#and ending with him fighting even more desperately to stay alive... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tonycries · 1 year ago

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FIRST masterlist! This masterlist has all my writing from 06/02/24 up until 01/10/24 — for my recent works click on my SECOND MASTERLIST <3

Men In Uniform Do It Best!

Dirty Lil' Secrets

A Picture Lasts Long (But Not As Long As That D*ck)

I'm Addicted, I Admit It!

Give Me Tough Love

Never Ever Seen This Before!

We Don't Have No Babies!

Like A Fever

Bad Things (To You)

Prettier When Messy!

Care For You!

Green-eyed Monster

So Lonely In My Mansion!

Kiss Me More!

Girl, I Do This Often

Cause, I Love Freaks!

Sl*t Me Out!

Match My Freak!

WAP!

R U Mine?

Hot To Go!

Girl, You Earned It!

I'm A BIG Stepper!

BODY-ODY!

SOOO ANXIOUS

Long Overdue!

THIS P*SSY DEPRESSED!

The Family Matter?!

I-T G-I-R-L!

I Lasted Ten Rounds!

BRAT!

She's My Vitals!

Three's a Crowd (But Four...) — “So, are they like holograms? Or can you really touch them?” “Why? Trynna cop a feel, sweetheart?” In which you and your boyfriend find very unconventional uses for his powers.

Why Can't I Keep My Fingers Off You? [Part 1] [Part 2] — There were two things missing in the scene in front of you: 1. The aphrodisiac chocolate your friends had given as a gag gift last Christmas that had been hidden away in the back of your refrigerator. 2. Your dear fiancé.

Dream A Little Dream — For the strongest, it was a privilege to dream. Especially when his dream is you.

Initiation! — “Just a small initiation, nothing too serious.” Couldn’t be too hard, right? So why are you - the all-new frat sweetheart - being pinned to the bed and stuffed full from all ends by your frat brothers?

One More? Please? — A kiss always solves everything! But when a kiss turns into something more…well, it’s only a desperate attempt to unseal yourselves from this damned prison realm, right? Right?

Everybody Knows That I'm a Good Girl, Officers... — You don’t know what’s faster - how fast you were speeding down the highway, or how fast you��re on your knees for the hot officers that just so happen to pull you over.

Hope They Catch Us — When you’re on-screen, it’s always a rivalry to see who’s best - you just never thought that it would be the same struggle in bed.

Unmistakably Yours — In which the strongest bends space and time - literally - after coming back from deatḣ, to do what he’s always wanted to do - you.

Madam Gojo — Gojo Satoru, the strongest clan leader in all of Japan - and the most dangerous, too. You, rejected by the elders, and totally not his future bride, right? Right?

Can't Touch Me (Like Gojo) — In which intentionally making your fríend-with-benefíts jealous ends up with more benefits than you’d think.

The Heir — No, your clan leader husband won’t stop until he gives you an heir. No, you don’t think you’ll make it out alive.

The Call — After an explosive fight with your boyfriend, you really should feel sorry about being swept up by the blue-eyed stranger at the club - but it’s so hard when he kisses you like that.

Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy — He knows that you would be one of his favorite stories from his travels. And you know that you want nothing more than to stay by his side. After meeting an alluring cowboy at Ol’ Rustcliffe Saloon, both of you are sure of one thing - this must be fate.

Go For It, Gojo! [Part 1] [Part 2] — You wouldn’t fuck Gojo Satoru even if you were paid…is what you thought exactly five minutes before you were shoved against the wall of this cramped closet, his face stuffed in your soaked panties.

Unhoneymooners!? — The universe was surely playing a joke on you. Here you were, trapped on a luxury getaway with your - dangerously handsome, extremely obnoxious - ex. Either you were going to kill each other or end up pinned beneath him, split apart on his cóck. You just didn’t know what would come first.

AITA For F*cking My Sugar Daddy's Son?! — When your sugar daddy just isn’t paying attention to you, can you really be blamed for fúcking his son? Especially when his son is absolutely obsessed with you.

Bad Boys Bring Roses — You’ve never dealt with the yakuza - not once. So why is the future head of the Gojo clan suddenly coming up to you, demanding that you marry him for 30 days?

The Way You Kiss Me — The four times Satoru tries really hard not to kiss you - his best friend’s pretty younger sister. And the one time he doesn’t.

Isn't That Sweet? (I Guess So) — Oh no! Why do your pantíes keep disappearing? Well, maybe your hot roommate knows the answer…

Haunting You — A bIoody trail of vampire attácks, a political marriage, and four suitors you’re forced to choose from - all haunting you. But none as much as the mysterious stranger that makes everything in you scream that you might just be fated for the very thing your kingdom is trying to escape from.

You'll Taste Me Too! — How do you last three days on a work trip with the man you hate the most in the office? You don’t - you end up pinned underneath him, instead.

We Neva Play! — Turns out, the “r” in rivals stands for “really good séx” when a mission becomes a little too hot to handle.

Something Stupid — Five times the strongest would rather díe than tell you he loves you, and the one time he almost does. Almost.

Like An Animal — Of course Toji doesn’t want any more kids. Of course he’s lying as he stuffs your pretty cúnt full of his cúm for the third time tonight.

Whiskey, Neat, With a Side of You — When your date stands you up, you’re lucky that the hot bartender is more than happy to keep you company!

Everybody Knows That I'm a Good Girl, Officers... — You don’t know what’s faster - how fast you were speeding down the highway, or how fast you’re on your knees for the hot officers that just so happen to pull you over.

F*ck You! (Literally) — Of course, you hated your ex-husband. Of course, you found yourself in bed with him on your wedding anniversary.

Government Hooker — With the fame and glory of being an international popstar comes the inevitable threat of an overzealous stalker. You just didn’t think that it would also come with a very sexy, buff bodyguard behind your every move.

Madam Zenin — There’s nothing that rouses Toji, the infamous head of the Zenin clan, nothing that will make him lose control - until they take what’s most important to him. You.

Brooklyn Baby — Everybody wanted to fuck Suguru Geto, lead bassist of Tokyo Special Grades. Said Suguru doesn’t want to fuck anyone else but you. He couldn’t give less of a fuck if anyone walked in right now. In fact, a small part of him wishes someone would.

Golden Boy — Falling right back in love with the cult leader you’re supposed to kíll? Happens more often than you’d think.

Welcome To The Itadori's! — Three times Choso really, really wanted to hold you without his family barging in, and the one time he actually does.

FIVE! — Five hours - it’s all it takes for Choso’s baby fever to take over. After all, you’d look so pretty with his kid - five of them, in fact.

Great With Kids? (You Can Have Mine) — When your younger brother gets a new babysitter, only two questions linger on your mind: 1. How come your parents didn’t trust you in charge? 2. How dare the sexy babysitter be so perfect - it made you want some attention too.

Freak On The Cam! — Choso always loved watching you - his pretty lil’ camgírl - from behind the screen. Who knew he’d love being on-screen with you even more?

A Million Dollar Baby! — Turns out, rent can be paid in much more than one way.

Can't Touch Me (Like Gojo) — In which intentionally making your fríend-with-benefíts jealous ends up with more benefits than you’d think.

Exes who...

Love Is Blind

“She My Best Friend, Yeah We Not a Couple.”

Wanna Do Bad Things To You

I Wanna Get Freaky On Camera

Lemme Ride, Baby!

Can I Fill You Up, Baby?

"Pull On It. Harder."

Little Heaven

#masterlist #jjk masterlist #tonynavi

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wild-jackalope · 9 days ago

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summary :: in another dimension Mark is born a full blooded Viltrumite and is sent to conquer earth, but you change everything.

warning :: Nolan! Mark x Debbie! Reader, smut, porn w/ plot, fem reader, grinding, no use of cock or cunt (yes I'm a prude), cumin inside, breakups, relationship is a little rocky at first, pregnancy, having a child together eventually, Mark is a clueless viltrumite, soft lowkey, likely some mistakes but I tried my best

note :: h..herrow..

You should've known Mark Grayson was too good to be true. Should've known when he stopped an airborne car from ending your life, that his impossibly handsome face wasn't meant to be yours.

Maybe you did know, maybe you just didn't care.

When you first met, he literally swept you off your feet. One moment, there was screeching of metal and car horns: you were stunned, heart racking your bones with intense thudding, eyes blurred with stress-tears and legs failing your desperate, internal pleas to stay alive and run!

The car being hurled towards you wasn't going to stop and you weren't going to move. You were going to die.

But you didn't.

Instead, you looked up into the sky and landed on a stranger who held back your death like it weighed nothing.

Meters above the ground, wrapped in an unknown white and grey uniform that clung to a frame sculpted by something more brutal than earth could offer. A single hand held up the vehicle that had almost killed you.

His silhouette shielded the sun from your eyes and you could just make out the stoic expression holding his face.

"Leave." He ordered.

And just like that, a breath of life filled your lungs, your legs had begun dragging you away from the destruction, although poorly, because you'd fallen to the ground twice. The spasming of your muscles kept you from running far enough. It was like moving in a dream, your mind willing you to escape but your body reduced to uselessness due to shock.

The large arms that had just stopped the car from killing you; scooped you from the ground and took you miles away from the destruction. You caught a glimpse of the ground, watching as you were flown away from the slaughter whilst others ran.

"No— I'm fine! Go back." You blurted, your visceral thought only being that he'd left the fight for you—and more might be hurt because of it.

He didn't respond, only letting you from his arms on a nearby tower. Before he'd completely let go, he took a millisecond to give your smaller frame a squeeze, as if testing the durability of your body. You hadn't time to question it, nor process it, as he was right back into the battle, hair whipping your face from the rush of air he left behind him.

After about ten minutes of regaining your breath and slapping your legs awake, you attempted to find an exit from the roof. The only door to the lower levels had been locked from the inside.

It was funny, really, something you still teased Mark about even on your wedding night. 'You left me on a roof, seriously?' You asked, laughing. 'I came back for you, didn't I?' He replied.

Indeed he did come back, but not a moment before beating the villain wreaking havoc on the city unconscious. Whilst watching dust fly into the sky and buildings sustain damage you had time to consider that maybe this superhero was new.

He returned to you and took you to the ground, resting you on some calm rubble.

"Thank you. I think I owe you— coffee maybe? Dinner? My life?" you laughed.

He angled his chin up, eyes looking down on you suspiciously, almost to study you. "You didn't run," he stated.

You flushed. Were heroes supposed to make you feel embarrassed for becoming a deer in literal headlights? "Next time I'll try to dodge the flying Sudan."

He hovered beside you, perfectly still in waiting. Expecting something.

"Who— are you?" You asked.

"Mary Grayson. I've come from the planet Viltrum to protect your people." He said, as if it were memorised from a script.

"Mark Grayson?"

"Dinner."

"What?"

"I'll accept your offer for dinner." He said.

He was gone before you could even mutter, "Oh."

You didn't expect him to actually show up for dinner— certainly not tapping on your seventh story apartment window like he'd made his reservation at your dinner table. Actually, you weren't sure what to expect. You weren't even sure how he'd known where you lived.

He arrived just after the sun set, wearing the same strange uniform. His hair messily curved, no doubt blown out from his quick flying during the day's catastrophe. Scuff marks peppered his jaw and hands, and a stain you hoped wasn't blood specked across his chest.

Against your better judgement, you pried open your window and let him in.

He didn’t have a clue about how dates worked, let alone human interaction. You offered him water, and he looked at it like it could've been some suspicious poison. You tried to make conversation, and he answered everything in the most literal way possible—no small talk, no polite questions, just raw honesty. At one point, he stared at your TV for a full two minutes, then asked if humans had always been obsessed with wasting their life with entertainment.

Still, there was something oddly endearing about him. He was out of place, odd and— call it crazy— but you enjoyed it.

That meeting seemed to seal your fate, because Mark Grayson was far from done with you.

You'd see his saves plastered on the news, and sometimes even catch him flying by the city. Some weeks, he'd appear at your window with a worn look— like your home was the only place he could think of going.

Asking never seemed to cross his mind; he just appeared.

And you always let him in.

Whenever he showed up at your doorstep, it was always a new surprise— Like the time he brought you a tree, instead of flowers.

"Mark?" You yelled up, startled, your bag slipping from your shoulder as you stepped out of your building. You side-stepped to avoid the crumbling dirt falling from the uprooted tree in his hand.

"This is for you." He landed, touching down with professional ease. The tree thudded into the patchy yard outside your apartment.

"Mark— this is— why?" You croaked.

"It's customary to present someone you're courting with a plant, is it not?"

"Well, yes, but this?"

"I suspected this will outdo those smaller, weaker plants." He stated, as if he were far above handling flowers.

You stared at the massive plant, trunk thick and roots crammed into the dirt. No flower pot could ever hold it and your landlord would likely have an aneurysm if he saw it left on the front lawn.

But Mark was so earnest about it. Prideful, even.

"So you stole a whole tree?"

"I've relocated it," he stated, very surely. "It was unappreciated, it'll be much better with you."

"Mark, this is a cherry blossom tree... from— somewhere. You can't just—"

"There were no nesting animals," he said, "do you not like it?"

That stupid furrow of his brows and the drop in his voice had your heart pulling at your chest. You sighed, long and reluctant. "No, I like it. It's just... different."

"Good," he said, pride returning to his voice, "then I'll continue with my efforts."

One week, it was a tree, the next it was a quartz crystal straight from the earth's crust, still raw and covered in dirt. "Humans like to be adorned with crystals." he reasoned, as though ripping a rock from the earth was the most natural thing to do.

Once, he'd brought you a wild rabbit, its fur bushy and eyes wide in fear. He stated its weak and terrified nature reminded him of you. You took the poor creature from his hand, cradling it and telling him not to kidnap wild animals between light laughs.

You couldn't help but smile at his complete lack of understanding. The innocence in his actions always disarming you. His earnestness was endearing and with each strange gift, each odd comment, seemed to draw you closer to him. Yet, despite the love that bloomed in your chest, there were moments when the differences between you were so glaring they seemed impossible to bridge.

Then came the night when Mark decided you'd be the one he'd try 'marriage' with.

He came to your window, a gash in his arm still seeping blood from the fight you'd seen the news cover just moments ago.

"Mark! Are you alright?" you ushered him to your room, sitting him on your bed and searching your medicine cabinet for anything to stop the bleeding.

He seemed unimpressed with your worry, stating, "I'm going to be fine. I've survived much worse."

"Don't be an idiot," you muttered, placing a gauze on his wound and tightly bandaging it up. You hadn't realised how close you'd become. He fought for the city, then came straight to your home, not the hospital, or Cecil—you.

It was the first time you'd tended to his wounds, but it wouldn't be the last.

Afterward, you sat beside him, eyeing the tight bandage in hopes that it wouldn't bleed through. Mark couldn't take his eyes off you, feeling your warmth radiate on him.

"You always let me in." He stated, not asking but still unsure.

"Shouldn't I?" You asked, meeting his brown eyes.

His jaw clenched, "it's dangerous," he said. "You know what I am, what danger I bring."

"You being a superhero doesn't scare me," you said.

He studied your face, looking for a lie in your eyes but found none. "Reckless." He muttered.

"Says the man, bleeding on my bed." You mused.

That earned the smallest twitch of his mouth, not quite a smile.

You shifted and the space between you dissipated. His breath entwined with yours, short and shallow.

"You're not dangerous to me," you cooed, leaning in and kissing him.

Your first kiss seemed long overdue, because it revealed a deep need through its fever and roughness.

His mouth moved against yours, like trying to find the rhythm of it— trying to immediately master this new experience.

Your fingers found his hair, dragging gently across his scalp until he grunted into your mouth. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his hands hovering, tense and strained over your sides.

You brushed it aside as a silly alien trait and pressed his hand against your side. "It's okay Mark," you breathed, kissing his jaw, "you can touch me."

