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thisgirlnamedblusy · 9 months ago

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My beautiful, stupid maid

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem! Maid! Reader

Warnings: G!P Donna, smut, Minors DNI, slightly dark themes, Donna's POV

Word count: 5,080

Summary: I don't know why I don't want you to leave...

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!! Requests are open!! I love you all!!!

I thought I like to be alone.

Everyone told me: you need some company. They don’t know me. My family, as they call themselves, care about me, or so they think they do. I don't need helpless maids running through the halls. I don't need to waste time on people I don't care about. My life doesn’t revolve around achieving power, around needing the feeling of being above others, like my siblings do.

I was always a lonely woman, and Mother Miranda's gift could change many things, but not that. Not that.

Angie was everything I needed.

I know what they think about me, what they talk about: “Poor Donna, she's so lonely…” “She's not mentally developed,” “she only cares about her stupid dolls…” Comments that they think I don't hear.

To be honest, I never cared about that. I know what I’m, what place in the world there was for me. My dolls, my house, my loneliness. Sometimes I lose my mind and cry without wanting to. Sometimes I want to end the meaninglessness that my life has become. Angie takes me away from those thoughts, she calms me down. I didn't need anything but to keep serene and continue existing.

At least I thought I didn't need anything else.

Then you showed up.

“Mother Miranda has granted me the honor of working for you, Lady Beneviento,” you said, appearing in my house, in my territory. In all this time, many villagers had been stupid enough to approach my house.

None of them returned. Thanks to the gift that was given to me, I could enjoy seeing the fear in their eyes, seeing how terrible their thoughts are. At first I had to admit that I was even afraid of myself.

The human mind is so fragile... How much people can suffer just with their own memories is incredible. For some reason, I didn't feel the need to torture you.

You seemed shy, but you didn't stop smiling, even with my fervent refusal. I couldn't disobey Mother Miranda, and I couldn't stop looking into those bright, strange eyes.

Angie was just a lost part of my consciousness, some thoughts that left my mind when I granted her the gift of life. She thought that for you to work for me was a good idea. Not me.

I didn't even know your name, but I opened the doors of my house to you. Who was I to argue with Mother Miranda's demands? Maybe I just got carried away with Angie.

I tried to avoid you. I didn't want to think that you were here, with me, that I was no longer alone. But you... You came to me, like a fly to a light trap, blinded, surely by your innocence, heading towards danger.

“Is everything to your liking, my lady?” “Would you like me to make you some tea, my lady?” Always those stupid questions. Hearing your voice was nothing but torture for me, a reminder that you were still there, that, no matter how much your presence bothered me, I was not capable of throwing you out or of making you hallucinate so you would run away from here, so you would never come back.

Silence was always my response, the affirmation that I didn't want you to be here. I have never had the ability or the need to talk to anyone, not even to my siblings. You were not going to be an exception.

My lady... What stupidity is that? I didn't want to be your lady. I didn't want you to consider yourself my property. I was alone, and I liked it.

Unfortunately, time only revealed your annoying presence. My routine is always the same and to trip with you was inevitable. I curse the Black Gods for turning my gaze towards yours.

What a maid... You were clumsy. You didn't know how to clean properly. You served no purpose other than to disrupt my existence. But I could never hurt you. It didn't matter how many vases you broke, how many times you burned the food. I felt incapable of scolding you, of throwing you out of my house.

Someday I woke up with the decision to put an end to that stuff, to make you suffer and disappear forever. Those thoughts faded the moment my hidden gaze met yours again.

That smile, those eyes... That messy hair and the dress that framed your figure made me back away, give you another chance. Chance? I didn't want you to be here. I never wanted you to come to my house. I didn't want to see your stupid smile. I didn't want to, and yet, I felt the need to see you.

Are you also a creation of Mother Miranda?

I know that she experiments on villagers, that she creates aberrations. Could you be one of them? What exactly has the Cadou done to you? Were you some kind of sorceress?

I've read too many books about witches, about mermaids who trick sailors into taking their souls. I always thought they were stupid stories to scare children. But the more I look at you, the more I think you're like a witch from those stories, or like a mermaid. Do you want to trick me into taking my soul? Too late, girl, it's been a long time since I had a soul.

“Good morning, my lady, did you sleep well?” you asked every morning. My ability to ignore you faltered over time. Anyway, I couldn't lose anything by nodding.

That was my worst mistake, making you believe that I was somehow communicating with you. That small gesture gave you more confidence in yourself. It made you believe that you could annoy me even more.

One night I tried to relax, sit by the fireplace and read another of those mermaid stories. Suddenly, I felt the need to know more about these creatures. Somehow, I was afraid that you were one of them. That the movement my head made, forcing me to follow you with my gaze, was some kind of spell from you.

“Excuse me, my lady,” you said to me, with the nerve to put a hand on my shoulder. I was startled, but I knew how to hide it so you wouldn't notice.

I nodded for you to talk, even though I didn't want you to, what is happening to me?

“I'm a bit bored, I was wondering if you could recommend me a book,” you said with your hands together in front of your body, with that formality that I knew you didn't have.

I was thoughtful for a moment. My hands shook as they held Homer's Odyssey. Your mermaid song was not going to be able to defeat me, you stupid maid.

“A book?” I asked without realizing it, letting out my voice, a voice that I hadn't used for a long time and that I didn't want to use precisely with you. I had to calm down, or you would trick me.

“Yes, well... Books about plants are interesting but...” You said, looking away from my hateful gaze.

Did you mean to joke? What made you think you could joke with me? Moron.

“I've been looking for something a bit more entertaining but I can't find anything. Also, most of them are in Italian and I… Well, I can’t read them.”

I shook my head. Fortunately, you couldn't see my face. A smile involuntarily spread across it.

“My family was Italian,” I said in a hoarse voice, giving her an absurd explanation, which she certainly didn’t deserve.

“Oh, okay,” you whispered nervously.

Why were you nervous? Oh, sure... In these three months and five days you hadn't heard me speak. I have a horrible voice, right? I'm sure you hate me even more now. Everybody hates me.

The light from the fireplace rested on your face, dancing in your eyes, on your skin. Have you hypnotized me? I couldn’t stop looking at you.

I sighed listlessly, looking for an excuse for your eyes to stop enchanting me. I got up from the couch, looking for something that would keep you entertained, quiet. Your voice is beautiful, but I don't want to hear it. Beautiful?

“For whom the bell tolls... Ernest Hemingway,” you said when I finally gave you a book so you would leave me alone. You just had to take the damn book and get out of my sight. It wasn't that difficult, was it? “It’s a good one?”

“Yes, it is,” I responded with a dry throat, nervous about the subtle contact my hand made brushing against yours. When I touched you, the porcelain of my dolls came to my mind. Soft, delicate…

“Thank you, I promise that tomorrow I won't burn the toast,” you said amused, were you trying to make me laugh? Good luck with that.

Something had changed in your attitude. I wondered if hearing me talk had anything to do with it. I didn't want you to be here. I hate you, stupid maid.

Time passed slowly. I found myself counting the days, the hours you spent with me. Your overconfidence was disgusting. Some nights, you sat next to me, reading that book, commenting each of the things that seemed curious to you. I have already read it, you silly maid. I don't need to hear your... Your beautiful voice.

I've never been right in the head, I know that. Since I was little I had problems. Problems with my appearance, with people... I have never gotten over it and I never will. My past is a field of thorns that stick into my skin every night when I try to sleep.

But... My demons were not keeping me awake, your eyes were, those two beautiful pearls that you had on your face, ones that I couldn't stop looking at. What are you doing to me? What is happening to me? I feel weak, tired. I'm not hungry, I'm not sleepy. I don't feel like getting out of my bed, to face your gaze again.

Sitting at my old dressing table, I look at my deformed face in a mirror. I'm a monster. I should have gotten used to seeing myself like that, to having that horrible thing on my face, just as I got used to the changes in my body when I became Mother Miranda's daughter.

I felt my heart sink as I looked at myself in that mirror. A deformed monster, a strange creature, an aberration. Those statements that were going through my head were more present than ever.

“What's wrong, Donna?” Angie asked, climbing onto my lap. My sweet and faithful Angie, I don't know what I would have done without you.

“I'm a monster, Angie,” I murmured, with a tear running down my untouched cheek. I can't tell how many times I have burst into tears because of that. That night was different.

“No, no, that's not true,” the doll said. I wish I could believe her words. Angie was my creation. She was part of my consciousness. She would never hurt me... I don't even know what Angie is exactly anymore. “The maid likes you…”

“What?” I said startled.

I know Angie wanted to make me feel better, but she was never particularly good at it.

She couldn't lie to me. She didn't have the ability to do so.

Do you like me? What nonsense. I know you don’t. I know it's impossible. Anyway…why am I worried? Why I didn’t stop thinking about those words?

Love is a luxury that I could never enjoy. Loving a woman, being loved... Those were just fantasies in my head, a fictitious feeling that, like mermaids, only lived in my books.

Every day I kept seeing your stupid… Beautiful… Smile. You were still here, you hadn't left. I couldn't say when I started to worry about you leaving. I didn’t want you to be here but... I didn't want you to leave. I had never felt so many contradictions at the same time. I had never suffered so many anxiety attacks in the safety of my room.

You never saw me lose my temper. I didn't want you to see me like that. For some reason, I didn't want to.

I tried to push you away, but you were getting closer, touching me with your dress, touching my hand when you handed me a cup of tea. Were you really the one who did it? Was my hand subtly caressing your skin? It didn't seem to bother you either.

You were still here, like every day, torturing me with your eyes, with your smile, with your movements when you walked near me. Your gaze was tender and respectful, but your body wasn’t. Your body caused sensations that I always ignored in me.

“That doll is beautiful, Donna,” you whispered, taking my tea to the workshop. That place was always a refuge, the only place in the house where my thoughts were not focused on you.

“Thank you,” I said. To let my voice speak for me didn’t take long. I had been doing it for so long that I no longer stopped to think why it wasn't difficult for me to do it with you.

“Look, it has my eyes,” you said amused, gently picking up the newly made doll.

