over your safety than professionalism, Diluc allows you to slip behind the bar counter, where you cower on the ground to avoid being seen.

You gesture for him to come down to your height and he sighs, silently complying when he finds there aren’t any new customers to serve. Bending down to your level, he holds onto the countertop to keep his balance and then he locks eyes with you.

“What exactly happened?”

You inhale a shuddering breath, wrapping your sore arms around yourself for comfort. Tears are gathering in your eyes as you recall the event. Your abuser had found you after you’d left to get some fresh air, they’d cornered you in a secluded alley, and—you can’t finish the rest of the story.

Diluc doesn’t expect you to continue. He nods as he lets the information sink in, already harboring a deep resentment for this despicable individual.

“Wait here. I’ll close the tavern early. In the meantime, we should see to your injuries and then we’ll look for that person.”

“I really think we should tell the Knights...” you mumble, knowing he’ll disapprove. “They’re more suited to these types of cases.”

“The Knights are incompetent. The investigation will take days, if not weeks. What happens if your abuser knows they’ll be coming for them? They’ll try to escape and then there’ll be no telling where they’ve gone.”

“I know, but it wouldn’t hurt to—“

“I’ll take care of it.”

You try to object because it’s dangerous and you don’t want him to get injured on your behalf. But he’s insistent in his decision, claiming that if the Knights can’t help you no one can. And you really wouldn’t feel safe if your abuser was still roaming free, so you have no other choice but to allow him to carry out the investigation himself.

And Diluc can be quite clever at times. It won’t be hard to traverse the interior of Mondstadt at night, where his identity melts away into that of the sneaky Darknight Hero.

He’s going to protect you no matter what. Your abuser won’t receive an ounce of sympathy from Diluc. All he feels is cold hatred when he catches them. Someone as precious as you does not deserve to be put through such torment, and he’ll see to it that your abuser pays a hefty price to make up for all of the damage they’ve caused.

🧊 Kaeya 🧊

Kaeya can’t understand why you’ve started isolating yourself from everyone. In the past, you were always such great friends with the Knights, always catching up to talk to one of them.

He’d spent a lot of time with you and has since gotten to know you through lighthearted conversations and gossip from the people of Mondstadt.

For someone so appreciated and well-known, he can’t wrap his head around why you might want to suddenly disappear, hiding yourself away as if you didn’t exist.

And then he happens to catch you in town one day while you’re out running some errands. It’s so like him to pop in with a few flirty lines, but the words stick in his throat when he notices the bandages stuck to your arms and legs.

“That can’t be good,” he says as he approaches you, leaning ever so gracefully against a wooden support beam. “Why don’t we find Barbara? I’m sure she’ll have you patched up in no time, my dear friend.”

You don’t think you’re worth it so you shake your head, nervously hoping he’ll take the hint and go away.

“I hope you’re not accepting those dangerous commissions again,” he adds, half teasing and half serious. You can’t tell whether he’s trying to sound chiding or not.

“Please just...leave me be. I’m a little busy right now.” You try to leave the stall you’re at, walking stiffly to avoid limping in front of him. “I’m not feeling well, so if you’ll excuse me—“

Kaeya pushes off from the beam, standing in front of you with a posture that appears immovable. “By order of the Calvary Captain,” he’s saying, a playful glint in his eyes, “you aren’t allowed to move from that spot until you tell me what’s bothering you and why you’re covered head to toe in bandages.”

You can easily object to such an order, but you figure it’s better to answer instead of arguing over your physical condition. So you explain a modified version of the story, telling him that you simply got into a disagreement and it ended in bruises on both sides.

Kaeya hears the tremble in your voice when you say it; you’re lying. His expression softens at once and he steps away, indicating that you’re free to leave. But you don’t; you’re looking at him with such a helpless, pleading look. It breaks his heart.

You break before him, lips quivering as you beg for his help. You’re so scared and alone, and you’re not sure how long you can suffer through this before it seriously hurts you.

“This is the first time I’ve gotten out in weeks.” So that explains your sudden isolation. “Please... I don’t want to go back home anymore. I’ll do anything. Just don’t let them hurt me again.”

Kaeya’s absolutely stunned to hear the silent revelation in your words. You’re awkwardly reaching to undo one of the bandage wrappings to prove your point, but he stops you short. That’s all the proof he needs.

You’ll be brought back to the Knights of Favonius’ Headquarters to be tended to while he gathers a team to search for your abuser. Since you gave him a solid description, it shouldn’t be too hard to find them.

And once they’re apprehended, Kaeya will subject them to a grueling interrogation. There will be no gentle punishment; it’s going to be as unforgiving as the abuse you had to suffer through.

☁️ Xiao ☁️

You’ve never really been keen on physical touch and Xiao understands that completely. He usually avoids any sort of interaction to begin with, unless it’s absolutely necessary, so it’s not a surprise whenever you shy away from large crowds.

He has grown rather fond of you, which has lead to the two of you meeting at Wangshu Inn for some Almond Tofu and relaxed chit-chat.

During one of your many conversations, you bring up a few alarming statements. They’re just personal points you’d like to change, such as your weak fighting spirit or the way your joints brokenly click when you stretch.

Xiao wonders why you’d want to change yourself. You’re not usually this doubtful of yourself. In the past, you would always play the role of his smiling friend, putting on a positive face even when he was in a disagreeable mood.

Xiao is examining your movements as you awkwardly explain yourself and when your arms move he catches the sight of a rope burn etched into your wrist.

“What happened?” He gestures to your sleeve, to which you react in a nervous manner, shyly pulling your sleeve down to hide it. Xiao frowns a bit. “Did you get into an accident?”

“No, of course not! I’m fine. It’s just a result of my clumsiness.”

It really doesn’t look like that to Xiao and when he truly looks at you again he finds that you appear abnormally tired and exhausted. He isn’t going to sugarcoat anything and he could be making a giant assumption, but he still asks.

“Is someone hurting you?”

Your eyes widen for a split second and Xiao catches that movement like a cat drawn to a laser pointer. He won’t force you to explain unless you feel comfortable doing so. The last thing he wants is upsetting you or pressuring you into something you don’t want to talk about.

Eventually, though, the story will come to light and he’ll hear all about the horrors you’ve gone through. That rope burn was just one of many punishments you’ve had to endure, and Xiao’s just about ready to snap. How dare someone lay their filthy hands upon you in such a violent way?

Xiao will calmly tell you to stay at Wangshu Inn or anywhere else in Liyue where you’ll be safe. He’ll watch over you while you take time to recuperate and heal. He’s going to make sure you’ll never have to go through something like that ever again.

Having Xiao by your side makes the healing process all the more comforting.

And when you fall asleep in a soft, warm bed, Xiao slips out into the night to search for your abuser. It won’t be a pretty sight once he gets his hands on the human trash who dared to hurt you.

💧 Childe 💧

He’s very perceptive when it comes to your health and overall well-being. After all, he’s got brothers and sisters to care for; perception is absolutely necessary in order to keep them happy and healthy.

So it doesn’t take long for him to realize your behavior is uncharacteristic. You’re jumpier than usual, always apologizing for the littlest of things, and you’ll look over your shoulder whenever you sense something.

It’s almost as if you expect someone to suddenly come at you, which isn’t all that odd. Childe has been known to keep you on your toes when he’s looking for a fight.

But on one particular day he manages to give you a spook when he comes up beside you, grinning and showing up in your peripheral so suddenly that it nearly gives you a heart attack.

You’re so frightened as you back away, practically folding in on yourself in an effort to protect yourself from an imaginary blow. Childe pauses, that silly grin fading when he realizes you’re shaking.

“Hey, it wasn’t that scary. Come on, comrade!” He’s approaching you warily, not entirely sure why you’re acting the way you are. He’s always been spontaneous; you should be used to this by now.

But you refuse to let him come any closer, having to distance yourself so that you can ease your racing heart and hyperventilating lungs. Once you’ve calmed down, embarrassment floods through you at the fact that Childe just witnessed all of that.

Childe will ask if you’re okay with him stepping closer and if you nod he’ll be on you like a hawk, pulling up your sleeves before you can stop him.

For once, you catch an expression you normally don’t find on Childe: surprise. He’s genuinely shocked at what he sees: dark bruises and shallow lacerations from something sharp.

Either you got these in your many sparring matches or there’s another factor at play here, and Childe is almost certain it’s the latter.

His voice is gentle as he asks you to explain what’s going on and once you do he’s already set on finding the one who did this. He seems to forget all about his Fatui work, wanting to capture your abuser and give them a piece of his mind—and subject them to more than a few pieces of his strength, too.

He’ll have you protected in no time, offering to take you to the best healer. You’ll be treated wonderfully and he’ll even lay off on your sparring matches for a while.

In the meantime, once he gets his hands on your abuser, everything becomes fair game. After all, someone has to handle the brunt of his anger and pent-up bloodlust from the lack of a fight. And your abuser is the perfect match to pummel into the ground. Childe shows absolutely no mercy for them.

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jostepherjoestar · 3 years

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Rodeo Gyro

notsfw !! // gn reader // taking care of Gyro and thigh riding

notes/warnings: thigh riding, mild biting, gyro teasing reader

I really wanted to write an nsfw Gyro fic since that cowboy makes my brain mushy. So here it is 🥰 yeehaw besties 💖✨

link to AO3

–NSFW BELOW THE CUT– MINORS DNI –

“On your left!” You grunted out with a heave as you tossed the hay bale towards Gyro. Droplets of sweat trickled down your skin, forehead already soaked from the heat and the beads running down your back not making it easier not to flinch as they settled at the base of your spine. It’s another scorching summer and the stables are worse off than the outside. You were never one to hate a good nap in the hay come wintertime, but during summers like these you wished to step out of your skin itself for some relief.

The blond easily caught your throw, letting out a small sound on impact he’d rather you didn’t hear. Can’t have you thinking he’s handling this heat any worse than you, now can he? Although, his shirt has been long gone. He proudly announced that Italians know how to handle heat, boasting that his grandfather worked in 45 degree weather and never as much as peeped about it.

You had rolled your eyes at his statement but the annoyance at his antics soon faded when he had revealed his torso.

His skin was a beautiful olive hue, no tan lines, indicating he had probably spent his spare time just as shirtless as now. The muscled lines surging over him seemed sculpted by God themself, a dewy shine having already settled on his godly abs and pecs.

And his arms, oh his arms. Those hay bales had kept him fighting-fit and soon your eyes trailed the expanse of his chest where short curly planes of hair rested, only further emphasising his muscular pecs.

Like you were being guided by the valleys and streams of a gorgeous landscape, you arrived right at the river mouth: a trail of more short curly hairs barely visible by their champagne colour leading you down a path of despair you’d happily embark on. It led all the way from his belly button down to where his jeans started, his signature belt buckle making you realise just how dry your throat had gotten.

And all this in a mere second, or two. Or at least five, who are you kidding? You had cleared your throat and resumed throwing Gyro the hay bales one by one, trying your hardest to focus on the task at hand. It had been going well too, a steady pace made time fly by quickly. Just a couple more to go and you’d be able to gulp down a liter of water and a glass of iced tea to top it off.

If only that glimmer of a bead of sweat making its way down Gyro’s sculpted back hadn’t distracted you. As Gyro slowly turned, time almost seeming to have slowed, you threw the bale right at his middle, much lower than anticipated and landing it straight into his ribs. You gasped and rushed over quickly to your helping hand who was bent over and breathing out painful wheezes.

“Watch where you throw those! Christ…almost knocked me back to Napoli”

But he regained his unaffected self after a few deep breaths, while you knew how heavy these stupid bales were. He swatted you off as soon as you tried to check the place of impact.

“Sorry Gyro…I got distracted! Uh, if you want I can finish up alone!”

You felt bad for letting him get caught in the crossfire of your longing stares, cursing this damn heat once again. He only brushed you off with another quip and urged you to throw the last couple ones faster so you’d both be done quicker. You could clearly see the hit bothered him but he remained ever prideful and kept on working till the last bale was stacked.

“Hey I’m sorry, man. I’ll watch out better next time. I think I have a salve that’s really good at soothing pain. I can go-“

Before you could even finish Gyro tutted, waving his hands a little too close to your face and scrunching his nose.

“That’s enough, I’m a grown man, I’ll live”

And with that he grumbled off, back to the main house where Johnny had been resting on the porch, trying just as hard to beat the heat.

—

Ointment in hand and as stubborn as the Italian you were bringing it to, you knocked on Gyro’s bedroom door. He had his own private guest room at Johnny’s place, they’ve basically moved in together but neither is admitting to it for some god-knows silly reason. But as much as they’re best friends, you’ve also got a neat spot on Johnny’s moderate ranch he acquired after the race. A bed to sleep in and a roof over your head for when you’re helping out at the stables like today.

Your knock was curtly answered, the door being swung open in one swift move, sending your hair flying in the startling wind of his antics.

A bit taken aback by his brashness you cautiously stepped inside. You were used to Gyro’s behaviour by now and had a feeling he was feeling a little grumpy, since he always gets like this when he’s hurt but too prideful to admit it.

“So I got you the ointment…” you leaned on the heels of your boots tentatively, trying not to stare at him.

Gyro had moved back into the chaise longue that rested at the end of his bed, obviously miffed, clenching his jaw while crossing his legs. Obviously the idiot was in pain with every move, and badly trying to hide it too.

“Gyro, stop being such a baby. Here-“ you slid over and joined him, the little glass jar already opened by the time your behind fully met the soft cushioned seating.

“ ‘M not being a baby. Just- do your stupid ointment thing please” He huffed under his breath, uncrossing his legs again.

“You uh, you’re gonna need to take off your shirt for that. Do you need help?”

Your question might have been earnest, filled with care for your close friend and his well being, but a small part of you was chomping at the bit to see his beautiful torso again. This time, even closer.

“Fine. Try not to stare as much though, darling. That’s what got me stuck with this pain in the first place” his remark was quick, finally turning to face you, his big golden grin shining back at you. Like his grills were rubbing salt in the gaping wound you didn’t know he knew about.

“Oh-“ you paused, trying to control the heat rising to your cheeks.

“Well. Shut up before I poke your bruise!” you scooped up a small dollop of the cooling ointment, hand hovering just above the already purple spot forming on his ribs. You really did a number on him with that hay bale.

Gyro clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes, friendly bickering between you two was never far off. But his cheeky annoyance quickly washed away as the cooling gel met his warm skin. Your touch was gentle, rubbing circles on the sore area while your other hand rested on his waist. You looked so focused, your brow scrunched up and lips pressed tightly together in concentration. He’d always thought it was cute how lost you could get in your tasks. And he was beyond pleased he was your task for the moment. So pleased in fact, that he found no use in holding back his wiles anymore. Perhaps the lack of sweet and caring touches got to him- not that his pride would let him admit that fact.

“Say, why’re you holding on to me so tightly, sweetheart? I won’t run” Gyro teased, his tone dropping down to a sultry smooth grit that made your cheeks heat up once more. His comment made you snap out of your focus, realising that he’d been right. His comment only making you want the earth to swallow you whole.

“Just trying to be thorough, Gyro. A-and you were squirming! Now let me finish-“ you defended yourself. Not that you seemed all too sure of your case, the way Gyro smirked at you made your resolve falter more and more with each second passing.

“I wasn’t squirming” his eyes had all but cast over with a deeper hue of alluring emerald. His calloused hand now gently holding your wrist. You could only helplessly stare up at him, the shift in mood not having gone unnoticed. A familiar heat already earning footing between your thighs. Somewhere deep inside you were scolding yourself, angry at Gyro’s effect on you. Letting yourself get distracted and now turning to putty when he’s only holding on to your wrist. Angry that you wanted nothing more than for him to continue whatever scheme he was up to.

With your wrist still in hand, Gyro closed the small glass jar of ointment and slid it further along the chaise longue.

“Well I must thank you for taking care of me, even if it was your fault I got hurt-“ The fires blazing in your eyes and the sour look you shot at his remark only made him chuckle.

“Yes, Gyro. I was there.” Through gritted teeth and nothing short of annoyed you tried to tug your wrist out of his hold. It only made him tighten it around you.

“I wasn’t done talking, darling.” He tutted.

“Let me return the favour. I’m feeling charitable today”

“Gyro, what?” You rolled your eyes, what was this idiot getting at? First, he gets all sensual and now he’s straight up teasing you. Not that it wasn’t just as titillating, his pet names for you only made your head swim and thighs clamp together.

His answer was clear, setting you down on his lap in a quick move that caught you by surprise. And there you were, the spot you’ve only fantasised of being. His natural musk having become the very air you breathed to survive. Stunned and still slightly confused you let him put your arms around his neck. Your legs however, were strategically placed on either side of one of his thighs.

“You in for the ride? I won’t hold it against you if you want us to stop” His tone was sincere, gaze softened just enough to let you know it was alright.

“Y-yes. Yes. I- yes Gyro” you sputtered. God, this was embarrassing but you were glad you didn’t sound as desperate as you really were to be this close to him. At least you thought so.

