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#this is much longer than i planned lol

ghostsy · 1 year

Text

Let's Get Physical

WARNINGS: yandere, stalking, possessiveness, nsfw, dub/noncon, non-consenual implications, toxic relationship, implied imprisonment, misogyny, manipulation, gaslighting, depression, anxiety

read at your own discretion.

yandere ! BAKUGOU KATSUKI X READER

“Fuck–you tryna break my damn fingers off?”

“Don’t be a baby. Besides, shouldn’t you be used to this by now?” She rolled her eyes playfully, smiling as her hands worked at his own, stretching his fingers backwards, and pressed her thumbs to his palm.

“Quit grinnin’, creep.” He sat cross-legged in front of her on the floor of his home gym, studying her as she worked.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Her eyes narrowed in concentration, and she stifled a smirk when he hissed. “Are you sure you even know what a grin is? Can’t say I’ve ever seen you give one.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Still, a smile tugged at his lips, “Y’know, this could constitute abuse of power.”

“It’s called physical therapy, you manchild.” She placed his hand down on his thigh, and picked up the other to start her work, fingers massaging across the palm.

He puffed out his cheeks, “It’s called torture,” Grumbling as he averted his gaze.

“It’s called, Mr. Big Strong Number Two went and snapped his tendons tryna blow up an entire villain army by himself.”

“That’s a funny way a’ sayin’ thank you.”

“If I recall correctly, you were thanked plenty three months ago–when it happened–if your popularity numbers are any indication.” She caught sight of the twist at his lips, and gave a soft smile. “But, I suppose I can stand to add another. Thank you.”

He coughed awkwardly, red dusting his cheeks, “Yeah. Whatever.”

They settled into a comfortable silence, the occasional grunt and hiss interrupting, but not disrupting the peace. She placed his hand down, and went to sort through her gym bag on the floor beside them.

Pulling out a stretch band, she wrapped it around his fingers. He knew the drill by now, and as he began to stretch, brows furrowed as he strained, she let out a happy giggle.

“See! You can hold about three inches further; you’re getting better. Just a few more sessions with me, and a healing quirk can do the rest!” She clapped her hands together, and though he felt like screaming in frustration at the effort it took, when he caught sight of the glimmer in her eyes, he softened, letting out a sigh.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t go expectin’ a five star Yelp review or somethin’ now.” She caught the flicker of amusement in his eyes, and a sly smile spread on her lips.

“Weren’t you banned from Yelp after–”

“Shut the fuck up.” Though, the look on his face told her he wasn’t too torn up about the jab.

And the comfortable silence resumed as the clock ticked by. He couldn’t remember when this had become familiar–when she had become familiar.

But he was sure that had he been forced to spend three months straight with any other stranger–or friend, for that matter–he would have thrown himself and them from his penthouse window by now.

As they went through the motions, some easier than others with his…injury, he found himself sneaking glances at her face. He noticed a lot about her in these past months. Her nose always twitched whenever she’d present him a new technique to try; he’d chalked it up to nerves–cute–cute, that she thought to be nervous, as if he’d fail, he corrected himself.

And right now, with her shoulders swaying back and forth to an inaudible song as she watched him stretch, he noted comfort, content. Her head bobbed with the motions––little thing never could sit still, could she?--and he found himself fighting a smile. Though, it fell pretty quickly when he saw her glance at the wall clock, and fumble to stuff her equipment into her bag.

“Oh my god, it’s late–I should–Good work today!” She gathered her things, and his brows furrowed as he watched her. There was a twist in his chest as he saw her scramble–where was she going in such a hurry?

“Where ya goin’?” He never was great at poker, but he still cursed himself for the way she furrowed her brows, catching the irritated edge in his voice.

She sighed, brushing it off as his usual grumpiness, “As lovely company as you are, it’s well past our time, and I have another appointment in the morning.”

“Since when?” Logically he knew that he couldn’t be her only client, but to hear her say it ground his nerves. After all, he was sure that it had been just the two of them for a while now.

“It’s always one injury or another. Y’know, for a job that means helping others, you heroes are pretty shit at taking care of yourselves.” She giggled, and while the sound eased his nerves, there was a nagging at the back of his mind.

“Hey, you eaten yet?” He trailed after her into the foyer, and a part of his brain mocked him for how pathetic he must sound–him, of all people, begging some quirkless nobody–no, not nobody, but still–begging her to stay.

She paused, turning to glance at him; a sheepish look washed over her face as she huffed an embarrassed chuckle, hand reaching to scratch at the back of her head. His eyes narrowed, but as he went to take her bag from her shoulder, she pulled from his grip.

“I’m sure I can grab a granola bar or something from the convenience store on my block, don’t worry about–”

“Fuckin’ dumbass, now who’s shit at takin’ care a’ themselves?” He ignored the knit in her brow, and moved towards the kitchen, “I got tons of shit leftover. Sit. Eat.”

She sighed, and brushed him off with another chuckle, “Maybe another time. I really should get some sleep. And so should you–rest helps the healing process. I’ll see you in a few days.”

He watched her for a beat, before deciding. He nodded, “Yeah, yeah. See ya.”

She flashed a smile and a little wave before heading out the door. He waited for a bit after it clicked shut, watching the hands tick by on the clock.

One minute.

Two.

Five.

He shuffled towards his closet, throwing an old hoodie over his head with minimal strain. This isn’t creepy. He reminded himself. Idiot’s gonna get herself killed walkin’ home this late.

His face heated as he pulled up the hood. Wearin’ those spandex shorts–honestly, she was lucky he was a fuckin’ gentleman. He huffed, and headed for the door, following after her with the confidence of a man who had done so too many times before.

.♡.

“Damn, I’m jealous, if I knew all it took for some alone time with a bitch that hot was to snap my tendons–”

“Don’t be fucking gross.” He scoffed, shoving the other blonde, eyebrow twitching at the shit-eating grin his friend flashed. Maybe this was a bad idea; he scanned the men around the breakroom table–fuck, he shoulda just figured it out himself.

The other man raised his hands in mock surrender, “All I’m sayin’, bro, is if I were you, I’d a’ made a move the second a piece of ass that sweet walked itself through my door.” He turned back to the udon in front of him, digging in, broth splashing messily across his face.

He scrunched his nose in disgust, “Yeah, well I ain’t you. I’m not jumpin’ in the pants of the first bitch who opens ‘er legs for me.” He played with his own chopsticks, frustrated with the dismissal.

“Good thing too,” The raven haired man laughed, “Sparky over here’s probably got every disease in the book with the holes he sticks his dick in.” He tossed an arm around the other blonde, whose face twisted in mock hurt.

“Least I can get it wet, Tape Boy.” The two shoved at each other, laughing, but the click of a tongue brought his attention to the unamused redhead at the end of the table.

“But she isn’t just another hole,” The shark-toothed man’s lip twisted at the last word, “This is the first time you’ve actually liked a chick. You should–”

“Who the fuck says I like her?” One glance at the unimpressed look from his friend had his face heat as he coughed, averting his gaze.

“You haven’t said shit since the incident,” The man began, “And the first thing we hear from you about the whole thing is if we know your physical therapist.”

“She works with heroes; sue me for thinkin’ you idiots might a’ met or somethin’.”

“Okay, but why are you askin’ about her schedule?”

He clicked his tongue against his teeth, shoving his chair back, “Forget it.” As he went to leave, the other two men jeered.

“Aww, come back! Embrace the feelings, bro!”

“Beautiful. Our little boy’s growin’ up!”

.♡.

He stormed into his office, huffing. Fuck it. If he was gonna be here, he might as well get some paperwork done. He collapsed in his chair, head to his hands as he groaned. The sound of the door opening caught his attention.

“You really need to stop stormin’ outta places before people can respond.” He rolled his eyes, ignoring the redhead, and turned to shuffle through the mass of papers on his desk.

“Yeah, well Tweedle Dumb and Dumber needa learn to keep their damn mouths shut.”

“Ah. They don’t mean any harm,” He scratched the back of his head awkwardly, “Locker room talk, y’know?”

He scoffed, “What do you want?” Mood soured, his patience was running thin.

“I think I know that client you were talkin’ about–the appointment she had today.”

Now that caught his interest. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. But yer not gonna like the answer.”

.♡.

Bang! Bang!

“Oi, open up.”

Bang! Bang! Bang!

“I know you’re here, you bastard. Open the fuck up!”

BANG! BA–

“It’s five in the morning. I was asleep.” The man in question responded as the door creaked open, his red and white hair mussed, and sticking up in odd places.

He rubbed at his eyes, meeting the other’s gaze, much too intense for five in the morning–though, did the word calm ever really exist in the ash blonde’s vocabulary?

“You break any bones? Strain a muscle? What? ‘Cause from here I can’t see shit wrong with you.”

“I’m confused. Should ‘shit be wrong with me?’” Jesus fucking Christ. He wanted to rip his hair out; there was obtuse, and then there was just plain annoying. In the years he’d known this man, he’d managed to toe the line perfectly. A talent, truly.

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, “You wouldn’t be hangin’ around my woman if it wasn’t…or you tellin’ me there’s another reason she’s been showin’ up at your door?”

“You have a woman?”

Are you fucking kid–

“I’m kidding.” Coulda fooled him. He met bi-colored eyes, dull as ever, and mouth set in a straight line.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re fuckin’ hilarious, now–”

A yawn interrupted him, “I’ve been informed of the situation,” Situation? “Nerve damage. Ice quirks will do that after a while. I apologize if I overstepped in my attempt to keep all my fingers intact.” A couple stiff, discolored digits waved in his face.

Yeah, sarcasm didn’t suit him. “Fuck off.” It was half a joke, but still–

“You showed up at my house.” Okay, he’d had enough. He turned to leave, but the other cleared his throat. “Though, a small piece of advice–”

“Advice?” He was getting angry again, which only flared up as a smirk formed on the other man’s face.

“Poor thing’s convinced she may have a stalker.” Shit. “I’m sure as the Number Two, you’ll be able to make her feel safe, won’t you?” Slimy bastard.

He huffed, turning away, “Yeah, yeah. Fuck off back to sleep, ya damn space heater, I got it.” There was a hum as the door clicked shut.

He was left with his thoughts as he jogged down the sidewalk–might as well get his morning run in–but, still, why hadn’t she told him about her stalker? I mean…she trusted him, didn’t she? Ugh. This was getting annoying. He needed a plan.

.♡.

“Fuck is that?”

She hissed a bit as she took his hand into her own, palm stinging a bit from underneath its bandage.

“Oh, nothing,” She smiled sheepishly, “It’s what I get for letting my friend talk me into buying one of those fancy reflex hammers.”

At the tilt of his head and furrow of his brow, she clarified, “Real sharp at the tip, ads say that’s what makes it sleek.” She chuckled a bit, and he hummed in response. She watched him for a bit, his jaw flexing a bit in frustration.

