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rottenprincessshura100 · 4 months

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Blue Exorcist 147 Recap and Notes

We begin this Chapter with Shura fighting Asmodick.

He's clearly a sicko and trying to manipulate Shura's emotions to find some sort of weakness. He is somehow able to read Shura's energy and knows that she's been through some shit, and he's hoping to exploit her. He also seems to realize that her confidence has taken a hit because her sword has limited power. He might be hoping to possess her, steal her body as his own. Because this level of demon can do these things all the time.

I have faith in Shura. She knows how demons work; she's incredibly smart and has already gone through a lifetime of abuse by Hachiro. She's dealt with Yukio's pent-up anger and stress and knows how Rin suffered from a lack of confidence in Kyoto when he couldn't draw his blade. Shura's got the memo on demons and their manipulations and has learned many things mentoring Rin and Yukio through their teenaged years.

Back to Chapter 147

One thing we notice about Shura right away. Shura doesn't look scared when confronting Asmodeus. Just tired and sick of all the shit, and Shura, I acknowledge that fucking mood.

That part about Shura interests me; Kato is in her 40s, and so am I. This is how a woman feels in her 40s; you reach maturity when you don't fall for the hollowness and cheap lines. Empty talk bounces away and doesn't mean shit. Shura's character is both young and old...and acts like a much older woman. I identify with Shura because Kato identifies with her, so I greatly favour this character. I'm telling you that Asmodeus has zero chance of breaking her will. Shura won't cave emotionally, won't feel fear, and won't emotionally weaken. But it's her sword that might fail her. She needs a new demon in that sword.

So what about Asmodeus? This guy can't feel anything because his time in a body is so fleeting. He reacts because he has no foundation, no love, no stability. His eternity is that of a hollow fuckboi. He lives to feel the pain, aggression and complex emotions of others.

How does Shura defeat him?

If this was Yukio vs Asmodeus, Yukio would use pure aggression and hatred of demons to kill, maim and destroy the demon back to Gehenna. He'd make a fake contract to trick the demon into its destruction.

But Shura ain't Yukio.

But what if Shura gave the demon empathy. And yeah, I know, it's cliche as hell (There's a big part of me who wants his tail cut off.)

But Shura isn't like Yukio and is more willing to try and understand a broken demon's brain. (Rin's half-demon thoughts were a start.)

Shura desperately needs a demon in her sword, and Asmodeus wants to feel...well...anything. Could Asmodeus live through Shura while living inside Fang? As previously mentioned in theories, Shura would add another powerful temptaint to strengthen her body and resilience. Caliburn lusts after and lives through a contract with Angel. Maybe in some bizarre capacity, Asmodeus is Shura's type? Maybe he's the weak one who desperately needs Shura's strength?

And this is Shura's next stage. She needs to learn to collaborate with demons more. Why? At some point, she will need to collaborate much more closely with Mephisto, and that idea is still too bitter a pill for Shura to swallow. Mephisto may someday need someone strong enough to save him. Potentially taking on his B'aal heart. Asmodeus could be that stepping stone. Arc knights seem to have very close connections and relationships with demon familiars, and Shura is ready to be promoted.

Speaking of Mephisto. Where the hell is he?

He's not anywhere.

I studied all the drawings, and I saw Amaimon bouncing around as Shiemi's security detail, carrying her around like Ariana Grande, but no Mephisto. Wherever he is, he's not doing much of anything.

(I stand corrected. I was told by Marblewolf, he was in the manga...on Shiemi's back in one panel as the dog.) :D

Rin and Yukio

Cold fish Yukio doesn't go back to save Shura; instead, he leaves her behind for the mission. And I hate to say it, but he could be running headlong into a trap. Blue exorcist is about love and family and Yukio's fixation on the mission instead of his friends. It's not the right choice at all.

The rest of the team is trying to figure out a way beyond Satan's wall, and they can't. This situation freaks me out because only Rin and Yukio could have found that secret entrance. Two sons of Satan are immune to Satan's power. They need to work together to beat the riddles and traps before them. That means Satan is helping Rin and Yukio accomplish their mission and makes me believe there is something nefarious at the end. Mephisto was the one who made the map, so he knows more than he's letting on.

Last but not least, we have Amun, the son of God. Ancient Egyptian fashion Ken. And Osceola cracked his precious ring. In retaliation, he's going to blow himself up and possess a new body shortly. The demon would willingly kill himself to stop the exorcist's attack.

But fear not, Osceola hasn't eaten his mushrooms yet. We will see the Arc Knight get even more vicious, if that's even possible. But does that mean that Osceola will die? Will he martyr himself like the Sun Demon? Yes, he would.

Osceola is almost dead now, and if he goes berzerk from the mushrooms, it might use up the last bit of his life. But Osceola wouldn't hesitate to give up his life for the others, not because of the mission, but because he's brave and loves them. He loves Lightning.

Lightning is like his son, and he would want him to live on.

Lightning warns Osceola not to take his mushroom snack because Lightning doesn't want him to die. Osceola smiles when he warns the old exorcist against using it because he knows Lightning cares. Lightning is very much like a demon and cannot express emotions readily, but because of his years and years of caring for Osceola, he has developed a capacity to love. And I'm convinced that Lightning will return to save his mentor and father figure.

Mission be damned.

#blue exorcist #shura kirigakure #ao no exorcist #blue exorcist theories #aoex

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elvish-sky · 3 years

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You’re Mine {Fili x Reader}

A.N: i already posted this but my dumb ass accidentally deleted it so here we go again! I’m so sorry! I wrote this for the lovely @guardianofrivendell who deserves lots of things, but especially Fíli fanfiction! It’s based on this post. I hope I did alright, I loved writing it and hope you guys like it as much as I do!

Word Count: 1,951

Summary: You and Fíli have always disliked each other, but something brings you closer together.

Pairing: Fíli x Reader

Warnings: Xenophobia, Angst, Fluff, Injuries

****

You’re Mine

“I don’t understand why she needs to be here!” Fíli slammed his fist on the table.

“Oh yeah? Well, it’s not like you’re adding much to the conversation yourself, sitting there with your arms crossed like a baby.”

It was your weekly evening dinner with the Company, and things were going… about as well as usual.

Everyone else sat there, silent or quietly chatting with the person next to them, while you and Fíli sniped at each other. Even months after reclaiming Erebor, you and the dwarf still detested each other. As a human traveling with the Company, tensions had been high with everyone at first but the rest of the group had eventually warmed up to you, in no small part because of your help getting the elves on their side during the battle. Not Fíli.

Fíli drew breath to retort, but before he got the chance Thorin stood.

“Y/N, Fíli, if you don’t stop this outrageous behavior I will send you to your rooms right now.”

“He started it,” you exclaimed.

“I did not!” Fíli stood up, glowering, but a glare from Thorin made him sit right back down.

The two of you spent the rest of the dinner sullenly glaring across the table at each other, making faces and basically doing everything you could to insult the other while staying silent. Once it was over, you stomped out of the room, closely followed by Fíli. You make it halfway down the corridor before his hand on your shoulder turns you around.

“Why did you say I started it?”

“Because you did,” you huffed,

“I did not!” His face was getting redder with anger.

“You did.”

“I don’t see why you feel the need to make every single thing my fault, Y/N!” Fíli’s face was closer to yours than it had ever been before, you could feel the resentment pouring off of him in waves.

“I don’t! I was just telling the truth!” Your fists were clenched by your sides.

“You never tell the truth, Y/N. You just make things up to make me look bad!”

You threw your hands up in exasperation, too angry to speak so you just walked away, leaving Fíli behind, mouth open as if about to say something else.

You walked through the hallways, heading towards your room, stewing.

Make things up to make him look bad. Bah! He does that himself. And besides, he had started it.

He always started it. You didn’t know what it was about you that rubbed him the wrong way, but something certainly had.

Lost in your thoughts, you eventually looked up to see a door you didn’t recognize. You were so furious that you must have taken a wrong turn. Sighing, you turned around, trying to recognize your surroundings.

They were completely unfamiliar.

You sighed again, picking a random corridor and starting down it, hoping it would lead somewhere you recognized. You made your way through the twisting halls, emerging into a crossroads. You stopped. The archway on the left had those carvings, and the one on the right had Khuzdul for Royal spelled out above. You had never thought announcing where the royalty lived was a good idea, security-wise, but it wasn’t your decision. But if that arch was one your right, and the other was on your left, then that meant your room was in the corridor straight ahead!

Relieved, you hurried towards it, tired and ready to go to sleep and end this day, but before you reached it a dwarf melted out of the shadows next to you. Startled, you backed away, only to find another directly behind you. You moved to take the passageway to the left, but a third appeared.

You were surrounded.

“Um, Hello? Is there anything I can do for you?” Your hands were shaking, but you weren’t quite sure why.

The dwarf that had first appeared, one with ragged brown hair, spoke. “You can get out of our mountain, human.”

Your eyes widened in shock, but before you could do anything else, he kicked you in the stomach. You doubled over, the wind knocked out of your lungs, and your head was met with another kick, snapping it back into the hands of the second dwarf. He grabbed you, and held one of your arms, the third dwarf holding the other so that you were trapped.

The first one stepped closer, fists closed. He started raining blows on your face, hitting your lip, chin, eye, jaw, until it felt like it all was on fire. He punctuated each one with the word, “leave,” until all you could hear was the ringing in your ears and that one word. He kicked you in the stomach again several times, also striking your thighs and shins, your arms, until you were aching all over. Finally, he stopped, and the others dropped you to the ground where you huddled in a heap.

He bent over you. “Your people didn’t come to help us all those years ago. And look! Now, none of ours will come to help you.”

He spat on your face before entering the arch to the left with the two others, leaving you collapsed on the ground.

You lay there for a while, too weak to move, only able to breathe, ears still ringing. You mustered the energy to sit up, but couldn’t do any more than that.

Suddenly, you heard footsteps heading down the hall, towards you. You braced yourself, drawing your knees up and hiding your face, expecting another attack. But all you heard was;

“Y/N?”

The footsteps rushed closer, and you sensed someone kneeling in front of you. Their hand was placed on your shoulder.

“Fíli?” Your voice came out all broken as you lifted your head, seeing him kneeling in front of you with the most concerned expression on his face.

Fíli reached out, cupping the side of your face so gently that it didn’t even hurt. He tilted your chin up, into the faint moonlight shining from a skylight cut into the rock far above. His soft thumb brushed your lip, and he drew it away to reveal a streak of red painted across his skin. Tilting your head at a different angle into the moonlight, his eyes darkened as he saw the swollen flesh around yours. Your heart skipped a nervous beat in the silence, thudding so loudly you were sure he could hear it as he looked you in the eyes.

His voice was soft, tight, jaw set, the anger barely restrained as he spoke.

“Who did this to you?”

“No one,” you croaked out.

“Tell me, Y/N. They don’t get to hurt you like this. You are mine, mine, and I am going to make them pay.”

Your eyes widened at the word ‘mine.’ Suddenly, things made sense that hadn't before, like how the seat next to him was the only one left whenever you arrived anywhere like it had been saved for you. Like how Dwalin or Gloin always winked at you after you fought with him. Like how Kíli had called you the Khuzdul word for ‘sister’ for months, not knowing that Balin had been teaching you the language. It explained the blush that had risen on his face when you had pinned him the last time sparring, sweaty. But it didn’t explain why he insulted you at every opportunity, took every chance he could get to make a jab. But you couldn’t have him rampaging through the kingdom, so that conversation would have to wait a moment.

“Fíli. Please, don’t.”

His eyes grew soft again, the golden light of rage dimming into something calmer. Standing, he brushed off his trousers, before reaching down to scoop you into his arms, careful not to jostle you. With you in his arms, he set off along the corridor to the right.

“My room is the other way,” you pointed out.

“I know. We’re going to mine,” he clarified, and you settled back into silence, laying your head against his chest and closing your eyes to ease the pounding in your head.

You blinked your eyes open at the soft sound of a door opening. Fíli walked across the room after shutting it behind himself and lay you gently on the bed. He propped your head up with a pillow, and dunked a cloth in the washbasin before returning to your side and gently dabbing away the blood on your face.

“Fíli.”

His eyes met yours.

“Why are you doing this? You despise me.”

His hand stopped wiping your face.

“I don’t actually.”

“Then what’s with the jabs, the insults, the constant bickering?”

“I thought you hated me. And I had fallen so hopelessly in love with you that it was the only way I thought I could protect myself from hurting my heart even more.”

He sighed. “And it didn’t even work. I’m still hopelessly in love with you.”

You managed a faint smile.

“I guess it didn’t work for either of us.”

His head snapped up.

You continued, “I love you too.”

Fíli smiled, getting up and grabbing a dressing for your eye. “So, we’re not the smartest when it comes to this kind of thing.”

You laughed, ignoring the pain in your chest as he pressed the compress to your eye. “No, we are not. And you can never, ever tell Kíli about this.”

“Deal.”

You smiled at him, shaking the offered hand.

“But seriously, Y/N. Who did this?” His eyes were darkening again.

“I told you, it wasn’t anyone. I fell.”

He slammed his fist down on the bedside table and you were strongly reminded of him doing the exact same thing earlier, in a much different situation.

“That is bullshit, Y/N. Not even you are that clumsy. Now tell me so that I can stop it from ever happening again.”

You sighed. “I don’t know who it was. Three dwarves attacked me in the halls, but it was dark so I couldn’t see them well. All I know is that- that they were mad I was human. That I deserved to be injured and left there, because my people didn’t help yours when the dragon came.”

You started to cry. “And I’m sorry for that, I’m sorry that they didn’t help but I’ve tried to help, I think I helped, and I feel bad that I still need to do more.”

“Y/N,” Fíli brushed a tear from where it had run down to the tip of your nose, “you don’t need to do anything. You helped us get our home back. You’ve never owed us anything, and you definitely don’t now. And I’m going to hunt those dwarves down, whatever it takes, and make them pay.”

You reached out, laying a trembling hand on his arm. “Please stay instead.”

He looked down at you. “Really?”

You nodded. “I’ll rest better knowing nothing can happen to me if you’re here.”

His face softened and he unbuckled the sword belt he had slung on, removing his boots, and then climbing carefully onto the bed next to you. Lifting your head, he moved so that it rested on his chest, his arm wrapped around your shoulders, holding you close. The soft rhythm of his breath lulled you into a daze, and the last thing you heard before drifting into the unconsciousness was the whispered words, “I’ll make sure nothing like this ever happens again, my love.” You fell asleep with a smile on your face, which Fíli gazed at, not believing that you actually loved him too but so happy that you did until he joined you in the land of dreams.

Everything tag 💞: @entishramblings @itgetsatadhazy @boyruins @anjhope1 @wellofeternalthirst @kumqu4t @katbby16 @thewhiteladyofrohan @kirstenscaffeinateddisaster @beenovel @shethereadinghobbit

I’m also gonna tag those of you who commented on the first one, not because of any desire for more notes just because I feel absolutely terrible and like a total dumbass and I want you to know where it is @cassiabaggins @claraofthepen @beenovel @who-ever-said-i-was-nice @thewhiteladyofrohan @hey-its-nonny @anjhope1

Also tagging @gossip-girl-of-middle-earth thanks for some inspiration!!!

#fili #fili x reader #the hobbit fili #fili story #fili imagine #fili oneshot #fili x y/n #fili x you #fili durin #fili fic #fili fanfic #fili fanfiction #maiawrites #lord of the rings #the hobbit #jrr tolkien

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alyxia91 · 3 years

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In A Million Years

Soft Bakugou, because there’s something I love about the thought of this tough guy absolutely melting for someone. I’m sorry it’s kind of a long, slow-burn. I ramble. I’m working on it.

When you first met Bakugou, you were undeniably intimated. How could you not be? He was anger, pride and explosions personified. You wondered if standing too close was a hazard to your health, if not physically, mentally. But as time went on and you became more accustomed to his personality, you found that that red hot anger wasn’t scorching you, rather drawing you in and keeping you warm. Small, barely there conversations in passing grew enough to where you could confidently say he was a friend, and someone you relied on - you hoped he felt the same. You didn’t notice the sideways glances he would send your way, or the faint blush that would flush across his face whenever you smiled at him. How he wished he would be the only one you smiled at, the only one to hold your attention. But you were too nice, while not overly popular by the typical standard, it was fair to say everyone liked you, including the explosive future hero. Those feelings only continued to grow as you progressed through your years at UA, both of you drawing closer and closer to each other subconsciously. He didn’t notice that he spoke to you differently, softer than anyone else; and you never realized that you were almost always touching him in some way - a hand on his arm, fingers brushing against each other.

Neither of you noticed that you’d fallen in love with each other.

It wasn’t until a fight against the League of Villains that those feelings were violently pushed to the forefront, when you got seriously injured.

The fight had been typical, if not chaotic. Everyone was doing their best to keep themselves alive while fighting. You were no different, your shadow fiends fighting at a distance while you kept up inn hand-to-hand combat. Thank God you practiced against Bakugou frequently - otherwise you doubted you’d be able to keep up. The years of training also prevented too much energy being wasted keeping your multiple shadow fiends active - it was a skill you wanted to grow further. You’d gone up from having one out for a few minutes to having multiples out for hours. Right now, you had 13 running around fighting and defending.

