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fangdokja · 1 month ago

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You’re the light he vowed to keep, even if he has to snuff it out first.

❤︎ Synopsis. You’re trapped in the suffocating grip of a man who loves you just enough to destroy you—until you’re nothing but his broken, devoted possession. A love that feels more like a curse than a choice.

♡ Book. Forbidden Fruits: Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Pro Hero! Katsuki x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Pro Hero! Shouto x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Villain! Deku x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Dabi x Fem. Reader

♡ Headcanons. Ruined, Owned, Loved. - Part 1

♡ Word Count. 3,897

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, non con, possessiveness, psychological manipulation and conditioning, suggestive themes, fear play, emotional manipulation and abuse, hints at rough play and sex, psychological and emotional trauma, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non con kissing and touching, forced relationship, BDSM, manipulation of circumstances, threats, mature language, degradation, verbal abuse, kidnapping

♡ Note. Due to Tumblr policy, all characters are all of age.

♡ Pro Hero! Bakugo Katsuki.

You knew better than to try running. The moment you felt his presence—a simmering furnace of fury and control—it was already too late. He didn’t announce his arrival with words; his footsteps were enough, sharp and deliberate, heavy boots hitting the floor like a countdown to something inevitable. Bakugo’s voice was never soft; it was a serrated edge, ripping through the air as if he had a right to every breath you took. And when he spoke, it wasn’t a question.

“Thought you could get away, huh?” His laugh was cruel, low, and full of condescension. “You’re dumber than I thought. But that’s fine. I like you stupid. Makes you easier to handle.”

His hands were everywhere—calloused, hot, burning like the aftermath of an explosion. You hated how they felt on your skin, hated the way your body betrayed you, trembling when he pressed you against the cold, unyielding surface of the wall. He’d whisper things in your ear, not because he cared, but because he wanted to hear you choke on your protests. He fed on resistance. It made him more determined, more ruthless, as if he needed to prove a point.

“You think anyone else could handle you? Take care of you? Fucking useless brat. I’m the only one who knows what you need.”

There was no romance in his touch, only dominance, a need to mark, to conquer. His lips were blistering against your neck, leaving bruises that would bloom dark and ugly—a reminder of his claim. He reveled in the small, broken noises you made, each gasp a sign of his victory. To Bakugo, love wasn’t soft. It was brutal, raw, and destructive. And you were the perfect canvas for his fire.

———

Bakugo Katsuki was never the kind of man to hold back. Even now, with the faint scent of charred air clinging to him and his gaze sharp enough to carve through steel, restraint was a foreign concept. He didn’t need to be gentle, didn’t care for the nuances of tenderness or quiet affection. His love was a volatile thing, violent and consuming, a wildfire that left nothing untouched. And you, unfortunate as you were, had become the fuel to his blaze.

“You don’t get it, do you?” His voice was a low growl, the kind that sent shivers down your spine for all the wrong reasons. He leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear, each word deliberate, dripping with venomous intent. “You’re mine. Every single part of you. That fucked-up little brain, those stupid tears, even the way you fucking breathe—you don’t get to decide any of it anymore. I do.”

His hands were unforgiving, each touch an assertion of control, as though he was daring your body to defy him. He wasn’t satisfied with merely holding you. He needed to own you, to etch himself into your very marrow, to ensure that every fleeting thought you had began and ended with him. Calloused fingers dug into your flesh, searing heat radiating off his palms like the embers of a smoldering fire. His grip wasn’t just tight—it was possessive, like he was claiming his place under your skin, branding you without the need for flames.

“You’re so fucking fragile,” he sneered, his lips curling into a smirk that held no kindness. “Can’t even put up a proper fight. What would you even do without me? Huh?”

There was something almost mocking in the way he spoke, but beneath it lay a darker truth: Bakugo didn’t just want you compliant—he wanted you broken, a hollowed-out shell with only his name to fill the emptiness. He thrived on the power he held over you, the way your trembling body responded to him no matter how much your mind screamed otherwise.

His kisses weren’t tender. They were bruising, feral, the kind that left you breathless for all the wrong reasons. Teeth scraped against your skin, leaving faint indentations that would fade just enough for him to replace them. His mouth trailed lower, each bite deliberate, as though he were carving himself into you with the edge of his teeth.

“Don’t bother crying,” he hissed, his voice sharp enough to draw blood. “Won’t do you any good. Just makes me want to ruin you more.”

There was no hesitation in his movements, no room for uncertainty. Bakugo wasn’t a man who second-guessed himself, especially not when it came to you. Every touch, every whispered insult, every moment was carefully calculated, designed to tear you apart and rebuild you in his image. To him, love was destruction, and the thought of anyone else laying claim to you was enough to send his temper spiraling out of control.

“If anyone even looks at you wrong, I’ll blow them to pieces,” he said, his tone deadly serious. “And you’ll watch. You’ll see exactly what happens when someone tries to take what’s mine.”

The threat wasn’t empty. You knew Bakugo meant every word, his rage barely contained, simmering beneath the surface like magma waiting to erupt. And yet, there was something disturbingly intimate in the way he held you, his grip firm but steady, as though he believed he was the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely.

“You’ll thank me one day,” he muttered, his voice softer now but no less menacing. “You’ll see that I’m the only one who gives a damn about you. The only one who’s willing to do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”

His idea of safety was suffocating, a cage made of fire and ash, but there was no escaping it. Bakugo Katsuki wasn’t a man who let go—not when he’d already decided that you were his, body and soul. And he’d make sure you understood that, even if it meant breaking you into pieces and putting you back together again, over and over, until the only thing you recognized was him.

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♡ Pro Hero! Todoroki Shouto.

Shouto was a contradiction: ice and fire, tenderness and cruelty. When he stared at you, it wasn’t with love but with obsession, the kind that stripped you bare and left you exposed under his cold, calculating gaze. He was too quiet, his presence unnerving, his dual-colored eyes a predator’s trap. There was something unnervingly patient about him, as though he had all the time in the world to break you.

“You look so scared,” he murmured, voice soft enough to make your blood run cold. “But you don’t have to be. I’ll take care of you.”

His fingers were gloved, precise, as if he didn’t want to dirty himself with you. But when he touched you, it was deliberate, calculated, his hands mapping every inch of your body with clinical detachment. It wasn’t passion that drove him—it was control, the need to see you submit, to strip you of your autonomy until you were nothing but a doll for him to play with.

“You’re mine,” he said, his tone flat, matter-of-fact. “You’ll understand that soon enough.”

Shouto’s cruelty was subtle, wrapped in a veneer of kindness that made you second-guess your fear. But it was there, lurking beneath the surface, a monster waiting to strike. He didn’t raise his voice; he didn’t need to. His presence alone was enough to suffocate you. When he leaned in, his breath cold against your skin, you knew there was no escape.

———

Shouto Todoroki was meticulous in everything he did, and when it came to you, that precision was unnervingly intimate. He didn’t rush, didn’t let his emotions spill out in reckless waves like others might. No, Shouto was a slow, deliberate storm, his control more terrifying than any outburst could ever be. He didn’t need to shout or rage; his silence was its own weapon, slicing through you with a cold, surgical exactness that left no room for resistance.

“Do you hate me?” he asked once, his voice a quiet hum of curiosity. His mismatched eyes searched yours, not for an answer, but for the flicker of defiance he knew wouldn’t last. “It doesn’t matter. Hate me if you like. It changes nothing.”

His touch was clinical at first, his gloved fingers tracing your skin as though he were studying the way you flinched beneath him. It wasn’t lust that drove him, nor even anger—it was obsession, a need so deeply rooted it had consumed every rational part of him. Shouto didn’t see you as a person anymore, not entirely. You were a puzzle, a possession, something delicate and fragile that belonged to him alone.

“I’ll keep you safe,” he murmured, his voice soothing despite the steel underneath. “Even if it means protecting you from yourself.”

There was a chilling detachment in the way he said it, as though your autonomy was a trivial obstacle he’d long since dismissed. Shouto wasn’t cruel for the sake of it; every act, every word, was deliberate, calculated to strip you of your defenses. He wanted you pliant, dependent, so deeply intertwined with him that the thought of leaving felt like an impossibility.

When he kissed you, it was neither tender nor rushed. His lips were cold, an eerie contrast to the heat that followed, a slow burn that made your skin prickle and your heart race. He took his time, savoring the way you trembled under his touch, the way your breath hitched when his hand slid to the nape of your neck. Shouto didn’t rush his conquest. He was patient, methodical, the predator who knew his prey had nowhere to run.

“You’re so warm,” he said, almost to himself, as his fingers traced idle patterns across your skin. “It’s comforting. I think I’d destroy anyone who tried to take this from me.”

His dual nature made him unpredictable, a constant tightrope between icy detachment and blistering intensity. There were moments when he’d cradle your face in his hands, his expression almost tender, as though he were something close to human. But even then, his words betrayed him.

“You can cry if you want,” he said, his tone soft, almost gentle. “I don’t mind. It only makes you prettier.”

He didn’t see your fear as an obstacle—it was part of the process, a necessary step in molding you into what he wanted. Your tears were proof of his power, a testament to the control he wielded with such terrifying ease. And when his hands roamed, when his lips found the sensitive curve of your neck, there was no escaping the suffocating weight of his presence.

Shouto’s love wasn’t fiery or wild; it was smothering, a glacier slowly encasing you until you couldn’t breathe without him. His cruelty was subtle, woven into the fabric of his obsession, a constant reminder that you were his and his alone.

“You’ll see,” he whispered, his breath a cold ghost against your ear. “This is what’s best for you. You’ll understand eventually. You’ll thank me.”

He didn’t rush to break you; he savored it, each crack in your defenses another victory in his quiet, relentless campaign. To Shouto, love was control, possession, and the quiet certainty that you would never, ever belong to anyone else.

And he would make sure of that, no matter what it took.

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♡ Villain! Midoriya Izuku (Deku).

There was nothing left of the boy you once knew. His smile, once kind and genuine, was now twisted, a mockery of the hero he pretended to be. Midoriya was no longer a savior—he was a predator, and you were his prey. He didn’t hide his intentions, didn’t bother with pretenses.

“You’re so perfect,” he whispered, his voice dripping with adoration that felt more like a curse. “I’ve been watching you for so long. You have no idea how much I’ve done for you, how many people I’ve destroyed just to keep you safe.”

His hands were trembling, not with nerves but with excitement, the kind that came from finally obtaining something he’d coveted for so long. When he touched you, it was with reverence, as if you were a sacred object meant only for him. But there was nothing holy about the way he looked at you, his green eyes dark with hunger, his grin wide and unsettling.

“You’re scared,” he noted, almost amused. “That’s okay. You’ll learn to love me. You don’t have a choice.”

His kisses were rough, desperate, as if he needed to consume you, to devour every piece of you until there was nothing left. He didn’t care if you cried, didn’t care if you begged. In fact, he liked it. Your tears were proof of his power, of the hold he had over you.

