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little-star-library · 2 months

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Headcanons: Playing with Astarion’s Hair

Summary: Just some soft and fluffy headcanons about playing with Astarion’s hair. That man deserves to be coddled and pampered with all of the affection.

At first, Astarion didn’t care for anyone to touch his hair other than himself. After years and years of seducing so many people to lure back to his former master, there were plenty of people who had tangled their fingers through his hair and he developed a feeling of disdain and loathing at the sensation whenever someone got too close, like a hot brand that persisted until he was numb from the pain because none of it was ever real to him. It was all an act that he had to endure. But somehow that wasn’t the case when it came to you. You were different from everyone else. And it was frustrating beyond measure to accept the fact that he began to accept your touch more and more as the two of you grew closer.

It started with small, fleeting brushes of your fingers when you noticed the leaves and small twigs that got caught in his hair after a run in with some goblins. He hesitantly let you pluck out the debris and a twinge of warmth emanated from his undead heart at your gentle ministrations.

From then on, he would purposefully dishevel his snow colored waves and come to you with the excuse of the lack of his own reflection, saying that he only trusted you to fix it because Karlach would surely singe his hair by her own touch and Halsin’s hands were too large and would crumple his hair even more. You knew what he was doing, but secretly you didn’t mind at all.

“There we go, good as new.” You would say this every time with a smile and even though you would love to keep stroking his hair, as soft as it was, you would never cross that boundary unless he expressed his full consent to do so. You knew of his past and empathized with him not being comfortable with non-sexual intimacy because it was a foreign concept to him. He never got to personally experience something so simple and loving as that. And gods help him did he want you to keep going, but never really knew how to ask without embarrassing himself.

Luckily for him though, he didn’t have to wait too long before the opportunity arose. It was after the first time he convinced you to sleep with him and the two of you were laying in the grass under the starry night sky and he was nuzzling against the crook of your neck, trying to catch his breath even if it wasn’t really necessary. You were caressing his shoulders and your hands began to wander up to the curls at the nape of his neck and tentatively pet his hair , but you pulled away briefly so as not to upset him.

“No, don’t stop…please.” His voice came out as a soft whisper and he tightened his grip around your waist like you were going to disappear if he let you go and it made you melt from the inside to see him like this, and you didn’t need to be asked twice. You went back to entangle your fingers through his hair once more and lightly scratched at his scalp and he let out a hum as a silent ‘thank you’ and practically started purring when you kissed the crown of his head. The world around you began to blur until it was just you and him and there was nothing else that mattered other than this moment, and he silently pleaded for the sun to never rise so he could bask in your embrace just a little longer.

And after that night, he was hooked. Every night he would actively search you out and you would never turn him away. By now it was a common occurrence to spend the night in the privacy of your tent in comfortable silence by each other’s side while the rest of your traveling companions were asleep, usually with him reading a book and you playing with his hair as he rested his head in your lap.

One of his favorite pastimes however was when you would offer to wash his hair. You always thought he looked ruggedly handsome and carnal when he was in his element. You know it’s kind of off-putting to be attracted to something like that, but the sight of him when he had blood splattered across his cheeks and twisted into crimson ribbons throughout his hair was downright breathtaking. But you knew from your own experiences in battle that after a while, the blood cools and congeals into a sticky, wet mess on your skin and it was awfully discomforting after walking under the hot sun all day. Although Astarion would rather prefer an actual proper bath compared to scrubbing down in a freezing lake, he still insisted on using these special soaps and pomades which he may have acquired not so honorably stating that he wouldn’t be caught red-handed walking around smelling like ‘orthon roadkill’

He would give you detailed instructions on which products to use as you went and you dutifully complied just to see his expression turn to one of instant contentment as you scrubbed gently at his scalp to work the soap through the strands until the blood washed away and he was slowly oozing into a puddle of relaxation, almost slipping away into a short trance to rest his weary body. He would gladly return the favor in kind, making sure to wipe every patch of dirt and grime away until you were clean, his dexterous fingers feeling like an absolute godsend as they nimbly stroked thoroughly in your hair and he would smirk with pride when he had you moaning so sweetly just with his delicate touch.

He always enjoyed these small acts of intimacy that you shared with him and you helped show him a side of affection that was completely different from what he knew. There were no strings attached, no obligations he had to fulfill because there was no need for that. You were just expressing your care for him and you didn’t need to be repaid, always insisting on doting on him with your kindness and that made him nervous. He thought that after years of torment he would never actually catch a break or deserve any sort of reprieve after all of the awful things he went through, but you were his saving grace, the light at the end of the dark tunnel of his lonely existence. But as long as you were there, holding him in your arms and indulging him with your soothing touch, he felt like he could get used to this.

“You are worth so much more than you think, Astarion. I know it’s hard to see that, but I am willing to do whatever it takes to show you that.” Your hushed words struck him to his core and he desperately tried to contain the tears welling in his eyes from falling, pulling you closer to him as you both laid in your bedroll and left a chaste kiss on your lips in reverent gratitude. Although you two had only known each other for a short time now, you had already fallen for him and vice versa. There was no need to come to terms with your relationship until he was ready and if playing with his hair had been the beginning of your virtuous tenderness towards him, then he could not wait to see what else you had in store.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #dungeons and dragons #astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x y/n #fluff #little star library

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vanillaxoshi · 1 month

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Hiyaaa I'm that anon that asked if I could write something based on the art piece of Solar you did. Here it is! Trigger warning tho for implied selfharm and pretty decidely implied psychological trauma. Sorry for any typos too I typed this at 2 am after a very hard day :') --

There's a cold chilling breeze on a now barren rock in space. Or well logistics in the matter he's on a planet of course. With some patches of life of course other than the crater he'd made. But well..

..He still can't see. Can he?

There's only the blurred mess of grayed browns, of smoke filling his nose and every other sense.

Solar really should get away from it but alas he was told to stay put. And the last time he disobeyed... Yeah he shouldn't move.

Doesn't solve how his legs itch to move. Doesn't stop the nearly numbing pain in head as his eyes slowly knit and reshape itself. Doesn't stop his hands bleeding what's broken on the inside out.

Solar is tired. Solar is broken or he should be. Should be more broken then just his hands. Part of him deeply wished to be.

He'd be lucky if it happened after the stun he pulled. His master says he should be thankful to whatever Higher being decided to still bless him with eyesight after trying to claw them out.

For risking something so precious was the exact wording he used.

And Solar finds himself reliving the memory.

When he had done it, Retak'ka had asked why. Surprisingly not in anger as Solar expected. Already having preparations of excuses or reasons to why he'd not only done something so reckless but also that would completely make them lose everything they've worked for.

Everything Solar was made for.

Yet it didn't come. Just a simple quiet, "Why did you do it".

And much to Solars own stupid dismay that he even now kicks himself for time and time again. There were no words on his tongue, it threw him off and out of the loop.

.. Why did he do it.. he couldn't just admit why he did it. But he couldn't leave it unanswered.

"I'm testing if conscious harm done by me will do worse damage," he says this with blood dripping from his shut eyes. Acting as if his nails aren't caked with his own blood. Like he wasn't going to force them open for another go if his Master didn't walk in.

The lie.. was an obvious one. Even if his voice didn't waver. Every point of his said the opposite, his already blackened hands pulsed with an old pain and his eyes only exploded with it from the beginning.

Retak'ka knew it was a lie. There's no way he didn't.

But he silently hoped. He just wished silently to just let him have this. Just let him lie this easily without any repercussions.

And he did. He let him lie.

He let him lie knowing full well what he did, knowing Solar still wouldn't be relieved. Not even as he cleans his hands from the blood and sits on the floor with his eyes not actively bleeding anymore after he’d cleaned up.

"You shouldn't have done that", Retak'ka says to Solar, handing the Light Elemental a wet rag. Solar takes it and presses it on his eyes.

"A test like that is much too risky, even with the.. curious idea behind it"

"Tests always have risks to take."

"Not if they risk something precious and personal" he hears

Solar wanted to rebuke that about all the risks he's taken. By using Solar's power so.. so openly. After being kept hidden for stars, know how long. For all the risk Retak'ka is doing by basically kidnapping the other Spirits. It was ludicrous!

It was disgusting to even think about but.. but Solar kept his mouth shut. He didn't say anything but a quiet "hmmm"

It was easier that way. Easier to just... take it? No and yes. But it was also easier to just.. keep quiet. Be silent and follow orders. It'd only quite literally harm him more in the long run in more ways than one if he disobeyed.

He feels a hand on his head, and Solar has half the mind to recoil from the touch but doesn't.

"You are precious to me Cahaya"

That catches Solar more off guard. He.. hasn't used his real name in a long while. Nor has he openly ever shown affection like this. Not like Sir Tok Kasa or Gempa..

Solar tenses. And he doesn't know why, realistically he should be calmer. He isn't getting punished, he's not needing to explain himself on why he did other than what was said before.. So why is so.. fearful?

"So please don't do this again." There were words left out of that sentence. But Solar only nodded. His vocal cords refused to do as they were intended and speak.

So he forces himself to at least stop being so fretful and calm down. It doesn't work but he tries.

..."yeah alright I won't do it again." His voice was quiet but any louder he felt would ruin something. What it is he has no clue, but it's something.

"Good" There was a ruffle of his hair before he heard footsteps leave the room.

Solar snaps out of the memory blinking. There's a familiar pounding behind his eyes as he instinctively reaches up to itch them but stops.

There are tears welling in his eyes. And he's realizing how crying. Yet the Light Spirit can only feel a numbing somber he's felt way too many times to count anymore.

His world used to be light itself both metaphoric and literal.

Solar used to be happier.

Cahaya used to be happier.

He's the light, supposedly having the power to create warmth for others. Something to be a beacon of hope for, dangerous but loving ultimately. He used to be those.. and still he can't help but mourn it. What he used to be.

Cahaya.

Solar was Cahaya but.. not anymore. He couldn't return to those times even if he wanted to.

Which he does. But he doesn't have a choice in the matter.

But still..

Cahaya cries tears of sorrowful golden rays. He's crying liquid glow of what he used to be. And he can't see anymore, the once blurred mess of browns, just filled with his tears.

This land he ruined.. helped ruined. It used to be green, part of him thinks Daun would've loved it... but now much like him. It's barren. Empty.

He hears footsteps and doesn't bother trying to wipe his face.

"Your crying," is the only thing he hears as his master stops by his side.

"Duri.. would've liked this place I think. I just miss a little"

Not a lie. It's not a lie he kept some things to himself. Was it?

"We'll be okay Cahaya"

No they wouldn't. No he wouldn't. Not after this, not after everything the Light Spirit had done and would keep doing. Not even after death.

"You are my precious tool, there's nothing to worry about. Just do as your told and I promise you'll get what you need"

Need.. what did Solar even need or want anymore.

Manipulation freaking manipulation

RETAKKKAAAAAASAAAAAAAAAAA

Sheesh, Retakka is so- menacing?? So- malicious?? So- just- i want to push him

Cahaya and trauma!!! He will never eescape it in this blog

This is such a wonderful beautiful fic

Would it be bad if i made this canon to this au??

#boboiboy #xoshi asks #xoshi answers #bbb elements separated au #anon scenarios

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marksbear · 1 year

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Hello mr.bear, pardon my intrusion

I've been thinking about what to request from you, and I finally though about something. Are threesome fine with you mr.bear?

If you don't mind, will you write the boys smut about male reader railing deep on reader bed, and reader surprised deep with inviting ben on their fun. Reader tell ben to fuck deep and then proceed to double deep hole. After done with deep, ben ask for his payment by presenting his prep hole to male reader.

#I hope you don't mind me calling you mr.bear 🐾, thank you for making all the story mr.bear

Hello fine sir! I AM HAPPY to write this request! And I don't mind being called Mr.bear its quite cute actually Mr anon.

WARNINGS- HEAVILY DETAILED SMUT, SWEARING, Overstimulating,threesome, floor sex,wall sex, chocking. Cigarette after sex

THE DEEP, SOLDIER BOY X MALE READER.

The deep and Y/n had been at it for hours. In numerous different positions some that are unthinkable. The reason why is simple. The two of you just had the best mission of yall's career and already got rewarded for it. But deep had come to you for a more personal award.

The deep took you to his house and once you'd walk in he was already over you. Kissing and running his hands all over your hero costume guiding you into his bedroom.

All of that leads into what y'all are doing now. Your hand on his neck with a deadly grip and your other hand holding the right leg still over your shoulder. Drilling your cock in his hole going balls deep to the point that's a bulge in the deep stomach. As for Kevin hes a moaning ,crying mess. Screaming words and sentences that don't even sound human. "Ohh-mfuck! Y/nn imma imma going to cum again." Kevin screams out. He came a total of four now and about to shoot his fiifth load of the night. Deeps moans out a painful scream as he reaches his peak cumming on to the sheets again. His ass becomes numb and his legs are weak.

Y/n fucks the deep not caring that the deep came again just hunting his own orgasm not caring about the pain man under him is feeling. Y/n slows down his thrust but still hard enough that it reaches the deep stomach. "Fucking take it deep. Take all of my fucking cum like the toy you are." Y/n cums deep into the deep and goes back into fucking faster riding out his orgasm. The deep whines and begs Y/n to slow down and have mercy on him. But y/n ignores him and goes back into another round.

Y/n seems to be in a trance only focusing on himself and the deep for any signs of their safe action. The action is a hand signal it's the three finger sign and it tells the other to do something else to them cause maybe they don't wanna do that but they can still do other activities. The fifth one is to stop automatically and take care of the other and just cuddle or watch a movie. One is that they're alright with this and wanna go further.

The deep signals Y/n a one and Y/n flips the deep into doggy style fucking him in a slow and gentle pace so the deep can beg.

"Hey sissy's! Im here." The voice alerts Y/n and stops fucking the deep to turn around and see whos here. "Ben? Why are you here old man." Y/n pulls out of the deep turning around covering his cock. The deep whines at the loss of pleasure. And starts to grind onto the bed. Eagerly trying to cum. "Your boy toy invited me." Y/n gives him a really look and turns around to Kevin and asks him if it's true. The deep moans out a yes trying to get back into fucking wiggling his ass in the air. "Well if thats the case take your clothes off and get fuckin ready." Y/n says to ben and walks back over to the deep and sitting back on the bed. Once ben does what he told he goes back to y/n kissing him deeply. The two make out for a while until the deep whines and says that yall is supposed to be fucking him. Y/n lets out a laugh and turns back around facing Kevin. "Ben fuck him. I'll watch for a bit then join in." Ben doesn't need to be told twice already sliding his cock in the deep. The deep claws onto Ben's back moaning and crying out lewd words. Once Y/n had enough watching he sits besides ben telling him to stop moving for a sec. Y/n slamming his cock in the deep without warning. "OHHH FUCK!" The deep shouts and his body including his gills shaking. "Number Kev" Y/n asks. The deeps uses all of his strength showing a number one. "Okay lets fuck the shit out him old man!" Y/n turn his head and smile at Ben whos already slowing fucking him. Y/n thrust is fast and thinking about himself and Kevin's pleasure and Ben's are slow and rough only focusing on his own pleasure. It had been an hour of deep taking the two cocks and came like six more times. The deep can barely keep his eyes open and his body gave up trying to hold himself up. Y/n and Ben agreed on cumming together. And once they finally did the deep was in heaven. Crying out in pain and pleasure of finally feeling more full than he was already. The two pull out and watch the deep body flops onto the bed tired and on the verge of passing out.

"Now where's my pay?" Ben asked while laying down with his legs open and hole in display. Y/n climbs in between his legs kissing and sucking Ben's neck while sliding his cock in his friends hole. "M-fuck Ben so t-tight and wet." Y/n says resting his head on Ben's own rubbing their noses together like some animal. "Cmon h/n fuck me." Without hesitating Y/n fucks ben in a fast rough place and manhandling him a bit more than what he usually does with deep. The two throwing insults at one another and beating on the other. Just for it can lead to a make-out. Y/n hooks his arms under Ben's leg picking him up with ease and fucking him into a wall. They stay in that position for a while until Ben becomes difficult and makes him and Y/n fall to the ground. Ben quickly gets a top of y/n riding his cock bouncing up and down at a animistic pace. Y/n grips onto Ben's hips and thrust his hips to meet Ben halfway every time. Y/n and Ben cum at the same time with Ben cumming all over y/n body and makes a mess on him. Y/n cums into Ben's ass deep enough if he was a female he'll get pregnant. Ben's body collapsed against Y/n riding out his orgasm breathing heavy. Y/n picks him up and carries him and places Ben next to the sleeping Kevin and tells him to go asleep.

Y/n looks for some clean underwear and slides it on and takes a cigarette out of his jacket pocket and walks outside to the balcony and lights his cigarette looking at the stars. THE END

Now bears that were the craziest and sexiest thing I ever wrote. I love you all and hope you liked this. Stay safe bears

-love Mr bear

#the boys x male reader #the deep #The deep x male reader #soldier boy #soldier boy x male reader #the bear club #x male reader

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0verthinking1t · 2 years

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Starting over

Hey Tumblr. My name is Rose, and my blog is called Overthinking It. It's been around a while, but I haven't really been doing much with it. I started in hopes of using it as a place to dump all my long, overthought rambles about my hyperfixations, but abandoned that pretty quickly and have just been using it as my main blog for surfing the hellsite. I don't post a lot, which is something I'm trying to change. I have a new purpose in mind for this little corner, so I'd like to reintroduce myself and the new Overthinking It.

I am mentally disabled. I am ADHD, depressed, anxious, and I have trauma from spending my teen years with alcoholic family members. I'm nonbinary, Aro-Ace, and have some uh... Pretty weird interests. I'm an artist, and I'm at the beginning of my journey to being a professional. I'm a lot of things all at once, and this can make normal life a bit of a struggle sometimes. I've hit a pretty low point for now, but I'm actively working to pull out of it. I've been letting the brain fog and entropy of my mental illnesses swallow me recently, and it's been robbing me of the willpower to even do simple self care tasks. I came to this realization today, and decided that I don't want to keep letting this happen— I don't want my bedroom to be my entire life, and if I stagnate any more, things will only get worse. I want to feel human again. I also want a place to talk about it, and maybe connect to others who have gone through (or are going through) similar times.

I am starting at pretty much absolute zero right now, which is pretty embarrassing sometimes. I have to put "shower", "stand up for 5 minutes", and "eat actual meals" on my to-do list, and set reminders telling me what day of the week it is. Feeling sorry for myself over my reality right now isn't the point of this blog, tho. Today, I'm starting over fresh and looking for ways to get myself up and functioning again, and that's what I want to share with the world. I know I'm not the only ADHD or depressed person who struggles with motivation, self discipline, or emotional numbness, and I want to send something positive out into the universe for the rest of us who need it. I want to share my experiences with mental health care, and the strategies I invent to trick my brain into being useful. I want to share what baby steps I can make day after day to let people know that they're not alone in whatever stage of life and coping they're at. I know I'm going to sound kind of pathetic sometimes when I'm posting about little things like getting up and dressed, living off hot pockets and protein bars, and opening windows; I also know that we all struggle with the little things sometimes, and feeling isolated and afraid the rest of the world will judge you makes that struggle harder. I want to forgive myself for being at this point, and if I can help someone else out there forgive themselves, too, then sharing all this will have been worth it.

Alright, I've rambled enough. I hope the point was clear enough. TL;DR: this is my personal mental health journey. If I get some relief from posting and feeling heard, at least that will be something. If anyone else out there finds some sort of relief from all this, then it will have been worth it.

#mental health #mental illness #mental disability #mental heath awareness #personal journal #starting over #adhd #depression #anxiety #baby steps

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astaroth1357 · 3 years

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The Following HC has Huge Spoilers for like Lesson 35 Onward and Also Some Pretty Heavy Themes. Readers Discretion Advised.

If the MC had Sacrificed Themselves

You know, it could have happened. So what if it did?

Warnings: Suicide, Depression, Despondency, Death, Heavy Angst

Lucifer

His memories returned to him right as their body hit the floor… All at once, he remembered who he was and who they were and just how much they meant to him...

Only for him to see them lying there with a dagger through their chest.

For once in his life, Lucifer felt nothing but helpless. He was so confused, and now the MC was on the ground bleeding out in front of him, unmoving. As he found his way down to their body, all he could do was yell for someone to come help them… What was even happening??

He knew better than to try and pull the dagger out, but even glancing at it would send a sharp pain through his own chest… The thought occurred to him that the stab should have been meant for him, but... why? Had he stabbed them??

Did they stab themselves…?

His brother bombarded him with questions as they stormed in, but he didn't have any answers for them. He was just as lost as they were... If the MC had stabbed themselves, then why? Why would they ever do that?!

Lucifer was still reeling as Mammon ripped the MC from his arms. He was too stunned to try and stop him as his mind finally began to put together the fragmented memories of his past few days...

Diavolo and Solomon did this. Diavolo signed off on finding that dagger, and Solomon must have given it to them in the first place! And with the MC's part in the Ring... Together they must have put an impossible burden on them… and he wasn't even allowed to know about it!

That realization opened a new sort of rage in Lucifer...

After forcing his brothers to calm down, he locked himself up in his study. No matter what he tried, Diavolo couldn't get a hold of him at all... Lucifer refused to even let him explain because what sort of explanation could he give? An apology?? He'd never be able to apologize for something this unforgivable.