Explosions sounded to your left - you didn’t have to look to know it was Bakugou. Even in scenarios like this, somehow he was never too far from you, always keeping an eye on you. Unfortunately, that eye missed Tomura coming towards him, arm stretched out and hand reaching to grab at his face. You, however, noticed the movement in your peripheral, and with a swift kick to the stomach of whatever moronic douchebag you were fighting, launched yourself towards the pair. Your left arm stretching as far as you could make it, desperately trying to stop Tomura from making contact.

This resulted in your left hand grabbing his, your arm crossing over his body as an additional barrier. Pain erupted from your finger tips and you watched as your palm and fingers turned to dust. The pain shot up your arm, nerve endings for limbs you were quickly loosing firing desperate warnings to get the hell out. Glitching your jaw, you willed a sword, a mace, ANYTHING strong to be formed with your right hand - by some grace an axe pulled itself from your fingertips, the purple smoke billowing off of it the only indication that you had created it. Without a second to think, you swung the axe across your arm, severing in and stopping the decay.

A different kind of pain shot through you, and before you truly knew what was happening, you stop up and pout your palm to Tomura’s chest. You met his eyes, and the maniacle grin he had on his face was enough to drive you to send all of your shadow fiends to him. With the strongest push you could muster, you distanced yourself from him just as they arrived to swarm him. You turned to look at Bakugou, to make sure he was okay, safe...alive, and you were met with easily the most wild eyes you had ever seen. You’d never found him particularly easy to read, but right now there were so many emotions flashing through his eyes you wondered if every emotion he’d ever felt was in there.

“Suki...” you whispered, suddenly too tired to speak properly. “You - you - what the hell did you - are you crazy?! You idiot! You could have-” Whatever he was saying was drowned out by a ringing in your ears, suddenly so loud and overwhelming you had to close your eyes. You dipped your head, an attempt to hide it to block out everything. “Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop” you whimpered, desperate for the pain to cease; and just as suddenly, it did.

You awoke hours later, the repetitive beeping of a heartrate monitor letting you know where you were. ‘Goddamnit. It’s been so long since I was here...thought I was doing better’ you thought, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. You signed, resigning yourself to your fate. You made the decisions, you would live with the consequences. The door opening caused you to blink, pulling you out of the aimless thoughts. Bakugou walked in, silent and looking exhausted. He paused when he saw you try to sit up, falling slightly when you tried to lean on where your left hand used to be. Three large steps brought him to your side, helping you sit up properly.

You two sat in silence, neither really sure what to say. He had almost died, and you had lost a hard and most of your lower arm to save him, as well as almost dying yourself. What could either of you say? You opened your mouth, only to close it again. Unsure of what else to do, you reached across and places your left hand on top of his, slightly uncomfortable with the twisting of your body. The contact broke him, and you saw his eyes shut tightly before a small cry erupted from his lips. Tears fell and he grabbed your hand, desperate to hold on to you, to remind himself that you hadn’t died. He brought your hand up to his lips, kissing them and resting them there, his warm breath tickling your fingers.

“You are so stupid....so so stupid” he said, desperately trying to control his breathing, “you can’t do shit like that...you can’t...I can’t...you...you..” panicked breathes interrupted each word, his grip tightening with each attempt at breathing. “Katsuki, I need you to breath honey - I can barely understand you” you said softly, voice somehow not wavering despite the emotions welling in your throat “copy my breathing, yeah? Look at me” He shook his head, terrified that you’d disappear and this would all be a dream. "I’m not going anywhere. I promise I’m here” you said, tightening your grip slightly to help reassure him. A deep inhale through his nose followed before he finally lifted his head and looked at you. Even here, after you’d lost so much blood, you were beautiful. He’d never get tired of looking at you - and he almost lost you. In the blink of an eye, his entire world was almost gone. “I’m so sorry” you said, keeping your eyes connected with his “I didn’t think, I just saw you were about the die and I reacted. I didn’t think how it might affect you. I’m so...so sorry Katsu” “Please...please don’t ever do anything like that again. I can’t....I can’t see that again. You were dying in front of me and I couldn’t do anything. The only thing I could do was cause more damage to -” he stopped, and looked down at your arm. You followed his gaze, realizing for the first time just how much of your arm you had lost. Just before your elbow, a diagonal line towards the outer part of your arm. “Couldn’t do a clean line huh? Well done’ you chastised yourself. “You were bleeding so much...so much...Todoroki was too far away, but we had something to close the wound. I...I had to try...it wouldn’t stop..” ‘He cauterized it’ you realized. Your body tensed with the realization, guilt overwhelming you.

Bakugou felt you tense beneath his hands, his body immediately doing the same. Were you angry? Did you hate him? He didn’t want to do it...he didn’t want to hurt you. But you were dying there, bleeding out in front of him and - “You saved my life, Katsu. I’m sorry I put your in a position to have to do that” “I’m sorry” he said suddenly, feeling overwhelmed and undeserving of your apologies “If I had been paying more attention. This wouldn’t have happened. I was too busy making sure you were safe. If I’d been paying attention, you’d have your arm...your life wouldn’t have changed. I’m sorry. I’m sorry” tears welled up in his eyes again, guilt crushing his heart and pulling hi away from you.

“Hey, hey. Katsu...Katsu please stop. I’m not mad at you, I’d never blame you for this. We both made it, yeah? You saved me. I’m awake and here with you, because of you, okay? I’m still me. I don’t hate you, or think that you should have done something differently. If anything I should have done things differently. But, I will ALWAYS try to save you. That I won’t apologize for. You’re too important to feel any remorse for saving” Bakugou stayed silent, absorbing your words. He kissed your fingers again before standing up, and laying your hand down across the bed. No longer twisting, you sat up straighter, worried that he was going to leave. Instead, and to your utter surprised, he moved one arm behind your back, and another under your knees, lifting you up and maneuvering himself beneath you on your bed. He opened his legs, placing you between them before wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you against his chest.

“You are so stupid” he mumbled into your neck “you’re too important to throw your life around like that. I won’t survive if something happens to you. I can’t. I need you here, with me. Got that?” Heat engrossed your face, butterflies erupting in your stomach as you processed his words. You nodded, placing your right arm over his and intertwining your fingers. “I’m sorry” you whispered again. He responded by pulling you closer to him, bodies impossibly together. You felt his left arm release, coming down to lift yours up to inspect. You relaxed, letting him examine the bandaged limb. He didn’t say anything, he just let his fingers gently run across the bandage, You signed before inhaling deeply, imagining what your hand used to look like. Suddenly, purple smoke wrapped itself around the wound, molding itself into the missing arm and hand. Bakugou pulled away, eyes widening as the smoke solidified, leaving a purple arm and hand. Experimentally, you wiggled the fingers, excitement coursing through you as you saw them move, felt them against the palm. Bakugou reached forward, expecting his hand to pass through it - but was shocked when you came into contact with solid warmth. It felt like your other hand...exactly the same. Another cry passed his lips and you curled your fingers around his hand, squeezing lightly. Tears hit your shoulder, and your body shook with his as he cried, not even attempting to hide it. His arms wrapped around you again, hugging you tightly.

“I love you. I love you so much” he said, hiccupping softly

“I love you too Katsu”

He hugged you tighter still, willing your body to mold into his own

“I’m never letting you go. I’m never letting you get hurt again”

“Katsu, I’m going to get hurt”

“No. Not like this. Anything more than a papercut is too much” he grumbled against your neck, lips whispering over your skin “And if paper cuts you I’ll destroy it” You couldn’t help but smile. You knew it was an impossible promise to keep, but you also knew he’d move heaven and earth to keep it. “I promise to try to avoid those kinds of situations from now on, okay?” “You fuckin’ better...” he muttered, finally kissing your neck. You turned towards him, eyes sparkling and a smile on your face., his expression mirroring yours. You were both beyond exhausted, but damnit you were so happy.

“I can’t -” he started, only to stop himself “Katsu?” He didn’t say anything, just leaned forward and kisses you, soft and careful. Scared to shatter you, scared of seeing your skin turning to dust again. You smiled into the kiss, tightening your grip on his arms around your midsection; a sign that you weren’t going anywhere, that you wouldn’t break. He understood, and deepened the kiss. Hold you against him. Holding you where you belonged; and he was never letting you go. Never in a million years.

#katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou katsuki #katsuki x you #mha #mha x reader #mha x you #bakugou #no beta read #bakugou fluff #bakugou angst

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disgruntledspacedad · 3 years

Text

The Rules of Engagement (4/5)

part of the The Better Love Series

pairing: Javier Peña x fem!reader/ofc (Ears)

summary: (slow-burn, sexual tension, angst, a little bit of h/c in later chapters) He’s a DEA agent. You work for Centra Spike. Peña’s not your boss, exactly, but you’ve been fwb long enough that certain people are starting to think of you as An Item, and that just won’t do.

words: 3.7k

warnings: 18+ for alcohol, language, smut, violence, general trauma.

a/n: unbeta’d. Yeah, I know - I can’t count. This is gonna be five chapters.

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

MASTERLIST

Murphy nearly bowls you over on his way down stairs, pulling up short when he sees you.

“Shit!”

You glance down at yourself. Your clothes are rumpled and covered in ash and bile. You don’t even want to know what your face looks like. There’s rubble in your hair.

Murphy is still staring open-mouthed.

“The pharmacy below my apartment got bombed,” you explain hollowly. “I’m fine, I just need a shower.”

“You look like you need a hospital,” Murphy counters, eyeballing you with something akin to worry. “Fucking Christ, Ears, if Javi -”

You snap your eyes up at the mention of Javi. “Have you heard anything?”

For the first time since you’ve met him, Steve Murphy cracks a grin at you. “On his way home now.” He looks as relieved as you feel. “We got him.”

You manage to smirk back. “Good.”

“Congratulations, by the way. This one’s on you as much as anybody.”

“Thanks.” You sag against the side rail, trying to be subtle about it. Now that the adrenaline has worn off, your legs are shaking, and you think it’s only a matter of time before you fall over.

Murphy notices, because he reaches for your shoulder to steady you. “I really think-”

“No.” You cut him off forcefully, glaring at him with all the energy you have left. “No, Steve. I’m tired, that’s all.”

He sighs. Narrows his eyes. Frowns. “You’re bleeding.”

What?

Murphy gesturers to your temple with a finger that you have to stop yourself from flinching away from. “You’re bleeding, Ears,” he repeats, as if he’s expending a great amount of patience by pointing it out to you.

You reach up, wincing as you notice for the first time that your head hurts. When you draw your fingers back, they are coated in blood.

Murphy moves closer to get a better look.

“It’s just a scratch, Murph,” you tell him wearily. As far as you can tell, that’s true. There’s no gaping hole or giant gash, just a stinging little cut right at your hairline. “You know how head wounds are.”

He’s still glaring suspiciously at you, and you let him, meeting his gaze in silent challenge.

Eventually he sighs. “Okay, your funeral, I guess. Gimme a minute.”

Before you can retort, he ducks back inside, leaving you standing awkwardly on the front step. The walls are thin - you can hear him rummaging around in the kitchen. He’s back seconds later, key in one hand, a slip of paper in the other.

He hands you the paper first. “This is my pager number. Javi’ll be back soon, but I want you to contact me if anything crazy happens.” He motions to your head with his thumb.

“Okay,” you promise.

“And here’s this.” He presses the key into your hand.

You look up at him wide-eyed. “Murphy, you can’t just give me Peña’s key.”

“What, you think it would be any different if I stepped across the landing and did the honors for you? I’m already late.” He runs a hand through his hair with a huff. “Besides, he’d want you to have it.”

Somehow, you seriously doubt that.

Murphy fixes you with a stare. “Trust me.”

“Hardly,” you mutter, taking the key from his hand anyway. You hold it up for emphasis. “But you’re taking the fall for this one, alright?”

Murphy rolls his eyes. “I think I can live with that. Stay safe, Ears, and page me if you need anything.”

♠

You resist the urge to flop down on Javi’s sofa and sleep for a thousand years, instead making your way to the shower. Peeling away your dusty clothes feels so incredibly good. So does the hot water. You take your time, exploring the lingering aches and pains in your body as you scrub them with Javi’s little sliver of Irish Spring. Aside from a few bruises and that one little slice on your temple that won’t quit oozing, you’re not injured anywhere. You think you might be a little sore from being thrown backward tomorrow, and your lungs still feel funny and raw from having the air knocked from them, but otherwise, the bombing of your apartment is more inconvenient than anything.

You try very, very hard not to think about Emilio.

You step out of the shower only when the water runs tepid, the cold jarring you awake. Javi only has two towels, it seems - one left out to dry on the towel rack, the other crumpled in the corner with a pair of boxers. Nice. You opt for the one that’s on the rack, wiping yourself down then wrapping up your dripping hair.

There’s something deliciously deviant about sneaking naked through Javier Peña’s apartment when he’s not home. You shake away your guilt, trying hard not to be too weirded out or too turned on as you rifle through his dresser drawers. You’ve got to wear something.

Eventually, you come away with the green t-shirt and the only pair of sweats the man owns. You eye yourself in the mirror, considering. Javi’s clothes are ridiculous on you - you have to roll the sweats three times at the waist just to keep from tripping - but hell, at least you aren’t naked. Looks like that cut finally stopped bleeding, too.

Carefully, you pull your hair into a sloppy braid and gather your dirty clothes, doing a cursory sweep of the apartment to see if Javi has anything else that needs washing. Other than the little pile in the bathroom, you find a t-shirt and a pair of mis-matched socks in the corner by the nightstand. Not bad for a single guy living alone, you decide.

You make the trip downstairs to the communal laundry room quickly, noting the time on the kitchen clock when you return. You don’t feel like waiting beside the machine today. Flopping on the sofa has lost it’s appeal - you’re bone weary, but every time you close your eyes, you see fireballs and charred bodies.

Sleep is not on the agenda.

Sighing, you make your way to the kitchen for a cup of coffee, glancing at the clock for the umpteenth time. 9:42. You put the water on, then shuffle downstairs to switch the laundry to the dryer. 40 more minutes, and then you can get out of here.

And then what?

You examine your options and find that the list is short. You aren’t going to stay here any longer than necessary - you’ve intruded on Javi’s privacy enough. Your only friend in Colombia is Ana, and that’s off the table for obvious reasons. Murphy isn’t at home, and Connie had left for the States just weeks after you’d arrived. Back to work, then.

You decide that’s best anyway. Somebody fucking bombed your apartment. Well, the mark was probably Emilio’s drug store, but still. Bombings don’t happen in Bogotá - that’s a Medellín thing. Especially a civilian target.

The rush of anger that consumes you is staggering. Who did this, and why? Bombing a business is a very Pablo Escobar thing to do, but a small pharmacy? In Bogotá?

Ana and her father are good people. You know deep in your bones that they aren’t involved in the drug trade. You also have major doubts that this was an accident. So, what the fuck?

The injustice of it all makes you feel small and cold and helpless.

You’re missing something big.

Javi doesn’t have a television in his apartment. Even if you did have access the news, the information that you’re seeking is hardly going to be broadcast on live television, and certainly not so soon.

Work really is the best option, then. Between the bombing and Verdugo’s arrest, the sicarios must be on red alert. Maybe you can pick up on some chatter.

Besides, you probably need to let Stechner know about your situation as soon as possible.

You glance at the clock. 10:07.

Ugh. You rise up on your tiptoes, bouncing in frustration. Caffeine and adrenaline have made you jittery. There’s something really cringe-worthy, too, about being alone in Javi’s apartment without his knowledge, especially given the way things ended between you.

The memory chafes, and you shake your head hard enough that it throbs.

Goddamn this day.

A shrill beeping jerks you from your thoughts, and you barely manage to stifle a shriek. Your pager! You’d forgotten all about it. Your stomach swoops as you pick it up.

The number that flits across the screen belongs to Javi.

You take a breath. Weird. Aside from that one brief conversation yesterday, you haven’t spoken to him in weeks. It probably has something to do with Verdugo, you decide. Maybe he wants to inform you personally. That would be nice of him. After all, this was a pretty big arrest for you, too.

You locate the phone in the kitchen, dialing the number with trembling fingers. Damned coffee.

“Peña.” His voice is terse, clipped.

“Got your page,” you say warily. He sounds like he’s in a mood. “Is there -”

“Where are you?” he demands, cutting you off harshly.

You blink, startled. Forget ‘a mood,’ Javi sounds fucking livid. You’d assumed he’d be pretty relaxed, considering. “Umm, I’m actually at your place,” you speak slowly to hide the shakiness of your voice. Fuck, of all the times to get emotional. “Listen, my apartment was bombed. I just needed -”

You’re interrupted again by a sharp sigh. “Stay there,” Javi grinds out, and then there’s nothing but dial tone.

Slowly, you place the phone back in its cradle, processing the conversation.