His breath hitched, flickering between your lips and where his hands tightly rested. "I appreciate your forward approach, but are you sure you're ready to procreate with me?"

"P—Procreate? What?" You snorted, unable to hide how the absurdity jolted your body.

"That is what you're intending, isn't it— to mate?"

"Lord no—" You said, attempting to suppress any giggles rising up your chest. "On Earth, sex isn't just about having children."

"No?"

"Sometimes, but most times..." you trailed, a finger brushing Mark's arm, "it's simply for pleasure."

That got his attention. His muscle stilled beneath your touch, watching you like you were some rare thing. "I want to feel it for myself," he said.

"I bet you do." You leaned in and pressed a lingering, light kiss to his jaw.

Your hands landed on his chest, the hardness a reminder of his impossible strength. You moved, straddling his lap and letting him feel the curves of your body against him. His breath quickened and you could already feel the effects of your touches, hard against your inner thigh.

Your hands, bold and needy, began to map out the muscles of his body, curving over the planes of his stomach before finding the firm ridges. You let them linger there, listening intently to the puffs of Mark's heavy, anticipated breath.

Once you decided to let up on your teasing, your palm found the curve of his bulge, the heat of him palpable even through the fabric of his suit.

He sucked in a sharp, defensive breath, grabbing your hand tightly as protective instinct kicked in. You took a moment away from his lips to study his face.

You were faced with an expression you hadn't yet seen painting Mark's features. His brows were furrowed in an unfamiliar expression: soft frown, flushed face and wide pupils. You could only describe it as desire wearing the mask of nervousness.

You tilted your head, offered him a knowing smile.

Despite his internal turmoil, you easily freed yourself from his grip and continued your pursuit of his pleasure.

You had managed to reach a strange equality in your relationship: Mark was a super-powered hero with incredible strength, but he knew nothing of the world, and you had to teach him. But this? With Mark's breath spiking at the pressure you touched him with, the way he shivered at your wet kisses. He'd never been at your mercy before.

You pressed Mark down onto the bed, rising only to take your shirt off.

He seemed torn between action and simply taking whatever lesson on human interaction you had to give him. His hands hovered closely, but not close enough.

You took his wrist and guided him to the fabric of your bra. "You're not going to break me, Mark."

"You're frail."

You huffed, raising a brow at his expression, "I can take whatever you want to give me."

That did little to soothe his concern—but it didn't stop him.

You pressed your weight into the stiff shape poking your thigh, driving your hips forward. Mark grunted, the hand on your breast squeezing, the other finally taking a stronger hold of your waist.

"Fuck," he cursed, fingers pushing craters into your soft skin. You repeated the motion, adding kisses alongside it.

"You want to take your suit off?" You drawled, slow and sensual into his ear.

He was naked below you before you knew it. You decided to even the playing field by taking off your bottoms.

He admired your body for a moment, enough to send a kick of embarrassment to your cheeks.

“I’ll turn the lights off.” You offered, reaching towards the lamp.

But he stopped you with a firm hand.

“What is the point of nudity if I’m unable to see you?”

“Well—" you paused, "it’s more about feeling.”

He took two fingers and softly dragged them down the middle of your breasts, along the ridges of your sternum until he reached the plush of your tummy. “I’m more than capable of seeing and feeling.”

You shivered. No hiding, then.

“Let me see you.”

“Mark…” you protested. He was having none of it. You slowly relented, unclasping your bra and sliding off your underwear, the last remaining pieces.

As the covers slipped from your skin, you felt like a dish—and Mark, with his scrutinising gaze, could’ve passed for a food inspector. His eyes roamed slowly, meticulously, like he was checking every bump and curve for perfection.

You took the pause to gander at him, finally letting your eyes settle on his sex. Am I prepared to take that? You asked yourself, god if his hands don’t break me, his dick might.

“Stop staring,” You muttered, unsure if it was for you or Mark.

With no further instruction from you, Mark decided he’d better inform you how quick of a learner he was.

He took you into him with a swift motion, his flushed skin meeting your own burning flesh in a tight hold. As quickly as he palmed your skin, his mouth painted your chest with rough and inexperienced kisses. You could feel his teeth drag and catch on your breast, making your thighs quiver.

Okay, yeah, I can take him. You decided.

You reached down, fingers trailing down his defined abdomen before brushing against his shaft, and you took the size of him in your hand, feeling a hot breath ghost your shoulder. You gave him a firmer grip and Mark’s arms around you became rigid. A slow stroke drew a groan from him, one that was unguarded and ragged.

With a more assured pace and grip, you quickened your rhythm. He twitched and a dribble of precum slicked your hand.

You would save the rest of foreplay for another time.

You aligned yourself with his length and hovered over his tip, slowly fitting him into you.

There was a slight discomfort at the wet tightness but it was taken away by a sharp pain at your shoulder. Mark's teeth had sunk into your flesh, not enough to break the skin but enough to distract you whilst he pulled you flush onto the remaining size of his sex.

"Mark!" You yelped, hands circling his neck to pry him away from your shoulder.

His lidded eyes met yours, and little dazed and partly apologetic.

"You bit me." You stunned.

"I—"

"It's okay," you said, "just.. not so hard." You thought you saw a flash of a surprised grin but became distracted with the twitch of his full length inside you.

"You're soft everywhere," Mark rasped, his hips rolling into you, slow and deliberate.

The confession made your gums itch and your moan met his groan halfway. You steadied yourself on his chest, feeling the intense drum of his heartbeat. His hips continued to push into you in an untrained attempt.

You aided, rolling into him and feeling the slide along your sensitive insides. You cursed.

The two of you found a disjointed rhythm— Mark matching the sway of your hips with a quick intent, whilst you took your time on him, working to have his length hit that perfect spot which drove you quicker to your orgasm.

Even through the fog of his desire, Mark couldn't help but study the way you reacted to him. How you quivered when he reached the deepest part of you, right where his dick curved into your most sensitive part.

He angled his hips to reach further, and your breath caught in your throat.

Mark's grip on your hips tightened and in a possessive motion he guided your hips further on him replacing your grinding with his strong, quick thrusts.

Your body shook against his, responding to him instinctively and Mark couldn't help but think this is right. This is exactly where I need to be.

Your nails pierced his chest, raking white lines against Mark's skin as his dick pushed you to your orgasm.

"Fuck!" You cried, your body racked with the flood of pleasure reaching every nerve in your body.

Mark was sent over, too, consumed by the fluttering of your insides sucking him in. A guttural groan escaped him with his final, messy thrust. His seed filled your twitching sex, kept inside by his length still filling you whilst the two of you caught your breath.

Both of you stayed, matching pants filling your otherwise silent room.

"Fuck..." you exhaled, half from exhaustion and disbelief. Your mind still swam in the afterglow and you couldn't help but mutter, "It took my last boyfriend forever to..." and as the words left your mouth your heart dropped. Seriously? Mentioning an ex while he's still inside me?

"Continue," he said, a flicker of tension in his eyes.

You hesitated, considering backtracking. "I've... never finished the first time having sex with someone.."

His lips quirked into a smirk. "So does that earn me the title of boyfriend?" he asked, his voice tinged with playful confidence. Without waiting for an answer, he shifted his hips upward, lifting you off the bed with ease. You gasped at the sensation, smacking his chest.

"Don't be arrogant," you shot back, raising yourself off of him with a silenced wince.

You pulled a drawer open, rummaging for an oversized shirt to slip on, and tugged it over your head before heading into the bathroom to clean up the warm mess between your thighs.

When you returned, Mark hadn't moved. But his eyes were fixed on the ceiling as though it were the endless night sky.

"What are you thinking about Mark Grayson?" you asked, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

His gaze shifted to you and something of a smile formed on his lips, but soon dropped to a slight frown. "On my planet, home. Mating— sex, is purely to procreate. I never thought it could be a tool for anything else."

"Sounds boring." You hummed.

Mark remained silent.

It really was just the two of you from then on, living life in a new rhythm, one that included Mark in ways you hadn't considered. He was at your side whenever he had time away from saving the world,

but that still left you plenty of time alone.

The quiet away from Mark allowed you to remain yourself. You—not just the girlfriend of a superhero.

Still, his absence was... undesirable, so it didn't take long for him to decide he needed to make it up to you. He had been away for a week, trapped in another dimension battling a monstrous race, and when he finally returned, he insisted on doing something to make up for lost time. That’s when he took you across the globe on your first trip together.

It was supposed to be a nice time, a way to reconnect. But like most things with him, it ended up being more complicated than either of you expected...

That trip was the first time you two broke up.

"I can't believe you organised this, Mark." You poked your chicken chasseur with a fork, "you can be romantic after all."

"I figured you must've missed me," he replied as casual as ever.

"Probably not as much as you're hoping I did." You grinned over the rim of your champagne glass.

Mark's brow lifted, amused. "No?"

"Well, you left with no warning, no goodbye." You said, tone light but edged with something real.

"I would've," he said, softer.

You sighed, warm but honest, "I know. It's just... hard sometimes, not knowing where you are, or how long you'll be gone."

He leaned in, elbows resting on the table. "But I'm here now. So, you'll spend the night with me."

You blinked, he must've really missed sleeping with you. "That's pretty direct."

"I took you to Paris, it's considered to be earth's most romantic city," He said plainly.

"You think because you took me to Paris I'll just crawl into bed for you?" You asked, sitting back in your seat.

"Yes— and continue the course of our relationship."

You laughed, but it was dry and full of disbelief. "So that's what we are? A transaction? You leave for weeks, take me to a nice place and I give you sex?"

His jaw tensed. "That's not what I meant."

"But it's what you think, isn't it?" You leaned forward, voice low but controlled.

"Don't twist my words."

"Pretty sure I'm hearing them clearly." You sighed, attempting to soften to him, "you can't expect everything to return to the way it was when you're ready, like my life is on pause until you come back. Then you expect me to worship you when you get back?"

His brow furrowed, caught somewhere between frustration and confusion. "I'm trying to fit your pace, your customs."

"I don't need you to fit anything, Mark, I just want you to understand me." You pushed your plate aside to reach his hand, "A relationship isn't about scoring points."

He glanced down at your touch, but instead of taking it, he pulled his hand away, fingers curling tight around the edge of the table. "I'm tired of your people's petty traditions. Will you come home with me tonight or not?"

Your mouth parted in utter disbelief, "No." You said, tossing your napkin on your plate and standing.

Mark quickly followed, his chair scrapping loudly behind him. "I brought you here, you can't leave without me."

"Like hell I can't."

That led to you blowing a thousand dollars on a very long plane ride home.

It was the first time you and Mark broke up, but it wouldn't be the last.

He won you back of course, only because you saw him save two children on the news, you decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

The second time the two of you 'broke up' was a tad bit... bloodier.

Mark had taken you to a Christmas market, the kind that lit up at night, with fairy lights strung across every stall, holiday music echoing from an unseen speaker being muffled by laughter and chatter.

It was the kind of place that felt safe and warm, despite the freezing winter.

You'd stepped away from Mark for only a moment, drawn to a stall that sold hand carved snow globes. Each little world held in them were so delicate and sweet. You were smiling, ready to call Mark over to show him one that held a home with a joyful family— when a feeling struck you.

The kind that made your scalp tight and your stomach feel light.

You looked up, eyes instinctively grazing over the people nearby when you landed on a man whose eyes glistened red in the cold. It was a man, mid forties with a glare that pinned you in place.

You straightened, looking over the heads of the crowded market to find Mark.

You spotted his distinctly dark hair and tall frame a few stalls down, half listening to a woman trying to sell him mittens.

You walked to his side, pressing to him and keeping your voice hushed, "let's leave, Mark."

He blinked down at you, "why?"

"There's a guy giving me a look and I am not interested in sticking around to see if he'll try anything."

Mark's expression hardened, not in dismissal but recognition. He stared at your face a moment too long waiting to catch your fleeting gaze to the man. When you did, Mark followed your eye line.

You caught a brief sight of his fists curling before he was gone from your side, leaving you with a strong gust of wind.

"Mark no—" it was too late.

He was already gone.

You stumbled by, weaving through people and muttering apologies to reach him. A tight circle of people had surrounded him and by the time you'd pushed through them, the man was stumbling back, clutching his mouth with a bloodied hand.

Mark's fist connected again, a loud thwack! sounding out. The man dropped like a rag doll to the ground.

"Mark!" You shouted, grabbing the back of his coat—the one you'd just gifted to him, still smelling of the store you bought it from. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"

"He was looking at you with ill intention," He said flatly, disgusted eyes still on the unconscious man, "just as you said."

"Mark, men look at me. Intent isn't a crime! you can't beat them because they stare!"

"I protected you," he said, eyes cooling when they reached you.

"No, you just attacked someone!" Your voice began to crack at the realised gazes around you. Recording phones, light whispers.

Just then, you caught specks of blood on his collar. It didn't seem to bother him. He was too calm, too sure he'd done the right thing.

"You can't hurt people because you think they're bad. The world doesn't work like that."

"I'll do as I please," he said.

Your chest ached. "Yeah?" You whispered, eyes narrowing. "Then good luck fitting in because I'm not going to babysit some alien psycho." You released your grip on his coat, stepping away.

His expression didn't break, not even twitch and somehow that made it worse.

But, third times a charm, right?

You hoped to God it was when you decided to give Mark his third— and final—chance.

He showed up at your window weeks later, disheveled, like he had forgotten how to dress like a human. His shirt was stained, pants crinkled and still wearing the coat you gave him.

He didn't beg, didn't argue, just said: "I've been learning."

A simple truth, a real promise.

You let him back in, not because he had changed but because he wanted to, for you.

Thankfully, no breakups came about after that. There were missteps, yes—misunderstandings, nights on the couch—but no fights that broke your relationship.

There was growth too, and tenderness. Nights in one another's arms, domestic mornings, and something close to peace.

And it stuck.

So the two of you got married. Not long after, you had a beautiful baby girl.

But really, it was all too good to be true.

The night before you found out Mark's true intentions for coming to Earth—that he was the one who killed the Guardians of the Globe and was going to try and indoctrinate your child into a ruthless empire—he'd made love to you like it'd be the last time.

Things had shifted since your daughter had gotten her powers. Mark was quick to anger from the smallest things, his body was continuously tense in a way it hadn't been in years.

But when he laid you down with soft kisses, you thought maybe this was the Mark you'd missed, until he spoke.

"You know you were the first person I ever experienced this kind of love with." His voice was low and subtly disturbed.

"Mark?" You took his face in your hands, trying to soothe whatever sadness had come over him.

"You'll be the last too."

"Don't talk like that, Mark—" A gasp pulled from your chest as he filled you. You must've had sex with Mark hundreds of times over the years, yet the feeling of his length sliding inside you and the spark it ignited never tired.

It likely felt the same for him, because he halted, regaining the steady pace of his breath.

"I'll never want this with another," he whispered.

"Mark—" He kissed you, enveloping his name on your tongue and hushing any further talk. No, he only wanted moans from you.

His arms encompassed you tightly, as did his smell and taste. Just Mark, all around you and inside.

Too good to be true. You knew it. You had always known it.

read a continuation of this AU here

#invincible #invincible fanfic #invincible x oc #invincible x reader #invincible x y/n #invincible x you #mark grayson #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson x y/n #mark grayson x you #viltrum mark #Viltrumite mark x reader smut #mark x reader smut #mark grayson x reader smut #viltrumite mark x reader

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earthtooz · 5 months ago

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x : LUST FOR LIFE *+ﾟ

in which: sunday discovers a new emotion when he's under you.

warnings: 1.5k words, sunday is B(h)ORNY and doesn't know how to deal with it, he wants reader so bad, lowkey implied switch!sunday, gn!reader being sunday's freak awakening, NO SMUT BUT UNDER 16 DNI, not edited

a/n: five likes and i'll write nsfw for sunday

What good is a leader who can’t empathise with the lives of the people he was supposed to be leading?

