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court-jobi · 8 months ago

Note

Hi, lately I came across your blog and I really adore your writting style :3

I was very excited when I saw you have open requests (if I am not wrong, otherwise ignore me hah), so I have request for Bakugou × reader, when they are in established relationship, but lately it got rocky, because he was barely home, trying to climb ranks and just neglecting their relationship, so they barely even talk. Then reader gets kidnapped, due to being Bakugou's SO, but she feels so irrelevant at this point that she starts saying to the kidnapper that they are wasting their time, because Bakugou is not coming for her, whick Katsuki overhears, you know just good old angst with fluff at the end maybe

If this request is too complicated or specific please don't feel pressured to do this, anyway have a lovely day/night

I am very much receptive to asks, and thank you so much for providing one!! super flattered actually and spent my entire afternoon crafting up this bad boy bc I had an instant idea for it

Hopefully I touched all the right notes on this one, enjoy anon! Don't be a stranger~

Do It Scared

Words: 4.9K

Warnings: Pro Hero!Bakugou x reader TW: kidnapping, intimidation, light descriptions of violence, protective Bakugou is protective, language, angst with a happy ending (promise!!) and potential spoiler: Pro Hero!Deku

for my My Hero Academia Masterlist, check it out here!

Read on Ao3

Dynamight is on top of the world– or at least working his ass off to get there.

With Deku back on the leaderboard, he’s got twice the motivation and has never been in love with being a hero more.

“That’s what -heh- nine for you this week, Dynamight?” the newly suited Pro beams at Bakugou- not unlike the five year old version of him did back a lifetime ago.

Only instead of bashing the twerp upside the head with a gloating tease, Bakugou simple smirks and gives Midoriya a stiff push on the shoulder,

“Ten, but who’s counting, nerd?”

The winded, black-and-blue villain currently under custody finds the heroes’ track records funny. Midoriya doesn’t necessarily take these villain types’ remarks to heart, but hates the attitude of this one today.

“Yer sidekick keepin’ count?! You wanna badge or a chest to pin it on, smartie pants? –AAGH!”

“HEY- THE ONLY GUY CALLIN’ THIS DEKU A NERD IS ME, DUMBASS!! YOU’RE THE SHITHEAD GOING TO JAIL FOR THAT STUNT– AND HE’S HEADING INTO THE TOP TEN!!”

“HO-OKAY, DYNAMIGHT, I think he’s had enough!!”

Deku corrals the punk’s restraints a bit, but leaves the remaining process of reading rights and detainment for the police who just rolled up. Deku will proudly share that much prefers this ‘thick as thieves’ treatment to the ‘fight me or die’ dynamic they shared in school, and couldn’t be happier to be Pro Heroes once again.

And if Bakugou were completely honest, so was he. He’s in his element and closer to reaching his goal by the day.

Walking out of earshot from the police unit, the two are heading over to Ingenium and Creati who are deeply engrossed with the intelligence officers who just arrived on the scene.

“Ten it is, then– you really need to start leaving some to me though; I can handle it, you know,” Midoriya slips his facemask down, exposing a pleading grin Bakugou still kinda wants to punch some days. “Might give you a little time to actually take a rest day now and then!”

“Tch, if you were fast enough, you’d do it, ‘Zuku.” Bakugou straightens out his gauntlet, but misses his best friend’s tilt of a frown. “N’ who said I need a rest day, anyway? I’ve never been better!”

“I can think of one person..” Midoriya hinted strongly at something that truly escaped Bakugou’s focus. Every now and then, he couldn’t quite mindread the nerd like normal, if he was deep in work mode.

“Heh?”

Midoriya raised a friendly, tired brow, “How’s your girl been lately, hm?”

Bakugou tenses a touch, but quips back, “Whaddya mean. She’s fine, been working a lot too.”

“Not as much as you. What’s she up to? You haven’t said much about her.”

Which was an oddity, indeed. Your successes, your insights, and even your random memes were common topics of conversation from Bakugou’s lips. But Midoriya did raise a finer point between the lines– you’d been put on something of a backburner, and he knew better that something must be off for the blond porcupine to rarely speak of you. Bakugou sensed it himself, but the more repeated check-in texts he received, the cycle of his non-answers worsened. This must be what the nerd is getting at.

“She’s fine-” Bakugou pressed, assuring himself and no one else, “Look, we’ve got our flow, and it works. I keep her in the loop when I’m busy and she gets it.”

Midoriya heaves a disbelieving breath, and just fixes Bakugou a look.

“What’s that shitty look for, huh? Whaddyou know?!”

“I know when she texted me yesterday that she doesn’t sound thrilled about your overtime…” the freckled sweetheart touched a personal chord within Bakugou. “Or that she hasn’t even heard from you to talk about it? I mean, I-I know it’s not my business, but Ka-”

“Deku, Dynamight!” Iida waved the two over from their aside, and back into work mode- to Bakugou’s drop in spirit, “We have a bit of a time-sensitive mission to take care of~”

Deku turned to the officer, raring to go and and straightening up his shoulders to address their more formal counterparts, “Of course, officer- how can we help?”

“Well sirs, we’ve got an ongoing heist over on the other side of the riverbank, and need a bit of coordination to respond.”

Yauyorozu had just finished off a protein pack of some sort and had demurely crumpled its trash in her hand while navigating an ipad passed to her. She’d welcomed Midoriya over when he took interest in whatever footage she’d been presented.

“Well shit, we supposed to be standin’ around like this when time’s wasting, or what?” Bakugou asked brusquely.

Ingenium -in his formal, helmeted fashion couldn’t hide his practiced patience well with the hothead in his response;

“The need for firepower is necessary, Dynamight– but caution is as well,” Iida reminded dryly. “We are in a heavily populated area, and must exercise control.”

Bakugou merely purred a low growl and turned diplomatic.

“Fine. We got live wires? Hostages?”

“To our knowledge, only a select few- a dozen at most,” the officer answered, “We can see most of the victims through the bank’s glass lobby. It’s a small, petty theft group- or so we thought, but there are some decent quirk users among them. Seems they are after more than funds, but records as well.”

Bakugou refrained from rolling his eyes, but only barely. Surely there were bigger and better missions to be pursuing than this– something a bit flashier, more suited for his skills with higher civilian rescue numbers to add to his count.

“One guest was able to contact via the emergency text line, and reported that someone did pull an emergency trigger and was taken further back into the vaults as a prisoner.”

Iida empathized, “Hardly fair- I’m sure none of these customers were armed, and they were simply acting as any hero would trying to notify the authorities.”

The officer firmed up a smile in agreement and proceeded to share some more info about how far back into the bank the team would need to infiltrate based on proximity to servers.

“Sure you don’t just wanna call ‘Tape’, bust in there, strap ‘em up, and call it a day? Y’don’t really need a whole evac team, do you.”

A simple rescue in-and-out should be easy enough, or so he assumed- until Yaoyorozu took a bit of a sharp intake of breath in her nose, alerting Deku to fixate on the screen again,

“Bak- erm. Dynamight,” Yaoyorozu interjected gently, “-you need to see this-”

Bored and still half paying attention to the officer, Bakugou only barely looked Momo’s way, and didn’t really feel like a crowd around a tiny screen -in full sun- was warranted.

“What? It’s frickin’ bright out-”

“Kacchan,” Midoriya shot back icily, “get over here.”

Something alarming had struck him in the face, and he was purposefully putting on a front to those not personally connected to the heroes. Sidestepping ‘Legs’, Bakugou was passed the ipad and played back the security footage of the interior of the bank.

Time stamped at just fifteen minutes ago, a civilian in question had tried dipping around the counter to where some clerks had been bullied up to the opposite wall- but one of the employees jerked her head towards one of the registers- a lightning quick gesture. This cued the civvie -a woman, if the hiked up skirt was a correct indication- in the foreground to feel around the bottom lip of the keyboard for something- likely an alarm switch. Once done so, she’d merely knelt back down, hoping to stay low and sneak back to avoid the thug to lash out at the person who’d tipped her off.

But then -comically enough- the thug sneezed and unfortunately whipped to the side to let it fly. Looking up, there she was in his sightline. With something akin to a spider’s web knocking her flat onto her back, she’d been dragged up and back with the others- trying to ground herself with a squatted stance first, tried to force her elbows back, then bashing her head back in an attempt to hit her captor– until she was ultimately slapped and taken back to the far hallway, hunched over.

Bakugou saw red. His heart stopped then set itself on fire, hotter than Hades. He’d known that self defense response from having taught it, himself.

You pulled the alarm.

For the first time in his career- he knows the target he’s saving. He’s in love with her, after all.

Damn your neck hurts. If your elbows hadn't been glued up to your sides, you woulda used those instead; but now having jerked your head back, you’d given yourself a healthy dose of whiplash.

And got a punch to the gut. And a slap to the face. Joy.

There’s fight, flight, freeze, and fawn. You’d seemingly gone for the fight route, with your body moving before your self-preservation could catch up, but it seems your fawning tactic of remaining calm and quiet wasn’t working out for you now. At least you took the attention off those poor girls in the lobby who were in near hysterics.

Only now it seemed you’d taken on the role yourself, back here. You try to breathe deep, drop your shoulders, drop your jaw. You’d think this would double to avoid showing any fear that your captors can use against you, but it’s honestly just to help keep you grounded and not panic and curb the intense need to vomit or cry.

Please. As if you’d even call yourself heroic for pulling the theft alarm– but you suppose it’s instincts. Carry-over bravery: osmosis you assume, from hanging around these heroes. Your hero. Katsuki.

You’re stunned– you’re shocked– and you’re scared.

Katsuki. You want Katsuki. More than the police, more than your mom.

You want your hero to come for you, over any other in this entire country. The name pounds behind your eyes when you shut them against a wave of pain, the person you want more than anything else in the world.

–And at the same time, that man’s name hurts at the cry for it: given he hasn’t spared you more than a one or two word response in days. Because he’s overworked by his own volition. By his own drive. And you should be angry. You have been, for this is the longest you haven’t seen each other outside of a trip; considering you’ve all but committed your lives together and he’s typically at your place every other night, the drop in communication is a cold bath.

And you’re scared now- it’s a blurry feeling. Time is wonky when you’re stuck in a room with no windows, no visible clock and just waiting. All those tips they tell you about how to react in an emergency to keep calm? The ones you’ve heard over and over again in security briefings and teacher preparedness days before the school year starts? Man, is it easy for those to go out the window when you’re in actual trouble.

You just want Katsuki. And that’s a silly thought, considering how wide the city is. He could be clear across the district right now.

But just saying the name -thinking of any other pleasant time when he had his arms around you play-fighting that could make these bindings feel more bearable- that’s what you want to cling to.

The villains here are pretty pathetic as interrogators go, but that spares you no calm as they taunt you as if you were a captured magistrate or politician. They’re split into two parties; their head honcho trying to tap into the databanks of the servers two doors down while your immediate captors with the creepy quirks are choosing to go through your recovered phone seeking out blackmail like the assholes they are. Your primary apps for insurance and paying your bills are thumbprint protected, so really what could they get to that's confidential? Nothing, to your knowledge. But it seems your camera roll strikes their interest.

Oh yeah, they hit low. They see your lock screen first- a sweet photo of your harmless, dopey dog who they snark that you won’t be home to feed on time. Then even more, as your home screen displays a picture-perfect selfie of you and your darling man. You picked it because it’s rare proof of him smiling at some wisecrack you made before snapping the shutter.

Your handsome and infuriatingly busy man.

“Aww, well just look at little miss hero’s cute lil boyfriend! Bet he’ll be awful proud of you playing the savior~”

“Tehehe, too little too late though, yeah? Gotta be quicker than that for us.”

“Geez, how sappy can you get. This guy’s all over her…and can’t blame him, honestly. Makes me feel a little bad for roughing such a pretty thing up.~”

Gross. Just gross. You act like you don’t listen, your simpering pain turns to nausea the more they talk. Until a renewed sense of fear hits:

“Wait- go back. Oh. Ohhh shit, no.”

“Whuh.”

“Fuck, man, that’s DYNAMIGHT!!” the jerk with the copious amounts of tattoos and chains draping off his arms like whips gets nervous real fast, “We have Dynamight’s girlfriend!!”

Your other guard seems to swallow for a split second, but immediately tips to a feigned dominance,

“Well, ain’t that just icing on the cake~”

“THE HELL DO YOU MEAN? He’s gonna come after her!! You know how scary that guy is?! I’m telling the boss-”

“Don’t wimp out already,” he fires back. “Why do that and waste time- when knowing this, we could get paid double? Heroes ransoms can cost him a pretty penny, and you know he’ll do it for her. Those heroes make bank.”

You flatten your brows angrily.

“Whaddya think, princess? Big man gonna come and save you, huh?

You really want Katsuki. But you truly have no idea if he’d know or care to come at this point. The spiral downwards in the mind is dizzying along with your headache, and just makes your heart sick for him.

When you see him next, you’re not sure if you’d hug him or throttle him. Though now, you just wanna see him.

“Unless.. He doesn’t!” his mood shifts- patronizing, “Too busy makin’ a paycheck and name for himself and all his hero buddies than to settle down and think about the pretty thing at home? Well, I would fix that real quick–”

A muffled boom sounds on your right. Rooms away.

Another, louder. Two beats after, the guards look at each other.

You hear a yell, a harsh one, then another blast that sounds cracklier than the rest. Someone’s close. But you’re honestly not sure if it’s friend or foe.

You’re excited, but get nervous again when the lackeys move into action. Chains loops a rough swing of his appendages around you and starts dragging you back into the adjoining office, while the muscle goes back to type at one of their private laptops that’s downloading something.

You give off a flare of panic in your voice- a sound you hate but can’t control.

“It’s-s not him–” you force your pitch lower, but it shakes despite your best effort. “Cmon, there’s too many heroes, s’not gonna be him– n’there gonna come an’- bust yall anyway!! Whaddya want me for?!”

As you’re dragged, you catch a glimpse of shine from above you. In the vent, you see mustard yellow and teal saturated with shadow- all metal. Then, his voice, through a comm on his wrist that flashes in the reflected light:

“Got her. Light it up, on your left.”

Both lackeys drop what they’re doing and look up to see the vent kicked into the floor– and the wall totally blown in from your right.

Dynamight -the Symbol of Victory- and Deku -the Symbol of Peace- are dropping in at breakneck speed, though the former is out for blood.

“ALRIGHT, WHICH ONE OF YOU FUCKERS AM I KILLING FIRST??”

Deku’s landing creates a decent wind with his jump, revealing Bakugou behind where the door usually is, and clocking your position almost immediately.

It’s a powerful thing, to see him in action- you’ve certainly never seen it in person, and you’ve never heard him this mad. To his credit, he never raises his voice enough for you to fear it.

He spots you and the guy who rushes him, but just snarls, evades his whip of weighted chains entirely, grabs him by the calf, and chucks him into the opposing wall with a spinning throw. Then, he sets straight to you.

“DEKU!!” he shouts to Midoriya, “Trash, at your ten!!”

“On it!” Your angel from the ceiling ducts is currently laying into the other guy, but keeps the reeling villain in his sights before he can get up and strike again. You imagine the sucker has more than a few broken bones (or truly is dead, as promised)… he doesn’t move from his figure on the floor.

While you’re still coughing up a storm from the drywall throwing dust everywhere, Bakugou comes to your side and immediately picks your bound body up in a rush from the chair you were perched on.

“C’mere you-”

He sounds rushed and spent, huffs it out of the room and into a separate office down the hall.

You spot Ingenium and Creati moving on to the other end of the hall where you know the final villain remains, but you can already hear the squeals of said wimp once Iida bursts in. This will be quick work for the rest of them, so you weren’t worried Dynamight would be needed anymore.

Inside an executive’s office, Bakugou kicks the door behind him shut with his heel and sets you on the dearest flat surface- a decently sized desk.

“Hey you- you still with me?”

You don’t realize you’re breathing so fast until he’s looking you square in the face with split concern. It’s night and day from when he burst in after one of his more gusty explosions, his voice all cracked and high in pitch.

“Cmon, baby look at me- here, let’s get this crap off of you..”

Your gasps for air turn wet and you can’t keep yourself from crying anymore. It would be notably sweet that he still tries his hardest not to curse wildly around you, but right now you don’t care what font his expletives are in. Every bit of stress leaving your body all at once is a rush for your senses and your emotions.

“Kats~”

After his pocketed knife’s quick, careful work separating your arms from your waistline covered in a still-sticky webbing, he sheaths the blade again and collects you up when you launch yourself at him.

Bakugou holds you hard and fast and you can’t even be bothered to worry about how his shoulder pauldrons are nearly choking you. He’s got you back in his arms, and he’s just saved your life.

“I’m here,” he grunts to you, relieved beyond measure, “I’m here, sweet’eart. You’re safe.”

You’re so thankful. You’re so happy-

“N’d I am so sorry.

-You’re so confused.

In a flippy tone that betrays what heightened nerves you’d just gone through, you ask,

“Huh?”

Bakugou’s fingers thread into your hair when you try and pull back-

“Don’t. S’the first.” His iron-sure voice wavers, “I- I haven't hugged you all week.”

Then, you’re both crying into each other, and it’s a healing thing.

Dragging careful nails across the back of his hero suit, you try to offer a tiny bit of comfort to this mass of man cradling you on this desk. You know you’re still in dire need to talk about his recent absence, but what a reunion this was. Feeling him after a seven or eight day stretch of near radio silence changes the degree of flame you hold against him. Honestly now, you’re in the mind to think he deserves a pass entirely.

Bakugou finally lifts enough to press a kiss to your head, but makes no move to let go of you. “I’ve missed you, baby.”

Has he? He’s barely texted you past the ‘I’m heading out’ and ‘I’ve gotta sleep’ with no room to offer or reciprocate any form of love between you; so much so, it threatened to make you doubt.

“Have you? I haven’t heard.”

“No, you haven’t. And that’s all on me.”

You turn your head very slowly- your entire neck is still tender, but you'd rather listen to him with an ear to his chest, where you belong.

“I’ve missed you too,” you settle on the truth. You might have more to say when you’re not so exhausted, but the truth is you’ll still love him no matter what, and you do always miss him.

You miss every moment, big and small. His wins and losses. Nights where he’s high off a victory or the ones where he’s bone-tired and in his head about how weak he must seem. Nights where he takes out his hearing aids and just wants to fall into your silence to sleep safely, and the mornings where he’s up and ready to go take on the day after he has your kiss and hug to charge him up. Whether he has your chapstick smeared up on his cheek, or the promise of your arms to hold him in whatever state he greets you when he comes home, you just miss him. You notice when he’s not there. The house seeks him out, with lights on for him to find his way inside, and low music to soothe what anger might have followed him home.

You take a few moments to just soak each other in. You hope and pray he’ll come home with you after this.

And thank the Maker, your prayers might just be answered.

“This was a wake-up call, sweetheart.” Bakugou sounds a bit bolder, but still talks softly to you and the dust mites around you, “I’m takin’ a leave. A long one.”

The way he promises time off is something he’s toyed with before, but never followed through on.

“You can’t do that, Kats,” there’s no coldness to the words, but you mean it.

“Yes I can. It’s my race; I can step away.”

You sigh against his pec, “I’m.. I’m not asking you to. I can’t, that wouldn’t be fair.”