A heaviness in my head said there was something wrong. Yes, you were right. That damn doll had your beautiful eyes. Wait, shouldn't I say: That beautiful doll had your damn eyes?

“Yes, well, I...” I stammered, confused. I hadn't even realized it. Even without thinking about you, I was doing it. Even when I made my dolls, I put your same hair to them, your eyes, the marks that I could see on your skin… I was no longer safe even in my own workshop.

“It's very nice,” you whispered, returning the doll to me with a sigh. “Anyway, I think I should start making the soup… You liked it with a bit of dill, right?”

“Yes... I... Yes, yes,” I stammered, nodding, but without looking at your face. I was just looking at the doll, at your vivid portrait made unconsciously. I could no longer deny how obsessed I was with you, that I thought about you even without doing it.

I refused to believe it was love or anything like that. At night I tossed and turned in bed, thinking about what spell you had used on me. Your eyes stopped appearing in my nightmares, and now they were present in my most beautiful dreams. In them I see you, I see us together, close, with our hands intertwined. They were just dreams... Dreams in which I don't have that horrible thing on my face, in which your eyes shine when you look at me, in which your lips... In which your lips are too close to mine.

I felt unable to ignore the sensations that the mere fact of being close to you caused me. Love is something absurd, a waste of time. Everyone wants to hurt you, Donna, don't forget that.

My head fought with my heart, with the trembling of my hands when I was close to yours. You always were here with that smile, with that look, making me unable to think about anything but in your lips on mine, in your body very close to mine.

The nights got worse. Drawing your image in my thoughts usually helped me to stay calm and sleep, dreaming about you. Not anymore. I can no longer let myself be carried away by my feelings. The sensations were different, physical, overwhelming. I no longer imagined your smile, or a simple kiss. No, now your body was naked next to mine, now my caresses no longer wandered over your face, but over your chest, your waist, your legs…

Lust is a sin, or so my parents said. I was never ignorant, or stupid. My body had needs, and even more so after the change that Cadou produced in me. I thought it was routine, something necessary...

One more task to be calm, to relax. My mind traveled to unknown places, imagining faceless women while I soothed myself with my hands. It was pleasant, but empty, lacking in feelings or the desire to do it. I simply wanted to relieve my body so that my mind wouldn't become destabilized.

That night, my body was calling me again. No matter how much I tried to get my excitement to relax, I wasn't able to do so. I wanted something, my body wanted something, and I had to give that to it.

My hands moved down my nightclothes to my trembling erection, stroking it gently. Maybe it was my impression, but I could feel much more than other times... The difference? There were no longer faceless women in my head or erotic stories hidden in one of my books. I was thinking about you.

I felt the need to end that discomfort between my legs as quickly as possible and for some reason, I thought that including you in my lascivious thoughts might help. Quite the opposite. The pleasure of my hand going up and down, the gasps that came out of my mouth involuntarily made me want to go slower. I wanted to keep thinking about what it would be like to be inside of you, to hear you moan with your mermaid voice, to see you closing those bright eyes while I made you mine.

My movements were fast, but intense. My head was imagining how good it would feel to have the images in my head come true. To release myself didn't take long, but I felt I enjoyed doing it too much.

Cleaning myself in the bathroom, I looked the mirror again. My face was red and my breathing was labored. I wiped my hands with a towel and stood there, looking at my reflection, feeling a pang in my heart at the thought that everything I dream of were just fantasies.

I felt guilty for enjoying myself at your expense, for masturbating thinking about you, but... I also felt frustrated by how absurd was to think about how far my feelings had gone. So much so that I lost the little decency I had, the deal I made with myself not to fall in love, not to feel the need to hug a human body instead of a porcelain doll.

In my incipient desperation, I called my sister Alcina, telling her everything that was happening to me. Angie gave me nothing but absurd advices. I needed the opinion of someone more... Experienced.

It was of no use to me. According to her, my need to make that stupid maid mine was absurd. “You are a powerful woman, Donna. If you want something from that girl, just take it. She will never contradict you, for her own sake.”

Everything was so easy for a woman like Alcina...

A dark part of my mind seriously considered following her advice. I never felt remorse for torturing those stupid villagers, why would I feel remorse for taking what I want to make mine?

But no, that part of me that I'm ashamed of had to shut up. I couldn't just… No, I couldn't do it. I didn't want to do it, but I wanted to. I wanted you in an unbearable way.

The nights were torture, the days were even worse. At least at night I just had to imagine you, I didn't have to feel you, I didn't have to touch your hand. Yes, you kept rubbing your hand with mine. Have you ever done that? It was me? I wouldn't know how to answer. I would like to ask you, but I don't dare to do it.

You are killing me, you stupid, beautiful maid. You kill me slowly, you make me fall in love with you without mercy, you look at me, you talk to me... You are here with me. I’m here with you. You don't want to leave. I don't want you to leave.

One afternoon, I tried to escape from my carnal desires, from the feelings that filled my head. I was painting dolls, sewing without rest. I had been doing it for hours, I didn't know how many.

“Sorry for bothering you,” you said politely, entering disrespectfully, interrupting my bitterness.

“What do you want? I'm busy,” my words were cold, lacking that softness with which they always spoke to you.

“I'm sorry, it's just that... It's just that I... I have to clean this up. It's the last room before being able to rest,” you said shyly. Was it me or your cheeks were blushing? What were you thinking about? You were thinking about another way to fool me? Stop it. You've already done it. I feel that if I were a sailor, I would already be drifting, desperately searching to hear your siren song again.

“Okay,” I said briefly, avoiding your tender smile, looking at that doll, looking at your eyes on it again.

As you moved around my workshop, my clumsy and trembling hands made the task of painting correctly impossible. With you here, to concentrate was impossible for me.

My thoughts began to spin out of control as I tilted my head to look at you. There you were, leaning over one of the dusty tables. You looked at me, like you knew I was doing the same thing. I looked away and squeezed my hands tightly.

If you want something from her, just take it.

The phrase my sister said appeared in my head suddenly, treacherously, just at the moment when my crazy gaze was directed at the small spot that you had very close to your neckline. One I couldn't forget.

My actions took control of my body, causing me to get up slowly, like a shadow that stalks you without realizing it.

I wanted to tell you so many things... I wanted to be able to talk to you about my feelings before approaching you from behind, running a hand through your hair, brushing it away from your shoulders.

You stood still, but you didn't complain, you didn't turn around and slap me for my impudence. No, you seemed like butter under my touch, under my hands on your shoulders, on your neck.

An unexpected gasp left your lips as I got closer and closer, feeling your subtle but intoxicating perfume, feeling the heat of your body passing through my dress.

“I can't stop thinking about you...” I whispered without meaning to, confessing an undeniable truth, confessing that you are not the stupid maid that I didn’t want to have. You were the girl I wanted to love.

“Donna...” You sighed, when I removed the veil from my face to place my lips on your pale skin, behind your perfect ear.

When I started to be just Donna to you? What about the my lady thing?

Kissing your skin was like a cold breeze on a hot day, like laughing when you're sad. It was a feeling of relief, of pleasure.

Even being behind you, I could feel your heavy breathing. What did you feel? Were you in hell or in paradise?

I couldn't know and I didn't want to know. My hands worked on their own, covering every inch of your body while my mouth was cruel to your neck.

Having your chest in my hands, passing my fingers through the fabric that covered your breasts... All that things I imagined at night were mine in that moment. A part of my conscience was screaming for me to stop, to be sure that you wanted to do it. No, dear maid, I wasn’t going to ask.

You turned around slowly, letting my hands continue roaming your body. You weren't supposed to do that. You were supposed to run away.

“I think about you too...” You whispered, moving my black veil aside. There was nothing to fear anymore. You would be with me or you would disappear from my life. My face didn't matter. I didn’t care if you thought I was a monster. I was willing to force you.

Your smile remained tender, relaxed at the sight of my exposed face. There was no horror in your eyes, disgust in your gaze. No, there was only… Peace, tranquility, and that smile that kept me awake at nights.

“You are even more beautiful than I imagined,” you said, bringing your hand to my deformed cheek, running your fingers over my scar, as if it were nothing, as if it were of no importance to you.

I grabbed your wrist to stop you before leaning towards you, before placing my lips on yours. I had never kissed anyone and I was thankful I hadn't. Your kiss was my first one.

Little by little I moved closer, making your back collide with the edge of the table. I couldn't stop kissing you. I didn't want to stop kissing you. Your lips were addictive. They were everything I had imagined. Your body against mine, your hands going down my waist, you and me...

I could no longer contain my desire to make you mine, to love you, to make love you. I was willing to force you to do it, to not listen to your screams, to make you run away. I didn't have to. Apparently, I wasn't the only one who rubbed my hands with yours. You did it too.

My need to love you was put before romance, caresses, kisses and affectionate whispers in your ear. I had spent too much time thinking about how I felt about you. I didn't want to tell you, I wanted to show you.

I lifted your body by your legs, sitting you on the table, drowning in your kisses, letting my hands touch whatever they wanted... Just like yours. I felt like such a simple act was more than enough to feel my arousal rubbing against my underwear. You were irresistible, a goddess, a mermaid, a witch... But above all, you were going to be mine.

I looked at you, wishing it wasn't a dream and you were really there. You smiled again. What have you done to me? What did I do to you? Have you fooled me? Have I tricked you? Did you also think of me as if I were a mermaid?

Absurd questions that my body didn't have time for. I needed you, my beautiful maid. With a hasty movement, I put my hands into your dress while you hung around my neck, making to concentrate on loving you harder for me, kissing me eagerly, with a desire that I was unaware of.

Your underwear disappeared around your ankles as your hands left my neck, to play on my chest, to free me from my own clothes. Were you in a hurry as I was?

When I finally had access to you, my body moved on its own, lifting your legs slightly, remaining enthralled by those hidden corners of your body.

You didn't say anything about what was between my legs. You just looked at it curiously. I don't like being looked at, tesoro, you should know that.

You bit your lip, but you didn't say anything. You just pulled me so that my erection rubbed against your wetness. There was nothing else to say, but there were a lot of things to do.

