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revasserium · 7 months

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Zoro and the hunter's heart (as, you know, he's a former pirate hunter... nudge nudge)

send me one + a character and i'll write u a drabble

a hunter's heart

opla!zoro; 6,553 words; fairytale retelling!au, fem!reader, no "y/n", hunter!zoro, fluff and angst (only a bit), hurt/comfort (kinda), mentions of witches and magic and curses

summary: there are some stories that the world can't stop telling

a/n: i should know better by now than to think an opla zoro fic could be anything but too involved... ╮(￣▽￣"")╭ tagging @dira333 bc its ur request and @bby-deerling bc u were kind enough to ask <3

It is a sordid tale, to hear the villager’s old witch tell it — one near and dear as the rise of the sun in the east, the set of the moon in the west, old as time itself. Because you see, there are some stories so ancient and so integral to the world that it bears, nay demands, retelling, reliving. Stories so stanch and certain that they wear groves into the truth of the world by the tracks they trail, over and over and over again. Stories that the world can never stop telling, no matter how hard it might want to or try.

This is one such tale.

“Take her into the forest — and bring me back her heart,” commanded the Queen.

The hunter had knelt before his queen and bowed his head, his swords heavy at his side. Inside his chest, his own heart was thundering, thundering. A storm brewing within the depths of his soul. But he’d schooled his expression straight and taken his orders.

You were nothing more than a kitchen maid, but you had the most beautiful voice he’d ever heard. All morning, he could hear it echoing through the cool stone halls as you went about your baking of the day’s fresh bread, your churning of the week’s soft butter. He’d lean against the wall just outside the kitchens to listen, to let the music of your voice wash over the ragged edges of his soul, to soothe his frayed ends, to mend what parts might have been broken.

Sometimes, he’d find himself wandering toward the gardens in the back of the castle grounds just to catch an echo of your voice near the wells, where he knows you’ll be in the early afternoons, collecting water for the day’s dinner service. Sometimes, he thinks he can hear it over the clink and clash of swords as he spars with his fellow knights and hunters, and he’d catch himself slowing, almost stilling, and those are the only times anyone’s ever managed to get the upper hand on him.

“C’mon doll, give us another tune.”

“Yeah, sweetheart, sing us a sea shanty! Or another one of your show tunes!”

Zoro frowns as he rounds the corner one day to find a few young knights leaning against the castle wall, towering over where you’re standing, a half-filled bucket of water clutched in your hands. He’s about to intervene when he hears the sound of splashing water, and a second later, the young knights are stumbling back, squawking with indignation as you huff, wiping your hands daintily on your apron.

“So sorry, seems like my hand’s slipped —” you drop into a rather sardonic curtsy before marching passed the stunned young men, leaving them blinking and drenched in your wake. Zoro chuckles, the sound making both of them whirl around, color rising ruddy into their cheeks. They sober immediately as they meet Zoro’s eyes.

He cocks an eyebrow, looking them over.

“S-sorry sir… we just — we were uh —”

“Just leaving,” the second knight supplies as he grabs the first by the arm and tugs him back out into the courtyard.

Zoro watches them go with a muted amusement twisting his lips before turning back to find you peering up at him with a bright, steely light in your eyes. Your shoulder is pressed to the edge of the wall, your body half-hidden behind it as if you’re uncertain of what he might do. As if you’re uncertain of him.

“Sorry about them…” Zoro dips his head, suddenly very aware of how he must seem to you — just another one of the Queen’s toy soldiers, gilded in gold, touched by the sly silver of her cool, slithering magic. Would you think he’d be like them — like those bumbling idiots who couldn’t tell a board sword from a longsword? Who thought braveness and bravado one and the same? And suddenly, the thought that you might sickens him, and he swallows hard, hurrying to explain.

“Not all of us are…” Zoro’s voice trails off as he casts about for the right word — idiots? “Like them”? Neither seems to do it all justice.

He watches as you take half a step out from behind the stone wall’s cover and drop into a slight curtsey.

“I know.” And there’s a bright sheen to the soft whisper of your voice, a certainty that Zoro can’t quite place. And he knew then as he knows now that you — you are just a bit different. Just a bit more than he’d ever given you thought or credit for. Perhaps that was his mistake — he makes a mental note not to make it again.

“I know you’re not…” you wave a light hand towards where the other two knights had stumbled away, and the pinkness in your cheeks makes Zoro’s stomach do a few choice flips he’d never remembered his own stomach capable of till now.

There’s a moment’s pause, and then — you both break into laughter at the same time — him, a tad self-conscious, you, unbidden and bright as birdsong.

“You have a beautiful voice.”

“Your sparring form is really nice.”

You both speak at the same time, and in the startled quiet that stretches right after, Zoro finds himself held still by the weight of your eyes, the heaviness of your gaze as it rests on him, wide and startled and… almost pleased. He clears his throat and tries again —

“I hear you all the time —”

“I see you sometimes —”

It happens again, and when you both pause this time, he can see the burgeoning smile threatening to spill over your petal-pink lips; he can feel his own smile breaking like ice in spring’s first thaw.

“I don’t know much about music but —”

“It looks like you’re dancing —”

By the third time, Zoro’s starting to wonder if you’re doing this on purpose, or perhaps he is — because what wouldn’t he do to keep on basking in the sunshine of your laughter, to soak in the brilliance of your smile? What stars and moons and planets wouldn’t conspire to align just for another chance to glance into the midnight dark of your eyes, as depthless as any sea, as wide as any self-respecting night?

“Well —” Zoro clears his throat; you purse your lips and wait for him to finish, “I’ve never danced…”

Mischief hinges on the edge of your smile as you peer up at him through your lashes, “You should try it sometime. I hear it’s quite the workout.”

And there’s something singing beneath the sweetness of your voice that hints at a darker, more intimate meaning to the word dance, but Zoro stops himself before his mind can unspool entirely. He sucks in a breath and chews over the words now sitting solid and unwieldy on his tongue —

“I’ve always thought dancing… required music and —” he swallows and forces his sentence onward like shepherding a stubborn and reluctant bull, “a partner.”

You let your held lilt sideways, watching him like a bird on a branch might consider a squirrel on the ground.

“It’s just… I’ve never quite had either before,” he hurries to explain, feeling heat creeping into his cheeks and finally, he forces his eyes away from you, glancing up towards the piercingly blue sky, completely devoid of clouds. He curses inwardly, his eyes wandering for something — anything — to latch onto that’s not you and your mesmerizing eyes, with the universe caught behind them, or your lips, shaped so much like the answer to a question he hadn’t realized he’d been asking for his whole, entire life.

He watches as you square your shoulders and take a half-step into his personal space, just the tips of your toes grazing into the proximity of too close and at the same time not nearly close enough — then, you dip into a curtsey, lowering your eyes so he has nothing to ground himself on except for the brief breath of your skin, the waft of your hair sweeping down over your shoulders, smelling so much like cotton and milk, salt and honey.

“But now, from where I’m standing…” you look up, and your smile is so much poisoned apples and cyanide, “you’ve got both, don’t you?”

Zoro sucks in a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, his head spinning for a second too long and he almost stumbles. Almost. But he catches himself, and when he does, his body moves as a marionette on a string — as if his arms and legs already knew what his mind had for so long kept from him —

He dips into a bow, sweeping one arm over his stomach, the other out to the side. And there’s no dull, discordant clank of armor because hunters and soldiers are made different. Fighters, both, but hunters require a different kind of bloodlust, are a different strain of heartless.

You let out a soft laugh and Zoro wonders if there’s any better music in the world as he offers you his hand. You take it, and he draws your body near with reverent palms, exhaltant fingers — he can almost feel the wild birdwing beat of your heart fluttering in your chest, supplemented by the thundering of his own much more well-trained heartbeat, but even so, the dull pulse of it makes him feel heady with excitement — thump, thump, thump.

And slowly, ever so slowly, the pair of you begin to dance. At first, just to the soft inhale and exhale of your breaths and his. And then, you smile up at him, a startling, chest-piercing, swan-song thing — as you begin to sing.

His first step is hesitant, and the second less so. By the third, Zoro feels his shoulders flattening out and his chest rising as he clasps your palms against his and takes the lead. You let him, with a tinkling laugh, your smile light and bright as daybreak. Your feet skip like pebbles across a mirror lake, and by the time he lets you go, the midday sun is beating down over the castle grounds and the lunch bell is ringing off in the distance. You skip out of his reach and drop into another curtsey —

“Seems like it’s past time for me to go.”

“But —” Zoro bites back the urge to chase after you, his body surging forward to try and stay within the warmth of your orbit.

“Tomorrow,” you breathe, your cheeks a bit too pink, grinning up at him with mischief in your eyes, “after the morning meal… I think I might have some more water to collect.”

You shoot him a meaningful wink as you sweep by him, humming beneath your breath as you go. You brush by him with a sweep of skirt-tails, and it’s a full minute before Zoro can form a coherent thought, whipping around to see the shadow of you disappearing around the corner of the long corridor that leads down to the kitchens.

Up above, neither of you sees the Queen with her blood-red nails clicking against the wide windowsill, her eyes trailing the shape of Zoro as he sucks in a long breath, and shakes himself, before heading back to the training grounds, his earrings catching the afternoon light in a series of gold-gilded sparks.

The next day, Zoro finds you dancing to a two-step by yourself, a bucket of water propped on your hip, the late morning sun caressing your skin like a lover’s fingers. And he finds himself held still by the sight of you, your eyes closed, your body swaying to the rhythm and breath of the earth, the sound of your voice filling the air as water might an already-full glass — spilling over and over till it soaks the earth between you both.

He clears his throat, and you open your eyes. You smile.

Almost sheepishly, he offers you a hand. You take it, and the half-filled bucket is left to teeter precariously on the well’s stone-worn edge as you laugh, letting Zoro pull you in, his palm pressing to the bend of your waist, fingers skimming the small of your back.

Three days, you dance. Three days of blissful mornings and sun-soaked afternoons. Three nights of moonlit walks and roses dipped in starlight.

Because the best things in the world always come in threes — but it just so happens that so do the worst.

Zoro feels his skin crawling when he receives the summons from the Queen. There is only one reason the Queen would summon a hunter like him — she’s found something (or someone) worthy of being hunted. He prays it will not take him away for long.

“Zoro…” the Queen purrs, barely turning to look at him as he bows his head, holding the pose for three beats before straightening. She reaches up to grace her fingers over the edges of an ornate mirror hanging on her wall — a mirror she covets. Zoro has seen its magic, the dull, rough-edged ache thrumming through the earth and the air like poison. He schools his expression into one of flat disinterest as he squares his shoulders.

“Your Highness.”

“I trust you’re familiar with my mirror?”

Zoro makes a soft noise of consent, cold slipping down his spine like cool fingers.

“Then… I trust you know what it does?” the Queen asks, peering at him through it’s dark, onyx reflection.

Zoro glances down, “I can’t say I do, Your Highness.”

“Well then, I’d say you’re in for a treat today —” she chuckles, the sound soft and slithering, her painted lips twisting up in a cruel smirk, “this is a magic mirror, you see… and it’s magic… tells the truth —”

Zoro remains quiet, waiting, waiting.

“Mirror, mirror…”

Zoro feels the air around him condensing, the temperature dropping as the heat siphons from the room into the mirror. The darkened surface swirls with a sickly, purple light before a pallid face appears, empty eye sockets and a hollow mouth. The skeletal reflection peers imperiously back up at the image of the Queen standing before it.

“… tell me, who is the fairest in all the land?”

The Queen preens in front of the mirror, and Zoro feels his stomach filling with lead weight at her question.

Once upon a time, he’d met a kindly old witch in the woods. Her hut had been made of something that looked curiously like gingerbread, and the flowers that decorated her windowsill had glimmered with the shine of tempered sugar. He had offered to help her carry a basket of waxy red apples from the market to her hut and in return, she’d offered him the answer to one question.

“What… exactly is magic?” he’d asked, young and uncertain.

She’d laughed a laugh that might’ve once been high and imperious but then had only sounded like an amused old woman faced with a question she hadn’t quite expected.

“Magic… well — I’ll tell you this — magic is always more than meets the eye, and never what it promises.”

Zoro had blinked, frowning as she’d peered up at him with a pair of mismatched eyes — one milky and filmed over, the other dark as crow’s feathers.

“What does… that mean?”

“It means… that sometimes, magic lies. Sometimes… magic only tells you what you want to hear. Sometimes, magic is more about what you think is true because in the end… that’s the only truth that matters.”

The magic mirror contemplates the Queen’s question as Zoro stands behind her, holding his breath.

“There is but one fairer than Your Highness —”

Zoro’s vision tunnels, the voice of the mirror thickening around him as if his head were suddenly submerged in water. Heat creeps up the back of his neck like spider’s legs, quick and skittering, and he knows the answer before the mirror says your name.

“I see…” the Queen muses, though Zoro can hear the hard edge in her voice, the light catching on it like a twisting blade as she turns back around to face him. And she is beautiful, there’s no denying — the Queen’s face was, up until very recently, what Zoro had thought true beauty must be like.

He’d understood it only in the most abstract, academic sense — beauty — had only ever nodded when the other knights and hunters had wolf-whistled at the rosy-cheeked maids that dotted the castle, scattered along the halls like handfuls of sugar.