Any communication done between the Demon Prince and his former friend before the MC's funeral was done through the brothers (the few who could pull themselves together enough to do so). Lucifer wouldn't even stomach Barb's presence...

As for Solomon… The sorcerer knew better than to stay in the Devildom any longer than the funeral. Lucifer didn't even have to voice his displeasure at the event; one look was all he needed to send the human packing.

Lucifer was barely seen by anyone until the day of the funeral, and he barely held himself together... No matter his feelings, he was still too proud to cry… not in front of the others... His brothers never saw a tear out of him there or anywhere...

Afterward, his working life seemingly went back to normal. He was still honor-bound to Diavolo after all, but he never warmed to the Demon Prince again. It didn't matter what he tried, if he couldn't have the love of his life back, then Diavolo couldn't have his only friend anymore... As simple as that.

And then it was almost like the MC was never there to begin with… He almost completely reverted back to his former self, but somehow even more harsh and distant to his brothers than ever before… He refused to be looked after or pitied, even if on the inside, he was falling apart...

However, even at his coldest, almost every night, his brothers could hear the piano playing from the music room… the slight hesitation between notes being the only hints of Lucifer's quiet sobs in the darkness...

Mammon

He was the first to run into their bedroom after hearing Lucifer shout, and he pretty much elbowed his brother out of the way to grab the MC's body himself… He was cradling them so close that his shirt got soaked in their blood…

The hell just happened?? He saw the MC that morning, and they were fine!! Why were they hurt now?!

When Satan finally declared that he couldn't do any more for them, Mammon could've snapped his neck. There wasn't "anything more" he could do?? Nothing at all!?

Of course, there had to be something he could do!! Literally anything!!! He could save them!! Didn't he know who this was?! This was his MC! His human!!! They weren't supposed to die like this!!

When Asmo tried to move the body, Beel, Satan, and Levi all had to pull Mammon off while he kicked and bit at them ferociously. Even with all their demon forms' combined power, they couldn't hold him back for very long and Lucifer had to intervene to stop him from attacking Asmo outright...

While Lucifer was holding him back, Mammon turned his rage against his own brother. He was in the room! Why hadn't he done anything?! What even happened?!?

Even after Lucifer explained that the MC must have done it to themselves, Mammon was still so disgusted that he flew out of their bedroom window altogether. How could his "big strong" older brother let something like that happen to them? How were all of his brothers so okay with giving up on them so easily!?

He flew up to the House's roof and took his anger out against the tiles. He could have run, but still, he hung close to the House anyway because that was where MC was... Dead or not, he'd never leave them all alone like that...

Before Lucifer locked himself away, he went up to Mammon to try and coax him back inside… Each time he tried to explain what had happened, he was met with anger - then denial... and finally just sadness… The two held each other on the rooftop as Mammon tried to process his loss… and cried… much like how they'd done after their fall centuries ago…

Mammon insisted on being a pallbearer for the MC and speaking personally at the funeral. He was their first pact, their first man, so he thought he should have that honor. He wanted to be the one closest to them, even after death... And he took on both tasks with a commitment he rarely gives anything he isn't paid for...

By the time the funeral happened, he had burnt out most of his anger... He didn't exactly have much to say to Diavolo or Solomon because of it. Though he wasn't happy to see them at all, given their part in this, he was just so spent already, and he didn't want to get sidetracked… Not in front of MC…

He mourned them even long after they were placed in the family crypt. He never truly got over their death, really…

He buried himself in gambling for a time, but his jackpots never felt as satisfying as they used to… He felt the same with anything he'd try to buy... After a while, he just… stopped trying to fill the void with things entirely…

Expensive items weren't going to bring the MC back to him...

He eventually developed a habit of stealing whatever reminded of the MC… The stuff he thought they'd like and whatnot... Sometimes he wouldn't even notice; he'd just come home with things in his pockets that he never remembered grabbing.

At times, Beel finds him down in the crypt hiding those "gifts" behind false bricks, but he never says anything about it… Though he'd prefer Mammon stop stealing, he knows this is his brother's way of remembering what the MC enjoyed… so he lets him do what he needs to.

Leviathan

Levi was the second to last to get into the room, just before Belphie, and he honestly didn't know what he saw at first… It was like his eyes were on the MC, and they saw all of the blood in the room, but his brain simply refused to believe it…

It had to be a dream, right? A nightmare? A truly hellish nightmare?? His Henry couldn't be gone… could they…? Not like this...

He was only snapped back into reality by Mammon's snarling when Asmo tried taking the MC's body. He had never seen his brother so wild before; his body moved to help restrain him on its own just to keep him from hurting Asmo.

His mind, on the other hand, was still too numb to process what was really happening…

Of all of the brothers, Levi had the hardest time accepting what had occurred. Hell, it was like he couldn't even face it… There was something in him actively trying to blank out anything to do with the MC's death…

For a few days, all he could do was sit in his room numbly and watch Henry swim… He'd try to talk to him occasionally, but the words would dry up in his throat. He just… He didn't know what to say anymore… Asmo had to eventually remind him that there was a funeral at all. He must have blocked that out too…

When at the funeral itself, he remained oddly calm… but he didn't speak to anyone. He didn't look at anyone. He never said a word… Not even to Diavolo or Solomon, he just went where he was told and waited for things to be over…

It wasn't until about a week afterward that the paralyzing fog that he found himself in finally lifted...

It was their marathon night. It felt like he had been waiting for weeks when it was finally time for the MC to come to his door. He waited for their knock…

And then he realized they weren't coming...

And like that, the dam in the back of his mind finally broke and all of the pain he had been hiding from struck him at once. The gut-wrenching cry that left his lips was so powerful that it nearly shattered his aquarium walls and flooded his room with water...

When his brothers ran to check on him, all they found was Levi curled up in his bathtub sobbing hysterically... It took him so long to stop that they had to take turns bringing him water just to keep him from suffering dehydration...

The brothers don't really know how Levi's doing any more… Beel and Asmo go to check on him sometimes, but the room is always dark... save the light of a screen or two. He never wants to talk to them anyway…

They let him know that they're there for him, but… he's long past leaving his room anymore...

Satan

Satan knew the situation was bad when he ran into the MC's room and saw Lucifer… His calm and composed older brother was trembling and shouting, just begging for MC to move…

And then he saw the dagger.

Whatever confusion and rage he felt in that second had to be quickly pushed aside because the MC was his only concern. As the only one in the room with any human medical knowledge, he had to keep a clear head now more than ever.

While his brothers fell apart around him, Satan did the best he could to process what was wrong and how he could help…

He was quick, he used spells to close up their wound and even CPR to try and get their heart beating again... Truthfully, had the MC been alive when he got there, they would have surely survived. But as they were…?

They were already cold beneath his fingertips… Far colder than they should have been… He would later come to find out that their soul had been severed by the dagger, so no matter what he tried, he would have never saved them… They were… gone.

He had to defend himself from Mammon when he finally declared his efforts were in vain. His brother spat at him, but he wasn't afraid to fire back. Did he really think he was the only one hurting here? The MC had been important to all of them!

He had to help the others hold Mammon back, and only after he was under some kind of control did Satan let himself leave the room. He could feel a rampage coming on… but he wouldn't dare leave the MC's bedroom trashed and broken by his own hand...

That made the rest of the House fair game, though. What he ended up doing to the library alone was catastrophic, and the damage to the kitchen nearly set the whole place ablaze… For once, he had a hard time being sorry for it. He was too enraged to care...

He was right alongside Asmo when arguing that the MC deserved more than a standard human funeral. In fact, it was his idea to send a body double of them to the human world so they could keep the real body for themselves. No one was willing to let them go, so Diavolo had eventually had to relent...

Satan was the most openly hostile at the funeral. Any time Diavolo or Solomon took a step too close to their body, he'd snarl at them like a wild animal. As far as he was concerned, they didn't even deserve to be there for their part in it all this. If Diavolo weren't the Prince, he would have forced them out himself, power disparity be damned.

After their death, he did his own research on the dagger to see if there was any way for him to bring them back, but it was just as he feared… Their soul had been effectively torn from their body and sealed within the blade itself, as it does to the demons it slays...

As much as he hated to admit it, they were genuinely, truly gone now. Dead...

His emotional control tanked considerably without the MC around from then on… It was either feel the Wrath that used to consume him or wallow in the pain of their loss... And he just didn't know how to feel anymore now that he was all on his own…

His brothers left Satan alone for the most part; even Beel and Asmo approached him very carefully… He was just too violent and volatile to accept their help for the longest time… And they weren't his MC.

No one was...

Asmodeus

Asmo quickly became the most hysterical one in the room when he first found them. He pushed his way in right next to Mammon, clasping the MC's cold hands and wailing for help...

But after looking into their eyes? Deep down? Even he knew no one probably could...

Back behind him, all he could hear from Lucifer was him trying to gather his thoughts while Satan worked to save them. Through his brother's murmuring, he slowly began to piece together what must have happened… Had they sacrificed themselves…?

But.. Why? Why did they do it…? Why did they think they had to?? Asmo was willing to sever their pact; he was willing to do his part!! Why did he have to lose them instead?!

After Satan declared that they'd gone and it was hopeless, Asmo was the first to beg Lucifer for answers: What happened? Did they do this?? Why didn't you stop them?!

It shattered him to have his suspicions confirmed… The MC sacrificed themselves to save Lucifer and the world at large… They were always too kind for their own good… Too giving to him and his brothers… how had none of them seen this coming…?

Asmo was put in charge of the body before they could even get Mammon away from it, and it was a fight to get him to let go even just a little. Asmo had to use all of his concentration just to dodge his brother's frenzied strikes… He didn't hold it against him. He understood. Mammon had been closer to them than anyone in a way…

He took it upon himself to clean them and prepare them for the funeral... He had to fight with Diavolo himself to have one held in the Devildom and not the human world. As much as he respected the MC's life away from them, they needed them here… No one was handling their death well…

With a combination of spells and all of his makeup talents, he was able to make them look just as stunning as they had been in life... Though every glance at their still form felt like a rock sinking further into his gut, it only seemed... fitting… for him to give them one last makeover...

He forced himself not to cry in front of them as best he could. He tried to smile, tried to talk to them as if they could still hear... He even gave them assurances as if they were scared... A funeral is just like a party if you think about it, and they'd get to be the center of attention. He promised to make them look their best…

Asmo wept the most openly at the funeral, but he didn't turn any of his anger onto Diavolo or Solomon… Diavolo looked just as broken up as the rest of them, maybe even more because the blame was on his shoulders… Meanwhile, even the fairly unreadable Solomon was trying his best not to show any tears…

Though a part of him was still very bitter, he knew the MC wouldn't want them to fight each other anyway… Especially not there...

After the funeral, all the strength he used to keep himself together just caved… He cried every night for weeks and slowly began to lose his drive to keep up appearances...

One month after their death, and his hair was a mess, his eyes were always puffy, and his cheeks seemed to be permanently flushed from tears… Even his enchanting allure radiated nothing but sorrow… He was, quite simply, a wreck...

He visited them down in the crypts often, usually keeping Beel company. By talking to Beel, sharing his memories of the MC, and processing his sadness with his brother, he eventually eased out of his mourning… Though he wasn't exactly "better," he started to move on...

He was the first to recover (as much as any of them could), and he tried his best to help his brothers when able, but not all of them were as lucky…

Asmo never stopped visiting the MC's tomb, though. He'd always bring fresh flowers with him and never stopped talking to them either, even if they weren't listening. He'd liked to believe some part of them were still there and happy to not be left out…

They mattered to him just as much in death as they had in life, and he's never let them forget it...

Beelzebub

Beel was a big guy. He's strong, tough, and even at his birth rank, he can overpower most of his siblings through raw physical prowess alone. All of that is to say that he has an awful lot going for him...

… but in those short minutes of watching the MC bleed out on the floor, he had never once felt so powerless…

When Lilith was struck, he was at least able to save Belphie… He was able to do something. But here…? He was so out of his depth that all he could do was stare...

He'd once sworn to himself that he would guard them, that he would keep them safe and make sure that he'd never have to see them in pain, but there they were… Dead before he was even in the room...

Since Mammon and Asmo were hysterical and Lucifer just… wasn't acting right, he tried to stay as calm as he could… But not even he could fight the tears in his eyes...

He had failed again. First with Lilith, now with MC… It didn't even matter to him that Lucifer said they did it to themselves. If he had been there, he would have stopped them! If he had been there, he would have pulled the dagger right out of their hands! If he had been there, he…!

Well... What did it matter, anyway…? He wasn't there at all…

When it came time to take the MC's body away, he was the first to try and pull Mammon away, but even he forgets how strong his brother can be. With everyone's help, Asmo was able to do what he needed to, but Beel wished he could have held the MC like that too...

Some part of him, at that moment, decided that if he wasn't able to protect them in life, the least he could do was guard them in death… Their body, their possessions, even their memory… All of it. He would keep them "alive," and with his family, if it was all he'd ever do…

Beel was probably the most somber at the funeral… He didn't say much, but it's not like he often does. He mostly just stuck close to Belphie to be sure his twin didn't try anything while they were there...

He was willing to forgive Diavolo sooner than the rest of his brothers because even he saw that the Demon Prince never thought it would come to this… He was less kind to Solomon, though, because he gave them the dagger to start with... At least, unlike Satan, he didn't show his disgust so bluntly.

After the funeral, Beel quietly kept his word. He would regularly go into their old room and make sure it was clean. He'd fix things so it'd look otherwise untouched. He kept track of every item and kept anything else from going in or coming out...

If he wasn't there, then he would stand guard over their coffin, quietly watching his brothers' come and go while keeping his human safe in the only way he could…

Anyone who came by would often end up talking to Beel, just because he was there and always listening, and he'd try his best to help… The MC had been so much better at supporting his family through their problems, but he did what he could do...

He found it comforting in a way… Like he was passing on what the MC had taught them and reminding them not to forget their lessons…

He'd make sure no one would forget them… no one…

Belphegor

Belphie was the last in the room because he had been napping in the attic at the time. When he came in and saw all his brothers huddled together, he didn't know what he expected to see…

But it certainly wasn't the MC on the floor...

Naturally, fear was the first thing to hit him, but it quickly turned to anger. Who had done this?? Who hurt them?! Where were they!?!

He shouted as much over his brothers' mourning, but it was the guilt-ridden look on Beel's face that told him all he needed to know… No one had hurt them… but themselves...

Belphie's thoughts were a whirlwind, but he knew he couldn't stay there. Not in that room, with their body and all his brothers, so he ran back up to the attic and slammed the door shut before losing his mind...

The wailing and the carnage Belphie caused up there could have put Satan to shame… He was just so ungodly pissed off at everything and everyone!! Diavolo for putting so much pressure on them, Solomon for letting them have the dagger, his brother for not saving them, the MC for doing what they did, and even himself! He…! He was mad... at himself…

He was mad that he hadn't said goodnight to them that day… He was mad that he hadn't hugged them that morning… He was mad that he hadn't asked them how their day was or how they felt about that terrible movie they saw once or why they always felt like they had to take on everybody else's problems all the time…!!

He was mad that he didn't know this was their last day to be together…

The attic room was completely trashed by the time Belphie had finally finished letting his anger out, and it ended with him kneeling in the middle of the floor, hugging his torn pillow and sobbing while the feathers clung to him like snow…

He spent much of the next few days shifting from irritation to despondency… Beel was about the only person he would talk to, so he would have to come in and make sure he had meals or something to drink between his never-ending naps…

He almost didn't go to the funeral because he couldn't get himself up for it… Beel had to dress him then carry him there, and even when he was awake, he was too busy glaring at Diavolo and Solomon to even mourn...

He mostly cried at night… When everybody else was either asleep or doing the same in their own way…

Some days he would be awake enough to help Beel clean the MC's things, and those days seemed to help him the most… Being in places that reminded him of them gave him better dreams at night, and if he was lucky, he could convince Beel to let him sleep in their bed for a time…

Beel and Asmo worked on talking to Belphie the most out of the other brothers, partially because Beel could get him talking the easiest, but progress was hard-fought all the same…

In many ways, Belphie just considered life without the MC not even worth being awake for...

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sameheart-sameblood · 3 years

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All To Myself

(gif by @captainrexs)

pairing: captain rex x f!reader

summary: bath time with rex usually means trying to get him to relax, but tonight it's your turn to let him help you out

words: 3.1 k

warnings: 18+, smut, bathtime shenanigans (f receiving), rex being the giver we all know he is

a/n: this is purely self-indulgent as i love baths. i would give up all my earthly possessions to take one with rex. this is my first attempt at smut (which is probably obvious lol). kind of didn’t want to release this but got tired of it staring at me whenever i opened word

read on ao3!

Your evenings were usually spent alone. At first, that had bothered you. Rex had come into your life and you wanted nothing more than to be in his presence. The calmness and kindness he exuded was unlike anything you’d ever experienced before. Being around him made you crave his presence all the more, like spice coursing through your system. You knew his job meant he was needed off planet most of the time. But was it really too much to ask that you see him occasionally while he was back on Coruscant?

As your relationship went on, you got used to it. Being numb to the canceled dinners and missed special occasions was just what seemed in store for someone who loved a captain in the GAR. Which is why you barely batted an eyelash when he had commed you earlier in the day, rushing an apology about not being able to see you that evening. You might be resigned to the fact that Rex’s life was his job but it still didn’t make it easier to stomach the thought of another night alone.

The two of you had planned an evening on the town, dinner and dancing. Well, at least you dancing while Rex swayed self-consciously next to you. He hated it and yet he never tried to talk you out of going. It was one of the many things you loved about him. It was these things you remembered when your loneliness got the best of you. So what if Rex couldn’t always be around? Whenever he was with you he made you feel like the only person in the world.

You contemplate calling your friends to see if they’d like to join you for your planned activities. But you’re feeling sorry for yourself and if you can’t be with Rex, then you’d rather just be by yourself. You decide to keep things simple and take a bath. The thought instantly puts you in a better mood. It’s one of your favorite past-times.

******

When Rex had first seen your bath routine, he’d been in shock. As someone who was usually only afforded about two minutes to bathe, the thought of taking an hours long bath blew his mind. You’d insisted he try it for himself. He watched as you drew him a bath of his own, adjusting the temperature just right and properly dissolving a few handfuls of epsom salts.

Before leaving him, you’d dimmed the lights, lit a few sweet smelling candles and turned on some light background music. Lowering himself into the tub, Rex thought the experience might be alright. But after a minute, he was ready to get out. He had tried to understand it, really he had. But as someone always on the go, he couldn’t easily relax, constantly fighting the feeling he should be doing something.

He didn’t begrudge you taking your baths. After all, he saw how happy they made you and he wanted nothing more than to see you content. But for a soldier, the experience felt like an indulgence he didn’t deserve.

He had shyly called you back into the bathroom. “I don’t think I’m doing it right, love.” You’d gone in to find him sitting there, looking confused, as if expecting something more to happen. “There’s no wrong way to take a bath, Rex.” Sitting down next on the edge of the porcelain, you’d motioned for him to keep trying. He’d sat back, shoulders tensed towards his ears, staring straight ahead, eyes wide, his whole body on alert.

You had to stifle a laugh as you watched. “Ok, apparently you have found a wrong way to take a bath.” He’d looked so forlorn at his failure that you had no choice but to shed your clothes and get in, taking a more hands on approach to showing him how to relax. He’d liked baths much more after that…

******

Easing yourself into the water makes you instantly relax. Knowing you’ll most likely spend the rest of the night in here, you make sure to get everything prepared that you might need. Feeling cheeky, you also bring over of your favorite vibrator. You’re not going to be getting any from Rex tonight, so might as well try to have some fun.

You get to catch up on the book you’re reading, feeling satisfied when you finish the last page. Settling back, you let your mind wander, hands playing at the surface of the water. An accidental glide over your breast sparks something in your belly. You pause, then do it again, imagining it’s Rex’s larger, calloused hand teasing you. You grab the vibrator, placing it next to you.

Before you delve in, you turn the water on to return some of the warmth the bath has lost.

Over the roar of the tap, you don’t hear the door open. Someone clears their throat and you whip your head towards the noise. Rex greets you, shoulders slumped with fatigue. “Sorry, love, didn’t mean to scare you.”

And you must look scared too, you’re eyes double their usual size. You glance at the vibrator, wondering if you have time to hide it. Rex isn’t against your use of toys, in fact he encourages them. But you’re still embarrassed at being caught just about to put it to use. He follows your eyes, his own widening slightly.

“Ah, so it was going to be that kind of bath?” He chuckles, expression darkening slightly as you squirm under his gaze. He just stands there, looking at you. Oh, he’s actually expecting an answer. “Well, I just figured, you weren’t going to be home, and I was bored and lonely and…”

You’re rambling now but you can’t stop, even as you watch him slowly remove his armor. He does so tantalizingly slow, nodding along with mock sympathy as you continue.

“I thought I would be alone for the night and I missed you so much, Rex, honey, I miss you.”

His face softens at your wavering tone, your sincerity written all over your face. He finishes stacking his armor neatly in the corner. “I missed you too.” He strips out of his blacks, folding them as you openly gawk at him. He allows himself a smirk at your neediness. Finally ridding himself of his clothing, he kneels down next to the bath. He runs his thumb over your cheek. “I’m here now. You don’t need to be lonely anymore.”

