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dabblingreturns
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yandere ! SUKUNA x READER
WARNINGS: yandere, substance abuse, dub/noncon
A/N: honestly just needed to rid myself of the writer’s block lol, hope it’s alright ^^
read at your own discretion.
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Thinking about dirtbag drug dealer Sukuna corrupting some uptight good girl, spiraling into the most toxic codependent bullshit, and becoming addicted to her.
He doesn’t think much of it at first, some pretty little overachiever come looking for a little leg up on the competition. He’s seen it all before. Just for one test, she’ll tell him. And he barks out a laugh, right in her face, shameless as he looks her up and down, smoke curling out from under his cheshire grin.
“Sure thing, sweetheart. Just this once.”
The simpering look on his face will tell her he’s mocking her, but he knows her type; she’ll still take what he gives her. Sliding the adderall into perfectly manicured fingers, he’ll wave her off without so much as a second glance. He only laces a little insurance in with those pills because he could use the extra clientele, and not because something in those bright innocent eyes makes his chest and cock itch.
She’ll come back; he knows she will. Tail between her legs, and hands just a bit too jittery when she begs for a little something more. Embarrassed as the words stumble out, shifting eyes darting anywhere but that condescending crimson.
It all kind of spirals after that.
Once a month turns to once a week, and then it's barely a day or two goes by before she comes crawling back for another fix. The first time her pockets come up empty, he’s oh so kind enough to offer an alternative form of payment. She’s a bit hesitant, but that nervous, sunken eye look that’s come to live on her face, so pathetically sexy, is easily convinced.
He’ll shove her over the ratty old couch in his flat with a giddy amount of force, and bury himself between her thighs, fingers prying her pretty jaw open, letting the drool drip from her lips to her chin as he slips a tab on her glossy tongue.
“Fuck yeah, open your mouth–open that fucking mouth–pussy gets tighter with a little X.”
It becomes a sort of animalistic routine, where the pitiful thing lets him use her and abuse her like a grade-A sex toy, any and every hole open and eager to take him. He’s almost embarrassed for her, how quickly she abandoned dignity for a moment of bliss.
Though, he supposes, he gives her more than a moment. And it’s convenient for him, he thinks. A tight pussy and perky ass wrapped around his fingers; it’s easy, there whenever he wants to fuck. And that’s all it is. That’s all she is. Holes to fuck.
“Want another hit, sugar?”
He’ll try to convince himself it’s just an easy way to test new product when he lets her have more than she’d earned. But he finds that he likes the far away glassy glaze in her eyes when she slips away to somewhere hazy, all cloudy and cottony. A taste of heaven that only he can give her.
And she gets a little giggly, a cutesy tilt in her empty head as she lays herself over him, shotgunning the smoke from his lips. Where when the two of them drift off together to nirvana on the couch, he ignores the warm, content feeling of waking up to her snugly wrapped around him.
And really, it’s her own fault the illusion shatters.
Dipped her feet in too far, and fell face first into the deep end when she’s sat on his lap in the back corner of his favorite seedy bar only half listening to one of his under-the-counter meetings, and finds herself lured in by the flash of a little white bag in the hands of a passing stranger.
It couldn’t have been more than five minutes of distraction, of finalizing his business dealings when he notices she’s wandered off and broken his one rule not to leave his fucking sight. And it takes him all of two minutes to spot her halfway across the room, bent over a table snorting a goddamn line.
And he can’t focus on how fucking sexy it is that she sniffs it down without so much as blinking. He can’t focus on that because there’s some ugly freak leering over her, arm wrapped around her waist, and eyes shamelessly wandering her body up and down like he fucking owned her. Like the nameless fucking loser owned something that belonged to him.
He doesn’t really remember what happened after that when he’s standing over the bloodied corpse of the lowlife creep in the dimly lit back alley, except for the fact that sticky red was staining his fists and face and her tears were really starting to piss him off.
“You spread your dirty fucking legs for any dude who's got a line?”
He mocks her when he’s got her shoved against the wall bent and spread, face scratching against the stone, fucking into her with a force hard enough to make her bleed. There’s a twinge of satisfaction that she’s crying, voice wet and pathetic and submissive when she begs his forgiveness, prays for mercy. The hair that’s not caught in his fist sticks to her cheeks and neck, and he feels the sudden urge to bite.
“Keep screamin’, sugar. Maybe that dead pig’ll come and save you from the big bad wolf, huh?”
He delivers a sharp slap to her ass, and hauls her back by her hair, other hand palming and squeezing just a bit too harshly at her breasts. And she squeals, something sort of squirrel-like but adorable nonetheless. Something just for him.
And when all is said and done, with his mark, his claim, leaking out of her and onto the cold pavement, mixing with the pooling blood of a stranger, he leans in real close. He twists her around to face him, and he can see the hollow, vacant look in her eyes. Empty. Empty because she’s nothing. Nothing unless he says otherwise.
And with a sadistically giddy laugh, and his hot breath raising the hairs on her neck, he’ll seal one final warning with a searing kiss.
“You’re my bitch, my whore, forget it again, and see what happens.”
#yandere sukuna#yandere jjk#yandere sukuna x reader#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yandere jujutsu kaisen x reader#yandere jujutsu kaisen#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#yandere scenarios#yandere imagines
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i don't get tired of saying how good your writing is. it' s insanely perfect and I love it so much.
pls have my firstborn as a gift
and i don’t get tired of saying how much i love you guys bby, how about you come over here and i’ll give you your firstborn ? 👀
ahdgsjdhsvkf no but srsly thank you so much this is such a lovely message to receive <33
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all of your bnha works are so AMAZING
def masterpieces.
can't wait to read more characters cause you def know how to catch their essence so well
ahh thank you bby , you’re so sweet !!
i can’t tell you how nice it is to hear ab characterization and stuff, def one of the harder parts about fanfic writing haha
i’m on a bit of a jjk kick, but got some bnha stuff on the back burner for sure :-)
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girl, where have you gone? i'm missing you like crazy, come back!
hello my love ^^
i’ve just been busy w work and everything, some crazy shit happening there lol.
actually just got into a doctoral program for psychology, so super exciting stuff !! but i won’t bore y’all w the details haha
i’m gonna try and get some writing out sometime soon; i miss you guys too <33
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i'm in love with your works, i really am
weird way to propose but okay 👀
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hey baby, do you accept requests?
why yes baby, i do. ^^
#personal#to the requests in my inbox#i don’t hate them i promise#i just want to have good ideas for your prompts#so when i don’t they collect dust#rip my work ethic
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ohh i loved those thoughts about them becomina future family.
idk why but i def see reader (still in the everything is fine universe) putting that cute photo of her and bakugou in the nursery and then sometimes getting a bit teary-eyed at what her life has become.
