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maladaptive-ninja-returns · 6 months

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The Ocean is She(One-Shot)

Loki x Reader Avengers The Office AU (Slowwwwww Burn)

Warnings: Loki's POV summary till the Season 4 Midseason Finale.

Word Count: I just sort of poured out whatever I felt for this dude. Which all shades of sad mostly.

MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)

"This is Y/N. She is here to complete her college degree. She will be living here for now." That was the first time Loki saw you. You stood out like a lost firefly in that lounge among the crowd of broken people on Hero Syndrome. While everyone was giving him the stink eye, you passed a flat smile towards his direction before being pulled by the others into questioning. What is someone like her doing here? Loki was meant to have it as a passing thought. But that passing thought slowly percolated into his life in the form he never really thought he would meet again- a friend. "It's okay, I'll have another one." You smiled at him when he took your cup of green tea your first morning there. And Loki would never admit to his ego that the first act of unadulterated kindness had made his heart sink a little into an unnamed ocean before covering it up with 'this woman must have an ulterior motive'. Ulterior motive. Loki was 'on guard' since then, trying to figure you out. You knocking on his door to join the others for a movie night, making him those heavenly molten chocolate lava cakes on his birthday, buying rings and bracelets that reminded you of him, falling asleep in his presence in the library, asking him to help you study for your exams, sending him pictures of cats on the campus, sharing latest memes with him to keep him up to date; everything you did was seen as motive of some bigger game for the God who had once fallen and twice died. But seemingly, he killed a part himself the day he told you about your origins and you did not blame him for a single second. And nothing was the same for God afterwards.

He started paying more attention to you. His initial reason was that unlike the clowns infesting the building always high on either adrenaline or coffee, you were a specimen that he could study. Right. He was studying how you had a habit of cracking your neck every hour no matter what you did. How you would interact with inanimate objects with emotions, like looking at your assignment on the laptop and asking it with tears in your eyes, 'Why won't you conclude yourself in a way that's not gibberish?!'; or how you would gently pat the car and say thank you whenever you arrived at your destination. How your eyes would light up every time you saw a little spawn of the dogs or cats and your voice would go higher to greet them. He was amused by how your calm persona would do a one-eighty when your menstruation cycle was on the verge of bleeding days. That was the exciting part of his day during the cycle- sitting close to your sweatshirt and shorts-clad figure sprawled on the sofa in front of the TV, watching you threaten anyone who passed the hall. That's all you were to him- an amusing human who helped him pass his days on earth. At least that is what he had convinced himself of, never realising how his day would start by coming out of his room looking for you. How he would take a tour of the entire Avengers facility to find you and when he did, he would play himself off non-chalantly. He did not seem to let himself know how he would automatically come to stand by your side whenever he was to leave the facility and go out into the world.

The narrator's heart often wonders how he could not see himself getting attached to you. Like that one time, he was the only one up beside Scott and Tony when you were out partying with your college friends; how he pretended to be drowned in a philosophy book while Tony worked on his robot babies and Scott watched the Kaichowa Maid Sama anime; how he intently listened to the phone call Scott got and he immediately recognised your voice even though he sat a bit far; how he heard your slurred words say 'Scottieeeeeee~ please take me home. I am drunkkkk and I kindaaaa don't want to stay heeeere'. "Of course, honey," Scott replied, "but it'll take me an hour to reach-" "Then send someone who'll be faaaaaasterrrrr~" you whined on the line. Scott looked in the direction of the elevator, wondering whether to call Stark from his workshop when Loki slammed his book shut. "Turn on the sink tap," Loki commanded a confused Scott as he vanished with green and golden hues only to land on the campus grounds in a poorly lit park where you were sitting in the cold grass, your phone still to your ears. "Scott," you whispered into the phone, "you don't understand. I am drunk and I am feeling these waves of horny-ness but I do not want to do it with anyone here!!!" "Let's go home," Loki announced as he stood in front of you, waiting for you to take his hand. And boy did he feel his heart do another dip in that unknown ocean when you smiled at the God with a shade of relief and hugged him the moment you were up on your legs. "Thank you for coming for me." The wave of feeling his heart about to take another dunk into that ocean, he immediately teleported back with you, making sure both you and he landed right next to the sink to help you puke your wobbling guts right into the sink.

As time passed, Loki grew more used to your presence. From sitting together at breakfast and sharing one cup of tea to having reading sessions in his room on his bed. You were one of the rare ones who were allowed to enter his sacred space. No one knew but he thoroughly enjoyed the waves of emotions that would run over your features at different times when you became too engrossed in a manga. Sometimes it was your uncontrollable laughter where you read the same pages again and again; other times it was the repeated punches you threw either on your thigh or on the bed when you found yourself being impressed by something. But then there were the times when you would be in tears when one of your favourite characters died, and you could not stop yourself and Loki would look at you, with the intensity of the moon, wanting to stop time and do something...anything to stop you from crying.

He did get tested for his belief of looking at you as a specimen. That one time when you and Hope fell into the other end of the universe. This God was ready to draw blood if it meant bringing you back in one piece. Once you were home safe, he could not help but overthink as to why did what he did for you. You were a mere human. You were not supposed to mean much to him. You were just his amusement. Right? Just his amusement. The very amusement who stood in a barren alien land in front of the most delirious alien army, making Loki calculate in one point two seven seconds how he was about to lose his sleep for the next three months if he was to keep you alive while trying to find a way back home. Home. Earth isn't my home, he would mentally slap himself back to reality whenever he caught himself thinking of the Avengers facility and the other clowns. But then he would turn to look at you. Earth was your home. And going home would make you happy. He wanted to see you happy. Another mental slap to his head. You are losing your edge, Loki, he would bully himself to keep himself cold and calculating throughout that demanding journey of looking after you and the monster you had adopted on your way. And of course, Javi.

Any other day, any other life, any other universe, Loki would have punched the numbers as to how useful you were to him dead or alive and then be his way once you fulfilled your purpose of helping him survive. But here, he was doing the basing math of making sure to get you out of all the darkness of the universe unharmed. But life, as we know, has other plans. The music genre too changes when the playlist is on random and the heart is set on adventure for one and survival for another. Aellae came as the genre of dread and darkness. Being well aware of her obsession and abuse of power, Loki knew she would see you as a threat; for she knew the God of Mischief never travelled in a pack unless that pack had Loki's prey or something Loki wanted to keep close. So his first thought was to call in the seven Gods while 'ditching' you in the middle of a desert. Little did he know that you too were thinking from your heart in that space and time. As much as he hated to see you come for his rescue, he would never give up on the time when you two were stuck in that small space in Aellae's dungeons, trying to find a way through the room, bodies covered in sweat, your back and his front finding the angles to become one as you both pushed your way out. How synchronous were your bodies working together, how you readily trusted him with touching you in a way he would never want to witness you being touched by anyone. Why was he thinking that way? All those questions, all those confusions, all those hours of his inside voices bullying him to see you as nothing but a human ticket to a life of peace back on earth- all of them burst with the brittleness of the snow that fell on you as your lifeless figure lay in his arms. This time when his heart sank into the ocean, it did not want to come up. The God could not sense anything but fear crawling on his skin when his hand touched your face and it did not feel warm anymore. Your usually cheerful eyes did not open when he called out your name again and again. The fear he had felt when he first found himself dying when he wanted to live, was nothing in that moment when he was faced with the reality that you might be dead. And just as that little speck of possibility crossed his mind, the hell inside him broke loose, causing a wave originating from his magic destroying everything within a radius of two kilometers. Ever since he was born, Loki, son of Laufey, son of Odin, Prince of Asgard, the Silvertongue, took to his knees for the first time for a life that was not his. He begged for your survival at the cost of his own, no longer denying himself from the truth. His heart did not come up from that ocean that carried your name on every atom in its waves. You were his reason to laugh. You were his reason to be curious in this life. You were his reason to look forward to getting up the next morning. You had been the reason he had not gone for Plan B of running away from Earth and ending in the bosom of some dying star that would end his misery. You were the reason he was willing to live a little longer. You were the reason he was ready to love again.

Even when back from the horrors of the universe, Loki did not stop looking after you. He let Peter in on the secret of your near-death experience because he trusted that boy and he knew how much he cared for you. Both he and the boy would discreetly look for signs of you experiencing any discomfort. Taking shifts in the night, they would help you get out of your nightmares- which were the after-effects of healing you back to life right from the arms of death herself. Loki grew more protective of you but would distance himself whenever found himself feeling whatever little ounces of happiness his heart felt in your company. He would walk the extra mile of punching a man in his face for disrespecting you but he found himself pretending to laugh at your heartfelt confession because his heart could not bear the truth of knowing that you loved him back. You loved him. You, the perfection that walked amongst mere peasants. Loved. Him. And he laughed. He laughed hard enough to hide his tears of happiness that hurt him to the point of no return. He could not let you do that. You were too precious. Too precious to be put in danger again. He was the danger. He brought death to you. He would rather die than do that to you ever again. And so the God decided to walk away, let out his screams in the middle of the desert to kill his heart for finding love in this lifetime and then hating the fact that it loved him back. The God was no better than a human then. He was in love. But he could hold on to that love for the fear of breaking it with his ill fate.

#loki #loki series #loki x reader #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki fluff #loki x female reader #marvel fluff #mcu loki #mcu fluff #It's The Avengers #Maladaptive Ninja Returns

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aziraphales-library · 1 year

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Hi there!! I wondered if you know any fics where there’s only one bed? Preferably no anything E rated, just fluff :))). Also you guys are so amazing with all these fic recs, don’t know what I would do with you guys 🙏🙏.

Thanks again!!!

Hello! We have #there was only one bed and #sharing a bed tags, so check those out. Here are some non-explicit fics to add...

Inevitable Con by journeytogallifrey (G)

For the first time, Aziraphale attends Inevitable Con, a fan convention for his favorite show about an angel and demon teaming up to stop the apocalypse. He plans to sell his flavored cocoas and teas in peace. He hopes perhaps to make a friend. He doesn't even begin to dream of what truly awaits him: a chance meeting with a gorgeous demon cosplayer, a real-life Only One Bed situation, and a future greater than he's ever dared imagine before...

A vision of your happiness by strawberriesandtophats (G)

Crowley breathed in the fresh air and the scent of just-mowed grass, glad that the ground had not turned into molten lava and the sea had not risen alongside the Kraken. By now he should have been fighting angels. Instead he had been enjoying some cold coffee with ice and syrup in it from a nearby café.

The angel sat closer to Crowley than he had a week ago, even if it was just a little bit. After thousands of years, you noticed that sort of thing.

You can stay in my bed, if you like by AppleSeeds (T)

The morning after Aziraphale's birthday party, he wakes up in his roommate Crowley's bed, but can't remember how he got there.

Unmoved, Cold, and to Temptation Slow by Pearl09 (T)

Aziraphale is sent to a small town to help set up the church in the area. While there, he runs into Crowley, who stirs up more trouble than he thought he could. Now they have to weather out the cold night in an abandoned shack while the weather looks rather grim...

Just Around the Corner by accidentaldemon (M)

"I don't live far, if you, ya know, don't mind sharing a bed." He swallowed thickly. This was definitely not how he had planned his evening to pan out. “I’m Crowley, by the way. Well, Anthony Crowley technically, but I prefer Crowley.” “Aziraphale."

All Crowley wants to do is leave the party and go home to study. But then he meets a cute boy with absolutely angelic curls who's in desperate need of a bed for the night.

Snow Angel by Vagabond (T)

Human!AU. Aziraphale needs a date to his brother's Christmas party to avoid getting set up with someone. Anathema suggests Crowley, the office bad boy. They go, get snowed in, and have a heart-to-heart that ends in a Happy Christmas.

From a prompt: Human!AU: Aziraphale needs a date for family Christmas. He invites the office rebel/bad boy, Crowley.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #there was only one bed #bed sharing #fluff #mod d

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cactusnymph · 2 years

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46 from angst and/or 47 from general for rue and hob 💕✨️

Rue knows that this is a terrible idea but the pull they’re feeling is too strong to ignore, much like the ocean’s tides being pulled by the moon. It seems ironic that the diamond of the Court of Wonder should feel so incredibly small.

“I wasn’t lying when i said that I had--that I had feelings for you.”

The words hang heavy in the silence between them as Captain Hob stares down at Rue, so much taller despite being somewhat hunched in his posture.

“You--”, Captain Hob begins and clears his throat, his eyes darting left and right as if looking for an ensemble of pixies starting to giggle and make fun of him. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

His voice is hoarse and Rue can feel their heart pounding in their chest.

“I--you know. The--the letter. I told Wuvvy to burn it, but she seemed insistent on telling you about its contents anyway. I probably should have known, I shouldn’t have spoken my feelings out loud like that. Really, I shouldn’t have written this ridiculous letter at all. And I absolutely should not have come here, if you’ll excuse me, Captain--”

A strong and surprisingly gentle, clawed hand grabs Rue’s wrist.

