#way more than he fears pain or death

[mxtxfanatic]

The way people view Bing-mei as a villain for having an appropriate (and I’d argue it’s actually pretty damn tame) reaction to being an abuse victim needs to be studied as a critique of how society very easily turns against victims who do not appropriately perform victimhood. In the story, the cultivation world outside of Cang Qiong Mountain are in the dark about how Luo Binghe was treated pre-Abyss, but we the audience know! We know he was abused horrifically for his first 14 years of life, 4 of those years under his shizun. Three years of kindness before being kicked into hell is not going to erase the scars left by that abuse. And just because we the audience also know that Shen Yuan’s Shen Qingqiu was not responsible for those first 4 years of Luo Binghe’s life as a disciple, that does not mean that he is let off the hook for them as the person assuming Shen Qingqiu’s identity, let alone the fact that he is the one who still forces Luo Binghe into the abyss, not Shen Jiu.

Meanwhile, Shen Qingqiu, himself, knows that he wronged Luo Binghe and spends the rest of the novel attempting to make up for it. After all, the abyss, itself, and that final act of betrayal are a point of trauma on their own level above those previous years of mistreatment combined. Shen Qingqiu never absolves himself of his actions the way fandom does for him, but the fact that he feared Luo Binghe’s retribution is somehow enough to flip who the victim is and who the abuser is in too many people’s minds. Even Bing-ge and Shen Jiu get this treatment: people act like because Bing-ge allowed his resentment to consume him in his thirst for vengeance that this not only absolves Shen Jiu of the grotesque abuse he subjected a 10-year-old to for 7 years in an attempt to kill him but that it also makes Shen Jiu the “ultimate victim” of the relationship rather than the reaper of the seeds of abuse he sowed. Cause as we all know, vengeance makes a villain, but somehow baseless abuse does not (🙄).

People take fear (or claims of it) as the sign of “true victimhood” while anger is assigned as an “abuser emotion,” especially in cases of abuse where the abuser is well-liked, and I see this sort of idea in the stated reasoning behind 95% of the Luo Binghe hate.

[sherlock-is-ace]

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[darkestrellar]

Svern is capable of both inflicting harm and of killing without any remorse; by default, he doesn't experience guilt or other emotional reactions that many would in those situations, good or bad. He also does not enjoy inflicting harm, generally speaking. As much as he likes to push and pull others emotionally, watching someone in physical pain doesn't tend to bring him joy. It's almost unremarkable to him. So he doesn't cause physical harm just for the sake of it.

[aemondfairy]

The Albatross

summary: Originally an unlikely match, you give birth to Aegon’s first child and his entire world changes.

pairing: Aegon x Strong!Reader

word count: 767

warnings: Description of pain & childbirth, brief mention of blood, guilt.

note: “Albatross” is used metaphorically as a psychological burden dealing with shame or guilt! (and shout out to Taylor Swift)

Aegon wanted to hate you. He wanted to hate your hair and your eyes. Your thick eyelashes, the freckles that dusted your cheeks, the way your nose scrunched when you laughed. Despite wanting to hate you in your entirety, he found himself physically incapable of doing so. As a young boy he refused to admit it, even going so far as to tease you for your features — but he thought you were beautiful. If anything, you could’ve resembled his mother more than a Targaryen.

It wasn’t your features that were wrong, but who you inherited them from; you and your brother’s served as living, breathing reminders of Rhaenyra’s infidelity.

Alicent Hightower had been sure to remind him and his siblings that you and your brothers were a product of their older sister's infidelity. An embarrassment to the family. An insult to the crown, to the realm. Abominations. Bastards.

Screams of pain shook the walls of the Red Keep.

“I can’t do this anymore, Aegon! Please make it stop, it hurts!” you rasped, clawing at the blood-soaked bedsheets. It had been almost 24 hours since your labors had begun. To everyone's surprise, Aegon had yet to leave your side.

“We’re almost there, my love. You’re doing a great job,” your husband encouraged as he placed a chaste kiss to your sweat-drenched forehead, which you only returned with a death glare.

“I cannot take it anymore! Just get it out! Cut it out if you have to!”

One of your handmaids tried to dab at your forehead with a cloth, but you gripped her hand forcefully.

Aegon gave her a sympathetic look as he got her out of your grasp, locking his fingers with yours.

“You know we can’t do that, my love. I will not risk losing you.”

You winced as your midwife slid a finger around the base of your opening. All day long you had been violated against your will. Childbirth was not only painful, but humiliating. For Aegon’s sake, you silently prayed the babe was a boy. You weren’t sure if you would be willing to go through this again.

“I can feel the head, your grace. Just a few more big pushes for me and the babe will be here.”

You groaned loudly, your teeth grinding together as another contraction wracked your frame. Pain radiated down your spine and into your groin. You felt like you were being ripped apart at the seams. Being eaten by Sunfyre seemed to be a more pleasant fate than this.

“You hear that? You’re almost done. You’re doing so good.”

You squeezed onto Aegon’s hand as hard as you could, pushing with all the strength in your body. The harder you pushed, the sooner it would be over. You needed it to be over. With a final push, your vision began to blur and your mind went blank.

Before you knew it, loud cries pulled you back to Earth, and coo’s from your handmaidens filled the room. You laid back with a sigh of relief.

Finally.

The handmaids quickly handed the babe to Aegon so you could get cleaned up.

“A girl,” she stated proudly, “and she looks just like you, my queen.”

“Like me?” You shot up.

“Lay back your grace, you need to relax,” she scolded you.

Throughout your pregnancy there was a fear in the back of your mind, that if the babe inherited your features that Aegon would be disappointed. Turns out, you couldn’t have been more wrong.

“Yes,” he chuckled, tears swelling in his eyes, “like you. She is absolutely beautiful.”

He placed the baby in your arms, smiling down at the two of you.

A wave of guilt had crashed over Aegon at the sight of his newborn daughter. As well as your initial reaction to her looks. Thinking about the torment you endured for those same features in a world full of violet eyes and snow-white hair. How could he have been so cruel to you for something so fickle?

He couldn’t help but think about Ser Harwin Strong. And the fact that he probably shared the same thoughts as him the first time he laid eyes on you as a babe. This baby was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen and the thought of anyone making her believe anything else made his blood boil. He would simply not allow it. Anyone who even dare whisper a word regarding your daughters features would lose their tongue for it.

Although the responsibility of sitting the Iron Throne loomed heavy over Aegon’s head it wasn’t until this very moment that he had true reason to be motivated to rule: his new family

[ladysharmaa]

My miracle

Anthony Bridgerton x reader

summary: Anthony’s wife is in labor and it’s not looking good

warnings: mentions of death

“Where is she?” the loud voice of Anthony was heard in the entire mansion. The door he opened slammed into the wall but he couldn’t care less as he saw some servants running his way to take off his coat. “Tell me where my wife is!”

“My apologies, my Lord.” the poor man trembled under the Lord’s menacingly glare, that were just a cover for the worry and fear that was running though his veins. “The Viscountess is in your chambers. The midwife and your mother are already present with her. Shall I inform your brothers to come and wait with you until the child is born?”

Anthony didn’t bother to respond. He quickly climbed the stairs, two steps at once, seeing with wide eyes as the maids ran to his room with towels in their hands. He doesn't even settle for knocking, immediatly opening the bedroom door. None of his mother's stories could have prepared him for the sight that lay ahead.

His darling wife was drenched in sweat, dressed in her nightdown. One hand was on her round belly protectively while the other was in his mother’s hands, who was whispering words of comfort. Her jaw was clenched in pain and it was only then that he noticed the midwife between the Viscountess legs. 

“You!” Y/n screamed accusingly, managing to point a finger at Anthony with hatred. “You did this to me! You will never ever put your hands on me again!”

“I-” Anthony was at loss of words. He knew that his wife was in pain, and looking like she was ready to kill, so he just nodded his head in agreement. He took slow hesitant steps towards the bed, hoping to comfort her without dying. “I’ll never touch you again, my love. How are you feeling?”

“How do you think I’m feeling? I’m pushing your child that inherited your big head out of my lady parts! So tell me, my dear husband, how am I feeling?”

“Like you are giving birth?”

“Anthony...” his mother whispered while shaking her head in dispair. “You should leave the room. Your brothers must be coming to keep you company. We shall call you when the child is born.” 

“I’m not leaving my wife.” was the only thing he said with firmity, holding Y/n’s hand and kissing her soft skin gently.

She turned to him, a change in her demeanor, eyes full of tears of terror. “I’m scared, Anthony. It hurts.”

“I know it hurts. It’s okay, love. You will be alright and then we will have our child with us.” he whispered. A feeling of guilt washed through him. How could he have made his wife suffer through childbirth? “You are the bravest person I know. So so much braver than me and everyone else. I’m so proud of you.”

"I can't do this. It hurts too much. Make it stop, Anthony, please." Y/n cried.

It was only then that Anthony saw the look in his mother. She was worried, exchanging looks with the midwife. And as much as the Viscount would like to also show his anguish, his first priority was to comfort Y/n. "It's going to be okay, my love. Just a little longer, you're being so strong."

But she no longer had the strength to respond. It was getting harder and harder to keep her eyes open and she just wanted to sleep to escape the pain. Between her legs, an increasingly larger pool of blood was forming. Anthony's eyes were wide and there was enormous pressure in his chest. It felt like I was running out of oxygen, and it only got worse when Y/n finally gave in to unconsciousness.

"What's happening?" he whispered, looking in alarm first at Violet. Afterwards, he turned to the midwife furiously. "What's wrong with her? Help her! Do something!"

"Anthony, you need to leave." Violet advised, trying to remain calm for everyone's sake. Anthony was becoming more and more desperate, tears falling from his eyes as he grabbed his wife's hand tighter and brought it to his lips.

"I'm not going anywhere!"

"Viscount Bridgerton, the baby is in pain. You won't want to see what I'm going to do. I promise I'll try to save both of them." the midwife said, taking a small knife and flying it over Y/n's stomach.

"If you need to choose, save my wife's life." Anthony begged, now more desperate as his mother called his brothers to take him out of the room.

"Anthony..."

"No, mother, you save my wife's life!" Benedict and Collin grabbed the man by the arms and began to carry him outside, despite Anthony's struggle. "You hear me! My wife is going to survive! Let me go! Mother, save Y/n!" he shouted before the door closed in his face. 

The last thing he saw was the woman making the cut on Y/n's stomach, who woke up with a jolt. She then let out a scream that would torment Anthony for the rest of his life.

With a cry of anger mixed with sadness, Anthony broke free from his brothers' grip and put his hands to his face. He didn't want to think about the possibility of losing the love of his life. He simply couldn't take it.

"Wow, Anthony, calm down." Collin whispered when Anthony, in a rage, threw a punch against the wall. "The Viscountess is a fighter. If anyone is capable of overcoming this, it's her."

"You don't tell me to calm down, Collin. Not when my wife is in that room fighting for her life over something I did." he cried, jaw shaking and eyes red that only showed the immense pain he was in. He sat on the floor, leaning his head back and looking at the ceiling. "I need her to live."

"And she will live, brother. I will bring a drink, and we will wait together for news." Benedict said, rushing to bring the alcohol when Y/n's screams became louder.

On one hand, each scream was like a stab in the heart of Anthony, who was increasingly pale and looked like he was going to vomit at any moment. On the other, it was the only way to know she was alive.

Moments passed. The Viscount didn't know if it had been seconds, minutes or hours. Things seemed to be getting mixed up in his mind. Nothing made sense, not when the love of his life was in the next room in pain and he was away from her. He had to protect her, it was his obligation as a husband. And he failed.

And then came the moment when Anthony's heart stopped. A baby's cry was heard, and he allowed himself to smile a little. He had a son or daughter. A mini version of his wife. And then he burst into tears when Y/n stopped screaming and everything became too silent.

It was uncontrollable. He cried without being able to stop, making it even difficult to breathe in. Anthony refused to believe that he would have to raise this child without Y/n. Without her affection, her kindness, her love. He didn't want to open his eyes and realize that all this wasn't a nightmare, but reality.

Benedict and Collin didn't know what to do. But one thing was certain, they would be there to help Anthony with whatever he needed and never let that child forget the wonderful mother he had. Then, Violet left the room holding a pile of blankets that held the baby.

"You have a daughter, Anthony."

He just cried more. His body was shaking and he couldn't even look at his mother and the baby. "Y/n... Is she...?" He took Violet's silence as a yes. "Oh god..."

"Enter the room, Anthony. She is waiting for you."

Anthony had never stood up so quickly in his life. He quickly opened the door, stopping momentarily when he saw the amount of blood on the sheets, but the most important thing was Y/n's half-open eyes. She was alive and looking around the room in confusion.

"Anthony? Where is my baby?" her voice was hoarse and extremely weak.

The man fell to his knees at the edge of her bed, and lowered his head to rest on her chest. A feeling of relief spread throughout his body when he felt the rising and falling movement of her chest, indicating that she was breathing and that it wasn't just his imagination.

"I love you so much." he cried, feeling her hands start stroking his hair. "I'm sorry. You were so brave and strong. I'm so proud of you, my love."

"Where is my baby?" Y/n didn't want to seem like she didn't appreciate Anthony's words because that was a lie. He was the most important person in her life. But at that moment, Y/n just wanted to know where her baby was.

"She's right here, dear." Violet reassured with a smile, announcing her presence.

Very carefully, she passed the child into the arms of her son's wife, her smile widening as the little family was finally together again. The new parents had a gentle smile as they looked at their creation, a new love emerging for this fragile human being.

Anthony kissed Y/n's temple. "We have a daughter."

"She is beautiful."

"She takes after her mother." Anthony quickly said, never feeling so much love as he did in that moment. 

He was extremely proud of Y/n admiring her strength and courage. Now, he was going to protect his two girls until the end of his life. Nothing was more important than his family.

[meiieiri]

𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫 [toji fushiguro]

synopsis: so she tells him not to cry over the injustice of a life cut too short for at the end of all this, she’ll only be a dream.

pairing: ex-husband!toji fushiguro x terminally ill wife!reader | song inspo: soon you’ll get better, cancer

warnings: heavy angst, terminal illness (primary bone cancer, stroke and MS), mentions of divorce/past infidelity, allegories to cheating, major character death. please read at your own risk. | a/n: this was so heavy for me to write, i started writing at 2 in the morning, and it’s 6:34 now.

word count. 3k~

“Why can’t you do anything right?”

Toji should have noticed, he laments as he takes a sip of his cognac. He should have sensed that something was wrong sooner, maybe that way, he wouldn’t be begging to borrow some more time to make things right. Your fingers were trembling that day — the first time you ever ruined his morning coffee — your hands shaking uncontrollably as you washed the mug with a sorrowful look on your face, your eyes glossy with the tears you were desperately trying to hold back.

He shouldn’t have been so harsh, he realizes that now. Breakfast had been burnt to a crisp and ruined, sure, but nothing could compare to how he constantly ruins the one beautiful thing that has ever happened to him, who haphazardly spilled her smoothie on him when they first bumped into each other in Shinjuku just after he finally cashed in enough money with Shiu to get his laundry done.

Toji, whose senses have now been honed to pick up on the slightest of your sluggish movements and your pained and suppressed hisses, hears the bedsheets rustling and he instantly gets up before you could even force yourself out of bed. “Hey, hey, easy now.” He catches you before you could fall backwards onto the mattress, your skin appears cold and clammy, your thinning muscles stiff as a board — you must be having one of your episodes again. “What do you need?” he asks, his voice heartbreakingly gentle for the first time in months.

“Water.”

Your husband nods, swinging his feet over the edge of the bed, hurriedly making his way to the dining table which was now kept in your bedroom so you aren’t forced to move around too much. The sound of water splashing into the glass fills the air and you feel another stabbing pain coarse through your joints.

Toji gingerly brings the glass of water to your lips and you sighed, an exasperated yet amused smile on your face. “I can do it, babe. Don’t worry.” Why did that sound like you were trying to convince not just Toji but yourself? You bring your bony hands to grip the glass and it takes everything out of your husband not to break into a fit of sobs when he sees your hand violently shaking with effort just to keep the glass steady.

His larger hands close around your defeated one. “I-I…I can do it, I did it yesterday. Y-you saw me.”

“Shhh, I know, it’s okay.”

You bite your lip to distract yourself from the anguish of realizing the truth behind the doctor’s words. Everything you feared was finally becoming your and Toji’s bleak reality.

“It’ll be a painful decline.”

Funny how you’re the one fighting to extend your life but Toji feels like he’s already gone ahead and passed on. Just a few minutes earlier, you were overjoyed to see him again. You didn’t think he’d see your text thinking that his new girlfriend must have asked him to block your number, and you most certainly didn’t expect him to arrive when you asked for him via a brief phone call to drive you to the hospital for your monthly checkup since he took the car with him when you separated. He made up a bullshit excuse when Yuko asked where he was going in such a hurry and he makes it to your old shared apartment to see you sitting on the driveway looking thinner and sicklier than ever — your eyes were sunken, and your cheeks were hollow.

Yet in spite of that, you gave him the brightest of smiles, waving shyly to him as he steps out of the driver’s seat. “Happy morning!” you smiled, greeting him with your signature good morning tagline which he used to happily wake up to everyday. There wasn’t a scintilla of resentfulness in your demeanor, and you genuinely looked so happy to see him for the first time since he moved out.

“How long?” Toji asked the doctor, his heart twisted into knots when he hears you happily humming in the MRI room as you put your clothes back on, oblivious to the solemn mood in the other room. You already knew what was going on, but you’ll just continue pretending that everything’s alright and that this is nothing more but a case of fatigue so as not to inconvenience Toji.

“A year, maybe even less.”

“And…you’re saying it’s best if she simply…doesn’t get the treatment?”

The doctor sighs heavily. She’s seen many cases like this before, but none as utterly hopeless as yours. Even if you did start the treatment, the lesions in your spinal cord have already entered the most severe stage, you were already exhibiting signs of autonomic nervous system distress — the tremors, the uncontrollable stuttering of your words, the growing loss of balance — and as if that wasn’t enough, the doctor also discovers that you were suffering from primary osteosarcoma.

There was no way to cure you now that it’s too late.

