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yubiina · 2 years

Text

Lovesick

" You've been checking under your bed to see if I'm there"

-+~x-+~x-+~x-+~x-+~x-+~x-+~x-+~x-+~x-+~x

Pairing: Jake x fem!reader

Warning: angst, last ep spoilers, descriptions of a dead body, fire breakout, pretty creepy and just dark in general.

Summary: Your vow to always love him even when you're gone seems to still ring true, after all, you always keep your promises.

And your undying love seems to really be what it is, undying.

Author's note: inspired by this song, I literally came up with this idea while listening to it. Wanted to write this fic in honor of this entire series ending and the beginning of new things. Enjoy!

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༺♡༻

" Alright love birds, listen up!!"

Jessy's voice rings through the telephone voicemail, her cheerful tone echoes through the living room and kitchen catching both of yours attention.

" I know you guys said that you were gonna have a day off together and yada yada, BUT" she draws out dramatically.

But Jake slowly drowns out the noise as he observes the sizzling oil on the pan. A long train of thought stopped by a slight smile that cracks on his face once he hears a giggle from the hallway at Jessy's words.

He smiles at the footsteps he hears rushing around the house as you look for him, and he smiles at the eggs he cooks on the pan, because there's two instead of one.

But his mind goes deeper than what's happening around him in the present.

Even though it had been months since they'd found Hannah and saved you, he couldn't help but go back to that very moment like it only happened yesterday.

But it was only normal, after all, no one would've expected for a case of a couple of friends looking for clues for a missing girl to turn out the way it did, yet he was grateful it did.

And sometimes, in moments like this, he has a bad habit of falling too deep into his own mind. It was as if searching for the end of an endless forest, where wouldn't be able to find his way back home, once he gave up.

But that's why you're here now, to pull him back, like you do when he feels a pair hands sneak around his waist and a nuzzle on his back.

He ignores you, of course, still focused on the food in front of him, but the goosebumps that rise on his skin tell otherwise.

It's the same goosebumps he gets when he's woken up by the feeling of your nails raking across his bare back in the morning, and the warm sun rays peaking through the window.

It's then when he decides to pretend being asleep for 5 more minutes.

Or the goosebumps he gets when his eyes catch your face. When he stares into your eyes, noticing how they crinkle when you break out into a laugh because you're unable to keep contact.

Realising he's staring into the eyes of someone he loves.

He has someone to care for, and he swears that's everytime it happens, he stares for a little longer.

But these goosebumps were never on their own. They were accompanied with other harmonies, like the skip of a heartbeat, or even a laugh.

A sound he'd only sing to you, the bird with the most colorful wings he's seen.

" Are we going?" Your voice grounds him back to reality.

" where?" He asks confused.

" Jessy said Hannah's planned a picnic for the group near the park, weren't you listening?" You scold him teasingly.

He sighs, turning the heat off and placing the eggs on two plates.

" How about we eat first" he turns to look at you.

" I know that's a no" you huff.

" So what? We see them everyday, I thought you wanted to spend the day together", he turns to the sink to open the faucet.

" Today's just you and me"

You plop down on the the of the couch, a visible pout on your face.

" Yeah but Chloe made that cake -"

"Ok then, no dance time?"

" But I love dance time!"

" You always force me to do it and step on my feet"

"that's why I love it!"

He huffs a chuckle, shaking his head and tracing back to the times where you'd turn on the music and step on his feet for him to swing you around and 'dance'

But he knew he was only arguing with you to tease you, knowing he would do whatever you wanted to do in the end. And he was sure you probably knew that too.

And that's how it always went, a day full of banter, playful scolding and sometimes,sore feet.

A day where he didn't feel the need to say I love you, because you knew.

And a day where he didn't have to wake up to check if you were still alive through a computer screen.

Your face only visible through a pixelated screen, where he couldn't hear your breaths or feel your heartbeat and your hair brush his face.

Yes, he's certain he thinks he's grateful that things turned out the way they did.

But this isn't him, and that's not you.

He wasn't a man of patience he imagined to be, neither was he the man smiling in the morning, satisfied with his life.

"But that's okay" you always told him.

Reassuring him that a man with flaws is no less human than one with none.

And he's not sitting in a cozy apartment, where the warm sun rays shine through the window in an attempt to warm his body, when he can only look at how they frame your face.

" Hey Jake. It's me"

Jessy's voice rings through the telephone voicemail, it's poor quality distorting her voice and bounced off the chipped walls of the small motel bedroom.

The sound scratches his ears but he ignores it, seated comfortably on the edge of the bed he stares, like he has for a while now.

" I just wanted to check up on you, you know, like I always do" She sighs a heavy breath and a bitter chuckle after.

The only source of light was the sun rays that tried fighting their way through the heavy, dusty curtains and the dark was starting to mess with his eyes.

" I feel like everyone needs someone to talk to after everything that happened"

Mabye so, but he didn't feel like he needed anyone to talk to after what happened, everything had turned out the best outcome it could, even if the road had been tough.

After all, no one would've expected for a case of a couple of friends looking for clues for a missing girl to turn out the way it did.

He can hear Jessy's distressed breathing through the phone, unable to hide the lump forming in her throat when she spoke.

" I know this does nothing for you, but I'm sorry. We're just really worried"

And she's right, it does absolutely nothing, he wants to laugh at that, but can't, knowing that's a song only reserved for you.

Sometimes he goes back, his mind occupied with the same question he didn't want to answer. Asking him if it was worth saving Hannah for you.

And he knows you wouldn't like his answer, that's why he feels guilt seep in when he imagines carrying you out of the fire instead of her.

But even as he sits here, observing the dust particles flying through the pale rays that failed to warm his cold hands and feet, he smiles at the image of your face, the crinkling eyes and the sound of your voice. And he smiles at the moments he imagines happening, how it would've been.

How it should've been.

In a way it is, he's still grateful, even if sometimes it doesn't seem like it.

Like the burned picture of you that lies on the floor behind him, an aftermath of his anger after they told him you were gone. Anger that you'd dared to break the very promise you sworn to keep. Only for him to realize what he'd done a second later and wail out a cry in panic.

One of the few examples besides the bloody wall holes he'd punched throughout the house.

Though you were one of your word, he cried when you left, and he cried when you came back.

" But I believe you" Jessy whispers. He's sure she's doing so only because of she spoke any louder she would start crying.

But even if you hadn't survived the fire after you'd ran in to save Hannah, the night you died, to him you couldn't have been more alive.

" I believe it when you say you can still see her"

And of course you were, he'd only wish he'd notice sooner.

How your scent never wore off the pillows, how he'd find a new strand of your hair everytime laying around.

Or when he'd wake up to see the other side of the bed looked like someone had previously slept there.

That's when he realised you were there, somehow, somewhere. And you knew too.

And you only became bolder, running around when he was in another room, moving things from one room to another.

Even reaching out to touch his skin, hugging him from behind or brushing the hair out of his face.

" But Jake, it's not the same" Jessy continues.

He feels the bed dip from a weight behind him, a presence making itself known. The smell of burnt flesh fills his nostrils, something a lot would find disturbing, but to him it's not.

He feels the pale hands reach from behind, cold skin tracing his, wrapping around his shoulder and the feeling of a head resting on his shoulder.

Another pair of hands gently grab his ankles from under the bed, locking him in place. As if you were in two places at once.

The hands he was so familiar with, now pale and bruised, yet he loved them all the same. You pull him out of that mind forest once again, like you've always done.

And the faint, cold breath hitting his neck, it gave him the same goosebumps.

" She would never do this to you"

He still loved it when you traced your nails through his bare back, even if they now left red scratches.

" She would never hurt you this way"

How when you hugged him, it always felt too tight, almost suffocating.

" But that's okay" he'd always tell you.

Reassuring you that he'd accept you with all your flaws like you did to him.

How you wouldn't allow him to look at you, only adding more torment to his soul.

How when he tried looking at you through the bathroom mirror, you broke it into a million pieces before he could catch a glimpse.

But he figured mabye you were just insecure, if the fire had left your body and face disfigured and you didn't want him to see you that way.

" You're so pretty, you know that?" He whisper, wrapping his arms around with a kiss on your forehead, not daring to look down, knowing it would upset you.

" Whatever she was Jake, she's not anymore"

But he had done a mistake telling others, thinking they'd be happy only to send him to a therapist.

When she'd ask how he felt about your shadow, what your death meant to him.

And he'd always answer that mabye, boys like him weren't meant to love. They were meant to run away from their problems and lose others on a dangerous path they chose themselves.

The medication never worked, not when you never let him take them. Finding them in the trash everytime he fished them out the previous day.

But even if you'd agreed to killer's offer that night, went into the fire and taken out in a body bag, you were still the bird with the most beautiful wings he'd seen

" Whatever it is, it doesn't love you"

And even if you'd changed, your touch a little harsher, temper a little shorter ,even if others referred to you as a tired spirit turned bad from torment of him not letting you go, he longed for the same goosebumps you always gave him.

And when you look at him with empty, dead eyes, he swears he can see the universe in them.

" Whatever it is Jake, it wants you dead" Jessy's voicemail ends and once again, it's quiet.

It was another day, where you didn't need to say I love you, because he knew.

He lets out a tired breath, reaching to caress the cold hands that were wrapped around him.

" Today's just you and me"

#duskwood #duskwood everbyte #duskwood jake #duskwood game #duskwood jake x mc #duskwood jessy #duskwood richy #jake duskwood #jake x mc #jake x reader

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monstersinthecosmos · 24 days

Note

stealing your question as promised: what authors do you think shaped your writing the most when you were first starting?

-mothmage

sdjkgas in middle school my favorite authors were Anne Rice and Francesca Lia Block and I think they have SENSUALITY in common even though their writing styles are SO opposite. As a teen when I was first writing I think I learned so much from both of them, like the seriousness and drama of AR but at the same time, FLB is so concise and punchy and sometimes her books are like these waterfalls of adjectives and I tried to think in that way too! Like I'm a very visual person so FLB books were like fucking crack for me, just heaps and heaps of descriptions of color and glittery and starry night skies and flowers growing where they shouldn't and it feels like poetry!

(I opened a random FLB book off my shelf and this is what I mean: We walked up and down the hills until our legs ached, then rode the trolley car to feel rushes of salty, misty air. We had picnics and fed the swans on the lake under the flowering terra-cotta arches, drank tea and ate pastries in rooms with cupids and rosebuds painted on the walls, strolled through the park, green-dazzled, fragrance-drunk, gasped at treasures gleaming gold in the half-lit glass cases of the museum. Then we'd return with spices, fruits and vegetables from Chinatown, seafood and baguettes from the wharf.

Her writing is so simple but it's just like heaps and heaps of sensory details !! And it's an interesting spectrum between her & AR to see how much you can say and like what type of efficiency you can find, because both of them give me that same feeling and feel so sensuous to me. I WANT TO KNOW WHAT EVERYTHING LOOKS LIKE AND SMELLS LIKE AND SOUNDS LIKE, TAKE ME THERE!

So as a teen I think I was learning a lot from them both and like I remember a fic I wrote with someone at a mall and it was like my FLB moment, I was like OMG I MUST MENTION THE TACO SMELL IN THE FOOD COURT AND THE PERFUME KIOSK AND THE HOUSE MUSIC BLASTING FROM A HAT SHOP AND THE CRUNCHY SUGAR ON A PRETZEL! And that's something that's stuck with me a lot, I think. I always want to tell you how things feel and smell like we're going on a journey, okay!

They both also have a way of treating cities/locations like characters--FLB actually does this quite literally by describing cities as if they're women (like LA is a blonde woman with big sunglasses and NYC has dyed black hair with severe red lipstick that stains on her cigarette butts, etc something like that) and it feels really specific and made me think a lot about locations and settings and how they affect the characters and story! They were also both the first books I ever read with queer people! FLB's short story Dragons in Manhattan was the first story I ever read with a trans person back when I was like 12 or 13.

AND THEN as a final nail in the coffin LOL I read I Know This Much is True by Wally Lamb when I was in 9th or 10th grade and it just really like !! IDK broke my head open for character voice. I don't think I'd read it so well done before, or maybe not noticed before. LIKE I MEAN this entire concept is like asking what did WE discover as kids or whatever, like so much of it is happenstance and if it hadn't been these authors it would've been someone else, and it's not like I stopped reading LOL like I still learn things from reading all the time! But Wally Lamb really brought this home for me. Like the way he writes Dominick's narration is just so like cynical and rugged and full of hurt and it made me think a lot about like how to profile a character with the language we use. I don't think FLB does this too much bc her writing is so breezy anyway and AR is so wordy that I don't think I could pick up on it as a teenager. I get more nuance now and see it better but it's there's a base level of like fanciness and purple prose that can be hard to see through on the first try, at least for me as a teen.

ANYWAY SORRY THAT WAS A REALLY LONG RESPONSE I JUST GOT REALLY EXCITED but Anne Rice + FLB + Wally Lamb wombo combo for emotionally torturous sensory overload cynical guttermouth style.

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thecreelhouse · 1 year

Text

some kind of muted blue

Summary: this is a request from last year, (anon I am SO sorry lmao) from a prompt list. The Duffers never really touch on Steve’s PTSD that he would inevitably develop, so here’s my take on it.

Paring: Steve Harrington x Reader (gender neutral pronouns, no use of y/n)— platonic, but there might be some feelings if you squint.

Cross posted on AO3

Word count: 3.5k+

Content warnings: PLEASE take caution with this fic, some might find the content dark and heavy. Includes descriptions of— PTSD, anxiety, panic attacks, suicidal thoughts/ideations, suicide attempt, talks of wounds/scars/blood/etc, language, survivor’s guilt, and a whole lotta hurt with a little bit of comfort at the end.

A/N: Oh my god, hi?? It’s been forever since I willingly sat down to write. I can’t believe I finally was able to finish something. Again, heed the warnings; if you need to skip this one, I completely understand. Take care of yourself first, bbs <3

——————

Steve had no recollection of making his way home. No memory of leaving the Upside Down, or the near-destruction of Hawkins he returned to.

He can’t remember— or maybe he just doesn’t want to remember. He read somewhere once how trauma could trigger your mind to tune out of reality to save itself. Regardless, he had no clue how he survived those demo-bats earlier. The lacerations and wounds strung across his skin were the only thing keeping him from forgetting completely.

Soot, dirt, and god knows what else from the Upside Down were caked onto Steve’s skin, under his nails, everywhere. He could even feel the grit of dirt between his teeth whenever his jaw clenched.

Blood, too. Blood was everywhere, dried mostly, but still sticky and slightly damp on clothes. He wasn’t quite sure where that ended and the filth began. He wasn’t sure if it even mattered anymore.

“Steve, let me help you get cleaned up.”

Your words floated around his head as he stayed dazed, but he couldn’t bring himself back to reality. He didn’t want to. Not yet.

Steve dragged his feet as he walked into his usually empty home, not concerned with the dirt and debris he scuffed onto the floor. You kicked your shoes off as you trailed in behind him; whether following the “no shoes” rule was out of habit or respect, you weren’t sure. That didn’t matter right now anyway.

“Steve—“

Though Steve was severely injured, sleep deprived, and overall feeling like hell, he moved faster than you expected. You noticed he was heading for the sliding glass doors that led to the backyard and pool, and scurried to catch up.