And with that, the blond cowboy was satisfied, letting out a little “nyoho” that somehow remained sultry.

You suddenly became all too aware why he’d placed you like this, over his thigh. But there wasn’t much time to think, not when Gyro moved into your neck, placing soft kisses along your jawline. His lips were softer than you’d expected. His breaths so nice and warm whenever he moved further down your sensitive skin.

“I’ve seen you ride,” he murmured into your skin just below your left ear. “Now show me how it’s done, cowboy” goosebumps rose all over your skin, letting out a shuddering moan as he bit into you. Not quite hard enough to make you yelp out in pain, but just enough for you to rock your hips straight into his tensed thigh.

He continued his assault on your neck, bites and kisses alternated on each side as you rocked your needy heat on him. With a particularly hard bite, your arm snapped to right next to Gyro, exactly where his hat had been laying on the chair. Even in the heat of the moment you grabbed it and plopped it down onto his champagne locks.

“Keep it on please” your breath shuddered as you continued. He had moved his lips to your shoulders now, moving away your top to reach every spot he wished to worship.

Every swish of your hips drove you further and further, lost in the pleasure as your head felt like it might just explode. Tingles had already started making their way up your abdomen when Gyro released himself from your skin.

“Tell me what you want,” He asked roughly. He was having a hard time keeping it together, it seemed.

“Y-you, Gyro” you whimpered, slowing yourself and burying your face inside the crook of his neck. Too embarrassed to face his stare just yet.

“I know that, sweetheart. But tell me what is you want exactly”

“Gyro…” you whined, burying yourself even deeper.

“Yes?” He quipped, pulling himself back and taking your chin between his thumb and index finger, that stupid grin antagonising you.

Cheeks heated and puffy you had no choice but to give in. “I want you to fuck me Gyro. Are you happy now?”

“Nyoho, very happy! I knew that” he laughed.

“Oh fuck you!” You grimaced, still trying to chase that fleeting peak that you were so close to.

“I like hearing you beg for it, darling” his lips had finally met yours, melting away any and all of his teasing, just like that. God, he made it so easy to give into him. He was just as playful now though, swirling his tongue and clashing his lips with yours like he was taming you.

As he continued his sloppy passionate kiss back down your jaw, you sped up your riding. Never one to finish last.

One last peck and one last tug of your skin between his golden clad teeth and you could feel fireworks rising all the way up to the top of your head. Gyro grinned widely as he admired you, using him like he’d asked you to. One less thing he needs to fantasise about, he’s living it. And eating up every single second of it, the throbbing in his pants nearly took care of itself. He stared in awe, your face contorting in pleasure as you tried your best to contain your desperate moans. Your breath was ragged as you came down from your high, letting your full weight rest on his thigh even though you were beyond sensitive at this point.

“You’ve never looked better riding like that, beautiful” a single soft peck touched the tip of your nose, the gesture was surprisingly gentle.

You had regained your senses enough to start up your own round of teasing. Sporting the same grin he had just a minute ago, you started pushing him down the chaise longue, landing him on his back.

“Oh?” He quirked an eyebrow. The pain in his ribs all but forgotten thanks to your treatment.

“I ain’t done riding just yet. Better hold on to that hat cowboy” slick as ever you dove down to return a forceful kiss that nearly knocked the breath out of Gyro. Not before letting out a “nyoho” in his surprise.

Oh, he was going to like this even more than your last rodeo.

#gyro x reader #jjba x reader #gyro zeppeli x reader #notsfw #minors dni #gn reader #gender neutral reader #thigh riding #jjba x y/n #gyro imagine

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animeomegas · 3 years

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So... another hc for little Sasuke (sorry this one became too specific, you can change it however you'd like to :)

After a rather harsh session (just cuz Itachi wanted to give that a try ) he kinda can't walk without his knees giving out the other day and while his alpha was making breakfast in bed for him and Sasuke wanted some help with his homework(or just wanted to spend time with his brother) while alpha was finally out of the room. And while Sasuke enters the room Itachi was trying to get out of the bed to check out where his alpha was, Sasuke just witnessing him collapsing and with that panic(thinking his alpha broke his big bro's legs) rushes to call mednins. And Sasuke known as a rather smart kid so mednins thinks the worst case scenarios and rushes to the house with him.

Just imagine the awkwardness when adult parties figure out what was the reason of all the panic.

(Ahh, this is the best thing ever, I love it so much, thanks for sending it in! I changed a few little bits, but I hope you still like it!)

Okay, so, Sasuke has been… annoyingly good at playing cockblock over the past month, and Itachi and his mate are a little…pent up.

But last night, Sasuke was with his team doing an overnight training exercise, and Itachi’s parents were attending a social dinner that ran late into the night.

And… well, Itachi and his mate certainly took advantage of the empty house. And all the pent up energy made both parties… kind of feral. It was a lot rougher than normal, let’s just say that.

In the morning, Itachi is predictably very sore, and his alpha offers to make breakfast in bed for them both so that Itachi can relax and recover at his own pace. Neither have anything to do today, so they could even spend the whole day in bed. (As long as Sasuke was too tired from his trip to protest violently, of course.)

So, Itachi’s alpha is downstairs whipping up some food, but Itachi’s glasses are all the way over on the dresser… And he can’t read the book he wants to read. Well, they’re only a few metres away, Itachi should be able to grab them just fine.

Itachi scoots to the edge of the bed and then pushes himself to his feet, just in time for Sasuke to come barrelling into the room with no warning.

…

“Ugh,” Itachi grunts, legs giving out as he collapses onto the ground.

Sasuke, having come in just fast enough to see it happen, gasps and runs forward towards Itachi as fast as possible. His brother is hurt! Wait… Where is his alpha? They…They hurt him, didn’t they?!?! Did they break his legs?!

“Brother! I told you this would happen!” Sasuke shouts, already on the verge of tears because he wasn’t there to protect his older brother. “Mother! Father! Come quick, Itachi’s hurt!!”

“Sasuke! Quiet!” Itachi hisses, very aware that he’s currently half collapsed on the floor, only wearing a long T-shirt. “I’m fine, get out of my room and don’t barge in without knocking!”

“But-But-“ Sasuke blubbers, stepping closer. “But they hurt you! You have bruises everywhere! How can you defend them like this! You’re not fine!”

Itachi blushes a bright, humiliated red as Sasuke points out all the ah… marks… on his skin. He starts trying to climb back onto the bed, holding down the shirt to preserve what’s left of his modesty.

And then things go from bad to worse.

His parents’ footsteps come racing down the hall. Sasuke must have woken them up with his screaming.

Itachi thinks that death might be the best option right now.

“Mother! Father! That evil person! I told you! They hurt Itachi!” Sasuke cries, latching himself onto his mother’s dressing gown. “He can’t walk and he’s covered in bruises.”

Itachi can do nothing but watch as both their gazes scan him from head to toe. The ‘bruises’, the fact he can’t walk, the state of undress, the fact that the house was empty last night… They’re not stupid. He can see that they’ve figured it out. Itachi can’t think of a more humiliating situation than this.

His mother looks torn between amused and horrified, and his father looks like he’s seen a ghost and is about to faint any moment. All Itachi can do is avoid their eyes and hold his T-shirt down as far as he can between his legs.

The awkward silence is broken by the arrival of his alpha.

“Hey, what’s going on up here?” their voice cuts through Itachi’s wishes for death and brings him back to the present. “Itachi?”

He watches them enter the room, breakfast tray in hand and survey the situation. They quickly slide the tray onto their side of the bed and hurry over to Itachi, slipping off their dressing gown as they go and draping it over him so cover him.

Itachi doesn’t think he’s ever been so happy to see a dressing gown, and he slips it on as fast as he can.

“Don’t touch him!” Sasuke’s voice interrupts them. “I’ll never let you touch my brother again!”

Sasuke immediately launches into an attack against Itachi’s alpha. Thankfully, there’s no way his alpha would lose to a newly minted genin, and they easily manage to defend themselves without hurting him.

“Sasuke! Stop it!” Itachi orders, finally finding his voice. “They didn’t do anything wrong, you’re being ridiculous!”

“No!” Sasuke argues, still kicking at Itachi’s alpha. “Iruka sensei said that, even if you’re in a relationship with someone, they aren’t allowed to hurt you because it’s still illegal!”

“I promise I didn’t hurt your brother, Sasuke, please calm down,” they try to diffuse the situation.

“No! I-“

“Enough!” Fugaku roars, clamping a hand down on Sasuke’s arm. Some colour had returned to his face by this point, but he still pointedly avoids looking in Itachi’s direction. “No fighting in the house. Go to your room and stop bothering your brother.”

“But-“

“No buts,” Fugaku pulls Sasuke out of the door despite his fighting. “And you two," he turns his attention on to Itachi and his alpha when Sasuke has been successfully removed from the room. “If he starts asking questions, you will be the one to explain it to him.”

He leaves, and Mikoto follows behind him, shutting the door, but not before shooting Itachi a wink.

This is the worst day of his life.

The door slams shut and there’s silence again.

Itachi’s alpha gingerly lifts Itachi off of the floor and back onto the bed now that the spectators had left.

“Do you think if you hit me very hard, I’ll forget this ever happened?” Itachi asks, burying his glowing red face in his hands.

“If I hit you that hard, Sasuke would have a point, and we can’t let that happen,” Itachi’s alpha replies mildly, slipping into bed beside their mate.

“I feel so humiliated,” Itachi whispers, moving his face from his hands and burying it in his alpha’s shoulder instead.

“I know,” his alpha whispers, face pulling into a small frown. “But it’s okay, we didn’t do anything wrong. Your father has been asking for grandchildren lately, so he has no room to complain, and your mother didn’t seem to mind.”

“That’s worse,” Itachi groans. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“Okay,” they agree, stroking his hair idly. “Have something to eat, you’ll feel better.”

#itachi x reader #omega!itachi #young!sasuke #naruto #headcanons #mikoto #fugaku #a/b/o #omegaverse #omega itachi #alpha!reader #gn reader #gender neutral reader #alpha x omega

357 notes · View notes

dreamwritesimagines · 3 years

Text

Twisted 17 - Mind Games [Spencer Reid x Reader]

A.N.: Thank you so much for your wonderful support my loves! Here’s the next chapter, I hope you will like it as well, and please let me know what you think of it! ❤❤ Ily, kisses! ❤❤❤

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Murder, serial killers, violence, manipulation, mentions of sex, drinking, smoking, angst.

Word Count: 4700

Summary: Love demands sacrifices.

Not even once in your life had you ever imagined yourself in handcuffs, in an interrogation room on the wrong side of the table.

You weren’t even at the FBI headquarters though. The police had taken you to the station after the hospital, taking a blood sample and your fingerprints, then they had handcuffed you and left you there with a glass of water.

Of course they suspected you. Of course they thought you had murdered him.

Murder was your father’s legacy, after all.

You traced the handcuffs over your wrists, already feeling the bruises forming there. The shock still hadn’t worn off but you were starting to think it was a good thing. It felt as if you were watching all of this from behind some kind of glass window, perfectly aware of every single emotion but unable to actually feel them.

Spencer had said when you felt threatened, your body produced nervous energy, some sort of a fight or flight reaction but for once you weren’t trying to do any of that.

You just sat there, completely frozen.

“You look calm,” the police officer spoke, making you look up, trying to ignore the faint yelling coming from outside, possibly from the end of the hall.

“I’m sorry?”

“Most people would be traumatized if this happened to them, they’d be crying, shaking…” he motioned at you, “But look at you. Still as a statue. You look pretty calm.”

“Would you rather if I were crying?”

“I’d rather if you were acting like a human being,” he said, “Why are you so calm?”

Why were you so calm?

Because your mother had taught you this much. Showing emotion when you were afraid meant weakness.

“My father was a serial killer,” you stated, looking him dead in the eye, “I’ve had a complicated childhood.”

“Yeah, I’d say…” he leaned in slightly, “You know, I’ve watched that documentary about your father. His interviews too.”

You raised your brows as he sniffled, trying to look like he was nonchalant about this whole situation.

“And I’ve spent sixteen years on this job,” he said, “After a while, you don’t even need anyone to speak for you to know what they’ve done. It’s all in their eyes and little girl,” he clicked his tongue, “There’s nothing behind your eyes but ice and death.”

You couldn’t cry. You wouldn’t cry. Not in front of people, not even if they tried to kill you. No matter how much they tried to hurt you-

No emotions.

“Impressive,” you managed to say, “Very poetic. Have you ever considered changing your career?”

“You know what I think?”

“I’m sure you’re about to enlighten me.”

“I think you wanted to follow your father’s footsteps,” he said, “I think you killed Anthony, and all those other people. It’s not even your fault, is it? Some people are just born broken.”

That was more than enough to make your eyes snap up to his and you could feel the lump in your throat but you bit your tongue so hard that you swallowed blood, making sure to keep your expression still.

“Nothing to say?”

“You’ve already decided what to think of me,” you said, “And I already told you what happened. What more do you want to hear?”

“Right,” he scoffed, taking a look at the file in front of him, “You went to bed around 12, didn’t wake up whole night, when you woke up you found him like that. Lying in a pool of his own blood, in your kitchen.”

“You don’t look like a whiskey girl.” an unfamiliar voice made you turn your head and you lowered your glass, tilting your head. The guy smiled at you, and stole a look at the whiskey glass you had put on the bar.

“Yeah?” you asked, “What girl am I then? If you’re such an expert?”

He thought for a moment, “Hmm, wine?”

“Depends on the occasion.”

“What kind of an occasion does whiskey call for?”

“Apparently an occasion for meeting guys with bad pick-up lines.”

He let out a chuckle, “Yeah, I swear I’m normally smoother than this.”

“I would hope so,” you grinned, and offered your hand, “Y/N.”

“Anthony.”

“But you failed to mention the part you texted him to come to your apartment.”

“I didn’t text anyone.”

“We have your phone Y/N.”

“I didn’t text anyone,” you repeated, “Someone must’ve drugged me and taken my phone, the same person who killed him, the same person who obviously broke into my apartment.”

“How convenient.”

You clenched your jaw.

“I always wake up during night,” you said, your voice completely calm and controlled. “Always. I never woke up last night, there has to be a reason for that.”

“If you’ve been drugged, it will come up on the blood tests.”

“Good.”

“While we wait for that,” he said, “Why don’t we go over what you did last night?”

You took a deep breath, “I woke up,” you said “Went to work. I left work at 7 to go to my sister’s place. I left there around eleven, came home and went to bed.”

“Nothing else happened.”

“Nothing else happened,” you repeated and he sat up straighter.

“Okay. Well just so you know, Dr. Spencer Reid—” he started and your head shot up, your heart slamming against your chest, “He is giving us his professional opinion at the moment, about this case and what might have really happened this morning. Do you have anything you want to change in your story before he’s finished?”

You gawked at him, blinking a couple of times before you turned your head to look at the one-way mirror on the wall.

The BAU was there, behind the mirror.

“….They came back?”

“We’ve sent them the report, yes. They landed an hour ago.”

It was as if somebody was trying to claw your stomach out of your body as you stared at your reflection in the mirror, trying to ignore the burning behind your eyes before you turned to the officer.

“I don’t have anything to change,” you managed to keep your voice stable, “It was a terrible thing, it definitely was but I didn’t do it.”

Someone knocked on the mirror, making you and the officer look that way before he pushed his chair back and left the interrogation room. You closed your eyes for a moment, focusing on your breathing through the blinding headache but opened your eyes when the door opened again.

Luke.

He offered you a small smile and pulled himself a chair.

“Hi.”

“Hello,” you swallowed the lump in your throat, sitting up with your back straight, your hands clasped.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine,” you stole a look at the one-way mirror, “Is he there?”

“Reid?” Luke asked and shook his head, “I had to basically wrestle him out of the hall, he’s…he’s not allowed here. Conflict of interest. He’s giving his statement at the end of the hall as we speak.”

You nodded, digging your fingernails into your palms. “Okay.”

“He also called your sister on our way here. Couldn’t reach her, but left a message. Listen, he can’t request it on your behalf, but you need to ask for a lawyer.”

“I didn’t kill Anthony.”

“I didn’t ask if you killed him, I’m saying you need to ask for a lawyer.”

“Does he think I did it?” you asked and Luke shook his head again.

“No,” he said, “But it doesn’t matter what anyone else believes at this point, Y/N. Ask for a lawyer.”

You kept your back straight, rolling your shoulders. “If Spencer left a message to Mina, she’s coming.”

“Is she a defense lawyer?”

“No but she knows a lot of them.”

He took a deep breath and put the bottle of your pills on the desk, “The officers also found this.”

You tried your hardest to focus, moving your wrists to help with the soreness of the handcuffs. “They’re prescribed.”

“I can see that. The side effects say confusion?”

You arched a brow, “I’m sorry, do I sound confused to you right now?”

“No, you sound way too controlled right now, I may as well have been talking to a robot.”

You gritted your teeth, trying to control the panic bubbling at the pit of your stomach, sending anger through your veins.

