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juniefruit · 1 month

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☆ My Dear ☆

☆ Tags: Han Jisung x fem reader, friends to lovers

☆ Summary: In which you’re both head over heels for eachother. Who wouldv’e known that such a simple word has Jisung wrapped around your finger…

☆ Warnings: Eventual smut, petnames, this shit nasty, MDNI!!!!!

☆ Word Count: 3.6k

It’s just a simple habit you picked up; how and where exactly… you can’t pinpoint. Calling people ‘dear’ as a mannerism, even for mundane things here and there. It’s almost subconsious: “thank you, dear.” or “would you pass me that cup, dear?” Just a passive way to be polite, right? Jisung knows you can’t help it. For a few years now, Jisung has been your ride or die. He’s always just a text or phone call away. You wouldn’t be surprised if he was actually a genie with how fast he always shows up at your side. You laugh together, you vent and rant together, nothing could sever your bond. Some might think you're too close to eachother to be just friends. You wouldn’t have it any other way, though. Jisung was everything you needed in a best friend. Goofy yet responsible; respectful yet lighthearted. Honestly, it’s hard not to imagine a life with him that’s past the boundaries of friendship. It doesn’t help that he’s the most attractive man you’ve had the pleasure of getting to know in your life. Because of your closeness, it’s also hard for Jisung. He would love nothing more than to hug you just because, cuddle up on the couch, and press passionate kisses to your pretty lips. And yet, the feelings go unspoken for fear of losing eachother.

There is one thing that Jisung wouldn’t tell anyone, not even if he was hooked up to a lie detector. Every time you call him dear, his mind spins. His heart races and he needs to manually control his breathing. Such a simple pet name, and yet his mind wanders. Would you call him that, when your thighs are splayed over his, and your fingers thread through his hair? When your breaths are laboured, and you can barely think straight? He would obey your every command. He would beg and plead under you, hands gripping the flesh of your hips in desperation. He would do anything to hear you call him that one more time. And another. And another, until you’re both climaxing with arms wrapped around eachother and necks covered in marks. That’s what he thinks about when he’s alone in his room, zoned out at his desk. Or in his bed. Or on the way to your apartment, which just so happens to be the reality. Great timing.

With spring just around the corner, you could practically feel that gloomy winter feeling melting like snow out of your body. The sun rays of the late afternoon dance through the windows of your living room and land on the hardwood floor. The city can be heard disatntly below. You sit comfortably on the couch, one leg tucked under the other, desperately trying to regain focus on your book. Your mind betrays you, once again pining over Jisung. Oh, how it would feel to finally call him yours. To show him every part of you. To lose yourself in complete adoration for him. There’s nothing you wouldn’t do for him, because you know he would do the same for you. Like that one time he was having trouble recording a verse just right. He stormed into your apartment, silently seething. No questions asked, you sat him down on the couch before preparing tea. When you returned, you stretched out your arms to invite him in. And he did just that. He couldn’t stay annoyed for long when he had the most beautiful girl comforting him. With a long sigh, he ranted. And you listened. You gave him your full attention. For that, he is forever grateful. A few days later, your boss decided to be extra stingy. You knew the deadline was quickly approaching, you knew there was still a lot to do. And yet he still felt the need to shove it in your face. The entire trip to Jisung’s apartment, stressed tears were bordering on your waterline. The knocks on the door with surprising force were Jisung’s first suspicion that something was up. When he opened it, his heart shattered. Who could have possibly done this to his pretty girl? He ushered you in with an arm wrapped around your shoulders. Opting for the floor, you sat, pulling your knees in tight.

“Please tell me, pretty girl, what happened?” He sat on his knees in front of you, leaning in. Silence from your end. The palm of his hand rubbed against the curve of your shoulder underneath your work clothes.

“Talk to me, Dear. So I can make it better. Why don’t you take a deep breath, hm?” Maybe your mannerisms were rubbing off on him. That didn’t mean they affected him any less. Still curled up with your head down, you talked. Like he asked. Because you couldn’t deny him for long. The rest is history.

The steady knocks at your door pull you out of your thoughts as you slam the book shut and place it on the coffee table. Your feet pad across the floor to unlock the door. You know it’s Jisung. He had texted you earlier, saying he’s on his way. For no specific reason other than he knew you were both at home anyway, enjoying the day off. When you open the door, You’re dazed every time. You can never get used to the sight that beholds you. Jisung, in a hoodie and jean jacket, black jeans hugging his toned thighs. His dark hair was in its natural curly state, a few stray strands falling forward above his eyes. You would want nothing more than to reach out a hand and sweep it to the side. That would make things weird, certainly. His small silver hoop earrings dangle as he looks up.

“Hey,” He says, with a content sigh and a subtle grin.

“Hi, Sungie! Come in-” You say, side stepping to give him room to enter. He’s unlacing his shoes while you walk to the kitchen.

“Want something to drink? I can make some tea?”

“Whatever you want, y/n. You make it, I'll drink it.” He says as he’s hanging up his jacket. You chuckle.

“Alright, Dear.”

The water in the kettle makes a bubbling sound off to the side. You’re occupied with preparing the tea bags when you sense Jisung’s presence behind you. It takes everything in you not to yelp in surprise when you feel a hand slide against your waist. Jisung reaches past you and grabs a glass from the cabinet. His presence is warm and comforting. If you leaned back just a bit, you’d be pressed right up against him. You freeze, but he continues his gentle gestures. The hand that isn’t still settled against the lower part of your waist sets the glass down. He grazes his hand over yours, takes the tea bag between his lithe fingers, and places it in the cup. When he speaks, it’s sensually close to your ear.

“You’re always so good to me… you make me tea, you comfort me when I’ve had a bad day, you even got me an entire cheesecake for my birthday. How could I ever repay you?” His voice is low and soothing.

“Being my best friend is more than enough, Dear.” You say with a considerate tone. You turn your head to face him, which was a grave mistake on your part. Now you’re nose to nose, wide-eyed and staring into his round, kind eyes. It takes a few seconds for him to muster up the courage before speaking.

“What if I didn’t want to be best friends anymore?” His voice was now serious.

“Uh, what?” This can’t be. Did you do something wrong? Before your brain short circuits, Jisung continues.

“I- Um, shit. I meant, what if you were my girlfriend instead?” That sounded better in his head, clearly. “I just- I think about you like, every day. When I’m at the studio with the guys. Or when I’m literally doing nothing. I don’t know what to do with myself-” You cut him off, not by saying anything, but by leaning in and placing a soft kiss on his cheek. Enough with the rambling.

“Jisung, dear, what if I didn’t want to be your best friend anymore either?” And with that, He grins so wide his eyes crinkle. He takes his arm off the counter to grab the other side of your waist, turning you completely towards him; eyes still locked.

“Then you better tell me if you don’t want this, too.” He’s leaning in and pressing his lips to yours before you can think of something to even say. Now realizing how useless your hands feel, you bring them up to rest on his shoulders. With newfound courage, you kiss back. You can practically feel the energy radiating from where he subtly moves his plush lips against yours. Not totally sure what to do, you mimic his own movement, which he seems contempt with because he releases a low groan and gently exhales through his nose. The scent of his cherry chapstick invades your nose. It’s certainly doing its job; his lips are softer than the finest silk. Truly, you’re not thinking of anything other than him, and where he’s touching you.

The alarm of the kettle snaps you back into the space of your apartment. You hum into his mouth when he doesn’t immediately let go. Jisung lets out a low whine, and tightens his arms around you. The feeling is dangerous. Reluctantly, you pull away from his lips with a loud smack.

“Sungie Dear, the water-”

“I finally get to kiss you, and you’re giving the kettle priority over me?” He says, teasingly. He pouts, puffing his cheeks out.

“Let me at least turn it off-” You wiggle and squirm in his hold. When he feels you create that friction, he finally realizes that he should have tried to keep his composure a little more. Especially since you’ve been calling him by that saccharine nickname ever since he stepped through the door. Luckily, the material of his jeans was thick enough that he felt confident you didn’t notice anything. As if his arms weighed a hundred pounds each, he pulled them away; not without dragging them across your hips first. He huffs out a ‘fine’ before following you to the other side of the kitchen. Like an obedient puppy, he tracks behind as you carry the kettle to the two cups on the counter. You pour them both. Not even a second goes by after you set the kettle down and Jisung has his arms wrapped around your middle and head resting on your shoulder from behind. You chuckle.

“There. Happy now?” You inquire.

“Very.” One of his arms travels up your upper body. He takes his time, applying pressure to every dip and curve of your side. When he reaches your neck, he brushes your hair behind your ear and to the back. Goosebumps make their way up your arms. Not because it’s cold. On the contrary, you’re burning up. Surely your cheeks are bright red and your eyes can’t focus on anything in front of you. When Jisung leans his head in to whisper in your ear, he also slightly pushes his middle into yours, craving more physical touch.

“Tell me, pretty girl, is this okay? I’ve been thinking about you for so long, I would hate to rush things.”

“It’s okay. I promise.” You can barely get the words out when you feel his body against yours, even with clothes. If you’re feeling this stimulated now, How will you even be able to breathe when you go farther than this? The verdict is, you’ll find out when you get there.

“What, am I making you nervous?” He teases. You can feel his breath on your neck when he talks.

“I mean- yeah, but not in- not in a bad way. I- please, just do something.” You whine softly at the end.

“Say the magic word, pretty girl.” His lips are so close tto the nape of your neck now that you can feel his lips moving as he speaks.

“Please, Dear.” Never in your life had you felt him so eager like this. His plush lips molded against the nape of your neck under your ear. His arms shifted and tightened against your midriff when he heard you breath out a heavy sigh. His tongue darted out to run over his lips and, in the process, ran over the soft skin of your neck. At that, you let out the tiniest whine. Jisung heard it and ran with it. Licking and sucking against your neck with fervor as your hands glided over his own. With one last languid suck into the sensitive new mark, he flipped you around and gently pushed you further into the counter. You looked utterly divine; out of breath and waiting for the next move. Jisung passionately gave you one last kiss. His lips were wet from his earlier escapade, and his tongue darted out for a kitten lick against your own lips. He swears he’s never felt or tasted anything better. Your head is spinning when you gently part your lips to deepen the kiss. Butterflies erupt in your stomach when you feel his core slowly move against your own. It was experimental. You do the same motion back. Jisung gasps against your mouth.

“Um, shit, I- I’m sorry, I definitely took this too far. Was that okay, baby?” He’s trying to speak and catch his breath at the same time. You stare into his worried eyes.

“More than okay. Now, it seems like I’m the one waiting.” You exclaim with a push of your hips against his. His face scrunches from the stimulation.

“Come to the couch with me.” He pulls you off of the kitchen counter and guides you through the living room with arms still wrapped around you. You take your own hands and press the pads of your fingers into the back of his neck where his hair curls. You gently tug, and he lets out a quiet, breathy moan. You fall back onto the couch. Jisung leans over you, silver earrings twinkling in the golden rays from the last sunlight of the day. Oh yeah, it’s golden hour. As Jisung places his arms on either side of your shoulders, the ethereal orange light makes him look like a fallen angel. He can say the same for you. Your hair is a bit tussled, and you’re looking up at him with doe eyes that he’s never even had the power to imagine. When he comes closer, he sensually slots his hips against yours and grinds. One of his legs rests on the couch for stability as you lay under him. Your fingers are still tangled in his hair when he runs his palms down your arms and to your middle. His hands slide under your sweatshirt to caress the soft skin there. You let out a wanton moan at the contact. His hips do not relent. Your hands slide down from his hair, scratching along his clothed back, and hooking into the belt loops of his jeans. He gasps and whines.