What. The. Fuck.

Bits of plastic clatter to the floor as the pager smashes into the refrigerator - you’re hardly even aware of throwing it. You sink to the kitchen floor, cradling your head in your hands and doing your damnedest to just breathe.

It’s not fucking fair. He was the one who stormed out slamming doors. You haven’t pressed him, haven’t been a nuisance. Well, aside from basically breaking into his apartment and borrowing his shower.

But fucking hell, somebody - probably Pablo Escobar - just bombed your fucking apartment. You’re living in a foreign country and you don’t even speak the fucking language. There’s nowhere for you to go, and your clothes were a mess, and goddamn, you are just tired.

What were you supposed to do?

Footsteps thunder up the stairs. God, that was quick. You manage to leap to your feet just as the front door slams open with a bang.

Javi stops dead when he sees you, and your tirade dies in your throat.

“Hey.” It’s awkward, but it’s all you can manage.

He’s just staring at you, standing stalk still in the open doorway. He’s breathing heavily, like he’s been running. His expression is tight, carefully closed off. One fist is clenched at his side, the other still gripping the doorknob.

“Murphy let me in,” you babble. You knew he was on his way, but still, his sudden appearance startled you. “My place, I mean, the drugstore -”

“I know.” He’s toneless, expressionless, frozen except for his eyes. They rove over your face and body, and you’re reminded suddenly of watching him read reports - quick, efficient, and exacting, like he’s taking in every detail in an instant.

Fuck. Heat rushes you as you remember that you’re still wearing his clothes. “Okay,” you breathe shakily, hardly aware of speaking aloud. This is getting weird, and you really don’t have the emotional capacity to deal with Javier Peña’s shit today.

Your laundry is probably dry anyway.

“Where are you going?” Javi demands, resting a hand on your shoulder as you attempt to push past him.

That does it. “To get the laundry!” you bite back, twisting away from his touch with a lot more drama than is really necessary. “My clothes are dry!”

He pulls away as if burned, a muscle twitching in his jaw.

You stand there like that for a long moment, just assessing each other. You’re glaring up at him warily, sizing him up, while he watches you with an expression that you don’t recognize.

“I’ll go,” he says softly. There’s something quiet, almost regretful in his tone, and it shatters your defenses. You bit your lip and nod shakily, and then he’s gone, descending down the stairs without another word.

Jesus.

You exhale another shaking breath - everything you do seems shaky, today - and pour another cup of coffee.

♠

You feel like you’ve got a little more control of yourself once you’re back in your own clothes. Javi is lighting a cigarette at the kitchen table when you exit the bathroom, a fresh butt still hot in the ashtray next to him.

“Rough night?” you ask, dropping his half-folded t-shirt and sweats onto the counter.

He huffs sarcastically.

You sigh. Your patience is wearing very, very thin, but you decide to try one more time, just for the hell of it. “Congratulations, by the way. Murphy told me about Verdugo.”

He blinks up at you, like you’ve pulled him from deep thought. “Yeah,” he says slowly, still staring at you with an intensity that’s starting to really freak you out. He pulls hard at the cigarette, and the moment breaks. “We couldn’t have done it without you.”

You nod, suddenly tired.

He notices. “Ears?”

“I need to go back in,” you cut him off before he can ask whatever he was going to ask.

He frowns. “Didn’t you just leave this morning?”

Frazzled as you are, it doesn’t occur to you to ask how he knows that. “Yeah, Peña, I did,” you snap. “But then some fucker bombed my apartment, and I’ve got a nasty feeling that it has something to do with Pablo Escobar. I can’t go home, and I can’t get any sleep, so I might as well make myself useful and see if there’s anything worth listening to today.”

His gaze had drifted during your speech. He’s resting his jaw on his his palm, staring off into the middle distance.

Ugh.

“So, will you drive me, Peña, or am I calling a cab?”

“Sorry,” he says softly, breaking himself out of whatever stupor he’d been in. He stands and extends a hand like he might like to reach for you before deciding against it and grabbing his gun instead. “Of course I’ll drive you, if you feel like going in.” He catches your eye as he tucks the gun into his belt, serious now. “I really am sorry about your home, Ears.”

God. All Javier Peña has to do is throw you a tiny bone, and you fucking melt. The relief you feel is palpable. “Thank you,” you whisper, closing your eyes for a long second.

You hear him rustling around with keys. “Let’s go, then.”

♠

The car ride to headquarters is silent. Javi smokes three more cigarettes, tossing the butts out the open window before you even hit the parking lot, one after the other. You wonder what the fuck is going on with him.

He makes a point to let you out of the passenger side door, a little quirk that had been hit or miss before, depending on his mood. You walk together up the embassy steps, him hanging close to your shoulder but not quite touching you, and you wonder if this is his strange way of apologizing for the weirdness before.

You’re halfway to Stechner’s office when you realize that Javi is still following you. You arch a curious brow in his direction. He pointedly ignores it.

Okay, seriously. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” The question comes out a lot harsher than you intend, but hell, it’s been a terrible day.

He glances down at you, almost apologetic. “It can wait a minute.”

“Ears!”

Oh, fuck. Steve Murphy is running up the hallway, gaze zeroed in on you.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He doesn’t wait for you to answer, just whirls on Javi. “Javi, what the fuck is she doing here?”

You bite the inside of your cheek in an effort to keep from screaming. “I’m trying to go do my job, Murphy, if the fucking DEA will let me.” Thankfully, your voice comes out pretty level.

Javi’s looking at Murphy with a narrowed gaze, head cocked, hands on hips. “What do you mean, Murphy?” he asks in a low voice.

Murphy throws his hands up in consternation. “I mean she should be in bed, or at a fucking hospital. You should have seen her this morning, Javi. Looked like she’d come straight from a war zone!”

Javi whips around to stare wide-eyed at you. “Wait. You didn’t say…” All of the color is draining from his face. “You were there?”

Something about the breathlessness the words, like they’d been punched out of him, sends little shocks of electricity zinging across your skin. “I’m fine,” you manage. As protests go, it’s pretty weak.

“God, Ears, you’re still bleeding.” Goddamn Steve Murphy and his fucking preoccupation with your blood. “Now get out of here, please, before I call you an ambulance. Jesus.”

Javi’s face is a storm cloud of emotions as the pieces continue to click into place. “Ears,” he growls, more horrified than angry. He grips you carefully by the shoulders, looking you over again. This time, he brings his fingers gently to your temple. They come away bloody.

He sucks a sharp breath, glancing up at Murphy. “You’ll handle Verdugo?”

Murphy’s lips are pressed into a fine line. “Absolutely, Javi. Get her out of here.”

♠

He escorts you from the building with a hand pressed firmly against the small of your back. It would be sweet, if not for the blistering pace and the stony expression that’s frozen on his face. People take notice, leaping out of your way, craning their necks to watch as you storm by. By the time you reach the doors, your cheeks are flaming.

“Agent Peña!”

Oh shit. You hadn’t even noticed Martinez and his entourage milling around the entrance.

“Yeah?” Javi bites out.

Martinez raises a brow at the scene the two of you make - you, bleeding and shamefaced, Javi damned near parading you into the parking lot with all the subtly of a thunderclap.

God, there’s no way this ends well for either of you.

“Verdugo is in interrogation room three,” Martinzes says, clearing his throat awkwardly.

Javi doesn’t even slow. “Stick Murphy on it,” he snaps over his shoulder. “I’m busy.”

Nobody dares argue with him.

♠

Instead of getting into the car, Javi leans heavily against the door.

You pause, opening your mouth to question him, but he reaches for your jaw before you can speak, carefully tilting your face up into the sunlight.

“Are you okay?”

His voice is soft, but he’s looking at you in undisguised concern, eyes roving over you with an intensity that tempts you to drop your gaze.

You shiver. You can’t help it - you’re exhausted and emotional, and things with Javi have been so weird for so long, and now he’s staring at you, sharp and worried, running his thumbs across your scalp to gently assess for injuries.

No, you are not okay.

He notices the little tremor that darts through your body and rests one hand on your shoulder, leaning in to look you straight in the eye. “How far were you from the explosion?”

“Across the street,” you tell him, breathless for all of the wrong reasons. It’s only half-way true, you’d been crossing the street when the bomb had gone off, far closer to the blast zone than you’re leading him to believe. But he’s so close, cupping your cheeks in his hands, leaning forward to shield you from the traffic-side of the parking spot with his body as he continues to draw his fingers across your skin, gently assessing for more damage.

“It just knocked me off my feet,” you continue. Your throat is suddenly so dry. “Startled me, more than anything.”

Javi reaches with one finger to expose the wound on your temple. It’s still oozing.

“And this?” he asks, pinning you with another piercing stare.

You reach up, catching his hand as his fingers begin to drift down your cheek. He twitches reflexively. “Just a little scratch,” you promise him. “Falling glass, or shrapnel, I guess. Something grazed me. I never hit my head.”

This is not a lie. You never blacked out; you’re not hurt.

He blusters a sigh, scrubbing his face with his palm for a brief second. “I should really take you to the hospital.” His jaw tightens as he speaks.

“I just said I didn’t hit my head. I’m fine.” You indicate the wound on your temple. “This is nothing. You know how head wounds like to bleed.” You look up at him, projecting as much wide-eyed, awake, vibrant woman as you possibly can after walking away from a fucking bomb, and squeeze his hand in reassurance. “Please, Peña. I just want to go -”

Home, you almost say.

You stop yourself just in time. There is no home, not anymore. And you won’t make the mistake of referencing Peña’s place as anything other than ‘Peña’s place.’ That would be supremely stupid, given all of the recent drama.

“To bed,” you manage instead. “I’m just tired.”

And god, that is the truth.

If Javi notices your faux pax, he doesn’t mention it. He’s hardly taken his eyes off you. He’s near enough that you can feel the heat of his skin, one hand still twined in yours.

It’s all you can do to avoid resting your head on his chest.

“Okay,” he mutters begrudgingly, and then shakes his head like he hadn’t meant to agree. “I’ll take you home.”

You smile wanly at him. “Thanks.”

♠

author’s notes/confessions

I know you still have questions. I promise you, I will answer them.

Steve Murphy is a good bro.

Y’all hit me up if you want a little Javi one-shot after this next chapter. I wrote it for my own reference, but it might be a fun read, if you’re wondering what’s happening inside his head right now.

@tiffdawg, look what you made me do. ;)

#Javier Peña x reader #javier peña #javier pena x reader #narcos #pedro pascal #narcos fanfiction #Javier Peña fanfiction #Javier Peña imagine #javi x you #javi x reader #reader insert #angst #hurt/comfort #slowburn #friends to lovers #the rules of engagement #better love #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfiction

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lost-inthedream · 3 years

Text

Tea and warm compress

Pairing: Husband!Youngbin x female reader

Genre: Fluff, Suggestive

Warnings: mentions of sex

Words count: 1.4k

Summary: Moving to a new apartment can be quite exhaustive. There are still so many belongings to be organized... But they definitely can wait! The reader gives Youngbin some extra care because he has a backache.

Sorry for any spelling or grammar mistakes that you might find.

It was starting to get late, more two cups and you would be emptied that cardboard box also. The new apartment had a bunch of cupboards fixed on its walls, which allowed you to organize your kitchen tools pretty well. Youngbin sorted the dishes on the shelf right over the cups. You were both close enough to touch one another while picking items out of the boxes and putting them in their new places.

"Don't you think that's enough for today, Binnie?" you asked as you noticed him placing the last dish on the top of a small pile.

"I dunno, love. We still have a few boxes to clear out" he answered with a subtle grimace and combing his bangs back, only to have them covering his forehead again once he lowers his hand.

You glanced at the intact cardboard boxes on the corner, but by the look on your face, he knew that they didn't bother you at all.

"We have time to work on them tomorrow." You lifted one eyebrow as if it were the smarter declaration ever. "I'm sure they won't escape this apartment if we don't grab them right now."

You closed the cupboard door in front of your husband to seal your decision, drawing some words from him.

"Oh! That's my girl" he freed a weary giggle and quickly pulled you to him so he could peck anywhere on your face. A playful smooch clicked on your forehead and then he let his hand go of your back.

You stepped just a millimeter backward without breaking eye contact with him and positioned your hands on your own waist and tilting your head. Youngbin contemplated your cocky loose smile. But you somehow killed the mood when a tired sigh came out of your lips.

Moving has really drained your energy. The process of packing everything you had took so much time in the previous days, then the two of you helped at placing everything inside a truck and finally at carrying all the stuff to the apartment where you would live from now on.

He suddenly noticed the favorite mugs of yours laying on the sink countertop. The items were decorated with matching motifs that suited both of you, quite cheesy.

"What about those mugs?" he pointed with his chin.

"Ah! We're gonna use them right now. I've already found the tea." You winked.

...

"I couldn't wait to sit like this on our couch." Youngbin sighed allowing his face to express exhaustion for the first time.

He leaned backward, his head rested on the couch cushion, which was out of place just a couple of hours before. He still held the mug between his hands, laid on his lap. In any case, having his eyes closed for a while seemed to be a priority.

"Why haven't you said that you were this tired?"

"I guess I have barely noticed it" he replied in a low tone and you could say that he had just figured it out.

His body had been already screaming it to him a bit earlier but he was so absorbed in other tasks that he couldn't hear anything. It was not his fault though, he was excited. The idea of transforming the new place into your actual home was his only thought and so was yours. Even now there was a soft smile making his lips prettier than they already were.

You moved carefully towards your husband, motioning him to accept your body on his lap without pouring the hot liquid on yourselves. That was as if you did some sort of acrobatics, but you succeed together without spilling a drop and now you were close and cozy.

He took a sip and tried to shift his position a bit but the movement made him whimper in pain.

"What's this?" you immediately asked.

"It's just my back" he tried to dismiss your worry but there was an alert signal already resonating inside of you.

Youngbin took the cup to his mouth again, the warmth fulfilling his insides. The gesture was repeated a few times as you observed him closely also drinking from your own mug.

"You're gonna pierce me with your pretty eyes or what?" he joked after a few sips in silence.

You grabbed the empty mug from his hand and equilibrated it on the arm of the couch beside him, along with yours. The patterns on them facing each other, exactly the way you and your loved one did now. You leaned to touch the tip of his nose with your lips causing a snap sound. His chin raised so he could make your mouths meet. It felt sweet and wholesome, the flavor of the two herbs you mixed together slow danced with Youngbin's natural taste. You separated your lips before you were not able to do it anymore.

"It's time to take care of your back, baby". You attempted to stand up.

"I'm alright, y/n. Don't worry, just stay here with me"

He was so exhausted that his arms wrapped loosely around your frame, though it was enough to stop you from letting go of him. He was pouty, a clear sign that he needed to be taken care of. It was true that you were also worn out, but still in better conditions than Youngbin.

"I'm so sorry to have to do more than just staying here but you need a relaxing shower. I'm gonna make you a warm compress as well."

He gave you his familiar side smile as feedback.

...

You had to look for your heat pack in the boxes you had not opened yet. Fortunately, you found it quite easily, which made you sigh in relief.

Youngbin took a long shower and you managed to have the compress ready by the time he left the bathroom. He walked into your shared room barefoot. The floor still fairly cold in the spring "I have no idea of where my slippers are" he complained.

"Same, but you know what? I don't care!"

He hummed in a good mood and carefully put his lazy body on the bed, lying on his stomach and turning his face to the right side, so his cheek got squished against the mattress. You comforted him with a delicate caress on the shoulder that got his eyes to close, like those smart flowers that shut for the nighttime.

"It hurts on your low back, right?"

He grunted positively, eyelids fluttering.

The compress was too hot to touch his skin directly so you used the soft cotton of his t-shirt as a barrier. Since it was now settled down on his back, his movements were restricted and you both did not have much to do other than talk. You did not do more than staying comfortably sitting at his right.

"Aren't you hurting too, love?" he asked reopening his eyes. His sleepy yet charming gaze inviting you to trace his facial features.

"Just from seeing you in pain," you replied seductively. "I didn't carry any heavy box because you're such a gentleman."

He did not know how to respond so he sweetly voiced an "I love you" while your warm hand caressed him on the face.

You shifted to lean down and whisper the same close to his ear, then you could not resist the urge to sniff on his neck. The fresh scent of his soap enchanted you, making you down your eyelids to the friction your nose made on him.

"You shouldn't provoke a man in my condition"

"Is this a complaint or a warning?" you asked playfully letting your lips brush on his earlobe on purpose.

"This is only a complaint tonight. I'm good at waiting."

You dragged one finger down his spine. A sloppy invisible line, coming to an end when it reached the compress.

"I can't wait" you signed.

"Can you move it a bit, baby?. It's like burning my skin" he politely asked interrupting the way your talk was growing steamy.

You took the pack from his low back and placed your hand flat instead, stroking the area tenderly for a few seconds.

"I'm probably waking up better tomorrow and I'm treating you right then. Like the queen you are."