“I’m not confused,” you stated, “Besides, I haven’t been taking them lately.”

He threw his head back, pressing his lips together, “God, Y/N, you can’t say that. A psychiatrist prescribed you something and you—“

“They’re just for nightmares, they don’t make you…” you took a deep breath, commanding yourself to stay calm, “I didn’t kill him. I found him like that. It was terrible, but I didn’t do it.”

Someone opened the door again and Emily Prentiss cleared her throat.

“Luke,” she murmured, “Spencer.”

You could feel your heart skip a beat upon hearing his name but kept completely still as Luke left the room and Emily and JJ walked into the room.

“You’re taking turns now?” you asked and Emily cleared her throat,

“Me and JJ are the only people in our team who haven’t spent as much time with you, so we figured it would be better if we interrogated you.”

“I didn’t do it.”

Emily pulled herself a chair as JJ crossed her arms, standing by the wall.

“Can you walk me through what happened this morning?”

You took a deep breath, “I woke up,” you said, “With a headache. I knew something was wrong, I felt it. My window was open, the front door was half open and my phone wasn’t where I left it. I stepped outside my room, saw the blood, went to the kitchen and saw—“ you gritted your teeth and clenched your fists, “Saw my ex-boyfriend there. Dead. Lying in a pool of his blood.”

“But you heard nothing.”

“I never sleep for the whole night,” you said slowly, “Check my blood test. Something happened last night.”

“We don’t have your blood test results yet, but there was no sign of any sexual—“

“That’s not what I’m talking about.” You cut her off, a shiver running down your spine, “That’s not it. Whoever it was, they didn’t touch me, they wanted…”

“What did they want?”

You shrugged slightly, “I don’t know. They wanted me to see it I think. My…my father’s crime scenes.”

JJ took a deep breath and pushed herself off the wall.

“And you don’t think it’s a little too convenient?”

You pulled your brows together, looking at her and she stepped closer to the table, her eyes fixed on you.

“Two victims so far,” she said, “The ones that we knew that were in the same place as you, they had some connection to you. That woman who was killed at the charity ball, you didn’t get along when you were kids, you turned her down as a client before she was killed, and now your ex-boyfriend ends up dead, in your apartment because you sent him a—“ she scoffed, “I’m sorry, someone sent him a late night text, inviting him to your apartment.”

“JJ,” Emily started but JJ held up a hand while you tried to wrap your head around it.

She had a point. Two victims so far had some connection to you and that was not a coincidence, it couldn’t have been.

“You think I did it,” you rasped out and she scoffed.

“I think you had something to do with all of this,” she said, “I think you’ve been trying to manipulate Spencer for something. The best case scenario, you were cheating, that’s why Anthony was there and something went bad, the worst case….” She shook her head, “You’re behind every single murder we’ve been looking into, and Spencer was just a tool for you. He’s my best friend, and if I find one single proof that you put him in harm’s way, I swear to God I will destroy you.”

Two people had ended up dead, and that was your fault. The copycat was going after people who had some kind of connection to you, and apparently no one except you and your family was safe.

The idea was way too painful to even exist inside your head, but it was clear as day. JJ was right, you were putting Spencer in harm’s way just by being with him, and if it were him, if you had seen him lying in a pool of his blood, his eyes wide open—

You dug your fingernails into your palms until it hurt before you managed to lift your head, that invisible wall which kept you safe from anyone and everyone who could possibly see anything you felt going up again.

“You…” you trailed off, your throat burning, “You don’t have to worry about that anymore.”

“What does that mean?” Emily asked but before you could say anything, someone slammed the door open, making you and the agents turn.

Mina.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” she asked no one in particular and stepped aside so that 4 lawyers could walk inside before the police officer rushed to you to remove the handcuffs off your wrists.

“You’re not saying another word,” she snapped her fingers, “Come on, we’re leaving.”

“We’re going to need her to sign some papers,” the officer said as Mina grabbed your wrist to pull you out of the room, making you hiss in a breath and she froze, lowering her glances to check your sore wrists for any bruises.

“What did they do to you?”

You shook your head silently, and something in Mina’s gaze shifted. You had seen it only a couple of times, including that time you were getting stitches after some girls in your classroom had ambushed you in the bathroom, and more importantly, you had seen that look on her face when Lily had fever that one time and you all had to rush to the hospital and the doctors said she couldn’t see her.

It was fire, similar to yours, ready to burn everything in its path.

“Don’t say anything to anyone. You two,” she motioned at the two lawyers, “Read whatever she’s supposed to sign.”

The lawyers approached the desk by the door as Mina put her coat over your shoulders, rubbing at your arms as you swayed slightly on your feet, trying to focus.

“We’re leaving, okay sweetheart?”

“Miss—“

“No,” When Mina turned to the police officers and the BAU team, any trace of softness in her voice disappeared, “You don’t talk. If you don’t want to get into even more trouble, you’re going to listen to me right now.”

The officer that had been with you at the interrogation room just blinked a couple of times, obviously taken aback.

“Do you have any idea what you just did to yourself?” she asked, “What you did to this whole precinct? Because allow me to explain, my sister was a victim in this scenario, and you tried to pin this shit on her to make her a scapegoat,” she shook her head, “We will be suing you for defamation of character—“

“Mina, your sister—” JJ started but she snapped her fingers at her.

“I haven’t even started with you yet, wait for your turn.”

“Mina…” you murmured but she didn’t even look like she could hear you,

“Where was I? Defamation of character because press will be all over this, intentional infliction of emotional stress and wrongful arrest and hey, to make things fun we will also be requesting the security footage in the interrogation room and if I see one very small slip of anything that wasn’t supposed to be said and done in that room…” Mina tilted her head, “Well, let’s just say that by the time I’m done with you guys and this whole precinct, the only thing you will be able to afford is going to be a typewriter and a desk.”

One of the lawyers came to tell you the document was alright to sign and as soon as you approached the desk, a door by the hall opened and Spencer stepped out.

It was almost excruciating not to be able to run to him. He looked as shocked as he was and he took a step towards you but JJ stepped in front of him as you grabbed the pen, ignoring the way your name spilled from his lips in a whisper.

“Oh, hi genius.” Mina called out, “Were you getting a glass of water while your team was hounding my sister or something?”

Spencer looked almost confused only for a moment before he turned to look at JJ who deliberately averted her glances from him.

“Mina, this is not necessary,” you croaked out as you signed the papers and she shook her head.

“No, this is very necessary, trust me. You need to show these people what you’re capable of or they will try to fuck you up, case and point.” She turned to Emily, “You’re the one in charge, I suppose?”

“I am.”

“Good. Consider this your warning, because the next time anyone in your team, including the puppy dog eyes over there gets any closer to my sister, we will be getting a restraining order for each and every one of you.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, still swaying on your feet and you hugged the coat around you tighter.

Not that you could do anything other than watching this.

“Your sister is an active part of this investigation, your father specifically asked for—“

“My sister is a civilian,” Mina growled, “She has no responsibility for this case, you do. How about you surprise me and do your fucking jobs?”

You took a breath to say it wasn’t fair, that it wasn’t their fault but Mina turned to look at you.

“Get in the elevator, we’re leaving.”

You were way too tired to fight her, way too tired to even stand there so you followed the army of lawyers to the elevator, while Mina shot the officers and the BAU members a fake smile.

“Pleasure, let’s never do this again,” she said, and got in the elevator with you, and you tried to keep your expression still, Spencer staring at you until the doors slid close.

“4 lawyers?” you managed to say, “I don’t think even Bundy had four lawyers.”

“Tell that to mom,” she said, “She was on the phone with a congressman the last I checked.”

You couldn’t even smile at that, but Mina let out a breath before pulling you into a bone crushing hug, making the tears rush to your eyes as you wrapped your arms around her.

“Never do that to me again, you hear me?” her voice cracked for the first time and you nodded slowly.

“I won’t,” you said, “I promise.”

***

It was as if someone had pulled all your energy out of your body. You were exhausted, you could barely understand what anyone was saying but you knew there was no way you could sleep anytime soon.

The blood test, as the lawyers had informed you, finally came back and just like you suspected, they had found traces of chloroform in your system. That and your team of lawyers combined were more than enough to get rid of any kind of accusations against you, so at least you had that.

On the other hand, the fear, the guilt, the sadness were still there inside of you, even if you felt way too numb to reach it.

You wondered if Spencer would have a scientific explanation for that.

Your mother had insisted you would never step a foot into your apartment again, she was already looking for a new apartment for you, one with multiple security systems and until that happened she had told you you would be staying at her house.

The damn thing was way too big anyway and you and Mina had grown up there so you figured it would serve as some sort of shelter.

If it even existed for you.

“Here you go sweetheart,” your mother pushed the tea cup towards you, “Drink it, it’ll make you feel better.”

“I’m fine.”

Kenzie heaved a sigh, “It’s okay if you’re not,” she said, “No one expects you to, anyone would be traumatized.”

“The real estate agent already sent me three apartments,” your mother said, “Huge windows, you love a bright apartment.”

“Mom,” Mina said silently and she heaved a sigh.

“It could help her distract herself,” her head shot up, “Y/N, you should go on a vacation! Somewhere far away from here.”

“Somewhere peaceful could be nice?” Kenzie added, “I think that’s a good idea.”

You and Mina exchanged glances.

“I heard Fiji is lovely this time of the year,” your mother said and you let out a breath.

“Mom, two people died because of me,” you croaked out, “I’m not going to Fiji for vacation.”

“Honey, you could use some peace,” she held your chin carefully and lifted it so that she could look at you better, “You look so…”

“I look like how I feel,” you said and turned your head when the doorbell rang, making Mina sit up straighter.

“Who’s that?” she asked when the maid walked in.

“Spencer Reid?”

“What?” you and Kenzie asked at the same time, your heartbeat getting faster and Mina jumped on her feet but you stopped her, shaking your head.

“It’s okay,” you sniffled, nodding to yourself, “It’s….it’s fine. There’s no point in dragging it out.”

“Dragging what out?” Mina asked you but you walked out of the living room and reached the front door, trying to ignore the warmth filling your system as soon as your eyes caught the sight of him. You stepped out of the house and he pulled you into a tight hug, burying his nose into your hair and inhaling deeply as if it helped him calm down while you just stood there, desperately trying to keep the tears at bay.

You had to do it. No matter how much it hurt you, no matter how much you didn’t want to.

No matter how badly it would rip your heart out.

“You okay?” he asked you, his fingers pushing your hair behind your ear, “I tried your apartment but I figured…”

“Yeah, I’m not going back there,” you shrugged your shoulders, “I’ll move out, it’s fine.”

“Do you want to stay at my place?” he asked quickly and you closed your eyes for a moment, every cell in your body begging you to change your mind.

You couldn’t though. You’d rather die than see him lying in a pool of his blood, all because of you.

“Don’t say that,” you whispered and opened your eyes again, “Please don’t say that.”

He looked almost confused, tilting his head to the side like a puppy before it dawned on him.

“Is this about the file on me?”

You shook your head and he took a deep breath.

“About today?”

“I didn’t send that message,” you said, “To Anthony, I mean. I wouldn’t…. I wouldn’t cheat on you.”

“I know that.”

“And I didn’t kill him. I don’t know if you heard, but the blood tests came back positive for—”

“I never doubted that, not even for one second,” he insisted, “With or without blood test.”

“You might be the only one,” you murmured and he paused for a moment.

“What did JJ say to you?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Because we had an argument on the jet on our way back here and whatever she said…”

You shook your head again, trying to smile.

“I get it,” you murmured, “She’s your best friend, she’s protective of you. That’s normal.”

“Yeah but if she thinks that you’re capable of—”

“I want to break up.”

You could swear the words burned your mouth, some invisible hand clutching your heart tighter and tighter as you willed yourself to keep your eyes on the street, because you were sure that every wall you built to keep your emotions under control would crash down the moment you looked at him. Out of the corner of your eye you could see that he froze and he blinked a couple of times, as if he was lost.

“What?” he asked silently and you tried to swallow the lump growing bigger and bigger in your throat.

“Y/N, wait—no,” he said quickly, breathing hard, “Listen, whatever they said to you today during the interrogation, if that’s what this is about—”

“It has nothing to do with that,” you forced yourself to say, crossing your arms and he took a step closer to you.

“Whatever the problem is,” he rasped out, “We can solve it, okay? Don’t do this.”

That was when it dawned on you.

It wasn’t enough to push him away. You had to make sure to burn that bridge so that neither of you could ever find your way back to each other.

“It’s not one of your cases Spencer, you can’t solve this one,” you muttered and finally turned your head to look up at him, your stomach churning at the sight of betrayal on his face.

“I don’t understand.”

“You—it’s—“ you stammered, trying to find the words, “It’s going way too fast, alright? It’s going way too fast and it’s going to fucking crash, and I can’t—“ you cleared your throat when your voice cracked, “I’m not going to crash with this, I can’t.”

Your father had taught you this way too long ago, when you were too young to even question it.

Stab the prey, twist the knife, pull it back and watch them bleed.

Stab the prey.

“I mean come on Spencer, we’re not in love or anything,” you shrugged your shoulders, “Should be easy enough.”

He stared at you for a couple of seconds, his mouth slightly agape and his brows furrowed, shock written all over his face.

“We’re not in love?” he repeated, “You…you don’t love me?”

Twist the knife.

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

His eyes searched your face, as if looking for any kind of clue that could tell him you were lying, or that it was a trick but for once, it was in vain.

You’d had spent years learning how to control your emotions and your expression when it came to heartbreak.

Pull it back.

“It’s not my fault if you’re in love,” you said, each word making you hate yourself more and more, “I can’t be held responsible for that.”

Stabbing yourself would’ve been less painful, you were sure of that but you knew you had to keep going. One last step, one last sentence and you would be done.

Watch them bleed.

“I never told you to love me.”

Then, silence.

You had to give it to him though, it took him faster than it would’ve taken you to pull yourself together if you were the one on the receiving end of this. He blinked back the tears, clenched his jaw and in a second, his gaze turned cold, exactly like yours.

“Yeah,” he said slowly, nodding, “You didn’t.”

But you had forgotten one small detail.

Spencer knew how to withdraw that knife and stab back.

You cleared your throat and turned around to get inside the house but before you could step in, you heard his voice.

“I was wrong.”

You looked over your shoulder, clutching at the straws to keep it together, “I’m sorry?”

“I was wrong,” he stated, his voice was distant and held no trace of its usual warmth, “Before, I mean. In terms of behavior and psychology, you’re exactly your father’s daughter.”

With that, he walked away from the house, and you just stood there for a moment before stepping into the house and closing the door behind you, that comfortable haze of shock slowly withdrawing from your mind like mist. That hand squeezing your heart twisted it in your chest and you tried to breathe, pressing a hand on your chest.

“Sweetheart?” your mother called out as she stepped into the hallway, then slowly approached you, “You okay?”

It was impossible to stop the tears rushing to your eyes now and a gasp escaped from your lips as you shook your head.

“Mom,” you whimpered, “Please, my—my heart hurts...”

She rushed to you and shushed you gently, pulling you into a tight hug and caressing your hair as you slipped to the ground and you buried your face to her shoulder.

Then the sobs came.

Chapter 18

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid imagines #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #spencer x reader #dr spencer reid #spencer imagine #spencer imagines #reid #spencer #reid x you #reid x reader #reid imagine #criminal minds imagines #twisted

1K notes · View notes

thatweeboverthereisthirsty · 3 years

Note

Hello! May I please request NSFW headcanons of Floyd, Riddle, Malleus, and Lilia dating an f!s/o who is really bratty and demanding in bed, just for the punishment? Thank you! You don't have to do this if you don't want to. Delete or ignore this ask if you don't want to do this one, alright, honey? ☺🙌💗💗💗

Ngl I had a burnout for inspiration around Riddle and Lilia so I am sorry about that.

Warnings: Collars, intense sex, punishment, edging, overstimulation, dom sub relationship

Floyd:

Oh so shrimpy wants to play a game huh?

Floyd is so down for that.

You can tease him all day and depending on how ansty he gets he might wait for school to be over or he might throw you over his shoulder right then and there.

Once you guys are in bed though all your attempts at being demanding and bratty are shut down

This boy is horny af so of course he’s gonna be excited that you wanna bang but he doesn’t like how you think you can act spoiled and dominant

There is a reason you aren’t on top and it’s because he’s the one in charge, and he will remind you of it every chance he gets

You are thrown on the bed and before you can even bounce back up he pins you with all his strength

The bruises of his hands around your wrist will likely be the first of many marks that will be on you tomorrow

His eyes are dark with lust as he pushes his tongue between your lips and quickly removes your clothes

Dark hickeys rimmed with teeth marks decorate your neck and collar

You struggle to regain control but he has none of it a he bites down hard on your neck while shoving two long fingers inside you

“Awww Shrimpy you look so cute~ I bet you would look better impaled on my cock and filled with my love~ Make more cute noises Shrimpy~ Only I can make you make those noises~ Only I can bed you and rip your sanity apart with pleasure as I pump you full of my cum~”

Sex with him always has a possessive tone to it and it is probably the reason he is so rough.

