#and I just think making an effort to not continue to punching bag people might be good

[antimony-medusa]

Okay so inspired by nothing in particular (it's inspired by reading the notes on the ace swag final poll, fun stuff in there), I have been thinking about being Cringe. Cause like, you enter a fandom, and usually, you find out shortly that somebody else hates that fandom. There is no fandom niche enough that it's not Weird to somebody, and there's no fandom mainstream enough that it's not Annoying to somebody else. And given the fact that some people do hatred recreationally, there's often going to be somebody mad enough about your fandom that they're going to go on diatribes about how your fandom is bad and actually harmful and destroying the fabric of civilization, etc. They're gonna pull out anything negative and blow it up until it's the size of the skyline and attack you for liking this negative thing.

Fun times, we've all seen it.

And the thing is, there's an impulse to have this happen and immediately find somebody else to point to and say, yeah, well, I might be weird, but at least I'm not THAT guy. I might read YA, but at least I'm not a Furry— those guys are sexual deviants! I might be into actual play podcasts, but at least I'm not into mcyt— those guys are all harmful and my guy is fine. I might be into danmei, but at least I'm not into bandom— rpf is so gross. I might be a furry, but at least I'm not into mainstream romance novels— senseless drivel aimed at middle class white women. Y'know. Immediately find someone to punch down on.

And boy do I understand why you want to do that, when people are pointing at you, but I don't actually think that it's helpful.

Cause like, every fandom has a logical train of thought and reasonable human impulses behind it. You might not share those impulses— I'm not a furry I don't think, I don't really get true crime— but that doesn't mean I can't have it explained to me by a very patient person in in the writer's workshop common room and go "oh, yeah, kinda pretending to be an animal, but you're gay about it, yeah, makes sense", or "oh yeah, morbid curiosity from the safety of your headphones, it's like a horror movie but real" and nod. Like there isn't a fandom or group out there that doesn't look weird from the outside, and there isn't a fandom or group that can't be explained if someone has thought about the human psyche enough.

And that isn't to say that there isn't sometimes salient critiques for what fandoms are doing or not doing— to grab the two examples above, I have heard people talking about issues with true crime reinforcing the current fucked up justice system, or bigotry at furry cons. But a) most of the time, there is already somebody inside that community that's fighting against those issues, and you just threw them under the bus with the problem they're trying to fix b) you don't usually know the nuances of the actual conversation and problems, you saw a couple callout posts. You saying "Yeah I'm a board game nerd but at least I don't play competitive trading card cames, those guys are doing nothing but feeding the capitalist machine" is not usually helpful towards fixing the ctg scene. It's just a cheap way to score points.

Like, I assure you that the YA scene is aware of the calcification of the genre into a tighter and tighter romantic form and their dependence on going big on tik-tok to sell enough to keep publishing. They know.

You specifically saying that your fandom is better cause it's not [problems you heard about other fandom having] is not actually going to make the person who's hating on you stop hating. They already decided that you're the person they're better than and that they're punching down on, you passing the punching down on to another fandom just makes more people sad on the internet, and potentially starts yet another chain of someone punching down at someone else. The wheel grinds on, everybody gets punched.

I guess this is just kinda turning into a "why hate on the internet, what good does that do" post, which is broader than I meant it to be. But like, there's a difference between thoughtful critique of problems (complicated to do fairly but very necessary) and finding someone new to curbstomp to make yourself feel better/morally superior (look, I'm writing this on a mcyt blog, we've all seen this happen, it does not increase the joy in the world).

Like in MCYT, we all decide to punch down on [other server we hate], or RPF, or people who write kidfic, or people who write e-rated fic/art, or people doing the popular trope of the moment, and sure, it lets you feel morally superior for the moment, at the cost of slapping the guy next to you. Haven't we had enough slapping the guy next to you? There but for the grace of god (got a fun idea/watched the wrong stream/ended up in the wrong brainstorming circle/got fixated on the wrong funny guy) goes I. You're not better than another group just because you saw a couple more callout posts (usually from people inside the community trying to fix things) about them.

We are all Cringe. There is nobody who's not Cringe. Don't say that you're not Cringe because someone else is more Cringe. Stop that.

#discourse #This is another thing where the public/private rule applies too I think #cause social media is public and what you do there is governed by different politeness rules #walking into your friend's dms and saying GOD I AM SO ANNOYED BY [other fandom] is a normal human impulse #posting that where other people can see that is potentially much more like shouting in the face of a random person #idk this is potentially something where me having a thousand followers is warping the perspective #cause I try to be really aware of the fact that who knows what people who see my posts are into #there's nobody I can throw under the bus and not have them see it #if you have eight followers all of which you know #you're much more effectively in a private space #idk #boy reading the tags on that ace swag poll was kinda a Oh Yeah They Really Hate Us moment #I forgot that cause I was just happy over here #but boy are we still an internet's favoured punching bag #and I just think making an effort to not continue to punching bag people might be good #fandom meta

[louscartridge]

⇢ ˗ˏˋselenite

han jisung x gn reader

cw- could be really fucking triggering!! selfharm (cutting, burning, hitting, nail/skin picking, working out), comfort, cuddling, reader and jisung say ily, crying, reader goes on a vent, reader has a bit of an anger and pain problem.

han could tell you were having a hard time with staying clean.

the way you would bite your nails and the skin around them more than usual, the way you would bite the inside of your mouth and tongue all the time, they way you would hit your thighs whenever you would get mad. you wouldn’t tell him anything about it though, you didn’t have to.

when han got back to the dorms, he didn’t expect to see you there at all, let alone see you with your arms hugging your knees to your chest, head buried inbetween them and sobbing silently.

han quickly sets his bag down next to the door and makes his way over to you on his bunk. “jagiya, whats wrong?” he asks carefully.

of course he’d had ideas of what might be wrong, but he also couldn’t know for sure if he was correct. he knew that if he was right, he needed to at least try to help you in some way, but he also knew if he was way off, he had to tread around it carefully.

you take in a long, shaky breath before answering. “i cant do it anymore ji”

jisung’s heart dropped at your words.

“do what anymore?”

“stay clean. i hate it. all of it. everyone keeps telling me i’ve been nicer since i’ve been clean.” you wiped your eyes with your hoodie sleeve before continuing. “which is bullshit, by the way, i dont think i’ve been acting any different. i’m mad. all the time. i mean, i was before but whenever i would get mad i was able to do something about it. now? i can’t do shit.”

your crying begins to stop as you speak and the anger in your voice slowly increases.

“felix keeps telling me i can still do something about it, it’ll just be healthy now. which yeah, you could say that- but it’s stupid. ive tried other things, healthy things. but nothing works. pain was.. is, the only thing that actually helps me. with everything.  pain is the only thing that would bring me back. i would cut and burn and hit to feel it. to see it. to see and feel that i’m real. it would bring my anger back down. i would punch a wall so hard my hand would hurt, i would throw something so hard to where my shoulder would ache. pain is the only fucking way and now i can’t even do that. i need to relapse soon or i swear to god i’m gonna go fucking insane.”  

“changbin hyung says i can go to the gym with him, which i think i might do.”

jisung did nothing but gaze at you and listen until he was sure you were done. something he knew no one ever really did in your life.

when you finished and looked at him, he prepared his response.

“i know you hate it, but it’ll be worth it. eventually. and you have been nicer, to an extent.” han said and moved so he was sat next to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder.

“i’m pretty sure thats just how you are though.” he laughs. “and felix is right, in a way. you can still do something about it, it’ll just be healthy. it might feel like it doesn’t do anything but you just gotta get used to it and you will. it’s just gonna take time and this is the hardest part. you gotta put the effort in - you can’t just do something once and expect it to work overnight, you have to put work into it for it to have an affect on your life. something you do a lot is rely on other people.”

“oh but i thought-” you began.

jisung cut you off, knowing what he had said sounded harsh and knowing what you were going to say. ‘oh, but i thought you were ok with that’.

“you can rely on me all you want, that’s fine, as long as you know its not exactly heathy. but you can’t really do that with other people. i know pain has always been a big thing for you, has been since we met. but it’s not something that you should keep doing and you know it. do you think you’ll be able to trust yourself to work out with changbin without turning it into self-harm again?”

“i don’t know, thats why i haven’t gone with him yet. i think if i do it with someone else i would be able to. but probably not if i were to work out by myself.”

han sighed and went to say something but you didn’t let him.

“can we just go to sleep please? i’m so tired and i miss you.” you ask, your voice getting quiet.

“of course jagi.”

han moves behind you and spoons you as you both lay down.

you bury your face in his arms that encircle you.

“i love you. so much. so does chan, and felix, and everyone else in this dorm. just not as much as i do obviously.” han says quietly.

the last part of his sentence made you giggle.  

“you’re becoming yourself again. it might not feel like it yet, but i can see it in you.” han says and kisses your shoulder.

“i love you.” you whisper, kissing his hands as you both fall asleep.

#straykids fanfic #stray kids fanfic #straykids #stray kids #straykids x reader #stray kids x reader #skz #skz fanfic #skz ff #skz x reader #han jisung #han jisung imagine #han jisung x reader #han jisung skz #han jisung comfort #han jisung angst #stray kids angst #stray kids comfort #han jisung x you #han jisung x y/n #han jisung x yn #ff #fanfiction #fanfic #x you #x y/n #x yn #x reader #angst #hurt

[pirate-queen-boy]

Jinx is the most Important character in ARCANE

🔴SPOILERS FOR ARCANE!!🔴

OK so recently I was thinking about an AU for "What if Powder became a Firelight" and as I was brainstorming, I came to a realization; SO MUCH WOULD CHANGE! And with that realization came another realization... It's the title. But anyways, let me start this off with a meme.

Love her or hate her, you know this is true!

There are two types of ARCANE fans. Those who love Jinx as Silco does, and those who wish to see her disintigrate in a pool of acid. Lets Analyze the latter for a second. People hate Jinx because she does a lot of things that really screw everything up, inadvertantly making her a less likeable character.

Fair.

I don't hate her, but lets not dwell on that too much. Instead, lets try and analyze some of the terrible things she does.

The House Robbery:

Within the first episode, Powder, Vi, Milo and Claggor all raid Jayce's house. They each find something to put in the bag, and among all of that, Powder goes into Jayce's personal study (or workshop, whatever it's called) and she finds the Hex-gems. The result from that is Powder dropping one of the Hex-gems, blowing up much of Jayce's home, and then a chase ensues.

Now here's what would have happened if Powder didn't take any of the Hex-gems: Jayce was already knocking at their door, so even if the kids got away in time not to be spotted by Jayce, they would still have to finesse their way off his balcony, in time not to be spotted by the Enforcers. Plus, they busted open the door to Jayce's balcony, so he could have noticed and spotted them anyway. And all of this isn't even to mention Jayce could have reported them anyway. But fine, lets say that Powder's one choice didn't derail everything... what then? The kids may have gone back to the Undercity, made a buck off of their findings and then...

Do you think that would make a more interesting story? If the kids just got away with stealing Jayce's stuff and then everything continues the way it was supposed to? Because that's just what would have happened. Every important story beat after that happens because of that one choice that Powder made. Keep that in mind as we continue to through this.

The Monkey Bomb Incident:

Hey remember how traumatizing it was for EVERYONE INVOLVED when Powder tried to help everyone by killing them? Good times. But I've actually thought about this one, and there's a good chance that what actually happened really was best case scenario. You might remember a Shimmer-juiced Deckard was litterally knocking at the door of Powder's family. So yes, Mylo was able to free Vander, Claggor made a hole in the wall for everyone to escape out of... but how long would they really last? I mean, Deckard on shimmer was fast enough to kill two people without even being seen. The way I see it, they would have gone through all of that effort just to get bodied by a kid on steroids.

And where would that leave Powder? Alone at the last drop, unbeknownst to her that her entire family was just killed, with no one to look after her... exept maybe Ekko could have found her, and then she could join him as oNE OF THE FIRELIGHTS OHMYGOSH-

Nah, but you know what DID happen because of what Powder did? ALMOST everyone died! But hey, Vi is still alive so she can punch her sister in the face and leave her for dead!

...my appologies. Anyways, Becaue of what DID happen, Silco was able to find Powder and take her in so she could eventually become Jinx, and Vi is still alive so she can partake in the story.

The Zeplin Mishap:

One of the more minor ones, but in Episode 4 Jinx freaks out after seeing a Firelight girl that looks like her sister. What happens after that is the firelights successfully burining most of the shimmer, and Jinx freaks out and starts shooting everyone. Now what if that one thing didn't happen? Well, Silco and his buisness wouldn't have been subject to setbacks, and more importantly, the show couldn't really continue. Becaue of Jinx's freak out, Caitlyn was able to deduce what happened, and even figured out that one of Silco's henchmen recived friendly fire from Jinx, so he had reason to talk. That leads to Caitlyn going to stillwater prison to try and talk to him, but instead she meets her future girlfriend Vi!

NONE of that would have happened if Jinx had kept it togeather during that scene. And frankly, I think that's asking a bit much of someone who has that much Trauma.

Alright, this is getting long enough:

There are a LOT more moments I could take from to make my point, but we would be here all year, and probably miss the entire second season if I noted every single thing Jinx did. So my point is this: Jinx may have done some crappy things, but if not for those things we relly wouldn't have much of a story. ARCANE would not exist (at least as it does now) if not for the character Jinx was written to be. So that's why I think Jinx is the most important character in ARCANE, all because she made the choice when she was young, to steal some pretty gems from a young scientist...

#jinx #jinx arcane #arcane #league of legends #jinx league of legends

[tsukishumai]

pairing: tsukishima kei x f!reader wc; 2.2k tags; fluff, coworkers to lovers? a/n: quick fic for my bby lol happy birthday tsukki <33

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Tsukishima Kei was tired.

Stepping out into the cold, autumn evening, he rubs his hands together in an attempt to warm his frozen fingers. He thinks the blister he feels forming on his pinky toe was a sign for him to get a new pair of shoes, and this fact was solidified by the ache in his arch with each step he took towards the bus stop.

The day had been longer than most. Maybe if he hadn’t let his brother drag him to the gym and play pick-up games last night, then perhaps his body wouldn’t have felt so sore this morning. And if his body hadn’t been so sore in the morning, then he might have had the energy to grab coffee before work, possibly even pack himself a quick lunch. His mood would have presumably been at least mildly better throughout the day, and he had no doubt that he would have been able to continue on with his work swiftly, and efficiently.

But Tsukishima had learned at a young age that things don’t always work out for him the way he wants them to.

He wasn’t trying to be rude when you came to ask him about his tour schedule, but did you have to burst through his office door so loudly? He felt bad for 2.3 seconds as he watched your smile slowly melt into a frown, but he was way too irked when you rolled your eyes at him when he asked you to knock.

And it wasn’t his fault that he bought the last tuna onigiri from the food stand outside the museum. He forgot to pack lunch, and he was hungry, too. He probably shouldn’t have unwrapped and eaten it right in front of your face, but he doesn’t appreciate getting dirty looks for ordering a meal.

You’re newer to the museum, he knows that. As someone with seniority, he should be a little more helpful, and he could probably work on improving his sociability just a tiny bit, but his patience could only run so thin. It’s not like you ever listened to him anyway.

Should he have told you to figure out the volunteer’s schedule on your own because ‘even a monkey with a banana could do it on their own’? Okay, maybe not.

But did you have to snap at him to ‘keep the stick up his own ass and leave yours alone’ when he warned your tours took too long, and you’d end up leaving late? No, and that’s the last time Tsukishima will ever try to offer advice to a newbie.

Tsukishima sighed. He was tired.

His stomach growled out loud as he pressed the button for the crosswalk, slowly moving to rub his palm along his belly. He’s wondering if he has anything he could make at his apartment. When an image of a rotting bunch of scallions and moldy tomatoes dying in his refrigerator drawer comes to mind, he thinks he’s probably better off grabbing a bento from the convenience store down the street.

The light switches from red to green, and just before Tsukishima steps down from the curb, he feels an arm delicately wrap around his own.

“Hey, babe,” a familiar, annoyingly cheery voice greets him, and he has to stop himself from grimacing when he looks down and his eyes meet yours.

Tsukishima doesn’t think you’ve ever touched him once — not in the last six months since you’ve become his coworker. He had bowed when you were first introduced, and Tsukishima had never been one to hand out hugs or high fives.

He attributes the deep blush that spread across his cheeks to this fact, and not to the feeling of your chest pressed tightly against his side.

“What the —“

“You almost left without me,” you pouted, and Tsukishima nearly tripped over his feet when you swing your body around to switch positions with him, “You’re so silly!”

“Uh,” Tsukishima stammers at the situation at hand, but he stills when he feels your grip tighten painfully around his bicep, and your eyes narrow and widen.

From behind your shoulder, Tsukishima sees it.

The streets were not too crowded, but they weren’t empty. From both sides of the sidewalk, Tsukishima watched as people silently walked past each other in a valiant effort to get home.

This was why Tsukishima almost didn’t notice the man standing beside the lamp post just fifteen feet back, his face half covered by a mask, hoodie pulled all the way over his head with the bill of a black hat just peeking out.

Tsukishima’s blood ran cold when he realized the man is watching you clutch onto him, and Tsukishima does not react when he can feel your nails dig through the material of his sweater.

A look of panic briefly flashes in your eyes when Tsukishima places his hand on top of yours and gently pulls your grip off his sleeve.

“You’re going to ruin my sweater,” Tsukishima mumbles as he drags his hand down the length of your arm and intertwines his fingers with yours. Your mouth drops open in shock when he gives your hand a tight squeeze, “Sweetie.”

He doesn’t wait for you to regain your composure before he drags you across the street. As soon as Tsukishima’s foot lands on the other curb, he glances back at the direction from which you came.

The capped-man was now slowly walking forward, reaching the crosswalk just as the light turned red once more.

Tsukishima quickened his pace down the silent sidewalk, globes of orange light shining down each lamp post you walked past. You said nothing of the sweat that accumulated between both of your nervous palms, still gripping onto Tsukishima’s hand tightly. The size of it nearly engulfs your own, and your hold on him was the only thing allowing you to somewhat keep up with the pace of his strides.

“My bus stop is right over there,” you mumble quietly, and Tsukishima silently thanked the gods you were going the same direction.

He could feel your fingers trembling against his, and Tsukishima gives you a light squeeze.

He wasn’t sure what to do. He was never one to comfort another, and he had never really been in a situation before. But something akin to an ember of rage had been stoked within him as soon as he saw some strange man’s greedy little eyes stuck on you.

The bus arrived just five minutes later, and Tsukishima stayed close behind as you climbed inside. You were lucky enough to find two vacant seats, and you slid into the one beside the window. Tsukishima occupies the aisle seat, stretching his legs out slightly as he watches the stream of people entering and leaving the bus.

It was after an old woman carrying groceries clambered into a seat behind the bus driver did Tsukishima notice him.

He sat by the very front while the two of you occupied seats in the back. A pair of sunglasses now completely masked all of his features, but Tsukishima didn’t need to see his eyes to know who they were trained on.

When you look up at him, dazed and slightly terrified, he gives you a tight-lipped smile. He lets go of your hand, and his heart breaks a little when he sees your eyes dart around in panic. Wordlessly, he reaches over and wraps his arms around your shoulders, pulling you close into his side.

You had always been so hot-headed — loud, and passionate, and animated about everything that you do. Tsukishima had known you were trouble from the moment you rearranged one of his displays without even thinking about consulting him, and you had honestly been a headache ever since. You challenged him at every turn, corrected him when he didn’t ask for it, and it was obvious to Tsukishima that you were much too big for him to handle.

But at the moment, feeling so small as you trembled tucked beneath his arm, Tsukishima could only think that he never wanted to see you like this ever again.

His heart crumbles a little when you rest your head against his shoulder.

“So,” Tsukishima’s voice vibrated against your cheek, “The tours ran a bit too long today, didn’t they?”

Tsukishima bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing when you turn your head to face him, an incredulous expression decorating your features.

“Is now really an appropriate time for an ‘I told you so’,” You hissed, “You never miss a chance, do you?”

Now, a smug smile has fully settled onto his lips, “Never have, never will.”

You land a punch on Tsukishima’s wide open ribs, and he flinches to the side with a slight ‘oof’. But he tightens his arm around you even more. Swirls of pine and citrus began to calm your nerves, and it took you too long to realize you were inhaling Tsukishima’s cologne. He smelled as clean as he looked, and even after a full day of work, not a single hair of his was out of place.

Your stop was four after Tsukishima’s. He carried your bag from your shoulders as you climbed out of your seat. He stepped aside to allow you to lead the way, but Tsukishima’s chest was nearly pressed against your back with how closely he followed behind.

