#i love angst I love angst my soul is being crushed | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff · 1 year ago

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hi! i was wondering if i could request your thoughts/drabble on how the 141 would react if a mission went awful and you were left in the hospital with amnesia! like the reader wakes up and has no memory of her team🥲

if you aren’t taking requests atm or this doesn’t fit with your writing, i completely understand and you can ignore this! just wanted to say i binged your masterlist and absolutely love all your writings! keep up the amazing content <3

the 141 when you have amnesia

note: AAA TYSM FOR REQUESTING THIS!!!! and ty for reading my stuff, it means a lot!! i had so much fun writing this it's unbelievable, this concept is just so JUICY,,, i really hope you like it!! <3

wc: 2.8k

warnings: established relationship, angst sadness and depression wow i did not mean for this to get so sad

ao3

price

✹ he would undoubtedly blame himself for what happened to you. as your captain, it was his job to keep you safe and make sure you came home in one piece, and he'd failed you there.

✹ weeks and weeks go by as he waits endlessly for you to wake up, and with every day that ends with you still unconscious, he feels his resolve slipping just a little bit more.

✹ he holds himself together as well as he can, keeping his head high and projecting confidence that you'd be okay, if only to keep the team's spirit up. they still needed their captain, and he'd be damned if he failed them too.

✹ behind closed doors, however, he's a mess.

✹ john drinks, a lot, so much that it’s irresponsible, but the image of you, beaten and bloody and barely breathing haunts him every time he closes his eyes. he locks himself in his office, away from the others and ignores their concerned calls through the door.

✹ he visits you, only when it's late and there's no one else around to hear him whisper apologies to you with a lump in his throat. he confesses to you like a sinner, all the things he wishes he'd done differently, how he'd put himself in your place in a heartbeat if it meant you'd be okay.

✹ other than those nights, he does his best to stay away from the infirmary. it’s selfish, but he can’t bear to see you in such a fragile state.

✹ he’s in his office when you wake up.

✹ the nurse finds him on his second drink of the night, and no sooner than the news leaves her mouth he's pushing past her and rushing to the infirmary. he bursts through the door, startling you and the other nurse with you.

✹ "hey, sweetheart." he’s by your side in an instant, taking one of your hands in both of his as he gazes lovingly into your eyes. it feels like it's been an age since you've looked at him, the sight of your eyes alone almost has the dam behind his own breaking.

✹ you’re staring back at him with a somewhat lost expression, but john’s so relieved that you’re here, that you're back, it slips his notice.

✹ he leans over to press a kiss to your forehead, like he's done hundreds of times before, but you stop him by placing your other hand on his chest. he pulls back with a concerned frown, finally noticing the unsure look you're wearing.

✹ the nurse briefly explains that some memory loss is common for the amount of head trauma you sustained. he should've expected something like this, in fact it's a miracle you made it out with just memory loss.

✹ "i'm sorry, can you tell me who you are?" you ask meekly, looking back at him with an apologetic look in your eye. you look guilty, like it's your fault this happened and not because of his own shortcomings.

✹ john's heart sinks at your words, but he's careful not to show it. amnesia can be temporary, he knows that, he just has to jog your memory.

✹ "i'm john," he smiles as warmly as he can through the panic in his chest, lifting his left hand to show you the wedding band on his finger, "your husband."

✹ your jaw falls open, your eyes wide as you look between the ring, his face, and the nurse behind him, who simply nods in confirmation of the captain's words.

✹ "you're…" you mutter, disbelief taking over your voice, "my husband?"

✹ you take his left hand in yours, bringing it closer to your face and examining the wedding band, a tiny smile pulling at one corner of your lips.

✹ "yes, love," his chest rumbles with a chuckle, grasping your left hand and showing you the matching band on your own finger, "we're married."

✹ "seriously?" you ask, comparing the rings on your fingers and looking back up to him with an almost comically surprised face. john nods again, his moustache tilted with an amused smile.

✹ "been together for nearly seven years."

✹ "how the hell did i convince you to marry me?" you mutter. at that, he lets out a real laugh, bringing your hand up to his lips and pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

✹ "think i should be the one askin' that question."

gaz

✹ kyle takes it harder than anyone.

✹ he visited you once, at the first opportunity when you were stable enough to not require constant observation, but the sight ruins him. you looked so weak, nothing like how you should; your cheeks were sunken and your skin has a sickly sheen to it, and there was nothing he could do to help you.

✹ he couldn't stand it.

✹ he becomes so easily irritated, a hair trigger just waiting to snap. the others want to help him, but he won't let them get close enough to try. any mention of your name has him shutting down, leaving faster than they can finish their sentence.

✹ he barely sleeps, spending most nights curled up in your bed with his tears soaking your pillow. he surrounds himself with your clothes, things that smell like you, but your scent eventually fades and he just feels so alone without you.

✹ price finds him like that one night, sitting on the floor with his back leaning against your bed after throwing up from crying so hard. he hauls kyle up by the collar of his shirt, and forces him to meet his stern eyes through the tears.

✹ "pull yourself together, garrick! they need you to be strong for them, how d'you think they're gonna feel when they wake up and see you like this?"

✹ after that it's like the spell is broken, and he realises just how pathetic he's been acting. in the weeks you've been out, he's only visited you – his partner – once. you'd never forgive him if you knew.

✹ from that night onwards, he visits you at least once a day, filling multiple vases around your bed with beautiful flowers and making sure they never wilt.

✹ he got 'get well soon' cards for you too, having each of your teammates, and even kate, sign one to decorate your room.

✹ you wake up surrounded by life and colour, physical evidence of how much he loves you that puts a smile on your exhausted face, even if you don't know who left them.

✹ he's off base when you wake up, picking up a fresh bouquet for your room. his phone rings as he's leaving the florists, and as soon as he hears the nurse's voice he's sprinting back to his car, throwing the flowers onto the passenger seat and racing back to base.

✹ he bursts through the infirmary doors to see you standing with the help of the nurse, your legs wobbly but your face determined. he almost breaks down in the doorway.

✹ when you look up and meet his eyes, he feels his heart stutter in his chest. he rushes towards you, the new bouquet slipping from his fingers, and almost knocks you off your feet with the how hard he embraces you.

✹ you let out a small 'oomph' as he squeezes you, hesitantly wrapping your own arms around his torso. he sniffles into your shoulder, a few tears wetting your shirt despite his attempts to hold them back.

✹ "hey, uhm…" your voice reaches his ears, hoarse with disuse, "are you okay? what's your name?"

✹ "what?" kyle lifts his head, pulling back to mirror your confused gaze. "babe, what're you on about?"

✹ the nurse pulls him aside, leaving you sitting on the edge of your bed as she explains your amnesia to him.

✹ you really didn't remember him. his heart withers in his chest, the pain of losing you all over again spreading to the ends of every limb.

✹ "no, no no no–" he mumbles, stumbling back over to where you sit and cupping your worried face so gently, like you'd break if he was too rough. "please, love, you have to remember"

✹ you cover his hands with your own, a few tears falling from your eyes and rolling hot against kyle's palms. "i'm sorry, i want to remember, but…"

✹ "please, i love you…"

soap

✹ johnny spends every free moment at your bedside.

✹ he talks to you, tells you stories about everything that's happened since you've been asleep; the time ghost burnt dinner and set the fire alarms off, a robin that landed on the windowsill of your shared room, anything that comes to mind.

✹ sometimes he plays your favourite songs, sitting on the end of your bed softly humming along, praying that you'll hear it and come back to him.

✹ most often though, he draws you. he fills page after page of his sketchbook with sketches of you; the peaceful look on your face as you lay next to him, memories from before the accident, the two of you together – though he always puts infinitely more detail into you than himself.

✹ similarly to the captain, johnny stays positive about your condition, refusing to even entertain the idea of you not waking up. he's optimistic, and so good at hiding the anguish of being without you that even ghost is fooled by his facade.

✹ he won't let the others worry about him. you're the one in the hospital, you're the one that deserves their sympathies, he has to stay positive for everyone so they don't worry, so you have something familiar to come back to when you wake up–

✹ in reality, he's living in denial. he's on the verge of a steep mental nosedive, and if he looks past his delusions for even a second, he's afraid he'll spiral into a pit he won't be able to claw his way back out of.

✹ so he continues to live like that. he has one-sided conversations with you, going on for hours as if you're talking back to him. he brings you your favourite meal when the mess hall makes it, putting it on your bedside table so you can reach it and clearing it up the next day when he comes back.

✹ when you eventually, finally wake up, he's already there with you.

✹ it was late, and against the nurse's wishes he'd climbed into your hospital bed with you, an arm around your shoulder holding you close his chest while his other hand doodles away in his sketchbook.

✹ you let out a small sound and shift against him, and his heart skips a beat under your ear at the realiseation that you're back.

✹ any lingering tiredness immediately disappears from his mind, as he throws his sketchbook carelessly onto the side table and wastes no time in gathering you up into his arms and bringing you into a crushing hug.

✹ a groggy, surprised noise leaves you, the sound of your voice lighting up johnny's face with a smile so wide it aches. he loosens his hold just enough to hold the side of your head with one hand, gazing into your eyes like you were the only person in the world.

✹ "there y'are, bonnie, i missed you so much,"

✹ he presses his lips to the top of your head, his eyes glassing and his heart full with how relieved he is that you're awake.

✹ "...what's going on?" you mutter, your eyes darting all over his face and to the room around you with a confused furrow in your brow.

✹ "lemme call the nurse," he replies with an easy, comforting smile, reaching somewhere behind him for the call button.

✹ while you wait for the nurse, he helps you sit up, adjusting the pillows behind your back so you can sit comfortably, all the while rambling about everything and nothing all at once.

✹ "you should've seen gaz's face, darl, it was priceless–"

✹ "i'm sorry, i… i dont remember you…"

✹ nothing has ever shut him up quite as effectively as those words.

✹ "wh… what? stop messin' about, bonnie," he chuckles, desperately searching your eyes for the humour that was missing. when you only shake your head in response, the smile fades from his face and quickly morphs into concern.

✹ "sergeant mactavish, how many times do i have to tell you to get off the bed!" the nurse exclaims as she enters the room. he doesn't get down though, just fixes her with the most intense look he's ever worn.

✹ "why don't they remember me?"

✹ the nurse explains that an injury like yours was bound to cause some lasting damage, but amnesia was more often than not temporary.

✹ "i'm sorry, i wish i could remember you…" you mutter, dropping your gaze to your lap as he turns back to you.

✹ johnny exhales deeply, finding a great sense of comfort that you'll most likely get your memory back. he gently tilts your chin up again so he can stare deep into your eyes.

✹ "don't apologise, that just means i get to woo you all over again, bonnie."

ghost

✹ simon would be destroyed.

✹ while you're knocked out its like he forgets how to be human. he eats, sleeps, and breathes on autopilot – like a robot with a function, no feeling, just keeping himself alive until you wake up.

✹ it worries the others, price especially, but the walls around his heart are expertly crafted, and without you by his side he sees no purpose in lowering them.

✹ when you do wake up, the first thing you see is him, sitting at your bedside with his hand enclosed around yours. his eyes are closed, but he's still very much awake, in fact he finds himself unable to rest anywhere but in the chair by your side.

✹ the way you try to pull your hand from his brings him back to the present and alerts him to your consciousness. his eyes snap open in less than a second, already glassy with the pure relief he feels now you're back.

✹ but you're looking at him differently. where there would once be soft affection, now he can only see confusion, and worst of all, panic.

✹ and there's fear in how your shoulders bunch up, but simon tries his best to ignore that thought.

✹ "hey, you're alright, darlin'," he coos, as gentle as he can manage, pushing the rising dread to the back of his mind.

✹ he presses the button to call the nurse, letting go of your trembling hand bringing it up to your shoulder. your worried gaze flicks to his arm and back to his face, which makes him pause in his tracks.

✹ "who… who are you?"

✹ simon's waited so long to hear your voice again, but hearing those four words from you shatters his heart into pieces.

✹ no.

✹ you didn't forget him. there was no way.

✹ "it's…" he swallows hard, blinking rapidly to hold back the tears threatening to fall. "it's me, love, it's simon."

✹ you're still looking at him with that same anxious expression, and he curses himself when he realises he's still wearing his balaclava. he practically rips it from his head, dropping it to the floor without a care for where it fell.

✹ your eyes study his bare face, tracing over every crease and scar, the mess of hair on top of his head, and finally landing on his desperate eyes.

✹ "i'm sorry, i…" you look guilty, the subtle shake of your head hurting simon like a knife to the chest. "...do i know you?"

✹ the silence that follows your words is unbearable.

✹ you really did forget him.

✹ all the time you'd spent together, the memories you shared, the love you had; it was all gone, just like that.

✹ suddenly he felt like the walls were closing in on him, he couldn't get enough air and his skin was crawling with the need to escape.

✹ at that moment, the nurse comes through the doors, startling simon into standing from the chair and stumbling backwards. he never takes his eyes off of your guilt-ridden face. you didn't know him, not anymore, and that meant he was all alone again, with no one to care for him and call home.

✹ the emptiness in his chest was enough to make him want to rip the hair from his scalp.

✹ the nurse says something, stealing your attention from him with words he's too overwhelmed to listen to. he takes the opportunity to back away, disappearing through the doors with a hand covering his mouth, fighting the urge to throw up.

✹ it was a miracle to two of you got together in the first place – simon didn't know if he could get you to love him again.

#hehehehhehehe #I recently remembered how much I enjoy this trope #fluff and angst guaranteed and I LOVED READING THIS #thanks for making it gn 💙💙 I really liked this #although ghost’s being soul crushing did get me a lil🥺 LET HIM REST #and Gaz begging??? my darling?? I wish to put you out of your misery PLEASE he’s too pretty to be sad yet looks so pretty when he’s sad #john price fanfic #Kyle Garrick fanfic #Johnny mactavish fanfic #Simon Riley fanfic #recs #cod fanfic

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joelsgoldrush · 1 month ago

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“you can use my skin to bury secrets in” | 6.8k

old man!logan x f!reader

SUMMARY: Saliva floods his mouth as you rise to your feet, looking down at him from above. Gracefully angelic, and yet— “I know what I’m asking for,” you continue, your voice descending to a low murmur that scratches pleasantly against some dark and remote corner of his brain. Then you lower yourself onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his waist. You repeat your question: “Can I help you?” OR Logan had always known your generosity would get him in trouble. WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ cursing. drinking. pining. mentions of alcohol. dirty talk. age gap (reader's in her late 20s). logan’s POV. angst/self-deprecation (he just needs a little loving). religious imagery. feelings. petnames. chauffeur!logan. oral sex (m receiving, tiny bit of f receiving). sort of dom!logan. doggy style. unprotected p in v. creampie. A/N: i could say i'm sorry for this, but i'm not. love love love this old man (#needthat). heavily inspired by the song "i know" by fiona apple. @lubdubology my partner in crime who keeps putting up with me, tysm!!! hope you all enjoy it <3

The line between being a good and bad person is thin. So thin, in fact, that Logan finds himself stepping back and forth across it constantly.

Rescuing a kitten from a tree? Good.

Punching a guy at a bar because he didn’t feel like being acknowledged? Bad.

Saving countless lives from mass destruction? Good—heroic, even.