“It’s a bit hot in here, don’t you think?” He asks teasingly from his position above you.

“Why dont you take this off then, my Dear?” You pull on the hem of his hoodie.

“Yeah, of course Baby. Anything.” His words are breathy and he can barely think straight. The way the word shapes your lips and leaves your mouth in the softest, most sensual tone has his braincells running laps. He mimics your movements and runs his own hands down to the belt of your jeans before raising them and throwing his hoodie over his head and somewhere off to the side. His wide shoulders accent the planes of his chest, perfectly toned. His eyes look down at your chest.

“Can I take this off, Baby?” He asks, gathering the material of your sweatshirt in one hand. His hips are still connected to yours but halt their movements. You can feel him through his jeans, that’s how high strung he is. You nod your head with a hum as he grapples with the material. Your fingers fiddle with the button on his jeans. Your eyes are heavy with desire.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking, my Dear?”

He moans and his eyes roll back. “Yes… hah…”

You unbutton his jeans to feel his member through his boxers. Jisung’s tongue is licking into yours until he begins to leave open mouthed kisses down your jaw, your neck, and laving over your collar bone.

“So gorgeous Baby…mmmmmh” He groans into your skin. You crane your neck to give him space, while leaving kisses on his own. The silver earring dangles against your nose. You shimmy your own pants off, finally becoming too unbearable. You both moan at the new level of closeness and the pressure of your nether regions against one another. Jisung’s moans grow higher in pitch and frequency the longer your hand rubs over him.

“Ah, ah Baby, stop before I cum like this…” his eyebrows knit together. You let out a hum.

“Let’s take these off then, my Dear.” You shimmy your hands under his boxers in order to pull them down with his jeans at the same time. Once they’re down at his ankles, he pulls them off the rest of the way. His swollen cock stands and pearls of glistening precum gather at the tip. He jolts when you swipe a finger over the head to gather it, before impatiently tugging your jeans and underwear down in one go. They plop down onto the floor. Your hearts beat rapidly in tandem with anticipation. Jisung tears his eyes away from your chest to look you in the eyes.

“You’re sure this is okay, yeah?” He exhales.

“Yeah. Now come here.” He keens at the command. Your knees raise up to lock in around his waist, his sensitive cock between you two. His hands grip the sides of your waist for stability, and his thumbs rub soothing motions into your heated skin. He adjusts his hips so his tip drags over your clit before finding your entrance between your folds. He would have prepped you with his nimble fingers had it not been for your joined impatience. So, to make up for it, his tongue drags down and over your right nipple, licking stripes up and down. Your back arches at the stimulation. Jisung slowly pushes his cock in, until his head pushes past the throbbing ring of muscle only to be met with your velvet walls enveloping every inch. His thighs quiver, and his hands make grabby motions against your waist.

“Ah, hahh, so good Baby, all nice and so wet…” You mewl and whine. Your brain is going into overdrive with the way jisung’s chest moves as he takes deep breaths in. The way his dark hair falls across his face and just barely covering his eyes. When he gives an experimental grind with his length inside, you both let out breathy groans. Your arms circlearound to grasp at his shoulder blades, and your nails subtly scratch. He shudders and moves his hips deeper. Every thrust is accentuated with a huff hrom his plump, kiss-swollen lips. Your scratches on his back make him pick up the speed of his thrusts, until he gets an idea. He leans even closer and slides his arms around your back.

“I have an idea… hmmmh, flip over for me, Baby.” You both rotate until you’re now sitting on top of him. Your thighs are pressed on top of his and honestly, the sight is heavenly. Jisung won’t admit how long he’s wanted to see you like this. He knows he won’t last long like this, not when he’s already so stimulated. Inbetween bounces, you’re mumbling praises that make Jisung ascend. Little whispers of “so good, my Dear” and “right- right there, Dear…” It gets harder and harder for him to control the speed of his thrusts when he’s so close now that he can taste it. Every time he pushes back in, your walls tighten around him. There’s a little puddle of your combined slick at the base of his cock aiding in the rush to cum. Every time you sink down all the way to his base, your clit hits against his lower tummy that is also thrusting up to meet you halfway. His hands are gripping at your upper thigh with a force that might leave fingertip-shaped bruises tomorrow, but right now, nothing feels better. One of his hands drags down to press his pointer and middle finger into your clit to rub tight circles. Your release builds and builds in waves until you’re crashing down with him, hunching over and biting into the nape of his neck. Whiny moans and groans fill the living room as Jisung goes taut with his orgasm.

“Ha-ah ohhhh Baby, I’m- ughh cumming-!”

His breathing is heavy and he’s pulling you so close that there is no point on your upper bodies that aren’t in contact. It takes a solid few minutes to control breathing and regain sense of where you are. Your poor couch. Jisung exhales with a smug grin and lidded eyes, looking up at you. His hands are drawing little circles into your waist.

“Sit here Baby, let me go get some things to clean up..” he says before pulling you off to sit limp against the couch. He comes back with a soft damp washcloth, and water.

“Oh… thank you, my Dear.” You say as you take the water with both of your hands.

“You’ll have to cut that out unless you want round two…” Jisung warns with a tilt of his head. Two cups of tea sit long forgotten on the kitchen island, cool enough that they can be used for iced tea instead.

☆ Read more of my works here~ masterlist

#stray kids x reader #han jisung #han x reader #han x y/n #jisung x reader #stray kids jisung #stray kids han #jisung x y/n #jisung x you #skz x reader #stray kids oneshot #stray kids imagines #fanfic #stray kids smut #skz smut #smut

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baddestbittyontheblock · 4 months

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pedro pascal fic recs

you are responsible for the content you consume‼️

✧*:·˚ hi everyone!! here is a list of all the fics that are my favs with tagged writers/authors ✧*:·˚

✧*:·˚ remember to like and reblog the works you enjoy in order to support each writer!! ✧*:·˚

✧*:·˚ however, make sure you read the information on each story themselves such as triggers & warnings ✧*:·˚

✧*:·˚ also, if you'd like me to remove your fic from this list, message me! ✧*:·˚

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

˗ˏˋ☆ˎˊ˗ nervous by @amazonabxtch pedro pascal x actress!wife!reader | reader as an adult (around her 40’s) and I wrote her as a latinamerican, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of unprotected sex, mentions of covid pandemic, a bunch of cuteness and fluff

-what was supposed to be a normal q&a, it turned into pedro teasing and making you blush

˗ˏˋ☆ˎˊ˗ the happiest place on earth by @pascallllllll1 pedro pascal x reader | pregnancy, suggests smut but no actual smut, 2k

-reader and pedro pascal have a daughter named Esmeralda and they go to disney for the first time. they dress her up in a Grogu costume and go visit the mando and everybody go crazy to see pedro and his daughter.

˗ˏˋ☆ˎˊ˗ flashing lights by @bbygirlpascal pedro pascal x fem!reader | 18+ nsfw (smut, unprotected, public sex, oral (m receiving), dirty talk, daddy kink)

-you and pedro are at a red carpet event and he just cannot take his eyes off of you the whole night so he's gotta do something about it.

˗ˏˋ☆ˎˊ˗ dizzy spells by @pascallllllll1 pedro pascal x reader | mentions use of IV’s/needles and unplanned pregnancy. age gap relationship (very legal), 1K+

-pedro being the caring and loving boyfriend he is forces reader to get looked at after experiencing dizziness and fainting.

˗ˏˋ☆ˎˊ˗ crimson tide by @pascallllllll1 pedro pascal x reader | blood, period talk, swearing, mentions over the counter pain medication, brief daddy kink(common this is about Mr “I’m your daddy” what do you expect?), unprotected sex

-reader gets her period and pedro helps;)

˗ˏˋ☆ˎˊ˗ the best kisser by @fooled-around-and-fell pedro pascal x fem!reader | romance, fluff, flirting, sex jokes

-you were interviewed by vanity fair for their lie detector episode which went viral.. and pedro happened to watch it as well.

˗ˏˋ☆ˎˊ˗ high by @writersblog20 pedro pascal x reader | smoking weed, drinking alcohol, age-gap, sexual tension, reader gets picked up, smut, p in v, no condom (please do use a condom), mention of panic and anxiety (just one sentence or so) oral female receiving, squirting, daddy kink, dirty talk, pet names, pedro being called: papi, creampie, blowjob, soft sex, soft pedro, overstimulation, aftercare and fluff, 4k

-after a very shitty day, your neighbor, pedro helps you to relax in every way possible

#pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #daddy pedro #pedro pascal blurb #fic recs #pedro pascal imagines #fics recs

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catscidr · 4 months

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Can you make a scenario with obedient reader who is getting experimented on by Dottore please ☺️

nonnie i started writing this at 1 in the morning yesterday because i couldn't stop thinking about it and i may or may not have gone over my self imposed word limit. however....... hot doctor. so. hope u enjoy because ik i sure as hell did ⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝ cw: dottore being just a biiit creepy, slightly suggestive (?), normal tension + sexual tension asgnfns includes: fem!reader, dottore wc: 1,9k

“Stick your tongue out.”

Dottore places his gloved thumb on your tongue, knocking you out of your daze.

As per your routine, the doctor performs a quick, partial check-up to assess your physical state before diving right into his scheduled experiments. What he had planned you never knew; such was the joy of being one of the second Harbinger’s playthings.

He gazes into your mouth with an almost bored expression as he looks for anything out of the ordinary. Being so close to his face, you could feel the warmth of his breath tickling your cheeks and the sharp point of his mask just barely grazing your jaw. When finally satisfied, Dottore mumbles something about nothing that’ll skew the test results and pulls his hand back, wiping your saliva off on his coat. You shut your jaw and look at him expectantly, waiting.

He turns his back to you and rummages through a drawer, taking out an assortment of what appears to be wires coming out of a small rectangular box with even more wires sticking out of that. You glance at the machine and then back up at Dottore, a question burning on your tongue that he answers before you get the chance to voice it out loud.

“This right here,” he sets the machine down on the table and plugs some cables into his laptop, “is a polygraph. Do you know what it is?” he asks with the ghost of a smile, hands buried in his pristine lab coat. You nod silently.

“A lie detector,” the doctor says, disregarding your answer. He takes out a vial from his pockets and brings it up to the fluorescent lights on the ceiling, observing how the liquid shone at the right angle. Letting his arm fall to his side, he takes a few steps around the table and towards the chair you’re sitting in, bending down to your height.

“Do you know what this is?”

He brings his hand up to show you the vial in question. A purple, slightly translucent solution that came halfway up the thin glass, shut tightly with the help of a small cork seal. You already knew what you had to do with it, but not what the liquid itself did. Slowly, you shake your head and tear your gaze away from the liquid, looking back up at the man in front of you. His expression doesn’t change for a second, observing your own carefully.

“Simply put, it’s a truth serum. Anyone that drinks this will find that they will be rendered unable to lie. Of course, the serum itself is still being tested, which is precisely why you’re here,” he says, his smile growing just slightly. You part your lips, hesitant to speak.

“So, you... want me to drink the potion and then take a lie detector test to verify whether it worked or not?” you ask with a small glimmer of hope in your eyes. The doctor nods curtly, his expression unwavering. You internalize a sigh; looks like you lucked out today and won’t have to endure any physical torture this time around.

