#I think about this - the split of a body and some sort of soul | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fandomxpreferences · 1 year

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Now Your Mess Is Mine

Masterlist

Pairing: JJ Maybank x female!reader (both over 18)

TW:angst, mentions of abuse, fluff, I think thats it

Summary: In which JJ is touch starved and you take care of him.

Word Count:2.7k

A/N: this was supposed to be short and fluffy but as per usual, it took on a life of its own

JJ doesn't have a lot of things going for him in life as far as he's concerned. He's practically an orphan, he gets fired from every job, and he never has more than twenty dollars to his name. He hasn't done a lot right in his life, but the best decision he's ever made is choosing you.

He's never felt a touch or a love as gentle as yours. Hell, for the first seventeen years of his life, he doesn't recall feeling anything but a fist. Then you came along, bright as the sun and radiating the most beautiful and intoxicating energy he's ever felt.

You're always gentle with him, soft hands grazing his body whenever you get a chance. JJ didn't know that he craved physical affection until he felt your small supple hand in his large calloused one.

He had no idea he loved cuddling until he was surrounded by you as you wrapped around him like a koala, an aroma of tanning lotion and saltwater overwhelming his senses.

He would've never imagined himself the type to take lavender-scented baths until you pulled him into the bubbles with a bright smile, giving him a beard as your loud giggles seeped into his soul and lit him up from the inside out.

Everything about you is pure and wholesome. Light radiates from you, casting away any semblance of darkness that once cast itself over him. You make him a better man, your face popping into his head before he makes a decision.

He wants to make you proud, to honor and respect you. He wants to be someone you can call yours loudly, shouting it from the rooftops with no shame. He doesn't understand how or why you love him, but he chalks it up to you being some sort of angel.

The rest of the Pogues used to make fun of you two, but they've come to appreciate the way you even JJ out. The two of you are never more than a few feet apart, your bodies always touching in some capacity.

It makes him feel safe and peaceful. It's the only thing he can think about as he lays on the HMS Pogue with you between his legs and his closest friends laughing around him.

JJ's eyes flutter closed as your nails rake across his scalp and he revels in the sun's rays as they warm his tan skin. He finds himself drifting off when your bubbly laughter floats to his ears and your belly shakes his head as it rests against you.

It causes a large smile to split his face and he shifts to look up at you. There's nothing but pure child-like joy on your features with your head thrown back, your mouth open and the corner of your eyes creased.

It's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen and he presses a kiss to your hip bone while squeezing your calf lovingly. It draws your attention back to him and you look down at him with a bright smile.

"Hi." He whispers and you lean down to kiss the tip of his nose.

"Hi, handsome."

You hear Sarah say aww while John B gags dramatically and lift your hand to flip him off.

"Are you having fun?" You ask and JJ nods with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You squint down at him and before you can ask what he's about to do, he's jumping to his feet and scooping you up in his arms. You let out a loud squeal and flail around as your laughter echoes off the water.

"JJ Maybank don't you dare!" You shriek through loud giggles, but it's too late.

His feet are already leaving the side of the boat and the two of you plunge into the ocean. You kick your legs as you resurface, wiping at your face and hair while JJ grins like a little boy.

It's only a matter of seconds before you hear a chorus of splashes and the rest of the group joins in. Before you can blink, there's an all-out splash fight, the six of you laughing and having the time of your lives.

You're just dodging an attack from John B when you feel strong arms wrap around your waist and JJ takes the brunt of the water being sent your way.

You turn and wrap your legs around his waist, your arms moving up to hug around his neck.

"What are you doing, mister?" You ask with a quirked eyebrow and he leans in to give you a sweet kiss.

"I was starting to have withdrawals, baby. You know I can't go more than a few minutes without feeling you."

You almost laugh, but the sentiment goes straight to your heart and your features soften.

"I love you."

He nuzzles his head into your neck, hugging you tightly against his chest, and places a kiss on your collarbone.

"I love you too."

That night as everyone is sitting around a bonfire, you feel worry start to itch at you. JJ went home to get some things, but it's been almost three hours.

You know better than anyone what his home life looks like, he's collapsed into your arms weeping more times than you can count.

There's an unsettling feeling in your gut screaming that something is wrong, and with each second that passes it only gets louder. JJ never goes home for longer than necessary, and he promised he'd be quick.

You're just about to get in your car and go look for him when you hear the rumbling of his dirt bike as he screeches to a halt. The group shares a confused look and you rise to your feet, ready to be near your boyfriend again.

You stop cold in your tracks when he kicks the bike over, anger clearly clouding his usual light-hearted personality. JJ is like a golden retriever and loyal to a fault, so when he's like this it sends everybody reeling.

You watch as he knocks over a few more things in a fit of rage before storming inside and you decide to follow. You can hear footsteps behind you and turn to shake your head, instructing your friends to let you handle it.

Your steps are light as your feet carry you up the steps and into the bathroom where you hear the shower running. You open the door as gently as possible, JJ's back greeting you as he stares into the mirror with tears streaming.

"Hey, sweet boy. You okay?" Your voice is soft as you ask the question you already know the answer to and it sends a pang of hurt through his chest. He hates when you see him like this, weak and vulnerable.

He wants to be the strong one, your rock, yet more often than not the roles get reversed. You watch him silently, allowing him space to open up if wants to.

He doesn't say anything as his head drops and you already know what happened. You step into the room fully and close the door behind you, moving tentatively in his direction as if he'll shatter if you move any faster.

"Let's take a shower, okay?"

You're so gentle and kind as you say it, and it causes fresh hot tears to gather on his lash line. You know that JJ is touch starved on a good day, but moments like these are when he really needs you.

You can almost read his mind, aware that he's fighting the urge to put up his walls and shut you out.

He doesn't want to though. He wants you, he wants your sweet touches and quiet whispers as you take care of him.

He feels selfish, but he's well aware that while you're fragile as a butterfly around him, you have zero qualms about tearing through his armor like a knife through butter.

Your touch is featherlight as your hands work diligently to remove his jewelry. You start with his bracelets, carefully slipping them off his wrists before moving on.

Next, you work on his rings, delicately pulling them off and kissing the pad of each finger when you're done.

You finally get to his necklace, your breath tickling the back of his neck as you focus on unclasping it and setting it on the countertop.

He watches in the mirror as you work, feeling an inescapable amount of love weighing down his heart and mind in the best way.

You slowly turn him around to face you, your eyes meeting his to ask for permission as your hands fiddle with the hem of his shirt.

He hesitates before nodding, his eyes squeezing shut and lungs stopping as you glide it up his torso and over his head.

He can't stand to open them and see the look on your face. It's not that he thinks you'll be giving him a sympathetic expression, no it's not that.

It's that he knows you'll have an understanding look, completely devoid of any surprise. He hates it. He hates that you're so familiar with this that it doesn't even elicit a normal reaction anymore.

The first time it happened, you gasped and tried to conceal the tears that welled up at the sight. The second and third times you still seemed somewhat shocked, but by six months in you were desensitized.

Though Luke has never hurt you directly, he hurts you every time he sends JJ back to you in this state and he hates his father for it. Hates him for it more than he does for hitting him, for stealing from him, for neglecting him.

He shudders as your fingers ghost over the fresh bruises on his stomach and ribs, the contact leaving electricity buzzing right under the surface.

"Oh, JJ. Baby, I'm so sorry."

Your voice is barely above a whisper and he chokes down a sob. He despises everything about this.

He wants to throw up whenever you apologize as if any of this is your fault. As if you're not the one thing that single-handedly makes it better.

He keeps his eyes shut as your lips press delicate kisses to each mark. They're still fresh; swollen but not quite darkened.

You can see the faint beginnings of bruising, and you know the dark hues of black and purple will spread in the days to come.

You make a mental note to ice the injuries before continuing on with getting him undressed.

You're methodical as you go through the motions, stripping him down to nothing before removing your own clothing as well.

He steps into the water first, and you take his outstretched hand to keep your balance as you follow suit.

It's silent as the water washes over the two of you, no words need to be said. There's an unspoken understanding for times like this, and you do what you do best.

You shower him in love and affection, gently washing his body before lathering shampoo in his blonde hair.

You see the tension dissolve from his body when his shoulders drop as you massage his head, and take your time. You know he needs this.

You press sporadic kisses to his skin as you follow his routine, and he melts into you. Your lips press right between his shoulder blades, then the back of his neck, then his cheek as he turns to wrap you in his arms.

He returns the favor, washing you up lovingly and letting you rinse off. You reach to turn off the water like usual, but stop when his hand catches your wrist.

You turn back to look up at him and your heart shatters at the sight of his bloodshot eyes.

"Do you think I'm like him? Do you think if I have kids one day I'll treat them the way he treats me?"

His voice is so meek, and your heart squeezes painfully. This is new.

Usually, you spend the night drowning him in your presence and the next day, it's like nothing happened. He's never actually opened up about it, and you're taken aback.

You study his face for a moment, trying to figure out how to respond. Your hands reach up to cup his face and you force him to look you in the eyes.

"JJ, you are nothing like Luke and you never will be. You love your friends, and you've shown time and time again that you'll do anything for them. You love me in a way I never thought possible. You are the best person I have ever known, and I don't ever want to hear you speak about yourself like that again."

Your voice is kind but firm, and he sucks in a breath as you continue.

"If you have kids, they will be the luckiest little shits to ever walk the earth. I know how much love you have to give, and if how you treat me is any indication, your kids would be so loved they wouldn't even know what to do."

You finish with a searing kiss and when you pull away, his eyes are still shut in bliss. His fingers are digging into your hips, and he loosens up just enough to let you shut off the now-cold water and open the shower curtain.

"Let's get dried off and go to bed, okay?" You suggest and he doesn't answer, instead just following you into the cold air.

The two of you dry off and throw on the change of clothes that are now sitting on the counter.

You assume Sarah or Kie put them there, and remind yourself to thank them later. Once you're dressed, JJ makes his way to the guest room and you shuffle into the kitchen.

You start rummaging through the freezer to find something you can use as a compress, your hands finally landing on some frozen peas. When you shut the door, John B and Sarah are watching you with sad eyes.

You give them a small smile and John B nods knowingly. You turn to leave when the man's voice rings out.

"Hey, thank you." He says and you look at him with nothing short of confusion.

He recognizes this and takes a step forward.

"I overheard a bit when I put the clothes in there. You're really good for him, and I just want you to know how much I- we- appreciate you being there for him. He's been better since he met you."

You swallow thickly and give him a quick hug, muttering a short 'thanks'. You know he knows what you're thanking him for. Partly for the clothes, but mostly for the kind words.

He squeezes you back and you pull away, heading off to tend to your sweet boyfriend. When you step into the room he's leaning back against the headboard, his eyes fixated on the small tv that's playing some football game.

His gaze darts to you when he notices you and he gives a heart-stopping smile. You crawl up next to him and place the cold bag on the spot that looks the worst.

Your pressure is light and that's another thing that eats at him.

The fact that icing his battered body is second nature to you now makes him ill, but he still lets you do it. Part of him wonders if he should have hidden this side of his life from you, sheltered you from the grim reality.

A bigger part of him is glad he didn't. He went through this alone for so long and it's nice to have someone that loves him just the same, even after finding out the ugly truth.

He doesn't shy away from the sensation and it breaks your heart all over again.

You're painfully aware that it's because he's used to this, and you want nothing more than to take him away from all this and give him the life he so deserves.

The two of you just lay there for a while as you take care of him and he absentmindedly runs his hand through your hair.

When the bag starts to get warm, you settle down under the comforter, and JJ curls into you. His head rests on your chest and he lets the steady beat of your heart lull him to sleep.

"I love you." You whisper and JJ tangles his legs with yours.

"I love you too."

#jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #jj maybank fic #jj maybank angst #jj Maybank fluff #outer banks #outer banks fic #outerbanks #outerbanks fic #outerbanks angst #obx #obx imagine

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kivino · 7 months

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OUT OF THE SHADOWS I || SIMON ‘GHOST’ RILEY X SHADOW!GN!READER

Word counter – ~6.9k words

Tags/Warnings – Gn!Reader, Shadow!Reader (it’s not for long lol, don’t get your hopes up), murder of civilians/corpses/blood mentioned, physical fights, reader likes to throw fists, Reader’s callsign is Bug to pay tribute to my original idea.

Summary – After the betrayal of Task Force 141 and the slaughter of civilians in Las Almas you decide to leave Shadow Company on the spot, which works out sideways, leaving you with simmering hate towards the man whom you used to look up to and new interesting figures in your life.

also available on my ao3!

a/n after the fic because they’re too long. but just know that this is the first chapter of the series, feel free to let me know if you want to be tagged in the next part. enjoy!

Everything was calm. The sound of rain covering up the murmur of trucks helped you wind down after the adrenaline rush, and a sense of accomplishment for a job well done swelled in your chest. You already anticipated a long sleep and maybe a night out with your friends when you’re back home from the job. Maybe you’d even get a bonus from Graves and buy something nice for yourself.

In all honesty, you didn’t even mind being crammed into the backseat along with those 141 guys. Working with them was a pleasure and they seemed like an interesting sort of crowd. Especially that man with the skull mask. Ghost, was it? He certainly attracted your attention the most, with his huge size, booming voice, and undeniable skill in what he did. You were willing to admit that the way he took out the enemies with ease and swiftness was mesmerizing. And…your train of thought that consisted of pure fascination was interrupted by the abrupt stop of the convoy in front of the base gate.

Everything was calm until you were surrounded by shouting and then eventual gunshots, along with muffled screams of your brothers in arms. You didn’t understand how it all escalated so fast. One moment you were sure about Shadow Company and Task Force 141 being on the same side, but now you didn’t know what to think of it all. And from Graves' words, it was apparent that Shepherd was behind this too. So naturally you, and many other shadows, the lower ranks, had no fucking clue what all of this was about. One would care to tell a mindless weapon where to shoot, but not why. Blood rushed through your veins and pulsed in your ears, turning the pleasant buzz in your body into strained sharpness. You hurriedly pulled up the rear sight to your eye level. Two bodies dropped to the wet asphalt with soft thuds right in front of you. You felt your heart sink right down to your feet. Instead of firing your shots, you hesitated, backing out to hide behind the bumper of the truck, while hearing agitated, aggressive shouts. You weren’t able to tell who was shouting. So, you leaned out and felt yourself freeze in place.

And there he is. Ghost, eyes locked right on you. He sure has a…strong presence. And instead of shooting you he just…looks. You don’t like the stupid flowery language, but in this split second, it really feels like he is staring right into your soul. Or like someone is sticking metal rods right through your chest, with how hard breathing becomes in an instant.

You knew that if you were to shoot him right now, you’d never forgive yourself, all because you were kept in the dark about the whole thing Graves had planned. And you were not willing to get blood on your hands because of some “mistake”. If you pull the trigger, there will be one less person who’s able to make a change. One less person who’ll be willing to get their hands dirty and save people.

So, you lower the muzzle of your rifle and nod to the side, urging him to start his getaway, before other Shadows and Graves decide to check the perimeter. You see his dark eyes blink, or at least you think you do before he disappears into the darkness. Like he was never there in the first place.

In the end, you didn’t get even a single scratch. Three other Shadows were K.I.A.

Your head buzzed with so many different questions you wanted to ask Graves, and more importantly, the guilt you felt from whatever happened in front of the threshold. You had no idea what happened with that Los Vaquero base or what was up with your CO, while you were escorting him and those 141 guys along with several other Shadows for this mission. Why was he taking it? What was he even thinking? You wanted to pull out your hair and claw out your eyes just thinking about all of it. Which, you weren’t paid to do, but that didn’t mean you weren’t concerned with the moral side of things. Unlike the majority of the Shadows, as you came to find out.

Confusion bubbled up inside of your mind, eyes burned by the white synthetic light of the gate when you looked up at it just to feel something aside from sheer distress and bewilderment. You didn’t want to believe that your Commander was the type of person to sell himself out, and you didn’t expect him to be, from all the time spent working with him. The man was nothing short of likable and friendly, with his beaming smile, confident attitude, and outgoing way of communicating… a natural-born leader, that was the first thing that came to mind when you thought about your boss. And with how Graves treated you and all other Shadows like you were more than just his employees, the realization was even more painful. Of course, you didn’t want to think about how he could so easily turn his back on people who trusted him.

It raised many questions in your mind about the price of his word, as well as made your stomach churn with acidic, flesh-eating poison full of doubt and suspicion. If it was so easy for your CO to cut out the men someone he told you all to think of as your brothers, then how long will it be before he sells you and other shadows out for…whatever was offered to him?

“Find ‘em!” Graves barks and your chest swells with bitter disappointment. You thought you knew him before (as much as a subordinate can know their superior), but how can you even begin to understand him now?

You hear Shadows mutter a quiet “Yup-yup”, more to themselves than to your CO, and you could almost feel the doubt settle over them in a thick, transparent blanket. From the conversations you can pick up on while Graves is out of earshot, you guess that some of them don’t think betraying the 141 guys and trying to hunt the two of them down is the right thing to do. But it didn’t seem like they were going to do anything about it though. You, however, want to help. You know that it’s not right, so…screw it. You can always find another job, and if it comes down to it, 141 seem like an okay sort of people, the type that would have your back if you had theirs. At least, you have hope for it.

So maybe you could hold out until they come back for Los Vaqueros. And you were certain they’d do that, no way they’d abandon all these men. You haven’t seen how the things were on said base that was taken from them, but you were certain you could do more on the inside than if you were to leave right now. Maybe you could break Colonel out of there, or help the Task Force sneak in, you were sure they could use any help from you.

That was the plan before you saw what Shadow Company did to Las Almas.

The picture that Shadows were painting with innocent blood on the rainy landscape was horrifying, to say the least. The metallic smell hit your nose the moment you jumped out of the truck right onto the flooded pavement. That was the exact moment when you realized you couldn’t stay with Shadows any longer. You were supposed to help these people. It was your job. Instead, you felt filthier than the dirt on your boots. Traitor. Backstabber. You choked on your breath behind the mask each time you noticed the bodies of the victims in every dark corner of the city, nausea coming up your throat when you could see rivers of crimson streaming down the road and right into the sewers. Your Shadow Company patch felt like the mark of a killer, etched into your skin permanently, instead of just being part of your uniform.

Limp bodies that didn’t even have the time to grow cold yet, scattered around warm homes. Some of the killed were probably already in their beds sleeping, coming back from work, watching TV, or cooking dinner when they got dragged out under the rain and massacred…Everything felt like a blur, your thoughts were a jumbled mess of whys, while you were led further into the town, to continue the revolting, disgusting crimes of your brothers-in-arms. You couldn’t stand to spend another minute in here. You need to get out before you do something you’ll never be able to forgive yourself for. You were many things, but you were not willing to go that far. Not here, not anywhere.

“Hey. Where’s Graves?” You tap another Shadow, your “close colleague” with a callsign Kruk, on the shoulder. He turns to you, while you see several other soldiers passing by, yellow streetlights barely illuminating their swiftly moving figures. You knew why it was hard for you to even look in their direction. Kruk points towards the building to the left of you two and croaks something about “briefing the rookies”. You nod and thank him, stumbling in the general direction he pointed you to.

“Commander, with all due respect, I think it’s time for you to discharge me.” You only came to your senses when you stood in front of your CO in the cramped space of someone’s living room. Wallpaper, creamy in color, dulled lights, tons of decorative cushions on the couch… Your voice is quiet, but firm, not leaving any space for compromise when you speak up to the blond man, and your politeness is as fake as this copy of “Guernica” you could see hanging on the wall. Blood pulses in your ears. You want to leave, you want out. Out of here.

“Bug, now’s not the time for jokes, I need you on the field now. We’ve got our orders.” Graves barely raises his eyes from tapping something on the tablet, that usual scowl that you got used to present on his face. His actions are as ugly as he is. Him not taking you seriously sure does a number on your confidence. But that only reassures you in your decision. You need out.

“Do I look like I’m joking? I’m leaving, because I don’t think what we’re doing is right.” You try to stay calm, you really do. But how can you, when out of something so vile he makes a joke? Makes all these people a sick joke.

A crease lies between your brows, and shadows falling over your eyes make your face look similar to a carved statue. Before talking to Graves, you decided to take off the eyewear that obscures your face and pull down the thin mask, the signatures for Shadows who are lower in the chain of command. You’re the faceless sort, after all. “And I don’t think you know your place.” You’re instantly taken aback by his sudden outburst, but you don’t let it show. “I point and you shoot. I sign your paychecks, Bug, and you take them.” You feel something inside of you flinch at the way he mutters your callsign. “I’m in charge. You don’t have a say in what we do.” With each statement, his gloved finger points from him to you, making the rage and frustration boil inside of your chest. You trusted Graves and he led all of your colleagues, along with you to dragging out unarmed, innocent people in the dead of night out of their houses on their streets and executing them. Hell of a leader he is.

“Well, I’m stepping down. If that’s what we do, I don’t want to take part in it.” You wanted to tell him a lot more, give Graves a piece of your mind on war crimes and killing people in their own homes. On how drowning Las Almas in blood won’t fix whatever the fuck he was trying to fix right now. Instead, you kept it to yourself, tightening your fists just so you didn’t spit in his face or punch him.

“You’re putting a target on your back. Do you not understand how what you’re saying makes you look?” Graves leans in closer to you, the low volume of his voice making it even more threatening, similar to the hissing of a snake. Give him a minute and he will start spewing real venom right in your face.

“You know that whatever you’re thinking is not true.” To be completely honest, you didn’t care what he thought right now. Graves’ mind and morals were clearly in the wrong place if he considered all this bloodshed justified.

“Do I really? A moment ago I was sure that you were my subordinate, now I’m not even sure what to make of you.” You’re barely able to resist rolling your eyes at this. Your heart is picking up the pace with each minute. Getting more and more desperate to leave your body altogether, just so you don’t have to listen to his bullshit any longer. You wish it was that easy.

“I’m not taking orders from you. Not anymore.” Saying this took a lot more out of you than you expected, you felt your chest tremble when you met your CO’s eyes.

“Well, would you just look at that, you happen to be a fan of our local drug lord too?” If eyes could kill, Graves would’ve dropped dead right this moment. He smiles, his sharp canines peeking from under his top lip. He knows he’s making your skin crawl and your stomach flip from this interaction, which, if you’re lucky, would be the last for the two of you. “Helping the cartel and corrupt police won’t look too good on your resume”

“I see you’re just making it up as you go.” You let out a breath you didn’t know you held in your chest. Shaky. Uneven. Infuriated. Your eyes are drilling Graves’, a deep frown between them as proof of how much you despise him now, for the baseless assumption too. After a moment of silence, you add. “You know what my stance on this is. Whether I get your approval or not, I’m leaving.” Graves finally withdraws from your personal space, sliding the palm over his face with a heavy sigh, as his lips tighten into a thin line. You knew that this combination meant he was trying to calm down. After a moment of silence, he speaks up again.

“Look, Bug, you’re a smart kid and frankly, I like you.” he makes a short pause, sighing. “So, I’ll give you a fighting chance. Five minutes – if you’re not out of the city, then you’re a target.” He wasn’t that fucking courteous with the civilians that lay dead a few meters away. Shot on sight. Without any questions. You grit your teeth.

What are you supposed to do with that? Those five minutes didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, most likely, you’ll be rotting in the ditch somewhere shortly after your time runs out - too little to get out of the city or find the Task Force you so desperately wanted to help. Graves won’t leave any witnesses. And you are one. He knows it’s not going to be easy for you to just turn on the Shadows like that too, even though you despised what they were doing while following his orders. They still were your family. Dysfunctional and disproportionately big, but family, nonetheless. Even if they deserved it for their lack of action to prevent what was happening now, you don’t turn on your family like that. What he’s doing is forcing your hand.

Regardless, you have no choice but to take Graves up on his last “generous” offer.

“What are you waiting for, hm? Get out of here while you can.” You didn’t need to be told that twice. So, still balancing your rifle on your arm, your free hand reaches for that patch on your shoulder. Tearing it off in a quick motion makes the sound of Velcro strips snapping open almost echo from how quiet it is. It felt like a whole mountain dropped off of your shoulders when you threw the patch on the ground and stormed out of the building right into the pouring rain.

You felt goosebumps and tremors creeping up your spine as you ran through the dark streets, getting more and more soaked with each second. You didn’t feel much better though. The resentment for Graves grew each second, with all the steps that sent ripples on the surface of the deep puddles, and every raindrop that fell from the copper-colored clouds. But now wasn’t the time to wallow in your misery. Although you wanted to. It did feel like the loss of a person you used to know, of someone you looked up to. The only thing is, he was still living and breathing, and the only thing that died was that idealized image of him in your head.

There was a cold hollowness somewhere in your chest. Gaping with the darkness that, and you were sure of it, will eat you alive soon enough. Even though you backed out of the Shadow company, it won’t bring back all the people who are not here anymore. You won’t fix it, no matter how hard you try. That bitter guilt snaked its way into the back of your mind and it was there to help stay.

You managed to pull yourself out of this to make things right. But why do you feel so helpless still?

Your footsteps get faster and faster, as you maneuver through the narrow alleyways, staying out of the range your former colleagues were in. It was easy to hear them, gunshots and voices echoed throughout the city in a weird cacophony that your ears got used to after a long time working for the Shadow Company. They were not afraid, probably feeling like masters here. Somebody has to give them a scare, you thought. So they know better in the future. But it wasn’t your job at the moment. Right now, you needed to get out and do it as soon as possible.

Stopping and coming up with any sort of plan that would help you was not an option - hang in somewhere for too long and you’ll be found. And you were sure you wouldn’t be shown any mercy.

So instead of staying on the street, where you can be easily spotted with the help of the dim light of a flashlight, you decide to alternate between the corridors of empty homes, with doors wide open for anyone seeking shelter, and the maze of alleyways crawling with Shadows. It felt wrong, invading someone’s homes like this, but you knew if they were unlocked and lights beamed around them, giving out a warm glow the inhabitants were most likely not coming back.

You felt that tingle on the nape of your neck, ready to hide or flee in case you heard any sudden movement from any direction. It’s dead quiet, except for occasional radio talk from the shadows, which you tried to listen in on when you could. It didn’t give you much on where 141 could be. You would start losing hope if you had any left after Graves. But you continue your search nonetheless, reflexes instead of thinking, pure determination instead of hope, and fire in your veins, instead of blood.

That is until you quietly step inside another warm hallway, and you’re met with a wide-eyed stare from another Shadow that makes you freeze like a deer in the headlights. Something inside of you starts to churn with terror from the looming understanding – only one of you will walk out of here alive. Your eyes trail down to the raven patch on his tac vest. It’s Kruk. You want to ask what he is doing here, but you already feel his gaze studying you too. And as soon as he sees that the Shadow Company patch is missing from your uniform, the muzzle of his rifle points right at you. Fucking shit.

“Drop your gun, Kruk!” You warn the man, pointing the weapon in his direction too. He only shakes his head, refusing to stand down. With each second air is laced with tension more and more, you were sure that soon enough it’ll be so thick even a knife wouldn’t cut through it.

“You drop yours first.” His voice is shaky and unsure like he can’t believe what he’s doing right now either. “Commander gave us an order. You’re an enemy now too, Bug. Better get used to it.” Kruk started slowly approaching you, while pulling something out of the bag, strapped on his hip.

“Oh, fuck that!” You swing towards Kruk, trying to approach him in your momentary rage, but you’re immediately met with the warning “Don’t” from Kruk, who doesn’t stand down. “You know what they’re doing here. It doesn’t matter to you?” The man is silent. You don’t see his face behind his mask, so you’re left with even more questions instead of answers. Regardless of what he was thinking right now, you didn’t want to hurt him. So, you bend down and put your rifle on the ground with a quiet clack. If he needs a gesture of goodwill, he can have it. “Your turn.” Kruk only shakes his head.