But killing others to do it? Bad—condemnable, scum of the earth.

Where does that leave him? Which side has laid claim to his soul? He’s long accepted he’ll never see the pearly gates.

When the day comes that his body can no longer take it, and he only grows wearier, he’s pretty sure there’s a special place in hell with his name on it, etched in some grave awaiting to be filled.

Maybe Satan’s already counting down the days until he shows up at his door, who knows?

Yet, the more time passes by, the less afraid he is of what lies beneath the surface. He’s learned to coexist with the darkness, with the kind of pain and loneliness that would crush most men.

He doesn’t know how, but he survives it—the agony, the memories, the solitude that hits him from time to time.

And still, he doesn't lose himself entirely. He’s tempted, of course, to linger in the past—it’s always easier to drown there.

If he could go back, he knows he wouldn’t be alone in choosing that path. Some days, it feels like the only option.

But there’s no you in his past.

Logan inhales sharply when your tongue teases his slit, lapping at the precum pooling there. You hum at the taste, your hand resting on his bare thigh, fingers pressing into his skin. Your other hand lazily strokes the length of him, working the inches your mouth can’t take.

It’s clear you’re enjoying this. He can tell from the way your lashes flutter each time he thrusts a little deeper into your slick warmth. A win-win situation.

Letting a girl like you do this to him? That’s bad. Very bad. Red flags all around.

He meets you when he least expects it.

It’s a night like any other. He’s been driving for God knows how long. His joints ache from being in the same position for hours, and a part of his left knee he didn’t even know could hurt begins to throb.

It takes everything in him not to call it quits for the night, not to turn around and head home like a coward.

When exactly his life fell into this monotonous cycle, he’s not entirely sure, but it happened somewhere along the way. Now, it’s all the same: taking care of Charles during the day, catching an hour or two of sleep, then gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity, driving through endless stretches of road, resisting any attempts at small talk from the passengers he chauffeurs around.

They all try—every single one of them. They think if they can crack his harsh and bitter exterior, he’ll open up, reveal something, anything to make their eyes go wide.

But why? Why do they insist on breaking through his shell? What do they hope to discover?

No one really cares what’s going on in his mind. They just want to feel good about themselves—like they’ve been kind, amiable, empaths intending to fill some empty and obscure corner of their own lives.

Logan refuses to be the person who grants them that satisfaction.

You slip into the backseat of his limo, closing the door with a soft click. The night clings to you, the scent of the bar still lingering on your clothes. The music is loud enough for him to hear from outside, and he sees the people lined up at the door, willing to cause a fight if it means securing a good time.

There's a slight frown tugging at your features, your lips pulled downward, though your voice is still polite when you blurt out your address.

Five minutes into the drive and you haven’t said a word. Internally, he’s savoring the silence, so happy he could jump on one foot.

This kind of peace is rare. He’d grown unaccustomed to it. The tension in his shoulders eases as the city lights blur past.

But, all good things come to an end, because—

“How’s your night going?” you ask, fiddling with the seatbelt to have something between your fingers. Logan glances at you through the mirror, his eyes catching yours just for a moment, long enough to see the faint, apologetic smile you offer him. He allows himself a heartbeat more to take you in before focusing back on the road.

You click your tongue, a soft sound of disapproval ringing in his ears. “Well, thank you.”

He lets out a quiet huff, grinding his teeth together. “I’d prefer if we stayed like we were before,” he mutters, his voice rough and gravelly. His attention flickers between the passing cars and the occasional glimpses of you that startle him every time he searches for the mirror. Cars. You. Cars. You. You. You. “Y’know, not talking.”

“But that’s no fun at all,” you retort, sliding more to your left, nearly positioning yourself in the middle of the backseat. It gives him a better view of you—whether intentional or not, he can’t say.

The lipstick on your lips is still flawless. A sparkly necklace glints just above the neckline of your dress, and matching earrings dangle from your ears. Wrapped in a leather jacket, you look effortlessly alluring.

This entire sequence is enough to confirm that by no means is he going to heaven. Straight to hell, he thinks, allowing his gaze to trace over each detail of your frame. Straight to hell.

You don’t give up. “Your aura is off.”

That prompts a crooked smirk from him, a shake of his head as he mumbles under his breath: “M’sorry, my what’s off?”

“Your aura,” you clarify, motioning toward him with a light jingle from the many bracelets adorning your wrist. “It’s the energy that surrounds you.”

Logan snorts, amused for a brief second. “Well, you weren’t exactly a beacon of life when you got in either.”

You chuckle softly, leaning back against the seat and looking out the window. “I’m much better now.” A pause before you continue, your tone shifting, losing strength. “My date stood me up. Last-minute cancellation.”

It’s not anger, nor is it disappointment, that laces your words. You seem more resigned than anything else. He’d have expected you to sound at least a bit more conflicted.

“I should’ve seen it coming. He’d been asking to move it forward for a while.”

Does he look like the type of driver who doubles as a therapist? He wishes he could understand why you're telling him all this.

“That sucks,” he still responds, because even though he hasn’t gone out with a woman in what feels like centuries, he understands that sensation all too well. “First time meeting him?”

Listen up, everyone—he’s genuinely engaging in conversation with another soul. This doesn’t happen often.

He hears you hum, eyes still trained on the outside world. You sigh, crossing your arms over your torso. “Would you mind rolling your window up? I’m kind of freezing here.”

“I’d mind that very much,” he says, his voice carrying its usual gruff edge. He fights the urge to grin, but then you unbuckle your seatbelt, leaning in closer to him. Your body is wedged between his seat and the passenger’s, and he perceives your stare boring into his side profile. “Put your seatbelt back on.”

“You’re fucking with me.” Your finger taps his shoulder once, twice. “First, I get all dolled up for an idiot who bails on me, and now you have the nerve to make fun of me? Give me a break.”

Your eyes stay on him, a smile plastered on your face, anticipating any possible answer.

Crack, crack, crack—you intend to break through his shell, watching him from the front row, waiting for the moment it gives way.

Before you can say more, he cuts you off. “Seatbelt.”

It’s a command, an instruction, and you comply without hesitation.

Warmth pools and stirs low in his gut as he notes how quickly you obey him.

Would you still look at him like that if you knew the blood he’s scrubbed off his hands? The flesh that his claws have shredded? The names of the lives he’s taken?

Would your warm gaze turn cold, filled with dread instead of curiosity?

Maybe this is hell. Are you the Devil in disguise, tempting him to cross a line he won’t be able to come back from?

A few minutes later, he pulls up to your building. A really nice one, he notes. You announce you live on the sixth floor. He doesn’t need to know that, does he? Why would you tell him that? Why give that piece of information to a complete stranger?

You linger in the backseat, as though you’re expecting him to turn and look at you. And he does, though not for the reason you might expect. “You got everything?”

Eager and full of life, you nod, clutching your purse to your chest. You avert your gaze to read his ID tag, the one that contains his personal details. “James?”

“Glad you can read,” he utters, pulling out a small bottle of liquor from under the seat. He drains it all in one go, savoring the fleeting burn as it slides down his throat, which is enough to keep him going. “C’mon, kid. I already charged you.”

“You drink while you drive?”

“Keeps me entertained,” he says dryly. It’s the only thing he knows how to do. Raising the empty bottle in your direction, he arches a brow. “Goodnight, darlin’. Leave me a good review on your way out.”

You roll your eyes at him, silent as you exit the vehicle, closing the door behind you. While fumbling for your keys, four words escape your mouth. Casual yet devastating, they ruin him: “I’ll see you around.”

For a couple of days, you don’t bother him again. Bother—notice the implication of the verb in question.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t think of you after that drive. Each time his phone buzzes, a small, restless part of him hopes it’s you, asking for his services, wanting him to be the one you seek out.

And it happens. The best things seem to occur when the moon hangs high and bright.

You: Hi.

He stares at the message, recognition washing over him. He knows it’s you; he can see the other texts you exchanged that night he took you home.

You: Are you working tonight?

You’ve got to be kidding him.

Logan: Why are you texting me?

He types the words with frustration, his thumb hovering over the screen longer than usual.

You: Why are you answering me?

Oh, you’re smart.

Logan: Take my advice. Talk to a guy your own age.

You: Damn. Already jumping to conclusions. I was just going to ask you if you wanted to have a drink with me.

Logan: I’m busy.

You: Well, what time do you get off?

Logan: I work all night.

You: Can’t even make a quick stop? I swear it won’t take you more than twenty minutes.

An impulse to throw his phone out the window surges within him, but he manages to restrain himself.

Then, as if on cue, the device vibrates again—of course, it’s you.

You: The drinks are on me. Let me know if you change your mind.

Do you think he’s going to let you pay for him? Absolutely not.

What surprises him more than the message is how easily he remembers your address. It appears to be ingrained in his mind.

He cancels his next trip, scheduled for ten minutes from now, his new destination being your building.

Once he pulls up, he does what feels most natural: he honks. Multiple times. Maybe he’s lucky and you’ll tell him to fuck off.

But you don’t. You’re laughing as you make your way over to the limo, sliding into the backseat in the same way you did a week ago. Your plan had succeeded—you had him exactly where you wanted.

Far from hiding it, you make it evident, obvious. Your heartbeat thrums in the air, and Logan can hear it loud and clear, like the bass in one of those funky songs he likes.

There’s no room for mistakes. He won’t deny it. Even if the feeling is mutual, he can’t shake the idea that he’s doing something wrong.

In his eyes, you’re the forbidden fruit—irresistible, the ultimate temptation known to humankind, camouflaged in the fur of a pretty woman.

You, his paradise on earth, could only lead to one thing: a longing for a chance with you, which he should never be granted in the first place.

He’s diving headfirst into disgrace, and the more he realizes it, the worse it feels. If he were to be scolded like a child, maybe he’d feel relieved, but he’s no kid. He’s a grown-ass man who should be able to resist.

Yet, self-restraint is like sand slipping through his fingers—never lasting long enough.

“You came.” Astonishment. Uncertainty. Amusement. Blinking your eyes at him, you sit very upright, and you don't even bother fastening your seatbelt. “Honestly? I thought you were going to block me.”

I can’t, he thinks. I wouldn’t be able to. I’m not that strong.

“What happened this time? Another failed date?” he inquires, still not starting the car. A look of perplexity appears on your features, puzzled about why he’s not moving. “Ain’t you forgetting something?” He tugs on his own seatbelt for emphasis, the fabric snapping back into place against his coat.

Once again, you follow his lead. “I don’t need to get stood up to want to see you,” you say, placing your hand on his shoulder for balance—or so he tells himself. It takes him all his willpower not to collapse right then and there. “Besides, I’m not bad company. I’ve been told I can be pretty funny.”

“I see…” he trails off, catching your gaze through the rearview mirror, not shocked in the slightest to find you waiting for him to look back. “Where to?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you should. You invited me.”

How easy it is to make your chest rumble with laughter, the genuine sound bubbling up, pure and unrestrained. He feels like some amateur comedian who has just realized his real passion is to cause this type of response in others.

Except, it’s not just anyone’s laughter he insists on provoking—it’s yours, and yours alone.

An unsettling sensation envelops him the second you retrieve your hand, not before squeezing his shoulder in a friendly manner. “There’s a bar I go to with my friends sometimes,” you suggest after a beat, shoving your phone in the pocket of your jacket. “We could try that one.”

The moment he steps inside, regret washes over him. Why is everyone here under forty? He feels ancient, like fucking Fred Flintstone.

A fossil out of place, meant to dwell in the shadows, not in a scene like this.

When he freezes in the middle of the bar, your fingers intertwine with his, tugging him along, and he follows after you like a lost puppy. The only thing he’s missing is the leash.

You’re met with his quirked eyebrows as you peer into his eyes over your shoulder, a toothy grin threatening to shake the floor beneath his feet. “You know, people usually sit down before they start getting shit-faced.”

“I’m not getting drunk tonight.” Logan exhales a deep breath, trying to hide his discomfort, his eyes scanning the room. “And neither are you,” he practically yells in your ear trying to make himself heard above the pounding music and incessant chatter. He wonders if you even hear him at all.

The two of you eventually settle at the counter, drinking in silence. Logan half-expects one of your comments to pierce through the quiet, but you delight in proving him wrong.

Instead, your head sways gently to the rhythm of the song playing in the background, and you take a trial sip of your beer.

He’s acutely aware of the stares from the rest of the patrons. He can pretend to be oblivious, but the weight of several pairs of eyes burning holes into the back of his neck doesn’t go unnoticed.

Being watched has never been his favorite pastime, and somehow, it feels even more uncomfortable with you by his side.

He knows what those looks imply, can nearly taste the hidden implications behind each fleeting glance.

What’s a girl like you doing with a man like him? A question that makes no sense.

Does he have money? A well-endowed reputation? Did he recently inherit any properties?

Are you truly that desperate for human contact?

Is your bed so cold that you decide to go for the first guy who can string ten words together?

Logan doubts whether this whole experiment is part of the community service you must be doing. Maybe he should look up your name online to see if any criminal records come to the surface.

Now that he takes a moment to ponder it, you certainly fit the mold of the criminal type. The kind who gets what she wants when she wants it, leaving a trail of intrigue on her wake.

His fingers circle the glass so tightly he fears it might shatter into a million shards. You notice his tension, nudging his arm with yours, aiming to meet his eyes.

When you do (because, as he said, criminals have their own ways), you smile, and he internalizes that gesture as something familiar, something he feels he’s grown used to. Something rankled in his memory.

It’s as if he’s known you for a lifetime.

“Thank you for coming,” you say softly, and he may be going down the path of hallucinations, but your attention remains a little too long on his lips. Then, just as quickly, it flickers back to the rest of his face, and you lean back to drink from your beer once more.

Straight to hell, he thinks, tasting the remnants of whiskey on his tongue, for ever daring to believe himself worthy of even a moment of your precious time.

You’re probably the first person to have his full, undivided attention. And that’s… well, that’s saying something.

Most days, you’re pretty talkative, a steady stream of conversation, your words pouring out in an endless flow.

You tell him about your family, your career, that pet of yours that died when you were six years old. You mention a friend you no longer speak to, and the events that led to the downfall of your friendship.

There’s also that dish from your all-time favorite restaurant, the one you buy at least once a week because it never fails to comfort you.

Nonstop, you talk and talk, and Logan doesn’t mind one bit. Soon, he finds himself becoming an active listener—asking follow-up questions, chuckling at your jokes, even when they’re not funny at all.

He sincerely cares about what you have to say.

This whole situation with you is beyond his comprehension. Before he realizes it, you start wanting to spend more time with him.

Sometimes, you ride along in the passenger seat while he drives aimlessly through the city.

Sometimes, you invite him over, cook a meal, and he always takes the leftovers with him, as if a part of you goes with him when he leaves.

Sometimes, you come over to his place, and the roles reverse—you’re the one with the mic, asking the questions, fully aware that you’re treading on holy ground.

Logan’s got a sign on his forehead that reads ‘Stop: do not enter.’ It’s rough around the edges, hardened by the years, all capital letters in stark blank ink. But in the end, you just take the sign and set it aside.

He never goes into too much detail. Not because he doesn’t trust you—it’s just that there’s too much to unpack, and you don’t need to know all of it. You’ll be better off not carrying the garbage he does.