“I suggest we just focus on keeping her comfortable. The only thing left for us to do now is to bring her home. I’m so sorry.”

“You’re so fucking embarrassing. I can’t bring you anywhere.”

By some miracle, you and Toji went out one night around four months before the divorce proceedings. He went home that day, exhausted beyond all belief from another mission, but he was in a good mood. Yuko was out working late tonight, so, he decides to take you out to your and his favorite izakaya for some yakitori.

Some time during the night, after downing three full bottles of sake together, you excuse yourself to use the restroom. “I’ll be right back,” you told Toji, tipsily kissing him on the cheek as you hop off the bar stool in the direction of the women’s room.

You couldn’t tell if you were staggering from the copious amounts of alcohol you ingested, but your legs were beginning to feel heavy, and for some ominous reason, you were slowly losing all sensation in your left leg. You try to hold onto one of the izakaya’s shōji panel decor pieces to regain your balance, but it was a futile effort in the end. Your knees suddenly buckle, and a sickening crack tears through your tibia as you fall to the ground.

“Are you alright?!”

Toji picks up on the commotion instantly and he sees the izakaya patrons crowding around the hallway leading to the restroom. He quickly makes his way over and a look of disgust appears on his features when he sees you crumpled on the ground and the mortifying sight of you having relieved yourself on the floor, tears of embarrassment staining your cheeks at the thought of your body suddenly malfunctioning like this.

Muttering out an ignorant apology for his seemingly drunk wife, he roughly picks you up, growing increasingly infuriated with you when one izakaya employee offers him a damp cloth to dry out your urine with. It was funny how quickly other people came to your aid — people whose names you don’t even know — while your own husband seems very reluctant to even touch you right now. He doesn’t speak to you on the way home even as you apologize while he’s loading you into the car, grimacing when the leather seat gets wet. “Toji, I-I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened—“

“—Save it.”

What he should have said was: “Are you okay?”, “It’s alright.” or better yet, “I still love you.”.

At present, Toji decides on a whim to take you to Yokohama’s famed bayside today. It’s only a two hour drive from your place in Tokyo and Toji figures you must miss going on road trips by now with you cooped up at home all the time. “Toji, are you sure this is a good idea?” you murmured nervously as the car pulls to a stop by the bayside promenade. What happens if you can’t control yourself again? There doesn’t look to be a lot of public restrooms nearby.

Toji plants a reassuring kiss to your nose. “Babe, you remember what the doctor said, spending some time outdoors can do wonders for your health. Besides, didn’t you always love the coast?” He brings your hand to his scarred lips, rubbing his thumb against the soft skin before stepping out of the car to retrieve your wheelchair from the trunk.

“I know but what if I have another accident?” you said worriedly, rolling down the car windows so he could hear you. “What if I embarrass you again?”

“There’s nothing embarrassing about you.”

You’ve lost all control of your lower extremities three months ago, rendering you unable to walk and feel when you need to relieve yourself. Toji struggles with the wheelchair for a bit and a flash of sadness fills your heart when you see him take a few deep breaths to calm himself down. He wasn’t angry, he was devastated. He looks wistfully at the boardwalk, a distant gaze trained on the sea. He remembers when you used to walk down this very lane, his hand protectively around your waist as you happily take selfies. He could still hear your fond giggles the last time the two of you went here.

“Why don’t you ever smile when I take pictures of you?”

Toji shoos away a pigeon from stealing a bite of his ice cream sandwich. He feigns an unamused look when you try to take another picture of him on your phone.

“Come on, I’ve been trying to get a shot of you all day! You still have to take pictures of me so I can post it on my Instagram feed!”

Your ever moody husband pinches off a small piece of bread and feeds it to the nosy pigeon. “You and your precious feed,” he bemoans jokingly.

“Please? Just one picture!“ you playfully nudged him. Truthfully, you just wanted to see him smile for once, a genuine one and not one of those lopsided smirks he usually gives you when he’s teasing you. “Please?” you pout knowing he can never say no to that adorable face you make when you really want him to do something or worse, buy something for you.

Sighing, he turns to look at your phone’s camera lens and you blush when a smile slowly illuminates his usually stoic face. Your thumb hovers over the stop recording function, not realizing you’re taking a video, but you can’t seem to press it. “What’s taking so long?” he holds the smile like he’s some cartoon character and you snap out of it.

“Oh shoot, it’s a video!” you laughed, and you begin to run down the boardwalk, eagerly getting away from Toji who demands that you delete it immediately. Of course, you’re no match for his borderline inhuman speed attributed to his athletic physique and he catches you by the waist, playfully swinging you over his shoulder like you’re a sack of potatoes.

Now, your giggles have gone silent.

Toji realizes now he should have indulged you more over the course of your relationship and subsequent marriage. Had he known that you won’t even make it to your third wedding anniversary, he would have allowed you to take as many pictures and videos of him as you’d like, he’d swallow his pride and he’d give you the brightest of smiles so you could happily post him on your social media accounts with a heartwarming caption about him being your “smiley hubby”.

More than that though, he should have taken more photos of you, mostly stolen candid shots, of course. You can’t catch him being all soft on you now. He still has a reputation to live up to after all. But more than that, had he known that your illness was intent on stealing every scrap of you from him, he should have made more effort in preserving all these memories. He should have kept everything from those toll tickets on your late night drives together when the two of you just needed a quick escape from the world, to receipts from your trip to Tokyo Disney Sea on your first wedding anniversary, and even simple convenience store receipts.

Toji should have kept everything down to the smallest of memories knowing one day, that’s all he’ll have to remember you by.

He opens the passenger seat’s door and he effortlessly gathers you into his arms, being extra careful with your fragile form as he sits you down on the wheelchair. He opens the backseat and he pulls out two different colored blankets, one sea-foam green and the other, rose pink. “Take your pick,” he smiles at you and you chuckled softly, pointing to the rose pink one. He happily covers your legs with it to keep you warm, stroking your cheek when you whisper a bashful ‘thank you’.

Suddenly, the wind picks up and your hair-clip that’s holding your locks in a low bun comes loose, and your head turns in the direction of where it flew off to. Toji is quick to take out his phone and he snaps a quick burst shot of you, your hair blowing in the wind, under the coastal spring weather. You turn to look at him and your face falls when you see him burying his phone in his pocket. Since you fell ill, you’ve become insecure of your appearance, banning your husband from taking pictures and videos of you altogether. “Toji, I thought I said no pictures.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The next day, you serendipitously find your photo on your Instagram handle with the caption: “Y/N — Yokohama, Spring, 2024” and when you swipe left, another picture, well to be more accurate, a screenshot of the video clip you accidentally took of him captioned: “Toji — Yokohama, Summer, 2022”.

“You don’t have to stick around for me. Please just go, I’m sure Yuko must be looking for you right now.”

Yuko, his new fiancé, had been blowing up his phone the entire day with texts demanding to know where he is and if he’s going to make it to their date that night. It’s 7 PM now, and Toji still hasn’t shown up to confirm their restaurant reservations. The damn witch will surely cuss him out when they see each other again, but for some reason, even if he tries, he simply cannot bring himself to give a flying fuck. Your immunologist and oncologist stepped out for a bit to allow you two a brief moment of privacy which had now stretched to an expanse of five hours since your results came in.

The air in the room is thick and heavy, not a single sound can be heard. Inside however, underneath this tough exterior he was projecting, Toji is throwing a fit, screaming at the sky like those broken men in those shitty Netflix romance tragedies he used to callously make fun of.

“Why didn’t you call me sooner? You knew, didn’t you?”

Toji’s bites his cheek trying to keep a lid on his emotions. He knows the answer. He just wants to hear you say it out loud. You hated him. You wanted nothing to do with him after he cheated on you with some girl he met at a bar in uptown Shibuya. That’s why you didn’t tell him, he didn’t deserve to know. “Shit,” he whispers harshly, crumpling the medical abstract in his hands. “Why didn’t you tell me you were sick? Was it because you hated me? Is that it? You didn’t think I’d worry about you?”

You screwed your eyes shut, shaking your head. You didn’t hate him, not even when you have every reason to. He abandoned you, left you to waste away and to die and yet, even now, you can’t bring yourself to resent him for the simple reason that he is the literal love of your life, the reason behind your smiles, your happy mornings and passionate midnight hours. “At first, I thought I was fine, maybe just fatigued or something.”

“Don’t lie. You knew something was going on and that something in your body was seriously fucked up.”

“And we weren’t married anymore so, I didn’t think it was right to tell you…I wanted to though, but I didn’t want to intrude on you and Yuko,” you said meekly. Even in your greatest hour of need, you were still thinking of him, putting him first even when he doesn’t deserve it. “I-I…I don’t hate you enough to worry you, to make you feel that you could have done something to prevent this. Because I’m telling you right now, regardless if you were faithful or not, I was bound to get sick anyway. You couldn’t have done anything to change that.”

“But I could have been there. I should have noticed. I shouldn’t have downplayed everything.” He says this as if he wants to shake this noble, self-sacrificing bullshit attitude out of your system. “I’m your husband. I should have been there.”

You flash him a heartbroken smile at his little slip-up, so, even now, he was still referring to himself as your husband, not your ex-husband. “To see me waste away? Babe, I don’t want you to see that.”

You begin to feel tears streaming down your face, the emotions you were experiencing now flowing like a free river after an entire dam is destroyed. Toji watches you unravel before his eyes and his bottom lip begins to tremble. What has he done? Dear god, what has he done to his poor, poor wife?

“I want you to remember me healthy, I want you to remember me as myself not this…sickly pitiful woman you’re unlucky to call your ex-wife…besides, after all this, I’ll only be a dream.” A mere passing second in his life. “And believe me, my life wasn’t so bad.”

He loses it at that.

“Just stop this, Y/N! Stop acting like you’re not scared shitless of dying, like you’re not gonna have regrets once all this is over! Stop pretending that things are gonna be alright one day because it won’t! Not when I’m now being forced to accept that you won’t get better, not when I’ve wasted so much time putting you through hell and back instead of taking care of you like a proper husband should, and certainly not when I’m suddenly supposed to learn to say goodbye and to live without you! Because fuck that, Y/N!”

You are left speechless at that.

Toji was never one to lose his cool, even during your worst arguments, he may slide a few snarky remarks here and there but Toji Fushiguro…never yells, and he doesn’t sob either.

You hesitantly stand up and walk over to him, crouching down in front of him as he covers his tear-stained eyes with his right hand while the other is crumpled around your medical abstract. Taking his left hand, you gently remove the medical abstract from his grip, and for the first time in so many months, you feel one another’s warm skin against each other. You press your forehead to his hand as you wept with him.

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you to be a dream. I want you to be real.”

“Can’t you be bothered to clean up in here?!”

You wake up from your nap, you’ve been battling muscle and joint pain the entire day, the slightest of movement causing you to double over in agony and because of that, you weren’t able to clean the apartment today. You slowly get up from the couch, being extra cautious not to make any sudden movements. “Well?” Toji presses, his lips curled into a scowl.

“I’m sorry, I was feeling a little tired,” you sighed heavily, picking up a broom to sweep the living room floor despite the excruciating pain you were in. Toji rolls his eyes, handing you a Manila envelope. “What’s this?” you asked softly, peering inside.

“Divorce papers,” he shrugs nonchalantly. Everything stops, even the very rise and fall of your chest halts into an uneasy stasis. “I already signed them. I just need your signature then, I’ll move out by tomorrow.”

You must be dreaming. That’s the only logical explanation to all this. You’re asleep, in a deep REM sleep, utterly oblivious to the world. This wasn’t happening. But you could feel the rough surface of the brown envelope, and you could still feel the agonizing stabs of white hot pain throughout your body. Glancing at Toji, you see him texting someone with an eager look on his face that screams: “I’m free.”.

Instantly, it dawns on you.

“Will she make you happy?” you asked, putting down the broom to look around for a pen but Toji pulls one he stole from the law firm office out of his pocket.

“She will,” he answers simply.

And you are indeed grateful that he is completely upfront about finding another while the two of you are married. It would have hurt much more, you silently remind yourself, if he had just upped and left without another word leaving you to wonder what went wrong between the two of you. This was Toji’s final act of mercy in your marriage, and he’s not opposed to honesty and truthfulness either. Not once did he try to change his phone’s lock-screen passcode, nor did he try to conceal the identity of the woman who was texting him every night while you slept fitfully next to him. It was almost as if he wanted you to find out, like he wanted you to know so you could back off yourself.

But if there’s one thing Toji loves about you, it’s your unending faithfulness to your promises, to your marriage vows, and your willingness to endure anything he threw at you. You never checked his phone, you never brought up his affair, you never got angry with him. You just kept silent, simply content with giving and giving…and giving while he milked you dry by taking, and taking and taking, tearing you to pieces bit by bit without hearing a single complaint fall from your lips.

You were a devoted wife, through and through.

And it bored the hell out of him, on top of your recent mishaps, he was done. Done with everything, and done with you.

“Okay.”

Come morning, he takes everything he owns with him and promptly proposes to the girl he’s been seeing for the past year. Two weeks later, your divorce is received by the Tokyo Family Court and is summarily approved and finalized. From that moment on, you and Toji went on your separate ways never to look back, you were each other’s yesterdays, and the love that existed between the two of you was nullified in favor of acquaintanceship…or so you thought.

“Y/N, I’m home!” Toji calls into the house as he comes back from your neighborhood’s pharmacy. You look up from the book you were reading, smiling ever so slightly at your husband who seemed to have a wonderful sparkle in his eyes. “Hey, kid,” he kisses the top of your head when he reaches your wheelchair.

“You seem happy,” you remarked positively.

“Well, for one, they replenished their stocks today and I managed to get you your steroids and painkillers so you’ll be able to sleep easy tonight,” Toji smiles, taking out the items from the pharmacy’s paper bag. “And I got you this neat memory foam cushion for your wheelchair.” He fluffs it up as a form of demonstration before placing it behind your back.

When he sees you smile, a sense of relief washes over Toji. You reach towards him, and he pulls you into an embrace. “Thank you,” you said, pure sincerity dripping from your voice. “For everything you do.”

“Anything for you.” He suddenly moves back and reaches into the tote bag you lended him. “Oh, and wait, before I forget, I have another surprise.”

You laughed airily. “Another surprise? Now, you’re just spoiling me!”

He pulls out a piece of paper from the tote bag and he places it in your hands as your eyes quickly scan over the document. Your breath hitches in your throat when you realize what it is. Did Toji really—? You couldn’t believe it. “A marriage pre-registration,” you said in awe. You read it again just in case to make sure that this wasn’t a figment of your sick body’s imagination, that this was real, that Toji genuinely wants to make everything right again. Your fingers skim over your typewritten names. “It has our names…we’re really—“ You can’t even finish your sentence without bursting into happy tears. “Are we—?”

Toji nods, gazing into your eyes, and as emerald and (E/C) clash for what seems to be an eternity lost in one another, he plants a kiss to your temple, coming up to embrace you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“We are. The Tokyo Family Court, as far as I know, will approve our remarriage once we file this. So, you have to get stronger, okay?” He’s begging you at this point, despite your rapidly deteriorating condition. “Strong enough to see me fix everything. Strong enough to be there on our second wedding, strong enough to say our vows again.”

Your hand comes up to stroke his cheek from behind, and he nuzzles into your neck at your tender touch.

“I will. I promise.”

But you never really get to say your vows. Not comprehensibly anyway.

“Babe, can you say that again?”

Toji crouches by your bedside as you look at him apologetically. You were causing him trouble and pain again which is the last thing that you want to give him especially when’s fought and worked so hard to care for you, to keep prolonging this borrowed time you’re on. “To-ji. Toji.” You gaze at him apprehensibly, not really believing you can do it without crumbling.

“Come on, babe, you can do it. Say my name, please…Toji. I’m Toji.”

“Toooji-“ you slurred sadly. At this point, your Multiple Sclerosis has reached its end stage and has taken…everything from you: your ability to walk, your ability to control your muscle spasms and other bodily functions…and now, coupled with an unexpected stroke, your ability to speak. And you and Toji know that time is almost up, with you having come to accept it, while your husband still held onto hope. Your fingers gently graze over his face as best as your spasms and tremors allow you, starting from his forehead to his eyes, his nose, his cheek and finally, his lips, as if you’re memorizing it one last time. “Lo-ove you-“

Toji sniffles, and your fingers instinctively catch his warm tears. “I love you,” he whispers brokenly. “I do. I love you.”

You feel yourself tearing up as you’re forced to watch your beloved cry. And the worst part? You can’t do a thing about it. “D-oon’t c-cry—‘m okaay. Promi-miise…e’everyything ‘ill be okaaay.”

“Y-yeah,” he chuckles, trying to crack a joke even as hope dwindles. “You’ve been nothing but a fucking champ this entire time, you know? I’m so proud of you. So…so…proud that you’re still here.” He strokes your hair as you tread between the realms of the conscious and the unconscious. “Do you wanna go out today? The weather’s shit though. You’ll probably catch your death out there.” At the mention of the word ‘death’, Toji stops, falling into an uncomfortable silence.

You smile weakly at him. “Tiiredd—“

“You’re no fun,” Toji gently flicks your nose and you scrunch it up in displeasure. “Sorry,” he chuckles, holding back an entire waterfall of tears. He knows it’s today. It has to be. You woke up today without your usual ‘happy morning’ greeting, and you refused to drink anything, much less eat anything. “You tired? Any pain?”

You shake your head. You’re as comfortable as you can be for the first time in months. Hospice nurses say humans are built to live the same way they are built to die, no person in this world has ever had the uncanny privilege of being able to look up ‘How to die?’ on a quick Google search and actually find a Wikihow on the morbid subject matter, nor is there anyone else who can teach another how it’s done. It’s just something humans know how to do without a manual, deeply ingrained in the very fabric of human existence is the fear of death, the fear of what comes after, the fear of a nothingness that could follow after living such a vibrant life. Your life was short, barely spanning thirty years, but you lived well: you fell in love, you got hurt, but you fell together again. Now it all has to come to an end, Toji will just have to take care of the rest.

And you weren’t scared.

Or at least you can’t look scared, if you were to be more accurate, you have to look strong and ready to accept the cards you’ve been dealt with for Toji’s sake. When he feels your hand start to slacken, Toji intakes a sharp, shaky breath of sheer panic. “Not yet, Y/N. Please. Not yet.”

