#and if you do not believe this you are supporting ideas that would be impossible without many individuals simultaneously changing their | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bakugoushotwife · 7 months

Text

kinktober day ten: breeding kink

>>> so i actually think he would be able to get his partner preggers but that's because i say so xoxo but also bc maybe ce doesn't affect the reproductive system?? idc if it does he deserves a family!

>>> starring: choso kamo x curvy!fem!reader >>> cw: breeding kink thank you, pregnancy kink, choso is obsessed w his wife hours, oral (fem), creampie, >>> wc: 2.2k >>> event masterlist:

he’ll never forget the day you told him you were pregnant. it was something he had considered impossible, to the point he never bothered wearing a condom or cumming anywhere but inside you. seeing you pregnant only made sure those things wouldn’t change. you were already so perfect to him that it was almost unnerving, even all these years of marriage in. he fell in love with you the moment he met you back in shibuya, but somehow you had become even more beautiful to him.

he was obsessed, almost to the point of embarrassment, if choso understood the concept in regards to his love for his wife. but he wasn’t shy about being yours. it was all so new to him, the idea of fatherhood, viewing you as a mother, watching you change before his very eyes and all the long doctors appointments. he loves it though, oddly enough. especially the notion of being a dad and watching your body and mindset shift and grow.

choso can tend to be clueless due to his rather unconventional navigation of life, but ever since he learned how to work a cell phone, the internet has been his very best friend. unfortunately, yuji can give some very…troublesome advice. choso thinks it’s a miracle he’s still alive at times. so google can help in ways his earnest younger brother cannot, giving him multiple opinions and sources on what to do and how to do it. he spends hours of his time researching how to care for you; wanting to know if it was normal to be this attracted to you while you were all moody and pouty with just the start of roundness at the bottom of your belly—the jury was still out on that one, by the way.

one thing that was normal was your increased need for him, not like he was complaining. he loved this side effect the most, able to satiate his perverse desire to keep stuffing his already pregnant wife full, relishing in how eager and frankly nasty you had gotten. you were damn near insatiable, and choso thought he was in heaven for it. all through your first and second trimesters, you couldn’t get enough of him—and the feeling was mutual. as you grew larger and the house became cluttered with baby shower gifts and preparations for baby kamo, he continued to clock hours towards his family. he read article after article on parenting, actively assembling the nursery and searching up names with you. he was beyond joyful, still unable to believe that you were growing his son or daughter within that gorgeous body of yours, your breasts had started to swell and your hips had begun to spread. he loved every second of this: your neediness, everything about how you look while making him a father, and the way his friends circled around him and became such a supportive family.

his thoughts bordered on crazy, a haunting desire to keep you like this all the time, lounging around the house in your pretty maternity dresses doing nothing but being waited on hand and foot; relaxing while stroking your swelling stomach. it’s what suited you best, he thinks—stretched out along the couch basking in the rays of the sun beating in through the living room window, snacking on a fruit board he made you and baby. he’s nearly foaming at the mouth, your long robe-style dress clinging to all the delicious curves of your body; the light cotton seemed to outline your heavy boobs, tight around your semi-hardened nipples. it hugged your six-and-a-half-month sized bump, your other hand resting there protectively. choso was stuck in the moment, trying to commit every detail of you to memory. he almost didn’t hear your chortle of disbelief.

“you said what, now, babe?” you whip your head towards him, heart fluttering violently at what he uttered— you needed him to say it again. it was easy to grow addicted to your husband, building his spawn had you needier than ever. even the smell of him had you going absolutely feral level insane even though this pregnancy had been the highlight of your life so far. you thought your clinginess and desire was driving him to his own insanity, figuring he must hate tending to you and your attitude as of late. you must have just heard him incorrectly.

“huh?” he blinked, violet eyes refocusing on your plush lips speaking to him. “what did i say?” he asks, just as confused as you are. his cheeks darken anyways, as if you caught him doing something naughty, which only makes you believe your ears were in fact not deceiving you.

“you said you should keep me like this all time.” you chuckle, full on tilting your head towards him from your spot on the sofa. he averts his gaze as soon as you meet him, and you let out a teasing fake gasp. “my husband wants to keep me barefoot and pregnant, huh? you know that’s pretty outdated…”

he shakes his head, embarrassed immediately. great, now you thought he was some sick perv, which isn’t completely off base, he guessed, but still! it wasn’t like that, he didn’t view you like some machine built only to churn out his kids and cook him dinner!

“n-no! i mean—you look great like this, b—”

“i’m just fucking around, love. i thought it was sexy.” you grin, throwing a wink his way. he clicks his tongue at you and huffs at the teasing, even though he’s definitely intrigued by the latter half of your sentence. you arch your brow, waiting for him to ask for clarification. you could see him fighting it in his head before your very eyes. the scrunch of his nose tells you that you’ve won.

“yeah? what’s that supposed to mean?” he says from his spot in the recliner nearby, always opting to be close to you. you smile knowingly at him, humming in thought mostly for the dramatics.

“mayhaps i enjoy the idea of you keeping me pregnant…especially if i get spoiled like this every time.” you giggle, shrugging a little bit. “maybe i’ll feel differently after i actually have this one.” you pat your tummy affectionately, and he thinks he may be drooling. you always play so coy, but he can see the way you rub your thighs together and the clouds that darken in your sunshiney eyes. he may be regularly clueless, but the one thing he knows all too well is your body.

“hm, i think it’s because you’re a sex-crazed maniac now and know pregnancy gets you off the hook.” he deadpans, though his heart is beating rapidly in his chest and in his cock. you call his bluff, rolling your eyes viciously.

“isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black.” you huff, spreading your legs out on the couch in a silent command. he smirks, not at all caring that you caught him. he nods a bit, holding his hands up.

“got me. i just didn’t know how much i would love this.” he says, the husk in his voice sends a shiver down your spine. your thighs press together when he obeys your body language, rising from his seat and making his way to the couch. he sits at your feet of course, smiling so sweetly. his warm hands gently pry your knees apart, and you wonder if he knows just how seductive the look he gives you is. his chin is angled down, hooded purple eyes singing a siren song that makes your legs fall apart again and your fingers pull at the tie keeping your dress together. he growls at the sight of your exposed body, his hands rubbing trails from your knees to your hips and down your thighs again. “you’re so perfect…can you blame me?”

you roll your eyes but wear a stupid grin at his praise, shaking your head to his question. you knew better than to be insecure over your changing body, especially with all the extra attention it’s garnered you. truth be told, you had never felt more beautiful, the life growing inside you breathing new life into your own appearance, and your husband never missed an opportunity to make you feel like a goddess amongst mortals. he would never dream of making you uncomfortable or asking you to accommodate him, so he folds himself into the space he has so that his face hovers above your shiny middle. his breath alone makes you moan, a hand flying up to cover your embarrassment. you always react like you’ve never been touched before and choso loves it almost as much as the sight of your round stomach and even rounder mounds above. he brings his thumb over you, wanting to watch you as he draws slow circles over your hardened clit. he hums, a little smile on his face as you jerk and squirm. your hips buck into his mouth instantly with cute whines slipping past your lips as your hands struggle to reach for his collarbone length black hair. he leans up a bit to help you, just the feeling of his rough thumb pad against your need turned you into a mess within seconds.

“nngh–oh choso, feels so–mmph good already.” you gasp, hands dropping to fondle your aching breasts. he nods and sits up to spit a warm and fat glob on your cunt, his thick thumb dragging it all over your spasming need. the lewdness of his action coupled with the nonchalant way he watches, tongue poking around your hole like nothing ever happened, has your brain spinning without much effort. your hips drive into the relief he offers, chasing your orgasm like you’d never before experienced one—despite the clear proof otherwise. he allows it, never in his life would he keep you from feeling good. he’s honored to be the one who causes those pretty sounds to fill the room, to be the father of the child making your beauty so ethereal, to be the man tongue deep in your perfect pussy. “gonna–ohhhh–”

your sweet release coats his tongue, his thumb still working you down slowly so he could relish in the face you make from sheer pleasure. he sits back up, a little more comfortable on his knees as he leans over you to give you a sloppy kiss filled with your own essence. he’s had to be much more careful since you’re getting bigger, but he doesn’t mind making sweet love to his beautiful baby mama. you wrap your arms around his neck, keeping his mouth against you while his hands are busy freeing himself from his sweatpants. you gasp into his mouth when you feel his length parting your folds and prodding at your hole. he only nibbles at your lip to tell you that he’ll be gentle, sheathing himself within your wet warmth slowly. you tense around him and relax, sighing happily at the feeling of him rocking into you at a tender pace. he moves his kisses to the sides of your cheeks, your jaw, picking up his speed until he has to sit back up properly to angle himself right.

“more, you’re not gonna break me daddy.” you pant, hand braced on the ridges of his defined abs. he sighs begrudgingly, only because he’d been repressing the same urge ever since you welcomed him inside. he relents, lifting one of your legs to rest against his hip before driving into you a bit harder. you moan wildly and nod, nearly screaming. “god—just like that.”

“anything for you mama, s’cute you need it hard, such a good girl letting me get a little rough.” he grunts, squeezing the hold he has on your thigh. you feel so different, still so tight and warm but with a different kind of wetness. he’s a mess too, championing himself with that nickname you bestowed upon him. his strokes are so well-timed, letting you feel every drag of his cock against you, the tip of him nailing the spot you need him most. “so perfect. you gonna let me keep this pretty hole bred?”

you nod, the words sending you close to your tipping point. you shake your head, too gone to speak to let him know that you were going to cum. you don’t have to tell him though, he can tell from the intense fluttering of your sloppy cunt, and he’s happy to have lasted this long trapped in your clutches. you’re slapping at his stomach, legs shaking around him as you scream again, the sound so primal it sends goosebumps prickling along his skin right before he’s stuffing you full as if you weren’t already carrying his seed. you squeeze down on him, making sure he empties his balls in you. he stays there until he goes soft, and then he slumps against the side of the couch. your giggles make him perk up, his violet eyes cutting over to see you crawling towards him with a mischievous glint to your eyes. he knows he’s right when you swing your leg over his lap, angling him back inside you.

“don’t worry—just wanna sit on it.” you titter, wrapping your arms around his neck again, pressing your body as close as you could for a hug. he twitches from sensitivity as you lower yourself back over him, but a smile spreads across his face all the same.

“how many kids can i give you, mama?” he groans in your ear as his arms tighten around your waist securely.

#jjk x reader #kyleewritesjjk #kylee's kinktober event #kinktober 2023 #kinktober #jjk smut #choso kamo x reader #choso kamo #choso x reader #choso smut #choso jjk #kamo choso

861 notes · View notes

ilguna · 1 year

Text

☼ clueless (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; with the help of his ex-girlfriend, Finnick realizes that the girl he's been wanting has been the one supporting him.

warnings; swearing,

wc; 1.9k

–

You’ve been friends with Finnick for over a decade now, long before he went into the Hunger Games. However, you’ve never quite seen him go through so many girlfriends in such a short span of time.

You two were next door neighbors in high school, making it impossible to escape him, not that you ever did. You’d hang out during school, and then go right home to do the same thing. And even with all the obstacles that were put in the way, and the time that’s passed, not a single thing has changed between you two.

While he still goes out of his way to make time for you, considering you to be his best friend. You would drop everything and run, if he asked you to. You know everything there is to know about him, including the details you’d prefer to never hear, and the secrets that he would never tell his girlfriends but wouldn’t dare to hide it from you.

So watching him do this—burn through girl after girl—isn’t him. Finnick’s always been the person that looks for long-term relationships because he would rather settle down than hop from one girl to another. He’s not the image that the Capitol has forced on him. Finnick doesn’t want to be a casanova.

In fact, in the past, you’ve seen him break up with girls solely for the fact that they weren’t looking for anything serious yet, and he wasn’t going to go out of his way to change their minds. Finnick wants a girl that’s ready to spend the rest of their life with him, and will fight to stay together rather than let it fizzle out.

It doesn’t feel that way anymore.

Finnick’s always had a specific type when it comes to girls, but lately it’s been all over the place. It doesn’t matter what they look like, what they’re interested in, or what their personality is. It’s about how they make him feel inside. Every single time there’s a new girl, he swears that he likes them, because he gets that butterfly feeling in his stomach.

It was the case with one of the other victors in District Four, too. This time it was Annie Cresta. You’ve seen her at the reapings, she’s got long brown hair, and the typical sea-green eyes that many here seem to have.

Finnick told you that it was easier to talk to her, because she understood what it was like to win the Hunger Games. She likes to spend time with him, and she could spend the entire day just being around him. She didn’t mind being around you, either, which a lot of his past girlfriends seem to be put-off by.

She was fun to be around, she wanted to do everything he wanted to do, no questions asked. In the times you were invited along, she went out of her way to include you in conversations, and half the time, Finnick would accidentally get shut out because you two were talking the entire time.

For the first time in several months, you thought that Finnick finally found one that he was going to keep. She seemed to follow most of the ideas that his previous long-term relationships had. He swore up and down that she would be the last one, and you believed him.

They lasted three months. Which doesn’t seem like a lot of time, but compared to the one month curse that he’d been a part of for the past year, it really is a feat. The difference between this break up, and the others, is that he was actually fighting hard to stay with Annie.

Finnick didn’t want to break up with her. When he realized that he was losing feelings, he tried going on more dates with her, spending time with her, buying her gifts. He asked you a couple times what he could do to fix it, and you didn’t have an answer for him.

As much as you hoped that he would stay with Annie so that he’d stop coming to you to cry after his break ups, there was a part of you that was rooting for their downfall the entire time. How could you not? You’ve had a crush on him for years, and he still hasn’t developed feelings for you.