That night you had first introduced him to proper bath-time, you’d sat behind him, guiding him on just how to really relax. But tonight, he wants you to be taken care of. He motions for you to scooch forward, then sinks in behind you, groaning softly. You settle into each other, just reveling in the closeness for a moment.

Rex exhales a ragged breath and you feel some of the tension go out of his body. “Tough day?” He pulls you closer, your back pressed to his chest. “Just the usual. Nothing I can’t handle.” You know him well enough now to hear the pain in his tone. He feels you tense, knowing you want to ask him to elaborate, always trying to solve his problems. Rex rubs your arms slowly, soothing you “Not to worry. Everything’ll be fine.”

Rex’s hands continue their hypnotic rubbing. Up and down, leaving goosebumps in their wake. You allow yourself to relax once again but don’t let the matter drop. “You had a long day, Rex. Let me help you unwind.” You try and get out of the bath so you can switch places. But he’s having none of it. He holds you gently in place. “Taking care of you will help me relax, love.”

When you had first gotten together and he would say these kinds of things to you, it was hard to believe him. Could he truly be this selfless? It felt in some way like you were taking advantage of him. As your relationship progressed, you’d come to see that he truly meant things like that. Rex had many love languages but his favorite was acts of service.

Sighing in defeat, you settle back against him. He chuckles at your small sounds of mock protest. Rex nuzzles his face into your hair, inhaling your familiar scent of pine and Alderaanian blossoms. For a moment, he breathes you in, forgetting about the world. But as his eyes slowly open, he’s greeted by the sight of your long abandoned vibrator. Rex reaches for it, toying with it. You see what he’s doing and turn towards him. “It’s ok. I’m fine. Let’s just lay here.”

Your captain may be tired but he’ll be damned if he doesn't fall asleep knowing you've been satisfied. “That’s right. You just lay there. Let me do the work.” The tiny thing clicks on, a buzzing filling the room. Rex lowers it into the water, the vibrations sending out tiny ripples. He pauses hovering above where you need him most.

“What do you think of when you use this?” You’re so caught off guard by the question that you only let out a confused garble. He gives your thigh a squeeze, chuckling at the state you’re already in. “I haven’t even started yet, love. Use your words.”

After that, there’s no hesitation. “You.” The word comes out in a needy rasp. Rex is right. He hasn't even touched you yet and your body is already wound up so tightly in anticipation that you’re sure you might combust at any moment. “It’s always you, Rex.” You can’t see but his face softens, still so surprised someone would ever care for him like that.

He rewards you with a lingering kiss on your shoulder and lowers the toy to your already swollen clit. You jolt at the sensation, body automatically trying to get away from it. Rex’s free arm tightens around you, forcing you to stay still and power through the first few seconds of overstimulation. You’re still whimpering, but you soon relax, leaning your head back onto his shoulder.

He studies your face, your eyes screwed tight and mouth slightly agape. “Is this what you needed?” All you can do is nod but he prompts you to continue, rubbing the vibrator slowly up and down through your folds. Gasping at the new sensation, your eyes pop open to meet his. “I-I…” The arm that had been holding you tightly against him loosens. His hand moves to your breast, massaging gently.

It’s been so long since you’ve had time to take things this slow. Usually he’s only got a few minutes free, leaving time for a rushed rendezvous and nothing more. But tonight you have him all to yourself. No comms beeping to steal his attention, no duty calling him away. It’s as if there’s nothing outside of these four walls and you know it’s an opportunity that won’t come along often.

Your head lolls to the side as he continues his ministrations. The coil in your belly is tightening quickly but you fight against it, needing something different. Your voice eventually resurfaces, your words on the tail end of a moan. “I- I need you!” Urging life back into your limbs that have since turned to jelly is difficult. But you manage to move your hand to cover his, clicking off the vibrator.

Rex stills for a moment, trying to figure out what he’s done wrong. Turning your head to look at him, you see his confusion. You reach up to stroke his face, eyes pleading with him. After a moment, you see him understand. It’s something you always want, without fail. He smiles down at you, leaning over you to gently press his lips to yours.

The vibrator is quickly abandoned on the side of the tub. With both hands free, Rex can really touch you, hands roaming about at his leisure. You sigh contently as his rough fingers trail along the sides of your body, then upwards to tease your nipples. The embers in your belly that had dimmed slightly are now burning brightly once again. He senses this and lowers a hand to your clit.

At first, he just runs his fingers through your folds. He doesn’t mean to tease, he just hasn’t been able to feel you, to truly appreciate you in so long. But your whine pulls him out of his trance and he begins to rub circles that leave you gasping for air. He begins slowly, making sure you're happy with the direction things are going.

Rex holds in his chuckle as he peers down at you. Your head has once again tipped back against him. But now, your face has gone slack, no tightness or tenseness to be found. Only pleasure. His free hand moves between your breasts, squeezing, massaging and tugging, making sure neither is neglected. He sees just how much your chest is heaving and decides to give you your reward. You’ve been so patient for him.

His hand tugs at your thigh, pulling you out of your daze. “What are you - “ He lifts your leg and hooks it over the edge of the tub, spreading you wider for better access. You moan pitifully as the hand that had been rubbing circles delves back in. There’s so much more of you he can touch now and it makes you tremble. He beams down at you proudly, seeing how much this slight change is bringing you closer to the edge.

You're tensing under him, back beginning to bow. Your sudden movement brings attention to his erection that’s been slowly growing. He can’t help when he automatically begins to grind against you. But Rex knows you well enough now to realize he only has a few more seconds before you're toppling into oblivion. His release can wait.

Abandoning your breast, his hand slides up to your neck, applying the slightest pressure. You keen at the feeling. It’s not a show of dominance. It’s Rex reminding you that he’s there for you, a comforting presence that makes you feel perpetually taken care of.

You twist your neck so you can gape up at him. The hand on your clit continues it’s work, doubling down its efforts. Throughout the experience, you’d been gripping the sides of the tub for dear life. But now, you bring one up to cover Rex’s hand that’s enclosed around your neck. Even through your haze of lust, your heart aches at the pure love radiating from his eyes.

You're too far gone, unable to form words. All you can do is moan and hope he can decipher it. If you weren't in such a compromising position you would have to laugh. Asking someone to be able to decipher your desires without words. But thankfully Rex knows you like the back of his hand. He knows what you're asking, what last thing you need to make you let go. Loosening his grip on your neck, he uses it to hold your face, crashing your lips together.

The kiss doesn’t break, even as you writhe under him. You try to turn away from him as you come, but he holds you to him, needing to feel you as much as you needed to feel him. The water is sloshing over the sides of the tub, your once full bath almost halfway empty. Rex breaks the kiss, letting the aftershocks of your release play out.

He rubs soothingly against your thighs, watching as you twitch. You collapse onto him, finally beginning to break through the fog. The ability to form a coherent sentence seems to have left you. All you can manage is a weak sigh of his name. It’s the only thing you can remember and, in all honesty, you’d die a happy woman if that was the only thing you could utter for the rest of your life.

“Was that what you needed, love?” Rex nuzzles into your neck as you chuckle. “Apparently more than I realized.” The rubbing at your sides pauses. You look to Rex to see what’s wrong and find his face twisted with guilt. “This isn’t right. If I can’t give you the attention you need then I don’t deserve you.” This isn’t the first time you've had this conversation and you're sure it wont be the last.

But you’re happy to reassure your lover, as many times as you need to. “You give me everything I need, Rex. You’re smart, brave, funny, kind, supportive, sexy.” He lowers his eyes at the last word, smiling demurely. “I don’t know how I got so lucky. You give me everything and so much more. And I mean, if you don’t believe me, just look.” You laugh, gesturing at your bathroom, now in a state of disrepair, water on the floor, shampoo and soap bottles scattered, candles burnt down to messy puddles.

Rex chuckles but looks contrite, rubbing his neck shyly. “Guess we got a little carried away.” He’s already made you come once, and spectacularly at that. But just the sight of him has those butterflies in your belly stirring to life again. You bat your eyelashes. “Now will you let me take care of you?” He closes his eyes, sighing tiredly. His cock, still hard against your back is evidence enough, but his muscles sag with fatigue.

“I want you more than anything. But I think I have just enough energy to clean this mess and then fall into bed.” Shaking your head, you gently extricate yourself from his arms. You stand on shaky legs as you hold out your hand for him. “Everything else can wait. Let me show you how much I missed you, Captain.”

His eyes widen, lust beginning to cloud his gaze. You don’t use his title often, knowing how riled up it gets him to hear the word fall from your lips. But you need the big guns tonight, refusing to leave him wanting. Rex grabs for you and lets you lead him through the ruined bathroom and into your bedroom.

He takes one last look at the state you’re leaving the room in. “But we should really clean this…” You lead him to the bed and softly push him down on to it. He looks up at you with doe eyes as you straddle his hips. “We will, honey. But no sense cleaning up now when we’re just about to make another mess.”

#captain rex x reader #rex x reader #rex x you #god what i would give to take a bath with rex #tcw fanfic #tcw smut #tcw #allie writes #my writing

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heloisedaphnebrightmore · 3 years

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Regardless of the bond [James Potter x Reader]

Title: Regardless of the bond Pairing: James Potter x Female!Reader Word count: 3.3k Published: 19 April 2021 Author: Heloise Daphne Brightmore Summary: [x] The existence of soulmates was hard for you to believe. You wished to be one of them, but after your 18th birthday, when you were supposed to experience a difference, you are left disappointed. Knowing you didn’t have that special bond and you had to continue watching the one you liked so deeply love someone else makes you want to just disappear. Bingo: [x] This is part of my Make me feel Bingo Card by @girl-next-door-writes

Square filled: Alternative Universe

Harry Potter Characters Masterlist | Masterlists

Make me feel Bingo Masterlist

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Soulmates were a very widely known myth that many believed and wished to experience, but some found it to be a silly little idea created by those who romanticised the idea to be with someone for the rest of their lives. The thought of loving someone and being loved unconditionally was indeed one that many wished to have, but since soulmates were rather rare, people often ignored its existence and chose to find love themselves. According to the myths, some people experienced finding their soulmate with a simple touch, where for a mere second, they saw images of their future life together. For some it was a sensation, a pulling force telling them that they belonged together. There were some theories where they could recognise each other’s scent. Many different myths have been spread throughout the centuries, but there was one mutual theory in all of them. When it happens, you just know it, you feel it, every single fibre of your body screams for that certain person to stay in your life.

You were one of those who believed it but didn’t think it would ever happen to you. You hoped, of course you did, but you were more logical than to rely on an old myth. Having such a strong connection was a lovely idea, but it was hard to believe that it would be handed to you on a silver plate. All the fairy tales you have heard about from your parents said that the soulmate-bond would be activated after your 18th birthday if you had one. But of course, it’s been a month and you have felt no different than before, reassuring you that you weren’t any special.

You were seated in the Gryffindor common room, legs thrown over the arm of the sofa, hanging down on the side as you doodle little drawings on a piece of ripped parchment.

“What are you doing?” You heard a voice and as you looked up, you recognised Lily standing in the doorway.

“Just drawing,” you replied, turning back to your parchment, ignoring your friend.

“Good, good,” she nodded and took a seat beside you, staring at your doodles.

“Is there anything you want?” You asked, turning back to her with an expectant expression, brows running high.

“Nope,” she popped the ‘p’ as she shook her head. You frowned at her rather strange behaviour, but once again turned back to your drawings, trying to ignore her staring. However, it seemed to be a task easier said than done. Feeling Lily’s breath on your neck and her eyes attached to your drawing, whilst squirming in her place chased all your creativity away. You folded up your paper and looked at your friend once again.

“You are being fairly annoying,” you stated with a grimace.

“I didn’t even do anything,” she huffed, crossing her arms in front of her chest and turning to the opposite direction, giving you a side-glance every once in a while.

“Breathing down my neck and staring at me is quite creepy and as much as I love you, your behaviour is very unusual so spill it, what’s going on?” You asked firmly, causing Lily to scrunch her nose and pout in a child-like manner. She was a very smart witch and an even better friend, but at times she was capable of getting on your nerves with a simple look. “Come on, I don’t have all day to wait for you,” you rushed her as you stood up and tossed the folded parchment in the drawer of your desk and closed it with a thudding sound.

“I have overheard a little discussion between James and Sirius. They were talking about you,” she smirked playfully, wiggling her brows as though you were supposed to understand.

“I’m not sure what kind of reaction you are expecting of me,” you frowned in confusion.

“Well, certainly a happier one than the one I’m getting now,” she grimaced. “I have been hearing nothing else from you, but how much you’ve liked James since the first time you talked,” she tried to lead you to the right direction, but you still stood there cluelessly.

“So?” you asked.

“So? James and Sirius were talking about you,” Lily repeated slower as if you didn’t understand before.

“I heard you for the first time too, I’m not stupid. I simply don’t understand what you want from me. James and Sirius are my friends, they will inevitably talk about me if I come up in a subject,” you shrugged nonchalantly.

“You are unbelievable. I overheard James telling Sirius that he has feelings for you,” Lily exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. But instead of excitement you gave her a deadpan expression. “Okay, I’m not sure what’s going on with you today, but I’m honestly starting to think you are broken or something,” she huffed.

“We both know that James has been running after you for years, Lils. Sure, we are close, I love him to bits, however, I am nothing but a friend to him. I’m not sure what you heard or what you misunderstood to be exact, but we both know James has liked you for years and I find it hard to believe that his last year will be the one where he changes his mind so abruptly,” you explained. Whilst a part of you wished to believe it was true, a more logical side made sure to crush those hopeful thoughts that tried to sway you.

“I’m sorry, but I’m quite sure of what I heard. And why couldn’t he? Crushes come and go, and he hasn’t asked me out or showed any interest in me for the last month or so. I do believe he has feelings for you, but you have been friends for so long, you can’t expect him to just walk up to you and confess,” Lily tried to pressure your logical side, but you couldn’t find it in you to agree. You have liked him for so long, you were numb to even the thought of him ever reciprocating your feelings.

“Ok, I accept that. Now that we have concluded this conversation, can we actually grab something to eat?” You asked whilst walking towards the door and opening it for Lily, waiting for her to follow you.

“You’re definitely broken,” she huffed, annoyed by your nonchalant behaviour.

“And you are rather annoying today. I’m glad we both have negative feelings towards each other. It will be a beautiful day,” you put on a fake smile, earning a grimace from Lily.

“You have been avoiding him recently,” she added with a side-glance, making you groan as you headed down the stairs to the common room.

“Can we stop talking about him for a second?” you asked, pleading with the girl.

“Fine, but I’m not giving up just yet,” shrugging, she hurried up her steps and walked out the common room, leaving you farther behind. Rolling your eyes, you heaved a heavy sigh and followed her to the Great hall.

As you sat at the Gryffindor table with Lily on your right, eating your usual morning toast, James took a seat on your other side whilst Sirius sat down beside Lily, followed by Remus and Peter across the table.

“We have a beautiful day today, don’t we?” James beamed, his unusually positive attitude making you frown. Everyone seemed to act unlike themselves and you certainly didn’t like the way they behaved.

“I guess,” you replied with a grimace. “Would have been better if Lily didn’t start my day by dancing on my nerves,” you groaned.

“I was simply stating facts,” she huffed.

“That could possibly be a definition of annoying too if we dig deeper,” you retorted.

“It’s not my fault you are hard-headed,” she rolled her eyes.

“It’s not my fault you are spreading false rumours,” you shrugged nonchalantly.

“It’s not my fault you can’t see the forest from the tree,” she grimaced.

“Woah, woah, let’s just stop it there. We have quite an intense breakfast on our hands. What do you say we just continue eating quietly?” James asked, trying to stop your bickering.

“Been doing that until you arrived with your overly-positive attitude,” you replied as you bit into your toast.

“I’m sorry for having a nice day. Instead of being gloomy, you could try it too,” he raised a questioning brow, wearing a playful smirk across his face. In normal circumstances you would have returned his smile, feeling all warm inside, feeling your cheeks flush. He had a certain vibe that always made you feel happier even if you were down. But not in that moment. It just didn’t work.

“Will take your advice into consideration,” you huffed as you stood up from the table, finishing your breakfast. “See you later,” you nodded and headed towards the exit. You barely reached the first classroom across the corridor when you heard your name being called.

Turning around you, you saw James walking towards you in a haste. “Hmm?” You hummed in a questioning tone.

“You are acting strange recently. I can’t talk to you, I barely see you and honestly, I feel like you are avoiding me,” he stated, nervously rocking from one foot to the other. Indeed, you have been trying to keep a distance from the boy, knowing he fancied Lily whilst you liked him. Since your birthday you expected some kind of sign that would lead you to your soulmate, but it never happened. No images, no scents, no touches. The person you liked for so long had a crush on someone else and when you finally thought you might have a chance to find someone to connect with, you had to release you as one of many didn’t have a soulmate.

“Look, I just prefer being alone nowadays,” you lied. Imagining a pitiful look in his eyes, knowing why you have been avoiding him was something you never wanted to see. He was always supportive, and you could always rely on him, but this time you couldn’t possibly open up to him. You didn’t want his apologetic looks.

“Seven years. It’s been seven years since we first met and almost as long since we have become friends. I think I know you fairly well. Sure, people change, so did you and I, but we have changed together, for me you are still the same person I befriended. I don’t understand why you think that I would believe you. Wanting to be alone on occasions is fine, you have always done that, but you never closed me out completely until recently. I need to know what’s going on,” he pleaded, his words, his eyes, even his tone screaming for some kind of an explanation, but you couldn’t give him what he wanted.

“I’m sorry,” you simply apologised and started walking away. Giving him an explanation would have revealed your secret and you were not ready for that. Maybe once when your feelings were finally gone and you decide to sit down to talk about the old times, being nostalgic, maybe then you would have the courage, but not in that moment.

“Sorry is not enough,” he raised his voice as he hurried after you and grabbed your wrist. The feeling of his warm palm across your skin sent shivers down your spine. Your lips parted in surprise as you felt electricity run through the spot where he held onto you, starting off your heart in a quick pace. Feeling your cheeks heat up, you turned around and looked into his brown eyes as wide as yours, trying to figure out the unusual, sudden feeling. You felt your chest compress, air stuck in your lungs as you watched the man you had feelings for being just as shocked as you were. Knowing, hoping, believing what that certain electrical feeling running through you meant, it frightened you. You never wanted to be bonded with a man who loved someone else and the simple thought of you having to watch him run after his loved one made you feel as though your heart was shattering into the smallest of pieces, where picking them and trying to mend them wasn’t an option anymore.

Both of you stood stunned, his fingers firmly around your wrist, staring at each other, wordlessly trying to communicate. It was James who recovered first and let go of your arm, leaving it to fall beside you. You wanted to speak, you wanted him to speak, but none of you knew the right words to voice. In your shocked state you just wanted to disappear, you wanted to run away. The awkward silence was making you mad and frustrated, wanting nothing but to get as far from him as possible. So, you did. You hurried off, the sound of your heavy steps following you through the corridor. Hearing James’ pleading voice to stop you didn’t seem to work, you hurried your steps, not knowing where you were heading.

“Stop!” James appeared in front of you, stepping out of a hidden door you have not seen before.

“Leave me alone, James,” you pleaded, desperately needing some time alone.

“You felt it too. I know you did, so stop running away,” he stepped in your way as you tried to walk around him. He was determined to keep you there, to talk to you, to finally stop you from avoiding him.

“Why? I felt nothing. Just get away from me,” you raised your voice, even though you have never done it before, but it didn’t work. James wasn’t giving in.

“Enough,” he raised his voice this time, but it wasn’t threatening nor aggressive, he was firm and somewhat assertive. “You can avoid me if you like, you can ignore me if that makes you feel better but telling me that you didn’t feel anything when I touched you, lying to my face, that I will not take,” he exhaled slowly. “I know you felt it too and we both know what it meant. You are not stupid and nor am I. And if you feel like pretending that it didn’t happen,” he swallowed and heaved a heavy sigh,” we can do that, I will not force you. I’m only asking you not to run away from me,” he pleaded with you.

Feeling the tears collecting in your eyes, you tried to keep them in bay, not wanting James to see you so vulnerable. A heavy sigh left your lungs as you looked up at him, locking your eyes with him. “I— I don’t know how to handle this, James. You have been in love with Lily for so long, I don’t know how to react. I don’t want to be bonded to someone who already loves someone else,” you finally voiced your thoughts, finding it hard to resist the pleading look across his face.

“I never loved Lily,” he shook his head with a deep frown. “I was in a way infatuated with her, I liked the idea of liking her, but I didn’t love her. And I don’t feel that way anymore. I haven’t even tried getting closer to her in the last couple of months. If you were here, you could have seen it, but you decided to avoid me at all cost,” his tone, his demeanour, his firm stance radiated confidence and sincerity. Indeed, you haven’t seen much of him and you couldn’t judge what happened around your friend circle recently, but it was hard to believe that after all this time he just gave up on Lily.

