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you-til-i-die · 1 month

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wishin’ I could write my name on it

f.odair x fem!reader

summary: a sneak peak into you and finnick’s lives

warnings/content: I wrote and edited this all in one sitting so if it’s absolute shit that’s why<3 district four victor!r, r is said to have throw up a few times, but none of it is graphic. mentions of blood and sex trafficking, cannon-typical shit really, swearing

song: august - ts

wc: 1.9k

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺

You and Finnick have one rule.

Don’t talk about it. Don’t ask about it. Don’t acknowledge it.

When the two of you are together, you can just forget about it. You can hang out on the beaches of District Four and pretend like these aren’t your lives.

But they are.

And it always somehow seeps through the cracks.

It’s in the way Finnick’s eyes are dull and empty the first few days after a trip to the capitol.

It’s in the way your laugh has morphed into a short bark.

It’s everywhere and it’s everything.

There’s no escaping it.

It haunts your dreams, it probably haunts Finnick’s too, even though you’d never ask.

Because that’s the rule. No asking. Ever.

————————————————————————

It was August. The sun seemed to slowly be getting the message that fall was getting nearer, the rays a little less intense then they had been a few weeks ago. The water was even the tiniest bit cooler, soothing a stubborn sunburn on your shoulders.

You were laying on the beach, face down on a towel, trying to ignore the stick of salt drying on your skin. You can’t help but let out a yawn, exhausted from the still persistent heat and trying to win against Finnick in a swimming race all day.

You were so relaxed. Focusing on the waves crashing against the shore. And the presence beside you that you knew was Finnick.

You honestly were about to fall asleep before he speaks. He mentions it so casually, he might as well have been asking what you wanted for dinner.

“Snow needs me in the capitol. I’m leaving on Friday.”

His voice is completely flat, devoid from all of its usual humor. It made you nauseous. You consider asking if he feels the same way, but you don’t. That was the rule. And you know the rules.

You push yourself up onto your elbows to get a good look at him, to try and decipher the look on his face. You could almost always read him. You hadn’t spent four years attached to each other to not learn the subtle mannerisms of the other. But this was different. It always was.

You and Finnick could talk about almost anything together. The games, the fear that you could never seem to shake, the nightmares, the way it was sometimes hard to stomach killing even a fish. But you never talk about this.

You never talk about how Snow will whisk one, or sometimes both, of you away whenever he needs a favor. You never tell him how afterwards you have to scrub your entire body raw before you can even begin to feel clean again. You don’t tell him how the first couple of times you would sob until you threw up, but now you just curl up and do your best to avoid the pit in your stomach.

Well, truthfully, you had talked about it once. But never again.

You had just been crowned victor of the 69th Hunger Games, District Four’s second victor in four years. It was no surprise, really. You were seventeen, and one of the oldest in the arena. You were strong, quick, and smart. So, so smart. You had won through pure trickery, and everyone loved you for it.

It’s hard for you to remember what happened the week after you won. There’s little snippets, of course. Looking down at the blood on your hands, blood that wasn’t yours. The booming of a voice in the arena, announcing that you were the victor. You had won. You did it. You had made District Four proud. And then you threw up.

You must have blacked out afterwards, because the next thing you remember is being back in your suite in the training center, sobbing in Finnick’s arms while he held you. Most of what you can remember is centered around him. Gripping onto his hand like a lifeline while your stylists buzzed around you. Glancing over Snow’s shoulder at him while the president crowned you. Watching him standing in the wings of the stage while Ceasar Flickerman went over a highlight reel of your time in the arena. Finding your way back into his arms on the train. You’re pretty sure Finnick didn’t say more than the same couple words the first week. It seemed to be a constant variation of “I know honey, but you’re safe now. I’ve got you sweetheart.”

It wasn’t until your victory tour that he told you. You doubt he ever would have, if he didn’t know for sure it would happen to you.

He had sat you down on the train after a party in District Two and told you everything. How Snow would practically sell him to people. How he didn’t have a say, and how you wouldn’t either, unless you wanted everyone you loved to be dead. He had grabbed your hands, shaking hand in shaking hand, and apologized profusely. He told you how he would do everything possible to keep you safe, he would offer himself instead of you. But you knew that wouldn’t work. Snow gets what Snow wants, and if Snow wants you to fuck his friends for some sick favor, there was nothing you, or Finnick, could do to stop that from happening.

“Oh.”

“Yah.” Was all Finnick said, refusing to meet you gaze as he stared out at the ocean. He’s working one of the muscles in his jaw and you have to look away before you grab his face and do something stupid.

“When will you be back?” You don’t say it, but you’re sure he understands the meaning. Please say it’ll only be one night. Please tell me they won’t put you through it more than once this time. Please tell me you’ll be back to hold me through the nightmares soon. Please don’t make me wait for you more than I already do.

“I’m not sure. Snow said a couple of days.”

No no no no no no no please no.

You didn’t respond. Scared that if you open your mouth the bile collecting in your throat would spill out.

You just look over at him. Take him in. It’s no wonder why the capitol loves him so much. Although not for his humor, his kindness, his strength, the way he’s always looking out for everyone but himself. None of that. Just because he’s a pretty face. But in the bright, golden sun, you find it hard to disagree with them. He’s all broad shoulders and a strong jawline. Bright green eyes that always seem to shine when they look at you. Sharp teeth hiding behind that perfect fucking smile. Salty hair you wanted to run your fingers through. Credit where credit is due, the capitol knows how to pick a sex symbol.

But you don’t see a sex symbol. Not right now. Right now all you see is the person you want to hold on to, and never let go of. The person you’d throw it all away for, if he asked. The person who seemed to always have another layer for you to work your way into, but you’d be damned if you ever stopped trying to get to the root of him.

You’ve been staring for an embarrassingly long amount of time. Finnick notices, of course, because Finnick notices everything.

“Honey?”

You tear your eyes away from where they had been tracing the veins in his hands. “Hm?”

“You ok?” And there it is. That fucking wolf smile. All sharp canines and slightly raised eyebrows because he knows. He knows he’s got you in between his teeth and he knows you’re happy to stay there because it’s him.

You pause, but just for a moment, trying not to give him the satisfaction of winning, of successfully flustering you. But his eyes are boring into yours and it’s so hard to look away from him, but you do. He wins. He normally does.

“‘M just thinking.”

“What about?” He asks. Flopping down on his side, trying to get on eye level with you because it’s never just enough for him to win, he has to make sure you know that he knows it.

You just roll your eyes at him, there’s nothing else you can do.

“About how we’ve been out here since nine in the morning and it’s after noon now, and you haven’t reapplied sunscreen once.”

It’s his turn to roll his eyes now.

“I don’t burn, honey, you know that.”

“What about that time you were out all day, didn’t put sunscreen on once, and then I had to rub aloe vera on your back for a week because you burned like hell and all of your skin was peeling off?” You ask, smile working its way onto your face. You know you’ve got him. You’re winning now.

He pauses, he doesn’t back down easily. “It was a fluke. A glitch, even.” He says, trying his best to shrug his shoulders even though he’s lying down. He fails. It looks ridiculous. You have to try not to laugh. “I honestly think the sun just had a vendetta against me that day.”

You’re failing at biting back a smile now. “At least let me get your back because there is literally nothing you could say or do to ever get me to help you with a third degree sunburn again.”

He doesn’t say anything. Just makes a big show of groaning and rolling his eyes at you before rolling onto his back.

You’ve won.

“So dramatic? You know that? It’s like being friends with a child.” You say as you root around in your bag for your sunscreen. Trying to ignore the disgusting feeling you know it will leave on your hands as you squirt it out.

He props himself up on his elbows to look at you, surely about to counter with some story about you being much more dramatic than him, before you shove him back down, face in the sand.

“Ow.”

“You’re fine. A little sand never killed anyone.”

You decide to ignore his grumbling, focusing on spreading the sunscreen on his back. However, you can’t ignore the growing pit in your stomach that you know will be there until Finnick’s back from the capitol.

Still, they can’t take this from you. You’ve earned it. You deserve to be here, definitely not checking out your best friend who you know you can’t have.

You lose yourself for a moment. Letting yourself focus on the way his muscles feel under your hands. Maybe, one day, this could be real. The capitol will find new, attractive victors, and they’ll move on. You and Finnick can fade into the background, and just live.

You pull back, and grab the tube again, squirting it directly on his back. You start to rub it in before pausing for a moment, why not?

Quickly, you write your name in the sunscreen on his back. Snow has cameras everywhere. Maybe he’s watching. Maybe he’s not. But either way, at least for a second, you can say mine. All mine. You can’t take him from me, not really.

He feels it, lifting his head up just as you’re wiping away the evidence.

“Are you drawing on my back?”

You flash him your own smile. A little less wolfish, a little more coy.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

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A/n: Hi omg I wrote this in one sitting😭this has just been rattling around in my head for weeks now and I had to get it out lol. Constructive criticism and feedback is always appreciated, I hope you all enjoyed<3

#mine!!!#finnick odair #finnick x reader #finnick oneshot #thg x reader #thg x you #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x you #finnick odair fluff

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just-jordie-things · 9 months

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[part fifteen] to build a home - gojo satoru

word count: 5.8k warnings: !!manga spoilers!! swearing, jjk-verse style fighting series summary: when (y/n) (y/l/n) catches wind that the notorious sorcerer killer, toji fushiguro, has children, she makes it her personal mission to find them. the catch being she couldn't tell a soul about them- the risk of the zen'in clan learning about them was too great. keeping the secret isn't the hard part, it's lying to her friends, shoko ieiri, geto suguru, and of course gojo satoru, that she struggles with. especially when satoru has suddenly become so keen on keeping an eye on her lately.

series masterlist

[part fifteen] : “The Whole Truth”

___

She’d been in this room before, more times than she could count on both hands, but standing here now, (y/n) suddenly is overwhelmed with the anxiety that she’s invaded a very private space. Despite the fact that she was asked to come in, despite the fact that she’s there with one of her oldest friends- if she could still consider him that- when she’s standing before him, she’s overcome with the urge to find an excuse to leave.

Her fingers curl around the paper bag that’s still in her hands, the parting gift she’d gotten for him, and she comes back to earth for long enough to extend it to him.

“I got you mochi,” She says softly. Satoru takes the bag to inspect its contents. “From that place you like that’s always way too busy”

Still holding the bag open, Sartoru’s eyes slide upwards, peering over the top of his sunglasses questioningly, already feeling a motive behind the random gift.

“So busy you had to wait overnight?” He questions, and (y/n) frowns.

“I picked them up this morning,” She says, the previously level tone she’d kept her voice at dropping, just enough to let him know that his comment irritated her. “So they’d be fresh”

Satoru nods, before rolling the top of the paper bag shut and setting it on his desk. (y/n) doesn’t say a word as he lets out a huff, his peace clearly disturbed by her already, before he leans back against his door and crosses his arms.

“What’s this all about then?” He asks, in an uncharacteristically bored tone. “Is it an apology..?” He shakes his head as though he couldn’t fathom the idea. “Because I don’t need an explanation, I’ve heard enough-”

“Satoru, I don’t want to-”

“Fight?” He finishes her thought with a scoff, a bitter laugh escaping him before he looks over her again, her nervous stance, her tired features. His annoyance quickly burns into something uglier. “I mean, was it worth it?”

(y/n) blinks in surprise, and hearing the same question that Suguru had asked her just a few weeks ago has her blood running cold. What a bitter feeling of deja vu.

“I don’t expect you to understand,” She says quietly, ducking her head so that she didn’t have to look at him while she spoke. “And… and I don’t expect you to forgive me. I know I wouldn’t,”

That has Satoru’s muscles relaxing, and he doesn’t cut her off this time when she speaks. He lets curiosity get the best of him as he hears her out.

“But I… I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t even try to tell you how sorry I am before…” She trails off, her teeth gnawing on her bottom lip to keep her from saying too much.

Her throat feels like someone had just poured lighter fluid down it and dropped a match.

Satoru leans off the door then, his head cocked and his eyebrow arched as he tries to fill in the blanks she’d left.

“Before what?” He asks.

(y/n’s) eyes nervously meet his but it’s fleeting before she turns away again, this time fixing her gaze on a single photo taped to his wall. It displayed all four of them, having a picnic during their first year.

For a brief moment, she’s transported to the memory, remembering the way Shoko had giggled as she held out the camera, her face barely in the shot but the peace sign she held her fingers in front and center. Satoru has his arm slung around Suguru’s neck, pulling him into view as they both grin wide. He has his other arm wrapped around (y/n’s) middle, forcing her to be in the photo as well. She remembered trying to scramble away before Shoko could snap the shot, and how tight but not uncomfortable Satoru’s hold on her had been. She remembers squealing as she tried prying his arm off her, but in the picture, it looks like she’s grinning happily, clutching his arm almost lovingly. It looks like she not only gives into his hold, but embraces it.

It brings a sad smile to her face now, and she wonders if she had embraced it, no matter how hard she tried to tell everyone she didn’t.

“(y/n),” Satoru steps forward, jarring her thoughts as she whips her attention back to him. “Before what?” He repeats his question.

Her lips part, an excuse writing itself on her tongue, but she can’t bring herself to say it. In the grand scheme of things, one more lie meant nothing. Satoru already thought so little of her that it wouldn’t matter how much more damage she could create.

But she just couldn’t do it.

“I’m…” Her voice fails her, and she clears her throat before trying again. “I’m leaving”

Her voice still cracks when she says it, but she tries to maintain eye contact so that he knows she meant it. This wasn’t another act of deceit, which he believed it to be as the words first processed in his mind, but the longer he stares at her and sees that her expression is unwavering, the more he realizes she had meant it.

He would have preferred another lie.

“No you aren’t” He says in disbelief, hoping, praying she’d finally fucking learned how to lie and he could call her bluff.

(y/n) nods her head in a small motion.

“Yes, I am,” She says softly. “I just wanted to try to make things right before I-”

“No- no, you’re fucking explaining yourself this time,” Satoru cuts her off, his arms falling from their defensive stance over his chest. “You don’t get to just- fuck- are you quitting? Is this about Suguru?”

That seemed to catch her attention, as her face fell as she shook her head adamantly.

“No,” The word comes out solid, and it’s the loudest she’s spoken since she’d come into his room, even though she still hasn’t reached a normal speaking volume. “It’s not about him, at least, not entirely. It certainly hasn’t helped-”

“Then why? Why do you have to go?” He asks, his words coming out in such a rush they almost slur together. “Where are you going? What is this about?”

“I…” She wants to explain herself, but there’s nothing for her to say. “Satoru, I can’t…”

It’s quiet for a moment, while he hopes she could just find the words to tell him, to help him understand why she’d been pulling away so much, why it had brought her to the point of leaving entirely. He waits, impatiently so, while his eyes search hers desperately for some kind of reasoning.