“Can you just wait, please?” You reached out to him, trying to turn him around to face you, but he resisted.

Surprisingly, he spoke for the first time in what felt like hours, voice cracking as he said, “Wait for what? Shit to get even worse?”

There was nothing to respond to that with. Nothing that could take the pain away that he was in, both physical and mental.

Steve gazed at the illuminated pool, eyes glossed over with guilt, grief, and everything in between. His head was spinning with thoughts he couldn’t even begin to catch up with.

“You’re hurt, can you please let me help you? You can’t let those cuts get infected—“

A mirthless laugh slipped out of him. “Why not? We’re all good as dead anyway.”

“Jesus Christ, Steve. You can’t talk like that.” You murmured, worried. “That’s not true. We can’t just give up.”

“You haven’t done this several times. You haven’t let those kids down year after year.”

You circled him, grabbing him by the shoulders firmly. Steve refused to look you in the eye, so you shook him, gently, but enough to make a point.

“Steve. Look at me.” Your voice cracked as you held back your own tears. His eyes still refused to meet yours. “Steve. Look. At. Me.”

With his swollen, bloodshot gaze, Steve finally glanced at you, wincing when he noticed the pain in your eyes.

“I can’t—“

“You can. I need you to stay here, stay in the moment.”

“I don’t fucking want to.”

“Too bad,” You were trying not to become irritated; you knew he’s been through hell and back more than once. But with your emotions combined, after finally seeing the Upside Down and all things involved first hand, you were losing your grip, too. “Give me five things you see.”

He huffed out another bitter laugh. “We’re not fucking doing this.”

“Steve.”

He pushed away from you, leaving you stunned. “We’re not doing any more stupid fucking grounding techniques.”

You blinked back tears, throat tightening while your skin burned up, with sadness or anger, you weren’t sure.

Steve couldn’t see a normal therapist for what he had been through, you knew that. They’d never believe him, and consider him clinically insane. So, like a caring friend, you took it upon yourself to research therapy techniques for PTSD. At one time he was grateful you went out of your way to help him, but clearly it wasn’t something he wanted or really needed right now.

“I don’t want help. I don’t need help. There’s no fucking point.” Steve spat, beyond exhausted at this point. “One of these times we try to fix shit, I’ll end up dead anyway—“

“Steve, don’t say that—“

“Or one of the kids will be hurt or worse- fuck. Look at max. She nearly died. She did die.” Tears spilled down Steve’s face. “Only reason she’s alive is because El was able to help bring her back. But we don’t know if it’s enough. If something else happens, to her or one of these kids, it’s on me.”

“It’s not, Steve. You are not responsible for their every action. You can’t and shouldn’t be blamed for incidents you weren’t even present for.” Watching Steve break made your stomach churn. “Max wouldn’t blame you. No one will. We all took a risk in this, to save Hawkins and ourselves.”

Silence filled the cool, spring air for a moment, before Steve spoke again. “You should have never gotten involved. I shouldn’t have let you get involved.”

You shook your head, “Steve I pushed my way into this, I was worried about you, about everyone. You’re not to blame for anything anyone has chosen to do.”

His eyes clamped shut as he tried keeping calm, steady breaths. Again, silence fell between the both of you, so you took the opportunity to try helping again. “I’m gonna get some first aid shit, I'll be right back, okay?”

Steve didn’t respond, only gave a quick nod. With that, you ran back into the house to find some medical supplies, leaving Steve alone by the pool.

His body felt heavy with grief. He shook as his breathing became panicked. He began to feel as if he wasn’t even really there, not in his body, at least. He felt so detached and connected all at once.

Immense guilt flooded through him; it felt endless for the last several years, but tonight it was hitting hard. Max had a near death experience. Eddie was gone. All of the kids were in grave danger one way or another, and he couldn’t even take care of them or his friends.

Steve chewed his bottom lip, trying desperately to stop potential sobs from escaping him. His eyes opened, blurry with tears, ready to break the dam.

His heart ached when his mind flashed back to hours before, when he had to drag Dustin off of Eddie’s corpse, freshly torn to shreds from the demo-bats. He felt sick, wanted to vomit at the sight, but somehow kept the bile down, focusing on helping Dustin.

Steve doesn’t remember much of anything after that. Just the grief-stricken wails Dustin made. It played on repeat in his mind, over, and over, and over.

You could’ve done more. Max wouldn’t be on a death bed, and Eddie would still be alive. You didn’t do enough. His thoughts began to spiral, consuming every open space within his mind. There was no room for comfort, no room for safety, or healthy coping skills.

You think you’ve stretched yourself thin to help everyone else, but that’s nothing compared to death. Steve’s hands shook as he tangled them in his hair, pulling at his locks roughly. You couldn’t be enough for mom and dad, couldn’t be enough for Nancy, could never be enough for the kids, or your friends.

Steve’s fingers wound tighter through his hair, pulling so hard he could easily give himself a headache. He just wanted that constant stream of destructive thoughts to stop.

It should’ve been you, not Eddie. Dustin liked him more anyway. You’re not good enough to protect that kid.

“Stop,” He mumbled to himself, bottom lip wobbling as grief continued to consume him whole.

If you were just smart enough, you’d be away at some college, maybe somewhere far from here. You wouldn’t be caught up in this mess, only making it worse.

“Stop.” His voice was a little clearer and firmer, but it didn’t stop the tears from tumbling down his face.

You live in the same house as your parents and they still have no fucking clue how bad you’re hurting.

Steve tugged his hair harder, falling to his knees and clamping his eyes shut as tightly as possible. His body didn’t just ache, it felt like he was hit by a truck. His wounds were almost unbearably hot with pain and throbbing; they’re probably already infected. He tried taking a deep breath, but anxiety took the reins, forcing short, shallow breaths in, out, in, out, in and out and in and out and in and—

Everything felt like it was spinning, so he opened his eyes, trying to give himself a visual to maybe remind his brain that he wasn’t literally spiraling along with his thoughts. But that was no use. His vision continued to blur with tears, and the edges of his view grew dark. He felt lightheaded, felt his heartbeat quicken, while sweat began to pour from his skin, and Jesus, he was cold, too.

Why do you keep trying? Wouldn’t it be better for everyone if you just gave up?

Steve tried to speak, to calm himself, but no words left his lips. He just continued to hyperventilate.

Your parents would be happy, the kids would be happy, your friends… everyone. The entirety of Hawkins would be better off without you. Why do you continue to try and fool yourself? You’re not fooling others, that’s for sure.

With his heartbeat in his ears and tunnel vision closing in, Steve’s eyes fluttered shut as he passed out, falling into the pool.

The thoughts quieted down, but not completely. He began to sink to the bottom of the pool— how deep was it again? Who fucking cares, it’s deep enough.

Just let go.

Steve opened his eyes, watching the eerie glow of the pool lights grow dim as he sank, sank, sank deeper into the water. The chlorine burned his eyes; he should be used to it from all that swimming in school, but it’s been a bit since he felt the sting. It kind of felt… comforting.

The pain doesn’t have to continue.

He wondered if these suicidal thoughts in his head were really just Vecna; maybe he was next. Did they even defeat him? He couldn’t remember anything from the fight that happened hours ago. It didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered.

As he gently hit the pool’s floor, he closed his eyes once more, accepting things. His limbs felt heavy, as if they gave up trying to move, trying to bring him to safety. They, too, were exhausted, sick of this suffering.

It’ll only be a constant cycle of pain and grief… this can end it.

Steve was great at holding his breath for long periods of time, but his lungs began to burn the longer kept himself underwater. He welcomed the searing pain the way he did with chlorine in his eyes. It only grew, and he accepted his fate.

You deserve to end your life in the same place Barb lost her own.

He let his thoughts quiet down, as everything fell still, silent. It was almost peaceful down here.

Then, his mind thought of you. How bright your smile is. How much you genuinely care for him. How protective you are of him. Every memory, good and bad and all in between flashed before his eyes.

They don’t really care. Let it go. Let them go.

Steve’s last thoughts of you hurt more than the burn in his eyes, more than his lungs struggling to breathe, more than the chlorine seeping into his battle wounds. Before he could fully process it, he involuntarily took a breath in, with only water surrounding him to fill up his lungs.

Consciousness began to fade, and the voice that taunted him with suicidal ideation began to backpedal.

No, no, no, this is wrong. This is all wrong.

Steve wanted to move, wanted to open his eyes, but he couldn’t. The water in his lungs made him feel so heavy. He couldn’t fight it.

I don’t want to die— not here. Not now— I can’t—

He glanced up at the surface of the pool, wishing he could reach it, but it felt so far away. All he could do was hope, maybe even pray that this would end quickly.

This is it. This is really how I go. Fucking pathetic—

Something wrapped around Steve’s left arm, yanking him upward with sudden force. Then the same sensation on his right arm. The pulling was rough, unsteady, but the surface came closer to his blurry, almost blacked-out view.

One moment, Steve’s underwater, letting himself drown. The next, he’s coughing up water, bile, even a somewhat concerning amount of blood. The concrete near the pool felt rough, like sandpaper against his damaged skin. That’s not what hurt most, though.

“Steve? Steve?!”

He slowly regained consciousness; everything was blurred, his limbs felt heavy like anchors, and the taste in his mouth of blood, chlorine and bile combined should’ve made him sick, but he was somewhat grateful for the sense of taste right now.

Turned on his side, you crouched by his side as you made sure he didn’t choke on the aftermath of nearly drowning. One of your hands still clutched his left arm, fingers still digging in, as if Steve would disappear if you let go.

A loud, piercing ringing occupied his hearing, but through it he could hear you curse under your breath, exasperated.

Steve was too weak to say anything, make any sense of what had happened. Yet he couldn’t help but weakly smile at the sight of you— even if you were a blurry blob to his eyes right now.

“Oh my god, fuck, Steve? Can you hear me?” You panicked, gently shaking his arm. Then you abruptly stopped, remembering how fragile he was right now.

And then, the emotions rolled over Steve like a tsunami. The floodgates opened, and Steve began to sob. He tried to sit up too quickly, clutching his head as vertigo took over. You loosened your grip a bit before easing him back down.

“Don’t force yourself to move yet, give yourself a bit to breathe.” Your voice shook, but you stayed focused; all that mattered right now was that Steve was alive.

Steve’s voice could barely break through the gurgle of leftover water and bodily fluids, yet somehow he managed to speak past that and in between sobs.

“… I’m sorry.”

He couldn’t say it without falling into more sobs, ones that shook his entire body. You had never seen Steve like this before. Not this worn down, not this hopeless or broken.

You tried being as gentle as possible as you wrapped your arms around him. It was an awkward position as you tried to avoid laying on his chest, so Steve sat up again. He leaned into you, weak and weary as you pulled him as close to you as possible. The both of you were covered in pool water, and you were sure there had to be blood and vomit on you, but you didn’t care. Nothing mattered right now except comforting Steve.

Softly, you ran your fingers through his hair, near-whispering, “It’s okay, Steve. Let it out.”

Steve’s head rested on your shoulder as he continued to sob, coughing in between every so often. “I’m s-so sor- sor—“ Another sob and harsh cough interrupted him.

“Steve, hey, it’s okay. It’s okay, I’ve got you. There’s no need to apologize.” You assured him, reaching a hand up to the back of his neck, holding him close with a firm, but careful grip. “You’re here. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

You reached to the side where medical supplies and towels were haphazardly scattered on the ground, grabbing a fluffy, clean towel before wrapping it around Steve’s shoulders and back. He shivered as he gripped the edges of the towel, keeping close to you.

The sobbing and coughing began to calm, but Steve was still weepy, still an emotional wreck, and understandably so.

“I just—“ He cleared his throat, sniffled, then continued. “I wanted the pain to stop.”

Your stomach fell at his words, and the way his eyes looked so empty as he finally looked over at you. You rubbed circles softly on his towel-covered back in soothing patterns.

“That wouldn’t stop it. It would just… this world would be so dim without you, Steve.” Your voice cracked and your hands shook, but you kept your hold on him. “You can’t do that to us… to me.. most importantly yourself. We need you. I need you. You need you.”

“Things feel so heavy and bleak. It just all feels…” Steve paused to sniffle again. “Pointless. I don’t think we, or anyone, can save Hawkins. This is all far from over.”

“You leaving wouldn’t help anything or anyone. I don’t mean to guilt you, either. I just wish you could see how truly cherished you are by all of us.” Your voice wobbled as tears fell. “What can I do to help? What can I do to remind you how loved you are? I’ll do it every day, I don’t care. I want you to know how loved you are, Steve.”

Steve shook his head as he ducked into the crook of your neck. “Everyone… you especially, do more than enough. I- I think it just goes deeper than PTSD from the… all of…” He weakly gestures with one hand around to nothing in particular, but you know he means the Upside Down.

“You mean… like childhood stuff?”

He nodded, curling into you, as if he wasn’t close enough already.

“It feels so selfish to be upset over my parents not giving a shit… because I had a roof over my head, we never went hungry… we had plenty of money… but they give all of that so much attention. If I got any attention, it was negative. I don’t think I’ve ever heard my dad say he loves me, or that he’s ever been proud of me. Mom just kinda… well. It’s not like she’s any better. But it still feels so wrong to cry over, to want to end things over.”

“Not selfish, not by a long shot, Steve. They emotionally abandoned you, and that can really fuck with your thoughts. It’s understandable why it still hurts you so much.” You keep the patterns going on his back, hoping it feels a little comforting, at least. “It explains why you’re so protective of all of us, too. But, you have to let people in. You have to let someone protect you, too.”

Steve felt more tears build up, but he weakly laughed it off. “When did you become a psychiatrist?”

“When my best friend needed someone to talk to.” You answered honestly, adding, “And you can thank the medical college’s library a few towns over for that.”

It rose a light laugh from him, still raspy and rough from what his body endured moments before. But it was genuine.

“You tell me when the thoughts come back, got it? I mean, you don’t have to. I can’t force you. But I can’t help unless you help yourself first and tell me, or someone, what’s going on. Okay?”

There was silence but he nodded, not saying anything for a moment. And then, he asked, “Do you think we’ll make it out of all of this?”

With a sigh, you answered, “I honestly don’t know, Steve. I want to say everything will work out, but this shit is insane.”

“Yeah,” He softly agreed.

“Doesn’t mean you have to go it alone, though. If you go down, I’m goin’ with you.”

Steve chuckled. “Okay, dumb move, but alright. Your choice, not mine.”

You pulled back, heart aching at how swollen his eyes were from crying, and gently cupped the side of his face. He leaned into the comforting touch.

“What’s dumb is you not letting me treat your wounds, jerk.”

“Damn, I thought we were having a moment, there.”

You shook your head smiling, before reaching over to the first aid kit. “Maybe later. Right now, please let me clean your fucking wounds, before you turn into a demo-bat.”

Steve pretended to ponder for a moment, “I dunno… kinda sounds cooler than being a human stuck in Hawkins right now.”

With an eye roll as you pulled bandages out, you said, “We can talk, when you’re ready. For as long as you need. Okay? But you have to talk about it at some point. Let someone care about you for once, Steve.”

Steve didn’t respond with more than a nod, surrendering his body and control for you to take care of him.