To you, sure. But not for his dream. Not the dream he’s worked and fought and lived for since before you met, and long before he fell in love with you. You’d supported him in this chase to save everyone and be the best at what he does from day 1, and you’ve never wavered on that– you still wouldn’t, even if someone asked you now feeling as dejected as you do by his absences–

“Tch. Y’know what's not fair?”

Bakugou finally loosens his grip on you to lift your chin up to him with thick, strong fingers,

“Leavin’ you for days on end; waiting up, worried sick. Leaving, and just assuming you’ll still be there when I get back. And now you’re getting fuckin’ snatched the minute I turn my back on what we have. That isn’t right.”

The correlation is irrational- this incident today was a freak accident. You couldn’t have planned it- or certainly hope that your identity as his significant other is not going to be weaponized. Shuffle in the hallway beyond tells you that the possibility of that information leaking is sufficiently locked up along with them.

Surely Izuku would have grabbed your phone– and maybe set you up a new lock screen with a mean mug to poke some fun at ‘Kacchan’.

You slump against him, at the sound that he’s being too hard on himself, and that’s not what you want for him either.

“I just miss you, Katsuki. And I want to see you succeed.” you study the bold ‘X’ across his chest with fondness and heartache mixed, “I want both those things. I just can’t help but wonder if you have to go at it so fast? And so hard, where I never see you? Like you’re racing against the clock to be #1? I just want you there in one piece; I don’t care how long it takes.”

You have no doubt he’s going to land the spot before he’s thirty. You just hope for a balanced ascension to the height of his power and ability. And selfishly… you hope you’re in the picture of his life when he does.

Bakugou hears and you do believe he listens, as he smooths a calming hand up and down your arm all the while.

“And today..” you clam up a bit with an uncontrollable shake, “Today was- scary. But you couldn’t help that. Any more that you can help it from happening t’ anyone. I know that,”

And you look up at him despite the burn it causes you. And -a funny contrast to your still teary eyes- you smile.

“-but you did save me. And that was- honestly one of the coolest things I’ve ever seen in my life.”

The comment strikes him as funny, too, since he gives a little chuckle.

“Me blastin’ in and causing you to choke on my smoke?”

You nodded briefly.

“Kinda hot, all things considered.”

Unbelievable, his headshake and eyeroll at how easily you can -and will- make jokes. Perhaps it is the shock still, deflecting with humor.

You do realize how fragile it is because when you laugh at the absurdity, you catch his eye again and you look just a little too long before you’re sniffling.

The reality is that you could lose him at any time: whether by his end or yours. He’s got the more dangerous job by far, but if today was any indication on your part, you shouldn’t just think yourself as a shoe-in for safety.

Bakugou cups your face in his hands to make himself perfectly clear.

“You’re the hero today, angel. Watched you in 16-bit as you snuck back there, taking that bastard into next week. You saved every- single- one of them.” he placed a kiss on each word as he praised you. “I am so damn proud of you.”

Your hands still skipped, limbs jumpy.

“I don’t feel like a hero.”

His lashes lured you in as he gazed at you through them, “Doesn’t mean you aren’t one. You did it scared. That’s pretty hot, too.”

You huffed your amusement as he thanked you in his own way. Best to let him carry on before he’s whisked away again.

Just as you thought he might release you in ushering you out of the office, Bakugou takes you by the hands so that you can stand, then keeps you in place by his immovable stance.

“Things are gonna change,” he vows, “because none of this shit matters if I don’t have you. Yeah I want you now, but I’m gonna want you after my fire’s burnt out. Which means, I gotta pay attention. I have to set ‘who matters’ just as high as ‘what matters’ and remember why.”

Touched by every word, your trembling lessens. You take in his warmth and his care and his explosive loyalty with confidence and nod in agreement.

Taking one last selfish hug, you sink into your hero again, standing more as equals than you usually feel being held by him. He’s lifted you up in more ways than one. Enough to let safety back into your heart, enough to tease,

“That can’t be your line. When did ‘Zuzu’ give you that one?”

“Hey,” Bakugou flicked you in the temple lightly, “I can be nice too, dammit.”

“Sure you can,” you kiss the dip of his neck in apology.

“You’re just always nice, you can’t appreciate the difference.” he pouts, taking your hand and leading you out of the office.

“...Sure I can.”

You have to give him a solid shot– he’s nothing if not insistent with what he wants.

Outside the room, there are a host of officers, photographers, medics and heroes aiding in the recovery efforts, so you relax your hand in his to let go,

–only he doesn’t let you.

Bakugou glances to you, “You’re in shock, extra. You need to get checked out.”

“I’m fine, Mr. Dynamight,” you chortle with a little head bobble like you would have normally done, only now the movement makes you wince.

“That’s what I thought. OI, Deku- where’s her sh-phone?”

The iron hero stands with the receptionists, looks to you both and smiles gratefully, before nodding off to his company and joins you-

“This, I believe, belongs to you, maam~” he perks up as he comes around to your other side. It’s not so much that you have to pretend to be strangers, but in this high-traffic place, it seems easier to fall into roles of ‘heroes’ and ‘thankful public’.

“How kind, Mr. Symbol of Peace~ I’d be missing this!”

Double checking your lock screen, he did -in fact- change your cover screen to a playful selfie: pointing at the crumbled remains of the wall they’d broken into, with the caption:

>>Whatever Kacchan wants, Kacchan gets <3<<

Muting your laugh, you simply tilt your phone Bakugou’s way and catch Midoriya’s quick wink back to you, before he sets off running with a screaming boyfriend sprinting after him.

At least Katsuki showed up back at your place at 6:30PM on the dot, fixed you both a salmon dinner, and started getting your baseline of support back on track. With his next two weeks off and barely keeping his hands off of you so far, you believed he was making good on remembering his why.

#bakugou katsuki #bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #katsuki x reader #mha fanfiction #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #mha #bnha #mha x reader #bnha x reader #izuku midoriya #tenya iida #momo yaoyorozu

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pixel-percy · 11 months ago

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🥊 Heartsteel Universe — You haven't seen your ex in years, not since he became a famous popstar, but today is about to ruin that streak. 🥊

🥊 Word Count: 3k 🥊 Music Vibes: Down Bad by Taylor Swift 🥊 Warning(s): Smut (fingering), public sex (technically), angst (about your ex/non-mutual break-up), & a sprinkle of jealousy 🥊 A/N: Apologies if there are any egregious errors, I've been trying to get this fic out of my head for so long now so I hunkered down to finally push it out today. I'll probably go back at a later date to spruce it up if it needs it. I passively enjoy League content & have favorites despite not having played in many years 🥰 heh

He probably thought you didn’t recognize him… But you did. Of course, you did. How couldn’t you? Sure, he was a pop star, glitz and glam probably filled his every moment nowadays, but he was still your ex-boyfriend.

A chorus of ��SETT!”s at the highest pitch possible had carried through the gym air and met your ears at the front desk. You did your best to stave off the annoyed expression on your face—not just because there was a high possibility of seeing him, but because the sound of the fangirls that played a hand in ruining your relationship rattled you to your bones. Of course, he’d choose this gym. Of course.

So when Sett had finally passed by the desk, you thought you might have gotten lucky since his head was turned, but at the last second, he’d locked eyes with you. A surge of emotions passed through your body like an electric shock. It was hard to tell what exactly he was feeling, and part of you was trying desperately not to care, but you could have sworn you saw a hint of sadness mixed with surprise before his security team pulled him away. The fangirls pushed against the security at the front of the gym, shouting and waving their posters and other memorabilia they wanted him to sign. You rolled your eyes and returned to the task you’d been doing before the chaos of your ex’s entrance.

You’d done everything in your power to push through the slew of emotions you felt weighing on your chest—you were pretty sure you’d cleaned a single machine at least three times in a row while in your emotional daze—and didn’t spot him once after his initial entrance. You weren’t sure if you were relieved or not and by the time you made it to the end of your shift at midnight, you were ready to blow off some steam.

The gloves you donned were thick and absorbed each punch that collided with the punching bag. One, two. One, two, three. One. One, two. You timed the hits with your breaths as a guitar solo pulsed in your earphones and sweat dripped down your forehead.

It had been a year since you’d last had contact with Sett, or, since you cut off your communication with him. The decision wasn’t easy but it was what you felt was best for you and your mental at the time. You remember how he pleaded, holding your hands in his, absolutely dwarfing them, eyes big and tearful, but your pain was too much, the paranoia was too much.

The magazine that sparked the argument in the first place sat between you. On the cover was a story about him, the upcoming star, and Ahri, from KDA, and their potential romance brewing. This was in addition to the already circulating rumor amongst fans about him and his bandmate, Aphelios. He denied it all, doing everything he could to convince you, but between them, the fans, and the comments they made about you, it was just too much. You couldn’t take it and you couldn’t bear the idea of forcing him to deal with your emotions on top of his big break. So you cut off.

The punch you landed was a little rough, bending your wrist more than intended, and you felt the sobering pain radiate through your hand. You practically growled at the feeling and shook it out in an attempt to alleviate some of the tension you felt already building in your tendons. The room you were in was empty, it was rare to see it full at this time of night, and you were thankful for it.

That bubble of frustration you’d felt in your chest pushed out and you sent all of it through your next punch. The impact sent the punching bag flying… but not as far as you thought it might go. You blinked and noticed a pair of hands holding on to either side. A head peered around the object—red hair with two ears poking out of the top of the strands, a long scar across his nose, and familiar green-blue eyes.

You could make out the words “Hey” and your name and you contemplated leaving in your headphones before he gently tapped his ears. A request. Your jaw clenched, taking a long moment to consider him before you pulled out your headphones and pocketed them.

“Why are you still here?” you asked, a bit cold. His sheepish smile turned downward ever so slightly and his ears flattened on his head. There was a small bloom of sadness in your chest seeing it.

“Just, you know, working out,” he answered.

“I hoped you would’ve been gone by now.”

His expression dropped completely at that point.

“You did?”

Your jaw clenched. Everything in you wanted to not be in this situation, to see his sad expressions, to feel so damn bad about being cold to him, but you didn’t know what else to do. Inviting the heartache of leaving him back into your life, even for a moment, wasn’t something wanted. Flashes of his tear-filled eyes watching you as you left with your bags of stuff crossed your mind and it made you start moving.

You moved past him and into the rows of punching bags in this part of the gym. From behind you, he said your name and pleaded for your attention, but you wanted out. You almost made it to the bench your stuff was on when you felt his large hand wrap around your forearm. It wasn’t a rough touch, but it was firm enough to pull your eyes back to him.

“What did I do to make you hate me so much?” he asked, confusion and pain in his words. You knew tugging yourself free would be useless so you stood your ground and stared him down. His touch was like molten lava seeping into your skin. You didn’t hate him, you hated the people that came with his fame and the lack of protection to shield you from them.

“I don’t hate you,” you said quietly.

“Then why are you acting like this?”

“Because being in the same vicinity as you is painful.”

Sett paused and his brows furrowed.

“You were the one that broke up with me,” he said, words laced with the hurt you imagined he was also feeling. You stared at each other for a long moment. Nothing that came to mind could quell the tension nor the steady increase of your heartbeat. It all just fell flat.

“Let me go,” you said, tugging at your arm, the tears gathering at the corner of your eyes despite all your attempts to stop them.

He huffed in disbelief.

“I haven’t seen you in a year. Not since you just, decided for the both of us that this wasn’t going to work. I’ve never known you to be so… So cruel,” he said. Sett’s eyes were as devastating as his words. It felt like a knife digging into your chest, threatening to carve your heart out.

“Sett, please,” you tried and turned your eyes down to where he held you.

“No, talk to me, please.”

“I have nothing,” you said. “I told you why I was leaving.”

“No, you gave me bullshit excuses and scenarios that didn’t exist,” he pushed… and he was right. You knew he was even back then when he sat across from you on the couch clasping your hands in his and tears streaming down his cheeks, just trying to understand.

“They weren’t excuses, Sett. I was so proud of you—s-still am, but…” You looked up at him and flared your nostrils with a sigh. There was no avoiding this. “Neither of us could have known how quickly fame would come. How possessive Heartsteel’s fans would be. How… brutal they’d be to me. How brutal it would be for me to watch rumors about affairs swirl. I couldn’t do it. I wanted you so bad, I wanted us, but I knew I couldn’t have you and… and…”

The tears had begun to fall. You cursed under your breath and wiped your free hand against your cheek, tears settling on the material boxing glove you still wore. Sett stepped forward and pressed his thumb over the new tear that had already begun its descent down your cheek. You recoiled a little but in response, he caught your chin and tilted up so you could look at him.

“You always had me,” he whispered. “Still do.”

Everything in you that wanted to bolt, to hide from the shame and sadness and anger seeing him made you feel, stilled. Your heartbeat pounded in your throat at his touch, at his attention, and you swallowed hard under his intense examination. The blue-green of his eyes felt so familiar and safe that it made the knot in your chest twist and expand.

“Sett… I don’t think we could even if we—”

“Why not?” he pushed. “I don’t care what any of them think. I never have. You didn’t even give me the chance to fight for us. For you… You just left.”

“I was scared. I didn’t want my heart broken by you… So I broke it for myself. I thought it’d be easier and it was but… Now…”

His ears twitched, a beam of hopefulness crossing his expression.

“Now? What about now?” he asked.

You didn’t know. A part of you felt so hopeful, so ready to try again just from his magnetic pull alone. How safe he made you feel. That hadn’t changed. You opened your mouth to say something but the sound of the door opening startled you both. Sett’s grip loosened enough for you to pull your arm away, both of you looking toward the interruption. A man in a suit you recognized as one of his security guards had begun approaching.

“There you are, sir—”

“Jackson, not now—No wait!” Sett called your name.

You’d already managed to get one of your gloves off so you could grab your bag and head toward the private bathrooms. You felt like you couldn’t breathe with his hand on your arm and now was your chance to pull yourself out of his orbit before you did something stupid.

You only managed to get to the door before you were stopped again by something yanking you to a stop, but this time it was the handle of your gym bag. You twisted around, ready to fight someone, but instead was met with a quick blur of Sett’s figure before his lips crashed into yours.

It was bold, something you hadn’t anticipated, and while you wanted to pull away… you felt him punching at the icy wall you’d built for yourself after everything. Every breath, every motion, everything felt like he was chipping at it piece by piece, until, well… It shattered.

Your free hand opened the door to the private bathroom and you dragged him into it. You were thankful that the cameras didn’t touch this part of the hallway, which only spurred on this potential mistake.

The two of you stumbled into the space—it was typically reserved for gym employees and special guests who wanted to avoid the more public locker rooms. It was spacious enough to house the usual bathroom amenities plus a bench for you to utilize as needed and the standing shower was nestled into the corner, blocked by the door whenever it was open.

Sett closed the door and locked it once you were both inside before his large hands clasped onto the back of your thighs to pull you into the air effortlessly. The bag you’d both been holding onto tumbled to the floor, kicked by the shuffle of his feet. Your back met the wall across from the door, inhaling deeply when his lips left yours to nip at your neck.

“Sett,” you tried, breathless.

“I’ve missed you—” His lips pressed urgently against your pulse. “So much.”

“Sett… We can’t… I can’t…”

Your mind was whirling at the feel of him, the heat he elicited from your body. His lips slowed to an agonizing pace but he heeded your words, head picking up to look directly into your eyes, surprised to find them not fully enveloped in lust… It was the adoration, the haze of love, that made your heart stutter. You could cry.

“I can stop,” he whispered. Sett’s gaze dropped to your lips. “I just…” You waited, drawing in a breath so deep that the orange-scented cleaner you were familiar with tingled in your nose.

All of your emotions and warning bells were as loud and overwhelming as an extreme weather siren. You shouldn’t do this. Any progress you’d made—either of you had made—was already shattered, leaving you vulnerable. But you still found yourself asking, “What?” It was just as soft as his whisper, timid, afraid.

Sett took in a similarly deep breath, except a hum danced within his throat and rumbled through his chest like a growl.

“I don’t want to,” he said with a small, bashful laugh. One of his fangs pulled at his lip as he turned his eyes back up to yours. “I want to keep touching you… But only if you want me to. I can also leave. Just—Just tell me—” You placed one of your index fingers on his lips and he promptly stopped talking.

You didn’t know what to do. Everything in you knew this was likely temporary, and the moment he left this room, things would go right back to the way they were, except this time with brand new wounds on your heart to cater to. But here he was, looking at you with his eyes, ears flat against his head, waiting for you to make your call, and probably just as scared as you. A sigh left you.

“Go ahead,” you said. Sett’s ears twitched, expression lightening. “Touch me.”

You got the feeling he’d waited for you out of courtesy, for you to potentially change your mind after that statement, but seized your lips with his after barely a second. His eagerness stole the breath from you, resulting in a chuckle that he inhaled and returned. He moved you toward the bench and effortlessly placed you down on it, lips never leaving yours.

The rush of approval had him on a mission that you guessed involved the shedding and ripping of clothes—but you were wrong. Instead, one of the hands that had been holding you reached down, slid past your waistband and started to work. A surprised gasp left your lips. He pulled away to gaze down at your face as it writhed in pleasure. The way his fingers moved against your clit was so deliciously familiar and mindful with every circle.

You instinctively reached one of your hands down toward his growing bulge to provide some mutual relief, another familiar motion, but was stopped by Sett’s free hand. You brow furrowed and he leaned down to place a soft kiss upon it whilst guiding the hand he’d stopped on his neck.

For a fraction of a second, you wondered if the world knew about this Sett, this loving, calm, goofy, loyal man you’d always known. Not just fist fights and bad boy leaning tendencies.

You selfishly hoped they never would.

“No, just you this time,” he said. You clocked the ‘this time’ but it was stifled the moment you felt one of his fingers ease into you. Your back arched.

Any protests you had left with the rest of your reservations about all of this. You nodded, warmth pooling in your cheeks now, and rolled your eyes back when the finger he’d slipped inside of you touched that spot he knew very well. Your body twitched, your other hand grabbing as much of his bicep as you could for balance, and let him work.

Sett’s mouth trailed kisses anywhere he felt like it as his fingers moved. Little whispers of your name left him occasionally but you could barely hear it over the thundering of your heartbeat in your ears. You wished you weren’t so close to coming already, you wished he didn’t know you in and out in every way imaginable, yet here you were about to topple over the edge of bliss at the hands of a man you still loved—no matter how much you wanted to deny it.

“Sett,” you gasped.

“I know,” he assured, the hand on your hip the only thing truly grounding you to this plane of existence.

The tightness in your stomach finally released, a moan tumbling from your lips as stars danced behind your eyelids. Sett helped you ride through your orgasm with targeted praise, soft touches, and lips. Everything about his patience and opt for celibacy just added to your surprise about everything. He helped you to a sitting position and rubbed your back, a smile tugging at his lips.

“I…” You blew hot air out into the room. “Shit.” Sett laughed and brought one of your hands up to his lips.

“Yeah,” he said knowingly. You turned to catch his gaze, a smile breaking out on his lips that you couldn’t help but return. “Can I… give you a ride home?”

Reality started to set in after the high and you could feel the hardening of your heart begin again. You bit your lip in contemplation. His expression started to soften again, almost as though he were ready to be hurt by your rejection once more.

“Alright,” you said. The creeping freeze of your heart halted enough for you to add, “Maybe we can grab late-night ramen and talk…?”

“I’d like that,” he answered.