You had your own phase where you dated guys to take your mind off of him, but the truth is that no one will ever know you as well as Finnick does. And you don’t want to go through the effort of teaching someone, when Finnick’s right there.

If you’re being honest, you don’t know how many girlfriends you can stand to hear about, meet and be around. If he’s going to end up breaking up with every single one of them, you don’t want to sit through it. You’ve tried to be supportive as long as you can stand it, but Annie might be your breaking point.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Finnick says, rubbing his face.

“Finnick, have you considered taking a break for a while?” You ask.

Finnick’s sitting on your front porch steps, watching as you water the garden in front of your house. He stops to look at you, “Take a break from what?”

“In general. You’re stressing yourself out, maybe you need some time to sort of your feelings.” You tell him.

And you’re thinking, maybe if he takes some time away from girls, he’ll think about you and what you said. How you’ve been there at his every call, comforting him, letting him sleep over, taking his mind off of things. You don’t know what else you can do for him. On one hand, you want to stop, because you don’t think you’ve ever been more miserable than you are now, but you know that if you stop, you risk losing his trust altogether.

You’d tell him how you feel about him, if it weren’t for the fact that you know he’d shut you down. He wouldn’t even bother hearing you out. He needs to be the one that comes to you, that’s the only way you’d stand a chance with dating him.

Finnick lets out a laugh, shaking his head, “Annie doesn’t think so. She says that I’ve already got it sorted out.”

Your face twists, you glance over at him, waiting for him to tell you more. This’ll be the first that you’re hearing that, and they broke up a few days ago. You thought that he unloaded everything on you already.

“What’d she say?” You ask.

“Forget it.” He mutters, “It’s what I told you yesterday.”

“That’s not true, you’re hiding something.”

“It’s…” He starts, shaking his head. He ends up with his face back in his hands, and you swear that he’s going to start crying again, but he sighs. “She said something before I left that night.”

“Okay…?” You start watering your grass, hoping to bring it back to life. You think that you need to start over entirely and to spread more seed. That’ll give you a fair chance. “Is it about the other girls you dated? I think you told me that she knew about all of them.”

“It’s not that.” He says, you can see that his face is a slight shade of red, “It’s um—more of the fact of a girl I haven’t dated.”

“If you’re not going to spit it out, then forget about it.” You wave your hand, “I’m not going to try to read your mind, Finnick.”

“It’s not that, I’m just trying to figure out how to say it.” He takes a breath, “You know how Annie and I started fighting?”

“Yeah.”

“It was over you.” He admits.

You stop what you’re doing to look at him, and find that he’s watching you. “Did you really break up with Annie over me? You told me it was a mutual agreement.”

“It wasn’t.” He shakes his head, “Annie broke up with me.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this?” You ask, resuming what you were doing, “I mean, that’s nothing new. Half the girls you date end up hating me one way or another, and most of the time it’s cause we’re so close. If that was the case, we could’ve stopped hanging out for a while.”

“It wasn’t for that reason, though. She um…” He clears his throat, “She said that I was comparing her to you too often.”

You squint your eyes at the ground. Why the hell would he do that? “Like, bringing me up in conversation?”

“No.”

You turn off the hose, coiling it up to sit next to your house in a neat pile. You don’t understand what he’s talking about, “I don’t understand.”

“Well, either way, before she made me leave that night, she said, ‘If you wanted a girl like (Y/n) so much, why don’t you just date her?’.” He says.

You take a breath to regulate yourself, because you understand what Annie meant, now. It makes perfect sense with a statement like that, but you’re not entirely sure if Finnick understands. If he was comparing you to her, then that probably means he was insisting for her to act like you in some way.

And if she said that, then that means he’s been thinking about it for almost three days now, deciding if she’s right or not.

You look at him, “Huh.”

“That’s all you have to say?” He asks.

“Well, I mean, it’s a bold statement to make.” You watch him, “But it’s obviously had an impact on you, if you didn’t tell me about it.”

“I was thinking about the other girls I dated and if it applied to them, too.” He tells you.

Oh. You did not think that this was going to be the way things happened.

You make a face, “So?”

“I think Annie’s right.”

Of course, he’d come to that conclusion, he’s not stupid. You don’t know what you and all those girls had in common. Although, now that you’re thinking about it, it could’ve been anything. It didn’t matter to him , as long as they had some quality of yours, right?

You try to smile, but it doesn’t come out that way, “It’s a shame you don’t like me like that, huh?”

You look away, Finnick lets out a noise, “You knew the entire time, didn’t you?”

“No, I didn’t. I knew that you were acting funny, because you don’t go through girls like you drink water. It’s not who you are.”

“Why didn’t you say something?” He asks, you can see him stand up from your peripheral.

“What was I supposed to say to you?” You ask him, looking over again, “That I’ve been in love with you for years? You would’ve turned me down.”

“You don’t know that.” He says.

“It took Annie for you to realize that you liked me in the first place.” You point out, “So what now?”

“We take it slow.” He leans against the railing, “If you want to.”

“I want you to take more than just a couple of days to think about it.” You murmur, “I don’t want to be a rebound because you don’t have your shit in order.”

“That sounds fair to me.” He says. Neither of you say anything for a long moment, while he watches you finish cleaning up your garden so that you can go inside. When you’re done, he stops you. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I put you through all of that, and I didn’t think about how you might’ve felt.”

You place your hand on his shoulder, “I hid my feelings for you on purpose, Finnick. Don’t be sorry.”

#ilguna #finnick odair #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair oneshot #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x you #finnick odair x yn #finnick odair x y/n #finnick imagine #finnick oneshot #finnick fanfic #finnick x reader #thg #the hunger games #requested #fluff

1K notes · View notes

moonydustx · 21 days

Note

Hii, i was wondering if you would like to write something about zoro being jealous? Just that haha :) btw i love your writing!

Hi Hi Hi! First, thank you for the request and the compliment, they really make my day. And second, sorry for the delay in writing, I ended up getting stuck with some work deadlines. I loved the idea and although our little greenie has a tough exterior, I think he would be one of those jealous people who refuses to admit it, you know? I think I ended up going on a more protective side with this one, but I hope you like it.

A not so friendly friend

Roronoa Zoro x F!Reader Warnings: Zoro is jealous and a little protective of his girl, he and F!Reader have a kind of secret relationship. A little smut at the end, nothing super explicit. Summary: The Straw Hats arrive on one of the islands where you lived for many years and, to your delight, you meet a long-time friend. Someone in the crew doesn't seem that happy.

requests open | one piece masterlist

It was almost impossible to keep your euphoria contained within your body. You hadn't set foot on that island in years and finally, you could spend a few days there - even if it was just long enough to record the Log Pose.

"Someone seems anxious to me." Usopp leaned next to you as the Sunny finished docking in the small port.

"Right after I left my home island, I spent a few years here, I believe I can still find some friends."

"I hope they're nice people."

"They sure are!" the two of you quickly turned your attention to Luffy, who was shouting that everything was ready to disembark. The two quickly walked towards the group, this time Franky would be responsible for taking care of the ship.

"We're finally here!" Robin joined the two of you. "From what you told me, there's a big library around here."

"Yes, I'll take you there, we also have great restaurants…" you listed. "Wait, how are we going to split up?"

"Well, from what you told me, it's five days until Log Pose finishes recording and since it seems to be an important island for you, we can do most of the things together." Nami explained and waited for the others to agree. "We've already distributed everyone's money, but today we're going after…"

"Food!" Luffy interrupted her and immediately felt Nami's hand slap him. "But you promised to take me out for that delicious pie." he turned to you.

"Yes, we will. Let's go down first, shall we?" you asked and everyone immediately agreed.

Like many other times, you watched Zoro go down first and almost automatically stretch out his hand for you to support yourself and go down. That gesture didn't go unnoticed by your crewmates, but they knew your personality well enough not to question it.

The group continues calmly to the island's central square. New stores, old schools, even some salespeople were the same and seemed to have recognized you when you waved, your cheeks already hurt from the fixed smile.

"I remember in that bar over there one time…" you commented and heard something in the background.

"Kitten?"

Everyone immediately turned towards the voice that called you as they watched you become a figure as you ran towards the blonde haired boy.

"Leo!" recognizing your former friend immediately, you threw yourself into his arms, allowing the man to lift you off the ground.

"Seems like she's well liked here." Robin chuckled as he watched you practically spin around.

"Is he also a pirate?" Brook analyzed him. "What do you think."

"He seems like a nice guy." Chopper replied smiling

"Kitten?" Zoro practically groaned when he heard the nickname, muttering under his breath.

Even with the man's hands on your waist, squeezing you tightly and your laugh being heard from afar, the way the word had come out of the other guy's mouth made it clear that Zoro wouldn't like his stay there in that city.

"Guys, I need to introduce him to you…" you pulled the man by the hand, bringing him closer to the gang. "This is Leo, he was one of the best friends I had here."

"I went?"

"Still one of the best friends." you laughed, being pulled into a side hug by the man. "Let me introduce my friends, Straw Hats."

You made a point of introducing each friend one by one and again that seemed to bother Zoro. Friend? His little rationality reminded him that you had never made anything clear about the implicit situations between the two of you, but the small bad feeling - which he refused to name - bothered him.

"Come on, I'll take you to our base." the man continued holding hands with you and guided the others.

"Wow, how different you look." "So, how has it been exploring the sea?" "I bet you haven't found anyone as good as me."

Every time the man opened his mouth to praise you, Zoro felt his hand grip tighter against the sword in his sheath. Just one of the three and he would do all the damage that crossed his mind. It was a strange feeling, watching you there with someone else, even if they were talking. Something that stirred any butterfly that might exist in his stomach, that made his eyes turn red, his hands itch to get him out and take that Leo's place. Zoro hated this new feeling that came over him.

"Hey Zoro." your voice woke him up from his trance. "Did you know that Leo is also a swordsman?"

"Interesting." His tone of voice was almost cynical, going unnoticed by you.

"This one is the executor." Leo pointed to the sword in his sheath. "It was supposed to have another name." the man turned suggestively to you.

"I would never let you use my name for that thing." you grumbled, turning back to Zoro. "He's one of the best swordsmen on the island."

"What's your bounty?" the provocation was implicit in the cynical smile that adorned Zoro's lips and this time, it had reached your eyes.

"I don't have one." the man replied calmly, reassuring you.

"Interesting." Zoro repeated and followed in silence.

The others seemed distracted, talking amongst themselves, but your eyes started to turn around a few times, following the green-haired man who started to walk further behind the group.

The afternoon passed quickly on the island. You met up with some other friends who didn't seem to be as close as Leo and when night fell, everyone decided to go to a bar. Everyone except one person.

"Zoro, can we talk?" you asked, moving away from the group that entered the place full of drinks and noise. "What is happening?"

"About what?"

"You barely spoke to me today and now you're refusing to drink?" you stood on your tiptoes, to touch his forehead. "Are you sure you don't want me to call Chopper to make sure you're not sick?"

"Everything is fine." he responded directly, even if he wasn't harsh, his eyes made it clear that something was wrong. "I'm going to go back to Sunny, take advantage of the free time to train."

"Greenie, please." the nickname you used so much to irritate him came out sweeter than he expected from your lips. That made it even harder for him to deny any of your requests.

"It's okay sweetie." his hand touched yours and the memories of watching you all day arm in arm with Leo made him pull away. "Your friends are waiting for you, go."

You watched him leave and even though your body almost involuntarily wanted to follow him, you let Zoro return to the ship.

The remaining four days felt like an eternity to Zoro. Something told him not to move away from you and on the other hand, with every laugh you gave Leo's direction, it was as if he was hurting himself. Why did he have to feel this way? It was just a friendship, wasn't it?

He managed to control himself, many times he managed to control himself. Seeing you have lunch next to him, watching the man carry you from one place to another, the stupid gifts he insisted on giving you and even Leo daring to say he could train you with swords.

Zoro didn't know if there was a god or something, but he thanked the heavens when the last night began to fall. The next morning, you would set sail and he would no longer be forced to share his attention with the idiot who called himself your friend.

The tall bonfire at the edge of the small forest was surrounded by members of the Straw Hats, Leo and some other friends. Drinks and food piled up, as did stories and songs that Brook made a point of singing. Your lips no longer smiled so much, especially when your favorite swordsman met your gaze. He was distant, it had been five days since you had barely been able to speak to him and when you did, he seemed to be as dry as the Alabasta desert. On the other hand, these days you had met a much clingier version of Leo, even uncomfortable and you didn't know how to get away - and apparently the person who could help you with this, didn't seem to be so worried.

"Kitten?" Leo bent down, stopping at your ear level. "Can we talk alone real quick?"

"Why?" you asked, seeing him find the question strange.

"We need more booze!" the man ignored what you said and said it out loud. Pretending he wasn't already talking to you, he nudged you. "Come on, help me, kitten."

Zoro watched the man say something to you and your expression changed, sulking. Leo repeated the gesture again, ignoring that he had already spoken to you. Something possessive took over Zoro - something was wrong and he wouldn't sit still until he found out what it was. Leaving the sake aside, the swordsman stood up and, following a more hidden path than yours, accompanied you to the back of the warehouse - which was the supposed base that Leo had presented a few days ago.

"What is this, Leo?" you stopped in front of him, seeing that they had taken a different direction than you expected.

"I know you're leaving tomorrow, but… Why wouldn't you stay here?" he asked and you immediately shook your head, before your lips could even say it.

"They're my family now. I still adore you, everyone here, but I'm going back to the sea." Your answer seemed to disappoint him. "You know it's always been my dream."

