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deafsignifcantother · 3 months

Text

the v's reaction to someone taking your hearing aid

♥ summary: "what the Vees would do if they noticed their partially deaf s/o being picked on - like the other people would tear out their hearing aid(s) and break them and stuff" @aceduchessdragoness ♥ characters: velvette, vox, valentino ♥ notes: screaming and crying okay so i did val's spanish as spain spanish bc i think spain sign language would be better than narrowing his signs down to a specific latin american country but if the translation is cringe then tell me bc i'm literally using an lse dictionary

Vox

♥ word count: 1.9k ♥ notes: i use [Y/N] for the first time in my career ong, she/her pronouns used in third person, reader doesn't speak and only signs, protective but violent vox, vox in a healthy relationship, reader gets harassed in public

It was never a mystery to you how Vox always knew where you were. Even without the watch on your wrist, you felt his eyes on you, the looming knowledge of persistent monitoring.

Not that it bothered you, of course. If anything, you were worried that he wanted to spend his time watching you instead of running his business. But whatever, it was flattering.

Whenever you went on your routine errands, you would smile at every television or security camera you encountered. On the big screens in Vox's room, he feels like the common softening of his heart. Your smile always seems so genuine. How can somebody like you adore him so much?

Blue light illuminates your living room. From the kitchen, you groan as you make your way to the television. Can he stop bothering you at this hour? All you wanted to do was get some damn water, but of course, as always, he's monitoring you.

Words pop up on the screen as you approach it. You rub your eyes, the brightness overwhelming. You reach for your coffee table.

GO TO SLEEP

With the sudden click of the remote, you smile as the screen goes black. One, two, three... it lights up again.

DON'T TRY

Again, the screen goes black. One... again, a bright blue illuminates you.

[Y/N]. The television shakes.

You snicker at him, finally sitting on the floor and putting the remove down. On the other side of that screen, Vox sits on his swivel chair, gazing up at you, your frame taking up multiple monitors. Your eyes look below where his point of view is.

"It's late," you sign, and the light makes your hands shine in the darkness. "Dim it a little."

He listens; his small act of consideration makes you melt. Your eyes soften immensely. Internally, he begs you to stop looking at him like that; it's embarrassing how good it makes him feel.

The television is still a blinding blue as you go from the living room to the bedroom; he follows you per any screen by your side. Worst of all, a flat-screen faces your bed, which was mandatory.

"Goodnight, Vox." You sign while putting your face up to the screen.

You turn this TV off, and to your delight, it stays off.

With a yawn, you stretch your morning aches away and lean your head against the table of your vanity. You get a few seconds of shut-eye before popping back up. Vox is watching; if he notices you're tired, he will try to be domestic and nap with you regardless of how much work you must do today. So you rub away your sleepy eyes and massage the tension in your jaw. Putting on your hearing aid is first on your daily to-do list; you'd like to hear if he pops up on your television and decides to update you on his morning. Sometimes, he gets so impatient. Next, while picking up your moisturizer, you try not to shiver at the coldness once it touches your fingers.

You wish yourself a good morning before rubbing it in.

At the same time of day, Vox was already up and doing his rounds, making sure his employees were getting work done. He gets antsy between when you wake up, and you get to the tower. Every morning once he sees you entering the elevator, he'll wait on the other side to welcome you in with a kiss to the forehead.

Vox checks his watch. It shows his favorite things: your vitals, location, and pretty little face whenever you dial him.

You've finally left your place, thank goodness. Pacing aimlessly has never looked good on him.

He stands by his window, looking down at the streets below, watching you approach. You're wearing your usual uniform, one that he picked out just for you; it consists of the same red and blue stripes he has on his everyday suit. It makes you an eyesore in the everyday crowd.

If you didn't know any better, you'd lift your head to see if you could spot him among the many stories. The building is beautiful, overpowering. The V tower's magnificent brightness outshines the rest of the V district. The constant noise of people always has you walking with your hearing aid turned as low as it can go without turning off.

With the pink light reflecting off your face, you look both ways before crossing the street, a bright smile on your face, stepping onto the asphalt before a hand grabs your wrist.

Vox furrows his brow at the sight.

You turn your head and see a friendly reporter and a cameraman, the camera not yet rolling. Your pupils flicker between them.

"Hello!" She smiles, removing her hand. With caution, you fully face her, stepping back onto the sidewalk. The 'professional' persona you've been forced to practice is finally coming to fruition.

"Hello! I'm Deaf; I don't think I'd be able to do an interview."

She flicks her hand and rolls her eyes in the most friendly way possible. "Not a problem," she signs, moving the microphone vibrantly, "I can work this out, no problem!"

You widen your eyes in a wowwwww, oh my god, that's perfect... "Oh, what a kind woman you are!"

Vox? You beg internally. Baby? Save me.

Up high, he doesn't remove his eyes from you. With the use of sign language, he can't listen in, and he can't tell whether he needs to intervene or not. There's nothing wrong with going to check, right? Or will he seem possessive, or scared? He doesn't want people to think he doesn't want you to talk to anyone. It's good that you get to sign to someone other than him and Velvette, right?

The camera starts rolling, and you square your shoulders, adjusting your sleeves for more mobility. The news reporter throws the microphone at the cameraman, who does not catch it but ignores it as she shows off her brightest smile.

"Hello, ladies and gentlemen, I have the sweetest person in hell with me, [y/n]! Tell me, how long have you two been together?"

Of course, the news has been recognizing you recently. You've been seen countless times adjusting Vox's tie (he purposely fucks it up so that you'll step close to him) as well as wrapping your arm around his and pinching the corner of his screen endearingly before you give him a babying compliment. Many people have taken pictures and edited hearts around you two. People are obsessed with how "heavenly" your relationship is.

"Oh, many months now!" You nod to yourself, trying to stop your eyes from shining with admiration. You always get so soft when you think about him; it's one of the things people notice. She looks at him as if he's her entire world.

"Beautiful!" The reporter puffs out her bottom lip innocently. "I'm sure you make that man very happy."

What do you even say to that? I hope so.

"The happiest."

"Now," she doesn't hesitate to change the topic. "Are there any challenges you two face about your... differences?"

Your eyebrows raise before furrowing in confusion. Differences? At first, you think she means his television head, but when she notices you pause, she rudely clarifies. "I mean, with your lack of hearing, you know? Don't you find it a little embarrassing?"

You lean your body away from her. "What are you saying?"

The shock of the tonal shift has you freezing in place. The reporter looks at the camera, her eyes squinting with sadistic amusement. Her fingers twitch as she lifts her arm, not even looking at you before plucking the hearing aid from your ears. She crushes it in her hand.

At first, you grab your ear, pressing your hand to it in disbelief. Your face contorts, your shoulders dropping as you try to step away. Why couldn't you see this coming? And on television—is that where this is airing? The air around you goes quiet, the sensation of spatial awareness fading a bit as you stumble back, your hand still grasping your ear. The watch on your wrist hits your cheek, and without a second thought, you tap on the screen repeatedly. The next thing that popped into your head: her bravery is the most surprising.

With a brief fall of light, Vox stands where the lady once was. You eye him with uncertainty, a look you have never given him. He faces the cameraman, not looking your way. Your eyes go up and down his body; his stance is tense, his arms are folded behind his back, and his fingers sparking with small glimmers of electricity.

You see that lying behind him is the woman, body entirely limp, smoke coming from her mouth, and her eyes looking stuck open.

He speaks to the camera, pointing his finger at it, staring intensely into the shaking, blinking red light. Your hands link around his bicep. Composure, you remind yourself. You turn to the camera with a weary smile and lean your head against him.

"That'll never happen again." He stares at himself in the mirror. His dressers and tables are filled with claw marks from his previous meltdowns.

You just sit on his bed, crossing your legs uncomfortably, watching him as he goes back and forth between signing to you and mumbling to himself. You haven't said a word. You just keep your eyes on him.

He protected you in the way he knew best. He wanted nothing more than to put his hands on the sides of her head and crush her skull. It would stain his suit, awful. Even worse, your suit would have been ruined, too.

Should he force you to move into the tower? He's always wanted to. The commute would be no more, and you'd be safe from the outside.

Should he prevent you from leaving at all without him? No, that might be too much, but his entire body craves to keep you secure and protected.

He won't ask you what you want. He knows there's a chance you would just coddle him and tell him it's okay. There's no reality where he will do nothing; he must devise his own plan. But first (actually, secondly, after getting his anger out on his furniture), he wants to make sure his sweetheart is okay.

Once he calmed down and sat next to you, rubbing your thigh, he watched as you scrolled through social media, looking at the hundreds of people laughing and reposting the event. He shuts off your phone, grabs it, and tosses it across the room. You roll your eyes helplessly before he lifts his hands and signs to you.

"I will track everyone down and punish them severely, baby. No one will ever touch you again, or else they will the next flashing headline."

"I know, baby," you wrap your arms around his chest and lean into him, rubbing your cheek against the smoothness of his overcoat.

You hum against him, finding it in yourself to smile softly. Protector, protector, protector. You run those words through your head; they're comforting to their own extent. Suppose he ends up locking you inside the tower. In that case, it's better than him leaving you entirely over this (which, obviously, he'd never actually do). Spending every morning and night with him wouldn't be wrong. Everything happens for a reason.

He leans back onto the bed, his feet dangling off as you curl into his side.

Before resting completely, you use a hand to sign into his chest. "Everything will be fine."

Your coddling, though annoying, provides the most relaxing warmth to his body. He groans, wrapping an arm lazily around you, feeling the usual butterflies in his stomach as you press a small kiss to his collarbone.

Velvette

♥ word count: 1.6k ♥ warnings: reader speaks, part scene, getting harassed by a man, vox is in this too ♥ a/n: i completely headcanon that velvette took an asl class in highschool when she was alive, i have no idea how velvette usually acts in fanfiction so this is MY velvette now

Velvette found you, such a pretty thing, in your little corner of the internet, making content for your little community. That little corner of yours is where you told the news and interpreted a lot of banter from the overlords. Your channel was the perfect mix of education and drama, all for the Deaf community in Hell.

You were, as Velvette described, a tea channel.

She invited you to the V tower to show you around. The three V's introduced themselves to you in their own way, offering you a job. The bossman, ever so gentlemanly and charming, didn't let Valentino try and make sex motions to you for longer than necessary. And before Velvette forced Vox to scurry off, she forced him to snap a few pics of you posing with her as a faux collab.

You weren't stupid. You knew Velvette only wanted your attention to spread whatever brand she endeavored to popularize. But this might be a golden opportunity. You'd learn the behind-the-scenes from three different overlords, and the content you can produce will gather insane traction.

Velvette is just so sweet; the way she showed her care for you was just through gift-giving.

She loved putting together gift boxes for you, similar to the sorority kind. The boxes went from cute little baskets to a cardboard box resembling a PR send. These would always be set on your desk with a bit of note from her, each time she'd signed off her name with a heart.

Jackets, shoes, candies, jewelry, pens, everything. The gifts are versatile with familiar themes of hearts. Every day was like Valentine's Day when she was 'courting' you (did she even realize she was?).

She made you bags: totes, crossbody bags, clutches, phone pouches, coin purses, anything she thought you would need with an array of colors to match any outfit. She put in hair clips and pocket mirrors, cozy slippers and fancy journals.

She even got you two matching bracelets.

You love the smirk she wears whenever she notices you adorning anything she's given to you. Damn right, she thinks, I knew it would look good.

The most enormous box she'd ever given you was the day before one of her fashion shows. Inside were glorious clothes from her collection, all for you to pick out and wear. She really loved her stripes.

You put your hearing aid on, smiling at yourself in the mirror as you watch the charm she made you glisten in the light. With your bracelet ornamenting your wrist, you pat down your stripped outfit before taking a deep breath.

Your entrance reeks of reluctance. The temptation to retreat back to your room is unbearable. Seeing Velvette will definitely lift your mood; where is she? Surely, she'd be the highlight of the room, but amongst all the women with their eccentric colors and clothing shapes, you can't find your eye drawing to her anywhere.

The sounds of the party blend together in a nasty concoction; you can't help but turn your hearing aids off. The sound is similar to what it's like being outside in a heavy storm; the wind, the pouring rain, the blur and whine of the hearing aids. And instead of lingering by the double doors, you push into the crowd. You're the least recognizable in the crowd of celebrities, but it doesn't stop people from moving out of the way when you try to wiggle through. You're wearing stripes, her stripes. You're either bold or very special to her; they don't want to intervene.

But your stripes also get some people to stare at you longer than they would have otherwise. Across the room, in front of you, you notice a tall, almost shirtless model coming your way, directly staring at you. You break the quick eye contact before squeezing through a cluster of girls taking selfies. They won't let you through, grimacing but not laying any hands on you. When you turn to go the other way, the man is behind you, holding out his hand, waiting for you to put your hand in his.

