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fuu-miku · 11 months ago

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"Dungeon Meshi is the first time I've seen this frustration and the resultant voluntary isolation from other people portrayed in media so candidly. Laios' anger is not downplayed or written to be easily palatable, either."

Oh my god someone said it. I didn’t know how to articulate this aspect of it but yes

Represention of Autistic Frustration in Laios Dungeon Meshi

Like many other autistic people, I related strongly to Laios Touden while reading Dungeon Meshi. This post isn't going to spend time disputing whether he displays autistic traits or not—while I could do that, I want to focus on why specifically his portrayal struck a chord with me in a way the writing of most other autistic-coded characters has not.

Disclaimer: as the above suggests, this post is strongly informed by my own experiences as an autistic person, as well as the experiences of my neurodivergent friends with whom I have spoken about this subject. I want to clarify that in no way am I asserting my personal experience to be some Universal Autistic Experience. This post is about why Laios' character feels distinct and significant to me in regard to autistic representation, and while I'm at it, I do feel that I have interesting things to say about autistic representation in media generally. This also got a bit long, so I'm sticking it under a read more. Spoilers for up to the end of chapter 88 below.

The thing that stands out most to me in regard to Laios' characterisation is the open anger he displays when someone points out his inability to read other people. This comes up prominently in his interactions with "Shuro" (Toshiro Nakamoto):

The frustration pictured above (Laios continuing to physically tussle with Toshiro, using crude language toward him) becomes even more notable when you remember that this is Laios, who, outside of these interactions, is not easily fazed and often exists as a lighthearted contrast to the rest of the cast. Then we get to Laios' nightmare.

In Falin's words: "Nightmares love emotional wounds. Wounds you hold in your heart. Things that give you stress, or things that were traumatic for you. They aggravate memories like that and cause the dreamer to have terrible dreams." (chapter 42, page 10.) (damn. i'm properly citing for this post and everything.)

Thus, Laios' nightmare establishes an important fact: even if he is unable to recognise social blunders while he's making them, he's at least subconsciously aware that other people operate on a different wavelength to him, and that he's an outsider in many of his social circles (both past and present). His dream-father's disparaging words stress the impact this has had upon his ability to live up to the expectations set out for him, and we also get a panel of kids who smirk at him (presumably former bullies to some degree). Toshiro's appearance only hammers home how much Laios is still both humiliated and angered by his misunderstanding of their relationship.

I've thought a lot about anger as concomitant to the autistic experience. When autistic representation portrays ostracization, it's generally from an angle of the autistic character being upset at how conforming to neurotypical norms doesn't come easily to them; as a result, they express a desire to 'get better' at meeting neurotypical standards, a desire to become more 'normal' (whether the writing implies this is a good thing or not). In contrast, not once does Laios go, "I need to perform better in my social interactions, and try to care less about monsters, because that's what other people find weird." His frustration is directed outward rather than inward, and as a result, it's the people around him who are framed as nonsensical.

The Winged Lion starts delineating Laios' anger, and Laios' reaction is to think to himself, "It can sense all my thoughts, huh?" (chapter 88, page 16.) This is the scene that really resonated with me. I'm not saying I have never felt the desire to conform to neurotypical norms that is borne from insecurity, but primarily, I know that I don't want to work toward becoming 'normal'—I don't want to change myself for people who follow rules I find nonsensical. It's the difference between, "Oh god, why can't I get it," and, "WHY CAN'T YOU GET IT?" (phrasing here courtesy of my friend Miles @dogwoodbite). And for me personally, Dungeon Meshi is the first time I've seen this frustration and the resultant voluntary isolation from other people portrayed in media so candidly. Laios' anger is not downplayed or written to be easily palatable, either.

The culmination of Laios' frustrations in this scene wherein we learn that Laios has fantasised about "a pack of monsters attacking a village" drives home just how alienated he really feels. I need not go into his wish to become a monster himself, redolent of how many autistic people identify/have identified with non-humans to some degree as a result of a percieved disconnect from society (when I was younger, I wanted to be a robot. I still kind of do.)

Obviously, wishing death upon other people is a weighty thing, but the unfiltered nature of this page is what deeply resonated with me. The Winged Lion is laying Laios' deepest and most transgressive desires bare, and they are desires that are a product of lifelong ostracization by others (whether intentional or unintentional). This is the brand of anger I'm familiar with, and that my neurodivergent friends express being familiar with, but that I haven't seen portrayed in writing so explicitly before—in fact, it surprised me because most well-meaning autistic representation I've experienced veers toward infantilisation in trying make the autistic character's struggles easy for neurotypicals to sympathise with.

Let's also not neglect the symbolism inherent to Laios' daydream. "A pack of monsters attacking a village". Functionally, monsters are Laios' special interest—he percieves everything first and foremost through his passion for monsters. His daydream of monsters attacking—killing—humans, is fundamentally a daydream of the world he understands (monsters) overthrowing the world that is so illogical to him, that has repeatedly shunned him (other people). I joked to my friends that it's an autistic power fantasy, and it actually sort of is. And in it, his identity is aligned with that of the monsters, while his anger manifests in a palpable dissociation from the rest of humanity. This is one manga page. It's brief. It's also very, very raw to me. I think about it often.

To conclude, I love Laios Dungeon Meshi. This portrayal of open frustration in an autistic character meant a lot to me, and I hope I've sufficiently outlined why. Also, feel free to recommend media with autistic representation in the notes if you've read this far—I would really like to see if there is more of this nature. Thank you for reading. I'm very tired and should probably sleep now.

#Prev tags very true too #Laios def doesn’t want to change for the world but he also recognizes self-preservation. Not to upplay it but he def suppressed his interes #and more expressive demeanor. It’s motivated by fear and survival and OOF #Laios king of autism anger real #i got an anon hate ask after I made my first few dunmeshi posts and it said that they dropped the series bc they sensed the vibes were off #and now with these pages they saw that Laios “was like a school shooter” and ontologically evil and. It still haunts me. The world is scary #-once more TM. You either get it or you don’t and that’s terrifying #If the world is so ready to otherize people then like. Guess I’ll die #Another autism rep (unofficial) I really liked was Gus from The Owl House. In season 2 he has something like a Shuro-Laios scene #full with a destructive meltdown and it’s so raw. The frustration is directed inward but in a deeper realer way than most medias #like in an existential horror way and it felt very unapologetic and unsanitized as well #It goes back to fear again. Sigh Laios is so important to me. It’s an autism power fantasy but the power part is so thinly veiled for #‘I want to be strong enough and safe to never be hurt again by the world’ and like bro……. bro……..#Dungeon meshi #laios touden #meta #Asd #this motivates me to write more Laios autism trauma analysis thank you <33 I have like 2 drafts. It’s so scary to put in words and out-#-there tho sometimes #Oh i do already have 1 up over at @fumifooms . Oh shit I should have reblogged this on there instead

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acid-ixx · 2 months ago

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brutus: out for blood (villain au concept)

ft. neglectful yandere! bruce wayne x gn villain! reader

— masterlist !

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: did anybody ask for this? no! did i decide to write this anyways? abso -fucking-lutely. is this a rantfic? mayybee. anyways, this is not my best piece nor will anything i write be my best piece but i just love destroying my happiness with angst and altho writing a very anxiety ridden mc is fun, i also love to dabble in sadomasochistic traits for a main character. like i said, i am not proud of this but i figured i should post something. erm... leave comments bec i love reading whatever stuff u guys have in store hehe.

you've tasted blood on your tongue far longer than you've felt the loving touch of a family.

it's metallic. it's salty. it twists every vein in your gut.

it tastes of broken metal pipes in playgrounds, destructive tantrums and broken dreams, of skipped classes and detention rooms, of ripped test papers and missed diplomas. it reminds you of your bitter past every single time; one you swore you've buried six feet deep into the ground. a burning memory with nothing more than heartaches and heartbreaks.

you taste blood whenever they reject your advances for even a single moment of bonding time. you feel it pumping slowly, steadily, painfully whenever you stumble upon a room, only to see them, smiles and all, huddled together in a group with junk food in their hands and a movie playing in that stupid flat screen tv. you know it's the only thing accompanying you whenever he misses another event in your school. it becomes the only friend you have whenever you're alone, inside your too-small room, with shatters glass scattered around and bruised knuckles.

blood, for most, is vile, utterly repulsive. it reeks in every corner of a room, its scent is overpowering, it stains, it's hard to clean. it imprints. and it will always remind you it's there, in the depths of your body, curdling and boiling and ready to burst out of the seems every time you rip at your skin with a razor sharp blade. blood has always been your only friend, like a scar that will never fade away.

yet you embrace crimson like it was the color of your soul, and accept how it's the only color you allow in your grim life. black has never provided you solace, but red allowed for a mantra of emotions to trail into your very being.

blood. it's more homely than you let it out to be.

and you're far more familiar with it than anything else. you cradle it like an unwanted child, you kiss its wounds, allow it to fester and grow into an abhorrent disease that crawls like a lump in your throat that you could never get rid of.

in moments of solace, of quaint prayers and hours of kneeling into the floor— it is the thing that slides on cold, hard tiles. it is the warmth, the numbness, the thing that seeps out of your bruised knees, your scratched neck and your thighs with fingernails buried deep into flesh.

you've come to love blood, cherish it even.

especially if it's your own.

especially if it came from the punch of none other than your father.

left, right, left, right.

his punches were cruel and his kicks can easily crush bones into powder. he demands answers with every strike he delivers, he exudes an energy far more adrenaline based than yours. batman is methodical in the way he moves, the way he acts, and you're not; you're impulsive, you had no plans to counter the towering man— no counter for the brutal hits he lay upon you. you let him, you open every doorway world to beat your body black and blue, with red painting the canvas as a finishing touch.

he's stronger than you, and every time he bashes your head into the wall, the urge to spit into his face, to piss him off, to laugh at him and his Idiocracy; it all becomes stronger.

yet all you do was allow him multiple openings, denying yourself the pleasure of attempting to even take your abandoned gun at the corner and shoot at his cranium— you want him to suffer, even if it costs you your mobility by the near future, fuck it.

up, down, to the side, then an uppercut to your jaw and you're nearly depleted of anymore moves to counter. you want to seem like you've given up; but you want him pissed off, enough to punch you 'til blood seeps into the fibers of your mask. until your face starts bruising, until your nose breaks, until he finally rips your mask off and sees your face.

and he'll come to regret.

you shift to the side, and ignore the sting of your throat, the lull of your head and the soreness of your entire body.

because if you hadn't dodged, then your head would've left an imprint on the walls. you would've preferred that now, rather than the disgusting feeling of sentimentality that creeps into your heart at the implication that his blows were slowly, but surely, weakening.

he's holding back, you hold back a sneer.

as if he actually cares about you.

maybe he does, maybe he doesn't. you know he cares far more deeply for his enemies than he does you, and you hate how glad you are at the pride that finally, just finally are you being acknowledged. at the opposite end of his side, as enemies. but for once you can feel the care he offers others, most of which were nonexistent back when you were just some... nobody.

batman never kills; but he can hurt, he can injure, and he can destroy. and right now, you feel all the air leaving your body as the cloaked vigilante delivers the last punch to your ribcage.

you fall, on your hands and knees, a loud thump resounding through the empty abandoned building. all you hear are your crackling joints, and heavy breathing. heavy, like your eyelids, about to fall, about to shut until black encompasses your vision. if not for the remaining adrenaline coursing through your veins, you would've fainted— but you won't, you wouldn't, not until you see him, see his face.

the thumping in your heart beats louder, and your hands. god, they feel like jelly, it's burning, it's one step closer on collapsing under gravelly concrete and piercing skin into rocks. yet you're forbidden any time for grace, not when he lightly shoves you out of your position, and not when you fall to your sides, hands paralyzed, tears prickling against your cheeks at the pain that burns throughout your body.

"you don't deserve peace after shooting that family in front of that child, you know it."

his voice, domineering, absolutely fucking vibrating with a tremor of sheer anger. he directs his words at you, without empathy, without mercy. he wants you to learn to never mess with him in the streets of gotham. but you'll never... not until he notices you. fuck, you just want him to notice you. and now, he is, with utter vexation that causes a lump in your throat to form.

shit, you've never felt so happy.

it's when his tussled form — heavy, pitch-black boots slathered with crimson liquid — enters your sight that you cough, violently, out of breath, and you can feel it one second, then taste it in your tongue the next.

blood.

you grin, and slowly, ever-so eminently, did you spiral into a cackle. your throat gurgles crimson liquid, and yet it only builds into a cacophony of a broken record. you move your head, look through your nearly shredded domino mask, with so little strength to accompany you, to look at the man above you, eyes glinting with a glow never so alive until now.

you're genuinely so fucking happy.

batman, he who strikes fear into the hearts of gotham villains and civilians alike. he who protects the city at night. he whose name is said with wavering uncertainty— he's looking at you, only you.

'bruce wayne: my dad— is finally looking at me.'

and you! you're laughing, the sounds that emanate from your throat are so scratchy, so utterly decimated that it sounds like vultures feeding through a dead corpse; but you don't let your chuckles die down, because you're so, so happy.

he looks at you, with contempt, with disgust, you don't know; but you're still so overjoyed.

"y-yeah... it's me, i did it. are you proud of me...?" you ask as you look up, through the tears that flow out your eyes, through the grin that couldn't die down. he looks at you like you're insane, and you know he's confused, shifting uncomfortably as he gives someone a status update through the comms, his eyes never leaving your pathetic form—

you look at him like he means the world all throughout.

"call for red robin, i have one of the culprits," he orders through the intangible device, eyes squinting as he takes you in— you whose chuckles slowly calmed down, as your breathing finally becomes heavier, as blood, yours, seem to seep into clumsily made apparel. you, who bruce realized seem too oddly familiar, too small, too childish, whose moment of spiraling insanity is too damn innocent to ignore.

you're not like the typical rogue he encounters, no. and right before you finally allow sleep to overcome you, you muster the last of your energy, to stare back at him with shining eyes, expectant, and like a child's, you ask with the meekest voice.

"hey... dad, i have a surprise." scratchy, absolutely broken, yet spilling with joy, with... your last word right before you continue, bruce's heart thumps ever the slightest faster.

"take my mask off, please?"

crimson began to overtake your entire body, and bruce should've never complied with your... request, but as he kneels and finally gets a grasp of what you truly look like, he notices the frailness, the vulnerability, as if you were never built for... combat. with just how quickly you succumb to the depths of rest, with how oblivious you are to the fact that if it were anyone else, they would've killed you.

you're not properly trained, you fight out of impulse, and he knows it with just how swift you gave up midfight.

when he pulls the domino mask (which seems oddly inspired by the shape of... his vigilante partners, the robins...) off your face, did his heart finally hastened its pace, loud thumping crawling its way to his ears, his eyes registering your face: its form, its shape, your eyes, your nose—

all similar to his, all an amalgamation of your mother's, too.

no... wait, no.

it's not...

it's not his... child?

you?

your eyes, flickering one last time stared at him, softly, like that of a child who looks at their father with pride like nothing else. your hand, it shakes, it shivers, as your fingers find its way creeping to his hand, holding your mask. fingers so dainty, now pulverized bones lay atop his shivering hand, tenderly, as if trying to comfort the very same man who has nearly killed you.

batman— no, bruce looks at you. at what he's done, and only now did he realize his greatest mistake. a child, his child, one whose innocence retained through heinous acts, now a villain, whose actions were all a testimony to merely wanting their father's attention.

he failed you, his child. he failed to protect you, who he has never held up close until now— as your body is hastily taken into his arms. so small, so easily wrapped around his body, so unbefitting of committing criminal activity. now bloodied and laid into barren ground by their very own father.

bruce wayne never felt this much terror, for nearly killing his child.

this, this day marks his sin.

and you? dearest you feel like today is your greatest day.

crimson, nearly every part of you is stained with that putrid color.

yet blood has always been your best friend, no? and right now as you bleed into the arms of your father, you find yourself grateful that it is the last thing you see before a black cloak wraps around you, before black fills your entire line of sight.

short rant ahead: another author's note??? wow. yeah this was such a hard drabble to write. plsplspls leave a comment or some sort of input. anything will do. ive been so demotivated to write lately and i feel like anything i write is just, so bad 😭 like is my pacing good? are the emotions out of place? am i even doing this right ?? i don't know, and i feel like every time i post something i always put up expectations on myself that I should've done better so yeahh. is this attention seeking behavior? probably. but i don't get how people have come to like the stuff i write when i hate whatever i write hence why im in a constant cycle of hiatuses and short breaks. and really, it's just so hard to come into terms with things and i need input lest i accidentally get into a year or two of hiatus, lmaoo.

#🌷... yael's works #🧁... yael's misc.#series: again & again #concept: brutus #yandere dc #yandere batfam #yandere bruce wayne #yandere batman #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x male reader #yandere x female reader #yandere x gn reader #yandere angst #platonic yandere #yandere x you #yandere x darling #yandere x y/n

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zillychu · 11 months ago

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I’ve gotten a WAVE of asks about this AU, so I decided to flesh it out some more and answer some of those questions!

I’ll probably polish this extended summary up at some point and submit it to AO3. But for now, here’s a rundown of my thoughts–please feel free to send more questions! I’ll update this post if I get any more. But if you’re someone who wanted to write fic for it, don’t worry, you don’t need to take my headcanons as gospel. It’s a pretty basic AU honestly lol

Summary:

The portal accident results in a violent explosion that wipes out the whole block, and condemns all of Amity Park. Danny haunts the city for 100 years, before Sam and Tucker find him.

Setup:

In the 1920’s, 19-year-old Danny went into the incomplete portal on his own, hoping to help out his parents. Ripping the portal open through unnatural means created a huge burst of energy that resulted in a massive explosion. A good portion of the Amity Park population died, many were injured, and the ones on the fringes relocated–Amity was quickly deemed too dangerous due to the excess ectoplasm in the area that attracted ghosts.

While the disaster was in Amity, the fallout was seen around the globe. Before, natural portals were rare, short-lived, and rarely allowed ghosts to fully slip into our realm (the most severe cases being on par with poltergeists that most people didn’t believe in). Now, natural portals pop open frequently around the world, large enough to allow the entirety of a ghost into the physical plane. They’re more common the closer you get to Amity, but they happen enough elsewhere that this change was something of a small apocalypse before people settled back down and found out how to combat at least some of their new, permanent neighbors.

Danny is unaware that he’s only half-dead, believing he’s a full ghost. He ends up sticking around Amity, unintentionally making it his haunt. His grief and guilt over causing the death of his loved ones (and many others) makes him isolate and avoid human contact. Though he has, at times, scared nosy people away from the city in a mix of territorial instinct–and to get them to leave before a less friendly ghost finds them.

Ghosts are much more of an uncontested danger in this AU. Lesser ghosts are practically mindless, and while stronger ghosts are capable of reason, their interests are limited. They’re highly territorial, possessive, and often destructive. Most worrisome is that they also like to snack on the life force of anything alive. No one is sure what dictates a ghost’s propensity to attack or hunt the living for their life force since ghosts don’t exactly experience hunger. At least, not the way we do. If a human is rescued before their life force is fully drained, they can make a full recovery–though humanity has still not yet found what this “life force" is.

And since the Fentons’ research died along with them, there aren’t many tools available to the public to protect them from ghosts. Most homes have standard ghost shields and some weapons are available on the market, but certified ghost hunters are required to take care of anything more powerful than your average spook.

Sam and Tucker met in high school, and are now rooming together for college very close to the Amity border. Rent is surprisingly cheap when you’re a stone’s throw away from a condemned area crawling with ghosts. Sam is the one who drags Tucker along with her fascination over finding out more about the city, and its largely mysterious demise. Sam is aware of the danger, but feels ghosts have a place in this world just like everything else, and does exercise caution–like one would while foraging in the woods with a known tiger population.

What she and Tucker weren’t expecting was to run into a ghost that felt almost human. One that hasn't hurt them, not for lack of trying–while being powerful enough to walk past ghost shields without so much as a flinch. The long white hair is familiar in the whispers of the ectobiologist community, but there’s no way it could be the rumored ghost king Phantom, right?

About Danny:

He has very long hair, claws, and black sclera. His hazmat suit is more torn and ragged, with exposed hands and feet that fade into a burnt black.

His hair tends to float a lot on its own. It can start morphing into fire under duress.

He does still technically have gloves and boots, they've just charred and melted into his skin towards the ends. He can't take them off in his ghost form. His hands and feet have a leathery texture that's tougher than the rest of his skin.