After a minute, it dawns on him that she won’t explain it to him. Even now, she won’t tell him the full truth. He wants to hate her for giving him scraps of clues of what’s been going on in her world, he wants to tell her off, tell her to leave just as she’d told him.

But just as she can’t tell him the whole truth in fear of hurting him, he can’t tell her to leave in fear of hurting her. It was a vicious cycle they had been putting themselves through.

A thought comes creeping up in his head, and he doesn’t want to speak it into existence, but he does anyway. If she really was leaving, he might as well try to uncover the truth.

“It’s them, isn’t it?” He asks, quietly, afraid that it was the truth. “The Zen’ins?”

(y/n) fights the urge to show any expression of emotion, but it’s not enough. Satoru is quicker, and catches the flicker of recognition in her eyes. He’d guessed correctly.

“What is it then?” He asks dejectedly. “They’re moving you into their weird fucking compound of a house? Are they arranging your marriage? You’re just going to skip along and follow their old, backwards lifestyle? Do you really want that?”

He gets carried away rather quickly, the reality of the situation hitting him the longer he thinks about what her life would become if she really did go down that path.

(y/n’s) breathing is rapidly increasing, and she realizes that no matter what she’d done, if she’d continued with the lie or admitted the truth, Satoru was always going to be hurt. Tears prick her eyes as she tries to come up with a solution that would put him at ease, at least until she flees first thing in the morning.

When she doesn’t say anything, Satoru takes quick steps forward to close the remaining space between them. (y/n) has to tilt her head up to look at him properly, her eyes wide at the sudden action.

This was the part where he told her everything he’d said in her nightmare, she thinks as she stares up at him. This is all your fault. This is what you deserve.

He’d meant to tell her that this was her mistake to make, that he wouldn’t stop her if she went through with it, even if he found it ridiculously foolish. But then he got a good look at her, at the way she was holding back her tears, even in her physical exhaustion, she fought the will to cry.

And Satoru softened.

He pauses before her, and everything around them pauses for a moment as he kept watch of those eyes he’d been staring at for years. He’d seen every flicker of emotion one could in them. He’d seen the way they brightened when she smiled, how they crinkled when she laughed, how she looked when she was surprised, or angry, and he’d seen them sad before, too.

But he’d never seen them helpless.

And although everything she’d been saying had been in an effort to push him away, there was something swimming in those irises that was trying to communicate something else entirely. She was lost.

With a sigh, Satoru pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head. Not caring that they got tangled in his hair.

“Oh, sweetheart,” He huffs, and (y/n) blinks in surprise at the affectionate nickname. “What’s going on?

She blinks again, but she keeps her lips sealed shut. Even if she tried to speak, she’d be a sputtering mess.

“You know…” He speaks carefully, making sure to pick just the right words. “You know that you don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to, right?” The question comes out in a whisper, as though there were prying ears to hide from. “And if you need help-”

“It’s not like that”

Just as she suspected, her voice comes out in a strained whimper. Satoru frowns.

“You’re crying,” He states the obvious. “And you’re telling me that you’re leaving but you’re still not telling me why”

“Because I can’t,” (y/n) speaks again, and this time is no better. “I just can’t, okay? I’m sorry-”

“Well you’re going to have to,” He says decidedly, his hands wrapping around her shoulders. “Because something isn’t adding up, and I can’t just let you go when you’re like this,”

Against her will, a tear slips down her cheek as she looks up at him. She shudders as she takes a deep breath.

“Please, (y/n/n),” He says softly, “Who’s done this to you? Who’s hurt you?”

Another shudder rattles through her as she tries to breathe normally, and she curses him internally when a warm hand touches her cheek, wiping away the stray tear and bringing her an undeserved amount of comfort.

“I… I can’t,” She mumbles, closing her eyes as she draws her face away from him, before she steps away from him altogether. “I can’t bring you into it” She finishes, her voice barely above a whisper.

Satoru shakes his head, filling the distance she’d tried to put between them.

“Well it’s too late for that, so you may as well tell me anyways,” He says, trying to sound comforting, and he has no idea just how much she longed to be comforted by him.

She drops her head so that she couldn’t be tempted by him again.

“(y/n),” He tries to bring her to look at him again, but she won’t. Hesitantly, he reaches his hands out to her, his fingers grazing over her knuckles. “I won’t know rest until I know you do,” He admits. “So I’m begging you, okay?”

She sniffles, and closes her eyes tighter while his fingers carefully wrap around hers.

“I can’t hurt you anymore” Her voice still shakes, and Satoru doesn’t know how much more of this his heart could take.

His resentment towards her these last few weeks had been washed away so easily by his overwhelming need to protect her, and he’s never felt so strongly about doing so until this moment.

This wasn’t how he’d seen her cry before. This wasn’t how she’d behaved when Haibara Yu had passed. This wasn’t how she’d behaved in her desperate rage to push him away. This wasn’t her. He knew deep down something was terribly wrong, and he didn’t care what it was, he just wanted to make it go away. He just wanted her to be herself again, to be okay, to be happy.

“You won’t,” He murmurs, still unsure if it was a lie. “You won’t,” He repeats himself with fervor. “There’s nothing you could tell me that would hurt me, sweetheart, okay? So just… just tell me what he’s done, and I’ll fix it”

(y/n) looks up at him then, realizing now that Shoko must have filled in the gaps of her lies between them, and that Satoru truly does believe she’s gotten into trouble with a suitor of some sort from the Zen’in Clan. Any thought of lying through her teeth escapes her mind, as she looks at him now, all she can find in his eyes is pure honesty.

He’s serious, and it’s almost tangible before her. She fears that he really would do anything to put her at ease, and she fears that she would do the same for him.

She fears that she’s in this situation because she’d tried to do the same for him.

She doesn’t know why, she doesn’t understand the feeling, but she chases it, in hopes that it would guide her to do right by him.

“I’m not seeing someone from the Zen’in Clan”

It’s the clearest she’s spoken in a few minutes, but Satoru hesitates as though he still had to make out what she’d said. (y/n) doesn’t blame him. She’s just as surprised by herself as he is.

“You’re not?” He mumbles in disbelief, his brows drawing together in a confused knot.

“I’m not,” She whispers back. “I… I never was” She adds with a small shrug of her shoulder.

Satoru blinks a few times, his eyes flickering between hers, just to be sure that she was once again telling the truth. He doesn’t find an ounce of insincerity on her, but it still doesn’t bring him much comfort.

Suddenly, his hands are squeezing around hers, and he’s bringing them to his chest, holding them close as though the action alone could convince her to stay. (y/n) almost stumbles from the action, but catches her footing before she could fall into him.

“Then why are you leaving?” He asks the nagging question on his mind.

Her tears threaten to spill over her lashes, and her hesitation tells him she still isn’t ready to give him the full truth. She tries to think about Megumi, about Tsumiki, and everything she was going to do to ensure their safety.

“There must be a reason if you’re going to put yourself through this much trouble,” He voices his thoughts while (y/n) tries to blink her tears away. “What is it, sweetheart? You have to tell me”

“Sa-toru,” She chokes on his name, her eyes falling shut as a last ditch effort to keep all of her tears from falling. She tries to pull her hands out of his, but he keeps them in a firm grasp, and she doesn’t have the will to snatch them back. “I just can’t- please, please forgive me,”

She hiccups, and closes her eyes tighter, even though she can feel wetness racing down her cheeks.

“I just have to protect you, I can protect all of you, but you have- you have to let me-” She’s cut off by another hiccup, and when she opens her eyes again all of the tears she’d tried to hold back are streaming down her face. “I know it’s not fair, but it’s the only way I can keep you safe”

Satoru’s eyes blink wide in surprise, his brain desperately trying to connect the dots, trying to figure out who she’s talking about, who she’s protecting, and from what?

He doesn’t rush to ask her these questions, instead he shushes her gently, and brings her over to his bed so she could take a seat. She wants to fight him, but she doesn’t.

“Alright,” He hums, releasing one of her hands so he could catch her tears against his finger, flicking them away before they could stain her cheeks. “Alright sweetheart, let’s start slow, alright?”

She shakes her head, unwilling to drag him down with her. Satoru tries again anyway.

“There’s nothing you could do to jeopardize my safety, okay?” He tells her, wishing she’d look up at him. When she doesn’t, he hooks his finger under her chin and gently lifts her head so she could see he meant it. “Okay?” He asks again.

(y/n) lets out a shaky breath, and her eyes fall from his, landing on his throat. She takes a few more breaths before finding her voice again.

“You’ve been hurt by my mistakes before,” She whispers.

He’s certain he couldn’t have heard her right, but he doesn’t try to speak over her.

Her eyes don’t move as she continues.

“I just can’t hurt you again,” She sighs. “I’ve done it too much and… and it hurts me too” She admits the last part in a voice that barely reached a whisper, but he hears her clear as day.

“I understand,” He hums. “But you have to understand that I can’t ignore this anymore, (y/n). Whatever this is, it’s killing you. And I can’t just let that happen”

“I had a chance to kill Fushiguro Toji,”

Her voice is raw, sore from her crying, strained from her whispering, but she forces herself to speak anyways.

“The day we were sent after Riko Amanai,” (y/n) continues, still staring at the spot on his throat where he’d shown her Toji’s blade had cut clean through. “When we parted ways that day, I ran into him,”

Satoru hung onto her every word, wondering where she could possibly be going with this, and why she hadn’t told him sooner. Although so far, the truth didn’t seem too harmful, there was a nagging pull on his heart that led him to believe somewhere, sometime, things had gone completely wrong.

“Just by accident,” (y/n) continued, shrugging her shoulders in thought. “Or maybe it was fate, I don’t know what led me to him that day, but…”

Finally, her eyes flickered up to his, and she swallowed the remaining lump in her throat before speaking again.

“I overheard a conversation he was having, on the phone,”

Satoru nods, understanding the story so far, while he waits patiently for her to continue.

“He mentioned… he mentioned children,” (y/n) said through a shaky exhale of breath. “And I just… I just had to follow him, I had to learn more, I don’t know why, but it just nagged at me, and I…”

She turns her head, her eyes landing on that photo on the wall again as she thinks back to that day. The way she felt in the beginning of this all, desperately searching for Megumi and Tsumiki like their lives, her life, depended on it. And now, because of her, they did.

Satoru watched her as she stared at the photo for a long moment, trying to collect her thoughts. He was on the edge of his seat, but he didn’t say anything to rush her into explaining further.

He looked down at the hand that still sat in his, limp and clammy from her nerves. He squeezed it gently before running the pad of his thumb over the back of her hand.

(y/n) looked back at him right away, almost jolted by the small gesture, but Satoru kept his focus on the small motion of comfort.

“He had children,” She whispers out the truth like it was a damning piece of information. “Two children. Young. A girl, and a boy”

When Satoru finally meets her gaze again, she’s no longer crying, but she’s still giving him that hopeless look, as though she’d done something terrible that she couldn’t take back.

“That’s where you were when you disappeared that weekend?” He finally spoke after listening to her so intently. (y/n) chewed on her lip as she slowly nodded her head.

“I followed him but I… I lost him..” Her eyes trailed back down to his throat, and now he understood what she’d been staring at.

She’d been watching the place on his throat where Toji had stabbed him that day. Oh, he realizes, all too slowly, she blamed herself. As soon as he puts the pieces together, he squeezes her hand again, as though requesting her attention again.

“That wasn’t your fault”

“I could have-”

“That wasn’t your fault”

“But I was there”

“(y/n),” Satoru’s voice is firm now, and she snaps her mouth shut. “You couldn’t have known,” He tells her, sure of every word he spoke. “There was nothing that you could have done differently to prevent it. There was nothing I could have done differently to prevent it,”

She sighs, her eyes falling to her lap as that dreaded feeling of uselessness washed over her.

“And need I remind you, I’m fine?” He adds, pulling her hand upwards, gently laying it at the base of his throat while keeping his palm over her hand. “Just a little mark,” He whispers while (y/n’s) eyes linger on the spot.

This must be his most vulnerable spot, she thinks, after what happened, no matter what he says, he must have some trauma from the incident. And yet, he lowers his infinity, and lets her rest her trembling fingers there.

Her eyes meet his unsurely.

“I need you to believe me when I say it’s not your fault”

“Okay,” She whispers back. “Then I need you to believe me when I tell you I have to go”

Satoru shakes his head, his fingers curling around hers again, dropping her hand from his throat and against his leg.

“I can’t do that, sweetheart” He sighs.

“Why?” She whispers back, her eyes flickering between his, trying to figure out why it was he cared so much about this. “I’m… I’m going to do a terrible thing tomorrow”

Satoru raises a curious brow.

“Is that so?”

She nods back at him, frowning.

“It will be unforgivable,” She whispers. “But I don’t have a choice,” Her voice cracks again, but this time it’s just the reality of her situation crushing down on her. “I can’t lose them”

“Lose who, sweetheart?” Satoru asks, his brows furrowing now, as he was missing a vital piece of information she hadn’t shared yet.

“I found them,” She whispered, almost gravely. “I found Fushiguro Toji’s children”

The confession processes slowly, and then all at once, and (y/n) watches as he begins to put all the pieces together in real time.

Those children weren’t just poor abandoned things left to live their days out in some broken, unjust system society deemed charitable. No, they weren’t your average non-curse users. They were property. Valuable property.

They were Zen’in property. And it was only a matter of time before the clan would come to collect them.

“I see,” Satoru hums. “So you…”

“I’ve been sneaking off campus for eight months to take care of them” (y/n) whispers.

Every time he caught her in an odd lie, every time she’d go missing as soon as classes were out, the tutoring, the dodging of plans, it all came flooding back to him now, in a completely different light.

“Oh…” He mumbles, leaning back slightly as he was still processing it all.

“Yeah,” (y/n) sighs, hanging her head. “They’ve sent a notice that they’ll be collecting the boy, Megumi. His cursed technique has begun to manifest… just like Zen’ins to care when there’s enough power involved”

“What is it?” Satoru mumbles, his gaze fixed on a spot on the floor.

“Ten shadows” (y/n) answers, also refusing to look at him.

Fuck.

Satoru runs his free hand over his face, trying to come up with a solution and fast, because he didn’t know how much time they had to keep him from the Zen’in’s greedy clutches.

“I’m to bring him to them tomorrow,” (y/n) says. “They don’t have an interest in the girl, she was born a non-curse user. And the two can’t bear to be split apart so…” She trails off, nervously looking Satoru’s way. “So I’m going tomorrow to… make my case”

“Make your case?”

Satoru repeats the words back to her in disbelief, because he knows just as well as she does that the Zen’in Clan don’t just hear people out. They’ll take what’s theirs by whatever means necessary, and if she went to them tomorrow then-

Fuck.

It hits him then as he looks back at her, her glossed over eyes and frowning lips, he knows exactly why she’d come to tell him goodbye.

“No, you’re not-”

“I have to”

“(y/n) that’s a death sentence” Satoru stands up from the bed now, her hand falling from his as he stands before her. Her expression doesn’t falter, not once.