You click on your hearing aid and scroll up. "What did you say?" You ask verbally, clearing your throat a bit.

His eyes bounce from yours to your hand, looking at what you're touching. His head tilts in interest. You don't like the sight of his smile.

"Oh wow." He says.

Immediately, "Yeah, no," Velvette puts her hands on your shoulders and tries to push you away. "I swear, don't even look at him, he's fucking insane."

He speaks over her, but you can't process his words over how close Velvette's lips are to your ear. Her warm breath sends goosebumps down your arms, and your spine straightens. This only makes her hum in amusement.

After turning and growling at him, she effortlessly maneuvers you away. Eyes watch you even closer now as she touches you. You let her guide you throughout the room with not a clue as to where she's leading you, if anywhere. But eventually, you two end up in front of a mirror the size of a wall.

She stares at you through the mirror. "Look at you," she signs, "extravagant as ever, darling."

"Thanks to you."

"Obviously." And she bumps her hip into yours. You laugh, mimicking the motion back.

You had ditched your initial motive of getting close to the V's to gain more information about them. They were fine people to hang out with, making you laugh and feel involved. Velvette gave you special attention that nobody in your afterlife has ever given. Her lipstick left stains on your cheek whenever she kissed you, and she made an 'appointment' in her schedule once a week to paint your nails the same black color as hers.

The afternoon went by quickly; you spent time clapping and watching models show off their garb. Velvette is a true talent.

But something ruined your evening. The air hummed with laughter and the rhythmic beat of music. Velvette had been whisked away by the other V's to overlook the crowd and count the people who had attended. Among the colorful crowd stood a familiar figure whose eyes sparkled with mischief. Different from last time, you don't notice when he starts to approach again.

"You," he coos, placing his hand under your chin. You must stare at his lips to comprehend his words over the music, an awful innuendo you wish you could have avoided. He leaned in closer to you, and in return, you leaned back. Valentino had told you a bunch of times to not worry if someone puts their hands on you, that it's a typical formality in Hell. You would always roll your eyes at him, never expecting a stranger to grab you like this.

You were mentally preparing yourself to dodge a kiss. But then, daringly, he leaned in and gently plucked the hearing aid from behind your ear, holding it aloft like a trophy. Fear flickered across your face, your hand instinctively reaching for it, but he pulled it away. The charm Velvette gave you dangles like a jewel.

"Don't," you say with desperation. He puts a finger in front of your face and waves it back and forth. He coos, using that hand to grab your face as if you were the most adorable thing he's ever seen.

Your eyes are locked on the charm, and it's brash jolts. You almost beg for him to just give you the charm back.

In the middle of a conversation with Vox, Velvette raises an eyebrow; shocked and pissed, she glared at whoever had torn off your hearing aid. She mumbles, "I'd tear their hearing aid off and break it."

Before she can move closer to you, Vox puts his hand in front of her while watching the interaction. "Think before acting, Velvette."

Her frustration turns into anger as she pushes his hand away. He lets her run off; he holds a hard stare as her pink hair bobs through the crowd.

Your eyes are stuck wide with shock, and a million things run through your head, all relating to the appropriate situational response.

True to your casual self, you were having a hard time not just jamming your hand in his eyes and kicking his shins. Would you make Velvette mad? Vox?--Would that result in you being removed from the V Tower? It's all so complicated. Though you were panicking over a 'quick' decision, you and the man stayed in that position for a few seconds. He stayed laughing, dropping the hearing aid and stomping on it.

At almost the same time, Velvette threw a glass from someone's hand at the man, perfectly aimed, hitting him in the face. She lets out a small "nice!" before rushing to you.

Her hand runs down your face, and she holds you tenderly, not turning to face Vox as he puts himself between her and the man. Your eyes bounce around the entire room. Will you ever get a break from being at the center of attention?

"We're leaving. Now." she signs in a single motion so quick that it makes you smile, relieving some of the stress that's been making your head pound. She's able to sign so naturally now.

The crowd splits into two.

Behind the both of you, Vox is declaring an end to the event, apologizing to the people for the inconvenience. Velvette keeps muttering about him under her breath; you can see her lips moving and her face grimacing.

She has beads in front of her, a bunch of small charms with string. She signs, looking up at you. "I should have killed him."

You just watch her craft another charm, laying on her bed and kicking your feet. "That would have been funny."

She scoffs and smiles, her painted lips turning upwards. Her fingers trace over the beads, deciding which one to pick up. She wants to make it different than the last one, but what should it look like? She picks up a pink heart with a slight hum before sliding it down onto the string. She whispers to herself, perfect.

Valentino

♥ word count: 1.7k ♥ note: reader is a vodka drinker, i'm obsessed with writing a loving valentino, reader doesn't talk very much and prefers sign, sexually suggestive things happening but it's not nsfw, kinda written like ass, drugs mentioned but no named just symptoms, takes place on porn set, valentino kills someone, blood description

Every time you step into the studio, you're hit by the smell of sex, mostly the sweetened stench of that strawberry lube he loves so much. Visiting his work is not usually something you do often, but he's seem to be so busy lately that you can't help but bring him a drink, the most beautiful drink in hell: vanilla vodka. You can already see him licking him lips.

Strawberry lube, so prominent in your nose.

His legs are crossed and he stares at the scene in front of him, his sunglasses hiding whatever his emotions are, but his lips are still in a prominent scowl.

Though, when he sees you, his expression changes drastically. He stands with so much excitement that the actors stop to see what he's reacting to. All eyes are on you, you shy away from the attention a bit but Val doesn't seem to notice, else care.

"Amor mío!" One of his hands signs, running down his cheek while his bottom two motions for a hug.

Before you can initiate a hug, he wraps his arms around you and brings you into his chest, trapping your arms in. He's warm, vibrantly so, it's hard not to melt against him. You couldn't be surprised if you let out a small moan at the contact. Oh, how I've missed you so much.

He pulls away quicker than you'd like and takes the bottle from your hand, holding it up close to his face so he can examine it. "Burnett's, oh you shouldn't have!"

He hesitates, torn between his responsibilities and the irresistible allure of having a drink with the person he was enamored with. He's not so easy to whisk away from work, therefore (of course), you seem to be the only person who he is at every beck and call.

You smile softly, "I knew you'd like it."

With a laugh, he takes your hand and spins you, his free hands popping open the bottle, ready to embark on whatever journey you had in store.

He turns and addresses his employees, granting them a small break before turning to you with his sharp smile.

And together, you slip away from the set, leaving behind the hustle and bustle of the studio for a simple moment of peace and luxury. Walls blazed with hues of pink and blue, you both find yourselves nestled on the fluffy couch in a lounge, a wineglass in your hand while he chugs from the bottle.

"You've been so busy." You sign. You switch the wineglass into your non dominant hand to avoid spilling any of the contents. Val holds the bottle with his bottom set of hands while signing with his top ones (he was originally going to do it the other way around).

“I know, princesa,” one of his hands comes up and squeezes your cheek. “Business calls, I cannot help myself.”

“Which is why I came to visit.”

The two of you clink glass upon glass before taking a drink. He’s trying not to finish the drink before you, he’s making sure to take his time. He doesn’t want you to leave as much as he doesn’t want to rush the break. His eyes go over your entire form and take you in, there feels like an eternity since he saw you last. Why do you have so much patience for someone like him? It’s astonishing. Surely someone as beautiful as you could find someone sweeter than her. But he’s grateful to have you, he’s mildly addicted to that internal battle of whether he wants to cherish you or own you (perhaps he can do both? Something he’s never done before).

“What?” You ask.

“Hm?” His fingers pinch together in the casual way of signing.

“You’re staring at me.”

“I can’t resist.”

“What were you thinking about?” You sign and lean forward, giving him bright eyes. Your gaze swallows him, moth to a flame.

He matches your body language, “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen, amor mío.”

When he tries to grab your hand, you pull away. “You're acting as if you're wine drunk.” You sign. You have a sappy smile as you put your glass to your lips.

“Never,” he wiggles his fingers as he signs. You eye him carefully, debating asking if he's kept his favorite gun on him. There's nothing worse than a drunk Valentino.

After the wine break, he has to go back to work. He feels himself getting irritated as he walks back, why can't he just continue spending the day with you? Is it worth sending everybody home? No, he has a job to do, and he needs to complete it before relaxation. But maybe he'll consider taking breaks (his least favorite word) to spend time with you.

You follow, both of your hands holding his, clinging onto him like a child.

Everybody was still in the studio, waiting for his return, not daring to leave in fear of him coming back. Actors were talking to each other casually, away from the camera, it built a strange sense of community for you. They're so nice to each other off-camera.

He drags you to his chair still holding your hand as he sits in it.

Drinking with you had been a much-needed respite from these people. He made a mental note to gift you more wine.

You remove your hands from his and smile. “Get back to work, baby.”

Pearly white, sharp teeth show through his large smile. He presses his lips against each of your knuckles while his eyes skin over all of his actors, counting them. He makes eye contact with one particular one, a woman. They stare at each other for more than a second. She's scowling at him and he squints his eyes at her. The fuck is your problem?

She usually looks at him with sultry looks, but now there's a sharpness to them.

But his eyes peel away from her and go back to you, he leans forward and presses a slow kiss to your forehead. He signs low, almost as if he's whispering a secret. "I'll come see you after."

You smile and start turning away. "Good."

Upon noticing your departure, the actors and crew start returning to their places, keeping an eye on Valentino and any commands he might make. Their eyes are always on him, worried to test his anger. But not all the actors were worried about testing his anger.

"Hey," an actress grabs your hand before you could reach the door and you turn to her. She talks, her voice making your hearing aids buzz, "Are you guys like, dating? Are you dating the Valentino? Like, literally one of the V's."

Her words all bunch into one. You blink, taking time to think about both what she could be asking and the connotation behind it. "Yes?" It sounds more like a question than an answer. Is that the correct response?

She hums and nods, her eyes wide in amazement. Her pupils are large. Her cheeks are hollow and she has strong eyebags. With a distant sound from Val, him talking to the crew, she looks back at him before turning to you. "I mean like, why? Why would he want you?"

Oh no. You try to move away but she just follows you, stepping in front of you closer. It's like being cornered, being trapped in an almost unavoidable situation.

"Why wouldn't he?" You test with a squint of your eyes.

She just smiles at you. "Uhm," and her arm reaches over, grabbing the hearing aid from your ear, pinching it between her claws, "Obviously this."

You reach for it but she pulls it away from you, trying not to laugh.

So you do what you know is the best solution, you call his name, practically screaming it. "Val!"

At the sound of you using your voice he whips his head around. The air goes still, you can tell from the way she pauses. Her pause is only for a second, she reeks of hesitance and sudden worry. She looks at the hearing aid in her hand as if she's finally realizing what she had done and what was about to happen.

Before she can say another word, her entire body stiffs, her eyes widen before her pupils roll back. And then she's on the floor, almost falling onto you.

You wipe blood from your cheek and groan.

Val stares at you, his expression unreadable. In his hand is his jeweled gun. He pauses for a moment to take a long drag of his cigarette, letting out a cloud of red smoke before he looks at his gun with a toothy smile until he tucks it back into his belt.

He starts to approach you and for a second you're scared, it was a primal feeling. He walked like a king.

All you can do is watch him, frozen in place.

The first thing he does when he reaches you is bend in front of her body, plucking the hearing aid from her hand. It's bloody, the liquid drips from it as he lifts it up. He wipes some of it off on his shirt before handing it to you. He drops it into your open hands.

He speaks, knowing you'd have a hard time understanding. "Laying her slutty hands on my angel..."

You lean into his touch when he caresses your face. His eyes gaze at you, softening, his smile widening at how soft your eyes look. You're his greatest treasure. He gets off immensely from protecting you, he would ravish you to death in this moment if he could. Valentinos eyes drift down at the body and his pupils narrows as he glares at the dead woman. He's going to have to clean this up. Her blood is getting every where.

One of his thumbs rub against your cheek, touching the bloody smear. It stains your skin in a delectable way. So perfect.

He melts when he sees your soft eyes slowly start to match the mischievous smile growing on your face. He protected you and he was open about being dithered over her behavior, he didn't laugh at it or tease you about it. You don't doubt for an instant that he's the man of your dreams. He killed someone for you in an instant.

When you take his thumb into your mouth, sucking the blood, his spine straightens. He pulls away immediately and turns around, yelling at the his workers that filming will be cut short today.

He just can't wait any longer to spend some lovely time with you.

#hazbin hotel #vox x reader #x reader #deaf community #x deaf reader #x deaf s/o #velvette x reader #valentino x reader #velvette hazbin hotel #valentino hazbin hotel

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generalsmemories · 9 months

Text

48 hours.

✧ jing yuan x gn!reader

✧ synopsis: did time always pass this slowly before?