"I know it's selfish of me." the man approached, holding your wrists and, more gently than you expected, he guided you against the wall. "I like you, I always have. If you want, we can go to the sea together, we can form a family, we can…"

"I have a boyfriend." Leo laughed in disbelief, still keeping your arms tied to his, in an even tighter grip. "Leo, you've always been my best friend. Let's not ruin that."

"Friends? You've been missing for years!" he growled, slamming your fists against the wall.

For a few seconds Zoro chose to just watch, hatred was in his eyes and if it weren't for your presence there, Leo would already be just a memory in this world. He knew you weren't a lady in distress and that if you wanted to get out of there, you would get out easily. But there was something written in your eyes, something he saw very few times in battle - fear.

Before the man repeated the gesture, you watched Leo's face get closer and when he was millimeters away, he stopped. His eyes immediately widened and before you understood what the glow was on the side of his neck, you saw a small trickle of blood appear on the man's jugular vein.

"Get your filthy hands off my girlfriend…" Zoro's low tone was even more threatening than if he had been shouting. "Before I take them out of your arms."

"So it's him." Leo muttered, frustration clear in his voice. "I should have suspected."

"I'm sorry." you whispered, without even understanding why you were apologizing.

"I could kill you right now and believe me, I'm still debating whether to do it." Zoro approached, now allowing Leo's entire neck to be covered by the blade. "But I'd hate to ruin the banquet."

"Don't worry about that." Leo threatened to pull his sword, but this time it was you who held his hand.

"Just go back there Leo, let's pretend this didn't happen." you asked and Zoro could now notice how stressed you looked, but at the same time relief appeared on your face.

"She's right." Zoro muttered, moving even closer to the man. "Let's pretend none of this happened and maybe tomorrow you won't wake up just to choke on your blood and die."

"Zoro!" Your voice sounded like a warning to him, who lowered his sword and let the man leave.

For a few seconds, the two of you just watched each other. It was good to be able to have your boyfriend there, finally within walking distance of you.

"How are you feeling?" Zoro took the initiative and held your hands, as if analyzing where the man touched you. When you felt them trembling, he placed a quick kiss between your fingers. "Did he do anything else?"

"No, he just wanted me to stay here." you let your body lean against the cold wall. "Why just now?"

"What do you mean by that?"

"All week I've been trying to reach you, bring you with me, integrate you with my friends here." you huffed, feeling Zoro get even closer to your body.

"I wanted to give you space." he lied and saw you laugh. The sound - which this time was exclusively for him - made Zoro's ego inflate.

"I didn't know you were the jealous type." a moan of relief almost escaped you when you felt his arms wrap around your waist.

"Not jealous, just protective."

"What's your bounty?" you imitated him, laughing again. "Isn't that jealousy?"

"No, kitten." this time, he let a soft laugh escape his lips.

"I am sorry dear." you sank into his chest, letting his hands slide down your back. "I was excited to see everything again and I didn't understand Leo's real intentions."

"And why didn't you defend yourself?" your eyes met his and then Zoro realized his mistake. "I mean, I'll always defend you, but I've seen you get out of worse situations."

"I know." Again you cuddled up, the cold wind sent shivers through your body. "It's just that he was a friend, you know? He saved me many times and I guess I didn't expect to have to fight with him. He was never a threat." The sound of Zoro's heart against your ear was comforting, it was like going back to any of the crows nest nights, where you would stay tangled up for hours. "I found his behavior strange, he was never like that, clingy. But I didn't know who to ask for help."

"I imagine it would be difficult." Zoro murmured, letting his lips touch the top of your head. "Sorry I didn't show up sooner, kitten." he teased you, getting another laugh from you.

"Time to stop this kitten."

"Are you sure, kitten?" he said again, but Zoro's voice came out a few octaves lower, his provocation took a new turn.

His hands that had been caressing your back found themselves on your waist and pressed you against the wall. One of them went up to your chin and held you steady, looking into his eyes, but not for long. Eliciting a moan, Zoro took your lips intensely. No time for little kisses, or any affection that could come first. His lips brought longing and the taste of sake, mixed with the sweetness of your lips.

One of his legs fit between your thighs, the hands that held your waist forced you against the fabric of his pants, moving you like an incentive. While the assault on your lips didn't stop, the heat in your intimacy began to accumulate and form a knot.

"Zoro, please." a strangled moan left your lips, trying hard to contain the noise and not attract the attention of anyone nearby.

"I'm here, love. I got you, just give it to me." his lips that bordered the sensitive spot below your ear took your lips and held all your moans just for him.

Zoro held you there for some time, sweat accumulated on your face as you were still panting. It was a version that didn't appear that often, but you loved it when Zoro lost himself caressing your face, letting his lips slide delicately across your skin.

"Zo, I think we should go back." despite yourself, you moved away from him a little. "By now, Leo should already have contact for everyone."

"Great, at least for one good thing this good-for-nothing will do." upon noticing your lost look, Zoro continued. "I was tired of hiding it."

"Are you sure?" his hands cupped your face, placing a chaste kiss on your lips.

"I love you woman, how can I not be sure of that?" the confession brought a huge smile to your lips.

"I love you more greenie."

Zoro took the lead and with his hand tied in yours, he guided you back to the fire. It was as if nothing had happened, everyone was still talking and drinking. Still feeling your legs weak from the little time you and Zoro had, you sat down and let him go get drinks.

Upon returning to his place, Zoro saw that even without saying anything, Leo was still staring at you, practically on the other side of the fire. With his chest puffed out in ego and relieved to finally have you back in his arms, Zoro sat behind you, so that you were between his legs and when he handed you your drink, he placed a kiss and a light bite on your neck. You were his and from now on that would be very clear.

"It can't be! It's too bad luck all at once!" Sanji's tearful voice attracted the attention of both of you and made you laugh out loud when you saw that the blonde was complaining precisely about the little scene between you two. "What does this mosshead have that I don't?"

"I knew!" Nami screamed and ripped Chopper's hat off. "You can go give me your money, you idiots."

"You guys bet on us?" you asked indignantly and to Nami, Usopp and Franky's joy, apparently they were the two winners.

"This world needs to end…" you laughed even harder when you saw Sanji handing the money to the navigator.

"That's it, now there are two idiots wanting what's mine." Zoro pulled you even closer to his body. "Only mine."

#reader insert #fiction #no use of y/n #requests open #zoro x you #zoro roronoa x reader #one piece zoro #zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #one piece fic

224 notes · View notes

muzansfangs · 8 months

Text

If you were their soulmate.

Starring: Aizen Sosuke x f!reader; Mayuri Kurotsuchi x f!reader; Uryuu Ishida x f!reader.

Format: head canons

Warnings: fluff, basically. Also, be aware that Uryuu is aged up and that Aizen’s part has some toxic traits. He is a walking red flag, after all.

Plot: how would they act if you were their soulmate and they were genuinely in love with you? Was it love at first sight, or were you two just friends at first?

Requested by: @stygianoir I’m sorry if it took me a while! I hope you liked it!

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Uryuu Ishida.

• For someone as logical and rational as him, it was impossible to believe it was love at first sight. Could something like that possibly exist? He did not trust his own feelings around you. You were a good person, he felt comfortable around you. Yet, the way you always seemed to understand him and support every decision he made was quite disturbing. It was impossible to be that connected to someone. It almost felt like a spiritual connection.

• He probably did not have any filter around you and was not afraid to show you his true colors. He was fine with not being judged as soemone too analytical and detached, for once. He liked the way you made him feel normal.

• He did not let anyone hurt you, or offend you in any way. It did not matter if it was during a fight, or in a more casual occasion. He even snapped at Ichigo out of the blue because he had accidentally spilt some coffee on your papers. You found it odd, of course, but it was sweet at some extent.

• He never failed to notice how beautiful you were. He always thought your appearence whetted his appetites, but he restrained himself from crossing the line of friendship for months. Why? He was frightened by the idea of losing you. What if you didn’t want him back? You two were definitely better off as friends. Or so he thought until something happened.

• Something happened, right. That was Ichigo trying to hit on you. He could not let that happen. Now he was absolutely sure that he could be a better boyfriend material than him, therefore he quickly made up his mind and decided to talk to you. Man on a mission: he interrupted Ichigo’s little speech and literally dragged you away from him.

• He thought it would have been easier for someone like him, so logical and precise. He was so wrong. As you two were alone and he could finally confess his feelings to you, he felt his heart sink into his chest. Oh, damn, your eyes. It was all your cute eyes’s fault. He got distracted! Naturally, he messed up his little mental plan on how to make you understand he liked you. Yet, it was cute.

• “Your eyes are so pretty. They leave me speechless” he simply blurted out, clenching his fists down his sides.

• A long silence followed that as you both blushed and you blinked at him in confusion. Uryuu panicked, of course, and the tips of his ears turned red. He knew words were not his forte at this point and he thought about kissing you instead.

• Yet, you surprised him when you said “I love you too, if that’s what you meant. Your eyes not quite bad too, by the way” you whispered, smiling softly.

• Uryuu smiled weakly and hugged you tightly. Yes, there was no doubt about it. You were definitely his soulmate. But his brain had short-circuited again and you had to clear your throat to remind him that he should have kissed you and not hugged you.

Aizen Sosuke.

• It was love at first sight. Or obsession, at first sight. He believed in that concept, but he never thought it would have ever happened to him. He was too self-centered, affected by his god complex and detached from any human emotion to feel a connection with someone. You were more than his obsession, at first. He was curious about you and how you simply seemed to break his walls and go with his flow without getting cut on his edges.

• As you two spent time together, he started to do some researches about the nature of some spiritual bonds among individuals and he found out that you two were most likely soulmates. What a shock. Aizen knew one thing for sure: if you were his soulmate, he had to have you by his side no matter what.

• ‘No matter what’ was a devious concept for him. Why? He did not care about what was the price to pay to win to you over, he would have done it. Or kidnapped you.

• As he watched you stroll around and talking with Shinji, he definitely uttered something among the lines of “Mine of no one else’s”. That night he trimmed his former Captain’s hair. Not long before that, Shinji became one of Aizen’s victims.

• As you seemed to be naturally drawn to him, though, he simply welcomed you into his life. He loved showing you a little soft side of him no one knew. You spent a lot of time sipping on tea and talking about calligraphy. You were so perfect for him. And he definitely loved it when you got too tired and fell asleep over his shoulder.

• Your natural predisposition for meddling into his business and figuring out his plans made him go crazy and he was soon forced to have a serious talk in the middle of the woods with you. You had stand by his side. If you were soulmates, you would have probably agreed in whatever wicked plans he had. Right?

• “Is this the part where you give me the choice to either follow you, or die right here? Of course I am in” you said, as he confronted you. Oh, the wolfish grin plastered over his face at that point was priceless.

• You were not as cruel as he was. You simply stack by his side and followed his orders, but he tried to keep your hands as clean as possible. After all, a beauty as yourself could not become too blood-thirsty. He did not want you to become as Gin, he was happy with having you glued by his hip.

• His confession was smooth. Right before he tricked Hinamori, he invited you to watch the fireworks together. After all, everybody did it and it would have been simply suspicious not to attend the mundane event. However, as you were sitting on the rooftop next to him, eyes twinkling for the technicolor lights exploding in the night sky, he grasped your jaw rather roughly and kissed you passionately.

• “Did I make it loud and clear?” he simply purred in your ear. Of course not. It was more than enough.

Mayuri Kurotsuchi.

• You caught the eye of this man. He probably wanted to experiment on you at first! Yet, as he studied your features better, he had to admit that you were too pretty for that and… What was that strange attraction he felt towards you? He wanted to know you, to be around you, to study you and not on you. The first thing he did after your first meeting was searching for answers and he got thunderstruck when he found them. He had a soulmate? That was absurd. It was weird thinking that you would have been able to understand him wholly and bear him at his worst.

• Ladies and gentlemen, he tried to be polite. The next day he tracked you down and apologized for his behavior. He told you he did not want to use you as a cavy anymore but that it would have been nice of you to help him understand if soulmates existed. That was his attempt to befriend you and it worked. He did not tell you he suspected you to he his soulmate at first. He did not want to scare you away.

• You two spent most of the time in his laboratory, helping him with his researches or, watching him do them, because he lost his patience over everything. But, eventually, you snapped. You tamed that maniac man by literally yelling at his face to calm down.

• He got offended at first.

• That little voice inside him told him to forgive you right away, though. How frustrating it was!

• After struggling to find a solution to a chemistry problem and you casually walked by dropping the solution, he was left speechless. He spent three alone, in the privacy of his room, to talk to himself about how could someone beat him at his own game.

• Months went by just like that, until you decided to sneak into his private room and rummage through his stuff. Finally, you found a file with your name over it and you were quite shocked to read that you were his soulmate. You planned to make your move on him, since he seemed to be too stubborn to confront you about it. However luck was not in your favor.

• He caught you with the papers in your hands and he fumed in anger.

• You were not even surprised by the argument that followed. It had become amusing at this point. But you knew how to turn the tables in your favor. As he yelled at you, you walked up to him slowly until just mere inches devided your faces.

• “How could you do that? You little—” he ranted, throwing his hands in the air as you simply captured his lips in yours with a kiss. Man, he stopped screaming and turned red from head to toe.

• “Oh. That was so much overdued, actually” he commented, rubbing his chin before kissing you again.

