#all his crimes and his own suffering and all the good things he's done too! they're all dazai's choices
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genuinely sorry abt being annoying about this but I cannot ever get behind the idea of mori being abusive to skk. If someone starts on how dazai's been tortured by mori have to click off immediately, i just cannot do it with that. Dazai doesn't hate mori because mori hurt him, it's because mori betrayed his trust! It's an emotional wound! Mori would never TRY to hurt dazai, not only is that a highly impractical idea, he really does like the kid! Mori ain't the monster y'alls are making him out to be.
#unimportant#bsd#alsoalso! I think it should be a more recognized point that nearly everything that Dazai goes through is his explicitly own choice#all his crimes and his own suffering and all the good things he's done too! they're all dazai's choices#dazai has the MOST control over the plot#ppls looove taking his agency away huh?#mori#dazai
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✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。what if you’re someone i just want around (i’m falling again)
synopsis. somewhere along the line, you started to hate suguru—that doesn’t mean you stopped loving him too
— word count. 9.5k (i am in misery)
— contents. post canon! au — fix it! (we all need a good fix it fic with suguru don't lie), this fic was started before recent manga chapters so the higher ups are still alive—just go with it ok :,), geto survives + lives free of kenjaku, exes to lovers, kind of redemption i suppose, mentions of blood, injuries, and weight loss (geto), mentions of canon character deaths (nanako, mimiko, nanami), mentions of wanting to raise children with geto and have a family, no gendered terms but reader has a personality and actual thoughts and feelings, references to the hunger games (you have movie night lol), BFF satoru (he is babie), there is a kiss y’all !! (scandalous i know :O)
— notes. i started this fic back in march and i had trouble with it and put it on pause for a while. i’m very glad i finished it in the end. i always like fix it! fics and this is self-indulgent and idk if ppl will read it bc it’s sfw but it’s ok if they don’t, i loved writing it. thank you koi for beta-reading this whole bad boy. mwah <333
the day suguru is declared a free man is actually the day he signs away his freedom for good.
you say nothing, but you know it’s the truth. satoru fights tooth and nail to plead suguru’s case—you think it’s perhaps a little too desperate for it to be in the best interest of suguru and not himself. but satoru has suffered enough, and admittedly—although you deny it—a small part of you does not want to lose suguru twice. you watch as satoru argues that suguru has already died once—surely he can’t die again? and losing control of his body and mind is paying for his crimes enough, is it not? he argues that there are no ideals left for a man like geto suguru to chase after losing himself to every principle he had left.
and then satoru wins.
you expect it, but it doesn’t make it any easier. you watch numbly as suguru is assigned under your watch. you should be happy. you love suguru—you never stopped. but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s not a free man, and now he drags your freedom with his. you’ll never break away from him, never cut through the ropes that tie your hands behind your back and bind you to him—and then you wonder for a moment, unsure if it’s selfish or selfless or some cruel in-between to think this way, if geto suguru was better off dead.
whether that’s for your sake, or his, you’re not sure.
and yes, he’s let off alive, and sure, there’s no real punishment for all he’s done, but you know deep down he’s as chained and shackled as he’s ever been. he’s not allowed to leave the house unless you or satoru are there to chaperone, and it’s never to be anywhere near non-sorcerers. he’s not to live in a place of his own until the higher up’s deem him trustworthy. he has to ask you to buy the things he wants from the grocery store. he can’t even step outside for a smoke unless you’re aware.
for a long time, he doesn’t speak much—can hardly muster a barely audible mornin’ back when you force a smile and greet him cheerily for breakfast. slowly, it turns into half-snarky conversations that get cut short by one of you leaving the room. finally, you’re civil—maybe even friendly. you’re not so sure where you stand with him as of now.
it’s not the same suguru you remember falling in love with, it’s not even close to the version of the man you fell for all those years ago. it’s hard having him here—some days you’re angry and want to throw him out, to scream at him for haunting you again just when you think you’ve moved on from the horrors of your past. some days you want to cry and cling to him, bury your face into his neck and thank him for being here again, for finding his way back to you. and some days you wish you never met him at all, that this would all be easier if it didn’t exist in the first place.
he’s not the same geto suguru you loved, but somehow, because life is as bitter as it is ruthless, you fall in love with this version just as hard no matter how much you deny it.
“i made your favorite,” you smile gently, placing a neat plate of french toast with freshly cut strawberries on the side. you even take great care to get the syrup-to-powdered sugar ratio he likes right, but he doesn’t make a move to reach for the plate. instead, suguru sits at the table stiffly, like he has to be here or there are consequences for that too. it almost makes you sad—even here, he’s not free.
“thanks,” he says quietly, “but i’m not hungry.”
“you said that last night, suguru,” you sigh, “and at lunch. and at breakfast. and at dinner the night before—”
“i’ll eat it later,” he cuts you off, playing with the ends of his hair.
it’s a lot shorter now. it’s you who finds his body battered and bruised after the smoke clears. he’s almost unrecognizable, not the same charming and perfect suguru you’re used to seeing. not the same silkened strands and smooth skin, not the same muscled and toned body, not the same chiseled jaw and soft cheeks. instead, he’s a shell of himself. his hair is matted in knots, his body is almost frail, and you notice the sunken hollows of his cheeks and dark undereyes as you lift him from the rubble a little too easily. but his body is his own—that much you can tell from the way the stitches have disappeared.
it takes shoko a long time to nurse him back to health—it takes even longer for him to open his eyes.
you waited day and night by his side, hand over his as he breathed slowly, unconscious and unsuspecting. it would be so easy, you think one night, it would be so easy to kill him and forget and move on.
you’ve already grieved him once before. you’ve felt and conquered the pain of loving geto suguru and losing him first to himself and then to death. but love is as selfish as it is selfless, and it’s under your mercy that you let him live—yet it’s under your cowardice that you keep him close.
“you have to gain back the weight you lost, suguru,” you sigh, “you’re w—”
“weak?” he finishes for you, eyeing you for a second and then grinning. it’s unsettling, a grin that makes your skin crawl and your heart stop for a moment before he’s reaching for the fork and stabbing into his toast. “is that what you wanted to say? that i’m weak?”
“suguru, you know that’s not how i meant—”
“you’re not wrong,” he hums, chewing on the first bite as he speaks, “i suppose i am pretty weak right now, huh? couldn’t even kill you in your sleep if i tried could i?”
your throat is dry as you shrug, “i suppose not,” you whisper.
“ah,” he grins again, “but that doesn’t stop you from locking your door every night, does it?”
suguru is still healing. his body is weak, and sometimes, he leans against the wall as he walks. his arm is healed—you’re not entirely sure how, but you catch him rolling the shoulder out every now and then like it’s sore and stiff. he’s lost a lot of weight—part of it is from being bedridden for as long as he was, injured and half alive, and part of it is from barely eating—save for the few bites you force into him. you never thought there’d be a day when you could say this—but the odds of you beating suguru in hand-to-hand combat are high, and the reality is an everlasting reminder that he is not who you fell for.
you swallow, letting out a shaky breath as he watches you closely, diligently cutting another bite from the french toast sitting on his plate as he stares you down like he can see past your soul. you don’t know what’s scarier—that suguru can still practically see yours, or that you’re unsure he even has one anymore.
“you tried coming in?” you ask, unsure what else to say. he merely shrugs, takes another bite, and sets his fork down.
“thought i’d check on you,” he pops a strawberry half into his mouth as he speaks.
“is that what it really was?” you raise a brow, “or was i right to lock the door?”
you’re not sure why you lock the door at night. maybe it’s because you don’t trust him, or maybe it’s because you don’t want him near you just yet. you’re not sure. you’re not sure how satoru can go back to his cheery self, how he can step through your door and boom a loud yo, suguru! before settling beside suguru on the couch with his feet on the coffee table as he rambles away. maybe it’s not real—maybe it’s satoru desperately pretending that if he tries hard enough, things can go back to how they were.
but you don’t know how he still has the energy to try, and you don’t know if you have it in you to try anymore yourself.
you and suguru stare each other down like that for a bit, the tension rising with every silent second that passes. you’re sure he doesn’t want to be here as much as you don’t want him around—but you’re also sure he’s glad it’s here with you as much as you’re glad it’s with no one else.
“you tell me,” he smirks after a bit, the hint of amusement making your fists clench. how dare he have the audacity to look at you like that in your own home? like he has the upper hand over you without trying? “what do you think i was there for?”
“i think you should stay in your room, suguru,” you say carefully, “i bought a new bed just for that room.”
“how sweet of you,” he hums. he sips the tea before him—it’s cold by now, but it’s just how he likes it, rose with one sugar. “you must have been excited to have me.”
“hardly,” you mumble bitterly—you can’t help it. you want him to feel hurt, even just a little. you want him to know that just because he’s back, it doesn’t mean you’ve waited all this time for him to be. liar, a part of you says, you’ve always waited for him, haven’t you? but suguru doesn’t seem phased—he doesn’t even blink.
“then tell me, why am i here?” suguru asks, his tone is as casual as ever.
i wish i knew, you want to say. i wish i knew but i don’t.
“because satoru asked you to be,” is all you can say.
he nods, pushing back his plate and standing up, offering you that same grin. “you’re right,” he hums, “that’s exactly why i’m here.”
it hits you why his smile is so unsettling once he leaves—it’s almost genuine, like he’s still loved you all this time. impossible, you tell yourself. suguru stopped loving you a long time ago. and you need to stop trying to figure out why.
————————————————
even despite telling yourself you don’t care what suguru thinks, a small part of you needs to prove to him you’re not scared of him. that you don’t fear for your own safety in your home, and that him being here is not some form of him haunting you. you don’t care. he shouldn’t get the luxury of thinking you care. he can come in and watch you sleep like the creep he is if he wants—you couldn’t bother to give it a second thought.
the first night you take a chance and leave the door unlocked, suguru slips into bed beside you. it wakes you up instantly, and before you can question it, his head tucks into your neck, and his hand grasps your shirt tightly. you notice the panting almost instantly—and then you realize, it must be a nightmare.
you fall into old habits, even after all these years, defaulting to care for him like it’s second nature.
“you’re safe, suguru,” is what you settle for saying after a moment of contemplation. it’s all you can really think to say, so you brush your lips over the top of his head as you murmur, “you’re safe,” over and over again.
as difficult as it is to have suguru around, as painful and cruel and aggravating as it is to be reminded of his distant existence even as he’s two doors down, this part feels natural. it’s almost like you’re back in jujutsu high, waking up to him sneaking into your room as he presses his weight over your body and wakes you with soft kisses along your face.
except this time, he’s not annoyingly demanding cuddles or telling you about his weird dream, he’s not stealing your blanket and demanding you play with his hair. this time, it’s not the same suguru—and this time, it’s not jujutsu high.
it’s your room. the one you got on the other side of town to leave the sorcery world behind, somehow still stuck right in the center of it no matter where you go. and yet, just like all those years ago, your legs tangle, and your arms wrap him up, and you murmur, “you’re safe,” while he catches his breath.
“but they’re not,” he mutters in between labored pants, making you pause.
and then you remember.
faintly, you recall the blonde and black hair from a distance, you remember bitterly wondering what’d it be like watching suguru fathering children of your own as you came to the reality that it would never happen. sometimes, you wonder if you hate nanako and mimiko for existing, for living as the dreams you never got to live through with suguru.
it’s selfish—to hate two children because they are what you do not have.
but then you feel something wet hit your neck, and then you wish they were okay—for his sake. and just for a moment, you’re selfless again.
“they’re not safe,” he mutters, making you sigh.
“they are,” you whisper, hesitating for a moment before letting your fingers slip into his hair. you scratch gently at his scalp, feeling his body melt into yours almost instantly—like it’s a response that’s natural to him. “they’re not suffering. not anymore.”
“is that supposed to make me feel better?” he scoffs. you shrug, letting your cheek press against the top of his head as you sigh.
“it helps me feel better,” you say softly, “‘s just how you learn to cope.”
it’s an understanding you both silently come to. loss on both sides. bloodshed on either ground. defeat no matter which ideal you take. to love is to bear the pain of mortality—it’s a lesson that you never cease to learn until the ends of time itself.
“the jujutsu world is one of suffering,” he grits, sniffling into your neck. you hum, pressing a kiss to his head as your eyes close.
“every world is one of suffering, suguru, you can’t erase them all. the sooner you realize that, the easier you’ll find peace.”
you fall into a slumber after that, faintly aware of the way he shuffles closer to you, faintly aware of the soft kiss pressed to your skin as sleep takes over your body and drifts you out of consciousness.
when you wake up the next morning, suguru is gone, and the door is closed. the blanket is tucked up to your chin, and your neck still tingles from last night.
————————————————
“get up,” you throw a pillow at suguru, waking him up with a start as he sits up. his hair is tousled and messy from sleep—it’s now long enough that he can put it in a bun without strands slipping from the bottom anymore. you chuckle as he glares at you, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he groans.
“the fuck was that for?” he grunts, holding the blanket up to cover his exposed chest.
it’s funny that he does that, in a way. it’s not as though you haven’t seen his chest…and then some too. it’s not like you haven’t torn his shirt off to stanch the flow of blood from his injuries before or feel the bare skin with your palm under the pale moonlight as the lingering scent of sex breezes through the room.
but somehow, even though he doesn’t need to cover his chest around you of all people, you’re glad that he does. truthfully, it keeps you slightly comforted to know that he’s aware you’re still technically strangers—no matter how well-versed you are in each other’s pasts. but you don’t ponder on it too much. instead, you grin, shoving aside the visual of the small glance you caught at his pecs, and you clap your hands to motion him to hurry.
“we are going grocery shopping,” you say casually—as though it’s not something to make him raise a brow in shock.
“me?” he points a finger at himself. you roll your eyes, and he challenges you with another raise of his brow. “aren’t i supposed to stay away from civilians?”
“yes, you,” you nod, pointing back at him, “and satoru has worked overtime to get you granted permission to roam around with me. he says you’re welcome, by the way.”
“tell him to go fuck off.”
“that’s ungrateful,” you say flatly, “his feelings will be hurt.”
