#X Reader inserts

[jawritter]

Something About Fate...

Chapter 3

Summary:  Y/N has been homeless and living on the streets of Dallas, Texas since the start of Covid. Until one day, a handsome, green eyes strange notices her and turns her whole world upside down.

Warning: Jensen’s friends aren’t too sure he’s done the right thing by taking Y/N in, meanwhile, Jensen seems to have some conflicting feelings of his own...

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader (eventually).

Word Count: 2k

A/N: This series is completely unbeta’d, so all mistakes are mine! This series will contain mature content eventually, and therefore is unsuitable for persons under 18 years of age! Anyone under the age of 18 will be blocked for my blog! Thanks so much for reading! I hope you all enjoy this series!

Main Masterlist                  Series Masterlist

Y/N’s POV: 

Jensen had absolutely refused to let Y/N take the couch that night. He insisted that the king-sized bed was more than large enough for the both of them. She was pretty sure he was far too tall to fit the couch anyway, and honestly, it looked extremely thin and uncomfortable as hotel couches tend to look. It didn’t help that it didn’t have a pull-out mattress either, which most hotel rooms with a couch did. It was very clear that when Jensen’s flight got delayed, they literally threw him in the first available room. 

Still, even though she was ‘safe’, or appeared to be safe, warm, her head on a pillow that was strangely too soft for her, and her stiff and sore body wrapped in a pile of blankets and covers while she lay on the pillowtop mattress underneath her, still did not come easy. 

Long after the ice cream had been eaten, and Jensen had fallen peacefully asleep just on the other side of the bed, she’d stayed awake, staring at the television that still played low in the corner, or the wall, or the window, or the ceiling; her mind running a thousand miles a minute. 

It didn’t feel real. Even though she’d spent the evening talking to Jensen, the pair of them telling one another about their lives so far, and even though she could feel the occasional movement of his body next to hers, she didn’t understand who this could be happening, and it was not some sort of fever dream. Surely, she must be dying, and that’s why she’s seeing this, it’s all a hallucination… But then again, if it really wasn’t real, why did it FEEL so real? Cause it sure as hell all felt very, VERY real.

She didn’t really know what time she finally fell asleep, but the first thing she heard was whispering when she started to slowly wake. At first, she thought she was dreaming it, until her sleep fogged brain started to clear slowly, and the things they were saying started to come into focus. As wrong as it was, Y/N still had a few trust issues, rightfully so, so she did what anyone in her shoes would do, and that was pretend to be asleep, and listened to the conversation that seemed to be happening in the direction of the kitchen. 

“Jensen–”

“Don’t Jensen me Jared,” Jensen whispered angrily at his friend. “I’ve made up my mind, and you’re not changing it. She’s living and working for me now, there’s no way in hell I’m sending that girl back out onto the streets!”

“I’m not saying send her back out there, but maybe take her to a homeless shelter or something, don’t just bring in some random girl off the street and hire her, move her into your home with you—dude, what if she’s some sort of addict or something! You don’t know if she’s feeding you the truth, or what she thinks you want to hear in order to keep her ass where you are buying her shit!” Jared argued. 

Y/N couldn’t even be mad about Jared’s viewpoint because that’s what any self respecting, normal person would think when it came to homeless people, and just taking strangers in off of the street. Even though she was none of those things Jared thought she was, she’d grown a little too used to the stigma apparently. She wasn’t even shocked that it was the taller man’s viewpoint, what did shock her is that it never seemed to be Jensen’s at all, and that was just odd to her. 

“I’m not taking Y/N to a shelter Jared, it’s not gonna happen,” Jensen fired back through what sounded like gritted teeth. “You can just fuck right off with that shit! She’s not some crackhead dude! She’s just someone that got dealt a bad hand, and honestly, she deserves a fucking chance! I can give her that, besides, I need the fucking help in case you haven’t noticed lately!”

“Jensen,” a female voice butted in from somewhere else in the room, Y/N assumed it was the same girl that was with the trio last night. “I agree with you, the girl definitely deserves a chance, but I wouldn’t just go and hand her my credit card information.”

Jensen let out a long, deep breath and for a moment, fear struck a chord in her that they might have convinced Jensen to turn her back out again, but it was quickly dampened down when Jensen finally broke the silence in the room. 

“I didn’t plan on just giving her my credit card information. The only thing we’ve got lined up for a few months on my end is a few cons, which are already booked and taken care of by Creation. I don’t have to do much work. It gives me time to get to know her, and also train her for what I might need her to do. I’m not an idiot.”

“I never said that you were an idiot,” she corrected him. “Like I said, I’m all behind what you are doing, I just merely said to be cautious until you get to know her as a person. You can’t trust everyone you meet; you know that. I know you will make the right decision. Right now, what you and everyone involved needs to focus on is getting the girl some clothes.”

“About that,” Jensen voiced suddenly, and Y/N’s heart rate quickened as his distinctive footsteps approached the nightstand next to his side of the bed. “I went through her clothing this morning, and these are the sizes that were on them. I assumed you might be better at this than I am, so I was going to see if I could get you to run down the street and get her some… you know… essentials that she would need, underwear, shirts, pants, pj’s, socks, shoes, cause all she has is that bag in there.”

“No problem,” she said, “I will just drop it off at the door when I get them back here, it shouldn’t take me too long. There’s no getting out of here for us for the next few days.”

“Thanks, and if you can, keep this between the three of us if that’s okay? I don’t want people swarming the room to try and get pictures of her, of a bunch of dicks on social media being dicks,” Jensen said, and Y/N heard a pair of mumbled agreements as the pair of them made their way out of the door, leaving Y/N once again alone in the room. 

She had a choice then, she could either pretend she was still asleep, or get up and face the music, because as the woman had stated, there was no leaving for the next few days, she assumed it was too cold for any planes to take off. 

Jensen’s POV:

Jensen’s gaze shifted over the pile of covers that was Y/N and sighed heavily as he let his tired body drop heavily onto the couch he’d wandered over to. 

Drained, he was so fucking drained. That conversation felt more like a marathon than it probably should have, and even though he’d just gotten out of bed, he felt completely exhausted, as if he hadn’t slept one bit. 

He prayed that Y/N hadn’t heard what Jared had said, because if she had, he was gonna kick his ass. 

It wasn’t that Jared had made some pretty valid points; Jensen could absolutely understand what his friend was saying. It wasn’t like what he was doing was conventional, he knew that. He also knew that he couldn’t trust everyone. Hell, he’d been in the industry long enough to have figured that out the hard way. 

Still, when he saw her sitting there alone, cold, and hungry, there was no doubt in his mind that she was absolutely not going back out on the streets. His heart ached in his chest just thinking about the state he found her in, and that surprised even him. He hadn’t really felt something like that in a long, long time. But this, whatever it was, was deeper than a passing connection with a stranger, or pity felt for someone in need. This was like a heavy punch to the gut, the kind that brings a man down to his knees. He’d venture to even say it was Earth shattering. 

Part of him was terrified. Well, he was terrified of a few things actually. First being why the hell did he have these… feelings… if they could be called that, towards a virtual stranger. Second, and probably one of the most important hang ups he was having at that moment, was what was going to be the reaction of the public if word got out? Surely, word was going to get out, that’s just the law of the jungle. 

His fear wasn’t that people would talk about him, people talk about him all the damn time. No, it was that people would attack her. The general public could be cruel, and he was horrified at what they might do to her or say to her. She’d been through enough, she didn’t deserve their crap too.

Then there was thing three that seemed to be bothering him, the overwhelming, somewhat unnatural need to protect her. 

Jensen was a shy person, admittedly, but he also had a bit of a take-charge, somewhat protective personality, but never like this. He was pretty sure he’d throw himself in front of a moving vehicle for this girl. That scared the absolute shit out of him. 

Jensen’s gaze drifted back to the pile of covers that Y/N was under, and he swallowed the lump that had taken up residence in his throat as he watched the covers shift a little. He knew she’d be waking up soon, so he grabbed the menu that sat on the sofa next to him that room service had left him yesterday, and started mindlessly thumbing through it, preparing to place an order so that some food would be here when she got up. 

She was so thin, she needed to eat something. She probably needed to see a doctor too, because fuck if he knew the last time she’d actually seen a doctor. That one might be harder to get across without sounding like a freak. 

God she probably thought he was some sick pervert already. God only knows what’s happened to her, what she’s been through, he really needed to be more careful around her. He didn’t want to scare her away from him. 

Jensen pinched the bridge of his nose, suddenly unable to focus on the menu in his hand as a host of horrible scenarios swirled their way around in his head. So he reminded himself what he told her last night. One step at a time. Getting to know one another was step one. 

Maybe in the process, he could figure out why he was so damn attached to the girl already, and answer a few of his own questions.

