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minihotdog · 5 months

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Caught Red Handed // Part 1

Summary: Soap Catches His Roommate Reading an Erotic Novel

Part 2

Pairing: John "Soap" Mactavish x Fem!Reader

a/n: Most likely gonna be a follow up fic for this, already brainstorming

c/w: oral (F receiving), a little penetration

word count: 2k

***

You sat on the end of the couch curled up in a blanket, completely enthralled by the book in your hands. Your nose is buried inside the pages and you only move to readjust your glasses every once in a while.

Soap saunters into the kitchen to get some water, noticing you in a trance-like state as he reaches for a glass. He calls your name to no avail. Eventually, he gives up and plops down on the other end of the couch and your eyes rip away from the book to him. You cautiously put the book down on your lap, hoping he hadn’t caught some of the words.

“What are ye readin’ tha’ has ye blushin’ like tha’?”

“Huh?” You pretend to not know what he’s talking about and try, nonchalantly, to cover the book with your blanket. “Oh, it’s nothing. I’m just a little warm.”

He eyes you, not believing a word of what you’re saying and you try to play it off as if your soul didn’t jump out of your skin from him interrupting you while reading the most filthy paragraphs of your life.

Soap raises an eyebrow at you, a smirk appears on his face. Heat continues to rise to your face as his muscles bulge while he scratches the back of his neck. He always lounged around in a pair of gray sweats, chest exposed. You always assumed you were used to it until you were close enough to take all of him in. The Scottish flag on his left pec and a quote on his ribs you had yet to get close enough to read, and worst of all, the sheer size of him.

“Yer full o’ shite,” He accuses you playfully. “Let me see then?” The two of you stare at each other for a moment before you toss the blanket at him as a distraction and take off running. He fights off the blanket and is hot on your heels as you try to hide the book in your room.

He comes up behind you and snatches it from your hands.

“Johnny! No!” He holds the book above his head and you’re jumping up, trying to take it from him.

“Alright, alright. I’ll give it back.” You put your hand out and he turns, running into his room. You follow him only for the door to shut in your face with a click.

“Give me my book back!” You try to open the door, banging on it when it won’t budge.

“Be quiet, I’m readin’.” He shouts through the door.

You put your forehead on the door, cursing yourself for reading such a thing when you had someone like him around.

“Why’s there a big lad wearin’ a kilt on the front?”

Your eyes close and your hands cover your face. You stood there about to die of embarrassment thinking about how this couldn’t get any worse, until…

“His body was as hard as steel, forged frae generations of resistance against the soothern British armies - fuckin’ Brits -.” He murmurs the last bit before continuing. “Her hands ran ower his muscles as he slid his throbbin’ member intae her soaked…WOAH!”

“Johnny, stop!” You plea for him to stop reading. Your ears hurt at the sound of it being read out loud.

The room falls silent for a while and you call out his name once again. The quiet fuels your embarrassment. It feels like a thousand years go by before he opens the door and stands in the frame, holding the book at his waistline. He points at you with a wicked smile,

“Oh, yer a dirty, lass.” You snatch the book from him and stop towards your room.

“John Mactavish, you are so nosey!” He laughs as you shut and lock your door so you can read in peace.

***

You tip-toe out of your room, not quite ready to confront your roommate after the events earlier in the day. You poked your head into the kitchen, seeing his mohawk peaking over the other side of the half wall separating the two rooms. You quietly enter the kitchen, turning your back to him to try and open the refrigerator, hoping that the TV is loud enough to cover the sound of the door opening.

“Y/n, ye done being mad?” He taunts, resting with his forearms on the half wall, looking right at you. You stick your tongue out at him and he chuckles. He never took you seriously when you were mad at him. To piss you off, he’d often tell you that you reminded him of one of those little dogs, angry as hell and completely unaware of how small they were.

He motions to the couch, “Come watch a movie wit me.” You shake your head and he whines, “O’ c’mon, y/n.”

“Fiiiine.”

You walk over and sit on the other end of the small couch, your nerves building up in your stomach. Soap is wrapped up in your blanket. You glance over at him as you rub the fabric on your pj shorts. He scratches his scruff and his eyes slowly meet yours. He wiggles his eyebrows at you, “Wha’s wrong, lass?”

Your eyes drop, heat rising to your cheeks from being caught staring.

“Nothing.”

“Lassie, there’s nothin’ wrong wit readin’ those types o’ books.” A mischievous smirk plays on his lips, “There’s nothin’ wrong wit wantin’ a big Scotsman tae throw ye around and fuck ye silly either.”

You hide yourself with your hands, not wanting him to see the horrified look on your face. He scoots over to you, wrapping you in a bear hug.

“Oh, innocent little y/n has a dark side, I cannae believe it!”

“Nooo!” You squeal, “Stop bringing it up!”

You turn to push him away but he locks an arm on both sides of the armrest behind you, trapping you. His blue eyes bore into your soul making you squirm.

“So, tell me, Ye read tha’ because ye like it? Or did ye wish it was another Scotsman ye know?” He tilts his head, looking up as if he’s trying to remember something. “His grasp on my throat tightened as his thrusts became harder, pushin’ me over the edge… Is that what she said?” You cover his mouth with your hands and he grabs your wrists in one hand, pulling them off.

“I’ll make yer little dreams come true, just tell me ye want me.”

Your breath catches as you try to speak, “Johnny…” You’re left not knowing what to say to him. He catches you off guard, pulling you onto your back by your hips. His body forces your legs open and he rests his weight on his forearms. His lips graze your ear, “I see ye lookin’ me up and down all the time, lass.” His hand travels down your body to cup your pussy through your shorts. A wave of heat shoots through your body. “I hear ye moanin’ my name at night when ye play with yerself, now I catch ye readin’ a book about some lad wrecking a wee thing.” He pushes the hem against your clit and you grip his shoulders.

“Jus’ admit it and I’ll be more than happy to give it to ye.” His hand grabs your jaw, giving it a taunting little shake. He holds himself above you, eyes glued to your lips, whispering, “C’mon, c’mon,” encouraging you to answer.

You find the courage to speak, the fire coursing through your body is unbearable.

“Johnny, please.”

“Please, what?”

“Please, fuck me.”

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus.” He mutters before coming down to kiss you, pressing his bulge against you through his sweats. His lips move with yours, his kiss leaves you feeling hypnotized. By the time he begins pulling your shorts down, you’re seeing stars. He throws the shorts off to the side and his fingers run over the wet patch on your panties. He lets out a shaky breath, and he takes in the sight of you. Legs spread for him with your nipples poking through your oversized t-shirt. Your big doe eyes watch his every move as he positions himself lower on the couch, throwing your legs over his back.

He kisses down your thighs, nipping at the soft flesh, until he reaches where you want him most. He leaves one last kiss on your clit through the fabric before pulling it down your legs. He groans, watching you drip for him. He parts your lips with his thumbs and licks a stripe up to your clit. “Oh, lass.” He moans, tasting you on his tongue. He leaves slow licks on your clit, savoring the small sounds he’s coaxing out of you. He looks up at you from between your legs, as you squirm,

“Quit fuckin’ tryin’ to get away fra’ me.” He wraps his arms around your thighs forcing them to squeeze his head and continues lapping at your clit. He was usually impatient when he was in this position, wanting to draw out the most erotic sounds from whoever he was blessed with his tongue, to drink from them like a man stuck in the desert. Of course, he would do the same to you, but at this moment he wanted to revel in what he had fantasized about doing for so long. His beloved roommate whom he dreamed of, and spent so many nights imagining beneath him had his head in between her legs.

He closes his lips around your clit flicking it repeatedly. The attack on your sensitive nub has you arching your back. His name falls from your lips, your eyes clamp shut, one hand tangling in his overgrown mohawk and the other digging its nails into his arm.

He goes back and forth from flicking your clit quickly and leaving long licks, lapping up your wetness.

“Johnny,” You breathe out. His name being drawn out from you causes his cock to ache every single time. One of his hands rips your shirt up, exposing your breasts. He kneads the soft flesh, giving the mound a gentle slap. He moans when your hips move against his mouth.

“Oh, what a good girl.” He gives his head a shake, letting his tongue move with it. The motion has you mewling as your orgasm begins to build up.

“Johnny, p-please I’m gonna-” Your words trail off as he eats you out like you’re his last meal. His scruff scratches against your thighs leaving the skin irritated as he bobs his head, licking away. His pace doesn’t slow when you gasp and begin squeezing around nothing. Your hand keeps him in place while you ride out your high. His name fills the room in a chant. Your body jerks violently as the waves continue hitting you even longer due to him not wanting to stop.

He cleans you up, groaning at the mess you made. His mouth leaves a gentle kiss on your overly sensitive clit before he rises from his position. He wipes his chin off, his eyes cloudy just like yours.

“Fuck, lass. Yer addictin’.” His rough calloused hands run over your curves. He pulls your shirt completely off and leans down to give you a deep kiss. He trails down leaving wet kisses all over your neck. He goes further, leaving hickeys on your breasts, catching one of your perky nubs in his mouth. He then licked from between your breasts and up your neck, giving you one more kiss before pulling away to free himself from his sweats. He kicks them off and kneels in front of you completely bare. The sight of him and his body has you dripping once again. His piercing blue eyes were darker than normal, his hair a mess from you holding onto it for dear life, his muscles contracting with every movement. Your eyes run over him, admiring every part of him until you get further down.

“Oh dear god, Johnny.” You gasp. He lets go of his member and it slaps down on your stomach. He was long and thick, the head was bright red with a bead of precum threatening to fall from it. “No wonder you’re such a cocky ass.”

He laughs at your playful insult.

“We’ll see how much talkin’ yer gonna be doing in a second.”

He rubs the tip on your sensitive clit causing you to jump. He teases you by running the length of his cock in between your pussy lips, collecting the wetness. Both your eyes are glued to the pornographic scene.

“I better never catch you readin’ one of those books again, lovie.”

“Why’s t-that?”

“Because I’m a better fuck than tha’ clown you were readin’ about.”

You roll your eyes at his cockiness. In all truth, he was a little upset that you were drooling over some scot in a book when you had him right here. His competitiveness with the fictional character was enough to fuel him.

He positions his tip at your entrance, poking into you slightly.

“Alright, lass. Deep breath.”

You listen, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly.

“Ready?” He looks down at you with a gentle smile. You nod your head and he focuses back on your dripping core. “Finally got ye where I want ye.” He mutters, shifting his weight. The fat head of his cock slides into you, your eyes go wide and your mouth falls open.

#soap cod #soap mw2 #soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #john mactavish #soap john mactavish #soap x reader #soap smut #john soap mactavish smut #john mactavish x reader #john mactavish smut #call of duty fanfic #cod fanfic #cod smut #myfic

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acourtofwhatthefuck · 7 months

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Practice On Me — Part Six — Azriel x Reader

Note — Tumblr still isn’t allowing me to tag some of you. I’ll keep trying but if you haven’t already, make sure you check in settings that your username is able to be searched/tagged! Mwah 💕

Summary: Reader seeks comfort after the events in Fenlaros. Lines are crossed that can’t be uncrossed. Actions come with consequences.

Word Count: 6.9k

Warnings: Some violence. Things get fiiiilthy. 18+, NSFW, smut, minors dni.

It’s not clear who punches who first, because fists are flying left and right. The male in front of you lands a harsh hit on your cheek, the metal of a ring catching your skin, but there’s no chance to register the burst of pain, because you’re being shoved, and you’re shoving back, and your knuckles are pummelling into another male’s face while his friend sends a punch straight into your gut.

It’s that impact that winds you too much to move. You’re doubling over, trying to draw breath while the fight continues around you. The same male goes to hit you a second time.

But he doesn’t have a chance as Rhys comes lunging at him and knocks him to the floor. Your friend is as flawless with his fists as he is with steel. The Fenlaros male doesn’t stand a chance against him.

This is…this is bad. If you can somehow round your friends up and get out of there before it gets any worse, you may be able to escape the repercussions. A fight like this between two camps could carry a punishment anywhere from revoked privileges to an outright flogging. You’d really rather not face a disgruntled Lord of Windhaven upon your return.

Through the brawl, you’re searching for both Azriel and Cassian. You’ve lost sight of them both completely. And you know they can hold their own, that they’re some of the best fighters in all of Illyria, but the four of you are vastly outnumbered. Even the trio of your closest friends have limits, and being dogpiled by a group of males out for blood surely brings them close to theirs.

Someone grabs the back of your shirt, and with your breath having returned to you somewhat, you round on them, ready to defend yourself once more. However, it’s Cassian who looms over you, hair tousled and shirt wrinkled.

He yells at you over the noise, “This is getting out of hand! We need to get out of here!”

Thank gods he’s choosing to be sensible for once. You suppose even Cass knows when a fight is worth having.

“I’m trying to find Az!” You shout back. “I don’t know where he—”

“Kaeda already pulled him out. Let’s grab Rhys and go!”

Now is a really, really inappropriate time to feel jealous.

And yet jealous, you are.

And maybe even a little hurt, too. Did Az even try to find you before making an exit with Kaeda?

You banish the thoughts, allowing Cassian to wrench you through the people and mostly avoid getting hurt, besides the odd wayward fist that isn’t intended for you. The second he spots Rhys, still fighting with the male who winded you, he’s grabbing him firmly by the collar of his shirt and leaving no room for protest.

“We’re getting out of here before this turns really bloody.” He tells him loudly.

Rhys doesn’t put up a fight. He nods, straight on board with the exit strategy. His wild, alert gaze swivels to study you. “You’re alright?”

“Fine.” You nod. “Let’s go.”

It turns out the exit strategy is to just shove through hordes of people until you find a way out. Rhys is keeping hold of Cassian and you’re keeping hold of Rhys, and the three of you create an aggressive little train that wends through the chaos until cold air washes over you, and you’re spilling out onto the front path. You can hear the distant whoosh and thwack of the Fenlaros lot having no choice but to turn on each other.

“Y/N!”

You turn, just in time to see Az pushing away from a wall, Kaeda in tow. She carries a bloodied dish rag that she was clearly using to dab at his bust lip, but she falls back as Az strides over to you.

“I was looking for you everywhere.” He grabs your chin in his hand, turning your head to the side. “Your cheek is cut.”

You stare back at him, waiting for him to say something — something that even vaguely resembles an explanation as to why he started all of this.

“We should really get out of here—”

“Does it hurt?” He interrupts Rhysand’s interjection, his touch gentle despite the ferocity in his gaze. His thumb brushes over your cheek.

You’re too pissed off to care about his concern.

“I’ll live.” You snap, shoving him away from you. “Azriel, what the fuck?”

“My sentiments entirely.” Cass mumbles.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You continue. “You were the one who said coming here was nothing to be worried about, and then you start that? Have you totally lost your mind?”

“My sentiments entirely.” Rhys echoes.

A muscle in Azriel’s jaw ticks. He takes a step back, swallowing hard. “Sorry for being protective—”

“Possessive, more like—”

“It’s my fault.”

Both your heads snap round as Kaeda steps closer. She stares between you, wide-eyed. Doe-eyed. Looking like she stole the last slice of cake and has a litany of evidence stacked against her.

“He was being protective over me.” She says, and you freeze. She angles herself towards Azriel. “I shouldn’t have mentioned that Thedis and I have history. I don’t know why I did. I’m sorry, I—I didn’t think you’d react like that.”

Oh.

That’s—that’s not what you thought was happening.

Clearly, you and Kaeda have two very different understandings of what went down.

You study Az closely, waiting for his reaction — to see if Kaeda is right, and it wasn’t you he was starting a fight over at all.

He stares at her like she’s spoken in a foreign tongue. He opens his mouth.

“Shit.” Kaeda swears suddenly, looking past him. “Shit, that’s my father.”

Each of you swivels around to see the colossal male striding down the path towards you, two slightly — very slightly — smaller males flanking either side of him. His long hair falls about his head in unruly waves, and there’s something ruggedly handsome about his face that kind of makes you want him to smother you with his ridiculously huge bicep. Everything about him is dark. His eyes and his beard and the whorls of Illyrian tattoos that cover the expanse of his neck.

This…this is a male who could snuff out a family of six just by looking in their direction. And his gaze zeroes in entirely on Azriel.

Cassian yanks you closer by the back of your shirt. “Let’s go—”

“He’s going to want to speak with you.” Kaeda turns to Azriel. “You’re the only shadowsinger around here. He knows who you are. He’s intrigued by your power.”

Az continues to watch his approach. And then he squares his shoulders. “Fine.” He doesn’t even glance your way as he says, “I’ll see the rest of you back in Windhaven.”

You don’t like this. Not one bit. Who knows what the male might do to Azriel? You want to say something, to protest—

But Kaeda links her arm through his, and you know there’s no point. This isn’t your fight.

“Don’t get yourself into even deeper shit.” Cassian says, lifting you into his arms.

Kaeda doesn’t seem worried. She rolls her eyes at that. “He’s not going to hurt him.”