i also see bakugou being very over-protective when she's pregnant. he'd probably try to spend as much time as he can in the house, to be with her her.
fun question: do you think bakugou would be a bit misogynistic in the way that he'd want a son, or what would he feel if it was a girl?
btw, i hope i'm not bothering you, i just really loved everything is fine soo much 😍
bby you will never bother me with theory/lore questions; that’s my shit.
soft moments are few and far between, so when she catches photos or memories of simpler times it goes one of two ways. smashing a frame or two in hysterical rage is not unheard of given how absolutely suffocating being the glorified housebound sex slave of a top pro hero can be.
but there’s also times when fond memories give her a fuzzy sort of nostalgia feeling, something just barely warm enough to keep her going, keep her pretending.
lol my yanderes do always end up a bit misogynistic, don’t they? the way i see it, he may be a sexist asshole when it comes to his darling, but he’s also bakugou; he’s the best. at everything. all the time. so son, daughter, whatever kind of kid he ends up having is going to be the best too. he’s a top pro, you best believe that little shit is following his footsteps; he’s got a reputation to uphold after all.
#personal#i do think he loves his kid#in a sort of you’re an extension of me and the woman i’m obsessed with so you’ve gotta be something kind of way
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Everything is Fine pt.2 - girl, I felt soo bad for the reader. the way things turned out to be for her is so sad. it's the epythome of a toxic relation, when you meet he's a good perfect guy and then becomes a monster 😭 how do you think he'd act if she got pregnant? would he give her a bit more freedom? to take her to the hospital or to allow her to take the baby for a walk without him all the time
no srsly poor reader, no happily ever afters in yandere stories, i’m afraid.
that said, bakugou, yandere or otherwise, is nothing if not a planner. if his darling gets pregnant, she’s only pregnant because he decided she’s going to be pregnant.
he wants her tied to him in every way, but he’s not an idiot; she needs to be almost completely broken before he even thinks about bringing a baby into the picture.
almost. she has to be at least a little mentally stable to be the picture perfect mother he knows she can be. can’t have mommy trying to off herself while baby’s sleeping in the crib, now can we?
a stroll in the park is good for the kid. the both of them probably need a little more than some sun, anyhow. and he’s all she has, no family, no friends; he’s made sure of that. the double-edged sword of his incredible popularity is that everyone knows about Dynamite’s pretty little invalid of a wife. she has nowhere to run.
so yeah, he’ll give her little freedoms here, and a breath of fresh air there so long as she stays in line. and at the end of the day, she’s not going to argue. it’s easier to do as he says, less painful to do as he says. and sometimes, in moments so brief she blinks and nearly misses it, she can still see the man she loved peering out from behind those blood red eyes. and that’s enough for her; it has to be.
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Omg love your work <3 I think your recent bakugo one has been my favorite and I love your set up for it being an interview like omg :0 anyways I was stalking and saw you say you liked soul eater and I’m just curious on if you’d write for it and if so who would you write for? I’d definitely love to see your interpretation on some of them. <3 I can’t wait to read more of your work i literally love everything you put out so much!
stop it, you’re making me blush. but ahh thank you bby !! i can’t tell you how happy it makes me feel that you enjoy my stories.
in any case, i could totally write for soul eater! it’s been a while since i’ve seen/read it, but it has a special place in my heart.
off the top of my head, i could see yandere stories for soul, death the kid, or stein, but i’m sure there’s more. i’d just need an idea or request that i feel would really fit them. :-)
#personal#you guys are so sweet#sorry that i barely answer my asks#i promise i appreciate them#i’m workin on it
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The Other
yandere ! ITADORI YUJI x READER x yandere ! SUKUNA
WARNINGS: yandere, misogyny, nsfw, implied noncon
A/N: A bit different than usual, less story and more imagine, I just had a Thought TM that wouldn't leave me alone.
read at your own discretion.
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What about Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, but it’s 19th century Gothic Yuji and Sukuna obsessing over their cute little lab assistant.
Where Yuji finds himself falling in love with the pretty little thing that turned up one night on his doorstep. How could a gentleman refuse a damsel in distress? She’d had nowhere to go, and a woman on the streets is a woman without dignity. He’d done her a favor taking her in, feeding her, clothing her, teaching her everything he knows. Well, almost everything.
And it’s not that she’s not grateful, no, she’s always eager to please, pretty doe eyes blinking up at him with only the purest intentions of proving her worth.
It’s when that voice in his head that he swears isn’t his starts to talk.
Bend her over and spread her legs.
He’d had years of experience tuning the other inside of him out, and begrudgingly grew used to the snide remarks about the so-called useless pussy on legs. But it’s only when his more ignoble half begins to make suggestions with less than savory intentions that he finds himself wavering. He tries to reason that it isn’t him, not really. He can keep it under control. He always has.
It’s the small things really, how she bites the tip of her pencil in concentration during his lectures, determined to be of some use to him. Pretty lips parted oh so delicately, hugging the tip to her teeth.
Let me out. I want to see that whore mouth painted white with my cum.
Or when she blinks dumbly at him from under butterfly lashes, a sheepish giggle and warmth on her cheeks because something he said went in one ear, through her ditzy little brain, and out the other.
Dumb little thing would sink down and suck our cock dry if we told her it was in the name of science, wouldn’t she?
An involuntary twitch of his fingers sends his heart leaping to his throat.
Why don’t you find out?
He drowns it out until the cover of night shields him, locked inside his chambers before giving an inch to the monster. Stroking his cock to the image of her laid out naked and moaning beneath him, legs spread and welcoming. Where the thought of licking the sweat from the skin of her neck has him hurtling off that cliff, and into the resulting ocean of shame.
Little things build up, he finds, and even with her painfully female brain, she begins to notice something off. Though, he finds himself grateful when it isn’t disgust that meets him, but concern. Oh, bless women and their nurturing sensibilities.
She’ll fuss over him like a true lady, mothering but not smothering. Anything he needs to help soothe those pesky migraines. And he’ll finally realize an acceptable way to indulge in his impure thoughts. He’ll make the street urchin he turned lady his wife.
He ignores the rumbling of low laughter that rattles his brain at the thought, deep enough to shake something important but easily forgotten in his bones.
He’ll make all the appropriate preparations for a courtship, determined to woo her as a man would, as a man should. Dress her up, and take her on a promenade through the finest parts of town, introducing her to the finest people at the finest parties.
But he reasons that was his first mistake. Because when he watches her laugh, all airy and bright, intentionally tempting, entirely too close to that brooding dark-haired duke he liked to call brother, white hot fury spills into his veins. That distant familiar desire, heady in all its glory, bloodlust, is his only warning. And the other, who’d been quiet for quite some time, smugly returns.