You hadn’t expected Tsukishima to follow you this far, and as you walked a few steps towards the direction of your apartment, you turned to thank Tsukishima for his aid.

You whip your head side to side when you find that he was no longer walking behind you, curious to see that he was waiting two feet away from the bus’ exit.

You briefly wondered what he was waiting for, and your heart shattered down to the ground when you see the familiar stranger that had been following you since you exited your office building slowly step out.

You didn’t even notice him climb onto the bus. Had he really been there the entire time? Oh god, was he planning to follow you all the way home? Your head begins to spin at the dangerous possibilities that could have unfolded.

“Are you lost?” Tsukishima’s voice was cold and stern, and you could hear it clearly from where you stood.

You watched as the hooded man jolted, clearly shocked at the question directed to him. His face still remained perfectly hidden, but you could tell from his body language that he was not expecting to be addressed.

Tsukishima towered over him, but his six foot five stature had towered nearly everyone. The eyes behind his dark-rimmed glasses were narrowed in a glare, and Tsukishima stayed planted in front of your intruder.

“Oh — uh, i— no, just —“

“It’s that way,” Tsukishima didn’t wait for the man to finish his stammering, pointing a long finger towards the opposite direction of your home.

The man didn’t need to be told twice. He twirled on his heels, looking over his shoulders only to see Tsukishima watch as he walked away into the night.

You were frozen, mouth hung so wide open, you were pretty sure bugs had flown in. Tsukishima makes his way back to you, stopping to wrap his arms around your shoulders once again. He tilts his head down at you, looking softly as he asks, “Which way?”

You were at a loss for words, choosing instead to simply lead the way. Tsukishima remained draped over you, like a blanket of protection warding off all evil.

The silence that engulfed the two of you felt comfortable, and on any other day, you might have been appalled to be in such close contact with Tsukishima Kei.

But today, you felt safe. You felt comfort, and relief, and you relax against him, perfectly protected under Tsukishima’s wing.

You sneak a glance up at him, biting your lip as you turn the words you want to say over in your head.

“Tsukishima,” you start, chewing on your lips, “Thank yo—“

“My last tour is usually at 4:45,” he interrupts you, squeezing his hand on your shoulder, “I try to catch up on some paperwork before leaving but…”

He trails off, and you stay silent in fear of ruining what he’s trying to tell you.

He shifts his head away from you as he says, “If you wait for me, I could walk you home.”

You stop in your tracks, looking up at him with a smile. Tsukishima pointedly avoids your gaze, but it’s difficult when he’s keeping you pinned beside him.

“I’d like that,” you mumble before pointing back at the apartment building he hadn’t noticed, “This is my place.”

Tsukishima finally deigns to let you go, stepping back and brushing his fingers through his hair.

“Shorten your tours,” he grumbles out, turning his body back the direction from where he came, “And don’t forget to itemize each piece that comes in for the Date Masumane exhibit tomorrow.”

You stare at him dumbfounded before bursting out in giggles, bringing your hand up in a mock salute.

“I owe you one,” you call out, watching him retreat back from where he came.

He waves you off.

“I like black coffee,” he calls back over his shoulder, “Do what you will with that information.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

rbs v appreciated <33

#tsukishima x reader #tsukishima x you #tsukishima x y/n #tsukishima kei x you #tsukishima kei x reader #tsukishima kei x y/n #tsukishima kei drabbles #tsukishima kei fluff #tsukishima kei scenarios #tsukishima fluff #tsukishima kei imagines #tsukishima imagines #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! scenarios #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu!! x reader

[wh6res]

three's a crowd | nomin

synopsis. picking favorites is impossible when you like neither of them.

warning. read at your own risk. abuse, bullying, poly relationship, yandere themes, manipulation, nonconsensual touching, noncon, degradation, smut threesome oop

disclaimer. i do not condone whatever tf i wrote in this nor does it reflect my beliefs or values or morals and such. it is all pure fiction and i also dont think jaemin or jeno would act like this in real life.

note. this was meant to be a new year's gift lmao i obviously got a lil carried away 👀 anyway a late happy new year to you all! we survived 2020, let's start living in 2021, yeah? lmao if covid lets us grr mwah!

the relationship you had with the two of them was a weird one, bordering on taboo, but it wasn't as if you willfully chose to be who they wanted you to be and it took jaemin's unwanted pining and jeno's intimidating demeanor for you to fall right into their arms.

it was a joint effort on their part, you couldn't've possibly stood a chance.

"this many?" the cashier asked. "are you sure?"

stepping back and studying the whole situation, you figured you only had your addiction to caffeine and procrastination to blame. it was a chain reaction you didn't even know will lead up to your inevitable doom.

if you hadn't been slacking off during your first semester of junior year college, you wouldn't be forced to overwork yourself trying to catch up to the looming deadlines, but to be able to 'work yourself to the bone' you need your boost of energy… and that was when you met one of them.

"uhm," you scratch the back of your head sheepishly as you eye the six glass bottles of iced coffee. sure, it looks bad and you kinda appreciate the look of concern the cashier throws your way but it was none of his business.

"yes. now could you, like, you know… hurry up? i'm in a little bit of a time crunch right now."

screw it. although you hardly snap like that with other people on a daily basis, it'll be a whole different conversation if you were under a significant amount of stress and today, unfortunately, is one of those days.

now can he just fucking stop asking questions and give you your six bottles of death drink to keep your fucking brain going so you can pass an eight-page essay tomorrow? thank you very much!

the guy snickered, the beeping sound of a barcode being read sounding a thousand times more annoying than it usually sounds as he keeps his hand busy by punching your items out.

you fail to notice how he studies you through the gaps of his lashes, finding you interesting rather than threatening as you stood before him with your messy hair and oversized hoodie.

"haven't seen you around university grounds 'till today," he tries striking another conversation with you. "you new? i'm jaemin."

this was your first mistake, you shouldn't have been so… downright rude when you met him. if you were granted the miracle of meeting him a 2nd time, you would've acted more nice, throwing yourself at his feet even to blend in with the rest of his fangirls you didn't even know about at the time. you would've done anything to make sure he never gives you a second glance, to never pique his interest.

jaemin is the pep squad captain. flying over colored blue mats and doing tumblings in the air with no ounce of fear. he was the best in his team, that much was evident when your friend dragged you into watching a pep rally practice. his landings were clean, balanced, and executed to the best he can at all times.

no wonder he was popular, his talent is outstanding and his looks are a bonus. his killer combo of a smile and wink after pulling off a tough flip is enough to send them squealing in their seats.

he spotted you that day and since then, he snuck the quickest glances at the bench during practices. recognizing you as the coffee girl he met during his convenience store shift. jaemin tries not to let his disappointment show too much when he doesn't see you, but of course, a pair of cold calculating eyes could see right through him.

"i saw that," his boyfriend said, hand darting forward to hold jaemin's gym bag for him. "you kept looking at the crowd. do you want to see her that much?"

"but she reminds me so much of you, jeno!" he retorts, pouting at the slight grumpy tone the other boy used. "i can't help it. she doesn't seem to give a fuck around me so she's quite interesting. maybe she can even be a great addition to our relationship!"

"well," jeno replies after a beat of silence, plastering a small smirk on his face before slinging an arm around jaemin's shoulder.

"convince me?"

you don't like jaemin's attention. not in the slightest. and it seems that was enough reason for the reign of terror his little fanclub has subjected you too.

it wasn't the petty elementary forms of bullying like pulling at your hair or calling you names. they pale in comparison to the other things they do to you—beating you up, messing with your homework, "accidentally" dumping their food trays on you.

and you weren't stupid.

you knew exactly who was behind it, knew how jaemin spectates the whole thing from afar so that he can swoop in at the end to play your knight in shining armor.

"oh, you poor thing. do you need help?"

the first time you accepted his "help" you ended up in a supply closet near the gym during your free period, cornered and weak as your cries for help drowns under the squeaking of shoes and the booming sounds of rubber balls hitting the floor.

if it weren't for jeno appearing out of thin air and prying the boy off of you, you would've been painted blue and red from the death grip he had on your wrist, neck, and waist.

you can still remember feeling the soreness of your scalp from when he pulled your hair too hard. remembered feeling his teeth gnawing at your lips as if he wanted to tear them off.

that time hadn't been the first time you saw jeno. you've shared a few classes with him and it strikes you how polar opposites they are with one another.

while jaemin likes to bask in his professor and classmates' recognition by confidently reciting his answers, jeno would rather keep to himself. liked sitting at the last row, near the window, so he'd be the first to go once the professor ends their lecture. while jaemin loved the attention of his fangirls, jeno preferred solitude. while jaemin is impulsive and wild, jeno liked to think things through.

it was within these reasons that you decided to do what you did. but your judgement of character has never been more wrong.

you approached jeno one day in the library, tried to make yourself appear as stoic and confident as possible. but your constant slouching and averting eyes was a dead giveaway.

you came to talk to him about what jaemin has been doing, hoping there's one person left in this entire school that isn't under the cheer captain's trance. the one reasonable person that has already saved you once and (hopefully) is willing enough to save you again. the only one that probably has a certain level of control over jaemin, if the supply closet incident is anything to go by.

but you've overestimated lee jeno.

"you should've just given jaemin what he wanted."

"but—but aren't you two lovers? isn't it bothering you?"

you try baiting him, only for an uncomfortable shiver to start crawling down your spine when he chuckled humorlessly, pushing his school materials to the side while pinning you with an unreadable stare.

how can a person make someone feel so small just by a gaze alone? it was nothing like you've felt with jaemin. this is way worse.

"the only thing that's bothering me is why you're not ours yet."

you feel cold fingers creeping their way under your shirt, going higher and higher until it brushes against your bra. and when your eyes meet, the look on his face was unmistakable—what are you going to do about it, huh?

you stood up in lightning speed, the chair you've been sitting on scraping loudly against the floor.

you've never ran out as fast as you did.

and jeno swears it'll be the last.

you tried everything in your power to ignore them for the next following weeks but it soon became useless when the two boys took it upon themselves to give you your space.

although judging by the pinpricks you feel on your back, and the constant weight of a stare you feel on your shoulders, you knew they weren't done with you yet. far from it. and for some reason, you just knew they wanted to lull you into a false sense of security first before striking again.

and while they continued to ogle at you from afar like a hawk circling its prey in a desert, you took it upon yourself to return the favor. not because you were the slightest bit interested in those creeps but maybe, just maybe, if you look hard enough you'll find a way out, a weakness.

but what you realized made your insides churn in great discomfort—although it may seem that jeno holds the reins in the relationship since his reserved nature fits the role, it's actually the other way around.

jaemin might appear too self-centered, too focused on himself to give a fuck about his surroundings but in actuality, he has quite a knack for reading people. even more so than jeno. and it was scary how he used it to his advantage, and paired up with his devoted fangirls? it was hell on earth.

you found it alarming how the two seem to magically appear wherever you are.

although you weren't in the least bit surprised. for some reason, you can't take your eyes away when jaemin's devotees flock around him (and jeno) in a circle.

it almost reminds you of a shoal of piranhas, waiting for their meal to drop into the water before ripping it to shreds with their teeth. only their "meal" isn't actual flesh but the carefully crafted words jaemin says that drive them into a sick frenzy.

one that has them doing everything in their power to satisfy him like the loyal dogs they are.

so this was how he got them to bully you?

"oh, that? don't worry! yangyang just ran into me during cheer rehearsal. no biggie. my cheek stung a little bit, though…" is what he said but really he's telling them "scruff him up a bit for me, why don't ya?"

"of course, i can't be the best all the time. haechan is just too good, maybe even better than me…" is what he said but really he's telling them "can you remind him where his place should be?"

all the while jeno did nothing to hold him back.

no matter how wrong jaemin is, how much of an asshole he is, jeno will stick by his side through and through. so as much as jaemin is a puppeteer that gets a kick for controlling people, jeno is as much at fault for looking the other way.

because in jeno's perspective, why the fuck would he do shit when he can just get off from the entertainment that comes with jaemin's sweet little mind games?

we lost :(

you had been busy sorting through paperwork for one of your professors in the faculty when your friend texted you the results of the intercollegiate cheer dance competition. a frown paints your face, heart feeling heavy at the bad news.

in all honesty, you still supported the pep squad—you just hated the captain and his boyfriend. they've been practicing non-stop for this and prior to the weeks of the competition, jeno looked a lot more tense and jaemin less smiley than usual. you swore you even saw the latter snap at one of his fangirls.

not to mention, they paid less attention to you, too, and it was the best three weeks of your life.

tension starts rising in your shoulders, fingers absentmindedly running through the edge of the papers you had been sorting until you became immersed with your thoughts.

jaemin must be in the worst mood yet.

and jeno too, probably. if anything, that guy gets triggered the most when something bad happens to jaemin or when he catches snippets of people talking shit about his oh so "perfect" boyfriend.

jeno is a lot scarier when jaemin is in one of his mood swings, you noticed. he steps up in the relationship to offer comfort to the other boy and for outsiders? it isn't a great experience to go through—being on the receiving end of jeno's ice cold stare is a position you don't want to find yourself in after that time in the library.

he is still as much a threat to your peaceful life like his lover.

you snap out of it when the blinding headlights of a vehicle seep through the closed blinds. you hear the gentle hum of an engine switching off as the headlights vanished as quick as they had appeared. that must be the cheer squad's bus.

as you look around the empty faculty room, something in your gut tells you to ditch file sorting duty for professor kim tonight and fucking get the hell out of campus grounds as quick as you can.

after haphazardly throwing the unsorted papers back into the cabinet, you groan aloud when the keys to the office drop out of your skirt’s pocket.

the indoor gym where the cheering squad practices is right across the hallway. you sure as hell don't want to bump into jaemin. or jeno, too, if he had decided to ride along the cheer squad's bus on the way home.

you kept looking for the keys underneath the cubicles, cursing aloud when you heard the telltale squeaks of shoes rubbing against linoleum. you almost hit your head against a table when you quickly got back up your feet, darting forward to shut the lights for the faculty room.

they can't know you're here. alone. and if it meant sitting in the dark for a few hours 'till they leave, meant going back home a little later than usual is what you have to do then so be it.

you try not to react so violently when the door you're leaning on jolts when someone from outside slams their back against it.

"it's not like we didn't do our best, right guys? i don't have regrets. it might sound fucking cheesy and although i'm sad myself, atleast we did what we can."

it's jaemin. his voice clear as day.

you try peaking, craning your neck up from your place on the floor. only to see the back of his head leaning against the glass section of the door. someone else joins in on the conversation, followed by coach park himself, and you slowly tune out whatever they're saying as you stealthily start scanning the faculty room.

you curse under your breath. is there no other exit other than this door? jesus christ! even classrooms in this university had two doors—

"what are you doing here?"

the switch flickers on, basking the once dark room with light. only when you hear an echo of your name being called, did you snap out of it and quickly picked yourself up from the floor.

"i said, what are you doing here?"

their coach asks, drilling the question as he looks at you skeptically with his arms crossed. you try not to look at the people behind him.

particularly, not at his cheer captain standing on his right.

particularly, not at jeno, who stands out like a sore thumb with his blue hair, a protective arm snaked around jaemin’s shoulders.

this isn't your lucky day, too, you guess.

"i was…" you cursed yourself for stuttering. "i was, uhm, i was file sorting for prof—professor kim, sir."

coach park looked like he didn't believe you as he narrowed his eyes in scrutiny. your nerves are going haywire and you can feel the sharp pins of their stare with how close they are.

you kept juggling your weight with the balls of your feet, hands fisting and unfisting behind your back. you want to leave. you have to leave.

"file sorting… in the dark?" he asked incredulously.

fuck this.

"uhm, you can ask professor kim himself tomorrow, coach. for now, uh, i'll be going now. i'm sorry you guys lost…"

originally, the exit is on the right side, at the end of the hallway. but no, you are not going to pass by those two while on your way out so you ducked behind a random student standing on the coach's left instead and practically ran away from the scene.

everyone had been too busy. too busy looking at your retreating form to even notice jaemin and jeno exchanging glances, too busy to notice the latter untangling himself from their captain to slip away unnoticed, his hurried steps filled with a burning purpose.

you didn't know why you ran, but you did. your shoes practically booming against the floor as you sped away through darkened hallways. you're sweating profusely, heart hammering in your chest. you can worry about professor kim tomorrow but right now you just had to—

"why are you in such a rush, pet?"

crashing into jeno felt like crashing into a wall. if it hadn't been for his arm quickly wrapping around your waist, then you would've landed on your butt before him.

with the small distance between the two of you, jeno could see as clear as day through your eyes.

jaemin was right.

it was addicting to stare into them.

especially when he can see every single one of your thoughts flying through your pretty little head. but hey, it wasn't their fault you were so easy to read.

jeno barely conceals the wicked smirk on his lips when your hands come up to his chest, trying to push him away but to no avail.

he can see your eyes shifting from shock, to confusion, until it finally settles on fear—to which it's slowly becoming a favorite emotion of his to see on your face.

"you know, jaemin is in a really shitty mood right now. and we were wondering, maybe you can cheer us up?"

no. this can't be happening.

"jeno, please." your dilated eyes and disheveled hair made his blood run south. "let me go. you don't want me. you don't need a third party in your relationship."

you yelp when he lets you go, literally shoving you against a wall—which you found out is actually a door, as it swings open as soon as your body crashes against it.

with jeno looming unforgivingly before you in his full height, the tears stung extra hard but you won't let them fall.

if he wanted to bask in the image of your weakness then it'll be something you'll deprive from him for as long as you can.

"i don't need a stupid bitch like you to tell me what i feel." he scoffs. "don't fucking kid yourself, you little whore—i don't want you. i'm not jaemin."

the echo of the classroom door shutting closed surged through you like a wake up call.

this is really happening.

you've always led a decent life, had done nothing too questionable and you've always thought maybe life will spare you if you lived quietly enough. but the feel of jeno's freezing hands crawling against your skin felt like life itself had spat at you in the eye and left you to rot in a ditch.

"i've always liked how you wore skirts," he comments. playing with the ruffled hem of the soft fabric as he purposely grazed his knuckles against your supple thighs. "gives me easy access, don't you agree?"

you scream when he flips your skirt up to reveal the innocent pink of your cotton panties. it was as if a switch had flipped inside of you and the will to fight started coursing through your veins.

"stop! jeno! i don't want this!"

his brows furrow, grunting as he struggles to push the waistline of your skirt up higher with how much you're thrashing underneath him. you buck your hips, tried curling in on yourself, anything to prolong what he wants to do to you.

with your legs trapped underneath his, you blindly reach forward, relying on your upper body instead to push and scratch whatever your palms and nails reached.

you continue screaming like a banshee until he shoved two fingers into your wet cavern.

"stop fighting me," he sounded strained, as if he's holding himself back. you feel him fisting the fabric of your skirt and you fear he's simply going to rip it apart.

you tried responding to him, only the sound had been muffled, gurgled by the flat of his fingers pushing down against your tongue mercilessly. when you reach forward to push him away, your hands land on the apple of his cheeks, nails digging through skin.

until it slips and—

you lie rigid when red scratch marks in the size of your fingernails slowly appear on jeno's skin, his head turned to the side as he paused. your actions slowly start sinking in to him as he shuts his eyes and bit his lip 'till it looked like it was about to bleed.

oh no.

"jeno—"

the slap he planted on your cheek left your ears ringing. all those hard earned muscles of his put to good use—if the tears hadn't fallen for the last few minutes, then it definitely started falling now.

the hit had been so strong, a few of your hair flew astray, the buzzing feeling of your skin tempting you to reach a hand up to soothe your abused cheek.

until jeno let out a low growl and your hand immediately drops limp against your body, afraid of whatever else he can do to you other than a slap.

"that's more like it," he whispers under his breath. you let out the tiniest of whimpers when his hand darts forward to fist your hair. "do you know what happens to bad girls? they fucking get busted up. do you understand me?"

his patience is nonexistent.

jeno slams your head against the floor when you don't answer because you thought his question had been rhetorical. it felt like your skull had been split in two as you wail in pain.

"are you fucking deaf—i asked you a fucking question!"

the hand that cups your jaw is painful as he squeezed your cheek with his blunt nails. your hand shoots up to wrap around his wrist, silently pleading for him to let up as you sobbed out loud. you started nodding as best as you can despite his firm grip on your face.

your reply was nothing short of pathetic. with lips forcefully pursed and the steady stream of your tears and snot rolling down your face, your response is gargled and hardly incoherent and jeno seemed to thoroughly enjoy your anguish if the condescending curl on his lips is anything to go by.