“You’ve been awfully quiet today–what, no complaints to lodge?” She giggled, but the furrow in his brow had her creasing her own. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

He snapped back to reality, pulling his gaze from where her fingers worked at his hands, “Sorry, just distracted, I guess.”

“That’s alright. What’s going on?”

He sighed, “Stopped by the office the other day–’parently crime’s been shootin’ up all around Japan.”

“And you’re upset you can’t help out yet?”

“‘S fuckin’ frustratin’, being the Number Two, and sittin’ around all day gettin’ massages while there are murderers and rapists and stalkers runnin’ fuckin’ rampant in the streets.”

She swallowed, but tried to neutralize her expression, giving a weary smile, “Oh? Lots of stalkers nowadays?” She focused her gaze back on his hands.

“Been tons a’ reports all over the city–victims are–”

“Victims?” The hiss from his mouth told her she was pressing too hard, “Sorry, sorry! Just…it’s all a bit scary isn’t it? And victims usually means…” She released his hand to sort through her bag, picking through the equipment, handing him a grip strengthener, and turned her gaze to meet his own.

“Nah, ‘s not your fault; I shouldn’t be freakin’ you out with all the details–”

“No! I mean, no. It’s okay. I want–I mean, I’m curious–what are the details?”

He gave her a look, and she cursed herself for her slip up. In the months she’d known this man, she’d realized he was one of the most annoyingly observant people she’d ever met, and while she usually found his borderline anal attention to detail endearing, she’d really hoped to keep this from him–he had more than enough on his plate already–to make him worry over someone like her would be selfish.

“The fuck’s wrong with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Yer actin’ like you’re bein’ stalked or some shit.” Fuck. Did he have some second quirk? Could he read minds?

“What? No, I’m not. I’m just…curious.” Yeah. Thank god she hadn’t gone into acting. At the unimpressed quirk of his brow she sighed, “I mean…It’s probably nothing, I’m sure I’m just–I’m just paranoid or something.”

“What the fuck? And you didn’t tell me?”

“It’s probably nothing! And..well, you’re so busy–recovery, and tryna get back in the field so you can…I just didn’t want to bother you.” She took a piece of hair in her hands, twirling and tugging as she avoided his gaze. “It’d be unprofessional of me to–”

“You gotta report that shit, dumbass!” The grip strengthener creaked with the strength at which his hand clutched at it. “‘’Sides, it’s not botherin’ me,'' Her cheeks colored, “It’s my job.” Oh. Right.

She wrapped another contraption around his fingers, gesturing for him to stretch as she took the other from his grip, “I’ve got it covered. Promise,” She sighed, “And I did report it, I just figured you had enough on your plate. Seriously, don’t worry about it.”

He rolled his eyes, “I’m walkin’ you home,” She opened her mouth to protest, “Shut the fuck up. I ain’t askin’.”

She sighed, but nodded,“Okay.” Her chest warmed a bit as a small smile pulled at her lips.

And the silence resumed, tense, but not with awkward or anxious energy, she realized. She snuck a few glances at him throughout the rest of their session. He really was a good man, wasn’t he? And, catching sight of the sharp curve of his jaw–handsome, too.

She chided herself for thinking so, but really–what was the harm in thoughts?--it was simply an observation, nothing more.

.♡.

“It’s fuckin’ efficient. ‘Nuf said.”

“It’s fuckin’ geriatric is what it is.” She laughed, “What twenty-six year old goes to sleep at eight p.m.?” She craned her head up to catch sight of the red dusting his cheeks as they walked down the street.

“Call me geriatric all you want, but don’t come cryin’ to me when you’re fifty and yer face is saggin’ cause you never got a good night’s sleep.” She gasped, hitting him lightly on the shoulder as a smile tugged at his lips.

“You should know better than to call a woman wrinkly.”

“Good advice. Lemme know when you see one.”

She smacked his arm again as the two of them laughed, settling once she caught sight of the setting sun. “Thank you. For walking me home; it really–I mean, it’s–”

“Stop thankin’ me for givin’ a shit about you, you fuckin’ creep,” Her cheeks colored as she avoided his gaze, and he sighed, ruffling her hair a bit, “‘Sides, someone’s gotta look out for you; you’re sure as hell not gonna do it for yourself.”

She gasped in mock offense, “I’ll have you know, when I was younger, I was a certified blue belt in my–”

“Isn’t that really fuckin’ low?”

“Shut up,” They laughed lightly, and she turned to him as they came upon her doorstep. “Well, this is me.”

There was an awkward pause, and he coughed lightly, avoiding her gaze, “Right. Cool. I guess I’ll see ya–”

“You wanna come in?” She surprised herself with the words, but the red coloring his cheeks warmed her chest and eased her nerves. This was fine. They were friends.

“You sure?” Despite all the rumors and all the gossip, he really was a gentleman. Well, she’d come to know that these past months, but like this was an entirely different matter. She wasn’t quite sure why, though.

“Yeah. I mean, I haven’t eaten yet–figured you might wanna hang out and yell at me for a bit about it.” She laughed lightly, pushing the keys into the lock, and brushed her hair from her eyes.

“I’ll do you one better.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I’ll cook you dinner, and yell at you about it.” She opened her mouth, but a devious smirk spread across his face, “‘Less yer one of those losers with an empty fridge, and cabinet full a’ junk.”

She pushed the door open, “How dare you,” She flashed a cheeky smile as she led him inside, “Instant ramen is the food of the gods.”

.♡.

“You need to be more careful!” She chided as she wiped at the cut on his face, “You’ve only been back in the field for a month, you can’t just–”

A hiss interrupted her, and she pulled the alcoholic wipe away from his cheek as he sighed, “You rather I let a building fall on a buncha kids?”

She rolled her eyes, but resumed her work, “No. But, I’d rather you have at least an ounce of self-preservation–besides, I’m not sure how many wraps and casts and wipes we’ve got left in the budget.”

A sly smirk spread on his face, “Oh. I see,” He readjusted her in his lap as she wiped at his wounds, “Yer in physical therapist mode right now, huh? And here I thought my girl might actually be worried about me for a second.”

She smacked lightly at his arm, setting down her wipes to peck at his cheek, “I can be in physical therapist mode and girlfriend mode when it means you’ve gone off and gotten yourself hurt again.”

She rolled off his lap, tossing the bloody tissues in the trash as he trailed after her into the bathroom. She opened the cabinets, bending over to sort through the shelves. He grabbed her by the hips, and she shoved him off playfully.

“Not now, horny. I’m looking for a wrap.”

“Ah. Think we’re out.”

She stood, smacking him lightly, “See! What was I just saying?”

“I’ll head to the store in the morning, just come to bed,” He groaned, turning her in his arms, “‘M tired.”

She gave him a skeptical look before glancing down briefly, “I think your little friend may disagree.”

“Who you callin’ little?” His hands snaked down, pinching at the swell in her ass as she squealed, pushing out of his arms, and trailed into the bedroom. She glanced around, stopping once she spotted his closet door.

“Hey, where ya goin’?” He stalked after her.

“I don’t trust you. I’m gonna check for more first aid supplies.” She walked towards the closet, and, following her gaze, he pulled her by the wrist, bouncing her backwards onto the bed. She yelped as he collapsed on top of her, “What the hell? Get off! I can’t–can’t breathe–”

“Nah. Like I said, ‘m tired.”

She giggled out his name, trying to push the hulking mass off of her, “I’m serious! You’re–you’re hurt, we need to take care of–”

“We need to take care a’... what was it you said? My little friend?” One of his hands worked its way up her shirt as he readjusted them on the bed, “Only thing that’s hurtin’ right now is my ego…little, I should take you over my damn knee for that, y’know.”

She laughed, sighing as his fingers made their way under her bra, “You’re so—you’re such a baby.”

“Oh yeah?” His thumb swirled her nipple as he smirked. Legs thrown over his shoulders, she looked up at him between half-lidded eyes while he worked off her shirt.

“Yeah.” She let out a breath as a tingling in her gut started to form. His canines grazed her neck, tongue flicking out to lick a stripe up the warm flesh.

“We’ll see about that.” He bit down, chuckling deeply at the whimper forced from her lips.

.♡.

“Please–please–I don’t–I think someone’s here, I’m sorry to–to call you, but–”

“Stay right fuckin’ there. I’ll be there in five.”

“I’m–It’s pretty far, are you sure–”

“I can run. Stay on the–” She pressed the end button as at the sound of a bang–a door kicked open. The coat closet maybe? That means they were close. Too close. She pulled her knees closer to her chest, eyes squeezing shut, reopening with fresh, hot tears.

Slow and steady, the sound of footfall was creaking down the wooden expanse of her hallway. Headed towards her, she realized. No. Please. She clutched her hand to her face, fingers pinching her nose to quiet the sounds of her breathing. This was it, wasn’t it? This was–

BANG!

And then a frenzy of footsteps, crazed and seemingly unaware of their destination filled her ears. A shout. A shout? Wait…was that–but still, she didn’t dare breathe. Not until–

“Where the fuck are you?” The sound of her name being growled from a familiar baritone brought her back to reality, and she shakily pushed the door to the closet open from her place curled up on the floor.

“He–Here. I’m–I’m here.” The edge of her voice was cracking with tears as he pushed into the room, kneeling in front of her collapsed form. He gathered her in his arms, and the dam broke, snot and tears staining the soft polyester of his shirt as he carried her to the bed.

“Dumbass–scared the shit outta me–I told you to stay on the fucking–”

“Sorry–I’m sorry. I’m–I was just–I’m sorry…” She balled the fabric of his shirt in her fists as she sobbed. A large hand came to pet her hair, soothing her as it pulled the wet strands from her face, and tucked them behind her ear.

“S’ okay. I know. I’m here–you’re okay.” He sighed, burying his nose into her hair, taking a breath as his other arm soothed at her back. She sighed, gathering herself as she pushed a little bit out of his arms to meet his eyes.

“I–I just got home and–and all my drawers–they were open, and so I…” She sighed shakily, swallowing her tears, “Some of my clothes–my underwear–it’s gone, I–it’s getting worse, they’ve never–not until today–never come inside.” Her eyes shifted, “Well…I don’t think they have, but that’s…”

“That’s it,” She looked up at him, caught off guard a bit by the edge in his voice, “This shit is getting ridiculous. Yer movin’ in.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but a sharp look from crimson eyes killed the words in her throat. He sighed, readjusting her in his lap, taking her face in his hand as he pressed a peck to her jaw.

“I don’t wanna–I don’t wanna force ya, but shit, babe, this is…” He sighed, “‘M not always gonna be nearby on patrol, and if somethin’ happened to you, I’d never fuckin’ forgive myself. Even tonight–motherfucker got away from me.”

