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inkedbybarnes · 25 days

Text

anything

bucky barnes x fem!reader

summary: bucky is determined to take care of you while you're sick.

word count: 1.6k+

warnings: mentions of insecurities, mentions of illnesses (but vaguely described), fluffy ahh shit bc why not, usage of pet names such as baby and doll. bucky being stubbornly sweet (it is indeed, a warning), lowercase writing.

i've been sick the past few days hence the creation of this fic. idk why my mood drops when i'm sick... once again, this is too fluffy even for my own good but i warned you and you're reading it still anyway. 🤨 haha jk, i hope you enjoy this one! 🩷

dividers by @cafekitsune!

reblogs, comments, and likes are highly appreciated! thank you. ♡

“can you please let me in, baby?"

that was the fifth time bucky had asked the same question, never giving up on his mission to take care of you after learning from jarvis – out of all people... or robots? – that you were sick.

“bucky, i promise, i'm fine. stop trying to break the door,” you answered, your clogged nose not helping as you sounded horrible even with a concrete wall separating you from him. “go and tell steve that you're joining the mission. you can't withdraw yourself just because i'm—achoo!”

your nose began to leak, and you were now distracted with the need to find the tissue box that used to be on your bed. you didn't hear the door clicking open as well as the heavy footsteps of a certain soldier walking towards you.

“just because you're what? sick?”

you jumped, feeling the edge of the bed sink with his weight. you quickly grabbed the tissue box that was mysteriously thrown under the bed before facing bucky with the duvet covering most of your body.

“how did you open the door?”

bucky shrugged. “i broke the doorknob. you didn't say anything about breaking doorknobs.”

you sighed, not winning this argument with bucky. “you shouldn't be here, bucky. you're supposed to be preparing for a mission tomorrow, not babysitting me!”

“and let you go through this on your own? tough chance, doll. i'm your boyfriend for fuck's sake, and don't tell me that you're worried about getting me sick because we both know i'm immune," he argued, reaching out and pulling the blanket down enough to reveal your face. “are you really upset that i want to take care of you? you should be demanding things from me, baby. instead you've been hiding from me.”

“because i don't need anything, bucky. i can handle myself just fine." you huffed, knowing you wanted his attention and care so badly. remembering your face was exposed, you felt insecure again. you dragged the cover back up and turned away. “i also don't want you to see me like this.”

“like what?"

“like a mess," you muttered underneath the sheets. “you've never seen me like this before, and i swear i am the worst when i'm sick. you don't have to see me like this, okay? i don't want you to.”

you felt silly. it was completely normal to get sick, but you hated how extreme your body would act out whenever an illness would attack you. you'd always sound and look like you were fighting a battle in hell alone. the way your mind would take an entire flip and drag you to your lowest point didn't help either. so, not only were you feeling physically horrible, you were also struggling mentally.

“a mess? what mess?” he asked, lifting the cover to join you underneath it which caught you off guard. you were entirely exposed to his eyes now. “there's my girl. where's the mess that you're talking about, huh?”

with the little amount of energy left in you, you brought your hands up to cover your face. he could see how much of a mess you were now, far from the dream you've painted since the day you dated him. now, you were nothing but a nightmare of your reality.

“don't you dare hide from me. i haven't seen you all day and it's driving me insane," he complained, pulling your hands away from yourself. he brought his thumb to your teary eyes, wiping the tears away before they could fall. “i can't believe you're hiding from me just because you think i can't handle seeing you sick. what did you think i'd do once i saw you like this?”

you sniffed, hesitation holding you back from telling him the truth. it's only been three months since you've started dating bucky, and you were still in that stage where you'd constantly try impress him.

you weren't faking yourself, no. however, you still did your best to only show your good side and tuck away your insecurities. unfortunately, you had to get sick too soon and have to risk bucky seeing you this way.

“you thought i'd leave you? won't like you anymore? get turned off or something?”

you nodded, knowing that was exactly what went through your head and a bit pissed that he was able to read your mind without actually having the power to do so.

bucky's eyes softened at your confession, letting out a soft sigh as he saw how badly you were beating yourself up.

“if it's because of how you look right now, then it's true. you do look different," he answered, your chest tightening. “your eyes lost their glow, you're frowning more often, your eyes are all puffy, you are definitely grumpier than usual, your lips are dry and chapped from—”

“okay, i get it, bucky! you don't have to rub it in my fa—”

“but i won't be doing whatever is on your mind. you're sick, doll. it'll affect you. it's normal. hell, i look even worse when i used to get sick, but you? you still look so fucking lovely." he held your face gently, leaning forward to kiss your forehead. “even then, i don't give a fuck on how messy you can get. i'm your boyfriend. i should be taking care of you, helping you feel better, and bringing back the glow in your eyes. please, baby. let me take care of you.”

this time, you were looking back at him. "you mean it?"

"of course I mean it," he replied softly, his voice filled with sincerity. "i love you, doll. i don't care how you look like right now. you could look like a swamp monster and be sick as a dog, and i would still think that you are the most beautiful woman for me."

you giggled softly, his words filling you with warmth and reassurance. you felt so lucky to have a man who truly loved you and handled your insecurities with such understanding and care, and even sillier for thinking he'd leave you for such reasons.

“thank you. that really made me feel better," you told him, your arms slowly creeping forward to hold him. “i'm sorry for hiding. i was just scared to turn you off or anything.”

“are you kidding? i'm trying my best not to hold you down and kiss you all over. i haven't even hugged you for a day,” bucky said, a pout on the verge of forming on his face.

“it hasn't even been a day, bucky. now, who's dramatic?" you said, rolling your eyes playfully. “and you're supposed to be on a mission tomorrow! are you really not going?”

“when i could be here taking care of you?” he asked, as if the answer was already obvious. “the others can handle it. my main priority is to do anything you want and make you feel better.”

“anything?”

he smiled, leaning down to let your lips meet softly. "anything."

( a lil bonus < 3 )

“what is that smell?”

sam, steve, and natasha entered the compound after a quick briefing for their mission tomorrow. they joined tony and clint who were having a casual conversation in the living room about the best burrito in town.

the kitchen was an open space, the aroma of whatever bucky was cooking spreading all around the nearby rooms.

sam didn't hesitate to come closer and inspect the kitchen, finding the entire counter lined up with various spices and plates that bucky filled with his dishes.

“what's the occasion? did i miss something?" sam asked, grabbing a fork to take a little taste until bucky slapped his hand away. "ow! what was that for?"

"hands off." bucky warned, frowning at sam. “that's not for you, wilson."

“not even a nibble? come on, man. it smells amazing!”

their usual bickering caught the attention of the other avengers, immediately joining them in the kitchen which annoyed bucky even more when he saw them eyeing the food he made.

"before any of you try to ask, no. this is not for any of you."

"who's it even for?" natasha asked, the least interested to have a taste, but was curious either way.

bucky answered with your name. "she's sick."

"what? since when?" clint asked, worry flashing across his face. "can we do anything?"

bucky glanced up before hesitantly answering. "well.. she did say she wanted to watch a movie after eating."

clint snapped his fingers and smiled. "i'm on it."

"i'll get jarvis to check on her vitals every hour and create a diagnosis," tony said, already tapping on his smart watch. "assuming she wouldn't be too comfortable letting the entire team know what's going on with her body, i'll just let you receive the updates. just update me with what you can, yeah?"

"i'll talk to fury and let you both have a week free from work," steve offered. "she needs the rest and she needs you."

"oh, i'll handle fury. he can't say no to his favourite," natasha said with a smug smile. "tell her i'll bring her all her favourite snacks once we're back from our mission, and that she better be back to full health so we can go out together."

bucky nodded, chest warming with the genuine concern they shared. he was excited to let you know how loved and deserving of all this you were.

if you have any requests for bucky, send them my way! 💌

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fluff #marvel #mcu #inkedbybarnes

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luveline · 5 months

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my lovely jade would you consider writing more about new to the team reader and fresh out of prison spencer?😇🩷i'd really love anything, they make me kick my feet and blush so bad!🥰 love you <3

love you gorgeous <3

“Here.” Spencer puts a granola bar on top of your notebook.

It slides down the slopes of the page into the centre and disrupts your train of thought. Your stomach stirs, remembered, and your fingertips shake ever so slightly as they curl around his gift. “Thank you,” you say, the grit of the packaging like a pinprick. “Sorry, I was somewhere else.”

“If you don't eat, you'll get foggy, and then you'll be unhappy,” he says, sitting in the chair between yours and Emily's.

“And you need a clear mind to work,” Emily says.

She's Unit Chief, as formidable as her predecessors, but it's her demeanour that intimidates you. She's confident in how much she cares about people and she won't let you forget what this is all for, nor the strength of it. You find yourself nodding like an obedient puppy whenever she talks —whenever any of them talk.

Spencer watches your expression. You aren't sure why. “And less coffee.”

“That's a little hypocritical,” Emily says, her voice stretching with humour, “but I'll allow it.”

“That's why her hands are shaking.” He nods to the granola bar, and when you struggle to open it, he reaches for it with a gentle touch. “Do you think you might have a low tolerance for caffeine?”

The shaking worsens at the question, though it's innocent enough. You don't want to explain why you're shaking because you know it paints a poor picture of professionalism, but you can't lie to them. It almost feels like the idea of shoplifting, the fear of being caught. You desperately want them to like you, trust you, and respect you, and lying this early on won't help that.

“I need to do better,” you say.

“You're doing amazing,” Spencer says, as Emily asks, “Why do you say that?”

“I'm having trouble, uh, sleeping. And remembering to eat enough. That's why I'm shaking so badly. It'll go away soon, I promise.”

“Are you drinking any water?” Emily stands. “You have to stay on top of this stuff.”

She stalks off looking pissed. You wince, and Spencer puts the now opened granola bar in your hand, curling your fingers around it nicely. “Here, take your time.”

You are shamefully desperate for reassurance. “Is she angry?”

“Yeah, she's mad.” Spencer doesn't smile. His voice doesn't betray much else. “She wasn't always good at taking care of herself, either, but now she doesn't have a choice. She has to be the best, and she has to make you the best you can be. Which is why she's angry.”

“That I'm not currently at my best,” you surmise.

“That she didn't notice.” He takes a pen from his pocket and a post it note from the table. “But Emily doesn't need to worry, because I'm here, and I would've looked after you anyways, even if she wasn't Unit Chief.”

You take a bite of granola bar to pretend he hasn't winded you. I would've looked after you anyways. He writes a quick list as you chew, unaware of his affect on you or choosing to ignore it.

He hands you the note.

2 meals

4 glasses of water

4 cups of coffee

702-555-0103

“I already have your phone number,” you say, hot in the face.

“And you could stand to use it more often.” He takes your shoulder into his hand and leans in, giving you a nice squeeze, his thumb rubbing a line into your blouse. “Yeah? I know this is all harder than it looks. I promise I get it.” His voice creeps down into a more playful teasing, “Why are you so reluctant to call me? You're breaking my heart.”

You laugh breathlessly. He pats your shoulder. “Finish that, okay? I'll go find us something more substantial for lunch.”

Obviously you want him to take care of you, whatever that means, but it's still startling. He's smart, and so, so pretty, and he has this obsession with teasing you… if he even knows he's doing it.

“Oh, Y/N?” he asks from the door. You look up, eyes wide, a deer in his headlights. “You really are doing amazing.”

“Thank you.”

Emily comes in a few seconds after he leaves, the biggest bottle of water you've ever seen in her hand, her eyebrows raised sceptically. “What's he smiling about?”