I entered you hastily, feeling a wave of unimaginable pleasure. I was not delicate, nor kind. I didn't know if someone had ever loved you, I didn't want to know either. Your walls hugged me tightly, keeping me right where you wanted, making you moan in a way that I already knew would drive me crazy.

You had more clothes than in my dreams, but the sensations you sent to my body every time they moved exceeded my expectations. You hugged me so well... You took it so well... You were perfect, as if your body was made just for me.

“Don't stop, Donna...” You begged, writhing on that table. My thrusts had relaxed as I looked at you, as I closely admired your beauty without the veil between us. I just shook my head, kissing you passionately as my hips resumed their movements.

“I think... I think I love you...” I whispered with a voice low enough so you couldn't hear it, camouflaging it between our moans. There came a time when I decided to close my eye and not look at you anymore.

Behind you, the dolls that I made rested, looking at me. They were judging me. I wasn't going to let my problems ruin that moment. My sick mind was not going to stop me from continuing to make love to you.

“My God, Donna... I'm so close...” You murmured, ignoring my declaration of love. Why would I want you to answer me? I said it in a way I which you wouldn't hear me.

My hips went out of control and my arms hugged your body, keeping it close to me, not letting you stop hugging me with your walls, not letting me stop making my way inside of you.

I stopped just when the pleasure became unbearable, letting my heat flood inside you, releasing myself inside you, making you mine forever.

You panted, exhausted. Your nails had scratched my skin as I cum. Did that mean you did it too?

“I think... I think I love you too,” you murmured, responding late to my statement, to my confession, hugging me, kissing me with affection, with that affection that I lacked.

“Don’t dare to leave,” I said with a dark voice, before consuming myself again in your kisses.

“I won't do it,” you answered on my lips, keeping me inside of you, not wanting to separate you from me.

I thought I liked being alone, but now I know I couldn't live without you.

#donna beneviento #donna beneviento x reader #re8 donna #re8 village #oneshot

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icaruspendragon · 8 months ago

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excerpts from a eulogy for a complicated father

"I think something people don’t always think about when it comes to funerals is that this isn’t for him, it’s for us. For us to find comfort in words and in one another as we say goodbye. The words I have written are to honor my father, but they are also a way to remind us that mourning, that grief, is born from love.

And the bravest thing we can do is love. Because to love someone is to disarm yourself, to put your heart in their hands and say, “I know you will wrench me in half, but my love is stronger than my fear of the agony lurking in the shadows.” To take that inevitable agony and say, “I’m okay with my chest aching for the rest of my days because that ache will prove that you existed and I got to love you.” To look loss and agony and the aching hunger of emptiness in the face and proudly proclaim, “In every universe my heart will be placed in your hands because I will always love you all-consumingly, but I long to prove I could have loved you better.”

Everyone here is mourning him, but we’re all mourning a different man.

As I look around the room, I see the faces of people mourning a friend, a coworker, a brother, a son, a mentor, a husband, a member of your family regardless of if you share blood or not. A man achingly human and important to so many.

But I stand before you all, my fellow mourners, as someone unfortunately unique.

I am the only person in this room who is a daughter mourning her father. So I hope you’ll both forgive and understand me speaking from the perspective of a newly fatherless child.

My dad wasn’t perfect. And I spent a lot of time wondering why he did things the way he did. I spent a lot of time being angry at him because I didn’t understand. And there are some things I still don’t understand, but now that I’m older I can see that was his way of trying.

And now that he’s gone I wish I would have told him I understand a little better. That now I know he was cursed by his father. And that his father was cursed by his. I want to tell him now I know pain is just something we inherit from our fathers. And that I know anger is just another thing we get from them.

Because I am angry.

I’m angry at him for being stubborn. I’m angry that I have to suffer the consequences of his actions. I’m angry he never unlearned what his father taught him. He never learned he doesn’t have to endure pain. That he could ask for help when he was hurting. Because he had been hurting. He’d been hurting for days and on his final night claimed, “I’ll go to the doctor if I’m not feeling better tomorrow.” And then tomorrow arrived without him.

So yes. I’m angry. I’m angry at him.

But I’m more angry at myself for not telling him that he hurt me but I’d forgiven him a long time ago. And though the hurt he caused was big, my love was bigger. And that the hurt had faded, but my love never did.

I’m angry at him because I can’t remember the last time he said “I love you.”

And I’m angry at myself because I can’t remember the last time I said those words to him, either."

#grief #tw grief #guess whose dad has been dead for 1 (one) week today

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star-girl69 · 1 year ago

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Fade Into You

Clarisse La Rue x Fem!AphroditeCabin!Reader

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sypnosis: you fell first, but clarisse fell harder. requested by anonymous!

a/n: decided to feed y’all today….. two fics i’m a monster that just creates and creates. this was so funny bc i kept accidentally writing angst and i had to stop myself. they’re allowed to have crushes on each other. it’s ok. this was hard anyways i hope you all enjoy!!

Fade Into You - Mazzy Star

warnings: just so cutesy, swearing, mentions of violence, mentions of blood and injury, soft clarisse i looooovvvvveeeeee you, tell me if i missed anything!!

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Your chest heaves. You’ve never ran that fast or that far before in your life. Your satyr protector runs ahead to get the healers, and you crash against some random building- a tool shed, maybe?

You groan, crouching down to clutch at your lower leg sporting a large gash running blood. You don’t remember how it happened. Maybe it was when you fell? You could have sliced it open on an unfortunately sharp stick.

You don’t even want to think about the fact that the stupid monster thing chasing you could have gotten close enough to claw at you.

“Hey, hey,” someone says, crouching down next to you. She’s wearing an orange shirt. Her hair is curly, her eyes are pretty and brown, and oxygen isn’t getting to your brain so she kind of seems like an angel. “Oh, wow,” she mutters, looking at your leg. “One second, ‘kay?”

“Wait,” you say, grabbing onto her forearm. She looks up at you.

“I’m going two steps away, dummy.” She laughs, and you’ll remember that sound for the rest of your life.

She leaves you, and you almost want to cry because you feel so alone. You’ve just been told you’re a demigod, then you were forced to run through the woods, your heart is still hammering and your leg fucking burns.

But she was right. It was only two steps, and she comes back, the door of what must be some sort of storage shutting behind her.

She leans back down and presses a towel against your gash.

You hiss.

“Sorry,”

“You’re not.” She laughs again. More beautiful music in your ears.

“I’m not,” she agrees.

You fall into silence, it’s so dark out, but you can see everything about her so clearly.

“You can stop breathing so heavily,” she whispers, the shouting of your satyr protector getting closer, along with what must be the healers. “Camp Half-Blood is surrounded by a magical barrier. You’re safe here. Well, at least, no monsters are gonna get you.

“O-okay,” you mumble. You aren’t sure if you believe her. You don’t think you believe anything anymore.

The healers push her away, you’re so so tired, and she stands up, dusting off her hands.

“Thank you, Clarisse,” one of the healers says. “We’ll take it from here.”

Clarisse.

—-

The purpose of Clarisse La Rue’s entire existence seems to be to drive you insane.

The way her arms flex when she wields her spear, the way she lifts her shirt up to dab at sweat on her brow; and the way you can see her toned stomach and the faintest hint of abs you would actually kill to touch. The way she smiles, even though it’s never really genuine, and the way she laughs when she’s making fun of someone.

She was the first person you met at camp, and you’re pretty sure she doesn’t even remember it, yet alone know your name.

It was ironic, as the daughter of Aphrodite, to be quietly pining over someone from the distance. And it sucked, but maybe you would just always have this quiet crush on Clarisse, and you learned to take it like you took your breakfast.

Until the start of this summer, when everyone came back to camp, it was alive again, and it all changed. And now you’re fucked.

—-

You smile, watching a few of the younger campers scream about how amazing the lake is. Summer’s just started. It’s so beautiful this time of year. They didn’t have as traumatic experiences as you, no monsters chased them right up to the barrier of camp. The lake is huge and so blue it seems otherworldly- probably because it is.

You slam into something.

It’s an awkward flare of limbs and muttered obscenities, but you manage to keep yourself upright by falling back into a very convenient tree.

“Sorry,” you say, looking up and expecting to make eye contact with anyone but her.

You haven’t been face to face with Clarisse in four years. You mouth snaps shut, and you’re sure you look like a terrified deer in headlights.

She’s frozen just like you.

“W-watch where you’re going,” she hisses, pushing you farther into the tree as she walks past you.

Did Clarisse just stutter?

—-

Clarisse stares at you.

You blush like you’re about to turn into a flamingo.

The cycle repeats.

—-

This year, the Ares and Aphrodite cabins were paired together to share the field for sword practice just before dinner. The sun is hidden by the trees, providing some nice shade as you frown at all the Ares kids sparring like their lives depend on it.

While Aphrodite kids are not the most naturally skilled in fighting, you’re still demigods, and you still have to know how to protect yourselves.

Matty, a Ares child and your sister Tyla’s boyfriend, already sparred three times, winning against his siblings, then sparred with Tyla once; which just ended with her getting bored after a minute and dropping her sword before jumping into his arms.

You watch random people spar. Everyone moves around you, Tyla and Matty are on top of each other next to you on the bench, everyone walks around you to collect their water bottles from the table behind you.

“Aren’t you gonna spar, Y/N?” Tyla asks, fiddling with Matty’s hands.

“No,” you laugh.

“That’s against the rules.”

You know that voice, you hear that annoyingly angelic voice in your dreams.

Clarisse sits down next to you. You can hear Tyla smiling. Only a few of your siblings who can be trusted to keep a secret know about your wretched crush. You’re probably blushing.

“Uh, what?” you say, looking in her direction but not risking actually looking at her.

“You have to spar,” she says, like it’s painfully obvious, kicking out her legs.

“I’ll do it tomorrow,” you shrug.

“Sounds like you’re scared, Y/N,” Matty muses.

You shoot him a bored look. “Sounds like you’re whipped, Matty.”

Tyla is currently in Matty’s lap, her hands in his hair.

“Oh, definitely,” he says, turning towards Tyla with a sweet smile on his face and she coos and immediately attaches her face to his.