“Mistrex of the Bloom”, Captain Hob says. Rue’s heart feels as if it’s going to burst out of their chest.

“I told you. Just Rue is perfectly fine”, they whisper, their eyes pinned to the ground.

Captain Hob clears his throat again.

“Rue”, he repeats quietly, turning Rue’s insides into a chaotic maelstrom of feelings.

“I never received any letter. Mistress Wuvvy never told me about any letter, I assure you.”

Rue’s breath catches in their throat as their head snaps upwards, their eyes finding Captain Hob’s dark, twinkling eyes. The soft touch around Rue’s wrist seems to be spreading molten lava through their body.

The air feels charged as they stare at one another.

“I shouldn’t have come here”, Rue whispers.

Hob lets go of their wrist and Rue feels like crying.

“If that is how you feel, I must accept it. I shall never speak of your words again, if you so choose. Far be it beyond me to disrespect the wishes of someone who--who is the recipient of my deepest fondness and adoration.”

Rue sucks in a breath and swallows heavily, their heart swelling.

“Your fondness? And adoration?”, they repeat.

Captain Hob straightens his shoulders and huffs quietly, obviously embarrassed.

“Please excuse my clumsiness, I--”

“There is nothing to excuse, dear Captain.”

“I--well. If you insist. I have to admit, I am unsure of how to proceed.”

Rue can’t help a small laugh bubble up inside their chest.

“My dear Captain, I have to say, these are uncharted waters for me as well. So maybe, for now... we could just. Have some tea and... talk?”

Captain Hob takes a deep breath and blinks, before slowly nodding.

“Your wish is my command.”

#acofaf #a court of fey and flowers #battlemaster of ceremonies #hob/rue #dimension 20 #delloso de la rue #k.p. hob #mi writes #listen i know it was an angsty prompt but i'm just a softass bitch what can i say #also i had to adjust the prompt a bit bc i'm old fashioned xDD

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afreakingdork · 10 months

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Miss dork, after looking at the ask where the reader calls ws Donnie their meow meow (I love how we take big intimidating men and just call them meow meows or baby girls) I just imagined reader driving their car (does reader even have one?? I don't think she does since i don't remember it being mentioned) with Donnie being a passenger princess and stuff- idk it would seem almost comical lol

On a unrelated note, do you know any foods that are good to eat in summer that dont make you feel like you ate molten lava or make you die inside? (Please it's 30 degrees inside my house my fan alone can't keep me alive for much longer... Last night it was 32 and the temperature will keep increasing)

-formal anon

Reader does not have a car as they're living the classic lower middle class New York lifestyle. Donnie would be such a passenger prima donna while never outwardly complaining 😂

Cucumbers are supposed to be quite refreshing! I'm a big fan of Korean or Japanese pickled vegetables. That vinegary ice cold burst in your mouth just HITS when it's hot! Then the classic bevvies, though I steer towards clear ones on really hot days (usually iced flavored teas as opposed to say milk tea) and finally ice cream, which I'm not a huge fan of, but will eat on occasion. I hope that helps and you stay cool, my formal friend!

#ask

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theanathemans · 1 year

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The stars twinkled above the Only City. The sun shone on the other side of the earth, but there was no doubt it would return in a few hours to warm the City. The sun is a constant to humanity, always has been.

Roque had gone to bed at the same time as the sun, exactly eight o'clock pm, a firm believer in Benjamin Franklin virtuousness. Around midnight, his leg had started to ache. As he'd done many times before, he strapped the brace to his twisted limb and hobbled downstairs for painkillers, trying not to put pressure on his throbbing calf. He didn't normally have to limp, the brace made it so both legs were the same length and it didn't hurt most of the time. He'd had the deformation since he was born so naturally, he'd learned to live with it, and not to let it slow him down. People weren't going to wait for him to catch up if he fell behind because life, unfortunately, dictated the survival of the fittest.

As Roque made his way downstairs to the kitchen, he noticed a faint golden glow from the bottom of the stairs. He dismissed it as the streetlight outside the kitchen's picture window. It wasn't the streetlight.

He nearly had a heart attack when he turned the corner to the kitchen and saw a young woman sitting on one of his stools at the kitchen counter. She glowed the color of sunset, having the unsettling appearance of molten lava roiling like a nest of adders beneath clear skin. Like a lava lamp, he thought. Her molten eyes turned on him and their piercing gaze was almost physically painful. Roque made an inhuman sound. They stared at each other for what felt like hours until Roque remembered he possessed the ability to speak.

"A-are you an angel?" Roque asked stupidly. He didn't know why he wasn't running right now. Calling Thea or his dad. Of course she wasn't an angel. What even.

"Not really." The woman replied. Roque almost relaxed a little, because she had a beautifully comforting voice. She sounded like she could be a mother.

"Am I dead?" Roque asked, half to himself.

"Do you smell almonds?"

"What?"

"When I died, I recall distinctly smelling almonds."

"So you're a ghost?" Roque was dreaming. He was dreaming all of this. That was the only explanation.

"Can I help you with something..? Do you want tea?" He babbled. This was probably a hallucination. Why was he offering tea to a figment of his imagination? Roque strove to be a polite host in all situations but this was too far. This was a kitchen ghost, for Saint Peter's sake. She shook her head, declining the offer. He noticed that her hair floated slightly longer in the air than a gravity-obeying object should. Of course her hair didn't obey physics. Why would it.

"I look strange to you." The woman-creature stated.

"Yeah, a little." Roque replied in wonder.

"I came to ask you a question."

"Okay? Go ahead, I guess."

"I would like to tell you my son's story, if you'll listen. I thought it might be helpful to you."

"I would, but I have to go back to bed. I have to work tomorrow." He was not going to waste his night talking to someone who was probably not real. His leg hurt still. And he was so, so tired.

"It will take no time. Please, I don't have many hours left on this plane of existence. And I leave joyfully, so I will be glad to make it short."

She seemed to be sincere. Roque's conscience wanted him to stay as well. The woman may be just a figment of his imagination, but she looked almost desperate to tell her story, and if she was about to die, the least he could do was be with her in her last hour. He didn't see anyone else around to comfort her. And death was terrifying.

"Alright, I'll listen."

She smiled softly. "My name is Astoria. I was once a star. I believe your kind called me Polaris. And your name is Roque Saphelt Harrelle. A true mouthful, but a pretty name in my opinion, and it honors your heritage well."

Roque's jaw seemed to forget that it could close. "How did you know my name? You were the North Star?"

She merely smiled at him, and again he thought how much like a mother she looked. Kind eyes that crinkled at the edges. Short, lovely, but practical hair. Eternal wisdom hidden behind young features.

"Come." The woman, Astoria, did not answer his questions but instead gestured for him to follow her. Roque had no idea why, but he obeyed. He let her lead him out the front door of the duplex he called home into his front yard. Only it wasn't his front yard any more. He gawked at the new surroundings. Ruined, smoking buildings crumbled like dying giants in the distance. The sky was a hazy yellow-red and the air smelled like death. It looked like the Only City, just, well, utterly devastated. What had happened here? He turned to stare at where his home had been moments ago, and saw a building that was still relatively intact. A school. The sight of a learning institution in the midst of the desolate, groaning surroundings was jarring. Astoria walked lightly to the window and peered in to one of the classrooms. She motioned for Roque to join her at the window, and he made his way across the grey-grassed schoolyard, avoiding broken glass.

'There he is." She pointed to a boy, sitting in the back of the classroom, peering out the window. The boy seemed to stare directly at Roque and he stepped back from the window hastily.

"It's okay." Astoria assured him. "They can't see us. We are merely accessing the echoes of the past that still reverberate through the plane of time."

"Oh." Roque was too overwhelmed to say anything else. He returned to the window to get a better look at the boy. He was wearing a red sweater, carefully patched black jeans, and looked cleaner than most of the other thirty or so kids in the room. He looked like he was taken care of.

He had thick black hair and deep blue eyes that seemed to reflect the very universe back at Roque. He looked lonely.

"That's your son?" Roque asked Astoria. She smiled and nodded.

"He doesn't look like you." Roque stated. Obviously. The boy wasn't a glowing yellow kitchen ghost.

"I didn't always look like this." Astoria sighed. "Before I died, I looked very much like him. He had my eyes, and his father's face."

"What's his name?"

Astoria took a deep breath.

"He was Junius Remus, named for the month of his birth. He saved your life."

First | Next

#ta #the anathemans #idk what this is #not very good #but nobody except jess will see this so #hi jess #oc #my ocs #our ocs #that ones for you jessie #cringes #so hard

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softly-potter · 2 years

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Milk & Honey | Chapter 2

Summary: Recently widowed, Draco and Hermione give dating a try.

Pairing: Draco X Hermione

Word Count: 4,201

Warning: smut

A/N: Inspired by the quote “I’ve had sex, she said. But I don’t know, What making love, Feels like” by Rupi Kaur.

Find Chapter 1 Here

Chapter 2

Halloween passes and Pansy is elated with the fact that Hermione has successfully enraptured Draco.

“I told you there was something there,” Pansy practically howls with glee as she begs for details of the previous night. “He was basically undressing you with his eyes at work.”

“Don’t be vulgar!” Hermione squeaks, gripping the strap of her satchel harder. Pansy gives her an encouraging grin, dark eyes coaxing her friend to spill the events of the night before. “He’s truly a gift, Pans. I never knew someone that acted so awful in their youth could grow into someone as beautiful as him.”

Pansy stops walking, her mouth falling open in shock. “You love him.” she gasps, and Hermione considers this proposition.

She had considered it on her own accord many times, almost said the very phrase to him, but something has always made her pause, retract the sentiment like pulling down a kite, the wind of want hard to resist.

“Don’t say that,” Hermione says, voice dropping to a whisper, and Pansy knows her well enough that it was finally time to drop the subject. “Please just...don’t say that.”

Thanksgiving at the Weasleys with Draco was more uneventful than Hermione could have predicted. After some encouragement from Harry and Ginny, Ron's sour disposition at his highschool bully joining his family for the holidays slowly eased, and the group were able to enjoy themselves. The conversation did however steer away from the second wizarding war and politics, subjects that normally wormed their way in during family dinners, and Hermione was forever grateful that her second family loved her enough to open their home to the unlikeliest of individuals.

“Molly makes a hell of a blueberry pie, but I still think the blueberry scones from that muggle cafe you took me to takes the cake.” Draco muses as he walks her to her front door, their fingers entwined. Hermione laughs, squeezing his hand.

“Only you would prefer cafe food over Molly Weasley's baked goods.” She giggles, fishing her keys from her jacket pocket. A gust of chilly wind nipped at their coats, and she turned to him, her head leaning to the side. “Care to come in?”

He grins, quirking an eyebrow as he gives her figure an up and down glance, and she blushes. “For tea, I mean.” She curses herself for being presumptuous as she opens the door, and gives her wand a flick. The large two candles set on the opposite ends of her living room come to light, and she removes her jacket, Draco following suit as she shuts the door.

Walking to the kitchen, she opens the cabinet, peering closely at its contents in the dim light. “Which tea do you care for?” she calls, placing both hands on the lining of the cabinet door.

“I don't care for tea.”

Draco's voice is right beside her left ear, his hands snaking around her waist and the sudden closeness gives her such a fright, she shrieks, flipping around in his grasp. Hands pressed against his chest, she glares up at him, and he laughs, caging her waist against the counter between his large hands pressing into the wood.

“You gave me such a fright, you prat!” she complains, her voice catching as he drops his head to her shoulder. “I thought you were still in the living room.”

Hermione gives a light gasp when he presses a kiss to the junction between her neck and shoulder, his lips softly making their way up her neck and to the sensitive spot below her jaw. Hands on her hips, he squeezes lightly, and she cradles the back of his neck to her, breathing in his scent.

“Draco.”

He kisses her cheek, right near her ear, his breath deep and warm against her skin, and she drags her fingers through his hair, pressing her eyes shut. She can feel it. The warmth, the desire, pooling in her belly like molten lava, dripping further down and settling between her thighs. Her breathing becomes rigid when his mouth finds hers. His tongue dips in, playing with hers and fighting for dominance.

As his mouth moves against her own, she feels his hand drop to the hem of her dress, his fingers dancing lightly across the flesh of her thigh, moving up further and further. Taking her bottom lip between his teeth, he sucks it softly, his hand now lightly pressing the line of her panties and the feeling is so known yet foreign, so understandingly normal yet terrifying that it takes all her strength to press her hands against his chest feebly.

“Draco, please.” She begs, and she isn’t sure what she’s begging for. She knows she wants this, wants this with him but— words press against her skull, trying to force its way out, but with his hands touching her gently against her panties, she can’t remember how to form the words.

It’s when he gives a gentle tug to the hem of her undergarments does her brain return to her, and her eyes fly open as she shoves against his chest. “Draco, please, wait.”

His absence is almost immediate. His hands retract from her skin as if she's burned him, and he takes a step back, worry painted across his face like make up.