“You are so irritating when you think you are in charge. It’s my job to be in control. I guess Shrimpy hasn’t figured that out yet. I guess I’ll reteach you.”

His eyes become pinpricks as he crooks his fingers and rubs your sensitive spot.

His punishments aren’t usually crazy.

He doesn't have the patience or will to edge you and stuff.

Instead he will just fuck you till you forget what your own name is.

His favorite position is when you are leaning on him while he sits back against the wall and he bounces you until you’re nothing more than his personal cocksleeve

Drool, sweat, and seman dribbles down your chin and your eyes are almost always rolled to the back of your head with bliss

When he is finished he will roll over with you and spoon you against him

“When I wake up you better hope I don’t remember your bad behavior Shrimpy. I might have to teach you again that I am in charge and you are my cute little submissive Shrimpy. You are mine.”

Malleus:

It is very amusing for him to watch you try to bait him or take control for the sake of the end result.

He lets you be bratty and push him down and grind against him.

He’s gonna let you ride him and tie his hands together at the top off the bed just for fun.

When you finally collapse with pleasure and exhaustion that is when he will pull himself free from his binds and flip himself on top of you.

Malleus looks down at you with dark eyes filled with mischief and chuckles lowely before nipping at your ear.

“My turn”

Then he will ravage you as if you hadn’t just ridden him to completion a few times

As a non human being he has stamina for days and will fuck you stupid for hours on end

Already exhausted from your multiple orgasms you can do little but lie there as he slams into you starting a brutal pace

He’ll kiss you deeply and passionately whispering about how you take his cock so well as if this wasn’t a punishment but a reward

It’s hard to count how many times he cums with your pleasure riddled mind

Sometimes it’s inside of you and sometimes it is in your mouth or on your face, back, legs, front

Anywhere he can shoot his load is filled or covered in his cum

Sticky white pearls roll down your side as he manhandles you into a different position

Eventually when you’ve been fucked till the point where you nearly black out he will decide to finish and will his somehow still raging manhood to calm down

Then expect a nice warm bath where he scrubs the sweat, cum, drool, and tears off of you

He massages your body in places where it will be sore and cleans his bite wounds in order to keep them from getting infected

As you fall asleep against him his lips brush your ear in a husky whisper

“Don’t get too cocky little one, I only take care of you now cause everyone knows you have to keep your toys in good condition. That way you can play with them again whenever you want. Whenever I want.”

Riddle:

Hon he is already collaring people every time they misbehave.

Punishing brats is literally his whole personality.

Likely he’s just sitting over here casually sipping his tea side eyeing all the dorm children (they’ve broken into a cold sweat)

Then you break a rule and he looks at you and you’re just sitting here like “dom me I dare you”

Sis he will drag you to the bedroom and won’t even bat an eye at the rest of the dorm children (they are sweating more now)

Will collar you 100% just not with his magic off with your head (it gets in the way)

Riddle becomes really forceful in the bedroom when he’s punishing you

Orders will fly left and right and you better do them or he will make the punishment 10 times worse

Course if you want that then *wink wink*

Punishment from Riddle can go several ways.

On one hand he loves to deny you of what you want while jacking himself off.

The image of you desperately trying to reach a climax while he slowly brings himself off is so hot in his mind it is his go to punishment.

He will bring himself to a finish several times while casually fingering you to the point where you could cum but won’t cause he pulls them out and makes you lick them for a few moments before starting again.

When he finally feels that you have been edged enough he will pull your legs over his shoulders and eat you out till you orgasm.

The aftercare with him is super sweet as well.

Not that he has forgotten that you broke one of the rules.

“That’s strike 1 baby. Do it again and I might not let you get off at all.”

Lilia:

Daddy isn’t even bothered by this bratty act you have going.

He is well aware of what it means and he knows exactly how to put you in your place.

You want him to go down on you hard right?

Absolutely not.

He is not gonna cave to your demands.

Denial is the only way to teach you that misbehaving isn’t gonna get you what you want.

Soon you will learn that acting bratty for a good fuck is only gonna get him to edge you for hours until you’re a broken, sobbing mess, begging for release.

Then and only then will he ask you if you want to cum and when you reply he will turn the tables from denial to overstimulating.

You wanted to cum right?

He’s only doing what you wanted.

You cum almost instantly after he presses inside of you.

It’s intense and mind blowing.

Not that he cares.

He hasn’t reached his own climax, besides after all that begging you should be happy he’s giving you what you want.

Pounds into you chasing his own climaxes for however long he feels like.

You can’t even think straight due to the pleasure but he doesn’t really care.

After fucking orgasm after orgasm out of you and himself he will clean you up and cuddle with you.

“Next time you want to act like a spoiled brat, think about what the repercussions will really be.”

#twisted wonderland #malleus draconia #riddle rosehearts #twst x reader #lilia vanrouge #floyd leech #twst lilia #twst headcanons #twst malleus #twst riddle #twst floyd #lilia x reader #riddle x reader #malleus x reader #floyd x reader

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novoaa1writes · 3 years

Text

6:41 on a thursday morning

pairing(s): mazikeen x reader

summary:

it’s a morning like any other, the first time mazikeen says it—those three little words: ‘i love you.’

contains: light angst & fluff

word count: ~800

rating: teen

warnings: mentions of creepy men, mentions of maze’s propensity for violence, but other than that... none?

notes: requested by anon. look i’m SORRY they requested fluff and somehow a little bit of angst wormed its way in there. anyways, hope this is otherwise okay<3

— —

It’s a surprise, the first time she says it. Out-of-the-blue, entirely unprecedented—much like all things where Maze is concerned.

For starters, it’s something like 6:41 on a Thursday morning.

You’re dressed in an oversized T-shirt that just barely reaches mid-thigh and nothing else, feeling pleasantly sore in all the right places as you pad around the kitchen looking for—

Oh! There it is.

You grab the pan, set it down on the lower-left burner (your favorite), and set it to medium.

“Hey, Maze!” you call, hoping your voice carries down the hall and into your room, where Maze is currently flopped face-down on your bed. “Do you want your eggs the usual way?”

She was very cross with you when you made the executive decision to get up and start your day rather than going another round in bed—not that the prospect wasn’t incredibly tempting, of course.

A muffled yet resounding groan from down the hall makes you giggle and shake your head as you spray the pan with cooking oil.

“I’m gonna take that as a ‘Yes’!” you call back.

Another noncommittal groan.

You snort. Too cute.

10 minutes later sees you serving up two platefuls of scrambled eggs topped with melted cheese—a delicacy, considering you’re rather terrible at cooking on even the best of days.

Yeah; as far as you’re concerned, this—no smoke, nothing burnt, no fire alarms blaring in your ears—is a win.

Just then, Mazikeen stumbles out into the kitchen. She looks… fucking adorable dressed in one of your T-shirts and a pair of panties, her dark hair mussed and standing up every which way, a dazed look in her eye.

She doesn’t let that keep her from glaring at everything around her as if they’ve slighted her in some completely unforgivable way, of course. She’s a multitasker like that.

“Hey, Maze!” you chirp the moment she shuffles barefoot into the kitchen, headed straight for the fridge.

She waves you off with an unintelligible grumble.

You don’t take offense to it. She’s always a zombie in the early hours, even when you’re feeling playful enough to wake her up with a couple rounds of lazy morning sex.

It’s not until the moment she wrenches open the door and bends to squint at the contents inside that her gaze lands on something, and she promptly freezes on the spot.

Now, that gives you pause. Even still, you force yourself to finish up what you’re doing first—snatching a pair of forks and a mug full of coffee for yourself, then setting the table for the two of you.

“Babe?” you ask, watching Maze intently as she straightens, gawks at you, then back into the fridge like she can’t believe what she’s seeing. With the places set at the table, you pad back over to her with a frown. “You okay?”

Maze finally tears her incredulous gaze away to meet yours. “You… You bought me…”

“Oh! Yeah, that drink you like! Green tea coconut water, right?” You glance back into the fridge and—yep, there they are: a 16-pack on the second shelf, right where you left it. You turn back to Maze, your heart sinking as something occurs to you. “Did I get the wrong brand? I could’ve sworn—”

“It’s the right brand,” Maze says hoarsely, her typically so self-assured voice choked with emotion.

Well, that just makes this whole thing even more confusing.

“Maze?” You grab her by the hand, guide her gently around the door as you shut it behind you. Your heart breaks at the way she won’t even look you in the eye. “What’s wrong? Do you not like that stuff anymore? I thought I saw you drinking it just this week, but maybe I was mistaken—?”

“I love you,” Maze utters out quietly, and when her gaze darts up to meet yours, her eyes are glossy with tears. “I love you so much.”

Warmth explodes in your chest, a tentative grin breaking out across your face. “Yeah?” you ask quietly, desperate for confirmation—because for Maze, this is bigger than any gift she’s given you (of which there have been many), or any creepy guy she’s beat up for leering at you on the streets (of which there have also been many).

Maze nods, biting her lower lip hard as a tear streams down her cheek. “Yeah.”

You’re quick to catch it with your thumb, cupping her jaw in both your hands and making damn sure you’re looking her right in the eye when you say, “I love you, too, Mazikeen. So, so much.”

You’re not sure who moves first, but a beat passes and all of a sudden, your senses are flooded with Maze. Her lean body pressed flush against your own, her strong arms curled around your waist, the feeling of her lips as they catch yours in a bruising kiss—wet, desperate, salty with tears.

She tastes like toothpaste and gun oil and Maze, Maze, Maze... and God help you, but you can’t get enough. You don’t think you ever will.

In short, it’s... perfect. Absolutely perfect.

— —

end notes: again, hope this was to your liking, anon

also—maze being absolutely floored by little acts of kindness from her s/o and not knowing how to cope? incredible. show-stopping. brilliant. yee to the fuckin’ haw

(also i really didn’t proofread this so if you see any mistakes, please let me know)

link to masterlist

#yerrrr #requested #stuff i wrote #mazikeen x reader #maze x reader #lucifer fic #reader-insert

275 notes · View notes

whump-town · 3 years

Note

Do you take asks for prompts? If you need another way to hurt Hotch how about him hurting his knee while taking down an unsub and trying his best to hide it from his team and going home to Jack. So maybe he doesn't come to work the next day so they check up on him?

Sure you can!

-------------

Hotch doesn’t say anything about it because he’s been an ass all week and the very last thing that he wants is to ruin what little fun they’ve managed to find. The pain really isn’t that bad, it’s just that the hotel they’re posted up in has this long winding set of stairs and they’re on the fourth floor. Wistfully, he glances over his shoulder one more time, double checks that they’re all distracted by the pool before setting his shoulders and starting up the stairs. Besides, it’s his fault that he busted up his knee. He’s not going to interrupt the first sounds of their laughter he’s heard in a month.

They’re taking Emily’s death hard, barely managing to keep their heads above the water. It also means their numbers are odd again and realizing that he’d sent them off with each other (Rossi with JJ, Reid with Morgan) and had gone around the side of the house by himself. They’d ended up chasing the Unsub out to him where he’d taken him down by himself (or rather they’d ran right into one another). They’d heard him fall, the harsh crash of two bodies colliding had drawn in some noise, but he was already on his feet when they got to him. Was already shaking off the ache in his right leg, brushed it off as a skinned knee. Wouldn’t be first and he doubted it would be his last.

He did skin his knee.

Judging by the purplish bruise color around his knee, the skin swollen and sore to the touch, and it’s general refusal to move within the joint he did more than just skin it.

He hasn’t really been an ass, though. That’s just his excuse.

He’s been an ass all week and they’re struggling to cope with Emily’s death and he just wants one second without Morgan comparing their grief or Rossi trying to pry or Reid looking at him like the sky’s falling in and he’s screaming himself hoarse looking for an Atlas to remind him where it’s rightful place is.

He’s been withdrawn and he got a little snippy at Rossi but, in general, nothing worth hating him over. Nothing that any of them so much as took a second glance at. So calling him an ass is really stretching it but he’s just looking for an excuse to not have to tell them. Besides, he can do this on his own. Just needs some ice… and to get up the stairs.

He doesn’t get ice.

He doesn’t even take a shower.

Getting up that many stairs with a leg that tries to buck out from underneath him after the first floor is hard enough without trying to figure out how to wrangle himself into the shower. That’s excluding the problem of getting out of the shower.

That’s about half a lie anyways. He steps into his room, the A.C. blasting on it’s highest setting where he left it, and drags himself to the bed. The sweat across his body is cold and as nice as it would be to stand there at the machine and let it blow the cold into his face he can’t. He’s not slept since they landed, not in this bed and only naps he’d slipped into while coffee brewed. With the room nearly freezing and his knee keeping pace with his heart he sags into bed.

Doesn’t even bother to get under the covers or take off his shoes.

He saves that for their trip back.

They wake him up, Reid shouting at Morgan. They’re sopping wet and Morgan thinks it’s funny watching Reid squirm because he forgot his towel.

His exhaustion has weighed him down, pulled him under the pain. He hears Reid yell and after the initial fight leaves as he realizes Reid’s not in pain or being murdered (Morgan’s deep laughter clears that up) his knee comes back with vengeance. There’s no way he’s making it to the ice machine down the hall and he’s sure as hell not getting in the shower.

Taking his pants off is miserable.

Getting his left shoe off is fine, that knee is bendable. The other is just out of reach and he curses under his breath, loses his temper and throws his shoe down on the ground. Tears gather in his eyes as the pain gets unbearable but this isn’t worse than being stabbed. It’s not so he manages. Holds his breath until his face is pulsing with the heat of his pain and when he finally manages to get the shoelace untied he’s light-headed, dizzy.

The pants are not easier.

It gets the better of him, his belt smacks his knee and he cries out. He hears the other’s, knows that Morgan hears him make the sound and calls out for everyone to be quiet. Hotch holds his breath again, waits out their footsteps until the doors shut and they’re gone.

He lays starfished out on the bed. Stripped down to his boxers and his white undershirt. It’d be nice to get under the covers but even thinking about moving is an excruciating idea. He doesn’t even look at his knee, doesn’t need to sit up to see it. Doesn’t want to.

He sleeps.

Dead to the world for hours until his alarm clock goes off at six in the morning. He’s got hours of just dead, limp sleep in his body and he still can hardly muster the strength to move. But he hasn’t got the time to be hurt. The jet leaves the tarmac at ten and he still has places to be-- hands to shake and people to talk to. It takes fifteen minutes longer than normal to get ready and six long laps around his room until he can walk without a heavy, easy to spot limp. Each movement, if he focuses enough, can be smooth.

You can’t even tell.

“Walking like an old man.” Hotch stops, frowns and chooses not to say anything. He continues locking up his room, grunting in annoyance when Morgan steps around him and grabs his go-bag. “Figured you were just tired,” Morgan informs him, leaning on the wall of the door so he can see Hotch’s face. “That Unsub got you good, huh? What is it? Your back?”

Hotch glances at his go bag, still held easily in the palm of Morgan’s left hand. He’s not getting that back. With a frown he turns for the stairs, “I’m fine.” But he focuses far too hard on his gate and Morgan can see it.

“It’s your knee,” Morgan deduces. He can see it. The way Hotch has to lean on the rail when he extends his right leg out, knuckles white. “Haven’t iced it yet, have you?”

Hotch ignores him, keeps walking down the stairs.

“When we get on the jet let me wrap it up.” He’s not offering so much as warning Hotch of his plans for later. Morgan’s been an athlete his whole life, that’s lent years of practice in figuring out how to tape up and ice various injuries. “You’ll need to put ice on it, it’ll help.”

He doesn’t.

The jet ride home is distracted, buzzing with energy he hasn’t seen out of them in a while. The pain is worth it.

He goes home. Jack can sense his pain, he’s not entirely sure how but he’s gentle. Talking Hotch’s ear off about a book that Jessica bought him and that he intends to beg Hotch to read him tonight. They have their typical “Dad has a concussion” meal-- macaroni and cheese with cut up hotdogs. Jack loves it and it’s a treat to make up for Hotch’s physical status.

He always feels bad about being home but not being able to do dad things yet.

Not that Jack minds, he can always find something for them to do. He just likes having him home. Watching Jack fight sleep, trying to stay awake for a few more minutes of his father’s undivided attention, Hotch decides right then and there to call everyone out. Give them the day off.

“We can make cookies tomorrow,” he whispers into Jack’s hair. He doesn’t respond, which is odd, so Hotch lifts his head up. He shifts them both around until he can see him better, careful once he’s positive Jack’s asleep and not ignoring him. Jack whines at the movement, clutching Hotch’s shirt so that he can’t be pulled away. “Alright,” Hotch rubs his back, soothes him back to sleep.

It’s a fight, nearly impossible, but Hotch gets Jack back to his room. As he’s tucking his blankets in around Jack, double-checking his night light and making sure he’s comfortable, he knows there’s a good likelihood that Jack will still end up in his bed tonight. If so, he’s not fighting this battle. He’ll leave his bedroom door open and what happens, happens.