#bleach x reader #uryu ishida #uryu x reader #uryu x y/n #bleach uryu #ishida uryuu #bleach mayuri #mayuri x reader #mayuri kurotsuchi #aizen x reader #aizen x you #sosuke aizen x reader #aizen sosuke x reader #sosuke aizen #uryuu ishida #bleach aizen #aizen x y/n #bleach headcanons

595 notes · View notes

depravitycentral · 10 months

Text

Yandere! Feitan Portor General Profile

Yandere! Feitan Portor x fem! reader

Tw: kidnapping, violence, murder, mentions of torture, mentions of Feitan carving his initial into you, mentions of masturbation, stalking, jealousy, threats, Feitan tortures a man in front of you, I stand by the (semi) soft creepy yandere Feitan agenda and I will not be swayed otherwise, this got super long I'm so sorry, I'm also delirious as I'm writing it so hopefully it makes coherent sense/is consistent, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

DARLING PROFILE:

Empathetic

In general, Feitan finds his attention drawn by a darling who is almost the complete opposite of himself.

He wants someone sweet and caring, all soft and squishy and warm. He’s never found this particularly attractive before meeting his darling, but there’s something oddly endearing about the way they’re always trying to help those around them, fruitlessly asking them to vent about their feelings, to use them as a supportive shoulder.

It makes him scoff, rolling his eyes and wondering at how impossibly naive his darling can be, but even he can’t deny how nice it is to have someone by his side, a human presence that’s steady and calm and understanding. It makes him feel good, a warm sensation bottling up in his chest and threatening to explode out, and although he’ll never really come clean with how he feels for you (at least, he never will verbally), a darling who can kind of read his rather emotionless face would be a very, very big attraction for him.

He just wants a darling who can understand him, even if his rational brain loathes the idea. An empathetic darling is sure to draw his attention, if only because he’ll be mildly revolted and intrigued by how they can be so selfless and so foolish.

Submissive

Feitan doesn’t want a feisty darling.

He doesn’t enjoy having to tame his lovers, and although he’s never really had a lover, he gravitates towards someone who is more naturally submissive and willing to follow direction.

He already feels powerless enough in the situation, frustrated that he doesn’t really have any say in how he feels. It scares him, quite honestly, if only because he doesn’t like how easily and quickly he’s jumping to conclusions where his darling is concerned, more than willing to jump through any hoop necessary in order to get what he wants, in order to make sure his darling is safe and isolated from every other man on Earth.

He likes knowing that his darling will do what he tells them to; it builds a layer of trust that makes Feitan go feral, and for every ounce of trust his darling gives him, he’ll try to return it as full heartedly as he can. He likes that he’s fully in control of his darling, and particularly if they were to be submissive in more… intimate aspects of the relationship, he’d be absolutely smitten.

He just wants his darling to revere him and believe his word as the word of God, and the moment that happens?

He’s only falling deeper into obsession, his desperation for them growing with every beat of his heart, getting harder and harder to swallow until he gives up, jumping head first into every swirling, dark, lecherous desire he harbors.

Soft

Of course, Feitan’s darling doesn’t have to have a softer body, but he can’t deny that there’s something enticing about a darling who is physically quite soft. Whether that’s rounder features, a plumper figure, or even a soft, demure voice, it all entrances Feitan.

His darling is something of a dream to him, because he’s never really believed that someone that stereotypically weak could ever really survive in this world. He likes how his darling feels, the touches he sneaks late at night when they’re sleeping sending sparks up his spine and serving as fuel for when he’s unbearably horny, his hand around his cock not nearly enough.

He’s prone to fantasizing about his darling, slipping into daydreams of his they’d feel in his lap, how they’d look with their ass up and face pressed into the mattress, how they’d feel so good wrapped around him. He just thinks it’s oddly endearing, and a darling who fits these characteristics would help initially draw his eye - he just thinks they’re pretty, a polar opposite to him, even going so far as to playing into some of his more protective traits.

Of course, he’d rather die than admit any of it, but he’s interally a bit soft for his darling - they’re just alluring in an almost primal way he can’t describe, but he can’t fight it. He can’t fight anything when it comes to his darling, as it turns out, and soon Feitan will decide that he doesn’t care.

After all, once his darling steps into his life and stays there, nothing at all matters - how can it, when he’s decided that they’re his, his woman to keep and admire and touch and fuck?

(It will take him a very, very long time to get comfortable with either of the last two options, but the desire and sentiment is still there, if the frequent raging erections he gets as a result of his darling is any indicator.)

Talkative

This trait is one of the things Feitan loves and hates most about his darling.

He enjoys listening to them talk; he himself isn’t particularly fond of conversation, nor is he particularly talkative towards his darling in general. And so, a partner who is capable of filling the silence between them sometimes is something that makes Feitan grateful, if only because hearing the sound of their voice makes his breath hitch.

And when they talk to him, all their attention aimed solely at him?

Well, how can Feitan not be flattered, not feel a bit prideful that they’re spending their time directing all their focus and thoughts around whatever small question he prompted them with? He just likes listening to his darling go on and on, even if the topic doesn’t interest him much. However, the downside of this trait is that it creates a rather ugly combination with his tendency to grow jealous.

If his darling is talkative with everyone, it’s sure to extend towards the men they meet, who just stare at them like they’re a slab of meat waiting to be devoured, all of them eager to get their hands on them and destroy what Feitan has claimed as his own. It’s infuriating, if only because it means that they’re interacting with others, putting themselves into a position where they could develop feelings for another man or be put into harm’s way or overhead something they shouldn’t have or any number of things.

It becomes a massive liability, and one that Feitan is so, so very aware of. It irritates him, and as much as he loves when his darling is chatting with him, he’s not so approving when they're with others.

And so, it’s really in his darling’s best interest to reign in the conversations with anyone else - unless they want to see their blood splattered all over the walls, hear their cries, feel Feitan’s red soaked fingers grasp onto their arms and force them to see the results of their chattiness. It’s in their best interest, and they’ll learn that soon enough. Hopefully.

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:

Distant

There’s a part of Feitan that genuinely hates you for making him feel the way he does. The constant pounding of his heart when you’re merely mentioned, the throb in his chest when he’s gone too long without seeing you, the nervous twitch of his fingers when he thinks about what you’re doing, what other man you’re thinking about…

He hates how paranoid you’ve made him, how so much of his time and energy goes into you. It’s your fault that he’s always distracted, that he’s not able to fully focus on his work anymore because he’s only able to think of you you you. It’s frustrating, and honestly it initially wards Feitan off from getting any closer to you - he doesn’t like the way he feels around you (that’s not true, but he needs it to be), so he’ll stay away and ignore you. Maybe that’ll get you to stop smiling at him so kindly, to quit asking him how his day was, to stop looking so pretty while you hum and make yourself dinner.

As time passes, slowly this hatred diminishes (or at least dulls), instead replaced with a desperate, pathetic need to be around you; he just can’t keep himself away from you, no matter how hard he tries. It’s demoralizing, embarrassing beyond belief that someone like you could get his emotions so twisted, but it’s reality.

He tries to fight it at first, believing himself to be above such stupid human emotion – he doesn’t need you, he’s a criminal and has never needed love or anything of the sort. And yet, each and every time he tells himself to not trail behind you as you walk to the grocery store, his resolve holds out for roughly five minutes. By then, there’s unwelcome thoughts drifting through his mind about what you’re doing, whether you’re talking to anyone, if you’ve managed to trip like you always do and scrape your knee.

(There’s even a small, very small part of him that wonders whether you’re buying foods that are nutritious for you, or whether you’re doing your usual junk food spree. A thought pops up in the back of his head: him beside you in the store, scoffing as you place chips into the cart. He’d replace them with fruit, mumbling something about you being so stupid, only to see you smile at him and thank him, telling him how grateful you are to have him watching over you. His cheeks feel hot at that, and he buries his face deeper into his jacket, grumbling under his breath.)

He’ll try to stop himself from circling back to you, but each and every time he finds some excuse of why he should be watching you, of how you aren’t really capable of taking care of yourself without his watchful gaze. It’s patronizing, more than anything, but eventually he’ll stop trying to fight it, submitting entirely and allowing himself the concealed pleasure of watching your horribly mundane life.

He’ll need to be around you, constantly, but he’s still not willing to let his emotional guard down. No, you’ve done enough damage just simply existing - you absolutely cannot know how deeply he feels for you, how wrapped around your pinky finger you have him. Not only would it eliminate any semblance of leverage he holds against you (in order to stay above you, that is), it also showcases just how far the extent of his feelings for you run.

And frankly, the thought terrifies Feitan – he’s never felt so strongly for anyone before, not even in the context of hatred or pleasure at their suffering. He’s in over his head, wading through waters he's always scoffed at and dismissed, and suddenly he’s finding himself nearly drowning, head always buried just under the surface.

So he steels himself, grabbing onto any shred of control and power he can against you – he grabs on and clutches on, strong fingers frantically staying attached so that he doesn’t get blown away and truly drown. And even in the beginning of your captivity, Feitan won’t change the way he’s so detached. He’s purposefully putting distance between the two of you so that he can remain in control of the situation, in control of you, and – most importantly, and most concerningly – in control of himself.

Because frankly, Feitan doesn’t trust himself around you. He doesn’t trust the way his body just does things, how any rational thought leaves his brain the moment your eyes meet, how fingers are already lifting up a bit to reach out touch you, to brush away stray pieces of your hair when you’re within a few feet of him.

The biggest way he maintains this control is by not giving you a whole lot of attention, aside from one stark, grave exception: his dark eyes are constantly watching you. He’s always just sort of staring, his expression blank as he observes you, motionless and still. It’s unnerving, terrifying you initially and only slightly calming down as time passes, but Feitan doesn’t care much.

He doesn’t necessarily want to interact with you, but just watching you allows him to be in your space, to be beside you, to smell you and listen to your breathing. You’re kept in one large room most of the time, and he’ll often sit in the chair in the corner and just stare. He’s not talking much, not trying to touch you or hurt you, but you almost wish he would sometimes.

He just doesn’t understand what about you it is that attracts him so deeply, that’s morphed him into this lovesick fool, and while he initially tries to understand, eventually Feitan gives up, because does it really matter?

Does it really matter how he became obsessed with you when you’re locked up in his spare bedroom, duct tape covering your mouth and an expressionless, frozen Feitan watching you with his heart practically bursting out of his chest? Does it really matter if he pinpoints exactly when he developed his love for you when you’re looking at him with those pretty tears in your eyes, whispering out a thanks as he sets the tray of food down in front of you?

It really doesn’t, now that his feelings for you are formed and solidified, now that they can’t be changed or reversed. So while he’ll never be the most accessible and sympathetic to your feelings, rest assured that Feitan really does love you in some fucked up way - he’s just unorthodox, incapable of properly expressing himself to you.

But actions speak louder than words, right? He’s always thought so.

Obsessive

Because Feitan is relatively quiet and secretive when it comes to his feelings towards you, it’s difficult for you to really pick up on this aspect of him. You’re unlikely to ever truly understand just how much he feels for you, the sheer depth of emotions you cause him.

He won’t ever tell you what’s going on behind that expressionless facade of his. He doesn’t tell you how oddly adorable you are when you’re sleeping in the early mornings, curled up in the corner of your room with your eyes shut and lips slightly parted, looking so soft and sweet and weak.

He’ll never make you aware of how his breath hitches ever so slightly when you make eye contact with him, even if it’s shaky and you look away too quickly, his spine tingling because fuck, your attention feels good.

You’ll never know why his foot is tapping lightly when you’re eating in front of him, the way those annoying nerves eat away at his stomach while he subconsciously wonders if you think he looks attractive today. (He’d trimmed his hair a bit, feeling it was too long and interfering with his work - do you like it? Did you notice? He’d hesitated a bit with the scissors earlier, brows slightly furrowing, dark eyes glancing at your sleeping form.)

He’s very cryptic, and this tendency to keep you out of the loop of his personal thoughts and feelings can cast a shadow on his more obsessive tendencies. That is, before he’s stolen you away from the world, Feitan did an extensive amount of research into you. He does nothing on a whim - he’s a calculating man, and once he’d finally come to terms with the fact that his feelings for you weren’t going to disappear, he was scouring every resource possible to garner your information.

He’s got access to all kinds of personal knowledge about you - your search history, for example. It’s a bit unexpected, if Feitan’s being honest - you’re much darker than he’d expected, the things you read about making him quirk a brow, his interest in you only deepening because hmm, seems the little sheep may be a bit of a wolf inside.

He’s getting Shalnark to hack into the camera of your phone and computer, the stream of footage easy to access as he cleans his tools, blood washing away as you smile and laugh at some comedy you’re watching.

It’s stupid and at first he pretends to find your laugh annoying. But then he sees the way your cheeks get all full and round as you smile, your eyes crinkling up, even the way you wheeze slightly when it’s really funny.

(Briefly, he wonders whether you’d find his dry sense of humor entertaining.)

He’s got photographs of you from his time spent trailing you, and though they’re a bit blurry and not as focused as he’d like, they’re still something nice to pin to his wall, keeping his favorites beside his bed. He’s never had trouble sleeping, but something about looking at you as he drifts into slumber makes him rest more soundly, wake up more refreshed.

Once you’ve been trapped with him for long enough, however, Feitan’s front of careful indifference to you will slowly begin cracking. You’ll never see fully through him, but you’ll catch the way the corners of his lips twitch up ever so slightly when you snuggle into the blanket he gives you one day, noticing how you’ve been shivering incessantly at night.

(He won’t tell you the blanket was freshly stolen, that he’d made sure to take one with the softest, thickest material he could find, and even in your favorite color. It’s just a coincidence, so don’t read into it.)

You’ll realize he’s slowly inched closer to you the longer you watch the television program Feitan turned on earlier, your spot on the couch feeling smaller and smaller as Feitan’s hip eventually brushes yours, neither of you acknowledging what’s happening.

(You’ll never know how badly he wants to reach out and touch you, to freely run his hand up and down your thigh, so trace your collarbones, to feel just how soft your body is.)