“Now drink,” he says, emphasizing the order by taking out the cork top with a quiet pop, bringing the vial up to your lips. Your hand reaches up to grab the glass but right as you reach it, Dottore uses his free hand to swat your hand away. You tear your gaze away from the serum and look up at the doctor- his expression flat, lips devoid of the small smile that was previously on his face. He pushes the vial closer to you, the edge of the tube pressing against the plush of your lips, forcing you to tilt your head back ever so slightly.

“Drink,” he repeats, his deep voice rumbling your nerves.

You part your lips and tilt your head back even more, allowing the Harbinger the space to push the vial past your lips. Your throat bobbed as soon as the serum made its way down, Dottore’s stare unwavering from your face. The purple serum slid down smoothly; the lack of any discernable taste only being slightly unnerving, all things considered.

Dottore stares at you long enough for you to start becoming nervous by his presence. However, as soon as your pulse quickens, he leans back and puts an acceptable distance between the two of you as he puts away the, now empty, vial back in his coat pocket.

“How do you feel?”

That makes you pause. How did you feel? Nervous, anxious? Awkward, even? The answer was an obvious all of the above. However, this was in response to Dottore’s unusual closeness, not in result of the serum changing your body in any way, shape or form. In fact, you didn’t really feel anything other than your heart racing in your ribcage. You felt strangely normal, which only fueled the slight agitation boiling in the pit of your stomach; feeling anything less than discomfort when subjected to Dottore’s experiments was nothing short of unusual. But, knowing he couldn’t care less for an answer that doesn't regard the effects of the serum, you keep your thoughts to yourself.

“I feel fine,” you say as normally as you could. Dottore narrows his eyes, observing your behavior with interest, but doesn’t push further.

He directs his attention back to the polygraph on the table, wires hanging loosely off the side of the surface. Grabbing the four cables, he peels off the protective film off from the sticky sides and sticks two cables on your temples and one on your wrist. Holding the last cable, he looks down at you with an unreadable expression.

“Tilt your head back for me,” he says quietly, voice unassuming.

You do as he says and, as soon as your throat is revealed, Dottore plunges his hand into your shirt. He sticks the last cable to the top of your left breast, fingers grazing the plush skin for a moment before he retracts his hand and rounds the corner of the table. Your heart pounds in your ribcage, your poor, weak mind reeling at how physical he seemed to be getting despite the psychological nature of the experiment. He makes no further comment as he opens his laptop and does whatever it is he needs to do in order to start the test.

“Keep staring at the wall. I’m going to be asking you a series of questions. You are to answer with the first thing that comes to your mind, in the most natural way possible. Understood?” Dottore says rigidly. You nod quickly, replying with a quiet yes, sir.

“Then let’s begin. What is your name?” he asks, leaning his chin into his palm.

You tell him your name which, obviously, doesn’t make the lie detector go off. He nods and continues, asking questions that range from “where are you from”, “when is your birthday” and “how tall are you”.

However, the more he speaks, the more his questions become increasingly... risky to answer.

“What do you think of my experiments?”

Holding your tongue, you mull it over for a moment. Even though you knew that no matter what you intended to say wouldn’t matter, that you’d just tell the truth no matter what, you wanted to think carefully either way. After a moment you part your lips, still staring at the wall like he instructed at the start, and speak.

“Sometimes they can be painful, but I know you’re doing what’s best for me and... everyone else.” You felt the way your hands clammed up from sweat, the plastic chair becoming increasingly uncomfortable for you to sit in without shifting your weight. Dottore looks at the screen of his laptop and grins, his gaze finding your tense figure once again.

“What do you think of me?” he asks, and even though you can’t see his expression, you could hear the smirk in his voice.

You respond without allowing yourself to stress over what your truth is.

“I think you have a strong work ethic, and I... admire you for it.”

His lips stretch into a wide, uncharacteristic smile. Dottore stays quiet, stalling for the next question to let you simmer with what you just said. He shifts his position on the table, leaning forward over the computer with both hands clasped in front of him.

“And what do you think of me, not as a Harbinger but as a simple, regular man?” he asks coyly, his mask hiding the way his crimson eyes pierced a path into your side profile.

“That you’re attractive,” you blurt out, head tilting to the side away from him to hide the way your cheeks immediately warmed up. The doctor scoffs, amused by the sheepish display merely a few feet in front of him.

“Hm. Good,” he hums to himself, straightening his back to lean into the chair he sat on. “Look at me,” he orders firmly.

Not even giving yourself the time to process his words, you automatically turn your head to look at your captor. The sight of his pleased, seemingly innocent smile made your heart flutter. He grabs the side of his laptop and turns it around so you can look at the... blank screen?

Before you can question what exactly it is you were looking at, Dottore speaks up.

“I wasn’t tracking your answers. I lied to you. What did you say you felt after drinking the serum?” he asks with a tilt of his head, amusement clear on his face. You freeze, brows raising ever so slightly as the cogs turn in your head.

“Nothing...?” you murmur quietly, slowly understanding what he meant.

“Nothing, because you just drank water. With a dash of food coloring, sure, but water nonetheless.”

“Ah.”

Looking at his intricate mask then back down at the blank laptop screen, you felt yourself become increasingly embarrassed the longer the silence between you two stretched out. Dottore chuckles heartily, the sound revibrating in the small room as he stood up to loom over your figure.

“Technically, you could still call this an experiment. What if you did lie? There’s a possibility you did since nothing forced you to tell the truth. However, I know you wouldn’t.”

He leans down to your height, a gloved hand coming up to tilt your head back, holding your chin with his thumb and forefinger.

“You’re always so good to me, you know. So obedient, compliant and malleable,” he sighs, a soft and eerie smile on his face. “My favorite test subject,” he whispers.

Glued in place, you do nothing aside from staring up at him with wide doe eyes, your cheeks flushed as a result from the attention he gave you.

“What a good girl you are,” he mumbles to himself, but still loud enough that you can hear. The doctor was so close that you could just barely feel the warmth of his body against you aside from his hand holding you still, his lips ghosting over your own.

With a chuckle, Dottore straightens his back and looks down at you with a knowing smirk, acutely aware of the effect he had on you. He hums, faking being lost in his thoughts, conscious that you sat there, waiting, silently begging for more.

“How about a reward, then?” he suggests in a low voice. “Prove yourself to me, prove that you spoke nothing but the truth, and I’ll reward you handsomely.” Dottore tilts his head in a way that can only be described as condescending, smiling at your bashfulness. Slowly, he takes off the wire stuck to your body, his hand lingering beneath your shirt, over the cable stuck to your chest.

“I’m sure you’d enjoy that, my pretty test subject.”

#୧ ‧₊˚orderup!#dottore x reader #dottore x you #genshin x reader #genshin x you #dottore x fem!reader #dottore x afab reader

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whimsicalpoet44 · 1 year

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Placements that I think are tough to have & why.

Here's more astrology observations.

**These aren't bad placements. Every placement has positives/negatives to them. I just find these placements to be quite challenging and can take more effort or intentionality than others to work through**

4th House Aries (Especially in the IC): The fourth house is the house of family/home. Aries in the fourth can indicate a really difficult childhood, particularly when it's related to the mother. They may have had a parent that was really impulsive or aggressive that made them responsible for their emotions. As a result, emotional regulation may be something they struggle with and expressing their emotions can make them feel vulnerable. Aries IC can indicate that there's a lot of generational trauma left over from their ancestors that they're having to undo. Positives? They can make quick decisions when necessary and can take charge of family matters with ease.

8th House Placements: The 8th house rules death, re-birth, long term investments, and transformation. That's a lot of heavy themes in one house. They may struggle with loss/grief in more than one area of your life. They say 8th house placements are like a Phoenix - constantly burning themselves down to emerge anew. That can be quite exhausting. I also find that 8th house placements cause an unbalance in personal power. They may spend a majority of their life figuring out how to balance energies. Positives? They make great psychologists, they're super analytical, and they aren't afraid to broach topics others may stray from.

Capricorn/Aquarius Rising: Two words: Saturn ruled. Self reliance can be a good thing, but these placements are often forced to take care of themselves from a young age. Saturn is the planet of restrictions, self-discipline, and self-sufficiency. Often times, our lessons in Saturn are things we must learn alone. Saturn ruled charts have this energy times ten. They face a lot of lessons throughout life. The positives? Natural leaders, persistent, and capable of achieving just about anything they set their mind too, because Saturn has shown them that they can do it alone.

Scorpio Rising: They're ruled by Pluto - the planet of death/re-birth/transformation (much like the 8th house). Saturn ruled charts and Pluto ruled charts have a lot in common. Scorpio Risings are often used to bring about change in different settings. The theme of their life is often growth and transformation - at any expense. They're very private and they trigger others very easily. They may find it difficult to open up to others and may feel a general distrust of others as a whole. They can feel chronically misunderstood. The positives? Literal human lie detector and extremely intuitive.

5th House Chiron: Chiron is the thing we have trouble healing in ourselves, but what we can do a great job healing in others. The fifth house is the house of the inner child/creativity/hobbies/joy. They can be insecure about their creative ability and have a huge lack of joy. This can be traced back to childhood. Someone could have told them they couldn't do something or that they were bad at a particular skill. They second guess themselves a lot as a result. They can also experience a ton of guilt and shame for being happy or having fun. The positive? They can inspire others to be creative when they heal.

Moon Conjunct Saturn: Saturn wants to discipline. The moon wants to nurture. They can feel intense feelings of shame/guilt from reflecting on ways they behaved in the past. It's also an indictor of a harsh childhood and they can internalize their parents wishes/dreams as their own (Saturn = Father | Moon = Mother). There's a constant fear of never reaching their full potential and they can often avoid rest because they don't feel like they're being productive. They also take life really seriously and they're super sensitive. (Remember that sensitivity isn't always bad thing.) The positives? They have a lot of discipline surrounding their emotions and they have a great sense of humor (probably from the trauma).

Aquarius Sun: They don't like being told what to do or think (which can be good), but they can often stay rooted in their old beliefs if they feel someone is pushing their opinions onto them (even though they insist that they're open minded). They can also sometimes end up stuck in a harmful belief system if they feel it's not the norm so they can retain their "unique" persona, rather than actually ask themselves what they believe. (Literally every Aquarius man I've encountered, but this can manifest in anyone with an Aquarius sun). They love people as a whole, but struggle with people on an individual level. They think more in a big picture way, but struggle with the small picture. They can also see everything that needs to be fixed in society, but struggle with the fact that they cannot fix it (leaving them feeling powerless.) The positives? They're unique. They're comfortable with the unusual. They stay true to themselves and who they are.

Gemini Anything: GEMINIS: you are only on this list because of the stigma that follows Gemini's. If you google the most hated sign, you'll get Gemini. Being a Sagittarius, I freaking love Geminis. But they have such a stigma. They can sometimes be impulsive, inconsistent, or indecisive. They also hate routine. I think this is how they get the stigma, because most people have a narrow minded view of how these can present. The positives? They have great charisma and they're usually artistic. They're witty, curious, funny, and passionate. (This is a Gemini love post, let's be honest.) Do some Gemini's present in the stereotypical way? Sure. But I find that many write off all Gemini's and develop a fulfilling prophecy about their intentions.

#astrology observations #astro observations #astrology #scorpio rising #aries astrology #gemini #aquarius #5th house #chiron #capricorn rising #aquarius rising

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juanarc-thethird · 5 months

Text

Nora the Mad Scientist #3

Nora: *Building something on her work table*

Pyrrha: What are you doing Nora?