“I-I’m sorry, was that too much?” he blurts, his lips red. His eyes swim in worry as he takes her in, wringing his hands so quickly she instantly feels guilty.

It isn’t his fault she feels so scared, and she hates that he thinks it is.

“No!” she exclaims, and he flinches. She pauses, taking a breath. “No, it’s not too much. It’s perfect. I just—”

Hermione does not know how to tell him everyone before him has taken a piece of her, never to return and never given anything back. She wants to bare it all, but she can’t. Over the course of therapy and grieving the souls lost at the hands of Voldemort, she’d fallen so far within herself, she never thought she could find herself again.

Yet here he was, searching for her. Wanting her.

Loving her.

“Draco I- I'm not a virgin.” She says, choking on the words. He gives her a quizzical look, but nods slowly.

“Alright, neither am I.” He replies, and she shakes her head.

“I mean, I’ve had sex before.” She says, holding her hands. “With people that...didn’t care for me. Not the way you care for me. At least I think you do. And yes I’ve had sex but I’ve never…” she trails off, her words hanging heavily between them.

Stepping towards her, he holds his hand out, and she gingerly places her own in his palm. “Go on,” he encourages. “I’m listening.”

She sighs, trying to catch the words flying around her head, unable to articulate them in a way that even made sense to her, until suddenly it hit her so hard she nearly doubled over.

“I’ve...I’ve had sex before,” she says again, looking up into his face. “But I don't know what making love feels like.”

There it was; the clinical truth behind the entirety of her caution.

Draco pauses, his hand warm holding her own, and she feels her breathing stale in anticipation.

“And I-I want to feel that,” she rambles, and he takes another step toward her, until they are chest to chest, their clenched hands between them. “I want to feel that with you.”

Leaning forward, he gently presses a kiss to her forehead, the light smell of his mint cologne filling her senses. “Let me change that for you.”

Dipping his head, Draco claims her mouth as his, hands moving slowly but surely around her torso, squeezing her frame lightly as she sighs against his lips. He bends, scooping her into his arms bridal style and she lets out a laugh of surprise. He gives her a quizzical look as he glances around, and she gestures down the hall with a nod of her head.

He pushes the door open with his knee, placing her on the bed before he pushes her back, straddling her frame, the both of them fully clothed.

“Hermione Granger,” he muses, reaching up and slowly undoing his tie, his fingers work at the buttons next. “I have had the pleasure of dating you these past few months, and while it wasn’t easy, it was one of the greatest things I could have ever done.” Shirt unbutton and open, she watches as Draco shimmies his arms from their confinement, holding her breath as she takes him in. Reaching down, his fingers graze the hem of her top. “May I?”

She nods, biting her cheek as he removes her top, leaving her upper half exposed. His eyes soften as scarlet colors her cheeks, and he gives her a smile.

“Calm down, Granger,” he whispers, leaning down to capture her mouth. “I’d rather drown than ever let you be hurt again.”

“Again?” She asks when he pulls away, the sentence distracting her as he begins to kiss down her stomach. He pauses his movements just above her belly button, his breath fanning across her skin, and he sits up.

“The Manor.” He replies matter of factly. “You were hurting, in my living room as I watched. And I did nothing.” He sits on the backs of his thighs and she opens her mouth to stop him, to tell him she forgave him a long time ago, but he holds up a hand.

“I allowed her to hurt you.” He breathes, his hands rubbing her sides. “I’ll never allow anyone to hurt you again.”

Hermione can feel her eyes begin to prick, and she sits up quickly to kiss him, arms circling his neck. She can feel the anxiety and tension in his shoulders as she pours herself into him. He moans softly against her mouth, cupping her face.

“I forgave you, Draco.” She whispers, nudging his nose with her own. “We were children. Let’s make new and better memories together.”

Grasping his face, she tugs him down into a kiss, tongue dipping into his mouth and he sighs against her. As they kiss, she can feel his hands settle on the hem of her skirt, fingers pressing against the zipper nervously, and she moves her hands down to unzip and remove her skirt. Settling between her thighs, he kisses her over her panties. She stiffens the closer he gets.

“Relax, sweet girl,” Draco nuzzles his nose against her hip, flattening himself down as his thumbs hook under her panties. “May I?”

She nods, and he maneuvers her legs to pull them off. Grey eyes flick up to meet hers. “My pretty girl.” He looks down, his tongue darting out from between his lips and Hemrione clenches her thighs.

“Draco, please,” she says, pulling his hair, watching his movements. “Please.”

“I'm going, ‘Mione.” He says before pressing a quick kiss to her mound. “I just want to look for a moment.” He brings up a hand, cool fingers collecting her wetness and her muscles contract.

She opens her mouth to complain again, speaking always helps calm her nerves, but then he delves his tongue between her folds and her eyes roll. He repeats the action, groaning against her damp skin.

“You taste like heaven,” he hums between gentle licks. “I can’t wait to see how you feel.”

She thinks he’s going to continue, her heart swelling at the pretty words, but instead he laps at her heat, eating her out like he’s starving. Her ankles hook behind his head, back arching off the surface, and his hand comes up to grip hers, fingers tangling.

His eyes are trained on her as he pulls back to kiss her thigh, sucking heavily. “Look at me, sweetheart. Keep your pretty eyes on me.”

Her chest heaves but she nods.

Eyes still on hers, he reaches up, rolls a nipple between his forefinger and thumb, and when his teeth graze against her clit she keens, coming hard, thighs shaking as lets out a heavy sigh.

“You look beautiful like that,” he says, leaning forward to give her swollen bud a small lick. “So beautiful when you come.”

Hermione whines, reaching for him. He crawls up between her legs, pressing kisses to her neck and jaw. Together they haphazardly push his trousers down, and then his undergarments, until he’s heavy and bare against her.

Blowing air through his nose he looks up at her, white hair falling in his eyes. “You sure?”

She runs her hand down his check, tracking her thumb over his bottom lip. His tongue darts out, wetting the pad.

“I’m sure.”

He smiles, before dipping his eyes downwards, stroking himself a few times before aligning himself with her. He grunts against her jaw as he slides slowly into her. Holding her breath, Hermione grips his bicep as he stretches her perfectly, her walls fluttering. When he’s settled to the hilt, Draco breathes hard against her neck, his teeth grazing her neck.

“Shit,” he whispers, his voice low, before he laps at her skin softly. “You're like velvet around me.”

When he begins to move, Hermione's eyes drift shut. He’s murmuring against her skin, pretty words decorating her skin, before he leans up to capture her lips with his own.

“Feel ok?” He murmurs against her lips, and she nods, trying to find her voice. His thrusts are slow and deep, taking his time as his hand drifts down to grip her thigh, hiking it up. The new angle hits her deep, and she cries lowly, nails digging into his skin.

“There it is,” he groans, his skin slapping against her heavily. “Those sounds you make…mmm. I want to hear them again.”

She gasps again when he hits that spot deep inside. Her limbs feel like jelly, warm and loose, and when his rhythm picks up, she feels another wave of pleasure building. Stomach tight, she bites into his shoulder when she comes.

“Good girl,” he whispers, tugs on her earlobe. “Good, good girl.”

The contraction of her walls triggers his own orgasm and his hips buck into her as he locks onto her frame, finishing inside her. He lies panting, lifting himself so as to not crush her but she grabs his shoulders, tugs him back.

“Draco,” she murmurs, nuzzling into him, breathing in his scent. “Draco, please stay.”

“You want me to stay?” He asks quietly, brushes her hair out of her face. She knows it must be horrendously unruly but she doesn’t care, smiling at him sleepily.

“Yes,” she replies. “of course, yes.”

He grins, and she gently pokes the dimple that shows. Leaning forward, Draco kisses her again, soft and sweet, his fingers tangling in her hair.

“Mmm,” he hums, his tongue swiping against her lower lip. “You taste like honey. Just…so sweet. Sweet as honey.”

Hermione giggles, and pulls him to her so that his head rests against her bare chest, and as they drift off to sleep she hopes he always prefers

#dramione #milk & honey #short fic #draco tok #soft draco

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winter-cheshire-writings · 2 months

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Echoes and Experiments: Chapter 7

Albedo found it incredibly strange. When had it started? This feeling of lightness. This feeling of… emotion. What was this emotion, he wondered. It was similar to how he felt about his teacher, about Klee, and yet… that feeling was just the surface. He felt like he needed more of her. Like he craved her. Holding her hand was soothing, even though he wasn't a huge fan of being touched. He wanted her warmth, her hands in his hair. He wanted her to sit with him and to hear her voice. He wished for more of her soft, gentle love that he'd become rather addicted to. The way she hugged him, and the way she held him… What was this feeling?

“Albedo?” His was jolted from his thoughts by her voice, turning to see her tilting her head at him. “Are you alright?”

“I'm alright. Forgive me, I was lost in thought.”

“Ah, is that what that face was?” She smiled at him, placing the cake and tea down on the table. She sat next to him, petting his head with a smile. “Well, eat up. I made a special dessert today, since it's Valentines Day. Chocolate Lava Cake.”

“Ooh, a Lava cake…?” He asked, cutting into the cake and staring as it oozed molten chocolate onto the plate. “Amazing… And it smells incredible.” He said, smiling softly. “You must have been through a lot of trouble to make this.”

“Mm, but it's not trouble. Because you like it.” She smiled. Albedo nodded, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

“Thank you.” He smiled back at her, enjoying his cake as she sat with him. He looked up at her, offering his fork with a bit of cake on it. “Aren't you hungry?”

“Oh… Hehe, no I'm alright.” she glanced away, cheeks tinted pink. Albedo took the initiative, his heart racing. He put the plate down, leaning to cup her cheek before kissing her, Mieko's eyes widening. When he pulled back, she stared. “Albedo…?”

“Was that sweet enough?” He asked, watching as she turned even redder. He smiled, soon laughing a bit as she pulled her shawl up to hide behind. “Forgive me, I thought I should return the favor somehow.” He smiled. “That wasn't too much, was it Mie?”

“You really know how to get to me, don't you?” She grumbled, lowering her shawl. “You learn everything so fast…”

“I am merely trying things out. To see what you like the most, Mie.”

“White Day… I see. An Inazuman Holiday where the gifts made by the female partner on Valentine's day are repaid threefold.” he nodded, reading the description out of a book. He had 2 days to prepare something for Mieko, of course Albedo was intending on doing something nice for her. He headed up to his lab on Dragonspine, concentrating on his work for Mieko’s present. While he worked into the evening, he heard someone walking up behind him.

“There you are, Albedo.” He turned to see Mieko, bundled up in her coat and smiling at him. He swiftly covered his work with another piece of paper, walking over to her. “Sorry, were you busy?” She asked, Albedo taking her hand.

“Not at all, darling.” He smiled, watching her cheeks color at the new nickname. “Are you tired from hiking up here? Shall I make you something to eat?”

“Ah, no it's okay.” She smiled, letting him lead her to sit. “I actually came up here to ask if you were available to assist me with something?”

“Of course. That's part of the deal.” He smiled, something in his heart feeling tense about saying it that way. “What can I help you with?”

“I need your help making something.”

“Oh? Is it something large? Or something for your shop?”

“It's actually for a customer’s repair. I drew up a diagram and everything, but I couldn't figure out part of it… I thought you might be able to help me figure it out… I can't take it to a blacksmith without knowing how this bit works.”

“I see… Then, shall we go and gather some materials? What did you need for it?” He asks, sitting with her and letting her explain, then traveling around the mountain to gather what she needed. Spending his time with her like this was nice. When she fell asleep in his camp that evening, he worked on her gift, saving it for the actual date. They finished her prototype, and Albedo wouldn't accept Mora. She steeled her nerves and hugged him, making him gasp, feeling her lips on his. “Oh… What a nice reward, for assisting you.” he teased, holding her close and admiring the obvious embarrassment on her face. “I have something good for you as well, Mie.”

“F-For me…?” She asked, eyes sparkling in anticipation. “B-But you already spent so much time with me…”

“Well, it's White Day, isn't it?” He asked, chuckling at her surprise. “So to thank you for the cake.” He handed her a box, letting her open it. “I thought a nice hair clip would be good for you. After all, you always end up putting your hair up when you work.”

“I… Th-Thank you.” she said, still stunned. “You really didn't have to… I… I wasn't sure you knew about White Day.”

“Well, I have been to Inazuma before.” He covered for himself, smiling. “Do you like it?”

“I love it… It's beautiful.”

“Then pardon me.” He undid her braid, taking his time and keeping his hands in her hair for a while before tying her hair up with the clip. He admired his work before hugging onto her. “There. Now.” He smiled. “Perhaps you can be brave for me and grant me a few more of those kisses? I quite like them.”

“Wha-Whatever you want, Albedo.” she said softly.

Albedo looked up from his notes, hearing classical music playing. He wondered where it was coming from, seeing a door cracked open. Curious, he walked over and peeked inside, seeing Eula, Amber, and Mieko. “Oh, Albedo?” He turned quickly to see Traveler standing there. “Curious? They're practicing.”