Forever:

@britnwinchester

@samanddeaninatrenchcoat

@wittysunflower

@demongirl1996  

@as-lost-as-sams-shoe

@jensenslady79

@spnwoman

@stoneyggirl2

@unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men

@stixnstripesworld

@fullwattpadmusictree

@nancymcl

@christycreature

@whiskey-infused-dreams

@supernatural79impala

@deandreamernp

@forgetthisbull

@miraclesoflove

@slamminmine

@deanwanddamons

@rvgrsbrns

@chevyharvelle

@i-love-superhero-movies

@lyss-dw79

@magssteenkamp

@lemondropirwin

@squirrelnotsam

@hobby27

@spnbaby-67  

@mrsjenniferwinchester

@defenderrosetyler

@thecreatiivecorner  

@vicmc624

@busy-bee-angel-misska

@justanotherwinchester

@brilovesdeanwinchester

@idksupernatural

@lyarr24

@emoryhemsworth

@dean-winchesters-gardian-angel

@flamencodiva

@itmejado

@thoughts-and-funnies

@teresa-67

@hearteyes-j2

@peaches007

@bobbie3939

@vulgar-library

@writercole

@fairlyspnfanfic

@sexyvixen7

@spngi

@b3autyfuldisast3r

@donnaintx

@maliburenee

@the-family-business67

@agirlwithdemonblood

@captainsoldiergirl

@twinkleinadiamondsky

Jensen and Dean’s Babes

@deans-baby-momma  

@impalaslytherin

@perpetualabsurdity

@msmarvelouswinchester

@akshi8278

@love-jackles

@irmcpar

@pink-sparkly-witch

@deans-spinster-witchs-favorites

@herstarburststories

@mimaria420

@deanwinchesterswitch

@charred-angelwings

@pascal-rascal424

@myloversgone

@fortheloveof-jackles

@eevvvaa

@bts-spnlvr12

@jxackles

@lassie-bird

@samsgirl93

@shawnie74  

@kaz11283

@mlovesstories

@ladysparks78

@sarahgracej

SAF tag list

@itsdesiree86

@evilunicorns4minions

@jesllianaquilesrolonsworld

@thefemalestorywriter

@tapedeck-hearts​

@tristanrosspada-ackles

@southerngal96

[thatboisus]

me logging onto tumblr after consuming a new piece of media

[innerenigma]

•Normalize Fanart for Fanfics Again You Fools•

It's not cringe anymore (it SHOULDN'T be cringe anymore), just do it. You're doing something you enjoy, who cares what anybody else says! So spread the words my fellow internet brethren.

Spread the Word :)

[reiyaus]

fem reader intended

husband nanami who quit working overtime because he hated seeing you stay up so late- dozing off on the dining table, a warm plate of food waiting for him at 11:37 on a tuesday night.

husband nanami who carries you to bed, making sure you were warm before focusing on getting unready himself. putting your health before his, like always.

husband nanami who make sures to eat the food you’ve prepared for him, appetite or not, because putting your cooking to waste would make him feel even more guilty (if possible).

husband nanami who likes waking up and catching you in the kitchen, dancing to the music while preparing his lunch. sometimes he even sees you taking small samples of his food before stopping yourself from eating the whole thing.

husband nanami who goes to work with his bento inside his bag, staring at it his whole shift and counting the hours until he gets to read what you’ve written him for the day.

husband nanami who stores all your letters inside the first drawer of his desk, rereading them as if they’re motivational quotes on a coffee cup whenever his coworkers and boss start testing his remaining bits of patience.

husband nanami who leaves the office building the moment his shift is over and heads straight to your favorite café, ordering every single one of your favorite pastries- not minding how the number keeps increasing with every beep.

husband nanami who surprises you, freshly out the shower, with a huge bag full of bread you’ve been craving the whole week.

husband nanami who helps you with your post-shower routine while ocassionally feeding you, laughing at how your eyes never left the bag the moment he came home.

husband nanami who makes sure you actually get to sleep before 10 pm, leaving no excuses as he carries you to the bed again, but this time you’re laughing and gripping onto his shoulders.

husband nanami who traps you in his hold, lulling you to sleep as he apologizes for all the times he made you stay up late- sleeping uncomfortably on the table.

husband nanami who gets to sleep another night with your face as the last thing he sees.

and husband nanami who wakes up another morning, with your skin being the first thing he feels.

[rissouu]

“the fuck are you doing, woman? you keep wakin’ me up,” sukuna woke up to your tossing and turning in bed. you’d been rolling around for the past hour now, not finding much comfort in the small breeze coming from the window. it was so god damn hot you felt like you were on fire.

the irritation in your boyfriends voice was clear, you almost felt bad for keeping him up, even if it wasn’t intentional. “‘m in pain ryo. i told you i started my period yesterday, my cramps are jus’ now showing up.”

your body was sprawled across the edge of the bed, a shaking mess. you couldn’t stop moving or the pain in your lower stomach would get even worse. you learned that over the many years of being cursed by this cycle all woman had to go through.

“tch,” he took one look at your shaking body through the darkness. the demon would never admit it, but he actually felt bad. he knew about women and how they usually endure this torture every month, but yours had never been this bad— from what he’s seen at least.

“y’think you’d feel better if i..” sukuna trailed off while staring at the pitch black ceiling. “cuddled you? i think that’s what they call it,” his hand played with the hem of your shirt. even though it was dark, he could still feel the gaze of your addicting eyes.

“you don’t have to ryo! i know that’s not your type of-”sukuna cut you off so quick, almost as if he already knew what you were going to say, and he didn’t want to hear it.

within a blink of an eye he gripped at your waist and pulled you closer to him, hands wrapped around you so tight that there was no room for escape. “shut up brat, n’ just let me do this for you.”

you gasped at the quick change in position, still shocked by how fast he moved. sukuna’s body heat was enough to put you at ease and before you knew it, the shaking had finally stopped.

it was probably because of the rather large hand rubbing at the skin of your lower stomach, or the soft hint of cologne engulfing your senses. you didn’t know what it was, but sukuna fixed your problem in an instant. the cramps were still there, coming and going here and there but they weren’t as painful anymore.

maybe now he could finally get some damn sleep.

©rissouu 2024 :D

[shortnsweetsposts]

Child!Damian: *Trying to hug Bat!reader*

Bat!reader: Leave alone, baby.

Child!Damian: *Looked up at Bat!reader with them big ol'eyes*

Bat!reader: ...

Bat!reader, starts ugly sobbing and hugged child!Damian back: YOU'RE MY BABY. YOU'RE MY BABY AND I LOVE YOU SO MUCH.

Batfam: Oh wow

[fromduck]

Me with you guys simping over hot men

[mcntsee]

me when i get asked why i suddenly dislike a character (i can’t tell them it’s because i read a fanfic where said character made y/n’s life miserable and now i have personal beef with them)

[dreadheadmadi]

“Reader has black hair and blue eyes-“

THEN ITS NOT AN X READER!!???

Edit below cut

Hey guys, so when I made this post, I was extremely frustrated and annoyed. Now that I’m way more mellowed out and had the chance to read a lot of reactions and responses, let me act my age and actually clarify some things.

First, I want to apologize to those who were deeply upset by my post. My post overall was towards those who claim they don’t write for a specific audience, and yet put specific descriptions in their work. There is absolutely NOTHING wrong with adding certain details to your reader, such as gender or body type. The issue comes in when you don’t properly title and tag it as so, or completely ignore it altogether.

If you see my post as an eye opener and want to change up your work, then you have every right to do so, but please do not think that this is an attack or jive directed at you. It’s just that some of us readers want exactly as promised. Like for example, imagine if someone asked if you wanted some fresh fruit they grew themselves. You agree, and when they show up, instead of handing you fruit, they give you a carton of eggs. Now, you might not mind eating eggs, but you were promised fresh fruit, not eggs.

I know some writers have said that they want to be more inclusive in response to my criticism. If that is what you truly want, then by all means, but I cannot stress enough: write what YOU want to write. Do not feel as though you’re being pressured to change what you put out; it’s just a means of how you categorize it.

Thank you to everyone who took the time to read, respond, and engage with my original post. I truly appreciate the perspectives shared, they’ve helped me see things more clearly and refine my thoughts.

[minus-plus-zer0]

Comparing Hand Sizes

This was the stupidest love advice Bakugou ever received. But he had to give it a shot.

Bakugou approached you at the house party, steeling himself for the worst. The Bakusquad would have hell to pay if this didn’t work.

“Oi,” Bakugou said. “Wanna compare hand sizes?” 

“Um… sure?” 

He feared that you might’ve already caught onto his little game, but you still held up your hand against his. 

“Guess mine’s bigger,” Bakugou said, as instructed. 

Bakugou didn’t know where to fucking go from here, because the idiots didn’t give him the full instructions for this dumb trick. Bakugou went with his gut instead. His fingers intertwined with yours, letting both your hands drop. His hand still gripped yours firmly. 

You laughed in his face. “Really? This is how you finally make a move on me? You’re such a dork!”

“S-so what? It fucking worked, didn’t it?!”

After that, Bakugou didn’t let go of your hand for almost the entire night. He didn’t endure that embarrassment for nothing. However, he knew he needed more.

“So... ya wanna compare lips too? Wonder whose is better.”

“Wow. You are sooooo dorky!”

“Will you just get over here?!”

[savi0rr]

Darling Wife .ᐟ

Viktor x Fem! Reader

In which, Viktor has a sweet wife that, weirdly enough, no one really knew about.

a/n: hi divas! Erm this is my first time writing for Viktor so I'm sorry if he sounds out of character.

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"Viktor? What is that on your finger?" Jayce inquired, suddenly appearing behind Viktor and peering curiously over his shoulder. Viktor felt a knot form in his stomach as he glanced down at his hand, where a gleaming wedding band rested snugly on his finger. He cursed under his breath, realizing he had meant to remove it but had completely forgotten in the whirlwind of his work.

"Just a ring," Viktor replied evasively, casting a quick look back at Jayce while clicking his tongue in annoyance. Jayce, however, was undeterred. He raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest, a teasing smirk forming on his lips. "Isn’t that the same finger where wedding rings typically go?" he challenged, his eyes narrowing with curiosity. "Don’t tell me you actually have a wife?"

Viktor maintained his silence, his heart racing in response to Jayce’s playful interrogation. "Even if I did, I wouldn't share that information with you," he said tersely, redirecting his attention back to the Hextech gemstone in front of him, his mind racing as he tried to refocus on his work.

Jayce, still leaning casually against the desk, raised his eyebrow further, the smirk on his face beginning to fade away. He studied Viktor’s expression closely, a frown of confusion.

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“Viktor has a wife? That’s just absurd,” Mel declared, waving her hand dismissively as if to brush away the very notion. 

