your f/o would never touch you in ways that made you feel dysphoric.
they wouldn’t use language for you (whether terms of address or ways of complimenting your appearance) associated with your AGAB that made you uncomfortable.
when complimenting your appearance, they wouldn’t mention things you had dysphoria about, regardless of how they felt about those parts of you.
your f/o cares about you, your comfort, and your wellbeing, and regardless of what they would be naturally inclined to do or say, they care much more about your boundaries, and they would never do anything that they knew would give you dysphoria.
this is a continuation of my “Danny stops Harold from abusing Ward” imagine, and i’ve decided that this should be the title! (because of future plans for this fic
☆⌒(ゝ。∂) )
Part 1
Word Count: 1,062
Warnings: drug mention
The elevator doors opened onto the lobby of the top floor of the Rand Building, and Danny had to fight the wave of nostalgia that threatened to knock him over every time he came there since returning to New York. It was like walking into one of his childhood memories. The glass walls of the conference room still glistened in the afternoon sun like they always have, and the kid-like urge to glide across the floor in one of the rolling chairs still hadn't left him.
These familiar sights and feelings didn't give him comfort, though. Even though nothing had been changed, he found that things were never the way he thought they were. Things that felt like a safe haven to him growing up now felt hostile and distorted from what he once knew. Even the people, who were now the only true link to his past and the truth behind what happened to him, seemed to be only now revealing their true identities. Everything he learned just prompted more questions and Danny couldn't help but feel like he was stuck a swirling pit of despair any time he really tried to make any sense of it.
Today was no different, and in fact, it seemed exponentially hopeless, since learning how Harold treated Ward. It answered questions Danny didn't even ask, like why Ward was the way he was, especially towards him. Memories of hints kept popping into Danny's mind, and he silently berated himself for not recognizing the signs earlier. Even though he was a child, he felt like he should have done something to stop it sooner. He was going to make up for it now.
That was the reason he had come to the Rand building; to look for Ward. He had checked Joy's house and then Ward's own apartment. He was nowhere to be found. Danny turned to Megan's desk and tried to hide the worried look on his face as he asked her if she'd seen him.
"Mr. Meachum hasn't come in today. He hasn't called in, either," she replied, her own anxiety clear on her face.
"Well, if he does, can you tell him that I'm looking for him?" Danny lightly rapped his knuckles on the polished wood and looked around as if Ward would just pop up out of nowhere at the mention of his name. But of course, he saw nothing but the swanky office space. His eyes caught on Harold's picture on the wall, right next to Danny’s own father. He didn't deserve to be up there. He didn't deserve a memorial. He was up and kicking, and hurting the people he should be protecting. Without thinking, Danny ripped the picture off the wall and let it fall to the ground, the glass shattering in a wide ray around his feet. Megan gasped loudly and stood from her chair. Shit. Danny rushed to push the button for the elevator and heard the sharp crunch of the glass under his feet. The doors opened moments after and he stepped inside, but not before calling a quick "Sorry" in Megan's direction.
Danny had been wandering the streets of New York for what seemed like hours now. He couldn't find Ward at any of the places he'd frequented as a child if they even still existed. 'Of course, he wouldn't go anywhere I knew,' Danny thought hopelessly. 'He wants to get away from me.'
The sun was starting to set, and it seemed like Ward was in the wind. For a brief moment, Danny thought of filing a missing person's report. Wherever Ward was, Danny knew he wasn't safe. He would hide away, locked with his own thoughts. And while Danny didn't know exactly what those thoughts would be, he knew that nobody should have to go through that alone.
And then, a ring.
Danny scrambled for his phone and saw that it was a message from Ward. Fumbling with the unfamiliar technology, Danny unlocked it and pulled up the full message.
"Need help"
Danny didn't hesitate to press the call button. The silent space in between the dial tones felt too long, and he was worried Ward wouldn't pick up. But finally, finally, the call connected.
"Ward! Where are you? What's going on? Are you okay?" Danny fired off before Ward even had a chance to say hello. But when he heard ragged breathing on the other end, Danny's heart stopped.
"Shut up, Danny.... will you?" Ward's words were cut short by panting breaths. Danny suddenly realized that Ward sounded... tired. But not "sleepy" tired. Like Ward was struggling to stay conscious. Danny could almost picture the older man; the dark circles under his eyes and the sweat on his brow, his eyelids drooping or even closed, teetering on the brink of blacking out.
"Are you okay?" Danny asked again, but slowly. Deliberately, and with a tone that suggested Ward had better answer.
"Come to the hotel on 12th. The one with the purple neon sign." Ward couldn't even remember the name of the hotel he was staying in, and probably only knew the color of the sign because he could see it out his window. Danny repeated Ward's words in his head a few times before answering.