“Practicing?”

“Ballroom Dancing.” Traveler smiled. “Eula recruited Mieko, and since Amber and I were nearby, we got pulled in too. Noelle is coming as well, to help.”

“I see.”

“Want to join us? I'm sure Mieko will be motivated, with you watching.” Traveler teased. They opened the door, walking in. “Look who I found.”

“Oh, Albedo.” Eula said, Mieko turning, eyes wide. She was wearing a long, floor-length skirt and a beautiful lace top her hair tied up. “What brings you here?”

“I was walking by and I heard the music.” He said honestly.

“Oh, yeah, did I tell you, Eula???” Amber grinned. “Albedo and Mie are dating now!”

“Are they now?” Eula smiled. “Good for you, Mie.” She said, Mieko's cheeks red. “Now, don't get distracted. Let's keep going.”

“Yes, yes.” Mieko sighed, taking her starting position with Eula before they began dancing. Albedo stared, unable to tear his eyes away from Mieko. The dance was fairly fast-paced, but also it was flowy and elegant. When they finished, Eula bowed to Mieko, and the older woman curtsied to her in return.

“Still as good as ever.” Eula smiled at her. “Want to try your hand with Amber next? Or Traveler?”

“You take your pick.” Mieko said. “Noelle will be here soon, right?”

“I'm here~” Noelle said, hurrying inside. “Forgive me for making you all wait.”

“It's fine, Noelle.” Mieko said. “How about you guys practice for a bit? I need a break. Eula's been at this all morning.” Mieko moved to sit next to Albedo, clearly tired.

“I was wondering why your fighting style was so graceful when your grandfather was an adventurer. You dance.” Albedo smiled, pouring her some tea.

“Yes. I used to dance with Yuki a lot, since she liked to dance.” Mieko replied, looking up at him. “And Grandfather taught me fighting by using the pace of classical music, and teaching me how to fight with the same motions as dancing.”

“I see… I'll have to study that later.” he said, smiling at her. “Would you let me study you more, Mie?”

“If that's what you want.” She averted her eyes, cheeks red. Albedo smiled at her and enjoyed her company, kissing her hand when she got up to go and practice more.

“Have fun, my darling.”

“Th-Thank you, Albedo.” She said softly. Albedo spent the day observing, making some sketches and enjoying the fact that Mieko was smiling and enjoying herself with the others.

“Maybe one day.” He muttered to himself, enjoying the sight of her laughing as Amber fumbled a step and apologized.

“It's fine, Amber, I'm okay, it didn't hurt.” Mieko told her.

“Still, I'm so sorry Mie!” Amber said again.

“It's fine. Go take a break.” She told her. Traveler was dancing with Eula now, so Noelle and Mieko partnered up. “It's been a while, Noelle. How are you?”

“I'm very well, Miss Mieko.”

“I told you not to call me Miss, it's fine.” Mieko replied.

“Then, Miss Mie… I heard you have started dating Mister Albedo. Is that true?”

“Yes it is.” Mieko replied. “Did Lisa tell you?”

“Yes. And also, it's been going around the Headquarters… No one expected Mister Albedo to take up a relationship.” Noelle added. “You two are the talk of the Knights.”

“Are we?” She sighed. “I hope that doesn't get out of hand… Rumors are terrible things. Thank you for letting me know, Noelle.”

“Of course, Miss Mie.” She replied with a smile. They finished their dance, and Mieko told Eula that she was going to go home now.

“Thank you for all your help, Mie. Have a good rest of your day.” Eula said, Albedo getting up to follow her out. He walked quietly with her, smiling when she turned to him.

“Sorry… I… Do you want to come and have dinner with me?” she asked.

“Sure. Will you let me test something, if I come home with you?” He asked.

“I will. Anything you'd like.” She replied, heading back to her home with Albedo in tow.

“You're very compliant today… Are you alright? Normally you get embarrassed and ask what I'm planning.” Albedo pointed out.

“Ah… Am I?” She asked. “I must be tired…” She turned to him with a smile. “I'm sure I just need some rest…” They headed inside and had a nice, cozy evening in. It was a bit chilly, so when they went to bed, Mieko had Albedo lay on top of her.

"Mie, are you sure I'm not heavy?" Albedo asked as he looked up at Mieko, the woman placing her glasses on the side table.

"Your weight is comforting, Albedo. Plus, it's cold out tonight. Here, give me your hand." She smiled as she intertwined their fingers.

"If you're sure... I don't mind moving." He added, feeling her other hand go behind his head and run through the loose part of his hair.

"Nonsense. Now, did you have a good day? Did you manage to figure out what stumped you on your experiment from a few days ago?" She asked him, squeezing his hand.

"Yes, your insight was most helpful." He replied, letting himself settle in and relax. "How was your day yesterday?"

"It was quiet." She replied softly. "But I appreciated the chance to organize a bit."

"I see... Are you able to pay your rent? Shall I assist you?"

"No, no. I can handle it." She chuckled. "If anything, I need you to keep me comfy and warm. It's been chilly."

"Whatever you like, darling." He replied. "But please, don't hesitate to ask if you need anything else from me.”

#winter-cheshire-writings #albedo x oc #genshin albedo #genshin impact #genshin impact albedo #genshin oc x canon #oc x canon #mieko - oc #echoes and experiments #miebedoship

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themidnightzoneandback · 1 year

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A mother’s purpose

Synopsis: As Lyra and the gyptians set sail towards the North, she has a conversation with Ma Costa below deck over hot chocolatl about her missing son, Billy Costa.

(Hdm yuletide 2021 day 1: Favourite minor character — Ma Costa)

Pairing: Ma Costa & Lyra Silvertongue (Familial)

————————

Just below the deck on one of the many gyptian ships that were sailing down the stream, a kettle cried.

“I’m sorry it’s not much,” called a woman’s voice from the kitchen. She lifted the kettle from the naphtha stove and poured the warm water into two separate porcelain mugs she had gotten from the wooden cabinets. The water turned into a mild brown. “or would you prefer some tea instead?”

The girl and her dæmon, shaped into his favourite ermine form, shared a glance with each other, before she turned back to face the woman and she shrugged. “This is alright,”

She placed the two mugs down on the table before pulling a chair back and sitting directly in front of the girl. Her dæmon, a northern goshawk, stayed behind to be perched on the kitchen counter. Ma Costa’s hands grabbed onto the handle of the warm mug and pulled it closer to her, though she did not take a sip just yet; it was still far too hot to drink. She did not want to feel the sensation of molten lava pouring onto her tongue despite the sweet flavouring the liquid carried.

Lyra didn’t care about the temperature. She sipped briefly at the liquid albeit careful not to sip in too much or else, she too, will feel a stinging burn prodding at her tongue. Setting her mug down for a second, “the taste is familiar,” Lyra begins to say between mouthfuls of her drink. When she first got a taste of it, it tasted of a sweet mixture of powdered chocolatl and silky warm milk. Then, when she swallowed, it became a little bitter, it was the aftertaste of the powder. It clicked. “Could this be hot chocolatl?” She asks.

The woman smiled, “Yes, it is.”

The girl , proud for being correct at the answer she had given. She invited herself to take another sip of the hot drink , a longer one this time and was content with the taste — not until her excitement soured when she felt her mouth burn in fire. “I haven’t had hot chocolatl in ages!” she beamed, the sole reason for her prolonged speech was to let air flood in her mouth and save her. “The master of Jordan college says it’s only for special occasions like Christmas. I found something similar, but it’s not like they’ll allow me to have coffee anyways.”

The gyptian woman laughed, listening to her rambling. “You are far too young to have coffee, Lyra.” she tells the girl, just like how a mother would to their twelve year old children.

“I know, I know, you don’t have to tell me twice.” To anyone else, it may have sounded like an annoyed complaint. However, Ma Costa saw the slight twitch at her lips; and she soon understood that Lyra was suppressing a tiny laugh of what seemed to be her remembering a moment in her life. She could only think of possible scenarios where Lyra would beg the Master, the Librarian or any of the servants really, if she could sample the

“It’s just one sip, though!” her protests would echo through the hallways. She did bothering to catch up to their and ask again after they had left her

“You know,” the woman begins to say, “I used to make hot chocolatl for my boys during the holidays, they both love it so much.” She couldn't help but chuckle softly at the time when Billy tried it for the first time, when he was only six years old, he was so excited to try it because his older brother Tony spoke great things about it. She gives a sharp sigh, pushing the memory away and instead focuses back to Lyra.

The girl was greedily lapping on the chocolatl. Pantalaimon had just climbed up to her shoulder and looked down at the liquid, expressing the same delight as she was.

“But now, sitting here, I can’t help but miss him.” Ma Costa suddenly vocalizes out, not even intending to do so, but it seemed that the Authority had other plans; it was in the moment. All this remembering, all that’s been happening, she truly realised how lonely she has grown. If the Authority had given her two sons, she would be happy with her two sons. It was impossible to forget the existence of the other if he ever disappears from her sides — in which he did.

Lyra and her dæmon let go of the cup for a second, and looked at Ma Costa. They saw her lips twisted in a sad smile, as she looked down at the brown liquid swimming in her own cup. “We will find Billy,” She pushes out, a little too casually than she would’ve pleased. She noticed how Pan turned his ermine head of his, in alarm at what she said. So, as she cringes and feels Pan’s dismay and worry within her, she fixes her wording to add on much more. “I promise we will, and he will come back home safely with all the other children,”

“But what if we don’t find him? The North is vast, he could be anywhere. Oh…and what if he’s already—“ She swallowed hard, her mind just barely processing her words and she hissed to herself, shaking her head for thinking this way. Her eyes shut as she began to shiver at the cruel possibility that the Authority has taken her son away from her in this life. Her fingers had suddenly curled tightly against the mug’s handle. She did not let go, it was as if the porcelain was her only support at the moment, or else she’ll drown in a tide of self-reproach all over again; she should have been keeping an eye on him that day, oh, why didn’t she? “My heart can’t bear the thought of losing him..” the happy memory she was fondly telling her about was reduced to a whisper.

Lyra saw this; her excitement died down and her eyes softened at the sight of the gyptian nurse fighting the urge to cry. She moved her chair forward despite there being no more room to do so, she felt her stomach press against the edge of the wooden table.

Her hand was closed into a fist and was comfortably resting on the tablecloth, she showed a subtle hint of uncertainty on whether she should move it closer to where the woman sat. “Ma Costa, Billy is strong. He isn’t going to go anywhere, not without you right there beside him.” Lyra told the blonde gyptian nurse. Just a few nights ago, the girl was effortlessly lying to everyone that crossed her back when she was staying in London.

Then, revelations of where the captured children were truly going made her realize how much it was necessary to keep lying. It was her only defense in this world, lying was her weapon. “We will find him,” but when she spoke to Ma Costa, told her that they’d find Billy, her irises rimmed with truth.

She placed a hand to her cheek. She left it there to rest and she stared directly into the girl’s eyes for the first time this afternoon. “Oh Lyra, I hope you’re right, I want him to come back home, I want him to know that his Ma misses him so, so much…” she spoke with heavy desolation dangling from her heart. To a mother, this was the nightmare that became a reality. There was nothing worse to imagine than to have her child go missing — and end up in the North, so far away from home. Ma Costa could almost feel her lungs ready to attack; she was ready to scream at her son’s kidnappers for taking him somewhere as dangerous as the North.

She didn’t realize the built-up anger she felt has caused a set of tears to crystallise in her eyes — and her voice weakened to a weep. She pulled her hands close to herself instead, practically wrapping them around as if she was there hugging her missing son. She only felt her hands against her, no child, and she quietly began to cry. “There isn’t a single moment where I don’t think about him,” she paused to sniffle, Lyra knew her place in all of this was to simply listen, and so she did, she didn’t want the woman to feel like she was carrying this loss alone.

She wasn’t. Just like her, there were many families who were longing for their missing children. The country was restless, the dim nights were blanketing a rumble of cries from house to house. Ma Costa continued to cry as newfound words fell off her tongue, “I’m always thinking about him, thinking about how scared he is out there, all alone in the North..…Oh, my poor Billy…''

At this point, there was a storm of emotion shown on her face; her cheeks reddened with grief and she almost choked on another sob, her fingers moved to brush away her tears but she soon found out that she had been blinded with them; hot tears rolling down her cheeks like gushing waterfalls.

It was Lyra’s soft and steady voice that pulled her out of her laments. She was the very opposite of the gyptian nurse right now.

“It’s a mother’s purpose, isn’t it?” — it was a sudden question that Ma Costa flinched. Pantalaimon shot a wary glance to his human and Lyra only nodded her head at him. The woman’s pupils dilated when pages of unspoken text coming from the very depth of her mind came flying in her mouth; Lyra was right.