“Look, whether you like her or not is not my business really and you don’t owe me any explanation. Maybe in the future you will like someone else, and I will be happy for you, but we have been friends for so long, I don’t want this stupid bond to stand in your way. So, let’s just pretend it didn’t happen, alright?” you tried to compromise, but James shook his head heavily in reply and stepped closer to you.

“How can you be so silly? You and this bond will always be standing in the way of me liking someone else, because regardless of that stupid bond, it is you that I like,” he confessed, his eyes a storm of emotions. He reached for your hand, cupping them in his, squeezing yours gently. “I like you. I really do. It has nothing to do with that bond,” he swallowed nervously. You tried to respond, say something, but instead you kept opening and closing your mouth as if you were a fish out of water, gaping, finding it hard to breath. It was hard to believe, but you couldn’t deny the tiny bit of flame you felt deep within you, hope that meant you still had a chance with him.

“But why?” you exclaimed in shock, not even realising your own words. James let out a mild chuckle, your words catching him off guard.

“Because you were always there for me, because you always knew what to say to me, how to hold me, how to deal with me. Because whenever I’m around you I’m both calm and nervous at the same time. Because you make me feel like a little child, wanting to smile whenever I see you. You are beautiful of course, but regardless I feel as though there’s this pulling force between us. I didn’t realise that I liked you until you were avoiding me. And it was not because of the bond, but because I realised that you were not there beside me and I missed the smallest of details that makes you—you. Scrunching your nose, pouting, grimacing at my silly ideas, scolding me for not studying. Every single little detail that makes you— you, was just missing from my life and it was killing me. I do like you more than you can imagine with or without that stupid bond,” he replied with a lopsided smile across his face, leaning his forehead against yours.

“But Lily—” you wanted to say, but he cut you off.

“There is no Lily. There’s only you and me. I just want you to maybe give me a chance to try if we work, if this— whatever is between us works,” he pleaded and instead of a reply, you stood on your tiptoes and attached your lips to his. He was hesitant, he didn’t know what was happening, but he didn’t let his chance slip out of his hands. He let go of your hands and cupped your face for better access, devouring your lips, losing himself in the moment where it was indeed only you and him.

“I like you. I like you so much,” you breathed against his lips, stunning him. His eyes widened at your words, clearly shocked by your sudden confession.

“But you have been avoiding me,” he exclaimed.

“I couldn’t be around you. I couldn’t watch you run after Lily anymore,” you shook your head, nervously biting your lip.

“I’m so sorry for putting you through that,” he hinted a small kiss on your forehead. “I promise I will make up for it if you give me a chance.”

“Wasn’t I clear enough?” you giggled softly as you placed your hands on his, holding your face. “There is nothing I want more than to give us a chance,” you smiled, reassuring him that you wanted him just as much as he wanted you.

“Well, since we have already missed the beginning of the first class, we could start off by trying to regain the last month you have so rudely taken from me,” he raised a questioning brow, hoping you would agree.

“I guess we could skip a class after all,” you giggled softly.

“Or more than one,” he wiggled his brows as he captured your lips once again, impatiently waiting for all the memories you were to experience together.

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#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter imagine #james potter oneshot #james potter fanfiction #james potter x reader imagine #james potter x reader oneshot #james potter x reader fanfiction #girl next door's make me feel bingo #harry potter #james potter x yn #james potter x y/n

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a-simple-imagine · 3 years

Text

A little bit of Devil In Her Angel Eyes

Synopsis: Your entire life changed when you met Sharon Carter in Mandripoor but one bad deal and everything comes crashing down.

Pairing: Sharon Carter x reader

Words: 3.2k

A/N - This is my first story after like a five month slump so please go easy on me. I hope its okay!! I also just reached 1.7k so thanks for that.

Warnings - swearing, mentions of blood and fighting, mentions of illegal activities.

You never lacked interest or empathy, but you'd always felt bored throughout your life. There was little excitement amongst the mundane everyday tasks. You didn't have some grand ambition to work towards; no dream job and no innate desire to settle down and have a family. You were navigating life with no direction. Never feeling like you belonged anywhere. You didn't necessarily see this as a problem but there were moments, late at night, that had you wishing for something more out of life. You just weren't quite sure what that was... until you met her.

A chance encounter in the vibrant neon lights of a dingy bar located in lowtown; a crime-ridden, impoverished district located in Mandripoor. It is the ultimate abyss of vice and degradation, where nothing was sacred and no act profane. A beautiful young woman, who so strongly contrasted her surrounding, sat at the bar sipping on a martini glass. Such a rare sight down here, it was like coming across a mythical creature. Unexpected, strange but oh so magical. One night with the woman was enough to set your senses ablaze. One night turned to two... then three... and so forth. She was the first person to ever made you feel alive; she made you feel like was worth living. It was a rollercoaster of a relationship and you never wanted to get off. And they looked to you with a look of pure admiration. She fed you sugar-coated words and tender smiles that had you on your hands and knees. You would do anything to experience the warmth of her smile or the vibrancy of her melodic laugh. And god was she the most beautiful woman you had ever laid your eyes on. An angel cast in the ethereal glow of the moon. Utterly smitten and unafraid to show it. She was softener than appearance may appear. Not always the best at expressing her feelings, you liked to think that it was evident in the little things she did. Like the cup of chamomile tea, she always offered you before bed. Or the way she always had to be touching you in some way before she could fall asleep beside you. It was clear in her overprotective nature. The way she was willing to break someone's arm just for looking at you funny. She was willing to go to war for you. The relationship worked because you were both getting high on affection; drowning in each other. However, there was a much darker side to one Miss Sharon Carter. A lot of late nights you were left wondering if she would return. She threw extravagant parties that seem innocent enough until she's sneaking off behind closed doors with shady characters. Was there ever a moment she wasn't looking over her shoulder? Rollercoasters go up and up only to fall from grace at high-velocity speeds. A smarter person may have turned and run but you never claimed to ever do what was best for yourself. You were in much too deep. Sharon Carter was a former hero turned double agent who is now one of the underworld leaders of the lawless island nation of Madripoor. Her main area of interest was selling superpowers to the highest bidder; seems there is quite the market for black market super-soldier serum. Sharon also dabbled in acquiring exquisite art pieces through less than honourable measures in order to sell. She wasn't above petty crimes and illegal substances. Quite the reputation did the woman you had found yourself utterly infatuated with. It actually made a lot of sense. And if you were being honest with yourself, you valued your relationship over any morals you may have possessed. In fact, you were actually impressed if not a little intimidated by her. The option to leave was always right there but instead, you found yourself helping her out wherever she saw fit. Why? Because there was no one you cared for more in this world than Sharon Carter.

Bright red lights had been flashing in warning since the beginning of the deal. You had been through a lot together and had watched as Sharon dealt with all kinds of messed up scenarios. You even had helped her commit atrocities but her success had begun to cloud her judgement. Blind to the inevitable. Every time you attempted to voice your concern, she brushed you aside with sweet whispers of reassurance followed by a quick peck on the cheek. Sharon could be so stubborn it was infuriating; she lived with the idea that she always knew best. That she was basically untouchable. A god. It was an attractive trait that had you weak in the knees but it also led to stupid decisions. Everything will be okay. All concern pushed to the side, you chose to believe her.

As the clock struck one, you waited patiently for your girlfriend to return. A pit deep in your stomach that kept you from even considering going to bed before she arrived home. A cold cup of tea sat on the kitchen table as you numbed your mind with the bright screen of an iPhone. The click of the front door made your ears perk up, a smile settling on your lips. Thank god she was finally home, you weren't sure you could handle it much longer. Calling out for her, you receive no response but footsteps echo through the house. Not just one though. Did she have company over? It wouldn't be the first time she turned up late with some associates on her tail. Normally you wouldn't mind but you would have at least appreciated the heads up.

"What-" Words come to an abrupt end as a gloved hand slaps over your mouth. Chair crashes to the floor, phone slams against the table as you're dragged out of your seat. Struggling against a tight grip, they drag you across the room where you notice two shadows lurking on the sidelines waiting to pounce. A punch to the stomach so beautifully engraved with your girlfriend's name has you pushing against the arms that thankfully let go; flinging you to the ground. A black toed boot slams into your stomach followed by a barrage of varying blows. As your vision begins to fade, you're reminded of the last question regarding her predicament. It had been over a very early breakfast staged before a rising sun.

"You're up early." Your girlfriend hums in your ear as arms snake around your shoulders; sleep evident in her voice.

"Couldn't sleep," A purple mug brought to your lips, you take a small sip. "I was thinking-

"How many times do we have to go over this?" Sharon interrupts. "Everything is going to be just fine- I have it handled."

You had heard that many times but it was less convincing every time it left her lips. It left a bad taste behind. As strong as she may have convinced everyone she was, this was turning into the story of Icarus and she was getting far too close to the sun.

"Do you?" Your question is quiet, unsure of how she'll take it. "because this is getting to be a little too much."

"You trust me right?" It always came down to trust. It was the end to this conversation almost every time; basically her personal way of getting you to shut up. You didn't dare express that you didn't have complete and utter faith in her.

"I do." You nod a little.

"Then trust me when I say it's all gonna work out," Voice but a whisper that tickled your ear before she plants a kiss against your shoulder. "I'm gonna make a fresh pot of coffee."

Perhaps it was naïve to think this would never happen but it had simply never occurred to you that they would target you. But of course, they would, you were a part of her life. Sharon was the big bad and who better to target than you. Someone not trained by SHIELD or the CIA. It was an easier message to send. When you finally stir awake, you find yourself staring into familiar dark brown eyes; their flicks of gold a comforting sign. You had never felt pain quite like this before in your entire life. Somehow it felt like your entire body was actively on fire while also being completely numb. You couldn't feel anything other than the pain coursing through your veins at this moment. But at least you were alive. And Sharon was okay.

"Thank god," She spoke softly.

"...h...ey." The words burn your throat as you stumble through such a simple word. Coughing a few times to try and help but it just aggravated your chest. "You're... okay."

"So are you," Sharon leans forward, her lips brushing against your forehead. "Do- Do you think you can walk?" There was urgency behind her tone and the blonde didn't even wait for an answer before she was trying to usher you to your feet. A loud groan slips through clenched teeth. It was a symphony of agony but the feeling was sharpest deep in your chest. Nausea sets in your stomach. a rich throbbing in your head made worse as you shook your head. Sharon took the hint and stopped. "...We can't stay here." You knew that. It wasn't safe here anymore. Everything just felt like too much though. Your body was in torment. You felt like dinner was about to make a reappearance at any moment. And your chest felt worse with every breathe you took. After a moment, the other tries again. Supporting you as she pulls you to your feet; the majority of the work was on her part. With an arm around her shoulders, the two of you moved very slowly towards a car.

"Where... are we... going?" You understood the need to leave but where would you even go? A strong chill rode the late night wind. It was nice out. peaceful. Slumped against the passenger seat, Sharon reached over to click in the seatbelt before shutting the door and getting in the other side. It was proving difficult to stay focused on anything. Your head felt heavy on your shoulders and a sort of cloudiness settled over you. A big sigh on her end. With a tight grip on the steering wheel, Sharon just stared ahead. Was she okay? Watching her for a moment, you lay your hand atop her thigh which seemingly brought her back to reality. Turning to you, she flashes a smile then starts the car. It sputters but comes to life. Nothing was shared as you move along quiet roads. It's always a little weird to see the roads so empty but that quickly changes as you cross over into lowtown. You kind of fade in and out but never entirely. It's rather like overwhelming drowsiness. The car comes to a stop outside an unfamiliar run-down building. A strange choice all things considered. However, it's not so bad once you step inside. The room floods with light revealing a relatively small space covered in an untouched layer of dust. An ugly brown coach sat next to a small old TV. A little dining table sat in the corner. Limping over the threshold, she lowers you to the cold laminated ground. With a little whine of help, you try to reach for her as she begins to walk away but it would take more strength than you have. A quiet exhale as your eyes flutter closed. "Try and stay awake," Her voice drags you back to reality in time to watch her disappear into another room. "Just for a little while." Left alone it takes everything in you not to fall back against the floor. On returning, Sharon takes up space right behind you. You assume she is checking you over as her hand graces the back of your head. Humming ever so softly to herself before slipping over your shoulders and pulling you flush against her. A low groan slips painfully from your throat. Finding a sense of comfort from being in her arms. Despite everything that happened, she still made you feel... unbelievable safe. The two of you just sit there together for a moment, feeling her chest rise and fall. It's hard to miss the blood now smudged across the floor. Things were really bad. "Let's get you cleaned up, okay? A quick shower and then you can go to bed."

You would have preferred to just go to bed but still, you nod against her. You were much too out of it to be making any sort of decisions right now. A disapproving hum as she releases you from her grip. You weren't quite ready for the moment to end. Once again, Sharon helps you to your feet but it's easier this time now that you know exactly what to expect. It still hurt desperately, it was just no longer a surprise when it happened. Stumbling towards the shoebox of a bathroom, the blonde woman turns the nob and water erupts from the showerhead on the wall. Every few seconds she would ask if you're still okay as she very carefully removes your clothes. Brown eyes drifting over every inch of your body and back up; her brow furrowing. Meeting your eyes, she reaches over to place her fingertips against your torso. Applying a little pressure, you grunt loudly stepping away. "Did that hurt?"

"Mhmm,"

Her head tilts a little. "It looks like you have a broken rib but can't know for sure."

Standing before her, you notice a large slash across her left cheek; dried blood leading from the wound. She also had a busted lip and a gash on her eyebrow. Some kind of altercation had clearly taken place. Sharon removed her clothes and was quick to step under the heavy flow of water. Holding out her hand for you to take, she leads you under the water. The heat feels surprisingly nice against your skin. Your eyes meet and then your lips connect in a kiss. The faint taste of copper lingers on her lips but it's washed away with the blood, sweat, and tears of the day. It's forceful and passionate; dripping with emotions. She may have been the reason this happened but you were still grateful she was here right now. "This shouldn't have happened," Sharon whispers softly against your lips. "I... I should have been there." The woman pulls you closer like she had completely forgotten that you were attacked by three people earlier that day. Her skin is colder than expected strongly contrasting the steaming water.

"You didn't know." You mumble into her shoulder. Sharon doesn't answer. Merely lifts your head so you were facing each other and places a sympathetic hand upon your cheek. Savouring the tenderness of the moment is enough to bring your emotions bubbling to the surface. As much as the two of you lived the high life, it took its own toll. This life was hard. And despite never wanting it before, you sometimes wished you lived a much more mundane life but with Sharon beside you. Your brows furrow as your lip trembles. You place your hand over hers and a few tears start to fall. "...I'm scared." There were few moments you found yourself admitting to such a thing but you'd never been attacked before. Not like this. Not because of someone else.

"I know." She replies after a moment. "I am too. I'm really fucking sorry." Leaning in again, Sharon surprises you with another kiss. It's sloppier this time. Rougher. Like she's trying to prove how sorry she is. It becomes a peppering of kisses placed carelessly across your face. You smile a little, a soft little laugh that causes you to cough. "You know I love you right?" You nod a little against her and she backs up a little. Both hands against your cheeks, she meets your gaze. "I love you so much and I am going to fix this. I will protect you."

Oh how you would like to believe those words to be true but it was a promise she could not make. It was a promise she had made many times before and look what happened today? Sharon was in the wrong business to guarantee safety. But still, you wrap your arms around her, enveloping her in a cautious hug. Letting your head fall against her shoulder. You could not possibly be more in love with this woman if you tried. You knew she would do everything in her power to keep you safe. A few minutes pass as you simply let the waterfall over you and then you actually wash up and get out. Cast in the warm glow of the bedside lamp, you're sat in the middle of a double bed with Sharon sat directly across from you. This time you allow the woman to tend to your injuries properly, dapping the back of your head with a damp cloth. "Do you think we'll be okay?"

"I do." Sharon responds sharply. "don't you?"

She drops the cloth that was now stained with spots of red to the bed. You raise your shoulders in a little shrug. Sharon was a very capable woman but it was hard not to be a little worried about the whole thing. "I don't know... I don't... exactly feel great."

"You just need to rest."

"yeah maybe," A solemn sigh slips into the air. You sit in silence as Sharon finishes up contemplating what was to come. Had this just been an attempt to scare you? Would this happen again in the future? How was Sharon even going to fix this? When she goes to close the first aid box, you stop her. Taking the lead, it was your turn to look after her and tend to her wounds. You take some cotton wool and soak it in rubbing alcohol before gently dabbing at her wounds. She doesn't quite flinch but her body tenses upon first contact suggesting it stung just a little. "I'm really sorry this happened,"

"It's fine, you should see the other guy. Besides, you look worse than I do," An attempt at humour but it doesn't land dampening your girlfriend's spirit just a little.

"I'm sorry I made you worry." Dropping the wool, you trade it for some closure strips. "I'm sorry I'm so... useless. I was caught off guard."

"You're not useless," Sharon assures you as you place one strip after the other across the injury to her cheek. "You don't have anything to apologise for. This is my fault."

You want to argue but it's too much for right now wanting nothing more than to climb under the sheets and sleep for the next week at least. "Let's just go to bed." Collecting all the items scattered across the duvet, Sharon dispossesses of the blood-soaked clothe and cotton wool before placing the bright green box on the dresser. Lingering there for a moment, you can tell something off. "You'll stay with me, right?" Turning on her heel, Sharon slides under the covers beside you. You shared a bed often but she was never one to cuddle. Tonight though, she was closer than normal. Her hand rests gently on your waist and regardless of the pain, it doesn't take long for you to drift off to sleep.

#sharon carter x reader #sharon carter #the falcon and the winter soldier #Emily VanCamp

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stra66otkiller · 3 years

Text

ELI CLARK SWF/NSFW HCS

sfw:

he’s a darling, truly. he was something akin to a kicked puppy when you first arrived to the mansion. meek, yet intimidated, he was someone you felt that needed taking care of

poor thing looks like he’s having a tough time on a cipher? here you come with your overzealous and overbearing parental love for him.

the whole manor can see how you view him, and really, they all think you’re clinically insane

eli clark was one of many men, but he was not the weak or the lost at all

in fact, he was someone with a tendency to act passive aggressive or have a short temper at a cipher if something wasn’t going right. he was the type of person to ignore you if he feels that you’ll disturb him in the future, the type of person to avoid speaking to anyone at all costs because he thinks he’s higher power (although he’ll never show it)

surely, he is kind, he’s sweet, but there are his moments that the other survivors can see that you don’t get to see

eli loves your personality. loves how you attend to his every response or move. he loves how you take care of him. he finds it adoring when you worry over simple injuries or when he goes out alone and he finds you waiting for him anxiously

he treats you like a god. his god.

everything you do he is unimaginably amazed by it that it’s almost annoying to watch

whenever he’s not near you, he sends brooke to watch after you, but sometimes he forgets brooke is watching you and tries to find you himself which leads to a lot of interaction with the hunter

not to mention, he loves it when your smile, which is cliche in a sense but he loves it. he immediately responds with a smile of his own, whether a small or huge smile on your face, one will find its way onto eli’s face no matter what

he unconsciously leans into your warmth and feels bad when you shuffle to get away. as if a boundary was established that was never there before, yet it washes away the moment you start to coo over him again

and by all means, eli is NOT the funniest. he can’t be unintentionally funny like norton or naturally good at cracking unneeded jokes like kevin, of which you always laugh to (unfortunately), but he does try

his attempt at humor that matches your humor always goes horribly wrong that others cringe watching it. while you find it adoring, and he finds it as another reason for a nervous breakdown when you’re not around

around the other survivors he’s simply that nice one with the owl that occasionally cracks from stress. but to you, the other survivors can tell he looks like an angel descent from heaven and blessed upon you as a babysitter

it was the day of his former fiancé’s birthday, gertrude, that he had realized what was happening

you were so kind when he would vent to you, and you to him, but when he spoke about his past fiancé he wanted a reaction. call it selfish and him a horrible man but he wanted something that showed you had interest in him — just something

but alas, he saw nothing but genuine comfort, raw sweetness dripping from your voice that he so dearly wished to be words that expressed jealousy over his past lover

you saw him as a child. someone who needed supervision. the realization hit him when the other survivors would call you his mother or laugh between your interactions

it only made him cry into your hands, he tried to guise his sudden despair with remembering gertrude, trying to push himself into your lap as if it would help. all the while, fat tears rolling down his face because he feels worthless — he feels alone — and stupid

so then he chooses to do something stupid and spills everything

it’s complicated when he explains it, but when you finally understand the words that were coming out in sobs and stutters, and the tears pooling at your clothes, you then press a soft kiss to the under of his eye

albeit its almost awkward, for you, doing that aloof smile on your face when you’re lost is what makes him confused, but your hands on the side of his head numb that confusion down to silence, and his skin burns where your lips touched

you tell him he’s adoring. literally. there isn’t enough synonyms for adorable to describe him

he questions shyly, sniffling even, that if the relationship could be more

and you agree, although, hesitantly

you saw eli as courageous, cute, hardworking, and sweet, but none of those traits or himself made you scream for romance. and maybe the guilt ate you up, and that’s why you agreed

however, he worked hard to change that perception of him as time passed

he increasingly became more active and bashful during your new relationship. he had a tendency of asking for hugs and small kisses here and there, his cheeks would blossom with red when you would just stare at him long enough

he’d try to prove to to you that he didn’t need supervision. as much as he loves you around him, he wanted you to see him as dependable

sometimes he would coo over you which certainly made the manor erupt in fits of laughter when your face deepened to dark reds never seen before

eli, occasionally, would slip and mention something of gertrude, but you usually don’t pay mind to it. you’re understanding of his situation and you don’t find the need to fight over it when you’re both stuck in the mansion

he finds his occasional slip ups as death. he profusely apologizes and follows you around anxiously to make sure you don’t go to anyone else but him (you can tell he sends his owl at unneeded times), he tip toes around you but becomes blunt when he feels as though you’re mad at him (you’re not, but his anxiety-driven head thinks you are)

the only way you assure he’s fine is by staying by his side and talking to him a lot. and i mean a lot.