“Turn around.” So, it was a mistake to trust him. Naturally. Your gullibility will be your downfall. You can almost feel the bitter taste spread inside of your mouth when you look at Kruk. Fucking asshole. But you comply, although reluctantly. He grabs you roughly by the wrists with one hand and by the neck with another, leading you toward what looks like a kitchen in the dim lights falling through the doorway. You get lowered on your knees and then pressed into the dirty floor. And it hits right then and there. He’s going to execute you. Oh, shit, shit, shit.

“You know that I don’t want to do this.” He says quietly so that any shadows passing by don’t hear him. You feel your heartbeat shake your whole body and nausea so intense like you are on the verge of throwing up all of your internal organs, but giving up is just not an option right now. So, you try to prevent him from tying your hands together with all the strength you have.

“Then don’t fucking do it!” He does not answer this as you continue squirming in his hold, trying to make it as hard as possible for him to restrain you. He only grunts but keeps a firm grip. Your head was a mess, you thought Shadows were a family. But all it took was one order from Graves, now they’re scouring the town like damn bloodhounds for you too.

“Get…off of me!” You grit through your teeth. You feel a zip tie slide over your hands and turn your head. The rifle he previously held in his hands was gone, probably so he could tie you up properly, so you take your chance and deliver a hard kick to Kruk’s stomach. He chokes out a pained gasp and finally lets go of your hands. You scurry to get up from the floor with wide smears of rainwater and dirt decorating it, but you get grabbed by the leg, which causes you to stumble and fall once again. You turn your head and kick Kruk with all your might, while attempting to take off the zip tie off your wrists, which, thankfully, he didn’t have the time to close.

You manage to shake the man off of you, as you scramble to your feet, knocking over a corner table with some decorations on it. Yet when you see Kruk fumbling with his hip holster you immediately tackle him to the ground, which causes him to drop the handgun. The whole fight is just a mess, nothing but blinding rage is pulsing in your temples, melting your bones and muscles into something no better than an animal. You get up again, while Kruk is on the floor, searching for the handgun in the darkness. You feel the heavy metal press against your boot and you kick it behind you. You hear it slide across the floor and here it is. Kruk’s eyes, are directed right at you. His hands claw at your leg, trying to drag you down to the floor. And then you black out completely. Kicking, punching, pained wheezes and screams are all you hear, a stuffy abyss with little to no specks of light surrounding you.

You come back to your senses when you don’t feel the familiar weight of your handgun pressing against your hip and then you see it again. Kruk managed to grab it while you were in your anger-induced frenzy. Everything around you slows down. His shaky fingers pull on the safety, but you reach out and grab his hands, pulling them up, not letting him aim at you. Kruk grunts and you see his eyes focused on you in fear, and desperation, as he tries to overpower you in the struggle. You see his weakened state, but the self-preservation is stronger than any compassion towards him at the moment. Kruk will take your life if you don’t take his. That’s just the gist of it. You can’t let him walk away.

Your hands tremble when he manages to overpower you momentarily, but it’s all in vain when you press the handgun harder and harder into his frame, feeling his hands start to yield more and more with each second, strength leaving him. The fear in his eyes is directed at you and only you, but you try not to look. The muzzle of your gun is pressed snugly under his chin. Your gaze trails to his eyes once again. They burn you with terror. Your fingers hook around the trigger guard. You hear a faint whisper.

“Please…”

Gunshot rings in your ears for another second, despite the earmuffs in your helmet.

“Fuck! Fuck…I’m so sorry…I’m sorry.” It all came crashing down on you in one moment. You wouldn’t feel guilty if it was the enemy, you wouldn’t care. He was an enemy now, so why do you feel so guilty, why is it starting to corrode and eat you alive even more? Your palms cover the profusely bleeding gunshot wound, going through his neck and cranium, hot blood pouring out with impossible speed, staining your hands, gear, and skin. Staining your whole being. How could you do something like this? Shadows are family. Killing an unarmed man who’s pleading for his life?

You’re no better than Graves.

The gunshot alerts the Shadows and they start scurrying around on the street. You have no time to mourn Kruk or search for your rifle in the dark, so you yank your handgun out of his hands which only started succumbing to rigor mortis, and sprint out the backdoor, desperately attempting to get away. You can feel your heartbeat booming in your ears, wet hair sticking to the nape of your neck, as you hear distant commotion and a chase stirring behind you, as you dart inside another building and run through the hallways, searching for a way out.

Back on the street, rain droplets are so cold that it feels like they’re splitting your skin open, you can barely feel the pain in your ankle from adrenaline pumping through your blood flow. You start slipping on the slick pavement, but you still refuse to stop, diving inside another doorway. Your head hurts, your lungs feel like they are about to explode, and you think you stepped into a puddle of someone’s blood. No time to ram through the locked door, so you jumped out of the second-story window and landed on your foot, twisting it in the process and swallowing the sob that welled up in your throat. You needed to move.

That bought you some time to get up and dip into the dark alleyway before you heard the loud footsteps approaching the window that you used to escape. You let out a heavy exhale, propping your back against the cold stone. You’re not completely safe, but…that’s better than nothing. The commotion of shadows quiets down and you hear it become more and more distant with each second.

After a moment of silence, you continue moving, albeit slowly, trying to get used to the hot pulsing in your leg, that shot up right through your nerves with each step you tried to take. You wince and whine in pain, dragging your leg behind, grabbing at the moist stone walls, clinging to them for any sort of support. However, it’s not much of a help.

Your escape is cut short when your legs finally give out, causing you to stumble and fall while crossing the church garden. Although it probably looked magical in the daylight, right now it was far from it, the smell of metal and smoke still lacing the darkness. You already feel your ankle swelling and some bruises forming under all your gear. You see the lights on the exterior of the church blend into the ribbon of lights and shadows and the thought crosses your mind. You can hide there.

You almost fly up the stairs despite the hurting leg, fumbling with the door for a second, before it creaks open. You shuffle inside with light steps and close the door behind you as quietly as you can. Your knees tremble as you slide down the cold wall and crawl further inside the building, barely feeling any strength left in you. God, you are so drained. Strained gasps are ripped out of your throat every second. You want nothing more than to lie down right there in this church and just let the darkness overtake you in a peaceful slumber. That would be so easy.

Your calm moment is interrupted by someone yanking you up on your feet, to which you let out a surprised yelp. You can’t see the person, but you can feel their hands tugging on your gear roughly and dragging you somewhere. It takes you a second to weigh your pretty limited options given the fact it’s so dark that you are barely able to make out your surroundings. So, you decide to take this fight head on and your heavy boot comes down right on their foot, which prompts the person to grunt, revealing a pretty low male voice, and let go of you.

You tear out from his grasp and almost tumble down to the church floor, bunching up dust with your loud, uneven footsteps. Your back is hunched as you look up at the dark figure from under your eyebrows, ready to deflect any blows if he decides to attack first. You stay silent, feeling like a cornered animal in his presence, small, feeble. Weak. Of course, you were at a disadvantage here, taking a beating, running from Shadows, twisting your ankle, and losing your rifle certainly didn’t help your chances to win, but you were ready to claw your way out of here with your bare hands, breaking your nails and skinning your hands if you had to.

But any punches or kicks you try to land the man easily deflects or blocks, not trying to attack or overpower you however, opting to just take up the defensive position in the fight. Which is, admittedly, a lot easier than taking the offensive one. Maybe he was aiming to exhaust you and then, when you are at your lowest point, he would attack. That seemed like a solid tactic, but you don’t want to let that happen. However, before you can think of anything you end up rolling with the man on the floor. You can hear him huff in frustration and exertion, the wood pressing harshly against your ribs and all the bruises on your lower body pulsing with pain.

After some struggle, however, you managed to tackle the man to the ground, pressing him down to the floor with your weight. Your hands snaked their way onto his neck as you glared at him, resisting the urge to bare your teeth akin to a stray, abused, and betrayed dog, crawling with fleas and parasites. Choking him out obviously wasn’t a nice thing to do, but you were trying to send a message here, that if you continue being followed, you will use your strength. If violence was the only language Shadows understood (and that’s who you believe the man was) then you were ready to become fluent.

“I swear, I’ll fucking kill you!” You press him into the floor harder, hands squeezing the man’s throat, your vision going blurry. You feel his hands grasp at your wrists, but he does not resist. Why is he not trying to shake you off? Why is he letting you choke him like this? Why is he not fighting back?

“Let go, Bug.” The man’s voice is strained, but familiar, he whispers through his closed jaw. You can hear the way his throat tenses up, or his Adam’s apple bobs under your thick gloves, the warmth of his skin, and the moisture that seeped into the mask. Mask. More light falls through the window thanks to the momentary flicker of the streetlight. Skull. Eight lines on his chin, two on the forehead. Dark brown eyes.

Your hands shoot up like his neck is on fire. Guilt settles in your gut and your throat, pulling you in like you’re some puppet with no free will. You try to get up from the man’s midsection but tumble down on your side from trying to do it too quickly. It’s Ghost. How the hell did you not recognize Ghost?

“I’m sorry. I’m not…myself right now.” You were now sitting on the floor, palms resting on your face, wet from the rain, skin burning up, either trying to regulate the temperature or from all the exertion. Either way, it didn’t matter right now.

“Yeah, you made it pretty obvious.” Ghost coughs, trying to shake off your attempt to cut off his air circulation just seconds ago, as he gets up from his lying position. “At least now I know you’ve got a good grip.” He lets out a deep chuckle which only earns him an eyebrow raise from you. He was joking at a time like this? Must’ve hit his head pretty hard too.

“I could’ve choked you. Why did you not fight back more?” You were royally confused about that. He could’ve stopped the fight before it even began and avoided some bruises along with the sore neck if he just told you who he was or fought back. But he didn’t.

Ghost wants to say something, but stops himself right after opening his mouth. You see it in the way he looks at you. The pause stretches for an endless amount of time and you feel your skin crawling with anxiety while his eyes study your face.

“I was going easy on ya.” Ghost says in a rather blunt manner, which didn’t answer that many of your questions. Well, if he was going easy, he should’ve been at least going at you, which wasn’t true – you saw him only defending himself and blocking some of your blows. Did he?.. Was he trying not to hurt you? Okay, the more you thought about it, the wilder it sounded. Maybe you should just drop it. “I don’t suppose you came here to wash your sins away.” You want to scoff from the bad taste. “Lil’ birdie told me you ditched the Shadows. Any particular reason why?” The man inquires, turning to you. Sitting like this on the floor with him felt unusual, like some sort of weird church sleepover. Give Ghost a minute and he’ll bring you some ice cream so you two can watch some wacky TV shows together.

“Did your little birdie also tell you that Graves is hunting me down too?” You ask while pulling your drenched mask over your face. It brought some comfort and familiarity that were gone the moment you spoke to your CO in that living room. And, well, it would be awkward if Ghost was the only one in the mask.

“I guessed by the gunshots, some racket, and a horde of Shadows taking a night run through the neighborhood close by.” The man chuckles and you feel your face burn up in embarrassment under your mask. You try not to let it show, however. You knew that it wasn’t a very sleek move that you pulled with Kruk, but you were desperate and you didn’t need motherfucking Ghost telling you it was stupid.

“You’re just hilarious. Is that how you became a lieutenant, by cracking jokes left and right?” You roll your eyes and hope he won’t notice it in the darkness. This banter was pointless, you knew it but…you needed it. It was not easy losing something familiar, so you desperately wanted to feel that camaraderie you experienced in the Shadows.

“You’ll find out once you’re a lieutenant yourself.” And Ghost indulges you. Which, you are thankful for. Isn’t such a scary guy after all, huh?

“Yeah, if I’m alive long enough.” You scoff at his concealed attempt to comfort and reassure you, but you can’t help that warm feeling in your chest. Weird.

“Well, you’ve already surpassed my expectations by staying alive until now.” The man stands up from the floor with a low grunt, pressing an arm around his midsection, right around where you might’ve pinned him to the floor with your body. “Let’s make sure it lasts, eh?” He extends a gloved hand toward you in an open, inviting gesture. Your eyes trail over his huge figure and land on specks of light in his eyes.

His eye black is all smudged and messy.

You have to shake off the sudden thought, observation too close and intimate for your liking, as you grab him by the forearm, trying to ignore the way your skin burns up when you feel his warmth through his gear. Ghost pulls you up to your feet, but doesn’t let go of your arm once you’re up. You don’t let go either. The silence rings in your ears. God, he’s so warm.

“Are you like a human furnace or something?” You joke to fill the excruciating silence. Which you immediately regret. You wish it wasn’t so dark so you could see just how his face stretched the fabric of a skull mask, which you clearly heard happen by a small shuffle very close to you. Who knows, maybe he cracked a smile?

“Why? Need someone to warm you up at night?” Okay, this is terrible and stupid, and so damn corny, and why do you feel your cheeks grow hot and breath get stuck in your chest? Maybe that’s just how awful his jokes are. Ghost clears his throat and reluctantly lets go of your forearm, fingers still clinging to your sleeve as he pulls himself away too quickly for it to be something nonchalant or casual.

“So, are you answering my question, or do I have to use torture?” Fucking hell, his jokes are morbid. You almost forgot in those several hours you haven’t interacted with him. Although that would be quite hard, he leaves quite an impression, after all.

“Well, I suppose you’ve seen the…the civilians?” You can’t call them anything besides that. To call them corpses is to take away from their whole being. To call them dead would just be a lie. They were still alive in the walls of their homes, in the memories of their breathing relatives and friends, and in the pictures, their traces are everywhere. Ghost silently nods to your question, prompting you to continue. “Then here’s your reason.” You didn’t want to explain your feelings in great detail. And you didn’t feel the need to; you saw the compassion in his eyes. “Plus, the whole thing with the Los Vaqueros base.” If you saw Ghost’s face now you’d note how the expression darkened in a single moment. However, you do feel the temperature in the room fall several degrees lower, so you decide to joke again. “Pay wasn’t that good anyway, so…”

“Fair enough.” The man chuckles while rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll keep an eye on you though. Don’t think you can just waltz in here like this and be completely trusted.” Well, that’s understandable. If you were him you wouldn’t trust yourself either. Although you did hope that the mercy you’ve shown him earlier would influence his decision making. At least a little bit. “And you better toss that thing. Or else.” He points to the radio, still strapped to your tactical vest. You unclasp the device, detaching the small microphone that was holding on by a thread, and hand it to Ghost.

“You’re welcome to get rid of it for me.” And he doesn’t waste any time, dropping the radio on the ground, stomping on it so hard that the sound of it breaking echoes through the church. You assess the scraps of wires and plastic on the floor with a pitiful gaze, coming to a conclusion that you wouldn’t want to end up under Ghost’s boot. Or maybe you would, but under different circumstances. “Well, that’s…effective.”

“You good with the sniper rifle?” The man ignores your previous remark, immediately firing back with the question.

“Decent.” You were a lot better in close quarters and preferred a more hands-on approach. But a sniper rifle wasn’t that bad. As long as he doesn’t ask you to use it without a scope.

“You’re on the lookout with me then. Don’t screw it up.”

Oh, you’re absolutely not going to.

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a/n – first of all, thank you for reading this fic, and if you enjoyed it, consider dropping me a comment, i’ll really appreciate it! SECOND OF ALL. I’M NOT A GRAVES HATER, DON’T COME @ ME. segment with him also was written before the campaign release, so in case there are some inaccuracies with the plot/his character – let me know, so I can fix it. all of this is a huge rework of the series that I started but never posted. Originally, it was supposed to be Graves x Reader, but for multiple reasons, moral mostly, it didn’t quite sit right with me. So instead of letting 6k words first part that I’ve written and abandoned go to waste, I decided to remake it into something else here, based on the idea of @mockerycrow (ily you have such a big brain)! so yeah, that’s it for now!

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oleanderscorner · 3 months

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Thick-skulled, thick-skinned.

Yan!Dr.Ratio x reader x Yan!Acheron

TW: Yandere content and all that comes with that (gore, violence, obsession, ect), biting, fighting and bickering between yans—viewer discretion is advised.

So these two seem like unlikely pairs right? But honestly I think they have the same time—the emotionally intelligent type!

Veritas gets to you first actually—he clocks you as a member of The Express and becomes intrigued as you’re calming down PomPom. It’s something that just barely catches his attention—honestly it would be but a footnote in his thousands of thoughts if it wasn’t for seeing you do so again with other people around this place…

All whilst making a fool of yourself.

See you may not know what you’re talking about in calming down say…a student of his from a bad exam grade that they aren’t used to—it’s clear from your approach that you don’t know the material but somehow you’re able to calm them down anyway so they can see where they went wrong themselves—at least partially so…

That’s when he realizes he has been watching your approach to people and finds it utterly fascinating and yet idiotic how you are.

Just as he does—you’re off to Penacony!

That’s where Acheron catches you…

See Acheron does not know how to open up their heart ever or again…and yet, in the same breath she cannot help but stare at your visage as if the warmth and gentle feel you have radiates off of you.

When she first catches why such a thing can come from your very image, she sees you navigating a conversation with a very upset looking girl—eventually leading to her calming down for a moment and becoming excited over something—likely a new toy or some sort of treat.

She can’t comprehend both how and why you did that—so she watches over you, then it becomes justifying continuing watching over you even when you think you’re alone or not interacting with others—after all she has to keep you safe and in case you do gain an interaction, and then she just never wants you to leave her sight just in case danger happens when she just isn’t there so she continues watching…until not even she realizes she is obsessed.

Too bad Ratio is just on her tail

—

You were making coffee in the little room you had confined yourself in for the day—of course you loved going out and enjoying the day within Golden Hour…but you needed a mental health day—your energy was getting the best of you.

See—it was getting harder to rest when it wasn’t entering this dream. Always feeling like eyes were upon you…even as you kept your eyes glued shut you just couldn’t seem to really sleep for very long. Sure you got an hour or two as finally your eyes being shut for so long forced your brain to let you sleep but it was hardly enough…

Perhaps that was simply what it was like here—honestly you were just surprised that you needed sleep in the first place with being in a dream most of your days. But at least the confines or a room in here were far better than that other room where your body decided to rest.

You had just taken a sip of this dreamy coffee when it felt like a jolt of your mind and soul had brought you out of water—and not just a pool either, like you were dragged from an ocean in but a split second.

You expected to see March or Himeko—maybe Welt even…but golden eyes stared back at you—you recognized this man, Dr.Ratio. He had once been but a figure of intimidation in your life as it seemed he found you as nothing more than a nuisance and perhaps even less—but slowly as he saw you more as a person and not as just a being in the situation, circumstance, and general vicinity he was in he had become somewhat your friend. He clearly needed someone to talk and rang to himself and you provided that—always such a good friend to help…even if sometimes he called you an idiot or an imbecile. He seemed hard-pressed about something and held your arm tight in his hand.

You would freak out, but your immediate reaction to do so had long been suppressed as you quickly assessed the situation. Something was wrong, and he was going to explain it whether or not you asked—so it was better to start making things calm now by getting the situation in order.

“Is anyone hurt? Is everything alright?”

His brow was furrowed as he made a “tsk” sound and quickly pulled you up as he walked you down the hall to explain. You were always too good at keeping calm even when someone was taking your body and dragging it off like it was nothing more than a pebble on a string.

“You haven’t been getting my messages, so I went to check up on you only to see a woman with a weapon exit your room before I could get down the hall. So, obviously for your safety, I’m seeing to it you are located elsewhere until the threat is found and neutralized.”

Panick set in as you listened to his words—he was straight forward and left no room for you to argue. But even still you tried.

“What about the others—“

A quick cut off like chalk hitting a blackboard—he was prepared for this question.

“They are being informed by others, worry not. I wouldn’t be so idiotic to leave them behind.”

You believed him as he continued to drag you out of the vicinity. All seemed well for a moment until a shade of purple whip close to you and you felt the driving force of someone else tug you back out of the man’s grip—the edge of a sword just barely in your view as most of your vision was blocked by a hand.

A familiar and yet unknown voice rang in your ear in an instant as arms held you tight…and yet so gently, like the chains of slumber as you barely wake up on a soft pillowy bed.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

—

Actually living with the two of them is quite a challenge.

After their initial fight, which you were carefully taken care of to be unconscious for, they came to an agreement to share you. So, they both had to move themselves and you to a secure living location.

You being so emotionally intelligent can be damaging as both can easily be turned against the other in this situation, so, to keep that from happening they have to convene once a week on what you told them, even if it was meant to be a secret.

Acheron is with you most of the day, honestly she’s silent but she will teach you self defense if you beg nicely enough. She will accompany you to perform daily tasks and be the one you confide in the most just as she latches to you for her own sanity. She’s far easier to talk to and handle as she will be less willing to tell Ratio everything so long as it doesn’t pose a danger to you or herself—and so long as you don’t ask to leave.

If you do she’s willing to let things slip to teach you a lesson.

However she could never herself physically harm you…

Until it’s late at night, when she’s holding your back to her chest and she’s having night terrors again. She needs something to remind her you’re there and you won’t leave her…

So she bites—hard enough to leave a mark for the morning and to leave a mark to trace her fingers over as a reminder that you’re there.

Just hopefully you don’t wake up screaming and wake Veritas.

Other than that she helps however she can—really, she’s a good cook so she tries to prepare dinner so Veritas isn’t the only one cooking and lunch is always prepared by her—although she does appreciate it if you do make a snack for the two of you to share during the day.

She also does most of the cleaning as she makes sure to guard and watch over you while doing so, really, she can’t have you being hurt by something accidentally breaking or getting sick from the abundance of cleaning chemicals to keep the place spotless, while surely making your bed and such is fine—why lift a finger when she can do it and make sure you aren’t hurt?

She will also take the really hard tests with you—just to make sure you don’t get a headache from everything…

Because goodness knows what would happen if you got hurt even a little…

Veritas on the other hand spends the most time with you in the morning and afternoon. Once he gets up you’re to get up with him and perform a light brain exercise of a standard Calculus I test while you have a nutritionally well-balanced breakfast that he has prepared. In fact, aside from lunch he prepares every meal—even if he doesn’t cook it himself.

He makes sure you read at least 2 books a day and write a summary on each and answer a series of vague questions that allow you to pick the books you read while also making sure you’re using your brain—after all, you can’t be stupid intellectually. He grades these in the afternoons over dinner, which has you doing some light Chemistry or Biology work.

Veritas may not be so easily softened, however he is desperate in his own way as he clings. He rambles on topics and if you get something wrong and come to him and let him explain it, even if he ends up calling you some amount of names you can see the glimmer in his eyes as he gets to talk about the subject. Although if you get too many wrong sometimes there is just a slight bit of extra annoyance.

He starts nearly every bickering fight with Archeron—especially if he doesn’t like her methods. Of course you should be cleaning those chemicals are safe—he can make an assignment about it and you should know how to work an oven and a stove without burning yourself, if not then that’s on you and not them.

He knows Acheron does the biting thing—and everytime he wakes up to it he dresses your wound and once you’re asleep he’ll bicker with her day and night over it. He doesn’t see it as good or ideal…but in the end he knows the arrangement is best. Afterall, he only was able to keep a stalemate due to his statues—and Archeron is a good guard when he’s away.

While they bicker often—it’s really not all that bad.

The times (other than some meals) you all do get together is bath time. You all take a bath together as Veritas insists on it—and honestly them taking care of you during this time of cleaning is just so relaxing…it’s probably the best time of the day. You let them ramble and rant while doing so as you whisper and encourage them and talk with them through the vents and tribulations of their day and such.

Although you’re starting to suspect they may also like eachother in this arrangement…and part of you is worried that if they work together more than this arrangement, they’ll be less inclined to consider your decisions on things when you already get so little…

Afterall darling, what’s two against one?

AN: A little OOC but I hope you all enjoyed!!! Truly an idea I’ve had for a bit now that I just needed to get into text. Lmk any requests!!

#yandere #yandere hsr #yandere honkai star rail #yandere Acheron #yandere dr ratio #yandere x reader

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distortionbobble · 5 months

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Royal Flowers Chapter 11

royal flowers series masterlist

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pairing: anakin skywalker x f!reader

series summary: A long, long, time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, a certain Jedi by the name of Anakin Skywalker meets you, the current Queen of Naboo and adopted cousin of Padme Amidala, and is tasked with protecting you by pretending to marry you. As a spy, you’ve infiltrated the Separatist ranks and are close to finding out the mastermind behind all of it. The fate of the galaxy is in your hands.

warnings: minors dni. but it's finally time for some fucking SMUT!! piv, a little bit of dress-tearing, a teensy bit of mutual masturbation, grinding, fingering, somewhat of a fuck-or-die situation if you squint, kind of a little soft

a/n: did y’all miss our boy? i missed our boy.

Anakin slips back into the party wordlessly. There’s too much to think about. He finds you almost instantly, his feet taking him to you on instinct as though there’s some sort of magnetic link between the two of you. His hands rest at your hips as you speak to one of the senators, while his lips press into your temple. You’re quick to dismiss the Senator, feigning the excuse of a headache as you slip your hand into Anakin’s and stride out of the banquet hall.

“What is it?” You ask him in a soft murmur, not wanting to be heard by unfriendly ears.

“Not here,” Anakin responds, squeezing your hand softly. He can’t find it in him to let go of your hand, and every time he thinks to, it’s like his muscles only fight his mind, gripping your hand tighter. The parts he tamped down for so long, that possessive ugly side of him that he thought he’d finally outgrown thanks to you, makes its way to the forefront of his mind. You don’t even want him, you see him as just a friend, but Maker, there’s something carnal inside Anakin that wants to claim you as his. He wants to sink his teeth into your neck and leave bruises that won’t fade. You’d be his, and not just for show— no, he wants you to know that you’re his too.

The thoughts in his head make him feel sick; it goes against everything he’s stood for, all his life. He wants to raze the world to the ground, all for you. And if you reject him, he wants to burn the ashes. But Anakin knows it’s wrong. He knows he shouldn’t feel like this. The both of you have a friendship that is still fragile— it took so long to build it to what it is now. There’s trust, but it wasn’t always there. These thoughts aren’t him. Anakin’s distinctly aware that it’s an amplification of all those desires he repressed, but it’s amplified for a reason. His oath to the dark side is already eating at his soul, parasitic and corrosive.

He needs to tell you what happened.

“Anakin, are you okay? You feel feverishly warm,” you say, but Anakin only holds your hand tighter and walks faster, practically dragging you all the way to your shared room, slamming the door shut before he lets go of your hand. It’s so incredibly difficult to be around you right now, because every desire that he repressed for months around you is now clawing through his chest, unfiltered, unabashed. He wants you, and his soul is screaming at him to just give in. It’s the influence of the Dark Side, his inability to suppress his urges.

“It’s Chancellor Palpatine,” Anakin says through gritted teeth. He’s starting to feel genuine pain now. Years and years of Jedi conditioning being split down his body, every memory of anger and hatred and desire and love all coursing through his body, his nerves, setting his skin alight and stealing the breath from his lungs.

“What do you mean? Anakin, you look sick,” you say, reaching up to his forehead to touch his skin before he swats your hand away.

“He’s Darth Sidious,” he responds, not bothering to respond to your concern. He’s locked in on you now, predatorial. His heart’s out of control, beating wildly as control and desire war within him.

“Anakin, please, you need to explain more. You’re scaring me,” you say, watching him cautiously. He looks a mess. He hadn’t looked this disheveled, strands of his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat when you left for the ball. And that look in his eyes, that look of something wild that sets your own heart racing.

Anakin closes his eyes. He needs to get himself under control. He knows how to, doesn’t he? All that Jedi training, but that’s not the problem. The problem is he wants you. So bad he can taste it. He wants to run his tongue up the length of your body, feel every inch of your skin with his tongue.

Forget that. Clear your mind, he reminds himself.

“When we were out there, I told Palpatine—Sidious— about the nightmares I’ve been having. Nightmares about you dying. He began to tell me about Sith legends, about a Lord that could control death itself. He, he offered me the power to save you—“

“Anakin, I’ve told you this before, that’s not what I want—“

“Let me speak,” he snarls at you. He’s sure if he looked at you, he’d see the hurt on your face. But he can’t coddle you right now. His body’s on fucking fire. “I swore his fealty to him, to the dark side, because I thought it was knowledge I, we, could use. But it came at a price.”