He climbs into bed with you, bringing you closer to this desperate man you call yours. There was no getting better anymore, there was no miracle he could hang onto, no deity he could beg for death to spare you, no pill bottle he could pray to. He knew that from the start. But what he witnessed these past months, you’ve been the braver one between the two of you, you knew how to make the most of the rhythm this cruel world gave you and you graciously took him along to dance to the last song of the evening with you.

“There’s still hope. Just keep your eyes open. Just keep them open.” He presses his lips to your forehead, his delusion getting the better of him. “We’ll just keep trying…you can’t leave. You have to stay. You have to.”

“Thaank yoou—“ you softly told your Toji, your voice shrinking in decibels as you become a little drowsy, sinking into the warmth of the requiem of a life well spent.

Toji listens to you, his lips pursed, intent on making this final act of love — a love that is strong enough to say goodbye — a memorable one. And should the afterlife exist, he wishes to send you off with a smile, with the reassurance that he’ll be alright even if that was far from happening.

“Toji.”

“I want you to be real. And I don’t care if we’ll live on borrowed time. Another extra second with you…is enough to last me my entire lifetime.”

[cachien]

.

[finniestoncrane]

Virginal vault dweller reader you say?? I'd eat that up (and so would Cooper, heh) but seriously I would read the hell out of that if you're up for it <3

Different Up Here

Cooper Howard x Fem!Reader, word count: 6.3k anon thank you lmao i had already started drafting this, so vault dweller reader isn't quite a virgin but they are definitely inexperienced and have never known pleasure like the kind that cooper can offer 🤎 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: power imbalance, dubious consent because once you've said yes to cooper you can't change your mind, overstimulation, crying, oral sex, fingering, instructional, full penetration babiessss i realised i never tag that shit but yeah it's in here lmao, cumming inside, no protection, sweet coop afterwards but only briefly

If anyone else had asked you in that moment how you were, you couldn't have answered accurately without any hint of sarcasm and irritation. You were being worn down, like buildings by the sands of the desert. Each little molecule of your optimism being torn away from you, painful like plucking a hair. But when Cooper asked you, you tried your best to push down your knee jerk response.

"Let's see, shall we? Since leaving the vault a month ago, bravely in search of resources and supplies for my friends, I have killed, maimed, and eaten things I hope to never think of again. I'm in a constant cycle of very, very stressed and then very, very bored where there is no happy medium between fearing for my life and wishing for death. And oh, by the way, I'm sweating buckets the whole time because it's deathly fucking warm. Thank you for asking, Cooper!"

Instead, you shrugged and offered him at least a partial truth.

"It sounds silly... but I'm kind of bored."

A dry chuckle passed over Cooper's lips.

"Heh, that's a new one for out here."

Sensing an opportunity to at least get some conversation out of him, you sat up on the rusty bed frame, your body sinking into the almost entirely flattened mattress as you crossed your legs and did your best to get Cooper to talk more than a sentence at a time.

"Really? I would have thought you'd be bored a lot, especially when there's no raiders, or mirelurks, or scavengers, or feral ghouls, or super mutants, or roving gangs of-"

"See, this is why I'm never bored. Always somethin' or someone to be killin'."

"But what about like... now? When there's nothing else to do. There's no magazines, no books, no TV."

You watched as Cooper turned from you with a slight smile. You knew the one, the familiar grin that meant you'd divulged some information about your life in the vaults, something he always found so amusing. It was your naivety, your optimism. He was endlessly fascinated by it, as though listening to you talk about it reminded him of something he had before.

That fascinated you. It made you want to stay around him, the way he listened silently as you talked about the old films that were on the holotapes, the food that was still fresh and available, the music you could hear whenever you wanted to, not reliant on some two-bit radio host. He paid attention to you. And any time his deep, brown eyes focused on your lips it made your heart flutter in an admittedly unexpected manner.

Remembering that feeling, you tried again, hoping that your next approach might be something that interested him a little more than just conversation.

"You know how we used to pass time in the vaults?"

Over the sound of the evening breezes that whipped up the sand you could still hear Cooper sigh before he spoke.

"Now if you tell me that you wanna go out there again tonight to find an old blast radius board... well I am just going to have to shoot you."

You laughed at what you hoped was a joke and waved him off, despite the fact that he was still turned away from you, unable to see your gesture as he tried ignoring you in what you assumed was the hope that you might shut up and leave him alone.

"No, no no no no no. Just..."

The lump in your throat felt like it was about to choke you, so you swallowed the clump of nerves quietly, your voice trembling as you finished your sentence.

"... fooling around... y'know?"

Cooper turned to face you. You had piqued his interest, and you couldn't help but show the giddy glee on your face, the smallest smile crossing your lips as your eyes widened. But his words wiped away all hope that you had garnered in that short span of time.

"Oh... oh darlin'."

He laughed a little, each little sound of the short, sharp giggle like a slap to the face.

"I don't think you're ready for that at all."

You raised an eyebrow, defiant, irritated, and keen to know how he thought he had you pegged so quickly. You'd never talked about anything like that with him before. Was he assuming that you were a virgin based on how you behaved around him alone? Maybe he figured that the lack of flirting on your part was down to a complete lack of experience, when in reality, it was because every flirtatious quip he threw your way made you so nervous and flustered you felt like you might throw up.

"How come I'm not ready? I mean, I've... I've done stuff... I've done it!"

"The fat you're not saying it how it is makes me think that you are absolut-"

"I've had sex, Cooper. I've fucked before. I've been fucked."

Blinking off the irritation at being interrupted by you, Cooper pushed up the brim of his hat and stared directly at you, as though he was examining your, to see if you would stand up for yourself any further.

"By who? One of your little buddies underground? Fucking like little bunnies? I don't think that qualifies you, sweetheart."

"Why? Sex is sex..."

You said it with such confidence. As if you really knew. As if you hadn't spent your teenage years practising on your hand, holding a pillow close, lining up for that one girl in the vault who would sell practice kisses for extra bubble-gum. You'd had sex before, of course. You weren't a liar. Just because you'd only ever done it once didn't render it nonfactual. Just because it had only lasted for all of four minutes. Just because you weren't sure you even orgasmed, and your friend had told you that you'd know if you'd orgasmed. Just because it was all over so quickly, and he'd run off before anyone could catch you both, avoiding you at every opportunity after that.

"... Isn't it?"

"Oh no it ain't. Besides, like I keep telling you, it's different up here. Everything's different up here. And that includes fuckin'."

The way he said the word, consonants enunciated with such grit and vigour, filled your stomach with knots that began to tighten as you considered in what way things were so different.

"What exactly do you mean by that?"

Cooper sighed, exasperated, resigning himself to the fact that you were going to keep talking to him regardless of his short replies and attempts to end the conversation.

"You are a dog with a bone, huh? Ain't gonna let it go."

His yellowed teeth were exposed as his lips pulled back in a baring, mischievous smile. Those knots doubled, the ends being pulled by tension in your nervous system as Cooper's smirk put you into a dazed stupor.

"No, sir."

"Now, I don't remember signing on to be your personal tutor in all things apocalypse. Do I really need to show you how everything works up here?"

As your cheeks began to blush, you nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes, sir."

You were hopeful for just a bit of a distraction. Something to help take the stress away. To relieve the tension that had been building up between you and Cooper as of late. You'd been studying him, watching the way he looked at you, fascinated by your perceived, and frankly obvious, innocence. The way his fingers moved, contributing to the skilful way he handled his gun and his ropes. The confidence, the charisma, the charms.

You wanted him, but you weren't quite sure how to broach the situation without it seeming desperate. But you were past that now. You were desperate For anything, just something. Something to cure the monotony of walking and hiding and fighting and surviving. You didn't want to just survive. You wanted to at least find a semblance of fun and pleasure in this nightmare you had found yourself in. And in the vaults, when board games and books and debates got boring, there was always fucking. That was what you desired most right now. The fact that Cooper happened to be the closest target for your desires was just a sweet miracle, or a cruel tease depending on how willing he was.

And luckily, he seemed agreeable.

"Well then, how about you come over here and let ol' Coop show you a little thing or two about how dirty you can really get up here in the mean, dusty Wasteland, hm?"

Your excitement was palpable, even though you were trying to keep your composure. There was no escaping the echo of the giddy squeal you let out as you jumped up from the bed and made your way over to Cooper. He waited in the far corner of the room, setting himself down on an old armchair as you stepped towards him, slapping his thighs as an indication of where he wanted you. And you did as you were told, following his instructions, knowing they hadn't led you astray so far in your time together.

It felt awkward at first, being so close to him. You shifted your weight nervously, trying to get comfortable while making sure Cooper was still at ease, which of course, he was. He always was. Nothing stirred him, he was forever at peace. Competent in any situation. Quick to adapt. And as you fidgeted and fussed, you felt his strong hands pushing you forward on his lap, until your chests were practically pressed together, his hands skirting over your lower back as he held you still. In command. In control. The sudden sensation of his hands on your body made your breath hitch, a soft, surprised squeal on the inhale that had Cooper raising his brow at you.

"Now... you agree that you asked for this, alright? Because I am not going to put my effort into entertaining your little whims if you're gonna get fussy and decide it's too much for you. I did warn you."

"Yes, you did, and I really don't think you needed to. I doubt there's too much different about it, and I've picked up what I needed to know pretty quickly from your other lessons, haven't I?"

Your retaliation to his insistence that you needed him to teach you everything, and that some things just might prove themselves a little too hard even for your levels of enthusiasm, had irritated him when he'd first met you. But now your optimism and sheer refusal to believe anything was too much for you were a source of entertainment for him. A challenge.

"That's fine then, darlin'. But I'll remember that."

His eyes bore into your soul, keeping your focus on him as he dared you to look away. They sparkled as he ran his tongue over his lips, the pretence of preparing for his next words covering the obvious flirtation in the way he dragged the flat muscle along his chapped skin.

"So, gimme a benchmark here, lil lady. How much foreplay was involved in your previous encounters? I'd hate to leave you high and dry."

"Foreplay...? What... uh, what is that?"

Cooper sighed, rolling his eyes before closing his eyelids over gently.

"Well, it's something like this."

He pushed a loose strand of hair back behind your ear, rough fingers following the curve and grazing over your neck as he let them drift down the front of your chest, tickling the exposed skin as far as your jumpsuit would allow before he took a hold of the zip at the front. A quick flit of his eyes up to you seemed to ask for permission, and your small, almost imperceptible nod, told him to keep going.

Slowly, painfully so, he pulled the zip down, watching as the centre of your torso was slowly revealed to him. Smooth skin, in comparison to his anyway, clear of any unnatural blemishes or war wounds. One calloused digit followed down your sternum to your stomach and back up, hooking under the left side of the fabric and pulling it over, then the other, exposing the top half of your body to him.

Cooper traced his fingertips over the top of your breasts, watching as your chest moved in and out, slowly, but exaggeratedly. The knots in your stomach felt like they might burst with the tension as his sharp, ragged nails crossed over your hardening nipples, a gentle tingle coursing through your veins.

"Well?"

"No... n-nothing like that... just grabbing..."

"Oh yeah? You like that? How about this?"

He closed two fingers around your nipple, one hand still on your back to keep you balanced as your body reacted to his touch. Between the two digits, you felt your nipples heating up, the slight, burning pain from the way he squeezed them sending a signal down your spine that seemed to affect every part of you. Tighter, tighter, and then as your eyes closed a little more, eyelids pressed tight, he would ease up to offer some relief.

"You like that? Like it rough?"

"I think... I think I like both."

"So, something like this?"

He teased your nipples once more, pressing harder with his fingertips, pulling them out and jiggling your breasts as he tugged at them, this lewder act interspersed with a gentle caress as he held your breast against the palm of his hand, carefully cupping it as he flicked his thumb over the sensitive and completely erect nipple.

You bit your lip, trying to keep quiet, Coop's hand moved swiftly from your body to your cheeks, popping the lip back out as he pressed his thumb and forefinger into your face. Understanding the message, and seemingly showing this in your wide-eyed gaze, he let his rough, leathery hand make its way back down to your breast, cupping it once more as he spoke.

"Different, see? Pleasure is hard to come by out here. You gotta do it right when you've got the chance."

Cooper leaned into your neck, whispering the words low and slowly, his dry, chapped lips skimming over your skin as he continued.

"I bet down there they didn't know the first thing about real pleasure. Takes time, something like that. You gotta learn the body, gotta make it feel good."

His teeth grazed over your shoulder and back up along your neck before he pulled back, watching your eyes refocus from the haze of arousal.

"Did they make you feel good?"

"No."

You were confident in that statement. It hadn't felt good. It felt rushed. Clumsy. Shameful. And as you pondered it, your mouth remained open in a slight pout which trembled as Cooper asked his next question.

"And what about your pretty lips... did they kiss them?"

"A little..."

Cooper leaned in, his rough lips pressing onto yours with firm contact, his tongue staying in place as though he imagined that might be a bit too much for you right now. But that same level of restraint didn't keep him from letting his teeth catch onto your bottom lip, pulling it out, only letting go when you winced in surprise as the suddenness of the action.

"Didn't bite them either. Of course not, what am I thinking? That would be a little too adventurous for your kind."

His face took on a darker tone as he smiled knowingly towards you.

“And what about these pretty lips?”

Before you could piece together the question, his hand was diving into your jumpsuit, pushing down the front and past the waist, stroking against the front of your underwear which, by now, was soaking wet with your arousal.

“They touch these lips, huh?”

You gasped as he pushed your underwear to the side, stroking his fingers along your slick, plump pussy lips, withdrawing them soon after to taste you on his tongue, the way you had watched him taste the blood of enemies, the blood of victims.

“Stand up, darlin’… Why don’t you take that suit off, hm? Get yourself comfy.”

As you raised yourself up from his hips, your legs wobbled under you, not quite steady enough to support you so soon after being reduced to jelly by Cooper’s touch, his caramelised words that filled your ears, the sharp twang of his accent, the delicate cadence, the power rumbling underneath like an almost silent bassline.

“Do it slowly though.”

Cooper watched carefully as you stood nervously before him, shuffling out of your suit, stripping for him, your hips moving from side to side slow and steady, unintentionally sultry in the way you moved. Without taking his eyes from you he reached for his canteen, taking a long sip from it as you let your suit fall down over your legs, stepping out of it and pushing it to the side with your feet.

“That’s it, darlin’. Can’t do this half-hearted. I need to have access to all of you there. Now come sit back down.”

You held your arms in front of you, feeling far too exposed for the shelter you’d found for the evening. No windows, no locks on the doors. But it was difficult to focus on that worry for too long as you watched Cooper’s tongue flit back out over his lips, clear strands of drool sparkling in the light as he took you in, hungrily, dreamily.

“Turn around though. You face that way.”

The metal buttons on the front of his duster coat were cold against the skin of your back, but you leaned into them anyway. Cooper’s hand curved around your neck and up under your chin, holding your face forward.

“You keep an eye out, holler if you see anything coming. I’ll do everything else.”

A faint clicking sound, the safety on his gun being flicked to off, before those same fingers draped over your mound and down on to your lips, spreading them apart, the cool air of the decrepit room cooling the heat of your hot, aching cunt. With two fingers holding your lips apart, he let the middle digit tap against your clit, each tiny sensation turning your blood cold before heating it exponentially, a cold sweat beginning to form on your brow as you felt a tingle in your abdomen.

The finger that tapped the sensitive bud began stroking it from side to side, laying flat against it length wise as Cooper strummed your body, still holding your chin in his hands, smiling to himself every time your back arched away from him in intense pleasure. Every nerve-ending was at his mercy. He was right, it was different up here. But you wondered how much of that was the Wasteland and it’s effect on sexuality and pleasure, and how much of it was just him. Cooper Howard, Wasteland bounty hunter, a past life he refused to talk about, the most charismatic monster you had ever met. His fingers, daintily crossing over your clit, as you felt his breath, silent except for an occasional hum of satisfaction in the form of a long moan. Maybe it was just Cooper who was different.

It was hard to focus on this new line of though as his hard fingertips clamped down on your clit, pinching it as he rolled it between his fingers. Even harder when he let his hand drop from your neck and instead began teasing at your nipples once more. Soft, cruel flicks over the hardened bumps, his fingers at work on your body, his lips kissing at the back of your neck. Moans growing louder, more frequent, as he let himself enjoy the act of making you squirm. You could tell he was having fun, as you rolled your hips back a little, feeling the thick bulge of his stiffening cock against your rear. You wondered how it might feel, how it might look, and what he could do differently with it.

“Cooper… Coop… I think I’m going to cum…”

His movements quickened, cock twitching against your body as he pinched tighter and pressed his fingers harder against your cunt.

“Don’t you dare, little lady.”

“Ok I’ll… I’ll try but… you have to… stop… please stop… Coop…”

He ignored your please, the whining, desperate begging as you tried to stop your body from the natural, encouraged reaction.

“Have some self-control, sweetheart.”

“Cooper, I really can’t… please… please stop touching me…”

“I absolutely will not.”

Your fingers dug into his thighs, but you noticed that you refused to move away from him. You wanted to do as he asked, wanted to hold yourself back from the brink of orgasm to prolong his touch, but you couldn’t risk him actually stopping, fearing that your body might crumble if his fingers left your quivering, pathetic body for only a second.

Each stroke against your increasingly wet and sensitive pussy had you trembling and shaking, and Cooper had to remove his hand from your breast to keep you steady, placing it under your chin and holding you steady by the neck.

“I am warning you, missy.”

“Cooper… I can’t stop…”

You shuddered and whined as your body gave in to the temptation, feeling a rush of heat and relief as you came on his lap, your arousal coating his pants, adding to the collection of stains and wear on them. But he didn’t stop then.

“No wait… seriously, Cooper… I can’t… I can’t take much more, honestly…”

“Listen, I told you. I said you better not cum. I wasn’t done with you yet.”

Your eyes began to sting with tears of exasperation as your body kept on pushing to its limits, conjuring up another wave of climax, tormenting you with never-ending bouts of arousal that kept you rutting against him, despite how painful it was to keep writhing into his body. You could feel your stomach knotting again, not much time between each orgasm to relax, and you dug your hands into his thighs, pushing your body up off of him as you tensed completely.