"Don't worry, my king" you said low feeling funny with those words. you calmly unfolded a towel that laid next to you in order to make a new layer between Youngbin's skin and the hot pack. "We have a lot of time to make love in our new apartment. Or should I call it a kingdom?"

He giggled.

"Just home is fine" you decided.

#sf9 scenarios #sf9 imagines #sf9 writings #kpop writings #sf9 fanfic #sf9 fluff #sf9 smut #youngbin scenario #youngbin imagine #youngbin fluff #youngbin smut

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yandere-daydreams · 4 years

Note

hi! i hope this isn't too demanding but when is it okay if request a yandere todoroki/bakugo/deku (or just one of them. whatever works for you) x villain! darling? thank you so much!

It’s been a while since I wrote for all three of them, but it’s nice to see them bicker, every so often. Especially with a Villain!Darling that so /clearly/ needs their help with every little thing, now that you’ve caught their eye.

Title: Weak.

TW: Kidnapping and Delusional Mindsets.

You really weren’t weak.

You were scrappy. With a quirk like yours, a relatively simple alternation power that let you slip through inanimate surfaces to your heart’s content, you had to be. Sure, villains and criminals were stereotyped as dull and devious, the oh-so-cowardly evil-doers Heroes just had to protect the general public from, but the odds were stacked against you. You didn’t have fancy tools or decades of training, but you made due. You memorized the terrain and you stayed in your group, and when things got ugly, you ran. If that made you pathetic, you could live with it. You weren’t dead and you weren’t in jail, so you could live with it.

You weren’t weak. Even if you had to convince yourself of that, you weren’t weak.

Unfortunately, it didn’t seem like Izuku was, either.

He couldn’t have been chasing you for more than a few minutes, and yet, your feet were already throbbing in your shoes, your legs pulsing every time you took a step and your lungs begging you to stop and breath, an urge you swiftly suppressed in favor of putting distance between you and that raging monster. The rest of your group had already been neutralized, your more offensive companions arrested or forced to retreat, leaving you alone and desperately in need of a route of escape. He’d cornered you in the warehouse district, keeping you trapped in a dirty, grimy building so deprived of light, you could only hope you were running in the right direction. It helped that Izuku made no attempt to be quiet, his footsteps audible from the other side of the city, aiding in your singular goal of avoiding him until he lost interest.

You couldn’t afford to worry about anything else, right now.

Stumbling forward, you tripped down an ancient, degrading flight of stairs, taking a moment to regain your footing when you reached the bottom. Thankfully, this floor was much more hospitable than the last, glowing red with sparsely-distributed emergency lights, although you only had a second or two to appreciate the difference before breaking into a sprint, pushing your fatigue to the back of your mind as you ran towards the far wall, praying that you still had enough energy to faze through it. You reached out, but before you could make contact your target, the air around you turned cold, frigid, and suddenly, you were unable to lift your feet, everything below your ankle caught in a thin layer of ice and sleet. You didn’t have time to catch yourself, crashing to the floor and accepting the uncushioned blow. You had a feeling it wouldn’t be the worst pain you experienced, tonight.

You didn’t think, barely starting to push yourself up as you spoke. “Let me go--”

“Shoto!” Izuku's voice quickly overpowered your own, silencing you with little more than a name. You could hear him running, and when you twisted around enough to see him, you could make out his figure through the dim lighting, approaching a man you hadn’t noticed before and pulling him into an abrupt, fleeting hug. Another man - another Hero, one with heterochromatic eyes and bicolored hair. The reason for your current entrapment, you guessed. Izuku didn’t bother to release him before going on, speaking too hastily for his own good. Too breathlessly. “The coast’s all clear. I told my sidekicks I could handle the rest, and the police should be gone, by now.”

Shoto’s response was delayed, but clear. “And Katsuki?”

“He's on his way.” Izuku paused, glancing in your direction out of the corner of his eye. Letting go of Shoto, he stepped towards you, approaching slowly, holding his hands open in a show of tranquility. It was hard to believe he didn’t have poor intentions, though, especially when his smile broadened every time he grew closer. “Kacchan just needs to--”

“Kacchan needs to know where we’re taking the brat.” The owner of this new voice didn’t enter nearly as smoothly as either man you’d already been acquainted with, drawing your focus away from Izuku and towards the unfamiliar face now towering over you, ‘Katsuki’ glowering and glaring with all the volatile ferocity you’d come to expect from someone who chose to fight in skin-tight spandex and sculpted body armor. Without warning, he took Izuku by the collar, demanding his attention with a low, throaty growl. As if his coworkers were more of a threat than you were. “You stuck me with a dozen pathetic nobodies so Burn-Ward could give (Y/n) frostbite? You’re lucky I don’t scrap the plan right now so I can beat your ass--”

“I’m sorry about him,” Izuku apologized, still in Katsuki’s grip but clearly paying him no mind, facing you as he spoke. “He gets riled up so easily, doesn’t he? Don’t worry, Kacchan’s just protective! Once we take you home, I’m sure he’ll calm down.”

Home. Home wasn’t jail, and for whatever reason, you doubted he was talking about the shitty apartment you’d been saving the money to move out of for half a year, now. “I’m not going anywhere with you,” You spat, gritting your teeth, subtly trying to pry your feet out of their icy-prison. “I don’t care what you do to me. I’m not leaving, not unless I get to do it alone.”

Izuku sighed, shaking his head before he pulled himself from Katsuki’s grip. His grin softened, and swiftly, he dropped to his knee at your side, taking your balled hand and encasing it in his. You weren’t dumb enough to pull away, even if you kept your nails embedded in your palm, refusing to return the gesture of affection. “That’s why we have to do this, sweetheart. You’re so stubborn, I know you wouldn’t come along if we asked you, as you’ve gotten yourself into so much trouble… It’s for your own good. We’re really just trying to keep you safe.”

“I’m trying to keep you safe,” Katuski cut in, crossing his arms but making no attempt to intervene. “Todoroki wants a new basement-warmer, and Deku got tired of jerking off to his All Might figurines. Don’t trust a damn thing either of ‘em say.”

“That’s not true,” Shoto interjected, joining the conversation and resting a hand on Katsuki’s shoulder. “You know it’s not. You helped me get my guest room ready.”

There was a scoff, a shove from one party to the other, and Izuku rose to play peace-keeper before their minor, petty shows of violence could escalate. In the muted chaos, you pried yourself out of Shoto’s make-shift trap, breaking apart the thin ice with the bottom of your first, freeing yourself just as the soles of your feet began to go numb. Still, you didn’t dare try to run, nor did you make an effort to fight. Instead, you shifted backward, moving silently and gracelessly but eventually reaching the closest wall, only stopping when your back hit cement. Slowly, you reached back, pushing the palm of your hand against the rough surface and willing it to give, to disappear and allow you access, but the tips of your fingers were barely able to pass through before you were pushed out, the wall too thick or too hard or too something to faze out.

The reason for your failure occurred to you far too late. A basement. You were in a basement. You couldn’t get out, not when there was nothing to get out to.

You were trapped.

Izuku was the first to notice your distress, but if he cared, he didn’t bother to comfort you. He just laughed as he took you by the hand, jerking you to your feet before pulling you off of them completely, pinning you to his chest with little more than an arm under your thighs and a stern squeeze to your side, willing you into submission with the threat alone. “Someone’s getting impatient,” He chuckled, already starting towards the staircase. “I’d hate for you to see something ugly this early on. Let’s get you out of here, alright?”

It was all you could do to nod, his declaration leaving you too stunned to do much else.

You weren’t weak, after all.

But, you were smart enough to know you were nothing compared to the three of them.

837 notes · View notes

btsmosphere · 4 years

Text

Crossfire | KTH

~summary: The night your life blew up sent you on a collision course with the campus bad boy, Kim Taehyung. Though you were well aware of his reputation, it was his doorstep you ran to when you were bleeding with nowhere to go.

~word count: 2.3k

~gang!au, mafia!au, college!au, angst, fluff, action, strangers to lovers, friends to lovers

Warnings: swearing, drugs, injury, mentions of death and fights (warnings apply to each part individually, please read them)

~a/n: a smaller, slice-of-life update this week, maybe definitely inspired by lockdown! I hope you guys like this, as the next update will be longer and bring more drAma...

Taehyung must be superhuman. How he had managed to go to sleep with only a few hours left before college and still be awake and gone in time, eluded you.

You, on the other hand, were still tired as you tried to convince your body to crawl away from the warm covers long after the sun had risen. Not that you had anywhere to be. Once again, Taehyung had left food and water right beside you, and even the painkillers you took yesterday.

Groaning, you let your head fall back onto the pillow.

You inhaled deeply through your nose, then finally sat up, eyes still shut. Familiar pain lanced through your side at the movement, making you grit your teeth. At least your eyes were forced open in order to grab a pill.

Next, you figured there was no use lying in bed all day. Open the curtains which were still drawn. Great. What next?

As if in answer, your stomach growled a bit, so you sat back down to eat.

What next?

Teeth. Shit, you hadn’t cleaned your teeth in over a day now.

With dim hope, you made your way to the bathroom, but to your surprise, an unopened toothbrush sat by the sink.

Unfortunately, the surprise of a toothbrush turned out to be the biggest excitement of the day until Taehyung came back home. By that time, you had given in to lying down, mapping out the blemishes on the bedroom ceiling, so the moment you heard voices, you sprung up.

Peering around the door first, you saw Taehyung waving at someone on his doorstep. You waited until they had left and the door closed behind him to come down the stairs.

“Hey.”

You followed Tae through to the living room where he dropped his bag carelessly beside the sofa, reminding you unwillingly of days when you were younger, waiting up when your dad was late home and latching onto him straight away.

So you hung back, chewing your lip without realising.

“How’s college?” you asked his back as he went to the kitchen.

“Yeah, it’s okay,” he said, coming back around the corner with a drink, “nearly fell asleep in Professor Han’s lecture though.”

“You still take his class? I dropped that the minute I could,” you chuckled.

“I think you made the right decision,” the corners of his mouth turned up even as he took a sip. For a moment he savoured the drink, then lowered it.

“They’re talking about you.”

“They are?” you took a step forward as he nodded, but he quickly held up a hand.

“Hey, curtains,” he reminded you, then tossed his head behind him, “you should come round to the kitchen.”

A glance behind you revealed wide open curtains, so you sped out of sight and down the hall, meeting him where he now leant against the island.

“Did you really think they wouldn’t notice you going missing?”

“Well, I guess not,” you shrugged, “them knowing, is it… bad?”

“Bad? No,” he grinned, “I’m still going to hide you.”

“Thanks,” you smiled back, then, “have you… has Jungkook, you know…?”

“Oh, um,” Taehyung’s grin faded, telling you all you needed to know, “that was him at the door, but he hasn’t had the chance to look for him yet. Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

Staring at your hands, you mentally cursed yourself. Clearly the time you spent doing nothing had got to you, to make you so impatient.

“Hey, look at this,” Tae was suddenly smiling again, and you watched as he raised the now empty bottle like a dart in his hand before shooting it off towards the bin, where it bounced from the rim with a hollow clunk.

Unable to help the laugh that burst from you, you collected it from the floor.

“My turn!”

Taehyung laughed and stepped aside while you lined up your shot, but just as the bottle left your hand, he pushed your arm and sent it careering off into the wall.

“Hey!” you elbowed him as he creased in laughter.

The next thing you knew, he was running around the island towards the fallen bottle. Realising this, you took off too, shouting after him, but were too late to wrestle it from his arms.

“You cheated! Let me try again!”

Your shouts were in vain as he easily held off your flailing body and dropped the bottle into the bin at last, then proceeded to do a victory lap. Scoffing, you stuck your leg out to trip him up as he reached you again.

“Sorry, sorry,” he lied as he got his breath back between laughs, “draw?”

“No, you win,” you rolled your eyes, “what should be your prize? I could cook tonight?”

His eyes lit up, grin still wide as ever, and accepted your offer.

Really, cooking wasn’t a punishment for you. After the most boring day on earth, you were happy to be doing something with purpose, and it came with the bonus of treating Taehyung for taking you in.

Later, once you had stored in your memory the cupboard where he kept the pans, and where the salt was, you finally sat down to eat- on top of the counter.

Still being light outside, you both agreed you couldn’t sit in the living room due to the open curtains, and this had led to your current state. Your knees were touching as you both sat cross-legged facing each other to eat from the bowls in your hands. Unfazed, Taehyung was wolfing it down in enormous bites, but you hoped that meant it met his approval.

“I have to go out again,” Taehyung spoke, causing your heart to sink, “the food was really good, by the way.”

Jumping down from the countertop, he looked up at you.

“Want me to get anything while I’m out?”

“Oh, no, no,” you assured him automatically.

However, this made him stop, turning back to you fully.

“Really? I don’t mind getting anything. You pretty much live here now so you don’t have to be polite.”

You furrowed your brows, mind instantly going blank as you tried to think.

“Maybe a book?”

“Sure,” he nodded, then his eyes widened, “wait, should I get you two? Five? What have you been doing all day without a phone or going out?”

“It was okay,” you tried, but quickly conceded, “okay, I was sort of bored out of my mind but-“

“Okay, I am definitely getting books. What’s your favourite food? We can have it tomorrow,” he suggested.

“I love anything with chocolate,” you smiled, “and I like most things, but… Italian?”

He smiled back at you just as his phone buzzed aggressively against the counter.

“Oh, shit…” he muttered as he turned it over, “I really need to-“

But he was in the hallway by then.

You fell asleep waiting for Taehyung to get back. Honestly, cooking had tired you out, as embarrassing as it was. Earlier you had found yourself needing to pause and catch your breath a few times while making dinner, but you supposed that was a minor side effect of being stabbed. It could have been much worse.

Washing up had been the final straw, after which you promised yourself you would find the energy to go and find the red pills after a short lie down.

A promise easily broken.

When Taehyung found you, you were sort of sitting, half slumped, against the headboard. As he shook you, sleep was reluctant to let go.

Therefore, by the next morning, you didn’t even remember seeing the boy. It barely crossed your mind that your clothes had changed and you were under the duvet. You were excited about the books, though.

Of course you hadn’t had time to give Taehyung any detail on what books you enjoyed, but anything was better than nothing, so after breakfast you began to read. It seemed he had been to the library at college given the stamps on the inside cover, but it was never open late and Taehyung had left in the evening yesterday.

Strangely, you didn’t feel too strongly about him having potentially broken into the place. Wow, your life really had got boring fast if even crime now counted as excitement. But if only you could go with him, break in somewhere for an adventure-

You shook yourself.

There was a small stack of books, non-fiction (being from a college library) and ranging from art to music to fashion.

Today, you didn’t run to Taehyung like a small child when he got back. Despite being later home than the previous day, he actually had to knock on the bedroom door to shake you away from the book you had almost finished.

“Oh sorry, hi!”

“Evening,” he smirked, stepping into the room to reveal a bag in his hand.

“Is that-!” you gasped at the smell wafting from it, and he grinned.

“Italiano,” he faked an accent, making a chef’s kiss with his free hand.

Practically bounding from the bed, you eagerly joined him on the kitchen counter again.

“I am so full,” you groaned after the last bite of pizza was gone.

“Really?” Taehyung raised his eyebrows.

“Yes, really! I just ate that whole thing!”

“That’s a shame…” he looked at you, amusement lingering at the edges of his mouth, “I guess I’ll have to have this by myself then.”

Your eyes grew huge as he leaned over to a drawer, pulling out an enormous chocolate bar. Paying no mind to your staring, he opened it and took a large bite, eyebrows drawing together in pleasure.

“Hey, wait-“

“I thought you were full?” you could barely make out his voice around the mouthful of chocolate.

“Can’t I have just a bit?”

“I don’t want you to be sick-“

Just then, you lost patience and took a swipe at the chocolate, but were easily evaded.

“Tae-“

Another bite.

Almost growling in frustration, you lunged forward, but he swiftly slid off the counter and took off down the hall, waving the bar over his head.

You had no choice but to give chase.

Taking the stairs two at a time, you caught up to him in the bedroom doorway and wasted no time in tackling him, throwing your arms around his waist.

“Hah! I win!”

You yanked the chocolate from his grasp and were raising it to your mouth at last when you saw his face.

As if he had burnt you, you shot up, taking your weight off him. All humour had suddenly gone from his expression, though an unconvincing smile appeared as he sat up, a hand hovering over his ribs.

“You won,” he laughed. But you weren’t having it.

His smile fell rapidly when you didn’t respond. Something was wrong.

“What is it? Did I hurt you?”

“No, it wasn’t you,” he looked down at the floor.

Lowering yourself to sit opposite him, you fixed him with a stare.

“Taehyung…”

“There was another attack tonight. Shinhyuk took someone out in one of our bars this side of town.”

“Wait… took someone out? You mean he actually-“

A grave nod.

“And… and you-?”

“I was there with Jin and Hoseok to collect something. Then, next thing, the bar goes into chaos, people saying we couldn’t get out. Shinhyuk caught a big dealer of ours as he was leaving, and shut the place down for… I dunno, dramatic effect? But we got in a fight with the men on the door to get outside…”

“Shit,” you breathed, “I’m so sorry, can I do anything?”

