#and somehow seeing doubles triggers that back

[troglobite]

HEY TUMBLR SAVIOR IT WOULD BE FUCKING AWESOME IF YOU COULD FUCKING WORK PLEASE

#i'm using xkit's blacklist feature and it just entirely disappears a post with no ability to choose to see it #bc it DOUBLE triggers the blacklist bc somehow the double blacklist makes tumblr savior work #PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF FUCKING GOD I JUST WANT MY TUMBLR SAVIOR BACK!!!!!!!

[epigstolary]

Rebound

It has to hurt to see what you look like now. All the shapeless mounds of fat weighing you down, distorting what was, until fairly recently, an average figure. You were so close to getting back to a normal weight, too — years of struggling to come down from a size at which you couldn’t lumber more than a few feet before getting red-faced and breaking out in a sweat. And you did it; somehow, you got yourself small enough to be able to shop in regular clothing stores again, and to not even need to buy their biggest sizes. Everyone was so proud of you. Telling you how good you looked. How much healthier it was to be this size. How much happier you had to be, now that you could move around and be active again. You’d beaten obesity.

Except you hadn’t, had you? Because every diet fails eventually, and fat doesn’t go away. Fat cells shrink when you diet. They quiet down when you restrain your appetite. And then they wait, lurking in that slender body, disguised by loose skin. Waiting for their moment to come back with a vengeance.

You may not even remember what triggered it now — maybe it was a really rough couple of days at work, maybe a relationship disappointment, maybe drama with family or friends. But something made you take two cheat days in a row, just to treat yourself a little and make up for everything crappy you’d had to deal with lately. And that was all it took to wake the monster sleeping inside you.

A couple of cheat days turned into having snacks around that you hadn’t allowed yourself since you started losing weight — because you had things under control, right? Portion sizes started creeping upward again, and fattier, carbier foods started replacing the lean meats and fresh veggies that helped you shed the pounds in the first place — because you lost it before, so you can lose it again if you need to, right? You went easier on yourself, skipping morning walks and trips to the gym with increasing frequency, giving yourself fewer and fewer opportunities to burn all the excess calories you’d started dumping down your throat again — because you were always going to make up for the missed sessions at some point, right? At least, those were the ways you rationalized your backsliding to yourself.

You probably didn’t know this before, but regains are a bitch. Your body’s felt you starving for years — that’s all a diet is, as far as it’s concerned — and now the famine’s over. Food’s abundant again. Time to eat and try to get you ready for the next famine, which it has no way of knowing is never coming, unfortunately for you. Every calorie it can spare from keeping you alive gets absorbed into those fat cells that used to be dormant. The weight packs on faster than it ever went away. And almost before you realize it, your puffy belly is back, your ass is filling up more of your pants, and your thunder thighs and double chin are beginning to make their appearance.

I’m sure you tried to get things back under control once you realized what was happening. You tried to get back out there and exercise again once your girth started popping buttons and tearing the seat out of pants, and you had to pull your fat clothes out of storage. You tried to eat better and ignore the cravings for everything high in fat and sugar and everything bad for you when your love handles and bingo wings and thunder thighs started rubbing against chair arms and door frames in a way they hadn’t for a long time. And then, once all of that had failed, you tried to simply ignore what was happening — to pay no attention to how your body was ballooning up to fill even your fat clothes; how difficult it was to heave your hanging belly and plump ass up and haul it wherever you needed to go; how the face in the mirror wasn’t the thin, lean, angular one you’d gotten used to seeing, but the bloated, pinched, bulbous fat face set atop a cascade of double chins that you thought you’d never have to look at again. Just muddle through, you must have thought, and eventually you’ll get a handle on this.

How’d all that work out for you? Not great, judging by the way you look now. Those legs that look like pinched sacks of custard, almost too blobby and bulky to move, don’t exactly signal someone in control of their situation. Neither does the enormous, wobbling belly spreading out over your knee folds and across the bed, or the hips bulging out at either side like melting lumps of dough overflowing a mold. And the double chins, resting on two massive boobs each the size of a fat belly in their own right, squeezed by the fat of pillowy arms plopped uselessly at either side — well, all that hardly looks like someone keeping their weight in check with responsible diet and exercise. I’m gonna guess you’re not, are you?

That’s why you had to call me in. Trust me, I see people just like you all the time. Weight’s bounced around for years, they’ve tried to diet and exercise, sometimes it’s worked for a while; but eventually, it spirals out of control. Like this. Really, you probably would have been better off if you’d just accepted being sort of fat. Beats wrecking your metabolism with a crash diet and dealing with the rebound effect — getting really, really fat like this. And now you need someone to help with all the things that you’re much too big, much too heavy to do.

I’m also supposed to help you manage your diet, get some physical activity, see if we can keep what mobility you have and try to recover more. But… that’s not really my style. See, I’ve also been around enough people like you to know that there’s no real way of coming back from this. Sure, I could probably get you to lose some weight, get you down to a size where you can wedge your flab behind the wheel of a car or cram it into the seat of a mobility scooter, get you back into the world for a while. But we both know you can’t stick to that, don’t we? The same habits that got you into this situation to begin with are going to blow you right back up into the same helpless fatty again eventually, aren’t they? Matter of time. And just imagine what a second rebound like this one would do to you! You’re already most of the way to a half-ton; another yo-yo, and you’re down for the count, immobilized probably forever under more fat than even the two of us can hope to handle.

I’d hate to see that happen to you; no lie, I really would. So I’ll make you a deal. You give up on trying to slim down to a normal weight, and you accept that you’re going to be a housebound blob from here on out. Forget about the diet and exercises, and make your peace with filling out most of a king bed by yourself. Do all that, let me take the wheel, and I’ll make sure you have everything you might need — and I do mean everything. I think you’ll find it a lot more comfortable that way.

I take it that’s a no? Listen, there’s no need to be personally insulting. Remember, I’m not the one who fattened you up like a prize pig, too big to reach the bottom of your belly, too fat to move without totally exhausting yourself — that was all you. So fine; we’ll do it your way. Get you losing weight for a while. But remember how easy it is to gain weight back on the rebound. And remember who’s really controlling your diet and your activity. Don’t say I didn’t warn you when your belly’s down to your feet, your arms are too bloated to move, and you’re smothered under half a ton of lard.

Remember — regains are a bitch.

#feeder fiction #gainerfiction #ssbhm #weight gain fiction #wg fiction #extreme weight gain #wg story #gainer stories

[thatonelovingwalker]

Carl x Reader x Ron

Summary: You and Ron found a stash of weed just few miles outside Alexandria, and convinced Carl to join you both for a smoking session.

TW: Weed, suggestive themes, make out session, marking, shotgun smoking, Carl is inexperienced

You and Ron finally convinced Carl to leave his home and go to your hiding cubby just outside the walls perimeter. You and Ron had turned it into a cubicle with pillows, blankets, snacks, and a couple homemade weapons for when either of you needed a break from the new world.

Carl knew about it vaguely, but he had never set foot in it. When he did however, you could tell he was tense. The thought of getting high when something could go wrong nearly triggered a panic within him. But at the sight of the pastel plushies that you scavenged calmed him a little.

“Carl, it’s going to be okay. Y/N set little traps around the place. She’s actually quite good at it,” Ron assured Carl, motioning to a spot on the small love seat.

“Yeah,” was all Carl responded with, taking off his gun holster and hat.

Once the three of you were comfortable, you and Ron started rolling the joints. Ron took his time, and eventually had to take over for you. You had never done it before, and if it was too loose, you’d get more air than anything.

You turned to look at Carl from your spot on the floor. His arms rested on his knees while his head stood still on his knuckles. He was watching intently to Ron as he worked, observing the way his fingers moved naturally, gracefully, wrapping each thread of the herb with precision. Carl was entranced. It made you smile.

You had known for a while about Carls attraction, though he never said anything to you. It was easy to spot. You and Ron had talked about it, but he brushed it off.

“All done. Ready?” Ron asked.

“Finally,” you giggled, taking the smoke from Ron. Carl grabbed his hesitantly, holding it as if it were a disease.

“It will help you relax, Carl. I promise,” Ron assured before lighting his own. He took a deep drag from the smoke, letting it rest in his lungs for a few seconds before releasing it. He looked blissed out just from one pump.

Carl saw this and attempted to pull one before coughing it back up. His lungs weren’t used to it.

“Oh geese Carl. Are you okay?” You asked him, watching him double over. You rubbed his back gently.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to,” you said. You didn’t want to pressure him.

“I have an idea that might make it easier, Carl. Wanna try it?” Ron told him. Carl coughed one more time before saying, “yeah let’s try. It doesn’t taste so bad anymore.”

“Probably because you coughed it all up!” You giggled at him in disbelief. He smiled at you gently.

“Alright. If I make you uncomfortable though, tell me,” Ron’s words confused you and Carl both, but he nodded to confirm the promise.

Ron shuffled forward on his knees with his joint. He looked Carl in his eyes before taking his left hand, and dragging it across Carls chin, making their faces align. Their noses almost touching, Ron lightly breathed, “Open.” It was a silent command to Carl, and before he could finish, Carls mouth widened.

You could see that Carls breath was becoming heavy, making you feel something within. Something new. Ron turned to pull out another drag, then turned back, his eyes half closed, and nearly connected their lips to blow out the smoke.

Carl closed his eyes as he took in all the smoke Ron offered him. He did it so quickly that he jolted forward slightly, making their lips connect for a moment. Ron pulled back after a few moments, making sure Carl was okay.

He didn’t cough this time. His eyes were still closed as he released it all. It was one of the hottest things you’ve seen.

“Any better?” Ron asked, looking at Carl. His eyes pleading.

“Yeah…” Was all Carl could say. “Can we keep doing that instead, Ron?”

All three of you were high out of your minds, and you somehow ended up with your head in Carl’s lap, and Ron at his feet. You all were giggling and yapping at one another, bonding over the drug. It was always tense around them. Now it felt like home.

You were laughing at something Ron said when you noticed Carl looking at you with a dazed gaze.

“What’s wrong, Carl? Are you—”

“You’re so pretty, Y/N,” Carl sighed, bringing his hand up to wrap his fingers around a strand, tugging slightly.

“Carl?” Your breathing started to get heavy again, and you sucking in a breath before Carl bent down to kiss you.

It was short, but sweet. He tasted of weed, and you were sure you did as well. After pulling back from the peck, you forced your hands into his locks, pulling him back down. This time, the kiss was rough and needy.

While you and Carl were making out, Ron moved to to Carls left, watching with his mouth open slightly, taking in the view of his two crushes taking each others breath.

You both put so much into it that your lips started to bruise. Pulling back because you needed air, a string of saliva was the only thing still connecting you both. Panting, you felt his jeans below your head tighten, making you smile. He just sat there with dilated pupils as he whimpered slightly.

“What about little ol’ me, Carl?” Ron asked next to Carl.

Ron placed his arm around Carl’s shoulder and used his free hand to tilt Carls head to meet his. All they did was stare at each other for a while.

And then Ron asked, “Is this okay?” Quietly, gazing at Carls bruised, wet lips.

Carls shoulders sagged suddenly from need. Even though we had barely done anything, it was overwhelming for Carl. He whimpered a positive note, making Ron grin.

Slowly, Ron went in to kiss him. It was soft and gentle at first, but with the sounds Carl was making as you moved your head slightly to see better, you rubbed his jeans just right.

Ron took that chance to force his tongue into Carls mouth, making him jerk slightly. Ron moved with him, and you could see his eyes glazing with unshed tears. Ron devoured Carls moans as he stole every kiss from him.

You rubbed your legs together to try and get some friction, anything. You sat up, taking a seat on the other side of Carl, moving the collar of his flannel.

While Ron sucked the life out of him, you decided to give his neck some attention. Leaving wet kisses along the pale, untouched skin, marking any space you could reach, causing him to tilt his head to give you better access. The noises he made only encouraged you and Ron.

It was going to be a long night.

#carl x ron #ron x carl #ron anderson #carl grimes x male reader #carl grimes #carl grimes x oc #carl grimes x reader #carl grimes x y/n #chandler riggs #carl grimes smut #carl grimes headcanons #carl x reader #incorrect twd quotes #twd incorrect quotes #twd #twd carl #Spotify

[syrena-del-mar]

The Nine Circles of Hell: Dead Friend Forever, Episode 7

First, a trigger warning: I'll be discussing themes of revenge porn, grooming, statutory rape, sexual coercion.

I'm going to discuss this episode with as much upmost care as I can, due to the sheer amount of sensitive material that came out of this week's episode I will also not being using any explicit scene screen captures from this episode. If there's anything you'd like to me to take out or want a more in depth conversation, feel free to use either of my message boxes.

Last week I said DFF had more to offer than just being a campy 90s slasher remake. While I first thought we were already in the depths of hell, thematically, with Non getting beaten by the mafia, I didn't expect this week's episode to somehow double that pain. But here we are. I was lulled into false security with the 5 minute montage of getting to know what Phee and Non's relationship was like. I should have remembered that I'm definitely watching the wrong genre when I expected more of those moments.

Non and Phee

This episode really continues and expands the idea that humans are not these clear-cut, unambiguous, good-or-bad beings that idea has now been depicted through Non and his relationship with Phee. Non has so much love to give and so much want for being loved, it's what leads to Phee in the first place, but it's also what leads to his downfall. Because Non loves so much and so hard, it's also why he wasn't ecstatic that Phee had to lie to his father and say that he was involved, just to get him out of trouble with the police. What started like a sweet date turns a bit bitter, because Non is seeing the consequences of his actions not only affect himself but also the others that he loves. It's also why he couldn't tell Phee about the sheer amount he owed Tee's uncle, because he was now well aware that if Phee found out, he would get himself involved.

Non lies and manipulates Phee, he tells him time and time again that nothing happened between him and Mr. Kreng. Non swears to Phee that he isn't lying to him and that he won't keep any secrets from him anymore. It pains him to do so, he's barely holding himself together by the end of a thread thread once he's Phee's arms and his face is hidden from Phee's view. Yet, he does. He keeps it a secret how big of a hole he has found himself in, because he doesn't want to drag Phee down with him. Non says it himself to Jin, he doesn't want to be burden, he'll figure it out himself. It's a direct parallel to the bigger issues that Non is finding himself in beyond just within the 'movie set'. He has the 300 million baht hanging over his head, his parents (in his point of view) regret having him and find that he does is bring embarrassment to the family, and now he has another adult willing to give him the 300 million baht with a fake sense of care. So he found, what he believes to be, a solution that would get rid of the 300 million baht debt and all it requires is giving up a piece of himself, but at least it won't come at a cost of burdening his parents or Phee.

In trying to protect Phee, his lies ends up costing him the one he loves the most, Phee. Now from this point on, this is all speculation, but when Phee accused Non of 'always doing this', I'm not in the camp that believes that Phee is accusing Non about being a serial cheater. I see why people are in that camp, but I initially jumped to that conclusion as well. Now, I'm more in the line that Phee is accusing of Non always feeding him lies, even after explicitly promising him that he wouldn't. After putting his neck out for him, after letting Non do things his way as long as he promised to tell him the truth, Non goes back to telling lies. Phee lashes out, and at the end of the day he's still a teenager, so he hits Non's weakest point. Just get lost and die. The very words that likely haunt Phee in the present-day, now as an adult. And Non's holds the broken bracelet, punishing himself, because he knew that there was no coming back from losing his lifeline.

Non and Mr. Kreng (Please keep my trigger warnings in mind, they will be heavily discussed in this section.)

Statutory Rape. Grooming. Coerced Sexual Relations. Nonconsensual Sex. Molestation. Sexual Assault. Sexual Abuse. Those are all words to describe the relationship that occurred between Non and Mr. Keng. Let's call exactly what it is. I think I'll lose my mind if I have to see someone another person call Non a cheater. There is no cheating when there is statutory rape.

Non is literally at the end of his rope, Mr. Keng clocked that immediately. He knew that Non was isolated, that he was completely othered by his classmates, he believes that Non has nobody else to turn to, and he knows that Non is in deep in a scam that target teens. In his eyes, he found the perfect victim.

Non is taken advantage of by a person in power, a person that he should be able to trust. Non isn't naïve, he clocked that Mr. Keng wanted something from him since the moment they first met. But he is vulnerable. He's being extorted by the mafia and he sees someone offering him the money that he needs to put an end to that. In his eyes, it was a way out, a means to an end that just cost him a piece of his soul. I truly think Non rationalized it to himself as prostituting himself, because he knew that money was never coming without a price. No matter how much Mr. Keng tried to sell it as 'brotherly' love.

But at the end of the day, it does not matter what Non believed or rationalized, because Mr. Keng was the adult in the situation. He had a duty, as a teacher, to protect Non and provide a safe classroom environment. Instead he target, manipulates, and coerces Non into having sexual relations with him. He knows the power imbalance he holds, first as a teacher and then with the 300 million baht he 'gave' him. Mr. Keng, knowing that Non's not close to his 'friends', physically isolates him. He takes him to his office that's half-lit, located in a long hallway with, seemingly, very little foot traffic. He prods at Non, asking what's been bothering him and has him visibly become emotional, before offering his care. He's a complete and utter predator, in every sense of the term.

I hope he dies a long, painful death.

Non and Jin

First and foremost, whether or not Jin was ultimately the one that posted the video does not matter. Filming a classmate being sexually assaulted is still child porn at the very least and, possibly, revenge porn (if he disseminated the video) at the worst. I was on the same boat as @respectthepetty and their take that Jin had to be the worst of them all. Like they said in that post, Jin is a coward and he even admits to it. There's nothing more cowardly than hiding behind a door, filming you supposed 'friend' getting sexually abused by your teacher, and then even considering putting up on social media for revenge because your heart is broken.