“Ok, this time, you do it on my command. You do it when I say you can, alright?”

“Cooper…”

“Don’t give me that pleading shit, you asked me to show you how things are done. Well this is how Cooper fuckin’ Howard does things. So are you ready? You gonna come for me?”

“C-coop… I’ll… I’ll try…”

“Good girl, now you keep that mouth making those whines and moans. I don’t need you to call out my name or anything, I know I’m all you’re thinking about.”

The praise, the self-confidence, the way his fingers seemed to be pulling your orgasm out, motioning for it to come closer to him.

“Come on, darlin’, come on…”

Your vision blurred as the climax came over you, body rolling and convulsing as you came once more at Cooper’s insistence, your cheeks stained with tears, salted water rolling through the layers of grime and clearing paths to your chin.

As you settled back down onto his lap with a shudder, you felt Cooper’s fingers stroking through your hair. He was surprisingly gentle, oddly calm, but you supposed that you deserved his kindness as you had done as he had asked, making up for your previous indiscretion. He was almost cooing, shushing you as you found your breath, establishing your sense of self once more after the overstimulating orgasm that shook your core.

“You seen enough of the big bad world for one day then?”

You probably had, but you still found yourself shaking your head, ignoring the way your body reacted with a violent twitch at the notion of Cooper’s hands delivering intense pleasure.

“A glutton for punishment, hm? Or just keen to learn?”

As you pondered your answer, Cooper seemed to have come to the conclusion for you, as he tapped your hips and began to shift underneath you.

“Alright then, get onto your knees.”

Positioning yourself at his feet, you couldn’t help but look up at him, catching his eyes as he looked down at you with that unique brand of disdain and intrigue he had somehow mastered. You knew what was coming, what was about to happen, and your mouth began watering at the thought. What he might taste like. What he might look like.

You didn’t have to imagine for long though, as you could see his fingers working the belt of his pants, loosening it, unzipping his fly, and gripping his semi-erect cock at the base as he took it out, brandishing it. He kept close attention on your own eyes, a soft sigh of relief imperceptibly escaping his chest as he noticed your pupils widen, your mouth opening in preparation for him.

It was exactly as you had expected. The texture of the shaft was similar to that of his cheeks and his forearms, a similar colouring, though darker at the base and on the shaft which was tinted red. Thick, purple tinged veins covered it, winding around the length, cutting across the ridges of the scars.

“You can come closer, darlin’. I don’t know what they told you about mutations and radiation effects down there in your little utopia, but I can assure you… it doesn’t bite.”

The fear was palpable, clearly, but it was nothing to do with Cooper’s body and everything to do with your lack of experience, which, despite you arguing otherwise, was becoming plainly obvious even to you. You had only ever touched a cock with your hands outside of being quickly fucked. Several times you’d been cajoled into quickly stroking an erection under the blankets before your partner ran off to the bathroom, clean and tidy, flushing away the sins. And you were very well aware that there was always the option to suck on one, but it had never presented itself. It had never seemed that appealing to you. Until you were faced with Cooper’s.

He hadn’t even asked you to do either yet, but you found yourself curious, salivating over the thought of him, mind racing as you imagined how he might feel against your tongue.

“Can I taste it… you?”

Cooper smiled warmly, one of the few times you had seen him look at you with genuine pride.

“Now that is using your initiative. Of course you can.”

You kept your hands to yourself as you leaned in towards his body, content to let Cooper wield his length at you, his hand firm around the base as you inched closer, tongue pressed out over your lips. A strand of drool collected and spilled forward, hitting the floor in a soft patter just before the tip of your tongue came into contact with the tip of his cock.

A lot of the movements were instinctual, following your desires more than what you thought might be protocol as you dragged your tongue up the shaft and swirled over the blushing head of his cock. It tasted bitter, but in a pleasant way.  Savoury, not sweet. Salted, a tang that stayed there for a few seconds after your tongue had moved on to another spot. A flavour you found yourself craving now.

Cooper gripped tighter and pushed forward, taking you by surprise as he slid himself into your mouth, his free hand moving to the back of your head, fingers curling into your hair. As the taste of him hit the back of your tongue, cock almost touching your throat, you coughed and spluttered a little.

“Fuck me, darlin’… do you need me to show you how to do this too?”

He looked down at you, filled with pity as he saw your face. Red cheeks, puffed out, lips stretched over the girth of his cock, tears welling up in your eyes as you struggled to breathe.

“Breath through your nose… breathe in…”

You followed his instructions, instantly calmed when you found your lungs filling with air once more. Almost immediately back to enjoying yourself, the feeling of Cooper inside of you, the control he had as he held your head against him.

“Now… you don’t want to choke too much, so keep your tongue flat… yeah, just like that…”

It was so much easier like that, and you could feel your cheeks getting warmer and redder as you realised that not only had you embarrassed yourself with your spluttering and lack of knowledge, but that Cooper had clearly done this a lot.

“And your teeth… well, usually they’ll tell you to keep ‘em outta the way, but you know me… gotta be different…”

Taking the hint, you let your jaw close slightly, the pain of the stretch lessened, your teeth scraping along the top of his shaft as your tongue worked the underneath, sucking and rolling as much as you could while keeping it flat.

He didn’t say much else, and you couldn’t tell if he was particularly enjoying himself. It worried you, the fact that he had specific preferences, the way it was so clear how much more experienced he was than you. How many others had there been? And were they all better than you? As your mind wandered to your anxieties, you completely missed the fact that you had begun to drool all over yourself until Cooper relaxed his grip on your head and wiped at your chin with his thumb. Catching your eyes and sensing some of your worries, he was surprisingly quick to soothe you.

“You can swallow or spit or let it all spill out, I don’t mind makin’ a mess darlin’. But whatever you’re doing, you keep that up.”

You were so pathetically grateful for the encouragement, for the tiniest semblance of praise, that you felt yourself moaning involuntarily. The soothing motion of sucking on his cock, the taste of something new, the comforting knowledge that he was happy with your efforts. You could feel your clit throbbing, aroused by Cooper’s satisfaction, how pleased he was with the way you worked him over.

Which is why it surprised you so much when he pulled his cock from your mouth, your lips slipping off of it with a disgustingly lewd popping sound, drool spilling onto your chin in long strands which stretched from your lips to his cock and tore apart as he distanced himself from you.

And again, that sympathetic gaze, the way he could tell what you were thinking before you even said it.

“Oh, don’t you look at me with those big, sad eyes. You got nothin’ to worry about, sweetheart. That was good, ‘specially for a first try…”

He winked to you as he spoke, causing your heart to skip enough beats that you thought you might die there and then.

“… It’s just that I’m all slicked up and ready to go now… so you wanna bend over for me? Or do you wanna come sit on my lap?”

“Uh… lap, please… I was kinda bent over for the last… first time.”

“Well, you come and take a seat then, darlin’, let ol’ Coop show you something new.”

You nervously settled your entirely nude body back down onto his thighs. Cooper’s hands were gentle against your shoulders as he pulled you backwards with him, leaning at a slight angle in the chair, his cock rigid and firm as it sat against your waiting cunt, coated in your drool which almost seemed to shimmer with the dancing light of the fire.

Then, so carefully, so gently, far more than you’d ever seen him be before, Cooper took hold of his cock at the base and slid it inside of you, one hand on your stomach as he braced you, keeping your body steady as he inserted himself further and further between your clenching walls.

“Bigger than before?”

You nodded, biting your lip as you felt the distinct stretch, his rough, textured cock forcing its way inside your cunt, pressed up to the hilt, testing your limits.

“Better?”

“Mhm…”

“Speak up, darlin’.”

With your voice strained and breathy, you managed to form some words.

“Yes… it’s better.”

“That’s it, good girl. Now, I’m gonna buck my hips, ok? You just try and keep your balance.”

Below you, Cooper shifted a little, his hips rolling backwards, inches of his cock escaping your tight, aching cunt, before he rolled them forwards and upwards, back into you. A slow, steady pace that he focused on keeping until you felt warmer, more relaxed.

“You got this, it’s like riding a horse.”

“I’ve never… hm… ridden a horse…”

Cooper chuckled, a low and rasping sound that sent shivers over your skin and seemed close enough to you that it was coming from inside of your body.

“Never ridden a ghoul before either, but you’re handling it alright for a first timer.”

You were coping ok, you had to admit, but you could feel your stomach muscles tensing, the knots back in full force as they tensed and tightened, loosened and frayed with each pump of his cock within you.

“Ah… Cooper…”

“Too much, darlin’? Does it hurt?”

There was a sense of genuine care in his tone, as though he had taken it upon himself to show you that yes, things were different up there in the Wasteland, but that didn’t always mean they were worse. Some things were good, if not a little bit difficult to take at first.

“A little…”

Cooper tilted your chin up, forcing your head to lean back completely against his shoulder. In a delicate move, one far more romantic than you imagined from him, he ran his thumb over your lips, angling his neck to look at them, his own mouth open ever so slightly, a monotonous panting as he kept his hips moving, increasing the speed and the force at which he entered you.

His eyes flicked up suddenly, looking into yours, catching your gaze and holding unblinking eye contact as he spoke.

“I know… I know… Just a little longer, though…”

He closed his eyes, focusing on the feeling of his cock pushing against your body, enveloped in your hot, wet, velvety interior.

“I know it hurts… but I ain’t stopping, so don’t even ask… here…”

You watched as he brought a finger to your lips, offering it up to you.

“…you bite down on that if it gets too much, ok… but don’t hold back on those sweet sounds… I wanna hear you scream.”

With that vaguely threatening remark, he thrust up into you, banging against your body, spurring on your orgasm but unleashing a dull ache that spread through every sensitive part of you.

“Won’t… be long… keep it together… good girl…  good girl…”

It felt good, the pain, the sting, the ache, the shivers. The fact that he was using you, finding pleasure in you. All of it culminating in Cooper’s nearing orgasm which you could sense was closing in on him. His movements were becoming more frantic, sloppier, and he was mouthing all manner of sweet nothings as he let his façade slip away.

And those soft mumbles opened up into a wide roar as he clung to your body, the hand on your neck cutting off the air to your lungs only briefly, one hand on your lap pressing sharp indents into your skin as he forced himself into you. The last few moments of his fevered thrusting, fucking you wildly, drool pooling in the corner of his mouth as he rutted into you in a dazed stupor before his body gave in. His cock throbbed, each pulse sending another rope of cum against your insides, filling you with his seed as he shuddered finally, slinking backwards into the chair and taking in a deep breath as you removed yourself from him.

You’d only managed to take a few steps forward before Cooper addressed you, opening his eyes to watch you standing there awkwardly, his cum dripping down your thighs, a warmth that quickly turned cool in the air of the room.

“Did I say you could get up?”

Panic settled in your chest, aware that you had waited until you felt his muscles relax, his body retreating from you, before you slid off his cock, expecting him to push you away anyway, like your first time. You assumed he was finished, and you weren’t sure you were ready for the idea that he might not be done with you.

“Are we… oh, Cooper, I really can’t take anymore.”

Even as you stood, you could feel your legs shaking, weakened by the intense orgasms, the way they tightened against his every movement.

“That’s different up here too then, I suppose.”

Cooper stood up from the chair, pacing towards you with a purposeful stride as he pushed his cock back into his pants, zipping them up as he reached you. You inhaled sharply as he placed his hand at the back of your head, those knots in your stomach beginning to form again, worried that a further, albeit pleasurable punishment was on the cards. But you were surprised as he slid his free hand around your back, tugging at your waist as he pulled you in close to him. A quick smile before his lips were on yours, the brim of his hat pushed upwards as he leaned into the kiss. Warm, gentle, the kind of kiss you’d seen in movies. Practised and confident, meaningful, sincere.

When he pulled back, your body following him a little before you settled back onto your feet, he smiled warmly.

“Sweet with the sour, darlin’. You gotta keep ‘em wanting more.”

“M-more?”

More as in now? Or more as in the idea that Cooper had enjoyed himself and would be willing to offer that kind of pleasure to you again. And he answered with a wink.

“Definitely. There’s a still a lot you’ve got to learn.”

[yanderenightmare]

TW: yandere, domestic violence, abuse, suicidal ideations, suicide attempts, accidental murder, death

gn reader

You should have never fallen in love with someone so brash, but you like seeing the good in people much to the abuse of your own. Still, rough around the edges as he was, you’d never thought he’d become such a monster.

The first time he slapped you, you were so shocked you’d ended up the one who apologized—all the way convinced you must have deserved it. And ever since then, you’ve only accumulated more bruises in areas you can’t explain.

You’re in the bathroom now. The door’s locked, but you don’t think it’ll keep him out for long.

“Open the door, babe—I didn’t mean it.”

You don’t even know if he has himself convinced of that or if he’s just saying it to soothe you. Either way, it doesn’t change the fact that your wrist and rib are broken. You’re so terrified you think you might end up dying from the fear alone, sitting in the bathtub just waiting for the inevitable.

You don’t have a phone—it was taken when an old boyfriend had texted. You’d share his from then on, he said—better that way so he can keep track of you. It’s strange, but somehow, you believed it was rather romantic. 

You were going to leave this time. It would be so simple. He was at work, and you’d just leave everything and walk right out the door. But there was an incident at the office which made him come home early only to catch you red-handed heading out the door you know you’re not supposed to open without him.

You’d been so panicked you’d tried running—but there was really no chance. His arms caught you hard, and the floor he threw you back on met you even harder—hence the snapped bones.

Still, you’d managed to scramble to the bathroom with just enough time to lock it behind you.

And now you were left all out of options.

“Open the door, we’ll talk. Maybe I misunderstood.” His voice had calmed down now. He’d been at it for a while—he sounded more airy, teetering on frantic, and it only served to scare you even more. “I know it can get pretty cramped in ‘ere all alone. Maybe you were just getting some fresh air, is all?” He left the question a couple of seconds worth of breath before sending his fist into the door. “Come on, answer me!”

You were sobbing. He might actually kill you this time. God knows you’ve thought he would other times with both his hands wrapped tight around your throat, stringing you up, making you lose voice for days.

You thought about it—the razor blades in the drawer. It seemed like the only option left. Better you than him, right? He’d make it painful. Or worse, he might not go through with it at all, and you’d be stuck living with him forever.

That really did seem worse than death, you thought, sitting on the floor while holding the shiny metal piece to your wrist. Which way was best to cut again? Right. It’ll be quick, and then it’ll be over.

You don’t even hear the door breaking down before he’s on you. You don’t even realize you’ve cut before you see the red. You don’t even know whose blood it is before he gags on it—before it splutters from his mouth upon your face and the slice on his neck splits upon and gushes out like a waterfall all over your clothes.

He drops to the floor with a heavy thud a moment later.

The blood is so warm you don’t even understand how he’s dead.

You even think about stopping the bleeding for a moment, but then it suddenly settles. And then along, shortly after, the understanding that you’d killed him.

The razor hits the bloody tiles with no sound—it’s all so thick it splats before sinking, disappearing slowly. You swallow once, but you’re throat is all but dry. Even the tears had stopped in the shock.

You spot the phone on the floor, having slid from his pocket—moments away from drowning in the blood that seems to just continue seeping and spreading forever. Something within you grabs it before it can.

“Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?”

“Hi! Uhm… I’ve just killed my boyfriend.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Kirishima, Dabi, Hawks, Enji, Aizawa ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Naoya, Toji ♡ DS – Akaza, Inosuke, Sanemi

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[k-atsukibakugou]

god is a bit of a freak, why's he watching me getting railed on the couch, staying pure for a wedding, he's got fucked up priorities — aka an ancient, obsolete god of fertility hears your prayer

pairing: fertility god!katsuki bakugou x fem!reader w/c: 2.8k warning/s: voyeurism, oral (f!receiving), references to sex rituals and safe sex lmao, i think that's everything, mostly lead up notes: sorry i wrote this fucked up from a cold lmao i hope u all enjoy either way! inspo/acknowledgements: god is a freak by peach prc ty @kweenkatsuki-fics @aquadenks @peachsukii @rabbbitseason for ur interest teehee

crossposted to ao3 • masterlist • wip updates & voting • kofi • askbox

the ancient tongue was dead, dying a slow death as all languages did, evolving again and again with every civilisation that rose and fell, until it faded into obscurity. with the death of their language, their communication with their believers, the gods faded, too, their followers dwindling more and more as their names were buried along with the civilisations they led. once adored, worshipped, feared, now, their names only existed on scrolls, yellowed and deteriorated beneath layers of mortal history, unspoken in aeons.

katsuki kicked the door shut behind him, the bag of produce in his hand swinging back and forth with the movement. there was once a time where he was lavished with offerings of food he now had to purchase; countless altars he tended to piled with vegetables, wines, fire, soil, blood, accompanied with prayers to answer. he'd all but assimilated into living as a mortal; cooking (he was grateful, at least, for electric stoves, cooking lerthargically over a fire not quite how he wanted to spend eternity), showering, learning, exploring and working alongside the humans that once lived in his shadow.

he was one of the first to deflect from utopia, to abandon his temple, to give up on the belief that the gods, their language could return to how it was, and with it their followers. katsuki had simply grown bored of waiting alone in the stone temple, of wandering the perimeter hoping to find a lost mortal he could grant a miracle to, to find a mortal to bring meaning to godhood again. after all, what was a god without his believers?

he hadn't given up his blessings or miracles, albeit on a smaller scale than he once had, he still granted wishes as he had in utopia's heyday, the offerings he received now smiles across counters as people passed along paperwork, hoping to be one of the lucky ones, praying over pregnancy tests in bathrooms instead of in his altar. he gave up godhood, but he refused to give up his miracles, even if the mortals didn't know he was responsible.

the pot was finally at a rolling boil, his knife poised above the produce when he felt it, the sensation freezing his blood in his veins, the pull of a prayer in his veins, an echoing whisper of his name lighting his nerves alight. the god freezes, blond hair slipping into his eyes as his ears burnt, twitching at every noise, waiting to hear the sweet sound of the prayer once more.