“his feelings will find a way to cope,” suguru huffs. “i don’t want to be around…them,” he says bitterly.
you suppose it’s wishful thinking to hope suguru has let go of his past beliefs. perhaps he’s long abandoned the possibility of the vision he once planned on bringing to life, but you can’t say you expected him to revert back to the old suguru who fought alongside you and satoru. you yourself certainly have no intention of returning to the sorcery world after all the events, so you can’t say you’re shocked by the lack of change he seems to show. but then again, you suppose suguru has changed. whether he sees it or not.
he stays here and doesn’t put up a fight to leave even though he can now that he’s healed. he eats lunch when you tell him and even washes the dishes. sometimes, when you come home a bit late, dinner is even ready on the table as he sits and stares at you expectantly. his plate is empty like yours—like he’s been waiting for you even though he doesn’t need to. you suppose you can see he’s changed in the way he doesn’t scoff at the tv channels you surf through, he silently sits on the opposite end of the couch now and watches with you, and perhaps if you’re lucky, you’ll hear a light chuckle or a quiet sigh as the scenes roll on the screen.
you suppose this suguru is a step closer to your suguru every day he spends with you, but you don’t know if any suguru is what you need right now. perhaps that name should’ve been buried away as a distant memory, perhaps it should’ve only been something you unlock once every year on his death anniversary—when satoru clambers through your door drunk and unsteady as he clutches the hand that killed his best friend, only to share pancakes with you in the morning and pretend like you don’t notice the dried tears on his cheeks while he acts like he doesn’t catch the way your hand shakes as you cut into your breakfast.
but suguru is here now. whether it’s as geto, one half of the strongest duo in jujutsu high, whether it’s as suguru, the love of your life and the sole reason you exist, or whether it’s as geto suguru, the curse user and mass murderer who haunts your past, present, and everything in between.
so you simply sigh, grab the pillow again, and hit the top of his head before walking over to the door as you call over your shoulder, “i’m gonna wait for you by the door in fifteen minutes. be ready or face the consequences..”
“no thanks. don’t wanna,” suguru grumbles petulantly, frowning at you as you stick your tongue at him, smirking as if you’ve just played your ace.
“too bad,” you sing before swinging the door shut.
he’s at the door in exactly fifteen minutes, like he waited until the last possible second to join you as a move of spite. but you simply gesture him out the door and lock up, taking your sweet time as he stands there with an annoyed face. you stare at the doorknob once you’re done, taking a deep breath before turning to him with your best smile.
“let’s go,” you hum.
“after you,” he mutters.
—
he grimaces as soon as he sees the people going about their business, clearly unhappy with the idea of being around non-sorcerers, but one sharp glare from you has him sighing and trekking along. the grocery store, admittedly, is not as bad as suguru thinks—in fact, there are lots of things he doesn’t realize he misses until he watches you grab a shopping cart.
suddenly, he sees shadows. the silhouette of your figure climbing into the cart, the angry wave of satoru’s hands as he claims it's his turn to be pushed around, the figure of shoko pinching the bridge of her nose in irritation from the back—and then, he sees the dark shadow of baggy pants and a small bun. it’s him. suguru watches himself almost in slow motion through the remnants of his imagination as he gently shoves satoru out of the way and reaches to poke the tip of your nose before he pushes the cart with you in it.
it’s a happy memory—and it’s gone all too soon.
as soon as he blinks, the shadows have disappeared—instead, it’s you waving a hand in his face, concern written on your features as you call his name.
“suguru? hey, hello? are you with me?”
he exhales, pulled from his trance as he gently grabs your wrist from in front of his face and sets it down as he nods, “yeah, i’m fine. just thinking,” he mumbles.
for a second, you hesitate, like you almost mean to say something. but in the end, you only nod before turning to grab the shopping cart. but he stops you—grabs the handle and turns to you with a small smile on his face, making you raise a brow as he gently moves you away.
“what are you—”
“get in,” he grins, making you stare at him in bewilderment.
“what?”
“just get in,” he sighs, “you love it when you get to sit in the cart.”
“i’m not a teenager anymore—”
“get in, will you?” he groans, “always so damn difficult.”
“hey,” you pout, glaring at him with your hands planted at your hips, “that’s rude.” it’s cute. suguru stares at you with amusement in his eyes and a soft look on his face that you don’t think you’ve really seen in years.
“humor me,” he hums, “just get in, okay?”
so you do.
with a huff and a grumble under your breath, you fight back a smile and climb into the damn cart just like old times. you swallow and try not to let it get to you when he reaches over and pokes the tip of your nose and pushes the cart around, letting you name off the things you need from your list while he grabs them. and when he sneaks snacks into the pile, you roll your eyes and glare at him in the way you always did—the one that isn’t actually annoyed. fond. happy to let it slide because it’s him.
“we need candy,” you murmur, “that’s the last thing on the list.”
“okay. what kind?” he asks, turning the cart into the candy aisle and smiling softly down at you.
“doesn’t matter, satoru eats anything as long as it’s sweet. he’s more likely to die from sugar than fighting a curse, i think.”
“you buy candy for satoru?” he asks, making you shrug as you reach over and grab a few bags of candy off the shelves, setting them down beside you.
“he comes over a lot so i learned to keep stuff stocked up for him. you know how he gets when he’s hungry.”
suguru feels something he hasn’t felt since he was a teenager. jealousy—specifically of satoru.
suguru is not foolish. he knows as soon as he meets gojo satoru that of the two, one of them is stronger and it’s definitely not himself. for the longest time, he’s okay with that, okay being the strongest only when alongside satoru—until he’s not. and even if suguru always had a bit more attention in the romance department than satoru, in his head he’s always known that perhaps satoru can keep you safer, more well off, maybe even happier. with smooth smiles and eyes as welcoming as an oasis, gojo satoru would never leave you in the dark pit of misery as suguru once had.
something about the thought of you and satoru keeping each other company through the lonely years, filling that empty spot suguru left behind, sharing moments over candy and empty wrappers makes suguru wonder for a moment if perhaps he’d be happier if he stayed. maybe he could have worn a heartfelt smile in a world that carves them off the faces of sorcerers with bloody knives as long as you were there to wipe the blood.
but before he can dwell on it, you snatch one more bag—this time of his favorite candy, placing it into the cart and grinning gently up at him.
“i haven’t bought this one in years,” you admit, “i almost forget how it tastes.”
“me too,” he says quietly.
“well,” you hum, “we’ll have to have some when we’re home.”
home. you say it as though it belongs to him as much as it does you, and then like you always have, without even meaning to, you wash away the dark stains of his jealousy with no trace left behind.
“yeah,” he chuckles, “we—”
“daddy, look! candy!” suguru is cut off by the gentle pitter-patter of two tiny feet running into the aisle, pointing at a bag of candy as a man follows close behind.
his breath hitches.
she’s small, the girl—she has two pigtails with soft strands of blonde hair falling out of the loosely tied bands. it reminds suguru of the first time he perfected tying up nanako’s hair, the soft giggles behind her tiny hand as she twirled in the mirror.
there’s another girl in the man’s arms—dark hair on her head as she curls into her father’s chest and tucks her head into his neck when she sees you and suguru in the aisle. she’s shy, he realizes, like mimiko, and suddenly he remembers the tiny fingers that used to hook into his pants when she got too overwhelmed by the people around her, waiting for suguru to scoop her into his arms.
perhaps in another life, suguru would redo everything differently—he’d be happy with you and satoru and shoko, and nanami and haibara would be there too, well and alive. but no matter what, he’d never redo nanako and mimiko differently. he’d never change a thing about them, not even the way nanako whines too much about small things or the way mimiko never speaks up even when something is clearly bothering her. he’d never change the way he saved them and took them in at the tender age of eighteen, too lost to be a father but choosing to raise them anyway. he’d never change the feeling of pure joy and unbridled pride when they climbed into his bed for the first time, shushing each other so as not to wake him—even though he’d awoken as soon as the door to his room opened.
because he realized that night that yeah, maybe he’d made mistakes in his lifetime, lots of them too. maybe he’d made a bad choice choosing the path he did, or maybe he didn’t. he’s never been completely sure—just that he had to try at least to make his vision for a different world come to life. but one mistake he never made was his girls. one thing he was always sure about was the soft clutch at his pants and the tiny hands reaching for his own.
suguru wouldn’t change anything about nanako and mimiko—except maybe the fact that they aren’t here, gone because of him.
“suguru?” you ask softly, reaching for his hand as he grips the cart tightly and pulling his gaze away from the family in the distance.
he blinks, meets your eyes, and knows that you know. with one glance at your face, he knows you understand. the world is cruel, one filled with suffering, he thinks. but then he remembers what you said, that every world is full of suffering, not just his—that it’s a truth he has to come face to face with.
but it’s hard. it’s hard when this man has his two little girls and suguru does not—it’s hard to watch someone have what he wants with no worries of losing it, all because of people and their own weaknesses. he thinks for a moment that he’s been right all along—that non-sorcerers are too weak for this life, that the jujutsu world has always suffered so they don’t have to.
but then the man speaks up, catching both of your attention.
“your mother used to love those,” he says quietly to his daughter, a pained smile on his face. instantly, you and suguru both seem to understand the weight of that single sentence.
every world has its own pain, suguru realizes. its own cruelties and unfairness, its own way of bringing suffering in its wake as it rips away the things closest to you from your begging fingertips, leaving them cold and empty and numb from the lost weight underneath them.
“let’s go, suguru,” you whisper, “we have everything we came for.”
“yeah,” he whispers back, clearing his throat so his voice doesn’t crack, “let’s go.”
suguru leaves the grocery store with you after you pay, and for a brief moment, he’s unsure. unsure whether he’s grateful to satoru for fighting for him to be able to come and grateful to you for dragging him along, or if he wishes he died along with the rubble, gone before you could find him and turn him into this.
“before you even think about hiding away in your room,” you say, grabbing the bags from the cart as you put it back where it belongs, “you have to help with putting away the groceries.”
“sure,” he says smoothly. he grabs all the heavy bags from your hand, and you make a move to protest that you don’t need him to take the heavier ones, that you’re fine and can handle them like you’ve always handled them.
but he walks off, and finally, you decide to simply follow.
————————————————
satoru likes to come and visit—you’ve started a routine movie night every week (unless he’s away, of course.) it’s fun, but it also means he makes your veins pop because he’s a headache like that—always makes himself right at home and eats your snacks like this is his place and not yours. he helps himself to your already limited candy and puts his sock-clad feet up on the coffee table no matter how many times you tell him not to.
you try sitting with legs as long as these, he always whines, earning a harsh glare from you as you smack at his shins until he ultimately caves and begrudgingly sets his feet down.
but then they always make their way back up to the coffee table, and you’re too busy enjoying his company to care—although you’ll never admit it.
satoru is endearing like that, swallowing the dark clouds from your shoulders whole and eating up your burdens with that side of responsibility that you don’t think you could ever stomach. satoru is just like that, you realize, taking the brunt of the weight and laughing off every concern until you can’t help but not take them seriously yourself.
it’s hard to remember that sometimes you didn’t just lose suguru, the love of your life, that night. everyone lost something. shoko lost someone to smoke with, yaga lost a student to scold, nanami lost a headache to avoid, and satoru?
well…satoru lost what you think might’ve been the only filled void of his miserably empty life.
it’s hard to remember that satoru lost his best friend—the only best friend he’s ever had (although you like to think of yourself as a close contender)—because he’s so good at letting you forget. he brings you ice cream (that he eats half of because it’s only fair he gets a share), and he sits and hogs your couch (that he argues you don’t really need as much space as him on because your legs aren’t as long), and he watches those stupid sitcoms that are dry with boring jokes (that you used to make suguru watch back in the day).
it’s hard to remember that satoru also lost as much as you because he’s so damn good at making you forget about your own loss, you don’t care to think about anyone else’s for a while. just a short while. just until he’s yawning that obnoxiously loud yawn and stretching those awkwardly long limbs of his before he claims he really should go and that being the world’s best teacher requires as many hours of beauty sleep as you can squeeze in.
and then he’s off. and it’s empty again. and just like that, you’re reminded of why he was there in the first place—to fill in that sick and painful void that geto suguru left in you.
it’s gaping, like he tore a chunk of you right out with sharp teeth, like you’re just a piece of meat for him to get his fill of. if suguru really loved you, would you be so easy to let go of? why couldn’t he smile? because you could—god, you could smile just from the sight of him alone, you realize a long time ago. him with his cigarette tucked between his lips, those death sticks as you called them, hung loosely from his mouth as he gives you a lopsided grin.
geto suguru is enough of a reason to smile. the world could crumble at your feet and leave you with nothing but rubble and dirt, and still, suguru is the core of the earth you’re searching for.
so why couldn’t you be the same? what is it you were missing? what about you was just not enough for him like the way he was enough for you?
it dawns on you one night, through bitter tears and shaky sobs, and that sick, twisted, pleading feeling in your gut that begs the wind to carry him back to you—geto suguru has never loved you the way you loved him.
and for that, you can never forgive him, you don’t think.
“you tryin’ to go bug-eyed?” he asks, settling down on the couch next to you, making you snap out of your trance. you shake your head a little, stare back at him for a moment before putting on that look on your face where you roll your eyes and pretend everything is fine.
“no,” you huff, “i’m just thinking.”
“about…?”
“satoru has rarely ever missed a movie night.”
“maybe he’s sick of you,” he shrugs, grinning slyly at you as you narrow your eyes with a glare, “there’s someone here to keep you company now so he’s probably taken his opportunity to run.”
“you’re hardly company,” you scoff, “freeloader.”
“hey,” he defends, shrugging as if it’s not his fault. you suppose it’s not. “i didn’t ask to be rescued. you can’t be high and mighty and petty. ‘s not how that works.”
“says who? you don’t make the rules. i can be graciously kind and a jerk all at once.”
“complexity,” he nods, “i like it.”
“i’m not as complicated as you might think,” you grumble, crossing your arms as you stare at the time. yeah, satoru isn’t making it—which, he told you as much, but he’s strolled in at the last second too many times to count before. you figure today would be the same. “as long as you don’t skip movie nights with me, i’m pretty simple to keep appeased.”
“alright,” he props his feet up on the coffee table—seriously, what is it with asshole men putting their feet on your table? satoru is a terrible influence. “let’s have a movie night.”
“what?” you blink.
“movie night,” he repeats, “you said you don’t like skipping movie night—”
“well, i meant i don’t like satoru skipping movie—”
“well, it was me before satoru, wasn’t it?” he says with a smile. his eyes are closed, crinkled at the corners, but his voice is carefully neutral—like he takes extra care not to let you see any emotion behind it.
but that only means there is an emotion, isn’t there? is he jealous? does he hate the fact that you and satoru have a routine of your own without him? that you don’t need him to continue living your life?
good. he should be. he walked out on you all those years ago. he killed a village. killed his parents. you never even got to meet them—he never even got to take you home and introduce you to them before he ripped away every fantasy you ever had with him.
and now he’s back—he has the audacity to live, to laugh in your face with his existence that yes, geto suguru is here. and he was supposed to be executed, but your stubborn friend didn’t let that happen. he was supposed to be your husband by now with kids and a happy little home, and you were supposed to be his parent’s new addition to their family that they loved so much. but none of that is even close to happening, and it’s suguru’s fault, and the least he can do is show you some regret and maybe feel just the slightest bit bad that you now have to watch shitty movies with his best friend instead of him to feel normal.
ex-best friend? half best friend? you don’t even know—do they still consider each other their best friends? does anyone consider suguru anything? you don’t know what you consider him. but you think the least he can do is act just the slightest bit pathetic after making you feel so pathetic for so long just to even the score.
he should be a stranger. he feels like an old friend. but either is dangerous.