eli relies on communication, even if he’s horrible at it, he wants to make sure he’s doing everything right, something you truly adore

nsfw:

sensitive and sloppy. that’s it.

when you kiss him on the cheek it makes everything inside of him twist and burn, his legs wobble when he walks sometimes, but on the lips he truly feels as though he’s going to pass out

he moans into the kiss, trying to follow desperately but ultimately submitting and shaking under you when you pull away with a smile

kisses are usually very sloppy, not that he’s trying to but your simple peck on the corner of his lips makes him go haywire, drool collecting at the sides of his mouth

refuses to touch you. will not lay a hand on you. he’s so scared of hurting you, as though he’s too rough or you don’t like it. he worships you, he wants you to feel like a god when you are one

sometimes his hands ghost over your head or hips in fear of hurting you, you can only watch as his orgasm makes his hands flinch or scrunch up his clothes with an immeasurable amount of strength to avoid touching you

he loves initiating small acts whenever too

occasionally, coming to wrap his hands around you and shoving his face into your neck to pepper kisses along your collarbones, but he’s always too scared to go further and needing your guidance for the rest

you love to give him head at any given moment. tears start to pool into his eyes when you suck particularly too hard at the skin of his cock, or when he feels the tip hit the back of your throat

he loves it when you swallow his cum but also hates it. he apologizes and says it’s dirty but he can’t help feel more aroused when you swallow around him

eli’s favorite position is cowgirl or doggy-style

you being on top allows for you to lead and him to submit to you. whining when you go too fast or too slow, and you only laugh meanly before speeding up

he also loves cockwarming. something about being connected to you so intimately is really arousing to him. sometimes you’ll find his hands trying to push you further down his cock to hold you into place, crying about how good it feels to be inside of you and how warm, and how your walls are milking him

doggy-style, even in a more submissive position, you still have power over him

again, eli loves communication, just telling him he’s fucking you so good, calling him pup, or even baby, his hips are immediately stuttering into yours like a dog in heat

“it feels good, right?” he questions with a stutter, letting out a sharp grunt into your neck when your walls clamp up against his cock

unlike others, he doesn’t curse. but he will call you beautiful while he’s pounding into you. and sometimes he’ll call you his

even if he came already, he’ll listen if you tell him to keep going. the sensitivity leaves him spinning and coming once more

something you find cute is that jealousy sex is nothing rough. in fact, it’s so tame. eli takes his time to kiss you and thoroughly remind you that you both were dating, even if it means he’s crying into your shoulder while fucking you slowly

he’s so vocal to the point you’d rather just listen to him during sex. he whines uncontrollably when you slowly sink down onto his cock, praising about how big it is and how it might not fit

loves being called pup!!! during sex!!! outside of the bedroom it’s disheartening, but when he’s fucking you so sloppily after a bad day, drool coming from his mouth, and he’s whining into your ear, hearing you call him pup has him coming inside of you immediately

sadly, he does not like coming inside of you. he worships your body and thinks of his cum being inside of you is dirtying you. he tries to avoid it and comes into his hand

he basically treats you like a god outside and inside, so when both of you are finally spent, he’s the one getting up and cleaning everything. his aftercare is so intensive, especially if he came inside of you, he wants to make sure everything is out and you feel comfortable

#eli clark #identity v #idv #idv seer #idv eli clark #identity 5 #identity v eli clark #identity v seer #eli clark x reader #seer x reader #idv fanfic #identity v fanfic #eli x reader #fanfic

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costellos · 3 years

Text

a/n: I almost titled this “the things they do exclusively for their partner” but “the ways they say ‘I love you’” has a much sweeter ring to it :’) anyway, this wasn’t a suggestion! just something fun to take my mind off of work for the evening. enjoy!

tw: none.

disclaimer: I’m anime-only, so apologies if my character interpretations aren’t accurate!

❥ ┋ ❝ gojo, nanami, itadori, fushiguro & the ways they say “I love you!”

gojo satoru.

Gojo says “I love you” by always texting you first.

talk to any of the faculty at the school and they’ll tell you that Gojo is awful at responding to texts. even after sending him a calendar invite for meetings a week in advance, he still manages to be 20 minutes late. and it’s not that he doesn’t check his phone — no, quite the contrary. it’s just that in this day and age, with notifications pinging every five minutes, he gets distracted quite easily. Gojo simply likes to focus on whatever’s on his mind at that moment.

which since you started dating, so happens to be you. every day at 3:30 PM, right after the final bell rings, you feel your phone vibrate in your back pocket.

sometimes it’s texts asking how your day was. other times it’s little messages about his thinking of you. most of the time it’s stupid memes he stumbled upon that day. ↳ satoru🤍 said: hey hey hey check out this new video that’s been going around.

he always checks in on you when he’s on work trips. he likes sending you pictures of the places he visited that day. opening your Insta DMs is always a gamble, though. there are two types of pictures waiting for you: a snapshot of a pretty sunset, captioned “thinking of you!” or a dumb selfie.

your favorite interaction was from when he travelled to the U.S. for work. your phone rang just minutes after you woke up for the day, with Gojo there to say good morning. it sounds mundane, but what made it special was that he was almost 12 hours behind you. it was easily past his bedtime when you picked up. when you asked what warranted the call, he said (as if it was the simplest answer in the world): ↳ “don’t laugh, but... I wanted you to be the last person I talked to for the night. it makes my day feel complete.”

nanami kento.

Nanami says “I love you” by spending most of his free time with you.

he’s the kind of person who prizes his time above everything else. hell, part of that is embedded in his personal binding vow. he spends so much of his day at work, completing mind-numbing tasks, that being alone is his safe space. it’s where he can escape from Gojo the headaches around him.

you knew that before entering a relationship with him. anytime you had asked what his plans for the weekend were, joking if he’d go out and party, he’d reply that he would be spending it alone matter-of-factly.

to be honest, you were a little worried that your relationship would see him prizing his free time above you, but... you were pleasantly surprised to find that wasn’t the case.

in fact, not a lot of your time is spent at home. Nanami enjoys showing you his favorite spots around Tokyo. they’re all places that are so him: neatly-organized yet eclectic bookshops, trendy yet affordable restaurants. he’s not as much of a homebody as you took him for.

and it’s something that he shares with you and only you. Gojo’s tried inviting himself on more than one occasion, to which Nanami quickly shuts down. ↳ “I’m not being callous, [Name]. I’m acknowledging what's fact: there was never a chance he would come with us. this is our time together.”

but not all of your time has to be spent actively. Nanami just enjoys being in your company. you could be in the same room, doing your own thing, and he would be perfectly content with that. ↳ “you’re one of the few people I don’t get exhausted of. everything we do together is time well-spent... I, ah- hope you feel the same.”

itadori yuji.

Itadori says “I love you” by including you in everything he does.

he moves fast and he moves without thinking. outside of his promise to his grandfather, Itadori is someone who runs by his own code. he hates being bound in; after all, rules were meant to be broken. it doesn’t help that his life only lasts as long as the search for Sukuna’s 20 fingers.

hence, he likes following whatever catches his attention first. typically it’s some new movie out in theaters, where he can sit down and enjoy for two hours, only to read more about it on IMDB. he hyperfixates from one thing to another, his interests ever-changing.

he normally does this by himself. it’s easier this way; he can focus on his interests at his own pace. that is, until he starts dating you.

Itadori includes you in everything. it doesn’t matter if it’s his two-week obsession for convenience store sushi or the Marvel cinematic universe. he wants you to be there for it all. ↳ “did you know Chris Evans had to wear a fake chin for the end-credits scene in the first Avengers? ...hey, do you think I’d look good with a fake chin?”

he can go on and on and on about his interests. and you don’t mind — he knows you don’t. that’s why he shares them so willingly. you don’t judge him or tell him to shut up. you absorb everything he has to say, smile on your lips, with questions at the ready.

you’re his better half, the person who’s there to weigh in on every bad idea he’s had. which, unfortunately, varies in intensity. “bad idea” can mean his getting a mullet or facing off against a grade 1 cursed spirit without help. ↳ “I never really felt like I had control of anything. but when I’m with you, things feel... easier. does that make sense?”

fushiguro megumi.

Fushiguro says “I love you” by accepting your clinginess.

he’s so hard to read. for the longest time, you assumed that Fushiguro only saved Itadori to avoid complicating paperwork, not out of the goodness of his heart. likewise, you took him for an avid cook after he made you meatballs. you didn’t learn the truth until Panda explained it was actually Itadori’s recipe; that this was Fushiguro's dumb attempt to impress you.

that’s why you’re so cautious at the beginning of your relationship. you don’t want to step on his toes. the last thing you’d want to be is a burden. so you keep your issues and your hands to yourself. ↳ “[Name]. knock it off. I know you’re holding yourself back when you’re with me. just... act like yourself, okay?”

he tells you that two weeks into your relationship. caught red-handed, it seems. it’s almost unfair how well he can read you, and you... just can’t do the same.

but you relent. you start by venting to him about the minutiae in your day-to-day life. and surprisingly, he’s not terrible at comforting you. he listens and offers simple advice. when that doesn’t cut it, you find your favorite dessert on your desk later in the day.

you try testing how far you can go by holding his hand in public. Fushiguro hates it when people touch him without his permission. you’re scared to see how he’ll react and... he glances at you for a moment, shoulders stiff, before turning back ahead of him. his cheeks are pink but he doesn’t stop you.

in fact, he doesn’t stop you from doing anything. he honestly does want you to rely on him. because between you and me, he’s awful at expressing the more vulnerable parts of himself. doing these little things for you is the best way he can show that he cares. ↳ “what? of course you can stay for another hour. err— actually, do you want to just spend the night? no reason, it’s late and... I don’t want you walking back at this hour.”

like this piece? here are some similar works! 🌑 🌒 🌓

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo satoru #nanami kento #fushiguro megumi #itadori yuji #headcanons #toya whisks u away #long post #I had a hard time w the dialogue in this one....#lemme know if it sounds kinda redundant #I kept reading it over and over again that it all sounds the same now hhh

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aceofspadegrass · 3 years

Text

Cats Make Great Companions

Character: Last Boss, Cabot

Genre: Fluff. It's just Last Boss being a dork.

1.5k words

Everyone at the beach knew for a fact that the militants weren’t a group to fuck with.

After all, they were in charge of all of the weaponry at the Beach, and unless someone had a death wish (or were simply new to the Beach altogether), nobody messed with them. Some of the militants took pride in the fear they put in others, others a sort of comfort in being the top of the pack.

Others just preferred to feel alive, sword in hand as he sliced down his enemies. The feeling of that sword with him, able to protect him and make him feared and known, it was a wonderful feeling. Before this, he was nothing.

Now he could be everything he wanted to be.

Last Boss was on patrol at the moment, wandering around the sunlit Beach and making sure that nobody was breaking any rules and needing to be disciplined. The rules were simple enough — Do whatever, hand over all cards, and death to the traitors —but people were dumb.

Very, very dumb.

For a world surrounded in life or death situations, people chose instead to ignore it in favour of chasing their own highs, drinking and smoking and partying all day and night. Every night they would be sent away to play games for their lives, and bring back the cards to the leader of this whole place, a man known as Hatter.

Last Boss isn’t exactly that fond of the man’s exuberant personality, but many others were nothing but simps for that man, doing everything that came out of that charismatic mouth.

“ He sounds like he’d make a good partner though, given the right circumstances.” Last Boss mutters into what appeared to be open air, but a faint mew coming from his hood told otherwise. Last Boss nods to himself as a cat pops its furry head out of the hood, peering over Last Boss’ shoulder. Last Boss pets the cat with a finger, the cat purring and nuzzling against the finger. “ Afternoon, Cabot. Ready for patrol?”

Cabot meows once more, and Last Boss continues onwards. It was calming almost to just walk around and not have to do much other than stare at people. A few ignored him, more focused on their own time, and others would glance at him, acknowledging his presence.

Last Boss merely stares back blankly, his tattoos making most everyone at the Beach nervous, like a tiger watching its prey.

He continues to wander, and spots a few Beach members by themselves, talking to each other. They were covered in healing cuts and bruises, Last Boss passing by without a care.

“ That one with the shaggy hair looks like they listen only to country music. Not the good kind either.* He mutters to Cabot, his cat purring against his shoulder. Last Boss doesn’t bother to raise his voice when his trusted companion was right next to him, a furry ear flicking as they continue to walk. “ Did you see the one next to him? The one with the bright pink one piece? Do you think she knows where her eyelids are? There’s a lot of grey above her eyes, and they’re not bruises, definitely. Someone should tell her it smeared. If it smeared.”

Cabot just lets out a short, small meow, Last Boss petting the top of her head as he ends up by the pool. People were outside, either swimming or sunbathing, Last Boss making a quick sweep at the multitude of people. A few were getting it on in the wild, Last Boss pretty numb to the sight after seeing it practically everywhere here. People have no shame, really. Last Boss takes notice of one person underneath an umbrella that looked like she hasn’t showered in ages, but seemed happy enough, talking to another with brightly coloured hair and swimsuit to match. Close friends, most likely.

Cabot meows, Last Boss nodding as if he knew what the cat said. “ I know, right? They should invest in nicer sandals. Who wears high heels like that to the pool? They could slip from the water.” Cabot purrs, Last Boss nodding again. “ Do they wear them to the games? How do they survive? Barefoot? Idiots.” He mutters to Cabot. He could feel people look at him and his cat in confusion, but Last Boss didn’t care if they stared. He can just stare back and they’ll immediately back away. They were terrified of him, and made him feel a bit powerful. It’s nice. Last Boss just continues his round, Cabot chilling in his hood, comfortably vibing.

Last Boss eventually returns to the lobby, making his way back to his room, and passes by someone, who gasps at the sight of Cabot peering out of his hood. “ Can I pet your cat?” The person asks, and Last Boss couldn’t help but stare back at them. Shit, how does one interact with people- The person just looks back, and Last Boss could tell they seemed nervous, but one meow from a curious Cabot snaps them out of the impromptu staring contest, the person looking at the cat in awe. “ You have a cute cat! What’s their name? Can I pet it?” Last Boss just continues to stare, but slowly nods anyways, and Cabot leans over Last Boss’ shoulder as the person reaches up, finger curled to let the cat sniff their finger curiously. After a bit, the cat meows and rubs itself against their finger, the person giggling and petting Cabot. “ Sorry, I just love cats. I haven’t seen a single animal around this place other than at a few games, so I just assumed they all disappeared. You’re pretty lucky, huh?” Last Boss just blinks. Curse his inability to properly interact with people. The other didn’t seem to mind, smiling, putting their hand down. “ Well, thanks for letting me pet them! Bye now!” They wave and scurry away, Last Boss watching them go.

“….. They’re not scared. How strange. It’s nice, I think.” Cabot meows, and casually cleans itself as it slinks back into the safety of the hood. “ Thanks Cabot.”

——————————————————————————————————

The game that night was simple enough, just a three of spades, something that Last Boss and the others in that certain group cleared easily. Last Boss just hangs back and watches as others hug and cheer that they got to live another three days, Last Boss not really caring. Cabot pops out of his hood and purrs, completely okay. Like hell was Last Boss letting his cat get hurt. He couldn’t say the same about others, one of them beaten up rather good due to a lack of mind to clear it fast enough. Their entire appearance was battered anyways, probably from surviving on his own for who knew how long.

“See Cabot? That’s what happens if you can’t adapt. Luckily for the both of us, we can do better.” Last Boss mutters as he walks away and heads back to the car. Cabot purrs and gently paws at the back of his head, which kind of tickled to be honest, Last Boss gently knocking the little paws off to settle in the hood. He sits in the car, already full of other militants and two randoms. He doesn’t know any of these people, so he actively just ignores them as Cabot hops out and rests on his lap, purring up a storm.

“ Did you have to bring the cat along?” One of them asks Last Boss, and they nudge him, Last Boss looking at them with wide eyes as an intimidation factor. They weren’t phased, just scowling at him. “ You could’ve lost that thing in the game, you know. How is it still here anyways?” They ask. Last Boss just slowly blinks, and pets Cabot, who does a stretch, wiggling in that good kind of wiggle.

“ Cabot is a good companion.” “ But you don’t need to carry it everywhere like it’s a toy.” “ Cabot is very comfortable in my hood. It’s secure there.” They just look at the cat, Cabot rubbing against Last Boss happily, and when the cat looks back at them with those feline eyes, they scoff and turn away to stare out the window instead as the car jerks, beginning to drive back to the Beach. Cabot attempts to seek attention from this person, but when they try to push the cat away more roughly than need be, Cabot hisses and swats at their hand, leaving a scratch.

“ Ow! What the fuck! Your stupid cat scratched me!” They yelp, another person snickering quietly. They glare at the person laughing, who just starts making fun of them for getting so riled up over a cat of all things. Last Boss just blinks, then looks to Cabot. He scoops the cat up, whispering. “ Looks like someone’s never made a mud pie to show their parents before.” He says, Cabot just purring some more. “ Don’t worry, you’re valid.” Cabot meows and gets comfortable again as Last Boss sets the cat back on his lap, where he remains the rest of the way back. It was nice, just being here with his cat.

The militants weren’t people to mess with, and that included Cabot. Last Boss couldn’t ask for a better companion.

#aib #alice in borderland #last boss #takatora samura #fanfiction #aib fanfic #alice in borderland fanfic #last boss deserves a cat #I don't know what gender Cabot is yet #Cabot is simply..... Cabot #just several minutes of last boss saying whatever comes up in his head #some of it makes no sense but that's what makes it funny #at least cabot is supportive

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sparxwrites · 3 years

Text

@manoessay replied to your post:

This post activated my brain harder than most so even though you arent gonna make a fanfic i will add, Dream testing how many times you can bring a person back on quackity once he gets out.

(i absolutely fully got possessed by this idea, and then wrote this self-indulgent and weirdly experimental fic feverishly at like 1am last night. this is... probably not what you were imagining, but it’s what fell out of my brain, so! enjoy? written to “innocence” by madeon.)

cw moderately graphic torture / gore, mental breakdown, mind games, temporary character death

[ao3]

“How many times have you died now, Quackity?”

The words flash hot through his skull, but don’t translate into meaning. Don’t translate into anything other than noise. The floor is cold beneath his palms. Russet-brown flakes up beneath his nails when he claws at it, chest heaving, lungs trying to remember how breathing works.

His first inhale gurgles, wetly, makes him jerk on his belly like a worm on a hook. His throat is raw from disuse, from screaming, from the sword that had sliced through his trachea like a knife through so much butter. When he tries to speak, the only thing that comes out is blood.

It goes like this, every time Dream drags him back from Limbo: his ears full of a high ringing, his lungs not working, his body numb. The link between flesh and brain is faulty, sparking wrong – like the battered neurons take a few precious minutes of life to rewire back together fully. It fixes itself a little less each time, the link; he’s permanently numb down most of his left side, now. The fingers on his right hand are going insensate in terrifying inches.

“How many times?”

Crooked mask, ragged voice, cracked porcelain smile. Dream looks better than Quackity feels, but not much – crouched low on a stone floor that’s caked in layer after layer of old blood, watching Quackity like a bug under a magnifying glass. His hair’s a greasy mess, his mask dirty-white and chipped, his clothes spattered with weeks of gore. With Quackity’s gore.

There’s blood dripping out from beneath the mask, though, fresh and hot. His hands shake. The knuckles clenched around the hilt of his sword are white, the skin beneath his fingernails faintly purple-blue.

The eyes behind the mask are just a little too green.

“Can you even hear me?” There’s a giddy slur to the edge of Dream’s words, the manic lilt of a man high off the same shit that’s melting his brain out through his nose. That feeling was familiar to Quackity, in another life. “Quackity. Hey, Quackity. Anyone in there?” He laughs, short and cruel and batshit crazy. His eyes are the colour of battery acid. “Have I finally broken you?”

There’s no response – because Quackity’s still trying to remember how his lungs work, remember what ribs are, remember how to do things that aren’t screaming and curling in on himself and rocking – and the amusement in his voice turns angry, sour. “I said tell me how many times, Quackity.”

Dream stands, unsteady, swaying as he does and leaning heavily on the sword for balance. His hands are still shaking. The blood’s stopped dripping, but there’s a sickly tinge to it, and when he wipes at his chin with the back of one hand it leaves a smear that’s more brown than red.

There’s a flicker of something, as his knuckles touch the half-inch of exposed face – dirty white light, bridging the gap between skin in a static-shock flash. There and then gone, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it.

The eyes behind the mask glow a little brighter. A little greener. A little less human.

