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pleasantanathema · 3 years

Text

Dirty Old Man

Pairing: Kenny Ackerman x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ Only)

Warnings: Dubcon themes in the beginning (it’s later all consensual), Knifeplay (to remove clothing), Captivity/Kidnapping, Slapping, Daddy Kink, Some Assplay, Gagging (on fingers), Choking, One mention of blood, A little bit of bondage, Rough Sex, Dirty Talk, Age Gap, Kenny is a dirty old man.

Word Count: 5.5k

A/N: It’s late, but it’s here! Here’s my part to the Smut Pile’s Western Collab! Please heed the warnings. Kenny is disgusting and I’m disgusting but here we are, fucking Kenny.

“I told you to stop running away. I’m gettin’ real fuckin’ tired of chasin you down.” Kenny spit the words out like poison, crouching in front of you to place the tip-end of his knife against your corseted chest as a warning.

You attempted a protest, but the makeshift gag made out of a torn piece of your skirts kept you virtually silent. Your wrists were burning, the rope around them scratching against your skin behind your back. The inn he’d taken you to for the night was damp and dirty, the floor you were tossed into reeking of piss and sour bourbon.

He had come for you again. You’d had some wistful doubt that he wouldn’t, but like always, he’d tracked you down as easily as hunters do footprints in thick snow. He’d followed your trail and bound you with that thick rope of braided hemp he always kept at his side. Evading him was never easy, but you thought you’d gotten away with it this time when you’d found a meager orphanage to cook at. He hated children—you thought he’d never set foot in the place, but reckoning had come for you in the early hours of the morning, with a dark shadow moving in the corner of the kitchens.

“You never fuckin’ learn. Maybe this time I’ll teach you a lesson you won’t forget.”

The sharp point of his blade dug into your clothes, the cutting edge purposefully situated between featherbone channels so it could slice at cotton threads.

You swore against the cloth in your mouth, your curses soaking into the spit-damp fabric. He hooked a finger under the gag digging into your cheek, pulling at the material with a smirk.

“Got something to say, kid?”

Slowly, he pulled the torn cloth from your mouth, your head twisting to shake away strings of drool that had attached to the textile.

“Maybe I like the chase, Kenny,” you hissed out his name, not bothering with the Mr. Ackerman bullshit you’d called him at home.

He had once been a rather removed presence in your life; he was just that outlaw in the corner who did the terrible things the rich families in your town had the money but not the gall to do. But now he’d become the bane of your existence, the dark thread that always pulled you back into the oppressive home life you were running from. He never seemed to care. If anything, he seemed to take a sick joy in finding you quicker each time you snuck out and ran in a new, farther direction.

“So we’re on a first name basis now, huh? Good, cause we’re about to get real intimate.”

“You could make this real fun and actually untie me.”

“I’m not untying you, ain’t fucking happening. I didn’t spend weeks tracking down a stupid maiden for her daddy for you to run off into the woods the moment I turn my back to piss.”

You winced a little at his harsh words, still very aware of the cold steel carefully skating through the middle of your chest. The threads of your corset were popping and curling back toward the bone linings.

“I’m not some fragile maiden.”

“I don’t give a fuck what you ain’t, what you are is a big pain in my ass. I don’t get paid enough for this shit, so I’m takin’ what I’m owed.”

The reality of your situation settled in when you felt cool air sweep across your freshly exposed breasts. Your initial thought was to kick him, but when you felt him dig the blade a little too deep into the clothes at your belly, you hesitated. One wrong move and he could be slicing you open accidentally.

Your wrists pounded with lack of blood flow as you painstakingly tested the knots for slack again. Of course, there wasn’t any. He’d probably tied up hundreds of unfortunate souls in his miserable lifetime.

A thrill raced across your skin as you heard the knife clatter into the floor, Kenny peeling away the layers of split clothes on your body like he was prudently opening the petals of a rare flower.

“Well, well, look at you, kid.”

Grey eyes swirled with mirth and mischief under the brim of his hat, a wicked smile curling across bearded cheeks.

You felt vulnerable and far too hot, the heat of embarrassment licking over your chest, up your neck, burning at your ears. Worse, blazing excitement was pooling between your legs, the dull thump of pleasure beginning to pound in your head.

A calloused hand began to paw at the fat of your breast, testing the weight of it in his palm.

“You’re a fucking pervert.”

“Never said I ain’t.”

He flicked your nipple with his comment, chuckling as you gasped. The slight twinge of pain sent a jolt of lightning down your spine, making your fingers dig into the thick rope at your wrists and your head tilt back against the wall. Kenny repeated the motion, rubbing his warm thumb over your nipple before flicking it again. You sucked in a quick breath, making your lungs expand and breasts inch closer to his hands.

“You like that?” He teased, a finger tracing the sensitive underside of your breast.

“No.”

He laughed, “Liar. Your pretty nipples are harder than my cock.”

Kenny proved his point by cupping both your tits and making you moan, back arching toward him instead of away. Seeing the opportunity, he moved in closer, making the remnants of your skirts bunch around your hips as he pressed himself between your legs. You turned your face away from him when he dipped down to kiss you, making his wet lips and wiry beard press into the curve of your throat.

He sucked at the tender flesh of your neck, teeth and growls gently scraping against skin.

“What’s my pa going to think about you taking advantage of me like this?”

You knew you made a good point—unless Kenny had decided to pack some petticoats and powder into his saddle bags, he couldn’t cover up the carnage he was creating.

“I’m your daddy for tonight, kid. Maybe if you’re good I won’t even take you home this time.”

“Really?” You knew your voice portrayed your enthusiasm, but you couldn’t help it. You’d do anything to be free of your family and go make a life of your own.

Kenny took his time thinking over his response, too busy licking and sucking at the delicate column of your throat. It felt good, too good, even the scratch of his beard had you holding back whimpers. His long fingers were still groping your tits, thumbs rhythmically petting over your peaks.

You felt like you were engulfed in flames, like the hellfire and brimstone that bible-thumpers warned about were taking over your senses. All because of fucking Kenny Ackerman, the dirtiest old man you’d ever come across.

Though you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t imagined something like this before, it was hard not to when most of your time had been spent tied up on a saddle with him. The pervert always had the audacity to have his half-hard erection pressing into your lower back as you shifted on the smelly horse. It was difficult not to imagine how it would feel to have him inside of you when the horse’s trot had his cock sliding too perfectly against your ass. You’d spent a few nights imagining how he would manhandle you, rough and impatient, and far more skilled than the boys you’d fooled around with.

Kenny was a dirty old man, but you had no doubt he could fulfill every naughty fantasy women like you weren’t supposed to dream about.

You shifted forward a bit, draping your thighs over his so you could get closer, press your aching core against that familiar stiffness in his trousers.

“I’ll be a good girl, daddy,” you let the name roll off your tongue as you tilted your face down to his, “I promise.”

You sealed your vow by pressing your mouth to his, a victorious frisson tingling at your nerves when he groaned into your lips. His kiss was rough, one of his hands snaking up to your neck with a vice-like grip to keep you from changing your mind. It made your vision go blurry behind your eyelids, grey spots dancing in the corners of your lashes. He tasted like booze and smoke, remnants of his addictions tainting your tongue. But you kept up with his pace, eager to show him that you would be good, that you wanted this, that you’d let him have you. Even if he did take you back home anyways, at least you’d get a thrilling fuck out of this arrangement.

“You ain’t never been a good girl,” he rumbled against your lips, “daddy’s gonna have to teach you how to behave.”

You gasped when he used his leverage on your neck to push you farther into the creaking boards of the wall. Your wrists were trapped between your back and the floor, going more numb by the second. He caged you in completely, had you sitting in his lap with his cock pressed against your damp drawers and one hand tangling into the mess of your skirts.

“Women and all their fucking clothes,” he snarled down at your half-dressed body. Your eyes went wide as you noticed him reach back for the discarded blade, his other hand still content to press against the sides of your neck.

“W-wait, I don’t have anything else to wear!”

“You ain’t going to be needin’ em anyways, kid.”

Time slowed down like the creeping slush of molasses as you watched Kenny begin to slice through your dress and petticoat, each tug of his wrist sending cotton fibers spilling into the floor. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest and sweat beading on the back of your neck every time the spine of the knife grazed the freshly exposed skin of your thighs. You struggled against the rope and the hand holding you back when he began to cut through the length of your drawers. The blade was too close to your intimate places, grazing against your sweltering flesh and making you whimper.

“I ain’t gonna cut you, darlin. As much as I wanna carve my name into your skin, I couldn’t stand hurtin’ you.”

You swallowed thickly and he must’ve felt it, his thumb petting at your neck like he was trying to soothe a scared animal. He stopped cutting at your clothing, lifting his pointed chin so he could look up into your face. He grinned, soft but still wolfish, wrinkles gathering at the corners of his eyes.

“Gimme a kiss, it’ll make you feel better.”

You complied, perhaps too happily, slanting your mouth against his and moaning at the rough feel of his black hairs against your cheeks.

Kenny ripped the rest of the threads from your body with his strong fingers, finishing the work that the knife had started. A weight was lifted off of you when your heavy skirts and the skeleton of your corset finally slipped into the floor to be forgotten. He took particular care in relieving you of your cotton drawers, the shadow of his hat obscuring his face as he marveled at the juncture of your thighs.

“Look at that pretty pussy, all wet and sloppy just for me.”

You cried out when he brushed a knuckle between your dripping folds, finger slowly uncurling so it could prod at your tight hole.

“You always get this wet when you’re around me?”

“Hard not to when you’re always groping me like some animal.”

His gaze flickered back up to you, the mixture of a frown and a smirk tugging at his lips. He pressed his palm more firmly against your windpipe, making you choke.

“Don’t know why I bothered to ungag your smart mouth.”

“I’ll be goo—” you didn’t have the chance to finish your plea, his long fingers uncurling from your neck only for two of them to abruptly slide past your open lips. Your eyes watered a bit from the thrusting motion of his digits and you could feel your moans vibrate against his skin. He started to push his fingers farther into your mouth, seeing how far he could go before your throat tightened, smirking the whole time. His skin tasted like rawhide and copper, like leather and blood, and you breathlessly traced your tongue along his slim knuckles.

“Your mouth looks better stuffed,” his other hand resumed teasing your lower lips, “Let’s see how many fingers you can take.”

You almost bit the knuckles in your mouth when he shoved his middle and index fingers into your tight cunt. You muffled out a squeal, eyes rolling shut when a wave of pleasure splashed over your body with the timing of his fingers pushing inside of you. He wasted no time in stretching you, spreading his strong fingers as he withdrew and pressed back inside of you over and over again.

Your tongue went still and flat in your mouth, spit pooling around slim fingers that still pressed farther back into your throat with every thrust of his hand between your legs. You could practically hear him grinning like a madman with both of his calloused hands pressing into two of your wet holes. You sucked around his fingers when he touched a sensitive, fleshy patch inside of you, fingers curling against your walls and stroking the spot repeatedly.

Weightless, you felt weightless in Kenny’s lap, like each thrust of his fingers into your mouth and pussy was sending you higher into the clouds. Even your own fingers had gone limp behind you, no longer clinging to their binds.

“Not bad, kid. How about another?”

You screamed around his hand when his ring finger stretched your opening wider, your pussy burning from its invasion. He laughed, a sadistic rumble from his chest that vibrated against your tits. At the feel of your cry, he pushed the fingers against your tongue even farther down to the back of your mouth, making you fight your gag reflex and sputter. Spit was falling from the corners of your mouth and you could feel your slick drooling down your thighs and onto his pumping wrist between your legs.

“Good girl,” he praised, picking up his already merciless pace, “daddy’s got a big cock, need you to be ready for it.”

Kenny groaned when you nodded your head, eyes fluttering open to catch his gaze. Some twisted pleasure brewed in your lower stomach as you noticed his lopsided grin, pearl white teeth bared over his full lips.

“I bet you look so fucking pretty when you cum. Think you can? Can you cum from an old man stuffin’ you full of fingers, darlin?”

You shivered at his words, your thighs shaking as you felt like you were being pulled apart. The three fingers inside of you knew exactly how to make your head go fuzzy and your nerves wild with pleasure, and it only got more intense when his thumb began to circle your already aching clit. You whimpered around his fingers, finding a momentary reprieve when he pulled them from your lips and admired the drool flowing over his knuckles. But he slid them back in after you caught a quick breath, pumping them at the same speed as the fingers buried into your cunt.

It was like you were brimming and boiling over with the taste and feel of Kenny. Your mind could barely keep up with the shots of ecstasy stemming from your belly, your toes curling against the cold floor, your wrists rubbed raw from rope. Your lower muscles were starting to clench, spasm, shake, and he groaned.

“Fuck you’re gettin’ tight. But I’ve got one more place to try.”

Your brows scrunched together when you felt his ring finger slip from your pussy, only to feel his slim pinky finger prod at the tight pucker of your ass.

“Kemmy, mf, umph,” you struggled to speak with his fingers stuffed in your mouth.

You finally bit against his skin when you felt the length of his smallest finger slither into your ass.

The new sensation rocked you, had you gasping and leaning forward and gagging on his fingers and cumming all at the same time. You screamed as you felt your asshole tighten around his digit, the pleasure of it sending you raring into bliss at full force like you’d just been slammed into a wall. It felt so fucking good, every hole stuffed with him, every muscle clenching and unclenching as he had the nerve to laugh at how easily you came from feeling a finger in your ass.

“Heh, seems you like that, don’tcha?” He let you ride out the remnants of your orgasm for a few moments, fingers still and just feeling you contract around him.

Finally, he worked on setting you free of his hold. He took his time with it, each finger sliding out of you painfully slow like he was slowly uncorking a pent-up bottle of champagne. With your mouth free first, you took your time breathing and gathering your wits, looking down into the floor as shame crept over your body. It was all so nasty and dirty, and when he pulled his fingers out from between your legs, you knew all you wanted was more of it.

“Fuck,” you breathed, surprised when he lifted your chin and placed a rather chaste kiss against your messy mouth.

“I take it you’ve never had somethin’ in your ass?”

“N-no, but it…”

“Feels good, yeah?”

You shot him a suspicious look, “How would you know?”

“I’ve been around, kid.”

Kenny groaned as he sat back, moving you off his lap.

“My knees are too fucking old for this. Get on the bed.”

You didn’t know how you could. Your legs felt like pudding and your hands were completely numb behind your back. Kenny walked to the corner of the small bedroom, pulling his suspenders down so he could toss his shirt into the floor. You struggled to move, eyeing the knife in the floor carefully so you didn’t accidentally cut yourself as you fumbled like a little fawn gaining her legs.

You enjoyed the feel of standing for a moment, leaning back against the wall in all your sloppy nakedness as you watched Kenny dip his hands into the wash bin.

This was the last thing you expected when you woke up this morning. You’d been free, ready to get started on a cornbread and bean breakfast, only to be kidnapped before you could even lace up your shoes. Now you were watching Kenny Ackerman get undressed and hang that signature bowler hat on the back of the door.

He looked better without the hat. In fact, he looked so much better naked.

He had sun kissed skin on his arms and neck from working in the sun, lean sinews of muscle carved over his chest, his thighs. He was dusted in wiry black hair, like someone had taken ash from a fire and doused him in it. And his cock was hard and proud between his legs, long and curved up toward his stomach. Your ego spiked at the thought that you’d made him that way; you were the reason his swollen head was leaking and twitching.

“Can I touch you now?”

“What?” He looked puzzled, running a hand through his dark, shoulder length hair. It looked longer than when you last saw him.

You moved toward him on still shaky legs, making a show of pulling at your hands bound behind your back.

“Shit, I forgot you were tied up. But you gotta promise me when I cut you loose you ain’t just gonna sprint out that door.”

“I don’t have any clothes, Kenny.”

He laughed genuinely at that, scratching at the back of his neck. He’d have to remedy that tomorrow, go out and buy you something to wear so he didn’t parade you around town naked as the day you were born.

You stayed still as he reached for that big knife of his on the floor, settling up behind you to start gnawing the blade through the thick rope. Your shoulders felt at ease when you felt the slack begin to set into your binds, the last bit of hemp audibly slicing away. You pulled your hands in front of you, immediately rubbing at the raw spots on your wrists. They’d be bruised tomorrow, scab over by the next day.

Kenny wrapped his arms around you from behind, hands first skimming over your shoulders and upper arms.

“If you didn’t have such a bad habit of runnin’, I wouldn’t have to do that to you, kid.”

“You’d run away if you had my life, too.”

You knew you didn’t need to fill in the blanks for him. He’d been around long enough to know the ins and outs of your story.

“Suppose I would.”

He kissed your neck as he walked you to the bed, turning you around so he could crawl up the naked expanse of your body as you laid back against the hay stuffed mattress.

“Someone as pretty as you don’t deserve someone like me chasin’ after you.” But his confession didn’t stop him from settling between your thighs and bending down to suck one of your nipples into his eager mouth. You moaned, elated to have your hands free so you could tangle your fingers into his long hair.

“I told you,” you gasped when he bit into your skin hard enough to leave marks, “I like the chase.”

He licked a long, hot stripe between the valley of your breasts before bringing his face back to yours. You kept your hands in his hair as he leaned down to kiss you, all brute force and greedy tongue like you’d gotten used to before. You were just as hungry for him, your body feeling fresh and ripe after your orgasm and ready to be filled again. You bit at his lower lip, smirking when you got a reaction from him. Your tongue began to map the insides of his mouth, letting the taste of him overwhelm you.

Kenny was impatient, gripping your hips and spreading you apart again.

“I like you better when you’re submissive.” He murmured into your mouth, skilled fingers spreading your pussy so the fat head of his cock could rub against you.

“I said I would be a good girl, daddy.”

His head dropped to your shoulder with a groan, “I can’t fucking handle you calling me that, kid.”

“Oh yeah? Is me calling you daddy going to make you cream early, old man?”

He slid his cock inside of you rough and fast to shut you up. Your head fell farther back against the pillow as you mewled, his fingers still having not prepared you for the feel of his stretching you open. Your walls were snug against him; you could feel every throbbing vein under his silken skin dragging against your insides as he pulled out and pushed into you slowly.