The first time he saw the Queen, he’d wondered at the perfect proportions of her eyes and nose, the dark, certain arch of her brows, the cruel tug at the ends of her painted lips and he’d thought — ah, is this what all the fuss is about?

But then he’d seen you, hadn’t he? And your face — he knows it is not perfect, he’s leaned in close enough to see the texture that mars your cheeks, the way one side of your mouth always lilts up first in a smile, the flecks that adorn your eyes like lost shards of sunlight caught beneath your lashes —

Beautiful, he’d thought.

Later, he wonders if that moment might’ve been your doom.

“Take her into the forest,” the Queen says, smiling her cruel, cruel smile as she watches Zoro lower his head, “and bring me back her heart.”

Zoro swallows hard as he bows.

You are waiting for him the next morning, just after breakfast, your hands laced behind your back, an empty bucket resting precariously along the edge of the well.

“No dancing today,” Zoro says, his voice clipped and low, his gaze darting away toward the darkness of the forest behind you. You blink up at him before following his gaze.

“Then… will you accompany me on a walk?”

Zoro frowns, nearly wincing away from you as you lean in, grinning your sly fox’s grin.

“But…”

“Oh, don’t tell me a hunter like you’s scared of the forest.” You dance away from him before he can protest, reaching for the bucket and propping it on your right hip, “C’mon, I promised the head cook I’d pick some berries for the feast tonight. Didn’t you hear? The Queen’s finally found a spell for eternal youth and beauty.”

Zoro stares after you as you pick your way across the garden, making for the wrought-iron gates that separate the castle grounds from the wilderness beyond.

“A spell for…” Zoro’s frown deepens as you glance at him over your shoulder with a sad little smile.

“They say the Queen was cursed by a powerful witch to always search for that which she can never have.”

Zoro keeps behind you as you meander into the shadow of the trees, seemingly following a trail only you can see, occasionally stopping to bend over a burst of bright red berries, picking a few and tossing them into your bucket before pressing one to your lips. He watches as berry juice dark as blood tints your lips and trickles down the edge of your mouth.

“Did you know… that there are only three ways to break a witch’s curse? One is for the witch herself to lift the curse.”

Here in the darkness of the forest, your eyes shine like twin stars.

“Another is to kill the witch and all those who cared for her.”

Here in the darkness of the forest, the lopsided lilt of your smile flashes white, and sharp, dripping dark red —

Zoro’s sword is in his hand before he realizes, and suddenly, every twig-snap and leaf-rustle sets his bones on edge. The wind tastes sweet on his tongue, swirls thick with magic as he whirls around, searching for the silhouette of you and finding nothing but endless, pressing dark.

“Zoro?” your voice nearly makes him stumble as he twists around, eyes wide, chest heaving, only to find the tip of his sword resting against the delicate hyphen of your clavicle. Your breath hitches, soft as he’d always remembered it, but you don’t pull away; you don’t even flinch as you stare up at him, as if waiting for him to do something.

“Are you going to kill me?” your voice is low and smooth, without a single flicker of fear.

Zoro’s grip loosens as he forces himself to pull back. He hisses out a breath and shakes loose his shoulders.

“No,” he says, his own voice coarse, clipped, “I’m not. But —”

“Oh good — that would’ve made things rather awkward for our date.”

Zoro gapes as you laugh, twirling around to continue on your way through the forest. He hastens after you a few seconds later, brushing aside low-hanging branches and shouldering passed thicker bits of underbrush.

“D-date?”

“Mhm,” you hum, sounding very pleased as you lead him on, and on, and on, “you wouldn’t want to miss it — grandma’s baking pie.”

“What… ” but his words trail off once more as you turn and make towards a clearing that he’s certain wasn’t there a moment ago — a clearing with a tiny hut that looks as if it’s made of gingerbread. The flowers on the windowsill glitter jewel-bright and candy-hard.

“My grandma’s house,” you say, smiling as you push through the door with your bucket of blood-red berries still perched on your hip.

Zoro’s frown carves ever harder into his brows as he follows after you on hesitant feet, though he can’t help the way his muscles loosen the second he steps over the small hut’s threshold and catches a whiff of something wonderful in the air — cinnamon and sugar and apples.

“Ah, you’ve made it just in time!” the old witch looks up from where she’s tending a vast fire that casts the entire hut in a warm, ethereal glow. Zoro glances back at the open patch of cloudless blue sky somehow visible in a small gap between the trees before stepping in.

“Apple pie again, grandma?”

“Your favorite,” the old witch replies with a grin as you set the bucket on the small wooden table, “And I see you’ve brought a guest, though…” the old witch’s single black eye catches the firelight as she peers are Zoro, still standing just inside the doorway.

“It’s nice to see you again, young man.”

Zoro bows, rather awkwardly, and though it’s been many years since he’d helped the old woman with her apples, she looks exactly the same. He can’t say quite the same for himself.

“Come, sit! Have some berry wine,” you say, ushering Zoro towards the table, where you’ve somehow replaced the bucket with two jars of red liquid that glimmers like garnets in the flickering firelight. You pour a glass and nudge it towards Zoro, who simply stares, trying very hard to wrap his head around what must be happening.

A dull, thrumming ache is gathering at the base of his skull, but the pie smells so sweet and the wine looks ever so tantalizing.

He reaches out and takes a sip, letting the cool liquid slip down his throat. He feels it slither through him, sending tiny pin-pricks of heat trailing along his limbs as he swallows.

“Ah… so he’s not like the rest of them.”

He blinks down at the wine in his cup for a second more before you reach out and tug it from his hand. A soft palm cups his cheek and forces his face up. He meets your eyes and finds them searching.

“You weren’t lying… you really hadn’t planned on killing me.”

You sound almost surprised as your grandma chuckles behind you, the noise like the clack of old stones against one another.

“I told you he was different,” the old witch says, slowly slicing a bit of pie and putting it on a plate.

“All men think they’re different,” you say, your voice resigned as you take the slice of pie and set it in front of Zoro, “Right, now eat — it’ll make you feel better. I’m sorry about that… just… you can never be sure.”

The old witch tuts, shaking her head, “A broken heart is it’s own kind of curse, you know.”

Zoro blearily takes a bite of cake and feels his senses returning to him one by one; he takes stock of them as if he’d forgotten entirely that he’d lost them in the first place. As he chews and swallows once, twice — by the third time he can feel the tightness in his muscles returning as panic and confusion flood his system.

He jerks up from the table and reaches for his sword.

“Please, there’s no need for that,” you say, though you sound hesitant as you hold up a hand, your expression earnest as you take half a step back.

“What the hell did you do to me?” he seethes, looking between you and the old witch, uncertain of who to aim his anger at.

“I had to be sure,” you say again, your voice imploring as you inch forward, “Please, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Yeah well —” Zoro gulps past the dryness in his mouth as he narrows his eyes, “You’ve got a funny way of showing it.”

You wince ever so slightly, looking away, “No, you’re right but… please,” you say again, and the word works like magic as it settles over Zoro’s shoulders. He wonders if it’s actual magic, but no — there’s no strange sweetness in the air, no thick fog threatening to cloud over his judgment.

“It might be quicker to show him,” the old witch suggests, still watching the pair of you with her one oil-black eye, sounding pleasant and entirely unfazed.

“Right… yes —” you sigh, motioning for the door, “The sty is just out behind the hut — you can go out first if you’d like,” you offer.

Zoro looks between you and the door before inching back and edging open the door with his foot, keeping his eyes fixed on you as you follow him with light, muted movements.

The air outside is crisp and cool and Zoro can’t help sucking in a breath as he steps out from the halo of the firelit hut. Grass crunches beneath his feet, birds sing overhead. There’s the lingering heat of magic still crackling in the air, but when his gaze falls back onto you, he finds you no less lovely than he’d done the first time.

“This way,” you say, rounding the edge of the hut and leading him towards a sizeable pigsty that he’d completely failed to notice the first time he’d been here as a young boy.

A looming sense of dread calcifies in the base of his stomach as he approaches the pigsty on heavy feet. The pigs all jostle against one another, snorting and snuffling with their noses pressed into the long feeding pen. From the pockets of your skirt, you produce a handful of bright red berries and toss it into the pen. Zoro watches with mixed fascination and mounting horror as the pigs tumble over each other to forage for the fruit in the dried hay and mud.

“Have you ever heard the saying that… there are some stories the world never stops telling?” your voice is quiet and sad as you reach over to skim your knuckles along the pale pink snout of a snorting pig.

And suddenly, Zoro understands — he doesn’t know if it was a trick of the light or perhaps the magic still working its way through his system but the understanding comes like a rainstorm, a few tiny droplets before the downpour. And were he a weaker man, he might’ve back and tried to make a run for it. But instead, he stands and stares with a strange pity welling up inside him at the lolling tongues and flopping ears.

“These were all men — hunters,” he says, his words slow at first, but picking up speed as he continues to speak, “Who tried to lure you into the wood to —”

“To kill me, yes, so that they could give the Queen my heart. Because you see, the heart of a witch would give her what she so desperately desires —”

“Eternal youth,” Zoro breathes.

“And the first time, I was heartbroken,” you turn away from him, pressing a hand to your heart, “But I managed to get away. And instead of going back empty-handed to face the Queen’s wrath, the hunter caught a wild boar in the forest and cut out its heart instead. Only — an old she-wolf had been hunting the boar for days, and was robbed of a meal. She and I… we came across each other and I was so — so hurt that I offered her my heart in return for putting me out of my misery.”

Zoro presses his lips as your words rush from you in a great wave, pieces of truths crystalizing before him even as they continue to shatter the world he thought he’d known.

“She told me then that… no man is worth dying for, especially not one who would lie to you just to steal your heart. And she offered to teach me —” you wave a hand at the pigsty, “And the rest…”

The soft silence that stretches between you is thin and pained. You cradle your hands to your chest as if trying to stem the hurt of some unspeakable heartbreak.

“And… the wine?” he asks.

Your face lifts and a strike of that familiar, mischievous light returns to your eyes as you grin.

“That was something I brewed up on my own — if the drinker bears me any ill intentions, then it’ll turn them into something a bit more… fitting of their true hearts. But if not then…” you grace him with a soft smile, “Then it’ll only ever just be wine, though a bit on the stronger side.”

“Yeah, a bit.”

A brief silence falls between the pair of you as the sky above begins to shift from blue to a soft lavender.

“You said… the first time,” Zoro says, curiosity now burgeoning from beneath the receding shock of the day, “Do you make a habit of luring men into the woods, then?”

You scoff, “Luring? Hardly. Magic can only do so much, and though the odd enchanted trinket will sell well at the monthly market, people still tend to be wary around witches.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Zoro says dryly, his eyes flickering toward the sty where the pigs, finally satisfied that there are no more berries to be found, have settled into the thick stacks of hay, grumbling and snorting.

You allow him a derisive smile, “Yes well — a girl and her grandmother still have to eat and bathe, and you can only stand so much apple pie before it starts to get a little old. So… I keep a job at the castle. Believe it or not, serving a self-obsessed Queen pays well. And all those… men —” you force out the word like spitting out poison, “Had seemed… good. At least at first.”

Zoro remains quiet as you pause, looking down at your own hands. It’s the first time he notices the light calluses that mar your palms, not so different from his own. He wonders at the smoothness of the handles on the wooden bucket you’d carried so easily through the woods, at how long it must’ve taken for a pair of hands like yours to wear them down so. The old witch’s words echo in his mind — a broken heart is it’s own kind of curse.

“Is that how you got so good at dancing?” he asks.

You grin, giving him a sidelong glance, “Perhaps.”

Zoro sighs, tilting his head back to look at the small patch of visible sky, now a deep, bruising purple.

“So. Now what?”

You echo his sigh, looking up as well, “You can go back, if you’d like.”

“And what? Tell the Queen that you got away?”

Your smile hardens ever so slightly, “Or, you could kill something else in the forest and offer her it’s heart instead.”

“But wouldn’t she know? After she ate it and doesn’t gain eternal youth?”

You shrug, looking away, “You’d be surprised what a person can trick themselves into believing, if they just try hard enough.”

Zoro nods, letting his eyes fall back down to his hand, resting idle against the hilt of his sword.

“Or, I could stay.”

He doesn’t know what makes him say it — and perhaps it was the darkness of the forest, the close, flustered whisper of the leaves, or perhaps it was the lingering sweetness of your home-brewed wine and the tantalizing smell of magic and cinnamon still in the air. But he says it, and he finds that even the strange, still shocked moment after, he doesn’t regret it.

“You… you want to stay?”

He doesn’t think he’s ever heard you sound so uncertain before.

“Why not? I can’t go back and…” he motions at the hut and the soft ring of warm firelight seeping out from the tiny windows, “The wine’s not bad.”

And perhaps for the first time, Zoro thinks, he sees you smile — a smile that isn’t sharp and full of hidden teeth. A smile that’s helpless and hopeful and just a little bit pained. He smiles back and hopes —

“C’mon then… you can help with the fire. And carry the water.”

“Hn. But you seemed so good at it.”

You shoot him a slight pout as the pair of you duck back into the hut to the smell of roasting vegetables.

There are some stories the world can never stop telling, stories so old that the sing harmony to the very tuning of the universe.