You can’t help staring at her. She seems so sure, so unbothered. Not just by what her father might have in store, but by the entire situation. She seems almost…smug.

Az did start an entire fucking brawl over her, after all.

You can’t meet his gaze as you cling to Cassian. Too much has happened in a short space of time. It makes you feel…full. Uncomfortable. You need some space from Az to process what exactly just occurred.

And it seems like your wish will be granted. It’s clear, as he steps closer, that Kaeda’s father has no interest in the rest of you. His cat-like eyes follow a shadow that coils around your friend, and you could swear his lips want to smirk. Like there’s some inside joke the rest of you aren’t privy to.

“Go.” Azriel says, and neither Rhys nor Cass need telling twice. They don’t seem particularly concerned.

Your gaze snags on Az just as Cassian’s arms tighten around you, and he shoots into the skies with an unpleasantly steep climb. Rhys does the same.

And as Kaeda and Azriel become smaller the higher you go, you’re just able to glimpse Kaeda’s father stopping before him and shaking his hand. It’s then that you look away.

This isn’t for you to worry about. It’s—

It’s between him and Kaeda.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The thing about flying — or, in your case, being flown — is that it’s invaluable for moments of pensiveness. There’s no better time to face your thoughts than when the clarity of the sky stretches all around you.

But that can also be really fucking dangerous. Because you think. And then you think some more. And then suddenly, you’re thinking about anything and everything all at once, thinking about ifs, buts, maybes, thinking yourself into a bad mood.

And that is precisely what you do.

You are pissed the fuck off.

So pissed off, you want to scream into the void, at the shifting landscape below. You’re pissed off with Azriel, with his actions, with your entire situation.

He has never been as stupid, as reckless, as he has been recently. Never did you think you’d see a day where Cassian was the more sensible of the two. You’re used to Az being the mediator, to always approaching situations with a rational mind.

And yet these days, he’s a ticking time bomb. You don’t know who he might have a problem with, and clearly you don’t know why, given that you so wrongly assumed his protectiveness — possessiveness — flared up over you.

Of course it was Kaeda. How stupid you are.

Lust is one hell of a blinding light.

Every few seconds, you tell yourself you’re not going to think about it. And then a few seconds after that, you’re straight back to that constant screech of AZRIELANDKAEDAAZRIELANDKAEDAAZRIELANDKAEDA.

If this is who he’s becoming because of her…you’re not sure that’s a good thing.

By the time Cassian is setting you down in front of the cottage, your mood is absolutely foul. You feel sobered by the situation. You may as well have not had a drop of alcohol at all.

Rhys doesn’t stick around. He tells you and Cass that he’s going to Velaris — he wants to explain what happened in Fenlaros to his father before the High Lord can hear it from anyone else. And so it’s just you and Cassian traipsing into the cottage, freezing cold and fed up that the night went how it did. Your stomach is starting to ache where the male punched you, the cut on your cheek starting to sting.

You head straight for the kitchen and begin turfing through the cabinets, looking for a half-empty bottle of whiskey or a snack or something. You slam each cabinet door closed, but it does nothing to alleviate your irritation.

Cassian lights a fire, his eyes watching you closely. Perhaps he can sense that something is brewing in your veins. And he’d be right about that — you’re just not sure what it is.

Finally, you sit up on the kitchen counter and settle on biting into a stale bread roll. It’s dry and tasteless, but it occupies your mouth and stops a scream from escaping.

“I want to clean that cut on your cheek.” Cass strides over to the kitchen, rolling the sleeves of his shirt up. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

Only in your heart. “No.” You lie.

He nods, and just like the other night, he begins gathering medical supplies. He’s getting good at this. You kind of want to tell him not to bother, to just let the cut sting, but you’re brooding too much to get the words out.

You swallow down your last, dry bite of bread, and you comment, “I knew going to Fenlaros was a fucking terrible idea.”

Cassian chuckles. There isn’t much that fazes him. “In hindsight, I don’t know what we were thinking.”

“With your cocks, probably.”

He quirks an eyebrow at you, and then his hands are on your knees, parting your legs so he can slot himself in between. You don’t protest; he’ll only start a mother hen routine and threaten to bring you to a healer instead.

He wets a rag and begins to gently dab the gash on your cheek. It hurts, but not enough. Not bad enough to drown out the thoughts of the night’s events. You go through them from start to finish, and you have to suck in a deep breath just to stop yourself from punching something.

Why had Kaeda suggested such a stupid fucking thing?

And okay, you can’t put the blame entirely on her; it’s mostly your jealousy that stokes your anger. You, Azriel, Cassian and Rhys are all fully autonomous adults. Any of you could have shot the idea down and refused to go.

But it just…it just sits funny with you, weird in your chest. Something about it feels…gross.

Again — probably your jealousy talking.

But the entire thing had been a shit show from start to finish. You should have known, from the self-loathing thoughts that were pelting you on the way there, that you should never have gone. And your failure to listen to your gut only worsens your mood.

“You push that brain to think any harder and it’ll explode.” Cassian murmurs, his warm breath fanning your face. “You can share, if you like. I may even be able to dredge up some wisdom to impart.”

You bite down on your lower lip. “Why would Kaeda’s father want to speak with Az?”

It surprises you that the question makes him smile. “I wouldn’t worry over that.” He says. “I imagine he’s more interested in speaking to Az because he’s fucking his daughter than because he came to a rival camp.”

You almost flinch at the words.

Of course, you know that by now, Azriel and Kaeda have probably taken that leap and slept together. But torturing yourself with your thoughts is different to hearing it said aloud, and by someone so close to Az, too.

It hurts. And you want to scratch away at the feeling. It might just be what tips you over.

Cass studies you for a moment, reading the change, the tightening, in your expression. He knows there’s something — but thank the gods he doesn’t know what.

He turns his attention to your hand — your knuckles must have split when you threw a couple of good punches — and he begins to clean it gently.

“Here I am again, eh? Playing healer. I should get myself an apron.”

He’s trying to make you laugh, but you can barely force your lips to twitch upwards. He drinks in your pathetic attempt with a sympathy that you can’t stand. And, sensing that humour isn’t going to be enough tonight, he tries a different approach.

“Talk to me, Y/N.” He pleads softly, dabbing gently at your hand. “Please…”

You frown. You’re thinking and feeling too many things at once to make sense of them. Running through the entire night over and over. You’re not sure which of those feelings will rear its ugly head when you try to speak.

But you open your mouth, and the words just spill out.

“I really fucking hated myself tonight.”

Cassian pauses momentarily. And then he continues his treatment to your wounds. “Y/N, fights break out every other hour—”

“No. Not because of the fight. It wasn’t that.” You swallow a lump down. “It was the flying.”

“…the flying?”

“Being carried by Rhys while the rest of you flew so freely. Knowing I’ll never be able to do that. I’m Illyrian, and yet I’m always going to be confined to the ground. I hated myself—”

“Y/N—”

“I really fucking hated myself, Cass. And to be confronted by that fact every damn time I take my shirt off…to see the fucking hideous remains of my wings—”

Your words are cut short when Cassian’s huge hands grab your face and force you to look at him. It stings the cut on your cheek, but he doesn’t seem to notice as he stares at you fiercely.

“No. Cut that out right now.” A muscle in his jaw moves. You’re looking back at a lesser-spotted serious Cassian. “There is no part of you — not one part — that comes even close to being hideous, scars or no scars. You’re brilliant. Inside and out. You’re fucking beautiful, and I love you, and I won’t have you hating yourself. Particularly not at the hands of your piece of shit father.”

For a moment, you’re so stunned by the impassioned speech that you don’t know what to say. Thanking him wouldn’t be enough. And you think you might want to cry, but tonight, crying wouldn’t be enough, either. Nor would screaming. You just…want to feel something different. Something good.

Something worth feeling.

You stare back at Cassian, and your throat bobs.

And it might be against your better judgement, but you cover his hands with yours, and you haul your mouth to his.

You can’t exactly explain it, but he has a mouth as rugged as his general appearance, something rough and untamed and just…Cassian. It’s exactly what you need in that moment. You kiss him as if you’ve kissed him a thousand times before.

You feel the moment’s hesitation on his end. It’s rare that anything is able to knock him silent, but this most certainly does. After a pause, he rips his mouth away from yours, and he stares at you, wide-eyed and flushed, reading your face as if in search of an answer to an unspoken question.

But his internal battle isn’t a long one. He seems satisfied with whatever conclusion he comes to. And then he’s surging forward and kissing you back, hard.

What follows is not slow nor tentative.

You and Cassian love each other dearly, but there are no illusions that this is anything but needed pleasure. He’s not reciprocating because he’s spent hours daydreaming about this, or because you mean more to him than any other female.

Cassian would fuck a tree if a stirred branch waved in his general direction.

And that is absolutely fine. That is exactly what you need.

He wrenches your legs further apart and yanks you to the very edge of the counter, just so he can get closer, kiss you harder. His hand snakes up the nape of your neck and bunches in your hair, strands of it tangling around his fingers, and he tips your head back, his mouth scorching hot and hungry on yours.

This is not something you’ve ever thought about, because he is just Cassian. He’s the male who pisses you off by leaving weapons lying around under couch cushions, who sings loudly at the top of his voice first thing in the morning, who fights like fighting is going out of fashion. Since the first day you’d met him, when his eleven-year-old self had looked you up and down and challenged you to an arm wrestle, he’s always just been Cassian.

You’ve always needed him in some impulsive, temperamental way — someone who keeps you on your toes, even if you complain about it sometimes. But now, you need him in a different way.

You part your mouth from his, just long enough to rip your shirt off and chuck it vaguely over his shoulder. Cass watches as you unclasp the bandeau that covers your breasts, and that’s being thrown away, too, and now your top half is naked, and Cassian is growling. It’s not even that he hasn’t seen these parts of you before, but you’d think it was the first ever time, going by the way his eyes darken, and a thousand sinful thoughts flit over his face.

“Fuck.” His voice is deeper. Both of his hands cup your breasts, and he kisses you again. “I love these.”

You smile, and you lock your legs around his waist, and you both groan as you yank him as close as he can get, and you’re grinding the centre of you over the bulge in his breeches. That, alone, feels too good — the length of him pushing through the barrier of your clothing. It’s not enough. You need more. You need him inside you.

Cass seems to echo the sentiment as he growls and finally yanks you fully off the counter. “No screwing around.” He says through gritted teeth. “I need to fuck you.”

His hands are at your breeches, and he’s ripping them open, and you’re so wet between your legs that you have to rub your thighs together, desperate for some kind of friction. Cassian notices, of course, and one side of his mouth tips up into a smirk.

“Turn around.”

You do.

You’re happy to be commanded. You don’t want to be in charge, don’t want to teach.

You want to be taken, and you want to be taught.

His rough hands shove your breeches all the way down, and then he’s seeing to his, ripping at the buttons and stays just enough to pull the hard length of him out. You turn your head to drink in the sight, but he doesn’t allow it.

He slams your front against that counter, and then he’s at your back, the head of his cock brushing against you as he murmurs into your ear, “How do you want it?”

You think your mouth might be watering. “Hard.”

“Hard?”

“Hard.”

“Brace yourself, then, sweetpea.” He grabs your hands, plants them firmly on the counter, calluses biting into your skin. His teeth graze the shell of your ear as he asks, “Are you ready for me?”

You couldn’t be more ready if you tried. You moan, pushing your ass back against him. His chuckle is felt through every inch of you.

He moves one hand down, drags it down your body, slots it between your legs. Your hips give a little jerk as he mops up some of your wetness with his fingers.

“Oh, yeah, you’re ready for me.” There’s a smirk in his voice. His fingers land on your clit, and he nips your ear again. “Good girl.”

You open your mouth — to say something, or to beg, you’re not sure. But there’s no chance.

The head of Cassian’s cock is guided to your entrance. You gasp at the mere feeling of it bumping against you, teasing the opening.

And then he fucking thrusts all the way in, hard enough that you slam once again against the counter. Medical supplies go flying onto the floor.

And gods, it feels too good.

There’s a tiny bite of pain, yes, but it’s pleasurable — more a feeling of fullness. He’s pushed all the way in to the hilt, and the guttural noise that leaves him might just be enough to make you come. It’s animalistic, the way he groans, almost a snarl.

“Hard?” He repeats, withdrawing slightly.

You gasp, your head tipping back. “Hard.”

“Thank the Mother.”

You yelp as his hand suddenly smacks against your ass cheek, and then he’s spreading you open and thrusting in again.

He is not gentle.

He is not soft or tentative or even kind.

This is how Cassian — the much-feared Illyrian — fucks.

And you like it, want it, need it. You push back against him to remind him he doesn’t need to be gentle. Forget about the fact that you’ve always known each other, that you have a fondness for each other.

Fuck me, you communicate silently. Ruin me, and make me forget who I am.

He growls, as if those very thoughts reached him mind-to-mind. And fuck you, he does.

You’re slammed again and again against the counter, hard enough to bruise and leave marks. His balls slap against your skin as he damn near rams into you at an unstoppable force. He’s grunting and snarling and panting. His hands suddenly clasp both of your arms, and he pulls them behind your back, holding onto them and thrusting faster.

“Fucking knew,” he growls, “that your cunt would feel like this. That you’d squeeze my cock like this.”

He slows just slightly — just enough to roll his hips and make sure you feel every single inch of him stroking the inside of you. The shout that leaves you doesn’t even sound like you.

“You like that, sweetpea?” He chuckles darkly. He pushes in to the hilt again, and you moan — a mistake that comes with a penalty. His hips still. “Give me your words, sweetheart. I want to know how much you need my cock.”

“Cassian.” You grit your teeth. “Fuck me.”

He withdraws. Slams into you again. And then the rhythm picks up, the pace fast and raw and unbeatable. Gripping onto your arms gives Cass the perfect leverage to take you exactly as you want him to take you, as he wants to take you. He can’t possibly go any faster, reach any deeper.

Heat coils in your lower belly. You meet every one of his thrusts by bucking against him, and it spurs your body on. You can feel something brilliant building beneath your skin and firing through your veins.

And when he lets go of one of your arms and dips his hand between your legs, his fingers immediately finding your clit, you’re not at all sure that you won’t just explode.

As you feel the head of his cock hit deep inside you, unable to go any further, as the pads of his fingers circle your clit, the noise that leaves you is unlike any other noise you’ve ever made. You’re vaguely aware of a sudden surge of wetness between your legs that drips down your thighs. Cassian made you squirt.

He half-laughs-half-groans, and his teeth nip your ear. “Sweetpea,” he bites out, “who knew you were such a filthy girl? Is this what I’ve been missing out on?”

You can’t speak — words fail you. You’re utterly incapable of doing anything but making your breathy little noises, your fractured moans, as Cassian pounds into you. His ministrations at your clit don’t even falter, even as he lets out a noise that hints at his own release being close.

“Come for me again.” Your wetness still drenches his hand, you know, but it’s not enough — he wants more. His finger presses down hard on your clit, and at the exact same moment, he lands a harsh kiss on your neck that turns into a suck. He slams into you so hard that you have to grip the counter to stop yourself being winded for the second time that night. And you erupt.

You hear the exact moment the walls of your cunt clamp around Cassian’s length. The noise he makes is one that you need to commit to memory, keep for a cold, lonely night when it’s just you and your hand. You’ve never heard anything like it. You never imagined he could make a sound like it.

“Oh, gods, yes,” He damn near whines. His hand is suddenly at your back, and he pushes you down, bends you over until your cheek is pressed to the countertop. He fastens that hand at your shoulder, the other at your hip, and then he’s on the homestretch. “Oh, fuck!”

He thrusts, and he thrusts, and he thrusts — and then he goes still, his cock exploding inside you.

He grunts through every spurt, his fingers biting into your skin. You’re not sure you can move as your cunt continues to contract around him, draining him of every last drop. The counter and Cassian’s hands are the only things holding you up. If he steps away now, your legs may just buckle and drag you to the floor.

So in contrast to the wicked noises you were both just making, near-silence sweeps in, broken only by you both gasping for breath. You close your eyes, your brow furrowing. Press your forehead against the surface you’re currently slumped over. You can’t remember how to…how to exist outside of pleasure.

You are well and truly fucked out.

You’re almost content to just stay there, gripping onto the counter for dear life. But then Cassian finally slides out of you, pulling his seed with him. It drips down your legs, into your underwear. A shudder leaves you.

“Shit, that was—” Cass breathes a laugh. “Gods. Why have we never done that before?”

You manage your own weak, sated chuckle, and finally try to stand up straight. “Because friends aren’t supposed to fuck friends senseless.”

“No,” he agrees. Pauses. “But, like…it doesn’t have to make things awkward, does it? We’re both adults. Capable of sharing pleasure and…and carrying on as normal…”

Oh, bless his heart.

Non-committal Cass is now worried that a casual rearranging of your organs might turn into you falling in love.

“It’s not going to be awkward, Cass.” You snort softly. “I’m just not sure I can move.”