You clear your throat. “I’m not sure.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

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honeyhivess · 8 months

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i can't help falling in love with you <3

first 3 overblot boys falling in love with gender neutral reader

tags: cursing, might be ooc i am new to writing them

riddle rosehearts <3

riddle would only be open to dating someone after his overblot, he's such a stickler for the rules and didn't allow himself to truly let go and have fun until after the blot incident

he would be really scared to get into a relationship because of his parents, mostly his mom

he didn't want to get older and become his mother and treat his significant other like she treated him

you would probably have to be really close to him for him to start liking you tbh

the realization honestly hits him in the middle of the night

after doing his nightly routine he got into bed and relaxed, thinking over the unbirthday party that happened that night

adeuce had invited you to attend since you helped paint the roses, and since riddle had a bit of a soft spot for you by now he happily allowed it

you had a chair on one of the long sides of the table, closest to his chair at the head

late in the night his mind kept replaying you laughing at one of trey's bad jokes

oh shit.

riddle would be eyes open, staring at the wall in realization

the warmth he felt in his chest remembering your bright smile that day had him pleasantly overwhelmed

he never had the chance to crush on anyone else before since his mom so heavily sheltered him

this feeling came to him unknown and he was confused

he had a hard time falling asleep that night, and the next morning he immediately rushed to trey

after being teased a bit and prodded a bit more he realized he liked you

which, scared him

a couple days after he found out just what those feelings meant, he would have a hard time facing you

he didn't know what to do with this newfound information

you would have to confront him and make him tell you why he was borderline avoiding you

his face is RED red

he wouldn't stutter and would still kinda talk normally, but it would be more rushed

"Prefect... I've had the realization that I, really like you... If you would indulge me, I would love to take you out sometime...?"

leona kingscholar <3

...eh

lions normally have a pride of females, so leona is kinda used to flirting and romance

however, he is the bastard second born, so he isn't used to being the center of attention

when he met you, he saw an opportunity to have the chance at romancing someone without his brother looming over his shoulder

you hadn't even HEARD of his brother, which meant you couldn't even really pick falena over him

this excited leona a lot, so he got really territorial over you really fast

he would also put quite a bit of effort into wooing you, well, more than normal

he really tries to make himself just generally more appealing

he's nicer when you're around and started taking care of himself a bit more

it's a subtle change to you, but he gets DESTROYED by ruggie

when he initially realized he liked you he didn't have any big reaction

he's been through a couple relationships prior to you so it's not really anything new to him

you will start being dragged into his schemes more

also known as i really hope you like napping because you're about to get crushed

he drags you into his naps a lot, and he lays directly on top of you

you will not escape.

also he starts giving you a lot of things, gifts, food, clothing

he's not a hopeless romantic so don't really expect any super grand gestures

he also doesn't really confess? he kinda just asks you out

confessing is lame to him, it's juvenile

"Ay, herbivore? You free this saturday? You better be, I need a date to this dumb restaurant."

azul ashengrotto <3

motherfucker is NOT confessing first

i really hate to break it to you, but after his childhood, he does not have the confidence for that

now, azul may not confess, but he will flirt

...badly...

when he realized he kinda panicked and was immediately overwhelmed with worst case scenarios

he does not think you would ever like him, when he was younger he tried confessing to someone and got laughed at

so that kinda crushed him

jade and floyd would not be told, but they would notice very quickly

azul gets flustered when you're around and you get offered discounts occasionally

at first they thought azul wanted something materialistic from you

no he just wants your hand in marriage

they immediately become his wingmen, but

they are kinda the world's worst wingmen

jade is actually pretty good at highlighting azuls charms and good traits, but he also loves embarrassing azul in front of you

floyd is, floyd

he's a bit louder and much less subtle

and when combined they just start embarrassing azul, the poor octo-mer is dying

now, if you start hinting towards liking azul back, it is on

he immediately goes back into his smooth personality and he will start flirting with you

it starts of subtle, but it will become more apparent as time goes on

if you're really lucky and catch him on a good day, he'll ask you out

he'll invite you to monstro lounge, no one else will be there and you will be treated like royalty

jade would be the one serving you and floyd would be watching very intently from the kitchen

everything is on the house, just for you

"Have whatever you'd like, Prefect. This is all but a little taste of what more is to come."

a/n: i had so much fun writing azuls, i love octavinelle so much asdfghjk

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m00mis · 1 year

Note

Hiiii if you can can you please write Seventeen as dads please? 🥺

as a no1 dilf lover i sure can

{ gender neutral apart from cheol & mingyu because i HAD to. }

seventeen as dads

cheol - would beg for a daughter, and spoil her greatly, anything she wanted was hers. he's her biggest fan and would sign her up to so many sports, making sure to never miss a match. he'd make banners to hold up for her to cheer her on, he's so intense he almost got thrown out when he started arguing with the ref. they would have nightly gossip sessions where she could rant about her day. he would be her rock, someone she could always go to for anything

jeonghan - borderline dangerous with children because he would swing and throw them around. thinks that kids should be free to do what they want (within reason) and just asks them to come home for dinner. he trusts his kid a lot and is a very chill parent but when they start acting out he does NOT let them get away with it and is very judgmental "this is what you do with your time? do something better with your life..."

joshua - babies his kid forever and they're always an angel in his eyes. constantly says "remember when you were this big? time flies" and always reminisces. you catch him looking through photographs late at night, especially the night before their birthday. cries at every milestone and is so touched when they handmake anything for him. loves them so much, he is so grateful for them

jun - a very playful dad who is a big kid himself really. enjoys playtime as much as they do (maybe even more) and is often the one to ask them if they want to play. as they get older he teaches them everything he knows. he just really enjoys doing activities with them! teaching them to cook, to play the piano, to paint. there's mini juns running about all over the place

hoshi - the jokester, the comedian, the free entertainment for the whole family. his fav sound is his kid's laughter and will do anything to hear it. when he tucks them into bed he gives them kisses down their arms and on their feet. he can't help rolling around on their bed attacking them with kisses. (and ofc he constantly roams around his house as a tiger. paints both their faces as tigers, his tiger cub <3)

wonwoo - quite bashful around his kid but the little things he will do for them and go out of his way for show how much he loves them. he would do whatever they say and happily watch them do what they want because they're so cute. they know they have him wrapped around their tiny fingers and he does not care one bit. is definitely giving them lifts everywhere when they're older so they don't have to pay taxi fare

woozi - plays the piano and sings to get them to calm down and stop crying and it works every time. loves recording their baby voice and lets them make their own music tracks even though it stresses him out letting their grubby hands touch his stuff. he composes a lullaby for them (edward cullen style). never seen him as happy as when he's with his baby

dk - buys so many outfits because he cannot go past the baby section without dying of cuteness at how small and cute all the clothes are. photographs every little thing and is very protective, always there to catch his baby incase they fall or stumble. definitely the embarrassing dad who tries to be funny around their friends if they come over

mingyu - has mini dates with his daughter, getting her ready himself and doing her hair (badly). they go to see a movie together and a cafe after, sharing cake and a milkshake. househusband is naturally a great father and his heart bursts when she clings to him, following him around while he does chores. he buys matching aprons so they can cook together, the kitchen ends up a mess but the amount of giggling makes up for it

minghao - he's so nurturing and in tune to what children need and treats them as mini adults, respecting their space and emotions. the only thing he wants his kid to be is kind, constantly teaching them to respect others. his fav part of the day would be bedtime, he would stay with them until they fell asleep, stroking their hair and telling them stories

seungkwan - will fight children. if his kid gets bullied he will storm into the school to find who hurt his baby and he would get banned from the premises. (tbh he's terrified of children tho they're scary) he also teases his kid a lot and only stops once they start doing it back but he's glad that they learnt to fight their own corner from the very best. definitely a soccer mom

vernon - thinks his kid is so funny and laughs at whatever they do (lovingly). constantly plays music for them in hopes that as they grow up they'll have the same music taste. i think he would be the more submissive dad who lets them do makeup on his face and put stickers and fake tats on him, and would be the patient if they played doctor. when they got older he would take them bowling and to the arcade

dino - nothing he's achieved compares to being a father, he loves his kid so much, such a proud dad. has a photo of them in his wallet and shows it to everyone he can. feels like he'll explode every time he comes home and hears "daddy!". he would take his kid to the dance studio with him so they could make cute choreo together. although he would love for his kid to follow in his footsteps, he urges them to find what they want to do and would be so supportive no matter what.

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mimiixen · 2 months

Text

"𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐆𝐨"

Synopsis: You both knew the risks that came with being a Jujutsu Sorcerer and yet you find yourself clinging on to Suguru, terrified of losing him.

Paintings: Geto Suguru X GN!Reader

Genre: Agnst , Hurt and comfort if you squint

Notes: We makin it out of the hood w/ this one boys 🗣🗣🗣🤞(no we not) also I purely wrote this for myself teehee

Suguru lazily tousled through your bangs as you rested your head in his lap, rambling about the mission you had just returned from. He nodded along, allowing short comments where it was needed. He had missed you so badly when you had been gone but now that you were here he couldn't find any energy. He felt tired. He felt happy to see you, of course he did, he was beyond happy. Then why? Why was he exhausted? Why couldn't he find it in himself to express that damn happiness.

"Enough about me, Sugu, what've you been doing while I was gone?" You sat up, raising your head and staring at your boyfriend with a smile. Suguru tilted his head slightly as his brows furrowed. What had he been doing while you were gone? He couldn't even remember.

Suguru shrugged and gave his head a shake, his bangs falling into his eyes. You reached over to tuck them behind her ear as he spoke. "Mostly nearby missions. Find a curse. Exorcise it. Find a curse. Exorcise it." He mumbled, moving his hands to fix his own hair. "And Satoru? Have you two done anything note worthy?" At the next question Suguru felt himself grow irritated. "Satoru's busy."

You nodded, laying your head back down into his lap as the two of you lapsed into a silence that was neither comfortable nor uncomfortable. The sound of the rain hitting the ground was becoming deafening to Suguru. Since when did it get so loud? Rain shouldn't be this loud. After all it was just water hitting-

"Suguru." He turned towards you and looked down. "Hm?" He prompted, wanting you to continue. You hesitated for a few seconds, opening and closing your mouth, before finally deciding to voice your thoughts aloud.

"I know we both decided to be with each other knowing the risk of sorcery and I know we both mentally prepared ourselves to..." Suguru was listening closely now. "To lose each other" You continued "But I don't know, Sugu, it all feels too real nowadays. The chance that I might lose you at any moment feels too real." You confessed, your eyes fixed away from his. Suguru noticed the way your finger was tracing patterns onto his wrist as you spoke. Your voice was shaking. He had never heard you this way. He should know what to do, a few months ago he would've fucking known.

"Suguru I'm scared." You admitted, swallowing back tears as you gave your cheek a pinch. It was an odd habit of yours, you always did it when you wanted to stop yourself from crying. He hated seeing you cry and feel so helpless.

"I know" He murmured, pulling you up so that you were face to face with him. He cupped your jaw and took a deep breath. "I'm scared too. I'm scared every second that I might lose you." He told you and realized how true it was. He had unconsciously let the thought loom over his head every waking hour of his days. "But we chose this, didn't we? We chose to love each other despite the risks." He crooned, stroking your jaw with his thumb as he tilted it slightly so that your eyes met his.

You nodded slowly and before he knew it you had thrown your arms around him, burrying your face in his shoulder as your hands gripped the material of his shirt tightly. "Don't go, Sugu" You gasped against his shoulder as He rubbed a soothing hand up and down your back, pulling you close. "Don't go where I can't follow." You pleaded, your voice muffled against the material of his shirt that was now stained with your tears. He wished he could promise you that. He wished he could promise you he'd stay. But he couldn't. He would leave, whether that was because of death or simply because of his own choices, either way he would have to leave.

He would have to leave but he was here for now. He was right here with you right now. "I'm right here, baby." He murmured against your hair. "I'm right here."

Notes: Guys did I 4+4 = 8 with this 😍??? Also constructive criticism and comments in general are highly appreciated 😔🤞

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locallixie · 11 months

Note

Hi if your request is open, can I request a top!sub! bang chan x dom!bot!male reader were the bang chan fails his art class yet his art teacher (reader) gave him a chance to pass his exam by inviting bang chan to paint him naked which lead to reader riding his student's cock.

extra credit — bang chan

> summary . art is the one subject he hated the most, and it shows through his falling grades. luckily the teacher was nice enough to let him do extra credit to pass.

> genre . smut, lowkey pwp, art teacher!reader, student!bang chan, sub-top!bang chan, dom-bot!reader, masc!reader.

> warnings . unprotected sex, blowjob, strong language, semi-public sex, cum eating.

(wc) > 2.1k

(taglist) > @jihanlovic

(sunny’s note) ✩ here’s my opinions on art through a bang chan smut, i don’t like modern art.

Art is subjective, and sometimes, it could even be absolutely senseless. There was no strict mold or form that art had, it was made to be a creativity exercise for the people participating. Yet, how did his own artistry failed him this badly? He was fairly good at every other subject, even chemistry! He was excellent at music, where his creative juice flowed the most. But how come it wasn’t the same for this god-forsaken subject?

“Chan, I need to talk to you after class.” You told right after handing him back his final exam’s piece.

He cussed under his breath, poorly scored with being below fifty percent which instantly meant that he failed. There was no way in hell he could explain this to his parents, this one subject really fucked him over. What did he signed up for art in the first place, it wasn't mandatory to have an additional elective?—Music was his original choice. Chan could not let one bad final grade to fuck up his reports completely, a mindset of a perfectionist. Definitely could not make any more mistakes during his senior year, he was nearing his graduation soon in about two or three months of school left.

Minho looked over, noticing the other's distressful state. "Bad score? Show me, what did that geezer give you?"

Chan sighed, silently sliding his final piece to Minho's space of the desk they shared together. "Minho, watch your mouth, what is with you and [Y/N]?"