It all makes him feel weak, pathetic, disgusting, but Feitan can’t help it. There’s something magnetic about you, and he can’t pull himself away. His pride won’t allow him to fully succumb to the thoughts and desires about you that are constantly swirling through his mind, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there, that they aren’t bothering him constantly. He’s secretive, and maybe it’s for the best that you don’t know how many nights he’s spent with his fingers wrapped around his cock, his pale cheeks rosy as he imagines the way you’d like tied up with hickeys he made spanning the insides of your thighs.

Perhaps it’s best that you don’t know how often he’s (begrudgingly) held the extra pillow on his bed close to his chest, dark eyes staring up at the ceiling as he tightens his arms around it.

(No, he wasn’t imagining it was you – he’s a touch starved man, and everyone has urges, right? It’s just coincidence that the pillow casing is one he stole from you, that he never washes it because it smells like you, that he nearly loses his mind when he almost gets a drop of blood from a victim on it.)

It makes it much easier to scare you into what he wants when you don’t know - you’re much more complainant this way, malleable, willing, and Feitan likes it that way. Sure, having you fall in love would be ideal, getting your obedience through a genuine desire to please him, but at least this way he can keep a piece of his pride intact.

This way, you’ll never realize the power you have over him - how he’d be willing to wipe out entire towns for you if you so much as mention it. You’ll never understand just how he needs to have you - to have you for what, you don’t know, but you can sense the odd sort of desperation coming off of him.

You can feel it in the way his fingers grip you just a bit too tight, the way his eyes linger on you just a tad too long, the way the smallest, most embarrassing little whimper falls from his lips when your hand touches his.

He’s good at hiding it, but everyone makes mistakes - just don’t pry too hard, because Feitan still needs to be the one in control, and you’ll quickly find yourself learning much, much more about the short man than you’ve ever wanted to know. Namely, that the only thing worse than him staring at you is him ignoring you.

Protective

Although, it will take you a very long time to see this side of him. Initially, Feitan’s feelings towards you are that of mild interest, mild disgust, and mild indifference.

Mild interest because he had, of course, noticed that you were pretty, what with your soft lips and doe eyes, your figure and the lilt of your voice. Indifference, because Fietan was sure there were a thousand other people just like you on Earth. And disgust, because you were so visibly weak and unable to fend for yourself, like an animal waiting to be slaughtered.

And yet, the more time he spends around you (maybe a long job has him centered in the same city for a few weeks, and you work at the little store he gets his meals from, or some other service job that brings you in contact regularly), the more complex these feelings become. His interest becomes peaked because you’re not just pretty, but also entertaining to talk to, handling his dry jabs well and even daring to throw back some jokes of your own. (He never laughed, of course, but a wry smile sat underneath his jacket.)

He’s still a bit indifferent, but not when you’re helping other customers or smiling down at your phone. (Were you texting someone? Your fingers were moving, implying typing – what were they saying that was making you giggle like that? What could he say that would make you giggle? Why does he care?)

But the starkest, quickest change of heart that Fietan experiences in how he feels about your strength and abilities. Of course, you are weak. Even if you can use nen, even if you know the basics of self defense – Feitan is sure that he could kill you in the blink of an eye, cleanly, easily. (He’s sure because he’s thought of doing it before – never seriously, just a fleeting thought, something that only briefly passed through his mind when he was still resistant to his attraction towards you – it was promptly expelled after that familiar sinking, uncomfortable feeling started up in his gut, but still.)

You’re embarrassingly weak, really, and as much as he tries to make himself ignore it or to simply stop caring about it, he can’t get it out of his head. He can’t seem to stop imagining you getting hurt, doing something stupid or careless and tarnishing that pretty skin of yours.

He can’t seem to stop imagining the way you’d take a corner too fast and slip on your own feet, tumbling to the ground and ending up with a sprained ankle or a scrape across your knee.

He’ll be sharpening a blade, blood stains caked onto the metal, and suddenly a flash of what your blood would look like staining the material makes him freeze for a moment, black eyes just a tad bit wider, the muscles in his arms and legs taut because there’s something sickening about the thought, something malicious and just carnally wrong.

He can’t help but imagine how you’d fare against someone like his coworkers, whose strength is difficult to handle even for an experienced nen user. How would someone like you fare against someone like Uvogin? Someone like Shizuku? Hell, even someone like Kortopi?

(Upon first meeting Hisoka, a very sudden and very intrusive image of the clown slicing a card clean through your throat flashed through his mind, and he’d nearly reached forward and ripped out the taller man’s heart at the thought, a purely instinctual response that left him more shell-shocked than he’d care to admit.)

He knows you wouldn’t stand a chance, and while he doesn’t want it to bother him, it does. It does, as much as he tries to forget the mental images or assure himself that you deserve getting injured for being so weak and helpless. But he can’t just sit still and let it pass by, if it were to ever happen - and so, Feitan’s protective tendencies begin manifesting.

They’re small, for the most part; making sure to keep his torture tools as far away from you as possible, just so that there’s no chance of you accidentally tripping or running into one or being stupid and getting any ideas.

He’s making sure that you’re under his watch as often as possible, becoming your second shadow and stalking you every free moment he can spare, just in case someone unsavory crosses your path.

He’s making sure that all your locks are working every night, compulsively checking them even though he knows they’re still good.

He keeps his protective tendencies under wraps, making sure that they’re subtle and just ambiguous enough that you won’t pick up on his intentions. Because while there’s something appealing about you knowing that he wants you to be safe, he would rather you not find out just how extensively he watches you, just how much he cares about your wellbeing, deciding that it’s yet another potential opportunity for you to manipulate him.

And of course, he’s embarrassed - he briefly considers requesting help watching you from a Troupe member or two, only for when he’s aware for long periods of times on individual jobs, but eventually he chickens out, too scared to have to explain why he wants Pakunoda to keep an eye on you.

He’s not embarrassed of you, per se, but rather the extent to which you affect him. And even once he’s stolen you away (an action which has roots in his paranoia for your safety), those protective tendencies are still firmly in place. He’s not a good cook, but he still tries to provide you with somewhat healthy foods, even if they’re undercooked and limp, bland and just overall unappealing.

He’s by no means an interior designer, but he’s getting you a somewhat soft, thick blanket, making sure the one pillow you have isn’t covered in stains or lumpy. It’s all subtle, nearly unnoticeable things that you’d have to be very perceptive to catch onto - but to Feitan it’s all important, because while he may still resent you for turning him into a lovesick fool, he’ll be damned if he lets you starve or be uncomfortable.

It’s stupid and he knows it, grumbling to himself the entire time he’s doing something to prevent hurting you, but it’ll always get done - and if you were to ever notice it, to thank him? Feitan would deny your allegations, telling you to shut up and eat your food, all the while the tips of his ears turn pink and his heart flutters because you noticed.

You noticed the way he takes extra precautions for you, the way he thinks of you and your wellbeing, even having the gall to thank him for it…

Don’t bring it up again or he’ll grow angry, but the pride sitting in his chest at your words is enough for him. It’s enough for him to know you see him, that you’re paying attention to him, that you appreciate all he does for you - it’s enough for now, at least.

DEALING WITH RIVALS:

Feitan is, unfortunately, a bit prone to jealousy – as someone who is aware that he isn’t the best option out there for you, the acknowledgement that there is a multitude of other men that deserve you more and could likely land you never fails to get past him.

He’s so, so aware of the fact that you likely don’t like him, that stalking you and planning to kidnap you likely doesn’t earn him any favors. He knows he’s fairly quiet, and while it’s mostly a fear of mildly embarrassing himself that bars him from actually interacting with you, it only pushes Feitan to worry that you only see him as a strange, unfamiliar man.

It’s likely that you think of him as nothing more than an acquaintance, a man who doesn’t seem to want anything to do with you. And so, the minute that another person tries to flirt with you, to look at you and think of you and speak with you, the insecurities over how you perceive him are blooming in his chest, growing and blossoming into full blown panic, because what if you fall for another man?

Of course, Feitan has absolutely no problem eliminating the threat, even enjoying taking the life of such a worthless man, but he can’t help the way fear grips his heart, cold and stabbing and brutal, because while he may be icy and difficult to approach, a stone face that leaves little emotion o be seen, Feitan wants you so fucking badly, to the point that it genuinely hurts.

And while he isn’t all that soft towards the beginning of his obsession (and really, even once you’ve been ‘living’ with him for a while as well), he does honestly want for you to return the feelings, to love him and care for him, to want to be with him and enjoy your new life by his side. Ideally, he wants you to fall for him, to see him and smile, to have your soft skin pressed against his rougher, more callused skin, your hands cupped in a firm embrace, a soft hug, a kiss against the lips and short, whispered words of trust and acceptance.

Of course, it’s makes him feel so damn pathetic each time he gets caught in a daydream where you’re smiling and laughing with him, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and telling him he’s handsome, but try as he may, he just can’t allow another man to steal the opportunity to make you theirs.

He wants to be the only one in your life, the only man you see and think of and talk to, and quite honestly Feitan will succeed – his profession is death after all, and he’s a master at stalking his prey, locating their weaknesses, seamlessly killing and annihilating his target before they even have a chance to fight back.

And so, once his jealousy is triggered, the poor man’s fate has already been decided. Feitan’s never been particularly merciful, and where you’re concerned, this trait only grows - it feels good to kill whoever dared to speak with you, like some sort of cathartic release of all the emotions he’s been bottling up, all the anger and desperation and self-loathing and yearning trapped in his chest.

It feels good, euphoric in a way he can’t describe, and so he’s quick to jump on any man posing a potential threat to your status as single and ripe for Feitan to claim. He’s a trained killer, after all, and who is he to waste away a perfectly good target?

When the man in the black dress shirt approaches you in the grocery store, Feitan’s eyes narrow. The shorter man had been trailing you all day, watching you go about your weekly errands, and the tri-annual trip to the grocery store had been your last stop. You’d managed to evade any male attention today, a fact that had Feitan simultaneously sighing in relief and growling in anger.

And yet, here you are, dressed in a rather provocative set of leggings that have Feitan’s eyes absolutely glued to your supple ass, matched with a slouchy, oversized sweatshirt. You’re cute, he begrudgingly admits, and it seems the stranger agrees.

Feitan’s standing in the next aisle over, staring through the holes in the shelving to see the way you tap your chin and scan the aisles of bread, searching for the perfect loaf. You don’t seem to have noticed the man slowly walking up to you, his eyes visibly scanning up and down your body. Feitan scowls, black brows drawing tightly together as he debates what to do.

On the one hand, there’s not much he can do - you’re in a public grocery store, and he doesn’t particularly want you to notice his presence. And yet, he can’t just let this man approach you, speak to you, look at you, now can he? He grits his teeth, steeling himself to just watch for now, and jump in if the time is right, if he feels the man goes too far. The man clears his throat, making you jump and look over at him, the suave smile he sends you making your own smile falter a bit.

Which bread’s best? He’s asking you, and you answer quickly, naming your favorite brand and which style you like best - Feitan’s scowl only deepens when he realizes you’re telling him the truth.

The man nods along, before his smirk turns smarmy, one eyebrow cocked up as he asks which rolls are best then? I’m thinking they’re yours.

You blanch at that, disgust written across your face as you awkwardly laugh and inch away, but Feitan sees none of that - how can he, when he’s already moving, already grabbing the man by the neck and sprinting down the aisle and around the corner, all too fast for you to see with the naked eye?

You’re confused, unsure of how the man just suddenly disappeared, but his comment left you shellshocked and lost at what to do, so you quickly grab a random loaf and anxiously push your cart away, trying to put distance between you and wherever the man had ended up.

Meanwhile, Feitan’s got the man held against the back wall of the grocery store, fingers wrapped around his neck and a cold, menacing look in his eye.

Bastard, he grits out, tightening his grip and feeling the way the man panics and scratches at his fingers, trying to rip them away.

Disgusting, she is mine, didn’t your mother teach don’t touch what’s not yours? Feitan’s shocked he hasn’t just slaughtered the man yet, but there’s something in his heart telling him to prolong this out, to let the man suffer, to make this as slow and torturous as possible. He wants the man to bleed, to scream and sob and beg for his mercy, for being stupid enough to even try to seduce you.

Feitan’s angry enough that his breathing is uneven, his muscles occasionally flexing without his permission, the rage simmering in his veins nearly potent. He can’t stop replaying the sight of your disgusted and uncomfortable look, the fact that this scum caused you to feel such an emotion making his skin feel hot, his fingers eager to steal the man’s life.

He smiles as the man wheezes, the lack of oxygen making his face slowly take on a purple hue. What’s wrong? Can’t breath?

He squeezes once, harshly, roughly, and the man splutters, spit dribbling down his chin and getting onto Feitan’s wrist. He scoffs. Filthy, disgusting. Die.

And then the man is being stabbed with his sword, not once, not twice, but again and again and again, until holes and wounds decorate the planes of his chest, blood flowing down in rivers onto the dirty concrete floor.

The man is dead within a matter of seconds, but it’s not enough for Feitan. He’s quick to throw the body to the ground, kicking and stomping and mutilating the body until its unrecognizable. He’s still breathing hard, his fingers shaking, and he finishes it off with a spit at what was once the man’s face, a scowl thrown his way.

Pathetic, he says, dark eyes closing for a few moments as he looks to sense your familiar presence, already on your walk back towards your apartment. Feitan gives one last, firm kick, before taking off, the urge to have his eyes on you once more making him rush even quicker than normal. He’ll spend the rest of the evening watching you, like always, but this time he’ll pay more attention to your face.

You’ve never looked at him the way you looked at that man, all scared and revolted.