Once upon a time, there was a wolf, a grandmother, and a girl in the woods. Once upon a time, an old witch built a house of gingerbread to lure in the lives of unheedful children. Once upon a time, there was a Queen with a magic mirror. Once upon a time, a witch lived alone in a secluded hut and lured men to her table only to turn them into the pigs they’d always been inside.

Once upon a time, a boy asked a girl to dance.

Once, a boy told the truth and the girl didn’t believe him, because all the boys who’d broken her heart before had given her no reason not to. And a heart can only be broken so many times before it, too, gets tired.

Once, she thought that broken hearts could never be mended.

But she should’ve known that stories, like the magic they hold, very rarely tell the truth. Or perhaps, they too only tell the truths that the listener wants to hear, or is ready to hear. Never more, never less.

So, here is another story — one that’s not so frequently told, but is just as true as the others —

Once, there was a boy who was born with a sword in his hand, who had never know that his body could hold so much music or laughter. Then, he met a girl with the most beautiful voice in all the land, and he, like so many before him, fell in love. Only, the girl had been hurt by all those before him, and no longer trusted the words of boys with sword-hilt smiles and rough, callused fingers. But when he asked her to dance, she agreed anyway, and when she introduced him to her grandmother and offered him wine, he did not hesitate. Instead, he asked if he could stay the night.

That was a long, long time ago.

There will always be another girl with a pretty voice and a viper’s smile at the castle beyond the woods, and always another young knight too eager to please his Queen. There will always be apples at the morning market and magic in the air. But perhaps the pieces don’t fall right where they ought to; perhaps they never did. Perhaps the stories we tell are only ever stories.

“You told me once that there were three ways to lift a curse,” Zoro asks one day, a wooden bucket in one hand, three swords strapped to his opposite hip.

“Mhm,” you hum, not looking up from the large pot of soup bubbling over the fire, a song threading beneath your breath as you sway back and forth.

Zoro grunts as he puts the bucket on the worn wooden table, walking over to slip an around your middle and hook his chin over your shoulder. You laugh as you let yourself be pulled back into his embrace.

“You only ever told me two.”

“Ah… right —” you smile, a smile that is no longer jagged but worn soft around the edges, as if all the sharpness has been smoothed over by years and years of tenderness, years and years of trust, of love.

“So?”

“So…” you place down the wooden spoon and turn to face him, placing your hands on his shoulders as his large, callused palms settle around your waist. The pair of you sway to a song that only the two of you can hear, a song that sings harmony to the very tuning of the universe.

“The third way to break a curse is the easiest… but also the hardest way, depending on who you are,” you say, smiling and swaying in Zoro’s arms. Like this, you can see the late afternoon light as it pours through the small window and catches on the dull gold of his triplet earrings.

“It’s a simple thing, really,” you say, as Zoro leans down to press his forehead to yours, your breaths dancing in the negative space between your bodies. Outside, an old witch sits on a rocking chair and admires the sunset. Occasionally, she reaches into her skirt pockets for a handful of berries to toss into the pigsty to her right.

“Oh yeah? How simple?” Zoro asks.

“Why…” you lean up on your tiptoes, your nose brushing his, your lips mere inches apart. Behind you, bottles and bottles of home-brewed wine sit along the mantle of the great stone fireplace, the color bright and true and freshly spilled blood.

“It’s as simple as a kiss from your one true love, of course.”

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theodorenmyth · 2 months

Note

OKAY BESTIE I GOT AN IDEA 😋BAZINGA!

Okay so imagine Theodore with a male!reader who literally is non-verbal with people they don’t knows but since Theodore knows reader since childhood. He already knows what reader sounds like and uses that advantage like “I know what they sound like and you don’t.” As a way to seem special. It’s a funny lil thingy

Pairings ; Theodore Nott x M!Reader

Summary ; You've always been non-verbal around people you don’t know, but Theodore Nott is the exception. Knowing you since childhood, he’s the only one who’s ever heard your voice. Theodore takes pride in this, often teasing his friends about how special he is for knowing what you sound like. When a moment of teasing unexpectedly leads to you laughing out loud, the entire Slytherin common room is left in shock. But as always, Theodore’s by your side, reminding everyone—and you—that he’s the only one who truly understands you.

A/N :; OFCCC ANYTHIH FOR U BBY

warnings); none

Word count ; 900+

You've always been quiet. Not just the shy type or the introverted kind, but truly non-verbal around people you don't know. It’s not that you’re incapable of speaking—you just don’t feel the need to. Why waste words on people who don’t matter? Your parents tried to fix it, forcing you into speech therapy and social situations, but you stood your ground, remaining silent as ever.

Theodore Nott, however, was the exception. He’s known you since childhood, back when you’d babble nonsense at the age of three and he was the only one you trusted enough to talk to. Through the years, your silence solidified around others, but with Theo, it was different. He knew what you sounded like and used it to his advantage whenever he could.

Today was no different.

“Oi, Theo! Your friend here doesn’t talk much, does he?” Blaise Zabini, a Slytherin with a penchant for getting under people’s skin, lounged on one of the common room couches, watching you with curious eyes.

You kept your gaze on the book in your lap, pretending not to hear him.

Theodore, leaning against the wall beside you, smirked. “That’s because he doesn't talk to people he does not like.”

Blaise raised an eyebrow. “And yet, he talks to you? That’s saying something.”

“I’m special,” Theodore said, his voice dripping with mock arrogance. “I know what he sounds like, and you don’t.”

“Lucky you,” Blaise muttered, rolling his eyes. “Must be nice having a conversation partner who only speaks when it’s convenient.”

You shot Theodore a glance, silently telling him to stop teasing Blaise. But Theodore just winked at you.

“It is nice,” Theo continued, ignoring your look. “And you know what the best part is? He's got the sweetest voice. Soft, smooth.. too bad you’ll never hear it.”

Pansy Parkinson, who had been listening from the armchair across the room, snickered. “You’re such a brat, Theo. Let the rest of us in on the secret, yeah?”

“Nope,” Theodore replied smugly. “It’s all mine.”

You rolled your eyes, closing your book with a sigh. Theodore’s antics were relentless, and while you appreciated that he was trying to keep things light, you couldn’t help but feel a bit embarrassed by all the attention.

Draco, who had been reading by the fire, finally looked up. “You know, Theo, you should really be careful. What if one day he starts talking to someone else?”

Theodore’s expression faltered for a split second before he quickly recovered. “Not going to happen, Malfoy. We’ve got an understanding, don’t we?” He nudged you gently with his elbow.

You gave him a small, teasing smile and nodded, much to Draco’s amusement.

“You’re all mad,” Blaise declared, stretching out on the couch. “But I suppose it’s not surprising, considering the company we keep.”

Pansy leaned forward, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Come on, Theo. Just a little hint? What does he sound like?”

Theodore sighed dramatically, making a show of considering her request. “Alright, alright. I suppose I can give you something..”

You tensed slightly, wondering what Theo was planning to do. He wouldn’t, would he?

“He sounds like..” Theodore paused, casting you a sideways glance before grinning. “..like a songbird at dawn. Soft, melodic, and absolutely captivating.”

You couldn’t help but laugh quietly, the sound escaping before you could stop it. The others in the room froze, their eyes widening as they stared at you in shock.

Pansy’s jaw dropped. “Did.. did he just laugh?”

“Did you hear that?” Blaise asked, sitting up so quickly he almost slipped off the couch.

Even Draco seemed stunned, his usually cool demeanor cracking slightly. “Well, that’s a first.”

Theodore grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “See? I told you he has the sweetest voice.”

Pansy pouted, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s not fair! Why doesn't hevlaugh like that around us?”

You ducked your head, cheeks warming under their scrutiny. You never intended to break your silence in front of them, but Theodore always had a way of pulling reactions out of you.

“Because,” Theodore said, leaning in closer to you, his voice low and teasing, “he likes me more.”

You shoved his shoulder playfully, mouthing a silent 'fuck off' that only he could see.

He chuckled, putting an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into a side hug. “Don’t worry, I won’t let them bother you anymore.” Then, in a louder voice for the others, he added, “That’s enough for today, folks. Show’s over.”

Blaise and Pansy groaned in disappointment, while Draco just shook his head with a smirk.

“You’re insufferable, Theo,” Pansy muttered, but there was no real heat in her words. “If he ever decide to talk to me, I’m stealing him from you.”

“Fat chance,” Theodore shot back, his arm still around you. “He's stuck with me for life.”

You looked up at him, meeting his gaze with a look that said everything you couldn’t say out loud. He squeezed your shoulder gently, understanding you perfectly.

“Alright, alright,” Blaise said, standing up and stretching. “I’m going to bed. Good luck keeping him all to yourself, Theo.”

As the others started to leave, the common room quieted down, the only sounds left being the crackling fire and the soft rustle of pages as you reopened your book.

Theodore didn’t move, his arm still comfortably around you. “You okay?” he asked, his voice gentle.

"Yeah.." You said while nodding, leaning into him slightly.

“You know,” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice, “I really am special.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. "Whatever." You muttered. He was right, after all. Theodore was special—your one exception in a world of silence.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

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lanaslovelyletters · 7 months

Text

𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 ³

𝐑𝐮𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬...

Anakin x Princess!Reader

Part 3

Previous chapter: Part 2

Overall series warning: 18+ content (smut), mature themes, swearing

Warnings: Light swearing (but who cares about this)

Last chapter recap: “The dark lord completely ignored your question, letting himself calm down before backing off and walking towards the door. Before he left, he got a final word in, “We’re to wed in a week. You’ll stay here until then.” What..?”

Summary: He continues to fend off your questions until you decide to be bold, to which he retaliates…

Word Count: 1.5K+

Author’s note: So many people asked to be on the taglist and ily guys ugh❤️ Also, sorry for going AWOL. Had a lot of stuff on my plate<3 Btw, for everyone on the taglist, don’t worry if you change your username. If I tagged you before, I can tag you again<3

Taglist: @blackthorngirl @formula1mount @bby-imasociopath @anakinsbaee @darthgloris @tatumrileyslover @itzmeme @lunalitva @marvellover98 @rorysbrainrot @moonlight-dreamer04 @kittyrumbl3r @itsoneofusworld

“You’re not being serious.” You scoffed, almost grinning, but when you saw the look on his face— everything melted into dread and disappointment. He stared at you with stern-looking eyes before shutting the door behind him. You heard sharp noises emerge from the door, meaning he locked it.

“You’ve got to be joking.” You laughed dryly before your body hit the bed. It was fluffy and felt like a warm hug. A stark contrast to the situation you found yourself stuck in. It was unbelievable, really. You were seriously to marry a Sith Lord. A slave to the dark side. Sure, he was handsome, but only as handsome as an apple could be.

Alas, you were far too tired to think about the whole ordeal. Your eyes grew heavy and it was becoming increasingly harder not to nod off… and finally, it grew all black.

(Break)

You woke up to the darkness of space creeping in through the single window you had in the room. It was impossible to tell how long you’d slept and how long you’d be staying there. Nobody would tell you a thing, and the Dark Lord would certainly never give you any answers.

A sudden knock pulled you out of your little trance, and the door burst open. In walked two troopers. They marched in, picking you up from the bed with a strong force. Didn’t Vader mention I’d stay here for a week? What’s going on? Ironically enough, you decided not to struggle or fight back. It’s not as if going back home was a choice anymore. You knew the dark side wasn’t forgiving anyway.

“I’m not a rag doll. I know how to walk,” you complained, as you felt your body sliding across the cold, polished floor. When there was no response, you scoffed. It was loud enough for them to hear, but it wasn’t like they cared. They were simply following orders like mindless robots. It was as if it was their input.

After passing through several corridors and riding multiple elevators, you finally found yourself being dragged along to a dimly lit dining room. The layout was nothing fancy. A large table and chairs to go along with it. On one end sat Vader. He still donned his pitch-black suit, with his eyes trained on you. The way his hair fell around his face and the way his Adam’s Apple bopped as he gazed at you— it was to swoon over. You were made to sit opposite him. You didn’t dare move. You knew he could end me with the flick of his fingers.

“I hope you have an appetite.” Maker, his voice. It was rough yet smooth, velvety yet rigid… you were drowning in the octaves.

“Not much of an appetite when I’ve just been taken hostage.” No, you couldn’t give in. He was handsome to be sure, but he was still a ruthless sith.

“Hostage? You’re not a hostage, love.” Love. What was he playing at?

“I’m… not?” Your eyebrows were furrowed along with a scrunch of your nose.

“Hostage implies you’re here against your will and that I await someone to negotiate for you… I plan to keep you.” Though his words seemed daring and almost devious, his facial expression and tone told you a different story. He was a wall. Cold and without feeling. He seemed serious and determined.

“Why me? How did you know my father? Why did you want my family killed?” You furrowed your eyebrows. His gaze remained fixed on you, as he breathed heavily and got up from his seat. His boots hit the floor in a threatening manner. When he stopped in front of you, his gloved hand held your chin softly. So soft that you almost felt comfortable in his presence.

“Curiosity killed the cat, princess.” As you let your head be lifted ever so gently, you saw the stark contrast between his touch and his demeanour. His stare was blank and icy. It was as if no life existed behind his eyes. Eyes that were otherwise so… never mind.

