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solalunar-eclipse · 10 months ago

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Okay. Okay, I don’t normally do this, but I’ve been wanting to do some sort of analysis post recently and the Sonadow shipper inside me grabbed me by the throat and pointed in Netflix's direction, soooooo...let’s have a look at some clips of Sonic and Shadow interacting in Sonic Prime, shall we? (Putting this under a readmore because of all the images.)

The first clip comes from this post. (I don't know how to add that particular gif to my post, or else I'd put it here too, but oh well. I'm analyzing the first one, to be specific.)

So, we begin with Shadow walking away, saying “We’re going after Nine”.

Sonic then reaches out to stop him (with his right hand, despite the fact that he has to reach all the way across his own body to do so, possibly suggesting that Prime!Sonic is right-handed?). This seems to be just before Shadow’s noticed, because he’s still moving forward, looking resolved now that he’s decided what to do.

Shadow sees Sonic’s hand, and looks at it with an expression that seems…mildly irritated, but not outright angry. It’s about halfway between his “resting grumpy face” and his “actually angry face”, in my opinion.

He looks over at Sonic himself with a slightly angrier face (mainly made evident by the fact that the point in the middle of his brow is actually touching his muzzle instead of resting above it).

Then he looks back at Sonic’s hand again (in a pose that I swear is slightly different from the last one even if it doesn’t look that way). The only real difference is that he’s just looking down a little more. The effect of these last three images in actual motion, though, is a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it glance at the hand, up to Sonic, and then back to the hand. It's sort of a "huh-what-huh?!" motion, I think. To me, this gives off extremely strong “what the heck is even happening right now?!” energy.

For completion’s sake, I’m going to finish out the rest of the gif with these last three pictures. Shadow pulls away from Sonic at this point (which, fair, Sonic did grab him out of nowhere and he’s not normally very touchy-feely although this may be disproved in the next gif), and it may or may not have felt like a small punch to the gut for me to see Sonic’s hand outstretched like that, but anyway.

Shadow shifts into one of his patented I’m Trying To Be Cool And Aloof Despite Being An Adorable Three Foot Tall Hedgehog poses, complete with an eyeroll. He doesn’t actually seem that upset about Sonic touching him, however, I think it’s probably more the context of the situation. Shadow keeps insisting that Nine is a threat that needs to be stopped, and Sonic keeps preventing him from doing that, so his frustrated reaction seems to have much more to do with why Sonic touched him than the fact that he did so at all.

And, least but certainly not least, a cute contemplative (and still slightly grumpy) expression from Shadow. (He’s just adorable!! Aaaaaaa—)

Now then! Let’s move onto a really, really big one…

…The Hug™.

The post that I got this clip from actually has some really good points that I’m going to discuss further, so please go read that first! It won’t take long, and also everything the OP says there is absolutely true.

Ready? Here we go! (Please excuse the slightly crunchy pictures...the only way I was able to get this level of detailed analysis was by recording the gif, scrubbing through the frames, and taking screenshots of specific moments, which naturally led to some artifacting.)

So, what's just happened prior to this frame was Rebel Rouge saying happily, "Sonic, you're okay!". Sonic, like the goof he is, does not acknowledge this in any way, fully focused on introducing his boyfriend to his other Shatterspace pals. Instead, he's just looking over at Shadow. Notably, Shadow is instead looking up at Rebel. I'd like to think this is because Rebel has the most put-together and leader-like behavior out of the Rouge counterparts, so he could be waiting for her to continue speaking and give instructions or commentary on the situation, like she does with Team Dark in the games. That's just my take, though, he could just as well be generally on edge—he is in the middle of a battlefield, after all.

Smear frame!! This is included for the expressions as well as for completeness…but mostly for the expressions. Look at how big Sonic's eyes are. Look at how excited he is. He's so hyped to introduce his best rival to everyone. Shadow, meanwhile, looks like he just bluescreened out of pure shock. Sonic's yanking him over so fast he's all blurry, but we can see that his expression is basically 0—0 right now. He has been Touched and he is being Moved and he has not had time to process Why.

(Notably, however, he doesn't break the hold, despite the fact that he definitely could...)

Now, they’ve both settled into place (although ‘settled’ may be the wrong word for Shadow, haha). Sonic is doing what I can only describe as beaming—just look at him! He has a big smile on his face, and he looks almost proud to be introducing Shadow. It really shows how much Sonic values and respects him. (*sobs*) Shadow, meanwhile, has shifted from “what is happening” to “oh Chaos I am being held I am being hugged?? What??? Physical contact? Why????”. He just looks so stunned by the hug, it’s too adorable! More specifically, in addition to the obvious fact that his irises and pupils have shrunk and that he has very stiff posture, if you look very closely at the gif as well as at the following pictures, his ears are also standing up a little straighter and his quills have pushed back slightly, possibly prickling at the sudden contact? Interesting…

Here, we can see Shadow’s ears relax now that he’s processed what’s going on, and his quills have more of a visible curve to them instead of sticking out so much. He’s also glaring off to one side in a position that could either be interpreted as frustration at his current situation (though not so much that he’s willing to push away!!) or as embarrassment. Personally, I think it’s a little of both. Sonic, meanwhile, is still smiling like the sweetheart he is.

Now, we’re getting into the frames leading up to Sonic leaning into Shadow (aka one of the most precious moments of the show). Honestly, I don’t have too much to say about this one, except that Sonic is moving in a way that he would normally while talking right now (shifting around, because this boy has loads of energy) so I have a feeling Shadow probably doesn’t expect the cuddles that are coming his way, ehehe.

The Smush begins!! Shadow looks like he’s quickly resigned himself to his fate, but also decently irritated that he’s essentially getting side-snuggled in front of everyone. This could’ve been another part where he shoved Sonic off himself (goodness knows he did it before in Avoid the Void), and yet he doesn’t, leading to the best part of this whole moment!

Sonic, you smug hedgie. Shadow’s already letting you hug him, don’t push it with that smirk! Shadow does have his eyes closed here, suggesting to me that he is at least a little bit annoyed by now. Again, though, I think this has more to do with the fact that he’s essentially in front of an entire crowd, none of whom recognize or know him. I’ve seen someone else point out that Shadow gets more closed off in Prime when he’s around people aside from Sonic, so honestly, the fact that he’s putting up with this at all sure is…something. (Shipping goggles on: it could be because he appreciates Sonic’s affection enough that he’s willing to cope with the embarrassment if it means the cute annoying hedgehog next to him will hold him a little longer :] )

Okay, so this is really difficult to see, but look at Shadow’s wrist protectors in this image as well as the last one. See how there’s less of them visible in this picture here? That’s because, as the person who posted this gif noted, Sonic moves his hand up and down Shadow’s arm twice after cuddling up to him like this. It actually moves Shadow’s entire arm and shoulder up and down with the movement, making it look a little bit like a friendly rub or shake. Sort of like “hey, look at my grumpy friend, isn’t he great?”. Meanwhile, Sonic’s still looking smug, but I’m now wondering if it’s a bit of a knowing look as well? I mean, this is the one friend of his who’s truly known him for more than a few days. I’m wondering if there’s a bit of “‘ey, Shadow, c’mon, don’t be so shy! You’re my pal!” vibes here, partially because he knows it’ll annoy Shadow and partly because he just knows how Shadow is but wants to drag him into his circle of friends regardless. (Look at how much Sonic cares about Shadow, trying to make sure he’s included! So cute!!)

THE PAT. Two of Sonic’s fingers are lifted up here, which he then uses to give Shadow a light tap on the arm. THE AFFECTION. THE OBVIOUS CARE AND FRIENDLINESS IN THIS ONE SIMPLE ACTION. SONIC CARES ABOUT SHADOW SO OBVIOUSLY IT HURTS ME TO WATCH. MY HEART. No matter how many times Shadow puts up walls, Sonic smashes them down. After all, Shadow doesn’t get to be the only one who does things like keeping Sonic safe or helping him stay grounded! Sonic’s not going to pretend those things just didn’t happen—Shadow cares about him in his own awkward, emotionally constipated way, and Sonic is reciprocating. You can’t stop him, Shadow!

I’m skipping the smear frame here, just because Sonic and Shadow basically pop up and right into this position. Sonic’s two fingers come out of the tap/pat and straight into the peace sign, and now he’s smiling even more than he was at the start of this whole thing. His eyes are all big and shiny too—he’s clearly very happy to have introduced Shadow, and perhaps also quite happy that he’s getting this moment of prolonged physical contact with Shadow. Now, while Shadow’s shoulder is still kind of smushed upwards, which could indicate stress in another circumstance, it seems to me here that this is mainly because Sonic’s hand is pulling it upwards slightly. (Although, I’m afraid it does appear to be the case that Sonic and Shadow are approximately the same height in Prime—remember, Shadow’s ears aren’t as perky right now as Sonic’s, and the ears are really the only height difference between them here.) Shadow’s expression, however, is honestly quite neutral. Despite his previous discomfort (part of which, I just realized, could be because Sonic essentially was pushing him off balance. Shadow was tilted pretty far to his left, which could be a little awkward of a position to be in, especially for an extended period of time), he doesn’t look bothered at all, instead just quietly existing in this situation. Most of the irritability in his expression comes from his angular eyes and his aforementioned “resting grumpy face”, honestly.

(I couldn’t find any gif that includes this next part—probably because the camera cuts away from Sonic and Shadow here for a moment to show the general confusion of the Shatterverse folks—but when it cuts back, Shadow is still standing there with Sonic’s arm around him. Heck, he looks willing to continue standing there for however long Sonic stays next to him, only pulling away when Nine comes back and makes noise, reminding everyone that we’re in the middle of a battle for everyone’s survival here. And when he does pull away, Sonic is dragged with him, which is probably mostly for laughs, but does also imply that a) he was holding onto Shadow pretty tightly and b) he wasn’t expecting to have to let go even AFTER Nine made himself known.)

This post is long enough already (and I drafted it when I could've been going to sleep, because the force of Sonadow infected me), so I won't be doing the "Shadow saves Sonic" scene just yet (unless a lot of people want to see that). For now, though, thanks for bearing with me throughout my descent into madness over these two. And if you want me to take a look at other gifs, feel free to send them my way or put them in a reblog and I'll see if I can make the time to analyze them!

#sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #sonic prime #sonic prime spoilers #sonadow #sonic prime season 3 #LOOK AT THE PRECIOUS BOYS #I LOVE THEM #brief postscript:#my opinion on sonic prime is that while some of the character arcs were a bit rushed #the *characterization* overall was fantastic #so there's my two cents if anyone's interested!

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foodforthought00 · 1 year ago

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two observations......

Despite being fan favourite and the most saintly out of all these messy queers, we must acknowledge that sand is difficult in his own way. While he can get people to open up to him, lean on him, weep on him he cannot return the favour. This can be attributed to the fact that there aren't many grounding people in his life but as a person who grew up in a particular manner under certain circumstances sand is emotionally constipated and suppressed. Despite the care he shows he's constipated. He rationalises his feelings without actually feeling them. He cannot openly admit his feelings and even when he does he is sure to draw lines for himself more than anyone else. And for someone like sand ray is indeed a perfect fit. How many of us can imagine being needy and whine the way ray does. The way he calls for attention, the way he asks for affection, his ability to be vocal about his affection, his declarations that are so cheesy that I'd probably die of shame replicating with someone....sand needs someone like that. This aspect of ray draws him in the most. Something sand can never do, actually it's something most of us can't do without hiding our faces. Ray validates Sand's affections even if not sand himself. As a friend someone like sand is amazing, but if ur looking for a relationship and are normal and have a thin skin, emotionally constipated sand isn't the one for you. Takes too much out of you as you keep wondering why he's having such a straight face. There's another possible type of person that can work it out with someone like sand. The Boeing type. Takes it as a game or challenge. Can beg sincerely without sincerity, as it's an act aiming to convince rather than attempt to draw out feelings. But it's not genuine and can deeply hurt people like sand. I know a lot of people think ray destroys sand but I feel like ray allows sand to be more in touch with his emotional side.

Personally I feel like sand Nick and top are key parts of ray ton and mew arc. But somehow sand is more fleshed out than Nick and top that I can write an whole as essay about him. There's more where this shit comes from but I'm stopping here about sand.....

Ok, now onto ray.

Think of it this way, ray is a long term, high rish investment. The allure of the returns devestatingly tantalizes one to give it their all. When it pays off one cannot be happier because it makes them unrealistically rich. But if it tanks ur left in a deep ditch trying to dig your way out of it, possibly for the rest of your life. So yeah. It requires a ocean patience, godly foresight, a will and gut of iron to invest in someone with mental illness. If ur not up for the task, leave at first light because the later u leave the greater the loss for both parties involved. But that is only if u invest to begin with.

Not sure if any of the above makes sense but it's been playing bounce within my skull and I wanted out. These characters have been taking a dig at my person for episodes now with their attributes, reactions and characters. Makes me restless and hopeful of finding something like they have.

#only friends the series #ofts #ray x sand #sand x ray #sanray #raysand #sandray #ofts sand #ofts ray

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theswaggyrat · 2 years ago

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Knotted Strings

Joel Miller x F! Reader // The Last Of Us cw ~ spoilers // angst // comfort // unedited tw ~ vulgar language // mentions of death plot - he was angry with you. then you were angry with him, and he was not good at communication.

Ellie grasped your hand in hers as you entered the town in which Bill lived. You had fumbled earlier, mumbling something about forgetting where he set his traps. It had been years since your last visit, and albeit Joel was generous enough to guide you around each trap, the nausea in your gut had not left.

You could see the ache in Joel's shoulders with every step, the crinkle in his eyes at the doubt coursing through his veins. There had been nothing the two of you could do when Tess got bit; and maybe that was the cause of the ill in your stomach. Yet it was so recent, you could hardly believe Joel was still pushing through. His loyalty for the woman went farther than you believed his hardened heart could ever go.

Ellie's fingers were soft from her time hiding with the Fireflies. Ellie's soul was soft from her time with the Fireflies. Joel, in a state of anger and grief, directed all of his newfound emotions upon the girl. You shunned him fairly quickly, to which he waved you off with a scoff and the usual shake of his head. The reaction was normal — you knew he wasn't to blame — but the girl was simply trying her best to live alongside them. She wasn't to blame either.

And acknowledging that fueled Joel's anger.

At first, you had presumed any anger Joel had towards you would soon vanish — you thought he was upset that you felt differently than him. Unfortunately, each misplaced step and stumble you made riled him up enough to curse you out multiple times. It was confusing before, but now infuriating as you recovered from almost tripping over a small rock.

"That could've gotten us killed," he hissed, gripping the handle of his gun tight enough to strain his fingers. "How many times do I gotta tell you, woman? Watch your step."

"Watch your tone," you grumbled, clenching your jaw as you pressed forth. From beside you, Ellie quieted, kicking at loose pebbles in the ground. They skittered off and cracked into pieces.

Joel grit his teeth together, slowing his walk and turning around to face you. "Am I the only one who wants to get us there alive?" He asked, eyes alit with spite, "or are you going to put on your big girl pants and help?"

Your fingers fell from Ellie's and you cocked your head at the man, completely and utterly disgusted by the word's that had fallen from his lips. "Excuse me?" A laugh erupted from your throat, echoing throughout the surrounding alleyways. "And who the fuck gave you the right to talk to me that way? You don't think I'm trying my hardest to get us to safety?" You questioned. Being beneath his hardened gaze left you uneasy. "It isn't our fault Tess-"

"Yo!" Ellie interrupted, "can we, um, pick this up later?" Her voice fell meek as angered eyes darted to

her figure. If not for her, you might have been doomed. A chorus of mangled screams sounded from a few miles behind. "You guys can argue like kids after, when we're alive."

Joel's eyes flit to you once more before he grunted and turned back around. "Let's go."

Finally, a down moment came where you could rest your head and soothe your uneased nerves. Ellie was peering into her bag at a stack of comics she must've stolen from Bill. On the other hand, Joel was discussing their problem with Bill. You wondered if he said anything about Tess's death.

Bill was not thrilled to lead you on this quest for a car battery, and was more so reluctant to allow you into his home — or base, whatever he wanted to call it.

Eventually, Joel shuffled away from Bill, hands stuffed into his jean pockets.

"We go now. We're going deep into town, so don't do anything careless," Bill stated bitterly. "And then you leave and you do not touch any of my things." His eyes drifted toward Ellie with his last statement, who huffed and jumped to her feet.

"Yeah, yeah. Got it."

Bill folded his arms over his armored chest and turned away. "Good."

You pressed your palms into the cool pavement and stood up. Wind hollered through the cracks in the old base, its whistle sending chills up your spine. Joel clenched his jaw before ambling over to you as you dusted yourself off. He took a glimpse at Bill and Ellie; the girl was off in the corner, toying with Bill's equipment, whilst the man himself was grumbling something furious about them as if they couldn't hear him.

"You good?" Joel asked, his voice quiet against the wind. You shrugged your shoulders, averting your eyes off to some pile of hoarded junk. His lips parted to sigh and the man grumbled, "come on, y/n. Don't be like this."

"Oh," you spoke, "so I don't get to be like this. But you can." Your soles scraped against the ground as you shifted a step away from Joel. "I don't get what your problem is. I know you've got an attitude-"

"y/n," he warned.

"-but something's up," you whispered, taking a more subtle approach to the issue as to not rile him. "If it's Tess, you've got to let it go. But if it's something else, please just tell me."

Your beg struck something inside Joel, his mouth twitching down painfully. His tattered plaid shirt reflected the dampened look in his iridescent orbs. Joel's eyebrows synched curtly, but then his eyes softened. "We can't talk about it here." Your eyes found his in a peaceful gaze. "We can't."

You nodded accordingly before responding, "then let's talk about it somewhere else."

Joel sat on an old musty couch, colored a dusty navy blue. It's furnishing had been scraped and ripped apart from it's days of abandonment. He patted the space beside him, to which you reluctantly accepted and plopped down. A loose spring popped up by your side, aiding you with assurance of a fortunate fortune.

"Do you..." Joel drawled, fixing his hands atop his lap. They were calloused with the work of time, bruised and beaten. The man searched for his next words expectantly, as if they'd just appear out of thin air. He was no good at communication, but he did not want to lose you. Not like he lost Sarah; not like Tess; and certainly not like Tommy.

"Joel," you called. His eyes darted to your own, a plea hidden within those entrancing orbs. "No one is judging you. It's me — you know me. Just say it."

He did know you.

"D'ya ever get scared you'll lose someone? So much so that you might else well be losing them anyway?" He murmered. It's meaning was slow at first, but eventually realization smacked you stark in the face. Joel noticed in the way your cheekbones sunk that you had gotten the message. He swallowed thickly.

Your hands found his in a silent connection. "I think 's just you," you teased quietly, "you suck at communication." The man grunted something rough before turning away from you, earning him your bubbly laugh.

"I get it." The pad of your thumb brushed against his chafed knuckles and you squeezed. "Unfortunately, I don't plan on going anywhere," you whispered solemnly. Joel returned his gaze, his lips crinkling up into a small smile.

"You gotta swear it."

"Oh, come on, Joel."

He offered you a pointed look. "Do it."

The couch squeaked as your weight shifted above it. "I swear it, Joel! I swear it."

Those soft orbs of his came circling back, encasing you within it's trance; telling you, "I love you", and you received the message well enough.

"Mmh, I get it," you sighed, "now you best get up and get to it before your puppy eyes start something you won't be able to stop."

He chuckled briefly and gave your shoulder a harsh pat. "Next time."

#joel #joel miller #ellie #ellie williams #tlou #comfort #angst #fluff #joel x reader #romance #fanfic #fanfiction #joel miller x reader

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donnerpartyofone · 10 months ago

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anon here who feels a great kindred spirit with you, maybe one day i'll have the guts to message not anonymously but frankly i really admire you and also struggle with the mortification of putting myself out there directly it may be one day but not today. ANYways. just saw your post re: the knee-jerk reaction of ppl to say something like "no! everyone is special (or beautiful/smart/talented/etc.) in their own way!" when you or i tries to acknowledge something that is real to us and that affects our day to day life. ive touched on stupidity before bcuz that is something that you've articulated better than i ever could but you were talking in that post a little more specifically abt physical beauty and i do think theres something to be said there for usamerican individualism. bcuz ive heard a lot that other countries/cultures find our particular brand of individualism to be weird to say the least. and i have, for most of my life (and this is true now), had a body that has been perceived as very desirable (eg. skinny, but still have tits and an ass, proportionally "good", etc.) but my face i have always known does not live up to beauty standards. bcuz of this, ppl closer have had a hard time understanding why i struggle so much with self esteem related to my looks and have often jumped to "but youre so pretty!" when i try to talk abt it. the outside of this is that i look like a child in the face and am often mistaken for a child even at 28. when i was an actual child, read: 18 and under, i received a LOT of attention from men, often men who were old enough to be my father. now that i am not a child that attention has waned, even though i've put on a little weight and my body is frankly more rocking than ever. BUT my face stays unchanged and i think i have so of an uncanny valley effect on ppl now. im bringing all this up bcuz this is another piece of kinship i feel with you: even before i started really paying attention to your posts discussing things, i really admired your selfies bcuz you and i actually look pretty similar, we have the same texture of hair and a similar face. but i have always felt that, from your pictures, you seem much more "in control" of your look than i do. i love your sense of style and i love how you do your brows so dark and dramatic but also seem to wear (as far as i can tell; im not much for makeup so correct me if im wrong) relatively little makeup otherwise. regardless of how you look, you project an image (as always, i know i can only know you parasocially so take this as much or as little as you want to) of someone who knows how they look and how they want to present themselves. i personally keep my head buzzed most of the time, and when i first started doing it, i did it bcuz it meant that no one had any excuse anymore. they had to look at my face and acknowledge my whole bare face with no distractions. it was a way of directing how i was perceived. now i dont know if thats what your brows are to you but ive always thought "wow, the dramatic brow is such a masterful use of makeup and direction". ive always seen the way you present yourself as seeming thoughtfully and well curated, and ive hoped for myself that i could someday present that way. as you can tell, i really admire you lol. hope im not being weird. im not really sure what my point is here but once again you articulated something well that i only have ruminated on abstractly.

i've also been thinking of you bcuz recently i ran up against the old "im too stupid to do this normal thing and now it may badly affect my life" situation: tried to put my tabs on my car and bcuz they were taped to the paper, they just broke into pieces on the tape when i tried to peel them away. so i just panicked and badly pieced them onto my license plate in a way im sure will seem infinitely more suspicious should a cop notice and decide to pull me over. my husband tells me tabs are supposed to do this as an anti theft measure, this is information i somehow missed in my 28 years of life and 12 years of being a legal driver. and if i get pulled over im not honestly sure i know where all my necessary paperwork is and will undoubtedly start shaking from anxiety which also looks suspicious when i try to hand a cop my id and my hand is shaking like a leaf. and i havent been pulled over yet but now every time i drive my car im going to be thinking abt it. god willing the distraction of fear of the unknown wont lead me to crashing my car but thatd be just the thing id do too. just wanted to share bcuz i think youre probably the only person who understands how it feels and bcuz hey, i want you to know youre not the only one out there muddling through life as a series of actions and unforeseen consequences, no matter how foreseen those consequences "shouldve been".

sorry for this long and rambling message. i have no two-ipas excuse this time as its morning here and im stone cold sober (the ipas were the voodoo juice ranger by the way) but you just make me think a lot, and again, i admire you very much. thanks as always and i hope that today is, if not easier on you, at least tolerable in terms of its challenges.