Yet, you’ve got him by the throat, encouraging him to cough up disjoined pieces of his life, bits of his day, his thoughts, his feelings. It sounds stupid to him, but you make him feel alive.

You never judge him, never flinch when he brings up stories from his past. As he sits at your table one afternoon, you look at his hands, his claws fully extended, and you don’t shy away. You rub the pad of your thumb across the rough skin of his knuckles, right where the adamantium tears through his flesh.

You don’t care that he’s a mutant, that he’s killed people. You don’t try to deny who he is or what he’s done. Oddly enough, you just wish to be by his side, staring off into the void with him.

“But why?” he asks, partly flattered, partly frustrated. This could be compared to learning a new sport from scratch—he can’t figure you out, can’t understand why you haven’t run the other way yet.

He likes your company, though he’s always bracing himself for the inevitable day you find a better hobby and leave.

Your reasoning defies logic, and he’s afraid that at any moment, you’ll grasp the gravity of your choices.

Almost as if you could feel the turmoil brewing in his mind, you simply say: “You’re nice to be around.”

Nice. Nice. Nice. He’d cackle if he were alone. That word reverberates through him. When was the last time someone called him nice?

Bad-tempered, sure.

A pain in the ass? Definitely.

But nice? Not a term people employed to describe him.

It’s a quality reserved for you, with your endless charisma and kind heart, but not for a man of his kind.

He’s nothing more than a chauffeur, a driver, someone who does and says what’s necessary to survive. Does that make him nice?

When he tells you he’s probably going to hell, you don’t try to make him feel better. Anyone else in your position might try to soothe him, to offer some hollow reassurance.

Your intention isn’t to change him, for him to pretend to be something he’s not. “Then I’ll meet you there,” you mutter, your shiny eyes searing into his. Under the table, your hand finds his, tender fingers grazing over his knuckles, and for once, he doesn’t pull away.

Could it be that an afterlife catching fire doesn’t sound so bad after all?

As much as he likes to admit how easily you can shift his mood, today is not one of those days.

He’s had a nightmare—nothing new, but this one had been… different. The empty bottle on the nightstand hadn’t been of any help; it never does when they visit him in his sleep.

The ghosts of those who used to be his friends, his family, tiptoe around his dreams in the form of shadows.

Blood. Screams. Shouts of his name. He can’t save them all. Walking through the wreckage, he dodges the bodies of those he couldn’t protect, the knot in his throat tightening with every step, not allowing him to breathe.

Wherever he turns, there’s death, destruction. Sadness. Did he save them all?

It’s always the same routine. He wakes up, screaming, chest aching from the effort. His lungs burn, and he has to remind himself that the limbs attached to him are his own and not the remnants of an immobile corpse.

Sweat clings to his skin, pooling at his temples and nape. He wipes it away with the back of his hand, rubbing at the soreness in his neck.

His phone rings somewhere in the distance, pulling him from his dizzy state. He scrambles to his feet, accepting the call just before it hits voicemail.

It's you. Despite it being late, he swears he feels the gentle kiss of the sun over his brow. Your sweet voice chases away the lingering shadows of his dreams, replacing the bitter taste in his mouth with something real—a reason to get up, to start moving.

He holds onto every second of the brief call, replaying those thirty seconds in his head as he steps into the shower. When the cold water shocks his system, it pulls him fully back to consciousness. He has to get ready.

Even though you insist on getting a taxi, he refuses. He doesn’t mind the drive. His gas tank does, his wallet maybe, but Logan? He just doesn’t.

At the end of the day, he’s protective by nature, and who knows what kind of men are roaming the streets at night?

God forbid they’re anything like him—eager to prompt a smile from you, trying too hard to impress you. He arrives at the conclusion that he’d rather lose fuel and money if it means orbiting around you for longer.

You make him feel better, and tonight, he needs it more than ever. He needs you.

(Now he’s driving. He honks five times when he pulls up to your building. You get on the limo, giggling as you say: “My neighbors must hate you.” He grins. You kiss him on the cheek. Subtle. Not the first time. Still, it doesn’t get old. He feels the faint residue of lip gloss on his skin. He doesn’t wipe it off.)

Not in the mood to cook, you declare as you step into his place. The mouth-watering aroma of the Chinese food you bought fills the air, but when he reaches for the bags, you insist that he sit and relax.

Sure, he can take a seat. But to expect him to relax with you around, playing this intricate game? That’s simply impossible. You’re asking for too much. He’s a player at heart, drawn to the thrill of the chase, and he will play along.

What seems inconceivable is the expectation that he can act as if nothing is happening between these four walls.

His attempts to focus on you are futile, as his mind betrays him tonight. All he hears spilling from your lips is pure and plain gibberish. Your very presence is no longer enough to anchor him.

Already immune to your charm, Logan eats his noodles, occasionally nodding when your voice rises at the end of a sentence, indicating a question.

But he nearly chokes on his drink the moment he registers your serious expression, having never witnessed you like this before.

“Are you even here?” you ask, shoving your food aside with a swift motion of your wrist.

What should he answer? What is it that you want to hear? Of course! I’m here, listening to you. It’s a delightful night. Should I start by telling you about my most recent nightmare? Quite the entertainment!

There’s a shake of his head as he lowers his gaze, escaping your concerned expression. “M’sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m not trying to make you feel guilty.” You tug your chair forward, claiming a piece of his personal space. You know he doesn’t mind. “Want to talk about it? Did something happen?”

“My brain is just… off today.”

“Many thoughts at the same time.” Not a question. Have you completely figured him out?

“Yeah.”

He remains still, dragging his plastic fork across the now-cold steamed veggies, which have lost their appeal.

How amusing—your knees bump against his, drawing his attention. “Can I help you?” It’s new, the breathy tone you’re using, a whisper of agitation weaving through your calm demeanor.

“Can you erase my memory?” he shoots back, attempting to smirk through the wave of memories that flash behind his eyelids. When he looks into your eyes, the siren in his head blares.

Your pupils are dilated, blown wide, chest rising and falling rapidly. Sweaty palms that you wipe on your jeans. Tongue darting out to lick your lips. Your heartbeat accelerates, drumming wildly like the fluttering of a hummingbird’s wings.

He hasn’t been with a woman in ages, but he knows how they react when they see something they like—or, in this case, someone.

“Logan.” His name rolls off your tongue once more, tinged with an unmistakable need. The thought of checking his temperature dances through his mind, but the heaviness in his limbs roots him in place. He feels feverish. “I want to help you.”

Oh, no. No, no, no, no—

“What—what are you on, sweetheart?” Get up. Find your keys. Drive her home. “You don’t even know what you’re sayin’.”

Saliva floods his mouth as you rise to your feet, looking down at him from above. Gracefully angelic, and yet— “I know what I’m asking for,” you continue, your voice descending to a low murmur that scratches pleasantly against some dark and remote corner of his head. Then you lower yourself onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his waist. You repeat your question: “Can I help you?”

He’s no longer in control of his actions. His right hand crawls up your knee, palming the fabric of your pants. It’s numbing: a lapful of you, your rich smell, your quickened pulse.

Tempting. So fucking tempted to take you right now, just like this, without the need for words. Your bodies can communicate in a language of their own, one that transcends spoken phrases.

I want you, he lets you know through the way he gropes your breasts over your shirt, squeezing them together. He’s always been good with his hands. But what the hell am I supposed to do with a sweet thing like you?

His patience teeters on the edge of a precipice. “Tell me what you want.”

“I asked you first.”

“You’re gonna pretend you don’t know the answer?” He thrusts into the air, grinding against your clothed core, and you close your eyes. He’s rock hard beneath you, the bulge in his jeans shockingly obscene, bordering on grotesque. “We both know what I want, but I’m no telepath, baby. Need you to speak up.”

Twisting the locks of hair at his nape, you press your lips to his neck. “I want to make you forget, to focus on this moment. I want you to live in the present, Logan.” A bite on his earlobe sends shivers down his spine, and he grips your hips with a primal growl. “I can do whatever you want. Just tell me. Tell me, and I’ll do it, please.”

Please? He’s spiraling. Please? That’s it—he’s doing it. He’ll grant you your plea, which aligns perfectly with his own desires.

Once his back meets the mattress in his room, you get to work. With delicate precision, you pull down his pants, sliding his boxers off until only his thick thighs and the crown of short curls adorning his cock remain in sight. Your fingers tremble slightly before you wrap them loosely around his length, and it springs to life in your grasp.

Your gaze pierces into his, mirroring the intensity of his own. But something holds you back, prompting you to reach for his hand.

At that moment, it all clicks into place. Logan urges your head down onto him, and he’s welcomed by the slick warmth you provide.

Indeed, he’s very much alive.

“That’s it. That’s—fuck. There you go.”

His fingers dig into the mattress, clutching the cotton sheets, stopping himself from thrusting into your mouth. It’s not that he doesn’t want to—God, he does—but tonight, he’s on his best behavior.

He wipes the trail of drool from your chin, smearing it gently across your cheek, his thumb lingering as he watches your nostrils flare with a strained, muffled gasp.

Bringing his thumb to his mouth, he tastes the wetness on it the same way you’re sucking him: greedily, without any trace of mercy.

This proves I’m going to hell, he thinks, enraptured by the sight of his cock disappearing between your parted lips. Straight to hell.

You draw him back to the present, nuzzling your face against his thigh, your humid breath teasing his thick shaft, pulling him from a deep reverie. Your glossy eyes roam, exploring until they find his, and you gift him an authentic smile. Wrecked and blissed out, it’s as if the lights are on, but no one’s truly home.

He would’ve never guessed how much you reveled in sucking cock, radiating enthusiasm with each of your movements.

“Am I doing it okay?” you wonder aloud, hovering over the tip, swirling your tongue around the velvety head. He’s no fool, and neither are you; deep down, you know you’re doing more than just okay. Actually, you’re giving him the best blowjob of his long, long life.

Each panting, airy praise he huffs fuels your eagerness, making you even more receptive to his desires as the words slip past his lips.

“Fuckin’ amazing, honey. Got me so hard, y’see?” His tone is heavily charged with carnality, gripping himself and smacking the tip against your mouth, the wet sound echoing like music to his ears.

He pulses against your tongue, and you seize the opportunity to trace the thin veins scattered along his length. Gulping, with his gaze fixed on you, Logan notices how you’re still wearing your clothes, wiggling your hips against the mattress, rubbing your thighs together to get something in return. “Are you wet?”

Humming against him, you suck in shaky breath.

“Words.”

“I’m—I’m wet,” you rasp, voice hoarse. You try to guide him into your mouth and fail miserably, because his grip only tightens, stroking himself instead. “Logan,” you keen, stretching your neck in a silent plea, “don’t be mean.”

“Not mean. Just enjoyin’ myself,” he replies, pulling the foreskin back to expose the head, arching his eyebrows. His fingers curl around your chin, drawing your face nearer to his girth, fascinated by how your eyes flutter shut the more you surrender to the pleasure. “C’mon. Be polite.”

Blame him for it—he believes he’ll never get tired of this game.

“Please.” You whisper, returning to your begging while tenderly rolling his balls, staring at him through your lashes. And then you say it again: “Please.”

Your gaze burns a hole through his crumpled heart. He lets you have it, eager to give whatever you may ask him for. You dive back into it, engulfing his length and bobbing your head up and down with fervor. Hushed whines escape your lips, savoring another bead of his precum.

Logan almost loses it as you hollow your cheeks, instinctively cradling the back of your head. “Easy, baby. M’not going anywhere. Take your time.”

Whenever he feels himself approaching that long-awaited release, he forces his mind to conjure thoughts that will stall his impending orgasm.

The water stains from flooding on the walls.

The supermarket list.

The rising price of gas.

The—

“Fuck. Slow down,” he groans, utterly captivated by the way you point your tongue to draw imaginary patterns along his cock, seemingly memorizing every detail. “Don’t go too hard on me, remember?”

You mumble something under your breath, and at first, he can’t quite make it out. “What is it?”

“I said I want you to fuck me.”

Under no circumstances is he surviving this night.

“Really, doll?” Logan seeks the reassurance he desperately needs, fearing that this is all a dream from which he’ll awaken the moment he properly touches you. “You sure you want this old man to fuck you?”

You’re a rambling mess, murmuring Yes, Logan, please, until he maneuvers you to lie on his chest, his glistening cock sliding against your clothes, leaving a trail of dark spots. A whimper dies on your tongue as you brush your lips together, your hot breath enveloping him. “Give me a kiss at least.”

Tilting your head up, he connects his mouth to yours, growling as he detects the dull, sour tang of what must be him. He sucks your bottom lip, hardly aware of what his hands are doing until he shifts your positions, pinning you down.

Logan tugs at your clothes, peeling them away with urgency, his fingers dancing over your nipples until you’re grinding against his thigh, quivering beneath him. With a nip at your damp skin, his eyes flutter open as he studies your expression, casting you a glance that seeks your permission.

A ripple of desire courses through him when you dutifully turn over beneath him, pressing your face further into the pillow. He runs his knuckles along the curve of your ass, his throat going dry as you follow after his touch, arching your body in response.

Unable to resist the temptation any longer, he licks a long, slow stripe up your wet folds, keeping his tongue flat against your clit for a brief moment. Your arms give out and you stumble forward, stuttering as you mewl his name, fully consumed by the feeling.

So he does it again, and again, and again, flicking the sensitive bud, even though you’re already beyond soaked. It’s a pleasure he indulges in simply because he can.

Straight to hell, he thinks, coating his length with your arousal, teasing your entrance while pushing in only the tip. That motion alone is enough to make him draw a trembling breath before he continues, gradually feeding you his cock, inch by inch.

Straight to hell, the voice in his head utters as he buries himself to the hilt deep within your body, his heavy balls resting against your ass.

Like an intruder in your territory, he’s free to do as he pleases, and you let him have his way with you.

If only this moment could stretch into infinity—he longs for time to relent and never draw to a close.

What will happen after? Will you spend the night? Does he—

“L-Logan,” you mumble, having adjusted to his size. You rock back into him, impaling yourself even more on his cock. “Please, move.”

The pace he establishes is brutal. Your warm, inner walls exquisitely massage him, and the earth as he knows it stops spinning. Fire pools low in his abdomen, his hands holding you by the flesh of your hips to keep you anchored, each thrust driving you closer to the headboard with an intoxicating urgency.

“You wanted it from the very start, didn’t you?” He doesn’t know if a response will ever come, but these kinds of thoughts are impossible to contain. He’s just a simple man, powerless against the allure of a tight cunt. “Just got in my car and knew it would end like this?”

His next thrust punches a whine out of your lungs. Even as you clench around him, stuffed and filled to the brim, you beg for him to fuck you harder. He would’ve laughed at you were he able to catch his breath.

With a more deliberate rhythm, he rolls his hips, jackhammering your most sensitive spot, pulling you closer as he wraps an arm around you. When his fingers find your clit, drawing slippery circles, a cry escapes you, and your body merges with the mattress under you.

Your release takes him by surprise, urging him to continue as you reach back, encouraging him to chase his own climax. He knows all too well the struggle of bringing you to this point without succumbing to his pleasure too soon. Your nails graze along his thigh, leaving delicate marks in their wake, and somehow, the passion and bliss he’s been nurturing ignites into a fiery crescendo.