He wasn’t sure how things would turn out. He still didn’t have the best feeling about it all, but for once, he didn’t give in to the thoughts that hurt him so regularly. For once, his mind was quiet.

For once, and if only for a moment, Steve didn’t feel so alone.

#well idk about y’all but i love crying #Steve Harrington x reader #Steve Harrington x you #steve harrington fic #stranger things fic #stranger things #steve harrington #my fics

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prismaticpichu · 1 year

Note

Hi! Question for you, fellow writing friend: how do YOU get into the Jenova Mind Set (tm)?

Oooooooh Jenova! Heck yeah! Evil step mom. Mother Dearest. Soccer mom without the soccer. That’s always such interesting territory! >:3c Your Jenova stories are SO insanely good!!! So perfectly twisted and spooky and always capture the looming, icky presence that makes mumsy who she is.

So! For me, when it comes to Jenova, her aura gets split down the middle depending on the tone of the fic. In complete crack/stupid Nibelheim fix-it settings, she’s usually just a device to lure Sephiroth to the basement—not much of a full character—and is really only made known through bold/italics saying her generic, programmed things (Hello, my son, now it’s independent reading time). Head is pretty empty writing her this way! Hardly intimidating and easily shooed away, and barely any description too. She’s usually the butt of the joke getting flicked off. Then just kinda gives up. Eh. Next mentally unstable experiment.

Now on the OTHER hand…. there’s Jenova. The dangerous, horrid, calamitous organism who eradicated an entire race through infecting her prey, poisoning each and every Cetra, who shifted her amorphous figure to confuse/manipulate their crippling, infected minds and turn them against their loved ones, and whose cells course through Sephiroth’s blood. This is my preferred side >:3c. Because I love CC Sephiroth and of all his kind humanness, I am very stubborn to let this side go, and this leads to me crafting Jenova as someone with a complete autonomous mind, and pretty much frame her as being a puppet master with cellular mind-control abilities. She’s much more than just a voice in Sephiroth’s head nudging him towards his insanity; she’s furious at humanity for sealing her away, and she’s gonna make sure Sephiroth helps her enact her revenge (and, y’know, munching on planet debris while she’s at it).

Getting into the true Ellen Ripley mode takes some lights off and some dramatic music, but the premise of her bringing a steering wheel to Sephiroth’s mind is just so fun to me that I’m usually so eager to write anything to do with it! x3 With her presence being so consuming and real now, I love taking full advantage of her overall horrific concept and diving headfirst into that nastiness—mind games and all. Writing Jenova slowly breaking into Sephiroth’s car is a blast, and I’ll usually tackle it by making her pry out his worst, most vulnerable memories and bring them to the surface. She doesn’t just spew the generic come to me stuff anymore. She’s hitting Sephiroth where it hurts most. Making those emotions so severe and tumultuous that they consume him: Genesis, Angeal, Gast… they abandoned him. Traitors. Jenova will pounce in the moment Sephiroth begins to succumb and accept those feelings, shoving him out of the front seat and plugging in her keys (ok enough with this car analogy). Once she has him where she wants him, she’ll whisper into something much more hypotonic, whispering kind, loving reassurances into his ears… and all of a sudden Sephiroth wants nothing more than to burn humanity to the ground. They locked up Mother… kept them separated for so, so long—and then those inferior, wretched dullards became the dominant species.

Jenova offers a whole lot of imagery too, and there’s so much room for horrific description >:3 She won’t just get into Sephiroth’s mind; she will claw her way in, rake her nails against the surface of his skull, stab into his mind, her cellular pull pulling the blood in Sephiroth’s body and making it crash against his skin, make his veins throb, making it feel like they’re being torn from his skin and into her… er… tentacles. Lots of adjectives and verbs to describe her: slimy, oily, slithering, squirming~ So much fun to add Jenova into any equation! She’s a real party person!

Oh! I also capitalize her pronoun bc powerful space entity.

#ffvii #jenova #mumsy #sorry for the Great Wall of China text!!! apparently you hit a sweet spot in my fangirl xD #sephiroth #crisis core #Nibelheim #fangirl #writing #things #oh wow they really packed the bloody devastating power of the organism who wiped out an entire race into a single human being #like they really did #gold star for effort! I’ll give you about a C for execution #bc hey kitty eyes and natural silver hair are gorgeous

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chrys-uki · 2 years

Text

Blood-stained petals, won't you pull me close?

!! HEADER CREDS TO ARTIST ;; ART IS NOT MINE !!

ANOTHER NOTE !! my ask box is open for the next week, feel free to requesting any pairing, prompt and/or setting, and i will write it for you asap! do let me know if you're okay with me posting it publicly <3

(Chapter 5) !! this is a fic done by me under the name tadashibean on ao3 !! angst, hurt/comfort, i like seeing vox suffer hehe ♡

!! TW !! Detailed descriptions of SH and panic attacks and blood !!

Vox Akuma x Shoto, Nijisanji EN's 4th wave; Luxiem ♡

Happy reading~

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・゜✭・.✫・゜・。.

After stumbling down the stairs clumsily, with soft giggles bouncing off the wooden planks and walls, the pair somehow ended up in the kitchen, an amazing fragrance diffusing into the air.

Almost as if on cue, Vox’s stomach grumbled softly. The thought of food seemed heavenly to the demon, and so he immediately made a beeline for the counter, taking a seat at the barstools he bought, thanking the heaven’s he did not pass up on those stools.

As Shoto turned away to fix up a plate for him, Vox could not help but stare at his hands, watching and inspecting the dry, pale skin, edges peeling off as a sign of his withering frame. He wondered how long he would last against this disease — how long until the flowers bloomed in his chest at the expense of his life.

A lump formed in his throat, and he felt his chest get heavier as tears filled his vision. He needed to feel something.

⚠⚠ TW: SH ⚠⚠

He needed to feel something, and he will be damned if that something just so turned out to be glass shards pressing into his knuckles or the sharp sting of a blade running across his wrists.

⚠⚠ TW END ⚠⚠

Vox shook his head violently.

He needed to be in control of himself — He needed to not break down, or do anything stupid because Shoto was right there, right in front of him. His eyes darted across the room, his fingers picking at the edges and hangnails. Why was he here again?

Oh right, Shoto brought him here.

Shoto…

Vox looked up to see Shoto turning around, the smile on the latter’s face faltering as he looked at Vox’s reduced state of misery. The demon could not tear his eyes away, even though he knew he should.

He knew he should wipe his eyes and blow his nose, waving off the other’s concerns and say he is fine, because he is absolutely fucking peachy. He knew he should crack his knuckles, force out a ghost of a laugh and let his cheeks tug into a forceful smile, swallowing down the painful lump in his throat.

But he could not.

It all happened too fast.

In an instant, Vox’s lower lip started to wobble as his breaths steadily increased in pace. He bit his lip to stop it from trembling, but that only seemed to instigate the nerves further. One action turned into two and Vox could not breathe. He felt the fear washing over him; fear that he did not know he had of dying, dying in such a cruel, unfortunate way. It was a good way to go, he supposed, but he did not want to die; not before he saw Shoto happy with someone else, someone better than him, more trust-worthy than him — someone who would treat him right. His chest was hurting and his eyes were burning and his head was spinning, and he absolutely hated, absolutely despised the fact that Shoto had to see him like this — so weak, so pathetic, so broken and ill and so, so messed up.

He could vaguely feel the strain in his white knuckles as he gripped the counter for his dear life, each shaky breath stabbing needles into his already bloodied and bruised lungs, and Vox did not know if he was going to live at that moment.

⚠⚠ TW: SH ⚠⚠

He wanted to claw his throat out, he wanted to bang his head against the counter till either his skull shatters and he dies, or until he was bleeding profusely and he passes out. He wanted to dig his nails into his eyes and rip them out of their sockets, and a sensible part of Vox knew that was not what he should do.

⚠⚠ TW END ⚠⚠

His blurred eyes blindly searched the room for anything, anything he could use to ground himself, to stop himself from trembling inside and out because goddamnit these vibrations from his shaking limbs were painful and he needed it to stop, it needs to stop, he wants it to stop, please get it to fucking stop.

Fuck, fuck fuck fuck. He needs it to stop- he does not want to spiral, he does not.

His cheek collided with a hard surface, his hands immediately letting go of the counter to grip onto the soft fabric, his breathing shaky as he felt himself curl towards the warmth. A hand found its way to his hair and was carding through it gently, and Vox shivered as sobs wracked his frail body, his chest heaving from the weight of his sorrow and pain. A warmth surrounded him, wrapping around his shoulders and rubbing soft circles onto his shoulder blades.

He could hear his own cries and wails echo in the kitchen, hurriedly trying to suppress the pitiful sounding cries to no avail, the plated food long forgotten and cold. He wished this warmth would stay with him for eternity. He wished this warmth could fill him up when he was empty and soothe his healed wounds and battle scars with the same soft touch that he was being administered. He wanted it, god he wanted it so bad, and it only pushed the knife in his chest to think that this would certainly never be his to have.

Vox felt like it had been hours since he was enveloped in that warmth. He sniffed inelegantly, exhaustion washing over him in tidal waves as he sighed heavily, nuzzling further into the fabric, purposely avoiding the wet patch.

Wait…fabric?

The demon jerked his head up to look at the source of the warmth, meeting Shoto’s sad yet loving gaze. Loving…?

He pressed a pale wrist to his spinning head, light-headed from all the crying as he looked up at Shoto, uncaring of how he looked. He opened and closed his mouth, wanting to find any plausible explanations to what had just happened when a pair of soft lips pressed against the skin of his forehead fleetingly, rendering him speechless.

Tears welled up in Shoto’s beautiful purple eyes, and he pulled Vox closer to his chest, fingers tangled in red-streaked black hair, massaging comfortingly.

“It’s okay Vox; I have you,” Shoto whispered brokenly against the demon’s temple, and Vox let himself have this moment, curling further into the other’s touch, gripping onto the other’s shirt so tightly he worried it might tear.

The demon watched as tears slid down his love’s plump cheeks, staining the pure skin. His hand moved before he could think, gently cupping the demon slayer’s cheeks as he brushed the tears off lightly, making him painfully aware of the sticky feeling of dried tears on his own cheeks.

Shoto shot him a shaky yet blinding smile, and Vox felt fondness bubble underneath his skin. He tugged the other’s collar gently, pulling him down and watched, silently amused as Shoto complied immediately, inches away from the demon’s face.

He slowly leant up, pressing his lips to the other’s forehead and pulling away almost immediately, watching as Shoto’s face bloomed into a beautiful shade of crimson. A soft squeak poured out of the other’s lips, and Vox decided that, yeah, he does want to swallow all of the demon slayer’s noises with his kisses.

He watched as Shoto leaned back, his hands still wrapped around the demon’s shoulders, eyes darting across the room. It was a beautiful sight to Vox; it was one thing to hear them, and another to see it for himself, just how adorable the other got when he was all flustered.

“Vox, the food,” the demon slayer said, prompting the demon to take a look at the plate.

There were two waffles stacked on top of each other, with chopped blueberries and strawberries adorning the top, honey drizzled enticingly over the whole dish. A simple yet fulfilling breakfast. Something itched at Vox, though.

“How did you know I love waffles?”

And oh god, Vox wishes he could burn this side of Shoto into memory.

Red creeped up Shoto’s neck and face, reaching all the way to the tips of his ears, where the shade was more prominent. The shorter male fiddled a lot more with his fingers and pushed back sweater paws (why does that sweater look familiar-), the floor seemingly more interesting now. Pearly white teeth dug into the soft flesh of his lips, peeling the skin off of it absentmindedly, which then prompted Vox to cup his cheek once more, brushing a featherlight touch over the other’s bottom lip.

He rubbed the lip gently, causing Shoto to finally stop worrying the plump flesh. He hummed softly, gently pushing Shoto away as he stood up, stretching like a feline, his hand coming up to rub his stomach once more, warmth blooming into his joints.

“Well, we could have the waffles with ice cream for dessert. For now though…Takeout?”

—————————————————————

i am slowly but surely perishing in the most saddest way possible /j

anyway, agenda for next post (which will be around end this week/ next week)

1) the lucake / luca x ike fic i've written halfway

2) the next chapter of this beautiful fic

3) maybe an aster x ren (late) birthday fic

4) psyborg fluff because i need to cure my soul

Happy stargazing, readers~! till the stars conjoin us again~

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・゜✭・.✫・゜・。.

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cappurrccino · 9 months

Note

fic asks: 3, 7, 9!

3. What’s a fic idea that you have but haven’t written yet?

I want to put Nosk into malevolent... 👀 I want to make Arthur run into himself in some deep, dark cavern and torment John juuuuust a little bit by making him watch (the double of) his good good friend crack open as a nightmare monster comes out to try to eat them

7. What’s a troupe you love to write?

I only forgot what counted as tropes a little bit but... found family! I just... love it so much. Reading it, writing it, having it pop up in audio/visual things, love it, love it, love it, just the power and love involved in a group of people deciding "this is my family now and I'd do anything for them"... it's great!

9. What’s your favorite line(s) or scene(s) that you have written?

Oooo.... [quickly opens half a dozen fics to skim through] Ok, ok, ok, two faves, both kind of related in that I really love when I feel like I've nailed the description of a Weird landscape and found the words for the concept-art-esque image in my head!

a bit of fundament from Siren's Eye:

Something bright and pastel bloomed in the dark water in front of them and Aurash feared it was something new that wished to devour them. The ship swung to the side, sliding around the swirling, iridescent pink and green ribbons. Nothing lashed out or leapt for the ship and curiosity got the better of her. She crept to the railing and looked down into the water. It wasn’t immediately obvious if the ribbons were alive or if they were alive if they were intelligent. They were small, though, and seemingly docile. Something smaller even than the krill. She wondered how long the ribbons lived, if they knew or cared about anything outside their wave. A long, low rumbling note echoed through the sky above and she looked up to see the lightning race through the clouds. The sails caught traces of the static and swelled with the energy, propelling the ship across the tops of the deep, black waves and away from the ribbon blooms.

and a bit of the dark world from day 2: faroe:

The eternal night was… pretty, she realized. It wasn’t often that she got a moment to pause—especially not anywhere with open air overhead—but now that she had one? It was pretty in a haunted sort of way. Everything was cast in the same deep black and cold grey and inky blue, shadows on shadows on eternal void, suggesting and hinting at what the landscape might be if you were lucky enough to be seeing true. Glitter and sparks and ribbons of light of every color shot through the deep murk. Things being chased, things doing the chasing, decoys, distractions, lures. Teeth and claws and knives flashing through the dark reflecting non-existent light. She sighed heavily and her breath fogged in front of her. A kaleidoscopic cloud of every hue that shifted and twisted and drifted away on invisible currents.

[ send me a fic writer ask! ]

#//juri answers #ask games #the fic writer one #thanks!!

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boxofbonesfic · 3 years

Photo

Title: Prosperina

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Dark!Steve x Reader

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Horror, Ghost/Demonic Possession, Kidnapping, Manipulation, Dubcon, Noncon, Stalking, Stockholm Syndrome, Gaslighting

Summary: Humans have a terrible habit of naming things. Even the old things, the hungry, wanting things that never should have had names to call upon. The things that want to ride on our souls, to see through our eyes and taste life with our mouths. Green is life—but for you, it is death.