“Luckily, I’m not a cat,” Bold. Quite bold. Did you care? No. You had about as much control over him as he did you. He wasn’t going to kill you. No, if he wanted to, he would’ve done so in a heartbeat. He wanted to wed you. To have you as his bride. As sickening as the idea of that was, at least you wouldn’t die anytime soon.

“You’re quite carefree for someone who’s lost her entire family and been taken against her will.” You could’ve sworn you saw a faint smirk swiftly make an appearance before being washed out by his brooding expression.

Oh, but there was something about his face. It did seem familiar. You couldn’t place your finger on it. There wasn’t anything that stood out in particular, but oh there was something about his face.

“I’m talking to you,” he spoke in a rough voice, before tightening his grip on your face, burying his fingers into your cheeks

“I’m not scared of you, Sith.” A grin. His lips contorted into a wide smile as he let out a scoff,

“You’ve got moxie. I’ll give you that.” Your eyes met his. Force, if I had ever seen a man—

“Moxie? I beg to differ. Why would I be scared of a lowly Sith Lord like you? You’re not even the emperor. Are you even strong enough to—”

“Princess,” he breathed as he snaked his hand tightly around your neck, the pads of his fingers snuggled themselves into your soft skin. The tension was palpable. It could be cut with a knife. The way you continued to defy him and resist him…he hated it. You were such a pretty little thing, but so stubborn too. Too set in your ways.

“We all have our… limits. You’re starting to test mine, your highness.” Something about him addressing you as ‘highness’ clashed so hard with the circumstances you found yourself in; it gave you whiplash.

“I want answers…” your whisper came out shaky. Not because you were starting to lose your footing. No, it was his grip on your throat. If anything, you almost found him humorous. He was creating a paradox and running around in circles; essentially embarrassing himself.

“I don’t want to give you any.” You didn’t understand. You couldn’t. His logic was deeply flawed and there was no wrapping your head around where it started or ended. It was a mess. A tangled mystery for you to sit and braid together to form a clear path.

“I don’t want to marry you, but here we are.”

“Let me rephrase. I can’t.” His gaze diverted to the floor. He was clearly struggling. Either to recall or decide whether or not to do so.

“I don’t understand.” Your throat was slowly released, as he walked towards the door to the room.

“Can you at least tell me why you chose me? Out of all the women in this galaxy… Why me?” Your feet had somehow carried you off to go after him. He walked with purpose through several corridors, taking swings and turns to try and throw you and the question off.

“Please?” Admittedly, you were getting impatient. Desperate.

“Say, would you like to know how I went about ending your father’s life?” He suddenly turned around with a menacing look on his face. It wasn’t maniacal. It was as if you were staring into a blank wall.

“Excuse me?” What the hell is wrong with him? Your eyes darted to the floor before you lifted your head back up to meet his.

“I asked you if you wanted to know how I killed your father. How I—“

“No, I heard you the first time. How does that have anything to do with my question?” He smirked for a moment before his smile faltered,

“You’re completely unphased. Didn’t think the king was that much of a horrible father.” How could he address your father like that? With that knowledge? How did he know your father like that?

“Yeah, well… he was. So give me an answer to my question. Why me?” The two of you stopped in front of a large white door. It had a face recognition lock on it.

“Because… I know you.” His voice dropped an octave as he stared at your reaction. You weren’t shocked, just confused.

He scanned his face and the entrance to a dark room was revealed. You were just about to follow him before he turned around,

“Do you wish to retire with me for the night?” What? Your brow bunched up together and you lightly shook your head,

“No… of course not.”

“Then I suggest you stop following me.” A grin was apparent on his lips.

“Evening, princess.” The door closed behind him and you were left standing there; completely dumbfounded. However, this unlocked a window for you to walk around freely, trying to find a way to escape. There didn’t seem to be any stormtroopers around. Marrying a Sith was that of nightmare fuel. It didn’t matter how gorgeously his hair fell around his face and how his scar elevated his overall appearance. He was a Sith Lord.

You needed to find a way out. By all means necessary.

To be continued…

Please DM, comment, or ask to be added on the taglist<3

Here’s the masterlist<3

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mrs-saturday · 2 months

Text

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*Start Of Something New˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Twinkle Towne (An F1 X High School Musical AU!)

♥ my masterlist!

♥ pairing: george russell x fem!reader, platonic!rest of grid x reader

♥ synopsis: New years parties, chalets and karaoke... Is this the start of something new for up-and-coming driver George Russell and maths genius Y/N L/N?

♥ warnings: nada, no warnings here bbys

♥ a/n: tysm for all your amazing love, support and kindness on my work! all the likes and kind reblogs and convos I have with you all over asks mean so so much to me, and im glad people are enjoying my work! TT is a purely self indulgent fic, but I hope you'll grow to love her as much as I do! Enjoy the show!

You had always hated these FIA New Years parties, and this year was NO exception. Every year it was the same old chalet in the alps, with the same old music and the same old countdowns to the new year with a load of young drivers. You weren’t even a driver yourself, it just happened that your father, Sebastian Vettel, was like the it girl of driving, so you basically HAD to go to all these parties.

“Leibe, please, at least try and have some fun” your father begged you as he walked you down the hallway to the party for under 18’s. You huffed a little, and felt grateful you’d managed to smuggle a copy of your favourite book in that little baguette bag slung from your shoulder. “You never know, maybe you will meet someone at this party, I know Lew-” You cut your father off with a small laugh and smile “I’ll try Vati, but I’m not going to go about looking for one of your friend’s cute sons! I have to focus on school if I’m going to go to Princeton!” You cracked a glowy smile at your father and he laughed back, smoothing your hair down with his hands, before giving you a stern look. “Y/N, hand the book over.” You pouted, about to attempt a denial, but when Seb raised his eyebrow, you relented and handed your copy of ‘My Brilliant Friend’ over to your dad, as he kissed your forehead and headed off to the party.

Meanwhile, over at the karting track nearby, George was whizzing around in his coach Lewis’ old go-kart, with Lewis cheering him on from near where the pitwall usually was. “WHOO! GO RUSSELL! WHAT A LAP KIDDO!!” he claps as the younger boy pulled up to the finish line, detaching the steering wheel so he could jump out. As he ran and hi-fived his coach, a sharp cough filled the air. Valtteri, Lewis’ old teammate and the other man on this trip with them, was stood with his arms folded and a stern expression on his face. “Boys, it is New Years Eve, please can you stop training for one evening and go shower up?” He sighed, walking over to Lewis “Why are you all suited and booted, Bottas?” Lewis laughed, and Valterri gave the boys a little spin “The party, Lewis. George, there’s a kids party downstairs as well!” George scrunched his face up at the Finnish man, now with his blue helmet tucked under a lanky arm.”Young adult party” he corrected himself with a sigh, looking between both Lewis and George. “We didn’t fly all this way for you guys to race the whole time. We can do that at home.” Both the Mercedes boys hung their heads and nodded, walking off to their chalet to get cleaned up for parties they didn’t want to be at.

At the kids young adults party, cheesy pop music blared over the speakers as teens from all over the racing series played games, talked, laughed and ate. Esteban and Pierre were arguing over a foosball table, Yuki was eating every sandwich he could find, and Lando was DJing a load of karaoke over a headset and mic in his DJ merch. Kimi and Ollie, two Formula 2 drivers, had just finished up a duet of “I Wanna Dance With Somebody’ by Whitney Houston, as the crowd clapped. You ignored the roar of the music and laughed, sat on a couch, watching everything unfold in front of you, while pulling the blue cardigan your Vati had bought for you up over your shoulders, ready to make your escape. “Not bad for a couple of drivers, huh?” Lando hollered, messing with his lighting rig a little.

“Now, who’s gonna rock the house next next?” he asked, jumping up on a small box to scan the room better, as you struggled to think what to do, and he moved his light towards the doorway of the room. George quickly covered his face with his arm, yet felt himself dragged by another driver up to a small stage, and having a microphone thrust into his hands. You were dragged up too, a microphone flung at you, almost slipping out of your sweaty hands. How on earth could this happen to you!? Or this awfully attractive boy you’re now stood next toYou looked up at the taller man, both confused as each other, the sheen of teenage awkwardness covering both of your foreheads.

“Y’know, you guys might thank me for this later” Lando winks, to the reception of an unimpressed you and George. He slinks back behind the DJ rig and sighs “Or not…” and starts the track. You and the boy stare at each other as the opening piano notes play. You were more so staring at those beautiful blue eyes, connecting the freckles across his nose like constellations, looking at his perfectly formed cupids bow, when all of a sudden-

“Living in my own world

Didn't understand

That anything can happen

When you take a chance”

Oh boy, he has the face and voice of an angel. You made the decision quick and pulled the microphone to your lips ready for your part. There went nothing…

“I never believed in What I couldn't see

I never opened my heart (Oh)

To all the possibilities”

George felt his heart skip beats, the sound of his pulse rushing through his ears and the blood into his face. Thump-thump, thump-thump. Not only did this random girl he’d been pulled into some sort of karaoke fanfiction with LOOK like a princess, but she had the most beautiful voice and the confidence to actually sing with him. He had never believed in love at first sight, but he thought, perhaps love at first note could be real.

“I know that something has changed

Never felt this way, and right here tonight

This could be the start of something new

It feels so right to be here with you (oh)

And now looking in your eyes

I feel in my heart (feel in my heart)

The start of something new”

You loosed up a little, taking the claw clip out of your hair and letting it flow freely, framing your face and making George flush a baby pink in the cheeks.

Thump-thump, thump-thump

His pulse quickened as you moved closer, hips gently swaying to the sweet sound of your harmonies, and he tried to keep himself in check as the song progressed.

“Now who'd have ever thought that

We'd both be here tonight

And the world looks so much brighter

With you by my side

I know that something has changed

Never felt this way

I know it for real”

You just glowed as you sung, sort of enjoying the anonymity of no one in the room seeming to recognise you, despite your father’s name. And George could tell you glowed, he spent all your solo parts scanning your frame, to find not a single flaw in his eyes. You were some sort of fairytale princess, singing him these sweet siren songs and making him forget the stress of the track, of Coach Hamilton’s emphasis on the upcoming races, and of his entire career as a racer.

It was you. him, and the music.

“This could be the start of something new

It feels so right to be here with you (oh)

And now looking in your eyes

I feel in my heart

The start of something new”

And unbeknownst to him, you felt the same. No more swirling equations in your head, no more maths tests or Princeton or college entrance papers. Just this mysterious young man with the floppy curtains, slender frame, and glassiest blue eyes. And his voice, dulcet and warm, like ginger and honey tea on a winter’s morning. You pondered Lando’s words in your head:

“Y’know, you guys might thank me for this later”

And thought, maybe he was right. Maybe you would.

“I never knew that it could happen till it happened to me

I didn't know it before

But now it's easy to see

It's the start of something new

It feels so right to be here with you

And now looking in your eyes I feel in my heart

That it's the start of something new

It feels so right to be here with you

And now looking in your eyes I feel in my heart

The start of something new (The start of something new)

The start of something new”

The music faded out as you and George stood looking into each other's eyes, a cheer spreading across the room, accompanied by the sound of claps and hollers from the crowd of teens. He smiled, and ran his hand through his hair “George. And you?” You smile back, blinking softly and quietly responding “Y/N”

You both found yourself sat outside after a while, escaping the music an the dancing just before midnight, “You were AMAZING Y/N!” The Brit, as you had learned from the accent, enthused. “You gotta be a singer, surely?” You chuckle, and follow his lead, guided by his soft hands, to a balcony “Only church choir, and even then I almost fainted!” The Brit laughed, and blushed at the gentle grip of your hand, feeling the edge of your nail dig into his vein ever so slightly. “Well, you were amazing, Y/N” He chirps, standing with you, overlooking the snowy mountains to the tune of faded voices, and the low whirr of the ski lift in the distance.

As you both looked over the balcony, George turned and grabbed his phone out of his pocket, still talking as he did so “So, Y/N, I was wondering if I could get your numb-” He trailed off as he looked up, only to realise you had vanished while he was pulling his phone out. Not that you’d wanted to, of course. But you’d promised your father you’d be back in the cabin by midnight, so you’d slinked away while George was distracted, the thought of your new school year buzzing in your mind. Besides, it’s not like you’d see the handsome stranger again.

Right?

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qveerthe0ry · 6 months

Text

Truth or Consequences

Summary: You know deep down the hatred is only for himself and the turmoil he’s got boiling inside of him. Why else would he be paying to see you every week? Word Count: 3,442 Pairing: Ted Garcia x ftm! reader Rating: 18+ Explicit Warnings: 18+ mdni, dom/sub dynamic, mild humiliation/degredation, (LOTS of) dirty talk, internalized homophobia, reader uses the f slur and t slur to refer to himself, sucking the strap, rough oral sex, deepthroating, coming untouched, paying for sex, reader has top surgery scars but no other physical descriptions, no use of y/n, Ted Garcia is a republican A/N: I literally could not have done this without @for-a-longlongtime hyping me up and giving me motivation. Thank you bby <3

It’s late. It always is. You’ve been holed up in this hotel room for the last hour and a half. Waiting.

You don’t like when he makes you wait. He knows this, and perhaps it’s why he’s never shown up on time.