“Oh, Gods,” you mutter, turning away from the two of them having borderline sex on the bench.

Clarisse laughs.

You clench your fist, you feel like you’re gonna explode being so close to her and not able to climb up into her lap and kiss her like a woman starved.

“You still have to spar, you know.”

“Are you going to tell on me?”

“Hm, no. I won’t have to.”

You finally look towards her, if only because you’re confused, but she’s looking straight out at the the distance, where a certain centaur is making his way to the fields-

“Oh, fuck,” you hiss, immediately jumping up and scrambling for a sword from the pile behind you.

You turn around, hoping one of your siblings is free so you can spar with them-

The sword is ripped out of your hands.

“That one sucks,” Clarisse says, simply, while you stand there with your mouth open. She rifles through the swords. “Use this one instead.”

The one she hands you does seem a lot easier to hold. Not too heavy, not too light.

How the hell could she tell which one is best for you just by looking at you?

“Matty,” Clarisse says. “Chiron’s coming.”

Tyla and Matty both hop up, giggling at they make their way towards one of the marked circles.

As you’re left there with Clarisse, it suddenly hits you that after four years of simple indifference, she’s talking to you like she knows you. Or like she wants to know you.

You like her too much to question it. You want her too much to be bothered as to why she’s giving you five minutes of her time.

Clarisse walks away. You thought it was going to happen, so your heart feels this sort of heavy that is indescribable, but she turns around.

“Are you coming?” she asks, deadpan.

“Oh. Uh, yeah,” you say, sticking your sword under your arm and cracking your knuckles. With Chiron showing up, she leads you to the marked circle all the way at the edge of the field, the start of the woods, the very last one.

She stops and turns around, this sort of nonchalant but smug look on her face. She reaches forward and bats your hands away from each other with a single swat that leaves you so shocked from the feeling of her skin on hers that your hands fall to your sides.

“Stop that. You’ll hurt ‘em.”

Here, right in front of the trees, the sun shining through the gaps shines off of Clarisse’s tan skin and her bronze armor in a way that makes her look otherworldly.

Clarisse’s that kind of pretty where you just never want to stop staring at her. The kind of pretty where you just want to fade into her and be next to her; the kind of pretty where nothing compares to her but it just watches her too.

Like the sun behind her, it isn’t jealous, it just admires her and shines off her skin.

She’s smirking at you, her knees bending into an offensive position, her spear pointing at you.

“He’s watching,” she taunts, and you’re really not in the mood for a lecture and the loss of dessert privileges, so you copy her.

“I’m not the best-”

She spins forward, spear arcing toward you. You yelp, raising your sword up to block her spear. They slam together.

“You’ll do fine,” she smiles, so smug in a way that makes you want to slap her and kiss her all at once.

“Whatever,” you mumble as she pulls back.

But you feel a little more confident with her praise, launching a surprise attack. She seems a little shocked, but she blocks it, probably a bit closer than normal.

“Feisty,” she murmurs.

“What the hell does that even mean?”

She launches her own attack, more force behind it this time, and it’s harder to stop her, but you do, you push her back.

“It means you’re exactly like I thought you were.”

You frown, because what is she even saying, but she launches another attack, smiling brightly as you block it, her eyes never leaving your form.

It’s a blurry of your heartbeat in your ears, her smile, the clash of her spear and your sword, the rest of the field coming to life with the sound of metal on metal, wins and losses.

Your arm is growing heavy.

But you keep your eyes open, blocking her attacks and waiting for an opening you’re not sure will ever come.

Finally, she reveals her side, and you swing, your sword clanging as it hits her metal armor.

She looks down at your sword and then you.

When she looks up again, it’s never the same.

—-

“Did you let me win that first day?”

You’re in the woods with her, so many months after that first day, and it all still feels like it was yesterday. You’re laying on a blanket on the soft grass, facing each other, limbs tangled together and her arm around you.

“Hm?” she says, slightly sleepy.

“When we sparred?”

“Oh,” she smiles, yawns. “Yeah, I let you win.”

You gasp and hit her arm.

“Clar, that’s, like, horrible. Our relationship was built on lies.”

You’re the only person allowed to call her that.

She frowns. “It wasn’t. What are you talking about?”

“I was gloating over you for months, and you let me-”

“Okay, but, you still won. I just helped you a bit. That’s what a good girlfriend should do.”

“You were not my girlfriend then.”

“Yeah, but you wanted me to be. For how long? Four years?”

You roll yours eyes. “You bumped into me once and then became obsessed with me.”

She smiles against you as she kisses your forehead.

“Who wouldn’t?” she snorts. “Not my fault you bumped into me in a way no one else ever has, angel.”

“My love language is just bumping into people, I think.”

“Then you can’t bump into anybody but me. Or else I’d kill them, probably.”

“A true romantic.”

She wraps her arms around you, muscles flexing as she pulls you on top of her.

“Only for you, angel,” she says, eyes falling closed again. “‘M cold, be my blanket.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be all rough and tough?”

“Can’t be with you,” she yawns. “Love you too much. Now shush. I’m gonna fall asleep.”

“You big baby,” you mumble. “Big bad Clarisse needs to fall asleep with her girlfriend and get her full eight hours or else she’ll go on a rampage.”

“Damn right.”

Clarisse is the type of pretty that just makes you wanna fade into her. And you do, in the light of the rising moon, the light of the fading sun. You fade into her.

—-

y/n when clarisse helps her on her first day: wow, an angel 😍😍

clarisse when y/n bumps into her: wow, an angel 😍😍

ALSO CLARISSE CALLING Y/N ANGEL???? I THINK I’VE FOUND MY NEW OBSESSION Y’ALL

—-

taglist:

@lvrue @t-wylia @laughingcheese037 @kroumi @urdeadpoet @colezb @rey26 @harmzilla @elliewilliamsbae @amberfreemansburntface @kyuupidwrites @neverwaakeme-up @shark1008 @liballer @heyimadison @nvirskies

#clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue x y/n #clarisse la rue x you #pjo tv show #pjo x reader

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agentravensong · 1 month ago

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mark meta (and also a little bit of helly meta because i can't help myself) inspired by this post from @stewy referring to mark's grief as selfish (severance spoilers through s2 ep2)

outie mark says that only his grief counts, and as far as he’s concerned the matter has been dead and buried for some time now. devon saying they could get gemma back is an insult to her memory. she was a person (an extraordinary one); she was his wife; she died. that’s all there is to it. (all there can be to it, if he doesn’t want to be choking on her ghost for the rest of his life. he has to be able to exist without her.)

innie mark spends the first half of s2 ep1 saying that only his pain matters. he believes that life in hell is always better than no life at all, that there is always a life to be had, but he cannot bear hell without his team. the idea that they can just cease to be at the whims of their outies, that that's perfectly fine, is an insult to them. and so he exhumes them from their graves (and throws three other innies he didn't even attempt to get to know into the empty coffins). they’re people (not parts of people); they're his friends; they deserve to exist. that’s all there is to it. (he cannot exist without them.)

the fortunate thing for mark s. is that he doesn’t have to bear the (full) weight of the potential guilt from dragging them back into hell because the innies are then given the choice to stay or not. and he doesn't have to face irving's resulting crisis — that he in the throes of his own grief would rather not exist than continue on down here without her burt — because dylan takes care of that for him :)

the unfortunate thing is that. the one who’d probably be least happy to be stuck here for the foreseeable future (even if a part of her was hoping to see him and the others again) is the one who wasn't (and won't be) presented with that choice. whose return, when it occurs, will be purely because other people (helena and/or the board, but only after hearing and folding partway to mark's ultimatum) decided that for her. in fact, considering that her response to cobel’s threat in the s1 finale — “you’ll be long gone, but your friends will be kept alive, in pain” — was to still go through with revealing the truth…

(yes, she was okay potentially resigning her friends to an existence of suffering as well. but, even subtracting that they all understood the risk of an outcome like that going in, at least the pain they might have suffered would have been a sacrifice in service of the cause. that’s more noble. and thereby, more forgivable.) (right?)

...

looking at it this way, “no one is entitled to (this) pain but me” is the natural other side of the coin to “none may atone for my actions but me”.

#severance #severance spoilers #severance season 2 #mark scout #shoutout to fellow season 2 watchers in the crevice discord for indulging my brainrot :)#lots of thoughts about mark across these two eps. about everyone tbh #for the record i (number one janus ''deceit and selfishness'' sanders fan) do not think innie!mark's desire being selfish makes it 100% bad #dylan wants irving to live for selfish reasons too!!#it's just. complicated. in a way that i think dylan understands (to some extent) but mark did not once consider #...but he may perhaps be made to :)

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thegremlininyourcloset · 5 days ago

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In The Interest Of Getting Myself to Write

What fanfic idea would you like me to write for and then post a snippet of? (Brief description of each under the cut)

most of these are dc wips, but a few are from bsd

Kids In The Dark

Starring: pre-named, post-Hawaii Kon, an original character of mine, and a surprise crossover character (and trust me, it’s not someone you could have predicted)

In which Superboy meets a mysterious vigilante known only as Rebel, who seems to have an odd interest in his… health and wellbeing?

Notes: all the relationships between our main trio are completely platonic! Found family, baby. Also, platonic omegaverse and platonic soulmates because I can

Angst Level: Some

Batgirl, Batgirl, Batgirl…Superboy?

Starring: Newly-personed Kon, Stephanie Brown, Cassandra Wayne, and Barbara Gordon

Inspired by: Suzukiblu’s wip “The Gotham Kid”

In which a Superboy new-to-existing flees to Gotham, the one place no one would ever look for him. The one and only Spoiler finds herself rather displeased with his situation. Apparently, genes CAN be passed on by found family…

Notes: the Batfamily are cryptids in this one, and the vigilante names might change (so might the title, frankly), once again, around family is the goal! Probably will include stephcass, though.

Angst Level: some. Kon is not doing the best.