This thought has plagued Sunday ever since he exiled himself from Penacony, since he joined the Astral Express in a journey of self-discovery and reflection, embracing the Nameless lifestyle so he can broaden the horizons that Penacony had restricted. There, he was so detached from the reality of the people he was trying to help, so trapped in a whirlwind of his own ideals to experience humanity, too buried in official duties to rejoice in the many wonders of the universe, the simple pleasures and the grandiose ones.

Since boarding, the former head of the Oak Family has experienced humiliation, desperation, and many close calls with death. It seems he underestimated how easily trouble found the Trailblazers, and the diary he carries with him has been updated with multiple entries, filled with exasperated recounts that ended with him being grateful that he is still well and unscathed.

Sunday has also experienced laughter, connection, and the bond of humankind- something he did not have before. When he controlled the Oak Family, had everyone under or at his fingertips, the only person he could depend on was himself. When Robin left to travel the cosmos, what was he to do than learn the bitter truth of independence and self-sufficiency?

Yet, he sits on the couches of the Astral Express and there is bound to be another by him, trying to converse with him like an old friend. He is mentioned in the conversations like an individual who they keep around because they want to, not because he is crafty, not because of what he can offer. No, he can’t offer anything right now, and the crew still wants him to stay.

He learns more about humanity with each passing day.

However, perhaps one of the more puzzling feelings Sunday has had to confront was… infatuation.

It’s a tricky feeling. It sends his heart into overdrive and his limbs to become jelly, and at the epicentre of this hurricane of uncharted territory, is you.

“Sunday?” Your voice comes through muffled from the other side of the door. He almost jumps off his mattress at the sound.

“Door is open,” he responds as calmly as possible, heart thrumming alive at the sound of your voice, beating in time with the rapid succession of your knocks.

The door slides open slowly to reveal you on the other side. “Pom Pom just wanted to let everyone know that we will be jumping soon.”

“I see, thank you for letting me know.”

“No problem,” your gaze then flickers to the angels that flock around him and he watches as your eyes gleam with fascination.

Then, without any hesitation or reluctance, you enter his room and approach him, the door sliding closed without your weight to hold it open. You stop before him without a bow, without a formal greeting of ‘Mr. Sunday’- no, you stop before him like an equal, which you most certainly are. In fact, he would even think of himself below you, but Sunday needs to unlearn this assumption of hierarchy, needs to not let it define the relationships he forms, even if he looks up to you and finds you reverent.

“Hey, I’ve never seen these little guys before!” You exclaim, sticking out a hand to act like a perch for the angel-like summons. One of them flits up to you and stays on your outstretched finger. “Well, not this close, at least.”

It keens at your praise. Like owner like summon, Sunday supposes.

“I don’t tend to bring them out. They are for combat purposes,” he explains.

Your eyes widen slightly. “Are you trying to pick a fight with me right now?”

“What? No! That’s not it-”

“-I’m kidding, Sunday,” you snicker. “We’re friends, I wouldn’t want to fight you.”

“Right,” he exhales, “I wouldn’t want to fight you either.”

“Besides, we already did once.”

He freezes at the memory, remembers when he got hit with the exact train he is currently boarding.

You, however, are unphased by the recollection, and even continue to rub salt in the wound. “I remember fighting against these little summons too, your owner was a real meanie, do you guys know that?”

They flock around you, spinning and fluttering like little fireflies. Instinctively, Sunday covers his flustered expression with his wings, and he doesn’t budge, even when he hears your laugh, the sound almost enough for him to melt into a puddle by your feet.

“Hey, hey, I was kidding, sorry if I took the joke too far.”

He uncovers himself with an embarrassed sigh, not meeting your eyes. “It’s okay, I think the memory is just… humiliating, more than anything.”

“There are no more hard feelings. Everyone has accepted you on board and none of us think of you to be the same person you were when we first met, I promise.”

Your words are completely earnest, Sunday knows it, can feel it in the way you tell him so unabashedly. So who is he to deny it?

“Thank you,” he says, finally looking up at you, “it means a lot to hear that.”

“I’ll say it as much as you need. Well, I’ll get out of your hair now, just prepare for the jump-”

Your sentence is interrupted by a shriek when you lose your footing, and Sunday feels it too, the force so strong that even he, while sitting, feels as if is being stretched and pulled into a miniscule hole. What he also feels is your body colliding on top of his, and his hands come to your waist to catch you in an attempt to prevent you from slipping, but it’s not enough and he’s falling with you onto the expanse of his made bed.

The Express is warping to some expanse of the universe, and his stomach drops at the sensation, spreading to the ends of his nerves before disappearing, just replaced by the extremely odd feeling of being pulled through the stars. He just hopes you’re comfortable, standing up whilst warping is tough, he heard the stories of when Stelle first tried to do it and how she fell flat on her face.

When the feeling of normality returns and Sunday doesn’t feel like he has been stretched out, he opens his eyes and tries to take in the sight before him.

You. Your face. Centimetres away from his.

He’s always thought you were pretty, but seeing you this close… perhaps just pretty is an understatement. His gaze unwillingly flicks to your lips and he wished he hadn’t because suddenly the urge to sit up and lick into your mouth is raging; a fire that can’t be contained.

Sunday wants you to push him down by the shoulders, with no gentleness or mercy, and just… devour him whole. His hands want to find you by the hips and pull you into him more than humanly possible, he wants you to indent yourself onto him so he can remember your taste forever, so that, in a way, you couldn’t ever leave him.

Alternatively, he would happily flip around and pin you against the mattress. He would pry you open, explore the cavern of your mouth with his tongue and suck your sacred essence out of you so that it can stay and settle in his bones instead, replacing where marrow should be. He wants to lay you vulnerable so his hands can explore places only you want him to touch, wants to take you so that you stay forever, wants to feel your tongue against his, wants to hold your face and feel how you react when he takes his time cherishing you, revering you.

This feeling is too much, these thoughts are overpowering, yet nothing has ever been more clear. Sunday wants you, lusts for you, even, and he’s never felt so intensely for someone before.

How would the symphonies sound when they learn of the atrocities he wants to perform?

Temptation holds him close and infects him with a desire so strong, he’s practically frozen in place as you recover from the shock, holding yourself up with your arms that were on either side of his head.

“Ow, I’m sorry!” You immediately exclaim, before realising exactly what position you are in, your chests are pressed together, and you’re mortified to think about how close you were before you picked yourself off him, and- his… his hips… are pressed against yours- okay, you needed to leave as soon as possible.

You scramble off him like he had burnt you, frantically shouting apologies whilst doing so, the words clumsy and rushed, but neither of you can deny how you miss the warmth that was suddenly ripped away.

(If he wanted to, you could have stayed in that position with him.)

Then, before you could get anymore thoughts, you turn and practically bolt out of his room without another word, leaving a hot and bothered Sunday behind.

#earthtooz: honkai star rail #sunday x reader #hsr x reader #sunday hsr x reader #sunday fluff #honkai star rail x reader

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kingkaisen · 1 year ago

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TELL ME || Levi A.

even during the battle to end the rumbling, levi can’t help but think about you.

“Tell me, Y/N . . . Are you proud of me? Or are you disappointed? Did I fight hard enough? Could I have done more?”

Unanswered questions continued to appear in Levi’s mind as he glanced down at the blood splattering onto his fingertips, dripping from his mouth.

“Will I see you again someday? How long do I have to wait until I can know the answer to that?”

The pain in his leg was horrific. Awful. Indescribable — there weren’t any words in existence that could accurately detail the burning, aching sensation that made him wish he could chop off his own leg to escape the misery.

Even so, as one or two of his comrades held onto his limp body — he couldn’t tell who or how many, thanks to his blind eye — he did nothing but cough up blood.

“If I died today, I wouldn’t mind. Not if I get to see you again. I promised you that I’d always keep fighting — that’s what I said, right? I wish I didn’t make that promise, because I’m tired. I’m tired. I’m tired . . .”

As Levi rode on the back of Falco’s winged titan form, he realized something.

The pain in his leg was nothing compared to the agonizing heartache he felt every second of every day since he watched you die.

He hated himself for falling in love.

He hated himself for not being strong enough to save you.

Being known as Humanity’s Strongest Soldier felt like an utter joke. Like he was being mocked.

It was all he could think about as he looked down at the kids — no, they were adults now — fighting titans on Eren’s skeleton-like form, desperately attempting to stop the rumbling.

It was like he raised them. You both did.

But you didn’t get a chance to see them grow.

If you were still around, you would have known that Connie did indeed get taller. You won that bet. Levi owed you a new tea set, as he thought that the hilarious kid would stay the same height forever.

You didn’t witness Armin start to come out of his shell a bit, either. He was the commander now, could you believe that?

The shy kid who you thought of as a son — who followed you around like a lost puppy during his early days as a scout — was now Levi’s boss. And the colossal titan. How silly.

Jean had turned out to be a great leader as well, fighting for humanity instead of for himself. You would have been proud.

He only grew out his hair because you weren’t around to help him trim it. He could do it on his own, but he didn’t want to. Not without you.

Mikasa was exceptional then, and she was exceptional now. You were the only person she trusted to wash her scarf whenever she was too busy to get around to it.

Reiner and Annie were fighting too.

Everyone was fighting. All to stop the rumbling.

Even if it meant killing Eren.

“Could you do it, Y/N? Could you have helped us take Eren’s life?” Levi wondered.

You wouldn’t have supported the rumbling. That was a fact. Even so, you adored that kid, almost as if you were possessed by Carla’s ghost.

And he adored you too.

Your death was one of the horrific events that pushed Eren to this unspeakable point.

Both Eren and Levi witnessed it.

A titan snacking on your body as if you weren’t a person, but grapes at a picnic. Both of them were too weak to stop it.

They could only watch. Watch as you were eaten alive.

—

When the fight ended, your face was among the many ghosts staring at Levi. His old comrades were all satisfied. He didn’t have to fight anymore. He could just live.

But he couldn’t rest.

That came later. It came when Levi was an old man, sitting alone in his wheelchair at his favorite place in Marley to stare out at the glistening water with his one decent eye.

Old age claimed his life as the sun started to set, its beautiful orange rays shining over the water.

And you were waiting for him. You and all of his old comrades.

He pushed himself right out of his wheelchair. He could walk again. He could see again. He was young again.

His wrinkly skin melted away. His gray hair was once again black. His scars no longer existed.

Slowly, he walked towards you, the love of his life. The person he never got a chance to grow old with. Start a family with. Experience peace with.

When he wrapped his arms around you, holding you after so many years of trying and failing to remember what it felt like to touch you, he knew that he could finally rest.

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phantomwithbreakfast · 5 months ago

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~ Scarred For Half A Life ~

First of all, I am never doing this style again—I think. I was trying out something new, even when this wasn’t planned first!

Anyway, I was working on this piece, when something shot through my mind. Yeah, that scar. And I began to write a story—Of course I did.

(Sketch of this one is lurking on the bottom of this post, lol)

The story is called Scarred For Half A Life.

Why this title? Well. Because Danny is half human—alive, and half ghost—dead. Instead of ‘Scarred for life’. Bad joke, I know.

Published first two chapters here.

———————

Genre: Angst/Pain And Comfort (and a little Horror)

Trigger Warning: Emotional Distress — Violence — Graphic Content

Rating: M

———————

Summary:

Danny had been captured by the GiW once again, or so he thinks. Leaving him feeling utterly helpless—vulnerable. There was nothing he could do. What will happen to him? And why again?

Spoiler:

Was he here—there? Trapped in some forbidden wasteland in the middle of a desolate desert? He couldn’t even remember how he had ended up in this place. His mind scrambled for answers, but nothing came. What had happened? Back home… did he even still have a home? Or was this lifeless prison now his new reality? How long had he already been here? Days? Weeks?

His mind grew hazy, a dense fog clouding his thoughts and erasing his memories, one by one, as they slipped into the unreachable corners of his mind. He fought desperately to stay conscious, clinging to the faint hope that this was nothing more than a terrible dream—a nightmare he might eventually wake from. But the fight was slipping from his grasp. His body was too weak, his strength utterly spent. The darkness pressed in, heavy and unrelenting, until he couldn’t hold on any longer. With a final, defeated breath, he surrendered to the pitch-black void—a hollow, empty space that led to… nothing.

———————

Sketch of Danny. When he would be 17 years old, maybe? I don’t know.

He looks tired. I am aware.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #danny phantom fanart #dp fanart #phandom #digital art #digital illustration #procreate #fanfic #fanfiction #fan fiction #sketch #digital drawing #digital painting #redraw #fan fic writing #writing #story #drawing

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prythianpages · 29 days ago

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Something I Wait For | Eris x Reader

Eris x Reader ft Azriel | You're still overridden with stress over your unexpected pregnancy when an unexpected guest turns up at Day Court.

a/n: This was supposed to be short but ended up being longer than intended, around 2,700 words.

warnings: angst, reader is pregnant/ hidden pregnancy trope, reader is heartbroken & depressed, Helion being Helion (pls let me know if I missed anything)

You stared at your reflection, hands drifting to your stomach. A habit you’ve developed lately. The small bump there was still invisible to the eye but you could feel it. The slightest change in your body.

It was exhilarating. It was terrifying.

It was real.

How much longer did you have until the truth became undeniable? Until your brother took one look at you and knew? The mere thought sent a chill through you. It had already been difficult enough to obtain the test that confirmed your pregnancy. The paranoia of being seen, of word getting back to your family, nearly stopping you at every turn.

Seeking a healer? Impossible.

Your throat tightened, your fingers pressing against your stomach as though you could shield the life within from the shame and judgment.

Honestly, you had no idea what to do. Becoming a mother had always been something you looked forward to…but not like this.

As with tradition, you hoped to court someone you fancied, marry them, travel around Prythian for a while and then start a family. It seemed you were doing things backwards, too consumed by your attraction and feelings to bother with thinking over the consequences that could happen. Consequences that did happen.

Though, now marriage was an option limited to time and the idea of opening your heart to another was one you didn’t think you could ever entertain again. No male would want to marry a “tainted” female. No male would want to accept the scrutiny that came with raising another male’s child. At least not in your court. It would be the scandal of the decade, whispered about behind sneering smiles. And even if you somehow found someone willing to claim the child as his own, there was a far graver concern.

What if the child took after him?

The male whose name still felt like a blade to your heart. The male who had turned you away so cruelly. You hadn’t known the truth then, but would it have changed anything if he had? Would he have stayed? Would he have cared?

You debated sending a letter at first, still hopeful and desperately clinging onto the notion that he’d come looking for you. That perhaps, deep down, some part of him had regretted it. And maybe, weeks ago, you would have taken him back without hesitation.

That was how strong his hold had been. But the more you thought about telling him, the more the possibilities unraveled in your mind, each one more dreadful than the last.

If he didn’t want you then, why would he want you now?

You could tell him. You could let the words spill from your lips, lay bare the truth that has been eating you alive for weeks. I am carrying your child. But for what?

So he could spit out more cold, harsh words? So he could toss a pouch of gold at your feet, eager to rid himself of the burden? So he could laugh at the news the same way he had laughed at you? Or worse, so he could conjure up a plan to take your baby from you?

Eris had spoken little of his childhood, but the resentment in his voice when he mentioned Beron, the scars marring his skin…those were enough. Enough to know that whatever life he had endured under his father’s rule, it was not one you wanted for your child.

You let out a shaky exhale, fighting back the tears. No. Forget Eris. Forget the way you had let yourself believe that even for a moment, you meant something to him. It didn’t matter anymore.

You had no choice but to move forward. Alone.