“Oh, Anakin,” you whisper, your voice pained. “I never wanted this for you. Never intended for you to get caught up as a spy.”

“Well it doesn’t fucking matter what you wanted for me now, does it?” Anakin snaps, opening his eyes to glare at you. A mistake. His anger is quickly overtaken by desire, starved and depraved. He knows his Force signature is spiking, and he’s too stretched thin to pull it together. Distantly, Anakin recognizes the threat that exists now; if he represses his desire for you, allows it to build and build and build before it shatters, Palpatine will know something’s wrong.

“Anakin, please,” You plead with him quietly. “Please, just tell me how I can help.”

“I need you,” Anakin says. The words slip out of his mouth before he can catch them, like sand falling from his fingers, something ugly and carnal. You blink in stunned silence, and he forces himself to think of some possible explanation. “It’s the Dark Side. Sidious thinks I wanted you enough to turn to the Dark Side, which means that the Force is now influencing me to mimic that amount of desire.”

A lie, Anakin knows. There’s no amount of Force that could plant a desire in him that wasn’t already truly there. But it’s a little white lie that won’t hurt you, right? What’s the difference if he actually wants you or if it’s just the Force if either way, if he doesn’t have you, his cover will be blown?

“And it’s— it’s hurting you?” You ask him quietly, thoughts running through your head that he can’t quite place. Anakin just closes his eyes and nods in shame. “Then take me,” you say, quiet but assured.

“I can’t let you do that,” he argues with you, but his resolve is slipping. He needs to get away from you. The part of Anakin that was raised a Jedi is urging him to run, to get away from you just to protect you. The part of him that he’s been fighting his whole life wants to tear your clothes off and fucking devour you.

You hesitate before him, battling your thoughts before something takes over you and you’re grabbing the front of his suit, lips meeting aggressively as you press yourself close to him. His cock throbs as your lips move against his, teeth and tongue tangling messily as you attempt to undress him. He walks you backwards into the wall, hands finding your ass to hoist you up and allow you to wrap your legs around his torso. Anakin grinds against your center desperately, seeking some sort of movement as you kiss him sloppily. A groan sits in his throat when your hand tangles itself in his hair, pushing his mouth closer to yours.

He parts his mouth from yours, moving to your neck to drag his teeth down lazily along your artery. Anakin’s hips keep rocking against yours, that familiar ache driving him entirely as he paws roughly at your body.

Maker, it feels good, your body so close to him like this. But it’s not enough. He can still feel the layers of clothing between you, and it’s like he’s not even aware of what he’s doing when his hands tear the seam at the front of your dress like it’s paper.

“Sorry, princess,” Anakin laughs as your tits spill out, turning around to toss you on the bed before his mouth finds your nipples, the warmth of his mouth making you arch almost involuntarily into his mouth as he settles himself between your thighs again, dropping his hips in between your spread thighs as he desperately seeks that sweet pressure on his aching cock. “I’ll get you a new one,” he murmurs, dragging his tongue against the skin of your breasts. His hands accompany his mouth— squeezing, pinching, playing with them until you’re dripping and aching for him.

“Maker, you’ve got such nice tits, huh, princess?” Anakin asks you, sitting up to throw his suit jacket off and tug his shirt off. He doesn’t bother with fully taking his trousers off, only managing to unbutton and tug them down to his mid thighs before his desperation forces him back between your thighs. His hands tug your skirt up to expose your soaked panties, grinding his still-clothed length against them as he mouths at your neck. His hands are roaming all over your body desperately before one hand settles at your ass, squeezing as he rocks against you.

“Anakin, I need you,” You moan, your hands running down the expanse of his back to press him closer to you. Your nails are leaving little crescent-shaped indents in his back with every rock of his hips against yours, and it’s making him go fucking crazy.

“Sucking on your tits got you this worked up, princess?” He asks you teasingly, biting your lip. His hand strays to your cunt, tugging the fabric to the side before his fingers collect the slick that’s gathered there. He thumbs at your clit, moving in slow, gentle circles until he finds the spot that makes your body twitch under his ministrations, grinning against your lips as he plays with the bundle of nerves. He waits until you’re panting and moaning before easing one finger, then a second, into your tight, slick hole.

“Oh, baby,” he moans, pulling away from your neck to watch his fingers fuck your cunt. “Maker, you should see this, your filthy little hole taking my fingers so fuckin’ well, pretty thing.”

“Anakin,” you moan, your own hand straying to his cock and wrapping your hand around his shaft. Your hand matches the rhythm of his fingers in your cunt, making him drop his head to the pillow as all thoughts flee him except the feeling of your pussy and your hand wrapped around his cock. “Want you inside me so bad,” you whimper, stroking him lazily before reaching to squeeze and tug at his balls.

“Can’t say no to that pretty voice of yours, princess, not when you ask me so nicely,” He says, pulling your panties off from your thighs, down to your calves, where he presses a soft kiss to the inside of your ankles before tugging the cloth off entirely. You’re still donning the remnants of your shredded dress, but you’re too dizzy with lust to care.

Anakin settles between your legs again, sliding his hands under your thighs to gently manipulate you upwards. His bare cock slides through your slick folds, the head catching on your clit and making you groan in unrestrained want. You reach out to grab his body, dizzy with desire, dragging your hand down his abdomen to angle his cock right towards your aching hole.

He hums with barely-restrained want when his tip is fit into your slick entrance, shallowly thrusting the fat head in and out while you adjust. “Feels like I belong in here,” Anakin grunts, slowly easing the rest of his length into you. “Taking me so well, princess. Maybe I should’ve done this earlier.”

You laugh almost deliriously in response, pulling him down to your level to kiss his mouth fiercely. It’s messy, lips and tongues melding together imperfectly as he drives his hips into you. His voice shapes itself into your name, moaning breathlessly as he finds sweet relief in you.

“Why’d you have to feel so fucking good, huh? Makin’ me feel like switching to the Dark Side was worth it,” Anakin groans. His hips drive into yours sharply, the tip of his cock hitting your g-spot with each move. He finds a rhythm with ease, sinking deep into you with each stroke of his body.

“Anakin,” you babble, unable to string together a coherent sentence as your body takes it all in — the heat and pressure of his body on yours, his hands roaming up your body, the feeling of him inside you, so deep that your pelvis is flush against his. You can feel your slick dripping to your inner thighs, to his balls, making a mess of it all. Worth it.

“What was that, princess?” He laughs at your fucked-out face, pressing a kiss to your temple. You can feel him smiling against your skin, rocking his body into yours, hear the smack, smack, smack of his hips against yours.

You clench around him as you feel yourself near your climax, and Anakin groans, but his rhythm remains unfaltering, relentless in his pursuit of pleasure— both yours and his. He thumbs at your clit, pushing you over the edge as an orgasm spreads across your body. Pulsing warmth spreads from your cunt, drowning you in waves of pleasure as your vision whites out at the edges. Anakin’s only barely able to pull himself out of your tight heat, painting your stomach with his cum.

He finds himself laying down by your side, basking in the afterglow with you. It seems to him that there’s altogether too much to say, so he’ll say nothing at all. He finds himself running his thumb over your cheekbones gently as you blink sleepily at him, finds his heart leaping out of his chest when you cradle his jaw with your hand. He’d like to think that means something, wants it to mean something so desperately. And when he leans in to kiss your hair, his mouth says the things his voice will not, his lips moving almost imperceptibly against your skin.

I love you.

He hopes you know it, somehow.

#smut #my writing #distortionbobble's fics #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker #reader insert #anakin x reader #star wars smut #anakin skywalker smut #anakin smut #anakin x you #anakin skywalker fanfic #anakin skywalker fic #royal flowers #royal flowers series

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meebles · 1 year

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A snippet from my Codywan Bodyswap!AU that I’m working on:

Obi-Wan grunts, blinking as he comes to. His vision swims before it snaps to a sudden clarity. All at once, he realizes three things that are very, very wrong.

First, and most worryingly, he cannot feel the Force as he normally does. He’s not completely cut off, but only just.

Second, he’s certain he was in his quarters when he dozed off. Now he finds himself in a rarely-used storage room deep in the Negotiator’s sublevels, where the men keep their homebrew that Obi-Wan definitely doesn’t know about. He’s slumped against a wall, with the majority of Ghost Company peering down at him in various states of confusion.

Third, is that he’s certain his men just called him Cody.

“What… ?” he starts, staring down at his cuisse-clad thighs. Frowning, he moves to trace a finger across the stripe of gold paint running across the right, only to blink down at a hand that isn’t his own.

Ah, Sith hells.

“I think you should come to medical,” he hears Scabs say, and Obi-Wan agrees, but first they’ll have to go find—

“Oh, Force, Cody— ”

He ignores the odd looks the troopers give him, the reality of the situation suddenly gripping him like a vice. Cody, thrust into his body, but his mind untrained and unused to sensing the living Force that surrounds them—

“Scabs, I need you to get a sedative and meet me at— at the General’s room,” he states as he fully gathers himself upright, adjusting for his new center of gravity.

His CMO blinks at him. “What— the General? What are you— ?”

“I’ll meet you there and explain, just, please. A sedative,” he manages, already opening the doors. He looks back for a split-second to see Scabs nod in affirmative, before rushing out of the storage room.

Unfortunately, his own quarters are entirely on the other side of the venator. He runs past a few troopers, who startle at his haste, but he just calls back an all clear and doesn’t stop running, he needs to get to Cody—

After what feels like a tenday on a blessedly empty turbo-lift, Obi-Wan finally makes it to his quarters. He punches in the override and the door slides open, revealing the exact sight he feared— his own body, hunched over on the floor, clutching his head as he shakes—

“Cody,” Obi-Wan says, kneeling beside him, and Cody jolts, staring up at him with trembling eyes.

“Vod?” he asks in Obi-Wan’s voice, before his eyes widen impossibly further when they land on the scar at his temple, his own scar. “What is— augh!”

Obi-Wan curses under his breath, catching Cody as his eyes roll back, body slacking. He pulls him into his lap, resting his head as gently as he can against his armored thighs.

“Cody, my dear, it’s me, it’s Obi-Wan,” he says, holding Cody’s quavering form as still as he can. “Just focus on me, focus on my voice, just my voice, right here, with you.”

“Can’t— ” Cody spits out, head shaking. “It’s too much, I can’t— ”

“Shh, I know, I know. I’m so sorry, just try for me, please? Just try, it’s just me and you here together, no one else, just us… ”

Obi-Wan keeps muttering what’s probably nonsense, but he needs to give Cody some sort of anchor, something to focus on instead of the thousands of living souls he can suddenly sense aboard the ship, something present and definite in the entirety of the Force that he’s now privy to.

Cody groans, pressing himself further into Obi-Wan’s lap. “Please, make it stop, make it stop— ”

“Cody— what happened to the General?!”

Obi-Wan looks up and sees Scabs in the doorway, and bites back a sigh of relief. He’s about to explain when his medic is suddenly kneeling by his side, shaking his head.

“Fuck— that machine, it worked, didn’t it?” he says, opening his supply bag.

“Yes, it did.” Why the effects were so delayed, Obi-Wan has no idea, but right now it doesn’t matter. “And Cody— he’s not used to how my body senses the Force, it’s too much for him all at once.”

“I understand,” Scabs states, prepping the sedative. “Hold him steady, please. Bare his neck.”

Obi-Wan does as he’s told, chest clenching as he stares at Cody’s unseeing eyes. It’s a terrible solace when Scabs injects the needle and seconds later, they fall shut.

#codywan #commander cody #obi wan kenobi #star wars #the clone wars #tcw #codywan fic #my fic #bodyswap au #scabs is my medic oc #meebles writes

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cinnamonest · 13 days

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how do you think goro would feel about a childhood friend!darling?

Goro Akechi has a lot of hate in that heart of his, but other than the man he hates more than anything, there are two other things he hates the most: lack of control, and vulnerability.

He needs control over situations, over people, and when he can manage it, over the course of fate itself. The Metaverse and years of hard effort into a public persona he wears so flawlessly have granted him the sort of control he desires, for the most part.

He hates to be vulnerable, hates his own weaknesses, hates them being perceived by others.

You present both.

It’s been a long time since you’ve seen him. Really, up until the point you saw his name on screen one day, you admittedly remembered him as ‘that sad boy at school I was nice to when we were little,’ and your memories of him had all but faded into the background of your life, never thinking of him much after that until he pops back into your life.

At first, you think it can’t be the same person, surely. At least until the familiar — albeit aged a bit older than in your memories — face comes on the screen. It feels quite surreal. A drastic shift from the little boy you remember angrily sulking on the playground all by himself away from the other kids, whom you admittedly talked to mostly out of pity. Still, you felt like you bonded in the end, before he got whisked away when the relatives fostering him decided to dump him off onto someone else, thus forcing him to transfer schools.

You’re happy for him. He looks very happy now, you think, his situation must have improved. He’s even living in the city now apparently, just like you.

The positive coincidences stack atop each other when you actually get to see him.

Completely by chance, not seeking him out or anything, you just so happen to be walking home on an uncrowded street, and he just so happened to be coming back from a hit, now as normalized and mundane to him as any other work-related task — and you just so happen to meet right as you each turn a corner, perfectly scenic, as if ordained by fate.

And while Goro Akechi has spent a very long time by now perfecting the art of composure, what he sees takes him so far aback that even he lets the mask momentarily slip — completely freezing up, slack-jawed and stiff with shock and disbelief. There’s a moment where only silence passes, he looks at you like he’s seeing a ghost, an expression almost like horror managing to escape his automatic efforts to keep a straight face.

You don’t notice that part. You’re too caught up in the surprise and elation, gasping and smiling and rambling on about what a coincidence it is, and—

Do you remember me…?

The shock only lasts a split second. The composure is back, the mask pushed back into place, and with practiced mastery of charm, he bounces back near instantly.

Even in spite of the sudden onslaught of emotions and memories that feels like his very soul is being stabbed at, he manages to keep up the usual Prince-Charming act of his. Says the lines expected of him, so standard you could probably guess them before they come out of his mouth — wow, long time no see, what a coincidence, it’s good to see you, how have you been, all the generic phrases and lines one should say, just like the ones you provide in return. A back-and-forth dialogue predetermined by conventions and standards of normalcy and expectation as composed by a given social framework in which all humans live. You do mention that you’ve seen him on TV — for some reason, it makes his stomach feel like its twisting, but he gives you a humble-sounding reply all the same.

All as his heart pounds so heavily it feels like it’s going to burst though is chest. Adrenaline surges thought his veins and every nerve on his body feels like it’s frozen over, an ice-cold chill that runs through his blood, a ringing in his ears, even a lightheadedness that begins to take hold, his entire body reacting in shock and panic.

You fetch a piece of paper from your bag, scribble something down, hand it over to him — his own hand moves reflexively, as if out of his control, to take it. A series of numbers — oh. Your contact. You’re smiling now, saying something about how you would love to catch up sometime. Your voice sounds far away, his head feels like it’s spinning, but he still manages his signature soft smile and voice as he gives you yet another generic reply.

Sure, that would be wonderful.

A few more lines back-and-forth that he doesn’t even remember by the end of the day, his brain essentially giving replies on an auto-pilot means of conversation. He manages to make some excuse about work, churns out a farewell, briskly walks off with a noticeably deliberate fast pace.

You feel a little embarrassed, as you walk home. He seemed in a hurry to end the conversation. Perhaps it was presumptuous to give him a contact. He probably couldn’t care less. He’s a big, important person now, someone like that has no time for someone like yourself.

…

Your suspicions are more or less validated. He doesn’t contact you.

In fact, from the moment he gets home that day, he tries to forget the interaction entirely.

There’s multiple reasons why. For one, you present a potential obstacle, a burden, a risk. He can’t afford to have you complicating things, getting in his way. It takes some time for his heart to stop racing, and that alone irritates him — why do you get to have such a reaction from him, beyond his control?

Moreover, the emotions that hit him when he saw you were too much. Dangerously intense, something he can’t allow to weigh on him, doesn’t have the time to focus on.

To be frank, those emotions were largely negative anyway. The mere sight of your face stirs up all sorts of memories from that era of his life, most of which were deeply unpleasant. There’s a deep-rooted bitterness that rises up in his stomach, old emotions he’s worked so long to suppress, and you came and dug them up in just a few brief minutes. In truth, he thought about you very often back then — he never really got to say goodbye to you (even if, he often bitterly thought, you never cared that much about him anyway), and he had to force himself to forget you over time, and yet you’ve come and undone his efforts.

And finally — the thought of you makes him feel a new emotion, one he does not like. Something like anxiousness, fear, and in turn, anger at himself and you alike for inducing such a feeling. You stand as a sort of weakness, a single unstable factor in a world where he feels like he has some degree of a grasp of control on nearly everything — you feel uncertain, unsteady, out of his reach… no, it’s not just that. You feel unsafe. You have knowledge and memories of him that no one else does, you have seen him at his weakest, and that makes him feel far more vulnerable then he can stand.

And yet, he saves your number to his phone all the same. Lets it sit there.

Most of the time, it’s easy to ignore. He is a busy person, he can keep himself distracted. Sometimes, though, in the odd hours of the night when his emotions are at their peak, he types a message, two, a dozen, he loses count — only to shake his head and come to his senses, huffing in frustration and holding the backspace down until it’s all deleted, cursing himself internally for even coming close to doing something so foolish.

You keep coming up in his thoughts, an emotion he can’t pretend is anything but yearning feels like a knot in his chest, yet the very thought of you makes him feel sick to his stomach. The conflict between the emotions is unbearable, makes him lose sleep, makes him lose focus.

You who knew him when he was this quiet, sullen, embittered child — you were nice to him, one of the only people who showed him genuine kindness back then — you who certainly knows that the charming act in front of the cameras is merely that, an act, a mask, a lie. It feels as if playing a game with one’s own cards facing outwards towards the opponent, completely exposed, laid bare. The act can’t work on you when you know what he’s really like, know his pains and vulnerabilities, have the potential to strike at the weakest parts of him.

Nor do you fall under his realm of control. The means he has for control relies on his ability to enforce it — means to kill and ruin lives. What he wants from you, though — at least, what he wanted from you back then, he won’t let himself even consider the matter now — falls entirely out of the realm of how he likes to control people, the usual purpose for which he desires the manipulation of others — power, advancement in his goals, to snake his way inside to strike.

It's all confusing. Irritating. It's outside the realm of what he has an easy way to manipulate, and that means he's at a disadvantage, that you have an upper hand, and he can't stand for that.

Still, he wonders about you. Every time a camera faces his way, he wonders if you’ll see the filming. When he makes posts to the little page he runs that the fans eat up, he wonders if you visit it too, if you’re one of those thousands of faceless followers. He wonders how often you think about him. He wonders about the day the two of you ran into each other for the first time in so long — did you go home, and look him up online? How long did you spend doing so? What did you read? Did your view of him change, positively, negatively?

And of course, he thinks about you and your life. What have you been up to, since then? Where has your path in life taken you? You probably have friends. You probably have a partner too. You’re someone who always seemed to be loved by others — he still recalls perfectly the burning bitterness in his stomach when he saw your happiness, your family, your friends, the things you had that he did not. How he resented you for it — he still does, even if he tries to tell himself such emotions are childish. Sometimes he almost thinks he hates you, even if in the end he always finds that he can’t.

And worst of all, he finds that the mere thought of you changes how he behaves.

When he’s at a lower-end news outlet interview, he doesn’t put quite as much energy in… until it occurs to him that there’s always a chance you’ll see it, and he finds himself sitting up straighter, putting in more effort into being charming and witty for the camera.

He almost says something in another interview, but it occurs to him that he doesn’t know how you feel on the matter, and he finds himself taking what was originally a strongly-worded response in his head and neutralizing it as much as possible, to avoid upsetting you should you see it and disagree with him. He doesn't even realize it until the words are out of his mouth.

You do that to him. He who has come to think of himself as so far above others, and yet you — some child from long ago who just so happened to find him again and speak to him for no more than a few minutes — influence his actions, you consume his thoughts. You control him, and you don’t even know it, nor did you have any intention to. And even though he recognizes it, even though he tries to put it to rest and forget you entirely, he can’t bring himself to do it, can’t tap the screen to delete the contact.

It’s infuriating. He can’t stand it. The fact that you do what you do to him so effortlessly leaves him seething and stewing in a rage you probably don’t even realize he’s capable of. And that much he’s acutely aware of as well. You know more of the “real” him than anyone else, you saw him in a phase when he was always pouty and melancholic — yet even then, you don’t know the half of it, don’t realize just how much malice and fury rests beneath the calm outward surface, nor how deep it runs.

He’s not a delusional sort, he’s very self-aware, and he knows how ridiculous the thoughts he’s having are — yet he has them anyway. It’s what, three in the morning, and here he is sitting on the edge of is bed, hunched over in the dark with his face in his hands, stewing in bitterness because he just can’t stop thinking about you. Yes, he knows the thought is absurd, yet he allows it anyway — allows himself to blame you, to resent you for it as if it were an intentional act on your end, to think of you as audacious, having committed some grand transgression against him.

He’s a celebrity, a genius, he has powers unfathomable to the average person — and here you are, you’re nobody, making him think about you. The more he gives in and allows himself to slip into that way of thinking, regardless of how nonsensical he knows it is, the angrier and angrier he gets, the greater the malice that swells in his chest—

—and the darker his thoughts become on what to do with you.

If he forces himself to think it through reasonably, of course, he realizes that you’ve done nothing wrong, that you’ve been nothing but kind to him, and maybe, just maybe, a part of him even feels guilty for any unwholesome, sinister thoughts run through his head — you don’t deserve anything bad to happen to you, and he’s being embarrassingly childish for such boorish, overly-simplistic thoughts like keeping you and taking you away and hurting you and making you pay. Particularly the last — you’ve done nothing wrong, nothing to deserve any harm, and in the rational part of his mind, he knows this.

But if he were to allow those petulant feelings to take over…

If he let the irrational resentment and yearning and attachment and bitterness take over, if he stopped being rational about it, if he just acted on impulses and feelings alone, then he would have something to make you pay for. To make you the object of all the negative emotions that plague him, make you an outlet for his crippling desperation and rage and affection and covet and pain and misery and yearning — yes, he could put all those emotions into you, unload that burden and force you to take it off his shoulders, force you to be something for him to have to himself and use for his own desires and ease of his pain like he always wanted back then.

Maybe he never stopped wanting that, even if he forced every thought of you to the back of his mind for so many years. It was easier to deny the yearning when he could tell himself he would never see you again. He doesn't have that to hold him back anymore — he stares at the screen of his phone that burns his eyes in the darkness, knowing contact with you is a few mere taps away.

But even back then, he wasn’t so stupid as to not realize you interacted with him because he was pitiful and pathetic and obviously troubled and you were the sort of sweet person that went out of your way to be nice to such other children. He was acutely aware of that fact, it irritated him then, it irritates him now. Yet he latched on like a leech anyway, a fact that makes his face feel hot with embarrassment when he recalls how his child self clung to you so strongly, so pathetically. He couldn’t help it. He was so weak, back then.

But here he is, spending hours of his time thinking about you — can he really say he’s less weak to you now?

It’s not as if it’s the first time he had dark thoughts regarding you. Of course, he envied your life back then, but far more than that, he envied you. To have you to himself, as if an object from which he derived happiness that should be just for him. How upset he was when you were kind to people who weren’t him, spent time with others. Even back then, as a child, you have no idea the sort of things he crafted in his head, elaborate fantasies where everyone important to you died off somehow so he could have you all to himself. Fantasies that soothed both his bitterness for you and his desire for you — let you feel pain like he had felt, make sure you couldn’t think yourself better than him, while still ending up something all for him alone to have and enjoy for himself, ensure your kindness was just for him.

Only back then, he had no power to act on such fantasies.

Now…

…

...And one night, his resistance finally breaks.

You know what? Maybe he does deserve that. After all the effort he’s put in, after all the things he’s endured, maybe he does deserve to have something all for himself, something he truly wants, something he can secure and know with certainty won’t ever leave his side — you can’t if you don’t have the option.

Maybe you’ll hate him for it. Maybe he’d deserve it if so. But if you do, well, he’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it.

His fingers move without having to really think much about it. Generic, typical lines, just like when he spoke with you. Apologizing for the delay, but surely you understand he’s busy and all, so on and so on. He only pays attention to the very last line, as his fingers slow down in their typing with nerves and anticipation.

>Would you still be up for getting together sometime?

#can you tell i enjoyed this lol #but yeahhh i feel like goro is incapable of NOT harboring some degree of negative emotions for a beloved because thats just. who he is #he loves you but he cannot express that to save his life and has so much negativity pent up #so he just makes you an outlet for every emotion he feels which is. not good #.persona

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nekumiho · 4 months

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persona 3 reload came out yesterday so Naturally i was obligated to finally do a finished piece with my silly velvet room attendants submas au. alt versions, lore info, and misc doodles under the cut o__o (attendant related p5 spoilers mentioned). also sorry for the eyestrain.

protags they attend to are Fellow Twins hilda and hilbert who always just get referred to as 'passenger(s)'. velvet room manifestation is the inside of a subway car, no i havent worked out what that symbolizes to hilda and hilbert, dont worry about it. but i think whether its visibly in motion or not wld depend on the protags' mental state, one side of the windows for hilda and one for hilbert. mostly dark empty with no visual movement outside the windows w/ maybe a flickering station light somewhere or a visibly blocked tunnel for when theyre feeling stuck in life, default would be like a well lit platform outside of the window with faceless shadow people walking around, how crowded it is depends on their progress with social links. high speed through the tunnels with their half of the car rocking violently when there's high stress super dire stuff going on, steady movement when theyre making progress with something, etc etc

their brassards HOPEFULLY translate to 'down' (χάμω) and 'up' (πάνω) in greek??? i wanted smth like caroline and justine's hats but also not The Same and uhhh yknow. persona 3 and greek mythology are pretty :handshake:.

i dont wanna steal margaret's eldest sibling clout so i think physically ingo and emmet would be younger than her but only barely. margaret is literally the only attendant i can see being physically over like 35 and i need sbms to be mid thirties at like the bare minimum. theyre highkey disturbed whenever lavenza willingly splits herself back into caroline and justine. weirded out by the other 'twins' in general bc they're not even Real twins. they gatekeep being twins. if anyone asks "so are you guys also just two halves of one person" it will be the most offensive thing you could ever say to them. elizabeth and emmet bully theodore together. ingo doesnt dislike theodore but just kind of forgets he exists because the twins are always being like "my brother, [name] (pauses and remembers theodore), i mean, ONE of my brothers,"

emmet is very :handshake: with elizabeth while ingo is very :handshake: with margaret. they both have their own fave sisters whoops. (sorry lavenza). in any sort of 'dancing game' scenario theyre both awkward as hell. very theodore core in general with emmet having some of the elizabeth vibes of just 'i am just never going to stop making random jerky body movements' ingo is a BIT more stiff. but like in general i think theo's way of life and elizabeth's aria of the soul have pretty good ingo and emmet vibes respectively. if i ever learn model editing beyond texture replacement its so over for my mmds.

i love igor dearly but i think since there are Two of them they can kinda handle stuff on their own while igor helps with Other persona protags in their respective rooms? emmet says shit like "YEAH FUCK IGOR THIS IS OUR LINE!!!!!!!!!!!!" and ingos like "emmet be nice thats still our boss and the only reason he let us be in charge is because hes busy".

ingo handles all persona fusion stuff and emmet does storage/organization/other misc stuff and gives you p3 elizabeth styled quests. they can both be social linked because i say so. emmet is justice arcana and ingo is judgement. emmets quests are the only way or at least the main way to increase your social link with him and if you dont finish one of his Special Request ones you lose your link with him. one of the special requests is to take him and ingo to see a real subway station 100% because theyve never seen one.

of all the other velvet rooms, they like the p4 one the most because the inside of the limo is the closest to the subway car they're familiar with but i think theyd like the p3 one too for the possible rocking motion of the elevator eternally going up

thats all i can think of right now i THINK thats everything??? so heres an original concept sketch,

and also a funny emmet quest moments doodle

oh yeah emmet really fucking loves jack frost because they have similar vibes. ingo, on the other hand, is a big pyro jack fan.