Nora: I'm making a device that helps get the truth out of anyone you want.

Pyrrha: Like a lie detector?

Nora: No. The lie detector only tells you when someone is lying. This device will force the person to tell the truth no matter what.

Pyrrha: That doesn't sound good or legal.

Nora: But it can give you some answers that you are looking for.

She turns and hands the device to Pyrrha.

Pyrrha: Why are you giving this to me?

Nora: Don't you want to know what Jaune thinks about you?

Pyrrha: Yes but... this. What if I make him say something embarrassing by mistake?

Nora: Don't worry. This has a special "safety". The only way he will answer is if you ask a specific question. If you say something like "What food do you like?" The person will say what they like at that moment. If you say "What food do you like the most in all the years of your life" the answer is most likely to be different.

Pyrrha: Ohh, so if I ask him if he likes me. He would say that he does like me but it doesn't mean romantically. But if I asked him if he liked me romantically, his response would confirm that. Did I understand correctly?

Nora: Correct. But be careful what you ask. Sometimes the truth can be cruel.

Pyrrha: I see.

Jaune: *Walks in* Hi girls, what are you doing?

Nora: Pyrrha now is your chance!!

Pyrrha: *Nervous* Oh yes!! J-Jaune!

Jaune: Hm?

Pyrrha: D-D-D-D-Do

Jaune: Yes?

Pyrrha: D-D-D-D-D-D-D-D-Do

Nora: Just say it! *Slaps Pyrrha's back*

Pyrrha: Do you think I'm attractive?!!

Nora: *Facepalms herself*

Pyrrha: No! I mean!! I-

Jaune: Of course I do. I always come to y- *Panic* I mean!!! I always come when I think of y- I MEAN!!! I always come when you-!!!

Jaune, embarrassed, covers his own mouth and runs away.

Pyrrha: *red* What was that?

Nora: Oh shoot, *takes the device* I forgot to change it from lewd mode to normal.

Pyrrha: Why is that an option?!!

#jaune arc #jaune #rwby jaune arc #rwby jaune #pyrrha nikos #rwby pyrrha #rwby pyrrha nikos #pyrrha #nora #nora valkyrie #rwby nora #rwby nora valkyrie #rwby #rwby shitpost

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protagonistpolling · 1 year

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DRAMA IS HAPPENING IN THIS COURTROOM

Why should you vote for these characters?

Why should you vote for Phoenix Wright? (3)

"Cross examined a parrot, ate a glass necklace containing poison, seemingly immune to death in any form, just an all-around chaotic force of nature dear god"

"He is so so silly. He ate a glass bottle that contained traces of poison (and was fine) on purpose. Look at any of his college days "feenie" sprites (with the pink sweater). He adopted a kid at 26. He was punched into unconsciousness by an 8 year old. He's kind he's annoying he's a bitch. He still uses a Nokia phone, held together by tape. He wears a pendant with his daughters picture in it. Said daughter is a magician who's also a human lie detector. He's bisexual. He's transgender. He fell off a burning bridge. He has it all"

Why should you vote for Layton and Luke? (1)

"You say there's a tournament with all the 'good guys'? How strange. Actually, that reminds me of a puzzle..." *throws a box of matches at your face* *because more than two matchsticks were moved, you lost the puzzle*

Why should you vote for Miles Edgeworth? (1)

because this anon was nice to me

Why should you vote for Apollo Justice? (3)

"he’s transgender and spikes his hair up with gel every morning and accidentally has an incredibly rare male calico cat."

"Hes SO DESPERATE to prove himself. And SO LOUD. He WILL get u acquitted of criminal charges but also have an anxiety attack while court is in session."

!!!!!!!!!!!SPOILERS FOR APOLLO!!!!!!!! "I'm sure plenty of people have submitted Phoenix so I'm putting a word in for Apollo. I saw someone describe him as someone who has invented the "Most Normal Guy" award and is trying his best to win it, and that description is very accurate. He has a magic lie detector bracelet. He shouts a lot to train his "chords of steel". Everyone thinks he's a teenager when he's actually 22. He punched Phoenix Wright in the face once. The detective on most of his cases throws her snacks at him. His best friend is a 15 year old who is actually his sister but neither of them know this. He has at least three backstories that don't TECHNICALLY contradict each other but you can tell they were all made up on the spot. After his three backstories he decided to become a lawyer for some reason. And despite it all, he's STILL the most normal person in the entire series. Nobody is doing it like him."

#poll2023 #tournament poll #phoenix wright #professor layton #luke triton #ace attorney #aai #apollo justice #miles edgeworth #realizing this will split aa's votes but i BELIEVE IN YOU GUYS!!!!!!#also this is funny.

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i-smoke-chapstick · 2 months

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ough can you do something else smutty with gotham jervis tetch he’s literally the love of my life and I read your other stuff with him and I literally love it so much. like him being needy for the reader like he was in the other one you did with him? it was so aughhh 😫😫

thank you thank you

‘LOSE CONTROL,

-GOTHAM!JERVIS TETCH X READER-

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; Jervis doesn’t like it when you leave without warning him.

⋆ tags/warnings. GOTHAM!jervis x female reader. PURE SMUT!! Literally no plot. Needy and obsessive jervis. Like, he’s fucking FEINDING. Jervis is a little toxic. Biting. Body worship. Hints of PAST non consenual hypnotism. Guys this might be my fav smut fic i’ve ever written. Heard this song and I was floored; it’s so HIM.

Inspired a bit by @adalwolfgang ‘s biting ask ;)

♫ “How many times did I tell you I'm no good at bein' alone? / I lose control when you're not next to me / Problem is when I'm with you, I'm an addict / And I need some relief, my skin in your teeth.” Lose Control by Teddy Swims

“Look into my eyes, my dear.” He whispers, forcing your jaw up with his hand that isn’t occupied, shoved deep into your cunt. Two slender fingers pump in and out of you at a furious pace. You’re choking on your tears and saliva, heavy mascara streaks running down your face as you sqeeze around his digits.

You are whining and squirming in his hold, desperately trying to rut yourself against his hand. The overstimulation is killing you, and you know he can see it. He’s biting his lip, and your eyes drag along his neck and chest. He must have been at this for hours now.

He’s borderline torturing you, like he’s trying to get a confession. When you feel your eyes begin to roll back, he only shoves his fingers deeper, teasing your wet cunny and roughly finger fucking you.

“Ah ah ah,” He clicks his tongue, a scowl of dissaproval on his face. “Come back to me.” He orders, a particularly deep thrust of his middle and ring finger curling up into your pussy. Your chest is heaving, whimpering as he continues his game.

You don’t know how the two of you ended up in this position. One moment you come home from work, and the next he has you pressed up against a table, you two fucking like bunnies. It took you by surprise, the way his soft hands roughly grabbed your throat, muttering some sort of incantation.

Somewhere along the way; you realized, he thought he had hypnotized you. Your mind ran wild. The two of you had made love before, but it was always slow and sweet. He was the perfect gentleman, slow thrusts of his cock into your slit, sucking on the tender flesh of your neck. This was a whole new side of him; Dark. Deep. Animalistic.

No, he thought he had you hypnotized. You think back to if he’s done this before- when he wanted to get rougher with you. The more deep-seated perverse thoughts he has; he unleashes them on you, when you can’t say no. He fucks you harder, as though he doesn’t want to offend you. When he has his own needs to fill, that aren’t very gentlemanly.

Problem is, you quite enjoy this side of him. The way he leans his forehead against yours, keeping eyecontact the entire time. He’s starved for your attention. He wants is all on him.

“Tell me, where were you today, hmm?” He commands, still thinking you’re under his spell. You’ve been playing his game; not letting him know that you know. You realize this is own little lie detector test. He’s trying to ask if you were anywhere else…with any other man. You shiver when another thrust of his fingers brings you back.

“Work.” Is all you whisper, looking into his gaze. Your eyes are glossy, and he just hums in response. He looks vaguley pleased, vaguley dissatisfied with the ambiguity in your answer. If he suspects something, he doesn’t say anything. He must be too caught up in the moment, in your body, in your core to care.

Just when you feel the knot of your orgasm building up inside you, he rips his fingers away. You give a loud yelp at the loss of contact, which he remedies by sticking his fingers in your mouth.

“Suck.” Is all he directs, eyes still focused on you and only you. You try not to gag when he forces them deep into your throat, watching your tongue swirl around your own juices.

You suck on his fingers for what feels like ages, until he’s satisfied. You can feel his hard cock pressing into the meat of your thighs, and you’re desperate to have him inside you.

His chest heaves wildly as he roughly pushes you onto your back. You feel your skull and back hit the wood of the table and wince, but he doesn’t seem to be paying attention. He prowls on top of you, like a predator hunting his prey. His pupils are blown, mouth slightly agape. He doesn’t take his eyes off you for even a second.

His cock is flushed long, hard, and red from base to tip- and he shoves it into you without warning. He lets out a loud growl beside himself, and thrusts slowly at first. He laughs at his own obscene groan of pleasure.

“Forgive me,” He coos, and he sounds patronizing, smirk on his face. “I just couldn’t help myself.” He giggles, as though he knows he’s apologizing for something you won’t remember.

His thrusts grow faster as he pounds your body into the table, brusing grip on your thighs. The more he fucks himself into you, the more his hands roam, until he’s wildly squeezing and groping at every part of you.

He’s engorging himself on your pleas, and the sound of your drenched pussy. The only noise that fills the room is the squelch of his dick dragging against your walls. His hands settle themselves on your throat, and you see him trying his hardest to maintain concentration on you, and not let his own gaze slip into the back of his head in pleasure.

He’s hitting it deep and raw, and you mewl around him. You can tell he’s getting close when his brow furrows and he grits his teeth, pace faltering in short spasms. His mouth keeps opening and closing- like he wants to speak, like he wants to give you more commands; but you’re too tight, too wet, and feel too good- he can’t seem to utter a word or rhyme.

He finally loses himself, buring his face in the crook of your neck. You similarly lose yourself as well, hypnotized sex-doll facade failing as you pull him into you, and bite down on his neck. He damn near chokes, eyes widening as he pumps thick ropes of cum into you, not bothering to pull out. You cum just the same, and you can feel his heartbeat against your chest.

He pulls away quickly, scurrying to look at you. He swallows, nervous. His eyebrows are furrowed as he stares at you incredulously- unsure if he’s somehow woken you up out of your hypnotized state.

“Sorry,” You murmur, pathetically. Your eyes are closed, still resting against the table, trying to catch your breath.

Scilence falls between the two of you, until you prop one eye open to look at him.

Standing before you, Jervis’s chest is heaving, a wild and carnivorous look in his eyes. You look down to find him instantly hard again, eyes narrowed in on you like an animal. His jaw is slacked, obviously not previously aware of your fully alert mind.

He looks like he wants to tear into you again.

This is going to be a loooooong night.