"bakugou."

his face falls from shock to a scowl almost immediately, his pupils dilating, his skin itchy from adrenaline, his stomach twisting. it couldn't really be his name. this couldn't be a prayer. not after all this time.

the obsolete incantation runs off your tongue seamlessly; almost melodic, light as you cite the prayer carved into the stone at the base of his statue, your dialect nothing like what the prayer used to sound like, but the more you read, the harder he finds it to hate. your voice clouds his head, every word past your lips making the fog denser behind his eyes. there was a dull pain alongside it, an ache that pulsed with your every breath, the pain of a prayer.

the call of the prayer felt… foreign after so long (a millennium he thinks? maybe more, maybe less, years, decades, centuries and millenniums all blurred into one for immortals), katsuki was accustomed to the silence every god feared, the silence of being abandoned by your believers, of dwindling power and control. even with how it was feared, this almost felt worse; a single prayer cornering him in the kitchen after an aeon alone, a single spotlight in the darkness worse than the endless pitch black.

"told you it was bull." barefoot, he paces back and forth in the apartment, shifting uncomfortably as you traced a fingertip over the carved inscription, the touch feeling as if it was on the very nerves of his scalp, down the curve of his spine, catching on every bump of his vertebra. crimson eyes droop, a thick hand rubbing at the bridge of his nose, an attempt to soothe the pain of your voice bouncing around his head, the sensation of your touch on his effigy.

"hey, stop that," your giggle almost has his feet sliding against the tile, nearly tumbling backward as he stops in his tracks; his muscles straining to follow the magnetism of your voice, the melody of your intoxicating laugh while he rationalises your existence at all.

"is that why you brought me here, huh? you think being in some ancient sex temple means you'll get some?"

perks of being a god: immortality, immeasurable strength and influence, impenetrable skin (with maybe a couple flaws). downsides of godhood? the power of their followers over them.

it was… overwhelming, the itch beneath a gods skin when a devout believer called their name, the weight of a prayer, the unshakable desire to follow the call. thankfully, the perks also included the facilities to do so; something akin to teleportation, the voice like a blinding beacon in the night, guiding the god.

once upon a time, civilisations ago, it was a lot, too much, the night always lit like it was daylight with the light his followers cast out. his temple existed for this very reason, devout believers building the god a home, a sanctuary for the light of his followers, complete with the marble sculpture of the built god. then, it was at the centre of the village he ruled over, now, you and your lover had hiked up a mountain, and back down into the valley to find it, the stone weathered and covered in vegetation, it was a miracle you'd been able to work your way inside.

dragging his finger over cold stone, every ridge and bump as it once was, katsuki reminisced about a time before the silence, before the darkness, a time when people lined outside his temple with dreams of a child. years ago, women came alone to his temple, clad in robes they'd weaved specially for the fertility ritual (sometimes gifted at their weddings), kneeling in the altar to offer anything they had in exchange for their heir; piles of gold from queens who begged for a prince, beloved and wise to rule their kingdoms peacefully, warriors armed with iron to wish for a knight, strategic and strong enough to return home from battle again and again, farmers gripping their herbs with soil-stained hands, praying for a child born with kindness and thumbs so green the village would survive the winters once more, a marble statue of the god, towering at over 9 feet tall from a sculptor wishing for a child with as much passion for the arts as their parents.

visitors now were only accidental, stumbling upon the temple in the darkness of the valley, seeking shelter, safety, protection. never a prayer tumbling from their lips for an heir (he answered their prayers nonetheless, never allowing harm to befall anyone on his blessed grounds).

peeking from behind a pillar overtaken by the vegetation, he finally spotted you.

you sucked the breath from his lungs, walking further into the temple, a cute, mischievous grin tugging on the corners of your soft lips, chasing your lover with your eyes as he spoke, "you don't think it's romantic? fucking in an ancient sex gods temple?"

"he was the god of fertility, not sex." you step onto the age worn sigil by the base of the imposing statue, brushing layers of grey dust away.

you look so similar to the countless women before who laid on his mark, the way you studied the carved sigil carefully, curiosity and stars sparkling in your eyes, a heat burning beneath your skin, adrenaline spiking in your veins. eras ago, women were bare on the sigil, stone icy against their skin as they drew runes, marking their skin with blood, dirt or ink, in the language native to the gods.

"what's the difference?" their voice was low, lips brushing beneath your jaw, biting at the sensitive skin beneath your ear, nimble fingers sliding beneath your shirt to tug it higher, higher, on your torso, tugging the material over your head with a flick of his wrist.

the god was no stranger to topless women, probably seeing hundreds and thousands of them in his prime, but the way the man in front of you toyed with the fat on your chest nearly making his eyes meet the inside of his skull. your allure was impossible to resist when your boyfriend rolls your nipples between his forefingers and thumbs, tugging on the sensitive skin to pull a delicious whine from your throat.

the silence had made him soft.

"i've been waiting all day for this," katsuki's blood rushes in his ears when you both fall to the floor, limbs already beginning to tangle together, bodies becoming one at the mouth, at the hips, at the chest. your sweet sounds echo in the temple, increasingly breathless the longer you kissed and nipped and sucked and bit at your boyfriend.

the ancient tongue was dead, katsuki knew that, knew you had no way to know what you'd read, like some naive final girl in a cliche horror film, that the very god you were laid at the base of was real, that he could see and hear you, that his cock throbbed watching you. you had no way of knowing what you'd started. carmine eyes study the beat of your heart in your chest, the way your tits look when your breathing quickens, how irresistible you look when deft fingers trace the seam of your panties.

katsuki prays himself for the first time in his long life that he's the only god to see you right now, to watch your face change the lower your boyfriend travels, dragging his tongue over your skin as he goes (katsuki's thankful for every time the mortal man bites at your skin, for the yelp it elicits anytime his canines sink into your flesh). his fingertips twitch at his sides, itching to finalise the ritual you'd started with the single murmur of his name, the first syllable of a language foreign on your tongue but you'd recited it so naturally.

you exclaim your lovers name with another sweet giggle, his hands now gripping your ass, tugging your obstructive underwear down your pillowy thighs, tossing it as far as he can the moment the garment is free from your ankles.

the god's ears scald at the way you sound when the brunet's tongue flicks against your skin, sucking at your pussy just to draw increasingly needier sounds from your pretty mouth. he's not even watching you and he already knows your hips are jumping from the stone floor, grinding onto your lovers mouth and nose to work yourself closer to an orgasm. your moans echo in the stone temple, bouncing in every corner before travelling back to his ears, tempting his attention to you.

he stays steady, sharp carmine eyes narrowing on the altar.

more specifically, the lump of material atop the bench.

your underwear is draped across like an offering of its own to him, far more lewd than gold, iron and herbs, but it made his core ache when the moonlight caught in the centre of the fabric, a small damp spot glistening in the light.

fuck, it hurts, every nerve aching, screaming to finally put an end his celibacy, unbroken for far too long. he hadn't felt a need for a mortal like this since the beginning of his existence, the pure want filling his head with fog. this is a duty, this power he has, it is what he was made for, there was never this heavy, dense fog filling his head before, no follower making his blood burn like you were. and you didn't even know what you'd done.

bakugou's gaze is finally drawn back to you, your spine arching away from the stone, fingers tangling at the base of your boyfriends skull, tugging the hair harshly as you chanted his name, your hips stuttering, grinding messily back and forth on his face, until you stopped. you were still wound tight, your thighs clamped tight around his ears while you recovered, a dopey, lovesick smile planted firm on your cheeks.

your squeal makes his dick twitch, one last flick of his tongue over your overstimulated clit, blond eyebrows furrowing so hard at the centre it makes his head pound, you were making his head hurt. a desperation to finish the ritual filled his lungs, every breath a reminder of his name on your lips, of your panties across the altar, of your naked body atop his mark.

he needed this, needed to bury his cock in a pretty cunt, to fill you until you were a babbling mess, needed you.

sitting back on his knees, your lover wiped your creamy cum from his chin with the back of his hand, spreading it from his face to his fingers, hardly doing anything to clean the mess you'd made of his mouth.

your boyfriend finally moves out of the way, giving katsuki the front row seat he deserves, your thighs shining with slick the masterpiece he'd come to see. unblinking, he thinks he's squeezing his cock through his pants, he's not sure, too hypnotised by the way your hips still twitched, chasing your boyfriends warmth. onyx and ruby eyes alike study your face, glued to the way your eyes roll into your skull when his fingers, still wet with your cum, trace your clit once more, teasing the entrance of your pussy before circling your sensitive nerves once more.

katsuki knows he's stroking his cock now, frantically tugging at the zipper still preventing him from relief, his fist moving at the same pace you grind your hips down to your lovers hand, sucking his fingers into you, squeezing your cunt around them until your thighs shook. his hips rock into his hands when your tongue lolls from your mouth, your moans getting faster and faster once more.

he has to bite his lip to stifle a groan of his own, his fist pumping faster and faster again, squeezing the base of his cock when you press a kiss as soft as silk to his lips, looping your hips around his, tugging him closer when you came again.

"fuck, baby, next time you cum, it's with my cock inside you." dark hair shields your face from katsuki's vision momentarily, your boyfriend leaning over you, searching his discarded coat for something, tugging it closer and pulling each pocket inside out.

your thighs slip from his hips as he moves, wincing as your thighs made contact with the icy stone instead of his warm skin.

"shit, i think i left the condoms in the backpack," sliding the empty jacket over your chest, you tuck it beneath your arms, clutching it close to you with one hand, the other waving your boyfriend off as he ventured back toward the entrance of the temple, your gaze lingering on his ass until he was out of sight.

another perk of godhood: the blessed ground was subject to the chosen gods whims. some gods had their temples in the centre of labyrinthian mazes, others had their temples impossible to find, buried beneath the earth or deep in the ocean, hidden between mountains, camouflaged in vegetation, some invisible until the winter solstice, or until the new moon. katsuki never quite cared for that, leaving his temple as his followers built it for him, not implementing challenges for believers to prove their dedication like others had, only protecting his hallowed ground. until now.

stone scrapes against stone harshly, the coarse sound painfully invading your ears as the temple entrance seals. you drop the jacket into your lap, rushing to shield your ears from the sound with your palms pressed hard to your ears, searching around the room for your boyfriend, for his protection, katsuki supposes, like a mortal man could save you from the god you summoned, from what you started.

stepping out from the dark corner, his figure casts a sharp, long shadow as he stands to his full height in front of the statue. like this, you look identical to the women he used to bestow his miracles on; splayed on his sigil, staring up at him with dewy eyes (your blown pupils imperceptibly widening when your gaze rakes over his large form, taking everything in; blond mess of hair, darting crimson eyes, ruffled shirt as he rushed to hold it in his mouth watching you get your cunt eaten, his still-unzipped pants and finally the impressive bulge of his cock), your lips parting when he finally relaxes his shoulders, now standing easily at the shoulder of his statue.

"you-re—" your eyes dart between the imposing statue and his steely face, your voice airy, wobbling slightly as you continued, "you're real?"

© all works belong to @k-atsukibakugou, @gwen0m, and dlirious on archive of our own, do not plagiarise, translate, repost, feed my works into ai or recommend my work on other platforms, or bind my fanworks for sale.

[cilliansmesoftly]

chase it

pairing: tyler owens x fem!reader

summary: tyler has been harboring a severe crush on the team’s new meteorologist, but he’s scared she’s smart enough to reject him.. why can’t he follow his own mantra?

warning: best friends to lovers, love confession, angst, kissing, one bed trope, virginity lost, steamy smut!

ੈ✩‧₊˚ she haunted his dreams, she plagued every thought running through his head. all the meaningless hookups he’s had could never compare to you, and he hadn’t even had you yet. he hasn’t had a kiss, hell, he hasn’t gotten more than a proud pat on the back from you. so why couldn’t he escape the hold you, unknowingly, had on him?

his entire brand was based on chasing fears. to not let it hold you back from the things you want most. tyler had you in some ways, at least. he had you as a best friend, his most trustworthy companion. the two of you got along so well, was it worth ruining?

he couldn’t bear the thought of losing you. he’d much rather have a tornado pick him up and throw him into the sky than risk you not being in his life. you were too important to the team, to the cause, and to him. you got offered the opportunity to prove your meteorology skills on the field rather than behind a computer, and you couldn’t pass it up. you risked your career for this, and tyler would be damned to be the one to take that from you just because of a silly, gut-wrenchingly painful crush.

the team was at a local motel in oklahoma after a long day of chasing. dozens of other teams were in the parking lot, tailgating. tyler could hear the strum of guitars, singing, and laughter outside the window of his room. it was small, it had a strange smell that he didn’t want to know the source of. his eyes were fixed onto the box tv sitting on the dresser before a knock was heard at the door.

tyler sighed before getting up, his legs and back sore from how hard he had rode the truck today. the poor red dodge was battered and beaten from debris and tyler’s body was slammed around in his seat, but god, he loved it. he loved the chase, the adrenaline, the thrill. he could do it all day everyday without so much as a thought of fear. however, his breath hitched in his throat when he opened the door to reveal you in all of your gorgeous glory.

“hey.” you sighed out with a small smile. tyler cleared his throat and opened the door wider to let you in from the cool springtime breeze. “the motel doesn’t have anymore rooms. i’ve talked to every employee and every manager i could find.”

“just stay with me.” he spit out fast and without thinking. you’re best friends, you love each other. what could go wrong with sharing a bed for one night?

“oh, thank you.” you sighed in relief and wrapped your arms around him, ty took a step back from the impact, but quickly recovered and took in as much of your touch as you would give to him. “you mind if i shower real quick?”

“no, go ahead. you got clothes?” he asked once she stepped out of the embrace. he would kill someone to see her in one of his shirts. he imagined it baggy on her frame, her legs out on display and barely anything underneath the fabric. he imagined himself running his fingers down the smooth, soft skin of your thigh as you cuddled into him.

“did you hear me?” you snapped yours fingers in front of his eyes with a smile etched onto your face. he shook his head to clear the thoughts and raised his eyebrows, silently telling you he did, in fact, not hear what she said. “i asked if i could borrow one of your shirts, if you don’t mind.”

“i don’t mind at all.” he said, walking around the bed to his duffel bag. he pulled out one of his favorite shirts, it was worn and comfortable, and he tossed it to you. you caught it with feeble hands, giving him a death stare. he knew you were clumsy and he used it to tease you any chance he could. he chuckled at you, watching as you just shook your head and walked into the small bathroom.

if his thoughts were running before you got here, now they were sprinting a full on triathlon. racing and branching off into a million different scenarios for how this night would go. maybe it wouldn’t go anywhere. maybe he’d put out the fire that was burning him alive, eating him up with desire. but maybe it would turn into something more. maybe he’d chase his feelings, maybe he’d ride this fear and turn it into everything he’s wanted since he met you.

if you feel it, chase it.

he repeated his tagline more than a hundred times in his mind. telling himself over and over and over. and in the middle of telling himself one last time, you stepped out of the bathroom and his breath was stolen from his lungs. your hair was wet and it was dripping onto his shirt that fit you so well. it suited you, wearing his clothes. it felt good, it felt normal.

“i feel so much better.” you smiled, climbing into bed. tyler was sat on the chair in the corner of the room and you frowned at how far away he was. “you coming to bed?”

tyler nodded and stood up, he pulled his shirt over his head and you swallowed. his abs were carved and chiseled, a deep v-line at the end of them, just above his belt and leading into his blue jeans. you had to stop yourself from staring before he caught you. he sat on the edge of the bed, his back facing you, as he pulled off his boots. you almost reached out to graze your fingers over the tanned skin of his back, but you caught yourself. you can’t fall for the face of your team, you told yourself. even if, at night when you were all alone, you imagined the two of you together. you thought about living together, chasing storms for a living and making the most out of chasing your fears, making the most out of life.

you thoughts were interrupted as tyler started to unbuckle his belt and pull his jeans down. you smiled when he caught you looking, so you tucked your face into the pillow on his side of the bed so he could undress.

“you can watch, darlin. you know i don’t mind.” you could hear the smirk in his voice and you shook your head against the soft pillow with a giggle.

“shut up.” your voice was muffled by the pillow, making tyler laugh under his breath. he pulled a pair of grey sweatpants out of his bag and slipped them on, collapsing on top of you on the bed. you groaned under his weight, trying to toss him off, but he wouldn’t budge. “ty, i can’t breathe.” you laughed out. he only snuck his hands around your waist, tickling your sides. you shrieked, your knees trying their best to buck tyler off of you. your laugh was music to his ears and his cheeks hurt from smiling so hard. he braced his legs to straddle you, so you couldn’t escape his unrelenting hands. you were wheezing, trying to toss and turn away from him.

tyler suddenly stopped and as you were trying to catch your breath, his lips met yours in a soft, but quick kiss. your eyes shot open and you gently pushed him off of you. tyler sighed, opening his mouth to apologize, but you cut him off.

“i can’t do this, ty.” the nickname falling from your lips made tyler feel like a child getting scolded for coloring on the walls.

“why not?” his voice was pleading, his eyebrows were pinched, making a cute little wrinkle appear on his forehead. you sighed, bringing your knees to your chest.

“because you’re my boss. you’re the leader of our team. i don’t want to jeopardize our relationship.” you shook your head. your brain was thinking clearly, logically. but your heart, on the other hand, was screaming at the top of its lungs, trying to get you to confess how you feel, how all you’ve ever wanted in life was someone like tyler. someone who makes you feel safe, secure. someone who would push you to live life to the absolute fullest, never letting fear take the wheel.

“we wouldn’t jeopardize it, y/n. i-i like the shit out of you, baby.” he dropped his head onto the bed in slight defeat before looking back up at you. “we can make it work.” his heart was pounding out of his chest, he was begging you to let this happen. he couldn’t face you if you didn’t.

“i-” you sighed, shoving your face into your hands. in and out, you breathed. thinking of every possible outcome that this could bring. “what about all of your other girls? the ones you take up to your room at night and never speak to again? are you gonna do that to me?”

“y/n, i would never to that to you.” he said lowly, taking your hands away from your face. your eyes were slightly watery and red-rimmed. his heart broke at the sight and vowed in his mind to never be the one to make you look like this again.

“how do i know that? you’re tyler owens. tornado wrangler, and known lady killer. how can i be sure that you won’t leave me for someone better?” you asked. you were honest in your questions, voicing every doubt you had, though there were only a few.