The white of his hazmat suit is both supposed to look like flames, and also a battered look representing his more violent, explosive death.

Overall, he appears rather listless and sad, with an unnerving air of danger around him–even for a ghost.

Danny’s “ghost sense” comes out as white smoke.

He does breathe black smoke at times, usually when agitated.

He's already fought and defeated Pariah Dark by the time Sam and Tucker find him, technically making him the Ghost King. This is heavily speculated by ghost experts, despite there being no real proof beyond a massive battle that scarred Illinois. He has not donned the Ring or the Crown, and captured sentient ghosts are hesitant to answer questions surrounding him. Danny basically has the throne but doesn’t do anything with it, and finds it meaningless enough to routinely forget he has the title. He only fought Pariah because he knew otherwise, humanity would have perished. A lot of ghosts are scared of him because he's so hard to figure out, and he's strong.

Danny is usually very quiet and speaks softly, because his lungs were damaged in the blaze that half-killed him. He's technically healed since becoming a ghost, so it's more of a compulsion due to the traumatic memory. That, and he’s just… very forlorn and distant, shy around humans who don’t seem to understand how dangerous it is to keep hanging around him.

His memories pre-accident are extremely fuzzy. He knows the very basics of who he was, but specifics have been muffled due to trauma and isolation. He routinely forgets human habits, etiquette, etc. and tends to act more like a full ghost with some odd quirks.

He does try to scare Sam and Tucker off numerous times. Unfortunately for him, they realized they shouldn't have been able to escape a ghost that strong–but they did, because he let them.

Sam and Tucker think he's mute at first! He doesn't speak a word to them until several encounters later, when he fumbles his whole scary act and saves them from another ghost.

He’s still half-ghost, though he doesn’t figure this out until Sam and Tucker come along trying to unravel the mysteries behind the Amity catastrophe. Physically and emotionally, he’s been stuck for 100 years–so his human form is still 19. It’s unclear at this point if he can age normally like a human as long as he stays in human form, or if he’s immortal.

Danny's family did not turn into ghosts, though he sometimes worries he'll find them in the afterlife as shells of their former selves. He doesn't know if it's better or worse that he's not sure he'd recognize them.

(Danny also still has some living family. Take a guess.)

Yes, he knows how to Wail. Understandably, he very rarely uses it. You do not want to witness this.

Danny :) is not immune :) from the allure of eating a human's life force :)))

#danny phantom #au #zilly art #I just wanted to draw a boy with long hair and claws how did this happen #fire core au

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bartxnhood · 4 months ago

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cowboy casanova | t.o

tyler owens x fem!reader

based on this request: “Omg, how about Tyler Owens comforting reader on their first storm chase, maybe she’s really nervous or scared and he’s like don’t worry I ain’t gonna let anything happen to you… something like that???”

warnings: depictions of a tornado, reader has a panic attack. severe damage to homes and buildings.

w/c: 1.7k

a/n: thank you for the request! i added a touch of a backstory to help the plot go forward. i hope that’s okay!! i’m also currently in the theater about to watch it again (i saw it last night lol) enjoy <3

requests open

not proofread

✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵

you see a man standing in a wide-open field, as the sky above you darkened to a menacing shade of gray. the once-gentle breeze turns into a fierce, howling wind, and you feel a sense of unease settle in the pit of your stomach.

you were assigned to follow him and his crew around while they chased these monstrous tornadoes then went in and dissolved the threat. you worked for a huge journaling company from the north, but you grew up in arkansas and became familiar with these devastating weather patterns.

now, you were in oklahoma where you’d be joining this storm chaser during a week-long chase.

“you ready to chase some storms?” his back was still towards you, and his southern drawl was familiar.

as the man in the maroon shirt and white cowboy hat, spun on his heels to face you, you were taken aback.

tyler owens.

“y/n?”

his blood ran cold, not expecting to see you after all of these years. you laughed in disbelief, “this is crazy..” you shook your head and crossed your arms, shifting your weight to one leg.

“you’re the journalist?”

you and tyler go way back. the two of you were in school together, majoring in meteorology.he started chasing these storms, becoming famous on campus.

but, it all came to a head one day when you got trapped and lost your best friend. that’s when you dropped meteorology and took up journalism. you documented the destruction, the path, how they moved, etc.

and now, you were writing about who was called the tornado wrangler. you should’ve done your research but you didn’t want the assignment.

but, he had become so popular with his crew. they’d go inside the twisters and release a mixture to help dissolve the storm. and it worked.

“you’re the wrangler?” you ask, and tyler laughs. that signature laugh that always made you want to punch him in his pretty little face.

tyler turns around and rests his hands on his hips. “what do you see?”

the wind picks up even further, swirling around you in a dizzying dance, pulling at your clothes and hair. you sigh, taking a few steps closer till you are standing next to him.

“there” you point to the east, the air was thick with an unsettling hum as a dark mass loomed on the horizon. the skies darkened further, and a chilling gust of wind whipped up debris and sent trees bending at unnatural angles.

"another one" he murmured, eyes locked on the clouds as his adrenaline spiked and his lips pulled into a smile that he couldn't help but wear every time a storm was brewing.

glancing over at you he tried to hide the excitement in his chest that he felt when one appeared, but tyler knew hiding your feelings from another storm chaser was like trying to hide a tornado in an open field.

"how much do you wanna bet it'll touch down two miles east of our position" he teased, eyes scanning the clouds for clues.

“mm” you shake your head, even though you hadn’t done it in years you still had it. “three.” you continue, then point to the wind and how it carries against the wheat field.

“look at the way the wind is carrying. it’ll go east and hit north. perfect conditions,” you add crossing your arms

“i think you have yourself a ef5.”

uou had it. the intuition to tell where a storm was going to go by only looking at the clouds, the way the winds were blowing, and the speed at which the storm moved.

tyler had a similar gift, every storm chaser had it, but he had never met someone who could predict the size of a storm, which was a rarity he had never seen before.

“ah EF5, huh? i’ll hold you to that. If you’re wrong, you’re buying me a beer.”

tyler owens would be the death of you.

“i’m not buying you anything, owens.”

you load up into his truck, snapping pictures of forming a storm. he was flooring the red truck in a wheat field right towards the storm so he could get ahead of it.

“ya miss it?” he yells, over the thunder. occasionally turning his head to look at you. you say nothing, continuing to snap pictures.

“sometimes.” you blurt, not looking back at him. “i just don’t miss the destruction” you continue, rolling up the window and reviewing the photos.

“you were good,” he says, one hand on the steering wheel and eyes still taking glances at you. “mm” you just hum in response, not wanting to talk about your storm chasing days.

suddenly, a funnel begins to descend from the clouds, growing larger and more ominous by the second. the air around you crackles with anticipation, and you realize that you are witnessing the terrifying formation of a tornado. an EF5.

this was the second time you had ever seen an EF5 form in front of you, this was frightening.

you held onto your camera tightly as tyler drove right towards the black abyss. “shit..” you mumble quietly.

as the rain beat down on the windshield, the engine's roar could hardly be heard above the gathering storm.

tyler's truck sped through the wide-open fields, creating a trail of dirt and dust in their wake. with his eyes locked on the approaching storm, he clinched his teeth and gripped the steering wheel firmly like a man about to die.

he had chased tornadoes before, but never an EF5. the adrenaline in his veins was making his heart race and his senses heighten as he pushed the truck to drive faster, the roar of the wind and thunder in their ears.

“what a beauty” he muttered, admiring the sheer force and size of the storm in front of them.

as your heart pounded furiously in your chest, you felt a sudden tightening of the breath in your lungs.

your mind raced with panicked thoughts, each one more terrifying than the last. you fought to stay calm, but the fear was overwhelming, like a living entity trying to consume you whole.

sweat beaded on your forehead, and your hands trembled as you held the camera. the world around them seemed to blur and spin out of control, like the tornado in front of them.

"tyler, we should go back," you yelled. tyler smiled, eyes fixed on the whirling green giant in front of him.

he yells, "not a chance, l/n. look at it!" as he maneuvers through the difficult terrain. “we can’t give up now!”

“stop!” you proceeded to yell, flashes of that night you lost your best friend. the way the sky looked, how it sounded, the rain on your skin, how cold you were. it was all flashing in front of you, experiencing the whole thing again.

tears brim your eyes, your body shaking like a leaf. “please! just stop!” you yell over the growl of the thunder clapping.

tyler’s heart sank to his stomach as he heard the raw emotion in your voice. he had teased you and challenged uou, but now it was clear that this was not just another storm for you.

it was a personal struggle that was tearing you apart and he had triggered it with his arrogance.

without a word, he stomped on the brakes and brought the truck to a screeching halt, his own heart racing against his ribs.

"y/n, look at me," he said, voice suddenly hoarse and quiet.

you’re gasping for air, pulling at the collar of your crewneck. the cab of the truck felt like it was closing in on you, you unbuckled the seat belt and tried to unlock the door. “i can’t do this” your bottom lip begins to quiver. “i have to..i gotta get out of here.”

you can’t even bring yourself to look at him. your mind is fogged with the traumatic experience of the last time you were caught in the eye of a storm like this.

tyler’s heart dropped as he saw you struggling, your gasping breaths and trembling body. he reached over to her, gently grabbing your wrist, preventing you from opening the door of the truck.

“hey, hey, whoa. look at me, look at me, please.” he pleaded, his voice firm but surprisingly gentle.

he reached out and took your chin, gently turning your head to face him. his eyes searched yours for a moment before narrowing in concern.

“y/n, listen to me. you need to breathe, sweetheart.”

your breathless, unable to think straight until your eyes meet his sea green orbs. you take in a deep breath and mirror tyler’s breathing.

inhale, exhale.

you repeated this until you eventually calmed down.

your hands continue to tremble as you speak, “tyler, i cannot do this. i just can’t.” hour southern drawl escaping. “it’s too much”

tyler watched as your rapid breathing slowly began to match his own, your hand gripping his tightly. his heart ached as he saw the fear and the anguish in your eyes, and knew that this was not just a simple fear of storms.

it was a trauma, something deeply personal, that had left a permanent mark on your soul.

he gently raised his other hand to your face, gently stroking your cheek with his thumb, trying to soothe you. “i know, i know” he whispered, his own tone gentle and soft.

“ain’t nothin gonna happen to you, kay? i won’t let it.” he assures your worries, wiping away the stray tear that escaped your eyes then tucked some hair behind your ear.

“i’ve got you.” he continues. you watch as his attention goes from you to the tornado in front of you. “if you want me to take you back i need to know, now” he says, looking back at you.

you sniffle, following his gaze to the twister.

if he could stop something like this it would be a huge achievement to the community. no more damage, no more homelessness. it would all be fixed.

“no..” you begin, and find your eyes back on him. “i’ll be fine.”

tyler nods, putting the truck into drive. one hand on the steering wheel and the other reaching for yours, giving you a reassuring squeeze. “you’ll be fine, city girl.”

you choke out a laugh, and shake your head.

“then, let’s chase this beaut!” he yips and slams his foot on the gas and takes off towards the monster of a tower.

#bartxnhood writes #bartxnhood asks #tyler owens x reader #tyler owens #tyler owens x y/n #tyler owens twisters #kate carter #twisters #twisters fanfic #twisters fanfiction #tyler owens fanfic #tyler owens fluff #tyler owens angst #tyler owens smut #storm wrangler

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librababe99 · 2 months ago

Text

Healing Touch

cw: MDNI, 18+, Smut, Fluff, Young!Charles Xavier, Fem!Reader word count: 2.7K Summary: In the mid-1970s, Charles Xavier is a man haunted by loss and burdened by the weight of his own mind. When you, a fellow mutant, offer him not only companionship but a love he never expected, the walls he has built around his heart begin to crumble.

A/N: Since I wrote for Erik I felt that writing for Charles balances everything out <3 Forgive me if mentioning the cuban missile crisis at the beginning throws off the timeline in anyway, we don't have to jump into technicalities...lol! Anyways, please feel free to comment, reblog or like this <3 happy reading!

(Marvel Masterlist)

The 1970s had a way of weaving magic into the air—rife with a rebellious freedom, spinning off the back of a decade of upheaval. Amidst the intoxicating haze of civil rights movements, psychedelic music, and ever-changing fashion, there was something magnetic about this era, as if the world were in the throes of rediscovering itself. And in that same time, tucked away in the heart of Westchester County, Charles Xavier was a man rediscovering himself too—one who had seen the world both at its brightest and at its darkest.

The Xavier Institute for Higher Learning had become more than just a school. With the Cuban Missile Crisis a decade behind them and the threat of mutants still very much real, Charles had been pulled into a storm that had rocked him to his core. The man who had once been so full of optimism and hope had become someone else—someone hardened by loss, crippled both physically and emotionally. He had found himself retreating from the world, isolating behind the walls of his mansion, letting the noise of the outside world fade into a dull, muted hum.

But then there was you.

You had come into Charles’s life by chance, a fellow mutant with abilities that he couldn’t help but be drawn to. He had noticed you first because of your power—something akin to empathy, the ability to feel and manipulate the emotions of others. It was subtle, nothing explosive like fire or ice, but it was potent in its own right. In some ways, Charles found it even more fascinating, for it spoke to the heart of what he had always believed—that mutants were more than just their powers; they were people with gifts, capable of great good or terrible destruction depending on how they wielded them.

But it wasn’t just your abilities that caught his attention. There was something about you that stirred something long-buried inside him. You were strong, yes, but kind too—empathetic not just because of your powers but because of who you were at your core. And in a world where Charles had grown tired of fighting, tired of losing, you had become a beacon of warmth in the cold. Your presence began to thaw the ice he had encased himself in, and though he resisted it at first, that pull between you was undeniable.

It was a Friday night, and the mansion was quiet, the students having all gone off for the weekend. The air outside was thick with the scent of rain, the clouds heavy and swollen, but inside, there was a warmth that clung to the air. You had found Charles in his study, a glass of scotch in hand, seated behind the large oak desk that had become almost a throne for him. He was disheveled, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, hair slightly out of place in a way that made him seem more human, less like the esteemed Professor Xavier he had always tried to be.

You knocked softly on the doorframe, leaning against it with a playful smile. "You look like you could use a break."

Charles glanced up from his drink, his eyes settling on you in that way that always sent a shiver down your spine. His eyes—those sharp, piercing blue eyes—were tired, but they softened when they met yours. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "A break from what, exactly?"

You shrugged, pushing off the doorframe and walking toward him. "From thinking. From brooding. From being Charles Xavier, mutant extraordinaire." You reached his desk and perched yourself on the edge of it, your knee brushing his thigh as you did so. His eyes flickered down to the point of contact, and you saw the briefest hitch in his breath.

“I don’t brood,” he replied, though the smile that followed betrayed his words.

“Oh, you most certainly do.” You leaned forward, teasingly close, just enough that he could feel your presence in the air between you. “You sit in this big, empty mansion, all alone, with your thoughts and your scotch, and you brood.”

Charles chuckled softly, though there was something in the sound that was darker, more resigned. “Maybe I do.” He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, his eyes distant for a moment. “There’s a lot to think about these days.”

You watched him for a moment, your gaze softening. Charles had always carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, even before the accident that had left him in a wheelchair. But now, that weight seemed heavier, as though the world had taken too much from him.

You reached out, your fingers brushing against his wrist, and the moment you touched him, you could feel it—a deep, aching sadness, buried beneath layers of composure and strength. It was like touching a wound that had never quite healed.

“I can feel it, you know,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Charles looked up at you, and for a moment, the walls he had built around himself seemed to crumble, leaving behind the man he had tried so hard to hide. “Feel what?” His voice was just as soft, but there was an edge to it, a vulnerability he rarely let anyone see.

You smiled gently, your fingers trailing up his arm, barely grazing his skin. “Everything. The pain, the loss, the weight of all of it. You’re carrying so much, Charles. You don’t have to carry it alone.”

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly as he did. “And what if I don’t want you to feel it?”

“Then I won’t,” you whispered, your hand now resting against his chest, right over his heart. “But I want to help you carry it. I want to be there for you.”

Charles’s breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, he seemed to struggle with something deep inside him, as though he were warring with himself. Then, slowly, he reached up, his hand covering yours as it rested on his chest. His touch was warm, gentle, and yet there was a tension in the way he held you, as though he were afraid to let go.

“I don’t deserve that,” he said, his voice barely audible.

Your heart clenched at his words, and without thinking, you leaned forward, closing the distance between you until your lips were inches from his. “You deserve so much more than you think, Charles.”

And then you kissed him.

It was soft at first, tentative, as though you were testing the waters, waiting to see if he would pull away. But he didn’t. Instead, his hand tightened around yours, and you felt him respond, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that surprised you both.

The kiss deepened, the years of longing, pain, and desire pouring into it with a ferocity that neither of you had expected. You could feel the way his body tensed beneath you, the way his breathing quickened as he lost himself in the moment.

Before you knew it, you were climbing into his lap, straddling him as your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more. Charles groaned against your lips, his hands sliding up your thighs, gripping your hips as though he were afraid you might disappear if he let go.

“Are you sure about this?” he murmured against your mouth, his voice thick with desire and hesitation.

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your forehead resting against his as you smiled softly. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

His response was a low, guttural sound that sent a thrill racing through you, and before you knew it, he was kissing you again, more desperate this time, as though he couldn’t get enough of you.

Your fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, and Charles let out a breathless laugh, the sound vibrating against your lips as you finally managed to push the fabric aside, revealing the hard planes of his chest. You ran your hands over his skin, feeling the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch.

“You’re beautiful,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

Charles let out a soft, disbelieving laugh, but there was a vulnerability in his eyes that broke your heart. “You’re the first person who’s ever said that to me.”

You smiled, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his neck. “Then they’re all fools.”

His hands were everywhere, exploring your body as though he couldn’t quite believe you were real. His touch was gentle at first, almost reverent, but there was a fire behind it, a need that he had kept buried for far too long.

When you finally peeled off your shirt, you heard him suck in a breath, his eyes darkening with desire as he took you in. “God, you’re—” His voice broke off, as though he couldn’t quite find the words, but you didn’t need him to.

You kissed him again, your hands sliding down his chest, feeling the way his body responded to you, the way he trembled beneath your touch. You could feel the tension between you building, the air thick with anticipation.

And then, slowly, you began to move against him, your hips grinding against his in a rhythm that had both of you gasping for breath. Charles’s hands gripped your hips, guiding you, matching your movements with a desperate need.

“Please,” he breathed, his voice ragged.

You didn’t need to ask what he wanted. You could feel it, the desire, the longing, the need for release that had been building between you for so long. You reached between your bodies, your fingers making quick work of the zipper of his pants.

When he finally slid into you, the sensation was overwhelming—an electric jolt that sent shockwaves through your entire body. Charles let out a broken gasp, his hands gripping

as he pulled you closer, his body trembling beneath yours. You could feel the tension in him, every muscle wound tight, as if he were barely holding himself together.

You both paused for a moment, the sheer intensity of the connection stealing the breath from your lungs. You hadn’t expected it to feel like this, like every nerve in your body had come alive, attuned to him and only him. Charles's forehead pressed against your collarbone, his breath hot against your skin as you both adjusted, savoring the feeling of being so intimately joined.

“God,” he whispered, almost reverently. “I’ve wanted this—wanted you—for so long.”

Your fingers slid up into his hair, cradling his head, and you pressed a soft kiss to the top of it, your heart swelling at the vulnerability in his voice. “Then take me, Charles. I’m yours.”

That was all the permission he needed.

With a low, guttural sound, Charles’s grip on your hips tightened, and he began to move beneath you, slow at first, a steady rhythm that made you gasp with every roll of his hips. He filled you so perfectly, each movement sending waves of pleasure through your body. You matched his pace, rocking against him, savoring the slow burn that built between you, the friction pulling you both closer to the edge with every passing second.

Charles’s hands roamed your body, sliding up your back, tracing the curve of your spine, then slipping lower, his fingers digging into your skin with barely restrained intensity. His lips found your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point, and you felt your breath hitch in your throat.

“Charles…” you gasped, your head tilting back as you gave him more access.

His lips parted against your skin, and you could feel the groan that rumbled in his chest. “I can feel you,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “Every thought, every emotion—it’s overwhelming.”

You leaned back, meeting his gaze. His eyes were heavy-lidded, dark with need, but there was something else there too—something raw, something so deep and primal that it made your heart race.

“Don’t hide from me,” you whispered, your hands cradling his face. “Feel me. All of me.”