“I’m not losing them” She tells him, clearly, and he knows she means it, but he can’t possibly accept this.

“And that cost is your life?” He raises his voice, although he tries not to yell, he can’t help it as it all sinks into his veins, the situation she’s in.

Why couldn’t she have come to him sooner?

He begins to pace in front of her. (y/n) remains calmly sat before him, letting him process however he needed to. As much as it had hurt, she’d made her peace with it all. It’s simply what she had to do.

“It doesn’t matter how much you train yourself to death, (y/n), if you walk in there tomorrow with any malicious intent, they’ll strike you down. They’re an entire clan, (y/n), do you understand that?”

“I do” She whispers with a small nod of her head.

He shakes his head at her, his hands on his hips as he huffs and moves about the room sporadically.

“No, you can’t possibly understand it, because you wouldn’t just be sitting here right now-!”

“Satoru,” She calls his name softly, and while her voice is much smaller than his, he quiets immediately. “I do understand,” She tells him with another nod. “I love them,”

His features fall, softening as he sees her small smile begin to break through a painfully hurt exterior.

“I do. I love them so much. And I won’t let anything hurt them for the rest of their lives,” She tells him while he’s still frozen in front of her. “So I have to go. I have everything prepared, I’ve left them as much money as I can, a few cursed tools I’ve given them and hidden in their house that I’ve imbued with my cursed energy to protect them even if I…” She trails off, not wanting to admit the dark fate that would be in store for her come tomorrow. “But now that you know, can you promise me something?”

Satoru doesn’t answer, still stuck in front of her, hearing her horrid confession play on repeat in his head. She was really planning on this? She really was going to go through with this?

“Promise me you’ll keep an eye out for them?” She asks, and no matter how much she tries to keep her breaths even, he can hear the shakiness in the exhale she lets out. “You don’t have to watch their every move but… just make sure they’re safe, here and there?”

Her brows draw together as she stares at him with utter hope. She knows that she doesn’t deserve a favor from him, after everything she’s put him through, but if she had to, she’d beg him to make sure her kids were safe when she’s gone.

The room is silent for a few beats, before slowly, Satoru kneels himself to the ground before her, bringing himself to her eye level. (y/n) stares at him steadily, and he’s close enough that she longs to reach out, to hold him by his jaw and make him swear he’d do her one last favor.

“You’re not doing this,” He tells her, quietly. “I can’t let you”

“I have to”

“You don’t”

“I don’t have another choice,” She’s quicker with her words, more decided, unwavering in her choice. “The Zen’ins, they sent men to the house this morning, to intimidate me, or scope out the area, I don’t know. But they aren’t just going to back down now. They’re going to take Megumi whether I try to stop them or not”

“We’ll think of something else” Satoru says surely.

“There’s no time,” (y/n) whispers back. “Tomorrow I’ll put as strong of a curtain over their house as I possibly can and then I’ll go face Zen’in Naobito myself,” She tells him her plan in hopes that he would accept this was her final decision. “So I… I need you to promise me you’ll check in on them”

Satoru’s eyes don’t leave hers as she says this, and he can see that she means every last word. He’d never pegged (y/n) as someone to have the stomach for cold blooded murder, but he can see now that something had changed, and the love she had for these children would drive her to do anything to protect them.

“You’ll die” He whispers back, knowing that she’s well aware.

(y/n) musters up the courage to give him a small smile, although it still carries the weight of her sadness, it is genuine. She only hopes to bring him some semblance of comfort in knowing that this was her decision and hers alone, and that she’d found solace in it.

“Promise me,” Is all she replies with, followed by an even softer, “Please”

Was mochi supposed to make up for all of this? Satoru wonders as his eyes flicker between hers.

While he’s sitting here fighting the urge to completely break down in front of her, she was trying to convince him that she was okay with this plan, that throwing herself into the wolf’s den in the name of love was her only choice. He wants to tell her she’s completely deluded, that he’d chain her down and keep her here if he had to in order to keep her from making the sacrificing play. And a part of him knows that he would really do it.

Satoru pinches the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes as he takes a deep breath and tries to run through every possibility on how this could end. He doesn’t like what he comes up with.

“Satoru,” (y/n) calls softly, and when he looks up at her again, her hand is hesitating over his shoulder. It takes her a minute before she lays it there, and she lets out a deep sigh before speaking again. “I’m sorry,”

Her eyes follow the trail of a single tear slipping down his cheek, and she has to remind herself why she has to do this.

“If by some miracle I live, I’ll send you a postcard” She means to jest, but her voice is too soft, and the way her eyebrows sink as her eyes meet his again tells him she barely believes her own words.

Her hand falls from his shoulder as she stands from the bed, and Satoru’s quick to get up to his feet too, stopping her before she could leave.

“Stay,” He says before he can think of something better to say. “Don’t go yet, stay, please, let’s think of a better plan, together, okay?”

He’s rushing through his words again, desperate to keep her here long enough that he alone could solve all of it for her.

(y/n) opens her mouth, no doubt to protest, but Satoru cuts her off before she could even start.

“Let me help you,” He pleads, stepping closer to her, leaving little to no space between them. Her eyes noticeably widen at this, but she remains silent. “You didn’t have my help before, I could get you out of this, we can come up with a way to keep the kids and you safe, okay?”

She’s frowning at him, but she doesn’t walk away from him either, so Satoru thinks he has a chance at making her cave.

“Please?” His hands grab onto hers, the action harsher than it had been before, desperate, even. “Please, (y/n), I just can’t accept this. You can’t do this… not without at least talking about it first, okay?”

(y/n) ducks her head and slowly begins to pull her hands out of his, although she longed to stand there with him holding them for the rest of time, as he’d always reminded her that she would never find comfort in another person the way she felt it with him. She knows that if she stays any longer, then she’ll never leave.

And it was the right thing to walk away, right?

Satoru lets her pull her hands back to her stomach where she could wring them together as some form of control over her nerves. He doesn’t mind that she tries to pull away from him, because he’s quicker.

When she feels the warmth of two palms resting on either side of her face, lifting her head so she’d look at him properly, (y/n) knows right away that she wouldn’t be walking away anytime soon.

Satoru’s hands are warm, smooth, and no matter where they are on her they still bring her that same blanket of comfort. They’re so delicately firm, cupped around her face to keep her looking at him. They’re so solidly gentle that she couldn’t break away from them if she wanted to.

She already knows her answer as soon as he speaks, although she can’t quite explain how she folds so easily, she decides to blame it on her overwhelming physical and mental exhaustion.

“Stay”

___

taglist: @whats-humanity-lol @malinq-ashida @mor-pheus@bekahtaylorgriggs@pookiea@megumimind@thealchemical@pearlstiare@niallerhere@96jnie @purpleguk @peqch-pie@yukinemaroop@makis-girl@sadtoru @kamikokii @nerdiel-has-no-braincells @googlesheetshoe @vzleria @hilzup @cole-silas @iam-mia9 @stxrrielle @ezrahour @whatamidoing89 @idioseasworld @yuuuumii @l0diluvs @miffysoo @chibiizzy

xoxo ~ jordie

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

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persephone11110 · 4 months

Text

A Web Of Lies | J. Seresin

warnings: past physical abuse, past domestic violence-> old traditional views of how women are supposed to be,victim blaming—self victim blaming, hurt/comfort, protective jake seresin, mentions of throwing up and being on your period, oc death-> mentions of alcohol abuse and car accident

summary:“Y/n sometimes it best if women are seen and not heard,sometimes its best if you just take the hits and don’t react”. Mama tells you while holding an icepack to her swollen eye.

AN: do i need therapy or do i need keep writing oc’s with childhood trauma?

ocs: Betty L/n, Harry L/n, Darren

—

THIS STORY IS ABOUT DOMESTIC VIOLENCE AND GENERATIONAL TRAUMA AND MISOGYNISTIC SOCIETIAL VIEWS SO PLEASE BE CAREFUL

—

Women are seen not heard.

It’s a phrase you learned as a little girl, it’s an assumption youv’e lived by for awhile, taking it in consideration when saw your dad first hit your mom, when Darren first slapped you. Its always the women fault— it can never be the man fault.

You didn’t learn this lesson until your eight years old, when your father facade cripples quickly. Before this happened he was sweet to you, always calling you his princess, having tea parties with you—throwing you over his shoulder.

His laughter was loud and clear , just like yours until it isn’t. Your dad is everything a man is supposed to be until he isn’t. The loudness that once meant happiness turns into—loud agressive shouting, when it’s him and mama alone together.

Well they think their alone together. Your wandering down the staircase to see were he went as he promised to read you the cinderella story again—like he did most nights, reading to you until your snores filled the room.

They’re fighting again which isn’t surprising to say the least. Your parents always argued whether it was in hushed tones or it was so loud that your neighbors next door would come over and make sure everything was fine.

“Betty it wouldn’t be like this if you just made me happy!”,his voice booms, bouncing off the walls. He doesn’t look like he usually does, his hair was messy opposed to the gel back look he normally wore, his clothes has stains on it- something that was unheard of until tonight.

You swear mama not breathing after you watched daddy ball his fist up, striking her across the face. The cracking sound echoes throughout the living room, mama on the ground holding the right side of her face.

You go to open your mouth, worried for your mama. But before you can your nanny Louisa gently wraps her hand around your mouth. “Shh little one, lets get to bed–theres school remember”. Louisa picks you up and you lean your head on her shoulder, leaving your mama bleeding on the cold floor alone.

It makes mama stop arguing with daddy, his combat boots were heavy aganist the floor as he leaves through the front door— using all his strength to slame it.

In the morning you notice how quiet mama is, how red and swollen her face is. “Louisa taking you to school today Y/n” her voice is small and soft.

“Mama why did daddy hit you?”. She almost drops the kettle onto the ground, mama didn’t know you were there watching the vicious scene unfold.

Thats the day your mama infamous words get stuck in your head,“Sometimes mama makes daddy mad, sometimes women must be seen and not heard”.

It words that stay with Y/n for over an decade.

—

Circa of 2002

Your in your junior year of college when the lesson your mom taught you is sitting in the back of your mind.

Just take the hit Y/n, it makes life easier.

Your relationship with Darren is so fresh, yet your already mimicking how your mom acts around your dad. Your already walking on eggshells with him, he already rolls his eyes when you forget to give him the answers to the psychologyhomework—it meant your walking on thin line of his frustration.

Sometimes you think you deserve the bruises that riddle your body, how many times have you forgotten to call him back, when he tells you to. Sometimes he’s annoyed with how much you move in your sleep, “I can’t sleep Y/n if you move so much”.

Your relationship with Darren was the true epitome of Opposite Attracts. Like today you got excited telling Darren about the release of the book Coraline. You remembered him reminding you to calm down, him telling you didn’t care about his day.

Or when your on your period and he insists that your fine, and how you had the tendency to overreact when it came to your pain. How he’s sighs when your own the ground cleaning up your throw up as the cramps had gotten worse. Telling you its 2AM in the morning and he’s desperately trying to sleep, and now he can’t.

The guilt eats away at you for days, now when you get your period you slept on the bathroom floor.

You don’t have friends anymore, as Darren had grown controlling of your social life. “Am I not enough for you, Y/n?”. Your friends grow tired of seeing you so bruised, they grow tired of trying to help someone who didn’t want the help. Its just you and Darren now–at least he didn’t grow tired of you.

It took ten years for you to leave, your about two years into your nursing job. Your a hypocrite, as you stood infront of a woman in a coma, her husband had beaten to her within an inch of her life and the only chance she had at living was a medical induced coma.

Here you were holding her hand telling her it wasn’t her fault. “Sometimes we believe we don’t deserve better and we believe there is no one out there who will ‘love’ us”. You sighed, lifting one hand to wipe away your tears.

You left him-leaving the state and finding a job all the way in Miramar, California—changing your cell number and email. A phone call from your mother makes you almost burst out laughing,“Y/n I’m so sorry for your loss sweetheart he was such a nice boy”. Darren drinking habit has gotten worse, he managed to flip his car over on its side. You didn’t feel like telling her about the break up - there was no use anway, as she’ll tell you to beg for his love again, like all the other times.

Present

You sitting across from Jake, staring at him waiting for him to tell you how much you suck at cooking. Waiting for him to pick up the dish and chuck it over your head—listening to him pop open another beer, the plate and flood sliding down the wall.

It doesnt come, its never going to.

Jake gives you a soft smile, and he reaches for your hand to hold it, as he eats.“God damn darlin, you put your entire foot in it”.

“Thank you Jake”, You push your chair back, moving to collect his dish. He softly grips your hand, stopping you from moving.

“Darlin I have legs—finish your food first”. He drops a kiss onto your head before walking to the kitchen. His southern drawl thicker than usual.

Darren did always say you were stubborn. You were standing infront of the sink washing all the dishes that had been used for dinner. Despite Jake telling you didn’t have to.

“Y/n is cleaning so hard for you?”.

“Is it so hard for my girlfriend to clean up after herself?”, your holding a cold beer to your swollen face.

“Darlin, no”. Jake wraps his arms around you not caring about your wet clothes. “Let me do it Y/n”. He gently pushes you into the kitchen chair.

Jake doing the dishes right now.

Something your dad wouldn’t dare do for your mom,“Betty I’m tired the least my wife can do is clean up for me”. Darren wouldn’t neither—“Goodnight Y/n, or I’m watching the game”, leaving you in the dark kitchen alone.

Jake Seresin isn’t them, Jake isn’t the man you’ve spent majority of your life scared of. It’s takes time for you believe that, it takes time for you to believe his words,“I will never lay a hand on you Y/n”.

It took some time but staring at him washing the dishes singing along with Beyoncé you start to believe him. You know for certain that Jacob Grant Seresin is not like them—he can’t be.