Dearest field correspondent, I wish I had a more thoughtful, interesting response to your kind message, but unfortunately you may receive instead le big rant. I am very low self-control lately and you're all going to have to pay for it! I'm thinking about my 85 year old father-in-law who is still razor sharp and full of energy, and so he is vividly aware of the nearness of death and very anxious about it. At his birthday dinner he started preaching to my husband and me about how you just have to live every minute you've been given to its fullest, and I often think about how he's right and he's wrong at the same time. Like it's patently correct that you should treasure whatever life you're allowed, but I think it would take a mental giant to really do that unless you're just basically a terrific person with few problems. If your personal chemistry makes you feel bad all the time due to circumstances or past trauma or plain old bad wiring, it's really hard to just consciously choose to feel good and be filled with gratitude and slurp all the delicious marrow out of your day. And what if your days don't have that much marrow to begin with? Of course if the Christmas ghosts came and snatched you up and confronted you with the preciousness of the life you are squandering, that you can still redeem if you try, that would change your tune, but it's hard to get that same kind of life-changing effect by just intellectually acknowledging the value of yourself and your time on earth.

(I'm gonna put a break here so I don't eat up everybody's dash, brb)

I was thinking about this, in a way, because somebody just asked me for a head shot for this project I'm on, so I was going through selfies to see if I had anything appropriate, and man was that depressing. Of course Tumblr was serving a jumble of new and old pictures, but some of them looked really good, even recent ones. And I know I wasn't enjoying myself at the time that I took them, any of them. I was just struggling to feel good about myself out of some perverse sense of obligation. I've always had the urge to express something with my appearance, to build up some kind of power and efficacy around what I could do with it, but I never felt anything like that happening. I mean for every selfie that was good enough to post, there are at least 100 I had to throw out that were ugly and embarrassing and more like "the real me". And I know just from living my life that I'm not attractive, my entire social experience does not reflect that of an attractive woman; even among the guys I dated, it's hard to weigh the two who actually liked me against the majority who were just indiscriminately looking for some pathetic specimen to torture and humiliate in order to feel good about themselves.

(And I guess this is TMI but who really cares, I'm sure no one is even reading this, but the irony is that I'm really great in bed. It's a fact. I just love sex and I'm not at all embarrassed about it and I have a knack for getting people comfortable really letting loose and getting to do what they truly want. I know this for sure not only from being in the room, but from detailed postscript testimonials from partners--even the ones who secretly hated me. And naturally that makes me feel pretty good, but it feels incomplete somehow, without the sense of control of my own appearance, without a satisfying relationship to my own body which disgusts me and is constantly causing me unmanageable problems both aesthetic and medical. Like I really want to just crumple it up and throw it in the trash, who fucking cares)

But I see some of those (highly staged, illusory, pain-in-the-ass to shoot) selfies and for a second I'm forced to wonder why that person had to feel so bad about and not have any fun at all, every single day. And now it's extra hard because as I might have said, I've had rosacea for around 15 years, and most of the time it was just a fairly manageable if embarrassing redness, but ever since I took the asthma medication Symbicort for a month this summer, the condition has been progressively deforming. I don't even look the same as I did this fall, and I have no reason to believe things will get better or even level out. Like, this is it. I feel like I don't even have the same skull shape as the girl in these cute pictures from September. I'm stressing myself out wondering about all kinds of procedures I can barely pay for, that could potentially make it worse actually. I'm wondering if I need to quit my public-facing volunteer gig, one of the only things that gives my life meaning, because I'm sick of how red and bloated and wet I look in every single livestream, and I don't like it when I'm occasionally accused of being drunk or I'm randomly told to "calm down" because I looked like I'm panicking even when I'm not. I don't know what to do. I wish I didn't care. But it's tough to look back at old pictures, even just from six months ago, and think Damn I didn't know how much worse things were about to get, I should have live-laugh-loved through every grueling moment of my luxurious mediocrity while I still had it to enjoy!

--On that note there's a certain curse of women who are like, not ugly enough for it to feel like a hopeless case, but who also don't actually have much potential to do anything satisfying with themselves. If you absolutely know that beauty isn't an open road for you, you can choose not to waste energy on that and you can focus on any number of other things that can make your life happy and meaningful; but if you have that nagging suspicion that maybe you COULD be finding exciting ways to express yourself through your looks, then you're dogged by this feeling of dissatisfaction and constantly wondering if it would be better if you just threw in the towel and called yourself ugly so you could stop thinking about it, or if that would be wasteful because maybe something nice would happen if you just made more of an effort, maybe there's still time, maybe you need the right haircut, maybe you need to shake up your wardrobe, maybe you need to learn that advanced hygiene routine that you always found too confusing to master, maybe you just need to get in shape, maybe et al ad nauseum. It would be better not to have to wonder about it all. And of course there's social pressure to maintain ambiguity, especially for women: You're supposed to work really hard to be hot, but you're supposed to act like it's all effortless and also like you have no idea how attractive you are. But you can't be unrealistically humble or people will hate you for that, too--they'll hate you for being dishonest, or they'll give you shit about your apparent self-esteem issues, because somehow that is always everybody's business. You can't win!

You're right that I don't wear much makeup, I really never learned; I never had a mom who was interested in me or the kinds of female friends who help you learn all the pageantry. I wore some makeup for a little while at the end of my 20s because I had to go to my fancy brother's wedding and I was embarrassed about looking raw and dowdy forever in his fancy wedding photos, so I forced myself to learn a few things. But basically I don't want to be bothered, and I enjoy the Joan Crawford brow I do, but that's utilitarian also--if I'm not paying attention I'll rip all the eyebrow hairs out of my face, which is extra embarrassing if it happens in the middle of a work day or something. So now the pencil is essential! And since my face started turning red I usually use some primer and foundation that I really like, although there is very little that keeps my head from looking like a big swollen clown nose, from now on. (All of my minimal supplies are from Make Up For Ever btw, expensive but long-lasting and reliable)

Unrelated but I'm really pissed off that I can't drink anymore, because now it brings on this violent painful flushing, and every time that happens it causes progressive destruction and like, basically every day is worse than the last--which is true anyway about aging, but it's escalated for me. But like, I have severe depression and anxiety and I can't be on any mood medications because they make my tinnitus intolerable, so the only thing I could reliably do for myself was have a little alcohol. Like just half a can of beer would get me through so many tough chores and bouts of mindless fear. And I love wine, I love amari, I love whiskeys, I love esoteric cocktail nonsense, I have a ton of friends from the craft beer world, and now basically there are entire art forms that I can't enjoy anymore, like ever again. And you can bet this is going to affect my relationships. I know people will want to say that's bullshit, quitting drinking is practically always a good thing and your "real friends" will stick with you sober...but that's all pretty hyperbolic. I don't want my life to be winnowed down to only the purest stuff. I don't want this cornerstone of my social and cultural life to be ripped out from under me. I never even developed any bad behaviors to deserve this! And god knows I don't want to have absolutely zero options for calming my nerves. Therapy and yoga and meditation have done nothing for me psychiatrically. I'm just fucked, really, in the dreariest most mundane way possible.

I wouldn't be so hung up on getting drunk and looking pretty if I had some other source of meaning, but it's hard to find that essential driving force when you can't even get through the day's chores like a normal person. I'm on like day 5 of trying to fold my clothes or even just shove them into bags, and I live in terror of the avalanche that is going to happen when one of us needs to get out the bed sheets that I "put away" dangerously in the closet, despite multiple attempts to do it right. I don't drive so you're ahead of me on some level! But I'm 100% positive I wouldn't have understood all that stuff about the tabs, haha. This week I'm seeing my GP and I'm going to ask for a psych referral for evaluations for autism and ADHD. I'm scared that I'm opening myself up to being officially diagnosed as just lazy and negative and then everyone will get to tell me I Told You So about how my only issue is my poor attitude, but I'm sure there's something going on with me, and if it's ADD and god forbid I can get a little medication of some kind that allows me to like wash dishes and do laundry like a normal person without making everything exponentially worse...then, you know, that would be a really big deal. It seems to me that a lot of people are depressed because of some unfulfilled dream they had of being really sexy and cool and talented, or some other superlative--and we usamericans do experience a lot of irrational cultural pressure to be Awesome at something, I'm not looking down on people who suffer from this--but all I want is to like, get on the bus successfully. To not humiliate myself every single time I go to ship a package because I just can't figure out what's going on, yet again. To not be having constant wardrobe malfunctions. To vacuum my house without just mysteriously pushing dirt and hair around into different configurations. To cook a nice simple meal I don't destroy. To have a job again. These are my most treasured fantasies. Maybe if we both put pressure on "the Universe" to "manifest" our dreams this year, then we can have a great 2024!

#sorry lol

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traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors · 1 year ago

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tws: csa, cocsa, suicidal ideation, self-blame, intrusive self harm thoughts hi mods, please call me xueyi i'm returning for some advice i was SA'd by my brother growing up & recently i think some behaviors might be due to those experiences but i'm not sure, and i just wanted to know a second opinion on it, not necessarily a professional one i think one of the hardest parts is trying to acknowledge the SA could very well have been trauma since i'm not professionally diagnosed and can't afford therapy. i constantly think that i "enjoyed" it and let him do it to me so it can't count as trauma & i only try to think of it as such because i somehow want to think i'm a victim? another thing has increased a little over the months or maybe even a year or more, i've noticed that sometimes if things don't go right my first thought can sometimes be "i should just off myself" even when it's something very minor. for the record, i don't intend to do anything risky with my life at all under no circumstances, i don't have the guts for that. but it's intriguing to me because this was not the case with me over a year or two ago. i know that's a long time, but it's seeming to be more recurring lately. for example, say i get a bad grade, do something embarrassing, i'm sure it isn't normal for my first thought to be damn i should just die. i also might see a scissor in the kitchen & randomly think what if i sliced my wrist with it, or if i hurt myself with a razor, so on. i won't act on it, but i don't keep the tools away from me either. the tools don't disturb me, the thoughts do to be accurate. can it have any link to me being SA'd? that's all i wanted to ask. have a good day

Hi xuey,

I'm so sorry about what you went through.

The thing about trauma is that we all have different psychological reactions to certain events, which is why trauma cannot be objectively quantified by the incident, but rather by how traumatized you became. So while something like SA may not result in trauma, it most certainly can, and does for many people (myself included).

If you're unsure whether or not you feel traumatized by this, I find it helpful, as someone with PTSD, to take note of how much space this takes up in your mind, body, and day-to-day life. If it bothers you to think about, if you think about it often, if you find yourself thinking about it even when you don't want to, if it evokes strong emotional responses or induces a feeling of numbness and dissociation, these are all signs that you may be dealing with trauma.

It sounds like you may be dealing with some internalized victim-blaming, wherein you tell yourself that you liked it or deserved it in some way. As someone who has dealt with (and on some level continues to deal with) this, I find it insightful to imagine your situation vicariously. Imagine that someone you love came to you and explained that they went through everything that happened to you. Would you tell them that they must've liked it, or that they let it happen so they don't have the right to feel traumatized by it? If your answer is no, now consider that this hypothetical person is you. You deserve to be treated with as much kindness as you would treat another survivor.

It's also possible that you may be dealing with some intrusive thoughts about self-harming. Some people who experience Harm OCD may resonate with this, although it doesn't necessarily mean that you are dealing with OCD. Either way, it's possible that your trauma may be related, and it's essential to take these thoughts seriously, even if you don't have immediate plans to act on them. They could be signs that you may need additional support.

It can be really hard to consider that you have trauma, and it's definitely not easy to take that first step in exploring the possibilities and opening yourself up to the chance that this is trauma for you. It can be intimidating simply to acknowledge trauma, just as it is understandably intimidating to move past the first stage of grief. There are all sorts of implications and consequences to living with trauma, and it's valid to feel scared by that. But at the same time, for your own mental health and wellbeing, it's important to begin the process of healing.

Ultimately, healing is done best with the guidance of a mental health professional such as a therapist. Just as you would go to the doctor and get a cast to heal properly, therapy can help make sure everything is in place to ensure that you recover comfortably. But it's worth mentioning that unlike the doctor, a therapist is a tool for you to help yourself.

Please know that healing takes time, and you deserve support and care as you navigate your healing journey. If anyone has any comments or suggestions, feel free to add on. Otherwise, I hope I could help, and please let us know if you need anything.

-Bun

#mod bun #trauma talks #tw abuse #tw child abuse #tw sa #tw csa #tw cocsa #xuey #tw sh #tw self harm #tw sui

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aronarchy · 2 years ago

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(finished THT S2E9 a few weeks ago but didn’t get to putting this out in text until now)

- throughout the 1st two seasons I was curious how they were going to play Fred—started with surface possibility of him adhering to the “bad but not in an Actually Evil Villain way,” i.e. able to be polite; it was shown to be just a façade later; I think a lot of viewers were also curious about his relationship w/Serena & how far misogyny stretched vs his previous relationship w/her pre-Gilead that seemed pretty good & respectful & fine, and how that played into the shifts that occurred during the coup, and how she maintained a presence behind the scenes in activism and planning and operations despite becoming a Wife, and to what degree Fred disagreed w/her being dismissed by the others. kind of confirmed a thought I’d had(?) to see that he was willing to be “traditionalist” w/her & assault her and not just Handmaids and not just endorsing other husbands’ assaults on their wives. lot of viewers seemed to feel really sorry for her after that, enough to move her from the “villain” category to the “pitiable/sympathetic/to be fought for” category. unsurprised that [iris’s abusive parent] had a similar reaction, and called Serena a good person after that (she always had a problem w/acknowledging Serena as Actually Abusive; cis nuclear family mothers abusing their dependents tend to find solidarity). also saw various articles going w/a similar framing of sympathy.

- but that’s the thing, isn’t it? (white, bourgeois) cis women are abused (by white, bourgeois cis men) and are victims—but they continue to choose their power over the further marginalized, over the forced laborers they own in their households, over their own liberation from their abusive patriarchs. Serena has physically assaulted as well as constantly verbally abused and controlled and psychologically tortured over the first two seasons (and after E8 she resumes). She gets a chance to leave to Hawai’i and she doesn’t—I doubt this was solely influenced by the coercive control/threat Fred exerted over her, much of her motive was that she wished to continue ruling over what she did have. We see that even more in E10 (viewed a few days ago)—she joins up w/Fred to rape June and that’s, symbolically + as the plot goes, how that contradiction that was (finally?) exposed or forced into the light in E8-9 was “resolved,” with the state of her and the house going back to as it was before: she will be close to him, plot with him, conspire together so long as it’s to abuse someone even more powerless. Serena has had much more leeway to run away throughout the entire story, and to succeed and not be caught. June tried running long before Serena started considering it when offered by the American(s).

- also it was just kind of sad to see how much better their lives were in E8 when Fred was out of the picture, and also how much less abusive Serena was to June (relatively speaking). good choice of portrayal. and a good way to understand how material conditions can lead the “good”/normal to commit atrocities, and the atrocious to behave less atrociously.

- I get why they chose for there to be a way out, going for the “inefficiency”/“working against themselves” angle (re the fertility issue, and the solution the American guy offered re their own scientists and researchers)—but it was also kind of disappointing, bc unless they were going to go full-out w/transhumanism I would’ve preferred if they just let it be. What if there wasn’t any way to resolve the small amounts of “available” fertility? What if the human race really was going to die out, and there really was no magical stroke of luck loophole found that could stop it? I would’ve liked to see the showrunners really having to contend with the fundamental value question, getting to the heart of the issue, having the guts to double down on yes we really do mean it there is no possible amount of productivity increase whatsoever that would justify coercion. (But this is a show for libfems, and for people who like happy endings and no hard dilemmas, so they have to keep it positive.)

- show makes many extremely good points and great analyses but it’s still hindered a lot by the areas where it hits a certain ceiling and doesn’t have the ability to break out of the box—mainly its erasure of racism, its erasure of transness/gender variance, and how it tiptoes around the issue of childism/child abuse (and ultimately this all feeds into its lack of endorsements of militancy, and ultimately how it falls back onto the “liberal democracy fundamentally good, just gets bad when disturbed”). obviously it’s very much not in a position to go for a family abolitionist stance, normie directors right now are all cowards, but it’s still galling to see the fundamental assumptions still endorsed, even when one of the bioparents is gay or whatever, or when the other options apart from the bereft mothers are (far worse) abusers. (a common objection would be “but they’re suffering so much from having their kids taken away so why would you hurt them even more by ok’ing kids leaving on purpose” but this is only bc the narrative still centers the adult perspective & adult struggle with patriarchal violence, not the child/youth’s, and youthlib is core and essential, not tangential or disruptive, to the overthrow of patriarchy.) (this is also linked to the show’s refusal to depict queerness more subversive than “goal of two cis adults legally married with happy kids”)

#OP #the handmaid’s tale tv #recently viewed #media review #feminism

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sweetiereads · 2 years ago

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@jeonqkooks,

What a great introduction to this series !! I really enjoyed this. 😊(spoilers below sorry!)

I really liked how this was littered with parallels that lead to some gut wrenching revelations. The backstory of reader is crucial to this story. Reader here comes off as rather emotionally detached when it comes to love, due to what she experienced in the past. She'd flee from possible traumatic situations to preserve her wellbeing ( because to process things you have to acknowledge them. To acknowledge things you have to feel). Feeling would only confirm what I'm assuming to be her biggest fear: that love, which she wishes for with her entire being, may just be fairytale. We see that with how she reacts to Taehyung's infidelity and with how she can't bring herself to anger because what's the point? What has happened has already proved her fear. Heck, what she experienced in her childhood nurtured it and this incident with Tae only solidified it.

Now onto some of my fave parts:

" things that you felt as a child are things you never wanted to experience as an adult. It's not until now that you finally understand why mom hasn't gotten over it."

This moment here was so profound. It's the irony that she just ridiculed her mother for acting a specific way and now, of all things, she can relate. she begins to understand just how these sort experiences, as you mentioned, "chases a person for life." My heart physically aches for reader. I also what to mention her thinking that something might be wroong with her for not reacting 'normally' but when it come to trauma there is no 'right' way to respond. But the desire to be perceived as normal is human nature. Fortunately, Reader had Sohee and I am so glad.

"For the second time today, you're leaving home. For the second time in your life, home is being taken away again."

And now I'm ill.

"Oh. You're doing it again."

This one sentence does a lot. It lets us know as readers that this is not a new reaction for Reader. Albeit at the time, I didn't know what it was but I could put the pieces together, and later it was confirmed. She resorts to running away from painful situations so that she'd feel nothing instead... and that maybe she's "undeserving of a place to belong." My gosh the amount of pain you evoked from me from this alone. It’s a passive thought that almost comes across as self-deprecating. And I just want to hug her.

Now moving onto Taehyung's reaction and interaction with reader after the incident. The dichotomy between the two was beautifully portrayed. Reader was so detached, and resigned. While Taehyung's first words to her suprised me. Because out of everything that happened, he was mostly concerned with whether or not she cried. Very interesting. How he shifts the blame onto reader... so much as to say that she was burden to him. This is my literal fear so when I say my heart stopped. I wish I was lying 😩

I’m sorry but nothing justifies cheating for me even if tae wanted what he wasn’t getting from Reader.

Now enter Min Yoongi and I am so so so intrigued to know more about him and how the story unfolds !! I shrieked at the last sentence. I love cliff hangers and this was sooooo juicy. Like yes. You are Min Yoongi. Nice to meet you !! I can't wait to see how their interactions will go and progress, ahaha. This was an amazing intro. This first chapter was so thought provoking to me. I could relate to Reader here. After a reaction of hers, I'd think to myself something and she'd say it herself, or confirm my suspicions and that was a great experience. I could relate to her on an emotional level.