Yes, Top framed Non. Yes, Por demanded (and bullied) money from Non. Yes, Tee brought Non to the mafia. Those are all very bad things, don't get me wrong. All the physical and mental abuse they put Non through was hell. Yet, Jin was the only one aware that Non had already been seeing someone, which seemingly had upset him already. Then he sees him with Mr. Keng and instead of reporting that his alleged friend was being assaulted, he gets angry and films Non at his most vulnerable point in life. Even Fluke didn't want any part of that.

Jin takes away Non's dignity. And at the end of the day, it doesn't matter whether he uploaded it online or not, he was still the one to film, transfer that file onto his computer, and contemplate whether he was going to post it or not. At every point since he found that Non and Mr. Kreng were in that room, he rendered Non powerless. That video would have never been uploaded if it hadn't existed in the first place. With just a point of a camera and click of a button, he is revictimizing Non every. single. time. that video is opened and seen by another person.

There are no words to fully describe or explain that kind of trauma that he has subjected Non to.

Final Thoughts

This episode was nauseating. It honestly took me about two hours just to get to the end. Usually, I can watch through a show I enjoy really quickly, but this episode was so hard to digest. And that's simply due to how realistic they are approaching the subject of Non and Mr. Keng.

Barcode and Ta really are the stars of the show. I'm not saying that the other castmates aren't amazing in their roles, but man TaBarcode really know are hitting every single emotional beat. I was never a TaBarcode nor a MacauChay girlie, but man Be On Cloud has truly brought out their best this time around. Even though I fully know we are heading towards an incredibly heart wrenching ending for PheeNon, I can't help but want to hoard and scramble for moments of them together.

It's crazy how well, everyone was able to pull their weight this episode. There were so many moments that with less talented, less experienced actors, could have fallen flat, but they didn't. Ta and Barcode's PheeNon was so incredibly heart-beating, butterfly inducing before we were brought back into their reality outside of their relationship. 2J and Barcode's scenes were.... so disgustingly real, for lack of better words. I knew that storyline was never going to end well but it had been more than I ever expected Be On Cloud to release. They're tackling such real issues that weigh on teens with incredible tact, there's no romanticizing what happened. Even Phee's reaction was so understandable when you put yourself in the shoes of a teenager. I'll reiterate again and again, whatever you think about Be On Cloud as a management company, as a production company, they really are breaking boundaries and doing something right. Whatever happens in the second half, I think I'll be here, recovering, for a long time.

#dead friend forever #dff meta #dff the series #dff episode 7 #dff non #dff Phee #dff jin #dff mr.kreng #dead friend forever the series #barcode tinnasit #ta nannakun #copper phuriwat #2J Chalach #be on cloud #boc actors #dff spoilers #pheenon #jinnon #pheejinnon #dff

[wil-dearest]

Anonymous asked: ok 🫣🫣 reader reading a * spicy * book and wilbur seeing them…. hehe

Mhm mhm, i see your point. Enjoy

trigger warning: the book you are reading has explicit smut in it and well its a little filthy at the end. but 18+.

brought to you by wil-dearest, may i present absolute horseshit

Kiss the Cook

In your defense, the book had been gifted to you by an older cousin who gave you a sly wink, telling you to enjoy. Your love for reading wasn't private information and had this been any other occasion and not your birthday, you most likely would've never read it. (Somehow, your relatives never get what you like. So they sit on a bookshelf as they collect dust and you sit on the idea of donating them.) And also because your cousin texted you saying the main lead was your type. And so if he was?

Here we are, three months after your birthday and you're sitting on at the dining table, reading. Your boyfriend, Wilbur, had been sweet enough that he wanted to make dinner by himself. And with the free time that's been so generously given, you give the book a shot.

Big mistake, after the first two chapters, it gets steamy.

Her head tipped back, with Jeremy's mouth teasing her skin, every touch and every bite he leaves spins her vision. "You understand now, what you do to me is torture." Even his voice, vibrating against the column of her throat, her mouth parts with a gasp. She does understand now.

She can't focus clearly but with the way his hands burn as they grip her thighs, wrapping them around his waist and his cock bumping against her entrance, it's as if her nerves had been lit on fire. The first push drives her nails into his skin and he smooths her hair down, hardly biting his moans back. "Ever since I met you," he gasps, interrupting himself as his hips twitch, "I couldn't get you out of my head. You consumed my being, every waking second." Maybe it'd been the wine, maybe it'd been the careless flirting because why would it ever be more than flirting remarks, it doesn't matter. All Nikki knows right now is how good it feels with him inside her.

You had to put the book down for a moment and cover your face, giggling a little bit to yourself. What the fuck had that been? You peek through fingers and eye the book, biting down on a bottom lip. You'll continue, you decided. Picking up the book, though, Wilbur came out to greet you, his hair a little run-through, like he was pulling the edges again. "How's the book?" He asks, smiling as he leaned in for a quick kiss. Your eyes closed as you hummed, not at all hiding your blush and your smile.

"It's not what I thought it was going to be." You answer, not at all wanting to admit that you just found out the book you're reading leans more into the erotic genre.

"Different?" He asks, his hand coming up and cupping the back of your head as he kissed your cheek. You nod. "And not a bad different?" He kisses your other cheek, drinking up your soft laughter. "Good, then you know where to find me," he pulls back, smiling at you. His thumb comes up to graze your cheek, where he kissed it. He kisses you one last time before heading back inside the kitchen.

You sigh dreamily, wondering how you ever managed to charm him with your tendencies to be a hermit. It cannot be helped, you'll just have to accept you've accidentally cursed him or something. Moving on from real life romance, you turn your eyes back down to the inconspicuous novel. It couldn't hurt to read a little more.

About thirty minutes later, Wilbur decides he's taken long enough and serves two bowls, taking the steaming meals and finding you so engrossed into the novel, you hadn't even noticed him. Now he's not one to be jealous of a book, but just how good can it be when it wasn't your taste? (Yes, he'd been privy to that lovely rant with relatives and their gifting habits.)

He comes around and he had to double-check his eyes were working before he came to terms with the truth. You've been reading erotica.

He starts to mumble the words, "Nikki sobs as she tries to clenches her thighs," you gasp, your head looks over your shoulder, unable to move too much to avoid hitting his head, "overwhelmed by the constant pleasure. His tongue was simply too much, circling her clit and sucking on it before moving the two fingers inside of her again-" you drop the book, covering his mouth even as he tries to read it still, and you had little doubt you look flustered beyond all reason.

"What are you doing!?" You shriek, turning in your seat as you hid your face in his neck, trying to strangle and simultaneously hug him. His laughter is a deep vibration that tickles you while you held onto him, your own nerves lit on fire as his arms circle around your waist.

"Well I came to tell you dinner was ready," he nods to the steaming bowls and then his teasing eyes turned back to you and you dive your head back into his collarbones, "but you didn't even see me. I could see why now."

"Hush." Your voice comes out muffled and you do nothing to make yourself clearer.

"Dinner could always wait and we can recreate the scene in your book." He says pulling away from you and before you can say anything, he's dropped to his knees, his hair falling into his big eyes that stare into you as he nudges his face between your legs. You could hardly breathe with how he gets so close to your crotch, how his smile widens when he kisses your thigh and grips the other one with his- his fingers and you curse yourself for being so sensitive because all you want to do is moan his name. You cover your mouth even when he licks a stripe down the crotch of your jeans. You feel yourself trembling.

"Actually," he says, getting up a dizzying fashion, "I'll make sure to get dessert after dinner." His smile is downright predatory. How are you supposed to eat after all that?

#spencer writes #wilbur soot smut #gender neutral reader

[sardonic-sprite]

Home Alone

Some days, Tim was really fucking glad to have Batman for a next-door neighbor.

He couldn't exactly remember a time when he was quite this glad or relieved, though. He'd never been on the verge of being kidnapped before.

But that was ok. He wasn't going to be kidnapped.

He had a plan.

Call the police would probably have been more rational, but the power was all still dead from the snowstorm, and Tim figured the roads to Bristol were blocked up, too. At the very least, his driveway was, and it was long enough to be considered its own short road.

Stupid fucking snowstorm. It was its fault that Tim's parents couldn't get back in town, and that he was alone and trying not to end up kidnapped on Christmas.

But it was ok. Because he wouldn't. Because he had a plan. And about two hours to set it into motion. And if it failed, the kidnappers were probably just going to be so pissed they'd kill Tim, so technically his goal of don't get kidnapped would still be met.

Technicalities were usually much more fun.

Tim ran around the house in a frenzy, darting glances out the window every few minutes to make sure the creepy men hadn't gotten any closer. But no, they were still huddled around their fires out in the yard, waiting for him to surrender.

Big fat nope to that one. Tim didn't know who they were working for, or why that guy wanted an eleven-year-old kid, but he knew it was most definitely for something very bad, and he wasn't interested in the particulars.

He paused, shuddering at the thought that entered his head, then scattered a few more Lego pieces on the floor.

The thing was, Tim could neither call for help nor run away while the power was out and the bad guys were surrounding the house. But if he got them inside the house, and made sure they couldn't follow, then he could race across the half-mile stretch to the property line. Crossing that would trigger Batman's security, and he'd come and investigate and bring Tim somewhere safe and beat up the bad guys, and maybe even be impressed at how clever and resourceful Tim had been.

Of course, even getting outside hinged on how many bad guys actually did come inside, and how many got caught in Tim's traps long enough to give him a head start. The traps had never been tested, after all, and Tim only had time for so many math calculations to determine their effectiveness. Drake Manor was also so large that he couldn't sufficiently cover it. He'd have to guide the bad guys where he wanted them to go.

Which meant he was using himself as live bait.

... It was gonna be fine.

The clock began striking nine as Tim finished his second-floor traps and double-checked the wiring. His heartbeat was going crazy in his chest, and he took deep, slow breaths in time with the chimes to steady himself. If he hyperventilated and passed out, he was worse than dead.

"TIMOTHY DRAKE," boomed the voice that had called out before, somehow magnified so that each word was perfectly clear, "THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE. SURRENDER NOW AND YOU WILL NOT BE HARMED. REFUSE, AND WE WILL USE ALL FORCE TO APPREHEND YOU."

Tim threw open the nearest window and stuck his head out, squinting against the snow to see the nearest fire. He didn't know if the man was at that one or not, but it didn't matter. He was sure his cry of "FUCK YOU, ASSHOLE! EAT SHIT!" was heard by all.

He slammed the window shut as the voice yelled furiously and sprinted down the stairs, skipping over the wires and traps. He wasn't sure how many were going to enter in each direction, but the first landing was the best place to bring them all closer.

Tim had to wait there for several minutes, anxiety building, before he heard the first cry of pain. It sounded like it came from the front door, and Tim smirked, thinking of the heavy vase that had just gotten shattered over the bad guy's head.

Strangled swearing erupted from the kitchen where superglue had stolen shoes to bare feet to a sea of Legos. A howl rose from the living room where a hot plate had been set under the window.

"DRAKE!"

"Last chance to surrender!" Tim hollered mockingly, wiping sweaty hands on his pants.

Screams and a terribly loud bang meant that his flashbomb had successfully blinded someone, and the most creative swear Tim had ever heard in his life confirmed that sticking his mother's sewing needles into the grey carpet had been a stroke of genius.

"You will pay for this, you insolent whelp!"

"You want it in cash or credit?" Tim needed them closer. Besides, it was just a little bit fun to tease.

"In blood!"

The first man appeared at the foot of the stairs. He held his right hand close to his chest, but otherwise looked unharmed. He must have avoided the lighter in the hall, though by the sound of it, one of his buddies hadn't.

Tim gulped. All he could see above the black ninja mask was the man's eyes, and he looked furious.

"Um, how about traveler's checks?"

The man started up the stairs with a roar and immediately toppled backwards, slipping on the generous coating of oil over the hardwood.

"Oh, yeah, I just polished that."

One man staggered into the foyer from the front hall. He still had dust and broken pottery on his head and shoulders, and his eyes looked unfocused. Another limped in from the kitchen, barefoot and glaring. He drew a knife, and Tim scrambled backwards.

"No!" The first man grabbed the other's wrist. He didn't look happy about it, but he said, "Lord Ra's wants the boy alive."

"He can live without his arrogant little tongue!"

Tim tried to think up something clever to say, to get them to come up the stairs, but he really did not want them any closer than they were. Out in the yard, they couldn't hurt him, but here they could. They could hurt Tim very, very bad.

Two more ninjas stumbled in, one blinking and squinting, pant leg still smoldering. The other, who looked like a woman, was walking on the sides of her feet. She left a thin trail of blood behind her, and Tim both felt sorry and wished it were worse all at once.

"He's lost his tongue even without your blade, Hans," laughed the first man. "Not so brave now, are you, boy?"

Brave, Tim. Brave like Robin.

Jason wouldn't be scared of these goons, and neither would Dick. Dick would make fun of them, and Jason would cuss them out, so Tim did both.

"Like hell I'm scared of you shit-faces! The wax dummies at the history museum would make better ninjas than you!"

Hans yelled and ran at the stairs. He didn't hear the first man yell, "Fool, it's oiled!" until he was already flat on his back. Tim listened very hard, but couldn't hear anyone else in the house. He taunted, "Where's the rest of you? Maybe you could use the power of friendship to figure it out," to make sure.

"Thank whatever god guards you there are none others," the woman snarled. "Or you would choke on your blood even as you laugh."

"Dramatic," Tim quipped weakly, voice a bit too high.

"How did we fail him that Lord Ra's would punish us this way," moaned Pottery Man. "Being tormented and mocked by an infant."

"Hey!" Tim cried, indignant. "I'm eleven and five twelfths!"

"Enough of this!" Number One shouted. "Hans, the servant's stair, Edda, the back stair. Jethro, the dumbwaiter." They scattered, and One began stalking up the oiled stairs, clinging to the rail and motioning the blinded man to stay behind. "You think we do not know every hall and stair in this house, boy? Every entrance and exit? What do you think will be your salvation if you stall us?"

Tim swallowed, edging into the hall and carefully pushing open the first door. He may have to adjust his escape plan.

"Indiana Jones, Raiders of the Lost Ark, Steven Spielberg, 1981!" Tim hollered. He dove out of the way as his father's massive, prized floor globe, the one twice the size and weight of Tim, rolled down the improvised ramp and onto the stairwell, gathering speed every second.

Tim took off, running down the hall to his bedroom without looking back. He heard screaming from several parts of the house, and would have jeered at them about not expecting him to know how to trap his own house, but he no longer wanted to give away his location. He'd need extra time now. Climbing down from his window was going to be a hell of a lot harder than climbing the rope he'd put in the dumbwaiter for himself.

Tim pulled out his army knife as he passed the dumbwaiter door and started sawing at the rope, grateful the set-up could double as another trap. He didn't even have to cut all the way through, the ninja's weight snapping the fibers in seconds once they frayed. He heard a yell and an awful snap.

The cry of, "I'll kill you, brat!" should not have been comforting, but Tim didn't want to have killed anybody, so it was.

He made it to his room, shut and locked the door, then shoved his dresser against it, grunting and panting. He had to lean against it for a moment to catch his breath, swiping the sweat from his forehead. He gave himself thirty seconds, but dropped it to twenty when the shouting drew nearer.

"I can do this," Tim whispered, stepping onto the windowsill and staring down. "I can totally, one hundred percent do this."

He sat down and shimmied around until he was clutching the window ledge with ungloved hands. His fingers were already freezing. His toes hung and flailed in open air for a few terrifying seconds before they found crevices in the weathered brick.

Tim took a deep breath.

Slowly, inch by inch, he worked his way down the wall until his feet hit the top of the first floor window. His fingers scraped and bled against the bricks, turning white with cold and terror. Sweat ran down his face and back, making him hot and cold both at once. Once he got his hand or foot on a hold, it was hard to make himself move again.

Carefully -- oh, so, so carefully, when Tim's feet hit the top of that window, did he turn his head over his shoulder. The snow rose to the bottom of the window, making the drop only about three feet into a cushion. Tim closed his eyes and jumped.

The snow crunched loudly beneath him, and he broke through it up to his knees. He didn't dare waste time celebrating, but immediately started off, hoping the blizzard would help to cover his tracks.

Half a mile due east. Tim could make it.

Half a mile through ever-deeper snow, in wind and dark, with only a coat and boots, and furious ninjas hunting him down.

Tim had to make it.

At first he tried to run, shoving his hands in his pockets to make them warm, but it was like trying to run through a pool, and Tim soon found himself basically swimming with his arms and legs. Within minutes (though each felt like an hour) he couldn't feel his fingers at all.

The snow was high enough to slip into the tops of his boots, melting into his socks and making his feet grow numb. Tim started crying, only realizing it when the tear tracks burned down his cheeks and froze there. Every breath became a white cloud in front of his face.

The whole world had turned into the snowstorm. Tim didn't know anymore if he was going east or west, north or south, up or down. If he was still going towards Batman and safety, or if he'd got so turned around he was about to run right into the ninjas' arms. He stumbled and staggered, knowing he had to keep moving no matter where he ended up. Fall down in the snow, and he was never getting back up.

Then finally, finally, Tim saw light in the distance.

"Help!" he cried, but his voice was ripped away by the wind.

"Batman! Mr. Wayne! Robin! Help me, please!"

A shadow blocked the light, and Tim sobbed in relief as arms hugged him tight.

"So this was your clever plan, was it, boy? No wonder Lord Ra's took an interest in you."