“No, I swear! He’s actually wearing a wedding ring. When I asked him about it, he responded with, ‘Even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you,’” Jayce insisted, leaning closer to Mel's desk, his hands planted firmly on the surface.

Mel rolled her eyes in disbelief, leaning back in her chair and letting her hands fall into her lap. “Who on Earth would marry Viktor?” she whispered, her curiosity piqued as she leaned forward slightly, her expression a mix of intrigue and skepticism. “No offense, but…” she trailed off, momentarily glancing away, her thoughts clearly racing.

Jayce sighed, exasperated. “I mean, it’s not the best image, is it?” he muttered, shrugging as he contemplated the idea. His mind seemed to wander as he contemplated the strange pairing. “Plus, why do you even care?” Mel asked, raising an eyebrow at him, a hint of playful challenge in her voice. “Because I want to know what she looks like!” he responded with a hint of frustration, glancing off to the side, and groaning.

Mel pondered for a moment, her brow furrowing. “Even if he did have a wife, wouldn’t she be here at the Academia with him?” she pointed out, her curiosity beginning to overshadow her previous skepticism. “That’s exactly what I’m saying!” Jayce exclaimed, running his fingers through his hair in agitation. “It doesn’t add up!”

With a sigh, Mel straightened up, her expression turning serious. “Look, I have much bigger problems to deal with than figuring out who Viktor is married to,” she stated firmly.

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"When do you think he sees his wife?" Mel asked, her voice barely above a whisper as she peeked around the corner of the dimly lit hallway. The soft glow of fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting shadows on the walls of the Academia. Jayce followed her gaze, cautiously poking his head out to get a better look.

"Hmm... maybe when he isn’t buried under a mountain of work," Jayce mused, tilting his head and furrowing his brow in thought. His dark hair fell slightly over his forehead, and he swept it back with a casual motion. Mel, with an exasperated huff, rolled her eyes dramatically. 

"You should know this! You’re his partner, for crying out loud," she murmured, her tone tinged with disbelief as she crossed her arms. Jayce's expression shifted to one of sheepishness, his cheeks flushing slightly as he glanced away, avoiding her accusatory gaze.

"But I leave before him. I'm already gone by the time he usually starts his day. And when I come back to the lab, it’s always just him—working away, lost in his experiments," Jayce replied, his shoulders lifting in a shrug that conveyed both confusion and resignation. He could sense Mel's frustration, but the truth was, Viktor’s work schedule was a puzzle he had yet to solve.

Mel sighed heavily, her brow knitting together in thought. "How do you not know… never mind," she grumbled, her voice trailing off as she turned her attention back to Viktor, who was at that moment preparing to leave. 

"Shhh!" Jayce hissed urgently, his eyes widening as he quickly placed a hand over Mel's mouth, the sound echoing loudly in the stillness. They both watched in silence as Viktor slowly began to rise, gripping his crutch tightly under his arm while gathering his belongings with meticulous care. He seemed unaware of the two pairs of eyes on him, lost in his own world.

Viktor gripped his documents as he walked down the hallway, his eyes narrowed. He made his way down to the back of the Academia, opening a door. Jayce and Mel looking out the window from the other story. "The hell is he doing?" Jayce muttered under his breath. "Look," Mel said, spotting you not too far in the distance. "Is that his wife?" Jayce whispered.

"Viktor." You spoke up, smiling when you saw him. You stood up from the bench you were sitting at. Viktor eagerly wobbled over to you. "I've been waiting." You teased lightly, taking the documents from his hand and placing them down on the bench. Viktor could only stare at you. He hadn't seen you in a while. But he'd never say that he missed you. "How are you doing?" You asked gently, guiding him to sit down, placing his crutch aside. "I've been...well," Viktor said plainly. "I could be better." He muttered, glancing off to the side. You nodded, sitting beside him. You glanced down at his hand, raising an eyebrow. "You wore your wedding ring?" You asked, a small smile forming on your face. Viktor's cheeks warmed a bit, sighing. "I meant to take it off." He grumbled as his fingers ran over the wedding band. "I'm glad you wore it. It suits you." You giggled lightly, placing your hand over his.

Meanwhile, with Jayce and Mel, they could only stare in shock. "Of course, he has a pretty wife too!" Jayce groaned as he shook his head. "Of course," Mel muttered as she sweat drops. "Who knew she was so darling?"

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[jawritter]

Something About Fate...

Chapter 2

Summary: Y/N has been homeless and living on the streets of Dallas, Texas since the start of Covid. Until one day, a handsome, green eyes strange notices her and turns her whole world upside down.

Warning: Homelessness, fear of sex trafficking, brief mention of past relationship. Brief mention of almost assault.

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader (eventually).

Word Count: 4519

A/N: This series is completely unbeta’d, so all mistakes are mine! This series will contain mature content eventually, and therefore is unsuitable for persons under 18 years of age! Anyone under the age of 18 will be blocked for my blog! Thanks so much for reading! I hope you all enjoy this series!

Main Masterlist                  Series Masterlist

“Dangerously low temperatures will reach through all of Dallas and the surrounding counties tonight as the arctic blast pushes its way further south, plunging almost all of Texas into a deadly cold where temperatures will remain well below freezing for the next two days,” the distant voice of the weatherman announced on a television set that was perched on the wall of the lavish, or at least lavish to Y/N, hotel that Jensen walked her into, waving off someone that looked like hotel staff as they rushed towards the pair in the otherwise empty lobby. 

“It’s fine,” Jensen announced quickly, “She’s with me.”

The man looked understandably confused but nodded and backed away from Jensen towards his perch by the wall, his dark brown eyes drifting back to the weather channel that continued to report the excessive cold temperatures.

Somewhere, way deep down in the darkest corner of her subconscious, Y/N had a feeling had Jensen not found her on the side of the little sandwich shop tonight, well, there’s no nice way to say it, she most likely would have frozen to death due to the rain and plummeting temperatures. 

She shivered hard as Jensen led her through the expansive lobby towards a small room off to the side of the check in desk, fishing at his wallet as he did so. 

To say she felt out of place was an understatement. There were expensive looking furnishings sitting about the room on pristine marble tiled floors. She was pretty sure you could go through there with a white glove on the tables and lamps that sat around and not even find a speck of dust on them, making her feel like the dirtiest thing in the room, and judging by the guy’s reaction when they walked in, he agreed with her assessment.   

“I know you’re cold honey,” Jensen said, placing a steady hand on her lower back as he led her into the small store-like area the hotel had set up for guests to purchase things they may have forgotten to pack for their stay. It had things like snacks, soaps, shampoo and conditioner, feminine sanitary products, razors; just about anything one would need if they were going to have to stay suddenly overnight, which she was. Still, she never expected Jensen to bring her into the little room to get her anything, he’d already fed her and brought her out of the cold for the night, what more could she really ask for? He’d already done more than she felt like she deserved, even if she wasn’t entirely sure of his motives…

“Okay,” Jensen said as he closed the door behind the pair of them. “I know you don’t have much, and I’m sure you don’t have a lot to bath with,” he said as he made his way around the room, grabbing bottles of soap, shampoo, conditioner, and razors. “I’m sure you don’t want to smell like a guy. Grab what you want or need, money isn’t a problem.”

Y/N stood there stunned into silence as she watched him gathering bottles of soap and hair products, even deodorant. She couldn’t even move an inch. She was rooted in the spot, staring at him with wide eyes, afraid if she blinked, she’d wake up from whatever dream this was, and find herself outside freezing to death again.

“I know that they don’t have clothes here, but we can tackle that in the morning. I got some extra stuff that’s probably gonna swallow you whole, but at least you will be warm and dry,” he continued as he turned around to find her standing by the door, stunned and trembling from sheer to God shock as well as being cold. 

His features softened, and he stepped forward with the items he’d collected in his arms, making sure to keep his voice as calm and unthreatening as possible. 

“I know you must think I’m nuts, but trust me just a little, okay? I just want to help you.”

Y/N nodded, forcing the sudden flow of tears that threatened to make their famous appearance at bay because she didn’t want to cry in front of this man, this stranger. Though, no one had ever wanted to help her before. No one.

“Finding everything you need Mr. Ackles?” A younger woman said from the little door that opened up at the top, revealing the other side of the desk at the entrance. Jensen quickly cleared his throat, and nodded at the girl before passing what he had in his arms, along with a black credit card towards her for payment. 

“Yeah, this should get us started,” he told her as she bagged the toiletries for him. “Can you tell them I’ll be ordering room service later tonight, as well as a laundry pick up in the morning? If one of you guys wants a little extra tip, I might get someone that is willing to make a Walmart pick up for me as well tomorrow.”

“Absolutely,” she answered him, giving him what Y/N recognized right away as a very flirtatious smile. It made her wonder if they knew each other more than just from the hotel. Maybe Jensen had a habit of picking up women. 

Jensen paid the girl no mind as he took the bag from her hand, mumbling a quick, ‘thanks’, before guiding Y/N back through the door they had come in from, and towards the double elevator that stood in the foyer. 

There were a few people standing around by now, but none of them seemed to pay the pair any mind as they waited for the doors to open for them. Y/N was grateful. She didn’t really like it when people started to look or pay close attention to her, because that’s when someone would complain, and when people complained, it usually meant she was about to get tossed out, told to move, or something was about to be ruined for her all because she was obstructing the local “Karen’s” view. 

Mercifully, they didn’t have to wait long for the elevator to open, and even more miraculously, it was free of other guests. Still, she didn’t breathe a sigh of relief until they closed securely behind her, and Jensen reached around to hit the button that would bring them to the top floor. 

