#hopefully you all are feeling better than me right now

[sunshineyuyu]

princess treatment (j. yh)

★ summary: you have a crush on jongho, but he’s chatting up someone else. so, you end up getting high and hooking up with yunho instead. ★ pairing: yunho x f!reader ★ genre: college, smut (mdni!) ★ word count: 4.3k ★ tags/warnings: weed & alcohol consumption, yunho calls reader princess, high sex, piv sex (with a condom!), vaginal fingering, spanking, choking, slight dom/sub undertones, ig under-negotiated kink?, big dick!yunho, yunho manhandles reader, yunho is taller than reader, yunho has tattoos lol, dirty talk, intentionally lowercase ★ notes: this is the prequel to the jongho fic chained and the final “part” of this series! yunho from chained was just a lil too hot for me to not write something for him too! let me know if i missed any warnings!! ofc beta’d by the bestie @starhwas-bunny ★ masterlist | read on ao3 | chained (jongho sequel)

you look so hot tonight. you’re wearing your new favorite top—with a deep deep cut that makes your chest the center of attention—and a pair of jeans that you know makes your ass look good.

all of this to hopefully attract the attention of one choi jongho, who you’ve been crushing on for the better half of the semester, since san introduced you to him. he’s built and tan and nice and smart and sexy.

and he’s currently leaning against a wall—cradling a red solo cup and swirling its contents like he’s james fucking bond or something—and chatting up some pretty blonde girl.

you practically feel smoke coming out of your ears as you stare at the two of them—the way jongho leans forward so that he can hear the girl amidst the blaring sounds of somebody come get her, she’s dancing like a stripper. ryujin puts a hand on your shoulder and the warmth of her palm makes you realize how tense you are. she shoves a beer into your hand.

“forget about him, honey,” she says. “he’s not worth it.”

“it’s not like he’s a fuckboy,” you whine, struggling to crack open the can with your recently cut nails. ryujin takes pity on you and opens it for you. you take a deep drink from it before wiping the edge of your mouth with your wrist. “he’s nice. he brought homemade coffee to class for me the other day.”

“mmm,” ryujin says. “i know, honey, but no boy is worth it. c’mon, let’s go play rage cage.”

you let ryujin pull you away to a different room, where the birthday girl yeji is parading around on wooyoung’s shoulders while spraying everyone with bubbly champagne. you don’t even really know yeji—she’s an acquaintance of an acquaintance, but you came because you wanted an excuse to get drunk and look hot and get jongho’s attention, only two of which you’ve managed to succeed in.

you finish the beer at an alarming rate and crush it in your fist.

“i’m gonna go get some air,” you say. “i’m not really feeling rage cage right now.”

“i’ll come with you,” ryujin says.

you venture to a different part of the house, trying to locate the stairs back down to ground level, but instead spotting a balcony. ryujin follows you here, where up close you realize it’s not empty.

the balcony is big—big enough to have several foldable lawn chairs strewn around, all occupied by various zooted-adjacent individuals. you and ryujin find a small opening against the railing, and you push up against it to feel the wind blow against your hair.

“men are shit,” you proclaim, apropos to nothing.

“men are shit,” ryujin agrees.

“you wanna smoke?” this voice is new, and it doesn’t belong to ryujin. it comes from your other side, and you turn slowly to appraise the person it originates from.

he’s holding a blunt out to you, a small thin thing between his thumb and pointer finger.

it’s jeong yunho. 

you don’t really know yunho, but you know him enough. he’s a friend of seonghwa’s, which means you’ve seen him at enough parties—been shoved next to him during rage cage, had him hold your hair back while you took a bong hit. he’s tall, with soft black hair, and has a tattoo of a dragon curled around his right forearm. there’s a perpetual lazy look to him—a smirk always playing at his lips.

he’s attractive, and he’s offering you a smoke from his blunt. you don’t think twice before you’re stepping closer, pressing your lips against the end of the blunt and inhaling. a low tsk comes from ryujin, but you focus on letting the sour smoke fill your lungs, all while you maintain eye contact with yunho.

“ryujin,” you say, coughing a little since it’s been a while since you’ve taken a direct hit. “can you get me some water?”

ryujin gives another tsk, but then you shoot her a look that she understands in an instance, and she slips away to “get you some water.”

you turn back to yunho.

“you looked like you needed it,” yunho says, taking a pull from the blunt and then blowing the smoke back out. 

you hum lightly, crossing your arms from both the night chill and because you know it makes your tits look better.

“you’re right.”

yunho holds the blunt back out to you, right in front of your mouth. you take another hit. this time you close your eyes and you breathe it back out, letting your head fall back and your hair hang loose.

“it’s nice,” you say. “thank you.”

“anytime,” yunho says.

you continue the back and forth of the blunt a few times, until you’re starting to really feel it, which is good because the blunt is practically finished, yunho barely pinching onto it after your puff.

“last one,” yunho says, a little breathy, and eyes more hooded than usual. 

on this last one, you meet yunho’s half-gaze and blow the smoke directly into his face. he’s closer than you really remember him being, but you don’t mind. he’s big and he blocks the wind. he flicks the stub of the blunt onto the ground, grinding it with the toe of his shoe. he raises his head back up to you.

“that was hot,” he says.

“i’ve always wanted to have high sex,” you say.

“i can make that happen,” he says.

he leads you to the stairs, down them, and out the front door with a surprising amount of clarity. meanwhile, you’re letting the sound of whatever chainsmokers song is playing drag you back to your high school days. an uber appears out of seemingly mid-air, and you’re suddenly in the backseat of a sedan. yunho’s shoving the armrest into the backseat and pulling you into him.

the ride is smooth, and you take it in turns to focus on different things. first, the dulcet sounds of a jazzy trumpet, fragmented and dusty because of the car’s worn speakers. second, the rushing of lights in the windows, leaving behind trails of white, yellow, a smear of blue.

finally, yunho’s hand on your waist, his thumb rubbing soft circles in that sliver of skin between your top and your jeans. it’s nice, makes you feel warm. you press deeper into his chest, your hand pressed into the cotton of his shirt.

he leads you up to his apartment and throws his keys into a ceramic bowl near the front door. 

“do you want water?” he asks, heading towards the kitchen like you hadn’t propositioned him fifteen minutes ago after sharing a blunt together.

“yeah,” you admit, when the full feeling of cotton mouth hits you.

after several gulps of the most delicious filtered water you’ve ever had, yunho’s crowding you into the countertop. he towers over you, but that works because you like feeling small, overpowered.

“you sure about this?” he asks, and if you weren’t high you would’ve said something about appreciating the ask for consent. instead, you lock your arms around his neck, pulling him down to your height and pressing your lips against his.

the kiss is immediately intense, his tongue roving against yours, while his hands—jesus, they’re massive—press into your sides, palms hot and fingers digging.

“yes,” you say.

he picks you up effortlessly, and you manage to wrap your legs around his torso as he carries you into his room. he sets—no, throws—you down onto the mattress. you bounce a little and fall backwards onto the pillows. you’re getting ready to bite out a retort at being tossed aside so roughly when you see his face: calm, emotionless, but a distinct darkness in his eyes.

“fuck.” you mean it as a breath, but it comes out like a moan. 

yunho pounces.

he kisses you briefly, before descending to your neck, your collarbone. he’s pushing your top off your shoulder, mouthing at the flesh at the top of your breast.

“take it— take it off,” you say.

yunho obliges, sitting back to push your top up past your chest and over your head. he lingers there for a little longer, eyes running over your tits and your nipples hardening under his heavy gaze.

“hot,” he says. “you’re so fucking hot.”

“touch me,” you say.

he obliges, palming your tits and pinching your nipples. rolling them between his fingers and revelling at the way you keen under his touch. 

“sensitive?” he says, all breathy while watching you.

“y- yes,” you say. “the- the weed—”

“mmm, yeah, i know what you mean.”

you reach down to the button of your jeans, but yunho catches your hands and lifts them above your head. he presses into it, hovering over you.

“i’ll take care of you, princess,” he says. “be patient.”

this pulls a squeak out of you. the assertive tone, the pet name, combined with the way that it only takes one of his hands to lock your wrists in place—it’s new to you, but you’re suddenly so fucking desperate to get out of your pants.

the unoccupied hand goes to your jeans, and you close your eyes, as yunho deftly unbuttons it, but drags down the zipper slowly to reveal your mildly scandalous underwear: red and lacy with a little bow.

yunho whistles. “y/n. that’s kinda sexy.”

he releases your wrists to use both hands to slide your legs out of your jeans. he goes slow, trailing behind his hands with his lips, which leave a scorching trail of lazy kisses. he’s looking at you as he goes, his eyes never wavering. you almost blush from the heat of his glare.

“you shy?” yunho teases, reaching up to palm one of your tits. 

“no,” you say. “just- just ready.”

“mmm,” yunho says. “i told you, princess. be patient.”

in an instant, you’re suddenly on your stomach, bouncing again. your waist feels a little tender from where he gripped you hard to turn you over, and your head feels a little woozy from the sudden movement, but then you feel yunho tapping on the outside of your thigh.

“up.” one word, one syllable, but coated in dominance, and you’re on your knees in an instant, ass up.

“fuck, that’s a nice view,” you hear yunho say, and you feel his hands splay out on your cheeks. he squeezes a little and chuckles.

slap! 

you fall onto the mattress, arms slow to catch yourself. did he—? did he just smack your ass? the kinkiest thing you’ve ever done in bed was some light hair pulling, but you’re finding that you don’t mind the buzzing you feel in your ass right now.

in fact—

“oh.” it comes out like a whine, and yunho hisses in satisfaction.

“you like that, huh, princess?” yunho says, his voice low.

“mm.” you can’t manage words.

“good,” he says, but even then you can’t anticipate the next slap. it’s harsher this time, and you jerk from the touch. “gonna make ur ass red to match those panties.”

it’s filthy. the way he’s talking. you’ve only heard talk like this in porn, and you’d always thought it was overly scripted. but yunho’s just talking, eliciting tiny squeaks and squeals of surprise from you that you also have only heard in porn and thought was fake.

“p- please,” you say, lower lip trembling a little. you finally chance a look back at yunho, and you find him still completely clothed, kneeling on the bed behind you with his hands on your hips.

“please what?” yunho says, smirking.

“touch me,” you gulp.

“where?”

“here.” before you can overthink it you’re taking his much bigger hand and moving it to your core, to where your underwear is already soaked. 

“okay, princess,” yunho says. “since you asked nicely.”

he starts rubbing your clit over the fabric of your underwear, a feathery touch that still makes you shudder. his other hand slides up your back and settles between your shoulder blades, pressing you down into the mattress.

“stay still, okay?”

you whimper in response, because soon he’s pushing aside the crotch of your panties, teasing the pad of his finger at your dripping entrance.

and then he’s pushing not one, but two long fingers into you. the first thrust is slow, and you can feel your walls pulsing around the digits. the second, third, fourth thrusts are hard and fast, and his hand on your back is bruising.

“fuck,” yunho hisses. “so wet and tight, princess.”

“hnng,” is your reply, because yunho is hitting that spot in the back, and your thighs are quivering.

“turn around,” yunho commands. “i want to see you when you cum.”

you scramble to follow his direction, flipping onto your back and pulling your knees closer into you. yunho shoves fingers into your mouth before you have a chance to say anything, and you suck on instinct, lapping at his fingers and tasting yourself on them.

“fuck,” yunho says, and then he withdraws the fingers and pushes them back into your cunt. you stare down at his hand, at his arm—the one with the dragon tattoo wrapped around. at how the scales of the dragon dance with the veins of his forearm as he pistons his fingers into you.

you’re a babbling mess of whines and coos and squeals, and suddenly yunho’s other hand flies up to your throat.

“this okay?” yunho asks quietly. his voice is low, like he’s trying to be sultry, but you can tell he’s watching carefully to see your response.

this is new. you’ve never done this before. you’ve seen it, heard about it. 

you like it.

you nod, and yunho smirks.

his grip is loose, but this new pressure on your throat makes you a little dizzy, a little lightheaded, and makes the fluttering in your stomach speed up. both your hands come up to grip his arm, to feel the muscle beneath your fingers.

“i’m- i’m close,” you croak.

“good.” and yunho picks up the pace, fucking his fingers into you until you feel that crest of nerve endings exploding. your back arches, your head falls back, your eyes close—the feeling ten times more intense than usual because of the weed in your system.

you collapse against the bed, breathing heavily and clenching around his fingers.

“fuck,” yunho whispers. “that was hot.”

he’s perched over you now, a hand on your cheek brushing your sweaty locks out of your face. he kisses your neck, softly.

“i- i want—” you have to pause to catch your breath.

“yeah, princess?” he grins at you.

“this,” you say, your hand cupping the very apparent tent in his pants. this takes yunho by surprise. he jerks, but your hand remains. you experiment with palming him a little, feeling how firm his cock is. how big it feels even under the thick strain of his pants.

“yeah?” he says.

“yes,” you say. “please.”

“ok, princess.”

he reaches behind his head to pull his shirt off by the collar. you blanch at the sight of his torso. lean, lithe muscle. another tattoo along the top of his ribcage that you’ve never seen before. black calligraphy strokes that spell out something in what you think is japanese.

“what does it say?” you say, before you can stop yourself. you run your fingers along the words, touch soft.

“nana korobi, ya oki,” he says, equally softly. “it means ‘fall down seven times, get up eight.’”

“it’s beautiful,” you say.

“not as beautiful as you,” yunho says, and he tugs your underwear down from your hips and off your legs. you suddenly remember exactly what you’d asked for.

“so. fucking. beautiful,” he continues, undoing his belt and throwing it aside. he unbuttons his jeans and pulls them halfway down his thighs. there’s a small wet patch on his briefs, but those are soon pulled down too to reveal—

he’s big. long but not too thick. the head of his cock flushed red and leaking pre-cum.

you feel your mouth inexplicably fill with saliva.

“you’re- you’re—”

“you can do it, princess,” he says, kicking off his briefs and jeans the rest of the way. “you can take it.”

you nod obediently.

he reaches over you for his bedside drawer, returning with a silver foil condom packet and a little plastic bottle of lube. he tears the condom open with his teeth, spitting out the corner and then rolling the thing down his length. you lay back, eyes up to the ceiling. you hear the distinct pop of the lube cap, hear a liquid sort of noise, and then you feel his fingers again. cold and a little slimy, probing at your entrance and briefly nudging at your sensitive clit.

“you ready?” he says, lining himself up.

“mm.”

he pushes in slowly, and it takes all of your willpower not to clench instinctively. he groans while he slides into you, and the pace allows you to feel every inch of him. the stretch is difficult at first, but the further in he gets, the less control he has and soon, he bottoms out.

“you can- you can move,” you say.