Tim screamed and started thrashing, but the ninja had his arms pinned, and the snow blocked his kicks. He tried to bite, but there was nothing in front of his face but thick cloth.

"Let go!" he wailed. He was so close, he couldn't fail now. "Let me fucking go! Hel--mmph!"

Tim was spun around and a hand covered his mouth, grip bruisingly tight, enough that Tim couldn't even move his jaw, let alone bite.

"Oh, no, boy," the ninja snarled in his ear. "You will be brought before the Demon's Head, and punished for every injury inflicted, and even the great Detective can't save you!"

"Can't he?"

Tim's heart leapt as a hulking shadow appeared out of the snow, Batman's unmistakable growl now a roar over the wind. He had done it! He'd gotten to Batman! He was saved!

And then he felt ice cold metal against his throat.

"Stay out of this, Detective. Lord Ra's cares not if he must resurrect his prize."

Tim trembled, even though he'd stopped shivering ages ago. He didn't know what that meant, but he never wanted to find out.

"He should care that Gotham and its people are under my protection. Let the boy go, or there will be retaliation."

"We do not fear your posturing, Detective," the ninja sneered. He started dragging Tim back, away from Batman and safety. "And we do not fear your allies. But continue to oppose us now, and we will strike you down--"

"Wanna bet?"

There was a loud thunk and the ninja's hold went slack. The knife dropped to the snow, its wielder crumpling, and Tim stumbled, grabbing for his throat to be sure it wasn't bleeding.

"Kid? Kid, what's wrong, are you hurt?" Robin hollered over the wind.

Tim slowly shook his head, staring at the ninja. He felt something warm and big and surprisingly soft drape over his shoulders, like a blanket, and looked up to see Batman leaning over him with his cape.

"You're freezing," he murmured, sounding much more like Mr. Wayne. "Robin, get him inside!" His voice dipped back to a growl as he said, "I'll deal with the League."

"Here, kid."

Batman was replaced by Robin, but the cloak remained wrapped around Tim. He was bundled tighter into it, then scooped right off the ground and into Robin's arms. He squeaked in surprise, but pressed closer because Robin was so warm.

"Geez, you're tiny!" Robin half-shouted, wading through the snow only a little faster than Tim had. "How old are you, kid?"

"Eleven and a half," Tim mumbled. Jason Todd was a fine one to talk about being small for one's age.

As Robin muttered something like, because the half makes all the difference, a big black shape loomed out of the snow right in front of Tim's face. It took him far too long to realize it was a Bat-Snowmobile; Robin had plopped him on top and climbed on behind him before he registered the headlights had turned on.

"Hang on tight!" Robin ordered, and the engine roared to life.

Tim yelped, grabbing Robin as the vehicle lurched and zoomed into the storm, throwing his arms around the older boy's neck and hiding his face against his shoulder. One arm wrapped around Tim's waist and gently squeezed.

"Just hang in there a few more minutes, squirt. It's not far."

"What's not far?"

Not Tim's house. Please, not Tim's house. He didn't want to go back and run into the rest of the bad guys -- the League -- without Batman. Robin was awesome and warm, but Batman was powerful, and Tim didn't think the League would give up without more of a fight.

Robin hesitated before answering. "Wayne Manor is just under a quarter mile. They can look after you while I go back to help Batman."

Tim sighed in relief. Wayne Manor would be warm and safe, and until Batman and Robin came back to be Bruce Wayne and Jason Todd, Tim would no doubt be looked after by Alfred Pennyworth, and he was as powerful as Batman himself in Tim's book.

I did it, he thought happily, cuddling closer to Robin's warmth. I actually fucking did it.

"Eat shit, Lord Ra's."

Robin laughed.

After only a few more minutes, Wayne Manor appeared, looming out of the dark with a few cheerily lit windows. There was a glowing Christmas tree visible through one, and seeing it warmed something other than Tim's fingers.

Robin parked the Bat-Snowmobile outside the back kitchen door and swung himself off, then scooped up Tim to plop him on the ground. He kept an arm around Tim's shoulders as he went and knocked on the door. Tim could see the kitchen lights on, and it only took a minute before the door opened to reveal Alfred Pennyworth in a robe and nightshirt.

"Good heavens!" he exclaimed, and immediately backed up to usher them inside.

"Mr. Pennyworth, this is Tim Drake, your next-door neighbor," Robin introduced. "His home was attacked tonight by the League of Assassins, and he had to run a long way through the cold. If you would look after him and warm him up, Batman and I will be back before too long."

"I-- yes, of course," Mr. Pennyworth said, surprise changing to concern. "Thank you, Master Robin."

Robin nodded and ruffled Tim's hair. "You'll be safe here for a while, ok, squirt? Batman or I'll be back soon."

Tim nodded, and Robin grinned and left. Tim could hear the roar of the Bat-Snowmobile as it tore off outside.

Mr. Pennyworth turned to put a kettle on the stove, then told Tim, "Come, let's get you out of those wet things, Master Tim."

Tim nodded eagerly, stumbling a bit on frozen feet as he followed Mr. Pennyworth to a bathroom, still clutching Batman's cape around his shoulders.

"I'll set some of Master Jason's things outside the door for you. You're about the same size, I think. If you can find your way back to the kitchen, I'll have hot cocoa ready in moments."

"You don't have to go to any trouble," Tim said shyly.

"Nonsense, dear boy." Mr. Pennyworth smiled. "Tisn't any trouble at all, I assure you."

He left, and Tim stripped out of his sweats and socks. He hated to drop Batman's cape on the ground, but it had gotten soggy with snow just like everything else. He tried to fold it up, but it was like trying to fold his sheets, it was so huge.

A knock came at the door, and Mr. Pennyworth called that there were pajamas and a sweatshirt outside. Tim answered with a thank you and waited a moment before sticking one hand out the door to snatch the bundle.

He was startled into a laugh to see that the pajamas were themed like Batman and the hoodie like Nightwing. He wondered if Dick had gotten it for Jason. There were also a non-themed pair of slippers, and now that the feeling was coming back to Tim's toes, he could tell they were wonderfully soft.

Once dressed, he found his way back to the kitchen, where a kettle was starting to whistle before Mr. Pennyworth plucked it off the stove.

"Warming up, Master Tim?"

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Pennyworth."

The butler tutted. "Alfred is quite alright, dear boy."

"Thank you, Alfred," Tim corrected shyly. He'd never called an adult by their first name before.

A very loud yawn from behind made Tim jump, turning to look at the doorway, where...

Tim blinked.

Where stood Jason Todd.

He was dressed in Wonder Woman pajama pants and a red hoodie, rumpled like he'd been asleep, but his hair was still damp and his nose and cheeks pink from the snow and cold. His eyes looked bleary and sleepy, like he'd just woken up, but he most definitely scanned over Tim like he was looking for injuries.

"'S goin' on, Alf?" he asked, slurring his voice to sound half-awake. "Who's that?"

Tim just kept staring, dumbfounded, as Alfred said, "You recall young Timothy Drake, Master Jason? I'm afraid he ran into quite the spot of trouble tonight. Robin brought him here for us to look after until the situation is resolved."

Jason's eyes widened like he hadn't himself, as Robin, dropped Tim off ten minutes ago. "No way," he muttered. "What the hell were you doing, Timbit, that you got mixed up in superhero stuff?"

Tim hesitated.

"Batman! Mr. Wayne! Robin! Help me, please!"

"So this was your clever plan, was it, boy? No wonder Lord Ra's took an interest in you."

Tim hadn't had any idea just why he was being almost-kidnapped, except maybe for ransom or something, until the ninja had said that, and Batman showed up seeming to know all about that Lord Ra's guy and his ninja-kidnappers. At the time, he'd been too terrified to analyze, but now he wondered...

Did Ra's somehow know that Tim knew who Batman was? Tim didn't think that was possible. He hadn't even told his parents. But maybe Ra's was a mind-reader. Or had some kind of special powers. But then why would he need Tim to tell him who Batman was? Especially when the ninja sounded like Ra's and his League already knew all about Batman.

"Timber?"

Tim blinked and looked back at Jason. He and Alfred were both watching Tim, sharp-eyed. That was when he realized Jason wasn't just asking as a shocked civilian, he was investigating as Robin. In order to protect Tim, he and Batman needed to know why he'd been endangered in the first place.

"I...I don't know," he admitted. Jason's mouth twisted into a thoughtful frown, until Tim hesitantly added, "But I might have a guess?"

"Yeah? What do you think?"

Alfred set a cup of steaming cocoa on the table in front of Tim. It warmed his face, and he almost thought it burned his hands when he cupped them around it, but he didn't care. One sip warmed him all over inside, like he hadn't been cold or frightened at all. He wondered if Alfred was magic.

There was another clink of ceramic, and Tim realized Jason had gotten a mug of cocoa, too, and had sat down across from Tim. He held out a bowl of marshmallows, and Tim took two with a soft thanks.

Jason waited until Tim had taken two more sips before prompting, "Timmers? What's your guess?"

Tim took a deep breath, trying to calculate how mad Batman was going to be when he found out, and blurted, "I know who Batman and Robin are."

"What? No way! Who are they? How did you figure it out?" Jason gasped, face splitting into a grin, looking for all the world like someone expecting to hear the most amazing secret in the world.

But Tim saw the panic behind his eyes.

"I wouldn't tell you, if you didn't know," he promised. "But they're you. You and Mr. Wayne. I... I know because it was Dick Grayson first. He's the only person ever who can do a quadruple flip, and I saw Robin do it with my own eyes."

Jason stared.

Alfred stared.

Tim ducked his head and stared at his cocoa.

Then Jason said slowly, "You... you saw the first Robin in person? Doing a four-flip?"

"Yes?"

"How... how old were you?"

Tim frowned, calculating. "Nine?"

Alfred coughed.

"You were nine," Jason repeated. "And you were out in Gotham and saw Robin. Doing a fancy flip. And figured out one of the most dangerous and well-kept secrets in the city."

"Yes," Tim said, a bit more confidently. "Like I said, only Dick Grayson can do that flip. And if he's Robin, Bruce Wayne has to be Batman. And you have to be the next Robin. It's... it's just logic."

It's just logic, Jason mouthed. His lips stayed parted in astonishment as he turned to look at Alfred.

"That's... quite impressive, Master Tim," he managed. "Although, might I inquire... just what were the circumstances under which you saw Robin's flip?"

Tim hastily took a sip of cocoa. Jason raised his eyebrows and copied him, not setting down his mug until Tim did. Tim immediately took another sip. Jason and Alfred exchanged a glance.

"IusedtofollowBatmanandRobinaroundatnightandtakepictures," Tim blurted.

Jason blinked rapidly several times before suggesting, "A-again... slowly, please?"

"I... I used to, to follow Batman and Robin around at night. And take pictures."

"And your parents let you?" Jason yelped.

"They didn't... exactly know?"

"How...?" Jason's voice kept sounding more and more strangled. If Tim didn't know better, he'd have thought an invisible villain was throttling him.

"Well..." Tim ducked his head, shoulders almost rising to his ears. He stared intently at the melting marshmallows in his cocoa as he said, "They're not really around much."

"What exactly do you mean by 'not much,' Master Tim?" Alfred asked, both firm and kind, but also concerned.

Tim's ears felt hot. "They're usually on digs. They come back for a weekend or so every couple months. So they never knew I went out at night. I never told them I figured out who you are. I promise that I've never told anybody, and I never would tell anybody, even that Ra's guy, no matter what he did!"

He looked back up at Jason and Alfred, hoping they could see the honesty in his face.

Their faces showed a mix of shock and horror. Jason's eyes were wide and round, but Alfred's were pinched, and his mouth was drawn into a hard line. Tim swallowed nervously.

"You're a very impressive young lad, Master Tim," Alfred said in a carefully measured voice. "If you'll excuse me a moment, I think I ought to go inform Master Bruce of... these developments. I assume your parents were not home tonight?"

"Their flight got cancelled," Tim admitted. He wondered for the first time, as Alfred nodded curtly and stepped out of the room, if Batman had a mind-wipe machine or something. He very much hoped not.

Jason made a low whistle, then murmured, "Well, damn." He took a sip of cocoa, looking at the door Alfred had left through.

"What's 'well damn'?" Tim asked, voice too high.

"Alfie's 'bout'a go off," Jason chuckled, then, seeing Tim's expression, clarified, "not on you, Timberly, on your parents. And Ra's. Definitely also on Ra's."

"Why would Alfred be mad at my parents? And what does he need to tell Batman? Are you mad at me? Because I figured it out? Or..." Tim gasped in horror. "Or because I led them here? I led them here! Oh, God, I told a villain who Batman is! I--"

"Tim! Tim, calm down, it's ok!" Jason seemed torn between laughter and concern, but he reached out and put a bracing hand on Tim's shoulder. "You didn't do anything wrong. Ra's already knows who we are. Alfred just has to tell Bruce, um. Not to look for your parents. And why they're not there. And that's why he's pissed off, because nobody should leave a little kid all by himself for all but a few weekends out of the year."

Jason looked pissed himself when he said the last bit. Unfortunately, all of it just left Tim with even more questions. But even as he opened his mouth to ask them, there was a loud rattling and banging from above.

"What was that?" Tim yelped, jumping and spilling cocoa on the table.

"The storm," Jason said, completely expressionless. He grabbed some napkins from the holder on the table and dropped them on the spill, clearing it with one neat swipe. "Don't worry about it."

"You're sure it's not the ninjas?"

Jason snorted. "Don't ever let them hear you call them that. I'm sure, kid. Batman's got it covered."

Alfred came back into the kitchen muttering about reception, and took Tim's and Jason's empty mugs over to the sink to wash. There was a loud pounding from up above, first moving distant, then drawing near again. Tim realized it was running feet.

He raised his eyebrows at Jason.

"The storm, huh?"

Jason shrugged with a smile too mischievous to be innocent.

A moment later, Bruce Wayne appeared in the doorway, hair mussed and face pink, barefoot and wearing a red bathrobe that did not succeed at hiding the Batsuit underneath.

The way he blinked and squinted at the warm kitchen light appeared genuine, but he sounded far too awake as he said, "Alfred, what's going on? Who's this? Jason? I thought you went to bed."

Jason glanced at Tim, mischief peaking.

"Dad!" he exclaimed, jumping up and running over. "Dad, you'll never guess what happened! This is Tim Drake, from next door, and he was attacked by supervillains and Batman and Robin came and saved him and brought him here!"

"Oh! My... God..." Mr. Wayne faltered, glancing from Alfred (who's back was turned to hide his smile) to Tim (who was just as confused as he seemed) to Jason (who was grinning just a bit too wide), before narrowing a bit at the last one.

Jason beamed up at him, and Mr. Wayne apparently decided not to worry about it, because he turned to Tim and asked, "Are you alright, Tim?"

"I... think so," Tim said slowly, staring at Jason, who was mouthing at him. Mr. Wayne glanced down at his son suspiciously, but Jason shut his mouth in an instant.

"Are you hurt at all? Cold?"

"No, I'm ok now. Mr... uh, Alfred's hot chocolate warmed me right up."

Mr. Wayne smiled. "It does that quite well. Are..." He turned hesitant again, glancing at them all before asking, "Do you know if your parents are alright? If they escaped?"

"They weren't even there," Jason said, bright smile turning downright ferocious. "They leave Tim all alone in the house all year and only come in for a weekend every once in a while. And since that's criminal neglect, and Batman and Robin asked us to take care of him, I guess I got a little brother for Christmas like I asked for after all!"

Tim stared. Mr. Wayne stared. Jason beamed. Alfred coughed in a way that sounded much too much like a laugh.

"Um..." Tim started, but had no idea how to continue.

"It... I... don't think it's all quite that simple, Jay," Mr. Wayne cautioned hesitantly. Jason just stared straight up into his face, both grinning and glaring at the same time. It was mildly terrifying, and Mr. Wayne cleared his throat before turning to Tim. "But of course, you're more than welcome to stay with us until it's safe. We'll be glad to have you."

Tim stammered out a thank you, wondering if Mr. Wayne offered because he knew as Batman that it wasn't safe. He hoped not. As awesome as being Jason Todd's little brother sounded, Tim already had parents and a home, even if they were... distant. He also wondered why Jason was pretending he was an ordinary civilian, and that Tim didn't know better. And Alfred was going along with it, even though he'd been about to tell Batman everything just before.

"If you're quite warm and well, Master Tim, I think a good night's rest would do you good," Alfred said, "as it would the rest of us."

"Oh. Um, yes." Tim blinked and looked at the clock, which read 11:30 PM. "Sleep. Yeah."

"Great!" Jason chirped. He did a cartwheel over to Tim, channeling Dick Grayson, probably, and pulled him up, slinging his arm over Tim's shoulders. "C'mon, Timbers, we can have a sleepover in my room."

"Uh, sure."

A sleepover with Robin? Tim was equal parts confused and ecstatic. He followed Jason past a mystified Mr. Wayne, who wished them both goodnight, and up a small back staircase to the second floor.

It wasn't until Jason had showed them into his room and they got settled in bed that Tim finally asked, "Jason? Why didn't we tell Mr. Wayne that I know who you are? Isn't it kind of important?"

"Oh, Timmy Tim Timmers. Think about it. We only get to tell him that once."

"But-- oh. Ohhh."

"Exactly." Jason sounded smug. "Just you wait, Timbit. I have a feeling you and I are gonna be the holiest terrors this city ever saw."