“I know,” She sagged, wrapping her arms around his middle, sighing, “I just…I feel so–this isn’t what you signed up for–I don’t want to be a burden to–”

“Shut the fuck up,” She jumped a bit, and his fingers spidered down her back in placation, “Sorry. Just…yer not a damn burden. I fuckin’...” She looked up to see red crawling up his neck and color his cheeks as he avoided her gaze, “I fuckin’ love you.”

He looked down at her now, and her breath hitched in her throat at the intensity burning in his eyes.

She felt heat crawl up her own cheeks, and a smile pulled at her lips despite herself–despite the situation, “Sorry, what was that?”

“I said I fuckin’--demon woman, fuck you.” He scoffed, but the hand at her back didn’t stop its ministrations, even as she giggled.

“No, I’m serious. I didn’t–I didn’t hear you, can’t you–ah!” He rolled them over, collapsing on top of her on the bed.

“Sorry. Can’t remember.” His hands trailed up her sides, and she began to squeal, laughing.

“Stop–Stop! Too–Too ticklish–please!”

“Huh? What was that?” She shrieked, trying and failing to wiggle from beneath his assault on her sides.

“I said–I said I–I love you!” He stopped his torture, smirking down at her as she caught her breath.

“Damn right.” He dipped down, pecking her lips.

.♡.

“And you’re sure it’s alright?”

“For the four hundredth time, yes. It’s more than fine; I’m the one who fuckin’ offered.”

She rocked back and forth on her heels in the elevator, various boxes and suitcases littered around the two of them as they headed for the penthouse floor. “I know, it’s just…”

“Stop that–I know that face; you’re fuckin’ fine–I love you. I want you here, you idiot.”

She sighed, nodding to herself as she watched the floors climb on the wall of the elevator. “Okay. Okay, yeah. I love you too.” Internally she calmed; it would be nice to sleep without waking up every hour paranoid that she’d heard the snap of a camera.

The sound of a ding pulled her from her thoughts, and she readjusted the boxes in her arms as the doors slid open, and the two made their way into the penthouse living room. She caught sight of the floor to ceiling windows, and set down her things while he worked to unpack. He nodded towards the bedroom.

“You’ve been here plenty a’ times. Feel free to take a shower or somethin’, and I’ll start on dinner. We’ll unpack as we go.”

She nodded, sending one more glance back to the expanse of skyline beneath her, finding that no matter how familiar she was with the view, her legs would never fail to shake with anxiety at the sight of the clouds hugging the edges of the buildings, obscuring her view of the bottom–of the rest of the world. She turned to head towards the bedroom.

“Gotta spare towel an’ shit for ya in there!” He called after her as she disappeared behind the door before he set her things down, heading for the open-floor kitchen.

.♡.

She stepped out of the shower, tightly wrapping a towel around herself, and swiped away at the condensed water clinging to the mirror to catch sight of her own reflection. She sighed, nodding to herself; this was fine. They loved each other–who cares that they’d only been together a couple months–they’d known each other longer; that had to count for something, right?

She groaned, moving into the bedroom to search for her clothes. Oh. Right. She thought to call for him, but, peeking out the crack in the door, found him, brows furrowed, chopping furiously at onions in the kitchen. Cute. She scanned the room, finding his closet door, and decided to search through his own clothes–he liked to give her shirts to wear, anyways.

She opened the door, stepping inside the large walk-in, and sifted through his drawers, pulling on a pair of boxers. She glanced around in search of a comfortable shirt, eyes catching on a small door–almost a cabinet–hidden on the back wall behind the racks. How curious. She kneeled down, and moved to open it, but–

“The fuck are you doin’?”

She yelped, hitting her head on the rack, hissing, and turned to face him, a sheepish look washing over her face, “Oh! Sorry, sorry! I didn’t mean to pry, I just–”

“I told ya I set shit out for ya.” The agitation in his voice set a strange feeling alight in her mind, but she brushed it off as his usual obsessive-compulsive nature.

She rubbed at her head, half-sheepish, half soothing the pain, and smiled, “I’m sorry. I didn’t see anything out there. I didn’t mean to snoop. Really.”

He studied her for a moment, but huffed, and gestured with his eyes to follow him into the bedroom. He glanced around, finding folded up clothes fallen half-way beneath the bed on the dark-wood floor. He kneeled, picking them up, and handed her the shirt, moving into his closet to return the rest.

“Musta fallen off the bed. Sorry.” His voice was a bit muffled by the distance, “Didn’t mean to freak out on ya. Been meanin’ to seal that shit up for a while now. Damn rats keep gettin’ in.”

“It’s okay. I’m sorry for not asking you.” She threw the black skull shirt over her head as he returned, shutting the closet door. “I know how you feel about your privacy, so…”

“Yeah. Yer fine,” He moved closer, kissing the crown of her head, “Dinner’s almost ready. ‘M fuckin’ beat. Let’s start unpacking tomorrow.”

.♡.

“And there’s nothing? Not one clue?” She folded up her clothes in the bedroom’s new wardrobe. He’d told her that the closet was being renovated to fit the two of them, providing her an expensive but temporary solution.

“‘M just as frustrated as you, babe. How do you think I feel, bein’ a top hero and still not bein’ able to protect my girl.” He huffed, handing her articles of clothing from a half-unpacked box as they talked.

“You’ve done more than protect me; it’s not your fault,” She sighed, fingers flexing, tightening subconsciously on the shirt she was holding, “I just…”

“I know, and…” He clicked his tongue, scanning her, “Yer not gonna like what I haveta say next.”

She swallowed, and he watched her throat bob, steeling his nerves. He was so close. He set the box aside, gesturing for her to join him on the bed. She sat herself in his lap, and he brushed her hair from her face, sighing, avoiding her gaze for good measure. Really draw it out.

“I think you should quit yer job.”

“What? Why would I–”

“Just fer now,” His hand soothed at her thigh, “‘An’ I can take care a’ things. Just ‘til shit dies down.” Yeah. That sounds good. And if shit just happens not to die down…Well, he was more than happy to provide.

“I thought you said you didn’t have any clues.”

Sometimes he wished he was attracted to dumber women. She pushed off his lap, and resumed her work, stuffing clothes inside the drawers with renewed anger.

He realized he didn’t appreciate her anger–did she not realize he was trying to keep her safe? It’s fine. He could fix that. He stood, hand to her shoulder to turn her, and calm her.

“Not any solid ones, but,” His eyes shifted, searching for the words, “Yer always comin’ back late–by yourself–if they found where you were livin’--you think they don’t know where yer workin’?” It was a bit hard not to revel for a bit in the irony–made him feel powerful–but it also made him realize just how weak she was, how unaware, how fragile.

“Well…they haven’t followed me here.”

“Cause this place is maximum fuckin’ security,” He smirked, chest puffing a bit as a sort of sick pride bloomed in his chest,“‘Sides, ain’t no one’s messin’ with the Number Two. Heh. Love to see ‘em try.”

She rolled her eyes, pushing his hand from her shoulder, and made her way to the living room to retrieve another box, “I’m glad you’re feeling safe.” Okay, fine. Probably not the best time to be peacocking, but really, would a pat on the back kill her?

“That ain’t what I meant. Hey,” He trailed after her, “‘M serious. Sue me fer wantin’ you alive.”

She swallowed, avoiding her eyes. Whatever. He sighed internally. He really didn’t like scaring her. But honestly, she needed to learn: he was going to get his way–this was for her own good. He’d seen so much death and destruction in his short life, so much pain and suffering and–nevermind that–he would make sure she didn’t have to, no matter what she had to say about it.

“Hey,” His voice softened as he approached her, “Just…just promise you’ll think about it, alright?” He brought a hand to her cheek, and she leaned in, sighing.

She nodded, “Alright.”

.♡.

Ring ring! Ring ring! Ring ri–

Your call has been forwarded to the voicemail for–

“Shit. Please. Come on…”

Ring ring!

“Come on, come on.”

Ring ring!

“Answer. Answer. Please answer.”

Ring ri–

Your call has been for–

“Shit!” She clamped a hand over her mouth, eyes darting side to side, and glanced over her shoulder as she sped down the dimly lit sidewalk.

Just her luck, she thought. Take on a new client, you said. It’ll be fine, you said. Who cares that they live in the middle of goddamn nowhere? The trains will still be running; it won’t be too late. Idiot.

She huffed, heart threatening to beat out of her chest; every shifting shadow was a threat; every kick of a stray rock, every honk of a distant car horn–everything–was sending lightning through her nerves, blood roaring so loudly in her ears she could barely hear herself think.

The fall of a raindrop on her nose had her jump, though she began to groan as the pitter-patter of rainfall filled the streets. But then—

“You look lost, pretty girl.” A deep, distorted chuckle cut through her resolve as if it were made of ribbons, and her legs sprung forward before she could think to turn around.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Not now; please not now.

Running frantically and without direction, she turned left then right then left then right then right again, lungs burning, and tears obscuring her vision, not knowing if her breath and voice were stolen by exertion or terror or both.

She slowed once she gathered herself enough to take in her surroundings. Where was she? And then, interrupting her thoughts, a slow, heavy footfall, too casual, too comfortable, started to make its way towards her.

“It’s rude to ignore people, you know,” No. Fuck. Left? Right? Where was home? Where was–“Hey, I’m fuckin’ talkin’ to you, bitch.”

Fuck it. Left it was. Her gym bag jostled on her shoulder, a stray, initialed gym towel flying from the partially opened side-compartment into the wind behind her as she took off.

“Hey! Get the fuck back here!”

She turned briefly over her shoulder to catch sight of the figure–dressed in all black, head to toe–and let out a cry, pushing forward again, “Please! Leave me alone! I don’t know–I don’t know what you want from me!” Right.

There was that ugly laugh again, closer than before, and she willed her burning legs and lungs forward. Left. Back on the main road, good.

“Aww, I just wanna talk is all. What,” The voice turned darker, “You don’t wanna talk?”

Terrifying implications aside, she was nearly annoyed with him–him?--annoyed with what little effort he seemed to put into hunting her like some animal, not having even broken a sweat in his pursuit. She tossed her gym bag from her shoulder, hitting him square in the face, running with renewed vigor.

“Ah-Fuck! Bitch!”

She turned down another alley; maybe she could throw him off her trail. Fuck it. Turning again and again and again until she could no longer hear the sounds of wet shoes slapping the pavement behind her. She looked over her shoulder: nothing. Looking left, looking right: nothing. Only the sound of rainshower pouring down as if angry in and of itself. Join the club.

The quiet was nearly unsettling, but she forced a sigh from her lungs, deciding to stealthily find her way out of the maze she’d created for herself without alerting her predator. Which way was it now? Ugh. Maybe…that way? She turned–

Slam!