The point of Dream’s sword sinks into Quackity’s shoulder, splits open an old scar. Quackity’s covered in them, now, more scar than skin. More ruined than not. He spasms, chokes, bleeds wet and red and fresh over the dried blood that carpets the floor. The noise he makes is animal, leg-in-a-bear-trap high and thin and dying. Barely alive five minutes, and he’s bleeding out again already. It’s almost funny.

Dream laughs, and leans on the pommel of the sword. It pushes in another inch.

“Month!” manages Quackity, forcing the word out through the wetness in his lungs, through the broken-bone grind of his throat. If he weren’t so many shattered parts, pasted back together by unholy power and Dream’s capricious whims, it might have been a howl. As it is, he barely has the energy to sob, the words raw and hoarse and threadbare. “A month, a month– thirty– haha, thirty-six days in, in, in Limbo, fuck, please, please–”

There’s wet on his cheeks. Tears? Blood? Worse? He can’t tell any more. He can’t even feel the left side of his face.

He grabs for Dream’s boots, presses his forehead against them, gasps for air that doesn’t seem to bring any relief from the cold ache in his lungs. One of his hands finds an ankle, a strip of bare skin between shoe and pant leg. Dream’s skin is fever-hot, sickly, bottled lightning gone past its sell-by date.

The shock of the contact knocks him silent for a second, though. They won’t touch him, in Limbo, the ghosts – or can’t, or both, can’t and won’t. Because they’re bastards, because they hate him, because he isn’t one of them. They can’t-won’t touch him, can’t see him, won’t see him, won’t speak to him– and he’s left, alone, in a room full of the faded impressions of people he once knew, once loved, once was loved by. A room full of people who do not see him, and do not touch him, and do not hear him when he talks.

(When he screams, when he swears at them, when he tries to claw their eyes out with unsteady hands that don’t make contact– when he begs, when he pleads, when he wheedles and bribes and bargains to deaf ears– when he wraps arms around himself, when he rocks himself back and forth until the blood rushes in his ears, when he whispers to himself until his voice fades to nothing, and tries to pretend it is the same thing as being loved and held and comforted–)

“Please, don’t– hahah, don’t kill me, fuck– please, look, look, hurt me, please, hurt me– anything, anything, I don’t–” He doesn’t have the breath for this. Doesn’t have the energy. Doesn’t even really have the words any more, after screaming for thirty-six fucking days straight, after talking to himself for so long his vocal cords wore out and left him mouthing silence in a desperate attempt to keep himself company. “Don’t, don’t send me– not, don’t send me back, please, fuck, anything, ha, haha, don’t, don’t–”

“I said I’d make you beg for death,” says Dream, amused, bored, manic. “Not torture. Not that I’m complaining. It’s just kind of funny. Don’t you think? I think it’s funny.”

He pushes the sword in, another inch. Quackity sobs, desperate and pathetic, and feels no shame for it. Presses his face to Dream’s boot, clings to his ankle like a lifeline, and feels no shame for it. Shame was beaten out of him, bled out of him, several lifetimes ago. “But that’s not what I asked, though. How many times have you died now, Quackity?”

The sword in his shoulder twists, and Quackity screams. Something severs with a pop, and then another, and then another, until the joint is little more than a hot ball of pain and wet meat, grated bone. Until he can no longer scream, gasping desperately through the pain, weeping like a child. Another twist, and something else severs, something vital, a second’s resistance before a give and a spray of warm blood.

He bleeds out between one sob and the next, tumbling into darkness, the golden net of the respawn reaching up to catch him as he falls.

He wakes up three feet away, sprawled out on the filthy bed that occupies one corner of his cell, still sobbing. The respawn clings to him like a second skin, like weights around his ankles, frightening and familiar all at once. It fades slowly, reluctantly; slower each time he dies, he thinks. Like it’s getting used to holding him. Like it doesn’t want to let him go.

It’s only barely gone by the time Dream crosses the space between them, two short steps, no time for him to flinch, no time for him to hide–

Dream grabs him by the wrist, wrenches his body up from the bed, and slots the sword neatly through the front of his throat. The broad, well-used scar carved across it parts for the blade like an old friend, swallows it whole – and Quackity dies for the second time in as many minutes, choking on his own blood.

The respawn catches him. Drags him down into darkness. Drags him back up to the surface of reality, deposits him back onto a bed now sodden with crimson. He’s shaking. He should be used to it, but he’s shaking so hard his teeth clack together, so hard he’s not sure it will ever stop.

Dream drags him off the bed, back onto the floor. Back onto the filth, the layers and layers of dried gore, a carpet constructed from every time he’s been slaughtered like an animal in this tiny, lightless cell.

“Dream,” he begs, quietly. “Dream, Dream–”

Even to his ears, it sounds more like a prayer than a plea.

“It’s a simple question, Quackity. How many times have you died now? Properly died. How many times have I brought you back? I just want a number. Just a number.” The mask obscures Dream’s mouth, but his grin is audible. His eyes are so bright, they hurt to look at. “How many times have I proven to you that I’m a god?”

Quackity tries to curl in on himself, but Dream is in the way, one boot by his shoulder and the other pinning his wrist to the floor beneath its toe. He’s not surprised. Dream is everywhere, always, omnipresent. His free hand seeks out Dream’s ankle onces more, curls around that curdled-lightning skin, desperate and needy. It grounds him, touching the only real person in his whole entire world, and he hates himself for it.

“…T- ten?” he tries, and knows as he says it that it’s wrong. The panic rises like the respawn, choking him. He can’t breathe. “Ten, ten times– maybe eleven– fuck, fuck, Dream, please–”

The sword-tip finds his back, finds the space between his fourth and fifth rib. Finds the ropy scar there, beneath the rags, soft from re-use – like a zipper, easy to pry open right down to his weak, wet heart.

“Good guess,” says Dream, quietly. “Closer than before. But still not right. You need a little longer to think about it, I guess. But– hey, you know what? I’ll be nice, and give you a hint.” He pauses, and Quackity’s world stands still. “You’re guessing too low.”

He pushes the sword down. It slips between Quackity’s ribs like an old lover, lodges in the crusted filth and stone below, pins him still against the floor. His heart beats once, twice, a butterfly-flutter around the diamond skewered through it. His body convulses. He falls still.

The blood from his mouth dyes the toes of Dream’s boots crimson, as the light leaves his eyes.

He wakes in Limbo, on his knees, in a room full of people – full of impressions of people, like the ghosts of a faded photograph. He sees them all there, their backs to him, as they move amongst one another, as they talk amongst one another. Tubbo, and Schlatt, and Fundy, and Wilbur, and–

Sapnap, who looks right through him. Karl, whose eyes skate over him. They hold each other’s hands. The rings on their fourth fingers gleam weakly in the strange, nebulous light of the afterlife. They do not hear him when he says their names, ragged and desperate, like a plea. Like a prayer.

And then they, too, turn their back on him. And Quackity – still raw, still bloody, still skewered open right through his butterfly heart – screams and screams and screams.

#manoessay #dream smp #quackity #dream #dsmp fic #dsmp tag #fic #to my ex-y*gs fans: say hello to dirty white source code light and weird respawn headcanons again!#something something stop fucking around with creative mode or the dirty white light will eat you from the inside out like a parasite #it wants to pour the entirety of the universe into your head until there's no space left for *you* in there any more #that's not something you dick around with just to ensure the guy who tortured you in prison is broken down into more animal than human #also i will not apologise for making quackity's limbo so fucking miserable #he's in a hell of his own creation lmao #hc that you get what you think you deserve in limbo lmao :3c #torture //

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writefightandflightclub · 3 years

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Sink then float (Poe Dameron x GN reader)

Summary: Poe comes back from a mission to find that reader is experiencing a depressive episode, and he does what he can to take care of them while they’re sick. Hurt / comfort. Angst / slight fluff.

Author’s note: Was feeling super crappy at the start of the week (I’m ok now!) and this angst-bomb came out of me. Pleased to have finally written something, though it tackles a tough topic. I’ve tried to be as sensitive as possible while writing about depression, and while it’s something I have experienced in the past, of course it manifests differently for everyone. I have drawn on some personal experience to write this, but it is a fic. Therefore, it is necessarily outside of my direct experience, which opens up the possibility I may have gotten something wrong. Therefore, if you think there’s anything I’ve handled in a way that is harmful (even honest mistakes can be mistakes) I’m happy for you to send me an ask outlining this so I can correct and do better.

Warnings: It deals with reader in a depressive episode, and it is from reader’s POV. As such, it is pretty angsty, ngl, as reader’s thought process is in a bad place. The piece grows more hopeful as it progresses, and ends on a hopeful note, however it may still be difficult reading. I’ve actively tried to acknowledge in the text where reader’s thought-process is skewed by being sick e.g. when they say they are worthless, I’ve tried to directly counter this as it’s not objectively true. The last thing I want is for anyone to feel worse reading this, so I’ve tried not to validate reader’s most difficult thoughts (though what they’re going through is valid and it is valid for reader to be experiencing those thoughts)! That said, please take care when reading, as some of the feelings and thoughts set out may be triggering. Also, whilst there is no direct mention or suicidal thoughts or ideation, I am also warning for that, as there is some crossover in thought patterns. Ultimately, this is a fic about Poe being there to comfort reader, but reader finding that shred of hope inside themseleves, amidst feelings of hopelessness. I didn’t want to suggest that Poe could “fix” reader, so yes, they are still depressed at the end, but more comforted and hopeful than at the start. Sorry for all the warnings, but I wanted to be clear so you can make an informed decision on whether to read. Please stay safe!

GIF by @twillight. Yowzers, it’s PRETTY AF.

There’s no poetry any more.

There are only syllables. Vowels like an orange in your mouth. Consonants rattling between your teeth. You speak only of sleep. Your words hollow like a worn, sprung mattress; inviting rest but offering no comfort.

Sleep. Sleep. Sleep.

There is no art any more.

Not even in a thousand burning suns. Not even as you tip your face up to the milky black. Not even in his face; that face you love. You look, and you feel numb.

Numb. Numb.

No music.

Birds sing. It’s just noise, ringing in the hollow of your body.

Noise.

You want to sleep. It is all you want, and you merely want it because you want nothing else.

No dance in your body. No motion; only stillness.

No fight left in you...

What is left, then?

Nothing?

Nothing left.

Yes.

Nothing but the robust pang of hunger.

Nothing but the parching thirst.

Nothing but this weight on your chest, pressing you to the bed.

Nothing but the refresher door taunting you because you can’t cross the chasm in five steps.

Nothing but the guilt and self-hatred, and false, invasive belief that you are worthless.

Guilt because you...

Can’t.

So much then? So much where there is “nothing”?

You are simply so full of empty that it has pushed everything good down. It has pushed you down until you are sunken. Until you are yelling at yourself from below water, sound muted.

Everything muted.

Colours. Feelings. Life. Love.

Worst of all, your love will be home soon.

Home and sleep is all you...

Home and you haven’t even...

You almost think about ...

You sigh.

You can’t.

You can’t complete the...

You feel nothing, and yet guilty tears fall to the pillow. A part of you understands you are not to blame for being sick, and still, there is this guilt.

You have him.

Poe. Poe. Poe.

So, shouldn’t you be happy?

Why can’t you be happy?

Love shakes the inside of your chest, rattling against the bars of your ribs and wanting to be known. Reminding you of what you lack. It hurts. Everything hurts when it flexes, even love. Especially love. It flexes and it feels only restriction. It feels only weight on its chest. Such pain.

He will be home soon.

You love him. You know this, intellectually. And yet, you don’t want to see him. Don’t want think of him. Because you don’t want to be seen by him.

Not like this.

You don’t want to let him down. You don’t want to break his heart by meeting his loving gaze so hollow. As if he is not sunshine. As if he is not a thousand suns blazing; and yet, instead of poetry and art and music in your heart when you think of him, there are mere syllables, images, noise. There are those vowels again, large like an orange in your mouth, consonants rattling in between your teeth as you cry muffled sounds into the pillow.

He’ll be home soon. You don’t know how soon. You don’t know how long you have layed like this.

Still, all you can do is lie empty, where the room brims with mess and misery and shadow.

All you can do is lie in this empty room, where you brim full with sorrow.

It is enough. This is enough. You are enough, though you can’t see it.

And so, because you can’t see it, can’t feel it, you bring your hands to your face, despairing. Your fingers find your hair, and it’s dirty.

You just want to sleep. You want to tug the covers back over your head and disappear but..

There is a rap at the door.

He’s home now.

A soft knock, then inistent.

He’s back.

After a week apart he’ll be so...

...disappointed to see you. At least, that’s what you mind is telling you to believe.

You turn away and close your eyes as he pushes through into the dark room. You cannot look at his sunshine. It is too bright, like the round circle of sun at the mouth of a deep well. You cannot look, so your eyes scrunch closed as he flicks on a lamp, and you hear his feet deftly pick through the mess on your floor.

You try not to look.

You try not to hear.

You try not to exist.

How can feeling nothing still hurt? How can you wish to feel even less than this, just to blunt your pain?

Still, you do feel something. You feel his sturdy weight settle on to the bed beside you.

You do hear. You hear him sigh.

Yes, he sighs, but it’s gentle, concerned, and his hand finds your shoulder, his touch like warm sand on your cold, goosepimpled skin. Rough and full of sunshine.That blessed sunshine you cannot -at the present moment-comprehend.

“Honey?” he asks, and you hear his voice, soft and tender. You hear his love, but you can’t feel it. No, you can’t.

His voice should ignite you. There should be blood moving beneath your skin but...

There is nothing. There is nothing in your mouth. Nothing but bones in your body.

“Honey, look at me, please?”

You peel your eyes open, bracing yourself for the disappointment you expect to find carved into his face. His eyes examine you, assess you, eyes flitting around the room to understand how bad things are. The state of you, the state of the room. The half-filled bottle of meds at your bedside- at least you’ve been keeping those up. That’s something. Something where you would insist there is nothing.

That look. That look in your eyes, your pupils like bleak, empty wells he tips his sunlight into, and yet he can’t reach the depths of you. Can’t warm all the way through, even as his eyes brim with tears and love.

He doesn’t look surprised, at least. He ran into one of the others first, then; Leia or Finn or Rey. They warned him. Warned him that you are worthless, a burden. No, you are not those things, you try to remember. They will have warned him that you are sick.

Suddenly, looking at him, you have words.

“I’m sorry,” you croak, your mouth as dry as sandpaper.

“Why in the hell are you sorry, baby?” he asks gently, surprised now, his eyes searching yours. How does he do that? How does he look at you as if you are beautiful, even like this? Perhaps you are beautiful, even like this. Yes, you are. He sees it when you can’t.

“Because I...” you look away from him and sigh, even these simple words taxing your energy,”...couldn’t....”

Couldn’t get out of bed.

Couldn’t want to.

Couldn’t be happy when he came home.

Couldn’t want to.

Poe doesn’t judge you though. Not for this.

He’s Poe. Of course he doesn’t. Poe knows that people are not to be judged on such blameless matters. People are not the sum of their illnesses and struggles. You are so much more to him. You are everything to him, in fact.

He loves you. He loves you. He loves you. Always will. That doesn’t change when you’re sick. Why would it? Why would it?

“You did just fine, honey,” he insists through a thin, watery smile. “I’m still proud of you. I’m still glad to see you.”

You look at him.

He looks back.

You know you should feel poetry in it, like all the other times he’s come home. When your skin and your heart and your breath and your words and your lips were alive. When your body danced with his.

“It’s bad this time?” he asks. “Like before?”

“I guess,” you croak.

You hate yourself. You hate yourself even though you dont deserve that hate for a second. You hate yourself for what you believe Poe must think of you, but you try to remember that your brain lies, and that Poe tells the truth. You try to remember everything he tells you over and over. You try to remember hope. Rebellions are built on hope, after all, and you? You are a Rebel; therefore, you know you must fight this too. A small, vanishing part of you knows that you can fight it, even if a louder voice in your head tells you you can’t. A voice with bad intentions. This sickness.

Still, you always promise Poe you’ll try. You always try. Have been trying. Even the refresher door becomes something that taunts you, a chasm between you and it as you try to make it there. You always try. Regardless, Poe’s always proud of you.

“Can I hold you?” he asks, his warmth and his unsurpassed beauty evident to you even now, even if it you cannot muster any ready response to it.

You shake your head.

“I’m disgusting.”

“Kriff, me too,” he says, his tone natural and easy, and refusing to shrink away from your pain- from the temporarary reality of you, as some do. “Came straight here. Five days on a mission without a shower? We can stink together,” he adds, with a tentative, lopsided smile, hoping to tease one from you too.

Poe has no trouble being hopeful, where that has never come easily to you.

Still, he’s here. He’s here at your side, all warm, sandy voice and his soft, loving eyes. Even if you had been convinced he would never come back. He is here. His rough hand is swooping over your cheek. Caring for you, even though he must be so tired himself.

Your eyes grow watery and your lower lip trembles. “I should be caring for you, you shouldn’t have to come back to me like this, after fighting...”

“Hey,” he protests, his voice hushed but his tone insistent. “You’ve been fighting too, baby. We both got our missions, yeah? If you ask me, I think you got the raw end of the deal.”

He’s perfect. He’s so perfect. You will the blood to move under your skin. You will your heart to ignite, but there’s nothing.

Correction; there’s nothing yet. It will come. It will get better.

Poe’s voice and eyes soothe you as you contemplate this. “There’s nowhere else I wanna be. I just wanna hold you. Okay, baby? Missed your beautiful face. Missed you so much. I’m kriffin’ lucky to come back to you.”

Missed your smile, he might have said. You missed it too. Misplaced it.

Forgot how to...

Your thought-spiral is interupted as Poe shifts slowly on the bed, and he curls his warm, sturdy body around yours, holding his beloved little spoon tightly.

He’s wrapped around you, but you wish you could feel him.

Still, as his arms wind around you to tug you into him, you clasp his forearms tightly against your chest. A part of you knows. A part of you feels. You know how important this is. That he is home.

“Mission go ok?” you ask in monotone.

“Yeah,” he says, exhaling a tired puff of air into the back of your neck.

You wish you could melt for him and comfort him in return. You try, at least.

You try, but you feel like a gargoyle carved from stone, sorrow frozen on you. Face locked in a grimace. What mason would be so cruel as this? To make this bitter emotion permanent as stone? However, as he squeezes you tighter, fits against you so naturally, so familiar... As he touches you, you remember you are, in fact, skin and bone. You remember, even though the memory may be distant, that although your heart is heavy now, it once was light.

If it once was light it can be that way again.

He kisses your hair, even though it is dirty. He breathes you in, even though you are not clean. He loves you, and even if you think you are broken, he thinks you are perfect.

You are perfect.

His body heat suffuses through you, and you hadn’t realised how cold you were, until he warmed you. Poe had noticed, though. Poe loves you.

“Have you eaten? Drank anything?” he whispers into your neck, after a moment of holding you in gratitude and breathing deep, relieved breaths.

“Finn made me eat something,” you say, almost embarrassed, even though you know Poe does not judge you. “Managed half a ration. It was... today? I think it was today, I don’t know...”

“That’s good, baby!” he praises, entirely genuine. You feel him shift on the bed behind you, sitting up with his back against the headboard.

“C’mere,” he encourages softly, bundling you into his chest, and producing a ration bar from the pocket of his flight suit. “Split this with me while I tell you about the mission, okay?”

“Okay,” you agree, and Poe can hear that you sound a little sceptical. You doubt you have the energy to engage with him.

“I’ll tell you all the funny and horrific stories of your boyfriend’s heroics this past week. Shall I do The Thing as well?” he asks, and you swivel your head to look-up at him, seeing him tick up an eyebrow, slightly amused.

“Yes please,” you say, and you even manage the barest of smiles.

Poe proceeds to tell you all about his week as you nestle into his chest, his voice flowing through you like warm sand, pouring in and filling up just a little of the emptiness inside you. He also does The Thing, and he intersperses his animated storytelling with “your” part too, so that you don’t have to worry about upholding a conversation. So that you only have to listen, and you don’t have to worry that you aren’t able to react as you typically would.

“That would be the bit right there you’d laugh,” he says as he recounts his finest dumbassery from the mission. A small smile inches over your face, as though you are rehearsing your own emotions. Trying them out. “Yeah, I think that one would be dumb enough to get a belly laugh from you.”

He continues.

“This would be the bit you would tear off my clothes because I’m a dashing badass,” he adds as he relays how he took down a ton of TIEs. “Yeah, definitely. You’d try to get steamy right about now.”

It might be odd, but it is a comfort. It doesn’t remind you what you lack. You feel less of a deficit this way, as it reminds you what you’re capable of. That it is not always like this. That you do not always feel like this.

Will not, as soon as you’re better.

“And you, honey? Mission report?”

You sigh, trying to think through what you have done, rather than what you haven’t. Even if the things to recount don’t sound as impressive as Poe’s, he always insists the battle is no less worthy. You are worth fighting for, after all.

“Well... I got a lot of sleep. Beebs made sure I took my meds.” It’s a short list, but what could be more important than that? The fact that you held on? Then, you have your first playful thought in days. “My love came home to me, and he thinks he’s all that, but he stinks pretty bad,” you tease, as if you weren’t in an entirely equal state.