#feral tim drake #ra's: 5 ninjas should do it right? #he's like a toddler itll be fine #tim: fucking bet you old assbutt #day 2 #home alone #tim drake #bruce wayne #batfam #fic #ao3 writer #sprite wrote #amow winter whumperland 2022 #day 5 #trapped in a blizzard #day 10 #hot chocolate #jason todd #alfred pennyworth

[pinkslashersimp]

AHA IM SO SORRY BUT I CANT GET THIS OUT OF MY HEAD

what would yandare Hannibal do if his darling was just wandering around the house and somehow Hannibal didn’t notice they were gone (shocker) till 2 minutes later and started searching the house frantically and he found his darling in the library reading a book

(IM SORRY IF IM SENDING IN ALOT OF RQ ITS HARD TO REMEMBER WHOS ACC IS WHOS SO IF I SENT YOU ALOT IM SO SORRY <<333)

YES YES ABSOLUTELY YES ?????

also never feel like ur sending in too many requests, I enjoy writing and love when ppl come back:) its very sweet

mandatory apology for taking so long on reqs, im sorry): im not a procrastinator ive just had a hell of a lot on and havent had a spare minute at all to write): doing my best atm and thankfully now everything has slowed down

TW: yandere behaviour, implied kidnapping, sorta toxic behaviour, Hannibal being a little clingy, possessive behaviour. reader is GN

If any of this triggers you please scroll and keep urself safe🤍

u didnt specify so as a treat ill write for both;)

Yandere Hannibal thinks GN!Reader has ran away🌷💗

NBC Hannibal

Ohshitshitshitshitshitfuckshitsh

Immediate panic at first, he'd taken his eyes off you for no more than two minutes to focus on frying meat for dinner. He hadn't even heard you get up or walk away, which caused him much much more anxiety. Why were you deliberately being quiet? Why are you being so disobedient? Why on earth are you doing this to him??

He’s quick to put everything on hold, take the pan off the grill and turn down the heat, exit the room and head hastily towards the front door. Despite being quite concerned, hes able to mask it well and paint a scarily calm demeanour on himself

Perhaps you’d gotten bored and wandered into the living room? It was the most plausible theory, yet your absence deemed it invalid

Your sudden and unexpected vanishing angered Hannibal greatly. Who were you to try and leave him? He re-checked the kitchen, twice. Then each upper room of his house, ensuring you weren’t hiding from him in childish fashion.

Your sudden and unexpected vanishing angered Hannibal greatly. Who were you to try and leave him? He re-checked the kitchen, twice. Then each upper room of his house, ensuring you weren’t hiding from him in childish fashion.

After half an hour, he was tired. Angry, upset, frustrated, and a large mix of emotions that bubbled around inside him, like rising scorching water, it was only a matter of time before it boiled over.

Dealing with all this, he needed to cool off before searching outside for you. He knew if you ran away you couldn’t go far, and if he recaptured you whilst angry he may hurt you.

Sighing heavily, he retreated to the library, only to be met with the sight of you leaning against the libraries ladder, eyes glued firmly to your chosen book. He couldn’t quite make out the cover as the palm of your hand covered it, whilst the other gently gripped the top.

“What are you doing?” he questioned, your eyes drawing themselves away from your page and towards his large frame in the doorway. The sight of him confused and caused you great anxiety, he looked frantic and angry, as if you’d insulted him greatly

“Um, reading…”

Hannibal let out a sigh, and pulled you into a rather tight hug after walking quite quickly toward you. “Tell me when you’re leaving my side, please.”

OG Hannibal

Oh, you’re gone? Okay.

OG Hannibal is very secure in knowing you cannot leave his grasp. Every door in the house is double locked, you don’t have a key, and you’re terribly loud when trying to be quiet.

He knows you really can’t have gone far. It’s impossible. Literally.

He finishes whatever task he was tending to first, taking him around 10 minutes, before cleaning his workspace and seeing where you’d wandered off to

He understands usually you like to indulge in television, much to his dismay, (but he never judges you), and so he checks the living room expecting you to be sat peacefully on the sofa

He opens the door aaaaand…you aren’t there.

Weird, and it puts him on edge a little, but without panicking he checks upstairs. Maybe you were tired? wanted a nap?

No. You aren’t there either.

Just to be extra-double sure, Hannibal checks both doors, ensuring that they’re still double locked and unopened. And thankfully to him, they are.

Now, with the knowledge that you haven’t ran away and you are in fact somewhere in the house away from him, hes angry.

Why are you hiding from him? Is this a game? If it’s a game, he’ll play.

Hannibal checks every room upstairs, under the beds and in the wardrobes, checks behind the shower curtain and any bottom cupboards you might have squeezed yourself in childishly.

Nothing.

It clicks that there’s one last area of the house he hasn’t checked yet: The library.

He creaks open the door, and lets out a laugh when he sees you reading quietly, curled up on his armchair, which causes you to jump and stare up at him, wondering what’s so funny

“Found you!” he states, calmly. “Why are you in here?”

“I wanted to…read?” you reply, confused.

“Tell me next time.”

#slasher headcanons #slashers #yandere slashers #hannibal #nbc hannibal #hannibal x reader #hannibal fic #hannibal headcanons #yandere hannibal #yandere hannibal headcanons #yandere hannibal fic #og hannibal #og hannibal headcanons #og hannibal x reader #og hannibal fic #nbc hannibal fic #nbc hannibal x reader #hannibal lecter

[ell0ra-br3kk3r-writes]

The Phoenix and the Crow

part thirty-two

pairing: kaz brekker x fem!reader

genre: neutral

el's thoughts: again, thank you for being so patient with meee!! from a writing aspect, i'm almost done with the series! and it's wilddd i'm currently finishing up chapter thirty-five and my heart hurts knowing that i'm kinda almost done..

masterlist

Y/N stared silently at Kaz while he watched Inej intently, his bitter coffee eyes glittering in the light from the dome.

Inej explained how the costumes would be their masks. How the Fjerdans would only see a Suli lynx and a Kaelish mare. Not people, not even really girls, just lovely objects to be collected.

“It’s a risk,” said Kaz.

“What job isn’t?”

“Kaz, how are you, Matthias and Y/N going to get through?” asked Nina. “We might need you for locks, and if things go bad on the island, I don’t want to be stranded. I doubt you can pass yourselves off as members of the houses.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” said Kaz. “Helvar’s been holding out on us.”

“Have you?” asked Y/N.

“It’s not-” Matthias dragged a hand over his cropped hair. “How do you know these things, demjin?” he growled at Kaz.

“Logic. The whole Ice Court is a masterpiece of fail-safes and doubled systems. That glass bridge is impressive, but in an emergency, there would have to be another way to get reinforcements to the White Island and get the royal family out.”

Y/N and Jesper shared a smirk at the sight of Matthias’ baffled expression.

“Yes,” said Matthias in exasperation. “There’s another way to the White Island. But it’s messy.” He glanced at Nina. “And it certainly can’t be done in a gown.”

“Hold on,” Jesper interrupter. “Who cares if you can all get onto the White Island? Let’s say Nina sparkles Yul-Bayur’s location out of some Fjerdan higher-up, and you get him back here. We’ll be trapped/ By then, the prison guards will have completed their search and are going to know seven inmates got out of the sector somehow. Any chance we have of making it through the embassy gates and the checkpoints will be gone.”

Kaz peered past the dome to the embassy’s open courtyard and the ringwall gatehouse beyond.

“Wylan, how hard would it be to disable one of these gates?”

“To get it open?”

“No, to keep it closed.”

“You mean break it?” Wylan shrugged. “I don’t think it would be too difficult. I couldn’t see the mechanism when we entered the prison gate, but from the layout, I’m guessing it’s pretty standard.”

“Pulleys, cogs, some really big screws?”

“Well, yes, and a sizable winch. The cables wrap around it like a big spool, and the guards just turn it with some kind of handle or wheel.”

“I know how a winch works. Can you take one apart?”

“I think so, but it’s the alarm system the cables are attached to that’s complicated. I doubt I could do it without triggering Black Protocol.”

“Good,” said Kaz. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

Jesper held up a hand. “I’m sorry, isn’t Black Protocol the thing we want to avoid at all costs?”

“I do seem to remember something about certain doom,” said Nina.

“Not if we use it against them.” Y/N spoke up causing Kaz to give her a nod. “Tonight, most of the Court’s security is concentrated on the White Island and right here at the embassy. When Black Protocol sounds, the glass bridge will shut down, trapping all those guards on the island along with the guests.”

“But what about Matthias’ rout off the island?” asked Nina.

“They can’t move a major force that way,” Matthias conceded. “At least not quickly.”

Kaz gazed out at the White Island, head filter, eyes slightly unfocused.

“Scheming face,” Inej murmured.

Y/N nodded. “Definitely.”

“Three gates in the ringwall,” Kaz said. “The prison gate is already locked up tight because of Yellow Protocol. The embassy gate is a bottle neck crammed with guests—the Fjerdans aren’t going to get the troops through there. Jesper, that just leaves the gate in the druskelle sector for you and Wylan to handle. You use it to engage Black Protocol, then wreck it. Break it badly enough that any guards who manage to mobilize can’t get out to follow us.”

“I’m all for locking the Fjerdans in their own fortress,” said Jesper. “Truly. But how do we get out? Once we trigger Black Protocol, you guys will be trapped on that island, and we’ll be trapped in the outer circle. We have no weapons and no demo materials.”

Kaz’s grin was sharp as a razor. “Thank goodness we’re proper thieves. We’re going to do a little shopping—and it’s all going on Fjerda’s tab.”

~

Y/N looked at her strange crew, barefoot and shivering in their soot-stained prison uniforms, their features limned by the golden light of the dome, softened by the mist that hung in the air.

What bound them together? Greed? Desperation? Was it just the knowledge that if one or all of them disappeared tonight, no one would come looking? Maybe Nikolai would send a few troops to search but that was out of duty. Y/N had no one to shed a tear and mourn her life. She had no family, no parents, no siblings, only people to fight beside. And she knew that was always something to be grateful for, too.

It was Jesper who spoke first. “No mourners,” he said with a grin.

“No funerals,” they replied in unison. Even Matthias muttered the words softly.

“If any of you survive, make sure I have an open casket,” Jesper said as he hefted two slender could of rope over his shoulder and signaled for Wylan to follow him across the roof. “The world deserves a few more moments with this face.”

Y/N was only slightly surprised to see the intensity of the look that passed between Matthias and Nina. Something had changed between them after the battle with the Shu, but she couldn’t be sure what.

Matthias cleared his throat and gave Nina an awkward little bow. “A word?” he asked.

Nina returned the bow with considerably more panache, and let him lead her away.

Inej gave the inferni a soft smile and slipped the recognizable pair of black leather gloves into her hands. The Suli nodded towards Kaz and slipped away to wait for Nina.

Y/N turned to face him and walked to his side.

“I have something for you,” she said as she held out his gloves.

He stared at them. “How-”

“I got them from the discarded clothes and gave them to Inej before she made the climb.”

He pulled the gloves on slowly, and she watched his pale, vulnerable hands disappear beneath the leather. They were trickster hands—long, graceful fingers made for prying open locks, hiding coins, making things vanish.

“When we get back to Ketterdam, I’m heading back to Ravka right away.”

He looked away. “You should. You’re too good for the Barrel anyway.”

She hummed and closed her eyes tightly in frustration. She didn’t know what she expected from him but she wanted more.

He reached down to hold her wrist. “Y/N.” His gloved thumb moved over her pulse, tracing the top of a burn scar she got when she miss caught her first flame. “If we don’t make it out, I want you to know … ”

She waited. She felt hope rustling its wings inside her, ready to take flight at the right words from Kaz. She willed that hope into stillness. Those words would never come. Hope is dangerous.

She reached up and touched his cheek. She thought he might flinch again, even pull away from her. He let her hand cup his cheek. His skin was cool and damp from the rain. He stayed still, just barely leaning closer to her warm touch.

“If we don’t survive this night, I will die unafraid, Kaz. Can you say the same?”

His eyes were nearly black, the pupils dilated. She could see his dazed gaze focus back onto her, still not pulling away. She knew it was the best he could offer at the moment and she nodded softly.

She dropped her hand. He took a deep breath.

Kaz had said he didn’t want her prayers and she wouldn’t speak them, but she wished his safe and sane nonetheless.

Matthias stood a few feet away from the pair, grabbing the Inferni’s attention.

“Let’s go, Kaz.”

~*~

taglist: @katherinereid @littlecat21 @jahayla-parker @maliciousbrekker @brekkershadowsinger @brekkers-desigirl @clunaes @wonderland2425 @bookloverfilmoholic @karensirkobabes @bookworm-center @el-de-phi @so-get-this-sammy @skittleabyss @crispy-croke @cometsghost @auttumnsayshi

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x y/n #kaz brekker x you #six of crows #six of crows x reader #six of crows imagines #ellora.writes

[playertwotails]

Okay so this has been circling around in my head for like two weeks like a fly hitting windows in a sun-room.

So I'm back on my Tails kitsune AU bullshit and I've also recently gotten into Cult of the Lamb so now they've mashed in my brain into a hodgepodged gloop.

And it's all going below the cut if you wanna read my brain worms cause it's long

***Trigger warning for like blood and cults and kidnapping and drugging. Just to give people a heads up (nothing too graphic or detailed but just in case and let me know if you think I missed anything I might need to warn people about)****

Little side note before jumping into this: do not tag as shipping, there is no shipping here it's all platonic and familial. If I see a ship tag I will block you.

Starting off it doesn't matter if Tails is actually a kitsune or not (I personally prefer that yes he is just for the post situation of the gang all being like "okay so what species is Tails actually???" )

I've just had this idea in my head where some cult somewhere is started and they worship kitsune's as godlike entities. They then catch wind of Tails in the news or rumors and their target is now locked.

So this cults leader gets the 'big brain but head actually empty' idea to kidnap Tails like any sane cult leader would.

Now these people somehow stumble ass backwards into kidnapping Tails and keeping him contained. And by keeping him contained they're basically drugging Tails just enough he's conscious but nonreactive. And they basically dress him up and drag him to their ceremonies as more of object than a kid. Tails is hating it and actually scared cause what the hell is wrong with these people let him go home.

Meanwhile Sonic and the gang are all freaking out cause "WHERE IS HE??!!!!" Cause lets be honest kidnapped by a cult was not on any of their bingo cards and at this point they don't know that's what happened, they only know Tails is gone and none of the usual suspects have him.

Rouge starts going through her contacts on the side looking for any crumb of information and gets a lead. And in typical Rouge fashion splits off on her own to look into it. She then comes across the cult and infiltrates their compound.

During her snooping though she overhears the leader of the cult and his subordinates talking about "living forever through the blood of their god's mortal form", sees a statue of a multi-tailed fox and all the red flags are immediately up for her. Internal panic button is smashed. 2 + 2 = fucked up situation.

She's already pressing the "get your asses here" button on her communicator and tears off as quickly but quietly as she can looking for Tails. When she finds him he's in a locked room just laying in bed, all dressed up in a white outfit. Which strange for her to see him just laying there since normally he'd be out and gone long time ago She sees what they've been giving him next to the bed and she's now double pissed off. (I like to think it's at least been over a week Tails has been missing, but if you wanna get really angsty make about 6 months, just as long as Sonic was locked up in Forces).

As gently but quickly as she can she bundles up Tails and carries him cause at this point he's got so much in his system he can't walk or talk, blinking is kinda his only form of communication at the moment. To which Rouge doesn't know what's worse, for Tails to have been asleep for the whole time unaware or to be awake for the whole time and know what's happening.

Tails on the other hand is just so happy to see her and scared that he starts crying. Which is just breaking Rouge's heart to witness as she starts to backtrack out of there with him, with him just silently crying nonstop in her arms.

Unfortunately only about halfway to the exit they discover Tails is gone and the place starts going into lock down with cultist swarming the halls of the place. And even though Rouge is an excellent fighter, she's in close quarters with a kid who can't walk so she's quickly overrun by cultist who tie her up and take Tails back.

The leader then using all of his one brain cell figures she's already signaled to the other's where they are and he knows it's only a matter of time before the fastest thing on the planet busts their door down looking for his little brother.

The leader announces to the group they're moving up the ceremony to now much to Rouge's horror and they drag her along too kicking and screaming cause they don't have time to drop her off in a cell or anything.

Everyone is now in this big ceremony/chapel room that has a big stone table covered in white flowers, that suspiciously is the perfect size for an 8 year old fox to lay down on. And the leader does just that laying Tails on the table.

Rouge is throwing an absolute fit and cursing everyone out cause no way in hell is she gonna let this happen, it's to the point multiple people are having to hold her down even with her tied up cause she's kicking up such a storm of rage.

Meanwhile, Tails is mentally absolutely freaking out in a panic and is terrified out of his mind, especially when the leader brings out a large ornate knife and starts chanting something.

As the leader is finishing up and reeling back his hand with the knife Sonic busts in and sees all of this. Immediately rushing to the table just as the cult leader goes for the downswing.

Sonic just barely catches the knife about an inch from Tails' chest grabbing on to the blade of it and cutting his hand which drips onto Tails.

Now Sonic finally has a moment to process all of this and what exactly is happening and for obvious reasons he is beyond pissed off. He's probably not far off from turning into dark Sonic or it's creeping around the edges of him. And just as he's about to send the cult leader to meet his maker he glances at Tails' face and that's the only reason he doesn't kill the leader right then and there. Cause Sonic thought Tails was asleep but now he notices not only is Tails somewhat awake but tears are streaming down his face.

So Sonic does the next best thing in this situation, knocks out the leader in less than a second and just pulls Tails into a hug off the table and starts just sobbing with Tails in his lap curled up on the floor. Cause the horror of what about happened and the relief Tails is okay and he found him in time hits Sonic all at once.