Expressing disgust as he gazed at the bold red numbers on Chan's final piece, "I don't like [Y/N], he's such a bitch." Minho wasn't entirely sure why he hated you, more like conflicted as you were nice yet overly strict at points, that made him despised the bipolar behaviour of yours and you all together.

You were young, early-twenties it seemed, you have only been teaching for about two years which meant you were fairly new. Your students mainly comprised of juniors and seniors, but you had other freshmen and sophomores when operating after school club. In charge of standard level IB art, you weren't a big deal.

The bell rang loudly, signifying the end of fifth period. Chan stayed behind, waiting for everyone to leave the classroom so he could get this conversation over with. Minho wished him 'goodluck', before he was about to come face-to-face with the devil.

"Bang Chan, I think you're fully aware of why we are having this talk, right?" You leaned on your desk, resting your head on your hand as you focused your gaze upon him.

Without sugar-coating anything, "You're failing my class." You told sternly. "You know this is IB level art, correct? It's also your senior year, you can't turn back now."

Chan let out a dragged breath, "I...I'm not satisfied with this grade."

You simply nodded, a bit of deviousness in your tone of voice. "I figured, are you asking me for a second chance?"

He was crazy for going through with this, an IB diploma? He remembered now, he signed up for art was because of his goal of diversifying his profile for future academic opportunities. If his first and prioritized major didn't work out, he had multiple back-up plans with such a powerful diploma. But now here hopeless with his IB diploma jeopardized, all that hard work down the drain in less than a minute.

"Is there something I could do for extra credits? [Y/N], please." Everyone called you by your first name, despite being in the higher position of a teacher. In repay for letting your students get comfortable and dropping almost all formality, you would break them down even harder than the shape they used to be. If they failed with the same comfortability, you wouldn't come save them, too bad!

But Chan, Chan in particular piqued your interests. You caught on with the looks he gave you during class, he glanced and shyly waved when you two would passed by in the hallway. He had many potentials, you liked his ideas and perspective, however he lacked experiences and techniques.

"You come to my class after school, you'll do a gouache painting for me. How does that sound?" You suggested, even though you knew beforehand that he was going to accept nonetheless.

“When should I drop by?”

“Thursday, and I expect you to arrive on time.” Chan was usually late when class took place during sixth period—which is the last period of the day. Only late to your class, you heard from your colleague who taught global politics during sixth period that Chan has always been on-time except for some rare excused absences. Odd was it? As if he didn’t want to see you, or he dreaded attending your class almost. Students these days, gosh!

This week has been hectic, final projects from multiple different classes, a mock exam coming up soon on next Tuesday, and now he has to worry about fixing his damned grades. One more bad day and he was going to actually lose his mind. Prom was coming up as well, and if all of this wasn't resolve by next week, he might not be able to attend.

Thursday rolled around, after all the classes during the day, he came over to the art room on the south corridor—where your classroom was located. Chan was supposed to be tutoring Jisung on calculus today at the library, but now he has to reschedule with the younger. If he could get this stupid final piece over with, he might be able to make it to the tutoring session.

You were in the midst of setting up when he barged in, "Oh great, we'll get started right away! Just take a seat, I'll go get you a new spatula."

After placing a brand new spatula on the small stool in front of Chan, next to the five tubes of gouache paint, you went to lock the door. There were barely anyone at school at this hour, but just as an extra precaution.

"Well, your assigment is simple really. You'll do a painting with a nude model in roughly two hours time." You explained.

"So when is the model coming in?"

"They're already here, you'll be painting me." You smiled at the bewildered look on his face, his ears slowly getting redder by the second. So, this was really happening? Unbuttoning each and every button on your loosely-fitted shirt. A little bit of skin, then your entire shoulders, and then your bare torso on display before his eyes. Off with your dress pants, the rest being discarded along with it, until the cool air was your only article of clothing worn on yourself.

You sat on a couch in front of his station—one that was moved around often for other figure drawing excercises that you had for your students. Leaning back down at the cushion, you chose a pose that you would be comfortable in for the next few hours. Though the pose itself was quite normal, nothing too crazy. But the gaze you had on him made it all the more suggestive, almost like a sex invitation.

"Your time starts..." You glanced at the hanged clock above the blackboard, "Now."

Chan got into work right away, squeezing out paint from the small tubes onto the palette. Chan was a bit embarrassed to look at you, his teacher who he had been with for a whole year, was now naked from head to toes and sitting there with this look in his eyes. To come completely clean, he did thought about your naked body under the clothes you wore during your lectures from time to time, he was a bit surprised to be able to see the real thing.

Painting in the essential shapes as a quick base before he went in with the details a little later. His hands were shaking, his heart was bouncing around his chest like a mad man, he kept turning to his painting then at you and then again. He couldn't keep his eyes off you to save his life, and his pants felt a bit tight too! All he could think about was your bare self on display. Each inch of your skin, each strands of hair that fell on your face, each pinky shade of your cock.

"What's the matter? You look on edge." Asking with half legitimate concerns.

His Adam's apple moved up and down for a split second as he gulped down his saliva. God, he was having a massive boner, and he could not have you know about it. Using his mixing palette as a shield of sort, hopefully covering the tent that formed on his pants away from your knowledge.

"Is it me?" You smirked, your intentions clear on your inviting lips.

"Well...um..." He couldn't think of anything to say, the entire atmosphere between you two were all sexual tension. He wanted to fuck you, but it wasn't like he could say it out and proud.

You put on your robe, lazily drapping it over your nude body. Each step reaching towards him, he couldn't help but wanting to drop everything and take you then and there. You stood just inches away from him, grazing your fingers over his broad shoulders as if you were feeling expensive fur at the store.

Admiring his unfinished piece, "Wow, you're making quite the improvement." You commented.

The shading and the colours were all carefully made decisions, the brush strokes made things looked smoother and more polished in the earlier state. In a way, an artist's painting was their own perspective on the world surrounding them. With that philosophy, that was how Chan saw you through his own eyes. And damn was it also filled with his inner desires.

"You know," You began, "I like your pieces, they all have such a distinct personal touch." Keeping eye contacts, you held his hand and slowly guiding it down your bare chest under the silk robe. Holding up his chin slightly, you placed your lips on his. Out of the blue, yet, you both were expecting this to happen. As if manifested throughout time, every single time he thought about wanting to get freaky with you contributed to this moment.

Young people were bold, Chan was not an exception. He was quick to shove his tongue in your mouth, pump lips crying out for yours. Almost feeling like you were close to passing out with how aggressive he was, you had to pull away for air.

You brought him over to the couch, pushing him down as you got on your knees before him. Undoing his pants, immediately placing your wet and hot mouth over his throbbing cock. Chan's breath hitched, his rough hand grabbing your hair as he squirmed and twitched in his place.

"Oh my God, [Y/N], keep sucking me like that, you're amazing." Chan breathed heavily, hips slightly jerking up. Tongue flicking over his sensitive tip, sending shivers all over his body. Technically screaming for you with his little whimpers, breathy moans turning you on.

Your mouth felt full as he emptied his load, a few drops even leaked out the corners of your mouth. You swallowed the entirety down your throat like the dirty whore that you were for your student, an action that brazen made his face blushed like an after party.

Before he could unbutton his uniform shirt, you were already disrobed and stradling him. Your lips were back to kissing him, at the same time, you were lining up his cock for the next event. Steadily sitting yourself down on top of him, his hard cock stabbing slowly into you, your fleshy and warm walls wrapping over.

Chan placed his hands on your hips, securing you in place. The next minute, and you were bouncing, grinding on him as if none of this was wrong. His head tilting back, the fucked expression on his face was pleasing to the eyes. "Yeah, baby. Feels good to be inside of me, right? You wish you could just fuck me everyday."

Half-lidded eyes, hair sticking to his forehead, way too lost to reply. "If you're this fucking great, I guess I have to let you pass." You complimented, gripping a handful of his brown locks, slaming your lower body down on him. He came so much that you felt it dripping out onto the couch—that meant you would have to get it clean up, what a difficult story it would be to tell the cleaners.

After cleaning up the brushes and paint, you were officially finished for the day. You placed Chan's piece on the drying racks, you would never be able to look at this painting without being reminded of what went down today. Though, now you knew how vast his skills were.

You held his tie, flattening his shirt with your hand. "I'll see you in class next Monday, don't be late~"

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bruciemilf · 2 years

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Pitching my " Bruce and Harley long lost twins " AU because Margot Robbie and Robert Pattinson look eerily similar and it gave me brainrot-

I feel like Falcone had a hand in separating them, breaking the proud Wayne clan apart ,- what's a daughter missing? Gotham's mean to it's girls, so it'll be just fitting for one to die before they lived.

Maybe it happens when Falcone's still considered a family friend. He offers to drive Martha to the hospital when Thomas can't, and Alfred neither.

As Martha Wayne screams the town down, he has a friendly chat with the staff.

Martha KNOWS she had twins; she just knows. But when she asks, everyone's so puzzled. " Mrs. Wayne, you had a boy; Just... One boy."

" That can't be right," she sniffs, even if she's holding Bruce so tightly to her, a hollow void eats her where her daughter should be. " I had a girl. I know I did. Thomas- Tommy picked that silly name for her, after his pet rabbit. I know it!"

Martha Wayne wasn't thrown in Arkham because she was dangerous; She was locked up because she was a grieving woman, and Thomas Wayne can make that go away, but he can't get his daughter back. She did exist. She was someone.

They have Bruce, until they don't.

CONSIDER THIS; Harley and Riddler in the same orphanage. Him spitting on Bruce even after his parents were murdered, and Harley feeling a sense of wanting to protect Bruce from it??

She doesn't know why. Her fists itch and twitch to punch long and wiry Eddie Nygma in the teeth for saying Bruce deserves it.

Because yes, he's a rich kid. A rich kid with dead parents rotting in the ground.

" So? You're so fucking stupid, Harley. He has MONEY now! He'll be FINE. Meanwhile, US gutter spawns here-"

Harley remembers Eddie holding down Jenny Jameson. Four years old, playful and clueless in a way Gotham murders young.

She remembers her screaming while Eddie shoved rusty nails in her mouth for taking his apple.

He doesn't care about anyone but his goddam self. He couldn't understand Bruce Wayne. Or her.

She never had any family, but doesn't that suck more? To have something love you that only death could make it stop? She sees Bruce Wayne's grief striken ashy face in that square TV.

She grieves, too. She doesn't know why. She just does.

God I love Bruce and Harley being roomates; Meeting as adults, - or as close to adulthood as they'll ever be able to touch.

Bruce doesn't understand why she hangs out with Eddie and Jack. Jack just rubs him the wrong way and Eddie looks at him, hateful edge sharp and cutting and Bruce doesn't mind that;

But he does mind Harley being around them. Especially Jack. " Ah, ya just don't know howtta have fun, Brucie. This is COLLEGE. Be there or be square. Cause he doesn't invite just anyone, ya know?"

" He smells like... Smoke. And bleach," he scrunches his nose. " And he's...Mean."

" That's just how he jokes around! He's a funny guy if you have a sense of humor."

and he HEARD Jack make fun of the scars on Harley's back; He's seen them, because Harley's world doesn't have the word " shame" in it and changes around him frequently.

He did freeze, the first time he saw them. Pale and scarred. Close to unintelligible depending on the lighting. But he does see them. It'd be a kindness for him if he wouldn't.

Dragged. With a sharp object, mkst accurately a piece of glass or razor blade. Thin, but deep. Letters stretched from one shoulder blade to another.

Wayne

Propriety

To which Eddie laughed with, because he and the kids at the orphanage were the authors. They figured if Harley wanted to defend that family so badly, she'll have a sign that fits.

But she didn't need to know that. Bruce does. Bruce knows everything about anyone, seems like.

" No, I mean, - mean to YOU. He makes dumb blonde jokes even if you're at the top of their class. "

" Yeah, well, " Harley shrugs, painting her eyelids with green and purple; She doesn't like either, but Jack told her she'd be prettier if she changed her make up. " Told him I didn't like it, so he's gonna stop...Eventually. he's nice to me sometimes."

" He should be nice to you ALL the time. Just... Don't go. I'll watch that horrible Grey Ghost reboot if you stay with me."

Harley is weak for his puppy eyes; She really is. " Please, Harl. Don't go."

"... Fine," she groans. " I'll be a loser. Just for my favourite roomie."

" I'm the only person who responded to your ad."

" Wanna know why? We're probably meant to be in eachother's lives."

" I don't think Gotham is kind enough to give me a friend like you."

Harley actually tears up and CRUSHES Bruce in a hug, nevermind Jack's stupid " never touch Wayne" rule. " BRUCE. We're gonna be BFFS forever. I'll make you a teeth necklace."