“It’s just bruised,” he shrugged, standing at last, “now eat your chocolate.”

For once, you were awake early enough to see Taehyung leave, his bruised knuckles lingering on the door before finally it clicked shut.

Two books later he came home.

Although you had sworn not to go downstairs after last time, you had been thirsty enough to risk it today. Being out of breath after just one set of stairs was worrying, but found the red pills you had forgotten about in the kitchen as you filled up your drink. Gulping one down, you hoped missing a couple wouldn’t affect you.

Then your fears came true.

A click heralded the opening of the door, and you were instantly moving out of sight. Pressed against the wall by the side door of the house, you prepared to open it and run if you had to, though you knew you wouldn’t be able to keep going for long.

“Y/N’s upstairs, I’ll just tell her I’m back-“

Your eyes closed as you let yourself breathe again.

“Uh, Taehyung,” you spoke, making yourself known in the doorway.

He stood on the lowest step, Jimin and Namjoon standing behind him in the hall.

Hastily, you apologised and passed them to go back upstairs, complete with your glass of water. It became clear soon after that an important discussion was being had, their voices sounding serious even though you could barely understand them from up here. Luckily, it was easy enough to make a guess as to their topic of conversation.

“He’s fighting a war with no opposition right now! He’ll steamroller us if we don’t do anything,” Namjoon’s voice was rising, and now that your book lay discarded beside you, you couldn’t help but hear. Perhaps it was against your better judgement, but the situation was relevant to you, and besides, you needed some drama to liven up your boring life hiding away.

“But Jungkookie told us he might already be in danger,” Jimin fired back.

A loaded pause.

“You know I wouldn’t put him in harms’ way. Never question that – I would do anything to protect every one of you. But that’s exactly why we need to do something.”

Taehyung’s voice cut in here, lower in volume, shepherding the conversation away from your prying ears.

“We need a plan.”

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littlekatleaf · 3 years

Text

The shape that I'm in now

(It's 1 am, I must be posting Roadrat snz fic. This takes place in the same 'verse as 'Buried in a burning flame' and 'My heart as spent as ashes, but takes place before them. Not that it's necessary for the story, just to orient.)

Whatever here that’s left of me Is yours just as it was ~ Hozier, As It Was

Junkrat rolled over, trying to ease the ache in his hip, but it didn’t help. Sheets scratchy on oversensitive skin. Eyes hot, dryer than the fuckin’ desert, nose running like to make up for it. Flipped the pillow, but both sides were already too warm. Everything hurt, from toenails to eyelids. Even his fucking missing limbs hurt, however the hell that worked. What sucked the most, though was the silence. It pulsed against his eardrums, buzzed in his head.

Had told Roadhog to go. No choice about it. Bones’d been aching with impending fever, head felt packed with sand. Knew what was coming and didn’t want Roadhog to see. Didn’t want to be seen. Not when felt like his skin was peeled back, leaving all of his quivering insides bare. Being sick was being vulnerable. In Junkertown being vulnerable meant you was good as dead.

Felt Roadhog watching him from the first handful of sneezes. “Nobody fuckin’ cleans this shithole,” Junkrat had grumbled, trying to play it off. Roadhog said nothing.

Didn’t say a word when Junkrat blamed the spices in the stir fry for the second fit.

Unfortunately the third handful of sneezes seemed to have blown all thoughts from his brain and he was still trying to recover when Roadhog asked, “All right, Rat?”

“‘M fine. If you want to get in my pants just say so.” Might have intended it to sound flirty but it came off pissy.

Roadhog crossed his arms over his chest. “Ain’t like that. You just look…” “Ain’t neither of us winning a beauty pageant, Hog. Mind your business.” Least that time sounded like maybe he could be joking, even with the edge in his voice.

Tried to bite the sneezes back after that. Pinch them off. Smother them in his sleeve. But every single time he felt Roadhog’s eyes on him, watching. Made the hairs raise at his nape and finally he snapped, shouting at Roadhog to get the fuck out and leave him alone.

Roadie had, and he was fine with it. Just perfectly fuckin’ apples, mate. Went to bed, tried to sleep it off. But couldn’t. Now he tossed back the sheets, pushed himself up, buckled on his prosthetics. Make himself tea. Caffeine might dull the headache. Heat’d feel good on his throat.

You wanted to be by yourself... teasing whisper of her voice through the buzzing. You told him to go. You should be happy - here all alone with your disease. Could practically feel her breath at his ear and he swayed for a minute, dizzy. He doesn’t want to be anywhere near you.

“Shows what you know. Roadhog likes it when I sneeze.” Hated how defensive it sounded. Proof that he was only good for one thing.

Perhaps, but this is beyond even his depravity. Look at yourself, Jamison.

Without really meaning to, his gaze flicked over to the mirror that hung above the washbasin, then away again. Not before he’d seen himself though - scarecrow hair, singed in more places than he’d realized, skin and bones, dark circles around his eyes, nose red, lips cracked from breathing through his mouth. Expression going blank as the need to sneeze came over him. “Huh-R’iiishh! Isshew! R’iishew!” Managed to catch them in a tissue at the last minute, but it was a close thing.

Disgusting. And weak. I absolutely cannot fathom why he has not left you behind yet. Ill so often. Missing half your limbs. In need of protection. What kind of man are you?

“Shut it,” he said. Much as hated to admit it, she was right. Knew full well all the ways he was lacking. Rubbed his dripping nose on a handful of tissues.

Perhaps he just enjoys toying with you. Drawing things out before he takes your treasure and returns to the Queen. Her tone is a purr. A predator does love to tease its prey.

“Roadhog ain’t the Queen’s. Not anymore.”

No? He told you that, did he?

“Yes.” Sort of. What had Roadhog said when they met? Freelance? What did that mean? He wouldn’t… would he? If he got pissed off enough? If Junkrat was enough of a pain in the ass? A sudden chill whipped through him and he shivered. Grabbed a windcheater off the hook on the back of the door and yanked it over his head. Roadie’s, he realized as the soft cotton engulfed him. At least he was warm. Tugged the hood up over his head. Maybe that would block out her voice.

Pathetic… The whisper echoed in his ears, then faded - taking his energy with it. Giving up on the tea plan he curled up in a corner of the couch. Pulled in his knees, tugged the windcheater down over him and tried to disappear. Just needed to get smaller. Smaller.

A sneeze jag shook him awake. Took him a second to catch his breath and open his eyes. There was Roadie, holding out a tissue. Didn’t want to take it, but the alternative was worse. And messier. “Thanks,” he said, stuffiness blurring the consonants. Blowing his nose helped, but only a little.

Roadhog didn’t say anything, just turned on his heel and disappeared into the kitchen. Kettle rattled, water hit the basin. Click snap of the flame catching on the stove. Clink of spoon against mug.

Apologize, Jamison. Unless you want to test his patience even further.

Don’t need your input, he said, but only in his head. Always weirded Roadhog out when he answered aloud. Cleared his throat, attempted to pitch his voice loud enough to carry, even though felt like he’d been swallowing sandpaper in his sleep. “Oi, Roadie?”

Nothing. Sighing to himself, Junkrat untangled his limbs, ignoring the shivering. Maybe Roadhog wouldn’t notice. Managed to reach the kitchen this time. Roadhog’s back was turned, head slightly bent over whatever he was doing.

Rat hesitated in the doorway. While his mouth usually moved faster than his brain, at the moment neither seemed to be online. He leaned against the jamb, waiting for inspiration to strike. Instead he sneezed, catching them in his sleeve, then coughing after. “Ugh, fuck. I’ll wash this I swear.”

“...” The skepticism was clear even without words.

“Ain’t gonna forget this time.”

“...”

Junkrat coughed a laugh. “Yeah, you’re right I probably will.” Rubbed the back of his neck where it ached. “Roadie, I’m…” sorry he was going to say but Roadhog turned, offering a steaming mug.

“I know. Drink.”

Couldn’t smell anything through his clogged nose so he sipped warily. Then sighed, relief and gratitude. “Where the hell’d you find Lemsip?”

“Bobby had some.”

“An’ he just gave it to you?” Meds were hard to come by, even stupid shit like cold medicine.

Roadhog shrugged. “He owed me somewhat.”

The steam made his nose run and tickle and he sniffled a little. Which only served to trigger another round of sneezes and he slopped hot liquid over his hand. “Ow, god fucking dammit.”

“Here, let me…” Roadhog reached for his hand, but he stepped back.

“No, it’s fine.”

“Rat. I said let me.”

The darkness of his tone sent a shiver down Rat’s spine. The command in it was as unmistakable as the warmth. Junkrat stopped, pinned, barely breathing. Roadhog wiped his hand, carefully, like the burn could have been serious. Then he laid a palm over Rat’s forehead, fingers pleasantly cool. Junkrat leaned into the touch.

“Really got a fever, don’t you.”

It wasn’t a question, exactly but Junkrat nodded anyway. “Feelin’ shit, to be honest.” A hot flush chased the chills. Had to tell Roadie the truth, but didn’t make it any easier.

“You hurting?”

Rat shrugged, nodded again.

“Come on,” Roadhog put an arm around him, led him back into the bedroom. “Lie down.”

“Ain’t tired,” he tried. Not quite enough energy to be a proper brat.

“Not planning on sleep. Lie down.”

Junkrat did as he was told, but closed his eyes as the bed dipped and Roadhog sat down beside him. With gentle fingers he disconnected Junkrat’s prosthetics and set them aside. Even though he’d only been wearing them a short time, they’d already rubbed sore spots on his skin. Roadhog knew to avoid those places as he began to massage the muscles in Rat’s forearm, kneading until the knots loosened, then moved on to Rat’s thigh.

As the tension drained away, Rat sighed so deep was almost a groan. “God, that’s good.” Roadhog let go of him, but didn’t move away. There was the soft sound of a jar being opened and a teasing scent of menthol that Rat could smell even through the congestion. Vicks, of course. “For the cough,” he asked, smirking.

“It’ll help,” Roadhog said, but this time Rat knew it was a question. Making sure he was okay with it.

“It will,” Rat agreed. Put him back on easier footing. Hog gave him a little care, he’d get Hog off. Fair and square.

Roadie slid his hands up under the windcheater and goosebumps rose in the wake of his touch. Junkrat’s back arched, “Oh,” he breathed. “It’s so… Itchew! Huh-Itchh! Itchhuh!” Luckily he’d pulled the sleeves over his hand because he covered just with his hand before realizing.

“Bless you,” Roadhog said, without pausing from the massage.

“Th...thank y-Ihchuuh! Ah’tchh! Chh!” The sensations together were almost overwhelming. Felt like he was tingling along every nerve, shivering with both chills and desire, surprised to find himself going hard, even as he kept sneezing.

“You blushing, or is that the fever?” Roadhog’s voice a rumble in his ear and even that made a shudder run through him.

“Both,” he sighed. Nothing he could do about it, body betraying him with every sneeze.

Roadie chuckles. “You do that so well.”

“Wh… Huhitch!... Itch! Ishhew! … what?"

“Lose control.” An answer but also a command as he tugged Rat’s boxers down and slid inside, surprisingly gently.

“Oh…” Words gone. Thoughts gone. Only feeling left. Heat, fever, want, like fire in his blood. Waves of trembling over him. Hog deep inside, moving with a gentle but implacable rhythm, driving him higher, stoking the flames. He clenched his mech hand in the sheets, clung to Hog with his flesh hand, fingers tightening convulsively. And as the flames built so, too, did the need to sneeze. Little panting breath, interrupted by sniffles and teasing hitches.

“Lose it, Rat,” Roadhog said.

“Ah’Rrrishhah! Ushhew! Isshah!” The flames engulfed him, he shook with release. For a long, long moment he could only blink blearily at the ceiling, utterly spent. “Holy shit,” he managed, finally.

At some point Roadie’d gotten a cool washcloth and he wiped it carefully over Rat, washing away sweat and the vaporub. Just when the cold was about to set him shivering, Roadhog pulled a blanket over him, then leaned down and kissed his forehead. “You did good, Rat.”

A burst of warmth flowered in his chest and tears sprang up. Rat blinked them back, scrubbed his face with his hand. “‘M a fucking mess,” he said.

“...”

“I mean, sure we have fun. But look at me.” Waved a hand over himself. “Missing a piece or two. Fuckin’ sick all the time. Maybe we should just… go our own ways.”

“...”

“Got enough of a haul to make up for the fight in the bar. Enough to make this bodyguard gig thing worthwhile. We should maybe quit while we’re ahead.” Before you get tired of me, he didn’t say, but it was there on his tongue.

“Rat.” Clink of buckles as Roadhog took off his mask.

Junkrat resisted the urge to look at him. Didn’t want to read the truth of his feelings in his eyes.

“Look at me.”

He does, for a second, then away again.

“You see the scars. All of them. You think they make me ugly?”

“No!” Surprise had him actually meeting Roadhog’s gaze. Caught, he couldn't look away. “Just part of who ya are.” He reached up and traced one from the corner of Roadie’s eye, curving down and along his jaw. No, the scars had surprised him at first, but never bothered him.

“Need the hogdrogen. The mask. So I’m weak?”

“Course not.” First person to mistake Hog for weak wouldn’t live to regret it.

“This place tried to kill us. In so many ways. But it fucking hasn’t. Don’t let it win, Jamie. Don’t let it.”

Junkrat swallowed hard. Nobody called him that, not for years and years. “I won’t,” he said.

Roadhog lay next to him and Junkrat curled into him. Roadhog pulled him closer, carded his fingers through Rat’s hair. “Sleep, Jamie.”

I’m yours, he thought as he drifted away. Whatever’s left of me.

#snezfic #oversnez #constitutionally incapable of writing shortfic #did not go the way I expected

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whump-sie-daisy · 3 years

Text

Warnings: manipulative/sweet Whumper, being left outside, Environmental whump caused by Whumper, Whumpee probably has hypothermia

"Are you cold dear?"

A trick, it had to be, Whumpee knew it was, but their time chained to the tree out back, as wind and sleet had pounded on their back as the tried to curl up on themselves, only the thin shorts and t shirt they wore protecting them from the elements, had left them wet and cold to their very core even after Whumper had brought them back inside.

They drew in a breath to try and respond, only for it to get harshly stuck in their throat, sending them into a fit of painful coughs. Whumper tilted their head to side as they observed, a small, amused smile gracing their lips as they stared at the puddle of a person on the ground in front of them. They had started the fire in their old, sturdy fireplace on the main floor before fetching Whumpee from the storms- waiting only a few moments to watch the flames flicker into steady being and cast onto the cold tile floor, filling the normally dark room with amber light. They'd anticipated that Whumpee would be freezing by now, the cold winds that reached their elevated estate having blown fiercely for the entirety of the few hours that Whumpee had been chained to their old oak tree outside. Then, when the skies had opened up and released the near-frozen rain onto them- Whumper had known they'd be in for a real treat of miserable Whumpee.

But even with their predetermined knowledge, being able to watch the near violent shivers wracking through Whumpee's form, their frail body shaking as their eyes fluttered, exhaustion and confusion shining in their eyes that must have been filled with tears not even a few hours ago (if their stained cheeks and face were anything to go by), as they leaned against the wall- their balance looking all too fragile, it was better than they could have hoped.

Whumpee whined, drawing in breaths as the coughing subsided, Whumper had asked them a question- they knew but..what was it they had asked. They wracked their brain trying in vain to come up with a response as they trembled. In the end, all their tired brain could come up with was,

"Cold, I-it's cold-" Was that their voice? It sounded so...small. It was shaky and slurred- it just sounded wrong.

Whumper cooed at their response, clicking their tounge as they crouched down to delicately grab hold of Whumpee's chin, guiding their face to look up at them. They chuckled softly when Whumpee's hand came up to clumsily paw at Whumper's wrist, trying and failing to latch on.

"Poor dear," They said, their voice a thick, sweetened honey, "would you like me to warm you up?"

A heavy pant escaped Whumpee as they struggled to reply. Their tounge felt too large for their mouth, like a blanket had been shoved into their mouth and they now had to speak through it. With much more concentration than they felt it should have taken, they managed a desperate, whispered response.

"Please."

Whumper smiled, before dropping Whumpee's chin to go to pick them up. But they were stopped before they could complete the action by Whumpee's panicked sounds that escaped them when the warm hand had withdrawn.

They chuckled, quickly moving to scoop Whumpee up into a bridal carry.

"I'm not going anywhere Whumpee, I'm right here."

If Whumpee had been any less delirious at that point, the small, screaming flame of fear that was crying out in distress at Whumper's presence would have overcome them with panic at the vulnerable position and general closeness the carry provided. But as it was, they could only gasp at the sudden contrast, wiggling to get closer the warm body against them.

They continued to shiver in Whumper's arms as they were carried through the entryway and kitchen into the living area where the fire now crackled and popped merrily.

The sound reached Whumpee's numb ears, who was barely able to comprehend the sound. A wave of relief overcame them, and if they'd had the energy, they likely would have sobbed in relief.