The rest of the cultists are still frozen cause for Sonic, Tails and the leader all that happened in less than a minute and the group is still catching their bearings of everything that just happened. Which is a good thing cause in that moment everyone else catches up and runs into this whole scene.

From their perspective though they just see Sonic sobbing over a limp Tails with blood on his chest (from Sonic's hand but they don't know that), a guy knocked out (or possibly dead??) next to them, a big stone table that suspiciously looks like an alter also next to them, Rouge who is still cursing up a storm tied up in the corner and held down by like 5 people, and a room full of people in matching robes that look like the guy up near Sonic and Tails.

The rest of the group now splits off with Amy and Knuckles running over to Sonic and Tails, Shadow going for the leader on the ground, Omega going to help Rouge, and the rest of their friends they had helping them splitting off to take care of the rest of the cultists.

From here everything gets resolved, cultists and leader locked up, Tails getting what ever drugs they were giving him out of his system and going home and everyone somewhat going back to their lives. Sonic however does not leave Tails' side for a while and hovers around him which for the first few weeks Tails appreciates cause if he's honest he doesn't want Sonic to be far from him either after everything and really doesn't want to be alone for long. Tails get constant nightmares about the situation and is snuggling with his big brother almost every night. Which is great for Sonic cause he's also getting terrible nightmares from the ordeal and feels better when he wakes up and Tails is right there.

It does get to the point though where after a bit of recovery and time healing the mental scars Tails has to convince Sonic that he can be go back to running around and exploring without Tails right next to him. It takes a lot of convincing and scheduling regular check-ins (like 5x more than they previously had) but Sonic and Tails slowly get somewhat back to their normal lives.

If you wanna get angsty though have it so Sonic is just a second too slow in saving Tails and the fallout from that. (couldn't be me though I'm a hurt/comfort girly at heart, give me the angst but everyone's okayish in the end)

#miles tails prower #tails the fox #tails kitsune au #kitsune au #enjoy my brain worms #this has been eating away at all my other ideas for a while now #feel free to add on if you like just keep me in the loop #i might post the little comic I'm attempting to draw about that one scene at the altar with Sonic grabbing the knife #that scene is so vivid in my head #I've had bad art block and burnout for like 4 years now since coivd hit and my job got STRESSFUL (call center life sucked) #but I'm slowly trying to knock the rust off my skills #a whole art minor I have not used in a while #my drawing skills are like the Tinman in the Wizard of Oz #someone give me some oil so they move again

[courtforshort15]

Chapter 1

Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem reader

Word Count: 4,700

Summary: It's a Wednesday when the sky quite literally opens up above you. The Battle of New York rages around you, and the only thing that gets you through is the stranger standing next to you. Matthew Murdock is more than he seems, keeping you safe in a city that is literally crumbling around you, and even once the dust settles, his hand is the only thing you don't want to let go of.

Trigger warning: none really, just some references to violence, some ableism

Chapter Index

Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8

It’s a Wednesday when the sky quite literally opens up.

Sipping your coffee, you lazily walk down the street, following the crowd that moves towards the intersection just a few yards ahead of you. Your feet are killing you in your shoes, which is really nothing new, the back of your heels feeling like nothing but one large blister that's scabbed over and ripped apart all over again with every step you take.

But the weather is warm and your boss is out for the day, so overall you preemptively consider this particular Wednesday a success in terms of surviving the day with minimal frustration. Dragging your tired ass to the coffee shop four blocks over had been a much needed break between meetings that honestly could have been emails, and though you have plenty of more work to do, you're in no rush to get back to the office.

Throngs of people move around you on all sides, and even while your office is located slightly outside of the main hustle and bustle that spreads across the city, the sidewalks still see some decent action. People hold their bags closely to their bodies, yourself included, eager to mind their own business and get lost in the crowd.

It's midafternoon and the sun shines brightly over the city, and though tall and sturdy buildings cast shadows over the streets, it still warms you, bright rays of light occasionally blinding you when your eyes somehow manage to look too close to the sun. It's not quite summer, so the warmth isn't yet the kind that is suffocating and sweltering on your skin, causing clothes and hair to stick to parts of your body that you'd rather they not. 

The blocks of New York are loud, filled with mindless chatter, honking cars, and the occasional passersby that plays loud music out of their backpack. All in all, it's a typical, unsuspecting Wednesday. Your phone rings in your pocket, no doubt your annoying coworker Brenda who probably thinks you've been gone for too long now, so you ignore the buzzing in your purse and instead choose to walk even slower. It's not necessarily the kindest thing to do on a busy sidewalk, but the thought of Brenda's disapproving stare and severe frown as she crosses her arms over her chest makes you want to avoid the office even longer.

With a quick bite of your lip, you decide to double back and essentially make the same journey to and from the coffee shop all over again, savoring the fresh air and lack of boring office gossip spilling from various middle aged women who work on your floor. Your sore feet hate you at the choice, but you push the pain lightly aside if only to hold on to your sanity for just a few minutes longer. You're still a few blocks away and standing on a street corner waiting for the cross signal when there’s a deep rumble and a blinding flash of light.

Startled, coffee dropping in shock and spilling across the bottom of your legs as it falls, you look up sharply. No one seems to know what's happened, faces just as confused and fearful as yours as people pause to aim their sight above, but the screaming starts when things start pouring out from an open slash in the sky.

There is immediate widespread panic, and the sudden change in the tone and pulse of New York City is catastrophic. 

It’s the sense of panic you can choke on. It’s the kind of panic that makes people absolutely mindless as they push and shove and dive around each other, everyone trying to run for cover without any thought for the thousands of other people also trying to run away from the mayhem.

You’re not a native New Yorker, but even you’ve become desensitized by some of the shit going on around you on a fairly regular basis. In what they’ve referred to as the Harlem Horror, a beast they’ve named the Hulk destroys buildings and cars and businesses just 5 miles north of where you live in your tiny apartment in Hell’s Kitchen. Iron Man flies over midtown on a regular basis and no one bats an eye anymore, people simply resuming their journey while the billionaire plays with his toys. A super soldier thought dead for decades runs through Times Square before having a run-in with some official government-looking agency, and people only stop and stare for a few moments before continuing on with their busy lives. In New York City, these things just happen.

But this?

This is nothing like the world’s ever seen before, not in real life at least, and it causes instantaneous mass chaos. 

Terror induced chaos.

You’re no different than anyone else, not really. No different than the people scrambling all around you, dropping their things in a rush to be literally anywhere else. You round a corner, mind frantically trying to decide which way to go, hands shaking, vision hazy and unfocused in your terror. Someone stumbles into you, causing you to crash into a lamp post, and you find yourself clinging to it for dear life as you try to wrap your head around the freefall that New York City has found itself in.

A red and gold figure rushes across the sky, the movement extremely fleeting, and you suppose the form should have been comforting, should have been proof that those who could help were already on the scene, fully aware of what was happening and rushing to stop it. But his appearance does the complete opposite, somehow cementing the fact that this is real, this is happening, and this is not just a figment of your imagination.

People are still pouring by you, screams shrill and piercing, and all it takes is another boom above to force you to move your feet again. With a panicked gulp, your body shifts to the left, deciding instinctively that it's best to follow the crowd, but before you can take another step, something catches your eye.

Something? No. Someone. 

Halfway down the block, a man stands on an apartment building stoop, hands wrapped tightly around a white cane, people racing by without a second glance at him. 

Blind.

Alone.

What strikes you the most is how everything is in a flurry of activity around him, but other than his head whipping around, as if trying to hone in on the things he can't see, he is still. His face is slightly pale, his hair wind-blown, alarm clearly written on his features, but he’s missing the sheer terror that's present on all the other faces that rush by. His head stills and tilts oddly, and it occurs to you briefly that’s listening. 

Which…maybe that is all he really can do, you think. But listening to the screams and horror isn’t going to be enough to help him figure out what exactly is going on, and your eyes can’t help but widen at the thought of how vulnerable he is.

Your heart is pounding and there is a roaring in your ears that feels like it’s never going to go away, but you cannot, in good conscience, leave someone there who might need help. You falter slightly, your sense of preservation telling you to continue going, to take a left and rush in the same direction everyone else is heading with the hope that the crowd will direct you to a store or shelter that seems to be the most reasonable place to find cover. According to the masses that are sprinting past you, the safest place might be west of where you're at. 

But instead of following the crowd that has somehow decided west is the correct way to go, you cross the street and turn right.

It doesn’t take you very long before you’re right in front of him as he had only been half a block up from where you’d been when you first saw him. He’s holding the cane in one hand, the knuckles white, and the glasses sitting across the bridge of his nose offer black lenses. You waste no time in placing a hand on his arm to get his attention, and the man jumps back, startled.

“Hey man,” you say breathlessly as he opens his mouth, your words still managing to be sharp in fear. “We gotta get out of here. Do you need help?”

The man frowns and licks his lips, face increasingly worried but still not necessarily horrified. You suppose the sheer terror everyone is experiencing is coming from having the ability to look up and see the swarm of black streaming down from a hole in the sky. “I, uh…what’s going on? I can hear screaming and people running by.”

“There’s some sort of invasion happening, I don’t know,” you tell him quickly, trying to keep the sheer panic from seeping into your voice. You fail miserably. “Things are like pouring out of the sky. It’s not safe. Do you live here? Maybe we can wait it out inside?”

He shakes his head rapidly, red mouth parted and drawing in shaky breaths. “I just stepped up to get out of people’s way.”

Quickly stepping around him, you push on the door behind him. It’s one that no doubt only opens for those who live in the building and own a key, but you're desperate to have some sort of cover over your head, so you try again anyway. You're unsurprised when it doesn't budge, no matter how hard you shove yourself against it. The man briefly joins in, adding his body weight next to yours, but the results are the same and you hiss in frustration.

Taking a step back from the door, you attempt to catch your breath as the panic still bounces around in your head, intensified as the sound around you continues to roar and rage. Your eyes glance up and down the street before they land on something. Whipping your head back to him, you bite your lip in brief consideration. “Okay, look. There’s a small bookstore literally right across the street and down the block from us, and it might be open. Let’s go there."

You can't run far with him, not without the risk of him tripping and pulling you down with him, images in your head of hands and knees bloodied as you'd try to pull him back up. Nearby shelter is simply the best thing. 

Your hand is shaking as it stretches out towards him, brushing against his arm, and the world briefly stalls and quiets as his lips part in a deep breath. The man's face is still pale, but it hardens, determination settling in on his handsome features, and the world speeds back up.

He takes your hand without question, and for all of three seconds you pull him behind, careful even in your rush to help him down the stairs. But his head suddenly jerks up as he yanks you to an abrupt stop. A large boom echoes above you, followed by a large ball of fire, and suddenly he's the one dragging you behind. 

You hear his cane clatter to the ground, the sound somehow sharp even amongst the chaos around and above you, but all thought of it disappears as you run up the block that is suddenly devoid of other people. 

Before, you might have questioned the way he moves, expertly dodging small bits of debris that are falling from the sky, yanking you this way and that so that nothing hits your head or his, twists and turns no blind man should be able to navigate. But for now you don't honestly care how he's doing what he's doing, you only care about the fact that he's a lifeline in the fire and dust and ash falling around you, and it's a lifeline you're unwilling to let go of.

It feels like hours, but it's only twenty seconds before you’re passing him and ripping open the glass door of the bookstore. There's not a single ounce of hesitation as he wrenches the door handle from your hands and shoves you inside first, his large form pressed against your back as if to somehow block you from the war going on outside. The door is yanked shut violently behind him as he forces you forward, hard enough to rattle the windows of the small shop.

With a loud gasp of breath, you let go of his hand to brace yourself against the wall, vision temporarily whiting out as adrenaline continues to wreak havoc through your veins, each pump of your heart violent and searing in its pursuit to push blood throughout your body. It takes several loud gasping breaths to feel like you can breathe again, to feel like your body has some control over its basic functions, air struggling to sift in and out of your lungs. The panic doesn’t stop, not completely, but the thought of not being alone is a vaguely soothing thought, as if having someone with you made the prospect of the world ending easier to handle.  

Shakily, you lift your head up, noticing for the first time that the bookstore is somehow empty besides you and the man whose hand you had gripped so tightly in yours that you'd be shocked if he didn’t wear bruises in the shape of your fingertips when all is said and done. Perhaps whoever had been in here had thought of somewhere better to run off to, and you'd be very interested in knowing what better might look like, but for now you're not inclined to leave, not when you've managed to at least put a roof over your head as things explode and rattle the streets and buildings around you. 

The lights are either turned off or the power is out, likely the latter, and all that you can see are things that are in the path of the light coming in from the windows. The man standing next to you is cast half in shadows, having stepped further into the shop, and his chest is heaving as rapidly and harshly as yours is. His hands twitch at his sides, knuckles white.

The navy suit he's wearing is absolutely covered in dust, no doubt from weaving his way through a cloud of debris that had fallen overhead as the pair of you bolted for the bookstore. Black glasses are perched on a face that did not appear to have come away completely unscathed either, a small scratch bleeding at his hairline, dark red a vivid contrast to skin that is still too pale. He’d held an arm over your head while you ran, you remember now, this random man protecting you with all that he could manage to in such a terrifying moment, with clearly little regard to his own well-being if it meant he could help someone else. 

You aren’t sure what to do with that, other than be in slight awe that the man who had seemed to vulnerable on that apartment stoop, head whipping around sightlessly and trying to figure out why people were running frantically this way and that, had been the one to protect you during those twenty seconds as you quite literally ran for your lives. 

"What's happening out there?" The man doesn't necessarily sound panicked as his voice rips you out of your head, but it doesn't mean he's calm by any means. You right yourself, pulling away from the wall you'd been leaning on, turning your body to face him more directly and taking in a form that is wired with tension. "I can't…what the fuck?"

The laugh you let out is high pitched and borderline hysterical, the sound piercing as it spears its way into the air. "I don't know. I don't know, man."

"You didn't see anything?"

You run a shaky hand through your hair, noticing suddenly that your fingers were nicked, no doubt a result of the small chunks of wood and concrete that fell from the sky and crash landed on to the streets of New York, but not before tearing your skin in its descent. "Iron Man, I saw Iron Man. He was, uh…he was flying around."

He shakes his head in bewilderment. "That's pretty typical though, I thought."

"Right!" Your voice is almost shrill. "There was this–this huge flash of light and all of the sudden there was a hole in the sky and things were just flying out of it. I've–I’ve never seen anything like it. I happened to glance up and Iron Man was whipping through the air, looking ready to fight those things and I just–"

"Things? Like aliens?”

"Exactly like aliens," you respond, hands starting to shake again, fingers trembling even as you clenched them into a loose fist. "I couldn't see them from so far away, but these things definitely weren't human."

The man gulps loudly, hands lifting from his sides to grasp his hips, and you watch as he starts pacing. He's tense, his body lean and looking ready to jump at any given second, and if you didn't know any better, you'd think he was prowling the book store like an animal locked in a cage, all senses in tune with the horror rampaging through New York. 

The man had appeared to be blind when you first saw him, but the way he moves confidently throughout the small space, no cane to help him avoid the book shelves and display cases in his way, is…not the most shocking thing you've seen today. You don't know this man. You don't know how much he can actually see or not see, don't know if he's completely blind or if he has some small level of sight, so you push it aside. 

"What do you think we should do?" You ask, trying to calm the tone in your voice, telling yourself you're safe for now at least. You’re not exactly successful, not with the sounds of the fight outside still ringing throughout the shop and even louder in your ears, flinching with each new boom that shakes the building. "I…I don't know what to do from here."

"I'm thinking," he grits out, the sound coming from behind clenched teeth. You don't take the tone personally. He’s not showing it, but you doubt he’s not every inch as afraid as you are. How could he not be? What's happening is seriously unprecedented and seriously fucked up. "When you saw Iron Man, where was he? Where did it look like he was headed?"

You think back on it, forcing your mind to recall the details, though you struggle for a moment as the details themselves are extremely hazy, recalling the way you had glanced up at the sky in terror while you clung to the lamp post. You’d only seen him for a split second, but your attempt to put a few mismatched pieces together manages to be somewhat successful. 

"It looked like he wasn't too far from his tower."

"And is that general direction where the hole in the sky was?"

"Yeah, I think so," you reply with another frown. "Looks like it was right over it."

"And we're on 46th, right?"

You can’t help the way your anxiety peaks at the question, clawing viciously at your throat, thinking of the exact spot you’d been standing when the sky split itself open and let loose a sea of beings intent on destroying the city, forever changing the way you’d view the world. You find a way to answer anyway, though your voice is raspy and halting in its cadence. "46th and 8th, I think. I…I was running so fast, I didn't get a good look. I'm sorry."

The man finally stops pacing and angles his body towards yours, and you notice the frown that's on his face as he immediately begins to shake his head. 

"No," he says, hands still on his hips as a loud sigh escapes him, head tilting down for a quick second. His shoulders deflate, and you watch as a brief flash of what can only be fear rushes through him. "Don't …don't be sorry. I know I was on 46th when you found me. We can work with that."

"Work with–"

He cuts you off,  though not unkindly, mostly just urgent to work through whatever puzzle he’s trying to solve. "Stark Tower is by Grand Central, right? So that's, what? 42nd street? And on the other side of midtown, but not by much."

"That sounds right, yeah," you say with a nod of your head, knowing he can't see it but doing it out of habit anyway. 

"So we're about 4 blocks west, 4 blocks north from the source." He resumes pacing as you watch from your place over by the wall. You can’t help but sag into the solid structure behind you, desperate for something that seems stable in the chaos. Even still, you’re nervous that the wall is offering a false sense of security, nervous that at any moment the building could collapse as increasingly loud noises rain throughout the city. 