#top gun #top gun maverick #jake seresin #jake seresin x reader

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lostryu · 6 months

Text

i need gay rights because literally not a single self-proclaimed cis/het 'ally' understands the alienating experience that comes with being the only gay person in the workplace.

i am a gnc butch lesbian. i use he/him pronouns. when i came out to my manager regarding my pronouns (i had been an open lesbian since the moment of my hire), she told me that she supported me, but she could not enforce or ask our clients to use the correct pronouns for me. she told me it was something i would have to learn to deal with. she never uses the correct pronouns for me unless a person from a different department (who also happens to be LGBT+) is present. she is our HR in addition to manager.

none of my coworkers in my department ever remember to use my pronouns. if i remind them, they go over the top with the "im sorry's" and the "im still learning" and "you know i try my hardest's!" and "i swear im not homophobic!", it has been over 6 months since i came out. if i say nothing, they continue to use she/her (unless that other lgbt+ person from the other department is present, then they miraculously get it right).

sometimes they call me 'girl'. they always flounder and correct to "man-boy-uh youknowwhatimeanright". they laugh it off. they never bother to ask what terms i am comfortable with, or if i even cared in the first place. they don't care about my gender, they never bother to ask. somehow the subject gets changed every time i try to tell them, or set a boundary.

once in a while in a slow shift, the conversation will hop to our dating lives. somehow, it always jumps to how men suck and how dating a woman must be so much easier. they wish they could be gay and not straight. every time, they'll stare at me expectantly, like i am an animal at the zoo. no matter what i say, positive or negative, i must be lying. i cannot be that happy in my relationship, or if i have any issues, they must be minor. if i say 'why don't you try dating a girl then' to their remarks, they'll laugh, say something like "there is no way i possibly could" with that special tone of disguised disgust.

i am a prop, at work. they tell me about how much they love their kids. how they could bring anyone home and they wouldn't care. "they could be black, brown, or purple," they'll say "it could be a woman or a man! I support gay rights!" Then they will talk about how hungry they are, and how they will be going to Chick Fil a for the 4th time this week. 'as a treat'. it is thursday. they talk about going to Hobby Lobby again for christmas decorations, or another sale. sometimes i think i can taste blood.

its june. they talk about the pride parade and how excited they are to see the queens and their 'funny costumes'. they talk about how fun it is to go and watch, how they like the free things the corporations hand out. they don't want to bring their younger kids though. they're not old enough. they do not know that the first pride was a riot. they do not know what happened during the AIDS crisis, how many died. they don't really care when i try to tell them, they'd rather focus on the fun parts of the parade. the spectacle.

i wear a pronoun pin, to make it easier. still somehow no one can get my pronouns right. a client notices it. commends me for "being brave" and "coming out." she never uses my correct pronouns. i stopped wearing the pin after the 11th person asked me if my name on my name tag was my real one, and after the 45th person went out of their way to use incorrect pronouns every sentence. my manager, the HR, did not care.

i need gay rights, but somehow everything got resolved when they allowed us to marry in 2015. to our allies, the work is done. somehow i am left more alone than when we started.

#lost.txt #lesbian loneliness #like idk how to describe it but it sure is loneliness and alienation #somewhat of a vent post #like yes we have made it so far #but our 'allies' have grown very complacent #in their own support and ideology #reminder that being gay is still considered spectacle

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selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs · 4 months

Note

Child reader who hates physical touch and I mean absolutely despise it but sometimes clingy to poe and akutagawa too feel comfortable because of their social anxiety

No pats

Self-Aware! Platonic! Edgar Allan Poe x GN! Child! Reader x Self-Aware! Platonic! Akutagawa Ryunosuke

Description: You are the cutest kid ever. Such a shame, that you don't like pats and hugs. Or, do you?

Warning: OOC. English is my second language

_____

🧥🦝 It was quite a surprise for BSD Cast, when they learned, that you are a child.

🧥🦝 They were a little bit worried. You are a kid, and you have read about some dark stuff in their manga. Aren't you too young to read about mafia, criminals and cities destruction?

🧥🦝 Well... There is nothing they can do about it. Besides, this revelation won't change much for them. They still adore you.

🧥🦝 How could they not adore you? You are sweet and cute child.

🧥🦝 After a little friendly competition between adult characters of an "acceptable for being an adopted parent", you were officially adopted by Bram.

🧥🦝 Bram is your guardian de jure. De facto you are adopted by every member of BSD Gang.

🧥🦝 BSD Cast do everything to make you feel happy. But, there is one little thing. And it makes them nervous.

🧥🦝 You hated any form of physical affection.

🧥🦝 Every time, someone tried to give you a head pat, you either froze or tried to dodge. And, while less tense, you didn't like, when other kids touched you.

🧥🦝 It made everyone feel puzzled and nervous.

🧥🦝 Were they scarring you? Has someone hurt you in the past? Maybe, they have rushed things, and you didn't want to be adopted by them?

🧥🦝 They decided to deal with the possibility of you being hurt in the past. Your medical records didn't show much. You were a healthy baby and healthy kid. But, documents can be forged.

🧥🦝 They needed to hear about your past from someone from your past. Teachers and people from orphanage.

🧥🦝 Time to call for Mushitarou's and Ango's abilities.

_______

"I swear, I didn't do anything bad! Please, don't hurt me!" Orphanage's director begged, trying to get away from Akutagawa.

Akutagawa's grip became stronger. Mafioso hissed. Rashomon slowly raised its head above Akutagawa's shoulder.

"I don't believe you. Why [Y/N] is so nervous, when someone are touching them?"

Director mewled, sobbed and lost consciousness.

Akutagawa rolled his eyes and lose his grip on Director. Man fall down on the floor, like a bag of potatoes.

Akutagawa stepped away and left the Director's office. He hopped, that Man-tiger could find something.

________

🧥🦝 Meanwhile, Poe decided to simply talk to you.

_______

You were enjoying your cake. Poe, who sat on the opposite side of the table, observed your movements. Karl was sitting on your lap. You wanted to give him a piece of your cake, but Poe warned you not to do this. Karl could become sick because of the cake.

"[Y/N], can I ask you something?" Poe's voice was warm and shooting. You nodded, silently chewing the sweet treat. Poe smiled. You looked like a hamster.

"[Y/N], are we scaring you? You always freeze, when someone tries to give you a head pat. Even when Q and Elise tried to hug you, you jumped away from them."

You swallow and shook your head.

"No! No! I love living with you. I just don't like being touched!"

Poe thought over your answer and asked another question.

"That's it? We won't be angry, if you feel nervous around us. It's okay to feel nervous in this situation."

You shook your head again.

"That's it. I always hated to be touched."

Poe just nodded. It's fine. He must tell others about it. So they won't make you upset anymore.

_______

🧥🦝 Akutagawa, Atsushi, Ango and Mushitarou didn't learn anything new about you. Everyone called you a sweet, quiet child, who have never got into troubles. At least, they've proved, that you weren't hurt in the past.

🧥🦝 When they returned home, Poe told them, what he has learned about you.

______

🧥🦝 Everything were fine.

🧥🦝 All of you slowly learned to be a family. You became more talkative. You started spending time with BSD Cast more often. You still didn't like physical affection. BSD Cast respected it.

🧥🦝 One day, something interesting happened.

🧥🦝 When you and Poe were getting groceries.

_______

The grocery store was almost empty.

As usual, you were walking close to Poe. As usual, weren't holding his hand or grabbing his sleeve. Poe kept a close eye on you.

Everything went fine. Until you two reached the candy aisle.

The bunch of kids, same age as you, were discussing their favorite candies. Kids were quite loud. But not loud enough to be asked to leave the store.

Then, Poe felt it. Two small hands grabbing his sleeve, and a child's face being pressed against his arm.

Poe looked at you. You looked nervous, glancing at the kids from time to time. You looked anxious.

Poe knew, too well, how social anxiety looked like. He carefully put his free hand on your head. You didn't move. You looked slightly grateful for having Poe's hand on your head.

"Want to leave?" whispered Poe. You nodded. Poe freed his arm from yours, took your hand, and went to the cash register.

You kept holding his hands. You let it go only when Poe and you almost reached home.

______

🧥🦝 You became more open in Poe's presence. You sent time in his room, playing with Karl, doing homework and reading books. Sometimes, you cling to Poe, when you felt nervous about school festivals/class gatherings.

🧥🦝 Soon, you found second person to be as open as you were with Poe.

🧥🦝 An unexpected one.

_____

You didn't like excursions. So many people around you makes you feel anxious. You take a deep breath. It didn't help to lessen your anxiety. So, you decide to move to the next step.

You clung to Akutagawa, who was accompanying you today.

Mafioso looked at you. He was slightly puzzled. But, after noticing your expression, unbuttoned his coat, hiding you with it.

"Thanks..." whispered you, clinging to Akutagawa's side.

"No problems," shrugged Akutagawa, giving you a headpat.

_____

🧥🦝 Now you have two people you go to, when you feel anxious. You liked to spend time with Poe and Akutagawa. Sometimes, you let them give you a headpat.

🧥🦝 Maybe, one day, you will cling to more people.

🧥🦝 For now, you have Older Brother Poe and Older Brother Akutagawa.

🧥🦝 And they will always be there for you.

278 notes · View notes

annwrites · 22 days

Text

you missed training ※∴

— pairing: shane walsh x fem!reader

— type: ficlet

— summary: shane deems it time for you to have some private target practice lessons with him.

— tags: shane has horny thoughts about you, cuddling, shane actually giving a damn

— tw: guns, suicidal ideation, mentions of masturbation, eating

— word count: 4,773

— a/n: i know this fic references some past events between shane & the reader, but this is just one part of a series of posts i plan to write for shane. i do have another post up, which is about shane's "offer" to the reader (taking their virginity).

You shove a clothespin into place before picking up the next item—one of Andrea’s pairs of cargo pants—and jump when you feel a palm against your back, causing you to nearly drop the damp piece of clothing. You clutch it to your chest instead, thankful they won’t need to be rewashed.

You turn to your right where Shane is now standing, palm still firmly in-place against your backside.

“Yes?” You ask as you hang the pants. You then turn fully toward him, causing him to drop his hand.

“You missed training.”

You shrug, bending down to pick up a t-shirt, but he takes it from you, throwing it on the line without clothespins, just to get your attention back on him. “Can you just stop for a minute and look at me?”

You sigh, doing as he’s asked, crossing your arms.

“I asked you to come,” he says, clearly not pleased with you.

“There was work to do.”

He shakes his head, placing his hands on his hips, and you can tell his temper is nearly at its boiling point. Not that it isn't always anymore, it seems.

“That’s always your excuse. For everything. And I’m gettin’ tired of hearin’ it.”

You give him a none-too-pleased look at the attitude now lacing his tone, and go to pick up a pair of clothespins so the shirt can be properly hanged, and not risk being blown away by the wind, but he takes them from you, throwing them back into the basket before grabbing your hand in his and pulling you away from laundry duty.

“Shane-” You start, but he promptly interrupts you.

He turns back to you, your hand still held firmly within his calloused grip. “I am tired of askin’ nicely. This is important, and you’re going to learn whether you like it or not.”

You can feel your face growing warm, your pulse rising. You do not appreciate being made into just one more person he thinks he can boss around as he pleases. “I don’t need lessons.”

He gives you a look which says ‘yeah right’ before releasing your hand and pulling his pistol from its holster. He goes to hand it to you and you take it from him with caution. And don’t you dare think he doesn’t notice the fear with which you handle the weapon with.

“Alright, then. You know everything you need to know, then show me where the safety is.”

You look the sidearm over, looking for the right button, but look up to him in humiliation after a moment. You can’t even find it within yourself to tell him you don’t know.

He crosses his arms. “Show me how to eject the clip, then.”

Once again, you’re not sure which button will do what he’s asked for.

With an exasperated sigh, he takes the gun from you, tucking it back into its holster. “You want to tell me about how you don’t need training again?”

You shift from one foot to the other, refusing to answer.

“Not going to answer me now?”

You look up to him. Into his eyes which are searching yours. You shrug.

Shane hangs his head, shaking it. “Sweetheart, you want to explain to me why you’re so reluctant to learn a new way to defend yourself? A pretty important one?”

You look away from him, to those milling around the camp, talking and laughing amongst themselves. And then you look the other way, to an empty field. Tranquility, solitude. Peace.

“Learning self-defense means that I feel like I still have a life worth defending—worth living. That I feel like I’m worth defending.” You look at him then. “I don’t believe any of that.”

He lets out a low swear. “I thought we were past this.”

“You keep insisting on saving someone who doesn’t want to be saved, Shane. I never asked for you to bring me with you all from the quarry. Never asked for you to drag me out of the CDC. Never asked for you to help me on the highway. I made my choice over and over again and you refuse to accept that.”

He grimaces, his fists tightening at his sides. “Just because you think you’re not worth saving doesn’t mean everybody else has to think that. Because I don’t. Which I’ve proved time and again. You’re-” He rubs his hand over his head, settling it on his hip. “You’re one of the most valuable members of this group. You-”

You interrupt him with a laugh which has no humor behind it. “Valuable? Valuable how, Shane? By doing laundry? By helping make lunch and cleaning out the RV?”

He shakes his head. “It’s more than that and you know it. Just because you don’t see your self-worth doesn’t mean I don’t. Because I do.”

You continue to stare up at him, fighting against the tears threatening to overtake your vision. A tear slips from one of your eyes anyway and he reaches up, gently brushing it away with the pad of his thumb.

“I’m going to keep saving you until one day I don’t have to anymore. Because you’ve finally made the decision to live. So, are we going to go practice? Because if you tell me no, girl, I’ll just keep on your case about it until-”

“Ok.”

He shuts his mouth suddenly, a small grin gracing his lips. “Yeah?”

“I said ok.”

He jerks his head in the direction of the training area they’d set up some ways off from the house and camp. “C’mon then.”

He places his palm against the small of your back again, leading you away from camp.

The Georgia heat could be insufferable some days, but at least today was a bit cooler, even by a few degrees, with a slight breeze. The sun was low enough for the trees behind the training area to be casting long shadows, shielding you from the sun overhead.

Shane leads you over to a bit of fence that has a row of bottles set up beyond it, along with a couple of targets.

“Alright, here.” He stops you in the middle, the targets all directly beyond where you’re standing.

He removes the gun from its holster again. “This is your safety,” he says, flipping a small switch on the side, a red dot now visibile. He looks at you, and you at him. “Red means fire.” He flips the switch back.

“And this is how you release your clip.” He presses a button on the side and the bottom of the pistol comes out, a row of shiny bullets now visible. “It’s fully loaded.”

He pushes the clip back in.

“You know your stance?”

You shake your head, feeling more and more ignorant with every question he asks. You’d never had a reason to learn these things…before.

“I figured as much,” he says with a smile, coming to stand behind you.

He kicks your feet apart with his boot. “Move your right foot forward some—good, like that. Now, turn.” He grips your hips in both of his hands, firmly, turning your body just the least bit toward the fence. Shane then removes his gun from its holster and holds it out in front of you.

You take the grip in your hands, only just now noticing how heavy it is when you try to hold it up.

The barrel droops and he sighs. “Should’ve brought a lighter pistol, that’s my mistake.”

He reaches up, taking both of your hands in his, helping you hold it steady. “Alright, safety off.”

You find the small switch from earlier and push it down, that small red dot now visible.

“Chamber a round by pulling the slide back.”

You at least know that part, so you do as he instructs. “Good.” He presses his front against your backside, his body heat radiating onto you, causing a few small beads of sweat to form on the back of your neck.

“Make sure to keep your back straight, feet apart. And I want you to grip the gun firmly, but let it breathe. And don’t you ever put your finger on that trigger until you’re ready to fire and know what you’re firing at. You understand?”

You nod.

“Alright, close your left eye, find your target, and when you're ready, put your finger on the trigger and squeeze it slowly. Don’t just start firing off rounds at-will.” You hear a smirk in his voice as he continues “We’re saving that for the advanced course.”