Shortly after, he goes completely rigid inside you, pressing his forehead against your back as he bites down on your shoulder to muffle his groans. His hand squeezes your breast tightly, riding out his high, blood buzzing in his ears, continuing to spill into you. You spam around him, milking him until the last drop of his seed, his release painting your insides with his warmth.

Logan tucks you under his chin as his vision returns to clarity. You nose his jaw, your fingers softly tracing the contours of his beard. He pulls you closer into his chest, gliding his hands up and down your back.

Half a minute of dreadful silence, then: “Can I stay?”

Oh, yes—pillow talk. He’s not great at this either. Despite that, his eyes soften, snapping to your face.

Logan pauses for a moment. “Sure,” he retorts, dragging his fingers along your shoulder blades. He’s a one-word kind of guy. Just perfect.

Tell her you like her. Tell her you don’t want this to be a casual fling. Tell her it’s more than just sex for you.

Or maybe don’t. Get ahold of yourself, will you?

“Logan?” you ask, resting your palm against his heart.

“What is it?”

“I know.”

You do?

Try as he might, he can’t deny it. He might care about you more than he ever realized.

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! <3

2K notes · View notes

kentopedia · 7 months ago

Text

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ SAFEGUARD — dazai, chuuya, akutagawa

summary . . . they save you after you've been injured and captured by an enemy.

contents . . . sfw, f!reader (chuuya & dazai) and gn!reader (akutagawa), violence / blood, threats, injuries, hurt/comfort, angst, established relationship, and it's pmboss!dazai bc i can't help myself — 3.5k total

notes . . . i got this request so long ago lol. not my best work, but i have been in the worst writing slump ever and just wanted to finish something. i've also never written for akutagawa before so pls be nice <3

𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐔𝐘𝐀 . . .

there are very few times that chuuya feels he’s been outsmarted. he knows he’s not the mastermind of the port mafia, but he certainly isn’t a fool. when it comes to you and your well-being, though, his mind short-circuits, half of his intelligence draining away while his emotions take hold.

your relationship isn’t a secret to anyone in the port mafia, which means that it isn’t a secret to your enemies either. and while most people know it’s hard to land a finger on chuuya directly, his pretty little girlfriend doesn’t have the power of a god nestled inside of her.

the rage sparks through him, growing fiercely into the blaze of a forest fire, until all he can think of is getting you home safely. he thinks of your sweet smile as he rips the door of the enemies’ base off the hinges, crushing it into a million pieces with the force of gravity.

the men are quick to react, but chuuya hurtles the crushed door towards them, knocking three of them to their feet. another group charges at him, but their guns do little against his skill. after years of fighting some of the strongest ability users, simple criminal organizations are as easy to step over like ants.

chuuya kills them all — except for one.

the man’s knees are wobbling, hand shaking around the gun as he realizes that these will be his final moments. there is fear in his eyes, brown ones that rest wide open, and chuuya almost hesitates. his remorse doesn’t last long, though, before he’s wrapping a hand around the man’s throat, thrusting him backwards.

“where is she?” chuuya asks, voice sharp and commanding.

he can feel the man swallowing.

chuuya knows that backup is probably on the way, but it won’t matter whether they show up or not. he’ll crush the rest of his enemies just as he’s crushed the last twenty men. the poor soul in his leather hold seems to know that as well.

“i-i’ll take you to her,” he rasps, dropping his gun to claw at chuuya’s hand.

he drops him, lets him take a few heaving breaths and coughs, before he’s kicking at him, forcing him back to his feet.

the young man takes him up the elevator, weaves him through a hallway as chuuya leaves a scattering of bodies in his wake, not hesitating to kill a single man that gets in his way. there is nothing that can keep him from you.

how fiercely and loyally he loves you — it drives him to near insanity.

finally, with blood coating his face and his clothes, the young man enters a room, locked with a code, revealing you.

chuuya’s rage is almost as blinding as his corruption, as he gazes at the sight of you. bloodied and bruised, tied up in a chair, so visibly harmed. his hands clench into fists. “get the fuck away from her,” he says to the man who seems to be monitoring you.

“what are you doing in here?” the men left in the room panic, but they don’t have time to react before chuuya throws them back at the wall, so quickly, with so much force, that their spines snap. they hit it with a sharp crack, skulls shattering against the plaster, the wall crushing beneath the weight of them.

limply, they fall to the floor.

chuuya rushes over to you.

the young man that led him here disappears, but chuuya isn’t worried about him. he’s a coward; he’ll likely flee from the country and never look back. the men that truly hurt you are already dead, and he’ll burn this building to the ground once he’s gotten you away from it.

“hey,” chuuya says, cradling your cheeks gently, trying to coax you back awake. he’s not sure if it’s exhaustion, blood loss, or the obvious head trauma that caused you to pass out in the first place. but you’re still breathing, so he counts that as a blessing.

“hey,” he whispers again, kissing your forehead, like it will heal all your ailments. “wake up, baby. we gotta get you out of here, okay?”

it takes you a few seconds to come to, eyes glazed over and shell-shocked as you blink at him. “chuuya?” you say; your voice is so hoarse it makes chuuya want to keel over and vomit. “is it really you?”

guilt gnaws at him, almost crushing, at the fact that thirty-six hours passed, and you’re delirious enough not to recognize him. you probably haven’t eaten, either.

he should’ve been there. no one should’ve ever had the chance to hurt you, yet…

“it’s me, i’m here,” he says, kissing your lips, your temple, brushing your hair away from your face. the strands are sticky with blood. “shit,” chuuya nearly shouts, pulling a knife from his pocket, sawing through the thick ropes around you as quickly as he can. “i’m so sorry, i’m so sorry.”

he can’t get you free fast enough, and you smile at him, drowsy, your eyes fluttering shut once more. “it’s okay, chuuya,” you say, leaning your head on his shoulder. “you’re here now.”

“you have to stay awake,” he says desperately, realizing your head is still bleeding. he doesn’t know how hurt you are. chuuya’s no expert when it comes to medicine, but he’s smart enough to know that internal injuries could be even worse than the external ones.

“stay awake for me, okay, honey? i’ll get you back to the boss and we’ll find you a doctor. you’ll be just fine.”

“okay, chuuya,” you hum, weakly gripping his back. seconds of silence pass before you mutter, “i just want to go home.”

"i know." his heart pulls, and he almost lets out a cracked sob. but he refrains, knowing that there is plenty of time to drown in his sorrows later.

finally, he gets the ropes under, lifting you from the chair. you’re so much lighter, weaker, and it makes him sick as he carries you. “let’s get you home.”

𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐖𝐀. . .

the call comes just as akutagawa is getting ready to head home for the evening, his tasks completed, eyes heavy with exhaustion.

normally, he doesn’t stick around to say any goodbyes, sneaking off into the darkness of the night like a shadow, blending right in. but, something about the evening, so gloomy and drizzly with spring rain, feels off.

with a heavy knot in his chest, so much different than an incoming fit of coughs, akutagawa heads back up to mori’s office, if perhaps to only ensure that everyone else’s jobs had been completed. he’s a lot of things, but he’s never been a slacker; and he’ll do what it takes to ensure that his position in the mafia is eternally secure.

though, he doesn’t have the opportunity to get all the way upstairs before he run into the boss, who is calm, but with an air of irritation clouding him.

he explains the current situation to akutagawa in a clipped tone, bored — an enemy group has kidnapped you, holding you hostage.

“how rude is it to bother a man, just as he is getting ready to go to sleep?” mori says, sighing histrionically.

but what is a minor inconvenience to mori sends an entire wave of dread through akutagawa, his entire body feeling as if it’s been dipped in ice. he can’t explain the horror that washes over him, not really, because he shouldn’t feel so panicked. it is rare for him to get worked up about the danger his subordinates find themselves in, save for his sister, of course.

but you… you’re different.

“can i trust you to diffuse the situation?” mori asks, impatiently glancing at his watch as if that will change anything. “i can call someone else, but they will not be so quick.”

akutagawa doesn’t even think before he accepts the job, hating the way he sounds pathetically desperate for more details. his hands flatten the edge of his cloak, as if his ability is going to take on a mind of its own.

he calls for a driver, calm but breathing so heavily that an aching cough rises up in him. his throat feels as if it may begin to bleed, but he swallows, glances away from the driver and gets himself under control.

there’s a ransom — bring them the money and they’ll return you, mori had told him. you’re only a lower ranking member of the mafia, and someone that makes for a pretty poor bargaining chip, so the motive is questionable.

mori probably would’ve let you die, akutagawa knows, his teeth gritting together, so much so that a splintering sound comes from it. but the boss, in his infinite, concerning wisdom, seems to also know that his loyal dog has an soft spot for you.

as regrettable as that may be.

akutagawa has no doubt that whoever the enemy is, they are no match for him. still, a twinge of anxiety settles in his stomach, fingers jittery as the driver, despite the decreased traffic of the hour, seems to drive impossibly slow.

“are we not in a rush?” akutagawa snaps, leaning forward.

“apologies,” the driver, says, not daring to even look at akutagawa from the mirror. but the car speeds up, enough for akutagawa to be able to notice, at least. it cools the simmer that has already begun deep in his chest.

even so, the car seems to go at a snails pace, minute upon minute flying by, with you in the clutches of an enemy.

akutagawa doesn’t care who they are. he doesn’t care why, or how they captured you. he wants them dead. he’ll rip them apart, easily, and he’ll make them suffer — they’ll be alive for all of it, for every second that he peels the skin from their bones, ripping the smaller ones out of their sockets.

what he feels for you… well, it’s too hard for him to admit to himself. he has no experience with what it means to care for another person, doesn’t even know if that’s his goal. he just knows he wants to protect you.

and he can’t do that if you’re dead.

finally, the car pulls up to an old warehouse, one at the very outskirts of the port, beyond the docks and the shipping carts. it’s tucked far back, an obvious lair for some villainous organization that doesn’t want to be found.

akutagawa gets there, but there is nothing. he hears nothing, feels no signs of life as he trudges through the puddles left behind from the earlier rain.

a small string of panic begins again, as he wondered if maybe the call that mori had told him was only a ruse. maybe this entire time had been a distraction, a way to lure him away. there are other skill-users in the mafia, but none quite as dangerous as him.

though, he hears it, then. a small little sound, muffled and hoarse, full of pain.

he ducks into another corner of a warehouse, and you’re there — bound with chains and a gag across your mouth, one of your eyes blackened with bruises, your nose bleeding.

his heart aches. never in his life has he so quickly made his way over, used the sharp edges of his ability to shear through the chains, falling to his knees as he unbinds the cloth from your lips.

“where are they?” he rasps, mouth opening and closing, hating the sound of his own voice. he recognizes his desperation, his anger, but the affectionate sound that clips at the end is unfamiliar, as he shakily pulls himself closer to you.

you glance up at him, eyes glossy and wide, and though you are scared, hurt, he’s so thankful you are alive. his heart flips once, as you grasp at his cloak, the material that has the blood of so many staining the threads.

“gone,” you say, throat chalky, words nothing more than a note against the wind. “they fled when they heard it was you coming.”

“and left you?” he asks, jaw clenching, as he hopes that the emotions aren’t as visible on his features as he thinks they are. “were you not a ransom?”

“no,” you swallow, hard, as if in pain. he notices bruises around your neck, the shape of fingerprints indented there. “i was bait.”

anger rises up in him like a wave, engulfing him, wholly and relentlessly. he is no stranger to that, like he is the kindness you show him, the way you look at him as if he is your protector, rather than a bringer of destruction. “i’ll go after them. where are they headed? they’ll pay, i’ll slaughter—”

“ryunosuke,” you say, reaching for him as he stands, expression pleading as he backs away. “stay.”

he has half a mind to ignore you — the enemy escaped, after all. but your voice. your eyes… you look so small sitting there, bloodied and bruised and broken.

“please,” you try again, near tears, and though he has never been good with obvious displays of emotion, something within him snaps at the desperation in the word.

he nods, slowing his pace as he returns to you, lets you wrap yourself in him, cling to him. his hands fall, naturally, to your waist, somehow knowing where they belong, even if akutagawa never has a clue what he’s doing with you.

“i’ll call hirotsu,” he says simply, before pulling out his phone, not bothering to untangle himself from you.

𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈 . . .

dazai is not a forgiving man, and will never learn to be. forgiveness is not a luxury he is often able to indulge in in his line of work, and his heart has hardened enough that until the end of time, those that are branded his enemies will remain his enemies.

though, in his blackened heart, one soured over the course of time, you have carved out your own little space, lit it up with golden rays of light that are fiery enough to melt the stone casing of his chest.

his only love — his only weakness. but it is a weakness that his enemies know about as well.

dazai tries his best to keep you safe. he always has, and he knows that, sometimes, his grasp on you can be a little too tight. that the way he tries to keep you under his watchful eye can sometimes be stifling, frustrating.

but he can’t always be there to protect you. and it is in times like these, that he regrets letting you go without a bodyguard. he regrets that he listened to your insistence that you could keep yourself safe.

he should’ve at least told you to take a friend.

“boss,” his subordinate says, bowing his head, his voice pleading, desperate. “i’m so sorry. your wife—”

“if anything… anything happens to her, you will be the one responsible, do you understand?” dazai says, his eyes cold as he glowers down at the man, only a few inches shorter than him, but feeling so much smaller. “i will personally see that this act does not go unpunished.”

“of course, sir,” the man says, and he, at the very least, has the decency to sound resigned. to accept his fate and suffer the consequences, for allowing the boss’s wife to get herself into such a situation.

and dazai means it, every last word; if he finds you in a state closer to death, anyone who put you in harm’s way will be torn apart from the inside out. he isn’t able to think of anything but bringing you home safely, his hands shaking with rage as he sends more than enough people out on a search to find you.

with all the strings he’s able to pull as the mafia boss, it doesn’t take long to find you, for those that have bravely — or stupidly — used his wife as bait to come forward, and offer an attempt at some sort of negotiation.

there’s little of the conversation that dazai remembers on the phone, even less that he remembers after that. the anger bubbles up in him and grabs hold of his conscience, the emotion directing his movements with a mind of its own.

he’s already sent out every last one of his people into the field, ensuring that the organization that had the gall to threaten you is wiped off the face of the earth. deleted from every corner of the world, buildings flattened to the ground. by tomorrow, they won’t have ever existed.

today, he doesn’t care what happens as long as he finds you alive.

you’re held hostage by two men — so completely beaten that they’ve given up on any restraints. whatever they wanted from you, you seemed to refused to have given up, lip bleeding, eyes swelling so badly that you can’t even open them.

dazai doesn’t hesitate before pulling the trigger on the first man, then turning to the other, shooting the hand that holds the pistol. the man recoils, shouts, and drops the weapon completely, as dazai lands another bullet to his knee, causing him to fall.

slowly, dazai walks up, firing again to his other arm, a loud snap echoing throughout the room. the man winces, trying to crawl to the gun, one last desperate attempt to stay alive.

he kicks the gun away, watching, as, pathetically, the expression in the enemy’s face changes — any of his remaining hope vanishes.