Into The Robin-Verse

Starring: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Stephanie Brown, Damian Wayne, Duke Thomas, Maps Mizoguchi, and Carrie Kelley (and possibly Cassandra Wayne)

Due to a rather unfortunate mishap, assorted Robins hailing from assorted timelines and universes have all appeared to ruin Dick Grayson’s day

Notes: once again, platonic relationships

Angst Level: Not insignificant . All of the Robins are stressed, and have issues.

me & you (at the end of the world)

Starring: Yosano Akiko and Ozaki Kouyou

When she’s attacked while walking home from school, the last thing twelve-year-old Ozaki Kouyou expects is to manifest a sword-wielding phantom. And then, before she has time to catch her breath, Kouyou finds herself whisked away from her home and family, summoned to an endless warfront. There, she meets eleven-year-old Yosano Akiko, the only other child—and only other Gifted—in the battalion. Together, the Angel Of Death and the Demon Of Mercy might just make it.

Notes: this is a Kousano fic. It’s not vary shippy at first, considering they’re kids and also actively at war, but that’s where it’s going.

Angst Level: WARNING: This is probably the heaviest fic on here. It deals with themes of war, death, killing, childhood trauma and some implied sexual assault. Stay safe.

Step Left For A Better Future

Starring: Stephanie Brown and Jason Todd, with a fair bit of Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Cassandra Wayne and Bruce Wayne

Inspired By: the handful of Steph in Titans-Tower fics in existence

Stephanie Brown knows she was never meant to be Robin. She knows she’s just a stand-in till Tim’s dad pulls his head out of his ass. She doesn’t even mind it! (Mostly) But she is getting pretty fucking tired of literally EVERY SINGLE asshole in the entirety of Gotham City waving that fact directly in her face. So when the Red Hood shows up in Titans Tower, yammering about her being the “wrong Robin”, Steph is at her limit. And when the Red Hood reveals himself to be Jason Todd? She snaps.

Notes: You’re kidding yourself if you think Jason wasn’t Steph’s Robin. Also, no betcest here or ever

Angst Level: This one is significantly less humorous than all of the Steph-in-Titans-Tower fics I’ve read. Steph’s going through it, Jason’s going through it…everyone suffers before we get any joy. May evolve into a series

bite back

Starring: Akutagawa Gin, Akutagawa Ryuunosuke and an original character (also Atushi may feature eventually)

Ability users are a rumor, under the noses of most of society. But there’s a world even more secret than that of the ability users—the Supernaturals. Species with magic in their blood. (though there are magical humans)

The Akutagawa siblings never really knew their parents. And they didn’t know their family’s secret: their mother was a wolf shifter, a werewolf. The siblings’ wolf traits have been (mostly) invisible till now, due to unmet needs, an unsupportive environment, and a spell of their mother’s.

But all that changes when the Supernaturals reveal themselves to Yokohama’s Tripartite System, and a mysterious wolf shifter catches the siblings' scents…and recognizes them as her long-dead sister’s pups.

Notes: werewolves and pack dynamics go brrr

Angst: it’s the Akutagawa siblings. So yeah, it’s pretty damn angsty

finders keepers

Starring:Stephanie Brown, Dick Grayson, assorted batfam members

Inspired By: i don’t actually remember the fic

Dick Grayson has seen a lot of things in his undead life. But seeing a father leave use his own goddamn daughter out as bait still manages to shake him. Luckily, Bruce imparted in him one very important rule when it comes to children who lack or have unfit guardians…finders keepers. This is how he ends up with Stephanie Brown

Noted: found family yaaaayyyyyy

Angst Level: quite a bit, but there will be comfort

Girl Meets Bird

Starring: Barbara Gordon, Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, Kate Kane, with some Jim Gordon

Look, Babs didn’t mean to become a dark creature of the night…at least, not at first. At first, she just wanted to fight crime. In Gotham. At night. Whilst being twelve and mostly untrained.

Notes: cryptid batfam, but it’s early batfam, and follows Babs in her feral teenager era

Angst: Currently the least angsty idea on here.

Weapons No More

Starring: Cassandra Wayne and Kon-El, with some Bats

In most universes, Superboy spends his first years of life all but fending for himself. In this one, Cassandra Wayne was found earlier. And when Cass meets Superboy for the very first time, it feels like looking in a mirror. And if there’s one thing that being a Wayne has taught her, it’s to reach out a hand to a kid in need

Notes: Cass basically went “mine. My new family” on sight

Angst: we got clone angst, we got Cass angst we got teenage rebellion

the ruination of a moonflower

Starring: Ozaki Kouyou, Izumi Kyouka, and Nakahara Chuuya

Ozaki Kouyou knows that the Port Mafia is the only place for her. She’s poured years of effort, and pints of blood both hers and not, all to mold this organization into one she can be proud to be part of. And then suddenly Chuuya’s been attacked. And this wouldn’t have been a problem because her protégé can take care of himself just fine—except it is. It is a problem because now her little brother’s in a hospital bed and she doesn’t know what went wrong. It was supposed to be an easy mission. And now Kouyou revenge to enact. And then before she knows it…something’s changed. Somethings broken. And something has to give.

Notes: I have a whole-ass series planned for this one, and it’s a wild ride.

Angst: a lot. This one hurts, guys

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farfromstrange · 1 year ago

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Unicorns Need Love Too | Matt Murdock x Reader

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: Your hormones make existing a living hell sometimes. Thankfully, Matt is there to help

Warnings: Fluff, self-indulgent, suggestive language, heavy allusions to smut (MINORS DNI), attempt at humor, not proof-read

Word Count: 2k

A/n: This is a brain fart because I, myself, have a pimple in the middle of my forehead and I feel like a fucking unicorn. I don't even know if it's any good. Just have at it & enjoy!

The few weeks leading up to your period are always the most chaotic and the most draining, but over the years, you have gotten used to only having a few days out of four weeks every month where you feel somewhat normal.

The days between ovulation and the actual start of a new period are probably the worst though—together with the week of hell that follows, of course.

Matt loves it when you ovulate. Your boyfriend’s heightened senses make it possible for him to smell the change in your pheromones, and they drive him borderline insane. It doesn’t help that you always seem to need him more than air when you’re in that fertile window of your cycle, and even though you’re not interested in having a family, he always has to fill you to the brim until you’re overflowing with his cum. Alone the thought of that makes his cock painfully hard.

Unfortunately, though, your body’s desperate need for pleasure isn’t the only side of you that comes out during that week. Every month, Matt discovers something new about you. Every month, he finds something new to love, and he finds strange quirks of yours that may seem odd to him at first, but he still adores them as much as he adores the rest of you.

“Why does it smell like a chemical plant here?” He pokes his head into the bathroom, his chiseled body dressed in the red leather of his Daredevil suit, minus the cowl and his gloves.

You turn to him from the sink. Your eyes roam over his body before they land on his face, meeting his unfocused gaze. “It’s my skincare,” you answer.

What did he think you were doing? Building a chemical weapon? Cooking meth? He would have been able to smell that much more clearly than your skincare products.

“What are you using?” Matt asks, leaning against the doorframe in all his glory as he slides those beautifully thick fingers of his into his leather gloves.

Your eyebrow quips. “Salicylic acid. Why?”

The way he looks at you, forehead slightly wrinkled as he frowns, reminds you of a concerned parent when their child has found a sharp object to play with.

“That smells dangerous.”

You shrug, continuing to rub the solution into your skin. “It pulls the gunk out of my pores.”

“And that works?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” he says. His expression remains wary. “Just don’t inhale it.”

“Matt, this isn’t the first time I’ve used it. I’ve had acne since I was a teenager,” you remind him.

A small smile plays on his lips, mirroring yours. “I know. Just want you to be careful, that's all.”

You put the tube down, turning your whole body to him. “I have never heard of death by skincare,” you say, “but I’ll be careful. Promise.”

The answer, albeit a bit sarcastic, satisfies him. Matt fastens his gloves with a happy little nod. “Thank you. I’ll, uh, be back in a few hours,” he says, coming over to press a kiss to the top of your head, his hand cradling the back of it. “Don’t wait up. You’re drained.”

You open your mouth to protest, “I can wait for you.”

“Not at this point of your cycle. You’re going to be cranky tomorrow.”

You’re aware that Matt knows your body inside and out. He knows you better than you could ever know yourself. He can sense things that even you can’t pick up on. At first, it was something you had to get used to, but you have grown accustomed to his heightened senses and the perks they bring with them.

Tipping your chin in his direction, you retort, “I’m not sure if I should take offense to that.”

“Don’t,” Matt says nonchalantly. “If I had an organ lose its shit every month because it wants to be fertilized, putting you through the works to prepare you for it, and then cause me to bleed and cramp uncontrollably for a week straight as revenge when I refuse to let a myriad of sperm play tag you’re it inside me, I’d get cranky too.”

That description sounds almost too perfect. You lean forward to capture his plump lips in another passionate kiss. “Fair point. Be safe, please.”

“Always.”

“That’s a lie,” you say.

“I promise, I’ll be safe.”

“That’s better.”

He strokes his thumb over your cheekbone. “Love you,” he says, and he kisses you one last time.

Whenever he goes out at night, Matt kisses you as if you are never going to see him again. It’s a possibility you have often cried over. You’ve obsessed over everything that could go wrong.

He has had way too many close calls for you to take anything he does for granted, and when he kisses you like that, like he is afraid of losing you as well, you at least know that he will try his everything to make it back to you in one piece—even if it’s a mangled piece.

“I love you too,” you murmur.

That’s another thing about his kisses: they have the ability to render you speechless.

A slight gust of wind brushes through your hair when the door to the rooftop exit opens, and when you open your eyes, Matt is gone. The living room is lulled in darkness. 10:13 pm. You start counting down the hours, praying once again to all Gods above that he will be okay tonight.

• • •

When Matt comes home a few hours later, he finds you passed out on your shared bed, your limbs tangled in the silk sheets that smell of him and you, and even more you.

He isn’t injured, more ramped up with adrenaline than anything, but he doesn’t want to disturb your peaceful slumber, so he settles down on the couch instead. It doesn’t take long for the night to crash into him, and he collapses. He doesn’t even have it in him to make it back to bed.