“Do not text your Mom about this,” you added with a deadpan look that made him laugh. He got to his feet and gently tapped his knuckles against your chin.

“No promises,” he said cheekily. You rolled your eyes, free of any real annoyance, and smiled. No matter what you wanted yourself to believe, you missed him too.

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neosolaris14 · 2 years ago

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I’ve been lurking in the DCMK fandom for quite a while, and decided that now is a good time to finally post something. So here it is. KaiShin/KIDShin art.

(Healthy) Rivals to Friends to Lovers (still Rivals). It’s something that’s so…beautiful. From the lighthearted banter, the challenge, the unspoken trust, meaning to trust the other regarding survival issues and later on emotionally vulnerability, to the acceptance of one another and the constant pushing to become better at what they do. They learn from each other, grow with each other, and I like that. Very much.

One of the things I like the most when reading fan fiction and headcanons about these two is when they work together (extra points if it’s not exactly voluntary yet they do not mind). They work well together regardless of what they are (thief and detective and all that), and they’re fun, dire as the situation may be.

Also a lot of potential for angst with these two, heh.

Anyways it’s late where I’m posting so I’m just ranting at 2 AM here. But yes, I’m looking forward to draw these two more in the future. Heard that next year’s movie 27 features KID. Highly excited.

If you’ve actually read the whole thing, then thank you. You really didn’t have to, but yet you did. I hope I’ve contributed something to the fandom as an artist, at the very least.

(Please rant about KaiShin I love reading rants.)

#art #artists on tumblr #fan art #dcmk fanart #dcmk #dcmk art #kaito kid #kudou shinichi #kudo shinichi #shinichi kudo #detective conan #magic kaito 1412 #magic kaito #meitantei conan #kaishin #kaito x shinichi #kaito kuroba #kuroba kaito

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lozchi · 11 months ago

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KNOCKDOWN Chapter 2

Masterlist

Pairing(s):Sukuna x F!Reader, Modern AU

Themes: Suggestive content, profanity, mild violence, slow burn, childhood friends to lovers, OOC, fluff, angst(ish), detailed fight scene, minor character death(s)

A/N: about a thousand or so words went to a fight scene, if you don't want to read it, I'll put emojis 👹 as a cue where it starts and ends.

Chapter 2: 5,555 words

The living room was spacious and tastefully decorated, evident to Sukuna’s success. Sukuna and Toji sat on opposite ends of a sleek, modern couch. Sukuna casually tossed a can of beer to Toji before cracking open one for himself. The sound of the tab snapping echoed in the room, mingling with the faint noise of the kids playing.

Toji cracked open his beer, taking a long sip before leaning back. "So, Sukuna..." he began, his tone casual but his eyes sharp. "Have you been finding the latest matches more difficult?"

Sukuna scoffed, rolling his eyes as he popped open his own can. "Tch, no." he replied dismissively, taking a swig of his drink.

The hint of irritation in his voice was clear; the mere suggestion that he might be struggling was almost insulting.

Toji nodded, unfazed by Sukuna’s response. "I see." he said thoughtfully. "Well, if it’s becoming too easy for you, maybe it’s time to switch weight classes. We could put on a little more weight on you, I'm sure you can transition well."

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t argue. He respected Toji’s opinion; after all, Toji was the one who trained him and knew his capabilities better than anyone else. "Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that." he admitted. "I’m game."

Toji took another sip of his beer, his gaze steady on Sukuna. "However," he began, his voice taking on a more serious tone, "this will mean you’ll be dealing with more difficult opponents. Faster and stronger ones at that."

Sukuna’s pride was a fortress, impenetrable and vast. Admitting any struggle was not in his nature. Toji knew this well, and he chose his words carefully, aware of how much Sukuna valued his image. He had seen Sukuna’s last match, had witnessed the brief moments where his opponent’s speed had been impressive enough to cause a flicker of frustration on Sukuna’s face. Nothing Sukuna couldn’t handle, of course, but it had been a slight challenge nonetheless.

Toji continued, listing off potential opponents, which some Sukuna thinks aren't really a challenge. "Then there’s Masamichi Yaga. Intimidating and remarkably strong. He’s a force to be reckoned with."

Sukuna’s expression remained unreadable, though Toji could see the flicker of interest in his eyes. He pressed on. "And there’s Suguru Geto. Steady and relentless. He can easily knock teeth out with a single punch."

Sukuna’s grin widened, his cockiness shining through. "Psshh, let 'em come." he said, his voice brimming with confidence. "I’ll take them all down. Yaga, Geto—doesn’t matter. They’re just stepping stones."

Toji knew Sukuna thrived on competition, and these names were already fueling his determination. "And finally, Gojo Satoru." Toji said, his voice dropping slightly.

"Known for his speed and his ability to dodge and tire out his opponents. His strength can easily send opponents stumbling back. Almost seems unfair. 'Untouchable'."

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed slightly at the mention of Gojo, but the cocky grin never left his face. The thought of facing someone with such a reputation was both daunting and exhilarating.

"Gojo, huh?" He scoffs. "Sounds like a real challenge. But you know what? I’m going to enjoy breaking him down. I'll split him in half, heh."

Sukuna’s jaw tightened slightly, his pride flaring at the possibility that he might struggle. "I can handle it." he said firmly, almost defensively. "I don’t care how fast or strong they are. I’ll fucking take them down."

Toji’s lips curled into a faint smile. "I don’t doubt that for a second. But we need to adjust your training to match the new challenges you’ll face. We’ll focus more on speed and agility, on top of your usual strength and power routines."

Sukuna nodded, his mind already shifting into gear, thinking about the changes and the new strategies he’d need to adopt. "Fine" he said, his voice resolute. "Let’s do it. I’m ready for whatever comes next."

Toji raised his beer in a toast, his eyes gleaming with approval. "That’s the spirit," he said. "We’ll start tomorrow. Get ready to push your limits."

The atmosphere in the living room shifted as Toji moved on to the next topic. Sukuna could feel the weight of it before Toji even spoke. He glanced over at the play area, where Yuuji and Megumi were engaged in a game, imitating their favorite superheroes. The sight brought a faint smile to Sukuna’s lips, a rare moment of softness breaking through his usual tough exterior.

Toji took a deep breath, his expression serious. "How’s Yuuji holding up?"

Sukuna’s gaze lingered on the two boys for a moment longer before he turned back to Toji. "He’s... managing, I suppose." Sukuna said slowly. "In the beginning, I didn’t know what to do with him. He’s my nephew, but we’ve never been that close. He always reminded me of my brother, and we had our share of petty fights and teasing."

He paused, his thoughts drifting back to the early days when Yuuji first came to stay with him. The kid had been resilient, putting on a brave face despite the loss. Sukuna had tried to keep things normal, but he could tell that Yuuji was hurting. Truth be told, Sukuna was saddened by the passing of his older brother too. Sure, they might have not been the bestest of brothers, but they still cared for one another.

Toji nodded, his expression understanding. "It’s not easy; raising a kid who’s lost so much. But you’re doing your best, Sukuna. And if you ever need help, you know my wife and I are here for you. We’re more than willing to care for Yuuji if you need a break or anything else."

Sukuna sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I appreciate that. It’s only been a few weeks since his parents passed, and I can tell he’s putting up a front. Acting like everything’s fine when it’s not. I just... don’t know how to break through to him."

Toji’s eyes softened with empathy. "Grief is a tricky thing, especially for a child. He might not even fully understand what he’s feeling. Just keep being there for him, even if he doesn’t always show it. He needs to know he’s not alone."

Sukuna nodded, his gaze drifting back to Yuuji. The boy was laughing now, pretending to fly around the room with Megumi. Despite everything, he still found moments of joy. Sukuna’s heart ached at the thought of how much Yuuji had lost, but he was determined to do right by him.

"I’ll do my best," Sukuna said quietly. "For him."

Toji smiled, reaching over to give Sukuna’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "That’s all you can do, my friend. And remember, you’re not alone in this either. We’re here to support you both."

Sukuna tore his gaze from Yuuji and looked at Toji, appreciating the offer.

Toji smiled reassuringly, then chuckled. "You know, Sukuna, your assistant–Uraume, right? Yeah. They've been complaining. They say you’re not giving them real work lately, just telling them to handle Yuuji."

Sukuna nodded thoughtfully, his mind racing with possibilities. "You’re right. Uraume’s great, but Yuuji needs more than just someone to keep an eye on him. He needs someone who can support him emotionally."

"He’s a good kid, Sukuna."

Sukuna leaned back, looking unfazed. "If it’s about finding me a date, don’t bother. The last one was a nightmare—crazy and annoying. Stupid bitch didn’t care about my boundaries."

Toji took a sip of his beer and then set it down, his gaze becoming more focused. "There’s one last thing I wanted to mention."

Sukuna raised a brow, "Oh?"

There was this woman–" he began, his tone more serious.

It had been a long day of training, and Sukuna was looking forward to a quiet evening. Uraume had convinced him to give dating another shot, setting him up with someone they insisted was "perfect" for him. Reluctantly, Sukuna agreed.

The evening started off smoothly enough. The woman, a striking beauty with sharp eyes and a confident demeanor, had seemed promising at first. The restaurant was a picture of elegance—a grand chandelier hung from the ceiling, its crystals casting a warm, golden light over the pristine white tablecloths. Each table was adorned with a small, delicate flower arrangement, and the soft notes of a grand piano played in the background.

He was dressed in a sharp suit, the dark fabric accentuating his formidable physique. Despite the sophisticated atmosphere, he felt out of place, as if the grandeur of the place was mocking his discomfort.

She was already seated at the table, her attire elegant and her posture poised. She greeted him with a bright smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Sukuna, "it’s so nice to finally meet you."

"Likewise." he said, though his tone was curt.

As they sat down, she immediately dominated the conversation, her voice loud and grating. She spoke at length about her own life, her achievements, and her exes, barely pausing to ask Sukuna anything about himself. He tried to interject a few times, but she steamrolled over his attempts to steer the conversation.

The night took a turn for the worse when the food arrived. She complained incessantly—about the texture of the steak, the seasoning of the vegetables, the temperature of the wine. Her shrill voice cut through the ambient noise of the restaurant, drawing the attention of nearby diners.

Sukuna’s patience wore thin as the evening dragged on. He could feel his temper rising, but he forced himself to remain calm, not wanting to cause a scene.

Things escalated when she started probing into his personal life. "So, why don’t you have a girlfriend?" she asked, her tone dripping with condescension. "A guy like you should be swarming with women."

Sukuna clenched his jaw. "I’m busy with my career. It doesn’t leave much time for relationships."

She laughed, a harsh sound that grated on his nerves. "Oh, please. Everyone makes time for what they want. Maybe you’re just afraid of commitment."

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed. "Or maybe I just haven’t met anyone worth my time."

Her expression darkened, and she leaned forward, her voice lowering to a dangerous whisper. "You think you’re better than everyone else, don’t you? Just because you’re some hotshot fighter."

Sukuna remained silent, his gaze steady. She reached across the table and grabbed his wrist, her grip surprisingly strong. "Let me tell you something, Sukuna. You’re not as special as you think you are."

Sukuna stood abruptly, pulling his wrist free. "This date is over." he said coldly, throwing a wad of cash on the table to cover the bill. He walked out without looking back, feeling her furious gaze burning into his back.

Before Toji could elaborate, Sukuna cut him off. "No, not happening. If I want to let my sexual frustration pass, I can just do it myself or hire a—"

"The girl in the picture over there," Toji interrupted, his eyes flicking towards the TV stand. He walked over and picked up a picture frame. "I thought she looked familiar."

Sukuna’s casual demeanor faltered as he followed Toji’s gaze. His eyes widened in surprise. "What?"

Toji turned the picture frame so Sukuna could see it. It was a photo of Sukuna with you from years ago, back when you both were inseparable. "I saw her today in 7/11 with Megumi. He told me he showed her a video of your match with Mahito last year. It seemed like it was her first time seeing you on screen."

Sukuna’s heart skipped a beat. Memories of you flooded his mind—your laughter, your shared moments, and the way you used to look at him with such genuine affection. He hadn’t seen you in years, and the thought of you stumbling upon his current life, completely unaware of his fame, was almost surreal.

"She looked... well?" Sukuna asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

Toji nodded. "Yeah, she seemed alright. Just a bit shocked when she saw the video. It was like she didn’t recognize you at first, according to Gumi."

Sukuna felt a strange mix of emotions—relief that you were okay, anxiety about how you’d react if you saw him now, and a deep yearning to reconnect. He'd always wonder what had happened to you after all these years. The possibility of seeing you again was both exhilarating and terrifying. He knew his life had changed drastically, and he wasn’t sure how you would fit into it now.

"Do you... know where she is now?" Sukuna asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Toji shook his head. "No, but if she’s around here, you might run into her again. Maybe it’s time to reach out."

"I’ll figure it out." Sukuna said finally, his resolve hardened. "Thanks, Toji."

Toji smiled, clapping Sukuna on the back. "Good luck, Sukuna. Sometimes, the past has a way of catching up with us for a reason."

As Toji and Megumi left, Sukuna stood there, staring at the picture in his hands. He couldn’t help but feel that this unexpected encounter was the universe’s way of giving him a second chance. And this time, he wouldn’t let you slip away.

"Let me just stalk her on social media real quick–" He chuckled to himself. Now, unfortunately, you haven't even created one yet. So after a while of searching for your name online, he found nothing.

He gave up.

The steam from your bath still lingered in the bathroom as you sat at your desk, wrapped in a cozy towel. You had managed to get clean and relax for a short while, but now you faced a new challenge.

You stared at your laptop screen, your fingers poised above the keyboard. The faint scent of lavender still clung to your skin, a soothing contrast to the whirlwind of thoughts in your mind. You took a deep breath, trying to focus on your mission.

After much deliberation, you decided to go with your full name. It was straightforward but effective, something that would hopefully catch Sukuna’s eye if he ever happened to scroll through his notifications.

"Okay, let’s go with this." You clicked "Create Account" entering your name and choosing a profile picture from an old photo album. It was a picture of you and Sukuna from years ago, one where you were both smiling and happy. It seemed to fit the mood you wanted to convey.

Once the Twitter account was set up, you downloaded a few other social media apps. You created new accounts under your old Counter-Strike username, to match the one that you had chosen for Sukuna as a joke all those years ago.

As you went through the apps, you couldn’t help but get caught up in the sheer volume of content surrounding Sukuna.

On Instagram, you found fan pages dedicated to him—photos of him in action, clips from interviews, and memes featuring his fiercest fights. People often gushed about his strength, his looks, and his charisma.

"No lube no pr-"

"Ong zaddy😫😫"

"He can punch me, I would not complain"

"That kick was so fatal I felt my spine crack"

"I think I'm home essential"

On YouTube, you watched highlights of his past matches. The comments were filled with praise, and edits glorified every punch, kick, and victory. The scale of his fame was overwhelming, and you felt a pang of nostalgia for the simpler times you had with him.

You followed him on all of his handles, but notifications were likely lost among thousands of others. As a celebrity, Sukuna’s social media was a cluttered mess of fan interactions and spam. It was clear that being a celebrity came with its own set of challenges—his inbox was filled to the brim with requests, messages, and fan mail.

Several weeks and then a few months passed in a blur. The relentless pace of med school continued, and before you knew it, you had finished your finals with a high mark. Shoko, on the other hand, had managed to perfect everything with a grace that seemed almost effortless.

Your attempts to reconnect with Sukuna had dwindled over time. Messages left unread, notifications buried beneath a mountain of fans—your efforts seemed wasted. The excitement you had felt when making that first contact had given way to a resigned acceptance of the distance that now lay between you and your old friend.

One afternoon, as you and Shoko walked across the campus grounds, you couldn’t help but exclaim, "Zayum, woman!" at the sight of her glowing with pride over her perfect grades. Shoko smirked at your reaction, basking in the moment of triumph.

"Well, somebody had to set the bar high." she said with a grin. "But don’t you dare slack off now. We’re done with this phase, but there’s still a lot of work ahead."

You rolled your eyes playfully, glad for the reprieve from the constant stress of exams and assignments.

As you walked towards the nearby café, a familiar figure came rushing towards you and Shoko. It was Yu Haibara, and his usual cheerful demeanor was more vibrant than ever.

Before either of you could react, Haibara collided with Shoko, nearly knocking her bubble tea out of her hand.

"Hey… H-hey, guys!" Haibara said breathlessly, holding up a pair of tickets in his hand. "Guess what? I’ve got something amazing for you guys!"

Shoko shot him a glare, clearly taken aback by the sudden impact. "Haibara! Watch where you’re going!"

Haibara waved the tickets in front of her, a grin spreading across his face. "Sorry, sorry! But you won’t believe this—look at what I have!"

You and Shoko’s eyes widened as you both stared at the tickets. In unison, you both spat out your bubble tea, your mouths dropping open in shock.

You exchanged a look with Shoko, a silent conversation passing between you through a glance.

'Girl, it’s an opportunity!' She thought, excitement bubbling up.

'I know!' Your eyes reflected the same exhilaration.

Haibara watched the two of you with a puzzled expression, clearly confused by the wordless exchange. "If you guys don’t wanna go—"

"WE ARE SO GOING." Both you and Shoko said in unison, your voices brimming with enthusiasm.

Haibara grinned, clearly pleased with your reaction. "Awesome! I'll pick you guys up later."

A few hours later, Haibara arrived at your shared apartment, ready to take you and Shoko to the arena. The three of you piled into Haibara’s car, the excitement in the air noticeable as he began the drive.

"So, didn’t know you guys were fans of Sukuna." Haibara said, glancing at you through the rearview mirror.

"Oh, not really," Shoko replied, her eyes glinting with mischief. "I just thought this was the perfect opportunity for a certain someone to reconnect with an old friend."

Haibara’s eyebrows shot up. "Oh? Your friend is coming too?"

You started to respond, but Shoko cut in with a grin. "Well, he’s actually—"

"—SHE’S LITERALLY FRIENDS WITH RYOMEN SUKUNA!" Shoko burst out, unable to contain her excitement any longer.

Haibara swerved the car in surprise. "What? Are you serious?"

"Careful, Yu. We might get into an accident before we even arrive there." Shoko murmured.

You bit your lip, feeling a flush of embarrassment as Haibara stared at you through the mirror in disbelief. "Yeah, it’s true." you said, trying to sound casual but failing miserably. "It's been a while."

Haibara’s eyes widened as he turned to look at you more closely. "AND HOW DID I NOT KNOW ANY OF THIS?!?"

Shoko leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Manifesting he notices you in the crowd, just imagine how sweet that would be."

Haibara grinned, clearly thrilled by the revelation. "Well, I guess this is even more exciting than I thought! I mean, getting to see Sukuna fight and also have a chance to meet him again? That’s amazing."

You nodded, "Yeah, it’s kind of overwhelming. I hope this goes well."

Shoko patted your arm reassuringly. "You’ll be fine. Just be yourself and see what happens."

Haibara chuckled. "With this kind of luck, I’m sure it’ll be an unforgettable night."

As the car continued its drive through the bustling city streets, the neon lights casting a kaleidoscope of colors on the windshield, you gazed out the window, trying to steady your nerves. The arena loomed ahead, its towering structure illuminated against the night sky, drawing nearer with every passing moment. You took a deep breath, bracing yourself for the evening that lay ahead,

When you finally arrived at the arena, the buzz of the crowd was electric. The air was filled with the hum of excitement, and you could feel the anticipation radiating from the throngs of people heading towards the entrance.