“you told me she was unharmed,” dazai says, bending down, his coat flaring out behind him as he squats.

the man coughs, gasping for air as the blood seeps out of him. “we lied.” he smiles cruelly, and though he shares the same sort of darkness as those in the port mafia, there is something even more twisted in his smile.

dazai hums. “you the leader?”

the man doesn’t give an answer, but the slight twitch of surprise on his face is all dazai needs. he’s no one — just a grunt whose life was put on the line to guard you.

“didn’t think so.” dazai shoots him once, straight through the forehead, instantly killing him. but he is vindictive, angry, and the man he truly wants to destroy, the one who took you, is nowhere to be found. another bullet lands, tearing apart the flesh of his temple, then another, and one more, his skull beginning to cave in from the force of it all.

dazai heaves, letting the gun clatter to the ground as it runs out of bullets, and then he realizes, all this time, you’ve just been watching him. the ugliest side of him — the worst side of him.

you’re no stranger to it, of course. how can you be, when you’ve shared a life with him for years? but that doesn’t mean he wants you to see it, see how bloodthirsty he can become.

he stumbles over to you, where you’re still sitting on the ground, your wrist in your lap, bent at an angle that he knows isn’t right. bruises are littered across your skin, and your hair is matted from the blood that pools at your temple.

it takes every ounce of restraint he has to stay calm, a million feelings swirling under his skin. ones that he was never familiar with until he met you.

“i’m sorry,” he says, taking your face in his hands so, so softly, worried that he’ll hurt you even more. “i’m sorry, darling. i should’ve — i should’ve been there.” dazai notices his hands are shaking and he balls them up into fists, leaning back. “fuck. fuck — i’ll kill them all, just tell me who it was. anyone who laid a finger on you. i’ll cut them down one by one.”

“osamu,” you say, and your voice is raspy, cracking, as your unbroken arm reaches for him, squeezing his shaking hand. “i—”

you open your mouth to continue, but only tears come streaming down your cheeks, over your bloodied lips, saltiness soaking your jawline. no words don’t leave you, but a soft sob chokes itself up your throat.

“hey, hey, hey.” dazai’s voice softens, every muscle in his body relaxing as he draws you nearer to him, into his chest with a touch that’s barely there. “you’re safe. i’m here, okay? they’re not going to hurt you again, sweetheart.”

you sniffle, barely making a sound, but he can feel the tears drop onto his clothes, soaking the material.

“can you walk? are you hurt anywhere else?”

you hesitate for a moment before answering; he’s not sure if there’s a reason you only answer the first question. “i can walk.”

dazai nods, and though the rage is still bubbling there, underneath the surface, there is a coolant streaming through him at the vision of you alive. the men who did this will pay the price, but he still has you — and that’s all that matters.

thank you for reading !!! ❤︎

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acid-ixx · 2 months ago

Text

brutus: out for blood (villain au concept)

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

— masterlist !

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

especially if it's your own.

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

left, right, left, right.

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

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

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

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

and he'll come to regret.

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

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

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

as if he actually cares about you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

shit, you've never felt so happy.

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

blood.

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

you're genuinely so fucking happy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"take my mask off, please?"

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

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

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

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

no... wait, no.

it's not...

it's not his... child?

you?

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

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

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

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

this, this day marks his sin.

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

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

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

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

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

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lnfours · 3 months ago

Text

august | l.n

summary: you were never mine ; aka the one where the summer fling comes crashing down, but after an unexpected face in the media pen, lando is left questioning why he ever left.

warnings: pretend lando got a later start in formula one, summer flings, slight brothers best friend!lando, reader ends up working in the industry, kinda second chance romance vibes, fluff, hints of angst if you squint, and mentions of sexual content. i had to cut this short because it was getting super long, so if you want a part two to this make sure to let me know :) anyways, happy august, my loves 🤍 may your air be salty and the rust be on your doors.

listen | masterlist

summer: your favorite time of the year. where you’d spend your days outside, salt heavy in the air and the cool ocean breeze whisking away all your problems. your few months of peace where nothing else in the world mattered more than sitting on the beach by the ocean during the day and sitting by the cozy bonfire after the sun had finally set.

peaceful, until you had met him.

getting swept off your feet by the boy your brother had befriended was the last thing on your mind. but nonetheless, you had. his charming smile with cute dimples had you head over heels. moles charting his skin like constellations making him so much prettier. you’d be lying if you said he wasn’t breathtaking, laying on the lounge chair with his curls sitting almost perfectly against his forehead. so unaware at how your eyes danced over his figure behind your sunglasses.

a perfect example of beautiful chaos.

him and his siblings had gotten close to you and your brother, thankful for there to be people their age in the small costal town to befriend. you mostly kept to yourself and his sisters in efforts to push the crush you had quickly developed down. not wanting to start something that could never be finished. not wanting to put your heart on the line just for something to yank him from your grasps.

but after a week or so, you had caved in. getting to know him better every day. he had told you about his life back home, how he was a racer. wanting to make it to formula one, race amongst legends. you had told him about your studies in university, wanting to pursue journalism and things of that nature.

he listened with interest. being the only person who sounded interested in you talking about it, not like the others who had given quick responses when you had told them before. a change that brought a smile to your face and warmed your heart because he actually cared.

he had you opening up to him like a book, wanting nothing more than to understand the beautiful soul that stood in front of him. shared laughs and talks in the kitchen of your family’s vacation home echoing off the walls. sharing your deepest secrets, sharing stories about your youth that normally, you’d cringe about, but he found adorable.

and the two of you got closer, a bond forming between you. lingering glances and touches sending sparks through your bodies. and talks in the kitchen turned into conversations by the fire pit on nights where it’d just be the two of you. weeks of learning about each other. the weeks passed by quickly, and after the first month out of three he had known you like the back of his hand. and you had known everything there was to know about lando norris.

after a couple more weeks of subtle flirting and lingering glances, he had finally grown the courage to ask you what had been prodding at him since the moment he met you.

“can i take you out sometime?”

and like that, all your previous statements about not getting too attached, not wanting something for the sake of it being yanked away, was out the window. you met his green eyes, sparkling in the glow of the bonfire in front of you, a smile on your face as you spoke.

“sure.”

he pulled out all the stops. making reservations for the fancy restaurant downtown and bringing you flowers that had caught his eye in the shop window on the way back from his morning jog. a gesture that made you smile ear to ear and your heart beat quicken. a gesture that made you feel truly loved.

the first date turned into many more. wether it was getting dinner or ice cream in town, or heading towards the beach at sundown to watch the waves crash against the shore. the weeks carried on and you had dinner with his family, all of them ecstatic that he had found someone like you who loved their son the way they did.

you still remembered the day he had written against your skin. your stomach flat against the towel on the sand, back facing the sun that was slowly being swallowed by the ocean as the moon threatened to shine. he was propped up on his elbow, tracing shapes into your skin.

he drew with his fingers and you laughed softly, humming, “hmm, a star?”

he nodded, voice soft as he spoke again, “okay, i have one more. they’re words this time. ready?”

you hummed in approval, his index finger drawing a straight line against your spine.

“i,” you said.

he nodded, writing out the next word.

love.

you furrowed your eyebrows as he drew the ‘e’, “love?”

“yeah,” he said, “last word, put them together.”

your heart squeezed against your chest as he wrote out the final word.

you.

you sat up, meeting his eyes, “you?”

he nodded again, smiling as he tucked the lose strand of hair away from your face.

“i love you.” it sounded heavenly coming from his lips.

you blinked at him, a smile finding its way to your lips, “i love you, too.”

you had pulled him closer by his neck, pressing your lips to his. his hand cupping your cheek, the two of you breaking away when the smiles had taken over your face, too wide to continue the kiss.

“c’mon,” you smiled, getting up from the towel. he followed your lead with a questioning look as you grabbed your bag, throwing it over your shoulder as the other hand grabbed your sandals. taking off towards the private entrance to the beach the lovely vacation home had come with.

“where’re you going?” he laughed, following you anyway. chasing after you with the towel in his hand.

“come find out!”

and he did, following you back up to the house. once he caught up, you were inside and up the stairs. you shut the door behind him, pulling him closer to you as your back pressed against the white wooden door.

“what’re you up to?” he smirked, letting your hands snake around his neck as his found their home on your hips.

“well, no one’s gonna be back for another couple hours,” you trailed on. he smiled, shaking his head.

“absolute minx.”

you smiled, reaching up and pressing your lips against his. he had immediately taken control, his hands moving to the back of your thighs before you understood that he wanted you to jump. he caught you with ease, never letting his lips leave yours as your legs wrapped around his torso, walking back towards your bed before he laid you down carefully.

you smiled as he climbed over you, leaving kisses against the exposed skin of your tummy in his path before his face met yours again, nose brushing against yours, “i love you.”

“i love you, too.”

your hands roamed the skin of his back as his squeezed your hips before he pulled away, breathless.

“you’re sure?” he asked softly, “i don’t want this to be something you regret.”

you nodded, reaching behind you and pulling at the ties of your bikini top, tossing it to the side. he watched you with love filled eyes, mouth agape as your head hit the pillows again. a hand coming to rest against his cheek.

“i’m sure,” you smiled, “i love you, lando.”

and after that, you’d often find yourself twisted in your bedsheets with him. your head against his bare chest as your nails drew shapes into his skin. his lips leaving soft kisses to your hairline.

after one specific night, you had fallen asleep against him when he got the call. softly moving you to your side of the bed before walking towards the connected bathroom. the call he had been desperately waiting for.

it was finally his moment. he was making it big.

“can you be here monday?”

he glanced down at the date on his phone. it was two days from now. he’d never make it unless he left now.

he glanced back into the bedroom where your sleeping figure laid, head resting against the pillow as you slept peacefully. he swallowed, immediately feeling guilty. he should wake you up.

“lando?”

“hmm?” he quickly snapped back to the phone call, “sorry, uhm, you said monday?”

“yeah, just to sign some things. do some press, show you around, that sort of thing.”

he took a deep breath, “okay, yeah. sure, sounds good. i’ll see you monday.”

“see you monday,” zak brown’s voice was warm on the other end, “safe travels.”

lando pressed the red button with shaky hands, shoving his phone into the pockets of his sweatpants as he walked back into the bedroom. he grabbed his hoodie off the end of the bed, immediately feeling regret as he looked over your peaceful state. how you were unaware that he was about to leave and never come back.

and with a gentle kiss to your forehead and a mumbled, “i love you,” to your hair, he walked out of the room. walked right out of your life just as quick as he had entered it.

when you woke up the next morning confused that he was no longer with you in your bed. you tried to call, but no answer. you were met with silence. even in your texts you were met with the ‘delivered’ at the bottom of each one. tears flowing down your cheeks as you were left wondering what you had done for him to disappear. to pretend like you were never a thing.

it wasn’t until the fall that you had seen his face again. this time on an instagram post from mclaren. announcing him as a full time driver. he wore a smile, the same floppy curls you had loved, were still messy. hitting against his forehead. he had finally got what he wanted.

and the years went on, you continued to see him pop up every so often. celebrating podium placements and achievements, finally living the life he wanted. the life he had suddenly chose that no longer included you.

he had checked in on you every so often, too. smiling softly when your face popped up on his screen as he’d scroll through your account. you had the life you wanted too, graduating from university and smiling at the camera as you held your diploma. the hard work you had put in finally paying off and meaning something.

he lost track at the amount of messages he had typed out and deleted in your dms. lost track of all the times he had wished he had told you, lost track of the different outcomes he had came up where the ending had you in it. even after convincing himself you were better off out of this lifestyle, he couldn’t help but wish you were.

the knocking on his drivers room had pulled him out of his thoughts, swiping out of your instagram account as the woman smiled sweetly in the doorway.

“they want you for media.”

he nodded, tossing his phone to the couch, tying the papaya race suit around his waist and slipping the mclaren cap back onto his curls, sporting it backwards as he followed the woman down the hallway.

“where’s oscar?”

“he’s already there,” she said sweetly, “hasn’t been there long, though. only a few minutes.”

he nodded, smiling politely at the woman before entering the media pen. she guided him to the opening, smiling before stepping to the side. he took a sip from his water bottle, smiling at the camera man who tapped your shoulder to get your attention. an apologetic smile on your face as you spoke, turning towards the fence, “sorry-“

the same green eyes met yours and the both of you stood in shock for a moment. sure, you had known you were going to bump into him eventually, but on your first day? was the media pen really lacking that many reporters?

“y/n?” he asked, voice soft as your heart hit the floor.

you swallowed, gripping your notepad a little harder as you sent him a tight lipped smile, “hi,”

“since when do you,” he stammered, tripping over his own words before taking a breath, “since when do you work for sky?”

“todays my first day, actually,” you said, a nervous smile on your face, and if he noticed, he thankfully didn’t mention it, “i see mclaren’s been treating you well.”

“y/n, can we-“

“let’s get started, yeah?” you dodged his question, glancing down at your notebook. he nodded softly in response and you motioned for your camera man to begin recording.

as you stood there asking him questions about his race, all he could think about was if you had wondered the same things he did. if you, too, laid awake at night and thought about all the different scenarios and lifetimes where the two of you ended up together. he wondered if you hated him for how he left you, without a proper goodbye.

he didn’t know it, but you could never hate him. even after all these years you couldn’t hate him with a single bone in your body. not when your heart still beats for him.

he opened his mouth to speak after you ended the interview, but it shut quickly as the woman in papaya cut off his thoughts, whisking him away to do more interviews. you watched as he left, a sad and regretful look on his face as he made his way to the next reporter.

“you alright?” your camera man asked, noticing how you chewed on your bottom lip. a nervous tick of yours that everyone seemed to have caught onto.

you nodded, straightening your posture and taking a deep breath, pushing every thought you had to the side berore smiling at the man next to you, “yep, who do we have next?”

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yawnderu · 8 months ago

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Simon ''Ghost'' Riley — Masterlist 💀🖤

cr: @ave661

Simon Riley Moodboard | Smut Masterlist | Bimbo!Reader Masterlist | Dad!Ghost Masterlist

This Masterlist only has the material I've created in 2024. To explore older works, you can check my Main Masterlist, or use the tags #Simon Riley x Fem!Reader or #Ghost mw2 on my profile to access all my works!

Do not translate, post, or put my content into AI tools.

Ongoing Series Lorelei

Synopsis: Aware of the way his lifestyle doesn't align with your dream life and unwilling to quit his life as a soldier, Simon breaks things off with you. It isn't until a year later that he sees you again, a tiny carbon copy of him held in your arms.

K-9

Simon Riley and his pathetic efforts to get close to the new medic will earn him a scar or two

Simon Riley is in love with an uninterested, tired medic.

Angel

Synopsis: Afraid of giving you the same destiny all his loved ones met, an emotionally unavailable Simon does his best to pretend being in love with you for one night, later deciding to introduce you to the one person who can give you the love you want; John Price.