Charles’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, as if letting go of the barriers he had so carefully constructed. And then, all at once, it hit you—the full weight of his mind brushing against yours, the flood of emotions crashing over you like a tidal wave.

It wasn’t just desire you felt—though that was certainly there, sharp and electric, searing through your veins. It was everything. His longing, his fear, the deep well of sadness that had haunted him for so long, and underneath it all, a love so profound it left you breathless.

You gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders as the sensation of his mind intertwining with yours sent a jolt of pleasure through you, heightening everything. The room around you seemed to fade, the only thing that existed in that moment was him—his body, his mind, and the way he was utterly consuming you.

Charles groaned, his hips bucking up into you with a sudden intensity that made you cry out. “I’ve never felt anything like this,” he panted, his voice strained, as though he were on the edge of losing control.

You could barely form words, the pleasure building inside you almost unbearable. “Charles, please…”

He understood without needing to ask. His hands slid down to your hips again, guiding you faster now, his movements more urgent, more desperate. You could feel the tension in your body coiling tighter and tighter, like a spring wound too far, ready to snap.

And then, with one hard thrust, you shattered.

A wave of ecstasy washed over you, white-hot and all-consuming, leaving you trembling in its wake. You cried out his name, your body arching against his, and you could feel him lose himself in the moment too, his hands gripping you so tightly it almost hurt as he followed you over the edge.

For a moment, the world seemed to stop, the only sound in the room your ragged breaths and the thrum of your racing heartbeat. You slumped against Charles, your forehead resting against his shoulder as you both came down from the high.

His arms wrapped around you, holding you close, as though afraid to let go. You could still feel the echo of his mind against yours, the connection between you not quite severed, and it brought a sense of intimacy that was unlike anything you had ever known.

After a long moment, Charles broke the silence, his voice soft and hoarse. “I didn’t know it could feel like that.”

You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “Neither did I.”

He pulled back slightly to look at you, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. His eyes were still dark, but there was a softness to them now, a vulnerability that made your heart ache.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

You frowned slightly. “For what?”

“For reminding me what it’s like to feel something other than pain.” His voice was filled with a quiet reverence, as though he couldn’t quite believe it himself.

You leaned forward, pressing your lips to his in a slow, tender kiss. “You don’t have to do it alone anymore, Charles. I’m here.”

He smiled, a real, genuine smile that made your heart flutter. “I know.”

You shifted slightly, still straddling his lap, and Charles let out a soft groan. The movement stirred something in you both, a flicker of desire reigniting as your bodies remained entwined.

“You know,” you said playfully, your fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest, “we’ve got the whole mansion to ourselves tonight.”

Charles raised an eyebrow, his smile turning into something more mischievous. “Is that so?”

You leaned in, your lips brushing the shell of his ear as you whispered, “Maybe we should take advantage of that.”

His breath hitched, and you felt his hands tighten on your hips. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

You smiled against his skin, pressing a soft kiss to his neck. “Then I’ll make it a night you won’t forget.”

With that, you began to move again, slow and teasing, savoring every moment of the night ahead.

#charles xavier #charles xavier x reader #xmen fandom #xmen fanfiction #xmen comics #x men movies #charles xavier x fem! reader #young! charles xavier x reader #charles xavier smut #xmen dofp #james mcavoy #marvel comics #mcu fandom #charles xavier imagine #young! Charles Xavier

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ashwhowrites · 2 months ago

Note

King!Steve Harrington x reader, he asks the reader out because of a bet. Happy ending!!!

I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it. Thank you for requesting 🫶🏻

Drunk bet

Steve had a reputation in Hawkins High, and he loved it. He loved the attention from the girls and the respect from the jocks. He was cocky and smug whenever eyes watched him as he walked. He was the King and there was a line of girls wanting to be the Queen.

He could get anyone he wanted, and he had many choices. He liked the way girls chased him and all he had to do was send a smile their way.

Steve was drunk at a party, betting money on games of beer pong. If he was sober, he would remember that he was awful at that game. Hundreds of bills slapped down on the table as he missed another cup.

"Nice playing with you, Harrington" Billy smirked as he collected the money.

"Wait! Come on, rematch!" Steve slurred

"It's fun kicking your ass, but you have no more money to bet" Billy laughed

"My dad will kick my ass knowing I lost all of that. What do you want to bet on? I'll do anything to win that back," Steve said

Billy gave it a thought, he had King Steve in the palm of his hand. "Alright, Steve. I'll give you everything back if you ask out Y/N and date her for three months. Hundred for each month. We have a deal?"

"No way! If I go out with her, my reputation goes straight into the mud" Steve fought.

The thing was, Y/N was a very pretty girl. But she was nowhere near the popular crowd. And dating within the popular crowd was acceptable, dating outside of the circle was immediate destruction. He'd lose his King title.

He didn't know that Billy knew all of that. Billy wanted to be the king of Hawkins. He could take Steve down in every aspect. Steve felt stuck because he knew his father would be pissed about the money. Maybe Steve could complete the bet without anyone knowing he was seeing her.

Billy stood there with a smirk when Steve sighed and shook his hand.

~~~

Monday rolled around and Steve had to put his plan into motion. He didn't know too much about Y/N but he knew they shared a few classes together. All he had to do was get her alone, turn on his charm, and ask her out.

He waited in the hallway until it died out, slipping next to her locker when she wasn't looking.

"Hey,"

She jumped as she heard his voice, turning to see him standing there with a smile on his face. She was skeptical but stayed polite.

"Hey Steve, what's up?" She asked, closing her locker and then leaning against it.

"I was wondering if maybe you wanted to go out tonight? You can come to my place and I can cook us something"

Y/N was swooning from Steve's smile and the smell of his cologne right under her nose. She couldn't believe that Steve was interested in her.

"I would love to," she smiled, maybe all those small waves and hellos meant something to him.

"Perfect. How about you give me your number and we can talk about details after school." He said

"Sure!"

Steve smiled at how excited she was, this was going to be easy. He let her softly grab his hand and write down her number. The pen tickled his skin as she wrote on his skin.

"Call you later," he said as he pushed off the locker, sending her a wink that made her heart race.

Y/N arrived at the address Steve said over the phone. She was nervous as she walked up to his house. She knocked on his door and anxiously waited.

"Welcome to my casa!" Steve said as he opened the door and allowed her to walk through. It was a beautiful home, very clean and everything had a shine.

"I hope you like pizza, I've got a great recipe," he said as he trailed off to the kitchen. Y/N followed but was still in awe of the house.

"Pizza sounds great," Y/N said, Steve pulled out a chair at the counter and motioned her to sit. She sat and took in his cute apron and the towel hanging over his shoulder.

"Do you like to cook?" She asked, her eyes following him as he checked on the oven

"I love it" he replied, "parents are barely home and I got tired of take out and frozen meals." He shrugged

Y/N couldn't help but frown. She wondered if he ever got lonely, but he was popular so maybe not.

"Can I help with anything?" She asked, standing up and walking over to him. Steve smiled at her, he could see the excitement sparkling in her eyes. He already has her wrapped around his finger.

A month flew by and Steve believed he had this bet in the bag. Since he was always home alone, he'd ask her to come over. She didn't question why they never went anywhere and that made it easy.

He didn't have much interest in her, but he did like her company. She was funny and was fun. There was never a dull moment with her and Steve didn't realize how much fun he needed in his life.

A few weeks into the first month he kissed her.

It was soft and slow. She didn't know where to put her hands but once she got more comfortable she touched him. He kissed her a few times, letting her grow more comfortable with him and adding anything she wanted to the kiss.

Two months in he asked her to be his girlfriend. She said yes without a second thought, just like he thought.

He started taking her out on dates, but only in private areas. Private waterfalls for picnics and driving into another town. She saw it as all adventures. She loved to explore and her heart raced by how much Steve seemed to want to explore with her.

Three months in Steve felt it.

He felt a little spark when he kissed her. When she held his hand as they jumped into the cold water below, he felt warm everywhere. The sound of her laughter as they plunged into the water made him smile.

He started loving the long drives. Singing with her and dancing at red lights. He started to feel happy when he saw the excitement in her eyes when she took in something new.

How he wished he had a camera to take a picture every time she smiled at him.

They had a few drinks one night, cuddled on his living room floor as the fire roared. Lately, the bet has been the last thing on his mind and it certainly was right now. The way her skin glowed from the fire. Her shoulder was exposed from her shirt, and without thinking he leaned down and kissed the skin.

He felt something burn inside him when she moaned. Then it became the only thing on his mind, making her moan and moan again.

They had sex on the floor in front of the fire, the beer bottles scattered on the floor. His forehead was against hers as he pushed himself in and out of her.

Steve knew he'd have to face Billy now that the three months were up. He didn't want to break up with her, he liked her and he liked her a lot. He knew he fucked up with how they started and he planned for her to never know.

Billy pulled up to his house, honking the horn as he got out.

Steve groaned as he rolled out of bed. Y/N was asleep, so he quickly left the room. He raced out to make Billy stop the honking. Once Billy saw him, he stopped.

He had a big smirk as he took in Steve's appearance.

"My oh my, sex hair and scratches? Someone had a good time," Billy chuckled.

"Look, I'm out of the bet. Keep the money and we're even." Steve said

"Oh, why? Fucked her and now you're in love?" Billy scoffed, "King Harrington settles for the pretty nerd."

"Billy, just stop. You get to keep the money, so let's keep this between us. She doesn't have to know" Steve hissed

"Alright, man. I'll keep this little bet between us, but what's your plan? Gonna have to start taking her out in public at one point, people will see and your reputation is doomed. And also," he said, stepping closer to Steve as he lowered his voice, "she's right behind you."

Steve gulped as he was fast to turn around. She stood there in his shirt from the night before. Her arms crossed as tears ran down her face.

Billy laughed as he got back in his car, but before he sat down he whistled.

"If you need a rebound, I'm here, gorgeous," he winked at her.

They watched as he raced out of Steve's driveway, leaving them alone.

"Y/N," he started but she already was running inside.

"I CAN EXPLAIN!" he shouted as he raced into his house, he was quick to head up to his room. She was yanking off his shirt and throwing on her clothes.

"I don't care anymore. You're just as much of an asshole as I thought." She hissed, angrily putting on her pants. "I should have known better. 'Oh baby, I just want you all to myself and I know this romantic spot at the lake,' you just didn't want anyone to see us together!" She mocked his voice as she headed out of his bedroom.

"I know! I'm so sorry and I fucked up. But please believe me. You heard me tell him to keep it right? You heard me!"

"Yeah, I heard you! But I never heard you admit any feelings for me. Why? Too scared to admit that to Billy? Knowing your reputation is on the line?" She scoffed, sliding on her shoes.

"I do have feelings for you! Yes, it was a bet initially but I fell for you. I really like you and I didn't want us to break up. I want to be with you," he cried, tears falling down his face as he grabbed the front door knob.

"Yeah, well I don't want to be with you." She snapped as she slammed the door behind her.

~~~

Steve gave her time to cool off but when Monday arrived he had his eyes set on her. He followed her around and begged for her to listen to him. People were staring and whispering about them in the halls but Steve didn't care.

Finally, she stopped, turning around as Steve's body smashed into hers.

"Quit following me around, this time I don't want to be seen with you," she declared, ignoring the kicked-puppy look in his eyes. "Take a look around, any girl would jump at the chance to be with you. And you wouldn't have to be ashamed of them, leave me alone and find someone else."

She went to turn around but Steve grabbed her shoulder.

He looked into her eyes and she tried to keep her hard face on.

"I don't want them. I don't want to look elsewhere. I'm looking at the girl I want. I'm sorry for everything and I'm sorry I thought you were someone to be ashamed of. You're not. You are the best person I have ever met and I'm begging for another chance."

She watched as he dropped to his knees and held her hand. She smiled awkwardly as the school stared and gasped.

"People are staring!" she hissed

"Good, because then you will see that I don't care who sees us. Y/N, will you please give me another chance? We don't have to label it right away, we can start with a date and talk through everything. All I ask is you say yes in the moment and we can think about it later."

She sighed, looking down at their hands. In his eyes, he looked sincere and sorry.

"Fine," she sighed, smiling to herself when Steve's face lit up, "But we will be thinking about it later."

"Deal!" he cheered as he stood up. She was caught off guard when he swooped her into a kiss. She ignored the crowd around them as she kissed him back.

#steve stranger things #steve harrignton #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x female reader angst #steve harrington fluff x reader #steve harrington angst #steve harrington angst x reader #king steve harrington x reader #ashwhowrites

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dottiro · 4 months ago

Text

Hide & Seek

Unreliable summary: If you’re a visual learner, Dottore is more than happy to give some help. // Dottore brought you to Snezhnaya so he can perform conscious brain surgery as an act of love. Warnings: Yandere, Medical malpractice, awake brain surgery, kidnapping without an actual kidnapping scene, Dottore cuts through the skull of a person (not you), being drugged, Dottore dissects a brain (affectionately), GN reader, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT!!! Note: This is a rewrite of THIS fic from my old blog. This could've been longer, but I cut out the gore parts to make it less dark. // This fic is NOT set in the canon Teyvat; it is a mix of my modern AU + personal projection. My perception of him might not align with the OG. I wanted to write this scenario in my way/this is supposed to be a SERIES—if I post more of this AU the setup makes sense (trust).

You used to study in the illustrious Akademiya, hoping to pursue a life filled with studies regarding the human psyche.

You used to—until you got acquainted with Zandik and your life turned around for the worse.

Perhaps if you weren’t so busy pursuing knowledge, you would’ve seen that his help was never given without a debt to repay. The charming facade with which he lured you in is only one of the many masks he wears. Zandik, or as you now know—Il Dottore: the second of the eleven Fatui Harbingers, never intended for you to escape his grasp.

Not then,

Not now.

You try to remember where it went wrong.

Your head buzzes with a weird feeling when you open your eyes. You’re dazed, and your environment is unfamiliar to you. For some reason, your mind can’t think straight.

Outside the window, you watch snowflakes twirl down until they meet upon a pool of white that stretches beyond the horizon. Only a few pine trees interrupt the otherwise dull landscape.

You try to remember how you got here, only to find a gap in your memories.

The bed in which you woke up is unfamiliar too. At the foot end, you see your jacket. It has been folded neatly and is accompanied by your shoes which are tucked underneath the bed.

It had been visible enough to notice but placed purposefully to avoid anyone tripping.

Someone put it there on purpose.

After inspecting the pockets of your jacket, you find that your belongings have been taken.

Your eyes move further across the room until you catch a familiar sight. The notebook that had catalysed your current situation. Similar to your jacket and shoes, it has been placed in sight for a reason.

When you open the notebook on a random page, you can see new additions; or rather—changes.

Zandik’s handwriting covers your own, dominating your thoughts in writing as he does in voice.

You close your eyes as another wave of nausea hits.

At the start of a new school year in the Akademiya, you met Zandik in one of the off-campus libraries. He came crashing into your life like a bullet flying out of its barrel and straight into someone’s chest; aiming for his target and striking the bullseye without effort.

In this metaphor, you were his target and the arrow Zandik himself.

His actions have been destructive to many, but with you still alive at his side, you’re inclined to believe his intentions are physically harmless to you—which feels like a juxtaposition. Zandik’s weird infatuation with wanting to be accepted might be the sole reason for your current survival.

In your admiration for his ingenuity and endless knowledge, you became captivated and blind to everything that opposed the perfect ‘Zandik’ you had created in your mind. In this blind fever, you had made him feel as if he was. To be free from the title of ‘outcast’ had sparked something in him, and he would do everything to hold onto this new feeling of approval and pure endorsement.

For a while, life with him was profitable for both parties involved.

To have a friend like him is to feel like you are unstoppable. But, once he felt he was giving more than he could seize, he forcefully started claiming what he believed was rightfully his.

Ultimately, Zandik did not take your life—he reformed it.

All you had, is no more.

And he is to blame.

One day you are in a lecture at the Akademiya, and the next you wake up in an unfamiliar place. In any other situation, you would have recognised the surroundings earlier. However, with the fog in your mind, it takes a while to uncover your location; Snezhnaya.

Your hand rests against the window to steady yourself. Even with the thick glass separating you from the outside world, you feel the cold touching your palm. Snow continues to rain from above. A few solitary snowflakes land on the window. They melt and pool at the bottom, freezing the window shut and locking you in.

An agitated sigh escapes your lips as your mind continues to drift between awareness and stupor.

Through the hallway, a voice carries a conversation with only its echo in response. Mysteriously, the mutters come in and out of earshot—as if they were moving from room to room. The sound of footsteps follows. At first, they approach. Then, they leave.

Your fingers press into your scalp when you drag your fingers through your hair. When you place your hands into sight, you open and close them. For some reason, they seem distant, as if not your own.

Before you follow the sounds, you ensure that you’re grounded by steadying your breaths.

ㅤ

You leave your jacket and shoes at the end of the bed, leaving the room barefoot.

· · ────── Ω ────── · ·

The building that cages you resembles an old villa. Evident from the layers of dust, it has been unused for at least a decade. The majority—if not all of the furniture you see has been hidden by white fabrics.

To you, it’s easy to see. This home has been neglected. Whether the owner of the house wanted to forget its existence or not is up for speculation.

As you walk further into the hallway, you see a frame with an old Kamera picture of Zandik hung on the wall. Another white cloth hangs over it, but it must have gone loose since the left side reveals part of the picture.

You catch a glimpse of his younger, more humane, face.

For a moment, you wonder when and how he became a Harbinger. You wonder how this young man turned into this creature that brings destruction everywhere he goes.

Ultimately, you decide to ignore it, choosing to press forward instead of lingering in the past.

Then, over the noise of your thoughts, you hear an odd sound. Somewhere near you, an object is being rolled across the floor. It’s an unusual sound—something that throws you off. Yet, the noise isn’t rough.

The more you listen to it, the more you recognise it as wheels on a cart being pulled along. You decide to stand still for a moment, hoping the fog in your mind clears so you can pinpoint where the sounds come from.

Your hand brushes against the interior wall as you take another step forward.

A warm orange light invites you in at the end of the hallway. As you approach closer, so do the noises become louder.

You discern a deep voice, talking to what seems to be himself. The man sounds educated, arrogant—but also sophisticated, and carries himself with more pride than grace.

For a moment, you’re certain it’s not Zandik; who is more animated, dynamic—and compared to this voice, softer with tone, but then you walk into the room to be face-to-face with him.

“Good evening.” Dottore greets you. His voice is steady, never revealing any emotions to you.

If he hadn’t heard you walking up the room, he does a good job hiding it. His response to your arrival is instant; as if your entrance had been expected.

His attention on the previous task is disrupted, and now his sole focus lies on you. The silver glint of his mask shines in the evening glow as he tilts his head towards you.

Curiously, you take a set into the room.

A large wine-red carpet covers most of the wooden flooring of the space. In the centre of which, stands a large dinner table. Most of the lighting comes from the candles that have been lit, or the open windows that bring in the last of the golden hour.

On one end of the table sits a man in a wheelchair. When you see him you realise the sounds from earlier must’ve been him being pushed forward.

With a controlled smile, Dottore holds out one of his arms—gesturing to the room. “Do take a seat, guest.”

Your eyes follow his outstretched arm towards the only other chair in the room. Conveniently, it’s placed at the other end of the table, though, you doubt Dottore was occupying the seat before you.

Cautiously you approach. As you enter the room, your confused state worsens. In the atmosphere hangs a sweet scent that makes your mind dizzy and unable to focus.

A cold breeze comes through one of the open windows. The goosebumps on your arms only occur once you notice it. Have your senses been dulled?

Dottore smiles calmly.

“What did you do with me?” You try to ascertain the hazy feeling that suppresses your logical thoughts.

You’ve been drugged.

Dottore circles the man in the chair. You notice the return of the strange mask covering the upper part of his face. The sharp beak shape cuts through the air as he moves his head.

“For someone so passionate about other people’s physiological responses, you fail to acknowledge your own. You’re anticipating something that’s not going to happen. Anticipatory fear rarely benefits anyone.”

He moves his head away from you. You’re able to release the breath you’ve been holding.

In front of the man in the wheelchair is a medical tray. It’s empty, although various surgical equipment surrounds it. When you squint your eyes, you can recognise a scalpel among them.

You wonder if you could take it.

Dottore muses to himself, continuing to weave endless sentences that do not yet make sense. “Did you ever get to see the human brain? I find that preserved ones lack the sense of joy the living ones bring me. Unfortunately, something must be dead to be preserved… I find hardly any preserved being is worth more than a living one.”