He stares at you. And you stare at him.

The laughter hits you both at the same time. It’s laughter of both relief and release. An acknowledgement that you both feel a darn sight better now than you did when you first walked in. The night isn’t weighing on you so heavily, now.

Is that bad? Perhaps.

But you can fuck people, too. Why…why should you regret it?

“Here.” Tucking himself back into his breeches, Cassian yanks his shirt off, handing it to you. “You can use this to clean yourself up. I’ll run you a bath.”

He turns, but you’re stopping him with a hand on his arm. “I don’t want special treatment just because we fucked. Just…be normal.”

One eyebrow quirks up. “I planned to run you a bath after I cleaned your cheek. We just got a bit…sidetracked. I’m looking after you, Y/N — as your friend.”

You study his face. He’s open, sincere — not pitying. Good.

“Okay.” You tug your hand away. “Thank you.”

He dips his chin, and then he’s strolling away again. He stops at the bottom of the stairs, turning back to look at you.

“I love you.” He says. “Just…don’t ever doubt that.”

You’re not sure you ever could. He’s one of the few constants in your life.

You nod, suddenly not sure you can make eye contact. “I know. I love you, too.”

He, too, nods. And then he disappears, and you’re listening to his boots thudding against each step of the stairs.

You wipe yourself down, tug your breeches up. Slump back against the counter. Drag a hand over your face.

You kind of just want to sleep, be unconscious, before the weighty thoughts begin to shove their way in again.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The summons comes early the next morning, before the sun has even arisen.

One of Lord Devlon’s cronies comes to pluck you and Cassian from the cottage, lead you to the Camp Lord’s study. Azriel is already there when you arrive.

You meet his gaze as you sit down, trying to look for some clue as to what might have occurred in Fenlaros after you’d left. All he seems interested in is checking you over, surveying you for what injuries you have as a result of the night before.

You’re not all too sure if your stomach is tender because of the punch you received to your gut, or because of how thoroughly Cassian fucked you against the kitchen counter.

Probably best not to linger on that thought for too long.

You’re sandwiched between your two friends, waiting for Lord Devlon to actually grace you with his presence. Where Rhysand is, you can only imagine — probably dealing with his father’s wrath.

You glance down at a slight, sudden pressure you feel at your leg. Azriel presses his thigh into yours, and you lift your gaze to meet his.

“You’re not too hurt?” He speaks quietly.

You shake your head. “You?”

“I’m fine. All good, Cass?”

With his typical, swaggering nonchalance that will most certainly land him in deeper shit, Cass grins and stretches his arms above his head. “Just peachy.”

“Az.” You coax the shadowsinger’s gaze back to yours. “What happened with Kaeda’s father?”

Perhaps you’re being a tad dramatic, but you’d lain awake pretty much all night, brooding on the fact that you’d fucked Cass whilst Az was being subjected to the gods knew what. Your thoughts had snowballed into preparing you for Az to return beaten black and blue — or not return at all.

But he looks…fine. A little roughed up from the brawl, but otherwise fine.

He opens his mouth, leaning closer, and that’s when the door flies open.

The three of you stand up immediately. Tuck your hands behind your backs. Bow your heads.

Lord Devlon saunters into the room, kicking the door shut behind him. His footsteps are loud and purposed as he strides to his chair.

“Sit.” He says coldly.

You take your seats once more. The Lord’s eyes skate over the three of you for a pensive few moments, before settling entirely on you. It makes you uncomfortable.

“So.” He sits back. “Who wants to take a stab at why I’m not very happy this morning?”

The three of you keep your mouths clamped shut.

“I’ll give you a clue. It’s not so much to do with a piss-poor night’s sleep, as it is to do with the fact that three of my fucking soldiers,” his lip curls as he looks you up and down, “and their little plaything,snuck off to a rival camp and picked a fight.”

“She’s not our—”

“Did I give you permission to speak, Azriel?”

The ticking in Az’s jaw is slight, but it’s there, as he stares forward. “No, my lord.”

“Then keep your fucking mouth shut until I do.”

Your friend bows his head once more.

“Can any one of you explain why, exactly, you not only travelled to a rival camp without my orders, but why you then decided to stoke tensions between our two camps? Because, you know, that’s their territory. They were well within their rights to defend themselves and not one of them is being punished for it.”

None of you are sure whether he actually wants an answer. It’s best to just…keep your mouth shut.

“None of you have anything to say?” Devlon’s eyebrows flick up. “Fine. How about I offer you my theory? Because I’m seeing a running theme, here.”

You can feel his hard, intense stare bounce from Azriel, to you, to Cassian. Back and forth and back and forth.

But it always returns to you.

It might be in that moment that you realise there’s another layer to this, that you stupidly hadn’t considered. One that’s really going to get Devlon and his cronies grinding their teeth.

You’re female.

And it’s bad enough for males, his soldiers, to behave like this. But you? A mere, docile female? Someone who should be focused on housekeeping and finding someone to breed with?

A female stepping outside of her place is more or less considered a crime by Illyrians. And you don’t have a Camp Lord father to get you out of that very deep shit.

“It’s Y/N, isn’t it?” Lord Devlon addresses you. He knows your name. He’s a cat playing with a mouse.

You meet his gaze and nod. “Yes, my lord.”

“The blacksmith’s daughter.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Hm. The thing is, Y/N, I am here to raise armies. To oversee the training of their soldiers. As Camp Lord, that is my duty.”

You grit your teeth, bite your tongue. You hate the condescending tone that is so fucking typical of Illyrian males. It’s patronising. Offensive. He’s stating blatant facts and explaining them to you as though you are a child.

But you simply dip your chin in acknowledgment, because playing your part is the only way the three of you are getting out of here with a slap on the wrist.

“I cannot afford for my soldiers to be distracted from their training, or be seduced into making trouble for themselves.” The way he looks you up and down, in that moment, makes you feel oily. “I need my soldiers to be prepared. If war came tomorrow, do you honestly think I could send these two out onto a battlefield?”

These two. He says it with such dismissal, such contempt, that you find yourself balling your fists at your sides. He’s always singled your friends out, tried to break them. He may have to tolerate Rhysand — his father being the High Lord and all — but the tiny slither of acceptance he has for Rhys does not hold up for Azriel or Cassian. He sees them as useless. As nobodies. He’s waiting for them to lose their lives in training or combat so he can be rid of them for good.

It boils your blood.

Before you can stop yourself, your lip curls. “I think they’re two of the best soldiers in Illyria, and you’re damn well lucky to have them.”

Devlon sneers back at you. “I’m sure you would say that. If only to keep them in your bed.”

Beside you, the arms of Cassian’s chair creak as he squeezes them hard. “My Lord—”

“If either one of you speaks without my permission again, I will string you up by your balls. Understood?”

There’s a pause. And then both Cass and Az are sitting back in their seats. Offering quiet, affirmative responses.

“So.” Devlon focuses on you once more. Anger mottles his cheeks a reddish hue. “Considering every time these two land themselves in shit, you are at the centre of it, I see only one appropriate course of action. I will not have you leading them astray. Be it pointless fighting or the absolute colossal fuck up of last night, you are always the common denominator. That stops today. This instant.”

You stare at him. You’re not entirely sure what he’s getting at, but something lurches in your stomach. You swallow down a lump in your throat and grip hard onto your chair.

“As soldiers under my command,” Devlon’s eyes flit between Cassian and Azriel, “I forbid you — and Rhysand — from having any more involvement with her. You will not spend time with her. You will not speak to her in passing. You won’t even look at her. If I find out you do, you’ll regret it.”

All three of you shoot up in your seats, alarmed looks passing your faces. “You can’t do this.” You’re the first to spit.

“Oh?” Devlon cocks an eyebrow. “This is Camp Windhaven, is it not?”

“Yes, but—”

“I am Lord of Camp Windhaven, am I not?”

“Obviously—”

“Then I absolutely have the authority to give such orders, and thus, consider them given. Starting today, your involvement with my soldiers ends.”

“My Lord,” Azriel’s tone is pinched, panicked, “you don’t understand — she’s living with us right now. Her father kicked her out of his home. She has nowhere else to go.”

“Do you think I give a shit about her domestic situation, Shadowsinger?” The Lord snaps at him. “I’m here to oversee the training of Windhaven’s soldiers. Not to get involved in pointless family drama.”

“But where am I supposed to go?” You can’t help it — you slam your fist against the arm of your chair. “What am I supposed to do?”

“That isn’t my problem.” Devlon shrugs. He stands up, planting his hands on the desk between you. He leans over with a glower. “But you better run home with your tail between your legs and begin mending relations with your father, because if I detect that there’s even a hint of involvement with you and my soldiers, I will make you regret it, girl. Do not cross me.”

He tucks — no, slams — his chair under the table. It’s a dismissal. You’re not allowed to respond.

You’re silent, too stunned to think, speak, breathe, as Devlon strides to the door and rips it open.

“Get the fuck out, all three of you.” He orders, and you stand numbly from your chair. “You two,” he directs his attention to your friends, “I want your asses in the training ring immediately. Go.”

They don’t want to, you can tell. They hesitate, but ultimately, there’s no other choice. They have no authority. They’re mere soldiers in training. This is their career, their life’s work, on the line. They can’t meet your gaze as they file out of the door, and you don’t blame them.

“And you?” Devlon stops you as you try to follow, gripping onto your shoulder hard. He may as well pick you up by the scruff of your neck like a boisterous pup. “You’d better heed my warning, Y/N the blacksmith’s daughter.”

He shoves you out of the room. You throw your hands out before you slam into the wall.

“Stay. The fuck. Away.”

azriel tag list: @hanasakr @positivewitch @ruler-of-hades @brekkershadowsinger @nightscourtt @imperfect0angel @luna-1-3-5 @hyacinthoideshispanica @lucyysthings @lahoete @littlemoonash @blacksstarrynight @azriels-mate123 @ghostly-poetic @frieddesigninspiringquotesslime @a-frog-with-a-laptop @illyriansimp @morrie-rose @passingthroughfireandshadow @illyrian-dreamer @azrielsbabyg @96jnie @mich0731 @mulansaucey @truthtellerfanclub @acourtofbooksandmagic @insightsonmylife @basicbittywitty @curbside-cyanide @acourtofchaosandmess @123345566 @starrynights-frostbites @eos-princess @thesillyyogourt @ona-raising-07-l @acediahamartia @dontfollowmepleaseitsannoying @polli05927 @asdfjklbooks @azriel-luvr @amysangel @humanpersonlasttimeichecked @wildflowernightmere @audie-writes @aaronwarnerswifereal @starxqt @lulufairbank @laurzwrites @livelaughlovenestaarcheron @girlwith-thecinder-blockgarden @jjlevin @smitty-werbenjagermenjenson @spikertrash @kindagoldylocks @barbiezambie @kht1998 @soupghoul @nyctophiliawitch @gracie1234567891011 @gaymistakeboi @luvmxo @rinalouu @microwaveallthedemons @starlightshowdown

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doumadono · 7 months

Note

EMERGENCY REQUEST

(i put this in when your tumblr was banned so idk if you saw it)

i have a friend who recently took his life. he was very close to me and none of us were expecting it. could you do bf!bakugo comforting f!reader? i wont go into specifics about our friend, but he was 16. :( (im 19, a mentor of his.)

A/N: hiya, dear Anonnie. I did receive your request earlier, but I couldn't fulfill it immediately due to the ban. I want to apologize for any inconvenience this may have caused. I'm truly sorry to hear about your friend. Losing someone in such a way can be incredibly challenging and painful. It's important to allow yourself the time to grieve and process your emotions. Remember that it's okay to feel a wide range of emotions, from shock and anger to sadness and confusion. Please know that I'm here for you, and I'm willing to listen or offer support in any way you need

EMERGENCY REQS MASTERLIST

The news had hit like a thunderbolt, leaving Katsuki Bakugo and his girlfriend in a state of shock. Their close friend had taken his own life, leaving behind a gaping void in their lives. Katsuki knew he had to be there for her, to offer solace in the face of the devastating storm of emotions that had engulfed her.

Katsuki watched as his girlfriend sat on the edge of their bed, her tears falling freely. Her sobs echoed through the room, a painful reminder of the anguish she was experiencing. Slowly, he approached her, his heart aching at the sight of her pain.

He reached out to touch her shoulder, but she flinched away. Her sorrow and anger were like a wall, blocking out any attempts at comfort. "Leave me alone, Kats!"

Katsuki's temper flared, and he briefly turned away, his own emotions a tumultuous mix of anger, frustration, and sadness. But then he paused, understanding that his anger wouldn't help. He knew this wasn't about him. It was about her inner pain and the unbearable loss she was grappling with, just as he was. He took a deep breath, steeling himself, and turned back to her. "Look, I get it," Katsuki began, his voice softer, more tender. "I know you're hurting, and you have every right to be angry and upset. But I'm here, and I'm not leaving you alone in this mess, princess."

His words seemed to cut through the haze of her pain, and she glanced up at him, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy. "I don't know what to do, Katsuki," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I can't stop the pain, and I can't make sense of any of this."

Katsuki took her hand, his touch gentle but firm. "You don't have to do this alone," he said. "We'll figure it out together. Let me in, and let me help you."

She nodded, and slowly, hesitantly, she allowed him to pull her into his arms after he took seat by her side. Katsuki held her tightly, his warmth and strength a balm for her raw emotions. They sat there in silence for a while, the only sound being her occasional sniffles and his steady heartbeat.

"Get it all out," he encouraged. "Scream if you need to."

As her cries and screams echoed through the room, she finally found the words to express the turmoil within her. "I feel lost, Katsuki," she choked out between sobs. "I feel angry, and I feel guilty. I don't understand why he did this, and it's tearing me apart. Why didn't he talk to me? Why couldn't I help him?!"

Katsuki listened, his heart breaking for her. He held her even tighter, allowing her to let it all out. "You did nothing wrong," he said. "You couldn't have known. It's not your fault, none of this is."

Her screams turned into desperate cries, and she clung to Katsuki as if he were her lifeline. "It hurts so much!!!"

Katsuki let a single tear stream down his cheek, his voice deep and heavy with emotion. "I feel it too," he admitted, his voice trembling. "I feel responsible for not doing enough, for not seeing it coming. But dammit, it won't change a goddamn thing, princess. I want you to know something. Time will help you heal. The wound may never fully close, but it'll scab over, and it'll hurt a little less with each passing day. And no one is ever truly gone as long as we keep them in our hearts and minds."

Bakugo held her at arm's length, locking his gaze with hers. "Our friend will always be a part of us, a part of our memories, and in the way we live our lives. We'll keep him alive in our hearts, and that way, he'll never truly be gone."

Tears welled up in her eyes once more, but this time, they were not tears of despair. They were tears of acceptance, of understanding, and of the beginning of the healing process.

Katsuki wiped them away gently. "I promise, we'll get through this together." Katsuki kissed her forehead, his lips warm and reassuring. "You don't have to do it alone. I'm right here, with you, every step of the way."

As the night wore on, Katsuki continued to hold her, whispering words of comfort and reassurance. He was her rock in the storm, unwavering and unyielding, providing the support she so desperately needed. And as the hours passed, she finally cried herself to sleep, cradled in his secure embrace.

In the midst of their shared grief, Katsuki had found a way to offer her the comfort she needed, understanding that her emotions were a turbulent sea that he couldn't control but was determined to navigate with her. Together, they would find their way through the darkness, one step at a time.

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ms--lobotomy · 4 months

Note

Would you be willing to do a peterturabo x reader or mabey a dorn x reader one shot. Or anything, honestly, do whatever you want

(cracks knuckles) (cracks back) (cracks toes) you want peter turbo? you want peter turbo??? well you're in luck because i want peter turbo too. here u go

---

summary: your planet just got assimilated into the imperium and perty would like to spend some time with you. fun?

word count: 1071

content warnings: captive romance lol, sorry if that isnt your thing ^^;

---

You ran a hand over your abdomen. The pain was still there, like someone twisting a knife in the wound. But there was something underneath the alien robe that you found yourself in. It was a bandage, and a surprisingly soft one at that.

You sighed, your hand trailing down to the cold metal seat. You used to rule a gorgeous planet. In your dull, gray cell you reminisced about your homeworld and its temperate climate and the lush meadows sprawling over the countryside. You were royalty here.

But all of that was gone now. The castle that you had grown up in was now dust on the scarred ground, and the green fields were no more. You'd finally gone into battle on that fateful day with your soldiers--no, your siblings--and watched so many of them get hurt. You watched so many of them fall.

Why couldn't it have been you?

You heard heavy footsteps approach your cell as tears welled up in your eyes. "Go away," you muttered, even though you already knew who this was. He was taller than any human you'd ever seen, even the behemoths that made up your own army. Soon, his imposing figure stood in front of the bars of your cell. He wasn't wearing his normal armor; rather, he wore a robe not much unlike yours, with yellow and black diagonal stripes on his belt. There was a bag over his shoulder as well, dark leather with an ornate pattern on it. His steel gray eyes locked in on you, pragmatic and petulant at the same time.