Jack does make his way into Hotch’s bedroom. Just as the sun’s coming up and Hotch is still half-asleep, having woken up just a little too much to send the other’s the “take the day off” text.

“Morning,” Hotch whispers, hearing Jack’s feet on the carpet but not opening his eyes.

Jack comes to the empty side of the bed but still climbs over Hotch’s shoulder, slipping down over his side until he’s precariously being kept onto the bed by a little bit of bed and Hotch holding him. “Daddy,” he whispers back. He wiggles himself around, stretches his arms up to put a hand on Hotch’s cheek. “Daddy?”

Hotch knows he’s not going back to sleep. “What is it, buddy?”

Jack rubs at the facial hair growing along Hotch’s cheek, short coarse hair that feels funny against his hands. “I want to make, ugh…” Jack taps Hotch’s cheek as he thinks. “To make, uhm, I want pancakes!”

Hotch opens his eyes, smiles, and squeezes Jack. “Alright,” he responds. “We can make some pancakes.”

Despite the text message that Hotch sends out, Morgan and JJ still have to head into the office for paperwork, to at least take it home to work on it. Over the last year, Hotch is better about work. He leaves earlier and spends a lot less time at the office, still averaging more than them but undeniably on the mend. Still, Morgan walks into the BAU and is surprised, he’s cut short in his mission, when he sees Hotch’s empty office.

Morgan assumes the worst.

The knock at the door is surprising, Hotch doesn't exactly get visitors. Jessica doesn’t bother knocking, she just opens the door and shouts for them. Other than that, Rossi calls and Emily used to drop by to find something to do but… “Jack!” Jack’s five, he loves answering the door. He just never gets to do it.

“Look!” Jack cries.

Hotch pushes the pancakes he’s butchering off the stove, limping quickly to get to Jack. “What’re you doing here?”

Morgan frowns, lifts Jack up into his arms with a swoop and a happy squeal from Jack. “I came to make sure you were okay, knucklehead.” He looks at Jack, shaking his head with a look of pure ‘can you believe this guy?’. “Glad I got here,” Morgan shifts Jack over to his hip. “You’re burning the shit out of these pancakes.”

Jack giggles, glancing at Hotch to see his reaction.

Hotch moves to follow Morgan, going to attempt a poor argument on behalf of his pancakes but he’s cut-off. “Sit,” Morgan orders, pointing at one of the kitchen tables. “Jack, can you get me some ice?” Hotch watches as his kitchen is taken over. Morgan grimaces at the pancake currently in the pan but is quick to smile again when Jack calls for him by the freezer. He can't reach the tray.

Jack’s eager to please, right under Morgan’s feet, but constantly looking back at Hotch. Morgan’s pancakes are better and with some ice, Hotch’s knee becomes a bendable appendage once again.

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #jack hotchner

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catxsnow · 3 years

Text

BROKEN ROSES - DAMIJON

Summary: Damian hated Valentine’s day more than anything. Jon thought it was romantic, he wanted Damian to be able to appreciate the holiday just as much as him.

Warning: fluff, angst, mentions of blood and Damian beating up a thug while Jon’s a cutie.

A/N: Happy Valentine’s Day everyone! I, much like Damian here, don’t like it very much but me and my mututals decided to do a little secret santa for Valentine’s day and I got Ms. @screennamealreadyused and went with a little Damijon

I know it’s not my usual writing but I thought I would post it nonetheless, I hope you all enjoy!

Word Count: 4k

Valentines Day had to be one of the silliest days of the year.

It was simply an excuse for couples to get out for the night and go on a date or drop the kids off so parents could have a night to themselves. To put it lightly, it was just a day that forced pressure on boyfriends and girlfriends to waste money on chocolates and roses. Not to mention it left all those who were single feeling lonelier than ever.

It wasn't like Christmas where you got to spend time with family or Halloween where you could dress up and go party. Even St. Patricks day was better than Valentine's Day. The holiday was something that was easy to dread as it rolled around each new year. Holiday, if you could even call it that.

Maybe the reason that he hated it so much was because every couple he knew soaked up the twenty-four hours of pure romance. If they were truly in love, they'd spend every day of the year treating each other like they would on the fourteenth of February.

Single people everywhere found themselves alone in their room or making a desperate attempt at a bar to find someone for the night. It was pathetic, almost. Why should they feel the need to suffer just because they hadn't met their match yet? Why should those lucky enough to fall in love get to celebrate? Didn't they have enough already?

The other reason he hated it so much was because he never had a reason to understand it. Never in love, never feeling loved by that one person that was supposed to mean everything to him. Never being brought flowers or gifts because someone was so head over heels in love that they wanted to express it in every way possible.

Valentine's was just another day of crime-fighting and sore muscles. A night of saving couples from greedy thugs or saving young women who had the unfortunate of running into desperate men. A night of coming home with bruises and an empty room. A manor that was far larger for just three people.

Selina was meant to drag Bruce out on some extravagant night in the town on Valentine's day. Dick and Kori had their own plans in San Francisco. Tim and Steph even wanted to go out on a date even if their relationship had been anything but stable at that point. Jason himself probably had some sort of plans to lounge around a bar until a woman joined his side.

That left Damian home alone in a massive manor with no plans and a heart filled with hatred. He'd spend another night of saving lives just to feel like something was missing in his own. There was always something missing. Something that kept him up at night wondering what the big deal about love really was.

He dreaded the next day.

"It's ridiculous! Why would anyone want to come up with such a silly way to spend your day?" Damian's cape snapped in the harsh winds. The cold winds felt as if it was cutting through his skin as he ran across rooftops. Another night of Gotham's winter, another night of taking down worthless thugs.

His face burned with the cold. Joints sore as he jumped down the emergency stairs on the side of an old building when hearing screams. He could barely feel the hits on his knuckles when beating up the fool that tried to fight him instead of running. Only when he remained on the ground, blood pouring from his nose did Damian stop.

"I think it's cute," Jon finally spoke up. The drastic change of Jon’s words and the scene before them nearly made Damian snicker. "Mom and Dad always go out on dates, he buys her flowers, makes breakfast. They've been doing it forever. How could you hate a day that's supposed to be filled with love?"

"If true love really exists," Damian pulled his grappling gun from his belt and shot it up to the building ahead. He landed on top of the roof once more, waiting for his friend to join him. "Why does there need to be one day to express it? Why not every day?"

"It is every day, Robin," Jon tried to explain. Trying to explain something like this to Damian was like talking to a brick wall. He refused to see the joy in it and wouldn’t admit that someone could love a little extra on a designated day. "When someone's in love every single day is dedicated to make them happy - even when you don't even realize that you're doing it. You don't get to see what someone's like when they're in love. Your parents..."

Damian narrowed his eyes. There was love between Bruce and Talia, at one point in their loves. It was never true love - no, it was far from that. It was a love of power, strength. Nothing like how Clark and Lois were. If Bruce was lucky, he would finally have found that in Selina - or if he didn't fuck it up before he got the chance to find out.

"It's idiotic."

Damian would never admit that he was envious. There was no reason that he needed to waste time being in love, yet there were moments that he wondered what it would be like. The devotion that one had was something that wasn't forced or expected, it was gained over time willingly.

Being in love was something that he wasn't trained for. His mother never taught him that growing old didn't have to be lonely. He didn't know what it was like to fall asleep next to someone he trusted or waking up just the same way. No one told him what it was like to be in love, and at that point, he didn't care.

"It's romantic," Jon corrected. He should have known not to bring up the dya with Damian. If there was anyone in this world that was going to hate Valentine’s Day, it was him. "You just don't want to agree because you've never been in love before."

"And you have?" Damian scoffed. Jon might have been surrounded by love, but that didn't mean anything when it came to the real deal of it all. He hadn't experienced being in love just the same as Damian. Neither of them knew what it was like - so why did he feel the need to defend it so much? "What does a kid know about love?"

Jon's bottom lip curled into a pout. The cold air didn't seem to bite nearly as harshly as Damian's words. You didn't have to be old to experience love. Kids of all ages experience different kinds of love and all of them were just as valid. Damian, as badly as he didn't want to admit it, had experienced it too.

It wasn't the same as true love - not like his parents or Dick and Kori or anyone else that he knew. True love didn't come from family, it came from finding yourself in another person. Sometimes, Jon wondered if he found that in Damian.

The morning of the fourteenth, Damian woke up grumpy. He glared at the breakfast Alfred made for him and even more so at the red and pink scattered on every screen in Gotham city. The little sleep that he had gotten that night was poor, starting his day off bad enough as it was. It only got worse as it progressed.

Surely the kids at his school would be excited throughout the entire day. He heard his classmates speak of their crushes or who they wanted to hand out cards to all week and it was beyond disgusting to hear about. He wanted no part of it, but by the giggles and gazes of most the girls in his class, he was bound to be.

Damian scowled as he found yet another rose tucked away in his possessions. The entirety of the day he had found them. The first was in his locker at school. Just before the first period as he collected his books he had noticed it sitting on the top shelf. No note, no sign of breaking through the lock, just a singular rose.

He saw the girls that fawned over him giggle at the sight of the flower. His guess that it had been from one of them and that they had asked a teacher to open it up to place it in. Loose petals fell through his books and his whole locker smelled of perfume. Without a word, he shoved it back in, hearing the crack of the stem from his aggression.

The next had been in his desk at third-period class. He hadn't pulled it out, not wanting to give the satisfaction to whoever had put it there. They were going all in, he had to give them props for that. Nonetheless, he was still angered at the idea of someone falling into the scheme of Valentine's and putting its effects on him.

Damian wasn't interested. At all.

The third was one that had been tucked into his backpack. He wasn't sure how someone had gotten it there considering his bag had been with him for most of the day. It joined the rest of the broken flowers that were shoved in the back of his locker and not to be looked at again.

Whoever had the silly idea that he had to be a pawn in this ridiculous holiday was going to suffer, greatly. Damian was not about to participate in the day's events of someone trying to either profess their love or admit a crush. He wanted no part of any of it - especially on that specific day.

The ruined roses were scrunched up in his hand as he walked towards the car that Alfred was to drive him home in. Red petals trailed behind him. Alfred was standing just outside the car, waiting for Damian to arrive. His eyes were glued to the flowers, curious about where they had come from.

"A secret admirer, Master Damain?" Alfred cocked an eyebrow. Damian said nothing, though the scowl on his face grew - even more so when the back door was opened for him only to reveal yet another. It rested on the leather interior, this time a small note attached to it as well.

"What's this, Pennyworth? Who put that there?"

"I'm afraid I don't know, I've been standing here this whole time," Alfred had been just as confused as Damian. How had someone managed to sneak into the car while he was standing right there? The young boy hesitated before snatching the note off the seat - likely it was from the same person who had scattered them around all day to find.

However, the paranoid side of him was ready to believe that it was one of his enemies trying to forsake him. The note was typed, no clear sign of who could have left it. If Damian was weary enough, he could run it for fingerprints back at the cage, however, after reading it, he believed it to simply just be the same secret admirer he had all along.

Happy Valentine's Day, Damian! I hope your day was filled with love <3 xx

Damian cringed at the typed heart. If someone wanted to tell him of their feelings, they should say it to his face rather than these cryptid roses - and most importantly on any other day of the year. He wouldn't accept it.

Damian grumbled as he walked through his empty home. Just as expected, it had been cleared of all residents, leaving him by himself on the ever so blessed, Valentine's Day. His ribs were wrapped from his night of patrol, a bruise just under his eye, and his ankle was sore from a bad landing.

The entirety of his night out he had been saving unfortunate couples, finding a plethora of flowers shoved in trash cans, and many retched window views. He was fine without Bruce for the night, though he would admit that activity was higher than usual. Damian's body ached from the extra hits he had gotten, even after his hot shower.

A poorly made sandwich was held between his teeth as he scrolled through the tablet in his hands. Bruce's location was halfway across the city, just as it had been the whole night. Whatever he and Selina were up to that night, he wanted no part of knowing.

Besides, his mind had been preoccupied with the roses that he had received that day. They were scattered on his desk, only one of them remaining fully intact. It wasn't that he was curious as to why they were sent to him - it was obvious being the Wayne heir and all. However, he hadn't talked to anyone at his school for them to put in this much effort for him.

The whole night that he was out he was distracted by who had gotten him the roses. Damian had become even more annoyed at the secret admirer.

A tapping came from his window. Damian took another bite of his sandwich and tossed the tablet onto his bed. The dimly lit room made it hard to see who was knocking on his window this late at night, though there were only so many people that could get into the manor's grounds anyway.

Familiar blue eyes and a mop of black hair that didn't resemble his father's grinned at him. Damian rolled his eyes but opened the locked window for his friend to enter.

"Isn't it past your bedtime, Kent?" Damian scoffed. It was already nearing dawn, whatever he showed up in Gotham for had to have been important. Usually, it was Damian making late-night trips to the Kent farm to drag Jon somewhere, this had been a strange turn of events that he had to admit he hadn't expected.

Jon pulled himself into the room. He rubbed his hands together, cold after waiting outside for longer than he would like to admit. His eyes immediately met the broken roses on Damian's desk. A frown grew on his face at the thought of Damian ruining the flowers the moment they were in his palm.

He picked up the broken roses as Damian threw on a sweater. The blast of air that had entered his room left him chilled. Besides, he didn’t need Jon to see the bruises that he had gotten that night. Whenever he saw Damian injured it always had him worried.

"You broke them," Jon's jaw trembled. A beautiful piece of nature that had been wilted with death. Damian was just the same. A beautiful soul that had been raised in horrendous ways leaving him tainted with darkness. He deserved better, just as the roses had.

"Some fool left them in my possessions," Damian rolled his eyes. He returned to the tablet, this time looking at the news that he had missed while he was out. Jon stared hopelessly at the roses. The once beautiful petals, now crushed and missing. Maybe broken flowers were a clear sign to a broken heart.

Jon felt his own fall with the weight of Damian's grudge. He should have known better than to leave mysterious flowers on the one day of the year that Damian hated the most. Why would he believe that he would actually care - or even more so believe that it was him. There was no love in him on that day.

Hell, it was hard to believe that there was any love in him on half the days.

"Fool," Jon scoffed to himself. Nothing but a fool to Damian, even without knowing that it was him that left the roses. His eyes sealed shut, tears brimming against his lids but refusing to let them fall. He could have easily walked away from this. Jon could have not told Damian that it was him that left the flowers, that he was the helpless fool that had fallen in love with his best friend.

Walk away and no one gets hurt. Walk away, and hide his feelings forever. Jon was tired of hiding everything about himself. He couldn't tell people that he was the son of Superman. He couldn't use his powers in front of people without them figuring out that he was Superboy. He couldn't even tell his best friend the nature of his true feelings.

Maybe he was a fool.

"Someone went through the time and effort to give you these and you couldn't even care less?" Jon set the roses back on the desk. His arms crossed over his chest as he stared down at Damian. He only shrugged. "How can your heart be so filled with hate when all people do is give you love?!"

Damian's eyes narrowed. Jon might have been vocal about his spontaneous plans when out in the field, but not like this when they were stuck in civvies. Whatever got him upset like this must have been important.

"Why do you care?"

"Because you never accept when people want to care for you!" Jon threw his arms up. "You always try to make it out like you don't need anyone, there's nothing wrong with needing someone! Even Batman needs his friends and family so why can't you just admit that you don't want to be alone all the time?"

"I'm perfectly capable of being on my own, clearly. Attachments are simply a way of holding me back," Damian got defensive. He stood up and jabbed a finger at Jon's chest. The last kind of lecture that he needed was one about love. Love was the last thing on his mind when he lived the life of Robin right alongside the Bat. "Attachments hold everyone back, it's a weakness."

"Attachments, love, it's what gives people strength, Damian" Jon thought just like his own father. Love was what kept him human, love was what reminded him to never cross that line no matter what. It should have been the same that kept Damian from crossing that line once again. Instead, he took after his own father thinking that he could do everything on his own.

"I'm tired of looking at you and only seeing a broken boy who's scared to love someone. I'm terrified that you're going to forget that there's people in this world that care for you and you're going to make a sacrifice that you can't come back from! You're more than just a mask Damian, you're a friend, a brother! You're a son.

"Stop thinking that you have to do it all on your own. You're not a grown-up, you don't need to grow up alone. You have Bruce, your brothers... you have me, Damian. You'll always have me, even if you don't want to admit it."

Damian was silent. His thoughts were like a maze trying to figure out just the right path that would lead to the meaning behind all of Jon's words. The outburst, the sadness at his roses, the fear in his eyes that he had when mention the thought of losing Damian forever.

Jon had left the roses.

Jon Kent. His best friend, partner against crime, the one person outside his family that he could trust. He had left the roses for Damian throughout the day and was forced to listen to him bash the idea of it all. Horror struck his face, not for the fact that he had left him, but that he had completely insulted the idea of the broken roses.