Each thrust had euphoria blooming from your stomach and spreading across all your extremities. It was like you could suddenly feel everything, the pleasure making the world around you sharpen. Kenny was breathing hotly into your neck, your nipples were painfully hard and sliding against the dark, downy hairs of his chest. Your fingers were coming back to life, your nails scraping against the greyed roots of his hair. Your toes were curling in the air, your thighs and hips burning from bearing the heaviness of Kenny between them. Both your heart and his were beating fast, blood pumping as if in the same drumline together.

“Fuck you feel so fucking good,” he drawled, “s-so fucking soft, so tight.”

Little sounds were leaving your parted lips, eyes struggling to stay open as each plunge of Kenny’s cock was engulfing you with ecstasy. He was starting to get a bit punishing with his movements, moving hard and fast inside of you and making you forget yourself. His nails were biting into the fatty flesh of your hips, where half-moon marks would surely adorn your skin in the morning. You’d have hickies on your neck too, especially now as he sunk his teeth into the tender spot where your throat met your shoulder.

God it felt good to be used, to be wanted. And you knew Kenny wanted you, he’d even said he wanted to carve his name into your skin. Something inside of you told you that he’d want to own you, if you’d let him. You caught a lot of his longing gazes before, whether in the back of the saloon he frequented or the ridiculous dance halls your family drug you to. You’d often wondered if he would fuck you against a wall if you tempted him to, and now you had your long-awaited answer.

“Oh daddy,” you purred, both purposely and not, little oh’s and mhm’s following behind.

The name spurred Kenny into a new gait. He shifted back onto his knees swiftly, the same hand from before resuming its chokehold on your neck. You moaned at the familiar contact, the sound trapped behind his spread fingers. He had more power behind his hips from this angle, sending his cock deeper into your depths and into places his long fingers couldn’t reach from before. Your eyes squeezed shut, tiny gasps all that could be formed behind the wall of his hand.

“Who knew you were such a little slut, darlin. Might keep you around after all.”

Your tits were bouncing in rhythm with his relentless assault, your hands now fisting into the feather pillow next to your face.

“F-fucking shit, I—” you were going stupid, is what you were. Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth and your brain felt foggy in your head.

“You’ve got such a dirty mouth on ya,” Kenny put more pressure behind the fist around your neck, the lack of oxygen making it even harder to think than before, “you really do need a daddy to teach you some, fuck, s-some fucking manners.”

All you could do was nod, completely lost to the feeling of him encompassing you, filling you.

His free hand pulled at one of your limp legs, hoisting it up and over his shoulder. He smothered your skin with wet kisses, nipping at your ankle and chuckling when he felt the bubbled squeal beneath his palm. The hair on his torso tickled the back of your thigh, adding a new layer of sensation that you didn’t think you could handle. It was too much—Kenny was too much, fucking into you like a feral beast that just got his first taste of sweet flesh.

“You’re never gettin’ away from me again,” he hissed out between gritted teeth, “you’re mine now.”

You couldn’t think to respond. Kenny unwrapped his hand from your throat, letting that blood flow return to your head.

“You hear me?”

You opened your mouth to speak, but no sound came out. All you could focus on was the drumming of his cock hitting your insides, the wet, squelching sounds of your pussy sucking him in.

The sound of him slapping his hand across your check registered before the pain did. You gasped as your head swung with the force, the side of your face smarting with a throbbing sting.

“Say you’re mine, kid.” Seriousness laced his tone, those dangerous, long fingers grasping at your jaw and pulling you to look at him. He leaned forward, curling your leg with him, making you groan at the pleasure and pain mixing as he tested your flexibility. He kept moving inside of you, pace never faltering.

“Fucking. Say. It.”

Your heart was racing with adrenaline, a strange concoction of fear and bliss spreading over your consciousness.

“Y-yours,” you croaked out, wetting your lips with your tongue, “I’m yours, Kenny!”

You didn’t mean to scream it, but it seemed to please him, that lecherous grin of his spreading over his lips.

“That’s fucking right. I own this tight, pretty little pussy.”

He released your jaw only to slap you again, quicker and softer this time, and you moaned the moment he made contact.

“You like getting slapped around?”

You turned your face back to him, smirking through the sting, “yes, daddy.”

The devilishness that swirled in his eyes made your stomach flip. He paused the movements of his hips, letting your cunt flutter and clench at his stilled cock. Your breathing picked up as you registered what was about to happen.

Kenny hit you with the back of his hand this time, bony knuckles thumping with the quick flick of his wrist. Without his cock moving inside of you, all you could do was bask in the stinging pain left behind on your cheeks. It felt so wrong, but it made the coil in your belly tighten like never before.

“F-fuck,” you moaned, your balled fists releasing the pillow.

Without a second thought, you grabbed at his hair, jerking him down to meet your mouth.

“You better cum inside me after that, daddy, I think I deserve it.”

“Oh, you deserve it darlin,” he started pumping inside of you again, sending your head flying back and his mouth landing on the pulse of your neck, “gonna fill you to the fucking brim.”

His movements were cruel, fast, cock ramming inside of you so harshly that you felt it all the way in your throat. Your hand slipped from his hair and found purchase on his back, nails scraping against sweaty flesh. You could feel his rough skin splitting, but you didn’t care, all that mattered anymore was the way his cock slid in between your gummy walls, the way he was moaning your name like a fucking prayer against your skin.

Kenny’s thumb found your clit, swirling quick, brutal circles over your swollen bud. You could feel yourself clench around him, the sharp pleasure almost painful. You were going to explode. You were going to topple over in ecstasy and it was all because of the wickedness of the dirty old man inside of you.

“K-Kenny, holy f-fucking god, I-I—”

He must have felt it before you did. Hot ropes of cum were seeping inside of you the moment you hit the high point of orgasm. Your nails slid down the entirety of his back, slim, warm rivulets of blood following in their wake.

It was like the bliss never ended. You were caught in the waves of it, each one cresting and falling over and over again as you milked his cock dry, slick and cum pooling between your thighs and soaking the linens.

Your heart was hammering in your chest. Kenny placed a delicate hand between your breasts, like he was trying to slow it down for you. His small act made the world narrow in around you; the remnants of stinging pain and excruciating pleasure still hummed, but you fell into the quiet of just listening to the two of you breath for a few moments.

Eventually, your toes went numb. You’d fully forgotten the poor leg that had been curled over his shoulder. You shifted to move, and Kenny got the hint, finally pulling his spent cock from inside of you and rolling over on his back.

“Shit,” he hissed through his teeth, hand reaching over his shoulder as he met the mattress, “you’ve got fucking claws.”

You had half a mind to apologize, but you didn’t bother, still basking in the afterglow of sex. Your body was tired, wrists still aching, thighs shaking.

“You alright?” A warm hand found your cheek, even hotter lips pressing to yours in a soft kiss.

“Mhm, more than alright.”

“Didn’t know you had that in you, kid.”

Kenny pulled you into his chest, long arm curling around your back. His fingers traced soft, swirling patterns on your hip, and you nearly shuddered as you remembered those were the same movements he’d used to abuse your clit. You curled one of your legs over his, needing to get closer, those pesky after-sex hormones and needs clawing at your instincts.

It felt oddly like home to be pressed up against him, your face against his chest, one of your hands mimicking his and drawing circling in his damp chest hair. He smelled like home, anyways, like earth and spices.

“You gonna take me home?”

He was quiet for a second, pressing his lips into your hairline.

“Nah, I’ll take you someplace safe. Maybe buy you a fucking train ticket so you can get out of this part of the world.”

“You sure you don’t want to keep me?”

“Now don’t fucking tempt me with that, kid.”

“I wouldn’t mind being yours, you know.”

“You don’t wanna be mine, even if I make you say that shit when I’m fuckin’ you.”

You knew he was right, but you didn’t offer him an affirmation.

Maybe you’d let him fuck you for a few more days before you ventured off on your own, maybe you’d convince him to chase you down a few more times just for the thrill of it. Maybe you’d wrap your fists around his suspenders and convince him to run away with you.

You did like Kenny, after all. Even if he was such a perverted, disgusting old man.

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inkykeiji · 3 years

Text

you be the match, i will be your fuse

fluffy anon said: dabi coming home after an absolutely horrid day at work and just needing to be absolutely BABIED by reader (i’m talking cuddling in bed, taking a bath with him and washing his hair then getting out just rubbing his back as he sleeps with his head on your chest)

genre: angst + fluff, laced with just a hint of smut (like two sentences)

notes: aaaah happy birthday dabi!!! this has absolutely nothing to do with your birthday but eeee ily | title cred: sure thing by miguel

warnings: 18+, implied/mentioned death of a child, one instance of implied past physical abuse, self-destructive behaviour + coping mechanisms, co-dependent toxic relationship

words: 3.5k

It’s thundering the day it happens, ferocious growls that rumble through your apartment—a tiny, quaint space you share with Dabi, full of faulty appliances and cracked linoleum—rolling, fluffy grey clouds blanketing the entire sky, swollen with restrained rain droplets as a storm brews within them. Little fingers idly toy with the yellowed pages of your worn pulp fiction novel, flipping through them and bending corners as your eyes search the angry sky, chewing on your cheek.

Dabi should’ve been home by now. It’s not like him to be late without calling, without letting his babygirl know what’s going on—he knows the way you worry, the way you overthink yourself into a frenzy, the way you’re so clingy and needy, teases you about it incessantly and tells you he thinks it’s cute—and a deep sense of dread takes root in the pit of your stomach, dark and bitter and unfurling, quickly spreading throughout the cavity of your chest.

His phone must be off—no, it’s never off, he doesn’t do that anymore, not since you stumbled into his life—his phone must be dead, your repeated calls growing increasingly frequent and urgent every time you’re greeted with the drone of his automatic voicemail.

Something’s wrong, horribly so.

It’s evident the moment he arrives home, scratched brass doorknob slamming against the wall, deepening the crater its left from past incidents of a similar manner.

It infects the air around him, hanging heavy and thick, its dense presence nearly suffocating. His shoulders slump under the pressure, the weight of whatever he’s carrying practically crushing, as he drags his crimson splattered boots through the front door, soles scraping against the cheap hardwood, bringing the putrid scent of charred flesh with him—his or someone else’s, you don’t know.

You swear you can almost see it, this—this thing, this aura, enveloping him in its haughty embrace as his chest heaves under a deep, controlled breath, pausing in the foyer as the door shuts behind him.

Bare feet pad against the floor, your legs moving without your explicit permission, drawn towards him in an almost instinctual manner, the desire to care for, to comfort, burning as it bubbles up in your chest, mixing with that intense sense of trepidation and invading your veins.

He permits you to wrap your arms around his torso as you nuzzle against him, body going rigid for a moment, still and stiff as marble, before he exhales again, melting into your embrace.

Several questions race through your mind at such a speed that they crash and clash together, becoming nothing more than incoherent jumbled lettering, tiny fingers curling in the fabric of his clothing as you try to pull him closer, nonsensical babbling spilling from your lips. A vacant ghost of a chuckle leaves his lips, nothing more than a simple huff of breath, and he squeezes you closer.

“Bad day?” the words are mumbled against his dirty t-shirt, what was once a pristine white now tarnished with ash and blood. You don’t get a response—you don’t expect one.

He doesn’t talk much, not on days like this.

He doesn’t need to.

Bad days—really bad, terrible, awful days such as this one—are surprisingly rare with Dabi. Sure, he’s had the typical ‘bad’ day before, where someone pisses him off, or he gets into a fight with his superior, but those bad days usually require railing you into your creaky, springy king-sized mattress until you’ve forgotten everything but his name and he’s fucked all of the anger and hatred out of his body.

They are not like this one. No, on days such as this, on days where he’s killed someone he deems to be innocent, someone who—like him—is a victim of heroism, he’s quiet, distant, unpredictable, bordering on unhinged, and you’ve learned to tread with extreme discretion.

But you don’t push, either, resolving to communicate through gentle touches, soft fingertips that run along his tense, broad shoulders and press into the hard coiled muscles, tender fingers that thread through inky tufts of hair, sapphire eyes closing as he hums and leans into the motion like a cat.

It’s only for a second, though, just a moment of weakness before he’s breaking out of your embrace, pushing past you and clearing his throat, glass door to the balcony sliding shut a moment later.

You don’t follow. You know better than that now, a phantom sting in your cheek serving as a reminder, the resounding sharp sound of glass shattering as it’s hurled at the floor slicing through your mind with such viciousness it makes you wince.

Instead, you sit. And you wait. Like you’re supposed to, like a good little girl, a book clutched between your quivering hands, unblinking eyes staring at the words on the page, nothing but incomprehensible symbols—lines and lines of black ink in meaningless shapes—as scorching sapphire loops through your mind.

Be a good girl, give him space, let him come to you. Be a good girl, give him space, let him come to you. Be a good girl. Give him space. Let him come to you.

It’s standard procedure, really.

And eventually, he does, comes back inside with an empty bottle of whiskey clutched in a hand, along with a crumpled package of cigarettes. You don’t know how long it’s been, muscles sore and joints aching from sitting in the same position for so long, eyes dry from staring at the same page, barely moving, barely breathing. His hand is bleeding, knuckles bruised and gleaming with sticky scarlet that’s still fresh and flowing, but it could be worse. It has been worse.

The harsh clink of the bottle against the kitchen counter makes you flinch, and he sighs, heavy and full of derision, eyes flicking up to glare at your side profile.

“I can hear you thinking,”

“You’re filthy, baby,” the words tumble past your lips, uncontrollable, involuntary, almost reflexive in your response, eyes snapping to his face and voice whiny, voice pleading. “Take a bath with me,”

And you can see it—can see it in the dark cobalt of his irises, what he needs, the very thing he’s fighting himself on, the very thing he’s fighting so hard against. Always so stubborn, so reluctant, so cautious.

Because, fuck, he used to be able to resist it, this pathetic ache for comfort—something that’s only managed to grow in your presence, that’s shifted and morphed from a dull smoldering to a raging fire, an insatiable longing for your fingers in his hair and your breath on his skin and your voice against his ear—a skill he’d been constructing, developing, perfecting, since he was thirteen years old. A skill you succeeded in shattering in the matter of a few measly months.

Because you—you’re different. And he hates it sometimes, he swears to the good Lord he does, but hating it doesn’t make it any less true. You break him down, you make him weak, you make him want, and the longer he spends around you, the more he finds that he doesn’t fucking care. And that’s irritating, that’s exciting, that’s terrifying, that’s new.

Fury blisters his chest, his lungs, his throat as he holds your stare, jaw clenching twice. But you don’t falter, not like the rest of them, not like anyone else—everyone else. You never falter, always so eager to see the good in him, a snort leaving his nose at the thought. The good in him. Is there any good left in him? Was there ever any good in him in the first place? Are you the good in him, now? Does he care?

And he’s not sure he’ll ever understand it, but he’s beginning to realize that, maybe, he doesn’t have to.

Maybe, it doesn’t matter. Maybe, it’s okay, if you love him, if he loves you.

Maybe.

It’s too much, and he can feel frustration stinging his eyes, long delicate eyelashes fluttering as he quickly blinks it away. Spears, sharp and cold, splinter your chest at the sight, but you know if you begin crying too, you’ll lose him. You know that if you begin showing what he considers weakness, he’ll pull away, even though this is what he so clearly needs most.

So you steel yourself, swallowing hard against the pain collecting in your throat, will the tears away and force your body to stay calm, approaching him slowly as if he’s some sort of feral animal prone to lashing out.

Apprehension is clear in his azure eyes, head tilting a little as they narrow, regarding you with skepticism, with suspicion.

It’s bold, and dangerous, and—as far as Dabi’s concerned—fucking stupid, but you don’t care, determined to prove to him that you aren’t going anywhere regardless of how many tantrums he throws, no matter how many times he hurts you in his anguish. It’s almost desperate, really, this sheer need to prove to him that you aren’t scared of him, that irrespective of how soft he seems to think you are, you are strong, even if it’s in ways he could never understand, that you can be strong for him, when he needs it, that he can borrow some of your strength, if he needs to.

And that—that’s why he loves you. It hits him hard, as this realization always does, kicks him in the chest and knocks the breath out of him every time, and he’s not sure he’ll ever get used to it.

A tiny hand hangs in the air between the two of you, Dabi regarding the offer with a wary hesitance. Wiggling fingers attempt to entice him, earning a tiny smirk—a massive victory—as sapphire flits up to gaze at you through thick lashes, an eyebrow raised.

You match his expression, quirking an eyebrow of your own and nodding at your hand, speaking a moment later.

“Let me in, baby,” the words are barely above a whisper, but they’re so raw, filled with so much unadulterated love it hurts, pure and real and everything he’s never had before. “Let me help,”

And, God, it’s fucking overwhelming, how badly he wishes to give in to this unfamiliar compassion, how desperately he desires your affection, despite the malicious voice echoing off the walls of his skull, berating him for being so pathetic, so weak, so vulnerable.

But the urge to accept, to seek out consolation in you, wins, just as it always does, that nasty voice reverberating in his mind silenced the very instant his skin touches yours.

You let him make the last move, allow him to make that final decision entirely on his own accord, to grasp your hand in his, warm and rough, and pull you towards him, crushing you against his chest as he buries his face in your hair, eyes squeezed shut against that annoying burn of tears, chest stuttered with a hitched breath, air that gets caught in his throat as he chokes on the words he wants to say.

But he doesn’t need to say them. You already know.

“Come,” you murmur to him, fingers threading through the tufts of hair at the nape of his neck. “Let’s take a bath,”

✰ ✰ ✰

The bathwater stings your skin, just a hint too hot to be comfortable, but you say nothing as you settle onto his lap in the cramped little tub, encompassed by frothy bubbles, dainty scent of orange citrus tickling your nose.

Heated fingertips press into your hips as he finds comfort the only way he knows how to, in your precious little whimpers and broken moans of his name as he bounces you on his cock, so vigorously you’re positive you can feel him in your tummy, the pads of his fingers searing his prints into your skin.

It’s heady, it’s intoxicating, it’s addicting, heightened emotions both pleasant and unpleasant swirling together with the symphony of your cries and his grunts as the water you’re submerged in begins to bubble and boil, to crack and pop, sudsy liquid sloshing over the side of the tiny tub as he forces you to ride him, faster and faster and faster until you’re whining and convulsing around him, and he’s filling you with thick cum, cock throbbing aggressively as he spurts load after load into you.