“Given I pass this one,” you add, your tone nervous.

“You’ve got Officer Shane Walsh playin’ teacher to you now, darlin’. I’ll give you a pass.” He shrugs. “Once you’ve earned it.”

You don’t dare to think what he said might have some double-meaning to it.

“Alright, sweetheart. Deep breath, then when you’re ready.”

You take a deep breath, slowly let it out, then place your finger over the trigger, his hands still over yours. You squeeze slowly…and miss the bottle you were aiming at entirely.

You nearly curse. “I missed.”

“That was just your first try. You’ll get there.” He readjusts his hands. “We’ve got all day, baby. Just you and me.”

You feel sweat drip down your back. You tell yourself its from the heat. Not his body pressed firmly against yours. Not the pet names slipping so easily from his lips. And certainly not the fact that all of his attention was, at current, focused entirely on you.

He keeps his hands overtop of yours. "Try again, darlin'."

You close one eye, find the bottle you'd aimed at before and fire once again, hitting it this time and shattering it.

You smile. An actual genuine smile. And fill with a small sense of accomlishment.

Shane brings his lips close to your ear. "Good job, honey. Four more to go."

You could swear he presses a brief, light kiss to the side of your head, but brush it off as nothing.

You miss your next three shots—each attempt sloppier than the last and your cheeks feel like they're on fire. Whether from the warmth of his body nearly enveloping yours, the heat of the day, or the humiliation of having missed so many times, you're not sure.

But he'd not gotten aggravated with you yet. "Try again," he instructs softly.

"I-" you start, until he adjusts his stance behind you, briefly gripping one of your hips to fix your footing, causing you to go silent again as his hand skims your bare waist under your shirt.

"You say somethin', sweetheart?"

You shake your head. "I'm just having a hard time concentrating."

Your arms were resting in front of you now, the pistol lowered and gripped in each of your hands, the safety on.

"Somethin' you need to me to do?"

Take a step back and let me breathe, you want to say, but don't. It's impossible to concentrate with your hands all over my body, you consider, but keep your mouth shut. He was just trying to be a good teacher, that was all.

Somehow you doubted he had been this handsy with Patricia or Jimmy, though.

"Could we take a break, maybe?"

He comes to stand at your side. "We only just started. Tell you what, hit another bottle and we'll take a quick break. Can you do that for me?"

You don't answer. You simply raise the pistol again, but before you can even shut one of your eyes, he's pressed right back up against your backside, his arms and hands enveloping your own.

You sigh, squeeze the trigger, and somehow manage to get lucky.

As you take a brief pause, the two of you seated facing each other—both of you leaned back against opposing trees—you try to ignore his staring.

Eventually, he breaks the silence. "I'll get you a lighter gun when we get back. Think I know the one for you. Just...not sure if giving you a firearm is the best idea. Right now, at least"

You fidget with your hands in your lap. "Why? Because you think as soon as you hand it to me I'm going to stick it in my mouth?"

A muscle in his jaw feathers. "You said it, not me. But yes. Given your past...behavior, you can't blame me for bein' a bit paranoid."

You lean your head back, looking back to the three untouched bottles, mocking you across the way. Had you hit them, you wouldn't be having this conversation right now. "No, I guess I can't."

You don't see him shake his head. "Not even going to try and convince me otherwise?"

You look back to him. "I haven't exactly tried ending my life in incredibly direct ways thus far, Shane. I chose to stay at the quarry, you wouldn't allow that. I chose to stay at the CDC—same result. I collapse on the highway and you nursed me back to health. It's not like I was slitting my wrists or downing bottles of pills. It was more just...whatever happened happened."

"I just wish I knew how the hell to stop it."

The truth was...being here—at the farm—was actually helping. The wide open spaces that were free from walkers. The quiet, slow way of living. Having some sense of security with there being an actual house and barn nearby. Even meeting new people had lifted your spirits. But you were afraid to admit it out loud—that you felt small moments of happiness in this place every now and again. Because as soon as you did? It'd all be ripped away.

But you knew Shane was worried about you. A worry that grew with each day. So you cross your fingers—mentally knock on wood—before you tell him.

"Being here has helped. Being someplace so...untouched. I still have bad days and bad moments, but I feel better here. Lighter, somehow. I don't think about wandering off and ending it all like I did anymore. Now I just...I wish we could make a life here. All of us. But if you keep butting heads with Hershel that dream will end one day."

He studies you for a moment. "Think he's just living with his head in the clouds. Thinking those things aren't what they are. That help is coming. That we'll get past this and things will just return to normal before we know it."

"What does it hurt you to let him believe that? We all had hope like that at one time, too, incase you've forgotten. He hasn't seen what we've seen. Hasn't been through what we've been through. Just...put yourself in his shoes. Wouldn't you be just as blind?"

He shrugs. "Don't think I'd have my head that far in the damn sand."

You're both quiet again. You don't bother arguing further with him. He was stubborn—hard-headed as they came. Trying to make him see reason, or at the very least, another way, was futile more often than not.

"I'm happy to hear it, though. Relieved, really. That you feel better here. Guess we made the right decision by staying."

You flush. "I always wanted to live in a place like this. Quiet, with lots of land, and far away from everyone. Just...peaceful."

"Never did strike me as a city-girl," he says with a smirk.

You hum. "Hardly."

You lean back once again, closing your eyes, just enjoying the breeze blowing through the tall grass, and the birds singing overhead.

Meanwhile, Shane can't take his eyes off of you. Not your flushed face or full lips, your neck, the swell of your breasts under your t-shirt, your round hips, or legs.

He knew it hadn't been entirely necessary—him keeping himself pressed up against you during your first round of training, but the truth was he couldn't keep his damn hands off of you. You were just so damn soft and felt good to grip and touch and slide his hands along.

He'd been thankful you never seemed to notice the swell of his hard cock pressed up against your backside.

He'd not entirely tried to hide it.

He could feel that same erection returning as he admired your body, fantasized about what was underneath all those layers. He adjusts himself as he considers what you might sound like as he traces your curves with his tongue, what you might taste like cumming on it.

He liked to imagine how tight you would feel, clenching around him, milking his body of every last drop of cum he had to give.

Some time, late at night, weeks ago, he'd came—hard—and not with Lori's name on his lips, but yours, as he had his cock fisted tightly in his grip. He'd not even been expecting it, but it'd happened anyway—his thinking of you on your knees, his length in your wet mouth, wide innocent eyes staring up at him as he instructed you on what to do to please him.

After that night, all he did was fantasize about you. He hardly even considered her anymore.

It'd all started after you told him that damn wish of yours from your bucket list—wanting to lose your virginity before you died.

"You thought anymore about it?"

You'd nearly started drifting off to sleep when his voice had woken you. You look at him, a bit dazed and if anything, it turned him on all the more—he took no qualms with that idea. You lying there, limp and relaxed, legs spread for him as he did all the work to get you both off.

"What?" You ask, stretching.

He licks his lips at the sight of your midriff making a brief appearance before your shirt lowers again as you rest your hands in your lap.

"What we talked about a few nights ago on the porch."

You blanch, flushing. "Oh. That."

"Mhm, that. So, you thought about my offer?"

In truth, you had. Once, late at night, hand in your panties, coming away slick after you'd finished tending to yourself.

And then you'd filled with shame at what you'd done. Your family was gone—Sophia was missing, Carl had been shot and nearly died, even Otis, a member of Hershel's own family, had sacrificed himself to ensure the little boy made it.

The list went on and on. And that was what you had decided to use a bit of your spare time for?

Disgraceful. That was the best word you had for it. For yourself.

You shrug. "Not much."

His erection deflates, along with his ego. "Oh."

You look up to him and try to quickly salvage the situation. "It's not that I don't find you attractive, Shane. Of course I do. But like I said before, about Lori-"

He shakes his head. "That's done. Been done since Rick came back from the dead. She's moved on and so have I."

You raise a brow, not really believing him.

He sees the doubt in your expression. “Guess I’ll just have to prove myself to you, then.”

You cross your legs. “Why me, Shane? Why the sudden interest? Why not Andrea or Maggie or-”

He chuckles, glancing down to his lap, one of his thumbs rubbing against the palm of his other hand. He then looks back up to you and shrugs. “I think I’m just the type of guy who needs to feel needed. The two of them, as far as I can tell—at least for the most part—seem to be able to take care of themselves. You? Not so much. Not yet, at least. You need someone to look after you. Guess I appointed myself to that position without even really knowing it. Not at first, at least.”

So he saw you as a damsel in distress. Terrific. You weren’t sure whether you were supposed to feel offended or flattered about it.

“I’m not looking for a knight in shining armor to come save me, Shane. You don’t need to keep making me your problem. You have enough on your hands with-”

He leans his head back with an interrupting sigh. “We’ve had this conversation before. And it didn’t deter me then and it ain’t going to now. You’re not a problem, darlin’. I just want to be the solution, I guess.”

You can’t understand it, why someone like him—intelligent, reliable, with leadership skills, beyond good-looking, and above all a survivor—whatever the cost—has an interest in you. At all.

“What does that mean: be the solution?”

He shrugs, standing. He walks over to you, offering you his hand. “You tell me.”

It’d taken over an hour for you to break the last three bottles, as well as make decent progress firing at the targets. You tell yourself you would’ve gotten done sooner—would’ve done better—had his hands not been all over you again—Shane no longer bothering with ensuring he was touching you only over your clothes, as he’d gripped your bare hips more times than you could count.

And you didn’t want to acknowledge the hard length you’d felt pressed into your backside once or twice. You told yourself he must’ve had another pistol on him, or a knife perhaps. That was all.

More than once, just as you had your target lined up, he’d done something—touched you, whispered something in your ear, shifted his body against yours—causing you to miss entirely. You wondered if it wasn’t just his attempt at dragging your training out for even longer.

When he finally announces that you’re done for the day, you nearly cry from relief. Your arms were sore, as well as your legs from standing in-place for so long, and your head was pounding from how hard you’d been trying to focus on not just hitting your targets, but also responding correctly as Shane drilled you on various parts of the gun in your hands, as well as proper firearm etiquette.

You wondered if he took delight in making you feel flustered and frustrated.

When you finally make it back to camp, you’re thirsty, hungry, and want to take a nap. You begin to wander toward your tent, until you feel an arm wrap around your waist, pulling you in another direction.

“Oh no you don’t. You can sleep later. You didn’t bother with eating breakfast, so you’re having lunch, even if I have to hand-feed it to you.”

You look up to Shane and find you don’t have the energy to argue. He drops you off at the nearby picnic table, seated comfortably under a shady tree, and you watch as he steps away to prepare you something to eat.

You nearly laugh from the absurdity of him fixing you a plate for lunch—it seemed so domestic, especially since he was the one doing it—but you’re so tired that all you can manage is lying your head down, your eyes fluttering shut.

You fall asleep near-immediately. Until you’re woken by a plate being dropped in front of you.

“Eat.”

You lift your head, barely, and stare down at the two sandwiches before you, an apple on the side, and a bottle of water. You groan. “I’m tired, Shane.”

“Hand-feeding it is, I guess.”

He picks up a sandwich, which you promptly snatch away from him. “I can feed myself,” you state, taking a bite. Ham and cheese, you quickly figure out.

Shane sits with his legs on either side of the bench, his body facing you, watching as you eat.

You’re too tired to bother feeling self-conscious as you do so directly in front of him. You swallow, briefly glancing to him. “Thank you. For today.”

He nods, reaching up to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear, which had escaped your ponytail. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

He even goes so far as to press a kiss to your forehead. “You did good today, darlin’. I’m proud of you. You have no idea how much.”

You take another bite, smiling to yourself.

Once you’d finished eating—Shane refusing to let you leave the picnic table until you’d finished every last bite, as well as the whole bottle of water—he’d led you over to your tent, which you’d crawled inside of as soon as he opened the flap.

You briefly thought to yourself that the tent was the wrong color and that the interior looked strange, but you didn’t dwell on it too long. Once your head hit the pillow, you were out like a light.

When you wake, it’s in the middle of the night with the urge to pee.

You nearly scream in fear at the feeling of another body pressed up against your own, until you realize just who it belongs to.

Shane.

Why was he in your tent?

And then it dawns on you: you were in his. It’s why everything had seemed so off to you earlier before you laid down. He’d led you to his tent, and had put you to sleep in his bed.

He wasn’t being subtle about what he wanted anymore, clearly.

You didn’t know that you liked this sort of behavior. Him being so forward. Not even asking what you wanted.

Just deciding for you.

On the one hand, part of you just wants to let him—anyone—do all your thinking and decision-making for you. On the other, you were still sure that a part of him cared for Lori. Perhaps more than cared for her. Even if not, he frightened you sometimes. His fiery temper, his hard-headedness. And doing this…right in front of everyone—placing you in his bed in broad daylight—he was staking a claim. It was possessive. And that scared you a little.

You didn’t belong to him. You weren’t sure that you wanted to.

You didn’t wish to read too much into things—into this—but if that was what he wanted: to be with you… All you could think was if you opened yourself up to caring about another person again, you’d lose him just like all the rest.

But being alone hadn’t been easier, either. Closing yourself off emotionally from the rest of the group had lessened your will-to-live significantly. Contact with others was human nature; you were all social creatures. And keeping yourself from having such contact had deepened that well of sadness and loneliness inside of you.

A well you think maybe he’s trying to fill it, in his own way.

Shane had chosen the worst sleeping position for you to try and get out of to relieve yourself. And if you didn’t do so quickly… Suffice to say you’d never have to worry about him wanting you in his bed again.

You were facing his bare chest, your head tucked under his chin, one of his arms thrown over you, holding you firmly against him.

You try to wriggle downward, thinking perhaps you can just slip out of his grip that way, until he moans in his sleep, clutching you even more tightly, a small squeak of surprise escaping your lips.

You briefly press your forehead against his chest, nearly groaning in frustration. You press your thighs together tightly, then do what you have to: you push firmly against his chest, not caring if it wakes him.

Thankfully, however, he releases you, rolling onto his other side.

You’d blush at the fact he was only in his boxers now, and feel angry at the fact you’re only in your panties and a t-shirt—meaning he’d undressed you for bed while you’d been asleep—but you were near-to-bursting at this point.

You quickly exit the tent, grabbing a roll of toilet paper from a basket of supplies nearby and find a tree to relieve yourself behind.

Once you’re finished, you stand, staring at two different tents.

And you hated to admit: that you didn’t know which one to choose.

You were going to have a talk with Shane in the morning about his behavior tonight while you’d been asleep. But right now, all you wanted to do was lie back down—not make decisions. Not think.

And it was chilly out.

You tell yourself, as you zip the tent close, climbing under the blankets and pressing yourself back up against Shane’s chest—as he’d rolled back over in the time you’d been gone—that you’d chosen his simply for his body warmth.

You fight against the small smile that begins to form on your lips as he wraps an arm around you once again, whispering to you, voice slurred from sleep, “I knew you’d come back.”