“Yes, a mother’s purpose is to be at her children’s sides wherever they are, she needs to be there to protect them, cheer them up when they’re sad, hold them tightly against their breast if they’re frightened; mothers always need to be sure their sons and daughters are reminded of how loved they are…” She responded to the short-haired girl, more or less agitated for the long time she was speaking; but it felt like a cold wave through her breast, they were all the things that she should be doing to her lost one, it was too cruel of a reminder that she couldn't tell her son how much she loves him, and that she will find him and bring him back home.

Without either of them expecting it, nor their dæmons, Lyra’s chair stirred back and she slipped out to stand. She walked over to where Ma Costa sat and she wrapped her arms around the woman’s neck. It was a gentle hug, one that Lyra knew in the back of her mind that Billy wished to be in. Suppressing another need to wail, Ma Costa immediately returned the gesture and held Lyra tightly. Her hands were fidgeting around the girl, the woman grew afraid she’d end up becoming too weak at the sound of her cries and that she’d end up letting her go too.

Lyra’s dæmon watched his human and Ma Costa with sadness burrow in his furred-chest. His ears perked up and his muzzle was now in the air, sniffing it. He tried to locate the goshawk dæmon and soon found him on the kitchen counter, watching the two like he was, dolorously.

No one said anything, only keeping their arms around the other. They acknowledged each other’s presence, remembered who they were to each other; Ma Costa was the gyptian nurse who took care of Lyra when she was still a baby. To the woman, Lyra was the closest thing to a daughter she’d ever be blessed with, it was important to keep her safe too, during this rescue mission. She couldn't lose her just as much as she couldn't lose Tony, her only remaining son.

Then, Lyra’s voice almost startled the woman, the girl exhaled and loosened her hold ever so slightly — she rolled her shoulders back, relaxing, and gave a tiny smile. Ma Costa couldn't see it, but with everything Lyra told her so far, she had a feeling that it was there.

“We’re going to travel North, and we will bring everyone back home.” Lyra whispered to her, her chin resting on Ma Costa’s shoulder. She was doing everything she could — to reassure her that these gyptian children will come back home to their families.

“We will bring my boy back home..” She whispered back, not letting go of Lyra. She wasn’t her Billy, that is no secret, but her arms around her reminded her so much of how her precious sons would hug her when they had good news to tell her. She pictured the evenings where they all stood together in the centre of the living room, melted into the warmth of a family hug. With Lyra here with her and promising her more hope than a child her age could give or understand, it helped reluctantly subside the void left by her heartache that was tugging at her chest since midday of last week; the day Billy Costa went missing.

It was a silent exchange between them; the girl was transferring her willpower over to the sniffling and shaken mother. Pantalaimon had just climbed up the kitchen counter to join the woman’s dæmon too. Just like her, the bird had his chest puffed out, his feathers resembling a shield that would protect him if there was any danger.

The small ermine peered at him from time to time, before he quietly approached the other dæmon and nuzzled his cheek against the feathers. It was a one-sided show of affection between them, as the goshawk was his human’s subconscious doubts that she was betraying Billy. But with all this guilt and this pain weighing her spirits down, the feeling of holding someone close to her and feeling their presence here with her was an invitation that her loneliness couldn’t turn down.

Ma Costa focused on repeating her own words in her mind. The impact of them matched the drumming of her grieving heartbeats, it was loud thunder that swelled her ears. She really believed that she would find her son, up in the North with this search party put together by John Faa, without the thought of any more unpleasant gifts coming to them during their travels, why? Was it because she cursed the Authority for committing a wrong to her and many other families around England, so she thought it to feel pity for them? Being beyond doubt about it so early in their journey, was already erroneous.

The longer she heard them spiralling inside her mind, they grew weaker and weaker in volume until they were only whispers, even worse; myths.

#rumiiprompts | writings #genre: his dark materials | categories #his dark materials #lyra silvertongue #ma costa

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catholicdaredevil · 2 years

Text

pardon me just gonna drop some crumbs into the daredevil fandom then vanish forever

so i havent edited or gone back over this AND i wrote it on my sleeping meds but such is life

Touch starved would be the absolute bare minimum way to describe Matt Murdock. There didn’t seem to be a word or term that fully encapsulated the way he longed for even the smallest of touches. Not that he would admit it, no the trademark Catholic guilt wouldn’t allow him to ever confess to something like desire. The way that guilt was stitched into every fiber of his being, kept him together at the seams. That same way the hunger for connection was wired into his bones, sunk down in a place no one could get to, not even him. It ached- He ached in a way far worse than any injury had ever hurt; because those healed. They got better with time, with meditation, sometimes even medicine though he’d never admit to that either. Even when he tried it never healed as much as he hoped, or needed. Stick. Elektra. Even Foggy, they couldn’t fix him, couldn’t heal the devil. So he pushed everyone away, coming to terms with the fact that maybe he didn’t deserve to feel the warmth he so desired. Maybe the cost of the devil, of his abilities, was that no matter how much he helped, he would always be on the outside looking in on what he loved. The city, the people, the people.

It always made him freeze, touch, no matter where it came from. He always expected the worst and maybe that was the Devil’s fault, expected it to hurt, knew he deserved it. He’s sure it never showed, the slight tightening around his eyes when Foggy reached out to clap his shoulder over a solved case, when Karen leaned into his side grinning when the story finally cracked open under her touch, even the way Claire would mournfully brush her fingers around wounds she had sown up. He didn’t let himself enjoy, but couldn’t stop the way his body reacted, canting towards everything, anything. He couldn’t avoid it either, not with Foggy as his best friend, Foggy a man well renowned for being the kindest shining light of a person. Foggy loved in many ways, each one louder than the last, constantly giving pieces of himself left and right without thought or hesitation. Sometimes Matt would just sit back and observe, in awe of the way Foggy moved through life with such ease. Someone who loved so deeply without fear of what it could do to him, someone who didn’t have to worry that the pieces of himself were jagged, sharp, dangerous. Wrong.

The craving for touch that wormed its way under his skin couldn’t be trained out of him and he tried, like a dog with a shock collar. Tried to carve it out of his body, when that didn’t work he prayed. Begged, pleaded, please god and every time they sat in the air unanswered. So he fed the desire in the night, in the crunching of bone under his fists, in the throb of bruises that would be dark for days. The fight satiating as much of the urge as was possible. When his mind tried to remind him it wasn’t enough he pushed. Pushed his body farther, running himself ragged along Hell’s Kitchen, hit harder, leaving himself open at times to be hit harder back to feel something. Yet the devil was never satisfied, even when he quieted down there was still the thrum in the back of Matt’s head, the thirst for action, only ever chained up.

There was no reason you should have been different. No reason he let you and no one else behind lines of defense he didn’t even consciously know were there. No reason your touch should leave him so breathless he was almost light headed at times. The smallest things, when you’d hand him his tea always remembering to put three drops of honey in and no more and your fingers would brush in the hand off and he’d feel it down into his arms. Your touch like molten lava under the surface of the earth, moving and changing his world unseen to anyone on the outside. Sometimes he even thought you knew, like you could sense the skip of his heart or the hitch in his breath, like somehow you could read him back. As time went on even when he came to terms with the fact that your touch came freely, frequently, even adoringly he often felt on edge. Like it would all be pulled out from under him, some sick joke to finally have everything change in his favor just to lose it.

In your defense you did know how special touch was to him, it wasn’t that hard to figure out. No matter how much Matt or the Devil thought they were tough, hard to read, he just had no idea. His face so expressive you could read paragraphs off the arch of his brow, the tilt of his mouth. That and the way he nuzzled into any touch you offered him, purring like a cat and making little soft happy noises at the rush of oxytocin. He must not have realized he did any of those either given the way he always seemed surprised by your touch, like every time it was a gift.

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #daredevil #daredevil x reader #matt murdock fanfiction #daredevil fanfiction #please read this #give feedback if u dont mind #if this formats weird im sorry #i hope yall like it #ezra writes #marvel #mcu #nwh #no way home #foggy nelson #karen page

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teyvat-imagines · 3 years

Note

Sorry and ignore this if your non-event requests are closed.

How would Eula, Xingqui and Xiao would react to their s/o getting poisoned because of a drink they themselves gave which they(the characters) were about to consume ? (whether the poison is lethal or not you decide🙃)

Hiya! Not a problem, thanks for waiting for this ;w; Sorry it took so long! I hope I got your request right ^w^

Poisoned S/O

Eula:

○ Eula can feel her heart drop the moment she realises you drank from the wrong cup. She could see it in the way your eyes widened at the taste, and the slight tremble in your hands, the poison already starting to take effect.

○ It's almost as if time has slowed to a halt, her mind racing to remember what to do. Was there an antidote? If she made you throw up would that do the trick? Could she even save you? Was this a lethal dosage?

○ Eula could feel the tremble in her hands as she moved to catch you, your legs finally giving out on you as the poison continued to spread. She couldn't bear to see the look of fear on your face. You were never meant to have drank from that cup... That was meant for her, not you.

"(Y/N)... Please, hold on just a little longer. Please, I can't lose you..."

○ Eula will order people out of her way, cradling your limp body close as she runs to find Albedo. If anyone will know how to save you, it's him.

"Barbatos, let me make it in time... Please."

Xingqiu:

○ Xingqiu had known the cup before him was poisoned the second it was presented to him. Keeping up appearances, he just smiled and thanked the stranger for the tea, before insisting he couldn't drink it. Lack of thirst, he claimed. If only hew knew how much he would come to regret that.

○ Before he could stop you, you eagerly swiped the tea instead. Your throat was bone dry, starting to feel painful even, and you needed something to drink. The tea was nice, somewhat bitter but overall went down easy.

○ It took seconds for the poison to start to take effect. Your vision blurred, your hands shook, and you were rapidly losing strength. Xingqiu could only watch in horror, painfully aware of the fact that he had no clue if there was even an antidote to save you.

"(Y/N), my beloved. Please, lay down and rest. Save your strength, try your best to stay with me. I'll fix this, I swear."

○ The last thing you saw as you vision finally faded out, was Xingqiu drawing his sword, moving to cut off the assassin's escape route, his voice unusually cold.

"Now, for your sake, I sincerely hope you have an antidote prepared."

Xiao:

○ The adeptus was doing his best to cope with the pain in his body, centuries of karmic debt haunting him. He had some medicine from Baizhu prepared, but there was something he had to take care of first. Thinking it would be fine to leave for just a moment, Xiao placed the drink down.

○ What he hadn't expected, was to come back and find you finishing off the dosage, completely oblivious to what fate you had just brought upon yourself. As while it was fine for him to drink, Baizhu's mixture would be certainly fatal for an ordinary human.

○ You could feel the effects creeping up on you. Your head was suddenly wracked with excruciating pain. Your hands shook as if you were frozen, yet your blood felt like molten lava in your veins. You looked to your boyfriend, trying your best to find the words to ask if you were going to die today.

"Hang on. I'll get you to that doctor. He'll have an antidote for you, I'm certain. Please (Y/N)... Stay with me."

○ He scoops you up in his arms, with a gentleness you had never felt before in him. Xiao was ready to carry you to the ends of Teyvat if it meant you would be safe. He made it to Bubu Pharmacy in almost no time.

"Doctor. Please, they need help."

#genshin impact #genshin x you #genshin x reader #eula #eula x reader #eula lawrence #eula lawrence x reader #genshin impact eula #xingqiu #xingqiu x reader #genshin impact xingqiu #xiao #xiao x reader #genshin impact xiao #genshin headcanons #genshin imagines

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qingxintea · 3 years

Text

heartbreak avenue (4) || albedo x reader

https://qingxintea.tumblr.com/post/668802979671982080/on-heartbreak-avenue-with-albedo-5-gender

will we meet on bakers street... or find ourselves on melrose avenue?

gender neutral reader.

mentions of spiking

————

- my mans is out of glaze lilies for an experiment once again. like sir stock up :skull:

- travels to liyue,, he gets lost bc hes not that familiar with the map (bc you would always offer to get them for him, like in my cecilia flowers post) (real ones know)

- and ventures inside the city instead, where he seems to come across you again. (not clickbait)

- he doesn't try to get ur attention, just observes. especially after ...

- anyway 👹👹

- you were with hu tao, chilling around her workplace as he studies the lilies growing nearby

- subconsciously (did i spell that right.) he focuses on your conversation. he doesnt mean to, its a natural instinct he has

- "y/n. it seems you've been distant for awhile, and to be honest, im only worried. do... would you like my help in getting over him?"

- you chuckled for a moment, then shifted your gaze to setting sun. "ah... the story just doesn't bother me anymore."

- "oh dear, when will you learn to stand for yourself... im curious, if you dont mind me asking, why did you suppress your feelings to help your friend..?" hu tao followed your gaze in the same direction, legs swinging back and forth on the wooden bench.

- "you see, its that before, he showed no signs of interest in me. i doubt he will- would've returned my feelings. but the way his eyes lit up when the topic was about her... its just a harmless thing i wanted to keep forever."

- "does that still remain true?"

- "..."