" I think the bracelet's enough."

" You'll be maid of honor at my wedding."

" That's not what it's called."

" You'll be my kid's weird uncle that says phones ruin families and not decades of fermented generational trauma."

"...Sure."

Sure. Bruce can be anything, if he's with her, and she's with him.

#LONG BOI #bruce wayne #harley quinn #batman #twins au #dc #dc comics #batfamily #batfam #battinson #the batman #writing #writing prompt #text post #my writing #fluff #soft bruce wayne

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im-getting-help · 14 days

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okay, but what if:

"and then he said 'doesn't this proves how much of a good friend i am?' it was fucking insane!"

"I don't want to tell you I told you so, but..."

"Farleigh shut-"

"I don't think I will Felix. I told you since the beginning that little goblin was dangerous and you didn't listen, so, I don't think I'll shut up ever again."

Felix sighed, his fingers combed through his hair for the hundredth time since he began the story, his signet ring reflected the sunlight every time he fixed his bangs. "He's not... dangerous. He's... he's insane but he's not dangerous."

"Yeah right. You can't be serious." Farleigh shaked his head and chuckled, but Felix wasn't laughing. "Felix, you can't be serious."

Felix remained silent, he refused to meet his eyes.

"Are you thinking about forgiven him?"

Felix shrugd, a small movement, almost as he didn't want to acknowledge what was being said.

He knew that it wasn't the smartest move on his part, there was no valid justification, no a single thing could explain why he did what he did, but Felix wanted so badly to forgive, to forget. The memories of that night kept repeating, his brain replaying them like a movie and he was unable to look away, no matter how much it scared him. He felt stuck, fixed in a moment. Something about the way Oliver pleaded, the way he cried, the way he hold onto him, he couldn't take the image of Oliver's eyes filled with tears, real tears.

That wasn't an act, he was sure of it, it was nothing that he ever seen Oliver did before, he was desperate. That right there was truly Oliver Quick, and he didn't want to let go, he couldn't.

"I think he needs help. I don't think he's a bad person, and he isn't dangerous. He said that I was his only friend..."

Farleigh got up from the couch, patting his pockets to feel for the pack of cigarettes, his hands trembled slightly, although he was sure Felix wouldn't notice.

"You can't smoke in here Farls, mommy is going to end you if she finds out."

"I know, I'm going outside." He retrieved the lighter from his right pocket and the cigarettes from his left while he stride to the entrance of the long gallery. He always hated that rule, "it could ruin the old folios and paintings" said uncle James, even though they could smoke in every other room, as if they didn't have relics or expensive paintings in there too. Right now though, he couldn't be more thankful to find an excuse to leave this conversation.

"Farleigh..."

"I need a smoke, Felix. Let's take a break, you can keep telling me about Ollie-dear later, yeah?"

Felix was already behind him, with the rush Farleigh didn't even hear him get up. He felt one of Felix's heavy hands on his shoulder and even though his sweater was making him sweat he shivered. Felix's movements were slow and gentle, he was never an aggressive person yet Farleigh felt his feet stuck to the floor, he looked at his hands still shaking.

"Farleigh, I need you to promise me that you're not going to tell anyone about this, about Oliver."

"Yeah, of course. I don't think auntie would be to pleased to hear about it anyways."

Felix grip tighten a little as he turned Farleigh around. Being face to face with Felix this way made Farleigh remembered his mother, how she teach him about boundaries and limits. They used to spent the afternoon sharing a cup of tea, the only british custom she maintained. "If you don't feel comfortable with someone you can put distance, you have to. If you feel uncomfortable or uncertain about a situation or a person you can and should stay away".

"I mean it, I need to know that you won't tell anyone about Oliver. No mom or Venetia or I don't know India or Jackson, no one. Not one person Farleigh."

"I promise Felix. I don't want anything to do with it anyways. If I can stay away from Oliver Quick believe me, I will."

"You make it sound like he tried to kill you Farls." Felix scoffed.

"Yeah, well, you know me, I like to dramatize."

Felix had his eyes fixed on Farleigh, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

"Can I go now?"

"You won't tell anyone?"

Farleigh sighed heavily. He was scared for his cousin, he was scared for his family. Oliver wasn't only dangerous, he seemed to be completely demented, passed the point of reason. He was scared that Felix ended up really hurt because of him.

He was no stranger to Oliver's outbursts, but he was also very, very tired. He'd been tired of cleaning Felix's messes for a long time. He was tired of dealing with ex-friends and ex-girlfriends and ex-whatevers, dealing people who got hurt by Felix's carelessness, by his indifference. He used to scold Felix, telling him to be more careful with his relationships. How funny it is that he found the worst person in all England to take interest in? Farleigh wanted scream, he wanted to slap some reason into him but he knew that no matter what he did or what he said Felix had already made his mind. He was a big boy now anyways, he could take care of himself.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Felix. I don't think I know an Oliver Quick. Now, can you please let go?"

Felix hand fell to his side, his lips curled up in an attempt at smiling. Farleigh could see the bags under his eyes, he hadn't been sleeping since the party.

"Thank you Farls, I knew you would understand"

Farleigh bit his cheek and nodded before quickly exiting the room, he strode towards the stairs to that led to the rooftop.

He realized he had to walk pass Oliver's room on the way to the stairs. He was surprised to find an open door when it finally reached the area, he wouldn't cross it of course, but he stood there, observing.

The interior showed a man profoundly asleep, snoring softly, black hair a mess. Farleigh lit his cigarette and observed Oliver, the open curtains let the midday sun in, the room was warm. Oliver looked so innocent like this, like a little boy. The antiseptic smell that lingered in the room and was the only thing that reminded him of the reality of who was the person behind the sleeping beauty facade.

Farleigh snickered and walked away, Oliver Quick wasn't his problem anymore.

#saltburn #oliver quick #felix catton #cattonquick #farleigh start #oliver x felix #saltburn posting #Give Farleigh a break plz

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thegreenthepeacetheorange · 5 months

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Everlark (Mockingjay, Ch. 20-21)

(there's so much chapter 21 about the old peeta resurfacing and it feels like a reward for suffering through what this book has made me suffer through so far)

i take bogg's telling katniss to kill peeta as him just saying "do whatever you have to do to get the job done"

katniss being like um surely he doesn't think i can just kill peeta? like surely not. and then her literally being like i'm just gonna do the first two things he said and ignore the third

finnick putting on and adjusting peeta's mask while he's unconscious. the fact that katniss notes this. i cry

peeta realising he's killed mitchell hurts a lot. the capitol really turned him into something he's not. and he's fighting it so hard still

the compassion the other members of the star squad show peeta is actually very heart-warming, they're so understanding. finnick looking after him. holmes automatically going to carry an unconscious peeta so they can start moving again without being asked to. finnick reassuring him; actually everything finnick does. them refusing to leave him behind even though he is an actual threat to them

katniss thinking of the hanging tree while contemplating peeta's request that they kill him. the fact that she realises it might even be the more compassionate thing to do at this stage to give him nightlock. but the same way he says he can't let her take it at the end of the book, she can't do it here

"i feel the arena all around me... once again i'm battling not only for my own survival but peeta's as well"

i personally don't think katniss could have ever killed him. there's just no chance. when his survival is so intricately linked to her own. they're a package deal. and they fight so hard to keep each other alive.

peeta holding out the can of lamb stew to katniss. so mad we didn't get so many important moments from this book in the movies. they did a terrible job of showing the moments where peeta was coming back to himself. all his comments to the others, this moment

"the memories of rain dripping through stones, my inept attempts at flirting and the aroma of my favourite capitol dish in the chilly air. so some part of it must still be in his head too. how happy, how hungry, how close we were when that picnic basket arrived outside our cave."

OUR cave. like it was their first little home. first little intimate space just for them.

the fact that she paints this time in their cave as romantic and sentimental and picturesque. she's romanticising tf out of it. like she was in a death arena but in that moment, she was happy and close to him and that mattered so much to her

her hope at him returning to himself dripping off the page. that he remembers this.

(an aside: katniss being snarky about snow's puffy lips and saying his prep team need to be lighter with his blush is sooo funny)

in my catching fire summaries, i noted that katniss's desire to save peeta is actually a very selfish one. she's saving him for herself. because she wants him so badly to live. she wants him to be able to live more than herself. and the thought of him living while she doesn't is a personally comforting/happy thought for her. yes he deserves to live and he's a wonderful person but she's doing a lot of the saving of him for herself. because she NEEDS him to live. so her line here is interesting: "if it's true, it would be kindest to kill peeta here and now. but for better or worse, i am not motivated by kindness." - i think this is her essentially confirming what i believe or have gathered so far from what she tells us. saving peeta is not her showing him some great kindness. it's for her. she can't let him die for her own personal need and reasons. (and this isn't me criticising her, i don't think her reasons for saving him are selfish in a bad immoral way. just that she is a teenage girl in love with a boy and she desperately can't let him go)

she does the whole 'am i saving him because i care for him or because i don't want snow to win' but like it's been clear why she's been saving him thus far and continues to

"why can't i just let him go?" because you love and need him sweetheart. and you literally would not be able to live without him

and it's funny that despite all the emotion behind her reasoning, she comes out bluntly and says: so are you coming yourself or do we have to knock you out

"i slip it into my pants pocket, where it clicks against the pearl"

ugh. the key that keeps him restrained is now with katniss. her taking control of that part. the fact that it clicks with the pearl, reminding her of her boy with the bread who gave her this pearl that she's inseparable from. reminding her of exactly why she can't let him go, let him die.

peeta's comment to pollux when no one else can think of anything to say!! why didn't they include these things in the movies? auihfuaedhfufkeadh

the fact that his words are able to make castor laugh and pollux smile. he is so charming, so good-hearted, so good with people. and it's coming back. the boy with the bread is there, behind all that fog. he's there.

and again, katniss's hope at realising this. her glancing back at him. i can feel her emotions even though she's not always forthcoming with them

her wishing she could read his mind and go inside it to help him. settling on making sure he's eaten. taking away the lid so he can't hurt himself.

him saying mockingjays need wings to survive kinda feels like flirting/charm idk

"slowly, as i would with a wounded animal, my hand stretches out and brushes a wave of hair from his forehead. he freezes at my touch, but doesn't recoil. so i continue to gently smooth back his hair. it's the first time i have voluntarily touched him since the last arena" - never forget what the movies took from us!!

them smoothing/playing with/brushing back each other's hair has been a constant since the first book. an intimate thing, a comforting thing. and here, after all that's gone on, katniss knows what might help him sleep and she takes the risk of touching him. it could've gone so badly. but she still did it, for him. and for her.

him whispering "you're still trying to protect me. real or not real"... i want to hug him so bad. but he feels it. he feels her wanting to still protect him and he needs the confirmation.

protecting each other is what they do guysss

he has horrible circles under his eyes from not being able to sleep but, as katniss smooths his hair back, he falls asleep after a minute. do you understand how important this is?????

#everlark #the hunger games #mockingjay #peeta x katniss #katniss x peeta #katniss and peeta #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #tgtpto everlark read

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sansxfuckyou · 4 months

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I've got the beats, I've got the bass (I've got the treats, for you to taste)

Summary: Floyd doubts there'll be a lot of him left to save when his brothers find him

Warnings: cannibalism, gore, amputation, Floyd is going through it, check Ao3 port for full tags

Authors Note: inspired by the Troll Twins AU by @ohposhers, im aware the cannibalism post was like, not official to the au, but the inner phan demanded i write this. title from DJ Whore by S3RL, hope ya'll enjoy and if you do consider dropping a reblog or checking out the ao3 port

edit 2023.12.28: WE GOT A SECOND CHAPTER OUT NOW!! it displays a small amount of comfort edit 2023.12.30: the third and final chapter has been posted, it's also been turned into a series because I have so many ideas about it

It's a little bit twisted, and a lot bit fucked up.

But they can't sing, they're Trolls and they can't sing, maybe if they were Classical it wouldn't be a problem. But they're born Pop and they can barely hold a note despite the fact they want to be famous so fucking badly. So they turn to the next best option, run away to Mount Rageous and make it big with a bunch of jello jointed freaks.

Of course, they still need an iota of talent to make it with even a bit of success.

Their method for getting that talent is beyond cruel, beyond human, beyond anything that could be conceived by a Pop Troll. But Velvet's everything but a Pop Troll these days, sadistic, uncaring, greedy- she'll get what she wants and she'll take her brother with her. She'll take her brother and the first unfortunate thing that has talent at that, figure out how to use that talent for herself and keep it.

Veneer always stared, unable to do anything as she worked, "Vel, this is-"

"Genius? I know," Velvet always answered with as she shucked slices of meat from the Troll under their ownership, paper thin and raw on a plate she'd hand to Veneer, "Eat up."