Smut

Silly love-making

Simon's obsession with pornstar!reader

Sex on camera

No man could act this good

Using his naked body for art purposes

Love-making

FWB!Simon cucking your hookup

Tattoo Artist!Simon

Prettiest girl in Edinburgh

Hybrid cat!Reader tag teamed by Simon and Johnny

Soul-crushing devotion and medical emergencies

AI!Reader gets a physical body

Neet!Reader jerks him off

Hybrid wolf!Simon x Catgirl!Reader

Sleep-walking, but fucking instead

Simon becomes vocal when you give him blowjobs

Rimming him

Monster fucker

Dick headcanons

Catgirl in heat

Drabbles

Gym bros Johnny and Simon

Creature!Reader

Tag team 🌶️

Simon Riley is a stray, roughed up cat

Seduction goes against the rules

Nymphomaniac!Reader

Immortal!Reader

The phrase ''the wife'' is always in Simon's mouth

Choking🌶️

Cock warming🌶️

Lipstick marks on his cock

Neet!Reader sniffing his armpits

Milf!Reader drives Simon insane🌶️

Military high ranked!Reader

What turns him off

I have no faith, but I believe in you

You and your daughter love his tattooed arm

Simon is a furnace

Creature!Reader cuddles

Asking for sex after he had a bad day

Cumming too early🌶️

Wearing a white wife beater

Girl dad

Raccoon

Simon makes weird faces under the mask

Juiciest ass in the Task Force

Bulking

Dating a MILF

Naked cuddles

Relationship similar to Batman and Catwoman

Work Song

Cumming on your glasses🌶️

Touch starvation

Fluff & Hurt/Comfort

Expensive presents

Displays of trust

The most broken man turns to religion when you're hurt

A man without big pecs is like an angel without wings

Simon Riley was made for soul-crushing devotion

Broken man in love

Cuddles after a bad day

Simon is a giant black cat

Ai!Assistant Reader

Ai!Assistant Reader bothering Simon

Second chance at being an uncle to your niece

''I'll be the weapon when he needs protection''

Moody catgirl

Red panda hybrid!Reader

Hiccups during sex🌶️

First relationship

Angst

Emotionally unavailable

Immortal!Reader doesn't come back to life

Angel - Part I | Part II

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xxmia0wm4yh3mxx · 5 months ago

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I dont believe in Angst without comfort /hj

@sm-baby 's Lesser Evil fuckin broke me, ripped my soul out, crushed it, Shoved it back, and then it earnestly said I love you like a toxic friend...

Also am I the only one that finds The concept of being "Able-owned" Fucking terrifying? "Oh But im a introvert, I'd likeit!" "I would do anything to be in pomni's place!! :)" NO YOU FUCKING DONT, YOU'RE STUCK REPEATING THE SAME BORING SHIT OVER AND OVER ITS LIKE SCHOOL BUT MORE PAINFUL AND SAD, FS CAINE IS JUST AS BAD BUT IMGAINE AN ETERNITY WITH NO FAMILY NO FRIENDS NO HOBBIES NO BREAKS JUST ENDLESS FUCKING BORING CHORES AND PSYCHOLOGICAL MANIPULATION, AND FS ABLE IS A FUCKING DEHUMANIZING ASSHOLE I HATE HIM EVEN IF I LOVE HIM AND HES HOT I WANT TO TEAR OFF HIS STUPID GIANT HANDS AND SHOVE THEM UP HIS FOUR-FACED, LYING, TOXIC, EVIL, NARSSICTIC, BOURGEOIS, ASS CRACK

Anyways heres a picture of my doggie just because (her name is carly :3)

#the amazing digital circus #the amazing digital freakshow #Able #lesser evil #sm baby #freakshow able #caine x pomni #pomni x caine #able owned pomni #showtime #tadc showtime #freakshow au

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lizziesribbons · 11 months ago

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So badly |

PAIRING: RICH STEPMOM! WANDA X FEM! READER

summary: Wanda is your dad's new wife and an incredibly talented business woman, you always liked her but you felt as if she didn't feel the same way about you, she was always cold with you truth be told you were too innocent to know what the real intentions behind the coldness was.

warnings: ****MINORS DNI***** *****MEN DNI***** ****CONTAINS SMUT LOTS OF SMUT****** degradation kink, hair pulling, praising, angst if you squint, mommy kink, r being head over heels in love with Wanda, Wanda being mean too mean but hot. SO HOT. squirting muahahaha, multiple orgasms, crazy crazy gay peOple, everyone's gay y'all are gay, gay gay gay. I need to drown in holy water cuz um yea.

author's note: I changed EVERYTHING CHANGED I don't know if y'all even know who I am but like anyways idek if this is gonna be a thing I just got an idea and I wrote it in my notes and now I'm posting here ‼️

Word count: 2.1k

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Wanda maximoff.

She was an intimidating woman. even her name is hot? When your dad first introduced her you immediately fell in love whenever she was around you were always squirming in her gaze, she was just too pretty too perfect. Too good for your dad. Your dad wasn't the best man in the world he was alright, he was always working always travelling he didn't have time for you or anything else that's why you were shocked when he brought her. Wanda.

Wanda was a business woman too. A successful one indeed, She had 2 twins Tommy and billy, who you instantly grew to love, you wondered how Wanda handled all of it, A husband, A business and still making enough time for her kids, she was like a super mom there was no single doubt her kids loved her. And she loved them.

Your dad was barely home so it was always just you Wanda and the twins, you never felt like Wanda liked you whenever you would try talking to her she would give you cold responses, always looking into your soul like she was angry at you. She would constantly taunt you whenever you would go outside with your friends and come home too late, or when you wore something a little too revealing. Some would say she was possessive you just thought of it as her being her grumpy self

but what you didn't know, Wanda wanted you. Every second of every day she thought about you but she knew it was wrong. so she would put up this act to hide her secret. her dirty little secret, no one except Wanda knew what kind of thoughts ran through her mind, what she did at night thinking about you when her husband was asleep beside her.

she thinks about how her fingers would feel inside you, making you scream her name, whispering all kinds of dirty things in your sweet little ears

how good it would feel to fuck you with her strap until you couldn't take it anymore, she often gets off thinking about you but you weren't aware of any of it. She sometimes thought you knew cause of how you would bend over in front of her wearing the most smallest skirts possible but she knew you were just as innocent as you look, she also knew about the crush you have on her, it was too obvious with how you would look inside her shirt every time she bent down to pick something, how quickly you would respond every time she calls for you, how flustered you would get when she's around. she wasn't blind she could see right through you.

You were always home nowadays as your college was off and your friends were either on vacation with their family or they just didn't have time. Wanda had a business event today on which she asked you to come with her as the twins were at their dad's and you would be home alone, she even picked up an outfit for you, it was a cute black dress simple and elegant not too small just how Wanda liked. She was so sweet with you today. too sweet. even offered to make your hair and do your makeup and you let her. cuz how could you deny it? you let her dress you up like you were her personal doll she gave you a kiss on the cheek that made you blush so hard Wanda immediately noticed and smirked.

the car ride from the house to where the event was being held was filled with tension. Wanda's eyes were constantly on you eating you up she noticed the way you clenched your thighs under her gaze and how you shied away every time you two would make eye contact, when you reached the destination, Wanda opened the door for you holding out her hand to you. Your fingers intertwined with hers following her between the crowd of people.

You insisted on staying behind as she went on the red carpet. admiring her you noticed how beautiful Wanda really is, she is hand-crafted by the gods you wondered how it would feel to touch her. every inch of her body you wanted to kiss her so bad the urge to do it was strong. Wanda noticed, Ofc she noticed she smirked knowing your gaze was on her and all her attention too, you looked at her coming back to you as you straightened your back and smiled at her, she held you by your waist and told you "I want you to meet some people malaysh" the nickname made you weak. you just wanted to fall on your knees and beg Wanda but you couldn't.

After meeting those people Wanda left you alone to go and sort some business deal you didn't care about. Wanda saw you laughing and chatting with some people she thought it was nice you were getting along well, until. she saw this girl put her hand on your thigh and getting too touchy. Wanda felt something burst inside her she interrupted the conversation she was having came behind you and pulled you back from your waist making you push yourself into her crotch.

Wanda looked at the girl and raised her eyebrows, the girl was out of there in a second. It was hot. so hot the power Wanda holds, you were about to ask what that was when suddenly you felt her fingers hold your ass tightly as she whispered in your ear "Stop flirting with every person you see just to get my attention" Your legs failed you as you moan slowly in wanda's grasp, her hold was bruising on you as she whispered again "don't be a whore now, go wait in the car I'll be there in a bit"

as you were waiting for her impatiently in the car and afraid of what to expect next, you heard the car door open and Wanda got in, you didn't say anything. not even a word. her too. the car ride was silent. so silent you could even hear your heartbeat and it was fast. you were sure Wanda heard it

after getting home Wanda softly told you to go and wait in her bedroom like a good girl and you did. not cuz you were a patient woman no no no you were the most impatient girl in the world according to Wanda but you just wanted to make her happy.

after a bit she came in. You saw a bulge inside her pants. looking up at her, sitting on the bed on all your fours she came up to you and held your jaw softly

"you look so good like that, on mommy's bed like a good little slut" Wanda wouldn't be at fault if she thought you came right there, and then because of the moan you let out on the nickname Wanda referred to herself as. but she shrugged it off only smirking at the sight

"strip. slowly." you start striping taking off your dress first, Wanda's eyes on you as she starts undressing herself too making you gasp at the sight of her.

"you're so beautiful," you said as you worshipped her body just by your eyes, giving herself a moment or two to smile and blush at your compliment, she said sternly "Less talking, let's put that mouth to better use yeah?"

she took off her pants and underwear revealing a scarlet strap attached to her as you look at it and drool "Open up show mommy how good of a slut you can be" she said as you open your mouth tongue out, she guide the strap inside your mouth not even half of it and you were already gagging, it was bigger than anything you've taken before but Wanda didn't care, your gags and whimper were music to her ears.

losing herself in the pleasure she started thrusting inside your mouth as you sat there drooling, she threw a sadistic smile your way and said "I think we just found the perfect way to keep your mouth shut"

Wanda pulls out suddenly, your face covered in sweat and tears, and lays down on the bed

"come here ride my strap," she said patting her lap, gasping for air your breath shaky from the previous encounter you said

"y yes mommy"

slowly, you lower yourself onto her strap, your eyes locked with hers as you whispered "It's too big"

Wanda pouted her lips with fake pity "Aw is it?" you nodded as she looked at you "Is it too big for my little whore huh?" you nodded again not breaking eye contact

"fucking say it then. you can speak" Wanda said sternly placing a sharp slap on your ass, just as you were about to say Wanda force your hips down onto her strap "Too late" You bit your lip feeling her strap penetrate deeper into your wet slit

"Mommy hurts please ah" moans and gasps. it was all you could let out as Wanda ignored all of it and thrust your hips up and down on her strap, tits bouncing with the force.

your body trembling as you take her deeper inside you, suddenly you feel a sharp slap against your tits just as a humiliating spit was delivered on your face, spit drips from your mouth onto your chest as she slaps your tits repeatedly

"Mommy too much-gonna cum please" you plead at her "Come for mommy honey let it out" You came just as soon as those words left her mouth, she didn't stop. turning you guys around so she was on top she started thrusting with all her might as the bed started moving

"you know how badly mommy wanted to fuck that pussy from the very first time she saw you huh?" she whispered in your ear making you moan as she kept thursting "How I touched myself at the thought of being inside you fucking you so deep your legs wouldn't work for weeks? it was a torture not being able to fuck you every moment I saw you I just wanted to bend you over and take you" The dirty confessions only added fuel to the fire as you were already close

"please Mommy" you said weakly as she thoroughly fucked you, the room filling with noises of skin slapping together, "Please what? say it, baby"

"please I'm gonna cum again" you say looking up at her, "cum again for me then you don't need my permission"

just as you were about to cum she reaches down to rub your clit "NO PLEASE NO!" was the last thing you said when you lost control completely and squirted everywhere, not knowing what happened you looked at Wanda who was smirking smugly as she pulled out of you slowly and took off the strap throwing it down the bed

"Mommy I've never done that I'm sorry I don't know what happened" Wanda looked you down with admiration as she cooed cupping your face "Oh baby no that's okay you did good it was so good" she softly kissed you, leaving small kisses down your neck to your stomach until she reached between your legs

"no too much, can't." you tried squirming away but her strong hands held you in place "Just trust me" She raised her eyebrows and scanned your face for any hesitations as she dived down and carefully cleaned you up making sure not to overstimulate you

she sat back up "You taste so good", blushing at her compliment you muttered a "thank you"

"so adorable" Taking you in her arms and holding you against her she whispered sweet nothings into your ear through the whole time until you fell asleep in her arms, she looked at you knowing you were hers now. for forever.

#wanda maximoff #dark!wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff fanfiction #lizzie olsen #elizabeth olsen x y/n #elizabeth olsen x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #mommy wanda #wanda maximoff smut #elizabeth olsen #marvel #marvel smut #smut #gxg #gay

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lady-ashfade · 10 months ago

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soulmate au with percy and reader. i was thinking like reader is like a complete nobody at camp and the daughter of some not really known god. percy and reader meet by accident and they figure out they are soulmates. percy at first didn’t want anything to do with it because he had feelings for annabeth but comes around.

Percy Jackson x Fem!reader. (Soulmate au)

-£ Pictured a older version of book Percy, but imagine them staying a camp or coming late.

-£ words: 1.5 words

-£ warnings: Angst, rejection, jealousy, I love annabeth, percy being mean? Idk. Anyway kinda short. What can I say, I love a man with dark hair who has sass?🤷‍♀️

“Do you ever wonder who you’re soulmates is?” percy sat on the log near the cliff looking over the sunset. annabeth keeping her eyes on the forest below, smiling softly as the orange sun hit her skin.

“I’m not worried about it, they will come to me when the time is right.” she replied with a calm voice.

percy could help himself from looking down at her hand and slowly inching his hand near hers. the marking was just late. he knew that she was his soulmate. how could she not be after everything they went through? besides no one knew him like she did.

fate is a funny thing.

because the person who was chosen to be his, and his alone wasn’t the girl he sat next to. it was you. you barely had any contact with percy. never even spiking a word to each other and yet the world still twined you together.

looking back on it he wished he reacted in a nicer way then he did. anything other then what he did, even faint.

he was running a pile of arrows to the archery training ground when he ran into you. as soon as your eyes met the world was slow for just a second and colors shined brighter then they did. in that moment you both felt something that was more then the gods. something even the gods can’t touch.

“woah,” you whisper with your hands still held onto the arrows he was trying to give to you. his hands didn’t stop clinching onto the wood, he couldn’t believe it.

you blink at him for him to do something other then stand there and stare with a open mouth. sure this type of thing wasn’t normal but he didn’t even move a inch.

but you wished he had stayed quiet, “Look, I um..” he let go of the things you two shared and took a step back with hasted.

“I have to run.” you watched him run off like there was nothing important to keep him here.

At first you thought that he was just shy, in shock, and didn’t know what to say. but you soon figured out he wanted nothing to do with you. you followed him around and tried to talk to him at every chance you got but he would always slip from your fingers.

cornering him in the woods at night wasn’t the best idea but you had but there was not other choice. it didn’t feel good to have your soulmate avoid you.

“There is a mistake.” his voice echoed through the woods, “I feel nothing for you. I am sure you are amazing, but you are not my soulmate.”

he watched the tears pool into your eyes like the waves he controlled. taking a step back from the news from his lips that crushed your soul. “I am in love with another.”

Licking your lips you roll your eyes to try and stop the tears forming. “it’s annabeth isn’t it?” he couldn’t deny it even if he wanted to. the silence he gave when he opened his mouth but nothing came out told you everything you needed to know.