- and an inaudible sentence after that. 😔⛓🥀🖤

- oh.

- so you have? had? feelings for him. (little bit to late but he’s still learning 🥺)

- yet the way you had bitterly looked into his eyes and said, “im not y/n.” it made him feel like youve despised him this whole time..

- hu tao takes you to stroll around wuwang hill, or so he hears.

- recall in part 2 traveller visited your house, right?

- so albedo def knows your address 👹👹

- anyways drops a bundle of his hard earned glaze lilies by your doorstep. because fuck an experiment, youre worth so much more. (/j) (/g)

- so like hes about to leave liyue right?

- but you come out of nowhere

- he spent too much time reflecting ig 💀

- you notice him and he looks back . you already know there’s something to be discussed that you couldnt escape from

- “...let’s talk at my house.” you blankly said

- he only agrees .

- when you reached your doorstep, he was expecting to see the flowers

- but they were gone !

- did he place it at the wrong house ? no, he couldn’t have made a mistake like that , plus the address number was the same

- so... someone must’ve taken them. how disappointing.

- you two enter . nice house tbh

- anyways you told him to sit on the couch as you made yourselves tea

- so meanwhile u were in the kitchen . took ur phone and called hu tao . she picked up ,,

- “i need you to stay quiet, ok? come if you see i’m in trouble.”

- “was literally our plan from the start but ok”

- you softly laughed, grabbing two identical teacups and a serum from your cabinet

- made the tea. poured it in, then poured the serum into the right cup.

- it wasn’t supposed to do any harm, just make whoever sleep bc you didn’t really have the energy to discuss anything with him rn

- also you would never want to harm him so like

- you set them down on the table, then sitting across from him. “...so?”

- albedo takes it in his hands, the heat of it pretty questionable as it felt like fucking molten lava flowing through his hands

- he didn’t prepare for this really, he was expecting for you to find the flowers as he poured out how much you meant to him or other stuff

- why not follow along that, then?

- but before he could say anything, you spoke up first, uncomfortable with the silence.

- “a little star told me that they’d have to take my soul if i destroyed mondstadt.” you deadass yawned and snorted with a straight face, and the sentence implied of you mocking his future. “unbelievable, isn’t it?” you sarcastically added.

- when had you even learned to act like this? he was taken aback, unfamiliar with your personality though he had known you for so long.

- regardless, he took a sip and responded, “if you think it is... sure.” also meant backhandedly as if ppl were supposed to believe your every word as if u were a god(dess)

- you watched as he set the cup back down, curious on how the serum wasn’t taking effect though it was supposed to be immediate. maybe after awhile.

- “why don’t you drink your tea? i remember that you don’t like them cold.” words from albedo truly 😻😻

- he remembers.

- you scoffed, crossing your legs. “i only made it this hot because i remember you don’t like them hot.” you watched his troubled expression.

- communicating with you has never been this hard.

- staring at the steam floating into the air, you wondered about the serum and noticed no signs of fatigue from albedo. when was it gonna...

- oh, wait.

- you then shifted your gaze to your cup, it’s vibrant color reflecting your irises. FUCK-

- ...your turn now, hu tao.

- picking it up gently and drinking it, you felt the forced tiredness onto, all thoughts void of your mind. tf where did u even get this shit? sketchy 🤨

- then . collapse 💀

- mans was about to take action,, but hu tao . girl is fast as fuck

- appears in a rush of butterflies and picks you up bridal style (hand in marriage now), staring him directly in the eyes

- before anything else, he noticed the glaze lilies stuffed in her sachet. she followed his gaze, picking up his thoughts.

- “i, personally, wouldn’t recommend bringing y/n back. after all... they left for a reason.. but, you do you, i guess.” she looked around, her gaze resting on the unfinished teacups. “just don’t expect it to be easy.”

- and in another flash of butterflies, she escaped, leaving him all alone.

- once again.

“ 💀⛓🖤🥀 “

—————

ok looks like i got over the fact that i have to write stuff down in order to publish it let’s go ig 👹👹 /hj

#genshin impact fanfiction #genshin impact x reader #genshin headcanons #genshin impact #genshin impact imagine #albedo #albedo x reader #genshin albedo #albedo angst #albedo genshin impact

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slashingdisneypasta · 2 years

Text

Mayor Buckman x Fem!Reader || Drabble

Plot: I honestly dunno what it is. Its not nice. Not the usual. Its just Buckman being horrible and you standing up for yourself- to destructive ends.

LOOK- sometimes we wanna scream at horror villains, and that's good. 🤷 Haha

Warnings: Abusive relationship, sexism, abuse in general (Emotional and physical), non-sexual choking, mentions of racism and homophobia. Also this was very quickly written before bed.

"Jesus christ!" Your head is about to explode. How big can this mans ego possibly be? You didn't think it was possible for him to get any more obnoxious but tonight has properly corrected that meagre scope. Eyes blazing, you stop walking away and whip back around on him; Both your faces twisted in anger. "You really think you're king of something, don't you?! Well you're not. You're the mayor of a tiny little town the world forgot about a century ago that's just holding onto existence by stealing scraps from the bottom of the bin!"

"We're thriving, young lady- "

"Don't call me 'young lady'! And don't use that tone- UGH!" You turn around again, bolt a few steps, scrape the tips of your fingers back over your scalp, then turn around again. "You aren't thriving. You're selling your dignity, what very little of it all you sick, backwards hicks had in the first place, to survive. Because you think its going to take you to where you're supposed to be but guess what? There's no promising that what you're looking for- The afterlife, your daughter- " Buckman's eyes flash with animosity at that part, the maddest you've ever managed to make him, and you gain a generous rush of victory at unlocking it. "Even exists. Maybe everyone that dies just gets stuck here in this miserable place, like you. And its great big cosmic prank, telling you different. So you just get to spend the rest of eternity working towards something that never was."

You know that must have occurred to him, as his hand shakes as he raises a finger at you. "You better hush up, now. For your own good. I took you in- I can kick you out, too."

"Please!" You scream, throwing your arms into your chest; Begging. And you're absolutely sure that everyone else in town can hear the two of you now if they weren't already pressing their ears up to the walls when you rushes out of the pub in a huff minutes ago; The mayor you were mad at following at your heels, equally mad. "God- Please! Release me! I'm done, here!" You are so done, here.

When he had asked you to stay all that time ago, you thought you loved him. That was a falsity. Now if he asked you again, and you got another chance- you would turn around and run.

He was a monster, to his roots. And you were so sick of it!

"You know I cant do that." Buckman's shoulders lower, along with his voice, causing your anger to nearly dissipate, you nearly close your mouth again and cease to say what's the truth- but then you think back to all his faults again and you're furious once more. Like molten lava is burning up your insides and the only way to cool it down is to scream and let the air in. Your glaring eyes worsen, deepening into an ugly scowl as he steps forward and reaches out- and his fingers clench around your forearm like iron; Yanking you forward before you realise what he was doing. A yelp escapes you, falling towards him. His voice almost comes out comforting, you would believe it was to make you feel better, truly... if it weren't for that unmistakably patronising tone. Like he were talking to a disobedient 5 year old at the store. "You're just being hysterical, Y/N. Come on home, I'll make you some tea and give you some attention. Would you like that?"

Your stomach rolls- because yes, a part of you would. You would like for him to just be the person you thought he was; Charismatic, chivalrous, sweet. You could allow yourself to sink into his arms and let his voice lead you; Be a quaint little house wife for him- you really could. You could go for that.

And you had.

But now you'd seen, and heard, too much. You had been here too long. He was racist, homophobic - didn't even realise his son was as straight as a fucking spring, - , sexist, egomaniacal, and manipulative- Unapologetically so. And you couldn't turn a blind eye to the bullshit, not anymore. You were already going to hell, it seemed, for how long you had.

So your stomach rolls, and you wrench you arm viciously and gracelessly out of his familiar grip. "No!"

"Y/N, darlin'- " His tone is threatening when that once, all-too-lovely pet name slips out, and his eye glowers at you. His face says shut up and get in the house, or I'll make you regret it.

"Or what!?" Throwing your arms out to either side of your body, you widen your eyes at him. "'No more Mr Nice guy'?? That's a little much, even for you. Don't you think!? Besides I think that has sailed." You hiss the last part out between grit teeth.

Gritting his own teeth, Buckman comes forward towards you this time; Grabbing you by your upper arms to hold you in place and you don't move to throw him off but your horrible glare does intensify, feeling as if it might be able to throw him off you on its own if only he would take it seriously. "Listen to me- you're makin' a scene."

You could not give a flying fuck. "You're sad!" You suddenly blurt, realising that its futile to argue with him, so all that comes to mind and to mouth is all the nasty things you want to say to him. That you want him to know about himself. The things that hurt you, because you wish he could be different. "You're ridiculously sad, and pathetic, and- just- broken. And I have to get the hell out of here before you make me the same- like you did the rest of these thugs!"

A cruel smirk spreads across his mouth. "Oh sweetheart... if I am, then it has already rubbed off on you. Its far too late for escapin'. Whatever high ground y' think you have is nothin' but the heels on the boots I gave you." Raising his chin, looking down on you in pride, Buckman's fingers clench tighter around your arms tighter and you gasp; Wincing and looking away from him for a moment, holding in a cry.

But only for a moment- before you look back to sneer and glare right in his face; Because you aren't wearing anything he gave you, today. Which is the reason he was frustrated in the first place, earlier. You were wearing what you came to this horrid little town in; Your jeans, your Halloween T-Shirt, and your runners. So you sneer, and watch that smirk on him turn into a frown full of hatred. "Oh sweetheart, I don't think so." You tell him gently, calmly, even though a storm rages on in your eyes and burns at your chest.

"I should've thrown those in the fire."

"Well, hind sights a bitch."

Then a hand wraps around your throat and you take a deep breath, lifting your chin to escape his new confining grip- This wont be the first time he's done this though, hand straining and getting comfortable in its place around your neck. His eyes darken impossibly. "I still could."

"Burn me, throttle me, drown me, break me- nothings going to change the fact that you have no control over me." You narrow your eyes at him. "None."

After half a damn moment, the bastard perkily tilts his head to the side. "And yet!" Is all he says, before smiling - a horrible, spiteful, evil expression, - , and promptly increases the pressure around your throat.

#Mayor Buckman x Fem!Reader Drabble #Mayor Buckman x Fem!Reader #Mayor Buckman #Mayor Buckman x Reader Drabble #Mayor Buckman x Reader #Fem Reader #Female Reader #2001 Maniacs #2001 Maniacs x Reader #Drabble #X Reader #X Female Reader #X Fem!Reader #i may write a part 2

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selfetishizing · 3 years

Text

the star of my summer nights

August 12, 1:43 AM

A night of drinking for Ash’s birthday. Only one of them comes home drunk.

“You’ve gotta duck, babe,” he coos, and it kind of reverbs in a kaleidoscopic rain of words, making Eiji’s mind twirl in a cyclone of two-hundred kilometers per hour. Eiji groans at the throbbing in his head, made more severe by the soft pet-name bestowed to him by this suspiciously too-kind stranger.

“Y’got no business callin’ me ‘at,” Eiji slurs brattily, though following his instructions as obedient as a lapdog. He rests his chin in the space between his neck and shoulder, feeling flaxen wisps tickle his cheek. His citronnade hair glows as he carefully steps into his house, flicking the lights on.

“If not ‘babe,’ what d’you prefer? Buttercup? Bunny?” Eiji’s heart sinks and he lets out this frustrated, whinnied noise from the exhale of his nostrils. His voice has this kind of playfulness to it and it makes Eiji hotter than he already is, melting right onto his back like molten wax. “I know for a fact you love that one.”

“Eiji. E-I-J-I. That’s my name! Given t’me by my mother on a sunny day in Izumo!” Eiji whines, childishly untangling himself from him. The guy’s got quick reflexes, quickly sliding the door shut and pressing Eiji back against it before he could fall back and split his cranium open like a watermelon. “Lemme go! I can walk! I can—”

He only presses harder against him, making sure that Eiji feels the ridges of his shoulder blades against his chest and the small of his back on his pelvis. Somehow, this gesture’s got him absolutely winded, deflating all of the air in his lungs and promptly making him shut up for a second to take the situation in. He’s currently got this handsome foreigner in his home. Has Eiji against the door, vulnerable and powerless. It didn’t help that everything was spinning in counterclockwise circles, making every viable route to safety unclear.

Oh.

He smells so nice, like freshly brewed lapsing tea. Like what a fireplace feels like after trudging in a blizzard. Snug. Homey.

He likes it.

It stirs something in him, titillates him in a complete sensory overload that he feels like he could explode.

“You have a very beautiful name, Eiji,” he tells him suddenly, and Eiji has no choice, zilch, but to stop and reconsider his tactics. “Your mother must’ve loved you very much to give you such a meaningful name.” Eiji cocks his head to the side, taking in his profile and blinking as if it’d make his vision sharper.