And he always did, he always fucking ate it. He always took his half and she always took her half, rejuvenating the talent they lacked with a small tray of raw meat from their own kin. She smiled this darling smile the entire time their captive watched them devour him, and Veneer tried to do the same.

"You two are fucked," Floyd argued as Velvet would bandage his arms and block off the bleeding because she had some civility despite everything. He'd clench and unclench his fist just to make sure he still could considering how spindly he was with how much they took away from him.

Velvet just giggles, "Maybe we'll take off your whole arm next, let you bleed out a bit," She traces a sharp nail across the joint of his shoulder. He shudders and tries to jerk away, the cuffs on his wrists make it shockingly hard to do so.

They get famous while he wastes away, chunk by chunk. They're erring closer to having a fame that reaches outside of Mount Rageous and he's erring closer to them having to nibble on his bones for his talent. The idea almost makes him laugh, but then he remembers that laughing hurts with how frail he is.

It's when Velvet enters the room with a hacksaw and a breaking knife that he cries for the first time. Tears welling up in his eyes and he can't bring himself to stifle them or wipe them away even though the cuffs are gone. He just sobs, aware of the fact that this is it, they're finally going to lop off his head.

"Oh don't be a baby," Velvet chided as she grabbed her marker, bright red, paint instead of ink, and dragged it along Floyd's thigh, just above his knee. She left a dotted line around his leg and he tries to stop crying.

"Do you have any anesthetic?" Floyd asked, trying to be smug.

Velvet gives this falsely contemplative hum, "Maybe," She lays down the jagged end of the hacksaw at the line, "But probably not."

Then she starts to cut, back and forth across the flesh with enough pressure to snap a rib. Teeth tear him open and he yowls, nerve endings fraying as his blood pools around him. It's shiny, not glittery per se, but definitely holding an almost opalescent sheen due to his Pop origins. It makes Velvet's mouth water, the fresh scent hitting her nose and she could tear into him with her own teeth right then and there but she doesn't.

No, she just forces further down through tendon and fat alike. His meat is both lean and marbled quite nicely with the diet they've been feeding him. Just enough to keep him alive, but fatty and carbohydrate heavy to make his flesh taste better and less tough. She presses the breaking knife beside the hacksaw when she hits the knob of the femur and presses hard until she hears something splinter. The scream accompanying it confirms her suspicions that she broke it as she cuts through marrow without any remorse.

He just whimpers and bites his tongue, hot tears still roll down his face as he watches her try and tear it the rest of the way. Twisting and yanking and it hurts so fucking bad but he can't do much to stop her. It comes off with this terrible sound and he wails as Velvet just lops off the skin with the breaking knife, aware she'll have to go at it more finely later.

"Shut up," Velvet demanded, tossing aside the leg and grabbing the bandage, "I'm not gonna let you die, or sleep through it."

He just nods as she bandages up his jagged stump, not even bothering to slice it smooth with her knife so the nerve endings aren't everywhere and torn every way possible. She bandages him with some semblance of care, he is their talent, he is their guinea pig, she can't just let him die. That'd be too nice of her considering how much talent is left on his bones, how much skill they can pilfer from his flesh.

"Hey Vel! We're running out of seasoning!" It's Veneer whose shouting down the hallways and Floyd hears.

"So I'm not good enough raw?" Floyd questioned, trying so very, very hard to be smug despite the pain coursing through every inch of his body.

Velvet scoffed, taking the leg and standing up, "Don't flatter yourself."

There's this stench of decay in Floyd's holding room by the time the twins are actually taken down. Even at that they aren't really taken down, just put in the slammer by their ever present assistant Crimp who would occasionally sneak some iron supplements into his food. She was nice, she was trampled on but she was nice, learned how to play ukulele to Floyd's singing and the such.

But she couldn't put back the flesh they stripped him of, tearing him down to his bones and even at that lopping limbs off. He's missing a leg below the knee and his entire right arm, shoulder down, and the rest of him is worryingly thin. Not because he was starved, far from him being starved, by the time he started running out of meat on his bones they upped his diet to try and make him last. It was futile really, they still tore off his skin and the flesh underneath it till all he had was bones with a paper thin layer of nerves and red wrapped in bandages.

The floor and walls are thoroughly saturated in the scent of his blood, his tears, and the medications they used to keep him from dying prematurely. Tranexamic acid to thicken his blood so he wouldn't bleed out. Midazolam to help him keep breathing even with the frailty in his everything. Benzodiazepines to stop his anxiety and force his muscles to ease up so his flesh wouldn't be so tense. Morphine, acetaminophen, risperidone, the list went on and on, he's pretty sure the nights he spent vomiting them up only hastened his wasting.

Dying would've been better than this though. Being torn apart, picked apart, used for his talent, having the life ripped out of him. At least none of his brothers had to see him like this, at least Branch didn't have to see him so ruined. He'd be the worst brother ever if Branch had to see him like this, if any of them did. Traumatized for life, he doubts he could live with himself if any of them got nightmares from seeing him in such a zombified state.

He winces when the door opens and light filters in, the rush of uncontaminated air doesn't reach him through the overpowering scent of decay. He can barely make out the silhouettes as Trolls, and instead of being defiant like he usually is, he crumbles. He can't fight it anymore, he's on his last leg to a literal degree and he knows he'll die if they take anymore.

"I'm out of talent," He begged, tears welling up once again, "I'm dead, just look at me," His voice catches on a sob.

They take one step further in, "Floyd?"

Floyd barely recognizes the voice, but he still sobs, even harder knowing it's one of his brothers, "I told you it was a trap, John," He's laughing now, it hurts so much but he's laughing regardless. He tries to shove himself up but everything hurts too much to do so, "Why did you bring our brothers?"

"Cause last time you were in a diamond holding cell! Now you're in a fucking closet that smells like shit," John snapped before stepping even further in, one step at a time. He was still getting used to the low light, his three younger brothers followed in suite.

"Don't! Just, leave!" It's a plea, it's the closest Floyd can get to a demand. He desperately thrusts out a paw like it'll stop them even though he knows it won't, and the action rubs the bandages against his raw nerves the wrong way. There's a hiss of agony, "Please, don't."

"We came here to save you," Bruce butted in with.

"I left my tribe to find you, Floyd," Clay said, stepping more gingerly than the others, "We're taking you home."

"Do you want to stay here?" Branch questioned.

And Floyd just sobbed, raising his paw to his face to try and hide himself away from them, hitching his good leg to his chest to hide the bandages. He whimpered and cried as they finally stepped close enough to see him in all of his ruination. The footsteps stop and he knows they're all riddled with disgust, riddled with fear, with regret, with shame. Their brother who looks like he was sent through the wood chipper, their brother who promised he'd come back, their brother, destroyed.

"I told you to leave," He whispers the word, eyes shut and body limp because he can't bear to see their disgust, "I fucking told you."

Paws gently lift him up, cradling him in a set of arms and he keeps sobbing, curling into whoever held him. He doesn't know which one it is because they all wear vests and open front shirts, in the past at least. He just knows he's holding on tight and apologizing for all the blood he's getting on their fur despite the repetition of 'its okay' being spoken back softly.

-/-/-/-

Floyd is out cold in the back of John Dory's van, strapped down with strips of the emergency roll of scrap booking felt that Poppy always brings with her. Branch has never been more pleased in his entire life that his girlfriend is a weirdo who always needs to scrap book because it's keeping his brother secured. He still feels absolutely sick to the stomach and he's not sure if it's the vile smell of rotting blood or the disgust with what Velvet and Veneer had done. All of them feel nauseated.

"Is he gonna make it?" Clay is the one who breaks the silence.

"Of course he will, we have the best doctors across any genre," Branch snapped back with, the sharpness of his voice unintentional.

Clay shrinks back just a bit, but shoots something back just as sharply, "Sorry to hit a nerve."

"Can we not argue right now?" Poppy asked, leaning between the two with this nervous look on her face, "Please?"

Branch crosses his arms and slumps against the wall of the van, Clay mirrors the motions.

Bruce clears his throat, "Poppy's right, we should just get Floyd under medical care as soon as possible."

"Is he even awake?!" John shouted from the front, eyes still firmly fixed on the road but body riddled with concern and fear and so many other things.

"He passed out!" Bruce shouted back.

Branch leans up against Poppy, "I'm scared," It's a whisper, it barely comes out at all. He never thought he'd admit an emotion as vulnerable as fear to a Troll as loud as Poppy.

Poppy just wraps an arm around his shoulders before whispering back, "It'll be okay," even though she doesn't know if it will.

"What if it isn't?" Branch asked just as quietly.

Poppy doesn't have an answer.

There's this low groan from the back of the van, no one up front dares to move because Bruce is already back there. They don't want to send Floyd ricocheting into another freak out, "Where am I?"

"In John's van," Bruce answered with.

Floyd tried to move but he couldn't, panic shot through him. His breathing hastened just a bit, "Why am I tied down?" He tries to quell the fear resting so heavily on his voice, weighing down on his calm and cool exterior.

"Because you're not doing so hot, it's for safety," Bruce said, trying to keep his voice soft, slipping into dad mode without even realizing it, "We'll take them off as soon as we get home, okay?"

Floyd gave this weak semblance of a nod, "Okay, is Branch here?"

The aforementioned brother scrambles to get to the back of the van, "Of course I am."

"Sorry you had to see me so messed up," Floyd apologized and Branch feels like crying at the comment because it's so fucked up that Floyd is saying sorry for being destroyed when he could do nothing.

"Floyd, it's fine, you couldn't," Branch tries to speak, he really does, but a whole lot of nothing comes up. He just holds onto Floyd's paw desperately tight, "We should've been there sooner."

"You had your own lives," Floyd countered with, "Thanks for saving me anyways."

"We'll always be there to save you, Floyd," Bruce supplied in place of Branch who was just rendered nonverbal.

"Is he gonna walk again?" Branch asked.

The doctor shook her head, "Even with prosthetics using Funk technology and Rock materials, he still doesn't have enough meat on his bones to properly move them to their full extent."

"Can't you give him a graft?" Clay asked, "I read about it, skin grafts, muscle grafts, take some flesh and use it somewhere else."

"I absolutely would but the thing is," She gives this sigh before gesturing to Floyd's body.

He's near skeletal, not enough of the right bio chemicals in him to scab up everywhere, he's torn up and raw. With the bandages removed he looks even more zombie, even if he is asleep over a hospital cocktail with light analgesia. It wasn't supposed to knock him out, just ease the pain, but apparently he was destroyed enough that the small amount of alcohol did knock him down. His arm is as thin as Clay's, in some places stripped to the bone. His good leg and his other thigh have chunks ripped out of them, whole sections of muscle and tendon alike removed but not quite to the bone there. His ribs are pronounced, so are his collar bones, and the crests of his pelvis, not enough flesh to keep the sharpness hidden.

"There isn't anything to take and use elsewhere. He's a shell of his former self, if we're lucky we can stabilize him and keep him on light foods until he fills out a bit. Then he'll be stuck in a wheelchair for the rest of his life, if we're lucky he'd be able to use a prosthetic with crutches on a good day," The doctor explained. A deep sense of horror knotted itself onto the brothers stomachs. Not enough flesh to do a graft, of course there isn't enough leftover, he's a skeleton for fucks sake! They're glad Floyd isn't awake to hear about his brand new future (they don't know he'll take anything so long as he isn't in the hands of Velvet and Veneer).

John Dory won't stand for it, "Hey doc, if you have a donor with the same blood type or whatever, it could work, theoretically speaking," He's grasping at straws really, but he doesn't want his baby brother to live a life without dancing, or going on walks, or any other thing that he can think of. He'd sooner die than use a wheel chair, his life was the mountains, his life was rough terrain. And even though he doesn't know if Floyd feels the same, he doesn't want his brother robbed.

"Are you insane?" Was what Bruce said before the doctor could answer.

"I was in the woods living off of swamp scum and bird carcass for twenty years, I absolutely am," He presses a digit to Bruce's chest as he speaks and shoves him back, "I want my brother to walk with us, to dance with us."

"He can do it in a wheel chair," Bruce countered with, "Medical advances have been made, we've come really far in twenty years."

"Guys," Clay butted in with, they both snapped to glare at him, "Let the doctor speak before you tear your heads off."

"It could work, hypothetically, but if his body rejects the graft for some inane reason he might not make it through the night. Although he might not make it either way given his current condition," The doctor said, "It's up to you four to call the shots because he's out cold."

They all share a tense glance.

"We all have the same blood type," Branch got out quietly.

"Blood type O, universal donor, can only take other O's," Clay tacked on.