At least there’s Coke Zero in the minibar, and enough cable channels to keep you entertained.

But you click the TV off when you hear the familiar “knock-knockknock-knock” on the hotel room door.

You take your time straightening yourself up in the mirror, knowing he’s sweating it out in the hallway, where anyone could see.

It’s a small town.

You cut off his second attempt at the secret knock and tug him in by the collar of his tacky leather vest.

His eyes grow wide and he flinches when the heavy door slams shut behind him.

It’s cute, how he always seems so frightened.

“Took your sweet time tonight.”

He clears his throat and blinks hard before his pretty lips part.

“Secretary lost part of my speech— ”

His sentence cuts off with a high-pitched whine when you grab his jaw to manually shut his mouth. You click your tongue at him and feel his Adam's apple bob against your wrist.

“Try again.”

You notice his chest heaving, and you feel his jaw work under your fingertips.

“I— I’m sorry.”

Fuck, he looks so good like this, scared shitless and tenting his faded Wrangler blue jeans.

You release his jaw, but grab onto the curls at the nape of his neck and tug.

“Not quite.”

He curses, eyes shut tight.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

You chuckle and watch as the noise goes straight to his cock.

“That’s it, there he is. You have to mind your manners, Mr.Mayor. Don’t you wanna get re-elected?”

He whimpers and nods his head, and your fingers tighten their grip in his hair.

“Yes sir, I do.”

You hum as you let your free hand find those curls at the nape of his neck, too. You thread your fingers together at the back of his head and watch his tense expression melt into something more relieved.

“Tell me your safe word.”

With a shuddered breath, he speaks.

“Insurrection.”

“And if your pretty mouth is full?”

His hand finds your waist, tapping three times in a row.

“Good boy,” you mumble, ruffling his hair.

You watch as his skin flushes, trickling from under his collar to spread across his face.

His hand is still on your waist. You grab it slowly, then all at once torque on his arm so he twists away from you with a yelp. You crowd him from behind, get your other hand around his elbow, and kick the back of his knee.

He collapses onto the gaudy carpet with a groan, arching his back to relieve the tension in his shoulders where you’ve still got his arms in a death grip behind him.

You love to watch him squirm around.

“You know the drill, Mayor.”

You release your hold on him and watch some of the tension melt away. He digs around in his pocket and comes up with his phone, as always, letting his face unlock it for you. He sets it down on the bed in front of him, then holds his hands behind his back with amusing obedience.

“Pretty quiet tonight. Nervous?”

He shakes his head immediately, a knee-jerk reaction. You’re behind him, so you can’t see his face, but you know his eyebrows are all pinched up. You know he’s lying.

You weave your fingers through his curls once more and tug so he’s looking up at you.

“Why are you lying to me?”

His lips part, pretty pink tongue peeking out to wet them.

“I’m sorry, sir. I am nervous. Big day tomorrow.”

You’re well aware of the events to take place over the next 24 hours. His last big speech before the town either votes him out or keeps him around. You don’t dwell over politics, especially not now, but you’re well aware that the polls are leaning toward the former rather than the latter.

“Poor baby,” you coo, “I can’t imagine why you’d be nervous.”

Your fingers twist a cruel motion in his hair and he whines, tries to worm his way out of your grip.

“You’re just the best little Mayor there ever was, aren’t you? Pouring more funding into the corrupt police department…”

You stroke his face with your free hand, and though it’s tender, he flinches at first contact.

“Tweeting about the evil gay agenda…”

Your thumb finds his chin, then his plush bottom lip, and you hold his mouth open as he squeezes his eyes shut.

“How about that secretary of yours? The one who’s salary doubled in your four years in office, huh? Does she know you come to see me every week?”

He doesn’t respond, just makes a pathetic little noise in the back of his throat. You pull his hair again.

“Answer me.”

“No! No, sir, she doesn’t.”

His words come out a little garbled where you’re holding his bottom lip. You hook your thumb behind his front teeth and slowly drag down, until his mouth is wide open. His eyelids flutter, just in time to watch you spit into his gaping mouth, stray droplets landing on his nose and cheeks and chin.

“You don’t tell her about us, Mr.Mayor? Are you ashamed of me?”

He curses, struggles in your hold, and you let him go. Though he keeps his hands together behind his back, he tilts his head forward, presents the back of his neck to you. It’s flushed, in this twisted mix of shame and arousal that always gets him off.

“Yes sir, I am.”

You huff, tut at him and kick at the sole of one of his Lucchese cowboy boots.

“Well that’s not very nice.”

He makes to lift his head up and look at you, but you shove his head back down.

“Why don’t you just sit here for a minute and think about how you can make it up to me, huh?”

“Yes sir,” he nods.

You let out a satisfied hum and grab your bag from the foot of the bed. Closing the bathroom door behind you, you get to work suiting up for the occasion. This is your favorite part, taking your time and letting him anticipate. You know he’s on-edge out there, waiting for you, wondering how you’re going to punish him this time.

You’ve railed him within an inch of his life, sat on his face until he’s nearly blue, edged him for so long you almost made him late for an early morning meeting. But tonight, you’ve got just the thing, know exactly what to do to make sure he’s thinking about it until the next time he comes to see you.

You look in the mirror when you’re ready, jeans pulled back up so only your largest, most obscene strap-on is hanging out of your fly. Your flannel shirt hangs open, top surgery scars on full display. You know he likes them, and you know he hates that.

You slowly and quietly open the bathroom door. A smirk spreads across your face when Ted is right there where you left him, shaking a bit, but otherwise perfectly still.

His breath hitches in the quiet hotel room when he feels you reclaim you space behind him. You chuckle, and he curses, and you wonder if this will ever get less fun.

“You really hurt my feelings, Teddy Bear.”

He grumbles at the nickname you’ve given him. He’s not so fond, but you think there’s a ring to it.

“Sorry, sir.”

“Look at me, Mayor.”

Despite the show of reluctance he’s put on, his head snaps up and back to look at you. His nostrils flare, and you know deep down the hatred is only for himself and the turmoil he’s got boiling inside of him. Why else would he be paying to see you every week?

You swear you see his pupils grow even larger when his gaze lands on the monster of a cock in front of his face. If that wasn’t enough, his tongue swipes over his bottom lip and quickly retreats, like his morals are just a second behind his horny little brain.

Your yes flick past his head to his phone, still unlocked on the bed. You grab it and hum, act like you’re going through his apps just to watch the way he squirms on his knees for you.

You finally open the camera, and the little blip sounds and lets him know you’re recording.

He looks great on tape like this, looking up at you with his wide, brown eyes. The bulge in his jeans is even more prominent since they’re such a light wash, and the lens even picks up on the tiny little patch of dampness that soaks through the denim.

You pull the phone up, angle it down a bit more so your dick is on display, eclipsing the view of his face. The pale silicone contrasts beautifully with his flushed and tan skin. You take it in hand, stroke it a few times, though your fingers can’t quite wrap around the entire thing.

Ted’s squirming in the near background, shifting from knee to knee, and you think he’s waited long enough.

You step forward, and he opens his mouth. You chuckle and grab his jaw, run your thumb along his wet lip.

“Eager little beaver, aren’t you, Mayor?”

On camera, you watch him tear away his gaze from your prick to your face. His forehead wrinkles up, he doesn’t want to answer.

“Don’t get camera shy, baby. Let’s see your manners.”

His mouth finally closes, and he swallows and clears his throat.

“Yes sir.”

“Yes sir, what?”

He tries to look down, but you keep his jaw firmly in place. His nostrils flare again, but the camera also picks up the way his hips shift forward, his straining cock begging for relief against his fly.

“Yes sir, I’m eager.”

You hum.

“Eager for what, Teddy Bear?”

His jaw clenches, you can feel it under your palm.

“Eager for your cock, sir.”

You nod silently, and his eyes flicker up to your face instead of the phone.

And then you release his jaw, grab the base of your cock, and slap him with the cold silicone.

The noise he makes is pathetic, all strung out and desperate, and so you do it again, and again, until a phallic red streak adorns his face.

“This what you wanted my cock for?”

He nods quickly.

“Yes, sir.”

“Yeah? Want me to leave a bruise? Want the shape of my cock on your face for the whole town to see tomorrow?”

A sound escapes his throat like he’s just got the wind knocked out of him, and he opens his mouth to answer, but you don’t let him. Instead, you smack his shiny lips with the head your dick.

“I know you do, Mr.Mayor. I know you want everyone to see what a good little cocksucker you are.”

His tongue reaches out to press against your cock, swirl around the large mushroom head of it.

“Yeah, that’s it. Get it nice ‘n wet.”

He does, lets saliva pool in his mouth and then sinks his mouth further down, pulling back to reveal what a dutiful job he’s done with drool slipping from the corner of his mouth.

“Imagine if this got leaked, Ted,” you murmur.

He whines, opens his mouth once more to take you in, even further this time, but still barely past the head.

“You’d like that? You think you’d get more votes if they knew how good you are at this?”

He nods around your prick, looking directly at the camera, and fuck, it’s a sight, makes a low heat build in your gut that you try your damndest to ignore.

So you thrust into his mouth, a slow but smooth motion, watching through the phone how wide you’re stretching his lips. He takes a deep breath through his nose until he can’t anymore, until you’re feeding the tip of your cock down his throat and he closes his eyes in focus.

“Fuck, yeah, I think they’d love this,” you say, and you’re completely sheathed inside him, holding, waiting until he can’t take it anymore.

He pulls back with a gasp and you let him, watching his spit dribble from his mouth, loving the deeper shade of red his lips are turning.

“Don’t you think so, Teddy Bear? You’re so inclusive now, sucking off a faggot and a tranny.”

He chokes on his spit, sputters and coughs until his face is red. But he whimpers, too, and he tries so hard to wiggle in his jeans and find even the smallest bit of friction.

You laugh at him, how desperate and wrecked he looks just from sucking on your fake cock. The damp patch on his pants has doubled in size and something about it makes you feel so so powerful.

“Tell ‘em how much you like my cock, Mayor.”

He clears his throat and looks directly at the camera.

“I love your cock, sir.”

As soon as he’s done speaking, you run the slick tip all over his lips.

“Yeah you do. Look so pretty with it in your mouth. Why don’t you take off all those layers? Show ‘em how pretty you can be?”

“Yes sir,” he nods.

He’s quick about it, throwing his vest off and fumbling with the buttons on his shirt until it’s hanging off his shoulders. It goes, and his tank top underneath does as well once he gets it untucked.

And then he’s just in his sinfully tight jeans, looking up at you with a heaving chest.

“That’s a good boy,” you mumble.

He sits back on his heels with a sigh.

“Thank you, sir.”

It’s a little tender, the way you smooth your free hand across his broad shoulder, the soft muscle jumping under your touch. You film the way his breath hitches when your palm ghosts his pebbled nipple, then the way he shudders when you flick it.

“You really are so pretty, Mr.Mayor. Love how these get so hard for me,” you tell him as you roll one between your thumb and finger.

His head lolls back, and his mouth opens around a groan when you squeeze. You give the other one just as much attention, until you feel him trembling under you.

Then, you reach up to wrap your hand around his bobbing throat, no pressure, just for show.

“Hmmm… think maybe we should get you a collar. Make you even prettier. Would you like that, too?”

He nods with his eyes shut. You give him a moment to realize where he’s at, but when it’s clear he’s lost in his head, you slap his cheek.

“Yes! Yes, yes sir, I would.”

His glassy eyes stare up at you, past his recording phone.

“Yeah, have you wear it to all your fancy meetings, let all your constituents know who you really belong to.”

You hear him gulp, loud in the quiet room, and watch him squirm around some more, watch how his cock jumps in his jeans.

“Who do you belong to? Who owns this mouth, and that weeping little cock?”

“You do, sir. It’s all yours.”

“That’s right, Mr.Mayor. Let me take what’s mine, huh?”

He opens his mouth with a slack jaw, and his eyes looks so beautiful when they roll back as you fill his mouth.

Instead of thrusting, you grab a fistful of his hair and pull him into your cock. He keens around the silicone, so fucking needy. You curse and whisper his name, and that only gets more of a reaction from him. He’s humping the air now, a frantic roll of his hips, and you know he’s found that sweet spot where his jeans rub against him just right.

For a moment you let him go at his own pace. On camera, the bobbing of his head and the jerks of his hips are synced. His eyes are shut, and he’s really fucking into it, and as much as you hate to admit it, you are too.

The silicone base of your cock is pressing up against the perfect spot to get you heated. It doesn’t take long for you to still Ted’s head with a firm grip and start fucking his mouth.

He looks up at you just as he gags. His eyes are starting to water, and his chin is covered in drool. You thrust harder, deeper, until his eyes look a bit frantic and his breathing gets labored.

“Fuck, Mayor, you’re gonna get me off like this,” you say as you slow, give him a bit of a break to catch his wind.

He whimpers, and he closes his spread legs and rubs them together, aching for a bit more.

“You like that? You wanna make me come?”

His ‘yes sir’ is muffled around your cock, and it jiggles in the harness when he nods his head and that feels so fucking good.

“Get me off and then I’ll let you come. Gotta do it just like that, though. Don’t fucking touch yourself, Ted.”