“I do hope you live a happy life,” you walked closer to him only inches away, “especially when she finds her soulmate.” you walked past him and down the dirt path back to your cabin where you broke down.

fate was twisted and cruel for giving you him.

day and night you thought about him. and day and night you got worse. everyone could see the toll of being rejected but no one new by who. not a soul knew about you and percy and you honestly liked it that way. no pity glances when they hung out together.

soulmate depression was a serious thing and could lead one down to a never reversible illness. your eyes lost their light, no one ever saw you smile, looking as dead like as possible. every positive feeling in your body was drained out.

annabeth looked over at you at diner time as you stared at the plate in front of you, sitting at the edge of the bench. “It’s terrible,” she said and picked at her food with a fork. “I hope they come around.”

the trio stared at you in pity, one of them feeling guilt. “It’s a really bad case, I feel so bad.” Grover looked sad as he almost cried himself. love was supposed to be for real, that’s what soulmates were for! If he had one he would never let them get like that.

Percy found himself studying the girl. Her hair messy, her face grime and eyes blank and darker then the last time he looked in them. And Percy was the cause.

“Yeah,” the black hairy boy turned and poked at his food.

It has been week since then and a weight sunk in his stomach when he thought of you, which was almost every moment now. He thought about how you would smile before and how he wanted to see that again. He really thought he liked annabeth but each day that feeling went away.

Maybe he could think things over. But how could he apologize? Would you still want him?

But as Percy thought over the war in his head you moved on. Or as much as you could. there was a sickness in your body but you tried to fight it and spent time with your friends.

one boy took you in quickly. the two of you now glued at the hip and he was the only one who seemed to make you smile now.

“Dude,” Grover knocked his shoulder with his own, “What did he do to you?”

The son of Poseidon darted his eyes lowly at some boy. The way you smiled ever so sweetly like he has been wishing to see for weeks but this- This guy could cause it easily. And those small laughed he could hear so faintly in his ears.

“Nothing.” Percy stated while still glaring at the guy heavily.

the satyr nodded but lingered his eyes on his friend for a few seconds. clearly not believing him one bit.

“I have to tell you something,” he pulled his eyes away from you and to his friend. Guilt covering his face. “You know how y/n got reflected by her soulmate?” his voice shaky.

“Of course, it was hard to watch.” He answered. It didn’t take long for him to connect the dots when Percy lifted his brows as a sign. Grover gasped loudly.

“You did- Oh my god’s. How could you?” His mouth was then covered by Percy as he shh’d him.

Percy took a big breath as he held his hand over his mouth, “I’m not proud of it. It was just, I didn’t feel like we could be. I thought me and annabeth were soulmates until they came along,” he turned his eyes back to your direction to find you laughing slightly with your friends.

“I was terribly wrong.”

As much as Grover was mad at his friend he could see the guilt and regret on his face. He helped him come up with a plan, and gave him a very long lecture about love. Annabeth found out, and cursed him out. Saying that the marks don’t lie and was overly upset he could do that for her.

it took a week of long work for him to build up the courage to finally talk to you.

lucky he knew exactly where you would be. in the same stop he saw you for the first time as his soulmate. In the training grounds. You had been walking back to your cabin looking as beautiful as always even with your gloomy change.

you had a basket in your hand. you hummed quietly and kept your eyes on the dirt path underneath your feet. you were too out of it to hear him walking from behind you. “Y/n.” He called your name.

turning around startled you are met with him smiling at you. the boy who broke your heart standing there with a warm smile on his face as if he didn’t do anything wrong.

“Percy.” You whisper and step back. “I um…Do you need something?” you were shaking almost.

He got closer slowly as he got more awkward by the second, “can we talk?” you were hesitant to expect his offer but you nodded.

“I want to apologize for rejecting you. I felt horrible watching you- Well, get like this.” He kept getting closer and you didn’t know if you should run away or scream at him.

“I was wrong. You are the girl for me.” He saw the tears flood in the corner of your eyes and your lips tremble

“you think that’s enough?” you didn’t yell but he could sense the harsh tone in your voice. And you have that right.

“No, not really.” his frowns. Knowing he needed to do more.

“But I’m willing to work as hard as I need to. If you will have me?”

His green eyes filled with sorrow. the feeling to leave him here, with nothing like he did to you. But you couldn’t. You felt better in his presence as he looked at you.

“I’ll allow it, but we take this slow.” All he could do was smile again and nod his head in understanding.

even if you didn’t trust him. he healed your heart in the matter of seconds.

#percy jackson x you #Percy Jackson x reader #book percy jackson #book Percy #percy jackson imagine #soulmate au #percy jackson x fem!reader

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celesteleoves · 5 months ago

Note

Could you do a todoroki oneshot/head cannons for him having a secrete crush on (y/n) and doing some cheesy confessions? Thanks a lot!!❤️🤍

“I LOVE IT WHEN YOU CALL MY NAME.”

shoto todoroki x reader.

summary: shoto has developed a crush that even he himself doesn’t quite understand, so he’s hiding it. you however, have a small huge crush on him yourself aswell. hopefully he can confess!

warnings: mentions of the todoroki family, shoto being a little insecure, fluff with a SMALL tinge of angst! reader is as whipped as he is lol!

a/n: i decided to turn this into a little one shot. ty for requesting this ml! i really enjoy writing shoto and trying to understand his character (especially trying to interpret how he would do a confession lol!) enjoy!!!! pls send more requests. this is quite long i feel like :( i hope it’s to your liking!!!

—

“todoroki, have you ever wondered what it would be like to be in love?”

that was a sentence shoto didn’t think he’d have to answer at 10 am in the morning. yet here he is. standing very stiffly next to a happy momo who is helping him make breakfast for their classmates. the question certainly woke him up at this early time.

“not really.”

“oh come on! you know i’m not the type to push boundaries but are you sure?” momo looked at him in confusion, for a boy like shoto everyone would’ve thought love defintely came easily to him.

“i don’t think i have. please hand me the knife.”

momo sighed and passed him the knife before moving around the kitchen and grabbing the rest of the ingredients to finish up their meal.

——

the conversation with momo had been stuck in shoto’s head all throughout the day (it was currently 1 pm). he felt as though he answered her wrong. yet, how would he know a thing about love? romantic love. souls being practically tied to another. he didn’t know anything about it.

shoto felt uneasy facing emotions he never explored: love. It was like standing on a cliff's edge, peering into an unfamiliar abyss. His usually composed demeanor faltered as he grappled with the intensity of these new feelings. yet, despite his apprehension, a part of him was curious, cautiously reaching out to understand this uncharted territory.

from a young age, shoto learned he couldn't rely on his parents to model what real love looked like or how to navigate relationships. they weren't an example he could follow, leaving him uncertain and unguided in matters of the heart. that’s something shoto learnt at a young age, he couldn’t rely on his parents to show him what real love looks like.

he’s not very good at lying. thats also something shoto learnt at a young age. it baffles him how he has been able to hide his crush on you for this long.

you sat comfortably next to shoto, scrolling through your phone and peppering him with questions about the various foods you were discovering on your Pinterest feed.

“oh my gosh! did you know that strawberries are the most common fruit people use to confess their love?” you grinned like a child and turned your phone towards shoto who was already paying attention to your scrolling.

“oh wow, i didn’t know that.” shotos answer came out more nonchalant than he wanted and he winced, praying you wouldn’t be upset with him.

instead, you felt a warmth in your stomach at his words. excited to teach him more about strawberries, you leaned closer.

shotos breath hitched at the smell of your perfume engulfing his senses, he could practically see ever detail of your face. to the way you did your makeup all the way down to the necklace you wore that shoto had gifted you for your birthday.

the sight made shotos cheeks flushed as he took deep breaths. as of right now, shoto wished he would be more calm like he usually is.

damn it, hiding a crush is not easy.

little did either of you know, you were both thinking the same thing.

——

strawberries. the history of the strawberry dates back to Ancient Rome where the fruit was considered the symbol of Venus, the goddess of love, because of its red color and enticing taste.

shoto had been sitting in his dorm for hours looking up facts about strawberries.

he gently placed his phone down and pondered. does the kitchen have strawberries? or would he have to go buy some?

“i’ll check the kitchen.” he mumbled, hurriedly making his way there.

upon his arrival, he realized everyone seemed to be also chilling in their dorms. it was only 5 o’clock and a free day for his classmates to relax and catch up.

he searched the fridge, a deep frown settling on his face when he realized there were no strawberries.

shoto stared at the fridge for a couple minutes, debating what to do.

“shoto? is that you?” he jumped at the sound of the kitchen door creaking open but relaxed after realizing it was just you.

“sorry! didn’t mean to scare you. what are you looking for?” you moved towards him, stopping right behind him and peering over his shoulder to look at what the fridge might contain for him.

much to shotos dismay, it didn’t contain the one thing he wanted. the thing he craved however was just standing behind him.

“i want strawberries. do you want to come to the store with me to get some?” shoto peered back at you with the cutest look on his face. your heart clenched at his unintentional puppy eyes.

“yes! i mean- sure.” you stumbled over your words and he softly smiled, moving to grab his hoodie as you excitedly walked beside him, leaving the dorms and heading to the store.

the walk was calm, exactly what you needed but also despised. for months, it felt as if you had been left in the dark with shoto. it seems as though he’s keeping something from you.

selfishly, you really want to understand his sudden demeanour change. he’s almost softer, sweeter and very careful with you.

selfishly, shoto also wants to just run away and hide. he is not good at keeping secrets from you. this secret is something he knows would affect your friendship greatly. which is why he’s afraid.

“shoto. we’re here.” you spoke to him softly, the chill evening air makes you feel at peace next to him and shoto swears you glow as the afternoon sun hits the side of your face perfectly.

“i really want strawberries.” shoto said and you swore you almost let out a cackle at his blunt words, why did he need that fruit so badly?

“then let’s look!”

you two trudged to the fruit section of the store, analyzing which strawberries would be perfect.

“y/n, look at these ones.” shoto beckoned you over and you happily walked over to where he stood.

shoto had managed to find the most perfect strawberries you had never seen, they looked so perfect! (just like him) and you quickly nodded your head towards the cashier.

“hello! my my, what a lovely young couple you two are! did you know, strawberries are a symbol of love?” the cashier, a friendly middle aged women, spoke endearingly at you two.

“oh! we aren’t a-”

“thank you, m’aam.” shoto softly smiled at the lady and she grinned back, winking at you as you blushed.

“have a good one, you two!” the cashier waved as you two exited the store, you being too flustered to reply while shoto waved back at her.

his nerves began to get the best of him, his idea didn’t seem like it would work now. what if his perspective of love is wrong and he’s doing the opposite of what you think love is? the questions continued to plague his mind like a sick joke and taunt. his mind seemed to be his biggest enemy.

were you against the idea of dating him? you didn’t reply to the lady in the store. was it his scar? was it his personality? shoto suddenly really liked the idea of crawling into hole.

you moved towards a bench nearby, patting the seat next to you. you didn’t enjoy how quiet shoto had been. normally he would at least say a few words and you would be able to continue the conversation. shoto seemed speechless suddenly.

shoto stared at the batch of strawberries in his lap, grateful they were washed. he could eat them now with you.

he picked up what seemed like one singular strawberry that laid perfectly on top of the rest. as he picked the strawberry up, it revealed to be a double strawberry. (press on the text to learn more!)

“woah! a double strawberry, can we split it?” you spoke for the first time in a while and shoto felt his heart swoon, you wanted to share a strawberry with him?

shoto only nodded and split the strawberry for you two, a red hue very evident on his cheeks as he took a bite of the strawberry.

“you know, i’ve been wanting to tell you something for a while.”

shotos nerve racking words caused you to perk up in your seat as you quietly ate the strawberry, encouraging him to continue.

“um, strawberries mean love.” shoto mentally face palmed. that is not what he wanted to say!

you giggle, “i know sho! i told you that.”

silence overtook you two once again as you gave shoto a moment to think about his words, patiently nervously swinging your legs back and fourth beneath the bench.

“it is also said that if you spilt a double strawberry with someone, you two will fall in love.” shoto whispered those words as if they were forbidden.

your eyes widened and you let out a huff of laughter, trying to make humour of the situation incase he does but agree with your next words.

“and what happens if you’re already in love?”

shotos eyes bulged, he looked up from where he was staring at his feet nervously to make eye contact with you for the first time in a while.

the feeling of being nervous about what the other will say seems so intense, but once you're already in love, every word they utter becomes a symphony that warms your heart. you two felt that way each time the other spoke.

“then… the two will grow their relationship and be more than friends?” shoto asked shyly.

“yeah, that sounds about right.” you grinned, shuffling closer to shoto, finishing your strawberry as you place your head on his shoulder.

shoto smiled a toothy grin, silently applauding himself. his confession wasn’t as bad he thought it would be! strawberries really do symbolize love.

——

A/N: UM HI… i hope this was how you wanted it!!! i kinda got carried away… if you guys can’t tell i really like strawberries so i had to include them. please send tips for me to improve my writing and requests for not just mha, but jjk too!

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gisellecnz · 4 months ago

Text

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐓 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐆𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄

💌 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Teen!Gojo Satoru x Teen!fem!reader

💌 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: The most worst thing Gojo never wanted to happen became true. But after meeting the new transferee, all his problems went away.

💌 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: Highschool 2009 jjk, Gojo being sad after the Geto incident, Reader is a transferee from Kyoto Jujutsu high, Reader is a 2nd year and Gojo is a 3rd year, fluff, slight angst

💌 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: Might actually consider making this into a series... From Gojo meeting you for the first till you both are married and have children AACKKKK. Also, if you're wondering why it's not 2006, the year where gojo and Geto separated happened during 2009 and they were 3rd years

💌 𝐖𝐂: 1.4k

2009 — 2 days after Gojo and Geto separated.

That sickening feeling of regret gripped Satoru as he sat down on the rough, stoned surface of the stairs outside Jujutsu high. He tried to reminisce the moments he had shared with his one and only, best friend Suguru Geto. He hoped that it would relieve his feeling of remorse after the incident. But instead, it made him feel worse. So worse that it made him feel more empty–an emptiness that was sinking deeper and deeper into the dark. He's the strongest, but why couldn't he save his loved ones? He just wishes that he had the ability to rewind the time.

EVERYONE knew that the two bestfriends were inseperable. Yet, was what so important to Satoru had been taken away from him.

Not until......

"Yo, Satoru, are you okay?" Shoko asked as she was approaching the white-haired man, who seemed depressed. Who did nothing but just stared at the ground while sitting on the stairs. It was rare to see Satoru in this state—His usual joyful and playful attitude replaced by a quiet demeanor now, made Shoko feel bad for him.

"...Yeah, I'm fine, it's just that... " He paused, not knowing what to say afterwards. He couldn't think of any excuse.

"... Don't worry, I understand." Shoko replied as she pulls out another cigarette. Searching for the lighter in her pocket.

"..Oi, Ieri-san, what do you think, am I the strongest because I'm Satoru Gojo? Or am I Satoru Gojo because I am the strongest?" He has been pondering about the same questions over and over, and still couldn't find the answer to it. But just now Shoko was too busy with her cigarette, that she didn't perceive what was Gojo was saying.