"And our fur would match his, he wouldn't look totally frankensteined," John said.

Bruce stayed quiet.

"It's up to you, Bruce, this could work," Branch pressed.

"Fine, just don't take too much off of me," Bruce said, "I have a wife who would not appreciate me coming home butchered."

"Bruce, this is about Floyd," Clay said rather sternly, "We all know your wife will love you no matter how bloody you are."

"Guess some things never change, like your whole 'gotta look good' thing," John teased.

The doctor cleared her throat and all eyes were on her, "If we want to have enough time we'll need to put you under for surgery in the next hour or so, the clock is ticking."

"I'm doing it,"

"Count me in,"

"Me too,"

"So am I,"

-/-/-/-

All of them are unconscious when they're stolen from, strips of flesh taken from their serratus anterior and latissimus dorsi so no one has to see the scars when it's over. They're carefully cut open and extracted, a little bit of skin came with it because Floyd didn't have enough skin himself these days. At least when he still had the bandages on they could lie and say he had scabs and skin, lie and say the stench was because he hasn't had a shower in months, not because his blood refused to dry properly and rot and infect instead.

Mismatched muscles are stitched into the gaping lacerations across his body, surgical glue used around the edges just to make sure. Patches of his brothers skin from where their flesh was taken are stitched atop to try and hide the raw flesh, bright red and shimmery, it might help stimulate his body into trying to regrow his own skin. Otherwise he'll always have scars a deeper hue than his blood beside skin held on with stitches like he's one of Frankenstein's monsters, unfinished and abandoned.

Except his brothers are risking their own hide to try and bring him back from his virtually undead state, so close to death he might as well bury himself. He has four brothers letting themselves be butchered so he'll be able to move his remaining limbs, so he'll be able to live without the risk of developing a medication tolerance too strong. He has four brothers that are giving a doctor permission to take a piece out of them to sew into him instead, maybe if he were awake he'd say something about how poetic that is, how they'll never be apart again.

But he isn't awake, instead he's blissfully asleep on a small shot that was supposed to make him more sociable and numb the pain. He passed out rather fast after taking it, and then his brothers could begin discussing the truth of the matter without Floyd. If he was awake when they brought up the graft they know he would defy it, they know he would say it isn't right for them to make that sacrifice. They also know their brother would waste away without their help, waste away without any extra meat, exposed bone doesn't scream 'healthy' in Pop Village.

There's an extraction from Bruce first, tactfully cut from his lower back and laid atop Floyd's rib cage. Slid over top the painfully thin muscles in thin slices, some if it was placed along his hips to add padding to his painfully prominent bones. To make him less skeletal, it was mostly cosmetic on that front, but if he tripped and fell he could shatter like glass with how exposed they were. He'd shatter and there'd be so much blood it would leave someone scarred for life, so much whimpering because punctured lungs leaves no room for screaming.

The doctor takes from John Dory next because of how insistent he was on the procedure, how insistent he was to make sure Floyd could have flesh again. It's taken from one thigh, a solid chunk taken out and replaced with an almost jelly substance. He'd collapse when he walked without a substitute of some sort, he'll be reduced to crutches until he gets used to it. A consequence perhaps, or just cruel fate that he has the perfect cut of meat to fill one of the larger gaps in Floyd's good leg. He's restitched with most of his skin, but again, a good chunk of it goes to his little brother, to keep him from drying in the sun.

"What's happening?" It's Floyd, waking up strapped down and held open with someone holding a piece of meat. He instantly goes to thrash, scared, afraid, oh god he thought he escaped. What a cruel dream, imagining his brothers would actually pull through, he's still stuck.

"Calm down, Floyd," The doctor said, "We're in a hospital, giving you a surgery, your safe, your brothers are safe."

Floyd tries to nod, "Why am I awake?"

"Analgesia knocked you out, it just wore off," She said, grabbing a needle, "So please, hold still."

He does as told, needle sliding through his skin with ease. It only stings a little bit as he anesthetic pushes through his veins rather sluggishly. The doctor falters on using another needle to actually knock him out and only chooses against it when he drifts back to sleep. There's a long pause of no motion, no advances, just in case he wakes back up again, but when he doesn't she continues.

Placing John's flesh into the cavity of Floyd's leg and stitching it closed, surgical glue to keep it in place after he's been closed up. The stitches almost match his fur, thread off by a single shade, just a bit darker than he is. And it keeps staining on the blood inside of him when the needle goes through, keeps picking up that red pigment that shines like liquid gold. She'll rinse it clean after the surgery is done, after he's patched up using chunks of his brothers who love him so much they'd tear themselves apart for him.

She hesitates to take anything off of Clay because he's already spindly. But he wants to give as well, he's the one who remembered their blood types were all O despite the odds. He gets the exterior layer of skin from his lower back shucked off unforgivingly, he's too thin to take his muscle, that'd put him in danger. The flesh is stitched onto the nub just above Floyd's knee, where he was amputated without any reason. The jagged gore won't connect to a prosthetic very well, it's smoothed with a scalpel before the skin is put into place. Definitely not the average surgical move, but whatever it takes to keep a patient alive, including slicing off bits of meat in need of replacement. It's rotten flesh anyways, always exposed to air and never allowed to properly heal, it reeks of death like the rest of his body.

Branch is the final one taken from, strips out of his thighs spliced into Floyd's arms length wise. They fill out nicely, rest atop the bone in such a fashion they look like they belonged in his arm instead of Branch's leg. The hue of the flesh and the hue of the skin didn't match, the gray that Branch experienced still held strong even upon being cut up and stitched to a new body. It really makes Floyd look chimeric, like a rotten, decaying, beast of mythology that shouldn't be able to exist. And if he makes it out alive he'll fit the description perfectly because his heart rate should've dropped off the face of the planet by now, but it hasn't, he's still alive somehow.

He's still alive and so far his body isn't rejecting the sacrifices his brothers are making for him. It's a miracle really, them getting him to the hospital on time to get him stabilized for a surgery is also miracle. And maybe the defiance John Dory held over letting Floyd be forced into a wheel chair will bring advances to the medical field, probably not. But this in itself is amazing, the fact he's getting pulled together by thread and woke up not coughing blood is absurd.

Maybe when he wakes up at the designated time he still won't cough up blood.

-/-/-/-

John Dory wakes up last, "What happened?" He swings his leg over the edge of his bed and hisses because it hurts real bad.

Bruce is face down on his bed, "We gave Floyd a muscle graft, remember?"

"Right," John answered with before going to stand, he instantly collapsed, heavily leaning on the small table. Crutches, he grabs them instantly to prop himself up, knees shaking, "Where's Floyd?"

"I'm over here," Came Floyd's voice from the other side of the room, he was hobbling over with his new leg. It looked sleek, a lovely metallic sheen to it due to the materials and the Funk craftsmanship ties it together, the shape similar enough to an organic leg. He's using a crutch to walk over, fresh flesh in his thigh sore, but working with a bit of weight alleviation.

"You look great man!" Elation is heavy on John's voice as he tries to take a step over with the crutches. He nearly falls, "Whose are these?"

"Yours, the substitute for the chunk they took out of you is still fresh. It's gonna take time to walk 'normally' with it, but crutches are easy after a bit," Floyd explained, "Thanks."

John sits back down on his bed, "Well jeez, your welcome bro, but I may have to take that flesh back if I can't walk."

"You're lucky you aren't in a wheel chair," Bruce stated boldly, rolling onto his side just a bit, "The doc said that it was almost so bad you'd need one, you're lucky."

"Say, where's Branch? And Clay?" John asked, changing the subject with ease.

Floyd shrugged with one shoulder, the prosthetic not responding as much as desired, "I'm pretty sure they're in the room next too us, still asleep. When I asked the doctor she said they were still alive."

"They fucking better be, I'll crush her skull with these stupid crutches if they aren't," John snarled out.

"See, you're already in love with them," Floyd teased, "I'm sure Branch will outfit them to your style once he's done with his recovery."

Bruce gives a laugh, "Karma."

"Shut up," He pointed the end of his crutch at Bruce threateningly.

Bruce just batted it away with his paw, "How dangerous."

"Guys, neither of you are in condition to get in fight,"

"Beg to differ,"

"I could kick his ass no matter what,"

Floyd sighed, taking a couple disjointed steps closer to take a seat at the foot of Bruce's bed. He leans his crutch on the edge, "You could not, you're a dad."

"Makes me even better at tossing little shits around," Bruce countered with.

John is quick to try and breach the small gap, he ends up face first in Bruce's bed. It garners a loud laugh, "Shut up," it's a muffled plea, "How long are we gonna be in this place for?"

"A considerable while," Floyd offered nervously, "It varies between us. Me, you, and Branch are gonna be here the longest because we need some physical rehab, might be permanent for you and Branch, it will for me."

Bruce hoists up John fully onto the mattress, "I'm regretting saving your life," Bruce clips the back of his head for that comment.

Floyd just laughs, "Gee, I love you too."

#troll twins au #trolls world tour #trolls fanfic #trolls floyd #velvet and veneer #trolls #writing #fanfic #fanfiction #tw gore #tw body horror #tw cannibalism

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blood-mocha-latte · 5 months

Text

stormy - a luztoye drabble

for an ask from @malarkgirlypop || request an edit/drabble || i loved loved loved writing this, thank you for the ask <3 <3

The apartment they've found is all brick, sturdy and warm, but George can still feel the shaking of the thunder under his feet.

He sighs down at the metal tin that holds rapidly cooling water and dissipating bubbles. The sad, soggy lump of washcloths in his fist serves as a makeshift mop, because for some reason, they don't actually have one.

They were in the middle of painting the walls of the kitchen blue – a (hopefully) better colour change from the dark orange it was when George, of course, dropped a good half quarter of blue all over the tile floor.

The thunder rumbles outside again. George groans, like it's a queue, and bunches his ‘mop’ together better before dunking it into the pail.

Leaning his knees on a rolled up towel, avoiding the harsh tile of the kitchen floor, he scrubs rather absently for a while.

He likes menial tasks, like this. Turning his brain off, George feels, is something that is both long and far between as well as just. Absent.

When he thinks — always, always thinking, and talking even more — it’s almost always about the now. About needing to clean the floor, about when they’ll need to water the plant on top of the fireplace again, about how they need a new bedspread, because George got blood all over their old one when he accidentally sliced his palm open with a razor.

(A mishap, with shaving. Joe had dropped something in their bedroom, and George had jolted so badly he’d needed fourteen stitches.)

Sometimes, though, he thinks of everyday and it blends into what used to be everyday; disjointed thoughts that he’ll need to call Lip down in West Virginia and ask about confirmation for blasting a house in Hagenau, that he’ll need to get new running shoes because Currahee tends to get muddier with the rain, this time of year.

This time, he thinks about Joe. Who, admittedly, consumes the majority of his thoughts, now.

He thinks of a joke, and thinks about telling it to Joe, and realises he’s already told it to him, because he’s the only one George tells anything, anymore. He wonders vaguely about something that existed when he was a kid, and has to go and find Joe to ask him if he remembers that thing too, just to listen to him talk. He walks by a shop window with all sorts of jewellery in it, and wonders what Joe would do if he brought home rings.

As he scrubs at the tile, blue paint chipping off and into the cloths and George’s hands, he wonders if Joe’d like it if he could find Flash Gordon Conquers the Universe. Maybe they could watch it. Maybe they’d watch it for two seconds and get bored. Maybe, if George talked through it enough, he could get Joe to shut him up with his mouth, anchor a hand in his hair—

“George.” Joe says from the other side of the room, voice almost frustrated. George looks up from the mess on the floor; made no better by his scrubbing, and drops the ‘mop’ back into the soapy tin.

“Something wrong?” He asks, wiping his hands awkwardly on the fabric of his pants as he makes his way over to where Joe sits on the couch, holding the paper against his good leg, pen in his left hand.

“No.” Joe says, too quickly, almost sharply. He huffs, once, through his nose, and shoves the paper up roughly when George comes to stand over the couch, bracing the palms of his hands against the back of it. “Just. I can't— fuck.”

Joe gets like this, sometimes. Usually when it’s cold and it’s been a while since he last ate. Frustrated, sharp. More impatient than usual, maybe a bit clumsier.

George kneels behind the couch, grimacing slightly at the pop of his knees, and fights down the cushioning of the sofa to rest his chin on Joe's shoulder, skimming through the messy handwriting that Joe held up.

It's been easy enough to get settled in. The apartment is a decent size, both bedrooms are nice. George seems ecksausted

exosted

exausted

exaustid

“I don't know why the fuck I couldn't just say tired.” Joe says, dropping the paper back into his lap when George pulls back and noses absently against the shell of his ear to show he was done reading. His voice is strained, like he’s trying to make a joke.