He whimpers and doubles his effort, sloppy, knocking the huge cock all around to try to get you off with his panicked movements. You watch through the camera as the muscles in his arms and shoulders and chest all tense up, and you can’t tell whether or not he’s trying to come or trying not to come.

You’re getting close, the sweaty glide of the smooth base flicks against your throbbing bud. Your own breathing starts to pick up, and you’re so close but it’s just not quite enough.

So you grab the back of his head and thrust, slip the silicone to the back of his throat and grind until you finally, finally tumble over the edge.

He’s gagging and coughing with the prick still in his mouth, and the tears are running down his face one right after the other and it only makes those waves keep crashing in a delicious rhythm.

When you pull back, just a bit, there’s teeth marks on your cock, shiny with spit on the video recording. You give another thrust just to punish him for it, and it sets off a fucking gorgeous chain reaction.

It ripples from his head to his toes. His breaths are more than labored, evident even when his shoulders shake and stiffen, his stomach clenches and unclenches and his hips jolt and stutter as he squeezes his legs together.

You pull your cock from his mouth just in time to kneel down and get a close up of his jeans, and the way that wet spot gets larger and larger as his cock jerks and his hips roll.

The sounds he makes are so fucking pathetic it’s almost funny, whimpering and sniveling as he just keeps coming, spurt after spurt absolutely soiling his pants.

His legs shake with the last few pulses, and then he’s slumping, completely ruined from head to toe. You lean back on your own knees so the camera gets an Oscar-worthy pan of his stomach and chest, heaving and sweaty. Up even further to his freshly fucked mouth, all red and shiny and swollen. And his eyes, wide and almost scared looking in his post-nut clarity and guilt, don’t quite meet you or the lense.

“Smile real pretty for the camera, Teddy Bear.”

And to his credit, he does, though it’s anything but genuine and much more resembles a grimace than anything else.

The sound of the recording ending marks the end of this little session as well. Both sets of bones pop and crack as you stand up together. The dressing is quiet, as it always is, and he doesn’t steal a single glance at anything other than the tacky hotel room carpet.

He clears his throat, and you look up from buttoning your shirt to see him still flushed and still guilty. He’s dressed, but he’s holding his vest in front of him and shielding the soaked spot on his jeans from view.

“Thanks, I guess.”

You hum and shrug as he grabs the door handle.

“Same time next week?”

He shrugs then, too, but you know the answer already, know that next Monday you’ll have another bundle of taxpayer dollars come through on your venmo.

He leaves without another word.

When you watch his speech on the news the next day, his voice is noticeably more hoarse and gruff.

#Pedro pascal #Pedro pascal x reader #Pedro pascal smut #Pedro pascal fanfiction #Pedro pascal characters #x reader #ftm reader #Ted Garcia #ppcu fanfiction #pedro pascal cinematic universe #sub! Ted Garcia #Ted Garcia fanfiction #Ted Garcia smut

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popponn · 10 months

Text

a hug and some words. [mikage reo x f!reader]

note: reo seems like a soft someone who knows how to cheer someone up. like he seems like someone who has a lot of arsenal for that you know. warning: light allusion to bad day and insecurity, prince & princess as pet names, but mostly fluff and comfort for everyone, especially you who needs a hug rn. i offer u, domestic cohabitation cuddling baby. and @yoisami saki bby i write reo (✿ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)⁾⁾ i hope u like it darling

When you suddenly threw your arms around him, Reo’s first reaction was to blink. Before you buried your face to his chest, fondly and tiredly, you noted how it was adorable.

“Oh, you are home?” he asked as he took off the earphones he wore. A hand reaching out to wrap itself around your waist. “Didn't hear you coming in. Welcome home.”

Feeling another hand reaching out to your hair and gently resting on it, you couldn't help but nuzzle further into Reo’s chest. It felt odd being the one coming home searching for this. Most of the time, it was him being busier than ever with you already sitting somewhere in the penthouse the two of you share, ready to spoil him at a moment’s notice.

Nonetheless, it was comforting.

“I’m home,” you said, muffled by the soft fabric of his sweater. It seemed to be the one you bought some time ago. It wasn't as expensive as most of his clothing, but Reo seemed to like it. It made you want to coo, or talk to him about it—as an idle chat for any other ordinary day. Yet, this time you could only take note of it silently and let your fatigue seep in, weighing down your body as you felt like you were turning into a lump inside Reo’s hug.

“…did something happen today?” Reo ask softly, shifting his back to lay down on the sofa all while also dragging you along with him, letting you rest your head on his chest still whilst your legs rest in between his.

“Nothing,” you answered shortly. You tried to keep your tone as light as possible, but Reo is sharp. It wouldn't surprise you if he didn't buy it.

Reo raised an eyebrow at your response. “Yeah. No way. Fess up, who makes my princess look so pouty?” Reo pressed as he kissed one of your eyelids softly.

“I’m not pouting,” you protested, half-hearted and almost grumbling.

“Say that when you are really not,” he replied easily, the teasing lilt in his voice mismatching the gentle expression he wore. Yet again, you were reminded of how he truly was almost like a prince in every aspect. That thought filled your mind with both petals and mud, at that moment. He truly is wonderful. Way too wonderful for you even, perhaps.

You didn't know what sort of face that you made. You truly hope it wasn't the face of an ugly someone pretending to be a princess to his prince. But whatever it was, it certainly made Reo’s smile wane away.

He stayed silent for another few seconds, simply staring at you. Then, he asked again, softer yet with more weight in his tone, “…seriously, what happened?”

It was a bit unnerving how the tone he used made you almost want to spill everything out. From the first to the last. Gladly, unfortunately, the fatigue won and overwhelmed you. Breathlessly and bitterly, you just laughed and turned your head away. “Many things. I don't know. Can I just tell you later, really?”

Faintly, you could feel the thumping of his heartbeat against your ear. It felt calming, along with the hand that someone had snaked around and fiddled with the hem of your top since who knows when. You feel terrible—look at him, your beloved. as perfect as always, understanding and affectionate, concerned and caring, and you can't even return all those. Maybe you truly were—

“Okay. Sure, then let's talk about them later—ah, just saying I'm holding that promise though, okay!” Reo said, tightening his hold around your waist. Once again he moved around slightly, a bit ungraceful but somehow very cute like a particularly adorable small animal, trying to bring you upward a little bit more. The moment he managed to get your face closer to his, he let his chin rest on the crown of your head. “Now, watch this shitty opera with me. This one is really shit. But I’m curious about who will she end up with, so you have to suffer through this with me.”

As Reo swiftly returned to the foreign telenovela in his phone, you blinked absentmindedly. You could have sworn it was a soccer match minutes ago when you arrived. Did you see it wrong? Reo actually has an interest in some tacky soap opera? That was new. You kind of wanted to laugh, even though it stunned you. How were you supposed to react—

Oh.

“…do you really want to watch or is this some attempt to cheer me up? Just saying the latter will make me feel stuffs already,” you said as the female protagonist started slapping someone who was probably her evil stepmother.

Reo made a hum that sounded way too smug. While it wouldn't be surprising if this guy has a “cheer up darling” plan or such with an equally embarrassing name, you didn't really expect this. “And it's working, isn't it? Isn't your prince amazing?”

“Eh,” you scoffed. You wished you could answer him jokingly, but out of many many things inside your heart, you couldn't even lie for a harmless banter. With a gaze that you hoped was enough to say everything to him, you nudged at him slightly. “He is, of course. enough that I wonder how could a peasant like me deserve him.”

Hearing your answer, Reo glanced away from his screen and let his eyes wander to yours. There was something you couldn't quite put into words at that moment. But, you were fully aware of how your breath hitched when the quirks on his lips grew wider.

“Well, let's see,” Reo said, with a hand caressing shapes on top of your hip, “Do you really want to hear them all, Princess?”

#bllk #bllk imagines #blue lock #bllk x reader #blue lock fluff #blue lock x reader #blue lock scenarios #blue lock imagines #bllk fluff #drabbles #reo mikage #mikage reo x reader #bllk reo #reo fluff #reo x reader #thought damn a hug is so nice and then i went to town. also cheesy prince and princess is cute let me live #i didn't expect to write him this soon but reo mood is in the air #writing this comfort me in some ways #hope you who read it also feel comfort or at least enjoy it

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missmeinyourbones · 1 year

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Hiiiii L!!! Congrats on ur milestone bby!! It was so hard to choose a prompt I was stuck on so many of them but I’d love to see ur take on the prompt “weird, but fucking beautiful” with Touya<333

WEIRD, BUT FUCKING BEAUTIFUL (t. todoroki)

a/n: bad communicator dabi, reader has a birthmark, descriptions of skin and scarring (???) angsty undertones but ultimately very soft (like dabi), i love u oz

L’s MIDNIGHTS EVENT!

There's a lot that Dabi can't say.

He thinks his lack of verbal charisma was wired into his brain and decided by the stars above from the very moment he was born into this world.

It's not for a lack of feeling, he likes to justify. In his head, Dabi has said what he would deem to be Shakespearean things about how much he loves you—but when it comes time to turn those thoughts into syllables from his lips, they never sound nearly as nice.

Something Dabi is good at, he likes to think, is admiring you. It comes natrually, he doesnt need to think about it.

He loves learning about your body, finding out new things about your skin and shape and self. Enjoys learning how you like to be touched, how you like to be loved without the words he can't really say. He thinks that must be how people in love feel, a bit foolish but willing to sit in silence just to catch a glimpse of something worth while.

Having crawled out of bed and whined about your soreness from last night, you search the room for your discarded jeans. And Dabi does what he does best and watches you.

He appreciates how your skin stretches and bounces when you bend down to grab your pants. How it pudges by your hips and tummy when you shimmy into your jeans and fasten your zipper. He likes how your arms flex and arch as you button your bra around your torso—and he loves how your tiny little birthmark on your back contorts with the normalcy of it all.

It's moments like these, horribly mundane and, for a lack of a better word, boring, that make Dabi realize just how lost in you he actually is. The way you exist, ridiculously regular and undeniably human, makes him want to cry, sometimes. He doesn't think you realize how special that is, to be normal.

Your irritated tone interrupts (what you don't know to be) his sweet introspection.

"Would you stop that?"

You see the smallest twinge of a smile from the corner of his mouth when he plays along.

"Stop what?"

"Looking at me like that," he watches you shrink beneath his heavy gaze.

"Like what?"

You raise your eyebrows at him, in a look that reads nothing but annoyed, and he allows himself to huff out a sound of amusement at how easily aggravated you get sometimes.

"Oh come on, don't be pissy," he teases, but you choose to ignore his taunt and continue getting dressed.

He continues to watch you twist into your shirt, and he's grateful it's sleeveless as it leaves the pretty little imprint beneath your shoulder within his sight. He watches you catch his eye a few times, sees how you grow more irritated with each and every flicker of his stare on your skin.

When you (not so) gently scoot past him to collect your phone from the nightstand, he's quick to wrap his fingers around your wrist and guide you closer to him.

With a scowl on your face, you let him. His hand finds your chin, turning you upward to look at him, pout and all.

"Hey," he whispers with a bit of an edge, one he doesn't mean to have but has accepted as a part of him. When you flicker your eyes over him, he softens his bite a bit, "Talk."

After a sigh or two, your response comes shy, flushed.

"I don't like when you stare at me like that," you whisper against his palm and he can feel the heat of your cheeks flooding with embarrassment.

"Feels like you're making fun of me or something."

"Making fun of you?" his face frowns in genuine confusion. "The fuck are you talking about?"

Not sure if he's fucking with you or not, you take a beat to read his expression. He's serious, for once—you can tell there's no ill will in his furrowed brows and slightly concerned eyes.

Eventually, you deflate and state the obvious, "You're looking at my birthmark."

…Yeah?

"And?" he decides to say instead.

"And I hate it," your voice becomes a bit more strained, "so stop looking at it."

Genuinely confused at the sudden tension between you two, Dabi shrugs and loosens his grip on your jaw, leaving his hand gently ghosting your skin instead of holding you in place.

He sounds a bit critical when he scoffs, "What's there to hate? It's a birthmark."

"It's gross and weirdly shaped and ugly."

And he can't but wince at the pure irony of your words. Because you're always the first person to kiss his scars, trace their growing and scaling patches, and remind him that they're beautiful because they're his.

And here you are, loathing something as measly as a barely noticeable birthmark for the sole reason that it's yours.

He wants to tell you what you tell him, that it's beautiful because it's yours. That he wants to trace it with his tongue and see its outline when he closes his eyes.

But Dabi isn't that poetic, so he settles for shrugging and using his free hand to reach out and touch it.

As his calloused thumb skims the mark, he hums to himself in thought.

"Was thinking about how it's kinda shaped like a mushroom."

He smiles a bit when your eyes roll at his statement. Your skin heats up again when you weakly remind him that, "It's weird."

"Yeah," he merely agrees with a soft nod, "but it doesn't make me want you any less."

Gently, he takes the pad of his thumb and lovingly swipes it across your bottom lip, caressing the skin and attempting to let his touch say what his words can't.

And you know, he knows you know. Because even though Dabi isn't great with words and can't say what he means, what he feels, that doesn't mean he doesn't feel it. He feels it more deeply than anyone you've ever known.