The weight of that truth was suffocating, so much that you felt it press against your chest. But you could do this, you told yourself. You had to do this. The hand resting on your stomach flew to your chest, fingers pressing against your ribs as if you could steady the sudden, aching tightness there.

Turning away from the mirror, you smoothed out the skirt of the gown High Lord Helion had gifted you upon your welcome. It was soft, cool and light as air. A lovely piece that honored Day Court’s fashion while maintaining the modesty of Autumn Court’s traditions. A kindness you had not expected, having grown under High Lord Beron’s rule, but had been grateful for nonetheless.

A knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts. You straightened, patting your skirt once more before opening it. Your brother stood there, his expression neutral and elbow extended toward you.

“It’s time for dinner,” he said simply.

And with that, you forced a smile, looped your arm through his, and stepped into the golden light of Helion’s palace.

Azriel quietly walked through the grand halls of Helion’s palace. His shadows stretched ahead of him. Always scoping out his surrounding area, always searching for answers to questions he had not yet fathomed. They reveled in the fading light, melding into the natural shadows that stretched and deepened with the setting sun.

He didn’t expect his shadows to return with much. He was here for a short purpose–to retrieve a document Helion had promised Rhysand. A simple task. One that should have been quick and uneventful but much to his dismay, Helion had insisted on hosting a magnificent dinner in his honor.

Azriel dreaded lingering in places longer than he had to. And while Helion was a gracious host, it didn’t help that the High Lord took every opportunity to flirt with him, ever hopeful he might one day lure him into his bed. So when a shadow suddenly hissed in his ear, he almost welcomed the distraction.

Eris.

His muscles tensed at the name, fingers twitching toward the knife beside his plate. Eris Vanserra was here? In Day Court? His mind immediately spun through the possibilities because why would Eris be here? For an alliance? Betrayal? A secret meeting Helion had yet to mention?

But as footsteps echoed down the corridor, something felt...off.

His shadows shifted, their whispers softer this time. Azriel lifted his gaze as the footsteps came to a stop, his shadows stretching out toward a figure.

Not Eris.

A female.

She entered beside a male, who bore the emissary badge of Autumn. He kept his expression composed as he allowed himself to look her over. Not long enough to raise suspicion but long enough to take her in. She was beautiful, a certain glow to her.

But…why had his shadows mistaken her for Eris?

You and your brother had barely stepped inside before Helion’s booming laughter filled the room. “My friends,” he announced, grinning broadly, “we have a most honored guest tonight. Allow me to introduce you to Azriel, a friend from the Night Court.”

Azriel.

The infamous Night Court spymaster sat near the head of the table. He was handsome. That was your first thought. His dark hair was perfectly tousled, hazel eyes sharp and bright. But it was the shadows curling around him, blending into the ink etched onto the exposed skin of his arms that unsettled you. You’ve heard about them and their master before. From Eris, of course.

He inclined his head politely as your brother introduced you both. The moment your eyes met, something inside you tensed. You murmured a greeting, stomach twisting as you took your seat—directly across from him. You didn’t know why you felt wary, your heartbeat set at a pace quicker than normal.

Relief washed over you when Ophelia, the wife of one of Helion’s advisors, slid into the seat beside you. She had been one of the first to welcome you here, her gaze warm and presence always comforting. She smiled at you in greeting, drawing you into light conversation. She had yet to visit Autumn and was so curious to learn about your customs.

“The lantern festival sounds lovely. I’ll have to come visit you this fall to see it myself,” she beamed, already looking forward to an event you hadn’t even planned on attending.

The festival was only a few months away. By then, you’d be showing. There was no way you could return home unwed and with a swollen belly. No way you could return to the place where he lived, where he would eventually rule. And the more you thought about it, the more the reality of your situation sank in.

You weren’t going back.

Not now. Maybe not ever.

Your chest tightened as your mind raced. How much longer would your brother allow you to stay in Day Court with him? The first week, he had already begun introducing you to suitors, a scholar from Helion’s court and then a soldier from Helion’s army, both bachelors of good standing and both surprisingly kind and friendly. Perhaps, you could ask your brother to chaperone another meeting with one of them…

Your brother slung an arm around your shoulders with a chuckle, abruptly cutting through your thoughts. “Y/n would be happy to take you. Just hide all the apple turnovers they hand out at the festival from her. She’s a monster when it comes to those, bit my hand once for the last one.”

You exhaled a laugh, your body easing at the memory. One of the few fond ones you shared with your brother. “You cannot hold that against me, brother. I was six.”

Helion, lounging back in his seat, raised a brow. “So you have a sweet tooth, is what I’m hearing.” He signaled to a servant. “Perfect timing for the next course. Dessert.”

When the servant arrived with a tray of baklava, Helion waved him off. “None for me,” he said smoothly, lips curling into a smirk as his gaze flicked to a female seated at the far end of the table. “I have something else in mind for dessert tonight.”

Suddenly, you felt something. A cool, feather-light sensation ghosting over your legs. Your breath hitched, fingers tightening around your fork. And then, the strange sensation vanished as quickly as it had come.

Helion turned to you, eyes widening in surprise and then easing into suggestion. “If the dessert is not to your liking, y/n…there is always more to enjoy in Day Court.”

Your cheeks burned. Your brother shot you a look of silent warning. You immediately reached for the baklava at your plate. “I appreciate your generosity, High Lord, but the baklava is more than for me,” you said before shoving the pastry into your mouth.

“Delicious,” you murmured awkwardly through a mouthful, grimacing slightly at how unlady-like it was of you. It earned you another glare from your brother.

Azriel let out a small snort. You turned your head toward him. He had barely looked your way after your introduction and even now, his attention was directed to the pastry on his plate. But you couldn't shake the feeling that the shadows dancing around Azriel were looking directly at you, watching you even when their master paid no mind to you.

“And what of you, shadowsinger?” Helion mused, also turning his attention to Azriel. “Any appetite left to further indulge in the delicacies Day has to offer?”

"I am rather full," Azriel declared with an exaggerated sigh as he patted his stomach. His feigned lament was so unconvincing it bordered on theatrical, which only puzzled you further. This was not the barbaric spymaster Eris had so often ridiculed with biting remarks. But then again, you were beginning to question everything Eris had ever said to you…

Helion studied him for a beat before raising a brow. Disappointed but undeterred. “Very well.” He pushed back his chair and stood. “I shall retire for the night.” His gaze swept the room as he addressed his guests. “Thank you all for joining. If there is anything you need, do let me know. I am always happy to accommodate.”

“Actually,” Azriel, too, pushed back his chair, stretching his wings slightly. “I’m so full that I don’t think I have it in me to fly or winnow back home. If it’s not an inconvenience, I’d like to stay the night.”

Helion blinked, momentarily caught off guard. But the surprise quickly melted into his signature charisma, his lips curling into an easy grin. “Of course, my friend. You are always welcome here.”

A servant arrived to escort Azriel to his quarters. Meanwhile Helion, flashing a final, feline grin, offered his arm to the female he had been sneaking glances at all evening. Your brother wasted no time hauling you to your feet. No doubt to ensure you didn’t get any wild ideas about sneaking off to explore the other delicacies Day Court had to offer.

But you were grateful for his presence.

Because even as you said your goodnights and slipped into your room, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something unseen was still brushing against you.

The next morning, sunlight poured into the breakfast hall, the brightness making you squint. The nausea was worse today, twisting relentlessly in your stomach, the scent of food only making it worse. You picked at your plate, forcing yourself to eat for the sake of courtesy.

Azriel left before breakfast was served, thanking Helion for his hospitality with a polite nod to those gathered. You barely managed to return the gesture, the churning in your stomach easing ever so slightly at his departure.

Ophelia had not joined breakfast this morning and a part of you was relieved, not having the energy to entertain any conversation. But another part of you ached at the silence. Without her, you were left alone with your thoughts, left to sulk in your own miserable state.

You hadn’t been able to come up with a plan to move forward. You had spent the night tossing and turning, consumed by the unsettling sensation of unseen eyes watching you. Even now, in the light of day, your path still felt unclear.

Running away seemed like the better choice. Somewhere far, where your family couldn’t reach you. Where no one knew your name. It was a better option than trapping someone in a marriage neither of you wanted. At least it left room for hope, for the faintest sliver of happiness. Something you hadn’t felt in weeks.

You could start over. You could tell people you were widowed, let your child grow free from judgment, free from the Vanserras. You were skilled with a needle and thread. Surely, you could find work. And maybe, after a few years, you’d save enough to open that tea shop you’d always dreamed of.

The idea was fragile but it was something. And more than what you had last night or mere moments ago.

Your fingers curled tighter around your tea cup as if holding onto the thought alone could make it real. Maybe happiness wasn’t so unreachable. Maybe, just maybe, it was something you could find again.

Finally, you brought your tea cup to your mouth, taking a tentative sip. The taste of hibiscus slowly settled over your tongue. You grimaced, swallowing thickly. Since when had hibiscus tasted so foul to you?

Your gaze flickered toward your brother, engrossed in a deep discussion of courtly matters with Helion. You seized the opportunity, quickly excusing yourself while he was distracted.

The bile was already rising in your throat. You needed to get to your room. Now.

You barely made it into the corridor before your body betrayed you, doubling over as you desperately searched for a bucket, a planter, or one of the many ornate bowls lining the hallways. Anything. But before your legs could give out beneath you, a steady hand caught you, guiding you toward a nearby vase just in time.

You retched violently, your entire body trembling from the force of it. A cool touch smoothed over your back in slow, grounding circles. You barely registered it, too consumed by the nausea, assuming it was a servant who had come to your aid.

It wasn’t until the morning sickness ebbed that you finally looked up. Your entire body stilled, a startled gasp escaping from you. It hadn’t been a servant that rushed to your aid.

It was Azriel, the Night Court’s spymaster, standing before you, his piercing hazel eyes locking onto yours.

a/n: dun dun dun! sorry, just had to through Az into the mix bc I thought it'd be fun & create more drama. I hope reader's feelings make sense, I imagine her being very confused & stressed over her predicament but also a bit excited. Also, while I do have a ending to this, the path there is still unclear & open to so many possibilities. I am once again going on vibes with this series lol so I'd love to hear your input, thoughts or suggestions.

sneak peak to next part

[series masterlist]

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444 @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human @mrsjna, @adventure-awaits15, @lorosette

@alwayshave-faith, @xadenswhore, @kodafics

series taglist: @kodafics , @shinyghosteclipse, @marrass, @posierosie, @solanaaaaaaa

@tele86, @bubybubsters, @k-homosapien, @mariaxliliana, @kathren1sky-blog

@anainkandpaper

#eris x reader #eris x you #eris vanserra x reader #eris x y/n #azriel x reader #eris vanserra fanfiction #eris angst #acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction #the mark eris left behind

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urdreamydoodles · 2 months ago

Text

X-MEN x FEM!READER

A year after your death, you are resurrected on Krakoa and reunited with your lover

Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Jean Grey, Ororo Munroe, Rogue, Erik Lehnsherr, Charles Xavier, Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff, Hank McCoy, Emma Frost, Laura Kinney & Wade Wilson

It was proposed by @valkyrie7274 ! Thanks, love ♡

Logan Howlett (Wolverine)

- Logan had seen too much death, had held too many bodies in his arms, but yours—yours—broke him in a way nothing else ever had. You died in his arms, your fingers clutching at his shirt, your breath rattling in your throat as your body failed you. He had pressed his forehead to yours, desperate, snarling at the universe to take him instead, but death never listened. He stayed with you long after you were gone, his grip so tight on your lifeless form that even the strongest among the X-Men had to pry you from him. He didn’t make a sound. Not when they pulled you away, not when they buried you. But something inside him snapped, something vital, something that made him more animal than man.

- The others felt your absence in the silence Logan left behind. He spoke less, drank more. He vanished for weeks at a time, returning with blood under his nails and vacant eyes, the scent of whiskey and gunpowder clinging to him like a second skin. The world became a blur of violence, a never-ending cycle of fights he started just to feel something other than the ache in his chest. Jean tried to reach him. Ororo, too. Even Charles. But Logan wasn’t there anymore. Not really. He was where you were, in the moment of your death, trapped in a memory that refused to fade.

- And then—Krakoa. A miracle. A second chance. When he saw you again, standing there, alive, his breath caught in his throat, something feral and raw surging in his chest. He didn’t hesitate. He moved, crossing the space between you in a heartbeat, hands cradling your face as if you might disappear. His voice was rough, thick with too many emotions to name. "You real, darlin’?" He didn’t know if he believed in heaven, but if it existed, surely this was it. He kissed you like a man dying of thirst, like he had been starving for you, like he needed to prove you were real.

- But the fear remained. He had lost you once. What if he lost you again? He became obsessive, hovering near you, ensuring you never fought alone, ensuring no harm ever touched you again. He didn’t care that you were resurrected, that Krakoa promised eternity—he remembered what it felt like to lose you, and he refused to feel it again. It made him reckless, overprotective, angry at the world for daring to put you at risk. "Yer stayin’ with me, got it?" He wouldn’t let go. He couldn’t.

- But at night, when it was just the two of you, when you curled into his arms and whispered his name, he softened. He buried his face in your hair, breathing you in, letting the scent of you ease the last remnants of his nightmares. He had been drowning in grief for a year. Now, he had you back. And if Krakoa ever took you away again, if fate ever dared to separate you once more—Logan would tear the world apart to bring you back.

Remy LeBeau (Gambit)

- Remy was not a man built for grief. He was a man of laughter, of mischief, of silver-tongued charm—but when he lost you, all of that died with you. The moment you slipped from his grasp, the moment your breath stilled and your body turned cold, something inside him broke. He didn’t cry at first. Didn’t scream. He just stared, as if he could trick himself into thinking you were only sleeping, as if his voice alone could call you back. And then, when reality crashed down, when he realized you were gone, he shattered.

- The X-Men had never seen Remy like that before. He wasn’t just heartbroken—he was lost. He stopped playing cards, stopped flirting, stopped being Remy. He wandered through the halls like a ghost, eyes dull, smile absent. Rogue tried to reach him, but he barely spoke. Even Logan, who had seen his fair share of loss, didn’t know how to pull him from the abyss. When Remy did talk, his voice was hoarse, whispering "She ain't supposed to be gone, chérie… she ain't supposed to be gone."

- And then—Krakoa. Resurrection. The moment he saw you again, standing there, his entire world tilted on its axis. He blinked, once, twice, as if you were a hallucination, as if his mind was playing some cruel trick. And then—he ran. He crashed into you, arms locking around your waist, his breath ragged against your neck. "Mon Dieu, y’came back t’me." His hands trembled as he touched you, as if terrified you might vanish again. He kissed you like he was drowning, like he needed you to breathe.

- But the fear never left him. He had lost you once. He couldn’t bear to lose you again. He became clingy, his usual flirtation laced with desperation. He followed you everywhere, always keeping you in his sights, always ensuring you were safe. He started waking up in the middle of the night just to check that you were still there, pressing kisses to your skin, murmuring reassurances to himself. He held your hand more, needed to touch you more, to remind himself that you were real.

- But even through the fear, through the grief that still lingered in his bones, he found joy again. You were his joy. And though he still carried the pain of losing you, though the memory of your death haunted him, he knew one thing for certain—he had been given a second chance. And he would spend every moment proving just how much he loved you.

Kurt Wagner (Nightcrawler)

- Kurt was a man of faith, but even faith could not protect him from the agony of losing you. He held you in his arms as the light left your eyes, whispering prayers, pressing desperate kisses to your forehead. He begged—begged—for God to spare you, to take him instead, to not let this be your end. But no miracle came. And when you died, when the last breath left your lips, Kurt collapsed over you, sobbing so violently that even the strongest among the X-Men had to look away.