They let out a small whimper as Whumper sat down in the comfortable chair they had pulled to stand near the fireplace. They gently rearranged Whumpee's shaking limbs until they were resting against Whumper, their head tucked into their chest as they curled up in their lap.

"There you go Sweetheart, just relax." The quiet words were accompanied by a soft, heavy blanket being draped over the both of them, and the appearance of gentle fingers running through Whumpee's hair. A small, confused whine slipped out of Whumpee as they melted into Whumper, the soft petting and warmth drawing them closer and closer to the realm of sleep.

The feeling of unexplained panic and discomfort that pounded within them grew dimmer and dimmer as Whumpee's eyes fluttered closed. And then Whumpee was asleep.

#whump #whumpee #whumper #whump writing #mine

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soopersara · 4 years

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Rebirth

Zutara Week 2020: Day 7

AO3 | FFN

@zutaraweek

While Katara is resting, a still-injured Zuko wanders off and gets stuck by the turtleduck pond.

Just a few minutes, she told herself. After so much time healing him, monitoring the slow rise and fall of his chest, she could hardly keep her eyes open anymore.

A few minutes of sleep couldn't hurt. In one of his brief moments of semi-lucid consciousness, Zuko had assured her that the palace staff and the Fire Sages—the few who remained—could be trusted. Katara was less than convinced, but Zuko's condition was more stable than before, and her head kept drooping toward her chest for a few moments at a time before she jerked awake again. She couldn't keep watch over him forever.

It should be fine. So long as she stayed close, nothing bad could happen to him. Not in a few minutes. Not if Katara just curled up in the chair beside his bed for a little snooze. She would wake up at the slightest disturbance, ready to protect or heal him at a moment's notice.

Or that was the idea. Instead, Katara let her eyes slide shut for what felt like a single blink, and when they opened again, she found herself staring at an empty expanse of rumpled, blood-red silk.

Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no.

She shot out of her chair, bleary-eyed and only half awake. "Where is he? Where did he go?"

She crashed her way into the corridor, then rammed into a timid looking servant woman.

"Where is he?" Katara repeated, a frantic edge to her voice.

The servant fumbled to keep her stack of clean linens from toppling. "Where is who, Miss?"

"Zuko? Where is Zuko?"

"The Fire Lord ordered that you not be disturbed, Miss. I believe His Majesty mentioned fresh air—"

A bit of the sleepy fog lifted from the edges of her mind, and Katara's expression darkened. "Oh, he'd better not."

She took off at a run, careening down one hallway then the next and the next. By the time she realized that the light blanket she'd worn for her brief nap was dragging after her, it was too late to turn back, and she hitched it up around her shoulders like a cloak and kept running. For all the palace's beauty, it was entirely too big. There were too many rooms and balconies and gardens—too many places where Zuko might have wandered in his fevered and dazed state. She ran toward the northern wing of the palace, peeking through doors and shouting for directions whenever she crossed paths with a servant.

At last, she saw a patch of pallor lying in a shady spot beneath a tree. Zuko. She darted out the door toward him.

Zuko lay on his back, one arm bent behind his head like a pillow, bare feet dangling a few inches over the surface of the pond. Katara's heart sat in her throat.

He was okay. He was safe, and he was still breathing.

He was an idiot.

"You were supposed to stay in bed and rest," Katara called as she marched toward him.

Zuko rolled his head her way and blinked, eyes unfocused. "Katara?" His voice came out thin and cracked. "I told them not to wake you up."

She crossed her arms. "They didn't. You wandered off."

"Mmm." His eyes slipped shut, and his forehead creased as though he were deep in thought. "You were tired," he eventually rasped.

She wanted to be annoyed with him. She wanted to fuss about how worried she'd been to find him missing, she wanted to raise a stink about how his servants ought to intervene when Zuko did stupid, dangerous things like wandering the palace alone while injured and disoriented. But even with his forehead creased like it took all his effort to string words into coherent sentences, even with a feverish sheen on his brow and his hair clinging to his forehead in streaks, he looked easier, more peaceful than he had in days.

He was safe. He was going to be okay.

Katara sat beside him, letting her feet dangle over the pond beside his. "I was tired, but I'm not the one who jumped in front of lightning."

His eyes opened a slit. "When was that?"

She studied him. Though his eyes were open, they drifted a bit, struggling to focus. She wasn't sure how she should feel about it. There were hundreds—thousands—of questions she wanted to ask him about the Agni Kai. Why he'd agreed to it in the first place. Why his eyes, his voice had gone so soft when he promised that she wouldn't get hurt. Why he'd taken the bolt of lightning when he knew he couldn't redirect it properly, and why, even after he'd fallen, he kept reaching for her. And yet she remembered all of it. The horrific cry that tore out of him as the lightning burned him from the inside out, the tremors that ran through his limbs even hours after the fight was over, and the weak, stuttering pulse that took far too long to mend. She wasn't sure she wanted him to remember any of that. He'd lived through it once, that ought to be enough. She never wanted to see him in that kind of pain again, even in memories.

"Do you remember it?" she whispered.

Zuko's brows crept downward in thought. "I remember jumping. I remember you coming back. And your hands—" he made a feeble attempt at mimicking her healing stance, and again his eyes closed. "The water felt good. Everything else is—fuzzy." His expression slackened. "Appa is fuzzy."

A small laugh bubbled out of her, and her shoulders eased a bit. "Weirdo." She pushed his hair away from his eyes. "The comet was a few days ago. You've been sleeping most of the time since then."

"I had weird dreams," he mumbled.

"I'm not surprised." She hugged her knees to her chest, staring across the pond at the remains of what must have once been a lush, beautiful garden. "Is that why you came out here?"

Zuko shook his head slightly. With a slow breath, he opened his eyes again. "No, I—" he tried to push himself upright and made it almost to his elbows before a pained groan tore its way out of his mouth. He fell back, clutching his bandaged middle.

"Zuko!" Katara rose to her knees, bowed halfway over him. His breathing came too harsh and too fast, and the sudden shock of pain had drained all the color from his face. She cupped her hand gently around his cheek. "Zuko, look at me."

He only managed to open his eyes for a second before he clenched them shut again and curled inward.

"I know it hurts, Zuko, but you have to let me see it so I can help."

Zuko couldn't seem to respond, but he allowed her to pull his hands away and unwind the bandages. The lightning wound looked the same as it had for days, the same sunken red splotch just under his ribs, the same pinkish rays of burned skin reaching outward. Katara tried not to feel the heavy lump of guilt that settled into her chest. Encasing her hands with water, she pressed them to the wound and pushed past the sunburst pattern etched into his skin. Between the scar and his life, she would choose his life every time.

She poured herself into the work, feeling for the still-raw edges of the lightning's path and for any fresh damage. His heart, thankfully, was as strong as she could remember it being since the comet, and his lungs, though knotted with painful energy, still shrank and swelled with his breath. She kept working, smoothing the tattered edges and drawing out the set to work mending the burned flesh and drawing the knots of energy away until Zuko's breathing finally eased.

Katara let out a breath she hadn't realized that she'd been holding and sat down, suddenly spent. Zuko was paler than before, his forehead creased, and his eyes pressed shut. She rested a palm against his forehead.

"You should still be in bed," she told him.

"Mmm." He drew in a slow, shuddering breath, and his eyes opened a slit. "Too late. I'm stuck here."

She almost wanted to argue with him, to order him back to his bed so he could rest and heal properly. So that she could keep him and the supplies—the fresh bandages, the clean water, the medicines—all within reach. But he had a point. If he couldn't sit without being overcome by pain, he wouldn't be able to walk back to his room. And the thought of trying to carry him was too much for Katara. She was tired too.

"No wandering off without me next time," she ordered. "I don't want you getting stuck anywhere dangerous, understand?"

Zuko gave a small nod. "Mmhmm."

Slowly, Katara exhaled. He was okay. Even if he was a little fuzzy, a little confused right now, he was going to heal, and he would be healthy again.

"Here." She picked her blanket up from where it had fallen behind her and spread it over the prickly, dry grass. "This should be more comfortable."

Slipping her hand beneath his shoulders, she pulled him up just far enough so that she could help him scoot onto the blanket an inch or two at a time. Zuko grimaced and groaned at the motion, but when Katara finally lowered him back to the ground, his face relaxed again. With a contented little sigh, he nestled against her side, and his hand crept out to find hers.

She gave in, squeezing his hand in response before lying down on the blanket beside him. Her head rested lightly against his shoulder, and he smiled, soft and small, eyes still shut.

"I came out here because I wanted to see the turtleduckies," Zuko said, barely over a whisper. His brow creased. "Tlurtleduckings. Turtledluckings."

"Turtleducklings?" Katara offered.

He nodded. "Those."

She smiled and snuggled into his shoulder. "I think you might be delirious."

"Am I?"

Reaching upward, she smoothed the hair back from his eyes. "Maybe just a little."

"Mmm." He let out a small sigh. "The turtleduckies must be sleeping."

Katara couldn't help herself. Hand still cupped around his face, she stretched upward until her lips brushed against his scarred cheek. She hovered there, pressing all the affection, all the care, all the love she could muster into a small, soft kiss. When she finally pulled away, the faintest hint of a smile playing across his lips was the only sign that he was still awake.

"I'm sure the turtleducklings will be very happy to see you when they wake up," she whispered to him.

His mouth twitched into another small smile, then he lapsed into silence, his breathing growing slower, steadier, until he finally dropped off to sleep.

Beside him, Katara rolled onto her back and stared into the arching branches overhead. Someday. Someday soon he'd be well enough to kiss her back.

#zutara #zutara week #zutara week 2020 #fanfiction #zutara fanfiction #Rebirth #soopersara's scribbles

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twoidiotwriters1 · 3 years

Text

Written In The Stars CXXI (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: The second half of the book starts here! If you’re scared, that’s great you should be -Danny

Words: 4,070

Series’ Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Listen to: ‘Every Time You Walk Away’ -by D.A. Wallach

Chapter Nineteen: Waiting.

"What do you mean you felt it?" Ron asked her as they made their way to the Headmaster's office.

"It's a long story. I don't even know if I'm allowed to talk about it..."

"You bolted into the room and knew exactly what was happening to Harry, how?" He frowned.

"Can we talk about this later?" She retorted hastily. "I promise I'll tell you everything but please, don't push it, my head is pounding..."

Once inside the office, she heard her uncle's voice coming from the desk.

"Oh, it's you, Professor McGonagall... and... ah."

Mel was surprised to see he was wide awake.

"Professor Dumbledore, Potter has had a... well, a nightmare," said Professor McGonagall. "He says..."

"It wasn't a nightmare," said Harry. "Mel felt it too."

"Very well, then, Potter," McGonagall said, "you tell the headmaster about it."

"I... well, I was asleep... But it wasn't an ordinary dream... it was real... I saw it happen... Ron's dad — Mr Weasley — has been attacked by a giant snake."

Dumbledore avoided at all cost to lock eyes with Harry and directed his gaze to her.

"And you saw it too, you say? Like last time?"

Ron looked at her even more intrigued than before, Mel ignored him.

"Not exactly. I woke up but I was in Harry's bed... I was Harry, like last time," She said clumsily. "But I only felt the pain, I didn't saw his dream until I woke up and went to his room."

"How?"

"I... er..." Mel shrunk in her place, not sure if she was allowed to use her powers like that. "I used Legilimancy."

"How did you see this?" Dumbledore asked, and though he wasn't looking at him, it was obvious the question wasn't directed at the girl.

"Well... I don't know," said Harry, and she heard the tone of annoyance in his voice. "Inside my head, I suppose —"

"You misunderstand me. I mean... can you remember — er — where you were positioned as you watched this attack happen? Were you perhaps standing beside the victim, or else looking down on the scene from above?"

Harry and Mel shared a look. Then he looked back at the Headmaster and continued.

"I was the snake. I saw it all from the snake's point of view..."

Ron held onto her arm in a way he'd never done before, she felt him shaking, now almost as sick as Harry.

"Is Arthur seriously injured?" Dumbledore said.

"Yes," said Harry tensely.

Dumbledore stood up abruptly and the three students jumped back, he reached one side of the office in four large steps and talked to one of the portraits.

"Everard? And you too, Dilys! You were listening?"

"Naturally," Nodded the witch.

"The man has red hair and glasses. Everard, you will need to raise the alarm, make sure he is found by the right people —" He turned around and went straight to the perch were Fawkes was sleeping. "Everard and Dilys were two of Hogwarts's most celebrated Heads, their renown is such that both have portraits hanging in other important Wizarding institutions. As they are free to move between their own portraits they can tell us what may be happening elsewhere..."

"But Mr Weasley could be anywhere!" Harry exclaimed.

"Please sit down, all three of you," Dumbledore continued without paying attention. "Everard and Dilys may not be back for several minutes... Professor McGonagall, if you could draw up extra chairs..."

Professor McGonagall obeyed, and Mel forced Ron to sit down and to let go of her arm, it was starting to feel numb. Fawkes woke up with one gentle touch from the Headmaster, the bird tilted his head and stared at him.

"We will need a warning."

Fawkes vanished in a flash of flames. The old man picked up one of the instruments Mel had yet to learn how to use and placed it in front of them, tiny puffs of smoke rose until they formed the shape of a massive snake, Dumbledore stared at it in concentration.

"Naturally, naturally... But in essence divided?" He mumbled to himself.

The figure then split in two, and Dumbledore made the same expression he'd made when he found out about Mel's bursts of energy. She'd seen that enough times to know one of his theories had been confirmed, and he wasn't pleased. Her uncle tapped the instrument, and the snakes vanished.

"Mel," Ron called, his voice growing impatient and anxious. "What's going on?"

Mel hushed him, but tried to be gentle about it, she'd be acting way worse if this were about her mother; the girl reached for his hand and squeezed gently.

"Dumbledore!" Everard appeared in his portrait again.

"What news?" Dumbledore urged him.

"I yelled until someone came running, said I'd heard something moving downstairs — they weren't sure whether to believe me but went down to check — you know there are no portraits down there to watch from. Anyway, they carried him up a few minutes later. He doesn't look good, he's covered in blood, I ran along to Elfrida Cragg's portrait to get a good view as they left —"

Mel hissed at the way Ron's hand tightened around hers, but she didn't pull away.

"Good," Dumbledore nodded, but Mel didn't know how that could be considered something 'good'. "I take it Dilys will have seen him arrive, then —"

"Yes, they've taken him to St. Mungo's, Dumbledore," Gasped the witch as soon as she came back. "They carried him past under my portrait... He looks bad..."

"Thank you," Dumbledore looked at McGonagall. "Minerva, I need you to go and wake the other Weasley children."

"Of course... And Dumbledore — what about Molly?"

"That will be a job for Fawkes when he has finished keeping a lookout for anybody approaching, But she may already know... that excellent clock of hers..."

"Merlin..." The girl pushed a few locks of hair away from her face.

"Mel, come help me for a moment," The man told her from one of the cupboards behind his desk.

She got up immediately.

"What do you need?"

He handed her two books as he spoke.

"When you entered his mind, did you see anyone else standing next to Arthur or the snake?" He whispered.

"No," She replied.

"And when you touched him," He lowered his voice, she could barely hear what he was saying. "Did he feel... like himself?"

"What?"

"Could you perceive any traces of dark magic in him?"

"I..." Mel tried to recall what she felt when touching his skin, but she couldn't remember anything. "No... he felt like Harry. I mean, I could tell he was angry and scared, and worried... but it was him."

"Very well," He gave her one more book before speaking. "I see your Legilimancy lessons are working, those are greats news. I need you to give me your memories of his dream," He handed her a small bottle. "You know how."

"Ron heard me telling McGonagall that I felt Harry's... That I'm linked to Harry. He'll ask questions..."

"I can't stop you from sharing the information, but please be careful with whom you share it. Now please, the memory..."

Mel pulled out her wand from her pocket and touched her temple with the tip, slowly pulling and guiding the silver stream all the way to the tiny bottle. She tapped on it once and a cork appeared at the top, keeping the memory from spilling. At the same time, Dumbledore placed a black kettle in the middle of the desk, he mumbled 'Portus' and it shone blue for a few seconds before going back to its normal battered look.

"Phineas. Phineas." Dumbledore called to the portrait that had scolded her a year prior.

The portrait did not answer until most of the others were yelling at him too.

"Phineas! Phineas! PHINEAS!"

He jumped in his place, pretending to wake up abruptly. "Did someone call?"

"I need you to visit your other portrait again, Phineas. I've got another message."

"Visit my other portrait?" He yawned. "Oh no, Dumbledore, I am too tired tonight..."

"Insubordination, sir!" One of the portraits exclaimed. "Dereliction of duty!"

"We are honour-bound to give service to the present Headmaster of Hogwarts!" Professor Dippet shouted from his place. "Shame on you, Phineas!"

"Shall I persuade him, Dumbledore?"

"Oh, very well," Phineas grumbled, "though he may well have destroyed my picture by now, he's done most of the family —"

"Sirius knows not to destroy your portrait," said Dumbledore. Mel gave a start at the mention of the man. "You are to give him the message that Arthur Weasley has been gravely injured and that his wife, children, my niece and Harry Potter will be arriving at his house shortly. Do you understand?"