Why did Jon leave them to begin with? To try and prove a point about Valentine's day? Did he plan to do it before even knowing about Damian's opinions about the holiday? If he didn't, what was his motive?

Damian felt like a fool. He was the son of the world's greatest detective, how did he not know that it was the one person he was closest to? He should have paid more attention at Gotham Academy, maybe then he would have seen Jon sneaking around.

"Why did you leave them?" Damian asked in a quiet voice. The silence that had occurred between them was borderline painful. Jon had been anxious about what Damian was thinking about and he was right to. How could he expect that he wouldn't figure it out.

Jon trembled. His hands shook at his sides, breath shaky. Everything could be ruined. A spontaneous idea that was brought to life out of love could be ruined with hate. He couldn't lose Damian, not now, not ever. He meant to0 much to him.

"I wanted to give you a reason to feel loved on Valentine's Day." It was the partial truth. He did want Damian to see that the day wasn't a reason to hate, it was a reason to love, to feel love or to give it. Jon couldn't bring himself to say the words so desperate to escape his throat.

"I wanted you to see that you didn't have to hate on a day that was meant to be filled with so much love. You deserve love just as much as anyone else Damian, I hate seeing you think otherwise. You're not broken, you're human. It's okay to feel things. Do you know how hard it is to know that the person you love doesn't want to be loved?"

Jon's voice cracked. Tears welled in his eyes as he watched Damian's emotionless face set in stone. Weak fists hit his chest. Damian grabbed his fists before they could hit his chest again. His grip wasn't rough, though his eyes still held no feeling.

"I'm sorry," Jon whispered, head hung low. There was no reason for him to feel sorry, he had done nothing wrong. Yet, under the judging gaze of Robin, he felt the need to apologize for expressing himself. However, it wasn't just his own behavior. He felt the need to apologize that Damian had grown up without love, that he believed that he wasn't capable of such a primal emotion.

Damian dropped Jon's fists. There was a moment that he thought that he was going to pull away. Damian threw his arms around Jon, pulling him tight against his chest. Though he was more confused than ever, he knew one thing: he cared for Jon, always.

"Broken roses for a broken person." Damian had never seen himself as broken. He was born to be the best, to be undefeated. He was born to lead, to be the best warrior that the world had seen. Coming to Gotham, one of the worst cities in the county, he had found that maybe he was broken.

Jon was right, he had been raised to see love as a weakness. Love was nothing but a hostage and he wasn't about to fall in a trap. Damian loved his mother, his father. He reluctantly loved his brothers, but it wasn't the same kind of love that Jon was talking about.

One day he would understand what it was like to be in love. One day he would accept that love wasn't something to be scared of, it was something to embrace. Damian would know what it was like to be in love, just as his parents, his brothers, his friends.

"You're not broken," Jon repeated. His fists gripped into Damian's shirt as he accepted the hug. Warm breath fanned against the older boy's neck that sent a chill down his spine. His instinct told him to move, to get away and remain safe. His heart told him that he was safe.

He was broken. A hopeless boy that didn't know what love was. However, if there was one person that would show him the way, the right way, it was Jon. His roses that day were broken and missing petals. Thorns pricked anyone that decided to come near.

Broken roses could be just as beautiful when the right person found a way to avoid the thorns.

Taglist

@pricetagofficial @mora-miserium @babymango-writes @redrobin-yumm @simp-is-what-i-am @catsofsmoke @subtleappreciation @officiallydarkgeek @spiitfiires @pinkdiamond1016 @childish-kiwi @givetimdrakeacoffee @gunnedrobin @anythinggoesfandoms @local-fandom-trashcan @bikoncon

Get on my taglist here

#damian wayne x jon kent #damijon #jondami #supersons #Damian wayne #jon kent #jonathan kent

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cha-melodius · 3 years

Text

Where Doesn’t It Hurt?

Tropetember Day 3: Hurt/Comfort, Whump

Rating: Teen & up Pairing: Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo Fandom: The Man from U.N.C.L.E. (2015) Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Illya Whump, Caretaking, First Kiss, Getting Together, Tenderness, Fluff, Banter Summary: Napoleon encounters resistance when he tries to clean up Illya's wounds at the end of a long day, and their bickering takes a turn that neither of them expect.

Author’s Notes: I'm not gonna lie, I straight up stole the backbone of this scene from the movie Raiders of the Lost Ark. I rewatched the movie not long ago and this scene spoke to me as so intensely Napollya that I had to write it for them. Then I didn't really have anything to do with the scene, so I wrote a bit of framing and decided to put it out as a little one-shot for Tropetember. It's very silly, and I hope you enjoy.

AO3 Link (the whole thing is also below the cut)

*****

None of them had been in the greatest shape when they’d stumbled onto the ship that Waverly had booked them passage on, but Illya had certainly taken the brunt of it. The steward had looked at them with exceeding skepticism, even though it wasn’t like they were actively bleeding on the floor, but he’d shown them to their cabins. Napoleon had even managed to convince him, with a sizable tip, to bring a basin, some washcloths, and a large bottle of Scotch to their cabin before they got underway.

Gaby had, of course, managed to finagle her own cabin, but Napoleon and Illya are stuck sharing. Napoleon supposes it could be worse; there are two bunks set on either side of the room with a small table that folds down from the wall between them. By the time he gets back from filling the basin with warm water, he finds Illya slowly peeling off his shirt, wincing as he goes. He’s got bruises and abrasions everywhere, which is what happens when you try to stop a car that’s too powerful even for the Russian giant and get dragged behind it because you’re too stubborn to let go.

Napoleon wordlessly passes him a tumbler of Scotch, which he downs in one shot then grimaces against the burn. It’s clear he’s hurting quite a bit, even though he had been of course hiding it on the way here. Now, though, he’s moving at a snail’s pace and hissing in pain as he lowers himself onto the berth. Napoleon watches him for a minute until he can’t stand it anymore, because Illya will of course never ask for help.

“You’re unbelievable sometimes, you know that?” Napoleon scolds as he bends down to lift Illya’s trailing ankle into the bunk, since it seems possible he might not manage it on his own. “You have to take better care of yourself.”

That nets him some grumbled Russian swears in reply. Illya reclines back against the pillows and closes his eyes, probably hoping Napoleon will take it as the dismissal he intends it to be. Fat chance of that. Napoleon pulls the basin closer to the edge of the table, wets a cloth, and perches himself on the edge of Illya’s bunk. He reaches up to dab gently at one of the worse abrasions on Illya’s shoulder, which predictably results in Illya jerking away from him.

“What are you doing?” he demands, trying to bat Napoleon’s hand away.

“You’re hurt,” Napoleon answers simply.

“I don’t need a nurse, I just need sleep.”

Napoleon, however, is not deterred. “Oh come on, don’t be such a baby.”

“Cowboy, leave me alone,” Illya grunts, trying to pull away from him, but in the small bunk there’s nowhere else for him to go.

“Look, just let me clean the worst of these,” Napoleon tries.

Yeah, Illya’s banged up, but they’ve both had worse. Which, come to think of it, might be why he’s being so petulant about being helped at the moment. Still, he’ll be grumpier if he lets these lacerations scab up with all this dirt and grime in them. Napoleon leans forward to renew his efforts, but he doesn’t get very far. “That hurts!”

“Goddammit, Peril, where doesn’t it hurt?” Napoleon snaps, sitting back in frustration, the wet cloth still clutched in his hand.

“Here!” Illya huffs, lifting his elbow up and pointing at it.

Napoleon blames what happens next on his own exhaustion. Maybe Illya is the one who’s more hurt, but he’s the one who spent the whole time worrying about his partner’s absurd theatrics. He’s already half bent over Illya so when the elbow comes up just about into his face he closes the small gap between them and kisses it.

Illya is quite clearly shocked, and frankly so is Napoleon. They stare at each other for a long couple of minutes, neither of them daring to speak, until, astoundingly, Illya slowly raises his hand and points to a point at the top right of his forehead, just under the brim of his cap.

“Here.”

A tiny smile tugs at the corner of Napoleon’s mouth as he reaches up to grab the cap and pulls it off, tossing it across the cabin. He holds Illya’s gaze as he leans in, daring him to draw away or stop his progress, but it never comes. Napoleon kisses Illya’s forehead, then sits back again, waiting.

“Here is not so bad,” Illya mutters almost offhandedly, pressing a finger to his eyelid as he closes his eyes.

It’s no more than a silly game until Napoleon bends down and lightly presses his lips to soft, delicate skin. At that moment, everything changes. There is an electric tension in the room when he withdraws, not far this time, just enough to meet Illya’s eyes when his lashes flutter open again. Napoleon feels like he can scarcely breathe, which is diametrically opposed to how Illya’s bare chest is heaving under him. For a moment they are frozen, faces inches apart, until Illya’s hand shoots up and curls into the front of his shirt. He gives a short yank and then their lips finally meet, a fierce press that resolves into an intoxicating give and take as Napoleon tilts his head to fit their mouths perfectly together. Illya tastes like the smoky sweetness of the Scotch mixed with the faint metallic tinge of blood, and Napoleon can’t seem to get enough.

Napoleon can’t deny that he’s dreamed of this, very nearly since they’d met in Berlin. Well, who could blame him, when the Russian agent looked like that, with those stunning blue eyes and lips that just begged to be kissed? He’d always assumed it was only an idle fancy, that Illya would never allow such a thing, but apparently he’d been rather sorely mistaken on that fact. That wasn’t to say that there hadn’t been times when he’d wondered, but each time the something or someone had intervened, and the moment had been lost.

The washcloth slips from his fingers and he brings his hands up to gently cradle Illya’s head, still cognizant of the fact that Illya is covered with injuries that he’d rather not brush against. Eventually Illya’s movements slow, his grip on Napoleon’s shirt slackening, and Napoleon pulls away a little to find… he’s apparently fallen asleep.

“Peril?” he whispers.

He gets no reply. Illya’s definitely out like a light. Napoleon huffs in (admittedly mild) frustration as he sits back again, shaking his head fondly at his partner. He never did get to do much cleaning of Illya’s wounds, but he doesn’t have the heart to wake him now. Well, they’ll make do in the morning.

“We never do get a break, do we?” Napoleon mutters, then leans down to press one last gentle kiss to Illya’s forehead before he heads to his own bunk.

#tropetember #napollya #napoleon solo #illya kuryakin #tmfu #the man from u.n.c.l.e.#the man from uncle #napoleon x illya #my fic

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samdeancass · 3 years

Text

Us Against The World

Requested by: Anonymous with #80 from 200 Prompts List: "Let's run away together".

Pairing: Deke x reader

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Characters: Deke, Y/N, Melinda, Daisy, Coulson, Mack, Fitz, Simmons

Words: 1571

Description: When Y/N is captured, Deke races against time to save them. The situation leads him to a sudden realisation.

Bullets were firing at you from all angles. Daisy was across the other side of the base fighting off other in humans. Melinda was down for the count behind you. Panic was beginning to take over your senses as your surroundings were closing in around you. You had no other choice but to surrender to the enemy. Either that, or they kill you. Putting your gun in your holster, you raised your hands up above your head in a surrendering position.

“Stop firing! I surrender! Take me but please leave my friends alone!” “Y/N, what the hell are you doing?!” Dekes panicked voice came through the comms and your heart immediately sunk. You closed your eyes and blinked away the tears that were threatening to fall. Two figures walked towards you and knocked you out with the butt of their gun, whilst another talked through their comms to alert the others of the situation.

One of them picked you up and carried you away towards their ship right before Daisy came running through the corridor. She began to send out blasts towards the enemies but she was too late. Her eyes went wide when she seen your unconscious body in their arms. “Y/N!” She began to run towards the ship but it took off right as she got to the entrance.

She looked around and seen May on the floor, unconscious. Racing to her side, Daisy placed her finger on her comms and sent out a message. “Guys, May’s down. I’ll bring her back with me but…. They’ve got Y/N.” Her head hng low as those last words came out of her mouth. She gathered May in her arms and carried her out of the base.

On the other side of the comms Deke was walking back and forth across the ships floor, the severity of the situation completely taking over his senses. “Why would Y/N give herself up like that? How could she let that happen to herself?!” He began raking his hands through his hair, frustration and panic evident on his face.

Coulson stepped forward and placed a calming hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure she had a good reason for doing what she did. The main thing that we need to do now is find her and take out those HYDRA agents.” Deke nodded his head and took a deep breath to calm himself. He needed to keep a level head if he wanted to save you.

Daisy and May soon returned to the ship, a little battered and bruised, but they were OK. May had woken up and was raring to go, as usual. Coulson gathered the whole team and began to talk through the plan. Luckily, your suit had a tracking implant in it, so Fitz and Simmons easily found your location. The team gathered their gear whilst Mack flew the ship to your location.

As Deke was readying up, his thoughts began to wander. He didn’t want to live this life anymore, a life where you could easily get hurt, or worse. He wanted to keep you safe and protect you from the dangers of the world. He understood that you loved being able to save the world, but if this has taught him anything it’s that life is too precious. He wanted to make the most of his life with you. You are the most important thing to him and he wanted to keep you with him, always. Once he made his final decision, he marched towards Coulson and whispered the plan in his ear. Coulson looked Deke straight in his eyes with a disappointed look but also understanding why Deke was doing this.

With Coulson’s approval, Deke sat down and waited to march into battle to save the woman that he loved.

Screams erupted from your body as the agent pierced your skin once again. Wounds and bruises littered your skin as your torture continued. They wanted information on Coulson and SHIELD’s plans, but you were never going to give them what they wanted.

“WHERE IS COULSON?!” The agent twisted the knife that was lodged in your shoulder which caused you to whimper in pain. You took a deep breath to mask the pain and looked the agent dead in the eyes. “Go fuck yourself!” The agent raised his hand and slapped you across the face, causing your head to whip to the side. The agent marched back towards the tray of torture devices and grabbed a large pair of scissors and placed them against your fingers.

“Is your team really worth all this pain? Are you willing to lose your fingers for them?” “I’m willing to lose my life for them.” He began closing the scissor blades on your finger, streams of blood erupting from your skin, however gunfire interrupted his concentration and he whipped around to the sound of the commotion. “This isn’t over.” He rammed your gag back into your mouth and ran towards the entrance of the room, gun cocked towards the door.

The doors flew open and in walked Daisy and Deke. Daisy took care of the agent whilst Deke ran straight over to you, guilt all over his face. “Oh baby, what did they do to you?” He took the gag out of your mouth and cradled your face with his hands. You leaned into his touch and let out the tears that you had been holding on to.

Deke leaned his forehead against yours and kissed your lips softly. “You’re ok now, we’re here. I’m here. Nothings ever going to happen to you again.” He turned his attention to your bonds, careful not to injure you anymore. Gently, he picked you up in his arms and carried you out of the HYDRA base, the rest of the team following close behind. In between this, you fell unconscious from the amount of blood that you lost and the severity of your injuries.

You woke up in the medical bay of the SHIELD ship. You looked around frantically but soon calmed down when you noticed Deke sitting beside you, sound asleep and grasping your hand tight. With your other hand, you ran your fingers through his hair to wake him up. Groggily he sat up and smiled when he seen you staring back at him.

“Hey princess, how you feeling?” “A little sore, but I’ll live.” Deke’s smile faded and was replaced with a serious expression, very uncommon for him. “Yeah, Y/N, but it could have been much worse. You could have died! What were you thinking giving yourself up like that?”

Your head tilted downwards a little. “I wanted to protect my team. We were surrounded. The only way to keep them safe was surrendering myself. It was the only way.”

“No, it wasn’t the only way! You could have called for backup! You didn’t need to put yourself in harms way for the team! Your life is worth more than that!” Your head shot up, an angry look on your face. “Well, what was I supposed to do? Let them kill us all?! Let them kill you?! I wasn’t going to let that happen! I love you too much to lose you!” Deke pressed his lips against yours, pouring all of his emotions into it.

Pulling away, he cradled your face in his hands and caressed your cheek with his thumb. “I love you to, Y/N, which is why I think we should leave the team. Let’s run away together, to a place far away. You will never have to put yourself in harms way ever again. I don’t think I could go through this again, watching the woman that I love sacrifice herself. Please, let’s get away from all this and start a normal life. Get married, have children, grow old together. That’s all I want.”

You stayed silent for a few minutes and let Deke’s words sink in. “Ok, Deke. Let’s go, right now.” Immediately, his face lit up with happiness. He placed a soft kiss on top of your head before running off somewhere unknown.

You and Deke were standing hand-in-hand in front of the whole team, bags at the bottom of your feet. All eyes were on the both of you, confused and inquisitive. “Alright guys, we have some big news.” You took a deep breath to calm your nerves. “Me and Deke have decided to leave the team. If the recent situation has taught us anything, it’s that life is too short. I nearly died on the last mission and I can’t risk my life anymore. I want to be able to live out the rest of my life with the man that I love. I hope you guys can understand this.”

The rest of the team looked at each other before looking back at you with large smiles on their faces. “of course we understand, Y/N. What you did for us was extrodianary and we cannot thank you enough for everything.”