After, as he leans back against the cold tile, residual droplets sizzling into steam as his heated skin touches them. Gentle fingers card between his hair, water cascading through onyx strands as it pours over his head from a worn plastic cup—a faded Darth Vader staring back at you as you rhythmically repeat your actions until the tresses stick to his forehead and cheeks, drenched and shining in the low light of the washroom.

Heavy lids obscure the most brilliant sapphire from you as shampoo is massaged into his scalp, slow and unhurried and thorough, every stroke, every comb through inky clumps easing the turmoil in his mind bit by bit, calming the storm that’s been raging inside of him for hours now. Deep hums rumble in his chest as your fingers continue their ministrations, your eyes trained on your motions. And you can feel it, the tension dissipating from his body with each circle of foam rubbed into his soft hair, shoulders finally beginning to relax as he subconsciously nuzzles into your touch, following it, longing for it, aching for more.

He shifts then, after you’ve rinsed the soap from his hair, manhandling you into a position between his thighs, bare chest pressed tightly against your back. You work hard to keep your body from tensing, forcing your breathing to stay even, to stay calm as you brace yourself for what’s coming next.

“He was eleven,” he says after several long moments of silence, voice low and trembling, hoarse and heavy with remorse. “This time.”

This time. That’s the third innocent civilian—innocent by his standards, at least—this month.

That’s the first time it’s ever been a child.

You don’t turn around to look at him, not yet—he isn’t finished—simply opting to lace your fingers through his and bring your joined hands to your lips, kissing each wounded knuckle, crude staples catching in the dim warm light of the tiny bathroom.

You want to tell him it wasn’t his fault, even though it was. You want to tell him anything that’ll make him feel better, that’ll absolve the guilt so evidently gnawing away at his insides, even though you know there’s nothing you can say.

“What are—I don’t even—” his voice breaks and you feel his chest stutter against your back, feel him exhale harshly, breath cool on your damp shoulder, feel him swallow thickly as he tries again. Because as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, as much as he would never admit it, you know he needs release this from the confines of his mind—you know you’re the only person who can offer him such an outlet. “Why the fuck were there kids there in the first place? Huh? They shouldn’t—They shouldn’t have been there,”

Orphans are everywhere in this city, you murmur, lips moving against his rough skin. He knows. Orphans of heroes. He knows.

“I’m gonna kill Shigaraki, I swear to Christ. Sending us to a—a fucking place infested with fucking ch-children,” his fingers curl around yours, hand beginning to shake as it clutches you like a lifeline, like that guilt will devour him from the inside out, like he’ll disintegrate into nothingness, if he doesn’t. “I bet you he fucking knew—nah, I-I’m positive he did. Asshole only cares about himself, though. Doesn’t matter that—that the cause we’re supposed to be fighting for affects these stupid kids,”

You’re right, love.

The words leave your lips in a gentle breath, leaning your head back against his collarbone and staring up at him. Cobalt eyes stay trained on the cracked tile wall, jaw methodically clenching as his molars grind together, an attempt to quell the trembling of his chin, exhaling hard harsh breaths through flared nostrils.

“Whatever,” he huffs, voice still wavering and not nearly as self-assured as he wishes. “Th-That brat shouldn’t have been there in the first place,”

He shouldn’t have, you agree, finally squirming in his grasp, turning to face him, to straddle his hips again in the tight space of the tub. And he welcomes your affections readily this time, arms encircling your waist as he holds you tightly to him, blunt nails digging purple-tinged crescents into your flesh as he shoves his face against your neck, finally allowing those emotions he’s been fighting to leak from his eyes and absorb into your skin.

Little palms rub soothing circles into his back as he shudders against you, allowing him to empty his soul onto you as soft lips press chaste kisses to his damp hair, waiting until there’s nothing left, until his eyes are drained, azure glassy and bloodshot, nose twitching and red.

And after he’s done, when he finally pulls back, scrubbing aggressively at his nose as tiny sniffles hitch in his chest, gentle fingers begin to lather soap into his skin, washing away the dirt and grime and blood from the day. Fingertips carefully trace along the metal sutures decorating his body with immeasurable adoration, you whispering all of the things he so desperately needs to hear that he’d never dare to ask for, complimented by the tender touches that cleanse his soul with their unconditional love.

He’s bigger than you are, but that doesn’t stop you from trying to wrap him in a fluffy white towel, using another in an attempt to dry his hair as your hands move in shaggy motions, heart soaring in your chest when you pull a soft laugh from his lips, wet and wobbly and croaky, but a laugh nonetheless.

A mutual silence, gentle and comforting and stuffed full of an immense love, a special kind of love, a love words do not exist to explain, swathes your bodies as he allows you to dress him, pulling a ratty old band tee over his head and a pair of plaid PJ pants up his legs.

“You always look so cute in my clothes,” he rasps from his spot perched on the edge of the bed, glowing crystal eyes watching as you pull one of his t-shirts over your naked body.

A genuine bubble of laughter erupts from your throat as you climb into bed with him, immediately allowing him to latch onto you, to pull you towards him, to hold you close like his own personal plushie.

“Sleep,” you murmur as the two of you settle into a comfortable position, limbs tangled together, his head resting on your chest, fingers threading through his hair and then tracing down his neck, his back. “And then I’ll make you ramen,”

“The spicy kind?”

“Of course,”

I love you.

“Extra spicy?”

Laughing again, you feel his lips curve into a smile against your skin, grip around your torso tightening. “Extra spicy. Now, rest,”

More than anything else.

“With the little fish cakes?”

“Your favourite little fish cakes,”

More than words could ever tell you.

“And the pork belly?”

“And the pork belly,” you feel his chest rise with an inhale, hastily adding, “And those little cream puffs you love so much, from that dingy convenience store downstairs, for dessert. Now sleep, baby,”

He laughs, even though his vision is blurring, even though it comes out more strangled than anything else, because he doesn’t want to cry again, because his chest stings and aches and swells and warms, full of inexplicable emotions, feels like it’s going to fucking burst as it chokes and reinvigorates him all at once, and—God, he loves you, he loves you, he loves you.

Because even though he’s terrified beyond belief, he’s willing to try—just for you, only for you—as he continually realizes with each passing day that he isn’t sure what the fuck he’d do without you, now. Because you’re too entangled up in his life, too deeply embedded in his very soul, for him to ever remove you, now. Because as petrifying and unfamiliar as it is, he doesn’t want to, now.

Because even though he’s broken, irrevocably so, and you can’t fix him, won’t fix him, you’ll still stay, to hold those pieces so gently, so tenderly in your hands, you’ll still protect those fragments and keep them from shattering further, you’ll still give them the affection and devotion they need, the affection and devotion they deserve. Because you love every part of him, even the bad ones, even the shards with jagged edges that cut into the soft flesh of your palms every time you caress them.

Because you accept him wholeheartedly, flaws and all, and that’s—he’s never experienced anything like that before, this unlimited, unreserved, unquestioning love. And although he doesn’t know how to say this, isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to find the right words to communicate it, he’s beginning to learn that unfamiliar doesn’t always mean bad; that sometimes, it’s okay—it’s good—to be vulnerable. He’s beginning to learn that with you, in the warmth of your shitty little apartment, with the stove that only has two functioning burners and the fridge that’s perpetually too cold, he can be, without judgement, without fear, without trepidation.

Because you are his only salvation, and he wouldn’t trade this for the goddamn world.

#dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi #todoroki touya #dabi fluff #dabi angst #aaaah this HURT #anyway big big big thank yous to mister for helping me come up with what we think dabi's favourite food would be #HAPPY BIRTHDAY DABIIIIIII

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stardustprompts · 3 years

Text

the poppy war - r.f kuang sentence starters change tenses/pronouns as needed !! some lines have been edited for clarity / length / ease of roleplaying tw : drugs , death , murder , nsfw , prostitution mention , language

‘take off your clothes.’

‘why would anyone drug themselves before a test?’

‘you’re about to be a very lucky girl, sweet.’

‘wow that’s great. really great. Terrific.’

‘your folks are assholes.’

‘well fuck the heavenly order of things.’

‘don’t you have actual responsibilities?’

‘I don’t want to get on _____ ‘s bad side.’

‘you would make a terrible prostitute. no charm.’

‘what is so wrong with getting married?’

‘do you want to die?’

‘everything is spilling out of my head as quickly as I put it in.’

‘please do not commit spousal homicide.’

‘give me a way out of this shithole.’

‘hello, I’m praying.’

‘I seduced him with my nubile young body. you caught me.’

‘you can’t scare me into a confession, because I’m telling the truth.’

‘and that means you’re shit at your job.’

‘if you cross them—- if they even think you’ve looked at them funny—- they can and will hurt you.’

‘it’s easy to lose a language when you never speak it.’

‘you’re offending them with your very presence.’

‘they’ll make you an outsider, because you’re not like them.’

‘no matter what they say, you deserve to be here.’

‘I’ll kill you. I will fucking kill you.’

‘I went out in the sun once. you should try it sometime.’

‘oh, you’re the one ____ hates.’

‘you’d be a prick too if your family was both rich and attractive.’

‘honestly? I think he just comes in here to get high.’

‘I think you’re flattering yourself.’

‘unless you’ve got a weapon, don’t aim for the face. the neck’s a better target.’

‘we aren’t here to be sophisticated. we’re here to fuck people up.’

‘this is the only kick you’ll ever need, really. a kick to bring down the most powerful warriors.’

‘power dictates acceptability.’

‘he hasn’t done anything to earn my respect. all he’s done is act high and mighty.’

‘you’re nothing. you shouldn’t even be here.’

‘consider me bullied and intimidated, just let me sleep.’

‘he’s playing with her. he’ll end it soon.’

‘they’re good at fighting, but not much else.’

‘spend a lot of time looking at ____’s eyes do you?’

‘a betrayal of that sort would not have been out of character.’

‘come on, you belong here too.’

‘they’re not going to get rid of me like this. not this easily.’

‘I’m calm! I’m extremely calm!’

‘you’d rather kill your own people than let the opponent’s army walk away?’

‘you don’t let an enemy walk away if they’ll certainly be a threat to you later.’

‘he can’t stop raving about you.’

‘oh, don’t pretend to be bashful. you love it.’

‘you’re a walking disaster.’

‘anyone this obstinate deserves some attention, if only to make sure you don’t become a walking hazard to everyone around you.’

‘I heard he got drunk on rice wine last week and pissed into ____’s window. he sounds awesome.’

‘it’s me, your favorite person in the whole wide world.’

‘I do not have a problem. you are making up this problem for reasons unbeknownst to me.’

‘you’re killing the mood.’

‘they were weak as shit. scrawnier than you, even.’

‘you’re a real asshole. you know that right?’

‘your state of mind is just as important as the state of your body.’

‘sometimes you must loose the string to let the arrow fly.’

‘because I want to break his stupid face.’

‘he’s the most dangerous when he’s desperate.’

‘from this point on you’re just going to be a danger to yourself and everyone around you.’

‘you’re too reckless. you hold grudges, you cultivate your rage and let it explode, and you’re careless about what you’re taught.’

‘I knew I was the only one that could help him.’

‘they honed his rage like a weapon, instead of teaching him to control it.’

‘one urinating statue for my easily entertained friend.’

‘I don’t believe in gods. but I believe in power.’

‘one might say you’ve been obsessed with ____.’

‘don’t look to your left. pretend you’re taking to me.’ / ‘I am talking to you.’

‘we’re studying very weird things.’

‘I don’t actually know what I’m getting into.’

‘here is what happened: you called a god, and the god answered.’

‘you know that if you don’t get answers now, the hunger will consume you and your mind will crack.’

‘you’ve glimpsed the other side and you can’t rest until you fill in the blanks.’

‘supernatural is a word for anything that doesn’t fit your present understanding of the world.’

‘I’m supposed to take it as true that you’re a god?’

‘I’m not a god. I am a mortal who has woken up, and there is power in awareness.’

‘are we getting high? oh, wow. we’re getting high.’

‘ah. the law. so inconvenient. so irrelevant.’

‘we are not madmen. but how can we convince anyone of this, when the rest of the world believes it so?’

‘the price of power is pain.’

‘I understand the truth of things. I know what it means to exist.’

‘prey do not question the motives of the predator. the dead do not question the living. mortals do not challenge the gods.’

‘I killed for you. I would have done anything for you.’

‘I have seen the end of things. the shape of the world has changed.’

‘war doesn’t determine who’s right. war determines who remains.’

‘it’s alright. I know what you are.’

‘I thought I was the only one left.’

‘we have developed the power to rewrite the fabric of this world. if we don’t use it, then what’s the point?’

‘I don’t mess with that shit. it screws you up.’

‘I understand the appeal, I really do, but I like having my mind to myself.’

‘he’s a charmer. like a new puppy. you think he’s adorable until he pisses on the furniture.’

‘there’s no routine. no discipline. nothing you’re used to. am I right?’

‘so you’re the last of your kind. that’s sad.’

‘If you hold the fate of the country in your hands, if you have accepted your obligation to your people, then your life ceases to be your own.’

‘____ feared, and so he held you back.’

‘great danger is always associated with great power. the difference between the great and the mediocre is that the great are willing to take that risk.’

‘don’t ever let go on that anger. rage gives you power. caution does not.’

‘don’t give in... you’ve been so brave... but it takes more bravery to resist the power.’

‘the nature of this god is to destroy. the nature of this god is to be greedy, to never be satisfied with what he has consumed.’

‘so. screaming at rocks. is that, like, normal behavior here?’

‘fix this. prove your worth. do your fucking job or get out.’

‘I saved your life. doesn’t that make us at least a little square?!’

‘I was scared of you. and I lashed out.’

‘I thought I was better than you, and I’m not. I’m sorry.’

‘when I killed it, it felt like murder.’

‘look, I’m happy to discuss this, really, but I’m currently leaking life out three different wounds and I think I may pass out. would you give me a moment?’

‘well maybe ____ should get his head out of his ass.’

‘ ____ is more fragile than you think.’

‘look, asshole, I don’t need you to tell me what to do.’

‘they say he can read the future. shatter minds.’

‘you misunderstand the nature of our relationship. I am not your friend.’

‘he’s not human. he—- I don’t know what he is.’

‘but ___ was never allowed to be human.’

‘do you trust me?’ / ‘no. but that’s irrelevant.’

‘you don’t know what true suffering is.’

‘I have seen more than my fair share of suffering.’

‘that boy is beyond redemption. that boy is broken like the rest.’

‘I don’t want to be saved! I want power!’

‘that power will destroy everything you’ve ever loved. you will defeat your enemy, and the victory will turn to ashes in your mouth.’

‘we’ve missed something. something’s been laid out for us, but we can’t see it.’

‘fretting won’t make the dead come back to life.’

‘there was nothing human in those eyes.’

‘It was a nightmare, and I couldn’t wake up.’

‘I don’t need your pity. I need you to kill them for me.’

‘whatever it takes. swear it on your life. swear it for me.’

‘I won’t judge him. I don’t dare, because I don’t have the right. and neither do you.’

‘you asked me why I wouldn’t stop him. now you understand. you can’t stop an avenger. you can’t reason with a madman.’

‘I am afraid of what he might do in his quest for vengeance. and I am afraid that he is right.’

‘I am about to do something terrible. and you will have a choice.’

‘they give nothing to the universe, and the universe owes them nothing in return.’

‘you cannot survive my death.’

‘you’re trying to deceive me. you don’t get to deceive me.’

‘this is not the way. this path leads only to darkness.’

‘when are you going to stop being such a damn coward? what are you running from?’

‘you will turn the world to ash, and only demons will live in the rubble.’

‘you dress up your crusade with moral arguments, when in truth you would let millions die if it means you get your so-called justice.’

‘you have not cared about anything for a very long time. you are broken.’

‘I am terrified. but only because I’m starting to remember who I once was. don’t go down that path.’

‘your country is ash. you can’t bring it back with blood.’

‘I’m so sorry. I tried to warn you.’

‘you know the worst part? we’re so close to home.’

‘did you miss me? did you miss this?’

‘I just gave him some of his favorite medicine.’

‘resistance here means suffering. there is no escape. no future.’

‘you have nothing to fight for anymore’

‘what are you defending? you owe ____ nothing.’

‘we were disposable. we were tools. tell me that doesn’t make you furious.’

‘I am sick with fury.’

‘I will die on my feet. I will not die a coward. and neither will you.’

‘we could stay here. we could stay here forever. we wouldn’t have to go back.’

‘you’ll have to live with the consequences. but you’re brave ... you’re the bravest person I’ve ever met.’

‘I have lost everything I care about. I don’t want peace, I want revenge.’

‘I don’t need to sleep. I need to feel nothing.’

‘do you want forgiveness? I can’t give you that.’

‘we avenged him. he’s gone, but avenged.’

‘you have to believe that it was necessary. that it stopped something worse. and even if it wasn’t, it’s the lie we’ll tell ourselves, starting today and every day afterward.’

‘aren’t you supposed to be a seer? do you ever see anything useful?’

‘we have an enemy whom we love.’

‘I’m going to find and kill everyone responsible. you cannot stop me.’

‘oh I’m not going to stop you.’

#rp prompts #literature prompts #literature sentence starters #sentence starters #rp meme #rp sentence starters #the poppy war sentence starters #the poppy war prompt #the poppy war meme

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sour-n-salty-citrus · 3 years

Note

Do you like the backstory for rick? Idk I kinda preferred it when Rick's past was a complete mystery and i dont really care about diane at all. I didn't expect the writers to actually write a canon for him either but I guess they realised how much the audience wanted one for him

Ajdjdjeidjs ack, I'll be honest I'm not... keen on it.

(Bolly-quinn actually puts it into words well how I feel about Rick's backstory here)

I liked the mystery element of his backstory! I know it's always exciting to have things in canon, but like... it being open to interpretation was something I always appreciated.

And... ugh, hoo boy. I'm torn. I mean, I love that Rick is completely different from what dudebros and like- "high iq" redditors present him as. He's a man who loved his wife and daughter, loved them so much he would rather give up travelling the multiverse, becoming a genius scientist, just to stay with them. He was vulnerable, soft, and caring. He wasn't nihilistic and reckless and selfish and some "alpha male who wouldn't let anything tie him down". He was ridiculously romantic, optimistic, sweet and loving, and maybe even kind.

And I don't give a shit.

I don't! I don't care. This might sound incredibly cruel and unfair, but I don't care that Rick lost his family.