“alright,” you sigh, “let's bring back movie night. don’t fall asleep.”
“i get plenty of sleep nowadays,” he hums, “i have more than enough free time for that now.”
“how lucky of you,” you snort.
—
picking a movie with suguru is difficult. he actually has standards—satoru watches anything so long as he gets snacks, and he can make anything fun to watch with the way he comments from the side like a critic. suguru, on the other hand, actually cares about the quality of a movie, the metrics that make it good.
so you pick the hunger games just to piss him off.
“seriously?” he raises a brow, “this is your pick?”
“yes,” you grin, “i like these movies.”
“of all movies—”
“my house, my rules,” you grin cheekily, “you can pick the movies as soon as you start paying the bills.”
“wow,” he deadpans, “stooping to use my financial status against me? i thought you were better than this.”
“oh suguru,” you sigh dramatically, grabbing a bag of chips from the table, “you don’t know me at all.”
all things considered, you think it’s a rather enjoyable experience. it’s not as fun without satoru’s stupid comments that you pretend to hate, but suguru provides his own commentary that earns a giggle out of you here and there too—although his are not meant to be funny. but that’s the appeal of it, you think.
“she should have picked gale,” he mumbles. you raise a brow.
“peeta was always there for her, did you miss the rain scene?”
“so was gale,” he says smoothly, grabbing a chip from your bag and making you scowl.
“gale killed her sister,” you point out, “and a lot of other people too. he was ruthless. she needed peeta.”
“gale did what he had to do,” suguru mumbles.
suddenly, it doesn’t really feel like you’re discussing the movie anymore. it feels more than that. it feels sickening—the air is heavy, and your throat is dry and god, you just wanted a movie night and not this heaviness as you talk about stuff from the past without actually talking about it.
you blink before turning to your chips, playing around with the bag as you shrug.
“in the end he didn’t get katniss, did he?”
suguru studies you for a moment, stares a little too deep into you that you start to feel the urge to bolt to your room and go to bed.
“guess not,” he says quietly, “guess that’s the one regret he has, huh?”
you think for a second, as suguru stares at your eyes with something you can’t quite read, that you might cry. you might cry and throw that half-empty can of soda in his face for speaking in codes and making you question what he means and remember your past. you might cry because suguru could’ve always gotten you—in fact, he had you.
it’s not fair. nothing is, but you can’t help but dwell on it.
“i’m going to bed. it’s late,” you mumble after a few moments, standing. he only nods, staring at the tv as the credits roll. when you make it to your room and the door shuts behind you, you debate clicking the lock in place.
in the end, you don’t lock the door. suguru climbs into bed with you once more later that night, shaking slightly from his nightmare but calmer than usual. he’s still gone by the time morning comes, and you still never mention it.
it hits you one night that maybe he still has you—maybe you never let him stop having you, no matter what you say.
————————————————
suguru is good at cleaning while you’re away. you have to go out and do adult things like breadwinning and grocery shopping and bill paying. he dusts and cleans and even takes out the trash when you’re home to monitor him as he steps two feet out of your front door. sometimes, because you like to get on his nerves, you accidentally mess up a corner of the house just as he cleans it, laughing as he shoots you an unimpressed look.
“stop getting crumbs on the floor,” he mumbles, “i just vacuumed.”
“you make a good malewife,” you giggle, “vacuuming and everything. how cute.”
“don’t call me that,” he grumbles, sitting down on the couch.
“but you missed a spot,” you point to the crumbs you’ve sprinkled from your fingers as you snack away, making him glare. “failwife.”
“i’m going to divorce you and take everything,” he snaps, making you snort as you put your hands up in surrender.
“you don’t have to, you know,” you murmur, “clean, i mean. i can handle it.”
“i think i should carry my weight around here,” he shrugs, “since you are basically sugar babying me around for now.”
“dangerous curse user to the world, but sugar baby to me,” you tease, pulling a chuckle out of him as he rolls his eyes.
sometimes it’s nice to have his company. suguru is good with banter like that, he’s not annoying like satoru where you run in circles. suguru makes you laugh from your belly, makes the hiccups catch in your throat as you double over. he’s always been like that, always known how to make laughter pour from your lips and trickle down your chin. it’s comforting to know he still knows how. it leaves a small amount of bitterness that he’s still able to make you feel like this.
“by the way, next time you go shopping, take me with you,” he says casually, “i need to buy stuff for my hair. it’s growing.”
“you’ll finally see the sun just for your hair?” you gasp, “who knew that’s all it’d take?”
despite the playfulness in your words, there’s still shock. suguru is willingly stepping foot outside your house. he’s finally choosing to return to life after living like a recluse no matter how many times you and satoru have tried to beg him to get up and go somewhere. the most you can get out of him is a walk around the neighborhood before he goes back to wandering your home and hiding away in his room.
suguru is returning to life, his life, and you can’t help but wonder where that leaves room for you.
“my hair is my charm,” he reasons, “wouldn’t you agree?”
there’s a smirk on his lips when he asks—it’s like he’s seventeen and teasing you again, giving you that unfairly flirty smile that used to make you stutter as a kid. back when you were hopelessly in love. back when it was you, suguru, and the world in your corner. back when you had dreams of your future, practically giggling as you planned it away in a notebook.
suguru was always perfect like that, the kind of guy you could only dream about. he’s always been handsome—he’s always been the center of attention everywhere you went. you used to huff about it, about all the attention he managed to get from walking into a room alone. but then he’d smile, give you that tender look of his as he’d chuckle, and you’d be hopeless again.
he shouldn’t have that effect on you anymore after over a decade. but he does. it’s cruel, the way the universe works. it’s like there’s a magnet that pushes you together no matter how far you try to go, still pulled by gravity straight into his awaiting eyes and devilish smile.
“i cut your hair off once, i can do it again,” you huff. he laughs, it’s good-natured and kind.
“i was a bit heartbroken when i realized it was so short, i have to admit,” he says, “i didn’t look like me.”
“you looked good,” you say quietly, “i think you’d make anything work, to be honest.”
“yeah?” he grins, “any requests? i might consider it if it’s you.”
“oh shut up,” you roll your eyes, “how about shaving your head bald? let's see how much charm you have without all that hair.”
“i could charm you without the hair still, couldn’t i?” he winks.
it’s unfair how he acts like normal. like a few months in your home undoes everything he’s ever committed, all the atrocities he’s caused. the way he flirts with you feels like you’re his again. the way he’s aged and changed feels like you’re meeting someone new. you don’t understand how suguru is so natural with that—with seamlessly falling back into a rhythm with you like nothing has changed at all.
deep down, you know that suguru is just moving on with his life. he’s making the most of what he can. he can’t die, satoru would never let him have a peaceful death after all this. he can’t go back to the way things used to be, whether that’s his sorcery days or his curse user days, and he certainly can’t start over. so he’s making do with what he has—which is very little in reality.
it’s you, your home, and the biweekly visits from satoru and occasionally shoko. so he weaves you seamlessly into his life and treats you with a sense of normalcy you can’t hope to treat him with. maybe it’s because suguru was actually able to move on after he left.
it’s the part you hated him most for. for building a family with new people. for having two girls that he raised as daughters. for finding people to follow him and trust. suguru, after he walked away from everything he ever knew, actually did something with his life—even if it could hardly be considered good.
you? you fell deeper and deeper into a pit of denial until clawing your way back out was too impossible, until you had to leave behind everything you’ve ever known to get away from the remnants of his existence.
it’s easy for him to weave you back into his life because he chose to cut you loose. it feels damn near impossible to let him weave back into yours after he tore himself from the edges and frayed away.
“don’t do that,” you sigh, making him frown.
“do what?”
“you know what, suguru,” you pinch your nose in frustration, “stop acting like things are normal.”
“things are definitely not normal,” he snorts bitterly, “i think needing your approval to take the trash out is not equal to normal.”
“then why are you acting like…” you trail off, unsure.
“like what?” he raises a brow.
“like we never changed,” you slam your hands down on the couch in exasperation.
he stares at you for a minute, blinks once, then twice, and then furrows his brows.
“well, of course we changed,” he mumbles in confusion, “i know that—”
you shouldn’t have said anything. you quickly realize that. suguru is not trying to act like things are normal—he’s trying to be civil, and you’re just a fool. a fool who looks too deeply into everything and assumes what you want to out of things and god, you’ve embarrassed yourself in front of your one and only ex-boyfriend in over a decade who was once dead and somehow came back to the land of the living.
of course, he knows things are not the same. he doesn’t want what you think he does. it’s been years and suguru has moved on—he had already moved on all those years ago, and you’re the only one here that is still focused on the past. and now he knows it too.
you stand before he can finish, nodding as you stare down instead of meeting his eyes, pretending to adjust your clothes.
“right, of course you do,” you nod, “i don’t know why i said that. just ignore me, i’ll be going to my room now. i have…things to do, so i’ll be—”
“hang on,” he frowns, hand grabbing your wrist, “i don’t mean it like that,” he says gently.
fuck geto suguru for being so confusing and fuck him for being nice about it too.
“you can let go, suguru,” you pull at your wrist, “forget what i said, i wasn’t thinking—”
“i still feel the same,” he cuts you off, making your eyes widen, “if that’s what you mean. i never stopped.”
never stopped—that’s almost worse than moving on. how could he have felt the same all those years and still never come back?
“that does not help even a little,” you swallow the lump in your throat. “that makes this so much worse, do you see that?”
“i know,” he sighs, “i’m sor—”
“don’t say you’re sorry,” you grit your teeth, “we both know you’re not.”
“maybe not,” he admits, “i had to try. and that meant leaving—i’m sorry that’s not what you wanted.”
“it’s not!” you turn around, pulling your arm out of his grasp—suguru, for what it’s worth, takes the shove to his chest like a champ. “of course i didn’t want you to leave and kill a bunch of people and have an execution stamped on your forehead and live your life without me.”
“i know—”
“and now you’re back. back! in my house, eating my food and sleeping in my bed for half the night and i just have to act like this is normal. how is any of this normal?”
“it’s not,” he agrees. he’s calm. so calm, it almost makes you mad. why is he so calm? “nothing about anything in our lives is normal. it never was.”
“you ruined my life,” you blink back tears. he smiles sadly, taking a step closer.
“i guess i can take the blame for that,” he nods, hands finding their way to your hips. against your better judgment, you lean half your weight against his body. this is bad, very bad—but it’s also the best thing ever.
being close to suguru feels like the sun’s heat tearing through your skin—it’s warm. it’s pleasant. it leaves you parched and drained with a dry throat. but still, you need it to survive.
“why did you come back?” you ask tiredly. his hand finds the small of your back, rubbing slow circles.
“i don’t know,” he hums, “i didn’t really get a say. maybe i was always meant to, who knows?”
you look at him at that—tilt your head to get a good look at his features. his eyes are more tired, and his cheeks are a bit more sunken in compared to the youthful flesh you remember him with. his hair isn’t as healthy, and his forehead has the slightest traces of pale marks from the scars. but he’s still suguru—and you have always loved suguru, even if he gives you every reason to hate him.
“you make my life unreasonably difficult,” you mutter.
he hums, smiling. “can i?” he asks breathlessly, pleadingly. you stare at his eyes, he stares at your lips. you know what he wants—but fuck, you can’t let him have it so easy.
“can you what?” you ask, raising a brow slowly.
“are you really gonna make me say it?” he grunts, lips almost curled into a pout. it’s cute, the way he looks longingly at your lips—it’s so cute and beautiful and dangerous all at once, just like suguru.
“yes,” you say, “yes i am. i deserve to hear it suguru, after everything you put me through. you…you left me. i wasn’t enough for you. i mourned you. i grieved a body i never even saw. do you know what that does to a person? to lose them not once but two times? the least you could do is tell me what you want,” your voice wavers just a little.
it shakes for the lost time. for the moments you’ll never have. for the memories you lost. for the past that’s tainted. time is cruel like that. but that’s the beauty of it all—the fragility. it’s like sand falling through the cracks of your fingers, every grain slipping from your reach but still soft and soothing against your skin as it falls. everything fades over time, everything starts to hurt one way or another. but it stops. it heals. it starts over. the sand fills the cup of your palms again, warm and delicate and just as beautiful as before it crumbled.
“can i kiss you?” he asks desperately, “please?”
“kissing me is not a temporary thing,” you shake your head, “not anymore. it’s for good. only for good.”
“i want to kiss you for good,” he nods, hands digging into your hips impatiently. you’re close. you’re too far. he can feel you, smell you, hear your unsteady breaths. but it’s not enough. he needs to devour you, taste you on his tongue, and melt you with his touch. “i won’t stop this time,” he promises.
“you better not,” you sniffle, tears blurring your vision. you hated suguru for leaving you. you hated him for coming back to you like this. you never stopped loving him, never will stop loving him—and maybe that’s what love is. when the darkness is worth trekking through for the afterglow of the light. “if you fucking leave me again, you’re dead to me. i don’t care how many times you come back to life. you’re dead to me.”
“okay,” he agrees through a shaky chuckle, “i suppose i deserve that. let me kiss you, yeah?”
“yeah,” you breathe.
he kisses you—years too late, he kisses you. it feels like you’re teenagers again. it feels different and foreign. you know this feeling like the back of your hand. you don’t understand what this sensation is anymore. it’s new. it’s old. it’s perfect. it hurts. suguru is here. he promised not to leave—you don’t know if you believe him, but you’re going to trust that finally, for once, you are enough.
you’re enough to make him happy. to give him a sense of purpose. to keep him swimming when his limbs start to sink.
finally, for once, you’re enough.
“i love you,” he whispers against your mouth, breathing the words into you like he’s offering you the air from his lungs, “i never stopped. i promise.”
“you don’t deserve to hear it from me,” you murmur back, panting against his lips, “not yet.”
“fair enough,” he chuckles, “you sure know how to leave a guy waiting.”
“i learned from the best,” you shoot back.
he grins—suguru smiles, heartfelt and real. life is full of misery, it’s painful, and nothing fucking makes sense. everything is cruel. everything dies no matter how carefully you water the roots. there’s always something, someone, ready to tear it from the earth. but if you keep planting the seeds, suguru will keep watering.
maybe something kind can bloom from that, something big enough for him to hide under the shade when the scorching heat of tragedy becomes too much.
in this world or in the jujutsu world; in this life or in the next. suguru is yours.
“why am i here?” he asks gently, his face digging into your neck. you hold him, cradling the back of his head as you hum.
“because i need you here. will you stay?”