"I'll be there as soon as I can." Danny looked around to see which way he needed to go. "Wait, what room are you in?" He definitely didn't want to waste any time searching the rooms or dealing with the front desk. Maybe there wasn't that much time to spare.
A few moments later, and there still wasn't an answer. Just more uneven breathing.
"Ward!" Danny half-yelled into the receiver.
"1208." Ward could barely get those three syllables out.
"I'm on my way. Keep your phone on you," Danny replied, repeating this second piece of information. He then hung up the call, and then dialed another number immediately.
"Danny, what's up?" Claire answered, her voice laced with concern.
"I need you to come to the hotel on 12th, room 1208. There's a purple neon sign on the building. I think Ward may have overdosed."
"On what?!" She sounded incredulous.
"I don't know!" Danny was exasperated and threw his hand into the air, letting it smack down onto his side. "Heroin, I think."
"Jesus, Danny..." Cue Claire sighing deeply. "I'll be there." The line disconnected. Danny started to run.
the world seems to smile at me. everything I look has your name whispered into my ears again. the way the light catches on the chair in the corner reminds me of your hair, and the way it glows, I see your eyes in my coffee and your kindness in the warmth outside my house. do you feel the same? do you experience things as I do?
Summary: Kilgrave sees reader at a club and starts to control them. Jessica saves the day.
Word count: 1,400
It had started out like any usual Friday night. Your friends dragged you along to another one of those exclusive new clubs, and managed to skip the line because of their "connections." It was crowded and way too loud, but you enjoyed the action regardless. Your friends always ended up dancing with random people as you leaned back against the wall, so it was a good enough system. What you didn't know was that tonight wasn't going to be anything like that.
A song you recognized but didn't know the words to was bumping through the speakers and bodies moved in rhythm on the dance floor. Your eyes scanned for your friends, wondering if they had already found somebody to go home with when you saw a man in dark three-piece suit carve his way through the dancers to the bar. It seemed impossible, the way he parted all of them like Moses parted the Red Sea. It usually took you 5 minutes minimum to get across the crowded floor to the bar, and yet this man seemed to have moved them all with the flick of his wrist. You were intrigued, to say the least.
So, you made your way over there. And of course, every second you spent having to snake your way through the crowd made you wish you had whatever power that dude did. When you finally popped out from the throng of bodies, a bit out of breath, you saw the man sitting at the end of the bar, and he was already sipping on some golden liquor you were sure cost more than what you currently had in the bank. He looked like he was a millionaire. No, billionaire. His crisp suit and neatly groomed quiff almost nearly radiated the words "I AM FUCKING LOADED," and you suddenly felt hesitant. What, did you think you were just going to waltz up to him and strike up a conversation? What had possessed you to come all the way over here in the first place?
To hide your indecision, you sat down a good five or so stools away from him, like all you had planned to do in the first place was just get a drink and nothing else. Definitely not to try and get a gauge of this guy as you nursed your cheap beer.
Who was he? Did he own the club? No, that didn't make sense. The club-goers wouldn't have known to get out of his way. You could definitely rule out politician or businessman as well. Was he some mob boss? And if he was so important, which he definitely looked important, wouldn't he have some bodyguards or something? All these questions swirled through your head, making you feel dizzy. Or maybe that was the drink. It was hard to tell.
You didn't realize you were staring at him until his eyes caught yours and didn't let go. He didn't look surprised, really. It actually seemed like he had been surveilling the room to see who would look at him like he was a jungle cat waiting to see what prey was foolish enough to enter his line of sight. Either way, you felt trapped by his gaze, even from halfway across the bar. It was unsettling.
Before you could tear your eyes away, you saw him say something. You say "saw" because there was no way in hell you heard it over the club music. But the words from his lips were still clear as day.
"Come here."
He even gestured with his index finger. That little backward inchworm thing you had always despised, as men thought it would drive you wild. You finally looked away from him and peered down into your drink. Should you go over there? No, probably not a good idea. But...
You looked over at him again, and his stare was cutting. It was like he was trying to will you to come over to him. What did he want from you? Surely he could have anybody he wanted on his arm, what made you stand out?
Almost everything inside of you told you not to approach him. Almost everything. But there was something that made you grab your drink and come to sit on the stool next to him.
"Hi." You could barely hear your own voice over the music, so you hoped this guy could read lips.
He said something, and the only thing you caught was, "drink.... absolutely disgusting..."
Well, it was the cheapest thing they sold there, but you didn't think the beer you got was that bad. You took another swig indignantly but then choked. It tasted like car oil. You gagged the mouthful down, not wanting to spit it back into the glass in front of this mystery man. When you looked back at him, you could have sworn he was smiling.
He said something else, but you didn't catch anything this time.
"What?" you called to him, a look of confusion sketched on your face.