He runs a hand down his face, probably unaware that he's smeared just a tiny bit of the blood on his cheek, most likely from a small cut on his palm. Or perhaps he does know and has chosen to not care about something so trivial as his face being dirty. 

"So I think there are really only two options."

Your eyes wander over his form, somehow already aware that you're not going to like what he has to suggest. Sighing, you lean further back against the wall. "And what are they? What are the options?"

"Leave and take our chances out there, maybe try to find somewhere safer, or stay where we at least have some sort of shelter. My natural instinct is to get as far north from here, but it sounds like outside is a mess, and I don't want to necessarily run the risk of being outside and–"

You knew he was going to say something you didn't want to hear.

Unable to listen or focus on the rest of what he's saying, your heart immediately and without warning begins to pound relentlessly in your ears. The thrumming is a raging, dissonant symphony wrecking its way through you, and your lungs seem to sync up with the sound, rapidly expanding and deflating in time with it, but still somehow unable to push air in and out. 

The man is two feet in front of you within an instant, posture betraying his alarm as he listens to you struggle to take a deep breath.

"Woah, hey, calm down," he says, and his hands are on your shoulders before the first syllable leaves his mouth. His lips are tilted in a heavy frown, the look as concerned as it is nervous, and it doesn't help the sudden and rampant anxiety wind down or release you from its bruising hold. "It's fine, it's fine."

"It's not fine," you manage to shriek even as you gasp for breath. "Fuck, I can't…I don't–"

"Deep breath," the man encourages, and you send him a glare, because obviously that's easier said than done. "You're having a panic attack."

"No shit," you wheeze, hands frantically scrambling against the wall behind you for something to hold on to. Nothing is there to grasp, so you blindly reach out in front of you instead. When your fingers finally make contact with something, smooth fabric an extreme juxtaposition to the unevenness of your heart and lungs, you hold on to it for dear life and try to tug it in closer. The man in front of you lets out a strangled noise as something causes him to step forward and further into your space, but he recovers quickly.

"Inhale with me," the man instructs you, moving a hand from your shoulder to just above your breast, and you're too out of it to fight off the sense of borderline indignation at the thought of someone you don't know touching you like that. "In for 5 counts, then out for 8."

You've barely begun trying to match your breathing to his when the words tear themselves from your mouth, the harried declaration of someone absolutely terrified for their life. "I'm not leaving here. Don't make me leave here."

“We might not have a choice tho–”

“I don’t care!”

He pauses, though his hands remain on your shoulder and chest, his face directly in front of yours and streaked with a small amount of blood and dirt, a sharp reminder of a normal day turning to shit. "Okay. Okay, we'll stay."

"And you–"

"I said we'll stay," he says, voice rising above the sound of your gasping breaths, and the words are shockingly gentle for a situation that houses no gentleness of its own. "I'm not leaving you."

"You don't even know me," you all but whine, voice sounding small and insignificant even to your ears. "Why would you–"

"I know you came and tried to help me when everyone else was running by," he tells you, and you'll never be able to describe the way your entire being suddenly linked itself to him in that second, two strangers caught up in a horrifying situation with no choice but to trust and lean on each other as chaos continues to grow outside. "I'll stay with you."

The sentence finally seems to do the trick, and while your breathing still takes a few moments to slow, your chest stops heaving so rapidly. The panic is still there, it's hand still wrapped around your throat, but no longer squeezing. 

When it becomes clear that you've settled down a bit, the man takes a step back, his hands removing themselves from your form, and you quickly realize the thing you had grabbed and held on to for dear life had been his suit jacket. The fabric falls from your fingers as he moves away.

His body near yours had offered a small amount of warmth, though you had been too panicked to recognize it at first, and its sudden removal leaves you feeling chilled. It's late spring, but unlike ten minutes ago, the air around you now feels like it's freezing you from the outside and moving inward quickly. It's the shock, you think, that's slowly leeching the remaining warmth from your system.

The man in front of you doesn't resume pacing, which you had half expected him to do, but instead stays three feet away from you, and you're struck with how he seems to have every ounce of his focus aimed towards you. He can't see you, if his glasses and long-forgotten cane were anything to go by, but it doesn't stop you from feeling like you've never been more exposed in your life.

Having a panic attack in front of someone, no matter the circumstance or reasoning behind it, leaves you feeling a shredded nerve, frayed ends hanging from open skin and on display for everyone to see.

"What's your name?" The question that leaves his mouth is quiet, but despite the roar outside the bookstore, you hear every syllable that falls from his lips. His face is a mixture of light and dark, sunshine filtering in through the windows and pressed against the shadows of the dark, empty bookstore

Just as quietly, echoing the low level of sound he had used for his inquiry, you give it to him, and you watch with something akin to fascination as he mouths it almost silently back to you. You're struck by the fact that you don't think it's ever sounded so…lovely before. 

New York City is in the middle of a goddamn alien invasion, superheroes flying around hundreds of feet above the ground and things exploding left and right, but here you are, completely enraptured by the stranger in front of you who has done nothing more than murmur your name. 

Clearing your throat, ruthlessly attempting to push all thoughts aside that aren't necessarily helpful to the current situation, you open your mouth to ask the same question.

"And you? What's your name?"

"Matthew," he tells you in response, voice sliding over you with a sense of calm you haven't felt since the sky ripped itself apart thousands of feet above you. "My name is Matthew."

#daredevil #matt murdock #human disaster matt murdock #marvel #matt murdock x fem reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock fanfiction #daredevil x fem reader #daredevil x you #daredevil fanfiction #the avengers

[soft-for-them]

Green first aid kit - Billy Hargrove x plus size reader

Summary: Back at school you find Billy worse for wear.

Trigger warning: This part does mention Billy's abuse and him having an injury from a fight, the fight isn't described or shown though.

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated and help more people read my works.

Part one - Part two - Part three

Come Monday morning Billy Hargrove wasn’t at first period History sitting near you passing notes, neither was he hanging around before class waiting for you with a big grin, nor was he slipping in after the teacher had left so he can talk to you, he was nowhere to be found at all.

Deep down you wished for him to be hiding near your locker in between the small nook where a fire extinguisher and fire alarm sits, him dressed in his denim jacket, his hair fluffy and curled. He would come up with a reason why he wasn’t there, something along the lines of hating your history teacher with all his heart or sleeping in late and missing most of the lesson. But no, when you rushed over to your locker he wasn’t there, he wasn’t anywhere.

He wasn’t in for the whole day, you knew for sure for you overheard a cheerleader bitching about it like she was entitled to flirt with Billy, like he was expected to come to school every day to flirt with only her.

To think you wore a nice peach sun dress to school just so maybe he’d see you and call you princess again.

So the next day you’re uncharacteristically angsty, every second your eyes flicking to the clock above the chalk board then to the nearest door wondering if he’d walk in all smirks and no apologies. Normally you love second period English Literature but you're too fidgety to listen in to your teacher talk about Shakespeare and sonnets, the Tuesday morning classes dragging on too long.

You are leaned into the small desks more than normal, the wood of the table pressing into your stomach more, your mind stuck on Billy fucking Hargrove’s face and not on the bold writing on the board that states you have homework due in next week.

Truly you would be lying to yourself if you said last night you didn’t have a dream of Billy, that the dream felt so real that you worried somehow it was and that something terrible had happened whilst you were sleeping. It’s stupid and frankly untrue having such a vivid dream about waking up at the bottom of a swimming pool only to be saved by Billy, the sky a dark purple, the grass coloured like burnt ash and Billy looking like the living dead could never be true.

Well you hope it never does.

If you were one of those zodiac sign, gem stone collector, ‘what time where you born?’ women then maybe you could deduce a meaning from the dream but really you’re too tired and too on edge to think up one.

Maybe you’ll ask a stoner friend about the dream’s meaning, minus mentioning Billy, then maybe you can get some answers about it.

Lunch time comes along and you feel too sick to eat any cafeteria food, so with a brief ‘goodbye’ to your small group of friends paired with a weak excuse to ditch gossip time you hurry out the double doors of the cafeteria, down the many hallways and out the nearest exit only your purse in your pockets.

Technically it’s still summer but the impending autumn winds are slowly coming in, a warm gust of air jostling your baggy jeans, bits of white thread from the rips at your knees and on the inside of your thigh blowing upwards, the sleeves to your t-shirt whipping around your chubby upper arms. Really your outfit today is the bare minimum, you’re trying to look like you’re not having a bad day, a stark opposite to yesterday’s dressed up outfit. The thigh hole in your ancient jeans are from years chub rub and the holes in the knees from before you hit puberty, younger you having to buy bigger sized jeans from the adult section thus tripping over the bottoms of them every five minutes for you were a middle schooler who hadn’t had a growth spurt yet.

The joys of being plus size am I right…

For a moment you wonder if you can sneak out and find the nearest shop to get a snack, you’re used to walking long walks in short amount of time, most days you do that because you don’t own a car. You could really go for some overly sugary candy from a gas station or a pre-packaged baguette (which you’d only eat half of, the rest of it getting crammed into your locker for later on), anything other than the grey school lunch burgers with watery ketchup or stale vending machine crisps that coast too much.

Like always there’s a decision to be made; walk to the nearest shop most certainly being late for maths after lunch or just take a breather outside on an empty stomach, not being late for the next class.

Whilst some would call you a goody two shoes for always being in all your classes, the overwhelming feeling of dread, that feeling of hunger mixed with the sickness that comes with not wanting to walk back into the school building until you feel better takes over you. Everyone gets it one way or another, the people who are too worried about attendance tend to stay in the classrooms until they explode and break down while others frequently skive off school opting to smoking weed and kiss girls to chill out. You’re of sound mind and sound idea that calming down before heading back inside is the best course of action, maybe even touching some grass will get you mind off Billy Hargrove and maybe quell the gargling nervousness in your stomach.

But then again you need to eat, that and you fucking hate maths.

So it’s decided that you’re going to the shops, the walk and food will make you feel better in no time!

Scuffed shoes pick up gravel as you walk across to the car park, a hand digging into a pocket to make sure your purse is securely in place. You’re in no rush however you do dodge around the many parked cars in a certain way to make sure no teachers see you sneaking away, not that they’d really care all that much but there’s always that one teacher who likes to snitch on students.

You walk pass familiar cars of classmates, narrowly avoiding eye contact with a band kid you know inside his car trying to make moves on his girlfriend. You clamber up and onto the grass nearing an exit to the school, hands in your pockets and eyes looking out for moving cars.

The sun shines on the exit like a place maker in a video game, so you speed up your steps to get out as fast as you can not wanting to explain to any faculty why you’re sneaking out but then you see it.

Parked underneath some over grown trees, shielded by chunky pickup trucks and station wagons borrowed from parents is a car so familiar that it makes you stop mid step. The grey 79 Camaro sits dormant and shaded, from where you stand you can see the driver’s sun visor flipped down and the car is completely turned off, the engine not revving or spluttering.

Now the right thing to do is just to carry on your walk not going over there to see if it’s actually Billy’s 79 Camaro and not somehow another Camaro some jock copying Billy has bought to seem cool but you’ve been worrying about the ‘king’ of the school for the last two days so you shift your step and head over to the low down car.

*Tap* *Tap* Tap*

You lean over somewhat, the bumper of the car pressing into your legs as you tap the wind shield of the car, a very asleep Billy Hargrove in the front seat. His denim jacket covers his face from beams of sunlight that cut through the trees through the front window, his hands balanced on his toned stomached, fingers knitted together.

You shimmy around to the driver’s side squishing in between his Camaro and the truck next to it tapping on the side window.

“Billy.” you call quietly not wanting to blow your cover to anyone else sitting in their car. You look around before banging the window some more, your knuckles hurting just a bit as you knock on the thick glass.

“Billy!” whisper shouting isn’t doing it, “BILLY!”

Your voice turns stern but almost needy, the fear in your head that someone might catch you and drag you away ever present as you bend down slightly so you’re at eye level with the sleeping man. Your body presses against the other car, your face turning sour as you stop knocking.

Stepping out from the cars, still close but no longer trying to wake up Billy, you debate whether or not you should leave a note or something like him.

You frown at the idea, firstly because you only have a purse on you but also because what would you write to him if you did have a piece of paper and a pen?

“Hey, you missed history – (y/n).” no, he never promised that he would be there, you just assumed he would be.

“Sleepy head see you at the pool. – (y/n).” no, no, no. You don’t want to seem weird, you don’t want him to think that you’re planning on going back to the pool on the weekend just for him. Anyway you have work this weekend so it’s not like you could go either way.

Maybe you could just leave you home phone…. Fucking hell no, that’s the worst idea you’ve had yet.

Really when you saw Billy’s car you didn’t go other there to flirt, really you’re just worried. Whilst your interactions with the Cali man have been all positive as of late you’ve heard things, you’ve seen the things his so called ‘friends’ do, you’ve seen his dad around town and you keep clear of him.

The family members you live with have told you about Neil Hargrove and well you do not like the sound of him one bit.

You hover around still wondering what to do before spinning around and walking away from the car, your plan to get food foiled, the frown on your face now permanent for you know you’ve wasted enough time banging on the car window that you can’t go to the shop without missing maths.

“Fuck!” you mutter, your eyes going back to the Camaro.

Now sat up, jacket off his face, his eye wide and staring right back at you, Billy Hargrove looks out of place, no thoughts in his head, not like the normal smirking flirt you’ve come to know. You raise a hand to give him a little wave which snaps him out of his momentary mind blank. He lifts a hand up back which prompts you to walk back over.

“Roll the widow down.” you say with a little hand gesture once you get to the car.

He does so.

There staring up at you with the eyes of a scared child, his baby blues so watery and wide that they look like the sad sea, his left eyelid a deep purple bruise.

His left eye must have been swollen shut at one point for his eyelid is still a bit droopy.

“Billy…”

You don’t intend your voice to be so wobbly when you say his name, your own (e/c) eyes watering up but your voice wavers and your eyes fill with salty water.

“I’m fine princess.” he barely gets out, “Just lost a fight Sunday night, that’s all.”

Fuck. You don’t want him calling you princess when he’s so sad. You selfishly want him calling you princess when his eyes are filled with mischief or even lust, not when he’s about to burst into tears.

He must think you’re pitying him for he looks away his forehead hitting the top of the steering wheel.

“Billy-“ his eyes flicker to yours, his curly blonde hair half covering the side of his face, “- I was going to walk to the shops but-“

You try to think of how to say your next words without sounding like you’re demanding a free lift from the obviously dejected man in front of you.

“-Do you want to come with me? I, well, we can share some food.”

He nods his head ‘yes’.

You don’t have a lot of money, that is clear, but today you have enough loose coins and crunched up dollar notes to pay for the things you need.

You enter the small out the way shop, the bell above the door stuck and not ringing. The shop used to be a petrol station before the chain company that owned it went bankrupt, now it’s just a shop with the worst painted parking lines you’ve ever seen.

The man behind the till tilts his head up from his newspaper, his puffy eyes staring you down as you shuffle past a rack of crisps into an aisle filled with cupboard food. The metal shelves that tower above you are packed with every kind of dry food you’d ever need. Your eyes flicker from boxed yellow pastas to dusty lidded jars of red unnamed sauces. You move along, wallet tightly in your hands as you walk down the aisle to the very back of the shop where the wall to ceiling freezers and fridges sit. For a moment you look in the freezer a frozen mac n’ cheese catching your eyes.

Whilst the family you live with do cook the odd meal for you most of the time they’re out the house so you have to cook for yourself and well, the fridge-freezer at home is very much empty at the moment. There is probably some stuff in the cupboards but normally you don’t bother with that food for the last time you ate some cupboard food (some half stale frosted flakes) you were yelled at.

It would be nice to have a warm meal tonight, even if it’s a microwave meal, but you have to go back to school and having a frozen ready meal in your bag does not sound like a good idea.  You cringe at the thought of the flimsy plastic getting pierced by a rouge pencil and spilling throughout your bag.

Ew, no thank you!

Instead you walk over to the fridges filled with soft drinks.

Up close you can tell the fridges aren’t actually on, the little orange filament lights off and the drinks bone dry. It doesn’t bother you that much, you’re only planning on getting some drinks and not a whole meal of probably gone off food. Anyway, from working at shop yourself you’ve seen much worse things, you just glad that there isn’t any fuzzy mould on the bottle caps.

Quickly you open the sliding door and take out a boxed grape juice and a bottled flavoured water, the inked words ‘summer fruits’ smudged. You would love to have a milkshake right about now but you stay away from the milks on the bottom shelf, you face scrunching up in disgust.

You walk around the shop some more, not caring for any of the junk being sold. You do however find yourself at the sweets section. The little shelf is filled to the brim with colourful candy and plastic junk toys, everything from chocolate bars to lollypops shaped like diamond rings.

A small packet of hard boiled sweets catches your eyes, the red and white striped plastic bag reminiscent of the paper bags at fun fairs or cinema pick n’ mixes, the little clear window showing individually wrapped sweets in every colour known to man.

A yellowed price sticker sloppily placed over the logo says it’s only a dollar fifty so you pick the bag up to buy. You shove the bag between your fingers and the drinks, you other hand free with your wallet lodged between your arm and chest.

Slowly but surely, your eyes flickering all around to see if you’ve missed anything you might want as you arrive to the front counter.

The front counter is high up, a thick plastic pane with hand prints and unknown splashes of stuff shielding the man and the shelf filled with cigarettes from grabby hands and angry eyes of disgruntled customers. There’s a big enough a hole in the plastic that the man, a forty something year old with red irritated eyes and a bold spot a monk would be jealous of, can look at you with judging eyes whilst scanning your items.