That’s when the reality of what was happening really started to dawn on her as Jensen stood next to her, bag of products in his hands, seemingly unfazed by his damp hair or shirt. Then again, maybe she wasn’t as cold as she was just terrified…

Truely, he was the most gorgeous man she’d ever laid eyes on, now that she really could stop and look at him safely. She couldn’t understand why the hell he’d noticed someone like her. Most of the time, men like Jensen just ignored her when they walked by on the street. The only men that really paid girls like her any kind of attention lived on the street too, or they were some creeper that usually ended up having to be put in their place so that they would leave her alone.

She didn’t understand, and maybe she never would. 

The elevator doors opened as the lift came to a slow halt, and Jensen placed a firm hand on her back as he led her through the doors to the empty hallway, and down to what was almost the last room before fishing out his key card, and opening the door for her to step inside first. 

Her legs felt like they had a ton and a half of bricks tied to them, but somehow, despite what was probably her better judgment, Y/N stepped inside of the immaculate room. The only real evidence that Jensen was even staying there was the phone charger that was plugged up on the small bar, that had a tiny sink attached to it, and a black suitcase that sat in the corner by the large window in the room, overlooking downtown Dallas. 

It was really coming down now, and she could tell by the amount of condensation on the window of the warm room that the temperature must really be dropping fast outside. 

“It’s not much,” Jensen said behind her as he locked the door, and a cold chill ran down her spine as a fast moment of possible regret flooded her system. Usually when men brought a woman to a room and locked the door behind them, what followed wasn’t a good thing. “But this is all the convention hotel had left. I guess a lot of people got stranded at the airport the way we all did because of the weather.”

Y/N didn’t want to look pathetic by pointing out that his ‘not much’ to her look like a fucking palace! In the room there was a small kitchen, dishwasher included, it had been years since she’d seen one of those, a full-sized fridge, couch, and a large king-sized bed off to the side, with a room adjacent that she assumed was the bathroom, which she also assumed was probably just as grandiose as the room she was standing in seemed. 

For years, she’d lay on park benches or under overpasses at night, looking at the lights from these buildings, hoping, praying, wishing she could just stay a night in one of those rooms, just one night to break the cycle. 

“Y/N?” Jensen called her name, standing somewhat close to her, causing her to jump back from him, and he immediately threw his hands in the air and took a step backward in an attempt to show her that he meant no harm. “Are you okay sweetheart?”

She only nodded, because at this point, she didn’t really know how ‘okay’ she actually was, or how ‘okay’ she was going to walk away from this. 

Jensen passed her the bag of products he’d collected for her downstairs, and cleared his throat, suddenly a little more awkward than he was a moment ago. “Bathroom’s through there,” he nodded towards the bedroom area of the room before stepping beside her and making his way over to the suitcase, digging out a white T-shirt and a pair of black jogging shorts before bringing them over to her. 

“They’re gonna be huge on you,” he said with an embarrassed chuckle, "but they're dry, and in the morning, we will see about getting you some clothes that actually fit.”

Y/N tried to smile, but fell short somewhere as a trail of tears made their way down her cheek in spite of herself. 

Jensen made no hesitation at stepping forward and wrapping her up in a crushing hug as if he was going to do all that he could manage to hold her together. “Hey, it’s gonna be okay,” Jensen attempted to assure her, which for some reason only made her cry harder. Because honestly, she didn’t feel as if everything was going to be alright, and she hadn’t felt like anything was going to be alright for a long time. “One step at a time, okay? Let’s start with getting you showered, and dry, okay?” Jensen said, placing his lips briefly to the side of her forehead. Maybe he was just an affectionate person? Either way it distracted her enough to calm her down, and maybe that’s all he wanted to do. Distract her, so she nodded, cleared her throat, and unwillingly pushed herself out of his hold gently. 

“You go get cleaned up,” Jensen prompted, “take your time, there’s no rush. It’s not like either of us have anywhere to be and I’m sure it’s been a while since you’ve been able to take some time to yourself. I’m gonna change into something dry myself, and order a fuck ton of junk food, then we’re just gonna chill for tonight, and maybe get to know one another a little bit better.”

“Thank you,” Y/N finally forced herself to say as she turned and made her way on shaky legs towards the biggest bathroom she’d ever been in and closed the door, locking it behind her because deep down, she was still a little afraid of Jensen. Some of the best serial killers out there were abnormally attractive men. 

She took a deep breath and looked around the pristine, white room with a huge shower and sink. She shook from head to toe as she made her way over to the sink to sit down her borrowed clothing and her bag of toiletries. That’s when she saw herself in the mirror for the first time in days, and honestly, she didn’t recognize the woman that looked back at her. 

Her hair was a mess, her face was dirty even though she'd just bathed two days ago at the splash pad showers. There was a cut on her cheek that she didn’t even remember getting, and her close looked somewhat dingy and ragged out like a used dish-cloth. 

There was a time she wouldn’t leave her apartment until she had a full face of makeup, and not a hair out of place. Now, she sat on the street corners looking like this. How the hell did Jensen even stand to hug her?

With utter disgust in herself, she reached over and turned on the shower, letting the spray run hot as she quickly rid herself of her clothing, and tossed them into an empty laundry bag on the floor provided by the hotel, and stepped inside the scalding spray, attempting to wash at least some of it all away, at least for tonight. 

She scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed until she thought her skin might peel off of her. She did the same with her hair, and even went as far to shave the things she’d neglected shaving in years, and by the time she was finished, she almost felt human again for the first time in three years. 

Once she turned the water off and stepped out of the shower, hair wrapped in a towel, and her body draped in a fluffy white towel of its own, she stepped in front of the mirror and whipped the steam away, revealing the ghost of the girl she once knew. She looked older than she remembered. There were a few more lines around her eyes. She was too thin for her liking. She had dark circles under her eyes. She looked tired and sad. Nothing like the girl that she remembered, but somehow the same. 

A soft knock on the door of the bathroom made her nearly jump over the sink as if someone had yelled at her to get out, then she remembered it was probably just Jensen, and that she was allowed to be here, she didn’t have to run away. 

“Sweetheart, I’m gonna order us some ice cream, is there any particular flavor you prefer?”

Y/N placed her hand over her now racing heart and grabbed the shirt that lay on the counter in front of her, and he was right, this thing was gonna swallow her, which worked out, because she didn’t have a clean bra, and now after having a decent bath, she really didn’t want to put the clothes she had on in the backpack and make herself feel dirty again. 

“No, not really,” she answered, her own voice sounding almost robotic as it echoed through the bathroom back at her. 

Apparently she wasn’t the only strange person who craved ice cream when it was freezing outside, she supposed that was at least one thing they had in common anyway…

She listened until Jensen’s footsteps wandered off toward the other side of the hotel before she pulled the jogging shorts over her body, and tied the strings to keep them from falling before she quickly pulled the hairbrush out of the bag on the counter Jensen had purchased for her, and ran it through her towel dried hair before inspecting herself in the mirror for the final time before she knew she had to go out and face the man in the other room. 

She looked like a completely different person. 

It sent a pain through her chest knowing that this might be the last time she ever got to see the ghost of her former self before Jensen was done with her, and she was thrust back into the streets, if she lived at all. 

After having just a taste of what it was like to live again, she really didn’t know if she would survive it. She didn’t think she could go back to it. 

With a final long breath, Y/N opened the bathroom door, and found Jensen sitting on the bed, a pair of gray sweats and a black T-shirt stretched over his impressive chest. He looked like a damn model and not even a real person. His green gaze lifted from his phone in his hand to where Y/N stood in the threshold of the bedroom, stunned by the God of a man sitting there in front of her, and he blinked in surprise as he set up straighter and took her in like a man about to thirst to death. Apparently she looked that bad to him too when he’d picked her up. That stung. 

“Feel better?” Jensen questioned before reaching next to him and patting the bed on the opposite side, that’s when she noticed the TV sitting on the end table in front of him. “Come sit down, it’s okay.”

Y/N’s feet carried her reluctantly towards the bed, and for a moment, she could only stand there and stare at it. It had been years since she’d sat on a bed, much less slept in one. 

“The food I ordered will be here in about an hour,” Jensen revealed, watching her as she sat slowly on the edge of the bed as if it might bite her, or that he might bite her, she wasn’t sure which yet. 

In truth, she wasn’t sure if she’d even mind if he bit her… 

But as soon as the thought crossed her mind she snuffed it out. That was playing with fire, and she didn’t really want to die that way, no matter how hot he was. 

“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but I’m curious, and a bit nosey I guess, but how did you end up living on the streets?” Jensen questioned, turning the volume down on the television in front of him before he turned slightly on the bed to face her. 

She cleared her throat, and tried to relax against the pile of pillows that was behind her, but it felt strange, too soft maybe? Maybe she was too wired up to relax, either way, she knew he’d end up asking her questions, and in all fairness, he did kinda save her life tonight, cause she was convinced the cold would have killed her. 

“I was a travel agent when Covid hit,” she revealed, “the virus shut us all down, and I lost my job. Around the same time the world came to a spiraling stop, my ex boyfriend decided I wasn’t good enough for his standards anymore, so I lost my roommate, and half my rent all in the same wack. Well, I never was able to find work again after that. I lost my apartment, and now I’m here.”

Jensen swallowed thickly as he sat and listened to her talk, the same sad expression on his face that he had when he first found her. 

“I’m not some drug head or alcoholic,” Y/N defended quickly, knowing that is what people usually thought when they saw someone that was homeless like she was. “People just didn’t start opening shit up again for two years, and it’s hard to find a job when no one will hire someone homeless because they’re high risk. It's a deep pit, and once you're in it…”

“I’m so sorry that happened to you,” Jensen voiced, and for some reason, she believed him. Like he meant it and wasn’t just saying it. “And I never believed that you were an addict, you were too sober when I found you.”

“What made you bring me here?” Y/N suddenly blurted out the questions she’d been asking herself over and over again. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

For a second, she thought she had offended him, but Jensen just kinda shrugged, and started to play with the hem of his shirt. 