In the softness of the moment, you cock your head to the side and gently bite down on the length of this thumb. It's unexpected but doesn't hurt, and Dabi knows you well enough to know what it says. Thank you. I love you.

He nearly blushes at the intimacy, mumbling out a sarcastic, "Fuckin' ow."

"Don't be a baby," you choose to gently kiss the spot you sunk your teeth into, "that didn't hurt."

It didn't, he thinks. I liked it.

Again, his tongue betrays him, "You're so weird."

Allowing yourself to lean into his touch, your voice taunts him a bit. "But that doesn't make you want me any less, does it?"

Dabi chooses the easy way out and simply kisses you, and through this tongue gently prodding at your bottom lip, you know his answer.

No, it doesn't.

#L's MIDNIGHTS EVENT!#dabi x reader #touya todoroki x reader #dabi x you #touya todoroki x you #dabi fic #touya todoroki fic #dabi angst #dabi fluff #touya todoroki angst #touya todoroki fluff

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pav-ia · 10 months

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okay okay, hear me out.

pavia but hes like,,, waking up from some sort of nightmare or a mild painful memory of his childhood, yk.. when bro was forced into a basement. imagine the cold nights, jfc. and like he wakes up,, but this time he has his s/o with him. and bby is safe <3

he has someone to protect now at least right? pls give us the reader comforting this man I BEG pooki 💔💔

i imagine him to be reluctant to the touch but he eases into it. i remember you mentioned he has mild trust issues so,, comforting touches must be rlly foreign to him

anon i am madly in love with you

,, nightmare ”

pavia x gn reader !

cw :: reverse comfort, slight angst, kinda short

on one of the rare nights where your boyfriend is tired enough to sleep for more than an hour at a time. the human body is not built for lasting long times without sleep, and even if he wasnt entirely human, he still followed this rule by nature. hed insisted that hid wolf companions would sleep on the floor this time so you could cuddle together comfortably and alone.

after waking up in the middle of the night, you were a bit thirsty. leaving bed to grab a cup of water, when you returned, you saw pavia uncomfortably twitching in his sleep. his eyebrows were furrowed and his eyes were squeezed shut, tense and rigid muscles making you realize he was having a nightmare.

you left the door open as the room was dimly lit by the light in the hallway, placing the cup on the nightstand. his wolf leon had an eye open and was watching you as you gently shook him.

“pavia.. wake up…” you urged in a whisper, relieved when he jolted up. his eyes were panicked, horrified almost as if he was a tortured man. his heartbeat was erratic, so loud you could hear it and his skin was cold. he curled away from your touch, his eyes taking time to adjust and focus on the light coming from the doorway.

when you turned the bedside lamp on, you could see the realization slowly settling into his expression. he took a few more moments to calm down, running a shaking hand through his messy hair. you placed your hand on his thigh, not failing to notice the way his muscles tensed under you, before relaxing slowly.

“im sorry.” he muttered in shame, his expression bitter and trained on the floor. he seemed to be embarrassed of his own self.

“dont be.” you say in a gentle tone. to him, your tone was almost motherly, so comforting, so safe, so dangerously sweet. he didnt like how he wanted to turn his back on you, to let you see all of him. he wiped at the sweat on his forehead with the blanket, and you could see the exhaustion on his face.

neither of you were talking. you were sitting on one side of the blanket, him on the other. you really wanted to comfort him, but a small part of you knew that he wasnt ready yet.

you open your arms for him, a tender gesture. he stares you down, seeming to contemplate, but decided against it. “im fine.” he says in a very unconvincing tone.

“wanna talk about it?” you offer, putting your arms down. you werent going to force him to do anything he didnt want to.

he leaned against the headboard, slowly sliding down until his head hit the pillow. truth be told, you expected him to decline your offer, but after a minute of staring at the dark ceiling, he placed a hand over his eyes.

“i dont like the dark. it reminds me of things i dont want to remember.” he mumbles. his tattoos move along with his flexing muscles, his arm tensing and untensing periodically. “bad childhood.”

you made a small hum of sympathy, getting out of bed to close the door. you kept the lamp on as you crawled into bed next to him. “thats alright. i dont like the dark either.” you whisper. “all that matters is youre safe now.”

he is silent for a while. you almost think that hes fallen back asleep, but he turns around and wraps his arms around you, burying his face into your side. he relaxes under your touch when you hug him back, his grip around you tightening as if he didnt want you to leave.

“im safe now. thank you, mio sole.” he whispers.

“thats right, youre out of there.” you hold him close, letting him be exposed completely around you. much like a kicked dog, even if he was skeptical of you, all he wanted was to be loved.

and loved he was.

#%write #pavia x reader #pavia reverse 1999 #pavia reverse 1999 x reader #pavia x you #pavia angst #pavia fluff #reverse1999 x reader

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shirks-all-responsibilities · 2 years

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"...one of the things I kept saying to him was because you're so naturally tough and gruff and masculine and Joel, the more you can show me a scared, sad, frightened kid inside of you, the more I will connect with you and feel everything else." Craig Mazin on directing Pedro Pascal early on in The Last of Us (from the official podcast for Episode 1).

Joel's microexpressions that float across his face in this moment—when he sees a girl in Jackson that looks so much like his long-deceased daughter—absolutely broke my heart. I was immediately transported to this moment I giffed of Pedro's raw performance as Ricky Hauk in Touched by an Angel? Joel's repressed "inner child" and emotions that have been buried under all the unresolved trauma and sheer horror of the reality he now lives in, how it's this expression that he accesses in this moment of the most poignant, overwhelming grief? How it's so muted, so subtle, all these many years later, in such a broken man? My heart?

The way that grief never truly leaves you? Something about the echoes and contrasts between the two performances hits me in the feels? Seeing echoes of sweet larval-stage bby Pedro in 50-something Joel is so fkn sad? 🥺

And then, look at how his expression shifts in each scene...his eyebrows morph back down to that furrowed baseline, back to his hardened shell? It's incredibly subtle in his younger self, obvious in his older self, and heartrending in each.

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here4kpopfics · 2 years

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Just A Moment | Choi San

Pairing: Choi San x reader

Genre: comfort fluff

AU: idol!au | established relationship

Wordcount: 775

Summary: Life’s not on your side lately, and you just need a moment of peace.

Warnings: Just sickening amounts of fluff and talks of life just sucking but nothing really mentioned.

Rating: PG15 just to be safe.

AN: Uh, yes. Hello. I said I’d never write more than BTS and Seventeen and ONE single Yeonjun fic. But I have soft feelings after seeing San sleeping with a body pillow and being all cuddly with anyone he can cuddle with. This is for my beautiful @baljinciaga who I felt like could use some San cuddles lately. I love you, bby. I hope you like it. And thank you to @classicscreations for the banner/divider. Unedited bc I'm lazy.

Masterlist | Taglist | AskBox | Coffee? | Patreon

It’s too late to be here, but you’ve been on edge all day and just need to see him. You don’t care if you get into trouble. You sent a text to Wooyoung asking if it was possible to get into the dorms and he was more than willing to help.

“Thank you, Woo. I promise I’ll be out early.” your voice waivers a little as you quietly follow the boy into the shared apartment.

“You can stay as long as you want, y/n. You know we don’t mind. I know San would prefer it, too.” you both smile, but yours doesn’t meet your eyes as you cast them down to the floor. Wooyoung tilts his head to the side, eyebrows pinched together, as he whispers now that you’re in the apartment, “but…I feel like I gotta ask, y/n. Is everything okay?”

“Uhh,” you pause, kicking your shoes off and dropping your stuff on the kitchen counter, “I don’t actually know how to answer that? It’s just…I will be okay. Just…right now, I need him.” Wooyoung says nothing more, giving you a quick, but tight, hug, kissing your head, and heading to his own room after wishing you a goodnight. You nod as he leaves, turning to walk down the opposite hallway, towards where your heart’s been craving to be all week.

You crack the door open as slowly as you can, trying to make as little noise as possible. The room is dark, only lit by the television that he never remembers to turn off before he falls asleep.

Your heart wants to burst from the sight of him curled up on his side, clutching a body pillow like a lifeline. His cheek is squished against the pillow and he looks so soft and innocent in comparison to when he’s on stage being what you deemed “an absolute demon”. As much as you love him on stage, there’s nothing better than your soft and loving Choi San.

“San?” you whisper, softly closing the door behind you. He doesn’t respond as you take your jeans off, haphazardly folding them and setting them on a chair. You grab one of his shirts that’s easily accessible and remove your own shirt, doing the same as you did with the jeans and throwing on his shirt instead.

“San, baby?” you try again, just a little louder as you crawl into his bed and under the covers, slotting yourself on your side facing him. His arm instinctively reaches around you, pulling you close. Your arm wraps around his back, hand cradling the back of his head to tuck him under your head like you’ve done a million times. His legs find their way between yours, entangling them together.

It takes another minute before he finally hums, inhaling your scent, and pulling his head back as he opens his eyes.

“y/n? What are you doing here?” God, his sleepy voice is way more attractive than anything in the world. You smile, pushing his hair back to kiss his forehead.

“Wooyoung let me in. I know I’m not supposed to be here, but…” your smile fades, letting your hand slide down from his hair to cup the side of his face not against the pillow, thumb soothing over his cheekbone, “I just needed a moment with you.”

“Did something happen?” He’s waking up a little bit more now, growing more and more concerned with every second your expression grows more and more sad. “What happened, baby?”

“Nothing,” your voice reduces to a soft squeak, “I just feel like nothing is going right and just everything sucks and…I miss you.”

“Oh, baby. I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for, San. Your job is your job. I know what I signed up for. Whatever this feeling is that has me so on edge is the problem. But, I can feel it lessening now that I’m here.” You don’t miss the way he grins, pulling you impossibly closer, even with the body pillow between you two.

“Then you stay here as long as you need to, baby. Stay for as many hours, as many days, weeks, months. Stay forever if it means keeping a smile on your face.”

“We both know that’s not possible, but I like the idea of it.” You smirk, shifting to a more comfortable position.

“One day, baby. One day.” his words trail off as he falls back asleep rather quickly and you have the hold back on the giggle you want to make. You give his forehead another kiss as you feel yourself drifting off to sleep, finally feeling a small jolt of happiness and contentment.

Everyone deserves San cuddles. 💜💜

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kallmekatzen · 1 year

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Late nights

♡ Genre - Angst, Romance

♡ Pairing - Leon S Kennedy x reader

♡ Tags - Leon comes home during a stormy night to find You there, Leon has some pent up emotions (poor bby) has a happy ending tho so like—

A/N - I recommend listen to "everything I wanted" and "TV" by Billie Eilish- I dunno if it's goood- short???-

⊱ ──────ஓ๑♡๑ஓ ────── ⊰

It was a stormy night, Leon would be staring absentmindedly ahead as he drove. Leon’s mind was elsewhere tonight, in other words, he was thinking about them. it's been awhile since he had seen Them. a sigh left his lips, mumbling under his breath "I'm coming home Y/n."

The rain had not let up all night, the sky was overcast and dark. It was raining harder than it did before, the heavy downpour that poured from above made everything around him feel darker and gloomier. He turned his gaze back to the road with one final sigh. A small frown tugged at the corners of his lips, his hand gripping the wheel tighter as his knuckles went white. The car felt so cold and lonely, With a quick turn of the steering wheel, Leon brought the car to a halt.

stepping out of his car, he sighed heavily as the rain soaked into his clothing. It seemed colder now. A shiver crept its way across his skin as the wind howled around him, making his hair blow about wildly. With one final sigh, Leon walked toward the house with quick steps, trying desperately to keep himself warm as he made his way inside. The door shut behind him with a heavy thud, Leon took off his shoes and coat, hanging them on the rack by the door.

he made his way to the living room until he stopped, his eyes widened and jaw dropped slightly. There she stood in the middle of the living room in their pajamas, he was transfixed by the sight although he was a bit saddened and concerned, "y/n..you're supposed to be asleep, it’s almost two o’clock in the morning-" Leon started to speak but he was immediately cut short "I missed you." y/n whispered softly, a faint smile appeared on their face as they watched him walk over to them. y/n could tell he was upset but was trying his best to hide it and to try and put on a good face. Leon looked exhausted, the bags under his eyes were prominent against his pale cheeks.

they could also tell he had a cold too from how he held his forehead, Leon sat himself down besides them on the couch "you're supposed to be sleeping, not wait for me." "I know but I wanted to see you, I want to hear your voice again." What they had said stung slightly, he had been gone for so long, Leon didn't say anything at first, just stared at them, his blue eyes softening a bit.

he didn't notice them getting closer, nor did he notice the tears streaming down his face. y/n reached out and touched him lightly on the cheek, his face softened even more as he closed his eyes and leaned into their touch. “I was worried about you…when you left, I waited and waited for you.. i didn't stop.." Y/n whispered, Leon opened his eyes and nodded lightly. They could have sworn they saw a tiny glint of something flash across his eyes before the pain filled his expression, y/n felt their heart break for him. they wrapped their arms around Leon tightly as his body trembled a bit in their embrace

he hugged back tightly as if afraid they would disappear. Leon sniffed loudly, wiping the last tear from his eyes. "i missed you too Y/n..i really did..." Leon breathed quietly, his voice breaking just slightly. Y/n pulled away slowly to cup his face gently in their hands, looking deeply into his eyes. Their grip was gentle, yet tight as they brushed their thumb across his tear stained cheekbones, their eyebrows creased as he pulled him forward to meet his mouth.