A whore is a whore no matter the clothes. You thought she’d choose you?
He’ll down glass after glass of scotch, determined to ignore it, but too focused on the brush of her delicate fingers alongside the Duke’s sleeve. There’s a look in his friend’s eye he’s never quite seen before; it’s soft, warm, and it’s all it takes for him to rush to the water closet and hurl up the contents of his stomach.
Pathetic. A man doesn’t wait to be chosen. A man takes what’s his. There’s only one between us. Let me out.
A man takes what’s his. It’s a thought that settles too comfortably in his mind, and he resolves to keep her close. No more outings with those snobbish lords and ladies. Just to save her the embarrassment of exposing the unrefined nature of her peasant birth any more than she already had.
It’ll work for a time, but it’s just a little while later that his brother turned traitor starts turning up on the manor’s doorstep with his own intentions of courtship. Excuses of their preoccupation with scientific breakthroughs and studies only keep him at bay for so long.
I’ll do what you can’t. Let me out.
He begins to wonder whether the beast had been wrong when he catches her wistful stares out the window, too conspicuously asking about the wellbeing of a man that isn’t him. A whore is a whore. When she comes back from town with the excuse of restocking food or supplies, why does she take longer and longer to return each time?
Let Me Out.
He’ll question why it isn’t enough. Why he isn’t enough. He isn’t, not if her attention still turned elsewhere. There’s a beating at the door of his mind that threatens to split at any moment. Finally, mercifully, she’ll relieve the struggle with two words.
He proposed.
He proposed. He proposed. He proposed. He doesn’t hear anything after that, not as she sputters out empty placations and gratitude. Not when she solidifies her intentions of leaving him.
He just responds in kind with two earth-shattering words of his own.
Come out.
#yandere jjk#yandere itadori#yandere sukuna#yandere jujutsu kaisen#yandere itadori x reader#yandere sukuna x reader#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yandere jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#yandere imagines#yandere scenarios#i wrote this today so if there's grammar mistakes no there's not
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Smile For the Camera
WARNINGS: yandere, implied kidnapping, implied imprisonment, abuse of power, slight codependency, non-consensual implications, implied nsfw, implied forced pregnancy, lot of implications lol
A/N: been sitting in the drafts for a while, figured i should get smth out, hopefully it's alright ^^
read at your own discretion.
yandere ! BAKUGOU KATSUKI X READER
“Her eyes are up there, creep.”
She had to resist the urge to sigh, lip twisting in slight pity, watching the boy stammer out an apology as he fumbled with the mic at her chest. She scoffed internally. Was he supposed to put it on blindfolded? She turned to her lover, giving him a gentle, reassuring smile.
It’s okay. I’m okay.
Crimson irises met her own, hesitating a bit as his jaw tightened reflexively. He smacked his tongue against his teeth, rolling his eyes, and turned to the host who was shuffling through her cue cards. Memorizing her lines, it seemed.
“I don’t want any of that surprise shit, alright?” His voice was laced with the sort of irritation that would normally send her on full alert. They were in public right now, though, and callous, gruff reputation aside, he was no idiot, “We’ll walk out; I’m not fuckin’ kidding, we’ve done it before.”
The host laughed out his name–his hero name–nervously, “Of course not, sir. All of our questions were sent to your assistant for prior approval,” As she caught his unimpressed stare, she stumbled out another placation, “But, I mean–Of course, if you–you’re more than welcome to look over them again, sir.”
“Fuckin’ stop it with that–‘sir’--makes me feel old as shit.” Did it? That was news to her. He certainly liked it when it came from her lips. Her mind wandered to its most recent recollection. When she was forced to her knees, his hand at the back of her neck, pooling the tears from her eyes at the dip where her cheek met the pillow–she couldn’t remember what she’d done wrong that time.
Where he’d brought his lips to her ear, C’mon, voice rough and deep, Ask me nicely, now, And, raising his voice a few octaves to mock her, Please, sir. He huffed out an ugly laugh, Please give me your cock, sir. God, she hadn’t been able to walk straight for days, legs and dignity sore and bruised from the abuse–only one of which ever really seemed to recover.
“Of course, si–Of course. We’re on in–We’ll be ready in five, if that’s alright?” He gave the woman a curt nod, and she’d shuffled off to the stage to prepare, calling the intern tending to her to follow, a direction the boy took with palpable relief, eyes brushing her own apologetically before he hurried off.
“Hey,” The blonde’s attention was turned back to her, and he stalked forward, “Last one, alright?” He brought his hand to her cheek in comfort, though all she could think of was the ease at which he could snap her neck between his fingers without so much as blinking.
She shook herself from her thoughts, humming, and brought her hand to cup his own, leaning into his touch. “It’s alright,” At least I’m outside, she wanted to say, “Long as I’m with you, I’m alright.”
His eyes softened at her answer, and he opened his mouth to reply when the lights dimmed, catching his attention. His hand dropped to catch her own, lacing their fingers together, tightening with tension. She had to resist the urge to wince. Though entirely different in circumstance, she felt slight vindication for his fear, no matter how fleeting. She’d take what little wins she could get.
She was pulled back to reality by the tug of his hand, and let him lead her to the couch across from the host. Fuck. Looking out at the crowd, she remembered how much she really did hate these things. Hundreds of smiling faces, millions more behind the camera, all glinting with pity–for all the wrong reasons–and cooing at the sickeningly sweet story spun for the masses to cling to with glee, without question.
There was a call of her name, “And, how are you adjusting? After what you’ve been through,” What she’s been through. She suppressed a bitter laugh. As if it was all over, as if she was safe.
“It’s been hard, of course,” She’d rehearsed the lines in the mirror, and recited variations in numerous interviews before, “But I’m so grateful, you know,” That didn’t stop the tears that fought their way up her throat, “To have him by my side–he really is–he really,” God, the words felt like acid on her tongue, “He really is my hero.”
The crowd awed, and the host brought a hand to her chest, “How beautiful,” She caught his side eye–suspicious–and she squeezed his hand in reassurance, “The two of you–really the silver lining in an otherwise horrible happenstance.”
She laughed lightly, ignoring the burn in her chest, “I’m so grateful. I don’t know what–I couldn’t imagine what I’d do without him.” She moved to wrap her arm around his own, leaning into his shoulder. Time had conditioned the contact to feel like a sort of comfort.
The host smiled, and turned back to ask him a question, something about how he’d found her, how he’d saved her.
How had he found her? She remembered meeting him a few times before–she’d worked for the number one hero, his childhood friend–and he’d never spared her more than a cursory glance, and the exchange of brief, formal pleasantries while she sat in on their meetings, transcribing, taking notes, just doing her job.