#submas #sbms #emmet #ingo #sbms au #nobori #kudari #smt persona #smt #o_____o #pokemon #kinda lol #eyestrain tw //////#bright colors tw /////#bright colours tw /////#eye strain tw ////

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superblysubpar · 9 months

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modern!steve harrington x fem!reader

We'll Call It Love Masterlist | song inspiration

7.1k words | 18+ NSFW

A/N: While this takes place in the middle of the series (a moment in time during Part 2: Cutie), I think it's actually kind of fun to read this after the first three chapters, little easter eggs and what not. I hope you enjoy this and thanks for your patience in waiting for this story! Part 4, 5 and the Epilogue are coming soon! 💛

Warnings: This story takes place in the middle of chapter two to my series "We'll Call It Love" linked above. | modern!steve | reader and steve drink wine | descriptions of wearing some of Steve's clothes, but size is not talked about | Reader likes sunsets, spiderman, and she never finished her college degree | SMUT (PIV unprotected intercourse) / public (on Steve's balcony - you are semi-caught)

The alarm didn’t go off on time, your shampoo got in your eyes, the toast was burnt, and your pantyhose and skirt were too tight - you don’t even want to start on the heels and the blister forming because of them. Not even the worst of it, because of course your boss yells at you in front of everyone, you spilt coffee on important documents, spent hours transcribing them, only for your boss to say she didn’t need them and watched as they landed inside the trash can as your soul left your body. Security lights and the glowing fish tank in the front room are your only company for the last two hours of your day as you fix mistakes and make calls, willing the bad day to just be over already.

Where you end up after a day like this doesn’t matter - it doesn’t mean anything.

Maybe there’s nothing wrong with reading the text from him asking if you’d like to come over and tell him more about it when you’ve already started driving there.

It’s not like you’re wanting the comfort this sort of gesture implies. No, it’s just a distraction, an attempt to salvage this horrible day with one thing - sex. Just ‘turn your brain off and let him help you forget the day’ sex. That’s all.

And it’s not like it’s a crime that the sight of Steve at the end of his hallway holding a very full glass of wine out for you makes your chest ache a little - you’ve had a bad fucking day, of course something like that makes you a little mushy. It doesn’t mean anything when your mouth splits into a grin to mirror his when he sees you.

Steve leans against his doorframe, his perfectly gelled and sprayed caramel locks set free from their styled position they’ve been trapped in all day. One hand scratches at his jaw, the dark scruff underneath at the length you won’t admit to him is your favorite. A navy dress shirt stretches across his shoulders, sleeves cuffed and rolled up his forearms. A few of the buttons are already undone, revealing a black undershirt, all tucked into his belt and gray slacks with perfect ironed creases. His feet cross as he leans back, the gold line across the black fabric reminding you that most likely, just his socks cost more than your whole outfit combined.

“So, rough day?” He extends the glass further towards you, the silver metal of his watch glinting in the soft hallway lighting. Taking the glass from him, you gulp down half of it far too quickly for what you’re sure is an expensive bottle of wine, brushing past him into the apartment.

“You have no idea,” swallowing another large gulp before answering. A sigh meeting a groan leaves you as your bag drops to the ground loudly. You kick off the heels you really should just throw out - well past their worn in phase and still giving you trouble.

“Actually,” Steve laughs as he locks the door behind him, “I do. You sort of texted me a live play-by-play all day.”

Your hand waves off the statement, ignoring the truth of it with a hum around another sip of wine. Steve starts to walk around you, his hand brushing your lower back. Blunt ends of his fingernails scratch softly through the thin fabric of your blouse as your senses tune into the altered state of his apartment. The lighting more dim than usual, overhead lights turned down to a muted glow, aided by the warmth of candles flickering on his island and in the living room. Music drifts quietly and lazily out of speakers and through the air - music you like - mingling with something that smells so good your mouth waters a little.

The glass of wine pauses before meeting your lips again as you watch Steve pick up a knife. He chops the last part of something green and leafy, brushing the food off the wood cutting board with the back of his knife into a pan that sizzles. Garlic and onion and something herby meet your nose, drawing your bottom lip to pull under your teeth. Or maybe it’s the way Steve stares at the pan with concentration, humming along to the music you only just introduced him to. He stirs the ingredients, forearm flexing as he turns the handle of the pan to the side, knocking the wooden spoon against the lip of metal a few times.

“You cook?” Questioning him quietly from your spot by the door.

Steve looks over his shoulder, a fake frown pulling his lips down that a smile tries to fight. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

“Not surprised,” you hedge, padding over towards him slowly, “Just…impressed. I don’t know if anyone has cooked for me before.”

He looks up at you, eyebrows bunching together, whatever thoughts swirling inside his brain cut off when you kiss his cheek. Steve blinks at the gesture as you wave your hand over his apartment and ask, “You did all this ‘cause I had a bad day, Harrington?”

Steve’s cheeks turn rosy despite his eye roll and laugh around a mumbled, “It’s just spaghetti.”

“Well,” you smile, noting the simple kiss and its effects for future use. Eager and curious to find out what else you can do and say to get him to blush so you can use it to your advantage, “Big fan of just spaghetti here. Thank you.”

Your wine glass hits the counter with a soft clink as your hand wraps around his bicep and squeezes, smirking as his cheeks turn a deeper pink.

When you face him fully, Steve is already watching you, eyes tracing over your face when his lips twitch up on one side - you pushed it too far and now he’s onto you. This sort of teasing and battle for who can make the other squirm more has been the fire that’s fueled your last few nights together.

Steve leans in slowly, his hand reaching up and cupping your jaw as he does. His thumb traces over the apple of your cheek, his warm breath hits your lips as your eyelashes flutter. Steve’s voice turns gruff and deeper because he knows it works you up as he asks, “You sleeping over tonight?”

Your head shakes despite wanting to nod as his other hand finds your waist. The smell of dinner and Steve’s spice and woodsy cologne making you dizzy as you try to stay steady in your response, “Can’t. Didn’t bring any clothes.”

Steve hums, the sound buzzing into your skin as his nose brushes up yours slowly. His hand on your waist pulls you in closer, wrapping around and pressing his palm to your lower back. His breath out mixes with yours in as your hands move on their own accord, climbing up his chest and to the collar of his shirt. His eyes a dark forest and liquid gold, smoldering as his gaze meets yours.

“I’ll order you clothes for tomorrow.”

The ease and confidence of his promise is enough to make your stomach flip with excitement, but your eyes roll from the absurdity. Your laugh, a mixture of disbelieving and amused, is cut off though when his top lip parts yours. A soft kiss pressed to them that he quickly deepens when he feels you sigh, giving in easily.

Sweet and tender kisses, his thumb and fingers tilt your jaw for him, making butterflies flutter alive inside of you. Steve and you haven’t kissed like this before, you can feel each shift of his fingers on your jaw and back, how his forehead furrows against yours. Mouths that mold to the others easily, slotted together like gears that work with each other instead of against now. You move with the other like second nature, almost lazy, not worried about the end goal for once, enjoying the taste of his whiskey hitting your wine with each pass of tongues and lips meeting. Until his bottom lip catches your top one in a different way, tongue rolling against yours a little dirty, making your thighs push together.

Steve’s breath through his nose hits your cheek and your fingers grip at his collar, tugging him closer to you while his hand on your back pushes you against him harder. Soft kisses no longer, now you’re just desperate. His tongue traces your bottom lip, nipping at it gently before sucking on it. Your hands push up his neck and into his hair, fingers combing through the strands and tugging lightly as he takes a breath. It’s all so easy, the push and pull with each other, learning and using what the other likes. A whimper escapes you as his hands move to cup your face, slowing you both down, until he’s pulling away completely.

Your eyes blink rapidly as you come back to the room, forgetting where you were for a brief moment. As his thumb swipes over your bottom lip, the sight of his eyes taken over by his pupils makes your spine radiate with heat. His fingers curl under your jaw with a firm grip on your chin as he gives you one more chaste peck.

“Stay.”

The word is one you can’t help but chase, turning towards his lips again in search for more. Your kiss meets the corner of his mouth that threatens to smile - you hate that he’s winning.

“Fine. But only because this wine is really good and I intend to drink the whole bottle.”

Steve’s smile kisses your skin, mouth brushing down your neck in a tantalizing graze, the scruff on his face tickling as he moves lower. “Of course. No other reason, I understand.”

He presses a kiss to the hinge of your jaw, just below your ear and your eyes practically roll all the way back, toes scrunching against the tile of his kitchen floor as your breath gets caught in your chest. Steve clocks the spot and your reaction, a low rumble from deep in his own chest as he mouths at your neck, returning to his new toy he’s found when you gasp. Wet lips and warm breath pull goosebumps to the surface of your skin, and his nose nudging behind your ear has your entire body on fire.

Your hands push at his shoulders with a nervous laugh, forcing it all to slow down so you can regain some sort of composure and have a chance at beating him at this game.

“Okay, okay, I need a shower. How long till dinner is ready?”

Steve blinks at your words, hand in his hair roughing it up more as he clears his throat and stares down at your body still pressed to his, pretending not to be just as worked up as you are. “Uh, yeah, yes. Like twenty minutes.”

Pressing a quick teasing kiss to his mouth, you start to back away and he follows, hands wrapping around and clasping behind your back with a grin that says nice try.

“Steve,” his name a laugh on your lips as he dips down to your neck again, attacking it with frantic kisses.

“Hmm?” His teeth drag on your earlobe and he smiles against your jaw as you shiver.

“Just…” your words trail off as he starts to suck a bruise into the spot he just found, causing your eyelashes to flutter. His mouth presses another hot and wet kiss to your skin, tongue swirling and soothing the darkening mark. His hands roam up your back as you arch for him.

It’s your turn to blink again as he stops abruptly, giving you a kiss on your nose before spinning you towards his room. “Go shower already, you stink.” He gives your ass a light pat and nudge forward.

Your eye roll is hidden, but your hands press to your cheeks in an effort to calm down as you walk away. You did come here for sex, maybe you can let him win tonight.

Steve’s shower is far nicer than your own. The rain head allows the warm water to flow down your entire body smoothly, and as you let your head fall back into the stream, you wonder about the detachable nozzle and how easily you could convince him to come in here and try something. The steam and calming scent of Steve’s cedar and mint shampoo is enough to unfurl your muscles and soothe your frazzled nerves that his kissing had already started to ease. Because it was the kissing and this game you play that relieved the tension inside of you, not just the company.

The same music in his living room plays from small speakers in his bathroom too, your favorite song coming on not too long after you’ve started the shower, echoing off the dark blue tiles, the ping of water harmonizing with it. A smile twitches on your lips when you hear the added sound of the door creaking open.

“Couldn’t stay away, huh?” Your palm swipes over the glass door, clearing condensation enough to see Steve. His back is to you as he sets a new glass of wine and a fluffy gray towel on his counter.

“Actually,” he spins, eyes roaming over your naked form he can still catch a glimpse of through the foggy glass. His eyes sparkle as his tongue licks over his top lip, “Just getting your clothes in the washing machine.”

Your shoulders lift to your ears, stomach doing some sort of seesaw thing at the domestic and far too intimate of an act. Your voice is soft and hesitant, almost drowned out by the water, “Steve, you don’t-”

“What’s that? I can’t hear you,” he backs out the open door, pulling it closed as he gestures around the air, “The music. So loud.”

Your eyes roll again, a smile teasing at your lips as the door shuts with a soft click. A furrow forms between your brows though, deepening as you finish your shower. Your lip gnawed between your teeth as you turn the handle off, worrying that maybe you’re getting too comfortable here.

When you step out of the shower and wrap the still warm from the dryer towel - a sweet touch from Steve - around yourself, the smile you were fighting earlier wins. The sight of Steve’s ‘Hi’ and smiley face in the fog on the mirror is too cute of a distraction to listen to any sort of logic.

Stepping out of the bathroom, wine in hand, the smell of garlic now mixes with tomato, slipping in through the cracked bedroom door. Steve’s voice trails in quietly with it, “Hi, mom.”

You freeze, eyes widening in horror as this doesn’t seem like the greatest way to meet a Harrington parent - not that you thought about that, or want to, but as a friend of Steve’s you should probably have more clothes on. Your shoulders relax when you don’t hear a new voice responding, but Steve’s sigh and his voice again, only far less enthusiastic, “Oh, hey dad.”

Evidence of your eavesdropping forms in water dripping down your body and darkening his carpet, so, you pad into Steve’s closet, flicking the light on as you go. It’s not the first time you’ve seen the walk-in, but the sight of it still manages to steal the air out of your lungs a little.

An overwhelming amount of the dark clothing Steve so often wears hangs meticulously in order of style and color. Blues and grays, a few deeper greens you wish he’d wear more, creams, browns, and white, then black. T-shirts then polos then button-downs - simple and nothing that would make anyone take a second glance, but you know from your own fingers that the quality of the material of each item is better than your sheets.

Your fingertips drift lazily over the garments as you take the opportunity to linger in the space a little longer. They meet the hard edge of a dark wood dresser, a suede, gray box sitting atop. It’s compartments holding ties that are perfectly rolled and tucked into their homes. A matching organizer that holds a high school class ring, two watches - one gold and one with a dark and worn, brown leather band - along with a missing spot for the one he’s wearing. You’re certain that if you opened the drawers of this dresser you’d find his underwear and socks of the softest thread count folded and organized just as nicely - not thrown in haphazardly like your own.

As you turn to head back for a plain t-shirt, the bright color tucked into the back corner catches your eye. It’s so different from anything in the room, from anything you’ve seen him wear. Your bare feet sink into the plush rug as you make your way to the part of the closet that looks like it doesn’t belong.

Another small dresser, almost a nightstand, sits over here. You check over your shoulder, Steve’s voice still drifting through the door quietly and you continue inspecting. On top of the dark wood, two CD’s with Robin’s familiar hand-writing listing the songs adorning each disk. A diploma and tassel hanging from the dark frame holding it. Next to that, another framed item, an image of Steve that makes your chest tighten. You don’t think he’s too much younger than he is now in it, a dark blue graduation gown open to reveal jeans and a white button down and black tie, his grad cap squishes down his hair. Steve is shrinking in the picture, cheeks pink and biting his mouth to hide a smile, as Robin and a curly haired boy are both exploding bottles of champagne on opposite sides of him.

Above the nightstand, the clothes are even more unfamiliar. Jeans that, though folded just as nicely as others in the closet, are a lighter wash and look well loved and worn, not like the dark denim with creases you’re used to seeing him in. Several t-shirts with various concert and event logos now fading and peeling, hang in color order again. A few sweatshirts, one with the same green and orange you know matches Robin’s band sweatshirt she says she’ll die in, sit folded next to the jeans. There’s several sweaters hung, but the culprit of your detour stands out the most. Your fingers rest on it, and as you remove it from the hanger, you’re sure something he must not wear anymore fits your needs tonight more than any of his nicer items.

It’s not until you walk back out to the kitchen in the bright yellow sweater and a pair of his sweatpants that you think you potentially overstepped.

Steve stands at the stove, phone pressed to his ear still, the other hovers over the pot, spoon dripping sauce as his mouth falls open. The tips of his ears turn red, matching his cheeks as you fiddle with the hem. His voice faltering into the phone, “Ye-yeah. Yes. I am dad, tonight just wasn’t gonna work.”

He smiles sadly at you, shrugging as he turns his back from the stove, maroon turning to pink on his cheeks. His hand reaches up and runs through his hair as he starts pacing.

“Uh-huh, yeah, but-” Steve’s mouth clamps shut when he’s obviously interrupted on the other end.

You begin stirring the sauce when you see it’s bubbling, Steve squeezes your shoulder as he passes, moving his pacing to the living room. He’s changed as well, down to just the black undershirt and dark gray sweats, the orange and yellow candle light flickers across his jaw as it tightens. He picks up a baseball from the wood buffet, fingers curling around it as his thumb spins it in his palm.

When you glance up, his eyes travel over your body until they meet yours, sighing into the phone as he switches ears again, “Dad, I have to go, can we talk about it a different night?”

His shoulders slump, the baseball returning to the console, rolling across the top until it hits a framed photo. This one of Robin on Steve’s shoulders, pushing his hat down over his face as she tries to climb higher for an apple in a tree.

Steve stares out the balcony glass doors, his voice strained, “I am, dad, I promise, okay? I just need a little time.” He nods once, “Mhm, bye.”

The phone lands on the counter harshly as he returns, his hand reaching for the wine glass you’re already offering to him. He gulps half of it down, not unsimilar to how you did when you first arrived.

“So, that was your dad?” Your eyebrows raise as your gaze remains on the sauce.

“Uh-huh,” he draws it out, sighing again as his forehead falls to your shoulder.

“Can I ask what all that was about?” You question softly.

Steve’s head lifts, suddenly focused on pouring a second glass of wine and refilling the other as he speaks, “You could,” he turns to one of the cabinets, searching for plates, “But it’s complicated and in my opinion, a waste of one of your questions.”

“Oh really?”

Steve spins, wincing as he faces you again and holds up two fingers, “Ooh, that’s two.” He pulls at his collar and raises his eyebrows at you expectantly.

“Nice try,” you steal a plate from him and begin dishing up, “Not eating spaghetti topless for you tonight, Harrington.”

“Oh, but you will some other night?” He smirks, standing next to you.

“In your dreams,” you laugh, turning to the stove again.

He sighs, long and big, “Only every night,” your snort is cut off as he keeps going, “But actually, speaking of clothes,” he spoons his own pasta onto his plate, “Went into the depths of mine I see.”

Your fingers fiddle with the hem again, recalling his face when you first came out, mood sobering. “The color caught my eye, I’ve never seen you wear this. I can take if off though, if-”

“No,” he says quickly, with a harsh swallow he adds on quietly, “Looks good on you.”

“Thanks,” dipping your head from the way he looks at you when he says it. Like he really means it and wants to see you in it more than tonight.

Steve leans in, his hands full, so he nudges your temple with his nose until you look up at him. He presses a slower kiss than earlier to your lips, lingering for a moment before clearing his throat and pulling away. He nods his head towards the glass doors “Wanna eat on the balcony? Sunset is soon, and I thought it might be a good ending to the bad day?”

Your chest floods with warmth, something sticky and heavy that makes your mouth unable to work, holding all of your words hostage so all you can do is nod. Steve smiles and heads outside.

“Mint chocolate chip,” he answers immediately, taking a sip of wine.

You’re done with dinner, tucked into his small balcony couch, the sunset has now faded from that early golden glow, tinges of orange and bursts of pink starting to break through the clouds and paint the buildings around you. Steve's legs extend to the small ottoman, yours against his thigh so you can really watch the sky. More than ten questions have been asked, but your clothes are still on, and part of you wants to admit that maybe this is actually what you needed tonight instead of sex. Maybe you just needed to have dinner, talk to a friend, enjoy the sunset. It doesn’t matter that it happened with Steve - the whole point of this was to be friends with benefits, right?

You laugh into your wine glass, “Wow, I so did not peg you as a mint chocolate chip ice cream guy.”

He grabs your ankle, tugging it lightly, “And what is that supposed to mean?”

Your shoulders lift in an innocent shrug, “I dunno, you seem kind of vanilla, Steve.”

His eyes narrow and he scoffs, grumbling into his wine glass, “Vanilla. I’ll show you vanilla.”

“What was that?” You grin.

He rolls his eyes and stands, grabbing your empty plates. “I said, more wine?”

“Sure you did,” you nod, faux belief on your face as you hand up your glass as he passes.

After the door latches, you pull the sleeves of his sweater down over your palms, standing and moving closer to the ledge. You’ll always love sunsets, but this view has changed them forever for you. The orange and pinks bleed together now, like two tubes of paint exploded across the sky, a perfect summer sunset. Its shimmering reflections in the lake, river, and buildings around you try to steal your breath too - almost as beautiful as the real thing.

The city below you buzzes with summer nightlife, horns honking and bass thumping as people drive by. One of those Chicago tour boats drifts lazily by and you smirk, remembering the unfortunate yet hilarious story Robin told you about the Dave Matthews bus - so opposite of the moment you’re witnessing now. As the tour passes under the bridge you notice the couple standing in the middle, holding hands. One of them drops lower, and from the way they jump back up and spin around, holding each other, you’re certain you just witnessed a proposal.

Steve’s shoulder presses against yours and you jump, hand over your chest.

“Sorry,” he motions behind him, “Thought you heard the door.”

Your heartbeat rapidly pounding in your chest, you glance back to the bridge, but the happy couple is already gone. Shaking your head, you close your eyes, “No, uh, was distracted I guess.”

He eyes you curiously, fingers brushing down your arm, with a smile, “Alright, you asked me the ice cream question, so my turn.”

He spins, finger in the air when the question comes to him, “Favorite superhero?”

“Spiderman,” your answer just as confident and quick as his ice cream response.

“Interesting,” he rubs at his jaw, “Why?”

Your shoulders shrug as you watch another boat tour go by. The words on the tip of your tongue before your brain fully catches up to them. “Um, I’m not really sure. I guess I always loved that he was kind of alone, but not really. Spiderman was lonely, protecting people he loved who didn’t know he did, but Peter was almost the opposite? He wasn’t ever fully alone despite thinking he was. He was always loved, he was just the one who didn’t see it.”

You don’t realize the power of your answer until it leaves your lips. A small piece of weight you carry lifting easily for Steve like it’s nothing. It’s almost immediate that you wish you hadn’t answered.

Steve smiles sadly at you, his fingers pushing against the railing and bumping yours as he speaks softly, “That’s a good reason, sounds like you relate to it?”

Your cheek pulls in and you shrug again, clearing your throat and ignoring his prodding. “What about you? Got a favorite superhero?”

Lately, whatever question either of you had come up with ended up being answered by both of you, the conversation flowing that way naturally, so your sidestep of his followup questions isn’t completely out of the ordinary.

Steve’s hazel eyes bounce between yours, and you know he wants to push it further, to get you talking more, but he doesn’t. He stands up straighter and nods, “Definitely Batman.”

You groan and laugh, shaking your head as he puts his hands on his hips and asks, “What?”

“You would like Batman. He’s not even a real superhero, he’s just rich. He has no powers.”

He points his finger in the air, “First of all, you’re wrong. Second, pretty sure some of the Spiderman comics it’s like the exact same fucking thing, so. And third, I have a good reason why I like him so,” he sticks out his tongue at you.

Your hands fall out, palms facing upward expectantly and he rolls his eyes, ripping at the skin on thumb. “I, well. I think him being an orphan is interesting. I like that he’s seen as a guardian. I don’t know, a lot of reasons…” his voice trails off as a furrow forms between his brows.

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” You nudge his shoulder, grabbing the wine from him and taking a sip. Both of you touching a sensitive spot in each other with something as simple as superheroes.

He smiles and nods, eyes focused on the House of Blues lighting up below you.

Your own eyes watch the pink take over the orange in the sky as you drum your hands on the railing, risking a more serious question despite the mood. “I saw that picture, in your closet? Was that a college graduation? It seemed recent?”

Steve blows his breath out, sipping the wine he takes back from you, sharing the same glass as he nods. He clasps his hands together after you steal it back and stares out at the lake. “Yeah, uh, I didn’t get in, back when Robs went. But,” he licks his lips and squints, “I dunno, got this job from my dad’s connections and I just…wanted to see if I could do it alone? So I did. Sports management. Not a big deal.”

Your hand reaches out to his forearm and squeezes gently. “Steve, that is a big deal. That’s really great.”

He hums and shrugs and you press it even further, “So your parents don’t know? And your job now, that’s not-”

He laughs and drags his hands down his face, “Really, it’s not a big deal, I shouldn’t have even printed that photo. And, and the job, I don’t know. There’s this opportunity this one guy at work told me about, but my parents…” he sighs and his shoulders drop. “No, they don’t know. And my job is great. I don’t need to do anything else.”

You turn and set the wine down, your fingers wrap around his wrist. “Steve, you should have a job you love. Screw your parents or anyone who tells you differently. There’s always a way to figure it out if you want it badly enough. And, it is a big deal. I didn’t finish college. It’s a really cool and amazing thing, you should be really proud about it.”

Steve smiles, tapping the railing, speaking softly, “Thank you.” He turns to face you, hand brushing up your arm to your shoulder. “I didn’t know that about you. The college stuff I mean.”

Stepping closer to him, you shrug. “It’s not like I introduce myself and tell people that, Steve.”

“Well, thanks for telling me.” He takes a step closer too, closing the distance completely so your bodies press together. He smiles, tone lightening the mood, “I’d take off my pants in honor of the information, but I don’t have underwear on and we’re sort of exposed out here.”

Your eyes roll again as your lips fight a smile. He leans in closer, nose bumping yours as you whisper, “Wow. What a slut.”

He smirks. “If you’re a bird, I’m a bird.”

Your breath catches in your chest at the quote, his lips pressing to yours softly before you ask, “Wh-what did you say?��

His cheeks turn pink like earlier and he clears his throat, “Uh, I meant like, takes one to know one. Like a slut.” His eyes close and he holds up his hands, “Not that you’re a slut, what I meant was that, see…like in a good way.”

Your heartbeat starts to return to normal and you shake your head, ignoring the connection the quote made inside of you. Interrupting his Robin-like rambling and hoping to get the original plan for the evening back on track with a kiss.

Steves reciprocates quickly, tongue licking at the seam of your lips as you open up for him. Something about the gestures he’s made to fix your bad day tonight, the conversation you just had, has you more desperate than you were originally when you came over tonight. It’s all too complicated and jumbled now, and you just need your brain to turn off, and sex is the way to do that.

His hand cups your jaw, opening you wider for him as he presses you back into the stone barrier between apartments. He rolls his hips against you, pushing harder when your hands wrap around his neck. Your clasped hands hold yourself up as his hand reaches for your thigh, pulling it up and around his waist, fingernails dragging back up and cupping your ass. Your hands move down his back as he slows his kissing again, teasing his tongue against your top lip. Nails scratch through his shirt as he moves his assault to your neck. Your body pulses around him as the sun sinks lower behind you. Steve holds your chin with his fingers as he says, “Turn around, pretty girl, you’re missing the sunset.”

Your eyes blink wide and slow at his words as he removes your leg from his waist, spinning you towards the railing. The rapid beat of your heart returns as his hands rest on either side of your body and he presses his easily felt erection into your backside.

Steve’s nose brushes up the back of your neck, his mouth kissing across your skin till he meets your ear. His fingers glide across the band of the sweats, curling around your hip until he pushes under the fabric.

He huffs into your skin, kissing that spot on your jaw again as two of his fingers push past your clit, slipping over it easily. “Who’s the slut for not wearing underwear, again?”

“Steve,” you whine, not patient for this sort of teasing anymore.

He kisses down your neck, fingers parting through your slick as he glides up then lower again, the faintest graze to your clit and barely a nudge to your entrance. He tuts into your shoulder, mocking pity in his tone, the cocky man returning easily when he knows you’re this turned on, “Oh, I know. You just had such a bad day. Really need this, yeah?”

You can’t argue with him, fingers curling on the lip of the ledge, stepping closer to it. You’re sure he can feel you gushing around his fingers from just his words, how much his kissing worked you up, but you don’t care. You don’t want to fight it anymore, maybe Steve is worth just giving into.

“Ye-yes,” you gasp out as he rewards you with figure eights pressed into your clit, your eyelashes fluttering as your knees start to buckle. “Oh, fuck.”

Steve’s breath hitches at your affirmation, kissing over your neck as he increases the strength of each press. A slow, generous circle with the pads of his fingers, rolling over the bead of vibrating nerves with an agonizing and precise pressure and pace.

“Tell me,” he kisses down your jaw, groaning at the roll of your hips back into him. Another press of his lips to your temple as his fingers circle your entrance, “Tell me what you want.”

Your head turns, chasing his kiss, catching his bottom lip with another gasp as he pushes one finger inside of you and curls, “Y-you. I need you. Please.”