Their kiss was tender and loving. the kind that showed their affection without any pressure. Leon could still feel their lips brushing his as they pulled away. Leon looked at them sadly, he knew he wasn't going to be alone tonight. Y/n cupped his face once more and smiled at him "we'll make sure the storms don't get worse." y/n reassured him with an soft smile.

Leon returned the gesture, leaning forward for another kiss. they pulled away and looked deep into each others eyes, sharing a look with their mutual understanding. They both understood what each other meant and why, both were content with the other’s presence beside them. Leon pressed his forehead to theirs, they both closed their eyes as they savored this brief moment of closeness. a few moments later Leon pulled away slightly to rest his head on their shoulder, closing his eyes once again. they intertwined their fingers together, letting themselves bask in the warmth of each other’s touch

it was comforting, reassuring, and safe. Leon’s grip tightened as he relaxed further into their hold. He couldn't deny how much he had missed them, no matter how hard he tried. Leon found himself pulling away slightly to gaze into y/n's eyes with a soft grin "let's go upstairs...you need rest." he suggested, Y/n looked at him, surprised but nodded nonetheless. "Okay," they replied, smiling back fondly as they rose from the couch.

As long as Y/n was there, Leon wouldn't feel alone. Leon would always be alright. They could make everything better.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon scott kennedy #resident evil 4 #resident evil 2 #resident evil #resident evil 6 #resident evil vendetta

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peabod3 · 1 year

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gn! reader, matty healy x reader, george daniel x reader, matty healy x george daniel, and we’re finally into full on smut bby xD sorry for the wait

a.n. absolute lack of grammar but yall aint here for that and yes i got carried away with colours

is this shorter than my other parts? i cant tell?

pt 1! pt2! pt3!

————————————————————————

“Now Matty,” you catch his attention, “don’t you have something to say?”

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed but frankly Matty couldn't bring himself to care. He was now laid on his front, mouth wrapped around Georges cock, being dragged up and down by your hand threaded in his hair. He just felt so good. You were letting him grind his hips against the bed for some relief but it wasn't enough.he needed to cum.The sound of George babbling above his head and your fingers tugging on his roots were driving him insane but it just. wasn't. enough.

“F-feels so good! goodgoodgood! good boy! im a-a good boy! yes, yes! good boy! mmhhmm!”

“aww i'm so glad to hear! such a good boy for me georgie~ that makes me so happy, makes me feel good. you like that dont you? making me feel good?”

“yes! yes i do i do i do, i love it! im y-your good boy and i make you feel good! make you feel good! feels good! feeeels goood! feels so good, good for you! good for you?”

You must have put him under a spell. How had this mountain of a man been reduced to such a begging mess at your touch? And why did it sound so good? Normally george was also in charge, normally george was the one with his hand in Mattys hair, muttering lustful things in his ear and making him beg. But right now he was just an instrument, a conduit for pleasure that you wouldn't let him grasp.

“mmpff!”

“yes georgie, good for me! what about you matty, decided if you wanna be good for me yet?”

Him! You were talking to him! But he was still gagging on georges cock, your grip hadn’t let up.You sneaky bitch. He was moaning much louder now, a mix of desire and desperation because he knew that you knew that he couldnt answer. You were playing with him and he fucking loved it. Matty was trying to give you a response, his moans becoming louder and less restrained as you continued to maneuver him and little by little he lost himself to the sensation of it, the burn in his cheeks at the width of his mouth, the taste that would linger at the back of his tongue and the whimpering baritone sinking into his brain. He could stay here forever, he wants to stay here forever. It feels so good right here, with his hips pressed against the pull out mattress and- oh!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

George had cum with a loud moan, one that took you by surprise and made you let out a small laugh as you stroked his face, looking at his blissful expression and still open mouth that you began to trace with a finger. You didn’t even need to check to know what the look on matty’s face would be, you had heard how his moans had gotten looser and more lustful. So it was only when you saw georges eyebrows furrow from the pain of overstimulation that you glanced down his torso and the sight you were met with was godly. Matty, now unmoved by your hands which were cupping georges head, was still bobbing up and down on georges cock- eyes rolling in his head and hips moving down on the mattress with slow purpose. There he was, Your good boy. Just needed that extra push.

You run your fingers softly from the crown of his head to his jaw, applying pressure until he finally slides up and off george, said boy letting out a gasp of relief from the cool air hitting his dick. Matty keeps his jaw slightly open and you begin tracing his lips, the boy painted in cum and drool.

“Being my good boy matty? Yeah?”

“mmhhmm!”

“can you say it?”

“i-i can.”

“thats good, will you?”

“im-immmm~” but he cuts himself off, your index finger had brushed too close to his lips and he had pushed it into his mouth, eyes shutting and releasing a small hum around your digit. You indulged him for a minute, looking over your shoulder at George who was now sat up against the headboard of the pullout. He was already getting hard again and you could see in his eyes that something had shifted and you knew your fun with him was over. now it was time to work together- on matty. He sends you a smirk and you know that he has an idea that you're going to like.

You pull your finger from Mattys lips and they purse trying to keep it in, puckering and kissing slightly in the air, eyes still shut as he searches for it.

“Matty.” George says, you can hear the confidence oozing off of him.

“mmhmm?”

“What are you?”

It went straight to your core, the silent power George was wielding over Matty rippling in the air between them. You waited with bated breath.

“im- im a good boy.”

“a what?”

“a-a good boy.”

“interesting, again.”

“a good boy!”

“again.”

this was a display of power, telling matty that tonight george was above him, telling you that it was time for you to work together and make the beauty in front of you come undone. subconsciously matty had crawled forward and was sat on his knees at georges feet, with just enough room for you to slip behind him and reach around to caress his front.

“ im a g-good boy, sir”

“very polite matty, now keep saying it.”

“im a-ahhhmmm~”

you had dipped your hand lower, grasping his dick and bringing your other hand up to his neck, squeezing just tight enough.

“what was that baby?” you mutter into his ear, feeling his eyelashes flutter against your cheek.

“im a- a good boy!”

“keep going”

“im a good boy! im a good boy, good boy for you. for you both! hmm im a good boy~”

#matty healy #the 1975 #george daniel #george daniel x reader #matty healy x reader #matty healy smut #george daniel smut #i need jesus #xd #dom reader

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gildeddlily · 1 year

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why the abuse cycle is the best thing ever written (ok not the best but almost)

I wouldn't define myself an Akutagawa apologist, 'cause no I simply can't do something like that knowing what he did to Kyouka, but hating on him for that is the same as hating Dazai for it? not really.

"dazai should pay for what he has done-" uh he already did? like alright go on and forget the suicidal tendencies (and the almost canon sh) that definitely aren't sarcastic (even my bed knows that), the years he spent in the mafia as a teenager (if the word child is exaggerated for you)(at fourteen you're still a child yes), how he was around killing people at fifteen, how he learned ways to torture others at the same time, how he lived in a literal container far from everything else and how he was considered a demon by everyone to the point that he was sure of that by sixteen (how he was the ward of a canon pedophile (not saying he was s/a for sure, but it wouldn't make things better)), and an entire characterization for your "poor innocent akutagawa" act

like, I love Akutagawa, he's one of my favourite characters and of the best written ones, and despite my love for him I recognise the bad things he has done. naturally I'm not talking ab the killing, like who cares they're all kinda useless or not so important to me and everyone in general, but the "Abuse Cycle" thing, one of the best things Asagiri wrote for this plot. he just treated Jyouka like shit, and everyone has to admit it: he abused and manipulated her for a long time, badly influenced her and using her as a tool for the mafia. Dazai did the same, saving Akutagawa, "giving him a reason to live" if making him proud can be called this, and abusing and treating him probably the way he was treated under Mori's cares.

I remember when some years ago I said to a friend of mine (I was like thirteen and they were sixteen) that I didn't like Dazai for what he did to Akutagawa (my favourite boy when I had yet to read the manga) and they told me something like "but that's hypocrisy, Akutagawa did the same thing to Kyouka" yes and no, again.

chapter 49 is like the thing that make me says that even tho the things they both did were bad it still is not the same

I'm citing another post here on tumblr that I saved and lost cause I'm a genius, but the "eyes represent the way the see themselves" theory is perfect for this chapter, that is a whole "you're eyes are different". it's the cannibalism arc and Kyouka is ready to kill Higuchi to save the ADA and Fukuzawa cause they're the first real family she has had after her parents died, Akutagawa starts to fight her and after her attempt to kill him surprises him, she backs away and he sees her face clearly, specifically her eyes. Asagiri drew them like this for a reason.

Akutagawa's surprised eyes are wide open, iris grey (like his hair so they would be just pitch black) like the pupil in an almost blank look. they express nothing, and the only way we understand how he's feeling is the "eyes wide open" thing. they're just dull. Kyouka is determined, and in her eyes shines that determination to help her family. the sparkles are there for a reason like every other time, and they're open. filled with emotions and just human. her eyebrows are frowned, and she's so different from him it hurts. (Asagiri even put the little panel with his eyes next to her, he's screaming "look at how you'll suffer now")

this is a creepy expression our silly little guy makes at the idea of fighting someone as strong as kyouka, and the differences in their eyes is even more prominent (crazed look doesn't suit you bby)

and he sees that difference, even if kyouka probably ignores it. he admits that she's right: she's changed since she worked under him

he describes kyouka's eyes as "yearning for death/with no values for her life", and says that he knew someone with the same eyes as her, and at first it would look like he's talking about himself, but then there's a picture of sixteen/seventeen Dazai, that like her joined another organization and found a reason to live (Dazai definitely didn't found a reason to live, maybe a reason to don't die and survive but it's another matter). so he isn't talking ab himself, and he even sees the part of the flashback with himself like a little icon in the corner. Asagiri drew the way he remembered that day, not someone else's perception

so he doesn't think of himself as someone like Kyouka or Dazai. But both Asagiri and Bones did a good job making things clear (bones almost useful for the first time with the iconic parallels)

they're the same. they're identical, and maybe bones did akutagawa's part too evident, removing the "hidden truth" behind that panel, but the effect is perfect. they have the same eyes, but Akutagawa says that they're like Dazai's ones, who sure look like theirs in the "you're the witness to that fact" scene. he completely ignores the parallels between his past (and present) self and kyouka.

he says that he's glad about kyouka's (and dazai's) happiness and new-founded reason to live/stay alive. he's happy for them, cause he recognise that they're better like this, and he accepts the fact that they've found a place outside the mafia. (kyouka screams flabbergasted) so, basically, he also recognize how the time she spent with the mafia (and with him) was bad for her mental health and didn't help her wellbeing. I'm pretty sure t is the closest thing to an apology he could ever manage.

the "best" thing about the abuse cycle is the differences between them. Kyouka breaks the cycle and finds happiness. Akutagawa gets abused and abuses, he recognise it and "apologies", declaring himself glad that his and the mafia's influence weren't able to break Kyouka. Dazai gets abused and abuses, and we aren't sure of his feeling about what he did to Akutagawa. (mori is a good character but a bitch that I don't care ab)(his backstory would be gold but asagiri isn't that kind)

Kyouka recognize herself as a victim, and search/welcomes people who want her good. Akutagawa doesn't recognize himself as a victim, but says that Dazai and Kyouka are, thinks of himself as a weakling (and probably would react badly to anyone telling him that he was abused)(killing them maybe) Dazai doesn't recognize himself as a victim, 'cause he doesn't even thinks of himself as human to begin with, and there lies the difference between him and akutagawa

Dazai recognized that what he was doing to Akutagawa in Dark Era was bad, but didn't found in himself the "humanity" to be better, basically, saying that someone good like Oda would have done a better job. after Oda's last world he "became" a better person (he thinks he's acting all the time. like he really is unable to be human, when we know it isn't absolutely true), and started to "act" as "human". he truly sees himself as unable to be genuinely kind (like genuine kindness exists pfft), and it makes me feel bad cause it's horrible to live feeling like some empty shell of fake human traits. but it also is his excuse for his bad actions in the mafia. he doesn't recognise Mori's influence as the thing that made him who he is, that made him do what he did to Akutagawa, and doesn't think of himself human enough to be a decent guy, and decides to just be inhuman. I'm not saying he doesn't try, he for sure did back when he was younger, but I think at one point he simply choose not to anymore

(dazai "apologising" to akutagawa or thinking explicitly ab the bad he has done to him would be the apex of character's development)

so at the end Akutagawa recognizes (if I use this verb another time hit me with a spatula) what he has done to Kyouka but doesn't do the same with what Dazai has done to him Dazai probably doesn't fully recognizes what he has done to Akutagawa cause he does the same with what Mori has done to him, and if he did he still didn't find himself capable to be kind enough not to do bad (even tho he'll be with atushi ) (they need someone to make them understand) (someone hit them in the head please)

and nothing I should to study and I'll write the rest later cause I have too much things to say ab them

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd kyouka #bsd akutagawa #bsd dazai #akutagawa ryuunosuke #dazai osamu #bsd mori #abusing children and being abused is bsd characters' hobby did you know this #bsd manga #bsd is bad for me #not really #take it away from me

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