“Was just doin’ my job,” Ha. Ironic. “S’what heroes do.” He looked at her for a moment, softly, and she wanted to tear his eyes out, “We save people and we fuckin’ win.” He gave his signature sharp, crooked smile, and the audience roared to life, hands clapping in misguided awe and appreciation.
How had he found her? What did she have that the millions of men and women and people that wanted him–that dreamed of him–didn’t? She wished she could erase it–tear out whatever part of her had captured his attention–maybe he’d have left her alone if she’d been able to kill it.
“The determination, the grit it must’ve taken,” The host started up again, “Years of searching, it’s truly amazing how you managed to save her.”
How had he saved her? He liked to remind her that that’s what he had done. She remembered being called into work late–a normal occurrence, but she still cursed herself for obliging that day–being met, not by her boss, but him. Maybe she would have said yes if he’d gone about it differently–if he’d taken her out on a date, brought her flowers, spoke to her softly and gently–but he wasn’t ever soft, and he wasn’t ever gentle.
“M’not a fuckin’ pussy, that’s how. I ain’t backin’ down from a challenge just ‘cause it’s hard.” Yeah. He never backed down from a challenge. Though, he never stopped to think that maybe a challenge was not a dare, not something to overcome, that maybe the challenge didn’t want to be a challenge at all. That this challenge didn’t want to be a conquest, that she wanted to be a person.
“And you,” The attention was back on her, “How strong you are,” She hated that look; everyone she met these days gave her that look, “The fear and pain you must’ve endured is unimaginable.” Well, she was half right, she supposed.
She was stupid to think she knew pain before–she didn’t know pain–not the kind of pain she’d come to call home these past years. The type of pain that came in the form of finger shaped burns, and ugly sticky white staining the inside of her thighs. The type of pain that was loud and angry and all consuming, that bruised her hips, rubbed her throat raw, left her aching and shaking and breaking. The type of pain that took and took and took until there was nothing left of her to give–and yet, still took more.
“Hopefully there’s some consolation,” The woman continued at her silence, “That the people who did this to you–who imprisoned you–have faced justice.”
She wanted to laugh until she screamed. She’d long been disillusioned with the idea of justice. Justice. Ha. What a joke. She’d made her peace with the hand she’d been dealt. Resigned herself to what cruel fate the god she didn’t believe in had bestowed upon her. Why then, why now, had he graced her with a window to her prison? She knew why. Subconsciously, her hand fell to trace along her stomach.
“It’s…relieving, to say the least.” She forced a laugh, and caught a look she took as approval on her warden’s face. “All I want to do now is settle down, move on…” She swallowed. Come on. You’ve done this a million times. “Start our family.”
He took his arm from her grip to wrap around her shoulders, flashing a sharp smile, “That’s my fuckin’ girl,” Her cheeks heated–more from annoyance than embarrassment–but the crowd awed all the same. “Strongest damn person I’ve ever met.”
Strong? That was a new one. Usually she’d get the opposite; weak, helpless, quirkless. Was she strong? She could find a million reasons to contradict the idea. Someone strong would’ve fought, would’ve kicked and screamed and cried until someone–anyone–listened to her, until she truly was free. She’d rolled over and shown her belly so easily, hadn’t she?
No. She did fight. She’d gone through all the kicking and screaming and crying she could. But the years had worn her down. She found it was easier–and less painful–to let him have his way. He could be soft when he had his way; he could be gentle when he had his way; she decided she liked it when he was soft and gentle. And so, he had his way.
Still. Someone, not her, could make the case that she couldn’t be strong at all, to go along with this farce. And to this person she’d point them to–
“The Hero Commission truly is an outstanding institution,” The universe had a sick sense of humor, didn’t it? “To keep a case like this–no leads–open so long,” The host smiled a smile with too many teeth, “We are so lucky to have the protection from such noble leaders.”
He replied, something about heroes and how great and strong and infallible they were. She was too busy fantasizing about how lovely the world would’ve been had it been turned to ash and dust all those years ago.
Because, honestly. How bad could the villains be? If it was a hero that had imprisoned her. A hero who had stolen her from her life and raped her and impregnated her all in the name of love. How bad could the villains be if it was the heroes who kept her trapped in this joke of a life? She decided she liked villains more than heroes. At the very least, they owned up to their crimes.
She turned to look at him, his sharp features, built like a tank, and yet, still entirely too pretty for the devastation he had wrought upon her. She couldn’t tell if he was a hero or a villain. She couldn’t tell if she hated him or if she loved him.
“I ain’t into all that sappy shit,” He started, “But, end of the day, I’m the luckiest fucker in the world havin’ her here with me. Wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.”
Both? Maybe it was both. Could you hate someone you loved? Could you love someone you hated? He lifted his arm to ruffle her hair, and she decided it didn’t matter. She’d long resigned herself to this fate; what was another resignation?
“No,” She turned as the audience roared to life, “Not a single thing.”
And she smiled for the camera.
#yandere bnha#yandere bakugou katsuki#yandere bakugou#yandere bakugo#yandere bakugo katsuki#yandere bakugou x reader#yandere bakugo x reader#yandere bakugou katsuki x reader#yandere bakugo katsuki x reader#yandere mha#yandere boku no hero academia#yandere my hero academia#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yandere katsuki
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Forever Hold Your Peace
WARNINGS: yandere, mentions of death, mentions of murder, non-consensual implications, implied kidnapping, hand kink if you squint
A/N: another quick short drabble, pls enjoy a deranged lil wedding crasher dabi.
read at your own discretion.
yandere ! DABI X READER
“Give me one good reason not to kill you.”
She’d never known blue to be such an angry color, but even glowing with barely contained rage, she couldn’t help but find his eyes beautiful.
“I can’t.”
It was growing all around them now, ice-colored fire licking at the tattered remains of her white dress. Still, she thought the heat was less threatening than warm.
Her answer seemed to physically wound him, the soft tremble in his brow almost begging her to say something. Something to justify whatever confusing ugly thing he felt finally standing in front of her after all these years. Something that would let him sleep at night if he were to burn her bones to ash that moment, give into that cruel voice in his fractured mind demanding he destroy any and every memory that had ever made him feel something.
“You broke your promise.”
“I wasn’t aware there were promises to keep with corpses.” There she was, that quick wit he remembered her for, loved her for, once upon a time. Even with his hand at her throat, even with the blood of the man she’d just sworn to love until death–another corpse, whose promise had quickly been fulfilled–even with his blood smeared across her cheek, she still stood tall, dignified.
“Is that what I am to you?” He breathed, thumb tracing the curve of her jaw, fingers flexing at the feel of her racing pulse under her neck, “A corpse?” It was a silly question; the patchwork wounds stapled to his rotting skin suggested he was anything but a real, living, man. If he thought about it, he really hadn’t been living for quite some time.