Steve and your lips push and pull against each other in a battle now, harsh breaths shared as he nods, agreeing to give you what you want. He slides a second digit inside of you and curls to the spot he finds every time and you shake your head no against his mouth - that’s not what you meant.

He moans, pressing his body up behind yours harder, back to kissing over your jaw and neck before he’s breathing in your ear. Voice raspy - dirty and filthy and everything you want as he asks, “Oh, not good enough? Jus-Just need me to fuck the bad day out of you?”

“Please,” you whisper, eyes fluttering closed at the loss of his fingers slipping out of you, “Fuck me.”

Steve’s forehead hits between your shoulder blades, wide hands pushing at fabric, and you stand on your toes, anticipation radiating throughout your body when you feel his bare length against your folds - sure you have your rules, but breaking them for one night is at the bottom of your list of thing to think about currently. He moves one of your hands to the front of your sweatpants in a silent command to hold them up. Steve nudges at your entrance, your lip tugged between your teeth unable to suppress another whine as he pushes inside slowly. His voice barely audible even in your ear, his breath too fast and too hard, overtaking his words, “Need you to be quiet, honey.”

Your head falls forward, mouth opening in a gasp as he thrusts into you. He stops, a shaky breath leaving him as you both adjust to him filling you up, relishing in the missed feeling of your bodies being connected like this. Patience wears thin though, and you push back against him, your hand gripping the balcony barrier as your eyelashes flutter when he twitches from the movement inside of you. Steve’s hands rest on your waist, holding you steady as he draws out of you, thrusting back up.

He sets a slow pace, a dirty roll of his hips every few thrusts in and your toes curl against the balcony floor, head falling forward as you struggle not to make a sound. Steve’s mouth drags on your skin, from under one ear to the other, one hand caressing over your curves, shirt rising slightly as he ventures higher. Wide palm cupping one breast as his other holds your hip in a bruising grip.

“Steve, harder.” Your hand reaches back behind you, yanking on his hair with a whine. Steve pushes you both into the ledge, a growl slipping past his lips.

Steve’s thrusts pick up their pace and he breathes into your ear, a desperate and primal sound that’s more intimate and better than any sort of moan a man has ever made for you before, your name mingling with quick and short gasps for air.

Your head falls back against his shoulder as his hand moves from your chest down your stomach, pushing his way past your hand roughly, sweatpants dropping and neither of you caring. Your cry is muffled into his sweat slicked neck as he goes even faster, feeling like he’s so deep you’ll feel it the rest of your life, his fingers press frantic circles to your swollen clit.

“Fu-fuck, fuck, fuck,” you bite at his shirt collar, both of your hands above you in his hair, stretching onto your toes again, chasing and running away from the feeling about to bubble over.

Every nerve ending inside of you is coiled, at its breaking point - ready to crack. Steve’s hand that’s on your waist lifts, grabbing at your chin, and pulling you towards his mouth as he snaps his hips faster, stuttering their movements as he keeps working at your clit.

Warmth floods your stomach, eyes pressed tight, oranges and pinks from the sunset bursting behind your closed lids as you bite down on his lip, everything inside of you exploding as you release around him.

“St-Steve!”

His lips press to yours harsher, trying to silent you as he doesn’t stop his movements. Steve grunts into your mouth, cursing under his breath as his hips go even faster before they falter. His teeth drag across your bottom lip as he finally lets go, his release sending another wave of your orgasm crashing over your body. Stars blink behind your eyelids, breathless as you come back to earth.

Both of you gasp around each other’s lips as your body tightens then relaxes around him, his hand finally stops its circles to your overwhelmed nerves when you push him away. Sounds of the city return to your ears as your head falls back against his shoulder. Steve’s hands on your waist squeeze as he breathes heavily against your shoulder before kissing it. Both of you wince as he slips out of you.

He clears his throat as each of you pull your sweats up, his cheeks pink and yours hot. Turning to face him, your back hits the ledge as his hands fall to your sides and cage you in again.

Steve’s face is lit up orange and gold, eyes shimmering. They’re the color of honey and brown sugar in this fading sunlight, looking at you with a gaze that’s just as gooey as he leans in with a smile. Whispering as he hovers above your lips, “Still having a bad day?”

That same sticky feeling coats your chest as you shake your head no, both of you still breathing heavily. His top lip just skims your bottom one when loudly, from a nearby balcony, the clip from ‘When Harry Met Sally’ plays:

“I’ll have what she’s having!”

Your hand slaps over your mouth and Steve snorts, both of you dissolving into laughter as you rush back inside.

Your body heats with embarrassment, hands on your cheeks, “Oh my god.”

Steve doesn’t seem as phased, walking further into the apartment. “Hey, that’s a good movie, wanna watch it?” He laughs, running his hand through his hair.

Any mortification forgotten at his suggestion. You spin, finger in his face, “Aha! Bad 90s romcom, told you I could smell it on you.”

He waves you off, heading toward his bedroom, “Yeah, yeah, go make some popcorn miss can’t keep her mouth shut!”

“Me!” You scoff, following him, “Um, what was all that grunting! And breathing and-”

He cuts you off with a slow and deep kiss. Tongue flicking over yours dirty and rough, pulling away with a sharp inhale. “Tell me you didn’t like it.”

His words freeze you, and you stand together in his apartment, lit only by candlelight and the sunset that’s dipped below your eye line. Breaths mixing, bodies pressed together and Steve kisses the spot below your ear - one slow, sweet kiss that lingers before he pulls away.

He smirks at your dazed expression, calling over his shoulder, “Your favorite movie snack is in the cupboard!” Disappearing into his bathroom.

It’s just sex, that’s all this is.

That’s what you tell yourself as your legs turn from jelly to some sort of working limb as you make the popcorn.

That’s what you tell yourself as he settles in next to you on his couch, tossing the yellow knit blanket from Robin over your laps.

That’s what you tell yourself in the morning, when he’s in the shower and a delivery comes with clothes that fit you perfectly.

It’s just sex. Fun. That’s all this is.

That’s what you tell yourself as you slip on a brand new pair of heels and he kisses your forehead, reminding you with a wink that his balcony is always open after a bad day.

WCIL taglist: @loveshotzz @myobmaya @sweetsweetjellybean @pastel-pillows @littlesubbyflower @johnricharddeacy @freezaz123 @selfdeprecatingnerd @big-ope-vibes @manda-panda-monium @hellkaisersangel @yogizzz @soulmatecashton @happytimeunicorns @mandyjo8719 @lunarxeclipse @buckleylips @beckkthewreck @differentdeputyfishpaper @supardupar @micheledawn1975 @imjuststeddietrashatthispoint @sagelittleplace @totally-bogus-timelady @steves-babysitter @fallinginlovewithqueue @aftermidnightwriting @omgshesinsane @pootcullen @definitionwanderlust @nostalgiafool @palmtreesx3 @scoopshxrrington @live-the-fangirl-life @eddiesguitarskills @mannstarkey @keepingitlokiii

#steve harrington #modern!steve harrington #modern!steve #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington smut #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington series #steve harrington fic #stranger things fanfic

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thorraborinn · 1 year

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Thinking about trolls (+elves, huldufólk, others) in light of Eduardo Vivieros de Castro. I'm not willing to say that pre-Christian Scaninavians were perspectivists in Amazonian style, but I do think that looking at Norse religion and later Nordic folklore through that lens is productive.

I'm mostly using the word troll as kind of a catch-all (which is not unlike how Scandinavian folklore uses it, though Icelandic folklore does not).

There are two main fears concerning trolls: that they will eat you, and that they will marry and/or fuck you. In Levi-Strauss's time that might have been seen as symbolically reducible to the same fear, but I think we can learn more by examining them in their distinction.

I dunno that I can summarize Vivieros de Castro's points here, but I'm reading from Cosmological Perspectivism in Amazonia and Elsewhere: Four Lectures given in the Department of Social Anthropology, Cambridge University, February-March 1998.

In western ontology we humans are like animals in that we have bodies, but what distinguishes us is the soul (or the rational mind, or whatever, the details change over time but the point is something distinctive about our interiority), so that for, say, Christian missionaries, "because the spiritual is the locus of difference that conversion becomes necessary (the Europeans wanted to know whether Indians had souls in order to modify them)." Sverrir Jakobsson says that Icelanders bought so heavily into the [Christian : Heathen] distinction as the primary ordering principle of the peoples of the world that they had trouble recognizing, or even outright denied, that there was an East-West split in Christianity.

In perspectivist ontologies this is flipped, the locus of differentiation is the body, because the interiority of everything is the same, difference comes from inhabiting different bodies. If you could acquire the sight of a jaguar, you would look at a puddle of blood and see a nice cold beer (but you would also be dangerous to humans, because you would see them as game animals). The resulting anxiety is cannibalism. If everything is the same in underlying essence, it becomes necessary to engage in an active practice of differentiation to avoid eating something that is the same as you. Ritual specialists who can transform into animals are sometimes bad hunters because they are too deeply engaged in this paradox.

The fear of marrying a troll (or elf, whatever) is the fear of spiritual conversion. This is sometimes made explicit: "I don't want to live with elves; rather, I want to believe in my Christ" -- Ólafur Liljurós (note that while this ballad is related to similar ones all over Europe, many of them deal with the protaganist's impending marriage and/or infidelity in some way; this is absent from the Icelandic and it's a purely religious conflict). In Tungustapi, Sveinn doesn't just fuck elves, he also goes to their church (which is a sort of inverted Christian church). He's alienated from the [Christian/human] community. This corresponds to "western ontology."

The other side of this is fear of being eaten. At risk of overthinking things, because being afraid of a scary monster eating you doesn't really seem to need a lot of explanation, I think there are religious/cosmological implications here.

The fear of being eaten by a troll is different from the fear of being eaten by a bear or a boar, because humans also eat bears and boars, we are on the same level with them. You can't eat a troll (we also don't eat wolves, and wolves are trolls' domestic animals, although I guess you could eat a wolf). A semi-human semi-Euhemerized jötunn/troll is associated with cannibalism in Orms þáttr Stórólfssonar. I've written before about the likely etymological derivation of jötunn from a word meaning 'to eat'; previously I said that while *etaną 'to eat' and *etunaz 'jötunn' have a clear etymological relationship, that might not be so a few hundred years later when they have become eta and jǫtunn, but maybe this relationship should be reconsidered.

Eduardo Kohn was once told to always sleep on his back in the jungle, because if a jaguar comes it will see his face and recognize him as a person, but if it sees his back it will see him as prey. To avoid being eaten by a troll you have to get the troll to see you as a person and not as food, you can do this by giving a gift (and initiating a relationship of reciprocity), or else by being more troll-like yourself (maybe even by preestablished kinship with trolls like Egill Skallagrímsson). It's a widely-acknowledge attribute of trolls, at least in Iceland, that if you do manage to get them on your side they are loyal, hence the word trölltryggur 'trustworthy as a troll [=extremely trustworthy].'

The alternate way to avoid being eaten is, of course, to pray to [Thor/St. Olav] to come destroy them with his [hammer/axe]. I don't think this throws off what I'm saying here though, because "extreme violence" is also an option for dealing with humans in a reciprocation-exchange relationship too.

Anyway, my point is that the responses to the two different fears are the exact opposite of each other. You respond to the fear of conversion by never associating with trolls, never falling for the deceit that they are persons like you. You respond to the fear of being eaten by trolls by establishing mutual recognition of each others' personhood.

Contrary to popular belief (which says to never accept any gift from the fey under any circumstances), both of these are represented in folklore. Ólafur Liljurós even presents both of them at the same time, and says it's better to be killed than convert.

There's a big gap in this, which is magical creatures that don't want to eat you but which are still dangerous. e.g., an elf is not going to eat you but you still don't want to piss him off because he'll shoot you with a disease-transmitting arrow. But I think this can get filed along with the fear of being eaten, it's just that because the Eduardos (Vivieros de Castro and Kohn) are themselves talking about cosmological food chains, and I'm working from their material, there's better opportunity for examining trolls that eat people.

#heathen #heathenry

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gurugirl · 2 years

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On Halloween Morning* ⤦ A Harry Styles Halloween One Shot

This was requested and was slightly inspired by AHS: Murder House

Evil spirit / Ghost!Harry x Reader

Summary: She didn’t believe in ghosts and he hadn’t seen a living soul in a very long time so he was quite hungry. By the time she realized she’d been wrong about ghosts, it was too late for her and he'd gotten exactly what he wanted. 8.7k words

Warning: DUB-CON, mentions and some details of death and murder, smut, choking, blood, ghosts, a haunted house, horror/scary/creepy and dark - this might not be for everyone- Harry is a ghost stuck in a house with his dead family (all ghosts). Consider what you can handle before continuing.

Reading through old articles to get herself acquainted with the story of the Styles’ house turned out to be quite intense. Some articles outlined the scene in more detail than others. Blood on the walls and headboards, and soaked through the mattresses under the dead bodies. A pool of blood under the oldest son, Harry, who's body was found at the kitchen table. She was just glad there weren’t photos (that she could find) of the crime scene.

The whole family was murdered on Halloween morning in 1968 and the son was the main suspect. Of course the police never found out who did it because all the victims were murdered as well as the accused, Harry Styles. DNA collection for evidence wasn’t a thing back then. No one knows what really happened that day, nor can they understand why the house is cursed, seemingly haunted and kept by the dead who once lived there.

But she wasn’t going to be deterred. Ghosts weren’t real.

October 30, 2022

She was too old to be entertaining this sort of thing. A dare. But she was stubborn and hated being wrong. So of course she’d take the dare and prove to everyone she was right. Ghosts don’t exist.

It was a dumb idea, but Rhea and Georgie both said they’d been in the house and were spooked by something, a ghost perhaps, they’d both claimed. Y/n rolled her eyes and scoffed.

“What? You don’t think that house is haunted?” Joe asked with a confused look on his face, as if it were preposterous to not think it was haunted.

Now, they were all in college, 20 and 21 years old among them. So, this shouldn’t have even been a topic. And it normally wouldn’t but Halloween was coming. So, it got brought up out of pure relevancy. Scary stories and strange occurrences were being shared, and it only made sense to bring up the supposed haunted house.

Y/n shook her head, “I can say with full confidence that the Styles' house is not haunted. No such thing.”

And that’s how she found herself climbing into the back window of the long-vacant Victorian style home with overgrown grass, and paint that had begun splitting and peeling away from the wood siding.

The insides were just as worn. Dusty. Some of the wood was deeply cracked and dried. The furniture, said to have been left behind by the Styles family, was covered with dusty sheets and pushed to one corner of the living room.

The house was massive. If not for the stain of the past, it would fetch a pretty penny and could be absolutely immaculate with some repairs and maintenance. It was a shame, really, that adults could let their imagination run wild and fear such things as ghosts.

Y/n brought a backpack full of things to keep her entertained as well as some snacks and water. She brought a book, her cellphone and a battery pack to recharge since she was positive the house had no electricity, a change of clothes, and her dildo. What? She liked to use it before going to sleep at night (when she was by herself) and figured in this big ‘ol house no one was around to catch her in the act. Unlike the dorm room she shared on campus. She rarely had a chance to use it freely, but tonight she would. There isn’t a soul around, she thought to herself.

When she found a nice enough area to set up, she went looking for couch cushions and blankets to make a pallet for herself. Yes, all the bedrooms had beds but she heard that everyone was murdered in their bedrooms and so, even if she didn’t believe in ghosts, she still couldn’t shake the creepiness of sleeping in the same spot as someone who was murdered.

This was a terrible idea. She huffed as she dragged some old couch cushions to the wall and could swear she saw something move out of the corner of her. Everything gave her the creepy crawlies. She found a linen closet with blankets and sheets which she was sure were all clean as they were folded neatly.

Settling into her little corner, the sun began to set. She texted her friends a picture of herself in the old house with the accompanying message:

To Group Chat: peaceful and quiet. see you tomorrow scaredy cats.

She pulled a blanket over her legs when she felt the temperature drop around her and then started to read from her book and snacked on saltines.

When the sun had gone down completely, and the light was a bit too low to read her book she put it away and picked up her cellphone. No one has texted her back. Which seemed odd.

She looked closer at the photo she sent and felt her blood run cold. It looked like there was an outline of a figure, a person casting a shadow next to her. She looked around the room and felt her skin pimple with goosebumps as a faint breeze hit her skin. There weren’t any windows near the corner she set up in. But she chalked it up to a drafty house. The shadow was probably just a lens issue from her phone. She pushed down any feelings of fear that rose in her.

Y/n pulled out her small lantern that was fully charged and placed it next to her pallet so she could see as she dug through her bag. She leaned against the wall and pulled up her favorite porn site on her cellphone and then and then got her dildo out. This would help her relax. She didn’t believe in ghosts or evil spirits or anything like that and a good orgasm seemed to be in order to calm her nerves.

She started to feel kind of exited, knowing how good it was to have her insides filled up with the silicon toy. It was a shame she didn’t get to use it as often.

Pulling her jeans off and spreading her legs, she began watching her favorite couple begin their show. She rubbed over her panties gently as she started to get into it as the scene played out on her screen.

When things began to get a little hotter and Y/n was thoroughly wetted and aroused she paused the video and then pulled her panties off from her legs and propped her phone up so her hands were free and she could still see the video. She grasped the dildo in her hand and ran it over her wet crease and moaned as she hit play on the video. She planned on being vocal tonight. No one would hear her.

She took her time, rubbing over herself gently. She couldn’t believe she was doing this in the old creepy house, but a girl has needs and she hadn’t had any action in a while.

Suddenly there was a noise. It sounded like something was dropped or a door closed. It was not from the porn on her phone. She stopped her movement and paused the video. She couldn’t see much past her pallet. The room was barely illuminated by the lantern as it wasn’t a very powerful light. The shadows on the wall and the silence was creepy. She knew she heard something.

Placing the dildo aside, she sat up when she heard something shuffle. Maybe a squatter was here? Fuck! She just wanted to masturbate in private. She hoped she hadn’t been seen or overheard. She even looked all through the house before settling in and saw no signs of anyone else.

She pulled a blanket over her lap so she could put her clothes back on in modesty in case someone was there when she saw movement from the side of her eye and a shadow move on the wall. She jumped at the sight and hurried to grab her panties.

“Don’t stop on my account.” A deep, raspy voice sounded into the room, much closer to her than she expected. Someone had been watching her masturbate.

“Please don’t hurt me. I’ll leave!” she had managed to pull her panties on and then grabbed for her jeans when she saw the shadow draw closer.

She was frantically trying to get her jeans right so she could put her legs into the holes when the person came into her view.

A tall young man with dark hair, no older than she was. She couldn’t make out his features as she was focused on pulling her jeans up over her legs, though she had been unsuccessful with the simple task at the way her hands were shaking.

He laughed, “You won’t be leaving. You’re far too pretty for that. Normally I don’t like intruders but for you, I’ll make an exception. Maybe let you stay with us. I could use the company.”

She paused her movements when he kneeled down right in front of her. His eyes were light green and his jaw was sharp. He was handsome but she was freaked out by his sudden presence and the fact that she’d been caught.

He reached a tattooed hand out and pulled her blanket from her legs. She was stuck in shock, unable to move or argue with him.

“Look at you. Don’t cover this up. Let me see. It’s been so long.” He smoothed a cold hand up her leg over her calf and she shivered under his touch. His curious eyes flitted from her panties to her face.

“I don’t usually make myself visible when the living come around. But for you, I needed to see. To touch.” He crawled over her body slowly, his hands never leaving her warm flesh. His palm slid up to her inner thigh where she was still a little wet from her recent activities. But she was fully freaked out now.

She shoved at the young man and launched herself up and without grabbing any of her things made a run for it toward the front door. Her bare feet were gripping the dusty wood floors as well as she could but her stride was affected and it slowed her down.

With her heart racing she turned down the front hall and looked behind herself quickly to find that the guy wasn’t following her. She made it to the front door and turned the handle but the door wouldn’t open. Turning around to check behind her for the man again, she felt along the wood for the deadbolt and turned the lock as she kept twisting the doorknob but the solid oak door wouldn’t budge. The light was too low and it was difficult to see in the shadows. She was sure she was missing something. The door should be opening.

Suddenly a hand was on her shoulder and she turned abruptly to see the man. She couldn’t make out much, but he was tall and much bigger than her and now she was terrified she actually wouldn’t be leaving like he said.

“This is cute. Haven’t had a runner in a while. But you are trespassing on my property after all, and that’s not nice. Leaving just isn’t an option.”

“Who are you?” Y/n gasped as his long fingers grasped her with more strength.

“I’m Harry Styles. What’s your name, doll?” He stood confidently above her with a firm grip on her arm.

He was the Harry Styles. The oldest son of the family murdered. She remembered the pictures now. When she’d googled a bit about the house before staying the night. There was a website that detailed the gruesome murders and a picture accompanied each member of the family.

Before answering him she yanked her arm away and ran away from the door and the man who stood next to it. As she went deeper into the old, dark house she tried to think of a way to escape. Going upstairs would be a bad idea. She needed to find another door on the first level, or even a window. At this point, she understood she was in danger. She might not leave this house alive tonight.

In the kitchen she opened drawers to look for a knife, or anything that could be used to protect herself. She found nothing useful in any of the drawers. Some butter knives, and forks but they wouldn’t do.

But then she neared a bench by the old stove and found a counter-top organizer with cooking utensils and one large knife with a long wooden handle. This could do.

She looked around, her eyes adjusting to the dark as she decided on which direction to go. The only window in the kitchen was over the sink and it would be difficult to climb out of. Her next move was to find an exit.

She quietly padded across the floor, hoping if she was quiet the man wouldn’t find her. It hadn’t quite sunk in that this man, Harry, wasn’t a man, but a spirit living in the house.

The hallway was especially dark and her ears were on alert for any noise but there was no sound other than the occasional shuffle of her own feet on the dusty wood plank floors.

A closed door near the end of the hall might be her key to escape. She turned and stopped to listen and will her eyes to focus in the dark, but the long hall had no windows to bring in the light from the moon outside.

She continued toward the door quietly and gently turned the glass knob, and with relief, the door opened rather silently.

She held the knife close to her body as she entered the room and closed the door behind her. There was no lock on the door. But there was a window and this could be her chance.

The room looked to be mostly bare. There was furniture covered in sheets pushed to the wall and the window still had curtains drawn. Moving across the room as noiselessly as possible, her breath held in her lungs, she pushed the curtains to one side and put the knife down on the window ledge so she could manipulate the window and open it. The lock latch at the top of the lower pane had thick paint over it but she wiggled it using any bit of strength she had and from the help of the adrenaline pumping in her veins she was able to free the latch and unhinge it, cracking the white paint apart.

She let out the breath she’d been holding and then slowly placed her hands at the bottom of the pane to lift. Of course, this window had not been used in many years, decades even, so sliding it up wouldn’t be an easy task and she’d probably need to make a little noise once it did begin to budge.

Her attempt at keeping the noise as low as possible slowed down her movements and made the task take much longer. She paused her work and took a breath as she turned to see the door was still closed behind her. Perhaps the man didn’t know where she was yet. But she needed to hurry before he found her again. Her skin prickled at the nape of her neck in a chill.

Putting her muscle into the motion of getting the window up seemed futile. The window was sealed from decades of non-use, getting wet, the wood expanding, then drying and contracting, the dust turning into paste and drying like glue. It seemed impossible. But she was determined. If she walked out of this room and into that dark hallway who knows what would be waiting for her.

She closed her eyes and huffed as she resolved to get the window unstuck with all of her might. Even if she had to make some noise, this was her best chance to escape.

She leaned into the window and put her palms at the base and then used her thighs to push herself upward in one fast and forceful action. The small glass squares in between each wooden slat clanked loudly and the window shook from its position, but it didn’t move enough to be close to allowing an escape. Perhaps only a centimeter. But now, at least the window was unstuck. She ignored the cold feeling of dread over her back that gave her goosebumps, knowing how loud she was being now.

She tried the motion again, using every bit of her strength to push the window up and the noise it made would have definitely sounded throughout the house. The wood shivered in the frame and the glass panes shook and clattered. And even with all that noise and ruckus, the window barely moved an inch.

“Fuck…” she whispered to herself. But she tried again because this was it. Pushing with everything she had, the window rattled and banged about and this time it slid up enough that she was able to stick her arm out of the window. Now perhaps she’d have enough leverage to get the window up further.

Putting her palms under wood at the bottom of the window she bent at the knees and pushed upward, the window slid open further and she was almost free. She knew she could fit herself out of the window if she did it once more, just a few more inches.

Repeating her actions, she pushed upward again and the window slid up nearly half a foot! Her heart was pounding and the room was still empty so she lifted herself up to the window sill and suddenly a realization dawned on her. The knife was meant to be on the ledge right where she’d just lifted herself.

She reached down and felt for the knife but found nothing and suddenly a hand wrapped around her calf and dragged her out of the window, where she fell to the ground with a dizzying bang to the head on the floor below.

“Looking for this?” The spirit held the knife down to her face and she turned to see the blade next to her temple. She didn’t plan on answering. Instead she kept herself on the floor as still as possible. She was running out of options at this point. Her window of time to escape was closing in on her. Dread filled her body.

Harry sighed and she could hear his footsteps around the room. He went to the window and she could hear him sliding it closed and then heard the latch replace itself into its rightful spot.

“You can keep trying, doll. However you try and choose to escape isn’t going to end successfully. We’ve all decided, it’s unanimous, you’re staying.”

Harry grabbed her arm and pulled her up to standing. She didn’t comprehend. This couldn’t be happening. Perhaps it was just a nightmare. Maybe she’d fallen asleep.

His strength was shocking as he pulled her from the room and then down the hall. Her bare legs were freezing from the chill in the air and she really wished she’d been able to put her jeans on in time. He brought her to another door and when he turned the knob she saw a person standing at the end of the hallway, a young girl, perhaps a few years younger than she was.

“Help me! This man is trying to kidnap me!” She frantically spit out as she watched the girl back away into the shadow, “NO!! Help! Please!!”

Harry laughed and brought Y/n into the room. This room was similar to the other one but there was a bed in the middle and a table at the headboard with lit candles allover. She tried to pull away but Harry’s grasp was far too strong.

“That was my sister. We’re all stuck here in this house. Kind of like purgatory. It’s me and my family, maybe a few others we’ve collected along the way, but they won’t be coming around, don’t worry. S’just me right now. The rest aren’t interested in you like I am.”

She shook her head. This wasn’t real. There was no way. This looked like some kind of sacrificial altar. A bed at the middle of the room with only a white sheet over the mattress and a small table with lit candles at the head. The room was dark along the edges, only lit at the center with the flickering candles. It couldn’t have been a creepier scene.

Harry released Y/n’s arm and she rubbed at the spot he had held tightly. Her skin would bruise surely. But that was the least of her problems.

Her eyes followed his tall frame as he moved deeper into the room, “So, you’re a ghost? Then why can you touch me and I can see you clearly? What’s going on here? Is this a joke?” She began to slowly back up towards the door. She didn’t think she truly could escape him but she wasn’t going to stop trying.

Y/n knew she must be losing her mind. Ghosts weren’t real and she knew it. This had to be a prank. Someone trying to scare her into believing in ghosts. It’s why she was here, on a dumb dare. Yes. One of her friends had talked this guy into playing into the haunted house thing. That had to be it.

But she could admit that he did look a lot like the Harry she’d seen in the newspaper articles online. And then there was the young girl she just saw…

“On the bed.” Harry motioned to the center of the room, his long, slender finger pointing toward it.

She shook her head, “No. Absolutely not. I just asked you a question and if you’re going to like, kill me or something the least you can do is answer me first.”

Her eyes fluttered between Harry and the bed flickering with the candlelight. Her heart was racing.

Harry sighed and shook his head, “You’re right. How rude of me. This is not a joke. I’m a lost soul. A spirit. A ghost. Whatever you want to call it. I’m stuck here in this house. For many years I’ve been here. Murdered. My whole family with me. The Styles family.”