"You live," he said flatly.

"How do you know my language?" you asked, discreetly wiping the tears from your eyes.

"Primarch's secret," he said. You shuddered at the foreign word, alien against the language that you knew so well. He fiddled with the lock that kept you inside your cell with bare hands. It would be comically large if it weren't so hopelessly complex. After a second or so, he swung the door open.

The door was open! You hiked up the bottom of your robe and made a break for it, frenzied foot after frenzied foot. But before you were able to taste freedom for the first time in hours, you felt two hands around your waist. Your feet escaped the ground, and you found yourself pressed against the cold wall of the ship. You briefly scanned the other cells that you could see. Empty.

"Did you really think you could escape that easily?" he sneered. You were eye level with him now, your face flushed. He looked you up and down before setting you back on the cold ground, barefoot. You clutched at your waist, bent over and winced. The wound was starting to feel like twisting knives again as he dug his hand into your shoulder.

"That's what I thought," he chuckled coldly. You knelt down, almost to get out of his grip, and the hulking Primarch knelt down with you, pressing you into the ground. As he opened the back with another hand, you looked up at him. Puzzled. Processing something that you wouldn't dare admit under normal circumstances.

You liked that.

You glared at your captor. He didn't return your expression, more focused on whatever was in his bag. When he finally got it out of his bag, you recoiled, but his grip only tightened on your shoulder. "Put this on," he said, holding an iron collar attached to a chain in his hand.

"You can put it on yourself," you glowered back at him. "Why don't you just do that?"

This time he let out a full on laugh. "It's more fun to see you do it, darling."

Darling. That word came out of him as if it were nothing. Your fingers brushed up against the collar as you stared intently at it. You felt the Primarch's eyes on you, almost leering at you, almost asking you to taunt him.

"I'll be here as long as I need to," he said, his hand trailing ever so slightly lower on your back.

You let out a huff. Your planet was gone, your soldiers fallen, and you were alone with this giant... superhuman. His words reverberated in your head, eerily fluent in your native tongue. Your fingers clasped the collar gently, then firmly before you hoisted it into the air and flung it onto the cold ground.

The Primarch's eyes widened at this display for a split second before turning back to you. Glowering. He grabbed the collar with his free hand, which was unbent, though there was a dent in the floor of the prison. Roughly he pinned you to the wall and before you could speak, the collar was on you, clasped shut.

You were stunned speechless as the Primarch let go and yanked on the chain. "Come," he said. Your hands clutched at the collar, almost as if to take it off. But once again there was that feeling welling up within you, that feeling you could only describe as liking it.

He started walking forwards, almost dragging you along the dim hallway. "I don't even know your name," you hissed, trying to keep up with the Primarch's long strides. He made no attempt to slow down for you, who was roughly half his size.

"Perturabo," he replied coldly. "And I know who you are, so save me the trouble."

You walked down the halls with him, the cells unpopulated. "I'm the only prisoner you took," you choked out.

"Prisoner is a strong word," he said. "I assure you I plan on making you quite comfortable after our admittedly... faulty meeting."

You paused, trying to take in all of the information that he put forth in those short sentences. You weren't a prisoner? But what was around your neck? He wanted to make you comfortable? What did that even mean?

Before you were done parsing what he had said, you were at the door of the hallway. You saw through a small window two of Perturabo's warriors guarding the door, much taller than yourself. Your tongue caught in your mouth as you tried to say something, anything. Perturabo opened the door, and you took in the warm air and the bustle of the ship you found yourself.

"Welcome to the Imperium of Man," he said, tugging on your chain. And so you began to follow him across this strange spaceship.

#primarch x reader #warhammer 40k x reader #perturabo x reader #reader insert #perturabo #warhammer lobotomy #i went for a darker tone this time but im not sure if it worked?#idk this accounts really just about learning how to write #im illiterate btw #also if yall like this enough im going to write a sequel #or i might write a sequel anyways #teehee

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plutopitou · 1 year

Text

◇ Psychological words of love

yandere!bakugou katsuki x female reader

genre: dark content, angst

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

word count: 7.4k

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

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

“What did I do?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re going to be alone.

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

Why are you so scared, again?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The door clicks.

And you still had more to say.

Six months ago..

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She feels bad for you.

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

“Please just listen to me-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s more vengeful.

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

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

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

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

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

“What time did you get here today?”

“About 8:45.”

“You start at 8:30.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I just wished-“

“Come here..” He says gruffly.

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

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

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

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

One month ago..

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

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

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

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

“I did not do that to myself-“

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

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

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

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

“Then I’ll leave.”

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

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

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

All he saw was your ungratefulness.

Vengeful.

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

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

He doesn’t say a word.

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

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

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

You turn and leave to your room.

Your mind drifts away from the scene in the past.

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

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

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

Last night there wasn’t much sleep to be had- waking up every hour not remembering where you were with the cold emptiness beside you. When you finally did you couldn’t help but explode in tears from the heartache of the situation, falling back asleep in your cold, damp pillow. There was a urge to pad yourself over to your once shared room and push yourself into his front and beg from him to take you back, that you’ll be better for him, that you’re sorry. But deep down you knew to ask for Bakugou Katsuki’s forgiveness was no easy task when you were making things up to be sorry for.

The jingle of the doornob and keys jolt you out of your trance of staring at your half uneaten food. The door opens and you don’t dare to look back, if you did you think you’ll just burst into tears once more.

Katsuki goes past your back into the hallway for ten minutes before returning with his hoodie off and a t-shirt on. He pops in front of you, pulling out ingredients from cabinets and turning on appliances to cook, still ignoring your presence.

It feels like a cold reminder how he’ll seem to function perfectly fine without you. Katsuki knows the right temperatures to set the stove top when cooking, he knew how to pay his bills on time, how to fix the broken leg of a table without a manual, how to confidently make his own doctors appointments.

You didn’t know jack shit out cooking, always forgot to pay a bill, and if a table leg broke you’d just scrape up enough money to buy a new one. You had too much anxiety to go to an appointment alone, dragging him with you clutched on his arm.

Of course Katsuki knew all this, and he gladly took on the roles you couldn’t fulfill yourself, leaving you to be utterly dependent on him.

You felt useless.

And he knew that.

Finally, he turns around, leaning back against the counter waiting for his water to boil. “That your dinner?” He nods at your bowl.

You never looked up and just nod. “I might throw it out, I’m not really hungry.” It was the first time in a day you heard your voice and it was hoarse, you’re not even ill but you feel every symptom.

“That’s the first meal you’ve eaten so far, you should try and finish it.” He turns around to wash his vegetables. The way he speaks is as if he has his attention somewhere else, like you’re a chore to talk to.

Katsuki can ignore your presence as easily as he can take down a shitty F-tier villain and move on with his life. He’s always been so good at that; moving on. The stories you’ve heard from his youth that he and his classmates had to go through, yet on the surface he seemed like a relatively normal man in his mid to late twenties. At least that’s what’s assumed in the beginning.

He isnt blind, he can see how miserable you look, “You also didn’t come to work today, so I’m assuming you spent all day packing,” He turns to face you, making eye contact after so long, “right?”

Katsuki can’t quite put his finger on it, either. What little quirk you had about you that made you so irresistible to him. The way you walk, your smart mouth that made his jaw tick, he wanted it all. As much as you fought him, he got off on how much you actually needed him. His sharp words produces your tears yet you still let him clean it up and kiss it away.

Your shoulders are pushed back, leg ticking in annoyance trying to calm your mind- you can’t give in to what he wants.

“Why can’t you just leave me alone?” You announce meekly. You sound like a child, a child being bullied by the popular kid during recess.

He switches to wash the next vegetable. “You keep that attendance up, baby, I might just have to find someone to replace you again.” He explains with a tone of mock. “And make sure you clean out your guest room completely, might have someone else occupying that space soon.”

In the end, the hero just wants to see how far he can push until you crumble for him.

Small glass shards prick his sides, a loud crash shatters on the cabinet next to his head. “I fucking hate you! Go fuck yourself you-“

Your words halt as Katsuki throws the vegetables in the sink, marching over to your still, fuming body.

For a second your body is motionless, you didn’t even register what you had done until the clutter in the sink and Katsuki’s body turns to you. There��s a sudden rush fueling your body like you took a energy shot; swiftly jumping out your stool and running to the hallway, Katsuki’s curses echo around the house, taunting you to run faster, to get away from him.

Your swift emotions were ones to be taken care of cautiously, however Katsuki knew how to mold them. He knew he had a choice on how to deal with your actions, and they were very predictable. He knows exactly how to trigger you.

You nearly slip out of the faint graze of his hand, but you’re dizzy. As much sleep you seem to had gotten the past 24 hours it never seemed to be enough. He grips your wrist, pulling you back to him and against the cool wall.

Now the whole world felt still.

The small hum of the home was almost enough to drown out your spiraling head, barely remembering the past five minutes. You try and shake out of his tightening grasp, every push your eyes welled up with more tears, your heart drowning in sorrow; it suffocates in your own desperation for the man that fuels your despair. You’re making yourself drown in front of the only person who seems to be willing to save you.

You bawl and wail in front of Kastuki Bakugou, continuing to push and pull against his weakening grasp. Your heart hurts.

The door was always open to walk through and leave if you wanted to, however there was no where to go. Family was long gone and all your friends had been pushed away from you- you had to wonder if you were some sort of repellent and why it seemed no one wanted to be close to you. Now your own ex boyfriend seems to want nothing to do with you.

You bawl and wail in front of Kastuki Bakugou, continuing to push and pull against his weakening grasp. “Get the hell off of me-“ His heart stings hearing the anguish in your voice, he can see clear as day how tired you are. It’s the sob you can only hear from a broken woman. Your red eyes, puffy face and light streams of tears cry with you all the way down.

Your feet unable to hold up the weight of your gloom you slide down the wall, Katsuki following your every move. You’re slumped, hiccuping your wails as he is crouched down in front of you, observing what he seemed to have caused. “You don’t love me- get off of me!” The quick sharp breaths jump and fight trying to cut in front of eachother for air. Your face feels tingly, like static almost, a familiar feeling he knows you deal with with.

He sighs, letting go of your wrist. He gently clasps the back of your neck, letting his thumbs caress your temples trying to soothe the ache. “Look at me, sweetheart..” He tilts his head watching you look down away from his peering gaze. Katsuki repositions your face, “You gotta relax for me.” He whispers softly.

Your heartbeat feels like it’ll rupture any minute, you can hear it in your ears and in your temple. But you can also feel the rough pad of Katsuki’s thumb stroking your head in an attempt to soothe your ache.

“You used to get panic attacks too?”

“Mhm.” Your boyfriend lowly hums, moving his red plastic caricature up two purple spaces.

You started to confess to your boyfriend your struggle with your anxiety, how hard it was for you to function normally with the rest of society; how much it holds you back, especially with its lingering effects. He keeps a mental note.

Having not been privileged enough to go see therapists or psychiatrists, your disorder was one you had to learn about independently.

Turning over your next card you read its contents. Go up one blue space. “How did you used to deal with it?”

You sit across from him after prying to make time and play a game with you, him not completely content with playing Candyland, having to teach you how to play a kids game. He was even forced into playing with his classmates in highschool, yet was the first to keep the box before graduating.

Katsuki sits and thinks for a moment, quirking his eyebrow and grabs his next card. “Had to go to a lot of therapy my last year of school. Taught me some stuff.”

You were curious to learn more. “Like what?”

You continue your next move as he speaks, “Stuff like howta’ control yourself to not spiral during panic attacks. Gotta focus on your breath, focus on the present, the smells, what’s goin’ on around you type things. Kinda thought it was all bullshit..” He leans back against the bottom of the couch, arms crossed. “But I tried it out and realized it’s like any other skill, you have to practice and it’ll get easier.” He looks at you. “It always passes.”

You felt connected to him, wanting to push a little more. “When did you realize that?”

He grabs another card and moves up the board, “That’s probably a story for another time, sweetheart.” He declines continuing the game.

Glancing down at the board your avatar is right behind him near the rainbow. You grab your next card- a picture of a gingerbread man.

You hold it up for him to see. “What does this mean?”

He stares for a second before taking it and placing it in the old pile. “Gotta go back to the beginning.”

You focus on what’s in front of you, his sharp nose with imperfections, small clues of bruising and cuts from his line of work. A small fresh scar running down his bottom lip you didn’t really notice until now. You focus on smell. The scent of cleanliness from your ex-boyfriend, who always showers before he returns home at his agency so he was ready to jump into bed with you.

After five minutes the loud noise of your heartbeat fades away, your breath starting to regulate. A small hitch here and there but it’s still good enough.

You manage to cry out your last wave of tears as Katsuki carries you to the bathroom, settling you on the counter. Touching your pillowy cheeks, he inspects with both sides of his hands. He wets a rag, pushing your hair behind your ears and starts to wipe your face, cooling off your warm temperature.

“You got a headache, right?” You agree. He nods, putting a bottle of pills on the counter. He leaves and returns with a glass of water.

In a haste Katsuki quickly snatches the bottle out of your hand, you flinch as he grips your wrist in reflex. His brows are pulled together in shock.

“They all fell out.. I wasn’t gonna take all them.” you mumble quietly.

He doesn’t say a word, instead scooping them back into the bottle, giving you two and pockets the rest. You don’t miss the obvious look in relief in his face.

You take both without question, drinking the entire cup with a gasp. Sitting there, you watch him wet the rag again, coming back to run it over and press on the back of your neck.

He wets the rag again, “I don’t want to leave, Katsuki..” you whisper so low you weren’t sure he could hear you.

He knew you didn’t want to.

You reach out for his wrist, always red from the weight and force of his gauntlets. Pulling him towards you, you were finally face to face on the counter, the feeling of intimacy more prominent. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt more closeness to him with all the fighting. It practically made you forget how he isolated you.

Your aura pulses out like a toxic little flower he planted and struggles to resist. Your sad eyes and pouty lips with true sorrow and despair it almost makes him feel bad, however, he loves you too much to just let you go.

He steps between your legs, rubbing his hand over your damp cheek. “Let’s talk about it tomorrow, okay?” He helps you off the counter to his bed you once shared.

You hadn’t stepped foot in your old room with Katsuki in a month, having no reason to be present, instead sleeping in the guest room a couple doors away. Even with the constant arguing, the night always ended with you two back to back or someone in the other room.

That was until a month ago after the last altercation, you walk in to your clothes and items missing- discovering it thrown in the other room instead. You cried, sitting on the floor going through some broken jewelry and dusting off clothing and trying to make the empty space more comfortable.

Settling under the covers, the familiarity of your spot in the bed was the solace you’d been yearning for. Katsuki couldn’t help but miss seeing you there as well.

He rests the cold damp rag on your forehead, mentioning for you to keep it on and he’ll be back in a bit.

The room remains quiet, the bright light from the living and kitchen area peaking through the crack in the door. You can hear Katsuki talking. Based off the quick attitude and snarky remarks you guess he’s on the phone with the infamous green-haired hero. The kitchen rustles, the sound of glass being swept and dishes being washed flows as a type of ambiance.

The intense events from the past hour cause you to doze off, waking up with your rag missing and body warmth to your right empty and cold. You read the time on the wall as 6:46, knowing Katsuki left an hour ago, notorious for leaving an hour early from his hatred of tardiness.

The train ride to work felt quieter than it did early that week. Getting off, the walk to the agency you felt like you had a shadow following you, constantly checking behind you, pacing faster to the building. The after effects of your panic attacks never go unnoticed, hesitation and rapid feelings still riddling inside you as you try and look normal on the outside.

During the work day, it was easy to tell your coworkers began to judge your wellbeing. Yet no one said anything because of your reputation.

In the midst of typing paperwork and office phones ringing, you didn’t mean to listen in on your neighbors conversations.

“Did you see her?”

“She’s more beautiful in person!”

“You think they’re dating?”

Your heart jumps at the last rumor. You knew to not assume it wasn’t about Katsuki, all these people ever really wanted to talk about was how polarizing their boss is and the rumors surrounding him you can’t defend. Catching the name “Hikari” you look up the suspected hero, and she was everything you wished she wasn’t. Seeing her fan biography mention her quirk being linked to light, her accomplishments, being your age, you couldn’t stomach reading more.

You felt inferior and on-edge. It felt like someone was dumping a boatload of insecurities on you, like they planned every situation and you’re playing it exactly how they wanted.

You weren’t thinking straight. Were you?

Without notice you barged into his office, interrupting the two heroes. You couldn’t recall the steps on how you got here- when did you even sit up from your chair?

The voices in the room come to a pause, the light-hero looks at the explosion-hero, confused on the sudden entry. Your eye contact with him felt like it could drain your life force. He sits cross armed on the corner edge of his desk while she sits on the chair to his right. You felt like you’ve been punched in the gut.