#x reader #gotham #gotham x reader #batman #batman rogues #batman x reader #gotham villains x reader #batman rouges gallery #dc comics #gotham jervis #jervis tetch x reader #jervis tetch #jervis tetch x reader smut #gotham mad hatter #mad hatter x reader #mad hatter #mad hatter x reader smut #the mad hatter #the mad hatter dc

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comradekatara · 3 months

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Any fun Aang facts/ headcanons/ thoughts?

i don’t know if this is exactly fun but i think a lot about aang coping the first couple years after the end of the war. like i think on a spectrum of “the war is over and im so happy!!” to “suddenly thrust into a leadership position that is uniquely isolating and horrible,” aang perhaps isn’t struggling as much as the new firelord, but it’s a close thing.

i think katara would be the one who is happiest out of all of the gaang, since the war being over relieves this huge weight off her shoulders and she also gets to do the fulfilling work of rebuilding her tribe and finally being able to live up the potential she’s always imagined for herself, being able to preserve and pass on her heritage to a hopeful new generation. (that isn’t to say that she isn’t traveling the world with aang, trying to mitigate the damage caused by the war, but she would go back home as soon as possible. she needs to see gran gran!!!) there’s a sense of pride and satisfaction and joy to her role in this world that cannot be denied.

suki is in a similar position, where as the leader of the kyoshi warriors, her reunion with her sisters and their return to kyoshi island would be triumphant and joyous, and she gets to participate in the process of teaching a new generation of warriors, passing on her traditions and using her skillset to help people elsewhere. but then there’s also the lingering, nagging memory of being alone in a maximum security prison, and that trauma isn’t something one just gets over…

i see toph, more than anyone, spending the most time with zuko in the fire nation. she understands what it’s like to be alone, and she’d rather be with her family than her biological parents. i think she does visit them, but it doesn’t go well. toph may be incredibly sharp and mature for her age, but she is still just a kid, and the fact that her father will continue to reject her his entire life is a great wound, as much as she could flippantly deny it. but zuko understands what that’s like more than anyone, so being able to help him helps her through her own pain. even if zuko is a dick about it (although i think she stubbornly forces him to acknowledge her pain at some point instead of just outright dismissing her like he did on ember island), it’s a symbiotic relationship in its own way. i mean, he could definitely use a human lie detector.

sokka is like all over the place. i don’t know man he’s too complicated to sum up in one little paragraph. but yeah let’s just say the war ending doesn’t automatically Heal him and Solve his copious Issues. because it does solve some things but it also causes other problems. new problems even. but i already sort of talk about that here so let’s just move that for now.

and then of course zuko being crowned boy king of racist nation is like… not great. it works for thematic/symbolic/narrative reasons, of course, but realistically. it's a struggle! so, like i said, i think toph would stick by his side, and i think aang spends a lot of time in fire nation as well, and sokka as much as possible (NOT because he loves zuko, but because he thinks zuko is very stupid and he’s the world’s biggest control freak so if he doesn’t micromanage everything he’ll feel like it’s his fault if anything goes wrong). but iroh is…. not there. his best friend katara (i said what i said) is in the south pole or traveling the world or anywhere but Here. azula is. broken?? the world?? is broken?? and he (famously a fuck-up) is supposed to fix it???? poor kid.

anyway. this is all preamble to contextualize what can only be described as The Worst Puberty Anyone’s Ever Had. okay here’s a bonus fun headcanon: aang is born in october! i say this because he’s the most libra to ever do it (i don’t know shit about astrology but i do know that). so for the entire run of the show (from winter to summer) he is twelve years old. i don’t know if you’ve been around any twelve year old boys recently (not to brag, but i have), but they are Going Through It. and that’s the average twelve year old, not even including the shocking temporal displacement and being the sole survivor of a genocide and shouldering the burden of the whole fucking world and knowing that an entire country full of people want you dead.

the fact that aang maintains his childlike wonder and sweetness for the most part means that it’s going to hit him like a truck once the war ends and he finally has a chance to focus on himself. we see the early stages of puberty affecting him in terms of how he behaves around katara, the change between his book one kiddie crush and his book three confusion and intensity. but it’s more than just burgeoning sexuality. he wakes up, is informed that he’s been stuck in an iceberg for a century, that everyone he ever knew with the exception of appa and bumi are dead due to a genocide, and that it’s his responsibility to end the war. and the rest of the show is him trying to step into that duty and finally becoming the kind of person the world needs him to be. and now… it’s over.

on one hand, there’s that overwhelming sense of relief. he did it. he successfully prevented yet another genocide, stopped the war, and did it all without compromising his values. his new friends (his new family) are all alive and safe and now can rebuild the world together. they can rest and have fun and be kids. and that’s what aang is celebrating in the finale when he looks at all of them and smiles, when he hugs katara in acknowledgement of how far they’ve come. aang is incredibly strong and resilient, and it’s a strength that comes from a place of genuine love and understanding. he was taught good values as a kid, values that have guided him through the most unimaginable of tragedies. but he’s not perfect. no one is.

no one can prevent the oncoming swirl of hormones and trauma and second-guessing that is about to hit aang once it finally occurs to him that the purpose he has been fighting for ever since his entire life changed is now over, basically, and he has to figure out what it means to be alive outside of one sole, defining goal. as anne carson said in red doc>, “to live past the end of your myth is a perilous thing.” as jp sartre said in la nausée, “i outlive myself” (specifically, anny says it to roquentin). what is aang doing if not ouliving himself? had he lived a normal lifespan that hadn’t been disrupted by a spiritually imposed stasis, he probably would’ve been dead by now (long dead, if we can assume that his death in lok is by natural causes). and his myth, his grand destiny of stopping the war and once more carving out a space for his people in this brave new world? well, he did it. accomplished it with flying colors. now it’s over. now he is a perilous thing.

as i alluded to before, i think the only person who can really truly empathize with aang’s situation is sokka. sokka, too, has survived beyond any point he imagined. he has built his entire identity around being a shield, and now that the war is over, his ability to protect others from immediate threats and sacrifice himself for a cause has been ripped away from him. he now has to forge an identity beyond reducing himself to a soldier, in a fundamentally unfamiliar world. sokka was shaped by war, and yet he lived past it, past the end of his myth. aang’s world is now also unfamiliar, not solely because the war is over, but because the war is over and yet he is still alone. he did it, he saved the day, and yet what is his reward? he saved a lot of people, but none of his people. he can never go home again.

aang and sokka’s role as foils is something i want to write about more because i do find it truly fascinating, but in these terms i think we can also read their psychological states postwar as a sort of reciprocal dynamic. i’ve spoken in the past about how in a postwar reconstruction landscape, sokka would do a lot of the administrative work that aang cannot. not only because aang is literally twelve, but because aang cannot focus all his attention on this world when he is also its only real tether to the past. so sokka would make room for aang to focus on being the last airbender by sort of taking on the mantle of pseudo-avatar. solely in the most bureaucratic sense of the title, of course, but that would be the role that sustains and (somewhat) fulfills him after the war. and i think aang would be grateful for that, but he’d also be somewhat resentful?? not of sokka (aang is too emotionally mature for that, plus he respects sokka too much), but he’d definitely resent himself. think about how guilty and shameful he feels whenever he feels like he’s let the world down due to factors beyond his control. and so the fact that sokka is doing so much of what aang himself should be doing because he’s too busy being defined by his status as a genocide survivor… well, it might make him angry. he might lash out. and we’ve seen him frustrated, volatile, and emotionally confused. it’s not pretty.

i know that we all only want the best for aang and want him to be happy and thriving after the war because he’s such a perfect kid who deserves the world, but realistically, i do think there would be a period where he’s kind of hard to be around. not only because that’s just something that happens to all adorable baby boys once they turn thirteen (i, for one, learned this lesson extremely painfully), but because he’s dealing with a lot and the only person who even remotely understands what he’s going through is also the most emotionally repressed guy he knows.

throughout atla, he never allows himself a moment to just stop and feel, because the depth of his grief is actually scary and incredibly difficult to confront. but i think if he did ever allow himself to feel, he might never stop. he might, in fact, spend a month or so curled up in blankets in bed eating nothing but bean curd puffs and shutting out everyone but momo. i actually think that’s more realistic than him immediately entering a perfect relationship with katara and being highschool sweethearts and popping out three kids. and frankly, i think going through that kind of depression now that he no longer has any pressing responsibilities also happens to be something he’s earned. he’s been pushing down his grief, ignoring it, distracting himself from it, this whole time. it’s time he finally lets himself feel.

on a happier note, i like thinking about aang and suki getting closer after the war (or even being close offscreen during the show, like on ember island). i like to think that suki can act as a sort of cool big sister figure to aang, who has suffered just enough that she can empathize with his pain, but isn’t too close to the situation (like fellow genocide survivors katara and sokka, or genocide perperators’ direct descendants, like zuko) that she can still discuss it with him without bringing her own baggage into the fore. she’s very good at giving direct, no-bullshit advice in a nonetheless kind and compassionate way, and she’s also very good at joking around and knowing how to let loose and have fun in a way aang appreciates. she also really admires and highly values the role of the avatar in the world, and she also admires and cherishes aang as a person, so i think she could give him that kind of measured encouragement that aang really needs to hear.

obviously katara has done this for aang a lot in the past, and i’m not saying she wouldn’t also continue to be a shoulder for aang to lean on, because no matter how much he may try to push her away, she will always be there for him, but i think suki also sort of provides a necessary detachment where he isn’t bogged down by any romantic feelings for her and she isn’t bogged down by her own all too similar trauma the way katara is. suki has people to help her work through her own trauma (sokka, her sisters, etc.) so aang doesn’t need to reciprocate. she’s just happy to be there for her surrogate baby bro who needs her. she’ll serve the avatar in any way she can, whether by becoming a kyoshi warrior, by sacrificing herself to free his bison, or by just chilling with him in bed while he rants about his impossible situation and cries on her shoulder.

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satancopilotsmytardis · 2 months

Text

Holding Out for a Hero Villain

Pairing: Shigadabi

Rating: T

Contents: Non-graphic mentions of mass murder including of children, suggestive dialogue

Getting caught with a sleeping quirk was not what he was expecting, but Dabi wakes with his hands completely encased in quirk-neutralizing cuffs and locked in an interrogation room and that is pretty much what he expected if he ever got brought in, so that’s something he supposes. He leans back in the chair. He doesn't feel any extra bumps or bruises that might indicate they took a blood sample, but they definitely could have taken hair or swabbed his cheek. He doesn't feel like he's been asleep for longer than seven hours, but the quirk could have a different feel than normal sleep. He assumes that means that they are likely in the process of verifying his identity. Which means--

It's absolutely not a surprise when Endeavor, Hawks, and some cop come into the room as he leans back in his chair and waits. And yeah, Enji's eyes are going over his face desperately, like he's looking for any trace of Toya that might be left and all Dabi can do is give him a vicious grin before he turns his attention to Hawks.

"Blowing your load a little early, aren't you, birdy? Guess being the fastest hero isn't always a good thing, is it?"

His wings don't even twitch, but Dabi has been around him for long enough to know that when the spy is holding himself that rigidly, it's because he is trying to keep his mask on. "Dabi, or should we say 'Toya'? Good to see you again, man."

He shrugs, not paying any attention to Endeavor. This isn't how his reveal was supposed to go and he is not going to start in on him when he can't back the words up with his flames at the moment. "Call me what you want, doesn't matter. You're going to let me out soon enough anyway."

The cop takes lead next, moving to sit across from him at the table. "You seem confident in that, but you are an A-ranked villain, Mr. Todoroki. Surely you know that we have a vested interest in keeping you here before your relocation to Tartarus."

"Oh sure," he agrees. "And you are?"

"My apologies, Detective Tsukauchi."