Ok- let me explain.

I'm... disappointed. I'm disappointed that losing Beth and Diane is all it was that made Rick into the complete and utter monster he is today (or the start of the series anyway). I don't mean to undermine his loss and grief- at all! It's just... for him to go on a (seemingly decades long) killing spree, slaughtering any version of himself he seemed to come across... christ. Maybe in his eyes, they were all as bad as that One. Which is understandable. I'm very lucky to have not experienced that kind of loss. I haven't had to Grieve the way Rick did. Maybe I just don't get it, because I've never felt it. That's fair.

It just felt... god, I don't want to say excessive. I know, people process grief in different ways, and for some it manifests in unhealthy ways, some lash out at the world, fixate on trying to find an explanation, to find justice, etc. And I like how Rick was an absolute inconsolable wreck at first. Something like that, it needs time to process and overcome before you can start moving again.

I just- I don't know. Something rubbed me the wrong way about it all.

It's like- it's not that I wanted Rick to have spent all that time partying or something. It's just- argh, i don't know! Maybe someone else can put it into better words lol.

I hate that he immediately jumped into not giving a single shit about other people (save birdperson and squanchy!). Like- when he blew up those aliens who gave him whatever it was he needed. Ah- ok, they probably weren't exactly innocent or anything, but still. I think it was just I felt if we ever saw Rick's backstory, I'd want it to be a slow decline into who he is, show him gradually losing so much of his morality and becoming so jaded. Idk i guess i just wanted it to be like, a series of significant (and lesser but still important) events that lead to him going down that path rather than- this ONE thing that just apparently completely ruined him? And yeah ik ik it was a BIG thing, but like- i guess i was expecting.... more? Maybe something like idk Rick trying to save all the other Beths and Dianes and failing, idk, just... something more.

I actually would have preferred it if Diane lived. I dont know, I just- man I really hate the dead wife/daughter turns ordinary man into callous asshole trope. I agree, it's hard to really care all that much for Diane, and for a while I couldn't understand why. I thought, idk, is it internalised misogyny? Do I just not like Diane because I want to ship Rick with someone else?

I think I get it now. Diane, for all her significance in Rick's backstory, just... isn't a character. She's just- the motivation Rick needed to kick off the story. You could replace her with literally anybody else Rick could have loved and it wouldn't feel any different. She just doesn't feel special. She's no more unique than any other Dead Wife. We get nothing, literally nothing of her. I kept thinking, why? Why does this just not hit that hard? Rick's had emotional moments with Beth, with Birdperson, even with Summer and Jerry. And then I got it- it doesn't feel earned. It felt like how you feel when you see side characters or extras in the background of an action movie die. Maybe some faint sadness, but mainly nothing. We as an audience get nothing from Diane, we don't know her, don't get to see how she matters to Rick, don't get to see her relationship with Rick, we don't get any chance to connect with her character. So when she dies and Rick gets his montage of seeking revenge, it doesn't feel earned. It feels more like I'm being told about how this guy suffered than really seeing it (which i believe, may have been the writers intention actually...). It's kind of like a feeling of "damn that sucks bro... and?". There's no real heavy emotional response that I could really get from it...

I actually would have preferred if Rick and Diane broke up, divorced. I feel like that would offer so much more for them BOTH as chatacters. Instead of their relationship being happy and sunshine and rainbows until a Big Bad came in and took that away, I'd prefer it if Rick's downfall was just... his fault. (Actually His fault.) If his marriage fell apart because he couldn't make it work. If he estranged his daughter because he couldn't properly handle fatherhood, despite loving her. If he was flawed, terribly flawed, because of his own misjudgement and shortcomings. I guess my biggest problem, is that this is presented as someone having the perfect life, which is then taken away as a result of someone Else. It's too easy to then say, oh, it's not his fault he's like that! He had his heart broken, his life ruined! He lost himself in a revenge spree, poor thing... I'd have rathered if it was just a little bit more... realistic? If Rick had been the root cause of his own problems. If he'd experienced tragedy, but also been the cause of much more. I just wish there'd been more of a balance? It just felt so rushed. And not because of the montage- it just like Rick became completely apathetic way too fast. I just hate hate HATE the "he was a good guy with the perfect little life until tragedy struck and he was never the same". Rick never made the effort to improve his life, to do better, to be better. He's actively a cruel, callous, unkind person (complex, yes, but these are traits no one can deny he harbours). He's done far worse than was done to him, and that will never be justifiable to me... it just all feels so very cliche and out of place, and out of everything, this was the one thing I had hoped they wouldn't do.

I think the writers are aware of this, strangely enough. I mean, Rick even calls it his "crybaby backstory". I think they didn't want to leave it open any longer, and just got it out of the way. I don't think they really want to elaborate on it anymore. From what I predict, they want to focus on the here and now of Rick (and Morty, haha), and the development of who Rick is NOW, instead of who he WAS. I think they kind of just went, here's your gut-punch, your tragic backstory, now leave it alone. Diane is dead, Rick had a hard past, the series is about moving on and change. Now can we PLEASE get back to the sci-fi shenanigans?

(There was something I LOVED about the backstory though, and that was the soundtrack! Like the music for the Battle of Bloodridge, it fucking SLAPPPEDDDD. I can't imagine making synthwave emotional, but it actually kind of worked! The swell of the music actually did a lot more for getting a reaction out of me than the content lmaooo. It kind of reminded me of Kurzegast's "optimistic nihilism" for some reason... I actually liked the Bloodridge track so much, it got me a little into synthwave, which i never listened to before! The music producers this season have just KILLED IT!)

#citrus speaks #long #ajdjsjdhaj im sorry i just have so many Thoughts on this #as critical as it sounds i promise i dont hate it that much #rant #is this a rant? it sounds like one akdnaja #RaM #Rick and Morty spoilers #rick and morty #RaM S5 finale

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ringmyheart · 3 years

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Can I request Vin Jin boyfriend headcanons and some fluff? (You don't have to force yourself)

(This and the other vin jin rq were merged!)

Honestly the way I see it, it doesn’t matter if you’re a very calm person or outgoing person. No matter what this relationship is gonna end up being considerably chaotic

He ropes you into everything he does. Doesn’t matter if u r a design student or an architecture student or if ur on the opposite side of the school from him, u r practically in his class. Dating him is like signing a contract sealing away ur own life bc he makes it a point to be ALWAYS w u

In class he doesn’t gaf if the teacher has ur seat on the other end of class, he is somehow finding a way to sit next to u against ur will or not. And when the teacher moves u two away from eachother INTENTIONALLY bc of this, he is threatening whoever happened to sit next to u to trade seats w him. He will go as far as to dress up as them to make it look like they’re them to be next to u and he’s so dramatic ab it.... being away from u felt like u were star crossed lovers whom the world was fiercely against

And if UR against this cuz ur tired of getting in trouble in class, or if you reject any of his advances, he’s gonna be really, really, really offended. He will at first sputter and be kinda shy and embarrassed about it, before he goes ��fine! Have fun on your own without me, the greatest thing in your fucking life!”

He move seats back and will glare at you periodically every five minutes to pavlov dog you so that every five minutes every day, even when he’s not there, you feel the burning stare of vin jin

If you’re his s/o, he’ll buy you a matching pair of sunglasses so ur the freshest looking couple around Seoul (they’re hideous and thick but he thinks u look fly)

The glasses don’t have nearly as many layers as his does for himself so u can see, and u wonder how he managed to make them just as bulky and if he did it on purpose to sabotage u. Like “did u make my glasses purposefully ugly so no one else will want me?”

U have to dodge a punch after saying anything like that ab his fashion decisions LMAOAO

He’s rlly proud of u two matching. With the glasses and anything in general. He’ll make you wear a jacket matching his, or the same shoes and he will stop people in the hall and be like “wait. Notice anything cool ab us today?? Cooler than normal??”

And when they don’t respond he boasts “that’s right!! Me and my other half r matching. Look at us and weep, losers.” He thinks u two look so good....... if ur enthusiastic ab wearing matching things too he is elated u have to pray that tomorrow he won’t show up w another “if lost return to Vin Jin” “I’m Vin Jin” pair of jackets or anything of the like bc it happens SO OFTEN

And on the topic of sharing when it’s cold he likes to share jackets and blankets w u. Ur desks r moved by eachother by vin jin himself and u two share one blanket over u and shiver bc he just likes it, sharing w u plus he’s slightly warmer. And yes if you guys had indivizual blankets you would be warmer, but u guys have to struggle together he doesn’t care what anyone says (yes even ur protests ur sharing that one blanket wether he has to wrap it around u himself and tear up the one u brought on ur own or what”

He is so blind in love that he cannot tell when u guys suck at stuff. Like if ur in the wrong he doesnt care ur RIGHT and he’s taking that to the grave. He can belittle u and call u out but if someone else says ur in the wrong it’s on sight

Will die protecting ur name even when ur the one who was genuinely wrong

He forces u to make a beat for him to rap to. He loves rapping and wants to enjoy it w u, so ur forcefed YouTube videos of how to beatbox so u can be his bgm and eventually u probably just start to enjoy it to

And u always start a beat and he starts busting out rhymes and it’s SO BAD. It doesn’t matter if ur good at beatboxing if vin Jin is on the track w u it’s gonna sound terrible he brings the quality down immensely but u two just cannot tell

Like after a two session ur like “omg... that was so good. We should go pro?” “Fuck yea we should we’re better than those posers” “we could rlly make it in the industry fr” no u absolutely could not

During the school festival, u sang with him and it was SO bad. Half the crowd is gonna have 2 be hospitalized but u two had FUN up on the stage

Like I said, he has absolute faith in u. All u do is right. If ur driving a car for the first time, he is going to be ur little hype man doesn’t matter if u suck. U hit a curb and he went “YES babe!! Ur killing it cant wait till u hit the road bby” Ur not allowed to touch a car for the next two years now bc he kept cheering u on when u we’re doing CLEARLY wrong things

On a plane u r looking for the bathroom like pensively and u see a handle and look back and r like “is this it???” And vin jin thinking u r all righteous will go “yea babe go for it” and u open it and u depressurizate the cabin immediately

Now both on like 5 no fly lists

He loves to do things with u, like I mentioned earlier, and things he wouldn’t do alone he’ll do w u. Like drawing alone?? Boring. Drawing w Y/N??!!! Who knows what could happen..... so much fun could ensue. Maybe he will draw u cutely. Maybe he will draw u so ugly u will be forced to engage in a fight.

He likes to play just dance w u and compete for the “greats/all star!” Little titles above, and it becomes like a Friday night ritual for u two to turn just dance on and just go at it. But sometimes he’ll get too intense and suddenly he’s actually fighting for the chance to beat u. Will trip u so u lose on purpose

He makes u listen to him sing and rap to u. And u try to leave and he hugs tightly and is like LISTEN IFS FOR U, DONT BE UNGRATEFUL and now u have to listen

He makes u a mixtape of songs he made himself and they are all considerably worse than “remember the times we had”. It’s uploaded on SoundCloud and all the comments r hate and u listen to it a lot bc u know he loves u sm he made u a mixtape ya ur gonna play that but everyone else hates it w a passion

Like the comments r like:

Daniel: well.... it’s definitely a song 😅 I’m glad you love (y/n) so much!

Duke: he’s not making it out the hood 😐

Zach: never let this man in a studio AGAIN

Mary: this should’ve stayed in the CD

(Y/N): love it! 😍

Zoe: kill your producer 💀

Mira: ...

He’s overprotective too

If someone looks at u for more than a second he’ll go “what?? U think she is hot, huh? I’ll kick ur ass fucking perv.... cmon babe let’s go”

Will throw his arm around u and streer u the opposite way of any potentially good looking ppl to keep ur eyes on him

Oh Daniel is coming?? What a coincidence u and vin Jin suddenly have to turn the corner to the other way of ur classroom for some reason

Eli is near?!!! Oh no u just got milk spilt in ur eye!! Oh no now he has to wipe ur eyes and u two have to leave the cafeteria whatever will he do

It’s not that he doesn’t have faith in u, he doesn’t have faith in other men. Like he thinks they r all competition, and doesn’t doubt ur loyalty rather doubts how good he can b for u

WILL beat someone up for u. If someone smokes while ur around suddenly his fists r swinging at them cuz even if u smoke or vape urself no one else can get that stuff in ur lungs but YOU or HIM!!

If ur crossing the street and a car almost hits u, it’s the cars fault and he’s kicking the license plate and cursing it out for almost touching u “stupid fucking piece of metal”

Is the type of boyfriend to call u when he knows ur in an Uber and be like “babe u got ur gun w u right?? Oh don’t forget ur BOMB and ur MACHETE!! Yeah just left the house I killed some ppl nbd haha anyways HRU what’s ur Uber driver like” so the driver of ur car won’t even think ab kidnapping u. He has got ur back even when u do not want it

He doesn’t want u to see his eyes, so he’ll tell you to look away so he can take his glasses off and look at u in full color in all ur glory but he never tells u WHY he’s telling u to look away u think it’s a weird thing of his, or he’s insecure ab his face which is partially true but really he’s taking his glasses off and just looking at u. Adoringly.....

He hates PDA. He loves PDA. Do u see his dilemma

Like he loves PDA but doesn’t want anyone seeing him vulnerable even u.... so he’ll hold ur hand and be like “EWWW WHAT R U DOING GET YR HAND OFF MINE”

If u take the lead THATS best bc he can blame it on u and it’s ur fault he HAS to lock fingers w u cuz u did it to him first and he has an excuse to touch u and v like u started this im just sending u ur own energy back 😤

The type to be just like blind, overwhelmed in love. Always thinks ab u, always wants to be w u, worries ab u a lot and frets over u without showing it.... he hates it and loves it to death. Despises it but wouldn’t give it up for anything in the world

Eats lunch w u in the cafeteria and if u sit w someone else u r the ultimate traitor and he will trash talk u to hide his hurt to Mary the entire lunchtime. Kinda possessive.... wants u to also only think about him

WOULDNT EVER fight u for real. Play fights occur VERY often, like pillow fights, tripping ur foot when u say a joke insulting him, grabbing ur collar but he would sooner die than lay a finger on u

Verbal fights happen a lot and if he ever like LOSES it he may lash out and almost hit u and follow thru. I don’t think he’d be able to catch himself that quickly, and if he ever did he’d regret it for the rest of his life. Literally until the day dies he will take it to his grave

He may not sputter out apologieswill just look at u incredulously and then at his hands because what had he done? What did he just do? To you???????? (Y/n))))?????? His (y/n)??? Light of his life?

Will apologize probably over text or through a note or call, and if u don’t respond he is consumed by regret and tries to find u instantly like runs back to ur place

If u forgive him he feels bad still, because does he deserve it? And he might just isolate himself for a bit bc he can’t face u and if it left a scar he is dead inside. It kills him, literally

I could go on w this but I’ll probably save it for another separate pair of hcs later 😭

If u guys ever break up he will fight for u again and won’t stop till ur back together like flowers in ur locker every day, chocolate give during lunch, etc. He wont ever give up hope that he can win u over again and be w u again. He would keep trying, when he wakes up his first thought is ur name in a cold panic bc he can’t rest easy till ur his again and he will try and show off and poorly serenade u and trash his price and be corny and cheesy to get u back

Will set up a performance w the school to let him rap w a mic during lunch for u and he’s saying bars like “(read in bad rapping voice w inconsistent beat) (y/n), love of my life, uh, without you I’d die, uh. Please won’t you take me back? Yuh, without you ima have a heart attack. (Wha!). (Y/n), love of my life, yeah, without you I’m in strife, yup! Please be mine again, (babe), I can never rest till then.”

If the embarrassment doesn’t make u take him back so he’ll pls stop, and when he stands up on the lunch tables to do a little performance doesn’t do it either, then the odd sincerity of his voice and pain in his look (even tho while rapping he sticks out his lower lip in a weird pout) definitely, hopefully will

U make everything worth it !! Truly the light of his life

I hope these were what u wanted, I just had fun w them and wrote stuff that came off the top of my head when I thought of VJ!! ❤️

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rocorambles · 4 years

Text

Temper Tantrum

Pairing: Kageyama x reader x Hinata

Genre/Warnings: Yandere, Toxic Relationships, SFW, Humiliation, Implied Violence/Abuse, Controlling Behavior, Choking

Summary: Your good behavior comes to an end, but your lovers are quick to reprimand you and put you back in your place.

Requested by Anon

You tried to be good, well behaved, and obedient, especially after Hinata had decided to take your punishment into his own hands after your last outburst. That had been the moment you realized that despite Hinata’s seemingly sunnier personality, there was a monster lurking underneath his radiant facade and that despite Kageyama’s colder and more apathetic personality, he was the only protection you had against the feral beast yearning to tear you apart. You had done so well for months afterwards, not putting up a single ounce of resistance to anything Kageyama asked you to do, no matter how tedious, how irritating some of his rules and requests were. You had even initiated exchanges of affection, going out of your way to kiss him good morning and hold his hands tenderly, anything to secure your protection as memories of blood and pain wrack your mind.

But as cuts and bruises healed and the freshness of those horrible memories faded over time, restlessness began to settle in your bones again and you could feel the ever growing irritation fester inside of you once more with every impassive word that left Kageyama’s mouth telling you how many reps you needed to do, telling you when it was time to wake up and sleep, telling you what you were allowed to do in your free time.

Even you don’t exactly know what the breaking point of this specific moment was. Maybe it was the fact that it was the same meal you’ve had every single night for the past month. Maybe it was the fact that it included an ingredient you hated and that Kageyama knew you hated. Maybe it was the fact that Kageyama had insisted on cutting everything on your plate into bite sized pieces, as if you were a child. Whatever the reason was, even you don’t expect your hand to come flying down and knock the full plate of food off the table and you flinch as the sound of shattering ceramic cuts through the room leaving behind only broken white shards and a mess of food strewn all over the once clean dining room floor.

Your heart is pounding and you can already feel your mouth scrambling to find words to apologize, to lessen your punishment. You’re just thankful that at least Hinata isn’t here to witness this, but when you look at Kageyama, any regret or fear you felt is tinged with sick satisfaction as you see the scowl on his face. Making him upset almost makes whatever stupid childish punishment he’ll throw your way worth it. His glare deepens at the upturned twitch of your lips you try to hide, but he sees the smugness in your eyes.