- The mansion was quieter after your death. Kurt, once the heart of the team, withdrew into himself. He still smiled, still laughed—but it was hollow, an echo of what once was. He prayed more, locked himself away in the chapel for hours, seeking solace in a God who had remained silent. And when he was alone, when no one could hear, he wept. He wept until his body ached, until he had no more tears left to shed.

- And then—Krakoa. A miracle. The first time he saw you again, his heart stopped. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. And then—he teleported, appearing in front of you in a burst of smoke and desperation. His hands cupped your face, his eyes wide with unshed tears. "Mein Liebe… is it truly you?" And when you whispered "Yes", he broke. He pulled you into his arms, holding you so tightly it was as if he feared the world would steal you away again.

- That night, he did not sleep. He lay beside you, his fingers tracing your features, memorizing every inch of you. He murmured prayers of gratitude, pressing reverent kisses to your skin, promising that he would never take you for granted again. He had been given a second chance, a gift from heaven itself, and he would cherish you for as long as fate allowed.

- And though the pain of losing you still lingered, though nightmares of your death still haunted him, he found peace in knowing that you were here, with him. And if ever the world tried to take you again, Kurt would fight heaven and hell alike to keep you by his side.

Scott Summers (Cyclops)

- Scott was a soldier. He had lost comrades before, seen death too many times to count, but nothing had ever destroyed him the way losing you did. You died in his arms, your blood staining his gloves, your final breath a whisper against his cheek. He had begged you to hold on, voice trembling, fingers pressing against your wounds as if his touch alone could keep you tethered to the world. But he felt it the moment you slipped away. The moment your body went limp, the moment your last exhale left you, the moment the warmth faded from your skin. He had been forced to let you go, but something inside him never did.

- The X-Men mourned you, but Scott grieved you. He buried himself in missions, in strategies, in war, but even victories felt empty without you there. He operated with precision, with control, but behind the visor, his eyes were hollow. Logan told him he was colder now, Jean said he had lost something vital, but Scott didn’t know how to be anything else. You were gone. He had to keep moving. He had to keep leading. But at night, when no one could see, he sat in your old room, hands curled into fists, jaw tight with the pain he refused to show.

- And then—Krakoa. A resurrection. A second chance. When Scott saw you again, standing before him, breathing, alive, his composure shattered. He didn’t move at first, didn’t trust his own senses, didn’t trust that this wasn’t some cruel illusion. And then—his voice, raw and disbelieving. "It’s you." The moment you whispered his name, the moment he knew it was real, he closed the distance between you in three strides. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you so tightly against him that he almost lifted you off the ground.

- He didn’t cry. Not in front of the others. But later, when it was just the two of you, when his fingers traced over your skin as if committing you to memory, his voice broke. He admitted—admitted—that he had been lost without you. That he hadn’t known how to move forward. That he had buried the pain so deeply it had become him. His forehead pressed against yours, his breath uneven. "I won’t lose you again. I swear to God, I won’t."

- Scott had always been a protector, but now, he was obsessive. He watched you like a hawk in battle, refused to let you fight alone, refused to risk you again. It was possessive, almost suffocating, but you understood—he had lost you once. He couldn’t bear to do it again. And when the world quieted, when it was just you and him, his fingers laced with yours, his lips brushing over your temple, he allowed himself to breathe again. Because you were here. Because he had you back. And he wasn’t letting go.

Jean Grey (Phoenix)

- Jean felt you die. Felt your soul slip from the world like a whisper lost to the wind. She had reached for you, her telepathy stretching out in desperation, but there was nothing to hold onto. You were gone. Vanished from the psychic plane, from the world, from her. And in that moment, something inside her broke. A scream tore from her throat, raw and grief-stricken, shaking the very ground beneath her. She had lost you. She had felt you leave. And she didn’t know how to exist in a world without you.

- The X-Men mourned as a team, but Jean mourned alone. She locked herself away, mind shutting out even Scott, even Logan, even Charles. The Phoenix inside her stirred, restless with the weight of her grief, but she held it back—barely. She visited your grave every night, fingers pressed against the cold stone, whispering things she never got to say. "I should’ve saved you." "I should’ve been stronger." "I don’t know how to live without you." The wind carried her words away, but the pain remained, deep and unrelenting.

- And then—Krakoa. When she felt your mind again, a presence she had ached for, she nearly collapsed. Her breath hitched, her vision blurred, and she ran. She didn’t care who saw, didn’t care about appearances—she ran to you, her telepathy reaching out before her arms ever did. And when she touched your mind, when she felt you, whole and alive, she sobbed. Her hands cradled your face, her lips pressed to your forehead, her thoughts pouring into yours in a rush of love, grief, longing, and relief.

- That night, she didn’t let you go. She wrapped herself around you, pressing her ear to your chest, listening to the steady thump-thump of your heartbeat. Her fingers traced absent patterns over your skin, her mind entwined with yours, never letting go again. She whispered against your shoulder, "I thought I lost you forever." And in her mind, in the quiet, she made a silent vow—if the universe ever tried to take you again, she would burn it down before she let that happen.

- Jean was always powerful, always strong, but your death had almost unmade her. Now, with you back, she was whole again. She became fierce in her love, in her protection, in her need to keep you safe. She touched your mind constantly, always needing to feel you, always needing to know you were still here. And when she kissed you, it was never just a kiss—it was everything. A promise. A devotion. A love that had transcended death itself.

Ororo Munroe (Storm)

- Ororo had never believed in helplessness. She was a goddess, a queen, a force of nature itself. But the day you died in her arms, the day your blood stained her fingers, the day the storm inside her fell silent—that was the first time she had ever felt truly powerless. She had tried everything to save you, had screamed your name to the heavens, had begged the sky itself to bring you back, but the universe remained cruel and indifferent. You died, and Ororo broke.

- The X-Men saw her grief in the way the weather changed. The sky over the mansion remained gray for weeks, the air thick with the taste of rain. Thunder rumbled in the distance, low and mournful, echoing her sorrow. She still led, still stood strong for her people, but the warmth in her eyes was gone. She visited your grave often, leaving flowers, whispering words only the wind could carry. "I should have protected you." "I failed you." "I would have traded places if I could."

- And then—Krakoa. She did not believe it at first. She could not. But when she saw you, when she felt the hum of your presence in the air, her breath hitched. The storm inside her stilled, as if the universe itself held its breath. And then—she moved. She crossed the distance between you in a heartbeat, her hands framing your face, her eyes searching yours with something raw and fragile. And when she whispered your name, when she felt your warmth, she exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding for a year.

- That night, she held you close, arms wrapped around you as if you might slip away again. She traced gentle fingers through your hair, the electricity of her touch soft and reverent. She pressed a kiss to your forehead, murmuring, "I will never let anything happen to you again." And in her heart, she vowed—if death ever came for you again, it would have to go through her first.

- Ororo had always been protective, but now, she was unyielding. She watched over you with a quiet intensity, ensuring you were safe, that nothing could harm you, that you would never be taken from her again. She loved you fiercely, wholly, eternally. And when she looked at you, her eyes no longer held grief—only devotion. Because she had been given a second chance. And she would not waste it.

Rogue

- Rogue had always been strong, always been stubborn, but when you died in her arms, she crumbled. She held you so tight, rocking you like a child, begging you to stay even as your body grew cold against hers. She could feel you slipping away, feel your life thinning into nothing, and she hated herself for not being able to take your pain—just once, just this one time—so you could live. And when you exhaled your last breath, when your fingers slackened in hers, she let out a cry so raw it shook the battlefield.

- She didn’t let go for hours. Not until they forced her to. Logan tried first, but she lashed out, feral and wild, screaming that she’d kill anyone who touched you. It was only when Remy pulled her close, whispering to her in a broken voice, that she finally let them take you. And after that, she vanished. She stopped talking, stopped showing up to team meetings, stopped doing anything but sitting in your old room, surrounded by everything you left behind. Her gloves—always such a necessity—sat abandoned, her hands trembling as she traced over your things, lost in a grief that felt too big to hold alone.

- When Krakoa resurrected you, she didn’t believe it. Not at first. She thought it was a dream, some cruel trick played by a universe that had already taken too much from her. But then—she saw you. And for the first time in a year, she breathed. Her hands shook when she reached for you, gloveless, fearless, pressing trembling fingers against your cheek. And when she felt your warmth, when she knew you were real, she choked on a sob and collapsed into you, burying herself in your arms like she was drowning and you were the only thing keeping her afloat.

- That night, she didn’t let go. Not once. She pressed herself against you, listening to your heartbeat, fingers tracing over your skin as if memorizing every inch of you all over again. "Ah thought Ah lost ya forever," she whispered, voice raw with emotion. "Ah didn’t know how to live without ya." And then, softer, more desperate—"Ah ain’t never lettin’ ya go again."

- Rogue had always been protective, but now, she was relentless. She wouldn’t let you fight alone, wouldn’t let you put yourself in danger, wouldn’t let anything take you from her again. And when she kissed you, it wasn’t just love—it was a promise. A vow. A fierce, unyielding devotion to never losing you again.

Erik Lehnsherr (Magneto)

- Erik had lost too much in his life. He had buried family, friends, entire legacies beneath the weight of war and genocide. But your death—it broke something in him that even he didn’t know could break. He held you as you died, his voice a desperate, shaking plea against your ear. "Stay with me." "Don’t go." "I won’t let them take you." But death did not bargain, did not show mercy, and when your body went still, something inside him snapped.

- After your funeral, Erik did not mourn like the others. He did not cry, did not wail, did not fall apart. He burned. He rained destruction down on those responsible, his fury so great that even Charles had to intervene. "They took her from me," he spat, voice cold, hands shaking. "And you expect me to be merciful?" He was not merciful. He was merciless. And when the last of your murderers lay dead at his feet, he still did not feel peace—only an emptiness so vast it swallowed him whole.

- And then—Krakoa. A miracle. A second chance. When Erik saw you again, standing before him, alive, whole—he did not move. He could not. His breath was sharp, unsteady, his fists clenching at his sides as if afraid you would vanish if he dared to touch you. And then—you smiled. You whispered his name. And the great and terrible Magneto fell to his knees.

- He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against him with a desperation so raw it hurt. His fingers traced over your skin, your face, your lips, his expression shattered with disbelief and relief. "I lost you," he murmured, voice trembling. "And I do not lose." His forehead pressed against yours, his breath uneven. "But this time, I have won you back. And I will never lose you again."

- Erik had always been possessive, but now, he was obsessive. He hovered, protective and unyielding, ensuring you were safe, that nothing could take you from him again. He spoke of forever now, of building something permanent, of a love that could not be destroyed. And when he looked at you, his eyes were fierce, burning with the promise of a man who had already lost you once and would tear the world apart before he let it happen again.

Charles Xavier (Professor X)

- Charles had spent his life understanding loss. He had lost friends, family, even his own body’s ability to stand. But your death—your death was something else entirely. He had felt you die, not just with his eyes but with his mind, had felt the light of your thoughts flicker and fade into nothingness. The silence where you used to be was deafening.

- He withdrew. He still led the X-Men, still played his part, but something in him was absent. The warmth in his voice was gone, his smiles never reached his eyes, and he spent too much time alone. When others tried to reach him, he only ever responded with a tired, hollow "I am fine." But he was not fine. He was haunted. Every time he reached out with his telepathy, he expected to find you there. And every time he was met with silence, it destroyed him all over again.

- And then—Krakoa. When your mind returned to the psychic plane, Charles felt it before he even saw you. His breath hitched, his chest tightened, and for the first time in a year, the silence inside him was filled with you. He turned so quickly his wheelchair nearly toppled, his eyes wide, his hands gripping the arms of his chair so tight his knuckles turned white. And when you stepped forward, when you spoke his name—he wept.

- He held you as tightly as he could, his fingers trembling as they traced over your skin, your hair, your face. His telepathy flooded into yours, overwhelming with the depth of his grief, his longing, his relief. "You were gone," he whispered, his voice breaking. "And I did not know how to go on without you." His lips brushed over your forehead, his breath uneven. "But you are here now. And I will not waste a single moment."

- Charles had always been devoted, but now, he was fiercely protective. He needed to feel you constantly, to touch your hand, to hear your thoughts entwined with his. He whispered to you at night, murmuring things only the two of you could hear, promises and confessions and love. Because he had been given a second chance. And he would not waste it.

Wanda Maximoff (The Scarlet Witch)

- Wanda knew loss intimately. It clung to her like a shadow, whispered in her ear like an old friend. She had lost her parents, her brother, her children—things torn from her hands, leaving behind echoes that never truly faded. But your death was something else. It was catastrophic. You died in her arms, your breath trembling, your fingers curled weakly against her cheek, as if trying to memorize the feeling of her one last time. She screamed, shaking you, calling your name, but no power—no spell, no hex, no desperate plea to the universe—could bring you back.

- After your death, Wanda became unknowable. The X-Men found her standing over your grave, night after night, unmoving. Her hands, her lips, her very breath crackled with chaos, the air thick with something volatile and wrong. The ground beneath her feet pulsed as if rejecting the unnatural grief she carried. They tried to pull her away, tried to speak to her, but she only whispered, over and over—"It wasn’t supposed to happen this way." At times, she vanished entirely, disappearing into corners of the world where even Charles couldn’t reach her mind. Because if she stayed too long, if she let herself think, she feared she might undo reality just to hold you again.

- When Krakoa resurrected you, Wanda felt you before she saw you. A shift in the air, a flicker in the fabric of existence. She turned, slowly, almost afraid to believe it. And there you were. Standing in the light, looking at her with those eyes she had dreamt of every night. Her breath hitched, her body trembling, and then she ran. She crashed into you, gripping you like a lifeline, her fingers tangling in your hair, her breath uneven and desperate against your skin. "I lost you," she choked, tears slipping past her lashes. "I lost you, and I broke with you."

- That night, she refused to let you out of her sight. She traced her fingers over your skin, whispering things in languages ancient and lost, spells to keep you here, to bind you to this plane, to make sure nothing ever took you from her again. You told her you weren’t leaving, that you were real, that you were back, and Wanda exhaled a broken sound before pressing her forehead to yours. "I won’t survive losing you again," she admitted, and it was not a plea—it was a truth.

- Love had always been dangerous for Wanda, but this—this was something beyond magic, beyond fate. You were her constant, her tether to the world. And she swore, with every ounce of power within her, that no god, no war, no force in existence would ever take you away again.

Pietro Maximoff (Quicksilver)

- Pietro had always been fast. Fast enough to outrun bullets, fast enough to move between heartbeats. But the day you died, he wasn’t fast enough. He saw you fall, saw the blood, saw the way your body convulsed before going still—and no matter how fast he ran, no matter how many times he replayed that moment, he couldn’t change it. You died in his arms, and for the first time in his life, time meant nothing at all.

- After your death, Pietro became restless. More restless than usual. He didn’t sleep, didn’t stay in one place for too long, didn’t let anyone near him unless they wanted to be met with a sharp glare and a sharper tongue. He snapped at everyone—Wanda, Logan, even Charles. When someone tried to tell him you were in a better place, Pietro laughed, a hollow, humorless sound. "A better place?" he spat. "She belonged here. With me." And then, without another word, he vanished, a silver blur in the wind.

- When Krakoa brought you back, he didn’t believe it. He refused to believe it. He stood at a distance, arms crossed tightly over his chest, eyes narrowed in something unreadable. But then—he heard your voice. "Pietro?" And suddenly, the world was silent. No rushing winds, no constant movement—just you. He was in front of you before you could blink, hands gripping your shoulders, eyes searching, desperate. "Is it real?" His voice was hoarse. "Tell me it’s real."