“I— I don’t really know,” Jensen admitted. “It’s not like I make a habit of picking up young women off the street and bringing them back to my hotel room. But there’s just something about you… I don’t know, I just couldn’t leave you there alone.”

Y/N swallowed thickly, there was  a truth in his voice, even if it didn’t make sense. He didn’t even know why he brought her here himself. Which only solidified the belief for her that after he woke up in the morning, she would be back out in the cold. When whatever this infatuation wore off he had with her. 

“I’ll be out of your hair in the morning,” Y/N announced, “or I can leave right now if you want me to. Hell, you’ve already done more for me than what I deserve—”

“No!” Jensen all but yelled as he reached and grabbed her hand to stop her from standing. “No, you’re not going back out there. It’s freezing, and just—no. Sweetheart, I’ve gathered you probably don’t know how I am, if so you’re good at hiding it, but I can help you. Let me help you.”

There it was again, those damn tears that threatened to make their famous reappearance. But crying did no good, so there was no point in crying…

“I’m sorry,” Jensen apologized quickly as he sat up and slid over closer to where she was sitting. “I didn’t mean to scare you, I didn’t mean to yell. I just really, really don’t want you to go back out there to live on the streets. Y/N please, let me help you.”

“I don’t want to be someone’s charity case Jensen, I mean, it’s nice of you to give a damn. No one ever really has before, but I don’t want to be some leech or something that attaches herself to a man just to get off the streets.”

“Okay, that’s fine, work for me then, and while you work for me, you can live with me, and get back on your feet. I’m willing to take a chance with you. You said no one else was. Well, I am. You said you were a travel agent and my job requires a lot of traveling, and I need someone to organize and keep my shit together, like an assistant. That way you don’t feel like you’re mooching, cause you’re not going back out there if I have anything to say about it.”

Y/N sat there stunned into complete and utter silence, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. She didn’t see that coming, not by a long shot. She was so shocked she didn’t even know what to say. After all the bad luck she’d had over the years, all the heartbreak and failure, could this be the turn around? Could he really be the end of it all?

“But… Jensen I don’t even know what you do for a living. You don’t know me at all, I could be a psycho, hell you could be a serial killer for all I know! And you just want me to move in with you? Work for you? A complete and total stranger?”

Jensen shrugged and gave her a smirk that damn near melted her borrowed clothing off of her. “I know, it sounds crazy, but that’s part of the fun of it all isn’t it? Wouldn’t taking a chance with me be better than going back out there? Honey I can make sure you want for nothing, I can assure you of that. Once you get on your feet again, and you get your life back, I’m not gonna hold you hostage somewhere, you can go, but I can’t let you go back out on the streets, I just can’t.”

Y/N swallowed and looked down at the hand he still had tightly wrapped around her own as if she was about to run away if he let her go, and honestly, for a moment, she did consider it, but the offer he was making her was one she didn’t think that she could ever refuse. He offered her an out. A way back into the world of the living so to speak, and she had no doubt that he could make sure she wanted for nothing, he’d already shown her that much. 

She really, really didn’t want to go back…

“Okay, fine,” she agreed, and Jensen almost breathed an audible side of relief. “But what is it that you even do? Because you’re right, I have no idea who you are, and I’m still not totally convinced you’re not a nut that’s gonna try to kill me in my sleep.”

Jensen lost it, legitimately lost it, as he fell over on his side of the bed in a fit of hysterical laughter, but Y/N was dead serious. Which to him probably made it even funnier. 

“I’m an actor,” he finally said once he’d composed himself. “I’m not a fucking serial killer, I swear, though I have played on one TV.”

It hit here then, the convention, he must have been one of the actors featured here, that’s why she thought she saw a shaven, slightly younger picture of him on a banner on the way up into the hotel. 

“Hey,” Jensen said, when he saw her looking off towards the door, completely shocked and lost in thought. “Nightmare over sweetheart, you don’t ever have to go back to that again, I swear it.”

Y/N’s mouth opened, but she was interrupted by a knock on the door, which made her jump off of the bed as if she needed to run. If Jensen really was serious about hiring her, she wasn’t off to a great first impression…

“It’s okay,” Jensen assured her as he stood up to make his way towards the door. “It’s just the food I ordered. You’re safe here.”

She wanted to believe him, she really did, but it was going to take some serious adjusting for her to believe him, because somehow, she still expected this all to be a lie, and the rug to get pulled out from under her at any moment. Now that she saw a glimmer of hope, a light at the end of a long, dark tunnel, she didn’t think she could take it if it all fell apart. She needed this to work, she needed him to save her. She just didn’t know how to admit it out loud yet.

Forever:

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[thatboisus]

reading a good ass fanfic up until it said something that just makes you want to stop reading

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Yakuza

When your brother gets himself deep into debt, one yakuza is surprisingly willing to help you get him out. Word Count: 4.3k

When your brother asks you to visit him in Tokyo, something about his voice makes your big sister instincts buzz.

He's great at putting on a show, but there's a twinge of nervousness to him that you've seldom heard before.

You spend your first week in the city with your hackles raised, trying and failing to figure out what he's hiding from you. And you might never have figured it out.

But then he showed up.

Yandere! Yakuza who kicks open your brother's door at three in the morning, a cigarette in one hand and a baseball bat in the other.

You scramble out of bed, convinced you're about to be murdered. And it's only your brother's hand hastily slapped over your mouth that keeps you from screaming bloody murder.

"Relax, I know these guys."

Despite his words, your brother doesn't look relaxed at all. His eyes dart around the room and he balls his fists into his jeans. It's a habit he hasn't broken since childhood and before you know it, you're stepping between him and a dangerously scarred yakuza.

Your Japanese is beyond rudimentary and your course didn't exactly cover how to have conversations with members of an organised crime family, but you tilt your chin back and try to keep your voice steady.

"Naze anata ga koko ni iru no ka? [why are you here?]"

Yandere! Yakuza who shamelessly leers at your tiny summer pyjamas. He pulls at his cigarette and when he speaks, his English is heavy with an accent.

"Came to collect what he owes us."

Of all the possible answers he could have given you, that was one you don't expect in the slightest. You turn to your brother and the way he avoids your eyes is answer enough. God, how could he be so stupid? Didn't you teach him better?

Yandere! Yakuza who came prepared to smash furniture and rough up a stubborn debtor suddenly finds himself at the mercy of your glare. You're at least a foot or two shorter than him and somehow it feels like he's the one being overpowered.

"How much does he owe?"

"Sis really I can-"

Yandere! Yakuza who scoffs and names a number much, much larger than you expected. It takes every ounce of will power not to scream at your brother right then and there. How could he get himself into such a mess? He's barely been here more than six months!

Yandere! Yakuza who watches the emotions flicker across your face and has to admire the way you fight them back. The only sign of your fear is a slight tremble in your hand.

"How much do you need tonight?"

The amount he names is just about everything you have in savings. You bite your lip. One look at him tells you everything you need to know. This isn't some small time crook. The pin on his suit jacket is clear as day, even to a foreigner like you.

You pull your coat over your pyjamas and grab your handbag.

"Let's go then."

When you step out into the hall, you're met with two other Yakuza. How didn't you notice them?

You meet their eyes, trying your absolute hardest to seem unruffled. Predators get violent when they sense fear, right? So don't like them catch that smell on you, no matter how fast your heart is racing.

The night air nips at your skin as you head to the nearest ATM.

"Sis it isn't that bad, I swear -"

"We'll talk about it later, ok?"

Yandere! Yakuza who walks close behind you. You can catch the smell of his cologne - something woody and pleasantly sharp.

When you slip your card into the ATM, he leans against the wall next to you and pulls out another cigarette. He watches you while he lights it, the flame throwing his cheekbones into sharp relief.

"You got a boyfriend?"

You're genuinely surprised. Your relationship status isn't exactly on your list of things dangerous criminals should be concerned about.

"No. I don't."

He let's the smoke curl up between his teeth.

"Good. Pretty girl like you shouldn't bother with relationships."

"Why not?"

The ATM spits out your cash before he can answer.

He doesn't take the money immediately. Instead, he let's his eyes roam down your body, like he can still see what's underneath your bulky coat.

"You're never gonna pay it off at this rate."

"You're offering me advice? Didn't think that was part of your job."

"Sōde wa arimasen [it isn't]. But what kind of man would I be if I didn't help you out?"

He digs in his inner pocket and you catch a glimpse of the gun holstered under his jacket.

He pulls out a business card and scribbles something at the back of it.

"He hasn't told you, but we've got his passport. He can't leave until he's settled what he owes."

You suck in a sharp breath at that. How much worse could this situation get?

He holds out the card. "Come work for us and maybe we can work out a better deal, yeah?"

You scoff. "Does that deal involve selling my organs?"

He smiles a little at that. "Īe - no. It's easy work. Come by tomorrow and see for yourself."

You look down at the card and the hand offering it. His tattoos peak out of his sleeve, blue-black and twisting in patterns you can't recognise. Better to not offend a gangster, right?

You take the card.

"Iiko [good girl]."

He turns to go, his baseball bat slung over his shoulder. "See you tomorrow hanī [honey]."

He's barely out of sight before you're grabbing your brother's ear and dragging him back to the apartment.

You spend the rest of the night talking to - or more accurately, interrogating - your brother.

"Gambling? What the hell where you thinking?"

"I was drunk, okay?"

You hiss and rub at your temples. And the worst part? The yakuza was right. You can't pay it off. Not without a very well paying job.

His card glares at you from the kitchen table. An easy job, huh?

The address on the card leads you to a hostess club in the middle of the Red Light District.

He isn't going to kidnap you in the middle of the day in the middle of the city, right? Slightly comforted, you make your way into the club.