———

Midoriya Izuku had always been obsessive, but the way his fixation on you consumed him was nothing short of monstrous. He no longer sought to save the world; no, his only goal was to possess you entirely, to twist you into something that could never leave him. And he’d succeeded, hadn’t he? You were here, trapped under the weight of his adoration, his hands gripping you with a strength that bordered on desperation.

“Do you know how long I’ve waited for this?” His voice was breathless, his green eyes wide and wild as they roved over you. He leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “You were always meant to be mine. Every step I’ve taken, every choice I’ve made—it was all for you.”

There was something unhinged in his tone, a mixture of awe and madness that made your stomach churn. He didn’t see you as a person anymore. You were his salvation, his obsession, the only thing that mattered in his twisted, crumbling world. And he would do anything to keep you by his side.

“I’m not a bad person,” he murmured, his fingers trailing down your arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “Everything I’ve done—it was for us. They tried to take you from me, tried to ruin what we have, but I stopped them. I’ll always stop them.”

His hands were steady now, his grip firm as he held you in place. There was no escape, no room for resistance. Izuku didn’t need chains to bind you; his sheer presence was enough to suffocate you, to remind you that you were entirely at his mercy.

“You think I don’t notice?” he asked, his grin widening as his gaze bore into yours. “The way you look at me, the way your body reacts even when you’re scared. It’s okay to feel that way. I want you to feel that way. I want every part of you—your fear, your tears, your love. It’s all mine.”

When he kissed you, it wasn’t tender. It was bruising, all-consuming, a chaotic clash of teeth and tongues that left you gasping for air. His hands wandered, exploring with a fervor that bordered on worship. He treated your body like a shrine, something to be revered and defiled in equal measure.

“You’re trembling,” he noted, his voice soft but laced with dark amusement. “Don’t worry, it’s normal. You’re overwhelmed, but that’s how it should be. I want to overwhelm you. I want to be the only thing you think about, the only thing you need.”

Izuku’s affection was a double-edged sword, as sharp as it was suffocating. He spoke to you as if he were a hero, as if he truly believed that his actions were justified, that his love for you made the horrors he committed excusable. But his gaze, dark and hungry, betrayed the truth. He wasn’t protecting you—he was consuming you, piece by piece, until there was nothing left of the person you once were.

“Every scar, every bruise—it’s proof that you’re mine,” he said, his fingers tracing the marks he’d left behind. “Don’t be ashamed of them. Wear them with pride. They mean I love you.”

There was no arguing with him, no reasoning with the man who had long since abandoned morality in favor of his obsession. Izuku didn’t see his actions as cruel; he saw them as necessary. To him, you were the center of the universe, and he would destroy anyone who dared to challenge his claim on you.

“Don’t cry,” he whispered, his thumb brushing away a tear that had slipped down your cheek. “I hate seeing you upset. But if it’s for me, then… maybe it’s okay. Just this once.”

His smile was soft, almost tender, but there was no comfort in it. It was the smile of a man who had nothing left to lose, a man who had decided that you were his salvation and his damnation all at once. And no matter how much you struggled, no matter how much you begged, Izuku wouldn’t let you go. He couldn’t.

“You’re mine,” he said again, his voice steady, unwavering. “You’ve always been mine. And I’ll do whatever it takes to keep it that way.”

To him, love wasn’t about freedom or choice. It was possession, control, the unrelenting certainty that you would never belong to anyone else. And as his hands tightened around you, his lips ghosting over your skin, you realized that there was no escape from the man who had turned his obsession into a twisted form of devotion.

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♡ Dabi (Todoroki Touya).

Dabi was a shadow, a ghost who lingered just out of reach until it was too late. His presence was suffocating, a combination of smoke and ash that clung to your skin like a brand. He didn’t waste time with pleasantries.

“You didn’t think you could actually hide from me, girl?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly, filled with a dark amusement that made your stomach turn. “I’m not some fool who’s gonna let you slip through my fingers.”

His touch was rough, his hands scarred and burned, but he didn’t care if it hurt. In fact, he liked it, liked the way you flinched under his grip, the way your breath hitched when he leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear.

“You look so pretty when you’re scared,” he murmured, his tone almost tender. “Makes me wanna ravage you even more.”

Dabi wasn’t gentle. He didn’t know how to be. His kisses were bruising, his teeth sharp against your skin, leaving marks that would take weeks to fade. He was possessive, his grip unyielding as if he were afraid you’d disappear if he let go. But there was a sadness in his eyes, a flicker of something broken and desperate that only made him more dangerous.

“You’re mine now,” he said, his voice steady, final. “And I don’t share.”

For Dabi, love was destruction.

And you were his favorite thing to destroy.

———

Dabi’s love was a slow burn, a smoldering fire that crept closer with every passing moment, until it devoured you whole. He didn’t rush, didn’t bother with theatrics. When he claimed you, it was with the inevitability of something that had been decided long before you had a chance to resist.

“You didn’t stand a chance,” he said, his voice a husky drawl that carried the weight of certainty. His blue eyes, bright and unrelenting, bore into yours with a heat that scorched you from the inside out. “You’ve always been mine since the moment I saw you. You just didn’t know it yet.”

His touch was calloused, rough from years of self-destruction, and when his hands gripped your wrists, the heat of his skin was a cruel reminder of his power. Dabi didn’t just want you—he wanted to consume you, to make you feel every ounce of his presence until you couldn’t think of anything else. His fingers left marks wherever they roamed, bruises that burned as if his flames had kissed you directly.

“You feel that?” he murmured, his breath warm against your neck as his rough lips ghosted over your skin. “That’s me. Burning into you. Marking you. You’ll never get rid of it. Never get rid of me.”

There was a possessiveness in his every movement, a desperate hunger that bordered on madness. He didn’t want your love—he demanded it, took it without permission, leaving no room for hesitation or doubt. His kisses were rough, searing, his teeth dragging against your lips as if he wanted to taste the fear that lingered there.

“I could burn this whole fucking world down,” he said, his voice low and dangerous, his grip tightening as his flames flickered to life. “But you? You’re the only thing I’d keep. The only thing worth saving.”

But his version of saving was suffocating, a cage built of fire and smoke that left no escape. Dabi wasn’t gentle, wasn’t kind. His love was destruction, raw and unfiltered, the kind that left you trembling beneath the weight of it. He didn’t care if you cried, if you begged for release. In fact, he thrived on it, the broken sound of your voice feeding the darkness that consumed him.

“Don’t cry, doll,” he said, his tone mockingly sweet as he wiped a tear from your cheek with his thumb. The heat of his touch lingered, a cruel reminder of the flames that simmered just beneath his skin. “You’re too pretty for that. Besides, it’s not like you can run. Where the hell would you go?

Dabi’s obsession was a monster in itself, a hungry, clawing thing that refused to let him rest. He needed you in a way that was almost pathetic, a desperate craving that he buried under layers of cruelty and bravado. But it slipped through the cracks sometimes, in the way his voice softened when he whispered your name, in the way his hands trembled just slightly when they traced the curve of your neck.

“You make me weak, you know that?” he confessed, his laugh a bitter, shattered thing as his grip on you tightened. “And I hate it. But I can’t stop. You’re in my head, under my skin. You’ve ruined me, so it’s only fair I ruin you too.”

To Dabi, love wasn’t about tenderness or trust. It was about control, possession, the unrelenting need to keep you by his side, no matter the cost. He didn’t see his actions as cruel—they were necessary, a means to an end. And if he had to break you to keep you, then so be it.

“You’ll get used to it,” he said, his grin sharp and dangerous as his lips brushed against yours. “This is how it’s gonna be. You and me, forever. You don’t get a say in it. You never did.”

There was no escape from him, no reprieve from the intensity of his obsession. Dabi wasn’t just a villain—he was a force of nature, an inferno that consumed everything in its path.

And you were his favorite thing to burn.

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spdrvyn · 2 months ago

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SOMETHING STUPID — [ wc: 1k. post-btsv. hurt/comfort ] in the aftermath of his downfall, miguel tries to cross the threshold to securing his sense of humanity. he doesn't get why you're here with him.

very much inspired by @spiderman2-99's post! wrote this instead of reviewing for my math final LOL. sorry for the inactivity but i hope this makes up for it :) also yes. the graphics are making a comeback

Gentleness never came naturally to Miguel.

Not to say that it has never been sparked in him before, because it most certainly has. With his past lovers, with Gabriella, with his other family members at the opportune moments, but that didn’t change that alien feeling that welled up inside of him when he tried his hardest to be, or when at the rarest times, he was met with softness on his own.

He’s believed for the longest time that whatever ounce of clemency remained in him would never see the light of day again and that he would suffer the rest of his living days in loneliness, punishment for his misdemeanors and mistakes. Long nights of being beaten down, brutalized, and even longer nights of making sure that no other person would experience what he did too. He would never be able to come back to that, from what has happened to him, and what he has done unto others in result of that.

But, on you? Tenderness looked like a dream on you. It’s a language that he knows you’re completely fluent in, especially now that he’s been heavily encouraged to take a brief suspension from his Spider Society duties ever since the debacle with the Spot and Miles Morales had been wrapped up.

Of course, you weren’t the first person to come by his place but he’s sure that it’s your visit that he will remember the most in the weeks to follow. How your love translates so easily into words and actions; he will never be able to perfect, he thinks. It comes in the form of fresh take-out for dinner, musings of how your day has been going to distract him from the dark whispers in his mind. Now, you line kisses from the scars on his arms to the lingering bruises on his knuckles.

And because he can never allow himself to fully melt under the affliction of your care, “You shouldn’t be here. This was supposed to be a punishment, I’m serving my time.”

You pause dispensing your affections for a moment to simply stare at him, he casts a despairing glance at you from how content you look to be in his presence. Because you shouldn’t be, but you just are. “What makes you think I’m rewarding you?” is your easy reply, “I’m doing what I want, because I can. I thought you’d understand that by now.”

“But I—”

“Do you regret what you did?”

Miguel blinks, taken aback by your sudden interrogation. “I— Yes. Very.”

“Are you going to do something that will make up for it and try not to do it again?”

“Of course, I will. I’ve already asked Peter and Jess on what I could say, bought gifts, and I plan to—”

Before he can begin to unravel the precise details of his redemption plan, you press a delicate finger to his plush lips. “That’s all I needed to know, Miguel.”

He sighs so heavily that it practically blows the air out of your lungs too, as he leans forward so that his head is perched on your chest, where he is comforted by the consistent thud of your heartbeat. Like moths to a flame, your fingertips find home on the curls at the back of his neck. He noses the veins close to your sternum and follows a trail up to the juncture of your shoulder, where he murmurs to you:

“I don’t get how it’s so easy for you,” You can feel his frustrated huff against your skin, “To do this. To love other people so easily.”

Only because Miguel had a language of his own too.

Destruction. It’s all he knows, and all he’ll ever know. When he was younger and naïve, he knew to do what you do now so eloquently. Now time has withered him, as the lines on his face grow deeper and his hairs become greyer, his love is misinterpreted for hatred, his passion mistaken for rage, or maybe all of those feelings were never so separate from each other after all. Still, if he is not a beast, like how people have seen him as, have understood him for, then why is he as depraved as one?