"Arthur Weasley, injured, wife and children, niece and Harry Potter coming to stay," Phineas sighed. "Yes, yes... very well..."

The door behind them opened and the rest of the Weasleys walked in ahead of McGonagall.

"What's going on?" Ginny stared at her. "Professor McGonagall says you and Harry saw Dad hurt —"

"Your father has been injured in the course of his work for the Order of the Phoenix," said Dumbledore quickly. "He has been taken to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. I am sending you back to Sirius's house, which is much more convenient for the hospital than the Burrow. You will meet your mother there."

"How're we going?" asked Fred, looking dazzled. "Floo powder?"

"No, Floo powder is not safe at the moment, the Network is being watched. You will be taking a Portkey. We are just waiting for Phineas Nigellus to report back... I wish to be sure that the coast is clear before sending you —"

There was a flash above their heads and Mel jumped, holding onto Ron's side and watching as the feather fell next to them.

"It is Fawkes's warning," said Dumbledore, grabbing the feather. "She must know you're out of your beds... Minerva, go and head her off — tell her any story —"

Professor McGonagall left the office without saying another word.

"He says he'll be delighted," Phineas was finally back. "My great-great-grandson has always had odd taste in houseguests..."

"Come here, then," Dumbledore urged them. "And quickly, before anyone else joins us... You have all used a Portkey before? Good. On the count of three then... one... two..."

A wave of pain crashed against her and she held onto the kettle, pushing it back onto the back of her mind. Even if she were to faint at that moment, it would've been impossible for her to fall. She kept it all in, but she found remarkably hard to push Harry's emotions away this time. They felt abnormally aggressive, his thoughts were almost bestial...

She was once again pushed forward and down by the middle, now with the addition of having to struggle with the impossibility of grounding herself when she was literally floating in space. As soon as she felt something firm under her feet, she was welcomed with the frantic insults of Kreacher.

"Back again, the blood traitor brats, is it true their father's dying..?"

"OUT!" Sirius yelled.

Mel was highly disoriented, she was still on the floor and fighting against the pounding on her head, she could see the dim light of the fireplace on her right, the smell hit her face so abruptly that she doubled and threw up, successfully turning off the only source of light in the room.

She heard her mother speak and moments later the lights were on, she kept her eyes close, her body facing the fireplace.

"Mel!" Her mother approached, placing a hand on her back as Mel struggled to breathe. "Move away from the smoke, darling, you're choking..."

"What's going on?" Sirius said behind her. "Phineas Nigellus said Arthur's been badly injured —"

"Ask Harry," said Fred.

"Yeah, I want to hear this for myself," said George.

"I'm fine," Mel mumbled to the woman, her face still hidden. "Seriously, Mum, stop it..."

"It was —I had a — a kind of — vision..." Harry said clumsily.

Mel half-listened to him as he continued, her eyes landed on the kettle, the first time she'd travelled via Portkey hadn't been so brutal to her, this definitely had to do with Harry. But he was fine... then what the hell was happening?

Emily gave up on trying to help her daughter after Mel pushed her away a third time.

"Is Mum here?" Fred asked.

"She probably doesn't even know what's happened yet. The important thing was to get you away before Umbridge could interfere. I expect Dumbledore's letting Molly know now." Sirius explained.

"We've got to go to St. Mungo's," said Ginny decidedly. "Sirius, can you lend us cloaks or anything — ?"

"Hang on, you can't go tearing off to St. Mungo's!" said Sirius.

"'Course we can go to St. Mungo's if we want," said Fred, "he's our dad!"

"And how are you going to explain how you knew Arthur was attacked before the hospital even let his wife know?"

"What does that matter?" said George hotly.

"It matters because we don't want to draw attention to the fact that Harry is having visions of things that are happening hundreds of miles away! Have you any idea what the Ministry would make of that information?"

"Somebody else could have told us... We could have heard it somewhere other than Harry..." Ginny offered.

Mel cleaned the sweat that was dripping from her upper lip and stood up, still facing the wall so she could give herself time to gain control before facing the others, who were too distracted to notice her behaviour. Her head wasn't hurting as much, but there was a massive pressure on the bridge of her nose making it hard to breathe.

"Listen, your dad's been hurt while on duty for the Order and the circumstances are fishy enough without his children knowing about it seconds after it happened, you could seriously damage the Order's —"

"We don't care about the dumb Order!" shouted Fred.

"It's our dad dying we're talking about!" yelled George.

"Guys..." Her voice came out too weak.

"Your father knew what he was getting into, and he won't thank you for messing things up for the Order! This is how it is — this is why you're not in the Order — you don't understand — there are things worth dying for! You would risk everything to keep your family safe!"

"Sirius!" Emily scolded. "We're not having this conversation again!"

"Again..?" Mel stumbled, her back hitting the wall and causing her to grunt.

"Easy for you to say, stuck here!" Fred continued. "I don't see you risking your neck!"

"STOP!" She shouted abruptly. The room trembled slightly, and she had a strange feeling, that it had happened because of her.

Whatever strength she had it fell apart when everyone turned to look at her and stared with wide and frightened expressions at her face.

"Mel!" Emily gasped, rushing back to her.

"What?" She tried to clean the sweat from her face again and when she lifted her hand to do it, she realized there were bloodstains on her sleeve. "What the..?"

Fred, Emily and Sirius all hurried to her side. Harry stood up, but he didn't move. Emily grabbed her chin and lifted it. Sirius frowned.

"Did you hit something when you landed?"

"No, I–" Her mother walked back to the table, giving enough room to Fred so he could examine her injury. "I mean, not that I remember... I..."

"Your nose is bleeding," Fred told her.

Her eyes found Harry's and something clicked. The pounding on her head was now diminishing, but that was probably the reason her nose was now bleeding, because she'd tried to push it in instead of out, and the tension had been too much.

"I'm not in pain," She said. "I mean it— Fred, stop it!"

The boy let go of her face and searched his pockets. Emily came back holding a wet, cold cloth and placed it under Mel's nose. Sirius guided her to a chair and sat her down.

"George," Fred asked urgently. "You got any Nougat on you?"

"Er..." George searched in his pockets and pulled out a tiny piece. "You're in luck..."

The twin threw it and Fred caught it in midair, he split the two parts and held out the purple one for Mel to take.

"Hold on—" Sirius started, but Mel intervened.

"It'll help..." She grabbed the piece and ate it. The candy was also helping with the headache and she silently sighed in relief.

The sudden moment of shared worry for Mel cause Sirius and Fred to go back to their senses, ending their fight.

"Listen..." Fred tried, this time calmer than before.

"I know it's hard," Sirius said, shaking his head. "But we've all got to act as though we don't know anything yet. We've got to stay put, at least until we hear from your mother, all right?"

"Bad news travel fast anyway," Mel replied calmly, leaving the blood-stained cloth on the table. "The longer it takes to know more about him, the better his chances of survival are..."

"Mel," Emily frowned. "Try and be less cynical, can you?"

"It's okay," Ginny sighed.

Ron sat down slowly, George glared at Sirius but didn't insist. Fred also looked annoyed, but he sat down next to Mel, took the cloth and helped Mel to clean her face. Harry hadn't moved, his eyes were fixed on her, he knew he'd caused her bleeding, but Mel was in no mood to be pitied.

"I'm fine," She repeated, stopping Fred's hand and looking at Harry. "I promise."

Harry blinked as if he'd just realized what he was doing and sank back on his chair.

"That's right," said Sirius, he then looked at Emily. "Come on, let's all... let's all have a drink while we're waiting. Accio Butterbeer!"

"I was going to make tea," Emily argued.

"You're in no state to make tea," Sirius said, and something in his voice sounded strangely anxious. "You've received enough shocking news for one night. You need to rest."

The woman crossed her arms. "What are you playing at, Padfoot?"

Sirius glanced at Mel and her friends, then he cleared his throat and insisted.

"Mily, you know what I mean..."

"Oh, to hell with that," Emily rolled her eyes, walking away from the stove. "Fine, let's drink butterbeer..."

"I don't know if you can–"

"I can drink butterbeer, Sirius!" Emily snapped. "I've done this before all right, I know better than you!"

"Do you?" Sirius scowled. "Because sometimes I still have my doubts about it."

Mel had no idea of what were they talking about. She looked at them and felt there was something going on, but she couldn't tell what. Why was Sirius acting like that with her mother?

Fred left the cloth on the table and stood up, giving everyone a bottle while Emily sat next to her daughter, gently rubbing her back. Mel drank in silence, now that her headache was gone there was now a dull ache on her chest and throat from the vomiting. After forty minutes a third flash appeared in the middle of the table and dropped a new feather with a piece of parchment

"I need to know how he does that..." Mel muttered.

"Fawkes!" Sirius picked up the letter. "That's not Dumbledore's writing — it must be a message from your mother — here —"

George took it and read out loud.

"Dad is still alive. I am setting out for St. Mungo's now. Stay where you are. I will send news as soon as I can. Mum... Still alive..." He said quietly. "But that makes it sound..."

"Let's not jump into conclusions," Emily said quickly. "Let me get you something to eat..."

"I'll do it," said Sirius, standing up abruptly.

Emily let out a scoff and sat down again, Mel got up.

"What's wrong?" Her mother asked. "Are you ill again?"

"No, just need to use the bathroom," Mel said quietly. "I won't take long..."

She reached the main floor and slowly made her way to the restroom. She washed her face and pushed loose strands of hair away from her eyes. She took a deep breath and held onto the edge of the sink. Ten seconds passed until the girl heard soft steps approaching.

"I said I was fine, Mum..."

"I know you're not, though," replied Harry.

She looked up to see his reflection standing at the door frame.

"It was me, wasn't it?"

"That depends," She turned around to face him. "Did you feel a sudden need to attack everyone seconds before we left school?"

Harry looked down in shame.

"I was..." Mel paused in shock. "I thought I was imagining things..."

"I don't know what happened— I just felt... the moment Dumbledore looked at me..."

She remembered what her uncle asked her, something about traces of dark magic in Harry... she wondered if he knew more than he was leading to believe.

"It wasn't your fault," She said. "Not entirely..."

"How come?"

"I have to ground myself so your pain can't get to me... But it was kind of impossible to do while I was flying around, and instead of, dunno, letting it out I just... pushed it inside— I guess that's not the best way to deal with it..."

"You wouldn't need to do those things if it weren't for me," He started, but Mel scoffed and walked past him.

"I'm not in the mood to hear your martyr speech, Harry."

"Is not— I—" He caught up with her, standing in her way. "Why do you insist on acting like it doesn't matter?"

"Because it doesn't matter!" She replied. "You can't do anything about it and I have no choice but to deal with it! Listen, the fact that it's happening to me doesn't mean it can't be the other way around. You felt my panic attack— I'm just lucky..."

"I wouldn't call nosebleeds 'luck'," He said.

"I meant that I'm not in constant danger. I won't die. You could die from one of those visions, we don't know, and do you see me moping about it?"

"No," He frowned. "But if I go you would be safer. If you die..."

"Oh, for fucks sake, Potter," Mel replied angrily. "My death won't be on you, alright? I'm not your responsibility, and you're not mine. We're not obliged to care— if I can do my homework even though I feel the stupid cuts on your hand, so can you. I don't care what my uncle says."

"Yeah, that makes two of us," He responded in the same tone.

After a few awkward seconds, Mel added.

"I feel like I should warn you— They'll ask about... about our lifeline."

"Who?"

"The Weasley bunch."

"It's not exactly a secret, is it?"

"Then why didn't we say anything 'til now? Why not last year, when they asked why I had the same bruises as you?"

"Listen, if you want to tell them I don't care. If you tell them that's the reason why we broke up—"

"You mean the reason why you left me," Mel corrected.

"You can tell them everything," Harry ignored her comment. "They hate me anyway..."

"No one hates you," Mel said tiredly. "Not even me... Wish I could, it would make things easier."

"Tell me about it," He said.

Mel could feel the remnants of their former energy still there, buried deep beneath their frustrations. It was weird to think how years ago Mel could walk up to him and just hug him, or how he would rest his head on her lap and she wouldn't even flinch.

Now everything felt fragile, the wrong step could ruin everything. She didn't feel the same way as before, she couldn't tell what was happening in his mind. It was odd, considering she could now technically see his thoughts if she wanted and even feel his emotions from time to time.

"We should go back," She said after a moment. "Otherwise they'll come to look for us thinking we murdered each other."

"I... yeah, let's go."

Harry turned around without a second glance at her. Not that she was paying attention anyway, it had been months since she'd stopped waiting for him to look back.

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

@dee123ksha @vampiregirl1797 @siriuslysirius1107 @stardusthigh @mikariell95 @vernon-dursley @thesuitelifeofafangirl @tomshollandz @kylosleftbuttcheek @reverse-hxlland @bloodorangemoonlight @omiwashere @t-rexs-world @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @21bruhs @i-am-scared-and-useless-bisexual

#twoidiots writing #hp fanfic #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter xoc #WITT fic

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justwritingscibbles · 4 years

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More Than Threats

Fic Request: A fic with Anti x Dark x reader who has a yandere stalker and goes to the demon bois for help.

It’s gotten out of hand. Reaching the point that it was going to become dangerous for you to even leave the house now. You’ve tried everything! Police. Threats. Playing nice. Playing absolutely nasty. But nothing worked. They still followed, and watched. Still continued to call you late at night and knock at your door in the early mornings.

It was too much. It was getting to the point that you were willing to just end them. Throw them under a bus. Push them off a cliff. Possibly even poison their food. Anything! Anything to make them go away and leave you alone.

But there was one more card you haven’t played. A chess-piece you didn’t want to bring onto the board because you knew how they’d react to this. But it saved you from killing someone just to make them listen. You puckered up the courage and sent out the messages. Only 2. Each with four words that would have them running to your side.

I need your help.

And it worked. Within minutes your house was flashing with influenced energy. And the room got colder, greyer, as Darkiplier drew you into his colourless space. Antisepticeye was there too. A rare sight to see, truth be told. Neither of them ever interacted civilly, let alone intrude in each-others spaces unless looking for a fight. But you were more important than some silly feud. You were tired. Scared. They could see that straight away and Dark was the first to approach you. His arm circling your waist to bring you close. His other arm wrapping around you the moment you crumpled against his chest, blubbering out what has been happening. You’ve rehearsed this a thousand times. Wanting to make sure they didn’t think you were crazy or overreacting. Like the officers did. The same people who were meant to protect you, only let you down because they couldn’t do anything.

But these two would. Already, Anti’s eyes were blazing green. Wild glitches tore open his posture in rapid fire of static and snarled expressions. Dark kept still. Only for you did he keep himself under control. What fury he felt, he would save for the rodent that has been scratching at your sanity. It will be bloody. Delightfully soul-wrenching. But right now, you needed to be held. To release what stress and terror you’ve been bottling up. And you were doing just that. Safe within the confines of Dark’s presence and Anti’s wild cursing, promising blood and pleading from the stalker. Assuring you that the person would be begging for their life and your forgiveness.

“Do you promise?” You asked. You wanted that person to suffer. All the sleepless nights and helplessness they’ve caused you. You wanted revenge. You wanted justice.

“Oh, we promise, sweetheart.” Anti hissed through clenched teeth. Dark stroked your hair with gentle fingers. Tucking you under his chin and gently swaying you back and forth. Letting your tears be dried against the material of his clothes.

“First, we will make sure you are safe.” Dark said. Pulling away for a moment to remove the jacket from his shoulders. You attempted to hide your trembling by tucking your hands in the pockets of his jacket. But Dark merely pulled one of them out and kissed the back of your hand softly. An attempt at comforting you. To have you look into his eyes and allow some sort of his influence to wash over you. To let his unspoken promise of safety give you solace.

“Come now.” He said, pulling you back into his embrace. “Lets get you home and in bed, my dear. You need rest. We’ll take care of everything. You need only to relax.”

You nodded, sniffling as you closed your eyes and felt Dark’s power seep away. Leaving you and the two egos in the centre of your loungeroom. You stayed still for a moment. Not wanting to open your eyes. The worse thing a person could ever do to you was make your home feel threatening. Like you weren’t safe, even behind locked doors and latched windows. And that’s what it felt like right now. Even with two dangerous people with you. It just seemed… unsafe.

“Guess we won’t have to search too much.” Anti said, his words ripping you from the fleeting comfort of Dark’s presence. You looked over at the window Anti stood at. Blade in hand, he threw open the window and dove through it. There was a loud cry and Anti’s maniacal laughter. Another scream, something wet crunching and terrified whimpering washed in from the darkness outside. Something inside you released. Like a cloud of rain dispersing. Worry trickled into relief, and you turned to look up at Dark. Who stood by your side, watching the window carefully. Outside, Anti called out, “Dark, get your ass out here. I’m going to finish him off before you do your thing.”