✧ word count: 3.5k

✧ contents: established relationship, mentions of other characters, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, spoilers for the 1.2 main story! + a very sorry attempt of writing angst lmfao

✧ a/n: i better see my man waking up from the best sleep he's ever had next update, i ain't accepting anything else. but until then you guys will get whatever this is because Jing Yuan is literally the definition of sleeping beauty throughout 90% of this piece.

The smell of seawater is prominent the closer you get to the statue of the former high elder. The waves seemingly roaring their praises for the Vidyadhara male before you who once again parted them to reveal a palace buried beneath them.

You're still able to see the waves crash down onto the shore, the force of the impact so harsh that your shoes are drenched.

The troops behind you seem to be in awe, whispering amongst themselves as you make your way up the stairs. Fu Xuan seems to notice you almost immediately, to which you give a curt bow before looking over to Jing Yuan whose hardened expression seem to soften slightly upon seeing you, "General, the reinforcements you've requested are here," you relay, glancing behind you to gesture the other Cloud Knights to position themselves behind the two that was behind Fu Xuan.

"Splendid, Lady Fu?" Jing Yuan turns his attention back to Fu Xuan who straightens up a bit, your eyes sweep over the people behind him. The trailblazer and their companions either giving you a curt nod or an energetic wave upon seeing your attention on them. Only one male diverts his attention elsewhere when his eyes locked upon yours. You can however see him give you a curt nod when he glanced back at you, "Remain here - lead the Cloud Knights in defense of this passage. We must prevent further incidents."

Your eyebrows furrow, but before you can utter a sound Fu Xuan takes a step before you in alarm, "Jing Yuan- General, are you planning on facing Phantylia alone?"

Your mind blanks the moment you notice what he's planning to do, but as the plan has already come this far any complaints you would have would fall on deaf ears. You can merely bite back your words and look away from him - Jing Yuan does take notice of this, but he has no time to console you, merely sparing you an apologetic glance as if that would lessen the sudden reveal of his plans.

You only turn your attention back towards the stairways leading down once you start to hear bustling around you, already noticing Fu Xuan address some Cloud Knights - but she does glance at you and cock her head to the side towards the retreating group with a small smile.

Almost as if saying: "We never know what might happen, say what you want to say now instead of regretting it later."

He's walking considerably slower than the rest of the party, and you let out a scoff at how he even predicted this, "Jing Yuan." you call out, and your lover turns around with the same easygoing smile he always gave you whether it was during a meeting at the Divine Foresight, on the training grounds of the Cloud Knights as he sparred with Yanqing or at the comfort at your own private quarters.

But he doesn't move from his spot - "Yes?" he asks softly, foregoing the petnames he usually addreses with you, a silent hint as to what sort of situation the two of you find yourself in.

"... I expect you to return safely to your troops, general." you merely say, before mouthing silently: "And to me."

Jing Yuan doesn't give you a nod, he merely laughs with a smile before turning around and descending down the stairs.

The next time you saw him, he was being carried by Dan Heng, not even conscious to hear your call for him.

HOUR 3

It took an hour to haul him to to Miss Bailu's place, the smaller vidyadhara's eyes widening upon seeing his unconscious self being carred by another Vidyadhara of all things.

And as much as you wanted to stay by him, there were more immediate pressing matters to handle. You had practically begged the high elder to take care of him, sputtering whatever you were informed before Bailu were forced to sit you down to make you relax.

You were offered a cup of her herbal tea before you continued on your way, taking one last glance at Jing Yuans' resting form before you rushed out to take care of your home in his stead.

HOUR 12

The ink brush in your hand is barely moving at this point, the tip of the hair dipped with the ink having made an extended black dot on the paper scroll you were currently writing on. You glanced over to the side from your place at the desk, watching with rapt attention Jing Yuans' chest falling up and down - an indicator that he was alive and breathing.

You're pretty sure you've observed his condition more than you have gotten any work done in the past few hours. The intial plan was to go the Divine Foresight to take care of the duties that would be left behind with the abscence of the General personally because at that point you would be easily accesible to the public. But just after an hour or two, Qingzu had contacted Fu Xuan to inform her that you were in no right mind to currently focus.

Thus you were tasked to stay home or work from the room where Jing Yuan was resting by Bailu's clinic - Fu Xuan had merely parroted back what Bailu had said to her which was to let Jing Yuan wake up on his own terms, he didn't seem to be affected too strongly by Phantylia's attempt to turn him into a voidranger, and Bailu was currently in the process of finding out more.

"You wouldn't want him to wake up to the entirety of Xianzhou and yourself in disarray do you? If anything the moment he does he would sure wish he was back asleep," she had tried to joke, to which you only responded with a dry laugh.

You glanced towards the clock again, you don't know how many times you've done it, 7:28 AM. it had gone 9 hours since? Why did it feel like it had gone days?

You let out a sigh, settling yourself to sit beside Jing Yuan and brushing a hand through his hair, "How come you even made me forget the concept of time for us?" you mutter. 9 hours was usually nothing for you - nor for him. 9 hours was a lot for a short-lived species, but for you, it was just 9 hours.

It was just supposed to be a few hours.

So how did 9 hours suddenly feel a lot longer?

HOUR 24

There's a quiet knock at the door that jolts you awake, the sudden sound amidst the quiet room makes you jump from your seat at the desk, your knee colliding with the surface underneath the desk.

It doesn't hurt of course, but the person behind the door can hear your quiet curse, "Come in, Yanqing," you utter a few minutes after, and when he opens the door he's met with scene of ink spilled all over the desk and dripping down the floor.

"... Lady Bailu wouldn't be very happy about that mess, you know?"

You merely dropped a handful of paper towels down on the floor and set the ink bottle straight again, taking a seat by the bed and gesturing for Yanqing to settle on the floor in front of you. The boy doesn't utter a word as he passed you the bandages and first aid kit he had gotten from one of the attendants.

"You know you don't have to come all the way here to just get your wounds dressed up, right?" You remind the lieutenant, but at the back of your mind you're well aware the reason why Yanqing keeps coming back, "But thank you."

A couple of minutes pass like that, Yanqing kneeled on the floor as you set up everything, the distant tick-tock of the clock reverberating by the lieutenant ears.

"It doesn't hurt as much anymore, right?" you ask while undressing the bandages currently adorning his head, "It never hurt at all, who do you take me for, [Name]?!" he scoffed, crossing his arms and turning his head to the side harshly - immediately regretting said decision with a pained whimper.

You chuckle, brushing out his hair before starting to wrap the bandages around his head again, "You and that idiot really like to throw yourselves head first into danger, hmm?" you muse quietly, Yanqing's posture immediately stiffening at the mention of the general still unconscious beside you.

"He's not mad, is he?" Yanqing asks quietly after you've tied a knot, leaning his head back to stare at you. The mere question makes you laugh even more, "He was already aware of what you were planning to do, he could never be severely disappointed in you," the response made the younger boy let out a sigh of relief.

"... Are you mad at him?" Yanqing asks in the end, the boy having already made himself comfortable against you, twisting his body to lean his arms on your left thigh. Propping his chin on his arms that rests against your thigh, he takes a long look at Jing Yuan before directing his gaze back to you. He patiently waits for your response, but you can only blink back at him in wonder before your gaze turns towards Jing Yuan.

... Were you angry?

HOUR 32

"You're not gonna rot in this room with him of all things, [Name]." is the first thing Fu Xuan says the moment she slams the door open. You are for once, not cooped inside the clinic room, but outside by the balcony staring down at the Xianzhou people go on about their day with a cup of herbal tea in your hand, merely giving her a glance with a raised eyebrow.

"I'm very much not rotting inside there, Lady Fu. Bailu wouldn't let me either. Please give me a bit more credit than that," you say with a sigh, placing the cup of tea down in front of her before taking a seat opposite of her, "I'm just concerned is all, is there any news from Lady Bailu?" you question, the divination commissioner shaking her head, "Other than her confirming that the general should really just be deeply asleep, she hasn't found anything yet. But he did take a lot of wounds and hits during that fight from what I was informed, it's amazing there's nothing more than that."

A moment of silence passes, the only sound is the clinking of ice cubes against your glass while you swirled the tea around.

"That's the thing."

"Pardon?"

" There should be something more happening to him than just being bedridden needing a nap! He was almost turned into a voidranger of all things, Fu Xuan!" you shout, the fragile composure that you had so desperately tried to hold up cracking in just a few hours. The divination commissioners' eyes widening in surprise at the sudden outburst.

If the past you could've seen the state you were in now, they would've laughed at you. Even now you find yourself pathethic. Because it is pathethic, you've been through worse situations that lasted for weeks, months and even decades.

But somehow, seeing your beloved in such a position and unable to do anything when you usually were able to just cracks down on every purpose and belief you've held yourself to.

"He didn't want help, he didn't ask for help when he had the chance! He went into that battle expecting to not come back alive at all, but with purpose to bring that ravager down with him! And of course he would, it's Jing Yuan! He will lay down his entire soul and being, his life to protect the Xianzhou through another crisis - just like every other problem that could've risen to a crisis in the past centuries!" you cry, Fu Xuan can see that even with the outburst you're still trying to keep yourself sane, your knuckles turning white from gripping the corners of the table before you.

"The only thing I shouldn't have to worry about is when he's going to wake up, Fu Xuan. That worry shouldn't have to be my only concern with his condition," you mutter in the end. A few minutes pass by in silence, not because Fu Xuan didn't know what to say - moreso because she was aware that you weren't looking for comfort.

So she lets the few minutes pass before you raise your head with a smile. It's a smile she is well aware is forced: "Why don't we take a stroll outside then? I think Bailu would jump in joy if she sees me out of the room too."

HOUR 45

Fu Xuan realized how efficient you truly were whenever you didn't have to appease a touch starved general. A glance at the desk when she first arrived to drag you out showed her results of your hard work under 24 hours which was the finished and marked scrolls that was supposed to be sent to her - in addition to more "trivial" paperwork left behind at the Divine Foresight.

No wonder Marshal Hua was reluctant to let you go when Jing Yuan had first proposed to you.

And Fu Xuan will be damned to let said general also be your downfall.

So for the next 13 hours after that, you were somehow visited by numerous people who were in need of some minor help - that be the trailblazer looking immensely out of place as they asked you for some obvious facts about the luofu to Yanqing dragging you out to the training grounds to finally have a chance to spar with you again.

That girl really can't show concern in the normal way, can she?

A futile attempt to relieve your mind of endless worry - but an attempt nonetheless which makes a soft smile graze your lips. You sent a quick message to Qingzu to send a few Cloud Knights to guard the perimeter of the house before heading out the door once again.

If you knew the Cloud Knights well enough, they would already be running over - and sure enough you were greeted by enthusiastic greetings by them after merely taking a few steps away from the porch.

Fu Xuan merely gave you a deadpanned look when you arrived at the Divination Commission, "What, weren't you the one who wanted to distract me from worrying so much?" you asked with a grin.

"Yes, but I meant it in a way to relax your body and mind, not overwork yourself to exhaustion."

"Just humor me this once, Lady Fu."

Fu Xuan huffed, turned around while nagging at you. She didn't comment on the way you were clenching your fist so tightly that blood seeped out from where your fingernails were digging into your palm.

Love truly was a dangerous feeling.

HOUR 48

Jing Yuan felt like his whole body was underwater. It was hard to move, and even harder trying to open his eyes. There's a dull ache spreading through every vein in his body - a feeling he had gotten used to thanks to numerous battles, but with so many centuries of peace he was not liking how taxing it truly was.

Blinking his eyes open, he was met with an unfamiliar ceiling, but inside an environment that he was somewhat familiar with whenever he felt like skipping work.

Trying to heave himself up proved harder than normal, the man letting out a groan as he supported both hands on the bed to drag himself up to a sitting position.

He was covered in fresh bandages, so either Bailu or another attendant must've been inside a few hours before to change them. One look around the room gave him a rough idea on what has been going on.

It's been roughly 2 days since the battle with Phantylia, the new addition to the desk by the corner piled with scrolls and textbooks indicate that you've been by his side ever since he came back.

And lastly, although his whole body is hurting and moving even a muscle sends shockwaves of pain through his body, he was still very much alive.

"Bailu I've already been chased around for 13 hours to prevent from being inside there, I just want a break. No it's fine I don't need a bed I'll just sit by the balcony again - yes I'll call you if I need anything, don't worry. Really it's fine -" The fake cheer in your voice immediately stops up when you turn your head away from Bailu and into the room, but instead of being seen with the same scenery as you've gotten used to in the past 48 hours, you're staring straight into Jing Yuan's open eyes - the man himself only cocking his head to the side with a smile.

"Good afternoon, dear."