Haibara confidently walked ahead in the busy crowd, showing his excitement with his quick steps and big smile. "Let's go, we need to locate our seats!" he shouted, his voice almost drowned out by the noise.

You and Shoko hurriedly followed, feeling your hearts beat fast as you entered the arena and took your seats. The constant roar of the crowd served as a powerful background to the significant event that was about to happen. The large stadium was packed with excited spectators, all ready for the show to start.

You tried to ignore the flutter of nerves in your stomach as you focused on the ring in front of you. This was it—the chance to see Sukuna again, and hopefully, the opportunity you had been waiting for. While you sat down in your seats, you looked around at the enthusiastic faces and lively talks of the fans nearby. The arena grew darker as the lights dimmed, and the excitement peaked, a surge of energy that made your skin crawl.

The lights above the ring began to shift and the announcer’s voice boomed over the speakers, setting the stage for what would be a night to remember.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the announcer began, "welcome to the battle of the evening!"

The crowd erupted into cheers, the noise almost deafening as you strained to see through the sea of people.

You took the chance to search the ring for any sign of Sukuna.

"Prepare yourselves for the fight of the century! In the red corner, hailing from the shadows, the King of Curses, Ryomen Sukuna!"

The crowd erupted as Sukuna stepped into the ring, his presence alone commanding respect and fear. His heavily tattooed body was a canvas of power, his eyes gleaming with a feral intensity that promised destruction. With a smirk that sent chills down spines, he looked around the arena, enjoying the excitement for the upcoming fight.

"And in the blue corner, we have the enigmatic and calculating genius, The Supreme; Geto Suguru!"

Suguru's entrance was a contrast to Sukuna's, his movements fluid and graceful, like a predator stalking its prey. His calm demeanor masked a cunning mind, and the air around him crackled with latent energy. He locked eyes with Sukuna, a silent challenge passing between them.

The referee stepped forward, giving the final instructions, but neither fighter paid him any mind. They were already locked in their own battle, a war of wills that would soon erupt into a clash of titans.

"Are you ready?" the referee asked, but it was a redundant question. The crowd knew these two warriors had been ready their entire lives.

"Fight!" 👹

The bell sounded, and Sukuna shot forward with immense power and aggression, moving like a blur. Suguru confronted him directly, displaying fluid and precise movements comparable to a dancer. The initial conflict was a flurry of punches and anger, with no one backing down.

You observed Sukuna delivering quick punches, each one targeted with lethal accuracy. Suguru effectively blocked and countered; his defense remained unyielding and impenetrable. With each successful strike, the audience's excitement grew.

Sukuna feinted a left jab, then swung with a powerful right hook. Suguru ducked just in time, his counterpunch grazing Sukuna's jaw. The impact sent a ripple of tension through the crowd. Sukuna shook it off, a fierce grin spreading across his face. He thrived on the challenge, the thrill of a worthy opponent.

In the midst of the action, Sukuna glanced towards the crowd. His eyes scanned the faces, there he saw you–and for a moment, he paused. "Call me a child again for imagining you so vividly…" he muttered, not realizing you were actually there, watching him with a mix of pride and concern.

Suguru took advantage of Sukuna’s momentary distraction. A roundhouse kick to Sukuna’s side. Pain flashed across Sukuna’s face. He staggered but didn’t fall. Determination replaced the surprise. His eyes locked on yours. Realization dawned. You were really there.

With renewed focus, Sukuna pressed forward, his attacks more calculated. He aimed a high kick at Suguru's head, forcing him to block high, then swiftly transitioned into a low sweep, catching Suguru off balance. Suguru stumbled but recovered quickly, his movements agile and controlled.

The round continued with both fighters exchanging blows, their skills evenly matched. Suguru’s strategy became clear as he started to wear Sukuna down with precise, energy-sapping strikes. But Sukuna’s endurance and sheer willpower kept him pushing forward, each strike more powerful than the last.

As the first round neared its end, Sukuna landed a solid punch to Suguru's ribs, the impact echoing through the arena. Suguru winced, the pain evident, but he didn’t back down. The two warriors continued their dance of combat, neither willing to yield. Fortunately for Sukuna, he landed a blow with a satisfying impact, driving Suguru back towards the ropes.

The bell rang, signaling the end of the first round. The crowd erupted in applause, the noise almost deafening. Both fighters retreated to their corners, breathing heavily, their bodies marked with the evidence of their fight.

You watch Sukuna take a deep breath. His eyes scan the crowd. This time, his gaze locks onto yours. Recognition dawns. Fierce determination sets in.

Shoko nudged your elbow, "He's looking at you, he knows you're here." You glanced back at her, smiling faintly.

The one-minute break ticked away. Sukuna never took his eyes off you. He knew you were there. With that realization, he was ready to give this fight everything he had.

Round 2 started with Sukuna and Suguru both being cautious and alert, their actions hesitant but poised to spring into action. The bell sounded, and Sukuna rushed ahead with a determined expression on his face. Suguru expected and dodged Sukuna's first attack, then responded with a rapid series of hits targeting Sukuna's abdomen.

Sukuna made a grunting sound, sensing the force but not giving in. He responded by delivering a spinning kick that barely touched Suguru's shoulder, causing him to be pushed backwards. Suguru quickly reorganized himself, his gaze sharpening with renewed concentration. He feinted left, then drove a knee into Sukuna's abdomen, forcing him to double over.

The crowd roared with each exchange, the energy in the arena electric. Blood dripped from a cut on Sukuna's brow, mixing with the sweat on his face. Suguru's movements were fluid, almost effortless, as he continued to press the attack.

Sukuna's mind raced, weighing his options. He needed to change the momentum, regain control. With a sudden burst of speed, he closed the distance between them and delivered a series of rapid punches to Suguru's torso. One connected with a satisfying thud, knocking the wind out of Suguru momentarily.

But Suguru recovered quickly, his expression hardening. He stepped back, assessing Sukuna with a calculating gaze. They circled each other, the tension thick between them.

Sukuna lunged forward again, aiming for Suguru's head with a high kick. Suguru ducked and swept Sukuna's legs out from under him. Sukuna hit the mat hard, the impact reverberating through his body.

The crowd gasped as Sukuna struggled to regain his footing. He rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding Suguru's follow-up strike aimed at his head. Adrenaline surged through him as he sprang back up, determination blazing in his eyes.

Suguru smirked, sensing Sukuna's frustration. He feinted left, then launched a devastating spinning back kick that caught Sukuna square in the chest. Sukuna staggered, the breath knocked out of him.

The seconds ticked by agonizingly slow as Sukuna fought to catch his breath. He locked eyes with you in the crowd, drawing strength from your presence. With a primal roar, he charged back into the fray, his movements fueled by sheer willpower and the desire to prove himself.

The round neared its end, both fighters battered and bruised but refusing to yield. They exchanged a final flurry of blows, each strike carrying the weight of their determination and the consequences of victory or defeat.

Suguru's eyes gleamed with intensity as he landed a final, crushing blow—a spinning backfist that sent Sukuna crashing to the canvas. The referee stepped in, calling the round. The arena erupted with applause, the air thick with tension and disbelief.

Sukuna rose slowly, determination etched on his face. He wiped blood from his split lip, his gaze never leaving Suguru. The fight wasn't over yet.

The bell rang, signaling the end of round two. The crowd erupted once more, the noise echoing through the arena. Sukuna and Suguru retreated to their corners, breathing heavily, their minds racing with strategies for the next round.

On your side in the stands, Shoko and Haibara clung to you, their expressions reflecting the tension in the arena. "Nervous for him?" Shoko asked softly, her voice barely audible over the crowd's murmurs. You only nodded, unable to tear your eyes away from the ring where Sukuna and Suguru were catching their breath between rounds.

Haibara patted you on the back, a reassuring gesture that did little to ease the knot in your stomach. The first round had been intense, but Sukuna faltered during the second, and Suguru seized control. Now, with the momentum against him, Sukuna's endurance was being put to the ultimate test.

In the brief respite, Sukuna stood in his corner, chest heaving. He wiped sweat from his brow, his mind racing. Toji's words echoed in his head—changing weight classes brought fiercer competition. He hated to admit it, but Toji was right. He adjusted, recalculated, finding the flaws in Suguru's technique, the chinks in his armor.

The referee signaled the start of the second round. Sukuna squared his shoulders, eyes locking onto Suguru with renewed focus. He had a strategy now, a plan to turn the tide in his favor.

Round three began, Sukuna and Suguru met in the center of the ring, both fighters showing signs of wear from the previous rounds. The crowd roared, sensing that this round could decide the outcome of the match.

Sukuna moved with calculated aggression, his movements sharper than before. He feinted left, launched a blistering combination of punches. Suguru defended, but Sukuna's strikes found their mark, forcing Suguru to retreat.

The arena trembled with each exchange. Sukuna's strategy became clear—he was aiming to overwhelm Suguru with relentless offense. He drove Suguru back with a series of powerful kicks and hooks fueled by determination.

Suguru countered with his trademark precision, weaving through Sukuna's attacks and landing precise strikes to vulnerable spots. Sukuna gritted his teeth, absorbing the hits while seeking openings of his own.

As the round progressed, both fighters showed signs of fatigue, their movements becoming slightly slower. Sukuna dug deep, drawing on his reserves of strength and resilience. He unleashed a spinning back kick that caught Suguru off guard, staggering him momentarily.

The crowd erupted as Sukuna pressed his advantage. He closed the distance, delivering a punishing knee to Suguru's abdomen. Suguru doubled over, gasping for breath, but managed to deflect a follow-up strike from Sukuna.

With each passing second, Sukuna's confidence grew. He ducked under a wild swing from Suguru, delivering a punishing uppercut that snapped Suguru's head back. The arena vibrated with the force of the impact.

Suguru struggled to regain his footing, but Sukuna didn't let up. He continued to press his advantage, his attacks relentless and unforgiving. The crowd was on its feet, swept up in the intensity of the battle unfolding before them.

In a final, decisive move, Sukuna unleashed a devastating combination that left Suguru staggering. With a powerful finishing blow, Sukuna sent Suguru crashing to the mat. The referee stepped in, calling the fight. 👹

The arena erupted in thunderous applause as Sukuna stood victorious. He raised his arms in triumph, chest heaving with exertion. The battle had been hard-fought, but Sukuna's determination and strategic prowess prevailed.

On your side, Shoko and Haibara cheered, their voices joining the chorus of celebration. You couldn't help but feel a surge of pride and relief as you watched Sukuna bask in his hard-earned victory.

You waved eagerly to Sukuna as he stood victorious in the ring, his gaze scanning the crowd. For a brief moment, his eyes lock onto yours, a flicker of recognition crossing his face. Mission accomplished.

Toji Fushiguro strode purposefully towards your area, his presence commanding attention amidst the celebratory atmosphere. He locked eyes with you, a knowing expression on his face.

"It's you, been a while." Toji said,voice low but firm. "Come backstage."

You exchanged quick glances with Haibara and Shoko. This unexpected invitation from Toji, Sukuna's coach and confidant, carried a weight of significance.

"Well, hurry up," Toji had smirked, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Sukuna doesn't have all day."

Taglist: (tell me if i forgot to add you)

@obitobrigade @simpmetra @catobsessedlady @mangiswig @thulhu @aiicpansion @gojoscumslut @attackonnat @kbirdieee2540 @sterzin @kunasthiast @kariatenoh @angelofdarkness2 @inflatabledinosaurs19 @iheartlinds @ssetsuka @persyhange

Ask under this post or any of the chapters I'll release if you want to be added. I would be posting polls or asking readers about certain things sometimes that would possibly affect the story in a minor way so stay tuned. :) Poll in my blog! Go answer haiyaa...

#sukuna ryomen x reader #sukuna x reader #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x you #sukuna ryomen #sukuna ryomen x you #jjk x reader #jjk sukuna #jjk fanfic #ryomen x reader #ryomen x you #jjk fic

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saerotonins · 1 year ago

Text

tied red strings of fate

ft. gojo satoru x gn!reader

request: omg .. tadhana by udd + satoru please ?

content warnings: fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, jjk manga spoilers [ch 236], canon divergent, implied that reader knows about curses but is not a sorcerer, lowkey a character analysis but yeah, happy ending

wc: 1283

note: when i saw this request i was so happy because tadhana* is literally one of my fave opm classics! also, im sorry nonnie if this was long overdue, figured i'd give him some fluff at his death "anniversary" heh (albeit a little late). i miss our glorious king sm :(( happy holidays 🎀

song: tadhana-up dharma down

*tadhana=destiny

gojo satoru is a force to be reckoned with. his name rings a bell and brings shivers to the spine of any potential enemies he has.

he's gojo satoru, the strongest of all, the holy grail of jujutsu sorcery. he's gojo satoru, whose power literally repels and divides everyone else and him.

but to you, he's a lover, a man of his own, an independent being who is capable of emotions. he's satoru. the love of your life.

so when he decided to call it quits, to say you were devastated is an understatement. you were left broken, calling out his name at night hoping he would appear in front of you just one, for closure. him closing the chapter of your book got you weeping and yearning for more of him.

because even though he's your lover, even you have a hard time of catching a glimpse of who he really is. satoru is an open book, but he's hard to understand. you did all your best to ease him and make him open up, show more of himself to you, bare his truth, the good, the bad, and the ugly, all of them you're willing to accept.

alas, the universe has other plans, the challenge ended even before it began, he is most definitely an enigma, someone that you will probably never get to solve. satoru's backed turned against you was a sight you are never going to forget. you spent months moving on and try to live a life where he isn't yours. it's hard but you try to manage anyway.

so when a knock on your door was heard by the 31st of december, you didn't expect gojo satoru in his full glory standing before you. as shocked as you are, you see his eyes had sunken. he's beyond exhausted but when he sees you, his eyes lighten up and you feel the warmth of his arms and your feet off the floor. you miss this, you miss him, it was all so familiar and something you very much miss. every fiber of your being remembered the way he touched you, triggered by the way his hands gripped onto your waist for dear life. as confused as you are, you reciprocated his gesture, opting to rest your hand on his shoulder blades.

"satoru?" you managed to voice our before you feel him put you down but his embrace remain. he then rests his head on the crook of your neck, then you hear him sniffle. suddenly you feel something drop onto your skin. his tears slowly roll from his face to your neck and shoulders.

satoru's lips wobbles as he tries to contain himself but to know avail, he lets his cries out, deciding to bare himself to you and be vulnerable. he was so so so tired of fighting. as great as the title 'the strongest' sounds, it gets too lonely even for him. being on the top is lonely. and he knows it himself.

he'd rather fall from grace than live a life where he isn't yours. he was too late to realize it. he was so stupid, too cocky, too condescending that it took him facing death before realizing that he wants to live, just for you. so when he finally defeats the evils of the jujutsu world, his first thought is you. the only one who provided light in his dark and desolate world.

as charming and bright satoru is, he is often left in the shadows in the cave but when he came to know you, he was absolutely in love and smitten. you were like a fresh breath of air to him. but when he decides that creeping into your mundane and simple life would rather be selfish of him. someone cursed like him shouldn't be able to be with someone who is blessed and down to earth like you.

but being selfish be damned, he had faced battles, including one that almost left him biting the dust. he wants you, he needs you in his life and letting you go was definitely a mistake, something that he will never do ever again.

when his cries had calmed down, you finally get his voice again after a long time. "i'm so sorry," satoru started. "i was an idiot, i love you so much and i never stopped loving you. i was so stupid to let you go, i have never loved someone as much as i did with you." satoru knows his worth is probably lesser than any other being the moment he let you go, the only pillar who provided stability and balance in his life. he was impulsive, too proud, and too strong. but the way you held him every time you caged him into your arms is like he was fragile, someone to be protected, someone to cherish.

satoru loved that. and he was stupid to think that was worth letting go.

knowing you has made him scared of death, an entity or event that could break the two of you apart and live in separate worlds, and he couldn't bare to face it. he loves you too much to let himself go and so he fought with you in mind and thank any deity that exists, he finally won.

gojo satoru is the strongest.

so seeing him crumble right before your very eyes as his knees meet the concrete is a shock. he had bowed before you first before he had bowed to any higher up. hell, satoru bowing before anyone else would come as a shock. he held onto your ankle for support, his voice begging to take him back as he spews even more apologies that he can manage.

"please, please, i'm so sorry darling, i'll do what it takes for you to take me back. i love you so much, no other human had made me feel this way, please i'm so sorry. i miss you so much, god, i can't even remember a life before you, please." satoru had begged, begged, and begged, his voice getting louder and louder and each increased volume of his voice his hurt is more evident.

with the way his voice cracked broke your heart, and that's when you knew he meant every single letter, every syllable, every drop of tear, and every breath of his apology.

you had completely broken the strongest. but satoru doesn't mind. even if you break him a thousand times, he'd painstakingly pick up every single piece of himself to present it to you. and that's what he's doing right now.

"i forgive you 'toru," he barely hears you say through his wails and it slowly comes to a halt. he then lost the feel of your ankles as he sees you kneel yourself to his level. your hands reached to touch his face and there you see his eyes, glassed with tears, love, and regret. satoru feels the heat of your hands on his cheeks and his instincts leaned into it. "i was hurt, but i'm never mad, i just wished you'd tell me why," his heart broke when he heard your voice crack.

"but you're hear now, right? we can fix this, we can fix us." you say as you carefully wipe the tears on his face. satoru nodded as he holds your wrists and caress his thumb on it. "yeah, we'll fix us."

"together?"

"together," satoru said in confidence.

and with a light heart, satoru leans in to catch your lips on his, sealing his silent promise to never hurt you ever again, or he will never get to forgive himself.

he's gojo satoru.

he'll always find a way back into your arms.

another note: i'm quite unsure with the ending but this is all that i got 😔 i hope this was on par with your expectations nonnie hehe 🫶🏻

#🧤muse: satoru #gojo fluff #gojo angst #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru fluff #gojo satoru angst #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x yn #gojo x you #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen angst #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk fluff #jjk angst #jjk x reader

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zephyrrhiesfyrian · 4 months ago

Note

Sneasler fucker anon here. For the pla mecha au, how to cybertronians come into being? Allspark, Vector Sigma, Hot spots/matrix, spicy fan versions, non-spicy fan versions, crystals, g1 logic, etc. It would determine specifically how Emmet would react to thinking Ingo fucked that sneasler.

Biggest question would be if Ingo and Emmet were split spark twins. Big angst potential there, especially if the fanon twin spark bond existed. Would it be snapped, stretched thin, or just non-existent? Imagine another soul that's been there your whole life. Its a part of not-you that you constantly feel. You've never been without it. And then one day it just disappears. Not silent, not broken, not stretched so thin that you can barely feel it. The bond is just... gone, like it never existed. How would it be for someone who's never existed without their other half, the only other being they share a soul with?

And then you meet them again. Many years, many lifetimes down the road. On another planet, stranded and alone. You're excited, of course you are. You've missed them for eons, searched desperately for just a glimpse of them, down dark alleyways and on planets hostile against mechanical organisms. Now you're on a backwater planet with strange organics with strange and sometimes threatening powers. You might be stranded with no way home, no way to contact anyone. It doesn't matter though, they're here.You've found them. Your other half of your spark, of your life, of yourself. They're right in front of you....