They walked towards you both and engulfed you into a group hug. Tears were spilled and smiles were given before it was time for you and Deke to depart to your new life. To say you weren’t scared was an understatement, but you were also excited for what your new life was going to bring.

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brightlycoloredteacups · 3 years

Text

King of Traitors

Series: Brynhilda’s Saga

Pairing: Ivar x OFC

Warnings: None for this chapter

Tagging: @salt-is-a-terrible-currency

****

The Cliff of Cliffs had a cave system. As a child, Brynhilda had explored the systems to such an extent she still knew what paths lead to where. From the information she’d gathered, thanks to a recon mission gone very right, she knew that Boggvir’s men were situated right against the cliff, next to a crack that opened right in the middle of the camp.

She has a plan to sew some chaos into the camp, not much, just enough to put the men on edge. Brynhilda’s force is small, excluding herself, there were seven in total that followed her. Alf, Dorfi, and five of the bravest women in the whole camp. The men that would have volunteered to come had other jobs to do. She turns to her people, “Remember, you can take as much as you can carry, but destroy supplies. Keep as quiet as you can, for as long as you can. If you get caught, I won't be saving you.” Everyone nods in understanding. “Good, lets go.”

She sent other groups out that night that were going to help with creating chaos. One was setting up traps in the forest. In the early morning, they’d try to get a group of Boggvir’s men to follow them, and neutralize a small portion of the army. Another group was situated on top of the cliff, ready to fire arrows down at the enemy at a random time in the night. Yet another group was going to try and lead a small group of the enemy into a small skirmish to the south.

Brynhilda didn’t have the bulk Boggvir did, even now, at the height of her popularity. She had to resort to guerilla tactics for the next few hours in the hopes of weakening the enemy, tiring them out, depleting some of the massive army.

So many opportunities to go wrong...yet the reward was worth it.

Brynhilda leads her group through the caves with no problem, out the otherside with only the smallest of sounds. When she finally saw the last woman out of the cave, she hisses,“Find cover, quickly.” They do as told, following her behind a stack of food. She looks at them, “spread out, start destroying supplies. Food, weapons, shields. Throw things into the ravine, steal things, I don't care. Get going.” Everyone disperses at her orders. They had one hour to complete their tasks before the attacks began. Then, they either get caught in the fight, or they escape without a scratch.

For an entire hour, Brynhilda is on edge, anything could go wrong. Luck holds with her. She manages to find weapons just laying around the camp, just as she expected. It’s a pity that she has to give Boggvir this sorely needed reality check.

Her confidence is slowly returning. She can do this, they can do this. A soft caw from one of the crows that perpetually follows her tells her it's time to go. She rushed back to the hole in the cliff, seeing most of her group. “Where is Dorfi?” She asks. “We don't know,” Alf tells her, “lost I expect.” Brynhilda curses. “Go back to the camp, I'll find Dorfi.”

“What happened to you not saving us?” Alf says, smirking, “Clearly I lied.”

”I saw him go towards the edge of the camp, toward the log trap.” A woman tells her. “Thank you,” Brynhilda turns heading back towards the camp, stopping when her group moves with her. “Go back to the camp,”

“Not without you,” Alf says. “Look-” Brynhilda begins to argue, but Alf cuts her off, “Don't bother arguing. We aren't leaving without you.”

“Well, don't blame me when we're still stuck here when things go to shit.” Brynhilda mutters, moving herself and her group towards the edge of the camp. It occurs to her that Dorfi really might be working for Boggvir, thus leading her into a trap. She grips her sword tighter, she'd behead him if that were the case.

She doesn't have to wonder about it though, as she hears Dorfi's voice through a tent. “I don't know anything about Brynhilda.�� he says defiantly. She smirks, she loves it when she's wrong. “Oh? She didn't send you here to curse us all?” Someone sneers. Their voice is gruff, someone she doesn't recognize. She motions of her people to surround the tent. “Do you really think Brynhilda is someone that believes in curses?”

“Yes.” There was an awkward pause, “Do you think Brynhilda is someone who would use curses?” Dorfi rephrased. “Look, we all know Brynhilda wants us dead,” she steps into the tent for dramatic effect, cutting off the man’s tirade. She’s angry when she sees Dorfi beaten and bloodied. For a moment, she has to wonder if he really kept her secrete despite the torture. “You're right, I want you dead,” she says. Before the man can even yell or draw his weapon, she runs him through with her sword, covering his mouth so he doesn't make much sound.

Dorfi looks at her, smiling. He gets off his knees and stumbles out of the tent. Sheathing her sword, she follows him, bringing out a dagger from its holster and cuts his restraints. “What happened to not coming to save our asses?” Dorfi asks, delighted. Brynhilda just pats his shoulder.

They were going to sneak back to the hole, but one of her ravens caw, loudly so everyone can hear it, a warning sign that her other plans are about to be set into motion. “Shit,” she mutters. Everyone readies their weapons, “There isnt enough time to escape,” Dorfi warns her, watching as people are now pouring from the tents, wondering why the fuck a raven is cawing in the middle of the night.

“Please tell me you disabled the trap.” Alf says. Dorfi snorts, “course I did!”

“Tight circle,” Brynhilda instructs, bringing her shield in front of her. They form a tight ring as shouts of intruders begin to go up, now alerted to their presence. Men surround them. “Brynhilda, I don't like this,” Alf mutters, “Oh really?” Brunhilda snaps, “What's not to like? We're trapped in the middle of an enemy camp, surrounded, with fucking no way out.”

“Someone's testy,” Alf mutters, “She needs a nap,” Dorfi explains, “she gets cranky without her beauty rest.”

“I hate you both.” She mutters, bracing herself for an attack. The dam of tension breaks as soon as a random enemy charges at her and hits her shield. Everyone begins to shout, fight, run. Its utter chaos.

Brynhilda wants to throw herself into the fight with wild abandon, her very being craves the blood shed, demands it, but she's divided. She has to get her people to safety. They have to survive. She defends them more than she fights.

The enemy, composed of men she's led in battle, are confused at the new tactic. She's a brute force fighter, she charges and her opponent dies. Now she's yelling coherent instructions, staying back and helping her people. It confuses the enemy, makes them hesitate.

Her new friends are just as adept at fighting as she is, a tall blond clears a path, striking so quickly anyone barely has time to react. Dorfi is clearly a distance fighter, throwing numerous little knives into the fray. The women dart in and out of small pockets of enemies, taking down two or three at a time. They work as a team and manage to get to the border, where fighting only grows heavier.

The group Brynhilda sent out that was supposed to charge the side of the camp she’s headed towards is doing its job beautifully. The shock of the trap working had given them the advantage, confusion was sown, everyone was divided. “Retreat!” She yells, her voice is heard clearly over the battle. A horn is sounded and her men begin to fall back. Brynhilda stays until she is sure the last man has gone. She is about to join them when the enemy crowd parts, and she sees Boggvir.

Her heart aches. A sick part of her wants to forgive him, to run into his arms and take comfort in his presence, most of her just wants to snap his neck then and there. He looks older than she remembered, he looks...terrified. “Enjoy your final moments,” Brynhilda calls to him, bowing, “Boggvir, King of Traitors” with that, she turns and runs.

Her camp is riotous when she gets back. Through snippets of excited congratulations, she finds that all men have made it back alive with no more than a few bumps and bruises. Someone had the wherewithal to break out the celebration food. She notes there wasn't a mead cup in sight, good, mead was after the battle was definitely won. “To Brynhilda the Deathless!” One of her men yells. The cheer goes up, her name reaching the heavens. She laughs as someone picks her up on their shoulders, it's hard not to get caught up in the celebration. “To my warriors!” She says, throwing a fist in the air. This elicits an even bigger cheer.

When she is put down, Alf approaches her, pulling her off to the side. “Sven tells me there's something that requires your full attention.” She follows him through the camp.

They come upon her tent, small and unassuming, except for the large boar stitched into the side. A group of men surround something, the air is charged, as she approaches, they part for her so she can see what it is they’ve captured. The Volva that started this mess. She's not so pretty now, covered in dirt, hair wild, half starved. “What did you do to her?” Brynhilda mutters, feeling bad for the woman...only slightly. She glares at the men in turn.

“Your men have done nothing,” the witch says, looking Brynhilda in the eyes, “they were perfectly behaved.”

“Leave,” Brynhilda tells them. “Jarl-” Sven, who’d been among the group, begins to argue, but at Brynhilda's look he stops. They all leave.

Brynhilda picks the witch up, and throws her into the tent, nearly gagging at the smell of her. “Are you cold?” Brynhilda asks, not bothering to wait for the answer. She throws a blanket around the woman.

“Enough with the niceties. I know nothing of Boggvir's plan. He cast me aside the moment he got word you lived.” Brynhilda had trouble keeping the smirk from her face. “A wise queen told me once that women seldom have choices in life. We must take what we’re given and deal with it, ours is a most tragic lot.” The volva merely grunts. “She was loved, hated, and killed because she was a witch.”

“What's your point?”

“My point is, right now, you have a choice to make.”

“I told you I know nothing of Boggvir's plans,” Brynhilda ignores her, “become mine, work for me, and live under my protection,”

“Be a slave? Ha! I'd rather die,” Brynhilda nods, pulling out a dagger. “Very well,” she gets up and grabs a fistfull of dirty hair, pulling the volva's head back. Before she can even put the blade to her neck, the witch changes her mind. “I'll do it! I'll work for you! Don't kill me please!” Brynhilda lets her go. Smiling, she puts the dagger down, “I'll send someone to come clean you up.”

#vikings #ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson #brynhilda's saga #brynhilda #ivar x oc

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flyingblackhawk · 3 years

Note

I don’t know if you still take fic requests but I’d love to see your take on Clint and Nat in the vents of the Budapest train station for 2 days.

Two days

Clintasha fic

As Barton dropped the hatch of the vent back into place, Natasha caught her breath and checked her weapon. There were shouts somewhere below, and footsteps hammering down the platform. She braced herself against the metal wall behind her and trained her gun on the hatch through which they had just climbed. Her partner was doing the same. Natasha could feel her heartbeat on her tongue. She could still hear the screams from the street above, and the wailing sirens converging on the flaming ruins of Dreykov’s building several blocks away. Not now, she told herself. There was no time to think about it, not yet. Below, the shouts got louder, the footfalls got closer, and she adjusted her grip, preparing herself in case she needed to throw herself through that hatch onto God knows how many men.

The voices and the footsteps passed underneath them. The two of them listened, not moving, not breathing. The men came back, spread out, regrouped and spread out again.

Attention, please, came a tinny announcement. All trains are delayed due to an unexpected emergency. Barton cocked his head at her. His Hungarian was rusty. Natasha mouthed the message at him in English, not sure if there was enough light for him to see. He grimaced, so she figured he got the message.

Down the tunnel, one of the voices called. They’ve gone down the tunnel.

Another voice swore, and then came the crackle of a radio. We’ll get them at the other end. Let’s go.

Then, unbelievably, impossibly, the footsteps receded. Natasha waited, coiled, ready in case this was a trick of some kind. They waited, guns on the hatch, listening to the bustle of people moving up and down the platform.

Natasha wasn’t sure how much time had passed before she exhaled, and relaxed her grip slightly. Barton sank back against the wall of the vent. Neither of them lowered their weapons entirely. Natasha twisted her head slightly to get a glimpse of her partner’s watch. Just gone 5pm.

Attention, please. All trains are delayed due to an unexpected emergency.

People were crowding on the platform. Natasha tensed ever so slightly whenever someone shuffled underneath the hatch, but there were no shouts now, just the voices of disgruntled and confused commuters.

What’s going on? There was an explosion, didn’t you hear? Someone’s on the run, I saw soldiers in the street. They weren’t soldiers, they were cops. No, they were special forces. A whole building came down, did you see it? No, it’s on fire but I don’t think it came down. I don’t know, maybe a gas explosion. I heard gunfire. I think there was a tank. Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience. Normal services resuming from platform B.

It took just under an hour for the trains to empty the platform of people. Natasha finally let herself relax, holstering her weapon. She shifted, stretching her legs, and ever so slowly slid over until she was thigh-to-thigh with her partner.

“Hurt?” Her voice was barely a whisper. There was still a chance that Dreykov’s men or the authorities were somewhere nearby. Hell, even a passerby or a janitor overhearing them could be the end of them.

“Not badly,” he breathed. “You?”

She shook her head. There were various scrapes and bruises she hadn’t even begun to catalogue, but nothing was broken, not as far as she could tell. Footsteps passed underneath them and she froze, feeling Barton do the same beside her. She opened her mouth to say something else, but the fear that someone might hear her stopped her with her lips just parted. A train rattled into the station, opened its doors with a soft hiss, clunked them shut and rumbled away leaving silence behind it. Natasha ducked her head, letting out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding.

“Any word from SHIELD?” her partner whispered, after a while. She shook her head. They would get a signal when an extraction was ready, but there was no knowing how long that would take. It all depended on the political situation, or, more accurately, whether SHIELD could manoeuvre around said situation to retrieve their agents before Dreykov’s cronies could tear their hearts out.

They sat side by side in silence for a long time. There was no change in the light coming through the cracks around the vent hatch. The station would be lit all night. The only way to mark time was with Barton’s watch, and by the fifth hour tense anxiety gave way to lightly worried boredom. Her legs were cramped and she was hungry. The thrill of the chase had long since vanished, and now all she wanted was to be in a jet hurtling back towards the States.

Something poked her thigh. She looked down, and found Barton’s hand, offering her something. She took it, and brought it close to her face to see it in the dim light. It was an arrowhead, one of his less explosive ones. She frowned, confused, and gave it back to him. He smiled, and reached over to touch it to the wall of the vent. As Natasha watched, he began to scratch something. Natasha reached out and grabbed his wrist.

“Someone might hear,” she whispered. He looked at his watch pointedly. It was almost eleven at night. There were still people now and then, and an occasional train, but the station was largely silent. There was nothing else to do but wait for extraction. She sighed, and let go of him. He carved three vertical lines into the metal, then three horizontal lines to form a grid. He finished by scratching a circle into the top right square, and handed her the arrowhead. Natasha smiled, and scratched a cross. They paused as a train whooshed past, not stopping at the empty platform below them. It took her four moves to beat him, and he made a big show of shaking her hand. She smiled, and he drew them another grid.

Barton gave her his watch and took the first shift sleeping once midnight rolled around. Logically, Natasha knew that they were not likely to be found now, but she couldn’t quite relax enough to sleep just yet. Her partner had no such concerns, and was out like a light despite the cold metal of the vent. She kicked him whenever he breathed too loudly, but aside from that she just waited, marking time on his watch until it was 4 in the morning. She shook his shoulder, and he slid over and sat up, making room for her to lie down. She slept fitfully, and once the morning rush took over on the platform below her, she could no longer sleep. She opted to lie with her eye to the crack in the hatchway, watching as unsuspecting people passed under her. The scent of coffee and pastries was almost enough to tempt her out. Almost. As if he had read her mind, Barton reached into a pocket and produced a battered protein bar. She snapped it in half and they shared a miserable communion.

They played another few rounds of noughts and crosses. She slept again once the station quietened down, this time sitting up with her head on her partner’s shoulder. She didn't think too deeply about it - they were still very much in mission mode, boring as it might be for the time being. Barton woke her after a couple of hours, in the early afternoon. They made a game of stretching, trying to get out of each other’s way as they did. The early evening found her practising what basic ASL she had picked up. This proved much more engaging than noughts and crosses, and by the time twenty-four hours had passed, she had mastered the alphabet and could sign several rude words. It helped distract the both of them from the hunger, thirst and other bodily functions they couldn’t deal with in a train station vent.

It was his turn to sleep, and he managed - somehow, she wasn’t sure how - to get a few hours’ rest during the evening rush. Announcements rang out on the crackling speakers, trains groaned in and out of the station, hundreds of people went about their lives, and Barton slept right through it. She watched him, in awe of his ability to ignore the noise until she realised he had probably just turned his hearing aids down.

The dawn of the second day found them irritable, sore, starving and ready to drop out of the vents and just make a run for it. There had been no word from SHIELD, despite both of them checking that their various comms devices were still operational. Natasha practiced her ASL swearing and Barton augmented her vocabulary for a while.

“Two days,” she whispered, sometime around midday. “Maybe something’s gone wrong.”

“They’ll come,” he told her, quietly, simply. She hated him for it for an hour or so, until he carved a game of hangman into the wall and she got sucked into the game. He was good at taking her mind off things, she was starting to realise. It wasn’t something anyone had ever done for her before.

Night approached with all the speed of a glacier, but finally, just as Natasha opened her mouth to guess the word for their current round of hangman, Barton’s watch beeped twice. In one fluid motion, she pulled the hatch open and they dropped down onto the platform. There was no one there to see them, which Natasha assumed was part of the plan. She didn’t like flying blind, but she didn’t have much of a choice. She and her partner streaked up the escalator onto the dark streets of Budapest. A black SUV rolled up and Barton’s watch chirped once. The door opened and they threw themselves inside.