“I’m- I’m sorry I didn’t mean to intrude like this..” You can’t even remember going in the elevator- or did you take the stairs?

The platinum-haired blonde sits up with a gentle smile. Her long hair flows down behind her back, fading to a pale pink, matching her fair complexion like you had seen in the photos. “It’s alright, I should be on my way anyway.” She turns and nods her head at Katsuki, “We’ll talk later, Dynamight.” Taking her leave she gives you a smile, like a ray of sunshine on her face.

The door closes shut behind her.

“Lock it.”

You don’t go sit down, not wanting to stay much longer.

You tug at your ring again. “I’m really sorry Katsuki- I don’t remember how I came up here.” You try to explain yourself. “I don’t even remember why I came up here in the first place-“

You look up to see him visibly upset, rubbing his forehead in stress you seem to have caused. Again. “I sent out a goddamn email to everyone in that floor to not even come up here because I had an important meeting..”

Every word he says describing the significance of the situation, you felt more upset, failing at holding back the tears of shame.

“I didn’t see an email, but I’m sorry, I just-“

“I even told everyone this morning.”

It was like scolding a child. You hiccup trying to push back the sobs that were screaming to come out, “No one told me..” You scratch behind your ear, wiping the tears off your puffy face. “No one talks to me here.”

The conversation quickly spins to a more personal subject. “I don’t have any friends, no family.” Katsuki studies your disassociating body language. “I’m all alone now.”

“(Y/n)-“

“I quit.”

You huff, trying to focus on other things like he said, however it still feels like you’re spiraling.

“What are you talking about? You want to quit?” His face looks disorganized, confused at what you’re getting at.

Face blotchy and apparent dark-circles you wondered if he found you pathetic in this moment. “I don’t think I belong here, Katsuki.” Your lips tremble, “I’m always messing things up for you, I’m not good enough, pretty enough, talented enough, I can’t do it anymore.” You sob into your hands, fully exposed for him.

You finally explain to your boyfriend your true feelings from overthinking.

Were you really that pathetic to think your pro-hero boyfriend wouldn’t want to leave a quirkless girl like you? Working with the most beautiful and powerful women in the world, you knew to question why he chose you-someone who applied for his company out of desperation.

Every compliment and word of love was suddenly starting to feel like a joke someone is playing on you.

“I don’t want to be here anymore.” You hiccup.

Katsuki gets up, worry drawn on his face, after every word you dug the needle farther into his heart with the extent you beat yourself down. He knows soon enough he can finally live the life he wanted with you, for you.

He reaches out for you, but you step back in fright, narrowing his eyes in confusion. You shake your head no, eyes pleading to not touch you. You were practically walking karma.

His heart hurts but keeps his hands to his sides. There wasn’t much left for him to do in the present moment, but soon enough it’ll work out. “I’ll fill out that paperwork for you then..” He almost reaches out to wipe away your stray tear. “Just go home for me, ‘lright?” His pleading face glazes down your vacant one. It was so easy for him to read you like a book. It read you were not going to be home later.

Yet he’ll still let you leave.

“No, I want the key for the apartment..” You whisper yet so firm.

Katsuki won’t argue with you. He goes to write the address on a piece of paper, ripping it off for you. “Go here. The front desk knows about you. They’ll give you the key.”

There was no key.

Why won’t he fight for you? Are you not worth it? Does he want you gone this bad?

You take the paper and turn to walk out the door. Don’t say a word or else you’ll crumble immediately.

“You know I’ll be at home waiting if you change your mind.”

You did what you felt what was best and left.

Your cursor passes by the empty email icon and shut off your computer, leaving all your items behind.

You stayed in the nearby park for a bit. Sitting on the bench while the air starts to cool off accompanying the light in the dimming sky. You lost track of how long you had been walking having been turned off your phone.

The nervousness in your body never went away, looking twice everytime a stranger passed by you in the street. You felt insecure thinking people might assume you’re some homeless junkie or stupid teenager that left home in a fit. You walked until your soles bled.

Standing in front of the apartment complex, hair sticks to your face soaked in rain. You hold the wet piece of paper in your hand, observing the up to date building sprinkled with balconies and decoratives.

You turn and leave.

Katsuki sits staring blankly at his whisky on the wood living table. His elbow lays on the arm rest, holding his head. He was calm.

The time clicks to 6:48pm later that night. The events from the past couple nights replay his mind like a loop, not having done much since he came home to an empty home hours ago.

A text notification breaks him out of his thoughts, he opens his messages. “She’s nearby.”

It was almost laughable. Like letting a child “run away” after their tantrum.

They always came back.

What the hell did they know about navigating the world without someone to help them?

He gets up making his way to the front door.

Why did you have to be so god damn difficult? If Katsuki had it his way there wouldn’t be no need to have to go through this exhausting mess. He couldn’t even believe what he heard the first time he heard you threaten to leave him. He wanted to grab you and keep you hidden away until you learned it was a ridiculous idea.

Turning the nob, he opens the door to a monsoon on the other side. The world looks hazy, like glass after a steaming shower.

Katsuki he knew a plan executed like that would never work on someone as stubborn as you were. He’s like how you knew he was, not spontaneously erratic- but vengeful.

His heart hurt seeing your wet figure emerge from the haze. His pretty girl.

Even with your red puffy face, distraught body language, he thought you looked more beautiful than ever. A true prized possession he couldn’t help but want just for himself. Even with his unfavorable ways, there was no doubt in his mind he loved you more than everything he ever had. Your resistance was just a minor obstacle he didn’t mind helping you get over.

You truly were like a cat that thought they were stuck in a box, but you were also trapped in the room.

His heart settles as you sink yourself into him. Melting into the comfort of his arms in the cold rain. Your whispers of “sorry” drown out in the heaviness of the weather. You felt stupid thinking you could go out on your own.

Kastuki presses a soft kiss to your lips, forgiving you. It didn’t matter to him. You came back like he knew you would. His next step to take away every insecurity you had thinking he didn’t find you perfect, a facade he started so you can end up right where you are.

“I’m so sorry for acting up..” You sob into his wet T-shirt, gripping his forearms in need. Your need to just be enough for someone. The little thoughts rattling your mind are agony, he was the only person he could pull them away one by one.

He wanted your sweet melancholy.

Smoothering your hair, he hushes your cries, ushering you back inside for you to warm up.

Vengeful.

I tried not to make this confusing, might have to work on my planning with these more “calculated” fics as I go forward lol N imma just post this and not overthink every bit now

Hoping to do Aizawa soon or Hawks again! Please continue to do your best as well,

Please like, reblog and follow ʕ⁎̯͡⁎ʔ༄

Tags: @ssplague

#katsuki bakugou #bakugou katsuki #yandere bakugou #bakugou x reader #bakugou x female reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #tw.dark content #tw.yandere #tw.manipulation #bakugou x you #bakugou x y/n #pitou.writes #my hero academia #mha angst #angst #bnha #pitou.fics

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aprocessionofthoughts · 6 months

Text

The Camera Lens

whumptober2023 day 23- stalking fandom- batman TW- canon typical violence summary- Jason has a stalker

ao3 masterlist

Jason had been feeling eyes on him for a while now. It felt like someone had been following him on his patrols since he started being Robin. He kept seeing things out of the corner of his eye, but Batman never mentioned anything so Jason figured it was nothing.

He saw something out of the corner of his eye now, and he paused on a rooftop pretending to look at the street below.

There. There was someone standing on the fire escape of the next building.

Time to confront his little shadow.

Tim swore he had only looked down at his camera for a second, but Robin was already gone. He huffed. It was still early, he didn’t want to go back home yet.

“What are you doing, kid?”

Tim let out an embarrassing squeak and turned around.

That… That was Robin standing behind him. Robin was talking to him! That was Jason!

Robin was staring at him.

Shoot. He’d asked a question hadn’t he?

“Uhhh… I’m just getting some fresh air.”

“Uh huh. With your camera?”

“It’s my emotional support camera.”

Robin smirked.

Yes! He got Robin to smile. Score one for Tim.

But then Robin sighed. “Do your parents know you’re out here?”

Think fast. “They’re not home.” shoot. He wasn’t supposed to tell the truth. “There’s a babysitter.” That was believable, right? Did kids his age even have babysitters? He thinks so, though he hasn’t had one in over two years. But he was special, almost grown up. His parents said so.

“Well, you should probably get home before you worry your babysitter.”

“But–”

“No buts. Little kids like you should be in bed by now.”

“I’m not little!”

Robin raised an eyebrow at him. It was impressive how the mask could show that.

“How about,” Robin started, “I take you home.”

Nope. That couldn’t happen. Tim was grown up enough to be on his own, but his parents also said it was best if other people didn’t know that. It would mean they'd underestimate him. Tim didn’t really care about that. But he didn’t want to make them upset. “It’s okay. I can get home on my own.”

“I don’t think–” Robin tilted his head. Tim thought that he might be listening to his comm. Robin turned to him again. “Are you sure you can make it on your own?”

“Yup.”

“Fine then. It looks like I have to go. You go straight home, agreed?”

Tim nodded.

“Good, and I better not see you again. It’s not safe out here.” With that Robin shot his grapple and disappeared into the night.

Tim smiled so wide it hurt his mouth. This was his best day ever! Robin had talked to him and he’d gotten some good pictures.

Best day ever!

-------------------

Tim ran through one of the Tower’s hallways. Well, more like he hobbled through the hallway since one of his ankles was definitely broken, and his ribs were probably fractured, and he could hardly see out of one eye, and the fingers of his left hand were crooked, and… well let’s suffice it to say that he was heavily injured.

“Come out, come out wherever you are.”

Tim’s breath hitched and he stumbled, sliding down the wall and leaving a bloody smear. He was trying to push himself to his feet when something slammed into his back. He grunted, his arms collapsing and making him faceplant into the floor. He didn’t have a chance to recover before a steel toed boot was slamming into his side.

The boot flipped him onto his back and then pressed onto his chest. Tim wheezed.

“Got you.”

Jason stared down at him, eyes blazing green and a deranged smile pulling at his lips. He leaned forward putting more pressure on Tim’s chest. He heard something crack and a whine escaped him.

Jason chuckled.

“And here I thought my replacement would put up more of a fight.”

“I’m not–” Tim cut off as the pressure increased, his hands scrambled at the boot pressing into him but he couldn’t get the bigger man off of him.

Jason’s still holding part of Tim’s broken bo staff and he swings it down. Tim barely has time to get his hands up so that it doesn’t slam into his face. It comes down again landing across his ribs. Jason brings it down a few more times before tossing it to the side and lifting Tim up by his throat. He slams him into the wall. Tim feels his ribs shift and prays that they don't pierce a lung.

But would it really matter at this point? Tim can’t breathe and Jason isn’t letting up. His vision was starting to go black. Would Jason just keep beating him up after he blacked out? Would he be just another dead Robin?

“You should have stayed behind the camera, Replacement.” Jason said, leaning in close.

And Tim… Tim blacked out.

#whumptober 2023 #whumptober #no.23 #stalker #stalker tim drake #titans tower au #Jason todd #Tim drake #hurt/no comfort #canon typical violence

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nelapanela94 · 1 year

Note

Alright, how about one more request for your 1k event? Let's go one of each list! How about 15 and 34? Thank you!

Of course!!!

15 “What I fear the most is to close my eyes and never see you again.” 34. “Why do you keep pushing people away?”.

TW: Hurt/comfort, a bit angsty.

WC: 1.2k

You clutch at your cloak, shivering, the night chilly breeze swooshes down the spiral staircase, ruffling the unmoored strands of your hair like wild tendrils lashing on your face. Great! Someone must've left a window open. Your breath condensates in little clouds before you.

The nippy air was biting your skin you couldn't sleep. Even under three layers of wool, your bones ached, and you couldn't stop moving around on your creaky bed. The fire in your room was smoldering to a weak crackle, so you venture to the kitchen to retrieve more firewood and kindling.

The torches perched on the walls are quiet and still once you take the last turn — the sneaky wind whistles in the opposite direction — and a sluggish warmth consoles you. The acrid smell of musk peels off the cobblestone and the floor, coated in dew, feels slippery under the soles of your boots. Despite the solitude and the merciless night, your spirits are unaltered. Time served you well to patch up your beaten heart after he wrenched it out and squeezed it in his hand. You misunderstood. That’s what he said, and then, unruffled by the catastrophe he had elicited, he put the empty cup down and walked out. It’s been weeks, and yet you don’t feel ready to face him; whenever his face sneaks in your head, you can’t help but feel a twinge in the chest.

Your hum falters when you reach the communal kitchen. the door is ajar, and a slice of dancing light seeps through the gap.

As you push the door, you notice the cracks and the flaking paint that have been there for years. The door is old and heavy, and the screaming hinges make him turn around. You see the expression on his face change as he realizes that he's not alone anymore.

Your heartbeat quickens at the sight of him. You clear your throat and fiddle with a frayed thread of your cloak, avoiding his fervid gaze. "I didn't know you'd be here," you say, trying to sound casual while your mind races with thoughts of how to escape. You'd rather freeze to death than be in the same room with him, but you can't leave now. You're trapped.

The silence that follows feels like an eternity. You feel the weight of his gaze on you, those gray eyes that seize you under their spell, and you can't help but wonder what he's thinking.

There’s nothing much left between the two but an empty space and the air dense with millions of misunderstandings. Blood rushes about like untied chains flogging in your head. “Good night”, you breathe, but his voice refrains you from turning around.

“Hold on.” He says, tearing from the counter, and your vanquished body is impelled. Your muscles and nerves and every fiber ignore the commands from your brain and plug to your heart. Because no matter how much you’ve told yourself you hate him, nothing can deceive it.

A piercing shrill bursts through the night, and you drag your eyes to the feverish stove, the wall behind mottled with years of soot. Levi reaches out for two pewters. Then swerves around the island and fetches the kettle. The spicy aroma is inviting, filling every corner. The smell impregnated on him. The scalding water hisses against the walls of steel as he pours it, deliberately crafting his art.

You swallow your pride and pad toward him. “Thanks,” your eyes scoot around as you moisten your lips. “I wasn’t planning to stay, though. I need woods for my fire.”

“When will you stop avoiding me?”

“When you stop being a jerk.” You snap, but he only grins, making your blood sizzle with fury.

For a while you remain silent as the nature sounds drown your mesh of thoughts. Bare tree branches scratch the walls like claws on a chalkboard, the windows rattle against the fluting wind. You both rest against the counter; a chasm splits you apart.

“You hurt me, Levi.” You finally parse it. You gaze down to your feet, blushing. “At least you could’ve said something, I don’t know, like you only liked me as a friend or that you didn’t like me at all. You’re right, and my brain threaded the cues in the wrong way, blinded.”

“You didn’t misunderstand.” Levi scrambles in his head while his chest tightens into a knot that snatches his breath. Suddenly the air is heavy and stuffy. His fingertips twitch, so close to yours yet so far. He himself had built the wall between the two, and now, he doesn't know how to knock it down.

“Then why?” Your eyes sting with tears. “Why do you keep pushing people away? What are you so scared of? I’d never hurt you, Levi.” Your lips fumble and tears stream down your cheeks, joining paths at your chin before they splash on your cloak. "I would never."

“You’ll never get it, Y/N.” His voice crackles, but you don’t want to see his face. “You don't know what it's like to lose everything you love the most.” His arms ache to hold you. His lips yearn to feel yours pressed against his. But more than that, Levi wanted to be. Be with you. Be next to you. Feel the peacefulness of your nearness wash over him and settle his soul. But keeping you away is for your own good, and for his too.

“It’s a mechanism of protection. I see.” You mull over his philosophy. How much pain do they have to inflict on you to make you scared of love?

Levi blinks away his tears and closes his eyes. And those scenes he fears the most flash inside his head, so lively the panic of losing you courses through his veins. He swallows the lump in his throat and opens his eyes. His hand rest dangerously close, and little by little it gravitates toward yours.

“What is your biggest fear, Levi?” you delve while your eyes are still riveted to the floor. Your knees feel weak, in the brink of collapsing.

The steam has waned, and you know Levi hates his tea cold.

“What I fear the most is to close my eyes and never see you again.” He confesses in a shaky whisper, as if his own voice burned his throat and he were ashamed to admit his true feelings.

A spool of sobs and wails break your shell, and your legs give up. But his reflexes are faster. He grabs your hand and pulls you toward him, holding you so tight in an embrace that puts your pieces together. Your heart beating against his. It would be so easy to melt together, sink his lips against yours, and seal the night with a feeling that would make pain disappear. He knew it would disappear. But a little voice inside of him warns him of everything that can go wrong, and he hesitates for a moment, looking down at the ground from the tightrope.

He mutes the voice and goes for it.

Your lips taste like salt.

He was right, you hold the power to make pain go away.

Tag List: @stygianoir @lamees004 @svftackerman @apolloshaiku @luvjiro @roralore @mikakayyyy @noctemys @lovolee3

Want to join the tag list? Click here.