You’ve never tried to get away from Feitan, never ran or panicked or anything of the sort. Pride swells in his chest at the knowledge that you like the dark haired man more than that mangled corpse; you’d choose Fietan over him, he’s sure.

And as you slip under your covers, a soft look on your face as you drift to sleep, Feitan can’t help but slide open the window, slipping into the bedroom and coming up to stand beside your unconscious form.

Would you choose him over other men?

If given the choice, would you want him?

He’d always choose you, his heart always coming back to you no matter what he does or how he hates it - and one day, he’s hopeful you’ll feel the same. One day, you’ll be just as stupidly, pathetically, frantically in love as he is.

He sighs, the corner of his mouth twitching up. Someday, you’ll be all his.

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

It takes Feitan a long time to resort to kidnapping you. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, but rather that it’s never been a priority for him. He’s reclusive, and because it takes him so long to sort out his feelings for you, stealing you away was certainly not at the forefront of his mind.

It takes him so long to even admit to himself that he cares for you, and that process alone takes anywhere from a month to three months, and only then does the stalking begin. Only then is he allowing the feelings for really grow, to fester and brew in his chest until he’s insatiable, desperate to see you and be in your presence. It takes him so long to warm up to you that he just simply doesn’t have the time or forethought to consider taking you for himself - that is, until his protective tendencies begin coming into play. Once he starts actively caring about your safety and wellbeing, little thoughts begin springing up in the back of his mind. He’s chastising you mentally for staying up late, the hands on the clock moving past hours he’s comfortable with.

He doesn’t like when you lay in your bed scrolling through that damn phone of yours, the bright light bad for your eyes and making you delay sleeping for as long as possible. It makes him angry (if not hypocritical, seeing as he himself only gets roughly four hours of sleep per night), and before he can even stop himself he’s thinking of how he’d make you fall asleep if he was with you, prying that phone out of your hands and telling you to sleep now.

He doesn’t like when you walk home alone at night, as if you’re practically asking to be mugged or assaulted or killed, which is why he has to follow you, begrudgingly hiding in the shadows and trailing you as you meander back to your apartment.

You’re stupid, is what you are, and as time passes, Feitan becomes more and more shocked at how lightly you take your own life - how can one single person be so careless? How can you be willing to eat food so close to the expiration date, or look both ways at the sidewalk just once? You’re helpless, truly, and it pisses Feitan off.

It makes him mad, if only because he’s trying so much harder than you are to keep you safe, and isn’t it unfair to him? Isn’t it awfully inconsiderate of you to make him spend so much time looking after you, doing everything for you because you’re so damn incapable? It’s a negative view and Feitan doesn’t really blame you, only convincing himself he does in order to make him feel better. It’s an excuse to help him feel like he isn’t as attached as he really is, a way to help alleviate some of the embarrassment he has regarding his feelings for you.

It’s pathetic, he thinks, but then something happens - something bad, something Fietan had hoped never would. Somehow, an enemy of the Troupe had discovered you. Maybe he was too preoccupied by keeping his eyes on you that he missed the stranger’s presence, unknowingly leading them directly to you.

Sweet, weak, defenseless you.

Time is frozen for Feitan as he returns from Troupe work, slinking to your apartment and letting himself in the front door, knowing that although it’s horribly late, you’re surely freshly asleep - except, the door is already ajar, and Feitan feels his blood run cold. There’s someone here. It doesn’t matter if they’re a friend or enemy to you - why the fuck is there another person in your home at such an ungodly hour?

The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, and for a moment Feitan feels pure, absolute panic - you’re incapable of warding someone off, especially if you’re asleep, and although he feel sense your presence, there’s a distinct aura coming from your bedroom that isn’t yours. He’s quick to rush in, dark eyes narrowing when he sees the figure over your bed, a man hunched over and about to touch you -

His sword is slicing through the man’s neck before he can even blink, head dropping to the ground with a dull thud and blood pooling where it lands. His chest is rising and falling rapidly, brows pinched together and his grip on the sword hilt tight.

His gaze flicks to where you’re still sleeping peacefully, utterly unaware of the man standing beside your bed and the lifeless corpse bleeding out onto your floor. He’s got no choice, really - there’s something ugly stirring in his chest, something big and bad and painful, and he’s reaching out and scooping you into his arms all too quickly.

The man surely was after Feitan - he’d looked at him with recognition, and Feitan can only swallow and tighten his grip on you ever so tightly, hopping out your window and taking off into the night, the makeshift home he’d been residing in lately eventually coming upon the horizon.

The whole event spurs Feitan to believe that relocation is really the best option - his enemies are aware of you now, and who’s to say more won’t come knocking? How does he know you won’t be targeted again, those with vendettas against the Troupe knowing that someone weak and such an Achilles Heel like you would be the perfect revenge?

He doesn’t, and so although he’s grimacing and slightly worried to have you under the same roof, he sets you down on the hard mattress, giving you a few glances before closing the door, sighing to himself and hoping you wake up soon.

Feitan, once you’ve been stolen away, is mostly just an enigma to you.

He’s so painfully unexpressive, so difficult to interact with that you’ll be left to wonder just why he stole you away, why he even bothered to take you when he seems so utterly disinterested in you. He doesn’t talk to you - outside of a few clipped, short commands, he’ll hardly ever let you hear his voice.

Particularly in the beginning of your captivity, he would listen to your crying and begging to be released silently, his eyes slightly narrowed before a small, curt stop filled the room.

He’s never given you any sort of an explanation for why you woke up in his home one day, even when you ask him over and over again. He’ll only look at you, dark eyes fixed on your face, before telling you to go to sleep, you need sleep and promptly shutting and locking the bedroom door. He’s entirely unwilling to really interact with you in any meaningful way - except, it’s not because he hates you, or because he’s simply biding his time to kill you.

You may think that, fear swimming through your veins every time you see him, but it couldn’t be further from the truth - he’s not interacting with you much because there’s a part of Feitan that’s honestly afraid to. It makes him feel stupid and pitiful, but every time he tries to ask you a question or tell you something, the words just sort of die in his throat, his tongue frozen in his mouth even as he tries to move, tries to interact and get you to just look at him, dammit.

Honestly, he’s embarrassed to speak to you - he’s been watching you for so long, acting as your shadow and seeing you so natural and perfect and raw, and he’s grown used to having a front row seat without having to do anything. He’s not used to you being able to see him or hear him or even know he’s there at all. It’s scary to have you be aware of him, placing him in an uncomfortable position where he can no longer simply watch you or long for you from afar - no, now, as much as he hates to admit it, he cares about your opinion.

He cares about how you view him, how you perceive him, what you think about him. He wants you to think he’s funny when he tells cutting jokes, and generous when he gives you bowls of semi-cold soup. He wants you to find him attractive, catching your eyes settling on his body or your fingers running through his ebony locks.

He wants your opinion to be favorable, but despite how strong this desire is, the fear that you’ll find him weird outweighs it. He knows it’s stupid, but he’s terrified that you’ll think he’s strange, a freak, some sort of monster if he talks with you. He’s scared he’ll say something wrong, something to scare you or offend you, and while he may be a mass murderer and an atrocious man, there’s something about the way your eyes would get all glassy and teary, face contorting into disgust as you physically recoil from him that makes his gut wrench, a small frown tugging at the corner of his lips.

He’s too awkward and nervous to speak with you - and so, he resorts instead to the staring, to the watching, to the observing. It’s what he knows best, after all, considering that was how most of his time was spent before kidnapping you. This is better; he has control in this situation, and he won’t accidentally slip and say something that bears too much truth, that lets you in on too much of what’s going on in his head.

There’s less room for error if he relegates himself to minimal verbal and physical interaction, and while he aches to reach out and touch you, to feel the softness of your cheeks or the texture of your hair, he’s restraining himself. Just the mere thought of your skin against his gets him shivering, but it’s quite easy to overwhelm him; he’s not used to being the recipient of your attention, and while it feels good to have you looking at him and attempting to start conversations, it can get to be too much for him very quickly.

It’s easy enough to answer trivial questions; things like what the food is that he placed in front of you (doesn’t matter, it’s good is all he’ll answer with) or inquiries into why he wears that same massive coat all the time (warm and my favorite color).

Those are easy enough, not breaching too close to anything personal or anything that you could use against him. But the more complex questions, or - once the Stockholm Syndrome eventually kicks in and you’re so lonely you’ll happily converse with your kidnapper - compliments?

As soon as the words slip from your lips, a simple your eyes are pretty or a I hope you sleep well makes him stiffen up a bit, lips parting ever so slightly under that cowl of his, before he’s quickly darting out the door and slamming it shut behind him. He has to take a few moments to collect himself, his ears and cheeks feeling hot because god, you were looking right at him, and you’d even said his name.

(He spends the rest of the night in the basement, compulsively cleaning and recleaning his torture tools over and over, trying to distract himself from replaying your compliments over and over in his head, ingraining the sound of your voice and the tingling warmth he felt into his brain. Everything is sparkling clean by the time he’s done, a few hours having passed, and yet he’s spent the whole time thinking of you, letting you plague his thoughts like you always do.)

He just can’t handle having all of your attention on him like that, and although he gets better at it and more used to it as time goes on, he’ll still be very skittish. He’s like a feral cat; he’ll stalk and watch, staring at you with beady eyes from the corner of the room while you try and act natural, only to scamper away when you try to reach out and pet.

You’ll be starved for human contact as his captee, but aside from the lack of any sort of touch, you’ll find that being stuck with him is actually not too bad - he feeds you a decent diet, and lets you live in the spare bedroom of his home. He’d even cleaned everything up before you arrived, a preemptive measure he underwent one night when he couldn’t sleep, both his dreams and thoughts revolving around you.

(There’s still bits of dust and a spider or two in the corner of the ceiling, but everything smells not terribly musty, and you don’t notice any mysterious stains on the sheets, so it could be worse, right?)

He leaves you to your own devices more often than not, just on the condition that he can be present, whether you’re reading a book or sleeping or doodling with some art supplies he stole for you a while back. He’s not too demanding, but eventually the Stockholm Syndrome will get to you - you will eventually start wishing he’d do more than just look, even when he comes home with blood speckling his jacket.

You’ll grow to wish he would sit just a bit closer to you, so that you could feel his body warmth or a brush of his skin against your own. You’ll hate yourself for endearing your captor, but you don’t have much of a choice - Feitan, while terrifying and absolutely capable of killing you in more ways than you can count, is strangely sweet in his own way, even if it takes you a while to notice it.

He’s not buying you flowers or declaring his undying love to you, but he is leaving small, insignificant gifts on your nightstand, maybe a small pastry that you love, or even a small, pretty little jewel he managed to snatch away from the goods Chrollo said were communal among the Troupe from the latest heist. He won’t ever say anything about them, and if you bring it up to him he’ll either ignore you or deny their existence, but he likes leaving them there as a token, as some way of quelling the intense desire to please you that wells in his chest.

It’s the only route he can allow himself to take, because that way he doesn’t have to confront you, only looking at your sleeping face. You always look so peaceful and pretty this way, all the lines of stress and worry smoothing away - you look how you used to, before he stole you away, back when his infatuation first started.

And as he gently, carefully, hesitantly sits down beside your sleeping form on the mattress, he can’t help but gulp harshly and slowly, ever so slowly, reach out and rest his palm on your leg, the sheets separating your skin. He’ll keep his hand there for a while, dark eyes appraising your form under the covers, before exhaling shakily and standing back up, making sure the jade he’d brought back for you was securely on the bedside table, right in your view when you wake up. He’s not a bad captor by any means; he just has trouble expressing himself, walls built up too highly and too thickly to ever really knock them down.

And you’ll get close - as close as you can, at least, as time passes. Feitan will eventually warm up to you, but he’ll never be particularly loving, particularly obvious with his feelings for you - he’ll always be a lovesick fool, but he’ll be damned if he lets another soul know that.

PUNISHMENTS:

As a general rule, Feitan doesn’t particularly like hurting you. Of course, his career rides on his ability to harm, torture, mutilate and extract information out of even the worst criminals and agents, and for the most part he enjoys it.

There’s something about the way he can elicit screams and tears out of others that gets him giddy, the smile stretching across the part of his face covered by his jacket as wide as can be. And yet, for all the enjoyment he derives out of hurting others, seeing you harmed, bruised, crying and begging isn’t nearly as fun as Feitan had expected.

He’s not really sure why, but for some reason seeing you looking at him with so much fear dancing in your pretty eyes makes his gut wrench, an uncomfortable feeling sitting at the base of his throat while he mutters something demanding you to stop looking at him like that. It makes him feel weak, frankly, that you have this effect on him, but he can’t help it – early on into your captivity with him, he tried to settle your disobedience by physically harming you, but he got as far as leaving a rather large carved ‘F’ right over your heart before your crying got to him.

He couldn’t lift his hand as you sobbed below him that day, your wrists bound by leather cording stained with his previous victims’ blood. Your eyes were puffy and glassy, snot dripping from your nose and pathetic little cries and begs for him to stop tumbling past your quivering lips.

Frankly, Feitan was embarrassed for you. But more than anything, he was pissed – his hands were trembling, the switch knife grasped between his fingers frozen, his dark eyes wide as they stared down at you, guilt flashing through them the longer you sniffled and shook, the sight of you in pain with your pretty red blood dribbling down your collarbone simply too much.

That day, he cleaned your wound, packed up his torture gear and locked you into your designated bedroom, all without a single word, mostly because his tongue didn’t seem to be working. But the shaky gasps stumbling from his lips as he stared at his own two hands later that night were enough to make him realize he hates to see you in pain, particularly when he’s the cause.