“No, I suppose not,” Her voice was shaky, and he couldn’t tell if the mascara-stained tears wetting her cheeks were for the mass of burning bodies behind them or for him, “More of a ghost.”
The corner of his lips quirked up, huffing a short, bitter laugh, “A ghost,” He pondered for a moment, “I like it,” His other hand made its way up from her hip, brushing at the underside of her clothed breasts, “Here I am haunting you, after all.”
“I think,” Her hands balled into fists, but he made note as they stayed trembling at her sides, “That you’re here haunting us both.”
“I guess you’re right,” His eyes fell to scan her singed gown, “In another life,” Ignoring the clenching of her jaw, he continued, “You’d have worn that dress for me.”
She swallowed, “In another life,” Her eyes left his now, sweeping the mutilated remains littering the pews, “You’d have loved me enough.”
All of a sudden he tore himself from her as if she’d burned him, “Loved you enough?” An incredulous laugh as his arm stretched out to the scene behind them, “What the fuck is all this if it isn’t enough?”
“It’s really so devastating,” She sighed out a name that was once his, and he was surprised at the weight one word could leave on his heart, “That you would consider this love.” But his anger had returned full force, and he thought maybe now he’d be able to kill her.
“Did you love him?”
Here it was, the answer that would seal her fate. He could do it if she said what he knew she’d say. He would do it.
“No,” His heart skipped a beat, “I do love him.” And all at once, the mangled coal in his chest crumbled to ash. Do it. You said you’d do it. Do it, you fucking coward.
No, he needed more. His fingers twitched at his sides, sparks of blue igniting and snuffing out in nervous repetition. Just one more thing, and he could do it.
“You can’t keep a promise to a corpse,” He spat, “But you can love one?” He stepped closer to her, glowing eyes narrowed, staring down at her.
“Not any more or less than one can love a ghost, I’d imagine.”
His hands flew back to her throat, and he wrenched her face up to meet his, “And do you?” His voice fell to a raspy whisper, and he couldn’t tell if it was out of fury or desperation, “Love a ghost?”
“I don’t want to,” And again more tears welled and fell, “I really didn’t want to.”
“That’s not what I asked.” His words were shaking with anticipation, fingers trembling as they cradled her cheeks.
“Does it matter?” She sniffed, eyes flickering to the carnage, “I shouldn’t. Especially now, I shouldn’t,” There was a wrinkle in her brow that betrayed her self-disgust, “I never should have.”
He swallowed, gaze catching on her lips, “But you do.” He’d meant it to come out as a question, but there was a sort of finality in his words. She makes you weak. Kill her. Do it. Now. Do it now. Shut up.
She tried to pull away from him, but he held her face firmly, “No matter where I go,” The turn of her voice was bitter, “You haunt me.”
A soft, manic laugh, “I think,” He leaned down, lips brushing hers, “We’ve both been haunting each other.” And after a month-long moment he surged forward, crashing his mouth against her own, tongue swallowing the strangled yelp that died in her throat.
He stepped forward as she stumbled back from the force, and her fingers flew to grip at his wrists in an attempt to stabilize herself, nails digging into the ruined skin. His leg steadied between both of hers, the bones in his patchwork hands straining as they pulled her into him, as if he were trying to make her body melt into his; make him whole.
Finally she ripped herself from him, stumbling, and wiped furiously at her lips, “I don’t want you,” Her voice was hoarse as she caught her breath, “Nothing else matters, because I don’t want you.”
It was like someone had poured ice water in his veins, and he’d come to the terrifying conclusion that it didn’t matter what she said or did; she could tell him she wanted him dead, and he’d still find an excuse to keep her here with him.
“I don’t care,” A breathless confession.
After years without, he hadn’t realized just how starved the idea of letting her go would make him feel. He intended for his flames to swallow her whole when he'd found her again, but there was an entirely more appetizing option. He’d starved himself long enough.
The tapestries along the walls had caught fire, and the light shone through the stained glass windows, casting a blue tint across her skin. Like it was marking her as his. His hand shot out to wrap around her wrist when she tried to turn away, and he yanked her back to him.
“Nothing else matters, because I don’t care.”
She tried and failed to pull her arm from his bruising grip, feet sliding as she used her full weight, “Kill me, then,” She choked on a sob, “Why don’t you just kill me, then?”
He stared at her a long moment as she struggled, streaks of ruined makeup painting her cheeks, that once angel-white gown stained black with ash, a gloss in her eyes he could only describe as heartbreak, and he couldn’t help but think that she’d never looked so beautiful.
“I can’t.”
#yandere dabi#yandere bnha#yandere mha#yandere todoroki touya#yandere dabi x reader#yandere touya#yandere todoroki touya x reader#yandere todoroki toya#yandere toya#yandere my hero academia#yandere boku no hero academia#yandere x reader#yandere x you#dabi is just such a beautifully tragic character and yes i will exploit it
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Hi I read all your stories and wow ! I love how you wrote the characters, the tension, the atmosphere just ahh! I also like how you did POV as well 💗( there all amazing, I especially love reading the kirishima and Shinso one 🥰)
hope this isn’t annoying I was wondering what fandoms are you in ? Do you have any rules you want us to follow?( i was wondering cause my phone won’t let me see it lol )
Other than that hope your doing ok 💗
i could kiss you this is so kind ^^ but thank you sm !! i’m glad you like them haha ♡
not annoying at all !! as of rn im super into: bnha, jjk, bungou stray dogs (an all time favorite lol), and blue lock
as for rules, i don’t have anything specific ^^ this is a no judge zone !! so you can just send me any prompt/character/idea you wanna see, and if i vibe w it, i’ll do it :-)
only thing i can think of is that i don’t write characters underaged/high school aus just bc of personal preference ^^
also i’m doin alright, busy, but alright !! i hope you’re doing lovely bby ♡
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Seriously though, Dearly Beloved is the best yandere fic I have EVER read. It shows just how depraved yanderes are. The fact that Shoto not only gleefully forces his darling to watch videos of her family, people who ACTUALLY love her, cry over her, and even gets off on it… Terrifying and enraging. I want to make him suffer the way he’s made Y/N suffer. You’re amazing.
this came w a separate request that im working on , but omg you’re gonna make me cry, this is so nice !! ♡
it’s canon that shoto has an absolutely skewed view of family, so yandere shoto would 100% take it off the rails lmfaoo
but thank you ^^ and ily for this v v sweet message ♡
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Birds of Prey
WARNINGS: yandere, nsfw, noncon, abuse, blood, possessiveness, implied kidnapping, implied imprisonment
A/N: the fic i wanted to post is taking too long, so pls enjoy a not very short, not very sweet, slightly unhinged hawks drabble
read at your own discretion.
yandere ! HAWKS X READER
“You’re mine, you know?”