Quicker than you could think, he leaned forward and put his mouth up to your ear.
"Let's go somewhere quieter."
And as fast as he had spoken, you both hopped from the stools and started making your way to... well, somewhere quieter, you guessed. Yeah, it would be better if you could find someplace to actually hear each other. In just a minute, you were stood at a door guarded by two bouncers.
"Well, let us in, you big oafs," the mystery man said. The doors opened and you both made your way in. There were a dozen or so people inside, to which the man said, "Leave." And they all did. The doors closed behind them, and the two of you were left alone. You felt... uneasy.
There was still music playing in here, but not nearly at the deafening volume as in the main part of the club. This definitely qualified as quieter. You felt accomplished, though you didn't know why.
The man, who you noticed had a foreign accent, sat down on one of the long sofas along the wall and looked you up and down.
"Dance," he told you.
And so you started dancing. You kept dancing. The song ended, and another started, and you still kept dancing. You didn't know why, but you did.
It seemed like you would dance forever. Even as a darkly-clad woman with long black hair broke the door down, you still kept dancing. The mystery man fought with the woman, and you still danced. The man ran away through a back entrance, after telling the bouncers to fight the woman, who eventually knocked them out. You watched all of this as you did the god damn cha-cha because you still. kept. dancing.
The woman came to you with a tired look on her face. She was the kind of woman that probably always had a tired look on her face.
"He told you to dance didn't he?" she asked.
"Yep," you replied, breathless from dancing.
"Well, you know, just tapping your foot can be considered dancing."
You didn't consider that. So, you started to tap your foot. Didn't seem so bad.
"Jesus, that's going to get annoying," the woman groaned.
"So, that guy..."
"Mind-controlled you, yeah." Jessica cut-in. She had taken you to your home and sat you down, as your need to dance slowly subsided. You felt gross now, knowing about who that man really was. What he could do. What he could have done to you...
"Thank you for coming in when you did," you told her, and she sighed deeply.
"No problem. But I bet you're never gonna want to go to a club again." The look on her face was almost sympathetic, but you had a feeling that she wouldn't try to comfort you. Even for a near-stranger, she felt distant. You could respect that.
"Yeah, no," you replied with a half-hearted laugh. You didn't think you would even want to leave your apartment for a while.
"Listen, there's this... group. Of other people who have crossed paths with this guy." Jessica scavenged in her coat pocket and pulled out a notepad and pen, scribbled down a number, and handed it to you. "Talk to them, it'll help."
"Thanks," you mumbled, looking at the digits.
She simply looked at you, then turned to leave. You didn't see her again.
Summary: After a night fighting with the Hand, reader feels guilty about Danny getting hurt because they couldn’t defend themselves. Danny offers to help them center their chi.
Pairing: Danny Rand X Reader
Word count: 813
“Good morning, [Y/N],” Danny sighed as you shuffled into the living room and squinted at the morning sun streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. He was in the middle of doing his morning.. thing. You hadn’t really ever asked him what that was called. Didn’t have the time anyways, what with fighting the Hand and all.
On that note, the events of the night before rushed through your mind, and you felt guilty as you saw the fresh cuts on Danny’s arms and torso. The only reason he was hurt was because you couldn’t defend yourself.
“I’m sorry,” you mumbled as you walked towards him.
“For what?” He reminded you of a confused puppy with the way he was looking at you. Once upon a time, you thought he would be a labradoodle, if any kind of dog, and not just because of his curly hair.
“For that,” you told him, and gingerly touched one of the wounds on his arm. He didn’t flinch, as you were sure you would have if you were the one that was hurt. Instead, he just faced you and took your hand in his.
“It’s not your fault,” he reassured you, and you didn’t even have to look up at him to know he was being sincere. But you did anyways, and his big blue eyes looking so intently into yours just made you feel worse.
“I guess. But I still feel guilty.” You look down at your hand in his. He squeezed his fingers into yours, rough calluses pressing against your skin, and you knew he was trying to tell you not to feel guilty. You didn’t know how you felt a majority of the time since you met Danny, but this was one emotion that seemed to stick out, and wouldn’t go away. You pulled away from him and drew your hand from his grip.
“I just wish I could be like you, sometimes,” you told him. “You’re always so calm. Collected.” A sigh passed your lips as your shrugged. “Balanced.” You could have sworn you heard him chuckle at that.
“That’s not by nature,” he says, and comes to stand in front of you again, and you have to consciously tell yourself not to turn away from him a second time. “That took years of training. I was.. hah, I was a mess when I first got to K'un-Lun.” He raised his hand as if to touch your arm comfortingly, but decided against it and let it drop to his side. “I can help you, just as the monks there helped me.” You looked up at him at that, as you were incredulous. He was able to become the Iron Fist in that place, and you still didn’t quite understand where it was, exactly. But this was New York. This was you. You didn’t have any training. You hadn’t ever fought in your life. How did he expect to teach you?