“yes,” he murmurs, “i think i’ll stay.”
hi. i have been working on this since march. its still not how i envisioned it to be originally but that's okay. i had fun writing it and it means a lot to me even tho its kind of. well....cliche LMAO like everything i write. but. i enjoy the cliches okay ?? i do. kxljchskdf hope u guys didn't hate it </3
also the fic banner is …. not the greatest. just ignore it ok
#teepods.writings#fics.#geto x reader#geto x you#geto fluff#geto angst#jjk x reader#jjk x you#jjk fluff#jjk angst#geto suguru x reader#geto suguru x you#geto suguru angst#geto suguru fluff#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu kaisen angst#jujutsu kaisen fluff
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All That There Is
Pairing: Jason Todd x f!reader
Warning: innocent!virgin!reader, lil bit of nsfw above cut scroll very quickly if you don't wanna see, he has issues he needs to work on but we'll give him a pass, slight corruption kink, vaginal penetration, unprotected sex, "just the tip", unrealistic first time but who cares it's porn
Word count: 2k
Jason Todd wanted to be a good man for you, he really did.
If it wasn't for you, it would be hard for him to believe anyone could be so sheltered in Gotham of all places. Wide-eyed with wonder as if the crime and chaos of the streets never managed to taint you.
He loved your innocence, the way you batted your lashes at him and looked away sheepishly when he got close to your side. In anyone else, he could spit venom about the ivory tower that allowed them to be ignorant of the true dangers of the world, of all the suffering their peace was built on. But he could not fathom the thought of seeing the light in your eyes crumble, not when you looked at him with such awe. In your loving gaze, he found an escape from the harsh reality of what he was, who he had been and the weight that followed him in his chest of all he had lost.
A faint voice in his head reminded him always that the idolization could turn to fear and disgust in the blink of an eye if you truly knew the things he had done. So he always managed to be the best version of himself he had never known, to stay acting like the gentleman that you deserved and believed he was.
But you had really been testing his limits lately, with your feet rubbing against his under the table when all he wanted was to be nice and wine and dine you; or the way you pressed your chest against his arm while he walked you home, not knowing that it was a battle between his rationale and primal instincts every time he stopped at your doorsteps.
He was starting to think that you never wanted a knight. How childish you were, did you truly know nothing? You thought you could handle it, that you wanted him to lose control when you had no idea that he was trying his damn hardest to protect you from what you didn't know.
And it terrified him, the images that he was able to conjure up when the aching hardness of his cock straining against his jeans became too unbearable. Oh, he just knew you would not be able to take it if he showed you what would happen to good little girls like you if you put up that act with anyone less chivalrous than he was. He could only imagine the distaste you would hold if you heard how near animalistic his grunts were when he fisted himself feverishly at the thought of your tear-stained face begging for him to stop. He was disgusted by how the thought of ripping your innocence away sent him over the edge, the warmth of his own release almost chilling when the guilt finally dawned on him.
You made him feel like a good man and he would make sure nothing could take that feeling away, even if it meant punishing himself for all the things he wanted to do to you.
He wanted to be good for you so badly and you must trust him when he said he tried.
So how could you just offer yourself to him so easily as if all his restraint was nothing but a joke?
"I want you to be my first," your sweet voice rang in his ear like a siren going off as you took his hand in your much smaller ones and put it at the hem of your shirt, "I want you to make me yours."
Jason swallowed the acid that welled up in his mouth, the thought of marking you all over eliciting a spark through his veins.
Something in him broke when he felt your supple skin under the calloused pad of his fingers as you guided him to ride your shirt up.
"Please?"
Then it was all white in his head as all the pent up frustration and desire unleashed all at once. He could not find the strength in him to be gentle when he pushed you down onto your plush mattress, the small gasp you let out when the back of your knee hit your bed frame making him wild at the thought of all the noises he could draw out of you by the end of the night.
Still, you were so good for him, so clumsy and sweet when you tried to kiss him back amid the messy tangling of tongues. You barely even knew how to breathe properly when his mouth was on yours, poor thing, even though he had been slow with you every time he tried to teach you. You made the sweetest mewls and whimpers as he dragged his chapped lips lower and lower, gripping onto his shoulders for leverage while he licked and bit his way down your neck and onto the hardened peaks of your breasts.
There was already a sticky mess clinging to his skin by the time his erection sprung free and he could see the bob in your throat when he fisted himself, the bulging vein at the underside of his shaft looking nothing short of intimidating.
He came to his senses when he kneeled in front of you and you let him push your legs apart by the knee.
You still didn't know that he was so close to ruining you, he thought to himself when you shuddered at the strange sensation of his index finger tracing the folds of your cunt, wetness gushing out when he brushed past your clit. You were at his mercy and there was no way your tiny body would fit all of him. Your pussy fluttered in anticipation when his finger was replaced by the leaking head of his fat cock, the bead of pre mixed together with your own arousal to leave an obscene sheen.
Just the tip, he told himself, it's not sex if it's just the tip.
It was a devastating feeling to know that he had made a mistake, that he was not nearly as good and virtuous as the man he wanted to be, but he knew that he was not above the rogues he wanted to protect you against when he pushed into you and realised he could not make himself stop.
You dug your nails into the blade of his shoulders, tears welling up at the corner of your eyes when he sunk into your tight walls, the hot tip dragging against your spongy insides as shallow bucks turned into a long, hard thrust until he finally hilted in you. Jason buried his face into the crook of your neck, the warmth of your cunt sucking him in making his breath hitched at the back of his throat. Well-trained muscles caged you between his arms as he held you tight, your toes curling and feet arching as you struggled to wrap your head around just how stretched and full you felt.
Your Jason was always so gentle, held your hand like he was afraid you would break and never stepped one foot too close to your door even though you had begged for him to just stay.
But this Jason, this Jason that was kissing your tears dry while he slammed his pelvis against your ass was nothing like the careful man you knew.
You had touched yourself before, but your fingers felt like nothing in comparison to his girth, the high-pitched whimper that left your own throat making your face burnt when the dull ache fizzled out and became a foreign sensation you had never felt before. The tingling waves made your vision pale and your body did not feel like your own as your walls spasmed around him in a way you never knew you could. It was overwhelming and it would have been scary if you had time to process it, but he was so rough, pounding into you in such a bruising force that was sure to leave the feeling of him ghosting in you for days even when he was gone that all you could do was babble his name like a mantra pathetically.
He felt sick at how he only felt harder when he licked at your tears of pain and the saltiness spread in his mouth. He should have stopped when he felt the signs of your orgasm, your voice growing coarser by the second from the broken moans and the tightness almost making him combust. It was your first time and he should not push it too far or else he might scare you, and you might finally leave him for good. But he was not thinking straight, had not been since the first time you whimpered his name while he was fucking you like an animal.
He was rambling at this point, embarrassing to say the least, of all the things that he never had the guts to say to you. "'m gonna fuck you so good you can never fuck anyone else," he gritted, the sound of skin against skin muffling the possessiveness in his voice, "gonna make sure you can never leave me now."
He wanted to laugh when you pulsed around him, that you seemed turned on by the thought of never being able to be satisfied by any other cock than his.
"Yeah? You want that?" breathy words followed each piston, "Want to be mine forever?"
You nodded almost too fast, his hand shoved under the small of your back and lifted your hips off the mattress. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head when he slammed you down onto his cock to join him mid-thrust and you could not ever imagine that he could go deeper than he did before.
"Gonna cum inside you, baby," the syllables slurred from the tip of his tongue as his thrusts got sloppier, "say it— say you want me to cum inside of your pretty pussy."
"Please—" you obliged, lips trembling and sore legs hooked around his waist weakly, "want you to cum inside of my pussy—"
Your voice echoing his filthy words made his abdomen tensed, words you would have never said coming out so easily just because you were too fucked out to think of anything but repeat what he said.
"Good girl—" A cry ripped from the back of his chest as his head fell back, the loose strands of his bangs sticking to his forehead in sweat, hard thrusts accentuating each word, "good. fucking. girl."
But most damning of all, he could not hear the incoherent words that slipped from his lips as he buried himself balls-deep in you and his thick load filled your insides.
"God— I love you. I love you I love you I love you—"
His jaw hurt from how hard he was clenching down until he came down from his high. Weight left his lungs when he pulled out of you and his cum gushed from your abused hole, your chest heaving and eyes fogged over as your sweat-covered body twitched from the overstimulation.
Jason panted, but the wash of clarity dawned on him in the form of impending guilt.
Oh lord, what had he done?
He was still nothing more than the monster he was afraid of turning into in the end.
He was prepared to brace whatever it was waiting for him behind your eyes when you mustered the strength to blink, half-lidded eyes looking around as you struggled to recollect yourself from what just happened.
But when you finally found him from the corner of your eye through the haziness, instead of fear or disgust, it was still the adorning gaze that he knew so well and Jason Todd thought he finally broke his own mind when he wanted to sob.
You extended your arms weakly for him to come hold you. He chuckled and you pouted, mistaking his attempt to brush off all the disturbing mushiness he felt as him laughing at you.
All his walls came crumbling down when you snuggled close to his side, proving him wrong after all.
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I'll Suffer Your Sin
A/n: Based off of this thought: “My Crime To Commit” | pt. 2 : Hell Is A Place Without You
Summary: You shouldn’t have to become him, he won’t let it happen so, take it all out on him, he’ll be your solution if it means saving you. [Blade lets you stab him a bunch because he loves you.]
Warnings: Blood, Violence, Minor deaths, Possessive Characteristics (Blade), Major Character & Reader Injuries, Blade loves you but does not show it very good,
“Are you planning on just staring at me? Cause if you want we can talk about what happened.” Your figure is sat on a stool, leaning into the mahogany table as your hand lifts a glass onto your lips.
The lights are dimmed to the point that if anyone passed by they wouldn’t see the bodies that laid on the floor, but they were bright enough to see the numerous splatters of blood splashed around the space. Or, maybe a more accurate depiction would be dumped.
Even the man leaning next to you is colored red, but you’re the only clean thing in the room.
“No. You should rest.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“You did enough.”
“An attempt is enough to you?”
“Yes.”
Your fingers pinch onto your nose bridge, a sigh escaping your lips as you turn the chair to look at him.
“Why won’t you let me help you? I’m perfectly capable of killing too— ” the turn of his head is sharp, it’s the first time you’ve ever seen him outside of a battle react so quickly.
“I’m not letting you commit the same sins I do.” Your eyes make contact, but your hearts don’t seem to connect at the subject. You don’t get it.
“What? Do you think i’m not capable of doing such a thing? I’m perfectly fine with doing it, is that not what you-“
His body lifts itself from leaning on the counter, walking over to one of the deceased corpses and ripping out the dagger held in their palm. He examines it quickly before wiping the blood off the handle, he does not do the same for the edge.
“Blade…? What are you doing?”
His body turns around and walks over to you, his hand taking hold of your arm, pulling you out of your seat. Not too rough, but not gentle either.
Your eyes widen for a moment as he lifts the weapon up. Is he going to…? No he wouldn’t, not to you at least. His eyes don’t fail to notice the shift in your eyes.
“I wouldn’t do that to you.”
“Oh… Okay… So then what is that for?” Your eyes are attached to the sight of the weapon in front of you, but the man's vision doesn’t move away from you. He tosses the dagger up and catches it in his palm, the hilt facing towards you as his skin is sliced, his own blood seeping from the corners.
He leans into you, he's done it many times before so you have no clue why this one feels different… His lips graze your ears as his low voice whispers into it.
“You wish to murder? Then kill me.”
…
“… What…?”
His left hand grabs hold of your waist, pulling you closer. His other palm wrapping around your hands and guiding you to take hold of the weapon, his grip relentlessly tight as he doesn’t let go. It’s so firm you wouldn’t be able to make him let go if you tried.
“I’ll let you. If you want to kill, do away with me. Plunge this weapon into my heart as many times as you long for, it’s all yours to massacre.” He raises your grasp on the weapon high into the air, not even allowing you a chance to answer before plunging it deep into his heart. Upon impact blood begins to gush out, staining your fingers a deep red.
“Blade…! What are you—?! Yingxing—!” You fight to let his hold on you falter, but it doesn’t let up. Not even for a moment. He pulls the edge out from his heart, lifting your hands up together once more, ready to stab himself again.
“If doing this kills your urge to let yourself fall into hell, i’ll do it hundreds of times more.” You can feel him preparing himself for another blow. Your head searches for a way to stop this act. The way his left arm is pulling you in by the waist is strong, you know you can’t push him away. The same goes for the hand holding your own and the dagger together.
And so he does it again. Then again. These blows are enough to murder anyone immediately, but he still stands, so does his grasp on you, never faltering.
So you do what you can with the only free part of you.
Right when you feel his hand bringing the blade down, you place your own hand right in the spot he plans to further wound himself. Your eyes clench, fully expecting the weapon to pierce through your skin. When time came to, there was still a sharp pain on you, but it did not stab through the way you thought it would.
The scene playing out in front of him makes the familiar, unwanted, sensation of Mara bubbling up within him come to light once more.
When your eyes open, the look on his face is one of his more expressive looks, eyes slightly widened. He had stopped his onslaught of blows right before he could fully stab through you, but with the speed he had thrust the dagger, he had still hit you anyway. Your eyes follow his own, looking down at your appendage.
The adrenaline must've distracted you from the pain, as when you look the wound finally starts to act up, a mixture of grunts and curses escaping your mouth from the affliction.
His immediate reaction is to set you back down on the seat you originally were sat on. It doesn't take too long for the hole in his chest to start regenerating. The way his nerves and flesh reattach is mesmerizing, but your trance is broken the moment you remember it's in fact a part of the body's bloody system, which is… kinda gross.
Your arms are now coated a deep crimson, specks of blood dripping down the sides. It is horrendously grotesque, but it's not a sight you haven't seen before. The man in front of you takes your injured hand and looks at it.
“[Name].” That is all that leaves his lips, before he unwraps the bandage on his own body and transfers it to your own. He would've given you fresh ones had he had any on hand, but he doesn't. Besides, you need them more than he does. He wraps them around your hand, in a soft manner, one unbefitting of someone with his persona.
When your vision starts to unfocus he calls out to you again. But that's all, only saying your name when you begin to gaze off in your mind. When he finishes tying your wound up he says your name one last time, this time following it up with something.
“This may have been worse than you staining your hands with another's blood.”
…?
“You said you didn't want me to kill, so that counts you too doesn't it…?”
“No. If anything, my blood is the only ones who you should touch.” Ah, now you understand. He said it a bunch of times, but you were just too dazed to realize the real meaning as he was essentially murdering himself with your own body.
Seems he’s spent most of his immortal life in pain to remember what a kind touch was. Weirdly enough, this act of self harm is both possessive and “loving”, if you could call it that.
Possessive in that, the thought of anyone else's blood on your hands, or even worse, your touch, on another person's skin, would make his mara bubble up in such a hideous way neither Kafkas spirit whisperer nor your presence could calm it down.
But kind in the aspect that he could never fathom the thought of you turning into him. Him… He hates the thought of any sufferings you could face in the future. Even though it's selfish of him to even hope for something from you, his sick affliction that Kafka would tease him for, “love”, he cant help but feel personally inclined to redirect any misfortunes that come your way to his own soul.
The lights flicker as you stare at him, being sat down made it so he would have to position himself to lean down. You’re sure that if you had been calmer you would’ve noticed his soften voice.