“don’t have to tell me twice, princess.”

yunho’s hands find your waist, grip it hard, and then he pulls back and thrusts in again, but still slow. you can feel his eyes on you, making sure his size doesn’t overwhelm you. as he builds up his pace, his hips snap against yours, filling the room with positively lewd sounds that combine with his deep breathing and grunts and your whimpers and whines.

he fucks you into the mattress, stretching you so deliciously.

you find one of his hands and lead it up to your throat. yunho’s eyes widen, but he wraps those long, perfect fingers around your neck, grip tighter this time.

“fuck, you’re so pretty, princess,” yunho says. “taking my cock like that. such a good fucking girl—fuck!”

you’re overstimulated, but in the best way. lightheaded from the choking, sensitive everywhere from the weed, and so turned on from yunho’s praise. you close your eyes, letting yourself get lost in the sensation of being so thoroughly fucked.

as yunho pounds into you, he starts cooing and moaning about how good you look, how good you sound, how good you feel.

“yeah? you like that, princess? yeah—let me hear you. tell me how good i’m fucking you. fuck—your pussy is perfect. like you were fucking made for me. such a perfect princess.”

you can’t tell if you’re close to another orgasm, or if this is just all one long extended orgasm. all you know is that your body is buzzing with pleasure, and you feel really fucking good.

eventually, yunho’s thrusts grow faster and more erratic. he gives one final push and stays buried in you, chest rising and falling.

he pulls out slowly, checking to make sure the condom worked.

“fuck, that was good,” he says, breathless.

“yeah,” you agree, boneless.

yunho swings his legs over the side of the bed, taking off the condom and tying it up before throwing it into a trash can. you’re a bit miffed that he is already fully operational, while you feel like you had all of your inner organs rearranged.

“give me a sec, princess,” he says, as he tugs on a pair of sweatpants. “i’ll get you some water and get you cleaned up. just relax.”

your head still feels a little woozy, but you slowly come back to your senses as you hear yunho bustle around outside. finally, he comes back into the room guzzling a chilled bottle of water. he recaps it and hands it to you. you drink deeply as you feel yunho wipe at your thighs with something warm and wet. the cool water reinvigorates your throat after having yunho’s hand pressed against it. 

“you good?” he says. “i wasn’t too hard or anything?”

“no,” you say. “no, it was good. i liked it.”

“good girl,” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed and patting your head. it’s mildly patronizing, and but you’re to tired to retort back. 

he shifts deeper onto the bed to lean back against the headboard, running his fingers along your spine. it’s relaxing and—together with the water—helps you ground yourself as you feel the last remnants of weed and arousal fog clear from your mind.

“you like jongho, right?” he asks, apropos to nothing.

you choke. you spend the next few seconds spluttering and coughing while yunho rubs your back soothingly.

“i don’t- why are you—?”

“that’s why you were all sad at first, right?” yunho says. “on the balcony?”

you stare at him, finally able to breathe properly.

“yeah,” you say quietly. “but it doesn’t matter because he doesn’t like me.”

yunho hums. “i don’t know about that—” and he pinches your back when you open your mouth to protest “—but i don’t mind being your fuck buddy while you get over him.”

you purse your lips. truth be told it was good sex, but your… thing for jongho isn’t something that you can just get over with a couple good fucks and some weed. you don’t know how to tell yunho—someone you’ve only really ever been around either drunk or high or both—about pulling all-nighters with jongho to finish your homework together, sleepy and giggly and delirious; or how he knows your coffee order without ever having asked; or the way his eyes crinkle when you show him a funny meme.

so, you settle with a small smile and a peck to yunho’s jaw.

“i’ll consider it,” you say, and you get up to start redressing. you’re sobering up properly now, and the flimsy top you’d been wearing before feels a little scandalous for your current mental state. after hesitating briefly, you grab yunho’s discarded top and put it on.

“well shit, when you do stuff like that,” yunho says, running his eyes over how his shirt dwarfs you.

“i’m- i’m cold,” you mutter.

yunho just laughs, ruffling his hair.

“hey—you hungry?”

he takes you to the 24/7 burger joint just outside his apartment, harsh fluorescent lights and greasy air doing their best to sober you up even more. he orders and pays for you, while you slide into a corner booth to avoid anyone seeing how utterly fucked out you look: hair in a messy bun to hide the knots, body swimming in yunho’s shirt, mascara smeared under your eyes, and hand constantly on your neck to cover up the massive hickey you discovered while peeing—when had yunho even given it to you?

yunho scoots into the seat opposite you with a handful of napkins and a little paper cup of spicy ketchup. after you receive your tray of food, you and yunho spend the next fifteen minutes talking about the basics when you both realize that you don’t know much about each other.

it’s easy to talk to yunho, whose light chuckles and lazy smiles are comforting. while you might not take him up on the fuck buddy proposal, you just might keep him around as a friend.

you feel your phone vibrate in your back pocket, and you reach for it to see a text from san, asking if you’re okay.

to: san

[1:40 AM] yeah i’m good

[1:40 AM] actually can u come pick me up. i’m at the burger place on 8th.

from: san

[1:42 AM] yeah omw

you slip the phone back into your jeans while you sip on your soda.

“san’s coming to get me,” you tell yunho.

“oh, cool,” yunho says. “yeah i was gonna offer to take you home or something—it’s so late.”

you hum, warming in appreciation for yunho’s intent. he really isn’t a bad guy—not that you’d thought that before. he’s always been a neutral acquaintance, but you’re really starting to enjoy his company now.

“thanks,” you say. “for the food, and—the other stuff.” 

yunho laughs.

“you’re cute,” he says, tapping the tip of your nose with a greasy finger. you dab at it with a crinkly brown napkin.

ten minutes later, your phone vibrates again to indicate that san is outside in a silver uber. you thank yunho again, and even give him a quick peck on the corner of his lips, your face flaming as you turn away from him to leave the diner.

when you throw open the door of the car, you find not san, but—

choi jongho, stuffed into the backseat with a slight flush on his cheeks and a loose grin. you stare at him, and he stares back. the only empty seat is in the middle.

“scoot,” you say.

“i’m too big for the middle seat,” he says, but he doesn’t make any moves to exit the vehicle to give you the space to slide into the car. you nudge him. “just climb over me.”

a low string of curses leave your mouth as you reluctantly clamber around his big frame and into the middle seat, where you finally see san sitting on the other side. you’re so preoccupied with greeting him and thanking him for coming to get you that you don’t notice jongho’s eyes narrowing at the shirt you’re wearing—yunho’s.

“you coming to our place or going home?” san asks.

the words your place are on the tip of your tongue when you look back at jongho, noticing now a small red bruise blossoming just under his jaw. this causes you to snap a hand to your own hickey, which you hope is hidden by the shadows.

“home,” you say quietly. “ryujin’s probably waiting for me.”

the uber starts up again, and you lean your head back onto the headrest, determinedly avoiding jongho’s gaze. you know that you just went off to hook-up with someone random, but it doesn’t sting any less that apparently jongho was doing exactly the same thing.

at that moment, your phone lights up with a new text.

from: unknown number

[1:59 am] hmu whenever, princess ;)

continued in chained (c. jh)!

[terrestrialnoob]

Damian glared at the clone as Father and Drake attempted to turn whatever they had in the cave into a machine that could analyze the clone’s DNA before it disintegrated.

“Sorry I’m late.” Nightwing said as he walked towards where Damian stood watching at a distance from the Bat-Parking Garage. “What’s the situation, Robin?”

“Did you not read the brief Father sent out?”

“I did, I just want your opinion – and to know what they’re doing right now?”

“I believe they are attempting to create a machine that will cycle the clone’s blood as it analyses. The clone seems to be marginally competent at engineering and is assisting.”

“You know his name is Danny, right?”

“I doubt it.” Damian huffed as his stare got more intense.

“You doubt his name?” Nightwing asked. “Why?”

“You don’t find it suspicious?” Damian turned so his face was more towards Dick but the clone was still within his vision. “He did everything we asked, and answered every invasive question, without hesitation.”

“He's dying, of course he's telling us everything.”

“Would you? Would any of us?”

Dick turned and stared at him.

“He’s not a civilian.” Damian continued. “He said the people who made him wanted to make a better Batman. Would Batman ever be this forthcoming?”

“He’s nothing like B, though, outside of appearance?”

“We don’t know that.” Damian managed to keep his voice down despite wanting to shout it from the rooftops. “We don’t know who he is or if he’s telling the truth. We should have brought him to an external lab. We should have been more cautious -but…” Damian forcefully motioned towards where the trio were working on their analysis machine.

Dick sighed, but his frown turned into a soft smile for just a moment before he looked serious again. “I get it.”

Damian doubted that, and his doubt was proven true when Dick continued. “It’s scary when B just decides to bring in another kid. It changes all the dynamics and we each get less attention and… Danny is also technically B’s blood son, he was literally made from B’s blood. And he looks like he’s what? A year older than you? This is big for you-”

“Stop.” Damian rubbed his face then grabbed Dick’s arm.

“Listen to me.” Damian pulled Dick down a little so their eyes were a little more even. “When the clone’s blood broke down it looked like Lazarus Water. It was – I can feel it’s the same even if it evaporated before the analyzer could identify it. And this is exactly the type of thing Grandfather would do! How could a pair of random scientists get enough of Batman’s genetic material to make a clone? The list of who wants to make a “better batman” is a short one, and my maternal family is on that list. Presenting Father with a dying clone child that has to be taken to the cave, that just so happens to have been abandoned by his parents, that went straight to Jim Gordon, is exactly something Grandfather would pull to get us to lower our guards and… try to kill us or something.”

“And you think we don’t know that?” Dick asked with worry on his face. “You think Tim, who fuck’s with Ra’s in his spare time, wouldn’t think of that?”

“Then why did-”

“Because he is dying, right?”

Damian sucked in his breath. From what he’d seen… yes, the clone was dying. They watched his blood turn green and evaporate in less than a minute. When Damian looked over the clone even physically looked worse than when Damian first saw him on the roof of the GCPD.

“Dami, we’re just trying to help him not die. We will worry about all that other stuff later. And we're going to make sure no one gets hurt.”

Damian let Dick go and turned back to the clone. They’d finished setting up their strange machine and the clone’s blood was feeding into it. Hopefully, they’ll finally figure out what’s causing the destabilization and save the clone from dissolving into Lazarus Water. Then Damian can finally figure out what it wants, who sent it, and how to get rid of it. Or, maybe they fail and the problem solves itself.

Damian looked at his father’s face and hoped that wasn’t how this ended.

Gut Feeling

DPXDC

Commissioner Jim Gordon meets an odd kid in the precinct.

--

“Come on, you really don’t have a way to directly contact Batman?”

Jim smiled. Kids came to the station and asked that all the time. Usually, it was just curiosity and showing them the signal was enough to get them to sign up for the Junior Police program. This one looked a little older than most, teenagers were often “too old” to believe in Batman, but again, give them a little faith now and they’ll never loose it.

“Lookin’ for the Bat, kid?” Jim asked, knowing he was about to make this kid’s –

Jim froze. The kid turned to face him and it was Bruce Wayne. Not playboy billionaire Bruce Wayne, but freshly a teenager Bruce Wayne. The Bruce Wayne who Jim had checked in on time and again from age eight until he ran off on a globetrotting trip to find himself. The little Bruce Wayne with too pale skin and dark bags under his eyes, and not enough love to make up for all the grief weighing him down. And he didn’t look like Damian either, where Bruce was obviously his father but there were distinct traits from his mother. This was a carbon copy of a boy Jim remembered vividly.

“I am.” He even sounded like teenage Bruce. All business, like he was on a mission.

“I might be able to help you, but it’ll take a while.” Jim said and the officer the kid had been talking too gave him an odd look. He waved her off and told the kid to follow him to the commissioner’s office. Normally, he’d be more dramatic, put on more of a show for the kid, but his gut told him this was different, this was important. He offered the kid a styrofoam cup of water then closed the door behind him. “So, what do you need to talk to Batman for?”

“It’s personal. I need to talk to him in person.”

Jim took a sip of coffee from his cup. “He doesn’t appreciate me calling for no reason in the middle of the day.”

“So you do have a direct line?” The kid nearly jumped out of his seat. “If he’s upset, it’ll be my fault, just call him, please.”

“Who should I say wants to talk to him?”

The kid hesitated. “He doesn’t know me, but I have to talk to him.”

Jim frowned. “What’s your name, kid?”

He swallowed and looked like he wasn’t going to answer for a moment. “Danny.”

“Danny…?” Jim wanted a last name but Danny kept quiet. Jim sighed, “He’s likely not going to show up until sundown.”

“I can wait, as long as you guarantee he’ll show.”

“And you’re not going to tell me why you need Batman?” Jim just got a glare in response. “What about one of the other heroes?”

“Only Batman, no one else can help.”

“You sure about that? Not even Superman?”

“Not unless Superman can get me in the same room as Batman.”

“Why’s it so important that you meet him in person?”

“It’s personal.”

Jim liked this less and less by the minute. “Do your parents know you’re here?”

Danny looked away but right when it looked like he wouldn’t say anything he mumbled. “They wouldn’t care anyway.”

After another moment to give the kid time to reconsider, Jim pulled out the Bat-phone. It was a normal Wayne-Tech cell phone, but Jim had been given very specific instructions on how and when to use it. The phone listed all the Gotham Vigilantes without visible numbers so they couldn’t be copied and handed out. He pressed the one for Batman.

“Stand outside, would you?” The kid gave him a look, but followed the request. Jim could see his shadow in the door’s window, not so subtle eavesdropping.

It rang a few times, and Jim sat there awkwardly with a teenager listening to his every move. Finally, a familiar voice picked up the other end of the line. “Commissioner Gordon.”

“Sorry to call you out of the blue Batman, but I’ve got a kid here who needs your help.”

“Who?”

“Says his name is Danny, that you’ve never met him but you’re the only one who can help him.”

“Why?”

“Refuses to tell me.”

“What’s your best guess, Commissioner?”

Jim looked at Danny’s shadow, it looked like he was straining his ears to try and hear what he was saying. Danny had given him almost nothing to work with. Just his name, that he’s never met Batman but needs to talk with him in person. But Jim was here because he listened to his gut. A feeling like when you see a random rock on your neighbor’s doorstep but you’d never go in without an invitation. A feeling like you know what’s in the present and are preparing your surprised face. A feeling like when you cheated on your wife and you know she knows.

“He looks like Bruce Wayne.”

A beat of silence. “What?”

“Danny looks exactly like Bruce when he was a teenager. Exactly the same.” Jim hoped Batman would get it, feel in his gut what Jim felt.

“And he wont say why he’s there?”

“No, and he demands to see you in person.”

“I’ll be there in an hour.”

“10-4.” The line cut off before Jim had finished saying it. He called Danny in again. “He’s on his way.”

Danny glared at him. “If he’s not, if you called some social worker or something, you’ll regret it.”

“I’m sure.” Jim sighed and downed the rest of his now cold coffee.