You wake up in a cold sweat when your alarm goes off the next morning, but the open bedroom door and Matt’s snoring figure on the couch tell you that he is alive and well. That’s a good sign. If he’s asleep and not injured, you have nothing to worry about.

That is what you think until you see your reflection in the bathroom mirror.

Matt wakes to the sound of a loud groan. Suddenly awake and alert, he takes a look around the apartment. Nothing is out of place, except—you’re missing.

He gets up and knocks on the bathroom door. It’s locked. “Sweetheart,” he calls out softly. “You okay in there? Can you open the door?”

“No,” you reply. Your voice is slightly muffled through the wood, but he can still hear your labored breathing and your elevated heartbeat loud and clear.

“Why not?” he asks.

“Because I look hideous.”

His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “I don’t know if you‘ve heard, but I’m blind.”

You groan again, more defeated this time. You seem to plop down on the edge of the bathtub. “Oh, shut up!” you snap. “This is as much a visual as it is a textural issue.”

“As in what? You’ve grown fur and a tail overnight?” Matt can’t help but muse a little. “Because even if you turned into a wolf or a worm, I would still love you. You know that.”

“Matt, this isn’t funny. My acne is escalating.”

Now you sound sad, and he starts feeling bad.

He touches his palm against the door. “But you used those acids last night,” his words land much softer. “I thought they were supposed to help with your acne.”

“Apparently fucking not ‘cause my fertile window is pretty much still wide open, and I think I felt myself ovulate this morning.”

“Oh. Well, it’s just some pimples, sweetheart. It’s not the end of the world.”

Matt realizes too late that he may have chosen his words poorly. You take a deep breath, and for a moment he believes you’re just going to say, but then you shout at him, “EASY OF YOU TO SAY, MISTER I-ALWAYS-HAVE-FLAWLESS-SKIN!”

He winces, dropping his forehead next to his palm. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. What can I do?” he asks. “Get you a paper bag?”

You must have smoke coming out of your ears by now. “Matthew Michael Murdock, I swear to God–”

“I’m so sorry, sweetie. I’m just trying to cheer you up.” He knocks again. “Can you please let me in? I want to hug you. You sound sad.”

A pregnant pause follows. The silence settles deep into his bones. He can still hear your heartbeat, but he can’t judge what you’re thinking. Then, he hears your bare feet pat against the floor. The lock clicks, and you finally open the door.

“I look like the last fucking unicorn, Matt,” you say. “I’m an endangered species.”

Matt’s arms find your waist, and he pulls you against him. You don’t protest. “You don’t feel like a unicorn. You don’t even have the body of a horse.”

The beginning of a smile that was growing on your face vanishes within seconds, and you stare up at him. He can feel your gaze burning through his skull, a look of utter astonishment on your face. That is how he imagines you, anyway.

“Just a pimple on your forehead,” he adds because he realizes his words are failing to get his point across in all possible ways.

You bury your face in his chest. “Oh, fuck off!”

“What? Pimples are natural and nothing to be ashamed of, especially not when your body is full of hormones that are making your day a living hell.”

“I feel ashamed because I look like a very fucking ugly unicorn!”

“You’re not ugly,” he insists, patiently so, knowing that this is just another side of you that comes out when you’re overwhelmed by the sheer force of your hormonal cycle. “If anything,” Matt says, “you’re a cute unicorn.”

“No,” you shake your head. “I’m a pissed-off unicorn who’s ovulating, which makes her sad and horny with a fucking stuffed and inflamed pore on her freaking forehead!”

“I can do something about the horniness, but I can’t make the pimple go away. I’m sorry.”

“UGH!” For a moment, he thinks you’re going to hit his chest with your balled fist, but instead, you tangle your fingers in his shirt.

He rubs his large hand along your spine. “Come here.” Almost naturally, his nose buries itself in your hair. “Do you have those patch thingies you always use when you break out?” he asks.

“I ran out,” you say.

“Should I get them for you on my way home from work?”

“You’d do that?”

“Of course,” he says.

Your smile is unmistakable. “I want the heart-shaped ones.”

“Because they make you feel cute?”

“Yeah.”

Matt chuckles anew. “Okay. I’ll get you those.”

“Thank you.” Sniff.

He tilts his head to the side. “Did you just sniff me?” he asks.

“Mhm,” you shamelessly admit as you suck in a breath again, inhaling his distinctive scent. “You smell good.”

“I didn’t even shower last night. I passed out on the couch.”

“Oh God, that makes it worse!” You shove him away. “I’m getting turned on by the smell of your sweat.”

His giggles turn into laughter. “How about I shower first and then you can sniff me again?” Matt opens his arms as if he just made an offer you couldn’t possibly refuse.

But you can. Because Matt showering and washing the scent of danger off his beautiful skin is the last thing you want, and if your body is satisfied, maybe the storm in your mind will finally calm down, too.

You stop him. “No. Don’t shower.”

“No?” He raises an eyebrow.

“No,” you say. “You said you can help me with my horniness, right? That was part of the deal?”

The brown of his irises gets overtaken by the black of his pupils. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

“Uh-huh. So, no shower. And I could really use a hand. Or two. And quite possibly your cock, too.”

Matt smirks. “Anything you want, sweetheart,” he purrs. “I’m all yours.”

You’re about to kiss him when you realize, “The unicorn pimple–”

“Don’t care. I've heard somewhere that unicorns need love too.” He cradles your face in his hands. “And I intend to do that shamelessly for the next hour and a half.”

The bathroom door falls closed behind the two of you as he uses his strength to guide you back inside, and a kiss is all it takes for you to shut up and surrender yourself to him completely.

Unicorn pimple be damned!

Tag List: @littlenerdyravenclaw @yarrystyleeza @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @amberritonicole @thatonegamefish @norestfortheshelbywicked @mattkinsella @itwasthereaminuteago @linamarr @gpenguin666 @acharliecoxedfan

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock smut #daredevil x reader #matt murdock x f!reader #crack fic #daredevil #self indulgent #no y/n #charlie cox

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jamiethebee · 9 months ago

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(In which I spiral down a rabbit hole with Midoriya that has little to do with @codenamesazanka 's original post that started this (x). FYI I sorta separated Deku/Izuku to indicate Deku as the hero and Izuku as the person outside of heroics.)

I started thinking about this post again (see the link above) and how Deku doesn’t really understand that non-perfect or sanitized victims exist AND still need to be saved and not by destruction. (The "maybe killing someone does save them" thing is a great way to assuage guilt but it's a stupid copout.) Deku (hero) and more importantly Izuku (person) doesn’t really understand that though because he WAS a “perfect” victim. Midoriya stayed quiet and inconspicuous and didn’t make a fuss about the bullying or discrimination he faced, he just kept his head down and hoped that something would change without any real effort on his part. And if he had died as a result from the bullying he would’ve been hailed as an unfortunate victim (of who? or what? Don’t worry - isn’t his death so tragic? oh well now on to our next news story -), so any critique of society and the individuals who reinforce the status quo don’t actually have to do anything. I know there’s more nuance here and lot of cultural things happening with this all but I’m not gonna dig into that right now.

Moving on! Quite frankly the boy didn’t live long enough to get out of his childish mindset and get some “righteous" anger at the wrongdoings and failings of society. All Might came along when he was still starry eyed and hopeful to lift Midoriya out of the trajectory of his life and Izuku never had any time to get to the point where he comes to terms with the hurt caused society’s rejection of his self and get angry about it. As such, he can’t understand the league. It probably doesn’t even occur to him that he's missing that understanding because for him it worked out - he got the attention and support to be able to escape the circumstances of his birth/quirklessness and to leave the box (deku) that society shoved him in. Twice and Toga never had that support – they both lived how they needed to in order to survive in a world not meant for them until they broke down. (Maybe that's why Vigilante Deku AUs were so popular back in the day - they speedran Midoriya past the hopeful kid stage and to a point where a lot of the fanbase was in their own lives - seeing the issues in the world and wanting to affect change.)

Izuku, for all that he claims to want to connect to the villains, hasn’t given enough thought or empathy to understand how continuing to live a life where you don’t fit in with society can be deeply hurtful as well as the emotional repercussions of having unchangeable parts about yourself be reviled. This isn’t to say Izuku had it easy - of course Izuku went through hardships but.... there’s a big difference between living through stuff as a kid and finding a way out of it vs living through that, growing up, maturing, and in turn looking critically at society. But I can’t bring myself to fault Midoriya for those exact reasons because he's just a kid. He doesn’t have the perspective to see outside of himself – at least not for the villains. Because that seems to be too far of a stretch for him? But Todoroki was close enough to Izuku’s mindset for him to help back in the sports festival arc. I also acknowledge that he's a teenager and IS capable of critical thinking, but from what we've seen, his schools have never actually made the students examine the world they live in - which is a different skill from quirk analysis or historical or literary analysis or the various writing exercises that students go through.

(Believe me – you can have the brightest kid but, most of the time, unless you point out the shortcomings of their mindsets, it won’t occur to them to look further. (Not necessarily assuming that they’re wrong, but rather that their consideration of life is not as expansive as it should be. Especially for a kid wanting to be the greatest hero and save everyone.) For example: many abled bodied people don’t realize how inaccessible places can be until someone brings it up to them or they find themselves in that situation (like a temporary crutch or wheelchair). It’s through no fault of the able bodied person that they weren’t aware enough to consider it in the first place, but what they do once they realize physical accessibility is an issue, is on them.) Back to the point – hero society never calls attention to it’s own shortcomings despite the proof quite obviously existing and the people within society don’t seem to spare much thought either. The adults who have seen more of these instances are then of course more culpable in this than the kids who haven't.

So, Midoriya was also failed by society (cough all might cough) as well, but he chose the hero path - to save people. We see him starting to consider the deeper issues in his talk with Uraraka, and the few times he “tries” to talk to various villains shows that he is aware enough of underlying issues - which makes it his duty as a hero to do something about it. In that way, he is at fault. He chose a profession to devote his life to that should require this of him. And through his hero work, Midoriya has seen the problems in society and yet he’s chosen to turn away from them (and by problems/them I’m referring to the villains “too far gone to save” and the issues they represent).