Harry began to move toward Y/n, the candlelight revealing more of his handsome features (and she hated that she found him so attractive). “You may have read about it. Or not. I don’t know. I don’t get a lot of outside visitors. Heard a few things over the years.”

She watched him close in on her space until he was right in front of her with a smile and a heavy presence of something dark and dangerous. Cold. Inhuman.

“I don’t believe you. I don’t believe in ghosts or spirits. Who are you really?” She continued to back up toward the door but Harry rolled his eyes when he realized she was going to try and escape again.

He reached a hand out and grabbed her neck tutting at her as he pulled her back toward the center of the room near the bed, “I know I look like a real man. Flesh and blood it appears. Fully functional. Everything is in working order when it’s time to feed. Just makes this all a lot easier. More pleasurable for both of us.”

Her heart pounded and her breath was caught. His hand on her neck was chilly but his grip was threatening, “What? Feed? And… I’m not what you want. Please let me go. Please. I won’t tell anyone about this and I’ll never come back here. I promise.”

Harry laughed and loosened his grip as he pulled her to the bed and forced her to sit. Her entire body was shaking. Her heart was racing and her vision began to fill slowly with red, dark around the corners, which could indicate she was about to pass out.

“Doll, you can’t leave. I know I told you and I know you don’t believe it but it’s already too late. Don’t fight anymore. It’ll be so much easier for you.” Harry walked around the bed and climbed up behind her, whispering into her ear, “You didn’t know it, but you came here just for me. You’re mine now. Okay?”

She was stuck, frozen in fear. The man put his hands onto her shoulders, and she felt him kiss the back of her neck. She let out a shaky breath and closed her eyes. What could she do? What could she say?

When he lowered his hands down from her shoulders to her arms he wrapped his hands around her elbows and pulled her back into his chest. He was solid behind her and she didn’t know what was to be expected. A knife to her throat perhaps? Maybe through her temple or into her back?

“I murder people. I murdered my family in this house, a sacrifice to Angra who possessed me and became free when I killed my physical body. He’s gone now, but I’m here and his spirit lives through me in this house. This is my domain. My body, a sacrifice to his greatness, and now your body, a sacrifice to mine.” His words brought a chill to her spine and she closed her eyes as he spoke into her ear.

“But I’m keeping your soul because I like you. You’re pretty and you smell divine. I may be sick and evil but I still need companionship. I’m lonely. My own family avoids me and all the ones I’ve taken and kept who’ve snuck in over the years hide from me too. But this time, this ritual will make you mine and you won’t want to be away from me when I’m done with you.”

Her heart was racing. She didn’t have thoughts that were linear in her mind. His voice vibrated over her neck and the words he spoke sunk into her ear and her brain, melting her stubborn resolve. She was helpless. It was unavoidable. The fate she’d walked in to was not going to be stopped. No one could save her.

When his lips met her neck once again she had a strange sense of relief. Maybe he wasn’t going to kill her. Maybe this would end with her being released and she could live to tell about it. His mouth on her skin felt too sweet for the words he was speaking to be true. She let out a small moan that confused her and made Harry smile.

The sudden sting of Harry’s teeth going into her neck made her gasp in shock. She jerked away but his hold on her arms was too strong. She couldn’t budge from him. He sucked at the spot and then she felt him lick over it as he chuckled, “See? That wasn’t so bad. Now for the good part.”

Freeing her arms Harry pulled her down so she was lying on her back. She immediately put a hand over her neck where he’d bitten her and then put her hand up to see blood on her palm. Her eyes widened when suddenly Harry was hovering over her.

“It’ll dry. Just a nip is all that was. Soon you’ll understand everything that’s happening here. Try and relax.” Harry lifted his shirt from his torso and it revealed a scattering of dark tattoos and a well-built body with broad shoulders. He was fit and lean, softer around the waist but not fat. His nipples looked real, with sparse hair spread over his pectorals and even his chest was rising and falling as if he needed air for his lungs. He couldn’t be a ghost.

“See? Told you. You can touch. I feel just like a living man, huh? Just wait til I get my mouth around your pussy. S’been a long time. I’ve really missed this. Need to taste and fuck. God I’m so horny.” He searched over her body and brought a hand behind her back and lifted her shirt in one quick motion, causing her to arch her back as he removed it from her. Then he quickly unhooked her bra, before pulling the fabric from her breasts.

“Mmm… so pretty. You came here just for me.” Harry palmed over her soft breasts and if the circumstance wasn’t so fucked up she’d be jumping his bones already. Harry was quite attractive. Seductive even. Very confident and perhaps a little cocky, but hot. She couldn’t deny it.

“How long has it been since you’ve had your pussy eaten?” Harry unbuckled his pants and pulled them down enough to free his obvious erection. It was just another thing that had her convinced he was real. His dick looked real. It was engorged with blood and it was long and thick, better than any dick she’d seen before. He wrapped his palm around himself and stroked upward toward the tip a few times. He looked good. It had her confused. He smiled as he watched her take him in. He wanted to show her what she’d be having everyday for eternity. Harry knew it would entice her.

“Uh… I don’t know.” She couldn’t think straight really. Dylan had tried to eat her out that one time but it was terrible and he complained his jaw was sore after only a handful of minutes. And then there was Aaron who gave it a good try but he couldn’t make her come.

“Well that’s not a good sign. You haven’t been treated right. Poor thing. Let me have your pussy in my mouth and I’m gonna make it so you never forget the last time you had a man eat you out. Gonna have you coming all over my face.” Harry slid his hands over her thighs and upward to her panties where he slowly pulled them from her body. She couldn’t believe this was happening but she also couldn’t take her eyes off the hot spirit’s cock either.

Harry sat back on his heels and looked down at Y/n’s pussy with a grin, “Still wet from earlier, doll. You didn’t get to finish what I interrupted. Don’t worry. This is going to feel so much better anyway. Gonna get you all sorted now, okay?”

He smoothed his cool hands over her thighs and then back up to her breasts before he leaned over and kissed her mouth. She hadn’t expected it, though none of this was expected. It was all a shock and totally had to be a dream. Yes. A dream.

His mouth was cool on hers too. But when he pushed his tongue past her lips she felt something blossom in her chest when he put a hand at her face, caressing her cheek softly. He was being gentle with her. Y/n slowly began to melt, relax into his touch and his kiss. It scrambled her brain and then she felt his heavy penis over her hip and involuntarily clenched her hole around nothing. This was turning her on.

Harry smiled into the kiss and then lowered his mouth down to her jaw and over her neck. His lips pressed soft kisses over the bite he issued her and then he dragged his lips to her clavicle.

He palmed at her tits and then wrapped his lips around her right nipple and looked up at her eyes as he sucked gently. Y/n’s breathing picked up as she trembled from something other than being scared this time, it was because Harry was doing exactly what she’d always imagined a good lover would do. Men rarely took the time to pay much attention to her boobs. Harry moved to the other nipple and licked around her flesh. His eyes didn’t leave hers as he drew himself lower down her body, his lips kissing a trail of cool, wet down to her hips. He settled himself between her thighs and pinned her down. He licked his lips as he flicked his gaze up toward hers and she noticed how foggy his eyes suddenly looked.

“Everyday from now on. This is what you’ll get from me.” He spoke in a deep voice, his pink lips looked so alive and warm yet they were cool on her body.

Harry groaned at the sight of her cunt, “Fuck… so plushy and wet and fragrant. I’m gonna eat you alive, pretty. Brace yourself.”

And when his mouth met Y/n's slick crease it felt like history in the making, already better than any living man. She gasped at his determined pace. His lips and tongue were skilled and she gave herself over to how it felt. His mouth was cool but he worked her like he knew how to eat. Slurping and sucking, licking and flicking. It was intimate and thrilling. The part of her brain that new this was wrong, that knew this was fucked up began to vanish and was replaced with a carnal need.

When she allowed herself to let out another moan Harry’s eyes were on hers and he smirked for a flash of a second but didn’t let up his work. He had a meal to eat.

She grabbed his hair as he kept his eyes on her, the light green slowly fading and it almost looked like his eyes had gone all white. She gasped at the way he felt on her and how hard he was digging in but his eyes made her sudder.

Harry pushed Y/n down harder and held her thighs with a harsh grasp and she yelped and tried wriggling from his hold, or to at least have him loosen his grip a bit. But then she felt something pinch and it stung when he bit down on her labia, breaking her skin. Y/n jumped at the feel and looked down but couldn't tell what he was doing and when he slurped her clit back into his mouth she moaned because, fuck it felt good. He was hurting her a tiny bit but at the same time, made her pussy feel like it was being worshipped.

Y/n looked at the way his fingers were pressing into the flesh of her thigh and the marks that it was going to leave when he lapped upward with a flat tongue and she saw his eyes again. White, the green was clouded and she watched him flick her clit and closed her eyes. She couldn't believe she was letting a ghost give her cunnilingus, if that was even what was happening here. Whatever it was, it happened to be the best she'd ever had.

Harry loved that she was suddenly so compliant. It would make everything that was about to happen so much easier. But first he'd make her suck him, because the last time had been too long ago and he wanted the feel of a warm, living mouth on him, drinking him down.

He sipped at her blood mixed with her arousal and moaned at the taste. Delicious and warm and fresh. Living pussy was so much better than ghost pussy when he could get it. Which was a shame that he couldn't keep Y/n around longer in her current living-state, fresh with pumping blood and a beating heart. But, he needed to do what he needed to do. He was lonely and letting her go wouldn’t be an option.

It was a shock to Y/n when she felt the tingle of her orgasm spread over her center and down her groin. She began to writhe under Harry’s hold and she cried out when it hit her hard and Harry didn’t let up.

When Y/n came in his mouth he groaned just as loudly as she cried into the dark and dusty room. When he lifted his face she saw the blood on his lips and he quickly leaned down to kiss her lips hard, smearing herself all over her mouth, blood and all.

"What? Is that blood?!" Her voice cracked out and tried pushing him away but he was already grabbing her neck and moving her down flat to the bed again.

"Yes. Your blood. I only took a nip." He climbed over her torso and put his cock at her mouth and pressed the tip around her face to gather up some of the smeared blood that he’d gotten on her when he kissed her, just because he wanted to see it.

"Open." He said flatly.

Y/n was surprised by this, once again, but she figured saying no wasn’t an option at this point, not that she wanted to say no anymore. In fact, his pretty cock looked quite good. And also, if he was a ghost (which she’d slowly begun to believe) she'd rather just comply.

Once her mouth was parted and her tongue was flat, Harry slid his cock in causing Y/n to gag over him. He pushed himself down over her, he was knelt above her face, hand at the headboard behind her head as he watched his cock disappear behind her lips. He loved the look of her lips on him. And she was warm and wet.

He made long strokes in and out of her mouth and every time he slid his tip into her throat she gurgled and swallowed at his tip and he loved the feel of it. Loved a nice gag reflex. Ghosts didn't have a gag reflex like most humans, so this was nice. Meant she was fully alive and working.

Y/n squeezed her eyes clothes and tried breathing through her nose but it was hard. Harry's dick was large and long and his length was pushing too far down her throat, well, further than was comfortable. Further than she'd ever taken a cock before. Every time he'd move back a little she'd suck in a breath and then he'd plunge right back down into her throat.

Harry was enjoying the feel and sight. Her face was wet with saliva and tears and he kept up a nice hearty pace that he enjoyed watching as her mouth stretched around him.

When he felt her nails digging into the tops of his thighs he figured it was a good time to give her cunt a taste of his cock and finish her off properly. The ritual could begin.

He pulled back and grasped her neck again before positioning himself between her legs, moving them apart. He smoothed a thumb over her tummy and dipped it into her belly button. His already erect dick was standing outward under its weight, thick and ruby at the tip. It was a beautiful cock. She looked back to his handsome face.

She couldn’t take her eyes off his broad chest and the way his arm flexed as he stroked himself. It was as if he was a healthy man, with muscles, hair, vocal cords, a nice cock filled with blood and ready to be used. She reached out to touch his chest and he was solid, muscled, cool skin, beautiful.

“That’s right. Touch me, doll. I’m yours just as much as you’re mine.” He continued pumping himself. He noted she liked his cock as she couldn’t seem to keep her eyes off of it. So stroking himself in front of her seemed like a nice little show to put on.

“What are you gonna do?” Y/n asked quietly. She was breathing hard as she lowered her hand downward, feeling his cool skin, solid, real. He even came complete with a happy trail and dark hair over his groin encircling his cock.

“Hmm… what should I do?” He let go of his cock and leaned over her. With his newly free hand at her face, he rubbed his thumb over her cheek bone then slid his palm down to the front of her neck, his thumb at one side and fingers at the other. He didn’t put pressure on her neck but the sentiment remained.

“I don’t… know. Um. What do you want? As long as you don’t hurt me,” she breathed her words out.

“You want to know what I want? Well, I’m pretty sick, doll. Don’t you remember I’m a ghost? An evil spirit? But I like you so I’ll be gentle. I’ll make sure it doesn’t hurt. But I am going to fuck you and then you’re going to be mine.”

“What won’t hurt? What do you mean?” Y/n wasn’t exactly following. She never thought of herself as dumb but this whole situation was a mind-fuck.

Harry’s warm smile comforted her, made her relax again, “You’ll find out soon. But we have some needs to take care of right now, don’t we? I want to fuck you. Bet you’d like that, huh? Getting railed by a ghost instead of that plastic toy you brought. Thing about my kind is that I won’t come prematurely and we don’t need condoms. You’re gonna like this.”

And the way he slid into her had her moaning around the initial cry she let out. It stretched her out and split her down the center. It was a jolt to her system but then it felt like silky pleasure inside of her body. Thick and long, moving into her and wrecking her guts. It was immediate relief and sated needs.

His hand grew tighter around her neck and Harry’s hips glided back and forth in the perfect pace and at just the right angle that she could feel him deep and dragging over her g-spot. His thick head was pressing into unreached areas and then being pulled back to almost the tip, just to be plunged in again. Her little peeps had Harry snarling. He loved how sweet she sounded and he was feeling her human pussy clench around him just how he loved. God he missed this. But he’d have her every day from now on. Maybe not exactly in this way, but she would be his now.

“So warm and so tight, doll. Best pussy I’ve ever had.” He fucked into her a little faster. His torso strong and attractive as he worked himself in and out. She watched his body move over hers and saw his eyes lose their brilliance again, becoming clouded over.

She realized that Harry was either a ghost, or this was a dream. She was no longer under the delusion that Harry was human. Not with the way he was fucking her, not with the way he’d so easily convinced her she wanted this, not with the way he looked with those eyes and that cock. No. He was either a figment of a beautiful and terrifying dream, or he actually was a ghost and he was fucking her like she’d never been fucked before.

Her grunts and moans were stifled at the pressure he kept over her neck. But she was feeling incredible. He was good, perhaps too good. Because her ecstasy and the feelings she wanted to prolong were beginning to boil over again. She couldn’t help it that it felt so good and she couldn’t stop the orgasm from taking place. She truly wanted more of this. Needed to feel his cock moving in her for a lot longer. It would be a shame to let this feeling go too soon. She gasped as he squeezed her neck tighter. Her head was spinning. Harry was moaning when he could feel her begin to tremble.

“Gonna come on this ghost cock, baby? Come on. Let me have you. Give it to me. Show me you’re mine and I’ll come inside of you and show you I’m yours.” That was all it would take when the ritual was complete. Harry would fuck an orgasm out of her as he choked her unconscious and then once his sperm entered her system, she’d be filled with his essence and her rebirth as a spirit would maker her belong to him.

Harry began railing her deeper, harder. The bed was squeaking and the flames from the candles began to flicker violently, casting wild shadows on the walls. Her brain was mush and her body tingled and pricked at the way his dick submerged into her body and her breath was shallow.

The sound of sex in the room was loud. Moans, and slapping skin, wet pussy getting fucked fast and hard, the old bed creaking and shaking springs being disturbed after years of silence. The feel of Harry’s pubes rubbing over her clit when he’d press in hard over and over again are what did her in. It was her ending. In every sense.

“Yesss… Come on baby. That’s it. Let me have it.” Harry encouraged. He could feel it. He could feel her. Every dip and every shake of her muscle as she began to orgasm around him was what he needed, longed for. It was officially Halloween morning now as he came inside of her warm throbbing pussy. His soul fed. He came with a groan and threw his head back, pumping into her with finality, stuffing her with himself. She couldn’t turn back now.

He emptied himself into her and looked back down at her pretty face. This was it. He’d gotten what he called for and she came to answer him and now she was his. Forever. She closed her eyes when her orgasm had exhausted her body and her spirit and Harry lifted his palm from her neck.

When she woke up the sun was out, peeking in through the window across from the room she’d sat up in. Her phone on the floor, the dildo on the cushion next to her, her pants off, the lamp dead. She must have passed out. She stretched her limbs and felt a little sore, probably from the angle she’d fallen asleep in. She picked up her phone and noticed that no one had bothered to text her back yet. She huffed. Rude. She looked at the photo she sent and the shadow of what looked like a person was still there. She decided it was time to leave.

She slid her jeans onto her legs and looked around. What a strange dream. It had seemed so real but she knew, as she stood from the cushion to gather her things and thought back, that even in her dream she doubted the existence of ghosts. They weren’t real. She passed out last night while masturbating (she must have) and then had a wet dream about a hot ghost who her made her come so hard she could have died.

But there was a piece of her that was a little sad it wasn’t real. The ghost, Harry, she’d come to feel a connection to in her dream. She paused as she buttoned her pants up and frowned. Too bad. Even though he was a little scary, it made her feel empty a little.

She put her backpack onto her shoulders and walked through the house back toward the window she had entered last night. She laughed to herself when thinking of her dream and how she couldn’t find an exit. If she’d only considered the window she climbed in through in her dream, maybe it wouldn’t have gotten so intense. However, she was happy she dreamed about the attractive ghost boy. It was a hot dream and even though he wasn’t real, she’d always remember him.

When she entered the mudroom area near the back door she stopped in her tracks. The window was boarded up. The window she climbed through last night was impossible to climb into or out of. How could that be?

She backed out of the room and then looked down the hallway. It had to be here. Maybe she’d gotten the rooms mixed up? She walked back into the mudroom and undid the lock on the door. She’d just leave through the back door. She was starting to feel nervous that the door wouldn’t budge… and it didn’t. She felt like she was going to be sick. Her dream was beginning to come true.

Panic started to set in. She reached for her cellphone as she walked through the hallway toward the front door. There had to be some way for her to leave. The front door perhaps would be easier to open.

She opened her messages app to text the group realized, she had no signal. None. It was as if her cellphone no longer had a service plan. She shut her phone down to restart it, hoping that would work. While her phone was restarting she shoved it into her back pocket and found the front door.

The latch for the lock was undone at the top. She thought back to her dream and recalled undoing the latch. She twisted the handle and it turned but the door did not open. She put her weight into it, pulling back with both hands on the knob but nothing.

Stepping away from the front door she put her hands into her hair and then heard footsteps behind her. Turning as her skin crawled and her body shivered, she knew what she’d see. Who she’d see. It was him. Harry Styles. Dread overtook her. She knew now she had not been dreaming. Ghosts were real.

“Darling, I know you’re still going through a bit of shock, but let me make this very clear to you,” he walked toward her and reached out to take a portion of her hair at the ends between his fingers as he allowed his gaze to wonder over her face, “you’re dead. You’re mine. I made you mine last night so you can’t leave me. No matter how hard you try, you’ll always be here with me.” He smiled an eerie grin and cocked his head with eyebrows raised.

“Dead? A ghost like you?” She met his gaze and felt her body grow cold, her heart unmoving in her body. A peaceful silence surrounded them.

“A ghost like me.”

Thank you for reading! I’d appreciate any support you can give! Whether a comment, reblog, or buying me a coffee - it’s all appreciated. 💕

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Xoxo

Tags: @victoria-styles @0oolookitsme @prettythingsworld @angel-akxo @harrysficreblog @indierockgirrl @daphnesutton @mellie-harry @michellekstyles @ssaama @angelqueen99 @sombrioinvernoemveneza @golden-hoax @a-strange-familiar @reveriehs @yousunshineyoutempter @the-gardener-31 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @swiftmendeshoran @luvonstyles @dancinsunflowerkiwi @tiaamberxx @lukesaprince @harrys-foxy @dirtytissuebox @closureesny @lhharrylilpumpkin @evelynlarue @anothermannharry

#harry styles #halloween one shot #harry styles one shot #halloween #halloween harry #harry styles fic #harry styles fan fiction #dark!harry #harry smut #harry styles smut #harry styles fanfic #ghost!harry #dub con

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spotaus · 14 days

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Stuck at work rn so here's some DustedAfterdeath Thoughts :)

Under the cut tho because I'm not a monster.

So, I've mentioned this, but I've always thought that Geno and Reaper are already in a committed relationship before they meet Dust. And I've said before that Reaper is the one to meet Dust. What I haven't expanded on is Dust's initial view of the two.

First thing? He gets glimpses of Reaper at first. A fleeting shadow after he shattered some souls, the feeling of being watched when he enters an au with the gang, and a cold breath on his neck every once in a while. At first he blames Killer, and Horror can vouch that it's not him. Then he ignores it, thinking Papyrus is fucking with him. But that's just not it.

One mission, Dust isn't quite fast enough. Blue gets a solid shot in on him, and Dust goes *sprawling*. Back buried in cold snow, twenty yards into the treeline, fighting noises in the distance but he can't brink himself to stand up, his body just won't move. And as he's staring up at the trees, he gets that feeling of getting watched. Then a few more seconds and there's someone standing over him, black cloak just barely obscuring the skull of what he's sure is a Sans. One holding a giant scythe, it reminds him of a shitty Halloween decoration when he thinks back on it. In the moment? His mind draws a blank.

And this skeleton looks him over, before a knife goes flying between him and Dust and the cloaked figure whisks away. Killer to the rescue, sorta. He's dragging Dust back to his feet, then carrying him when he almost topples again. That skeleton was gone, but the feeling of being watched didn't fade until they were through Night's portal. That was Dust's first sight of Reaper.

Reaper follows him more openly after the second time Dust nearly dies on a mission. Dust can catch sight of his cloak slipping in and out of reality, an extra set of footprints in the trees, the glint of a scythe. And when he's alone? Chuckles. Sometimes a pun. Then eventually smalltalk. Dust tried not to engage at first, but once he lured Reaper into the open, shot a bone at him. It tore a piece of his cloak before he whicked away, and Dust grabbed it. Held it. Reaper wasn't a hallucination or a ghost, he was a real person. Whether that made him want to kill Reaper more or less he wasn't sure. He pocketed the piece of fabric, and it stayed in his jacket pocket.

It took a bit after that for Reaper to try again at speaking, but he was nothing if not persistent. It was idle curiosity, and Dust (after careful research after asking Night a few pointed questions) determined that Reaper wasn't any sort of threat to him or the gang. He, after a while, started entertaining the questions as he went along with his duties. He'd split from the gang just to talk with Reaper, to listen to stories about the multiverse, to talk about what stupid shit Killer was up to (and hear laughter instead of a grating voice), to rave about Horror's food or Cross' improvements in training (to hear a happy voice rather than hatred and jealousy). And he liked listening to Reaper too. Reaper told stories about folks who'd died hundreds of years ago. People who'd died recently. How many people Dust had killed in comparison to Killer or Horror. Reaper was *nice* to him.

Then Dust, without realizing it, was nice back. He saved some of Horror's cooking and smuggled it out on a mission insisting that Reaper try it. He started *asking* how Reaper was doing, rather than making the cloaked skeleton bring it up on his own. Once they just laid in waterfall together when he asked Cross to cover for him on a mission for "personal reasons". They grew comfortable, and Dust is rarely comfortable.

Then there was a mission when he finished extremely early, and Reaper asked for Dust to come with him. He swore Nightmare wouldn't notice. Dust agreed. That was when Reaper had him meet Geno.

#dustedafterdeath #dust x geno #geno × reaper #reaper × dust #afterdeath #poly ship #sanscest #reaper sans #geno sans #dust sans #can you guys tell I love them?#I'm gonna continue this later w/ a reblog #trying to feed some of the folks who saw my posting about it a while back #i'm a sucker for slowburn too so imagine this is like... over the course of a year or two

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plutopitou · 1 year

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◇ Psychological words of love

yandere!bakugou katsuki x female reader

genre: dark content, angst

Katsuki loves you very much. With every fight ending with a questioning of his character, he’ll do anything he can for you to realize just how much you need him- even if it meant having to break you down for you to see it. | 18+ MDNI

word count: 7.4k

warnings: mention of suislide (nothing else), dark themes/romance, yandere bakugou, he’s emotionally manipulative and controlling oops, also very calculated, reader has anxiety, not for the lighthearted, read with caution!

My longest fic yet! He’s so vengeful with this one haha hope you all enjoy I had fun writing it ʕ⁎̯͡⁎ʔ༄

“What did I do?”

You’re not sure why that was the first question to slip out of your mouth when your boyfriend says he is breaking up with you.

He is smart, knowing to speak his words very carefully. He would never say “I think we should break up” as that would offer some sort of negotiation.

There is no negotiation with him, there never was when you thought about it.

Katsuki’s steel gaze almost feels emotionless, like running into a brick wall that appeared out of no where. His stance is casual, a couple feet away yet suddenly it felt like he was so far and hard to reach out to. You assume he’s mad at you again, but his face looks far from it. He isn’t looking at you like you would a bratty child, he’s looking at you like you would study a century old work of art. He looks at you like an object.

Insecurity floods through your body, you felt like you were bare naked in public, his keen red eyes observing you carefully for your next move.

A sharp cool sensation runs down your back realizing the gravity of the situation.

You’re going to be alone.

“This is what you wanted, wasn’t it?” Katsuki looks at you accusingly. He doesn’t look to be hurt at all from his sudden statement, glancing at you like he’s doing you a favor. “Why do you look so scared now?”

Why are you so scared, again?

He’s right. This is what you wanted. The amount of times you fought tooth and nail to get away from him. You couldn’t count on both hands how hoarse your voice became the night after your screaming match with him to let you have some control over your own life.

The door to his apartment was always open, so why didn’t you just leave? He’s giving you an out. But it feels so sudden.

You sit up straight in your bed, putting the laptop Katsuki gifted in front of you, your game of Mahjong unfinished. You unknowingly scratch the itch on your wrist and never stop, anxiety riddling through your body. His strong gaze never falters, crossed arm leaning against the doorframe waiting for a response.

In a split second you had to stop yourself from apologizing. What did you have to apologize for? You felt he had deserved every piece of back talk you gave him, every time he pinned you against furniture, lips so close to yours but never giving you the kiss you desired.

Instead he spit insults, trying to hold up a mirror to your beautiful face knowing as much as you yell your supposed hatred for him he knows in his soul what you’ll give up for him and need him.

Now he’s got to make sure you saw your own desperation as well.

You close the laptop, never making eye contact with him. “Well, I don’t-“ The air feels so thick. “What do I do?” You whsiper.

Katsuki shrugs at your confusion, giving a short nod at your closet full of clothes, clothes he bought you.

“I’ll have someone I know get you an apartment. I’ll drop you and your stuff off there after work Friday. Be ready, ‘lright?” Katsuki turns to make his leave, closing the door softly.

There was no real conversation. He was cut-throat, leaving no room for explanation for either of you. Now you sit there, your spare bedroom filled with a warm late afternoon glow you desperately want to get out of.

The door clicks.

And you still had more to say.

Six months ago..

Running into the 15th floor lobby, your hair is nearly soaking and drips of water expose your trail to your reception desk.

Small equipment tumbles over when you settle in, moving around fallen objects and putting away papers. The corner of your eye you see your coworker and friend Hina paving her way near with a white office box containing clutter.

She has been the only familiar face after being at Dynamight’s agency for close to nine months. Both starting at around the same time. You saw eachother every day, finding solace in one another for being the newbies- going to lunch together, hanging out after work. In a setting that is riddled with kiss-ass employees, having a genuine companion kept you confident.