“Kriff, you’re teasing me from your sick bed?” Poe’s chest shakes against you in gentle mirth. “Brutal, honey. Kriffin’ brutal.” You have a point though, he concedes. “We should both shower though, huh? Before someone catches a whiff and reports a possible herd of bantha in room z88?”

He clocks your trepidation as your eyes flick over to that taunting refresher door.

He squeezes your arm, and somehow manages to be encouraging without even a hint of being condescending. “Pretty far, huh? You can do it yourself tomorrow, but.. d’ya want your big strong man to carry you for now, baby?”

“Yes please,” you smile, and Poe shifts once again. First, he strips off his flight suit and tosses it aside, and then he peels back the covers and helps you to stand. Then, he helps you step out of your vest and pants, before swooping you up and carrying you the five paces to the refresher door, setting you down gently. You glance back at the rumpled bed, which still calls out to you, and although it is a short distance away, you feel like you have trekked across a damn galaxy.

Poe begins to run the water warm in the shower, casually handing you a fresh tumbler of water to sip on as he does so. Then, he takes your hand and eases you under the stream of water.

Poe’s broad hands lather up your body and your hair, feeling like an act of worship as he slowly, gently, washes days of rest away from you, without question. Without expecting anything from you in return except to let him- and even then, only if you want to. He then makes short work of rinsing off his own body, searching your eyes as he does so.

Water is a funny thing, you think- it can drown and it can cleanse. It can be gentle and forceful, deep and still or turbulent. After days of drowning, it feels good simply to be clean. To begin to rise to the surface.

You reach towards that circle of sunlight at the mouth of the well. You look a little deeper into his eyes. See a little further.

“A little better?” he asks.

You nod. A little better.

You step out with him, and even though he’s tired -ragged from this mission- he dries you off.

He changes your sheets.

He picks your dirty laundry up from your floor and throws it in the basket. He throws away your trash.

He let the light in.

Literally.

Then figuratively.

Yes, you still feel so heavy. So, so heavy.

But you know. A part of you knows that lightness will come again, if you just hang on. You can see it. You can see that light at the surface, still out of reach, but not forever.

You watch him as he cares for you in all these small ways and suddenly there are vowels and consonants pushing out from beneath your ribs.

“I love you,” you say as you perch on the edge of the bed, right where he seated you, not thinking to move.

He pauses, dropping what he’s doing and coming to kneel on the floor in front of you. Tenderly, ever so tenderly, he takes your face in his hands, and his warm eyes are as intense as you’ve ever seen him, as if he can’t believe that you fought hard enough to push this love out from the depths. For him. Even though you are so sunken. Even though you cannot do it for yourself yet.

“I love you too,” he promises, entirely earnest.

You push a small smile on to your face, even though you know you need not wear masks for him.

Yes, it got bad again, but it will get better.

You hang on, and that’s enough. More than enough.

You have to hang on, because there will come a day you’ll be so glad you did.

When everything in your chest rises up and gasps for air and lets you breathe again. You will break the surface and come back strong and eager for this life.

“It scares me when you’re sick. I love you so much.”

“I’ll be okay again,” you nod. “Or, I’ll try.”

That’s all anyone could ask of you. That’s all you can ask of yourself.

That is enough. More than enough.

You are enough. You are more than enough for him.

You look at him. He looks back.

His face. His face is art. You feel all those things; poetry, art, music, dance. They’re there. They’re just sunken. Muted.

Poetry is in the pauses too. The blank lines and empty spaces; in the missed beats. You will come back to yourself, and you will make new art. Feel new things. Things more full and replete with joy. Joy can clamber from out of the deepest wells, given time. It will. It will again.

“Can I kiss you?” Poe asks shyly. “Been desperate to kiss you,” he admits, the corners of his plush lips tugging up into a smile. He is sunshine. He is beautiful. Perfect.

You nod, and his lips meet yours, chaste and gentle, and not expecting anything in return.

You try your best to feel him. To feel at all.

You close your eyes and hope you will open your heart. It has begun, with a crack to let the light in.

There is fight left in you, even if you can’t see it. Even when you can’t feel it.

“I’m so happy to be home with you,” Poe says, and his words are greeted with silence.

That’d be the bit you’d usually say... I’m so happy too. But Poe offers his words freely, and you know he doesn’t expect anything from you in return. He doesn’t expect your happiness. He simply wants to give you his.

This is not a warm story, but he is warm.

Correction; this is not a warm story, not yet.

But, oh. Oh, it will be.

It was so, in the chapter before, and it will be, in the chapter which is coming.

And you? You will thaw, I promise. Not because of him. But because of you. Because you’re a fighter. Because no matter how long you may be sunken, you will float.

Poetry takes a breath sometimes. Misses a beat. It is not a waste. It is not worthelss, this pause. Sometimes it is needed. The big breath hope takes before it floats to the surface. So, maybe there is hope.

Yes. There’s hope.

There is hope.

Hope is like the sun. If you only believe it when you see it you'll never make it through the night. Isn’t that what Leia says?

You will make it through this night.

This is how you feel now but will not be how you feel forever. You are not carved from stone. You are a fluid thing; you are made of water. Sometimes, you can drown in yourself, and sometimes you can be cleansed. You are always moving and ebbing, even if it’s so far below the surface that you cannot detect the shift.

This will shift.

Love and life and light are straining, deep down, and after all that straining, pushing, trying, when they resurface they will be strong.

There’s a reason they say hope floats.

It cannot be drowned forever, even if it is is drowned right now. It is not set in stone. You will float, up beyond that circle of sunshine. You will heal, even though you are hurt.

Poe knows this. His eyes tell you all this, but most of all, you know it; no, you feel it, in the depths of you. This is truth.

Poe peels back the covers, and he tugs you to his bare body, warm flesh against yours.

He’s tired. All his body can speak of now is sleep.

You are both tired of fighting, so for now, you must rest, and try again tomorrow. You stroke his hair and he strokes your back, and for now, this is enough.

Yes, for now, this is more than enough.

You are enough.

#poe dameron x reader #Oscar Isaac #poe dameron angst #tw: depressive episode #tw: depression #tw: suicidal ideation #star wars #tw: hunger #tw: food

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decayandfanfics · 3 years

Text

The great book of sayings

PAIRINGS: Tomura Shigaraki x FemReader

SUMMARY: He looks at you, his scarlet eyes fixed on yours, burning a hole through your head, every bit the predator he is, but you are as tough as it gets, so, against your better judgment and any well-founded logic, you answer his silent threat, the animalistic look he gives you with nothing less than a fearless smirk, irises burrowing into his pupils.A clever girl. He thinks, finally labeling you inside his head, cursing himself in the very moment he allows his brain to think of you as more than an asset. He is sure (he knows himself enough to know) he’ll think of this moment many times from now on.A clever pretty girl.

Reader is a typical college student until she gets herself tangled with the league of villains.

WARNINGS: Unhealthy/complicated relationships, violence, Tomura being Tomura, mentions of murder, heroes’ abuse of power.

A/N: I’m trying so hard to write crusty boy here really in character. At least after AfO is taken. Any misspelled words, english is not my native language so i’m trying Helen.

As always, let me know what you think!

________________________________________________

Chapter 12 / Chapter 13

Any port in a storm

Tomura knows a bastard when he sees one, and Chisaki Kai looks like someone who could stab his own mother just to prove a point.

And he’s not only a bastard, but he’s also very full of it. The way Chisaki talks like he knows better than anyone else, questioning Tomura and calling him out on his previous failures, as if he knew anything about dealing with pro heroes and a bunch of overpowered children ruining your plans.

Tomura knows where he’d failed and he learned from it, but that doesn’t mean he’ll have to waste his time hearing this asshole lecture him about leadership and planning. After all, Chisaki Kai is nothing but a low thug that works for money or whatever the fuck someone like him cares for. The league, on the other hand, has bigger matters to attend.

He sure like the sound of his own voice. Tomura thinks, narrowing his eyes when Overhaul begins to babble about leadership and pawns like they are nothing else than mere meat at his disposition, and not people with interests and wants.

It doesn’t take long before shit goes down. Magne’s remains puring over them like rain because the bastard makes her explode like a piñata with just a single touch.

Yes, Tomura also knows a deadly touch when he sees one, and Overhaul’s looks ridiculously overpowered.

“Compress, wait-!” Tomura shouts, but Chisaki is faster and before they understand what’s happening, Compress quirk goes off and Overhaul blows Atsuhiro’s arm with a simple touch and the fucker is so damn coward that the moment Tomura lounges towards him, he just orders one of his pitiful pawns to act as a fucking shield and die in his place.

The yakuza has the nerve to call himself the next leader and Tomura is almost impressed by the audacity.

“Now I get it. You should have just started with this, saved us all some time.” Tomura spits making a monumental effort to keep his cool for his sake and the sake of the league.

“Where are they come from?! We weren’t followed, I swear!”

“One of them probably has a tracking quirk.” He’s also trying his utter best to not smack Twice’s masked head for being so damn naïve.

“We’ll cool our heads and try again later. I ow your side an arm.”

“Bastard! I’ll eviscerate you!” Twice barks at his side, holding Compress against his chest.

“Tomura-kun. Let me cut him. Real quick.” Toga ask, pulling out her knife.

“No.”

“it’s my responsibility!” screams Twice.

“No.”

“I don’t wanna rush you, but the sooner we talk the better.” Think things over carefully. Consider how your organization should be run, then when you’ve calm down, call me.” Overhaul speaks like he didn’t just killed Magne, comparing her with one of his ridiculous pawns and Tomura hates him, truly. It’s not like when he says he hates society and heroes, no. This is more personal. He hates Chisaki Kai the same way you hate your childhood bully, the same way you hate someone because you had the misfortune of knowing them.

“They’re gonna pay for this. Why can’t I go after them?!”

“Now thinking, we need to get Atsuhiro-san to a doc. “

“Right.”

“That wouldn’t work…damn that hurts” Atsuhiro whispers almost unconscious.

“Maybe we do have time to make them bleed.”

“No.”

“C’mon, Tomura-kun!”

“Another time.” He orders, watching as overhaul and his band of assholes disappear into the night “You’ll pay for what you’ve done today.” He swears already thinking in a million ways he could make him regret this.

“Shigaraki! We need to see the doctor! Atsuhiro is bleeding out!”

Ah, doctor Ujiko really found and excellent time to go missing, didn’t he? Now without his sensei and the hideout completely wrecked by the heroes, he’s between kidnapping some doctor or finding some abandoned hospital and pray there is some supplies that could work. But kidnapping someone would take time and efforts and the nearest abandoned hospital is forty minutes away and Compress doesn’t have so much time.

Ah, the perks of being a villain.

“Tomura-kun! What do we do!?”

He clenches his fists until his knuckles go numb, his mind rushing, thinking what to do besides the obvious, trying his best to ignore that option.

“We need to take him now!”

Tomura rolls his eyes and suck his teeth hating his life because this is the last thing he thought he would be doing when he woke up that morning, something withing him twisting painfully between excited and done with this awful feeling he can’t rid off.

“Tomura-Kun! What do we do?!” Toga presses again, panicking because Compress is getting paler and paler.

He groans kicking some rock completely fed up. Why couldn’t Atsuhiro just stay sit there when he told him to wait? Now the itch gets insufferable out of nowhere and Tomura scratch his neck raw, snarling under the hand that covers his face. He doesn’t want to go there, but Twice needs help to carry Atsuhiro now that the man just fainted, and he can’t do copies of himself, so he’ll need someone else. It could be Toga, but Tomura hardly thinks she’s going to be helpful with that tiny body of hers. Besides, they’ll need someone who can clear out the streets before rushing out, so, he’ll have to go anyways.

Tomura sighs defeated, this isn’t about him, so he decides to ignore the knot in his stomach and the quick drumming of his heart against his ribs, preparing for the imminent headache before barking the orders.

“Follow me.”

______________

A loud bang on your door wakes you suddenly.

You observe your room, remembering that you were studying before falling asleep over your desk after a whole day of paper reading and a pack of oreo’s for dinner. Your laptop screen flashes 00:23 am, so you’ve been sleeping for hardly an hour.

Another bang and this time the sound of someone trying to enter your apartment at midnight shoots your adrenaline levels to the top.

“Big sister! Please!” Toga’s voice sounds desperate from the other side of the door turning your fear in worry, so without thinking, your feet tap quickly through the flat to just opening it before some neighbor sees her, but your mouth falls open the moment Toga rushes into your apartment with Twice and Shigaraki behind her, carrying a half-conscious Compress.

In a second that feels like hours, your eyes travel quickly between all three men, to stop on the red ones that bore into you, sending shivers through your spine as you heart do a flip inside your cage because your infatuation with the villain is right there, in the same place he left it last time he touched you.

“What the…” Your voice gets stuck in your throat when you notice that Compress bloodied wound is in fact him missing an arm.

“Shit. Lay him down on the table” You order already running across your flat looking for a hairband. “Take his shirt off, Toga, bring me some towels.” You rush to your bathroom to wash your hands quickly, and Shigaraki follows you without a word, clutching at your side looking for the first aid kit your keep under the sink.

“Tell me what happened.”

“A Yakuza bastard blew his arm of with his quirk.” He spits carrying the kit to the kitchen. “He shoot him something and his quirk went off.”

“You think it’s some kind of drug?”

“Probably.”

“Crap. It could be dangerous if I don’t know the effects.”

You run behind him, taking some latex gloves from the kit before approaching your patient. Atsuhiro breathes heavily over your kitchen table, his legs dangling from the edge as he bleeds all over the floor.

Your quirk activates in full force the moment you get close to him.

“Hello, Mr. Compress.” You talk to him trying to calm him the same way you would talk to a child patient as you remove the poor bandage that wraps the remains of his left arm. “Long time no see.”

“Lovely to see you, dear.” He whines with his hand holding the gory pieces of meat that still dangles from his shoulder, a chonk of his broken bone horribly exposed. “It hurts a lot, you know?”

You wince at the sight but straighten yourself to do your job and let your hands hover over his wound, numbing his nerves, keeping his blood from spilling out because he’s already at the brim of drying out.

“I know, but it’s okay now, Compress. I’ll take care from here. Now…sleep…” you lull him with a smile, relaxing him quietly, slowing his heart rate to make him pass out.

“Is he..?” Twice ask watching with trembling voice.

“he’s unconscious now. I can stop the bleeding with my quirk for now, but I’ll need to…sew this…. somehow.”

“Oh! Big sister! Your quirk is amazing to cure people!” Toga says joyfully, leaving the towels close to you.

“Himiko-chan. I need you to wash your hands very carefully. I’ll need some assistance.”

“Okay! I’ll be back.”

You begin to clean the wound, retiring the little fragmenst of bone from between the exposed muscle with some tweezers.

“How bad.” Shigaraki is behind you, towering over your shoulder and you can feel his warmth on your cheek, as he winces watching the mess over the table.

“His arm is destroyed. I need to cut a little of bone, it’s too jagged to just close this, it could lead to an infection. Only after that I’ll be able to rearrange this mess.”

“What do you need.”

You look at him worried. He’s covered in blood and for a moment you panic thinking that maybe he’s injured too.

“A-Are you al right?”

The question comes out as desperate product of your impossible nerves from having him so nearby. It caught him by surprise from the way his jaw clenches before answering.

“…I’m fine. What else do you need.”

Relief washes over you, so you return your eyes to the man over your kitchen table.

“I…my dad had a garden saw in the closet. Disinfect it the best you can. This is going to be nasty.”

___________

When she’s finally done, it’s already 3 am.

Compress lays over the couch, finally sleeping after some gruesome scalpel work that lefts her panting from her quirk overuse, siting in the floor with her back against the front door.

A thick trace of blood drifts down her nose, but she’s too tired to even care, so she just let her head rest on the cold wood.

Silence and shadows fill the apartment. The lights are off so Atsuhiro can sleep, but the lights of the street are enough to see inside the flat. In her room, twice and toga share the bed, already sleeping after helping with the cleaning. Her kitchen looks spotless under the moonlight, none could guess she just operated someone over the table with a gardening saw.

“Are you sure you are okay?” She asks with hooded eyes, her own conscience drifting slowly.

“…I told you I’m fine.”

Tomura watches her, leaning against the wall in front of her. She’s grown thinner and paler than the last time he stood in her home. Her bloodied clothing only accentuating her lack of color and the dark bags that rest under her sleepy eyes.

She stares back, neither of them wanting to look away, not when the three steps gap between them extends so wide and deep that it hurts. The notion of being face to face again stirs quietly inside of him and all his anger and dread goes silent now she’s there at the reach of his hand, and Tomura understand that he doesn’t know how to feel now.

Her stomach growls of hunger and her eyes open in embarrassment and surprise.

“Stop staring at me.” She mumbles cleaning her face with the back of her sleeve, getting up to walk over her kitchen.

“You were staring first.” He mumbles annoyed “whatever…” Before he can even walk to the door, she stops him dead on his tracks.

“You can stay…if you want.”

Tomura looks at her while she prepares a sandwich, trying to avoid his gaze at all costs to no avail. Her hand trembles as she tries to put some butter on her bread, giving away her internal turmoil, because as him, she doesn’t know how to feel about this sudden intrusion in her life. Again.

Well, at least he’s not he only one who feels awkward.

She laughs halfheartedly out of the blue.

“What’s so funny?” he asks looking at the wall, his voice mellow because he doesn’t have the energy to quarrel with her now. Not after everything that happen.

“It’s just…I swore I was going to choke you with my own hands next time I saw you.” She cannot stop the laughing.

He doesn’t know what to do with that statement, finding difficult to keep his distant mask now she’s trying to sound playful. He can feel his anger and awkwardness dissolving into something more bearable so he just smirks amused.

“Bare hands, huh? no quirk involved?”

“Yep. Acapella”

“And how is that working for you?” he asks, gravitating closer to her, standing at her side, very aware of the height difference between them as he leans to see her face better.

“Oh, fuck off.” She smiles.

“Ladies first.” He cannot contain the little smile that blossom in his face.

Tomura feels his shoulders relaxing softly now. He falls in the ease of her company, the roaring turmoil he’s been feeding all these past weeks, going silent now that she’s finally close, smiling tired and lightheartedly.

It was this, and he almost forgot about it. It was the soft wittiness, the clever jokes and back and forth. He liked to talk to her because it was like playing a game, but somehow, he forgot between his bitterness and rage.

“Sandwich?” She asks, handling him half oh her own.

“…Thanks.”

They eat in silence. Atsuhiro’s breathing is the only sound in the house.

Tomura is tired, his eyelids weight heavy over his eyes, but this moment is enough to keep him awake, so in exchange he memorizes the smell of her home, her presence filling him softly and gently, calming the rage and the fury he’s been feeling over a month in a rare peaceful moment that feels dangerously too much like finally coming home.

What a stupid thought to think he could get rid of this sweet softness, the only one he’s ever felt. A foolish desire made of spite and bitterness in a place that can only be filled with their silent bond.

He feels the gap closing slowly, luring him to stay for the night. He should…he could...maybe this…

“I’ve missed you.” She whispers suddenly without looking at him, her eyes fixed in the wall in front of them.

Time stops and he whips his head so fast he could hear something crackling in his neck.

He definitely didn’t though about this when he woke up that morning.

“Like wise.” He raps swallowing hard, thinking about all the things his done in a month, realizing there was not a single minute of the day in which he did not think of her.

He’s truly smitten, isn’t he?

“I’m sorry about what I said…i…I got nervous. I thought you would get mad, I just made it worse.”

“Why would you think that, huh? I thought I was pretty obvious.” He says, hiding his hands in his coat before changing his weight to the other leg.

“Because you are a big bad villain, aren’t you? and I’m just…me.”

“Just you” he snorts “you managed to terrorize one of the most dangerous villains without even touching him. Just you is fine enough to deal with anyone. Even big bad villains.”

She smiles shyly.

“Shigar-“

“Tomura.” He interrupts, finally looking at her.

She looks beautiful under the pale light; the shadows of the night drawing angles and shapes on her face.

“Tomura.” She states, meeting his gaze and he delights in the way his name falls from her lips like a spell and less like a curse. She looks at him decided, certainty written all over her face and he knows she’s about to do something reckless. “I really like you.”

Tomura has learned his lesson. As he always does, so he absorbs her words and weighs them carefully inside his chest.

“A horrible decision, really.” He mocks back with a grin, closing the gap between them until he has her trapped between him and the kitchen counter. “Your parents never told you about big bad villains?” this time he asks close enough for her smell to fill his personal space as he gives her a hungry look, licking his lips.

“Oh, Fuck you.” She sighs laughing quietly.

“I hope you do.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Are you going to keep talking back or are you going to kiss me already?” She whispers feeling his warm breath against her lips.

He stops entranced with the way her eyes reflect the streetlights from the outside. He’ll think of her like this frozen in time and undercover darkness, just a silver string of light between the shadows of her home and his life.

Tomura kisses her hungry and desperate. His jagged lips bruising against her mouth, invading her, eager to feel her closer, but is not enough. Him yanking her against his chest, four fingers gripping tight over her wrist as his right arm encircle her waist is not enough. Feeling her hands clutching at his shirt pulling him is not enough. Sensing the motion of her rising cage as she began to suffocate is not enough.