His heart races, the man’s voice suddenly doesn’t sound so ear-splitting. It thumps right there in his breast and he’s scared to death that the man can feel just what he’s doing to him, condensing him into a vat of mandarine marmalade. Eiji wonders what’s going on in his meandering mind and sort-of, kind-of wants to eat up every one of his words and follow its winding path down to madness. He knows just what to say, how to say it. Knows the right inflection to get Eiji’s mouth to dry, get him weak at the knees.

“I’m tired,” Eiji whispers, surrendering himself to the currents. “Take me to my room. Take me to my room upstairs and leave right away.”

“Yeah. Of course,” he says. “Anything for you.”

He trudges up in slow careful steps. The wooden steps creak under their weight and Eiji feels like he’s lived that sound time and time again with someone he can’t seem to remember right now. Racing up and down. Sitting there as they blow on their morning coffee. Being pressed against the railing, kissed and tasted when they were both too impatient to make it upstairs. Eiji closes his eyes to dive back into those memories to search for a face to match the hole in the portrait of his every day.

The man staggers into his room and fumbles for the light switch before bee-lining to the bed to rest him down. Eiji unlinks from him a little reluctantly, scooting back to the far side of the bed away from upon realization that he misses the warmth radiating from his body.

“Thanks.”

“My pleasure,” he coos from the other edge of the mattress, promptly shrugging his hoodie off and tossing it to the ground.

Eiji purses his lips and looks out the window at the deep violet crepuscule, yearning for something he knows he shouldn’t have.

“You should.... You should probably go now,” Eiji tells him unsteadily, voice absent of any conviction.

The man crawls over to him, peridot eyes obscured by his threadlike hair and all of the alarms in Eiji’s head goes off at once. Even so, he lets it all unfold; lets him be close to him just for a second as if to test the waters. Eiji holds his breath until he’s blue, examining his eyes for a motive. He’s got him so entranced that it takes a minute for Eiji to realize he’s laying next to him, facing him, holding his hand.

“I’ve got a boyfriend."

“A boyfriend,” he echoes back with a hint of amusement, like the very thought of him with a significant other is nothing short of risible.

“Yes! And he won’t like it if he sees you here!”

“He’s… Right here?”

“You dope. Weirdo! My boyfriend’s nothin’ like you!” To be honest, Eiji can’t really remember what he looks like right now, but he feels it strongly there in his heart. Remembers the space between his fingers. The pink scars that mar his ivory skin. The shape of his lips. “I love him very much!”

“Uh?” Eiji can see him blinking his eyes in disbelief. He’s making fun of me. “Er, I mean, pfffft. What’s so lovable about this guy, anyways? Can’t be better than me.”

Eiji furrows his brows and pouts, screwing his eyes shut to immerse himself in sensations of his beloved. “He’s smart and funny and the prettiest person, like, ever.”

“Is he prettier?” asks the man with hilarity, propping his head up on an elbow.

No comment.

“He makes the best omelets, and he reads me to bed— even when he’s tired! Gives me the best shoulder rubs! Lends me his jacket when I’m shivering outside so I don’t catch a cold ‘cause that’s just the kind of person he is!”

“Yeah?”

“He’s scared of pumpkins ‘n natto, but that don’t change that he’s kind ‘n sweet ‘n caring! I love him, more than anyone! More than myself!”

“This guy sounds like a real looney if you ask me,” he chuckles.

“He’s… My bestest friend in the whole world. He’s—” But before Eiji can blather more about his significant other, the man hovers over him and captures him mid-sentence; coaxes him into a kiss before he can make a bigger fool out of himself. Eiji squeaks out in bewilderment, offended that this man had rudely cut him off as he was loudly professing his affection for the entire neighborhood to hear.

He kisses him kind, kisses him sweet, kisses him caring; strokes him with lava-dipped fingertips on the curve of his hip and further up, careful to not overstep the border between simple lip-locking and slightly-more-than-lip-locking.

Eiji’s only ever been in bloom when he’s with him. They fit together like needle to threadbare, making floral embroideries with every press of their peony lips. He traces vines and leaves onto Eiji with every caress of his finger on his cheek, his neck, his shoulders. The way he’s sprouting flowers onto his forehead finally gives Eiji a moment of clarity.

“He’s... me,” Ash whispers.

Everything finally clicks into place.

“You’re you.”

“Mm-hmm. And you’re sweet.” Ash taps his nose.

“Where did you go?”

“Was always here.”

Exhausted and waiting out the last dregs of his intoxication, he pulls Ash’s head into his chest and cradles him, breathes him in.

“Then stay the night.”

“Kinda planned on it.”

#my writing #ash lynx #eiji okumura #asheiji #banana fish #this is in case i don't finish my fic for ash's bday lol #this is an old chapter from my ficlet collection #deleted because the ending was ooc but edited for tumblr #if you've read this before #no you haven't skjdfbkjabf #fic

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cherry-glade · 3 years

Text

only ever pain (until you)

pairing: jason todd x reader

summary: it’s been a while since this has happened—jason’s been having a good run—but life is always out to get him, and soon enough, he's curled up into a ball of nothing but pain, aching muscle and brittle bone. luckily, like the last few times, he has you now to help him get through it.

warnings: some angst, jason being mostly touch-averse in this, jason also being quite self-deprecating, sensory overload, hurt/comfort, ptsd and hallucinations, chronic illness (fibromyalgia).

w/c: 4786 words

Jason doesn't know why it happens—maybe it's a side effect of either the Lazarus Pit, or of living in a world that he doesn’t belong in, where he should technically be dead, or perhaps it's just the trauma from the Joker's beating coming back to haunt him—but some days, it's as though all Jason is capable of feeling is pure, unadulterated pain.

He knows that it’s going to be one of those days from the minute he wakes up, wincing and turning away as the sun peeks through the window and makes his eyes sting, even though they’re still closed. He tries to roll over onto his stomach, not realising that the sheets are tangled up around his legs, and ends up falling off the bed with a dull thud, knee bashing into the floor.

Shoving the sheets away, Jason pushes himself up into a sitting position, stretching his leg out and noticing the faint redness to his skin, but he doesn’t take much note of it as he rubs at his surprisingly sore knee, preoccupied by the sudden throbbing pain in his head and behind his right eye, a sure sign of an incoming migraine.

Groaning, he stands up, damn near clinging onto the bedside table for support as he picks up his phone up and taps on the screen to check the time. It’s nearly noon, so you must already be at work. Jason usually wakes up on time though for you to kiss him goodbye, and the fact that he didn’t today is just another sign that things are probably going to end up going to shit.

Jason’s legs feel weak as he walks to the bathroom. He swears he can feel each individual fibre in the carpeting, rough against his feet. Jason pushes on and relieves himself before washing his hands and splashing cold water onto his face, nearly collapsing into a heap on the floor, but he manages to catch himself before he cracks his head open on the sink.

”You look like a piece of shit that got turned into roadkill, and are very lucky that Y/N isn’t here right now to witness this,” Jason says to his reflection in the mirror above the sink as he leans forward, noting his bloodshot eyes and the bags underneath them, skin paler than usual.

He blinks hard at the mirror and then stumbles out towards your kitchen, regretting not putting any socks on first as his bare feet come into the contact with the tiled floor, cold and leeching any remaining heat from his body. Jason fills the kettle up with water and switches it on, studying the darkening bruise on his knee as he waits for it to come to a boil.

Surprisingly enough, the bruise is already reddish in colour, almost verging on purple and tender to the touch as Jason prods at it with his fingers like a curious child, hissing at the pain radiating from it. He tries his best to ignore the dull ache as he makes himself a quick cup of jasmine tea, specially bought for him by Alfred, fingers trembling all the while.

Jason has to pick up his mug with both hands, taking a moment to let the warmth of the tea seep through his body, and then makes the mistake of taking a step back towards the bedroom. He vaguely recalls having a conversation with Tim and Damian, a while ago now, about if he would rather walk on heated coals or a trail of Legos. Remembers Damian absentmindedly mentioning that he’d already done the former as part of his training in the League of Assassins.

Remembers chiming in himself and saying that he’d done the same, then having to squirm away from Dick when he’d gotten that oddly sad look on his face as soon as Damian mentioned it—that look that said Jason was going to get a hug whether he liked it or not. Jason had barely escaped by pushing Damian into Dick’s arms instead, and Dick had apparently been appeased by that as he curled around Damian like an octopus, still giving Jason puppy eyes.

This, right now? Taking this single step? It feels infinitely worse than both options combined.

Jason grits his teeth and forces himself through walking the few paces to your shared bedroom, feeling like he’s about to collapse onto the floor the whole way. He has to take a break when he reaches the doorway, clinging to the doorframe with one hand, and tries to keep his other hand to stay as still as physically possible so it doesn’t spill, even as the handle of the mug feels bruising against his palm.

Jason takes a moment to breathe in deep, resisting the urge to claw at his own neck and chest as his pulse quickens and his heart beats harder against his ribs, as the insistent buzz under his skin grows even more insistent, like it’s trying to seek his attention over the throb of his migraine, over the ever-growing pain in his knee and his trembling hands and his dry throat and chapped lips and the keen desire to have you by his side.

Jason isn’t even exaggerating when he says it feels like it’s been years when he finally reaches the bed, practically falling down onto it. With shaky hands, he brings the mug to his mouth, breathing in the subtle sweetness through his nose before taking a sip of the tea, regretting it immediately when it feels as though molten lava is being poured down his throat, clogging it up to the point that Jason’s nose burns when he tries to force down the urge to choke.

Instead of being stupid and trying to drink any more of it, Jason decides to set the mug down on the bedside table so he can wait for it to cool down, his hand jerking when he sees something other than tea in it. Jason stares helplessly, frozen in place as liquid spills over the rim of the mug and trickles down its side, leaving a faint stain on it, the colour reminiscent of dried blood. He blinks when his eyes start to water, and the tea is its usual colour again, a rich, golden caramel.

Jason stares for a little while longer and then decides to get back into bed so he can wait, for both his tea and you. Curling up into a ball is easier said than done, especially when he can feel every single hair on his body rubbing against the sheets when he pulls them close to his chest, then yanks the covers over his head like he’s trying to smother the pain as he squeezes his eyes shut.

His last thought before unknowingly succumbing to the darkness of sleep, selfish as it might be, is that though he hates being so reliant upon you, though it makes him feel weak and not so different from a leech, asking for everything from you and giving nothing in return, he wants to hear your voice telling him that he will get through this, and that you’ll be with him every step of the way.

***

Jason awakes from his restless slumber to the sound of someone knocking on the bedroom door, even though he remembers leaving it open. He knows it’s you though, because you’re the only one who ever bothers knocking anymore, even if the door is open, in an attempt to give him the space he sometimes needs. He tries his best to focus through the pain and realises that you’re knocking in a pattern, the same pattern you established with each other a while ago to ask if he was okay.

Jason nearly bites through his lip to stop himself from crying out as he reaches an arm out from under the covers to knock on the wood of the bedside table thrice, the nauseatingly coppery taste of blood lingering on his tongue. He wants you to tell him everything is going to be okay, even though he knows it isn’t going to be that way for a while, if only to delude himself into thinking so.

“Jay? Are you having a day?” You call out softly, and the ringing in his ears doesn’t stop him from hearing you shuffle your feet. Jason ignores the sound of his teeth grinding together as he summons the energy to peek out at you, squinting at how you’re stood in the doorway, one hand on the doorknob with both feet firmly outside of the room. Somewhere deep inside him, past all the parts that scream with pain and hurt and anger, it warms him to see that you’ll still respect his boundaries.

He nods at you, regretting it when his migraine comes back with a vengeance. It feels like someone’s hammering at the inside of his head, trying to break out of it. “You okay with touching?” You whisper, finally stepping into the room.

He isn’t sure. Touching his thumb to his chin makes his skin burst into a flurry of sensation, and Jason only refrains from scratching at his face because he knows that you know he wants to do it, going by the stern look on your face. “Can try, but… not skin,” he rasps out, wincing at the way his voice sounds. It’s hoarse and raspy, like he’s been screaming for hours. He could’ve been, in his sleep.

You come closer, casually tugging a pair of gloves out of your pocket and sliding them on. Other than the fact that they’re very soft, the gloves aren’t anything special. When you first found out about the pain, it had been Jason wearing them so he wouldn’t scratch himself, but both of you quickly found out that the material was far too itchy against his sensitive skin, and now it’s you who wears them so that you can help him without accidentally touching his skin and sending him into a frenzy.

Jason watches you as you step in front of the bedside table and curl your hand around a mug that he hadn’t noticed until then. “Jasmine tea?” You ask him, and Jason holds his shaking hands out to take it, but you move it away and put the mug back down, shaking your head. “It’s gone cold. You must have made it before you went to sleep.”

“I—don’t remember,” Jason murmurs, suddenly feeling very lost. He thought you had made it for him. Your mouth twitches into a small frown as you study his face, and your hand rises like you’re about to touch him, faltering midway before falling back down to your side.