“there is no one better. there is no one that knows me better than you, y/n. no one who makes me laugh more, no one who makes me smile more, no one who can ground me like you, even in the face of a disaster.” he climbed to your side, taking your face in his hands to make you look at him. a slight tear fell down your cheek and tyler thumbed it away. you sighed, looking down while shaking your head.

“what if this isn’t a good idea?” you asked, your voice small and full of trepidation. he scoffed and pulled you closer, practically sitting in his lap now.

“i haven’t had an idea this good in a long time. you can vouch for that. most of the choices in my life aren’t very smart, but this one?” he tilted his head to meet your gaze. “i’ve had to build up so much courage and strength to even hint that i wanted this. i was scared.”

“you? scared?” you scoffed. “what’s all that talk about riding your fears then?”

“i guess i felt it… just took me a while to realize if i didn’t chase it, it’d slip from my fingers.” he kissed the top of your head and you leaned up to capture his lips. it was slow, gentle, telling him everything he needed to know about how you felt. you wanted this.

“you know, you took my breath away when i first met the team.” you said against his lips, and he groaned, leaning his forehead onto yours.

“all these months we’ve wasted, we could’ve had each other on the first day. i thought my legs were gonna give out when we picked you up at the airport. you were the most beautiful thing i had ever laid eyes on, baby.” his words made your heart ache, no one had ever said anything so sweet to you before and you knew were in good hands.

“no day with you is wasted.” you said, wrapping your arms around his neck and bringing him down to kiss you. you swiped your tongue on his bottom lip, begging to explore him. he didn’t even think before opening his mouth wider and intertwining his tongue with yours, massaging all around. he groaned into the kiss like this is all he’s ever wanted, which is true. his hands found your waist and pulled you under him. one of his knees were between your legs and the other was braces beside your right leg. he brought his knee up higher, allowing you to grind down on the soft fabric of his sweatpants. your mind was racing again, trying to find the right time to tell tyler. as if he could sense your thoughts, he pulled back slightly, panting.

“what’s wrong, baby?” he hand came up to caress your cheek and you leaned into his touch before hiding into his forearm. “what is it?”

“i’ve- i’ve never…" you trailed off with a frustrated huff. tyler didn’t catch your drift, looking at you with confusion, but also patience and admiration. “i’ve never done this before, ty.”

“oh,” he replied, and you sighed into his skin. “we can wait.”

“what?” you looked back at him, your brows furrowed slightly.

“if you want to wait, that’s okay. we don’t need to rush.” he said gently.

you thought for a moment. you trusted tyler with every bone and fiber of your being. there was no one else you thought would be more careful and gentle than him.

“can you teach me?” you looked at him with hopeful eyes and tyler had to hold back from bucking into you at your innocent expression. so cute, so sweet.

“yes, baby.” he sounded so sincere, proudly honoring the fact that he would be the first you trusted enough to guide you through this. “as much as i love how you look in my shirt, can i take it off?”

you nodded, but he tsked with a shake of his head.

“gonna need your words, sweetheart.”

“yes.” you breathed out, your body tingling in arousal and slight anxiety.

“relax.” he said into your ear before kissing your cheek. his fingers grazed your sides where his shirt had rode up on you, he slowly slid it up your body and over your head, tossing it onto the motel room floor. “i got you, okay?”

“okay.” you nodded.

“you’re breathtaking.” he whispered, leaning back to take you in. the valley between your breasts was beckoning him to kiss the skin, to mark his way all the way down the length of your body and all the way back up. “never seen anything so pretty.”

you blushed at his words, covering your face with your hands, but tyler whined and brought them back down.

“don’t hide from me, darlin.” he toyed with the hem of your panties. a simple cotton pair that had lace trim at the top, he looked up at you for approval before sliding them down your legs and into the pocket of his sweats. his body shivered at the sight of your perfect center, glistening in arousal. he brought his index finger up to gather some of the slick and spread it around your core, unabashedly licking the rest off his digit.

you moaned as he kissed your clit, swollen and pleading for attention. tyler cooed as you writhed underneath him. “gotta be still, honey.”

“can’t.” you breathed out, feeling his breath hovering right over you was torture. tyler laid his forearm over your belly, a firm pressure to keep you from moving. his mouth was all over you, sucking your clit, kissing the inside of your thighs. you were a whining, moaning mess. as you leaned up a bit to watch him, you caught him rocking his hips into the mattress. a filthy, heavenly sight that had you falling back with a cry of pleasure. he was getting himself off on eating you out and you couldn’t take it anymore. “ty, i’m close.”

“hold it, darlin’.” he ordered, prodding his fingers against your hole. “gotta get you ready for my cock, doll.”

you could’ve sworn you saw stars in your vision. the stretch was beautifully painful and your hands white-knuckled the sheets at the sensation. tyler was still working your clit and it took every ounce of strength you had not to come. he slowly let you get used to the feeling then added a second finger and you hissed, trying to pull back. “she’s a tight little thing,” tyler looked up at you. “not sure if i’ll fit in there.”

you gasped as he started to rut his digits into you, scissoring and stretching your walls to get you better fit for taking his cock.

“ty,” you breathed his name, already working up to your orgasm again. you were drunk off of his touch. it only got harder to hold off your climax as tyler brought your legs to sit over his shoulders, completely drowning himself in your slick. his eyes were closed, looking like the face of a man who hadn’t eaten in days. with a few more thrusts of his fingers and his lips working wonders on your clit, your walls clenched around him and your back arched off the bed. tyler groaned into you as you came, bringing you impossibly closer to his face. he worked you through your orgasm, licking up your slick and making he sure he got every last bit, almost too precious to waste.

“you taste like fucking candy.” he muttered, crawling up your body to plant a messy kiss to your lips. you could taste yourself on his lips and you swiped your tongue over his bottom lip before indulging in him. everything about tyler, you loved. you loved how the stubble of his cheeks felt against your chin and cheeks. you loved the way you could feel his cock against your tummy in his sweatpants.

“take them off.” you said against his lips, woozy from your orgasm and only driven by pure lust. your heels pushed back on the hem of his sweats and tyler laughed at your impatience.

he made a show of undressing. teasingly climbing off your body and tugging the material down his legs before stepping out of them. your mouth watered at the sight of him through his boxers, looking painfully hard. he smirked as he watched how your face dropped when he finally slipped off his underwear. you recovered quickly, sitting up on your elbows to beckon him to you.

he leaned down, kissing your ankles and dragging his tongue all the way to your belly before pressing a kiss there too, he made his way all the way to the valley of your breasts. his lips and tongue sucking marks onto your skin and his hands caressing your breasts.

“you’re such a tease.” you whined collapsing back onto the pillow in frustration. tyler laughed, laying his head down on your chest.

“i’m just enjoying this.” you raked your hands through his sandy blonde hair, relishing in the way he gazed so deeply at you. “need to cherish this.”

“if you don’t fuck me in the next two seconds i’ll call boone to come do it.” you said it with a straight face, fighting the sides of your mouth to not quirk up.

“don’t say that ever again.” he rumbled seriously, his big hands spreading your legs wider for him. “this is mine.”

“prove it.” you challenged. your dominance wavered as ty let the tip of his cock gather your arousal, hitting your clit as he rocked against you. he bent down to kiss you, trying to distract you from the stretch as he slowly pushed into your heat. “oh, dear god.”

“you got it, baby.” he pushed back the hair on your forehead, kissing your cheek sweetly. your hands found solace in his hair again, pulling at the root when he bottomed out. tyler groaned at the pain, already holding back from his own peak. “you feel so good.”

“y-you can move.” you encouraged, panting as if you were running a marathon. tyler slowly pulled out and pushed in, cherishing the sweet little sounds you let out before rocking into your hips faster.

the sounds of your wetness, the joint moans and groans coming from both of you, skin hitting skin, it all had your head feeling dizzy. you were so high on the moment. the adrenaline was coursing through your veins, you wished this could happen every night after a day of chasing.

“you’re doing so good, angel.” tyler’s voice broke you out of your thoughts and you cupped his cheeks to pull him into a kiss. your legs wrapped around his waist, ankles locking at the small of his back. the new angle forced him even further into you. tyler nipped at your bottom lip, his hips moving to the rhythm of their own song. “i’m getting close.”

“turn me around.” you gasped against his lips. tyler didn’t think twice before pulling out and turning you, hoisting you up so you were on your hands and knees for him. he marveled at the sight, slipping back into you easily. you both moaned at the feeling. ty was hitting your spot with every thrust and you had to muffle your loud noises with the pillow under your head.

“you’re all mine.” he growled into your ear, his hand gathering your hair into a makeshift ponytail and pulling you up so your back was flush against his chest. his left hand reached around your body to circle your clit and you had to fight the urge to collapse back onto the bed. your bodies had a slight sheen of sweat to them and the room started to feel stuffy and hot. “say it.”

“i’m yours.” you mumbled.

“look at you, cock drunk.” he teased, your walls were clenching him with every thrust and he was losing his pacing. you felt so good, better than he imagined. “you wanna ride me?”

you didn’t have to say anything, you felt him pull out and suddenly you were on his lap, rubbing his cock through your folds, your head thrown back in bliss. tyler could come right then. to know he was the one making you feel like this while looking like that. you looked like an angel had just fell down from heaven and landed in his lap. you lined him up with your entrance, the two of you watching as his cock disappeared inside of you. you started to bouncing on your feet, the spongy spot inside of you getting abused with every movement you made. your knees were buckling from the pleasure and tyler caught on, matching his thrusts with your movements. his hand was rubbing up and down your back, the intimacy of it all made your heart ache.

“i love you.” your lips spewed the words faster than you could think. tyler flipped the two of you back over, kissing your lips before leaning back. his rough hands, calloused from work, dragged up your thighs, to your calves bringing them up to rest on his shoulders, he hugged your legs so that his face was all cute and smushed between them. his hips never wavered and you were so, so close to your peak.

“i’ve always loved you.” you came just as soon as the words left his lips and he was right behind you. his cock twitched as he emptied everything he had inside of you, your legs fell off his shoulders and he collapsed onto you.

the next few minutes were spent catching your breath, fingers tracing skin, and sweet kisses.

“i’ll be right back.” tyler whispered against your lips, getting up and going into the bathroom. you cuddled against the duvet and watched him in awe. he came back with a wet rag, and he carefully spread your legs to clean up the mess you two had made. you hissed at the overstimulation and he kissed the inside of your thigh in apology. he threw the rag into the bathroom without even looking to see where it went and cuddled back in bed with you.

“i meant what i said.” you said quietly, you cheek pressed into his warm chest. “i love you, ty.”

“i meant it, too. ever since i first saw you, i knew it.” tyler’s fingers traced the skin of your back, drawing unknown shapes. “i’ve always loved you.”

“how in the hell are we gonna explain this to the team”? you shook your head against him. you could only imagine the looks on their faces when the two of you walk out of your room in the morning. the once best friends turned to lovers overnight.

“i’m pretty sure they all know.” he laughed under his breath. “i overheard boone and lily making a bet about when we would get together.”

“that’s what they were talking about?” your head shot up in shock and tyler smiled at the expression on your face. “well, lily knew i had a crush on you, like, months ago.”

“yeah?” he asked. “i told boone about mine, too.”

“i wonder who won the bet.” you giggled into his chest.

the room fell into a comfortable silence, you and tyler just enjoying each others presence before sleep finally took over you. tyler fell asleep soon after, your bodies intertwined and hands laced together.

the morning after, you and tyler got a text from boone about a huge cell forming a few miles from where you were. scrambling to get ready, the both of you walked out of the motel room to greet the team who all looked at each other with knowing smiles.

“don’t say anything.” you scowled at the team, who all shrugged like they didn’t know what happened. tyler smiled, his arm wrapping around you and slipping his hand into the back pocket of your jeans.

“sorry about the room thing, y/n.” boone apologized to you, but your brows furrowed.

“how did you know about that? you were asleep.” boone smiled and took a few steps back.

“i might’ve slipped the manager fifty dollars to tell you there weren’t any rooms so that you and ty would hookup.” he said sheepishly, his feet turned to be ready to run at any time. lily shot up from her seat on the tailgate of the truck.

“what?!” she shrieked. “you cheated, asshole!”

“you owe me some money, lil.” boone stuck his tongue out, but sprinted away as lily started running after him.

“welp,” tyler watched as his team went into full defense mood, trying to get each member on either boone’s side of logic or lily’s. “think the tornado will wait on them to stop fighting?”

“fat chance.” you leaned against his chest, looking up at him. tyler looked down and his heart melted at the sight of you. finally his girl is in his arms. he could swoon. “i think we owe boone a thank you.”

“how long do you think they’ll fight?” he didn’t even look over the bickering friends. his eyes were solely focused on you. “can i sneak you back into the room for a few minutes?”

you thought for a moment, watching boone and lily cuss each other like siblings before looking up at tyler. “yes sir.”

the two of you ran off, back to solace of the room, tornados to be wrangled, but you couldn’t care less. if you feel it, chase it.

[skatehani]

A message from Gaza🍉

Hello, free world. How can we make it easy for us to sleep when our family in Gaza is dying of hunger, thirst, and disease? I am Hani. My family lives in northern Gaza, where there is slow death and sleep without even simple food. Why? Because the price of vegetables is equal to the price of gold in Western countries, and more. I live in Belgium. This is more painful than living with them, because I do not fear their fear, nor do I hunger for them. This is in contrast to my little brother, who you expect is having fun and playing with the children, but in reality he was besieged when the occupation executed my father in a compound. Medical recovery, and my little brother witnessed this heinous crime and buried him with his own hands, which never enjoyed a day of peace. Do we really have to be silent after all this? Now, my request to you. I want you to support my campaign link to get the price of the arrangements to go to Egypt at the first opportunity. If I had the money, I would have taken them out when it was. The crossing is open, but my mother refused to let them leave in parts, as she said (if we can go to Egypt in one go, there is no problem if we go to God in one go). I ask the merciful world to share my campaign and publish it in your own way to reach the price of coordination for my family’s exit from the triangle of death.

[marcyvampire]

SILLY LITTLE BAT

pairings ⸺ Yandere! Platonic! Batfamily x Anti-Hero! Fem!reader.

sinopsis ⸺ In the shadowed halls of Wayne Manor, a girl lost among the darkness seeks the connection she never had. Her mother, a kleptomaniac with a broken heart, vanished, leaving only echoes of empty promises. Surrounded by a family that never sees her, her pain turns into a deafening silence. The void left by her past traps her in a limbo of solitude and sorrow.

One dark night, seeking her own way, she became what she once despised. Now, like the albino bat rejected by its own flock, she flies alone in the twilight. Her pale skin glows in the dark, but her heart still yearns for the warmth of a home she never came to know.

warnings ⸺ Dark Themes, Dead, murdering,Disturbing Content, Unhealthy Obsession, Discrimination, Violence, Blood, LGBT Content, Child Abuse, Kidnapping, Implicit Sexual Content, Mental Illness, Addiction, Suicide, Torture, Corruption, Isolation, Trauma, Phobias, Paranoia, Manipulation

A/N — English is not my first language—Spanish is—so there might be some grammar or spelling mistakes here and there. This is the first part of a story I’m writing for a friend (Isabel, I love you, you brat), and also an experiment to see what it’s like to write on Tumblr. Please support me! :"((

Nobody is coming to save you

Get up.

Your mother was not a good woman, and that was an undeniable fact, heavy as the shadow that covers Gotham City at nightfall. She was a creature of the underworld, one among the specters that wandered under the yoke of crime, walking among dangerous names like Selina Kyle or Harleen Quinzel, yet always remaining in the background, never reaching their fame or infamy.

She was nothing more than a kleptomaniac and a mythomaniac, doomed to live by cunning and deceit. She took advantage of the men who crossed her path, from the lowest criminals, like The Penguin, to the most powerful man in the city: Bruce Wayne.

You never called him Dad. To you, he was always Bruce, and on the rare occasions you addressed him, you did so with distant formality, "Mr. Wayne." Richard, your adoptive brother, found in him a father figure, while to you, he was just another shadow in the mansion, that huge, cold house you arrived at after your mother’s death.

You remember how, time and again, you tried to warn your mother to stop stealing, to stop lying, that those dark paths would inevitably lead her to Arkham Asylum, surrounded by all the lunatics you feared so much, or even worse: to death. But she always responded with a playful smile, stroking your head with her delicate hands, adorned with stolen jewelry and crude tattoos. "Those are just fantasies of an eight-year-old girl," she would say sweetly, while her ring-laden fingers assured you that you needn’t worry, "I will always come back for you," she promised, "because you are the only thing more valuable than any diamond I’ve ever held."

But the cruel truth was that was the last time you saw her. That night she left, and she never returned. It was then that the last vestiges of innocence faded with her absence. From that moment on, you ceased to be a child.

And that was one of the few things you understood with absolute clarity. There were no more empty promises, no more caresses tinged with lies. All that remained was the silence of a life fading away, like a stolen jewel that never returns to its rightful owner.

The only thing you knew after calling the police when your mother didn’t show up after two days was that they found her corpse in a back alley far from Gotham, showing signs of having been beaten and bruised by some underground gang.

Commissioner Gordon searched the entire house for illicit substances and signs of debts to mobsters, but he only ended up finding documents, stolen jewelry, and letters from your mother that were never sent, and most importantly, DNA evidence implicating that the city’s millionaire was your biological father.

From then on, your life was stained with eternal gray, that muted shade that erased all traces of light or shadow. There was no more white or black, only a silent fog that, day by day, enveloped you and dragged you into a madness that seemed inevitable. Gotham itself seemed more alive than the place you called home, although "home" was never the right word.

You didn’t love any of the Wayne family members. Bruce, your biological father, never listened to you. To him, you were always just another shadow, a ghost in the vast mansion that he prioritized over his other children, his "true" heirs. There was always something more important, something more urgent, and your presence faded among the cold walls and the echo of his hurried footsteps. With each passing day, you became more invisible to him, as if your very existence were a mistake he preferred to ignore.

Richard, the perfect brother, was kind on some occasions. He spoke to you courteously, but when you needed him, when you asked him to attend one of your performances, there was always an excuse, something that kept him away, as if your passion and accomplishments were insignificant details in his heroic life.