No, nothing is enough when he wants to split her chest open to hide inside her ribs, filling her with this feeling that’s been smothering him for too long.

He’s overwhelmed by this unforgiving desire that goes beyond anything physical. Is about the terrifying nature of the world that surrounds him, where she’s the only hideout that could contain his horror and everything that scares him about himself.

Like sensing his despair, she moves her hands to his face, caressing his jaw enamored with the shape of his face, the texture of his skin and the soft locks of white hair that brush over her fingers every time he tilts his head to kiss her deeper and deeper.

A low rumble fills his chest as she opens her mouth fully to him, giving him access to her warmth for him to gorge on her taste, terrifyingly close and needy.

She breaks contact searching for air, but he moves ever so little.

“The things I’ll do with that bickering mouth of yours” He whispers before biting her low lip, giving her a ravenous look.

“Like wise.”

He considers to just shove her against the wall and take her right there over the dishwasher, finally sinking his teeth on her skin, buried deeply in her; but since she was bleeding not long ago, tired and in desperate need of sleep, he keeps it gentle. They are both tired. Tired from the fight, tired from the operation, tired of this game of cat and mouse they’ve been playing for two months, so he shoves his animal instincts under the rug and treats the situation the same way he holds things carefully with his fingers.

Just this one time he promises, knowing he will go absolutely feral on her as soon as he has the chance. So, he just leans over and kisses her gently…surprised by his own tenderness and the warmth that fills him, something akin to happiness and peace.

Tomura nuzzles against her cheek before resting his face on her shoulder, the awful longing that’s been eating him alive finally shut down.

“Come.” She calls him softly, a ghost of a kiss burning over his lips before she tugs him by the hem of his coat, leading him to the spare room.

He follows her quietly, taking off his sneakers and coat before getting inside the little bed, wrapping his arms tightly around her, fists safely closed at her back.

“You’ll be here when I wake up?” She asks merely a whisper, her lips delicately brushing his own.

His forehead rest against hers, her warmth inviting him to close his eyes and rest, lulling him silently into sleep.

“…yes.” He whispers as he drifts away, feeling the light touch of her lips kissing the scar over his mouth.

“Good.”

Chapter 14

#shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura #bnha fanfic #tomura #shigaraki #boku no hero #tomura x reader

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harmoni-me · 3 years

Note

hello it’s me again! thank you for fulfilling my request i just loved it. can you please do a continuation? like- reader starts receiving these anonymous love letters and gifts, this drove the boys (and the reader) to confess their feelings in the end. angst to fluff

Wow, thank you! I’m so glad you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it! This one is even longer than the last, so please have fun reading this one!

Nagito Komaeda x Sweetheart Reader x Kokichi Ouma Pt. 2

Crunch

Huh? What in the world-

Last time you remembered reaching into your school duffle bag, all you had in it was a comfy change of clothes for when gym activities rolled around, and a wet bottle of water that was dripping with condensation, but…

You didn’t remember an envelope, not in the slightest.

A nervousness started to boil over from your head to your heart, face heating up as quickly as hot coals on a cold evening. Is this… what you thought it was?

You’re stomach dropped at the realization, plunging into the depths of your being, as a realization struck.

This…this was probably not who you thought it was from.

In retrospect, the sting would only sink in deeper if only a single letter was given.

You weren’t satisfied, and that made you feel like you were scum, too dirty to even bother to be dealt with.

Even feeling a great amount of resentment to the silly thing, it’s not like you weren’t going to open it. You weren’t heartless when it came to the topic of possible confession. I guess you could say that the author of the letter made you feel something you haven’t felt in a while.

It’s was pure, unbridled, bitter jealousy. Jealousy that engulfed your vision, clouding all sense of realism.

Why could someone so anonymous have more guts about dealing with their crush than you? This person, who you didn’t even know, had the heart of a lion to sit down, write out something deep and personal, and somehow get it to you.

You were jealous, because you would never have the heart to do the same.

Once the bell rang to signal the last period of the day, you begrudgingly stood from your desk, knowing what you had to do. You had to open it, it would be extremely inconsiderate if you didn’t.

While you were walking in the hallway to somewhere slightly more secluded, you slipped the letter out of your bag. It was pure white, and it wasn’t made out of anything fancy. The opening was sealed by a simple piece of clear scotch tape, and when turning the message over, on the back was large, red letters that spelled your name in delicate cursive. You really wanted to get this over with.

“BOO!”

“OH MY GOD-“ You jumped out of your skin, dropping the envelope in your hand, causing it to flutter to the floor.

“Nehehe! I got you so good!” A purple-haired brat giggled at your jump of fright, rounding the corner he was hiding behind. His eyes then wandered to the envelope that was laid flat on the tiled floor, his eyebrows rose, and a smirk slowly carved his way onto his face.

“Oooo, what’s this little thing, hm? An invitation? A secret message?….” Kokichi knelt down to pick up the letter, fitting the paper between his middle finger and index finger. He got up all in your face, an evil smile plastered on his face, reaching all the way up to his eyes. He got closer to your ear, voice dropping, and his breath hot against your ear.

“Maybe…a love confession? Aww, how sweet…” Kokichi hummed, pleased by the steamy expression your face turned when you were embarrassed. Then, as suddenly as the actions before, Kokichi hopped backwards, grasping onto the letter with both hands, raising it aggressively high in the air.

“Ahhh! The anticipation! What’s inside, what’s inside, what’s inside?!” Kokichi kept on blabbering, waving the envelope all over the place, as if he was a child on Christmas Eve, shaking a wrapped gift to see if they could guess its contents.

When you saw the best opportunity, you quickly snatched the letter back from the naughty boy’s grubby little hands, huffing with a blush on your face once you retrieved what had been addressed to you.

You leaned your back against the hallway wall, which had now been abandoned. Slowly, you sunk yourself down to the ground, not once taking your eyes off of the red lettering that spelled your name in flawless cursive. You noticed upon close inspection that the lettering was a little smudged at the ends, most likely from Kokichi’s roughhousing with it.

A rough thump rang out next to you, making you look over with not much interest. Kokichi, in all of his nosy glory, had sat right up next to you against to wall, head shoved all in your business.

“Come on! Open it already! The suspense is killing me!” Kokichi was vibrating from waiting so patiently....to what extent Kokichi could be patient, that is.

You sighed, giving up. It was most likely anonymous anyway, so Kokichi won’t even know who to target ruthlessly on for the next month.

You let the tip of your finger slide into the opening of the letter, breaking the tape to the prized information. You carefully slipped out the neatly folded piece of paper, which was a thicker, almost card stock like texture.

Even before opening it, you could feel the emotion that radiated out of the paper. You suddenly had an image turn in your mind, of a person looking to be your age, carefully writing every word down as perfectly a flawed human could. Though, you could imagine them also grasping at their hair, crumbling up previous attempts, over and over again, as if disposing of their emotions, yet rebirthing it to be conveyed better each and every time.

It made you feel that much worse, knowing that the writer’s feelings are in no way reciprocated. You couldn’t, because the feelings to give back were already stolen in their entirety. By two other people, none the less.

Ironic how one of your two fattest crushes you’ve ever had in your life was basically huddling into you right at this moment, wanting so desperately to know what the paper read.

When finally did unfold the letter, you were met with beautiful, curvy handwriting, not a spelling error or smudge could be found.

. . .

To the one who my heart yearns for the most,

I’ve lost track on how many times I have written this letter. For reference, the bin next to me is now filled to the brim and was completely empty just two hours ago, but that’s not important, is it?

Let’s get the obvious things out of the way, shall we? I adore you. Though I’m keeping this anonymous, I want you to know that my heart has grown ten times it’s size ever since the day I met you. Every single attribute about you I hold as a precious keepsake within my mind. Every time you do anything, say anything, I want to keep it all to myself. I want to lock the sound of your voice, and keep vivid pictures of your smile fresh within my memories.

You, (Y/N), have made me feel things that I thought I had become numb to. I was unapproachable. A man that was blinded by his own psychotic desire to be used, that’s what I was.

You might think I’m exaggerating, but I believe you’re my guardian angle, sent to be due to God’s pity. Now that I’ve written it down, that was stupid, but I’ll keep it, because it’s the truth.

You saved me from myself, causing me to unsurprisingly fall in love with the one who made me realize I was a human, standing among other flawed humans, all having different lives, hopes, talents, aspirations...

Your kindness, no, your everything gave me so much room to simply breathe, and realized what I was doing to myself and to others.

Now that that’s out of the way, I would like to mention something I’ve...conjured.

I’m not very great at using my words, so that’s why I’ve poured everything into this letter, but you deserve to know who I am.

I’m scared, and if you do see me, I might not be able to get a good amount of words out but

In two days from now, after school, I want to meet you. I was thinking on the school rooftop? If you decide to come, I’ll be there waiting.

. . .

Wow

Who...who was this guy? And why...

Your eyes were brimming with tears, glossy from such words. This could be anyone, yet, what did you do? You were friends with many people, but not like this...you don’t think?

You suddenly felt something warm wiping away your now falling tears, gliding over your cheeks to brush away your liquid sadness.

“Hey, don’t cry...it’s not a good fit for you.” Kokichi then used his bandana to gently dry your puffy eyes and crimson cheeks. You looked up at the boy, who had the tiniest smile present on his face. It was almost as if that was how far the smile could go.

The sun broke through a window across the hallway, landing on Kokichi and his facial features. You looked into his eyes, but something was off.

Those eyes, they reflected a lot more light than they usually did, as if they were simply water in a pond. Was he-

“Well, that sure was something, huh?” Kokichi turned around, rubbing his eyes with his sleeve, trying to be discreet. You noticed though, but decided to not say anything.

. . .

When you thought things couldn’t get worse, you had totally jinxed yourself the next day.

You wanted to get your water bottle out of the your school duffel bag during class, because humans have to drink every once in awhile, but when you did...

Crunch

What...what even was that?

You honestly didn’t even want to bother until the end of the day with how you were feeling right now.

You were slumped, once again, in an empty hallway, browsing your phone and looking at funny cat videos to raise your vibrations. At least they made you smile.

“Is there a kitten nearby?” A voice had pierced the atmosphere. You looked up, it was Nagito standing over you, a face of half wonder and half concern delicately painted on his features.

You looked downcast, and you hated hiding your emotions, so it was plainly evident to Nagito how you felt in that moment, and he was heartbroken.

He placed his belongings next to you, along with himself, comfortably hugging his knees into his chest. He turned to you frowning a bit.

“You...only watch cute animal videos when you’re sad. Is... there anything wrong?” Nagito questioned, wanting to help you as much as you’ve helped him.

“It’s kinda personal, but your company already makes me feel better, so it’ll all be fine.” You gave the white haired boy a little smile, showing just how genuine you were.

Nagito hummed, nodding in understanding. He was playing it cool in front of you, but he really wanted to punch the person that made you feel like this.

It’s funny, because he probably has an idea of who...

“Oh, yeah, the thing...” You mumbled, reaching over to dig around in your duffle bag. When you felt the crunchy texture, you pulled it out, revealing something something that you honestly weren’t expecting.

It was a large pink lollipop, and it was in the shape of a heart.

It was probably as big as your head, and there was a clear, wrapper-like foil around the treat, preserving it for the consumer.

“Where did you get that?” Nagito raised a brow, because it was quite ridiculous how absurdly large this lollipop was. It was a funny sight though, seeing you side to side with with a sweet that could easily cover your whole face.

“I... think someone game this to me?” You thought, smiling a bit at the silliness of the situation.

But your mind wandered... was it the same person who wrote the letter? Then again, you didn’t think it would make sense with someone like him getting, well, this. Especially after writing something so deep and personal. This just kinda seemed incredibly random.

Either way, you started to unwrap the lollipop, wanting to eat some of it, even though you were most likely not going to finish the thing.

Resuming the cat videos, you repositioned the phone between you and Nagito. The boy took a glance, watching as he saw a fluffy white kitten get scared from playing a note on a piano, making him chuckle.

“You wanna watch somethin’ else, Nagi?” You asked Nagito, making him perk up in attentive nature. His smile conveyed so much care for you, as if you were his most prized gift he had ever received in his life.

“I’m bound to enjoy anything you would like, (Y/N)! Please, pick whatever you would like!” Nagito waved his hands, signaling not to worry about him, after all, you were the sad one out of you two for the moment.

“Ok! We’re watching Gordon Ramsay yell at people!” You promptly spoke, grabbing the phone and setting up the Hell’s Kitchen episode.

“Don’t mind me asking, but who is that?” Nagito questioned genuinely, making you gasp in surprise. How?

“He’s one of the best chef’s in the world, but he’s super strict with his employees, so it’s kinda entertaining. You’ll see!” You exclaimed, scooting yourself closer to Nagito, propping up the phone. You leaned into his side, taking a little nibble from your lollipop.

Nagito’s eyes kept on darting from you to the screen, having trouble with containing his emotion with you simply leaning on him to watch a show about...a vulgar-mouthed chef.

“Hm? What’s the matter?” You looked up at him, face inches apart from his. He didn’t respond, too nervous to trust his mouth. Lucky for him, you cut in.

“Oh! You want some?” You stuck the untouched side of the lollipop to Nagito’s mouth.

His brain and heart were on fire, and not a lick of logic was left. He pressed his lips against the candy, and sucked on a small portion.

It was your favorite flavor...he liked it way better than artificial grape soda, by a long shot.

After licking to his satisfaction, Nagito locked his teeth into the part he had been abusing with his mouth, biting off a piece for to-go.

“I need to go to the restroom, ok? I’ll be back.” He said, getting up from his seated position, making his way and entering into the boys bathroom at the end if the hallway.

You don’t know if he knows, but boy, you were blushing up a storm. He literally just gave you an up close and personal presentation on how his tongue did it’s work. Now, you didn’t really care for dirty thoughts, but after witnessing that, you couldn’t help it...

You looked down at the lollipop, now with a small chunk of it gone missing from the main snack. You examined it, and realized something so blatantly obvious, it was embarrassing.

Rapped around the white stick of the lollipop was a piece of yellow paper, and without much thought, you unraveled it.

It was a note, but it was short, and written it blue colored pencil.

. . .

Found this at a candy store, and bought it because you looked sad the last time I saw you. Seeing you sad makes me sad and stuff so yeah. I’m not signing my name here or anything, cuz that would just give away the surprise! But I’ll confess to you properly in person, cuz I’m better at talking. Meet me tomorrow after school, on the roof!

. . .

Huh?

Was this...the same guy? No, no it’s really couldn’t have been. The handwriting was different, the spelling was off, and they seemed a lot more laid back. Also, the author of the letter clearly stated that he was better at conveying is precious feelings by writing, while this one said they were more than happy to spill their own feeling with their voice.

So, you’ve got two secret admirers now...and both of them want to meet at the same place, and the same time.

Maybe this was all just some twisted, elaborate trick by a group of thugs, wanting to lure you in, then gang up on you like street cats when they found a lowly mouse to pray upon.

You’ll never know, unless you sucked it up and went tomorrow.

. . .

Well, there you were, on the roof after school the next day.

No one was there.

The sky was as clear as your blank mind, which you had forced to stop thinking about the world around you, and what you were doing. The breezed tickled your face, as if the wind tried to replicate the feeling of tips of grass grazing on ones cheek.

The only noise was the muffled chattering from students below, creating the perfect background noise to just...relax.

Until you heard yelling.

It was coming from the stairwell that lead up to the roof. You didn’t move a muscle, it was probably just loud, rambunctious students.

But it just kept on going, and going, on and on like a hyper parakeet who had a shot of expresso.

Well, since your admirers haven’t shown their faces for the past fifteen minutes, there’s nothing better right now than to snoop on the possible drama rumbling around in the stairwell. Might make a good story to tell someday, you never know.

You made your way into the stairwell, only to be met with very familiar voices, but you quickly made your presence unknown to them, hiding behind a wall.

“Kokichi! I told you not to not to get yourself involved!” Nagito raised his voice a little, but not to the point where it was just pure anger talking. Kokichi stood, fists balled up in pent up frustration.

“I know you did! And it was stupid that I did, but-“ Kokichi yelled, desperation in his voice.

“Then WHY? You knew I wrote that letter, hell, you were there helping me write the damn thing, but you go and do this?!” Nagito’s heart was the one talking at this point, because you’ve never heard his voice twinge in such genuine emotional pain.

But now you knew who wrote the letter, it was Nagito.

That didn’t sink in as hard as it was supposed to, until-

Wait, Nagito?

“Y-you don’t understand!” Kokichi responded, clenching his teeth from emotional agony.

“I do understand, and I just want to tell you that you’ve went way too far on this sick joke-“

“IT’S NOT A JOKE!” Kokichi cried out, a rasp in his voice becoming evident.

“Then what is it, Kokichi? Spill it. You know how important this is to me, and I don’t like yelling at you.” Nagito was stern, his voice dominating the purple-haired boy.

“Because...I-I...” his voice broke in sadness and so, so much regret. He suddenly huffed, opening his mouth to wallow out.

“B-BECAUSE I LOVE THEM TOO!” Kokichi sobbed. Thick, wet tears rolling down his swollen cheeks. Nagito was shocked, not saying a word. Nagito’s frown deepend because of the wallowing boy in front of him that he cared so much for. Yet, like always, he could never find the words to wrap Kokichi in warmth and apology. The thought made Nagito’s eyes begin to water.

Look what you did, you hurt him, you absolute scum.

“B-but *hic* I-I-I’m s-so *hic* s-selfish...I...” Kokichi hiccuped, trying his absolute best to get his words across.

“I’M SO FUCKING SELFISH, BECAUSE I LOVE YOU TOO, NAGITO KOMAEDA....y-you b-b-big jerk...” Kokichi wailed, a river of tears poring, falling to the concrete floor; the droplets staining the ground in a darker shade of grey when they landed.

“O-oh my god...K-Kokichi...l-“ Nagito started, hands shaking violently. This was bad, this was really bad.

And you knew that.

So you ran. You ran so fast out of your hiding spot, down to the two people in this world that you cared about the most.

And before you knew it, you harshly brought the both of them into your arms, causing the three of you to to collapse onto the ground.

You let it all out. You bawled into their arms, letting out your cries. Whether it was just from sadness, or of relief, that didn’t matter. You cried, until your eyes went dry, and all of your tears were soaked into the boys’ shirts.

. . .

After a bit, all was silent, except for the breathing of you three all mixing together. Your bodies were intermingled, assuming the best position for comfort and care.

You needed to say something, anything. You needed to tell them, or else everything will fall apart.

“I can’t choose.” You put it simply, the two other boys perked up, tear stains prominently showing on both of their faces.

“(Y/N)...” Nagito mumbled.

“I desperately need the both of you. So badly. I want to love you two so much I want my lips to hurt from kissing you two so much by the end of each day. I want my hands to cramp from holding both of you two’s hands so much.” You proclaimed, letting out everything that has been building up in your heart.

“I want to wake up with the warmth of two. I want to spend my days and nights with all of my love coming from two. And...I want to try each and every new thing life brings me, with the love of two.” You gasped for air, sighing out of your mouth, regulating your breath to its normal pace.

“I understand if you don- mphf!” You were promptly shut.

Kokichi had placed his lips on yours, causing a jolt of passion to ignite your soul. The feeling was delicate and new, but it was incredibly lovely You promptly kissed back, feeling a joy you’ve never felt before in your life.

The two of you parted with the kiss when the both of you felt soft lips gently peck both of your foreheads. It was as soft as a feather, yet it made the two of you go so incredibly soft.

You and Kokichi looked up to see Nagito, a small smile on his face. One of his hands reached up to your left cheek, while the other hand made its way to Kokichi’s right. He then lovingly dragged his thumbs across both of your cheeks, smile growing wider, while his face became rosy.

“There’s...so much I want to say but...I hope my actions can at least convey how my heart wants to treat the two of you.” Nagito said, his voice dropped, but in a more of a endearing tone than anything. The boy was still smiling like this was the happiest day in his life.

“I think it would be fun if we all had a slumber party as our first date.” Kokichi giggled, nuzzling into Nagito’s long, slender fingers.

“That sounds like fun, I think it would be delightful.” Nagito playfully pinched Kokichi’s cheek lightly, causing Kokichi to giggle, smiling wide.

“But we do have one thing to take care of first...” Nagito glanced over to you, chuckling.

You were fast asleep within the palm of his hand. It made him fall in love all over again, to be honest.

Nagito and Kokichi worked to untangle themselves from your limbs, trying not to wake you. They then promptly proceeded to place you on Nagito’s back, in a comfortable position so you could keep on sleeping soundly.

“You up for taking our little Cutie back to her place?” Kokichi snickered.

“Of course, love. Only if you would accompany me? Nagito stuck out his hand, waiting for the warmth of another.

“You’re lucky I really like you, clover.” Kokichi hastily grabbed his hand, weaving their fingers together.

As they began walking out to the main exit gate, Kokichi spoke.

“You know, I said a lie earlier I didn’t like. I don’t just like you...I actually really love you. The both of you. That’s something I could never lie about.” Kokichi pledged, the evening orange sky bouncing off of his face. Nagito squeezed the shorter males hand lovingly.

“I love you too, Kokichi. And not just you also, but the both of you. My heart will be forever loyal to the two of you until I rest in my own grave, remember that.”

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