She timidly walks up a sad smile of remorse on her face. “Sorry I’m a bit late, Hina- I woke up so late and forgot my umbrella.”

She gives a little laugh, putting the box on your desk and takes off her dark gray cardigan, handing it over for you to wear. You take it with a small thank you, tossing it on to cover your damp clothing.

Hina makes minimal eye contact with you, darting her eyes around your body with pink cheeks. “So I- I just came back from Dynamight’s office and he wants to see you..”

Your heart mildly jumps at his name, however don’t think of it to be any less normal. While listening you’re still rushing to get your desk in order for the rest of the day, waiting for your desktop to turn on as you brush your hair to look presentable again. “Oh alright, that’s fine. I’ll be there in like five or ten minutes- here, I’ll send a message over-“

“No.. he said he wants to see you immediately. He looked really agitated and has something urgent get to tell you.” You look up confused.

Hina doesn’t know much about the things happening between you and Katsuki. As much as you trusted her, an illicit workplace relationship between an employee and her boss would travel like wildfire- no matter how quiet you tried to be with it.

Hina can be naive at times, she may work harder to catch up to others, but she is not stupid. Hina is quiet but quiet people are the most observant, she always suspected something but never confronted it.

You set the hairbrush down, a sudden weight settling on your chest, you nod at the box she held earlier. “What is that stuff?”

“I just found out today..” Hina looks at me with a regretful face. “They’re switching our positions, you’re getting demoted.”

There were two paths you weren’t sure you wanted to take. Rational or irrational.

Could someone blame you for feeling betrayed? Even if it was her final say if she wanted to accept the position, it had to be her? You wondered what you had done to be demoted so suddenly. You work as hard as you can, you even stay late at times when you don’t have to just so the next morning can run smoothly for everyone else. What could you have possibly done?

You stand up tall, matching Hina’s height. Light drops of water still drip down your damp hair, everything being a complete stupid mess and it wasn’t even 9am yet.

She feels bad for you.

“Was it your choice to accept this position?” You ask lowly, her guilty eyes finally made sense.

“Please just listen to me-“

You didn’t want to her quick explanations to excuse herself. You liked at least trying to work hard for what you got, all in hopes of a better position. But now there is no promotion- just a demotion. And to your closest friend is who you lost it to.

She stands there erratic and brows pulled together, explaining her choices- how hard it was on her to fuck you over. She repeats over and over how sorry she is when she had to think about how she wanted to push you off your pedestal ten minutes ago.

Your hair is wet and you haven’t eaten- Hina coming up to you explaining this when the sun has barely come up feels similar to a fly buzzing in your face.

You tilt your head with a forced laugh, walking around your desk until a mere couple inches away from her face. “You’re fucking unbelievable.” Hina’s skin was practically melting from the anger that pulsed off your body. There was nothing you wanted more than to cause an even bigger scene, practically everything you been working up towards tumbling down from your own friend.

The room was more suppressed than it was a moment ago. Glancing behind her head, multiple worried eyes watch the scene play out as a dominating presence waltz in and stops a couple meters away.

Thick black boots paired with his baggy pants, his signature orange trim outlining the hero outfit. He holds a rigid expression, disappointment flowing through his face as he blows a low sigh. Katsuki gestures his hand at you to follow him and turns around “You. Let’s go.”

A thick ball crawls to your throat, holding itself there, hiding away. You shake off Hina’s cardigan, shoving it into her arms as you pace up to Katsuki. Judgeful eyes follow you like a shadow, causing your eyes to peer down in a feeing of shame.

As silent as the floor has became with his presence it makes his footsteps so attention grabbing. You never had to actually see Dynamight to feel his dominant aura, you can sense it a floor below.

Katsuki rubs his forehead in stress with one hand, keeping the other in his pocket. Making your way through the halls you focus on the light jingles of the accessories and buckles on his lower half to cancel out the work place’s loud stares and murmurs.

Before stepping in the elevator, another employee walks in, turning around to face you and the blonde, six-foot man. The look of shock glimmers away into a shaky smile, bowing his apologies to Dynamight before quickly making his way back out, the stairs suddenly being a better option.

You give a sigh of relief when you both walk in, an opportunity to breathe away from everyone. You tilt back against the wall, not daring to have said a word to Katsuki. Even away from the floor, you still struggle to completely shake away the anxiety as you’re barely a foot away from your boyfriend. He leans against the side wall, arms crossed not even looking at you and it hurts more than you wished it did. Even though no one knew of your relationship you still feel as if you embarrassed him as an employee. You watch the floor number rise from fifteen to twenty, elevator ringing as you continue to follow him.

It was interesting to observe the dynamic Katsuki has with his employees, some greeting a good morning, others deciding to not engage in fear of his rough, bold nature. However he is not who he was years ago, he doesn’t have an explosive character like you read in his UA days.

These days when you’re with him he seems to be more mellow and calm. Katsuki isn’t spontaneously erratic.

He’s more vengeful.

Any time you yell out of frustration, he does not immediately yell back in spite to fuel you, no, instead he’ll remember it- he won’t forget until a perfect time comes to throw it back in your face.

You both finally walk into the hero’s office, locking the door behind him.

Your heart beats so fast you worry of it exploding, rupturing blood all over the desk in front of you. Playing with the rings Katsuki bought you, they turn round and round on your finger exhibiting your rapid, disillusioned thoughts of how this is going to turn out.

Looking up, your stomach jumps at Katsuki already looking directly in your soul, hand resting on his chin. His lean abs contour through his black compression shirt with that signature orange trim- his usual office wear for lounging before patrols.

The rain outside continues to pitter patter on the glass to your right, the dim and cloudy morning reflecting in Katsuki’s face and into his mood.

“What time did you get here today?”

“About 8:45.”

“You start at 8:30.”

You sit back in your chair, leg ticking. “Well you already demoted me so does it matter what time I get here anymore?” You say with a light glaze of lingering attitude.

Katsuki gives a pronounced sigh, getting up to the bathroom and coming back with a fluffy white towel. He throws it lazily atop your head, shaking it back and forth trying to dry your damp hair for you, reminiscent of all the times he does it after you shower together.

“Just listen to me, ‘lright? I just want to be able to make sure you’re always okay- I dont always go down there so if I can have you somewhere I’m always at, which is mission filing, it’s better for both of us.” Katsuki leans down, a light grip at the column of your throat paired with a chaste kiss to the top of your head.

You place the towel on your lap as Katsuki goes to sit down. You want to empathize with the fact he just wants to make sure you’re okay, however what else did you lose with this decision? You were never actually in any sort of danger knowing he would always be there to keep you safe, but even now with him by your side, you’ve lost a friend. With Katsuki gone for unexpected patrols, who was there for you to be with?

No one but rather just sit and wait patiently for him.

“I just wished-“

“Come here..” He says gruffly.

You stand, walking to Katsuki’s chair. He pulls you into him, slipping yourself into his lean arms as you rest into his chest. “You’re gonna be alright, okay? I’ll have someone move your stuff over and assign someone to train you. I’ll see you there later- I got some shit I need to do there anyways. Some dumbass mixed a bunch of piles together.” You give a small nod, closing your eyes. The amount of activities that happened in the last half an hour has given you a headache, you just want to revel in Katsuki’s warmth forever.

You almost felt lucky to have found someone like Katsuki, some people only wish to have a partner they know is strong, let alone a top pro-hero like him. You slept like a baby remembering you have him to count on, to lean on.

How he always seems to smell so good, the natural scent radiates off him, wisping its way into the air like a pink love potion, taunting you to take a nosedive right to his heart for more of his tenacious affection.

But when you take a long dive straight down into what seems so tantalizing, so provokingly sweet and open, you had better hope those waters weren’t shallow.

One month ago..

“You practically keep me fucking trapped here! I want to go out, make friends and have a life! I feel like a damn prisoner.” You scream back at him. After your fall out out with Hana it was a complete stop to outings and social relationships.

Katsuki rolls his eyes, trying to hold back his venomous words. “That’s not what I’m doing-“

“But you are! You always get mad at me when I try and talk to any coworkers, even when I’m just trying to do the job you gave me. I didn’t want that stupid position, and you practically drove my only friend away from me doing it!” Little droplets of tears hit your cheeks, you just felt frustrated. You hated to admit at home you were starting to feel depressed remembering besides your boyfriend, you didn’t have a social life outside the four walls you were in.

Katstuki sits back, the laptop illuminating a coolness off his face. He pushes his hair back in exasperation. “I already told you (y/n) why I did that. I didn’t do shit to drive her away from you, you did that to yourself.”

“I did not do that to myself-“

“But you did, baby.” He says accusingly. “You were the one that had to cause a damn scene and embarass me and yourself in front of the whole floor.” He looks into your eyes. “I don’t know what the hell else you want from me.”

You glare at him across the table. Your moist, glazed eyes are icy. His insinuation that this is the bed you made yourself leaves you feeling cold.

For a second you ponder how your relationship led up to this. You missed not long ago when your stomach flew in anticipation from his presence, not dropped. You missed when he chased you around the house completely out of breath until he caught you with a sweet kiss in victory.

Now you felt stuck in a situation you didn’t want to be in, even if you wanted be with him.

“Then I’ll leave.”

You said it as a compromise, Katsuki took it as a threat.

The room was quiet. You weren’t looking at him but you knew he was looking straight at you. His sharp red eyes had their own quirk of strength, feeling where they linger.

He almost couldn’t believe what he was hearing from you. He had to take over every responsibility in your life, practically make your decisions for you. Not that he minded, however to see this is what he got in return,

All he saw was your ungratefulness.

Vengeful.

He spoke his next words carefully. “Is that what you want?”

Pushing you hair back, you huff trying to hold back more tears. “I don’t know, Katsuki, I’m just tired.. I want to be with you but I- I just want more than this..” You finally say it. “I want my freedom.”

He doesn’t say a word.

The lump in your throat thickens, your eyes glaze over from his lack of reaction.

There was more you wanted to explain. The lonliness at work causing more insecurity as the days went by, wondering if someone was spreading rumors that you were a horrible person and that’s why it seems no one wanted to be your friend. Seeing an increase of articles with his name and famous pro-hero women as some sort of headline made you think why couldn’t you have a quirk like everyone else. Did he see you as weak? Is that why he does every little thing for you?

You wished he was more open for you to talk about your insecurities so you can have another reason to be here with him.

You turn and leave to your room.

Your mind drifts away from the scene in the past.

The dim glow above the stove gives subtle illumination, showing your half eaten bowl of ramen.

Now you sit at the kitchen island alone, not facing the main door in case Katsuki comes back from an emergency patrol with one of his sidekicks. It’s a late Thursday afternoon and your body fought itself to get up out of the painstaking urge of hunger and release of your full bladder.

Your hair is no different than a bird’s nest made of urgency. Your body feels warm from the amount of blankets that were stacked atop your unmoving body yet still some how you feel very cold and empty. You never did much of the cooking while you and Katsuki lived together, the most he’d let you contribute was prepping and chopping ingredients so by the time he got home he can cook. Still, you were grateful for it as you weren’t the best chef either.

Last night there wasn’t much sleep to be had- waking up every hour not remembering where you were with the cold emptiness beside you. When you finally did you couldn’t help but explode in tears from the heartache of the situation, falling back asleep in your cold, damp pillow. There was a urge to pad yourself over to your once shared room and push yourself into his front and beg from him to take you back, that you’ll be better for him, that you’re sorry. But deep down you knew to ask for Bakugou Katsuki’s forgiveness was no easy task when you were making things up to be sorry for.

The jingle of the doornob and keys jolt you out of your trance of staring at your half uneaten food. The door opens and you don’t dare to look back, if you did you think you’ll just burst into tears once more.

Katsuki goes past your back into the hallway for ten minutes before returning with his hoodie off and a t-shirt on. He pops in front of you, pulling out ingredients from cabinets and turning on appliances to cook, still ignoring your presence.

It feels like a cold reminder how he’ll seem to function perfectly fine without you. Katsuki knows the right temperatures to set the stove top when cooking, he knew how to pay his bills on time, how to fix the broken leg of a table without a manual, how to confidently make his own doctors appointments.

You didn’t know jack shit out cooking, always forgot to pay a bill, and if a table leg broke you’d just scrape up enough money to buy a new one. You had too much anxiety to go to an appointment alone, dragging him with you clutched on his arm.

Of course Katsuki knew all this, and he gladly took on the roles you couldn’t fulfill yourself, leaving you to be utterly dependent on him.

You felt useless.

And he knew that.

Finally, he turns around, leaning back against the counter waiting for his water to boil. “That your dinner?” He nods at your bowl.

You never looked up and just nod. “I might throw it out, I’m not really hungry.” It was the first time in a day you heard your voice and it was hoarse, you’re not even ill but you feel every symptom.

“That’s the first meal you’ve eaten so far, you should try and finish it.” He turns around to wash his vegetables. The way he speaks is as if he has his attention somewhere else, like you’re a chore to talk to.

Katsuki can ignore your presence as easily as he can take down a shitty F-tier villain and move on with his life. He’s always been so good at that; moving on. The stories you’ve heard from his youth that he and his classmates had to go through, yet on the surface he seemed like a relatively normal man in his mid to late twenties. At least that’s what’s assumed in the beginning.

He isnt blind, he can see how miserable you look, “You also didn’t come to work today, so I’m assuming you spent all day packing,” He turns to face you, making eye contact after so long, “right?”

Katsuki can’t quite put his finger on it, either. What little quirk you had about you that made you so irresistible to him. The way you walk, your smart mouth that made his jaw tick, he wanted it all. As much as you fought him, he got off on how much you actually needed him. His sharp words produces your tears yet you still let him clean it up and kiss it away.

Your shoulders are pushed back, leg ticking in annoyance trying to calm your mind- you can’t give in to what he wants.

“Why can’t you just leave me alone?” You announce meekly. You sound like a child, a child being bullied by the popular kid during recess.

He switches to wash the next vegetable. “You keep that attendance up, baby, I might just have to find someone to replace you again.” He explains with a tone of mock. “And make sure you clean out your guest room completely, might have someone else occupying that space soon.”

In the end, the hero just wants to see how far he can push until you crumble for him.

Small glass shards prick his sides, a loud crash shatters on the cabinet next to his head. “I fucking hate you! Go fuck yourself you-“

Your words halt as Katsuki throws the vegetables in the sink, marching over to your still, fuming body.

For a second your body is motionless, you didn’t even register what you had done until the clutter in the sink and Katsuki’s body turns to you. There’s a sudden rush fueling your body like you took a energy shot; swiftly jumping out your stool and running to the hallway, Katsuki’s curses echo around the house, taunting you to run faster, to get away from him.

Your swift emotions were ones to be taken care of cautiously, however Katsuki knew how to mold them. He knew he had a choice on how to deal with your actions, and they were very predictable. He knows exactly how to trigger you.

You nearly slip out of the faint graze of his hand, but you’re dizzy. As much sleep you seem to had gotten the past 24 hours it never seemed to be enough. He grips your wrist, pulling you back to him and against the cool wall.

Now the whole world felt still.

The small hum of the home was almost enough to drown out your spiraling head, barely remembering the past five minutes. You try and shake out of his tightening grasp, every push your eyes welled up with more tears, your heart drowning in sorrow; it suffocates in your own desperation for the man that fuels your despair. You’re making yourself drown in front of the only person who seems to be willing to save you.

You bawl and wail in front of Kastuki Bakugou, continuing to push and pull against his weakening grasp. Your heart hurts.

The door was always open to walk through and leave if you wanted to, however there was no where to go. Family was long gone and all your friends had been pushed away from you- you had to wonder if you were some sort of repellent and why it seemed no one wanted to be close to you. Now your own ex boyfriend seems to want nothing to do with you.

You bawl and wail in front of Kastuki Bakugou, continuing to push and pull against his weakening grasp. “Get the hell off of me-“ His heart stings hearing the anguish in your voice, he can see clear as day how tired you are. It’s the sob you can only hear from a broken woman. Your red eyes, puffy face and light streams of tears cry with you all the way down.

Your feet unable to hold up the weight of your gloom you slide down the wall, Katsuki following your every move. You’re slumped, hiccuping your wails as he is crouched down in front of you, observing what he seemed to have caused. “You don’t love me- get off of me!” The quick sharp breaths jump and fight trying to cut in front of eachother for air. Your face feels tingly, like static almost, a familiar feeling he knows you deal with with.

He sighs, letting go of your wrist. He gently clasps the back of your neck, letting his thumbs caress your temples trying to soothe the ache. “Look at me, sweetheart..” He tilts his head watching you look down away from his peering gaze. Katsuki repositions your face, “You gotta relax for me.” He whispers softly.

Your heartbeat feels like it’ll rupture any minute, you can hear it in your ears and in your temple. But you can also feel the rough pad of Katsuki’s thumb stroking your head in an attempt to soothe your ache.

“You used to get panic attacks too?”

“Mhm.” Your boyfriend lowly hums, moving his red plastic caricature up two purple spaces.

You started to confess to your boyfriend your struggle with your anxiety, how hard it was for you to function normally with the rest of society; how much it holds you back, especially with its lingering effects. He keeps a mental note.

Having not been privileged enough to go see therapists or psychiatrists, your disorder was one you had to learn about independently.

Turning over your next card you read its contents. Go up one blue space. “How did you used to deal with it?”

You sit across from him after prying to make time and play a game with you, him not completely content with playing Candyland, having to teach you how to play a kids game. He was even forced into playing with his classmates in highschool, yet was the first to keep the box before graduating.

Katsuki sits and thinks for a moment, quirking his eyebrow and grabs his next card. “Had to go to a lot of therapy my last year of school. Taught me some stuff.”

You were curious to learn more. “Like what?”

You continue your next move as he speaks, “Stuff like howta’ control yourself to not spiral during panic attacks. Gotta focus on your breath, focus on the present, the smells, what’s goin’ on around you type things. Kinda thought it was all bullshit..” He leans back against the bottom of the couch, arms crossed. “But I tried it out and realized it’s like any other skill, you have to practice and it’ll get easier.” He looks at you. “It always passes.”

You felt connected to him, wanting to push a little more. “When did you realize that?”

He grabs another card and moves up the board, “That’s probably a story for another time, sweetheart.” He declines continuing the game.

Glancing down at the board your avatar is right behind him near the rainbow. You grab your next card- a picture of a gingerbread man.

You hold it up for him to see. “What does this mean?”

He stares for a second before taking it and placing it in the old pile. “Gotta go back to the beginning.”

You focus on what’s in front of you, his sharp nose with imperfections, small clues of bruising and cuts from his line of work. A small fresh scar running down his bottom lip you didn’t really notice until now. You focus on smell. The scent of cleanliness from your ex-boyfriend, who always showers before he returns home at his agency so he was ready to jump into bed with you.

After five minutes the loud noise of your heartbeat fades away, your breath starting to regulate. A small hitch here and there but it’s still good enough.

You manage to cry out your last wave of tears as Katsuki carries you to the bathroom, settling you on the counter. Touching your pillowy cheeks, he inspects with both sides of his hands. He wets a rag, pushing your hair behind your ears and starts to wipe your face, cooling off your warm temperature.

“You got a headache, right?” You agree. He nods, putting a bottle of pills on the counter. He leaves and returns with a glass of water.

In a haste Katsuki quickly snatches the bottle out of your hand, you flinch as he grips your wrist in reflex. His brows are pulled together in shock.

“They all fell out.. I wasn’t gonna take all them.” you mumble quietly.

He doesn’t say a word, instead scooping them back into the bottle, giving you two and pockets the rest. You don’t miss the obvious look in relief in his face.

You take both without question, drinking the entire cup with a gasp. Sitting there, you watch him wet the rag again, coming back to run it over and press on the back of your neck.

He wets the rag again, “I don’t want to leave, Katsuki..” you whisper so low you weren’t sure he could hear you.

He knew you didn’t want to.

You reach out for his wrist, always red from the weight and force of his gauntlets. Pulling him towards you, you were finally face to face on the counter, the feeling of intimacy more prominent. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt more closeness to him with all the fighting. It practically made you forget how he isolated you.

Your aura pulses out like a toxic little flower he planted and struggles to resist. Your sad eyes and pouty lips with true sorrow and despair it almost makes him feel bad, however, he loves you too much to just let you go.

He steps between your legs, rubbing his hand over your damp cheek. “Let’s talk about it tomorrow, okay?” He helps you off the counter to his bed you once shared.

You hadn’t stepped foot in your old room with Katsuki in a month, having no reason to be present, instead sleeping in the guest room a couple doors away. Even with the constant arguing, the night always ended with you two back to back or someone in the other room.

That was until a month ago after the last altercation, you walk in to your clothes and items missing- discovering it thrown in the other room instead. You cried, sitting on the floor going through some broken jewelry and dusting off clothing and trying to make the empty space more comfortable.

Settling under the covers, the familiarity of your spot in the bed was the solace you’d been yearning for. Katsuki couldn’t help but miss seeing you there as well.

He rests the cold damp rag on your forehead, mentioning for you to keep it on and he’ll be back in a bit.

The room remains quiet, the bright light from the living and kitchen area peaking through the crack in the door. You can hear Katsuki talking. Based off the quick attitude and snarky remarks you guess he’s on the phone with the infamous green-haired hero. The kitchen rustles, the sound of glass being swept and dishes being washed flows as a type of ambiance.

The intense events from the past hour cause you to doze off, waking up with your rag missing and body warmth to your right empty and cold. You read the time on the wall as 6:46, knowing Katsuki left an hour ago, notorious for leaving an hour early from his hatred of tardiness.

The train ride to work felt quieter than it did early that week. Getting off, the walk to the agency you felt like you had a shadow following you, constantly checking behind you, pacing faster to the building. The after effects of your panic attacks never go unnoticed, hesitation and rapid feelings still riddling inside you as you try and look normal on the outside.

During the work day, it was easy to tell your coworkers began to judge your wellbeing. Yet no one said anything because of your reputation.

In the midst of typing paperwork and office phones ringing, you didn’t mean to listen in on your neighbors conversations.

“Did you see her?”

“She’s more beautiful in person!”

“You think they’re dating?”

Your heart jumps at the last rumor. You knew to not assume it wasn’t about Katsuki, all these people ever really wanted to talk about was how polarizing their boss is and the rumors surrounding him you can’t defend. Catching the name “Hikari” you look up the suspected hero, and she was everything you wished she wasn’t. Seeing her fan biography mention her quirk being linked to light, her accomplishments, being your age, you couldn’t stomach reading more.

You felt inferior and on-edge. It felt like someone was dumping a boatload of insecurities on you, like they planned every situation and you’re playing it exactly how they wanted.

You weren’t thinking straight. Were you?

Without notice you barged into his office, interrupting the two heroes. You couldn’t recall the steps on how you got here- when did you even sit up from your chair?

The voices in the room come to a pause, the light-hero looks at the explosion-hero, confused on the sudden entry. Your eye contact with him felt like it could drain your life force. He sits cross armed on the corner edge of his desk while she sits on the chair to his right. You felt like you’ve been punched in the gut.

“I’m- I’m sorry I didn’t mean to intrude like this..” You can’t even remember going in the elevator- or did you take the stairs?

The platinum-haired blonde sits up with a gentle smile. Her long hair flows down behind her back, fading to a pale pink, matching her fair complexion like you had seen in the photos. “It’s alright, I should be on my way anyway.” She turns and nods her head at Katsuki, “We’ll talk later, Dynamight.” Taking her leave she gives you a smile, like a ray of sunshine on her face.

The door closes shut behind her.

“Lock it.”

You don’t go sit down, not wanting to stay much longer.

You tug at your ring again. “I’m really sorry Katsuki- I don’t remember how I came up here.” You try to explain yourself. “I don’t even remember why I came up here in the first place-“

You look up to see him visibly upset, rubbing his forehead in stress you seem to have caused. Again. “I sent out a goddamn email to everyone in that floor to not even come up here because I had an important meeting..”

Every word he says describing the significance of the situation, you felt more upset, failing at holding back the tears of shame.

“I didn’t see an email, but I’m sorry, I just-“

“I even told everyone this morning.”

It was like scolding a child. You hiccup trying to push back the sobs that were screaming to come out, “No one told me..” You scratch behind your ear, wiping the tears off your puffy face. “No one talks to me here.”

The conversation quickly spins to a more personal subject. “I don’t have any friends, no family.” Katsuki studies your disassociating body language. “I’m all alone now.”

“(Y/n)-“

“I quit.”

You huff, trying to focus on other things like he said, however it still feels like you’re spiraling.

“What are you talking about? You want to quit?” His face looks disorganized, confused at what you’re getting at.

Face blotchy and apparent dark-circles you wondered if he found you pathetic in this moment. “I don’t think I belong here, Katsuki.” Your lips tremble, “I’m always messing things up for you, I’m not good enough, pretty enough, talented enough, I can’t do it anymore.” You sob into your hands, fully exposed for him.

You finally explain to your boyfriend your true feelings from overthinking.

Were you really that pathetic to think your pro-hero boyfriend wouldn’t want to leave a quirkless girl like you? Working with the most beautiful and powerful women in the world, you knew to question why he chose you-someone who applied for his company out of desperation.

Every compliment and word of love was suddenly starting to feel like a joke someone is playing on you.

“I don’t want to be here anymore.” You hiccup.

Katsuki gets up, worry drawn on his face, after every word you dug the needle farther into his heart with the extent you beat yourself down. He knows soon enough he can finally live the life he wanted with you, for you.

He reaches out for you, but you step back in fright, narrowing his eyes in confusion. You shake your head no, eyes pleading to not touch you. You were practically walking karma.

His heart hurts but keeps his hands to his sides. There wasn’t much left for him to do in the present moment, but soon enough it’ll work out. “I’ll fill out that paperwork for you then..” He almost reaches out to wipe away your stray tear. “Just go home for me, ‘lright?” His pleading face glazes down your vacant one. It was so easy for him to read you like a book. It read you were not going to be home later.

Yet he’ll still let you leave.

“No, I want the key for the apartment..” You whisper yet so firm.

Katsuki won’t argue with you. He goes to write the address on a piece of paper, ripping it off for you. “Go here. The front desk knows about you. They’ll give you the key.”

There was no key.

Why won’t he fight for you? Are you not worth it? Does he want you gone this bad?

You take the paper and turn to walk out the door. Don’t say a word or else you’ll crumble immediately.

“You know I’ll be at home waiting if you change your mind.”

You did what you felt what was best and left.

Your cursor passes by the empty email icon and shut off your computer, leaving all your items behind.

You stayed in the nearby park for a bit. Sitting on the bench while the air starts to cool off accompanying the light in the dimming sky. You lost track of how long you had been walking having been turned off your phone.

The nervousness in your body never went away, looking twice everytime a stranger passed by you in the street. You felt insecure thinking people might assume you’re some homeless junkie or stupid teenager that left home in a fit. You walked until your soles bled.

Standing in front of the apartment complex, hair sticks to your face soaked in rain. You hold the wet piece of paper in your hand, observing the up to date building sprinkled with balconies and decoratives.

You turn and leave.

Katsuki sits staring blankly at his whisky on the wood living table. His elbow lays on the arm rest, holding his head. He was calm.

The time clicks to 6:48pm later that night. The events from the past couple nights replay his mind like a loop, not having done much since he came home to an empty home hours ago.

A text notification breaks him out of his thoughts, he opens his messages. “She’s nearby.”

It was almost laughable. Like letting a child “run away” after their tantrum.

They always came back.

What the hell did they know about navigating the world without someone to help them?

He gets up making his way to the front door.

Why did you have to be so god damn difficult? If Katsuki had it his way there wouldn’t be no need to have to go through this exhausting mess. He couldn’t even believe what he heard the first time he heard you threaten to leave him. He wanted to grab you and keep you hidden away until you learned it was a ridiculous idea.

Turning the nob, he opens the door to a monsoon on the other side. The world looks hazy, like glass after a steaming shower.

Katsuki he knew a plan executed like that would never work on someone as stubborn as you were. He’s like how you knew he was, not spontaneously erratic- but vengeful.