“Apologize right now.”

His words fuel the roiling fire inside of you and you know you’re just making things worse for yourself, but you lash out.

“I’m not going to apologize. I have nothing to apologize for. I’m not a child. I’m tired of you thinking I need to do everything you say in exactly the way you want it. Actually, I’m tired of you in general. I’m tired of Hinata. I’m tired of this relationship. I’m done with all of this.”

You don’t even realize how your voice has crescendoed over the course of your rant until you’re practically screaming the last sentence at Kageyama and there’s a deafening silence when you finish. You brace yourself for the cold, angry words you’ve come to expect from your lover, but when the silence stretches, you tentatively meet his gaze and your heart lurches at the hurt and vulnerability you see. For a second, you’re reminded of the nervous, stuttering mess of a man that had shyly asked you out all those years ago and you instinctively take a step towards him, but the light reflects on a glimmering shard of ceramic on the floor and your eyes narrow as you turn around to walk out the door and leave all of this behind forever.

Or, that’s what you had planned on doing, but you’re halted by the feeling of running into a hard object as you spin around. Reeling from the unexpected impact, you hardly have time to register the hand wrapping around your neck until you’re struggling to breathe, but your face pales despite its growing redness from your lack of oxygen when you see the orange haired man in front of you. He smiles at you, but there’s nothing warm or comforting about it. It’s razor sharp and full of malicious intent and you claw at his arm as his grip around your throat tightens.

“You’re tired of us? You’re done with this? What the fuck makes you think you have a choice? You know what I think? I think you’re just being a spoiled brat. Kageyama has done nothing but take care of you and love you and this is how you repay him? We both love you so much and I know you love us too, so you better apologize and tell us that you love us right now.”

Black spots are dancing at the corner of your vision and you almost collapse in relief when Hinata relinquishes his hold on you and shoves you to the ground. Sitting on your knees with only your arms propping you up as you gasp for breath, you turn your watery eyes to Kageyama and apologize for wasting the food he made, for yelling such terrible things at him, for hurting him. But it’s not enough for Hinata and you feel him roughly nudge you with the heel of his foot. You know what he’s waiting for you to say, but despite the fear and knowledge of the hell in store for you if you don’t say the three words they want to hear, the words get stuck in your throat and it’s only when Hinata gives you a sharp kick that you whimper them out.

“I love you.”

Disgust coils inside of you at the way Kageyama’s eyes instantly light up at those words and you have to fight from flinching away from Hinata when strong arms haul you up and pull you into an embrace. “Good girl, but we still need to punish you. We can’t let you become too spoiled.” You scramble to clutch Hinata and look at him under fluttering lashes, giving him the sweetest puppy eyes you can as you plead with him to forgive you, promise him to be on your best behavior, tell him how much you love him, but it’s no use and he gently pushes you back to the ground and makes you crawl to the mess you made.

“Clean it.”

Your brows furrow, surprised to be getting off so easy, but you’re not complaining and you hastily reach a hand out to grab a piece of food on the part of the floor closest to you.

“No, with your mouth.”

Humiliation pools in your stomach and you can feel tears of shame well in your eyes, but you obediently lower your head only to be stopped by a hand gently placed on your cheek. “Hinata boke!” For a second you let hope furl inside of you thinking Kageyama is going to save you, but it’s quickly squashed down as he continues his sentence. “At least let me clean up the broken plate so she doesn’t hurt herself.” Silent tears stream down your face as Hinata coos down at you and tells you how lucky you are that Kageyama’s such a good boyfriend while your other lover carefully sweeps and picks up every shard. And when he’s done, two pairs of eyes look down at you expectantly.

Time seems to slow down excruciatingly as your teeth capture the larger pieces of food and you force yourself to swallow everything despite the way shame blocks your throat. But finally there’s only the remnants of some sauces left and you sit back on your heels, glad it’s finally over. You squeal in shock when your head is shoved back down to the floor. “That’s not clean enough. Lick the rest of it up.” Salty tears mix with the sauce as your tongue flattens and swirls across the hard surface, lapping everything up until it’s spotless. You don’t put up a fight when Hinata pries your jaw open and pulls your tongue out afterwards, making sure there’s not a speck of food left in your mouth before patting you on the head like you’re a well behaved pet.

And maybe you really are just a pet. You certainly feel like a dog with its tail between its legs as you let Kageyama pick you up and cradle you while he carries you to the bathroom. You sit at his heels and when the bath has been drawn, you let him undress you and place you in the water, not even uttering a single peep as he lathers you with soap and washes you. You know you should feel ashamed by how you instinctively lean into his touches and how you find yourself seeking comfort from him, but you feel so cold, so miniscule, so worthless from their punishment that you’re desperate for any affection you can get. And as he tucks you into bed and slides under the sheets with you, you find yourself huddling against Kageyama’s taller frame and purring in content as Hinata wraps his arm around your waist.

#haikyuu yandere #yandere haikyuu #hinata x reader #kageyama x reader #hinata #kageyama #haikyuu

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lovelikedestiny · 3 years

Text

1. Nile: I will break down the gates of heaven

I'll hold you close,

and share my heat.

In her life, Nile has already heard many terrible things: the news of her father's death, the heartbreaking sobs of her mother, the crying of her brother, fuck, the breaking of her own bones.

Joe's piercing scream as Nicky dies digs into her ear like a hot needle and she knows that she can never forget that sound. He wails as if his beating heart had been torn from his chest while he was alive, an animal sound, broken and shattering, from the depths of his soul.

Final. That word hurts like a merciless lash, and the meaning behind it is even worse. This death is final.

After the two shots nearly killed Nicky, they had been so eager to protect him and prevent what seemed to be becoming more and more inevitable. It is unbearable that Nile has disappointed her new team, which has already grown dear to her like a second family, now so much.

For a few seconds, which feel like a yawning eternity, in which Nile can hear her own pounding heartbeat, she stands frozen in the brightness of the headlights. She tells herself that the blinding light makes her eyes water. The others are almost swallowed up by the shadows, which feels like they're getting thicker and thicker, and Nile involuntarily takes a step towards the people who gave her a home after her life went downhill. Because suddenly Nile is gripped by the fear of being abandoned. Even though she can see the others, she feels...alone. Incredibly alone and Nile resists the urge to curl up and cry and sob so hard that she can no longer breathe.

I do not want to be alone. I want to see my mom and my brother.

But she is or was a goddamn Marine! She cannot allow the events of tonight to crush her like a boulder. For the sake of her team, Nile has to take charge of the situation and keep going. While Joe screams and pleads in the background, Nicky in his arms, and while Booker and Andy frantically try to secure Quynh, Nile goes to the wreck of their car with wobbly knees.

Bending down reminds her of collecting stones with Nicky and she sniffs breathlessly, her fingers curled around the phone. "Oh fuck, oh fucking shit...”

"Nile? Is that you?” Copley. Copley is still on the phone and heard everything but has no idea what exactly happened. "What's happening? Was that really Quynh? And...is that...is that Joe?”

She doesn't want to answer him, chokes on the lump in her throat and clears her throat several times. Lord in heaven give me strength to get through this.

Quynh comes screeching back from the dead, a fury in human form, and Nile tenses as Quynh starts to fight back, but Booker quickly shoots her in the head.

Tears run down Andy's face, which looks so ancient that Nile almost expects to find dust and cracks in the ancient, porcelain-like skin. Barking, she instructs Booker to get something to tie Quynh up and he stumbles past Joe and Nicky's corpse - oh god - past Nile, grabs a bag and hurries back.

"He's not breathing!" Joe screams, rocking the lifeless Nicky back and forth and Nile has to support herself on the wrecked car, gasping helplessly into the phone. At the other end Copley slowly starts to figure out what happened through Joe's desperate shouts.

"Good lord...” He breathes. "Is Nicky dead? What the hell happened?"

"Q-Quynh,” Nile chokes out, the name burns on her tongue like embers and her body has not forgotten the wounds Quynh inflicted on her earlier. The blood that Quynh let flow in her furious rage - all of their blood - is gradually drying on Nile's skin and she wants to scrape it off, remove the traces of today and stop thinking about it. “Quynh r-rammed us and she killed Kozak and attacked us and then k-killed Nicky. And fuck, Copley, he's...he's dead...” Saying it out loud is even worse because it makes what happened true and the truth has a fucking habit of going right between the ribs like a deadly dagger.

"HE IS NOT BREATHING!" Joe howls and with his hectic, wild look, the tears that run into his beard, the blood-stuck curls and the broken, headless screams, he offers a picture of absolute panic.

No, Nile corrects herself mentally. This is what it looks like when you're devastated.

“Andromache! Sebastien! Help me! Nicky...Nicky isn't breathing! Please! Please...“ Joe stammers, floundering several times as if his tongue were suddenly no longer able to form words properly.

With an ash gray face, Booker looks up from Quynh, whom he is tying up, infinite sorrow in the downward curved corners of his mouth, before he asks Andy with a nod of his head to go to Joe.

This is probably the right decision, because Andy looks more helpless than Nile has ever seen. Andy needs something to focus on instead of thinking about the devastating reunion with Quynh. They're all bloodstained, but Andy is mortal, and Nile makes a mental note of tending to her wounds when they're in safety. Now that Nicky is no longer here, the rational part of Nile's brain whispers, and she mentally beats it several times because she can't stand it.

Andy is visibly reluctant to leave Booker alone with Quynh, who kicks around again, but Joe's whimpering "Andromache" is decisive and Andy crouches down next to him and Nicky. For a split second, her hand hovers over Nicky's body, drowning sadness in her gaze, before she places it on Nicky's, which is tightly gripped by Joe. Nile turns away from Andy and the gentle words with which she tries to talk to Joe, taking a deep breath. She has the feeling as if the blood that has been spilled makes the air heavy, suffocating.

"Nile? Nile, listen to me,” Copley speaks to her, and Nile blinks confused because she has apparently zoned out. “You will now take Quynh's car and drive to the safe house. I'll be waiting for you there and then we'll see. We will find a solution, all right? Everything will be fine, Nile.”

Nothing is going to be fine.

They are both aware that this time it is not a small problem for which a suitable solution can be found quickly. But Copley's calm, matter-of-fact tone helps Nile calm down a little and concentrate only on the next steps and nothing more. Not the loss, which is the undeniable, invisible weight that has begun to lie on them.

Your strength, my sweet girl, Nile's mom used to tell her. Is to keep your head up when the crown is too heavy for everyone else.

"I understand," Nile replies in a much firmer voice. "Where's the safe house?" Now that Quynh has found them, further secrecy is pointless.

"I'll give you the address."

After hanging up, Nile braces herself as best as she can before turning to the tragic scene that's taking place on this remote country road. There is a large blood stain on the hoodie that Joe gave Nicky as a gift and colors the words Look Irresistible in a grotesque red.

Nicky's sweet smile when he told her the hoodie was given to him by Joe two years ago tugs at her control over herself. The thought that the ...and I am taken on the back of Nicky's hoodie is now being cruelly fulfilled because death got Nicky into his pale hands, making Nile breathless.

Keep going. You have to keep going!

Continue reading on AO3 ;)

#the old guard #fanfiction #tears on marble face sequel #light in byzantine eyes #chapter one #it's finally here!!!#*screams hysterically*

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readinginthereadyroom · 3 years

Text

it’s rage (911 3x05) and the divorce lawsuit arc keeps eddie from reaching out to buck.

but the thing is. eddie’s been isolating himself. not on purpose. but as a means of coping. with the almost-baby. the would-be divorce. shannon’s death. his family visiting. the ladder bombing. buck’s blood clots. the tsunami. christopher’s ptsd. and there’s no time for anything else. certainly not time for himself.

and he’ll willingly take christopher to therapy. but won’t give that to himself. he’s not touchy-feely like that. or at least. he doesn’t think he’s allowed to be.

eddie basically admits it in kids today (911 3x01). look, I know it sucks, but that's life, right? whenever stuff didn't work out for me, my dad always told me to brush it off, keep moving forward. It wasn't easy but he wasn't wrong.

but instead of that he listens to his team. decides that hen’s I don't know if I should just give him a swift kick in the butt and get him back out there or hug him and tell him that it's all gonna be okay. is the better advice. so he shows up unannounced at buck’s loft. gives him a swift kick in the ass outta bed. hands him a hug in the shape of christopher. he never feels sorry for himself. and it seems to work. for a while. I learned one thing from that tsunami: it's that I don't quit. I fight. because even after the tsunami. after losing christopher during the second wave. eddie still trusts buck. because buck never stopped searching. never stopped trying to find christopher. and that means everything. thank you for not giving up.

but then there’s the fallout. christopher’s having nightmares. and he’s unwilling to talk about them to eddie. he obviously saw something terrible when he was separated from buck. something that he conflates with his mother’s death. something about a woman drowning.

which is absolutey heartbreaking. especially since there’s nothing eddie can really do. just keep loving him.

and bosko means well. she and eddie are building their own friendship since the tsunamis. and it’s been growing while she temps at the 118. she gives him invaluable advice when he talks about christopher. that no matter what, her mom shared her feelings with her. however we felt, we were in it together, no matter what.

but she’s also a literal buck stand-in. a temporary coworker and a temporary confidante. especially once the lawsuit is underway. well, there's no way I was gonna call my abuela or the 118, and I'm not allowed to talk to buck.

because buck is trying to get his job back. feeling hurt and betrayed and lashing out. and inadvertabtly hurting those he cares about most. because he told his lawyer about shannon’s death. how eddie never took any time off to grieve. never saw a counselor.

and eddie’s not okay with that. not after the revelation about christopher’s nightmares. the fresh wounds that would leave. because eddie’s a private guy. guarded about his emotions. he’s silly and soft with christopher in their own home. but he’ll cry alone on the beach.

and maybe buck didn’t say all that to this stranger. this ambulance chaser. but it feels like he did. that buck aired all his dirty laundry. personal things. that buck didn’t have his back.

but maybe bosko can. she might be a buck mirror in the tsunami eps but she’s also an eddie mirror. she’s not into touchy feely emotions either. and she likes to fight. so she takes him to fake fight club. let’s him work off some steam.

only it fails spectacularly. because eddie’s not actually mad. he’s not angry. no, he’s hurting. and he doesn’t know how to show it. and maybe that's where our rage comes from. a feeling that our world, our lives are out of control.

and it all comes spilling out in the pet aisle of a grocery store. because buck’s there to apologize and eddie. eddie misses him. I can't even talk to you and you’re not around.

even worse. christopher misses him. and buck didn’t even realize that.

and there’s a lifetime bad advice is still rattling around in eddie’s head. we all have our own problems, but you don't see us whining about it. no, somehow, we just manage to suck it up. why can't you? and then he says something truly awful. something he doesn’t actually mean.

you're exhausting.

which is to say. eddie’s exhausted. he’s obviously not sleeping, not with christopher waking up to nightmares. and everything feels like it’s out of control. eddie feels like he’s out of control.

and just when he felt like he was getting some of that control back--buck becoming a fire marshal. a new friend. admitting he’s sad to chris. a week without nightmares--that lawyer takes it all away. makes him feel like he’s still not enough. awakens the old fears that he’ll drag christopher down with him. because he didn’t grieve properly. didn’t let himself feel. and that’s what sparked all of christopher’s problems.

nevermind that none of it’s true. that it’s just eddie projecting. because he feels helpless. powerless. weak. alone.

and that’s why eddie goes to the private fights. why he continues going. despite the bruises and the beatings. and why he gives buck the cold shoulder in monsters (911 3x06) when he notices them. nothing you need to be concerned with.

because their team is broken. when you decided to sue the department, to make cap the bad guy, did you ever stop for a minute to think what that could do to us? and yeah, eddie’s obtensibly refering to the 118 team. but that little finger waggle gives him away. us as in you and me. us as in you and christopher. us as in the buckley-diaz team.

your actions, your choices, they impact the rest of us. that's what it means to be a part of a team. because eddie’s ready to finish their conversation from the grocery story. ready to listen. because buck’s proven he’s listened too. acknoweldged that he didn’t think about what could happen. that he didn’t mean for it to go so far. didn’t mean for anyone. let alone eddie and chris. to get hurt.

only he was so mad. at bobby. at the 118. at the world. at himself. and he wanted to punch something.

just like eddie.

and maybe that’s what does it. because eddie’s forgiven buck before he can even finish asking. I forgive you. also what it means to be part of a team. because they were the same. they were both hurting. both retreating inward and lashing outwards. alone and suffering for it.

so eddie puts their team back together. seals all that tough love with a hug.

and it’s not quite over. they still have some healing to do--eddie’s still cage fighting and buck’s still repairing his relationship with bobby. but now they have each other’s backs. they can heal together.

because they’re on the same team. again.

#just rewatched the lawsuit arc #and oof is 3x04 hard to watch #but also i never noticed how sharply the bobby and buck conflict #veers into an eddie and buck confict #once they are face to face in the grocery store #like bobby says NOTHING to buck #just let's eddie pour his messy feelings all over the pet aisle #and all the things eddie says basically boil down to #I'm tired and I miss you #i need you to have my back while i deal with all these messy feelings #and the same for buck!#he didn't feel like eddie had his back with bobby #it's about the team as family #not just the 118 but them #the buckley-diaz team as family #and it's about listening #really listening #to ourselves and those who care about us #and about changing those dialogues when they are toxic #i dunno #lots of feels about this whole arc #it's messy and UNCOMFORTABLE and I know fandom likes to skip over it #or pretend it didn't happen #but i think it's important #maybe because it's messy and uncomfortable #because in the end thier relationship is stronger #because they realize how much they need each other #how lost they were alone #okay enough rambling in the tag #eddie diaz

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nothisis-ridiculous · 3 years

Text

Take Me Home Now: Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten: Another Mother's Breakin'

Set after the events of ME3.

A rewrite. Ao3.

FemShepxKaidan

"Jane."

The recruit let the knocking go on for a third round, slowly shaking herself from the rickety cot. While these digs were nothing as fancy as the bunk back at the mall, the privacy was a paradise. Blank, dull, metal-lined walls were a price she was willing to pay over the colorful and plant-lined walls of the barracks. The humming noise of life rebuilding, no she belonged in the silence.

"Jane." This time her name was a statement, backed by a hint of threat.