A/N: i’m so, so excited to share this fic with you all. i’ve been dying to write a horror story for the longest time, so i thought why not combine all of my loves into what is (hopefully) a spooky, dark, smutty tale. this is my first entry for the basement wives writing challenge, located here, and i hope it fits the description. feedback is always appreciated, please let me know what you think! this fic was beta’d by the wonderful @curbitkirby, who has been letting me yell at her about my ideas for an impressively long amount of time. 🥺

This is a work of FICTION, and it is Dark, so I assume once you’ve clicked through the link that you are comfortable with that. I do not give consent for my work to be copied, translated, or posted elsewhere, even if I am credited. This work is entirely mine, and unbeta’d, so read at your own risk! MINORS, DNI!!! 😘

🌸

Part One: Tap

Tap.

SCRATCH.

It’s the tapping that wakes you, as it has all the mornings prior, as it has since you woke up here.

Mice, you think, it must be mice.

Tap.

The windows are fake, you learned that on the very first day—their perpetual backlighting never fading or changing as you stared at them, hoping for a concrete sign of the passage of time. But there is none—there is nothing, not for three days, except the fucking tapping.

Like nails on glass, scratching endlessly through the hours. You haven’t the faintest idea where it’s coming from, why it seems to follow you around the room, as though someone is following behind you, their fingernails trailing on the wall.

SCRATCH. SCRATCH. SCRATCH.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been alone in your room—your cell; the door all but impenetrable, and the windows cruel, teasing boxes of light that lead to nowhere but the cracked concrete behind them.

Days, you know it’s been days. Long enough for you to have mapped out every corner of the room in your desperation—the small table and chairs in the center, the bed in the corner, the small, crude bathroom through a curtain beside it. Days of counting everything—anything, of screaming yourself hoarse just for the noise of it. Alone, but for the tap, tap, tapping.

And then… suddenly you’re not, the door suddenly swinging open wide.

He has blond hair, his chin clean-shaven. He’s big, almost too big for the door-frame, but somehow he fits. He’s handsome, dressed neatly, and his clothes are clean. Cleaner than yours, which you’ve been wearing for days—the shower spits out only cold water, and though you’ve washed yourself with the plain white bar of soap left for you in the dish, you’re acutely aware of the state you’re in.

You blink at him slowly, You’re not sure if you’re really seeing another person, or if you’re imagining it, but then he moves, and the illusion is broken.

He puts down the box he’s carrying, kicking the door shut securely behind him. The metal makes a dull thud when his foot connects with it, and when it closes, the locking mechanism hisses into place. He unpacks the box silently, laying out it’s contents on the table. There are several tupperware containers, one of which he opens to reveal fruit, and your stomach tightens. He looks up at you and smiles warmly.

It does nothing to dispel the ice in your veins.

“You must be hungry.” he says, nodding encouragingly at you as he taps the rim of the bowl.

You don’t bother answering—he knows you are. It’s not a question, it’s a statement of fact. There’s nothing in the mini-fridge next to the sink, and the cabinets are equally as bare.

“I didn’t know what you liked…” he rubs his neck bashfully. “So I got a little of everything.”

He nudges the bowl toward you, and you hate that your mouth waters at the sight of food. The sight of quartered oranges, freshly washed grapes, segments of kiwis, bananas, half a pomegranate—they make you dizzy with want. You almost reach for it, but stop yourself.

“Who are you?” you croak. You screamed for hours on the first day when you’d woken up here, and the cold water that poured from the tap in the little kitchen in the corner hasn’t done much to soothe your raw throat.

He cocks his head at you, confusion and hurt flashing across his face.

“You don’t know yet?” he replies, sounding genuinely sorrowful. “He told me you would remember on your own.”

He’s fucking crazy.

New terror dawns on you, it’s taste burns bitter in your throat like bile.

He pushes the bowl of fruit closer. “Please eat.”

You shake your head, recoiling quickly. You scramble back towards the double bed in the corner, but his arm snakes around your waist and the weight of him crashes into you.

The concrete floor isn’t forgiving when he crushes you to it, crooning softly. “I don’t want this to be hard for you, please,”

His grip is unyielding as you scratch and hiss, struggling against him uselessly.

“I don’t know you,” you cry out, raking your already bruised fingers against the ground as you try to claw away. Your nails are already split and broken, and they don’t do much damage to him when you scrape them down his muscled arms. “Please, please, I won’t tell anyone, please—”

He wrestles you into his lap, before reaching for the fruit bowl. Your back pressed to his front, one heavy arm anchoring you to him about your waist.

“You have to eat,” he says, his voice deceptively gentle. “It’s been three days.”

Hedips his fingers into the bowl and pulls out a piece of kiwi. He holds it to your lips, tracing the seam of them with the cool, wet fruit.

“N-no,” you murmur, jerking your head away. “Stop!”

He doesn’t. His fingers follow your mouth easily, pressing until the fruit begins to turn to mush against your closed lips. You open your mouth to rebuke him again, but he shoves it inside, and you’re forced to make a choice—choke, or swallow.

You swallow.

“Good girl. I know this is new for you, but you have to stay healthy.” He brings a slice of orange to your lips, and you don’t want it, you don’t want to be force-fed like a child by a fucking stranger—but he’s so big and strong, and you’re so fucking hungry—your mouth opens, and your teeth sink into the fruit. Juice dribbles down your chin, and he catches it with his finger, swiping it back up into your mouth.

“Where am I?” You ask, and he heaves a deep sigh behind you, his muscular chest pressing tightly against your back.

“Somewhere safe.” He dabs at the sticky juice on your lip with his thumb, and you hear him pop it into his own mouth. “Somewhere we won’t be disturbed while you remember.”

He sounds so sure of himself, so certain that the senseless explanations he’s given you are right and true.

“Remember what?” You snap. “I don’t know you!”

He chuckles, shaking his head as though you’re nothing more than a petulant child having a tantrum.

“You do. And you’ll remember, blossom, I promise.”

His fingers stroke under your chin affectionately, and you squirm uncomfortably as he presses a kiss to your unkempt hair. You haven’t the tools to care for it properly here, and your beautiful curls are beginning to mat.

“I brought presents for you. Things he says you’ll like.” He’s stroking your head as he speaks.

“Who the hell are you talking about?” You say, your voice rising as hysteria sets in. “Who are you?!” you plead. You’re running through your mental roster of faces, trying to figure out where you’ve seen him, if you’ve seen him.

He stills abruptly behind you, and his breath hitches. He’s silent so long you’re certain he’s not going to answer you, until finally—

“Steve.”

“Why are you keeping me here?” you wail, thrashing in his grip. It’s useless, but you do it anyway, writhing and struggling until you’re panting. “Please! I just want to go home!”

“You’re home already, blossom.” His breath tickles the shell of your ear, and for an instant it sounds like there are two voices speaking, and not one, but when he speaks again, it’s the same gentle tone as before. “Let’s open your presents.”

He forces you to sit still while he retrieves the box, and from the plastic convenience store bag within it, he pulls a bottle of shampoo, conditioner, and a detangling brush.

Anger and fear make your stomach twist, and bile rises in your gullet. His presents are…your own things. The bottles aren’t new, no—they’re the very same ones that sit on the edge of your bathtub. Even your brush has the crude letter you carved in it with a nail file during college, to make sure it didn’t get mixed up with anyone else’s.

“And I got this for you, too.” He pulls a bolt of fabric from the box as well, pale pink and soft. No, not fabric, a dress, which he holds out to you. “It suits you better than those jeans.” He looks proud of himself. “Do you like them?”

“No.” You curl in on yourself at the table, folding your knees to your chest as you stare at the wall.

Steve dumps the chiffon fabric into your lap anyway.

“You’ll feel better after you get cleaned up.” His eyes burn too bright as he looks at you. “Go on.”

Slowly, you reach for the brush and hair products, your hands shaking as you pick them up. You stand, and your eyes flick over him to the door. You swallow thickly, and he chuckles, that same, strange doubling makes you wince.

“I’m a betting man, blossom. Would you like to make a wager?” He licks his lips. “If you make it to the door, I’ll let you go.”

“W-what?” You almost drop everything as your body begins to quake uncontrollably.

“I’ll let you go," He repeats. “I’ll let you go back to those friends who couldn’t even be bothered to report you missing when you didn’t come home from the club. Back to the mother drinking herself to death, and the father that hides at work so he won’t see it. I’ll let you return to all of that…if you can make it to the door.”

It’s a tactic to shake you, to make you unsure—and it works. You can’t stop gaping at him, trying to figure out how he knows so much about you, how he knows any of this when you’ve never seen him before. Just because I don’t know him doesn’t mean he doesn’t know me. The thought terrifies you. He’s been watching you—this isn’t random. You’d almost have preferred it if it was, then you would only feel trapped, caged—but now you felt violated too.

You threw the containers at him, throwing down the chair behind you as you sprinted the ten paces to the door—and the world turns on itself as you’re knocked hard against the wall. Steve’s muscular bulk pressing hard against your back as he forces your face into the concrete.

“See, blossom?” he says, his breath too hot against your neck. “You’re much better off here with me.”

Your head is ringing from the impact, and when he pulls away, you stumble dizzily.

“Now. Go get cleaned up.”

The hours Steve spends with you are torturous. He brushes your hair free of all tangles after you shower in the icy water. He forces you to sit between his legs as he runs his fingers through your curls, marveling at their softness.

“I know you’re upset, blossom,” he says softly. “It’s just because you’re not used to anyone taking care of you.” You jerk your head away from his hands, and he chuckles.

“So stubborn. That’s why we like you.”

“We who?” you spit. “You’re the only other fucking person here.”

“Am I?” he says, and for an instant you hear it again—tap tap tap—and he laughs.

You scramble from between his legs, looking around wildly.

“You’re not being very grateful, blossom. I brought you all these nice things, set you up in your own space, and you haven’t even said thank you.” He cocks his head at you. “That could hurt a guy’s feelings, you know?”

Tap.

“Thank you,” you grit out, and he beams.

“You learn so fast, sweetheart. I think you’ll remember soon.” Steve stands from the bed, brushing the knees of his jeans off with careful hands. “I’m going to go now, but I’ll be back tomorrow, blossom. If you’re good.”

“What’s your game?” you snarl, clenching your fists as you watch him head for the door. “Leave me down here with the rats until you feel like playing twisted house?”

The lock hisses open, and Steve grins at you over his shoulder.

“Oh blossom. I don’t have rats.” the door closes heavily behind him.

Tap.

🌸

Part Two

———————————————————————————————————

le taglist:

@basementwiveswritingchallenge @dorothea-hwldr @archy3001 @syntheticavenger @river-soul @millennial-teenybopper @doozywoozy @dreamlessinparis @melancia

@punemy-spotted

#steve rogers x reader #dark!steve x reader #dark!steve x you #steve rogers imagine #dark fic #dark mcu #Dark Marvel #horror themes #yandere!Steve #boxofbonesfic #fic challenge #prosperina fic #basementwife

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whattheheckmidoriya · 2 years

Note

Hiiiiii love! I was wondering if you could write a Levi x reader comfort fic for being in the process of losing a close friend/loved one. A very good friend of mine was diagnosed with a very rare and dangerous form of cancer over the summer and survival rates are very low and most do not make it through the treatment. She also never talks to me anymore and it hurts not being able to know how she's doing. I go into mini depressive episodes that last anywhere from a day to a week and today was a hard day.

Totally feel free to decline, I understand it is a very hard subject for some people. Thank you for taking the time to read this! ❤❤ - kai

Also I LOVED your other Levi comfort piece!!!

Grief

Description: Grief was never a thing Levi desired upon your heart.

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Reader

Genre: Angst, Comfort

Warnings: Losing a friend, death by a Titan, self-inflicted wounds, insinuations of panic, grieving, mentions of nausea

Word Count: 1k+

Description: Hi, love! I'm sorry you're both going through such difficult times— you're both in my prayers. If this one-shot is difficult to read/if you need more comfort, please let me know and I will gladly come up with something new❤ My messages are always open if you ever need someone to talk to!❤

Masterlist

Join the taglist here!

You’d come back different from the expedition.

Your head hung low as the pattering of rain kept the pace of your racing mind, thundering with the memories of a nightmare that clawed its way to reality. Scarred hands gripped the reins of your horse, holding on as if it were the only thing tethering you to this world. Where would you end up if you dared to let go? Blinking the raindrops away from your eyes, you looked up at the Captain and the dismounted horse that trotted next to his.

Silent cries seeped past your gritted teeth, drowned out by the cracks of thunder and lightning that struck the earth around you. Remorse tainted your face, unwavering even under the cleansing rain that soaked your clothes and chilled your bones.

If you had reacted just a second earlier, your friend would probably still be here. If you were faster, she wouldn’t have been in danger in the first place. If you had—

“Everyone, leave your horses at the stable and go clean yourselves up,” Levi spoke up, his voice cutting through the downpour like a knife. He spared you a concerned glance before looking straight ahead. His shoulders drooped slightly. “Today has been quite unpleasant.”

In the thunder, you could hear her screams ringing in your ears, agonizing sounds that must’ve ripped her throat apart before she met her fate within the jaws of a Titan. Her blood still stained your hands. The sight was revolting. Your stomach turned, nausea settling in as you tried to wash the crimson stains from your hands. They wouldn’t wash out. You scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed, but you still saw red. You were still dirty.

Heaving, tears burned behind your eyes as your hands clawed at each other, scratching at the blood on your hands. Desperate tears mixed with the downpour that spilled from above, your chest flooding with panic. Why wouldn’t it go away? Why were you still dirty? You didn’t want this. You didn’t—

“You need to take a deep breath, (L/N).”

Your breath hitched, your heart seizing at the sound of his voice. Your hands shook as you looked down at them, fear and panic pulsing hot in your veins. Frantic eyes met his silver ones, glossed with tears and with a silent plea hanging behind them.

Levi’s gaze fell on your stained hands, his eyes narrowing in concern at the crimson splatters over your skin. “Did you—?”

“They’re still dirty,” you whispered brokenly, once again trying to scrub at your hands in the rain, splitting your skin open as your nails scratched viciously. “They— I can’t — I—”

His hands gently took hold of your own, careful to not spook you with his sudden touch. A reassuring squeeze to your hands steadied your trembling. “We need to get you inside.” Glancing around the stables, he made sure the other Scouts had already gone inside before he carefully pulled you off your horse, securing the mare and keeping your hand in his.

His room smelled nice. A certain mixture of aromas wafted through the air, settling within your lungs warmly. Disinfectants and black tea. It was distinctively him.

The clinking of cups snapped you out of your haze, your eyes settling on the cup Levi set next to you, on his bedside table. “Drink up,” He pulled a stool from his desk and sat before you, sipping from his own cup. “It’ll help make you feel better.”

But it didn’t. Even as you nursed the small cup in your hands and inhaled the sweet smell of tea, your stomach turned, nausea settling heavily over you. The warmth seeping through the cup began to heat up your hands. It burned but you didn’t pull away. Maybe the burns could distract you from the grief that drowned your heart. What’s a little bit of more pain?