His heart hurt seeing your wet figure emerge from the haze. His pretty girl.

Even with your red puffy face, distraught body language, he thought you looked more beautiful than ever. A true prized possession he couldn’t help but want just for himself. Even with his unfavorable ways, there was no doubt in his mind he loved you more than everything he ever had. Your resistance was just a minor obstacle he didn’t mind helping you get over.

You truly were like a cat that thought they were stuck in a box, but you were also trapped in the room.

His heart settles as you sink yourself into him. Melting into the comfort of his arms in the cold rain. Your whispers of “sorry” drown out in the heaviness of the weather. You felt stupid thinking you could go out on your own.

Kastuki presses a soft kiss to your lips, forgiving you. It didn’t matter to him. You came back like he knew you would. His next step to take away every insecurity you had thinking he didn’t find you perfect, a facade he started so you can end up right where you are.

“I’m so sorry for acting up..” You sob into his wet T-shirt, gripping his forearms in need. Your need to just be enough for someone. The little thoughts rattling your mind are agony, he was the only person he could pull them away one by one.

He wanted your sweet melancholy.

Smoothering your hair, he hushes your cries, ushering you back inside for you to warm up.

Vengeful.

I tried not to make this confusing, might have to work on my planning with these more “calculated” fics as I go forward lol N imma just post this and not overthink every bit now

Hoping to do Aizawa soon or Hawks again! Please continue to do your best as well,

Please like, reblog and follow ʕ⁎̯͡⁎ʔ༄

Tags: @ssplague

#katsuki bakugou #bakugou katsuki #yandere bakugou #bakugou x reader #bakugou x female reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #tw.dark content #tw.yandere #tw.manipulation #bakugou x you #bakugou x y/n #pitou.writes #my hero academia #mha angst #angst #bnha #pitou.fics

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mercuriians · 1 month

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my paradise

jjk,, k. nanami x fem! reader

content info — short drabble, angst horribly and lazily disguised as fluff. <3 this fic was borne out of my own anguish upon witnessing certain spoilers. (gege hates us all)

author’s note — sorry for being mia. you guys all know how life can be. luckily i’m on break so i’ll do my best to send out at least one finished request 🙂‍↕️ i’ll fix this post’s format later, for now i hope you guys enjoy my first attempt at writing jjk.

"do you think heaven exists?"

you utter your question so softly, so innocently, in a timid whisper that seems like it barely even leaves your lips in the first place. the moonlight seeping from the window is dim, just enough to surround the room in a bleak, lazy kind of aura. nanami's just about ready to drift away into slumber—where it's dreamless and monotonous, and he simply just exists—but somehow there's a feeling that tugs at him. telling him that he should turn his body to face you, to see whether there's childlike curiosity within your eyes or quiet desolation.

so that's what he does. twisting around in the ivory bedsheets, he examines your expression with an air of diligence that probably shouldn't even be possible in the near-midnight hour. nanami ends up being a bit surprised. somehow you look calm. tranquil. like there's nothing else in the world worth focusing on but him.

but he still treads carefully, cautiously. "why do you ask, love?" nanami's voice is a bit hoarse, a little rusty from the lengthy time he's been silent.

perceptively, he sees the column of your throat move slightly as you swallow. "while i was on break earlier today, yuji asked me something," you admit. "he wanted to know how he could, in his words, 'give people a proper death' when the time came. and i guess that made me think about where we even go when we finally depart from this world. where our souls go to rest."

there's a small, intimate pause as nanami waits for you to continue.

"when we were kids, we were always told that there's a place for the good people and for the bad. obviously it's comforting to let yourself believe that it's all really that black-and-white, but i don't know." your voice trails off again. nanami doesn't know how much time passes when he sees your eyes become clouded over, like you're focused on something faraway. something distant, maybe something that wasn’t even there to begin with. "would there be some sort of paradise waiting for us when we die? would we even deserve that, kento?” you whisper.

he holds his breath.

it was exceedingly rare for you to succumb to such sentimentality. you were almost always driven with diligence, fueled by the need to stick to your schedule of early mornings, midday coffee breaks, and late shifts. in a world where curses ruthlessly threatened to enforce a strict hierarchy of chaos, he recognized the all-too-significant desire to at least maintain a reliable form of organization. especially considering the fact that you were both first-grade sorcerers. some of the very best.

but now, nanami's realizing that maybe, maybe the reason why you were always so vigilant is because there was no other option. there was no time to wallow in self-pity, to question why you both had to live in such a merciless society, to scream out in frustration and curse out every single damn thing in existence and wish that things had been at least a little bit easier.

either you accepted the cards you were dealt with, or you opted out of the game permanently.

nanami quickly wonders what that means for himself. but he shakes off the thought, shakes off the negativity that crept up on him for a split-second with the expertise that he's collected and honed over the years.

right now, his only objective revolved around you.

gently, he reaches out, touching your face with the calloused tips of his fingers. for a moment, he traces the smoothness of your skin, like a paintbrush to a canvas, before moving a loose strand of hair behind your ear. the way you look up at him with eyes just short of being teary makes his chest tighten, but he perseveres for you.

it's all for you. whether he likes it or not.

"i don't know the answer to that, and any sane person living on this planet wouldn't know either," nanami finally utters. as his words hit the empty air, he sees your pink lips curve upwards by the slightest bit. it’s like you can’t help but be amused by his trademark bluntness. even in the middle of such a bleak conversation, nanami’s glad that he can at least bring you some resemblance of joy.

“but the way i see it,” he continues, hand dipping down to find yours almost instinctively, “none of that matters.”

your brows furrow. you curl into his comforting figure. “what do you mean?”

nanami’s eyes meet yours. “i couldn’t give less of a damn about what happens after death. not when i’m here with you in this moment,” he whispers, unable to restrain himself from inching closer, closer towards your face, “and hopefully the millions after.”

his lips brush against your own. it’s tentative, even almost shy—his way of asking you if this is alright.

you seal the gap without a second thought.

nanami pulls you closer. his arms wrap around your waist, as if he was unwilling to ever let go.

the intimacy of it all is enough to make him forget that for a moment, he was lost in thought, lost in the realization that people truly were helpless to whatever happened in the afterlife. but really, above all else, he was a soldier—had been since the day he enrolled at jujutsu high. and as long as you were safe, nothing else would matter. including his own—insignificant, small, dispensable—life.

at that moment, nanami’s armor became yours instead.

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu nanami #jjk nanami #nanami kento #nanami x reader #nanami x you #jujutsu kaisen nanami #nanami x y/n #enjoy the angst #<3 #only a little bit sorry #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk fanfic #nanami fanfic

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minty-mumbles · 10 months

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Marks on Your Body, Marks on Your Soul

Summary: Wind was part of the largest soulmate group that Outset Island had seen in nearly a century. There were eight people in his soulgroup. Nine, including him. Eight corresponding little marks were inked onto the skin of his forearm. Eight precious marks that symbolized that he was going to be so, so loved.

(Read on AO3 here) (There's also a bonus Warriors angst scene in the notes that I couldn't fit into the fic)

~~~

Wind was part of the largest soulmate group that Outset Island had seen in nearly a century. There were eight people in his soulgroup. Nine, including him. Eight corresponding little marks were inked onto the skin of his forearm. Eight precious marks that symbolized that he was going to be so, so loved.

In another rarity, not one of his eight soulmates lived on Outset Island. It was a small island, and while Wind hadn’t seen everyone’s soulmarks- some people liked to keep them private- they wouldn’t have been able to keep it a secret. Everyone knew everyones’ business on Outset. If one of the island’s residents was one of Wind’s soulmates, the rumors of someone else with eight soulmarks would have spread to him when he was still a young child.

So, Wind was an anomaly, but he didn’t mind. Those eight little marks that symbolized his soulmates were something to be cherished, even if they made him an oddity.

His first soul mark, the one nearest to his hand, was some kind of red bird with its wings stretched wide in flight. Wind had never seen a bird like that before, and even his Granny didn’t recognize it. Wind thought it must mean that this soulmate was from some faraway island with animals and birds that no one on Outset Island had ever seen before.

The next seemed to be a coin of some sort. It was split into four sections, with each section a different color, green, blue, red, and purple. It looked nothing like the rupees Wind was familiar with, but maybe this soulmate was from a distant land too?

Below the coin was a simple blue ocarina. Wind wondered what it meant or symbolized, Perhaps they were a musician? Wind had always smiled at the thought. He always loved listening to music, even if he couldn’t play an instrument himself. Maybe his soulmate would teach him how to play!

Next was a profile of the dog's head, thrown back and mouth open as if caught in the moment of a triumphant howl. (Something had always rubbed him wrong, thinking about this mark as a dog. It looked like a dog, but something about that seemed off to Wind. This animal was no tame beast.)

The next mark was a small pink rabbit, sitting up on its hind legs. Wind’s Granny had cooed over this particular mark plenty of times when he was a child, remarking that whoever it belonged to must be a very kind individual. Wind wasn’t so sure about that, the rabbit might be cute, but the way it defiantly stared back at Wind made him think twice about calling this soulmate soft.

Below the rabbit was a picture of a fairy. It was green, which was an unusual color for a fairy, but other than that looked pretty standard. Maybe this soulmate was a healer?

Next was a silver sword, wrapped in a piece of blue fabric. It was the most cryptic mark of them all, revealing the least about the person it belonged to, other than the fact perhaps they were good at fighting. Wind wondered, often, what the blue fabric symbolized.

The last mark, which was nearly nestled into the crook of his elbow, was a bow with an arrow drawn and ready to fire. When Wind had been young, he’d thought the mark was laid over a background of red. When he’d grown up, though, he realized that it wasn't simply a background of red, it was blood, a large splatter of blood. That mark had always made his Granny nervous, but it had never bothered Wind.

He’d spent long hours staring at these marks in wonder as he grew up. Daydreams of what his soulmates would be like were constant. Every time a ship arrived at Outset with new people aboard, Wind would be there, trying to sneak a glimpse of their forearms. Even the trading ships that came biweekly would draw Wind down to the docks, just in case there was someone new aboard he hadn’t met before- someone who shared seven of the same marks with him.

Of course, if his marks were romantic none of the sailors would ever be his soulmates as they were much older than Wind. But with such a large soulgroup, odds were that his bonds were platonic, and there were no age restrictions for platonic soulmates.

~~~

With such a large group of soulmates, Wind couldn’t just refer to them as “his soulmates.” It quickly became cumbersome, when speaking about his soulmarks, to constantly have to clarify which one he meant. It didn’t take long for him to come up with nicknames.

It wasn’t a strange thing to do, especially for those who had more than one soulmark.

Feathers, for the red bird. Then Coin, Ocarina, and Doggy, which soon evolved into Dog as he grew older. Bunny, which quickly became Rabbit.

Flicker for the fairy, after that way fairies flitted around when they flew, and the way their light would flicker like a candle. And finally, Sword and Bow. Most of the nicknames were simplistic and not at all creative but Wind had been four when he’d made them, so he cut himself some slack.

~~~

When Wind is seven, Dog’s soulmark changes.

It’s an insane thing to say- soulmarks don’t change. The only change that a mark should ever undergo was fading away to gray when your soulmate died. Other than that, they were set in stone.

But it was undeniable. One day when he went to sleep, the mark was of a brown dog. When he woke up, the dog was gray, with new markings that hadn’t been there before. Startled by the change, he ran to show his Granny.

At first, she’d been horrified to hear her grandchild shouting about a changed soumark and see unexpected gray on his arm. But it soon became apparent that the mark had not faded to death-gray. The eyes of the animal were still a brilliant blue.

His Granny had scrubbed at his forearm in a basin of water so hard his arm had turned red. When she finally admitted that the mark truly had changed, and Wind hadn’t simply managed to color it somehow, she had insisted he not tell anyone of this development, not even his little sister.

Frightened by her intensity, Wind had agreed.

Granny inspected his marks daily after that. It took months for her to be satisfied they would stay the way they were.

~~~

A year later, Wind noticed that Flicker’s mark had changed as well. Previously, it had been a simple fairy. Now, the yellow symbol of the triforce glimmered faintly from the center of the fairy’s glow. It was barely noticeable unless you squinted.

Wind, remembering how Granny had fretted and stressed over Dog’s soulmark, kept his mouth shut. The yellow of the triforce was so subtle that no one who wasn’t closely inspecting it would notice it, so he was able to keep this new change secret, even from his grandmother.

~~~

The night before Wind turned twelve, he lay awake shivering in bed. It wasn’t a cold night- quite the opposite, in fact.

But something felt… wrong.

It felt like someone was watching him. He’d checked and it wasn’t Arryl, who was deeply asleep. Granny was sleeping in the other room, so it wasn’t her. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was very wrong.

With nothing to justify the dread he was feeling, Wind lay awake in bed, unable to sleep. He drew his blanket over his head like he was five again and hiding from monsters. The feeling of dread persisted, not allowing him to slip into the comfort of sleep.

As his mind often did in quiet, solitary moments like these, it turned toward the topic of his soulmarks. Since the changes in two of his marks nearly six years ago, he’d grown to understand just how strange the fact that his marks had changed was.

Wind had never heard of anyone’s marks changing. When he was eight, he’d gotten it in his mind to run around Outset Island and ask everyone he could find if they’d ever heard stories about soulmarks changing. The answers were always a resounding no.

When Granny had eventually heard what he’d been doing, she'd given him a stern reprimand. He understood now why she was so strict about not telling people that his marks had changed. People weren’t kind to those they saw as different or strange. It was probably a very fortunate thing no one had ever noticed the change in his marks.

Wind didn’t know what people would do if they noticed, but he couldn’t imagine it would be pretty.

Wind worried about his marks often. He worried about what might happen if someone noticed that two of them had changed. (Unlikely after all this time, but all it would take was one person who had been there when Wind was born and had inspected his marks asking why the dog wasn’t brown like they remembered.)

He worried about what it meant that Dog and Flicker’s marks had changed. Was it possible that they would change again in the future? Would his other marks change? Was it possible that the marks had changed because the gods had messed up his marks, and maybe he wasn’t meant to be with these soulmates after all?

Wind had nightmares, sometimes. That one day he would wake up and his marks would be gone. That he would meet his soulmates, and they wouldn't have any mark representing him on their forearms.

He tried his best to ignore those dreams.

When midnight had long since come and gone and the feeling of dread and anticipation still haunted him, Wind thought it might be a good idea to clear his head. The night air might help. Maybe he should head to the lookout, he thought. He would be able to watch the stars easier from there, and no one would bother him if he ended up falling asleep.

~~~

Wind turned twelve, and everything went horribly, utterly wrong.

After Arryl had been taken and he’d set out on his quest to save her, Wind hadn’t bothered to look at his soulmarks much. He didn’t forget they were there! No one could forget their soulmates.

It was just… they’d become less important in the face of the possibility of losing his sister. She was out there, possibly in danger, possibly dead, and Wind was pretty sure his soulmarks weren’t going to go away anytime soon. He hadn’t even met any of them yet. He couldn’t afford to spend his time thinking about them when he didn’t even know what they looked like.

Then he’d gone to Fire Mountain to get the power bracelets.

Even with the aid of the ice arrows that kept the volcano from erupting, the heat was nearly unbearable. It felt like if he stayed on the island for too long, the very air itself would burn his skin.

That didn’t happen, thankfully. But what did happen was almost worse.

Fighting off the fire bats so he could reach the power bracelets had been the most annoying part of the island. There were several of them, coming one right after another, but they weren’t that strong. He’d been careless, more focused on avoiding plunging himself into lava than the swooping bats overhead.

His carelessness had earned him a few burns. He hadn’t thought much about the burns at the time besides pushing away the pain. Getting the power bracelets and getting out before the ice arrows wore off was more important than fussing over some small injuries.

Later, when his adrenaline had faded and he was safe enough to look over his injuries, he realized where exactly the burns were, and Wind had never felt more horrified and sick to his stomach in his life. The burn wrapped around the back of Wind’s left arm. One edge of the burned skin stopped less than a quarter of an inch away from Rabbit’s mark.

Wind ended up using the only fairy he had to heal the burns. It was a waste of resources, probably, but Wind couldn't help it. He hadn’t wanted to heal it naturally and risk infection or something similar worsening the injury. He couldn’t live with the possibility of it leaving a scar. He couldn’t risk it. Not so close to one of his marks.

What would happen if the burn had been placed just a few inches to the right? It could have ruined Rabbit’s mark. It wouldn’t have affected his bond with his soulmate.

He’d heard stories about people whose marks got burned off or scarred over before- it wasn’t something that was unheard of. In many of the stories, the injured party still managed to find their soulmate in the end, but it was more difficult to do so when you didn’t have a mark for your soulmate to identify with. It left the burden of finding your soulmate entirely on you, saddling you with the responsibility of recognizing the mark that represented you.

It also left you with no way to tell if your soulmate had died.

After that, Wind started to pay more attention while he fought. He was more careful with guarding his left arm, and he inspected his marks more often. Just as reassurance. Just to remind him that even if everything went wrong, somewhere out in the world there were eight people waiting for him.

~~~

It was this new caution that led him to discover an interesting quirk of Coin’s soulmark. Wind was sure this was a recent development, as he would have noticed this when he was a kid and still enamored with his soulmarks.

Wind had never heard of anything like this happening, but… his fourth soulmark changed, sometimes. He was sure of it- had even seen it happen once. The difference was so small that no one besides himself would ever notice, and he kept his mouth shut about it.

He knew two of his other marks had changed when he was little, but for the most part, Wind was able to delude himself. Perhaps he had misremembered the color of the dog or had simply never noticed the triforce hidden in the green fairy until he was eight. Perhaps those marks hadn’t changed at all.

But this…

He couldn’t lie to himself about this.

He didn’t know what it meant, but every so often, the four sections of the coin would separate, showing the smallest sliver of his skin between the marks, clearly showing that there were four separate soulmarks instead of the usual one.

He didn’t know what it meant, but the mark always fused back together eventually, so Wind hoped everything would be fine. It was just one more thing to ask his soulmates about when he finally found them.

In his mind, Wind started thinking that having eleven soulmates instead of eight would be pretty cool, if a little overwhelming, but he kept that thought to himself.

(If he started having nightmares about his faceless soulmate getting ripped limb from limb until they were torn into four pieces and left in a bloody pile, then he kept that to himself, too)

~~~

When Wind discovered that Bow’s mark had gone gray, it was the worst hours of his life.

He’d checked his marks over carefully in the morning- noting that the second mark was once again split into four- and had been satisfied with them. They were all as they should be. They had been free of blemishes, with colors just as vibrant as they had been the night before.

Later that morning, Wind was working on tying up the sail on his little boat. The storm clouds on the horizon didn't look promising, and he needed to get the rigging all tied down before the storm hit. As he gave one last tug on the rope, he happened to catch a glimpse of his forearm, and the sight of gray near his elbow startled him completely out of his concentration.

Dropping the rope he’d been using to secure the sails, Wind grasped at his arm. His eyes hadn’t been deceiving him- his last mark was no longer bright and colorful. The bright red of the blood and the brown of the bow had been leached away, leaving the mark a sickly gray.

Breath caught in his throat and he staggered, a soft keen escaped him without permission.

He’d heard of this happening before- marks fading to death-gray before a person had even met their soulmate. It was always a sad tale when someone was killed before their time, and left behind grieving partners who didn’t even have a name or face to go with the gray mark.

And now Wind would be one of those people, forever left wondering about that last mark. It would stay with him for the rest of his life, a horrible reminder of the pain his soulmate no doubt suffered before their untimely death.

Wind didn’t know how long the mark had been gray by the time he noticed. How long had one of his soulmates been gone from this world, while he had remained blissfully unaware?

His heart sank into his stomach as he slowly sank to his knees. He felt more alone than he ever has, alone on his boat. His sister was gone, his Granny unconsolable to the point of being nearly unresponsive, he hadn't met any of his soulmates, and one of them was dead.

Wind sat alone in the bottom of his boat, the rain beating against his form. The waves were tall. Wind could faintly feel them tossing the boat around, but couldn’t muster up the energy to care.

Let the waves take him. What was the point? One of his soulmates was gone! Before Wind had even gotten the chance to meet them, they were gone.

In the dim light of the storm, everything looked gray, so it took a while to realize that the bow mark was changing again. The realization came to Wind slowly as he stared at his arm blankly but when it did, Wind whined, squeezing his eyes shut.

Why couldn't the gods just let him be? Why did his marks keep changing? Were his soulmates with monsters? Shifting abominable creatures that couldn't stay consistent even after they died? Were the gods refusing to let his soulmate rest even after they died?

Why why why?

It took even longer for Wind to gain the courage to open his eyes and look at the marks again. When he did, it registered that the mark wasn’t simply changing. It was regaining its color.

The relief that slammed into Wind was what finally broke the dam in his mind. The numbness that had crashed over him when he realized that one of his marks had faded finally broke, and Wind cried. He cried from the relief, the pain, the worry, panic, and grief he’d felt.

Wind wondered if any of his other soulmates had noticed that the Bow had gone gray. Had Rabbit cried? Did Feather drop whatever they were doing to find a private place to grieve? Had Blue screamed when they saw?

By the time Wind had uncurled and started taking in the outside world again, the storm had long since passed. The King of Red Lions was able to guide the boat through the treacherous waves safely, but without Wind’s help, they’d been blown miles off course. Wind didn’t even care.

His soulmate was safe- safe, safe, safe, they were safe, he had the mark to prove it- and alive. That was all Wind needed to know.

Most of the rest of the day was spent clutching at his forearm and staring at the last mark in alternating horror and relief. Slowly, the horror abated, leaving a sharp flash of indignant anger in its wake.

How dare one of Wind’s soulmates nearly die before meeting him? That was totally unfair of them. Wind was so going to punch them in the arm when they met as payback for scaring him so much.

~~~

For once, Wind hadn’t heard of the arrival of a new ship before it made landfall on Outset Island. He was notified by a kid running up to Granny’s house in the morning, yelling something and banging excitedly on the door.

Wind was the one to open the door, looking down at the kid in confusion. He’d seen him before, running around the island, but couldn’t for the life of him remember the kid’s name.

As far as Wind knew, they weren’t expecting any visitors. It was late afternoon, early enough to assume everyone would be awake, but still too early to be calling on your neighbors without giving warning. Scenarios of pirates (the unhonorable kind) attacking the island, or someone getting hurt or even dying flooded Wind’s mind. Anything that would make someone come calling this early.

At the unasked question in Wind’s eyes, the kid, who was nearly shaking in excitement nearly yelled that there was a strange group of people on the island, and that they were looking for him.

When the kid finally got around to saying the group consisted of eight people, a shock of anxiety shot through Wind. Was it possible? After all this time?

Wind was still only fourteen and all told, that was a young age to meet all your soulmates, but Wind felt so much older. He’d been through so much, sometimes he felt ancient. And he’d done it all without the aid of his soulmates.

It would be strange to finally meet them now, if these strangers truly were his soulmates.

The kid was still looking at him expectantly, eyes wide in excitement. Everyone on Outset knew about Wind’s soulmates. Even if they hadn’t gotten a good look at Wind’s soulmarks, they knew. Having a group of soulmarks that big was going to make you a constant source of gossip.

The gossip could have spread beyond Outset, and if there was a soulgroup of eight looking for their ninth soulmate, those rumors might have been enough to bring them here.

Wind did his best to keep a straight face, even as he was screaming inside. It probably didn’t work. Granny had always said he had a horrible poker face, and she was right. There was no way that he could hide the shock, hope, and excitement that crossed his face.

Wind quickly thanked the kid and slammed the door shut, but not before the kid ran off, no doubt to spread the gossip to everyone else on the island. Shoving the thought out of his mind, Wind ran to put on some acceptable clothes. There was no way he was meeting people who might be his soulmates while he was still in his pajamas.

He tore through the house to his and Arryl’s room, earring a shocked exclamation from Granny, who was sitting in the main room working on her knitting. Wind ignored her questions about who was at the door.

Arryl- who was still asleep after staying up too late last night- murmured sleepily as Wind slammed the door open, but was quickly soothed back to sleep by his assurances. It took Wind longer than it usually did for him to choose what to wear that day. He had to look nice if he was going to meet his soulmates.

By the time he ran back out of the room, his Granny no longer looked confused. No doubt more of their neighbors had stopped by to inform her of the news. The people on Outset might be gossipers, but Wind also silently thanked them. Outset wasn’t a very large island, and it shouldn’t have taken this long for the group to find him if they were really looking. Someone probably decided to take pity on him and send them in the wrong direction to give him a bit more time to prepare.

Of course, this was all assuming that they truly were his soulmates. There was a possibility that it was a complete coincidence that eight strangers no one on the island had ever seen before were looking for him specifically.

Yeah, even in his head, that sounded unlikely.

Even with helpful neighbors and getting dressed quickly as he could, when he stepped outside, a group of strangers was already coming up the path.

They stopped a good bit away from Granny’s house huddling together. Wind could feel their eyes on him, and his face was betraying his hope and excitement.

Though the group obviously saw him, they clustered a little ways away, talking about something. Wind winced, his expression falling ever so slightly. Did they not want him now that they’d seen him?

Each one of the strangers was obviously older than him- if these were his soulmates, he would be the youngest person in the group. Even the smallest of the group, someone in a colorful tunic who was shorter than Wind, looked to be older than he was. Were they disappointed their last soulmate was young?

On top of that, every member of the group was heavily armed, even if it wasn’t obvious. Most of them had a sword strapped to their back and several other weapons besides that. The magic that Wind could sense from them even at this distance told him they had more than enough hidden defenses as well.

Even the one in a blue tunic- who carried no sword- was armed with a bow and quiver. More excitement filled Wind as he realized that the bowman was heavily scarred. The kind of scars that come from injuries that might kill you. (And then there was guilt that he felt excited that someone had suffered.)

Breath stuttered in Wind’s chest, and he was nearly bouncing on the balls of his feet. Still, he didn't approach. He would let them do that. Because what if Wind was wrong, and these weren’t his soulmates after all? Arryl would never let him live it down if he ran up to a bunch of people just assuming they were his soulmates. That would just be embarrassing.

After a few more moments of Wind barely being able to contain himself, one of the strangers peeled away from the group. The others mingled together, talking but still obviously keeping an eye on Wind.

The man who approached was wearing armor- a pauldron and chainmail. Wind wondered about that for a split second. Even people who were going to be fighting often opted for padded cloth or leather armor, not heavy plate or chain that could cause you to sink like a rock if you were knocked into the water.

The thing that really caught Wind’s attention, though, was the blue scarf that was wrapped around the man’s neck.

A blue scarf, or in other words, a blue scrap of fabric.

Sword.

Wind’s hand drifted up instinctively to rub at his marks, feeling a bright grin break outacross his face. The sleeve of his undertunic was in the way, but that man seemed to catch the motion anyways.

In seconds, the man who was almost certainly one of Wind’s soulmates stood in front of him. His smile was confident as he held out a hand expectantly to Wind. Despite his confidence, Wind could feel his hesitance.

There was an unspoken understanding between them now. They both thought that they were each other's soulmate, and that the rest of the group behind the man was the rest of Wind’s soulgroup. But there was only one way to know, and although there wasn’t anything wrong with not covering your soulmarks, asking flat out to see them if you weren’t someone's soulmate was a very violating question.

Wind hesitantly held out his arm, using his other arm to push up his sleeve.

The man instantly relaxed at the sight, the tenseness in his shoulders melting away. Joy and relief spread across his features as Wind watched the man’s eyes (as Wind watched his soulmate’s eyes!) trail down the line of soulmarks until he reached Sword’s mark.

Until he reached his mark.

Wind watched a shiver go up the man’s spine. Wind had heard countless tales of what it was like to see the soulmark that represented you for the first time, and now he was witnessing it in real life.

The stranger-who-wasn't-a-stranger smiled at him, warm affection filling his eyes. Then he spoke for the first time, the words tender. “There you are, little seagull. We’ve been searching everywhere for you.”

#mint's fanfiction #marks on your soul au #linked universe #lu wind #lu warriors #soulmate au #lu fanfiction #angst

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