The feeling of his mara begins to still. His hand takes your covered hands and places it on his chest, his other appendage taking your free palm and putting it on his cheek.
The tear in his clothes from the previous assault remains, the sensation of your fingertips touching his skin making you shiver. The faint feeling of a beating heart is felt, this fact visibly upsetting the man.
“No matter how many times you murdered me, it wouldn’t have changed anything. This accursed body will rebuild itself. I don’t need it. So have it.”
“Huh…? What are you saying… Do you always have to speak so cryptically—“
“Take me, as much as you need. All of it if you have to.” The grip on your hands tightens, enough to keep you in place, but not to the point of harm— he would never.
Your hand stings a bit, a wince escaping your mouth. It makes him let go of you, as he presumes the taller position, no longer leaning down to see eye to eye at you. The still you sit on squeaks as you uncomfortably shift in it. His eyes close themself as he returns to the pose he first was from the start, leaning on the table next to you.
…
“I’ll leave the… ‘sinning’, to you than.” After this little quarrel, perhaps proving your worth is not as fulfilling as you once thought.
He doesn’t give you an answer, only replying with a deep “mm”.
“Oh? Did I interrupt something?” An all too familiar woman walks into the room, her eyes glancing all around the bloodstained room. She doesn’t even acknowledge the bodies laid on the floor, her heels clicking as she steps over them like they’re not there.
Neither of you say anything, leaving Kafka to stare and imagine what had happened. Or maybe not, she probably already knew what happened but wanted to hear one of you admit it yourself.
“Hm, fine, it doesn’t matter, Elio needs us to leave, the script says the IPC will be arriving on this planet soon.” She doesn’t waste anytime turning heel and walking out again. Typically, when it’s just her and Blade he’ll silently trail behind her, like a second shadow.
But you can feel the way his eyes burn holes into your body, waiting for you to be the one to get up and follow. Your eyes dart towards him for a second but return back to the doorway, lifting yourself up, the injuries hand you possess tingling from the movement.
It’s only when you're close to being out of view that he moves, his silent steps being quick as he immediately catches up to your fleeting form. Seems when you’re involved he’s more insistent on being your shadow than his own. His methods of becoming one with you aren’t sane, but surely enough it’s all he has to give you, so he’ll make you have it all.
———
Ever since I made that thought I had this cooking up in my drafts and I finally have it finished
#hsr x reader#honkai star rail x reader#vesperwrites#blade x reader#hsr blade x reader#yingxing x reader#hsr yingxing#hsr blade#hsr x you#Honkai star rail x you
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Have a snippet from that one holy warrior au. thanks to @ent-is-indecisive for helping me come up with a title for this fic. i'll be tagging it as stasis in darkness for easy tracking. this is part of a rough draft so it probably will be modified by the time i finish the damn thing and make it ao3 ready. but my brain's kind of stuck and needs a kickstart to get it going again, so i thought i'd share it and hopefully get motivated again
It happened again.
–
The fourth night:
“Isn't it true the King of Darkness–”
“Lord of Night.”
“Yeah, him. He controls all the monsters in the dark and sets them on innocent people for fun. Don’t see why you’d want to throw your lot in with a god like that.”
“Because he doesn’t. He takes care of nighttime animals. Bats, coyotes, owls…”
“The scary ones, you mean.”
“No! Besides, he takes care of cats, too. Cats aren’t scary. They’re, you know, cute.”
“Hmm. If you say so.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? You got something against cats?”
“Of course not!" The man said, sounding mildly offended. Steve opened his mouth to go on about the Lord of Night's chosen creatures but the man interrupted with, "Well, look at the time! Later, gator.”
The man ran off with a grin not sparing him a second glance. Steve stared after him, baffled.
“What the fuck’s a gator?”
–
The fifth night:
“Don't you know your King, excuse me, Lord of Darkness–”
“Night. Lord of Night.”
“Same thing. He helps criminals evade justice. Pretty sure that one’s true.” The man lounged lazily on a nearby boulder as he asked. Kind of like a cat, Steve noticed with a trace of amusement that was easily smothered by annoyance at the man's…everything else.
“He helps people who travel by night. Most of the time they’re just night workers or people with nowhere to go. The ones that are shunned for being different or the ones too poor to afford safe shelter.”
“Huh. Alright, explain the horse thief thing, then, if he’s so good and noble.”
“...fine, he’s got a soft spot for horse thieves but thievery isn’t that bad of a crime in the grand scheme of things.”
“Ha! Sure,” the man conceded. “But! You can’t deny that this Lord of Night cursed people with terrible nightmares that left them sleepless and suffering for days. To the brink of lunacy, some say.”
The man said it with triumph, as if with this he’d finally break Steve’s faith. Steve shrugged.
“All gods get angry.”
“And that’s okay? You’re fine with him inflicting mind torture on some poor mortal just because he threw a tantrum?”
“First off, he wouldn’t just throw a tantrum," Steve said with exasperation. He might end up throwing a tantrum if this guy persisted. "I don’t think he’s the kind to get angry easily. And second, the people he cursed before always deserved it. Besides, he helps with good dreams, too. It’s not all bad.”
“Uh-huh, I totally believe you," the man said, heavy with mockery.
“Look man, if you’re so against the Lord of Night, why are you still here? Why do you keep coming back and bothering me?”
“...curiosity?”
“Well, be curious quietly. I need to pray.”
“...he probably doesn’t even have prayers.”
“I said shut up, man. I need to concentrate.”
The man leaves without any more fuss.
–
The sixth night:
“You have a lot of faith in a god who lost his own name. Does he even have any holy texts left?”
“Dustin could only find one, but that was enough.”
“Really? Other gods have entire libraries of stories and whole tomes of holy words. They have temples and monasteries all across the land of mortals.” The man motioned derisively at the crumbling statue. "This thing here is barely a shrine!"
“Hey, I'm working on that, alright? It's going to look great when I'm done with it," Steve protested. "And so what if he doesn't have more? Robin says quantity’s got nothing to do with quality.”
“Yeah, but the other gods are remembered for a reason. That counts for something,” the man's voice lost some of that smug edge. He fiddled with the hem of his fraying shirt as he spoke.
Steve refused to rise to the bait. He responded calmly, but firmly.
“I don’t need libraries to know I want to carry his symbol. From what Robin and Dustin found, he represents all the things my friends taught me were important.” Steve pauses. "I’m not a good reader anyway so less books are better for me.”
"Oh, so that's why you picked him! Very convenient," The man sounded very amused. Steve ignored him until he heard the man wander away for the night. He sighed in relief.
With a surge of restless energy leftover from being very good and calm about that nuisance of a man, Steve approached the statue elevated on its crumbling plinth. He reached up towards its open hand held at its side, barely within reach, and brushed his fingers along the worn knuckles.
"That guy's wrong about you, I know he is,” Steve whispered, fervently. “You deserve a temple. A hundred of them, all for your own."
Steve thought, for a moment, he heard a sharp intake of breath, but when he looked there was no one but him around.
“I’ll make sure you get a great temple."
He waited, strained his ears for even a single word from his god. He tried not to be disappointed when he heard nothing. Again.
–
ps: i do not do those reader tag list things. if you’d like to keep up with my stuff, follow my writing tag: trensu tells stories
#trensu tells stories#stasis in darkness#stranger things#steddie#thanks again to ent for helping find a title for this#and for listening to my directionless ramblings about it
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CP9 Cat Headcanons
This is... a very silly post. XD After seeing a similar concept on Pixiv (images 10–12 in this log) and critiquing the breed choices it used, I wound up writing my own take on it.
These are written with actual cats in mind (not my usual Hybrid Au), and the breed choices are just for fun— as in, largely chosen based on looks/vibes, not anything too serious. I was definitely channeling that early 2000s "characters are cats for some reason now" mini-genre, so these are pure fluff/comedy, for once... >3>
. . .
Lucci
(Bengal)
Serial toy murderer. Violently destroys any and every toy you give him within a matter of hours, days at MOST.
Some of the things he’s done to his toys probably qualify as war crimes tbh. Likes to drown the catnip mice in his water dish. Also enjoys tearing things into ragged chunks/”gutting” the stuffing.
Sometimes you wake up to him on your chest with a present.
(A chunk of mutilated cat toy. He drops it onto your face.)
The most athletic cat you’ll ever know. There is no surface in your house he can’t reach SOMEHOW. Also can and will learn how to open doors, drawers, etc, and will use this unfortunate skill to get into everything if he’s bored.
Affectionate, but only on his terms. You don’t decide when you’re allowed to pet him; when the mood strikes, he’ll interrupt whatever you’re doing and forcefully put his body in your lap.
You’re not allowed to move until he decides you’re done. :)
Has a surprisingly cute kneading habit. He’ll go Baby Mode and make biscuits for hours. Sucks on certain blankets too.
Kaku
(Devon Rex)
ZOOMIES TO THE MAX.
Seemingly never sits still. Will run from one end of your house to the other at all hours of the day. At night, you’re regularly woken up by the distinct rapid thumping of galloping kitty paws.
Likes high places and unexpected perching spots. This includes your shoulder— and he can make the jump on his own!
Playful, but not prone to destroying his toys. Prefers batting hard objects down a flight of stairs to tearing the plush ones open.
Too brave (and curious) for his own good. Lacks any sense of danger when it comes to investigating something that’s caught his interest.
This includes slipping through the front door.
Not super cuddly, but likes being near you/keeping an eye on what you’re doing.
Has a squeaky “old man” meow. WEH!
Jabra
(Egyptian Mau)
Wild, playful, curious, and so very destructive. If he’s not kept entertained, your property will suffer for it.
Requires FREQUENT play and attention, but fortunately, he’s not too hard to please. Throwing a squishy ball for “fetch” can keep him occupied for hours.
The asshole cat who will make direct eye contact with you before (very deliberately) knocking something off a shelf, then sit there smugly while you try to scold him.
Very talkative! When he wants your attention, he YELLS, and seeing wildlife outside always brings out that excited, bloodthirsty chitter.
Taking him to the vet is an ordeal, for everyone involved...
Doesn’t mind being pet and handled. Pesters you for affection regularly, but gets bitey when he’s had enough. :/
Highly territorial. Will not tolerate other cats/animals near him.
Kalifa
(Turkish Angora)
Truly the embodiment of the “disdainful gorgeous fancy cat” trope.
Her fur is incredible, due largely in part to near-constant grooming. Do NOT interrupt her washing.
She’ll wash your fingers too if she’s feeling affectionate. Mlem mlem mlemmmm...
Likes to be involved in what you’re doing. The kind of cat to walk across your keyboard or loaf-sit on top of stray paperwork, seemingly oblivious to how badly she’s getting in the way.
At least your “adorable secretary” makes for good moral support!
Not overly playful, but she can be a DEADLY hunter when the mood strikes— fast, agile, and with amazing reflexes no matter what kind of toy you put in front of her.
Weirdly fickle about when you’re allowed to touch her. Will glare, hiss, and swat at fingers if you test those boundaries.
Blueno
(Norwegian Forest Cat)
The most quiet, low-maintenance, independent cat imaginable. You nearly forget he exists, sometimes.
Not much of a meower, but has a deep, calming, rumbly purr.
Content to curl up on a chair or in a corner and let you go about your day! He’ll alternate between napping and silently staring in your general direction; the eye contact is a sign of affection. <3
Won’t seek out attention on his own, but also won’t fight it if you pick him up and carry him around like a plushie.
...he stays limp and docile no matter what you do to him, actually.
Needs regular brushing, or his fur starts to matt. It’s pretty much the only “extra attention” he’ll require, though, and he’s (fortunately) cooperative about it.
Learned how to open doors at some point. You don’t know how he managed that.
Fukurou
(Persian)
R O U N D (and it’s not just fluff)
Despite being shaped like a furry bowling ball, he’s quite playful, and way more agile/fast-moving than you’d expect.
...that energy is much less cute when his full weight lands on your abdomen in the middle of the night, however.
VERY affectionate. Will take any opportunity to lay his chin on your palm, headbutt your shoulder/wrists, put his paws on your chest so he can try to lovingly lick your face, etc— purring all the while!
Chatty cat!! Chirps and squeaks at you non-stop; if you “respond” to him, it turns into a back-and-forth conversation with his mrrep-ing.
Fond of high places, like bookshelves and tall dressers.
It’s unclear how such a heavy cat manages to get up onto them, but he usually ends up yowling for help when he can’t get back down.
Kumadori
(British Longhair)
A huge, massively fluffy mini-lion of a cat, with that “polite little gentleman” face common in his breed.
Sheds. Sheds SO MUCH. All of your clothes are covered in his fur, no matter how hard you try to keep him thoroughly brushed.
You cannot escape the fluff.
YOWLS. The loudest, most determined drama queen when he wants something. Acts like he’s dying if his food bowl is empty for more than half an hour, non-stop howling included.
Extremely cuddly; wants as much attention from you as you’ll give, and will flop his entire body into your lap to get it.
Fond of jingly toys! The louder and more annoying the bell, the better.
If you ever have to give him medicine (be it a pill or liquid), he’s utterly betrayed. Gives you the huge, sad, miserable scared-kitty eyes for the rest of the evening, and won’t let you touch him.
(He’s over it by morning, and back to purring in your arms. Baby.)
Spandam
(Siamese)
The ugliest purebred imaginable, and his personality isn’t better. <3
Health issues. Skin/coat problems, numerous food sensitivities, arthritis, frequent UTIs, and a crooked tail from a past injury.
King of separation anxiety. If he can’t find you, he’s HOWLING, then finding a corner to cower in until his protector is back.
Truly the embodiment of the phrase “scardey cat”. Terrified of everything from the vacuum to rustling plastic bags. Huddles under the couch, trembling pathetically, after every little scare.
...it is kind of cute when he runs to you to “save” him, however.
This clumsy dumbass WILL get himself hurt (in incredibly stupid ways) if you don’t keep an eye on him. Utterly oblivious to real danger.
His distressed yowling is awful, and the attention-demanding yells aren’t much better. The classic So So Whiney Baby Siamese!
NEEDS to be the only cat in the household— he’s violently territorial, but guaranteed to end up the other cat’s punching bag once he’s pissed them off enough.
#One Piece#CP9#CP0#Lucci#Rob Lucci#Kaku#Jabra#Kalifa#Blueno#Fukurou#Kumadori#Spandam#Headcanon#Reader
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Dark Blue Moon and the Suffering Sun Chapter 10
MASTERPOST
I hope you enjoy reading <3 comment and reblog, it relaly helps!
Underneath the hot summer sun, Damian lay fat on Danny’s belly as the older boy lazily drifted underneath the water’s surface. Well, drifting was a strong word, as Damian estimated they were still going at about 20 miles an hour, but considering Danny’s top speed, it probably was like a peaceful drift.
The ocean water was crystal clear, all the way down to the shallow floor beneath them, as patterns shifted and ebbed with the movement of the waves. It was very much welcome change from the dark ravine they’d just evacuated.