The sun hadn’t set, but only just barely. Jim ended up taking Danny up to the roof in the end after all, if only to save his window from being broken into. The kid had a red hoodie on, but he was still shivering in the autumn chill and it was just going to get colder by the minute as the sun made its way behind the horizon.

Jim checked his watch and, at exactly an hour from when he called, he acted surprised when Batman and Robin appeared out of nowhere. “Bats.”

“Commissioner.” Batman greeted but his eyes went straight for Danny. “Danny, I assume.”

“Yeah, I…” Danny hesitated, looking at Jim and Robin.

All it took was four words from Batman. “What do you need?”

The kid held out his hand with a flash drive in it. “I’m your clone. My par- The people who made me wanted to make a stronger version of you, but they got ahead of themselves. My DNA is degrading and I’ll die if I don’t get your DNA to stabilize me.”

Holy cow.

“You don’t expect us to believe that, do you?” Robin sneered at him.

“The flash drive has all the info on it. All the data about the cloning process and the, uh, relevant experiments after that.” Batman gave the kid a look. “I didn’t want to waste time on unnecessary data.”

“If what you’re saying is true, why are you here, alone? Are they working on a different solution?”

Danny’s shoulders hiked up. “I’ve been a failure for a while now, I’m not worth the resources and they’d learn more from an autopsy.”

Oof, kid. Jim looked at Batman who seemed to feel the same… if Jim was reading him right.

“So, you wont object to a DNA test?” Robin asked with a cocky head tilt, at least he was relatively easy to read.

“You can try.” Danny said, and then realized what that sounded like. “I mean I wont stop you, but my DNA degrades faster outside my body. You’ll have to take me to whatever lab you plan on using.”

“Then we will.” Batman said and jerked his head towards where they’d probably parked that ridiculous car of his. But then he looked at Jim with a nod. “Commissioner.”

“Batman.” Jim returned the nod. “You’ll tell me how things turn out, yeah?”

“I’ll give you a report.” Batman joked – Jim could tell, it was gut feeling.

[rollinouttahere-writes]

I have decided to post the Sanji vent fic. Hopefully anyone struggling with a similar problem will be able to find comfort in this.

Genuine

Yandere Sanji x Fem Reader

6.4k words

Summary: It would seem that your coworker is onto you and your eating disorder, but you never could have guessed how far he would be willing to go.

Warnings: described feminine reader, non consensual touching, yandere tendencies, drugging, kidnapping, captivity, anorexia, reader is described as being underweight, negativity and self depreciation, I wrote this for me but like y'all can read this too I guess

“Is there anything else I can get for you two?”

“N-No, that’s all,” the man at the table shot you an anxious smile while wringing his sweaty hands before refocusing his attention on the woman sitting across from him.

Taking the hint, you promptly excuse yourself with a smile tugging at your lips. You couldn’t help but find the couple cute, especially after the man had nervously slipped you an engagement ring to place inside the lady’s champagne flute.

It was a quiet night in the Baratie with only a sparse amount of customers dining in. That meant less tips, but since it also meant less work, and you knew better than to bemoan it too much. Busy nights were truly chaotic, so you learned quickly to appreciate when it was slow. 

With so little to do, you couldn’t help but covertly watch the table you just serviced, curiously awaiting how the woman would take to the proposal. Would she scream in joy and let out happy tears? Or would she be upset and dump the contents of the glass on her boyfriend’s head? Only time would tell.

As your gaze landed on the table, you saw that she had already fished the ring out of the glass with an awestruck look on her face. The man scrambled out of his seat and dropped to his knees beside her, clumsily swiping the ring off the fork and holding it up to her while saying words that you couldn’t quite make out from here.

Your eyes drifted to the woman. You were looking to see what her reaction was, but as per usual… your mind had other ideas.

She was gorgeous. A goddess amongst mere peasants. The way that her skillfully styled hair framed her face accentuated her every feature just as much as her perfectly applied makeup did. Not to mention that her dress was seemingly tailored to fit her stunning body just right. Anyone would feel blessed just to stand next to her. It was hardly surprising that someone would be so nervous and excited to propose to her.

What you wouldn’t give to be like her. To look like her. 

“How romantic~”

A wistful sigh next to you snaps you out of your envious thoughts. You blink a couple times and see that the woman is now out of her seat and hugging the man tightly while all but sobbing her answer. The other patrons in the dining area politely clap for the happy couple, and your body goes into autopilot to do the same.

You spare a glance to the side, regarding the person who had just spoken to you. Sanji was standing no more than a foot away while watching the spectacle before him with a dreamy expression. He meets your eyes with a gaze that felt uncomfortably intimate, causing you to look the other way again. Your reaction makes him chuckle and step closer to you, and one of his hands snakes around your waist. The sensation of his hand massaging your side made you internally cringe. If anyone else did this to you, you would slap them. But… Sanji is your boss’s son, and you don’t particularly want to go job hunting again right now.

“Don’t you think that’s romantic?” His voice cooed directly into your ear, allowing you to feel his warm breath fan across it.

Not wanting to risk showing your discomfort, you keep your answer short, “I guess…”

“You guess? Do you not think that’s sweet?” His hand settles on your hip and forces you even closer to him, much to your chagrin. Of course he’s doing whatever he can to prolong the conversation.

“It’s just… I would hate a public proposal, that’s all.” You give a partial truth, not wishing to divulge the nasty pit of envy that was the real reason behind your less than enthusiastic reaction. “I’m happy for them, don’t get me wrong, but I would be mortified if someone proposed to me this way.”

“Oh? So you would want something more private and personal? That’s good to know.” 

Without even looking at him, you could tell that he was smirking and it made you want to groan and roll your eyes, but you resisted. You cross your arms over your chest and sigh deeply, “I don’t see why any of my preferences would be good for you to know.”

Sanji pulls you in until you’re flush against his side and uses his free hand to grasp your chin and force you to look him in the eye, “But of course it’s good to know, my love. That could be us someday~”

A shiver runs down your spine and you abruptly shove him away, “You aren’t funny, Sanji.” You take several steps back and straighten your uniform, “Now get back to work and leave me alone so I can do my job.” You turn on your heel and march away from him, ignoring his protests. Fortunately, before he can give chase, Zeff pops his head out of the kitchen and yells at Sanji to get back in there.

Thank god…

You didn’t know what Sanji’s problem was, nor why he was so hung up on harassing you. As you bounce between tables and serve the customers, your mind keeps drifting back to Sanji against your will. You couldn’t stand him… but you couldn’t bring yourself to hate him either. 

The first time he said his honeyed words to you, your heart skipped a beat. You had never been the kind of person to garner attention, much less of the romantic variety. There were butterflies in your stomach and fanciful daydreams in your head about the possibilities your futures held together. But… then he went and ruined it and crushed your dreams. You felt like a fucking idiot for thinking that you were anything special because as it turns out, Sanji is a chronic flirt and treats every woman he sees like this.

Those sweet words held no more significance than a “hello” or “how are you” to him, but you were stupid enough to take them at face value and fall for his words hook, line, and sinker. It was ridiculous. Doubly so because of all the women he could have, why the fuck would he want you? All you are is some pathetic, ugly, boring nobody. Of course he didn’t actually mean what he said. You would give anything for his actions to actually mean something, for him to genuinely be interested in you, but that just wasn’t the case and it never would be.

What you really didn’t get was why he kept trying after the jig was up. He should have dropped you like a bad habit after you started rebuking his efforts, sometimes quite harshly, but he didn’t give up. Why he was still playing this game with you was beyond your understanding. Maybe he was just viewing your stubbornness as a conquest. A conquer to boast about once he accomplished his goal. You didn’t know, but you were hellbent on never giving him the satisfaction.

But dwelling on such drama was hardly going to get you anywhere. The only good thing that came of your introspection was that it carried you through the first part of your shift and to your lunch break. After finishing with your last table, you allow a different waiter to take over your section while you excuse yourself to enjoy your break.

You slip into the coat room to put on your jacket and grab the thermos you packed for today, then head for the exit so you can sit in your car for the duration of your break. While the Baratie did provide a breakroom for the staff, you preferred the peace and solitude that came from spending time in your vehicle instead. Just as your fingers are wrapping around the doorknob to twist it open, a voice cuts through the air, calling your name and bringing you to a halt.

The knob creaks softly as your hand tightens around it, but you take a deep breath and release it as you turn around, “What do you want now, Sanji?”

If he could pick up on the annoyance and bitterness in your tone, he blatantly ignored it. Instead, he beamed at you and closed the distance between you two in record time, “I’m glad I caught you before you left. I packed you a lunch today!” Sanji presented you with a small box that he then pried the lid off of to show off the contents inside.

The lunch looked like one of those classic bentos that you see when you watch anime. There are several rounded onigiri molded and decorated to look like pandas staring back at you. Crammed into the remaining space are some colorful vegetables as well as a thinly sliced cutlet of some sort with a small sauce container in the middle.

This was far from the first time that Sanji tried to pass off a lunch onto you. While they did always look and smell appealing, all that you could focus on was the negatives of it. The carbs, the deep fried meat, the vegetables that were coated in what was no doubt a calorically dense sauce. There were enough calories in this single lunch to carry you through the week, you’re sure of it. Your body would give out before you could ever work all of this off. And Sanji offered you this kind of shit damn near daily. It’s like he’s trying to make you fat.

Sanji’s face falls when you don’t say anything or make an attempt to take it, “Do you not like it? I can go make you something else if you want. Just tell me what you want and I’ll go make it right now.”

His persistence makes you cringe. How many times are you going to have to shoot him down before he actually listens to you and stops trying to give you food? You force a smile onto your face and hold up your thermos, “No… it, uh, it looks great, but I already have something to eat.”

“What do you have?”

Your eye twitches as he presses on, “Soup.”

For a moment, he just stares at you. The intensity of his gaze makes you shift uncomfortably. When he puts the lid back onto the bento, you feel a rush of relief, thinking that he was finally going to drop it and leave. But then he takes a step forward, his visible eye staring into your soul as he asks another question, “What kind?”

“W… What? Excuse me?” 

“What kind of soup did you bring?”

The seriousness in his voice as he asked such a bizarre question made you laugh nervously, “What kind? What are you? The soup police?” You hope that the attempt at humor would diffuse the tense air and make him back off, but he just continues to stare at you expectantly. Your smile drops and twists into a scowl. “Why do you care? I’m just trying to take my break. Would you let me do that already?”

“... There’s just broth in there, right?” Sanji reaches inside his suit jacket for a cigarette and lights it. He takes a long drag of it, not giving a damn about the fact that he’s still in the building, “Or maybe green tea, though you usually use a different thermos for tea.”

What the fuck?

All you can do is stare at him as your blood runs cold. How did he know that? Your fingers tighten around the thermos that he correctly guessed the contents of. This was making you feel backed into a corner, and you could feel your temper starting to flare up. Why couldn't Sanji just mind his own damn business for once in his life?

“I don't see how this affects you. Just leave me the hell alone, okay? Get off my case.” Every word was spoken through clenched teeth as you tried desperately to keep from snapping at him and causing a scene. You whip around, intent on leaving so you can hide out in your car from him. 

Before you can even grab hold of the doorknob, two arms wrap around your midsection and yank you back. A startled yelp escapes you as your back collides with Sanji's chest. For a moment, you're too stunned to even speak. He's always been touchy, but he's never crossed a line like this before. Your mind scrambles to figure out how to react when you feel one of his hands drift up and start rubbing up and down your ribcage as he nestles the side of his face against your hair. 

“You're so thin… I can trace every single one of your ribs through your clothing. I know you're hungry; you have to be. Take the lunch I made for you, won't you, dear? I hate watching you waste away like this. You're breaking my heart.” His words are hushed, murmured so quietly that you doubt you would have been able to hear him had his lips not been directly next to your ear. 

The worst part of this was the way his voice cracked in the last sentence. The foolish, naive part of your brain all but sang at this, desperately wanting to believe that someone cared about you. That someone wanted to see you get better and be happy. But then your rationality kicked back in. Sanji is just a player. He's only after one thing, and you know damn well that it isn't actually your heart. As soon as he gets what he wants, you'll be forgotten like every other woman that has come and gone in his life. 

He's just playing the long con with you, and he's using some really fucked up tactics to try and win. Your lips curl into a snarl, and you spin within his hold and violently shove him away from you. Surprise flashes across his face as he stumbles and has to grab onto the coat rack to keep himself upright. 

You want to scream at him. To cuss him out and ask how dare he try to manipulate and use you like this. But as tears burn at your eyes, you quickly retreat from the confrontation and run out of the building and to the sanctity of your car, locking the doors the second you get inside. 

For a moment, all you can do is sit there in silence as you process everything that just happened. Your head drops onto the steering wheel as a quiet sob leaves your throat. Why you? Why does he insist on tormenting you? Why does he have to keep fucking with you like this? You haven't done anything to him to deserve this. It didn't make any sense as to why he was so focused on you. It's not like you're the prettiest waitress here. There are plenty of better options. Like literally anyone else. Maybe this is all one big joke to him… maybe he's just waiting for you to cave and say yes to him so he can laugh in your face for being stupid enough to think that he would ever actually want someone like you.

You wipe at your face aggressively as you lean back and reach for your phone to check the time. Much to your chagrin, ten of your thirty minutes have already been wasted. Great. You sniffle as you lift up your thermos to unscrew the lid. Then a thought strikes you.

How did Sanji know exactly what you had in here? He said it like it was just a guess, but what were the odds that it actually was? Did… Did he check it? Did he go through your locker and open your thermos? Why? What was he hoping to gain from doing that? Was he really just that nosey, or was he up to something?

Should you even be drinking this? You purse your lips and hesitate to take the lid off. What if he did something to it? Would he do something like that?

You decide to twist off the cap and look. You swirl the broth around in the thermos while scrutinizing it. It didn't look like he spit in it… and there didn't appear to be anything in there that shouldn't be…

Part of you still wanted to open the car door and dump it out regardless, but the other part was more hesitant to do that. You really didn't want to do the rest of your shift on a completely empty stomach. If it didn't have at least something in it, you knew you would get dizzy, and that's not something you can be when you're carrying trays loaded with food and drinks. Besides, it's not like you had proof that Sanji had tampered with this. Maybe it really had just been a lucky guess. 

Tentatively, you take a sip. It doesn't taste off. You sigh deeply, then take another drink of it. There you go again being paranoid. Sanji’s persistence had just put you a little on edge, that's all. You're over thinking things. 

The rest of your break is spent scrolling through your phone as you sip at your lunch. Periodically, your eyes glance up at the employee only door, half expecting to see Sanji standing there and watching you, but you fortunately never see him. You can only hope that you shoving him finally got the point across.

When your break is over, you leave your car and trudge back to the restaurant, shivering slightly in the crisp, early winter air. You pry the door open and slip inside, hanging up your coat and haphazardly tossing your now empty thermos and phone into your locker before power walking past the kitchen and into the dining room, hoping to avoid potentially catching the sous chef's eye should he not be as put off as you were hoping.