It's cool and dark, lit by colorful lamps more than anything. You show the card to the bartender and a few minutes later your yakuza is sitting across from you and ordering you both drinks.

Yandere! Yakuza who wears a suit in the slouched, lazy way of a school delinquent. Shirt unbuttoned so you can see the edge his tattoos and the gold chain gleaming at his neck.

He gestures at the bar and the room around you, his cigarette hanging lazily between his fingers. "The Family owns this place. And my kyodai manages it."

He studies you while he smokes, eyes dipping to your chest and lingering. "You can work as a hostess here. Make good money and we'll take a cut of it to pay off what your brother owes."

You take a sip of your drink to avoid answering him. The sake leaves a tingle on your lips.

"But I'm not exactly fluent in Japanese. How am I supposed to entertain customers?"

He grins wolfishly at you. "Just wear something tight and you won't have to talk at all."

"Perv," you mutter into your drink.

On the surface, you can't see anything wrong with his offer. It makes perfect sense - the club gets a new girl they barely have to pay and your brother's creditors don't need to keep tracking him down.

But he's a yakuza and you'd be a fool to trust him.

"Fine. I'll work here, try my hardest to learn Japanese and sell drinks."

You hold his gaze. "But I'm gone the second I think you're being shady. Got it?"

Yandere! Yakuza who smiles like he's won the lottery. "Wakatta [got it]."

When you show up later that evening, he's your first customer. He orders you a bottle of champagne and keeps topping up your glass without ever touching his own.

A few drinks in you manage to finally loosen up enough to hold a conversation. He asks you endless questions - about your childhood, your hobbies, the movies you've been watching.

But in return, he dodges any question you throw at him. "Don't ask about my family." "My childhood was boring. You don't want to hear about it." "Hobbies? Does puss-"

"No."

"Then no."

He's surprisingly fun to talk to. And when he gets a call and has to leave you, there's a pang of disappointment that you can't quite mask.

He grins and flicks your forehead. "Don't miss me too much."

When you pick up the bill, you realise he left you a hefty tip. You stare at it and then at his retreating back. Just what is his angle?

Yandere! Yakuza who's back the next day and the one after that. He sprawls in the booth like a spoiled prince, his arms thrown across the headrest and his legs spread.

"Let me teach you Japanese."

You perk up. A native teacher would be so much easier to learn from compared to the dense textbooks you've tried using.

"Repeat after me. Onegaishimasu. It means 'please'."

You try and imitate his intonation. He walks you through a few more common phrases with moderate success.

"Need to work on your accent, but that was decent. Ready to try something longer? Anata wa totemo hansamudesu ne [I think you're very handsome]."

"Anato wa...wa totemo hansam... hansamudesu ne."

He smirks at you over the rim of his glass. He seems immensely pleased.

"What does it mean?"

"Just another way to... greet someone. Kinda tricky though, so you should just use it on me."

He spends the rest of the day explaining kanji and grammar. You take notes on the back of a receipt and promise to rewrite them when you get home.

Your shift is practically over when he finally stands to leave.

"Say goodbye like I taught you."

"Anata wa totemo hansamudesu ne."

He grins at you again, his voice a bit sweeter when he replies. "Anata mo totemo kireidesu ne [you're pretty too]."

You tilt your head, struggling to understand. You don't recognise the phrase, but he's gone before you can ask what it means.

Yandere! Yakuza who requests you almost everyday. Until the house mother snaps at him to give it a rest, there are other clients who want to talk to you.

He scoffs and throws back his drink, Adam's apple bobbing like he's swallowing down his anger too.

"If they want to talk to her so bad, they should get here earlier. Watashitachiha kono basho o shoyū shite imasu [we own this place]. So go and get me my girl."

When you finally make it to his table, he's back to being all smiles. The only person who notices his jealousy is the house mother and she's far too busy to mention it.

"My head is killing me. Give me a massage please?"

He flops down into your lap before you can say no.

You sigh and run your fingers through his hair, trying to remember where the pressure points are.

Yandere! Yakuza who practically purrs at your touch. When you lift a hand away to take a sip of your water, he barely waits for you to swallow before he's dragging it back.

There's something very strange about having a deadly gangster in your lap. With his eyes closed, you can almost forget just how much he scared you when you first met. Can forget how he still scares you.

He opens his eyes and catches you studying him. He reaches up and catches your hand as you draw away from him. His touch is gentle, softer than you would expect from looking at him.

"Go on a date with me."

You aren't sure if it's an offer or a command. There's something so intimate about the way he looks at you, the club lights carving hollows into his cheeks, eyes dark and sweet.

And God help you, he's so close. Only the thin fabric of your stockings between his skin and yours.

"Okay."

His lips quirk into a half smile, boyishly handsome.

"Good. You'll like it."

By the next evening, you're already regretting your decision. What kind of idiot goes on a date with a yakuza? You blame the alcohol and the closeness of his body and your stupid, stupid hormones for getting you into this.

But when he picks you up, you find yourself smiling. He actually knocks on the apartment door this time and you open it with the full intention of teasing him.

"My brother's landlord-"

Your words die in your throat. You always knew he was handsome but the man waiting for you takes your breath away.

His hair is slicked away from his face and a sparkling cross dangles from one ear. His lazy suits are gone, replaced with a suit that's pressed and tailored. Hell, even his shirt is buttoned up properly.

He looks good. Dangerously good.

He takes you in, eyes lingering at your curves. You swallow and try not to blush. You do your hair and makeup everyday for the club and he's seen you in this dress before, but he looks at you like it's all new to him, like he wants to drink in every inch of you.

You somehow manage to find your voice and it has none of its usual bite. "You look good. Really good."

He smoothes a hand over his hair self consciously. "Arigatō. Shall we go?"

He offers you his arm and you take it, your heart thundering. He opens the car door for you and helps you in like a proper gentleman. You catch a whiff of his cologne - the same woodsy scent from the night you met.

He takes you to a skyscraper restaurant and sits down right next to the window. The city is a sparkling sprawl at your feet.

"I didn't think you'd be into a place like this," you say.

"What? You think I don't got class?" He grins and points his fork at you, "I've got the best damn taste in this whole city."

"Explains why you asked me out then."

"Obviously." He leans forward. "Only the best for my girl, yeah?"

"I'm your girl? Since when?"

"Since..." He makes a show of checking his watch. "Since the night I met you. You just didn't know it yet."

Ah, now that's one way to make a girl fall for you. And despite your better sense, you feel yourself falling.

You can still taste the lingering sweetness of dessert when he walks you back to his car. His leans against the car door and loops his arms around your waist.

"You had fun tonight?"

"Yes. More than I expected honestly."

He pulls you closer to him, softly enough that you can step back at any point. You don't.

"Gonna give me a kiss to say thank you? It's a very important part of our culture."

You clasp your hands together behind his neck.

"You liar."

He grins that boyish half smile of his. "Can't blame a guy for trying."

He doesn't feel like a gangster or a creditor or a customer. In that moment he feels like just a man - someone strong and handsome that you desperately want to kiss.

Your gaze flickers down to his lips and then back to his eyes. You pull gently at his neck and his head dips lower. You stay like that for a moment, lips almost touching. Too nervous to make the final move.

His hands move to cradle your waist and he closes the gap between you.

You pull him closer, your hands slipping from his neck to his jaw. His stubble scrapes your palm and makes your whole body tingle. He tastes of wine and sugar.

When you finally pull away, you draw your thumb across his lower lip. His eyes are half lidded and when he moves, it's with a sluggish reluctance. Like he doesn't want to let go of you.

He keeps one hand on your waist and draws out a stack of cash with the other. When he speaks, his voice is husky.

"How much for tonight?"

"What?"

His draws his hand up your waist to rest against your sternum. Like he wants to dig his hand into your heart.

"How much to take you home?"

A bucket of cold water would have been less shocking. You pull away from him, your mind racing.

God, why are you such an idiot? Of course he only wants to fuck you. He's just a thug, what did you expect?

And worse, you feel like a small part of your heart is breaking. Why be so sweet to you, why go out of his way to spend time with you, if all he wants is a one night stand?

"Are you serious?"

"Obviously. How much do you charge?"

You act without thinking and slap him right across his face.

The sound of it is terribly sharp in the open quite of the parking lot. It leaves your palm stinging. You freeze, terrified of what you've just done.

He doesn't move, his head turned to the side from the force of your slap. Slowly, he touches his fingers to his cheek. His expression is unreadable.

Oh, you're so dead. You just hit a yakuza. A guy who probably breaks faces everyday, who has who knows how many felonies to his name.

Your first instinct is to apologise, say you weren't thinking and that you're so so sorry. You lift your chin and squash down that part of you.

"I'm not for sale."

The quiet stretches out, tense and dangerous. He turns away and opens the car door for you. He doesn't meet your eyes.

"I understand now. Gomen'nasai [I'm sorry]."

The drive home is terribly quiet. You keep expecting him to lash out - hit you or humiliate you for daring to slap him like that.

He doesn't. He just keeps eyes on the road.

When you reach your building, he follows you to the door and rests his hand on the frame above your head. You can feel him behind you, close enough for his breath to tickle the back of your neck.

"I can't buy you."

"No."

"But I want you."

You pull in a shuddering breath. "Earn it."

You shut the door without turning back.

He doesn't show up at the club for the next week. At first you're on edge - what if he gets you fired? Or worse, does something to your brother?

But your boss doesn't mention anything and your brother keeps coming home in one piece. Slowly, you relax. Tell yourself that he's done with you now that you won't give him what he wants. You try and ignore the way it hurts.

When he does finally show up, he's dangerously tipsy. He yanks you out of your booth in the middle of a date and leaves the house mother to bow and apologise to the customer.