"look at you," he whispers, his face coming close to yours as he holds you down. there was something in the way jeno stared so intently that it made your skin crawl.

"i think you're prettiest when ruined like this."

with his nose touching yours, he felt too close, bordering on intimate as you felt his hand creep back up your thighs, trailing up with feather-like touches that made goosebumps appear on your skin.

you tried wiggling your legs underneath him but one sharp look from jeno is enough to make you stop.

the hand holding your face moves. coming down from gripping your face to encircling his hand around your neck.

"do you like it when i touch you? freaky bitch."

his hands trail further up, up, up until you felt him slotting a finger underneath your panties.

jeno didn't like how frozen you were underneath him as he pulls at the hem before letting go. the elastic snapping back against your skin.

the action evokes a strong feeling through the young male, promising to have you writhing and screaming and begging because by the end of all this, you'll be so needy and frustrated that you will have no choice but to give in to what your body wanted.

"jeno, didn't i tell you to play nice?"

someone stands by the door, the minimal light from the hallway creating a silhouette with his form but you knew who he was. that deep voice, with the same annoying flippant tone, is a dead giveaway.

you didn't know why you even hoped in the beginning. as if there'll be someone who can save you from these two.

you thought the flash of hurt in your eyes was quick to disappear but jeno noticed it quicker.

in a span of seconds, he pulled you up from your position from the ground and tugged you towards his lap. you haven't even gotten the time to settle on your new position when he already smashed his lips against yours.

it was messy. too much saliva. too much teeth. no tenderness to it at all.

the fabric of his jeans felt rough, not to mention the ice cold belt buckle made you severely uncomfortable as it seeps through the thin fabric of your skirt.

when you attempt to hover over his lap, jeno grunts as he snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you back down without your lips breaking away from each other. you didn't know why he let out a whine, but you understood the moment you fully sat down on his lap and you felt a tent on his jeans hitting your clothed entrance perfectly.

in a normal circumstance, you would've found everything hot and might've actually gotten off from it but not when it's him who’s doing this to you and you didn’t consent to any of this.

you start squirming again. palms lying flat against jeno's chest as you attempt to push him away and jaemin sees this as the opportune moment to slot himself behind you, caging you in between them.

“i want my turn,” he hisses and without an ounce of hesitation, jeno stops to do what he's told.

jaemin doesn't waste any second to grab your face, awkwardly craning your neck up to meet his lips in the same feverish kiss.

while jeno had been all teeth and aggression, practically forcing you to open your mouth and kiss him back, jaemin on the other hand is more soft, more romantic, you daresay. he seemed to like taking his sweet time by clutching your face, kissing you like he actually meant it.

he pulls away slightly, resting his forehead against yours as he murmurs something incoherent under his breath and then he's kissing you again.

you think you heard something along the lines of, "finally."

you've been too distracted by jaemin to notice jeno's nimble fingers quickly fumbling with the buttons of your blouse. it was only when you feel the sensation of his tongue laving against the swell of your breast did you turn away from jaemin, jerking backward in surprise.

"no—!"

your scream is cut off by a hand cupping your mouth. jaemin pulls your back towards his chest, molding your body against his as jeno licked and suckled all he wanted, thankful to have the other boy there to not worry about restraining you and keeping you quiet while he has his fun.

"ah, ah, ah," jaemin teases, going hard over the pleading and teary look you sent his way. it looked pathetic, he wasn't going to lie, but it doesn't mean he didn't love it. "just keep still and appreciate jeno's efforts to take care of you, alright baby?"

you don't like how he talked as if this was all a mutual thing, how he talked slowly like you were some toddler who didn't understand anything.

it's cruel how jaemin giggled and basked in your vulnerable state as he kept his eyes pinned on you while undoing the zipper of your skirt. your muffled cries of his name only serving to egg him on.

the way he stared was similar to jeno, too intently and intrusive, like he wants to burn your image of despair in the back of his head.

you whined involuntarily when jeno got bored of all the licking and thus decided to start biting and nipping at your chest instead. he was hypnotised by how responsive you were, how every little bite and nibble made you shudder.

it was a shame that jaemin had to cover your mouth. he didn't get to hear your pretty mewls but it wasn't as if he'd let the night end without hearing them loud and clear.

jaemin is fast in undressing you, feeling slightly betrayed by how quick your skirt and blouse fell under his hands.

you know what he wants, what he's going to do, and the tears fall harder when you can't dodge away from him. forced to endure and accept whatever they give you.

"you act like you don't like it but look how fucking wet you are," you bit your lip hard when jaemin starts circling the pads of his fingers against your clit, fascinated by how more juices streamed down your thighs.

"jeno, do you see this? fuck."

you can only blink in defeat, staring off to the side as you force down any noise bubbling up your throat, forcing yourself to think of anything else other than what's happening right now.

you try not to think about how they managed to tear all of your clothes off while they're left completely dressed. tried not to think about the fingers lazily drawing up and down your slit to collect your essence.

if they're doing this as a way to further humiliate you, it's working.

"slut," jeno mocked, a wicked curl on his lips when he wraps his fingers around your throat. the moment he dives down to claim your lips again is the same time jaemin pushes two fingers inside you.

"look at how wet you are because of me," jaemin whispers hot against your ear and you feel a sick churn in your stomach when you feel his smile against your skin.

he purposely drives his fingers in and out quicker, settjng a brutal pace, wanting you to hear the lewd squelching sounds. "hear that? do you hear that, darling? that's because of me—"

"don't go talking big now, jaem," jeno retorts, pulling away from your lips to start nibbling on the back of your ear. "i was here first. did you see how she fucking reacted when i sucked on her tits?"

you're quick to catch how jeno particularly loved degrading you. but how he talks about you as if you're literally not in front of him naked made you hit a new all-time low.

you felt… filthy.

his hands find purchase on your butt—only because jaemin has already claimed the front. for now.

you close your eyes tight when he painfully squeezes the flesh of your ass. you swear, his blunt nails will paint your skin black and blue.

"i'm the favorite!"

"i'm the favorite!"

as someone who's part of a varsity team, you already knew a competitive nature runs through jaemin's veins. but never had you thought jeno would share the same sentiment. once again they prove that they're cut from the same cloth.

all of a sudden it wasn't all about claiming you as theirs anymore rather it was all about who can make you moan the loudest, who can make you cum the most, who can make you feel the dirtiest you can be.

you're absolutely terrified for the hours to come.

thankfully, they have yet to ask for your verbal opinion or validation. they let your body do all the talking—every repressed shudder and sharp gasp is enough.

but it's game over once they pop the million dollar question.

"who do you like best?"

you don't want to find out the consequences if you actually answered their question because you didn't know what could be worse.

jaemin's manipulation or jeno's aggression?

but it was all normal. trial and error is inevitable in order to build and mold you into the ideal lover for the both of them.

because adding someone new to the mix has never been easy—after all, three's a crowd.

#nct imagines #yandere nct #yandere kpop #nct smut #nct scenarios #yandere jaemin #yandere jeno #jaemin imagines #jeno imagines #jaemin scenarios #jeno scenarios #jaemin smut #jeno smut

[mochegato]

Truth so Cold

Continuation of The Night of the Consequences

Well if this didn’t give him flashbacks… blitzed to high heaven on some drug and unable to stop the undeniable truths from coming out in the bluntest way possible.  No softening these truths, they were just out there.  Except this time it was Marinette instead of him and the only thing Jason could think was thank God she is such an honestly, amazingly, sweet person because otherwise this could get ugly.

“And I just think you and Adrien would be so happy together, because, like, you’re a dork and he’s a dork and you’re both so sweet and supportive and you both need that,” Marinette slurred as she leaned into Duke’s space.

His cheeks had a slight red to them when he pushed her back onto her chair. “Thanks, Mari.”

“And!” She bounced in her seat as she continued.  “And you guys make each other laugh so much and neither can stop smiling and you’re both so adorable and blushy around each other.”  She poked his cheek.  “Just like that.”

“Okay, yeah, I got it.  I’m a hot mess around him,” Duke rolled his eyes, his cheeks getting darker. 

“It’s okay,” Marinette mumbled, collapsing onto the kitchen island.  “He is around you too.  You two are going to be so sickeningly cutesy even Dick is going to get sick of it.”

After a few minutes, Marinette still hadn’t moved.  “You okay there, Cupcake,” Dick asked gently.

Marinette didn’t bother lifting her head off the cool surface of the kitchen island to respond to him.  She just let out an affirmative hum and continued to bask in the cooling sensation the marble from the island had on her chest and face as she pressed both into it. Suddenly she jumped up with so much force she almost fell off her chair, and would have if Duke hadn’t caught her. “Cupcakes!  Oh my God, Dick, you’re brilliant!  We need to make cupcakes!”

She jumped off the chair, only not falling due to Duke’s lunged catch, and stumbled to the kitchen, her eyes wide and wild.  She started pulling ingredients out before Dick could stop her. “Maybe now isn’t the best time for cupcakes, Cupcake.”

“Cupcakes and movies, Dick!  It goes together like… peanut butter and… pickles.”  Marinette waved her hand at Dick, which wouldn’t have been that concerning, except she had already started measuring out the flour and had the overflowing measuring cup in her hand as she motioned to him, leading to flour all over Dick and the floor.

Tim stared at her aghast.  He turned to Duke and mouthed, “peanut butter and pickles?”

Duke shrugged and grabbed the measuring cup out of her hand.  “Peanut butter and pickles go together well?”

Marinette looked up at him with a furrowed brow.  “That sounds absolutely disgusting, Duke.  You Americans and your bizarre combinations.”

Duke opened his mouth to respond but snapped it shut.  It wasn’t worth the effort.  Jason chuckled at him from his spot leaning against the doorframe.  “Yeah, maybe no baking when there’s Americans in the kitchen, just to be safe.”

Marinette nodded in understanding.  “Good idea,” she agreed, sending Duke another glare.

Jason swooped in and kissed her temple.  “You go sit down.  I’ll make popcorn.  From a bag so I can’t mess it up with my American taste,” Jason promised.

Marinette looked up at him with a lopsided, lovesick smile.  “Okay.  I love you.”

“I love you too, Pix.  Go ahead and sit down.”  Marinette nodded and skipped to the couch.  

Jason slapped Tim’s shoulder and nodded toward her pointedly.  Tim nodded in understanding and followed after her. He hadn’t even made it to the couch when he started making choking noises.  “Uhhhh, Jason?”

Jason groaned and turned to Tim.  It had been a whole two seconds and he couldn’t handle it?  What the hell could be so bad?  He let out a surprised grunt and leapt toward her to pull the shirt back down.  She had managed to get it over her bra before Jason reached her.  “Let’s keep that on, huh?”

“But it’s hot in here.”  She pouted. Suddenly, she looked up at him, her pout morphing into a sultry smile.  “And you’re hot in here.”  She started to pull his shirt up.

“Thank you.  So are you,” Jason offered her a strained smile as he pulled his shirt back down and held it down so she couldn’t pull it up.

“Yeah, I know.” Jason couldn’t stop the bark of laughter he let out at her response.  “That’s why I wanted to take my shirt off.”

Dick leaned over to Duke with a concerned grimace.  “Wow I did not expect the pain killers to hit this hard.  This must be why she didn’t want to take any. Now I kind of feel bad I got her to take them.”

Tim’s eyes widened and his head whipped over to Dick.  “What do you mean you got her to take them?  We agreed I would get her to take them.”

“Yeah, but you weren’t making progress so I put them in that hot chocolate she just drank,” he shrugged.  Getting Marinette to take any kind of pain killer was almost as difficult as getting Bruce to take one.  No, actually, Bruce was much better about it than Marinette was.  Which made absolutely no sense.  Bruce had a huge secret to protect and lots of other people’s secrets to protect as well.  And Marinette was an open book.  She had nothing to hide.  There was no reason to be so stubborn.

Tim’s mouth dropped and he punched Dick in the shoulder.  “Idiot!  I put them in her last cup of hot chocolate.”

Dick’s head whipped back to Marinette with a wince.  “Oh shit.”

“Yeah, ‘oh shit,’” Jason growled at him.  “I’m going to kick your ass later.  But for right now, you need to leave, because if you see something you’re not supposed to, I’ll do more than just kick your ass.”

“Right.  Right. Got it.” Dick smacked Tim in the shoulder.  “Let’s get out of here.”

“Let us know if you need anything,” Tim gave him a strained smile before disappearing through the door.

Marinette pouted.  “You made them go away.  They’re fun. I like your brothers.”  She leaned in to whisper to Jason conspiratorially. “I’m trying to set Adrien up with Duke.”

“Yeah, Pix.  I know. Everyone knows.  They know.  They’re going on a date next week.”

“Yay!” she cheered.  “They’re going to fall in love and get married and have babies.  Adrien’s always wanted to be a dad.”  She turned to Jason with wide excited eyes and started bouncing, or rather tried to start bouncing.  She fell over onto the couch after the first bounce.  “Jason!  I’m going to be an aunt!  Isn’t that so exciting!  Oh my God. I need to get ready.  I should start designing baby clothes.”

“That’s… I think you can wait on that for a bit, Pixie.”  Marinette looked up at him with an exaggerated pout. “Until tomorrow.  Today is for cuddling, right?”  He dropped onto the couch next to her and opened up his arms in invitation.

Marinette giggled and dove into his arms, knocking him back against the arm of the couch with her momentum.  She gave a contented sigh and snuggled further into his arms.  “Okay.  Snuggles today, designing tomorrow.”  After a few minutes, during which time Jason had hoped she’d fallen asleep, she spoke up again.  “But I’m still sad they left.  We were going to have a movie night.”

“We can still have a movie night just the two of us,” Jason offered instead.

Marinette smiled and cuddled close to his chest, craning her neck up to look at him.  “I love our movie nights.  I love everything about you.”

“I love you too, Pixie.”  He cradled her cheeks and brought her closer to him.  He stroked her cheeks gently and laid a gentle kiss on her lips.

Marinette hummed happily.  “But I wanted to hang out with your family tonight too.”

Jason sighed in defeat.  He wasn’t going to be able to distract her.  Once she got something in her head, it was nearly impossible to get her to move on until she’d seen it through to completion.  “Well, you aren’t exactly watching what you say right now and I don’t know how good your secret keeping skills are right now.”

Marinette’s eyes widened in realization.  “Oh”

“Yeah,” he nodded, “oh.”

“Oh yeah.  They don’t know about me.” She looked up at Jason with wide, frightened eyes.  “They can’t know I’m Ladybug.”

“I know, babe,” Jason assured her gently.  He rubbed light circles on her back to try to get her to relax.  “That’s why I sent them away.”

“If they figure out I’m Ladybug they might figure out I’m the Guardian and nobody can know that.  I’m still trying to figure out the best time to tell you.  But, I don’t want to tell you because you might get mad at me for not telling you sooner or you might think I didn’t tell you because I don’t trust you or love you. Then you’re going to break up with me and we’ll never get married and have two kids and adopt one or two more and get a dog and a house.”

“You’re the Guardian?” Jason exclaimed loudly.  

“Shhh.”  She waved her arms wildly at him to get him to quiet down.  “You’re not supposed to know that.”

“Oh okay.  I don’t,” he snarked, rolling his eyes.

“Oh good.”  She let out a relieved sigh and slumped back onto the couch.

He narrowed his eyes at her and pointed a finger in her face.  “But, we’re going to talk about it later,” he warned her.

“Okay… talk about what?”  She looked up at him with innocent eyes.

Jason stared at her for a few seconds waiting for her to crack and start laughing, but she was serious.  “About how much I love you.” He offered instead

Marinette smiled at him.  “I love you too, Jason.  So much. You’re so smart and sweet and funny and loving and brave and handsome.  You're so sexy.”  Her face scrunched up as she examined his face critically.  “You’re too hot to be real.”  She poked his cheek a few times.  “Your face is so beautiful.”  She grabbed his face rougher than she meant to and smooshed his cheeks together.  

“Very real,” Jason mumbled through his smooshed cheeks.  He gently pulled her hands off his face and kissed the inside wrist of each.  He moved her hands down to rest on his chest. “And very yours, Pixie.”

She beamed at him and leaned in to give him a kiss, but before she reached him she looked down, her eyes widening in realization.  “And your abs!”  She pulled his shirt up to admire his abs.  She ran her hands over them in awe.  “You have more muscles in your abs than I have in my entire body!”

Jason barked out a laugh.  “That’s definitely not true, but thank you.”

Marinette didn’t look up to acknowledge his statement.  She was instead staring at his thighs.  “And your thighs!  They should be illegal.”  She reached out tentatively to touch one as if she was afraid of how strong they were, despite the fact that she was currently sitting on his thighs.  He flexed his thigh just before her fingers made contact.  Marinette squeaked and jumped back, almost falling off the couch, which she would have done if Jason hadn’t reached out and pulled her back into his chest before she fell too far.

She could feel his chest rumbling with laughter and pouted at him for a few seconds before joining him in laughter.  She snuggled into his chest again and his arms naturally found their way around her waist.  After a few minutes, Marinette spoke up again.  “Sometimes when I look at you I feel like crying.”

“Mari...”

“But why cry when I can kiss you,” she grinned at him.  He grinned back and pulled her in for another kiss.

Marinette sighed happily and settled back onto his chest.  “No.  What makes me cry is knowing that you sometimes feel like you aren't enough.  And that eventually you're going to leave me because of it.”

Jason pulled away to look at her, his eyes wide with horror.  “Mari... I would never,” he promised.

“And it's going to break me when you do, because I love you so much,” she continued, not noticing his objection.  Her eyes were shimmering with unshed tears as she stared at a random point in the apartment. “But I won't let you see that when it happens, because I don't want to hurt you more.  Because you don’t deserve that.  You’re such an amazing man but you don’t let yourself see it.  And as much as I talk about how handsome you are, how pretty you are to look at, and you are, who you are is so much more beautiful. When you talk about something you love, it’s incredible.  When you love me, it’s breathtaking.”  She paused for a moment.  “I meant like reading sonnets to me and cooking with me and the way you look at me, not sex,” she clarified quickly.  “Although the sex is mind-blowing too.”

Jason chuckled despite the pit growing in his stomach.  He pulled her into a tight hug, wrapping his arms around her as if his arms alone could ward off any dark thoughts.  “I love you, Marinette,” he whispered into her hair. “I love you so much.  I’ll do anything I can to protect you, the way you try to protect me.  I promise you that.  You are the best part of me.  You make me better and want to be better.  You make me want a future and think I deserve a happy one.  But I can’t imagine that without you.  I can’t imagine happy without you.  You are my happy.  You are my peace.  I love you.”

He pulled away to look her in the eyes, to make sure she heard him, that his words permeated the drug induced fog that had settled in her eyes and brain. But as soon as he stopped supporting her weight, she started to fall to the ground.  He scooped her up before she could fall more than a few inches.  Her head lolled to the side and she let out a disgruntled huff before shifting in his arms and snuggling into his chest.

“What are you doing to me, Pix?  That was the most romantic monologue I’ve ever given and you fell asleep on me. You completely missed it.”  He sighed and settled onto the couch with her still held tightly in his arms.  As soon as her weight was fully on the couch, she squirmed until her head was lying on his chest, her legs tangling with his, and her arm thrown over his waist.  

He could feel her breath fanning out over his chest, warming any skin it touched. He gently brushed her hair out of her face, letting his fingers linger on her face as he gazed lovingly at her. God he loved her.  But he was hurting her.  Somewhere in the recesses of her brain was the belief he was going to leave her.  And honestly, the part that hurt the most was that she was probably right.  He might have done exactly that, because she knew him better than he knew himself and she understood him better than anyone else on the planet.  

But he couldn’t let her be right.  He couldn’t be responsible for breaking her.  He would do anything to protect her.  Yesterday that might have meant leaving her, but what if it meant staying with her instead?  What if it meant letting himself believe he deserved to be happy, that he could be? What if it meant making that happy future happen?  He hugged her a little closer and smiled into her hair.  He pulled out his phone and started looking for rings.  He had a proposal to plan and a happy ending to ensure for her.

Continued in Truth is Gold

Tags:

@jasonette-july-event @maribatserver @ashbrea381writings @weirdo-with-no-beardo @cutechip @emistar0 @kking13 @princessanimeangel11 @corporeal-terrestrial

#maribat #jasonette #Jasonette July #Jasonette July 2021 #prompt - loss #Truth and Consequences

[buckttommy]

I think there's like... a major conflict in this fandom as to what Buck's actual role in the Diaz’s lives are, so let me try to clear this up.