“(L/N),” Levi’s voice came in a hush, soft and heavy with concern. He set his cup aside, centering his attention on your unmoving figure. “It wasn’t your fault—”

You snickered bitterly. “Bullshit,” Teary eyes, crazed with guilt and grief met his silver gaze. Something in him shattered under your pained expression. “I had a clear shot of the Titan’s nape, Levi. It was right there.” You hissed through gritted teeth, “She did always say I was the slow one out of the two of us,” A sour, broken smile curled your lips, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes. “I always hated it when she was right.”

Silence hung heavily over your heads. Levi moved to sit at your side, the mattress dipping under his weight. He sighed. “We can’t save them all—”

“How do you do it?” You whispered. Levi sent a questioning look. “We accumulate dead, we stain our hands with the blood of our enemies, we have more losses than victories under our belts, yet you keep walking with your head held high and—” A grunt of frustration rumbled through your throat. “How? How can you shoulder your losses and keep fighting?”

The air was knocked out of his lungs, his chest tight with grief. He’s asked himself the same thing time and time again. Why does he get to come back? Why does he get to survive one disaster after another? How come he gets to fight for longer than most of his comrades? If he was being honest, it’d always felt like he’s been dancing with Death all his life, close but never touching hands; he never falls behind the curtains, the show goes on.

All he could do was search your gaze, recognizing the anguish within you like a friend he never wanted you to get acquainted with. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I sure as hell know our fallen comrades— our friends wouldn’t want us to quit and mope around.” Despite his choice of words, there was nothing harsh about what he said. His voice was as vulnerable as you felt.

Levi took a good look at you for the first time since returning from the expedition. Tear streaks stained your puffy cheeks, your eyes red with anguish. The hands nursing a cup of tea were tainted by red and silver scars, knuckles torn and skinned. Exhaustion weighed down on your shoulders, ready to take you under. He hadn’t realized how much you’ve changed since you were both cadets. You looked tired. His heart ached.

“Losing the people you love never gets easier,” he breathed, voice raw and quiet. “It’s never going to stop hurting. What matters is how we choose to carry the memory of them with us.”

You sniffled, setting your cup of tea aside. Your hands ached for warmth. “What… what do you mean?”

Levi chose to look away, focusing on patting down the dirt from his cloak. “Memories with loved ones are sacred, but how you look back at them is what matters.” Silver eyes flashed with vulnerability as they gaze at you. “You can either torture yourself with them over what could’ve been, or you could look back at those memories and remember why you started fighting in the first place.”

“Healing isn’t linear…to fully grieve for the people you've lost takes time and it’ll hurt for a while,” His hand found yours, offering a reassuring squeeze. “But you don’t have to grieve on your own.”

That got a bittersweet smile out of you. Your fingers locked around his own, relishing the warmth of his calloused hand. A deep breath rattled your chest, allowing for you to expel saplings of the heaviness that threatened to squash your heart. “You’re a good friend, Levi.”

That seemed to catch him off guard, his eyes widening just a fraction before he offered a small shake of his head. Daring to take a chance, he tugged at your hand, his heart fluttering as you took that as your cue to hide within his embrace. His arms wrapped around you tightly, keeping you close to his heart. “I’ll be there. Whenever you need me, (L/N), I’ll be there.”

Burying your face in his chest, you muffled your cries as he began to rub circles over your back. “Tha-thank you.” You choked out, clinging to him for dear life.

No more words were exchanged, neither of you dared to open your mouths. You let the rhythmic beating of his heart take you under, chasing the nightmares that threatened to haunt your dreams. Levi rested his chin over your head, breathing in the moment, committing it all to memory.

Neither of you were strangers to the heartbreak of losing the people you love, the aches weren’t foreign. He didn’t know what the future would hold, but he hoped you would be there, by his side, to find out. Grief was nasty little thing he wished he could spare you from, but even Humanity’s Strongest wasn’t capable of that.

All he can do is stick by your side, and hope you still see a future worth fighting for.

🏷 Levi Ackerman taglist:

@andrastesbeard @izukus-gf

#levi ackerman x reader #captain levi x reader #levi ackerman #levi x y/n #levi attack on titan #levi x reader #captain levi x you #aot fic #aot x you #aot x reader

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ptwritesmore · 3 years

Text

The Anatomy of a AO3 Comment + Cheat Sheet

Want to tell an author that you like their work, but stuck on what to say? Maybe this can help!

Before we jump in, any comment from a “I loved this” to a keysmash will make an author’s day. There is no obligation to leave a comment at all, but know that whatever nice thing you say will carry weight with an fic author. You do not have to follow any format.

I’m putting this together because people have said they get stuck on what to say when they want to leave a positive comment on a fic. So feel free to consult this when you’re not sure what to say.

Anatomy

The anatomy of a meaty comment can be broken down into a few building blocks:

Telling the author you liked the fic

Complimenting an aspect of the story

Pulling a line from the story and talking about it

Talking about how the story made you feel

Ending line

So an example could be:

I wish I could leave another kudos on this! I especially liked your characterization of Ginny - she’s spunky and hilarious, and her comments about Hermione’s love life cracked me up. This line in particular made me actually snort out loud: “insert line you liked here.” This one shot was so fluffy, it’s going to make me smile for this of the day. Thanks for writing and sharing with us!

Cheat Sheet

Going a step further, here are some examples of things that fit within each building block:

Tell them you liked it

This kicks off the comment - it could end here and that would be fine!

I wish I could leave another kudos

This was lovely!

OMG this was so good!!!

I wish I could read this story again for the first time

This was so well done

Hi, I love this!

From the example above: “I wish I could leave another kudos on this!”

Compliment an aspect of the story

Adding this shows what you liked the best. This essentially boils down to: “I really like how you did [x thing].” [X thing] could be any of the following:

Characterization of a character: [x character] was so on point, reading your [x character] was basically like reading the canon character you captured them so well, each character was so well-defined, you built out [x character] and gave them so much more depth, [x character] was hilarious/sweet/terrifying

Character development: I enjoyed [x character’s] journey, I love how [x character] grew in [y] way, I never imagined how [x character] would react in [y] situation before

Pacing of the story: this was so quick and engaging, I loved the pacing here, this slower pace helped underline the emotional turmoil [x character] was going through

Description of a place/scene: you described [x location] so well that it was basically like being there, your descriptions are like poetry, I appreciate the way you set up a scene, I could see [x location] perfectly in my mind’s eye

Nonverbal cues that set the scene: the little things you add to help highlight the emotions like [x character] biting their lip when they are nervous really build the story, I enjoyed the nervous ticks you gave [x character], the details of their first kiss showcased the emotion they both poured into it

Dialogue between characters: the dialogue was captivating/emotional/real/raw, I love the banter between these two characters, I thought [x character] had the best lines, the interactions were perfect

Small details that pulled the story together: I appreciate how you wove [x] into the story, the little clues in the background were a great hint for the reveal

Writing quality: this was so well written, the writing was gorgeous/haunting/poetic, this was executed perfectly

From the example above: “I especially liked your characterization of Ginny - she’s spunky and hilarious, and her comments about Hermione’s love life cracked me up.”

Pull a line from the story and talk about it

By pulling something specific you can dissect further and showcase your own reaction to the material. You just copy a favorite/funny/meaningful line and explain why you liked it or how it made you feel. You can do this with multiple lines if you’d like, don’t be afraid to mix in simple reactions “omg” with more in-depth examples. Here are some examples:

This line made me laugh/smile/cry/cringe/squeal/scream/snort/want to vomit

I nearly jumped out of my seat/cried/jumped for joy when I read this line

Her line here was especially powerful given the extra backstory you gave her

I could totally see [x character] a saying that

You nailed his voice

The comedic timing of this line was perfect

From the example above: “This line in particular made me actually snort out loud: ‘insert line you liked here.’”

Talk about how the story made you feel

This fic melted my heart

I’m still crying, that was so haunting

I feel like I need to go take a cold shower now

The angst here killed me

This fluffy fic made my day better

From the example above: “This one shot was so fluffy, it’s going to make me smile for this of the day.”

Ending line

If you’re not sure how to wrap up, try:

Thanks for writing this!

I wish there was more, this was delightful

What a refreshing take, thanks for sharing with us!

Such a great read, I loved it!

Now I want to read more

I love this fic!!!

This was beautiful <3

Going to go read more of your work now, bye! (only use this if you plan to)

Bookmarking to read again! (only use this if you plan to)

From the example above: “Thanks for writing and sharing with us!”

Wrap Up

You don’t have to use all of these at once, of course. Just take whatever building blocks work for you and build a comment from there.

And if you want to level up, feel free to talk about how this touched you personally. One of the nicest comments I ever got was how a fic of mine helped them while they were struggling during COVID and that made themselves tea and sat down to enjoy each update. They didn’t need to tell me that, but it made me cry that something I wrote provided that kind of moment for someone.

Hope this helps!

#ao3 #AO3 fanfic #fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfic #fanfic comments #ao3 comments #ao3 comment cheat sheet #commenting reference #comment #Writing fanfic #fanfic review #fan fiction comments #harry potter fanfiction #hp fanfic #commenting cheat sheet #ao3 comment #how to leave a comment #how to guide

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courseoflove · 3 years

Text

Questions

You have lots of questions for Harry and he tries his best to answer each of them.

a/n: hiiiii, think it’s been almost a year since I last posted my writing and I’m finally back! thanks to @oh-honey-styles‘s new fic slam prompts, I was able to curate something I liked enough to share. usually it’d take me lotssss of drafts to be satisfied and happy with something but this one only took 2! I hope you enjoy it and pleaaaaseee be kind ⭐️😸 I’d love to hear your thoughts!

warning: this is just pureee filth. not really smut, but filthy regardless.

Word Count: 1,775

Harry’s forest eyes ogle straight at you, lips pressed in a tight line and twitching on one side to form a smirk that he tried his very best not to show.

That was definitely the last thing he expected to come out of your mouth. He thought you just needed help with something minuscule, like putting together new furniture, fixing the wifi, or help pick out an outfit; things you’ve urgently called him about before. He never, ever thought you’d call him one day and ask for this, a lesson on blowjobs out of all things.

Luckily, sex has never been a taboo topic between the two of you, considering he’s the first person you yell to when you’re letting out your frustrations about your lack of experiences, or vice versa when he just had an intercourse dilemma that continues to leave an everlasting impact on him. But when you’re asking him about giving good oral pleasure, his brain is suddenly void of any thoughts that should help the situation at hand.

“Quit smirking at me, I’m serious!” Harry flinches when you throw a pillow at him from across the other side of the sofa, instantly wiping the smirk off of his face and instead letting out a soft chuckle when he successfully catches it. You throw him an intense yet jest glare, “just. Today at work. I dunno. I just need to know. I want to know.”

“How d’you suppose I do that?” he asks cautiously, leaning forward to settle his elbows on his knees and prop his chin up with the palm of his hand, “teach you, I mean.”

You’re usually never embarrassed around Harry, despite the many weird and unusual conversations you’ve both had during sobriety and drunkenness. You don’t remember ever feeling even the slightest bit awkward or sheepish when you told him about how IUDs work, or giving him a very vivid description of how exactly you feel during your menstruation cycle. He takes it all in and listens with amusement, sometimes with a bowl of extra-buttered popcorn on his lap.

But right now, in this exact moment, you feel slightly skittish and jittery, as if blowjobs were something you’re just now learning about. He can sense it, especially with the way you’re averting your gaze from his eyes to the silent flatscreen tv nailed on your wall — thanks to him. You’re also doing that thing he constantly scolds you for whenever you’re anxious and nervous, chewing ferociously on your bottom lip and squeezing your fingers into a fist to the point your nails will sink on your palm and pop your veins.

“Stop that, you’ll bleed,” he cuts the silence off, “and answer my question.”

You unclench your fist and turn towards him again, barely making eye contact and instead looking at the lovely framed painting hung on the wall behind him, “maybe just describe it?”

“It’s really not that complicated,” was all Harry said. He leans back against your soft couch, taking both of your feet with his hands and settling them on his lap to crack each of your toes. You flinch a little on his first try, turning your focus and watching his fingers work against your skin, “think of a lollipop. Or popsicles, something of the sorts. You put it in your mouth and just… suck. Lick. Move your mouth, without the teeth.”

Suck. Lick. Move your mouth; the words that tumbles out of his lips causes you to flush, your whole body heating up and turning beet red, the color dancing across your nose and emphasizing your imperfections flawlessly.

What Harry said was pretty accurate. It’s not as detailed as you want but you don’t really know how to ask for that without feeling mortified and even more flustered. He said it exactly how it is; you just put your mouth around it, suction your cheeks, use your tongue and bob your head. But you feel like there was something missing, as if there should be more to that. Well, because there is. You want to know more.

His fingers have started to dance their way to your calf, squeezing the deep tissues there in a tender and leisure massage to try and get rid of your tensed muscles. You’re wincing in between syllables when you finally speak after a couple of seconds, “question. It might be weird. Just… just tell me if you don’t wanna answer.”

His eyes lock with yours when he hums for you to continue, a strand of curl falling over his forehead and tickling his brow while his bottom lip gets caught in between his teeth in concentration. He presses his warm hands on your leg forcefully and harder and it helps calm your nerves and neurons, your habit of overthinking in situations like this disappearing little by little the more he moves. The lack of poise you had minutes ago is lessening and your question is on the tip of your tongue, ready to burst at the seams and be voiced aloud.

With your face turning a lot redder and goosebumps developing on your skin from head to toe out of the blue, you ask with your voice a little lower than it was a while ago, “will you tell me what you like? When.. you know.”

Harry’s movements quickly halt. Another unexpected turn. Another question he never, ever thought would come out of your mouth to ask him.

He lets go of his lip and keeps his mouth agape, irises instantaneously dilating and darkening under your lemon-yellow light and turning them into an even darker shade, like a week old leaf. His brain performs a short circuit for a few moments that passes by in silence before he finally swallows and says, “you want to know what I like when I’m getting head?”

“Yeah,” you shrug, feeling even more ridiculous the more you look into his eyes and open your mouth, “I mean, you have the most experience out of the two of us. That’s why I asked in the first place, but I feel — I feel like your first answer doesn’t really — it’s just not satisfying me. There has to be more to it than just.. sucking, I dunno.”

Sure, you talk to one another about sex casually; what one undergos and encounters and what the other simply has no preconceived notions of. Harry would tell his stories in the least disgusting way possible, knowing you’ll groan out loud and tease him about it if he gives away any sort of detail, but there was almost always zero utterance on your end. No lingering and continuous curiosity. You asking about what he likes when he’s getting head is very much unforeseen and maybe even a bit… amiss, especially for you.

However, he can detect a genuine inquisitiveness in your expression. You’re probably one of the hardest people to read on the surface, but he senses that there was more to that interest than just simply wanting to know. At least, he’s hoping there is.

You cross your arms over your chest, feeling a bit weird now the more he gawks at you and doesn’t make a single move to respond. You open your mouth to backtrack when his hesitancy becomes clear, but before you can even take your question back, he’s already mouthing a three-syllable word out loud, “mouth-fucking.”

A low gasp leaves your mouth and the sound doesn’t miss Harry’s eardrums. He should want to take it back, shove the words back in his throat and never say it again despite not being able to. Still and all, he realizes that he likes what you asked and the fact he gave you an answer, a brief one but an honest and precise answer nonetheless. The way your skin warms against the palm of his hands makes him start to sweat, your bare face becoming even more flushed if possible. You don’t really know what kind of answer your mind presumed, but it obviously wasn’t that.