Thank you so much for sharing this dear author, I'm looking forward to the continuation of this series. I love what you have so far and am excited to see where things go.

with love,

sana ♡

isn't it romantic? | myg (01)

ENTRY ONE: Me Before You

⟶ SERIES MASTERPOST

Many things in life have a polar opposite: left and right, night and day, yin and yang, you and Min Yoongi... Hopeless romantic meets gloomy cynic. The only thing you seem to share is a magazine column but even then, you still can’t seem to understand how Yoongi can be called ‘The Love Doctor’ when he is the antithesis of everything love represents.

pairing: yoongi x f!reader; side/past taehyung x f!reader

rating: 18+ (minors dni)

genre/warnings: coworkers to lovers, magazine writers au, fluff, angst, eventual smut; central themes of cheating (not between yoongi and oc), swearing (a staple in this household 😗), one bit is a lilllll suggestive?, mentions of drinking, i think that's it hmmm, barely edited bc u know how we do

word count: 5.1k

note: this is the yoongi brainrot speaking !!! the banner for this entry is one of my all time favorite pics of him and i will find a way to use it in everything !!! but erhm yeah iir is officially starting and i'm very curious to see what y'all think about it 😗 please like it haha jk no i'm serious please like it it's my baby

— as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

I waste my breath on a prayer, you don't care, I was never a part of your plan, You can't make a God of somebody, Who's not even half of a half-decent man.

I Burned LA Down - Noah Cyrus

Half your life, you hated blue.

You often associated it with so many bad things - loss, betrayal, loneliness. The great big storm. The end of life.

Most of the pigtails-wearing girls in your class disliked it because it was often a boy’s color. You hated it because of a stranger on a beach.

Then you discovered Blue Side (as ironic as the name was), the magazine that everybody and their mother was reading. There was this column - the Love Maze (as corny as it sounded) - that had your 15-year-old self hooked from the first article you read, “Flirty Pickup Lines to Text Your Crush”. It gave you a nice little distraction from the reality of your fucked up family.

You’d get home from school and dive right into it. You could count on the maze for a new article every day, covering all kinds of things - cute little quizzes, daily love horoscopes, relationship tidbits…

You started reading it religiously because it was stupid, and fun, but it was more than that too. They covered real-life stories of actual people, which you’d never really thought about. For the most part, it was tedious. Rekindling with an old flame whilst grocery shopping, accidentally spilling coffee on a stranger who then asked you out on the spot, etc. Things like that. You found them so… unremarkable.

But then it went beyond that, when they told their stories looking back on years and years after that first happenstance. How there was love in the mundane. How there was love every single day, even on the bad ones. How there was a spark that two people cared for and nurtured into a warm fire that never burnt out.

How there was love.

How there was always love.

To you, that was magical. It was something you’d only ever heard about in fairytales when you were a kid.

You still remember the exact moment when it all changed for you.

You met Kim Taehyung during your third week at Blue Side, where you were a wide-eyed assistant editor who somehow wiggled her way into a position there, and he was an effortlessly charming graphic designer.

Admittedly, the first time that you two had ever talked, wasn’t under ideal circumstances. You were tucked away behind the office building, nails digging into your palms at 3PM on a sunny but freezing afternoon, willing your tears to stay where they belonged. You’d felt severely underqualified, like you were only flailing about, trying to keep your head above water but something kept pulling at your feet, not stopping until you were at the very bottom. People always talked about how your early 20s were the most beautiful and freeing years, when you could truly live and feel your youth blossom all around you. But that just wasn’t true. Those were the loneliest years of your life.

Taehyung had found you then, while he was out for a quick smoke break. He could’ve made a lame excuse and left, or simply pretended to not notice you were even there, but he stayed. He approached you and asked what was wrong. He offered you words of reassurance and encouragement even though you were nothing but a stranger to him.

You were touched by his simple act of kindness and his endearing smile. Maybe it’s because you’d never been offered much kindness throughout your life that his small gesture seemed like everything. In a way, it was everything. He looked like the kind of fairytale love that you’d only seen in movies, only read about in Love Maze. To this day, a part of you still thinks that you fell in love with him the very second he asked, “Are you okay?”

The timing felt right.

Taehyung felt right.

He, too, was like the sun in the middle of a cold and isolating winter.

You remember the color of his sweater, and it was then that you realized blue didn’t have to be so bad after all.

[15:39] You: what r u doing tonight?

[15:45] Tae ♡: probably just head home after the gym. play a couple matches with Jungkook. hope i don’t die boiling water for ramen and hit the hay early

[15:46] Tae ♡: miss you :(

[15:49] You: thanks

[15:52] Tae ♡: mean

[15:53] You: lol 😇

[15:54] You: i miss you too <3

[15:56] Tae ♡: can’t you come back earlier?

[15:58] You: there’s only a week left. you’re a big boy, u can handle it :)

That was a lie. You were already on the train when you sent him that text, bouncing your leg all the way back to the city at the mere thought of surprising him with your early return. You’d taken a leave from work to visit your family, spent some time somewhere quieter, away from the hustle and bustle of the big city.

You watch as the scenery passes by, fast-paced like you’re in a montage. The rest of forever is right around the corner. You wish you could skip to your happily ever after and not have to rewind the tape ever again.

When the diamond on your ring finger catches the sunlight coming from outside the window, you allow yourself a blissful sigh as you gaze at the jewelry adorning your hand. But if you’re being honest, it doesn’t fit anymore, at least that’s what you’ve noticed over the past month. It’s a little loose now, not quite noticeable but you can still make out the slight difference if you concentrate hard enough. You should get it resized soon, maybe later this week now that your schedule has cleared up earlier than expected.

Three weeks is a lot of time to spend around only your family, you realize. You thought you could do it - seeing that you hadn’t been back in a while - but the second you stepped foot into your childhood home, you remembered what a dysfunctional household you had.

It was nice while it lasted, which wasn’t very long. You did all you could, bit your tongue and tried to suppress that unresolved anger until it eventually became too much to handle. Your mom has always been a complainer. Nobody likes talking about it, but she’d bring up the same old shit almost every day even though you all know what happened. Your dad would just sit there and listen as she berates him in front of you and your sister, and you suppose he keeps quiet because there’s really nothing to be said in his defense. It was his crime, and this is his punishment.

Sometimes, you wonder why dad still stays. Sometimes, you wonder why mom still lets him.

You just wanted to go, even though this was supposed to be home. You want to leave every time you visit, and it’s a haunting feeling that keeps following you around your whole life. Why is home always a place you want to leave?

When you arrived back in the city, the first place you went to was Taehyung’s apartment. You lounged about, enjoying the much needed silence after two whole weeks with your family, killing time as you waited for your fiance to return from work.

You thought about you and Taehyung, and how your wedding was only months away but this was still his place. You wondered why you hadn’t moved in yet, though it wasn’t for a lack of trying on his part. Even though you spent most days of the week at Taehyung’s, you still had your own place.

Twenty minutes before he was usually supposed to come home, you ordered from his favorite restaurant, so he would have a proper meal once he was back, instead of half-assing his dinner with flavorless ramen like he’d planned.

But Taehyung didn’t come back, and the food has been cold for hours now.

You glance at your phone again.

11:02 PM.

No new notifications.

The last message you sent him was around 8:30 - just a simple Whatcha doing? - but he hasn’t replied.

There’s a small part of you that goes into a dark place, and you physically have to shake off the thoughts. Taehyung has never given you a reason not to trust him, but still, the wandering thoughts can’t help themselves. Is it insecurity, or paranoia? Or have you been programmed to be skeptical after everything that’s happened?

Maybe he’s just caught up with work. Maybe the guys at the office had last minute plans. Maybe Jungkook showed up unannounced and dragged Taehyung into one of his shenanigans again. There’s a lot of reasons to explain why he isn’t home when he said he would be.

You wait for him. Sometimes, waiting is all you can do.

You don’t get any indication of life until some time after midnight, when the door opens and you hear him stumble into the hallway. The first thing that escapes you is a sigh of relief - relieved that he’s home, safe and sound, and not out there somewhere doing things you would really not even let yourself imagine. You sit there on the couch, shrouded by darkness, now even more committed to making him squeal out of his skin after (unintentionally) making you wait for hours like that.

You carefully listen to the sounds coming from down the hall, trying to time when you’ll jump up and shock him.

There’s his shoes dropping to the floor carelessly. There’s some shuffling as he moves about, navigating his way through the dark. There’s a light thud, the sound of something hitting the wall softly.

A sharp intake of breath. His familiar groan, muffled. A whimper, feminine.

Your mind instantly blanks, and that nervous breath from before has suddenly found its way back into your lungs, growing in size until you stand up and say, “Tae?”

Somebody shrieks, and it’s neither you nor Taehyung.

When he switches on the lights, you don’t know what to focus on first - your fiance with his shirt unbuttoned, red lipstick smudged around the corners of his mouth; or the woman next to him with her back against the wall, hair disheveled, one strap of her pretty blue dress pulled down.

Huh.

If this was what you wanted, then you suppose you succeeded.

Taehyung stares at you, eyes blown wide, mouth opening and closing dumbly as he searches for words. “Y/N, I-” he stutters, “w-what are you doing here?”

You’ve seen this exact moment in movies, read it in books and online posts on the Blue Side forum from people seeking advice. You witnessed your own mother go through it when you had just learned how to read.

Your nails dig into the palm of your hands as you steady yourself. You’re not sure what your face is showing, if it’s even showing anything at all. You’re being pulled apart in every direction. Things that you felt as a child are things you never wanted to feel as an adult. It’s not until now that you finally understand why mom hasn’t gotten over it, even though it’s been decades. This is the kind of hurt that chases you wherever you go, never relenting until it makes sure it has a home deep within your bones.

You inhale a shaky breath, and take a step back when Taehyung starts approaching you. “Y/N, I’m so sorry,” he says, his voice cracking on the apology.

You don’t want to hear any of it. You don’t want to be here anymore. For the second time today, you’re leaving home. For the second time in your life, home is being taken away again.

Somewhere in the back of your head, a tiny voice echoes, There it is.

You run out of there, feeling like the ceiling is going to collapse on you. You hear him call out your name, but his voice drifts further and further away as you move. Taehyung isn’t even following you. The faint scent of whiskey on his breath follows you out, but not him.

You keep moving until you’re out on the street, until you can’t even see the building anymore. You shiver from the chilly air, and the influx of emotions that threatens to make you burst. Lightning cuts across the night sky, flashing bright for a split second before everything dulls into darkness again. The forecast said it was going to rain tonight, you recall. Your phone in your bag vibrates the whole time, but still, no one follows you.

Your feet slow to a halt when the first drop of rain hits the ground. You’re not even sure how long you were walking, but now that you’ve stopped, you notice the shiver is gone. You’re standing completely still, and that those seismic waves in the center of your chest from earlier are nowhere to be found.

Oh. You’re doing it again.

Heavier drops start to dampen the earth.

You don’t know where else to go.

Not your own apartment. Not now. No, it’s too empty there.

Maybe it’s a sign from the universe, that you’re just undeserving of a place to belong.

You open your phone to find his name on your screen, next to the words (7) missed calls. You ring up the only person you can, and when she finally picks up, you say, “Can I come over?”

Even when your voice cracks, you don’t cry. The earthquake never comes.

Sohee takes you in like the good friend she is. You’re grateful that she was someone you could count on to always have your back at work, who then turned into one of your best friends outside of the office too.

She gives you some clothes to change into, and doesn’t question anything when you ask if you could spend the night. Though, you have a feeling that she knows who this is about. She leaves you alone to get some rest, but it’s probably because she has work in the morning too, and it was already 1:30AM when you interrupted her peace and quiet with the call.

You don’t sleep a wink that night.

Instead, you think about your mom, and how she must have felt when she found out about your dad’s infidelity, time and time again. It’s true what they say, children really don’t know a lot about their parents.

How did she feel when she first found out? You can’t imagine what it must have been like, going through all of that while having two kids to think about too.

You feel bad that just yesterday, you’d been so annoyed with her that you cut your trip short.

Outside Sohee’s windows, the sky cries, like it’s grieving in place of you, its tears drowning the earth in waves of sorrow. For a moment, you consider stepping out there, to feel the rain on your face and in your hair. But in the end, you stay inside, where you’re sheltered and dry.

You don’t realize that the sun has risen until Sohee knocks on your - well, her - door.

She cracks it open gently. “Babe?” she asks, tentative like you’re a cornered animal, ready to bolt at any given moment. “Are you up?”

You lie in her bed, feeling so foreign in your own skin. You reckon your eyes must be bloodshot from the lack of sleep. You haven’t even cried once.

“I’m alive,” you tell her, as you stare up at the ceiling. There are no stars here, just plain cream-colored paint.

“Okay,” you hear her say, then she pauses for a moment, clearly not knowing how to proceed.

Sohee approaches you, sits on the bed, and gives you a smile. She pats your hair, and it reminds you of your sister. “You wanna tell me what’s wrong? I have some time before I meet Namjoon for breakfast.”

You sit up, reaching for your phone on the bedside table. It’s been switched off since you got here, and when you turn it back on, a flurry of texts light up the device until the screen lags. Messages from Taehyung, asking where you were, begging you to tell him if you were safe.

You open the texts to show him that you’ve read them. That should be enough of an answer.

You test the words in your mouth for a moment. “Taehyung cheated on me,” you say, thinking that if you verbalize it, it would be real and you would finally feel bad. That it was just a delayed reaction, that you were just too in shock to process anything. You want to feel bad, but it doesn’t work.

Sohee’s eyes widen almost comically. “Are you fucking serious?” she asks in disbelief, half because of the nature of the news itself, and half because of how calm you are.

“He cheated on me,” you repeat and still, nothing surfaces. If anything, it backfires. You can physically feel yourself doing it again - shutting down. “I caught him last night.”

You’re not sure what’s wrong with you. This isn’t a normal person’s reaction after they found out their fiance was cheating on them.

But.

It is a you reaction.

You keep doing this, even when you don’t mean to. You ran away last night, and you’re running away now. Your body shuts out every negative emotion until you feel nothing at all. It’s stupid that you do this, and it’s stupid that you don’t know how to stop doing it.

Fight or flight, and you choose flight every time. Every single fucking time.

You wish you could give Sohee something, anything would do. Scream, cry, go back to your apartment to set fire to all of Taehyung’s belongings. Anything would be better than this complete lack of emotions you’re showing.

You watch her face as it happens, things that you should be feeling but aren’t. She’s mostly shocked, angry, but not hurt. How could she? She wasn’t the one being played for a fool. You wish you could ask her to give you some of that anger, even if it’s only a fraction.

You don’t see Taehyung again until two days later, when he shows up at your door. Even when he’s standing in front of you, words spilling from his lips like prayers instead of apologies, you just feel… empty.

You let him inside, and the second that the door closes behind him, you fill up with unease. All your walls are up again, your system on high alert. Everything in your body is telling you that there’s an intruder in your space. Your feet are ready to bolt, just itching to get out of there Go, your head says, you’re not safe here.

Taehyung approaches you, tries to hold your hand, but you just shrug him off. The man in front of you visibly deflates, and despite the way his face falls, you don’t soften.

The first thing he asks you is, “Why didn’t you cry?”

“What?”

“You don’t look like you’ve been crying,” he points out. “Did you cry?”

Reluctantly, you admit, “No.”

Then he just stares at you. When his judgmental gaze holds yours, you feel guilty. Guilty that you’re not mourning the death of this relationship. Guilty that you’re just letting it go, but the truth is you don’t have any fight in you. You don’t see the point in trying to salvage what’s no longer alive.

“Do you even love me?” His voice is hard when he asks this, like he’s trying to keep his anger at bay.

“Of course I love you,” you say, but it lacks conviction. You both know it. The words sound so flaccid coming out of your mouth.

But you love him.

You do.

Did?

“Then why didn’t you cry?”

How do you tell him that you can’t? That you don’t know how?

How do you tell him that if you could, you would reach inside and claw out your feelings like digging for water in a desert.

What the hell is wrong with you? This isn’t a high school crush, or a casual summer fling.

You two were supposed to get married, for fuck’s sake. You were supposed to spend the rest of your life with him. If there’s anything that could make you break through those godforsaken defense mechanisms to let the hurt in, it should be this.

“Did you kiss someone else just to see if I would cry?” you ask. Your voice is even, and you can see that it makes Taehyung more frustrated than he already is.

He grits his teeth, exhaling. You notice his blue sweater, and you stop him before he can say anything else. Obviously, it looks a lot more worn than it did back then, but over the years you’ve always found it endearing. It’s the first memory that you have of him. It was always something you could cherish.

Now, you can’t even bear to look at it.

It’s then that you realize it doesn’t matter what answer he gives you. Yes? No? It genuinely doesn’t matter. There is nothing that can make you see him the same way ever again.

You run your thumb over the ring on your finger, twisting it for a moment to memorize the feel of it. It’s the last thing that ties you to him. “You can have this back,” you say, handing the piece of jewelry back to him.

When a relationship ends, especially for a reason like this, people tend to think it’ll go down in a kdrama-esque fashion - crying, slapping, throwing water in the other person’s face. But that’s not what this is. It’s not cathartic; sometimes the end of a relationship is just a fizzle, doesn’t even make it to a fullburn. It might be unsatisfying, but it happens every day. It’s not always a pivotal point; sometimes it’s just a point.

Taehyung stares at the object in his palm. “That’s it?” he asks in disbelief. “We’re breaking up?”

“What else is there to do?”

“You’re not even gonna ask me anything? Who she was, how it started, how long it’s been going on?”

The other morning, Sohee had asked you to elaborate after you told her what happened, but there was just not that much to tell. You were there. He brought someone else home. End of story.

It was enough for Sohee to call him every name in the book and curse his entire bloodline though.

You suppose that’s a reasonable reaction. Taehyung cheated. You never thought he was a person capable of doing that. Three years of your life, down the drain. There’s nothing left to save.

“Okay,” you shrug tiredly, like you’re just having a casual and dull conversation about the weather. “Who was she? How did it start? How long has it been going on?”

Your name comes out of his mouth, sounding like a scoff. “Ask it like you mean it.”

“But I don’t mean it,” you say. “What difference does it make? Knowing doesn’t change the fact that you still cheated on me. You know what I’ve been through and you still fucked it up. You did the worst thing you could ever do to me.”

“Fuck, I know that!” he groans, throwing his hands up. “I messed up badly, and I’m sorry. Y/N, I’m so fucking sorry. I will never deny that what I did wasn’t wrong. But have you ever stopped to think that maybe you’re to blame for this too? You never want to admit that it could be your fault too.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You tell me. I keep having to put up with your baggage.” Then he shuts right up, barely even makes it through the last syllable before he’s squeezing his eyes shut for a second, clearly realizing that out of all the things he could’ve said, that was grossly out of line. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean th-”

And now you’re getting angry for the wrong reasons.

“You cheated but somehow it’s my fault, right?” you snap. “Boohoo. Sorry that you’ve had to put up with me all these years. I’m such a burden, right? Fuck you, Taehyung.”

“Y/N, I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“I think you should leave.”

You think it’s the steel in your voice as you say this that makes him stop arguing.

He holds your gaze for a moment longer. You’re someone who tears up when you see stray dogs, who cries alongside the fictional characters in your favorite show. And yet, as you watch your own fiance leave…

The door clicks shut as he exits your life, but everything he said stays behind, clings to your walls and festers like mold.

The second you step onto the floor, everyone grows quiet. Lively chatter turns into hushed whispers. People go back to making their morning coffee, side-eyeing each other in a way that’s not meant to be very subtle.

You quietly make your way to your desk, all the while feeling the nosy pairs of eyes on you as you walk. You don’t know how word got out, but you were sure that everyone would know eventually. You just didn’t expect it’d be this soon. Sohee would never do that to you, and you highly doubt that Taehyung would go around broadcasting his infidelity.

As you set your stuff down, you make eye contact with the new intern who sits a few spots away from you. You haven’t had the chance to talk to her much, but she’s a nice girl. She gives you a small smile in greeting, and even though you know she doesn’t mean to pity you, you can still see it in her eyes.

A minute later, Sohee comes up to you. “Hey, babe,” she says, leaning on your desk with two plastic cups in her hands. One iced latte and one mango smoothie. She puts the yellow-colored beverage down and nudges it toward you, a little lackluster and unlike her usual playful self.

“Thanks,” you say, taking the smoothie with a smile, commenting, “Interesting morning so far. Never thought I’d ever be the subject of office gossip.”

“Yeah, about that. Do you know who was Taehyung’s… uhm… y’know?”

It’s okay. She can say it. You can handle it.

You already feel nothing, and there’s nothing you can even do to rectify it. Might as well lean into it, right?

Or maybe you should just go to therapy.

“No,” you tell her. “I didn’t want to know.”

“Well, uhm, now that the whole office knows, I think you should hear this from me first…” Sohee bites her bottom lip as she gauges your reaction. When you only sigh and give her the go-ahead, she continues, “It was Yura from Marketing.”

“What?”

“Yura from Marketing. You know the one. Brought muffins for the whole office on her first day? A little too bubbly for my taste. But yeah, she was at work the other day and suddenly burst into tears at, like, 10AM, and that’s how everybody found out.”

Of course. Even though people here are surrounded by celebrity gossip on the daily, nothing beats the good old-fashioned office affair. Why bother with celebrity gossip when you have front row seats to live drama unfolding ten feet away?

You take a sip of your smoothie, swallowing down the inkling of irritation that tickles the back of your throat. “Well,” you say, “I’m glad the downfall of my relationship is like a circus animal for them to gawk at. Can’t wait until they move onto the next big thing.”

“Honestly, it might blow over sooner than you think. The Love Doctor is back today.”

“What?” Your ears perk up at the mention of his name, glancing up at her in surprise as you put your drink down. “Doesn’t he work at the Paris office?”

“He used to work here. We joined around the same time. Then he transferred to Paris a few years ago. Nobody even knows why. One day he just upped and left.”