But you can't feel them.

I imagine cybertronians come into being the same manner I use for most of my serious tf AUs, which is a combination: hot spots (aka sparks just spawn straight out of Cybertron's surface and coalesce into Person), cold construction (sparks yoinked from the Matrix of Leadership that later get shoved into premade bodies), and then "sexual reproduction", which in this case is just "you have two cybertronians and they smush sparks and then maybe sometimes there's a weird reaction that happens and you get a third spark".

I'm assuming that spark-twins are probably sparks that come into existence as a single spark and then split partially through the coalescence period. So in terms of fun IDW1 terminology/lore, Ingo and Emmet are Forged (they spawned from a hot spot).

As for the spark bond connection, I don't imagine that it would change much? It might end up dimming or going dormant somewhat when Ingo loses his memories, but that's because he's not actively aware of having the spark bond anymore. Like, it's there but he just assumed "oh that's just a feeling I have I guess" and doesn't really interact with it. I don't believe distance would change anything, because my understanding of spark bonds is that they're essentially some form of quantum entanglement that happens when you spark merge (or in this case, when one spark splits into two), and quantum entanglements are not affected by distance! :D

So when Ingo and Emmet reunite, Ingo is going to be very overwhelmed by all the sudden positive feedback from Emmet's side of the bond, since he's mostly just felt Emmet's grief and depression for the past while.

Also!!!

I am brainstorming (heh, tf pun) names for the boys! My wife, my beloved @bwans-art, attempted to help me with names, but alas, my self-imposed rules prevented me from picking any of her suggestions XD

Said rules are that their names have to have the same meaning as what their actual names are intended to mean/reference. Going based off of the common themes from the English (Ingo = ingoing, Emmet = emit), German (Hin = back, Her = forth), and Japanese (Nobori = up-train, Kudari = down-train), I've distilled the meaning down to Ingo being "to return to" and Emmet being "to go out from".

I'm thinking that I might go with Arrive and Depart being their mech names? Or at least being the most common English translation of their Neocybexian names (as Neocybex is not an actual language that exists I cannot give them names from that XD)

This also opens the door for entertaining miscommunication, such as Emmet's translation software not figuring out how to differentiate that he's saying his name, so he is just stuck saying "I am leaving" repeatedly throughout his speech instead of "I am Depart".

Also, Emmet calling for Ingo could potentially just be translated as him yelling "COME BACK" over and over.

"I am Depart. You are Arrive." -> "I am leaving. You are coming back."

#zef askbox #transformers #pokemon #pokemon legends arceus #pokemon ingo #submas #subway boss ingo #warden ingo #pokemon emmet #subway boss emmet #mech!submas AU

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atticsandwich · 6 months ago

Note

SPOILERS FOR THE NEWER LESSONS IN NIGHTBRINGER - careful fellow followers of this blog <3

i love the current lessons so much actually because there is honestly so much underlying angst / potential for it! i doubt the devs will go that deeply into that direction and i don’t think it would translate well within the game anyway but just imagine mc getting more and more concerned about their own powers that also shape their relationship with everyone else… sure everyone loves mc but dia/barb and solomon have entire realms to protect and therefore wish to have mc on their side if push comes to shove (which has been a recurring topic in nb)… mc getting increasingly insecure / afraid that they’ll be seen as a tool / weapon first instead of a friend… i mean especially after being used as bait??? solomon showing his shady side again??? AAAH!!! THINK OF ALL THE POSSIBILITIES!!!

Yes yes YESSSS

also i love that we're given the option to be mad that the people mc loves are being used as "bait" to draw out their power. obey me has been very passive about how mc responds to situations sometimes that them being mad is a great thing!!

re: angst, yeah, i get you, they haven't really hit the mark on really leaning into angst yet, and although i doubt they'll hit this one, i still have high hopes about how it's going to conclude or how they'll handle the situation (the fact that they got teleported to babel + michael's texts to simeon makes me think raphael is FINALLY going to burst and let out all the emotions he's been bottling for literal millenia)

SPEAKING OF RAPHAEL. again, i love that tlhe's the side character focus on a season with the underlying fact of simeon's transformation to a demon - his reactions and avoidance of the situation, even though he's already made aware of it by michael, coupled with the fact that he still has hidden guilt over what happened during the celestial war....... MANNNNN IM SOO EXCITED FOR RAPHAEL DEVELOPMENT AND EXPOSITION..... hopefully this means mephisto and thirteen will also have their own time in the spotlight soon regarding glimpses of their backstories and developing realtionship with the cast (and mc in particular)

ON A SIDE NOTE. anyone else catch how barb reacts after solomon and mc chooses to keep the reason for mc's growing power a secret??? yeahhhhh he defo knows. dude raised solomon and is the demon of time, of course he'd know. knowing him, he probably just wants to see how it plays out, considering he's powerful enough to mitigate any real catastrophe from actually happening (hellooo he was literally contingency plan number 1 from the sf final) love the thought of him just going. heh. this'll be fun to watch :>

ANYWAYSSSSSS im gonna stop yapping now thank u for asking anon and for anyone reading my thoughts. granted i know a lot of these are very tip of the iceberg but i would rather not do a full dissertation on tumblr. knock knock tumblr staff can u add voice notes. no relation to me wanting to yap whatsoever................) (<- says the guy who made and posted an essay about celestial realm parallels to irl catholicism and power structure. WHATEVER!!!!!)

#obey me spoilers #obey me #obey me nightbringer #atticsandwich rambles #obey me shall we date #obey me raphael #obey me nb #atticsandwich asks

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entishramblings · 2 years ago

Text

The Scorpion of Sarn Ford [Aragorn/F!Reader]

A.N: the amount of weird shit I had to google for this….my FBI agent definitely thinks I’m planning some fucked up crap.

Inspired: this fic was inspired by @estelofrivendell ‘s fic A Change of Heart. I adored the Assassin/Ranger relationship and had to put my own spin on it!

Pairing: Aragorn X Fem!Reader

Summary: The Scorpion of Sarn Forn is a notorious assassin. Much to Strider’s dismay, they are both hired for a job.

Disclaimer: I tried my best with geography, once again, it isn’t my best subject. heh!

Word count: 8.2k (idk why I’m like this)

Warnings: enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, humor that will have you peeing, blood, torture, death, murder, brief insinuation to sexual abuse (side character), creepy men that get what's coming to them, a little bit of spice, brief shirtless aragorn. this sounds very dark but I promise you its good, besides: shirtless aragorn. duh.

MASTERLIST | AO3 | WATTPAD

Aragorn never thought he would be in this position. He never even anticipated such a scenario. It was, quite frankly, entirely unfathomable. Not once did it cross his mind that he might be in the same city as her, much less be forced to sit next to her at The Black Falcon Tavern and Inn with a potential contractor. You see, The Scorpion of Sarn Ford—or as Aragorn preferred to refer to her as: the heinous hellspawn that middle-earth would undoubtedly be far better off without—was a notorious assassin. She made her coin from slipping into the shadows and slaughtering her targets, leaving no trace besides a corpse—still warm from the blood that once ran through it. The men of the south-west were wise enough to be wary and the rich of such lands were stupid enough to empower her with their dark wishes. She’s rumored to have a body count in the hundreds, including kings and queens. Though, that is not how she acquired her title.

Percaric Rothswood, one of the richer dukes of Anfalas, sat with them at a table in the back of the tavern. The Ranger and the Scorpion occupied the bench alongside the wooden wall, granting them both a clear vantage point of the entire establishment, while Percaric sat in a chair across from them. Aragorn's arms were folded, a small blade discreetly nestled up his sleeve, and his ale remained untouched on the table. Yet, the assassin reclined casually at his side, her dark cloak draped loosely enough to unveil the myriad of weapons adorning her attire, with two empty pints before her and a third in her hand.

The peculiar grouping drew the attention of onlookers—it was indeed an unusual gathering, particularly with the presence of the infamous Scorpion of Sarn Ford, and her form specifically beside Strider. Nervous and inquisitive gazes, hushed conversations, subtle nods, and even more overt glances from passersby and bar-sitters were all directed towards the pair. If a meeting like this were to take place, something must be going down.

“So, what’s this job, Percaric, that requires a ranger and a shrew,” Aragorn gruffed, his scowl as deep as the sand pits of the eastern coast.

The woman beside him snorted. “A shrew. Just what a lady wants to be called.”

He shrugged. “An argumentative, ill-tempered rat. I see no difference between it and you.”

She raised a brow, twisting her head to look at him. “Technically a shrew is a mole.”

Aragorn sent her a glare in response.

She huffed at him. “A mole that will die if it doesn't eat every two to three hours.” She picked up her ale and took a swing. “That sounds nothing like me.”

“You reckon so? I bet if you didn't get new gold to chew on in that exact time frame you would also die of pompous deprivation.”

A deep chuckle escaped her throat as her jaw tightened and her eyes narrowed. She turned to quip back an insult; however, Percaric nervously interrupted the hostile hires.

“Well, uh, you see, it's quite a delicate matter. The-the job, that is. My client doesn't want his indiscretions aired out among the common folk because, well, uh, the matter is quite sensitive and—”

Aragorn rolled his eyes. “Just spit it out, Percaric.”

The man exhaled through his nose, nervously patting the table. “Right, right, very well then.” He cleared his throat. “Well, uh, my client, his daughter was taken by someone of high prestige and, well, he would like her back.”

Aragorn leaned back in the chair. “Why doesn't he just pay the ransom then? Instead of hiring someone to take her back. There is a ransom isn't there?”

“Of course, of course. But, well, you see, this daughter, ehem, she’s bastard-born. His wife doesnt know that she exists and he would like to keep it that way. Paying the ransom directly would cause too much attention. Like I said, he wants this discreet.”

Aragorn sighed, his morals pulling hard on his heart. “How old is the girl?”

Percaric winced. “Fourteen.”

The Ranger cursed under his breath. “She’s just a kid.”

“Yes, yes. Well, you see, that’s why my client asked for you, Strider. Not many would want to help a bastard daughter.”

The Scorpion leaned in. “Then why did he ask for me as well?”

Percaric’s face twitched. “Well, uh, Scorpion, there’s a matter a bit more delicate involved that requires your skill.”

She raised her brows.

“My–my client’s daughter is quite beautiful. Well, we can only assume what is being done to her by her captor during her stay. He, well, he wants the perpetrator killed.”

She snorted, leaning back into the wall behind her. “Why not make Strider here do it?”

The Ranger clenched his jaw. “He should be imprisoned, rotting in a cell for his crime.”

“Ah,” she started. “You would bring him in instead of kill him, and that would mean a trial.” She winked at Percaric. “Too public for this client of yours.”

An anxious and awkward giggle-like breath left the man’s lips. “Precisely.”

“So, where is she being kept?” The Scorpion asked.

The duke glanced around him before leaning in and letting his next sentence come out as a whisper. “The tower of Eastemnet.”

“Eastemnet?” Aragorn confirmed, wide-eyed and surprised. “But that would mean—”

“Lord Theovail,” the assassin interjected. “One of the richest, well-guarded men in Arda.”

Percaric bit his lip. “Yes, yes. Now, well, now you see why my client asked for you, Scorpion of Sarn Ford.”

Aragorn huffed, hot air coming from his nose, as he shook his head—now finally reaching for his ale. “We will take the job,” he stated reluctantly.

“Oi! Not so fast,” the assassin interjected. “What’s the pay?”

The Ranger shot her a glare. “A girl, a child, is being held prisoner, and you worry of pay?”

She glared right back at him before turning back to Percaric. “The pay?”

He cleared his throat. “Three hundred pieces of gold up front and another three hundred upon your return of the girl, alive, and proof of Theovail’s death. Though you will have to split it, I’m afraid.”

She raised her hands with a tilt of the head. “Fine by me.” She turned, flashing a devilish grin to the man next to her. “Let us go hunt a girl-snatching arsewipe, Strider.”

He offered no-response other than a scowling side eye.

“Fantastic,” Percaric replied, taking two coin pouches out and plopping them on the table.

The assassin was quick to snatch up one of the bundles, standing, ready to take her leave.

Aragorn, however, let his finger drift over the coin. He glanced up at Percaric. “What’s her name?”

The man’s expression softened. “Calista, daughter of Lord Kassim.”

Aragorn nodded, grasping onto the pouch. “We will bring Calista home.”

……

The pair had been traveling for approximately two weeks at this point, and their interactions during this time were characterized by sparse conversations intertwined with numerous glares and disdainful expressions. In those few moments when words were exchanged, they were often heated disagreements concerning which path to follow, strategies for infiltrating the tower, or debates over the responsibilities of meals. It was, quite frankly, the most miserable trek across Arda that Aragorn had ever taken upon. But it wasn't until they were passing through the gap of Rohan, between the Misty Mountains and Ered Nimrais, that they met any trouble.

An arrow, coming from the mountain’s rocky side, whizzing past Aragorn’s ear was the first sign of danger.

He whipped his head around. “Scorpion!” he called out in warning, his eyes meeting the assassin’s for a brief moment.

She drew her dual silver blades only seconds before a small pack of goblins began descending. She was quick to behead the first goblin whose feet hit the grassy pass they walked through.

“Goblin’s from the Mountains,” she hissed.

Aragorn too drew his sword. “They shouldn't be this far south! They stay up near Ehu Daur and Moira!” He drove his blade through one of the beasts, swinging around to slice another.

“Well, clearly, they dont give a fuck as to where they should or should be!” The Scorpion quipped back as she brought one of her blades through the neck of one of the creatures. “On your left!”

Aragorn twisted his body just in time to block a blow from a rusted scythe.

The assassin dodged the next beast that came at her and sprinted towards the biggest one. She was quick to push herself into the air, flip over the goblin, and slice its throat before her feet even landed on the ground.

She looked up to see the two final goblins, one in match with her companion and the other approaching his back.

The woman moved quickly. Her feet carried her towards the beast who held its blade above Strider’s head. Just before it was to be brought downward, she yelled out a war cry and grasped onto the few hairs the creature had. She yanked hard. The goblin fell backwards onto the ground and she pounced on top of him, sending her blade through his heart—his pungent blood spraying across her face, neck, tunic, and leather armor.

With heavy panting breath, she stood and turned to face the Ranger who had slayed the final beast. Kicking the corpse of the one she had just killed, she spoke. “Only nine. A scouting team. More will be coming upon their lack of return. We gotta get a move on.”

Aragorn’s lips were parted in surprise, realizing that he nearly lost his life. Surprising the assassin, he spoke words that she never would have thought to leave his lips for her. “Thank you, Scorpion.”

She raised her brows. “I have a name, you know, Strider.”

The Ranger turned away from her, continuing along their path. “I don't care to know it,” he gruffed out, his brief sincerity from moments before disappearing.

She snorted, calling out to him regardless. “It’s (Y/N).”

“Don’t fall behind, Scorpion,” he replied.

She huffed, her irritation obvious, before jogging to catch up with his wide strides. “I don’t like you very much either, but if we're gonna be on this job for a while, you could at least not be a dick.”

“Coming from the rudest and most corrupt person I have ever met, that's rich.”

She chuckled loudly. “Wow. Rude, okay, I deserve that. But corrupt? That’s a bit far-fetched.”

He stopped walking, twisting to glower down at her with disgust. “You truly think so? Let’s talk of why they attach the massacre of Sarn Ford to your name. You killed dozens. Women. Children. Innocents. All for what? Gold! Corrupt is too kind a word for you. Wicked, diabolical, vicious is more like it.”

(Y/N)’s brows shot upward as a pained and frustrated laugh thundered in her chest. “Really? Do you even know what was happening in Sarn Ford?!”

“They were farmers! Common folk! Living off the land in peace and you…you slaughtered them!” he yelled.

She got in his face, her hot, angry breath burning against his skin. “THEY WERE ALREADY GOOD AS DEAD, STRIDER!”

“How could you even say that?” he replied, horrified.

She closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath, before focusing back on the man before her. “A disease was making its way through their village. Incurable. Painful. An alchemist, who had been working for weeks to try and find anything to help them, hired me. There was nothing to be done for them except extend a hand of mercy. To give them a good, painless death.”

Aragorn stared at her, his brows pulled together with shock in his gaze.

The assassin clenched her jaw. “I had mothers plead with me to end their child's life while cradled in their arms, only to follow them into death. At least, that way, they could die together.” She looked up at him, her tone privy with rage. “So, yes, Strider, feel free to bestow upon me any epithet you see fit."

He was silent, his shock radiating into the wind around him. Quietly, he spoke again, “How did you not get sick?”

She exhaled slowly. “The alchemist instructed me to wear cloth over my face and cover all skin but my eyes. Once the deed was done, I burned everything I wore and paid for new clothes with gold born of their suffering.”

Aragorn nodded slowly, compassion in his gray eyes. “I am sorry. Doing such a thing mustn't have been easy. It was an execution of mercy.” He turned, continuing once more. “Though the tales of your other kills aren't so kind. Come along, Scorpion. There’s a town a couple days ahead.”

(Y/N) snorted, anger seething in her bones, but followed him nonetheless.”

…..

The pair strode towards the Inn, located not far from Gondor’s borders. They forcefully pulled the door open, unveiling a noisy uproar of laughter and boisterous shouting, mingling with the lovely odors of urine, sweat, and stagnant ale. Creating such an environment, one the Scorpion and Ranger were used to, were the disheveled bodies of inebriated men.

With a mischievous grin, (Y/N) expertly navigated through the crowd, leading Strider to a secluded table nestled in a dim corner. It wasn't long before the arrival of steaming platters of meat and bread arrived, along with two pints of foamy ale, both of which they heartily devoured. The Scorpion raised her hand, beckoning the barmaid over and placing an order for two more pints—both of which she downed, much to Aragorn's evident disapproval.

After releasing a loud belch, she casually swiped the back of her hand across her mouth, then rose to her feet. “Gonna go get some air,” she grumbled, her balance momentarily unsteady as she gained her footing. Aragorn, in response, merely offered an exasperated roll of his eyes.

The assassin maneuvered through the bustling throng of men, slipping through the sea of people before pushing through the doors. The sudden rush of frigid tranquility enveloped her skin as she stepped into the embrace of the night. With a deliberate intake of breath, she allowed the crisp air to fill her lungs. Her eyelids fluttered closed as she tilted her head upwards, letting the misting drizzle of rain kiss her skin. The sound of the tavern was muffled, and the echoes of the celebration they passed down the road drifted into the air. Though it was subtle, for it didn't drown out the sounds of the singing crickets or the croaking frogs. It was peaceful. Well, that is until a form slammed into her and pressed her against the wall.

The smell of ale-laden breath and sticky sweat filled her nostrils as her eyes shot open. Her gaze, fueled by adrenaline, locked onto the burly figure before her—a man with a rugged orange beard—who had forced himself upon her.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing all alone in a dangerous place like this?” he asked, a knife held to her throat.

She snarled up at him. “Oh, you're about to find out—”

Before she could make a move, however, the man was suddenly struck from the side, his body sent sprawling onto the weathered, muddy path.

As (Y/N) peeled herself from the wall, her hand instinctively reached for the slight gash on her neck. Meanwhile, the bearded man found himself seized by the throat, forcefully hoisted upward, and pressed hard against the unyielding stone.

“Do you even know who that is?” Strider uttered sharply.