Your eyes sneak up as you pass the tools and find Dottore inspecting you. A diplomatic smile is forced underneath his mask. You fail to obtain a weapon to defend yourself with.

As you approach the empty chair, Dottore walks up to the man in the wheelchair. By the time you sit down, he is playing with the scalpel you tried to take.

“It truly dulls the process. It lacks a sense of… efficiency. Why study a corpse when you can pick apart a living one?” A different light is cast upon him when he tilts his face down. In the shadow, his smile becomes sinister.

“What are you doing?”

Dottore holds the scalpel with his middle finger and thumb, letting his pointer finger rest upon the handle. He lifts it, admiring the glint that falls upon it. “You shouldn’t ask. I find that it spoils the surprise.”

Finally, your fight or flight instinct kicks in and you try to stand up.

Your legs bobble and your hand slams against the table trying to keep your balance. You fall back into the chair. The sweet scent has made you lightheaded with a tingling feeling in your limbs. It’s accompanied by a fast, irregular heartbeat—as well as the pounding in your ears.

A chuckle escapes Dottore’s lips. “Already standing up? A doctor would have recommended you to rest. If you’re tired, you may return to bed, although, you’d miss the grand performance.”

He mocks you with his sweetest voice. Your poor coordination and confusion must make you look like a newborn deer trying to stand up on its feet. Pitiful.

For the first time since entering the room, you take a closer look at the man in the wheelchair. The male appears average in height and weight. He has no noticeable features and seems only a few years older than you. He has been silent the entire time, only ever muttering to himself. otherwise looking around helplessly. His body is covered in sweat, drenching his pale blue shirt with wet stains.

A horizontal line paints his forehead.

“Segment 495, say hello to Y/n.”

Segment 495's smile is droopy as he parrots Dottore’s words.

Dottore places a hand on the shoulder of the man. “Did you know that the Akademiya has a grand collection of preservations in the name of science?”

He retreats his hands and puts them folded onto his back. After taking a sharp inhale, he circles the man; stopping when he stands behind him.

Dottore continues, “The Akademiya collects preservations received from donors. In most occurrences, the specimens are from average people, dulling the broad collection with nothing unique to study. Truthfully, it is unfortunate how such collection can collect nothing but dust.”

Your thoughts are uncontrolled. When you look over the set of tools, the scalpel is gone. Your stress increases due to the operation setting and the sweet scent in the air.

What will Dottore gain from this?

What’s today's lesson?

He inhales sharply through his nose, “A human can undergo a conscious brain surgery. You know how it works, I assume?”

You part your lips. Weakly, you shake your head.

“Excellent.”

Dottore reveals the knife from the hand on his back and he takes hold of the man in the wheelchair. With one arm, he snakes to the front and grabs his jaw. The other pushes the sharp edge of the scalpel along the line already there, easily sliding through and breaking the previously dried blood; reaching through the skull without complication.

Your sight blurs, and you helplessly watch the knife circle his head.

He’s going to exercise a conscious brain surgery.

With his precise and steady hand, Dottore can make a full circle before long. Then, he lays the scalpel down and grabs the hair on the man’s scalp, pulling until it parts, leaving the brain visible for you to witness.

You breathe out.

“Zandik—”

“You see, the brain itself feels no pain, Y/n, if that concerns you”

Dottore picks up his knife from the medical tray, pointing it towards the front of the brain.

“For example, Segment 495 won't miss this little piece here, which is part of the prefrontal lobe.”

“Wait.” You try to intervene, but you realise you have no leverage. “You don’t have to do this.”

Dottore makes a small cut, cutting through the meninges. Then, he grabs another tool, holding down the frontal lobe as the scalpel cuts through. “Sometimes, a subject can live without a part of their frontal lobe. However, there is a risk of losing one's expression of speech as well as a few means of movement and cognition.”

You watch the man’s expression fall when Dottore removes the part he had cut out. The mouth of the man falls open, and although he stays alive, something has undoubtedly died.

Dottore lays the removed part of the frontal lobe on the empty medical tray. Then, he goes back.

“Please, stop this.” You try to plead with him.

Using whatever strengths you have left, you try to stand up. Unfortunately, you hardly move out of your chair. Whatever drug lingers in the air, it is stronger than your adrenaline and will.

Again, Dottore’s precise hands cut into the brain. The man makes a strained sound and drool begins to fall out of his mouth.

Another piece is added to the medical tray, slowly forming a collection as Dottore empties the man’s head.

Under the influence of sedatives, you struggle to maintain your composure and senses—witnessing the horrifying spectacle that unfolds helplessly.

You black out before the man breathes his final breath.

ㅤ

Segment 495 started to lose organ functions a few days ago. It’d eventually lead him to die without ever completing the experiences Dottore put him under.

It is unfortunate but Dottore still grants the dying man one last reward.

On the medical tray, Segment 495’s brain lies fully exposed. Each cognitive function is separated for you to behold and admire. In death, the stranger became preserved in your memory.

· · ────── Ω ────── · ·

A gift.

From Dottore to you.

©dottiro. Do not copy, repost, translate, feed to AI, or take heavy inspiration from my content. Thank you for reading ♡

#₊⊹ ⌞finished appointments⌝#dottore x reader #il dottore x reader #dottore #il dottore #yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact #tw: yandere #yandere genshin x reader #dottore yandere #fatui #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #harbinger x reader #genshin harbingers #fatui harbingers

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sakur4ii · 3 months ago

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Echoes Of Tomorrow

JEAN GREY x SCOTT SUMMERS x READER

reader's gender unspecified

Note: it took me 5 hours to write this and I think it sucks, but if you like it let me know. (English is not my first language and I am sure I narrated badly).

And by the way I didn't know whether to make it inspired by the movies or X-Men '97 so I made it up.

You were taken in by Charles Xavier when you were 14 years old, becoming a part of the school and the X-Men shortly after. You became best friends with Jean Grey and Scott Summers, the three of you were inseparable, and maybe you were a little bit in love with them.

Your power is the ability to control people with your voice, a dangerous power, but the professor taught you to control it at will for good.

You also learned hand-to-hand combat and how to use weapons, though Charles was hesitant about that last part, he understood that you couldn't rely solely on your voice.

One day, on a mission, you made a mistake that nearly cost your teammates and some civilians their lives. Your friends assured you it was okay, that it was a slip anyone could make, but you couldn't stop replaying the scene in your head, going over everything you could have done better.

You had used your power to stop some soldiers, but your mind was on your friends, so the order you gave was directed at your team, giving the enemies an advantage.

You felt guilty seeing Scott injured in the infirmary and Ororo with her arm in a cast, all because of you.

As much as your friends reminded you it was okay, you only self-destructed, making the hasty decision that everyone was safer without you.

At least until you learned to control your power perfectly.

You packed your bags and disappeared without a trace. You only left an apology note.

Jean was the first to notice something was wrong; she always felt a kind of connection with you, she could feel your presence without trying, always knowing where you were without using telepathy. But suddenly, in the middle of the night, your presence vanished.

The second person to notice was Charles. He knows who comes and goes from the mansion, he can feel everyone's presence, hear them. But you—he stopped hearing and feeling you in an instant.

The third person to notice was Scott, not because of his powers, of course, but because of the note on his nightstand. Although you didn't say goodbye, the overabundance of apologies raised alarms.

Jean and Scott ran to your room, meeting each other on the way, looking at each other in horror, assuming the worst. This set off a chain reaction, worrying those who saw them running through the halls.

Once they arrived at your room, Charles, Hank, and Ororo were close behind. The room was empty, the closet had only hangers with no sign of clothes, the framed photos were nowhere to be seen, and as they feared, you weren't in the room.

Days went by searching for you, but they never found you; Charles couldn't even locate you using Cerebro.

Each reaction was different.

Jean had succumbed to sadness, feeling like a bad friend. She couldn't believe she hadn't noticed sooner, to prevent you from running away, from abandoning her.

Charles was infinitely worried; it was his duty to protect you, and now he couldn't even locate you. He feared the dangers awaiting you out there.

Ororo held on to hope that you would return someday; she knew you well enough to know that you didn’t say goodbye because you would come back, but there were nights when she doubted. What if you didn’t return? She should have insisted more that it wasn’t your fault about her arm; she should have been a better friend.

Hank started a routine where every day he dedicated hours, which gradually decreased, to looking for you, trying to locate you the old-fashioned way. Although the hours of searching diminished, he never stopped looking.

Scott was angry, his rage growing to the point of hating you, blaming you, but not for the mission, but for abandoning him. He couldn't believe you didn't even have the courage to face him, to say goodbye, TO SAY GOODBYE, to something that would have given him the chance to stop you. Every time he saw the photo he had with you and Jean on his nightstand, he felt like burning it. He thought it was the three of you against the world, and you abandoned them.

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

A year passed since your disappearance. Nightcrawler had joined the team. There was no trace of you. Scott still hated you. Hank stopped searching. Ororo still held on to hope. Jean stopped mourning you but felt an emptiness in her chest. Charles still tried to locate you at least once a week.

Nightcrawler quickly discovered that you were a delicate topic, and the only people who spoke about you happily were Charles, Ororo, and Hank. It was better not to bring up the subject with Jean and Scott. And the rest weren’t close enough to you to talk about it.

A well-kept secret that Scott and Jean had was that they had fallen in love with you; they were going to tell you before you left, and now it was a mutual regret, a burden they shared only between them. Sometimes, if the day was too much for them, they would lock themselves in one of their rooms and whisper past regrets that still haunted them.

___________________________________________

Two years since your disappearance.

What had started as a casual mission ended as a kind of new war between humans and mutants.

The X-Men are in Hank's lab, reviewing the information they have so far.

Suddenly, a portal opens in front of the group, causing everyone to adopt a fighting stance, expecting a possible threat.

The white portal's glow doesn’t allow them to see anything on the other side. Suddenly, a gloved hand, with the fingers exposed, appears, causing everyone to tense up.

The hand seems to check if the portal is working by the way it moves, and then it disappears. But everyone jumps when a person suddenly steps through the portal.

As soon as the stranger enters, the portal disappears.

Everyone seems about to jump in to start a fight, but the person raises their hands in surrender, confusing them all.

“Y/N?” Xavier asks incredulously, earning a chorus of surprised gasps.

“Hello” you say with a huge smile.

It’s almost impossible to recognize you; you’re tall, with a developed body, you can’t be a teenager, you must be in your early twenties. But you had left when you were only 14 years old. What did this mean?

As you explained that you came from the future to prevent them from making the same mistakes that caused severe consequences later on, Jean and Scott’s minds were racing, never taking their eyes off you.

On the other hand, Ororo felt proud of never losing hope; she noticed that you were wearing what must be your hero costume with the X-Men emblem on one side, meaning that you would indeed return sooner or later.

Well, after ending the war, making sure not to make any mistakes or leave any loose ends, you all returned to the mansion.

During all this time since you arrived in the past, those who would be your life partners in the future were tense around you, something that did not go unnoticed by you.

The professor had confessed that it reassured him to know that you were okay and that you would return to the family. He also congratulated you for mastering your gift, your power completely. And he suggested you talk to Jean and Scott while Hank tried to create the machine that would take you back to your timeline (with instructions that future Hank asked you to give him).

So here you were, in Summers' room. You wanted to talk to him first because you know very well that he is angry with you; he was when, in your timeline, you returned to the mansion, and if his scowl every time he looked at you was any indication, you could say he is angry now.

You look at the photo on the nightstand while your leg bounces nervously. You don't regret leaving the mansion temporarily, but you do regret not letting them know or staying in contact.

Scott arrived at his room, and upon seeing you sitting on his bed, he frowned, letting out a huff. It almost made you smile with amusement; you didn't remember your guy already openly showing his teenage anger through huffs.

The younger Scott noticed your hint of a smile, crossing his arms and leaning against the door, deepening his frown.

"What’s so funny?"

This time, you didn't hide it, widening your smile and looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Nothing."

"You're not even hiding it; what's so funny, L/N?"

At the mention of your last name, your amused smile faded to one of embarrassment and nostalgia.

"You really were mad about my absence."

Scott shrugged and looked away, avoiding your gaze while still frowning. An uncomfortable silence settled in the room; as he avoided your gaze, you absorbed every tiny movement he made, trying to catch something that wasn’t anger or discomfort.

The silence dragged on too long, so you decided to get it over with.

"I'm sorry, Summers."

Scott was surprised to hear your voice; he had been so focused on physically showing his anger and avoiding letting you see how nervous and embarrassed he was by your presence that he had forgotten you were still with him for a second.

He looked back at you and encouraged you to continue talking.

"I'm sorry I didn't give you the chance to say goodbye or stop me, and I'm sorry I couldn't face you, for making you suffer with my disappearance for so long." You stood up slowly. "I know it wasn’t fair, and that you have every right to be mad at me for not even contacting you in these years and in the ones to come. But I hope that if you can't accept my apology now, you’ll be able to accept it when my present self returns with you."

You placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, giving him a twisted smile full of regret.

Scott looked you in the eyes through his glasses, uncrossed his arms, and sighed, relaxing his shoulders.

“It seems like you've apologized before. How many times did I ask you to say sorry?” he asked playfully, earning a laugh from you.

“Several times, to be honest. It’s usually your go-to move,” you replied with a teasing look, and your heart warmed at the sound of his laughter.

“Can I hug you?”

Without saying a word, you opened your arms, and he wasted no time rushing into them, squeezing you tightly while you rubbed his back.

“The day you return, I won’t stop hugging you.”

You laughed joyfully at his words.

“Believe me, mini Scott, I know that very well.”

An hour later, you were walking down the halls on your way to Jean Grey’s room. You had left Cyclops in his room after a long session of hugs and the release of emotions bottled up during the first two years of your absence. You didn’t want to tell him that two more years still remained, so you left before he could start asking questions you couldn’t answer.

When you reached her room, you knocked on the door. After a few seconds, it opened, and mini Jean was sitting at the head of her bed, hugging a pillow.

You walked in silently, closing the door behind you.

If there was one thing you learned over time, it was that Jean had taken your departure much harder. She blamed herself, even thinking that maybe she should have left instead of you. You knew there was a point when she was so distraught that she wouldn’t leave her room, letting only Scott in, who wasn’t going to let her drown in her sadness alone.

In the future, Jean wouldn’t want to let you out of her sight once you returned. She didn’t want you to leave her again and would make sure of it. Scott and you would have to help her learn to live without you, and you would have to assure her that you would never leave her again.

“It wasn’t your fault,” you whispered, catching her attention.

“But—”

“It wasn’t, Jean.”

The words she was about to say died on her lips. She looked at you with eyes filled with tears, ready to spill.

You moved closer and embraced her. Unable to hold back her tears any longer, she returned the hug tightly, crying on your shoulder.

You stayed like that for a while until Jean suddenly pulled away with a gasp of surprise, startling you.

“What? What happened?” you asked with concern.

She just stared at you with wide eyes.

It was then that you realized you had stopped blocking out any telepathic minds. She had relaxed and accidentally read your mind.

“What did you see?”

Jean didn’t respond, but the blush on her cheeks gave her away.

You looked at her amused.

“I guess a little spoiler doesn’t hurt anyone,” you said, laughing with amusement, while Jean just covered her face, trying to hide her embarrassment.

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

A few hours later, Hank had already built the machine.

You said your goodbyes to everyone, told Nightcrawler that you would soon be best friends, and returned to your own time.

It seemed to be very late at night, and you were relieved to see that the mansion was still standing.

You went to your shared room where your partners were sleeping in the shared bed.You took a bath and put on your pajamas.

As always, there was a space in the middle of the two lovebirds reserved for you, so you carefully slipped into bed without waking them.

Once in the cozy bed, you sighed in relief. You were exhausted, not having stopped to rest since you traveled to the past.

“You’re back.”

A soft voice was heard on your left as slender arms wrapped around your waist.

“I’m back.”

Jean rested her head in the crook of your neck, hugging you tightly.

"I missed you.”

You started stroking her hair, a gentle smile adorning your face.

“I missed you too, dear.”

Suddenly, strong arms encircled both you and Jean, followed by a kiss on your head.

“Your apologies were acceptable.”

You chuckled softly at Scott’s joke, and you snuggled between the two loves of your life, ready to sleep, not without first wishing them sweet dreams and giving them a couple of kisses.

The professor was right to send you to the past to fix old mistakes.

#jean grey x reader #x men 97 #x men x reader #x men x you #storm x reader #marvel xmen #marvel x reader #x reader #marvel x y/n #gn reader #x male reader #x female reader #scott summers x reader

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reblive · 4 months ago

Text

An except from Eric’s journal that i’ve thought about often as of lately. I have no place to put my thought so I will speak on here. No intent for discourse, I just have no outlet to speak on this matter. If this is not the space for you, just don’t read it. I don’t really care to hear anything.

“Society may not realize what is happening but I have; you go to school, to get used to studying and learning how youre "supposed to" so that drains or filters out a little bit of human nature. but thats after your parents taught you whats right and wrong even though you may think differently, you still must to have more of your human nature blown out of your ass. society trys to make everyone act the same by burying all human nature and instincts. Thats what school, laws, jobs, and parents do If they realize it or not and them, the few who stick to their natural instincts are casted out as psychos or lunatics or strangers or just plain different. crazy, strange, weird, wild, these words are not bad or degrading.. if humans were let to live how we would naturaly it would be chaos and anarchy and the human race wouldnt probably last that long, but hey guess what, thats how its supposed to be!!!!! society and goverments are only created to have order and calmness, which is exactly the opposite of pure human nature. take away all your laws and morals and just see what you can do. if the goverment was one entity it would be thinking "hey, lets make some order here and calm these crazy fucks down so we can be constructive and fight other goverments in our own little so called self created "civilizied world" and get rid of all those damn insticts everyone has" well shit I'm to tired wright anymor tonight, so until next time, fuck you all”

In some way in pains me to see the way he felt about the world and the wrong doings of those around him. If you take a second to sit and read what he’s saying it’s like part of his authenticity comes out and then transitions back to switching to speak to the audience and how he wanted to be seen. I can’t always articulate in words the feelings I get when I think about him but it’s genuinely always painful. He was so hurt, and described his pain, but still shadowed his true feelings of distress for the audience. He cared about what other people thought about him even in his writings, and it’s so disheartening that he was that broken and plague by the environment he was in. I take time to consider how people cannot feel empathy for him and I understand it due to the situation at hand (obviously) however, considering how he was 17 years old writing this, he was just a kid. He was once how we all once were, innocent and compelled to continue on the paths of our lives the way that the nature of society intended us to. It really goes to show how fucked up he had it. This draws me back to the butterfly effect, was there one decision by himself, or inflicted upon him by others that brought him to where he ended his life? Empathy is a theme he seems to disregard in his journal entries, and quite frankly, all of media and the world deems him as un empathetic because of his writings. We didn’t know how he thought of himself in his head, we didn’t know the guilt, destruction, and true pain he went through that was genuine. I find this a reason why there is much more weight put onto him within his person. “It’s only a tragedy if you think it is, and then it’s only a tragedy in your own mind.” (7/29/98) I suppose this is how we all (who empathize with E&D) feel and can relate to.

Thinking too much about his pain these days and what he once was and how he became what he was. Being truthful and honest are two different things. Being truthful, factual, what he did was terrible. Being honest, feelings, I have so much pain in my heart for how he was feeling. There’s nothing anyone can do now (whom empathize)

#tcc columbine #eric columbine #tcc tumblr #eric and dylan

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aloesarchives · 9 months ago

Text

Two for the Price of One (JJK Oneshot)

TW/Warnings: Profanity, NOT POLY SATOSUGU X READER, Fem Reader and She/Her pronouns, ANGST, Angst for Satoru and Reader, Bittersweet ending for Suguru and Reader, HIGHKEY MISCOMMUNICATION, Possible OOC Satoru, abandonment issues if you squint really hard, Reader slowly losing herself, Reader feeling depression/hopeless(implicit), Reader's has a healthy dynamic with her clan

Series: Jujutsu Kaisen

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x Fem!Reader/Suguru Geto x Fem!Reader

AU: Canon

Pronouns: She/Her(Reader's clan has a unrealistic healthy and understanding relationship with her)

Word Count: 6.1k words

Summary: Gojo's lack of coping caused you to drift away and eventually depart after Suguru's defection from Jujutsu Society.