“Why didn’t you tell me he’d be here? I didn’t have time t-”

“Calm down, sweetcheeks, I only just found out,” Sohee chuckles, holding a finger against your mouth to shush you. “We all know you used to have a major lady boner for him.”

“I do not.” You don’t even know what he looks like, just his name when it appears in the byline of an article. “I admire him.”

Which is true, you do admire him. He’s your own version of a freaking rockstar. Though, you have to admit that Love Doctor is a huge cliche of a nickname, and significantly reduces the scope of his brilliance. The way that man writes makes it seem like he’s experienced lifetimes and is now here to pass on his wisdom.

He doesn’t feel like a mere magazine writer like yourself. There’s something in his words that turns you inside out, makes you experience things that you’ve never even gone through. He flows like poetry, and leaves you stunned every time.

Okay, maybe you do have a lady boner, but for his brain.

Which… is probably something you should never say out loud.

Someone walks in then, a man you’ve never seen before. He looks around your age, if not a couple of years older. He bypasses all of the other desks without saying anything, not a single Hi or Good morning. He doesn’t look like the type to speak if not spoken to.

Then he walks over to where you and Sohee sit, and sets his bag on the empty desk next to yours.

You look at Sohee, and she just shrugs.

It can’t be him. Surely, it’s not…?

“Min Yoongi,” she says in greeting.

Oh, it is.

He spares her a nod before he looks away again. “Sohee.”

Is that the Parisian way? Is that how people normally greet someone they haven’t seen in years? Sohee and him were only colleagues, but still, the least you could do is pretend.

You’re not one to judge a book by its cover, but c’mon,seriously? Were you wrong for expecting the person who writes about love in its most raw and beautiful form to look… not like Grumpy Cat personified? It makes you even more fucking intimidated. And he’s going to be sitting next to you? The fuck?

As he sits down, you blink, still a bit dazed, not sure how to process this. Sohee gently pushes you forward, which makes you nearly stumble right into him. You turn to her with a glare, but she just motions to him, mouthing ‘Go on.’

You clear your throat, wiping your hand on your pants before you hold it out. “Hi, I’m Y/N. It’s so nice to finally meet you,” you say, trying to sound as professional as you can. “I’m really looking forward to working with you.”

He glances at you, and reaches out to meet your outstretched hand in a barely-there handshake. “Yoongi.”

#really like this #don't think i've read a proper coworker au before #m: yoongi #series #ongoing #r: m #g: romance #g: fluff #g: angst #coworkers au #coworkers to lovers #bts x reader #so this is new and exciting for me i love how you've set things so far 😊

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touyasdoll · 3 years ago

Text

Freaky Friday - Part Two

Read part one here

Pairing: Bakugou x reader, Izuku x reader

Word count: 6.2k

Warnings: cheating/physical & emotional infidelity, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, dacryphilia, emotional sex, nipple play (f), praise kink, biting, back-to-back orgasms, marking, unprotected sex, creampie, heartbreak

Notes: There will be a part three to wrap things up. If you'd like to join the tag list, please click here. Special thanks to @kingkatsuki & @arvandus for letting me pick their brains and sharing some of your juicy ideas with me 💜

InteractiveFics browser extension to replace y/n with your actual name.

It was hardly light out when you woke, a faint pink light barely visible peeking out from behind the curtains when you felt your body being shifted, shuffled off of the warm torso that you’d been peacefully curled up into.

“Mmhm. ‘Course I love you, puppy,” Izuku murmured, turning away from you in the large bed.

It had to be Izuku. You had no way of knowing if Katsuki ever talked in his sleep, but you were certain that he’d never willingly refer to you that way. They must have switched back. Your husband was back where he belonged; he was home safe and sound and things could carry on as normal. That was a good thing, right?

Why was your gut reaction disappointment? Sure, you’d had your fair share of marital problems recently, but that was just a normal part of any marriage. There were highs and lows to any relationship. You were just in a low right now. Things would get better. They would feel the same as they used to again. They’d feel like—

Like last night.

You sat up, feeling much more alone than you did last night, despite the presence beside you. It was a far cry from the way you’d felt mere hours ago, how you’d drifted to sleep. Wrapped up tight against the chest of someone who made you feel special for the first time in far too long.

Well, perhaps not his actual chest, but he was the one holding you. The one ghosting his lips across your scalp, leaving behind the softest kisses after he thought you’d already fallen asleep. Whispering about how he wished he had the courage to tell you how he really felt.

Your heart pounded at the thought, a blush creeping up your cheeks as you glanced at the mess of green curls sinking into the pillow beside you. Izuku was still fast asleep, snoring quietly. Katsuki was likely at home in his own bed. Maybe he’d be awake already, maybe you could call him.

But should you? Should you even acknowledge what happened? You hadn’t really discussed that part. Surely, you couldn’t see him again and pretend like you hadn’t done what you did. Hadn’t revealed such intimate parts of your body and soul to him.

Seeing him again. That was a truly wonderful and terrible idea. You could slip out of bed right now and see him again if you wanted to and it was impossible to deny that you did. Izuku slept like the dead; it would be plenty easy enough to roll out of bed and slip out of the house before he woke. He likely wouldn’t be awake for a while anyway, whereas Katsuki was always an early riser.

You refused to acknowledge how quickly you were able to make the decision that put you where you were now, standing outside of Katsuki’s apartment, the sash on your wrap dress so loosely tied that it almost came undone on the way up here. Hopefully, he’d appreciate the little surprise that you had for him underneath.

You swallowed the guilt that lingered and lifted your left hand, which looked foreign without the diamond on your fourth digit, to rap on the door. His gruff, grumbling voice carried faintly through the door as you heard his heavy footsteps approach. It sent a tingle up your spine that you hadn’t realized you’d been missing for so long.

The door swung open and if you’d had any lingering reservations about what you were about to do, they were gone now. Vanquished by the starstruck look on his face, the contours of his abs which trailed into the cut v shape that tucked into his precariously low sweats.

Your eyes meet and a jolt of electricity strikes your chest; you can’t turn back now. So you carry on, undoing the sash around your waist to pull your dress wide open for his eyes only, trusting him not to push you away, rushing forward and stumbling into whatever this is about to be, hoping that he’ll catch you.

“Did you miss me?”

He blinks, red eyes fluttering before he glances around the hallway and wraps an arm around your exposed waist, pulling you inside and swinging the door shut behind you.

“What are you doing here?” It comes out wrong, too abrasive and he suddenly realizes why you would’ve thought that he hated you in college.

But why is he even asking? He wants you here, right here. Pulled tight against his chest, smiling up at him the way you are now, like he’s never done a thing wrong in your eyes.

“I missed you,” you breathe, pressing your hands to his bare torso, running them up to his trapezius, giving it a gentle squeeze that has him relaxing into your touch, the tension melting from his features. “I was too afraid to tell you last night that I would, but I did miss you this morning.” Your warm smile almost soothes the ache he feels knowing that he’s not really the one you should be missing. “I just wanted to be in your arms again. Your actual arms this time,” you tilt your head back, searching his vermillion gaze while you ghost your fingertips along his arms, pulling both of them tighter around you.

“Y/n, what about—”

“Please, don’t say his name,” you whisper, the pads of your fingers tightening around his biceps. “Please, Katsuki. I just—I want to know,” you bring a hand to his torso, slowly tracing half of a heart over his own before you look up at him, eyes shining brighter than any star he’s ever seen. “I have to know what it’s like with you. I want you, Katsuki.”

He holds your gaze, folding his arm behind you to pull you flush against him while his hand comes to rest atop yours on his chest. It feels like his heart is in his throat and he doesn’t know whether to pour it out to you or swallow it back down.

“Are you sure that this is what you want?” He searches your face for any sign of hesitation, “Last night was one thing, but this,” he sighs, closing his eyes before pained red eyes meet yours again. “Baby, this is different in a lot of ways.” His hand cups your face, thumb swiping over your cheek as he tilts your chin up and leans in closer. “It’s different for me.”

“I know,” you reassure him, nodding your understanding. “It’s different for me too.”

“I don’t know if you mean what I mean, princess,” he smiles wistfully, his fingers pushing into your hair to cradle the back of your head.

“If I’m being honest, I don’t either, but I know that I want to find out,” you can see the bargaining happening behind his eyes as you stare up at him, your hands encircling his neck. “I don’t wanna hurt you though, Katsuki. I won’t do this at your expense.”

Your fingers brush over the buzzed hair of the undercut at the nape of his neck and his forehead comes to rest against yours as he lets out a soft chuckle.

“You’ve made it real difficult to turn you away with your choice of attire, y’know that?”

“I’m sorry,” your face burns, a shy smile tugging at the corners of your lip. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“You showin’ up here surprised me plenty,” he lifts his forehead from yours, the grin on his face faltering. “You know he’s lookin’ for you, right?”

“He’s awake?” You tear away from him, letting your hands linger on his chest. “I didn’t think he’d be up for at least a couple of hours.”

“Been blowin’ up my phone all mornin’, sweetheart. S’only a matter of time before he shows up here.”

A sigh escapes you, your head dropping back as you move to pull away, but he’s reluctant to let you, his hold slowly loosening to allow you to take a step away and pace in front of him.

“Not unless,” you take one last step before turning to face him. “You tell him you’re not here.” You cross back over to him, resting your hands on his abdomen, “He’s gonna assume I came here and I can tell him that I did, but when I realized that you weren’t home, I left. He never has to know we saw each other this morning.”

He exhales, dragging a hand along the length of his face, “You’re not planning on telling him what happened last night then either.” You look up at him sadly, shaking your head and he nods thoughtfully in response.

“Kats—” you run your hands up his chest and he stops you, lifting your hands off of him, assumably to pull away, but he does the opposite, pushing your dress off of your shoulders and letting it slink to the floor before he grabs your wrist and tugs you back to him, eager lips crashing into yours before you know what’s hit you.

Your hands find their way into his hair, knitting into the roots of his blonde locks as he lifts you, carrying you down the hall while his tongue explores your mouth with a ferocity that surpasses even the venture it took last night.

“Katsuki,” you pant, dizzy from the sudden whirlwind as he lays you down in his bed. “I meant what I said, I know this is selfish of me,” you prop yourself up on your elbows, watching him as he lumbers over you, crawling atop your prone form. “I don’t want to hurt you. I can leave and we can just forget that anything ever happened between us.”

“S’too late for that, princess. Besides,” he lets his lips brush against yours as he speaks before capturing them in another passionate kiss. “I never wanna forget a single second I’ve spent with you.”

His hands reach around to unclasp your bra, pulling it away from your chest as he sits back to kneel between your legs, marveling at your form as his hands skim along your thighs.

“Katsuki,” your voice is quieter, more uncertain than ever, but the way his name sounds falling off of your lips has him in a vice grip all the same.

He leans forward again, kissing you with a greater sense of urgency as he slips his fingers into the waistband of your panties to work them over your hips.

“Keep sayin’ my name, baby” he speaks against your lips, almost pleading with you. “Just keep sayin’ it for me and I’ll take care of everything else, okay?”

He’s breathless when he pulls away again, lustful red eyes searing into yours as he kneels again, slipping your panties off completely as you nod in compliance.

“Yes,” you prop yourself up further, brows knitting together as he lays on his stomach, his lips finding purchase on your inner thigh.

Warm, wet kisses are laid across your sensitive skin, pulling moan after moan from you as his lips inch their way closer to your core. You can feel yourself clenching involuntarily and he can feel it too, muscles tensing beneath his fingers as he spreads you open further, hands pressing into the innermost part of your thighs to part you, leaving you completely splayed open for him.

“Fuck,” he growls, baring his teeth against the lips of your pussy before slipping his hot tongue between your folds. “Knew you would taste fucking delicious.”

The sight is too sinful to behold, his intense gaze locking with yours as his nose nuzzles against your clit, his tongue slipping inside of you. You fall back into the mattress, threading your fingers through your hair, trying to keep still, but you don’t need to put in much effort. His huge hands slid up the inside of your thighs, pressing down on the inside of your knees to ensure that you can’t get very far from him when you squirm.

“Katsuki, oh my God,” you whimper, bucking your hips, grinding against his face as his smirk grows.

“Feels real good, don’t it, princess?” He sucks your swollen clit gently before letting it go with a soft popping noise. “You’re gonna cum for me, aren’tcha?” He releases one of your knees, slipping two fingers inside of you, reveling in how you arch and keen for him with an ever-increasing sense of pride. “Sure fuckin’ feels like it with how you’re clampin’ down on me. What’re you waitin for, babygirl? I’m gonna make you cum more than once today, I promise.”

His tongue returns to assaulting your puffy clit, toying with it in just the right way to have you losing your mind. Just when you're about to fall apart, his fingers leave your heat to slip beneath your thighs and immediately you close them around his head, too lost in the way his tongue feels inside you to miss the stretch of his thick digits. His only response is to double down, a feral groan leaving his chest as he buries his face in your cunt, tongue-fucking you while he reaches over your hip to rub your clit in tight circles with his thumb.

“Katsuki, oh—oh fuck. I-I’m gonna cum! Katsuki!” You cry out over the lewd slurping noises he’s making between your legs, gushing around his mouth as he eagerly laps up the juices, red eyes glinting and fixed squarely on you, relishing in the ecstasy he’s able to send you into.

“So fuckin’ pretty when you cum, y’know that?” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, swiping away the fluid dripping from his chin with his thumb as he climbs over you again. “No matter what you do,” he lowers himself down, laying beside you as he props himself up on an elbow, dragging his fingertips along your sides, making you shiver. He grins, chuckling softly, watching the dopey, blissed out smile spread across your lips as you turn towards him. “You just look so beautiful.”

He tucks his arm beneath you, pulling you closer to him, his knuckles brushing against your jaw as you stare into each other’s eyes in comfortable silence. There’s been plenty going through his mind. Plenty going through yours. But in this moment it feels safe to take a step back from the gravity of what you’ve just done to just be.

Your head’s still swimming, the guilt temporarily drowned out by the sea of pleasure you’re floating along in. All you see is red, your new favorite color. Kind crimson irises that can’t seem to tear away from your face, narrowing as an affectionate grin turns up the corners of his mouth.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you whisper, resting your arm over his waist as you curl in closer to him, tucking your head into his broad chest.

“Like what?” His voice is pillow soft as his arm envelops you, hand resting on the back of your head to smooth your hair while his lips press to your temple.

“You know what,” you nuzzle into his chest, inhaling his scent, holding it in your lungs. Mahogany and something sweet.

“Like you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on?” He murmurs into your hair, tightening his hold on you as he presses another kiss to the crown of your head. “Too bad, princess. You are.”

“Who are you?” You smile against his collarbone, giggling quietly as you cock your head back to look at him.

“What? You prefer when I’m mean?” His brow quirks, playfulness evident in his expression as his hand slides over your back to rest at the base of your spine.

“Depends, I guess,” you chew on the inside of your lip, dragging a finger along his clavicle, watching the motion you make and missing the way his eyes shine as he studies your face. “I liked last night,” you shrug, “Didn’t like you being a dick all through school,” he rolls his eyes exaggeratedly as you laugh.

“I’m never gonna hear the end of that now, am I?” He tucks his index finger beneath your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze and you can’t keep a straight face, giggling as you give your head a little shake.

“No, I don’t think that you will,” you lean in closer. “Should’ve known you were a pigtail-puller.”

“Oh, you have no idea, princess,” he smirks, his chest rumbling with a clement chuckle. “If you need someone to pull your pigtails, I’m your man.” He leans in closer, nearly brushing his lips with yours, his quirking up when he hears your breath hitch just before they collide, but only barely, only for a moment. “But I’d rather spend the morning trying to make that up to you,” his warm fingertips run along your temple, brushing against the lobe of your ear as they travel on, along your jaw, to your neck. “If you’ll let me.”

You swallow, your throat dry as you nod feebly, “Please.”

His lips are on yours again, impassioned and amorous. A heedful hand grips your waist, rolling you onto your back as his tongue slips between your lips, his hand roving the curve of your hip, gliding over your thigh until his digits are once again agonizingly close to your center. You shimmy your hips in anticipation and both of you smile against one another’s mouths as they meld together like they were always destined to meet in this way.

It’s perfect. It feels innocent, despite being anything but. There’s a current in the air reminiscent of the facade of youth. Lulling you both into a space where time doesn’t pass, where nothing can hurt you, where nothing ever really goes wrong.

Until it does.

The sharp ring of his phone, accompanied by the incessant buzzing in his sweatpants pocket, startles the both of you out of the pleasant reverie, grounding you back into a reality where actions have consequences.

“‘Course it’s fuckin’ him,” he gripes as he stares at the caller ID, silencing the ringer and getting ready to launch the phone away.

“Wait!” You seize his wrist, “Answer it. Tell him you’re not here, otherwise he might actually show up.”

He sighs, his cheeks expanding as he lets out a long breath, “Okay,” he nods, reluctantly swiping across the screen to answer as he sits up in the bed. “Hello?”

He rests his elbows on his knees as he bends them, listening to the frantic sounding voice that you can just barely hear coming through the phone as you sit up beside him.

Katsuki turns his head, offering you a gentle smile as he scoots back to lean against the headboard while Deku’s voice drones on. He curls his fingers, beckoning you to sit between his legs and you oblige, crawling over and turning around to settle back against his chest while his free arm snakes around your waist.

You rest your head back against the shoulder furthest from the ear his phone is pressed to, closing your eyes, trying to focus on anything but the noise of your husband clamoring about where you might be.

A jolt runs through you, your eyes blowing wide as three fingers press against your slit, the two on the outside separating to part you, so that the middle digit can slip inside your soaked hole.

“No, man, I haven’t seen her,” he lies as effortlessly as he’s able to thrust his middle finger in and out of you. Your abdomen tightens, hands fisting into the sheets as you try to hold off the noises creeping up your throat. “I’m not at home, but I can give her a call.”

“She’s not picking up her phone.” Deku sighs, “I’m about to go out and look for her. Did anything happen last night?”

“Like what?” He’s a great actor, sounding so interested in the conversation he’s having when his focus is entirely fixated on watching another digit disappear inside of you.

“Look, I don’t know if you saw my texts, but things haven’t been..ideal at home. Was she upset last night?”

“Trouble with the missus, huh?” He scoffs, pumping his fingers faster, watching your face contort as it grows more and more difficult to bite back your moans. “No, she seemed fine last night. Told her I was tired when I got there and took a shower. Hopped straight into bed. Nothin’ happened.”

Deku sighs with relief, “Thank God. Okay, but then I don’t have any idea why she would have left. I’m gonna keep calling, I guess. You’ll let me know if you hear from her?”

“‘Course,” he promises, grinding the heel of his hand against your clit, watching with delight as you arch into his touch, bucking your hips in search of more. “If I hear anything from her, you’ll be the first to know.”

You bite down hard on your lip, tears welling in your eyes as you whiteknuckle the sheets, rolling your hips in tandem with his ministrations. He could make you cum right now and he knows it, but he has mercy, slowing his pace as he wraps up the call.

“Thanks, Kacchan. Glad I can always count on you.” Click.

He tosses the phone aside, devoting the rest of his attention to you, bringing a hand to your breast to roll your nipple between his fingers as his lips attach to your neck, sucking and sinking his teeth in now and then as he works you steadily towards your release. You finally let out all the cacophony of sound that you were holding back, moaning, whining, and keening in earnest as you writhe between his legs, pressing your back to his chest, your eyes snapping shut as you’re brought right up to the edge.

“C’mon, baby,” he rasps in your ear, tugging on your lobe. “Ya wanna cum for me again, don’tcha? Gotta get you ready for what’s next.”

You cry out, hips still thrashing as it hits you. He growls into the crook of your neck, cautiously sinking his teeth in as his palm continues to grind against your sensitive clit.

“Katsuki—hngg, Katsuki, t-too much!” You whine, but he doesn’t heed your words; he just keeps going.

“You can do it, sweetheart. One more, just for me,” he’s whispering against your cheek, pressing his forehead to your temple while his fingers leave your still pulsing walls to draw quick circles on your clit, threatening to throw you right off the cliff again. “I know you can do it, baby. Give me one more. Scream my name one more time.”

“Fu—oh, oh.” Your eyes roll back, every muscle in your body tenses, draws up tight as you climb higher and higher. “Kats, oh shit,” you pant, chest heaving, tears falling freely as you’re tumbling over the edge yet again. “Katsuki!”

This time he relents, lifting his hand away from your overworked bundle of nerves to hold you loosely in his arms as you unwind, practically vibrating in his arms as the shock of your orgasm works through you.

“Good girl,” he speaks softly, pressing a kiss behind your ear, keeping his touch featherlight as he folds his arms around you, pulling you snug against his chest.

You hum quietly, tucking yourself under his chin, “You’re still a bully.”

“Because I made you cum twice in thirty seconds?” Your cheek reverberates against his chest as it erupts with humble laughter and you try to bury your shy grin in his chest.

“Yes,” you pull back, cheeks still flushed as you lock eyes with him. “Guess it could be worse.”

“Can I have the chance to make it better?” His eyes fall to your lips, homing in on them as he lays you down and leans over you.

You nod, reaching up to slip your hand behind his neck, pulling him in until your lips meet. He shifts, kissing you deeply, his impressively hard erection brushing against your knee as he maneuvers himself out of his sweats, kicking them off as he crawls between your legs.

He pulls away from the kiss, reaching out to the nightstand beside the bed and you shake your head, pulling his attention back to you.

“Nuh-uh,” you grin, kissing him deeply and speaking against his lips, “You don’t need one of those. I wanna feel you this time. Wanna feel all of you, Katsuki, please..”

He groans his reply, smile widening against yours as he cups your face in his hand, settling between your spread legs, the pre leaking from his tip sliding against your inner thigh.