“I’m going to get you some water,” you say, waiting for Jason’s nod before leaving to do just that, and Jason knows you’re coming right back, but he somehow misses you even more now than he did when you were at work. His shoulders are tense until you return to his side with a small glass, half-full of water.

“Do you want me to hold it for you—”

“Can do it myself,” Jason interrupts you, insistent on doing at least this without having to be so dependent on you. But once the glass is in his hands, water keeps sloshing over the sides, his teeth clacking into it because of how much his hands are shaking. Your gloved hands come up to support his, holding the glass steady, and he does his best to shoot you a thankful look as he takes a careful sip. He’s sure it’s lukewarm, but it feels like shards of ice scraping against his throat, almost making Jason choke.

Once the glass is empty, you set it down with a clink and crouch down next to the bed, facing him. “Have you eaten?” You ask, and Jason just about manages to shake his head, feeling sick. Your frown deepens momentarily before smoothing out entirely as you stand up again, taking a few steps back so that you’re not looming over him.

His skin is itchy. He feels dirty. Jason doesn’t realise that he’s scratching until you say his name sternly, startling him when you place a gentle hand on top of his. Your eyes scan over his face, and you must see something on it because you straighten up, a somewhat determined look in your eyes as you slowly peel the covers off him, baring Jason’s body to the cold darkness of the bedroom.

“Bath time,” you tell him, a small smile on your face. Jason shivers violently.

“Dirty? Am I dirty?” He asks, vaguely aware of the fact that he’s slurring his words, focussing more on how hot his face feels. Your smile wavers and it feels like his blood is boiling inside him as you shake your head, muttering something to yourself about him getting worse.

“But—”

Jason looks down at his hands, which only shake even more when he sees crimson pooling in the crooks between his fingers, staining his cuticles red and drying into the lines of his cracked palms. Red drips from his fingertips, staining the sheets beneath him. He doesn’t want to touch you, to dirty you with his red hands.

“They’re dirty,” Jason says, showing you his hands, and you shake your head again.

“You’re not dirty,” you say out loud this time, looking Jason in the eye. “You’re having a bath because it’ll help with the pain,” you explain to him like he’s a child, but Jason can’t find it in himself to get annoyed. He shivers again, but this time it’s because of the sudden cold he feels, because of the goosebumps rising along the surface of his bare arms as the buzz under his skin roars for his attention.

“I’m not?” Jason asks, still hesitant, and you repeat yourself as your eyes flicker over his face, telling him that he isn’t dirty.

“Come on,” you gently coax him until Jason eventually pulls himself out of the safety of the bed, a whimper escaping from between his clenched teeth when his feet touch the floor and pain shoots through his body. Your eyes are glued to him, concern clearly written all over your face as Jason battles his way to the bathroom and then starts to undress as you fill the bathtub, resisting the urge to scratch as the fabric of his clothes drags uncomfortably over his skin.

He studies his trembling hands as you pour some odd-looking powder into the water, dipping your hand in and swirling it all together until you’re left with a slimy mixture. You turn to him with an expectant look on your face like you’re waiting for him to do something, and then it clicks, and Jason’s nose wrinkles as he presses his lips together in a thin line.

“Sweetheart, you need to actually get in for it to have any effect,” you remind him, a teasing undertone to your voice. Jason pulls a face and steps up to the tub, wincing as the muscles in his legs sprain when he tries to swing his leg over the edge to do as he’s been told. But you come up next to him, holding one of his hands as lightly as you can to support him as he manages to climb into the tub, slowly sinking down until he’s sat down and almost fully submerged.

For a moment, it’s almost too overwhelming for him, and then the continuous sensations of hot and cold and pain and numbness, of all too much and nowhere near enough, they all slowly ease. Jason sinks a little lower into the water, hands shooting out of the water to grip onto the sides of the bathtub so he can ground himself as he closes his eyes and leans his head back against the wall, slowly breathing out through his nose.

Jason isn’t sure if he’s relieved or terrified by how easy it was to get his body to just shut up, but doesn’t ponder on it, revelling instead at how he can now simply feel without hurting so much.

He must zone out for quite some time though because he ends up tuning back in to the sound of your voice, smooth and familiar as you tell him about your day at work. You aren’t holding his hand anymore, but are still sat on the rug next to the bathtub, watching him with sharp eyes.

Once again, Jason is reminded of the fact that you’re too good for him, too good for someone with blood on his hands and vengeance on his mind, for someone who is capable of feeling nothing but anger in his heart. Once again, he wonders why you choose to stay, why you keep choosing him even though everyone else in his life does the opposite.

There’s an odd look on your face when Jason turns to look at you. You don’t say anything, not pushing him, but wait for him to speak in his own time. He’s fiercely reminded of how much he loves you and swallows down the lump in his throat which threatens to choke him.

“They’re red,” he finally croaks out, and his tongue feels too big for his mouth. “My hands are red, and they’re always gonna be red with people’s fucking blood, because that’s all I’m good at. That’s all I can do.”

“Jay—” you start, frowning, but he cuts you off with a shake of his head which makes him feel like he’s about to throw up.

His bloody hands shake. “I’m never going to be clean,” Jason whispers, but even that is too loud for his overly sensitive ears. “When people look at Red Hood, at me, that’s all they are ever going to see. Blood on my hands.”

“Jason, baby,” you murmur, and Jason doesn’t think he’s ever heard your voice so soft before. He turns his head to look down when your gloved fingers graze the tips of his, even though it makes him feel like his brain is pounding violently against the inside of his skull.

You’re asking if you can hold his hand, and Jason takes in a deep breath as he slowly uncurls his fingers from the death grip they previously had around the edge of the bathtub, then flips his hand over so his palm is facing upwards.

You don’t cover it with your own like he’s expecting, but manage to slide yours underneath Jason’s so that you’re cradling his hand. He has to fight hard against the instinct to snatch it back.

“You wanna know what I see?” You ask as your eyes fall to his hand, but it isn’t really a question, and if it is, it’s clearly rhetorical. Your gloved fingertip traces over the lines in his palm, and it doesn’t hurt as much as Jason had thought it would. Instead of thousands of tiny needles piercing through the surface of his skin, it just feels like sharp little pinpricks of sensation.

He looks up at you, and you look right back at him with soft eyes and a softer smile. Jason’s pretty sure his heart skips a beat in the same way it always does when you smile at him. “I see strength, and I see kindness, and I see good.”

Your eyes lower to look at his hand again. “I see scars and callouses and bruised knuckles, and fingers that haven’t healed right after being broken. I see the hands of a man who has worked hard every single day of his life, who doesn’t stop working even though it hurts sometimes, because he’s just like that.”

Your eyes meet, and Jason has to take in deep breaths after seeing the fierce look in your eyes, even though his chest is painfully tight. “I see hands that disarm bombs and shoot guns and break assholes’ noses. Hands that help and protect and love, so, so much.”

Jason exhales shakily through his nose, eyes stinging. He doesn’t deserve this, he knows that. He’s known that he doesn’t deserve you since the moment he met you, since the first time he dared to utter your name with his unworthy tongue, to touch you with his undeserving hands.

But you make him sound like this wonderful person, somebody who actually deserves to have you and love you, and Jason doesn’t know how you can see him like that. He’s killed and tortured and hurt people, both physically and emotionally, he’s not good at all, but he couldn’t bear to lose you if you ever came to the realisation that you’ve been wrong about him all along.

Loving you is the best thing he’s ever done, the greatest choice he’s ever made, and the closest he can get to being good is being good to you. If that’s taken away from him, he’s doomed to an eternity of making the wrong choices.

“When I look at you, I see someone who is brave and gentle and strong. So strong,” you emphasise with the gentlest squeeze to his hand, almost like you think if you put too much pressure on it, his bones will cave in and shatter beneath your touch into dozens of tiny pieces, just like Jason’s heart does whenever you say things like this to him, like you actually mean it.

“I see a man who has been hurt by the world around him so many times, but he’s come out fighting every time.” Jason flinches at that, turning away so he can watch the condensation slowly forming on the tap, a single water droplet threatening to spill from it.

“Jay,” you whisper shakily, and he can hear the swell of emotion in your voice. But Jason knows that you’re not asking him to turn back and face you again, though he feels like he should so he can lean in and kiss any revealing traces of wetness off your face, even if it makes his lips feel like they’re being seared right off his face as he touches them to your soft skin.

“I wish you could see what I do when I look at you,” you admit, eyes no longer burning into the side of his face as you steady your voice again, sounding like you’re determined to prove it to him, that he’s worthy of your love and time.

“You deserve every good thing in this cursed world that we live in, and I wish I could give you that, but I can’t,” you say, voice cracking halfway through your sentence, and you sound truly heartbroken about it, about the fact that—that Jason deserves more, and he’s not getting it.

The water droplet leaks from the tap and lands on the bottom of the tub with a faint splat. Jason doesn’t hear it because he’s too busy staring at your glossy eyes, tears threatening to spill over the delicate tips of your eyelashes and down your face.

You blink and a tear runs down your cheek, just one, leaving a faint streak on your face as you breathe in deeply through your nose, trying to pull yourself together before you speak again. “All I can give you is my love and my time, and hope that that’s enough for you.”

You look back down at his hand cradled in yours again and there’s a faint smile on your face, like you know something he doesn’t. “These hands which you think are red? The same hands which you think will only ever ruin everything they touch? They’ve never hurt me.”

“These hands right here?” You say, shaking his ever so slightly, but not so much that it hurts. “They hold me when I’m happy and when I’m sad, when I’m angry and when I need to feel safe.” Your eyes meet his again, bright with warmth and determination. “My heart is in these hands, Jason, and you’ve never done it wrong. Ever.” Jason briefly considers arguing with you but he really doesn’t have the energy to—this bath is making him strangely sleepy.

But you must see the intent in his eyes because you shake your head and continue, just as stubborn as he is. That isn’t a bad thing, not at all. It’s why you work so well together.

“When I got into a relationship with you, I trusted you to take care of my heart, and that’s exactly what you’ve done,” you explain. “So all I’m asking is that you trust me to take care of you, because I know you deserve it, whether you agree with me or not.”

Jason stares at you and you stare right back, your smile growing ever wider as Jason’s eyes dart away and his cheeks warm slightly. He loves you so much.

“I think you ought to know,” Jason starts, meeting your eyes as water trails slowly down the back of his neck, making him want to claw at his skin, to press his nails into it and drag them along the surface until it’s raw and itchy and as red as his bleeding heart. “If it weren’t for the fact that the thought of touching someone’s skin makes me want to peel the fucking flesh right off my bones, I’d be kissing the shit out of you right now.”

Your wet eyes go soft again, as does your trembling smile. “I appreciate the sentiment,” you laugh, undeniably fond, and even after all this time, it makes Jason want to squirm a little. He refrains, but just barely.

You stare at each other for a little while longer until you speak up again, asking if you can wash his hair. It’s not that he needs to have his hair washed, but he enjoys the feeling of your fingers in his hair, adores the sound of your voice as you tell him a story or sing to him to replace the silence or distract him from the thoughts racing around his mind.

So naturally, he agrees, and soon enough, he’s facing the wall with you balanced on the edge of the bathtub, warning him before you scoop up a handful of clean water and pour it over his hair. You start to hum a simple song, briefly pausing to tell that you’re going to shampoo his hair before continuing.

He tenses up, trying to prepare himself for the feeling of being overstimulated when your hands land in his hair, but warmth tingles through him instead in the same way that it does whenever you touch him with no plans other than to love him, and really, Jason was a fool to expect anything else, seeing as you’ve only ever touched him with the best intentions in mind.

“I love you,” Jason murmurs quietly, and you don’t tease him by telling him you know that like you sometimes do. Like Jason himself did when he finally became comfortable with the fact that he loves you and you love him too.

In fact, you don’t say anything at all, still humming that same song as you gently massage your fingers through his thick hair, paying particular attention to his white streak. It occurs to Jason that maybe you didn’t hear him.

Or maybe you just somehow know like you always do that this was something he needed to say, that it was something he needed to learn for himself without finding out that you knew how he felt before he did, something that he needed to come to terms with so he could finally put a name to the way you make his heart try to punch out of his rib cage and right into your hands whenever you smile at him or say his name or praise him, or kiss his tears away and take him into your arms after he’s had a nightmare without a word of complaint.

“I love you,” he repeats anyway, hoping for you to understand, and you try your best, leaning in to press your mouth to the wet skin on the back of his neck, mouthing words against it that Jason can’t quite make out, but he’s pretty sure he can have a good guess. It makes him shiver again, but in a good way this time.

“I love you,” he says a third time, and now you get it. Now you hear what he’s really saying.

I love you. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for always choosing me. Thank you for helping me through this.

Your mouth curls into a smile against his skin. “I love you too, Jason,” you whisper, voice tender. And Jason hears what you’re saying too.

I love you. Thank you for letting me.

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #dc #sfw #my fic

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