He can tell Bailu has already hightailed away to grab her things, which leaves him alone with you. You, who hasn't even moved a single muscle since locking eyes with him. Jing Yuan can see your mouth move in attempt to say something and that the hand on the door handle is trembling slightly.

"... What, you're not happy to see me?" he tries to joke, but the moment he sees your eyes flicker from surprise to anger he knew it was a bad joke to tell, "I'm sorry-"

"Sorry? You're sorry?!" you seethe through clenched teeth, still having enough rationality to not yell inside of a clinic of all things, even closing the door gently before marching into the room.

You don't even reach out to him, and Jing Yuan doesn't have the energy to reach out for you.

"You sure weren't sorry when you kept all of those plans to yourself and walked down that staircase with half a mind of not returning," you point out, and Jing Yuan can only give you the same easygoing smile he gave you that very same day.

"... Why? Why is at the most crucial moments that you want to do everything alone? Why won't you lean onto someone for once, why must you do everything in secrecy but at the same time be so open?" you question, every worry and fear just pouring and Jing Yuan let's you speak.

And even when his whole body hurts, he reaches out to gently grab your wrist to pull you down to sit by the bedside. He's aware that you could've easily stood your ground, because he's much too weak to actually force you to do anything.

And yet you're so pliant, sitting down close enough for him to wrap his arms around your waist and rest his head against your shoulder, "... 48 hours isn't a long time for our people," you breathe softly after a moment of silence, "But those 48 hours where you didn't even turn around one single time nor make a single movement? It was almost the worst 48 hours I've experienced so far."

"And I hate it, why have I let you reduce me to something so vulnerable and I can't do anything about it?! Why have you gone against everything you first promised to me?!" Your voice is gradually getting louder, but Jing Yuan doesn't comment on it.

"I'm sorry," he mutters again, and you only scoff, "You're not sorry, I know you're not. If something like this happened again I know you would do the exact same thing."

You know him too well, and that's what also scares him in the end.

Because if you weren't so high on emotions right now and just took a moment to think, you would realize that if you were in the same battlefield as him things would not go as smoothly - to either one of you.

It was better for him to be alone right then and there - because if Phantylia had even seen one weakness from him of all people it would've reduced the already slim chances of them winning that battle to zero.

If Phantylia had even decided to target you, he knew he wouldn't be able to keep his rationality inside - because you have him wrapped around your finger more than you realize.

Every regret and painful memory he has experienced have started to pale when he compares to every joyful moment you've given him. So if you were to perish in that fight for him and for the Xianzhou? Jing Yuan would've truly lost against the battle of time.

He's selfish, for once he wants to be selfish because he's chosen to not be in every waking moment of his life - so he wants to be selfish this once and rather take a gamble with his life than toy with yours.

"I'm sorry," he whispers once again, a hand reaching out to cup your cheek, the general chuckling when he feels a stray tear his his thumb. He leans back to watch you, a guilty look crossing his features at your slightly reddened eyes.

And yet you're glaring at him in anger, but Jing Yuan is so relieved that you're still there with him.

So he leans in with no hesitation, pecking the corner of your eyes while whispering that he's sorry after every peck, his thumb pushing down on your lower lip to stop you from biting your lips so harshly, "I truly am," he whispers, silencing the bubbling sobs coming from your lips with his own.

He is sorry. And he hates the thought of you hurting, because both of you had gone through enough. But he would rather that you go through 48 hours of pure torment for him than taking the risk of losing you completely.

His love for you is selfish like that, because if he wasn't selfish he would be too vulnerable.

#honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail imagines #honkai star rail x you #star rail x reader #hsr x you #jing yuan x reader #x reader #reader-insert

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beatrice-otter · 6 months

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The Other Half of the Social Model of Disability

Lots of people in fandom are aware of the Social Model of Disability, which is a direct contrast to the Medical Model of Disability. Problem is, most of those people only understand half of the Social Model.

If you don't know what I'm talking about, the "in a nutshell" version is that the medical model views disability as something that is broken and which needs to be fixed, and little or no consideration is given beyond trying to cure it (and little or no consideration is given to the needs and wishes of the person who has it). The social model of disability, on the other hand, says that the thing that disables a person is the way society treats them. So, for example, if someone is paralyzed and can't walk, what disables them from going places is buildings that are not wheelchair accessible. (Or possibly not being able to afford the right type of wheelchair.) Inaccessible spaces and support equipment you can't afford are choices society makes, not a problem with the disabled person.

People then take this to mean that the only problem with disability is the society that surrounds it, and therefore in some utopian future where capitalism is no more and neither is ableism or any other form of bigotry, all problems disabled people have will be solved.

Except that what I've just described is not actually what the social model of disability says. Or, rather, it's only half of what the social model of disability says.

The actual social model of disability begins with a distinction between impairments and disabilities. Impairments are parts of the body/brain that are nonstandard: for example, ears that do not hear (deafness), organs that don't work right (e.g. diabetes), limbs that don't work (paralysis), brain chemistry that causes distress (e.g. anxiety, depression), the list goes on. The impairment may or may not cause distress to the person who has it, depending on the type of impairment (how much pain it causes, etc.) and whether it's a lifelong thing they accept as part of themselves or something newly acquired that radically changes their life and prevents them from doing things they want to do.

And then you have the things that disable us, which are the social factors like "is there an accessible entrance," as described above.

If we ever do get a utopian world where everyone with a disability gets the support they need and all of society is designed to include people with disabilities, that doesn't mean the impairments go away. Life would be so much better for people with impairments, and it's worth working towards, but some impairments simply suck and would continue to suck no matter what.

Take my autism. A world where autism was accepted and supported would make my life so much easier ... and yet even then, my trouble sleeping and my tendency to hyperfixate on things that trigger my anxiety would still make my life worse. I don't want to be cured of my autism! That would change who I am on a fundamental level, and I like myself. My dream is not of a world where I am not autistic, but a world in which I am not penalized for being autistic and have the help I need. And even in that world, my autism will still sometimes cause me distress.

There are some impairments--conditions that come with chronic pain, chronic fatigue, etc.--where pretty much everyone with that impairment agrees that the ultimate goal is a cure. But nobody knows how long a cure will take to find (years? decades? centuries?), whereas focusing on the social things disabling you can lead to improvement in your daily life right now.

In conclusion: the social model of disability is very valuable, and much superior to the medical model on a number of levels. But: please don't forget that the social model makes a distinction between disability and impairments, and even if we reach every goal and get rid of all the social factors that disable people, some impairments will be fine and cause no distress to the people who have them, some will be a mixed bag, and some will still be major problems for the people who have them.

Also on Dreamwidth

#disability #social model of disability #actually autistic

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goldenlikedayl1ght · 6 months

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the lakes - m. murdock

a/n: hey guys so i've been struggling a lot with the fact that i might have hearing loss (i'm going to the doctor next week) and as always i am projecting, but i am not 100% sure everything in this fic is accurate and for that i apologize. but it's my little passion project and i hope you enjoy <3 as always, comments and reblogs are always loved and appreciated! warnings: hearing loss, hearing aids, tinnitus, reader struggling with being disabled, some parts are more vulnurable and don't have the reader being like overly confident in their disability, matt being soft, some suggestive behavior at the end, kissing, nicknames, pretty pg-13 honestly word count: 3.0k summary: your hearing aids run out of battery, and you're forced to struggle through a day of ringing ears and being deaf. matt helps, as he always does. pairing: matt murdock x hard of hearing!reader now playing: the lakes - taylor swift "take me to the lakes/where all the poets went to die/i don't belong/but my beloved, neither do you."

“Are you deaf?”

“What?”

You’re eighteen, home from college for the first time since fall break. Your family sits around for Thanksgiving, and there are so many people talking. There’s about thirteen people at this long dining room table, and they are all talking at once. You’re sitting next to your sister, but you can’t hear her well.

You know she’s speaking, and you’re sure you’re yelling, but you’re frustrated.

“I said, are you deaf? I repeated myself like, four times!”

You feel your face flush.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you. You’re mumbling, and it’s loud in here.”

Your sister looks at you like you’re crazy.

“I’m right next to you, and I’m not mumbling. In fact, no one is yelling, either.”

You poke your fork at your sweet potatoes and feel hot, angry tears in your eyes as you avoid everyone’s gaze.

Your mom sits across from you, and frowns, planning to tell you to make an appointment at the student health center when you get back to campus.

She doesn’t even have to. You’ve booked one by the time she says it to you.

At the student health center, they administer a hearing test, and then refer you to a specialist for further testing. You call your mom, crying and she gently comforts you, before driving to the nearest bookstore and picking up a book on hearing impairments and a copy of ASL for Dummies.

At the specialist, they do another round of tests. Your doctor tells you that you do in fact have hearing issues and that you should come back in a year for more testing, to see if your hearing gets worse. For now, you get a doctor’s note that requires all your professors to take your hearing impairment into consideration. The process for getting that applied at your university is painful, and only gets worse through your years there.

Before you get to law school, your doctor tests you again, and tells you how your hearing has been decreasing in quality in the past few years. He says that you’ll need hearing aids to regulate it. You cry because you cannot afford that.

You get captioning accommodations throughout law school, as well as a note taker for certain classes that are entirely lecture based. You still try to take your own notes, but it frustrates you that suddenly you need all this help. Your own notes are incomprehensible and often miss key parts of the lecture as you sit for a few minutes trying to decipher what your professor had said a few minutes prior.

You go into corporate law after law school, choosing to stay out of court initially because you find yourself frustrated that you wouldn’t be able to process all of what’s going on due to the many voices.

You stay at this company long enough to get your hearing aids, long enough to pay your loans, and long enough to save up a good fund for your hearing aid needs.

You quit your job and get hired at Nelson, Murdock & Page as an interim while you decide what you want to do.

With your hearing aids, life isn’t so frustrating anymore. You find yourself enjoying casual chatter and not worrying about processing what your friends are saying. At family dinners, you take your hearing aids out when you’re mad at your family, to which your stepdad, another hearing aid user, always laughs.

And, despite the pay not being stellar at your job, you love it. You love working with people who need help, love fighting injustice, and you love your coworkers.

...

If only Matt Murdock would reciprocate your feelings towards him.

You’ve been dancing this dance for months. You come into work with coffee and stutter when you get to his doorway.

You wonder if he’ll ever know how desperately you want him.

You go about your days quietly, going to the bar with them at the end of a long week. You love your friends and find yourself hoping they know how much you love them.

Karen and Foggy, as well as Foggy’s fiancé, know about your hearing aids since they sit sort of clunkily on your ears.

You don’t tell Matt, though, not at first.

You know how bad it is, to not even tell your blind crush that you have hearing aids. But you’re embarrassed. It makes you sound like an old person even though you’re in your twenties.

But when Matt crawls into your window late at night, bleeding, you don’t even flinch as he crashes onto your floor behind you. You’re reading, your hearing aids out, and he’s unsure why you can’t hear him. Your heartbeat had no reaction, it’s like you don’t even realize he’s there.

He taps you on your shoulder and you turn quickly, and gasp, before starting to sign at him. Even in his disoriented state, he knows you’re doing something with your hands and moving your mouth. At first, he thinks that he might have stuff clogging his ears, but then he realizes you’re signing, probably because you think Daredevil isn’t blind.

He takes off his helmet.

“Matt?” You say, and it comes out a little louder than it should, because you can’t hear yourself to gage how loud you’re being.

He says something, and your gaze focuses on his mouth, where you can barely make out what he’s saying.

“I can’t hear you.” You say, softer now. You reach over to your bedside table and put your hearing aids on. By the time you look back, Matt has passed out on the ground. Oh fuck.

You get your first aid kit and begin to work on his wounds. When you’re done, you pull him onto your couch, now stained with his blood, and watch as he sleeps. Blood covers your hands, and you listen to him breathing.

When he wakes up that morning, you’re asleep on the couch, and when you feel him start to stir. You grab your hearing aids, and turn them on, before watching him wake.

He says your name softly, and you take his hand in yours.

“Hey.. You.. You’re Daredevil...”

“You’re deaf.”

“Hard of hearing. Not fully deaf, just… My right ear is a lot better than my left, but without my hearing aids I’m close to deaf, yeah…”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were Daredevil?”

“I was scared. Scared that… That you would view me differently, scared that you wouldn’t like me as much.”

“I was scared too..”

“When did you start losing your hearing?”

“In college. I realized it when I went home for Thanksgiving, and then it got worse from there..” You tell him. A hand reaches out to your face, and you lean into it, letting your cheek rest in his palm. His fingers trail up towards your ear and gently run his fingers over your hearing aid.

“Thanks for stitching me up.” He says softly.

“No problem.”

“The hearing aid does explain the buzzing I always hear when you’re around.”

“You can hear my hearing aids?”

“Apparently. I can hear a lot of things. I have heightened senses. You use pomegranate shampoo and had red velvet cake for dessert tonight. Your heart is racing.”