You’re aware of Harry’s self-confidence and boldness when it comes to sex. He has lots of it and it doesn’t come as a surprise. So when he opens his mouth again to explain exactly what he meant, you were able to hold your second gasp back and instead listen in. You can just imagine how filthy he is in bed, considering the description he gives you seems to be even more graphic and explicit, “like normal sex, but I’m doing it to their mouth. I like the sound, the sloppiness of it all, it fuels me. I like being in control, I guess, and no one wants a dry blowjob. I like it really wet.”

You startle both yourself and him when you utter, “what else?”

Harry clears his throat and looks away from your eyes, not because of discomfort because there was absolutely none, but for the reason that the more he stares the more he pictures you inside his head doing exactly what he was evoking. He blinks a couple of times in an attempt to get rid of the colorful conception, yet it just becomes even more lucid and clear-cut. He tries to distract himself by continuing to answer your questions. It definitely doesn’t help. It just drags the mental image on.

“I like it when they let me come down their throat, then swallow it. Or when — when the aftermath of pure bliss just overtakes my entire body. Like, they just pull away for a second then suck me right back in,” the skin on your legs feel sticky under his hold. You swallow at his dazed appearance and tiny smirk, as if he’s picturing it all in his head. And he is, “yeah. I like that a lot.”

Somehow it’s gotten a lot warmer inside the tiny space of your living room, every corner closing in on the two of you in your peripheral vision and you can’t exactly make out the tingling sensation on the tip of your fingers and in between your thighs. Well, you do. You know you’re undoubtedly turned on but acting clueless and ignoring it would be the best way to handle it.

You ask him one more question, the last one you’ll emit for the rest of the evening, “and how was it for them?”

Harry turns his head, connecting his darkened eyes with yours. There’s an indecipherable message written all over his handsome face. His voice is heavy, raspier and deeper with his accent when he answers for the last time, a specific implication behind his tone, “one of these days, you’ll see.”

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pingutats · 3 years

Note

i just had such a good request for a fic. dom/sub dynamic with dom!harry where y/n is being spanked for misbehavior and she ends up crying during it because she feels like she deserves to be hurt, and harry stops immediately and there’s a lot of fluffy aftercare and physical affection

thank you for the request!! i know it took me a million years to get to writing this but finally did it... i know it strays a little bit from all the details of your request but i hope you enjoy regardless!

warnings: spanking, dom/sub dynamic, descriptions of anxiety (maybe don’t read if you’re in a weird headspace, it’s not exactly pleasant!)

word count: 1.7k

. . . . .

As soon as Y/N hears Harry’s car in the driveway, she dashes from the kitchen to the front door like a kid that’s heard an ice-cream van. After the day of work at home she’s had, of redoing paperwork she’d messed up the first time and struggling through technical issues and communication errors over email—she just needs Harry so badly.

In fact, she’d texted him earlier to let him know. Quite blatantly. With a photo she prays he opened when there was nobody else around.

When Y/N opens the door for him he freezes, taking in her appearance. She’s wearing just panties and one of his shirts, her bare legs completely on display for him. His gaze sweeps up and down her body for a second, then he swears under his breath and strides in quickly. Y/N jumps back to give him room, waiting a few feet ahead in the hallway.

He shuts the door with his arm swinging back behind him, not even glancing over his shoulder to watch it close.

There’s a second of silence as they stare each other down, and it’s in this second that Y/N feels them slip into the roles of the game she’s been wanting to play all day. His eyes go from wide in shock to steady. Her head bows almost of its own accord, responding to the straightening of Harry’s shoulders after he drops his bag.

He inhales sharply through his nose and drops his keys into the bowl on the bench. “You’ve been doing this on purpose, darling,” he says in a measured tone. It isn’t a question. He won’t be asking questions now—she won’t have to think, she can just listen to him, let him take over now.

She plays with the bottom of his t-shirt that she’s wearing, pulling it up enough to reveal the slightly paler skin where her shorts would usually cover.

Harry’s tongue darts out to wet his lips. “Come here,” he says, beckoning her over.

She considers refusing, just to be a brat, but it’s a lot easier to just go along with him now she’s getting what she wanted. She twists her hands in the t-shirt in front of her as she approaches him, averting her eyes from his as he watches her, suddenly vulnerable under his gaze.

When she’s close enough, he reaches out and grabs her wrists to yank her grip on the shirt free, pulling her off balance so the only thing that stops her falling flat on her face is his arms. She tries to relax into his grip, tries to let herself go.

“Been so fucking needy today. That photo — nearly had me getting hard in the studio right in front of everyone, love,” he says, squeezing her wrists almost painfully. “And look how you answer the door, nearly naked for anyone walking on the street to see.” He shakes his head, clicking his tongue condescendingly. “Do you want to apologise for anything?”

She looks at him, pretends to think, and then shakes her head.

He sighs. “Of course not, you little brat.” His grip loosens. “Alright then. Go upstairs for me.”

She blinks at him.

“I’ll be up in a minute. Go on.” He spins her around and nudges her towards the stairs with a gentle push.

She glances over her shoulder at him before she goes and he only raises his eyebrows expectantly. She’s almost tempted to pull the back of the t-shirt down over her ass to cover herself, but that wouldn’t get her what she needs, and what she needs is Harry to take care of her—so she keeps her head bowed as she walks up the stairs, adding a little swing in her hips with each step just as the icing on the cake. She smiles when she hears his deep inhale from the hallway as he watches her the whole time.

Upstairs, she sits on the end of their bed with her hands in her lap, scratching at days-old nail polish she’ll need to redo soon. There’s a knot in her stomach that’s been twisting all day, stresses piling up and morphing into some ugly feeling she can’t shake, not without Harry’s help. She manages to peel all the bright pink colour off her left thumbnail while she waits.

It seems like forever before she hears Harry’s footsteps up the stairs but when she does, she straightens up. The sound of the door opening makes her jump in nervous shock. She flexes her fingers, trying to calm her jitters. It’s Harry. She needs him.

“Being such a brat today,” he says when he’s finally in front of her. “Aren’t you? Don’t know how to behave.” He sits beside her, squishing her cheeks with his thumb and forefinger. “Need me to teach you a lesson, hm?”

She nods at him, eyes moony. Yes, this is what she wants, needs from him—to let him take over for a little while, let him take out his frustration on her, help her let go of her own.

His grip softens a bit. “This okay, baby?” he asks more quietly.

She swallows. “Yeah.”

He leans forward and gives her a quick kiss. She feels like melting against the softness of his lips, pressing against her own, the mouth she knows so well. It’s a comfort in the mess that her mind is feeling like right now.

But he isn’t so gentle as he drags her over his lap a moment later, her face roughly pushed down into the mattress. His hand squeezes her ass, only barely covered by her panties, and her breath hitches.

“Count for me.”

“Yes sir,” she breathes, closing her eyes.

Her exhale is cut short by the force of his palm cracking against her skin, jolting her forward over his lap. The sting dissipates quickly, taking none of the tension inside her with it.

“One,” she says.

“Good girl.” His hand comes down on her again, harder this time.

She screws her eyes shut. “Two.”

It isn’t feeling like how she wants it to feel. She’s too tense, restless, her mind unwilling to float away under Harry’s touch. The pain, which usually is laced with something brilliant and exciting, is just pain today. But with all the mistakes she’s made today, all the things she messed up that have just added to her workload and her stress—maybe this is what she deserves. Punishments are called that for a reason.

So she stays where she is, her head lowered so Harry won’t see anything wrong. She gasps at the third, and it takes her a second to remember she needs to count. “Three,” she says, her voice shuddering.

Harry pauses and she fears she’s made him upset, spoken too quietly, taken too long—she can’t do anything right.

“Love,” he says. His hand comes to rest on her shoulder gently. “Are those good tears or bad tears?”

She squeezes her eyes shut for a moment and in the pause, realises her cheeks are wet. “Um,” she says. Her voice shakes.

Harry’s arm snakes underneath her and pulls her up, manoeuvring her so she straddles his lap and he can see her face. The crease between his brows is deep as his eyes dart over her face, his thumb coming to her cheek to brush a tear away.

She leans her head into his palm that was cracking down onto her skin just a minute ago and closes her eyes, taking a deep breath to steady herself.

“What happened? When did it change?” he asks, his voice soft again, his character leaving.

She shrugs. She doesn’t trust herself to speak without crying more, and she feels stupid enough already.

“It’s alright, love,” he says, shifting so he can sit up straighter and pull her closer to his chest. He rubs her back, kissing her hair. “Let’s just rest for a moment, alright?”

She nods into his shoulder, hiding her face. His hand cradles the back of her head. The panic that she was feeling is dissolving into nothing. All day she felt so tense with so much twisting inside her, and she’d thought she could force it out painfully—she was wrong, of course, and now she feels awful for roping Harry into her misguided attempt to fix herself.

After a couple minutes, Harry taps her to get her to look up at him. “Why’d you want a punishment today?” he asks, without accusation.

She shrugs, raising her shoulders as high as she can and then letting them drop sharply. “Just felt like I needed it.”

He nods. He understands that sometimes she feels like this—needs to lose herself in playing a role for an evening, forget about real life and its responsibilities—because he knows the feeling too. She’s helped him in this way before. They take it in turns: give each other what they need, when they need it. “Wasn’t helpful today, though?” he prompts, his eyebrows raised sympathetically.

She shakes her head, looking sheepish. “Sorry.”

“Hey,” he says. He smiles a little bit and a shallow dimple appears in his cheek. “That’s fine. It’s just a game. We play it whenever you want to, we stop playing when you’re not enjoying it. That’s important, alright?”

“Yeah,” she says quietly. “Sorry.”

“Need to stop apologising, baby,” he tells her. “Just keep talking to me. I don’t want to hurt you.” He kisses her cheek and the gesture raises butterflies in her stomach, even still after all the months they’ve been together. It reminds her that he’s there for her, to look after her, to take care of her when she can’t do it for herself. His lips stay close to her skin as he asks, “How can I help, though, really?”

She buries her face back into his shoulder. “Dunno,” she says, her voice muffled. “Just need you.”

She feels his chin gently knock against the top of her head as he nods, his arms tightening around her again. “You’ve got me, baby. Always got me.”

. . . . .

thank you for reading! if you did like it, a reblog would be really appreciated as well as any feedback/comments you might have! you can find more of my writing on my masterlist.

#harry styles fic #harry styles blurb #harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader #fic

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byorder-fanfic · 3 years

Text

How They Look After You When it Gets Bad: Bonnie

Preference Masterlist

Requested by anonymous

Word count: 1727

Warnings: Reader going through a hard time, suggestive comments, swearing, Bonnie gets hurt (emotionally), not favourable descriptions of Small Heath (apologies to any Brummie readers- it’s for the plot)

Author's Note: Hi! I’ve had some trouble with the Ada and Finn preferences so I’m mixing up the order a bit. Those who’ve requested, your fics will be out soon! If there’s any other characters you want me to write for, feel free to make any more requests. Hope you enjoy and I’m wishing you all my best

(Gif by @sophieshelby)

The Golds were travellers. It's what you loved the most about their life, the life that you jumped into in the greatest leap of faith that came with loving Bonnie. Now, whilst watching him ditch button-ups in favour of short vests, giving you full view of his lean arms attacking bags and people with so much strength was fun, it was the wind in your hair as you sat behind him on his horse, arms wrapped around his middle, it was huddling up in your shared bed in the caravan and arguing as to whether or not you could fit another ugly knitted blanket on top of the rest of them, and the maps you kept in a drawer that was slowly becoming more crosses than roads with all the places you've visited- it was that which made you love this life all the more. Plus, living with you Bonnie and his family (who had welcomed you with open arms the second Bonnie introduced you) created a second home, a home that lived on wheels and trotted down dirt paths. You knew that Bonnie getting his boxing licence would make the travelling come to a halt, and Small Heath would have to be home for as long as there was a job to be done and a reward to be reaped. And you were okay with that. You really were. Maybe there were a few tears as you hugged Esmerelda, Naomie and especially little Floss (she was desperate to see Bonnie go head to head with the Peaky Blinders!) goodbye as they continued travelling, you knew Bonnie felt the absence of his sisters more than you would. So, you made sure he never felt lonely, and the bed never felt empty; well, it wasn't as if it was a particularly difficult task to keep him company.

Small Heath was not a particularly enthralling place. Although you were on friendly terms with the Shelbys and their clan (and that was no exaggeration, they multiplied like rabbits!) and, after many, many threats from both the elder and younger Gold, none of the younger Peakys were planning on making a move on you, it was the place itself that seemed to bore you. All those things that you'd learned to love from your life on the road- the fresh air, the constant movement, the friendly welcomes when you saw another caravan cross your path, and the freshly caught food cooked over an open fire- there was none of that here. The sky was full of fumes that burnt more than the dark char of over-exposed meat, there was no patches of grass or flowers and everything was so fucking grey. Grey streets, grey sky, and a very grey mood for you. Sometimes, when Bonnie and Aberama were busy with the Peaky business that they left you out of, you'd just go over to the Cut and sit by the water to get even the slightest feeling of being back amongst the rivers and streams where you and Bonnie would set a number of ugly knitted blankets down and spend the night besides. You always thought the sound of water, and the view of the stars was the best way to fall asleep. Bonnie said the best way was next to you. You loved him, you truly did, but things were getting hard. Bonnie was always so busy now, between boxing and whatever the hell Tommy bloody Shelby had him apart of. Wrapped up next to him under all the blankets was the most time you spent with him, and he was usually so spent from work that he was snoring after seconds of laying his head on the pillow. All you could do was hope he didn't wake as you breathed softly next to him, trying to ward off sleep as much as you can just to see him as much as you can. By the time the sun rose, he was already up and at it. In stinking Small Heath.

You didn't want to resent him for bringing you here. You wanted to be proud of him when he boasted about getting his boxing license. You wanted to be happy for him when he came back, completely sloshed, after a night out at the Garrison with the Peaky boys he'd gotten close to, and he smelt like bloody whiskey and cigarettes when he cuddled up to you, drunkenly nuzzling his nose into your neck. You hated whiskey and cigarettes. Well, at least you think you did. You hated everything right now. You had tried to distract yourself from this frustration that was slowly building up in you, especially after you 'accidentally' broke one of the cups Naomie had made. You would pay for that when you saw her again. You had gotten Charlie Strong and Curly's permission to help with the horses in the stables. Eventually, though, you just felt sorry for the poor buggers: trapped in a scrap yard in a place full of people and so little greenery. Of course, you refused to admit you were projecting your own feelings on them. After feeling lonely for too long, you decided to make friends with the Shelbys. The Peaky boys that Bonnie had become fast friends with were nice enough, and Bonnie was happy for the excuse to see you more. As for the Shelbys, you had to be honest, they were a bit bloody scary. Esmerelda had made sure you were prepared for them, and you kept a whittling knife on your person every time you left the isolating sanctuary of the caravan, so you knew full well you could keep yourself safe amongst the blood and gore of the gangsters.