Just as you're entering the main room, your head starts to spin. Shit. The power walking was too much, wasn't it? As covertly as you can, you shrink back and lean against the wall, waiting for your vision to clear. Dizzy spells aren't anything new for you. 

Your hand comes up to rub at your eyes as you try to will yourself to recover faster. Fuck… you feel so lightheaded. Are you going to faint? It's not usually this bad at work. 

“(Y/N)? Are you feeling alright?”

The gruff voice of your boss snaps you out of your fog. You cringe as you look up and see Zeff standing in front of you with his arms crossed. Well then, this was humiliating. Having him see you slacking off right after your break was not something you wanted to happen. In an attempt to save face, you force yourself to stand up straight, “E-Everything’s fine, sir! Nothing to worry about here!”

You push yourself away from the wall, fully intending to hightail it into the dining area to try and spare yourself from his wrath, but your dizzy spell hadn’t passed at all yet. Your knees buckle and your vision swirls from the sudden movement, and the next thing you know, you fall right into Zeff. His arms uncross and his hands clamp onto your shoulders to keep you from falling to the floor. Your ears are ringing, and you can only vaguely make out what he’s saying. Something about “taking it easy”?

Through your disoriented state, you can recognize that you’re being moved, practically carried, by your boss. If you were in a better state, you’re sure that your face would be flush with shame. You can feel yourself being lowered onto a chair. Even with you now being seated, Zeff kept one hand on your shoulder to keep you upright. He turned and called out across the kitchen, “Eggplant, bring some water over here!”

Eggplant? Oh no. Not him. You try to sit up straighter and make yourself look more put together, “No, I’m okay. You don’t have to-”

“Quiet. Don’t give me any of that. You almost fainted out there, you clearly aren’t ‘okay’,” Zeff’s tone was firm and left no room for argument. 

“(Y/N) almost fainted?!” Sanji rushed over and shoved the glass of water he had into Zeff’s hand before dropping to his knees at your side. His hand clutched yours tightly as he stared into your eyes with a distraught look on his face. “My sweet (Y/N), why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well?”

Any attempts to dislodge his hands prove fruitless, you can’t break his hold. You purse your lips and avert your eyes, not wanting to look at his expression that is so convincing that you almost believe it. “I said that I’m fine. I just got a little lightheaded. It’ll pass in a minute.” Despite your words, you don’t actually feel any better even though you’re sitting down and resting now.

Zeff sighs at your words and brings the glass of water to your lips for you since your hands are still locked in Sanji’s death grip. You drink the cool water, but it doesn’t feel like it’s really helping anything. He pulls the glass away and stares at you hard for a moment before speaking, “You’re taking the rest of the day off.”

“What?”

“It’s a slow night, the remaining waitstaff here will be more than enough to cover for you. I don’t want you working in this state, you’re just going to hurt yourself or one of the customers if you have another dizzy spell while you’re carrying something. Just go home and rest.” Zeff turns his head to look directly at Sanji, “Why don’t you give her a ride home?”

Panic surges through your veins, “N-No! I can drive myself home, that’s okay!”

The look that Zeff gives you is hard and makes you shut up instantly, “Don’t start. You’re going to get into an accident if you try to drive right now. Like I just said, it’s slow. We can afford to lose Sanji for the day. The kitchen will probably run smoother anyway.”

Sanji grumbles at that last comment, but for once, he doesn’t pounce at the opportunity to argue with his old man. Instead, he stands up and flashes you with a warm smile, “I’ll go pull my car up so you don’t have to walk as far. Just wait right here for me.” He leans down to kiss your hand before releasing it and leaving. You hate the way your heart fluttered at the simple display. Stupid heart falling for bullshit actions. 

While you wait, you sigh and slump back in the chair. Zeff had excused himself and exited the kitchen right after Sanji, presumably to let your coworkers know you weren’t coming back from your break today. The rest of the people in the kitchen were going about their job, but you caught a few of them sparing you concerned glances which only added to your embarrassment over the whole situation. You’re glad that you happen to have tomorrow off to help give them an extra day to forget about this ordeal.

The kitchen doors open again, and Sanji walks through them, wearing a light jacket and carrying yours. He helps you put on your coat, then pulls you to your feet. Almost immediately, your legs wobble and you instinctively latch onto him for support. What is going on with you? You’ve never had one of your dizzy spells hit you this hard. Before you can even begin to steady yourself and try again, you’re abruptly swept off your feet. The quick motion makes your head spin so much that it takes you a moment to register what is happening to you.

Mortification washes over you as you realize that Sanji just scooped you up into a bridal carry right in front of the entire kitchen. You squirm in his arms while uttering out weak protests as Sanji casually kicks open the swinging doors to the kitchen and walks out, seemingly completely unbothered by carrying you. You look up at him as your vision rapidly becomes more and more hazy. His expression is completely relaxed as if nothing is wrong. 

His apparent confidence wasn’t spread to you, however. Something about this felt… wrong. You’ve never felt like this before, and you were starting to get scared. What if this was something more serious than you previously thought? Were you having a medical emergency right now?

As Sanji is placing you into the passenger seat of his car, you grab onto his arm while he’s trying to buckle your seatbelt, “Sanji… I don’t feel good.”

The smile that had been plastered onto his face since Zeff told him to take you home softened into a warmer, more comforting smile. He finishes buckling you in and strokes your hair, “I know, but don’t worry. I’m going to take care of you.”

“N… No,” your tongue feels like lead in your mouth, making speaking even harder. “Hos… pital.”

The seat you’re in is reclined so that you’re laying down. Sanji stands up straight. You can feel that he’s looking at you, but your vision is so blurry that you can’t make out his face anymore. He doesn’t acknowledge your request to go to the hospital. He closes the door, and everything goes black before he can walk around and open his own.

—

When your consciousness begins to flow back into you, you find yourself in the warm comfort of your bed. You sigh in contentment and lazily nuzzle your face into your pillow. The cool silk of the pillowcase felt heavenly on your skin.

…

… Silk?

Didn’t you have some cheap microfiber sheets on your bed? You sniff at the pillow and frown. You know for a fact that your bedding doesn’t smell like men’s cologne and tobacco.

Your senses come back to you in an instant as you lurch up into a sitting position. Your eyes frantically take in your surroundings, and dread fills your being. You’re in a small bedroom. There are several bookshelves lining the walls. A chair with a small side table are placed near them like some sort of simple reading nook. There’s a desk against the wall opposite of you with a laptop sitting on it.

You don’t recognize this room. It isn’t yours, and this definitely isn’t a hospital.

Looking down, you take in the bed you’re in. It’s a queen size bed that’s been pushed into the corner of the room, with you being on the side closest to the wall. A body pillow is placed against the wall, keeping you separated from it. Several blankets are piled on top of you. You raise your arms to throw off the blankets, but something halts your movement. 

Your hands jerk back abruptly, making you wince as something tugs on your wrists and the headboard clangs behind you. You look down, and what you see makes your blood run cold.

Handcuffs. There are padded handcuffs locked around each of your wrists. Your eyes follow the chains all the way back to the headboard. Oh fuck. 

fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck 

You’re going to die. You’re going to die here! Horror encompasses you fully as the gravity of your situation. Where even were you? And who did this? What kind of a monster could do something like this to you?

Think! Where were you before you passed out? It takes a moment for your memory to return to you but when it does, everything clicks into place. Sanji. You were in Sanji’s car. Did he do this? Sure, he could be a little sleazy, but you never took him for a kidnapper. And why you? What was his fucking obsession with you? What was he going to do to you?

No. You weren’t going to die like this. You weren’t going to let yourself be toyed with, murdered, and discarded by your sick freak of a coworker! Maybe you can break yourself free if you could just snap the wood you’re chained to. The chains connecting you to the headboard are long, permitting a wide range of motion to you. You’ll put your feet against the headboard and pull as hard as you can.

With a plan in mind, you shift to pull your legs up, but again, your movements are halted. You grab the blankets and yank them up only to reveal the very same handcuffs around your ankles. Experimentally, you pull on them. The footboard barely even budges. These chains are much shorter than the ones on your wrists, not giving you any chance to build up any sort of momentum. Just like that, your hope dies.

As you’re sitting there, completely demoralized, you take note of something else. You aren’t wearing your work clothes anymore. Instead, you’ve been dressed in a cozy pajama set. Even your regular socks have been replaced with fuzzy ones.

Shame and disgust courses through you upon realizing that you had been undressed while you were unconscious. At the same time, you couldn’t help but feel confused. It’s not like you’ve ever been kidnapped before, but this didn’t seem normal. Whenever you would hear about true crime cases covering people being abducted, you never heard about the kidnapper putting them in comfy clothes and a warm bed. 

What the hell was going on? 

You’re torn from your thoughts by the sound of footsteps coming towards you. Your head snaps up and you instinctively press yourself back against the headboard. Your eyes lock onto the door and you stare at it like a scared, cornered animal. Which is pretty much exactly what you are.

The door opens, and your theory as to who it was is confirmed instantly. Sanji’s smiling face enters the room, filling you with a combination of anger and fear. His grin widens even more as his eyes land on you, “Oh good, you’re awake. That’s perfect.” He hums happily and walks over to the bed with absolutely no sense of urgency. He sets a steaming bowl down on the bedside table as his eyes run over your body. “That’s no good, you’re going to get cold, sweetheart.” He calmly pulls the blankets back over you, then moves the pillows on the bed so that they’re behind your back. 

You cringe away from him as his hands brush against your back, and you snap at him, “Don’t touch me!”

Sanji’s smile droops and morphs into a pout, “Don’t be like that, (Y/N). I’m just trying to make you more comfortable.”

The way that he is blatantly ignoring the elephant in the room was really pissing you off. “Comfortable? Comfortable?! You know what would make me more comfortable?! Not being fucking kidnapped!” 

Your kidnapper has the audacity to sigh at you. “I’m doing this for your own good. You forced my hand. I didn’t have a choice.”

“What are you talking about?! Of course you had a choice! You could have chosen not to kidnap me!”

“You had a choice, too. It didn’t have to be this way, you know?” By now, his smile is completely gone. He pulls out a pack of cigarettes and slips one into his mouth before lighting it.

His casual demeanor only further fueled your ire, “I beg your fucking pardon?”

“I said that you also had a choice,” he exhales smoke into the air. “If you would have just taken that lunch I made for you, we wouldn’t have had to take this route.”

“What?”

“If you would have eaten the lunch that I made for you, you wouldn’t have drank the broth, and you never would have gotten so dizzy that you had to go home.” You freeze as his words sink in. “We could have done things the easy way, but you’re just so stubborn, aren’t you? But that’s okay. I think that this is for the better. Now I can monitor your recovery much more closely than I could have if we were apart.”

“You drugged me…” The words are little more than a whisper.

“Don’t put it like that, you’re making me sound like a scoundrel. A predator, even! I just… gave you something to help bring us together so I can take care of you. This is what you need. You’ve made it clear that you can’t take care of yourself on your own.”

Your fists clutch at the blankets covering you as you hiss at him, “Take care of me? You’ve got a really twisted way of going about doing that. How is this helping me?”

“This is helping you because I’m going to nurse you back to health. I know that you’ve been starving yourself. Everyone can tell. You’re wasting away right before us and making everyone watch as you slowly and painfully kill yourself.” Sanji’s voice cracks and he drops his head. Your eyes drift down when you hear the quiet drip drip drip of tears falling onto the duvet. “Do you have any idea how much it’s hurt me? You’re killing me just as much as yourself.”

One of Sanji’s hands reaches out and cups your cheek, forcing you to look him in the eye again. Forcing you to fully take in the state he’s in. There is so much pain and despair in his eyes. He looks absolutely miserable. This isn’t an act. He isn’t fucking with you. He means every single word coming out of his mouth. His thumb rubbed against your cheek, just beneath your sunken eye as he holds your face just a little too tightly. He speaks again in a choked-up, desperate tone, “I love you so much, (Y/N). I don’t want to watch you die.”

All you can do is stare at him as your mind runs at a thousand miles a second to try and process all of the information being thrown at it. Wasn’t this… what you wanted? Proof that Sanji actually cared about you. That you weren’t just a conquest, but a legitimate desire. He says he loves you, and you genuinely don’t think you can argue against that, but…

Not like this. This isn’t how you wanted this to happen. You wanted a heartfelt confession, but not when you were cuffed to his bed after being drugged and kidnapped. This was insane. He was insane. And you were trapped with him.

Sanji releases your face and clears his throat as he pulls back with a forced smile, “Apologies. Look at me getting all emotional when I’m supposed to be caring for you.” He plucked the bowl off the nightstand and started to stir the mixture together. “I made some congee for you. I thought that this would be a nice and filling meal for your poor stomach.”

The mention of food made you recoil, and not just for the usual reason. You glare at Sanji and ask, “What’s in it?”

He beams at the question, “Well, I cooked the rice in a dashi broth- homemade of course- and I’ve got some salmon and-”

You interrupt him, “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. What did you put in my food this time?”

Realization flashes across his face and he sags, “It’s just food, my love. I promise that I won’t drug you again. I just had to do it that one time so I could get you here.”

“Do you expect me to believe that? To trust you after what you’ve done?”

“Please, (Y/N), you have to believe me. Did you not hear everything I just said? I’m doing this for your own good. I can’t help you get better if you’re unconscious the whole time. Just calm down and let me feed you before your food gets cold.” While he started off sounding sweet and pleading, his voice became progressively more firm as he went on. With a quiet huff, he sits down on the empty bed space next to you and scoops out a spoonful of the rice porridge.

Terrified of being drugged and vulnerable again, your hand swipes at him, just barely missing the spoon as he jerks back. Surprise flashes across his face, but quickly morphs into a scowl. He drops the spoon back into the bowl, then grabs your face again. You start to struggle, but you’re no match for his strength in your current state.

“Stop.” The one word is spoken with so much force that it actually makes you stop and stare at him with wide eyes. He sighs deeply and his teeth grind against his cigarette as he makes himself calm down. “(Y/N). My dear, sweet (Y/N). I went out of my way to give you handcuffs that were long enough for you to move around for your comfort, but if you try to stop me from feeding you again, I’m going to change them out for much shorter ones that won’t let you move at all. Is that what you want?”

You shake your head and cower back. 

“Good. I don’t want that either. Now say ‘ah’ for me, alright?” Just like that, he switches again, sweetly crooning at you as he brings the spoon back to your lips. 

As much as you don’t want to eat it… you don’t want to be even more restricted than you already are. Hesitantly, you open your mouth. Sanji’s smile widens as he quickly pushes the spoon past your lips. The savory porridge fills your mouth and, admittedly, tastes divine. It’s the best thing you’ve had in months… maybe even years.