Your face flushes.

“I can turn them off if it’s bothering you.”

“How would you hear me, then?” He has a point.

“I just don’t want them to bother you.”

“Don’t offer to hide your disability just to make other people more comfortable.”

You kiss him when he says this, in a careful way. You’re gentle, making sure not to hurt him as you do. He lays there and lets you kiss him, his hands on your face. You realize you had no reason to be scared that Matt might reject you for your disability, because he is the only person in your everyday life who really gets how it is to have a disability that affects all aspects of your life.

You trace the healed scars on his skin as you kiss him gently, careful not to hurt him. You promise that you’ll kiss him more passionately when he isn’t freshly stitched up.

• • •

A few weeks passed after that night. You and Matt start seeing each other more and more as you fall deeper in love. You find it silly that you wasted so many days, afraid of talking to each other and maybe disappointing each other over the fact that you both lack a vital sense.

But Matt never views it that way. You wear hearing aids and it’s perfectly fine because most of the time, you aren’t struggling to hear him and cannot communicate with him, and he can’t see when you can’t hear him.

Instead, Matt loves that he can hear your hearing aids buzzing softly because it always alerts him that you’re there. He can hear your heartbeat and smell you, too, but it’s not quite the same as this soft little buzzing that reminds him often of a bee.

Except for this one day.

You slept over at Matt’s on a Thursday and really, you should have known better. You knew your hearing aids were going to need a battery change soon, but you’ve been so busy with work and with Matt, and worrying about him at night, that you’re tired. So tired that you forget to pick up batteries before your hearing aids die.

You sneak out of Matt’s apartment early, sending him a text that you needed to go get changed before work. Really, you want to avoid the fact that you wouldn’t be able to hear him. But he didn’t respond to your message. You decide that you don’t care at this moment and head out to work, debating the right way to tell your coworkers about your predicament.

When you get to work, Foggy is immediately talking to you, and you are tense.

“Foggy—” He’s not stopping. It sounds like he’s mumbling, and there’s this ringing in your ears. “Foggy, I can’t hear you.” He finally looks to you, and says something, you make it out to be a phrase of confusion. “My hearing aids died.” You tell him. You’re frustrated, and Matt isn’t in the office yet.

You deem this as a blessing and a curse. Foggy goes to tell Karen what’s going on and as you’re settling down for the day, you get a text. You hope it’s from Matt, but when you see Karen’s name, you falter slightly.

‘Hey! Foggy told me what was going on. We’ll have your calls redirected to one of us and you can spend the day doing housekeeping and paperwork.’

‘Thanks’, You respond, “Sorry about all this. I’m usually on top of my battery life.”

“Don’t worry about it. These things happen.”

“Still, thanks. Did you hear from Matt at all?”

“No, he probably just slept in late. He should be in soon.”

You try to ignore your anxieties over his absence even though you know that when he does come into the office, you’ll have to struggle to communicate with him all day.

So, for the first hour or so of your day, you try to get some work done but there’s a light ringing in your ears that’s getting worse and worse as you attempt to try and focus on other things. Everything sounds so muffled. You’re so focused that your teeth grind against each other, your muscles tense, as you attempt to try and block out the ringing in your ears.

You have a feeling that by the time you leave today, those hot frustrated tears will be threatening to pour once more.

You don’t hear Matt as he steps into your office and stands by your left side, where you’re almost completely deaf. He stands there for about ten minutes, trying to get your attention before he realizes the light buzzing of your hearing aids are not there.

You must not have them in.

So his hands find your shoulders gently, and instead of tensing, you actually relax under his touch, because you realize that it has to be Matt. A slight turning of your head confirms it and you lean into his touch.

Neither of you say much for a while, deciding to let your frustration slowly dissipate as you lean into his warm hands. They stay on your shoulders and upper arms, rubbing gentle patterns into your skin.

After a good ten minutes of this, his body shifts to your right side and he leans down, before speaking at full volume, maybe even a little louder, just to make sure you can hear him. It still sounds like he’s mumbling, but you can hear him.

“Forgot your hearing aids?”

“Batteries died.” You tell him. “You never answered me.”

“My phone died. I forgot my charger, too.. Are you gonna be okay to work all day?”

“Mhm..” You smile softly, “You’re gonna have to help answer calls, though.”

He kisses your cheek, and you lean into the warmth.

“Anything for you, sweetheart.” He says, a soft smile on his face.

The day goes by pretty much as you expect it. You spend it doing paperwork and dodging phone calls, your tinnitus gets worse as the day goes on. By the time the day is finally winding down, Karen sends you one final text.

“Matt’s staying a little late to catch up on some work. Want me to walk you home?”

“No, I’ll be fine. Thank you.”

You realize that because she and Foggy are heading home, you’ll be able to sit with Matt, maybe get a little bit of peace. You’re thankful, too, because you’re about to lose your mind over all of this. The ringing is just getting to be too much.

You wait a few minutes after Foggy and Karen head home before you go into Matt’s office. He smiles at you and gestures for you to come in, and you do. You lean against his desk, as he speaks loud enough now that you can hear him.

“I’ll just be a few more minutes, Bee.” Even the soft-spoken nickname doesn't get you out of your funk, too busy wanting to get on your hands and knees and beg God for your hearing back.

That doesn’t usually happen, but every once in a while you ask him for a normal life.

God sends you a blind man as your soulmate, because he must think that the whole thing is quite funny.

“Okay…”

You feel hot tears pooling in your eyes as you bite your tongue and dig your fingernails into your skin. You almost draw blood.

“What’s wrong?” He can tell that something is wrong. He can always tell, and you’re foolish to think anything less of him, and even more foolish to forget his super senses. A part of you bites back a bitter feeling, since you wish you could’ve had super smell, super sight, super taste, anything in exchange for your hearing. You were not given an exchange, only forced to give, with nothing in there for you.

You forget that your boyfriend has super senses and can taste and smell your salty tears and blood in the air. Damn him.

“Loud… Ringing in my ears, my tinnitus is always really bad when I don’t use my hearing aids for a while..” You say softly. “It’s just.. it really hurts...” You confess, tears slipping down your face.

“Sweetheart..” He takes off his glasses and rests them on the desk in front of him. “C’mere..” You can’t hear that last part, but the way he opens his arms gives you the hint.

You sit on his lap, burying your face in the crook of his neck with a shaky sigh. You feel the thumps of his heartbeat and hold onto it, the ringing in your ears slightly muffled by his skin. It doesn’t fix the problem, but it helps.

His hands linger on your body, gentle caresses of your knee or thigh happening here and there. He just wants you to know he’s there, in the same way he desires when everything becomes too much for him.

“”m sorry..” you say gently, and he just hushes you softly, kissing your head. He traces patterns into your skin. He traces words into it as well.

L-O-V-E.

S-W-E-E-T-H-E-A-R-T

He traces your name, his, and your last names.

You kiss him softly, realizing that you might never be 100% okay with your hearing, but Matt will help. He’ll understand. He loves you, and it’s enough to be confident in your future again.

You spend only a few minutes more in the office before you decide to head home, his hand never leaving yours.

You make it back to his apartment and Matt plugs his phone in in case you need to text him and get his attention. You wind up stealing a pair of sweatpants, a tee shirt, and a pair of fuzzy socks. The two of you wind up tangled together on his couch.

Your ear is pressed against his chest as he gently caresses your skin, occasionally moving your hair from your face. He mumbles sweet nothings, and while you can’t hear them, you feel the rumbling vibrations in his chest, and you relish in them. You bathe in the feeling of his heartbeat thumping against his skin.

You fall asleep like this, with Matt touching you and talking in this low tone to make sure you can feel the vibrations of his voice in his chest and in his throat. It’s enough just knowing he’s there. That this thing you thought would deem you unlovable is no match for Matt Murdock, who on your wedding day will throw up the sign for ‘I love you’ in ASL.

For Matt Murdock, who, when you’re taken for loving the devil, will find you and take you into his arms and kiss you so that you know he’s real.

For Matt Murdock, who touches you in all the right ways so you can hear the sounds of your own pleasure.

For Matt Murdock, who will gently trace patterns into your skin when you need to be grounded. For Matt Murdock, who feels himself slipping further and further in love with you and finds himself searching for the soft buzz of your hearing aids when you walk into the room.

#matt murdock #matt murdock fic #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x y/n #matt murodock hurt/comfort #matt murdock angst #matt murdock imagine #daredevil fic #daredevil x reader #daredevil fanfiction #hoh!reader #hard of hearing!reader #deaf!reader #self indulgent

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homunculus-argument · 3 months

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I get that it's rich coming from a person who gets frustrated with other peoples' inability to comprehend hypothetical questions, but I always halt right there and start buffering when I'm telling my psych about some shit that happened with my family and she asks me something like "what would you wish they would have done? What would you have wanted them to say?"

Because I just genuinely cannot imagine my family doing anything else except what they would do, or saying anything except what they would say. In my head the way they treated me is such a fundamental part of who they are, that someone who would do differently would have been a completely different person. I would have to imagine someone completely different who just happens to look like my mom. It would be like trying to imagine a shadow that isn't dark or snow that isn't cold - altering this component would change the thing so thoroughly that it wouldn't be the same thing anymore.

Someone who isn't brutally tactless and tone deaf to other peoples' emotions wouldn't be my mom anymore. Someone who's more kind, patient and considerate of people wouldn't be my sister anymore. They would be strangers to me. And I see no point in imagining them as strangers who would have treated me better, when I've already known so many strangers who have treated me better.

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atierrorian · 1 month

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| Glad it's you | — R.H

PARING: Rook Hunt x Deaf!reader

SYNOPSIS: All your entire life, you knew silence. But—it isn't as bad as people make it out to be. Because even with your biggest flaw, he still chose you.

˗ˏˋGENRE ´ˎ˗ — Romance, fluff, angst/comfort

˗ˏˋCW ´ˎ˗ — Rook is already a warning. Ooc, mentions of bullying, stalking(It's Rook, duh) horrible poetry.

˗ˏˋNOTES ´ˎ˗ — Wow! It has been a while and I am so sorry for not making anything in quite some time, I've become so busy nowadays that writing has barely crossed my mind, so I'll make most of my free time writing this!

✎| Masterlists|Navigation |

♡ "Are you really willing to accept me?" ♡ "I've accepted you a long time ago."

People always pitied you for as long as you can remember now. Frequently assuming it must be hard not being able to hear. And yeah, sometimes—but it isn't as bad as they make it out to be, if anything, you find solace in the silent world you have lived in all your life. Sure, there were times when it was hard to understand people, especially if they didn't know sign language.

Luckily, you mostly used poems to interact with them. Though, it was amusing to see them struggle to grasp your poems—that's what makes it fun anyway.

And so, making use of your skills, you swiftly wrote down another poem for a certain hunter. He's one of the few people you've known who could actually decipher what your poems meant. And it's not to say each and every time you show him your masterpiece, he always seems to be on your level when it came to writing back to you.

It always makes you feel giddy inside when he writes back to you. Re-reading every syllable. Caressing the ink that was clearly carefully written with such consideration with each word he used, you couldn't help but feel as though he was hinting to you about something.

You scoffed; shaking the thought away. Who were you trying to fool? This was the Rook Hunt you were thinking about! He's like this with everyone. Besides—why would he go for someone who had a defect? To say the least, you weren't insecure with your disability but, thinking about the blonde hunter who seemed to always cross your mind whenever you wrote—you couldn't help but feel your heart tightening in your chest from such thoughts.

In the end, why would he choose you? You're nothing special, far from it anyway. You're just someone who could never hear and someone who just writes to communicate. But, even then, you were still wrapped around his fingertips. And besides—it doesn't hurt to hope, right?

You felt a hand placed on your shoulder, you froze. You had never stayed still like a statue so fast in your entire life until now. What? Millions of thoughts were racing through your mind right now—was it another of the students who were here to once again chuck balled up papers again? Take your poems away from you and ripped them to pieces or flames it until there's nothing left but ashes?

"Awww, what's this? Another one of your silly stories?"

"Look! It's another one of their love poems!"

"Pathetic if you ask me."

You didn't focused on them, you never even knew what they were saying, and you could care less what insults or degrading comments they were spewing from their filthy mouth. Your knees on the ground while clutching onto what was remains of the paper you once cherished. And they tore it all up like it was nothing.

Shuddering from the memory, you closed your eyes and continued to look at your lap; prepared for whatever torture they were gonna do to you again. Tore your poems? Throw paper at you? Mocking at you while you cry in tears because they had nearly killed you? What else did they had in store for you?

You gripped the paper even harder, shutting your eyelids even tighter if that was even possible. You were scared.

Huh.

You felt a piece of paper slid onto your lap, hesitantly, bit by bit, you forced your eyes to open to see what it was. Was it an insult written in a letter? If so, then you're surprised that they were even intelligent enough to finally realized that you had a hearing disability instead of using their vocals to try and insult you.