"Just a moment," she groaned, rubbing the crust from the inner corners of her eyes, pushing sore muscles upright and forcing a shirt over her head but allowing it to fall at its own pace. Her pupils narrowed at the sudden influx of light filling her half of the crate, "morning?"

Helen looked her up and down, that damned frown a returning friend, "you should put a comb through that hair."

"For fuck's sa-"

The woman made a sudden jerk, but it stopped with a simple raising of her arm, brushing aside a fallen lash, "language, dear."

"Sorry," Jane's eyebrows narrowed, had she forgotten she was not a child, "why are you here?"

"Because we are going out."

"Don't I have three more days?" Jane returned.

The older woman in a rare admittance of defeat sighed, offering back a raised eyebrow, "you're well aware that was a ruse."

"I knew it!" she didn't.

"Yes, let's be proud that you are stubborn as they warned," Helen retorted with a hint of a smirk, "but you should be ready. I'm not going to let you slide and get breakfast, either!"

Yes, this encampment was a military installment, but it gave no reason to ready herself with the rest of the soldiers. Since Rahna had given up on her she did little to get out of her bunk. So far, her secret remained, but pushing it by becoming a regular around camp seemed too big of a risk. Evelyn gave her some reason to get out, but the kid quickly found friends. Within days she was no longer needed, though the shit still visited at least once a day that prodded her into some form of semblance. The lack of duties cemented her decision to remain secluded, bidding her time with the running videos in her head.

"So why me?" Jane pressed once they cleared the base by a few thousand meters, pulling the ration bar from her mouth.

The woman's dark eyes turned cross, "and don't you waste those rations."

"You'll never want them again after fresh produce," Jane murmured, swallowing down the bland brick of nutrition in three bites.

"The second reason for coming out here," Helen handed over a pistol, "fresh meat and pest removal."

"You know, someplace on Illium would sell Varren skewers as a delicacy," Jane overlooked the pistol with a grin, "man, could that krogan grill up a mean varren skewer."

"The pistol is back up; you should use biotics. No stunts," she warned without heed of her companion's previous comment.

"I'm a paragon of caution," Jane mumbled in response, deciding then it was best to follow after the woman in silence. Pausing only as her leader stopped.

"No stunts," a finger waggled at her, "that kid and her grandfather want you back, and I intend to see that through, despite your best attempts."

Jane giggled, "the LT would love that one."

"Dismiss it all you like, whinge that someone cares about your sorry hide," the woman spat, "you're being selfish. Everyone is hurting if you haven't noticed."

Jane's face drew blank, "while it's true, doesn't it feel better to be pissed off? To be angry that everything is changed? Fuck everyone else. I'm hurting." She looked over the horizon, directly into the blue beam that connected to the Citadel. It seemed so tiny from here, so insignificant.

Helen's gaze followed Jane's gaze, "trying to remember how much worse it could be rarely helps."

"I like to make myself feel better by telling myself that I'm angering out of grief; it's one of the stages, right? But what is there after it? I don't want to let it go and accept my world is gone," Jane's voice mellowed to a whisper, "acceptance is terrifying. It means you have to move forward."

They shared a silent moment together, connecting with a brief touch—neither alone as they thought.

"Who did you lose?"

"My heart."

"Who did you lose?"

"...my heart."

Horizon- Horizon was an awkward fumbling in the dark. An overhanded display The Illusive Man decided to lord over her. He knew her strings and just how to pluck them to make her dance to his tune. Pulling Kaidan into the entire mess with the Collectors was a threat. But as messy and powerless as the knowledge of what the Illusive Man would take from her was the undercurrent of hope. It was foolish to be caught up in the giddy excitement of returned love, But Kaidan loved her. The first confession and bitter tug on her heart. She should have told him then.

Mars- Mars was just as awkward. Running, sliding, and dodging bullets after months of being cooped up in a small apartment awaiting trial. Sideways glances, and a Major who wouldn't stop dogging her every step. He questioned, prodded, and accused her of terrible things. Granted, she well deserved it. He was so close, so in sync as if the years were mere minutes... yet the distance between them was a canyon wide. But the Major loved her, even if it was once upon a time. A lighthearted exchange broke some of the tension, but she still should have told him then.

The Citadel- "What's up" had to be the lamest greeting after an armed standoff. Not a clasping hug, not a gentle smile, instead she vocalized her worry that he was angry. She hadn't taken the shot at Udina, and she had made Kaidan make that impossible decision. To trust her word, to trust an ex-terrorist. It was too much to ask of anyone- but now she was someone he was in love with. Not a past tense, a was, but a current thing. Still, she fumbled, asking him to let her have it and killing any hope of a romantic reunion. Her stolen glances at his backside caught in the act gave him a sheepish glance away and not the confession he was owed.

The Citadel Pt. II- After a shamelessly little amount of convincing, she had found herself in a dress. It was supposed to be simple- a snack on the Citadel. But she had hoped for more, the flirting, the longing stares, compliments, and a little bit of girlish enthusiasm from Kaidan she dared to think they had a chance. It was the first 'I love you' the extra 'I always have' sending her heart fluttering into erratics that she fought to control, lest she make a scene. The graze of his tender lips against her palm relinquished any grasp she had left on that errant heart, the thundering of the heartbeat clouding her brain. The jealousy the rest of her skin felt for her palm stealing another confession.

2181 Despoina- Kaidan would always rue his attraction to adventurous women. Not the woman, but the spark that drove him there. She was always at risk; her daily amount of adventure qualified as a heroic event for most other citizens of the galaxy. For her, it was a normal Tuesday night. But still, he worried, and still, he continued to love her for the constant stress she brought him. Loved her recklessness because it was as much part of her as her freckles. In the wordless hours of the night, his grip always tighter after a harrowing encounter, she was silent.

The Normandy- Neither of them wanted a quick drink. It was a little silly, after all these years, after all his confessions, to still feel insecure about inviting Kaidan up to her cabin. Instead of being direct, he invented the excuse of a short drink to see her. To comfort each other- when they both knew they needed it. Everything felt so final, the end a ticking bomb, an end to the short time they had together. She found strength in him, a safety in knowing she had someone that would catch her. He loved her openly and proudly. He loved her without needing the words returned.

London- It was unreal, after three years finally approaching the finish line. Loss and love in equal measure. Now, it was time for her to go it alone. It was unnatural, and she fought against the notion. She didn't want to be alone- not at the end. Not after this blissful glimpse into the way love had brightened every facet of her being. Kaidan would gladly face a bitter end with her, going arm in arm to meet Garrus at the bar. But it was a fucked kind of love that pushed her to make him leave. The same love that screamed at him to get the hell off the Normandy, the love that now albeit gently pleaded with him to live. It wasn't a roar or a cry of victory but a rumble- a tender declaration. Kaidan knew, even if it took him repeating his love a thousand times over. Six was a good number, short. The heart knew it was needed.

"So refresh my memory," Jane questioned in a whisper, trying not to draw the entire den of Varren upon them at once, "just how many we are planning on bringing back?"

"Are you that keen on vaporizing them all?"

"I certainly can."

"Wouldn't that defeat one of our goals?"

"Well, I don't think you accounted for the transportation of a Varren," Jane noted, looking behind them at the lack of vessel to transport said game.

Jane was ignored with a huff, the woman peering around a blockade, "I want that one."

Jane took a look, the brown striped specimen had to top the list of heaviest varren she had seen, "seriously?"

"Yes. Jane."

"Aye, Aye, Ma'am."

There wasn't time for a seething look or the smarmy reply that would have followed. The creature floated, air-bound as if the weight of the animal defied gravity. It kicked at the air, unable to stop itself from moving toward the barrier that blocked the scent of view of its hunters. Jane yanked her hand forward, dragging against the invisible weight. It felt good, if not for the shred of panic that she might lose time again. The tell-tale sign of blood was not forthcoming.

The blast of sound ricocheting through the plaza quickly overcame any remaining fear.

"Whatever you do, do not approach these things," the recruit barked, yanking the older woman into the corner spot, "they will overwhelm you if they get close."

"Aye, Aye, Ma'am."

The pack burst from all corners, running full boar in the direction of their fallen packmate. Several running members fell in the chaos, while a line of biotic energy sent the group careening into nearby walls and structures. For what inexperience was worth, Helen held up well, keeping up trained focus on the beasts. The old lady had precision aim, wasting hardly a clip during the charge. Jane didn't have to pick up much slack. Now, if there were a third member, everything would be peachy.

The square was silent for a count of three before a single varren cried out loudly.

The alpha was on scene.

While she had not promised to keep from committing to a hair-brained stunt, biotic shockwaves and lifts were boring. A teenage biotic could perform these moves without a sweat, a N7 needed a challenge. She needed the thrill. Blue waves coalesced and pulsed around her form, the familiar vibration against her skin pleasurable. A fluid vault over the barrier propelling her charge into the lone Varren, sending it toppling from the blow. Jane dove for it, pummeling it with blasts of biotic energy until her knuckles bled.

This was no longer a stunt but a method of release.

"Seems those biotics are back online," Helen murmured, wiping something from her eyes.

Jane cocked her head, "where'd you learn to shoot?"

"That? Oh. I thought they'd go out like a coyote."

The blonde smirked, dismounting the alpha's corpse, wiping her fists against a clean portion of the animal's hide. Nothing from Tuchanka went down quietly.

Helen stood over her prize, after a long minute she looked at Jane expectantly, "aren't you going to grab that?"

"Your trophy, your struggle," Jane folded her arms in return, a sly grin crossing her face, "besides, by the way we snuck out of that base, I don't need any more blame for this... what would you call this, stunt?"

"We did not sneak-" but the woman's face betrayed her guilt.

"Yeah, it's normal procedure to hop a barricade at the precise moment the guard changed," Jane knew a thing or two about sneaking out. She'd even stolen a ship twice.

Helen didn't have to struggle with the corpse long before Jane took pity on the woman; she had an unfair advantage anyway. Genetic enhancements, bone grafting, and a little biotic lifting. Unfortunately, she would still be sore when they got back to base.

"Why the need to sneak out anyway? I'm sure you could have roped anyone into helping you," Jane was under no illusion that the woman had any particular like for her, if anything, the woman looked at her with increasing scrutiny.

"None of them would dare."

"Oh?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

Jane understood the sentiment completely.

#fshenko #mass effect fancition #shenko #kaidan alenko #femshep x kaidan #take me home

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tlou2holland · 4 years

Text

Joel x reader ( Pt 7 )

summary: Joel and Y/N take their relationship to the next level

warnings: cursing and smut

you can read the previous chapters here

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you fuck Joel.“ Ellie mumbles, rubbing her temples while you blush furiously. “I wanted to tell you! Just didn’t know how I guess.“ You run a hand through your hair and Ellie simply looks at you, Dina giggling next to her. “You owe me a comic.“ Dina nudges Ellie with her elbow and she scoffs. “I know.“ “Wait, you guys had a bet?“ You ask confused. Your friends just laugh and you slowly relax on the bed, knowing they’re not angry with you. “It was Jesse´s idea. Ellie almost won, but you couldn’t wait another month to fall in love with Joel, soo-“ Dina bites her lip with a huge smile and even Ellie chuckles, although she looks slightly uncomfortable. You can’t blame her, you wouldn’t want to see your father figure kissing your friend, either. “I´m sorry for not telling you guys sooner, Joel and I wanted to wait until we’re sure things will work out. And we didn’t really know how you would take it.“ You shyly look over to Ellie and she clears her throat. “It kinda weirds me out that Joel and you are a thing, I mean, Joel is a dinosaur and you’re my friend. But its fine, I’d rather see him with you than anyone else.“ She shrugs her shoulders and Dina scoffs, rolling her eyes. “It’s not really a surprise, anyways. You´ve been crushing on him for months, it was awfully painful to watch.“ Dina fake winces and you slap her knee, laying down on your stomach afterwards. “Ha ha. Very funny.“ You bite back a smile and Ellie slides a bit lower, resting her back against the headboard of the bed while laying her arm behind Dina. Dina notices and scoots closer, leaning into Ellie. She nudges you with her foot and you watch your friends from the end of the bed, legs dangling in the air. “But please don’t kiss Joel in front of me. I can´t even imagine-“ Ellie shudders and you groan, fisting the sheets in your palm. “Don´t worry, we-“ “Oh Ellie, they’ve done a lot worse.“ Dina interrupts you and teasingly wiggles her eyebrows, finding the blush on your cheeks quite amusing. “Pictures out of my head!“ Ellie scrunches her nose in disgust and you hide your face behind your hands. “You suck, Dina.“ You mumble, earning a kick from her. “Hey!“ You protest, pushing her feet away from you. “You, my dear friend-“She begins while batting her long lashes at you, “can call yourself lucky that we’re teasing you, instead of being mad at you for lying to us. You own us a shit ton of gossip! Like, Joel and you?? Finally something exciting happens here.“ Dina throws her head back and Ellie chuckles at the hard impact on her shoulder, sneakily resting her hand on Dina´s arm. “I don´t think Ellie wants to hear my gossip about Joel. It’s mature content.“ You laugh and bite your fingertip, feeling the heat creep up your face. Ellie fake gags and holds her hand up. “Stop! I really don’t want to know anything sexual about Joel. You can keep your dirty gossip to yourself.“ Dina grabs Ellies thigh and shakes it slightly, missing out on Ellies flushed expression. “Oh come on, Joel is a grown man and Y/N´s old enough too. It’s only natural.“ You look at Dina and nudge her foot to make her shut up. “Can we talk about something other than my sexlife?“ You plead, Ellie sharing your distressed look. “Yes, please.“ She says, pinching Dinas arm and making her gasp. “What was that for?“ She asks, looking up to Ellie. Their eyes meet and you smile, seeing the way they look at each other. “for making Y/N and me uncomfortable!“ Ellie laughs and Dina smirks, teasingly running her hand over Ellies thigh. Ellie tenses and you look away, feeling the tension between them. “I´m good at making people uncomfortable.“ Dina lowers her voice and you cough, squirming on the bed. “you´re right about that.“ You say, pulling the two out of their little moment. Ellie audibly exhales and Dina snuggles more into Ellies side, waving her hand in front of her. “not my problem all my friends are prudes.“ She jokes, and you rest your chin onto your palm. “At least you have friends.“ Ellie laughs at that and you join, feeling a weight lift off your chest. You’re damn lucky Dina and especially Ellie aren’t mad at you, it could have gone a lot worse.

“My options are kinda limited, but you guys are alright.“ Dina makes a face and grabs the remote from her nightstand. “And now let’s watch the movie, before Y/N gets lovesick and leaves us for Joel.“ She turns on the TV and you shut her up by throwing your only pillow at her, turning onto your side afterwards. The intro of some 80´s movie Ellie wanted to see begins to play, and you nuzzle your head onto her lower leg, ready for the movie night to begin.