#levi ackerman #aot #attack on titan #snk #levi attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #snk levi #levi aot #levi x reader #levi x you #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you

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doppelwertig · 4 months

Text

Into the floods

It's 7:30 a.m. and I decide to head to the peaceful spa town I've been avoiding for five years now. It is the small place for which, or rather for the person living in it at the time, I moved to the south.

This town has been a spiky thorn in my heart for the last few years and I just couldn't bring myself to walk the old streets again. But today, December 21st, 2023, the time has come. I just spontaneously travel there. I left work behind. It will still be there when I get back, although I don't know when that will be.

I'm setting out because I want to part with an item whose absence would have hurt for a long time.

About the importance of beloved objects

In 2012 I bought a bracelet and had my master put it on me. Even though I parted with my necklace and collar, I couldn't part with the stainless steel around my wrist. I don't even like the strict feeling of metal...but it's soaked in memories. It is now rusty, grimy and can hardly be closed properly.

The thought of getting rid of the bracelet tore me up years ago. I wasn't ready. Probably also out of pain about how much I missed what I had in this relationship. So I've tried reframing for the last few years. But how effective is changing your thinking with an object that was placed on you by someone who is still so close to your heart?

I have to at least replace it. It took some research, but then I found a bracelet that looked identical. Ultimately, I love the style and meaning too much to part with a look that suits me. It will be here in a few days.

I wanted to give the old bracelet to the river we sat by so often. At first I planned to just walk a few meters to the river part in my city, but it is more correct to visit the place where it all began.

New and old

It is said that it takes the body 7 to 10 years to completely replace all of its cells. However, the skin cells are recreated after just a few weeks. In May it will be 7 years for this body. I always liked the idea that soon there wouldn't be a cell in my body that he touched - a kind of cellular new beginning. Even if the descendants may vaguely remember the bittersweet touches.

With these clammy feelings, I got off the train and stumbled to the new display board, which didn't exist the last time I was there. I no longer knew in which direction the small island in the river that I wanted to go to later was. Luckily this map existed. I planned the route like this: to his old apartment, then through some backstreets, on to the island and then to one of the train stations, depending on what felt right later.

Just walking a few meters on the platform tore me apart. Here I was often picked up or send home accompanied by a small dog...time for a certain song.

youtube

Ewigheim - …

On the way to the old apartment it became more and more difficult. I couldn't see the old porch because of the now very tall hedges - but the entrance at the back offered the same barren sight as before. Even the black dirt seemed to still adorn the same parts of the house wall.

I saw the crack where we found the lost cat under the balcony and the outline of the old rusty bicycle popped up in the driveway.

youtube

Die Heart - Eins (feat. 8Kids)

It was time. I said goodbye to the apartment and chose a new song. Shuffle gets you the right thing. This part of the journey, especially with this song, was hard. Tears formed as I slowly had to pass a train stop. Some guy pointed his phone camera at me. I stared up angrily, but continued on, undeterred.

Soon the climax of the song was approaching and I wanted to scream so much, but I can't. “That’s what my soul sounds like,” I thought. She croaks from all the internal screaming.

So just keep going. I wanted to be close to the river, so I had to go to a place where countless dogs are walked. Two people and their worried animals eyed me as I headed towards the front of the river island, bundled up and with a red face.

All the way to the sea

I had worn the bracelet until now, but I could hardly feel it due to the thick winter padding. I pulled out my phone. I wanted to capture the location of the river: dirty-looking rapids where the water roared past me with incredible force. Then take off the bracelet and take a photo of it at the location. Great, no problem at all.

Now put the cell phone away - “Oh, change the song first”. I anxiously fumbled the phone in and out a few times.

youtube

TANZWUT – Meer

I knelt down and held the shimmering stainless steel ring in my hands. Somehow I wanted to let go - to stop being so attached to this person. I remembered the beautiful moments, all the things I miss and the things for which I haven't yet found suitable new people. But my heart should be open to it.

Big tears and the snottiest snot in a long time burst out of me. I just let everything go. This is probably the sadness that only the sea can contain.

I longed for the sea.

youtube

TANZWUT – Bis zum Meer feat. Moran Magal

After killing two more tissues, I prepared to put the bracelet in the river with a new song. I didn't want to throw it, I wanted to dip it in slowly and then let it go, feeling the cold water on my fingers.

It took me a while to gather the courage I needed. My fingers were already completely cold when I left it to the waves. I immediately lost sight of it. Tears streamed down my cheeks again.

Although I couldn't promise myself that it would be the last time I shed tears over this person, I at least knew that all the water in the world would be there for me.

My gaze lingered on the waves for a while until I decided to leave. I disposed of the small ball of snot flags in the nearest wastebasket and began the slow walk back to the train stop. I didn't care when the next train came. Just wait there and see.

Longing

An incredible longing for the Baltic Sea spread within me. Actually, there's nothing I'd rather do right now than take the next train and stare at the sea for a few days. But I have responsibilities and obligations.

Now I'm waiting for the new bracelet. Let's see how that feels.

#writing

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robingurlscorner · 5 days

Text

Older RIP with Joker..?

Gosh, i think I wrote this like years ago... not so old that you can tell I was super young. BUT I reread it and I liked it lol.

There was a faint odor in the air, it didn’t smell right. Batman wondered why his eyes were closed? He opened them with the intent of finding out what was going on. When he did all he saw was a wall. A very ugly wall at that. Where was he?

He attempted to sit up and found his arms tied behind his back. After a few moments of wriggling around he discovered the knots were poorly tied. In seconds he had them off and able to move freely again.

Beside him he heard a moan. It sounded like Robin. Batman twisted to see what or who was beside him and found his partner. The boy was lying on his back arms by his side, Robin’s eyes were still closed.

Doing his best to stay calm if not for his own mental state for Robin’s, Batman took a deep breath and leaned closer to the boy’s side. He placed a hand on the boy’s chest relieved to feel a steady heart beat. It just meant that Robin was coming to. “Robin, wake up, Robin.”

The first movement was in Robin’s arms. They were attempting to reach up and find who ever was shaking him. Batman took one of the green gloved hands into his own and squeezed gently. “That’s it. Wake up, chum.” The tone of the Caped Crusader’s voice was at a well trained level that showed Robin he was safe and kept the boy calm.

Knowing he still had to choose his words carefully though, just like when Robin had been really young. Different words had different meanings to the young teen. Saying the wrong phrase would cause unneeded panic.

In what seemed like an hour Robin’s eyes fluttered open. Batman’s concern had grown at the slowness of Robin’s coming to. “Are you alright, Robin?”

“T..Think so, Batman.” Robin curled to his side in a protective pose towards Batman and just laid there quietly. “Just…”

“Yes?” Batman put a hand on Robin’s shoulder.

“I don’t know what it is….something doesn’t feel right.” Robin looked up at his mentor with faded blue eyes seeking answers to their predicament.

Batman had no explanation and instead of verbally answering, he made an attempt to find out what was going on. “I’m sure that once the gas clears out of your head you will be fine maybe weak, but fine.”

The answer seemed to satisfy the Boy Wonder and he proceeded to wrap his arms around himself and close his eyes again. After he made sure Robin wasn’t in any pain, Batman stood up carefully not knowing if either one of them was injured in anyway way and went to the walls. He pressed against them, “Steele.”

“Holy Armored Truck,” Robin whispered watching his mentor walk around. “How are we going to get out of here?”

“You’re not.” A loud cackle was heard from a hidden speaker. “That’s the point.”

“Joker…” Robin replied. He sat up slowly and looked around. “Up there Batman- that speaker.”

“I see it, chum.” Batman unconsciously moved back to where the Boy Wonder was making sure he was protected if the need arose. “Joker, what do you want with us?”

“What does any Villain want, Batdope? Your lives. I’m so tired of the headaches you give me. Besides life would be so much more enjoyable without you two party poopers trailing me around everywhere.”

“Let the boy go.”

“Now Batman, it isn’t fitting to make a man die on his own. So I gave you Robin. You really need more acquaintances, it was hard finding someone who would die with you.”

“Isn’t there any kind of deal that we can make?”

Robin struggled to his feet, “No Batman!! I won’t let you-“ He fell into Batman surprised at his own weakness. “Holy--!”

“Joker what have you done to us?” Batman snarled. The usual boiling point was being met. Robin was injured or sick and he knew Joker was the culprit. Joker hurting him was different. Robin wasn’t but a boy.

“Hold your temper or I’ll gas you again.”

“What. Have. You. Done. To. Robin?” Batman asked again locking his arms under Robin’s arm pits to help the boy’s balance. But Robin’s legs buckled each time Batman tried. His worry was escalating.

“You will see, Batman.” Batman could almost hear the Joker smiling. “If I were you, I’d save your energy. Dinner will be served in 1 hour.”

“I am not eating any of your food.”

“Then die of starvation. If you want to have a chance of survival you will eat the food. It’s untainted and will give you both strength.”

Batman slowly helped Robin sit down and he kneeled down on one knee keeping Robin up right. “What’s the catch?”

“There is no catch. I just want to watch you die slowly, rapid is so gruesome. Slower is a treat.” Then the intercom went off.

“Batman, I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong.” Robin replied with embarrassment. “I just stood up and fell.”

“Can you feel your legs?” Batman asked trying his best to sound calm. He put a hand on one of the small legs looking up at his partner. Robin gave Batman an absurd look but nodded his response. A relief washed over Batman and he let a weak smile play across his features. “Well that’s not to bad then.”

#robin in peril #66 batman #my #older story but still really good

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ina-nis · 9 months

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"Maybe what hurts most is that people just... let go of you. As if your presence were not worth the stress for them, because you're "too unstable" or "too clingy" or "you look cold and like you don't want to be there" or "you're too quiet" and so on."

I find I'm the one that has to let go and they were never holding on in the first place.

Yes, exactly.

Almost as if there were never any reciprocity, at least nothing worth fighting for.

In my eyes, I keep on thinking how much I have to change, bend and twist myself to - maybe - be liked in a way that feels safe and stable for me, but then I hear that I should "just be yourself". Being myself means existing with a pain that never goes away, a pain that is in everything I do, even when I'm happy, the pain is there. It takes a toll on me and I know it takes a toll on others, too.

If I try to put myself in other people's shoes and see this situation from their perspective, the same happens.

Being with someone who is unstable, who has a low and depressed mood or is just moody overall, being with someone that is very clingy and needy, being with someone who is avoidant and quiet are all things that can be hard to deal with, very exhausting and... well, there's not really a way out, is there?

If I let go of a person like that, they will just go. As if my feelings and our connection didn't matter to them. Is it because they don't trust me? What else can I do to make them trust me if not even my actions or words reach through their walls of steel?

They will have their confirmation that nobody ever stays, and that they'll likely remain alone. It's a shame, it's really sad, but what am I supposed to do? I can't possibly save them. I'm not sure if anyone can.

They won't fight for me either.

...

In the end, I guess there will be pain and hurt for everyone, but for the one who is alone and incapable of establishing safe connections, there's that growing sense of despair or maybe dissociation (and maybe both, who knows?). For the others, I cannot really tell for sure because I don't know other people's circumstances: for example, if they're able to hold a job, if they're studying, if they have family and friends, I guess those are all things that can function as a buffer against the harm and protect them from isolation and disconnection so... sure, maybe they wanted to hold onto that connection with a avoidant, but they won't, and they won't chase after someone who seemingly wants nothing to do with them and treat others so poorly.

The avoidant will avoid more as a result, because they know from experience nobody will hold onto them, because they're not particularly special or wanted. It's just too much trouble to other people.

I know I can be to hard to love and deal with (I am myself! I can tell that much at least), so I don't think I have any right to hold it against people. I have not met anyone I felt I should chase after that has not hurt me tremendously when all was over. I don't expect people to want me or hold onto me. I don't expect there will be anyone who will think I'm worth fighting for.

No matter how much I want them, no matter how much I don't want to part, no matter how much I want to fight for that connection. I end up hurting and I will walk away because they show me how they won't fight for me. It's as if I'm just a nuisance and there's "better" out there, so it's a no-brainer.

#anonymous #ask

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lambden · 2 years

Text

HI i'm here to share my fic for @yenbigbang that I actually finished in the spring but haven't been able to post until now! started writing it. had a breakdown. bon appetit

M, 11.6K, canon rewrite/soulmates AU where soulmates feel each other's pain Read on AO3 -- or read the first scene below!

Fringilla awakens in a panic, her eyes flying open as she writhes involuntarily. She thinks her spine must have split. Her body contorts as she tries to reach around herself to put pressure on the wound.

There is no wound. Her back is undisturbed, her linen nightgown soft to the touch. But white hot pain sears across her unbroken flesh and she howls loud enough to wake the Continent.

Her uncle is at her side in less than a moment. Her agony is obvious enough that he doesn’t bother wasting time with questions about nightmares; no child screams like this just because of a bad dream, not even one as predisposed to magic as Fringilla. Artorius takes her hands in his and tries to catch her frantic, terrified gaze in the dim light. “Where does it hurt?” he demands, his usual solemnity fractured by concern. “Where does it hurt?”

“It’s worse,” Fringilla sobs, desperately shifting to try to mitigate the pain in some way. “It’s not aching, it’s worse! My spine—”

Another wave of vivid pain hits her already tender back, and her jaw locks as she steels herself against the nearly unbearable anguish. Her uncle grips her hands tightly, sinking to kneel next to her bed. He lets her squeeze his palms with a near death grip, and he doesn’t offer a single complaint. Instead, a baffling warmth flashes across his countenance that scares Fringilla more than the phantom pain.

Her uncle has taken her to the best healers in the world to try and divine the cause of her back pain, but each test has left them more perplexed than the last. Fringilla is perfectly healthy the majority of the time, but when her mysterious condition flares up, it can take her out for days. Before she can plead for answers Artorius pats her hands, oddly still smiling. “Fringilla, has anyone ever told you about soulmates?”

It takes her a moment to catch her breath and stop crying, and when she does her voice still wavers. “Yes… I know a little.”

Her uncle clears his throat, switching to the same voice he uses for work. Fringilla would beg him for comfort, but she looks up to her uncle more than anyone else on the Continent, so she listens raptly. “I believe that this pain isn’t truly yours, and maybe it never has been. Perhaps your soulmate has an affliction. Sometimes, in cases of a true bond, soulmates can feel each other’s pain. They carry it as their own, and sharing the pain lessens the burden. Do you understand?”

Chest still heaving, Fringilla nods. “Someone else… feels the same way?”

“Yes.” Artorius smiles again.

She sniffles. “How can I be rid of this?”

“A bond is a wonderful and powerful thing!” Fringilla stares, and her uncle releases a sigh and finally drops her hands. “As far as I know, you can’t.”

Hate spikes in Fringilla’s heart, sudden and intense enough to scare her. She inhales shakily and doesn’t say another word to Artorius, since she does not wish to disappoint him or ruin his excitement. But the frustration bubbles under her skin all night. It lingers long after he leaves her side, curdling as she stares at the dancing candlelight on the walls. Overwrought by passion, she decides that whoever her soulmate might be, she’s never going to forgive them for causing her such anguish.

Only as the candle finally flickers out does Fringilla sleepily realize that her soulmate has experienced the same awful pain, and the thought tugs at her emotions. She pouts, feeling guilty for her earlier annoyance, and whispers into the dark, silent room, “Feel better.”

She isn’t sure if she’s talking to herself or a stranger or both, but somehow, the words soothe her back to sleep.

[Continue reading on AO3!]

#yengilla #yennefer of vengerberg #fringilla vigo #yen big bang #yengilla fic #my writing #if i get into my neuroses about my fic we'll be here for another five months so let me just post this and run #and i'll add art when it's up!

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grasslandgirl · 2 years

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HELLO oh I am :eyes emoji: at every single thing on that list, your wips sound so. cool! absolutely dying to hear more about leverage ot3 amnesia ideas & juno steel and the case of the lost memories, whatever you are interesting in sharing <3

oh with JOY will i talk about these jade, with JOY!!

i'm gonna put this below a cut cause i'm gonna answer and give snips for both and it's gonna get LONG bc i Cannot Shut Up xox

for the leverage ot3 amnesia au i dont have a TON written, it was more just a collection of amnesia au ideas for all three of them that i was putting down so as not to forget them- i'm such a sucker for amnesia aus where the concrete memories are gone, but the sense memories and the gut instincts, and the muscle memory remains; and i think that trope carries over really interestingly to the leverage ot3-- parker who feels herself physically relaxed around these two strange men she doesn't know, eliot who instinctively lets these strangers touch him because some part inside of him he can't remember knows they won't hurt him, etc etc

i haven't written a ton of it, but i do have a dash of eliot pov i'll slide your way <33

Everything’s fuzzy. Eliot hates when things are fuzzy. He blinks against the crust in his eyes, but whatever room he’s in is clinically bright. His mouth is dry and his whole body is a single dull ache- heavy medication. Someone’s drugging him. In the back of his mind, Eliot’s furious about that; wants to rage until everything is burned out of his system and he can think clearly again, but he can’t remember why. Why he’s- wherever he is. Why he hates mind-numbing medication so badly. Why he needs it in the first place. The alarms in the back of his head are clanging- telling him, danger, threats, wake up, get up, fight your way out- but Eliot has to fight to open his eyes all the way. He’s in a hospital. And- yeah, okay, that makes sense; even if it ignites the same anxious-angry pit in his stomach the meds do. Glaring halogen ceiling lights and clinical white walls and a softly beeping heart monitor and an IV plugged into his arm (he fights the urge to rip it out, if only for the moment) and- a man. Sitting in the chair next to him.