"The living lie-detector! Huh, nice to meet you." Hawks can't quite keep his wings from giving an aborted little twitch at that. Dabi doesn't react to it. Hawks had definitely not given him information about Tsukauchi, but their PLF members in the police force certainly had. He's never been more pleased that he decided to take the ribbing from the rest of the League after Deika by showing up 'empty-handed' after going off to recruit again in favor of keeping the double agent as out of the loop as possible. Endeavor tenses too, and he is thrilled to have already put them on their back foot just by knowing more than they expected him to. He reclines as much as he can in his chair. The fact his ankles are chained down is the only reason his feet aren't on the table.

"I didn't realize my reputation would proceed me." The detective gives him a placid smile. "Can you elaborate on why we would let you out given your... extensive list of crimes?"

"Because if you don't then you're going to watch Japan fall apart around you." He waits to see if the detective spots a lie, however he manages to do so with his quirk.

"Hmm, well until then, we have some other questions that we'd like to ask you."

Dabi settles in. Mostly ignoring them as he starts to count the very faint ticks he can hear from the detective's watch. He's not giving them anything else. Now he just has to wait.

///

The trio left after about an hour of him stonewalling them and Dabi did his best to just doze again in the chair. He's gonna have so much to catch up on once he's out, that he's damn certain that getting the extra sleep will be more helpful than not.

It feels like maybe another two hours have passed before Endeavor and Tsukauchi come back into the room, his father definitely a little paler than he usually is beneath his flames, the fire of his mask flickering the way it does when he's agitated enough to be having some difficulty controlling it.

"Already? I thought you'd hold out at least a day." He had been settling in for a week at minimum with torture, but he'll take whatever he can get.

"Sekoto Peak is gone."

Which. Oh. Okay. Dabi blinks. That's not what he expected his father to say, but still, "That's wild. So are you taking the cuffs off now or after you let me back onto the street?"

"We're not letting you go," Enji growls.

"Okay. I'm going back to sleep then."

"You don't seem very surprised about this. Were you aware that this attack was coming?"

"That wasn't an attack, that was a warning shot." He yawns.

"A 'warning shot'?"

He hums, "He's giving you a chance to stop being stupid and let me go before he escalates."

"Shigaraki? He didn't come for any of the other members of the League that we've captured, why would you be any different?"

"I'm his favorite." It is funny to see his father glance at the detective to see if he's telling the truth. "You let me go, or what happens next is on you." He shoots a vicious smile at Enji, "Not that you've ever cared about the consequences of your inaction before."

They try to wheedle out anything else they can from him, but he doesn't give an inch until they leave.

///

It's only an hour before Hawks and the detective return, Hawks' feathers shining because they've gone sharp with his fury.

Dabi waits for them to speak with a lazy grin.

"Endeavor isn't here because his home, the hospital that your mother was located at, and the school your sister works at were destroyed."

"Oh, that was a big hospital wasn't it? And Fuyumi's a grade-school teacher isn't she? Man, that must have sucked for her. I wonder if she tried to hold any of her students together before they crumbled into dust."

"This isn't funny, Dabi!" The bird loses his temper. Always been able to get him furious by just barely laying on his buttons. "Two hundred children and five hundred people are dead."

"Yeah they are, and that's entirely on you, birdy. You could have kept playing ball and I still wouldn't have given you anything, but you wouldn't have the blood of seven hundred civilians on your hands." He considers. "Did Rei and Fuyumi survive?"

"They didn't." It's a lie, and not even a good one. The bird's wording of the casualties gave too much away. His father would only not be here because he suddenly had no choice but to very publicly take care of his family in the wake of a tragedy.

"Well isn't that interesting." Because if they did survive, if Duster decided to start with those places, then that means the treatments have progressed well ahead of schedule. "Are you letting me out now? Or do you want to see how much more damage he can do?"

"We're preparing your transfer to Tartarus." The detective tells him. "We'll complete your interrogation there and move forward with pursuing a trial."

"Okay, then everything else is on your hands too."

///

He's not expecting the next person who opens the door to the interrogation room. Dabi had thought that it would be the police, heroes, whoever they found to escort him to the transport or whatever. He was not expecting a red-eyed Natsuo to step in the room, face an aching mixture of fury and sorrow. Dabi forces the tightness in his own throat away before he leans back in his chair again and drawls,

"Hey little brother."

"Toya this has to stop." His voice trembles, cracks, tears slipping over his cheeks. "My school-- everything around it-- Toya, it's gone. He destroyed it. He killed everyone else."

"Yeah, I told them that would happen. It's going to keep happening until I'm back home--" Neither he nor Natsuo are prepared for the detective and two even more harried looking cops to burst in at that moment.

"Jaku, Otheon, and Esuha City have all been hit simultaneously. Eight city blocks have been wiped out." Huh, must have gotten Twice's help with that one.

"From each? Wow, he's losing his patience, haven't seen him mad in ages." The cops usher Natsuo out before he can get a word in and the detective stays behind, dragging a hand over his face. "Look, I told you: This is not going to stop until I'm free and call him off. You can keep holding out, you can try to trick him, kill me, whatever, but it won't stop until he has me back home. And if you keep waiting like this, he's not even going to have to tear this place down, because I'm sure the average citizens, the people who you're letting die, are going to get fed up sooner rather than later too."

There's an achingly long beat, but then the detective tells the others, "Prep him for transport."

They manage to get him up and locked in with four armed guards who take him downstairs to the vehicle bay, and loaded into the the back of the truck before the next call comes in, Tsukauchi not moving nearly far enough away to hide the crackling of his walkie-talkie that says that,

"The HPSC building has been destroyed. A new drop-off point is being selected." He leans back against the wall of the armored van and waits as they lock his limbs back into place.

Not even a full day and they break. Pathetic.

///

They drive him out into the middle of Deika. He knows it as soon as they open up the back of the van, and he gets the barest glimpse of the surroundings before they put a bag over his head and then they stand and wait. And wait. And wait.

Eventually Dabi risks getting shot and just plops down on the broken ground. He can feel the warmth of the sun on his skin for a little while, but it fades, and the light behind the cloth blinding him also goes. Whatever.

"He didn't show." Hawks. Which, okay, didn't know he was here. "Maybe you're not as important to him as you think you are."

"Maybe."

"Let's bring him to Tartarus."

Hands on his chains again, pulling him off of the ground and loading him back into the van. Dabi lets them lock him in. It takes ten minutes before their little caravan is trundling along again. They drive for an hour, until the wheels are going over smoothly paved roads again, before he starts to hear it.

From somewhere in the distance, there is crashing, crunching, screaming. The cops around him start to shout, trying to figure out what's happening and Dabi just does his best to brace for impact. He doesn't know if this is Shigaraki himself, Gigantomachia, Geten, or any of their other heavy hitters, but something is coming to hit this caravan. His ears pop as wind rushes in as the doors of the vehicle are yanked out of place with a wrenching metallic tear. He's chained down, but god, that motion makes his stomach twist. He hears the cops yelling, but the sound grows more distant as they're pulled out of the car, Hawks shouting,

"Everyone off the ground!"

Oh good. That means it is his lover after all. The truck swerves, hits a bump, and Dabi goes weightless for a second before something very solid is grabbing onto him. He hears the chains snap, and then the distinct sound of something decaying, before he's feeling his body covered in a deluge of dust. It takes him a second to realize that he's in someone's arms, against their chest for a handful of weightless seconds before they land back on the ground, skidding to a stop.

"Are you hurt, firefly?"

Wait. "What the fuck, are you ripped now?"

"Dabi."

"I'm fine, put me down and get this shit off of me. I have a bird to turn into fried chicken."

Duster does put him down and then Dabi feels his hand, his whole hand, against his cheek through the bag. The fabric turns to dust and he blinks it away as it falls over his head and shoulders. Decay crawls over his skin harmlessly until it reaches the cuffs at his wrists, the ones still tight around his ankles, and those fall away as well. And Tomura really is right here. White hair much longer than before it was when he went into the tank, body corded with fresh muscle, and control over his quirk that Dabi didn't even know would be possible.

No one can really blame him for that all being so hot that he immediately tangles his hands in that thick, soft hair and pulls him into a kiss. Least of all Tomura, because his lover's hands wrap tightly around his hips and pull him in close, kissing him back just as fiercely. Kisses him like they haven't gotten to in two and a half months and after an entire day of worry. Definitely ruins the moment when a gun goes off.

Dabi is expecting pain, or expecting Tomura to be in pain, but he doesn't even flinch as the bullet connects with his shoulder. As he pulls away and glares up somewhere behind him as the bullet is pushed back out of his skin and the wound heals over. He lifts a hand and there's a loud sucking sound as all of the air seems to be pulled out of the vicinity, the pressure changing so fast it makes his ears pop, and then Duster lifts his hand and sends out a blast of air so intense that the closest two cops who were floating, held aloft by Hawks' feathers, turn into ragdolls as their bones are snapped from the force of it, the boom loud enough Dabi's pretty sure his ears will be ringing for a few days, as Hawks retreats back even further from them with the rest of the convoy. It's practically a small army that he'd tried to save before Duster got to them, but he has plenty of feathers for it. Or at least that would be the case if this was like Fukuoka and there was somewhere for him to land as he used the feathers for rescue only, but as it is now, he's visibly struggling to hold himself up on the tiny wings he has left as the others keep the rest of the police and a handful of other heroes aloft, none of them wanting to risk touching the ground after seeing what Shigaraki can do.

A few heroes, including his father, but no, "They didn't send Eraser Head?"

"A double took a parade to Musutafu." Tomura explains, settling one arm back around his waist. "I'm not sure how much longer that distraction will hold, if you want to finish these ones off, firefly?"

"Tempting," But he doesn't know if the one who knocked him out is here. He didn't get a good look at them before they hit him, and he would hate for both of them to end up back in chains after how much effort his lover put into coming and getting him. "But I'm more interested in going home and seeing what else your treatments changed." He presses in even closer, like he'll be able to feel it through the plates of armor beneath his new suit. "Did anything else get even bigger?"

"You're incorrigible."

"You're shockingly romantic. All of my family members?"

"I figured you would be upset that your reveal was ruined."

"I love you."

Tomura's eyes soften and he presses another soft peck to his lips. "I love you too, baby. Come on, let's go home."

The tar claws its way up their throats, and in a matter of seconds, they're gone.

#shigadabi #my writing #mha fanfiction #fanfiction #I did a little drabble before work #now i am posting it very quickly before my next essay comes in

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courtforshort15 · 1 year

Text

My Own Worst Enemy

Pairing: Matt Murdock x GN Reader

Word Count: 5,400

Summary: There are some things that are just too shameful to talk about, each mark on your skin a testament to a sense of pain and desperation that you’re unsure how to talk about.

Trigger warning: This is a bit of a heavy one, so read with caution. Self-harm, unhealthy coping mechanisms, and mentions of suicide (reader does not commit suicide, but it is brought up briefly.)

Masterlist

You were a hypocrite. A dirty rotten hypocrite. To the highest extreme. For all you spoke about Matt needing to talk to someone, to develop healthy coping mechanisms for all the pain and trauma he had endured, you've struggled to do the same.

Struggled, and often failed.

The first time you slipped since you’d started dating him, it was easy enough to pass off as an accident. The man was a human lie detector, sure, but you had learned by now that if you spoke enough of the truth, he couldn't always pick up on the part you kept hidden from him. You hated to admit it, but you sometimes took advantage of it, telling yourself that it would hurt him to know the truth, that he was better off not knowing where your thoughts sometimes strayed into a depression so encompassing that you struggled to breathe.