“You ready?” He draws his hips forward, the head of his cock pressing between your folds as he kisses along your jaw while his hands rest atop the inside of your arms, pinning them beside your head.

“Yes,” you breathe, shifting your hips forward as he pushes inside, “Katsuki,” you moan his name, savoring the delicious way that he fills you up.

“Say it again,” his nose touches yours, lips grazing one another’s as he slides his hand up the inside of your forearm to interlace your fingers with his while the other cradles your head.

“Katsuki,” you whisper, repeating his name as if it’s something sacred, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze that he returns as you fold your arm around him.

He rolls his hips slowly, looking down at the junction of your bodies before peering into your eyes, opening his mouth to speak, but he thinks better of it, letting out a wanton groan as he rests his forehead against yours.

“Katsuki,” you repeat again. Louder and needier.

“Y/n,” he groans your name with the same intonation, a much lower, drawn out sound as he tucks his face in the crook of your neck. “Again,” he whispers, littering kisses along your neck and collarbone as he thrusts deeper, picking up the pace but maintaining his sensuous movements, carefully carving out a place for himself within your walls.

“Katsuki,” your voice pitches up as your nails find purchase in his shoulder blade. “Katsuki, you feel so good. So fucking good inside me,” your breath shallows, walls contracting around him as that familiar pressure builds deep inside your belly. “Please don’t stop,” you beg, feeling him growing impossibly harder inside of you as the words leave your tongue. “Please never stop. Want you,” you dig your nails in, clutching to him as his forehead drops against your shoulder, his thrusts picking up again, ushering you towards your end. “Katsuki, I need you.”

That does it for the both of you. He snaps his hips faster, his steady rhythm stuttering as he curses under his breath and pours his essence inside of you just as you wail, squeezing his hand tight while you break for him one last time, fragile sobs escaping your kiss-bitten lips.

He makes no move to leave this embrace, to leave you. If he could will time to stop, he would, because he’s afraid his next move will put you one step closer to walking out the door.

Instead, he just lays there, resting his head on your chest, sighing in elation as you card your fingers through his hair, lifting your head to leave a purposeful kiss to his forehead.

Time passes, though you hardly notice, choosing to lay together in comfortable silence as you draw absent circles on his scarred back while his thumb soothes the palm of your hand. He keeps telling himself five more minutes. Just five more minutes of this. But five minutes passes and passes again. Neither of you make a move to untangle yourselves until you reluctantly break the tenuous sense of peace.

“We can’t lie here forever,” you place your hand on the back of his neck, pulling the other free from his grasp.

Something prods at his insides. He’s losing you again and he knows it.

“I know,” he admits, closing his eyes, soaking up the last seconds of bliss. Etching this feeling into his soul. Your gentle touch caressing his neck, the beat of your heart in his ear, your soft skin beneath his cheek.

He sits up, allowing you to do the same, watching as you move to the edge of the bed and pause, like you’re mulling over your next movement.

“I uh,” you turn towards him and pause again, looking like a deer in the headlights before you stand in a hurry. “I should probably call him before he has a task force out looking for me.”

“Yeah,” he nods, watching you dress with a melancholy smile. He stands, pulling his sweats back on while you scroll through your phone.

“Hey, hey,” you put on a smile, speaking sweetly into the phone pressed to your ear. “No, I’m okay, baby. I’m on my way home.”

Your husband sighs with relief, “Where have you been? I’ve been trying to get ahold of you all morning. I was worried sick.”

“I know, baby, I’m so sorry, I just wasn’t in a good headspace to talk about it, but we can talk when I get home, okay?”

“Is something wrong? Did something happen? Was it something I did?” He’s frantic, no doubt running through the worst case scenarios.

If only he knew. A sick feeling bubbles up in your gut, reaching up and tugging on something in your chest.

“We can talk about it when I get home, baby.”

“Okay. I love you, baby. I love you so, so much. You know that, right?”

You close your eyes, swallowing hard before you reply, unaware of the vermilion eyes watching the way you hesitate to reply, “I know. I love you too.”

You end the call and slip your phone into the pocket of your dress, adjusting the tie around your waist as Katsuki saunters over to you, hands shoved in his pockets, his eyes focused on the floorboards.

“You’re going to talk to him?” He dares to glance at you, surprised to find you smiling at him.

“Yeah,” you step forward, reaching a hand towards him, which he takes, gingerly pulling you closer.

“About what?”

“Us,” you look up at him cautiously, “I wanna tell him. About last night, about this morning.” The corner of his mouth draws up into a half smile as he holds your face in both hands.

“About us?” The phrase sounds strange, but he adores it. His heart skips a beat as he watches your eyes light up at his excitement.

“Yes,” you nod, wrapping your hands around his wrists. “Yes, about us, Katsuki. If that’s alright with you.”

“It’s more than alright with me, princess,” he beams, leaning in and kissing you passionately, his hands leaving your face to press against the small of your back as he pulls you against him, your arms wrapping around his neck.

“I do have to leave though,” you giggle softly as you finally part. “I’ll be back, okay?”

“Promise me.”

“I promise,” you lean in, placing another slow kiss to his lips as you run your hands over his chest. “I’ll come back to you, okay?”

“Okay,” he smiles softly, releasing you from his grasp and walking you to the door, giving you one last kiss before he watches you walk away.

///

“Y/n? Is that you?” Izuku flies around the corner, shoulders heaving with relief as he runs to you, lifting you into a hug as he spins you around, your arms wrapping around his neck. “I missed you so much. I was so scared when I woke up and I couldn’t find you. Where did you go?”

“I just needed some time,” you offer him a wary smile as he sets you down and his brow furrows with worry.

“Time for what?” He holds you at arms length and you pull away, taking his hand to lead him to the living room.

“I think we need to talk, Izuku.” You angle yourself towards him as you both sit, holding his hands as much for your own comfort as for his while you prepare your confession. “I know that sex isn’t the only thing in a relationship, but intimacy is a big piece of the puzzle for me and last night was the first time that I’d even been touched in months. I—”

“I know,” he cuts you off too quickly, too eager to stop whatever was going to come out of your mouth next. He knew? How could he know?

“You know..?” You coax him, narrowing your eyes in his direction. He takes both your hands in his, emerald eyes glimmering with apology.

“I know that it had been a long, long time, puppy. I know that I haven’t been very attentive to your needs, but I’m going to try, okay?” He smiles, massaging the back of your hand with his thumb as he searches your stunned gaze. “I think last night was a really great turning point for us. Don’t you?”

“Uh,” you shake your head briefly in confusion, “Yeah," you nod, "Yeah, it was nice to..be with you like that, again.”

“It was,” he agrees, as if he were there. Your mind reels, was he serious? Was he just going to run with this? “I already contacted a therapist that I think you’ll like.” He wasn’t just running; he was sprinting. “I want this to work, baby. I never want to lose you and I know that I haven’t proven that to you recently.”

“Izuku,” your eyes water, a lump appears in your throat and renders you speechless.

“It’s gonna be okay, I promise,” he cups your face in his hand, wiping away a tear. “I’m gonna figure this out for us, I swear. I know that there’s no me without you, baby.” He smiles softly, resting his forehead against yours, pulling your hand to his chest. “I’m going to be the husband that you deserve and you deserve so much more than what I’ve given you lately. Work’s no excuse for me to have treated you the way that I have and I know that.”

You swallow the lump, closing your eyes as you lift your forehead from his.“Th-therapy? You really think that’s necessary?”

“I do,” he smiles wistfully. “I’m willing to try anything to keep you right here with me. Right where you belong. I don’t ever want you to feel like you're not the most important thing in my life, because you are, baby. You are. I have a lot of work to do to prove that to you all over again, but I’m going to do it. Please believe me when I say that I will.”

“O-okay,” you nod, sniffling as he wipes more of your tears away, his own beginning to drift down his freckled cheeks when he pulls you into a tight embrace, folding his arms around you like he knew exactly how close he was to losing you for good.

“I love you, Y/n.”

“I love you too, Izuku.” You cling to him, squeezing him tight as a new brand of guilt tugs at your torn heart. “I uhm, I-I need to go grab a shower. We can talk more after.” You pull away, smiling sadly as you stand and he follows suit.

“Yeah,” he nods, “I’ll go fix us something to eat. Take your time, okay, baby?”

“Okay,” you hurry out of the room, digging into your pocket to call Katsuki when you hear Izuku speaking quietly in the kitchen, too quiet for you to hear until you get closer, tip-toeing to the edge of the wall that divides the kitchen from the dining room.

“No, no, I’m really not mad. I’m not upset at all, Kacchan,” he exhales gleefully. “I think you actually just saved my marriage.”

You close your eyes, letting your head fall back against the wall as you lean against it, cursing yourself as fresh tears slip over your cheeks. You pull away from the wall, silently padding towards your bedroom, pulling up Katsuki’s contact through blurry eyes.

“Please, pick up,” you pray, sitting on the bench in front of your bed, clutching to the fabric as you hope that he’ll answer.

“Are you coming back?” His voice is strained, wavering. He’s crying.

“Katsuki..” you sob, feeling all of the air escaping your lungs.

“Are you coming back to me or are you staying with him?” You can hear how he’s speaking through gritted teeth, trying to bolster the shaky quality of his voice.

“He’s my husband,” you choke out. “He said he’s going to try and he sounds serious about it. I-I don’t know if I can just walk away if there’s a chance that we can make it,” the line clicks before you finish. “Through this..”

Glass shatters, splinters of the cell phone he’s launched from his grasp go flying when it hits the wall of Katsuki’s apartment as he squats down, holding his head in his hands while the first sob that he lets pass through him wracks his body.

Thank you for reading! Please leave a like, comment, and/or reblog if you enjoyed 💜 I promise that I believe in happy endings <3 sorry if I stomped on your heart this time; I'll make it up in the next one.

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blu-joons · 3 years ago

Text

Age Gap Relationship ~ Kim Mingyu

You immediately turned your phone off when you noticed Mingyu walking into the room, placing it down on the arm of the sofa. His eyes watched over you closely as you shuffled in your seat, giving him a bit of space beside him, trying your best to force a hint of a smile onto your face.

“What have you been up to?” He asked, knowing by the look in your eyes that something wasn’t quite right, “something about the article release?”

Your head nodded, knowing that Mingyu had advised you several times to try and ignore what was said about you, especially on the first day of such a huge release to the fans.

The two of you were sure that you were careful as you headed down to the park a couple of evenings ago, convinced that the streets would be quiet. You thought that you were clear, only when you woke up in the morning, your names were trending on every social media platform.

“I’m sure you can guess what most people are talking about,” you weakly smiled, as his head nodded back at you, “I’m not surprised really, if I was them, I’d be asking the exact same questions.”

It didn’t take long before journalists managed to dig up some information on you, making sure their articles were as detailed as possible. Before you knew it, just about every detail about you was public knowledge, with your age attracting most of the attention.

“You know most of them are just gutted that they’re not able to walk in your shoes,” Mingyu tried to comfort, moving his arm across to wrap around your shoulders.

“Most of them probably want to know what you’re thinking being with me.”

Mingyu’s head shook as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head in an attempt to silence your doubts. He understood your concerns, but each time you fretted, he made sure to remind you how happy he was with you, despite the couple of years between you both.

He had always grown up knowing that age was just a number, the one thing that his parents always told him to focus on was his happiness, and he knew that he had that with you.

“I don’t care that people are obsessed about the differences between us, I want to focus on the similarities instead,” Mingyu prompted, “we’re great together, aren’t we? We get on, we have similar interests, aren’t those the things that relationships are supposed to be about?”

Your head nodded, knowing that as ever, Mingyu made a great point, despite your concerns, there were much more important things about your relationship that meant much more to you both too.

“I know it’s a lot for you to get your head around right now,” Mingyu acknowledged.

In just a few short hours it felt as if your world had been turned upside down, you’d gone from being a nobody, to having thousands mentions you, unaware of what most of them were saying too.

“I feel a little lost, it’s all quite a bit to get my head around,” you explained to him, “maybe I’m overthinking bits of it, especially the mentions about our age.”

Mingyu always knew that when the time came it was going to be a soft spot for you, despite your relationship being seemingly normal to most, he expected not quite such a positive reaction from his fans. Many of them couldn’t understand what you had that they didn’t, especially when you were of such a similar age too.

“Is this how we carry on forever now?” You questioned him.

“Give it a day or two, something new will happen.”

As your phone continued to buzz beside you, you were struggling to imagine how the two of you went forwards. You didn’t know the industry like Mingyu did though, trusting that he would know what was best for you both.

“Do you still want to be with me though?”

“Of course,” he replied straight away, “I’ve not given you anything to make you think that I don’t want to, have I?”

Your head shook in reply as you tried your best to silence the voice in the back of your head. You knew that Mingyu loved you, he told you enough times, whether your relationship was private or not, you just wished the part of you that doubted so much would be quiet and just let you be happy for once.

“I don’t want to ruin what you’ve made for yourself Mingyu.”

His head shook with yours, tightening his grip around you even more, making sure that you didn’t go anywhere, sticking by his side.

“You’ve not ruined anything; you’ve improved it instead.”

Seeing his name mentioned always made Mingyu shiver, but seeing his name mentioned with you brought a wide smile to his face, knowing that everyone knew about you both.

Unlike you, Mingyu felt confident in your relationship being revealed, he didn’t care about the fact that he had a younger partner, and he certainly didn’t care about what many of the fans had to say, especially those who decided to go on the attack with you.

“Nothing bad is going to come of this,” he reminded you, “it might be earlier than we wanted it to be, but doesn’t it feel nice to know it’s done now?”

You thought for a moment, shrugging your shoulders at his question anyway. “I’m glad that we don’t have to worry about it anymore, but we still didn’t expect it to happen this early, right now I feel as if I’ve just been thrown into the deep end.”

You’d had no time to prepare for the sudden attention you received, to prepare for the comments of love, and of hate too, that suddenly came your way in their thousands, when usually your social media feeds were dead during the day.

“It must be different for you, having your name caught up in something like this,” you noted.

“I’m used to it,” Mingyu chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of your shoulder, “I’ve handled much worse situations than this before and got through it, people knowing that I’m happy and in love certainly isn’t going to bring me down.”

His words brought a smile to your face, assuring you without even knowing that he was doing it. Each time you were reminded how happy Mingyu was, was another boost to your confidence in trusting that everything would be alright.

If anyone knew his fans, Mingyu did, and even though things felt pretty low currently, he was sure things would get better, and therefore, you were too.

“As long as we remain as a team whilst we ride this out, there’s nothing to worry about,” Mingyu whispered across to you, “nothing bad can happen from this.”

“I’m trusting you; I really hope that you’re right too Mingyu.”

His head nodded, offering you a wide smile, “nothing, height, weight, age, hometown, matters, we’re just two people, just like any other relationship.”

“Can you tell everyone else that too?” You joked, “get them off of my back as soon as we possibly can.”

“Things will be alright, everyone’s shocked and confused right now, but this just means that now I get to show the world how amazing you are.”

Your head nodded in reply, “do you think the world is ready for you to do that?”

“I don’t care, I’ll be there to do it anyway.”

---

Masterlist

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olderthannetfic · 3 years ago

Note

RE: The ongoing incest convo. I repeatedly got sexually and physically abused by an adult sibling when I was a minor. I lost a lot of family over this. I am generally regarded as a dramatic liar since everyone refuses to believe that it happened. I’m not going to harp too much on the personal angst or use this to deflect criticism of my opinions, but I think it’s relevant to introduce myself this way so that people get where I’m coming from.

Franzeska, you made a post where you pointed out that the main issue with incest are the cases in which abusive situations are involved. Penrosesun added to this and referred to court cases they observed while working in criminal defense to support that point. I was happy to see this brought up and wish it was something that had more of an emphasis in peoples’ minds when they’re having pissing contests about the morality of incest on my dash. Who cares what consenting adults are doing? The gross factor is a red herring. The real problem is the ABUSE!

I have a gut feeling that the frequent inability for people to have their priorities straight in these discussions is more complicated than just the cultural icky factor. I say this because the mental gymnastics that go on in these situations to maintain a state of denial are insane. Imagine getting molested in front of your parents, and then having every person in your vicinity telepathically decide to deny this and gaslight you about it, and then proceed to do so with zero self awareness of what they are doing. It sounds like some kind of surreal fiction but this is what it’s like. And that is the norm when stuff like this happens! It doesn’t matter how “good” a family is.

This is going to sound pouty and cynical, but I think most people who haven’t experienced this type of assault don’t realize how likely it is that their own families would turn on them if this ever happened to them, too. When people don’t understand this, it’s often because they’ve had the luxury of going through life with the false security that love is unconditional; that families are unbreakable, and they will never be forced to re-examine that. I think this is partly why denial is the default response to these situations: it’s a defense mechanism that people use to protect themselves from any reality that challenges the sense of security they have with their own families. To acknowledge that sexual violence has occured within a “normal” family is to acknowledge that it can happen within your own. Or that it has happened within your own family, and now you have to face the difficult task of addressing it. That’s what I think, anyway.

This insecurity is also what largely drives the “anti” side of these “morality-of-incest-in-fiction” debates. Those sentiments of “Gross!” and “How dare you talk about that!” is very much the same rhetoric that enables victim blaming in the first place. This doesn’t just apply to the incest argument, either. Over and over again, in so many different contexts, I keep seeing self-proclaimed moral activists attempting to silence the voices of others in the name of decency— except it’s hardly ever about decency so much as it is about protecting themselves from things that contradict their personalized version reality that they are projecting onto the world.

I am not immune to perptuating this issue either. A lot incest/CSA content is triggering for me. I’d be lying if I said that I don’t feel the urge to attack and shame people when I run into this content in the wild. I feel that urge even when I don’t click on the thing, because I am sensitive. My emotional reaction is to interpret other peoples’ fantasies as genuine desire, even if my mind knows that this isn’t necessarily true. I don’t think there’s a way to fix this habit for good. I think the world-as-it-is is just a difficult thing to accept, and the way we react to things that make us uncomfortable is just something that we’ll always have to check ourselves on. Squicks in fiction aside, what really scares me is the fact that there are so many belief systems in power that covertly discourage people from engaging in this kind of self-reflection at all.

On a somewhat related note, Moto Hagio’s “A Cruel God Reigns” played a big role in making me come around with tolerating incest content, because it addressed the denial issue so well. I didn’t even mind that Hagio eroticized some of the assaults. I enjoyed it, even, and that was kind of a relief.

Anyway, I can't speak for everyone in similar shoes but that’s my two cents. I get the impression that the people who hang around this blog are older and more experienced in thinking through these topics. Hopefully I am not repeating ideas that only feel new to me but have occurred to most other people long ago. Lol.

Yeah, sadly, that kind of reaction is horrifyingly common. They just couldn't face what happened to you... so they went and made it worse with gaslighting.

I think you're right about a lot of anti mindsets. It's an attempt at protecting themselves... except it's an entirely false sense of security. Some of it is a trauma response too, but one they're not very self aware about or attempting to rein in at all.

I've only read a little bit of A Cruel God Reigns, but it struck me as a very cathartic piece of media. Moto Hagio's work always has a lot of depth.

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pumpkinstabs-moving · 1 year ago

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without any doubt, the boogeyman harbors interesting feelings for the mastermind. typically, he does not care one bit about any of the killers. many have tried to get his attention, yes -- whether to bother him or strangely befriend him, but michael has always ignored them or lashed out against them with violence because violence is the only language he speaks. of course, he has been less than pleasant to wesker-- has stalked him ferociously, has stabbed him ... it's a strange connection, but michael finds himself craving the presence of the other man. he does not know why ... cannot understand the complexity of his feelings towards wesker. what he does know though, is that he felt fury towards the survivor who so openly mocked and taunted @manufactoredxbyxdesign during his last trial.

michael stands there, stall and still as wesker observes the situation and speaks. there are no words or movement from him, his chest only slowly rising and falling as he breathes. this is the first time the two of them have interacted in a more normal manner, because for men like them, an unconscious, bloodied up person knocked out on the floor is a common thing. especially in a place like this. yes, he could have gutted david where he stood, but then david wouldn't have understood why michael decided to lash out at him out of the blue. now this will make sense to the brawler. as if on cue, david stirs awake, groaning in pain and glancing around in confusion, barely able to move from how roughly he'd been hit.

the survivor starts to run his mouth as best as he can, making michael tilt his chin down to look at him. he acknowledges wesker, saying myers must like ya, wesker. it makes the boogeyman flush underneath his mask, though he doesn't give any sort of visible reaction. david comments about how much fun he had making wesker's life miserable during the last trial, and that's when michael offers his massive kitchen knife over to the blonde ... which is perhaps the only sign of solidarity he's ever shown in his entire life. it's more than that, though. he thinks ... he would like to see wesker gut this pesky survivor. he's curious and bored.

He is not expecting company right now. Hours have passed since the last trial here and though he has searched the empty halls for signs of Hunk and Nemesis they are nowhere to be found. The silence is deafening. An unusual feeling in the wake of the chaos from before, but he is used to this abrupt shift by now.

The quiet might have suited him well in contrast to the deafening thud that suddenly disrupts him. When his eyes glance downwards to inspect the object that was unceremoniously tossed at his feet, there is a flare of instant recognition.

That little shit.

Oh, he remembers them quite clearly. Solely because they had made it their duty to be as bothersome during the trial as possible. Agitating him so much that Wesker was still quietly seething over the matter even before the interruption.

Lifting his head, he finds himself staring up at that familiar white face. "I take it they bothered you as well as?" He suggests. Wondering if perhaps the small seed that would stop this one from attempting to combat him during every single encounter was simply mutual disdain. It wasn't the first instance that had happened. Though he was surprised Michael had the time to wrangle this one so quickly after a trial.

"I just dealt with them earlier." He explains.