:)))) eliot pov my beloved....... i should write more leverage fic, huh?

and then SIMILARLY juno steel and the case of the missing memories is ALSO an amnesia au ksjvnskfjvnsfb

the concept was that at some point vaguely s3 on the carte blanche, juno gets a bad hit and loses all his memories of basically the plot of the show- so he can remember everything before the case of the murderous mask- but he doesn't remember anything with the kanagawas, or meeting nureyev, or the martian pill, or losing his eye, etc etc etc

so he wakes up on this ship- off mars for the first time in his life- still in a pre-s1 headspace, with only one eye and a bunch of people he doesn't know. and rita :)

tbh i only got like. a couple eps into s3 of junoverse and then never got caught back up (whoops) so like. idk what really happens during s3 and this fic was a big project in terms of like. going back to s1 juno characterization and foiling that against who s3 juno is and who s3 peter is, and how this kind of regression effects their relationship (or lack thereof, at the outset of the fic, bc they're not together yet) and while i did and do think it's really interesting, it was also like. a big thing to undertake and i got wary of like. characterizing juno effectively in it? and i wanted to slow roll him regaining his memories in bits and pieces and was having trouble pacing that effectively, and so it ended up on a back burner i never returned to </3 alas

but maybe someday when i finally go back and relisten to and catch up on tpp i'll go back and wirte more of it! in the mean time, have some snips:

He heard soft footsteps, almost silent, sliding across the hard floors of the ship behind him. Juno froze on instinct, senses sharpening to a knife’s point as he tried to focus on the steps over the blasting audio from Rita’s stream. If Rita noticed Juno stiffening, she didn’t say anything. Even though Rita had told him, again and again, that he could trust his fellow crew members aboard the Carte Blanche, that they were a family, Juno couldn’t shake the paranoia he’d known his whole life. He didn’t trust easy, he’d learned that the hard way over and over again as all the people he’d let into his life had betrayed or abandoned him. Except Rita. If he’d ever known how, Juno had long since forgotten how to be a part of a family, and this motley crew of criminals was no exception. The footsteps neared, and Juno’s mind- as fuzzy and slow-moving as it still was, even three days after whatever accident he’d had- spun, trying to remember where the closest gun was, just in case. In his periphery, Juno saw the figure approaching. Tall, with taller hair and narrow shoulders- Ransom. Some of the tension dropped from Juno’s shoulders. He still didn’t trust Ransom, there was something off about the guy, something about how he watched Juno and spoke so carefully around him that made Juno think he was hiding something. But there was something- a gut feeling Juno had about him. A deja vu kind of trust and comfort and uncertainty. Juno didn’t remember where it came from, but it was there. He trusted Ransom more than anyone else on the ship, other than Rita, even though that wasn’t saying much. Ransom came close enough to catch Juno’s eye. Raised his eyebrow in a silent question- the same one every person on the ship asked him every time they saw him: do you remember me yet? Juno shrugged, trying not to dislodge Rita too much. Ransom nodded, his expression never changing from the smooth, impassive mask he always wore. It itched at Juno, that impassivity. He wanted to know what was under it, wanted to know what Ransom was really thinking in that pretty head of his. The only people who were that careful and inscrutable were people with something to hide. Juno was a PI- he should know. As Ransom turned to walk away, Juno realized that the closest entrance to Ransom’s quarters was on his blind side. That he’d gone the long way around the ship to enter and exit within view of Juno’s periphery. Something uncertain and heavy and familiar squeezed in Juno’s stomach.

[i can't help another snippet, it's taking everythig i have not to give like three more on top of this, i forgot how good this au was skjfnvsfb sav from two years ago was crazy]

“Juno,” Ransom said, his voice infuriatingly even. “Ransom-” that was the other thing. The other muscle-sense-memory bullshit that made Juno’s head ache. It felt- wrong, every time he called him Ransom. Every time Juno saw him, or thought about him or started to say his name, he had to correct himself, make himself say Ransom; instead of the other name he had rattling around in his head. He didn’t know where it came from, or why he associated it so strongly with Ransom, but Juno was ready to fucking know who Peter Nureyev was, and why he could’t stop thinking about him. Patience wasn’t ever a strong suit for Juno. He bit the bullet. “Why do I have another name for you in my head, Ransom?” There. The flash of- of something, of emotion Juno had been waiting for. It was brief, something Juno might’ve missed if he hadn’t been looking so closely for any kind of reaction, but it was there. Shock, uncertainty, grief, flickered across Ransom’s face before settling back into his perpetual inscrutability. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Juno,” Ransom said, but there was a tremor, barely there, under his composed tone. Juno had shaken him, and he was going to get answers, damnit, come hell or high water. “Really?” Juno challenged, and he’d forgotten a lot, but he hadn’t forgotten this: the chase, the interrogation, cornering somebody into admitting and confessing and telling Juno what he wanted- what he needed- to hear. “Then who the hell is Peter Nureyev?” There it was again; the flickering, uncertain emotion, the disappearance of Ransom’s composure, the twist in Juno’s stomach that meant he was onto something. “I- Juno, do you-” “No.” Ransom’s face fell, if infinitesimally. “I don’t- remember. Not really, but there’s… I don’t remember you, but I look at you and my brain says Nureyev, and I don’t fucking know why.”

:))) i just reread this whole wip- and it's almost 7k long- bc i didnt remember a lot of it and. oohohohoho. god. i was deranged.

thank you again for sending in this ask, jade!! sorry (not sorry) it got so long skjfvnksfjbn

send me the name of a wip off of this list and i'll reply with a snippet and/or my thoughts on it !!

#asks #tpp #leverage #brrbrbrrrrr head full had FULL

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out-of-control · 2 years

Text

TODAY

words: 2525

warnings: emetophobia, alcohol, suicidal ideation

summary: Jax wakes up to Jim on his couch.

Jax’s head feels like it’s full of bundles of steel wool, tumbling around in there, scraping all the brain matter off the inside of his skull. With every throb of pain, a pulse travels down his spine straight to his stomach, so that nausea flares in perfect time with each ache of his sorry-ass skull.

He keeps his eyes shut. He doesn’t like this. He wants to go back to sleep. He wants to be deadened again. He tries to hold his body as still as possible, but despite his best efforts, his chest keeps pulsing, in and out. He breathes more shallowly. No change. He holds his breath. No change.

He realizes that it’s not his own breathing that’s moving his ribcage. It’s the breathing of someone tucked up behind him.

Jax sits up immediately, the abrupt motion sending a blinding stab of pain through his skull that almost has him hurling on the floor, and looks down at the person lying next to him on the couch, now startled awake, blinking hard in the light.

“Jim,” he croaks, almost not believing it.

“Hey,” Jim rasps, stretching an arm out and grasping the back of the couch and trying to lever himself up. He seems to change his mind and lie back down, rubbing his face into the couch pillow. He looks like he’s barely slept a wink, on top of his old state of hell.

Jax winces himself in the light. “You…” Came back is what he doesn’t say. It’s too pathetic, too selfish. Feeling fragile, he reaches a hand out and strokes his knuckles against Jim’s cheek. “Where’ve you been,” he whispers.

“I’ve…” Jim starts weakly. He peeks an eye up at Jax and sighs. “...Sorry.”

That’s really all the information he needs, isn’t it. Jax takes his hand away, digs one thumb into the opposite wrist. But he has to know: “Jim, what happened? I mean, how?” he says, softly, trying to ignore his pounding headache.

Jim’s eye slides back down to the cushions as he contemplates. “Wrong place, wrong time, I guess,” he says quietly, and sits up a little, for real this time. “I just- I don’t know. I wasn’t ready for it. I got offered; it spiraled, bad.” He looks to the wall. “I couldn’t say no.”

Jax rubs his eyes. It all seems so daunting. He wishes, despairingly, that he could get drunk again. “What are we gonna do, Jim?” he asks, drawing his knees up to his chest, and also staring at the wall.

Jim stays quiet, for one long, heavy moment. He takes a drawn-out breath in, drawn-out breath out. “I’m getting help,” he says. “Real help.”

Jax snaps his head over to Jim. “What are you, going to rehab?” he asks, astonished.

"I don't think I can go to rehab," Jim says slowly, squinting at the wall. "But like, fuck. Detox. Getting a therapist, for fucking one, just, anything. I'm figuring it out. I just- Christ. I can't keep doing this razor's edge walk of not going outside because I don't know how to keep this shit from happening, and I don't know how to do that myself, clearly, and every time it does it gets fucking worse, and like, I can't put you through this." he rambles, turning up to the ceiling instead. "But– I... God, I'm sorry. I tried to kill myself last night and I just need you to know none of this is your fault. I'm just fucked up. But I don't wanna fuck everything else up with me."

Jax’s heart slams against his ribcage like it’s trying to break out. He feels too hot and too cold all at once, and the realization that when he was panicking that Jim was dead somewhere he was almost right is the punch to the gut that finally has him losing his already-tenuous grip on his gag reflex. Roughly pushing himself off the couch in a clamor of uncoordinated limbs, he barely makes it to the bathroom in time. It all hurts like hell coming up. He’s not sure if that’s more the fault of the alcohol or the bile. When he’s done, he spits a couple times into the toilet bowl and then, breathing heavy, rests his head against the cabinet beneath the sink. His brain feels like it’s about to leak out through his nose. Jim comes up and kneels next to him, carefully running a hand through Jax’s hair. “Sorry,” he whispers.

Jax shakes his head slightly. “I’m sorry,” he rasps, agonized, though he’s not even sure that he can pinpoint what for. Sorry you tried to kill yourself, maybe. Sorry I wasn’t enough to help you stay clean. Sorry for throwing up. Sorry I’m an addict too. Sorry for loving you.

Jim doesn’t really seem to know what to say to that. He shifts on his knees. “Is there– can I like, get you anything,” he offers.

Hair of the fucking dog, Jax thinks bitterly, hating himself. “I don’t know– painkillers,” he says instead, feeling exhausted. He rolls his head against the cabinet. “Coffee, maybe.”

“I can do that,” Jim says under his breath, probably to himself. He runs his hand down Jax’s back, and shakily stands. He flips open the cabinet, handing Jax the bottle of Aspirin and fetching him a glass of water before he disappears back into the kitchen. Jax would have taken the pills dry, but he dutifully swallows down the water, letting it rinse away the awful taste. For maybe five more minutes he just kneels there, catching his breath, and thinking. Jim’s going to get help. Jim’s going to get better. Maybe, God fucking willing, maybe this time it will take. Jax pushes himself off the floor into a crouch, and from a crouch, he pushes himself out the door.

Jim silently comes over, carefully offers out the pink mug. Jax takes it. Jim sits himself down on the couch, cradling the black mug in both hands; Jax hesitates, wanting to sit down next to him, wanting to curl up against Jim’s side and never leave it, fusing into Jim’s body like one of those nasty little anglerfish guys he read about in a Nat Geo as a kid, mixing circulatory systems. He takes a sip of coffee, and before he even quite realizes, his legs are carrying him across the room, over to the cabinet beneath the kitchen sink, and his hands, shaking just a little, are pulling out a bottle of bottom-shelf whiskey and tipping it into the mug.

“Jax,” Jim says, so quietly.

Jax jumps a little, spilling whiskey onto the counter. He turns around, setting the bottle on the counter.

Jim, already frowning a little, winces when Jax looks at him. “I really,” he says slowly, pausing to mutter a fuck under his breath. “I really think you getting drunk in front of me is the last fucking thing I need right now,” he blurts out, wincing even harder at himself.

Jax feels as though he’s been speared through the heart, like he’s spurting thick, dark blood out through a hole his chest, and it’s spilling down his front, splattering onto the hardwood floor. If he concentrates hard enough, he’s pretty sure he can hear it drip, in the silence hanging between them. Because Jim’s right, of course. He doesn’t need this.

But I need it, a small voice commandeering the forefront of Jax’s brain is hissing, desperate, afraid.

“I’m not getting–” he starts defensively, then stops, because the distinction doesn’t matter. Then: “I’m not an–” but he can’t finish that either. He can’t bring himself to lie to Jim. Instead, he opts for silence. I just need you to know none of this is your fault. But suddenly, deep in his bones, he knows that can’t possibly be true.

After a beat, Jim sets his mug down and shuffles his way over to Jax. He wraps his arms around Jax’s waist, rests his head on Jax’s shoulder. “I get it,” he whispers. “I really fucking get it.”

The embrace should be comforting, but right now it just feels smothering. “Jim, I can’t,” he rasps frantically, standing stock-still, “I can’t do it, I’m not– I’m not ready, I don’t.” He swallows, and it hurts. “I don’t want it bad enough. I don’t have any self-control.” He can hear how pathetic the excuses sound even to his own ears, what an ugly picture they paint of him, but he clings to them regardless. “I’m not as strong as you are.”

“Would you shut the fuck up,” Jim huffs.

Jax stiffens, then shakes himself free, stepping backwards. “I’m serious, I can’t– I know you get it, I’m not saying you don’t, but I’m built different.”

"I'm serious," Jim snaps, leaning a hand on the counter and tensing his jaw, wearing a kind of intensity Jax has never seen on him before. "I talked myself off the fucking ledge last night, Jax, do you get that? The one, single fucking reason I didn't was you. That's what you fucking mean to me. Even if I died, I couldn't do that to you. If you want– if you want this to work, us, you have to deal with this. Because I'm trying, I'm really fucking trying here, Jax. This is the hardest thing I've ever fucking done, and I'm doing it for you, and I can't do it if I don't have all the help I can get– if I don’t have you with me. I'm here with you, you know that. So don't give me that I'm weak bullshit, okay? I need you to want it bad enough. I need you to try with everything you have, because– if I mean as much to you as you do to me, you're doing it for everything."

Jax takes another step back, one hand braced against the counter. Abject terror and intense love roil within his stomach, twisting and clashing together. For a moment he wants to get angry, wants to bare his teeth and snarl, to raise his voice and spit. His other hand, hanging at his side, tightens into a fist. Nails dig into palm, sending up dull sparks, and Jax clings to the pain, lets it drive out all other thoughts, all except for: I'm doing it for you.

"I'm at a crossroads here," Jim says, tone softening, clutching himself and looking to the floor. "And I'm terrified, and I really really need to get better, and– we both have got to get better in the end, or it just won't stick. I can't take chances. And– I'm scared, baby. I can't let this happen again. So…” He looks back up. “I've got you if you've got me."

Jax feels sick, woozy. He gazes at Jim, not meeting his eyes, but cataloging the rest of him: the swell of his chest, the curve of his nose, the angle of his elbow, the line of his shin.

You really don't deserve him, a little voice muses.

Aw, shut up, he thinks fiercely.

Maybe he doesn't deserve Jim. But he's got him, doesn't he? And Jax would be a fucking fool if he let what they have slip through his fingers.

You can't do it. You haven't even hit rock bottom.

Maybe his time has run out regardless. Maybe rock bottom is wherever you are when you decide to stop digging.

That's the first law of holes, he remembers: Stop digging.

Of course, the second law is: When you stop digging, you are still in a hole.

He meets Jim's eyes, finally. "I've got you," he repeats back, "If you've got me."

Jim regards him a moment, and smiles a little, albeit crookedly, despite himself. He pulls a sleeve up to wipe at his eye. “Okay, then,” Jim huffs, the weight of it all seeming to sink in on him as he lets out a long, shaky exhale. “That’s that.” he pauses. “I love you a lot.”

"I love you too," Jax rasps softly. Averting his eyes from Jim's, he reaches out, wraps a hand around the pink mug. He sees Jim stiffen out of the corner of his eye, and then Jax rotates his wrist, upending the contents of the mug into the sink. Then, he does the same with the bottle of whiskey. It stings, to watch the amber liquid swirling down the drain. It's like losing a lifeline. No, Jax thinks. It's not losing a lifeline. It's losing a safety blanket.

When the bottle is empty, he leaves it in the sink, and returns his gaze to Jim. "Sorry about wasting your coffee."

“Our coffee,” Jim corrects, reaching over and hitting a button on the coffee machine. “Well, I promise I’ll always be here to make you more.” He takes a hesitant step over and gently presses a kiss to Jax’s shoulder. “I’d give you mine, but I adulterated it already.”