They swam close enough to the surface that Damian could occasionally peek his eyes over the water. It was probably the first time he’d touched air since he woke up a changed being. It felt hot, quite hot in fact. Damian looked up to the sun, before quickly ducking back down as the harsh glare blinded his sensitive eyes.
“You’ll get used to it.” Danny had said. Damian resigned himself to idly batting away at the surface, watching the streaks and waves created by the speed of his hands pushing the water apart.
It was amusing. The peace helped to keep certain thoughts out of his mind for a little. But Damian was nothing if not decisive, and he would put the concerns that nipped at his fins to rest.
“I take back what I said. Earlier.” Damian muttered.
“Sorry, what?”
“About you being a poor excuse for a hero. All I have done is antagonize and belittle you, and yet you still choose to burden yourself with me.”
“Damian I feel like we’ve been over this.”
Damian crossed his arms. “No, that was for leading you into danger.”
“Well your forgiveness coupon extends to past grievances too this time.” Danny said, a ghost of a smirk gracing his translucent skin.
“You have shown a great heroic spirit. When I came to Amity Island, the reports of your character were confusing, and contradictory. Now that I have seen your actions with my own eyes, I can see the truth…”
“Aw, Damian…” Good grief, he was about to start getting mushy again. Damian had to stop this.
“You are just as much an obnoxious goody two shoes as my eldest brother.”
“You know? I’ll take it, backhanded compliment or no.”
Damian slapped his tailfin on Danny’s stomach. The older boy only laughed, that same obnoxiously contagious mirth that only Richard could produce. Damian lowered his head into his crossed arms, disguising any peeking grin with a pout.
Knock, knock, knock.
Bruce Wayne had made a note to visit Fentonworks sometime during their visit, but circumstances have moved that trip up his timeline. He took in the maddening contraption that was this building. There was no building code in the world that would allow this thing to stand. Above the brick and mortar, winding metal pipes lead into what appeared to be a huge radio tower complete with observation deck. Bruce could practically feel the stress those pipes had to take. It was so top heavy it was a miracle a stiff breeze hadn’t knocked the entire house down. He would definitely not want to be the poor sap who had to enforce building codes round here. Considering the Fenton’s penchant for shooting first, it would not be surprising if they had shot at them, likely yelling accusations of “collusion with the sirens!”
However, these people were his best lead, and he needed to follow it. For Damian’s sake, and for his.
The door swung open, revealing Maddeline Fenton in her signature jumpsuit, the hood pulled down and hair slightly disheveled. From the search, or out of worry for her wayward son?
It had been a good twenty-four hours since Damian had been dragged into the water by an unknown party. The moment Bruce noticed the beeping alerting that Damian’s tracker was going critical, he went into Batman mode right then and there, rushing to the scene of the crime. However, what he found instead was fourteen-year-old Daniel Fenton standing over the peer, a haunted look on his face.
Bruce had asked him if he was ok, before local authorities separated then and corralled them away from the scene, setting up tape and warning signs. Bruce verbally wrestled with them, demanding to let him see if his son was alright. However, as far as they knew, he was just a normal man, in no way equipped to dive into the depths and fist fight sea monsters.
It was at times like this that he cursed the need for secrecy.
Bruce didn’t see Daniel Fenton again. When he asked around, nobody had either.
Barred from joining the search physically, Bruce was given free access to the security footage in the area, searching in conjunction with other investigators, as per his insistence. While he recovered barely anything useful for Damian, it did show Daniel’s last appearance being around ten minutes after Bruce had found him. Daniel had slipped out of the crowd, last seen heading toward the cliff-face on the far side of town. Bruce sent off the info to the police and GiW as soon as he found out.
That lead him here. To console, but also to interrogate.
“Oh, Mr Wayne! We weren’t expecting you.”
She led Bruce into the living room, seemingly a very normal and domestic place, but a closer look revealed dozens of spare parts scattered around tables and desks and shoved to the side to make room for more unfinished inventions. The living room was adjacent to the kitchen, and Bruce could almost swear he saw glowing blue slime dripping out of it.
“Jack! We have a guest!” Maddeline called out, before inviting Bruce to sit down with some tea. “I’m terribly sorry, we weren’t expecting visitors. And I’m so sorry about your son. That close to shore, our preliminary bouy should’ve been able to detect the attack. We’re not sure what happened…” she trailed off.
All these facts Bruce knew well. He had been briefed on them in the early hours of the search, while there was still much hope to be hand.
“Actually, Dr Fenton, I was visiting to give my condolences about your own son. I know with all the talk about such a high-profile case, it’s easy for other cases to be swept under the rug, but that would be unfair for you.”
Madeline’s face warped not into sadness, or depression, but confusion. “Excuse me? Danny’s been staying at Tucker’s house at the weekend.”
Bruce opened his mouth to interrupt, but Madeline beat him to the punch. “Sorry, please give me a moment.”
She rushed over to an old landline hanging by the wall next to a pair of precariously placed prototypes for some kind of futuristic gun. Rapidly punching in what he recognized was the Foley house’s number, Madeline yanked the phone out of its receiver.
“Angela? Angela, is Danny there, I need to speak to him… What?!” Madeline’s face twisted into shock. Her left hand cradelling the landline, her right hand stroking her hair repteadly. “Danny told me he’d be staying at your house. Yes, yes. Please do so. Thank you Angela. I’ll call Pamela now.”
She hung up. Another rapidly inputted number later, and a second call went through. “Pamela, I’ve been told that Danny’s been staying with Sam. Is he there? I urgently need to speak to him.”
This time, the response was very audible. Bruce could hear a raised, ranting voice, a far cry from the sickly sweet dulcet tones ‘Brucie’ Wayne had been subjected to the night before. “Pamela I need you to listen to me. Danny told me that he’d be staying with Angela. Angela told me that Tucker told her that they’d be in your house. And now you’re saying Sam’s taken them all to a camping trip on the mountain? Yes… yes. I know.”
Just at that moment, Jack Fenton, barreled into the room, emerging from a set of stairs leading into the kitchen, a tray of chocolate fudge cookies steaming in his gloved hands.
“Brucie Wayne!” The man put down the tray of cookies and rushed over to Bruce, where Bruce’s hands were almost crushed by the vigorous handshake the man gave him.
“Listen, Brucie,” Jack Fenton’s voice lowered. “I really wanted to say we’re sorry abou-“
Before Jack could finish what he was saying, Madeline grabbed him by the collar. “We have to go, Jack! To the SAV!”
Bruce stood up. “I’m coming with you.”
That might have been a mistake. Jack Fenton grabbed his hand again with that bone crushing grip and pulled him outside. Madeline pressed a button on a remote, revealing a garage housing the scientific marvel and engineering horror of the Fentons’ hand-crafted and customised tank of a… duck boat.
The exterior was sleek white with silver lines, with reinforced tires on the bottom and a hull wide enough to float on water. The top sported a radar dish, and Bruce identified several seams all across the boat, likely where some of the numerous weapons the Fentons made were hiding.
Of course, Bruce had seen this thing in action before, and the only thing worse than Jack’s sailing was his driving.
“Come on Brucie, we can talk more on the way!”
Meanwhile, in the middle of the ocean…
“It is pitiful how much Richard adores that, that Jaws film.” Damian’s disgust is palpable in his low glare, a disgust mirrored by Danny’s own gag.
“Dude, no way. I hate that fuckin’ movie so goddamn much. Imagine making a movie where tiny puppies start mauling people to death for no reason!”
Damian nodded, sagely. “It is anti-shark propaganda in the finest, and its disavowal by its direct is incredibly telling.”
“I think the Dolphin Mafia were behind it.” Damian considered this thought. How he would love for that to be true, so he could sink his teeth into some dolphin flesh in revenge for what they did to him and to shark reputations worldwide. “Like dude! Sharks are the cuddliest fish on the planet! They don’t even fight sirens, let alone humans. Pretty sure sea urchins cause more injuries. Hell I think the siren attack numbers are about to overshoot them.”
“If the Dolphin Mafia do exist, I will make it my mission to hunt them down, and devour them all.” Damian said with fatal finality.
A beat passed. Danny blinked. “Dude, aren’t you a vegetarian?”
“… Perhaps.”
“Isn’t it like, a moral thing for you? Don’t tell me the siren instincts are messing up your brain chemistry. I literally wouldn’t know how to explain that to Bruce and I’m already fearing for my life.”
“I am of my right mind. It is just that I intend to slay them regardless, so why let their flesh go to waste?”
“You know stuff doesn’t go to waste in the ocean? Like, if you don’t eat it, there’s a million other tiny organisms waiting in line for you. That’s how the freaking ecosystem works.”
Damian considered these words. While yes, it was a relief that killing the Dolphin Mafia (if they did exist) would not necessitate their consumption to prevent wastage, it was oh so tempting to dominate them in the traditional fashion of supreme ocean animals…
“It is worth considering. I will ponder my decision at a later date.”
“I’ll pretend that isn’t utterly scary.”
Damian’s thoughts turned to another pod of dolphins… “That being said, I should like to relieve Skulker of his hunting dolphins.”
“You mean hunting… doglphins?” Danny said with another infuriating grin. Damian went to bad it away, only to get stopped by the older boy holding him back with a finger.
“Let me finish my point! If you intend to continue making inane puns, this journey will be difficult.”
Danny laughed.
“I am serious!”
Danny laughed again, provoking Damian to launch himself at the older boy’s face with a snarl. The boys tumbled and tussled through the water as they play fought…
Bruce was beginning to get nauseous.
His pleas for safer driving went largely ignored. “Sorry Bruce it’s an emergency!” Which left him to helplessly cling to his seat for dear life as Jack pulled sharp turns at top speed, and barrelled through barricades.
The SAV’s alarm sirens (how ironic) blared at full volume as Madeline’s voice blasted through a megaphone. “This is a siren emergency! Please be on the lookout for Sam Manson, Tucker Foley and our baby sweetkins Danny Fenton! HOLD ON TIGHT BABY BOY, WE’RE COMING FOR YOU!”
Scanning the streets for the teens while praying for God for safety from a civilian’s driving was not on his agenda today.
“You doing ok back there, Mr Wayne?” Madeline asked. Bruce grimly nodded.
Jack Fenton swerved through a roundabout, heading for the mountain.
If Bruce’s intuition on teenagers was worth anything (and it had to be worth anything, considering the years he spent wrangling some of the craftiest, most rebellious teenagers on the planet), those kids were definitely hiding something. He just had to find out…
#dpxdc#danny fenton#merman#damian wayne#dcxdp#merboy#mermaid au#less angst#fluff#jaws is propaganda#jack fenton#bruce wayne#maddie fenton
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Hi, I know you did this already but I'm living for sub gideon graves. Him begging honestly makes my day.
The True Revenge
[Gideon Graves x Female!Reader]
Synopsis: Sometimes the best revenge is taking away someone's control.
WC: 569
Category: Slight Lime/Spice
Ask and you shall receive 😏
『••✎••』
Gideon Graves was a man with many faces.
He had a different face for every person he met, a mask of charm, wit, and good humor to conceal his true nature from everyone around him. And yet, no matter which face he chose to wear, the one constant was his arrogance.
He had it when he was a boy, when he\ was just a skinny little brat growing up in a town far from the big city, and he still had it as a man who controlled half the city.
And even when you'd finally had enough and made the decision to leave him, the fact remained: Gideon Graves would never allow himself to lose control.
Not once in his life, not over anyone or anything.
So why was he suddenly so different now?
Why was he on his knees before you, his hands on your hips and his eyes burning with desire? Why was he letting you call the shots, let alone letting you take full control?
The answer was simple: you had taken away his choice. You had taken his free will and his control and replaced it with pure, unbridled lust.
His entire being was focused on you, his entire universe centered around your needs, his entire being reduced to a state of utter subservience. He would do anything for you, say anything for you, give you anything you desired.
Sure, he’d pretend to be put out about it. He was still Gideon Graves, after all. It wouldn’t be him without a couple of remarks about how this was all a waste of time. But the truth was, he was loving every second of this.
You could tell that much by the look on his face, the way his pupils were dilated and his lips were slightly parted, the way he was staring at you like you were the only thing in the world worth looking at.
You had turned him into a needy, begging mess, and the sight was almost too much for you to bear.
Your heart was pounding in your chest, and your legs were trembling as you looked down at him. You couldn't believe what you were seeing. Gideon Graves, on his knees before you, completely at your mercy, desperate to please.
The sight was almost too much to handle.
But you forced yourself to keep it together. You weren't going to let him win this round. You weren't going to allow him to get the upper hand.
You were going to make him suffer for his crimes, and you were going to make sure that he knew that you were the one in control.
You were going to break him completely, and you were going to enjoy every second of it. It’s what he’s done to countless women; it was time he got a taste of his own medicine.
You were going to make him regret ever thinking that he could control you.
And then, when you were done with him when you had taken everything he had to offer and more, you were going to walk out of the room and leave him a ruined, broken shell of a man.
So, as you pulled his head between your legs and forced him to submit, you realized that, at last, you had gotten exactly what you wanted.
And Gideon Graves, the man who thought he could control the world, was yours.
#gideon graves#gideon graves x reader#gideon graves/reader#gideon graves x yn#gideon graves x female!reader#gideon graves gif#gideon graves headcannons#gideon graves fanfic#x reader#reader#fanfic#scott pilgrim vs the world fanfiction#fanfiction#spto#spto spoilers#scott pilgrim x reader#scott pilgrim vs the world#spvtw#spvstw#spvtw edit#spto fanart#scott pilgrim fanfiction#jason schwartzman x reader#jason schwartzman#spot spiderman#spot spiderverse#lucky flickerman x reader#lucky flickerman#gordon goose#gordon goose x reader
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Realization of the Day:
(⚠ huge manga spoilers for anime only below)
Yami is an actually pretty darn tragic character if you take five mins to think about it and take a good look at his history; I managed a quote based on this as a joke here, but he's indeed covered nearly every sad and tragic backstory trope in the book.
Let's see... he lost his mother who died from childbirth when he's 5-6 years old, and spent the better part of his childhood on pointless and intense training by his abusive, sexist, daughter-beater, war obsessed father; and then at the age of 13 said father forced a freaking drug on his baby sister and Yami had to witness the massacre of their clan by her hand before he took down his father for once and all to protect her before he stopped her and held the weight of all her crimes on his shoulders and left his hometown to never return again.
Then... he shipwrecked, barely surviving death, on an unwelcoming land and suffered from language barrier, culture shock, xenophobia and about every typical "Why Clover Kingdom is the Worst Kingdom in the World" key point, all lasted for two years until he turned 15 and recieved his grimoire, but prior and shortly after to it Yami was pretty much on his own with no one else to rely on or a home to return to.