“Isn’t this love though?” Your voice rumbles against his cheek, “You love, so you put a blanket on me when I fall asleep in your office. You love, so you argue with Gwen when she goes off on her own on missions. You love, so you let Peter show you pictures of Mayday while you’re working when you can easily yell at him to get out. You love, so you let me bring you food, kiss you, and tell you corny, stupid things like this.”

Your deft hands cup his cheeks, lifting him off of his hiding spot in your neck and his arms slide around your waist because as much as he needs to, he can’t let go. He needs to, because he despises how pathetic you’ve made him. You’ve sanded his sharp edges and blown the dust off of the traditions set in his life from his traumas, and it definitely wasn’t easy because he has hurt you in an attempt to do the opposite, to save you from the rotten work that is taking care of him in any capacity, yet you’ve stayed and he’s let you stay. Maybe that’s how he’s loved you, all this time.

The warmth in your gaze emboldens him and he leans forward to press your lips together. It can barely be called a kiss, but your faces mold together and the feeling of it practically captures the stillness of one.

From how intangible the success of keeping you in his life is, it almost seems like the universe is making a joke and Miguel patiently waits for the punchline. He waits and waits, but it never comes. The border between his monstrosity and humanity blur the longer you stay around, he would have hated this, but he doesn’t. This, too, is love.

missed writing for him really badly... i've been so swamped with school work but being a diligent student is probably what miguel wants 🫡

#spiderman: across the spiderverse #across the spiderverse #spiderverse #atsv #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara x y/n #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 x you #spiderman 2099 x y/n #miguel o'hara fluff #miguel o’hara fluff

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morchilluv · 28 days ago

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Ghosts From the Past - Cho Hyun-Ju x Kim Young-Mi

Warnings: Angst, hints of drug use, smut!!! pre full transition, blow-job, throat-fucking hehe, cunnilingus

Synopsis: Cho Hyun-Ju and Kim Young-Mi met during the games. After getting out, they both lost touch with each other. But soon found each other once again through a support group for the survivors.

A/N: This was a request that I genuinely enjoyed writing. I wasn’t sure whether to do a pre or post full transition, so I might do both;) but it’s not for sure. Let me know if you would like that!

P.S: Sorry if the beginning seems like a lot.. I got too into it. But I added a line where things start to heat up if you would like to just jump right into it! I tried to make the smut equally as long:)

ੈ✩‧₊˚

Cho Hyun-Ju and Kim Young-Mi hadn’t known the other existed until the games. In the midst of that brutal, unforgiving world, they’d formed a bond—stronger than either of them had expected. But once the chaos was over, they lost touch. It wasn’t because they wanted to, but because they needed to, for their own sanity. In the aftermath, each had chosen to think with their heads instead of their hearts.

Hyun-Ju buried the memories of the games, and above all, she pushed Young-Mi to the back of her mind. There were too many things left unsaid between them, too many words and actions she regretted. Every time the urge to reach out flickered, the weight of their shared past held her back—the lies, the betrayals, the moments they’d never been able to confront. How could she face Young-Mi, knowing everything they had been through, without it all coming crashing down?

Young-Mi had waited. And waited. Weeks passed, but Hyun-Ju’s silence never broke. In the stillness, she began to wonder if maybe she had just been a ghost in Hyun-Ju’s life. Perhaps the other woman had found a way to move on without her, had found peace in leaving the past behind. After all, wasn’t Hyun-Ju always the stronger one? The one who had it together, the one who didn’t need anyone else to survive?

The circle of chairs was small but comforting. Hyun-Ju settled into her seat, forcing herself to focus on the facilitator. She tried to avoid looking around, though she could feel her heart pounding in her chest. The others were speaking—some sharing their feelings, others recounting their daily struggles since they’d escaped the games. But her mind was elsewhere.

The door opened softly, and the quiet shuffle of footsteps cut through her concentration. Hyun-Ju froze, instinctively turning her head. And there, standing in the doorway, was Kim Young-Mi.

Their eyes met for a split second. It was as if time stopped—an overwhelming mixture of surprise, confusion, and the faintest hint of relief washed over Hyun-Ju. Young-Mi looked just as startled, her gaze flicking briefly to the floor before she took a seat across from Hyun-Ju. Neither of them spoke. The room felt smaller.

The facilitator, a woman in her forties with soft eyes and a soothing voice, smiled warmly, her expression not unlike that of a mother. "I know it's hard, but welcome. This is a safe space. We’re all here to listen and support one another. Who would like to share first today?"

Hyun-Ju tried to focus on the group—on the faces of strangers who, like her, had lived through the hell of the games. But her mind kept drifting back to Young-Mi. Back to when she had tried—tried so hard—to help her, only to be pushed away.

After a moment, the facilitator turned to Hyun-Ju, her eyes gentle. "How about you, Cho Hyun-Ju? Would you like to share anything today?"

Hyun-Ju’s throat tightened. It had been so long since she had let herself speak about what had happened. She looked at Young-Mi for a moment, but quickly turned her gaze back down to her lap.

"I’m… I’m still trying to figure out what to say," she said, her voice low and hoarse. "Some days, I feel like I’m drowning in the past. I know I shouldn’t, but I keep thinking about what happened… What we went through. And I feel like I failed. Like I failed to help someone who needed me." She paused, swallowing back the bitterness that surged in her throat. "I tried, you know? I tried so hard to help someone I thought I could save. But they didn’t want my help. And maybe… maybe I should have seen that sooner."

Her eyes flicked briefly toward Young-Mi, who was staring down at the floor, her fingers clenched tightly around the edge of her chair. The silence that followed was deafening.

The facilitator nodded gently, recognizing the unspoken pain. “Sometimes, when we try to help someone, it feels like they don’t want us, or like they’re pushing us away. But the truth is, sometimes it’s not about us. It’s about them, and what they’re going through. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”

Finally, it was Young-Mi’s turn. Her voice was calm when she spoke, but there was a tremor beneath it, like she was struggling to keep it together.

"I’m… Kim Young-Mi," she began, her gaze flickering to Hyun-Ju for just a moment, before looking down. "I don’t really know what I’m supposed to say. It’s hard for me to talk about the things I’ve done. The choices I made just to stay alive… and the people I left behind. I thought about reaching out after we got out, but I was afraid I’d just make things worse. And I guess… I guess I didn’t want to admit that I still needed help."

The vulnerability in Young-Mi’s voice made Hyun-Ju’s heart ache. She wanted to reach out, to say something—anything—to make her feel less alone. But her throat closed up again, the words stuck inside. The facilitator offered a soft nod. "Thank you, Young-Mi. That’s a powerful admission. It’s not easy to acknowledge how much we need help, even when we think we’re doing okay."

As the meeting came to a close, the facilitator asked everyone to stay if they wanted to talk more, or just to hang around for support. Hyun-Ju stayed seated for a long moment, unsure of whether she was ready to face the ghosts of the past—especially the ones standing so close.

Young-Mi was motionless near the door, her posture stiff as though she were fighting some internal battle of her own. Hyun-Ju could tell she was waiting for something—for Hyun-Ju to leave, for her to approach, or maybe for the world to give them both some space. But whatever it was, Hyun-Ju wasn’t sure she was ready for it.

Hyun-Ju looked up, finding Young-Mi’s gaze for the briefest of moments. That look, that flicker of recognition, was enough to make her blood run cold. But something in it stopped her from leaving. Neither of them were walking away this time.

For a long moment, Hyun-Ju hesitated, torn between walking out and facing what had always been left unsaid. Then, almost reluctantly, she rose to her feet, her movements stiff and careful as if she were preparing for a battle she wasn’t sure she’d win.

The air felt different now, charged and thick with old wounds.

“You wanted to talk?” Hyun-Ju’s voice was raw, quieter than she intended, her breath catching as she spoke. She couldn’t quite look her in the eye just yet, but she knew Young-Mi heard her. There was no hiding anymore.

Young-Mi didn’t answer immediately, but after a long moment of hesitation, she stepped forward, closing the gap between them. “I—" Her voice faltered, the words catching in her throat. She shifted uncomfortably, her eyes flitting nervously around the room as if she could find some escape.

Hyun-Ju's patience was wearing thin. I’m not running from this, she thought, trying to steady herself. “What’s the point of standing here if you don’t even have the words?” she asked, her tone harder now.

Young-Mi flinched at the bite in Hyun-Ju’s voice but didn’t back away. She looked up, meeting Hyun-Ju’s gaze this time, though her eyes were filled with something she couldn’t quite place—regret? Guilt? Fear? It made Young Mi’s chest ache all over again.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Young-Mi whispered, her voice small, vulnerable in a way that felt unfamiliar. “I didn’t think you’d want to talk to me.”

The words stung, and Hyun-Ju clenched her jaw. Of course she didn’t want to talk to her. She hadn’t wanted to. But she couldn’t pretend it didn’t matter. She couldn’t pretend she wasn’t still hurting.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Hyun-Ju shot back, her voice trembling despite herself. “Because you couldn’t even be honest with me?” The sharpness of her words felt almost like a relief, like the anger and hurt had finally found an outlet. “You pushed me away. Every time I tried to reach out, you were gone. And I—" Her voice cracked, and for a second, she couldn’t continue. She wasn’t sure if it was because of the old pain or because of the truth she hadn’t dared to speak before.

Young-Mi stepped closer, her expression softening slightly. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she reached out, her hand trembling as if she wasn’t sure if she had the right to touch. The gap between them was barely an inch now, but the silence felt like an ocean.

“Hyun-Ju…” Her voice was broken, as though the walls she had built around herself were starting to crumble, piece by piece. “I didn’t… I didn’t know how to let you in. I was too scared of… of everything I was and everything I wasn’t. After we lost touch, I got sober. I didn't want to lose anyone how I lost you. I didn’t deserve you,” Young-Mi whispered, her words so soft it felt like a confession.

Hyun-Ju closed her eyes for a moment, the flood of emotions too much to bear. She wanted to scream, to push her away, but a deeper part of her, one that was still fighting for something she couldn’t quite name, kept her still. “And I didn’t deserve to be lied to, Young-Mi,” she whispered back, her voice cracking. “I wanted to help you. I tried to. But you wouldn’t let me.”

The words hung in the air between them, a bridge to everything unsaid. Hyun-Ju’s heart was racing. There was no going back now.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

As the room cleared out, the silence between them stretched, like they were caught in some invisible web. Hyun-Ju didn't know if it was the vulnerability in Young-Mi's eyes or the depth of the silence between them, but suddenly, she wasn't sure she could stand back anymore.

Without thinking, her hands reached for Young-Mi, pulling her into a kiss—slow at first, hesitant, as they were both afraid that the other might pull away. But it didn't last. Young-Mi's lips moved against hers, deepening the kiss, and at that exact moment, the world around them disappeared.

Hyun-Ju pulled back for a split second, her chest rising and falling as she tried to catch her breath. Hyun-Ju didn’t want to freak her out or make her uncomfortable. "Are you sure?"

Young-Mi's eyes were wild with desire. She nodded, her voice barely above a whisper, "I'm sure."