Her face hit a brick wall–no–her face hit a warm chest as hard as a brick wall. Fuck. This was it. She was going to die, right? She didn’t want to die. She swallowed, chest tightening, and nausea building, but–

“Holy shit! You’re fuckin’ freezing!”

She looked up to find scarlet eyes wide with worry, his large hands rubbed up and down her freezing wet arms, soothing the hairs stood on end. She let out a shaky sigh as she studied his face, half in disbelief and half in sheer relief. Though, her brow furrowed, shaking her head a bit in confusion upon spotting the pink strap of her gym bag hanging loosely from his shoulder.

“What–Where did you find that?”

“Huh?”

“My bag. Where did you find my bag?” She was getting agitated. This was paranoia, right? She pulled from his grip, noting the slight narrowing of his eyes before they returned to their previous concern. Was she imagining things? He put his hands up in surrender.

“Woah, chill, chill! I was out fuckin’ lookin’ for you. Left my phone at home while I was on my run, just got yer messages when I came back, and sprinted fer my fuckin’ life into the pourin’ rain tryna find you. I just found the damn thing abandoned on the side a’ the road.”

He sighed, taking a wet and matted strand of her hair from her cheek, brushing it behind her ear, “Yer gonna send me to an early fuckin’ grave y’know. When I saw it layin’ there on the street, I thought…” He swallowed, avoiding her gaze, voice cracking, “I thought you were…”

How cruel she was. To throw such accusations. She fell into his arms, out of guilt or adoration, she didn’t know, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to–I keep making you worry, and–I just–I was so…” Her voice left her, sobs overtaking her body.

He comforted her in his embrace while the rain poured down around them, sticking their hair to their faces and clothes to their skin, stray raindrops catching on their eyelashes as they pulled away to find each other’s gazes.

And, with tears and rain mixing on their cheeks, he brought his lips to her own, breath warming her cold lips before she pushed forward, arms tangling in his hair as his own locked around her waist, tight and close and safe. Safe. A shared thought between them, though, with two entirely different meanings.

.♡.

“Gotta call the Commission. Had half the damn city out searchin’ for ya.” His thumb swiped over her cheek, eyes giving her a once-over–freshly showered with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, teacup steaming in her hands as she sat, in her silk pajamas and fuzzy socks, curled up on the living room couch.

She nodded, and he leaned down to kiss her forehead before excusing himself. The murmur of the sugary-sweet, altogether too happy movie he’d put on faded to the background as she turned to watch the skyline beneath her, a gray film obscuring the warm yellows and oranges that glowed in the distance.

She sighed, mentally kicking herself for her stubbornness. He had warned her this may happen. And because of her arrogance, Japan’s best heroes were wasting their time searching for her when they had much more important things to be doing–real problems to deal with. How selfish. She huffed, swiping away a stray tear, and turned to smile at him as he returned.

“Yeah yeah. I owe ya one. Now fuck off, would you?” Ending the call, he fell into the seat beside her, hand rubbing down his face, exhausted. That’s your fault.

She sighed, “Is everything okay?”

He looked at her, giving a weary smile, and her chest burned, “Mm. All good. We should be worryin’ about you, dumbass.” No, we shouldn’t.

She swallowed, scooching closer to him on her couch, “I was–I think that,” she huffed, trying to ignore the tightness in her chest, “You were right. I’ll–if it’s still alright, I can stop working for a bit. So you don’t have to worry–to worry about me too much.”

Her cheeks burned in shame as she avoided his gaze, but the palm of his hand turned her face towards him. She nearly jumped at the emotion glowing in his eyes, burning with an intensity she’d not fully seen before, eyes locked on her own, yet, hollow, as if he wasn’t really looking at her. Through her? No…

“Fuck yeah, it’s alright. C’mere,” He pulled her into his lap, and she realized what it reminded her of, as he regarded her with the sheer glee a child would show upon receiving a new toy, admiring her like some possession. No. Maybe he was just getting worked up–that must be it. The day had been stressful, right?

He began pressing hot, wet kisses to her neck, “Just stick with me. I’ll keep ya safe, baby. Promise.” His teeth grazed up her flesh, and she felt goosebumps start to form.

She nodded, cheeks burning in embarrassment at her growing dependency, but the feel of his hand under her shirt brought her back to reality.

“Oh–oh. I was–I don’t know if…” She was tired. So tired. Her limbs and mind weighed with growing self-disgust and an increasing sense of helplessness. The last thing she felt right now was sexy.

“Lie down for me.” He flipped her on her back before she could answer, working off her shirt, and his hands pulled at the waistband of her shorts. He kissed down her sternum, leaving small bite shaped bruises in his path.

She called his name, hand to his shoulder, not pushing, but stiff, “Maybe we should–I’m not really–” He hooked his fingers into the side of her underwear and something jumped a bit in her chest. Fear. It couldn’t be fear.

He sat up as he peeled off the last of her clothes, “Fuck. You keep scarin’ me and scarin’ me…might gimme a fuckin’ heart attack one day.” He wasn’t looking at her, arms wrapping around her thighs to pull her legs around his hips. She squealed a bit as she was dragged further down, but didn’t protest.

She fell silent, he just loved her is all, this was fine. Didn’t she owe him at least this? Still, the thought didn’t sit right in some near-forgotten part of her mind.

He ripped off his shirt, defined abs and arms flexing in the moonlight before bringing his thumb to swirl at her clit, smirking when her hips jumped from the stimulation, muscles flexing and unflexing. She took her lip between her teeth, eyes slowly losing focus.

“That’s it. Fuck, that’s hot.” He took two of his calloused fingers into his mouth, tongue flicking out to wet the digits, drool dripping as they popped from his lips. Moving down to play at her lower lips, they forced themselves into her without warning.

She winced a bit at the stretch, but the roll of his thumb over her clit eased the burn. She tried to rationalize the situation in her mind. They’d had sex so many times before, why was this any different?

She swallowed as the knot built, thoughts flying from her brain as her legs tensed and shuddered against his hips, walls tightening around his fingers. Closer and closer. He sped his motions, rubbing furiously at her swollen bud. She began to tremble in anticipation, whimpers turning to open mouthed moans, head thrown back.

“You gonna cum, pretty girl?”

An alarm went off in her brain.

“You look lost, pretty girl.”

But it was too late, his fingers curled and pumped into her, hitting a spot that had her melting, and her eyelids and pussy fluttered in gratification as her eyes crossed, vision going white.

When she came down from her high, he was pulling her to her feet, and towards the windows.

But, “What did–what did you just call me?” It came out quietly, meekly, and she briefly wondered if that was really her voice.

She shivered at the sheer intensity with which he regarded her, either not hearing, or ignoring her question altogether. He spun her around, and gripped her hips harshly, pulling them towards him, forcing her to arch her back. Face and hands pressed to the glass, she breathed his name as he worked his cock from his boxers.

Why wasn’t he listening?

“You don’t gotta worry about nothin’ from now on,” He sighed, sliding his cock between her folds, gathering the wetness, and huffed a low chuckle, “‘Cept sittin’ pretty at home, an’ keepin’ my cock warm in bed. Sound good, baby?”

She was used to dirty talk, but this was…strange, “What are–”

On hand caught her hair between his fingers, tugging at the roots as he leaned forward, breath wet and hot in her ear.

“‘Sit here all safe and sweet for me, yeah?” The hand tightened, and she felt a few strands ripped loose.

“Ah—it hurts, I—”

“I asked you a question, pretty girl.”

“Yeah—Yes. Yes, but—”

His cockhead breached her walls, and she whimpered. No matter how many times she took him, she’d never grow used to his size. In some form of placation, he kissed at the back of her neck, and behind her ear. It wasn’t working. He pulled back, and the hand in her hair met her throat, fingers flexing as they felt her racing pulse.

“‘S all yer good for anyways, huh?” That stung more than his cock bottoming out inside her. Too big. Please. Slow down. Just—

“That’s alright,” he licked his lips, pinching at the fat of her ass, forcing a yelp from her throat, before he began to thrust, fucking her hard against the window. Wait—

Through choked moans and whimpers, “I don’t…ah–” His hips snapped forward, hitting that special spot inside her, and taking her voice. Please.

“It’s alright, I forgive ya,” He huffed a laugh, close to her ear again, “I love you, after all.”

.♡.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” She tried to stamp down the building irritation, but really, “I could have taken it myself.” Did he really think her that incapable?

“It ain’t a bit deal,” She watched as he worked, heavy weight on his shoulders as he squatted, “‘Sides, I was due for a gauntlet upgrade–was on my way,” He side-eyed her as he stood, “Said she’d fix it right up for ya. As a favor.”

The clang of the weight hitting the floor made her jump, “I mean…That’s nice of her–your inventor friend–but I still don’t understand what happened?” Her legs swayed back and forth on the exercise bench in an attempt to soothe her antsy nerves.

He moved to the smaller, hand weights, “Like I said…You knocked it off the nightstand last night,” Sighing as if her question were an inconvenience, “Thought someone broke in with the sound of it fuckin’ shattering.”

She didn’t know she moved in her sleep, or that she was that deep a sleeper. She also didn’t know that phones could break so easily, but she didn’t want to question him–he was going out on a limb for her to fix it for free, but still…

“Well…thank you, but I could have gone with you. I feel like I haven’t been outside in forever, and I’ve been getting a bit…restless.” He’d insisted on her near total confinement until this stalker of hers was found. Which he also said might take a while. What was a while?

“Maybe you can come with me when it’s ready, yeah?”

She sighed a bit in relief, “Yeah,” Her eyes shifted a bit, “Thank you, though, for–”

“Like I said, stop thankin’ me for given’ a shit about you,” Wiping at his neck with a towel, he stood, and she followed him into the foyer, “Alright. I gotta head out. I’ll try an’ be back before dark this time.” She hummed, and he kissed the crown of her head, giving her a once over, and nodded to himself, heading for the door.

She sighed to herself as the door clicked shut, and turned, eyes scanning over the expanse of the penthouse. This was fine. She had plenty to do–she could make herself useful. Keep herself busy. Maybe then she could ignore the hollow in her chest that had opened who knows how long ago–she could make this work. She had to.

.♡.

She nudged the closet door open with her hip, carrying the laundry basket inside. She’d gotten used to this routine, and she tried to reclaim some of the peace she used to feel in the silence. She began to fold up the articles, placing them in the drawers. With this impractically large, new closet, laundry day had become a strenuous task on its own.

He had told her she didn’t need to do all this, and in all honesty it did make her feel like a mix between housewife and maid. But what else was there? It wasn’t safe outside, he’d said. She just had to wait a bit more. She could do that. And she really didn’t like upsetting him–not after everything he’d done for her.