“She´s not mad?“ Joel asks surprised when you visit him the next day. You shake your head, tiredly rubbing your eyes. You didn’t sleep much, thanks to Ellie and her love for old movies. Instead of watching one movie and going home afterwards, you stayed awake till dawn and slept only some hours. “No, sure she finds the thought of us together weird, but she’s accepting.“ You yawn and rest your back against the chair, closing your eyes as a gust of wind whistles by. Joel sits next to you, strumming away on his guitar while you enjoy the little sun that is out on his porch. “You stayed over?“ He bops his head with each chord he plays and you squint an eye at him, catching his relaxed expression. “Yeah, Ellie made us watch her favorite movies. Some pretty old stuff.“ You laugh and Joel puts his guitar down, a glimmer in his eyes. “Movies from the 80´s?“ He looks at you, and you tilt your head as you eye him up and down. His hair starts to grow over the tip of his ears and his forehead lays in thin wrinkles. “Yeah, she’s obsessed with them. Do you like them, too?“ You reach out and push some hair out of Joels face, making him chuckle. “Ellie and I used to watch them together back to when she was still living in my backyard.“ Joel gestures behind his house and you frown. “Why did you guys stop?“ Joel heavily exhales at your question and briefly looks into your eyes. “Thats a long story.“ Joel doesn’t meet your gaze and you take his face into your hands, leaning forward to softly kiss him on the lips. “I am here if you ever want to tell me.“ He‘s unsere how to respond to that, you can tell. But his mouth opens and the words start flowing out, even the smallest detail finally lifting from Joel’s haunted heart. He tells you everything. How he met Marlene and why she asked him to bring Ellie to the fireflies, to make a vaccine against the virus. How his girlfriend back then sacrificed herself after being bitten, and how he and Ellie started to become an inseparable team. You couldn’t believe what Joel was telling you. Ellie is immune? There would have been a cure and a way out of his hellhole? “And when Ellie and I made it to the fireflies, and Marlene told me Ellie had to die, I just couldn’t let it happen.“ Joel runs a hand over his face and you listen, hand holding onto his knee. “I did what I had to do to get her out.“ Joels gaze hardens and he looks at you, face stern and mouth pressed tightly together. “I told her there is no cure, and her immunity isn’t of any use. That there are dozens like her, and they stopped looking for a vaccine.“ Joel swallows and you open your mouth, heart heavy with feelings you can’t express. It just sounds unreal. This terrible world is all you’ve known, and your friend could have been the key to end it all. “Oh Joel.“ You whisper, grabbing his hand when you see his shaking fingers. “She found out that I lied to her. Said she’s done with me.“ Joel clears his throat and looks into the distance, lip quivering dangerously. “I would have done the same.“ You say, mind slowly starting to work again. “Safe Ellie, I mean. Or you, doesn’t matter. I wouldn´t want to live without either of you, even if all of this would have come to an end.“ You gesture to the guarded fences and watchtowers, and the dangers that lay behind these walls. “So I understand.“ This makes Joel finally look at you, and you swear you see a tear running down his cheek but he’s quick to wipe it away. “I told Ellie the same. She came to me a couple weeks ago, said she doesn’t know if she can ever forgive me for that.“ Joel chuckles dryly and mindlessly traces the back of your hand with his thumb. “But she said that she likes to try.“ Joels voice breaks and you leap out of your seat, wrapping him into a bone crashing hug. His arms wind around your waist as you sit on his lap and kiss his forehead, leaning your cheek against it afterwards. “She will come around, you guys share a past. I´m sure she would have done the same for you.“ You brush over his back and he rests his head into the crook of your neck, his hot breath fanning over your cleavage. “I understand that she can’t forgive me for that. She’s right, I knew what she wanted and took that from her. But I would do it all over again if I had to.“ Joel breathes heavily and you nod, wrapping your arms around his neck. “The things we do for love.“ You mumble, staring blankly into the distance. “The only other person who knows are Tommy and Maria.“ Joels voice is so quiet, unusual to his otherwise rough and deep way of speaking. You peel yourself away from him and tilt his head upwards to make him look at you. “I won´t tell anyone. Never.“ You lean down and capture your lips in a kiss, tasting coffee and simply him. He grunts and grabs your thighs harder, knuckles turning red from the cold. He doesn’t want to think about Ellie anymore, as it saddens him, and focuses on you instead. “Let´s go inside.“ He whispers, so that’s what you do. You grab his hand and pull him up, into the living room where you sit down and guide him to the empty space next to you. You push him deeper into cushions and keep a tight hold on his shoulders while you rest your legs on either side of his hip, sitting down on his crotch. “I wouldn´t want to miss you for the world.“ You whisper as you kiss the spot below his ear, hands messing up his unruly hair even further. Joel shivers under your touch and grabs your hips, breathing shakily into your ear. You feel his body tense and stop, paying attention to his face and running your fingertips over his wrinkles. “Let me show you how much you mean to me.“ With that you properly sit on his lap and grind back, feeling the rough friction of his jeans against your own clothes. Joels eyes flutter shut and his mouth opens slightly, a deep grumble coming from his throat. You cup his jaw and kiss him, tongue lazily licking his bottom lip and teasing the inside of his mouth. You want to distract him and make him happy, to truly make him understand that you’re there for him. You feel his hands creep up under your jacket and mirror his actions, hands opening the zipper of his jacket and peeling the fabric from his broad shoulders. Joel eagerly leans forward and removes his jacket, holding onto your lower back while he attacks your collarbones with kisses. His fingers move to your front and undo your jacket, joining his on the floor. You giggle and lean into him, pulling on his hair when he bites your sensitive flesh. “Joel-“You breathe out, grinding against him once more. “This is about you, not me.“ You remind him when you see his dark eyes and pink lips. He stops and looks at you, hand coming up to brush over the back of your neck. “making you feel good makes me feel good.“ He tries to connect your lips with his, but you turn your head and his lips land on your cheek instead. “just let me.“ You peck his lips when he frowns and slowly move to the side, exploring the harsh hairs of his beard while you kiss his jaw and neck, fingers quickly working on the buttons of his jeans. Joel starts sweating slightly and you remove his shirt, fingernails grazing the warm skin of his chest. You feel him grow beneath you and throw your head back, supporting one hand on his knee while you rock yourself back and forth on his crotch, sighing when his lips suck on your neck and dip deeper to the rim of your blouse. You quickly lift your arms and undress yourself, shivering when Joels breath meets the valley of your breasts. He carefully pushes the fabric of your bra down and kisses the soft flesh, humming when you press into him. You stop your movements and let him kiss your chest, hands flying into his hair and massaging his scalp. “Lean back.“ You whisper when you feel his kisses getting harsher and breaths quicker, hands impatiently playing with the rim of your jeans. He does as he’s told and watches you climb off him, getting out of your jeans and urging him to do the same. When he’s about to get rid of his underwear, you grab his hand and stop him. You guide his hands around your lower back and rest them on your bum as you climb back onto him, lining yourself directly onto his hard one and grinding your cores against each other. Joel buckles up into you and you almost moan, eyes squeezing shut and mouth opening. The air around you is hot and you feel your hair sticking onto your forehead, Joels own body heat only increasing your warmth. “you´re teasing me.“ Joel mumbles against your neck when you press your fronts together. “Do you want me to stop?“ You ask in a low voice, lips dangling over his and touching as you speak. “No.“ He shakes his head and applies pressure to your bum, making you grind forwards. Your mouth forms into an o when you feel your wetness spreading onto him, and a shaky sigh slips past your lips. You run your hand down his belly and between your cores, feeling his clothed member in your palm before you pull his boxers down. Joel gets the hint and slides your underwear to the side, fingers holding it in place while he aligns with your entrance. “I love you.“ You whisper as he pushes into you, and you lower your hips to meet his thrust. Joel holds your lower back while you lean into him and looks into your hooded eyes, adoring your almost naked frame leaning against his. “I love you.“ He responds, mouth meeting yours for a soft kiss while you wrap your arms around his neck. Your chest almost suffocates him as you inch closer and move your hips back and forth, tensing your muscles at the hot friction against your core. Joel starts melting under you as well and his hands move upwards, cupping your neck with one hand while he holds you close. You lift your hips and sink down onto him, repeating the movement when you hear Joels heavy grunts next to your ear. Your forehead comes to rest against his shoulder when you grab onto the cushions for support, picking up on speed. “You feel so good.“ You kiss his neck and moan loudly when he thrusts into you, the sound of skin slapping on skin filling the room. Joel grabs your chin and makes you look at him, the sight of him alone almost making you come undone. “I don´t ever want to lose you.“ He rests his forehead against yours and you cry out in pleasure as you continue to ride him, rocking your hips against his. “You´ll never lose me.“ You mumble between heavy breaths, kissing every inch of his face that you can reach. Joel gasps huskily when you shift your weight and lean back, allowing him to push deeper into you. “I´m yours and you’re mine.“ You look at him and run a finger over his open lip, smiling when he kisses your fingertip. Your whole stomach is in knots and you feel your legs getting weak, the friction on your core almost unbearable. Joel picks up on your tensing body and slips a hand between your hips, gently rubbing your bundle of nerves while you squirm on top of him. Your grip on his shoulders tightens and you furrow your brows as you sink harder onto him, feeling his own release nearing with each thrust. Another grind of your hips is all it takes for him to come undone, shielding your own body with his as he hugs you so tight all air leaves your lungs. You rest your whole body against him as you let go, hot waves washing through your bones and making you see stars. Your hands slip from his shoulders and wander over your own body as you breathe abruptly, legs quivering and face tensed. The heat in your belly and chest gets overwhelming and you need Joel to hold you close, holding onto him for dear life. You hear your own blood rushing through your ears and Joels heavy pants next to it. "Oh god." You pinch your eyes shut and hide your face from Joel, body tensing one last time. After you calm down, you feel his fingertips on your back and sides, his beard tickling the side of your face. You move and let him slip out of you, shivering at the loss of contact. Joel carefully lifts you onto the seat next to him and pulls his boxers back up, hovering over you as you lay down on the couch. “Move in with me.“ He says, face glowing in the dim light. You laugh tiredly and grab his shoulders, pulling him on top of you. You wrap your aching legs around his middle and lock him in place while he rests his weight onto his elbow, face inches away from yours. “I´m serious. We wasted so much time with tiptoeing around each other, let´s not lose any more.“ He runs his hand through your hair and you swallow, eyes gazing back and forth into his own. This all feels like a dream, and as you come down from your high, you realise he’s still waiting for an answer. Are you moving at a quick pace? Yes. Do you have any doubts? No. “I´d love to move in with you.“ You close your eyes and kiss him, wrapping your arms around his chest and almost disappearing beneath his form. “I feel like a teenager again.“ Joel shakes his head and unties himself from you, moving to grab a towel to get you cleaned up. You stretch your tired limbs and watch him skip up the stairs. “You´re quite the romantic, can´t deny that!“ You call after him, and laugh when you hear him huff. It’s true, Joel is way sweeter than you ever expected him to be. Behind his hard shell and fear of losing any more loved ones, the old Joel is still buried deep inside. And you managed, with lots of patience and love, to make him show you this side of him. You can´t even describe the amount of happiness you feel when you think about him, now that he’s an integral part of your life you no longer want to live without. You really managed to find love in times when death and horror rule the world, and you are beyond grateful for that. “Hey Joel?“ You say as you hear him rummaging upstairs. “Hmm?“ He responds, closing a drawer and stomping the stairs back down. You watch his trained form walk over to you and smirk, dangling your feet off the couch. “how about you take me out on a proper date once I moved in?“ You thankfully take the towel from him and quickly run it over your body before getting dressed again. Joel lets himself fall back against the cushions with a loud thud, and watches your every move. “I fear to disappoint you baby, options here a limited.“ He shrugs his shoulders and you stop buttoning your blouse as you hear the nickname slipping past his lips. “Oh I´m not asking for much.“ You walk over to him and stand between his legs, smoothing down his hair and staring at his chapped lips. “Just a nice evening on your porch with a glass of wine while you sing for me.“ You beam at him and he rolls his eyes, a chuckle erupting from his throat. “If that is all it takes to make you happy.“ He traps you in his arms and you eagerly sit down next to him, body worn out and tired. “You is all I need.“ You snuggle into him and close your eyes, his strong chest comfortably resting against your side as you swing your legs over his lap. He rests his hands on your knees and leans back himself, eyes falling shut and body relaxing. “All I need now is a nap.“ He mumbles and you laugh, sliding lower and resting your head against the pillows, sleep washing over you.

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I feel like I´m moving their relationship too fast but I can't stop lol, I just need more happy Joel in my life

#Joel Miller #tlou joel #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanart #joel miller imagine #joel miller headcanon #tlou #TLoU fanart #tlou icons #tlou2 #tlou2 dina #Ellie Williams #ellie williams x reader #tlou ellie #tlouedit #tlou fanfic #tlou2 fanfic

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bittermuire · 3 years

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Dream of daybreak

The High Lord of Day, Helion, is gravely injured after the war with Hybern. Thesan sends Nuan, a young inventor and healer, to see to him on the battlefield.

I randomly love these two, even though they have all of one interaction in ACOWAR. If you’re curious and want to read, please enjoy :)

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The High Lord Helion let out a sharp hiss of pain.

“Sorry,” murmured the female. “Just a few more minutes.”

He clung to the tether of her cool voice amidst of the burning of the gash in his side. Her hands were gentle as she cleansed it with some kind of antidote, potion, vial—whatever it was, he couldn’t concentrate on any one thing long enough to figure it out. He gritted his teeth together in an effort to stop from crying out, cursing himself for his weakness.

“Just a few more minutes,” she said again, and her voice was soft, nearly pitying.

If he wasn’t incapacitated and crumpled on the ground, exhausted and seeing spots, slipping to the edge of oblivion, then he likely would have spit some stinging retort back at her. He despised pity and rarely found it to be more than some emotionally manipulative scheme. But he was tired, and her hands were warm, and the drug was kicking in.

Her onyx black hair was a curtain as it fell into her face. She brushed it back with her forearm, hands dirtied with his blood. Dark lashes fanned against her cheeks, cracked lips pressed together in firm concentration.

He watched her with a sort of detached curiosity—too tired to speak, too tired to move. The gash on his side was a mere itching burn, now. Whatever she had done was working.

The only problem was… whatever pain that had resided in the wound had now translated to fatigue. The weariness he had felt earlier was absolutely nothing compared to this crushing exhaustion; his eyelids were terribly heavy, and his body was like a stone on the ground, and the pebbles and rough dirt beneath him had become the sweetest cushions.

Still the female bent above him, figure softened in his blurry vision.

“Just a few more minutes,” she whispered to him, and he wondered if it was not to him at all; he wondered if this was what healers did: they promised life and they promised time, and they promised it to themselves as well, so any life on the brink of death was thus tethered to theirs.

“Your hands are warm,” he muttered, then slipped into the dark.

•

His piercing eyes closed the moment the words were spoken.

Nuan sat back, in a bit of a shock.

The High Lord would be perfectly fine, much to her relief. The vial of brimrose had worked precisely as she had hoped. The wound, though a ghastly and ugly thing, was no longer lethal, and so she was not in danger of a High Lord’s death on her hands. She reached for the bowl of water and a towel, and began to sop away the blood crusted on his chest.

Your hands are warm.

Nuan’s hands were not a commonly mentioned topic—often they were overly ignored in an attempt at normalcy. One real, one material. One of flesh and bones and blood, one of metal and whirring dials and clicking gears.

One warm, one cold.

Your hands are warm.

“You’re the first to think so,” she muttered to his sleeping, unconscious face, wondering at the meaning in the slurred words.

When she’d met him at the Council, he was as intimidating as the rest. Tall and broad and proud. Handsome, like the sun breaking across the horizon. Where Thesan was Dawn in hope and beauty, Helion was Dawn in a ferocious, magnificent call to the Day.

He scared her. They all did. They were Prythian in a room and individually they held more power than any one living being should have.

Together…

She remembered with a shiver how that room had thrummed. How it had glowed. Shaken, spiraled into a wild, untamed power; one which she knew had spoken to all of them. It had caressed her ears and her neck, whispered sweet words that tickled her spine—it was not wise that so much power should exist in one place. It was not right.

Your hands are warm.

I wonder why you think so, High Lord.

One warm, one cold. Life is warm, the lack of it is cold. Nuan had initially tried to fashion her makeshift hand to have a general feel of life, but it was too complex and like nothing she could ever accomplish without magical aid.

So she had settled for one warm hand and one cold. And it had always been that way, just as it always would be.

•

When he came to, his head was groggy, and his side was itching like hell itself. Without thinking, he twisted to scratch it, but then his wrist was caught midair in a grip of iron.

The female.

At her tan, wan face, the last few hours came rushing back. Lying half-dead on the ground. Crushing fatigue. Blood gushing from his side.

A female with long onyx hair and warm hands.

Now he was lying on a cot in a tent somewhere, surrounded by countless injured and the healers tending to them.

“Don’t,” she said, voice sharp with order. “I’ve still got to wrap it. We had to move you before I could grab the tape—don’t make it worse.”

He nodded, stunned into silence.

Releasing his wrist, she raised one brow in a quiet command and strode to the other side of the tent. He was watching her again, as if the smooth planes of her back and shoulders were charmed to enchant him in this odd, casual way.

Silence gaped in the cot next to his. Sensing it, Helion turned to see a man with his head wrapped staring at him, jaw dropped. As they met eyes, the man regained his composure but was unable to meet Helion’s gaze again.

“My lord,” murmured the man, dipping his head.

Helion dipped his head as well, still dizzy with a steadily returning pain. “I see you fought well.”

“I am glad to be alive, my lord. Many cannot say the same.”

Hybern had left a field strewn with corpses. There was nothing suitable to say to that.

The man’s eyes rose to something above his shoulder; Helion twisted again to see the female striding back toward him.

“Nuan,” said the man. He spoke the word, the name, with as much reverence as he had said my lord.

Nuan. So that is your name.

Nuan. He remembered her. The young genius with the fabricated hand, a favorite of Thesan’s. He’d been struck by her commanding air, the way the room reverberated with her cutting grace as she spoke.

“Sit up straight,” she told him as she neared, and he did so. Shamelessly he studied the alluring plainness of her face—she wore no jewelry, no pins in her hair, no color in her clothes, and somehow it was an extraordinarily bewitching face. Her face was a good one. It was a face of perseverance and survival and absurd constancy in the face of desolation.

Hair blacker than night swung about her shoulders as she leaned across him, wrapping the tape around his torso. His traitorous hand lifted and touched the end of an inky strand, very lightly. At that she jerked back and met his eyes—met him with weariness and tedium, and the barest hint of irritation.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, and dropped his hand.

In a very strange gesture of forgiveness, she patted his arm once and promptly continued her work. It was done in a matter of moments.

She pulled back and looked him full in the face; something was smoking in the depths of her dark eyes, and it called him closer.

•

What did one do in this situation? He was staring at her in that unnerving way of his again: so full of intent and truth.

Do you always stare this way?

She smiled a very small smile. “Do you always stare this way?”

He said nothing.

You must be far away.

“Your hand,” he said. His voice was hoarse, and she supposed he was exhausted. “It’s of metal.”

“It is.”

“It’s warm. How is it warm? Did you make it warm?”

You were so frightening to me, High Lord of Day. You were relaxed and confident and brimming with arrogance. Now you look at me with such vulnerability… something is broken in you.

But you’ll heal. I have already given you a head start.

“I’ve never thought it was very warm,” she admitted simply.

He blinked. “Oh.” He blinked again, and swayed back.

“Why don’t you sleep?”

He nodded. “Good idea.”

She eased him onto his back, laying a thin blanket over his body. It was doubtful that he’d notice; he seemed to have passed into a deep sleep the moment his weight had rested in her arms.

“Dream of daybreak,” she murmured, looking down at that good face—a hard face, forged in fire and heat, and yet ever so soft in sleep. She brushed a hand to his cheek, and he stirred, but did not open his eyes. He only sighed, in the way of someone perfectly at peace.

•

Dream of daybreak.

He did indeed dream of daybreak.

Only, daybreak was the silhouette of a female with onyx hair and warm hands.

Dream of daybreak.

Fingers brushed against his cheek.

Dream of daybreak.

---

This is hands down one of the strangest fics I’ve written. I don’t really know what’s going through their heads or what was going through mine, but I’m mostly happy with the end product.

Anyway, Helion and Nuan are cute and I’m gonna keep shipping it🥰

#helion #nuan #acotar #a very random fic #but i couldn't get it out of my head!!

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whiteheartlight · 4 years

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There’s something so tragic about the fact that Jaller, from the first day he becomes a Toa, is more determined than anyone to make sure he isn’t that reckless, hot-headed Fire Toa leader who lets himself or his siblings get into trouble like Vakama and Tahu did, and yet he’s the one who ends up losing a brother. not only that, but their relationship was strained beforehand because Jaller, despite his best wishes and his experiences watching Tahu and Kopaka fight, also ended up meeting the stereotype of the Fire Toa who struggles to get along with his Ice Toa. and then, soon after that, he and his remaining siblings end up enslaved by Skakdi. I think it would leave Jaller with a lot of guilt and a feeling of inadequacy, but he might also be tortured by this bitter relief of knowing that he and Matoro won’t fight anymore. he feels terrible that he couldn’t get along with him, he’s angry at himself for letting his brother die, and now he’s just proven to himself that he’s not a good leader because he blames himself for letting them all get kidnapped by the Skakdi even though nothing that happened is really his fault and he tried so hard to be a good leader.