The kiss grew harder, fiercer, as Hyun-Ju slid her hands up to grip the back of Young-Mi's neck, pulling her deeper.

"God..." Hyun-Ju muttered, her voice thick with desire. "I've missed you."

Young-Mi didn't reply. Instead, she kissed her with more fierceness that left no room for doubt. She needed her. Young-Mi pulled away for a split second to remove both her and Hyun-Ju's shirt. Quickly pulling back to kiss her once again.

Hyun-Ju's hand wasted no time in unclasping Young-Mi's bra. Her hands massaged Young-Mi's breasts. Pinching and playing with her nipples. Young-Mi's soft moans could be heard throughout the small room.

Young-Mi started trailing kisses down Hyun-Ju's neck. Unclasping her bra as well. Making sure to pay attention to both her breasts as she started trailing down further. Softly leaving kisses all over Hyun-Ju's stomach and stopping right above her pubic bone. Young-Mi looked up at her, silently asking for permission. Hyun-Ju—entranced by the girl kneeling before her—immediately nodded.

Young-Mi quickly unbuttoned Hyun-Ju's jeans and pulled them down along with her undergarments. Her hand flew to the base of her cock, while the other played with her balls. Young-Mi licked a long stripe of Hyun-Ju's cock. Leaving Hyun-Ju with goosebumps and even more desire. Young-Mi sucked on her tip and slowly made her way lower, taking all of Hyun-Ju's dick in her mouth. As she started bobbing her head, Hyun-Ju tangled her hands in Young-Mi's hair and started thrusting into her mouth.

She tried her hardest not to gag as she let Hyun-Ju fuck her throat.

"You look so pretty taking my dick, Yeobo." Hyun-Ju's moans bounced off the walls. She was close to her climax but swiftly pulled Young-Mi away from her and stood her up.

"What are y—," Hyun-Ju cut Young-Mi off with a kiss. Switching roles, Hyun-Ju left trails of small kisses on Young-Mi's body. The only difference was that Hyun-Ju seemed more desperate and was faster to get to the area where Young-Mi wanted her most.

"Can I?" Hyun-Ju questioned. Though she had known the answer by now, she still needed the consent. Young-Mi nodded softly. "Use your words, Young-Mi. Or did I fuck your throat too hard?" Her voice had a darker, cockier tone.

Young-Mi couldn't help but feel nervous at her sudden change in tone. "Yeah," She breathed. "I mean— yeah, you can."

Hyun-Ju smirked as she undressed Young-Mi. After getting her completely naked, Hyun-Ju lifted Young-Mi’s right leg and rested it on her left shoulder, getting a perfect view of her cunt. Young-Min looked down at her, mesmerized.

None of them ever thought they’d be in this position. They’d unquestionably daydreamed about it before, but never truly expected their fantasies to become real. Frankly, it was a dream come true.

Hyun-Ju’s hands gripped Young-Mi’s thighs tightly as she looked at her with an intense, hungry gaze. Without a word, she buried her face between her legs, her tongue delving deep into her pussy, eating her out with a fervor that leaves her gasping and trembling. She continued to devour her pussy. Hyun-Ju’s tongue swirled around her clit as she sucked and licked, driving Young-Mi wild with pleasure.

She pulled her closer to her face as she ate her out even more aggressively. She can feel Young-Mi getting close, so she stops briefly, looking up at her with her face dripping with Young-Mi’s juices.

She lifted Young-Mi up and laid her on a random table, spreading her legs wide as Hyun-Ju stands between them. Her face delved back in between Young-Mi’s legs. Her tongue thrusted deep inside Young-Mi as she sucked hard on her clit. She continued eating her out mercilessly, not stopping until she screamed in ecstasy, her whole body shaking as she came hard on Hyun-Ju’s face.

Hyun Ju stands up. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and looked down at Young-Mi with a smug grin. Hyun-Ju takes ahold of her red throbbing cock and strokes it a few times before rubbing it up and down her pussy.

“Are you sure?” Hyun-Ju asked one last time. The question didn’t linger in the air for too long before Young-Mi consented.

“I’m sure. But… Can you be gentle at first? Please?” Young-Mi’s soft voice warmed Hyun-Ju’s heart.

Hyun-Ju slowly lowered herself onto Young-Mi, filling her up inch by inch as she looked into her eyes. She started to move gently, her hips rolling into Young-Mi’s as she kissed her softly. "Like this?" she whispered, her voice hoarse. "Am I being gentle enough?"

Young-Mi only being able to hum and softly moan Hyun-Ju’s name.

Hyun-Ju continued to kiss her softly as she started to pick up pace, her gentle thrusts turning into a slow and sensual rhythm. She pulled out almost completely before pushing back in, stretching Young-Mi and filling her up in the most delicious way.

"Your pussy feels so good wrapped around my cock.”

Young-Mi was never exactly good at dirty talk. Though she always loved it, she was never able to say the right things. So at this moment, all she was able to do was whimper, moan and squirm beneath Hyun-Ju.

Hyun-Ju’s hands moved to Young-Mi’s breasts, squeezing them gently as she continued her slow pace.

"Your tits feel amazing in my hands...” She kissed her neck softly. "Can you feel how deep I am inside you?” Hyun-Ju whispered against her ear "Your pussy is gripping me so perfectly..."

She started to play with her nipples, rolling them between her fingers as she thrusts into her. "I love how responsive your body is...” She kissed Young-Mi’s collarbone. "The way your tits bounce with each gentle thrust, the way your pussy squeezes my cock... it's all so fucking perfect.” Hyun Ju couldn’t help but let out quiet moans. A sound that was like music to Young-Mi’s ear.

“Your dick feels so good, Hyun-Ju.” Young-Mi said lowly. “Harder. Please, Hyun-Ju. Harder.”

“Goddamn...” Hyun-Ju began moving in controlled, powerful strokes, the desk creaking slightly underneath them.

“Oh fuck.” Young-Mi moaned. “Oh my God.” She gasped. Hyun-Ju’s cock felt so good inside her. Is this what they’ve been missing the whole time?

Hyun-Ju’s eyes rolled back in her head as she fucked her mercilessly, her balls slapping against Young-Mi’s ass with each powerful thrust. She reached between Young-Mi’s legs, her fingers finding her clit once more, rubbing it in fast, rough circles.

Young-Mi’s body arched as the pleasure was starting to become too much for her. Her head was spinning and she was suddenly very desperate for her release.

Feeling her walls tighten around her cock, Hyun-Ju knows Young-Mi’s close. She bites down on her shoulder, sucking hard to leave a mark as she fucked her even harder, her movements becoming erratic and desperate. “Come on, baby. Squeeze my fucking cock.”

Both of them were now a hot moaning mess, desperately chasing the high that had become a long, distant friend.

With one final, brutal thrust, Hyun-Ju buries herself inside Young-Mi, her cock pulsing as she unloads a massive load deep within her pussy.

As soon as Hyun-Ju cums, Young-Mi does as well. Whimpering loudly, she sat up to lean her body against Hyun Ju’s. Hyun-Ju held her in place, her arms wrapped around Young-Mi’s waist as she rode out her orgasm, filling Young-Mi to the brim with her hot seed.

Young-Mi breathed loudly. Her body solemnly rested on Hyun-Ju’s body, as if it completely relied on her for support.

Hyun-Ju stayed buried inside her, her cock twitching with the last few spurts of cum. She peppers soft kisses along Young-Mi’s neck and shoulder, a stark contrast to the rough fucking mere moments ago. Pulling back slightly, she meets Young-Mi’s gaze, her eyes still dark with lingering desire.

Hyun-Ju pulls out slowly, her cum dripping out of Young-Mi’s well-fucked pussy.

“You’re so beautiful. You’re everything to me. I don’t want to lose you again, Hyun-Ju. Please promise me you’ll never leave,” Young-Mi rested her hands on Hyun-Ju’s cheeks, tears starting to form in her eyes.

“I promise, Young-Mi. I’ll never leave you. I wouldn’t want to lose you all over again,” Hyun-Ju’s voice was soft and delicate. It comforted Young-Mi. It made her feel safe. “Let’s get cleaned up,” She smiled.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

#hyun ju #tumblr #tumblog #player 120 #cho hyun ju #cho hyunju #cho hyun ju x kim young mi #player 120 x player 095 #hyun ju x young mi #squid games #squid game #cho hyunju fanfic #cho hyun ju fanfiction

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dadsbongos · 7 months ago

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do u think u could write some of ur own personal headcanons for laios? i love the way u write him, it seems almost canon!

anon you dont know what fire youre messing with

also thank yew hehe :>

general headcanons:

Laios likes babysitting but does NOT want to be a real papa, he adores the idea of being the Cool And Strange Uncle but just imagining having to raise a whole person from scratch terrifies him

Usually conks out as soon as his head hits the pillow and he’s a damn heavy sleeper, he strikes me as someone that gets the dad snore when he’s a bit older

Likes doing physical activity in the moment, maintaining his stamina/strength n whatnot. But HAAATES the aftermath, he will not stop bitching about how gross he feels when sweaty

People scare him but I think men specifically scare him more than women because he mainly associates “men” with his old boarding school and military peers and his dad. Meanwhile the most callous woman he’s personally dealt with is like. his mom… who wasn’t particularly menacing and he doesn’t seem to resent her as much as he does his father

Most definitely called Chilchuck “chil” in their early days together and got his nuts sacked for the unintentional disrespect

Doesn’t drink often because the taste bugs him but when he does decide to, he drinks to get drunk. So it has to be a special occasion

The type of older brother to tell Falin food fills up your body from your feet to your head and when you’re full to your head you die

modern headcanons:

Definitely the type to unironically use little emoticons like :) or :] but his favorites are the cute ones like :3 , ^.^ , and :0

Would’ve played barbies with Falin as a kid and enjoyed it more than Falin did lol

If he were out with the group (marcille would have to threaten his life though, he would HATE “going out”) and Marcille or Falin deferred to him to deal with creepy men he’d feel like a superhero about it

Borderline mandated to have a high impact phone case by Falin because he’s GOT to be dropping that shit all the time. I just know it (projecting)

Would probably dislike resident evil as a series but thinks the premises are cool

Bouncing off that: he’s a big Undertale and Deltarune fan (definitely had a thing for Toriel at some point and probably thought sans was kind of overrated). Has ambivalent feelings towards fear & hunger, likes the atmosphere and item preservation and monsters but the assault scenes and overt brutalism ick him out from recommending it

Would go his whole life without an autism diagnosis until eventually held at metaphorical gunpoint by his friends, just for his parents to go “oh yeah we had you tested as a kid but didn’t want you using it as a crutch”

If monsters weren’t real he’d be cryptid autistic just so everyone’s on the same page

Cryptids major and ocean creatures minor type autism

I don’t think he’s straight by any measure but before he has the Realization, he’s the epitome of the girls gays and coleman meme

Segue omg: he has no desire to think more about his sexuality or gender than “i feel x” or “i choose y”. I think he identifies as Man(TM) but in a “its harder to explain i want to be a bog” way. If you referred to him with feminine pronouns or called him “girl” he seriously wouldn’t give a shit

nsfw(?) headcanons:

Could never do casual, you would have to be committed or only know each other VERY distantly and only do it once. His ass wouldn’t know how to read your relationship if you were trying to do friends with benefits (he’s also very concerned with hurting people’s feelings so just the notion of accidentally doing that to someone he’s intimate with would kill him)

May seem strange coming from a bitch always talkin about fucking him, but I think Laios would actually have kind of a lower sex drive. Like he maybe doesn’t get needy very often but also isn’t NOT in the mood, so if you proposition him and he’s into you he’ll be like “okie :3”

That being said, when he does feel needy he’s NEEDY. It’s debilitating, he genuinely can’t do or think of anything else until his poor wee is taken care of :( poor guy aww

I can see him being a virgin until his early-mid 20s and having no shame about it (good for him go king, virginity is nothing to be ashamed of it literally doesn’t matter)

Also by virgin i mean rice purity test score of like 97

Swears he doesn’t like having his cock worshipped (says its weird and embarrassing) but he’s so flustered n drooly and babbles the whole time

Biter

#laios touden x reader #laios x reader #dungeon meshi x reader #delicious in dungeon x reader #dunmeshi x reader #dunmeshi.🍈#nonny.requests.🥝#from.me.to.queue.🍅

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transformers-spike · 3 months ago

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Please author, TFP Megatron x human Reader but they (if you can, AFAB) are into being bitten. Throw in some knife play in it?? Maybe?? I mean his teeth do qualify as knife play I think??? Also Megatron spoils them with aftercare because he is the evil tyrant but with a special spot for his favorite human

I'm kinda showing the aftermath of Megatron's biting featuring poor Knock Out. I hope you got your tetanus shot

“Hold still,” Knock Out tells you while disinfecting a particularly bad gash. He’s been at it for a while now, switching his attention to and from the monitor displaying a wide variety of human skin lesions and wikihow articles on how to treat them properly. You’ve been sitting on the medical table for a while now, feet dangling off the ledge like a child ignoring the safety protocols of the Grand Canyon. If his helm wasn’t on the line, you’re sure he would have gladly slapped you right off the edge himself. Instead, he watches over you with the determination of someone unwilling but forced to keep a cockroach alive no matter how often it crawls under their shoe. You’ve been to the medical bay enough times to cause Knock Out at least one mental breakdown while the actual Breakdown watched, bewildered, as the Chief Medical Officer tried to make sense of human anatomy despite the tangible disgust he harbors for your organic biology. Eh, you’re probably stretching it – he wouldn’t have silently threatened to squeeze your organs out of your body if he was that disgusted. Although, you must admit, you love when he fusses over you like a mother hen keeping its suicidal chick from repeatedly drowning itself. Megatron’s handiwork has been especially brutal, not that you mind. Even in his mass-displaced form his strength is unparalleled, it makes you wonder just how much he holds back, how easily he could tear out your jugular with his dentae alone. He is a massive predator, after all, by human and Cybertronian standards. The decision he made to file down his dentae into pointed tips must have skyrocketed his success rate in the pits through sheer intimidation factor. Maybe Cybertronians aren’t exactly known for having evolved a “bite when you’re cornered” reflex like Earth fauna, but you’re pretty damn sure Megatron can bite a chunk out of someone’s chassis if he’s angry enough. You try not to imagine Starscream with enough holes to qualify as a new type of vegan swiss cheese. Knock Out hasn’t said it to your face, but he’s alluded to sedating you in the medical bay if only to put a stop to your inane talent for sticking limbs you shouldn’t into Megatron’s intake. Alas, you do not give a fuck, and if he has the wrecking balls for it, he’ll have to answer to his leader for his transgressions (and promptly get his interface panel smashed in before he can so much as activate his vocalizer). Checkmate, glitch.

From the furrow of his optical ridge you can tell he’s actively purging any incentive to glance down at your tits and comment on the sheer damage caused to them. This, you’ve grown acquainted with. Call them bazonkers all you want, but these bad girls can only take so much abuse before you start crying. You’ve cursed breast tissue enough times to solidify your distaste for their uselessness outside of child rearing (disregarding sex). It takes a slight graze of Megatron’s dentae against them and you’re already trying to escape your mortal coil from the pain alone. Yes, said pain has made you orgasm. No, you refuse to take a good hard look at yourself and reevaluate what in God’s name is wrong with you.

Megatron by all means isn’t the soothing type. But after having experienced his specific brand of “gentle” brutality he’s grown to watch over your rapidly rising and falling form as you gingerly touch the gashes on your skin. Cybertronians, you’ve learned, can emit a purr similar to an engine (courtesy of Knock Out). Megatron however, having no Earth-based alt-mode, can only produce the dull rumble of Cybertronian aircraft – and that you learned when he scooped you up like a newborn deer and placed you on his chassis for safe-keeping. His servo, claws sharpened to perfection (for the pits, logically), switching between stroking your empty little head trying to make sense of your surroundings and caging your bleeding body under its grip.

Knock Out wacks you over the head with the back of his digit.

“Ow what the fuck?” You snarl.

“Stop daydreaming and show me the inside of your thighs,” he says with the complete lack of amusement of a convenience store clerk asking a customer to stop pushing a pull-door.

“Oh. My bad,” you hiss none-too-apologetically, nonchalantly spreading your legs and letting him figure out the horrorshow any sane human would have fainted experiencing. Except you. Because you have the spite of a cockroach. A flying cockroach aiming for Knock Out’s optic at the speed of light.

In the silence that follows, you can hear his processor drafting his resignation letter.

#transformers x human #transformers x reader #transformers prime #knockout tfp #megatron x reader #tfp megatron #biting #I love bullying Knock Out #valveplug

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two-white-butterflies · 4 months ago

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how can beauty that is living, be anything but true?

Description: Daemon being adored and treated well by his loving wife while they talk about war and its aftermath.

Pairing: daemon targaryen/reader

A/N: quite short.

"I feared the worst when the King sent his letter," you say.

Daemon has always been unpredictable. He did as he pleased, took and took until the entire realm inevitably bent to his desires. "- three years away in war, and not a single word." You glared, seeing him take a step inside of your shared chambers.

Your handmaidens tell you that he returned during the night, and slept in a separate chamber lest he interrupt your sleep.

"I tried to write, my lady, but the enemy would strike our ravens down." He replies, amused. "You should've marched here on foot," you snapped, accepting his reason, but not letting him know.

"Targaryen princes have been taken by fickler things than war." You provided a reminder, but he silences you with a kiss to your forehead. Followed by a silent stare, a reminder that there is nothing in this world that would keep you from him.

"Yet, I am alive." He responds, though there were many nights he spent wishing otherwise. "Barely alive," you corrected. "I've heard rumors." You added with a prolonged sigh. There were at least five different rumors of his death, some say that he was impaled by arrows, hit by dozens of swords, or drowned, never to be seen again.

His expression changes for a second, but he composes himself before you even notice. "Rumors are skewed versions of the truth." He wraps his arms around your body, inhaling your scent that he has forgotten after three years smelling only sea and sand. "- but they still hold somewhat of a truth." You hiss.

"You promised me that if anything were to happen to you, that you'd return immediately." You held that promise above his head.

"Dragons don't run with their tails in between of their legs," he argues. "So, you were hurt in battle?" You raised an eyebrow.

You were aware of his duties, that he couldn't abandon them easily, but he could've at least whispered information about his welfare. "A scratch compared to the soldiers who will never return to their families," he answered the question without answering the question.

"What happened, Daemon?" your voice turns sweet at the utterance of his name. "Arrows, fire, swords, and a couple wounds to remember them by." He still refuses to tell you the whole truth. "Show me," you plead. Something behind his eyes shifts. His pupils become watery, almost leaking tears - but your husband does not cry.

He'd rather hide his sorrows behind a mask of cold callousness.

He does not take his eyes away from yours. He focuses on your features, your eyes, your lips, your nose - features that he's engraved in the back of his head to save him from the brutal pictures that unfolded in front of him during battle.

He gently unbuttons his tunic. He takes your hand and places it on the healed skin. A wound that spanned from his shoulder down to his stomach diagonally. "All I could think about while fighting that battle was how stupid my brother and his hand are for believing that I want to supplant Rhaenyra and claim his throne as mine." Daemon laughs.

"Men like that, my lady, those who sit on iron thrones know nothing about war. Soldiers die on the battlefield to ensure our safety, to ensure that our stone castles remain fortified against invaders. They know nothing of the mothers and wives that have lost their sons and husbands. I scorn my brother, I really do." He whispers, lest anyone except you hears his confession.

"I cannot even imagine the depths of your sorrow, lord husband." Your eyebrows merged together, wrapping him in a warm embrace. "I made it mine advocacy to return home. I could not bear to think of your sadness. Young, very beautiful and widowed." He breathes.

"I love you, Daemon."

"Likewise, my lady."

#daemon fic #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x oc #house of the dragon #daemon x reader #daemon targaryen fanfic #hotd #house targaryen

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holymolyfizzie · 1 month ago

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i don't wanna derail @kityana's post about stolas's pill popping, so i'm making a separate one. but something kityana said finally made me think about something: "i'm still not sure if those pills are actually helping him or if they were just given to him to numb him to how shitty his life is"

I've wondered something related to this a lot myself. but Stolas takes his antidepressants with alcohol (and in the aftermath of alcohol, like at the end of The Circus), which is a depressant. taking antidepressants + alcohol at best just cancels out your antidepressants so they don't actually do anything. but both at once, at worst, makes your depression symptoms a lot worse. taking them together is the sort of stuff that college girls get yelled at for, but i guess no one told stolas. i wouldn't be surprised if he's been popping them like candy and upping his dosage because he was told they would help him…and then they don't because of the rampant alcoholism. which is to say that we don't know if the meds even worked for him at all (i'd argue strongly they didn't, considering his alcoholism only ever got worse and he kept taking more and more pills, like they never worked enough) or if they were a placebo while he was taking them

and this might be a bit too nuanced for such a show, but as someone who has suddenly gotten off antidepressants that didn't work at all, the withdrawal symptoms don't always affect mood that much (they did nothing for it to begin with) and they sure as hell don't last a full month after getting off. in fact, going cold turkey off of meds that do work for you shouldn't have withdrawal symptoms that last a full month (if you do, it's a Talk to Your Doctor moment). i just really wonder if Stolas noticed the lack of antidepressants after the first few days beyond the old habit of taking them, and if we really can contribute much of his mental breakdown to getting off antidepressants

but you know what he was taking religiously, that did affect him for sure, and that we haven't seen him touch in a month now? the alcohol. he was drinking during Mastermind, but he clearly hasn't touched it since the trial. Blitz doesn't seem to have alcohol around, and Stolas wouldn't ask for the extra expense -- he's being forced to quit. he passes up Loona's beelzejuice at the Sinsmas party, noticeably. the beelzejuice is brought in, and Stolas immediately goes outside for a smoke instead. he's not drinking anymore. and quitting alcohol cold turkey is an insane process, esp at his level of hard liquor. we're talking about disastrous health consequences and a whole host of withdrawal symptoms -- anxiety, depression, irritability, fatigue, loss of appetite, brain fog, hallucinations, and much worse stuff (in humans, seizures). it's impossible to underestimate the severe damage alcoholism does to your brain and body longterm. and a lot of those withdrawal symptoms stay weeks after stopping cold turkey

like, i don't want to detract from him going off of antidepressants; he needs and obviously wants working antidepressants, he's desperate for them. but i'm gonna be so for real, i've had my experiences going off ineffective antidepressants, and i've watched family members try to quit alcohol. an alcoholic quitting is a brutal, drawn out process that shakes me to my core. there are reasons a person still says "i am an alcoholic" even a decade after quitting. that shit's insidious in a way that antidepressants aren't, and it was affecting stolas noticeably more, surely enough to render his meds useless. if you want him back on antidepressants, then you need a sober Stolas first, and this is what he's FINALLY working on

so i think more emphasis needs to be placed on Stolas's recovery from alcoholism when discussing his mental breakdown, irritability, etc. the fact that he's doing this without rehab or other interventions is miraculous, nearly impossible. i don't want his impressive recovery (so far) from alcoholism to end up getting buried under the antidepressant talk ngl, especially when his getting off of alcohol now means that his antidepressants may actually work in the future and help him. this is something to be so so proud of!!