She lost track of the time, humming to herself as she worked, closing the drawers, and moving on to place the rest of the clothes on hangers. The lack of music in her ears had a bitter feeling pull at her heart–he’d just taken her phone without asking. He’d started to do a lot of things without asking. No. He loved her; he’d just wanted to do something nice for her. The bitterness melted onto her heart and burned.

How ungrateful.

She was nearly done now, just the back racks left. As she moved to set the basket down she caught sight of pink nylon–her gym bag on the floor, hidden behind the racks. The burn faded, and nostalgia took its place. She kneeled, pulling it from its place propped up against the since sealed shut cabinet–rats, he had reminded her.

She unzipped the bag, and sorted through the equipment. She pulled out the grip strengthener, smiling a bit, and turned it in her hands, finger running along the crack in the metal.

Crack!

“Oh shit!” He laughed, “My bad.”

“Now, what did you have to go and do that for?” He handed it back to her, and she turned it in her hands, catching sight of the cracked metal, before looking up, and smacking his shoulder.

“Asshole!” She laughed “You know how hard it is to find a quality grip strengthener?”

His brow furrowed as his eyes flickered to the device in her hands, “I dunno,” a sly smile spreading as he shrugged, “All I’m hearin’ is that you’ve never been taught what quality means.” He moved closer, and she shoved his face away.

“Don’t be gross,” Still, she smiled as she pulled back, “I’m still your physical therapist for one more week.”

“Yeah? And then what?” He smirked.

Her smile turned mischievous, “Huh. I’m not sure,” She looked into the distance, as if contemplating something, “Travel the world? Finally learn how to cook? Steal the moon? Who knows, I–ah!”

He pulled her into his lap with a force that had both of the tumbling to the floor, noses touching. A blink. And then they were laughing, her hands by his head, and his hands on her hips. They settled, and she caught sight of an emotion akin to admiration in his eyes,

“I got a few ideas of what you could do.” His eyes flickered to her lips, fingers flexing on her hips.

“Oh yeah?” She sighed a breath onto his lips.

“Yeah,” He puffed out a breath, but contained himself, flipping them over, and smirking as she squealed, “But we’re not leavin’ this room ‘til I show you what quality really means.”

She hadn’t realized she was crying until her tears hit the cool metal. She can’t remember the last time he looked at her like that, with admiration that didn’t equal possession.

She sighed, wiping furiously at her face, and shoved it into the bag. What was the use of stewing over something she had no control of? But still, she couldn’t help the building anger in her chest as she moved to put the bag away. Hide away the memories.

She caught sight of the sealed cabinet, and paused. No. He valued his privacy. And he’d told her rats had gotten in through the wall. She’d never seen rats before. But, he also took her phone without asking, and told her it shattered. She’d never been a heavy sleeper. She tried to ignore the guilt that gnawed at her; it somehow felt wrong to criticize him–he was doing his best.

There was a familiar feeling of nausea mixing with the guilt creating an overwhelming wave of unease that poured over her nerves. Fuck it. She shuffled through her bag. Where was it? Where was it? There.

She pulled a reflex hammer from inside, turning it backwards, testing the sharp metal tip at its base with her finger. Guess you are good for something. She shuffled forwards, scratching at the sealant of the cabinet, brows furrowed in determination, and mouth set in a hard line as she peeled the rubbery substance from the creases. Almost. Closer. Closer. Done.

She sighed, setting the hammer in the bag, hesitating a bit as her fingers curled over the side crease–why was there no handle? It creaked open, and the smell of dust filling her nostrils had her sneezing. Collecting herself, she waved away the dust, squinting as it settled.

Inside lay a wooden box of sorts–crate, maybe?--wooden something. Curious. She pulled it into her lap with some strain, prying off the top, and hissing at the sting under her fingernails as they caught on the edge. It fell off with a thump, and she peered inside.

What is that?

Her breath caught in her throat, eyes wide and trembling. An initialed gym towel. If he’d found it that night…why hadn’t he given this back to her?

And…polaroids? She couldn’t breathe. Was that–No. They were too blurry. Too dark. It couldn’t be…

No. No. No.

A few wads of hair–her hair? She couldn’t breathe. Her heart beat against her ribs, blood flow filling her ears like the roaring wave of unease. Except, it wasn’t unease. Were those her clothes?

This didn’t make sense.

Trembling fingers reached inside, pulling out something soft and cotton. Was that..Was that her underwear?

It wasn’t unease.

It was freezing, burning, suffocating terror. But the break in, that chase, how–how had he–?

“Yeah yeah. I owe ya one. Now fuck off, would you?”

Owe ya one. Oh my god. Oh my fucking god. No. No.

This made perfect sense.

She couldn’t fucking breathe.

What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck.

She dropped the article as if it had burned her skin, falling back on her hands as she scrambled away. She didn’t want to be near that box. She didn’t want to be anywhere near–

A sigh cut her off, and she had to will her frozen limbs to move. All she could manage was the slight turn of her head. It was enough.

He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, and eyes cold–she didn’t know red could be cold–calculating as he scanned the scene.

He clicked his tongue, bringing a hand to his hair, tipping his head back as he ran his fingers through the locks. A slow, deep, building, familiar chuckle. His eyes snapped back to hers, and every nerve in her body burst with fear.

“Now,” He huffed a laugh, smirk pulling at his lips, “What did you have to go and do that for?”

#yandere bnha #yandere bakugou #yandere bakugou katsuki #yandere mha #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere my hero academia #yandere katsuki #yandere bakugo #yandere bakugo katsuki #this is much longer than i planned lol #hope it's alright

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odinsblog · 3 months

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As cold weather sweeps across the U.S., some electric vehicle owners are learning a bitter truth: Low temperatures can stop the cars dead in their icy tracks.

The issue crystallized this week when some Tesla owners in Chicago discovered their EVs' batteries had died in sub-zero temperatures. Drivers also said some of Tesla charging stations weren't working, or if they did work that the stations were taking longer than usual to charge up their vehicles.

“I've been here for over five hours at this point, and I still have not gotten to charge my car,” Tesla driver Brandon Welbourne told CBS Chicago. “A charge that should take 45 minutes is taking two hours.”

What happens to electric vehicles in cold weather?

Here's what to know.

Electric vehicles are less efficient in cold weather, with Recurrent's research finding that below-freezing temperatures reduced driving range up to 30% on 18 popular EV models.

An EV with a 200 to 215 mile range may only go 150 to 175 miles in the cold, Recurrent's Case said, while noting even that reduced mileage is often sufficient for most drivers. “The average person with an EV drives 30 miles a day,” he said.

Still, a shorter range in cold weather could be an issue for some owners if their EV runs out of juice miles earlier than expected, potentially leaving to hunt for an available charger or, worse, stranded in dangerously frigid conditions.

(continue reading) ❄️ 🚗 🥶

#tesla #elon musk #electric vehicles #yikes #as much as i hate those stupid soap bubble looking cars its not just tesla #yeah this might be a prob #lol i think i can wait a bit longer for my ev #i frequently drive to georgia and north carolina and nyc and dc #i couldnt imagine getting stranded on the side of the road in freezing temps #because my charge died about 30% sooner than i planned #and charging stations are so few and far between to begin with #im not knocking the technology but issa problem #❄️ 🚗 🥶

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ok-boomerang · 1 year

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I wanted to write something for @hneyteacup in honor of EJ Day (her birthday), so I wrote a fanfic…of her zk fanfic. You can consider this a pre-canon AU of Den of Dragons, a very fun zutara nightclub AU you should read on ao3.

HBD EJ!!!!!!!

Take My Hand, Wreck My Plans

a zutara fanfic

Nightclubs weren’t really Katara’s scene—at least, she didn’t think they were. She’d never been to one until her brother’s girlfriend, Suki, had insisted they take advantage of the free drinks Sokka could get them as bartender at the Dancing Dragon. And Katara was on vacation after all.

So even though she’d only known Suki for two days, she’d let the other girl prep her for a night out, which involved a scandalous outfit and too-high heels with hair and makeup to match. That’s how she found herself on the dance floor, surrounded by sweaty bodies including that of Suki, the air in the Dancing Dragon crisp from the air conditioner but still humid from the swarm of turning and gyrating people.

“Isn’t this great?!” Suki shouted as she ran a hand through her already-damp auburn hair and then used it to wave to Katara’s brother, Sokka, at the bar. Sokka smiled too wide for his face before turning back to pour another drink. He was lucky—he didn’t look sweaty at all.

“Totally!” Katara cried to Suki, only half truthful as she jumped up and down in time to the music.

However, if Katara was being totally honest…she was checking her phone roughly every ten minutes to see if she’d spent an acceptable amount of time at the club. It’s not that it wasn’t fun—she did like dancing, and the Dancing Dragon seemed a perfect place for it—but the scent of sweat in the air was strong, and Suki kept muttering about fixing her up with one of Sokka’s friends. Yes, she was on vacation, visiting Sokka for a week as respite from her seasonal job—but Katara was not exactly interested in a night with a random stranger eight hours from home.

That was until she saw him.

Katara had just turned away from Suki, away from her brother at the bar, when she locked eyes with a tall man several paces away. He wore long black hair in a neat topknot slick with pomade. The top buttons of his shirt were open, revealing a shiny, golden chain sitting on his collarbone. A small black comb peeked out of the suit pocket where most men would keep a pocket square. Most striking of all was the harsh scar that stretched across his left eye, which could have made his appearance menacing if not for the thoughtful tilt of his mouth and the curious gaze of both golden eyes.

“Let’s dance,” she heard herself say to Suki, her eyes not leaving the stranger’s face. Perhaps he had abnormally good hearing, or perhaps he could read lips, because for some reason his face twisted into an amused smirk as he watched her.

Katara finally tore her eyes away from the man, immediately latching both eyes and arms onto Suki, pulling her next to her so that Katara was in perfect view for anyone standing where that man was standing. Her new friend, delighted at Katara’s sudden interest in dancing at the club, reciprocated immediately. The two of them danced along to a fast-paced beat, Katara trying to mimic Suki’s movements whenever she could, considering that sexy dance moves were not usually part of Katara’s repertoire. But she tried to let herself go, tried to exaggerate each lunge of her hips or sway of her shoulders. It was as if a spirit had possessed her, even though she had no plan for what would or could happen if she indeed caught the man’s attention.

After her and Suki’s display, when the song took a second to fade into another, even faster tune, Katara turned, breath heavy, toward where she had known the man was standing.

He hadn’t moved at all. If Katara was a betting woman, she’d place odds on the possibility that he hadn’t even shifted his gaze from her, so rapt was his attention on her, his expression urgent and downright hungry.

The look on his face made her bold. She crooked her finger in his direction and gestured for him to join her, nerves aflame.

But instead of the man closing the distance between them, he smiled sadly, held up his hands in a gesture of apology, and turned away.