It’s confusing, irritating, scary, even, that you have this effect on him, but try as he might, any thought of physically harming you from that point on makes his stomach twist, bile rising up his throat and nausea hitting him square in the chest.

But trouble, of course, arises; he refuses to physically harm you in most cases, but he still will only tolerate absolute obedience from you. You can’t simply walk all over him, he won’t let you – you need to listen to his instructions, follow his rules, eat the food he gives you, smile at him all pretty and warm, and let him sneak into your room and hold you when you’re fast asleep in the middle of the night, just as he starts craving.

Feitan needs you to be obedient and submissive to him, and so how can he mold you into the perfect, obedient partner without laying harm to you?

The solution, as it turns out, lies in making you absolutely believe that he will hurt you, despite it not being true.

You don’t need to know that the thought of making you wince or scrunch up your face in pain makes him physically hurl; no, you’re much better off thinking that he’s simply playing nice, waiting for the right moment to strike and leave you broken and bleeding. He’ll allow you to believe that he’s constantly ready to punish you, because then you’ll have some incentive to follow his words and rules, and to do what he believes you should do.

And why wouldn’t you believe it?

You know what Feitan does – he makes no effort to hide the torture tools scattered across his basement, and while you’ve only been down there once (the initial carving of the F), your imagination can conjure up plenty of scenarios of what goes on in that damp, dark basement.

The fact that he has hurt you leads to you staying mostly in line – you’re more than aware of what he’s capable of, and although it slightly pains Feitan that you think of him as a monster, it’s for the best. It’s better for everyone when you’re well behaved – when you simply follow his orders and do what he wants you to, no matter how strange it makes you feel.

You probably aren’t particularly fond of eating in front of him, but he’ll be sitting at the other end of the table as you carefully, hesitantly, twist the strands of pasta around your fork, your gaze flickering from the slightly undercooked noodles to your captor and back again.

You probably don’t really like sleeping while he sits in the corner of the room, that stupid jacket pulled up over his mouth, making the only part of him visible to your drowsy self those damn eyes – and his hands, of course, with just the slightest touch of dried blood under his nails. You’re probably not particularly a fan of any aspect of being his captive – and Feitan carefully controls this.

However, on the off chance that you do act up, that liquid courage flows through your veins and you cross him, you’ll quickly grow to regret it. Feitan still won’t hurt you – not physically, at least.

But others?

Well, it’s not hard to get Chrollo to give him someone who needs to give up some information, to set up the basement and make sure you get a front row seat as he makes the knots tight around the man’s wrist. It hurts him, really, to see the way your face contorts into horror as you watch him break bone after bone in the man’s body, but Feitan can’t stop looking at you. He needs you to be watching – you have to see what he’s capable of, even if he doesn’t really want you to know.

You have to know that he’s serious when he tells you that you can’t leave, that there’s nowhere in the world you can run to where he won’t find you. He rips the man’s nails off, a finger at a time, just to make sure you understand that his touch can hurt – but maybe, some part of him hopes, you’ll realize that when he touches you, his touch is only ever gentle. Or at least as gentle as he can be.

It’s all to make sure you understand that he’s utterly, absolutely in charge – his word is law, and while he craves for you to love him, he’s willing to compromise with just your respect and undivided attention.

It’s not ideal, but as he watches the way tears stream down your cheeks and your body heaves and shudders with your sobs, he can’t help but slice the knife into the man’s thigh deeper, send the punch to his jaw harder.

He has to keep you in line – this complicated, doomed relationship he’s forced you into is the only thing that makes him feel that strange, fluttering feeling in his chest, and he’ll be damned if he lets it go. He’ll be damned if he lets you go – even if you think of him as a monstrous, sadistic freak.

Maybe he is, maybe he isn’t; it doesn’t matter, because you’re never getting away.

OVERALL DANGER:

8/10

The danger that lies with being Feitan’s darling is much more mental than physical. By all means, he’s not the ideal captor – he’s a criminal and mass murderer, torturing people for a living and liking it. And yet, there’s something about you that tones down the more deranged, violent aspects of his personality - he’s by no means soft, but he’s rounder at the edges, less rough and bitter and cold.

He hates himself for falling in love with you, for having allowed you to worm your way into his heart and settle there, plaguing his every thought and dream with your face, your voice and laugh and smile and god, your body -

He blames you, initially, but as time goes on and his feelings only grow stronger, harder to suppress, he finds that it doesn’t matter. You’ve already staked your claim on his heart, and there’s simply nothing he can do to stop what’s inevitable.

Kidnapping is imminent with him, but it really does take him a long while to actually go through with it; you’ll have a long period of freedom from his clutches where you’re living your own life, with him only controlling it from the shadows rather than blatantly, like when he’s stolen you away. He’s not particularly needy, only demanding that you stay in his line of sight, but there’s something more terrifying about the way he’s always watching you like a hawk watches its prey than simple touching would be.

You’re thankful he hasn’t forced himself on you or even forced any kind of affection, but it doesn’t make up for the fact that you miss human touch, that you almost wish he would reach out and hold your hand, press a kiss to your lips, slip the ratty old t-shirt he’d given you over your chest.

You’ll find yourself growing stir crazy under Feitan’s rule, growing desperate but still too scared to confront him, because his intentions with you will remain ambiguous at best - he hasn’t killed you yet, so you must be important to him somehow. You’re not sure, but the longer you spend with him, the less you’ll care until eventually you’re actively dreaming of the day when he finally, finally touches you with those cold fingers and lets you out of that bedroom you’re locked up in.

Feitan loves you, in his own sick, twisted way, and the sooner you realize that the better - maybe you never will, but Feitan will always, always be there waiting, his gaze never faltering once from your figure.

You’re just too mesmerizing, after all - and Feitan’s never been particularly good at denying himself what’s his.

#yandere hxh #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere feitan #yandere feitan portor #hxh x reader #_hxh #_lee's profiles #_feitan portor

656 notes · View notes

beatificwrites · 9 months

Text

TYPICAL DATE NIGHT WITH HOBIE ★

an: a lil sumn sumn with hobie

gender-neutral!reader & no use of y/n

content: cheesy bc i say so, some silly cuteness, heated make-out sesh

You heard continuous light taps coming from your bedroom window. You recognized the sounds as pebbles being thrown and instantly, you knew it was him. Glee began to overflow your entire being as you hurriedly bookmarked the page you were on and dropped the book you were reading.

You practically jumped off your bed and rushed over to open your window. Your eyes drifted downward and landed on Hobie’s figure that was currently in a humanly-impossible position against your apartment’s brick wall. His feet seemed glued to the wall while he balanced himself vertically off of it.

He was always random with the stunts he’d pull since he disliked consistency and loved finding different ways to surprise you. You playfully rolled your eyes at him in disbelief, not being able to fully grasp the fact that your boyfriend was quite literally defying gravity; a perk of being spiderpunk.

“Hey, babe, got somethin’ I wanna play for you!” he shouted.

You watched as he effortlessly whipped out his guitar from behind as if he wasn’t 40 feet off the ground.

“shoot!” you shouted back.

With zero hesitation, Hobie powerfully struck the chords once before playing an impressive guitar riff, just for you. His gifted fingers ran up and down the chords, allowing the guitar to produce the electrifying, melodic sound you loved so much. He was nothing short of a virtuoso, so cool, you thought.

“What’d you think?” Hobie asked, not needing your approval, though he’d appreciate it very much.

“It was awesome!! I loved it, baby.” you gushed with clasped hands.

“Good.” was all he said, then he shot a web at the edge of your window to yank himself up and kiss your lips.

The soft embrace of his lips was all you needed to feel warm and at peace again. Life outside of your relationship was tiring and hectic, but the precious moments you shared with him calmed the storm.

“Come in!” you beckoned, after pulling away.

“Ma pleasure.” he said before tucking his guitar behind him and climbing in through your window.

“So, I got a couple of movie ideas…we down for rom-coms or slashers tonight?” you asked as grabbed the dvds.

“I think we exhausted all the slasher films known to man, love. I could go for some ‘13 going on 30’ right about now.” he threw himself on your bed.

Your mouth slightly fell agape, “I can’t believe you just said that.”

“What? A man can’t switch it up every now and then?” his brows furrowed.

“He can, but every time I put on ‘13 going on 30’ you fall asleep half way through!” you lightly smacked his side as you laid down next to him.

“I’m not the same person I was last week, hell, I ain’t even the same man I was two seconds ago! I’m a changed man.” he shrugged his shoulders.

“Oh, cut the crap! You do not wanna watch it with me.” you claimed incredulously.

“Like I said, I’m a changed man.” he told you in a half-serious manner.

“You’re so stupid.” you rolled your eyes again, then you both laughed it off.

“No, but I do wanna see it with you, babe. I can’t handle another modern horror film, it’s all just uncalled for gore and porn; no substance whatsoever. It’s bollucks.” he shook his head disapprovingly.

“I’m sayinggg!” you agreed, remembering how dreadful the last horror flick you saw was.

“Wait, before we watch, can we make pizza like last time?” he asked hopefully.

“Sure, why not?” you got up and tossed the slasher dvds to the side and placed ‘13 going on 30’ next to the dvd station.

Hobie hated ordering pizza. Not because he was too shy to order, that’s why apps exist. Moreover, he hated ordering pizza because the anarchist in him preferred baking pizza at home instead of supporting the cooperate companies that prepared the same pizza.

He’d physically cringe and his face would contort into disgust whenever you’d suggest delivery instead because you were too lazy to bake. “I’ll do it by myself then!” he’d groan.

That is how the first three hours of your date night with Hobie is spent; attempting to bake spidey shaped pizzas with the clash playing in the background, throwing sauce at each other’s faces, eating said pizzas while watching 13 going on 30, teasing Hobie for shredding a tear at the wedding scene, Hobie teasing you for sobbing after that scene, you two cuddling at the end while being wrapped up in your largest blanket, and you rewarding him a kiss because finishing rom-coms with him gives you the best feeling ever. It’s the rom-com glow.

You’ll usually suggest another film or perhaps a show to binge watch, and you two immerse yourselves in that for about another three hours. Sweet whispers are exchanged from time to time and Hobie’s dispersed kisses across your neck make a feature.

“You’re really cute when you look all focused.” he said out of the blue.

You hadn’t realized he had been admiring your face for a while now, or that his focus was shifting elsewhere.

“This is reality tv! There’s lots of drama to keep up with.” you reasoned without turning to look at him.

“Look at me.” he simply said.

“Amanda’s just about to find out her husband’s having an affair!” you quickly tapped him, trying not to lose concentration from the screen. Without warning, the show was suddenly muted.

“Hey, why’d you-

“Com’ere.” he gently grabbed your chin and hushed you with his lips.

You kissed him back, then pulled away asking, “what?”

“I don’ know. Just felt a huge urge to kiss you.” he admitted as his mouth curved into a smile.

“Oh. Well, I have no problem Mr. suspense-ruiner, as long as you continue to do it.” you cupped his face, forgot all about the tv and brought him in for another smooch.

He rubbed one hand on your hip. You two were laying side by side, but his slow, gentle touch made you want to change that.

The hand rubbing on your hip made its way up to your shoulders and down again, in yet another slow, teasing manner. He caressed the side of your body, then let his hand slide dangerously down onto your rump. He gave it soft squeeze and you hummed; his touch aroused the growing swarm of excitement in your abdomen.

You swung a leg over his torso and he was able to smooth his hand over your thigh. He’d run his hand up and down, his gentle caressing becoming a bit more firm. The feel of your bodies pressing against each other made this moment all the more enticing. Neither of you could get enough. With every hum or whimper you’d allow to escape, Hobie could feel himself twitch.

You extended your hand and lightly rubbed his shoulder. After a moment, your hand dropped to his bicep and began to grope the defined muscle. Eventually, you had to pull away to catch your breath and you both would only chuckle while looking at each other.

Hobie kept his hands on you as you took the initiative to straddle his waist. His hands shifted to your hips and he gave you a reassuring look before saying, “Absolutely no pressure, love. We go as far as your comfortable with.”

You appreciated how he reassured you every time to ensure that you were comfortable. He made you feel seen and at ease. Definitely one of the most refreshing parts of your companionship with him.

“Mhm, of course.” you nodded.

“I love you, sweetheart.” he professed with hooded eyes.

“I love you too.”

───────── ☆

558 notes · View notes

cosmicjoke · 1 month

Text

For People, Not for a Dream

Everyone always wonders about this panel, and why Levi didn't include himself when talking about what all his comrades fought and died for.

The thing is, Levi was never fighting for that ideal world, or to create an ideal world.

For him, it was never about a concept or an ideology, because he never believed in the possibility of an ideal world to begin with.

Even when he gives his monologue to the 104th, during the Uprising arc, and speaks about freedom and the chance to have a world without the threat of titans, he still says that both world's are hell, just that he chooses the hell of people killing each other over the hell of being eaten by titans.

So I think to understand Levi, it's important to understand that he never cared about or was motivated by any system of belief or philosophy. He never did what he did with the goal of creating some Utopian world or society. His actions were never driven by any sort of fanaticism.

He was only ever fighting for people. To help people. Even in their ugliness and with all their faults and failings. He accepted that about people and the world; he accepted their imperfection. He never tried to change anybody, he never labored under any sort of belief that he could weed out the bad elements of society and, as a result, force a better world into existence, or a more civilized society. He wasn't blinded to the ugliness of his own actions by a sense of moral righteousness or belief in the "greater good". He never believed any set of beliefs or principles or ideology was or could be made inherently superior to any other. He never believed people could be made better than what they were. And yet he still found their lives worth protecting, along with their right to choose what to do with those lives, whether it be good or ill.