"Sorry, we're you talking to me?" Shoko puffed the smoke out of her mouth, and puts the cigarette back in to her lips.

Gojo sighs, "Well, forget it. Let's just go, that old man might start exploding by now if we go back to his class late again. " He finally stood up from the staircase as he walks together with Shoko back to class whilst watching the bright blue sky through his sunglasses.

After a few walks on the way to class, Shoko spots an unfamiliar girl who was wearing the same uniform as her, she had a pretty face. But the girl seemed puzzled of where she is right now.

Shoko taps on Gojo's shoulder, "Hey, is that the new transferee from Kyoto? I heard she's the same year as Nanami."

Gojo looked down from the sky, "Eh? Ha? What transferee? Whe–oh... " The moment he laid his eyes on you, he felt a rush of emotions. He's confused of what he is feeling. Why is his heart beating so fast? Why does his face feel hot? What? What?? You're even prettier than the model that he has as his wallpaper on his phone, just who are you?

(hey!! Waka inoue is very VERY pretty, this is just based on Gojo's perspective in my fic) (Also, think of this as the bg music of this scenario the moment gojo lays his eyes on you)

The way he is feeling right now felt so soothing and comforting, as if that emptiness he felt earlier felt like it was no longer there anymore.

He felt weird—for him, he felt like there was a connection between the two of you. His six eyes tell him that he's just crushing over you, but his soul tells otherwise. You were absolutely WAY more than that.

"Oi! Satoru! Stop daydreaming, that girl seems confused right now. We should ask her." Shoko snaps her fingers in front of Satoru's face, bringing him back to reality. "O-okay...!" His whole body tensed, and Shoko cringed at his reply.

As they approach you, your gaze met Satoru's, he feels even more tense. By now his face turned as red as a tomato.

You quickly ran towards them, feeling relieved that you finally found people that you can ask help with finding your dorm. You may have been to Jujutsu high's sister school, but this school was way different than the one in Kyoto.

"Oh thank goodness. I'm a little lost right now, but you guys must be the 3rd years. I'm [last name, first name]. I'm a transferee from Kyoto Jujutsu high. Nanami-san has told me about what you guys looked like in case I ran into you. " You said shyly.

Shoko smiles at your introduction, she knew you the both would get along well. "I'm Ieri-san, I work with healing a ton of people. And this is–" The moment Shoko points at Satoru, he scratches the back of his head, trying to avoid looking at you. Fuck, he's never acted like this in front of new people before. What were you doing to him? The only thing he could do right now is just to shyly wave his hands at you. "–Gojo. He may look stupid but he's actually really strong, he's a special grader."

Shoko went to take a look at Satoru, thinking why he was so quiet. Usually when he goes to introduce, he'd go boasting. He could even take an hour to introduce himself. The way he looks right now was so awkward–Red face, sweating, the way his eyes were avoiding to look at you, and he ONLY waved at you. Now that she has given a thought to it, mischievous thoughts filled up in her mind. She now found a new way to tease Gojo.

Upon hearing their introduction, your face lit up. They sounded really cool! You were happy to have them as your seniors. At that moment you didn't notice Gojo's awkwardness; you were more concerned about finding your dorm. But you wouldn't mind a little talk with them.

"Oh, I've heard a lot about you and your insane powers! You're really famous. I knew you were in Tokyo Jujutsu high. So when I was gonna transfer, I was looking forward to meet you." You were referring to Gojo.

When you looked up at him, his sunglasses were resting on the bridge of his nose, revealing his ice-blue eyes. His long white lashes framed them perfectly. His eyes we're sparkling like a sunlight above the rim of his glasses. You were slightly taken aback by how breathtaking his eyes looked. And he also had a well sculpted face. Now you understood why you kept hearing girls squeal about this particular guy.

After Gojo heard your comment about him, he felt like he could seriously melt at this moment. He stuttered a short "...T-thanks..." in reply. How long will he stay here talking with you? He can't take it anymore!

And it seemed like the gods heard his prayers, Shoko gave Gojo a teasing look. She pat his shoulders and told you that he wasn't really feeling well today. "Sorry, this guy kinda got a fever today. He'd go bragging about himself if he wasn't. He's gonna have to go back to his dorm right now." Shoko looked at Gojo with raising her one eyebrow up, giving him a teasing smile. It pissed Gojo off that she knew he had an instant crush on you. But anyway, she still helped him. "Gosh darn it you Shoko. "—he mumbled.

You turned to look at Gojo to see he was turning away now, a little disappointed that you guys didn't really get to talk that much.

"...Oh, I see. Get well soon then!" You yelled, but not too loudly as Gojo was about to head back to his dorm. But after all the talking, you remembered why you were here in front of Shoko—"Oh yeah. I forgot to ask something, it says my dorm is **** but I don't know where it is. Please help me find it!"

And after that, she was able to help you find your dorm, but the thing is..

*what happened after*

Satoru: "Shoko, what the fuck do I do. It's like I'm being tested, her dorm is right next to mines!!!??" he panics.

Shoko: "Looks like somebody's whipped..." *she raises both her eyebrows up and down repeatedly*

Satoru: "Oh my gosh shut up, I feel like I could melt any minute. What the heck is that woman doing to me... "

Shoko: "You were all emo and stuff earlier, now you're all giddy? She really did a huge impact on you. Aaaanddd it's the first time you were acting timid."

Satoru: "I know! When I first saw her, it felt so weird. I dont know how to explain it! It's like....weird in a good way.... "

tags: @byakuya61085 @angelsleepinggurl

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo fluff #gojou satoru x reader #jjk fluff #satoru x reader #gojo satoru

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parfaitblogs · 4 months ago

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you're losing me ❀ s. reid x reader

in which he's an entirely different person after prison, and your relationship is crumbling.

pairing: spencer reid x reader genre: angst tags: post prison reid. no happy ending. argument/fight. strong language. word count: 2.0k a/n: big fan of soul crushing angst. clearly. i dreamt this one up in an everything shower. likely place for me to plan fics? whole lot of nothing happening i love yapping about sadness!! my least favourite spencer trait is that he doesn't think he deserves good things so he pushes them away so obviously i have to write novellas on him doing just that? this used to be based on tolerate it but i listened to ylm the entire time so erm. things change! lol enjoy xoxo

Perhaps you were stupid.

Very, very stupid. And ridiculous. And every other synonym for those two words that your brain could not possibly imagine up right now. You were all of them. But also none of them. Because you also felt like there was not a single word that could describe you anymore; if there was, maybe you'd consider yourself a person. But clearly you weren't a person. Not anymore, at least. Not to him.

An awfully painful year it had been. And maybe that's what stripped you of your right to be a person. Maybe it was the overtime. Maybe it was the lack of sleep. Maybe it was everything all at once. Maybe it was nothing at all.

Three years of dating one man meant you learned quite a bit about who he is as a person to you. Eight years of knowing him meant you knew very well what sort of person he is in general.

And this wasn't him.

He was sitting on your couch. A piece of furniture that had, in just one year, erased the memory of you from it, there no longer being an indent on the right side where you always sat. A book was sat in his lap, but he wasn't properly reading it. You could tell from how slowly he turned the pages. From how he stopped every few minutes to rub his eyes, his eyebrows creasing and a quiet, irritated huff leaving his lips.

It was a habit he had developed.

This was how it was every night. Three o'clock came, and your body would wake you up from an otherwise restless sleep, and you would drag your feet out to where the man who should be occupying the other side of your bed, actually is. And he wouldn't look up, but you both acknowledged each other's presence, silently.

And you would watch him for an hour. Until your eyes began to droop, and your feet started to ache, and your heart couldn't handle any more shattering for the night. And then you would drag yourself back to the bedroom, and you would climb into a now cold bed, and you would fall back asleep for another two hours.

Like clockwork.

You were good with him. So patient. You would make him mugs of morning coffee that he wouldn't drink, and you would wash clothes he wouldn't say 'thank you' for. You wondered if he was actually grateful or not.

You were too scared to ask.

"Hey," you said, quietly, when he had come home from work, shrugging his bag off his shoulders, and slipping shoes off his feet.

"Hi," he answered. As if on instinct, he moved to where you were seated at the barstool to kiss you in greeting, before brushing past and heading into the kitchen.

You watched him for a few moments as he found a piece of bread to eat, nothing on it. Just... dry. Before your eyes returned to the laptop screen you had open in front of you, fingers tapping away at your keyboard.

"There's been another terror threat," you said to him, tilting your head to the side. "But they let me work from home."

"Why'd they do that?" he asked, but he could not sound less interested.

You lifted your head, because you thought he knew. "Because of you, Spence."

"Oh, okay," he answered, and you watched as he threw out half of the bread he did not eat, before he disappeared down the hallway.

He didn't even care.

You stared at the empty space down the hall, where he had once been, heart lodged in your throat in an uncomfortable lump you couldn't swallow. This was why you felt stupid.

Maybe you were sick of feeling stupid. You must be, because subconsciously, your feet had already planted themselves firmly on the floor, and your legs were already taking you down the hall in the exact direction he had just disappeared to.

He was taking his button up off when you appeared in the doorway to your bedroom, replacing it with a t-shirt. You had never seen him wear so many t-shirts until now.

You cleared your throat, alerting him of your presence, and he turned, his eyebrows furrowing when he saw you.

"You know you can talk to me, right?" you said, voice wavering with cautiousness.

His lips parted, then they closed, and all he managed was a short nod, before he turned back around to find pyjama pants in his drawers.

"Spencer, I'm serious," you pressed, taking a step into the room. "You need to talk to someone about this."

"I have those counseling sessions at work," he answered, turning back around to face you only once he was wearing pants.

Your lips pursed. "You hate those."

"Yes, but I'm talking to someone."

"Not someone you trust!"

"And if I talk to you, it would be so different compared to a counsellor, right?"

You froze. He froze. Maybe he realised the implication of his words, you certainly did. That such a simple spoken sentence had your heart stuttering in your chest.

You shakily exhaled. "I'd hope it would be different," you decided to say. "But I wouldn't be surprised if it isn't anymore."

He stood straighter at your comment. Perhaps not the best thing to say. Certainly not the most mature.

"What does that mean?"

Right. The reason you decided to follow him in the first place. "I just—I don't feel like you care anymore. And I have tried to be patient, Spencer. I really have. But you shut me out, and we don't even talk anymore. I make you coffee, I do your laundry, I offer to cook, I clean up the house, I do everything I possibly can so you can focus on healing, and I can't even get a proper sentence out of you unless we're arguing."

He inhaled sharply, staring at you. "I don't know if you forgot, but I was locked in a prison for three and a half months."

Your shoulders deflated, your eyebrows creasing and lips pulling down into a frown. "Seriously? I express that I am feeling neglected, and your only response is that you've been in prison—"

"—Well, it kind of changed who I am!"

You fell silent for a few moments, trying to collect your thoughts before you threw them all in his face and actually ruined things between you two.

"I just feel like you don't care anymore," you repeated, voice awfully soft compared to how hard your body was shaking in anxiety.

He ran a hand through his hair, and he opened his mouth to speak with that same frustrated frown, so you cut him off.

"And yes, I know you're dealing with everything that happened to you in prison. I only know what they told us, so I can't even imagine how much you're withholding. Because I know that's what you do. But that doesn't give you an excuse to treat me like I'm not important in your life anymore. I mean, If I'm not, then tell me. If you really don't care, or you've decided that you can't be in a relationship and process everything at the same time, then I'd like to know."

The silence is uncomfortable. And thick. And you're staring at him with eyes that burned with tears you weren't ready to shed yet. He's coming up with a response, so slowly you think maybe prison actually did break his brain.

"I do care," he finally said, and you wondered if it took him three minutes to come up with that because he was controlling a lie. You pushed that thought out of your head. "But I also don't want you to wait for me to be better, if it's making you feel this way."

Oh.

"Okay," you manage to say, voice not above a whisper as you stared at him.

"Okay," he echoed, and the tears you were trying so hard to keep in brimmed your waterline, blurring your vision. If he hadn't become one big blob in your vision because of them, you might've seen his eyes soften and his shoulders deflate.

Maybe he was waiting for you to confront him about it all. So he could end things. Maybe he's been thinking about this for too long, and this was just the final push he needed. You'd like to hope it was a spur of the moment decision, and he wasn't banking on this relationship ending.

"I'll stay at a friend's," you then murmured, wiping the tears from your eyes, sniffling pathetically.

"No, this is—"

"—You deserve familiar walls," you cut him off. "I'm sure anything else would freak you out."

He fell silent, because you were right. But he didn't want to kick you out of your own home. He didn't want to kick you out of his life, a sickening revelation he was having all too late.

Maybe that was why, when you turned around to leave, he called your name. Pleadingly. So, you turned back, and he stared at you, and silence fell over you two again.

"What?" you breathed out after a few too many minutes of quiet.

"I don't know how to talk to you. Or anyone. Not—not just you."

"About what happened?"

"In general."

You stilled, confusion sweeping across your features, for the thousandth time tonight alone. "You don't have to talk to me, if you can't. Regularly, I mean. That's not... that's not what I'm asking of you. I just need you to communicate with me. I feel like you don't even have feelings for me anymore. That's where most of my issues lie."

"I do have feelings for you."

"It doesn't feel that way."

More silence. More thick, deafening silence that felt like you had submerged your head underwater. And you really just wanted to come to a final conclusion. If this was the end.

"Then is it just that you don't want to be with me anymore? If it is, please tell me," you said, voice pathetically desperate.

He stared at you some more. Silence accompanying him, like some (annoyingly) comforting best friend amidst this conversation. And you slowly nodded your head as what he wanted became clear to you, your heart stuttering uncomfortably in your chest. Your stomach flipping.

"Indecision doesn't look good on you," you finally cut through the blanket of quiet. "I need a verbal answer, Spencer."

"I do want to be with you—"

"—Then fight, dammit!" you finally snapped, the tears you had managed to control coming back to you, a sob lodging in your throat. "I am sick of you saying you do feel this, and you don't feel that. Make a fucking decision. Please. I cannot keep up a fight for the both of us anymore. You're losing me here, Spencer."

"I'm scared!" he shouted, and you took a step back, his voice vibrating throughout the room. He waged an internal battle for a few moments at your recoil. "That. That right there is what I'm scared of. I am so scared of scaring you."

"You scare me more when you shut down. I will take your anger over your silence."

"I won't," he snapped, watching you flinch. Again. You wanted to stop flinching.

"It proves to me that you're actually feeling things. Spencer, I feel like I've been living with a ghost."

"I can't control my anger anymore," he added your name with a voice crack, mirroring your heart.

You blink some more tears down your cheeks. "You don't have to. You are allowed to be angry."

"Not around you," he shook his head, his hands brushing curls out of his face. "What if I—I hurt you."

"What if you don't?"

It seemed he hadn't considered that possibility, because he fell silent, and averted his gaze to the ground. He shook his head after a beat. "I can't take that risk."

You stared at him for a moment longer, weighing up your options, before you sighed. "Fine. Don't." He said your name again. "No. If you're not willing to fight, then... then fine. Don't fight. But neither will I."

He didn't say anything as you took a step back from the room. And even as you stilled for a few seconds longer, achingly but silently begging him to ask you to stay, he didn't utter a word. Which was, really, all you needed in confirmation.

And so you left.

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