You carefully chew, then swallow it. The voice in the back of your head is going crazy, screaming over all of the carbs and fat in that one single bite. But before you can dwell on it too much, another spoonful is brought to your lips. Your eyes flit up to Sanji who is looking at you with an expectant smile. 

Well… you suppose that your food intake is no longer in your power. You have to eat if you want to keep Sanji happy and passive. You open your mouth again.

“Good, there’s my good girl.” Sanji looks happier than you think you’ve ever seen him. His smile lacks the playful edge it usually has to it, and his normally aloof eyes are relaxed in a way that makes him look almost soft despite the situation. “I know that you’re upset, and I understand that. This is all very shocking to you, but one day, you’re going to thank me for this. I guarantee it.”

“Honestly, you should have seen this coming. At the Baratie, we feed everyone who is hungry. Even if they don’t necessarily want us to.”

[peaceoutofthepieces]

If you're still taking Heartstopper hug prompts, I'd love to see either the desperate hug or the hug you don't deserve. Thank you!

i'm sorry this took so long!! and i kinda forgot what the prompt was and it just kinda got shoehorned in at the end. whoops. i had this idea for a long time and i ended up thinking it just kinda fit with this, so i hope you enjoy!

18. tight and desperate 28. the hug you don’t deserve

Charlie didn't even know how the argument had started. He certainly hadn't intended it, but maybe he should have predicted Nick’s reaction, should have known where the line of conversation would go. Maybe a part of him had wanted it, had been provoking Nick with subconscious purpose. 

The thing was he couldn't have expected this reaction, because Nick’s go-to wasn't to argue. Not with Charlie. They'd had their fair share, but it took Nick time to lose his patience and respond to Charlie's anger or frustration. This time it was all the more confusing because Charlie hadn't been angry. He was fairly sure his tone had been free of spite, that there was no edge, that Nick shouldn't have suspected a double meaning or hidden barb, because there wasn't any. 

Charlie had made a throwaway comment about Nick missing his local chippy when he went to uni, and Nick had set his food down with a clatter and said, “Do we have to do this again?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don't want to argue about uni.”

“I wasn't trying to argue,” Charlie protested, still trying to keep his voice gentle. 

Nick visibly bit back a response. “It just usually ends up that way.”

Charlie wanted to say that wasn't his fault, but he swallowed the urge. He wasn't trying to argue; it just always seemed to be a sensitive subject. But it had already gotten as bad as it could get, when Charlie had thought for days he'd lost Nick, and they'd worked it out. They wouldn't let that happen again. Charlie, if anything, wanted to start emphasising that by making the idea feel normal. Nick would leave, and they would be apart, and Charlie was growing to accept it. But it was clear neither of them felt normal about it, still. 

Nick seemed to intentionally soften, taking a moment to lower his shoulders and smooth his expression before talking to Charlie more gently. “I'd just rather not talk about it. I just want to have a chill night with takeaway and a film.”

“That's fine,” Charlie said, but the thought kept nudging at him, and he kept going. “But I don't want you to feel like you can't talk about it. I know I—I got upset and blew up at you about it before. But we worked through it. And now I'm more scared if…if we keep avoiding it, eventually you'll just want to avoid me.” Nick’s eyes flickered, and Charlie pressed on before things did stumble into argument territory. “When you're at uni you'll definitely want to talk about it then, and I don't want that to put you off talking to me. Or make you feel like you shouldn't be happy there, in case I'm upset here. I do just want you to be happy, Nick.”

It was more earnestness than Nick had been looking for or than the conversation likely invited, but it felt suddenly important to express, to have Nick know. Nick was usually the one giving Charlie these emotional reassurances. It was only fair that Charlie get to be the one throwing Nick off now and again. 

But Nick wasn't thrown off, or openly besotted with Charlie's speech. He looked away entirely. “You know I'm not happy all the time?”

Charlie blinked. His heart thudded. Of course he knew that. No one was happy all the time; he knew that better than anyone. Why was that Nick’s response now, though? Was he unhappy right now? Was he saying he wasn't always happy with Charlie? “I'd think you were crazy if you were,” Charlie decided to respond, still light and reassuring and hopefully leaving room for Nick to elaborate. 

“I wasn't happy when we were apart before.”

Nick looked at him again, and Charlie's stomach twisted. They hadn't had this conversation in a while. It was always there—it would never go away—but it wasn't persistent anymore. Charlie knew it linked into uni talk. He'd been waiting for it to come up, truthfully. 

That didn't make him any happier about it.

“This won't be anything like that, though,” Charlie said softly. 

“Won't it? I'll still only get to talk to you on the phone, unless I travel hours to see you, and neither of us can know how often we'll get to do that.”

Well. Charlie supposed he couldn't argue with that. “But it'll be different. We'll both be kept busy and you won't be stuck home, worrying about me. You'll be able to actually have fun.” Charlie would be doing his A-levels, and without Nick and Tori, and decidedly not having fun, but he would manage. He had his friends, and he had Geoff, and despite how much he'd rather not have so much of his parents, sometimes, they wouldn't let him die, so there was that. 

It wouldn't do them any good to mention that now. Nick was already clearly struggling with something, and the last thing Charlie wanted was to add to it. There was no need to make Nick feel guilty. Again. 

“I always worry about you,” Nick said quietly. Charlie's face dropped, and Nick shook his head. “Not because I think you can't manage or because I don't trust you or anything. It's not just because you've been ill. It's like…like how I worry about Mum.”

That piqued Charlie's curiosity, immediately distracting him from the initial zip of anger. He reached over and took Nick’s hand. “Can you explain that a bit more?”

Nick glanced at the coffee table, where their takeout lay abandoned. “The food’s gonna be cold,” he mumbled. “Sorry, I shouldn't have started this while we were eating.”

Charlie was not about to remind Nick that a moment ago, he'd been mad at Charlie for ‘starting it’. Nick already looked so downhearted; there was no need to start an entirely different argument. Which was why Charlie didn't rebuke him for using the s-word, either. The best tactic at this point was to accept the diversion. “It should still be fine. How about we finish it and then we can go up to your room?”

Nick smiled, grateful for the easy shift. Charlie pretended not to notice Nick sneaking glances at him as they ate. He managed to mechanically make his way through his meal while distracting himself thinking over what Nick said. It almost sounded like Nick was saying he didn't think he'd be happy, going to uni. But that couldn't be right. He'd been nothing but excited since deciding he wanted to go to Leeds. He'd been a bit quiet lately, but not so out of character that Charlie had been concerned. Maybe he should have been paying more attention. 

Nick finished eating before him, but stayed sitting quietly, sipping at his drink. When Charlie set his own empty dish down and rose, offering Nick his hand, Nick smiled adoringly up at him. He took Charlie's hand and stood, only to immediately bundle Charlie in a hug. 

Charlie huffed, half-amused and half-concerned, and tucked his arms around Nick's waist. “What's this for?” he asked quietly. 

“Can't I just hug you?” Nick mumbled into his hair. 

Charlie simply squeezed him in response. 

After a moment, Nick continued. “I just—I really love you.”

Charlie pulled back to look at him. His concern was getting a little louder, but Nick didn't look upset. His gaze was full of its usual warmth. Charlie squeezed his sides again. “I love you too.” He leaned in to peck Nick's lips, and was granted another smile. “Let's clean this up and go cuddle.”

Nick obliged with enthusiasm. By the time they were lying in Nick’s room, Nick seemed to have shook off whatever he'd been feeling. He lay contently on Charlie's chest, and Charlie was loath to break it. 

But he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd been missing something, and now that it had creeped into the light, he couldn't ignore it. Not if Nick was unhappy because of it. 

“What did you mean before?” Charlie asked, because that seemed like the easiest way to bring it back up. 

“Hm?” Nick sounded sleepy. Charlie stopped playing with his hair and instead let his hand lay there, cupping Nick’s head. 

“When you said that you worry about me like you worry about your mum.”

There was a small pause. Charlie wasn't sure if it was because Nick was sleepy or because he was delaying responding. “Oh. Sorry, that probably doesn't make any sense.”

“Can you make it make sense? Give an example, maybe?”

Nick adjusted, curling more onto his front—and more onto Charlie—and tightening his hold around Charlie's waist before easing it again. “I dunno. It's like, how you worry about anyone you love. And it just…feels like it would be worse, further away. I know me being here wouldn't stop it, but I just hate the thought of someone I love struggling or getting sick or anything when I'm not there. It's not that I don't think you can manage without me—it's not really anything to do with you to begin with. Anything can just happen. Something could happen to Nellie or Henry, or Mum could get sick, or there could be an accident and any one of you could—”

“Nick,” Charlie cut him off. “Hey.”

He cupped Nick's cheek, urging him to look up. When Nick only pressed his face closer to Charlie's neck, Charlie shifted back and slid his body down until they were lying face to face, keeping Nick held in his hands. 

Nick's eyes were vaguely misty. He blinked a few times quickly while looking at Charlie, then he focused somewhere around Charlie's chin. “Sorry. I told you it doesn't make any sense.”

Charlie shook his head. “No. Like you said, I think everyone does worry about that sort of thing.” Charlie was fairly chronically anxious, so he would know. But when those thoughts came to him, they were some of the more fleeting. Charlie was able to brush them off as irrational much more easily than the thoughts about how awful he himself was, etcetera. This didn't seem like it would be helpful to share; it sounded like more than a fleeting thought to Nick. “Do you think about that a lot, though?”

Nick shrugged as best he could while lying down. 

“Is that why you've been down lately? You're thinking about…being worried a lot when you're away?” Charlie understood that, to an extent. Surprisingly, it wasn't one of the things he felt the need to have in his control, because he knew it was impossible. Like Nick said, his presence or his will wouldn't do anything to change or stop an accident or illness. Charlie had always been aware of that, and that made the lack of control easier to accept.

But he knew how terrifying that lack could feel. 

But Nick said, “No. I mean, it doesn't help. It's crossed my mind a lot. But I haven't been—I'm not obsessing over it, or anything.”

Charlie's lips pursed. He couldn't help it. 

“Not—” Nick’s eyes widened. “God, I didn't mean—fuck, I'm making a right mess of this.” He covered his face with a hand, tilting his chin down. 

“It's fine,” Charlie said softly. “I know you didn't mean anything by it.” Gently, he curled his hand around Nick’s and brought it down, laying their interlocked fingers in the small gap between them. Nick gave him a little smile, hesitant and apologetic. Charlie smiled back, equally unsure. “But if it's not this…is there something else?”

Nick's eyes flickered away again. He twitched his shoulders in a semblance of a shrug. 

Charlie slid closer to him, letting Nick's weight pull him in, the dip in the mattress widening to hold them both together. Charlie slotted a knee between Nick’s and pushed a hand back into Nick's hair. He scratched at Nick's scalp and tipped their heads together, until his forehead rested on Nick’s and Nick’s breath brushed his lips. 

It took one beat, two, for Nick to settle under the embrace. His body relaxed even as his hand curled in Charlie's hoodie and his eyes closed. Charlie stayed silent. Pushing Nick wouldn't do any good, but Charlie could always offer this. Nick bloomed under affection; nothing seemed to make him more comfortable than Charlie's touch, so Charlie offered it as frequently and freely as he could. Maybe it wouldn't make Nick talk to him—he didn't want to make Nick talk to him—but hopefully it would remind him that he could, because Charlie was here and he loved him and he wasn't going anywhere, regardless of how much distance might separate them. Hopefully it would make him feel safe enough to try. 

Eventually, Nick spoke in a whisper. “It's not about your illness. But I have been thinking a lot about what it was like, when you were in the clinic.”

Charlie squashed down his unease. “What about it?”

“It just…of course it sucked because I was worried about you and our contact was so limited, but it—it mostly sucked being by myself.”

It was hard to read Nick's expression, even when Charlie pulled back an inch to look. Charlie frowned. “What do you mean?”

Nick's eyes fluttered open, but he kept his gaze down to where he was fiddling with the string on Charlie's (Nick’s) hoodie. “It was the first time I'd really been without you since we met, and I'd forgotten what it was like.” He looked up at Charlie. “You know the first time Mum met you, she said I was more myself around you?”

Charlie hadn't known that. He couldn't say it surprised him, exactly—he'd known from the start that Nick was different around him—but it was nice to think Sarah had not only noticed, but approved so early on. Charlie just shook his head in response to Nick. 

“I couldn't figure out what she meant,” Nick said, and it sounded like an admission. “Not because I didn't think I was different around you—I knew you were different—but because I didn't know how she could tell it was more me. I didn't even know what that was.”

This wasn't what Charlie had expected. The thought that Nick would be worried over something like this would never have even crossed Charlie's mind. He knew Nick struggled in the early stages of their relationship—who didn’t, when discovering their sexuality—but aside from that, Nick had always seemed so thoroughly Nick. He was gentle and open and silly and sporty and strong in his beliefs, even when he doubted himself. He'd said it with such confidence before. I like who I am. I like my life.

Charlie played a factor in that, surely, but his distance wouldn't make that much of a difference. Would it? 

“I do,” Charlie said softly. “I know. You're wonderful, Nick.”

“I wasn't, though, was I?” Nick cut in before Charlie could give the rest of what he'd planned to say. “Before I met you, I…it was like I was just being pulled along. I was just existing. I wasn't this great, lovely person you make me out to be.”

Charlie had no idea what to think of that, never mind how to respond. All that left his mouth was a sad, wobbly, “Nick.”

He hadn't known Nick thought of himself that way. He'd known, especially at the beginning, that Nick was harder on himself than he ought to be, and it wasn't just about struggling to come out. Even since before they'd gotten together, he seemed to harbour guilt. From what Charlie could remember, Nick hadn't even been a present witness to his mistreatment—and Charlie would remember Nick, he was sure. But Nick had heard the gossip and the insults and, in his opinion, hadn't done enough to counteract it.

In Charlie's opinion, no one had, and that had never been Nick's fault or responsibility. But he understood where Nick was coming from. 

That didn't change how Charlie saw him, though. It didn't change how Nick was. 

“I know what you mean,” Charlie eventually continued, when Nick did nothing but breathe heavily and blink sadly at him. “But listen to what you're saying. You weren't bad then, and that wasn't you. Even your mum could see that.” Charlie poked Nick's chest. “But you've had me for over two years now, and you've done nothing but prove how great and lovely you are. You can't fake that, and it won't disappear when we're apart. I know who you are, Nick, and you're my favourite person.”

Nick's eyes grew misty, and he burrowed into Charlie's chest before he could start to cry. Charlie wrapped his arms around Nick's shoulders and head and cradled him close, pressing a kiss to his crown and stroking the hair at his nape. 

“I didn't let you see how bad it was, though,” Nick whispered, his voice choppy and wet. “Char, it made me miserable. It felt like—like I was sleepwalking, and I couldn't do anything and nothing could reach me when you weren't there. And I know, I know, I was only that miserable because I was so worried but Char, you don't understand. You went there and you made things better for yourself and you've grown so, so much in the past year and a half and I just—I don't know how to do that. I don't know if I can do that on my own.”