(Sorry Midoriya, but considering we’re nearing the end and you haven’t shown any growth in this area….. I am faulting you for metaphorically pushing your head in the sand. I do want to be wrong though. I really want the kid to prove me wrong.)

And he’s able to turn away from them guilt free, in part, because he’s gotten the proverbial thumbs up by his classmates that it’s ok and that they’ll just be better and be model minority heroes and that will fix the problem! Because they’re positive representation! Or something? If you can put your mind to it that will fix things! Just try harder! Again, very idealistic but they are kids, so it comes with the territory. (Horikoshi didn’t have to make them unquestionably right in that approach though. Toga and Uraraka coming together for the win! The Shoji and Spinner match up not so much.)

Overall, there’s something about how Deku still fit into society's boxes in an acceptable way and never truly faced what existing outside of "acceptability" was like. Don’t get me wrong it’s tough to live in the mha world as a quirkless person and of course it has its problems and restrictions, but that’s still a box that society provides for, even if the society in question doesn’t like it.

And I'm not saying that Izuku had to live through a terrible life to understand the villains! Just that, he has the capacity to look outside himself and be empathetic, but the application of it is lacking, despite knowing there’s problems, despite having LIVED with some of those problems. Extrapolate, boy!!!! You don't need empathy to reach out to others but the whole compassionate/kind Midoriya thing has been touted since the beginning! So I want to see it!

(Not sure how much sense this will make to people, but there’s a maturity that comes about with either time or certain circumstances that can be hard to grasp unless you’ve lived through it. And quite frankly, Midoriya hasn’t. He went from a perfect/acceptable victim to the top tier of society (heroes).)

(Basically: Midoriya never **matured in the restrictive environment he grew up in and can't emotionally connect with the league who did, because of that. Instead he seems to have internalized the "if they were better" or "if they were truly good" then there wouldn't be a problem because just look at his classmater!, so villains being villains is their own fault and no one else is culpable.)

**centers on the idea that someone starts off as hopeful in regards to their discriminated position in life and over time matures to understand how society supports that discrimination and come to terms with the hurt that it's caused them personally (and in this case to fight back against it)

also, if you made it this far, i'm just having a fun time reading codenamesazanka's posts about the latest chapters

#my hero academia #bnha #the bee talks #i promise i have nothing against midoriya! but there's a lot of build up with him that's gone nowhere currently....#having thoughts! having so many thoughts!#honestly i just feel bad for horikoshi. from what i gather he didn't want mha to drag on this long or it took a different direction #and he's been working on it for so many years. i don't fault him! it's his story! but i can still have a fun time analyzing it #ok i've stared at this for too long. i'm posting it and heading out #mmm is midoriya letting his own life experiences cloud his judgement of the villains? perhaps!#i would love to sit those kids down and make them learn how to reflect (in the academic sense)

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howlsofbloodhounds · 6 months ago

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Yo man, I like reading your posts and your thoughts. It inspires me.

There were a few questions that I asked anonymously, but reading everything you wrote, and thanks to you, I changed my attitude towards Killer as a character (to be honest, I hated him before, as well as his duo with Color). And also, like one anon person, I love Delta.

How do you do it, inspire and change opinions about characters?

I become obsessed about them and learn everything I can and then yap about it on the internet. /hj

Also a lot of killers story requires even a base level understanding in psychology and abuse and trauma, I feel. Especially things like prolonged intense coercion, and dissociative disorders, paired with severe CPTSD. And I love psychology so he quickly became a favorite of mine.

A lot of my fixation towards killer actually came from the fact that—no one could seem to understand or agree on things about killer’s canon story (which in large part is because a lot of killer’s canon was unfortunately deleted, including an entire ask blog.)

So i went looking myself, found what i could, shared it around everywhere i could reach—and then started doing research and analysis, and sharing those too.

But also from what I can see, the UTMV fandom back then was all really young—focusing more on black and white, “good” and “bad” morality. Creepypasta-esque. Instead of acknowledging Something New for the tragedy and psychological horror it is.

It was never as simple as “sans goes crazy and kills everyone” or “evil Chara possesses sans to kill everyone” or “sans gets bored and kills for fun.” It was all deliberate, pointed towards a goal—and sans completely lost himself until he became something so completely foreign and unrecognizable. which was all intentional.

and another thing I love about killer is that he’s definitely not a “perfect victim.” He was a victim sure, and he was made and taught to be this way, but it doesn’t change the fact that this victim has victims and he’s still an awful, shitty person. there are completely valid reasons to despise that bitch, and everyone is well within their rights to do so (Delta and Delta lovers deserve to punch killer and humble him ong) even as he attempts to work on himself and actually process his trauma that had been going for an unknown amount of time.

(which still fascinates me. there is a period of time in Chara and killer’s partnership that we are unlikely to ever see. we have no clue just how long they were together. killer himself probably isn’t sure—maybe they were always together.)

and color is an interesting piece of psychology too. I completely understand why he inspires hope in killer—hope that change is possible, that safety is possible, that something better out there can exist. that not everyone with power seeks to harm and control, that not everything is control or be controlled or kill or be killed, that some things do matter. that what he wants matters. that someone out there still cares about him, and unlike papyrus or the rest of the underground—is willing to fight for him, too.

(of course, papyrus was willing to die if it made sans happy. but he was never willing to fight to make sans happy, as far as killer can see.)

color has really lost everything and everyone in his attempts to save them. he fought and fought and fought—until as a last ditch effort, he makes a desperate choice. and it works, but it dooms him. only, it didn’t actually work, because the feeling of the Genocide route is coming back—and it’s happening again.

We can see this same exact thing with killer, too. Nightmare replaces Killers when they are killed or no longer useful. Color can see right through Killer—he knows he doesn’t actually want this life. He just doesn’t know anything different anymore.

And so Color spends so long trying to get Killer to admit to what he actually wants—and when he does, when Killer finally just admits he wants his old life back—his brother, his family, he wants to be Sans again. Color doesn’t tell him it’s likely impossible—instead he offers to help.

And when Killer asks Color to save him, Color takes to it loyally. It’s not hard to imagine that Color tried and failed to help save and protect many, many, many Killers.

And yet with each devastating failure, he keeps getting up and going and persevering. Because he has to, because it’s the right thing to do, because Killer asked him to, because Killer needs help, because he cares so much about Killer, because Color can’t leave him alone or forget about him the way he was forgotten. No one else is going to care enough to reach out and try with Killer—and Killer isn’t likely to trust anyone else who tries.

Even Color has to work hard to earn and maintain Killer’s trust. A single slip up could send Killer recoiling and snapping at any hand that attempts to touch him. So despite how desperately Color wants to save him, keep him safe, take care of him—he knows he needs to go at Killer’s pace.

He needs to be patient, and he needs to be consistent, and he needs to be open and as honest as possible—even if it’s hard, and he needs to be careful around Killer, too.

He can’t allow his emotions to drive him completely, to make him blind to Killer’s violence and apathy and manipulation and controlling behaviors—not only because for his own well being, but because Killer would definitely lose any respect he has for him if he thinks Color can’t see him for what he is. He can’t allow Killer to think that he is weak—someone easily trusting, or naive, or easily led and used and taken advantage of.

He has to maintain a balance between that, and just being himself—practicing what he preaches, because killer will notice; he is watching. Color’s goal isn’t to fix him, that’s something killer has to want for himself, he’s just here because he wants to help and Killer asked for the help he needs—even if Killer’s SOUL Stages make him have conflicting viewpoints and desires, if any at all. He has to show up for Killer consistently, show he isn’t trying to use or control him, and be true to himself.

Of course, the journey to actually getting there would likely be a struggle for them both, but they’re both determined enough to try, I think.

Anyway rant over. So that’s basically what I do; get curious, go digging and researching and get obsessed and then make my thoughts and interpretations everyone else’s problem.

{ @ferociousperson }

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szkunas · 8 months ago

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SORRY, YOU LOST! ౨ৎㅤtoji fushiguro.

synopsis / premise ♱ㅤokay, toji needs to admit it. you’re magical, or something because he genuinely intends to change for you, as stupid as that sounds. unfortunately, he decides to go out to gamble one last time. when he returns, his worst nightmare comes true.

featuring ♰ㅤREDEEMED toji fushigiro X fem!reader.

warnings ♱ㅤANGST ! MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH ! no happy ending ! toji is a little ooc i guess ! BLOOD + DEATH ! assassination mentions ! violence + murder ! gambling addiction ! toji thinks about making you a housewife ! marriage mentions

author’s note ♱ㅤhi. im not dead, lol. just trying to post a lot of things together. i took a small time for myself, to rest, and now i think i can come back with writing with these posts and the event! <3 i hope you all like it, its my first time trying to write for toji

WHOEVER WAS THE IDIOT who invented pachinko, toji hates them deeply. it was probably some very bored and very greedy man. the world will become a better place when those tired, money-crazy expressions disappear. until then, pachinko machines and gambling games will squeeze every penny out of him. or not. no more.

there is a clear reason why some countries strongly prohibit betting shops and casinos: betting is one of the strongest addictions that runs through the sick and desperate, emptying them of their worries for a few seconds and taking the money from their wallets in exchange.

technically, gambling is prohibited both in japan and in many other places around the world: but pachinko, horse racing and speedboat racing, as well as casinos, exist through loopholes in the law. after all, everyone’s true god is money, and taking all of this off the market would shake the economy of the country that seems forgotten by any god in the eyes of toji.

he knows that spending a lot of money on bets is not the wisest decision to make, but he always has faith that he will win next time, when the next time never comes. however, he only has a percentage of his latest work. the rest was well sent where it would be safe: to you, who keeps the money safe and secure from a murderer addicted to gambling.

toji knows you want a lot. you want him to give up his life as the sorcerer killer, you want him to give up his stupid gambling habit, you want to settle down somewhere quiet and start a family. and he wants that too, even if his heart of stone doesn’t let him show it.

but, he hopes you understand that the mere fact that he lets you sleep next to him at night is a sign of trust. he trusts you not to open his throat with a knife while he sleeps, which says a lot about how he feels about you.