Why on earth had he dragged them all the way here, now that was a mystery that played in the corner of his mind. But for now, he was content to eye the limp form between them. Scowling as he vaguely recalls the arrogant way they'd taunted him by the end of the match. "Should have gutted them where you found them. Maybe it would teach them some manners."

#manufactoredxbyxdesign #v. in the fog [ DBD ].

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shig-a-shig-ah · 4 years ago

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CODA

» pairing: shigaraki tomura x afab!reader » word count: 3.5k » notes: ages ago I mentioned on a request that I was super obsessed with the idea of Tomura having to leave his lover to undergo the AFO procedure and I still am, let me tell you. » contains: angst, unrequited love, pretty soft vanilla sex tbh. 18+, minors DNI. » ao3 mirror

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"Tomura, can I ask you something?"

Your voice is quiet, a hesitant breaking of the post-coital tranquility that hangs between you and the man beside you. Normally you would prefer to leave that silence undisturbed, but the question weighing on your mind has done so for days. It sits heavy alongside a slow-growing dread, one that started building the day Tomura revealed his plans to let the good doctor improve him in unfathomable ways.

It had taken several long, silent minutes for you to process that announcement, but when you finally did it had hit you like a punch in the gut. Had wrought flickers of panic in your chest and made it hard to breathe as you tried to imagine four months without him after twice as many with—an unexpectedly visceral reaction. Whatever this is between you, it had started so casually that you had never even considered it could be more than that, hadn’t noticed when it slowly became something you relied on. Not until you were presented with the possibility of its absence.

Facing the loss of this unnamed thing made clear that it is, to you at least, something that isn’t nothing.

"What?" Tomura replies, and you roll over to look at him. His cracked lips are pressed into a thin line as he stares at the ceiling, and you know without asking that he’s also thinking about what it is he's committed to. In the back of your mind you worry that he doesn't want to go through with the transformation, that he's simply waiting for someone to talk him out of it, but you tell yourself that's your own anxiety speaking. That an intervention is not what he wants, not truly.

Even if it was, the person to orchestrate it wouldn't be you. You're too familiar with his doubts and insecurities to question why he feels the need to seek more power, too aware of how hard he took the near-loss of Toga when you fought in Deika City, and how much the narrowness of his victory over Re-Destro weighs on him. So you could never ask him not to take it, this chance to become something more than what he is. Not even when a voice in the back of your head whispers that he might be better off should someone save him from himself.

It's a thought that sharpens and prickles if you dwell on it too long, because you know all too well that no one's ever saved Tomura—not even his Sensei, though All for One had certainly claimed to. It wasn't until the first few months without the man who had taken him in that Tomura began to hesitantly acknowledge that truth, to accept that the life he has led is not what salvation looks like. Such thoughts are but one of the many things he’s cautiously revealed to you during late-night interludes, when he occasionally and carefully unburdens himself of what he doesn't speak to anyone else.

Late nights not unlike this one, though today you'll be the one seeking that catharsis.

Not just yet, though. Anxiety has you worrying at your lip with your teeth to delay speaking your question into existence. You let your mind wander instead to the first time you'd found yourself in Shigaraki's bed, all those months ago.

The particulars of the mission that had gone wrong are hard to recall, lost to a haze of adrenaline and cortisol. What you do remember with startling clarity is that you had almost died. Not in the starkest sense—your body had encountered little true harm—but in the sense that you and many of the others had only returned (mostly) unscathed by the narrowest of margins.

You'd thought it was some vague notion of reassuring him—of making clear no one thought it was Shigaraki's fault—that had you knocking at his door once you'd cleaned yourself off. Now, though, you can admit that offering reassurances may not have been quite what you were looking for, that maybe the weighty, lingering looks the two of you had shared in the weeks leading up to your near-demise had been present in the back of your mind. The incident had left you more shaken than you would have expected: maybe what you had really wanted was simply something to remind you that you were still alive.

And Shigaraki, perceptive as ever, had seemed to know that even when you hadn’t. Looking back, you wonder if that’s because he’d stood in that same position so many times, brushing with death and walking away intact. Perhaps he had even needed the same thing you did—maybe that was the reason his crimson eyes had bored into yours with such intensity the second he opened his door, a look far more raw and hungry than any you had exchanged before.

When he had finally reached out and pulled you to him, pressing his lips to yours with barely-contained need, it had felt at once sudden and long overdue.

After that you had slipped into his room most nights once the others were asleep, and sometime later you had stopped sneaking entirely. The two of you never put a name to what it was, even when it ceased to be purely about sex. You were teammates, allies. Friends, even. It hadn't seemed so strange when the two of you started talking, really talking, sharing things about yourselves you'd both thought would remain unspoken. You had never given any thought to what that dawning familiarity meant.

But now Tomura's leaving you for months and you can't stop yourself from wondering.

The words finally escape your lips.

“Tomura, do you love me?”

"No," he answers at once, and with unbearable ease. No, immediately, as though it's so far outside the realm of possibility as to not warrant even a moment of consideration. The words that come next do little to quell the sting that brings. "I don't love anyone."

Tomura didn’t need to consider that unexpected question—it's an easy truth and he's an honest person, regardless of his other moral failings. Love is something he knows he must have experienced at some point, as a child at the very least; he's fairly certain he loved his sister, and his mother, and even now when he thinks of Mon-Chan there’s a specific warmth that stirs at that recollection, at the memory of soft fur clutched tight in a harmless grip and a warm, velvety tongue soothing his tears. He probably loved Kurogiri and Sensei once, too—thinks it's likely in fact—though that childish sentiment was long ago replaced by something much less pure and much more complicated.

But it has been years since he would have felt such deep familial affections. And the kind of love you're talking about? The sentimental, self-sacrificial kind, the kind that changes you and makes you weak? Tomura has never so much as paused to wonder if that was something he wanted, or of which he was capable: he knows he isn't, not when everything he feels is tainted by that weight that burdens his heart.

No, Tomura's known lust, and a desire for companionship even, for comfort, but he has never so much as entertained the idea of romantic love. The thought of receiving it has never crossed his mind either, and so when he turns his head to look at you and sees the tight smile you're wearing and the unexpected hurt in your eyes, his stomach twists strangely.

Belatedly, it occurs to him why you would ask such a question in the first place.

"Do you love me?"

You grimace, because if he's asking then he already knows the answer. It's the sole reason you had felt so compelled to broach the subject in the first place, the reason you couldn't expel that question from your head no matter how hard you tried, not once you started interrogating your tumultuous reaction to his impending absence.

“Yes,” you say, and Tomura shifts. Sits up and tilts his head back against the headboard, troubled gaze fixing on the ceiling as he seems to consider your admission. His thin lips twist down into a frown.

"Don't," he says, as though it were that easy.

He’s relieved when you don’t respond, only stir beside him. You climb into his lap, knees framing his hips as the sheet falls to reveal your nakedness, and his stomach gives another of those odd flips as his eyes flit from your body, covered in marks from his lips and his teeth, to the ambivalence clearly written on your face.

It bothers him, he realizes. Bothers him that you want something from him that he can't give you, something that lies entirely beyond his capabilities. It's a foreign sort of helplessness, one he doesn't think he could ever overcome, not through sheer force of will or Ujiko's interventions or any of the other avenues available to him. All Tomura can do is lift a hand to cup your face, one thumb brushing over your cheek. It's an attempt to comfort you the best he can, but the way you swallow hard and duck your head to avoid his gaze makes clear that whatever he's doing, it's not that.

"I—" he hesitates, chews at the inside of his cheek. "I'm sorry."

You can’t help the way you wince at those words. Tomura’s never apologized for anything before, not to you or to anyone so far as you know, and you can't help but wonder: Why now? Why this?

It’s a question that will drive you crazy if you allow yourself to think about it long enough, so you don’t. Instead you only shake your head a little and then press your lips to his, trying to drown out those thoughts. It doesn’t quite work—your chest is tight and a hard lump is forming in your throat—but it helps, some of that agitation easing when you focus on the heat of his chest slotted against yours, and his cool fingertips tracing over your back. You try to focus on the kiss instead of your restless thoughts, making every effort to savor this moment because you know that after your admission things will be different.

And even if they somehow weren’t, he leaves tomorrow. You know better than to hope that things could be the same when he returns.

Tomura can sense that dejection. You’re shaking slightly against him, your movements uncharacteristically reserved, and when he peers at you from behind his pale lashes, he spies traces of moisture clinging to your own.

And there it is again, that apprehensive knot tightening in his gut, the one he doesn't quite understand.

He never asked for this. Never made himself responsible for your feelings the way he made himself responsible for the League's well-being, for their dreams. So why does it bother him? Why does this particular inadequacy sit so uneasily in him, leave his neck prickling and his insides wrenching in a way that's wholly unfamiliar?

His mind picks at that puzzle even as he deepens the kiss, wraps his arms more tightly around you and cradles the back of your head. Such mild, dulcet touches are new to him, nothing like your usual desperate rutting, but he knows enough to understand that's how it’s supposed to be when you put some emotion into it, knows that tenderness equates to caring. And he does care, in his own entirely insufficient way.

Will that be enough for you, he wonders? It has to be—it's all he can give you.

You lean in to that delicate touch, even though it comes with a cutting edge that makes your chest ache. You know what he’s doing, trying to compensate, trying to offer some consolation, and you don’t want it, except that you do. You want to indulge in this farce, to let yourself pretend for a moment that you mean something more to him than what he claims. So you trail your hands along his chest, over the contours of his muscles and the familiar scars that decorate his pale skin, and you let him perform this reverence even as you choke back tears.

Even full of ambivalence, you whine under the soft treatment, the feel of calloused fingers lightly rolling the pebbled bud of one nipple, lips sucking softly at your collarbone. You were wet already—the remnants of the fuck you'd shared before your confession, a carnal act that seems hours ago rather than minutes—but you're growing slicker still under his touch, hips rocking slightly as Tomura swells beneath you.

Your hand tangles in the shocks of white haloed around his face, and he groans, tugs you a little closer, ducks his head to mouth at your chest. His tongue moves languidly over the peak of your breast, hot and wet and unbearably gentle. You cling to him more tightly as heat builds in your core.

"Tomura," you whimper against his temple, "Please, I need—"

His hand slips between your legs to cut off that plea, stroking your sex with slow, deliberate movements, thumb circling your apex lightly, teasing at your folds. It's a drastic departure from the way you usually touch each other, heavy-handed and eager in a way that leaves you deliciously sore, covered in bite marks and bruises that linger for days. You whine again, cant your hips to try and spur him on, silently begging for more.

His vermillion eyes scan your face as his other hand traces soft lines down your back, dragging lightly over your flushed skin. He shakes his head distractedly. “Just—” his lips find your own again, a hint more urgently this time as his tongue laps into your mouth, muffling his words “—just let me—”

But he doesn’t finish, doesn’t even fully understand what he’s asking permission for, other than maybe to keep indulging himself in this performance that is arguably as much for him, for assuaging his unexpected guilt, as it is for you.

It's only once you're soaked, slick smeared along your thighs, that he plunges two fingers into you, savoring that way you squirm against them. Your walls flutter when he curls them just right, fingernails digging into his shoulders, sweet pinpricks of pain that finally draw his attention to his own aching arousal jutting beneath you.

You're shuddering and rolling your hips against his hand with small, eager movements, tiny gasps and sighs falling from your lips, sounds much more delicate than he's used to hearing. He likes them all the same. Likes the way you're writhing and struggling to get closer too, your breath hot in his ear as you cling to him, overwhelmed in some way he's not familiar with—not the overstimulation he's driven you to before, but something far more yearning and bittersweet.

Suddenly he understands the appeal of this, of going slow. Suddenly the teasing isn't enough.

Then he's withdrawing with one last curl of his fingers, aligning himself with your entrance and sinking you down onto him, a rumble rising from deep in his chest at the sensation of your cunt gripping him tight. Your wet heat is some of the only peace he's known in these past many months, and as he indulges himself now he's struck with the uncomfortable realization that this will likely be the last time. The only guarantee in his future now is suffering and violence, the torture of the doctor's lab and the carnage that will follow.

It's a thought he would rather distract himself from, and so he tries. He rocks your hips against him, small, unhurried movements like everything else. He dips his hand to rub again at your sex—his touch is light and he worries that teasing won't be enough to guide you where he wants you, clenching and coming around him, but the way you clutch at him in response assuages those concerns.

"Tomura," you murmur, his name quiet on your lips as you repeat it again, and again, and again. He relishes the sound.

Dry lips ghost over your jaw and then lower, nipping and sucking at the exposed column of your throat when you tilt your head back for him, goosebumps rising on your flesh beneath his fingers when his tongue laps over your pulse. It's good, so good, but something about the way you shiver and let out the tiniest mewl also worsens that shame in his gut.

Why does he still feel so guilty?

And then you're whispering his name again, nuzzling your cheek into his before burying your face in the juncture where his neck and shoulder meet, and as those particular movements spark something soft inside him, it finally clicks into place.

He feels guilty because he's glad.

Because he might have loved his Sensei once but his Sensei certainly didn't love him, no matter how hard he'd worked to convince Tomura otherwise. And Kurogiri cares, but—much like Tomura—love is not a thing of which he is capable.

Tomura had thought everyone who would ever—who could ever—love him was dead.

And it's selfish, he knows it's selfish, but the thought that you could love him still brings some slight sense of peace, some balm that lessens that anchor around his heart just the tiniest fraction. It's a small difference, one that doesn't and can't change anything, but it matters in some way he could never put into words.

Your tongue is laving over his neck, the faintly salty taste of his skin sweet on your tongue, when he pulls your head back to kiss you. There's distress on his face, some intangible sadness that you don't understand and that has your heart squeezing painfully behind your ribs. His tongue entwines with yours as you move together with slightly more urgency.

"Is this enough?" he breathes against your lips, his fingers pressing a little harder against that sensitive cluster of nerves between your thighs, his breathing growing more erratic. "It's all I can—"

You nod. Kiss him harder before he can finish, swallowing those words and grinding against him, chasing that climax which is, you know, not the only thing about which he was asking.

And it's not enough, not really, because you're not sure such a thing exists. You could lose yourself in him a thousand times and never truly be satisfied, could trust that he returned your affections and still be discontent with the knowledge that such things are inherently fleeting. But that greed is your own flaw, not his, and you could never begrudge him things that are entirely outside of his control. You'll only gladly take whatever he can offer.

There's a neediness in the way he's clinging to you now as you tremble atop him, something vulnerable and grateful in the whimpers that claw their way up from his throat. And it's too much to bear without falling apart, so you let yourself crumble, core tightening and thighs quaking, that heat inside building until your back is arching and your body is tensing, his teeth catching your lower lip as you cry out.

He witnesses your release with wide, wild eyes, and then he's planting desperate kisses across your face and over your throat, cradling you more tightly against his body as he murmurs a plea into the crook of your neck. "Will you say it?"

It's almost too quiet to hear, buried under your panting and muffled against your skin, and "What?" has already fallen from your lips before you register the words.

When he pulls back to look at you, his expression is so raw and imploring that your breath catches, your hand rising at once to cup his face. His eyes flutter closed under the touch, his motions slowing. "Say it, just—" his face contorts as you roll your hips, a momentary distraction that has him sucking in a sharp hiss of breath. "Just once," he grits out. "Please."

The words are choked, as though the request is painful, and it has your heart swelling and aching at the same time, your forehead falling to rest against his as though that meager touch could reassure him. For all the days it took you to work up the nerve to broach the subject, it takes you no time at all to say the words he's asked to hear.

"I love you, Tomura."

He exhales sharply against your lips, and then he's kissing you again, one hand tangling in your hair and the other guiding you to move more fervently.

"Thank you," he gasps, and then he's spilling over, groaning into your mouth and twitching inside you, arms holding you almost painfully tight. He keeps that fierce grip on you until his breathing has leveled and he's softening inside you, and it's just before he pulls away, just before the two of you disentangle from each other for possibly the last time, that you hear those same words faintly whispered again. "Thank you."

#shigaraki x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x you #tomura shigaraki x you #shigaraki x y/n #tomura shigaraki x y/n #shigaraki #tomura shigaraki #mha shigaraki #bnha shigaraki #shigaraki smut #shigaraki angst #soft shigaraki #bnha x reader #mha x reader #reader insert #bnha reader insert #shigaraki fanfic #bnha fanfic

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s-brant · 3 years ago

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The Endless Summer (2/?)

(gif: @beccs) (PART ONE) (SERIES MASTERLIST)

Summary: A day out on the water goes awry and puts JJ, John B, and Y/N in danger. With tensions rising and the stakes higher than ever, JJ finds it difficult to control his feelings.

Word Count: 9.1k

Warnings: Angst, implied sexual content, strong language, graphic violence, and JJ being an emotionally confused asshat.

A/N: Welcome back! Thanks for the love on this series, I’m so glad you guys like it and I hope this part is just as good. Things get a little heated in this chapter, so buckle up. Let me know if you enjoyed this. Have fun!

JJ isn't sure why she did it.

He wasn't sure then and he isn't sure now, but he knows one thing for certain: there isn't any going back to how things once were now that the barrier between them came crashing down.

Sweat drips off of his skin from the relentless heat of the Caribbean that has made their recent lives hell with the painful tinge of sunburn atop their tans and heat exhaustion they must be careful to avoid at all costs. They were educated on both topics by Pope, their godsend of a survival encyclopedia in human form, who advised them to spend most of their day outside of necessary tasks like fishing and constructing stable shelter under the shady cover of the treetops.

The sole reason he and John B aren't hiding in the safety of the shade is that it's their day to fish, but he's not thinking about the sun. In fact, neither of them is. They're both wondering where their third fishing buddy is.

It took roughly ten minutes of spearfishing with him in comfortable silence for JJ to finally break and spill his guts about what happened last night. Though there was an unspoken agreement to never tell anyone that their hatred has turned into desire, he couldn't help it. He was going mad trying to unravel it in his head.

After all, he already had a conversation with JB about the recent shift in their behavior with each other by the ocean last night, so it seems fitting to pick up where they left off with the calm and clear blue water in front of them again.

He walks on the jagged outcropping of rock that serves as their perch to observe the fish without disturbing the pattern of the current they swim through with John B closely behind.

"One second she's pissed at me, the next she's all over me. It makes no sense. Then, she didn’t say anything to me after it happened," JJ says with his face hardened into a look of concentration at the fish he squints against the sun to aim at, "Not even "Fuck you, Maybank" or one of her weirdly creative threats. She just sat there all night and talked to everyone but me."

His gaze slips away from the water as his chosen fish disappears from sight before he can bother to throw the spear, eyeing up his friend's reaction to the news.

John B doesn't seem that surprised by it, because who else, aside from everyone else in Kildare who knows of their "hatred" for one another, could've seen it coming as much as he did? He considers it for a second, then props his arm up on the handle side of the spear he digs into the rock to lean against.

"I'm pretty sure that means she likes you."

JJ retorts, "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard you say."

Why would anyone ignore a person they like? It makes no sense to him. Every time he wanted a person, he'd simply walk over and make it happen. It's never been difficult for him to pursue the people he finds himself attracted to...Well, except for her. For a guy that also ignored her for the rest of the night and pretended their moment in the woods didn't happen, he has some balls of steel to be chastising her for the same things he did.

John B shrugs and says, "I'm being serious, dude. Sarah wouldn't even acknowledge my existence when I worked on the Druthers, and I thought it was some stuck-up rich person thing but it wasn't."

They shouldn't be talking at all right now as to not scare away the fish, but they do it anyway. They both know he won't let it go until it's out of his system for good. He wouldn't allow himself to forget it if he wanted to, so its better to talk it out than turn stir crazy from ruminating over it 24/7.

Though it's, as he worded it yesterday, hot as balls out, being by the sea lessens the feeling of it by a landslide.

The breeze they crave whenever they work on their huts or forage through the forest for wild berries, coconuts, or potential building supplies blows on them without pause for the time they spend here, which almost makes it more dangerous. They stand under the direct harm of the UV rays frying them without truly feeling it burn yet, and he dreads the next few days in anticipation of the returning sunburn he just peeled off of his shoulders the other day.

JJ walks down the side to get a better view of the water, balancing precariously on the sharpened edge with the spear clenched tightly in one hand. The breeze is strong enough to threaten his balance, but he holds firm and digs his toes into the sedimentary rock for traction. His body sways in the midday sun with the struggle for stability, or, at least he suspects its midday.

Since being stranded here, time is a foreign concept to them. With no phones, clocks, or any guide to go off of other that the position of the sun above to display the hours that pass, they've lost complete track of what day it is, let alone how long minutes or hours truly are in comparison to the endless summer they live within. They suspect it's been a month since they were left here, but, in all honesty, it could be two. None of them had the sense to mark the days in a tally until it was too late.

He says, lifting his arm to throw the spear, "Well, she is a stuck up rich person, so maybe it's just—"

"You know I'm right here, don't you?"

The sound of her voice from a few feet behind them startles JJ into turning around to look at her right when he lets go of the spear.

Unfortunately for him, the jerking movement throws off his carefully distributed weight and skews his balance, making the feet placed on the edge slip from underneath him and send him slipping down into the water. His calf is the first body part to hit the rocks, and the groan of pain he lets out at the feeling of the jagged rock slicing through his skin could make her heart stop mid-beat. But what truly scares her is seeing the back of his head hit the ground too.

Before he can slide the rest of the way into the water, two pairs of hands are grabbing onto his arms and heaving him up with all of their strength. She and John B grit their teeth with the effort it takes to pull him back up, their muscles burning from the strain, and once his feet are over the ledge, he pushes off the rock to help them the rest of the way. Drops of his blood disperse into the water off the edge from where he cut himself, dripping until there's hardly any left.