Eventually though these feelings caught up with you. You didn't even bother leaving the caravan today, knowing the streets were only going to further sour your mood and, even the bright presence of Bonnie's sleepy, half-awake smile, couldn't stop your erratic scrubbing of the plates. Ever since the Naoime's-broken-pottery-you were-sure-to-pay-for incident, you had only been entrusted with the metal pots and pans that weren't so easy to shatter. Still, you managed to scrub the metal dish in such a way to rouse the weary boxer. He had the day off, as Arthur had told you the night before when you sat in the Garrison, and the rest of the boys gave such a cheer their whiskey splattered on your dress. Bonnie had blushed, but you could see the hints of mischief in his smirk. And, with Aberama taking last night and today back in Small Heath, there was no misunderstanding Bonnie's intentions. You heard his stumbling foot steps as you moved further out of the open caravan door, focusing far too much on the washcloth and the practically sparkling pot that you still scrubbed.

"Hey, dove," he said in sing-song tone that usually made your heart melt. Now it made your blood boil.

"Mornin' Bon," you replied back, far too snappy for his soft voice.

He was startled. You didn't have to see his face to know he had flinched, feeling the sudden twinge of pain in the air like a broken string.

"Are you alright?" He asked, kindly, reaching down to rest his hand over yours. Instantly, you dropped the pan and cloth on the floor, hearing it crash against the soft grass.

"Well, you'd know if you'd have been there!" Along with your swift movement to stand up, the fierceness in your voice made Bonnie back away into the caravan. He saw the frustration clear in your face, and his shoulders hung in shame. He knew he'd been busy- too busy- and it must've hurt you.

"I'm so sorry, dove, I swear I'm trying to do this for us."

"For you! And all I fucking do is stay in this fucking city!"

"It's not for long- then we can have that life we planned, with the boxing licence and our own caravan and-"

"And I don't wanna be here!"

You screamed it so loud that you were sure the birds in the trees surrounding you had flapped away from your voice like a shot had been fired from one of the Golds' many, many guns. And Bonnie seemed like he wanted to flee too, face so smushed up and hurt.

"I hate this place! It's dirty and cold and it smells like fucking shit!"

Bonnie felt his whole body crumble at the tightness in your face, the look of pure anger making your fists squeeze in so tight he knew your nails would be digging in. He was the boxer and it was of his opinion that you should never have to raise a fist like this. You must hate him. You must do, and he was feeling his broad shoulders dip at the wildness that flickered in your eyes.

"I don't want to be here!" It was the crack in your voice that revealed yourself. A crack that mended Bonnie's wounded expression into that of concern. You didn't hate him. You didn't. You probably didn't even mind stinking old Small Heath.

"Then how about we get outta here?" He suggested, giving you that lopsided grin that always made you childishly giddy. Even now, with frustration embedding your palms, you felt a kinder warmth flood to your cheeks. With more confidence, he moved towards you, cupping your cheek as you felt yourself just drop a little without the weight of frustration on your shoulders.

"Please," you muttered, leaning forward to rest your forehead against yours. "I want fresh air and empty fields and a blanket next to a stream."

"Just you and me lying down and looking at the stars?"

"That's all, Bon."

"Then you'll get it. Let's get changed, pack some food and we can get on a horse and just keep on riding, ey?" You chuckled a little at his romantic proposition, burying yourself closing into his grasp. "And get out of smelly old Small Heath that's been keeping me away from my dove."

"You're gonna have a lot of time to make up for." A little bit of frustration still hung in your mind, but the sweet look of adoration on your Bonnie's face was enough to soothe it into a cheeky remark.

"Indeed I do," he whispered into your neck. His expression got sadder again. "I'm sorry."

"So am I."

#bonnie gold #bonnie gold x reader #bonnie gold imagine #bonnie gold fanfiction #bonnie gold fanfic #bonnie gold preference #bonnie gold fluff #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders preference #peaky blinders fluff #peaky blinders oc #Aberama Gold #tommy shelby #Arthur shelby

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kumezyzo · 3 years

Text

Heart Eyes | Sawamura Daichi

SUMMARY.... He forgot about the previous night during practice. So, when he didn't hide the scratches, he was in for some teasing.

Warnings... Smut (flashbacks but still descriptive) | Fluff (?) | Crack (?) | [Deadass cant think of anything else]

Authors Note... I have no idea if this will get any attention but its worth a shot. Also, I want to know who to write for and my Tsukki fics are the only ones getting attention so please give feedback or any sort of recommendation's plz... Enjoy!

Daichi usually laughed off anything that most people would find embarrassing. So, when Suga started teasing him about the red scratch marks on his back and hickeys on his neck after his long weekend, he just laughed with a pink face.

I walked towards the boys gym, readying myself to watch out for any stray volleyballs hurdling towards me. My body went into autopilot on the walk there. I thought back to the weekend i got to spend with my boyfriend.

"You look so pretty. All fucked out and drooling." He grunted out. I could only whine in response.

He chuckled but it was cut off by a moan. 'Fuck' he muttered under his breath, keeping up his pace trying to not pay attention to my nails raking his back.

He gripped my jaw, making me stare him in the eyes. I moaned out feeling the climax building with each-

I shook my head from the lewd memories. I took a shallow breath and let it out, in hopes to calm down. I touched my face to try and cool it down, hoping I wasn't too red.

I let out a tiny squeal at the memory before opening the doors to the gym. I heard loud laughing and exaggerated moans coming from the group of high school boys.

I saw Daichi glaring at his teammates before I spoke.

"Is everything alright?" I said, laughing quietly. Daichi's eyes widened, walking towards me. Suga on the other hand ran towards me, trying to get to me first.

"Y/N! Finally!" Suga wrapped his arm around my shoulders, walking me towards the rest of the volleyball players. "Daichi was telling us about you fun weekend!"

My eyebrows furrowed and I stared at Daichi. "Uh huh, and what exactly did he say?" I asked, still staring at my boyfriend.

"Well he showed us the souvenirs!" Suga said, letting go of me and walking over to the very person I was still staring at.

Suga lifted the back of Daichi's shirt, grinning to himself. He then tried to turn him around, but Daichi didn't budge.

"Bitch, move!" Suga said, grunting and causing team to bark out laughing. Then he finally got him to turn around.

My eyes landed on the glaring read lines going down his back. I pursed my lips and looked around at the gym and the walls.

"damn, thats some good architecture." I said looking around, the gym then filled with more laughs. I laughed as well, feeling my cheeks heat up.

I looked at my boyfriend, laughing as he also blushed. They saw the scratches but I saw the heart eyes he gave me.

#daichi smut #daichi fluff #haikyuu crack #haikyuu smut #haikyuu sluff #haikyuu #haikyu #fanfic #sawamura daichi x reader #sawamura daichi #daddy daichi #i hate myself #i cant think of tags #i suck at tags #daichi

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supremeinlilac · 3 years

Text

Don’t ask me what could have been

Pairing: Billie Dean Howard x Fem!Reader

Word count: 2037

Warnings: Death, angst, idk its just a lil bit sad

A/n: I challenged myself to write a fic without dialogue, because my writing is super descriptive anyway, so I enjoyed writing this so much, you have no idea, even though it’s sad. Enjoyyy :))

For @grilledcheeseandguavajelly @shineestark I love you and you deserve the stars <33

Your death had been an accident.

Wrong place, wrong time. An unsettled ghost that you’d simply gotten too close to. Curiosity had indeed killed the cat after all, and now it had taken you too.

It was the first and last time Billie had requested you join her on a job, to watch her work. You’d eagerly accepted, excited to watch her work, slightly nervous about it being your first real experience with ghosts of any kind. She’d let you explore the giant house while she spoke with who she believed to be the problematic ghost, one of a small child.

It was in the bedroom you’d met the real ghost but he’d looked and sounded so real that you’d mistaken him for someone alive. His timidness soon turned to anger once he realised you weren’t there to held him, and you couldn’t even blurt out that Billie was just downstairs and that she could help. Everything happened so quickly. Too quickly.

Your last words were the whispers of her name but she had been too far away to have heard them. You’d slipped away without a goodbye. You still yearned for that goodbye, everyday you’d find the whispers of her name falling from your lips unconsciously, as if begging for her to hear you.

She couldn’t have helped. It didn’t help to ponder over what if’s.

Even so, you knew the memories of that day consumed her still. When she would wake from bouts of fitful sleep she’d reach out across the sheets for your comforting hand, your warmth, only to be met with none. She pined for your embrace, the way you’d coo her nightmares away with gentle kisses and your nails against her scalp.

The first smoking break she’d take at work, when the dew still clung to the delicately swaying grass and the mist of the morning had not yet cleared, she’d remember the way the droplets of tears would slip down the crease of your smile as your laughter rippled through your body.

Billie Dean couldn’t wear her pearls anymore. She couldn’t have them lay so close to her heart without the memory of you always sitting upon her lap, twirling them between delicate fingers and pressing a lingering kiss to her collarbone. Just as you always did when she wore them, which was why she wore them so often. She never got the chance to admit that to you. She wished she did.

They now lay untouched in a box beside the last book you’d been reading, unfinished. There was so much more of it you had yet to read. So much more life you had yet to experience.

When she’d open your wardrobe to the fading smell of your clothes, press a bunched up top in her fingers and bring it to her nose. Imagining that you were there, giggling and teasing about that specific habit, asking why she insisted on doing that when she had the real thing.

Had.

The past tense reminded her cruelly that you weren’t hers anymore. Weren’t anyone’s. Just weren’t.

No one was holding you, soothing you, making you laugh or stopping the flow of your tears. She ached to be able to hold you again. For one more time she would trade all her fame and success, didn’t care how cliché that sounded, because for you she would.

There were times she’d shrug on an outfit for a meal with her colleagues, turning as if to seek approval from you before her smile would faulter and her shoulders sag, and she’d have to fight herself to enjoy the meal in your absence. Her fingers pressing against her purse, and the knowing that your smiling photo lay just within. A photo she’d taken when you’d been unaware, that she’d kept to brush over and admire the way your cheeks would redden and crinkle, a silent laugh beaming over your face.

When she’d visit the house, you’d watch her from a distance. You didn’t trust yourself to be close to her. To be allowed to smell her, the lingering musk of her cigarettes and the sweet tang of her perfume.

She’d talk to you, telling you about her show and about celebrities she’d met on her travels and at events. You’d smile at her theatrics, the way she’d catch herself waving her hands around dramatically while in the throng of one of her stories.

She never spoke about meeting anyone. Not that you needed to be told that she wasn’t interested in dating. You could tell she’d thrown herself into her work to ease the insistent pain. The loss. You were proud of her.

On this particular day, the atmosphere was different. Eerie. You watched as she crossed the threshold into the property, hand lingering on the door a second too long. The other ghosts could sense it too, the change, and they scattered into the far corners of the house, leaving you alone with the woman who now ascended the stairs toward the bedroom she always zeroed in on, fingers tracing the wallpaper and cracked frames that hung.

You knew why she’d come. Knew why this time it felt so different. So final.

The thought of her leaving for good made your throat close up, sobs catching as you forced yourself to be stronger. To savour these fleeting moments in her presence as if they were to be your last. It was cruel to think that they would be.

In the bedroom she sat on the edge of the bed, as always, lips parting to hold a cigarette between teeth while she lit it with trembling hands. Oh how you wanted nothing more than to still them between your own, to comfort her.

You didn’t. Settling for simply watching her inhale deeply, the flickering trail of smoke that danced out of the crack in her mouth, dissipating into the air. You watched her lean to the side table to snub out the orange ember, fizzling out against the cool ash tray.

Approaching her, you knelt at her feet, the position you’d so often adopt when she’d had a trying day at work, head in her lap and fingers clutching at her pants while she’d stroke at your hair and relax. Your proximity to her felt so natural, like coming home. She felt like home.

She could smell your lingering perfume, as fresh as the day you’d died, enveloping her in your familiarity. Could feel the warmth of your breath against her neck, fingers reaching to brush over the goosebumps left. She swore if she just reached out, that she’d feel the curve of your jaw, a hand coming to rest upon hers as she’d caress your face.

She did, and her fingers curled around nothing, so she did it again, willing you to appear with the frantic clenching of her hand as if the more she did it the more likely you were to be. When her attempts bore no fruit, she let her arm drop limply to her side, a finality.

A small, sad smile painted her lips, and she suddenly looked so small and broken, like a child lost in the bustle of a crowd. Alone.

You wanted to reach for her too, to press the pads of your fingers against those lips, to tug at the edges and hold her until the smile was true again. But you couldn’t bring yourself to do it, an invisible string holding you back from her, one which you couldn’t sever.

You loved her.

You couldn’t, and wouldn’t shackle her to this house while she was alive, to you. You loved her more than the selfish desire that swarmed inside you to just appear to her and tell her to stay. You knew she would.

It was the best for her if she believed you weren’t here, so that the grief would slowly thaw and she’d be able to find peace. Move on. Maybe find someone else. Maybe.

Billie Dean Howard. Medium to the stars.

God how you wished that the stars in her eyes would sparkle like they did when you were alive, and not just with the sheen of unshed tears.

Billie Dean Howard was the stars. She was the stars and the moon and the sun, the universe painted perfectly in silk and cigarettes. The stars would fling themselves to the ground for her, bowing in her presence.

Scrambling to your feet and out of her way when Billie had stood, she walked to the wall at the far end of the room, her back to you and you wondered what she was doing. She’d never done this on any of her other visits. You didn’t have to wait long to find out why.

You heard the whispered goodbye, bit back the tears that threatened to fall at the finality of it all. Watched her rest her forehead against the cool wall, as she so often used to do to you, fingers pressed into the wallpaper as if she wanted nothing more than to be sucked into the very walls of the house, to be trapped just as you were.

Billie turned around, looking straight at you as if you were as clear and bright as the sun, before reaching into the bag on her shoulder. The shimmer of her pearls held up against the low light of the room. She’d brought them to you. She knew you were still here, watching. She knew what you were sacrificing for her freedom to leave and live and exist outside these walls.

You smiled. She was leaving a piece of her to you, a piece of you both to tie and strengthen the bond you shared, even in death. The faint clatter of the beads on the chest of drawers had you following her movements again, hands hovering over the line of her shoulder blades through the top she was wearing.

When Billie finally turned around, this was the closest you’d been to each other since your death. There was no way she could know your were there. Yet here she was, reaching up and cradling the air that would have been your face if you’d just let her in, as if you were as real as herself. As if she could see you, touch you.

As quickly as she’d turned, she was lowering her hands and gathering her things off the bed. She did it slowly, meticulously, as if rushing was breaking some unspoken rule. Unfortunately, she could only slow her movements so much, only put off her inevitable departure for so long.

You weren’t sure why, it wasn’t as if Billie was drawing any comfort from being in the room in which you’d died. You could see the pained way she’d glance at the spot she’d found you, the spot in which she’d curled herself into your body and cried for help to no one. The spot in which she’d learned how fragile life was, how quickly and cruelly it could be snatched from under someone.

You didn’t follow when she’d given a last fleeting look around the room, her footsteps echoed against the wood as she walked back toward the stairs to leave. Instead holding onto the image of her face in your mind, committing it to memory as the stairs creaked with her weight.

Out of the bay window, you could see the final sway of her hips, swish of her hair, golden now against the setting sun. She didn’t turn back to give one more pleading glance towards the house. You think that if she had done, she wouldn’t have been able to bring herself to leave.