- When you nodded, Pietro let out a breath that sounded like a sob, his forehead pressing to yours, his hands shaking. "I wasn’t fast enough," he admitted, voice raw. "But I swear to you—I will never let anything take you from me again." That night, he stayed by your side, moving only when you moved, his fingers ghosting over yours as if trying to memorize every detail of you all over again.

- Pietro had always been protective, but now, he was ruthless. He didn’t let you out of his sight, didn’t let you fight alone, didn’t let anyone threaten what he had lost once before. And when he kissed you, it was with the desperation of a man who had spent a year in hell and had finally—finally—found his way home.

Hank McCoy (Beast)

- Hank McCoy was a man of logic, of reason, of science. But when you died, nothing made sense anymore. You bled out in his arms, your trembling fingers brushing against his fur in a final, fleeting moment of comfort, and all the knowledge in the universe could not save you. He whispered words of reassurance, promises that everything would be fine, that he would fix it—because Hank always found a way. But this time, there was no equation, no hypothesis, no miracle discovery that could bring you back. You died, and Hank was left with a silence that no amount of knowledge could fill.

- After your death, he changed. He buried himself in his work, deeper than before, hiding in his lab for days at a time. The others tried to talk to him—Jean, Ororo, even Logan—but he always waved them off with a tight-lipped smile, pretending to be fine. But at night, when the world was quiet, he sat alone with a single photograph of you, his glasses slipping down his nose, his hands trembling as he traced the edges of your face.

- And then—Krakoa. When he saw you again, alive, standing before him with that same beautiful smile—Hank froze. His brilliant mind, capable of solving the most complex puzzles, could not comprehend what was in front of him. He removed his glasses, as if seeing you clearly would change something. But you were still there. Real. Alive. And then—he broke. His arms wrapped around you, crushing you against his chest, his breath uneven as he buried his face in your hair. "You were gone," he whispered. "And I forgot how to be me without you."

- That night, Hank did not return to his lab. He stayed with you, hands tracing over yours, memorizing the shape of you as if afraid this was all a dream. He whispered soft, poetic musings against your skin, quoting philosophers, scientists, poets—all the words he never got to say before you were taken from him. "You have been the missing piece of my every equation," he murmured. "And I refuse to miscalculate again."

- Hank had always been careful, but now, he was deliberate. He cherished every moment, every laugh, every fleeting touch, knowing how fragile it all was. And when he kissed you, it was with the reverence of a man who had been given a second chance and refused to waste a single breath of it. Because he knew now—life was too short not to love you completely.

Emma Frost (The White Queen)

- Emma Frost was not a woman prone to visible grief. She did not collapse, did not wail, did not crumble into the kind of sorrow that people expected when you died. No—she shattered in ways too quiet for most to notice. Her grief was precise, like the sharp edge of a diamond, embedded so deeply within her that it cut into every thought, every breath, every carefully composed word. She had held you as life drained from you, her telepathy drowning in the deafening, chaotic echoes of your fading mind. And then—silence. A silence that lodged itself within her chest, a silence that never left, no matter how much she pretended otherwise.

- After your death, Emma became colder. The X-Men expected her to lash out, to wield her grief as a weapon, but instead, she withdrew. She occupied herself with Hellfire dealings, mutant diplomacy, anything that required her to be untouchable. But at night, in the stillness of her chambers, she sat in front of a mirror and hated what she saw. She had spent her life convincing the world that she was indestructible—but losing you had proven otherwise. And that, above all else, infuriated her.

- When Krakoa resurrected you, Emma was there, but she did not rush to you as others did. No, she stood at a distance, hands folded, expression unreadable. You turned, met her gaze, and for a moment—just a moment—there was hesitation. Because Emma Frost did not believe in miracles. She believed in power, in consequence, in the unrelenting reality of the world. And yet, here you were. And suddenly, she was moving. Her heels clicked against the ground, and then her hands were on your face, her breath uneven, her mind opening to yours in a desperate, wordless declaration: Do not leave me again.

- That night, she did not sleep. She laid beside you, fingers tracing absentmindedly over your arm, her mind whispering things she would never say aloud. I broke without you. I am not whole without you. You are the only softness I allow myself. And when you finally fell asleep, she watched you, eyes shining in the darkness. For the first time in a year, the silence in her mind was not unbearable.

- Emma Frost did not love lightly, and she certainly did not lose lightly. Now that you were back, she would make sure of one thing—she would never lose you again.

Laura Kinney (X-23)

- Laura Kinney was born into violence, shaped by it, taught to wield it as both armor and weapon. She had seen death, caused death, buried death in the back of her mind as a survival mechanism. But your death—your death was something else entirely. She held you as you bled out, her hands pressed to your wounds, her voice rough as she told you to stay awake, damn it, stay awake. And then—you were gone. Just like that. No enemy she could kill, no battle she could win, no fight to bring you back. And that—that was something Laura didn’t know how to live with.

- After your death, Laura became a ghost of herself. She trained harder, fought longer, threw herself into missions with reckless abandon. Logan warned her, told her she was going to get herself killed, but she just shrugged, expression empty. She didn’t want to die. She just didn’t see much reason to avoid it, either. She stopped talking as much, stopped engaging, stopped pretending she was anything other than a weapon with nothing left to protect.

- And then—Krakoa. When she saw you, standing there, alive, something in her broke. She didn’t think. She just moved, closing the distance in an instant, grabbing your face between her hands, her breath short and sharp. "This isn’t real." But it was. And the moment that realization sank in, Laura collapsed against you, forehead pressed to yours, her fingers trembling as they gripped the fabric of your shirt. "I was supposed to protect you."

- That night, she barely let you out of her sight. Her hands never stopped moving over you—your hair, your arms, your pulse point—constant, silent reassurance that you were here. That she was not losing you again. And when you finally asked her to talk to you, to tell you what had happened after you were gone, she hesitated before whispering, "I don’t know who I was without you."

- Laura had lost many things in her life, but you were the one thing she had never wanted to lose. And now that you were back, she wasn’t sure how to be soft again. But she would try—for you, she would always try.

Wade Wilson (Deadpool)

- Wade Wilson was no stranger to death. He had watched it, dealt it, felt it wrap around him more times than he could count. But when you died? When you gasped your last breath in his arms, your blood seeping into his gloves, your lips barely forming his name before going still? He broke. Not in the way he usually did, not in the way that ended in crude jokes and misplaced laughter. No—this was different. This was quiet. This was Wade Wilson staring down at your lifeless body and realizing that, for the first time in his entire miserable existence, he wanted to die and stay dead.

- After your death, Wade became erratic. More than usual. The jokes became sharper, meaner, too forced even for him. He picked fights he didn’t need to pick, tore through enemies with a desperation that made even Logan pause. But at night, when no one was watching, he sat in the dark, staring at old photos of you, mumbling to himself like a lunatic. "Hey, sweetheart, if you’re out there somewhere—hope you’re laughing at me. Or haunting me. I’d be down for some sexy ghost action. Just—just come back, okay? Joke’s over. You win."

- And then—Krakoa. He didn’t believe it. He refused to believe it. He saw you standing there, looking at him with those same eyes, that same soft expression, and his brain short-circuited. "Oh. Oh, this is a trick. This is a cruel, cruel joke, and I love it. Round of applause to whoever came up with this one!" But then—you touched him. And Wade Wilson—king of wisecracks, champion of bad ideas—stopped breathing.

- He crushed you against him so tightly you almost couldn’t breathe, his body shaking, his mask damp from the wetness gathering beneath it. "You’re back. Holy fing hell, you’re back." He pulled away just enough to cup your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks like he couldn’t believe you were real. And then he laughed. A real, broken, beautiful laugh, pressing frantic, open-mouthed kisses all over your face. "Never do that again, okay? Like, ever. Seriously, babe, I’m fragile."

- Wade Wilson had never been good at keeping the things he loved. They always slipped away, got taken, or left him behind. But now that you were back? He was never letting you go. Ever. And if anyone dared to try? Well. Wade had a very particular set of skills, and he would make sure they never got a second chance.

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obito-in-disguise · 3 months ago

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Reader's cursed technique is slowly killing them won the poll. So without further ado, I present to you:

| The price of power |

Featuring: Ryomen Sukuna, Suguru Geto, Fushiguro Toji, Nanami Kento, Satoru Gojo, and Kamo Choso.

Ryomen Sukuna

At first, you try your best to hide it from Sukuna. You already know how he despises your life as a sorcerer, the very thing he loathes above all else.

You can’t even fathom the storm that will erupt when he discovers it’s not just your choice but your death sentence.

But alas, you’re only human. Bound to slip up.

You return from a mission one day, pale as a ghost, barely able to keep your feet moving. A sickening weight presses against your chest, your limbs sluggish. The world spins violently. Before you know it, you collapse to your knees, hacking up blood, your body betraying you.

Sukuna watches from the corner of the room, arms folded over his broad chest, a glint of barely constrained fury in his crimson eyes. He doesn't move to help. Of course, he wouldn’t. This was your punishment for being foolish enough to put your life on the line.

The room falls into tense silence until his voice cuts through it.

"You are never to use that technique again."

Your head snaps up, heart racing. "How…?"

He scoffs, stepping closer. "Did you seriously think I wouldn’t notice? I can see your life force depleting with every breath you take." His eyes darken with contempt. "I stayed out of it, thinking maybe, just maybe, you had an ounce of common sense. But it’s clear I was wrong."

"You don't understand, Ryo-"

"Be quiet." His voice booms like a thunderclap, sharp enough to make you flinch. He exhales harshly, forcing himself to regain control. "I've let you play the hero long enough. Running around as a jujutsu sorcerer? That ends today."

A part of him almost felt guilty, knowing that the only reason you clung so fiercely to your role as a sorcerer, fighting at the cost of your life, was because you were trying to atone for something that wasn't even your sin. It was his.

You futilely hoped your heroic actions would be enough to balance the weight of his transgressions, somehow blot out his sins. For every sin he committed, you'd supplant with twice as much good deeds.

And that infuriated him more than anything else.

"You can't just ask me to do that!" Your voice cracks with desperation. This was your life. Your identity.

"I can, and I will." His words are final. He grips your arm, helping you up, but you shove him away with trembling hands.

"You don't own me!"

He freezes for a moment, then tilts his head slightly, an impassive look washing over his face. "Very well, then. You’ve left me with no choice."

His voice drops into something more sinister. "Return to that place, and I’ll personally inform them that their highly esteemed sorcerer has been frolicking with the King of Curses."

Your blood runs cold. You know who you’re dealing with. You know the lengths Sukuna will go to get what he wants. His cruelty knows no bounds.

"You wouldn’t," you whisper, shaking your head in denial.

He leans closer, eyes gleaming with sadistic amusement. "Try me."

Tears sting your eyes, but Sukuna remains unmoved. He pulls you into his arms despite your resistance, petting your hair with a gentleness that makes you want to tear yourself away from him and collapse all over again.

"This is for your own good" he mutters, voice almost tender.

Your life as a sorcerer is officially over.

As much as you want to hate him, resent him for his cruelty and selfishness, you can’t ignore the part of you that feels the faintest twinge of relief.

Twisted as it is, this is Sukuna's way of keeping you alive. His own brand of protection, drenched in menace and obsession.

When you look up at him, he tilts his head in response, his expression unreadable. And you know, no matter how warped it may be, this is love, as monstrous as the man who holds you.

Suguru Geto

Suguru believes this is some sort of divine punishment from the universe. Every night, haunted by dreams of past sorcerers lost to the system, he’s convinced that everyone he loves is destined to suffer at the hands of jujutsu society.

And so, with a heavy heart and a resolve forged in despair, he decides to strike back.

To do something about this God-awful system that drains every ounce of worth from its people until nothing remains.

One cold, rain-soaked night, when the world seemed as broken as his own heart, he acted. You were at your weakest, a moment when doubt and exhaustion blurred your senses. Before you could protest, he grabbed you and vanished into the storm.

Soon after, he emerges as a whirlwind of rebellion. The Night Parade of a Hundred Demons marks his war against jujutsu society, declaring that every act of violence, every sacrifice, was done in your name.

"Suguru, what the hell are you doing?" you yell, fists pounding against his chest when you realize what he's done "You made me a defect! I'm branded a traitor now!"

He grabs you, his eyes wild, glazed over with something akin to madness. "I did it to save you" he insists, his voice unwavering. "Don't you see? If you stay with them, they'll keep sending you on missions until you’re dead!"

The air seems to still as your mind races back to memories of simpler days, quiet moments shared in the soft glow of a setting sun, laughter echoing in corridors that once felt like home. You recall a time when every scar told a story of bravery rather than betrayal.

"That wasn’t your choice to make! I love being a sorcerer-" you begin, but your words are swallowed by the storm of your emotions.

"Why should your love for these people spell the end of your life!" he yells out, gripping your shoulders as though trying to shake sense into you, eyes pleading with you.

For a long, agonizing moment, your anger falters under the weight of his vulnerability. You watch him shake with emotion, watch the man you love unravelling before your eyes.

With everything Suguru had been through, you were surprised he didn't crack sooner. Haibara's death, Riko's murder, falling behind Satoru, you'd wondered how he seemed to stomach it all, but it was clear as day to you now. Suguru was not well.

He cups your face, his touch both tender and resolute. "Hate me if you want, but at least you'll be alive" a reassurance meant more for himself than for you.

For the next few months, he keeps you as a prisoner of love. Isolated and weakened, your mind becomes fertile ground for his manipulative truths.

He presents the scars left by the system, scars not only etched into your body but twisted deep into his soul. The memory of every lost friend and every bitter injustice converges in his words, painting the jujutsu world as the real enemy.

Slowly, insidiously, his beliefs begin to seep into your consciousness. The line between your thoughts and his conditioning blurs until you find yourself wondering:

'maybe the world wouldn't be such a bad place without those damned monkeys'

Fushiguro Toji

"Are you scared?" Toji’s voice is low, steady, but there's a dangerous edge to it. He tosses his gun up and down in his hand as he waits for you to respond.

Your throat tightens. What's the point in lying now? You already have one foot in the grave. "Yes."

The rage that flickers across his face is immediate and terrifying, but he immediately reels himself in.

They made you scared.

"Those bastards" he says, pushing himself off the wall. "They did this to you."

You grab his arm before he can move. "Being a sorcerer is where my heart is. It's not their fault."

His jaw tightens, teeth grinding audibly. "The hell it isn’t." He yanks his arm free with a force that nearly topples you. "You're not dying for these people."

"And I'm not quitting!" you snap back, desperate "If I'm going to die anyway, isn't it better I die doing what I love? for the people I love?"

Something flickers in his eyes, something raw and guttural. His expression falters, not in anger, but in something far more devastating; heartbreak, pity.

Watching you plead to sacrifice yourself for people who never gave a damn was unbearable.

Without a word, Toji turns on his heel and disappears into the night.

You don’t know how long you wait. Each second stretches like an eternity, gnawing at your nerves. And when Toji finally returns, the world as you know it has already shattered. The jujutsu headquarters is left in ruins, higher ups dead.

His shirt is torn, skin slick with blood, some his, most not. The stench of iron clings to him, thick and nauseating.

Your heart races. "Toji...What did you do?" you demand, voice trembling.

Toji wipes blood from the corner of his mouth, gaze cold and unrepentant as he begins to take off his bloodied clothes. "I handled it."

"You, you killed them? how could you! they were good people" The words falter on your tongue, disbelief mingling with horror.

He steps closer, towering over you, grabbing your shoulders and shaking you. "You're not well, listen to yourself! They were killing you slow!"

He pauses, his grip loosening, and his expression darkens. "You think I care what they were? Sorcerers, civilians, it’s all the same bullshit. They use people, grind 'em down, and toss 'em out when they're empty. I’ve seen it over and over, and you’re just the latest offering on their altar of self-righteousness."