“You’re insufferable, you know?”
A laugh, deep and raspy, filled the space between them as his head fell back in surprise. Though, the fingers digging like claws into the skin of her waist betrayed his irritation.
He brought his face to her own, smile turning razor sharp; that ever present glint in his eyes, while entertained, sparked with a dare she was too stubborn to ignore, no matter the ensuing consequences.
“Pretty pretty Bird,” His tongue poked out from his canines, swiping up to lick the tip of her nose, “I’m going to fucking ruin you.”
Rather than recoil in disgust, she leaned closer, fingers threading in his golden locks, “Selfish, mindless, animal,” Each word enunciated with a sharp tug, “Ruin all you like,” Her lips brushed against his ear, and she was met with a pleasured groan, “I’ll ruin you right back.”
“Fuck,” His hips bucked upwards, his clothed hardness grinding against her in a failed attempt to soothe the growing ache, “You promise?”
It was her turn to laugh; it was sharp and spiteful, and she leaned back on his lap to meet his eyes, hands falling to his face to trace the sharp curve of his jaw in resigned admiration, “What makes you think you’ll like it?”
His own hands trailed from her waist to squeeze at the fat of her thighs, fingers sinking like talons as they spread her further, pulling her into him.
“Oh, my pretty Bird,” A hand moved to brush under her shirt, ghosting against the skin, and bringing goosebumps to the surface, “If it’s you,” Dextrous, devious fingers worked their way underneath her bra, “I’ll love it.”
Despite her resolve, a whimper escaped her lips, and the predator under her pounced, shoving her back onto the mattress below them.
Blood red wings spread behind him, and eyes glowing with the celebration of premature victory, he looked like some harbinger of death, beautiful in all his glory, but come to rip her to shreds, and feast on her insides with that golden smile.
She wasn’t far off, she realized bitterly. Though, her chance at revenge came sooner than anticipated when he dove forward, shoving his tongue past her parted lips, licking the taste of her mouth from inside while he tore at her clothes.
And, steeling her nerves, she bit down, teeth tearing into the intruder, replacing the taste of spit with syrupy copper. Her reward came in the form of a strangled groan as he ripped himself from her.
“Fuck—!” A curse, low and raspy with the interruption of dribbling blood.
The sight before her was enough to send her heart leaping to her throat, embers of satisfaction dying as quickly as they lit. If he had looked like a harbinger of death before, now, with the back of his hand swiping crimson to smear across his cheek, feathers puffed and poised to attack, and hair falling to shadow his eyes, the man above her was a type of demon king she tried to force herself not to regret awakening.
He spat to the side, blood dripping from his lips, and turned back to her with a smile more sinister and sharp than she thought him capable of showing. Slowly, he pulled at his own shirt to reveal a body too sculpted and too pretty to belong to him.
“Caged Bird has teeth, does she?” He breathed, “It’s a dangerous game you’re playing, baby.”
“The only game I’m interested in,” She growled, “Is one where you lose.”
She had already scanned the room when she’d woken up dizzy and groggy and surrounded by a space all too familiar but not her own. He hadn’t even bothered with chains. Cocky bastard. There was no place to go where he couldn’t follow, but she’d be damned if she just laid there and took it.
She held her breath, and the pause between them was interrupted by a low, building chuckle that raised in volume and pitch until he fell forward in a fit of giggles underlaid with a twisted and angry amusement.
Lifting his gaze to hers, she found his eyes burning through her with the giddy anticipation of a hawk playing with its food. The condescension was enough to stroke her own need to fight, and she forced a sardonic smile despite her growing unease.
“What? Too much?” Swollen lips pulling into a sneer, “I thought you said you’d love it if I ruined you.”
He snorted, eyes moving to sweep across her body: fabric hanging in threads from her skin, lacey undergarments serving as her only decoration, traces of his blood smearing her lips, and tears that pooled at the corners of her eyes. Too stubborn to give him the satisfaction of falling. God, did he love this woman.
“Between the two of us, little Bird,” He leaned forward, taking her jaw in a bruising grip, and forced her gaze to his own, “I’d say you’re plenty ruined yourself.”
There was a twitch in her brow that sated his ego, and he pushed forward to give her a peck, retreating with the quickness of a man who had learned his lesson. For now, he reminded himself.
“Though,” Still, he couldn’t help but push, “Not nearly ruined enough.”
And he surged forward, taking her throat in one hand, and forced her backwards into the pillow; her legs flailed while her hands shot up to claw at his own. It was time to give her a little lesson of his own.
He settled himself between her thighs, ripping the last of her coverings to leave her bare and thrashing. Her heels kicked at his back, lips parting in short, sharp gasps.
“Fuck–fucking–” A strangled whine, “Bast–bastard–”
“Come on now, Birdie,” He leaned forward, fingers flexing, “If you don’t have anything nice to say,” Nose to nose, his canines gleaming, “You don’t say anything at all.”
With the twitch of her jaw, she pursed her lips, refusing to consider the consequences, and sent a glob of spit flying right at his face, watching with glee as it splattered under his eye.
He jerked back in surprise, releasing her neck to swipe at the offended cheek. Through a fit of raspy coughs, her chest sparked with a sort of vindicated satisfaction.
Her victory was short lived, however, and a burning smack echoed in the empty space, whipping her face sideways, a ringing in her ears growing to match her blurring vision. The strength of a hero, she thought sarcastically.
It was her turn to spit out blood, before her eyes rolled back to him, angry, but cautious. His fingers worked at his belt buckle, and he shirked off his pants in her momentary incapacitation, entirely unbothered by his own sudden show of violence.
She did her best to avoid looking at the monster between his legs, and, like any sign of weakness, he seized the opportunity to mock her.
“Fight all you like, pretty Bird,” A hand was back on her throat, tight, but not squeezing, “But you and I both know this only ends one way.”
She knew she was only delaying the inevitable, but the ache of bruised pride burning in her chest insisted on hurting him back. Hurting him more than he would ever hurt her. Because he would hurt her.
Her hands moved back to his chest, pushing as he wrenched her thighs apart, “Fucking villain,” She’d lost her appetite for this game of theirs, opting instead to let her acidic resentment pour outwards, “Get off.” After all, words were her only true defense.
In a flash his free hand took hold of one frantic wrist, “Villain? I can be a villain,” His face twitched in irritation, and her bones screamed under the force of his fingers, “Keep pushing, and I’ll break it.”
The sudden flip had her hands falling limp, retreating in shock once he released her wrist, and balling into fists beside her head. And as fast as it came, the darkness left him, only that treacherous smugness remaining.