But no, it was not anything you expected or thought. Instead, your vision was blessed with a familiar handwriting. Subconsciously, you read what was was written on the white letter that graced your sight, and goodness it always doesn't fail to make your blood rushing through your face. By the sevens, how does he always make you feel this way?

Why such a blue face? You don't need to be ashamed of such a heartache; If you need someone to wipe your tears, my heart will gladly volunteer; What you consider flaws, is what I consider perfection —

Mon Cherie, you are the belle of my dairy heart, You, sweetheart, have me wrapped around your fingertips; I will never let go of the string that wraps around my wrist; That connects me, to you.

My heart beats loudly; even you could hear it— If your heart longs for anything, Mon cherie, just write to me; And tell me all your silly sorrows. -Rook Hunt

Though it was short and simple, you couldn't help but re-read the words every now and then. You smiled seeing the words written on the paper. How could you not? His words sweet like candy, it was addicting in a way even you were worried you wouldn't get enough of it. Or maybe it's too late for you.

Your heart started racing so fast you thought even you could hear it. The more you examined the poem the more it started to look like a love confession. But it couldn't be that, could it? You so badly wanted to hope that you had a chance but you didn't want to get your hopes up.

You, sweetheart, have me wrapped around your fingertips.

Those lines, shit, you couldn't help but swoon over them. Clutching the poem, you finally gazed at the author with wonders and hope. He smiled at you and signed those three words you've been waiting to see.

"I love you."

Was it even possible for your heart to be beating faster than it was before? You held the poem closer to your beating heart, trying to conceal it; worried he might hear it. It felt like your heart was about to leap out of your chest. You sighed dreamily and thanked your heart for choosing him.

Meanwhile, Rook chuckled seeing your flustered expression. He found beauty in all things whether it was considered good or bad to others. But he found you the most beautiful of them all. He won't lie, he fell for you hard when he saw you. Because even when he learnt about your flaw, it didn't matter to him; you were still the fairest of them all. You weren't able to hear his words—but that's alright; he'll gladly write thousands or more letters if it meant to show you just how much he loves you.

He'd gladly and happily dance in hot and burning shoes if it meant to show you his devotion to you, just to show how much he cares for you. And if anyone were to make you doubt? Let's just say they wouldn't be coming closer to you anymore if they caused you pain. But before that, he'd come and comfort you, with words written on paper just so all your worries would go away.

Even if his fingers start to go numb and bruises appear, he won't stop until he finally sees you smile. He's glad that his heart chose you.

END

Wow! Uhm, heyy ik it's been awhile but I finally found enough inspiration to make this! Again sorry it's been awhile I've been so busy that I barely found any time to write at all, but I do hope you guys liked this!

#atier's works✎#rook hunt x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst fluff #twst scenario

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strawberrystepmom · 22 days

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YOU ARE A FEVER | gojo x f!reader | series masterlist | next chapter

cw: mentions of witchcraft and witch hunting. reader has defined physical characteristics (red hair, long length, wavy texture), two sisters, and a complexion that visibly reddens. word count 2.6k.

Is this the sum of my life?

It is not your intention to seem ungrateful for the gift of the years you have lived so far, all twenty something of them, though you will admit grace is difficult when the scratchy fibers of hemp rope binding your wrists together scrape against you with every twist and pull of your hands. One of your neighbors binds you while another digs through the meager belongings, picking through pages of your current journal.

“What are you going to do to me?”

The small mob of people occupying your grandparents kitchen is wordless despite their zeal, no God chosen leader speaking above the crowd to read out your crimes. There is no fairness in this trial and any words you dare speak will only be used to further persecute you.

“A witch alright,” the man picking through the pages of your journal exclaims while holding up a page he ripped from its handbound spine. It’s a page of rudimentary drawings, doodles of a shooting star you witnessed while out in the woods one night alone, and he holds it up triumphantly. The sneer across his face makes you flinch. “Does your family know about you and what you’ve done to them?”

You’ve done nothing though you consider for a moment that this has been your crime. You’ve let them whisper about you and the things you’ve “done” for months, deciding to ignore the rumors rather than address them for fear of stirring more controversy.

“I’m not a witch.”

Your words land with no one and you are given little more than a sidelong glance from the people in your home. The same woman who used to plait your hair when you were a child, just as you have now done for hers many times since their birth ten years ago, refuses to meet your eye while securing another length of rope around your waist. She knots it tightly as though it’s the difference between you remaining where you stand and bolting barefooted into an early winter night, something you hadn’t even considered until now.

There is always the option of running but they’d give chase, a small group of fifteen can still outrun a single woman before she can even make it into the woods. The trees and shrubs miles outside of the dirt road leading to Ucra, your village, have been your refuge from the suffocation of restrictive superstition since you found your hiding places as a young girl.

“What have I done?” Your pleas fall on deaf ears and although you’ve tried your hardest to remain unaffected and stoic, sobs hiccup from the back of your throat before you can stop them. “Will someone please explain what’s happening? Where are my grandparents and sisters?”

You’d be indignant over this treatment if it were less painful to be treated this way by your neighbors and friends, people you once viewed as aunts and uncles, brothers and sisters. Tears fall down your cheek while the woman whose eyes are still downturned gently pulls the tether end of the rope, guiding you out of the small home your family has shared for two generations.

“Witch!”

The word strikes you as colder than the earth and rocks your feet walk across, led by the tether of a rope. There was no consideration for your comfort and goosebumps erupt over your cotton nightgown covered skin. The winter air is almost freezing at night and you glance upward toward the sky, a blanket of stars winking down at you. The night sky has always been more beautiful this time of year. It feels bitter to glance above knowing it’s the last time you will ever do so.

“Witch!”

This time the accusation comes from the lips of a child, the tender age of twelve, one you’ve clothed and bathed more times you can count in an effort to assist her mother. Your role in your village has always been that of a caretaker, if not animals and children then the elderly and ill. The entire village once called you responsible and always where you’re supposed to be though it appears the goodwill only extends as long as they aren’t suspicious.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“What crimes have I committed?”

“Treason!” One of the members of the crowd shouts. “Adultery! My husband admitted to having impure thoughts about you! Cut off her hair so that we can bury it in the woods and it won’t curse another. Flame colored hair is a sign from the Devil!” Another shouts and a few women join her words in unison, your mouth running dry. “Murderer! The goats!”

The goats. Before autumn two of your goats fell ill, several weeks ago two more died unexpectedly. The small, reclusive village lacked the supplies needed to stave off the infection that started in their gums and eventually took their lives. Did this begin all the way back then, before you could ever fathom this cruelty being inflicted upon you?

“My goats were killed too.”

The man tying you to the stake in the middle of the village sneers at your muttered words.

“Of course they were. You thought we’d never suspect you if you killed your own first.”

A pained groan leaves your mouth when the back of your head hits the stake sharply, the man standing in front of you using his forearm to press you against the wood. You attempt to arch your back but are met with another forearm pressed against your torso, someone behind you securing the ropes around your feet, wrists, and middle to the wooden stake they’re planning on burning you on.

“I didn’t do anything!”

Another chuckle from the man pressing his forearm against your sternum, his face inches from yours.

“You’ve been using your cat familiars to spy on all of us, we know your games.”

If you were less shocked by everything happening you would argue that the cats come to you and not the other way around although it wouldn’t do you any good at this point anyway. Everyone’s minds are made up and you look out across the crowd, squinting to see if you can find your family anywhere. There is no sight of them and you are both relieved and terrified, shuddering breath leaving you while your hands are fastened above your head.

“Witch!” The crowd continues to shout in unison, the ringleader backing away to hold oil and a torch in front of everyone looking on that cheers for him to light you up. “Burn her!”

The crackling sound of wood being set alight fills the night air, melting the light snowflakes that are falling into tiny puddles. You shut your eyes tightly and cry wordlessly, smoke filling your nostrils. You hope that inhalation takes you before the flames do, that some God takes mercy on a woman falsely accused, striking her accusers down. You pray and plead and beg and when you feel the air around you shift, your eyes open to see a man standing directly in front of you.

You recognize him.

Satoru Gojo, the man always making the trip to pick up meat and produce for the cafe owner in the city. The man whose smile and eyes are etched in your daydream, their memories messy little sketches in the pages of your journal that will never be returned to you.

“Sorry I’m late, do you know how hard it is to sneak around a village this small without being noticed?”

The man shakes his head, unable to hide that you are not giving him the reaction that he was expecting. Your world is blazing everywhere you look but he is not. He remains unscathed, hair the same color as the stars above dipping over his eyebrows and touching the tips of his eyelashes that are the same color.

“So they’ve called you a witch, huh?” Glancing at him, you blink silently with a quivering bottom lip. A pair of vaguely familiar large eyes dance over every feature and crease of your face, impressed by what they see despite the circumstances. The unbelievable man in front of you is unable to hide his expressions, head tilted with a little smile on his face. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

Another sob bubbles out of you. Your body reacts, finally, and you strain against the ropes that bind you and secure you to the stake.

“Please, please, please get me down,” your chest heaves and the white nightgown draped over your frame turns more gray from exposure to smoke with each moment that passes. The heat of the flames licks your feet. A fresh round of tears streams down your face, finally forcing Satoru to move. He reaches above your head, loosening your bindings with his fingers while his magic handles the ones securing your feet and waist. A few seconds feels like an eternity as orange flames give way to hotter blue ones at the heart of the fire and as soon as your arms are free, you wrap them around his neck and cling to him. He chuckles and wraps one arm around your waist, holding you to him tightly.

“They won’t be able to see us leave.” You nod in response to his whisper, holding onto him tightly. “But they will come looking as soon as they realize there are no bones and ashes in the morning.”

These people wanted to wake up to nothing but a pile of you left. Your stomach churns and you squeeze this practical stranger tightly, wrapping your legs around his waist, face buried against his shoulder. Your tears dampen his shirt although he doesn’t mind and before you can think, the heat of the flames disappears and gives way to a whoosh of cooling air.

The two of you materialize inside of a makeshift hideout, stone cave walls surrounding you on all sides when you unbury your face from his neck and look around. Blinking, you look upward and downward and finally directly in front of you. Gojo grins at you, arm still wrapped around your waist and holding you against him.

“Hi there.”

Adrenaline moves your body on its own, beckoning you to lean forward and press your lips against his. You’ve dreamed about this moment before, the day you would be brave enough to kiss this glamorous man who is from a city you have only ever heard about secondhand, and while this feels different it also feels like the exact way to say thank you.

Your lips pucker a second time and press against his though your senses return and your eyes widen, arms unwrapping from around his neck to push yourself away from him.

“Is that how you thank everyone who saves your life?” Your mouth opens and closes silently, words that you want to say refusing to form on your tongue. Satoru has managed to render you speechless and he smirks while keeping his gaze pinned to your shocked face, cheeks still reddened thanks to the blaze you barely escaped from. “Even if it is, I won’t hold it against you.”

Finally you scoff and your body wakes up all at once, attempting to wiggle free from his grasp. He sets you down on the ground below and steps away, holding his hands up innocently. You wrap your own arms around your chest, hands smoothing up and down your forearms to comfort yourself. Looking around the unfamiliar surroundings, you begin crying again.

“Why did you save me?”

He smirks, holding his arms open and glancing at you exaggeratedly.

“I can’t let a pretty girl get burned alive in good conscience, I’m a gentleman after all.”

More tears drip down your nose and chin while you shake your head incredulously, eyes wide.

“That doesn’t answer my question. How did you know? Did you tell them I was..?”

“Absolutely not. You are a witch but I know you didn’t do what they accused you of,” he retorts with a raised brow. “I mean, maybe you are guilty of the fantasy accusation but that’s hardly your fault. Pretty hair, pretty girl…things are bound to happen.”

Gojo reaches out to wrap one of the long strands of your hair around his finger, marveling at the color. You reach up to slap his hand away and he drops the strand, giving you room to pace across the stone floor of the hideaway he has secured you in.

“I’m not a witch!” Chuckling, he sits down on the small bed in the corner of the room and crosses his legs one over the other. “Is that all you took away from everything I just said? You are weird, I was right.”

Feet carrying you forward, you plop next to him on the bed. You know Satoru Gojo but you don’t know him. You know he’s from Amavel, his friend runs a cafe and he’s the only one daring enough to make the quarter of a day’s journey to your village to pick up fresh goods for said cafe. You know he’s charming, everyone in the village gawks at him every time he’s around though it doesn’t answer your question.

“I am weird and scared and I don’t know where my family is and a man I’ve met a handful of times but think about often came out of nowhere to save me from certain death and,” your words tumble out endlessly, breathlessly, and he stops you with a finger to your lips. He withdraws it as soon as you stop speaking and raises his brows, lowering his face until the two of you are eye level.