The... things got better, no? He met the Faust Bros, he met Julius, he was offered a roof to sleep under and a chance to start fresh; 15 years lad who's already suffered a lot but ready to live and learn against all the odds with Nacht as his partner in crime and Morgen as his best friend... and then they both got screwed up years later when Yami, at the age of 18, wasn't around, so he only got to face the loss through a visit to the latter's grave while the former grieved his brother's death, and Yami never stopped smoking ever since.
It was right then and there when Yami decided, enough's enough, and promised to create a squad that became a home for the unlucky who shared some of Yami's experience in his past, be it the abusive family, lost of a beloved one, crippling loneliness, crime burdens, being unfit to the norms, and the list goes on. My favorite example is a threeway tie between Noelle, who is pretty much Ichika if Ichika didn't have an amazing brother, and Gauche, whose first meeting with Yami makes a hell lot of sense now that we know Yami also had a sister he threw his life for her sake, and finally Nero, who will never be able to return to her old life and is fairly content about it because she's too loyal to the person she loves to cry over homesickness.
Yami has been there, done that, experienced those, and is still going through some TraumaWorthyBullshit™ right now, and while he rarely shows negative signs of what he's been through, I like to think that he offers the Black Bulls what he always wanted to be offered.
That, by accepting them and letting them live however they want, but above all, by giving them a safe place to belong to.
In short, the Black Bulls is Yami's way to deal with the bullshit that's his lifetime worth of trauma. Thank you for coming to my ted talk.
#raise your hand if you love yami#it's yami loving hours#not a quote#black clover#black clover meta#the black bulls#...and people have the nerve to downplay yami's hardships#ichika yami#black clover manga#long post#yami's relationship with the faust bros needs its own post#so does his similarities with the bulls especially gauche
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[ID: 8 quotes and 2 pieces of art. The quotes read as follows, 1: “‘You’re all I’ve got now,’ he added, ‘Let’s be off. I’ve come to you. We’re cursed together, so let’s take the road together!’ / His eyes were glittering. ‘Like a man insane!’ Sonya thought, in her turn.” 2: “Orestes- Our cause is lost. / Pylades- Then I’m lost too. Friends share such things.” 3: “Why do you wave me off? You fear to pollute me? I don’t care about that. I’ll share your bad luck, I shared your good luck once.” 4: “‘I mean, look: there you go crying and putting your arms round me again - well, why are you doing that? Because I couldn’t hold out on my own and went running off to someone else in order to unburden myself: ‘You suffer too, and then I’ll feel better!’ And you can love a villain like that?’ / ‘But you are suffering, aren’t you?’ Sonya cried.” 5: “Orestes- O my poor man! My troubles are really your troubles, it seems. / Pylades- But I’m no Menelaos. I can bear this.” 6: “Orestes- Oh girl. How I pity the dark life you live. / Elektra- No one else has ever pitied me, you know. / Orestes- No one has ever been part of you grief.” 7: “Theseus- Why does he hide his head in his robe? / Amphitryon- Shame before you eyes. Shame before your kinship. Shame for the blood of his sons. / Theseus- But if I came to share his grief? Uncover him.” 8: “‘You’re a strange one, Sonya,’ he said. ‘You out your arms round me and kiss me after I’ve told you a thing like that. You don’t know what you’re about.’ / ‘There’s no one, no one in the world more unhappy than you are now,’ she exclaimed in a kind of frenzy, oblivious.” The pieces of art are as follows, 1: A painting of two vague, human figures, done in cool colors. They are embracing. 2: 3 human figures in a misty, expressive scene. They are closeby each other, perhaps walking together. End ID.]
“We’re Cursed Together” | Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky | An Oresteia - Aeschylus, Sophokles, Euripides (Tr. Anne Carson) | Herakles - Euripides (Tr. Anne Carson) | Massage - Elizabeth Glaessner | Medicine - Mary Herbert
#kept thinking abt the sonya raskolnikov scenes agggghhhh no bcuz sonya so deserves better i get that but also im obsessed w them#on my own.#quotes#litblr#quoteblr#classics#to break what has to be broken.#you ruined me.#filth teaches filth.#an oresteia#oresteia#euripides#sophokles#anne carson#crime and punishment#crime & punishment#raskolnikov#sonya marmeladova#rodion romanovich raskolnikov#herakles&theseus#herakles#orestes#elektra#pylades#orestes&pylades#elektra&orestes#long post
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in which dabi is captured, and you are his beacon of hope
cw/tw: gender neutral reader, head banging as self harm, suicidal ideation, funeral mention
wc: 1.05k
dabi being incarcerated for his crimes after the villains lose the war. whatever sanity he had left is completely gone at this point. he’s completely mad with rage. enji is alive and well, that’s one thing to go batshit over. but these heroes won’t even grant him the freedom of death. he has to continue living with the weight of his most recent failure, as if it hadn’t been heavy enough to suffocate his entire being before. the men guarding his cell become familiar with the sounds of his sobs and screams; occasionally, they have to bust in and stop him from bashing his head into the walls in an attempt to free himself from his misery. so much for quirk nullifying cuffs.
the first time enji tried to talk to him through shatter proof glass, dabi let him have it. released all his sorrows, told him how much he wanted him to suffer in the depths of hell. the old fart fell to his knees, his face contorting into the ugliest expression while his eyes leaked gross tears. that should have brought dabi some sort of satisfaction, he supposed, but why would it? his words were just ricocheting off the barrier preventing him from killing that bastard, and at the end of their meeting he’d go home to his cushy mansion and golden boy son….. oh, right, and those other two kids. and wife. ex wife? who fucking cares. dabi doesn’t.
those background characters paid him a visit too. didn’t have as much to say to them, but didn’t let them walk away unscathed either. called his mother spineless, his sister a two faced bitch; they cried, just as expected. his brother — just a different color palette from Satan himself — wasn’t all too happy about that, pounding his fists on the glass yelling about “where’s touya” this and “what have you done with my big brother” that. it got the guards to pull him away and remove him from the room. and thank fuck for that because dabi was, quite frankly, having a hard time trying to conjure up some venom to spit at natsu.
but after the first visits, dabi had sworn himself to an oath of silence. if he couldn’t literally be six feet underground, he was going to act as if he was by being unresponsive. call him childish for it, but he’d been holding onto a grudge that existed since before his voice dropped a shit ton of octaves, for YEARS, so this was just the half of it. he was going to make the todoroki’s feel like they were passing by his open coffin at his dream funeral every time they walked through those maximum security doors, until the day his body decided to finally give out.
that was the plan, until you walked through the doors, looking so scared and small next to the giant walls of the metal dungeon they were holding him in. you don’t belong here. you don’t belong anywhere near this world. that’s why he left you that day without notice. so how the fuck did you end up here? you were always too stupid and curious for your own good, but surely you weren’t crazy or powerful enough to break into tartarus just to get involved in his business. no, that was his level of psycho. you’re twiddling your thumbs as you approach him and your footsteps are so loud in a silent facility like this, yet muffled by the blood pounding in his ears. he can tell you’re gathering the courage to lift that dumb little head of yours. you take a deep breath before meeting his eyes.
and god you’re still such a baby for him, even after you’ve probably seen all the destruction he’s caused on the news. your bittersweet smile goes all wobbly and a sob you were trying to hold in escapes your lips.
“hi,” you whisper meekly.
and that’s the way the cookie always crumbles. he scoffs, knowing he’s long walked right into enji’s trap. because if you’re a big baby for him, he’s a complete sucker for you.
“there’s a seat right there, idiot,” he mutters, snapping his head to nowhere in particular. he doesn’t need you seeing the softness in his eyes or whatever. and who knows how good those surveillance cameras are? for all he knows, enji is in some camera room right now zooming in and examining every detail of his expression, searching for a hint of his son inside that monster’s body (there’s no need to zoom, really. cat’s out of the bag now).
you’re quick to scramble for that seat like someone’s gonna come out of your blind spot and tackle you for it. you’re trying so hard to repress all the physical signs of joy currently overtaking every part of your body. “quit acting all cheesy,” or something like that, is what you expect him to say. and touya can see the battle you’re having with your mannerisms, trying so hard to stay cool for him, and it just makes him chuckle. maybe he’ll give the guards a hard time later, when he’s thinking back to how many displays of “weakness” he’s exhibiting at the moment. maybe he’ll successfully turn his brain to mush this time. but right now, your effect on him is kicking in, and he can’t find it in him to be be bothered by all that bullshit.
“you look hot today. this a date or something?”
you gawk at him, clearly not expecting one of his flirtatious comments you used to be familiar with. then you giggle, and it’s like rays of sun peaking through rain clouds during a thunderstorm. his stay in this prison has been nothing short of grim; he figures that’s why you haven’t come to mind once since his arrival, despite the nauseating amount of love he carries for you in his heart. you don’t belong here.
“you’re healing so fast,” you note. “seems like you’ll be in good shape in no time.”
touya knows you’re referring to his scars. but the sight of you here, right now, fills him with a whirlwind of unfamiliar emotions. you’re not human, he thinks. not from this earth. maybe you have some quirk you haven’t told him about that would explain the surreal effect you have on him? yeah, that has to be it. that has to be why he has this feeling of…. hope growing inside of him.
“yeah. yeah, i think i will be.”
#dabi drabble#dabi headcanons#dabi imagine#dabi x reader#dabi#dabi angst#dabi fluff#dabi x y/n#dabi fanfic
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I'm not really an MHA guy, most of my exposure to it is from fanfic, but would I be right in assuming its setting is one of those things where the status quo is genuinely fucked, but everyone who's against it or up for changing it is either painted as wrong or is conveniently over-the-top evil?
With MHA it’s weird. On one hand you have people constantly calling out the status quo and being portrayed as sympathetic/right. Izuku, Class 1-A, and the future heroes are constantly portrayed as learning how to be better than the past heroes. You got the LoV, who despite being mass murderers, are given sympathetic backstories that showcase the suffering caused by the status quo. You also got Endeavor, who understands that he’s shitty and plans on retiring once he’s no longer needed in the war against the LoV. You also have Stain, a guy whose message is that there are a lot of fake heroes, and his message is one that is framed as being correct and one that sticks around throughout the series, even when he’s defeated.
On the other hand, Hori will outright contradict his own messages. Katsuki, a direct benefactor of the status quo, is coddled by the narrative, never meaningfully called out, constantly praised, and gets everything handed to him on a silver platter. Endeavor’s abuse is brushed aside by everyone. Now someone might mention that it’s because Dabi’s murdering people and they need Endeavor to stop him and the LoV, so they’re just tolerating him for now. This would be true and perfectly valid, if not for the fact that Hori has actual characters not care about any of the revelations. You have Inasa admit to Dabi’s face that he doesn’t care about what Endeavor did and you have Endeavor’s sidekicks ignore the allegations just because he does his job well.
Then there’s the fact that anyone with valid criticisms about the status quo and how things are done are immediately demonized. When people were booing Katsuki for savagely wailing on Ochako rather than ending the fight quickly (something he could’ve easily done if not for the fact he thought Izuku gave her a strategy), Hori has Shota talk to them as if they were misogynistic pigs. When the journalists rightfully point out Katsuki’s horrible attitude and U.A’s incompetence, Hori frames them as being vultures and not really understanding Katsuki (Shota literally says that Katsuki deserves to be a hero cause he works hard). Endeavor’s critics are treated as nuisances rather than people who understandably don’t want an abuser to be the new #1 hero. The angry mob that forms as Izuku’s being brought back to U.A is framed as horrible people willing to let a kid die. While it’s true that they were willing to let Izuku die, they literally saw no other option as the heroes have failed them numerous times. The last war was a disaster even though they managed to drive the villains away and both Endeavor and the HPSC, two centerpieces of hero society, were exposed for their crimes. Finally, there’s the fact that the LoV, the biggest source of criticism about heroes, are mass murderers for absolutely no reason, which limits how effective their message is to the audience. Even Stain falls for this trap cause he kills heroes that aren’t All Might indiscriminately, even good heroes like Tensei, a hero who is framed by the narrative as a charitable and true hero.
Ultimately, I think Hori’s genuinely trying to criticize the status quo, but the problem is he doesn’t quite understand how to do so and he lacks the writing skills to do so. Hori does this thing where he creates all the moving pieces but is afraid to make them come together because of his inexperience and because he’s too afraid to criticize his favorite characters too harshly, characters who benefit from the status quo.
Lol that kinda turned into a rant but hopefully it answered your question 😂
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Thank you for answering my last question! I have one more curious question; What if the mc was also a prisoner? Maybe she was framed for a murder and is completely innocent, just wrong place wrong time? And maybe the prison had to temporarily allow for mixed genders now due to the all female prison being overloaded? I don't know haha! Thank you again!
First up, I’m so sorry this has taken me so long! A combination of wanting to do this justice, but also not seeing it for the first few weeks. Tumblr is seriously bad at alerting me to messages!
Don would have played a big part in her defensive in court. Though he’s a prosecution lawyer, he wouldn’t have hesitated to cross the aisle to help her. So if the whole situation wasn’t bad enough, Reader now also has the guilt of seeing Don’s disillusionment with the law. After all, everyone who knows her knows she’s innocent. And now Don has to experience a corrupt prosecution up close.
She ends up in C Block where Red is. Not the same cell or even the same floor. There is still some effort to separate the prisoners. But all common spaces are joint now.
Red
Red was going to take a liking to Reader no matter. BUT let’s be clear, the reason Red is currently head over heels for Reader is because he can’t be physical with her and there’s a divide between them. It’s forcing him to view romantic interest in a different way.
In this new world, he’s more handsy, far flirtier and a hell of a lot more protective. He’d be enamoured, but after his normal campaign, he’d grow bored with the romance option. That’s just fine by Reader, who frankly is already going through enough to even consider starting a relationship.
However, Reader would become incredibly important to him (though he’s not sure why) and someone he must protect no matter what, like Edge and Sig. She would fall into the ‘family’ category in his head, for as long as they were in the prison. Maybe once they were out and free, he’d be able to see her again in a new light.
But for sure, from the moment they meet, Reader will have her own personal bodyguard, supplier of illegal prison goods, constant shadow, and wing man. Initially, this would be terrifying. But after a few months of it, once she realises no matter how outrageous a flirt he is, he’s not going to hurt her, she’ll be eternally grateful to him for everything he’s done for her.
Sans
Sans wants to get a bit of fresh air for once and goes out to the exercise yard. He sees Reader through the fence, with the other prisoners of C Block. Initially, he merely registers her existence and nothing more. He finds out who she is and whether she’s important or useful. She’s not, so he basically forgets about her for a while.
Until he’s reading newspapers and discovers her case. Now, for Sans to care, it must be Monster related. So, let’s say the crime she was convicted of was the murder of a Monster. Now she’s on Sans’s radar. The next time he sees her, he uses his Soul vision on her and…
And sees a Soul he’s almost instantly smitten with. She’s not a murderer, she’s an innocent. Sans can’t forgive the destruction of an innocent Soul, whether it be Human or Monster. Only the guilty should suffer.