“What do you mean?” You crossed your arms across your chest, and you suddenly notice you feel quite small next to him. Where he had lean muscle, you had chub and soft skin. The symbol that was branded on his chest stood out proudly, and you had to remind yourself to stand up straight on the regular.
“I can help you center your chi.” He seemed excited at the idea, and you had to admit you were intrigued.
“Is that what you were doing a minute ago?” you asked, and he nodded, a smile forming on his face. Your brows furrowed as you considered it. ‘Doesn’t seem that hard,’ you thought. You shrugged and decided to go along with it if at least just this once. “What do I need to do?”
“Just copy my movements,” he said and guided you into the center of the room where there was enough space for the both of you to spread out. He stood you across from him, then took a few steps back and stood to face you. “Stand with your feet directly below your shoulders and bend your knees,” he instructed, and you did just that. You really hoped this wouldn’t turn into that one yoga class you tried when you fell directly on your face after you attempted to do a move that was way too advanced.
“Now hold your arms out like this…” As he went through the movements with you and reminded you every so often to take deep breaths, you felt calmer. Your body felt lighter, and so, you thought, did your mind. And then, all too soon, you were done, and you felt awkward standing there staring at Danny. “With a little bit of practice, I think you might get that one down perfectly,” he told you, and this time when you looked at his stunning blue eyes in the morning sunlight, you didn’t feel so bad.
Summary: Danny accidentally walks in on Harold’s abuse of Ward, and he doesn’t know what to think.
Word count: 649
Warnings: abuse
Pairing: I might make this into a Wanny fic? I know I’m going to try and write more on this, but ya’ll let me know if you want this to turn into DannyXWard.
Danny didn’t know what to do. Nothing was making any sense. He thought that coming to New York was going to give him some peace of mind, but all it did was give him more and more questions. He needed help.
As the doors of the elevators opened onto Harold’s penthouse, loud, angry voices could be heard. Danny ran to them, ready to fight, but stopped in his tracks to see Harold holding a very scared and beat up looking Ward by the hair. Immediately, Harold dropped his hands and made to act like there was nothing wrong, and even tried to explain himself.
“Don’t,” was all that Danny replied. He quickly stepped in between Ward and Harold, never letting his eyes leave the man he thought was the only link to his father. He didn’t notice before, but his fist had already started to glow without him thinking about it. He didn’t want to hurt Harold, but if this was how he treated Ward…
He couldn’t let anyone he cared about get hurt.
“Let’s go, Ward.”
“Danny, I-” Harold tried again to explain himself, but Danny shot his fist up at him, only stopping an inch from his face. Harold barely jumped.
“Come on.” Danny led Ward back to the elevator, pushed the call button, and tapped his foot impatiently until the doors opened and they were both safely inside.
While they were safe, they weren’t at all comfortable. Danny had a million questions running through his head, and he was so angry that he wanted to punch a hole in the side of the elevator. But he knew that Ward must be feeling all of that and more, and there he was, just silently taking it. He seemed to be more annoyed at Danny for intervening. And that’s what really hurt. Danny remembered things from his childhood that suddenly all made so much sense. All the unexplained bruises on Ward’s body, and how he would flinch at any sudden movement.
“I don’t know what to say,” Danny muttered, his eyes glued to the floor.
“Then don’t say anything. I don’t need your pity.” Ward was busy fixing his hair in the reflection of the smooth metal elevator wall, but Danny knew that Ward wasn’t as collected as he let on. Maybe he never was.
Before Danny could say anything else, the elevator doors opened and Ward stepped out into the hall. Danny quickly followed the older man and tried to stop and comfort him in some way. But Ward seemed like he was almost running from him.
“Ward, stop!” Danny called after him, but Ward just shot him the bird and kept going. It went like this until they were back out to Ward’s car.
“You know what, Danny?” Ward said, finally stopping and looking back at him, “I don’t need your help. Your Iron Fist or whatever isn’t going to stop him. He can’t be killed. At least not for good.” Ward leaned against his car, head in his hands. “I just need to get out of here.”
“What do you mean he can’t be killed? You’re not making any sens-
"Look! I don’t know how! I don’t care! I don’t want any part of this anymore! So just leave me the hell alone! All you’ve done since you came back from the dead is make my life worse!” Ward rushed to the driver’s side of the car, hopped in, and slammed the door before quickly driving away, leaving Danny standing alone in the parking garage.
Anger and confusion boiled up inside of him. The man he thought was like a second father to him was an abusive monster, and the man he thought was like his brother didn’t want anything to do with him. His training would tell him to calm down and put himself into Ward’s shoes, but that just made him even angrier.