You try not to make a scene as he pulls you along behind him. But you look about desperately for any of the other yakuza. Where the hell are they when you need them?

Finally, he drops you in a booth in the corner of the club and collapses across from you. His hair is messier than you've ever seen it and there's a feverish wildness in the way he looks at you.

"Fine. I'm here. Let me earn your love."

You rub your arm and scowl at him. "Your idea of winning me over is to leave a huge bruise on my arm?"

He runs his hands through his hair. "Hell, I don't know. I've never had to win a girl over before."

"Yeah right. I've seen the girls you go out with. There's no shortage of women in your life."

He looks you in the eye. "Bought and paid for." He gestures at the table and at you. "Not like this. Not like you."

That gives you pause. It makes sense. Gangsters don't exactly have the time to go on Sunday morning brunch dates or meet the family.

"So why not just pay someone else?"

You don't say it out loud but the rest of your question is clear. Why me?

"I...I don't want to. Setsumei suru no wa totemo muzukashīdesu [It's so hard to explain]. But I don't want anyone else."

A confession from a yakuza was not at all on your list on fun and lighthearted tourist activities. You're not entirely sure how to deal with it.

Your sense is screaming at you to be smart. And when is dating a criminal ever smart? You're supposed to get yourself and your brother away from the underworld, not get roped deeper in. And what happens if you want to break up? When has a man with a gun and too many scars ever taken a heartbreak well?

And yet...

You want him. Stupidly, against all sense, you want to be with him. He's dangerous. He probably only wants to fuck you. He has too much power over your life. He might never let you leave him.

And still you want him.

You take a deep breath. "Come over tonight and I'll cook you something. And if my cooking doesn't change your mind then... then we can talk about it."

He smiles at you and the wild look in his eye seems to finally dim.

"Anata ga watashi o oidasou to shite mo dekinakatta [Baby, you couldn't get rid of me if you tried]."

You weren't lying when you said you were a terrible cook. When he finally arrives, the rice is somehow both burnt and slightly undercooked and your curry is severely under-salted.

You scrunch your nose when you take a bite. "This is awful."

"You cooked it." He takes another bite. "And I hate to say it, but I've had worse."

You push your bowl away and mutter, "I didn't think rice could be so complicated. I followed the instructions and everything."

He takes another bite. "I can make decent rice. And udon."

"So between the two of us, there's only one good cook? Shameful."

He adds some salt to his bowl. "Neither of us ever has the time to cook anyway, so I don't know why you're surprised."

You shake your head and watch him. He's halfway through your abysmal culinary concoction and somehow not green in the face.

"You never talk about yourself," you tell him.

He avoids your eyes. "I'm not that interesting."

"But I am?"

"Yes." There's a quiet fierceness to his answer that makes your heart stutter.

"Tell me a secret about yourself."

It's his turn to study you. "A secret."

"That's what I said."

He considers you for a long moment before reaching up and undoing his shirt buttons. He turns his back to you and let's his shirt fall away.

You gasp. His tattoo covers his entire back. It's every bit as intricate as you suspected - there's lotus flowers between his shoulder blades and a spider inked below his ribcage.

But it's the snake that takes up most of the space. It curls and unwinds across his back, every scale painstakingly inked. It's hissing mouth rests on his shoulder blade, opposite his heart.

He flinches when you touch him, but doesn't ask you to stop. You run your fingertips up his back, tracing the snakes coiling body.

"It's incredible."

He doesn't answer you. Eventually your fingers come to rest on his neck.

He reaches back and takes hold of your wrist. He draws it forward and tilts his head to press a kiss against your pulse. You wonder if he can feel the way your heart jumps when he touches you.

"Do you want to know the real secret? I go home at night and lie awake thinking about you."

You lean forward and rest your forehead against his bare back. "What do you think about?"

He inhales sharply. "Your voice... your lips... your body."

You laugh a little and your warm breath on his skin makes him shiver. "You're shameless."

"Mattaku hajishirazuna [totally shameless]."

You tilt his head towards you and kiss his cheek.

You can feel him smile against your lips. When you pull away, he turns to you and cups your jaw.

Your Japanese has gotten better, but you don't understand what he whispers before he kisses you.

"Watashi Kazu anata ni koiwoshiteiru, soshite watashi wa tomaranai [I'm falling in love with you and I can't stop]."

He presses his lips against yours, so much hungrier this time. His hand slips from your cheek to the nape of your neck to pull you closer to him.

"My girl, my pretty girl. Hanaretakute mo hanare rarenakatta [I couldn't let you go even if I wanted to]."

He presses hot kisses against your throat. His grip on your neck almost painfully tight.

"Hitsuyōniōjite, anata no kyōdai ni wa nan-nen mo shakkin o showa seru koto ni narudeshou [gonna keep your brother in debt for years if I have to]."

The rest of his sentence is little more than a growl. "Nanrakano hōhō de anata ni watashi o aishite morau tsumoridesu [gonna make you love me back one way or another]."

The one downside of courting a yakuza is not understanding everything he says. But maybe it's safer that way.

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: implied noncon, break-up, toxic relationship, crazy ex-boyfriend, intrusive thoughts, anger issues

♡ FEM reader

Thinking about gamer boyfriend who doesn’t know what he has before it’s gone…

You told him you were leaving, but it didn’t dawn on him that’s what you’d meant. He was deep in-game—he couldn't pay attention to your whining. He figured you went out to the store or something, but later, after midnight, he realized he was hungry, and you were nowhere. Not in the kitchen making dinner, not in his bed sleeping, and not in the bathroom either. 

Did you go home? He wonders, standing alone in the dark, empty silence—feeling a little put off at the sight of his room—how even in the dim light, it’s a clear fucking mess. You usually tidy up a bit for him, but you hadn’t this time—no, there’s old underwear and socks everywhere, shirts and hoodies too, empty cans and pizza boxes. It’s a bit gross, actually, he admits while scratching his neck. 

The drawer he’d dedicated to you in his dresser is open and empty. Did you take everything to get it cleaned? You are a bit of a neat freak—unlike him. Suppose that would be something you’d do. Weird of you not to take any of his laundry as well, though.

Oh, well. He shoots you a “gn bby” on his phone, then collapses on his bed and falls asleep—smiles a bit as he does so—it’s nice not having you here to tell him to undress and go shower first. Yeah, you can be such a nag sometimes.

He wakes up late in the day. You’re not there. Usually, you come over to wake him with some breakfast. He checks his phone—you didn’t reply last night. It isn't that weird—you were probably already asleep at that point. But why didn’t you answer when you woke up? There’s no way you’re still asleep, right? 

Fuck, he’s hungry.

“gm,” he sends—contemplates asking you what’s up but doesn’t. You must be busy with something not to have checked your phone yet.

The entire day goes by, and you still don’t answer. He doesn’t take it too hard. But he won’t deny being a bit miffed.

It’s when three days go by that he’s well and truly confused. He’s sent you several texts at this point, even called you a few times, getting a little worried something had happened to you before he got the message that he’d been blocked. 

What the fuck’s going on with you?

He thinks back to the last time he saw you. What did you even say? He can’t remember. Something about being tired—something, something—I’m leaving.

He swallows thickly. No… No way, that’s what you meant, right? No, can’t be. You love him. You’re his pretty girlfriend. The one that comes with his food and later comes back for his bowl. The one that sucks his dick under his desk as he goes on a kill streak. The warm pillow he uses when he finally drags his bad posture to the bed and falls asleep.

No. Where the fuck are you? Are you sick or something? Yeah, must be, right? So delirious you’ve managed to block him somehow. You were probably only trying to call him back. You were never so tech-savvy—a fever must have worsened it. He should go to you. He can bring his pc. Or no, he can get you and bring you back here. Yeah, that would be easier.

He calls your roommate, tells her he’s coming, and asks her to let you know to get ready.

“What are you talking about?” she says through a piece of gum—her voice all dull as if bothered to have picked up the phone. Or, rather, she sounds a bit drunk. There’s music in the background. “Girl broke up with you, didn’t she?”

His blood runs cold at that. A lump forms in his throat—a thick, unmovable lump that makes him think he’s about to throw up. “N-no, she didn’t.”

“Hey!” she calls out, not to him, though—she’s covered the mic with her hand. He only hears the muted distortion of voices and bass through it before your roommate comes back to him. 

“Sorry—she’s telling me a different story,” she relays, popping her gum in his ear before sneering—or, at least, that’s what he pictures. “Honestly, how long did you think she was gonna put up with cleaning up after you anyway? I know I wouldn’t last half as long as she has.” The lump in his throat grows thicker, swelling up until it's choking him. “Anyway, good luck.”

She hangs up, and he drops his phone. There’s a crack as it hits the floor. And then something wet on his face. Something hot. Something searing as it tracks down his cheeks and drops off like acid onto the floor. 

What should he do? What do you want him to do? To tidy up? He can do that! He’s not some imbecile like your friend makes him out to be who can’t even do the basics of chores. Of course, he can! And so that’s what he does—hands shaking as he tidies. 

It feels foreign, and he’s not even sure where to start. And it quickly proves to be a lot worse than what he’d thought. Beyond stinky clothes and dirty dishes, there’s trash, rotten food, sticky surfaces, and other things he can’t even put a name to. It’s gross, actually. Downright disgusting. How long’s it been like this?

Even after everything’s put in order, there’s a smell that lingers and no end to the dust he has to clean—cringing at the little insects that come crawling out of their hiding spots. Geez—has it really been this bad?

He falls asleep on the floor at some point—having completely forgotten to eat—then wakes up feeling awful the next day. The kitchen is barren, and so he orders take-out. Eats and then goes back to cleaning. There’s still a lot left.

It’s barely recognizable once he’s done. Nice and bright and tidy and clean. There’s a sum of a dozen large black trash bags in the hallway he needs to take out, but other than that, everything’s perfect—perfectly presentable to have you come over again.