Sans doesn’t have to work hard to speak to her. She loves books too, so she’s in the library whenever she can be. It’s one of the few times she’s free of Red, as he’s banned from the library after writing in the books and tearing out pages to wind up the librarian (cannon in my fic too, by the way).
Sans becomes Reader’s next best friend at the prison. Sans is calm and funny. Grumpy, but he feels safe. Safer than Red, definitely. Reader would be quicker to let Sans closer, they’re touching more than Reader would ever have initially allowed Red to touch her. As in my fic, Sans realizes his love slowly but completely. In fact, it’s easier when he can play the role of protector and mentor.
Now, all Sans has to do is figure out how to get her moved to B Block and away from Red…
Skull
Things are not going well for Skull. More and more medical staff refuse to treat him, or feed him. Errors are made with his magic suppressant medication because, frankly, keep a dangerous animal locked up for so long, people forget how dangerous they are.
Skull breaks out of his cell and goes on a wee bit of a rampage.
In fact, he gets so far as to run into the prison population. Monsters are mostly ignored, and humans are slaughtered. Suddenly, he sees Reader. Of all the skeletons, Skull is the one who really did experience love at first sight and it's true here too.
Reader, however, has just seen him tear someone’s arm off. So she’s not super thrilled to make his acquaintance. She’s as far back in the corner of the room as she can go, huddled up proactively, shaking, praying the guards are on their way.
He steps over slowly, scared that she’ll run away. It doesn’t really occur to him that being covered in blood is perhaps off-putting.
He kneels near her, watching her Soul panic and wanting to help. He reaches out, carefully, and slowly strokes her head. Shh. Shh. Shh.
That’s how the prison guards find them. The security footage can’t be argued with. In the middle of an uncontrolled blind rage, Skull stopped everything to sit with the Reader and stroke her head.
And… well… guess who’s just become Skull’s new caretaker?
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One of the bigger crimes of the bulk of The Mighty Nein being kind of stupid, and the giant blind spot Caleb’s Intelligence and Wisdom Scores have towards his trauma is that nobody is there to really logic shit out when it pops up. Like when they first go to Nott’s home town, there’s honestly a lot more clear evidence that Yeza was working with the Assembly and got snatched by Kyrn. The village was recently attacked by Kyrn. Even the letter refers to Trent’s research as separate. Also all the torture was specifically a Trent Scourger Special. The assumption that the Assembly snatched and was torturing Yeza came from a real animal fear place. But Caleb is too zonked on trauma juice to shuffle things out and way too ready to place more suffering at his own feet. And none of the others have the kinds of smarts to be like “Okay, but that was that Trent guy, right? This letter talks like their stuff is separate. I don’t see why they would take him unless he’d done something bad- maybe the simple answer is right one here?” Along those lines. But that one is really minor and understandable because there was a lot going on-
The time where this was the biggest crime was after the dinner with Trent. Because that shit Trent said about sending the woman to heal Caleb is so obviously bullshit if you really scrutinize it at all. Like I didn’t need Matt to say in the wrap up it was bullshit because I knees immediately it was bullshit because it doesn’t make any goddamned sense. Broken Scourgers are held in the Sanatorium for a reason. They are really dangerous to Trent and his operation because not only do they risk leaking his methods to the public, but because if one dies in fact get better, or rather get magical cleric healing, they will definitely want to kill Trent in the aftermath. The built in risk with an operation like his is that he’s also training up his future executioners if any of them turn on him. You know, like they were? As it was, Astrid was going to take his ass out in good time and she’s fully drunk the koolaid, you don’t need a pissed prodigy on your heals too. Trent’s stated reason for freeing Caleb is fucking nonsense, it’s stupid, but none of the Nein have the sort of Wisdom and Smarts to be like “that doesn’t make any sense, though? If he wanted to free you to make you reach your potential, why did he wait so long? It makes more sense to do it sooner. Also, if he has ready access to clerics with magic like that, why doesn’t he just use them to fix all broken scourgers right away? It would increase the number of spies in his network, so either there’s a good reason he doesn’t heal them, or he doesn’t have open access to clerics that powerful and he’s bluffing. This doesn’t make a lot of sense.” And so on. Also just their dumbassery (said with all the affection in the world, I love the Nein. To bits.) they never really get how and why Trent is so scary and dangerous. Not fully. And are thus woefully unprepared to help Caleb with his problems like Caleb helps them with theirs. And it’s not their fault, they are angels and they are doing their best, but boy does it do a number of Caleb not having sort of support. The closest is Beau, and I love her, she’s like my third favorite behind Caleb and Jester, but- Yikes. Just Yikes.
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I like Itachi but I don't get why people praised him for the killings? obito, sasuke, pain and madara are shown evil for the same but itachi is praised as a hero? I don't like to think of him as hero but thats not what kishimoto has in mind.
Wait, did you just club Sasuke with Madara, Pain, and Obito? Sasuke hated everyone responsible for Itachi's sufferings. I don't understand why he's grouped with them when his idealogy is very different from theirs, especially Madara and Obito. Obito was directly responsible for the clan's downfall.
I don't think Sasuke is ever presented as "evil" and there's a reason Madara, Pain, and Obito are presented as antagonists and villains instead of heroes or saints.
There's a stark contrast between pre and post truth reveal Sasuke. Pre reveal Sasuke keeps his composure and refuses to kill people. It's a recurring message in his story. He does lose himself after Itachi's death. His rage is understandable. And yes, he does do many wrong things, for which he isn't presented as an angel. However, his morals aren't still corrupted because once he meets Itachi he changes his stance and ends up helping in the war.
No way one should place him with the other three.
Itachi, too, is different from the three people you mentioned. Obito, Madara, and Pain are not only much stronger than him, they also had unbridled power that Itachi didn't. He didn't know Obito/Madara's plans of Infinite Tsukuyomi. Most of all, unlike the other three he had no authority. And the choices he made were made under extreme duress. He was placed in the circumstances in which he was provided the options - not powers - to impede the tragedy. He knew what he'd done was unforgivable, because never does he try to make excuses for the killings.
The circumstances that resulted into the massacre of the Uchiha were the outcome of the fractured system of Hashirama, Madara, and Tobirama, also furthered by Obito. Madara, an Uchiha, attacked the village, deserting his clan because the other Uchiha didn't support him. Hashirama broke the deal he made with Madara. And Tobirama, obviously, never left his anti Uchiha bubble he made since his childhood. Obito attacked the village. In short, the foundation of the Uchiha downfall was set by these people. Obviously, it was unintentional and that's not what the debate is about, but it's still relevant right now.
These people were older than Itachi ever got to be. He was a child. That's why he gets the sympathy. Itachi, unlike the main villains of the series, didn't go out of his way to harm people. Yes, he committed crimes, but they weren't committed because he had fun killing people. Of the two evils, he chose lesser of the evil, which cost a smaller number of people lives and his own reputation, name, honour. He didn't kidnap a helpless, wounded child and manipulated him into thinking a dreamland would fix all his problems. He didn't use the nuclear bomb equivalent of the ninja world and set the village on fire. The damage he caused he paid for them. He didn't need talk no jutsu to be told he was wrong and unforgivable. Even though he was a part of the Akatsuki, he was still a disposable pawn to them.
And as to people "praising" him, it's absolutely wild because characters' opinions on Itachi are taken as some sort of gospel truth as if the author agrees with it himself. As if the only unreliable narrator is Obito for the time when we need to discard his words on Itachi. Moreover, the people "praising" Itachi are:
Naruto. Naruto has a naive and very simplistic view of the things in which the village is always the priority. He sees his village as the flawless entity and anyone who is pro Konoha is good according to him. That's what he's been taught and that's what he believes in too. He sees Itachi stopped the war by taking the blame of the crime? Good. However, even then Naruto doesn't do anything to clear Itachi's name, despite becoming the Hokage. More than a decade later, Itachi is still a renowned criminal in the Shinobi world, not very different from the other criminals. Naruto's praise is hollow.
Hashirama. I really don't have to paste all the penals in which Hashirama describes how horrible the warring era was. People barely got to touch their thirty. 5-6 year old kids were sent to wars. One side killed the other in the battle, the other one felt entitled to the revenge and continued the mindless cycle of hate and violence. Hashirama was truly dedicated to ending this and bring peace. So, when he learned Itachi had taken a decision that stopped the fourth war that was inevitable, he was impressed. From his perspective, what he'd seen since his childhood, what he'd grown up with, didn't happen. So the massacre wasn't as bad as a war would have been. He didn't know anything about Itachi other than what he heard from Hiruzen a moment ago. If he did, the Edo Tensei Hashirama, despite being immortal, would have died of shame because Itachi went through exactly what he wanted to stop in his times.
Hiruzen. He praises Itachi for simply being a perfect Shinobi. He worked too much. He was a dedicated ninja. Thought like a Hokage? Oh, this child doesn't want endless violence, so cool. People remember Hiruzen praising Itachi, but not that he himself admits to making Itachi kill his brethren and going rogue, thus admitting to becoming the main cause of Itachi's sufferings. There's a lot of issues in Hiruzen refusing to hold Danzo accountable, yes, but we're talking about his opinions on Itachi.
Obito. Obito has to convince Sasuke so Sasuke can be of use to him against the village. In front of Sasuke, Obito eulogises Itachi, but then also thinks of Itachi as an "eyesore". While the information he gives us largely true, but saying that in front of Sasuke, he has his ulterior motives.
Now, only Sasuke, Naruto, and Kakashi (and maybe Tsunade) know his truth. He's still viewed as a dangerous criminal, let alone commemorated as a hero. Kishimoto shows him as a tragic figure, not heroic. People who say positive things about him have a bias, lack information on him, or just don't care. I will never understand why it's made such a big deal. I do have issues with the narrative not acknowledging what happened to the Uchiha clan was wrong, but it's not Itachi who deserve the blame. It's Hiruzen and Danzo along with the other two geezers who should be held responsible.
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local egomaniac experiences pure unconditional love and devotion and doesn’t know how to process it
rambling about their relationship below the cut
Betrayus has always been kind of an enigma for people to place on how he’d handle romance and love in general, especially since he flip-flops so often between just being a manchild with massive insecurities and a guy who literally committed war crimes. for me, i think he IS lonely and DOES want adoration and care given to him, but at this point has only registered these things as things you have to earn, either through respect or (in his case) fear. he GREATLY exaggerates just how much he “suffered” growing up, but does still have the mentality that kindness is just a tool for manipulation, and that love is something that you have to fight your way to get, and even then any who shows it to him does it for superficial reasons. it’s both sad, but also a good reflection on the fact he himself is a dishonest and selfish person, balancing it out so its not TOO sympathetic.
that’s kinda where Paz comes in. she’s also kind of an enigma when it comes to love. compared to Betrayus, she is FULL of it, much more than any desire for evil or to cause harm. if she loved someone normal, she’d be seen as a very kind and compassionate person who’s a bit quiet and keeps to herself. but she doesn’t love someone normal, it’s BETRAYUS. all this compassion and pure unconditional love that’s held in her tiny heart is focused on this guy, this annoying high-strung and arrogant supervillain. and when her love is focused on someone, it’s loyal and dedicated to a detrimental degree. really, the things shes done for him should classify her as just as evil, if not more. but it’s weird, as its not exactly like an axe murderer obsession kind of love…
she genuinely cares about him and his happiness. she’s genuinely tired of seeing him angry and upset at the world 24/7, and wants nothing more than to put a smile on his face. she’d never force him to do anything he didn’t want, and she doesn’t even really mind if he never loves her back that way, as long as he’s got her as support. the populace gets terrorized by ghosts, and she performs problematic-to-terrifying kinds of spells for his plans, but all purely with the intent of making him happy because she loves him. it’s a weird situation of evil actions all with an endgoal that, by itself, is extremely wholesome and well-meaning. it reflects a weird detachment in her brain that as long as it makes Betrayus happy, its necessary. she can probably be classified as insane for this.
and Betrayus’s reaction to it… once it slowly registers with him just how deep this loyalty goes, he’s stunned. even if i think he both exaggerates and lies about HOW “cruel” everyone treated him in life, i do think the experience of unconditional love outside of his family is a foreign one to him. especially love he never had to earn. he’s done much more to logically prevent someone from ever seeing him in such a light, but here was Paz, ready to fight the world and Pac-God himself just for him. it wasn’t even someone loving him for their own benefit at the expense of his comfort like Ghoulasha, or because they wanted something out of him. for once, its someone that for whatever insane reason, just wants to see him happy and content and that was it. no strings attached. such a simple goal that, despite his superego, still perplexes him greatly.
there’s probably a nugget of self awareness deep inside that ego of his that he’s definitely the Worst, and everyone thinks this. so interacting with even just one person who disproves that opens that self awareness back up, and Betrayus is left completely bewildered. how is someone managing to say such sweet and sincere things to him? how is it they don’t want ANYTHING from him but his happiness? normally he’d be suspicious its all an act, but for what other endgoal there’s no clue for. everything Paz has done has always proven to be sincere, as she barely gains anything just for herself from the experiences working as his assistant. but still, her patience never weakens, and she still gives him that same adoring smile no matter how much he screws up or acts obnoxious. so as a result, for the first time he actually has to reflect and really try to absorb the kindness someone shares with him. to figure out how it makes him feel, and how to properly respond to it. does he have to be kind back now? he knows its his nature not to be. but the sincerity of it is infectious… and a small part of him actually wants to meet her love with his own positivity, to create more of this feeling. which of course has him feeling like he’s going soft/crazy. but eventually, he does realize this IS a feeling he enjoys having, of being loved unconditionally and wanting to give that love back.
considering what he learns of Paz’s own insecurities and her self-image issues (read my fic for more context), her love for Betrayus could partially be some kind of coping mechanism, to feel like she’s making a difference with someone by giving them something the universe deemed didn’t fit its system for them to have. but that’s just a small part, she really DOES love him and all his little obnoxious mannerisms. once Betrayus does catch wind of her low image of herself though, that and his growing enjoyment of sharing in her kindness gives him that FINAL push to actually step out of his ego and focus on bringing someone else up other than himself. an out of character move that has realistic motivations and development for it!
in the end, i DO think even a war criminal like Betrayus is capable of love, as he’s shown to have a lot more sad and kind of pathetic emotions going on beneath the bad-guy shtick. its something he wants deep down, but just needs to figure out how to handle it and respond to it so it doesn’t die immediately, and with Paz he’s given the patience and loyalty to figure it out on his own terms. and in turn, he realizes the person who loves him has ACTUAL problems of her own regarding her mental health and self esteem, and his ultimate act of understanding love is to help her with that and make her feel loved. so it comes full circle, and what was once a possible unhealthy coping mechanism becomes a healthy realtionship for both. 💖
so yeah. sorry that was so long, they just make me think too much
#pacman and the ghostly adventures#pmatga#lord betrayus#fanart#fan character#pacman oc#pacman sona#oc x canon#selfship#my art
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