#helluva boss spoilers #stolas #helluva boss #sinsmas #yeah idk i'm sad i never see anyone mention it #alcohol withdrawal symptoms can kill you #getting off of antidepressants that never worked? not so much #that bird sabotaged his recovery from the beginning #but it looks like he's sobering up now #which is STEP NUMBER 1 BEFORE ANTIDEPRESSANTS #the pills are pointless when he drinks ahhh #he's a sobering alcoholic!!! thats where his issues stem from realistically

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chatsukimi · 10 months ago

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eternal: ten cursed fingers, born from the flame

ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: sukuna x fem!reader, fluff, some angst, heianera!sukuna. pt 2.

When Sukuna enters the workshop, he is fifteen and mortal, and you are tending flames by the furnace.

Afternoon sun casts through the straw ceiling. You blink twice as you stare at the doorway. Heaving against it, a boy. Sunspots dance in your eyes.

'Please. Please, I'm dying. Help me!' he begs, and his wrists come up to strangle either side of your face, blood filling your tunic in buckets.

Brutal.

He is a curse user, you sense, his energy pouring out like his soul. You could feel it, flooding the plain room, his impending death.

You are young and what the elders say about helping strangers don't faze you. 'Put your hands in the fire.'

'No!'

His eyes are rolling back. He doesn't have much time left.

You grab his arm, dragging his doll-limp figure to the fire. You shove it into the coal.

Observing the healing, your grandfathers' words echo vaguely at the back of your head. They would come asking for it over and over again. They would chase you like immortality. But maybe, you think, maybe he would save dozens with those hands.

What preoccupies you more, though, squatting beside the boy, is the wonder alit in this stranger's face as his hands glisten back to life by the flames until what touches her is not slime and blood, but tender flesh. Bare fingers.

When he leaves, he does not tell you his name, nor ask for his whereabouts, nor thank you. He does not smile, and he gives no compensation. With the rags on his body, though, you do not think he has enough.

He does not do a lot of things, but the last thing you remember of your first meeting with this boy is that he did not say goodbye.

...

He, indeed, returns. He wears a stone carved lion mask.

'I do not think it's fair that I give you weapons for free,' you say, holding up a sceptre for the -now- man.

He chuckles. Sukuna shows you his innate technique: slash. Examining his technique for hours on end, you welded weapons with similar precision.

Through the years, he arrives later and later at the footsteps of your house during the night. He stops calling out for you from the door. Instead, appears frankly at the furnace where you sleep.

'Fuga,' he whispers, like an inside joke, against your ear- open. At first, you startled awake and nearly bashed him in the face. But you know now that despite his stoicism he is smiling under the mask, appearing on the opposite side of the room in an instant.

A little part of you rejoices at knowing this was an important man you have saved, though your fingers never touched.

You can tell from how he stands with solidifying confidence, toys with the necklace around your neck with the symbol of the Sun, Moon and Stars Squadron without ever grazing your skin, and the cursed energy blistering the summer air now greater than any sorcerer you'd met, he was great. All of the Fujiwara Clan combined does not compare.

Electricity trills under your pulse.

Ten years, he comes and goes.

You do not ask for his name. He does not ask for yours. Sometimes you catch him glancing at you in the corner of your eye, as you're tending the flames.

Years pass.

You forget his face.

You wonder, in his aftermath, if he will forget yours. One day he will get tired of the same old swords in the same old countryside home, you're sure of it. But he drives on back each time like an old man seeking immortality.

When he leaves, you stare at the designs of weapons you gave him. What great things would he achieve with those at his side? Your grandfather never tells you about any jujutsu affairs. Leave the girl to sword-making is his motto.

...

A rumour passes from ear to ear from the Southern Clans to the North. A sorcerer is tearing up villages in a one-person massacre to consume their flesh.

Every villager now inks black prayers on their carriages. Prayers to the living god.

You think, it doesn't hurt.

You, too, stick up rice paper on your windows to shield against the monster you know does not care, roaming through the woods in carnage.

...

The next time he comes, the man is wearing a demon mask.

Half his body, gone.

You push him to a chair. You kneel between his legs. Your hand hovers over his abdomen, where the flimsy stitches had failed to ease the bowels from overflowing. You frown. A flame blossoms from your palm, piecing his body back together. He clenches his teeth and watches you.

Cursed Flame: burns anything back to its prior state.

'What Special Grade curse could do something like this?'

He does not answer.

His sheer height has you sinking into your ankles in respect.

As you back away from the fire, you stumble into his chest. Your feet catch in the mat. In the times before, he had never attempted to touch you. Now his hand is tilting your head up, holding your chin, to look at his face, whom you had never seen before in full view.

You flinch.

Your exhale escapes as a gasp.

‘Are you scared?’

Now you realise what is so frightening about the demon who brutalises whole villages, consumes their flesh- living god. So, this is what thousands died seeing. You swallow, because he is beautiful, this four-eyed demon.

Before you utter a word, he leaves the room.

You whip your head around to inspect the windows. Nothing but wind howls against the house. No shadows but your own etches onto the tatami mat by the fire.

Rippling from all four directions, a voice booms: ‘bow.’

Your knees hit the ground. When he enters the room again, he stops before you. You dare not look at his feet.

The Fujiwara Clan teach their daughters well.

‘Stand.’

Is this a trick? With your head still bowed, you press onto one knee. ‘I do not feel enough to equal your presence, Ryomen Sukuna.’

He laughs.

Oh, how he laughs. So his name truly has spread like wildfire through the Clans, big and small. But something nicks at him, that he cannot see your eyes flickering with your flame, or your mouth working the irregular candy you chew, sometimes, on the job, when you feel comfortable around him. In those moments, he would get the urge to reach out and touch your shoulder, just for your reaction. Would you drop the sword to wrap those flaming hands around him so that he could feel some warmth?

'No. I tell you to rise so you rise.' You stand up. 'What's my name?'

'Ryomen Sukuna.'

'No.' He cups your face with his palm as he'd often dreamt of, when he was a teenager. As he'd often planned, when he grew older into the adult he is now. 'For you, I am Ryo.'

...

Ryo.

He likes it when you look at his face. He tells you sometimes, 'this is what you saved.' The four eyes blinking back at you.

He likes the smell of ash by your neck and often pushes his nose against your skin. An animal, you think to yourself, smiling.

Ryo, he takes what he wants, as the powerful do, so when the day comes, he says, 'come with me.' Out of nowhere.

He leads you out, facing the fields of darling grass and daffodils.

He hasn’t thought this through but he doesn't need to. He opens his mouth, ready to ask the question.

‘I can’t…’ He turns around to watch you speak. ‘... can’t bear child.’

For once, although you have denied his request, his face remains void of anger. Void of anything at all.

At twenty five years old, that’s all Sukuna knows what to want. If he cannot have the girl, then steal something else- after all, what are you worth?

‘Then give me something else.’

‘Have my flame.’ His eyes widen. You press on, ‘but you will protect me, in case my family decides to kill me. The flame is a sacred technique passed down from the family. But when I die, it will be yours.’

Without her cursed technique, she would be ostracised.

Everyone comes to the negotiation table with some line they would not cross. And Sukuna swore to never become a protector.

His mouth pronounces, ‘no.’

'Then what do you want, Ryo?'

He stares at you. He's never denied himself any pleasure in his life, but the way his heart skips a beat- it's what's made his enemies weak to be culled, what brings down great empires (love).

Surely, you would be his downfall.

He could not have you.

'Never mind. I want your Technique.'

He would live 1000 years wondering why those flames in his palms would perform in silence. He’d move them with grace to murder. He’d stare at the sparkling embers in a lake, waiting for it to shift and shape into some form without his control. He would realise, ages and eons in, that he had forgot to specify the fusion of their souls.

‘Deal.’

You were always an abnormally weak sorcerer in body. Never trained to exorcise a curse. Perhaps that’s another reason he suggested it, his one mistake. You were his to protect -no matter how he’d protest- but never were you with him again.

...

The next day, Sukuna wipes out the Fujiwara Clan in its entirety. Destroys them so badly no one recognises the corpses.

Mangled. Twisted. Broken.

He destroys the only thing that would've destroyed you.

It is that night at the beach, rain and seawater tangling your hair, you swear to kill him, the boy you saved so many years ago, even if you would be his for eternity.

Your hands tremble. You almost set fire to the sea.

...

'Ryo.' You're brushing his hair as he tips his head back to look at you, unfazed. 'Why do you do what you do?'

He hums, tangling his fingers through yours. 'Why does it matter my purpose?'

'I was just wondering.' You rub at his hands gently, the living things you saved.

Apparently disliking the silence, Sukuna speaks again. 'I do whatever I want, however I want. I have no purpose.'

When you kill him, he almost grins, as though proud. Had he always acted like this? The strange and feral monster.

'Are you ready to die now?' you ask. Some part of you still recalls the child wailing at the prospect of death.

Sukuna cackles, but before he even flinches as the sword digs through his skin and bones, he props his head before yours, kissing your lips as though playing a trick on you.

His scarlet eyes forever haunt your memory, reflecting the silver of your sword and the red of your flames.

'I'm always ready for you... ... and anyways death is not eternal.'

When the flames extinguish, you realise you had left none of him behind, but the hands. Ten cursed fingers, born and killed from the flame.

pt 2.

#sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #jujutsu kaisen #jjk sukuna #jjk #jjk x reader #one shot #sukuna ryomen #sukuna fluff #sukuna angst #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen angst #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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mononijikayu · 9 months ago

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already gone – gojo satoru.

(manga spoilers for chapter 261)

His eyes flicked to yours, a flicker of pain and understanding passing between you. In that moment, you both knew that there would be no going back to the way things were. The choices made here would haunt you, but you also knew that you would face the future together, bound by the shared weight of your decisions and the unspoken promise of support.