“Well, you've got a big vernacular. Might as well use it.” George says lightly, using Joe’s good shoulder to push himself back up, grunting. “Christ, call an ambulance. Who let an old man get down on the floor?”

“You're only twenty-seven, George.” Joe says absently as George rounded the side of the sofa. “And I don't have a big fucking vernacular. Can't spell for shit. It's not like I use fancy goddamn words all the time.”

“You use fancy words all the time.” George retorts, plopping down onto the couch and slipping his hands under his legs. Joe’s eyes, dark against his skin and framed by even darker lashes, glare down at them. “You just said vernacular.”

“Because you just said vernacular.” Joe says darkly, posture slouched. “I can't even spell vernacular.”

“Well, neither can I.” George says amiably. “There's probably a ‘j’ in there, somewhere.”

Joe frowns down at the paper. “Can you even read the damn writing?” He asks, flipping the pencil clumsily between his fingers. George leans further into him, jostling his ribs with his elbow. Outside, the rumbling thunder seems to make the glass in the panes of their windows vibrate.

“Well, sure.” He says. “Could tell that you kept misspelling exhausted, couldn’t I?” Joe doesn’t meet his eyes.

“It’s not legible.” He murmurs. George sighs, and gently pulls the paper out of Joe’s grip before he crumples it into a ball.

“Well, it’s not easy on the eyes.” He says lightly. He tries not to lie, but he doesn’t like being any sort of unkind. “But you are, so it makes up for it.”

“George.” Joe says, same way he always does. Like the beginning of a prayer, or a story. George just shrugs. He lets his head drop to Joe’s bare shoulder, fingers smoothing across his wifebeater.

“‘S fine, Joe.” He says. He’s leaning against Joe’s bad shoulder, and he can feel the lines of scarring and tissue against his temple and cheek like streaks of lightning. He taps his index finger against the deepest scar; one that runs from the crux of Joe’s neck and shoulder and wraps around his bicep to halfway down his forearm. “I can read it fine.”

Joe’s quiet. He shifts against George, and dry lips press to his forehead.

“I can’t write so good, anymore.” He says. George knows. George was there when Joe couldn’t even use his right arm without it hurting, could barely keep a grasp on a tennis ball. George also knows that Joe tends to get inside his own head, tends to think that things are worse than they actually are, that every event is the start of a chain of bad ones.

That’s alright, though. That’s what he’s got George for, whether he likes it or not.

“Writing doesn’t matter.” George says. “I heard somewhere that Mark Twain couldn’t hold a pencil. He just said stuff and had other people write it down.” Joe snorts.

“That’s bullshit.” He mutters. George spreads his fingers against Joe’s forearm, pressing his palm to the scar.

“Yeah.” He agrees easily. “Who gives a fuck, though.” Joe huffs. The thunder rumbles, as if in agreement, and they both turn their heads towards the window.

“Still stormy outside, I’d guess.” Joe says. George hums, turns his cheek to press a kiss to Joe’s shoulder. Fuck the kitchen tiles. They can be blue. It will probably come into fashion at some point, anyways.

“Yeah.” He says. “Who gives a fuck, though.”

#rie writes #click on words for definitions ;)#i like this one i love luztoye best ship 10/10 #band of brothers #hbo war #luztoye #george luz #joe toye

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urlocallesbiabs-reblog-sideblog · 1 year

Text

so, i remember seeing a red dwarf tumblr post about how if you leave your universe, it's almost impossible to go back, because there's trillions upon trillions of them, and every minute decision branches off a new one

so what if our original rimmer spent maybe a few months genuinely being ace and enjoying the hero status, then decided it's too dangerous and scary and tiresome and wanted to go home, and spent the entirety of those nine years (between s7 and s9) looking for his home universe?

and he kept saving people along the way of course, ace duty is ace duty (half of those heroic acts were accidents anyway), but his heart wasn't in it anymore; he's found many a universe where there were still people, where he could theoretically fit in and settle and live as close to a normal life as he could hope for, but he could never stay for long, he longed for *his* home, for lister, *his* lister

and wise people told him "you'll never get there. there are too many universes, and every day that you wake up and make a choice to continue looking for home, that choice creates a new one, setting you back. you're dooming yourself.", and he answered "shut up, you stupid goit, you don't get it! get smegged to hell!"

and i imagine a scene:

it's close to the end of the 9 year gap, kochanski's already gone, lister's Not Doing Well, and it's another monster-of-the-week life-or-death situation aboard the red dwarf, a particularly nasty one: all is shit, end is near, how will our heroes get out of *this one!* this is probably it! this is it! they're all gonna smegging die! and then outta nowhere ace pops out, hair billowing in the air and all, shoots some bullets that bullshitly ricochet and perform miracles, and saves the day

after that he asks to spend the night there, because even heroes need to sleep a bit, and of course he's welcome!!

lister doesn't quite know how to approach the subject, so he goes for subtle bordering on undecipherable: asks how long has it been since this ace got the flame passed on to him? what was it like? ace deflects with a charming non-answer and a fun adventure story, and lister thinks well, that's not him, then. must be a new one. that means that his rimmer passed on the flame, that he... died.

lister doesn't know how to process the idea, so he doesn't.

he tries to stick around and listen to the stories that's gotten kryten (and even cat, a little bit!) enthralled, but quickly grows bored and goes off to wander the ship and entertain himself on his own. at some point few hours later, he notices ace out and about as well, measuring doorways with tape, comparing wall paint with color swatches, counting the rooms and making notes in his little notebook; ace doesn't notice him. kinda sketchy behaviour, lister thinks, but doesn't confront him just yet. who knows, maybe the guy just went a little bit space crazy, maybe he's preparing for some impending disaster; would be rude to accuse him of nothing, wouldn't it?

as lister returns to his quarters in the evening, he sees ace briskily walking out from about the same corridor that lister is headed to, throwing him a shining, but somewhat strained smile; ace is going to the room he's claimed for the night, which is on the officer's deck, literally on the other side of the ship (makes sense to lister that he doesn't share the room with him, since this isn't really his bunkmate. smeg knows him, maybe in his universe he actually was an officer and slept alone, not like lister cares). this feels *really* sketchy, but none of lister's things seem to have been messed with on closer inspection, so he can't really prove shit. he feels kind of paranoid, but also tired, and decides he'll talk to ace in the morning.

lister sleeps badly and fitfully, and wakes up in the middle of the night. he can't fall asleep again, and decides to go and grab a bite; maybe visit krissie in the observatory, watch stars together, have some time for himself.

the lights are on in the drive room. ace is there, talking to– *interrogating* holly and kryten, swiveling on a chair back and forth to face either of them, whisper-barking rapid-fire questions; lister is Alarmed (what is this? mutiny? a hostage situation? a threat?), so naturally he hides and eavesdrops.

ace runs them through a bunch of questions that vary wildly in immediately obvious importance, seemingly nonsensical (what fuel does this ship run on? when did the leak happen? who was assigned to fix it? how many irradiated haggies were in the ship's hold at the moment of disaster? has lister ever passed an officer's exam? on what day and what ship did they find kryten? and so on and so forth), growing more and more agitated and focused, determination so passionate it's almost angry. at last, he takes a deep breath, clenches fists, and says "now, i did notice this ship's crew lacks a usual, i'd say indespensable member, namely one arnold judas rimmer. where, pray tell, did you put the bugger?"

"arnold died in 3,002,386 from a vending machine related incident, arnold," says holly.

ace's face falls, and he laughs like someone died. "ah, of course it's like that, of course. it's always like that. well, good chat, gentlemen, thank you for humoring me." he gets up, even though it obvious his legs are weak.

noticing his distress at the information, kryten hurries to clarify, "it was the second one, though! the first one died a few months before that!"

ace falls back into the chair. "what do you *mean* the second one?!"

"the one my nanobots ressurected!" kryten clarifies with mostly pride, partially guilt.

"what smegging nanobots? what on io has happened here?" ace rimmer has to forcibly hold his horses, pulling a palm down his face. "no, forget it, doesn't matter, not right now. the other one, the first one — how did *he* die?"

"well, physically it was the cadmium 2 leak in 2181" holly helpfully explains. ace rimmer makes a dying groan. "but his hologram form was destroyed by an escaped knight from an AR camelot game."

the man perks up. "was me — well no, not exactly me, but — ugh, was ace rimmer there?.."

they confirm that yes, even though he left soon after. rimmer goes slack in his chair and puts a hand over his eyes. "so this is it?" he whispers. "so many years, and... this is it. i'm here. i can't believe it."

after a minute in weird silence, he gets up and staggers out.

lister's a few paces down the corridor, having been unsettled by the exhange and made the decision to leave.

rimmer calls out to him, loudly, with intense gravitas, "lister!"

"rimmer," he responds, shocked and disbeliving, eyes open.

"lister!" he exclaims urgently, desperately.

"you're my rimmer, aren't ya," lister states a question, incredulous.

"of course i'm yours, you stupid git!" rimmer cries out and lunges at him, crushing him in a hug. "you gimboid, you imbecile, you smeg for brains smeghead," he chatters on, out of breath, cradling him.

"i've missed ya," lister sobs. rimmer doesn’t manage to respond, only hugs him even harder.

(rimmer didn’t want to throw himself at the guy until he'd made sure it's *his* guy, didn't want to make himself vulnerable only to later make a fool of himself; too many times he let himself hope and get drunk on that hope and then had his stupid heart broken by some tiny little thing being off, inviting a flood of other little things, suddenly finding himself in an embrace with a stranger wearing his best friend's face. he just couldn't bear it anymore, not again. he needed to make sure first.)

however, this headcanon poses a problem of reconciling this with late series rimmer claiming to have saved red dwarf from the corrosive virus back then. because if our rimmer only returned during the 9 year gap (closer to end of it), he couldn't have been there at the end of s8, right?

to which i propose this: the alternative ending to "only the young" is canon, and it was nanobot rimmer who saved (or rather tried to save) the day; then he was killed by a rouge vending machine. they couldn't bring him back as a hologram though, because the holo-suite was heavily damaged by the corrosion virus and they didn't have the intricate spare parts needed to fix it. so, his memory disk stayed unused, carefully kept in the hopes of someday fixing the holo-suite (never found a suitable derelict though, not with their shit luck). then our rimmer came along, learned of the entire situation, fixed the suite using details taken from wildfire, and asked holly to merge the info from this disc onto his (because for smeg's sake, it's at least 1 year out of those hellish 9 that he can remember having spent home; he can Not pass it up). the merge was successful, but majorly jittered his vibes (since he remembered two different versions of being 32, and in one of them lister was 8 years older than in the other, and he became aware that in the same year as he was 32 for the second time he also was 40 and in another universe) and gave him lifelong memory issues. he's still happy as a clam about the result, though!

that's why other's disagree when he claims having saved the day back then — he figures that if he has that guy's memories, he *is* that guy, because that's how holograms work, but others want to argue that the alive nanobot rimmer technically wasn't exactly him; you Don't wanna be there for all of the smeg-throwing that occurs during the argument.

it all could be a fake episode (or maybe a fake two-episode special), where the first half's main gag/storyline would be lister slowly growing convinced that ace is actually evil and is in the process of brewing some Sinister Plans, and the second would be about rimmer going peculiar from the merge and randomly glitching between various remembered stages of his life (thinking he's still ace and this is isn't his lister; thinking he's nanobot rimmer and wondering what happened to the crew; a throwback to an early episode or two; thinking he's a fresh hopeful enlist on red dwarf [kinda painful in a hindsight way, but also pathetic and hilarious]; thinking he's a small child [very silly and funny, mostly cute even if a bit weird because that's a grown man's body, also an epic Rimmer Trauma Lore moment as usual]; etc), to the point that lister worries they've smegging broken him and he'll never be alright, only for him to finally cope and appear sane, only to reveal last second that parts of his memory are still kinda jumbled.

i'd call that fake episode:

"H Stands For Home"

and i imagine a scene from the second half:

rimmer sees the destroyed holo-suite (god, i really can't leave you bastards alone even for a day, let alone a decade), and finds the memory disc for the other him (wait, what is this? i clearly remember taking mine with me when i left...), and gets filled in on the whole nanobots, ressurected rimmer, corrosive virus debacle (he needs to sit down.)

naturally, he decides to fix the hologram-projecting hardware (obvious turn of events) and merge the discs' data together (man, what??)

he pops out, promises to be back in a jiffie, and returns from the hangar with a bunch of circut boards, unconneted wires and the likes, immediately getting to work

"whatcha doing?" lister asks, clearly entertained but also genuinely curious

"having a smegging picnic, what does it look like?!"

"...can you fix it, though?"