Jason, on the other hand, despised you from the start. He saw you as an intruder, a child of gold—but not of that pure and valuable gold, but of a dirty and false one, which he always mocked with disdain. And although you never cared for him, when he died, silent tears rolled down your face. It wasn’t out of love, but out of respect for what he represented, for the brutal reality of his fall.

Tim, in contrast, was the most indifferent. To him, you were a nobody, so irrelevant that you weren’t even worth a glance. Spending time with his friends or being the Robin of the moment mattered more than you did. You lived on his periphery, in a limbo where neither your name nor your face seemed to exist.

Cassandra, Stephanie, Barbara… at least they treated you with politeness, but you knew they didn’t really remember who you were. They saw you, smiled at you out of obligation, but deep down you knew they had no idea of your name, your story, your struggle to be more than a shadow in that world.

The worst of all was Damian, your younger half-brother. When he arrived at the mansion, Alfred introduced him to you with that serene formality he always had, and you, driven by an almost desperate impulse, tried to reach out to him. You wanted to offer him the support and affection of an older sister, that warmth you would have longed for in his situation. But all you received in return was a cold response: a katana piercing your abdomen. I wish I could say it was just a metaphor, but no, that wound was as real as the blade that cut your skin.

You would have liked to think that the pain was symbolic, that Damian had only rejected your affection with harsh words or his usual arrogance. But no, it was much more than that. The only thing you received in exchange for your attempt at fraternal love was a stab, a scar you still carry not only on your body but also in your soul. Because in that brutal gesture, you understood that the blood that united you also separated you, sharper than any weapon. And that was how you tried to connect.

You strived to stand out, to learn, to shine in your own ambitions, wishing that your success would be enough to earn you a place, a bit of affection. But no matter how hard you tried, it was never enough. Your talent crashed against indifference, your achievements faded into the air, as if they had no weight in the lives of others.

The only light, the only beacon in that storm of gray, was Alfred. The only one who smiled at you with genuine tenderness, the only one you truly loved. To you, he was the real father, the one who was always there, expecting nothing in return, offering you a silent but firm love. You did call him father, and his presence was the only thing that kept your sanity, the only thing preventing the gray from consuming you completely.

But even that love, so genuine and deep, was not enough to fill the void that your own family left you. And in that void, you continue to float, trapped between the girl you were and the woman you are trying to be, searching for a place you can truly call home.

Y/n's small room, though modest, had always been her refuge. The walls were adorned with unfinished sketches, trophies from various activities, and some paintings she had completed with dedication, showcasing her passion for both manual and performing arts.

The dawn light filtered softly through the curtains, bathing the space in golden tones, giving it a warmth that contrasted with the coldness of the rest of Wayne Manor.

On the desk, a small cake rested on a plate, simple yet made with love. Beside it, Alfred, with his usual understated elegance, watched Y/n with a mixture of nostalgia and concern. He, the only one who seemed to remember her birthday, offered her a delicate professional drawing set, wrapped in smooth, elegant paper.

"Happy birthday, Miss," Alfred said with a gentle smile, although his eyes reflected a sadness that was hard to conceal. "I know how much you love art, so I thought this would be helpful for your new projects."

Y/n took the gift in her hands with a genuine smile. It had been so hard for her to find moments of joy lately, but Alfred's gesture filled her with a warmth in her chest that she hadn't experienced in a long time. She placed the gift into one of the many brown boxes she had prepared for her upcoming move.

"Thank you, Alfred. It's perfect," she said, examining the set carefully, as if each detail were a reminder of the affection he held for her. "It will help me a lot... although, well," she sighed, as if searching for the right words. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that." Alfred raised an eyebrow, attentive, as she continued, glancing at the small space that had been her home within the vast mansion.

"Today... today is not just my birthday. It's the day I leave here." Her voice was firm, yet there was a sense of liberation in it, as if this were a long-awaited step. "I am finally no longer a Wayne. I go back to being a L/n."

Silence filled the room for a moment, heavy and dense. Alfred clasped his hands, striving to maintain his composure.

"Miss, I can't help but feel a certain unease hearing this. Are you sure this is what you want? This house, though empty in many ways, has always been your home..."

"Home?" Y/n looked at him with a mix of sadness and determination. "This house has never been my home, Alfred. Not like it was for Dick, nor even for Bruce. I have always been a stranger here, the daughter of a woman who never fit into this world, the bastard child. My mother taught me to find my own path, to not cling to what doesn’t belong to me... and being here, being called Wayne, has never belonged to me." Alfred sighed softly, turning his gaze toward the window. He knew there was truth in her words, but that didn’t lessen the pain of her leaving. "I know it’s hard to understand," Y/n continued, "but for the first time in a long time, I feel happy, Alfred. I’ve graduated, college is just around the corner, and I want to start anew. I want to find what truly makes me, me... not what others expect of me."

The old butler remained silent for a few moments, nodding slowly. He knew he couldn't retain her, that it was not his place to interfere in the young woman's dreams. But still, he couldn’t help but feel a pang in his heart at the thought of the house being even emptier without her. "I just wish you find what you’re looking for, Miss. And if you ever need a place to return to... this door will always be open for you."

Y/n stepped closer to him, gently hugging him, something she had rarely done. "Thank you, Alfred," she whispered against his shoulder. "You will always be my family, but I need this. I need to discover who I am outside of this last name."

The old butler felt the lump in his throat as he tightened the embrace a little longer before letting her go. He knew that deep down, she was doing the right thing. But that didn’t make it hurt any less to see her leave.

"Alfred, can you call the movers? I’ll be leaving tonight," Y/n said as she closed the last box with trembling hands, her gaze lost in the empty corners of the room she once considered her refuge. The butler, ever serene, nodded with his unwavering calmness.

"Don't worry, Miss, I assure you they will be here on time." His voice was soft, almost an echo of the ancient walls of the mansion, as if he himself were part of that structure that had seen so many comings and goings, so many lives broken and healed in silence.

Alfred turned halfway to leave, but Y/n's voice stopped him, broken yet sweet, like a melody at sunset. "Alfred..."

The man turned slowly, his eyes filled with paternal warmth, though always contained behind a formal gesture. "Yes, Miss?" he replied, with that tranquility that had always brought Y/n peace in her worst moments.

She took a breath, feeling how the words she had kept for so long fought to come out, to break the shell she had built since childhood. "I’ve never told you, but... thank you. Thank you for being the father I never had, for being there when no one else was."

For a moment, the silence in the room was heavier than all the accumulated boxes, deeper than any word. Alfred, who had been a witness to so many confessions and secrets in that house, stood still, his eyes shining with an emotion he rarely showed. "Miss," he murmured, his voice slightly choked, "it was an honor and a privilege to take care of you. If I ever gave you anything close to what you deserved, then my life has had true purpose."

Y/n smiled sadly, nodding slowly. "You did, Alfred. You did. And for that, I will always carry you with me, even if I leave here."

The butler slightly bowed his head in respect, swallowing any emotion that might betray his composure. "Wherever you go, you will always have a home here, Miss."

"I know," she said, though in her heart, she knew she wouldn’t return.

And as Alfred left the room to make the call, Y/n let out a long sigh, as if with it, she were leaving behind a part of herself, a part she could no longer carry with her.

Life in Gotham is like constantly walking on the edge of a razor blade. The city never sleeps, always alert, always dangerous, and for someone with the Wayne surname, the risks multiply. It has been a year since you left the mansion, trying to erase any ties that bound you to that life, desperately wishing the name would fade into the echo of the dirty streets and crumbling buildings. But it's not that easy. The name Wayne remains an indelible mark that the media and the people of Gotham refuse to let fade. The forgotten child, the silent accident of billionaire Bruce Wayne. And although you try to live as if you don’t exist under that shadow, the weight of the legacy haunts you.

You left with little, barely enough money to rent a small apartment in one of the worst corners of the city. You share the space with a friend, a plant-loving girl who has filled every nook of the place with leaves and pots, as if trying to make green defy the constant darkness of Gotham. You get along well with her; her love for nature is almost an antithesis to the chaos of the city, and she has taught you that even in the hardest concrete, something can bloom. She always accompanied you on the coldest, loneliest nights, giving you a warmth that, although ethereal, was very welcome. But still, life is not easy. You barely survive, spending the little you have on cheap food and paying the rent. There are days when the cold seeps through the poorly sealed windows, and you wonder if it was really better to be in the mansion instead of this little trench. However, you prefer this rough freedom to the soulless luxury of Wayne Manor.

Freedom, however, comes at a price. It wasn't enough to distance yourself, to change your life, or even to always carry a knife for defense. Gotham does not forget. People recognize you in the shadows, whisper your name, and approach you, sometimes with curiosity and other times with disdain. You have been beaten more than once. Some just for being a Wayne, others because they think they can extort you, even though they have no idea you can barely get by. The scars on your body bear witness to those beatings, but you refuse to give up. You get up every morning, despite the pain, and continue on your way. You don’t need Batman. You don’t need Bruce. You learned long ago that he wouldn't come to save you.

That night, like so many others, you were heading to the subway for your night shift, with the hood of your coat covering your face, trying to go unnoticed. The sound of the tracks echoed in your ears, a constant reminder of the city's hustle. You had gotten used to walking fast, avoiding eye contact, as if each step was a small battle won against the city. But this time, something was different.

"So it was true, the little Wayne girl is roaming the city... how lovely." The raspy, mocking voice rang out beside you, cutting through the heavy air of the train station. The man speaking wore a suit that, at first glance, seemed elegant, but there was something about his extreme thinness, his skin clinging to his bones and his disheveled hair, that made him look more like a specter of Gotham than a distinguished figure. A ghost from the shadows that had stalked you since you set foot on the streets.

If it weren't for his gaunt appearance and unsettling aura, you might have mistaken him for one of your father's employees. "I'm not a Wayne anymore," you said disdainfully, your voice sharp like the edge of a dagger refusing to be touched. "If you want money, I don’t have any. And Mr. Wayne wouldn’t give a cent for me either."

Your gaze drifted to the station clock. 8 minutes until the train that would take you away from this corner of Gotham, far from the shadows and faces that always seemed to recognize you.

The man let out a dry, raspy laugh that sent chills down your spine. "I don’t want your money, pretty girl," he replied, moving closer, invading your space with the same familiarity that Gotham’s filth slipped into every corner. "You’re worth more than that." You felt his calloused, scarred hand rest on your hip, with a pressure that was neither violent nor friendly. The contact filled you with disgust.

7 minutes.

You clenched your fist, your jaw tight as you struggled to maintain your composure. "I don’t want sex either, idiot," you spat, your words loaded with contained fury. Your hand subtly slid toward your bag, where your knife lay, waiting to be used.

6 minutes.

The man didn’t flinch. In fact, he let out a low, mocking laugh. "And I don’t want that either, little girl," he murmured, his cold, deep blue eyes scrutinizing you as if they could read every dark corner of your soul. "I want something more from you."

5 minutes.

"What do you want then?" you asked, forcing yourself to keep your voice steady, even as the ice of fear began to creep down your spine. Your eyes scrutinized him, searching his gaze for any hint of his true intentions, but all you saw was darkness.

4 minutes.

He let out a long, chilling laugh, tightening his grip on your hip. "Do you know what I want, Y/n?"

3 minutes.

His voice dropped, as if his words were a cursed secret the wind refused to carry away. "I want you."

2 minutes.

The world seemed to stop. You knew there was no time to run. There was no time to pull out the knife or to scream. It was as if the clock itself had conspired against you, reducing those last minutes to mere seconds.

1 minute.

The blow was sharp, a flash of excruciating pain at the back of your head. The cold metal of the station, the hum of the city, everything faded abruptly. The last thought that crossed your mind, before the world vanished into darkness, was that this time, you didn’t expect Batman to save you. It wasn’t a mere thief or a street threat that was taking you.

Gotham, with all its cruelty, always had new ways to remind you that there is no escape.

That night, when the Gotham subway stopped at the station, there was no one to pick up.

The mansion felt emptier than ever, like a deserted and cold labyrinth, where each hallway seemed to stretch into an infinite tunnel, devouring the light.

The silence was overwhelming, an oppression that enveloped every corner, as if even the ancient walls had run out of words. It was so heavy that the few who remained in the mansion couldn’t help but move uncomfortably, trying to fill that void with something, anything.

Bruce Wayne walked through those same hallways with a strange feeling, as if something was missing, though he didn’t know what. An unease, a persistent discomfort that he couldn’t shake off.

He had been like this for months, with that absence haunting his mind, a gap he couldn't identify. And then, suddenly, like a gust of icy wind, the truth struck him.

You.

His daughter.

His little daughter.

How long had it been since he last saw you? When was the last time he heard your laughter, the one that always seemed too sarcastic, too filled with resentment? He stopped abruptly, frowning. Why couldn’t he remember you? He couldn’t bring to mind a clear image of your face, not even how you used to look at him... why? How could he have forgotten you like that?

Damn.

It was as if time had stopped. It had been a year, maybe more, since he had really thought about you. He felt a pang of guilt pierce his chest, a heavy, silent guilt that dragged him into the abyss of his own negligence. Not knowing what else to do, he began to check the rooms, one after another.

Each door he opened was another blow to his conscience. Where was your room? The more he searched, the more confused he felt. The mansion was enormous, but how could he have forgotten where you slept? How was it possible that he didn’t know where you lived in the house where both of you grew up? Had you been here all this time?

Each door he opened was identical to the last, as if all the rooms had fused into one.

None showed a trace of you.

None seemed to have a hint of your presence. Didn’t you decorate your room? He thought frantically, didn’t you even mark it as yours? Panic began to take hold of him. Anxiety wrapped around him like a fist tightening on his chest. Were you still living in the mansion? Or had you left without saying a word, like a shadow fading at dawn? But... no, you hadn’t mentioned anything. You hadn’t said you were leaving. Or had you? And if you had, why didn’t he remember? How could he have ignored you for so long that now he didn’t even know if you were still under the same roof?

“Ah!” he exclaimed in a whisper, unable to contain the dread he felt.

Frustration consumed him from within. He stopped in the middle of the hallway, breathing heavily, and the echo of his voice faded into the empty walls. He tried to remember something, anything about you, about the last time they spoke, about how you were... but everything was blurry, as if his mind was betraying him, hiding you behind an impenetrable fog.

How could he have forgotten so much?

He brought his hands to his head, trying to calm himself, but only felt more confusion, more desperation. The mansion, which had once been his home, now felt like a strange and foreign place.

Had you been the one who made it feel like home? The question echoed in his mind, but he had no answer. Just more questions. More uncertainties. Finally, he let his arms fall, exhausted. He had checked almost all the rooms and had found not a trace of you. Not a clue. Not a sign that you had been there. And at that moment, something dark and painful began to settle in his heart.

Had you ever really been there?

Then something caught his attention as he passed by the cleaning room. In a dusty corner, next to a forgotten bag, something was protruding. Something small, old, and faded. He bent down and pulled it from the dirty clothes. It was a stuffed animal, or what was left of one. The faded black of its suit left no doubt. It was a figure of Batman, but worn down by time, battered to the point of looking forgotten.

Bruce's eyes were fixed on the small piece of fabric hanging from the doll's neck. A tag.

Your name.

Your name, handwritten, in ink that was already fading.

Bruce felt a lump in his throat, a mix of guilt and rage. How could he have forgotten something so important?

He clutched the doll tightly, as if doing so would return a piece of you to him, but instead of comfort, he only felt more emptiness. Where were you? He ran to Alfred, who looked at him with a mix of concern and pity.

"Alfred..." Bruce said, his voice breaking. "Where is she? Where is my daughter?"

The butler, with his always serene face, seemed to age suddenly. A long silence settled between them, as if time was fading away. "Mr. Bruce, I didn’t mean to..." Alfred lowered his gaze. "I didn’t want to burden you with that truth, but... it’s time you know."

Bruce felt a chill run down his spine. Truth? What truth?

"She left almost a year ago. She didn’t say where. She just... she took all her belongings, though they weren’t many, and left. She said she didn’t want to be a burden. That you and the other family members had too many things to worry about."

Bruce took a step back, as if the words had physically struck him. Did she have enough age to leave? A burden? Never, not for a second, did he think that of you, of his little daughter who, even though she wasn’t wanted, he embraced under his wing just like Damian.

You were never a burden.

...or were you?

No, he refused to acknowledge it; he just... he hadn’t spent time with you because Gotham needed him!

But when you needed him, where was Batman?

Where was Bruce Wayne when his only biological daughter needed him?

"Alfred, do you know anything about Y/n?" the hero asked, worry clear on his face.

Alfred didn’t look at him; he only stared into nothingness. "...I haven’t heard anything about her for two months...

And honestly... I'm starting to think...

that she might be lost to us forever..."

A/N — This is definitely apart from being my first official Tumblr post, it is also my first DC post and especially the first from the Lord of the Night xD

Don't hesitate to ask me anything if you want.

Isabel, I dedicate this to you, my love. Eat more to be well, you fucking anorexic, don't suck.

take a bath!

inspiration: @acid-ixx with his Again & Again series, @gotham-daydreams' work, @i-cant-sing's work and @klemen-tine's work, be sure to check them out!

[gojotojis]

waiting room…—ryomen sukuna

cw: depression, grief, cheating, unrequited, bestfriends, mentions of cancer, loss of appetite, angst

Sukunas far from kind, he’s harsh and rough around the edges but you love him all the more for it. Your mothers were bestfriends so naturally you two became bestfriends. Just two kids finding comfort in eachother.

From Sukuna holding your hand your first day of kindergarten, to him showing you how to ride a bike, to him carrying you when you fell off the monkey bars and broke your arm to him holding you in his arms when your mom died.

You two were inseparable, inevitable and Infinite.

Death however is unavoidable and after your mom, it created a wedge between you two.

It wasn’t suppose to happen but you got so lost in your grief, so lost that someone else became his person. Now it feels like you’re grieving the loss of two people even when one of them is so close.

Choso frowns at the bags under your eyes as he wraps an arm around you. You sink into his warmth, just needing to feel someone.

“You okay?” He asks and it’s something everyone’s been asking for months, a question you can’t answer honestly without sobbing. You feel broken, shattered beyond repair because the person you loved most in the world is gone.