She cursed herself for her fear, put off by the unpredictability of his own emotional landmines. But still, she squared her face back to a disdained neutral, unwilling to show more weakness than he’d already sniffed out.
He pumped at his length, positioning it at her entrance. She was damp, but not nearly prepared enough for the size of him, and he hummed, fingers dipping down to toy at her clit, sending her hips jolting upwards in regretful anticipation.
“Say something nice, baby,” He breathed lazily, “Say something nice, and I’ll make you feel good, too.”
There was a beat as they stared at each other, “I…” She whispered, a growing conflict in her eyes. He leaned down, lips brushing against her own.
“Yeah?” His hot breath spread across her cheeks, “C’mon Birdie, I wanna hear something pretty come from that filthy mouth of yours.”
They were nose to nose, golden eyes piercing into her own, each pair glowing with emotions too loud to speak, “I,” Breathy and wanton, “Would,”
“Yeah? You’d what?”
“Rather fucking die.”
For the hundredth time that night he was taken aback, incredulous laughter his only response as he pulled away from her, eyes snapping back to her own with a promise he’d been eager to fulfill.
“Suit yourself,” And he shoved inside.
A yelp, surprised and pained, “Fuck–!”
He was only halfway in, and rather than let her adjust, he sunk his nails into her thighs as leverage, and forced himself further. She whined in pain, a coat of crimson serving as response around his pulsing length, and he moved to trap her hands in his own, fingers intertwined.
“Tight like a virgin, huh, little Bird?” Once fully sheathed, he set a brutal pace, the head of his cock bruising her cervix with each greedy thrust. His face dipped down to lick a stripe up her stomach, trailing marks up her chest and throat with gnashing tongue and teeth.
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” She bit out, trying and failing to pull her hands from his crushing grip, “Wouldn’t know wet pussy if it—mmgh!—if it smacked you in the face.”
He huffed another laugh, “Don’t tempt me, baby,” His hands released her own to dig into the fat of her ass as he pulled her hips upwards and into his own with a renewed violence, grunting as her knees dug spitefully into his sides.
Her newly free fingers clawed at his back, and despite his earlier threat, he seemed to revel in the streaks of red she tore in the skin between his wings, responding in kind with a hiss of masochistic pleasure.
“Not my fault the only way to get your dick wet,” A sharp, pained gasp, “Is to make a girl bleed.”
There was a glint in his eye that brought back her unease, and one of his sinful hands flew to the space where they met, finger pressing with irritating accuracy into her bundle of nerves. His other readjusted to push one leg to her chest, pausing his movement.
“Pain not a good enough lesson for you?” A too bright smile, “Fine with me,” That gleam in his eye sparkled with a sadistic satisfaction, “How ‘bout we see how many times I can make you cum ‘til you pass out.”
And the thrusts returned, chasing his own pleasure while the hand at her clit swirled in circles and stars, faster and faster until a whine more pleasured than pained escaped her lips.
“Like you–fuck–” She groaned as his fingers sped their motions, cock rocking into her with a deliciously savage rhythm she dared not acknowledge, “Like you fucking could–” A moan, full and long, drowned out her words, and her nails dug crescents into his shoulders.
He only hummed in response, her clit twitching under his thumb, “What’s that, Birdie?” A pulsing ache formed in her gut, “Words, baby, use your words,” Her pussy squeezed against his member in a way that had him groaning.
“Fuck you.”
“With pleasure, little Bird.”
He drew his hips back, pulling out of her dripping entrance to tease the hole with his tip, before diving back inside with unfairly gratifying precision against that spongy, tingling spot inside of her. Faster and faster, her bundle of nerves pulsed greedily under his fingers, and her teeth tore into her lip, trying to will the pleasure away, or, more shamefully, will it to peak.
Suddenly, and without warning, there was a blooming inside her that had her eyes rolling backwards, open mouthed moans raising in volume in an attempt to settle the warm buzzing between her thighs.
Though, she couldn’t find it within herself to care about the knowing smirk that pulled at his lips, too focused on his continued thrusts, and the quick rebuild of overwhelming pleasure.
“What are you–Stop!” A groan as he released her clit in favor of throwing both of her legs over his shoulders, and pressed against her chest, fucking into her at an angle that had her seeing stars, “What are you doing?!”
“If I’m correct, baby Bird,” He smiled, turning to press a quick kiss to her thigh, “You’re still conscious,” She growled as he nipped at the skin, but a particularly harsh push inside her cut the murderous thoughts short, “Which means we’ve still got a ways to go.”
His words were smug, but the growing sloppiness of his movements betrayed his own pleasure. Her eyes widened in realization, and her fingers leapt to pull and push at his back, tearing at what feathers she could reach in an attempt to get him off of her. Get him out of her.
“Not inside,” She rasped, “Don’t do it inside–”
“Hmm?” A mocking tilt of his head, “No? You don’t want me to fill you up?” One hand shifted to deliver a harsh slap to her ass, “Breed you like a needy little bitch?”
“Fucking—get off—get off!” She shrieked, beating at his shoulders, “Fucking psycho!”
“Well, that’s not very nice, now is it?” His hips were stuttering, and before she could stop herself, the words shot out through her lips.
“Please,” A couple stray, humiliated tears as she whimpered his name, “Please, not inside. Please, don’t cum inside!”
“Oh, so you do know how to talk pretty,” He breathed, fingers massaging at her abused flesh, “I was beginning to worry.”
“Please,” She swallowed her spit and her pride, “Please–”
“That’s right,” He was panting now, lips meeting her neck, teeth sinking in to add to the ring of bruises, “Beg me some more.”
Throwing her dignity out the window, she obliged, pleas working in tandem with the savage strokes of his cock, trying and failing to ignore her own mounting pleasure until finally he stilled, pouring deep inside her with a raspy groan, and sending her once again over that dreaded and savored edge.
“What’d I tell you, Birdie?” He ignored the defeated, broken whines that left her while they both returned to reality, “You’re mine.”
As his eyes trailed down the collage of her forming bruises, he was sure he bore his own battle scars, heart strangely skipping at the thought. She was his, but he had long belonged to her. A fact he’d hoard to himself as long as he could.
He caught his breath, readjusting to brush sweaty strands of hair from her forehead to behind her ear, pressing a reverent kiss to her temple before pulling away. It was a gesture entirely too soft, and she could have forgotten it was the monster above her had it not been for his next words.
“Oh don’t cry, my broken little Bird,” That vicious golden grin was back, “I’m not even close to done with you yet.”