Once he's safely laid back down a few feet from where he slipped, Y/N is kneeling in front of him in a matter of seconds. The rock beneath her knees opens small cuts into her skin, but she doesn't pay it any heed. She sits on her heels to lessen the minor pain and lean forward to inspect the damage he took with nothing on her mind other than worry.

Soon enough, John B joins her to kneel at his feet as he sits up and watches them eye up his injury as though it’s some sort of ghastly, life threatening thing instead of a gash that won't need stitches. He watches them against the glittering ocean, waves washing up on the rocks around them to sting his wound with saltwater.

"It's a scratch, not an amputation," JJ says.

She ignores him with a frown lining her pretty features and twists his leg by the ankle to get a better view of the wound in the sunlight. It extends up the entire length of his calf, almost from ankle to knee, and dribbles fresh blood onto her hands as well as the ground beneath them. From what he can tell, it doesn't look all too severe. No muscle or bone can be seen, so it's a simple, superficial scratch.

When he doesn't get a response from either her or John B while they're too busy checking out his leg, he says again, "Guys, I'm serious, it's fine."

This time, she doesn't hesitate to answer.

"Yeah, well you may not need stitches but you still have infection to worry about. This wilderness isn't exactly the cleanliest place," she says retorts with as much snark as usual, and he quietly rejoices in the fact that she's finally acting normal after what happened last night, "Not to mention, you hit your head pretty hard. There's no need to act all tough."

He shrugs.

"It's not an act, it really doesn't hurt that bad."

John B stands and smears the blood on his hands off on the front of his shorts.

"I'll be right back, guys, I'm gonna go get stuff to patch him up."

Just like that, they are left plunging into silence as he is running away down the peninsula back to the beach they've claimed as their own.

Silence has always been her least favorite thing to share with JJ. She'd rather anything over it—screaming, fighting, joking, friendly conversation, or even what they did together yesterday night. Anything is preferable over the tense and insufferable feeling of silence when they're alone together with none of their friends, or their playful hatred, between them as a barrier between them.

Instead of seeing the same pestering jerk she always used to when she looks at him, she sees the memory of how he looked at her in the woods. He didn't look at her like she was the worst person to ever walk the planet, or like she was his least favorite Kook "Princess", he looked at her like she meant something to him.

They sit together in uncomfortable silence in the time it takes John B to rush to the beach and back, careful not to slip on the rocks the way JJ did, with the supplies from the dinghy in his arms. It isn't much to work with, but at least it's something to keep the nasty wound on his leg protected from dirt and germs. She's sure he'd leave it uncovered and up to fate if he had it his way.

Before he can set them down on the wet rocks, thus ruining the gauze and bandages in craters filled with ocean water, she gestures at JJ with a stern command, "Take off your shirt."

His brows raise.

"Shit, Princess, take me out to dinner first."

She groans in frustration, "Can you be quiet for a second and actually listen to me for once?"

He catches John B's gaze with wide eyes, but complies nonetheless, reaching down to tug the tank off of his torso by the frayed hem until it's balled up in his closed fist to hand off to her. Her eyes only linger on his body for a quick second on accident before snatching it from him.

Her bloodstained palms lay the shirt out on the flattest stretch of rock she can find to act as a barrier from the small puddles of water to protect the supplies. One nod at John B has him setting them down atop the navy fabric as she glances up at JJ with a smug smile.

"Believe it or not," she taunts, unscrewing the cap to the disinfectant, "I didn't ask for it so you could sit there and look pretty."

The words throw him back in time to their conversation on the beach while they thatched the roof to their hut, and he wonders how long she's been waiting to throw that back in his face since he first said it.

He grins at her as he asks, "You think I'm pretty?" but before he can say more, she's pouring a generous amount of the hydrogen peroxide along the length of his cut without a warning for him to prepare himself. His leg jerks away on instinct to save himself from the burning sensation, but she grips his ankle tightly enough to force him to stay still.

His nose scrunches up with the urge to groan in pain, and he does a little. Through grinding teeth, he winces in response to the peroxide slipping into every cell of open skin and bubbling up like the white water of the waves as it kills the bacteria lingering in the gash.

"Does it hurt now?" Y/N asks.

She's looking up at him through her lashes with her lips curled into a smirk as she packs gauze onto the wound until it's covered to her satisfaction. And it should be the last thing he's thinking about right now after cutting up his leg and hitting his head hard enough to worry her about concussions, but he can't help it. Looking down at her like this, it's impossible for him to not think about the unfinished business they have.

Everything is the same as it was yesterday—the tattered white top, the red panties in place of a bikini, sunburnt cheeks, and a taunting look that he'll never get tired of seeing. But that's precisely why he's reminded of it. She's wearing the same clothes and looking at him the way she did on the beach before any of last night's antics occurred, and he can't keep himself from wondering if it'll happen again.

"Yeah," he finally responds.

Her smirk grows for a second before she gets back to work.

"Good."

JJ subtly eyes her up from where she shifts on her knees to set the open gauze wrappers under the peroxide bottle in exchange for the bandage wrap, but he isn't as subtle as he thinks. She can feel his stare no matter how sneaky he attempts to be. He may be able to evade John B's attention, since he dove into the ocean to retrieve the wooden spear that began to float out in the tide, but she never misses a thing. Not when it comes to him.

When he looks at her, he finds memories.

Her legs folded up beneath her bring him back to how smooth they felt on his palms when he lifted them up around his hips. Her rosy lips pressing into a line in concentration bring him back to the coconut flavor he tasted on them. Her nipples poking against the fabric of her shirt bring him back to when he lifted it up over her breasts to suck at the sensitive skin until he got a moan from her—There isn't a place he can stare without going back to last night.

Part of him hates that.

He can't stand that a girl who he spent the last five years hating has found a way into his daydreams. Why couldn't it have been anyone else? Why did she have to lure him into her trap? He supposes there's nothing he can do about it now, though. After hours of stewing over it, he's reached the conclusion that it was likely a one-time thing, a mistake made in the heat of the moment that she won't make again, and he should get the idea of it out of his head.

When she has to adjust her grip to hold the gauze in place while she wraps the bandage around his leg, he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth and jerks away again. She glances up at him with her best, "Are you kidding me?" face. Didn't he say he was tough?

"I'm starting to think you're a sadist, 'cause it's like you're trying to make it hurt," he says.

She gasps, feigning offense.

"Me? Enjoying this? It's not like we've hated each other for years or anything."

And though he may not realize it, this is her way of distracting him from the pain of having her apply added pressure to his cut while she wraps the bandage into place. It has to be tight enough to keep water and sand out, but not so tight that it cuts off circulation, and while it may have been tolerable without her touching it, the contact is enough to make it worse for him.

He asks, "Uh, speaking of, why are you the one doing this? Isn't it some kind of HIPAA thing to treat patients you've threatened to violate with tree branches before?"

The sound of her laughter makes his stomach flutter with butterflies, and he wonders what the hell is wrong with him.

"That's not what HIPAA is, genius"—her eyes crinkle at the sides with her wide smile while she wraps his leg—"and I'm the one doing this because I know way more medical shit than the rest of you."

Even Pope.

"Ohhh right, I forgot. Your dad is this hotshot surgeon and that makes you think you know everything," he taunts.

The casual mention of her father makes her chest ache with something not many of the Pogues, excluding Pope, have felt since being stranded on this island. With their parents either disowning them, absent, abusive, or dead, they have no reason to resist the allure of living here for the months or years it may take to be rescued, but she does.

She misses him.

For the longest time since her mom died, it was her and her dad versus the world. In everything they did, they did it together, and before she met Sarah, he was the closest she had to a best friend. Since they had no other family to help watch her as a child, she grew up in the hospital with him, drawing with crayons on his office’s printer paper with her babysitter and picking up small things along the way from watching him for so long.

He could've chosen to leave her at home, sure, but he didn't want to miss out on seeing her more than he already did, so she spent the majority of her childhood in offices, waiting rooms, and the indoor playground of the PEDs wing.

She takes a deep breath to steady herself after the sucker punch of being reminded of her dad and says, "Well, I know enough and, thankfully for you, I'm the one doing this instead of John B."

From far away, twenty or so feet offshore where their friend is paddling through the water with the lost spear held in one hand, they hear John B shouting an offended, "I heard that!" back at her. It draws a soft chuckle from them both, and she silently thanks him for distracting JJ one last time as she finishes and secures the bandage so it won't unravel.

She wipes her hands off on her water-soaked thighs one more time to get as much of his blood off of her fingers as possible before she reaches out with both arms extended to offer him help to stand. He takes them with a murmured, "Thanks," as they both try not to show how affected they are by the casual touch.

It makes them feel pathetic that something as small as holding each other's hands makes them remember what they did and desperately wish to continue it. Her throat bobs with how she must swallow the lump in her throat at their close proximity, barely breathing now that he's standing close to her with less than a few inches between them.

For a second, they don't move away. They stay face to face, and all she can think of is how badly she wants to kiss him again. But she can't do anything yet, not when she hears someone screaming from the water.

"There's a shark!" John B screams as he paddles back faster than he's ever swam in his life, already close enough to the peninsula that they can see the terror in his eyes when they turn to look.

Surely enough, there a tip of a fin too pointed to pass off as a dolphin cutting through the surface of the water to alert them of the fish's presence, but if that weren't enough, the water is clear enough for them to see its outline.

Thankfully for him, it isn't huge. It looks about as long as he is tall, but that doesn't change the degree of danger. Just because it isn't as big as other sharks doesn't make a bite any less lethal, especially when their only form of medical attention rests on her knowledgeable yet inexperienced shoulders.

For once in his life, JJ is frozen with no clue of what to do.

He's always the man with the plan, the one who jumps into action when others choke up and sit on the sidelines, but this makes him falter. What can he do to help other than stand here and pray John B can out-swim a shark? He's helpless, and now that he's faced with the prospect of losing his best friend for a second time, he doesn't know what to do.

It was his blood in the water that must have attracted the shark, and he was so caught up in his own drama with her and the pain of his cut that he didn't consider the danger of John B jumping in to retrieve the spear he dropped. It's his fault. His best friend is about to be eaten by a shark and it's his fault—

The blurred image of her rushing past in his peripheral vision rips him from his stormy thoughts, and right when he thought it couldn't get worse, it does. Water splashes up around her body and swallows her under the surface after she leaps off the edge of the rock with the aluminum spear from the dinghy raised in her dominant arm.

"Y/N!"

Before he even realizes what he's doing, JJ is screaming out her name, screaming it like he cares, and damns the consequences to dive in after her.

While he was frozen, she sprung into action without thinking of her own life first. She knew he was close to the rock, but not close enough to swim faster than a predator designed for the conditions of the ocean. It took one glance at the spear resting to the side for her to lean down, scoop it up, and get a running start to jump out as far as humanly possible. Various joints and muscles ached from how she strained to push herself far off the rock, taking flight with nothing but their survival in mind.

She sucks in a heaving breath upon breaking the surface, but she doesn't take a second to pause with John B paddling up to her so soon.

"Go back!"

The only answer she gives him is, "Use your spear!" before she brings hers out of the water in anticipation of the grey figure bolting straight for them.

It's a stupid plan, but it's the only one she has, and if one of them is in danger, they'd all risk everything they have to protect them. After all, they're already trapped here with the threat of death every day. Is there anything more worthy of dying for than your friends?

Neither of them is necessarily trying to kill it yet either, they're trying to keep it at a safe distance or hurt it enough so it swims away from them, but she puts all of her strength into spearing the fish between the eyes anyway. Her legs kick tirelessly to keep her afloat while she and John B stab as accurately as they can, choking down a mouthful of salty ocean water from how her head sinks at the surface without the help of her arms to keep her up.

Blood stains the water with a crimson hue spreading out around their bodies—whether it's theirs or the shark's, she doesn't know—and she must keep her lips clamped shut to prevent it from spilling into her mouth, breathing solely through her nose. She can tell her legs are soon to give out on her, but then a pair of hands latch onto her body. Call her irrational or stupid, but even with the clear distinction of human hands on her waist, her mind reacts in instinctual fear.

The touch makes her jolt mid-stab and sobers her feral mind back to reality for a moment until she realizes it's a human touching her, not the shark.

It's JJ.

His arms wrap around her thighs and hoist her up out of the water as much as he can while still swimming, effectively pushing himself underwater with one last gasp for air.

The sudden shift in view has her gaze shifting around to take in the new sights with a gush of red water rushing off of her onto the splashing surface: a light grey tail whips around in the chaos, the shark's head oozes blood from the multiple puncture wounds that didn't push quite deep enough, and its jaws snap right where John B's arm is before he yanks it back.

After a fraction of a second, it clicks with her that there's no time to waste watching her friend almost get his arm chomped off while she takes in the unbelievable sight. Her slippery grip on the handle remains as firm as possible, and she raises the spear over her head with an improved accuracy she never could've had from where she previously aimed it before. All of their shots landed well enough, but with the height advantage, she won't allow herself to fuck it up this time with her friend's life hanging in the balance.

She hardly recognizes her own frantic voice shouting at him, "Spear it in the gills!"

Her hands bring the razor-sharp tip of the spear down into its head repeatedly, and she isn't sure whether it's the splashing water or tears wetting her face when she buries the weapon down into it for a final time right when John B lodges his wooden spear in its gills.

Whatever she did, it must've hit its brain, because the animal halts its thrashing. Its teeth no longer snap at her friend, nor does its tail whip around in the water as violently as it did a moment ago.

As quickly as it started, it drops off into a sickening calm that leaves the white bubbles dissolving into a puddle of bloody water surrounding the trio and the fish that dies with no small amount of guilt on her part. There was no choice but to kill it. It makes her ache on the inside, but how could she regret it if she knows it saved them? The guilt might ravage her for the upcoming days, but she can't bring herself to regret jumping in after him.

She hardly has the chance to process it before she's being pulled away by both of the boys, her view of the scene shifting drastically once more with the abrupt drop of JJ letting her down in favor of guiding her through the gentle waves. His calloused hand squeezes her arm enough to cut circulation off on their journey back.

Time rushes past her in the next thirty seconds or so it takes them to reach the peninsula again in a paranoid sprint away from where the dead fish floats. One of them, John B she thinks, tosses the aluminum spear he dislodged from the shark's head up onto the rocks and clambers his way back up on his own. The waves closer to land grow rougher than the tender current out where they killed the shark, and she grunts in pain as one sends her and JJ straight into the rocks. His body hits her back with a solid ‘thump’ and forces her to wheeze with the wind getting knocked from her lungs upon impact, nails cracking on the black rock from the desperate grip she uses in an attempt to lift herself.

Meanwhile, JJ can't seem to catch his breath either, nor can he think of anything other than her once he sees that John B isn’t injured.

As soon as he sees his friend is unmarked from the teeth of the shark after he's out of the water, he positions himself behind Y/N to help her out first. He places his hands on her backside to push her up as quickly as he can. Knowing that the carcass in the water will soon attract more sharks in the surrounding area into a feeding frenzy, he'd rather it be him than her. It's a thought that shoots by too fast for him to fully acknowledge the meaning or weight of it at a time like this.

Somehow within his adrenaline-crazed mind, he is careful not to push her onto the jagged edge that sliced his leg open earlier, then climbs after her with little space left between them.

She's coughing up saltwater onto the rocks as he scrambles over to her, eyes wild with the petrifying worry of anything bad happening to her. They scan over her arms, legs, stomach, and back, and he doesn't even realize his hands are reaching out to inspect her as frantically as she had with him when he got hurt.

His hands cup her face, petting over her dripping hair and forcing her to look up so he can see if she somehow got hit in the face. Never has his mind been so void of rational thought, and, knowing him and his impulsive tendencies, that's saying a lot. The confusion of his contradictory feelings for her muddle his mind. Worry and hatred, attraction and anger—they battle it out, but only two manage to reach him externally.

Worry and anger it is. Worry for obvious reasons. Anger because—

"What the fuck were you thinking?"

She has never heard him sound so vicious since the start of whatever odd relationship/friendship/enemy-ship they have. With his worried expression and how he checked her entire body for injury after helping her out of the water, the last thing she would've anticipated from him was anger. Especially not after she saved his best friend's life. Considering what she just did for him, she thinks he should be thanking her, not chastising her.

Behind her back, she can hear a collection of yelling voices and splashing footsteps over the water dripping from them. It can only be the rest of their friends racing up the peninsula to them, but she can't turn around.

She stares at him with utter confusion flooding her at his unexpected outburst. Speechless.

"What was I thinking?" she asks incredulously with her face still cradled between his hands, "I was saving John B's life!"

Their emotional distance and disagreement are made up for in abundance by how physically entangled they've become. It wasn't intentional. It was a result of him needing to get close enough to scour her exposed skin for any bites, but now that they're sitting so near to each other, they forget to back away.

John B is too busy to engage with them.

He's doubled over on the ground with the compulsion to vomit the contents of his stomach into the ocean, but he doesn't dare get close to the edge again after what they went through. Instead, he positions himself away from them and their approaching friends until the half-digested food is forced back through his mouth. The acidic bile scorches his throat and nostrils on the way out.

JJ doesn't have the opportunity to retort back something about her being stupid, because Pope is the first person to reach them and ask, "What the hell happened?"

The rest of the group isn't far behind. It's Kie who asks the next question, then Sarah, then Cleo. They all pop off in rapid succession before either of the three of them can answer.

"Are any of you hurt?"

"Why is he throwing up?"

"Is that a shark?"

The last question draws everyone's attention over to the half-sunken mass of fish bobbing up and down on the breaths of the sea with a wooden spear sticking straight out of its gills. Though it isn't the biggest, most intimidating shark to roam the ocean, its presence doesn't fail to make everyone who looks at it shudder with the realization of what must have happened.

John B wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and points over at her with his trembling arm outstretched.

"She killed it."

The four of them whip their heads in her direction, jaws nearly falling off their faces in disbelief, but she doesn't say anything yet. Because as soon as they feel the eyes of their friends burning into them, she and JJ realize, as though they're returning to reality from the hazy layers of a dreamscape, that they're still holding each other.

She's slumped halfway onto him from when he hauled her body closer to inspect her, so she's essentially sitting on top of him at this point. Her legs, bruised and scratched up from when the waves crested to send them crashing into the rocks, are entangled around his enough that they look back and forth between them and where his hands cup her face in surprise.

JJ doesn't know what came over him.

Now that he snaps out of it at the same time as her, both of them separating and nudging each other away until their bodies are no longer entwined, he feels his cheeks flush in embarrassment.

When he saw her leaping past him to jump into the water, his mind shut off. He wasn't thinking about himself, or the possibility of getting killed, or anything at all. He was only thinking of the danger she put herself in, then he dove in and the rest of his conscious mind faded away into pure survival instinct. Yet, even after he knew the immediate danger was gone, the adrenaline kept him on edge, desperate to get her back to land and pray none of them were hurt.

"It was trying to attack him," she rasps. Her throat is raw from the saltwater she choked on, and every word burns. "But we did it together."

She pushes herself off the ground with an exhausted sigh.

Muscles spent from the struggle in the water, her legs wobble beneath the weight of her upper body as she takes a few steps to help John B up from his position on his hands and knees. From what she heard, he has thrown up all he has left in his stomach and hasn't gagged again in a minute or so, so attempting to stand again shouldn't be too strenuous for him.

His hand is cold in her grasp from the water soaking their bodies, but it holds firmly enough for her to help him into his feet without their palms slipping apart. No patches of blood are visible on his shorts, nor are there any puncture wounds on him from the sharp teeth that snapped at his arm in the quick but vigorous fight.

They were very, very fortunate to have made it out alive, and when he looks down at her face, he feels nothing but gratitude for the girl he previously saw as nothing more than his girlfriend's best friend. They went into the water as casual acquaintances, companions of convenience and the happenstance of being forced onto this island together, but they've come out of it differently. Now, they're friends.

Now, she's a Pogue.

He smiles at her, glancing up at their friends as their questions die down at the sight of his crazy grin, and says, "That was some real Pogue shit right there, Y/N." His eyes come back to meet hers. "I think it's about time we officially make you one of us. What do you think?"

She's opening her mouth to respond when Kiara cuts her off. The rest of them are staring at the trio as if they have ten heads sprouting from their bodies for not immediately surrendering more details of their near-death encounter other than saying she killed it.

"I'm sorry, can we please rewind to the part where you got attacked by a shark first?"

"Ladies and gentlemen, can I get a drumroll please for..."

The campfire is roaring with the abundance of sticks, leaves, and branches thrown onto the pile to fuel it as she feels a strong pair of arms looping around her thighs to lift her into the expansive, star-flecked sky.

In a flash of haunting memory, she relives the moment where JJ dove into the water after her and lifted her body above the surface to give her the high ground over the shark. She relives its thrashing hunger, the water splashing on her, and the cloudy hue of blood around them that she hoped wasn't either of the boys. For a second, as the world grows taller with her new perspective, she is brought back to the sudden shift she felt then and feels her stomach drop in panic, anticipating the danger.

But then the sound of her friends laughing, as well as the surging fire and crashing waves, comes back to her and forces the frightful flashback away. Her hip fits perfectly in the curve of John B's shoulder, and she lets her head fall back in giggling laughter at how he hoists her up in the air as though she's a holy figure of worship for the Pogues to kneel to.

His voice can likely be heard across the entire island when he shouts, "The Shark Conqueror!"

The group erupts into a triumphant mixture of cheers and laughter that fills the beach, everyone celebrating in their narrow escape earlier today...everyone except JJ.

After John B divulged the gory details of what happened, from JJ's fall to her picking up the spear and jumping in to save him from the shark, they made their way back with enough conversation to last the month. They all asked questions and took peeks back at where it happened in morbid curiosity, wondering how on earth they managed to come out of the situation without a scratch.