Still, he gives it a couple of days. He knows you. You’re going to change your mind. You’re too sweet to be breaking up with him. Too nice. You wouldn’t just leave him, not like this. Yeah, you’re only trying to teach him a lesson—after a while, you’ll come back on your own. You’ll be ecstatic over what he’s done with the place—apologetic even as you tell him you were wrong about him—and then everything will go back to normal. Make-up sex and everything. 

But you don’t. No. You’re nowhere to be seen or found—even after a week’s passed. You’re still gone. And he’s starting to believe you might just be gone for real.

No. He sees what this is. You’re waiting for the grand gesture, aren’t you? He never knew you could be so petty—but it’s actually kind of cute. Fine then. He’ll play along—come crawling to you on his hands and knees with the best apology you’ve ever heard. And then you can end this whole thing.

And so he finds himself at your place, pressing the buzzer, not knowing if he’s catching you at home—if not, he’ll just try again tomorrow, and so on until he does. He hears someone at the other side of the door—they must be looking at him through the peephole. It takes a while before the locks click and open.

“Hey…”

It’s you. 

“Hi,” he smiles in return, happy to see you. He’s been so nervous, but somehow, your face and voice are enough to calm him down.

“What are you doing here?” you ask.

Oh, of course. You weren’t expecting him. Still, it feels weird of you not to gush happily over the surprise and rush him inside. It’s not every day he goes outside—you should be a little impressed.

But no, of course, you’re playing the part of fed-up girlfriend—acting hard-to-get. He’s got you—he’ll play his part, so don’t worry.

“I wanted to apologize,” he announces. “I haven’t been a good boyfriend—I see that now. But I’ll be better from now on, I promise—come over, and I’ll prove it to you.”

As far as apologies and promises go, he thinks that sounded pretty smooth—not too desperate, not too demanding. Pretty slick, if he can say so himself.

And so, why aren’t you smiling? He can understand being nervous—so is he—but why do you look guilty?

“That’s really nice. And… I’m really happy you’re looking better. But…” you start, and his gut’s already wrenching. “I think you need more time for yourself to just… enjoy what it’s like to be independent, you know?” 

No, he doesn’t know. What are you saying? And why are you holding onto the doorknob like that? Holding it steady as if you’re planning to shut it as soon as you can—why?

“Thanks for stopping by. It was nice seeing you—it really was. Take care of yourself, okay?”

It’s shutting—his plans—disappearing right before his face. He knows he isn’t owed a second shot, but this isn’t fair. You can’t be serious—are you?

“What? No, wait—” He stops you, weighing his own hand on the door, keeping it open. “Listen, I’m good now. I’ve pulled it together, you’ll see—I’ll come in, and we’ll talk about it.”

You resist, using both hands to almost push the door back on him. “I have company, so—”

“What’s up?” another voice announces himself—deep and presentful. He comes into view behind you—taller than you, taller than him—looking down his nose at him with a raised brow. “Who’s this?”

You look a bit panicked—no, embarrassed. “Oh, uhm—”

Why are you embarrassed? “Who’s that?” The bitterness in his voice surprises even himself—loaded with the same type of spite he seethes with when players use cheats to win.

“He’s an old friend, but he was just leaving,” you say, but you’re not speaking to him. No, you stroke a hand over the guy’s broad chest, looking up at him apologetically before turning back to him again, voice strict in a way he’s never heard, “Bye.”

“But—”

You shut the door. On him. In his face. 

His skin crawls—goosefleshed and chilled. Was that a date? No, right? You have a brother, don’t you? Yes, must be. No way you’re dating. There’s no way, right? It’s only been a week… no way you’ve moved on in only a week, right?

You looked really nice—wearing that sweet blouse with all the little bows and that cute little skirt you’d always wear out on dates. Damn, when was the last time the two of you went on a date? Must be months ago, if he can’t even remember. 

Come to think of it, the two of you would always have sex when you wore that skirt. Yeah, it’s your fuck-me-skirt. Are you going to fuck this guy too now? On the first date? Is it your first date? No, probably not—who has their first date at home? That’s more like a third or even fourth or fifth date, right? Were you dating him while the two of you were still together? Have you been cheating on him all this time? Laughing at him behind his back—talking shit with your bitch-roommate? About what a pathetic loser he is? About how he’s a slob who can’t take care of himself? How he needs you? Have you!?

He shouldn't be texting you all this from a random number. He knows that, but the full realization doesn’t dawn on him before it’s too late, and he’s sent you over a hundred messages, some small and others at such a length they take up more than what the screen allows. What the fuck’s he doing? He’d bought the new sim so that he could contact you in an emergency, not to spam you with accusations like some crazy ex. 

He starts deleting them—in some desperate wishful thinking, with the hope you wouldn’t see them, but then the dotted line starts beating, jumping in taunt. His eyes are wide as he stares at it, holding his breath. Ten seconds pass before it disappears—no message sent.

You blocked him again. And he can’t blame you.

And yet, he can’t let you go, either. 

He spends the first few weeks hauled up at home—his flat becoming as trashed as ever as he doomscrolls all your socials through a fake account. You’ve deleted all the pictures of him—even the ones of yourself when you’ve been with him. There’s no evidence the two of you were even dating.

How could you do this? How could you erase him like this?

He has questions, and he needs answers. You can’t just do this—the two of you haven’t even had the talk—he hasn’t even got to say his side yet!

He just wants to talk to you—why won’t you let him? He just wants you to hear him out. He deserves that much. But since you’re not giving him any option of contacting you, he’s had to resort to medieval methods—lurking outside your apartment like some creep, eyes peeled on your building’s entrance, waiting for you to show.

He’s there for hours, patiently—refusing to go home—thinking he’ll be there all night if he has to.

But then there you are—coming out of the complex, stepping down the alley, dressed all nice for the night. You seem to be in a hurry—are you on your way to another date? Well, wherever you’re going and whoever you’re meeting, they can wait.

“I need to talk—” he doesn’t get the words out.

You’d noticed him following you and tried to out-pace him—make him lose interest. But the area your flat’s situated in is a sketchy one—at least for girls, and you’d made the decision long ago that you’d never walk outside unprepared. And so, as soon as feeling the stranger's hand on your arm, you whip around to maze him right in the face.

“Argh!” he screeches and stumbles back, hands covering his eyes. “Fuck—ow-fuckin’dammit, shit—what the fuck did you do that for? Fuck—”

You were going to make a run for it, but the familiar voice has you halt—wait a minute…

You call his name, and sure enough, it’s him who looks up at you through the teary redness of your pepper spray assault. 

“Oh my god, shit—I’m so sorry—I thought you were a—” you stop yourself. “Fuck—never mind. Come—” You link his arm with yours and lead him back inside the apartment you just left. “I’ll help you rinse—I’m so sorry.”

You rush him to the bathroom, seating him atop the toilet lid as you wet a cloth and start soaking his face.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t see it was you—” you apologize again. “Are your eyes okay?”

“Not really,” he hisses through clenched teeth, though steals himself soon after. “But they're getting better…”

His face unswells after a good thirty minutes, after which he’s able to keep his eyes open again—sore and no doubt bloodshot, yet fine, if not for that. You’ve moved him into the living room instead, having done what you could to rinse off your attack—having provided him with an apologetic glass of water. Now sitting with him, waiting for the effects to wear off.

It feels nice to be with you again despite the circumstances—but it’s awkward how you don’t speak.

“You look nice,” he says—trying to break the tension. It’s not as if the two of you are strangers, and so you shouldn’t act like it.

“Oh, I’m going to a party—roomie’s already there, so…” you say, sitting at the edge of your seat. “If you’re okay, I should probably head out… soon.”

A silence fills his head, as well as the room—a heavy stillness before a single word leaves him. “What?” His face sinks—part confusion, part offense, and something else—something that makes his voice come out accusatory and outraged, “You maze me in the face, and you’re just gonna fuck off to a party?”

Your eyes widen.“Well… it’s—”

“No—what the fuck?” He stands abruptly. His head’s so empty except for the blinding darkness slowly overtaking it—leaving him feeling boiling and all but nuclear. “That’s all I get? Are you fucking serious?” He’s shouting now—and then he’s on you, with one hand fisting your pretty dress and another around your throat. “First, you dump me without warning, assault me like some maniac, give me a lousy apology, and then tell me to fuck off? What the fuck’s wrong with you?”

You splutter his name and push, but it’s like fighting a wall.

“Where are you actually going dressed like that, huh? What’s so fucking important? Is it another date? What, with that same oaf I saw here last time? Or is it someone new already? I know how flighty you can be. I mean, fuck, I knew you were a little freaky, but I didn’t know I was dating a fucking slut!”

His strength comes as a complete and utter devastating shock. You’d think sitting in a chair all day would make any muscle obsolete—but the hands holding you don’t right now is more than anything you could hope to fight against.

“Stop! Get off me—” you cry, thrashing hopelessly as he lifts your dress and rips your lace panty down your thighs. 

A growl in his voice and nothing but rage on his face.

“If anyone can get it—I might as well help myself.”

♡ INSPO

♡ BNHA – Shigaraki, Dabi, Denki, Kirishima ♡ BLLK – Nagi

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[ghostedbunnie]

there's something empowering in holding the razor to simon's throat when shaving his face for him. it's peak intimacy for someone like him who doesn't trust easy.

but to you he is like a well adjusted cat, purring with his eyes closed while showing his belly. his most vulnerable parts.

it warms your heart and you need to show it so you take the razor away from his throat for a second to drop a barely there kiss on his freshly shaved cheek. simon only reacts with satisfied hum and cracking one eye open.

"what was that for?" he asks.

"just felt like it." you shrug not wanting to be all sappy.