GENRE: shinjiku showdown arc (spoilers for chapter 261)

WARNING/S: domesticity, fluff, angst, trauma, implied death, violence, romance, hurt/comfort, character death depiction of death, depictions of loss and depression, depiction of blood, depiction of killing, depiction of suffering, depiction of anxiety, mention of death, mention of grief, profanity, family drama;

LISTEN: already gone by sleeping at last

NOTE: im mourning so hard, i haven't stopped crying. but i cried more because i can't imagine how my oc would feel considering genmei views satoru as her lifeline. im not even at that part of the story writing, but genmei would be hit hard. she wouldnt be able to move on. she wouldn't be able to stop crying either. but i needed to write this, to get the emotional brunt off my chest. i hope that this comforts you a little as it did with me. i love you all. hugs for everyone.

masterlist

u s and t h e m

THERE REALLY WAS NO GOING BACK FROM THIS. You and Satoru sat alone amidst the aftermath, the bodies of the higher-ups lying around you, a grim testament to the brutal reality you both faced.

The silence was heavy, a suffocating weight that pressed down on your chest as you stared at the carnage. The acrid scent of blood and death hung in the air, mingling with the faint metallic tang that coated your tongue. Each breath felt like an effort, the gravity of what had transpired settling over you like a dark cloud.

Satoru, usually so carefree and unbothered, looked uncharacteristically solemn. His usually bright, mischievous eyes were shadowed with emotions embroiling into a chaotic harmony.

He sat close to you, his hand resting on the ground beside yours, fingers almost brushing but not quite. The unspoken connection between you had always been palpable. Even when both of you were a bit younger. It was if anything, even when you both lost Suguru, a thin thread of solace in the midst of the horror.

You glanced at Satoru, seeking some form of reassurance, but his gaze was fixed on the bodies, his jaw clenched tight. The weight of the recent events bore down on you both, the decisions made, the lives taken, all swirling in a chaotic maelstrom of regret and necessity.

There was no other choice. Not when there was such little time, when there was no way you would leave this for the kids to wrap up. It was a moment where the true cost of your responsibilities became painfully clear, the price paid in blood and sacrifice. This is all that will secure the future.

Satoru finally broke the silence, his voice low and rough. "We did what we had to." he said, more to himself than to you, as if trying to convince himself of the necessity of their actions. “Don’t think too much.”

You nodded, though your heart ached with the truth of his words. "I know." you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "But after all this time, I thought it would be easier.”

You did think it was easier. You knew what it was like to kill human beings. The act of taking a life was not foreign to you; it had been part of your existence as a jujutsu sorcerer for as long as you could remember. The initial shock and horror of it had dulled over time, replaced by a grim acceptance of necessity. Each death was a means to an end, a way to protect the innocent, to rid the world of curses, to maintain balance. Yet, today felt different.

The bodies of the higher-ups lay sprawled around you, their lifeless eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. These were not faceless enemies or malevolent curses; these were people you had known, some for years. Their ambitions, their fears, their humanity—it all lay exposed in the finality of their deaths. You and Satoru had made a choice, one born out of desperation and the need for a new order, but the cost of that choice now weighed heavily on your soul.

You have always been able to justify your actions in the past. Each kill had been a step toward a greater good, a necessary evil in the grand scheme of things. But this? This felt like a betrayal of the very essence of what you stood for. These were your peers, your allies, albeit flawed and corrupt. The distinction between right and wrong blurred, leaving you adrift in a sea of moral ambiguity.

Satoru's hand tightened around yours, a silent anchor in the storm of your thoughts. His presence was a reminder that you were not alone in this, that he too bore the weight of what you had done. You glanced at him, searching for some semblance of solace in his expression. His face was a mask of determination, but his eyes—those piercing blue eyes—betrayed a depth of sorrow that mirrored your own.

“Hm, it doesn’t.”

Silence engulfs you both.

Your eyes flared downward.

A sigh passes through your lips.

"It's not in you to have liked to do this." you finally said, breaking the silence. Your voice trembled with the weight of unspoken emotions, the sorrow churning in layers unknown. “To decide the upper floors had to go.”

Satoru sighed, his gaze fixed on the horizon, a faraway look in his eyes. "We had no choice," he replied, his voice devoid of its usual lightheartedness. "We have no more time to indulge in the future."

There was so much you wanted to say, so many arguments and pleas that burned on the tip of your tongue. But the words refused to come, trapped in the maelstrom of your conflicted heart. Satoru seemed to sense your turmoil, turning to face you, his piercing blue eyes searching yours.

"Just say it," he urged gently. "Tell me how you hate me for what Yuuta and I agreed to do, should I lose to Sukuna."

You met his gaze, the pain and love in your eyes reflected in his own. "I do hate you," you whispered, the confession tearing at your soul. "Because I love you too much."

Satoru's expression softened, and he stood, walking over to you. He pulled you into his arms, his embrace warm and comforting. "The loss of me will pass," he murmured against your hair, his breath warm on your skin. “Hm? You will always move forward. You have to.”

You clung to him, the thought of losing him more than you could bear. "You say it as it is. I had to. Not because I wanted to.”

He laughs a little, echoes of guilt layered among it.. “But you will this time too.”

This is what you think you hated the most about Satoru. How settled he was in his ways, how stubborn he was with his plan. It was a means to an end. As long as it brought down the system, he didn’t care about what happened. As long as his students lived, he didn’t care. And yet you wondered, what he would leave you with.

How much emptiness, how much grief he would let you settle for years and years — because he cared more about the world he wanted to build. In a way, you loved Satoru too much. You loved him so much you went against the world you had always known.

You had a dream of a normal life. Once when Kaiko and Namie were alive. Once with Shoko, Suguru and Satoru. When all you had left was Satoru, you were determined to live for him.

But you never gave up on that dream That you would have that white picket fence life. That you would raise a family. That you would grow old with him. But you should have known. You should have known that he was too far gone for you to reach.

Even with all the love that was between you, you should have known that love would not be enough to bring him back to life. Gojo Satoru had decided that love was a curse. And he lived by it. Geto Suguru had given it to him.

And he had accepted it. And since that day, you knew that he would have never let it go. Yet, what right do you have to judge him for it? You felt the same, when Kaiko died. And you never looked back.

“I loved you too much to let you just be a passerby in my life," you finally said, your voice breaking. "I've lost too much already, Satoru. But…. but to lose you would break me."

He held you tighter, his voice steady and resolute. "You have to be strong, for me and for everyone, y’know that." he said. "They'll need you when I'm gone."

His words cut deep, but you knew he was right. The world would keep turning. The sun would keep moving forward. The march of time, the echo of life would not change. It will go on and on. Even without him. People would need you to be there, to fight for them, to protect them. But the thought of a world without him was a dark, hollow void in your life, in your heart. In your soul. More tears flowed in your eyes.

Memories echoed in your head, as though they were just reels of your life in a picture show. You knew he could see it too, as though his six-eyes could see it as painfully as you could. As clearly as possible. Eleven years of life, motioned into small moments. Small moments that encompassed your whole world. Because he was your world. He was your whole world.

2011

You and Satoru spent a day at the beach, the sun high in the sky and the ocean waves crashing gently against the shore. He chased you along the sand, laughter bubbling up as you tried to escape his playful grasp. When he finally caught you, he lifted you up and spun you around, both of you dizzy with happiness.

You collapsed onto the sand together, breathless and smiling. "I wish we could stay here forever," you said, looking out at the endless horizon.

He squeezed your hand, his voice soft and sincere. "We can always come back. This place will always be here for us. We’ll bring Megumi and Tsumiki with us next time too.”

You smile back at him. “I’d like that, Satoru. More than you know.”

2013

One quiet night, you both lay on a blanket under a canopy of stars, the world around you silent and still. Satoru pointed out constellations, his voice a soothing murmur in the darkness.

"There's Orion," he said, tracing the outline with his finger. "And over there is Cassiopeia."

You nestled closer to him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest. "Do you think we'll always have moments like this?" you asked softly.

He wrapped an arm around you, his voice filled with certainty. "Always. No matter what happens, we'll always find our way back to each other."

2014

Your New Year's together that year was magical. You stood on a rooftop, watching fireworks light up the night sky. The colors exploded in brilliant patterns, reflecting in Satoru's eyes as he pulled you close.

"Happy New Year," he whispered, his lips brushing against yours in a tender kiss.

"Happy New Year," you replied, feeling a sense of hope and excitement for the future. "Let's make this year unforgettable."

He smiled, his arms wrapped securely around you. "Every year with you will be unforgettable."

“You guys make me sick.” Megumi whispered under his breath, taking a bite out of his cake.

“Megumi, don’t say that! They’re in love.” Tsumiki says, smiling at the sight of you and Satoru.

You both could only laugh.

2017

In the quiet of the night, you and Satoru sat together, your hearts heavy with grief for the loss of Suguru. The weight of his absence hung in the air like a tangible presence, a reminder of the sacrifices made in the name of duty and honor.

Satoru's normally bright eyes were dimmed with sorrow, his shoulders slumped with the weight of the burden he carried. You reached out, gently taking his hand in yours, offering what little comfort you could in the face of such profound loss.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "I had to do it. I had no choice."

You squeezed his hand, offering silent understanding and support. "I know," you replied softly. "It wasn't easy, but you did what had to be done. Suguru understood that."

Tears welled in Satoru's eyes as he leaned into your embrace, seeking solace in the warmth of your presence. In that moment of shared sorrow, you held each other close, finding strength in your love and the knowledge that you would always be there for one another, no matter what trials lay ahead.

Satoru pulled back slightly, his eyes meeting yours with a sorrowful intensity. "Remember all the things we wanted?" he began softly. "Now all our memories, they're haunted."

Tears welled in your eyes as his words resonate deeply within you. "We were always meant to say goodbye." you whispered, your voice trembling.

"Even with our fists held high, it never would have worked out right," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "We were never meant for do or die, darling."

A sob escaped your lips, and you shook your head. "I didn't want us to burn out, Satoru" you said, your voice breaking. "I didn't come here to hurt you now. I don't want to hurt you. But now I.... I can't stop."

Satoru gently cupped your face, his thumbs wiping away your tears. "I want you to know that it doesn't matter where we take this road. Someone's gotta go."

His words cut through you like a knife, the finality of it all hitting you hard. "It doesn't have to be you."

He smiles shaking his head.

"And I want you to know you couldn't have loved me better," he said, his voice full of love and regret. "But I want you to move on, so I'm already gone."

“How do I do it?” You sobbed to him. “Without you?”

“You can.” He presses a kiss against your nose. “And you will.”

“You were meant to grow old with me.” You croaked to him.

"But now you’ll do it for me. For the both of us, hm? Live a long life." Satoru shakes his head, his voice gentle but firm. "Keep Gakuganji in check. You know that old geezer can’t be trusted to keep the straight line.”

“Satoru….”

“Keep the jujutsu world at peace on my behalf.”

You shake your head against his chest.

You hit your arms against his figure.