The rest of the afternoon continued on with the same buzzing energy that can only be created from the thrill of being alive. She's felt it many times since joining Sarah's group of friends that seem to find trouble wherever they go, but she has never felt it as vehemently as she does tonight. It's a mixture of euphoria, shock, and soul-crushing guilt for having to hurt another living creature, even one that was intending to make a meal of her friend.

No matter how much she grows up or discovers more about herself as a person, feelings never stop being as frustrating as they were to her as a child. You can get better at processing and hindering explosive reactions to them, but they never simplify. She doesn't know why she feels so much at once. She doesn't know why she feels simultaneously on top of the world and thrown off the edge of a cliff, but she thinks it has to do with him.

Since they walked back to the beach and talked about what happened until the day withered into night, which led them here to the “official” ceremony of her being named a Pogue for life, JJ hasn't spoken to her once.

Suddenly, the shoe is on the other foot.

Much like how she avoided him all night last night leading into this morning, he doesn't talk to her. He tries not to look at her too from where he sits on the log of driftwood across the fire, but it's somewhat inevitable with the spectacle John B is making of her at the moment.

Painted in the warm tones of the firelight like a goddess in her own right, Y/N is impossible to look away from, and it makes him angrier than he already is. A handwoven circlet crafted from the hibiscus and hippeastrum flowers growing in the forest around their camp sits atop her head. It doesn't fall to the ground with the movement of her throwing her head back in laughter. It stays in its rightful place against the rule of gravity until her face comes back into view for him to quickly look away from.

It dampers her laughter to see him avoiding her gaze so adamantly, taking a swig of water from one of the small cups they carved from wood and turning to talk to Kie to keep himself busy. The distinct sensation of being on top of the world slips away with the feeling of his cold avoidance and John B lowering her back to the ground until her bare feet sink into the soft sand.

Before she can start sulking about it for the foreseeable future, Sarah steps up beside her.

The familiar touch of a hand on her shoulder brings her comfort amidst her confusion and hurt over the way JJ is acting, and when she turns to see a pretty face looking fondly at her, a warm smile finds her lips.

"Pogue for life?" Sarah asks.

The three words bring make her smile grow the same way it had when she was talking to JJ on the peninsula. It crinkles the skin around her eyes with its unrestrained happiness to hear them because, as much as she pretends to let JJ's comments roll off of her, tonight marks one of the first times she's felt at home with them.

That's not to say they haven't made her feel welcome in the past, they did, but this isn’t the same. This is closer, this is the type of bond that's forged in situations like these where people have no choice but to rely on each other or let their worlds collectively fall apart, and she thinks, for the first time, that she could live here with them forever if she must.

None of them know how much time has passed since they arrived here, least of all her, but it sure as hell feels like an eternity. At first, she could barely withstand the idea of living here for months with the intention of being rescued as soon as possible, but now...

She brings Sarah into an embrace tight enough to force the air from their lungs.

"Pogue for life," she echoes back with her face buried into the salt-scented tresses of dirty blonde hair cascading over her tan shoulders.

Would it be crazy of her to think that this is where they're meant to be? That they're her family and this place she has fantasized about escaping is now their home?

After all, the lush island provides everything they need to sustain themselves with the rationing, scavenging, and hunting routines they adhere themselves to. Freshwater runs down the land in a stream from a water source uphill, plenty of different edible plants grow in the forest, and there's so much left of the expansive land to explore; it's perfect. Everything here is perfect for them, calling out to them to make it their home, but there's one little problem as of right now, and he's sitting across the fire behind her back.

Sarah's arms squeeze around her shoulders once to bring her in even closer.

"Thank you for saving him," her voice is so hushed, Y/N can hardly hear it with her lips brushing the shell of her ear to whisper into it, "I'm not gonna get all mushy with you right now, but I don't know what I would've done if"—Sarah's breath hitches in her throat, and she shakes her head—"I just wanted to thank you."

When they pull apart, Y/N is looking back at her with a knowing expression, one that says everything she can't in the presence of the others, and Sarah can't help but mirror it.

It isn't long before the blonde-haired beauty is whisked away by her boyfriend to help him cook the crabs they caught closer to shore after their encounter with the shark. Not wanting to swim out or risk slipping off the rocks again with the dead fish promising to lure more predators to their area for the next week or so, they settled for hunting for shellfish and making good use of the fruits they find growing in wild abundance in the forest.

The night ticks away in swiftly passing minutes thanks to the humorous company of the people around her.

She nearly chokes on a mouthful of banana as Cleo tells a story from before she met them, when she used to live in Nassau and work jobs with Terence and Stubbs on ships. For such new additions to the group, they both fit surprisingly well with the lifelong childhood friends that sit around and banter with such ease together.

They talk, laugh, dance, and eat together, and there are moments when she feels happier than ever. There are moments exactly like when John B lifted her up and made her giggle at how their friends cheered on her behalf in indulgence of the silly "ceremony" they did, half out of boredom and half out of gratitude for what she did. But then she is reminded of the man sitting on the outskirts of the group with his features hardened into an expression of contemplation she wishes she could decode.

The night breeze feels heavenly on her perpetually overexposed skin. It blows into the fire and allows it to swell from the oxygen supply, crackling and popping embers out every so often like the spark of the zippo lighter JJ fidgets with in his restless hands. The movement attracts her wandering eyes while they should be focused on Cleo and Kie dancing around the fire with boisterous laughter while Sarah and Pope sing for them.

She keeps herself honed in on the opening and closing of the lighter under the guidance of his ring-clad fingers for the next minute or so.

They may have been pitting themselves against each other since they met, but that doesn't mean she doesn't know him well. If anything, the keen attention that her old hatred for him forced her to keep on him made her memorize everything there is to know. And she surely has picked up on the nervous habit of him playing with the lighter whenever he's thinking, whenever there's something crawling under his skin that he can't piece together.

He sits with his back to her, facing out toward the ocean so all she can see is the hand he uses to flick the lighter open and shut with. With a quick glance at the rest of their friends to see if any of them are watching or wanting to speak with her, she pushes herself up from the log and dusts her sandy palms on her shirt.

The tracks of her footsteps lead around the corner of the driftwood he rests against until her feet appear, sunken into the sand in front of him. It takes a lot of control to not allow himself to follow up the length of her body, panning up along her legs until he sees that infuriatingly tenderhearted set of eyes looking down at him.

However, he doesn't have a choice in looking when her hand outstretches in a silent invitation. His first glimpse of her in the last half-hour shows her jerking her chin in the direction of the beach curving around the bend of the island.

This morning, he probably would've taken her up on the offer. He would've done anything to get a few minutes alone with her, but now he can't see past his anger and doesn't know why. He doesn't know why it hasn't calmed yet, but, in truth, it has more to do with him than it does her idiotic yet brave decision to fight off a shark today. Trust him, it still has a lot to do with the idiotic shark thing, but the rest is lost in translation for him.

"Not in the mood," he dismisses her.

Her brows furrow and form a crease between them as she tries to find something to say but comes up with nothing. At least not until it clicks with her what he thought she was trying to do by inviting him to walk with her.

The last time they went off on their own together, it ended in an explosive encounter they have yet to erase from their minds. It's what greets them whenever they close their eyes for a second too long, existing in their wildest daydreams and fantasies whenever they have a spare moment to themselves. Hell, he can't stop thinking about it even when he's already occupied. It was the reason why he didn't catch any fish this morning before the incident that made him pissed at her in the first place. He couldn't stop thinking of her.

"Oh," she murmurs and starts to kneel down until her knees are sinking into the sand the same way she did when patching up his leg. Her eyes peek over his shoulder to ensure the others didn't hear them—"That wasn't what I meant...I was just wondering if you wanted to talk about today. It must have been a lot to process, since he's your best friend and all, and—"

JJ snaps, unable to tolerate it anymore, and stands up from his spot on the sand to move away from her.

"You don't need act all therapist with me, okay? I'm fine, and I don't need you to fix me if that's what you wanted. Today was fine. Everything's fine, so let it go."

Her mouth opens and closes like a fish with a loss for words. For the second time in the span of a minute, she is grasping blindly for something to say in the wake of him shocking her to silence. He's starting to walk past her but she doesn't let him. Her hand shoots out to stop him and holds onto his arm to turn him back despite his rudeness.

Underneath it all, her concern touches him deeply. It shouldn't trigger a reaction like this in him, so why does it? What about today set him off? He hasn't been this genuinely angry with her since before the hunt for the gold began, before she started to blend into their friend group and establish herself as one of them.

"Woah, woah, woah," she says, "I never said that. I thought that you needed someone to talk to. You know, as a friend."

Their friends start to notice their interaction tensing up now. Before, they didn't pick up on her stepping away for a second to check on him. Now, it's impossible to ignore what unfolds hardly six steps from where they watch as slyly as they can. The two of them haven't had a conversation as cold as this one in months, and what he says next takes it to a place that freezes over the connection they made last night and shatters the warm place it held in her heart.

He scoffs.

"We're not friends. If you think you gotta act different 'cause you threw yourself at me last night, don't bother. You hate me and I hate you. That's how it is."

No nicknames, jokes, or anything to act as a buffer, just cruelty. Rejection.

Though they truly were trying to pretend like they weren't paying attention, every single one of their friends stops and stares. A chorus of hushed reactions sound off from across the fire, and the faint sound of Kie muttering, "Oh shit," is the first thing to reach their ears. It's needless to say that none of them could've expected something so callous to come from him, not after what they saw when they ran up to them on the peninsula this morning.

With the way he was holding her then, doting on her and cradling her face between his hands even in the midst of his anger at what she did, they sooner expected the pair to admit they're dating than have a blowout like this.

In the delayed seconds it takes for her to realize what the fuck he just said to her, he watches her face shift from a look of concern to sadness, to flush-faced embarrassment, then finally to anger. Her teeth grind together, nostrils flaring on her inhale, and in one quick moment, she comes to a conclusion within herself.

She reaches up to rip the handmade crown of vibrant flowers off her head with flames to match the camp fire flaring up in her eyes for him. Before she can do anything, he already knows he crossed a line, if not multiple lines. It's evident in everything he sees, from the hurt look on her face to the force with which she shoves the crown into the center of his chest to send him stumbling back a few steps. Just like yesterday, except it couldn't be any more different.

"Fuck. You." She spits the words as though they're venomous, and he almost shrinks away under the intensity of her stare, “Go find somewhere else to sleep tonight, 'cause it sure as hell isn't gonna be with me."

Petals flutter out upon impact against his solid chest and float peacefully to the sand around his feet as he watches her turn on her heels and storm off toward their hut. Though, after what he did and what she said to him as a goodbye, it isn't really theirs anymore, is it? At least not for tonight, tomorrow, or the next day until he finds a way to make her hear him out for an apology.

He stands there, frozen, the entire time he watches her leave. Nothing can move him from the spot, not even Sarah knocking her shoulder against his with a pointed glare on her way past to follow her into the moonlit darkness.

He doesn't even resist the disappointed looks he gets, or the shoulder check from Sarah. This time, he deserves it. He deserves every ounce of their judgment. All she was trying to do was make sure he was okay and he was too consumed in his unreleased frustration from today to see it. And, in a way, he's still frustrated over it, but it's greatly overshadowed by the guilt seeping through him.

The shadowy shapes of the two girls disappear into the small hut further down the beach, and JJ is left with nothing to do but look down at the flower crown clutched to his chest in regret.

Tag List: @gabiatthedisco, @fangirlvoice, @black-syren, @apparrio, @particularcth, @planetdemon, @idk-ijustworkhere, @krisphann, @astrydis, @k-k0129, @zarahsloves, and @stilesflannels.

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank smut #outer banks #obx #fanfiction #obx2 #this fic is so over the top and silly but I love it 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

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youryanderedaddy · 3 years ago

Text

Love Fuel

Summary: You were Jason’s first love before you broke his heart and rejected him. It’s all your fault that he can’t move on.

Tw: female reader, obsessive behavior, incel behavior, nice guy behavior, self - hatred, threats of non-con, implied non - con, implied masturbation, bullying based on appearance (not reader), deregatory language, kidnapping, misogyny, generalizations, stalking

this is a hot mess but its 1 am and i am tired, ik that incels are bad irl (obviously), but this is fiction and I kinda wanted to explore the dynamic and shit.

Everyone used to call him JJ or The-Big-Jay back in high school. Well, most of the time his classmates weren’t really calling out to him or even talking to him, the names were whispered behind his back, after he had just passed the hallway, or on bad days - right to his face. The jocks, these dumb motherfuckers, would beat him up, mock him for whatever stupid reasons they had chosen to use as an excuse to torment the smaller and weaker. The popular girls would giggle like brainless bimbos as Kyle or Brad or any other football player stole his glasses or continuously punched him in the guts until he threw up all over the floor. Even the nerds, the kids at the bottom of the school hierarchy, messed with Jason from time to time when they wanted to feel the oh - so desired rush of power they so rarely managed to experience.

Looking back, Jason could see why his classmates hated him so much - he was everything that society deemed as wrong and unattractive. He was thin, pale, “scrawny” as the others called him, on the shorter side, and on top of that the teen was terribly shy and introverted, never having the guts to stand up to his bullies or even tell someone about the abuse. The male spent most of his free time at home, playing hours upon hours of video games, watching anime and reading books he was simply too young to understand or look critically at. As he grew older, the man began to view the world as it trully was - a dark, miserable place that ate up sore losers like him. Men were primitive and foolish, which somehow managed to soften their faults. Women, on the other hand, were calculative and manipulative, greedy and sinful. His whole life they had done nothing but reject him when he needed love and support the most. Of course, there were many other reason why the brunette detested the weaker sex. In his eyes women were evil two - faced sluts, showing off their bodies yet acting innocent and hurt once someone finally decided to use them for the only thing they were actually good for.

But you Jason hated the most. You reminded him that no matter how much he hated the outside world, he would always hate himself the most. He had to admit you were pretty, painfully so, with a perfect little body to match your looks and a sweet sugary smile that almost deceived him years ago. As much as the man regretted his weakness, he had fallen right into your trap at the time.

You weren’t the most popular girl, but you had your fair share of friends, all nice and loyal like puppies. You weren’t the smartest either, but unlike the other stupid giggling sluts you always tried to do your best. You were beautiful just like them but you were actually kind to the pathetic bullied kid no one else bothered to acknowledge even existed outside of being a punching bag. You always asked him whether he was alright and often took him to the infirmary when he looked paler and sicker than usual. You talked to him as if he was a normal human being and despite the initial doubt, Jason appreciated it.

It was the last day of your senior year when the teen finally gained the courage to confess. He was shaking the whole time and by the end of his little speech there were small tears in the corner of his eye. You were the first girl the male cared about, the first one to show him kindness, to offer him friendship without asking for something in return. You were the only one who could make him feel deserving of love, worthy of affection. And then you took it all away in a matter of seconds.

“I am sorry, bud.” You had said that day after giving him a half - hearted hug and an apologetic smile, that started to seem more and more like a mocking grin the longer the teen started at you. “I already have a boyfriend, but I am really flattered. I am sure that you will find a lovely girl once you start college.” You had added quickly, cheerfully, rubbing the salt all over his wounds, honey dripping from your plump red lips. He had wanted to kiss them, bruise them, bite them until your stupid lying mouth was filled with blood. Obviously you didn’t have a boyfriend or he would have known by now, he stalked your social media religiously after all. Even if you had one, he probably treated you like shit. And how could you even suggest him finding another woman? As if he wanted any of the stupid money - grabbing sluts out there. As if some of them could replace you.

The boy was too furious to form a proper response besides “Fuck you, bitch”. His cheeks turned red and he didn’t realise that the bitter words had escaped his lips before he could stop them, then his legs took him far away from that shithole of a school. He didn’t manage to see your reaction before running away but it didn’t matter anymore. You were just like the others.

***

That day Jason swore to show you just how small and insignificant you had made him feel. He wanted to see you crumble, cry and beg for forgiveness, desperate for his love but never good enough to get it. The man formed a plan to change himself and come back for you once he had erased each and every trace of his past. The brunette came to terms with his terrible social anxiety and decided that he needed to gain social abilities more than anything. That’s why, as much as he dreamt of working from home as a boring programmer with an even more boring, but flexible working schelude, the male chose to study something that involved a lot more human interactions. The next step was to hit the gym for the first time and get a monthly subscription. It wasn’t hard to see that females nowadays liked brain - dead athletes with defined jawline and cheekbones, toned chests and strong muscled bodies, so if he wanted to impress you, he had to look his best. It wasn’t easy at first - it felt like everyone in the fitness salon had their eyes on his weak frame, laughing and pointing their fingers at his imperfections, but things gradually got better as time went on. The trainings became easier to get through and from time to time they even helped the man forget about his loneliness and nihilism.

Jason soon returned to his old habbit of spending hours looking through your accounts - Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, he knew all of your usernames, each post, every picture and text. He couldn’t believe how much of a desperate attention whore you had become over the years. The male remembered you in your long brown skirts, cozy sweatshirts and pure-white shirts, all the gray buttons closed to the very top, blushing, laughing, smiling like the adorable Goody-two-shoes you were. Now you were smirking seductively in every photo, overconfident and vibrant, flaunting your tits for every man to see and wearing tight little dresses that barelly covered your ass combined with heels so high and sharp they could be used as a weapon. You were such a stupid slut it was disgusting, and he couldn’t stop himself from jerking off every single time he saw your pretty little face on the screen. He wanted to cum down your throat so badly it was ridiculous, and even after knowing that you had probably already had hundreds of cocks shoved deep inside your pussy, the brunette still wished to see you split open on his, taking his lenght like a good little cocksleeve.

***

The moment when he could see you again finally came. How many years had passed since graduation - five, ten, fifthteen? It hardly mattered. Jason was successful, at last. The male had his own business that was doing surprisingly well, there were some guys from the gym he could call friends and the best thing, he looked absolutely unrecognizable. There was nothing left of the tiny scrawny kid with quiet voice that everyone stepped over, he was now replaced by a strong capable man, determined to get what was rightfully his and his alone.

It wasn’t hard to find you since the brunette knew everything about you - where your job was, what time you finished, how long it took you to go home and what path you took. You lived alone and worked as a barista in a small local cafe even now that you had finished your studies in your dream faculty. Turns out the princess wasn’t so great and smart after all, having to resort to working a minimal - wage job day and night just to be able to pay her rent. Jason was absolutely delighted though, he loved your stupid dead - end job and your endless struggles to survive in the materialistic world honestly and fairly without selling yourself like a common whore. On one hand the male was happy that you had clung onto your last bit of innocence and on the other your pitiful lifestyle gave him the chance to snatch you away much easier. And that’s exactly what he did.

***

You woke up confused just like he had expected, bombarding him with questions, asking him who he was was, begging him to let you go, to at least explain what’s happening. You were so dumb, but God, you were still so pretty, if not prettier than before. You cried so beautifully when Jason told you you belonged to him now and you cried even more when he slammed his cold rough lips over yours in a deep wet kiss. You whimpered and whined while the male sucked on your lower lip and bit down, good, he wanted it to hurt. The stalker couldn’t wait to be inside you, he couldn’t hold back anymore.

He climbed on top of you and pinned your wrists to the floor before tying them up with delicate red rope and tightening it. It wasn’t like the man was scared of you slipping away and hurting him, you were too weak and tiny to stand a chance against his years of power - lifting and muscle - training anyways, he just wanted you to be as uncomfortable and squirmish as possible. Your tormentor wished for you to be in worse pain than he had been during his youthful years, and he knew exactly what to do. Next thing you knew Jason had ripped your dress apart, leaving you vulnerable and exposed in just your plain old panties and bra. Cold shivers ran down your spine when the chilly air hit your naked flesh and you finally realized there wasn’t getting away from this. You had to stay there, limbs bound together, unable to move or fight back, the stranger’s hands caressing your neck before moving dangerously close to your clothed breasts. You felt so sick you were going to throw up for sure if your abductor didn’t step back so you decided to use your last resort.

“Jason, please stop!” You screamed out of the blue, forcing the brunette to freeze instantly at the use of his birth name. You had already called him a pervert and a psycho which didn’t seem to faze him, but the name clearly caught him off guard. This only seemed to prove your theory further - the man really was your former classmate, despite the only similarity between them being the dark distant look in his eyes. “I beg you, don’t hurt me!” You continued, hoping to at least buy yourself more time before the assault took place.

He gulped loudly and stared at your quivering form. The impossible had happened, you had recognized him and now together with fear, there was also pity in your gaze, the one emotion your captor absolutely despised. You used to be the only one who pitied him, and even now that he was bigger, better and stronger than before, you still had the guts to pity him. It drove him insane but any attempt to hurt or touch you was fruitless now - your soft skin was suddenly burning his fingers like hellfire.

“You must be thinking that I am a monster.” Jason started out dryly, chuckling bitterly, humorlessly even. He clenched his fists unconsciously and brought them to the floor in a fit of rage, missing your head by mere inches. Your heart was beating like crazy and you only hoped the mandman couldn’t hear it. “A freak.” The man spat out the word like it was a curse and for a split second his eyes softened before turning into two spinning torches. “Right?” You were sure that if looks could kill, his would have you dead by the end of the night so you quickly nodded your head no.

“You are lying to me again, pretty girl.” The brunette replied feisty, "pretty” rolling off his tongue like an insult. Then he broke into hoarse maniac laugher and lowered his head so his face leveled up with yours, so close you could feel his warm breath on your tear - stained cheek. “When I am done with you, you wouldn’t be so pretty anymore, darling.” Your captor growled and attacked your neck, sinking his teeth deep into the flesh. “You will see exaclty how ugly my love is.”

#yandere #yandere oneshot #male yandere x reader #male yandere #yandere oc #yancore #yandere male x reader #yandere oc x reader #yandere smut #yandere x you

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