Looking down at the ruined little thing shaking underneath him, he felt a type of satisfaction one only gets from dethroning a queen, fight fucked out of her. Not for good, he reminded himself gleefully. His pretty Bird was too stubborn for that. His softening cock twitched to life at the thought.
The flare of her nostrils sent lightning in his veins as she growled, “I’ll ruin you,” The words were venomous, humor sucked out in favor of acidic hatred, but his chest only vibrated with a sadistic urge to play, “I’ll fucking ruin you.”
“Ruin all you like, baby,” Breath wet and hot, shaking with anticipation, “I’ll ruin you right back.”
#yandere bnha#yandere hawks#yandere takami keigo#yandere hawks x reader#yandere takami kegio x reader#yandere mha#yandere boku no hero academia#yandere my hero academia#yandere x reader#yandere x you#first and only draft bc we like livin on the edge
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hello hello ♡
it’s been a weird few weeks, so i just wanted to come here and say that i really appreciate all of you who’ve interacted w my writing in any way.
rereading some messages and comments/reblogs rlly brightens my mood, and it makes me so happy that y’all like my shit lmao.
i will def respond to the asks/requests i have, sorry for the wait/my poor response time lol ^^
also new fic coming soon-ish 👀
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Midas Touch
WARNINGS: yandere, possessiveness, manipulation, implied abuse, non-consensual implications, toxic relationship, unreliable narrator
read at your own discretion.
yandere ! SHIGARAKI TOMURA X READER
“I’m sorry.”
“No talking,” Her lips twisted, but still she kept her gaze towards the setting sun, “Please. No talking, please.”
“Okay,” He sighed, and a heavy feeling settled on his heart, “No talking.”
He figured it less of a wish for silence, and more a fear of what she would say if she allowed herself to speak. A fear of what he would do if the words strayed from the script he’d given her who knows how many days or months or years ago.
He supposed he couldn’t blame her, but the thought still left a bitter taste in his mouth, tongue itching against his teeth, desperate to bridge the gap between them.
But he swallowed the urge, and settled for staring instead. She never said he couldn’t stare, and though she drew her knees closer to her chest, she didn’t reprimand him. Wouldn’t.
And try as he might, he couldn’t tear his eyes from her profile; how regal it was, the warm golden glow of the setting sun surrounding them, though, seeming only to grace her with its light. Orange gleamed against her skin, eyes shimmering as flecks of yellow danced along the waterline.
The shine that crept at the edges of her lashes followed the sharp curve of her nose, and like strokes of a painting, it swept across her cheekbones.
A soft wind blew through her hair, rose-gold glimmering between the gaps of the swaying strands, and coloring the ends in a brilliant kind of orange-red. Kind of like a halo, he thought.
And then he caught sight of it, and the weight in his chest cracked his ribs.
It was an ugly sort of blue-green, distracting from the warm light that would have made her look altogether angelic. Would have. But the purpling fingerprints–five, to be exact–stained the sides of her throat, and he felt like screaming.
But she asked him not to speak. And so he wouldn’t. Sew his mouth shut until she deemed it worthy enough to open. Perhaps that was the solution; it seemed that words only ever hurt the both of them. Her, not you.
Once upon a time, he thought she was something made only for him. A shiny toy he could touch and hold and squeeze. A toy that wouldn’t break.
He realized, in time, however, that he had never known how to take care of his toys as a child. Long before they’d turn to dust, he’d never handled anything as delicate, as soft, as pretty.
But she wasn’t a toy. And, though she couldn’t shatter under his touch, she could break. Scream and cry and beg while he took and took and took. Whatever momentary pleasure he’d stolen from her dissolving in the darkness of the aftermath. The bruises. The blood. The tears.
He sent her a silent apology; she may not have been made for him, but she had made him something. Took what broken nothing he knew he was, and warmed the dead and blackened coal in his chest until it set aflame cradled between hands soft as silk.
He hadn’t anything else to grasp onto–literally or otherwise–that could keep him from falling to pieces himself. He was selfish, he knew, but it was moments like these–moments whose frequency he could no longer count–where he felt guilty.
It had become a pattern. Whatever anger or hatred or resentment he felt towards the world became a burden for her to bear. He naively, cruelly, thought her responsible for keeping his own shadows in check. Use her golden touch, give that bright smile he hadn’t seen in who knows how long, save him with her stolen radiance.
Only to realize time and time again that shadows were greedy, creeping and growing, laughing as they devoured the light, licking desperately at their fangs for more to rip, more to tear. More to destroy.
And after his shadows had smothered her light, he’d work his way to forgiveness by finally letting her breathe, consciously or otherwise, believing it enough to erase the indiscretions of his own darkness. Give that snuffed out golden flame a little breeze to reignite the fire.
It was a pattern of which he was painfully aware. Still, it was a lesson that never seemed to stick, and he was reminded of their current predicament.
In the distance, the sun fell beneath the horizon, its glow swallowed up by the edge of the earth. The cityscape was less alive for it, fluorescent yellow-blues filling the glass spaces, too bright neons flickering on.
His focus was pulled back to her as a sigh left her lips. The pink-orange glimmer had left her now, and the blue film of the night had tinted her skin.
How fitting.
The weight on his heart settled, and burning disgust used the heavy bones as kindling. He wished the fire to turn him to ash from the inside out, but found it to be yet another selfish desire. She had no need for graying ashes.
Though, following the discolorations that surely trailed further and deeper onto the canvas of her skin hidden from view–had she any use for him?
He hadn’t noticed he’d started crying until the brush of fingertips traced along the back of his hand, rubbing fallen tears from his knuckles. Turning, he watched as she reached beside her, where his palm lay flat against the roof, pulling his fingers into her own.
As he scanned her, face still turned away, he realized that the bruises blended in with the twilight. Even without the sun, even covered in shadow, she was beautiful. With her hand in his own, soothing at the skin with her thumb, and the evidence of his indiscretion fading with the darkening sky, he found himself finally able to breathe.
He looked to their interlocked fingers, grip turning fierce, desperate. Trying to convey all the words unspoken. She didn’t protest, opting instead to squeeze at his hand in some sort of placation, forgiveness, and he remembered exactly why they needed each other. Why they loved each other.
Maybe this time would be different. She didn’t need to keep the shadows at bay if she joined him in the darkness. He’d dragged her there too many times for her to keep her shine. But there were still stars in the night sky. She’d still shine, in a different way than before, but it was enough.
He didn’t need her golden. This was fine. This time things could be different. Would be.
He smiled, sighing, letting his own self-loathing melt away with the misty clouds now eaten up by blended purple-blues. And though she wasn’t looking, as if his thoughts were loud enough for her to hear, to listen, her own lips parted as a reminder. Though, the words had lost their edge.
“No talking.”
“Right,” He breathed, “No talking.”
I’m sorry.
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