Katara could feel her face flame. Perhaps she hadn’t been as sexy as she had thought. She bit her lip and turned back to Suki, ready to finally flee this club, before she noticed that Suki was also watching the man with interest—Suki had clearly seen everything. Katara felt another wave of embarrassment hit her and opened her mouth to ask the other girl if they could please forget this particular humiliation ever happened, but Suki spoke first.

“Were you just flirting with Zuko?” her brother’s girlfriend asked, something like delight on her face.

Katara’s jaw dropped a bit in her flustered shock. “Oh—um—” she said, struggling to form words. “His name’s—Zuko?”

“Yeah,” said Suki, turning to look at Katara fully, her eyes dancing. “He owns the place—”

“He owns—”

“So if you’re wondering why he didn’t run over here and beg you to grind on him, that’s why.”

“Suki!” Katara hissed between her teeth. “I didn’t—I wasn’t—”

“I wondered why the sudden change of heart, though I wasn’t about to question it,” Suki said thoughtfully, a sly grin forming on her lips. “But “Because Zuko” makes sense.”

“That’s not why—”

“Sure it is!” said Suki, wrapping an arm around Katara’s shoulders and steering her out of the middle of the crowd. “But if you’d like to dance with him, the center of his club probably isn’t your best bet.”

Katara could just see the top of Zuko’s topknot bobbing as he talked to someone else—likely a worker—on the edge of the club.

“People would talk and all,” Suki continued, leaving no space for Katara to contribute to the conversation. “You know, the owner of the club threw himself on an out-of-town beauty”—Katara made a noise in her throat to interrupt, but Suki ignored her—"making a wanton spectacle of his need, that kind of thing.”

Katara was so focused on her rising indignation that she didn’t think to consider where Suki was taking her. In the back of her mind, she must have thought they were going to the bar to refuel, talk, and bother her brother. But Katara barely knew Suki—and this was her downfall.

“You’re much better off grinding on each other upstairs, if you get my meaning—”

“Tui and La, Suki, I’ve never even spoken—” Katara finally yelped, but she was cut off as Suki gave her one last easy smile and then, what happened next seemed to blur together.

Katara was vaguely aware of Suki squeezing her shoulder in an affectionate manner—an apology of sorts, perhaps?—before the girl quickly sidestepped behind Katara, skated her hand from Katara’s shoulder to the small of her back, and shoved.

Katara felt her balance—already shaky on stiletto heels—give out as her feet flew out from under her and she careened forward, screeching in surprise and fear as she collided into something hard, instinctively grabbing it to break her fall.

Katara breathed in relief that she hadn’t split open her head on the concrete floor, and then immediately realized the solid something she had wrapped her hands around was very much a person—a person who was turning around to see what or who was gripping him as tightly as a koalaotter on a tree.

Confused golden eyes met mortified blue ones.

“I am so, so, sorry—” Katara sputtered, trying to ignore the fact that the man smelled amazing. “I, um, I tripped—” she said, standing up straight and glancing behind her to glare or yell at Suki—what was she on about—but the girl was nowhere to be seen.

“I’m glad I could break your fall,” the man—Zuko—replied in a low, raspy voice. Katara wanted to scream at how unfair it was that this man’s voice was somehow just as sexy as the rest of him.

“Yes—um—thank you,” she said, heart still beating rapidly in embarrassment as she met Zuko’s gaze—he was so very close—which led to the belated realization that she was still hugging him tightly.

She jumped back with a squeak, which was not the correct move given her stilettos. Her foot twisted as she landed so that one heel slipped out from beneath her shoe and she lurched to the side, sure that she could die from embarrassment as she fell once again in front of the man she had tried and failed to flirt with.

But Zuko was suddenly next to her, grasping her arm and holding her steady as her shoes continued to wobbly. “Careful now,” he said as he watched her, “or you might have to keep me around.” Katara felt her insides freeze up at that line—and then Zuko froze as well before sputtering, “I mean, to catch you if you fall, not in a creepy way…unless you wanted—not that you’d want a creep around you, I just mean—”

But Katara’s inhibitions suddenly died as she melted at the endearingly awkward display, feeling much lighter as Zuko’s own cheeks heated in embarrassment.

“I know what you meant,” she said with a gentle smile that she hoped would calm him, all too pleased that she now had the upper hand—though Zuko was still the one holding her upper arm.

“Cool,” Zuko breathed. “Um, Zuko here,” he said with a small wave with his other hand, before instantly cringing. Katara’s heart seemed to miss a beat at the adorable introduction, her confidence and her want growing in sync.

“Katara,” she said firmly, making no attempt to move from her position in Zuko’s grip.

“Katara,” said Zuko with a small smile. “I know I’ve heard that name before,” he said, crinkling his nose in thought. “It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly, inching herself forward a bit—so that he could hear her over the din of the club, of course.

It was this movement that seemed to clue Zuko into the fact that he was still holding onto her. He jumped and stared at her arm in his hand before his gaze flew to Katara, who grinned and shrugged as if to say, “I’m comfortable.”

The smile slowly returned to Zuko’s face, and Katara could swear she saw the moment his confidence returned as well, as if his presence had actually expanded. “You caught my eye earlier,” he said in that same low rasp he’d greeted her with. “I wish I could have joined you but…I’m sort of working.”

“Sort of?” Katara asked in her sultriest voice, which any other time would have made her wince in embarrassment, but she pushed away those instincts and instead focused on the fact that Zuko’s attention was fixed onto her, that same hungry expression on his face.

“Well, I’m—a little in charge, here—” he said, breaking their eye contact for a second to gesture toward the club at large with a small glance. Katara resisted the urge to snort at “a little in charge”—he owned the place, but perhaps he felt self-conscious about revealing that. She didn’t feel the need to challenge him.

“If you’re sort of working, but you’re a little in charge—perhaps you could take a break?” she suggested, moving that much closer to him so that her chest was barely touching his.

“I think I could do that”—he took a shallow breath—“yeah.”

Katara felt a little high on the power she had to wreck Zuko’s breathing while barely touching him. In the haze of that, she pressed her chest further into him, delighting in the clear restraint on Zuko’s face.

She wanted to watch that restraint falter. “Dance with me,” she whispered.

Zuko only took the time to give her a quick nod before he was using his grip on her arm to pull her into the darkest corner of the club—which, considering the already dim lights, was saying something.

Away from the crowd, just another body in the dark to the clubgoers, it was clear that Zuko felt he could actually let loose, because he pressed her against him as they swayed in time together. Katara, however, quickly turned around and pressed her hips against him, allowing him the perfect opportunity to snake his arms down her sides and clutch at the thin fabric barely covering her thighs. She reached up one hand, intent on running it through his hair, before she remembered the topknot. Without asking, she pulled his hair free, and relished the tiny moan she earned as she combed her fingers through the length of hair that was now tickling her neck. They danced like that for what felt like hours—what may have been hours—but time seemed to stop making any sense at all in the club, which may have been some sort of exception in the space-time continuum, a place where time didn’t exist.

All anger at Suki had mysteriously evaporated. She loved Suki like a sister. The girl was definitely her very best friend.

Katara lowered the hand in Zuko’s hair to curl it around his neck and he slid his fingers repetitively over her stomach, giving Katara the impression that he would very much like to remove the dress covering it. She judged that assessment was 100% correct when she felt warm lips on the back of her neck, hesitant but refusing to stray from her skin. When he opened his mouth to drag his tongue across the dip between her neck and shoulder, Katara inhaled a shaky breath and made one more reckless decision.

“I’m staying very close to here…if you’d like to come home with me,” she said in a low voice, and though the music was loud, she was sure that he heard her by the way he stiffened against her.

“I would very much like,” Zuko whispered in her ear. “But I’ll do you one better—my apartment is just above the club. We don’t even have to go outside.”

Katara raised her eyebrows in surprise and twisted toward him, momentarily dimming the sexy atmosphere. “No way! I’m staying just above the club too—I didn’t realize there were multiple apartments up there.”

Zuko pursed his lips at her, his eyes narrowed in confusion. “There’s—not—” he said, before his eyes widened comically and he jumped back and away from her with a screech not unlike how she had jumped back from him earlier in the evening.

“What?” she bit out, barely concealing the hurt and humiliation at having this man jump back from her—

“I’m sorry,” Zuko said quickly. “I just didn’t realize—you’re Katara, that Katara—”

“What do you mean, that Katara?” she asked in a shrill voice.

“I mean—not that—you’re Sokka’s sister,” Zuko said, wringing his hands and looking around them as if expecting Sokka to pounce on him any moment.

“Is that a problem?” Katara countered, jutting her hands on her hips.

“No—of course not—it’s just—Sokka—well, he’s my roommate, and he’s been very clear about anyone who touches his little sister—”

Katara would have chuckled at the coincidence that Sokka was Zuko’s roommate if not for her rising anger.

“That sexist pig,” she seethed. “As if I can’t make my own decisions.” She glared at Zuko as if she were challenging him to prove he wasn’t a sexist pig too. “So that’s it then, you don’t want to touch me because my brother said you couldn’t?”

“No—no—” said Zuko, at once bridging the distance between them and putting his hands on her shoulders. He placed his chin on the dip of her right shoulder. “I very much want to touch you,” he said in a husky voice that tickled her ear.

“But you can’t, because your friends with my brother?” she retorted, forcing away the urge to melt into him.

“I didn’t say that,” Zuko said, moving his head back to look at her, and even in the low light Katara could finally see how dark Zuko’s eyes had grown. “You can make your own decisions,” he said passionately. “I’m a feminist.”

Katara snorted at that, ready to roll her eyes at the man in front of her, but in an instant he had gently tugged her to follow him, coursing through the smaller crowds of people in the dark part of the Dancing Dragon and pushing open a nondescript door that led to a dimly-lit stairwell.

“So—speaking of making your own decisions—” he said, a bit of awkwardness returning now that an exit had been revealed.

“Yes, I’ve made it,” she said, all annoyance gone and replaced with gentle encouragement. Katara now took the lead, pulling Zuko along behind her and smiling to herself with satisfaction as he kicked the door closed behind him.

When they finally reached (his) room and he melted back into her, lips kissing her furiously now they had privacy, he breathed “I love women’s rights.” Katara shoved him lightly, but still smiled against his chuckles.

#zutara #zuko x katara #zutara fanfiction #zutara fic #atla fanfiction #atla fanfic #zuko #katara #modern au #den of dragons au #this is so much longer than I planned #lol sorry #a happy EJ Day to all!

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allylikethecat · 1 month

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Chapters: 5/6 Fandom: The 1975 (Band) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: George Daniel/Matthew Healy Characters: George Daniel, Matthew Healy, Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character(s), Original Child Character(s) Additional Tags: Christmas, Meeting the Parents, Angst and Hurt/Comfort Series: Part 4 of The Infection 'Verse Summary:

“Yeah,” said Matty, pulling his hand away from George’s to run it through his hair. If there was one thing he was good at, it was doubling down, even if usually that just made it worse.