Charlie absorbed that, then again pulled back and urged Nick to look up at him, holding Nick’s face in his hands. “I think that's exactly why you need to do it,” he said softly. 

Nick sniffed, hard, but didn't protest. 

“And you won't be on your own,” Charlie continued. “We might not be ten minutes from each other, but that doesn't mean I won't be there for you. I'd never leave you on your own, Nick. Neither will Tara and Darcy, or any of our other friends.”

“You can't be sure of that, though.”

“I know I can't promise you things won't change. But I'm not going anywhere,” Charlie enunciated each word, leaning closer until they were nose to nose. “You at least have to believe that.”

Nick's eyes flit back and forth between Charlie's. He seemed to be battling with what he wanted to say. Eventually he came out with, “I don't want to become someone you don't like.”

Charlie's heart twisted, but alongside it was a twinge of relief. They were getting to the root of the problem, and it was much more manageable than Charlie had thought. Charlie had enough experience with this kind of self doubt to know it could be worked through, especially with the right support, and Charlie would do everything in his power to provide that. 

“I'm fairly sure that's impossible,” Charlie said. “But do you want to tell me how you think that could happen?”

Nick closed his eyes again, and his shoulders shifted in another weak shrug. “I don't know. Look at what's happening right now. It's selfish, I don't deserve you comforting me when I'm the one who's leaving and you should—”

Charlie cut him off by enveloping him in another hug with a loud shush. It felt like they'd been hugging for an hour by now, and still every time Nick wrapped around him it seemed tighter, more desperate. Charlie didn't know if he was failing that miserably at easing Nick's concerns or if this was Nick's natural need for touch. 

“You're allowed to ask for help, Nick.” Charlie spoke into Nick's hair. “I never want you to pretend you're not upset because you think I might be. Okay? Please.”

Nick murmured something like an apology, and Charlie shushed him again. “I don't want how we are to change,” Nick mumbled. “If the few times we get to see each other it starts to just feel awkward or sad and it'll be just like when Dad—”

Nick cut himself off abruptly, but Charlie had heard it. And here, he realised, was the root. He mentally kicked himself. He should have seen that connection a mile away.

They didn't talk about it often. Nick had ranted to Charlie about his dad a few times, after they'd met up in Paris and their debacle of a dinner and when he failed to show up for holidays as promised, though Nick always said it was expected. Charlie knew his feelings about his father were complicated, and that anger and disappointment held a lot of that space, but he'd always thought it best to let Nick bring it up on his own terms. Unless he was mentioned, Charlie avoided asking, and perhaps that had been a mistake. 

He hugged Nick tighter, more desperately, to give himself time to work out what to say. 

He settled on an apology. “I'm sorry, Nick. I should have known what this was about.”

Nick's reply came slow, and his voice was thick. “I don't even think I knew.” He took a heaving breath. “God, that's pathetic.”

“No,” Charlie argued immediately. “It's not. You're not. It makes perfect sense, Nick.”

Nick gave a wobbly laugh. “D'you think you can explain it to me then?”

Charlie thought he probably could if he tried, but he wasn't sure it was his place. For a while he just held Nick in silence, letting them both think it over. Periodically, he pressed a kiss to whatever part of Nick he could reach, or rubbed up and down his back, or scratched gently at his head. Anything to remind Nick he was there and he understood and he loved him. 

Eventually, Charlie got the nerve to ask, “Do you think you have, like, separation anxiety?”

Nick took a moment, Charlie hoped to consider this and not because he was upset. “Like what some kids have when they start school and stuff?”

“Yeah. But I don't think it's just kids,” Charlie added quickly. “There was this girl at the clinic with me. The main thing she struggled with was being apart from her parents at the start. It wasn't why she was there, but it was part of it. She told me she even had a few panic attacks about it. She lost one of her grandparents, when she was really young. Then she had this intense fear of her parents dying every time they were away from her. It never completely left her. She just got better at managing it.”

Nick was quiet for so long Charlie thought he'd gone too far and Nick wasn't going to respond anymore. When he did, it was a small, quiet, “Oh.”

Charlie steeled himself. “So it makes sense. If…your dad leaving and things changing so much between you. If that was something that really affected you, it makes sense you'd worry about other people you love leaving.”

“It isn't…you don't think that's silly, or childish?”

Charlie shook his head adamantly, despite the fact Nick was still pressed against him and wouldn't see the gesture. Charlie knew he would feel it, but he still said, “No, Nick. It's not silly at all. And like you said, everyone worries about the people they love. People only think this is childish because children haven't learned how to hide it, so it's more obvious in them.”

Nick absorbed this. Charlie hated not being able to see his face, but he didn't want to push things. He wanted to provide Nick with comfort in the form Nick was comfortable with. It helped that he could hear and feel Nick's breaths, and could tell that they'd steadied. It wasn't a simple thing to take in, but it had seemed to almost settle Nick, more than panic him. 

“Honestly,” Nick murmured, “I think me having some kind of anxiety does make sense. And this…fits.”

Charlie squeezed Nick tight and ignored the ache that caused in him. “You don't have to figure it out or understand it right now. I could be completely wrong. But whatever it is, we can look into it together. If you want?”

Nick smushed his face to Charlie's neck. “I really love you.”

Charlie smiled. “I really love you too.”

Nick was the one to pull back this time. His eyes were a little red, and there was a dry tear-track down one cheek, but the mist over his expression had cleared. If not happy, he seemed more at ease now. “I think it would help,” he said. “To look into something. Maybe if I understand better it won't…I can stop it from bothering me so much.”

Charlie tried to tamp down his pride, but he was sure it shone through. “I think so.” He nudged Nick's nose with his own, uncaring it was cold and damp. “Whatever you need, I'll be here.”

Nick looked at him for a long moment, less in doubt, Charlie thought, and more just to look. To remind himself this was real and true, at least for now. Slowly, he smiled. 

“Yeah,” Nick said. “I know.”

[midnightbears]

✿ duskbound, afterlight.

#STARRING: cybertronian femme reader & other characters.

#TAGS: trauma. mentions of suicide and sh tendencies. sadness. feelings catching up to reader

#NOTES: none i can think about. not a very action-y chapter, it's y/n-centered. enjoy!

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven

Vaportrail visited you sometimes.

Not physically, because that was impossible. She was, hopefully, somewhere within the whereabouts of Cybertropolis and as far away as possible from Kaon and all its terrible danger. You hoped some compassionate bot had taken her in. Deep down, you knew that she was better off without you. The thought of her smiling in a place far from you filled you with a sort of solace; her chances of a brighter future seemed much greater when separated from your own tumultuous existence.

Still, you had no idea why she would come to you in your dreams.

Vaportrail, look at me.

Peculiarly, it was always the same dream. You sat on your old berth, in your old berthroom, in your old satellite. You were facing Vaportrail, sitting on her carrier’s berth, messing with one of the gadgets from Starlight’s toolbox. The sparkling was quiet, never saying a word, unaware of what had happened that very day. Unaware that her carrier was now dead. Buried beneath the ground of the very same satellite she resided in.

Vaportrail, please look at me.

You would try opening your intake to voice what your processor was screaming, but nothing would come out. You so desperately wanted to find the right words, but they were failing you. There was nothing to say. What could you tell little Vaportrail? What could mend her gaping existence that her loving carrier used to fill?

I know you’re upset but look at me.

One of your old comrades had filled you in on what had happened. Turns out, in a fit of rage, the mech Starlight was visiting had smashed her helm against the wall or something like that. 

Don’t just sit there.

She didn’t look at you. Not once. Vaportrail's optics remained fixed on the gadget in her small servos, her movements unrushed, gentle, as though she had all the time in the world to figure out how it worked. A small smile formed on her face as she giggled at it.

Vaportrail, please, I’m sorry.

You tried to move closer, but your frame felt locked in place. The berth beneath you groaned as if protesting your presence, a stark reminder of how long it had been since you last sat there. Every attempt to speak, to call her name, was met with silence—a void where your voice should have been. The weight of the words you wanted to say bore down on your spark, growing heavier with each second.

Look at me.

Finally, her tiny optics flickered up, meeting yours for the briefest of moments. A thousand emotions surged through you—relief, guilt, fear. But her expression was unreadable, her gaze distant, as if she wasn’t genuinely seeing you. Instead, she turned back to the gadget, her movements now faster, more erratic.

VAPORTRAIL, DON’T JUST SIT THERE AND LOOK AT ME.

You wanted to reach out, to hold her close and tell her that you were sorry. Sorry for not being there. Sorry for letting her down. Instead, she opened her intake.

“Why are you here?”

Her voice was soft, almost too quiet to hear, but it struck like a blade to your spark. You swallowed thickly at her words as they collided with you more than any punch that had ever been thrown at you. Her tone wasn’t accusing, just...matter-of-fact. Her optics remained downcast, focused on the device in her servos, as though the weight of her words was too much to bear.

“Vaportrail,” you finally managed, your voice cracked and unfamiliar even to yourself. “I... I—”

“Go back. Leave me alone.” Her voice trembled with a sharp edge as she shook her helm, cutting you off. The disdain in her gaze was piercing, something you would never have suspected the petite femmeling could harbor within her gentle spark. She had always been a beacon of sweetness and patience, never once voicing a complaint. What had happened?

As you watched, her delicate frame began to glitch, the outlines of her figure flickering intermittently like a holographic image losing its clarity. Panic surged through you as you instinctively reached out, desperate to grab hold of her fragile form and pull her back into reality. But your servos passed through her as if she were made of nothing more than mist, dissipating into the air.

This time, she actually recoiled at you, her optics dimming in horror at your futile gesture. Disgust twisted her features, and she flinched away from your outstretched servos, which, despite their strength, held no power over her ephemeral existence. “I don’t want you here! I don’t like you!”

Her words shattered you. You were sure that, from the outside, one would be able to hear the sound of your spark breaking into a million pieces.

“Wait!” you cried out, your voice finally breaking free of whatever had bound it. “Vaportrail, please— I didn’t—”

She looked at you again.

“You let her die. You let it happen.”

And then she was gone.

Usually, your optics would flash open right after she disappeared into your arms, and you would find yourself in your new berth, in your new berthroom. The transition was always jarring, like being ejected from one universe into another. The cold, metallic walls of your quarters seemed to mock the warmth and comfort you had just lost. The dream lingered, stubborn as a phantom, her presence clinging to the edges of your mind like static you couldn’t tune out. You’d reach out reflexively, grasping at nothing, before the crushing realization set in—it was just a dream.

Whenever you awoke from one of these dreams, that urge to bash your helm against the wall reared its ugly head, and you held back the biting compulsion to snap your own spark in half with a jab of your blade. It was a cycle you had grown far too familiar with. The fleeting hope that this time might be different—that maybe you’d wake up somewhere else, someone else—quickly curdled into the same stale despair.

But as much as these thoughts consumed you, there were more immediate threats to face. In spite of your unsettling self-hatred and need for self-flagellation, you had to focus on the gladiatorial pits. Which gladiators would bash your helm or snap your spark today if you crossed them in the arena? The thought was bitterly ironic: why kill yourself alone, when there were others outside who would gladly do the job for you?

Luckily, those horrible thoughts only lasted for about an hour each day. By then, you were fully activated, your systems humming with purpose as you threw yourself into the grind. Routine became your armor, shielding you from the corrosive weight of your emotions. Days blurred as you survived your matches, sparred with either Echo or Bluey, or learned new factors about your fellow gladiators when watching their matches.

You still cried when you were alone. A lot. But at least you were productive. At least you were moving forward, even if it felt like walking in circles in a cage you could never escape.

Nighttime was the only period you allowed your old self to resurface, the self you tried so hard to bury beneath layers of cynicism and cold practicality. In the quiet hours, when the pits fell silent and the lights dimmed, you let the memories flood in. You could see her so neatly: she still stood there with a mining pickaxe, trying to make herself smaller in the shadow of everything around her. Her frame seemed fragile, her servos trembling, but despite it all, she carried a smile on her dermas and a perfectly good spark.

It wasn’t just a smile; it was a lifeline. A promise that things could be better. She had believed that once. And in these moments, you almost dared to believe it too. You would sit in the dim glow of your quarters, the weight of the day pressing on your plating, and let yourself grieve for the person you used to be. It wasn’t a weakness, you told yourself. It was a release. A way to siphon off the pressure before it crushed you entirely. Catharsis.

What a nightmare it is to change.

──────────────────────────────────

The clang of blades reverberated inside the sparring room, the sharp sound echoing off the metallic walls. You sluggishly sprung around his pelts as Bluey’s blade sliced through the air in a fluid arc. His movements were meticulous but uniform, holding back just enough to keep the friendly session from turning into something that could potentially have an impact on either of you bodily-wise. You parried his next swing, the head of your hammer catching his long blade as the impact vibrated up your arm like a jolt of static, and pushed off to create distance.

“You’re pulling your hits again,” Bluey said, optics narrowing as he adjusted his stance. “What’s wrong with you today? Come on. You’re better than this.”

You let out a breath, your grip tightening on the handle of your weapon.

“I’m fine,” you replied, circling him warily. The words felt thin, stretched too tight around the truth.

The truth was, you weren’t better—not today, at least. The dreams had drained you again, leaving you bereft and reeling. You didn’t like how hostile your subconscious turned you toward others and how it influenced you inside the pits. Before, you had never been violent. You didn’t know why you let it out on others, but it was profoundly affecting you. 

But Bluey’s persistence wasn’t as irritating as it would have been from others, had they attempted to talk to you. If anything, it was grounding.

His helm tilted, his expression skeptical. “If by ‘fine’ you mean distracted and half-asleep, then sure.” He lunged, his blade arcing toward your side. You barely managed to block it, the force pushing you back a step. “But last I checked, being distracted gets you killed. So, try again.”

You gritted your denta and surged forward, your hammer swinging wide. Bluey dodged with with an ease that irritated you, twisting to the side and countering with a quick jab that sent you stumbling. He didn’t press the attack, though. Instead, he paused, watching you with an almost brotherly patience.

“Seriously,” he said, lowering his blade slightly. “What’s going on? You’ve been off for days.”

“It’s nothing,” you muttered, your optics flicking to the floor. The harsh lighting inside the room cast long shadows between the two of you, but whereas Bluey’s was small and unassuming, safely tucked underneath him, yours stretched high and twisting, draping the distance between you. Bluey didn’t say anything at first, his silence heavier than any words. When it became clear he wasn’t going to drop it, you sighed, lifting your weapon again. “Just tired, I guess.”

“Right,” Bluey said, “And I’m a bot fresh out of the Well. Look, I’m not trying to pry, but you’re not doing yourself any favors bottling this up.”

“I’m fine,” you said again, more forcefully this time. You swung at him again, hammer crashing against his blade with a satisfying clang. Now, your shadow engulfed him, but he didn’t budge, holding his ground like a fortress.