A chuckle escaped the lips of the man, his bloodied lip spraying a fine mist of red onto Aragorn's face. “You’re whore?” he sneered.

With an unrelenting grip on the man's throat, Aragorn pulled him several inches away from the wall, only to slam him back against it once more. The impact elicited a grunt from the man. "The Scorpion of Sarn Ford," Aragorn hissed through clenched teeth, his voice seething with restrained fury.

The assailant’s laughter was dripping with sarcasm. “Yeah and I'm the fuckin’ King of Gondor.”

The Ranger clenched his jaw, ignoring the secret dig the man's comment produced. “You know why they call her that? Hmm. The Scorpion? Scorpions incapacitate their prey with venom, paralyzing them before they deal the final blow. That woman over there? She severs her targets’ spinal nerve, rendering them unable to move before subjecting them to her torture and kill. And the worst part? She doesn't even need them paralyzed. She gets off from witnessing the terror in their eyes as they're rendered helpless.”

Another laugh escaped the man, but as his gaze shifted towards (Y/N), his amusement faded. The assassin now held a dagger, twirling it in her fingers, a sinister grin stretching across her features.

He turned to look back at Aragorn, the color now drained from his face. “Ye’ c-cant be serious,” he stammered.

The Ranger merely lifted his brows and tilted his head.

Driven by desperation to escape the woman beside them, the man started to shove against Aragorn. However, a single forceful punch to his jaw rendered him unconscious, his body collapsing onto the mud once more.

“I had it handled,” the assassin stated.

Aragorn shot her a stern glare before responding bluntly, "Sure, you did."

The woman emitted a snort, yet settled into a squat beside the man, her dagger poised.

The Ranger, however, was quick to grab her by the wrist, successfully stopping her actions. "Are you out of your mind? We can't kill him. That's the last thing we need – drawing attention to ourselves."

With a huff of mild exasperation, she sheathed her blade. "Fine." She then nodded to the black horse tethered nearby, gesturing with a nod. "That's his horse. Saw him dismount as we entered. Bring it here."

Aragorn frowned, confused, but did as she asked.

“Alright,” she stated, gathering the man’s arms in her hands. “Help me with his legs.”

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked.

“Strider, just grab his damn legs.”

Exhaling audibly, the Ranger complied, reluctantly gripping the man's ankles. With a coordinated heave, they hoisted the man up from the muck. After a few groans and sighs, he was draped over his horse's back.

The Scorpion then took the leather strapping of the saddle and began binding the man’s hands and feet to it. She nodded to the young maple tree behind the Ranger. “Get me a large twig from that. Bout a foot tall. Keep the leaves on it.”

“What?” he hissed, his hands spreading wide in a gesture of bewilderment.

“Strider, would you just get the branch,” she urged impatiently.

Another loud, reluctant exhale left his lips, yet he trudged toward the tree and pulled off what she requested. He approached her, holding out the twig.

“Ah, thank you,” she acknowledged with a grin, accepting it from him.

With that she moved to the side of the horse, close to the man's legs. She seized the waistband of his trousers and gave it a yank, reaving his bare ass.

“Scorpion,” Aragorn chided.

Undeterred, she grinned, sticking the small branch between his ass cheeks so it stood upright, its leaves rustling faintly in the breeze.

“Seriously?” he gruffed out, his arms crossed.

(Y/N) looked at him with a wicked smirk. “You hear that party still going on down the road? I think they would appreciate some impromptu entertainment.” With that, she smacked the horse's rear and, with a brisk snort, it took off down the path.

Not even a minute passed, when they heard the shouts of anger and amusement funneling from the gathering.

Strider turned to glare at her, his jaw clenched and his eyes burning with irritation. He grasped onto her bicep and pulled her towards the doors. "Get inside the damned tavern, quickly."

A loud, hearty laugh flew from her throat, yet she allowed him to pull her along.

Engulfed once again in the clamorous atmosphere of the inn, Aragorn wasted no time in steering her towards the bar. “You can't just put a branch up the arsehole of a person that pisses you off,” he hissed under his breath.

She grinned unapologetically. “Sure, I can.”

He blew hot air out his nose, opting to withhold a retort. With a determined demeanor, he maneuvered them through the crowd of men, navigating as close to the counter as he could get. "Barkeep," he called out, projecting his voice. "Two room keys."

The man approached them with a shrug. “Only got one room left.”

Aragorn huffed. “Fine. Well take it.”

With that, the Ranger deposited three gold coins into the man's palm, secured the key, and then swiftly tugged the Scorpion alongside him as they grabbed their bags and ascended the creaky wooden staircase.

They approached their door, marked the same as the key, and it swung open under Aragorn’s touch. Within, the room exuded a chill darkness, accompanied by a faint draft slipping in through the slightly cracked window. The space appeared quite sparse, furnished with nothing but a small dresser, a modest table accompanied by two chairs...and a solitary bed.

A muttered curse escaped the Ranger's lips as he unceremoniously dropped his bag onto the table. "I'll take the floor."

(Y/N) rolled her eyes. “Really, Strider? It’s the one night we get the option of having a bed. As long as you stay on your side, I don't mind sharing.”

“Fine,” was his gruff response.

With that, the pair began getting comfortable for the night. Aragorn lit the worn down candle, its feeble golden glow illuminating the area, proving slightly better light as he dug through his bag. Meanwhile, (Y/N) shed her cloak and vast assortment of weapons, earning a skeptical glance from the Ranger. Yet, when she began to unfasten the tightly-worn leather armor that clung to her figure, his reaction was far more dramatic. "What on earth is that stench?!" he blurted out, recoiling.

She shrugged nonchalantly. “Remember those goblins? Yeah, I got an unexpected bath in their blood.”

“That was days ago. You reek,” he retorted. He strode over to the dresser, opening drawers until he came across a gray towel. Returning to the table, he picked up the pitcher beside the candle and gradually poured water into a small basin, also provided. After submerging the towel and wringing it out, he flung the damp cloth towards her, which she easily caught. “Clean yourself up.”

She shrugged once more. Turning away, she shed her shirt and let it drop to the floor. Her swift movements were focused as she wiped her face, neck, and chest, cleansing her skin of the grime that clung to it.

Though Aragorn didn't intend to look, his gaze inadvertently flicked towards her silhouette against the wall. It was then that his eyes fixed upon her bare back, adorned with a network of vivid, angry scars. He’d seen scars like that. He knew what they were from: torture.

“(Y/N),” he whispered sincerely, his steps leading him closer to her form. “What happened?”

Hearing her name for the first time from his lips, she was caught off guard—her heart skipping a beat. The simple utterance carried an unexpected weight, a rare vulnerability that seemed to momentarily freeze her in place. Uncertainty gripped her as she stood still, her mind racing to process the unfamiliar tone from him.

His touch was tender as he raised his hand to trace the lines on her skin. “Who did this to you?” he growled.

Brought back to the present, she instinctively recoiled from his touch. "I'm an assassin. I've earned my fair share of enemies," she replied, her voice tinged with defiance. Shifting her gaze over her shoulder, she met his eyes. "Have an extra shirt? Mine's beyond saving."

"I, uh, yes. Yes, of course," Aragorn responded, seeming to realize the sudden intimacy of the moment. He retreated to his bag, rifling through its contents until he procured a cream-colored tunic. He tossed it to her. "This should suffice."

“Thanks,” she grumbled, pulling it over her head.

(Y/N) approached the table, the Ranger's shirt engulfing her smaller frame. The fabric's loose drape hung off her shoulder. If she wasn't such a menace, Aragorn would have thought that she looked cute in his clothes.

Ungracefully, she deposited the damp towel on the tabletop before proceeding to yank off her boots and socks, placing them with a deliberate thud upon the chair nearby. “We are not that far from the tower of Eastemnet. Perhaps a two day journey or so. However, our predicament remains unchanged: we don't have a solid strategy. We don't have any floor plans. We don't know how many guards will be stationed. And we don't know where the girl is being kept. We are gonna be going in blind—”

“You’re bleeding,” he interjected, his voice carrying an unmistakable note of concern.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Just a scratch,” she dismissed casually.

Aragorn grasped onto her jaw, lifting her chin up to take a better look. "A seemingly insignificant wound could easily become infected, Scorpion," he asserted, his tone insistent.”

She pulled her head from his grasp with a snort. “I’m fine, Strider.”

He crossed his arms, an unyielding resolve in his expression. “If we are breaking into Lord Theovail’s tower and stealing from him, I'd prefer my partner not succumb to infection-induced delirium, potentially endangering both our lives." Swiftly, he nudged the empty chair towards her. “Now, sit down, Scorpion.”

(Y/N)’s brows lifted, followed by a teasing expression that animated her features. “Oh? So I'm your partner now?” she quipped, her tone laced with playful amusement. "What happened to the 'vicious shrew killer that you would rather leave tied to a tree,' as I seem to recall you once calling me?"

He glared at her. “Sit, or I will leave you tied to a tree.”

Surprisingly, she did as he asked, allowing herself to sink into the chair with her legs casually sprawled and her arms folded tightly across her chest. Aragorn dug through his bag, pulling out a couple small tins and a tiny glass bottle. Grasping the towel, he located a clean section and dipped it into the basin. Squatting down between her legs, he lifted the towel to her neck. "Chin up," he instructed, and she obeyed without protest. Gently, he began cleansing the wound, meticulously removing dirt and debris from the area. Next, he uncapped the small glass bottle. "This might sting," he warned.

She clenched her jaw, but said nothing as the alcohol was poured upon her neck. Aragorn gently dabbed the liquid away. He then opened one of the small tins, extracting a dollop of green goo.

“What is that shit?” (Y/N) asked.

“Athelas leaf paste.”

“Athelas leaf?” she echoed, seeking further clarification.

“Kingsfoil. Athelas is the elvish word for it,” he replied simply, his attention focused on gently applying the paste to the wound.

She raised her eyebrows. “Elvish, huh. You're full of surprises, Strider. Where’d ya learn that?”

“Shush. Be still.”

The Scorpion rolled her eyes, but complied as he completed the task.

Standing up, Aragorn rinsed his hands and addressed her once more. "We can devise a plan for the tower tomorrow. Right now, we need rest."

(Y/N) sighed, nodding in agreement, as she too stood. She made her way towards the bed and pulled back the thin sheet, eager to climb into the softness of a mattress—regardless of how old and worn it was.

The gentle sound of air extinguishing the candle was succeeded by the enveloping darkness that reclaimed the room. Soon, Aragorn’s footsteps followed. She discerned the rustle of fabric as, presumably, he removed his shirt. The bed then creaked gently as he settled beside her, lying on his back.

She, resting on her side away from him, let her eyes close. There she laid, for a moment, before shifting. Then she shifted again. And again.

“Stop moving, Scorpion,” Aragorn grumbled, his patience waning.

“I can’t get comfortable!” she retorted.

“That’s because you keep moving.”

“It’s cold and you're stealing all the blankets.” With a determined tug, she seized more of the fabric, leaving Aragorn with a minimal share.

He merely exhaled audibly, opting for a wordless response. At the very least, she had ceased her constant fidgeting.

Aragorn remained awake during the initial hours, unable to find slumber. (Y/N)'s breathing had swiftly settled into a rhythmic pattern after she commandeered the majority of the sheets, though her small unconscious movements kept interrupting the perceived tranquility. Occasional, soft whimpers escaped her lips, her brows furrowing with evident distress. In truth, Aragorn found himself uncertain of how to respond. He held onto the hope that the disturbances would cease on their own, perhaps that whatever troubled her dreams would eventually pass. And eventually, it did stop, but not without an unexpected turn of events.

The Ranger's senses jolted as the Scorpion’s frigid form rolled towards his side of the bed, seeking refuge in his warmth. Although she had mentioned feeling cold earlier, the intensity of her chill surprised him. The wave of uncertainty that washed over him did not leave as her cheek pressed against his bare chest. Initially, the thought of infection taking hold crossed his mind, but he quickly dismissed it; her skin would have been hot to the touch if that were the case. It only took seconds for him to realize that the draft from the cracked window was striking her side directly. With a sigh of reluctance, he tentatively encircled his arm around her, drawing her in further.

In her state of deep slumber, she instinctively nestled into him, drawing a slight skip from Aragorn's heart. He cast a cautious gaze downward, taking in her appearance.

She seemed so different—distinctly separate from the notorious assassin he knew her to be. There was an innocence, an unexpected purity, about her in this moment that rendered her almost unrecognizable. Gone was the perpetual scowl that often marked her features. Instead, her face had relaxed into a gentle expression of repose, free from the tension. Her lips, adorned with the faintest hint of a pout, moved slightly as she drew each breath, almost as if he warded off the nightmares that had plagued her.

In this vulnerable state, the Scorpion seemed untainted by her reputation, stripped of her fearsome persona. The layers of her identity, usually shrouded in crude comments and sharp weapons, had fallen away. It revealed that the facade that she showed the world was just that, a facade. A good one at that though. Even Aragorn—a man well-acquainted with the intricacies of human nature—hadn't thought it would be a mask; but her story of Sarn Ford was the first thing that revealed its possibility to him. It was as if the walls she kept built had crumbled away, allowing him a glimpse of the person beneath the lies. And, until sleep claimed him, he allowed himself to savor this glimpse—to see her beyond the assassin.

When the first light of dawn began to filter in, (Y/N) stirred, wrapped in the warmth and safety that had cocooned her during the night. She hesitated to peel open her eyelids, savoring the sensation. However, as her senses roused to full awareness, a gentle yet distinct rhythm reached her ears—the steady thud of a heart beating beneath her. In an instant, her eyes shot open, and a surge of apprehension raced through her.

Beneath her, Strider's form lay, his chest rising and falling in slumber. Anxiety tightened her chest and clawed at her throat. Reacting instinctively, she sat up abruptly and, fueled by adrenaline, threw a punch at him.

A resounding groan of pain escaped his lips as he scrambled to sit up, his expression twisting in both surprise and discomfort. "What the hell, Scorpion?!" he managed to sputter, his hand instinctively reaching to dab at his lip.

“I thought I told you to stay on your side of the bed!” she retorted sharply.

He glared at her, his irritation obvious. “I did. If you would take a moment to observe your surroundings, you would see you are in fact on my side of the bed.”

Wide-eyed and perplexed, she twisted her upper body around, casting a glance over her shoulder. As the reality of the situation dawned on her, she faced him once more. Her eyes filtered over his form briefly, taking in his muscled biceps and defined abs. Her expression then turned into a deeper scowl. “Fuck off!” she snapped.

He only stared at her, bewildered.

….

Under the shroud of darkness, the Ranger and the Assassin stood at the base of the tower of Eastemnet on the south side. Concealed within the protective embrace of the tree line, they had spent approximately three hours observing the guards' patterns and identifying vulnerabilities in the tower's defenses. There they had hidden two steeds that (Y/N) had procured for them at the inn—most likely through theft, though Aragorn didn't want to think of that—allowing for a quick escape with Calista. Strategically, they discreetly knocked out all the guards on the outposts, binding and gagging them, for they knew the element of surprise would be their only bet. So, now they stood, with a pretty loose plan, ready to steal back what Lord Theovail had taken.

The Scorpion grasped onto the vine that entwined itself along the stone surface of the tower. A swift, assessing tug confirmed its stability. Her gaze shifted briefly to the man positioned behind her. “About two hundred feet to the top. Best guess, that’s where Calista is being held.”

He nodded. “After you.”

The Scorpion adjusted her grip upon the vine and she initiated her ascent. Aragorn doing the same only minutes after.

They moved in a synchronized rhythm, the sound of their breaths and the faint rustling of vines mingling with the night's stillness. Each handhold and foothold was chosen with precision, the texture of the stone under their fingertips guiding their progress.

(Y/N)’s movements were fluid and practiced, evidence to her agility and experience. Her lithe form seemed to dance with the contours of the tower, making it look easy. Aragorn, not as accustomed to such endeavors, displayed a determination that rivaled his unease. His powerful muscles flexed and strained as he pulled himself upward, his eyes never straying far from the path she took.

After what felt like hours, the assassin spoke. “Nearly there, just a couple more feet.”

Aragorn only grunted in response.

The woman firmly gripped the vine adjacent to the windowsill, positioning her feet against the wall in a manner resembling a vertical walk. This facilitated her upward movement as she pulled herself closer to the window. Yet, as her head reached the level of the glass, she swiftly withdrew, instinctively lowering herself. In an unfortunate circumstance, the unconventional stance she maintained resulted in her ass colliding with Aragorn's face.

He groaned. “Really, Scorpion?! Really?!”

“My bad,” she huffed out. “Hold on a second. I think someone is in there.”

“Yeah, hopefully Calista.”

She resumed her ascent, then promptly lowered herself again. This time, Aragorn effectively maneuvered his head to the side, evading her buttocks.

Regardless of this, he shot her a glare—not that she would be able to see it.

“It was a maid.” she whispered. “I think we are in the clear now.”

With that, she heaved herself up for a final time and reached for the dagger strapped to her thigh. “Duck your head,” she commanded. With as much force as she could muster, she brought the blade against the glass, tucking her face into her elbow. It shattered, falling around them both like deadly snow.

The Scorpion pulled herself upward and through the window, careful not to be pierced by any stray piece of glass, and Aragorn did the same.

The room was small, but decorated to the extreme. The prominent feature was the bed, elevated upon a platform, its tall wooden posts adorned with a luxurious velvet canopy that cascaded in graceful drapes. The mattress was covered in ornate blankets and quilts, complemented by an array of plush pillows. However, any semblance of beauty was starkly contradicted by the grim sight of chains extending from the wall and ensnaring the wrists of a young girl, shattering the room's facade of luxury.

Immediately, Aragorn ran towards her side. “Calista,” he murmured gently. “Wake up. It’s time to go.”

Calista's golden hair framed a face that appeared worn and defeated. Her eyes fluttered open, revealing a gaze void of life. Her voice emerged as a feeble whisper. "Who are you?" she inquired softly.

Standing steadfast in the center of the room, (Y/N) maintained her posture with crossed arms. Her unwavering gaze fixed on the imposing wooden door that likely remained locked from the other side. “Your father sent us.”

Aragorn carefully manipulated the cuffs that bound Calista's wrists, gingerly freeing her from their constricting hold. "I'm Strider," he introduced himself, his fingers working skillfully. "We're here to help. Come.”

As if entranced, Calista began to sit up, struggling to rise from the bed. Aragorn extended his support, assisting her onto the floor. However, her weak frame proved too fragile to sustain itself. She leaned unsteadily against him, her body unable to bear its own weight.

The Ranger looked to his partner. “She’s too weak. There's no way I can scale down the wall with her on my back. She won't have the strength to hold on."

The Scorpion uttered a quiet curse. “You will just have to come with me to find Theovail.”

He shook his head. “It’s too dangerous. We can't bring her near him.”

“Well, we don't have any other choice,” she snapped. “But as soon as I kill him, we will have to haul ass. His guard will be coming for us then—if they don't already know we are here.”

Aragorn clenched his jaw, inhaling deeply. “Fine. Get that door open.”

With that, the Scorpion set to work picking the lock and Aragorn scooped Calista up in his arms, her golden head nestled into his chest. It wasn't long before the group was creeping down the tower, level by level. The Scorpion led the way, ducking behind walls and maneuvering around pillars, making sure the way was clear. When they came across a guard that was blocking their escape, she was quick to slice his throat and pull his body out of sight.