“Christmas, what are your plans for Christmas?” Matty swallowed hard, feeling very small all of a sudden and like he was baring a piece of his soul, “because I would very much like to spend it together.”

“Oh,” said George and Matty wanted to die right then and there.

AKA The Christmas Fic™️

#allylikethecat #Happy Tuesday!#the Christmas fic #It's Christmas #The Infection Fic Verse #The infection verse fic #the infection verse #infection verse fic #infection fic verse #infection verse #its finally almost done!!#thank you so much for all of the patience and support as we worked through this one #wow has it taken much longer and also ended up much longer than initially planned #also fun fact this part five is totally different from the one i had outlined #fictional!Matty went em no and then went rogue and just decided he was gonna do his own thing #so here is his and fictional!george's own thing #fictional!george is such an enabler #can you imagine if after all that the last few days this wasnt the fic i updated lol #also i really hope i dont let anyone down #im worried i got too excited and over hyped this #please let me know your thoughts #and thank you for being so kind and patient and supportive #i appreciate it more than you know!

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coldercreation · 1 year

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(--)

“That will be rough on your knees, pet,” Kit said quietly, reaching out a hand to bury in Nathan’s unruly hair. The office had the same hardwood floors as the rest of the flat, and the small rug in the room didn’t reach under the chair and the desk. “The pillows are on the sofa…”

Nathan leaned his head against Kit’s palm, nose finding the secondary scent gland on his wrist. The silently puffing breaths felt ticklish on Kit’s skin, but the sensation disappeared when Nathan firmly rubbed his cheek over the scent-source in clear mine - mine - want.

“‘s okay, I like it… like this, I mean,” Nathan said then, looking away from Kit’s eyes just to mouth over his wrist a little, nibbling before a soft bite.

Kit’s chest rumbled.

Nathan’s omega responded with an airy, barely there whimper.

“Y’like it when it hurts a little?” Kit asked, voice roughened by the growl. His fingers twisted into Nathan’s hair as if they had a mind of their own, but he didn’t take it further from there, just left it as a hint of a suggestion.

(--)

KIT-NAT | Rating: E | Current word count: 3729

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rotworld · 2 years

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Vermundr's Pack: With Your Tail Between Your Legs

someone asked:

Hello! How are you? I have a question, how would the pack react if reader left to walk a little and came back really hurt?

it depends on how they got hurt. if it was an accident, getting scraped up in the woods, they'd be fussed over for a while and might have a chaperone for a bit. misadventure is part of life, they've all been there and won't stop you from exploring. but if their human gets attacked...

vermundr's pack/reader (mostly featuring vermundr and ormkell). contains gore, hurt/comfort, pack dynamics, mild feral behavior.

Dusk casts heavy shadows as it drapes across the sky. The trees are silhouettes, black birdcage bars against the molten spill of the setting sun. The pack has lived and hunted here for years, engraving their favored paths into the dirt, but these familiar trails vanish as night creeps in. Places where the grass is thin and parted are hidden beneath the latticed shadow of the swaying canopy. It doesn’t matter. You know the way home.

Home, you think, bemused. When did you start calling it that? You lean against gnarled bark and rest for a moment, catching your breath. You can hear it—a steady trickle, like the last, stubborn drops of rain at the storm’s end. There’s a red blotch on the shoulder of your tunic, a blooming stain spreading slowly across your back. It throbs and oozes. You feel for the wound and hiss, squeezing your eyes shut. It’s raw and deep and feels like fire. If you looked, would you see bone? It’s awful. You feel nauseous and dizzy. Home. You need to get home.

At dusk, they light lanterns of pine wood and rawhide. The light is faint and ghostly, a curling glow like will-o’-the-wisps. It’s not for them. Wolves see just fine in the dark. But every night, without fail, the lanterns are placed throughout the clearing where the den waits. It’s these faint, warm lights that call to you through the trees, that guide you when your vision swims and your knees start to buckle.

You hear the wolves before you see them. There are guests tonight, another pack from further west. A few of them roughhouse in the clearing, yipping and biting playfully at one another as they slip easily from human to wolf, wolf to human. Styrmir’s boisterous laughter echoes as he plays dice with a large, intoxicated group and Ragni has a group of pups enraptured with stories of the pack’s last raid.

It’s Vermundr who scents you on the wind first. He wears little in the warmer months, the sprawling ink of his tattoos on full display across his chest. He stiffens at the mouth of the den and you think he says something in their language, a rumbling sound that brings the festivities to a halt. You limp through thick foliage and brambles, your breathing shallow. Vermundr has already crossed the clearing when you emerge, his arms open, catching you just as your legs give out. Together, you sink to the ground.

“Rabbit?” he says. His voice is low and calm, but you can feel the pounding of his heart as he cradles your head to his chest.

“Humans,” you manage to tell him, squeezing the word through gritted teeth. Your word choice has him bristling. The wolves don’t think of the raiders as humans. They are allies, hunting kin, furless siblings. They have many names for them, but never “human.” What hurt you was something you thought you’d never see again.

“Ragni,” Vermundr says.

The other wolf is at his side in an instant, kneeling, peeling off your tunic. It’s ripped and sticky by your shoulder and you whine at the sting when it peels loose. Ragni hushes you, kisses your forehead and whispers soft reassurances. “I know. I know it hurts, rabbit. I’m so sorry.” There’s movement around you, murmurs and growls.

Wolves, some you know and some you don’t, gather at a distance. You hurt too much to be shy about your exposed chest. Vermundr keeps you steady and grounded, his hands on your hips and his gaze never leaving yours. You wince and whimper as Ragni examines your shoulder. Vermundr presses his forehead to yours as though trying to take your pain onto himself.

There’s a flurry of movement nearby, a rush of footsteps. A whimper, and then someone else is beside you, squeezing in opposite Ragni. “No,” you hear, a hoarse, miserable whisper. You know your mate’s voice anywhere. Ormkell is fidgeting, restless, wanting to touch but not wanting to hurt you or get in Ragni’s way. He rakes his claws through the dirt out of desperation, needing to touch something, to hurt something for how you’ve been hurt.

“Deep and uneven,” Ragni murmurs. “Hatchet wound.”

Vermundr’s next breath is nearly a snarl. He says something in a tone reserved for orders and the other pack scatters, a stampede of half-shifted wolves streaming into the woods. Slowly, as though you’re made of glass, he gathers you up and hands you to Ormkell. Your mate trembles. He stands, cradling you against his chest. He scents you desperately, nuzzles against your face and your neck. “What do I do?” he says, his voice quivering. He’s asking the alpha. He wants orders. He wants something, anything to anchor him and help him focus.

Vermundr looks at your blood on his hands. “There are several things that need to be done, Ormkell,” he says. “I will tell you these things, and you will do them.” Ormkell nods eagerly. You cling to him, smearing blood across his chest, and it only makes him hold you tighter. Styrmir claps a hand on his shoulder and squeezes. He brushes your bangs away from your sweat-soaked forehead and then he’s gone. You hear his gait change as he shifts, sprinting after the others. “Your mate needs healing. Ragni will remain here and help you administer the proper herbs and salves. Then they must eat and rest. We will all go to the baths together once the hunt ends. You must guard them, and the den, in my absence. Do you understand? Will you do these things?”

“Yes,” Ormkell says, breathing again. “Yes, alpha. Thank you.”

Hjalti passes him at the doors of the den, half-shifted, claws long and hooked. “If I find one with a hatchet,” he says, “I’ll bring him back for you.” They touch briefly, a quick, nuzzling motion. Ormkell makes a sound of gratitude and brings you inside.

You stiffen when Ormkell reaches the nest and begins to lower you. “Blood,” you say, weak and tired. “My blood…I don’t…” You don’t want to ruin this special place.

Your mate’s expression softens with understanding. He lays down with you, curled up at your side. “I don’t care if you stain the pelts, rabbit,” he murmurs, stroking your cheek. “We have many. We can always get more. There’s only one of you.” The kiss is chaste, too quick for your liking. Ormkell lingers only a breath away, studying you, holding you close. “I’ll be back,” he promises. “With something to ease the pain. I’ll take care of you, I promise. I won’t leave your side.” He fumbles with the furs wrapped around his waist, untangling one from the rest. He leaves it draped over you, a small blanket still warm with his body heat. It’s with great reluctance that he pulls away, and you hear him and Ragni speaking in hushed tones just outside.

You hold the fur against your face. It smells like him. You smile, even through the pain.

You made it home. You’re going to be okay.

#rotpeach writes #rotpeach answers #ulfhednar #you guys have such fun ideas for these werewolves lol and theyre fun to work on between longer pieces #heres a rough estimate of stuff in progress #eirian piece is probably half done #theres a secondary character getting introduced in his who demanded more of the spotlight than i planned so its taking a bit #avici finale is in progress but honestly not sure how much of it is done lol its also probably going to be long #tpof fics are on the backburner due to whatever is possessing me right now but mason fic is about halfway done #and i have very early drafts of something for jack and another for the announcer #theres also an original nasty sci piece that im Very Excited about but its becoming a much more ambitious project #so it'll be a bit before thats ready

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ardate · 7 months

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hi random ask coming through look around you what's the closest item you have there that you want to talk to me about. like a cool poster or a mug or something!!!!!!

Saw your post when I was in my kitchen, and this was the coolest item next to me, resting on my shelf.

What looks like a simple tiny vase of some sort, is actually a shell from the first world war. Soldiers would recuperate shells that had fallen all around on the battlefield, empty them of any remaining gunpowder, and use them to create art - carving intricate decorations as a way to pass time when they were stuck in the dug-outs for days.

Decorated shells are the most famous exemples of trench art.

At the bottom of this one you can see this specific shell was manufactured on september 1917, for infantry use (the grenade symbol on the right, as opposed to marine or anti-air use for instance)

My friend gifted this to me after we spent a week visiting the area around Verdun last winter, as a strange sort of pilgrimage. It was odd and emotional, and this week felt like it lasted a month, but it was good.

#ww1 #trench art #asks #ww1 is my suspiciously cishet male interest but i swear im normal about it lol #im not a crier but got severely teary eyed because of a handwritten and handpainted postcard by a father to his daughter we saw at a museum #he had sent it alongside carved toys he had made out of wood just for her #it was so dripping with love. so so much. i don't have the words for it #and the note from the museum described the object and ended by saying this man died on the no man's land and never returned home #what a massacre. so much heartbreak #and through it all people still made art #anyway hBGHB this got longer than i planned but god can i get rambling at times #thank you sm for the ask!!

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moonlit-mystery-writer · 14 days

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@myrmyrtheorca Decided to make it a separate post to ramble more! Now onto Bel’s and Rasiel’s mother!