I think that's a big part of why Levi never loses sight of his own humanity, why he never becomes cruel. Because he never loses sight of what he's actually fighting for. Not an idea or a set of beliefs or a dogma. But just people, even when they're not good people.

And we see that reflected in Levi's lack of any sort of dream for himself, and in his support of other people's dreams. He's not fighting for their dreams because he believes in them or their possibility, he's fighting for their dreams because he believes in the worth of the people who dream them. It's the people who have worth to Levi, not the dream or the ideology behind the dream. And he hoped to prove that worth by ensuring they didn't throw their lives away for nothing. That's why he lent his strength to those dreams. It was always for the dreamers sake, not the sake of the dream itself. To show their lives mattered by helping to realize whatever it was they gave those lives for. It's why he's so determined to kill Zeke, because those soldiers in Shinganshina gave their lives for that goal. It wasn't Zeke's death that mattered, but the lives of the soldiers that died for it.

It's why he says in the above panels that if it was going to be worth the price "you all paid", it would have to be an "exhaustingly idealistic world". Nothing less than that would be worth people's lives. I think it's also why Levi's expression is one of such sadness all through the final chapters, because he knows, and always knew deep down, that that idealistic world was an impossibility. That even without titans, the world would still be a hellish place, something we see proven by the final pages of the story, with the destruction of Paradis and the continuation of war. In the end, I don't think Levi believed the outcome was worth the price his comrades paid. It wasn't worth their lives. To Levi, the concept of a "greater good" isn't worth more than any, single life.

But it's also important to remember that Levi was never the type of person to tell anyone else what to do, or what to think, or how to live, and that in itself is testament to how much he values people. The worth he sees in their lives and existence is reflected in the respect he holds for their right to choose what to do with those lives, even if that choice is to give their lives for an impossible dream.

And so that's what he fights for. Not for any sort of dream, or for the realization of an ideal world, but to help people. To help them in whatever way he can, whether that's saving their lives, protecting their right to choose how to live those lives, or supporting the dreams they believe are worth giving their lives for.

It was never for the dream itself. It was for the people who dreamed it.

#Levi Ackerman #attack on titan #shingkei no kyojin #meta #commentary #analysis

160 notes · View notes

randombush3 · 9 months

Text

you made your mark on me

mapi león x reader

summary: you fuck up the arrangement

words: 2497

notes: it’s kinda rushed and sad but we move and we allow it 😜

also i’ve decided that i like mapi and ingrid too much to write for them because they’re too perfect 😩😩😩😩

requested by my fav @xsophiesx

Mapi has been your best friend for as long as you can remember. Longer, even.

Through earthquakes and mistakes and times where you shouldn’t have done something you did, she has seen the best in you, and made you believe it too.

She makes you feel loved. In a friendly way.

But, recently, those feelings have shifted; made way for something of a different kind. Lust. Desire. The urge to ruin a friendship with reckless abandon, because your best friend is too attractive to resist. It helps that Mapi agrees. Agreed. Invited you over, peeled back the years of support and love, took you to her bed and made you see just how much a person could worship you. Should worship you.

She tells you such, over and over, kissing scars she has helped to heal. You do the same, forgetting how bad of an idea it is. Because, since that first night, Mapi has become more than a friend, more than the woman who held you when you cried. Deep down, you know that she has always been more than that, but it’s Mapi’s casualness that makes you think she is only extending your friendship slightly. Friends with benefits. Mapi knows how to do that.

She teaches you how to do it, too.

Your teammates are oblivious to the signs, aware of your affection for each other, thinking nothing of how the simplest of touches have had their meanings completely altered. You are certain that you are grateful they do not know, but, as your skin burns under Mapi’s firm hold, you wish that they did. It feels like you are dreaming. Maybe their awareness would confirm that this is real.

In this crowded room, Mapi only seems to have eyes for you. “She looks really good tonight,” Alexia comments off-handedly, not thinking anything of it. Not knowing that Mapi’s fingers are itching to tear the sequined material of the, frankly, criminal dress you are wearing tonight, not aware of how she wants to unwrap you like a highly-anticipated birthday present.

You feel good tonight. The alcohol in your system has made you forget about the stress of the season, and Pina has coaxed you into dancing with her, which frees up your body like you are finally able to take a breath of fresh air.

“I only have pretty friends,” Mapi replies, earning a flick on the arm from Alexia, who finds taking most compliments to be an impossible task.

As the two women watch you, hair wild, eyes closed, one of them thinks about how lucky she is to have you in her life. Under her clothes, she sports an indention of you. A ghost of earlier nights. Memories. A golden tattoo.

…

It’s a bit later on in the night when you approach your best friend.

Mapi is now equally drunk, though she steers clear of the dance floor.

You are apprehensive at first, the silence between you tense as she takes in how the dress has ridden up your thighs and you take in the definition of her abs displayed by the lack of fabric covering them.

Mapi decides that her patience has been more than commendable, and breaks first. “Let’s go,” she all but growls, reaching out to grasp your shaking hand, tugging you along with her to the exit.

Desperately waiting for her to say more, tell you how beautiful you look, confirm that she wants you too, you allow her to lead the dance of sneaking away from your friends, finding the route home, unlocking her apartment while your lips kiss her neck.

Once inside, she backs you against the nearest wall, relentless in her assault. Though she hasn’t spoken, you hear the thrum of her heartbeat, smell the scent of her hunger. Her desire for you.

“I need you,” you gasp against her lips, still combatting her silence.

Her hands rest on your hips, holding you in place so that you can only squirm under the force of… What is it? Lust?

“I only bought this dress so you could take it off.”

Your confession makes her stop.

Your panting stills, as does the blur of a heated moment.

Mapi looks positively ravenous.

“Y/n.” You bite your lip.

You don’t want her like a best friend.

…

It hits you like a truck.

Well, two trucks.

The first, a raging hangover, the alcohol still in your body now some concoction of toxins.

And the second, the fact that something may have slipped out last night.

There was a lot going on. The dress was ruined, torn in two by eager hands. Mapi seemed different.

Hours later, she was still going, though you were certain her initial lust had been sated. And it got sloppy and emotional and intimate. And you may have told her something that would be completely normal to say in any other context.

What’s worse, you can’t remember whether or not she said it back.

Opening your eyes to the soft morning light, you groan as you roll over in Mapi’s bed, anxiety settling in your stomach. She wakes up before you – has been doing so since your sleepovers involved more clothes and less kissing – but you are unsure if she has abandoned you for a morning run. Because, if you did tell her you loved her last night, surely Mapi will regret ever kissing you in the first place.

The thought of losing her is worse than her not loving you back. You feel nauseous.

“Hello.” You jolt upright, sheets clutched to your bare chest. Mapi leans on the wooden frame of her bedroom doorway, arms folded in front of her, a smirk on her lips at the sight of you. You are so incredibly breath-taking, and she is glad to be able to see you like this.

Naked, in her bed. And you’re hers. Sort of.

“Mapi…” you start, unsure of the proper protocol for this situation. It’s not the first time you have slept together, yet it feels more awkward than that. The fact that she might regret this, might never want to see you again, gnaws away at your words, leaving you speechless. “I was drunk.”

“So was I.”

“I didn’t mean what I said.” Her brows furrow, and there is a brief moment of sheer panic in which you think you only imagine the words slipping through your lips. But, in truth, Mapi is wondering why you are lying to her. Because someone who tells you that they love you, whispering it on repeat as though it is the only sentence in the world that matters, must be telling the truth. “A-and, I mean, this was clearly a mistake. I don’t think we should carry on. Maybe we should just be friends?”

You don’t notice the implication of your words, but Mapi’s heart is too busy breaking for her to argue. “Yeah,” she replies, dejected. “Yeah, if that’s what you want.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, gathering your clothes from their heap on the floor, hastily pulling on your underwear. She looks at the hoodie she had set out on the bed for when you woke up, having wanted you to be comfortable before she asked you if you would like to get coffee with her later. Because, when you told her that you loved her, and she had instantly said she loved you too, she thought she could finally make the move she has been too pathetic to make.

Clearly, she was wrong. You said it because that’s what people are meant to say during sex, most-likely. Mapi feels like an idiot for even thinking she would be good enough for you.

…

Alexia and you are practising free kicks after training when the captain catches your frown lasting longer than usual as you send the ball soaring hectares wide of the net. It’s been a few days since you left Mapi’s apartment, and you haven’t spoken to her since.

It’s killing you to lose your best friend like this, especially when you have no one but yourself to blame.

You kick the grass in frustration as Sandra saves your next attempt, and it is then that Alexia decides to say something. She signals for the goalkeeper to rehydrate far away enough to be out of earshot, and then places both hands on your shoulders, grounding you before the tears can well up in your eyes.

She doesn’t have to ask you what is wrong, because it comes spilling out as soon as you open your mouth to tell her that you are fine.

And she listens, wondering how two of the most compassionate women she knows have managed to fuck such a simple thing up.

For Alexia, the solution to this world-ending problem is obvious: tell her how you feel. “She feels the same, you know. She always has,” your captain says matter-of-factly, dropping her hands to her sides to pull you into a hug. “I can’t believe you two fucked before realising you have been a couple this whole time.” Her chuckle is not helpful, and she squeezes you one last time before releasing your tense body.

“Sorry?” you ask, not quite sure you heard her properly. You wipe your eyes and take in a deep breath, resolving to either get over Mapi or suck it up. Because, yeah, it’s a little embarrassing.

“Mapi loves you, idiota. Can you not tell?”

…

You go home to think about it.

Not home home, because your parents live too far away to fit in with your schedule, and not Mapi’s place, which is more comforting than your own four walls, but the apartment you bought when you decided to extend your contract at Barcelona.

In all honesty, you rarely spend time here. If you’re not at training, you’re out, and when you want to cuddle, there has always been an open door with a comfier sofa and better snacks. That door must be locked now.

Mapi can’t even look at you.

Fuck.

Have you woken up just in time? Or is it too late?

The words have already been said, though you still don’t recall them coming from her. Deluding yourself that you don’t love her is insane, because there is not a single emotion Mapi hasn’t made you feel. Hell, she even seems to invent new ones.

If you tell Mapi the truth and she doesn’t feel the same, there has to be a way to get through it. Maybe you simply take a step back, and don't spend as much time together. Stay in groups. Never go over to each other’s homes, or get trapped in small spaces.

It doesn’t occur to you that Mapi could love you. You are already planning how to salvage the friendship.

…

No tears left to cry and a speech rehearsed in your head, you are almost a tornado tearing through your apartment, set on getting to Mapi before any more damage is done.

You fling your door open, keys in one hand and a jacket in the other, and rush out to fix your mistake.

The figure waiting for you grunts as you fly into her, colliding with her, knocking the air from her lungs, and your apology is hurried out as to not waste time. Until you recognise the vanilla perfume. And the eyes that examine you with caution.

“Alexia told me that you wanted to talk?” she questions. Mapi, being the thoughtful person she is, assumed it would just be easier for her to go to you. It’s not like she has anything else to do without you occupying her spare time. “If you’re going out, I could come back another time. Or was she…” She takes in your horrified expression. “She lied to me.”

You hate how her voice cracks. How her shoulders slump.

But you are too stunned to say anything.

“I’m sorry. I’ll go.”

“Don’t.” You can’t bear to do this again: one of you leaves and the other’s world crumbles. “Alexia did lie, though.”

“Oh. Do you want to talk anyway?”

“What did Alexia say to you?”

Maybe. Just maybe.

Mapi shrugs. “To tell you how I feel.”

“And… how is that?” It feels as though the world has split in half, and this could go one of two ways. You force yourself to not cross your fingers.

“You are my best friend.”

The lump in your throat chokes you, and you want to disappear into the ground you are standing on. “Yeah. You’re mine, too.”

“No, no. Y/n.” She grabs your hands and holds them tightly, trying to get you to look at her. But you can’t. It’s too hard. “You didn’t let me finish.” She takes your silence as a sign to go on. “You’re my best friend, but recently I’ve realised that you mean so much more than that. I met you and you… you made a mark on me that has defined me as yours. And– And I love you. I have always loved you. I’m in love with you.”

“But…”

“I said it back!” she continues, exasperated. “Do you not remember?”

You shake your head. “You couldn’t love me. It’s not possible.”

“Well, it is, because I do.” She waits. She waits for what feels like an eternity, hopeful that you are going to say it back. That this will be easy as Alexia made it out to be. “You told me it was a mistake, but you never denied its meaning. You never took it back,” she urges.

“But I– Me? You love me?”

Mapi, who is so pure, who is good, who knows how to make anyone feel special, cannot just love you. She holds so much passion in her heart. She must be confused.

“Why wouldn’t I love you?” she replies indignantly.

“Because I love you too, and things don’t usually happen for me like this.”

And she laughs, grinning at you like she has caught you out. Like she has tricked you into saying yes to doing something you were reluctant to do.

“Well, soak it in, Y/n.”

She kisses you with unveiled meaning, and your knees almost give out.

…

When you tell Alexia about Mapi’s new label in your life, she decides to take full credit for it.

“I’m a genius,” she claims, wrapping her arms around the both of you, pleased to be the first to be told about the development. Three months down the line, and you couldn’t be happier that you get to kiss your best friend whenever you want. “Friends with benefits and the benefits are me officiating your wedding, right?”

“That would be so cool!” Mapi agrees with a grin. She wipes it off her face when she catches your expression. Her childish excitement is replaced with a gruff, serious clearing of her throat. “I mean, it would be, but it’s not going to happen.”

“Y/n, you’re making her less fun.”

“All your fault, genius.”

#mapi leon #mapi leon x reader #woso x reader #woso

624 notes · View notes