#fic: twd (shane walsh x reader)#shane walsh imagine #shane walsh x you #shane walsh x reader #twd x you #twd x reader

98 notes · View notes

itjazzbicch · 8 months

Text

The Way You Are

Pairing: MK1!Kenshi Takashi x Reader

First time writing for Kenshi so I hope I did well!

Summary: Returning home to the reader who was worried about his travels with Lord Lui Kang and his fellow champions, the reader is in shock when they see that he not only has Sento, sees what Sento can do, and also learns why Kenshi came back wearing a red band across his eyes...

Warnings: MK1 story mode spoilers (If you don't know what happened to Kenshi in story mode lol) Slight swearing, established relationship, little flirting toward the end (And that's it, pretty much!)

Word Count: .9k

Kenshi setting out to find Sento already worried me since he was going on this conquest alone, being his only support, and learning how it turned out to be much more than finding Sento put me in distress.

It took him some time, but he finally came back to me, telling me over a phone call; his low tone built up more anxiousness, but I was glad he was finally back.

Learning about the realms and how he was being sent to Outworld was a lot to take in as it was all new knowledge to me, and I was relieved when I saw the hilt of a new sword out the window.

He must've gotten his hands on Sento! Hearing the door open, I nearly jumped for joy but came to a slow halt once I saw a blindfold covering his eyes.

"Kenshi?"

"I did it, Y/N," He started smiling at me, pulling out the centuries-old sword to show me, "I have Sento."

"I never doubted you, Kenshi," I smiled back, nervous to ask, "What's with the blindfold?"

"About that," He sighed, hand caressing the red band, clearly nervous to explain why he was wearing it, "Don't worry. I can still see, sort of."

"What happened while you were gone?" My voice grew stern as I approached him, wanting to know what he was hiding, going to touch the band, but he gripped my hand:

"You don't want to see. Don't worry about it. I'm fine."

"I do," I said more sternly, showing him that I was acting out of care, "I want to know what happened because if someone did this on purpose, I'd gladly visit them."

"That's not necessary," He huffed, letting my hand go, "It wasn't intentional."

"Please, just let me see," I whispered with a sweeter tone, his deep sigh a signal to allow me to lift the band, seeing how his eyes were gouged, "Oh my goodness."

I covered my mouth with a hand as tears filled my eyes, angry at the thought that someone would do such a thing to him, someone I cared about more than anyone.

"This wasn't intentional? Are you kidding me?" This disbelief was strong, unable to accept that this was somehow an accident.

"It truly wasn't, Y/N," Taking my hand to provide comfort, he assured me, "But as I said, there's no need to worry. Sento gave me back my sight in its own way."

"What do you mean?" I knew Sento was a mighty sword but didn't understand until he entered my living room.

"See how I can move around with no issues?" He pointed out, watching and beginning to understand, blown away as he wielded Sento, "Just watch."

Going to a fake plant I had in the corner, he sliced the leaves into pieces, my jaw dropping at the blue aurora that flowed around Sento's blade, not believing my eyes:

"What the hell? What was that, Kenshi?"

"Sento has my ancestors within it," He explained, "They guide me, make me stronger. I can finally free my clan from the Yakuza and their crimes."

I still couldn't believe what I witnessed, but I knew it was true. I ran to hug him as he put Sento away, hugging him tightly and praising, "I knew that you could get Sento back. You will fulfill all your goals. I know it."

"Thank you, Y/N," He hugged back, squeezing me as he whispered, "Thank you for always being the one by my side."

"Forever will be, Kenshi," I vowed, holding his face, staring at that blindfold and only able to imagine the hell and pain he went through to make it this far; there was still a far way to go.

Tears swelled in the corner of my eyes again, and he quickly noticed, trying to apologize:

"I know that I worried you while I was gone, and seeing me like this-; I'm-"

"It's okay," I assured, swallowing a breath to shake off the sad tears and mean wholeheartedly, "You came back to me, and if Sento brought back your vision in a new way, that's all that matters. I'll always love you the way you are."

My last sentence made him smile, his embrace warming with his words, "I may have lost my eyes, but I'm not easily defeated. Don't stress over me. I'll always come back to you."

"You better," I teased but meant firmly, bringing his lips to mine, filling our connection with all the passion in my heart that I had for him, making him chuckle some as our lips briefly parted, "Or you better take me with you."

"You'd be in for culture shock. I'm not even sure if that's what I should call it," We laughed more, but I was serious despite my giggles:

"Maybe, but I'd still go and kick the hell out of anyone who even thinks of harming you."

"So protective," He joked, smirking at me while gripping my hip, "I still have skills, you know?"

"I am protective, and I own that," Kissing one more time as I hugged him again, I made sure he knew all my actions and words were made from love, but also trying not to be too serious and play along, wiggling the hip in his hand, "And trust me, I know you have all kinds of skills."

#mortal kombat #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat imagine #mortal kombat fluff #mortal kombat fanfiction #mortal kombat fanfic #mortal kombat fic #mortal kombat 1 #kenshi takashi #kenshi takashi x reader #kenshi takashi imagine #kenshi takashi fic #kenshi takashi fluff #read and enjoy

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diagonal-queen · 11 months

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chuuya, kunikida, and dazai with an s/o who would hide under the bed for no reason besides its nice down there and would sometimes grab their ankle to scare them

i would love to hang out under my bed tbh but i keep all my stuff under there lol. good deterrent for demons because then they can't fit under there

S/O who hides under the bed

♡ pairing: Chuuya Nakahara, Doppo Kunikida, Dazai Osamu x gn!Reader

♡ synopsis: How are these guys with an S/O who likes hanging out under the bed?

♡ cw: Swearing, teensy tiny bit of NSFW in Dazai's part.

note:

Seriously though. Thank you guys for all your sweet comments and messages I really appreciated all of them very much (and yes each one made me cry). I might not say it very much but I love all of you guys and I'm thankful for your support. Apologies for errors and I hope you enjoy x

Chuuya:

He's just kinda like...wha...? He's so confused at first lol

Even if you grab his ankle and try to scare him, he's just like...why'd you do that babygirl (gender neutral term). He'd also find it kind of adorable how frustrated you get that it didn't work, but what were you expecting? He's a mafia executive babygirl (again, gender neutral term)

Chuuya is little amused by your under-the-bed habit and lowkey thinks it's pretty cute. At first though he was kinda worried as to what caused it, but if it makes you feel better then he doesn't care

If he wants you out of there he will coax you out with your favourite food or something like you're a puppy (he's getting his yearning for a pet dog out of his system don't worry)

Probably wouldn't go under the bed with you super often, but you guys would have a lot of conversations while he's laying on the bed and you're laying under it. It's surprisingly easy to do!

Would start leaving you little gifts/snacks down there sometimes as a surprise

Probably wouldn't encourage you to sleep under there though. Spinal health and all

As always Chuuya is very supportive and all he wants is for you to feel happy and safe <3

Kunikida:

Worried about this habit at first. He assumes that it's some kind of trauma response. Whether it is or it isn't he'll learn to accept it don't worry

That being said he doesn't really love it. If you wanna relax he'd rather that you do it in a more comfortable space. If you're under there because you don't feel great then he'd rather you just talk to him. He'd do (almost) anything to make you feel better :')

If you grabbed his ankle one time to scare him he might never recover. Like he'd be genuinely terrified. Might faint or burst into tears or scream or something idk

Absolutely would chide you for your "childish behaviour". In all honesty he just feels like it's something Dazai would do and he suffers enough from this kind of thing at work

But yes in the end he would forgive you if you apologised to him. Might not be so kind if you continued trying to scare him though

Leaves you a pillow and a blanket down there just in case you get cold. He won't leave any food though because he's worried about ants and mould and stuff

Wouldn't go under there with you though. Sorry but he just doesn't wanna 😪

Honestly? As long as you're getting your shit done, he doesn't mind where you spend your free time

Dazai:

He literally doesn't even question it. Sometimes small spaces are just cosy y'know?

Dazai literally lived in a shipping container (at least I think? I haven't read Stormbringer yet T-T). He'd be all up for hanging out under the bed whether or not you were with him lol

The first time you grab his ankle to scare him, if you're lucky, you'll catch him off guard. But you're never getting his ass again, ever

I mean sometimes he might play along to humour you, but you'll literally never actually scare him again. Like he just walks into your bedroom under the assumption that you're under the bed and prepared to scare him.

Straight up if he can't find you when he wakes up or something he'll just guess that you're under the bed and won't bother you.

That being said if you straight up disappeared or something he'd obviously worry about you. But he gives you space when you need it, and will only come under the bed with you if you say he can

Also he would definitely start doing it to you. Both as revenge and just because he thinks it's funny, but he'll stop if you ask him to (you don't. It straight up becomes a war)

He straight up might try to get it on with you under the bed, as if there's room or something. Damnit Dazai

taglist~ ♡ @gettinshiggywithit, @fedyushka, @flower-of-darkness, @bejeweledgirl

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slashingdisneypasta · 2 months

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Erik Destler x Fem!StageActress!Reader || Would Include...

Erik Destler always learning your on-stage romantic interests part totally and then 'dispatching' of the poor guy just before he's meant to go on so he then can always taking his place would include...

Warnings: Contemporary musical references, I don't care, shoot me. Also just basic Erik creepiness; murder and not-super-consensual kissing/touches (dub con at most).

Tagging: @marinerainbow and @masqueradeball .

🥀 Erik falling for you almost the moment you entered the Palais Garnier for the first time. He has no chill, we know this. He's like a Disney Princess. One song and he's fallen hopelessly in love.

🥀 Erik always keeping an eye on the cast lists when they come out- checking who you are and if you have a romantic interest. If you do, that person is now his main target. He may not kill them immediately, he'll wait until the final show on the final night, but there is a big red bullseye on their back now.

🥀 Erik practising 'his' lines (The lines of your on-stage romance) in his sewer room, reciting them to a dummy wearing some... familiar clothing. What? No, he didn't sneak into your chambers in the middle of the night and steal them from you! No, no! Absolutely not!... though you are missing a dress exactly like the one the doll is wearing. *cough*

🥀 Erik treating that doll of you with the utmost care. Almost as much as he'd treat you, the real you, with (Or, how he'd like to treat you. Only the lord knows if Erik could actually be gentle if given the chance to hold you). Its really creepy. Imagine his fingertips only grazing the dolls cheek very gently, but his eyes drift downwards (even though, again, its JUST A DOLL- ITS JUST STUFFING, ERIK!- Y O U ' R E T H E O N E W H O S T U F F E D I T- ) with very desire-filled eyes. Imagine him on one knee before the doll, holding its hand in his, its dead-eyes staring off into space while he professes deep speeches about love that are supposed to be romantic but just come out wrong and infatuated off Erik's tongue. Imagine Erik's hand wandering in the middle of a particularly heated scene; completely lost to his imagination.

🥀 Erik n e v e r, ever stealing the part of a villain. Even if that villain gets much more heated, or charged scenes with you then your actual love interest (Duke Monroth, Professor Callahan, Judge Turpin, Scar, etc). He wants to be your hero. Your prince, your true love.

🥀 Erik watching your every show, in his special box 5, studying you with eyes so hot you swear you can feel them on your skin every night. Paying so close attention, so he knows exactly how to compliment you on stage; how to be your perfect stage partner. This is why your scenes in every last show at the Palais Garnier are so impossibly electrifying to the audience- and, to you.

🥀 Erik allowing your casted partner to appear in the first few scenes with you during that last performance on that last night, so you never really know when its going to stop being the one guy and start being Erik- you're on your toes. Waiting the whole performance for the hand you grab onto to be Erik's. (He's waiting for the perfect moment to step in. The moment when you're really, really in character; lost to your art.)

🥀 Erik being the Christian to your Satine during 'El Tango De Roxanne' (His eyes upon your face. His hand upon your hand. His lips caress your skin. It's more than I can stand), 'Crazy Rolling' (See how I leave with every piece of you. Don't underestimate the things I will do), and 'Your Song Reprise' (Look at me... Satine... Why else live, if not for love?) in Moulin Rouge.

🥀 Erik being the Fiyero to your Elphaba during that super fucking charged 'As Long As You're Mine' scene in Wicked. You know? With you both on your knees on the stage surrounded by dramatic mist and you cant keep your hands off eachother?? *cough cough* I mean, with you both on your knees on the stage surrounded by dramatic mist and Fiyero and Elphaba cant keep their hands off eachother??? XD (Kiss me too fiercely, Hold me too tight; I need help believing, You're with me tonight, My wildest dreamings, Could not foresee, Lying beside you, With you wanting me // Every moment, As long as you're mine, I'll wake up my body, And make up for lost time.)

🥀 Erik being the Prince to your Sleeping Beauty, Snow White during the True Love's Kiss Scene. Oh yes, he definitely goes there. Did you doubt it?

🥀 Erik AS THE BEAST IN 'EVERMORE' TO YOUR BELLE IN BEAUTY AND THE BEAST!!!?

🥀 Erik never appearing at the end of the production to bow- he cant. You know that. So he makes his last moments on stage with you last, because honestly- who knows when the next time will be?? Its not like he can come call on you like a normal person... 🙄he's a dramatic freak. He holds your hand a few moments longer then necessary, or a little tighter. He kisses you one more time even though its not scripted.

🥀 Erik leaving you a bouquet of flowers in your dressing room after that last show on that last night. Signed simply, ceaselessly yours.

🥀 You tell yourself every time that the show must go on. You tell yourself, that thats why you don't stop it; Don't do anything.

🥀 You are lying to yourself. You cant deny the electricity crackling all over your skin every time you see Erik on stage with you, every time Erik touches you under fake pretences. You've never felt quite the same on stage then when he's there with you; you feel like you're really the characters... and there is nothing on earth like that feeling. No one else can give you this. No one but him.

🥀 You expect it now and anxiously await the moment when your practise partner (Just Erik's understudy. Thats what you're thinking of them now; the men who are actually cast) dematerialises from the stage and its Erik.

🥀 You always leave the flowers from Erik at the grave of the man who died. Its sick, the game (?? habit?? r e l a t i o n s h i p??) you're in, but you cant stop. And you cant apologise, so you can only do this.

🥀 You working extra hard to get lead roles at the Palais Garnier. As soon as one show is over, you have a hunger to do it again. Get another part, get Erik back on that stage with you.

Its like an addiction.

#just- aghhhhhhhhhhhh #being on stage with erik being on stage with erik being on stage with erik-#Erik Destler x Reader #Erik Destler #POTO 1989 #Phantom of the Opera 1989 #Erik Destler 1989 x Reader #Erik Destler 1989

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edenmemes · 2 years

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house of the dragon starters

ep1 - 10 .