"What happened here?" he asked as he cradled your wrist gently in his hands. Your wrist wasn't bleeding, per se, but it was rubbed raw to the point where it was red and patches of skin were missing. It was sore and agitated, washed with a bar of soap that had left it stinging even more, the flesh angry in the face of your failure to seek help instead of hurting yourself.

"Oh," you said, eyeing the mark as casually as possible, voice wavering just the tiniest amount, "I just scratched myself. No big deal." He pressed a kiss to the skin next to it tenderly, before sliding his fingers through yours and focusing back on the notes his computer was reading back to him through the ear buds that were squished into his ears.

No further questions on his end, and you sighed in relief, masking it as a yawn and leaning back into the couch, energy zapped out by a seemingly simple question and a feigned simple response.

You'd scratched yourself, yes, so that part wasn't a lie. But he didn't know it had been done on purpose.

He didn't know that the pain had soothed you at the time. Matt was a bit of a masochist himself, ending most of his nights bleeding and bruised, not because he necessarily enjoyed it, but because he believed it was a small price to pay for keeping Hell’s Kitchen safe. He may not enjoy the pain, but he enjoyed the release of anger, the letting go of every frustration experienced by the law not being enough to help innocent people, enjoyed the opportunity to use his abilities and not be forced into the lie of being an ordinary blind man.

If Matt knew that you purposefully hurting yourself, for nothing other than taking your mind off the ache in your heart, there might be a part of him that understood, but it would not stop the overwhelming sense of horror.

When he noticed the second time, it was during a night out at Josie's, celebrating the end of a grueling work week with Foggy and Karen, both of whom were sharing a bottle of the worst tasting liquor you had ever had the displeasure of drinking. Sometimes you weren’t sure if it was because they actually enjoyed it, or if they were still trying to drink frugally despite the recent success and profit of Nelson, Murdock & Page. You joined halfway through the night, stumbling up to their table in desperate need of a drink after a meeting that had lasted far too long into the evening hours.

By the time you got there, they were all halfway on their way to drunk, Matt included, his lips tilted into a relaxed smile that was far too charming. He stood up with a loud exclamation of your name, reaching forward to pull you into him and laying an enthusiastic kiss on your mouth as you laughed. When he stepped back, his hand drifted down your arm to pull you by the wrist in an effort to bring you to the empty chair by his, but you hissed as his fingers inadvertently trailed down the large scratch that had been carved into your forearm.

Matt seemed to have noticed it at the same time you tried to pull away, frowning as he pushed your sleeve up. His head tilted curiously as it always when he found a puzzle he couldn't quite figure out.

"What happened here?" His words were slightly slurred, and you were grateful that while his attention was on you, it definitely wasn’t the typical extreme laser-focus you were used to, likely due to the liquor coursing through his veins.

You gave the same excuse.

"Nothing, just scratched myself." A pause, a nod, and the subject was easily forgotten. Matt, normally so astute and observant, smiled when he was assured that you were ok, and pulled you back in for another kiss. Foggy and Karen took turns greeting you, Josie handed you your normal drink order, and the night passed on without incident.

It wasn't like you liked doing it, enjoyed hiding things from him, enjoyed hurting yourself. He didn't make it easy to keep things from him, at any rate, usually so perceptive and in tune with your every word and reaction. And it wasn't like it happened all the time; it was spaced out enough that it didn't seem like a pattern. The marks were definitely not bad enough to warrant much attention, unlike the cuts and bruises and fractured ribs he came home with. It was an unhealthy coping mechanism, you knew. Something you did, something you felt like you’d always done, even while telling Matt that he had his own unhealthy coping mechanisms he needed to watch out for.

This was just something that had followed you for years, decades even. Medication. Therapy. A brief stint in a psychiatric hospital. You'd done it all. And it wasn't like your depression was something you were afraid to talk about. It was just something that never came up, and you didn't know how to work it into a conversation.

How did you bring it up to Foggy, who had literally walked in on his best friend bleeding to death on his apartment floor?

How did you bring it up to Karen, a woman with a past drug addiction that had been partly to blame for the death of her brother; a woman who had been forced to kill a man just so that she could keep herself and her friends safe?

How did you bring it up to Matt, beautiful, adoring Matt, who treated you like you were the most precious thing in his life? How did you bring it up to a man whose father had been shot in an alley not too far from his home, a man who had held his ex-girlfriend in his arms while she died, not once, but twice?

They...they had real things they were dealing with, had already dealt with. And you...you were just someone with a brain whose hormone imbalance was off, which sometimes led to days where you couldn't get out of bed because you were so depressed.

Compared to them, what did you have to be depressed about?

And yet...it was this shadow that was always hanging over you. A monster hiding within it, behind your back, waiting for the right moment to sink its claws into you. You liked to think that you were able to fight it off 90 percent of the time.

But sometimes you failed.

Being with Matt was the easiest thing in the world. It was like breathing, like the puzzle pieces of you were always meant to find the puzzle pieces that made up him. Where he moved, you moved. Where he went, you followed. You were a well-oiled machine together, something that would run to the very end if it was given the right care and attention.

He made it easy to forget the way the depression sank in occasionally. He was good at unintentionally, unknowingly chasing it away, though he had no idea of the monster he was inadvertently fighting on your behalf. But sometimes even he wasn't enough, just like you weren't always enough to pull him out of his head. It was just the reality of how things were, you supposed.

He was a busy man, though he never made you feel like anything less of a priority. But sometimes life happened, and his attention was forced elsewhere, or you had deadlines you had to make, and things just got lost in the shuffle. You couldn't be around each other all of the time. And even if you could, these feelings would still find a way to sink in, like they always did.

You could feel an episode coming on. You'd felt it for the past few days. Sometimes the depressive episodes snuck up gradually, as if they were giving you a warning, and other times you ran head first into one. You weren't sure what was worse: being given time to prepare, with the sinking feeling of what was coming, or living life like normal, only to be smacked so hard in the face with it without warning.

You found yourself instinctively drawing in on yourself. It was relatively easy to do this time. Matt was in the middle of a large case, and you'd made the decision to give him space to focus on the trial. You knew how much you meant to him, even while you could see that he was grateful for the extra quiet time at home to prepare.

Foggy was in the same situation as Matt, and Karen was off visiting Frank in some undisclosed town in the Midwest. Three of your major support systems were currently wrapped up in other important things that absolutely deserved their undivided attention, and it was just a perfect time for the depression to sneak up, ensnare you in its clutches, and yank you back into its hold, this time without anyone to hold your hand and protect you against something they didn’t even know about.

You could feel it clawing up your throat, the tears and panic, and you knew it was going to be one of those nights. A night where you'd struggle to breathe, struggle to think, struggle to ground yourself in a reality where you knew you mattered and had people who loved you unconditionally.

Sometimes, all the support systems you had thoughtfully and carefully selected and put into place were knocked down by the force of a tornado that ran through your brain. Utterly paralyzed by the panic and sadness that was roaring through you, its force stronger than you'd felt it in a while, you found yourself needing to...scratch.

So you did, and the pain grounded you, as it always did, pulling off layer and layer of skin with nothing but a fingernail and desperation to carve deeper into flesh. And when you were done, the relief was equally matched by the failure and shame.

"Sweetheart?"

A gasp tore its way out of your throat as you turned sharply around, reaching out to grab the kitchen counter as your balance wobbled. You’d gotten up to wipe the mark down with alcohol wipes, wary of an infection setting in. He was standing in all black, no doubt in the middle of his route through Hell's Kitchen, given the time of night.

"Hey, Matt," you said weakly, moving in front of the alcohol wipes still on the counter, as if placing your body between them and him would actually hide them from his senses. "Are you...did you finish for the night?"

He didn't say anything as he slowly removed his mask. Once it was in his hand and no longer over his face, you winced as his head tilted, his unfocused eyes landing on your hip, just a few inches above the line you had just carved into your thigh, skin bare except for the thin pajama shorts you were wearing.

"I..uh. I was making my way through the city when I heard you crying," he told you softly, his focus still on the patch of skin that was on display and blood he could no doubt smell. "What is that?"

"Nothing, I just--"

"Don't tell me you just scratched yourself on something," he said, heat slowly seeping into his voice. "That's what you've been telling me, hasn't it?"

"I--"

"I thought maybe I was imagining things." Matt's voice was gradually getting louder and you couldn’t help but wince again, eyes shifting away from the downturn of his mouth. "But I wasn't, was I? You did this to yourself on purpose."

"Matt," you managed to choke out as your fist tightened around the alcohol wipe you’d briefly used to clean the scratch to prevent infection. "Please don't--"

"Please don't what?" he asked incredulously, and you couldn’t help but flinch at the tone, eyes lowering again so that you couldn’t see the look on his face. "Please don't get upset? You hurt yourself. You made yourself bleed, and you want me to...what? Not talk to you about it? Pretend it's not what it is?"

"Please don't yell at me," you whimpered, burrowing your head in your hands, unable to stop the tears from coming in full force, shame lighting up your skin like a failed firework that does nothing but burst into flame. "Please don't be mad at me."

"Mad at you?” he asked with a gasp, the words still somehow sharp. “I'm not mad....I'm horrified." You jerked back so hard your knee almost gave out, hurriedly opening the distance between the two of you blindly, your hip bumping painfully into the counter behind you. "I'm horrified that this has been happening for months and I...I didn't pick up on it."

Matt sounded so broken that you dropped your hands from your face, eyes trailing over his form through your tears. His head was bowed, and his hands were shaking. It only made you cry harder.

"I'm sorry," you choked out, your voice every bit as broken. "I'm so sorry."

"No, sweetheart," he whispered as he tilted his head back in your direction. Something in the way you whimpered caused him to finally take a few steps toward you. "Don't be sorry. I just...I just don't know what to do."

"You don't have to do anything," you told him quietly with a sniffle. "This is my thing to deal with, I'll be ok."

"Bullshit, that's bullshit," he said adamantly in a tone that displayed a tiny amount of frustration. It made your heart speed up for just a moment, the fear of his impending judgment too much for you. "You're not okay. And this isn't just something that you have to deal with, not anymore. It's mine, too. I have to deal with it now, too."

You flinched, the words somehow indicating that he was now burdened with something that should be just your problem and was angry about it. You could see the look of horror that crossed his face as he realized how it had sounded.

"No, that's not what I meant by that. Fuck." His hands were suddenly cupping your face before you could think. You tried to pull away, but he stepped forward when you stepped back, latching on to you, though his hands remained as gentle as they always were when he touched you. "I meant that this isn't something you should have to do alone. This is my thing now, too. Anything that's yours is mine. This is something we will work on together. Ok?"

"You don't even know what it is, Matt," you said weakly. You put your hands over his and tried to pull them off and break contact, but he refused to be moved.

"I thought…I know enough about depression to recognize it," Matt told you softly, blank eyes landing on your cheek. "I should have...I could feel it. I could feel something was off, but I couldn't put my finger on it. I let things distract me from asking the right questions, and now you've..." he finally moved his hands so that he could gesture vaguely at your thigh.

"It's not your fault, Matt." You moved to take a step back now that his hands were off, but upon recognizing your intentions, they were back on you, holding your waist this time.

"I still should have--"

"No," you interrupted him as you shook your head quickly, rejecting his idea that he was somehow to blame. "I should have. This...I should have said something. We've been together for what, a year? Plenty of opportunities for me to say something, and I chose not to. You take responsibility for things out of control all the time, Matt. Don't take this on, too."