“You better not want any alcohol Miss.” says the man. Despite his less than stellar looks he sounds more sad and fed up than judgemental or creepy, he probably get too many teenagers with fake ID’s coming in along with out of towners with visible guns on their hip.

“No alcohol just these-“ you say with an awkward smile, “-oh, but um is that for sale?”

Your eyes catch onto a flash of green hung sat snug in between a giant jug of vodka and a line of off brand cold remedies.

It’s a small first aid kit.

You point to it hoping that your finger isn’t pointing to the vodka.

“The first aid kit, yeah, it is.”

“How much?”

The man says the price making you visibly frown. The price isn’t much considering it’s a first aid kit but you’re not sure you have the right amount for it.

“I’ll take it.” you say as you place your items down and begin taking out handfuls of coins.

You know you are a dollar short as you recount your crumpled dollar bills. You look up to see that the man has already bagged your stuff including the first aid kit.

“I might have to put something back.” you sheepishly say.

“Nah, have it.” He passes you the bag, “If you’re needing a first aid kit then you’re needing it, you know? I don’t want anyone bleeding out because you were a dollar short and didn’t have it.”

“Thank you.” you’re really at a loss for words but you get you thanks out.

“I don’t own this place anyway, I only work here.” he says with the smirk of a man who often nicks a pack of smokes off the back shelf without the shop owner knowing.

You talk some more before walking out the shop, the pack of sweets already in hand, your fingers digging into the bag to find a sweet that isn’t strawberry flavoured. As soon as you pull out a bright green sweet you look up to see a pair of red rimmed steely blue eyes staring right at you.

Billy, eyes wide like a deer in the middle of a road watches intently as you walk over to his 79 Camaro (which is parked somewhat awkwardly in the wobbly lines of the parking space.) The car is parked close to the shop, right at the front of it in fact and ever since you were in the shop his gaze has been locked on the front door for the shop windows are covered in posters and adverts blocking any view of you inside he could have had.

For ten minutes Billy has been frozen still waiting for you to reappear so he can finally let out a long breath. He looks like he hasn’t blinked in the short time you were inside, his baby blues watery, the welling of tears threatening to spill once more.

“Want one?” you ask as you slide into the passenger seat, the bag of sweets shoved on the centre console closer to Billy.

Billy does not say anything, he just breathes like he just run a mile his chest heaving as large amounts of air enter his lungs.

“Billy?” you ponder, your voice small and quiet, “Billy.”

His eyes snap onto yours. For a moment you see something, a glimmer of fear maybe, in his eyes before his face droops.

“Hey, hey, hey-“ you begin, your body leaning over the centre console, hands grasping onto his arms as lightly as you can, “- you’re ok, I’m not going to hurt you.”

He looks like a wounded animal.

“Billy-“ you go to say something, something that probably wouldn’t help in the long run but something so he can hear you over his very present running mind.

Before you can though his right hand shoots up and grabs your forearm, his digits digging into your soft skin.

He doesn’t know if he wants your hands off him or if he’s forcing you not to move. Billy thinks for a long time his fingers flexing and relaxing but not letting go of your arm before said hand grabs at your own hand, his longer thicker fingers intertwining with yours in a death grip.

With you other hand, which you quickly take off his arm, you rifle through your plastic bag and pull out the two drinks along with the little first aid box.

“Here, take ‘um.” With your fingers aching from clutching three things at once Billy eventually takes the drinks and the first aid kit, his eye focusing on the first aid kit especially, “I have no clue what’s in the kit but I thought you could keep it in the car if you got in another fight…”

“…How do you know it was a fight?”

“Bruises that big don’t come from bumping into corners or falling down stairs.” you should know, you’ve bumped into many table corners and tripped down the stairs too many times to count and you’ve never gotten an injury that big and angry.

The car goes silent for a while the only sounds of you trying to quietly crunch the sweets and Billy unzipping the first aid kit to look inside it. There’s the normal inside; plasters that are an odd pale peach colour, gauze and safety pins, a couple individually wrapped antiseptic wipes, old yellowing instructions printed on thin paper and a small gel compress to help with swelling and aches.

“Thank you.” Billy whispers, his hands now clutching at the green first aid kit rather than your hand.

His eyes are trained down on the cross adoring the kit, the two drinks on his lap long forgotten.

“I-I know that home life ain’t that good-“ you start, not knowing exactly where you’re going with the conversation, “- but I’m here for you.“

“You don’t know what’s going on princess, you can’t help.” Billy says now looking at you.

“But I know about your dad, that’s how you got that isn’t it?” you vaguely point to his bruised eyes.

His eyes flicker away from yours giving you the answer you didn’t want but already knew.

“I don’t know much Billy-“ you duck down to catch his eyes, a small smile forming on your pretty face, “- but I do know that I wouldn’t piss on him if he was on fire because men like him wouldn’t even say thank after saving them, they’d just carry on like normal hurting and breaking everything in their way.”

Billy would have smirked at your words but his eyes have gone too wide in shock.

“Why don’t we skip maths hey?” you ask grabbing his hand in a warm but tight grip.

“Sure princess.” He finally replies with a small smile.

.

.

.

A/N: If you want a part four please send in an ask rather than commenting for another part, this is just because asks are an easier way for me to track requests. Comments are still welcomed and requests are open!

#not proof read #billy hargrove x plus size reader #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove #stranger things x reader #stranger things x plus size reader #stranger things #plus size reader #x plus size reader

[pen-and-umbra]

SE appears to be intent on slightly expanding Jenova lore, which was not present in previous installments. It will be interesting to see how this plays out in the remake, particularly in the Nibelheim flashback. 

The remake portrays Jenova as a master of illusions, citing her abilities to create visions during the Jenova Dreamweaver battle. The enemy's description posits the entity induces hallucinations, while FF7R Ultimania suggests that it messes with the minds of those who come into close proximity to it. Sephiroth elaborates on this in the first Rebirth trailer:

They say she's a monster. That she can peer inside you into the very depths of your soul. That she can become those you hate, those you fear, those you love.

The implication is clear: Jenova somehow probes an individual's mind, scans memories, and chooses an appropriate illusion to weave. Given that this predatory behavior was used on the Cetra, I assume that being injected by Jenova cells is not a prerequisite in and of itself, but it may serve as an amplifier, making an individual more susceptible to mind-reading and later indoctrination.

In light of this and the released Ever Crisis information, does this imply that Sephiroth experienced the same pattern when he came into contact with the Jenova vault in Nibelheim? With all the turmoil of looking for his mother/origins brought to the surface by Genesis' intervention, his mind may have presented an easy target to hijack. Could Jenova have created the illusion of Lucrecia in a tube — „become…those you love“? Sephiroth's onset of insanity aside, a woven illusion and mind manipulation could explain a seemingly absurd course of action, such as cutting off your supposed beloved mother's head and dragging it with you: he could have been seeing something else that a player — via Zack or Cloud POV — could not. Something woven by Jenova's hallucinogenic effects. Furthermore, his body language during the breakdown is not too dissimilar to that of Cloud in the Remake, when the latter experiences hallucinations. Gripping head, shaking, nearly doubling over, etc.

If Jenova remained in a vegetative state — bodily faculties disabled but brain/mind function intact, in whatever measure it applies to the entity — then coming into contact with a perfect live host, essentially a hybrid, such as Sephiroth, could have triggered a sort of awakening (in which case, a dormant state is a better description). Its next logical step would be to break free from confinement. Given Jenova cells' longevity and corruption abilities, it stands to reason that the entity could regenerate/reassemble its body if the "brain" remained intact. From that perspective, it makes sense that the only thing that truly needed escaping was her head. And sure enough, the deed was carried out.

If SE chooses to emphasize Jenova's importance as this lurking eldritch horror in Rebirth, the scenes provided by Ever Crisis could add a new and interesting angle to Nibelheim events. If her meddling with Sephiroth's head is brought into light, the Nibelheim slaughter may be mixed with Rhadoran or Wutai war scenes, with Sephiroth hallucinating himself back on the war-torn battlefield among enemies and "traitors". Could be a nice touch to show his mind slipping completely. In fact, it could fit in with the glitched fire sequence from Sephiroth's story announcement teaser, where his adult and teen selves intermixed and overlapped each other.

#sephiroth #ffvii ever crisis #ffvii rebirth #ffvii remake #ff7 rebirth #ff7 remake #ff7 ever crisis #jenova #ffvii@luv fandoms

[yelena-bellova]

The First You - Joel Miller x F!Reader

Plot: Soldiers don’t start out scarred, there was softness once where bitterness now lives.

Word Count: 753

Warnings: one curse word, too angsty to be fluff, lil’ spoon Joel

A/N: Had zero intention for writing anything TLOU related, seeing as I have zero knowledge of it…but fucking Joel Miller’s living in my brain so I figured I’d put it to good use. Wrote this in about 30 minutes, might delete this in the morning depending on how I feel.

————————

The ache in my bones belonged to someone older.

I considered the pointless thought as I turned my key in the door, rubbing my shoulder with my free hand. Double shifts were going to permanently alter my posture. But the longer I worked, the less time I had to think about how everything around me had gone to complete and utter shit.

The smell of whiskey permeated my senses as soon as I entered. A sign that things had been particularly bad today. Usually he’d wait for me to being drowning our memories. I swiped my finger across the kitchen table, picking up a stray morsel of a pill. Something had triggered this.

I almost didn’t want to look across to the bed, knowing what I’d see. In a world where everyone was at their peak point of suffering, he somehow made mine worse. The knots in my stomach, the pain in my chest, the fear lighting up every one of my nerves. Was love supposed to feel like this? Or had the Cordyceps infected that too?

Working up the strength, I turned around and saw Joel, in a dead sleep that couldn’t be achieved without chemical aide. I took calculated steps, avoiding the floorboards I knew creaked. Getting a closer look, I waited for the worry wrinkles in his forehead to disappear. People were supposed to find peace when they slept. Or maybe they were twenty years ago. Joel looked as hardened as he was when he was conscious.

Twenty years. Joel didn’t speak of his life straightforwardly. It happened more in passing and involuntarily. His knowledge of construction came out when we’d slip in and out through the skeleton of a building. His love of music peeked its head out when a signal would come through the radio. His foot would let out a single tap. Never more. And I’d figured out what food he’d liked by which meals he ate the quickest. Decoding him was both a hobby and a religion.

I sat down on the bed, biting back a groan as my muscles screamed. Working extra was good in the moment, horrible in the long run. I felt Joel stir behind me and as quick as I could, which wasn’t very fast at all, I gently rolled him onto his side. He was so far gone, he didn’t fight at all. The pills were in full effect.

I wrapped an arm around him, taking in the warmth of his body. His frame was solid, developed from years of manual labor and later, brutal confrontations. His clothes smelled of sweat and smoke, telling where he’d worked in the afternoon. I wiggled up on the bed and pressed my nose to the back of his neck, searching out any part that just smelled like him. As soon as our skin touched, I felt Joel shift his arm to sleepily grab my hand. That was the catalyst to let my thoughts wander all the places I stayed away from…

Had he slept in on Saturday mornings? Did he watch football? Were the Cowboys his team? Had he ever wanted to see the world, or was Austin enough for him? What games did he and Tommy play as kids? What was his favorite color? Had he celebrated his birthday, or gruffly brushed it off? What kind of guy was he in high school?

What kind of father had he been? Had he played Barbies? Attended tea parties? Painted a bedroom pink? Made pancakes into shapes? Watched weekend cartoons? Eyed any boy that looked his daughter’s way?

What kind of partner had he been? Was he romantic? Spontaneous? Did he do the whole candlelit dinner thing or had he liked cooking at home? Had his kisses once been soft and tender? Had he taken his time instead of urgent because how much time could truly be left? Did he like to go dancing or did he just randomly grab his girl’s waist and sway in the kitchen? Did his brown eyes light up when his love entered the room? Had they ever been filled with anything other than pain deep enough to have put down permanent roots in his heart?

Who was the man I could have had?

It didn’t matter, I told myself as a tear fell, it really didn’t. I’d have taken Joel any way I could have him. His strength, his resilience, his heart…I wanted it all. But that didn’t stop my heart from knowing he deserved better. We deserved better.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller imagine

[yanderes-galore]

Request a scenario where romantic yandere master chief somehow ends up in our world and finally meets the reader.

I can try! This is a continuation of the fic with the same name. I hope I didn't make it too short since I was struggling how to make it... realistic? (I have to have a certain amount of realism in my fics even if I'm bending rules, lol.)

Bigger Picture

Yandere! Self-Aware! Master Chief Scenario Part 2

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Invasion of privacy, Size difference between John and darling, Dubious companionship/relationship, I tried making it yandere but it may have been butchered, Manipulation, Stalking mention, Tamer compared to my usual stuff.

Halo had been one of your special interests for awhile. Be it for years or only a couple months, you've enjoyed the series. Even to the point of buying the books and playing all the campaigns.

You have fun putting together the lore and looking for collectibles. You like to play with friends despite the toxic online community. It's one of your favorite past times.

Unfortunately, your MCC disc had been acting funny lately. Whenever you tried to play inputs didn't register at times. The screen often glitched and sometimes the game was unplayable. As a result you've been spending less time on the game.

Even if you wanted to play it through yet again... it felt so invigorating to play as a super soldier fighting a space war against all sorts of foes.

To satiate your growing Halo urge you take a book you bought from your shelf and begin to read on your bed. The room is quiet, your xbox softly playing music while you immerse yourself in your story. You smile as you read through to lengthy story...

Then your Xbox begins to glitch.

A groan leaves your lips when you realize the issue may not be your disc. The idea of your hardware failing you worries you and you begin to get up to turn it off. However, you end up stumbling back when a loud popping noise occurs... a blinding light from your TV blinding you.

In response you turn around and bury your face into a pillow. You try to calm your worry as a ringing greets your ears. You have no idea what to do... you freeze and hope something changes enough to allow you to do something.

Then there's silence.

You pause, standing up slowly to turn around. Only to do a double take as something strange graces your vision. Your breathing stops momentarily as you take in your surroundings.

Once your vision clears you see a hulking figure in front of you. They're wearing armor similar to the Halo game you love and adore. In fact... they almost exactly resembled Master Chief himself.

You find yourself unable to move. You're overcome with fear and confusion as the hulking soldier stares down at you. You begin to wonder if the silence will ever end before the soldier looks over to the book you long discarded.

You flinch when he reaches over and picks up the books. You see him read through it, his visor concealing any thoughts or emotions. You don't think you want to draw attention to yourself....

Meanwhile John is just starting to learn more about you, his player. The book you were reading caught his attention. Inside were stories of his own missions and events... even his origins.

It surprises him that you know so much about him... yet he knows so little about you.

John's attention is only torn from the book when he notices you try to slip past him. A tightness in his chest urges him to act, quickly dropping the book and cutting you off. He sees how quickly you squeak before backing off... almost feeling bad.

"Where am I?" A simple question, he knows it's your world but he isn't quite sure where this is.

"Earth? My home? Who even are you!" You cry, John only responding with silence as he looks around the room. It's exactly as he saw it looking like.... His gaze then transitions back to you. He's never really been one for words.

Looking at how small you are compared to him, John can't help the fondness bubbling in him. It's just like all civilians compared to him yet he still feels a strong connection between you. Even though any sort of sexual desire is driven out of him due to the concoction of drugs he was fed when he was young... he still felt an urge to keep you close.

"There's no way you're actually Master Chief. He's a fictional character, that's impossible. You have to be some sort of alien or deity taking the form of something I enjoy to send me a message or something. I have to be rational...." John hears you mumbling to yourself. You're overcome with fearful worry and John wants to help you through it. He doesn't understand what you mean.

"What are you talking about?" He asks, only for you to shoot your head up from your hands.

"Me!? Oh, pardon me if this isn't a rare occurrence! I'm saying you're not supposed to be real! Yet here you are in front of me...." You panic, cautiously reaching out to touch his armor. John takes the chance to reach for your hand, holding it in his gloved one. As a result you freeze... silence overtaking both of you.

"I'm real."

"I'm crazy...."

"No you aren't."

"How...?"

"I'm not sure."

"...."

"Let's talk."

"Do I even have much of a choice?"

It's then the large soldier sits on your bed, nearly flinging you off due to the weight of the armor. You two then begin to discuss your situation and experiences. John is careful not to reveal too much on his desires but does mention that you two are connected somehow.

He can see as you talk you struggle to put things together but begin to accept certain things as fact. The fact he's here right now is shocking enough, at this point you'd accept anything as fact. Including him saying you two are bonded in a way.

Your fear is still deep in you but most of it ebbs away, curiosity and even a sense of respect taking its place. You're essentially meeting your long time hero. A video game character in the flesh.

The feeling is similar for John. He respects you for being his player and showing such interest in him. He's curious about how you know so much about him. In fact, he promises to answer questions you ask about him if he can ask about you.

Soon he plans to erase all fear you have for him.

If anything he'll protect you, not harm you.

----

Hiding a super soldier in your house is a difficult task. Even though you're still trying to get over the fact Master Chief is in your home, you still promised to hide him. If anything maybe he'll find out a way to return to his world.

Meanwhile you did your best to accomadate for him. You let him borrow exercise equipment and keep in shape outside when it was night. You even tried talking to him when you could, although he didn't answer much.

You weren't sure if you should feel safe, lucky, or terrified? It really does feel like the equivalent of hiding an alien from the government. In fact daily life became strange.

It's not like you could just disguise him. He's in literal power armor. You doubt you could even convince him to take it off?