“Sure you are,” he said, meeting your gaze. “And that’s why you’re fighting like your processor stuck in low gear. Whatever’s going on, it’s eating you alive. Talk to me, or at least do something about it.”

Your hammer slipped down, the weight of his words sinking deep into your plating. He wasn't wrong. The burden of grieving both for the living and for the dead was murderous. You didn’t meet his optics, focusing instead on the way his servos adjusted their grip on his weapon. Finally, after a long pause, your gaze rose.

“Do you know what got me so angry during my first match?”

Bluey blinked, lowering his blade a fraction.

“No,” he admitted, his tone softer now. “But I’ve been wondering. You looked like you were done for, and then suddenly… it was like a whole different bot out there. I figured it was adrenaline, maybe desperation.”

You nodded. The memory bubbled up, vivid and sharp as ever. “It was. But… not just that.” You hesitated, the words tangling inside your voicebox. Finally, you pushed them out. “I saw someone. In my mind, I mean. A face. My Amica Endura.”

Bluey straightened, his optics fixed on you with a quiet intensity. “Your Amica Endura?”

“Her name was Starlight,” you said, the sound of her name hurting your spark. “She was… everything. The kind of bot who makes you believe in things. In yourself. She was the first to make me feel like I could do anything. That I was worth something. And she’s gone.”

Bluey didn’t interrupt, his silence inviting you to continue. You shifted, your weapon tapping lightly against the floor as you tried to steady yourself. “She was killed. Just like that. By a random mech she was visiting.”

The words felt heavy, each one dragging up memories you had tried so hard to bury. You didn’t realize your servos were trembling until Bluey stepped closer, his frame casting a long shadow over yours. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “That’s... a lot. No one should have to carry that alone.”

You let out a humorless laugh, shifting your weight to lean on your hammer. “It felt like my whole world fell apart. And when I was out there, in the pit, about to lose—about to die—all I could see was her face. How scared she must have felt against someone twice her size, how helpless, and all I could feel was anger.”

Bluey tilted his helm, his optics studying you with an unreadable expression. “So, you fought for her.”

“Yeah,” you said, nodding slowly. “But it’s not just that. I fought because... I was angry. At everything. Angry at the mech who took her from me. Angry at myself for not being there for her. And I guess part of me thought that if I survived, it would mean something. That maybe I could... make up for it, somehow.”

For a moment, there was only the hum of your cooling systems and the faint buzz of the overhead lights, their sterile glow casting muted reflections on the metal floor. Bluey’s optics softened, their vibrant hue a rare source of warmth in the otherwise cold room. Slowly, he stepped closer, his movements unhurried, deliberate, as though afraid to push you too far. His blade lowered entirely, the tip hovering just above the floor.

“That’s a lot to carry,” he said gently, his voice steady but tinged with empathy. “But it doesn’t have to define you. You’ve got strength—real strength. Not just in your servos, but in here.” He tapped his chassis, just over where his spark pulsed with life.

You swallowed hard, your optics fixed on a distant point beyond him. “Sometimes it feels like it’s all I am. Just... anger and regret. I don’t know if fighting here is about survival anymore or if I’m just trying to outrun it.”

Bluey tilted his helm, his optics softening. “You’re not just anger, Y/N. And you’re not alone, no matter how much it might feel like it. You’ve got more strength in you than you realize. And not just the kind that keeps you alive in the pits. You have spirit. Everyone else agrees.”

The sincerity in his voice tugged at something deep within you, pulling your optics back to meet his. For a moment, you saw something there—an unspoken consideration, speechless yet unmistakable, etched into the gentle contours of his expression. He wasn’t just offering encouragement; he was offering solidarity.

The weight of his words settled into your spark, not heavy, but grounding. It wasn’t absolution or a promise that things would be easier, but it was enough to make you believe, even if only for a fleeting moment, that you weren’t completely alone. That maybe, just maybe, there was more to you than the swirling emotions that had become your constant companions.

“I don’t know,” you said finally, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I’m still figuring it out.”

“And that’s okay,” Bluey said, stepping back into his stance with a slight smirk. “But you’ll figure it out faster if you stop holding back. Now, let’s go again. And this time, try not to make me look like a mech picking on a sparkling.”

Despite yourself, a faint smile tugged at your dermas. “Don’t get too comfortable. I’ve been going easy on you.”

“Sure you have,” he teased, his optics glinting with challenge. “Prove it.”

You raised your weapon, a spark of determination flaring to life in your chassis. As you lunged forward, the weight in your spark didn’t feel quite so heavy anymore.

[egg-emperor]

tbh i am soooo upset they let the mispronounciation of ivo into the MOVIE. like enough people were like "yeah thats how you say it" to let it through. or maybe they were too afraid to correct jim carrey lol

either way it SUUUUCKS cause now that's how everyone thinks it's pronounced ;o;

God I am too, I'm way too autistic and precise about this to just let it slide, it bothers me so much because it's factually wrong lol. It does suck that they're telling millions of people that this is how his name is pronounced. It's not the first time official media has messed it up but it's basically the new biggest case of it happening and it's definitely going to have a huge impact

It's not meant to be a matter of how you prefer to pronounce it, it very literally isn't what was intended. The very guy who decided to name him Ivo (ee-vo) Robotnik in the first place, Dean Sitton, said he chose it because it sounds like "evil". Calling him "eye-vo" defeats the clever purpose of the name with how cool it is to sound like he's called "Dr. Evil "Eggman" Robotnik

I'm going to make another video/post showing all the proof it was to be pronounced "ee-vo" from the second it was chosen for him, that it was strongly specified and emphasized with putting "Ivo (ee-vo)" in brackets after his name in official documents, and he has actually been called it correctly as ee-vo in official media too. Because I have even more now and the fandom needs the reminder more than ever

But for now I will include this one as one of the new additions that someone recently pointed out to me because it's especially relevant. I had never seen this before because I'm not classed a movie fan really and I was astonished by this

They have said it right in the context of the movies in this official promo video thing

They have used ee-vo within the movie universe too, so it can't even be argued that eye-vo was just the only real and correct way for this specific iteration!

It's wild how they managed to make the entire third movie calling him eye-vo without anyone pointing it out and fixing it because it's just straight up incorrect. It's like how English TailsTube got it wrong but Japanese TailsTube got it right and it's been said incorrectly almost an equal amount of times to correctly, so I'm not surprised it can be said wrong in official media

But it happening in something as large scale as the movies? I just don't understand how they let this happen unless they deliberately wanted to be wrong but I'm so unhappy that it has more than erased all my attempts to correct people over the years lol. It shouldn't still be happening with stuff on the western side because Sega of America's chief brand officer is literally named Ivo too

Anyway his name is ee-vo and anyone who sees Ivo written for him and always reads it in their mind and says it as ee-vo are real ones

I'm gonna put my old video here just so we can hear him say it right and feel better lol

But it's gonna be remade hopefully soon to add quotes from Dean Sitton himself, the Sonic Bible draft that states (ee-vo) in brackets, Japanese TailsTube pronouncing it correctly, and that movie promo doing the same too as more all official instances, since in this video the first clip is official and the second isn't

It being said incorrectly in Eng TailsTube recently too worries me because I really don't want them to accidentally say it wrong in a game or we're really fucked but I want to have faith that the flub wouldn't make it into the games despite this because Sonic Team are much more careful about what they do with their own series and since JP TailsTube got it right it's 50/50 rn XD

[acaivert]

reunion ☆. ☽

happy vijinx week my lovelies ~

pairings: vi x jinx

warnings: dd:dne, siscon pining alert

On particularly cold nights like this one, Jinx thinks about how warm it was back when she had a home. When she had a family.

Jinxed that one.

She kicked a particularly vulnerable rock, affronted, but did nothing more than that. She didn’t feel like entertaining the little horned voices chewing on the frayed wires of her mind today.

She was tired. More than the surface level kind that anyone could see, where you can trace a map of the hours she hasn't slept under her sunken eyes. She was a deep, to the bone, heavy kind of tired. Maybe you could see it, too. It sure felt like you could. The regular musings of her mind were uncharacteristically silent. She didn't want to fill the empty space either. Not with anything louder than the haunting break of sleep. That and this musty place. It was all she could do to drag herself here every night. To peel in behind a shady somebody and– hopefully– do right for once.

She works her way to the same spot as always, shouldering through the buzzing throng. It was like a masquerade ball, or the opposite. People all around her, some from Zaun, some Pilties, some from somewhere else entirely. They all come to shed their daily normal person masks; to cram into dingy seats and watch the nauseating view below. The quarrelsome yell of a man somewhere behind her pulls Jinx out of her mile long train of thought. Something something “Fuck off,” something something, “I pay to watch, buddy.” Jinx scoffs crudely.

Animals .

A bell rings. It cracks the air, really. The room freezes over. Cold and too silent. Almost sterile. The spasming fluorescent bulbs overhead brighten– impossible white and screeching in Jinx’s ears. Her singed nerves are set alight, heart pounding a distinct threat. Every sense tells her to run, leave . To eject herself from the filth and release the iron grip around her lungs. To spew her stomach contents into the dank, wet alley and run home.

I want to leave .

Not yet.

With screwed eyes, she grips the crimson slip of paper in her clammy hands, working it torturously between her thin fingers. She knows she can drown out the shrieking crowd and the bellowing of the particularly greasy announcer. She can make it just a bit longer. It takes a stubborn amount of quivering breaths, ins and outs, to set her back somewhere close to all right. Though, it’s really all for naught as her ears catch the name in the enthused ring man’s speech. She tracks the black-clad figure that stalks in for every inch.

Poison and tar that had been working deep in her gut bubble up to blanket her glued tongue with bile, and she aspirates on all the selfish air she had just caught. It felt like she was beat to shit– really, thoroughly fucked up– when the world decided, “I’m gonna hit the brakes,” and sent her crashing into it. All the wind knocked out of her.

The woman now standing at the dead center of the pit was inescapably familiar. Recognizable from the square of her broad shoulders to the path her solid muscles took down to her wrapped, bloodied hands. Her face was obscured from here, and Jinx wasn’t sure if the breath she let out was one of relief or desperation. The tail end of it caught with a broken whimper either way. She unwittingly sunk as deep as she could manage into the cover of her hood, becoming increasingly aware of the risk in all of this.

Vi, please. Look at me .

Vi .

Please don’t look up here .

Two distinct voices warred in her mind. Not really fighting. Just pulling at themselves weakly, one trying to outrun the other-- crabs in a bucket. One was a formless want, a juvenile idea pinned with her own greed, crying on her knees and gripped by the jaw. The other was a plea. A whisper etched in uncertainty.

A better fucking idea. Jinx bared her teeth as she thought it.

The little piece of her fell silent at the stab, scraping her knees on the way. Jinx was pleased with how the tension raised at the resolution, choosing to ignore the sting. Without warning the crowd around her roared, rallied, and spit. Jinx followed their reaction back to the center of the pit below. The tatted-up, fat, barbarian of a man was wiped, face flat on the perma-stained cement. Vi stood feet away, her jacket shrugged off at some point, fist pumping in triumph. The jagged edge of her all out war cry was the only thing that cut through the noise. Even though it was ridiculous, Jinx felt a rush of pride at the sight. Under that was a thin line of something that threatened to rear its ugly head at her if she stared too long. A hot, tainted drip of possession. Jealousy.

None of you even know her. She could have beat this guy's ass at half the height.

Vi pivoted to face her half of the ring, and Jinx’s hackled raised.

Get out.

Not yet.

She studied her now that she was in the light, with all of her sharp angles and purpling bruises. Even though she had just taken blows to the face  Predictably, she stares at her lips more than anything else. Shame coiled its snakey grip around her as she chewed at her own lip, cheeks blooming pink. She brushed her gaze over the pull of Vi’s thick bicep, the area of bare skin around her wrapped chest beaded with sweat...

Jinx’s eyes jammed in place, fixed on the way soft, unpainted skin squished over the edge of the dirtied fabric. A regrettable heat swirled with the dread she had been nursing for the hour, and her throat bobbed with her effortful swallow. She wondered how soft she really was there. Wondered if she could sneak into her apartment while she was passed out and find out, press their lips together, slide her tongue over–

Jinx visualized herself swatting at the indecent thoughts, shooing them away and tucking them into their bad little corner. That wasn’t why she was here.

You should leave .

Yeah.

Jinx pocketed the now wrinkled slip of paper– like she didn’t have plenty at home. She glanced around, making sure she wasn’t spotted or followed before she stepped back slowly. One foot behind the other, until Vi, then the pit, then the crowd shrunk. Each footfall spurred a new wash of regret. A new weight to add to her hunched shoulders. Only when she was absolutely certain she wouldn’t catch any lingering piece of her sister did she turn on her heel and push open the busted up metal door, letting the biting night air nip at her still-warm cheeks.

ֶָ֢

[nazghcul]

FOR ONCE someone cared, not that he didn't have his broski and friends supporting him when it came to his music career, it felt better knowing Benny became so passionate about his music. His heart did that little dance in his chest that was felt all the way down the pit of his stomach. "Thanks for the interest babe, didn't expect you to be so supporting or even passionate about my songs. With all these copy and past versions, i feel like people mostly listen and not appreciate or give credit. Maybe i'm being a bit petty, but that shit irks me. I'm no one sticking my nose into other people's musical choices or how they take their career you know. But, of course i'll break down the subliminal messages and translate the wording for you. Italian is no different than spanish but i know you'll get certain phrases however, i'll translate any you don't fully understand." He smiled at his boyfriend. "I will say that i don't like that guy, as long as you play his songs while i'm present, we're good or else i'll be all types of grump." There was no denying Ludo had anger issues more so when this italian copy version Benny mentioned popped up in their conversation. Thankfully that guy was now a switched up topic. For the better.

"I've never messed around anyone outside my age range. I don't know what's the appeal there, fucking around with old people isn't right, i see them as my parents or grandparents. And i see why you dated outside your age, no hate. It was never my thing. Sorry you had to go through that, as always your father keep sticking his nose. He tried with me, and here we are." Ludovic never feared anything, not even death but he did fear not having Benny part of his life anymore. Crazy how he ended up changing for someone when he never thought that would be possible. Benny flipped the world upside down for him, all it took was one kiss to set him free. "Hope you can trust me. It's okay if that's hard for you now but, hopefully i can change that for you." Ludo whispered softly, kissing the other again. Only Benny could ever set him free, giving up on him for whatever dumb reason would be idiotic in itself. His tongue slipped between Benny's soft pillowed yet warm lips. When the kiss broke, hazel hues locked with Benny's blue ocean like ones, smiling at him.