He took a shaky breath, one that rattled his entire frame. "Can I ask how long you've been..."

"A while."

"Did it start while we were together?" You shook your head and he closed his eyes briefly as he took a deep breath, the look on his face suggesting that he was somewhat relieved that the habit hadn’t started since he came into your life, the idea that maybe he was what led you to start hurting yourself for the first time. "Before we met?" He flinched when you nodded, somehow realizing that this was a long-term habit. "How long, sweetheart?"

"Pretty much since high school," you admitted quietly as your eyes trailed a face that was far too pale. He shuddered, as if in pain, and you knew the admission hurt him. You felt incredibly guilty, and it reminded you of the day your mother found out what you’d been doing, her tears and anguish still haunting you years into your adult life.

"Okay," he mumbled, his eyes closing again. He let go of you and took a small step back. "Okay. Is it alright if I hold you? I don't...I don't want to touch you anymore if you need the space right now."

Your eyes welled with tears again. "Please do." You were in his arms before you even finished speaking. He was warm, and despite the heat inside your apartment, you found you needed the warmth of him pushed up against you. One of his hands slipped around your waist, the other around your shoulders, where it reached up to cradle the back of your skull. His fingers wrapped themselves in your hair, something you knew he loved doing, something you knew he did when he was trying to remind himself you were next to him and safe.

"Do your parents know?" he asked quietly as he held you to him, the side of your face pressed against his shoulder. Your arms were snug around his waist, your hands gripping the back of his sweat-soaked black shirt. You didn't know how much you'd needed him to hold you until this moment.

"About what part?" Your voice was equally as soft.

"Any of it."

You sighed and you felt him tighten his arms around you. "They know about pretty much everything besides the...recent scratching. I spoke with my mom earlier today and she knows I've been slipping a bit."

"And what did she say?"

"She told me I could come to visit for a few days if I needed to," you responded. "I told her I couldn't, but she refused to hang up until I promised I'd schedule an appointment with my therapist."

"Did you?"

"Yeah, I have a virtual appointment on Thursday." He nodded and you felt more than heard his sigh of relief.

"Good. That's good, sweetheart." You felt him place a kiss to the top of your head. By the way his chest expanded to take a deep breath, you knew a big question was about to come out, something that had probably been weighing on his mind since the moment he noticed the mark on your thigh. You had a pretty good idea what it was going to be before even he asked it. "Have you done more than...these scratches in the past?"

You winced, having guessed the question correctly. "I have."

He tensed. "How much worse?"

You gulped, not wanting to give him the answer. He could feel your reluctance, but pushed on. "Please tell me. I'm not…I'm not going to judge you. I just want to help you, but I can't do that if I don't know."

Taking a deep breath, you forced it out, eyes squeezing shut as you revealed something you haven’t shared in years. "I was once...hospitalized. I was placed on suicide watch."

You felt Matt shake against you, body trembling as he took in your answer, and grimaced when his arms tightened around to the point of pain. He apologized immediately, loosening his grip just a tad, but the shaking didn't stop. "Matt, I'm okay. I promise. I haven't felt that way in a long time."

"How long ago was that?" he asked you, seeming desperate to wrap his mind around it. "Last year? A few years ago? How recent?"

"It was ten years ago," you whispered as you clutched the back of his shirt in hands that weren’t steady, either. "I got a lot of help. I went through a shit ton of therapy. Put on some medication, some of which I'm still on. I'm okay."

"You have to promise me you won't do something like that." He was still shaking and it was making you tear up again. You buried your face in his shoulder, and he cradled your head there, hand still buried in your hair. "You have to promise me that if things get that bad again, you'll say something. You'll tell me."

You swallowed loudly, before slowly nodding your head

"I promise, Matt." He took a deep, shuddering breath, and when you pulled back slightly to look up at him, it tore at you to see the tears that were making their way down his face, stark against a bruise that bloomed on his jaw. Gently, you tilted your chin up so that you could kiss his cheeks. First one, then the other, pressing all the love you felt for him into the simple connection of lips to skin. He pulled back to place a kiss of his own on your forehead, and took a deep breath.

"I think you should come stay with me for a bit."

You pressed your face back into his shoulder, your strength seeping out of you slowly, feeling safe and secure for the first time in days, the depression sliding back just enough so that the red flare of the devil could warm your skin. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I need you close. I need you to be with me where I can keep an eye on you."

"You don't--"

"Please," Matt whispered, the tone pleading and desperate. "Please...just don't argue with me. Not on this."

"I'm not arguing with you, Matt," you said gently, lifting a hand from his waist to run it through his hair. He caught the hand and brought it to his mouth instead. "It's just...you have a big case next week and--"

Matt jerked away, looking aghast, a sense of realization seeping into his pores, though you knew it was an incorrect one. But he took the idea and ran with it, once again trying to take the blame for something that was not his to bear "Is that--is that why you didn't say anything? Because of this case? Because you didn't want to distract me?"

You winced. "No, Matt. But it did make things...easier for me not to admit that things were bad. I didn't want to say anything in the first place, and I’m not sure if I would have said anything at all."

"Oh my god," he said, seemingly horrified. "You can't...you can't do that. You can't hide things like that."

"You understand the irony, right?" You mouth quirked up in the corner. His eyes widened drastically at the comment, lips parting in a mixture of alarm and frustration.

"That's not funny!" He exploded, tightening his grasp on you. Your mouth snapped shut. "You have to tell me these things. You can't use my job or my work at night or anything to hide this. Do you understand? Tell me you understand."

"I understand, Matt. I’m sorry."

"Promise me."

"I already--"

"Promise me again," he demanded, and your eyes widened at how frantic he sounded, your eyes sweeping over a face that housed haunted, red-lined eyes and drying tracks of tears. "Promise me a thousand times."

"I promise, Matt. I promise." You found yourself crushed back against his chest.

"You're my priority," he whispered adamantly into your ear. His hand was shaking again as it rested on your lower back. "You're the priority. Everything else...it doesn't matter, none of it matters if you're not here. I need you to understand that."

You hesitated, and he caught on to it.

“Sweetheart,” he said with a quiet moan that sounded far too grief-stricken, his cheek pressing to yours, the scruff of his beard nothing but a familiar, welcomed feeling. It spoke to you of love and adoration, his beard often rasping against your skin while he kissed you, or even while he slid down your body to put his mouth on the most sensitive part of you. “I don't care if it's the biggest case of the century. I don't care if I'm one second away for finally catching the most important drug ring and tearing down their entire organization. If you need me, I'm there. No questions asked."

"But--"

"No." He pulled back to place his hands on your shoulders while his head tilted towards you, unfocused eyes landing around your mouth. "No buts. You call me. You tell me where you are, and I'll come get you. I'll be there as soon as humanly possible, everytime."

"Matt," you whimpered with a shake of your head, mouth tilting down in a frown. "You can't just--those things are important to people, I can't let you--"

"You're not letting me do anything. I choose you. Always."

You shuddered at the declaration, wondering what you had ever done to deserve this man, but unwilling to ever let him go. Eyes welling with a new batch of tears, you held on to him with everything you had, energy leaching out of you as you leaned against him. He took your weight easily without a word, no objection to being your sole source of strength and balance.

Matt cleared his throat as held you, breath fanning out across your cheek. "Can I...will you let me check it?" he asked quietly, the question almost hesitant as if he expected to be rejected. "I can smell the antiseptic, but I just need to be sure."

You were absolutely helpless to deny him anything."Yeah…yeah, you can."

He took a step back and pulled you over to your kitchen table where he gently pushed you into a seat. Once you were settled with your leg outstretched and balanced on another chair, he grabbed another alcohol wipe and a large bandage from the first aid kit. Bending down so that he was kneeling next to you on the hardwood, Matt leaned forward and placed a kiss directly below the mark on your thigh, your skin turning into a field of goosebumps despite the fact that Matt had had his lips to every inch of your skin at this point in your relationship. There was something so gentle, something so reverent about the kiss that you mourned the loss of his lips the second he pulled away.

You watched as Matt turned his attention to the long scratch on your thigh, frowning when you hissed at the alcohol wipe he ran gently down it. His finger traced the outline gently as his sightless eyes roamed over the room, and you knew he was testing the temperature of your skin as if he’d be able to trace the possibility of an infection. When he was satisfied, he took the large bandage and placed it over the scratch.

He placed the trash on the table with fingers that had steadied as he focused on making sure you were okay, the mission to help you overpowering the horror and concern he’d been feeling since he made his way into your apartment. Grasping your hands in his, he turned his face towards you, tilting up as he licked his lips in a tick you had long since noticed was often an indication of anxiety. He pulled your hands into his, the heat of his palms warm and soothing he held them. Within a gentle kiss placed on the back of each hand, Matt’s form finally seemed to relax as a small smile broke our across his face.

Unable to help yourself, you leaned down and pressed your lips to his.

"Thank you," you whispered quietly as you slowly sat back up. He chased your lips for just a small second before he settled back on his haunches and let his eyes rest over your shoulder. "For always taking care of me."

He made a noise in the back of his throat. "You don't have to thank me for this."

"I do," you affirmed gently. "And I'm sorry for...not saying anything."

He was silent for a moment as his thumbs traced over the back of your hands. "I understand what it's like. The depression. I've told you how bad it got, after Midland Circle. But I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. And part of that is thanks to you."

You opened your mouth to object, but he cut you off. "No, it's true. You make me want to be...better. Do better. And I know that I'd be struggling a lot more than I do if I didn't have you in my life. All the good that I do, all the good I try be, is partly thanks to you."

“Matt–”

He continued on gently even as you shook your head in denial, squeezing your hands tightly in his. "You do this for me every single day without even trying to, and I'll never be able to express how grateful I am for you, for how much you love me. So whatever you need, whatever you need from me, it's yours. Ask me for anything, ask me to do anything, and I'll give it to you."

A stray tear warmed your cheek as it fell. “You know I feel the same way, right? That I’d do the same for you.”

Matt’s smile was faint as he answered. “I know, sweetheart. You’ve told me.”

“And you–you believe me?”

“I do.” The sentence is small, a simple three letters and only two syllables, but it causes you to sigh in relief and sag against the chair as he finally stood up, your fingers entwined with his.

“Okay,” you whisper as you glance up at his face, taking in the tender look in his eyes and the smile that was equally gentle. “As long as you know the feeling is equal.”

Matt was quiet as let go of a hand to push back a few pieces of hair. "I know,” he said softly with a sigh, the flush of his skin finally bringing some color back to his face. “I think you should come stay with me for a bit, where I can look after you and make sure you're okay. We will make things work. No matter how busy I may be, this is the priority. Okay?"

"I….yeah, okay,” you answered with a nod of your head, eyes shifting to look out the window that he had left open, suddenly grateful that he’d been able to hear the tears that had left you feeling hollow for a few short moments.

Only a single moment passed before he took your face in his hands and tilted it up so he could place a kiss on the top of your head. "I'll help you pack your things."

When he pulled you out your front door, dressed in a pair of sweatpants and tshirt he had left at your place weeks ago, one hand in yours and the other holding the small duffle you’d thrown your things into, you somehow knew the move would be permanent. Your lease was nowhere close to being over, but the idea of swapping an empty apartment for one that was filled with silk sheets, record albums labeled in braille, and Matt’s smile was exactly what you needed.

Your bouts of depression would come and go, of this you were sure, but Matt would be unwavering and solid, standing in front of you in the face of whatever nightmare headed your way.

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