The good thing you guess you could say is John likes to talk to you. He likes hearing about you and your past. If anything he's about as interested in you as you are him.

In fact you began picking up some sort of fondness towards you. He often expresses concern when you leave the house and doesn't appear to like those around you. Plus, you've caught him reaching out to put a gloved hand on your skin or offering to hold you for comfort.

At first it put you off. Any attempt to be closer to you was met by your shifting away, which upset John at times. Although... with time... you accepted it.

In a way he brought you a new sense of comfort. You began to believe the insanity of the situation and decided to make the best of it. You offered him to help him get back, the response you got was silence but you assume he appreciated it?

Not quite.

John didn't quite like the idea of going back to a fake and chaotic world. Even if he was supposed to hide he liked being around you. He liked holding you... he liked feeling like he could protect you.

He belongs in his world, but he can't go back to just watching you. He likes being a genuine part of your life while you gush about your adoration for his missions. It makes him feel... nice.

Even if you found a way to bring him back, he probably wouldn't accept it. He wants you to continue to adore him. Maybe even fall for him like he has you... just him and his player whom he swears to protect.

He'd give up everything if it meant he kept you in his lap. He'd do anything you order if it meant he served you. His old purpose is obsolete now.

Now... John dedicates himself to you.

If you or anyone tried to change that he won't allow it...

He'd sacrifice it all for you... no matter the amount of blood or pain, just so he can stay with his player.

#yandere halo #yandere master chief #yandere john 117

[v3nusxsky]

would you be interested in writing an emily prentiss x fem or gn reader fic? something along the lines of domesticity in the morning (getting kids ready for school, breakfast etc.) or if you’d like, emily and partner visiting the BAU with their newborn child and their other little cuties. i just have this reoccurring dream about this absolute fluff every night 😩🫶

The Dream

*Authors note~ first attempt at some fluff for this stunning lady <3 oc children Matthew and Delilah are mine*

Trigger warning~  fluff? Fem reader

Prompt~ see ask^^^^^

It wasn't uncommon for you to awake in the morning to her side of the bed empty, after all her hours at work were certainly unpredictable. Emily always made sure to leave you a little note somewhere for you to find. A little tradition she started when you moved in. One that you loved very much. Normally you'd be heading into work with her, both of you working at the BAU only your job being desk work only. That being said you were extremely close to Penelope Garcia.

Your alarm rang out through the room as you grumbled shuffling to shut it off, your post pregnancy belly no where near as big as you were pre birth but still taking some adjusting to. You'd given birth two weeks ago, Emily had two weeks home from the FBI to be with you and your little family. Your son Matthew being only four years old really enjoyed his mama being home, you knew the cases were tough on him sometimes and alongside getting a sibling it was only natural you worried. But he adjusted perfectly to his baby sister and those glorious two weeks seemed to flyby. Today would be your first day without Emily, Matthew had school and you were still adjusting to your daughter's schedule, yet you were confident you could manage.

As if on cue Matthew made his way to your room, small little knocks sounded before her peeped his little head round the doorway. "Momma?" He whispered and you couldn't help but admire just how much he looked like your wife. "Hey buddy, wanna come up for a minute?" You offered and he immediately joined you in bed to snuggle, your usual routine. Delilah your newborn wailed out in hunger and you knew your morning snuggles would be over, Matthew was such a good big brother wiling to help with care for Delilah instantly. You did everything for her, she was fed and changed before you placed her in the rocking chair in your living room.

Delilah settled you made Matthew some breakfast and got him into his uniform, how had your baby grown so much? Once he was settled, dressed, teeth brushed, shoes and coat on you put the television on for him and checked on his sister before somehow managing to get yourself ready for the day. What was an even bigger win was you managed to snag a banana for breakfast before needing to leave. Challenge number two would be getting both children in the car and hopefully keeping Delilah asleep.

With both children secured in the car and the house locked up you double checked you had everything you needed. Only when you were sure you left to take Matthew to school. Delilah sat in the carrier on your chest as you walked him into his class and placed a kiss into his raven curls. Ever the sweetheart he placed a sweet kiss on your cheek and his sister before running off to find his friends. So far so good. Your daughter still remained asleep on your chest as you made you way back to the car to put her in her car seat. Your phone dinged as you finished buckling her in, triple checking it was completely safe before coming round to settle in your seat.

    Garcia🧸

Hey love, do you fancy bringing my little god daughter in to the office? It's a slow day and truthfully miss grouchy is  missing you both. Don't tell her I said that! But we would all love to see you. Love you Y/n❤️

You knew you had enough of everything to make the trip and sent off a quick reply informing Garcia to keep your arrival quiet before turning to Coe at your sleeping daughter, "shall we go see mama and the family sweet girl? They all can't wait to meet you." You knew she was a two week old infant so a reply was never coming but for some reason talking to her soothed you as you put the car into drive.

You hadn't seen the team since you left for maternity leave, they wanted to be present after the birth but unfortunately serial killers don't always have the best timing. So you stopped by the usual cafe and picked up the usual routine, some treats for the team, before heading over to the BAU. As you arrived your daughter began to stir so you made sure to soothe all her needs, knowing the team would all want to hold her. Only when she was fed changed and swaddled in her fluffy lavender blanket and wearing her matching little hat did you make your way to find Garcia cradling your daughter and carrying the bag of goodies.

After a quick hug from your friend she was instantly cooing over the sleeping infant that you cradled in your arms. It didn’t take long for the other team members to spot you in the briefing room and come to investigate, happy words and smiles exchanged as each came to get a peak at your daughter. The last person to join you was your wife, you could tell by the way she walked she wasn’t happy, but that all melted away the moment she laid eyes on you and her daughter. “Darling?” She exclaimed coming to hug you from an angle and whispering, “I missed you.” The hug was carful and it allowed Emily to look at the sleeping baby in your arms, a finger tracing over her chubby cheeks.

You handed her over to your wife in order to give out the goodies while the others observed how gentle Emily became. Your daughter waking with the now full room causing Emily to bring her up to her shoulder and stroke her back, talking to her as if there was no one else present, “hey little love bug, I missed you sweet girl you being good for momma? Oh it’s okay lilah these are all your aunts and uncles little one. They all love you so much.” You smiled at the sight and nudged JJ whispering, “I know this is crazy but seeing that makes me want another” causing her to laugh and wonder if you even remembered the pain of birth while Garcia wrapped you in a hug and whispered, “make as many of them as you want Y/n, as long as Emily stays like that and I can love on them.” Here and now watching Emily tend to your daughter, being surrounded by your work colleagues who were practically family, knowing you’d go home to Matthew and your wife, life was perfect.

Word count 1192

#fanfic #anon answered #emily prentiss x fem!reader #emily prentiss #emily prentiss fanfiction #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x y/n #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #anon requested

[lazywriters-blog]

DENIED PROPOSAL

YANDERE PRO-HERO TODOROKI SHOUTO

Summary: What if you reject a pro heroes proposal? And who is also willing to force it.

Warning: May contain triggering content, non-consensual touching, and yandere behavior. Enjoy!

Entering the skyscraper that once belonged to the endeavour agency was a rare experience.

It was only made mandatory for her when her friend insisted that he had something of importance to say. Inviting her to visit him in his busy agency, surprisingly, the building had been empty of any occupants. Rather it was otherworldly and eerily serene. Her footsteps echoed.

Not what she had in mind.

She had consoled herself upon seeing how big the place was, that there would be somebody to assist her if she got lost, but there was no one typing away or receiving distress calls, it was making her anxious.

She carried on regardless, distracting her troubling thoughts with the man himself. Shouto.

She and the youngest son of the todoroki family met online, only astonishing themselves when they came face to face during their final year at middle school, that they knew each other as distant classmates. They bonded more during those last days.

Got to know each other, shared their funny and sad life stories, opened up about their inner struggles, teasing each other, however, it was mostly on her part, shouto wasn't that talkative, she was the one who would go out of her way to get him to freely converse, although she didn't talk much either. Except for when she was around him.

There were bittersweet memories.

After a long moment of locating the elevator, she prepared herself mentally, rehearsing what to say and what not to say, fixing her getup to see if she appeared suitable and proper.

The fresh aroma of roses and the fragrance of expensive cologne greeted her as the elevator doors opened, the place had a warm glow to it with plenty of windows featuring the lanky buildings outside, although she shouldn't be feeling uneasy, her stomach was churning with dread.

Only for it to be weakened when she heard footsteps behind her. Seeing her friend's unique coloured eyes brighten up after sighting her.

"Oh... You came, you could have told me to come to get you, I was starting to get worried." He softly confessed clearing the gap between her. She smiled, reminding herself that she was meeting her friend after a long time. She shouldn't feel uncomfortable for no tangible reason.

"Sorry, you know I am a little slow with grasping things..."

"There's no need to apologise." He muttered, tenderly bringing her hand close and caressing them, she hadn't expected that. Promptly she laughed and dragged her hand back, his touch somehow still lingering on her skin.

"So how have you been?" She gleefully asked, filling in the awkward tension with words.

"I've been good." He replied, his gaze glued to hers undaring to tear them away. She wasn't feeling too good.

"You've grown since the last time I saw you. Guess it's true that boys grow up faster after reaching a certain age." She said fiddling with the strap of her bag to mellow out the sickening feeling in her gut.

He didn't say anything in return, he listened. Then he proceeded to say.

"Let's sit down and talk." She nodded, following him further into the floor.

Silently admiring the scenery whilst shouto simply sauntered to whatever place he wanted her to be. His board back and his double-coloured hairs stole her attention, his hair a little dishevelled, wearing his usual hero costume unlike her, he told her to come up nicely dressed, guessing it was perhaps a get-together with few others.

That doesn't seem to be the case.

Shortly, they both stepped into his office, and he closed the door behind them, the lock clicking in place, she's sure she heard it.

Forcing herself to sit down and calm her nerves, she watched as her friend settled down beside her, something was amiss, and the atmosphere had suddenly gotten tauten. She stared at him.

Wordlessly begging him to finish whatever he had to tell, she pulled her fingers tighter, entertaining cruel notions.

"Will you give me your hand?"

She went stiff. Questioning his intentions. The festering solemnity in his eyes was frightening her. Hesitantly she extended her hand to him, observing the subtle changes in his expression.

"I know it's sudden but, will you marry me?"

Her heart dropped. All she could muster was a, "huh? What...?" Awkwardly wishing to retract her hand back but he tightened his hold.

"I mean it. It's what's best for us both." He sternly whispered. She had to step in.

"I don't think I see you that way, you are like a small brother to me. I don't love you that way." She mumbled. While she was only three months older than him, it gave her the same feeling akin to protecting someone a little less experienced and younger than her.

"I'm sure you'll find someone much better than me." She tried to comfort him, however, she wasn't sure if it helped.

"I'll help you find someone!"

She half-heartedly attempts to pull her hand back, fully aware that the best course of action was either to shift the topic or take her untimely leave. His silence wasn't helping, rather reinforcing more fear in her.

Strongly snatching her hand she gives him a sad smile, wishing it would somehow minimise her denial, walking towards the door with haste, looking back one last time and that was the mistake she had to avoid. He was up on her feet calmly watching her. 

"I'll text you... When I reach home." She forced a grin, turning her back to him, shaking the doorknob when it hit her, he had locked it. Like a mindless idiot, she forgot in that moment of apprehension. She wanted to kill herself.

Would he even be willing to unlock it? She could only try.

"Shouto um... Could you-"

"I don't want to." He instantly replied with a bitter tone, his voice closer than she remembered, dare she say, different. So different.

"Please. I want to go home." She firmly insisted, slightly narrowing her eyes at the male. "Look, whatever I did to mislead you I'm sorry, you were my only friend and I didn't know how friends treated each other."

"Fine." He responded. "I'll open the door for you- only if you accept my offer."

"Shouto... I told you, we are friends!" Her temper was rising, she neared him, "you aren't thinking of keeping me here till I surrender and agree to your marriage proposal, are you?"

"I might." He truthfully admitted, maintaining eye contact with her fiery ones.

"Don't be childish shouto!!" She loudly complained, storming to the door and frantically shaking the knob, slamming her body against it when her tries were rendered futile.

"Shouto, please!! This is not funny!!" She cried out, tears quick to gather in her eyes upon comprehending the sobriety of the implementation. If she couldn't leave, what then? She doesn't wanna be in this room with him any longer.

The knowledge that her friend of 5 years had grown loving of her was hard enough to swallow.

His hand strongly grabbed ahold of hers, dampening her struggle and preventing it from escalating, heaving her by the waist when it proved to be tricky to tow her by the wrist.

She wasn't calming down.

But then he felt her kick him, drawing out a pained grunt, it irritated him, so much. Slamming her body on the table, it ended her attempts for a second, enough time for him to urge her legs apart and force his own between her warm core.

"Stop." He lowly growled glaring down at her.

She stifled her breath, facing away from his double-coloured eyes. It allowed him to muzzle his face into the crook of her neck, and she didn't intend it, kickstarting her struggle once more.

"No!! Stay away from me!" Putting all her strength into pushing his chest away she closes her eyes shut, however, it didn't please him. Prompting him to bite down as hard as he could.

"Am I that undesirable?" He softly whispered near her ear, his breath tickling her skin and pressuring her brain to focus on that spot. "Tell me why you denied me."

"Don't you like me? Am I not good to you?"

"I like you!! I really like you shouto!" She shouted, but anyone would know she was lying.

It was all she needed to say to catch him off-guard, to make him believe, to fool him, and he fell for it. His eyes lid up, hoping this time it was the truth, that this was real and he would be naive enough to accept it.

"Do you mean that?" He chuckled leaning down, trembling from uncertainty she nodded, gently snaking her hand down, feeling the plastic card hanging from his supply belt.

"Yeah-- I shouldn't have tried to prank you like this." She whimpered, tears steadily rolling down her cheek. Her lips curled in and soon let out a pained sob.

She was always the mischievous one, trying to gain a reaction from him many times. Maybe that's what he liked about her...

"I'm sorry..."

Her voice was delicate and soft, weakened, she couldn't be lying, she just couldn't be. Stroking the tears off her cheeks, their nose touching, his eyes wandering to her lips and unhappy eyes.

"I'm sorry- I shouldn't have done that." To tug him further into her deception, before he could doubt her she moved her face to his and connected their lips.

It was quick and short, straight to the point, and that was all she wanted to execute her plan and rudely wake him up from his delusions.

His grip had loosened and this was her chance.

With the back of her palm, she harshly struck him across the face and shoved him off her frame, earning herself a dangerous opportunity. Swiping the card and unlocking the door, she bolted to the elevator.

To her utter shock, ice was creeping up behind her. He was using his quirk. Painting a delicate layer of ice coating the lunette windows. It made her all the more miserable. 

The grand and luxurious office becomes a place of imprisonment with frost cravings, encasing everything it reached into ice sculptures, cold and unwelcoming to the touch. Just like the man once was. It sends a chill down her spine. He would see it that she acknowledge him, see his way, and learn why he is doing so much.

She could see him walking in her direction, steady and menacingly slow, his fist was clenched, his face reflecting all the resentment going through his mind, and it also made her doubt her ability to escape.

She quickly hid, hoping to slowly make her way to the exit as quietly as possible.

The ice softly crunches beneath his pale boots his multicoloured eyes preying on her footsteps, which she almost hadn't managed to evade before the frost could seal her in place and leave her helpless.

Her short heels weren't helping much against the freezing floor, her hands had gone chill and numb her breath sending shivers down her skin and having the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

She couldn't bear the sudden drop in temperature and shouto was a silent predator. It wouldn't take long for him to drag her out of her hiding place.

Quickly wrapping her arms around her chest her body quivering, teeth chattering, she quietly attempted to make some distance with the pro-hero right behind her trail. Her movements were slowing down.

Striving to fight the urge to curl up and shudder, she carried on, how could she survive this predicament? When she feels she's already failing.

She should have kept her mouth shut.

"Ah..." Her eyes quickly widened, falling on her butt when there wasn't enough time to get up and run, gently pushing herself backwards, staring at the looming build of her best friend.

"Please... Please let's talk." She mumbled, drawing in a stiff breath feeling sick from how fast her heart was beating, how her thoughts were growing illogical.

"There's nothing we can talk about." He replied crouching down to her eye level, an ounce of tenderness in his gaze watching her move away from him. "I said what I needed to say, and you didn't react to it well. You rejected my proposal."

His tone grew bitter, stern and hurt, remembering how she smiled and deceived him, let him know he was being unreasonable, that she saw him as her dear friend and brother, her small brother, all this time, he thought she was showing him passionate liking. When, in reality, she didn't love him.

"Tell me, did you enjoy leading me on? Making me fall for you, telling me how you were feeling, what was bothering you. It was all a lie." He snarled.

She was furthering herself away from him.

She wasn't reciprocating his feelings.

His left side had started to tremble, however, he still focused his attention on the girl. Without a second thought, he grabbed her body closer to him, she had begun to scream, shrieking and trying to push him away, but she wasn't going to loosen his hold anytime soon. Not when he was so warm.

"We could get out of here if you want. You only have to say yes, we'll only have each other in the end." He whispered in her ear, nuzzling in the crook of her neck, his breath grazing her skin.

"Stop screaming. You'll hurt your throat."

He quickly brought her closer, forcing her hands to still against his chest, her sweet-smelling scent he'd breathe in every day clouding his thoughts.

He could freeze her to death.

Seizing her hand he took out the ring he had organized for her, slipping it into her fingers and cherishing the way it looked. What it meant.

He returned his gaze to the girl in his arms, letting her quiver and regret whatever she did.

Now, they were engaged.

And closer than ever.

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