"The ocean is like hell, dense, lonely, dark. Beautiful to marvel at, yet deadly. I guess for you, i can see why you choose it. it's less painful than a plan crash, i assume you'll feel the pain there compared to the ocean, you are more than likely to feel like another sleepy night. Just that you won't wake up. Well, given your tan skin, and how the ocean seems to call you. You are one hell of a sexy merman, take me with you. On the ship and boat, die a slow death in your arms." This was a deep conversation however, Ludo was being serious. If anything, he wanted death to be nice and take him with Benny. As they headed into this shop, Ludo had seen this nice silver pendant in the shape of an ocean which also had initials, lucky he saw one with and L. Guiding his boyfriend to the spot where he saw the necklace, taking it out from where it hung, showing Benny after. "Saw this, and luckily they have one with a B."

Visibly,   Benji   pursed   his   lips   into   a   pout.   He   hated   knowing   that   Ludovic   wrote   songs   for   him   and   Benji   had   been   unaware   of   it.   Why   didn't   he   listen   to   those   rumors?   Because   mostly   rumors   like   that   were   just   bullshit.   ❝I'll   listen   to   all   of   them   from   now   on,   and   ask   you   frequently   when   I   don't   understand   something.   Luckily,   Italian   and   Spanish   are   similar.❞   If   Benji   was   honest   he   had   to   admit   that   he   couldn't   wait   to   know   everything   Ludovic   kept   hidden   in   his   songs.   But   listening   to   all   of   those   had   to   wait   until   much   later.   Back   at   his   personal   prison   with   his   father,   Benji   would   have   enough   time   to   listen   to   all   songs.   Right   now,   he   rather   enjoyed   the   free   and   carefree   time   he   could   spend   with   his   new   boyfriend.

❝Yeah,   I   really   thought   that   at   first.   Two   or   three   years   before   I   met   you,   I   dated   someone   my   age   briefly.   If   you   can   call   it   dating.   But   turned   out,   he   said   that   he's   never   been   interested   in   me.   Richard   paid   him   for   leaving   me.   This   made   me   stop   trusting   guys   my   age.❞   But   with   Ludovic   it   was   definitely   different   and   Benji   understood   that   now.   Yet,   he   also   had   no   doubts   that   his   boyfriend   could   get   everyone   to   spread   their   legs   for   him.   Was   this   triggering   his   jealousy?   Yes,   secretly,   Benji   felt   the   little   green   monster   of   jealousy   creeping   up   again.   He   didn't   even   want   to   imagine   how   everyone   was   swooning   over   Ludovic.   And   sadly,   Benji   was   already   well   aware   that   they'll   run   into   a   bunch   of   ex-flings   sooner   or   later.   Will   Benji's   jealousy   endure   that?   Probably   not.   Benji   could   already   tell   that   he'll   start   an   argument   when   it'll   become   too   much.   Luckily,   the   kiss   distracted   his   mind   right   away   from   unnecessary   overthinking.   All   he   wanted   was   to   enjoy   their   date   for   as   long   as   it   lasts.   Sooner   or   later,   they   will   both   lose   their   patience   and   crave   each   other   again.   Benji   could   already   feel   that   his   body   was   growing   impatient.   Ludo   was   just   too   handsome   and   his   kisses   were   pure   sin.   The   only   way   to   distract   himself   was   to   keep   moving   while   holding   a   nice   conversation.   His   mind   shouldn't   go   anywhere   sinful,   not   yet   at   least.

Benji   hummed   and   nodded,   not   surprised   at   all   that   Ludovic   considered   both   scary.   It   was   the   most   rational   answer.   ❝It's   mainly   a   question   of...which   death   do   you   think   you   could   deal   with   a   little   better.   Most   people   will   probably   choose   death   by   plane   crash   because   they   hope   it'll   be   faster?❞   Benji   shrugged   a   little   bit.   ❝But   if   I'd   have   to   choose,   I'd   choose   the   ocean   and   the   ship.   Drowning   is   torture,   that's   true,   but   having   the   ocean   as   your   grave   sounds   nice   to   me.❞   A   bright   smile   settled   on   Benji's   lips.   ❝That   was   a   downer,   I'm   sorry.   It   didn't   mean   to   be   one,   I   just   love   the   ocean   a   lot.❞   He   chuckled   and   followed   his   boyfriend's   gaze   over   to   the   shops.   Immediately,   his   blue   eyes   flickered.   ❝Don't   mind   actually.   What   did   you   see?❞   he   asked   as   he   moved   closer   to   the   small   shop   Ludovic   mentioned.

[teddybearty]

Guess who has 75 cents to her name… 🫠

[dekusleftsock]

I think that there’s a fundamental misunderstanding of what exactly is…happening with Izuku’s character. Specifically in regards to chapter 425.

I’m glad that a lot more people generally recognize that Izuku is not a character that can be read at a surface level, given that he’s both a repressed person with built up emotion of basically everything and also a very glaringly HUGELY unreliable narrator, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I agree with the ways I’ve seen this most recent chapter spoken about.

I see posts, comments, etc with ideas like “Izuku don’t suppress your emotions! Open up with people! It’ll be okay I promise!” When that’s fundamentally not what is happening here.

There’s always always ALWAYS been a distinct difference in character throughout horikoshi’s writing when he is showing that a character is:

A—Avoiding emotions, thoughts, ideas less than ideal for them. Not opening up when they probably should about their problems given that they’ve been handed the space to do so. Just genuinely not acknowledging, feeling, or expressing emotions that they don’t want.

B—Reflecting on the ways they feel about the world, themselves, or other people given their new perspective on a situation. Not outright reaching out to others to talk about these problems/feelings, but instead waiting until the moment they feel they have the most confidence to do so with their new outlook on their own life.

And genuinely, guys, to grab your BkDk attention rn, this is the exact reason why Ochako’s reflection on her feelings for Izuku and thereafter decision to pull away from them WAS NEVER GOING TO END IN OCHAKO EXPLODING WITH HER LOVE FOR HIM.

This was another common interpretation I saw of Ochako and Izuocha for a long time. That because she pushed these feelings away, they were somehow going to explode in this unbelievable way and she would “get the boy” because of it. That her arc would surround accepting her romantic feelings and that she can’t just push away how she feels for a career.

But yk. That didn’t happen. At all. Nowhere close even.

The same kind of goes for Katsuki, allmight, etc. They all had moments in their arc where it was spent genuinely reflecting, and the only reason we as the audience never connected it in the same ways we do ochako or Izuku was ALWAYS BECAUSE the narrative showed their inner thoughts while doing so (mostly because Allmight’s arc after losing OFA and Katsuki’s arc on what it means to be a hero were so intrinsically tied, both starting at the same time and ending at the same time during the final war. And because they were so tied this caused their own reflections, development, and thought process to be broadcasted to us frequently throughout their arcs… to each other. They also somewhat shared aspects with Izuku, but these were cherry picked more often than not, like dvk2 for example).

To us Katsuki never seemed to be.. idk, suppressing his anger in any way because we were always told what he was doing and why (side note: this is why I’ve always thought arguments against Katsuki were so weird, bc unlike characters like endeavor or Ochako he wasn’t like… hiding who he was and how he was changing. Ever. Like the audience knows at all times past basically season 3 what Katsuki is thinking and doing. Like how do you watch this happen, stare me dead in the eye, and tell me how much of a terrible and awful teenage boy he is. Like damn I didn’t think we were this dumb. This is also my theory as to why he’s most popular, his arc is very… in your face if that makes sense). Katsuki’s entire mini arc on reflecting his mistakes and his childhood and his future is spent TELLING YOU that it’s what he’s doing. (I’m referring mostly to the endeavor internship arc, the provisional license exam makeup, and basically everything in the war arc related to him leading up to bakugou Katsuki rising here)

And see, Horikoshi will stare you dead in the eye, tell you “this girl has taken into consideration that she doesn’t want to waste her time training her career focusing on a boy because he kinda caught her fancy”, and y’all will still say that this will explode in her face.

Y’all this is a series about learning how to manage emotions, maturity in relationship to one’s emotions, how to feel an emotion, but in a way that is helpful. Horikoshi isn’t telling you “go buck wild, feel everything all the time and always express it”, in fact he explores why you DONT do that! Through Toga or Shigaraki, they show how grief and anger can genuinely consume you. But he also shows why you shouldn’t just put everything in a box to never look at or acknowledge, or why you shouldn’t just let your grief destroy the world around you, or pretending that some emotions simply don’t exist.

I can’t say this enough, so let me say it now, mha is about the extremes of your psyche. That you should control something, but not too much. Everything can be harmful. Everything can be good.

Izuku is not controlling too much, he’s expressing just enough.

I LOVE shaming this dickhead at all times in all my posts. I love saying he’s an ignorant dipshit with a weird amount of distaste for a girl who just confessed to him. I’ve joked that chapter 348 is basically an entire chapter spent on Izuku calling Himiko a mean dyke. And yet I also believe he’s doing nothing WRONG here.

In fact, I’ll even say that this moment right here?

ISNT EVEN IZUKU DOING THE SOCIALLY APPROPRIATE THING ABOUT IT! But he’s still TRYING to reach out to someone he thinks MIGHT be able to understand. (And frankly, this moment is far deeper than what it’s being made out to be, to me it reads more like an unrequited friendship that Izuku both desires and has thought of them to have, while simultaneously showing the distance Ochako has successfully wedged between them for her own sake. Maybe it was always there though, maybe in weird, miscommunicated Horikoshi fashion, this is a representation of how Ochako always read all those “fun friend hangouts” as a little more than that, and without those feelings the friendship never really held any substance to her in the first place. Where Izuku saw his first real friend at UA, she saw little more than acquaintance)

Simultaneously, Izuku is genuinely reflecting on what it means for the world to change, to be a hero, to live after loss—and trying and failing to gain the connection he desires from individuals who can not and will not afford him that.

Izuku is ready for the world to change, a few select characters are also ready for the world to change (mirio, for example), but not nearly enough are. So maybe I’ll have to take this back if I’m proven wrong and I accidentally looked into this far past what everyone else did for no reason, but I genuinely believe with moments like this

And this

Aand this

That Izuku has come forward with that aspect of his character development. He’s reflecting on his new beliefs, not repressing his emotions for them.

[goldkirk]

I feel like I’m crazy on and off because of the dissociation ramping back up again, BUT this time I’m still managing to do somatic processing on and off, so I’m still making progress loosening up some muscles and gaining range of motion (and range of sensation and memories). That’s pretty cool. Progress does happen I guess

[danielnelsen]

there’s so much i wanna do this week/month/etc but i’m just too sick, i have no energy, i can’t sleep, i’m constantly nauseous and headachey and on the verge of a migraine, i’m stressed and irritable and impatient and panicky…….how tf did i survive nearly 5 years of high school untreated if i can’t even manage this when i don’t have any major obligations rn

[bobasnonbeliever]

only posting this here because i dont think anyone will see it. i need to get this out

im so fucking tired of my life. im tired of caring, like, in general. as stupid as it sounds, i was watching kitchen nightmares, and gordon said something about a chef or an owner, i dont remember exactly, he said; "losing hope is a scary thing to do, when theres just no more light at the end of the tunnel, it takes you down dark paths." or something like that. and ive been suicidal/depressed since i was 9, but i thought to myself "im not hopeless, am i?". the more i thought about it, the worse i felt because, god no, im not hopeless. im helpless, or maybe i wallow too much in my own self pity. i dont know the difference. every goddamn day feels like another waking nightmare, im sick of living with my mom, im sick of her not letting me get a job. i dont want my name on the damn electric bill because shes over $1,000 in debt to the power company anymore. shes already ruining my credit, and i dont even have a damn job! not to mention her fucking kid, her 5yo fucking kid, im taking care of. the product of the man who beat me over and over again, threatened to kill me, and then he took a greyhound bus out of our lives. why didnt she protect me? he never once hit her, or anyone else, why didnt mom help me? i was only 13 when he first pulled me by my hair and slammed me into the stairs because i let moms ice cream tub melt on the kitchen table for half an hour. it took him till my brother was 3 to leave. she valued him over me, and even now. im always taking care of my brother, even when he screams at me, cusses at me, throws things at me, spits on me, hits me, kicks me, claws me, bites me, and more. you get the point. she never even tells him to stop, she doesnt have to scream, or hurt him, or anything. just please, please tell them to stop hurting me. i still take care of him. i take care of him when she takes 20 fucking benadryl and passes out for the full time shes at home between shifts. i sacrificed my education to "help her" take care of him. and she gets mad at me when i parent him, when i tell him off, or even more mad when i have to cry and beg him to stop hurting me. she says "youre 22 years old, get a grip" when im covered in bruises from the 5 year old "hes five!" she will scream when i tell her he hurts me. "he is five, hes supposed to listen to you" i said once, and she just stared at me. im always fucking things up, she never fails to let me know, when she looks at me like that i know its my fault. i cant even begin on my relationship, i shouldnt, he might see this. i just want to give up, im so tired of caring, i want to let it all go. my dog died, i ruined him too, i couldnt take him to the vet i couldnt help him. hes gone because i failed. my baby, im not saying that in the cringy melinial way, he saved me from suicide. so many times, it was "hell be so confused why im gone..", "hes gonna miss me", "whos gonna take care of him?" but now hes gone and im still here. my baby, is gone and im so selfishly still here. why wouldnt she let me get a job? i couldve taken him, i couldve at least got him put down so he didnt have to suffer in his favourite spot on my bed till his kidneys put him down for us. if i didnt know, my boyfriend would kill himself too when he comes home from classes tomorrow, and i was dead, i would take the entire 160 count bottle of benadryl i stole from moms room. i want to see my baby, he never ever missed on helping me, i owe him my life and couldnt even give him that when he passed. but not for lack of trying.

but even so, i dont feel hopeless. maybe only yearning, but it feels enough like hope. when i use my right hand to stroke my left cheek and neck, it almost feels like someone else. i get a glimmer of a thought, "one day, i wont have to beg to be taken care of. someone will do it because they want to.", but still, it hurts worse. i dont know how i can possibly derive so much gut wrenching pain from that little bit of hope, but i do. and still, i cant help myself, i cant blame anyone else. i can only hope someone will come save me. if i could handle this all on my own, i wouldnt be here typing this.

i want to decompose.

writing this after that monster of a textblock in the tags, but if you were wondering. im not exaggerating about the mess, and i wouldnt normally judge. because i have had worse bedrooms, mental illness is a bitch. but its in the common area, and she absolutely does make the 5yo live in it. she moved out to the living room after their room was too trashed for her to even walk in, so she toated her 50" fucking tv right out there and hasnt moved, accept to go to work, since. everyone pray or cross your fingers or send me some good energy to hope she gets sliced into a million pieces at work instead of accidentally oding on bennies so i can raise my brother with her life insurance money.

[thebigqueer]

i dont wanna eat anything or do anything and i just wanna lay around but i also dont wanna do that and i dont wanna watch anything or read anything and idk what i wanna do

[musingsofaninsomniac]

꒰ 💌 ꒱ ˖*°࿐•

[cuteniaarts]

Fanny, my sweet, beautiful girl

17.11.2012 – 14.04.2019