His voice grows quieter, more resolute, tinged with a harsh philosophy born of survival. "The strong eat the weak. That’s the truth of this world. You can dress it up with loyalty and love, but at the end of the day, it’s kill or be killed."

Toji tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. "You wanna die a noble sorcerer? Fine. But I’m not gonna stand by and watch it happen."

The sheer weight of his actions crashes over you, several people were dead because of you. You can't stop yourself when you whisper "You're a monster"

His lips curl into a sadistic smile. "If keeping you alive makes me a monster, I’ll wear the title proudly doll."

Nanami Kento

Nanami is a man who lives by control. The jujutsu world is chaotic, but he navigates it with precision and discipline. Until the day they return your body.

The mission was supposed to be simple. But when your cursed energy surged one last time, your body gave out. The autopsy is clear; years of strain from your technique had broken you down from the inside out.

Nanami listens in silence, face blank. He barely hears the words, an incessant ringing pounding in his ears. His eyes are glued to your face.

It was the most peaceful he had ever seen you. You looked like you were simply sleeping, finally free of the burdens of being a sorcerer.

He abruptly walks away without a word, unable to bear the gruesome details of your departure any longer. Gojo tries to stop him, but Nanami doesn’t even glance back.

He doesn't cry. He doesn't yell.

Grief claws at his chest, desperate to break free, but he just can’t process it. Instead, he stares blankly at the letter Gojo had managed to press into his hand. He reads it over and over, willing a miracle, willing all of this to be some twisted joke.

'Kento,

I know you'd hate this letter, but I needed to tell you that I was happy. Being with you made all the pain worth it. Every single second of it.

I’m sorry. I didn’t want to leave you like this. You have every right to hate me, I understand.

But I just wanted you to know that being with you were some of the best moments of my life, you made it all worth it.

You reminded me that there’s beauty in a world filled with curses.

I love you Kento, please take care of yourself.'

He slides down to the floor, hands gripping his hair. He wants to resent you, to hate you for leaving him so selfishly, but he can't. All his hatred and resentment are reserved for the system that chewed you up and spit you out.

Nanami Kento wasn't the type to die on missions. He was the type to survive no matter what.

But when he stands before Mahito that day in Shibuya, he finally understands. He sees what made you put your life on the line, the hope for the younger generation, the fleeting chance to make a difference.

So he closes his eyes and welcomes his demise, smiling as memories of you fill his mind for the last time. You were everything to him, and you always would be, even in death.

Gojo Satoru

You'd become something of Gojo's emotional support person. It took him years to open up to you, but when he finally did, he opened the floodgates.

So you felt terrible, terrible that you were wronging him by not telling him the true cost of your cursed technique, the very price of your life.

Each innocent, unaware smile he sent your way was like a dagger to your heart. Yet you were too afraid to tell him, so you tested the waters instead.

"Hey, Satoru… what would you do if something were to happen to me?" you ask gently, unable to make eye contact as you lie on his bed, your fingers absentmindedly toying with the sheets.

"What?" he replies, his tone light, but only for a moment.

"Like if my cursed technique was killing me…" you cringe as the words tumble out unchecked, so much for testing the waters.

In that instant, Satoru's stomach sinks. The moment you reveal what your technique is doing to your body, it's as if the very ground beneath him shatters.

He laughs at first, a hollow, forced sound as he desperately tries to maintain levity. "You're joking, right? that's ridiculous. We'll fix it. I'll fix it."

But when you shake your head gently, his heart plummets.

"I tried everything, Satoru…" you murmur, the admission hanging heavy in the air.

And that’s when you see a side of Satoru Gojo you’ve never seen before. His entire being stiffens with resolve as he rises from the bed, his playful personality shifting to something cold.

"Then you'll just have to never use that technique again" he declares.

You get up as well, hoping he was joking. "Satoru, that's not realistic" you argue, trying to meet his intense gaze. "What kind of sorcerer would I be without my technique?"

"Then I guess you don't have to worry about being a sorcerer anymore"

"That's ridiculous! I dedicated my whole life to this!" you exclaim, shock and desperation mingling in your voice.

His expression hardens. "There's no point in fighting, Y/n. I'll involve the higher ups if I have to. Quit, or I'll do it for you."

You stare at him in shock. Did he just threaten you? A part of you wants to lash out, but you stop yourself.

Behind his threats, you see a man desperate to save someone he loves. A man tired of being the strongest, of being unable to save the people he cares about.

He swallows, gazing at you with an expression that pleads with you to understand, his demeanour desperate. "My mind is made up, Y/n, you’re not dying. Not now, not ever."

Kamo Choso

When Choso loved, he loved fiercely.

His dedication and loyalty to the ones he loved knew no bounds, and you were no exception.

As you lay there, slipping away in his arms, he could feel his world crumbling. "No." he says, voice trembling "You're not leaving me."

"Choso…" you whisper, reaching for him weakly. "I'm sorry."

But he can't. He refuses to accept it.

His love for you, his grief, warps into something monstrous. The raw emotion burns through him, uncontrolled. Without even realizing it, he curses you as your last breath escapes.

When you awaken, everything is different. Your body is no longer your own. It's ethereal, consumed by cursed energy that has become embedded in the very fabric of your being.

You’re not human anymore. You’ve become a curse.

You both stare at each other in stunned silence, horror painting both of your faces. The weight of what he’s done, the horror of what you’ve become, sinks in.

"I... I didn’t mean to-" Choso’s voice cracks, guilt flooding his words.

Before he can finish his sentence, you burst into uncontrollable tears. You’ve become the very thing you’ve fought against your whole life. The very thing that has caused so much pain to others.

And when your friends and colleagues see you, they’ll be horrified by what you’ve become.

"I just wanted to keep you with me" he chokes out in panic, not knowing what to do. His fingers shaking as he grips you tighter. "I didn’t know-"

Without thinking, he pulls you into a hug, half-expecting you to shove him away, knowing that he’s the one responsible for this. He did this to you. But you don’t pull away.

Choso is all you have now. The only one who sees you as you still are, not as the monster the world will now see you as.

As Choso holds you, he can't stop the sick feeling of satisfaction that blooms up in his chest. He'd never let you know but he was relieved.

He knew your time together was always going to be limited, you were human and he was a curse.

Not anymore.

Now you were going to be with him.

Forever and ever.

Well that was creepy.

Tiny taglist: @catlover19282

Feel free to check out my other Jujutsu Kaisen fics and more stories!

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laylaylanii · 1 month ago

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Picking Apart Kou’s Character (Analysis)

Through Nene’s pov he’s introduced as a very sweet guy and stuff but the problem here is that Nene’s is an unreliable narrator since she romantices life + Kou speficially treats her a lot nicer.

He is also heavily morally righteous and tries to hear Hanako out even after knowing he murdered someone, saving him from Teru.

Kou also ends up trying to shoulder other people’s problems, and many of his actions are seen as “heroic” or “selfless�� BUT sometimes this due to a more ugly part of his character the fandom seems to discard often.

^ To elaborate, I want to bring up this scene since it’s iconic asf

On the surface it’s like: omg wow so brave of him to kill himself for his bf !! However, in the red house arc (which for context shows him his biggest desires) we can see that he just wants mitsuba to rely on him to the point of extreme measures.

This is rooted from his inferiority complex due to being outshined by his older + younger siblings; AND to add on, Hanako straight up tells Kou twice hes unable to do anything. Then to push it further, Teru’s like ur weak lil bro go back to the kitchen during the no.6 fight. Mitsuba dying infront of him 6 times doesn’t help either..

When Mitsuba asks if Kou is okay and needs to talk about his problems, (I forgot which specific chapter..), Kou automatically assumes that Mitsubas just worried about Kou’s reliability because he has such a low self esteem and is used to given up on.

His inability to actually make stuff happen and ppl telling him he can’t do shit make him very eager to try and shoulder other ppls problem in an attempt to have someone depend on him.

So when Mitsuba comes in with nobody (besides tsukasa but he does more harm than help so wtv) who can help him, Kou.. heh.. ig u could say.. JUMPS at this opportunity.

Anyway, in the Nightlife arc Mitsuba is like “hey can u kill me I’ve given up on being human”, and Kou finally lashes out. Mitsuba is indirectly telling Kou that he gave up on him trying to make his wish come true; AND THEN to make it worse, Mitsuba brings Tsukasa right after up..

Kou gets desperate and forces Mitsuba to stay alive even if he doesn’t want to because both

1) if mitsuba leaves nobody will depend on him and

2) he’s gay for him + misses him after watching him die + can’t bring himself to kill Mitsuba

Yes, he cares a lot for Mitsuba as a person and making his wish come true, but he also just wants to be depended on after being told he’s a let down over and over again.

As I mentioned before, Kou has a trend with diverting his problems from other people and keeping his real feelings in. Nobody expect for nene knows about Mitsubas and Kous relationship, and it literally took Kou like 70 chapters or smthn to give her the basics.

He’s speechless when Akane asks if Mitsuba and him are close because Kou never mentions Mitsuba at all. Teru doesn’t know what’s up with him, and just assumes he “has a goal in mind”. Even when having his big speech defeating Habuko Kou just refers to Mitsuba as “him”.

Okay anyways the point Im trying to get is Kous character is a lot more complex than the fandom passes off !! Yes he can be very sweet and all but there’s other parts to his personality that aren’t so black and white.

#kou minamoto #tbhk manga #tbhk #jshk #toliet bound hanako kun #jibaku shounen hanako kun #mitsukou

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suksatoru · 6 months ago

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002. CARNATIONS

Touya wasn't fitting in very well.

There were a lot of things you noticed about him during his first week. He didn't talk much—he'd sit in silence a lot more than he should. It was bad. He was spending too much time with his own thoughts, and you were becoming afraid that he would end up swimming too far into his own mind where drowning would only be inevitable.

He didn't eat much either. Only when he absolutely needed to—and he'd take a few bites before stubbornly pushing his plate away. It was hard trying to get him to talk to you too, because he simply refused to cooperate.

There was this faraway look in Touya's eyes. Like he couldn't even begin to fathom what his life had come to. He had so many plans—so many things to do. They were all hopeless now. He had an entirely new checklist—and he couldn't even be bothered to pick it up. Was it bad that he had no will to live?

Touya didn't understand why his father wanted him alive. He hadn't seen him since the war, only hearing his name whispered amongst the doctors when they thought he was asleep. Touya truly didn't see the purpose of his family fighting so much for him—he was falling apart. Both mentally and physically, straining the doctors for no reason when he should just die. He'd done terrible things, and in his mind, he deserved death.

"He won't listen to anyone but you."

You blow out a breath of air with a nervous chuckle, shifting your weight from one foot to the other as you look up at your supervisor. She looked mad. Her brow was ticked upwards, a wrinkly finger holding up a sheet of paper that had 'Todoroki' scribbled at the top. His latest speech evaluation report.

"He can talk just fine with the insults he was spitting at the other doctors. That man has a foul mouth, and an even fouler mood. No doctor that comes even within five feet of him is spared his horrible remarks and glares. But in all of your reports, you never once mentioned him saying anything exceptionally rude. He's... quiet around you."

Your brows pinch together as your gaze stays on the report in your hands

Touya was confusing you.

"And I understand you have other patients, but they've all progressed nicely with their treatments. Todoroki—well, he is a special case."

You were being asked to accept the job of having Touya as your sole patient. You knew his condition was bad—but you didn't think it was this bad. The other doctors had all come to the same conclusion, that he was in desperate need of a single support system. Someone who could help him every step of the way. And they had made the unanimous vote for you to be that person.

You accepted. You thought you'd have to think more about the proposal, but...

"Touya, do you like board games?"

For the first time in this entire evening, Touya's eyes lift from the tiled floor he'd been glaring at as he turns to you with a look of disinterest. You try not to let him see the way you're fighting back a smile when he finally speaks for the first time this afternoon

"I haven't played one since I was a kid. I don't even remember how they work."

"That's ok—I can teach you!"

He looks out the window, gently rolling his shoulders as the muscles under his hospital gown shift from the movement

"Why? Just sounds like a waste of time to me." He says, his voice gruff as you gently drag your chair closer to his bed

"Well, some of these games involve some brain work. Don't you think it'd be a nice challenge to try and work them out? We can even—"

"No."

You pause when he interrupts you, folding your hands in your lap as you patiently wait for him to continue. Your smile falters when he starts staring again, his eyes opening a little more to watch you as he remains silent and still—not elaborating any further.

"Ok—"

"Call Endeavor."

You pause, trying not to show your surprise as you quickly close your parted lips when you meet his gaze.

Nothing. His eyes were devoid of even a speck of emotion as he stared at you. If it hadn't been for him moving to run a tired hand through his white locks, you would've thought he was dead. That is just how dull and lifeless his eyes looked.

"Well... let's talk about this first, okay? Why would you like to call him, Touya?" You ask softly, moving to grab his hand like you'd do to comfort any other patient before your fingers awkwardly hover over his hand

Touya did not like to be touched.

He narrows his eyes at you with an annoyed sigh before he looks away again, clearing his throat before speaking

"I need to do something."

You frown, taking a quick glance at the emergency phone across the room. There were a few contacts Touya would be allowed to call—one of them was, unfortunately, Endeavor's.

"Are you sure you'd like to call your father—"

"Don't fucking call him that."

You freeze, a chill running down your spine that feels like being dowsed in ice cold water when he snaps at you. His eyes burn to life, the hatred in them so strong that you can't even bring yourself to look at him as you realize you'd crossed some sort of an invisible line.

"I—okay, I'm sorry. Do you not like it when I address him as that?"

His silence was all the answer you needed.

Maybe it was your guilt that had you hesitantly reaching for the phone. You power it on—and you can see the poorly hidden surprise on his face when he quirks an eyebrow, surprised you were fulfilling his request.

He almost feels bad for what he's about to do. Almost.

"I'll hold the phone up to your ear, Touya. Let me know if I'm too close, ok?" You ask gently, and he nods his head with a grunt. He's not staring anymore—he's actually avoiding your eyes. Maybe you should've taken that as a sign that something was wrong, but you were too busy trying to understand what was going through his mind that made him want to call his father so out of the blue.

You pray silently that Endeavor won't answer—but the phone is barely on the third ring before it cackles to life

"Touya? Touya this is your number calling me—Touya are you there?"

The air is tense with your anticipation—could this mean progress? Barely two weeks in seemed a little early, but you sent Touya an encouraging smile anyways.

That was the last thing he needed to give him the courage to open his mouth

"Fuck you Endeavor! Burn in hell you flaming piece of shit!"

Your yelp doesn't surprise Touya at all as you hastily end the call, fumbling with the phone as he kneels over and grasps the railings of his bed—before he laughs.

It hurts so much to smile, but he does it anyway—his laughter is a hoarse wheeze as his chest shakes. You power the phone off with trembling hands before whipping towards him

"Touya—y-you tricked me!" You sputter, clutching the phone to your chest as he struggles to breathe. He whacks his chest, as if he's trying help the oxygen reach his lungs—and your eyes widen in panic

He lets out a deep exhale, turning to you with a barely noticeable smirk when he sees the dread in your eyes

"That was too easy. You shouldn't be so nice to me, Doc."

"Well... this could be considered progress, sir! He's, uhm—open to communication?"

Endeavor is not amused. He drills you for another fifteen minutes—demanding to know every little detail about Touya's recovery process, and each minute that passes has you shrinking further and further into your seat.

Who knew Touya would be the one to come to your rescue?