By the time he gets back to safety, he’s changed. He’s not the literal golden boy Captain of the Guard he used to be. He’s bitter and angry and struggling with a lot of self-doubt. He lashes out and it starts this vicious cycle of him proving to himself that he really is the angry, difficult Fire Toa he never wanted to be. There’s this sudden hateful jealousy of Tahu and Kopaka’s relationship that he’s never experienced before - they used to fight so much more than Matoro and I, but they’re the ones who get to be happy loving brothers now while my Ice Toa is dead - and all of it makes him feel like a terrible person and a worse leader. He isolates himself, punishes himself in his head all day long, and can’t grieve Matoro in a healthy way because he blames himself. He needed a chance to prove to Matoro that he loved being his brother and that they would have found a way to get along, but he never got that chance and he’s stuck wondering if he and Matoro would have learned to hate each other. It haunts him. I’ve always imagined him eventually just get so angry and so hurt that he just says, you know what, screw it - I think Kongu should be in charge now. I’m done.

He would need a lot of help to recover from what happened. I always imagine him processing a lot of his guilt with Vakama and a lot of his anger with Tahu because the two of them have learned how to deal with things like that. Hahli and Takanuva are his stability during all this even though he lashes out at them sometimes too, and Kongu steps up when he’s not ready to lead. I also imagine that Kopaka would be there for him in a way Jaller doesn’t expect. Jaller’s obsession over Matoro’s death projects in some bitterness towards Kopaka, but mostly it creates this need for an Ice Toa to validate him as a good friend and leader, and when Kopaka starts reaching out to him in his own quiet way, it gives Jaller a little more peace about what happened between him and Matoro - but he also loses it on Kopaka a couple times, screaming about how it’s not fair that he gets to live while Matoro is dead or having panic attacks when he sees Kopaka putting himself in danger or Tahu sending him into situations where he might get hurt. and Kopaka’s chill about it, but he’s also like “I can take care of myself and you WILL respect that without having a breakdown. I’ll prove it to you let’s fight” and Jaller’s like “let’s what??”

and that’s how they end up sparring with each other just constantly. Kopaka doesn’t actually know how to bond with Fire Toa without fighting them and he loves sparring and Jaller has a ton of pent-up emotion he needs to get out on the battlefield, so he just starts coming to Kopaka just about every time he needs to lose his mind a little. Kopaka kicks his ass about every time, cool as a cucumber no matter how hot Jaller gets, and it frustrates him and relieves him at the same time, like Kopaka’s going to be there no matter how terrible he is. and then afterwards, they sit around together catching their breath, and in that quiet, Kopaka lets Jaller learn to cling to him without possessing him, lets Jaller prove to himself that he isn’t the sort of Fire Toa all Ice Toa hate, lets Jaller be in the peace a moment. when Jaller is truly panicking or furious or out of control, Kopaka is the one who casts the flame away with one swipe of frost and then wraps himself around Jaller to prevent him from burning himself out. He never says anything false or cheap or patronizing. He demands, constantly, that Jaller rise up and become the Toa he’s meant to be. Refuses to let him quit as leader. Refuses to let him isolate himself. Shoves him back towards his brother when he has to and kicks him to the dirt every time his fury is getting a grip on him. and Jaller learns better to go find help when he’s really hurting, Jaller learns better to forgive himself for the things that happened, Jaller learns better that leadership doesn’t always mean success. he also happens to learn how to make Kopaka smile, which might not seem like a big deal, but it is.

and then one day, they’re sparring and he wins.

He wins. He did it. Kopaka’s pressed to the ground beneath him, Jaller’s blade against his throat, and he’s not going anywhere. Kopaka rolls his eyes and taps out. Jaller waits for his heart to snarl that that’s what Kopaka gets for out-living Matoro, or for the victory to grow sour with the knowledge that there are things in this world that could kill Kopaka like Matoro was killed, or some of this weird bitter possessiveness he’s developed to rise up in his chest again - but it doesn’t.

He’s just laughing. He’s laughing and laughing, and he’s proud of himself, and he rolls off Kopaka and cheers while the Ice Toa growls at him about how he got lucky, and Jaller teases him and pushes at him and laughs some more.

they lie in the sand a long time, staring up at the sky. Jaller looks over at Kopaka’s heartlight, beating steady in his chest. He’s alive because Matoro’s alive. And in him, there are remnants of Matoro.

“We would have figured it out,” Jaller hears himself say, almost without thinking. “Me and Matoro.”

“Yeah,” says Kopaka. “You would have.”

“We would have been friends.”

“You were friends. You were. You didn’t let him down, Jaller. He made his choice. You were part of the reason he made it. He was proud to give his life up for you. For his leader.”

Jaller closes his eyes and squeezes at his blades before letting them slide down onto the earth besides him.

“Thanks for kicking my ass so many times,” he says, and what he means is: thank you for being here when he couldn’t. I needed you.

“Thanks for kicking mine,” replies Kopaka dryly, and it makes Jaller laugh, and he knows that what it really means is: It was about fucking time you started learning to forgive yourself, my brother.

#white light posts #this is just me rambling instead of writing formally haha #bionicle #jaller #kopaka #death tw #grief tw

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vesperlionheart · 3 years

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For haha’s - Darklina

There is blood throughout the halls of the Keramzin orphanage, it stains the stones and clings to the walls and dries on the hands of Alina Starkov. She tastes something bitter deep in her throat but swallows it down as she moves through the orphanage, searching for more of the bodies left inside. She steps over the bloated form of a dirty man in hides, slashed open and killed the old fashioned way. She passes more of his companions but doesn’t care for any of them until she finds her children.

She buries her babies with reverence and then burns the rest in a pit without a second thought.

When Mal doesn’t come back she drinks.

When the new month comes she prays.

When the season ends without sight or sound of him, she leaves.

Nikolai Lantsov watched nervously as another dark ritual finished filling out the color in an old monster’s features. Aleksander Morozova was just as handsome and devilishly fit in features as he had been on the day he died, if not better since he was actually, not dead. It was unnerving to watch what felt like for the thousandth time, a dark miracle perverting nature-but weren't Girsha like that to begin with? Who else lived for 500 years and looked like a university chap?

“You’re very pretty,” Nikolai admitted, not ashamed of the truth.

The darkling was adjusting his gloves, tugging them down over his hands until his knuckles stood out, but he paused to glance up through his lashes and spare the boy king a withering, unimpressed look. “I know.”

“Don’t let me stroke your ego, I’m properly sloshed so I’m sure it's only the intoxication that’s talking.”

Nikolai gestured to the glass in his hand before knocking it back for the last dregs of amber colored courage. He hated every damned step to this never ending ritual on account of how annoying and bothersome it was, not how terrifying each peak into the land of death was. But worse than all of that was the demon inside of him that refused to stay down. Nearly a year later and it was getting worse.

“You’ll need your wits about you for what comes next.”

“You’ve been so helpful,” Nikolai scoffed, “with letting me know the summation of all this planning, you know. It would have been terrible if you only told me one damned step at a time and kept me hanging in blind suspicion for months.”

“Sarcasm does not become you, puppy prince.”

Nikolai glared with a smile. “Good thing I only speak the truth then.”

“You must now summon someone for me.”

“Of course I must. Who is it this time?” A painter to capture your likeness in oils? A seamstress to dress you in silks? A palace chef who could-

“Alina Starkov.”

The name caused a physical pain in Nikolai’s chest as every longing and snuffed out desire snapped back into place, like an overextended rubber band that had been stretched too far. It hurt to hear that name, but he didn’t mind this sort of pain.

“The sun summoner died. She’s not someone I can so easily summon for your royal darkness, even if I did raise your ass from the grave.” He was impressed with himself for how calm he came across. “You’ll have to adapt.”

The darkling, beautiful and cold, did not respond at first, or give any indication that he had heard and understood the king’s words, but he twisted the leather of his gloves around his wrist, almost like a nervous habit. Eventually, he opened his mouth to speak. “I did not ask for the sun summoner, I asked for Alina Starkov, and nothing less will be sufficient in helping me subjugate the monster within you, little hound.”

“Sturmhond.”

“I did not stutter,” The Darkling scoffed. “As I do not miss the hint of desperation in your voice, the way it shakes your eyes when you watch my revival though it may sicken you. Your hands are dirty with more than one type of darkness but they must be blackened further if you wish to have control over your own fragment of hell.”

“I don’t want to control it, I want to kill it and no matter how desperately I want that I can’t bring back the dead for you-ckee!”

Nikolai’s words were choked out as a leather glove wrapped around his throat and pulled him up off the ground.He grabbed at the wrist and kicked until he was shoved against the wall and left to sag back onto his feet.

“Do not make the mistake of lying to me,” the darkling hissed. “I know she isn’t dead, I went first into the long night and she did not follow. She lives and she resides in your country, so summon her to your palace, summon her for me.”

Back on his feet again Nikolai rubbed at his neck, suspecting it to bruise for how roughly it had been gripped. “You also know that her powers left her, don’t you? Even if I could, you’d be asking for a farm girl.”

“I won’t explain myself to you, there is no reason to. I care not for her power or her fame or her status as a saint, I simply request Alina Starkov. Do what you can to find the farm girl with no powers. I know it is within your abilities.”

Nikolai turned away and reached to pour himself another drink, but found barely enough for a half glass in the decanter. It wasn’t enough for him so it was clearly not enough to share.

“I wasn’t trying to deceive you when I told you she’s dead. To the best of my knowledge that’s the truth. She retired to obscurity with the tracker and together they set up an orphanage. We maintained some limited contact over the years but when my letters went unanswered I sent someone to seek her out.”

The Darkling’s silence was as good as a question so Nikolai continued.

“The orphanage was bloody and empty.” Nikolai sipped his drink and tried to pretend his heart wasn’t bleeding in his chest as he relieved the pain from that day. “Locals explained a band of extremists passed through, upset at their adoption of suspected grisha children. There were graves and a pit discovered on site but nothing else. Sightings of the tracker, Mal, led my spies to conclude she...she was one of the graves.”

“But it was not confirmed,” the Darkling clarified. “You did not dig up her bones to see for yourself if one of the mounds was hers. You only assumed and you assumed wrong. She did not die.”

Nikolai dared to hope and it hurt like thorns in his heart. “How could you say something like that so confidently? Up until a month ago you didn’t have flesh. What do you know?”

“Nothing so humble connects her and I. If she were to be gone from this world I would know it, yet I feel her still. Alina Starkov lives and I need her.”

The darkling looked down at his hand, at the center of his palm and it was almost as if there was something there he was transfixed by. The harsh edges of his expression softened and emotion made his slate gray eyes a little lighter. The darkling swallowed and the harsh lines to his features returned in time for him to fix the blond with a withering stare.

“She lives. Find her.”

No one had ever accused Alina Starkov of being a gabler, but playing cards with the Three Babas might have been the riskiest thing she did on an impulse. It would have been less dangerous to play cards with a devil, because at least with a devil you know what you're wagering.

There was something disconcerting about waking up one morning only to realize there was no vision left for you; no epic battle plans, to cunning exploits, nothing planned out to accommodate the travesty destiny had raised you to rally against. She didn’t even have a villain to set herself up against. The world wasn’t perfect, but the fold was no longer an issue and Alina found herself without purpose. Her children were gone, her would-be husband lost to his whims, and the powers that gave her such grand meaning were only a memory.

And that all mde her wander.

A little older, a little broader, a little wiser, she traveled on foot or by cart when the neighbors of her country were kind enough to spare her the room. She ended up somewhere in the backwoods, somewhere rural enough to have a single village center like it was some big deal and enough work for a girl with rough hands to apply herself to.

The town felt safe enough and that made her wonder, so when she asked the neighbors they told her about the three babas who watched over the town and kept it a little separate from the rest of the world with its problems and its wars.

That question must have been invitation enough because Alina found herself invited to a game of four way trick on the edge of town under the leaning roof of a wood cutter’s cottage. Three older woman,each dressed in varying colors and patterns, head covering shawls, and wooden shoes, were there when Alina arrived like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Take a seat.”

“Sit a while.”

“Play a spell.”

Sitting down opposite the three felt like being back in front of Baghra, standing in the shadow of a mountain more ancient than memory itself. Yet with Baghra there was never this exact sense of wrongness. Reality never felt off in this way with the Darkling’s mother.

“You were expecting me?” Alina asked, touching the felt edged cards in front of her without reaching for them. Their texture was so worn and soft she assumed they had been played for decades. When was the last time she played cards? Did she know the rules to this game?

“Saw you coming is more like it,” the baba to Alina’s right croaked. Her head shawl was bright red with swirls of autumn blooms in shades of gold and yellow. Compared to the fabric her skin was withered and pale.

“Take your hand,” the baba directly across from Alina instructed, sounding crankier than her counterparts. Her eyes were unseeing, sagged over with wrinkled flesh and her babushka was a vivid green with emerald threads stirling through the lighter fabric to illustrate buds and grass fields in full health. The headscarf stayed pinned in place with the help of a white crane pin.

“I’m not sure I know how to play,” Alina admitted before looking at her cards. Her hands were on the table but she was still licking her lips nervously, wishing for something stronger to throw back down her throat. Her head was fuzzy with too much clarity.

“You will,” the last grandmother calmly corrected, looking up through her silver lashes from underneath a headscarf of brilliant blue, brighter than the sky and deeper than the oceans. Her smile was deceptively sweet, too thin, and too light. She sounded impossibly young for her physical appearance. “Pick up and play with us.”

“What’s the game called?” Alina asked, picking up her cards.

They were just as soft on the underside where the painted pictures stared back at her. It looked more like a tapo deck, a truth telling card series where wise women and elders would tell stories out of the pictures and even predict fates. Plenty of people used such a deck for idle games, but the stories were always the things that seemed to hold the most magic.

“Trick,” the grandmother in red said.

“Trap,” the grandmother in green corrected.

“Take,” the grandmother in blue giggled.

Alina looked over her cards again. “I’m not willing to wager anything on my first game before even learning the rules.”

“Your time is value enough, my dear one,” the baba in blue cooed. “Let us teach you and show you the way.”

“I’ll admit to being a little lost,” Alina said, watching as the first two babas put down cards on the table then drew from the deck.

The first card had a trio of children running through a field and the scrawling script said it was called: Innocence. The second card was of a woman hanging a curtain over her window, looking back over her shoulder to a bed where a lover waited. The script above said it was called: deception. When inverted it looked like the woman was pulling the curtain down the other name for it was: revelation.

“Being lost is the first step to being found.” The third grandmother hummed before laying down a card with the picture of a son standing in front of his father and grandfather, each holding a sword from a different era. It read: inheritance.

Alina looked down at her cards and when she inhaled a sensation settled into the back of her throat, like the taste of a thick milk tea with burnt cloves, she swallowed it down before she could realize what it was. Her fingers stilled atop a card before she played it: Turmoil.

Only with the card down atop the table did she recognize the taste on her tongue: Merzost. It was enough to lift the haze of suggestion she had been operating under and it was like waking up from a dream that didn’t make sense. But Alina didn’t panic. When she looked up again she could tell the grandmother in green knew what had happened.

“You’re all witches, aren’t you?”

“What a crude thing to say,” the blue one teased.

“Was I wrong?” she dared.

“I like her,” the one in red admitted, looking at the one in green. “I told you I would. It only took one round.”

The grandmother in red huffed then called out, “Trick,” before gathering up all the cards played in that round and putting them on Alina’s side; her winnings.

The next few cards were played in silence. Silence, Infatuation, Betrayal. Alina put down the last card, aware of what this round signified. Her card was of a hunter carrying home a far elk. The title was: Bounty.

“Trap,” the one in green cheered as another layer of enchantment lifted. It felt so different from her small science, but also not. Alina was in more control of her senses and her thoughts, but that only lead to near panicking.

“Why do you have me here and what could you want with me when I’m an empty vessel in your eyes?” She asked the old women as each drew a new card from the deck.

“Then let’s skip a little ahead and show you,” the one in green said before laying down the first card for play. The one in blue gathered the previous set and put them next to Alina’s wrist.

The cards were dealt: Conflict, Victory, Peace.

Alina swallowed down her disgust and played the last card, the only card she could: Slaughter.

“Take,” the one in red called out, flicking her wrist so the cards were turned over and fell into a neat pile in front of Alina. Atop them all was the picture of a butcher with his gutted lamb. He held cleaver but Alina saw a hand sickle and felt it between her fingers.

“Why,” she whispered, tasting Merzost again as something heavier settled amongst them.

“Because,” the first baba said while playing her last card. It was a child crying in between the trees. The title said: Lost.

“But also,” the grandmother in red played her last card: Anointed.

“And yet,” the last grandmother played her card of a boy looking back over his shoulder at a back littered with scars and wounds: Scarred. Between them the old woman seemed to speak without words.

Alina glanced down at her last card and sneered at the picture, not believing in it: Tyrant. The painting was of a beautiful woman with long black hair and eyes as green as raw Malachite. Atop her head was a crown of green stones and at her feet were the people, bowed so low they were curled figures in the corners of the card’s picture.

“I’m not.”

“Not as you are, no,” the one in blue gently corrected before touching the card to push it back towards Alina. “But we’d like to see this now.”

“You’ve had your stab at peace, little lamb,” the one in red chuckled.

“As you have with the small sciences,” the woman in red said, now no longer a crone but a beautiful woman with a face full of fire. Alina dropped her face to the table, averting her gaze as heat roared across her back.

“An age of saints has passed, now let us deal with angels,” the woman in green cooed, her long black hair spilling over the table. She stood but Alina didn’t see it, her eyes were squeezed tight. Her left fist went cold and she felt snow and ice on it.

“What a fun game,” the beauty in blue cooed, picking up the snow kissed corners of her cape.

When the world was quiet again Alina dared lift her gaze.

The table was empty and her hands were bleeding. Into each palm a mark had been cut and colored with black magic. Her veins were thick with dark colors as she swayed in her seat.

The story isn’t done, let's have our fun. Lets see a new book, a different chapter in this wondrous dream.

Alina came down with a fever and survived on the good graces of the villagers who turned oddly devoted to the saint with no powers. That didn’t seem to matter to them one bit and she was all the more confused because of it. No one she spoke to had any more information about the three grandmothers, only that Alina was favored and welcomed in all their homes.

A month later she still had no more answers but plenty of questions when a rider came to visit. He questioned the first villager with a portate, seemingly expecting nothing until Alina walked out of the miller’s hut.

The rider dropped the portrait and Alina saw her face, colored and youthful with the same delicate features from years ago.

“I’ll need a horse,” Alina said to whoever was nearest. “It seems this story isn’t done with me yet.”

#no tags #my writing #writing

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