Buck x Eddie:

Best friends above anything and everything else. There may or may not be some romantic feelings involved in the development of their relationship, but currently, those feelings (if they do in fact exist) take second place to the reality. Buck and Eddie play crucial roles in each other's lives, and though these roles are different, they are also equal.

Eddie is Buck's emotional support. In crisis (be it emotional or physical), Eddie is there. When Buck is criticizing himself, Eddie is there. When Buck is having a bad mental health period, Eddie is there. He comes alongside of and supports Buck emotionally by being the one to listen to, encourage him, and give him the push he needs it is required. Eddie, in this role, also attempts to protect Buck whether from himself (punching bag scene), or from other people (warning him that his parents were at the station). To sum up Eddie's role in Buck's life would be: Emotional Support and Protector.

Buck, on the other hand, fulfills a more concrete role in Eddie's life, particularly in the way he comes alongside of him to help him care for his son. Buck does for Eddie what Eddie cannot. When Eddie was struggling to find care for Christopher, he called Carla. When Eddie learned he was going to be separated from his son during the holidays, he made it possible for Chris to come to the station for family dinner. Buck fills in the blanks of Eddie's life relative to his care for his son. We see this even in the tsunami arc, wherein Buck took on the role of sole care provider when Christopher was in distress -- Eddie was not there, therefore Buck once again did what Eddie could not do. These instances do not make Buck Christopher's parent, or even a father-figure, but their roles in each other's lives are so intricately involved at this point that, to suddenly vacate the other's life (i.e. lawsuit arc) would cause a major disruption. It is for this reason that I believe that, even though we haven't seen them interact much since Ana entered the picture, Buck is still an active part of Eddie's life. I've seen people assume/suggest he's been abandoned by Eddie and I don't think that's true. The disruption would be too severe and there isn't any cause for Buck to vacate their lives at this point. Reduced role? Possibly. Vacated role? Absolutely not.

Buck x Chris

Christopher is a child who has experienced a lot of flux and turmoil in his short life. He grew up with a single mom (who may, or may not have accidentally treated him like he was a burden), then with a single dad, only after being abandoned by the woman he spent most time with. He moved away from his major support system/family in Texas, his mom came back only for her to pass away a few weeks/months later. He experienced a time of relative peace and stability, and then the pandemic hit, and whatever ties he’d established with people (including school friends, and those in his dad’s circle) were put to the test. We don't see enough of Christopher on screen to be able to extrapolate what, exactly, his mental state is at any given time but given that he is a child who has grown up with an enormous lack of stability (despite the best efforts of everyone in his life), we can assume that he views many fundamental relationships as impermanent. This does not mean he is against them, only means that he does not put much stock into them. People come into his life easily, whether they stay or not is a whole other matter unto itself. I believe this is why, despite his initial reservations, he warmed up to Ana so quickly. In his mind, she’s just a woman, and though her role in his father’s life is important right now, that role is subject to change at any given moment. 

Chris’s conversation with Buck in 4 x 08 is so important for a number of reasons, primarily because, of all the people in his life, aside from his father, I think Christopher views Buck as the most permanent person he has. This is expressed by his blatant trust in Buck, to not only protect him physically (he ran away from home because he knew he’d be safe with Buck) as well as emotionally (he went to Buck because he knew his feelings would be heard and treated with respect). Christopher does not view Buck as a parent. Let me say that again: Christopher does not view Buck as a parent, but he does view him as an inextricable, immovable piece of his life. The lawsuit arc notwithstanding, if Christopher were to lose Buck permanently, given that he’s at such a formative age, such a loss would undoubtedly continue to negatively impact the way he views fundamental relationships. 

Chris's role in Buck's life, on the other hand, is different and changes at any given moment. When Eddie is present, Christopher is "my best friend's kid." He defers to Eddie (as he should) for guidance, and when Eddie gives a command, he respects it. When Eddie is not present, Christopher might as well be his own son. Buck, when alone with Christopher, is incredibly paternal. Obviously, given Buck's upbringing with his parents, we know why it's so important to him to "raise" Chris with love and understanding in whatever capacity he is allowed to. He pours a lot into Christopher, whether that be time, money, or affection. Christopher is important to him, not just as an extension of Eddie, but on his own merit, and vice versa. Both Buck he and Christopher went through a traumatic experience together, which only deepened the path of divergence from Buck/Chris viewing the other as Just Eddie’s Kid/Just Dad’s Friend to someone individually important. They communicate outside of Eddie, they spend time together outside of Eddie. Aside from Maddie and Eddie, Christopher is the most important person in Buck’s life. There’s not a single thing he wouldn’t do for him, and Eddie, knowing intimately who Buck is and what Christopher means to him, easily allows him.

Buck x Eddie x Chris

Oliver said himself that without Chris and Eddie in his life, Buck wouldn’t be able to deal. This is incredibly true. Buck, Eddie, and Christopher each play important roles in each other’s lives, roles that are not easily discarded or replaced. If you pluck one thread from a blanket, the whole thing unravels. It’s the same thing here. That’s not to say that neither Buck, nor Chris/Eddie would never recover without the other, but the fallout/separation, especially if not mutual, would be messy, painful, more trouble than it’s worth, and would leave lasting emotional impact on everyone involved. Again, this is why I believe that Buck is still an active part of Eddie and Christopher’s lives, even though he is currently in a relationship. Their family is a very strong, cohesive, and thriving unit built upon love, trust, understanding, and commitment. Together, Buck and Eddie make sure Christopher is not lacking emotionally, mentally, or physically, and Christopher remains the reason both of these men, who came together carrying so much emotional baggage and trauma, continue to try be better than who they were yesterday. 

Conclusion/TLDR

I love the “Buck is Christopher’s other parent!” headcanons and fics just as much as anyone, but that idea is more fanon than canon at this point, and it’s important to recognize the distinction (even if we all continue to ignore it). Buck, Eddie, and Chris play major roles in each other’s lives, and the roles they play in each other’s lives are not lesser just because they are not romantic/parental. A family consists of people who love each other, and would do anything for each other, and even if nothing in Buck and Eddie’s relationship develops beyond the point it is now, the three of them are still a family and that’s never going to change.  

#pretty sunshine boy #evan buckley #buddie #christopher diaz #911 on fox #jack.txt #tv: 911 #This got long as hell man #You guys better reblog this #100

[crossdressingdeath]

Why didn't WWX received the rewards he should have gotten personally from the war efforts he contributed heavily . JGS was able to raise Meng Yao stature and stance from a bastard to chief cultivator, I think. So why didn't WWX get anything. Like... I am generally non confrontianal and nice but if I receive two bowls of shitty soup and reciv e a declaration of war all the while the sects are drinking their tea. I might just kill them all to show I ain't ain't playing around. I just can't believe the Jiang's act like WWX owes them a debt when in contrast they owe WWX so much. Like I wonder if Fenigman rolls his grave due to his children actions. If WWX was only ambitious I could actually see him go so far in life to accomplish great things.

Bold of you to assume they didn't get it from JFM, who didn't let WWX starve on the street and figured that made it fair to expect WWX to dedicate his life to his dickhead son.

And yeah, it really is like... they owe WWX everything they have. He (with the help of the Wen siblings) has saved their asses so completely that they should be offering him their firstborn children in gratitude! And he gets nothing. Not even a word of thanks. MY went from the lowborn bastard son of a prostitute to second in line to the Jin sect because of his contributions to the Sunshot Campaign! But WWX, who was already head disciple, doesn't even get like... a cash reward, or some Jiang territory to look after, or even a nicer room. A couple bowls of soup. That's it. There is just such a lack of gratitude from the Jiangs to WWX; they really do take everything he does for them as their due, and they don't even consider that if they reward him for his unflinching support he's more likely to... keep supporting them.

Like... that's the thing with rewarding your underlings: you're not necessarily doing it because they deserve a reward (although that's part of it), you do it because rewarding loyalty makes it more probable that they'll continue to be loyal. JGS understood that; he didn't legitimize MY to be nice, he did it to keep him close and prove that being loyal was a good move. But WWX? Nothing changes. He's still JC's punching bag of choice with the carrot that is the occasional bowl of JYL's soup; the only change is that he's not getting whipped anymore, which isn't to do with anything JC and JYL did. I know I've said this before, but I really am convinced that even if everything went totally fine and nothing went wrong post-Sunshot WWX would have left eventually, just because... they're so incredibly ungrateful. He gives them everything and they don't so much as say thank you. The Jiangs weren't keeping him from interacting with people outside of them and weren't treating him with the respect and gratitude due to someone of his talents; he would've eventually realized just how badly they treated him even aside from the active abuse, especially since every other sect would've been chomping at the bit to poach him and would've offered actual benefits for changing his allegiance. Even if he didn't join another sect, I doubt he would've stayed with the Jiangs.

#mdzs #wei wuxian #grapehate #lotus sister #asks

[touyasdoll]

Complicated - Chapter One

Pairing: Dabi x reader/Touya x reader

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: none this chapter

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

“Hey, are you okay?”

You directed your concerned gaze over the figure of the raven-haired teen before you.

He was sitting on a bench, his left hand holding a bandage to his right forearm as a mixture of blood and other viscera eagerly soaked the fibers. Bright blue eyes met yours for a moment that was ever-so-fleeting.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

The words left his lips almost too quickly, hushed and dismissive as those blue orbs fell to stare at the cement beneath his feet.

“You don’t look fine. That looks pretty bad. Listen, you don’t need to tell me what happened, but please let me at least try to help you? I’m not so bad with first aid.”

Sliding your backpack off your shoulder, you set it down in your lap as you took a seat on the bench and began fishing around. Sparing another glance toward you, the young man opened his mouth to protest as he saw you retrieve what you were searching for, a travel-sized first aid kit.

“Don’t bo—“

Ignoring his persistently dismissive attitude, you reached your hand out toward him and flashed your most disarming smile.

“Please. Burns are highly susceptible to infection and I promise you that as rough as that feels, a bacterial infection on top of it will only feel that much worse.”

His eyes flashed up to meet yours before dropping back down to look at your outstretched hand. The expression on his face made it seem like he was mulling over what might be worse, continuing this interaction or risking the chance of infection.

“I promise that I’ll be gentle.”

Leaning forward, your smile turned more shy as you tried to catch his gaze once again.

The quiet chuckle you got in response seemed to break the tension. Those arctic blue irises connected with yours once more and this time, they were locked on tight. His stare was so intense, that you nearly missed the faint smirk tugging at one side of his face before it bloomed into a charming grin.

“Gentle isn’t usually my style, but I bet you could sell me on it, doll.”

A blush crept up your neck and across your cheeks as your sudden sense of embarrassment willed you to turn your attention back to his injury. Clearing your throat, you did your best to keep your cheeks from flushing an even deeper shade of crimson as you unfolded a square of cotton from the kit in you lap.

“Not your style, hmm? Well, could that explain what you've got going on here?"

Offering your hand out, you found the nerve to meet his eyes again as he let his arm rest in your palm.

"You could say so."

He sucked in a small amount of air as you carefully dabbed at the wound, making a soft hissing noise.

"Sorry, this is still going to sting quite a bit, but I'll be as careful as I can."

Setting aside the now bloodied square of cotton, you grabbed a fresh one and began dousing it with antiseptic.

"Do you often stop and perform first aid on perfect strangers?"

You could feel his eyes settle on the side of your face as you set the liquid aside and shook some of the excess from the material.

"I have to say, you're actually my first."

Looking up through your lashes, you returned his smile and couldn't help but notice how his eyes briefly ran over your entire frame. You took the opportunity to return the favor, casting your gaze over his torso, seeing a toned chest beneath the low-cut t-shirt he sported.

"That the first time you've said those words, sweetheart?"

As if noticing his impressive form wasn't enough to make you blush, his suggestive words and the playful smirk that accompanied them certainly did the trick.

"Wouldn't you like to know."

The corners of your lips mirrored his expression and you bit your lip in an effort not to redden your own cheeks once again. He chuckled in response as you moved to dab at his forearm with the antiseptic.

"Hold still, Romeo."

As gently as you could manage, you alternated the between the cotton pad soaked with the solution and a dry, clean one.

"Yes, ma'am."

The handsome young man let out of a quiet chuckle until the liquid touched his body and a hiss left his lips once more, but quickly subsided as you noticed the rest of him tense against the sting, his left hand curling into a fist.

You worked quickly, but made sure the wound was thoroughly cleaned before you began to wrap it with a spool of bandages.

"The worst is over."

Offering a comforting smile, you took his hand into your own and gave it a delicate squeeze. His attention snapped toward the connection of your palms and you could feel a strange heat emanating between them. Searching his eyes, you could tell he seemed almost . . nervous? It was nice to know you might not be the only one.

"Thank you. You didn't have to do any of this, y'know."

His words shook you from your thoughts and his eyes now shone with the same confidence you had seen there before.

"Oh, don't mention it. I'd say anyone would do the same, but I can't believe no one else did before I walked by. You'd think in such a big city full of heroes or those would kill to be one, people would be a little more helpful to others."

"Well, not everyone has the best intentions. But you seem to have realized that already, haven’t you, doll?”

Nodding your head in agreement, you reluctantly let go of his hand and taped down the bandages that now encased his forearm.

"Unfortunately, I have. But, thankfully, there's still plenty of people out there with good intentions. I like to try and look on the bright side."

You flashed him a smile as you started packing the contents of the first aid kit back up.

"You seem like the type who's good at finding it. That's not exactly part of the skill set that I was born with."

Flexing his hand, he winced a little, but seemed to approve of your handiwork as he inspected the dressings on his arm.

"Well, it's never too late to learn, y'know."

Stuffing the kit back into your already bulging backpack, you zipped it close and straightened out the skirt of your school uniform before looping your arm through one of the straps of your bag, readying yourself to stand.

His hand rested on the space between you on the bench as he angled his torso to face you, sitting up properly and tilting his head down to catch your eyes once you looked up at him.

"You as good a teacher as you are a nurse?"

A giggle escaped your lips as you turned your head in the opposite direction, smiling to yourself as you tried to steel your fluttering nerves. Turning your attention back to his impossibly blue eyes, you dug up every last ounce of confidence you could muster and decided to keep playing along.

"You as good a learner as you are a flirt?"

He half-cocked an eyebrow, the expression on his lips hovering in the perfect sweet spot between a genuine smile and a devious smirk.

"Oh, not at all, sweetheart. I'm a terrible learner, you'd probably have to spend some extra time on me."

Shifting forward, he leaned toward you just enough that you were able to catch the scent of his cologne as the breeze picked up behind him. He smelled as heavenly as he looked and this was already more romance than you had ever encountered in your lifetime, if you could call it that. The combination of events was absolutely intoxicating.

Suddenly, you were searching for ways to draw this interaction out, because you never wanted it to end. Fully throwing caution to the wind, you followed his lead and leaned in closer, shifting your weight to your hand as you leaned back on the bench and tilted your head to the side, exposing your neck as you tossed your hair over your opposite shoulder.

"Well, I suppose I could think of worse ways to spend my time."

You could feel the blush on your face deepen as he watched your movements, his expression never-changing.

"Mind if I ask your name, sweetheart?"

You watched his eyes fixate on your lips for just a moment before locking with yours once more.

"Y/n. Mind if I ask yours?"

He shrugged, leaning back and flashing a boyish grin as he extended a hand toward you.

"Fair is fair. The name's Touya. It's a pleasure to meet you, Y/n."

Sitting up straight, you took his hand and shook it, feeling that same strange heat coming from his palms.

"It's a pleasure to meet you as well, Touya."

You couldn't help but to be a little disappointed when your hands retracted, but he seemed to perk up as he pulled out a phone from his back pocket and handed it over to you.

"You got a number? Maybe we can run into each other again, but on purpose this time."

His wink nearly melted your heart on the spot and you knew that by now, you had to have looked like an empty-headed school girl with such an adoring grin plastered to your face. The confidence and charm that he exuded seemed so effortless and only added to his already attractive physical features.

"Do you mean . . like a date?"

Your laugh was soft and shy as you punched your number into his phone, making absolutely sure that it was correct.

"If that's what you wanna call it, princess. Who am I to correct you? After all, you practically saved my life today."

Retrieving his phone from your grasp, he brushed the back of your hand with his as he stood, and you could tell he was watching your reaction once you heard that deep, melodious chuckle as your hand froze for a moment.

"I'll give you a call, okay?"

Returning his phone to his back pocket, he rested his hands in the front and began walking backwards.

"Okay."

You smiled back, blushing unabashedly now as you watched him grin until he turned back around and headed off in the direction you came from, feeling your heart flutter yet again when he threw a glance back over his shoulder at you before he turned a corner.

#dabi imagine #dabi #dabi fluff #dabi x reader #dabi todoroki #dabi touya #mha spoilers #dabi my hero academia #touya todoroki #my hero academia #mha imagines #mha x reader #touya x reader #touya imagine #bnha x reader #bnha fluff #bnha dabi #bnha spoilers #bnha imagines

[sailors-diary-for-elise]

Reaching Out

SEE! SOMETHING OTHER THAN SMUT. Also this one is old and a bit dusty, sooooo warnings are gonna be to the best of my ability. ALSO. THIS IS ANGST AND HAS TRIGGERING THEMES. PLEASE SCROLL PAST IF THE WARNINGS ARE DISTRESSING TO YOU. I wrote this during a really difficult day and was just word vomiting tbh. I am also gonna state that this is a work of fiction and I am in no way a therapist or anything, so if something here bothers you I’m sorry this is just something I wrote mostly for myself.

Warnings: god this is painful but here we go. Reader is depressed and has anxiety, mentions of self-inflicted injuries (she punches a mirror...repeatedly-), blood, panic attacks, it takes a few of the members to restrain the reader so if you’re uncomfortable with that please don’t read this, this is honestly just a hard read imo so please read with care. Also, the reader hates herself and just doesn’t really think highly of herself at all sooooo yeah-

It was the fourth time this month. The fourth argument that could’ve and should’ve ended differently.

You’d come out of your room to find San off at practice or on some work related schedule, spend the entire day outside trying to break a horrible cycle in your mind, just to disappear again once he returned home. It was frustrating you both and causing a serious strain in your relationship.

On San’s side, he couldn’t understand why it was that you would fight against him trying to get you to come out of your room when you spent the entire day alone. Then there was his frustration when you would complain about never seeing him and yet would disappear and avoid him when he was available. To San, it didn’t make any sense. All he wanted to do was spend time with you and support you, but it seemed as though you were determined to shut him out. He watches you storm off to your bedroom, running a hand through his hair as he tries to recall the last time he’d come back from a schedule and had a nice quiet evening that didn’t end in you both screaming at each other. When he can’t, San grabs his jacket and walks out of the apartment with his phone and keys, planning on spending the night at the dorms so that you can have some space to cool off. Once he gets in his car, he quickly dials Hongjoong’s number, pulling out of the parking garage of your complex and letting out all of his frustrations and concerns. 

As he drove, San had no way of knowing how much you hated yourself for what was happening between you both.

What San didn’t know was that your depression and anxiety had been spiraling lately due to the pressure that had been placed on your shoulders from not only your work but from being the girlfriend of an idol that had become so famous. He didn’t know that every day you were terrified that, now that his future was so bright and secure, he’d no longer want you. That he’d leave you just like so many before had done, and that he’d realize you were no longer something of use to him. And finally, how you criticize every minute of your life, finding ways that you are failing even when you’ve done nothing but your best. It came to the point that waking up from dreams was physically painful, because you could control a dream and guarantee the people you love never turned their backs on you. San didn’t, or rather, couldn’t know this. Because to know this would mean you would have to tell him. And no one should have to bear this burden but you, and there was always that small part of you that was terrified of having your feelings invalidated. 

Your whole life people have toyed with you, accepting your depression only when it was convenient to them and berating you once the curtains fall. Some even went as far as to weaponize your emotions, tearing you down in an argument with something that was the equivalent to the beating heart in your chest. Yes they would apologize and you would eventually forgive them because people make mistakes. But the thing about words is that once they leave someone’s mouth, the damage is already done and there’s no amount of remorse or forgiveness that can repair it. That’s where you are now.

You slam the door shut, leaving all the lights in your room turned off, your head pounding after the screaming match you and San had just finished (rather, you ran out on and barricaded the door so he wouldn’t see you cry) and your face stained with tears. Not a sound left you as you curled up on the bed, biting your fist as a punishment for your body's betrayal of emotions. All it would take was one minute of silence and the entire apartment would be able to hear how you were feeling. In all honesty, you didn’t want San to see you cry. Because in your mind, you didn’t deserve to cry. You were the one who picked a fight. You're the one who made unfair accusations, using his career and passions as weapons against him. You were the one that hurt him in the same ways that had been done to you, falsely claiming that it was to “beat him to it and strike first.” 