“Because you’re special.”

Shaking your head, you refuse to believe his words and stand once again. His hand gently closes around your dangling forearm and he pulls you back down to the bed, rubbing his thumb along the inside of your arm the same way you remember your mother doing to comfort you as a child.

“Listen to me before you say anything else.” He instructs and you nod wordlessly, letting him speak. “I saved you because I’ve known for a long time that you are a witch. You don’t have to believe me now but I will prove it to you, okay? I’m going to keep you safe here until the village has given up looking for you and then we will return to Amavel.”

Sighing, you find it hard to argue with a man who seems so certain of everything he says. You lean forward and place your elbows on your knees, turning your palms upward and burying your face in them. The option of running is still on the table though you know it’s unsafe for you to do so in just a nightgown and bare feet so you turn your face toward him, cheeks still warm from the fire, just the fire, and not the way his gaze remains fixed on your face as if he’s afraid to look away.

“How are you so certain?”

Gojo grins and leans in your direction, finally touching you the way he wants. A large palm rubs your back and eventually works down your shoulder and upper arm, settling on scooping one of your hands into his.

“Because I am a witch, you silly girl. How do you think we got here so fast?”

A raised brow is your only response, too shocked by the truth to speak, and he lifts the back of your hand to his mouth to kiss it. That same look as before is on your face, awestruck and overwhelmed. There is an overwhelming urge inside of the man to gloat about your surprise but he thinks better of it, knowing there will be plenty of time for the two of you to discuss your future together.

#satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #kendall writes #yaaf au #you are a fever #satoken

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rivetgoth · 6 months

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Seeing someone try to cheekily bad faith argue against goth being a music based subculture with “but that would exclude deaf and hard of hearing people from being goth since they can’t listen to music” is soooooo wild to me. No it literally does not. I KNOW Deaf and HoH people who go to concerts and clubs. There are Deaf and HoH people who love music. There are tons of posts on r/goth from Deaf and HoH goths: “I think it would be pretty cruel of a community to strip me of an identity I've held since I was conscious because of a physical disability, and I will continue to call myself goth. However, when I see this question, I don't think it's really in consideration of deaf people in general, and a way for the Instagoths to justify taking a culture and making it something it isn't. I refuse to be a catalyst to justify your Killstar partnership.”

Saying “Deaf and HoH people can’t be goth” feels significantly more ableist than suggesting that a community that was built around a shared love of a specific kind of art… should remain as such, rather than be about fast fashion and corporate commodification, lol. Goth spaces that are inclusive to disabled people have always existed. Deaf goths exist. Commodifying gothness and watering it down to be purely a marketable aesthetic does literally fucking nothing to make it MORE inclusive to disabled people, and the post I saw this in response to was specifically about goth as aesthetic making it LESS welcoming to goths of color due to the way mainstream commodification always = glorification of whiteness/paleness, whereas within an underground music subculture there’s space for marginalized goths to exist and be celebrated... It just so obviously reveals how little this person knows about the community—Goth being centered around the music doesn’t mean all we do is like. Sit and quietly listen to songs anyway. There’s so many facets of the community that someone can partake in without decentering the music. This would be obvious if someone actually partook in the subculture and made an active effort to celebrate marginalized goths and their actual tangible history within the community, rather than making up hypothetical gotchas online to justify the existence of Killstar.

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hitomisuzuya · 1 year

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NSFW Yandere!Fatui! Scaramouche x Fatui!fem! reader. Headcanons. Smut. Scara falling in love. Totally self indulgent. Obsessive and possessive behavior. Mind break. Choking.

a/n: Good evening, everyone. Requests should be open in about 6 days❤️ Please enjoy.

Tagging @xxventiswindblumexx @kichikichiko

Scaramouche had a lot of pride.

So when he first saw you, it shook him up. Rattled him to his very core.

The first thing he noticed about you was your height. You were shorter than him. It annoyed him.

The second was your scent. All it took was for a soft breeze to ruffle against your hair for you scent to assault his senses. You smelt so good it disgusted him, like lavender and jasmine.

The third was sound of your voice. It was like soothing honey, sweet in his ears. A pleasant sound in his ear drums. He hated that he liked it.

And then there was that thing you did that drove him instantly crazy. Whenever you thinking or trying to concentrate, you would always mess with your lower lip somehow, commonly biting it to help you think.

He hated that he noticed you always seemed to do it around him, especially when he spoke. It was like you were flustered. He didn't know when he started to enjoy making you flustered.

Your smile was what shook him up the most. It was gentle and accepting, without any pity. Scaramouche had never seen anyone smile like that. Much less at him.

He supposed his obsession started when you stood up to him for the first time.

But he couldn't be sure because now he was always looking for ways to have your attention. Having you transferred onto his squad. By now he was sure you noticed some things disappearing from your quarters. Some clothes, some books, other miscellaneous items. He did that when he felt you weren't giving him enough attention.

It would force you to seek him out and give him attention. It was a common habit he used because he wanted your attention all the time.

He hated that he always wanted you around him every second of the day.

But he didn't hold it against himself much. You were a pest, a nuisance bothering him. But he needed to see you, smell you, to find some way to brush up against you accidentally on purpose and then snap at you that you should watch where you are going because you bumped into him.

Especially to hear your voice. Which is what he enjoyed hearing the most when you stood up to him the first time.

Scaramouche had been knocking around his subordinates out of frustration. Stupid people problems, not his.

But you. You had the nerve to go around tending to their wounds. He didn't understand you at all. "Quit it, they don't deserve the treatment. Stupidity is undeserving of your disgusting consideration."

"Stop barking, Scara. You are the one saying everyone always runs their mouth around you and yet you run yours just as much like a petulant brat."

You'd called him Scara. A pet name. He hated pet names. But he would love it if you called him pet names. He hated that too.

Call him Master instead.

Bruises of possession were starting to form on your skin. Now he was taking advantage of your obvious feelings for him. He liked to use them as a weapon against you just so he could kiss you and taste you. But it never went beyond that. Scara was one to take intimacy slowly. It was a deep thing for him and he was already reeling around you.

Things have an interesting way of backfiring on Scaramouche.

The first time is when he slipped up and admitted his feelings for you indirectly in front of his subordinates. You were patching them up again.

"I thought I told you to cut that out. I am starting to think you are deaf. If you keep coddling them like that, they are going to fall in love with you like dedicated dogs, drooling all over you."

He said that like he wasn't drooling over you already. He actually wiped his mouth a little. "I don't understand you. You are disgustingly kind and considerate. You are a filthy killer for the Fatui with enough power to make you a Harbinger, but you don't seem interested. Why? You would have even more power to fling around like you do."

"I don't want to hear you running your mouth about dogs when you are the one barking again, Scara. Admit to me that you are jealous. It will make it easier and less painful to watch."

Your response gave him such a thrill. He wanted to grab you and kiss you. Fuck you into knowing your place.

"Shut your mouth, slut." He thought he saw your eyes light up in an aroused way. Oh? Really?

Scaramouche needed to mark you up a little more after that. He needed everyone to see his obsessive possession for you bleed onto your skin a little more, deeper and darker than the last.

People were already starting to talk. They were saying you were his personal fuck toy, one specially kept by the Harbinger. And in a way, they were right, you were going to be his fuck toy.

The second backfire was worse than the first.

You'd walked on him while he had a fit of sexual frustration. He'd thinking so many lewd things about you.

Scaramouche was thinking how what you would look like while he made you fall apart tongue fucking you, begging, crying, and whining for him to let you cum, riding his tongue, your thighs squeezing desperately on the either side of his head.

At that point his hand wasn't enough.

But there you were, handing yourself to him on a silver platter for him to finally take.

You were all he ever thought about.

Scaramouche knew your mind was very fragile and broken just like his. It was time to break your mind into a thousand little fragments, shattering easily underneath his feet while he fucked you.

He would remold you to better suit him.

"Strip! Get over here and help me. Hurry up, slut, I don't have any patience left!"

You did just as you were told. What a good girl he already had.

Scaramouche was harsh with his degradation.

He pinned you down on the bed, one hang squeezing your thigh tight enough to bruise while he fingered you. You could only moan and buck your hips into his fingers.

And he never shut up. He knew you enjoyed the sound of his voice. And that he knew you liked being degraded, he used both of those qualities against you purely for his own benefit. And for your pleasure too, of course.

"You were so eager to open your legs like a whore for me. I bet you would done that on the first day we met and believe me I wanted to. Don't you know that I have been obsessively stalking you for months, you stupid fucking slut?!"

You screamed and babbled incoherent sentences.

Break break break. Shatter shatter shatter. The fragments of your mind cracked easily for him.

Scaramouche was laying into you harder than he intended, fucking the frustration he felt with the fact that you'd forced him to take possession on a whim, a snap decision of passion that he couldn't control.

You were just that fucking irresistible that he couldn't fight it anymore. He was amazed that he held out as long as he did.

Scaramouche was dizzy and even more obsessed when you let him wrap his hand around your pretty throat and squeeze. You trusted him that much. Instantly. Even begging for more when he let go.

"Harder, Scara, it makes me see stars! I'm close! Please let me cum!" You pleaded.

"Call me Master, slut! And then I will give you the privilege of cumming on my cock like the slut that you are!"

With every thrust and harsh word, his grip on your body increased. He wanted to swallow you whole, his fingers shattering your mind and molding you to him as he blew the fragments into dust in the wind.

You stopped hearing yourself after you started screaming his name. You'd so tired of always thinking and overthinking. Your mind was a blissful blank quiet. You did call him Master. The more you screamed it while you orgasmed the tighter his possessive grip on you got.

Quiet quiet.

"That's right, slut. Stop thinking and serve your purpose as my cock sleeve. It's your purpose now! You learned your place quickly!"

You were all his now.

It's what you always wanted.

#genshin impact #genshin smut #fem!reader #genshin headcanons #yandere scaramouche #scaramouche smut #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x you #suzu after dark

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suntears1037 · 9 days

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Re: Watcher's Stupid Ass Decision

As I have been watching the Watcher disaster unfold on both YouTube and on Tik-Tok. I have yet to see anyone bring forth this one fact.

The U.S. federal minimum wage is ONLY $7.25!

When your subscription service only leaves a person with $1.25 cents to their name is it really that affordable?

That is dismissing the REAL issue that 78% of Americans are living paycheck to paycheck as well. (Not to say that only Americans make up their audience by any means but they make up a large sum of viewers)

So taking Steven Lim's dumbass statement that "Anyone and every body is able to afford it!" is tone deaf at best and horrifically inconsiderate and offensive at worst; given our worlds socio-economic structure, and the pain and hardships that so many working class people are battling currently.

When now, you only view the people who have given you your empire and luxury as a stepping stone and a tool to step on "One last time." as a means to climb the capitalistic ladder you tried to stray away from.

It truly makes me wonder if anyone on the Watcher team took time and consideration to understand their target audience at ALL.

#watcher #steven lim #watcher entertainment #ryan bergara #shane madej #mystery files #ghoul boys #ryan and shane #puppet history #ghost files #watcher tv

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spliffymae · 1 year

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TOUCH ME.

synopsis: dabi hates being touched—always has. he hates people touching him. he hates people in general. but there’s something about the cute doctor in his apartment building…who just so happens to be his ex.

⚠️exboyfriend!dabi, swearing, smut, dabi got a dick piercing, pet names (doll, babe, angel…), mentions of drug use, slight pain kink if you squint, aggressive sex, possessive!dabi, reader and dabi are toxic, reader has no backbone when it comes to dabi (sorry not sorry😭) MINORS DNI ! 18+

kio’s notes - i need to catch up on mha but it is so hard to watch anime after reading/writing fics 😭 i can’t watch it the same as i used to.

⊱ ──────── {.⋅ ✺ ⋅.}──────── ⊰

there was this annoying tune stuck in your head. you couldn’t tell from where but it was one of those tunes you couldn’t help but hum to yourself. the title of the song, who sung it, it’s significance—it all was a blur in your brain.

so as you rummaged in the cabinet under your sink, you hummed the soon to be dreadful tune as you searched for the white tin first aid kid you had.

you could hear the groans coming from your living room, but you drowned them out with the tune as you moved stuff around the cabinet to get the kit.

“doll! any time you want to join’ll be great!” you heard dabi cry from the other room, his voice strained. you rolled your eyes at his impatience. you literally stepped away from him for like two minutes. it wasn’t like he was dying.

“coming, coming.” you mumbled more to yourself than him. you were tired, it was late, and yet here you were getting ready to patch up one of your rudest and most annoying clients.

as your sock clad feet padded back to the living room, you could hear dabi’s winces and groans. “here’s what i don’t understand,” you started once you got in his eyesight, sitting on the coffee table in front of him. he was manspread on your couch, right hand putting pressure on his left shoulder. he had gotten a large gash on his shoulder, and had popped his staple stitches.