“Yeah” you say swallowing the lump in your throat as he guides you to the backyard. You look like utter shit in pink sweats that are far too big but you love feeling hidden from the world.

He slides the door open and lets you out first, you can hear the laughter which stops as eyes fall on you. Yuki looks sad for you which you hate, the last thing you want is pity.

“Hey”Yorozu says, the first one to break the silence as you avoid looking at the one person you find yourself crying out for every night.

“Hi” you whisper.

“You look like shit” he says, it makes you want to smile but you don’t. Yorozu stares between you two, as you look at him. His red eyes threatening to pull you out from under and drown you in them.

You’re not sure why your feelings changed, why one day Sukuna went from the boy that you wanted to do everything with to the man you wanted to be in love with. You were gonna tell him, even if it ruined everything but then your mom died and suddenly you needed him more than ever.

Sukunas always looked at you but he’s never seen you.

You’ve seen the way Yorozu holds his hand, the way she looks at him like he’s the world to her. It’s painful, like you’re fighting for your last breath but eventually you have to stop breathing, stop fighting for him and let him go. He was never yours to begin with.

“How are you?” Yorozu asks as you take the seat between Choso and Yuki. You don’t hate her, what’s the point but you know she’s not fond of you. All pictures of you had been removed from Sukunas Instagram, he stopped wearing the friendship bracelet you made him with your initials and he stopped calling.

He’d erased you faster than you could blink, erased and replaced. Your clothes feel too tight as you blink back the stupid tears that threaten to spill.

“Good” you answer and she hums to herself, getting up to sit in Sukunas lap. You already regret coming but Choso has been begging for weeks for you to stop by. Your dad drowns himself in work so it’s just you all by yourself most days and it’s suffocating. Your tears feel like an endless sea, just wanting everything to stop.

It’s so strange how the one person you could tell everything to, seems like the one person you can’t bring yourself to talk to.

He’s breath taking without even trying, muscles bulging from under his black shirt with tattoos etched into his skin. Strands of pink hair fall over his forehead, making you want to push them back.

“Can we talk?” He asks, his eyes pinned on you and it suddenly it’s like everyone’s disappeared.

You nod and he stands to his full God fearing height. Everything about him oozes masculinity and intimidation, it’s funny to think once upon a time you had been taller than him.

Yorozu looks uneasy as he leads you into the house and slides the door shut.

“You been eating?” He asks, genuine concern on his face.

“Yeah” you lie, eating is incredibly hard and when you force yourself to, it simply comes back up.

“You’re a shit liar” he says walking toward the kitchen and you follow. You take a seat on a stool at counter as he pulls out strawberry jam and peanut butter. He washes his hands and grabs two slices of bread, placing them on a plate. You watch him spread the peanut butter on one slice and the jelly on another before he combines them and cuts it diagonally. He slides it over to you, and you feel tears gather in your eyes.

You had forgetten your lunch in your mom’s car your first day of kindergarten, which was Sukunas first day of second grade. He pulled out a strawberry and peanut butter jelly sandwich his mom had made him and offered it to you. You gave him one slice and you both ate in a comfortable silence. From that day on, it became your comfort food.

You offer him your other half which he just stares at and you shove it toward him. He grabs it and takes a bite making you smile, your stomach rumbles as you take a hesitant bite.

Maybe it’s because he made it, but your body accepts it and it settles in your belly.

“Next time I’ll shove it down your fucking throat” he threatens as you take another bite.

“Thank you” you whisper staring up at him. His thumb grazes your lip, wiping jelly from it. You watch him lick the same jelly from his finger and your breath hitches. He doesn’t think much of it but the action burns your insides.

You have to let him go. Your friendships slowly dying, maybe it’s for the best to sever it altogether.

You feel like a wounded animal begging to be put out of its misery. Why is this so agonizing?

The day Sukuna told you he had a girlfriend felt like the day the world ended, you felt ashamed to have bawled your eyes out till they were swollen shut. The pain in your chest was agonizing, and suddenly he was gone too.

“Talk to me” he says, it’s more like a plea as his eyes soften. It’s hard to look at him without seeing her, imagining her lips on him, her hands…the idea of them having sex makes you want to sob until your eyes bleed and your throats too raw to speak.

“There’s nothing to really say” you answer.

“Bullshit. You don’t answer my texts, you don’t call, I’m giving you a hand and you won’t fucking take it. Just let me help you” he says frustrated.

“I don’t want to argue”you sigh.

“You’d have to care to argue” he says and you frown. If he thinks you don’t care then he doesn’t know you at all because you care so fucking much that it’s consuming you, he’s consuming you.

“Yorozus waiting” you say climbing down from the stool.

“I miss you,” he says and you still. He sounds too soft, not like the Sukuna you know who hates feelings and the concept of love. You don’t understand what he’s doing with Yorozu but maybe this is it, maybe she brings out this side in him.

The words want to come out but you can’t say them, yearning for someone that doesn’t feel the same is pointless. Maybe this is where your friendship dies, where you can finally be free of the ache that burns in your chest when he’s not there and the suffocation that consumes you when he is.

“Night Sukuna” you say walking away from him.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Waiting room by Phoebe Bridgers plays in your earbuds as you lay curled in the grass above your mother’s grave.

I know it's for the better

Know it's for the better

Know it's for the better

You feel like a fucking shell of yourself, lungs collapsing and heart shattering. Choked sobs leave you as your hand reaches out to touch the stone.

Her dying destroyed you as much as watching her wither away, the chemo draining her, the hair loss, pale skin, hollow cheeks. Nobody should have to watch the person they love most slowly die.

She never stopped smiling when she saw you, when you’d curl into her side and thread your fingers into hers and listen to her recount the stories of your childhood.

“I love you bigger than the whole sky” her last words to you.

A pair of familiar air maxs step infront of you, a red heart shoelace threaded through the right shoe that matches the one on the left of your converse. A gift you gave him for Valentine’s Day in the first grade. He has dozens of them from every year but it’s his favorite no matter how worn and dirty it looks. The first gift you ever gave him.

He disappears from your vision, after a few seconds you feel him lay down beside you and wrap his arms around you. He holds you while you cry. He feels like home, his body so warm against yours as his arms wrap tighter around you. His lips press against your temple and you feel like the biggest piece of shit.

You’ve pushed him away and despite it he’s here. How’d this beautiful friendship become so twisted, so confusing and painful. You sob harder, not just for your mom but for the friendship that’s ruined because you can’t control the way your heart thumps at the sight of him, the way your knees go weak and hearts form in your eyes.

You turn to face him, his hold loosens to wipe your tears as you stare at him like he holds the entire universe in his hands. He’s so painfully fucking beautiful, it’s a punch to the lungs the way his lashes brush his cheeks as he blinks at you and those red eyes consume you.

He’s consumed you, your hearts carved out so much space for him that it’s his. You don’t think it’ll ever stop being his. He kisses your nose and your eyes close, feeling him take the earbud from your left ear and put it into his.

Wildflower by Billie Eilish plays as his fingers brush through your hair. There’s nothing between you, bodies pressed together, foreheads touching, breaths intwining.

Kiss me.

He pulls away when something wet hits both your cheeks, several drops fall on you and he’s pulling you up as it starts to rain.

He guides you out of the cemetery, you don’t say anything as you pull away from his grasp.

“Get in the car” he says as rain beats against his skin.

“I’ll walk” you shake your head, shoving your earbuds into your pocket.

“What changed?”he asks and you blink up at him through drops of water clinging to your lashes.

“What?”.

“You can barely look at me anymore, I wish you’d just fucking talk, scream even because this shit is killing me” he says louder over the rain.

“I gotta go,” you say walking away.

He grabs you, pulling you toward him. Both his hands grip the sides of your face, and there’s this desperate look in his eyes you’ve never seen in all your twenty years of knowing him.

“I’m right here, I’m right fucking here” he says pressing his forehead to yours, making the air leave your body.

“It’s you and me, just talk to me” he begs. You can’t talk to him, you can’t bring yourself to say the words as your arms wrap around his neck. Your eyes close and you press your lips to his, it sends a current that courses through your body like you’ve been electrocuted. Your pupils dilate, goosebumps form on your arms and your toes tingle.

He doesn’t react as you pull away.

“I’m sorry” you say prepared to run, feet turning you away from him until his hand grips the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair and his lips slam against yours.

His teeth sink into your bottom lip and you gasp. His tongue grazes yours, making your knees go weak and fingers grip his soaked shirt.

His mouth moves against yours like he’s starved, his tongue makes your mouth its home as you fight for air. Deep gasps between kisses as his free hand squeezes your waist. Rain falls around you, droplets rolling off your skin and you don’t seem to care.

His hands move to grab your cheeks, mouth devouring yours. You don’t want this to end, he tastes like all you’ve ever wanted. Your thighs squeeze, the kissing sending pure heat to the very center of you.

He pulls away allowing you to breathe properly, lips swollen and glossy mixed with saliva and rain. His forehead presses against yours and you lean into kiss him again but he shakes his head.

I love you.

“I can’t, we can’t” he breathes and your eyes water.

Yorozu.

“I know” you say offering a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. You stand on your tippy toes and kiss his cheek before you walk away, leaving him in the rain.

Two things are true.

You love Sukuna and you need to let him go.

[goodbird1]

My firecracker

Alastor x fem reader

Word count: 634

Summary: Charlie learns about Alastor wife.

Warnings: mention of death and murder (please tell me if I miss any)

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Alastor stood on a balcony overlooking the city. The hotel was celebrating for some reason or another he didn't particularly care. Reaching into his coat pocket he pulled out a locket. Unclasping it reveals an image of a woman.

“I thought doing this would make me feel better in some way, or at least dull the pain for the time being” Alastor began, looking down at the locket. “It was foolish of me to think that would happen. It's happening all over again, and I don't think I have a chance to see you again.”

Tears started swelling in his eyes. Quickly pulling out a handkerchief and wiping them away.

“You know I always took you as someone who likes entertainment and parties are pretty entertaining” Charlie said coming out on the balcony.

“Oh I'm just getting some fresh air, it's far too stuffy in there” Alastor replied, shoving the locket back in his coat. Not before Charlie notices.

“What's that?” Charlie said, reaching out.

Instinctively Alastor slapped Charlie's hand away, holding the locket even closer now. Towering over her with a cruel look on his face, he saw the fear in her eyes. Normally he'd relish in it but this was no sight he wanted to see on charlie. Signing he pulled out the locket again shifting it through his fingers.

“My apologies dear,” he said, turning back to the city. “I didn't mean to snap, it's a locket with my wife's photo in it, it's the only thing I have left of her.”

“You never told me you were married,” Charlie said, coming to Alastor's side.

“I don't much like to talk about it” Alastor signed.

“Can I ask, what was she like?” Charlie questioned.

“Oh she was wonderful” He began. “She was a firecracker, always 3 steps ahead of everyone. Beat you in any game and once you thought you had the upper hand she'd pull the rug right out from your feet. She was kind and considerate, and believed in second chances. She'd taught me that. And oh she could sing like an angel. I would play the piano, she would sing and the world would fade away.”

“She sounds amazing, you know maybe if you redeem yourself you can see her again in heaven!”

“Haha oh darling, anybody worth knowing comes down here!” Alastor said between laughs. “She would always tell me she would rather burn in hell with me than sit alone in heaven. Did you know that our fathers decided to put us together to ‘contain our unnatural behavior’? And she came up with a plan to kill both our families and then burn the evidence! Oh it was then I knew she was the one.”

Memories started flooding back when they were both alive and then both died. But this time they didn't hurt so much now.

“What happened to her?” Charlie asked, bring Alastor back to reality.

“The first or the second time?” Alastor joked trying not to spiral.

“Both?” She whispered hesitantly.

“The first time she was in a tree, mistaken for a bird and shot down the fall was what killed her. The second time…” Alastor choked clutching the locket for dear life. Clearing his voice he started again. “Well you don't make it as far as I have without making a few enemies. They sent her back in pieces.”

“That's awful!” Charlie exclaimed.

“No need to worry they won't hurt anyone now.” Signing, he stepped away from the edge. “Come on dear, let's join the party.”

“Hey Al, can I ask one more thing?”

“And what would that be?”

“Do you think she would have liked the hotel?”

Turning fully around to face Charlie. A kind smile across his face with a hand reaching out for her.“Oh she would love it.”

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[redflagshipwriter]

Mamabat- enter Jason 1/2

MASTERPOST

The air was different with Cass, now. Danny felt a little anxious as he followed her to the study after breakfast. Something about her was serious-determined-protective. 

She always felt protective towards him. That was why he'd followed her in the first place. Some ghosts lied, but they couldn't do it with their aura. He knew what she really felt for him. 

“Sit?” She asked him. She gestured at the big squashy chair. Danny did without complaint. Cass perched behind him and started dragging her fingers through his hair, relaxing him.

Man. She was good at this. Top tier mothering, right here. Danny went limp. 

“I'm worried,” Cass broke the silence. She didn't sound worried. She never really did. Her voice was quiet and serious, but still kind. Her thumbs dug into his scalp. He pushed his head back against it. Bliss. “Barbara made you sad. Because you miss your sister?”

Danny tensed. 

‘I should have figured that Batman would track me down.’

Maybe he had known, if he was honest with himself. It didn't hit him like a shock.

“Tim thinks your name is Fenton,” she added, brutally sensible as always. And yup, that was it. No point in denying it. “Declared dead. In danger?”

He sucked in air through his teeth. He wasn't going to lie to her. 

“Worried,” she repeated. 

He thought about it. He really did. Danny bit his lip. 

She was liminal. That probably meant she'd come really close to death, in at least one sense of the word. Would that mean she was desensitized to it, or extra paranoid?

…It was hard to imagine Cass over or under reacting to a possible danger. She was just so steady. But would she see him as a possible danger if she knew what he was, what he really was? 

He could feel it out before he took a plunge with the whole truth.

Maybe it was wrong. Maybe it was invasive. She didn't seem to realize that she was liminal. That meant she definitely didn't realize how much she was communicating to him under her words and gestures. 

But Danny deliberately tuned into her quiet aural communication and tested the waters. “Tim is right, I'm Danny Fenton,” he said. He knew he was too tense. She would definitely feel it. But what could he do about that? He was nervous. “I… Maybe I did die.”

Her heart dropped to her stomach. He could feel the crush of grief on her heart. 

But it didn’t wash away the thudding repetition of love-protect-my darling. There was no suspicion, no guilt, no fear. It was just pain for his sake, with no calculation about how to solve a sudden problem. 

God. He wanted so badly for that to have been how his parents reacted. His eyes started to sting.

Danny sniffled. He thought it was safe to tell her. “I died,” he corrected, and he knew he was right when Cass made a little wounded sound and leaned her body into him, aiming to comfort. “Not then, but a couple years ago. I’m different now, and it’s uh… It’s dangerous to be this way.”

“Affects?” Cass asked quietly. She started to pet his hair again. “Mood? Health?”

“...Huh,” he said, because that was a sensible question he hadn’t expected. If he really thought about his mood and emotions before and after the accident: “Yeah, uh, there’s sometimes a mood thing. I might be a little more aggressive than I was before? And I can get kind of intense sometimes.”

He had thought that was basically just a reaction to having a whole bunch of new threats in his life. But would pre-electrocution Danny have been able to actually stand and fight Skulker? He had genuinely been afraid of the jocks. Maybe… Maybe he was different. Sure, Sam and Jazz were up for shooting ghosts with Fenton tech. Would he have been if he was just human? 

…He didn’t really think so.

Oof. Well, that wasn’t exactly great for his sense of self.

Cass shook him lightly. “Health?” she repeated.

Danny forced down that revelation to deal with later. He didn’t like acknowledging that he was kind of a chicken by nature, but historically, there wasn’t much evidence of bravery pre-mortem. “Uh, my heart rate is really slow, body temp is low, so I can’t really afford to go to a doctor for a checkup,” he said. “Uh, sometimes I’ve got none at all and my hair turns white.” He paused there. That was- that was enough, yeah? He was going to be honest with her because she deserved honesty from him. But that didn’t mean he had to explain the whole great beyond and his inhuman status.

“Sounds like Jason,” Cass said, after a long silence.

Danny short-circuited. “Wait, what?” He craned to look at her. “Who?”

Cass darted forward to kiss his forehead. “Little brother,” she said cheerfully. “Want to meet him?”

Uh, yeah. Danny nodded vigorously, wondering what the hell she was on about. “Do you mean he died?” 

“Died,” Cass agreed, getting out her phone and tapping away at it rapidly.

“Not like, heart stopped for a minute on the operating table and he was revived, or what?” Danny pressed.

“Dead in the ground, came back later,” Cass said. “Dead for months. Now, very crabby.”

Danny balked. “What?”

“White hair too,” she said. Then her face did something funny. “I think he dyed it recently,” she said. 

Danny huffed a laugh. “If it’s the same thing as mine, you can’t dye it.” He saw her look over his head for white streaks. He didn’t correct her line of thought.

He hadn’t thought that anything could top the anticipation of meeting Batman. But Danny had to admit the rest of the day was a wash. Apparently Jason couldn’t make it until the evening, about an hour before patrol.

Danny nearly paced a line into the carpet. He had enough energy to do that now, even without ecto. He was getting soooo much food here. A guy couldn’t even stress out for an hour without someone coming by to make sure he had fruit and yogurt or a hot drink.

He didn’t need someone to come and tell him that the much anticipated Jason had shown up. Danny knew it when he went to take a sip of cruelty-free chocolate milk (hand delivered by the most frightening child in the world) and choked on vapor.

Damian gave him a glare and snatched the drink away. “Are you incapable of drinking beverages?” he demanded. His face looked so goddamn cross but he was just worried.

Danny managed a smile. “No, went down the wrong pipe, sorry.”

Damian didn’t seem to even see the fog, so- so that meant that either he was really unobservant or he wasn’t liminal enough to see it the way people did in Amity. That was a small blessing. Danny appreciated it and he took back his drink to have something to hold onto.

That was a whole ass ghost. That was a whole ghost coming onto the property, one that felt big and mad and old. Danny smacked his lips, disconcerted. 

He, uh, didn’t know what to expect from this.