❝ try not to look too relieved. ❞ ❝ did you sleep? how long? ❞ ❝ no king has ever lived that hasn't had to forfeit the lives of a few to protect the many. ❞ ❝ i don’t need mothering. ❞ ❝ it is our fate, i think, to crave always what is given to another. ❞ ❝ you’re safe with me, i swear it. ❞ ❝ to elude a storm, you can either sail into it or around it. but you must never await its coming. ❞ ❝ i have only ever defended you. ❞ ❝ i've always thought of you and i as having been made from the same cloth. ❞ ❝ you will address me as "your grace" or i will have my guard cut out your tongue. ❞ ❝ i’d rather serve as a knight and ride to battle and glory. ❞ ❝ you’re always like this when you’re worried. disagreeable. ❞ ❝ i like this position. it’s quite comfortable. ❞ ❝ how sweetly the fox speaks when it’s been cornered by hounds. ❞ ❝ we haven’t spoke much...since... ❞ ❝ i do not wish to rule over a kingdom of ash and bone. ❞ ❝ i was never much of a dancer. ❞ ❝ do you want me to kill him? ❞ ❝ i’m asking with you to come with me...away from all of this. ❞ ❝ come, eat. fortify yourself for the journey. ❞ ❝ you swore to protect me. ❞ ❝ what will they say of me when the histories are written? ❞ ❝ it’s the only thing i have to my fucking name! ❞ ❝ look what my life became without you. a droll tragedy. ❞ ❝ strive to restore whatever scrap of honor you have left. ❞ ❝ our worth is not given. it must be made. ❞ ❝ it pleases me to hear you say this. that i am not alone in my grief. ❞ ❝ if you mean to elicit some anger from me, you should know that you're failing. ❞ ❝ it bothers you, does it not? ❞ ❝ the realm owes you a great debt. ❞ ❝ all i wanted was for someone to say that they were sorry for what happened to me. ❞ ❝ we must all mourn in our own way. ❞ ❝ do you have a specific course of action to propose? ❞ ❝ we're both people who have had to cut our own way through the world. ❞ ❝ were that to happen, losses would be incalculable. ❞ ❝ it was not my intent to make offense. ❞ ❝ when steel is drawn, a fair match isn’t something anyone should expect. ❞ ❝ i find i have...few friends lately. ❞ ❝ we don’t belong here. ❞ ❝ i only want to help you. ❞ ❝ you cannot believe such gossip. ❞ ❝ just get out. leave me at once. ❞ ❝ to have every young knight and lord fawning over you...what a misery. ❞ ❝ you’ve been much alone these past few years. alone and angry. ❞ ❝ the road ahead is uncertain, but the end is clear. ❞ ❝ you’re young. you will learn. ❞ ❝ this is just what i need...a little adventure. ❞ ❝ care for some company? ❞ ❝ what is this brief mortal life...if not the pursuit of legacy? ❞ ❝ the wise sailor flees the storm as it gathers. ❞ ❝ you are a plague...sent to destroy me. ❞ ❝ for one night, i wish to be free of the burdens of my inheritance. ❞ ❝ do you wish to hear my opinion on the matter? ❞ ❝ i’ve been alone. you abandoned me. ❞ ❝ i’ve decided to remain here and read instead. ❞ ❝ if there were another path...one that led to freedom...would you take it? ❞ ❝ we should be free to speak our minds to one another. ❞ ❝ everything i’ve given you, you’ve thrown back in my face. ❞ ❝ answer me. it’s important. ❞ ❝ do you never long for home? ❞ ❝ i know you’ve never seen true battle. ❞ ❝ your heart is even darker than i thought. ❞ ❝ you think yourself a cunning person. your plans are obvious. ❞ ❝ you never were one to stay idle. ❞ ❝ do not speak of this again. ❞ ❝ they whisper about me in the corridors. ❞ ❝ am i your prisoner? ❞ ❝ have the decency to look grateful. do you know what has been done to give you this day? ❞ ❝ love...is a downfall. ❞ ❝ we’re free to do as we please. ❞ ❝ you will make a fearsome knight. ❞ ❝ just take my arm, at the least. ❞ ❝ it seems the gods have been especially cruel to you. ❞ ❝ i will be a stranger when we meet again. ❞ ❝ you dare put hands on me? ❞ ❝ you look so much like your mother in certain lights. ❞ ❝ i have no shortage of allies. ❞ ❝ who gives a fuck what some lord thinks? ❞ ❝ take your fucking hands off me. ❞ ❝ a certain insolence runs in the family. ❞ ❝ meat without wine is a sin. ❞ ❝ i gave up the idea of wearing a crown generations ago. ❞ ❝ are you...are you hurt? ❞ ❝ reluctance to murder is not a weakness. ❞ ❝ exhausting, isn’t it? hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness. ❞ ❝ we have nothing in common. ❞ ❝ you deserve better than what i have been. ❞ ❝ you are an honorable man with a good heart. it’s a rare thing. ❞ ❝ i promise you, in time, you and i together will prevail. ❞ ❝ life has, i know, disappointed you. ❞ ❝ if a king isn’t feared, he is powerless. ❞ ❝ i’d rather ride alone. ❞ ❝ be careful. one could take your words for treason. ❞ ❝ i’ve never seen that side of you...i even doubted its existence. ❞ ❝ i will have the truth of what happened. now. ❞ ❝ do you wish to know your death? ❞ ❝ if we don’t mind our own histories, it will do the same to us. ❞ ❝ i believe you were made to wear the crown. ❞ ❝ we are turning back, all right? ❞ ❝ everyone’s staring at us. ❞ ❝ i would say it’s nice to be home, but i scarcely recognize it. ❞ ❝ most of my years have been spent living in terror. ❞ ❝ all that i have, i owe to you. ❞ ❝ i’ve wondered many an hour what your purpose was in coming here. ❞ ❝ what can either of us know of ruling a kingdom? ❞ ❝ does the promise of war excite you? ❞ ❝ none of this is a game. and yet you treat it like one. ❞ ❝ a matter has arisen that requires your attention. ❞ ❝ night time, you might not be so lucky. ❞ ❝ i have no wish to rule! no taste for duty! i am not suited. ❞ ❝ you flee what other men die seeking. ❞ ❝ i endured it for as long as i could. ❞ ❝ we don’t choose our destiny. it chooses us. ❞ ❝ it is ill luck to look upon the face of death. ❞ ❝ you’ve already found enough trouble today. ❞ ❝ who might you be running from, now? ❞ ❝ i am yours and you are mine. ❞ ❝ i will not have blood shed beneath my roof. ❞ ❝ we are closer to gods than to men. ❞ ❝ you shouldn’t do this alone. let us help you. ❞ ❝ that war is not mine to begin. ❞ ❝ it has been so long since we were granted the joy of your presence. ❞ ❝ how could you allow such a thing to happen? ❞ ❝ do not allow your temper to guide your judgement. ❞ ❝ now they see you as you are. ❞ ❝ do you want to know the truth of it? i was frightened. ❞ ❝ you desire not to be free, but to make a window in the wall of your prison. ❞ ❝ you are wiser than i believed you to be. ❞ ❝ i speak the truth. and you know it. ❞ ❝ hope is the fool’s ally. ❞ ❝ while i like your support, i do not need it. ❞ ❝ go to your chambers. you have said enough. ❞ ❝ i thought i wanted it, but the burden is a heavy one. ❞ ❝ i understand you’ve found yourself in some trouble. ❞

#rp meme #roleplay meme #roleplay starters

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sc0tters · 9 months

Text

Not Enough | Anthony Beauvillier

summary: you didn’t find out about Anthony’s trade in the best way leading to the lowest point in your friendship.

request: yes/no

warnings: swearing, mentions of getting drunk.

word count: 1.92k

authors note: this request has been staring at me for WEEKS so I’m glad I wrote this. In my mind Tito never really left New York but for this I was willing to accept reality.

It was a friendship that nobody could have predicted.

You had met Anthony in a nightclub three years ago, a guy had been hitting on you and the hockey player was quick to come to your rescue when he sensed your discomfort.

The two of you were like chalk and cheese, he was the hotshot hockey star and you were fresh out of college trying to do your best to get by in the working world.

But that never seemed to stop the two of you as he was by your side through thick and thin and you were there for him too.

Anthony’s teammates like your friends always thought that there was something going on between the two of you, it wasn’t hard to believe that. Not when you had your own space in his closet and was found answering the door to his apartment in nothing but his T-shirt on multiple occasions.

However nothing seemed to really happen despite the few drunken kisses that you shared it was purely a platonic relationship.

He was cruel to your heart though. Well over twelve months ago you realised that you had feelings for him, it was challenging to not when Anthony brought you along to everything, every gala, every home game, every team and family event. You were his go to plus one.

The way his arm had its home around your waist of how he’d kiss your forehead whenever he said goodbye made you weak in your knees.

As time went on Anthony didn’t seem to notice how you felt, and that was arguably the worst part about it.

Over the last two weeks you had been taking a step back from him, rumours had been spreading around his place with the Islanders and the alleged move to the Canucks. Sure you tried to ignore it but the thought kept you up at night when you pictured him leaving you.

It hurt that he didn’t mention anything, the Islanders were on a roadie and it felt weird that Anthony hadn’t played on the final night.

Your gut felt weird which is why when he asked you to come over you didn’t hesitate to drop whatever you were doing to see him.

His door stared back at you as you contemplated knocking. After all these years of never knocking and just barging into his apartment you now felt out of place.

The knocks echoed in your ears as you let out a long sigh “hey,” Anthony smiled as he pulled the door open.

He looked tired, like something plagued his mind “come in,” the hockey player added as he stood to the side.

That was when reality hit you. The living room was a mess, everything in boxes and what wasn’t in them looked like it was ready to get packed soon.

Your jaw tightened as you looked around to see that the boxes traveled into the kitchen as well “what is this Tit?” You spun around to look at him again finally putting the pieces together.

Anthony sighed pushed his hair out of his face “I’m going to Vancouver.” He announced as he walked over to you.

You grew sick as your skin tensed up “when?” Your voice began to break as your lip quivered.

He remained silent “when are you leaving?” You repeated your question as you dug your nails into your palm.

Guilt seemed to finally suffocate him “tomorrow morning,” the confession was barely a whisper.

That was everything you didn’t want to hear and more “and when did you plan on telling me?” You were using all of your self restraint to not cry as you were forced to quickly process the news.

All the hockey player wanted to do was hug you as he could see the pain you felt “don’t know,” a fucked up part of his mind truly believed that he could hide it from you.

Everything you heard made you want to throw up “am I that unimportant in your life that you thought I should learn from the fucking Instagram post?” You scoffed furrowing your eyebrows as anger poured out of your ears.

You were hurt by his lack of regard for you “you are important to me,” Anthony reached out for your hand but you quickly pulled it away.

The comment only pushed you further “start acting like it then Beauvillier,” you spat as you held your hand up to stop him.

Every part of him wanted to continue the conversation but he couldn’t when there was a knock at the door “that’s the boys.” Anthony sighed as he heard Mat talk from the other side of the door “I’m going to go,” you forced a smile onto your face as you tucked your hair behind your face.

He knew it was the best thing to just let you leave, it wouldn’t be fair to reveal what was on his mind “night sweets,” Anthony mumbled placing his hands on your cheeks before he kissed your forehead.

The tears began to well in your eyes when you walked to the door “oh hey y/n!” Mat had to say that he was surprised to see you “she good?” His positive emotion was quickly changed to one of alarm when you pushed past him.

Anthony had to admit that he was proud of himself that he didn’t shed a few tears “she knows I’m leaving,” he shrugged knowing that there was so much more to it than just that.

Three months had gone by and you hated it. Sure the conversations were still there but it was like there was a mental block in them. No longer were they the ones that kept you up until four in the morning laughing until your chest hurt. But instead they were dry, mainly consisting of you congratulating him for his performances during games.

What made it worse was that neither one of you were prepared to admit that something was wrong. So you just had to deal with the pain as it kept you up at night.

This week was one that you weren’t looking forward to, Anthony was back in town and Mat sent you a ticket hoping you’d be there.

Something you didn’t know was that Anthony was in the same position as you. Sure his time with the Canucks had started off positively but he couldn’t help it when he’d score and look into the crowd hoping to see you stood there looking back at him.

Reality hit him like a rude awakening as each time he’d get close to calling you to tell you how much he loved you something told him to stop.

Somehow you managed to avoid the game when your friends pulled you into a girls night as they all agree that they couldn’t let you see him. If you did then there was no way that you’d get out of it without telling him how you felt.

Alcohol coursed through your system as the game played on the tv in the bar, just because you weren’t at the game didn’t mean that you didn’t watch it, you always supported Anthony.

You had lost your phone to one of your friends who had seen you staring at a picture that was once your lock screen for so long.

Tito wrapped his arms around you as you were in his jersey after a game when the boys surprised him with you at an away game.

The camera zoomed in onto his face as Anthony was pulled onto the bench. Butterflies broke out in your stomach as you thought about him smiling at you “isn’t he a good player?” Some guy asked as he tried to make a conversation with you.

All you could do was nod “one of the best.” You took a gulp or you drink needing it to survive through the night “shame he left New York.”

You repeated his words throughout the night up until you got to your apartment door when you pulled through your bag trying to find your keys.

Those were with your phone and as you unlocked the door, hand quickly going against your mind as it found Anthony’s contact details.

A grumble left your lips as you pressed call “hey it’s Tito, sorry I can’t take your call so just leave a message!” His voice message made you roll your eyes as you scoffed.

The beep came reminding you that you had to talk “it’s me,” you began as you sat on the floor of your apartment “you know you’re a dick right?” Your words were slurred as you let out a giggle “I tried so hard to ignore the fact that I liked you for so long.” Tears began to stream down your face.

There was still so much more that you had to say “just as I was ready to tell you I love you,” your voice broke as you wiped your nose on your hand. You sucked at your lower lip “you decided to go to Vancouver without wanting to tell me.” The reminder of how he planned it broke your heart “I don’t know why I’m telling you this cause you don’t care.” Your confessional would have gone on for so much longer but the line went dead telling you that it was the end of what you had to say.

Just when you thought that you had grown used to alcohol, your mornings after reminded you at being hungover was just as shit as the previous time.

This was no different as you woke up to the awfully loud noise of someone knocking at your door “I’m coming!” You groaned as you pushed your hair out of your face making your way to the door.

What you didn’t expect was that Anthony would be stood there. Sure you knew that he would still be in New York with the Rangers game that evening “what are you doing here?” Your eyes went wide as you saw him in his tracksuit.

The boy pushed into your apartment as his hands were shaking with nerves “you love me?” Anthony still couldn’t believe what he heard.

It reminded you of the fact that you had told him everything “if you came to turn me down-” you sighed fearing what he could possibly say next.

Anthony shook his head “I want to hear you say it to my face.” He repeated his words ignoring to what you had said.

You nodded as you shrugged “I fucking love you Anthony.” It wasn’t often that you called him by his first name, usually settling on a shortened version of his nickname.

That was music to his ears as he broke out into a huge grin “you love me,” the hockey player cooed as he walked over to you.