The front door slams shut, and you work quickly. You unbarricade the door and peek out, making sure no one is there. Dashing across the living space, you reach the spare bedroom and lock the door, not seeing the need for such extreme measures as earlier. You then sit with your back to the door, listening for the sign of San’s safe return from the store. Your butt has just about gone numb when this occurs, the front door shutting softly alerting you instantly. You rise from your position, albeit a little slowly due to your cramped muscles, and shuffle to the bed. A knock sounds, and a decision has to be made.

“Y/N? I know you’re awake. Can you come to bed? You and I both know that neither of us can sleep alone anymore.” San mumbles through the door. You hear shuffling, and you hold your breath thinking he might unlock the door. You’re not sure though, whether you’re holding your breath in hope or fear. But all you hear is a thud, indicating San sitting down. “Look, we don’t have to talk. You don’t even need to look at me, it just feels better for both of us if I’m holding you through the night, because at the end of the day, we still love each other, right?” 

San’s cheeks are marked with tear streaks, eyes red and puffy as he waits for any sign of confirmation from you. He loves you more than anything else, so much so that he’d give up everything for you, and needed to hear that you still loved him as well. He holds his breath, hands covering his face while he waits for you to show him a sign that you’re even listening. That you’re even there. 

You tip-toe over to the door, gently crouching down in front of it and rest your fingertips lightly on the wood, near where his shoulder is supposed to be. It’s cold and unyielding, but this is the bravest you’ll ever be. You hear a sigh on the other side, almost as if he can sense your presence.

“You know, you don’t have to keep it all in. From the first moment I saw you, I knew that there was so much going on in your life that it’d take time to get you to trust me. And I still want that. I want to know what’s going on in your life again. I want to hold you as you're crying again. And I want to repay you for all the times you’ve helped me.” San whispers, his voice showing how much of a toll this has taken on him. “I know a lot has changed, I travel a lot, and it’s harder for us to go anywhere without me being recognized. But I promise you that my feelings for you, the amount of love I feel for you, it’s all still there. If anything, I love you even more now than before. I don’t want to lose you Y/N. I want to keep fighting for us and I just need you to reach out to me, show me you want this too. Open the door, even if it’s just a crack, and let me help heal those open wounds. Yes there will be scars and yes it will take time, but I’m willing to wait.”

At this point you have tears streaming down your face as you withdraw your hand. You don’t move though, despite your broken mind willing you to do so, you stay rooted in your spot. Sniffles break through the other side, showing how much San is hurting. You feel as though there’s a war going on inside of you, your heart begging you to open the door and stop this madness, but your mind resolute on keeping this wall up. 

“I. Can’t.” you croak out, bringing your trembling hand to your lips and nibbling your thumbnail as you rise slowly. “They were right, I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve you.”

“What? Who told you that?” San questions, confusion swirling in his head as he struggles to better understand where this was coming from. Standing, San presses his hands to the door, trying to open it only to find it locked. “Love, talk to me.”

“All I’ve been doing is hurting you, and I’m sorry. ” You whimper, your mind screaming at you to shut-up and not give away anything while your heart, your very being, is begging to be set free and allow him back in. “I, I love you, San.” And with that you rise, walking towards the bathroom attached to the room. You close the door, locking it and turning to the mirror to see your disheveled state. Tears stain your cheeks, your eyes have bags under them, and your hair is greasy and a mess from the lack of effort on your part to take care of yourself. 

Thoughts swirl and distort your reflection, harsh words clouding your mind. Some of the words surface from your past, some are from deep within you stemming from your lack of forgiveness for yourself. You don’t deserve forgiveness or a second chance. You don’t deserve him caring for you. You’re toxic. You do nothing but hurt him. Toxic. Toxic. 

You start screaming, starting in your gut and ripping out through your mouth, scaring the shit out of San who begins pounding on the door. You hear him calling out to you, but it’s muffled in your head as you continue to sob and scream at your reflection, running your hands through your hair before tugging on it out of frustration. The longer you look at yourself, the worse the feeling in your gut gets as the harsh words continue to tear you apart, worsening with each passing moment. With one last scream you pull your arm back and punch the mirror, desperate to feel something other than the all consuming self-hatred. And it works.

There’s a crack on the mirror with droplets of blood in the center. You bring your trembling hand into view, noticing your knuckles slightly bloodied and cut. The pain replaces all of the noise in your head, if only for a moment, and you become entranced by it. Raising your fist again, you punch the mirror once, twice, three more times before stopping to look at your handy work. The crack has grown and your hand is bleeding steadily, a couple of pieces of glass stuck in your knuckles. You’re ashamed of what and who you’ve become and raise your fist again when the door breaks down.

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!” San shouts, restraining your flailing and screaming form as tears stream down your face. Four pairs of hands are pulling you out of the bathroom, with San’s arms wrapped tightly around your waist as he pulls you on the bed. He immediately starts shushing you, whispering into your hair as he wraps his legs around you as well, restricting you so the others can clean you up and call an ambulance if need be. At this point though, he doesn’t need to as you’ve gone completely limp, sobbing into his neck loudly as the emotions you’ve kept hidden flood out in a wave that swallows you whole. “Shh baby, it’s okay. We’re here now and we’re not leaving you. I’ve got you, we’ve got you. It’s okay, it’s okay.” His voice is trembling, absolutely terrified by what he’s just experienced. It’s lucky that Hongjoong, Yunho, and Seonghwa arrived when they did or he might have been too late, having planned on coming to help San piece back together your relationship. It took Yunho and Seonghwa to break down the doors, and all four of them carried you out of the bathroom so you wouldn’t hurt yourself or them.

Soon, you run out of energy and are left whimpering and quivering in San’s hold, slowly coming to your senses as you hear running water, hushed murmurs, and the cabinet mirror (or what’s left of it) being opened in search of something. When the realization sets in that San, Hongjoong, Seonghwa, and Yunho have seen you at your worst, your chest tightens and your breathing becomes irregular which are the first signs of a panic attack. Something San was familiar with but hadn’t seen happen in some time.

“No no no no.” San repeats, noticing the changes in your behavior and looking towards the bathroom. “Hongjoong! It’s getting worse!”

Immediately, footsteps can be heard heading in your direction, and a gentle face appears in the corner of your eye. Hongjoong slowly reaches forward, grasping the hand that had begun curling in on itself to the point of almost drawing blood and pulling it away from your chest.

“Sweetie, grab my hand and squeeze that instead. You won’t hurt me, I swear.” Hongjoong whispers, slowly working his nimble fingers between your clenched ones. It comes as a surprise to him when, instead of resisting, your hand flies open into a rigid position. “Shh… it’s okay sweet-heart. How about this. Follow this.”

Your hand is placed on a firm and warm chest, a slight bump hitting your palm and drawing your attention to the pattern. It’s his heartbeat. Hongjoong’s pulse creates a rhythm in your head, distracting you from your fears and disdain towards yourself momentarily while Seonghwa and Yunho both return to the room, one holding medical supplies and the other holding a bowl with warm water and a towel. Crouching in front of you, Seonghwa notices the hand on Hongjoong’s chest is the one that’s injured, glancing at San who is fighting back tears as he strokes your hair.

“Y/n-ah. We have to clean your hand. Put your hand on San’s chest, follow his heartbeat.” Seonghwa says in a firm yet kind tone. At this point, you’ve lost almost all self-awareness, too exhausted to fight anyone as you nod partially, removing your hand from Hongjoong’s chest to place on San’s. “No sweetie. The other hand.” Seonghwa instructs, a heartbroken smile crossing his face at the sight of you behaving like a toddler who skipped their nap. You look confused, bringing your hand to your face to inspect it, finding the streaks of blood and bits of glass as a few tears trickle down your face. 

You’re not sure how long it takes for Seonghwa to properly clean your hands, or when you got changed into one of San’s shirts that fits like a dress, but as you’re lied down on the bed with San, who’s watching you intently to make sure any slight changes on your face are caught immediately, you find yourself in an almost numbed mind-frame. Too exhausted and confused to comprehend anything around you. 

Your eyes slowly close, the occasional tear slipping out only to be swiped gently away by San. San, the last thing you see before you fall into a dreamless sleep. And you are blissfully unaware of what’s to come in the morning.

As you snore softly in San’s grasp, your chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, Yunho leaves the room to clean up the mess that has been left behind with Seonghwa following closely behind, most likely to comfort the younger boy. Hongjoong reaches forward to brush hair out your eyes and slowly strokes your cheek. Who knew such a small body could take this much pain? he wonders to himself, not even beginning to understand what caused you to struggle so much and break down so devastatingly. And that’s the only way to describe your attack. Devastating.

Like a tsunami, you receded from social outings and even your true love San, and once they realized what was happening and why you’d “changed” the wave had already hit. But his main question was voiced by San.

“Hyung.” San rasps out, looking up at Hongjoong with tears streaming down his face. “Why-or how did this happen? What caused this? What are we-what am I supposed to do?” 

San’s breathing becomes labored, almost as if the weight of the situation has sat fully on his chest. He chokes on a sob, looking at you in your angelic state while pressing a gentle and wet kiss to the top of your head while crying. He clutches you to his chest, rocking slightly and burying his face in your head. Hongjoong panics, thinking he’ll wake you but settles once realizing how exhausted you must be. “Why would she keep this from me?”

“San-ah, I honestly don’t have the answer to that.” Hongjoong mumbles, holding his own tears back with a few deep breaths before looking at the pair of you. He honestly considered Ateez his family, and you became his little sister that he felt he needed to protect from the world. If only he’d realized sooner how much damage the world had already done to you. “But I do know one thing. Now more than ever, she needs us.”

San looks at his hyung and leader, absolutely wrecked from the storm of emotions that flowed between you two. “How?” he croaks out.

“I’m not sure. But what I do know is that the storm hasn’t gone and that this is only the beginning of our journey.” Hongjoong places a hand on your cheek and his other on San’s hand, squeezing slightly in hopes of reassuring the younger boy. “I see how much you need her San. And how much she needs you. She’s scared San. More so than any of us right now. Which is why we have to stay with her no matter what. No matter what she might say or do to scare us off, we have to fight through it all and show her we are here for her. Because if we don’t.” Hongjoong’s voice cracks, revealing his true emotions and the toll this whole ordeal has taken on him. “We might lose her forever.”

San sits quietly, shaking slightly from the silent tears that are being shed and pulling you closer to his chest if that was even possible, crying himself into a slumber much like you did moments prior. Hongjoong rises, tucking both of you in like he would an upset child, and walking into the bathroom. The scene that awaits him is what finally breaks his own dam of tears, collapsing next to Seonghwa and Yunho who are both crouched down. They’ve hunched over, scrubbing the white tiles of your blood and throwing glass shards away in a paper bag. Upon noticing Hongjoong, Yunho drops what’s in his hands, embracing his leader and best friend. His tears fall as well, the sight of someone as strong as Hongjoong breaking down terrifying him. 

Seonghwa wipes the few stray tears before rising, quickly finishing the task of cleaning before ushering the two broken boys out of the room. He sits Hongjoon and Yunho down, pulling out a paper and pen and titling it “Y/n’s Healing.”

“We’ll make a plan, and take this journey one step at a time. Until Y/n’s finally healed.” Seonghwa states, immediately writing steps and plans he’s already come up with in his head. And so the journey begins.

#ateez angst #san angst #choi san angst #san x reader #hongjoong angst #kim hongjoong angst #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa angst #park seonghwa angst #seonghwa x reader #yunho angst #jeong yunho angst #yunho x reader #ateez x reader #tw: depression #tw: self harm

[tokoyamisstuff]

Dark Side Of The Moon Ch. 2 - Dark! Loki x Reader

Chapter 2: “On The Run”

Chapter Summary: Even though you can’t help feeling drawn to the lunatic that looks like your deceased lover, you try to surpress your feelings and flee to find your friends.

Warnings: Loki is fucking crazy, Violence, Torture, Jotun! Loki, Mentions of Death, Abuse, Unhealthy Relationship, Mentions of Rape

Words: 3360

[Story Masterlist]

Masterlist to my other works right ->Here<-

“And the shark, it has tears,

And they run down its face.

But the shark lives in the water -

So the teardrops one can’t see.”

- Rammstein - Haifisch

Taglist: @winterglcw​ @commonintrest​ @emmojoy​ @satansbra @just-someone-who-likes-to-write​​

“She died through my hands.”

That sentence replayed over and over in your head, forming a continuous loop as you silently formed those words with your own lips.

“It’s not him!” you called out to yourself, since your reason had seemingly disappeared ever  since you first saw the person that was a perfect copy of the man you once loved.

You were rolling around on the bare floor, shivering as you softly punched your head to not get lost in thought again. The emperor didn’t even have the basic decency to give you any clothes back, only having the Citauri throw you into an old dungeon to keep you prisoner - or whatever he’d plan to do with you.

That man was so different of your Loki.

And the timeline both of you were currently in had exceeded your worst expectations, making you wonder if fate just wanted to torment you.

In this universe, Thanos never even got so far as to collect all of the Infinity Stones. Loki Laufeyson had won the battle of New York and took over this world, then somehow double-crossed and killed the Titan. So right now, he possessed the power of the Tesseract, as well as the Cascet of Ancient Winters. For what reason he kept that Jotun relic was unknown, probably out of nostalgic sentiment you assumed.

Afterwards, the God of Mischief had killed his brother Thor in bad blood, as well as torturing Natasha - the exact way he threatened her back in your world, when he was in his cell. Clint was still his servant, as it seemed. You had seen him when they took you to his cell.

He couldn’t get rid of all the Avengers, however - even though their current location was unknown. They were in hiding for many years now, probably trying to get their hands on the other Infinity Stones. 

Also noticeable was the fact that this universe had neither Hela, nor Captain Marvel - so one good and one bad thing to compensate for each other. Not that they’d be a match for Loki in his current form anyway...

And there was no Dr. Strange on this version of Earth, your last bit hope to escape disappearing as you learned about this fact.

That much was all you had learned by now, mainly through tricking and manipulating some of your guards into giving you information.

All in all, you only knew for sure was that this world’s Loki was a terribly trong, murderous sociopath, intoxicated by power and loneliness.

And you had become the focus of the little emotion left in him.

It was hard trying to surpress all the voices and memory submerging in your mind. So there was nothing left for you except for rolling up into a ball, lying on the cold floor as you prepared to be washed over with sadness and guilt once again.

_____

“Would you help me recieve the greatest honor by becoming mine and mine only, Lady Y/N?”

How could you ever forget this moment?

Back on the Asgardian refugee ship, your Loki had asked you that very question, now popping up in your mind once again.

Every detail was still as bright as daylight, preserved deep into your heart.

You clearly remembered the small, green box he had summoned out of thin air, presenting you a plain but still incredibly beautiful ring. The golden piece of jewlery formed a snake eating itself - a symbol of infinity and wholeness.

It was just his way of being thoughtful.

“I-I prepared this a while go, to be precize...but I never thought of being worthy” he had stammered and you found yourself speechless, admiring that very scene playing in front of your eyes. “A-Anyway, after all that happened, I realized that all moments I spent happy, were when I was with you. I don’t want to lose you again, Y/N! And I feared, well...that it might be too late to ask someday.”

It was most unjust that this most blissful moment would be interrupted by a great rumbling shaking through the whole spaceship - and even before Thor would crash Loki’s proposal, both of you were aware just what kind of danger you would have to face soon:

Thanos.

Your numbers had already been decimated by Ragnarok, all that’s left being some civilian refugees, injured and traumatized. The only ones capable of fighting left were Loki, Thor, Heimdall, you and the Hulk.

Yet all of your struggles were to no avail, only able to watch and scream and bag at the Titan, so he’d at least spare those innocent lives as he mercilessly slaughtered woman and children alike.

“Fucking monster!” Pulling out a gun, your mind went completely blank as you gave it some last, desperate attempt to save or avenge just anyone.

No bullet would even come close enough to pierce his skin, as Ebony Maw would deflect them to hit yourself and people close to you. “I’m not the only one you should see responsible for this outcome” Thanos scoffed.

“What do you mea-” Your voice got swallowed by a pained groan as you saw Loki, kneeling in front of Thanos and revealing the one thing he was after:

The Tesseract.

“You......took it?!?” The only thing managing to escape your throat was a high-pitched yell as Loki’s face contorted in disappointment and regret - just now realizing that he had put you all in danger.

They would’ve never went after you if it wasn’t for him. He had doomed his race, failed you and what was left of his family.

“How could you put us all in danger?! I thought you had changed! You swore it with your life, Loki! That you loved me more than you desired power!”

No answer.

Instead, the god would prepare one of his speeches, directing words of undying fidelity at Thanos and his arms. And even though it was meant to be lies, a play to make the threat feel save, every single word hit your heart like knives.

“How could I ever marry someone like you?!” feeling as if Loki most recent, selfish act was suffocating you, you could only whisper - yet he understood very clearly, the facade dropping in an instant.  “I-I hate you...traitor...”

If only you knew that those would be the last words you’d ever direct at him...

Loki materializes a dagger, desperately trying to make up for his biggest mistake yet, and at least save you, the light of his cursed existence, and the only thing he had ever done in his life full of wrongs.

But Thanos looked right through the charade from the very beginning, using the stones to trap Loki in their hold - and then, grabbing the god’s throat.

“You have what you want, Thanos!” Thor tried to bargain, “There’s even less than half of my race left. Please, just let us go!”

“Oh, I will” he spoke stony, then shifting his attention to the god in his hands. “But first, I’ll do you a favor and erase that disgraceful pest all of you were too weak to take care of.”

As he was struggling for air, gasping uncontrollably as he tried to free his neck from the Giant, Loki’s glare wandered to you - and when your eyes met, both of your hearts skipped a beat.

He smiled. In the face of death, the last thing he wanted you to remember was the good things after all.

And seeing the ring on your finger, how couldn’t he? Loki knew you were about to say yes - and knowing this was more than enough for someone like him.

After all, the God of Mischief was used to happiness being taken away from him as soon as he thought it to be okay to open up to someone.

But you were safe. That’s all that counted for him!

It was like his eyes were telling you “It’s gonna be alright. I’m sorry, Y/N...I love you.”

You don’t remember much after that, having a mental breakdown as you had to watch the love of your life perish - and forever thinking about how you had turned him down just seconds before.

A part of you had died with him back then.

_____

The creaking sound of the cell’s door made you jump from your dream - but the person which entered was one you had never seen before.

A monster.

It’s silhouette very much resembled Loki, yet his skin was painted in a dark shade of blue, with thin linings carved across his whole body. He had fangs and even horns coming out of his temple to add at that.

The beast’s eyes were shining in a threatening red, glistering contrastful in the dark hallway. But the worst were those black irises, absent of any form of compassion - there seemed to be only rage, confusion and hate.

“Fuck!” you screamed, terrified and fearing for your life. Shuffling until your back hit the wall of a corner of the room, you defendingly put your arms in front of yourself. “Go away! Don’t to-ouch me!”

Loki cleared his voice as he put the Casket away, not making any efforts to revert his outer appearance back to ‘normal’. He had admired it on his way to your cell, like he’d do many times a day when he was reminiscing about the day he learned about his heritage...

...and how he had killed Odin, his adoptive father, with that very relic, afterwards clearing the universe of that despiseful race of the Jotunn - making him the last of his kind.

“Oh my” a dark voice finally declared, “Seems like ‘your’ Loki never dared to show you his true form. Pathetic.”

No, that wasn’t completely true. Your lover had at least told you back then. But when did you ever have the time to talk things over and heal, being dragged from one fight to another?!

The Jotunn felt great joy as he towered over you, gleefully watching your naked body cowering to his knees, covered in goosebumps and shaking heavily. Your breath was clearly visible while you tried to cover your shame as best as you could, wary glare never leaving the abomination that was just lurking right in front of you.

“Wha- OUCH!” you hissed as the Frost Giant took ahold of your wrist, monitoring the pain spreading across your face as his touch would frostburn any skin he was touching with ease.

Loki grinned menacingly as he let go off of you, admiring his handywork as the first layer of your skin had already died, crumbling away to reveal your pink flesh.

“Oh, how I missed that” he explained, much to your surprise ripping a piece of his own clothing apart to cover the wound with it. “Your kind is so easily broken. It’s always fascinating to watch.”

“Just kill me already, you freak!”

Well, Loki had in fact spent hours after hours thinking about how to handle you, and yet he couldn’t decide. Obviously he would’ve killed you right away if it was otherwise, but he still had a soft spot for you somewhere deep in his heart, after all.

And it upset him more than he’d ever admit. So he tried to assert his dominance, to ease the feeling of weakness and loss of control.