“Scorpion, why you can't just knock them out?” Aragorn whispered with exasperation.

She, dropping his legs as she stuffed him into a closet, glared at him. “And risk having him wake up and alert others? I think not."

He huffed, knowing she was right.

However, their path forward soon encountered a challenge they couldn't evade as easily. Just as they were on the verge of turning a corner, a young maid's panicked voice pierced the air. “The-the girl. She’s gone!”

(Y/N) slammed her back against the stone wall, Aragorn doing the same.

“What do you mean ‘she’s gone’??!” A deep male voice thundered.

A shared realization passed between (Y/N) and Aragorn—Lord Theovail had now entered the fray.

“FIND HER!” he snapped. “Or it will be your head!”

The servant scurried down the hall, running right past the Ranger and Assassin who slunk into the shadows with their charge.

(Y/N) cautiously peered around the corner. The room before them was every bit as lavish as the one that had imprisoned Calista, if not more so. A roaring fire crackled in the grand fireplace, casting flickering shadows that danced across the two plush velvet couches by it. Luxurious fur blankets adorned each sofa, hinting at Theovail’s rich indulgence. A sprawling fur carpet lay before the fireplace, while an ornate wine cart laden with deep reds was conveniently placed nearby. And there, infuriated, stood Lord Theovail himself, a glass of crimson liquid in hand, his temper fuming. To make matters worse, his guards were positioned near the room's exit—the very door that Aragorn would need to pass through in order to escape with Calista.

The Scorpion drew her knife, sending Aragorn a look. It was time. In a hushed tone, she whispered to him. “When you hear it’s over, take her and run to the doors. I'll be right behind you.”

He nodded in agreement.

She then disappeared into the shadows. Not even a minute passed before Aragorn heard the thumping of two bodies, one right after the other, followed by the telltale crash of a shattering wine glass meeting the floor.

“What is the meaning of this?!” Lord Theovail’s voice thundered, a mix of surprise and outrage lacing his words.

Aragorn cautiously peered around the corner, his heart pounding. Lord Theovail was now a whirlwind of fury and frustration, his gaze darting in every direction and a knife clutched in his hand. “I am not one to indulge in games!” he roared, his voice echoing through the chamber as he brandished the blade. “Reveal yourself, you coward!”

Within seconds, the Scorpion’s blade was poised menacingly at Lord Theovail's throat, her grip firm and unwavering as she held him in check from behind. Her voice dripped with a sinister malice as she spoke, her words slithering through the air like a venomous serpent. “Lord Kassim sends his regards.”

A broad chuckle bubbled from Theovail's lips, mingling with a mix of disbelief and arrogance. “A woman?! Kassim sends a woman to kill me?!”

Aragorn watched as the assassin drew another blade from her lethal arsenal, the steel glinting in the dim light. He winced inwardly, knowing what was about to unfold. In one swift, calculated motion, the Scorpion's blade found its mark, slicing deeply into Theovail's spine. The lord's body crumpled to the floor, staining the pristine white fur carpet with a gruesome red pool. His once-commanding presence now reduced to stillness. Though his eyes, wide and drifting in panic, showed his fear.

She then sat on top of him, bringing the blade to his neck once more. The Scorpion's lips curled into a chilling grin, her eyes alight with a dark satisfaction. “Not just any woman. You ever hear of The Scorpion of Sarn Ford?”

Instantly, a tidal wave of horror engulfed Theovail's blue gaze, his previously defiant demeanor shattered like the fragile glass of Calista’s window.

He knew the legend. He knew there was no escape for him.

However, at that moment, a large, burly guard burst in. Seeing what was unfolding, he was at his Lord’s assistance in a flash. His hand grasped onto the assassin’s hair, yanking her form from Theovail.

Aragorn clenched his jaw, giving her a moment before he intervened.

The collision sent shards of glass and splintered wood flying as the guard and the Scorpion crashed into the wine cart, locked in a fierce struggle. The guard, towering in his size, managed to regain his footing first and hauled the Scorpion up with him. His meaty fists struck out, landing brutal blows that drew crimson from her nose and brow.

The Ranger cursed. Quickly, he sat Calista upon the ground and rushed to his partner's aid. Unsheathing his blade, he lunged into the fray. His sword found its mark in the guard's back, the steel emerging through the man's stomach. Time seemed to freeze as the guard's bloodied gaze locked with the Scorpion's, a moment charged with shock and shared disbelief. The guard crumpled to the ground, revealing Aragorn.

With a swift motion, Aragorn twisted his blade downward and reached out to grasp the Scorpion's face, his hands marked by a blend of relief and fear. The touch, both tender and urgent, brought her gaze to his. Blood marked one cheek, while the other felt the cool press of his blade's hilt against her skin. His deep voice, a mixture of anxiety and care, called out her name. "(Y/N)," he stated, the word a lifeline that pierced through her dazed state.

"(Y/N)," he spoke once more, the urgency remaining. “Are you alright?”

She blinked, forcing a response. “Yes, yes. I'm fine.”

Aragorn released a sigh of relief, yet his hand remained for another heartbeat, a reassurance in the form of touch. "Take care of Theovail. I will get Calista," he instructed, his hands finally and reluctantly withdrawing as he moved to tend to their young charge.

The rest was a blur: (Y/N) slicing Theovail’s throat and grabbing his ruby ring, Aragorn hauling Calista into his arms, and the trio racing down the tower's corridors—fending off any obstacle that dared to stand in their path. Adrenaline drove them to the treeline, panting breath heavy and loud, as they climbed upon their horses and took off into the night—leaving behind the bloody assassination of the Lord of the Eastemnet Tower.

…..

Weeks later, at three in the morning, the trio stumbled into The Black Falcon Tavern, where they first met with Percaric. The establishment was eerily quiet, save for the slumbering figure of the barkeep, who had succumbed to the late hour with his head on the counter. At the far end of the room, Percaric and Calista's mother stood, their figures illuminated by a flickering candle on the table. An air of anxious anticipation clung to the atmosphere.

As soon as their feet crossed the threshold, that stillness was disturbed. Calista's voice pierced the quiet as she called out to her mother, her strength visibly renewed since the ordeal. Without hesitation, mother and daughter closed the distance between themselves, embracing as if they had been torn apart for eternity. Tears flowed freely, mingling sorrow with joy. The warmth of their reunion dispelled the darkness that had clouded their lives.

Percaric approached the Scorpion and the Ranger.

The assassin tossed the man Lord Theovail’s ring. “Proof of death,” she stated bluntly. “I was gonna bring you his head, but figured it would smell pretty rotten after the long journey.”

He nodded awkwardly, the thought making him feel ill. He took a quick moment to examine the ring. Seemingly satisfied, he spoke. “You did well. Lord Kassim sends his thanks.” He then tossed them both pouches of gold before turning back to the mother and daughter. As Percaric prepared to take Calista and her mother back home, he turned back to the two rescuers. His voice carried a sentiment with his words. "Thank you."

Aragorn's silent nod and the Scorpion's subtle acknowledgment conveyed their understanding and their shared commitment to a world that often demanded their sacrifice.

With that, Percaric, Calista, and her mother left the inn, leaving the assassin and the ranger alone.

“Well,” (Y/N) began, as she walked towards the snoring barkeep and leaned over the counter, fishing for the room keys. “I don't know about you, but I could do with a good night’s rest.” She pulled the ring from his waist and turned back to Aragorn. Holding it up, one key dangling, her grin faded. “You're kidding, right?” She shook her head with a huff but turned and made her way to the rickety stairs. “As long as you stay on your side of the bed this time, Strider—”

“Scorpion,” he interrupted as he followed her.

The wood creaked under her feet. “I am serious. Keep yourself in check—”

“Scorpion.”

“I will not hesitate to paralyze you—”

“(Y/N)!”

She froze upon the stairs, slowly turning to look at him on the step directly below her. Now they stood at the same height, face to face, only inches away from each other.

“You almost died out there,” he whispered, his hot breath brushing against her skin.

“Yeah, so did you. It happens,” she shrugged. “It’s what we do.”

“(Y/N),” he persisted.

“What?!”

With that, he grasped onto her face, his finger warm and calloused from the lifetime of travel and battle. Time seemed to freeze as the moment lingered, the air changing between them.

And then, his lips were on hers.

At first, a sense of uncertainty held her still, her mind grappling to comprehend the sudden intimacy. But as his touch deepened and the kiss became a dance, she surrendered to the moment. Her fingers found their way into his hair, tangling themselves among the dark waves, as her lips moved with just as much force—if not more—as his. He tasted of pine and fresh soil, she wast sure if she quite literally was consuming the dirt upon his face, but she didn't care. She couldn't stop herself from becoming enthralled by his lips.

“Scorpion,” he mumbled against her mouth.

She hummed a reply as her lips continued to move with his.

“Room. Now,” he practically growled.

She grinned, her teeth tugging on his bottom lip. “Make me.”

Aragorn pulled away from her, raising his brow with a smirk. With that, he grabbed her by the hips and hoisted her up. Her mouth found his again as he stumbled up the stairs, ignorant to the barkeep who woke and was now squinting at the pair.

“The Scorpion and Strider,” the old man huffed. “The boys aren't gonna believe this one.”

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#lotr #lord of the rings #the hobbit #Aragorn #Aragorn x reader #Aragorn/reader #Aragorn fic #Aragorn oneshot #Aragorn one shot #aragorn son of arathorn #vayawrites #LOTR fic #lord of the rings fic

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silvermeww · 6 months ago

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I see you tag a lot of things as 'kalosian woods', what does it mean??? is it like a project or a fic or something? 👀

Hey there anon! Yah, it’s a massive AU/rewrite thing I have for the XY anime (and maybe games??) that I’ve been planning for a while now. The name is short for ‘beware of kalosian woods; lovely, dark and deep’ and it’s up on AO3 at currently idk 6 fics?? Which is super funny since so far I’ve managed to plan out 60 fics for it and the numbers are getting higher as I go on lol. Anyways, this all happened when I got inspired by a friend to rewrite some scenes of the anime and then welp, it snowballed into a project of massive proportions that should, if I’m motivated enough, keep me occupied for a year at least ^^’

I guess I should say some things about it since I’ve been rambling on for so long, huh? Well, in my watch of XY (and many future ruminations afterwards) I guess my biggest problem was that almost everyone but Ash and Greninja got their narrative presence and story potential whittled down to almost nothing (if not downright nothing) as the series went on. The start had promise but afterwards? Straight off the series itself I can’t tell you much about anyone in any real deep capacity (and the sad thing is that I do care about at least some of them, but they end up getting the shortest stick ever :/). So, in this rewrite I’m shaking things up and giving everyone opportunities to develop and grow, try out new things and new bonds, let the Pokémon play around with each other and their Trainers (Chespin my beloved, why did you never exist beyond the butt if the joke when you used to have a Reason for Being in your origin ep?? ;w;), all that jazz. Also including some game plots and characters (AZ should’ve been there and in my essay), more fleshed out Team Flare, maybe Southern Kalos??? Still thinking on that. More dramatic and honestly more cooler Kalos Crisis where we don’t just have two 50% Zygarde and then Zygarde Rock, changing up the way Showcases are done (letting them be their own thing seperate from Contests while also having that creative flare), more lore for that Bond Phenomenon, etc. Basically I’m going to have fun with the playground of Kalos lore/locations and letting any character that was a character have their time to shine, so if there are any backgrounders that you may have taken a shine to, there’s probably a chance that I’ve written them in this big thing heh.

(My second problem is the lack of Legendary Death Bird and Life Deer in the series that introduces them—wdym the only time I can see them is in one movie for 5 minutes? And don’t get me started on the cameo in the camp arc.

So naturally I’m going to have them play a role throughout the series as well, down to the Crisis itself. Can’t have Squishy have all the fun :3)

So, I’m not sure if I truly grasped what this project is about, tbf I’m still planning it out as I go since I’ve always been a pantser, but it’s something fun for me and I hope that more people will come to enjoy it too! A mix of every genre, some crack interspersed within the fluff and angst, Sycamore adopting way too many children while placing himself in a self-made love triangle, lore and deep connections, history and its effects, life and death and order.

And being the best version of yourself. That too.

PS I forgot to add, my tag is basically a really funny spoilers-no-spoilers compilation of posts that fit the vibe of the whole series. Like the posts just resonates with a certain part of the series and represents it and I thought that hey, might as well make a tag that would make no sense to anyone until the series is finished while also giving myself inspiration and motivation. I should probably make a side blog for the project but that’s if it gains enough traction I think, like an askblog or compilation thing. Anyways lmk if there’s anything unclear in my massive ramble or if you want to know something more/else, I’ve really enjoyed this ask if you can tell heh :D <33

#the title is inspired by that one poem; you know ‘and I’ve got miles before I sleep’?#yeah. i think it’s very fitting considering the series and legendaries involved #sorry for the ramble but I couldn’t resist the stage heh #feel free to ask me any questions about it btw #I also have another series for all of my Pokémon fics #Since I have so many ideas for every series of the anime (once I get to horizons I bet I’ll have some for that too)#It’s linked to kalosian woods; named ‘when one life meets another’#Eh what else can I say? Um I also have the link on my pinned post so yah #Should tag this in as well heh #kalosian woods #silv.ex #Big projects for the big brained (I’m crying) (6k for a one shot) (Characters won’t stop making dumb decisions)

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very-bad-poetry-captain · 4 months ago

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TOS novel book review McCoy edition nr 4 - Planet of Judgment

I knew there was a TOS novel where McCoy's wife was called Honey and she divorced him because they hadn't been intimate in three whole weeks, but I didn't remember it was Planet of Judgment. And I am judging this book.

Link to the previous review

Title: Planet of Judgment Author: Joe Haldeman Year published: 1977 (this was one of the very first trek novels ever published)

Content warning: a few descriptions of dying and wounded people, a bit of body horror

Plot summary in two sentences: A pretty large landing party including Kirk, Spock, and McCoy get stuck on a planet where natural laws don't seem to work and they have a few very bad no good days playing "stranded on a planet trying to kill us" before the aliens make contact, and then they are experimented on but like, it's clearly for a good reason so it's all fine (it's not). This book seemed like it could have been a TOS episode but mercifully it wasn't. Official plot summary: Never before had the Enterprise been betrayed by its own technology. Never before had their systems, instruments and weapons failed to respond. And never before had Kirk, Spock, McCoy and the rest of the crew faced a total breakdown of science and sanity... until they stumbled on the mysterious world that couldn't exist... A world orbited by a black hole ruled by chaos - where man was a helpless plaything for a race of beings more powerful than the laws of the universe. A brain-bending voyage into the unknown with the Starship ENTERPRISE.

This book is for you if you:

Kinda like the classic 70s scifi plot style

Want to read every novel that has McCoy in it (his parts are fun)

Enjoy philosophical questions such as "Is experimenting on aliens ethical if the constant 'clatter clatter' from their brains is really annoying? Like, super annoying. Honest." and "If Spock has read romance novels and knows about fake dating, does that mean every fanfic on the subject where it's Spock's idea is no longer out of character (asking for a friend)?"

Want to read a really detailed description of the scene on Vulcan in Amok Time minus the part about Jim's shirt being sliced open because that was apparently not important

This book was 50% not very interesting and 50% wow, he really wrote that huh 🫢

The ultimate McCoy questionnaire under the read-more (some spoilers):

1. Is McCoy in it?

Yes! More than I excepted at the beginning of the book!

2. Is McCoy in it a lot?

If you can get through the first part of the book, McCoy gets lots of time to shine. If you cut out most of the book and keep the McCoy parts I'd say it was a really good book.

3. Does he get to be concerned over whatever angst has befallen Kirk lately?

Well, yes and no. He's befallen with the same angst. Mostly. He gets to sneak in a "heh I really don't envy you having to be captain, Captain" in there. And there's a few hours where he thinks Jim is dead. The book doesn't linger too much on his anxiety but to be fair the book skips ahead quite a lot and isn't too keen on explanations.

But in a memorable scene he cuts down a tree and it falls right on top Jim 🤨

4. Does he get to have silly little arguments with Spock?

Read these excerpts from the book and tell me this isn't potentially the weirdest exchange of words he's ever had with Spock.

There was a really classic exchange though between the three of them that hit their dynamic just right (after Spock and McCoy join Jim to be stranded with him on the planet because they missed him):

Spock: You volunteered for the mission, Doctor. Surely there must have been some thread of logic to support your decision.

McCoy: Only intuition, Spock. Worked out the same.

Kirk: Whatever your reasons, I'm glad to see both of you but sorry we put you in the soup.

5. Is he the damsel in distress?

Not at all :/ But he does say "Good God. I wish Jim was here." so at least he was feeling like a damsel in distress.

6. Does he suffer, preferably a lot? Physical and/or psychological torment.

Mostly psychological, there's the experimenting of course and an injured crewmember that disappears and comes back all wrong and of course he blames himself for it for a while. And he gets to re-live when his wife left him. Because they, uh, haven't been intimate since March 3rd (three weeks ago). Presumably that wasn't the only thing but his immediate reaction to her taking their daughter and leaving the apartment is seeing an ad for Starfleet in a magazine and going "oh yeah I'll join Starfleet, that'll show her". Show her what? I have questions, Mr. Haldeman. And I think he could have suffered a bit more but I suppose there needed to be enough room for Kirk to have a sword-fight against pirates.

7. Does he get to whine and complain and be right about it? Even better, is he wrong about it?

Both he and Jim have these weird little rambling half-asleep thinking sessions that take up a couple of pages of unstructured and barely legible writing. He does complain about the experimentation though, and he gives Jim a really dirty look once. Most of his complaints are very reasonable in this one.

8. Does he get to throw some of that southern charm around?

There's a throwaway line that he's interested in one of the women in the landing party, but it really is thrown away and not used? He's always charming, though. Why is this even a question. Even Spock agrees in this book.

9. Does he get to do some medical malpractice?

Well now. He has to do stitches and use a knife, not even a clean one. And you know he hates such medieval practices but the medical instruments aren't working. I'd say that counts as medical malpractice. He also gets to kill a guy? I think that goes against his oath or something.

10. Does Spock call him illogical or similar?

Only a little bit. This is one of those missions where they finish each other's thoughts etc. so like. They're besties<3

11. Is he forcibly put through his arch nemesis the transporter? Or the dress uniform?

He has to go in a shuttle (not shown but I assume he didn't like it) and then he gets telepathically beamed through space by aliens with pretty bad aim several times :3

12. Does Kirk call him handsome (joke or not this happens more than you’d think)?

No but he complains that McCoy knows all the ship's scuttlebutt about who's sleeping with who and so on. McCoy was so ready to read out a list to Jim but I think he decided that as captain he's better off not knowing. And he tells McCoy not to get into mutiny-territory which, when you think about it, is kind of the same as calling him hot.

13. Bonus points if his accent is pronounced and his speech is full of befuddling southern expressions which make Spock question McCoy’s sanity (and me wondering if I need a dictionary)

He calls Spock "weirder than a whistling fish" and it took me forever to realize it wasn't some southern expression (or is it?) it's just that if a fish whistled it would be pretty weird. Anyway Spock is like yeah okay fair enough.

McCoy calls one of the aliens "ugly son of a bitch" so at least he got to swear in this one.