(A/N): I know it doesn't make sense and will make many frustrated with how dumb this is. I just wanted to write my emotions out with this one, okay? I know this wouldn't slide but I'm a sucker for these scenarios. Edit: Since I've been getting positive reactions from you guys, I decided to take out the cringe/unrealistic out of the warning/tws lists. I truly love and appreciate you, loves!❤️

[!!Semi-edited & Proofread!!! 2/8/2024 4:04pm CST]

It was hard on all of you.

More so for you and Satoru.

Ever since Geto’s massacre and defection, the higher-ups and Jujutsu society have been scrambling to get the chaos under control. Having a special grade user become a curse user was sounding red alarms as there was an immediate threat to present-day Jujutsu sorcery.

You knew something was up with Suguru. You did; your observation wouldn’t allow things to go unnoticed. It was a bit here and there, but never a significant concern. You tried coaxing him gradually to open up to you, but your efforts were fruitless. No bells were ringing until the post-Plasma Star Vessel incident. You felt the shift in Suguru’s aura; you noticed his lifeless stare—the growing dark circles around his eyes surrounding the tiny flicker of life left inside.

You tried being there for Suguru. You did anything and everything to accompany him and not leave him alone. It was selfish of you. To be desperate for your best friend to lean on you for support and not to go down a destructive path. You became even more worried when Haibara returned cold with a frustrated and traumatized Nanami. It was becoming more evident of Suguru’s deteriorating condition, you to confide in Shoko and even Yaga-sensei.

Grief is like love, a twisted parasitic curse. Even though a year has passed, your grief was a malevolent spirit that latched itself onto your shoulders with a vice grip. A bitter reminder of how Suguru never said goodbye to you. He technically did with Satoru. But it was more of him telling Satoru that he was severing ties with Jujutsu Society by questioning him with his newfound powers. All you got from Suguru was a simple letter Shoko gave you at your dorm. She was with you as you read it. Tear droplets stained the paper, words smeared, and became unreadable. Out of pure frustration, you ripped the paper in half—the tearing of paper cut through the sickening silence. Shoko hugged you as you sobbed in the aftermath. While you were mourning the loss of your friend and your lives together, you were also mourning your life after this would never be the same. It would only get worse from here.

Satoru is tossed onto multiple missions left and right, never catching a break.

And there was you, trying to return to your regular school life. Or how every day can it be now? One of your best friends just murdered an entire village and his parents, and the other one is overworking himself to the very bone. Shoko being there for you was a surprising one, but at the same time, it wasn’t. Given that she was the first one Suguru said goodbye to, she understood his actions.

The problem was trying to tell Satoru about it, but he would brush it off, saying that maybe it was the change in weather or sickness. When you tried to explain there was more to it, Satoru would wave his hand at you, saying,

“You’re overthinking too much, (Y/N)-chan! I’m sure Suguru is fine. We just have to give him some time.”

Though the tone was light-hearted, it provided no comfort. You know Satoru was suffering as well. Individuals process trauma differently, after all. You were seeing this first hand.

Satoru was overcompensating to the world of Jujutsu with his enlightenment, overworking himself and burying his pain through that charismatic mask he now dons. Suguru is the most common one: Insomnia, isolation, and depression. He slowly became a lifeless husk. On the other hand, you were coping by trying to move forward while acting like a rock for them. Despite the hard transition, you didn’t deny your trauma as you slowly worked to process and navigate through it. You had the support of Shoko, your teacher, and even your clan/family stepped in to support your mental health endeavors. They went as far as providing you with a therapist, who was also a sorcerer.

But you all were suffering in silence.

A year has passed since Suguru left, and you were getting by. You, Shoko, and Satoru would graduate in the third year and officially become Jujutsu Sorcerers. Yet, at this point, it felt more like only you and Shoko. Satoru still attended class and hung out, but missions mainly preoccupied his school life. He recently returned from Hokkaido, only to be sent out again. This time, however, it was somewhere in Western Europe. That’s on the other side of the world. It would only be for a week, but still. You wanted him to rest or take a break, as he never did– not since the incident.

He wouldn’t be leaving for another seven days, so you had enough time to be with him. Yet it was challenging because Satoru didn’t let up. The ravine he created kept opening, the distance stretching far and deep, pushing you away.

Just like Suguru.

You didn’t want to lose Satoru. You almost did, becoming a grim reminder of how much you cared for Satoru Suguru. To fall for your best friend was a betrayal. You didn’t mean it, but Satoru did things that made your heart warm and fluttered. Suguru was the first to catch on; he saw your crush a mile away. Confiding in Suguru about it, you found solace in his words– feeding into an enviable delusion.

Unbeknownst to you, Suguru's eyes were able to hide his longing for you as you rambled about Satoru and your latest hangout together. Suguru always thought you and Satoru had a special connection—your two powerful chemistry and how you bounce off each other. He presumed Satoru had mutual feelings, but nothing was said. Once he left, he knew you had his heart. There was no space for anyone else to fill it but you. And Suguru was more than willing to live with reality. If the girl who gave his life light is with his best friend, so be it. He would settle with the heartache as long as you were happy.

But you weren’t happy at all.

Over time, you started questioning whether the life of a Jujutsu Sorcerer was worth it. Yes, you were born into the world of Jujutsu, and it has been your whole life. But the last two years radically changed that. You were already exposed to this life's dangers and cruelty; prepare to face it head-on no matter what. Yet second thoughts became third thoughts. Then, fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh. The more you challenge your initial mindset, the more doubts seep into its cracks.

Why should I continue when I am nothing more than a placeholder in this world?

How can I save everyone if I can’t save one person?

Where is the meaning in all of this if I’ll just die alone and be replaced and forgotten?

Was this endless cycle of Jujutsu Sorcery even worth it?

You wondered if Suguru shared the same thoughts to push him to his decision. Now, you don’t blame him for leaving at all. It was grime. It was depravity. It was futile. You only stayed because you had your clan. You had Yaga-sensei and Shoko. But most of all, you had Satoru to shoulder the burdens of the Jujutsu world.

That’s. . .what you thought. . .

You decided to go to Satoru’s dorm to check up on him. Maybe squeeze a hangout in there. Gently knocking, you hope he was there since you couldn’t sense him around the campus. There was faint shuffling on the other side, signaling he was. You softly call out to him as you knock again. Once opened, Satoru greeted you in his school uniform. You found it odd since he’d switched to his comfortable clothes after school hours.

“Hi, Toru! I just came by to see how you’re doing. The mochi store we always go to releases its seasonal flavors today! Why don’t you come with me? I heard one of your favorites returned, so I didn’t want you to miss it.”

“I appreciate the thought, (Y/N). But not today, I’m sorry.” Satoru said with a smile.

You couldn’t pinpoint his smile, tittering on, sad and strained. A tinge of uneasiness settled inside your heart, but you still wore your smile to not let it surface.

“C’mon, Toru! You don’t know if they will sell out today. Plus, the weather is great. I heard some festivals with food stands are opening up because of that. It wouldn’t hurt to go out just this once, Satoru.”

Satoru’s smile disappears at your insistence, replacing it with a fine line. His mood change didn’t sit well with you. You had previous attempts to get Satoru to care for himself. However, this is different from all your others because the band that holds your desperation began to wane itself thin. Your solid composure falters in bits. Your bright aura slowly dimmed as your now chapped lips twitched.

“Satoru, I know that you’re busy. Always on missions, meeting the higher-ups, your clan needing you more than ever, you have your hands tied. But it wouldn’t be too much just to enjoy yourself. Just come with me today before you go to Europe next week. It’s been a while since we hung out together.”

“Look (Y/N), I don’t really have time for this. I need to head out now, or it will get dark. Maybe another time–”

Then something inside of you snaps. You didn’t know whether it was your desperation or uneasiness, but assumed both because your facade crumbles to reveal your emotions.

“You always say later, Satoru, but never do! You haven’t taken a break in months! You’ve gotten paler, and your under-eyes are darker than before! You’re pushing yourself too hard and beginning to neglect yourself. Toru, Please! I’m worried about you! You know I can always help you–”

“For the love of God, (Y/N)! Can you STOP TALKING?! GOD, YOUR VOICE MAKES MY EARS BLEED! LIKE HELL YOU WOULD UNDERSTAND MY RESPONSIBILITIES!”

It was never your intention to snap. But the way Satoru was acting paralleled Suguru. Eat, sleep, and go on missions. It was always those three, the same ones Suguru was subjected to that became a factor in his defection. Satoru was caught in the vicious cycle that pushed Suguru over the edge.

On top of your crippling fear of Satoru sharing the same fate as Suguru, Déjà vu struck you. Desperation emerged from within as you didn’t want to lose him, breaking your resolve before him. Desperation was fear in another form.

You weren’t the only one to reach a breaking point. Satoru snapped as well and at you, of all people. You guessed it was from all the stress and emotions he bottled up that exploded there. What Satoru was experiencing was valid and understandable; you knew this. Yet to blow up at you was uncalled for as you made it clear you’re only helping. Your eyes sting as you feel the formation of tears ready themselves, biting the inside of your bottom lip to keep your voice from breaking.

“B-but. . .Satoru. . .I w-was only trying to–” You stuttered out, forcibly pushing out words to fill the silence.

“Help? You were trying to help, (Y/N)?”

Once saying that Satoru let out a sarcastic laughter that could be mistaken for madness. Horror took over your face. Pain-filled eyes were glossed over, showing your tears could spill at any moment. His laughter abruptly stopped, making it so quiet that only your staggered breathing could be heard. He meets his eyes with yours with the most disdain you have ever seen.

“Do you think you could help when you’re just dead weight? You thought you were on par with Suguru and me. Get that out of your stupid little head of yours (Y/N). You were never strong like us.”

“You don’t mean that, right, Satoru?” You said incredulity as you reached out for him. Only for your hand to freeze before him, not going any further. A chill flashed over you, adding to the aching that enveloped your soul.

Did he– Did he just use his infinity on you?

“Oh, but I do. Now, I need to be somewhere. Do yourself a favor, (Y/N), and don’t bother me with your weak presence.”

And before you knew it, Satoru was already gone. He had used his teleportation to get to where he was needed. Leaving you alone with the door to his dorm wide open. The sounds of the crickets took over. They were paired with your small sniffles, furiously wiping away your nonstop tears.

Were you weak to him?

Have you really been holding everyone back?

Were you that much of a nuisance to him?

Is this how Satoru really felt about you?

Has he always felt this way?

You never saw utter detest and contempt from Satoru. Your previous interactions had him irritated or annoyed, but never like this. This was the first time Satoru had blown up on you, let alone given you such a reaction. Before, you’d repeatedly remind him of your support and help. But it always ends the same way, pushing you away. After what happened, this will be the last time you’d do this for him.

You were once told that you can’t help someone if they aren’t reaching out for help. And this was a bitter example of it. Your efforts in having Satoru lean on you bore nothing. What’s the point in continuing this if nothing changes after multiple attempts?

You were tired, drained, and indifferent. Your tears keep falling as you enter your dorm, not even stopping as the sound of nature lulls you to sleep.

You let two days pass to let Satoru calm down and give him space. No interactions or anything to pass some time. You would try to contact him for the next four days after that. But your texts were left unanswered and on read. When you tried calling, your call went straight to voicemail. He blocked your phone number, too.

The weight of your doubts and Satoru’s words the other day are fueling your impulsivity. If Satoru called you weak and dead weight, other sorcerers would think so, too. If you become a thorn in their side, you’re doing them a favor by pulling yourself out for them. Even if Satoru didn’t mean it, you knew there was some truth to it because he kept his infinity up. You could never forget how his blue eyes lit through his pitch-dark glasses as he spoke down at you. Giving away that he was conscious and level-headed when he said those words.

You were losing the war against your intrusive mind. Your doubts and thoughts gradually solidified in your consciousness. In the course of time, they won and consumed your psyche.

If becoming a jujutsu sorcerer would get in the way of others, then being a sorcerer wasn’t for you.

With your last attempts to contact Satoru, you have made your decision. A day before Satoru departs for Europe, you decide to pay your clan head a visit. It was sudden and unannounced; nonetheless, they allowed an audience with you.

They let you speak your mind, allowing whatever you need to be released and run free without judgment. Thus, you confided in them about everything.

This was too much; all of it was too much for you to bear any longer. You couldn’t see yourself as a sorcerer any longer after dealing with what you had experienced. Every day was a battle for you, and you lost every single one. You admitted you didn’t have what’s left of you it in you to shoulder the responsibilities of the Jujutsu world. You didn’t want the life of a jujutsu sorcerer anymore. You wanted one of peace, not having to fight every day. To enjoy the rest of your days as a regular civilian.

Confiding also in missing Suguru dearly and how his departure left a hole in your heart that could never be healed. You weren’t strong enough to face the horrors and hardships anymore and wish to live a peaceful life.

Although your clan head was shocked at your confession, they were understanding and asked if this was something you truly wanted. An unwavering ‘Yes’ left you, and your clan head nodded. They gave you a choice: to go after graduation in a few weeks or leave now. If you leave now, they will deal with the rest as you finish the important schoolwork. It was just a waiting game with missions sprinkled throughout.

You could wait before leaving, but that’s wasting time. If you weren’t going to continue your life here, you might as well get a headstart now in your new one. You finalize your decision with the head. They said they would have some members pick up your stuff from your dorms tomorrow morning, but you said it wouldn’t be much. As you took your leave, you told them you would keep in touch with the clan.

“What are your plans for what happens next, (Y/N)?” They curiously asked with your back facing them.

“Hmm, I don’t know exactly. But I have an idea, (Clan Head’s Name). Thank you for everything that you’ve done.”

With a reassuring voice, you turn to respectfully bow before leaving their room. Though they never said it out loud, they saw how your eyes were soft, like tremendous pressure was relieved from your body.

Thinking about it as you leave the estate, you never mentioned your fight with Satoru. Though it wouldn’t change anything. That night, you packed your dorm in your suitcase. Only leave your bedsheets, a pillow, and a few desk appliances behind. Your closet and drawers were empty of any clothes you had. By 10 a.m. tomorrow, any trace left of you would be gone. As you write a letter to whoever finds it about your whereabouts, your thoughts return to Suguru. To playfully think he did the exact same thing before his defection.

You looked at your school uniform as it hung on your door. You contemplated taking it with you but decided against it. You wanted no strings left attached when you leave the world of Jujutsu Sorcery.

Morning came as you stared at the room you once called your own. The remainder of your things are packed in cardboard boxes for your clan members to get later. You glance back over to your desk as your school uniform is neatly folded on top of it. Your lips are graced with a sentimental smile as you close the door one last time.

As you walked along the campus, fleeting memories of your days here flooded your mind. You reminisced on the areas and places you spent your youth with your friends and classmates. Now you’re leaving Jujutsu Tech and the Jujutsu World forever. Never to come back. You get to the main entrance of the school.

Before taking another step, you sensed someone behind you.

“So you're leaving, too, (Y/N)?”

It was Shoko.

“Yeah. . . Shoko. I’m going. . .”

She blows out a large smoke cloud from her cigarette, giving you a blank look before sending you a smile.

“At least say goodbye to me. . .I don’t blame you for going. . .” Shoko adds as she holds out her arms. You chuckle at her gesture and give her a hug. By the slight firm grip you felt, she didn’t want you to go, but she couldn’t stop you either.

Once you break away from the hug, you remember something and fish out a folded paper in your bag. You handed it to Shoko, and she eyed it curiously.

“I was going to leave it in my dorm for someone to find, but I thought it would work better if I gave this to you if I ran into it on my way out. My clan is sending members to get the last of my things, so I won’t return to my dorm. Sorry I had to make you the messenger again, Shoko.” You bittersweetly said.

You find it ironic that your departure is similar to Suguru’s. Shoko is the first to see you two go while giving her a letter for the others to read. You laugh as you think this over.

Oh, how history repeats itself.

Shoko tucks away your letter before taking a drag from her smoke.

“Does he know about this?”

You knew she was referring to Satoru. You shook your head no, still have a small smile.

“No, unfortunately. Satoru and I got into a arg– disagreement a few days ago. I don’t know if he’s okay with me to begin with, as cowardly to say. The only ones that know are you and my clan head.”

She hums at your response before going for another drag.

“Your phone number still the same?”

“I don’t really plan on changing my phone number. Even if I do, I’ll text you the new number so you can give it to the others.”

“I see. . .See you around, (Y/N). Keep in touch, will ya?”

“I will. I’ll see you around then. Bye, Shoko.”

Giving Shoko one last hug, you wave goodbye as you leave Jujutsu’s High entrance, disappearing from view. Not daring to look back because regret might come if you did.

Shoko watches from afar, her cigarette being halfway done. She takes one last puff before extinguishing it with the bottom of her shoe. She looks at your letter. The paper was crisp with no wrinkles like it had been fresh from the printer. From this, Shoko knew you had written it recently, no hesitation evident on the page itself. Unlike Suguru’s, her fingers tighten on your letter as she sighs while entering the school.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

“What brings you here? He’s a busy man.”

“I’m just an old acquaintance of his. Just a simple chat. It won’t take long, I promise.”

The pretty attendant raises a brow at you as she guides you to one of the rooms. She looks you up and down before facing forward again.

“You have a substantial amount of curse energy. You have a curse technique then; aren’t you a jujutsu sorcerer?”

“I…used to be…but not anymore…I chose to leave that life. I’m just a civilian that has a curse technique.”

You see the attendant smile out of the corner of your eye at your answer.

“I see. Geto-sama will be happy to take audience with you then.”

You shouldn’t be here. You knew that. Walking in taboo territory could get you hunted down by the very society you were born into. It’s not a secret of Suguru’s position as both a curse user and a cult leader. You remember hearing about him reforming a cult that worshiped Tengan but dissolved after the incident. You found it interesting he hasn’t done collateral damage yet. No incidents or missions revolving around curses terrorizing civilians. Perhaps he was going for something on a larger scale, you thought.

But you missed Suguru dearly. Not in a sentimental reminiscing way. More as in yearning for him entirely. Everyone tells you it’s not the same with Suguru gone, obviously. Yeah, but Suguru plagued your mind after his defection. You want nothing more than to see him again. Yes, things couldn’t go back to the way they were. But you didn’t like the prospects of what your future would hold if you stayed.

You disagreed with Suguru ridding the world of non-sorcerers. But you also understand and agree the current Jujutsu system is a dumpster fire that will never work. At the end of the day, only those the higher-ups favor will get to stay while the rest are sent off to die. You didn’t want to take part in that. You valued your life to know it shouldn’t be tossed around so easily by some dementia geezers who can’t even fight. And yet, you felt a tinge of regret for not staying to fix or break the system. Your only option was to leave and not involve yourself anymore.

The attendant takes you to the room, saying he will arrive shortly. Leaving you alone, you felt your heart race. You hope Suguru doesn’t kill you because he can sense your curse energy. Yet his letter was heartfelt and raw. His apology and the paragraphs after them were for you and you alone, like a confession. Even though you ripped the letter, you keep the two halves. Strangely enough, there was an address and a few words at the bottom of the page.

‘You know where to find me.’

Here you are, waiting for him with the same letter he sent. As you wait, you can feel his energy get closer. You stare down, kneeling, the letter shaking like a leaf in your hands.

Then the door opens.

You let out a small gasp, not daring to look up as the footsteps approach his seat. A soft chuckle fills the room as you keep your head low.

“I thought I was mistaken when I felt your curse energy. But I now know my mind wasn’t playing tricks on me. Please, lift your head so I can see you (Y/N).”

Your gaze meets Suguru’s soft eyes and warm smile. Both genuine and kind. His eyes widen before returning back to soft when he sees the tears trickling down for your lovely eyes he could get lost in. You stumble to stand, practically pouncing at Suguru. His embrace was like gates opening for you and closing once you entered. You softly sob into his robes as he holds you tightly. Comforting you by gently rubbing your back and hair, giving a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“I missed you so much, Suguru!” was all you said before you continued to sniffle and hiccup into him.

Suguru hums as he pulls away to better view your face. You felt self-conscious as he lovingly gazed at you. Your nose and cheeks were raw from crying, and your eyes became an irritated red. Suguru smiles, wiping away your endless tears with his thumb.

“Oh, (Y/N). I’m sorry for leaving you behind. You understand, don’t you? From my letter?”

You nodded to respond. Holding the paper in front of Suguru. He notices the tear stains and ink smudges from the words he wrote down.

“I would’ve told you in person, (Y/N). Believe me. But I couldn't once they announced my charges. You would’ve been questioned as a possible accomplice. I didn’t want that for you. Do you know what it means for you to see me now?”