“I’m only doing you a favor, woman.” The god would touch your cheek, making you flinch away - but this time, it wouldn’t hurt. Never would he dare to scar this most beautiful face!

“The man you loved was just the same as me, yet it seemed he wasn’t completely honest with you. What you are seeing right now is the form of a Frost Giant...the monstrosity you chose to love.”

“L-Loki…”

It was no surprise that he saw tears filling the rim of your eyes - yet out of a whim, you pulled your arms around his neck, tears wetting his robe. He gasped, unable to act in any way as he stiffened in the pose.

That was by far not the reaction he had been expecting - and he surprised you as well. You had thought him to instantly shove you away, beat you agaib or even bite - but he just kneeled there, not daring to make a move.

"Why?” Now his voice was much softer, pained even. “I’m a monster. I hurt you. So why?”

“I’m so sorry” you whimpered, words being interrupted by heavy sobbing. “I try to fight it, I really do. But I just can’t, I-I”

“Aren’t you afraid?”

“How could I be? It’s you, Loki...no matter what you look like.” Eventually, you’d face him again, wiping the tears out of your face when for another moment, you made yourself forget that this was a completely different person. “I was just surprised, that’s all. Letting me see this form out of nowhere...”

“Y/N, I’m not the same as him” he retorted, knowing very well what it’s like to lose oneself in daydreams and illusions to ease the pain of loss. His sight wandered around the room instead of your face, stating “I did horrendous things, dear. Tormented and killed countless. It’s unforgiveable.”

“So did he” you stated, even though you knew those two Loki’s couldn’t be compared. “And you should already know: I feel dead inside, ever since he died.”

“You really loved him, didn’t you?” When you nodded confidently, Loki sighed ashamed, reluctantly touching your wrist again. A warm magic would flow through you, healing the wound in no time. “I wish she had felt the same for me...”

For a while, both of you were plainly sitting in uncomfortable silence, with Loki even lending you his cloak to warm yourself up.

“It’s not him” you told yourself once again. “It’s not him. It’s not him. IT’S NOT HIM!!! That man is dangerous and instable. He can’t be trusted!”

And then, finally, you dared asking, cutting through the thick air:

“What exactly happened to me, in this world?”

Loki’s face contorted in agony, rubbing his face as if in deep pain. “Is this really necessary? I already told you. She died because of me.”

“More details would be nice” you retorted bluntly, not really caring if he was to have a violent outburst again. Curiosity got the better of you at that moment.

The emperor’s voice was low and husky, and just now you realized how damn tired he looked - with dark rings under his eyes, and more pale than you had ever remembered him.

The weight of his sins sure had taken a stroll on that sensitive man.

"I saw the ring” he uttered deeply affected, “That’s something I could only dream of. Thinking about it, I think she never really loved me in the first place. Or maybe she just grew tired of my lies. Understandable, I have to admit...”

“Yes, it was quite the opposite, even” he continued after a long, strained breath of his. “She hated me. Joined the Avengers and tried to kill me, several times. Only years later I learned about the truth: Already far in the past, back on Asgard, she betrayed me. After I fell off the Bifrost, she thought myself dead - and consoled herself by bedding my brother. I had to kill him, I-I-I just had to!”

Loki’s hands were shaking so frantically you could feel it from over there, mad eyes darting over your physique to take in your reaction. “After they finally lost, I took her prisoner. Seven months of trying to make her mine, no matter the methods. Mind-controlling her would not be satisfying. So I tortured her, played games with her sanity, and- I’d rather not speak about how else I violated her.”

“You, wha-” Now you were the one shivering in horrid anticipation, “You raped me...?”

No answer. Instead he just finished this disastrous story.

“One day, I went to her cell like I always did. I hoped once her mind was broken she’d stop struggling to be mine. But she never did. You Y/N’s are quite the fighters, as it seems.”

“Wha- wwhat happened to me...I mean, ‘her’?”

A loud whine escaped his vocal cords as he hit the wall right next to your face, making you suck in a pained breath.

“She used her chains to hang herself. There was nothing I could do. Ever since then I knew I’m cursed to inflict pain on anything I hold dear.”

"D-Don’t give me that self-pitying bullshit” you wanted to shout at his face - but the cramping in your heart as well as the hyperventillation made talking impossible.

How could one do something like that to a person they claimed to love?!

“Go” you whimpered, already shuffling away from him and he could hear anguish and fear drop out of every vocal, and he realized you were having a panic attack. “Please!”

Loki closed his eyes, letting out one last, deep sigh. He knew he owed you that much.

“Very well.”

That whole night, you spent crying and screaming to your hearts avail, unable to process your current situation and newfound knowledge.

So that would be your life from now on? Being hurt mentally and physically, frostburnt and hurt and violated against your will - all while looking at a face that remembered you of happier days?

Never!

Things were just like that evil Loki said: You are a fighter!

And if you couldn’t help that crazy man, you would at least help yourself! The Avengers are still out there, somewhere. You needed to escape and help them!

How could you have been so blind all those years?

Loki - your Loki - would have never wanted to you give up. He’d want you to survive and live your life to it’s fullest, trying to make the best out of everything you’ve got.

Just like he always did. That much you had learned from him.

“I’m sorry, Loki. If I die, I can’t even remember you...I love you…”

Breaking out succeeded faster than you could ever think it would take - because when you’d finally get out of your fetal courl and wandered across the cell, you realized Loki didn’t properly close the heavy steel door back when he rushed away from you.

“It’s not him. There’s no helping that man. I have to find my friends, I-”

Still shocked and scared and traumatized, you didn’t even realize that someone was watching you, not even questioning that the hallways were oddly empty.

You sneaked out of an open window, bare feet feeling the morning dew as you shook away Lokis cloak and ran as fast as your feet could carry you.

There was it - the fence.

No one could tell you what kind of world would await you outside of that property as you swiftly avoided some guards, rushing through the all so beautiful garden.

But as soon as you reached out to climb the railing, you felt someone balling a fist in your hair, harshly holding you back and causing you to stumble and fall.

“I thought you to be different…” an all too familiar voice grumbled. Loki didn’t even want to hear any apology or excuse, kicking your guts so heavily that you had to throw up, cramping on the ground.

“Don’t you dare to run away ever again!” he now yelled furiously, "She tried it too...so damn.many.times…!”

But before you could even respond, he suddenly began to cry uncontrollably. “I thought you would stay. Do you think I like to do this?!”

His voice was laced with grief and regret, yet he kept on forming countless bruises on your body. “Why can’t you fucking love me, hel?!”

You didn’t know how long his violent crying fit lasted, with him weeping as he let off some steam on your helpless self.

There was no trace of the hurt, regretful man left you talked to in your cell earlier. After being finished, having reclaimed a fraction of composure, Loki pressed your face in between his hands, ripping on your mangled body to face him.

“Fate gifted me another chance to possess you, Y/N. And I will form you into a magnificent pet, I promise.”

_______

If you want to get on the taglist (or deleted from lmao) feel free to ask! ♡

Feedback is always appreciated!

#Loki #Loki x Reader #Loki x You #Loki x Y/N #Loki Laufeyson #Loki Odinson #Loki Friggason #God of Mischief #Loki / Reader #Loki / You #Marvel #Disney #Asgard #Midgard #Writing #Fanfiction #Self Insert #tw abuse #tw violence

[cherripeach]

Chapter 15

Little Match Maker

Summary: Your life motto is “I have the power of god and anime on my side, don’t mess with me,” and you stand by that with your life. No human, magician, or random creature could ever stop your firm belief in it.

However, getting transported to this world that seemed to turn your already bad luck worse was not what you wanted to be in your life story, but you made the most of it. Making friends, enemies, and disasters, you were in your prime in this world, and so you decided to help as many people as you could flourish, at least what you believed to be.

Chapter 1:113 Two Shots of Vodka

Finishing up the tarts with a little twist.

Warnings: Language, violence, insecurities

Words: 1.7k

Relationships: developing but future twstxreader

You don’t think you ever saw Deuce’s fists leave the two kids before their faces turned purple and their legs gave out on them.

Deuce landed one final hit before the white haired boy pulled as far away from him as possible and screamed while whipping the blood now on his face from his bleeding lip, “Fuck, this guy’s a total madman! That was more than 6 hits, you liar!”

The red haired student was not faring any better with a black eye and clutching his stomach, “Oh, crap! Let’s run! I’m so sorry, Mr. Chicken!!”

Deuce had no speck on him, standing firm with his hands on his hips, “Apologize to the eggs a hundred times before you stuff your faces next time, dumbass!!”

“Okay uhhhhhh,” You could not lock eyes on anything that was in front of you; be it the two students close to the ground clutching parts of their bodies and apologizing or the kid who you thought wouldn't hurt a fly standing proud forcing apologizes from people.

Grim agreed with you with a shriek and a skirt behind you.

The two boys after bowing their heads for several seconds gathered their last dignity and ran out clutching their stomachs and arms from the beat down.

Deuce, finally, lost his other persona and squatted down and cried out, “Ah!!”

Grim popped out from behind you after he realized that Deuce was back to normal, “What happened to you!?”

Deuce stood up with his hands over his eyes, “I did it again…” He began lightly rubbing his eyes. “I promised myself that I’d be a model student for sure this time, and yet…!” His shoulders finally relaxed while he let out a breath.

Grim stood still confused, “Eh?”

“It’s okay, Deuce. One mistake will not kill your reputation,” You knew this kid was freaking out about nothing, “Also, in my opinion, I think honors students would fight those who prey on the weak.” You winked at the sullen looking boy, walking closer to him.

Deuce huffed, “I wanted to be different from who I was back in middle school… “ He flinched slightly when you placed your hand on his shoulder, “I always skipped classes, and I got into fights every day. I didn’t show respect to teachers and I hung out with a bad ilk of seniors. Even my hairstyle was pretty wild back then, too. I fought with anyone who I could fight with… I used magic even on guys who couldn’t use magic. I was an over-all bad person then.” He rolled his shoulders back to escape from your grip, but he never seemed to lose it.

Grim paid no attention to the air, “It totally doesn’t look too obvious now, though.”

“You can continue talking if you want Deuce. No one is here to stop you,” You smiled light, “I would love to hear more about you.”

Deuce nodded, “Thanks.” He finished up his story now comfortable with your hand on his shoulder, “But one night while I was hiding myself from view… I saw my mother cry and talk to my grandmother about it. She was asking her where she went wrong with raising me, and about whether she was a bad parent for how I turned out. But that’s not it at all. She’s not to blame!” Deuce’s red eyes with some tears in them locked onto yours , “Everything’s my fault! That’s why, when the black carriage from the prestigious Night Raven College came to pick me up, I made sure that I will never take that smile away from my mother again. I made up my mind to become a model student that my mother can be proud of. And yet… Damn it…!” He stomped his foot onto the ground and curled his fists but still none of that anger was even remotely portrayed at you or anyone but himself.

“Deuce, sweetie. I need you to listen to me to understand this. You were a bad person in the past. Past. Not now. You realized your mistakes and now you want to fix them. Is that right?” Your smile never faltered even when Deuce tensed up more or he stepped away from you.

“Well, yeah,” Deuce spilled out.

“Then, I think you are being the best honors student you can.” You reached out your hand to offer some of the bags to him, “No one is born with any traits that an honors student would have. The fact that you now know that you want to change and that you strive for being an honors student proves that you are one.”

Deuce stares at you with widened eyes, “What?”

You grabbed his right hand and opened it in order to place some of the bags into it, “No one is perfect either. Even honors students make mistakes, but fighting for the weak and protecting me who would get hurt if I even tried to fight them even though I wouldn’t be scared, shows you care. Deuce, you are a great person. You just can’t realize it yet.”

Tears spilled out of Deuce’s eyes while he whined, “You make it sound easy.”

You raised your hand to wipe Deuce’s eyes, “It’s not. Believe me. But starting is the hardest, and once you get there, I know you can do anything.” After wiping his tears, you stepped back and grabbed Grim by his belly, “You just have to keep going forward.”

Deuce wipes his eyes one last time before smacking himself on the check, “You're right. Me becoming an honors student won’t happen overnight. I’m not gonna stop because of some stupid assholes.”

“Exactly,” You threw a thumbs up.

Grim smirked, “If it were me, I’d have punched those delinquents ten more times, yanno? But you took care of it before I could.”

“That’s definitely not what we are trying to get at,” You rolled your eyes.

Deuce snorted at the two of you, “You guys…”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” You placed Grim back onto the ground and your groceries on a bench before going over to the bag of broken eggs, “Let’s stop the mushy gushy and get back to business.”

“Got it…” Deuce threw his hand up in salute before chuckling, “Hehe, the chicks will probably feel at ease now, too, huh?”

“Chicks?” You turned to face Deuce fully, “There are no chicks in these eggs. Chicks can’t be in an egg that’s not fertilized.”

“Wh-what?!?!?!” Deuce ran and grasped your shoulders, “You’ve gotta be kidding me!!!!!!”

“Why would I joke about this?” You raised your shoulders in a confused gesture.

Deuce, silent, fell to the ground with his knees crashing to the floor.

Grim ignored the crisis, “Let’s just get back to everyone soon.”

You nodded picking up the remaining trash before taking a trip back to the store while Grim and Deuce just waited in the same position you left them in.

The trip back was complete silence with Deuce walking several steps behind.

Ace was the first to react when the three of you stepped through the door, “Oh, they’re finally back. What took you guys so long?”

“That’s a long story,” You sighed.

“Let’s get this over with” Trey clapped his hands, “shall we?”

Everyone besides Deuce who was still in a trance joined in, “Let’s make some marron tarts!”

You laughed, “Damn what simulation are we in?”

“Shut it for once,” Ace scowled before turning around to let out a snort disguised as a sigh.

Trey read over the recipe once more before voicing the next step, “All that’s left is to mix the marron cream into the tart.”

Grim jumped after hearing that, “Will we be able to eat after this!? I’m getting excited already!”

Ace seemed to be the same, “Alright, let’s finish this in one fell swoop!”

Neither of them, however, were hanging onto the words that were coming out of Trey’s mouth, leading to the two of them taking a bit too long in their part of the job.

Trey was still trying to get their motivation going, “Don’t lose focus now, got it?”

Ace’s motivation was there, “You got it!” He dropped the spoon into the batter. His mind was not there.

Grim mimicked Ace, “Yeah!” while almost falling off of the counter top.

“I don’t think you two have full focus,” You continued to add the batter to the crusts.

Grim hissed and did his best to contribute, “Nyaha! What ‘bout that!”

Trey encouraged all of them more, “You guys are good. Keep up that pace.”

Grim boasted, “Hehe, anything’s easy-peasy for the future great magician, Grim!”

Ace countered him, “You get carried away too easily!”

“Quite the hypocrite, Ace.” You joined in the little argument.

Deuce was mumbling to himself through his internal crisis, “Eggs don’t… turn into chicks…?”

Ace wondered about Deuce, “What have you been saying, man!?”

“It might be better to ignore him,” You mentioned to Ace.

The rest of the process happened with relative quiet with some chatter.

Your group finally finished backing the tarts.

Ace had the brightest expression on his face with tall shoulders and a high head, “Alright, perfect!”

Grim eyes the tarts, “It looks so good!”

Trey finished his clean up before thanking everyone, “Thanks for the great work, guys. All that’s left is to put some marron glacé on top.”

“Me, me, pick me! I’ll do it!!” Grim waved his little paw high in the air almost hitting your face.

Ace jeered, “Don’t mess it up, okay?”

Grim took the glacé and began to spread it out on the tarts, “Leave it to me! There we go! As expected from me! This is gonna be the best tart ever!”

You just hoped that this tart was not ruined with how much effort some of your friends put in.

Trey grabbed the glacé from Grim and gave him some powdered sugar, “Alright, the last step is to sprinkle some powdered sugar on top and then…”

Maybe the tarts would be good.

~~

Little shorter than normal, but it okay. Midterms be killers.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twst x reader #twst x you #trey clover #deuce spade #ace trappola #twst grim

[amlovelies]

are we there yet?

this is another one of those deleted prompts from January that I am just now filling. better late than never right? Sidestep days, post nanosurge hurt/comfort. some mild spoilers for the public demo

big thanks to everyone on discord for all your help and feedback with this 💜

12. things you said while you thought I was asleep from this prompt list

fandom: fhr pairing: Julia Ortega/f!sidestep (Cynthia Basri) rating: T mention of mental trauma, migraines, nosebleeds, and cursing words: 2.7k read on ao3

              It’s not until you hear Ortega’s voice that you realize the pounding isn’t just your migraine, but rather her fists against your front door.

               “Cynthia, I swear to God I will break this door down!”

               Part of you just wants to try and call her bluff and roll back over, try to lose yourself to the state of semi-consciousness you’ve been floating in for God knows how long. The other part of you knows she’ll do it. There’s thunder in her voice; she’s reached the end of her patience. Breaking it down wouldn’t even phase her, and the last thing you need right now is to deal with that mess. 

               “Don’t you dare,” you try to yell, but your voice just cracks from lack of use and dehydration.

               It’s too fucking bright outside, even with Ortega looming in your doorway blocking most of the light. She’s tense, brow furrowed and her lips turned down in a frown. You’re too tired for this. Too tired for whatever confrontation she wants. You don’t bother with a greeting; it’s not like you invited her here. Leaving the door open, you trudge back to your bed and bury your face in the pillow.

               You hear her close the door as she walks into your small studio. “I guess this explains why you weren’t answering your phone.”

               You peek up to see her kneeling next to the shattered device. You’d thrown it when it wouldn’t stop ringing. You had tried to turn it off, but the buttons were too small, too difficult to manipulate. You just needed the noise to end. There was already so much chaos in your head, bouncing and rebounding off the sides of your skull, pooling behind your eyes, settling between your teeth. You were so desperate for some semblance of peace.

               Was that two days ago or three? You can’t remember. Time has stretched and blurred, too many days in pain. Too many days with your brain full to bursting. You’re no stranger to pain, no stranger to migraines, but it’s never been like this. The first few days you’d been able to keep going, to swallow the pills, to swallow the pain and keep moving. It’s not like your comfort had ever mattered, but the pain hadn’t stopped. Two weeks now and you are tired, so tired.

               “Somebody wouldn’t quit calling,” you say with a glare which just bounces off her. “I’m not dead, so you can quit worrying and go home.” The words slur on your tongue. It’s difficult to make it move the way you want to, but you get your point across just the same.

               “Like hell I will.” Stubborn. “I’m not leaving you here like this.” So damn stubborn and arrogant. What does she think she can do to fix this?

               “Please, just leave me the fuck alone, Julia.” It’s hard to keep your eyes open. Crystals dance in the edges making everything blur and twist.  

               “Not a chance.” You feel the bed dip as she sits down next to you and places a soothing hand on your forehead.

               You whimper at the contact. The press of her hand alleviating some of the throbbing in your temple, making it a little more bearable. After a few minutes she gets up, and you groan at the loss of her touch. You almost call her back, ask her not to leave, not to stop touching you, but that would be too much. You can hear her rummaging around the apartment. You should probably care, probably worry about the invasion of privacy, but it’s too much effort.

               Besides, you are the most incriminating thing she could find.

               When she comes back to sit on the bed, she gives you a choice: the hospital or the ranch. She’s already packed your bag, and her mouth is a firm line. There’s no way out of this. She is more than capable of carrying you out of here against your will.

               You take the lesser evil. Not that you are thrilled by the thought of spending hours in the car, not with the havoc the migraine has wrecked on your ability to keep any food down. When was the last time you ate anything besides dry toast? If you get sick in her car it’ll serve her right for meddling.

               By some miracle the traffic isn’t terrible. Ortega is driving fast, reckless, but that’s Ortega. Los Diablos disappears behind you and the relief is immense. The roar of too many souls in too little space fades away.  You can still feel the drivers around you. Blips of impressions, emotions, frustrations, occasionally the lyrics of a favorite song, but they’re gone too fast to stick, too fast to hurt. They can’t touch you.

               Ortega helps too. The static nothing of her thoughts like a cool compress to your fevered brain. A maze to get lost in, to try and shut everything away. Not that you’d ever tell her that. It would just give her another reason to stick around every time you get hurt.

               Shields had been your first lesson. The most important thing in a telepath’s arsenal, it’s too easy to be overwhelmed otherwise, to lose yourself in the howling around you. So many thoughts and feelings and emotions. Shields were your savior.

               Your shields are gone.

               Maybe the nanovores devoured them. A small price to pay when you compare it to the flesh missing from Ortega’s arm, to so many people just gone, to so much loss. What was your sanity in the face of that?