Through all the commotion of nerves in his head Anthony didn’t even notice that you were in one of his old training camp T-shirts, those were your favourite things to sleep in.

His excitement made you roll your eyes as he wrapped his arms around you “if you came here to gloat-” you mumbled as you furrowed your eyebrows.

What you didn’t expect was that he’d cut you off with a kiss. It was soft when you let out a mini gasp of surprise. Anthony’s lips seemed to fit perfectly against yours as you tilted your head up so that the kiss could he deepened.

“Came to tell you that I love you too.”

#anthony beauvillier #tito beauvillier #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #nhl imagine #nhl oneshot #imagines #oneshots #Anthony Beauvillier imagines #amber writes fics

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whatitshouldvebeen · 7 months

Note

“…stops the moment being with you is more difficult than it worth…” ((this is from your post a couple days ago))

Imagine a timid, broken reader trying to win back Johnny’s affection. He’s abusive but to her its still affection he gives and she can’t live without him. She has attached herself to this killer.

“If it will make you happy… you can hit me… you can pull my hair.. or choke me… I’ll even make you feel good… just don’t stay mad…please”

Johnny Slaughter x Reader

Contains: extreme abuse, gas lighting, and the unhealthiest relationship known to man

Too Much Trouble

In the dimly lit room, Johnny's return was heralded by waves of pure hate that seemed to radiate off him.

"You stupid fucking bitch," Johnny snarled, his silhouette looming menacingly in the doorway, hands clenched into fists.

"I'm sorry!" you sobbed, collapsing to your knees with hands clasped in front of you, a desperate plea for mercy echoing in your voice, a prayer to a merciless, vindictive God.

He stood there, a simmering rage evident as his fists clenched and unfurled.

"Johnny, please don't stay mad," you pleaded, bowing your head submissively. "I'll do anything. You can hit me, choke me, or do whatever you want to me. I am so, so sorry."

"You're sorry, huh? How many fucking times have I heard that bullshit?" His open palm met your cheek with a resounding slap, reducing you to grovel at his feet, tears streaming down your face, your cheek ablaze with red.

"I don't need your permission to beat you, you little rat fuck."

"You're right, I'm sorry," you muttered, nodding erratically.

"You're gonna be sorry. This time, I'm not holding back."

His kick landed squarely in your stomach, the force sending you sprawling onto the floor, clutching your abdomen in agony.

The illusion shattered again. The happy façade crumbled, the façade you could pretend was your reality when Johnny was pleased with you, when you were perfect.

He had expected you to pack him a meal when he went out to "work," criticizing you for forgetting his snack for a week. You leaped up, ran to the kitchen, and returned with the snack, only to face his wrath.

"Just like you to be a full-blown fucking retard. Can't listen for one goddamn minute. If I wanted you to go get me a fucking snack right this second, I woulda said to do it," he complained.

"I didn't realize you'd been without one for so long, so I felt bad and wanted to fix it. I shouldn't have worried about it right now, and I'm sorry," you said, attempting to de-escalate the situation.

"Can't go a fucking week without making me explain some basic shit to you. If you thought I cared about the fucking snack, maybe ask if you should go pack it instead of running off?" he berated.

You ducked your head. "You're right, I'm sorry."

"You ain't sorry. If you were, you'd learn a goddamn thing without me needing to tell you a hundred fuckin' times," he growled.

Truthfully, you were amazed he wasn't beating you already. You peeked up at him. "I swear I'll try to ask you if something is bothering you rather than trying to fix it right away," you said, hoping it would appease him. His glare deepened.

"Always with the promises. The swears. 'Oh, I won't do it again, Johnny!'," he mocked.

You started to tremble. "I don't know what to say," you said, struggling to hold his cold gaze.

"If I gotta tell you what to say, it won't make a difference. Why the fuck do I waste my time trynna teach you any goddamn thing? You're useless, lazy, spineless, and pathetic," he spat before leaving the room and locking the door.

Alone, you curled up on the bed, replaying the event in your mind, wondering why he hadn't hit you this time. Maybe you weren't even worth correcting anymore. Maybe you were more trouble than you were worth.

The thought hit you like a sack of bricks. You clutched the sheets, sobbing, desperate to be enough, to be worth keeping.

A timid voice from outside the locked door interrupted your thoughts. "Mommy? Are you okay?"

"Honey, I'm okay. Go to grandma's house, alright?" you said, masking the pain in your voice.

"Mommy needs rest?" they asked innocently.

You smiled through the pain. "Yeah, honey, mommy needs rest. Go on to grandma, baby. I love you."

As their little footsteps padded down the hall, you lay in silence, trying to hold onto the scent of him in the sheets. For almost a month, things had been good. You could almost believe Johnny loved you.

If you had any self-preservation, you'd plan an escape or consider self-defense. But you're stuck, desperately trying to think of what you can do or say to make him happy, knowing deep down there's nothing. With him not having touched you, you feared he had grown tired of tormenting you.

So, as you clutched your aching stomach after he kicked you, part of you was relieved. If he was bothering to correct you, maybe he was still going to keep you.

"I fucking hate you," he declared, kicking you over. "I wish you'd die."

His words cut deep as he grabbed your hair, a blade scraping under your chin. "One little slit is all it'd take to be rid of you. To spare me and our kid from growing up with a shit-for-brains mom."

You said nothing, tears and snot falling onto the floor. Johnny looked disgusted.

"You got nothin' to say? Maybe I should cut out your tongue," he sneered, tilting the blade to nick your skin.

"Baby, please, I-" you started. His eyes narrowed, bloodlust evident.

"Say one more goddamn word. Give me an excuse. I'm dying for you to let me be rid of you," he hissed, eyes filled with hate. "God, it'd make me feel so good to kill you. I can feel the tension leavin' my body just thinking about it. Honestly, I'd probably cum the moment I saw the light die in your dull eyes."

Appalled and mortified, you said nothing. You needed him. He was all you had. You stayed silent as he unleashed his frustration on you, beating you within an inch of your life. When he got tired or bored with it, he left without another word.

You lay on the floor in a pool of blood, body shattered, eyes too bruised to see, but alive. A broken smile crept across your face. He still wanted you. You weren't yet more trouble than you were worth.

#johnny slaughter #johnny sawyer #texas chainsaw massacre game #tcm game #texas chainsaw game #tcm #johnny slaughter x reader #texas chainsaw massacre #tw abuse #abusiveboyfriend

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aechii · 11 months

Text

₍⁠₍ ONE OF US (2) ₎⁠₎

{read part 1 here}

PAiRiNG ?! kylian x black!femreader

GENRE ?! romance, fluff (😞)

SYNOPSiS ?! it's kylian's wedding day, and he knows it never gets better than this

C/W ?! she/her pronouns used, just fluff and romance and a tad bit of swearing cos it's me writing?!?!?!?

A/N ?! the all anticipated sequel to one of us!! man, i've hit a writer's block and idk what's going on with my writing but i'm trying to get rid of it so that's that. i would like to dedicate this to @blubffsd (who has unfortunately left tumblr, but i will always hold them dear to my heart). they've asked for this many a time, and it sucks that i released it after they departed from this hellsite. wherever you are blub, i hope you're happy!

enjoy all my wonderful consumers readers :)

“are you ready?”

the voice comes from behind kylian, but his attention remains on the mirror before him. [y/n] had chosen the suit for him, said that the colour suited him, and as he scrutinises himself, he can’t help but wonder what she looks like in her dress. it elevates his heartbeat and he has to huff out a heavy sigh to wash away the light-headedness.

“kylian?”

background noise seeps into his ears once again, and the loud seems to come with more clarity, and concern. his head turns, seeing his brother in the same style suit as him, but rather in a dark shade of blue.

“you good?”

he faces the mirror, scans himself as his body begins to feel hot and the tie around his neck seems to tighten its hold. kylian slowly shakes his head, exhaling, “i’m so fucking nervous.”

ethan chuckles, landing a hand on his brother’s shoulder as he moves to stand beside him. kylian watches him and is succumbed by a thick wave of wistfulness; his brother succeeds his height, shoulders barely touching and his mind can’t fathom how time has flown past them.

he still can’t believe he’s getting married today.

“wedding nerves– it’s normal, bro,” ethan tells him, and kylian snickers in retort.

“since when did you know so much about weddings?”

“well,” ethan slides his hands into his pockets, rocking on his feet, “when you have two siblings who are married- or getting married- you learn a lot of things.”

kylian nods understandingly, and trickles out a sigh for the umpteenth time.

“you’ll be fine, kylian,” ethan comforts, “[y/n] loves you more than i’ve ever seen anyone love someone- truth be told, you’re lucky.”

kylian can’t deny that. [y/n]’s presence in his life has changed him in a way that’s gratifying, and without her, it’s hard to visualise how he would cope. a love story that they would call, truthfully, unintentional, but undeniably destined.

“i am, aren’t i?”

ethan doesn’t hesitate to nod profusely, “yeah, you are.”

their father calls them from the door as he enters. his forehead is sheened with sweat and sounds of bustling chatter from the living room bleeds inside then muffles again as he shuts himself in.

wilfried smiles, finds it hard to withstand the unrelenting tears as he sees his son clad in the crisp, black suit. it wasn’t long ago, in his mind, that kylian played his first ever football match, reaching no more than his knees. and as much as his status quo gets now, he’s about to marry the girl who he could never have approved more of.

“you look- wow,” kylian’s father softly grips his son’s arms before smoothing out an odd crease drawn into his coat.

“you’ll make me cry, papa, stop,” kylian humours out and wilfried joins him in laughter.

“it’s just- i can’t believe you’re getting married already.”

“me too,” kylian adjusts his tie, but his father slaps his hand away. “i just cleaned up your shirt, don’t ruin it again.”

his son smiles, albeit wobbly, “sorry, papa.”

wilfried stretches out his arm, twisting it to check the watch circling his wrist.

“it’s nearly time. just about 10 minutes ‘til we have to leave.”

kylian feels a soft tremble oscillate through his skin and he fans himself as if it does anything. his father watches him as he does so, grinning.

“you remind me of how i was,” wilfried recounts, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “almost had a panic attack before we left.”

kylian looks at him, mildly intrigued, “really?”

“the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree, kylian,” ethan jokes as he claps his brother on the shoulder, and it makes kylian shake his head, smiling.

“it’s normal, ethan,” their father corrects, “it’ll be you soon.”

kylian turns to ethan, whose eyes trace elsewhere as he begins to blush. he chuckles at the sight, poking his brother’s cheek.

“don’t be shy now,” kylian says as he smirks and ethan fights back his own grin, nudging his brother’s touch away.

wilfried watches on and his heart feels heavy in his chest. just one son left. he can’t believe it.

he retains himself from getting overly emotional, ascending from his seat, “we should get going now. your mum will be angry if we don’t get there on time, you know her.”

kylian and ethan emit sounds of agreement, walking to the door. ethan exits first, and kylian stays behind trying to gather as much composure as he can.

“i’m proud of you, kylian,” his father voices, and it bleeds so much joy and pride that kylian begins to feel choked up.

“thank you, papa,” kylian shakily expresses. he attempts to shake off the nerves, yet it proves to be fruitless, again.

“god- i feel like i’m about to pass out.”

“it’s all normal, kylian. you’ll be fine, i can assure you.”

“i know, but,” he pauses, shutting his eyes for a few seconds, “i don’t think i’ll survive seeing [y/n] in her dress.”

wilfried grins so widely, he feels his cheek muscles ache. like father, like son.

“believe me, i know.”

+_-

he’s absolutely trembling. it’s so palpable that one of his groomsmen, brice, has checked on him at least twice now. he had responded with the usual, automated affirmative that he’s fine, but he truly is anything but. it’s been more than 5 minutes since the service was supposed to start, but the bride, his bride, was yet to arrive.

he glances at his father who looks back at him, and his face doesn’t release his smile. it’s subtle reassurance, and he musters a small smile back just as the hall doors begin to glide open with an old rumble.

and kylian swears his heart stops. he can’t hear the congregation stand and turn as she proceeds down the aisle. he can’t feel his mind frenzy, even though he knows it does, nor can he feel his hands that will, soon, bear the weight of the unifying ring. his eyes are stuck, stitched to the sight of his to-be wife completely encompassed in an ethereal cloud of white, and for a second, he thinks he’s being visited by an angel from heaven.

before he knows it, he’s crying. tears of abundant happiness overflow as much as he tries to blink them away but he allows them to because he finds it almost prohibited to look away. ethan stands beside him, handing him a handkerchief, and he’s ever so grateful for his grounding presence right there and then.

“she’s beautiful. so, so beautiful,” he mutters in tangent. his heart quickens the nearer she gets and he senses ethan bringing a hand to his back.

then she stands right in front of him. and he stares. stares for what seems like centuries that pass until his brother whispers in his ear, “remove her veil, kylian. i have to go.”

it spurs his movement, shaking him from his reverie, and both hands, vibrating, pinch the sides of the lace, lifting and placing it behind her hair.

he feels like he’s punched. again.

she smiles so gorgeously at him, and it’s like he’s fallen in love all over again.

“hi.”

he breathes out slowly, gently interlocking their hands.

“hey.”

the priest begins his welcome and the usual protocol. when he asks the crowd if there were to be any objections, he holds his breath. he’s not aware of anyone being against them, but he knows that it happens more than one could think. silences engulfs the room and the priest, to his relief, breaks it as he proceeds with the service.

his mind and ears block out everything after that and his gaze never leaves [y/n]’s otherworldly stature. every now and then, he squeezes her hands, just to make sure she’s really here, and she always returns the gesture, as if she reads his mind.

he’s dazed when a hand comes up to touch his cheek, and his conscience zooms back into the present.

“you with me, love?”

he nods absentmindedly and the congregation collectively chuckle at him.

“i think you’ll have to say it again,” [y/n] jokingly tells the priest, and kylian, eyes wide, turns to him.

“i missed the vows?”

“it’s okay, kylian,” he smiles gently, “i’ll read them out again.”

kylian nods, this time, unmasking his ears to hear the words that he knows he’ll agree to wholeheartedly.

“kylian mbappe, do you take this woman to be your wife, to live together in holy matrimony, to love her, to honor her, to comfort her, and to keep her in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?"

his response is instantaneous, “i do.”

the priest tilts himself towards [y/n], “[y/n] [l/n] do you take this man to be your husband, to live together in holy matrimony, to love him, to honor him, to comfort him, and to keep him in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?"

“i do.”

kylian feels the tears gather as the priest utters the words he’s been waiting for, for the past 10 months.

“i now pronounce you mr and mrs mbappe. kylian, you may kiss the bride.”

as their families cheer, holler and cry tears of utmost joy, his lips find his wife’s, both barely able to contain their grins.

and at the back of kylian’s mind, he envisions a picture of this very moment, framed in gold and mounted upon the wall of his mother’s house.

just like [y/n] had wanted.

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