“Yes, I’m aware. But I left of my own accord; it wasn’t just for you, Suguru. I wouldn’t be able to last long if I stayed. So I decided to go, leaving it behind, all of it.”

He was a bit puzzled by what you meant. But it didn’t take long for him to piece it himself. Suguru figured something happened between you and Satoru but decided to stay silent out of respect. You both stare with relief and tenderness. Suguru gingerly takes your hand and places a light kiss on your knuckles. You set your unoccupied hand on his cheek, quietly giggling as Suguru leans into your delicate touch. He sighed in contentment. Bring your hand up again to kiss it as he wraps his free arm around your waist. His sincere smile radiates down onto you.

“I guess we have some catching up to do then, (Y/N).”

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Satoru was in a better mood today than before.

Satoru cooled off his head after a couple of days from when he made that outburst at you. He was stressed and tired of being continuously sent out on missions, and you did make a point that he hasn’t taken a break in months. He remembered what he said to you that evening, which made him feel guilty.

He knows he hasn’t been around because the higher-ups have sent him out like a work dog. It was now you and Shoko with him. The stabilization you two had on him once Suguru left.

You’ve been only trying to help him for a long time. Being there for him in your own way while coaxing him to hang out. Yet he took it for granted and said some vile things because his bucket decided to overflow then out of all the times it shouldn’t. You didn’t deserve that. You also didn’t deserve the silent treatment he gave you. He saw your text messages and listened to the voicemails you left. He did not answer because he was too prideful and stubborn to admit he was stressed and hurt you like that.

But sitting with his emotions and reflecting on how stupid he is for prioritizing his ego, he decided to cut down his pride and make it up to you. He unblocked your number and was going to call you. But he chose to just surprise you instead he chickened out. Satoru knew the European mission was a nuisance to his plans, so he had already taken care of it. By that, Satoru somehow teleported himself to where he needed to be in Europe, slayed the high-level curses, retrieved some curse objects, reported what he did, and teleported back to Japan in four hours.

He did all this at the last minute on the sixth day before Satoru was supposed to leave. He did this to stay and spend the whole week with you, make up for lost time, and give a proper apology.

Now, Satoru was strolling through Jujutsu Tech. He whistles as he holds a bouquet of (favorite flowers), a box with a (favorite color) bracelet with (favorite designs/charms), and a bag of mochi and daifuku for you two to share together. He walks around the grounds, trying to search you. He was told no classes today, so he went to your favorite spots. You weren’t anywhere.

‘Huh, that’s strange. (Y/N) would usually be in those places when class is not in session. I wonder where she could be.’

Satoru thought about dropping by your dorm but figured you were with Shoko. On the other hand, he couldn’t sense Shoko around either until Satoru felt it alongside Yaga-sensei. He sensed them in Yaga’s building, so he headed there.

Blissfully unaware of what would await him.

Satoru clutches your gifts to one side as he opens the door to enter. His six eyes hadn’t kicked in yet, but something in the air felt off. His sun smile hasn’t dropped yet as he scans around, wondering why the two were quiet when he entered.

“Yo, Yaga-sensei, Shoko! I’ve been trying to look for you guys. By any chance know where (Y/N) is so I can give these to her?”

He looks at his teacher, and Satoru’s demeanor instantly changes. There, Yaga stood with his glasses off, clutching a piece of paper with a stern frown. Satoru turns to Shoko, a somber expression replacing her lighthearted one. Satoru just looked back and forth between the two before his eyes settled on the paper in his teacher’s hand. Satoru stands stunned, hearing his heartbeat in his ears grow louder and louder. The air from his lungs disappeared as realization dawned on him.

Satoru clenched his teeth as he teleported to your dorm room, the clap resonating throughout the hall. He burst open your dorm door, and to his horror, your room was empty. The room was stripped of everything that made it yours. The closet and drawers were emptied, and your desk and bed were bare of anything from you. What used to be your dorm is now an empty dorm room, ready for the next person to claim it. He frantically looks around in hopes of finding any reminds of you.

Then, he spotted your old Jujutsu High uniform, laying neatly on top of your old desk. Satoru just stares, not daring to pick it up. Because if he did, he would’ve broken down. He can’t stay there anymore, to which he teleports back. He bears his pearly white teeth as he closes in on his teacher.

“Where the hell is (Y/N)?” Satoru lowly said.

“Gone, Satoru–”

“I know she’s gone! But where?! Why the hell is all her stuff gone?! Her room is completely empty!”

“Satoru,” Yaga tried calmly speaking, but he was clearly frustrated. “I know this is so sudden. But the (L/N)’s clan head said something came up with (Y/N), and they retrieved all her things. Her clan said they were going to deal with everything else.”

Satoru's breathing became staggered. He could hear it growing louder. He tried his best not to let his voice crack, but that made him angrier.

“Everything else? The hell does that mean, sensei? Why would the (L/N) clan withdraw (Y/N) from school?! School ends in a few weeks! She could have graduated with us!”

“It…wasn’t their decision, Satoru…It was (Y/N)’s…”

Suddenly, Satoru became flabbergasted. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This gotta be some twisted, cruel joke that was playing on him. His curse energy was flaring up, and his cerulean eyes lit lightly. The flowers from the bouquet were losing their petals, and his bag full of treats was getting smushed from his intense grip.

“What…?”

“The clan head said it themselves.”

“No…”

“She decided not to be a Jujutsu Sorcerer and leave Jujutsu society.”

“LIKE HELL SHE WOULD!!!” Just like that, everything came crashing down for Satoru. Not being in your usual spots on campus, the empty dorm; hell, he noticed your curse residuals becoming faint. The traces of them becoming weaker and weaker. Your presence here in Jujutsu High was fading faster than he could notice. The anger he built up showed itself as it was on full display. Honestly, Yaga and Shoko don’t blame him for his outburst. Satoru held you close, after all.

“Satoru, please.” Yaga pinches the bridge of his nose as he clenches his teeth. “I’m just as lost as you are. This came out of the blue…Her clan confirmed it, and she said it herself.”

Satoru slightly flinches when Yaga holds the paper out towards him. Gesturing for Satoru to take it.

“I didn’t read far into this because it felt like (Y/N) wanted someone else to read it.”

Satoru’s long fingers snatched the paper out of his teacher’s hands. His hands shake as he opens the paper up to see its contents.

It was a letter–from you.

His eyes slowly followed the words of your neatly written goodbye. His heart rips itself piece by piece as he continues reading. The guilt and shaming grew. He could feel the fatigue and jadedness from your thoughts. But the last paragraph makes Satoru’s heart hurt the worst. Your frustration was transformed into desperation for a new life, a fresh start. Away from the endless curses and scrutiny of the higher-ups, away from the pain and hopelessness, away from it all. You didn’t want to throw your life away. You just wanted to live. Then, you end the letter with an apology. Saying sorry because you couldn’t tell them your honest thoughts, for not facing them in your departure, for not trying hard enough for everyone when it was needed. Then, the last line of your apology made Satoru’s blood run cold.

‘Most of all, I’m sorry for being weak.’

He knew that line was for him 100 percent. You wouldn’t have written it down if he didn’t tell you. To Satoru, you weren’t supposed to be the one apologizing. It should be him. He was the one who yelled at you and said those cruel and discouraging things to you. The one who pushed you away and didn’t allow you a chance to help. Fuck, he had the audacity to use his infinity against you. How dare he do that to you, his best friend the girl he fell in love with. His teeth clenched so hard out of pure anger they could crack. The anger he felt for himself was tremendous. He was angry at Suguru, the higher-ups, and Jujutsu Society. Angry at himself for being so stubborn and prideful, for waiting too long to act and apologize. But above all else, he was angry at what had become of the situation. Fully knowing he could do nothing to change anything as already was set in stone.

If he hadn’t been so prideful, he would’ve apologized to you sooner. If he didn’t blow up at you, you wouldn't become broken and hurt. If only he didn’t push you away, maybe you would have stayed– stayed by his side. But ‘if onlys’ are regrets from the past of the current reality. Now, he is living in it with the consequences of his own actions.

This is the price Satoru had to pay. He lost the only remnant that got him through this world by pushing you away. He lost his only two best friends in the world with no way of fixing it.

The price of becoming the strongest came at the expense of two of his most dearest friends.

Suguru was gone.

You were gone.

Forever with no signs of ever coming back to him.

In the end, Satoru Gojo was, truly, alone.

396 notes · View notes

kiarastromboli · 11 months ago

Text

You’re mine (Chris Sturniolo x y/n)

Masterlist.

Warning: smut content, drug mention, toxic relationship, argument, rough sex.

Summary: y/n and Chris are in a toxic relationship, and y/n is about to tell him that she wants to end it.

Note: This fanfic is entirely inspired by a past relationship I had. I want to emphasize that I'm writing it as a way to talk about my experiences and for fun. If you're in a similar relationship, please, for your well-being, escape. Don't let anyone, under any circumstances, treat you this way. It's destructive, trust me, it's not worth it.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

Here I am again on a Thursday night at 12:30 AM, sneaking out to see the boy I promised to stop seeing.

I'm pathetic; it only took one message for me to go against my principles, and now I find myself making the same mistake that I've been repeating for over a year.

But this time is different; tonight, I'm going to end this toxic relationship once and for all.

The boy I'm talking about? Chris, a guy from my high school with whom I've been in a secret relationship for a little over a year.

It all started when he replied to one of my Instagram stories. At the time, I had no idea how much of an asshole this guy was. I was naive and carefree, smoking joints with my friends to have fun, and I only knew Chris by sight.

He hung out with the "cool" people at school—the ones my friends and I desperately tried to become by smoking and adopting a delinquent attitude.

When Chris responded to my story, telling me he found me cute, I couldn't believe my eyes. No one really paid attention to me despite all the effort I put in.

Anyway, after a bit of conversation and some innuendos, I eventually understood what he wanted from me: to hook up. And, to be honest, that was enough for me. I was ready to settle for just that if it meant being closer to him.

That same night, I sneaked out to smoke a joint with him, and I discovered a whole new Chris, far from the one I saw at school.

He was funny, attentive, nice, caring, and very open. I quickly felt comfortable with him; the connection was great. Eventually, we ended up sleeping together in his room.

I had sex with a guy before him, but it didn't go well, and I didn't know much about it. Chris was super understanding and took his time with me. He helped me discover my body and taught me how to please myself and him.

Our relationship helped me become more comfortable with myself. Chris always took the time to kiss every inch of my body to make me understand how beautiful he found me.

"You're so beautiful, Y/n."

"I forbid you to have any complexes; you're perfect."

"Look at yourself; you're gorgeous."

You're probably wondering why our relationship is toxic if Chris helped me so much. Well, the thing is, our relationship has always been a double-edged sword. When the doors were closed, and it was just him and me, everything was fine. He only had eyes for me, complimented me, and listened attentively. But as soon as we were in public, everything changed.

I wish he had just ignored me because he didn't want to acknowledge our relationship, and that was the case at the beginning. But it went much further than that over time.

At first, he ignored me at school, and it hurt a little, but I signed up for it. He made it clear he didn't want anyone to know about us, so I had no say in the matter.

But over time, his friends and mine became friends, and we started hanging out together before, during, and after classes.

That's when things took a different turn. I knew I had to keep a low profile, so I tried to keep my distance from him without looking suspicious when our friends hung out together. However, he started acting strangely.

Whenever I opened my mouth to say something, he hurried to cut me off, diverting attention to himself, making me look like a fool.

Whenever he had the chance, he made more or less hurtful comments about me to amuse the group.

"What's with this outfit? You look like a clown."

"Are you naturally stupid, or did it come with time?"

"You know, you can hide behind all the makeup you want; we still see your face underneath."

In short, he acted like a real jerk when people were around, and in parties, it was even worse. He would grab my attention and then proceed to hook up with other girls right in front of me, as if to provoke me.

He spent all his time humiliating me. The thing is, it happened gradually. It started with a few tasteless jokes from time to time, so I never really took the initiative to defend myself. I don't know why, but I already felt like a fool, and I didn't want to worsen my situation.

At first, I tried talking to him privately to understand why he did that, why he treated me like his princess in private but like a dog the rest of the time. And his responses were always the same.

"Babe, don't stress; it's just how we joke around with my friends."

"It's not a big deal; I just had a bit too much to drink. It happens."

"I treat you the same way I treat my friends so that we don't look suspicious. You know very well that I don't mean any of what I say in front of them, Y/n."

And after that, he would kiss me and make me forget everything with a few caresses. I blamed myself for being so weak, but he was so good with me.

I felt alive and considered with him. No one looked at me the way he did, and no one treated me like he did. But what I hated more than anything was the way I belonged to him while knowing that he didn't belong to me at all.

"You're mine, Y/n; I don't want any other guys putting their hands on you."

"We're not together; I have the right to see other people."

"Who the fuck was that guy in your story this morning?"

I found it cute that he was jealous, but I quickly understood that it was just possessiveness. I was his trophy, and he loved knowing that I adored him, maintaining this destructive little link between us.

I struggled to realize that it was bad for me; I idealized him so much that I normalized his awful behavior towards me. I reached a point where I thought it was the price to pay for having such a perfect guy by my side.

I know it sounds insane, and you probably judge me, but when I met Chris, I was not doing well. I felt bad, lost, and he helped me appreciate life again. He helped me with my body and mind, treated me like a princess, and I was ready to endure all of this not to lose what he gave me.

It was like a drug; without him, I was doing very badly. As long as he was there, everything was better, but I knew it was destroying me, and I knew it was bad. However, cutting ties with him meant giving up on my happiness, and I didn't have the strength for that.

I began to realize how bad it was on the day I broke down publicly with him, during a party with our friends.

Start of the flashback:

What a shitty night; I'm wasted, and Chris shows up with another one of his girls. I don't want to see him; he disgusts me.

I headed to the kitchen to take another shot when I felt hands wandering on my hips. I immediately turned around in surprise to find a Chris even more drunk than me. "Oh my god, Chris, don't touch me," I spat out, rolling my eyes before removing his hands from me.

He chuckled before leaning into my ear to say, "She doesn't suck as well as you, you know?" I felt anger boiling inside me; I pushed him away before starting to walk towards the terrace where the others were.

"Hey, I'm kidding; it's fine, don't make a scene for that, Y/n," he said, grabbing my wrist as I reached the door leading to the terrace.

"Damn it, let go of me, you asshole," I said, opening the door and breaking free from his grip. "Go to hell, Chris," I shouted, unintentionally drawing the attention of others to us.

Chris clenched his jaw and shot me a hateful look when he realized that everyone was fully focused on us. "Stop acting like a bitch and giving a show in front of everyone, Y/n; I don't have time for your bullshit," he snapped, and everyone around us sighed, shocked.

I felt tears welling up. "Damn it, what's your problem with me? Just leave me alone!" I said before breaking down and leaving the party.

End of the flashback.

After that night, nothing was the same. I hated him in public, always making a promise to myself not to go see him again, until he sent a message, and I caved.

It was always the same, the same message, "Come smoke a joint with me." I said no the first time, he insisted, promising it was just to smoke a joint. I'd give in, we'd smoke, end up sleeping together, and again, I'd go back home annoyed at myself for succumbing once more. Secretly, I hoped that the next day, when we met in class, he'd treat me well. But it never happened; he always ended up treating me like crap, and the cycle continued when he sent another message.

A damn vicious circle I tried to break free from as best I could, and for a while, I succeeded. Three months had passed without giving in. Three months of ignoring his messages. But tonight, I allowed myself to go back because I wanted to tell Chris that it was officially over. I found a guy, and I was determined to forget Chris in the arms of this guy I had met a few weeks ago.

I knew it wasn't right, and I had promised not to go back, but it was stronger than me. I couldn't wait to give him a taste of his own medicine, to see his face when he learned the news. Yes, I was acting out of revenge, but you couldn't blame me; he had ruined my life for over a year. I had the right to get back at him.

Anyway, here I am, after a 15-minute walk, in front of his house. I knew where the keys were hidden; I was used to coming here. I stealthily entered his house, being careful not to wake up his parents or siblings. I headed to his room and stopped in front of his door.

Oh my god, what am I doing? Suddenly, stress invaded me, memories flooding back. I thought I was over this, but now, standing in front of his door again, all those good moments rushed back, only accelerating my heartbeat.

I shook my head to clear my thoughts. It was too late; I was already here. I opened the door and closed it behind me, making sure to put the towel at the bottom to prevent the smell of weed from escaping his room.

I took a deep breath, memories swirling in my head—the smell of weed and his deodorant, the green glow of his LEDs, his slightly messy room—nothing had changed. Chris was slouched in the chair at his desk, shirtless, and hair disheveled. He had just finished rolling a joint, looked up at me, and I saw the smirk that I hadn't seen in ages. "Long time no see around here, princess."

"Yeah, I've been pretty busy," I replied, rolling my eyes before removing my sweater; it was unbearably hot in his room.

Chris stood up and started walking towards me. My heart raced, and I stood there, watching him approach. "I missed you," he said, running his hands over my waist.

I cleared my throat before moving towards his bed to sit at the edge. Damn, I just lost my composure in front of him. I was confident just a few minutes ago; all of this was a bad idea. "Shall we smoke this joint?" I said, hoping that the joint would help me feel more at ease to accomplish what I came here for.

He turned to me with a confused look before sitting back in his desk chair and grabbing his joint. "Very eager tonight?" he said, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm eager to shut you up and pass me that joint," I said, giving him a fake smile. He chuckled before lighting the joint and handing it to me.

"You're sexy when you're angry, you know?" he said, leaning towards me from his chair. I rolled my eyes before taking a drag.

"Three months without seeing me, and you're acting like a real bitch with me," he said, smiling and watching me smoke his joint without passing it back. "You're not even going to let me have a little, mama? Are you that angry with me?" he said, tilting his head to the side and placing his hand on my thigh.

I jumped at the contact of his hand on me, immediately passing him the joint, hoping he would take it with the hand resting on my thigh. However, he did the opposite, pulling his chair even closer to mine, blowing his smoke into my face. "You're chattier than that usually," he said, smiling before taking another massive drag and placing the joint on his desk. He then leaned in, burying his head in my neck, extracting a sigh from my lips.

He started kissing my neck, placing his hand on the back of my head to keep me in place. I couldn't help but tilt my head back, offering him better access, and as he nibbled on my skin, a warm sigh escaped my lips. I could already feel my panties getting wet at that moment.

My head began to spin, unsure if it was the effect of all those drags at once or the way he devoured my neck as if it were his last meal.

Suddenly, I regained my senses, remembering why I had come here in the first place. I pushed him back by the chest, forcing him to sit up on his chair. "Chris!" I said, catching my breath, and he looked at me confused when I did that.

"I didn't come here for this, damn it," I said, getting up from his bed and starting to walk away from him.

"Why are you here, then?" he asked, turning his chair towards me without leaving his chair.

"I came to end this, Chris. I'm tired of your shit," I told him, crossing my arms, and he chuckled. "Is that funny to you, you jerk?" I asked, furrowing my brows.

"Come on, baby, stop your drama. I acted like an idiot, let me make it up to you by having a good time," he said, getting up from his chair.

"No, it's over, Chris, I'm done," I replied sharply.

"You say that every time, y/n, and we always end up here," he sighed. "Can we avoid going through this again, please? You know very well that you and I won't end." He said this while caressing my arms once he reached my level. "These were the most complicated three months I've had since I've known you. You've punished me enough like this," he added, rolling his eyes.

"Do you hear what you're saying, Chris?" I said, shaking my head. "You don't even realize how toxic you are to me," I said, getting angry. "Damn, it took me three fucking months to have the courage to end this relationship. Three fucking months of crying and lamenting because of you, Chris."

"We'll figure it out, y/n. You can't just leave me because you're feeling bad; it's selfish!" he replied. "Do you think I was doing well these last three months? Fuck, y/n, we'll find a solution; we always find a solution."

"We always find a solution?" I said with a fake laugh. "Because treating me like crap in public is a solution for you, Chris?" I said, pushing him, carried away by my anger. "You only think about yourself; damn it, I can't fucking take it anymore. It's not a healthy relationship, none of this is healthy!"

"I told you I didn't want others to know about us, y/n. I don't like airing my life; you can't change who I am!" he said, advancing towards me.

"But damn it, you don't listen to anything I say!" I told him, shaking my head. "This discussion is fucking pointless; it's over. I found someone else, Chris, and he'll genuinely make me happy, not like you," I spat out full of rage before heading towards his door.