You hoped that maybe, when the time came, Billie would return to you to die, wrinkled hands still holding the same warmth and gentleness that they always did for you. You hoped she’d remember the way your lips felt against her own, the way your bodies moulded perfectly as if designed for the very purpose of being close. You begged that she’d be drawn back in the final days, so that you could be together again, as you should be.

But for now, this was your goodbye. The goodbye you’d been robbed of.

taglist : @pearplate @billiedeansbottom @pluied-ete @extraordinarilycelestrial @toujours-ensanglante@mssallymckenna @okpaulson @magnificent-paulsonn @shineestark @commanderspeach @grilledcheeseandguavajelly @amethyst-bitch @its-soph-xx @germansarechill @bluesxrgnt ,if you want to be added just send me an ask :))

#sarah paulson #sarah paulson x reader #billie dean howard #billie dean howard x reader #american horror story #ahs murder house

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nagitoandkokichioneshots · 3 years

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Nagito X Reader comfort fic

Mod Mikan: So....I was craving a Nagito x Reader comfort fic and what better way to express my Nagito simp ass through writing a comfort story? I’ve had my fair share of dreaded surgeries throughout my life and since my SO irl has been there to comfort me, I thought I’d do the same for my fictional husbando. Ik this isn’t my best, I was kinda distracted today, but I still wanted to get this out. Enjoy! :)

Tw: Hospitals, waking up from surgery, some graphic human anatomy descriptions

“I’m scared, Nagito,” (Y/N) frowned, hugging their arms. Their nails dug into the fabric of the green jacket that belonged to Nagito. But really, it would be easier to call it (Y/N)’s jacket, considering how much Nagito let them wear it. He knew that it put them to ease and his scent and gentle touch would help them relax. He was surprised that someone like him would be able to calm down his precious ray of hope, but he wasn’t one to argue with them. After all, anything they wanted, Nagito would happily do everything he can for them

Speaking of Nagito, the white haired male brought his pale hand towards their cheek, brushing a stray lock of (H/C) hair behind their ear, his thumb stroking the plush skin. He flashed his typical gentle smile, taking in the warmth that radiated from the cheek underneath his skinny fingers, being absorbed into his poor insulated body temperature. God, how much he loved their warmth

“You have nothing to worry about, my hope. You’re so strong and so amazing. I know that you’re going to get through his surgery with ease. And I’ll be here for you when you wake up, okay?” His comforting words fell from his lips, the long thumb of his right hand never stopping the tender circles that were rubbing into (Y/N)’s skin. Nagito blushed, his green eyes darting away from his lover for a second, only to turn back to them to see their eased reaction. Nagito confessed he wasn’t the best at comforting people, but little did he realize that he was quite the peacemaker--especially when it came to his beloved hope

This statement was further proven when a similar kind smile tugged at (Y/N)’s lips, barely succeeding in holding back the sweet tears that had yet to break through the damn that was built between the tear ducts in their (E/C) eyes. They wrapped their arms around Nagito’s skinny frame, their smile pressing against his T-shirt. Nagito let out a small gasp, nevertheless, returned the hug by locking his arms around the love of his life

However, the hug was cut short as the swinging of double doors and soft thump of hospital booties signaled that the surgeon was finished preparing the operating room and ready for (Y/N) (L/N). She swiftly pulled her clipboard from the front of the room, tapping the patient on their shoulder. (Y/N) turned around to see the doctor that had yet to operate on them

“(Y/N) (L/N), I assume?” She asked her, earning a nod from them. She took this as a sign to continue with inviting them into the room “We are ready whenever you are. I am terribly sorry, but your boyfriend will have to wait outside until we are done,” She stated, receiving an identical nod from the previous one (Y/N) gave her. They turned back to Nagito, but before they could greet him off, he pressed a small kiss on their forehead, his patient smile never leaving his handsome features

“I’ll be waiting, my love. You’re gonna do so well, I know it. And after, I plan to spoil you rotten. But only if you allow someone like me the honors,” He winks, crossing his arms. (Y/N) just blushed, their flustered face approval enough for the luckster. With a shaky breath, (Y/N) made their way into the operating room, their heart thumping as if it would come out of their chest mixed with the nervousness from the upcoming operation and Nagito’s plans to make them feel better post surgery

*****************************************************************************************************

So it has come down to this

An hour later, the pale-skinned male was sitting on an empty chair in the waiting room. The area was relatively empty, allowing the other chairs to be free for Nagito to set the shopping bags down near him. He has brought a variety of jewelry, sweets, pillows, fuzzy blankets, stuffed animals, warm compresses, and even aroma therapy candles with felt candle holders for his hope once the operation was over. The clerk even gave him a shocked look, mixed with some confusion as he had trouble lugging all the bags into the waiting room

Then again, his purpose in life was to bring that over so hopeful smile he loved so much on his hope

The luckster knew exactly what his lover liked, so shopping didn’t take long. He was killing the remainder amount of time with reading a novel, smiling to himself. He was paying more attention to his own thoughts, rather than to the words on the page, if he was being honest

My hope is such a brave fighter. They’re gonna do great. And I can’t believe that I’ll be the one helping them recover after it. This is exciting! I--

“Komaeda-san?!”

The white-haired male was snapped out of his thoughts, turning his head to the doctor that rushed up to him. It wasn’t the same surgeon that showed (Y/N) into the operating room an hour ago, but judging from the similar scrubs he was wearing, it was safe to assume he was a part of the operating team that was performing the appendectomy

“Huh? What is it, sir?” Nagito asked the doctor, a worried expression plastered on his face. Some sweat was already rolling down from his forehead and temples, as he got up and held his hand out towards him. The doctor bit his lip, before replying with something that made the already unsettling atmosphere around drop even further

“It’s (L/N)-san. They...woke up during mid operation. They’re thrashing and panicking. If we can’t calm them down, we can’t reapply the anesthesia back on. You are their boyfriend, right? Please calm them down,” The doctor practically pleaded the last part with a hint of concern lacing his words. Nagito didn’t need to be told twice, as he just nodded, following the doctor inside the operating room. The Ultimate luckster hurriedly power walked towards the operating bed, and while his composure was typically calm and patient, it took all his willpower to suppress the paranoia that was flowing through his veins

“NAGITO!!!” A scream of his name flooded the operating room, as (Y/N)’s eyes fell upon their boyfriend, tears streaming down their face. The power walk that Nagito strutted previously quickly turned into running, as he rushed to his lover’s side, kneeling down. His long fingers swiped the fat tears that ran down their face, earning sniffles leaving their nostrils. He frowned, pressing delicate kisses on their forehead and temples. He pulled away after the short series of kisses, pressing his forehead against theirs, his hot brath fanning over their tear stained face

“Oh my hope. My love. My angel. Shush now, shhhh, calm down,” He cooed softly, bringing his whole hand up to repeat the process of stroking their cheek like he did prior to the operation. His heart almost cracked as he was given another set of sniffles and low whimpers of discomfort as (Y/N) expressed their dissatisfaction

“It hurts....It feels so p-painful, Nagito. I...I....” (Y/N)’s blubbering and stammering for a proper choice of words in the dire situation was stopped by Nagito hushing them, his hands rubbing their cheek up and down in an attempt to relax them

“I know, my hope, I know. They’re going to put the anesthesia back on, but you need to calm down for that, okay? Just breath. Listen to my heart and breath,” He took one of their hands that was sticking out from the hospital tarp and held it close to him. He squeezes their hand gently, bringing it to his lips to press a kiss on it. This earned a small smile to form on (Y/N)’s face, but only for a split second as they winced in pain and discomfort again. Nagito was internally beating himself up, believing his luck was the cause of them waking up

Because of you they’re hurting. All you do is hurt them. They sacrificed so much for you and asked for such little in return. And you put them in danger like this? This is how you repay them?

All these negative thoughts flooded Nagito’s mind, almost ready to burst out through his mouth and start self-deprecate himself, as expected. He knew how much you hated it when he talked down about himself, but there was nothing in his brain that told him “Now’s not the time”. He started to squeak out a sound that resembled an “I” but he was cut off my the doctors motioning for him to talk to them. Nagito shook his head from what he was going to say to planting one last kiss on (Y/N)’s hand

“I’ll be right back, (Y/N). Try to breath,” He cooed, going over the doctor. The same surgeon that informed Nagito about the problem frowned and tapped his clipboard, silently telling him that their initial plan for putting (Y/N) back under anesthesia was no good anymore

“We have ran out of the required dose to put (L/N)-san back to sleep. We need to finish the operation, but I am terribly sorry: They will need to be awake for this. Can you keep them distracted?” He asked Nagito, earning a nod from the white haired male. Nagito looked down, racking his brain for a solution to help in anyway. He turned back to the doctor, an “aha” expression plastered on his pale face

“I read this book once were they used a spinal injection in the place of general anesthesia. Since you are removing their appendix, the heavy work is all done in the lower region. Would that work?” He offered, earning a surprised facial reaction from the doctor. Nevertheless, this only lasted for a second, as he was lost in thought for a split second before nodding in agreement. He gestured for the other members of the surgery team and explained Nagito’s idea to them

“You mean a lidocaine? That could work, but the effects only last two hours, probably even less,” One doctor, who Nagito recognized as the lead surgeon that lead (Y/N) into the room to begin with, chimed in with the potential problem. Nagito rested his chin underneath his finger, looking down with how to word the next inquiry

“What else is there left to do?” He asked, making a third doctor flip through the papers that were attached to another clipboard. He snapped his head up to Nagito, a relieved expression painted on his face

“All we have to do is close the appendix incision and stitch them back up,” He answered, nodding towards his colleagues to get the spinal injections ready. Nagito took this as a gesture to return back to his previous actions, which made him kneel once again at your side, cupping your cheeks in his hands. As you were forced to look into his ghostly green eyes, he told you their plan

“Angel, listen closely. The doctors are going to give you an injection in your back. You’re gonna feel numb for a few hours, but you’re not gonna feel anything, okay?” He said in a nurturing manner, making you nod but writhe in pain again. He bit his lip, failing at an attempt to soothe you. He racked his brain, jumping over the self-deprecation that he normally did to compare your hopefulness to how disgusting he was. He knew that didn’t help when you were feeling gloomy. Since you and Nagito were dating for quite some time, he had experience with what can restore that smile he loved so much. Moving one hand towards your hand and hold it, the other still stroking your cheek, he flashed a humorous smile in your direction, as he started to distract you from the doctors turning you to your side

“Hey, (Y/N)? Did you ever tell you the story of how Chiaki tricked Hajime into going to Anime Con with her? She told me that she bet Hajime that he couldn’t chug a whole carton of orange juice under a minute. He, being a stubborn guy, accepted it. After Chiaki got her timer out, he--.....” As Nagito begin to ramble on about the famous story of “Good boyfriend Hajime accompanies his girlfriend to Anime Con” (Y/N) sucked in a breath as they felt s sharp needle being inserted into their vertebrae. With the clear liquid being shot into the veins belonging to the back, (Y/N) felt their lower regions being numb, the already cut insertion that revealed the pink muscle and organs being a thing of the past to worry about. The doctors begin to crowd around (Y/N) again, saved for the space were Nagito kept telling (Y/N) random stories, ranging from funny schemes about their classmates, to hope rants telling (Y/N) that they were so strong and they could get through anything. He expressed the hope that they possessed was so strong and they would be able to push through this as long as they believed in themselves, just he did always did

With a weak smile, (Y/N) placed all their focus on Nagito, their ears being flooded with kind messages and words that came from his heart, expressing that he believed in them. His talk about hope was deemed creepy in the eyes of others, but not in (Y/N)’s. They loved hearing how Nagito had so much faith and an immense amount of respect for them, as well as love

“You’re right, Nagito. I can do this....I know I can. As long as I have you...” A meek mantra of Nagito’s statements fell from his lips, making Nagito’s heart do a small backflip. He cracked an even wider smile, his eyes lighting up from the hope that fueled his love to keep going

“Now there’s the hope that I know and love. That’s the spirit, my hope. Everything is almost done. Come on....” He quietly cheered, not wanting to cause another panic attack to arise from (Y/N). Nagito’s encouraging words and motivational hope raves kept falling out, practically on autopilot, until the doctors pulled the last of the thread they were using to stitch (Y/N)’s stomach up, closing the incision. The lead doctor yanked the surgical tarp from the rest of the covered body, giving the happy couple a proud smile

“The operation was a success! You did well (L/N)-san. And Komaeda-san? Thank you. You did us a huge favor while comforting your lover,” She flashed a smile, handing him a clipboard. Nagito gave her a likewise smile, a serene feeling filling the air around the once intense hospital room. As the white-haired male gently helped his hope into the hospital bed, careful not to move them too harshly due to the raw feeling, fresh out of post-surgery, he signed the papers, handing them back to the surgeon

“It was my pleasure, Miss. Anything for my angel,” He ran a lithe hand through a field of (H/C) locks, earning a blush from his lover. He pressed a quick kiss on the crown of their head, more use to PDA since the beginning of their relationship. He turned back to the doctor, yearning for a closure

“You said the surgery was the success, right? How long are they going to have to stay here?” He asked, snatching a nearby chair, sitting down next to his lover

“A good two and three days. But it is normal, since we need to run a few tests to see if everything else is okay. Would you like to stay with them?” She asked, turning on the lights in the room. Nagito placed his hand over (Y/N)’s eyes, knowing damn well that they hated when a dark room filled with light fast. They tug a sweet smile on their face, earning a similar one from Nagito, followed by a question

“Do you want me to stay with you, hope? I have some presents for you,” He stated, earning a gasp from the (H/C) haired patient. They nodded rapidly, weakly motioning for him to bring himself in for a hug

“Naggie, of course. Stay with me, please,” They pleaded weakly, still feeling the aftereffects of fatigue that flooded through their system. Nagito shushed them one last time before informing the doctor they he will be staying with his lover. With an agreement between them, the doctor went to prepare some final papers for Nagito, leaving him alone with his angel. He turned to them, about to get up. However, he was cut off, feeling a hand wrap around his wrist

“Marshmallow? Where are you going?” (Y/N) asked them, tilting their head. God they looked so adorable, he thought to himself, before answering their question with his typical patient tone

“Oh, I’m just gonna go get your presents, (Y/N). Is that okay?” He raised the inquiry. (Y/N) looked at the bedsheets that were wrapped around them, before turning to him with a delightful, puppy eyed face that they both knew that he couldn’t say no to

“Well...I was hoping....maybe you can stay here with me for a few more minutes. Cuddle for a while?” They asked, hoping that Nagito would say yes. The light-skinned luckster wasn’t the only one that was lucky, knowing that he was weak and couldn’t say no to his angel. He grinned, bringing his lover close to his arms. Careful not to touch their lower regions, he hugged them close, tucking their head under his chin

“Anything for you, my adorable little hope. I’m so proud of you,”

#nagito x reader #nagito komaeda #nagito komeada kin #nagito headcanons #nagito oneshots #danganronpa x reader #danganronpa #danganronpa x y/n #danganronpa oneshot #danganronpa goodbye despair #DV2 #nagito drabble #sdr2 nagito #drv2 #drv2 goodbye despair #Nagito x you

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