Criticisms/things I’d change

I'm sure this book is a product of its time so I won't be too hard on it. But if I could, I'd definitely elaborate on the scene where Spock asks McCoy to help him get rid of Chapel's interest in him. Like, I just think it has so much potential. Just trust me on this I'll make it really normal and not at all weird (it was already weird). Jokes aside I think they spent too much time playing "help we're stranded on a planet trying to kill us" and in the end no one even explained how all the science around the planet worked, just chalked it up to "oooh powerful aliens". The ending was interesting though. Being experimented on is enrichment for Starfleet officers.

Highlights:

To be honest the best part was where the aliens beamed everyone back to the ship using their mind powers only, except for Jim and Spock, and then after ten minutes they were like hey actually we made a mistake we're bringing McCoy back. They put my poor wife through something worse than the transporter twice when they could have just kept him on the planet all along, and said hey how about you help us save the world against evil scorpions with your will power, no pressure but we start in ten minutes and you'll probably die :D Also he sleeps on a bunch of cardboard boxes? And gets to cut down trees with the scifi equivalent of a chainsaw? And he gets to play mind poker in some kind of gangster movie setting... Fun times all around!

Final McCoy meter: 8/10

#tos novel review #planet of judgment #it's possible that the first half was a bit boring bc there was barely any mccoy in it #obviously i'm not biased or anything :3 #if you're wondering 'what the hell was this book even about?' after reading the review then idk what to tell you #i'm wondering the same thing

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breakingsanity-aruani · 5 months ago

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Hello Breaky, one question I have is if there were any ideas or themes you wanted to touch upon in DBU that you could not for whatever reason fit into the plot and would like to potentially do in later projects?

HI!! Always glad to see your asks, I greatly appreciate them x3. So, thank you very much for this one!!

As for the answer well, thankfully I managed to include all of the themes into DBU that I wanted/hoped to! Which was a long process, but I am very happy with it :3

However, there were PLENTY of ideas that I did not get to include into DBU, either due to the context of the idea clashing with scenes or tone, or simply thinking of ideas later (it happens, a lot. xD) That said, there are ideas that I will absolutely be bringing into later projects such as Saving You, and another big fic I have planned. It's mainly cutesy ideas, various forms of fluff and fun, and ofc, angst. I am glad to say that all of the MAJOR ideas I wanted to have in DBU are indeed in the story. It's just, there are various silly and cute interactions between tiny Armin and regular sized Annie that I didn't have a chance to include.... which might be hard to believe considering just HOW MUCH of that is in DBU already XD.

There are also scenes that were changed before the final draft as well, such as the initial meeting with Annie and Armin. At first, it was much sadder... and even though it would have led to the same events as DBU did in its final state, I felt it was too much for sooooo early on in the story. The ending of chapter 10 was also different- again- a bit too angsty xD. (Listen I LOVE angst....) and I made it the fluffy cuteness you see instead, heh.

I think of the more curious directions I decided to go in was with Hitch, as her character in DBU is... a different take, let's say. Haha! (It was fun to experiment with her in this setting)

Thankies so much as always, Mercutio! Your asks are always lovely, and I hope this response is close to what you were hoping to see :3.

#chatting with friends!!#mercutiothedestroyer #armin arlert #annie leonhart #armin x annie #aruani #aruani fic #the difference between us #thank you as always for the asks!! <3

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olympeline · 1 year ago

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I love England as an omega and France as his alpha or beta :) can’t see France as an omega at all…

Different strokes but I am 100% team alpha/beta!France and omega!England

Arthur is just too much fun as an omega. Little hissy, angry ex-pirate spiteball worrying no one will take him seriously even after conquering a quarter of the world because of his second sex. I love it

Francis is a romantic and seducer at heart so alpha fits him best albeit a very refined one. His potentially being a beta adds another nice layer of angst and drama if being the dullest and least special second sex clashes with his self-image of being Europe’s leader and “big brother.” Not to mention worrying if he’s worthy of Arthur. Wouldn’t he need a nice, powerful alpha instead like Alfred?

Me talking about a/b/o headcanons is dangerous because I will get carried away and ramble for hours. Just to warn all of you heh

#hetalia #fruk #aph france #aph england #asks #nonny #my posts #omegaverse

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rubydubydoo122 · 1 year ago

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Jason gets de-aged because I've seen fics of Tim or Dick being de-aged, and Bruce losing his memory, but no one has realized the potential for angst if you de-age Jason.

Zatanna had something come up. So of all people she could have sent to replace her, she sent Constantine. Bruce really didn’t know if his luck could get any worse. At least 15 year old Jason liked his accent.

Constantine was a really capable sorcerer, he was just really hard to work with. Worse than Hal Jordan. Though, if they wanted to get Jason back to normal, they would have to accept Constantine.

“Hey, Batman! Go back down into the cave, and send Bruce up. I want him instead of Brood and Gloom.”

Bruce was suddenly brought back to the breakfast table. In all of his 41 years of living, he had never seen Alfred smile this big, “That’s my boy.”

Jason beamed at that.

Bruce’s phone pinged. He didn’t even have to look to know it was Dick sending him a ‘Rule #2’ . That’s all his messages with Dick consisted of. Mostly rule #2’s, some rule #3’s, and the occasional rule #1. All in all, Bruce was doing relatively good. He was definitely avoiding Jason more, but if he was around him too much, the only thought that started to fill his brain was his cooling body in his arms. So he toed the line. And he doesn’t think Jason noticed all that much, because whenever Bruce wasn’t with him, one of his children was.

“Constantine’s coming instead of Zatanna.” Bruce finally said, “I think I should be allowed to brood a little bit.”

“ Don’t get your knickers in a twist , old man.” Jason actually had a really good Liverpool British accent, “Mr. Constantine’s not that bad.”

“I just hate magic.” Bruce didn’t grumble. He was too old to grumble like a toddler.

Jason looked himself over and then put a hand to his chest in fake offense.

Bruce’s phone pinged again, “Dick, will you stop that!”

But it wasn’t Dick, because Dick was holding a fork and knife in his hands and mid-bite.

Bruce dug out his phone.

“ Is the bloke with the sparkly fingas here? ”

That earned a snicker from Duke, Dick and Tim.

Bruce stood up at the same time Tim said, “I’ll give you five dollars if you say that to his face.”

“Oh! Abso–”

“..Lutely not, Jason. To the cave. Let's go.”

Jason slid out of his chair without noise and followed.

Constantine was already in the cave, and smoking a cigarette.

“Hi, Mr. Constantine!” Jason practically glided down the stairs, as Bruce strode down at a normal pace.

“Hello there, Jason. I reckon you were a bit taller the last time I saw you. Bruce.”

“Constantine. I’m assuming Zatanna filled you in?”

“Yeah yeah yeah. I’m offended you didn’t call me first. I thought we were mates.”

Bruce just raised an eyebrow. Constantine squirmed a bit, and Jason shot Bruce a grin. A grin that was so reminiscent of the way Jason used to look at him after he cuffed a bad guy. Before Fellipe Garzona had fallen off that roof. Before Gloria Stanson had hung herself.

“Alrighty! Let's check out what kinda curse you’ve got going on. Brucie, would you mind taking a couple steps back, love?”

He did, and as soon as Bruce was out of range, Jason was surrounded in a dome of golden runes. Bruce didn’t miss the way Constantine frowned.

“What’s wrong?”

“The little birdie here has a lot of magic knotted all up together.” Constantine started searching through the runes, “Was it you or the Demon child that– Aha, knew it was you. Your soul’s got dimensional ripples.”

Jason frowned, “Heh?”

Bruce blinked, Dimensional ripples? Clark, Lois, and Jonathan had somehow been transported to this dimension before their souls had merged with their counterparts… who had died. Was that what happened with Jason? Maybe he should talk to Barry when all of this is over.

“And you’ve got some leftover Lazaru– Blimey! You have access to the All-Blade?”

Jason shrugged, “I don’t really like beyblades.”

“That’s not what the All-Blade is. It’s–” A set of runes began to glow, and the borderline fangirl look on Constantine’s face immediately dropped. “Jesus...”

“I have access to Jesus?” Jason touched his forehead, then his left shoulder and then his right, “Thank you, father, son, and the holy spirit. Amen.”

Bruce ignored Jason’s prayer, “What’s wrong?”

The dome of runes disappeared, “...I’ve got good news and bad news?”

He gave Constantine a look.

“Um, good news is, the spell looks like it’ll wear off on its own…” Constantine tried for a sheepish smile, but immediately dropped it, “bad news is, it isn’t supposed to? The magic is interacting with the dimensional ripples, and I can’t touch any of it because it’d be like…”

“Disarming a bomb?” Jason supplied. And Bruce had to suppress the urge to flinch at that analogy.

“Yes. Yes exactly, but one wrong move–”

“Boom.” He mimicked an explosion with his hands. ”But you said it’ll wear off on its own, so it’s fine. Right?”

Constantine winced and a ringing was starting to form in Bruce’s ears as he grabbed Constantine by the tie and started dragging him up the stairs.

“Stay here, Jason.”

“Bruce–”

“I said stay !” Jason flinched at his tone, but Bruce and Constantine were already in the study. “Explain.”

Constantine fixed his tie, “Whatever magic he got hit with didn’t just affect him physically, it also affected his soul. I think, if we’re going off of what happened to Clark and Lois, his soul merged together with his soul from an alternate dimension, causing it to be all… rippley. I can’t fully tell what it’s going to do, but in a couple of days, it looks like it’ll in about two or three days? There’s a 50/50 chance– or I guess, a 25/25/50 chance– that he’s going to either go back to normal, stay this way or…”

It was the 25th. two days from today would make it…

The 27th of April.

It suddenly felt like the ground underneath them was turning or tilting, or hell, both.

Bruce had gotten him back. He’d gotten him back, he can’t leave again. He can’t lose him again, he can’t die again.

Jason found it very rude that Bruce and Constantine were obviously leaving him out of the conversation about him. It completely baffles him how Bruce was raised by Alfred, yet had no manners. He wasn’t even subtle about it.

Constantine said the spell would wear off. So why did he look like he was about to say something was wrong. Like really wrong. Sure, trying to tamper with whatever was going on would be… bad, but they weren’t gonna mess with it. They would just wait for it to wear off.

Would he physically go back to normal, but he would never remember the past five years? Or was he slowly going to become younger and younger until he was just a literal fetus flopping around on a table?

Why won’t anyone tell him anything? It would be so much easier if they did.

Jason eyed the Batcomputer and then the stairs. There was no one else here, no one to stop him from learning by himself.

He opened up the batcomputer, and the first thing he noticed was that everything was filed differently. Instead of being alphabetical, the missions were sorted into who had the mission and the date. For some reason, Jason’s folder had the least amount of missions under it, even though the folder itself was older than Duke’s.

Still, he clicked on it, only to find that the oldest mission was less than a year ago. Not helpful.

Maybe if these were sorted recently, some of the older mission reports that he did with Bruce would be in Bruce’s folder.

Bruce’s most recent mission was called “Fun Sized Jason”. Guess that would be him. Jason clicked on it and… Bruce is a much sadder man than Jason had given him credit for. And Jason was currently upset at Bruce for snapping at him, and Bruce had obviously snapped because he was being broody. This man. Couldn’t even follow his own rules.

Rule #3 Don’t let Jason know something’s up between your relationship with him

What was ‘up’ between him and Bruce? If anything, Bruce has been a lot more patient with him.

Unless Bruce was acting. And Bruce could act, Jason had seen him at Galas.

No. He couldn’t have been. Bruce had said he’d give him the world. And he said it in the way that made Jason know he was telling nothing but the truth.

But that first night Bruce wouldn’t even look at him.

No. Bruce had to have been telling the truth.

But the longing and the guilt and regret… Maybe Jason had done something to Bruce, the same way he did something to Tim and Damian. Jason still didn’t know what exactly that was, just that he felt bad about it.

Jason exited out of that mission statement and started scrolling down to April of 2018. And there were a lot of cases. A part of Jason was glad they were re-organised by date because it would’ve taken a lot more work to try to figure out the name of the file, and then find the file.

Ethiopia: Sheila Haywood, the Joker, and Jason Todd – 4/24/2018- 4/27/2018

Bingo. The first date lined up with the last date in his notebook. He double clicked on it, when a locked symbol came up followed by a space for a password.

Great. Just perfect.

He tried the password Bruce used on most things.

Wrong.

Bruce’s birthday?

Wrong again.

Jason’s Birthday. Since the file seemed to be about him.

Oh yeah! Who has the best guessing skills? Jason does. He did a little victory spin in the chair, but when he went to look back at the computer, there was a Tim shaped wall blocking his view.

He tried to look around him, but Tim shifted to block him again.

“Timmy, Timbooo, my favorite brother-o. You’re blocking my view, Hermano.”

Tim gave him a look that was scarily similar to Bruce’s bat-glare.

Jason tried to look around him again, but suddenly, he was being tossed over Tim’s shoulder, and they were moving farther and farther from the computer.

“Hey! I was obviously in the middle of something!”

Tim snorted, as he started up the stairs. “I could bring up a spreadsheet of all the times you’ve done this to me. We’d be here for hours.”

Jason licked his finger and twisted so that he could stick it in his ear. Good news was, it made Tim let Jason go. Bad news was, it made Tim let Jason go, and sent Jason tumbling down the cave’s stairs.

“Jason!”

Lucky for Jason, he was a fast recoverer, and made an immediate beeline to the computer.

After escaping Arkham Asylum, The Joker had made his way to Ethiopia. Jason had come across the information that Sheila Haywood was his birth mother. Haywood had been a doctor who was working at a refugee camp, also located in Ethiopia. Without my knowledge or Alfred’s, Jason traveled to meet up with his mother.

Jason and I had managed to cross paths in Ethiopia, when we soon learned that Haywood was being held ‘hostage’ by the Joker. I went to go check on some other thing that had come up, and I had told Jason to stay put, but instead he had gone to attempt to save Haywood. Which led to Jason getting hurt by the Joker.

Jason started to scroll down more, the screen went black.

Tim was standing next to the outlet with the power cord in his hand.

Suddenly all the scars on his hand looked interesting, “Is.. Are most of my scars from the Joker?”

Jason heard Tim’s feet shuffle across the flood of the batcave, “I don’t think I’m the person you should be having this conversation with.”

“But it was bad enough to the point where I needed a Lazarus pit to get better. It was bad enough to the point where I had to stop being Robin.” Because why else would Tim start hanging around the manor when he was 13? Why else would Bruce adopt him? “And you were Robin after me?”

A beat, “Yes.”

He thought back to the conversation he had in the bathroom with Tim, “So, I didn’t grow out of being Robin. I was… forced into retirement. By the Joker.”

“That’s… the easy way of putting it.” Tim took one of Jason’s hands, “I want to show you something.”

They both went over to the locker area and Tim opened his locker and pulled out a shoe box from the top. “I guess since you knew I was a little stalker back in the day, there should be no reason for me to feel embarrassed for showing you these.” He moved to the bench and opened the lid.

Inside the box were a bunch of photos of Batman and Robin. Of Bruce and Jason. Tim handed him a couple. The first one was of Jason when he had just become Robin. He was talking animatedly while walking with a teenage girl. He remembers that night. Her name was Angela, and she had been followed for a couple of blocks by a bunch of older guys, and Jason couldn’t let her go home alone. Not with how cruel the streets could be.

The next one was of Jason cradling a baby. The mom had been separated from the baby during an Ivy attack.

The last one Tim had handed to him was of Batman and Robin in an Alley. They had just taken down a bunch of thugs, and Jason was talking with the two kids, Gavin and Evan, while Batman was farther off, with a fond smile on his face, looking at Jason.

“Robin is the light to Batman’s darkness. Hope to his fear. Every Robin gave light, but out of all of us, you shined the brightest. You were the people’s Robin, you cared about them so much, like each and every one of them are your brothers and sisters.” Tim pointed at the picture in Jason’s hand, “Your light was so bright, you made Batman smile. And that isn’t the only picture I have like that.” He put his hand on Jason’s elbow, “I could never come close to the Robin you were, but I always tried. You were like the Sun. And I could never take your place. Not really, but I tried my best to do what I thought you would. To make you proud. Even though… you didn’t really like me when you found out.”

“No. I like you. It’s just…” Jason could feel his eyes burn, “If I got hurt, really bad, bad enough to the point where I couldn’t be Robin anymore, why would Bruce let there be another one? When- When it could happen again? Or even worse. ”

Tim closed his eyes, “When the Joker did what he did to you, it sent him down a dark path. He was barely holding back his punches and he was barely dodging them either. Batman needed a Robin and—“

“I wasn’t there.”

“No! Jason, it wasn’t your fault. You were going through some of the worst moments of your life, it wasn’t your job at that time to be Robin, or emotionally babysit Bruce while he fought crime to deal with his trauma.”

“But you were, what? 13 at the time with no legal obligations to him. It shouldn’t have been your job either.”

Tim blinked, “ah, fuck.” He sat criss cross on the bench and turned so he was fully facing Jason, “point is, it was just a bad time. Bruce kicked Dick out of the Manor, The Joker had diplomatic immunity, which still does not make sense to me, but then he was sent back to Arkham. Bane broke Bruce’s back, some psycho took over being Batman and would not let Dick and I in the cave, but then Bruce got better and became Batman again. Superman died, but then he came back. Then Bruce got framed for murder, and then the riddler and clayface teamed up with this whole convoluted plot which involved Clayface showing up as you and trying to kill us and Bruce probably needed therapy, but he was too much of a stubborn ass to ever actually go.” Tim finally took a breath.

Jason blinked, “That’s a really rough five years.”

Tim groaned and leaned his head on Jason’s shoulder, “That was only two.”

“Then it was probably a… shittier five years.” Jason patted his head, “Thanks, Tim.”

Tim glanced at Jason, “For what? I literally just trauma dumped on you.”

Jason shrugged, “Yeah, but you also gave me more information about what the hell is going on around here than anyone has in the past two days. Maybe a lot of the things that happened sound horrible, but it’s better than not knowing. Ya know?”

Jason felt Tim nod, “I’m sorry we’ve been keeping it all from you. It’s not something Bruce likes to talk about, and for Dick being the next adult who isn’t emotionally constipated, he evades certain topics like the plague.”

Jason snorted, “Wanna know something I’ve been completely baffled by?”

Tim sat up, “What?”

“Dick isn’t… wallowed up in angst. Him and Bruce haven’t had a single argument, and Dick…he’s a lot different. So is Bruce.” Jason thought about it for a moment, “Am I different too?”

Tim smirked and dug out his phone, “Mentally, Emotionally, or Physically?” Tim angled the phone so Jason could see, and it was a picture of a man, kneeling and talking to a little girl. There was a red helmet on the floor, but the man had a domino that covered his eyes. Tim swiped to the next one, of older Jason helping an old lady across the street. He swiped again to a photo of him holding Damian in a firefighter’s hold. “You might be a lot rougher around the edges, but everyone changes with time, especially with the things you’ve gone through. Yeah, you might be different, but I think you’re still the same in the ways that it counts.”

Jason looked at the photo. Without the domino, or the helmet he could really see how he had grown into his features, “I look a lot like my papi,” He looked back at Tim, and then pointed upwards to where Bruce had gone, “But I think I learned how to help from my dad.”

#jason todd #batman #batfam #dc comics #dick grayson #tim drake #bruce wayne #damian wayne #duke thomas

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