Dark hummed softly and his hand trailed down from your shoulders to rest on your lower back. Turning you away from the window, he guided you to your room. Closing the door behind him and having you lay down under the covers. Which he then gently tucked around you. And when you tried to remove the jacket, Dark shook his head. “Keep it. You need an extra bit of warmth, I think.”

You merely nodded. Your voice seemed to have left you for now. You settled into the bed. Still sniffling softly. “Will you stay here after… after they go away?” You asked. And Dark placed a hand over yours, giving it a light squeeze as another scream from outside trickled in.

“We’re not going anywhere, (y/n). Get some sleep. We’ll be here when you wake up.” Dark assured you. Smiling gently as you forced your eyes to close.

You didn’t know how long Dark sat there for. His fingers drawing patterns along the back of your hand. But your exhausted mind collapsed into a dreamless place. Even with your imagination running wild with what could be happening to the person outside.

You felt reassured. You felt safe. And the first time in a long time, you could sleep without fearing of waking up with the threat of pain and death looming over you.

#Darkiplier #Antisepticeye #reader insert #Darkiplier x reader #Antisepticeye x reader #Darkiplier x Antisepticeye x reader #dark egos #dark youtubers #youtuber egos #stalker au

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much-obliged-timothy · 4 years

Text

Whumptober #29

Star Wars - #29 - Reluctant Bedrest

Alright with season 2 of The Mandalorian dropping tomorrow you KNOW I’m in my Boba Fett feels, so here’s stubborn young Boba and trying his best dad Jango

Boba Fett peered over his cover, gun aimed. His father had briefed him on the creature he was hunting, but his mind was foggy and sluggish, and he couldn’t recall the details. Even now, he had to stop to wipe sweat away from his forehead.

He was sick, and he knew it. But Jango had just returned from a job yesterday, and had been excited to take Boba out hunting with the new blaster he’d gotten for him. Boba so rarely got to spend time with his father.

And he didn’t want to seem weak.

More than anything, he didn’t want his father to see him as weak.

So he forced himself to steady his hold on the blaster as the creature wandered closer. It was large, towering over the young Fett with impressive height and bulk.

But Jango wouldn’t have tasked the kill to Boba if he thought Boba couldn’t handle it. Boba knew Jango was watching from just a little distance away, prepared to intervene if Boba proved unfit for the task.

He would do it, though. Even as the fever had him leaning heavily against the cluster of rocks he’d taken cover behind, he kept himself upright and tracked the creature with his new blaster.

The creature was drawing closer, casting a shadow over Boba. He tried to remember where his father had told him to aim. Was it the head? Or the chest? Or, wait...was he supposed to shoot out a leg first so it couldn’t charge?

He couldn’t remember, and panic flared. He took a deep breath, and had to resist the urge to cough as his throat burned.

The head seemed the most logical. The creature’s skin looked too thick for a shot anywhere else to be effective. Boba aimed his blaster, sweat making it hard to keep a good grip.

The creature bowed its head a little to inspect something on the ground. Boba took his chance.

He fired, the recoil too much for his weakened body. He staggered and had to catch himself against the rock cluster, looking up hopefully.

His hope turned to horror.

Not only was the creature still alive and well, but it was looking right at him with murder in its dark eyes.

It tipped its head back, let out a loud snarl, and charged at Boba’s hiding spot. Boba didn’t hesitate; he took off running.

But with his aching throat, it was hard to catch his breath as he ran. His body was weak, his head already dizzy from pushing himself today. His vision wavered as he ran, but he forced his legs to keep moving, unsteady as they were. He’d find somewhere to duck behind, and shoot at the creature’s legs.

“BOBA!”

Jango’s voice rang out just as Boba stumbled. Before he could catch his balance, the creature slammed into him, sending him flying.

He flailed in the air, and cried out as he hit the ground, his leg snapping on impact. His body rolled, sending his vision wavering again as the pain tore up his broken leg.

He tried to drag himself away, blaster still in hand. It would charge again. It would finish him off.

He could hear its footsteps coming closer, shaking the ground with their impact. Panic flared in Boba’s chest as he twisted himself around and fired at it with the blaster.

But then it let out a howl as Jango shot it in the back leg. It skidded onto the ground, but Jango didn’t let up as he used his jetpack to fly around it, firing relentlessly until the creature laid still.

Jango landed beside Boba, and Boba slumped onto the ground, too tired to keep himself upright. Jango pulled his helmet off and set it aside, grimacing at the angle Boba’s leg sat at. He pried his gloves off so his touch would be gentler as he reached for Boba.

He moved to push Boba’s hair out of his face, but paused as his fingers touched the burning skin there. He pressed his palm to Boba’s forehead, the fever glaringly apparent.

“You knew you were sick,” Jango said.

“I’m fine,” Boba insisted, voice scratchy.

“You hid it from me,” Jango said. He thought Boba had been skittering about him all day. “Boba, you could’ve been killed.”

“I’m fine,” Boba repeated, tightening his hold on the blaster.

“No, you’re not. Your leg is broken, and you overexerted yourself. That’ll only make your fever worse,” Jango said. But he silently cursed himself for not noticing. He’d been so excited to present Boba the new blaster and take him hunting that he hadn’t even questioned why Boba had been trying to avoid him until it was time to leave for the hunt.

And when it had gone wrong, he’d been too slow to yank Boba out of the way before he was hit. He should’ve known something was wrong as soon as Boba fired for the head. He’d told Boba to fire at the legs, and Boba always listened attentively to him.

What a mess.

“Let’s get you back home,” Jango said. He’d have to be careful; Boba’s leg was in bad shape.

Boba just stayed silent, holding the blaster tightly. He looked at the corpse of the creature, and hung his head as he waited for his dad to save him yet again.

“You need to drink it. It’ll help your fever, and make your throat feel better,” Jango said.

Boba, sweating and breathing shallowly, shook his head. He didn’t have enough energy to lift his head to drink it.

Jango set the drink aside for now. Boba’s fever had grown worse, and Jango didn’t have anything strong enough to treat it with here. He’d have to leave Boba and go out to buy more, but he didn’t dare leave him until the boy’s condition stabilized some.

For now, though, Boba looked young and vulnerable. His leg was carefully propped up, encased in a cast. Jango had laid a cool washcloth over Boba’s head, and his hair clung to it.

“I’m fine, dad,” Boba croaked, trying to get up. “I want to try out my blaster.”

Jango pushed him back against the pillows. “We’ve been through this. You’re too sick to get out of bed, and your leg is broken. You shouldn’t hunt right now, even if your fever breaks.”

“I can do it!” Boba argued.

His whole body trembled, wracked with fever. But still he tried to get up, and Jango had to hold him down until he stopped struggling.

“You need bedrest, Boba. Even if we can get rid of your fever, you should be on bedrest for the week to let your leg start to heal,” Jango said firmly.

“I’m fine!” Boba said angrily, almost desperately.

“Why are you pushing yourself so hard?” Jango demanded.

“Because I’m not weak!” His voice broke on the words, and he turned his head away in shame. He clenched his fists, shaking even harder now. “I can do it. I’m not weak. Let me up.”

Jango closed his eyes briefly. Had he been pushing Boba too hard this whole time?

“Boba,” he said at least, reaching out and resting a light hand on Boba’s shoulder. “Everyone gets sick sometimes. That’s not weak. And you think I haven’t broken bones before? I have, plenty of times. And I let them heal, because I didn’t want to make it worse.”

Boba still refused to look at him, and Jango didn’t know if it was fever or shame burning his cheeks red. He squeezed Boba’s shoulder.

“Resting when you need to rest isn’t weakness. It means you know your limits and respect your body’s needs,” Jango said. “So please, rest for the week.”

“What if you get called away on a job?” he said.

“Then I won’t go. I made plenty on my last job, and we’ll be fine for a week or two,” Jango said, guiding Boba back down to the pillows.

“You don’t think I’m weak?” Boba whispered.

“I have never thought that of you, son,” Jango said.

Boba closed his eyes, and he was out in moments. Jango touched his burning skin, concerned by how bad the fever was getting.

Keeping Boba on bedrest would be hard. He knew this fight wasn’t over. Boba would try to prove himself by pushing his limits. He always did.

But Jango was his father. He’d keep an eye on Boba and make sure he got the rest he needed, reluctant as it might be.

Still, for now he needed to focus on lowering Boba’s fever. He tightened his hold on Boba’s shoulder, that imagine of Boba being flung while Jango sped towards him looping through his mind.

He would not lose his son. Not to any creature, not to any fever, and not to Boba’s own stubbornness.

#star wars #boba fett #jango fett #whumptober2020 #no.29 #reluctant bedrest #fic #boba and jango #jtdoeswhumptober #My writing #my post

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strxngdrxm · 3 years

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ʜᴀʟʟ, ᴅ.

even though they say that time heals all wounds, the scars are still fucking there. i can't forget what happened. i can't forget how I felt

《 oliver stark. male, he/him. new kings by sleeping wolf 》 oh my, there goes DAVID JAMES “DEACON” HALL. the 29/29 year old INCUBI is currently working at SALEM FIRE STATION as a FIREFIGHTER. they’ve been in salem, ma for SIX MONTHS. they are known around town as THE WAR HERO. i have a feeling they AREN’T aware of what’s going on in town, and they are NEUTRAL. hopefully, because they are known to be CHARMING and ADAPTABLE while also being IMPULSIVE and CYNICAL, they will survive. i guess only time will tell. ( ray. she/her. 26. pst. )

a e s t h e t i c s : swimming in rage, cracking at tenderness. growl heard before the whimper of pain. the protective one. bruised fists. the smell in the air after rainfall. always know what you’re fighting for. observant eyes. loud mind, silent words. memories so loud. hands covered in ink. bright smiles, distracted eyes. rinsing oil off hands after tossing a wrench back in the toolbox. the rumble of a bike being heard from down the street. pages coved in ink, drawing memories. kind smiles and broken eyes.

q u o t e s : “ if you want to know what a man’s like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals. ” – sirius black, harry potter and the goblet of fire “ don’t give me the ‘hurt feelings’ thing because a. i don’t buy it, and b. i don’t care. ” – steve mcgarrett, hawaii five-o “ ‘go bravely, go deeply – or do not go’ bullshit, go, even if you are shaking with fear, go. take a blind step forward. that first step is worth so much more than standing still and never getting anywhere because you weren’t brave. ” – unknown

p e r s o n a l i t y : + realistic, observant, and self-reliant - possessive, stubborn, and temperamental

david better known as deacon, has always been a man of action. when he was younger, he had energy that was off the charts at times and that later turned into him just always needing to keep busy. which doesn’t always leave room for him to deal with his emotions. he just keeps so busy that he buries all his problems under everything. it’s what has left him so B R O K E N not that anyone is aware of just how much so. over the years, he’s gotten really good at hiding it.

people could describe him as charming and flirty, caring and protective, and smart and adaptable. while all these things are true about the hybrid, he’s mainly just tired. that is what drives him even more to not show how broken he is. he’s always doing his part to be there for everyone else, not many people see that he needs someone to be there for him.

due to him being so good at hiding all his issues, he’s become really good at seeing the signs of when someone else needs help and will never hesitate in offering to help. he’s used to only being able to rely on himself, he doesn’t want that for anyone else.

he’s also known to get a little temperamental at times. never around the people he cares about, always able to keep it down until he explodes on some poor stranger. fearing losing anyone else he cares about, deacon can be a bit possessive. he does his best to not show it, but he can’t always help it. when he actually allows people in, he holds on as tightly as he can.

s u m m a r y : deacon grew up in salem, but when his adopted parents died when he was thirteen, him and his older brother ( who was seventeen at the time ) moved away. during this time, deacon really started to lose control on his emotions which made it hard for him to control his powers that came with being an incubi. he’s always known he was adopted and what he was, but never fully understood it since he didn’t have anyone to teach him. though his family did their best. once he was old enough, to run away from all his problems and to hopefully do better, deacon enlisted in the military. now he’s back in town cause he’s contract was up and he heard his brother was back in town. still trying to do his best to help people, he started working as a firefighter right away.

he has this need to try to help people cause he see’s himself as a monster. he hates what he is and hates how easy it is for him to hurt people. despite that though, he is neutral in the fight, mainly cause he doesn’t know what’s happening. but also because he’s fought in a different war and struggles over it... he’s not sure he’d be ready to do it all again. though, he might not be able to stay out of it for long.

h e a d c a n o n s : due to hybrids being a hit and miss amongst people, it was no surprise that deacon was given up as a baby. his biological mother wanted nothing to do with him once she realised what he was, she didn’t even bother naming him. she just dumped him off in the woods and left him for dead since know one would take a demon child. he had been lucky that renee hall had been near by and heard his cries. the kind women didn’t even hesitate in bringing him home with her. the hall family had no issue in bonding with the unnamed child and while they tried to find his parents, when they learned what he was and what most likely happened to him, they took him in and named him. adopting him easily. david was given his middle name after his new father and brother while his brother picked the name david for him. they did this to show him ( later, when he was old enough to know the truth ) that they ALL welcomed him.

growing up, david knew he was different from his family, so when he was old enough and they told him he was adopted, he had no issue with it. they were his family and nothing else mattered. as a young boy, he admired his older brother to the point of following him around, trying to be like him. or would try to make him happy by using the powers that came with being an incubi. powers he discovered by accident and would sometime get out of control but his brother was always an anchor for him and helped him reel it in.

david was doing well with his family; he was happy and healthy. and he always seemed to do really really in school. always seeming to be ahead of everyone else. he was able to pick things up very easily. david was definitely considered popular in school, not that he really tried. he just got along with everyone. being both part of the smart group of kids as well as the athlete’s, it made it easy for him to befriend most people.

when he was thirteen, his parents told him and james the good news that they were expecting and would be having a girl. something david had said he wanted from a young age. he had wanted to be a big brother like james was and do for them what james always did for him. however, everything took a turn for the worse when there was a fire, that was caused by faulty electrical wiring, which resulted in the death of both his parents and his unborn sister. ↳ david remembers it clearly, he’ll never forget it. laying on a stretcher, completely alone thinking his entire family was gone. the paramedics that surrounded didn’t tell him anything about his family. it was less then a minute before james came into view, but it felt like a lifetime. in those few seconds, he had to deal with the most unbearable pain of thinking not only did he lose his family but having to deal with thinking he was the only survivor. however, when james reached out for him, david just cried. cried for the pain he was in, both physically and mentally. while the turns were unbearable, it was the pain of having lost his parents that really had him lose it. refusing to let go of james’ hand.

after the fire, james and david left salem. neither able to cope with being in the town anymore. james stepped up and helped david as much as he could. david did his best to make it easy on his brother, not wanting him to carry all the weight himself. but his grades started to slip and he had more accidents with him losing control of his powers. he wasn’t dealing with his own grief very well.

when david was seventeen, things had started to get a little better. he couldn’t be his complete old self again, but he was starting to try again. though it was short lived when he became sexually active with his girlfriend. he hadn’t realised what was happening until it was too late. completely horrified and full of guilt, david ran to the only person he had left. james helped him deal with it all and helped understand exactly what was happening but nothing could stop the guilt david felt. he could get the image of his girlfriend’s face out of his head. so he did the only thing he could think of. he ran. james found him and despite the relationship not being what it once was, helped him. like the way he used to when they had their family.

at the age of eighteen, david made sure james would be fine on his own and took off to enlist. for him, it was a way to do better. to make up for the horror of what he did. plus, it had been something he wanted to do before, but had fortten about it after everything. being away from james made it hard for david to even hear his own name. everyone started calling him deacon cause there was a guy who enlisted with him that thought it was his name. it stuck since there were two other david’s and he refused to be called by his last name since it hurt too much.

he did his best to keep in touch with his brother, but it was hard. deacon learned more about his brother from tabloids than actually being able to talk to his own brother. despite not talking much to his brother, deacon would ALWAYS write his brother. he’d write a letter almost everyday. just keeping his brother up to date with him, even if he didn’t always get a reply back. even in the middle of a warzone, all he could do was worry about his brother. half the time he doesn’t even realise his own pain because he is too busy worrying about everyone else. being what they need. a brother, a soldier, a friend, a lover, their crying shoulder, their ear to vent to, their punching bag, etc.

a mission he was on cost him greatly and once again, deacon found himself losing everyone he cared about. the guys from his unit were ambushed and deacon was the only survivor but he managed to get each and every fallen soldier back with him. deacon was honoured with a silver star and allowed to go home again. so he decided it was time for him to come home and stay home. finding james was easy, trying to get back their bond was harder. but he wasn’t giving up.

once arriving back to salem, deacon found it easy to get a job as a firefighter. given his history, the captain couldn’t turn him away. deacon had spent time being a field medic and the fire captain knew it would be foolish to not have the man on his team.

in his free time, deacon can be found painting/drawing or working on his bike. things in which help him stay calm.

e x t r a : pinterest. spotify(TBA). moodboard(TBA).

#salem.intro #ᴅ. ʜᴀʟʟ –> musings.#ᴅ. ʜᴀʟʟ –> intro.#death tw #/this got super long #my bad

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