Jax slings an arm around Jim’s back, holding him close. “Our coffee,” he whispers, cheek against the side of Jim’s head. “You’re so embarrassing.”

“Yeah, whatever. You love it.” Jim whispers back, slides his arm around Jax’s waist, presses another kiss. “I’m proud of you.”

“Yeah, well,” Jax says, relaxing into Jim’s embrace. “Ditto, sweetheart.”

They linger there in silence, until the coffee machine beeps. Jim reaches his free arm out, the rest of him still attached to Jax, and pours him a fresh cup. “One for the best bitch ever,” he says, sliding it over on the counter.

Jax pulls back to wrap a hand around the warm mug and regards Jim for a second, head still aching. Carefully, he leans up, and kisses Jim on the cheek. “Sorry in advance,” he says matter-of-factly, though his throat is tight. “Because this is going to be a fucking nightmare.”

“Maybe we can finally call it even, then.” Jim says, giving Jax a sheepish look, sounding vaguely amused.

Jax groans. “Can you stop being so fucking great,” he says, and thunks his head against Jim’s shoulder. “I can’t love you any more than I already do, you bastard.”

Jim kisses the top of Jax’s head, resting there, lips pressed to Jax’s hair. “It just sounds like a challenge to me.”

Jax doesn’t say anything, just stands there for another minute, before gently extricating himself to take a sip of coffee. It’s bitter and grainy. He’s going to drink every drop.

“Come on, baby,” Jim whispers, breaking apart and taking Jax’s free hand. He can feel the jitters in Jim’s hand as he tugs Jax towards the couch. “Let’s go sit down before I fucking pass out.”

"That's what the coffee's for," Jax replies, and allows himself to be led across the room and down onto the couch. Careful not to spill his mug, he hauls Jim's legs into his lap, rubbing the point of Jim's knee as it sticks out through a hole in his jeans. Jax swipes his thumb over the little flower inked there, and he drinks his coffee, and he thinks that maybe, just maybe, he'll be able to keep this moment and all the rest.

—

#words

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fushipurro · 4 months

Text

Red Lights Red Flags

Chapter 4 - Trust

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☆ Content: 18+ MDNI, f!reader, ronin!toji, courtesan!reader, jjk historical au, graphic depictions of murder/assault, mentions of alcohol, implied SA, past non-con, forced prostitution, degradation (not by toji), pet names, past trauma, angst, hurt/comfort

☆ Word Count: 3.2k

The idea of performing an act of vengeance for someone other than himself isn’t that comes easy ─ or ever, really.

That’s not to say that Toji is by any means selfish. Rather, he’s learned the hard way growing up that in this world, it’s always been just him. If he wants to survive, he must fight for himself. No one would ever be there to give him a helping hand, tend his wounds, or coddle him in moments that torment him.

But he met you, and with that came a door to the walls he put around himself. For you have always held the key to that door, whether you know it or not.

It was long into the hour of the ox as Toji prowled through alleyways off the main streets of the Red-Light District. After the brutal assault that left you battered and bruised, the hunt began. Toji was quick to learn the names of the four men, and even faster to learn all their quirks and habits.

That’s how he found himself here, with the first of his prey just a few steps ahead of him.

They’re alone in this alley, further back from where anyone can hear what’s going on. The man has to be, considering the screams of the woman he’s fixing to have his way with. Any attempt at drawing attention to the atrocity is merely suffocated by the falling snow.

“Shut your mouth and open up already, bitch!” the man growls, drawing a small blade from his pocket, pressing the cold steel up to her throat. “No one can hear you crying except me, so you better play nice if you want to live.”

The woman’s eyes widen in terror, but dart away from her assailant to the shadow looming behind.

The man notices, turning his head over his shoulders. “The fuck you want, can’t you see I’m busy? Go find your own whore.”

Toji scoffs, snatching the man’s wrist with a grip so tight, you can hear his bones crunching to dust.

“What the fuck!? Let go of me, asshole!” he yelps, unable to grip the blade any longer. He tries to squirm, but Toji lifts him up into the air before slamming into the snow.

“You like to pick on defenseless women, huh? Some kind of kink that makes your puny dick go hard?” A wolfish grin coats his face, jade eyes snapping towards the trembling woman. “Go home.”

“T-thank you,” she stutters out, stumbling as she gets up to run, uncaring to the sandal left behind in her great escape.

“Now then…” He turns back to the man beneath him, leaning into his face. “Time for you to see how it feels if you love it that much.”

It wasn’t hard from there for Toji to find the rest of his targets that night. In fact, two of them were side by side, blubbering like the drunken fools they are as they leave the district to go home.

They should know better than to be under the influence while a predator stalks them. But then Toji wouldn’t be good at what he does if they knew he was coming. All it took was one quick motion before their heads were rolling and the snow around them is dyed in a harsh, contrasting color.

“Three down, one to go.” Toji smiles, flicking the blood off his blade before sheathing it. “Not even breaking a sweat.”

The final target chose not to go out, instead opting to remain in his decrepit excuse of a home. The only sign of life coming from a candlelit room on the other end of the house.

Entering the house is all too easy for a hunter like Toji, even more so with his skill in avoiding creaky floorboards or anything noisy as he makes his stealthy approach.

One of the rooms along the way is filled with soft snores and mumbles of the guy’s wife and kids. So much for being a family man when half his nights are spent brutalizing women in brothels. Maybe now his wife will have an excuse to find someone better once she finds her husband’s corpse the following morning.

He pauses outside the illuminated room, peeling the sliding door back to get a good look before entering. The poor excuse of a man sits inside, kneeled before a table, writing away in ink.

“Someone like you has a family and still can’t get his fill? Pathetic.”

The ink brush falls, splattering on the wood. “Who’s there? I’ll kill you, thief!”

The assassin only smiles, baring his fangs as he steps closer. The cold, overwhelming threat he presents is enough to paralyze his prey with pure, whole-hearted fear. In his eyes, all he sees is akin to a blood-soaked Oni standing before him like the fabled Ryomen Sukuna from the Heian Era.

“W-w-w-what the hell are you!?” He chokes out, crawling backwards until the wall stops his motion.

Toji stalks forward with calculated strides, lifting his katana above his shoulders in preparation to slice.

“I am hell.”

Toji continues to stay clear from the brothel, still plagued by his thoughts pertaining to how you might react. Cold-blooded murder is the day to day of a samurai, why is this any different?

He knew something like this would happen sooner or later, and the response from his so-called family is just about what he expected. They weren’t backing down, and Toji wasn’t going to go down without a fight. Evading the bakufu is one thing, a task all too easy for Toji, but the Zenin Clan is another problem in and of itself.

To fight the Zenins is to fight the Emperor, Japan as a whole. It’s a miracle none of them hold the title of Shogun either or else it might cause him a bit of trouble.

Toji knew full well what his family thought of him ─ hell, they remind him of it nearly every single day since the time he was born. He didn’t need them, nor did he want them. There has only ever been one other person that’s mattered to him. The one person he’d gladly throw his life behind for.

Before he knew it, he was ensnared in a web of red silk. The string tugs at his feet, pulling him along the snow-covered pathway until his eyes land on the princess in her window.

Like the first flower of spring budding up from the ground. There you sit, head aimed at the sky, longing for the stars.

He’s more than capable of leaping from the spot he stands into your window, but he finds himself glued down by the thoughts that weigh him down. What if he did move? Would the two of you continue like normal, or would you hate him for what he’s done?

You finally have a reason to smile and that’s not something Toji wants to take away. He made a promise, and he intends to keep it in whatever way he can.

He doesn’t realize how much his guard has been left down until your eyes scan in his direction. Just as he sinks back into the shadows of the alley, your head turns back and the window shuts.

For now, he’ll continue to plot his next move.

“So what’s your type of woman, Zenin?”

“Someone who knows better than to piss me off.”

The blonde chuckles, “Aww, don’t be like that. We’ve met on missions how many times and you still won’t give me an honest answer.” She settles into her seat, ignoring the scowl on his face as she downs a drink.

“Does it matter, Tsukumo?”

“If you want to become better friends, then yeah.”

Toji scoffs, “Who said anything about us being friends to begin with?”

She rolls her eyes, knowing full well this is just how he is. Even if Toji won’t admit it, Yuki knows she’s one of the few people he’ll turn to. They’ve had each other’s back more than you can count in times of war, and it won’t be the last.

Yuki herself is a notable warrior, ascending gender roles and taking on jobs that have her traveling all over the country to help others. If she has to cross-dress to do so, then she will, no questions asked.

On multiple occasions, she’s been in forced proximity with Toji and the Zenin Clan ─ not because she wants to, but it’s kind of hard to refuse orders from the Emperor or Shogun.

She’s well respected by warriors alike, even if she’s equally discredited for not assuming her roles as a “proper woman”. None of it bothers her on her pursuit to enlightenment.

“Am I your type then?” She asks out of the blue, watching as Toji’s eyebrows furrow. Before he even has a chance to respond, she’s already read the underlying look on his face. “You’ve found someone, haven’t you?”

The fact that he doesn’t respond seals the deal.

“Who’s the lucky lady?” She leans forward into his space, lips curling into a cheshire grin. “I want to meet the woman able to tame you.”

“You say that like I’m some wild animal.”

She shrugs. “You are quite the monster when I see you in action. I hardly have to do much of anything when you’re around.”

Toji grunts, leaning back against a wall, crossing his arms into the sleeves of his robes. After a bit of silence, he opens up, “…She’s a courtesan.”

Yuki blinks. “A courtesan? Really?” Her eyebrow raises with genuine curiosity. “Your type of women are just paid hookups?”

“Shut it, it ain’t like that,” he growls. “I haven’t even kissed her yet, let alone fuck.”

“I’m impressed. Didn’t know you had it in you, Zenin,” she teases, all while playfully jabbing him with a smile on her face.

“I can hold myself back, ya know. I’m not a fuckin’ creep.” He pauses, sighing to himself. If it was anyone else, his blood might have boiled over long ago, but he knows this is just how Yuki is. She means well, just likes to keep him on his toes in her quest to learn all she can about others. “Besides, she doesn’t belong in there. I’m not making any moves until she has the freedom of choice to.”

Yuki whistles, “You’re going to try and get her out of there then? She must be something special then to have caught your eye.”

He doesn’t respond, instead just looking off into the distance.

“Why are you here with me then? It’s nighttime, so she’s on the job, right?”

“…Long story.”

Her eyes narrow in his direction. “Don’t tell me this has to do with those murders the other day?” Toji’s quick to meet her eyes with a hardened glare, a warning. She throws her hands up in mock surrender. “Relax, I’m not going to tattle. I’ve known you long enough to know you must’ve had a good reason, even if I might not approve.”

Toji sighs, softening his gaze. “They assaulted her, so I returned the favor. Simple as that.”

“Real chivalrous,” she says in a sarcastic tone. “So what, why are you avoiding her then? Men like that will never go away, so it’s bound to happen again. What will you do then?”

“I’m aware, just ─ fuck,” She’s hit the nail on the coffin just as Toji slams his fist against a wooden beam supporting the building. “She deserves more than someone like me.”

“Hate to break it to you, but that’s not for you to decide. It’s her choice who she wants to be with. If she’s got this much an effect on you, then I can only imagine just how highly she views you.” She gives him a rough pat on the back as if to encourage him.

“Watch it,” he hisses, but doesn’t fight her actions.

“Go and see her already, you might be surprised at what you find and get you to stop overthinking about it.” She stands up, collecting her belongings before turning back to Toji with a folded sheet of paper in her hands. “Whatever the case, you might find me around this location.” She winks as Toji removes it from her hands. “See you around, Toji.”

“Tch.” He scrunches the paper up, shoving it into his pocket as he gets up to leave in the opposite direction.

As fate would have it, his wandering mind and footsteps took him right back to the alley below your room. This time however, the window is shut. He almost decides on turning around then and there, to take that as a sign. But when has he ever believed in signs?

So, he jumps ─ leaps onto the ledge and onto the wooden framing, prying the window open with ease to let himself into the dark, empty room.

He questions again if he should start believing in signs. You’re not here, so what’s the point in his being here? No sooner did that cross through his mind and out the other end when he picks up on your incoming footsteps coming ever closer to the door.

Yeah, maybe he should start believing. What else do you call this but fate?

You enter the room with haste, crashing to your feet with hot tears cascading down your face. Toji doesn’t move, instead readying himself to claim the life of whoever did this to you this time.

A breeze blows through the room and your head lifts. Puffy, red eyes. Cheeks soaked in tears. It’s morbidly beautiful to Toji seeing how the moon reflects off you in this state, but not so much when he remembers these are tears of pure sorrow.

You walk over to the window, ignorant to his presence the whole way over. It tears his heart in two seeing how you turn your head from side to side, knowing exactly what it is you’re looking for. With great regret, he understands that he’s the reason for your tears.

And so, he approaches behind you through the shadows just as you turn to him. He lowers his black bodysuit below his jawline, revealing his full face in all its glory.

“Did you miss me?”

Without a second thought, you lunge forward, colliding with this chest with a thud. The tears came flooding back all too quickly.

“Toji, where have you been? You don’t know how worried I’ve been!”

His arms wrap around your shoulders, holding you tight against him. He wasn’t sure what to expect seeing you again, but the fact that you’re crying for him ─ into him, you may as well have shocked his heart back to life.

“Shh,” he coos, “I’m here now.”

You sniffle. “I’m so glad you’re okay, I didn’t know what to think when you just disappeared and then the rumors, your family… is it true, Toji?”

His grip falters ever so slightly. If you want to, you could easily push him away. The choice is yours to make. “It is.”

He half expects you to make the undesirable choice, the one he thinks you should be making. At the end of the day, he is and will always be a murderer. What makes him better than the rest?

Instead, you prove him wrong ─ and Yuki right ─ when your hold on him grows tighter than ever.

“Why, Toji?”

“They hurt you,” he speaks just barely above a whisper. “I told you I’d protect you.”

“Why would you want to do all that for me? Your own family put a bounty on your head. They want you dead because of what you did for me!” Toji feels your fingers grasping his robe between small fists, your tears soaking through to his chest. He returns the favor, pulling his arms back around you, one hand clasped over the back of your head.

His voice remains low, but don’t let it fool you into thinking it’s anything meek or that he’s doubting himself. His next few words are full of nothing but the confidence you can only get from Toji.

“…I made a promise. I don’t go back on my word.”

You crane your neck, losing yourself in the depths of his eyes. The green is all but eclipsed by obsidian, still visible even in the low light of the room.

“And I don’t want you to end up dead because of me!” You shout, not nearly enough to draw attention, but enough to make a point. “You’re the only good thing I have left, I don’t want to lose you too!”

“Then let me save you, let me get you out of this shithole. You never should’ve ended up here.”

You reach up, cupping his face and tracing his jawline with your fingers. Your thumb hovers over the divot of his scar where he decides then and there to lean into your touch, encompassing your hand with his own. For the first time in a long while, he doesn’t feel the stinge of that memory.

He closes his eyes with a soft sigh, soon feeling what he knows to be your lips just a breath away from his. Just this once, he’ll lean into it; finally allowing himself the chance to be one with you, if only for a second in time.

Only when you pull away does he open his eyes. You’re visibly flustered, but it’s one of the most beautiful sights he’s seen in so many moons.

“Why are you not afraid of me?”

Realistically, you should be afraid. Standing in front of you is a man so easily willing to kill for you. A walking red flag clad in a samurai façade that could make you another number on his kill count. But the answer is easy.

“I trust you, Toji.”

There was never a question about it, just intrusive thoughts and the venomous words of others that attempted to sway you. The Toji you know is a man that respects your boundaries, respects you. He doesn’t use force or manipulative tactics to gain your approval. He’s giving himself wholly to you, heart in hand for you to take.

A glimpse of a smile crosses his face. He tucks a loose hair behind your ear, leaning his face in close causing the tips of your noses to graze.

“Can I kiss you again?”

You softly nod in response, turning your head to meet him once more. If you could stop time here and now, you would do in a heartbeat. Toji is more than willing to hang the moon and stars in the sky for you, and just as willing to stop the sun from rising over the horizon through divine feat if you ask. But when the light of dawn inevitably passes through the screen covering of the window, he knows his time is up.

He peels back from your embrace, preparing to make his grand escape the same way he came in.

“You better come back soon, okay? Don’t you dare get yourself killed.”

“I’ll see you soon, princess,” he chuckles, lunging out of the window.

You follow in suit, leaning out to get one last look of the man fading into the shadows. Your eyes well with tears once more, but instead of sorrow, they’re full of happiness ─ hope for the future to come.

☆ Notes: i headcanon that yuki and toji would've been good friends like him and shiu <3

☆ Taglist: @fandomtrash5092 @catmania-choco

#jjk #toji fushiguro #jujutsu kaisen #jjk toji #jjk au #toji x female reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x reader #toji zenin #ronin!toji #toji x you #yuki tsukumo #courtesan!reader

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