even though your relationship has lasted a long time by his standards, what scares toji is the fact that he doesn’t want to leave. he wants to stay, he wants to come back to you at the end of each mission. he wants to let you take care of his wounds, and he wants to dry your tears when you cry for him. in fact, he doesn’t even want you to cry unless it’s from happiness or pleasure.

which is strange.

he only knew love for one woman, and after her passing, he believed he would never again fall in love with anything other than the green notes that create his happiness and destroy his present simultaneously.

a dead wife and an abandoned child on his resume is not what any woman is looking for in a guy. his difficult personality, his history of lack of commitment, his disappearances for days and his addiction to gambling only make everything worse for him. women are drawn to toji like fish to a hook, but they don’t stay long. it lasts even less if they don’t have money or cut off this source of income from his life.

but when he hears the sounds and clicks of the surrounding machines, he can only think that he would stay with you even if you were living on an old mattress in a dark alley.

because love can be as intimidating as it is overwhelming. it can hit a man’s world with such force that it makes him rise from where he is. make him stop making bad choices and, little by little, improve to give you the life that the woman he loves wants. he looks at the nearest clock and sighs. one last game. one last time, he will spend some stupid change waiting for a prize that never comes.

and from there, who knows? and from there, who knows? stop this idiocy of gambling every last penny, work a little more so you can get by for a few months. maybe start a savings account so when you have kids things will be easier?

he waits, and stops. so many times he has seen the message of defeat on machines similar and different to this one. sorry, you lost. the most common phrase for someone who appreciates dopamine more than money in their pockets. but he is surprised when the winning pattern appears on the machine. a winning one.

toji immediately turns to an employee. okay, that was weird. he usually loses any and all bets. this is probably a sign that this is the right path. who knew, the advice of morally sensible people works. don’t use drugs (they don’t work in his system), don’t overindulge in alcohol (which also doesn’t do anything in his system), be responsible and have a stable job. he just needs to review what he achieves in that last part. sorcerer slaying is not exactly a stable job, which every wife dreams of having a husband working with.

wait, did he just mentally call you his wife? take it easy, clown. first, you have to get past your fifth dating anniversary.

but the idea is undeniably attractive. maybe if he gets some good, well-paying work beyond assassination, you can become a housewife. only if you want, of course. toji will drop dead before he forces you to do something you don’t want to do.

the idea is a little cute — really cute, actually. he loves seeing you coming home from work stressed. seeing you angry makes him strangely excited. it’s like getting turned on by playing with fire, and he just wants to make the flames burn hotter. however, he knows how to respect his space when things get serious. that’s one of the reasons he doesn’t want you in an office job.

reduced to a sad cubicle, an idiotic boss and customers as miserable as you, anxious for the time to leave or for him to pick you up. this is not the life he wants for you. okay, toji needs his own fucking car to pick you up from work. this goes on the list of what to start buying to have a responsible life.

as he changes the balls in the pachinko machine, he watches the prizes carefully. normally, it’s just junk that you sell in a random store to make real money. but there is a kind of golden pendant, a butterfly. he asks the employee and takes the item in his hands. he’s a bit of a muggle and extremely cheesy, in his vision, but it’s only fair that in his last bet, one of the few ones he wins, the prize goes to you.

you, the true angel that exists on earth. you, patient and caring, who accept his mistakes and didn’t abandon him when he gave you a thousand and one reasons to do so. you, who he would like to see at the altar and have children with. fixing his own life and making his life better, that’s what he must do now. for you.

waving to the employee who is already used to his presence — after all, toji doesn’t plan on seeing him again — he puts the pendant in his pocket and walks peacefully home, lost in thought. some idiot bumps into him in a hurry, but he’s so strangely happy he can’t even stay mad.

the guy in question looks like he’s on something, with his hands in his pockets as if he’s hiding a weapon and his pupils dilated. His paranoid face is looking in all directions, and Toji knows that look — he’s trying to run from trouble. probably fucked it up and attacked someone. toji shrugs.

well, it’s not his problem.

he just takes out his cell phone and presses the call button on your contact. toji wants to go directly home, but if you want some food or some other gift, he would like to know now. your profile picture is actually adorable, and he caught himself just a moment before smiling like a fool.

the nighttime streets of tokyo don’t stop as he presses the phone to his ear. cars go too fast, and night lights make the city seem more alive at night than in daylight. two rings, three. you don’t answer, and toji groans, checking the time before waiting a little longer. it is weird. usually you are the one who calls, or you are the one who answers almost immediately. and it’s too early, so you can’t be sleeping.

maybe you forgot your cell phone at home and went out to get something you forgot at the office. it would be just like you. he can already hear himself teasing you. airhead. he gives up calling when there is no answer after four tries. he doesn't want to look desperate.

his steps are lazy, light. he’s gotten used to walking quietly due to his line of work, but toji has his chest puffed out like someone who knows what he wants in life. this is a new and at the same time well-known occurrence. his second chance just fell into toji’s lap. not all men are that lucky. and he doesn’t intend to waste it, risk everything and lose everything again.

may his past have taught him the valuable lesson of staying close and protecting those you love.

that’s why, when he turns down the street and stops in front of your house (which has also been his house for almost two years), he freezes. there are some police cars parked in front of the door. okay, maybe some idiot tried to rob the house. are you okay? the idea of you getting hurt makes his blood boil.

but his heart sinks like a crushed animal when he sees the ambulance present. no. what the fuck is going on? he quickens his pace, not caring about the yellow tapes — oh, god, there shouldn’t be yellow ribbons. not here. not in your home, not in the safest and happiest place in the world. do not cross slaps him in the face, making his heartbeat increase. is that fear, in the back of his head?

he had goosebumps. not the good kind.

a police officer comes over to talk to him, explaining that he can’t be here, that this is a crime scene, sir. but toji is faster, his hand searching for the pendant he bought you through a stupid gambling game.

“sir, i’m going to have to ask you to leave—”

“this is my house, i live here with my girlfriend. what the fuck is going on?”

the police officer stops, as if he didn’t expect that kind of response. he checks something with another officer over the radio, and toji is about to punch everyone to go and look for you. what the hell is going on? he only left for three hours and about ten minutes. this shouldn’t be happening.

his green eyes stay focused on the ambulance, on the house that is being ransacked. your house, god, your wonderful house. he waits for you to come out from behind the ambulance, from one of the doors of the house, for you to come running and for him to hug you. but there is nothing like that. you don’t show up, and he suddenly feels like his throat is closing up.

the officer who owes him an explanation that keeps him calm and tells the truth at the same time — after all, a guy with the size of toji freaking out isn’t what anyone wants to face — gets his attention by gently clearing his throat. he looks like a newbie. excellent. you’re nowhere to be found, and toji is getting explanations from a damn newbie.

“you mentioned you live here with your girlfriend, sir—?” the man inquires, and toji crosses his arms, irritated. “can i ask where you were earlier tonight?”

“fushiguro. i’m fushiguro, yeah, and i live here for, two years now. i was out. buying stuff ‘nd all. why do you need to know?”

the officer sighs, his face sad. “you will need to make a statement later, mr. fushiguro. however, this doesn’t have to be immediately, we intend to respect your time with…”

“with?” toji grits his teeth, nearly snapping. “c’mon. i don’t have all night. where the hell is my girlfriend?”

there are some voices shouting instructions in the background, and toji doesn’t pay attention until something appears in the corner of his vision. he turns his face away more quickly than ever, giving the nervous policeman no time to warn him that he shouldn’t do that. and the sight before him makes him freeze.

the paramedics are zipping up a black bag and putting away the equipment they initially brought. toji is no stranger to blood and dead bodies—his body count is high in more ways than one—but he swears he’s never felt so sick. the butterfly pendant falls from his hands and clicks against the floor, with a slight *clink*.

it’s your body. they are putting your body inside a black bag. god, he only got a glimpse, a second, but he’s sure it’s you. pale, motionless. declared dead.

you, dead.

bile rises up his throat thinking about a million things. If he had arrived earlier, could he have helped? he definitely wouldn’t let that happen, what took him so long with the pachinko machine? Was this random, was this chosen? did they kill you because of him, because of him and his stupid career?

he wonders if you suffered. god, the thought of you scared and screaming as you fight to defend yourself makes toji almost go insane immediately. this is— real. and it is not a nightmare, where he’ll wake up besides you, on the bed. you would smile and comfort him out of his scared thoughts. but no. you won’t ever smile anymore.

never again.

he is so out of it for a moment, it’s as if nothing else exists. his ears won’t stop ringing, and it’s like his head is going to melt at any second. he turns to face the officer, who has been trying to get his attention for apparently five minutes.

“we’re sorry, mr. fushiguro. there was a complaint from the neighbors. we’re still not sure what happened, but it was certainly a homicide. maybe random. as it turned out, someone broke into the house and—”

“murdered my girlfriend.” he completes, his hands clenching into fists. toji excuses himself — and the poor officer can see the pain he’s trying to hide with anger.

he’ll probably get called out for a dozen things. identify your body. give a statement, be ruled out as a suspect, god. like he would even touch you like that. the idea is so disgusting he can’t even process it. but it does not matter. it does not matter anymore. his new, peaceful life? fuck that. you are dead.

and so is his heart. again.

toji walks away from the prying ears of the police, and he hates the fact that his hands are shaking as he calls shiu. and old friend and trustful dealer, he needs to ask two things.

“hey, shiu. when you hear this, give me a call as soon as you can. i am serious. i need another job, as quickly as possible, also.” he pauses, pinching the bridge of his nose, taking deep, angry breaths. “i need to ask a personal favor. investigate something for me, and i want the name and address of every person involved. alright?”

he wonders what will he use when he finds whoever did this. a gun? a knife? it doesn’t matter, nothing matters anymore. he steps on the butterfly pendant as he stares at the sky and wishes for blood to pay for yours being spilled.

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE. THANK YOU FOR READING <3

#kirell. kills .ᐟ #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #fushiguro toji x reader #toji x reader #toji x you #toji fushiguro #toji zenin #toji fushiguro x you #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen angst #jujustsu kaisen x reader

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