He grabbed my arm abruptly and violently slammed me against his door, causing me to release a groan of pain. "What the fuck did you just say?" he said through clenched teeth, bringing his face closer to mine and tightening his hand around my neck to force me to look him in the eyes, where I could see all his burning rage.

"You're hurting me," I said, closing my eyes as his grip tightened around my throat, forcing me onto the balls of my feet. It wasn't the right moment, I knew, but somewhere deep down, his reaction satisfied me. He was furious, and that's exactly what I wanted. I wanted him to feel the hatred he made me feel, and I knew he felt it at that moment.

His hold around my neck loosened, and a smirk appeared on my face. "You heard right, Chris. I found a guy better than you," I told him, looking him in the eyes before leaning toward his ear on tiptoes, resting my hands on his shoulders. "A guy way better than you for me, a guy who will treat me much better than you, and especially a guy who will fuck me much better than you," I whispered to provoke him.

I slowly faced him again, never breaking eye contact. He ran his hand over his face before pressing against the door behind me with his other hand. I could feel the anger boiling inside him, and I liked it. He raised his head to look at me before running his tongue over his teeth and fake laughing. "What's happening to you—" I started to say before being cut off by his lips on mine.

At first, I tried to push him away, but his hand caught both my wrists, pinning them above my head without his lips leaving mine.

No matter how much I resisted, it was useless. When I entered this room, I already knew how it would end, so I ended up giving in and kissing him back, letting his tongue into my mouth.

He pressed his body against mine, and the kiss was hungry and furious. I couldn't help but moan into his mouth. I must admit that this burning fire in the pit of my stomach had been missing, a sensation that only Chris had the power to provoke.

"You're mine, y/n," he growled before reconnecting our lips immediately.

"No, I'm not, Chris," I tried to deny despite having just succumbed for the thousandth time.

"Then why do you always end up here, huh?" he said between hungry kisses on my jaw and neck.

"Because—" I said, moaning as he started to nibble on my earlobe.

"Because you're mine," he insisted, placing his hand on the side of my neck. "I'm going to fuck you so hard you'll forget the name of that guy you're dating," he said, directing his lips towards my breasts.

"Chris—" I said before being interrupted by his hand on my mouth.

"Shut the fuck up, y/n," he said before pulling on my tank top to expose my chest and began kissing me. "This guy doesn't know you," he said, inserting one of his fingers into my mouth for me to suck, which I did. "I know you inside out. I know where to touch you and what to say," he said, straightening up so his face was in front of mine, lifting his knee between my legs to apply pressure to my pussy.

"I can't believe you even thought for a second that another man could ever fuck you better than me, baby," he said, smirking and rubbing against me, making me moan at the friction of my clothes against my clit.

"Chris, fuck," I said with his fingers still in my mouth. Suddenly, he pulled them out, removing my top in one swift motion. "Please, Chris," I said, desperate. At this point, I could deny it all I wanted, but this guy could reduce me to my knees with just one sentence. It had been three months since I had a proper orgasm.

"Please what? I thought you had someone else, someone better?" he said with a sly smile, grabbing a handful of hair at the back of my head and pulling to make me lift my head toward him. "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" he said, stopping the friction between my legs, driving me completely crazy.

"No, Chris, don't stop!" I said in a frustrated moan.

"Say it, y/n," he said authoritatively, looking me in the eyes and pulling harder on my hair. "Fine, since you don't want to say it," he said, dragging me by the hair to his bed where he threw me before swiftly removing my bottoms and panties in one go.

I knew it was wrong, but I couldn't stop. I was dying to feel him inside me. I sat up from my previous position lying on the bed to kiss him. Before I could reach his lips, he pushed me onto the mattress with a sly smile, making me let out another frustrated moan. "Why?" I said, furrowing my brows.

He didn't answer and walked towards his dresser, taking out two pairs of handcuffs we had used in the past. I watched him come towards me with an apprehensive look. "Tell me if your new guy can make you cum like I can," he said, grabbing my face before suddenly releasing me and handcuffing both my arms to his bedframe.

"What are you doing, Chris?" I asked, feeling my breath quicken. He came to kiss me briefly, pushing me to pursue his lips in the hope of reconnecting them hungrily when he broke our kiss.

"Shhhhh," he simply replied before proceeding to kiss every inch of my body except where I really needed him to, making me squirm under his lips. "If only you were less complicated with me, y/n," he murmured, kissing the hollow of my waist. "You're driving me completely insane, y/n," he said, biting the inside of my thigh this time, prompting me to let out a moan.

"Chris," I said, unable to bear the way he teased me. "I need you, please," and with my words, he abruptly spread my legs and dove his head in.

He began licking my wetness from my hole before moving up to my clit, making me moan at the sensation. His left hand came to play with my breasts, while the fingers of his right hand teased my entrance as he stimulated my clit with his tongue, causing me to roll my eyes. "Oh my God, Chris," I said in a broken voice, trying to free my hands from the handcuffs to run them through his hair, but in vain.

Chris continued to groan against me, sending vibrations to my clit, making my head spin. Without warning, he inserted two fingers inside me, causing me to throw my head back and release another moan at the sensation.

He began to move his fingers in and out progressively faster, bending them inside me and hitting that spot that made me see stars. Chris knew perfectly well that he could make me climax very quickly; he knew me inside out. So when that familiar knot formed in the pit of my stomach, I didn't need to alert him for him to know that my orgasm was dangerously approaching. "Can you feel it coming?" he said, continuing to finger me. I simply nodded, too intoxicated by the impending orgasm to speak. "You want it?" he asked, accelerating the movement and making me lose my mind.

I was on the brink of climax when he withdrew his fingers without warning, making me moan in frustration and lift my head towards him. "Chris, no!" I gasped, "Don't stop, please." I pleaded desperately, closing my eyes and rubbing my thighs in the hope of feeling something.

"What's the matter? Did I frustrate you by making you think I was going to let you cum on my fingers?" he said mockingly. "Go ask your new guy to finish the job," he spat, grabbing my throat.

"I lied! Chris, I lied, please!" I said desperately. "No guy can make me cum like you!" I exclaimed, agitated and looking pathetic. "Fuck me, Chris, I beg you, just fuck me!"

He licked his lips while looking at me, then smiled and removed his underwear. I let out a whimper when I saw his member for the first time in three months. I bit my lip, remembering all the things he could do with it. "Did you miss this, little slut?" he said, slapping me before positioning himself between my legs. I nodded vigorously, making him smile. "I missed you, princess."

He began to slap his cock against my clit, making me lift my head and moan at the teasing sound. Then, he started rubbing against me without penetrating. "Chris, stop teasing me; I can't wait any longer," I said, frustrated and hungry.

"Say it, baby, say it, and I promise to give it to you. I promise to stop messing around, and I promise it'll be the last time you have to run away from me," he said between several kisses on my lips, jaw, ear, and neck.

I knew that if I said it, there would be no turning back. I knew that if I said it, the three months I've spent without him would have been for nothing. And I knew that if I said it this time, I was screwed. But it was Chris, the only guy who shone in my eyes. So, for the umpteenth time, I swallowed my pride and principles. "I'm yours, Chris, only yours."

He gradually entered me, almost making me scream when he hit the depth. "Fuck, I missed this pussy, baby," he said, moaning before starting to penetrate me. "I never want you to let anyone else touch you, do you hear me?" he said, thrusting abruptly into me, and I nodded furiously. "You're mine, y/n, only mine. Fuck!" he said, trying to contain his moans before burying his head in my neck to bite me.

"Oh my fucking God! Chris! Shit!" I exclaimed when he began to thrust in me at an inhuman speed. "Yes, yes, yes, don't stop, oh my-" I felt like I was losing my mind. He pressed his lips to mine to kiss me fiercely, our kiss filled with growls and moans.

"Damn, y/n, I missed you so much. Never leave again," he said, moaning against my lips and thrusting impossibly deeper.

"Never again, baby, I promise!" I said, looking at him with furrowed brows and a face tense with the pleasure I was receiving.

"You're the only good girl for me; I want no one else," he said, placing his forehead against mine while grabbing my legs and wrapping them around his waist. "I'm going to do things right; I'm going to fix things for you," he said, moaning when I started to clench around him.

"Chris, I—fuck, please," I uttered a sentence that made no sense. I no longer had the ability to formulate a coherent sentence, but he understood what I wanted. He untied my hands from the handcuffs without withdrawing from me. He turned us around so that I was sitting on him, and his back was against the headboard.

I moaned at the new angle, which allowed him to reach even deeper. I could feel him in my core. I began to bounce on him at a steady pace, and he threw his head back. "Oh my God, you're so good for me, baby," he said, closing his eyes.

My hands came to grip his cheeks, making his beautiful blue eyes meet mine. His hands grabbed my hips to guide and pull me even closer to him. Our torsos were pressed together, and our lips brushed against each other as I bounced on him. No words came out of our mouths, but we communicated through our eyes. His grip on my hips tightened, and he began thrusting from below. I felt my orgasm approaching. "Baby, I—I can't—I can't—I'm going to—" I tried to articulate, but once again, everything tangled in my head, and I couldn't say it.

"I know, princess. Let yourself go. Come for me, baby. I want you to come for me, ma , please don't stop," he said, biting his lips and clenching his jaw. I could feel him twitch inside me, and within seconds, I started to climax. He grabbed my neck roughly, kissing me while forcing me to continue bouncing on him until he also climaxed inside me.

I let my head fall on his shoulder, and he began to stroke my hair. We were both out of breath. "I never want you to see that guy again," he said.

"Fuck you, Chris," I replied without moving from my position.

"I'm serious. If I see you with him, I'll kick his ass," he said, grabbing my chin to make me face him.

"I won't see him again," I replied simply, and he smiled before kissing me slowly and gently.

Masterlist.

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blondeboyfriend · 3 months ago

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𝐂𝐔𝐏𝐈𝐎 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐕𝐈 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈

[ PAIRING ] Zeke Yeager x f!reader [ AUTHOR'S NOTE ] Cupio dissolvi means "I wish to be dissolved" and it's typically used in a religious context, but I'm using it in the secular sense to express "such concepts as the rejection of existence and the masochistic desire for self-destruction." You can thank Wikipedia for that last bit. Enjoy the pwp. Don't fuck your psychiatrist. [ SYNOPSIS ] You reluctantly decide to tackle your personal issues and end up in the clutches of a psychiatrist with questionable methods. [ WORD COUNT ] 3.8k [ CONTENT ] Modern AU, dubcon, power imbalance, sadomasochism, dacryphilia, impact play/spanking, some very brief phone sex, size kink (Zeke is bigger than you, calls you little), praise, a little predator/prey but it's mostly in the mc's head, dumbification, facial.

“Welcome. I’m Dr. Zeke Yeager. It’s nice to meet you.”

You didn’t shake his extended hand as you crossed the threshold into his office. You practically sprinted to sit down in a plush chair. You gazed straight ahead, looking past the psychiatrist. He was rendered a formless smudge, a figure unworthy of focus, as he took a seat. The wall behind him was painted a faded pink, a pathetic attempt to subdue. It reminded you of an abandoned Barbie dreamhouse.

“Thanks for taking the time to see me,” you said, words glazed with malaise.

This was the last place you wanted to be, but the only person you could blame was yourself. A brief moment of supposed clarity overwhelmed your self-destructive nature, and you made an appointment to see a psychiatrist.

“What are you hoping to get out of these sessions?” he asked.

You allowed your eyes to focus and droned, “Uhhhhhhh. Well, Dr. Yea—”

“Call me Zeke. There’s no need to be formal.”

Zeke was younger than you expected. He looked more like a high school history teacher, the kind that lets kids hang out in his classroom after school. His wavy blond hair was in perfect disarray; it was clear he put a lot of effort into looking effortless. He wore a button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. It fit perfectly, subtly showing off his muscled arms. He looked heavenly, like a bearded angel or Jesus himself.

Your heart was in your throat. You were always a sucker for blondes.

“I just want to feel… better?” you said cautiously, hoping you answered the question correctly.

“What does better mean to you?”

You exhaled sharply. “Less neurotic?”

“I see.”

You could tell he wasn’t satisfied with your answer. You decided to put forth a little effort.

“Less edgy? Maybe less…” You sighed. “I feel like I’m too aware of everything. It feels like everything is happening to me all at the same time. It’s overwhelming.”

“That sounds exhausting. Tell me about a time where you felt like that.”

His tone was warm though it lacked a certain sincerity. It was clear it was a practiced action. You hoped for an individualized approach, or maybe a psychiatrist that was better at acting. It was hard not to imagine yourself on an assembly line.

“Sometimes when I’m on the bus I’ll see people running to catch it, like just going as fast as they can. And then they miss it. Seeing that will ruin my day.”

“You must be a very empathetic person.”

You shook your head. “I just hate seeing someone try so hard and fail. It makes me uncomfortable. It’s so embarrassing for them.” You paused. “I guess what really bothers me is that I let something so stupid and insignificant affect me when it has nothing to do with me. I hate that I notice that stuff. I feel like I am noticing everything against my will.”

“You poor thing.”

“And sometimes I just want to explode. Like everything becomes too much and I want to burn it all down.”

He started writing stuff down in his notebook. You wanted to kick yourself for being so honest. It was almost like you were taking it seriously.

“But I’m still a good person, you know? I just think the world is constantly trying to terrorize me so I’m always alert? It’s hard to explain.”

He put down his notebook. “I never said you weren’t a good person. Do you have a boyfriend? A partner?”

He changed the subject with a smoothness you could only describe as magnificent. If any other man had pulled that on you, you would have walked out with zero hesitation. But Zeke transfixed you.

“No. I… I’m not really into all of that.”

“Not really into all of that? Interesting. Can I ask why?”

“It’s too much pressure. No one’s expectations ever line up.”

He chuckled. “People can be very opaque about what they’re seeking. Tinder’s the worst for it.”

It was hard to imagine him on any sort of dating app. He had the face of a guy that hunts his prey in the wild. You imagined him skulking around bars, watching his potential conquests drink themselves placid. It isn’t a traditional pursuit. He just watches and waits until they’re tired and slurring every sentence and struggling to use a rideshare app. That’s when he pounces.

“I’ve heard Tinder isn’t great,” you said, shaking off your weird fantasy.

“It’s only good for hookups.”

His frankness seemed unprofessional, but this was your first appointment with a psychiatrist so what the hell did you know. Maybe things were more casual, a little looser. Maybe discussing hookups was the norm. You fought off the urge to imagine what a night with him entailed, but it haunted you. Tangled sheets. His rough hands holding you down. Your knees pressing against your shoulders as he splits you in two.

You laughed nervously. “Yeah.”

“Sorry, let’s get back to business.” He adjusted his glasses, the frames gold and intricate. “It sounds like you may be experiencing hypervigilance.”

“Huh?”

“You’re always on the lookout for potential threats. You are essentially a prey animal.”

You were almost convinced he could read your mind. You never considered yourself prey, but it was clear that he did. Your toes curled. The discomfort was of an unusual flavor. Nauseating yet gratifying.

“How’s your sleep?

“Awful, I guess.”

“You guess,” he murmured. “Why is that?”

His questions felt endless, like the appointment was going to eat up the entirety of your life.

“I can’t shut my brain off.”

He sank down into his chair and spread his legs.

“How do you cope with that?”

“I really don’t… Unless weeping counts.”

“Do you feel… relieved when you cry?” he asked, staring intently at your lips.

“Kind of.”

“How often do you cry?”

He seemed too eager as he awaited your answer.

“I don’t keep track. Should I?”

“I doubt it would help,” he confessed. “What else do you do to relieve yourself?”

You glanced down at his crotch and noticed a bulge fighting against the thin fabric of his chinos. The air was sucked out of the room. His cock lured you in, demanding you to witness its growing glory.

“I don’t know,” you confessed. “Sorry.”

“I see. You seem a little combative,” he teased.

You weren’t being combative. You just couldn’t answer his questions thoughtfully on the spot. You weren’t prepared. You hadn’t planned on taking the appointment seriously. Time was needed to manifest something meaningful.

“You seem,”—you coughed nervously—“accusatory.”

He smirked. “Normally I’d refer someone like you to a therapist, but I can’t think of one equipped to deal with you.”

“I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be. After some consideration I’ve decided my counseling would be beneficial. I’m going to send you off with some homework.”

You assumed your days of homework were far behind you.

“Do you masturbate?”

“I do not feel comfortable answering that.”

“It’s a simple question. You either do or you don’t.”

“What does this have to do with anything?”

“Just trust me.”

“Give me a reason.”

“Fine. We talked about what you do to relieve yourself, right?” You went to answer but he cut you off. “I think masturbating will provide immense relief.”

“Well… I do already,” you huffed. “So I don’t think it’s helping much.”

He looked at you like you were the dumbest creature he had ever seen.

“You need to masturbate with intention.”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s hard to explain without me knowing what you’re doing wrong, which is why I need you to record yourself.”

A wet spot bloomed in your underwear.

“A voice recording is fine,” he acquiesced.

“Yeah, sure, okay. I’ll get right on that,” you said getting up.

You turned your back to him and quickly made your way to the door. The sound of his feet hitting the ground startled you as you went to turn the knob. Your brief moment of hesitation gave him enough time to grab you by the shoulder. The weight of his hand was disarming.

“I want to see you again next week, same time,” he said as he turned you around, your back against the door.

Your face was hot. “I’m not—”

“I promise I’m not taking advantage of you. My methods are proven to work,” he said, slipping his business card into your back pocket.

“So you pull this with all the girls?” you spat.

“The boys too.”

His conviction stirred up the whispers of ardor you tried to keep buried. His breath was clouded by a nauseating combination of espresso and tobacco, though the grime began to entice. You could feel the heat of his body against yours. You wanted to pull him closer so you could melt away into his warm embrace, but you couldn’t initiate something so brazen. You never had the guts for forwardness. And you liked to pretend you knew better.

“How progressive,” you finally choked out.

“I realize that this seems unorthodox and I don’t blame you for resisting.” He played with a piece of your hair. “If you value your mental health, you’ll trust me. Do I look like someone that would lead you astray?”

Kind of, you thought to yourself.

Your hesitation was palpable. He looked like he could practically taste it. He softened his gaze. It could have been a guilt trip, or just a half-assed attempt to assure you he had your best interests in mind.

“What if I don’t want to do it this way?”

“Then I might not be the right person to help you.”

You sighed. His methods did not seem trustworthy; they seemed like something ripped from a gross subreddit. HOT DOCTOR TRICKS DUMB BITCH PATIENT INTO PHONE SEX. You struggled to fully divorce the degradation from the situation. Being that dumb bitch patient was growing on you. It wove itself into your skin, becoming a part of you.

“Fine,” you replied. “But I’m not recording myself.”

“What if you call me?”

“In the middle of it?”

“Yes.”

“I…”

“C’mon. It’s not like I’m a predator. I’m your doctor.”

You wanted to trust him, but you thought about how easy it would be to use as leverage against you. A three hour deep dive video about revenge porn echoed through your mind. Opening yourself up to potential humiliation made you ill.

“I’ll call you. Maybe. I don’t know,” you mumbled.

He backed away. “Even if you don’t, try not to miss next week’s appointment. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried about you."

You laughed, but failed to say anything. You slipped out the door and tried to convince yourself to give up working on yourself. Maybe you could get by living in a state of constant hypervigilance.

That night you crawled into bed, vibrator in hand. A life filled with hypervigilance sounded atrocious.

You stared up at the ceiling, your toy vibrating against your thigh on the lowest setting. It felt late, but you couldn’t check the time. You made a conscious effort to put your phone far away from your bed. You decided to humor Zeke, but you weren’t allowing yourself to call him in the midst of touching yourself.

You sighed and gripped your vibrator. You spread your legs and began to graze the inside of your labia with the tip. Normally you’d pull up Twitter and scroll mindlessly until a video of a hairy guy violently fucking a girl half his size popped up, but that wasn’t an option. You tried to imagine someone crawling between your legs, eyes dripping with lust as they work their fingers between your folds. You kept having to start over because your fantasy was plagued with your bearded fixation. The constant interruptions did little to entice you.

You pressed your vibrator against your clit. You fiddled with the settings until it was a series of long, hard pulses. You rutted up against it trying to unwind and give into pleasure. But you kept fighting off visions of Zeke rolling his tongue against your cunt. You wondered what his beard would feel like between your thighs. You wanted to know if he kept his glasses on because it seemed like leaving them on would be hotter.