“Butterfly,” she said, once she’d caught her breath, revelling in the sound of her voice at normal volume after two days of quiet whispers.

“You win,” he grinned, and despite herself, Natasha smiled.

#fic #clintashafic #clintashashield #black widow #long

32 notes · View notes

boonki · 3 years

Note

Ooh!!! "No more today, you’re at your limit.” ? ❣❣

Hi anon!! Thank you so much for sending this prompt in, I had so much fun writing it (also thank you for waiting, I’ve been a little slow with writing lately)

do we want 3.2k of obikin in the bath? idk but i wrote it! (also do the apartments in the jedi temple even have baths? idk. in this story they do LMAO)

as always, i write at 3 am, so if there are any mistakes, please.. just dont look at them

enjoy!! 💖

____

Obi-wan throws a side kick that lands square in Anakin’s stomach, sending him stumbling backwards. He rolls over a shoulder, ready for the next attack. He blocks a fist to the face, and counters with a punch to Obi-wan’s stomach, which is easily batted to the side.

They’ve been going at it for hours, lightsabers tossed to the side in favor of hand-to-hand combat. Their robes lay messily off to the side of the training room, discarded hours ago as the room sweltered in the summer heat, the pair left only in their pants rolled up at the ankles. Anakin can see Obi-wan faltering, making easy mistakes that cost him light bruises; he must be incredibly tired, just having returned lightly injured from a mission to the Outer Rim. Anakin would so much rather see Obi-wan resting and curled up over a cup of tea, or taking a nap on Anakin’s chest so he can pet his hair down and hold him. But Obi-wan had wanted to spar, and Anakin would never say no to that.

Anakin sees the opportunity and tackles Obi-wan to the ground, straddling his bare stomach and pinning his arms above his head. Obi-wan bucks his hips to roll Anakin over, but Anakin had been prepared for that, digging his knees into the mat to keep grounded. Both of their chests are heaving, and a droplet of sweat drips off of Anakin’s chin and onto Obi-wan’s neck.

“I think we should call it quits for today, old man.” Anakin releases his grip on Obi-wan’s wrists and perches back on his heels, looking down at him.

Obi-wan smirks. “And stop while you’re ahead? No, let’s go again.” He makes to get up, pushing his elbows into the mat, but Anakin stops him with a hand to his chest.

“I’m serious. No more today, you’re at your limit. You’re going to hurt yourself.” Anakin’s tone is serious as he can be, his eyebrows raised, features stern.

Obi-wan falls back to the ground, closing his eyes as he catches his breath. “As far as I was aware, it’s you hurting me, but point taken, love. You win.”

Anakin leans down and pecks a kiss to his cheek, tasting salt, and stretches his lips in a wide smile. “I’ll grab us dinner from Dex’s and I’ll meet you back in our quarters, okay?” He shifts his weight to the side so he can slide off of Obi-wan, wincing at the ache in his already sore muscles. “And go shower? You need one.”

Obi-wan shoots him a wry look. “What, you don’t like the smell of sweat? I can’t, anyhow, I have to go report to the council first.”

“Do you want your usual?” Anakin ignores his sarcasm and hops to his feet, making his way towards their forgotten robes, wishing he had remembered to bring a towel with him.

“Of course, darling.” Obi-wan answers from the floor, still lying on his back with his arms stretched out above his head.

Anakin dons his robes loosely, grabbing his ‘saber from the floor, and takes in the sight: Obi-wan is covered in a thin sheen of sweat, making him glow, and his hair is pushed back, giving him an oddly attractive tousled look. Anakin’s dick twitches in his pants, wanting to do nothing more than take him apart right then and there. But the desire to get some food in Obi-wan and see him rest and relax overwhelms the sexual urge. There will be time for that later on, no doubt.

He makes his way back to Obi-wan in easy, long strides and squats down, kissing him sideways, holding his sweaty head in between his palms. “I’m serious, you stink. The council can wait. Go shower.”

Obi-wan snorts. “No, they really can’t. Tell Dex I said hello.”

____

Anakin shuffles through Padme’s favorite body shop, where she used to drag him when they had briefly dated years prior. He never would’ve admitted it to her, but he relished the fancy baths she had created for them, and had returned to the shop alone innumerable times since they politely ended things. His body always thanked him after a hot soak.

With how tired Obi-wan seemed when he had come back from his mission and padded into their quarters earlier, and how sore he must be after today’s intense practice, Anakin wants to do something special for him. Besides, they’ve barely been able to spend time together because of the war, and Anakin misses it just being the two of them. He hopes the bath won’t be too much for Obi-wan, but he knows the man has a soft spot for fancy things under that rigid exterior.

The shop is crammed and dense, with low ceilings littered with dried flowers hanging upside down, casting a faint rose hue over the entire place. Soaps in muted colors, wrapped in bright shades of paper line the walls, leading down to the wooden tables that hold syrupy oils and linen bags of flowers and herbs. Coarse soaps and lotions in clear tubs sit in wire baskets underneath the tables. The whole room smells like a meadow in bloom, and Anakin eyes the candles burning in the corners of the room in consideration.

Thankfully, he’s the only one in the shop currently, so he can take his time picking the right products. He pops the cork out of a bottle of bath oil and takes a whiff: light, and flowery, with a faint hint of jasmine. Throwing it in his cart, he adds some cream soap, and, hesitating a little, a bag of assorted flower petals to hover on the surface of the water. He already has floating candle lights for the bath at home.

“Are you all set?” Sasha, the elegant female Twi’lek that owns the shop, leans against the register, eyeing him fondly. She used to tease him all the time about coming here alone, but they’ve moved past that, into a tentative friendship.

“Yeah.” He slides his basket onto the counter between them.

She eyes his items, cocking an eyebrow. “Is this for someone special?”

He can feel the blood rushing into his cheeks and ears, but doesn’t want to admit it one way or the other. “Maybe.”

She barks out a laugh at his bashfulness. “Lucky person, whoever it is.”

“Uh.” He doesn’t really know how to answer that. “Thanks?”

Her smile is playful, like he’s a child that just said something particularly cute. With the efficiency of someone who’s been doing it for years, she rings out the total and wraps all the items up in a paper satchel, sliding it back across the counter at him.

“That’s going to be 83 credits.”

He really hopes the council doesn’t look into his expenses, he wouldn’t know what to tell them.

____

The door to their quarters swings open cautiously and Anakin peeps inside, worried that he took too long. After popping by the body shop, he swung by Dex’s as promised, and Dex had wanted to catch up, and rightfully so; it had been too long. Anakin had shifted from foot to foot the entire time though, anxious about getting home to draw the bath before Obi-wan returned from meeting with the council. But Dex is a viable source of information, a fantastic cook, and most importantly, a long time and loyal friend, so Anakin had plastered a good natured grin on his face and quieted the nag of unease in his stomach.

The living room and kitchen is quiet, and Anakin doesn’t hear any noise coming from either the ‘fresher or their bedrooms. Anakin is in the clear.

He drops the food off unceremoniously onto the kitchen counter, throwing his outer robes over a chair on his way to the ‘fresher, bag of goods in hand. Flipping on the light, he starts up the hot water and pulls out the candle lights that sit underneath the sink. As the scalding water rises to the top, he pours in the oil and soap, and sprinkles the flower petals across the water, deliberately placing the candle lights in last so he could perfect their destination. They glow to life as soon as they make contact with the water, and Anakin smiles at the sight.

Stretching back up to stand, he turns the light off and shifts the door shut, letting the dim incandescence float through the room, a heavy orange that immediately adds intimacy to the space.

He has to admit, he’s outdone himself.

Then: a creak of a door hinge, the shuffling of tired steps, and crinkling of the take-out bag as Obi-wan no doubts sneaks a fry in before Anakin catches him.

Anakin bounds back to the kitchen, like a child bursting at the seams.

“I have a surprise, before we eat,” he says to Obi-wan’s back. (He is sneaking a fry.)

“That’s never good.” Obi-wan replies, turning around to lean back against the counter, chewing thoughtfully.

“All my surprises are good surprises.”

“Oh, like the time you superglued my datapad to the ceiling so I would pay more attention to you? You could have just asked, dear one.”

Anakin huffs, and covers the distance between them in two short strides, nudging Obi-wan towards the ‘fresher, covering both of Obi-wan’s eyes with his hands.

“Just,” Anakin murmurs, “trust me on this one.”

They lumber towards the ‘fresher, Anakin pushing a blinded Obi-wan forwards with each step. When they make their way to the entrance, Anakin stops them, practically vibrating with excitement.

“Smells good, at the very least.” Obi-wan hums, in no hurry to have his sight back.

Anakin, however, cannot wait and eagerly pulls his hands back, watching Obi-wan’s face for a reaction.

The smile begins in Obi-wan’s eyes as they crinkle, and then it moves down to his cheeks and into his mouth, which is pulled back in a twisted, tender way. Joy sings through every feature, and Anakin is elated.

Obi-wan turns his head to look at him, his gaze tender. “Is this for me?”

Anakin bites the inside of his cheek. “For us, to share, if you want. Unless you want to be alone, I’m more than happy to go lay down, but I thought-”

“For us, then.” Obi-wan leans in and kisses him on the jaw, already undressing. For the second time that day, Anakin looks down at a small heap of clothing. He closes the ‘fresher door behind them.

As soon as he slides his legs into the water, Obi-wan moans, and Anakin, no matter how many times he’s heard it, blushes, his breath quickening. Obi-wan is somehow both the most proper, and most obscene person Anakin has ever had the good graces of knowing.

The petals dance away from Obi-wan, ripples in the water sending them cascading in circles. “Come on, then,” he says to Anakin, who is still staring down at him with a dopey smile on his face.

Anakin makes quick work of his clothing, standing naked next to the bath. He motions for Obi-wan to lean forward so he can nestle in behind him.

The water is still piping hot, almost uncomfortably so, but Anakin makes a small ahh noise at the feeling of it on his sore muscles. He snakes his legs on each side of Obi-wan, pulling him back so that Obi-wan’s back lays flush against his chest, having to shoo a candle light out of the way. It bumbles along their sides, and out towards their entangled legs, illuminating the peachy bubbles and sunset tinged petals that bob in their wake. Obi-wan tilts his head back, resting it on Anakin’s shoulder, and sighs in contentment.

He drops a kiss on Obi-wan’s temple, breathing him in, his arms finding their home around Obi-wan’s waist. The skin on Obi-wan chest, arms, and face glimmer in the candlelight, flickering orange, more radiant than any Tatooine sunset, and Anakin wants to fall face first into the radiant gleam of his heart, wants to crawl into Obi-wan’s chest and bask in the warmth of his love, his light.

“This is lovely,” Obi-wan whispers, fluttering his eyes closed. “Thank you.”

Anakin’s hold around his middle tightens a bit in response, trailing a hand up and down Obi-wan’s stomach in repetition, a mindless gesture. “You seem tired lately.”

Obi-wan turns his head toward Anakin’s, resting his forehead in the crook of Anakin’s neck. He doesn’t get a response for a few heartbeats, and Anakin wonders if Obi-wan heard him. And then:

“Well, we are at war.” Obi-wan’s tone is flat, nondescript. Anakin knows Obi-wan is mincing his words for his sake, and as a bad habit of holding tight to all of his problems, like sharing them would break him. Anakin wants to share the load with him, help carrying the burden.

“Are you sure that’s all?” He mumbles into Obi-wan’s humid forehead, sweat beginning to glisten at his hairline from the searing water.

Obi-wan lets out the faintest of sighs through his nose, carefully considering his response. “I wish I…,” he grabs Anakin’s hands in the water, laying them on top and threading his fingers into Anakin’s, “I wish I could help more. Do more. None of it ever feels enough.”

Anakin gazes over their tangled legs, barely visible underneath the bubbles drifting over the surface, and aches all over at the thought of Obi-wan feeling inadequate. He wishes Obi-wan could see himself as Anakin sees him: brave, selfless, the entire backbone of the war, and a brilliant General and inspiring leader. Anakin has, and would a million times over, follow him into the depths of hell. The petals stick to their skin, creating a small halo of reds and purples where their bodies meet the water.

“You’re doing enough.” Anakin sighs. “You barely sleep, you’re always doing briefings and writing reports, and when we’re finally on a break you’re off training younglings, sitting in for the council, kriffing asking for sparring practice.” He huffs a laugh of disbelief into Obi-wan’s hairline. “You practically run this war yourself sometimes. When do you ever rest?”

Obi-wan is silent for some time, probably thinking of some way to deflect everything. He comes back with rare and unusual honesty. “It feels selfish, taking time for myself when I know there are people out there dying. Innocent people.”

Anakin scoffs. “How are you supposed to help them if you’re ready to keel over yourself, hm?”

“We’re jedi, that’s what we do. Besides,” Obi-wan rubs his face on Anakin’s neck, tone turning sweet, “I have you to make sure I don’t.”

Anakin grins into the wet curve of his head, his hair plastered to his skull from the steam wafting up around them, making the edges of the room disappear into a soft and warm fog.

“You’re enough, and you deserve rest.” He plants an overdone kiss on Obi-wan’s skull, rougher than usual to make a point.

Obi-wan hums noncommittally and tightens his hold on Anakin’s hands, somehow sinking further into Anakin’s chest.

He squeezes once and then untangles his fingers from Obi-wan’s hold to trace over his body. The tops of his thighs are as far as Anakin can reach, so he starts there, letting his fingertips graze over sensitive and supple skin, over soft hair and old scars. He moves to the base of Obi-wan’s stomach, purposefully ignoring his cock in favor of showering him with pure adoration and affection. He’ll let his hands wander there after they’ve eaten and gotten into bed.

Anakin loves the broad plain of Obi-wan’s chest, loves to rest his head on it after a long day, so he spends extra time there, dragging his fingernails across the pink skin, smoothing the sting down with the flat of his palm. He glides up to Obi-wan’s neck and into the base of his auburn hair, gently massaging the tense bundles of nerves that always seem to gather after a long and stressful day, and Obi-wan melts into him, humming sleepily.

Overwhelmed that Obi-wan is his, that this breathtaking man is resting in his arms, seeping into his chest and finding home in his heart, he can’t help but want to stay like this forever: clean, warm, safe, and together.

“You’re so beautiful,” Anakin breathes out, voice cracking, “and I love you so much.”

The petals gleam in agreement, hovering in reverence near him, their red hues like Anakin’s beating heart, holding Obi-wan in place. He understands their predicament; he, too, would bloom and fall and bloom and fall for this man, would reach out as far as he can from the wet and mossy ground to be regarded and gazed at, plucked and taken home. Even if it meant dying, wilting away, it would be worth it to be held near his face, to be carefully tucked into a vase to watch over him in the final days. Him and these flowers are one and the same, always gravitating towards the brightest point in the room, his sun, his reason for blooming.

Soft and slow breaths escape Obi-wan, and his chest evens out in a regular cadence. He must have fallen asleep. Good, Anakin thinks.

Anakin holds him close and watches the bubbles pop, one by one, as the time passes. Candlelight reflects off of the still surface of the water, the rise and fall of Obi-wan’s chest the only movement causing faint ripples. This is the closest he’s come to meditation lately, and it feels so wonderful.

He’s not sure what time it is, and can’t be bothered to care if anyone has comm’d him. Here in the four corners of their shared space is Anakin’s entire universe, and bliss simmers in his chest.

Anakin’s fingers are starting to prune and sweat drips off of chin. The water is starting to cool, though, and if Obi-wan hadn’t been stuck to his body, he probably would want to get out. He doesn’t want to wake him though, as sleep is rare and precious these days.

His stomach, however, has a different idea, and growls loudly, startling Obi-wan awake, who chuckles at the sound.

“Maybe we should go eat that food you brought back,” he teases.

Anakin can’t help the guilty smile that creeps its way onto his face. “How does eating and going back to sleep sound?”

“Sounds like the best plan you’ve ever improvised, my dear.”

Anakin makes a psh noise. “I don’t ever improvise.”

Obi-wan scoffs, a high pitched laugh from the back of his throat. “So this was all planned, then?”

Anakin sees the opportunity and takes it. “What, falling in love with you? No, but that has been my greatest achievement this far.”

Obi-wan raises his head from Anakin’s shoulder and meets him at eye level, twisting his body around to kiss Anakin deeply, biting his lower lip and sucking. Anakin snakes a hand to the back of his head and kisses back, trying to pour all his love, his entire heart, all of him, into Obi-wan’s mouth. He wants Obi-wan to pluck him, and know he loves me, he loves me, he loves me with the pull of each petal.

Obi-wan breaks their kiss and leans back, staring into his eyes. “Well, unlike you, I do actually plan, and my greatest achievement this far will be devouring the order of fries waiting for me in the kitchen.”

Anakin laughs, and flicks water at his face.

#obikin #boonki writes #obi-wan/Anakin #obi wan/anakin #obi-wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #swcw #star wars #fluff #pure fluff #anakin is king of fancy baths #fanfic #writing #why do i always write at 3 am?? i am too tired to edit this

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