"i've serviced my own ship for a decade straight, i've prevented all kinds of disasters on dozens of red dwarves, i've saved countless city-states from technological ruin, of course i'm perfectly capable of fixing this ship's holo-suite!" (this very moment, he connects something wrong and gets a shower of sparkles right to his face, which startles him and causes him to bang his head rather hard against an open latch)

when lister's done laughing, he asks "where on smeg did you even get the details? i've meant to patch it up all these years, but just... never could find 'em." (here his voice voice grows distant and sad; he had lost rimmer *twice* in one year, and it was just unfair. it just hurt.)

"good ol' baby racehorse wildfire," rimmer slaps one of the circuit boards with pride; something falls off of it. "presume it got the upgrade sometime since the original ace kicked the bucket; something needs to keep all of us holograms going."

"wait, you tore these from your ship?"

"what, was i supposed to pull them out of my arse?" rimmer is getting annoyed by the pointless conversation

"it's just... how will ya fly it, then?"

"it's still perfectly spaceworthy, i'll let you know!" rimmer preens. "sure, no more having my arse fall asleep after one week straight in the cockpit, hauling vaccine to pluto or some such (would not recommend), but i can still give it a good run as long as my lightbee's got charge! not all that different from our other off-the-ship missions — now what are you, stupid?"

"you won't be able to travel for long," lister clarifies apprehensively. "you won't be able to have your... space smeg adventure. you won't be ace."

rimmer looks up at him like he's crazy. "of course i won't be ace." he gets up, walks weirdly close to lister. "i'm not leaving. what — what did you think this was? that i'd spent all these years looking for you, for this dimension, only to have some tea and smeg right back off?!"

"...i don't know what i thought," lister admits, half-laughing and weirdly upset and relieved.

rimmer gripes him by the shoulders very, very hard. "i'm not leaving. never."

also, he wears his hair in the classic long and free ace style until the proper Reunion, then as soon as he fixes the holo-suite and hookes his projection to red dwarf he asks holly to chop it all off (he wanted to do that immediately after confirming that this is his home universe, but he was still connected to wildfire's holo-hardware and the ship's ai wouldn't let him bc ouughhh houghhh ace but your hair is So Beautiful, i simply Can Not); between the two points, he wore a tight neat ponytail to keep all his golden locks out of his smegging face, and he looked Hot doing it

***

and another thought, that isn't directly connected to this imaginary two-episode special, but still has to do with rimmer, lister, and the 9 years gap:

(though i'm not sure if it's canon to my personal headcanonverse [...i'm not even sure i've got a personal headcanonverse here. i love the idea of them getting together in early series when he's still soft-light, or later when he's hard-light and they can touch, or after the reunion, or post-tpl; too many possibilities!] because i feel like it gets rimmer off the hook of his internalized homophobia way too easy, but anyway, just imagine.)

it's rimmer's ace years, and it's not only beautiful young birds throwing themselves at him for his sexy heroics, but beautiful young studs as well; he switches many a dimension, and what happens in a reality stays in that reality, right?; he meets many a lister, some of them openly queer, some of them in a relationship (past or ongoing) with their rimmer; he sleeps the night away with some of them. long story short, 9 years of both excessive human attention and crushing loneliness are ample time to confront one's sexuality. he's still got his hangups though, so in his mind "i am gay" and "lister is my best ever friend whom i miss terribly" don't quite cross together, not immediately.

either way, he finally gets back, they have their happy reunion, and then rimmer learns while he was off adventuring, lister had a wife and a child and loved her deeply and then she died; obviously, lister still needs some space to process all that. rimmer will talk to him about his soul-search some other time (no, he doesn't feel like he'd been replaced, he's not jealous, jeez!). lister just needs some time to move on, yea? and then it'll all be back to how it used to be, just the four of them.

and then s9 happens, and lister is obsessed with getting kochanski back, and rimmer feels as insecure as in s1 but ten times worse — there's the woman who'd been by lister's side for the last decade, there's his wife, there's the love of his life, and there's, well, just some guy. there's rimmer.

he longs desperately to be the most important person in lister's life, but he just isn't, and that's driving him mad. that's what (partially, together with all his lifetime-accumulated trauma) fuels his tpl insistence that nobody aboard red dwarf (read: lister) likes him: he knows lister doesn't love him back, and that is killing him.

#vikarambles #long lost #LONG FUCKING POST #red dwarf #rimster #arnold judas rimmer #dave lister

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pocketramblr · 3 months

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36 for the word game, please!

36. — conditional

"You don't... want to eat my soul?" Izuku asked. Everything felt unreal, between the light around the demon and the floating sensation between Izuku and his body. Maybe it was just the bloodloss or oxygen deprivation. Maybe the demon wasn't even here. That'd be the better option, right?

"It would not be." The demon grumbled. "Young man, I'd have to be a very powerful demon to utilize souls in magic. I don't know if anyone but the demon king has ever managed it. As for eating humans... Well, yes, some demons would. But I don't."

Well, then Izuku's would-be murderers were going to be very disappointed.

"They just summoned a demon, guess there wasn't a way to phone ahead and check your interest. Sorry you got dragged into this too, then, you can leave right?" And then with no demon to fulfill their wish, Izuku's kidnappers would... Probably just kill him. He was dead anyway.

The demon's brows furrowed, his eyes shone sharp blue in black. "I could, but I don't want to leave you to your death. Nor do I want them to try again, with another summoning circle."

Oh. That was nice of him.

"Unfortunately, I can't really do anything yet until I accept or deny the contract. Until you are dead, or mine." The demon began to pace, yellow bangs swaying side to side. Izuku watched him, and didn't move from the circle painted on the ground. Moving sounded like it would hurt.

"Well, I guess..." The demon sighed, then turned back. "Ok, here's an offer: I adopt you as my son. That means accepting the contract, with another on top."

Izuku already had a dad. He thought about what his mom would say if he said yes, it would have broken her heart. But if he said no... Well she wouldn't exactly have been happy about this, either.

"As your son?"

"It would allow you safe passage to the Netherworld and would fulfill a condition of the contract."

"The Netherworld?"

"Where demons dwell. As I said, in this world... You're not long for it."

"What are the other conditions?"

"I'd need something from you. As this saves your life, you'd have to give up something too."

"My soul?"

"No, that'd be under my custody until you reach adulthood. You'd have to give up your surname."

"Oh, like, change my name on the family registry because I'd be adopted? Demons have family registries too?"

"Sorta... But no. I mean, give it up. You wouldn't ever remember your family's name here, and it'd be replaced with mine."

Oh.

It was his mom's surname.

"So if I don't agree, I die. And if I do, I forget my name and go to the Netherworld with you, and you are definitely only going to adopt me and not eat me because if you wanted to do that you already would have, I guess, and... What happens here? To make sure there isn't another summoning circle or they try to get even more people killed because it apparently works and-"

The demon waved a hand. "In accepting, I would also be sealing the deal with... them too, yes, but I can then make sure they are unable to do anymore harm with it."

"So, you wouldn't be giving them what they want?"

The demon snorted. "I'd be giving them what they think they want. And I can promise you this, they will regret it."

Izuku almost asked what it was. Almost asked what they wanted badly enough to kill him. But couldn't.

"All right. I agree."

"Really?" The demon sounded too surprised, considering he'd been trying to sell Izuku on this plan. Or, trying to get Izuku to sell on his plan?

"Yeah."

"Deal. Sign here." The demon snapped, and papers and and old pen hovered in front of Izuku. He couldn't read the paper.

He signed it anyway.

#and that's why everyone calls him 'Izuku' and no one uses Midoriya in that au #because of the conditions on the adoption #anyway! should izuku have signed a contract he can't read? no #but was it totally worth it because now he gets dad might? yes #pocket talks to people #shih shoulda had it #ask game #a familiar Netherworld au

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talesfromdvalin · 4 months

Text

XIAO'S OBSESSION

From toxic ideas to healthy. Translate or reblog is alright, but only if you remember, that I may ask you to delete if I would not alright with your blog. Thank you. The place I live most of all.

It was hard. Seeing you cope without calling out by name the one person willing to give their life in exchange for your well-being.

It was hard. Seeing another person snuggled up against your back, an adult, probably cute if you looked through your eyes. To see you smile and turn around to give a thankful hug and tell them you've had great luck this time.

It was a hard thing to do. Not appearing to be around you. Xiao knew you didn't like it when he meddled in the proceedings out of unnecessary excitement and worry, simply because he couldn't trust the skills enough, the opponents. The need to shun was almost physically painful, so the adept made the important decision to observe from afar. To be there to back him up at the critical moment. Of course, you'd be extremely indignant if the situation that got out of control was resolved thanks to Xiao, but it was better that way than if you got injured.

But… the devil. That disgusting, humiliating feeling of fear, with liquid and bitchy jealousy painted on top of it. It can't be justified. Xiao wanted to be the best, the only desirable partner, and the fact that you needed breaks for 'yourself' was just a small correctable flaw.

But… the devil. How the hell did that bumbling prick dare to focus on damage instead of support! How dare he turn a blind eye to the fact that you got hit?! To the fact that you lost your balance and fell down, requiring precious seconds to recover that no one can give.

Xiao didn't even think about whether you called him by name or not - he acted on the call of the spear. You wouldn't have had time to remember or even pronounce the three letters required for an adept to fulfil his sense of urgency, so Xiao took it all in stride, colliding the jade kite with the dewy hunter's blade with a sharp flickering lunge.

''Xiao!'' - you shrieked, trying to get up, but the adept took the man in the other direction, only to have him not remember your existence. It all lasted less than ten seconds.

Blinded by rage, Xiao is Xiao, hearing a thousand voices, louder than your plea for help. He froze with his back turned, slammed his blade against the ground, and finally turned around.

A second of fear froze on your tongue, and your teeth chewed it into a question:

''Are you okay?''

Xiao's heart clenched. In a situation like this, where you were obviously supposed to be angry, pissed off like you had been so many times before, you were worried about his well-being.

"I don't deserve her.''

''Thank you for being here," your partner approached, wiping his dusty hands and catching his breath.

How badly Xiao wanted that to come off your mouth. Ignoring the question, the adept headed towards his opponent, stopping a few centimetres away. No, he doesn't know how to get 'bright' angry, he's a match for oppression, disrespect and pressure.

''Don't go near her again.''

''What?'' - you raised your eyebrows in bewilderment, ''It's my trusted friend, it's okay, what…''

''He saw you fall down and decided not to help," Xiao looked only forwards.

''Friend, easy,'' his opponent raised his hands in defeat, 'if you knew how often we make mistakes, refine them and get the result we want, a small fall didn't seem like such a tragedy.''

Xiao pressed his lips together in exasperation, remained silent for a moment. Then came to a second conclusion:

''Don't go near her again.''

''Xiao,'' you place your hand on his shoulder glumly, "you can't decide for me. Nor for him.''

''If he makes 'mistakes', then you've fallen more than once. With me, you'd never touch the ground. He doesn't deserve you," Xiao finally looked into your eyes.

And you realised it. He's going crazy again from loneliness, fear, fear of trusting. Xiao believes in the intimacy of your feelings, and that's why he's afraid of losing her more than anything else. You nodded to your partner, asking to be left alone with Xiao, and he obediently strode into the city.

You put both hands on Xiao's shoulders, stepping in front of him.

"Not again," the adept knew what kind of torture would begin in the next minute.

''Look me in the eyes," you say demandingly.

For the first couple of seconds, he hesitates and refuses, but soon gives up and makes eye contact. On the other side of his gaze shines the hope that you can imbue his body with love, and the expectation that you will.

''Xiao,' you sigh,'' that doesn't sound like trust.

''I can't," Xiao growled indignantly, "you're only human. You're easily broken, hit, hurt, killed. I can't help but think about it. One accident is tantamount to death.''

You're thinking. Is that the only reason? Sounds like the main reason, but, um.

Xiao trusts only his own hands, and he knows, knows very well, that no one can take care of you better than he can. Xiao would never let someone else's palms guard a treasure - who knows how pure they are? So you've thought of something else.

''Let's solve this problem. We're both uncomfortable that you can't exist in peace while I'm not around.''

''Not while you're not around, but while you're in danger…" he corrected very importantly and embarrassed, as if trying to also cover up obvious jealousy. Xiao really thought he'd done well.

''Good. Then you should see that I'm doing well myself. We'll pair up for a while and see if you feel better or if you want more. We'll build on that," you lifted one hand to the adept's cold cheek. ''need my own space, and you need a reason to have it. We can try this together.''

You're too good.

Xiao felt incredibly guilty just for not being so… wise. He nodded guiltily, agreeing to go anywhere as long as your hand is in his.

#genshin #genshin x reader #genshin impact #xiao #xiao x reader #xiao x you #angst #yandere #headcanon #drabble

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