Infinity was always down when it was you.

“Live long so that you have stories to tell me."

You buried your face in his chest, your tears soaking into his shirt. "I hate you!" you repeated, the words laced with anguish. “I really really hate you.”

He laughed sadly, a bittersweet sound that echoed in the empty space around you. "I know, darling." he said softly, pressing a kiss to your temple. "I know."

In that moment, you both understood the depth of your bond, the unspoken promises and the inevitable heartache that lay ahead. But for now, you held onto each other, finding solace in the shared pain and the love that had brought you together.

When you let him go that day, you knew.

You would have to wait until you were gray.

You looked at Shoko and you shook your head.

Your eyes were too red to even look one last time..

As far as you were concerned, he was already gone.

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transhawks · 7 months ago

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Why does everyone treat Hawks having always been an assassin as canon? I know he was brought in as a replacement for Nagant but as far as I’m aware there’s no actual proof he killed anyone before twice

You're right! We've never been explicitly told he has a kill-count of anything but 1 (rip Jin). However (honestly you knew this would make me actually write, didn't you?)....

1. The HSPC has changed (somewhat)

It's spelled out to us that Madame Prez wasn't like her predecessor. Her methods weren't as brutal, she was way into a war of information. In some ways, crueler. Kaina wasn't executed - instead she had her hair shorn and was defamed, humiliated.

Nagant assumes Keigo has been used like her. Horikoshi says Madame Prez groomed Keigo from a much earlier age than the middle school-aged Kaina so he had way less ability to leave or question (additionally, he was so sheltered from society and marginalized that he simply would have been incapable until he was an adult).

This is what the story says outright. So, yes, you're right - everything else is speculation. But then the question is why people believe this is canon outside of the typical abysmal literacy found in this fandom?

2. But Hawks being Hawks doesn't Make It Easier

Truth be told, I'm on your side. I used to very much doubt he had much of a body/kill count. I still think it might be single digits if we consider actually murdering someone with his own hands/quirk, though I suspect he might be responsible for deaths in other ways. I would have completely accepted Jin being his first (and only at this point) murder.

So why did I change my mind about this? Simply; Keigo's a fucking freak. I say this with love.

Every so often Keigo says or does something in this manga that both confirms he's kind of insane and in a very different moral space than everyone else, and just off-handedly mentioning he went and, after being subjected to third degree burns and essentially losing limbs, immediately went to eliminate every last sample even after the battle (where he was carried off by Tokoyami mind you) as in....destroying Jin's body or ensuring no one can use it. He's offended when it's clear Dabi got the better of him with this.

Mind you, he's the world champion at repressing his feelings, duh, but the fascinating way he speaks about this (a minute after screaming they NEED TO KILL JIN AGAIN) speaks volumes. Keigo's completely undaunted about handling death and its aftermath. If he's never killed before, he's been certainly trained to in a way that he handles it professionally.

There's one more thing that makes me think Keigo did kill before Jin. We can argue over how much Keigo hesitated killing Jin, but I think it's a point in that he did in how much he ABSOLUTELY does not with All For One.

Like he does not hesitate. Immediately tries to put a feather-knife through his brain. Logically, I mean, I think anyone would try to one-shot AFO because the more time the man that has (until he rewound himself) the more time he has to fuck you up, but still. He tries to stab through his man's head as soon as he gets out of the portal.

Here's Keigo just admitting it, albeit saying he expected it wouldn't work, but really, he's more apologizing he can't immediately kill this man.

No hesitance.

My final piece of evidence is that Keigo is currently walking around Japan in a suit with a katana begging mfers to "try it bitch". Like being quirkless, not a hero, none of that is stopping him if he needs to defend himself. And it's not like he can pin someone away with his feathers. Nor does he have dozens of daggers at his disposal anymore, just one blade. He's the type to try and finish things quickly as the manga has shown time and time again. I really hope no one actually tries to assassinate him because there's an extreme likelihood he'll just decapitate them in the SPC boardroom.

3. Red, Red Hands

To recap, we know Keigo has been trained to kill, in a multitude of ways (and not only with his quirk), and has always seen killing as option/tool he can use. The HSPC might not be as eager to kill as Kaina's era was, but they raised Keigo with the intent to use him to be able to kill people and cover it up. While there's no proof of other murders, there's proof he's been given the training, tools, and expectation to kill. And his attitude towards killing isn't making it seem like he's not done it before. Of course, he's not agonizing over it like Kaina, which makes me think he was used sparingly to kill.

But the other thing to ask is - will Keigo continue to kill (and not like in personal defense) or lead to the deaths of others? He's already set on reforming the Public Safety Commission by allowing for the reform of Villains who cooperate, renaming the Commission to distance itself from solely heroism... We're still a few chapters away of seeing what this new president has in store for society and how he'll distinguish his methods from the people who created him, but we also have two hundred and fifty chapters of him expressing dislike of how he's used, so perhaps it's fair to say he's not continuing the cycle?

#asks #my meta #takami keigo #hawks #bnha hawks #bnha

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nickeverdeen · 2 months ago

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Hey, could I request a yandere alphabet for Abby from TLOU? I was thinking for fem!reader specifically, but I'm not sure if gender would make a difference in your headcanons? Anyways, I just thought it'd be interesting too see how you think the trope would fit into Abby's story? (also because- the main reason i'm requesting ahaha- i have a big crush on abby and i'm a fan of the yandere trope. sue me)

Abby Anderson yandere alphabet

A - Affection

Abby shows love through overwhelming protection and acts of service, often without considering how her darling feels about it. She’s fiercely attentive, going to great lengths to ensure they’re cared for—even if her methods come across as suffocating. Her affection is intense, and she struggles to express it softly.

B - Blood

Abby has no problem getting her hands dirty—she’s a survivor in a brutal world, and nothing will stop her from protecting or claiming her darling. She’s willing to kill or maim without hesitation, rationalizing it as necessary to keep them safe.

C - Cruelty

If Abby abducts her darling, she wouldn’t mock them outright, but she’d be brutally straightforward about their situation. She’d explain that this is “for their own good” and that any resistance is futile. Her cruelty would manifest in her lack of empathy for their struggles, not seeing their distress as valid.

D - Darling

Abby would absolutely do things against her darling’s will, particularly when she thinks she knows better. Whether it’s isolating them from others, controlling their movements, or physically restraining them, she justifies it all as keeping them out of harm’s way.

E - Exposed

Abby isn’t one to bare her soul easily, but she might open up to her darling in moments of vulnerability, using her trauma as a way to bond with them. She’d reveal her fears of loss and abandonment, hoping it creates a sense of understanding—even if it’s manipulative.

F - Fight

If her darling fought back, Abby would react with a mix of frustration and determination. She’d likely overpower them, using her strength to reassert control while trying not to hurt them too much. However, their defiance would sting, and she might take it as a personal failure.

G - Game

To Abby, this isn’t a game. She takes her obsession seriously, seeing it as a matter of survival and emotional necessity. Watching her darling try to escape wouldn’t amuse her—it would anger and hurt her, fueling her need to tighten her grip.

H - Hell

The worst experience her darling would endure might be Abby’s explosive temper. If they pushed her too far, she could lash out physically—not enough to cause serious harm, but enough to remind them of her dominance. The emotional aftermath would be just as harrowing, as she alternates between guilt and justification.

I - Ideals

Abby envisions a future where her darling is entirely dependent on her. She dreams of a partnership where they rely on her for protection, care, and love, seeing herself as the only one capable of providing what they need in a dangerous world.

J - Jealousy

Abby’s jealousy is intense and immediate. She lashes out at perceived threats, whether it’s a person, an idea, or even her darling showing too much independence. Her response is usually physical—she’ll eliminate the threat directly or enforce stricter control over her darling.

K - Kisses

Abby’s kisses are firm, possessive, and often unexpected. She uses physical affection as a way to assert her claim, sometimes overwhelming her darling with sudden displays of dominance and intensity.

L - Love letters

Her “courting” style is blunt and straightforward. Abby isn’t one for subtlety; she’d make her feelings clear with gestures that are protective but also intimidating, like following her darling or intervening aggressively in their life to “prove” her love.

M - Mask

Abby’s yandere tendencies don’t differ much from her usual personality, but they amplify her protective instincts and controlling nature. Around others, she might appear composed, but with her darling, she’s much more intense and emotionally volatile.

N - Naughty

Abby’s punishments would be physically imposing. If her darling disobeys or defies her, she might restrain them, isolate them, or use her strength to intimidate. Her punishments are never excessively cruel, but they’re always a stark reminder of her power.

O - Oppression

Abby would take away most of her darling’s autonomy, limiting their ability to leave or interact with others. She’d justify every restriction as necessary for their safety, refusing to acknowledge the harm she’s causing.

P - Patience

Abby is patient up to a point. She’s willing to wait for her darling to “come around,” but her temper flares if she feels disrespected or if progress takes too long. Her patience is heavily dependent on her emotional state.

Q - Quit

If her darling were to escape or die, Abby would be devastated but not entirely broken. She’d throw herself into physical activity or survival work to cope, but the loss would haunt her for the rest of her life. If she thought her darling could be found, she’d never stop looking.

R - Regret

Abby would feel moments of guilt, especially if she hurt her darling or pushed them too far. However, she’d rationalize it as necessary in the grand scheme of things, convincing herself that it’s all for their benefit.

S - Stigma

Her obsession stems from her deep-seated fear of loss and abandonment, likely a result of her traumatic experiences. Having lost so much, Abby latches onto her darling as the one thing she can control and protect.

T - Tears

Seeing her darling cry or scream would unnerve Abby, but she wouldn’t stop. She’d frame it as proof that they need her guidance and protection, using their distress to reinforce her own importance in their life.

U - Unique

Abby’s uniqueness lies in her physicality. Unlike many classic yanderes who rely on manipulation, Abby uses her sheer strength and survival skills to dominate and control. Her obsession feels more grounded in practicality than in fantasy.

V - Vice

Abby’s biggest weakness is her guilt and desire for validation. If her darling played on these emotions, showing signs of acceptance or manipulating her into believing she’s “won,” they might be able to buy themselves an opportunity to escape.

W - Wit’s end

Abby is unlikely to intentionally hurt her darling severely, but if pushed to her breaking point, she might lash out in a moment of rage. However, her remorse would kick in immediately, leading to desperate attempts to “fix” the damage.

X - Xoanon

Abby doesn’t revere her darling in a traditional sense. She sees them as a partner, someone she’s bound to protect and control. Her worship manifests more as possessiveness than adoration, focusing on their survival and dependence on her.

Y - Yearn

Abby wouldn’t pine for long before acting on her feelings. Once she fixates on someone, she moves quickly, believing that taking action is the only way to ensure they’re safe and hers.

Z - Zenith

Abby wouldn’t intentionally break her darling, but her controlling and intense nature might wear them down over time. She doesn’t want to destroy their spirit—she wants them to willingly accept her love, even if it takes years of manipulation to get there.

#request #yandere alphabet #alphabet #abby anderson x reader #abby the last of us #abby x reader #yandere abby anderson

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