The undeniable beep that comes from your pocket immediately rips away your attention from Endeavor

Beep beep beep beep—

"What is that?" He nearly growls as you fumble with the small device in your hands, desperately trying to turn it off as your feet move towards the double-doors quickly

"Touya's emergency button, he's calling me—I'm so sorry, but we need to continue this conversation another time! " You yell over your shoulder before he can even get another word out, racing to the elevators as you come to a stumbling stop in front of them—you press the third floor button four times before the beeping starts up again

Your mind immediately thinks the worst, and you're practically flying up the stairs as you run by two families and nearly knock a fellow doctor off his feet in your race towards Touya's room

Touya jumps when his room door slams open, his brows furrowing as he discreetly tries to see what made you run into his room in such a haste

There were a few strands of hair that had fallen from your updo—you're panting as you take in Touya—sitting just fine on his bed as he stares at you. There's a hint of amusement in his eyes when he sees you before he slowly turns away

He peers down to the device in his hands as he points it at the TV—clicking the small red button on it over and over again.

"A-Are you-"

"It won't turn off."

He waves the remote at the TV again, grumbling all sorts of profanities under his breath as he stubbornly tries to will the screen to shut off—the news played softly through the speakers as you slowly nod your head

"We use this remote for that."

He eyes the device in your hands before holding up the one in his hand

"Then what the hell is this for?"

"Emergencies. You press it when you need me and it is urgent—I check in periodically anyways, so you only use this remote when you really need me to come right away. You pressed it a bunch of times earlier, so I had to run here. I thought something was wrong." You sigh, rubbing your temple as he turns over the device in his hand with a thoughtful hum. You gather the fallen strands in your palm and work on quietly fixing your hair.

"Why are you so nice to me?"

You pause from where you were tying your hair—lowering your hands into your lap as you tilt your head at him in confusion. Touya's glad he interrupted you while you were tying your hair, because now it falls over your shoulders in soft waves. He thinks you look... nice like this. He wonders if this will be the only time you'll let your hair flow freely in front of him.

The bluntness of his question was what made your hands drop. His words hang in the air as you try to formulate a response, but he cuts you off before you can get a word out.

"The other bastards treat me the way I deserve to be treated. How come you're actually trying? What's in it for you?"

He seems annoyed. But then you see the sincerity in his eyes—and you realize he genuinely didn't think he deserved any form of kindness. You want to hug him—but you also would like your limbs to stay in tact, so instead—you lean forward with a soft smile.

"You see, I like to think of people as flowers."

He stays silent, waiting for you to continue.

"Some grow in open fields with the sun shining over them all the time. Some grow through the cracks in concrete—and some die from drowning in too much rain or being dried out from the heat."

Something in his eyes softens at your words

"All flowers are beautiful, you know. The ones people say are too far gone can still be preserved. I really like pressing flowers, you know, in glass. It reminds me that their beauty is an everlasting type of thing."

You pretend not to notice the sheen in his eyes when he stares at you. It's quiet. The curtains move from the gentle breeze that enters through the open window, and it catches wisps of your open hair in it as you smile.

Touya had thought he'd seen it all. The ugliness of the world, the terrible parts no one should venture into. How many times had he lied when he'd said "I've seen it all." ?

He realizes how wrong he was when he understands he forgot to look through the cracks in the dark walls he'd been surrounded by for so long—the splits and breaks in the surface where hope seeped through. There was still so much he wanted to see.

Flowers. Who knew something so little could mean so much?

CARNATIONS MASTERLIST.

tags!

@dabislittlemouse @rueclfer @kawaiidemoneart @porusuniverse

@starrmage @lilbeatlebear @bokukenmakuroo @bbluefllame

⬆️ i love u all for the support 🥺🩷 thank you. i am seriously so greatful :(

please let me know if you would like your username to be removed or added!! i got a little excited with the taglist sowwy 😖

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sleepingdiaryzzz · 5 months ago

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Yandere young Justice x villain reader

The night was alive with tension, shadows dancing in the flickering glow of streetlights, as Young Justice faced you once more. You were the storm they could never predict, the haunting melody that lingered long after the music stopped. Their nemesis since the team’s inception, you had become something far more dangerous—a fixation, a flaw in the armor of their resolve.

“Give it up,” Robin growled, his staff twirling with precision. He stood at the center of the team, their ever-stoic leader, though his sharp eyes betrayed a storm brewing beneath the surface. “We end this tonight.”

Your laugh spilled into the air like silk, smooth and dangerous. “End it?” you echoed, stepping forward with a lazy grace. “My dear, we’ve barely begun.”

Every word dripped with a taunting charm, a velvet dagger aimed straight at their hearts. Robin’s jaw tightened, his composure threatening to crack. You weren’t just an enemy. You were his enemy—the one he couldn’t quite unravel, couldn’t quite forget.

Superboy lunged, his movements raw and forceful, like a hurricane desperate to prove its strength. “Stop talking,” he snapped, his fists swinging with earth-shattering power.

But you sidestepped him with a predator’s ease, your fingertips grazing his arm as you passed. “Oh, Kon,” you purred, your voice as sweet as it was venomous. “So quick to anger. What’s the matter? Afraid of how much you want me to keep talking?”

The growl that tore from his throat was animalistic, but it didn’t mask the flush creeping up his neck.

Above, Miss Martian hovered, her hands glowing with psychic energy, her voice soft and imploring. “You don’t have to do this,” she said, her words brushing against your mind like a fragile promise. “There’s still good in you. I can feel it.”

You turned your gaze upward, your eyes catching hers with a look that felt like a snare. “Feel it, do you?” you asked, your voice lilting like a melody that didn’t belong in the battlefield. “Or is that just wishful thinking, Megan? Tell me—” you stepped closer, your tone softening to a whisper that somehow felt louder than the chaos around you—“do you want to save me, or do you just want me?”

Her power faltered, her focus breaking as she stumbled back to the ground.

“You’re insufferable,” Artemis hissed, her bowstring taut as she loosed an arrow aimed directly at you.

You caught the movement out of the corner of your eye and dodged, the arrow slicing through the air where you had just been. “Ah, Artemis,” you said with a sly grin. “Always so sharp. But tell me, is it hatred I see in those eyes... or something else entirely?”

She fired another arrow in response, her hands trembling even as her aim stayed true.

Kid Flash zipped around you, a blur of speed and frustration. “Why don’t you ever shut up?” he asked, though his words lacked their usual bite.

You chuckled, spinning just in time to trip him with a precise kick. He tumbled to the ground, groaning as you crouched beside him. “Oh, Wally,” you murmured, your voice low and warm. “If I stopped, you’d miss me too much.”

He didn’t respond, his face red as he scrambled to his feet, but the way his gaze lingered on you for a heartbeat too long said enough.

“Enough!” Aqualad’s voice rang out, his water-bearers crackling with energy. He stepped forward, the anchor of their team, his every movement deliberate. “This ends now.”

You tilted your head, your smirk softening into something almost wistful. “You always think you’re in control, don’t you, Kaldur?” you said, your voice quieter now, almost tender. “But tell me—what do you do when the tides turn against you?”

His jaw clenched, but he didn’t respond, his silence betraying the weight of your words.

The battle raged on, but it was clear you weren’t just fighting them—you were unmaking them. Every word, every taunt, was a thread pulled loose from the fabric of their unity.

“You’re all so predictable,” you said as you danced through their attacks, your movements like liquid poetry. “So desperate to catch me. But tell me—” you paused, your gaze sweeping over them, a glint of mischief in your eyes—“do you want justice? Or do you just want me?”

The silence that followed was deafening, your words cutting deeper than any blade.

Robin stepped forward, his shoulders tense, his voice low and dangerous. “We’re going to stop you,” he said, though his words sounded more like a promise to himself than to you.

You took a step closer, closing the distance between you, your voice dropping to a whisper meant only for him. “Oh, little bird,” you murmured, your smirk curling into something sharper. “You’ve already lost. The moment you let me in, you lost.”

For a moment, neither of you moved, the world around you blurring into nothingness. Then, with a final glance at the team, you stepped back into the shadows, your voice carrying through the stillness like a haunting melody.

“Until next time, my darlings. Don’t miss me too much.”

And just like that, you were gone.

The team stood in the aftermath, battered and breathless, their thoughts filled not with the fight but with you. You were their nemesis, their obsession, the fault line that fractured them.

And in the silence that followed, they all thought the same thing:

They hated you.

They wanted you.

And they would destroy anyone who tried to take you from them.

(A/n: hey send request 😿)

#yandere justice league #yandere dc #dc x reader #yandere young justice x reader #yandere young justice #young justice x reader #yandere yj x reader #yandere yj #yj x reader #yandere dick grayson x reader #yandere dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #😹- drabble

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helenabuu32 · 7 months ago

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My first hc post officially has 100 notes 🥹

To celebrate……

Anotha one.

Bucci Squad when their crush or S/O gets badly hurt during a mission!

Bucciarati:

RIP to the one who has awoken mama bear

Without hesitation will use Sticky Fingers to safely tuck you away from danger until the threat is taken care of.

Depending on how severe the injury is, he’ll send another member in the zipper dimension with you to make sure you’re okay. If it’s life threatening, he’ll make Giorno heal you there.

Once you’re somewhere safe, it’s go time. There’s no holding back and the rest of the team is actually a little shocked (or scared) of his lack of composure when going after the one who hurt you.

He will accept help from the others if he needs it, he doesn’t care as long as the person gets fucked up. He will however insist on on delivering the finishing blow

Will probably deliver a really emotional speech about “those who dare harm the one he loves” (he’ll do this whether you’re dating or not bc ur prob unconcious anyway so it won’t really be a confession lmfao) as he proceeds to zipper their entire body apart and rip the pieces to shreds

Once the battle is over, he’s taking you home and not leaving your side until you’re better. If you’re dating he’ll make sure there’s always a fresh red rose by your bedside ❤️

Mista:

Did someone order a side of Swiss cheese?Because that’s what Mista is about to turn this person into.

He will throw himself in front of you and order one of the others to get you the hell out of there. He doesn’t care if he gets hit with an attack as long as you’re not getting hurt anymore.

The Sex Pistols are ANGRY. 5 is crying and wants to go to you, but knows Mista needs every bit of help he can get. They’re going absolutely nuts helping to riddle your attacker with bullets nonstop. Some of them are even trying to cling onto them and straight up bite chunks out of their body.

Mista will want to take care of this person himself but if he can’t handle it on his own, he’ll reluctantly let the others assist him. At the end of the day he doesn’t really care as long as he gets some (MANY) good shots in and this person is no more.

Once the fight is over, he’s sprinting to your side to assess the damage. Putting pressure on any wounds, he’ll take his shirt off to make a pillow for your head. Hell even rip it to shreds if you need bandages he doesn’t care.

If there’s a lot of damage, he’ll ask Giorno to help. He’s not letting you die on him.

Once you’re back home or somewhere safe, he’s doing everything he can to take care of you and help you. Any time you need food or water or a change of bandages, he’s the one who’s going to get it. Other than that, he never leaves your side until you’re better.

Abbachio:

This person is definitely gonna regret laying a finger on you.

He scoops you up and brings you somewhere safe while he’s yelling at the others to give them everything they’ve got.

If your life is in danger, he will put his hatred for Giorno aside and start begging him to come and heal you. He’s so desperate that the others are kind of shocked. They never realized you meant so much to him.

Depending on the enemy stand users abilities, he knows he and his own stand may be no match for them. If that’s the case, all he asks is that the others leave them alive so he can finish them off….

Once that has been done and he knows you’re going to be okay, he’ll demand that the others stay with you while he “takes care of things.”

He doesn’t even wanna use Moody Blues. In fact, he’s called his stand back in. If there’s anything laying around like a crowbar, a plank of wood, something that can do damage, he’ll grab it. If not, being the strongest of the group physically, he has no problem using his fists.

The others will watch from afar as Leone makes this person unrecognizable as human. This person is literally begging and pleading for mercy, but Abbacchio doesn’t intend on stopping. Even when they’re long dead, he just keeps going until they’re a bloody pulp.

He’ll walk back to you and the group, covered in the blood of the enemy and tell everyone to back off. He carries you the whole way back to whenever you’re staying. If you’re dating, he’ll just hold you and silently cry when you’re away from the others as he tells you how much he loves you and never wants to lose you.

Narancia:

Lol the others should run

No actually. He’s telling the rest of the Bucci gang to take you, make sure you’re okay, and run. FAR. Away.

He’s literally screaming at this person as he uses Aerosmith to just unleash everything it has. If there’s cars or anything around that he can use to set a fire, the whole area will be set ablaze within minutes.

Once he knows it’ll finish them off for good, Narancia will drop Aerosmith’s bomb and absolutely destroy everything in the vicinity. He doesn’t even care if he hurts himself at this point.

When the deed is finally done, he’s rushing to you and the others, tears running down his face yelling and making sure you are/are going to be okay.

Once you’re all back home, Narancia is constantly bringing you snacks and drinks and feeding them to you. He’ll set his boombox up in your room and let you ply all your favourite songs to help brighten the mood. He acts cheery to put a smile on your face, but this boy is honestly traumatized after watching you get hurt like that.

If you’re not dating, he feels like he literally needs to guard your room at night. He has this irrational fear that someone else will break in to try to finish you off. If you’re in a relationship, he sleeps with you every single night, waking up every half hour/an hour because he’s so worried something will happen.

Will pick you flowers he found (they’re actually weeds lol) outside because he knows how much you like them

Giorno

Uh yeah so he’s definitely about to prove he’s his fathers son here

He’s calm. Like SCARY calm. The others have never seen him act this way before and it’s freaking them out.

He’ll heal any wounds that need to be tended to immediately, then ask the others to take you somewhere you’ll be safer

He never once loses his composure. In fact, the others think they can see him….smiling???

His goal now is to use Gold Experience to make this person regret they were ever born. The enemy won’t even notice the strategically placed roots he’s been sprouting from the ground until it’s too late…

Once the enemy is where Giorno wants him, the others will watch this person slowly. SO slowly. Get impaled all over with thin tree branches. Giorno makes sure this person stays alive for a long time. Once he’s ready to finish the job, he will make the tree grow fully through their body, completely tearing them apart.

The others jaws are on the floor as they watch Giorno walk back over to them, the scene behind him looking like a gory horror movie. Most of them are a little scared of him right now but Abbacchio actually managed to grow a sliver of respect for him, strangely enough.

Upon seeing you, he goes back to his normal, kind self. When you get home, he will care for you until you’re better. If you’re dating, he’ll hold you tightly as he tells you how much he loves you and will never let anyone hurt you like that again.

Fugo

So he actually almost kills everyone out of complete, uncontrollable rage

He’s so angry he honestly doesn’t even check on you before going nuts on this person. The others, realizing they can’t stop him and would definitely die trying, get you to safety and take care of any injuries that may need immediate attention.

Fugo honestly almost gets himself killed with his own stand. But he doesn’t care, because at the end of the day, the person who hurt you is gone and boy did they suffer greatly

He finally calls Purple Haze back in, realizing how reckless he was being in his emotional state. He feels ashamed, but couldn’t help himself when he saw you laying there, crumpled up in pain on the ground.

When you get back, he’s actually avoiding you at first. When he finally comes to see you, he explodes. “What the Hell were you thinking??? Are you stupid, throwing yourself in the middle like that to blindly defend everyone? You could’ve gotten yourself KILLED. I almost LOST YOU.”

…if you weren’t dating already, that was pretty much his confession of his feelings for you. If you are in a relationship, he’ll finally let his guard down and just weep. You actually have to comfort him at first. He just keeps repeating how much he loves you and can’t ever lose you. He’s saying he’s sorry over and over again. Sorry for letting you get that hurt, sorry for almost hurting the others. He’s just sorry. And he swears to protect you and work on being more calm in those situations.

I’ll be adding one for Trish later as I was having a hard time thinking of a good amount of hcs for her and I’ve had this in my drafts so long that I just really wanna get it out there! I hope you guys liked this one, and again, always feel free to send in a request for some hcs from me! :)

Love: your friendly neighborhood Abbacchio simp 😌

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