               Maybe you are broken. It’s never taken you this long to recover before. It’s never been so hard to get your shields back. You’re not sure how much more of this you can take. She’ll force you to the hospital if this continues much longer, and you won’t be able to run. Even at your best she’s always been faster and stronger than you. Right now, you doubt you could dodge a single blow, doubt that you could throw a punch or misdirect a mind.

               It’s not like the doctors could do anything for you anyway. Not the ones in Los Diablos at least. There were other doctors, specialists who loved nothing more than taking you apart and seeing what made you tick, how to make it better, how to make it stronger. What would they think about what you had done?

               How would they try to use you because of it?

               It’s too easy to remember. Too easy to remember rough hands and cold instruments. Fluorescent lights reflecting on exposed tattoos as you ran the drill again, again, again. Failure was not an option. Especially not when she was watching.

               Your mouth tastes like copper and it’s too familiar.

                “Jesus, Cyn,” Ortega’s voice breaks through your thoughts, “your nose.”

               Fuck. Looking down you can see where the blood has already dripped onto your flannel.

               Shields don’t just protect you from what’s outside. There are things inside you thought you’d locked away too.

               “Don’t worry. I didn’t bleed on your seat.” You’d meant the words to bite, to set her at ease, but you just sound exhausted. Weak. She keeps glancing over at you, her brow wrinkled.

               The shirt is already fucked; you might as well use the sleeve to sop up the mess. You’re almost grateful for the nose bleed. It’s better than the memories you were lost in. There’s pain and then there’s pain. “I’m fine. Just keep your eyes on the road, idiot.”

               A huff, but she turns her attention back to the highway.

               Good.

               “I thought you said the nosebleeds had stopped.” Her voice is tight and you can see the tension where her hand grips the gear shift. Sparks dancing over knuckles.

               “I did,” you say as you let your head rest against the window. It feels cool against your forehead and you sigh in relief. “It’s not that big of a deal. It’s better than it was.” It is. The first few days after the nanosurge, it felt like the nosebleeds were happening every couple of hours.

               Minutes pass in silence, and for a moment you think that maybe she’ll just let it go. That hope is dashed as you feel the car begin to slow down. You’re still an hour at least from the ranch. Still climbing the grapevine up into the mountains. You haven’t even reached the toll roads that sprung up to replace the damaged five following the big one. Not that Ortega would have to pay, the shiny Rangers decal on her windshield a free pass almost anywhere in the FEZ. You’re nowhere near the central valley, and you feel a stab of fear at the thought that maybe she’s changed her mind. Maybe she is taking away your choice, and she’ll turn the car around and drive you to the hospital.

               Should you bail out now? Run while she least expects it? The hillsides are sparse and desolate following last season’s wildfires. The twisted layers and striations of the rocks are a stark reminder of the violent potential of the land. There’s nowhere to hide. Nowhere that she couldn’t find you, couldn’t catch you. Still, it would be better to die of exposure or thirst in the mountains than to return to that place.

               “What are you doing?” you ask, trying to hide the panic in your voice.

               She doesn’t answer as she brings the car to a stop off the side of the road and gets out. Not turning around then. You breathe a sigh of relief as you hear her rummaging around in the trunk, a thud accompanied by a soft curse, and then she is pulling open your door. You repeat your question.

               “Do you expect me to just ignore it? Just keep driving like everything is fine?” she asks as she opens a bottle of water and begins to dampen a napkin with it.

               “Yes? It’s not like you’ve never seen me with a bloody nose before. Fuck, you’ve given me one.”

                She shushes you before pushing your hand out of the way and gently dabbing under your nose with the wet napkin. “That’s training. It’s different.”

               “Not really,” you say with a shrug. “Blood is blood.”

               “At least it’s stopped,” she says with a frown as she finishes wiping away the evidence.

               “See I told you it’s nothing to worry about, idiot.”

               Her hand cups your face, eyes staring into yours and you can’t bear it. You have to look away. You’ve helped bandage her up more than once, plugged in her mods, wrapped her cracked ribs, but you’ve rarely let her return the favor. Always dancing away from her hands, finding a way to slip away in the crowd before she can pull you to the medical tent. Too many secrets too easily revealed that way.

               There’s nothing for her to stitch or wrap or heal now, just you and your broken brain and blood on your shirt, but she is here, so present. Her thumb is rubbing along your cheek, along your scar, her hand so often finding its way there.

               A kiss to your forehead, her lips lingering as if she could have any effect on the damage underneath the surface.

               You don’t argue when she tells you to drink some water. Swallow the pill she offers you. It’ll be stronger than anything you have access to. You’re thankful for the clean shirt she offers you. The last thing you need is to give Tía Elena another reason to worry and fuss after you. Julia leans against the hood of the car as you light up a cigarette.  Just one, and then you are pulling back onto the road.

               Maybe it’s the nicotine, or the painkiller, or just being away from the city, but you can feel the pressure behind your eyes lifting.

                 You drift in and out of consciousness. Ortega chats with herself, a running commentary of complaints, about paperwork and the media team. The stupid outfits they wanted her to wear for a photo shoot. Never comfortable with silence, she always wants to fill the space with words or actions. Can’t pace when she’s in the car, so words it is.

               You don’t really sleep, not really. Just drift in and out. There’s a lot less traffic on the roads this far from the city center, and it’s peaceful. Your head still feels tight, unpleasant, but the painkillers Ortega gave you were no joke. Guess she wasn’t kidding about the Ranger’s health plan being second to none.

               “Cyn?” your name draws your focus, but you’re too tired to respond. “Are you asleep?” A pause as she waits for you to respond, and when you don’t, she keeps talking anyway. “Still wish you’d let me take you to the hospital. Stubborn idiot.” A soft chuckle, and she continues, “I know, I know, pot kettle but still, at least I let the doctors look me over before I ignore their advice.”

               She keeps talking, her voice quieter than before, barely a whisper in the empty air of the car. “I hate it, you know--” she takes a deep breath and her voice is brittle when she begins speaking again-- “watching you slink off after a fight. Not knowing how badly you’ve been hurt.”

               It’s nothing she hasn’t said before, but usually with shouted words and frustrated huffs, not whatever this is. If you didn’t know better, you’d say she sounds fearful, or maybe that’s just you. Fearful of where Julia might be going with this.  She stops speaking, but you can hear her fingers tapping against the wheel, as if continuing the conversation in her own head.                  

               You want to pretend to wake up, to save yourself from her concern, but you feel frozen. It’s like listening from underwater. The combination of the lingering pain and exhaustion and the numbing effect of the painkillers keeps you submerged, unable to surface.  

               “I worry about you. I just wish . . .” her voice trails off. ”I guess that doesn’t really matter.”

               Her fingers keep tapping against the wheel. You wish you hadn’t told her to turn off the radio. Her singing would be preferable to the anxiety you’re feeling now.

               You don’t want to know what else she might say.  You desperately want to hear what else she might say.

               “Cynthia, I—" Her voice cracks and it feels like a blow, quick and painful in your chest —  “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.” There’s a desperate edge to her voice which you don’t understand. You’re the one who almost lost her, not the other way around. Why else would you shatter yourself, except to save her?

               For a moment you had thought she was going to say something else. You should be relieved. Relieved that she didn’t say it.

               You’re being fucking stupid. Drugged and stupid and wishing for things you can’t have. It’s always been an unsteady thing, this spark between the two of you. She’d push and you’d pull away. She’d give up, and go out.

               Photos in the tabloids screaming out at you from the newsstands.

               Who has Charge been seen with now? What sharp jawed man has had his arm around her waist?

               She never denied it, and why should she?

               You said it yourself. It was just fun.

               There’s a tightness in your chest making it difficult to breath.

               It doesn’t matter how much you want to hear those words. It doesn’t matter how much you wish you could reveal the truth to her. You belong hidden. In the darkness. Any attempt to expose you to the light will leave you shriveled and burned away. Exposed for the fraud that you are.

                You jump in surprise as fingers tuck a strand of hair gently behind your ear

               “Sorry,” she says as she pulls her hand back. She gives a small embarrassed laugh as she rubs the back of her neck and adds, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

               “Whatever,” you grumble and avoid looking at her. Reaching forward you turn on the radio. It takes a minute or two to find a station, but once you do you settle back into your seat in relief. The noise is a much more controllable pain. “Are we there yet?”

               “Not quite.”

#fhr #fallen hero #julia ortega #chargestep #lovelieswrites #if: fhr #fhr ortega #ship: you’ll be her ruin #oc: Cynthia basri #fic: cynthia basri #ship: chargestep #the deleted prompts

[saphirered]

Hai I love your writing and I was wondering if you could do more verin x reader, like how would he react after finding out about essek, and he searched for him then he met the m9 and reader ?

Hope this turned out the way you wanted it! 😘

After the disappearance of his brother, Verin could simply not let it go. The Shadowhand disappeared from Exandria’s surface overnight without a word of warning. No traces left. No signs of a struggle that may indicate his enemies having gotten to him. Why would Essek leave everything behind willingly? Everything he gave his life for in service of the Bright Queen and the Kryn Dynasty? There had been suspicions about a traitor amidst the Bright Queen’s court but Verin simply refused to believe that to be Essek. His brother would never… Would he?

Verin, much like his brother is resourceful and shares a similar determination to reach a goal by any means necessary. That goal right now; finding Essek. Verin’s unsure what he will do once he finds his brother. There’s so many questions… But what if the rumours are true? No. He can’t think like that just yet. He will not tarnish that reputation through speculations. He needs answers first. He needs to find Essek.

Months of searching, following whatever traces he could find. Verin had to look to the past any ties before Essek’s disappearance. That lead to a group of strangers. A colourful bunch of chaotic individuals seemingly defying all odds when faced with them. Verin may not be able to track Essek but he could try and find these people… The Mighty Nein.

————

Heavy bag over one shoulder dressed in fine clothes you stroll through low-lit halls flanked by two guards. Radiating a sense of authority and sternness you stop in front the metal bars, on the other side a redhead leaning back against the wall looking up at you innocently without a single worry.

“Master Widogast, I’ve been told you’re here on suspicions of corrupting the minds of your students. Do you have anything to say for yourself?” You address your friend. This never ends. Caleb gets himself arrested because someone finds out what he’s allegedly been teaching at the Academy. He’s dragged off to a holding cell and your disturbed amidst your work day to get him out again. This time you’ve made him wait though. You had an important meeting you couldn’t get out.

“It’s all just a mistake. You’ll find my students can vouch for me and prove this misunderstanding to be nothing more than part of the curriculum of theoretical transmutation.” You dig through your bag, take out a scroll and hand it to one of the guards. The guards reads it over awaiting your command.

“Well, hurry up! Release this man before I have you written up for unlawfully keeping one of the Soltryce Academy’s most beloved teachers.” The guard quickly jumbles with the keys and the barred door is unlocked. Caleb gets up and you step aside to allow him to exit. The guards wait, not entirely sure what to do next. What did you expect of newbies…

“Are you really going to stand around loitering? Back to work.” The guards scurry off and you and Caleb walk next to each other exiting the building and into the streets. Once you’re both in the clear you drop your more rigid behaviour and punch the wizard in the shoulder.

“What was that for?” He exclaims rubbing his arm. That’s gonna bruise.

“The only reason I took this job is to get you and the others out of trouble when you inevitably got yourself in a mess again but between Beau’s bar fights and your borderline treason, I swear you’ll be the ones that will lose me my job.” You’re only half serious. You can’t count the times you’ve had to bail the Nein out for their antics and have definitely been abusing your newfound power to do so. The king might be an asshole but at least the pay is good and the benefits better.

Reaching your destination, wizard at your side discussing who might have spilled the beans on Caleb’s rather liberal teachings you open the low fence to the garden. In the garden you’re met with the familiar disguise of your friend Essek, sunhat to guard him from the harsh sunlight, gardening gloves on harvesting some vegetables. Upon seeing you he grabs the basket next to him and joins the two of you with a smile.

“While I’d hoped this wouldn’t become a habit, thank you, for getting Caleb out trouble, again. Your endless efforts are certainly appreciated. We are in your debt many times over.” The disguised drow sends the redhead a loving glance as he addresses you.

“And don’t you forget it. One day I might come and collect.” You grin at Essek with the pleasure of turning his own words against him. Of course you didn’t mean them. They’re your friends and you’ll never seriously ask for anything in return for anything they ask of you.

“Clever.” Essek speaks sarcastically smiling at your comment.

“But if you feel inclined to repay me for my hard work, you can make sure you’re both on time for dinner tonight. The gang’s getting back together and you’re expected.” Essek hands you the basket he’s carrying providing you with the resources of a home cooked meal for the gathering of the evening. It’s been a while since everyone’s been at the same place the same time.

“I’ll do what I can but I make no promises.”

“All, I can ask for.” You turn your attention to Caleb. “That reminds me.” A quick inconspicuous motion of your hands allows you to summon a small stack of papers. Another perk of your job; getting information the higher ups want to keep to themselves. Luckily a lot of them have assistants that are much easier to get that information from.

“Beau and you can get back to work. But not tonight! Tonight’s work free, for all of us.” Caleb quickly leafs through the ledgers you’ve handed him.

“You know, if you ever grow bored of the court life, you can always join me in teaching free thinking and magic at the Academy…” Caleb jokes as you pick up the basket ready to leave the wizards to the rest of their day.

“And who’s gone bail us both out then?” You laugh over your shoulder closing the fence behind you. Back to your home and prepare for the evening. You can’t help but feel like you’re being followed. You pay close attention to the shadows and for just a moment you’re sure you see something, or rather someone. Choosing not to pursue you continue on to your home. It’s not like your place of residence is a secret to anyone.

————

The house is noisy, happy chatting and laughter fills the dining room. How you’ve missed this. The table has been set, plates, cutlery and all, a multitude of decanters and bottles ready and filled, and plates and platers filled with food are added one by one. There’s something for everyone, everyone’s favourites.

“Yasha, can you take the cupcakes out of the oven for me?” You ask the barbarian wearing her floral embroidered apron stirring a pan on the stove as you plate the smoked pork. Yasha plates the baked goods by flavour and carries the tray to the dining room as you follow behind with your platter. Cheers erupt from the rest of the Nein as you and Yasha place the final dishes on the table. Everyone takes their seats and digs in pouring themselves drinks, taking whatever they desired, happily conversing about what everyone’s been up to in the past few months, talking about new plans for the future and the nostalgic adventures of the past together. You’ll have to get back to that some day. Maybe soon?

Despite the happiness of the whole event you still can’t get over this feeling you’re being watched. It’s not scrying, your home is protected from it and you feel safe to assume it’s not anyone from the Assembly or the king’s council. So who is it?

————

Verin watches the group as they enjoy their feast, his brother among them. He looks happy and content, as if the weight of the world has been lifted from his shoulders. Is this what he left Xhorhas for? He always wanted more, so how could Essek be content with a normal life? No matter the motives he’s loved, they’re his friends, something he never truly had before.

Then talks about the beacons came up. Mentions of the past missing ones and newfound ones. Aeor and its connection to Dunamis long before the Dynasty. The theoretics and potential of the beacons and the continued pursuit of studying them. Within the Dynasty this could be considered sacrilegious. And it made it look more and more Essek was guilt of the treason others suspected him of. His brother was a traitor and a disgrace in the eyes of the Dynasty and his family.

So why does Verin feel like none of that matters? He should be angry. He should dispose of his brother right here, right now in the name of the Bright Queen. But he can’t bring himself to it. His brother is happy, fought free from the expectations of others and the demanded unwavering loyalty to the Luxon and the Dynasty. Essek did exactly what he couldn’t.

————

You excuse yourself from the table making an excuse about checking on dessert and retreating to the kitchen alone. This feeling of being watched was getting on your nerves but tonight should be one without trouble and conflict. You’ll figure out if this watcher in the shadows poses a danger to you and your friends, if so you’ll dispose of them. If it can be postponed until tomorrow, then tomorrow you’ll deal with it but not tonight. Tonight is about peace, friends and family getting back together.

So when you reach the kitchen you open the window taking out the lattice work pies and cakes you’d made and left to rest and cool down before the Nein’s arrival. You get the batter you made and begin making some waffles. While you wait for them to be done you hum to yourself and sit in the open windowsill looking out over the city, inconspicuously looking around for your uninvited guest. The first batch is done and they haven’t showed up yet. Alright, you’ll make a second batch and some extra whipped cream while you’re at it.

Then you catch a glimpse of a shadow. You can’t make out all the details but the attire and a flash of pristine white hair leaves you to think it’s a drow. Thinking on your feet you cast hold person but the drow remains unaffected. Before you know it you’re pushed a few steps back into your kitchen. Supporting himself on the windowsill he holds a finely made blade to your throat. You lift your hands in surrender showing you have no ill intend…yet and are willing to talk and listen.

“My quarrel is not with you but one wrong move and I will not hesitate, mage.” The drow threatens you. You don’t doubt his words but this isn’t your first rodeo. If he tries anything he’s in for a fight. Getting a closer look you study the man’s features. There’s a sense of familiarity and you’re quick to conclude he must be related to Essek in some way. Broader build and longer hair but same features and eyes. He’s probably a fair bit taller too standing up straight instead of crouched in a windowsill.

“Perhaps not but it might be if you do not get out of my windowsill in the next few seconds.”

“Is that a threat?” He pushes the blade a little closer and you feel the cold steel against your skin, one move and it cuts.

“No. But take a look outside. You’ll see the torchlight of the guard patrol. Get inside.” A quick glance over his shoulder gives you the chance to take a step back from the drow and pick up your whipped cream and continue whisking before it loses its structure. He jumps inside and away from the window as you whisk completely indifferent to the fact a stranger just held a sword to your neck and entered your home even with your invitation.

“You must be Verin Thelyss.” You state putting the now finished whipped cream in the ice box. Verin stands there wary of you, expecting you to make a move and attack him at any second but you’re not and even from your demeanour he can gather you have no ill intent towards him. Not at all what he expected, but then again he didn’t expect to find his brother in the capital of the enemy nation of the Dynasty having dinner with a bunch of (previous) adventurers, some of which holding ranks within the Empire no less.

“You’re questioning my motives and calmness.” You lean against the counter crossing your arms. Verin lowers the blade but you’re unsure if it is because of defeat or he doesn’t see the purpose in holding you at sword point any longer.

“Why not just let me be caught by your guards? Why invite me inside your home?” Verin watches your every move, every twitch. You can see the same confusion and uncertainty and panic you’ve seen in Essek many times before so you offer a soft smile. Best you can do for him right now is stay calm, don’t make any uncertain moves and approach him with gentleness. You’re sure with how long you’ve been feeling like being watched today he’s been the one responsible and he’d have caught onto your conversations from the shadows.

“Call it a leap of faith. I trust Essek. He trusts you. You’ve done nothing to prove you have any ill will towards my friends so until you prove me otherwise you’ll be welcome.” You move slowly grabbing two knives. Putting one on the counter and sliding it over a little away from you until it touches one of the pie dishes.

“You’re good with a blade right? You can help me cut these pies and cakes and we can talk.” You gesture to the kitchen knife. Verin looks at you as if you’ve gone insane. Maybe you have but it’s more likely you’ve faced much worse than the likes of him. You move your own knife and he watches you as you begin dividing the cake in even slices.

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“You don’t.”

“Then why should I listen to you?”

“Because you’re still standing here in my kitchen.” You laugh plating the slices of cake on another silver platter neatly.

“Verin, if you came here to kill your brother you would have tried so this afternoon. That you haven’t only shows you’re not here for that. You have questions. You want answers. Now I’m not just going to let you walk into my dining room until I’m certain that the information you got and the questions I answer will not lead you to violence. So you help me get dessert ready. If you prove your intensions for your brother and my friends are honourable you can join us for dessert. If you prove a danger to them, I will allow you to leave this place tonight but should you ever return I will be the least of your worries.” Verin takes the knife and tests the grip as if it’s a dagger as he looks at the apple pie in front of him. He stabs the knife down carefully and cuts downward repeating evenly spaced out. You wait for him to talk not feeling like you should initiate conversation just yet.

“The one who stole the beacons and handed them over to the traitor mages of your Empire, it was my brother’s doing.” More of a statement than a question you nod. Diving straight into the deep end, aren’t we? No matter, better rip the bandage off quickly.

“It hit us hard as well. Though, I can’t say it was surprise.” You’re not sure how to place what you read from Verin. Pity? Disappointment? And a good bit of acceptance thrown in the mix.