Small trigger warning for character death and pregnancy. And their dad being really shitty, but not quite abusive? (At least from my knowledge what he does isn’t quite abuse, just really shitty.)

Skin as white as snow, wavy and long hair as dark as ebony wood, eyes that dazzle like polished rubies, and lips as red as blood.

To most, an interesting beauty to behold. But to the small village she grew up in, in the secret and unnamed country (I do have a headcanon name for Bel’s and Rasiel’s country, but that can be for another day) Lisette Bruyère was a complete outcast. Being very sickly also didn’t help her. Even so, she remained pleasant and kind to those around her. In her times alone, she quickly figured out she could do minor illusions. Nothing massive, but small things like glimmering lights. Unbeknownst to her, she was a Mist flame.

Years later, after the new king takes over the kingdom, King Armoniel is set on finding his queen. Known for his cold, cruel ways much like all the rulers before, so no one in his kingdom was eager to offer him a bride.

So when no one else wanted to sacrifice their daughters to the king, Lisette was forced to take the role. By the village basically threatening to her father’s business, the only thing helping her family make money. She wasn’t happy with this. Who could be? But she did it for the sake of her father.

Unfortunately for her! King Armoniel falls for her near instantly, quickly taking her back to his castle. Now don’t mistake this for true love, it’s ultimately just a deep obsession. All the King wanted was to own her as a possession. Even so, he made sure others feared her as his Queen and showered her in any gifts he deemed worthy.

Her opinion mattered very little to him. After all, why should he care that the silver he adorns her and himself with causes her discomfort at best and rashes at worst. He’s the king after all, he only needs to think about himself. In fact, most of the time he was away from the castle as a whole, never spending much time with her. Everything about her new life as Queen was very draining for Lisette. She felt lonelier than ever despite how many servants were around to wait on her hand and foot. She was often described as a living ghost haunting the castle.

Armoniel’s behavior towards her didn’t improve until it was time for heirs in his eyes. Then he shifted his attention fully to her for multiple months, doing everything he can for her and even giving her his most loyal butler; Olgert. Lisette wasn’t stupid though, she knew his intentions fully well. But… She allowed it. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t want children. Even if her situation isn’t ideal.

Part of her was hoping she could turn her country around with the next heirs. Maybe all the royal family needed is to be cared for by tender hands and held with love. Through out her pregnancy with the twins, she’d prattle on and on about them and her hopes for them. She hardly knew them, but she loved her sons with all her heart.

In fact, she never got to know her sons at all. Her previous health issues caught her by the end of her pregnancy, causing an early labor by a week. While Rasiel and Bel survived, Lisette was not as lucky despite doctors best attempts.

Armoniel was upset over his wife’s death, but more in the way of someone losing their favorite decoration would be than full mourning. Either way, he reacted by having all pictures removed of her except for an expensive and large portrait he had traditionally painted for their wedding. That portrait was all the twins had to know their mother. No one truly spoke of her to them, especially not their father.

They grew up under the her portrait’s watchful eyes. Eyes they shared with her, hidden under their bangs.

#katekyo hitman reborn #khr #khr oc #khr belphegor #khr rasiel #this took much longer to write than I planned lol #it’s probably a mess lol

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cream-and-tea · 10 months

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happy sts! what would happen if your main characters swapped roles?

@rydykg

oohhhhh this is a really interesting one i’m actually gonna have to think about it for a bit. ty for the ask!!! apologies in advance for how long this will probably get!!!!!

hmm okay okay okay. i’d imagine an agnes who was put in pallases place would like. extremely worn down and probably a lot more jaded. i don’t think she really has the propensity towards lashing out and biting sharpness that pallas does and it’s a LOT harder for her to feign indifference, but she definitely wouldn’t be soft in any way either. her position as The Library’s top student and being used to do everything the director doesn’t want to dirty her hands with would leave her just. incredibly depressed and lethargic. and don’t get me wrong pallas is experiencing depths of self hatred uncategorizable by man, but i feel like roleswap!agnes would lack a lot of the persona they try to put on to cover it. she wouldn’t put time into the I Feel Like I’m The Worst So I Act Like I’m The Best act or effort into trying to seem cruel and controlled, mostly being very straightforward and grim in the work she does. agnes is absolutely desperate to be Seen and Loved and if anything, considering how her relationship with pallas plays out in canon, she’d be even more codependently attached to the director than they are and place her in much more of a surrogate parent role, probably bothering her a lot and wanting to spend time with her even when it’s not mission or training related. in general a roleswap!agnes would be much more likely to try and seek out connection and relationships instead of self-sabotaging every single social interaction the way pallas does. pallas tries to see everything as impersonal where agnes sees EVERYTHING as personal and that wouldn’t really change. i can definitely see her sadly spying on the regular students and classes and leaning on fiver for company in a way pallas would never do. she’d be much quieter, much more withdrawn and just incredibly weary with the world and her place in it. she’s even more aware than pallas that something is Fundamentally Wrong here, but is just so exhausted that she can’t bring herself to try and fix it. also for some reason the idea of her doing so much violent murder is funny to me like. the gawky teenage girl with the biggest, wettest, saddest brown eyes you have ever seen walks up to you and then bam. 50000000 ghosts ripping u apart limb from limb.

as for PALLAS i feel like so many of their already-existing neuroses would become greatly exasperated if they switched places with agnes and as a result somehow managed to have even LESS regular human contact than they already did before. especially in terms of their social ineptitude like. if you thought they were garbage at interacting with people before then prepare to be horrified and amazed at how roleswap!pallas, who has only interacted with two Actual Living People in their entire life, can run any and all conversations into the ground without even trying! there’s. uh. also the fact that agnes was raised Very Very fantasy-apocalypse-flavoured-catholic and i can see that kinda filling the place of The Library Cause that pallas clings to in canon. it would also make the gender thing a whole new flavour of Fucked Up And Incredibly Complicated that would play a pretty massive role in their arc that it doesn’t really in lmd proper. i do think that the whole not-having-committed-actual-murder thing would go a long way towards pallas not being as guarded, so they’d probably be a lot more unabashedly annoying and awkward and not so absolutely beaten down, but their relationship to their powers would almost be completely flipped on it’s head. they’d still be basing their entire identity and self worth off of them don’t get me wrong, expect instead of their magic being something they strive to perfect and control and being seen as prodigy roleswap!pallas would like. pull their powers out with their bare hands if they could. there’s no way with the general Atmosphere of agness upbringing combined with pallas paranoia would result in anything less then a violent repulsion towards any and all magic. and this would lead to a really interesting change of in events at the beginning of the story. because listen. agnes is a good kid but she’s also hardwired for Survival At All costs, which is what enabled her to join The Library and also do so (kinda sorta not really) of her own volition. in contrast pallas will pick a hill and die on it no matter how much it’ll damage them in the long term, so in a roleswap they’d probably have to be very literally dragged there kicking and screaming and resisting basically every step of the way, trying to deny that they see agnes as a person, much less that they’re starting to grow close to her and care about her wellbeing. which like. i didn’t think i could make that relationship any more fucked up then it already is but here we are ig.

#the dynamic i’m picturing for this swap is pallas being full panic mode thinking like. ‘she’s plotting to kill me. this is the face of a #murderous witch. she’s tried to work her evil magic on me well it woNT WORK! I WILL RESIST!#I WILL NEVER TAKE PART IN YOUR EVIL PLAN YOU VILLIA-‘#and it cuts to agnes staring blankfaced out of the window suffering from the horrors rotating #mama by mcr in her head on a 24hr loop #also wow that’s WAY longer than i thought i am so sorry #these two just already have so much going on lol it’s hard to be concise #like the parallels are already off the fucking charts #creme gets an ask #wip: ghost story #pallas and agnes

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alectoperdita · 11 months

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What creative hobbies does your interpretation of Joey and Kaiba (in general) have or do? Like for example, drawing, creative writing, 3D modelling, sculpting, woodworking, etc

I do remember reading one of your chapters from the gundam crossover series where joey did sketches lol

I don't think I really have a consistent view of creative hobbies for these two. In fact I don't seem to write a lot about them having creative hobbies unless it's directly plot relevant. Ironic, given 90% of my life outside of work revolves around my creative hobby.

Canonically in the manga, Jounouchi is mentioned as enjoying plamos. Which makes a lot of sense to me that he likes making stuff with your hand. It's also hard to have a lot of creative hobbies when growing up poor. So I can see Jounouchi wanting to make a lot of stuff like plamos and kits, but that shit gets expensive fast if you do the whole painting bit too. One of the pleasures of growing up and making your own money for Jounouchi will be getting to explore those hobbies he might have always wanted to but couldn't because of financial reason. That opens the door to related hobbies like painting/sculpting/woodworking.

(Related, I love making Jounouchi a carpenter. I think it's an excellent trade for him to pick up, giving him both room to grow and decent financial security).

Conversely, traditional sketch art/doodling is relatively inexpensive and a much lower barrier to entry re: tools. So that's why I think drawing/sketching is a nice hobby that Jounouchi could pick up and enjoy earlier on. In the Gundam crossover, that combination of a love for plamo and sketching definitely informed his career choice.

I think Jounouchi enjoys singing too, but he probably thinks of it less as a hobby than as a way to goof around. He's pretty good too when we take into account his Japanese VA's singing career.

Kaiba, on the other hand, lived a life of (relative) financial security. However, given how strict his education was, I dunno if he was ever given much of the mental space to explore creative hobbies. Art might have been seen a frivolous waste of time within his home schooled education. The one exception to that might be music. I can see Gozaburo insisting on Kaiba learning an instrument or two. But at that point it's more about developing a skill set to show off (and maybe me projecting the Asian experience of your parent forcing you to pick up an instrument because that's classically considered part of a well-rounded education in many East Asian cultures). Violin or piano are the most likely candidates here. Kaiba is good at them, because he has to be. He can't not learn it well if Gozaburo is invested in that part of his education.

How much he personally enjoys it is up for debate.

Definitely one of those things that I imagine falls quickly to the wayside once he's out from under Gozaburo's control. But that also offers opportunities for him to maybe rediscover it later in life, after his skill set had rusted a bit from lack of practice, and learn to enjoy the hobby for itself while relearning the ropes.

A lot of the creative hobbies I've written for Kaiba follow the same development model, including tea ceremony and calligraphy.

I guess that makes them both kinda comparable, because they've each lived a life of scarcity in their youths (more financial for Jounouchi, and emotional deprivation for Kaiba) that robbed them of opportunities to explore their creative sides. As they heal and grow, they can begin to explore those possibilities for themselves.

#replies #nanoseven #thanks for such a thought provoking ask #I originally thought I wouldn't have much to say but uhhh #this is longer than I first planned (like all my fics lol)#joukai asks

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