You let out a dejected “fuck.”

You rolled over onto your side and stared at your phone. You wanted it to invoke disgust, disdain, but all it did was lure you out of bed. You rifled through your hamper to find your jeans. You fished his card out of your pocket. It had a goofy head shot of him and the number for his office which frustrated you to no end. You flipped it over and saw another number hastily scrawled on the back. You sighed in relief and called him.

“Yeah?” he croaked.

“Uh, sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Oh. Hello.” His voice was still tinged with sleep, but much warmer. “You don’t need to apologize. I’m happy you called. How are things going?”

“They’re… not. I can’t get in the mood.”

“Hm. You didn’t mention struggling with that during your appointment.”

“I usually don’t,” you grumbled.

He laughed. “How are you struggling? Lead me through your process.”

You swallowed hard. “I, you know, try to… imagine something, but I keep thinking about things… I don’t, um, want to think about.”

“Like what? Violence? Your family? Animals?”

“What? No! A man! A human man.”

“Your father is a human man presumably.”

“I’m not thinking about my dad!”

“It’s more common than you think.”

You were starting to regret calling him. “It’s you. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“Really?” The word dripped with amusement. “I can’t imagine why that’s a problem.”

“Well, it is.”

“Jeez, what did I ever do to you?” he snickered.

“I didn’t call you to get teased.”

He coughed nervously. “I’m sorry. I can’t help myself when I’m dealing with someone as precious as you, but that’s my problem. Not yours.”

“You think I’m cute?”

You weren’t surprised by this revelation, but wanted to draw out more praise.

“I do. You’re so adorable I can’t stand it.”

“You can’t stand it?”

“Uh huh,” he replied. “I hear that sweet voice of yours and all I can think about is fucking you so hard you cry. Would you like that?”

His words knocked the wind out of you. He said it so casually, like he was talking about the weather or what he ate for dinner.

“Or I could fuck you so hard you stop thinking. I’ll just have you be my adorable idiot I take care of.” He paused. “Come to think of it, that might help with the hypervigilance.”

He said it so thoughtfully it was almost kind of sweet. You were at a loss for words.

“Say something. Anything.”

“I would like that. Both. Uh. Both would be great.”

You smacked yourself in the forehead for being so unsexy.

“You sound nervous.”

“I am, but I think I like it.”

“Oh good,”—he sighed in relief—“because my cock is so hard right now and I’d feel like a pervert if you weren’t into this.”

“You’re still a pervert,” you said, putting your phone on speaker.

“Why don’t you tell this pervert what you’d want him to do to you?”

You flopped back down on your bed, resting your phone on your pillow, and patted around for your vibrator. You wracked your brain, desperate to think of something sufficiently sexy to say.

“I want,”—you hesitated—“I want you to ruin me. For other people. I want you to do something so disgusting to me that no one else will want to touch me.”

“Is that so?” he purred. “Tell me more, cutie pie.”

“I like it when it hurts.” You winced. You were never great at dirty talk, but Zeke seemed to enjoy it. You heard him let out a pleased groan. “A lot,” you added.

“Do you want me to hurt you, my little masochist?” he asked, voice catching in his throat.

“Yes,” you said as your fingers grazed your cunt.

You heard him try to stifle a moan before going silent.

“I have a feeling I’m going to regret asking this,” he finally said.

You held the vibrator against your clit. Each pulse permeated your body. “What?”

“Where do you live? We can worry about masturbating later. I need to fuck you.”

You sat up. “I don’t think that’s a great idea.”

“Sex brings people together. It’ll make it easier to open up to me.”

He was just finding ways to rationalize his desires. You never expected him to want you so desperately, especially if this was something he pulled often. That should have turned you off, but all it did was make you want him more. It was borderline idiotic to invite a strange man into your home. But there was no better feeling than the ecstasy of self destruction. You relished his red flags.

“Come on. I need to taste your pussy. I’m starving.”

“Alright. I’ll give you my address, but you have to send me a picture of your dick first.”

Zeke hung up immediately. A minute later he texted you a dick pick. You stared at the screen, bewitched by his cock. It was thick and long, almost beastly. The foreskin was pulled back revealing a pink tip, shiny with precum. You sent him your address without a second thought.

I live 10 mins away from you. How perfect, he replied.

Those ten minutes took their sweet time. You stood there, staring at the door. It was as if you were in a trance. You couldn’t wait for him to walk through your door and your heart sang when he finally knocked.

“Hi,” you said, eyes full of stars.

He smirked. “Hey, cutie pie.”

He wore a fitted t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that failed to hide his semi-hard cock. A cigarette dangled from his lips.

“I’m assuming I can’t smoke inside.”

“I, uh, I guess it’s fine.”

He dropped his cigarette on the ground and carefully extinguished the cherry with his foot. He patted your head as he glided through the door. He didn’t seem nervous at all. His motions were relaxed, fluid, effortless. Twinges of jealousy pricked your skin. You still wanted him, still elated that he was standing in your home. But your brain started moving a thousand miles a second.

Was your place sufficiently clean? Did he bring condoms? Did you want him to wear one? Was he using you? Did he need you as bad as he was acting? Were you just a convenience? Did your room smell nice? Should you light a candle? What if you lit a candle and something caught fire while you’re fucking? Would you stop? What if you kept fucking and burned to death? Isn’t there something sexy about letting it all turn to ash? Could this be why orgasms are called little deaths? Did you remember to take your birth control? What if he has lung cancer and then breathes cancer into your mouth?

“Cancer’s not contagious,” you whispered to yourself.

“What was that?”

“Nothing!” you chirped, quickly stripping yourself naked before following after him.

You found him undressing in your room. You could barely contain yourself when he pulled his shirt over his head. His body was toned, but soft. He caught you staring and smiled awkwardly. It quelled the thoughts racing around your brain.

He got on your bed, resting on his knees. His eyes went to your vibrator.

“Aw, you really were trying,” he teased and patted the bed. “Come here. Ass up.”

You wasted no time getting into position and arched your back. He slipped his fingers into your cunt all the way up to his knuckles. He slowly pulled them out and let out a delighted hum.

He leaned over you, his beard tickling your ear. “Fucking incredible,” he murmured. “You’re going to be the one that gets me in trouble. I know it.”

He slid his cock into your cunt. You dug your fingers into the mattress as he pushed it further in. He took his time, making sure you felt every single inch of him filling you. Normally penetration didn’t do much for you. All it did was stress you out. You’d tense up and render yourself unfuckable. But Zeke was different.

He cared about you.

He had concerns regarding your mental health.

His dick was huge.

He didn’t show you any mercy. Each thrust drove his cock against your cervix. Waves of pain washed over you, the anguish further obscuring your issues. The relief was a welcomed affliction. You dug your fingers deeper into the mattress and gritted your teeth.

“You said you like it when it hurts, right?”

“Ye—yeah,” you stuttered as he continued to plunge his cock in your cunt.

He slapped your ass. The pain shot through you and you moaned. Just as soon as the sting subsided, he slapped you again. It made your heart swell. You felt like it was creeping up your throat. Tears welled up in your eyes as your ecstatic moans swelled.

He grabbed a fistful of your hair, forcing you to crane your neck back.

“I knew you’d be a pretty crier.”

His praise made you ecstatic. “Make me cry more.”

He pushed your head down into the mattress and fucked you harder. You went limp. All you could do was whimper and let your orgasm overtake you. Your entire body was throbbing, singing with agony and exaltation. When he pulled out, his cock was slick with your fluids.

“Roll over.”

“Huh?”

He laughed and flipped you over with ease. You stared up at him in a daze. The world was still spinning around you. He started to stroke himself, his breathing labored and depraved.

“Close your eyes and open your mouth,” he choked out.

You shut your eyes and stuck out your tongue, eager to drink in every drop of his cum. His desperate groans made your clit throb. You were burning up, the anticipation coursing through your veins.

“Fuck!” he rasped as cum splattered on your face.

You opened your eyes as he rubbed the tip of his cock on your tongue. You felt so small in his shadow, his body looming over yours. He stared down at you, his expression a little cold, a little clinical.

“So how do you feel?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“I… Fine, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“I don’t know. Good. I just—I can’t really talk right now.”

You were inarticulate in the shadow of your orgasm. Your brain existed elsewhere.

He frowned. “Alright. I have a lot of questions for you in the morning. I know you haven’t been in treatment long but I think we’re close to a breakthrough.”

#zeke yeager x reader #zeke jaeger x reader #aot x reader #zeke yeager smut #zeke jaeger smut #attack on titan smut #.fics #.aot #.zeke #x reader #reader insert #dividers by cafekitsune

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iloveroblox48 · 4 months ago

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why not me ❣︎

❣︎ ➝ Masterlist here!

❣︎ ➝ Tags:childhood best friends with katsuki bakugou and izuku midoriya(focuses on katsuki),mentions of bullying, cussing,fluff and lightt angst,fem reader,mentions of a quirk(angel)

❣︎ ➝ A/n:hey guys! this is a kinda a big yap fest of a fic tbh and its rushed (╯︵╰,) also i swear im going to write for more characters and tropes the ones i post about just rot my brain and i need to get it out!! and i know i said i would write a full fluffy fic soon but the angst is getting to me man (-_-｡) also this is probs ooc anyways ignore grammar/spelling mistakes requests open as always enjoy ⁽˙³˙⁾

you had gotten your quirk around age four like everyone else but you had gotten the quirk angel wich meant you had gotten a small pair of white wings,heightened senses,and a thing called holy white light as you liked to call it,it was a lethal power.the power was a high concentration of pure energy from your plams,the level of power, shape, and destruction could be controlled! when you had gotten this power as a kid you had started to stand out more the wings making you more alone. meaning amongst other kids you were more quite and shy.many kids had talked about you,they whispered rude names,giggling when you walked by, you really had no mind for them though,the only person who didnt do this was izuku midoriya he was a little green haired boy who was kind and actually saw you as a person not as a quirk.so you guys became friends and hanged out at the park from time to time.that was until you had to move away for a few years for training.

By the time you came back you were in the last year of middle school.it felt weird being back in your childhood neighborhood let alone with all new people.you were sitting in front of your vanity finishing up your make up look for the day,you had already gotten dressed in your school uniform,you were contemplating if you you actually wanted to be back it was odd.everything changed you had changed your still somewhat quite, but your wings had growned,they were now bigger, stronger, you could use them in new ways,and they were well beautiful,you maintained them well.

“y/n come on its time for school” your mother shouted from downstairs.you grabbed your bag,not after checking fifteen times if you had everything.you walked out of your room and down the stairs to see your parents in the living room,watching whatever was on the news.they quickly glanced at you.you waved them goodbye and walked out the door.you started this short walk to school the wind slightly blowing,the sun awake shining down on everything.your grabbed your headphones and put them in playing your playlist.you continued to walk until you reached the front of the school everyone laughing,talking, socializing.

you felt out of place.it was like everyone knew each other already.it was hard trying to ignore the feeling of everyone looking at you,you werent that hard to miss! you had hoped to see one person that green haired boy from your childhood.some random group of kids came up to you while you were walking.they just had started asking you questions when you had heard someone yelling.you quickly looked behind you to see who was yelling only to be met with the loudest guy ever.he was in the hallway yelling something about extras being in his way when he had shoved past you,you scoffed at this who does this guy think that he is? you quickly sent one of your feathers flying after him just to poke him in the back and side a few times.he had stopped dead in his tracks.you quickly retrated the feather back to wing.

“who did that” silence nothing but silence filled the hallway.he turned to face you.he grabbed the collar of your shirt pinning you against the wall.

“i bet it was you huh?”

“so what if it was?”

he scoffed at this “dont think because you’re new here that you’re all that.you’re nothing but a damn extra.”

your back was on fire,the feeling of your wings being smothered against the wall was not a good feeling.he soon dropped you though not without looking you up and down,scoffing then spitting on your shoes of course.you had just gotten these shoes too! after that everyone slowly had faded away from the hallway, you had went to the bathroom to get that guys nasty spit off your shoe,because of this you had been a little late to class,unfortunately for you when you had walked in through the doors of class,everyone had turned to see why the door was opening,you saw him.that raging blonde from before,but on the upperhand you saw those big green eyes from your childhood,you would recognize them anywhere.it was izuku! the teacher called you to the front so you could introduce yourself.you shuffled to the front.

“i’m y/n l/n,and you guys can see what my quirk is” some scattered applause came from around the room. “you can take a seat behind bakugou, and next to midoriya”you made your way back to the seat your teacher had called out.his name was bakugou huh? you did not like him.after what felt like five hundred years of torture the class was finally over.you packed up your stuff and izuku started talking to you.

“hey y/n! its been a minute huh? i see you’ve improved your quirk! your wings look so good have only they improved or has other stuff improved too? where did you go when you disappeared for all those years? i missed you! it was so lonely with out you! you know-”

“izuku! you’re rambling again i see old habits die hard huh? ill tell you everything at lunch just show me where the canteen is.”

“yeah right!”

little did you know,bakugou was listening in on your conversation not on purpose of course i mean who would want to listen to you two extras talk? but he soon grew curious how did you know some random qurikless loser like deku? your quirk looked somewhat powerful and you werent sacred to stick up to him and stand your ground. so it all circled back to the question

how did you know stupid deku?

you and bakugou had more interactions,well more like arguments and bickering,but you never took them to heart and neither did he! its just how you guys worked.sometimes he would push you,shove you,take a book or two out of your bag and hide them somewhere stupid,you would repay the favor.one day though while you were zoning out during class until you heard your name “lastly bakugou and… l/n will be partners for the project” you nearly fell out of your seat! partners!? and worse a project!? for what! you weren’t even paying attention to what the teacher was saying. bakugou turned around and made eye contact with you.

“lets go we need to plan this shitty project”

“uhm right..”

“do you even know what were doing?”

“no…i was zoned out…”

“were doing a project each others quirks and stuff.”

“oh yeah right…why does this have to be a partnered up project though”

“the teacher wants us to get as much information on each others quirks and compare them”

“oh okay that makes sense..anyways! do you want to come to my house or yours”

“mine obviously,its a friday so you can come over today”

“okay but we have to stop at my house first so i can get some stuff”

“tch whatever” and with that he walked off

you continued on with your normal classes.much to your dismay the day soon came to end meaning you had to meet up with bakugou and do this stupid project.you walking out of the school when you heard his footsteps you didnt say anything,you didnt really have to.you guys had a silent walk to your house.when you arrived you unlocked the door and stepped inside you let him in too,it was odd seeing him in your house, but you payed it no mind.

“hey uhm you can help yourself to anything in the fridge,if you get bored you can go in my room or the living room”

“i thought we were going to my place you idiot”

“we are dont worry i just want to shower and change,wont take long i swear” you said saluting him

“tch better not”

he helped himself to a glass of water and stayed downstairs in the living room.after a bit you came down the stairs,you were changed out of the school uniform in more casual clothes now you had a bag probably filled with stuff for the project.

“okay we can go now!”

he got up from the couch and led the way to his house.surprisingly he didnt live that far from you.he opened the door to his house and you were welcomed with the smell of something amazing.his house was actually quite nice you didn’t even expect the house to even be in tact considering his personality,but hey lets look on the bright side!

“hag were home” he shouted towards the kitchen “my moms going to want to talk to you so do that first and ill be waiting in my room” he walked off

“hi dear! are you one of katsuki’s friends?”

“sure you can say that! we just got partnered for a project is all”

“well thats just lovely! please be patient with him i know he can be a pain in the ass”

“of course mrs.bakugou”

you walked around the house,the walls adorned with family pictures,and vacations.you saw his door and knocked lightly against the wooden material.you walked in and you met with his huge room,posters of bands hanged all around,a huge bed in the corner,you know typical stuff for katsuki.

“lets get the stupid project over with”

you guys had brainstormed,and worked together for hours comparing your quirks,but also talking about how they could work together.when you guys weren’t talking about the project you talk about your guys music taste,your dreams to be a hero,it turned out you had more in common than you thought and maybe katsuki wasnt that bad after all.the sun outside of his window had set, turning from a bright afternoon to a shaded evening.you didn’t even realize the time until his mom had called for dinner and invited you to the table,i mean who were to decline the food smelled heavenly and she was much better company than katsuki so why not! at dinner mrs.bakugou brought up how late it was and if you would be staying the night, okay this one you had to decline no way you were staying the night here!…except she insisted and said she had a spare room for guests that was never used and you could leave in the morning. wouldnt be to bad right?after dinner you helped mrs.bakugou wash up and put dishes away.then you headed to the guest room to sleep.

so the next morning after you woke up you said your thanks to everyone and headed home.as you were on your way home though you ran into izuku! you guys started chatting it up talking about school and some recent drama he had heard.until he invited you to hang out in the park you guys always went to as kids,of course you said yes you finally had time to catch up with your friend! after a while izuku had walked you home and told you he would talk to you at school.

the weekend eneded faster then you would have liked but whatever,the boring classes came back except this time you and katsuki actually talked all week,you could say you guys were at least acquaintances now it was weird at first,but you had grown to like his presence and personality.It was finally friday,and today was the day everyone enrolled into high schools you had enrolled in UA of course! after you turned your paper into the teacher you grabbed your stuff and left,after realizing you had left your phone you went back to class to grab it when you heard two voices no maybe three? who knows you opend the door to see katsuki and his two goons hovering over izuku no had noticed you had walked in except for izuku his eyes latched onto yours silently begging for help.

“what the hell do you think your doing katsuki”your voice broke the laughter, all three of them had turned to look at you.

“teaching this nerd his place…did you know he enrolled in UA? how pathetic is that”

“you have no business telling anyone that”

“dont tell me you actually like this nerd! we all know you hang out with him out of pity”

“i hang out with him because he is my friend, something you would know nothing about”

“your just as stupid as him if you thought we were friends”

“i guess so just get the hell out of here katsuki! and dont talk to me again”you stared right in his eyes,he thought you were joking at first but seeing your face he knew you were serious

“whatever your nerd just like him”

him and his goons had walked out of the classroom.you turned to so izuku he was lightly scratched,and tears threatened to fall you said nothing just helping him up and walking him to the nurses office.good thing this would be one of the last weeks of school,you and izuku could be freed from this place and could enjoy the summer.

the summer finally rolled around you and izuku hanging out more,but you were also a little concerned he seemed to be training harder than ever,but so were you.exams for UA came in no time it seemed,you and izuku stayed strong as ever,katsuki being a fuzzy memory in your mind. till you saw him at the exams he seemed to he the same old person loud,rude,but under all of that he was still a decent person,but you had stood your ground by leaving him alone and him being just as hard headed didnt bother to talk to you.you seemed fine chatting it up and being best friends with izuku.if he hated izuku he definitely hated him now.katsuki didnt know why he had grown to not mind your presence maybe it was the way you werent scared of him,maybe the way you fought back,he didn’t know nor care he just knew he hated you hanging out with izuku.all three of you guys had made it into UA not surprise there though.the school year went on and it seemed like you were always with izuku,katsuki tried talking to you sure but you were true to your word and didnt talk to him,he hated a lot of stuff but this,you ignoring him and izuku taking the spotlight in your life really took the cake.so he started picking on izuku more now,you didnt know of course otherwise you would have put a stop to it immediately.

you found out though izuku had been more distant,appering with more bruises,and he wouldn’t tell you? he was being really suspicious. you were walking around UA campus when you heard some commotion near the fountain you walked over there to see no other than katsuki and izuku,it looked like he was being cornered once again,obviously you rushed over there.

“katsuki what on earth is happening”his head turned at the sound of your voice you finally noticed him of course you payed him some mind when it came to being at izuku’s rescue.

“so now you decide to talk to me?”

“izuku can you leave clearly me an katsuki need to talk”and with that he scurried off

“so what did you have to say to me?”

“…thought you didnt want to talk to me”his voice raspy

“i dont,but you obviously have something say so spit it out,dont think i haven’t noticed you looking at me and whispering”

“why are you always with him?”

“who?…izuku? its because he is my friend”

“and im not? it seems like your always with him and to his rescue,people have been assuming you’re dating”

“so? why are bringing this up”

“because you’re always spending time with him! you left me for him!”

“katsuki…”

“no! you dont ever want to pay me the slightest bit of mind its like you forgot me..but i couldn’t forget you no matter how hard i tried..but i just cant..” hes looking at you now,eyes desperate

“i could never forget you katsuki…why dont we have a fresh start at us being friends again? we have enough time right?”

“right.”

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