There truly was a sense of acceptance because no matter how much he might want to deny it, just like you said, there had already been that underlying suspicion it was Essek given his aspirations. It’s one of those things that leaves you hoping something isn’t true and you wilfully suppress the possibility until there’s no other way around it and you’re faced with the truth. If what you said is true and what he gathers from your conversation with the Nein and you now, you found out in the moment. He’s only learning about this in the aftermath.

Essek lied to your faces, pretended to be your ally to cover for himself and yet you still found it within yourselves to forgive or at the very least accept everything he had done so maybe, just maybe he could try to do the same. Still he has many more questions but he’s unsure if you can answer all of them.

“I won’t ask you to forgive and I certainly won’t ask you to forget, but I will ask you to give your brother a chance. In his time with us he’s truly been trying to make up for his mistakes and repent for his sins and while they may not all be washed away in his lifetime, it’s a start. He’s just as much of a misguided tool, as most of us, promised an a glimpse of power by forces bigger than him and without a way out when he realised the gravity of his actions and the consequences.” You finish up the last pie and put the knife to the side. Verin hangs onto your every word.

“When we were about to walk into certain death gathering what we could, he told us that if something were to happen to him, we should come find you because despite everything, you were one of the only people he felt he could trust.”

“Then why didn’t he trust me with this? Why depart without a word?”

“Because burdening you with that information would put you in the same place he put himself in. He came here, to a place he knew you couldn’t follow. He left a place he would endanger everyone he cares about because he knows you, just like the rest of us would fight the entirety of the Dynasty just to keep him safe.” You’re right. Verin know you’re right because he would have stood with his brother in the end despite what crimes he had committed. Essek was not the master of this grand scheme but he played his part. He’d spend his life making up for it but at least he will work towards making this world a better place. Verin can only aspire to do that very thing; protect the people he cares about and make this world a better place.

“I still have many questions.” Verin breathes. It’s a lot to process and that’s okay. This is just the start but it is the most difficult part. You grab the plates and platters balancing them on your arms.

“Maybe you should ask him yourself. Why don’t you join us for dessert, Verin?” He doesn’t know how to respond. While you told him you’d let him join, he didn’t expect it to be now or with so little certainty on your end, but maybe you knew more than you let on. Without a verbal response Verin grabs the remaining dishes from the counter and waits for you to lead the way.

Entering the dining room Beau and Veth are in the middle of a drinking contest each with their own decanters of wine. Veth slams down the now empty decanter.

“Momma’s still got it children!” Veth exclaims cheering as Beau sits back disappointed, two more gulps and she’d have won. Yasha comes in telling her she’ll win next time. Fjord passes over a hand full of coins to Jester who calls him a loser poking his cheek giggling. Kingsley is on the verge of challenging Veth to a drinking contest of their own and Essek carefully manages to grab a bottle to refill his and Caleb’s glasses before this goes south. Caduceus is watching the chaos unfold deliberating wether or not he should get some hangover tea ready because they will need it if this keeps going.

When you enter, the cheers for dessert fall quiet quickly seeing the drow behind you carrying several pies. Essek freezes up and Caleb naturally takes a bit of a defensive position without breaking the dinner setting. Verin albeit awkwardly steps out next to you as you helping you put the plates on the table. With a wave of your hand you call over another chair to be put at the head of the table. You gesture for the man to sit and he does debating wether or not this was the right decision as all eyes fall on him. You take your own seat.

“Well, come on guys, dig in!” Not needing to be asked twice they do, some wary of Verin but you know they’ll ease up soon enough.

“So you’re Essek’s brother? He didn’t say you’re a hot boi too. Jeeze Essek, is everyone in your family pretty?” Jester asks stuffing her mouth with a piece of cake. Verin is taken aback by the blue tiefling’s comment and the identical faces he and Essek make are enough to send most of the table in a giggle fit. You cover your own response to this for your own sake.

“Eh-Thank you? I think? Though, if my company is undesired I can leave…” Verin suggests unsure how to further approach this doubting this is the right place for this.

“Nonsense. If our friend invited you to join, for whatever reason, you’re welcome.” Fjord assures. He knows you wouldn’t just allow this without a reason and just by the attitude of the guy, he gets a pretty good estimate there’s no malicious intent in Verin right now.

“Yeah and while you’re here you can tell us about all the embarrassing shit Essek did when he was a kid.” Beau punches Essek’s shoulder past Caleb who’s quick to get out of the monk’s way. Essek rubs the spot she hit teeth clenched but smiling nonetheless.

“So, Verin, what are your intentions here?” Caleb asks an open question hoping to get more insight in the drow’s motives. While he trusts your judgement one can never be too certain and he’d rather not be face to face with Essek’s brother on their way home should that scenario arise.

“I-“ Verin tries to find the words picking them carefully. “I thought I knew before but now I don’t know. I came to find my brother and I found him, among friends. I have many questions, some answered by your gracious friend but I think for now, I’d like to truly meet my brother’s friends because if this is the company he finds himself in, I can only ask to witness his happiness.”

It’s a strange feeling for Verin to come to that conclusion. When he left Xhorhas he considered he might be bringing back the corpse of his brother, by his hand or someone else’s depending on circumstances, or bring him back in chains for treason to be tried in front of the Bright Queen. What he didn’t expect is to be met by an alternative that would change his views on everything. He realises that with your stories and those of the Nein he was just as lost as all of you, but now he’s found a group of people that willingly accept whichever path he chooses for himself without expectations, rules or conditions.

Verin first hand gets to experience why Essek chose to leave everything behind and give it up for these people. They are his friends, his family and he’d never be alone again if they can help it. Perhaps Verin can experience that too one day. The Mighty Nein will make sure he does because as we know, once you get involved with them, your life changes forever.

#critical role x reader #critrole x reader #mighty nein x reader #mighty nein #verin thelyss #verin x reader #verin thelyss x reader #critical role

[set-phasers-to-whump]

blindfolded

prompt: blindfolded

whumpee: gereon rath

fandom: babylon berlin

hi what’s up! this is your standard tie him up and torture him fic that i put basically all my faves through at some point :) hope you enjoy!

Not many people can claim any familiarity with the sensation of being blindfolded and tied up. Gereon Rath can. This should be working to his advantage right now, but he can’t stop himself from being afraid. 

He had been grabbed off of the street with a bag over his head, thrown into a car, and driven somewhere (which, admittedly, had been nothing new). He’d then been manhandled out of the car and into a building and then he’d been tied to a chair. Someone had finally pulled the bag off of his head, but it had been dark. Shortly thereafter, a thick and coarse blindfold had been tied over his eyes. 

And that brings him to the present. He’s been sitting in this chair for who knows how long, uncomfortable and nervous and unable to see a thing. Nobody has said a word to him, though he can hear the faint noises of people moving around. All his attempts at speaking have been met with slaps to the face. It’s a horrible kind of suspense. He wishes that he could see.   

With no warning, someone punches him in the stomach. They’d been utterly silent and he hadn’t been expecting it at all, so he has absolutely no defense against it. The punch knocks the air out of his lungs but he can’t slump forwards, which is what his body wants to do. But he’s tied up too tightly. He just sits there and wheezes in a breath and tries to ask a question that’s interrupted by another punch. 

He shuts up pretty quickly after that. The punches keep coming. He keeps his body continually tense so that he won’t be caught unprepared, though he’s never quite sure where the next punch is going to come from or where it’s going to be aimed. 

Suddenly, they stop hitting him. He doesn’t release the tension from his body lest the punches should start again, but after several moments it becomes apparent that they’re done. He wonders whether they might talk to him now, whether they might remove the blindfold. But all he has to do is open his mouth, and someone is slapping him again. 

The next development to his situation is in the form of a gag shoved into his mouth. Clearly, there are to be no more attempts at conversation. 

Nothing else happens again for several minutes. He relaxes, ever so slightly, his muscles aching from the tension they’ve been put under. As soon as he does this, a shockingly cold wave of water pours over top of him, soaking the blindfold and the gag and his clothes. He chokes a bit as the water gets into his mouth via the gag, and immediately begins to shiver. He pulls at the restraints again, knowing what the result will be but trying anyway. Nothing happens. Eventually, he’s shivering too hard to struggle at all. 

At some point, they’ve started hitting him again. It’s not fists this time, though. A beam of wood, he thinks. It’s flat and hard and unforgiving and impersonal in a way that hands aren’t. They hit him with it over and over, this time not focusing their attention on just his torso. He’s pretty sure he feels something in his arm break. A hit to the ankle has him wondering whether he’ll be able to walk once he gets out of here (assuming that he ever does). 

A particularly nasty hit to his stomach makes him cough, and he tastes blood in the back of his throat. Thanks to the gag, he’s soon choking on it. He pulls at the restraints with renewed strength in a desperate effort to get free and stop himself from choking to death. 

Salvation comes in the form of someone yanking the now certainly bloodsoaked gag from his mouth. He continues coughing, feeling the blood dripping down his face, gasping for breath in between coughs and praying for something to happen. 

Nothing does. Nothing at all. The hits stop coming. Nobody pours any more water over him. There’s not the slightest noise. He thinks he might be alone now, though he can’t be certain. 

As an experiment, he tries to talk. He says no words in particular, still shivering so much that even to his own ears his voice is barely intelligible. But nobody hits him. He raises his voice a bit louder, and then louder still. Nothing. 

He shouts for help. No answer comes out of the silence and the dark. He finally takes the time to wonder where he is. To wonder whether there is even anyone around to hear him. 

Eventually, he stops shouting, his throat raw and still tasting of blood. No one has shown up. He is really, completely alone. The restraints still have not budged an inch. He wonders if he will die here. 

--

Eventually, everything fades into a haze of pain. His whole body is aching. He’s still wet, though the shivering has mostly stopped. His lungs hurt with every breath he takes, and he does not think that the taste of blood is ever going to leave his mouth. He sits there and keeps pulling at the ropes until his wrists bleed. At some point, it begins to rain. He can hear thunder rumbling and raindrops hitting the roof above him. At least he’s not outside, he supposes. 

There’s an especially loud clap of thunder which sounds like it’s coming from directly above him. At the same instant, there’s a loud squeaking noise, and a shout, and he has no idea who is here, whether they’re friend or foe, but he calls out anyway. 

“Gereon!” He knows that voice. He’s safe, he’s saved! But still, he cannot help flinching away when her hands touch him. 

“It’s okay, it’s me, it’s Charlotte,” she says, and he knows it’s her but for the past several hours touch has meant only pain and it takes him a second to remember that this is not always the case. 

The blindfold is pulled off. It’s brighter than he thought it would be, but he refuses to close his eyes now that he can finally see. Part of him fears that everything will go black again if he stops looking.

She unties his wrists and his ankles and the ropes around his chest and knees. As soon as they’re gone he slumps forwards, nothing to support him, and she catches him. They sink to the floor and his aching body protests but at the same time he doesn’t care. She pulls him close and holds on. This time, he doesn’t flinch away. 

She’s shaking - or maybe he’s started to shiver again. He doesn’t know. They’re pressed so close together that it is hard to tell. The pain is worse, now that he’s been moved and now that he’s being held, but being held reminds him that he’s safe, that whoever had hurt him is no longer here. He brings a hand up, shaking, and attempts to return her embrace. All he manages to do is grab a handful of her jacket and hold on tight. She pulls him closer still in response. He rests his chin on her shoulder and she readjusts her hands so that one is on his back and the other is in his hair. “I’ve got you,” she is repeating, over and over, “it’s okay.”

He wishes that he could believe this, that everything is okay. But it’s not. They both know this. The other half of her words is true, though. She’s got him, and whoever had had him before no longer does. For now, he’s safe. For now, they have each other.

thanks for reading! anyway as i was writing this i was thinking a lot about the psychological implications of this and like...the motive of whoever these guys were (which is as much your guess as it is mine lmao). but like, the way i think of it is that it works to just keep him absolutely constantly on edge - like, right now, he's safe with charlotte, but as soon as they're out of here, he's gotta be wary bc he has no idea who grabbed him or why and they could be back at any moment. i think they wouldn't ever be, unless he did something they really hated, but i think just keeping him in suspense all the time would really wear him down and i'm here for that. so yeah that's my thoughts that didn't make it into the actual body of the fic. hope you have a wonderful night or whatever time of day you're having <3<3

#febuwhump2022 #febuwhumpday17 #blindfolded #babylon berlin #gereon rath #tied up #beat up #tortured #held #my writing #i say things #considering whether i shouldn't retitle all these with my actual titles from ao3... #some of them are ass mind you but some don't suck and i feel :/ that they're not on here #idk. anyway i am so tired idk What is up with me but yeah. gnight!

[nebulous-frog]

Rest Now

Relationships: JonMartin

Summary: Jon and Martin arrive at the safehouse 

Word Count: 1682

Link to AO3   Fics Masterlist

It was thunderstorming when they finally arrived, pulling up the near-forgotten path in a beat-up old car. On the drive, they hadn’t talked much- what was there to say? Since their last real conversation, neither had done anything that they particularly wanted to remember, and the inevitable discussion of what they’d just experienced was bound to be far too intense and emotional for their unexpected journey. Now, though, roughly twisting the key in the lock stuck from disuse, it was possible they’d have a chance for it to happen. For months- years, even- of emotions that should’ve been brought up ages ago.

Jon held back a grimace at the thought, awkwardly shuffling inside with his small bag and fumbling for a light switch. Part of him was desperate to get it over with, to finally air out all the dirty laundry and start afresh, to just be there for Martin in the ways he deserved. But another part, simultaneously logical and cowardly, was arguing that it was late, they’d had a long day, they were both exhausted. The conversation they needed to have was simply too much to cover while they were in such a state, he told himself.

“Jon?” Martin asked, voice quiet and tired.

Jon turned toward him expectantly, but he didn’t offer anything more, just gestured vaguely forward, and Jon realized he was still in the entryway.

“Oh, right, sorry,” Jon mumbled, stepping fully into the little cabin.

There were only a few rooms. The kitchen was tiny up against one side and shared the main open area with the living room and a small dining table. Directly across from the front door was a short hallway with a door on either side- presumably a bedroom and a bathroom.

Jon cleared his throat in time with a rumble of thunder.

“There’s some firewood over in that corner. I’ll get us a fire going,” he told Martin softly. “We should be able to get the radiator to start with a little work, but it’ll be easier tomorrow with more light.”

Martin nodded silently and walked slowly towards the hallway, slipping into the room on the left while Jon got busy with the firewood. He’d just coaxed some kindling into a flame when Martin came back in, hands wringing together. Jon recognized it as Martin’s anxious tell, which sent contradictory feelings through his system. On the one hand, Jon hated the thought that Martin was uncomfortable, but on the other he was just relieved that any feeling at all had pushed through the residual numbness of the Lonely.

“There’s, um, only the one bed,” Martin explained.

“Ah.” Jon glanced at the rickety loveseat sat in front of the fireplace, but Martin spoke again before he could make any suggestions.

“You’re not sleeping on the couch, Jon,” he said sternly, his protective caretaker instincts shining through. “I, uh,” he swallowed, already nervous again, “I was thinking we should share anyway, since it’ll be so cold and the bed actually is fairly big and- well- I just…” he trailed off for a moment, not looking at Jon, then seemed to steel himself even as he shrunk in on himself further and kept his eyes trained on the floor between them. “I don’t think I should really be alone right now.” The end of his sentence was almost a whisper, embarrassment and vulnerability clear in the blush high on his cheeks.

It’d been a long time since Jon had seen him blush. It was even prettier than he remembered, and he hoped he could see it a lot more in the coming days, ideally as the result of more positive emotions. Maybe Jon could even cause it himself… he chastised himself for the thought, trying to focus back on the present and caring for Martin now.

“Alright,” Jon agreed. He turned his head just enough to check that the fire was taking, then moved to stand from the floor. His legs were still stiff from the drive, so it took a bit more effort than he was expecting.

Martin appeared at his side immediately, offering an arm for stability. Jon gratefully took it until he could get his cane properly situated in his other hand. He reluctantly let go, briefly looking up at Martin’s face and catching a hint of an expression he didn’t know how to interpret before Martin’s face returned to a more neutral place- although the blush was still intense.

“I don’t know about you,” Jon started, “but sleep sounds wonderful right now.”

Martin nodded. “I put sheets on the bed already.”

Together, they walked back to the bedroom. Jon changed into his light pajamas in the bathroom while Martin took the bedroom. A few minutes later, they stood side by side facing the bed.

“Do you have a preference for which side...?” Jon asked. He was determinedly ignoring the part of his mind reminding him of his feelings for the man he was about to share a bed with.

It wasn’t that he worried his feelings were unrequited- he was quite certain that Martin felt the same, having Seen each other so completely in the Lonely. But they’d barely spoken in months, and so much had happened since then. So much had happened even in the last few days. It was a big step to now share a bed without even discussing their boundaries, and Jon didn’t want to be too much too fast.

“No preference,” Martin answered, pulling Jon from his thoughts.

“Boundaries,” he blurted. He felt his cheeks heat furiously, his discomfort and exhaustion sending him stumbling towards this conversation unprepared.

Martin blinked at him, obviously confused. “We… we only have two pillows? We can’t really make one between us-”

“No, no,” Jon continued, eyes darting from the bed to Martin to the floor and back as he fiddled with the black ring on his middle finger. He’d come this far, and it really was important to discuss anyway, so he pushed through his awkwardness. “I meant, well. Metaphorical boundaries for physical touch, in- in this situation. I, um. I don’t mind however close we end up.”

Martin’s own cheeks flushed to match how Jon’s felt. “Oh. I, uh. I don’t mind either?”

Jon nodded, now staring hard at the bed. “Right. We- we should probably have a more, er, detailed discussion. At some point. I think we’re on a, uh. Similar page, so to speak,” he glanced nervously up at Martin’s face, “but it would be good to- well, to clarify. Sooner than later. But I think we’re far too exhausted to be very coherent about it now.”

Martin’s cheeks were still a bright red as he squeaked out a “Yeah, that- that sounds good, Jon.”

Jon nodded once more. “Right.” He walked stiffly towards the bed, pulling back the covers and sliding in.

Martin cautiously joined him on the other side, and they both laid there for a minute, flat on their backs, staring at the ceiling in total silence. Both men were as close to the edge of the mattress as possible, leaving a canyon between them, bodies rigid.

After a few tense minutes of being afraid to even move, Jon huffed. “This is ridiculous,” he grumbled, more to himself than anything else, and he rolled over on his side to face Martin. They’d both just established that neither of them would mind being closer together, so he might as well get comfortable. He still gave Martin some space, but he’d at least crossed into their invisible barrier and hopefully broke some of the awkward tension.

In return, Martin turned just his head to look back at Jon. He swallowed thickly, eyes flitting across Jon’s face in the dark.

“You know,” Martin began in hushed tones, turning to look back at the ceiling, “the Lonely has a real talent for clinging to its victims.” He held up a hand as Jon started to interject. “It’s just. You could be surrounded by people and still feel alone, maybe even lonelier than when you’re actually alone.” He turned to Jon again, a heartbreakingly fond yet sad expression just visible to Jon in the darkness. He smiled sadly. “You can lie in bed with the man you love and still feel Lonely.”

A pained sound punched out of Jon. His firm, official declaration of his feelings needed to wait for the morning, as he insisted they take more space and grandeur for Martin than a moment like this, but he couldn’t leave that unanswered. He scooted even closer to Martin, minimizing the gap and resting a hand on Martin’s arm.

“The man I love,” he said, pulling Martin’s hand up to his lips and pressing a kiss, soft as can be, on his knuckles, “may sometimes feel lonely and discouraged,” he flipped Martin’s hand over and pressed another kiss to his palm, “but he must know,” one more kiss, now to the inside of Martin’s wrist, “he will never be alone again.” Jon stared directly into Martin’s eyes, kissing the back of his hand again and using his thumb to lightly rub over the spot.

Martin’s lips had parted slightly in a silent gasp, his eyebrows drawn together in a complicated combination of emotions that Jon couldn’t decipher. He took in a deep, shuddering breath. “Come here?” he whispered, raising his free arm in invitation.

Jon lifted himself slightly and settled half on top of Martin, his face buried in Martin’s neck. He wrapped his arms around Martin’s stomach and couldn’t help the content sigh he let out, relaxing fully as Martin’s arms came up around him. He revelled in the closeness and the softness of Martin under him and around him.

“Thank you,” Martin whispered. He pressed his lips to the top of Jon’s head. “Thank you.”

Jon shook his head and squeezed tighter. “Anything,” he whispered into Martin’s neck. “Anything.”

They held each other tightly, just breathing together, for a long moment, feeling as though finally something had gone right. They rested in the reassurance of each other’s presence, eventually drifting off into blissfully dreamless sleep.

#tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jmart #jonmartin