“there is a perfectly good, twenty-four-hour clinic for you villainous beings, and yet you come to me. even though i charge double what the clinic does.” you criticize, smacking his hand away so you can look at the wound. you had given him a cold rag and the instruction to apply pressure while you searched for the med kit.

the bleeding had calmed down, and allowed you to properly disinfect the wound. dabi had winced as you cleaned him, but it fell on deaf ears. “easy, doll. not like i’m invincible to the feeling.”

he grabbed your wrist to stop you. the cotton pad soaked in anti-bacteria liquid was now stained with his blood. you looked at him with tired eyes. you wanted to make this as quick and efficient as possible so he could leave.

“be gentle with me, pretty. took a big hit tonight.” he let out a grunt as he tried to straighten up his seat.

you shrugged, not caring, “your fault.” you mumbled, taking up a new cotton ball and soaking it in the liquid before cleaning his cut again. you pushed harder into the wound, getting dabi to groan and smack your hand away.

“fuck’s sake, (y/n). just because it’s purple doesn’t mean i lost feeling! the shit hurts!” he had narrowed his eyes at you, jaw clenched and pissed.

“listen, it’s late and you came in unannounced, without so much as a heads up. you got your blood on my carpet and couch pillow…so clearly we’re not having consideration for each other.” you were sarcastic, your tone indicating that he had pushed your patience to your limit in the couple minutes you had spent mending his wound.

“you are more than welcome to get out and go to your underground villain clinic.” you sat back to give him space, an indication you were one step away from just going back to sleep and leaving him to solve his problem on his own. you were already dressed the part—a black oversized tee with nothing but your panties underneath. orange knee high fuzzy socks and your all might bonnet. you were prepared to have a personal night-in.

frankly, had dabi been courteous enough to send you a text to see if you were even home, you would be a lot nicer. but polite was not dabi.

no, sliding your bedroom window up and coming into your room unannounced was dabi. he climbed the fire escape of your building until he got to your room, about two stories up from the ground. his shoes were muddy, but he didn’t care as he stepped onto your plush white rug, his crimson blood flowing down his arm and dropping at his fingers. the white of the faux fur was hues of red and pink now. your brown hardwood floors showed the trail he walked when leaving your room to the couch.

“bro, i have a friggin door!” you exclaimed. he had come in during your binge watching, interrupting the finale of the show you had put two months into watching. the giant bowl of popcorn you had now grew stale as it sat on your counter.

dabi didn’t say anything. he bit back the rude comment that lied on his tongue. he could’ve gone to the clinic. twice had offered to take him, but he declined. he wanted to come to you. wanted you to make him better.

“m’good right here, angel.” his lips formed a smirk. he was still breathing hard, still in pain—probably more now that the adrenaline he had died down. his way of letting you know he would ease up and take the pain without complaining.

you nodded and continued to clean. this time, to prevent him from speaking, you hummed the tune to distract yourself.

“fuck that song.” dabi groaned, throwing his head back.

your ears perked up. maybe now you could finally figure out the name of the song. “what’s it called again? s’been stuck in my head all day.” you asked him. if he was going to be taking up your night the least he could do is provide relief to you, having been stuck with the tune all day and night.

“some song by the weeknd. i think it’s called acquainted or some dumb name like that.”

you smiled, “didn’t take you for a weeknd listener.”

back when you two were dating, dabi’s music interest was rock, metal—what anyone who looked at him thought he listened to. he also had a few trap, hip hop and old school gangsta rap artists in his rotation, but stayed away from rnb.

you on the other hand, were like if erykah badu, jasmine sullivan, and jhene aiko had a baby. you were a soul child at heart and we’re always listening to “some rnb song” as dabi would call it. he really would only listen to rnb if he were with you. never on his own. so for him to know the song and it to be an rnb song, you were impressed.

dabi chuckled. you expected a cute comment to follow, you weren’t going to lie. maybe something like ‘you were always listening so i gave him a try’ or along those lines.

but what you got instead was completely uncalled for.

“fucked a girl to it a couple weeks ago. she had a solid playlist.” he laughed to himself with a smug smirk on his face.

and instantly, at the mention of him being with someone else, your mood changed. was it jealousy? was it anger? sadness?

whatever it was, it caused you to take up the anti-bacteria bottle and squeeze the liquid right into his wound. dabi jolted, the stinging sensation was strong and he swore he heard his body start to fizz at the reaction.

“motherfucker!” he groaned, jumping up from the couch. his eyes were closed shut and he hissed, clenching his jaw to grit through the pain. he was feeling dizzy from it, and his body started to get hot.

you were satisfied, on the outside. but on the inside you felt a crack in your heart. but you masked it. you stood up from the table, the tin that was on your lap now in your hand. you threw it on the couch lazily. “clean your fucking self up.” you mumbled.

the plan was to walk away from him. to go back to your room and retreat under the covers until you heard him slam your door as he left. that’s what you decided would happen, what you would do. but in typical dabi fashion, he did the opposite.

he grabbed your wrist with his good hand and spun you around to face him. “why the fuck would you do that?!”

“why the hell are you fucking other bitches?!” you spat back.

lord, it was two-thirty in the morning and you were yelling at a man who had his upper body’s skin basically torn open. the bleeding had stopped, but he still needed to be patched up. stitches replaced.

dabi snorted, “that’s what that was for? you’re jealous? c’mon babe,” he pulled you closer, “would it make you feel better if i said her pussy wasn’t as good as yours? didn’t make me cum as fast? didn’t suck me in just how i like? hmm?” he tapped your chin to further his patronizing.

you sucked your teeth, trying to move from his hold but he only gripped onto your jaw tighter. you weren’t stronger than him, and he knew this. so you just did what you knew how and that was pout and stay quiet.

“aww, not you pouting. what? want me to compare and contrast, doll?…you know i will.” he was having fun with you, with your envy and anger. he didn’t plan to tell you about the one night stand. it wasn’t anything serious to him, really. he had been drunk at a bar with you on his mind and the opportunity to release the sexual frustration he felt presented itself. you weren’t supposed to find out, but hey, shit gets out.

“get the fuck off me.” you spoke through gritted teeth, but he only laughed as a response.

“finish patching me back up and i’ll be out of your way. physically, at least.. that beautiful mind’ll always be thinking of me, unfortunately.” he was smug, he felt cocky. you could mask the anger in your face all you wanted, but he saw the glint in your eyes. the way all the light of opportunity seemed to leave them with his revelation. you were pissed, he knew.

“ask your other bitch to do it.”

“mm, nah, i rather you do it. tender touch, lover’s hand, s’all.” he shrugged. he was playing games with you, testing you. the question was how far was he going to take this. what was his end goal?

he leaned down to rest his forehead against yours, smiling when you instinctively tilted your head upward. “c’mon doll, stitch me back up so i can show you my utmost appreciation…want you to touch me.”

the music did little to cover the noise in your living room.

“mhm, just what i thought. poor baby missed me.” dabi cooed into your ear with the slyest smirk on his lips as his tip pushed past your wet folds. he was speaking to your cunt, not you.

you gasped at the stretch. you haven’t felt him inside in so long, the feeling both familiar and strange. “dabi,” your voice cracked from above him, but he didn’t care.

you were foolish enough to continue with patching him up. giving him absorbable sutures and re-stapling his skin. dumb enough to hand him a glass of water and tylenol for the pain, and a rolled blunt to take his mind off it.

you should feel dumb. dumb for letting him back inside, your apartment and your body. but here you were, straddling his lap in only your oversized shirt, with your panties pushed to the side as he eased you onto his cock. you could feel all of him, the prominent vein on the underside, his bulbous head at your cervix. his jacobs ladder piercing aiding the pleasurable burn of your walls being stretched. it had been too long without him, but now in this position, you felt ecstasy.

“d-dabi.” you choked out. your bodies were pressed against one another, your hand in his hair and grabbing at the roots. he didn’t care, he was too high (off the feeling of you and the weed) to care.

your walls hugged him just as he remembered, sucking him in snug and tight like he loved. fuck, he missed your pussy like crazy.

“oh shit, doll. m‘feeling like cummin’ already and you didn’t even do shit. fuckin’ slut.” he bit his lip once he was fully bottomed out.

you took that as a sign to start, and began bouncing, on your tippy toes with your arms around the back of the sofa.

dabi smiled, satisfaction radiating off him, “look at you-hah—so pretty f’me baby. riding me so good, just how i like it. always taking care of me.” he only had one good hand, and used it to squeeze your waist as you bounced on him, channeling your inner megan thee stallion.

you were a choked up mess, moans and whimpers leaving your lips as you fucked yourself onto dabi’s cock. he was satisfied on being used by you. treating him like nothing just to get off. least you could do, really. after the many times he’s done you wrong.

he couldn’t explain it, the way fighting was always part of his plan to come back to you. what were you two if not a concoction of chaos and torment to one another? you wanted him to hear your name and roll his eyes in annoyance, but have his heart skip a beat with anticipation. he wanted the sight of his large frame towering over your own to leave a mess in your underwear and burn into your memory forever.

the word was toxic, and you both knew it, but didn’t read too much into it. wasn’t it enough to just acknowledge it?

dabi began to match his thrusts with your bounces. it brought him deeper inside of you. feeling like he was in your stomach. like you were full of him. he squeezed your neck, black painted nails digging into your skin.

“d-dabi.” you hit his shoulder as you struggle to catch your breath. he didn’t want to choke you unconscious, but he did want to limit your airway to maximize your pleasure.

he was so drunk off you, his moans growing louder against your ear, “fuck you, slut. so good for me. that’s what you wanna hear baby? huh? that this is all i need? you are all i need?”

when you were together, he struggled with intimate words. he loved you, he knew. he fucked you like it, you knew. but he couldn’t communicate his feelings outside of a sexual atmosphere. sex became his outlet—pain, anger, love…he gave it all to sex.

you threw your head back, eyes closed and mouth open but nothing came out. you had no words, no sound—nothing.

dabi squinted at the sight. he never truly could get over how precious you looked dumb off his cock. it had to be his top three favourite looks on your face. the other two being when you’re mad and after he tell you he loves you.

there was nothing in your head except him. all of him. his body, his voice, the way he touched you. his stitches grazing your skin and hands rough from fighting. there was a naturally smoky smell he carried—due to him using his quirk excessively. but you found over time it would mix with his cologne, and be the one scent to give you infinite comfort. dabi was in connection with all five of your senses, and in his mind, it was about time.

he brought your head back to face straight, forehead against his as his lips met yours in a sloppy kiss. there was no need to fight for dominance. he had it, you both knew.

you don’t know how you kept riding him this long. your thighs felt like they were on fire. they were burning. your grip on the back of the sofa tightened, using it to help you continue riding dabi to his orgasm.

“babe, i’m cumming. gonna come in this pussy, my pussy. fuckin ruin you for anyone else. y’hear me?” his grip went back to your jaw, his index finger and thumb keeping your mouth opened. it was a pain you found different, but one you were okay with.

you cut your eye at him, the hatred you had somehow swirling in the pits of your stomach alongside the butterflies he gave you.

“i-i” you tried to speak, but he taunted you by moving your jaw. you could feel the muscles in his stomach tighten as he edged himself, prolonging his end as to not come before you.

you didn’t want to cum until you said what you wanted to say, but he kept his hand in place, not budging when you grabbed his wrist to move it.

it was almost like a reflex, the way your right hand let go of the sofa and moved to his shoulder below, digging your nails into his stitched up wound. he screamed, the sudden feeling overwhelming his concentration and forcing his orgasm. his hand moved off your jaw, going to your back and pulling your body flush against him.

“i hate you.” you say just as you climax, dabi rubbing circles onto your clit. you two ride your highs out together, him leaving opened mouth kisses along your neck and leaving behind hickies. you tasted of salt, smelled of sex, but he didn’t care. you were delicious.

you looked up to the ceiling, eyes shut and mind racing with what just took place. there was this feeling in your chest. a feeling of regret, disappointment, but also…one of peace. contentment?

dabi pulled away from your neck and looked up at you. his pupils were blown and eyelids low. you hated him. you hated the way he looked so fucked out.

he took up your hand that was at your side and brought it to his cheek. you cupped it, feeling the duality of the smooth and rough skin. his hold on your wrist was warm, tight. he brought your red palm to his lips, stained by his dry blood, and kissed it.

you hated him. hated how he held you close so you wouldn’t get up. how he grabbed a blanket to throw over the two of you.

“i really fucking hate you.” you yawned. your eyes met once again. this time dabi smiling at you as he mumbled,

“love you too, pretty.”

#🌞🍃spliffymae #bnha·✘ ¨*:·.#dabi x black!reader #angst #bnha x reader #bhna smut #bhna #dabi smut #x black reader #touya todoroki #touya x black reader #dabi bnha

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