#anyways. maybe. maybe one day i will pick up the needle again | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

endless-ineffabilities · 2 years

Text

without you, I would not be (Daemon Targaryen x f!Reader)

An outsider growing up alongside the Targaryens, the reader is like family. For Daemon, maybe even more. She gets injured one day, and his affections finally come to light.

word count: 1.6k ▪︎ masterlist

themes/warnings: protective!daemon, friends to lovers, fluff, cursing

series coming soon!

Daemon was fuming. He was a collected person by nature, content with allowing chaos to simply unfold, especially if he had a hand in it. But now and again, his fire reveals itself in acts of passion or calculated transgression. The prince, albeit admired by all, has earned quite a reputation that made him intimidating. Powerful. An alluring enigma.

And in that moment, as he rushedly strode through the hallways, he was beside himself with anger. You had been hurt.

You, the object of all of his affection. His heart’s eternal flame. Not that he ever told you this, of course.

Daemon liked keeping his desires close to his chest. He did not act upon them unless he was sure, and he’s always been sure of you. But for the first time, he was unsure of himself.

He knew what he was, impulsive and dangerous. And you… you were too good for him. Perfect.

All these years, you had grown up alongside Rhaenyra, becoming like a beloved elder sister, and a most-trusted friend and ally. Being an orphaned princess of one of the great houses of Old Valyria, the Targaryens took you under their wing. You became family, almost a Targaryen yourself.

Daemon had also become a close figure, a constant protector and somewhat more than a friend. He liked to press you, infuriate you at times, but you knew it was all out of love. Rhaenyra liked to tease you about her uncle’s apparent admiration for you, but you always pushed it aside.

Surely Daemon doesn’t see you that way. Nearly each night, he had his pick of the finest men and women in the kingdom, the paramour of all those who came and went by his quarters in the late hours. Why would he desire someone younger, someone quite inexperienced as you?

Still, you hoped. Because deny it as you might, you still saw. His lingering gaze, the way his hand gently tightens on your waist, the playful remarks. If it all confirmed what Rhaenyra insinuated, then you wanted him too.

That morning, in one of the combat exercises in the courtyard, you convinced them to let you join in. It has never been customary for princesses to engage in such activities, but you enjoyed them. You enjoyed the rush that swordplay gave you.

This was another reason why Daemon and yourself grew so close. He would train you in secret, away from prying eyes, and over the years, your improvement can mainly be attributed to him.

However, as much of a great swordswoman as you have become, you had been injured that day in the courtyard. You had taken a misstep, which resulted in Ser Criston running his sword over you arm, a long gash running down its side. The Kingsguard hurriedly took him away from you, but you commanded them to stand down. It was a mere accident, after all.

Afterward, you sat in your quarters, being tended to by the maester. Rhaenyra joined you there, too, making sure that you were alright.

“Make sure you sew that nicely,” she said, hovering over the maester, “I don’t want her stitches to suddenly come apart.”

“He knows what he’s doing, Rhae,” you said affectionately, flinching a little at the needle going through, “It should heal quickly, anyway. It wasn’t that deep.”

“We should put that Ser Criston through the ringer,” she pointed out, “Have father conduct a beheading in the next ceremony.”

“Oh yeah, it’s been quite a long time since the last beheading. We have been left wanting,” you smile, going along with it.

A moment passes, and when you see the shocked expression on the maester’s face, the both of you exploded into a fit of laughter.

This was how you and Rhaenyra always have been. Two mischievous peas in a pod. Sisters, truly, not by blood but in heart.

Suddenly the doors flew open, putting a pause on the light-hearted moment. Daemon stood there, his expression unreadable.

“Dear uncle,” Rhaenyra greeted him.

He said nothing, and walked over to you, letting his fingers gently drift across your arm.

“The state of it?” He said curtly, not even looking at the maester.

“The wound itself should be fully healed in around three weeks, my prince. Although,” the maester pauses, “the scar will stay.”

“And,” he said, slowly this time, “which incompetent fuck was responsible?” His eyes meet Rhaenyra’s.

“The great Ser Criston Cole, uncle,” she said, mirth in her eyes, “He has been temporarily dismissed from his post, but he should be back with us after a while.”

“Temporarily dismissed?", he breathed out, incredulous, “He should be permanently dismissed from living.”

You let out a laugh at that, glancing at Rhaenyra who raised her eyebrows at you, “It’s okay, Daemon. It was only an accident. I highly doubt a simple injury warrants anything more to be done. Besides, he couldn’t have done anything more to me if he tried, thanks to you.” You reassured him as he moved away, alluding to his guidance in constantly honing your skills in combat.

“I know that, my sweet girl.” He stood gazing out the window, and you realized that he hasn’t met your eyes since he stormed in. But that term of endearment that he assigned to you made you feel warm, and it always has, since he first used it some time ago.

“There,” the maester exclaimed, standing up, “all done. I will be visiting you tomorrow to examine it again, princess.”

“Thank you, maester,” you addressed him, as he bows, and promptly leaves the room.

Rhaenyra sat closer to you, and inspected the stitches herself. Seemingly satisfied, she stood up, “Alright, well, I nearly forgot I have something to attend to in… uh…”

“Now?” you questioned, as she did not mention anything before.

“Yes, didn’t I mention? My father needs me I believe,” she walked to the door, but just before reaching it, she turned to you and winked.

“Rhae,” you whispered, confusion visible on your face.

Before you could add anything, she left, bidding you and Daemon goodbye.

A long silence followed, Daemon resolute in his post by the window.

“Daemon,” you said, trying to get his attention, “what are you thinking about?”

“All they told me was that you were injured. No one bothered to tell me of the extent of said injury, or of your overall condition, or of who inflicted it upon you and how.”

He turned around to face you then, hands clasped in front of him, “That was all – ‘Princess y/n has been injured, my prince.’ That was all I got. The blubbering messenger couldn’t even answer anything I threw at him about it.”

“It’s not anyone’s fault, Daemon. I didn’t even know that you would be alerted,” you said, “I apologize if you had been inconvenienced.” You knew that Daemon had been away from King’s Landing, assigned to facilitate an alliance with one of the houses in the north.

But you didn’t know that Daemon had assigned his people to keep tabs on you, to regularly keep him informed of how you were doing. If anything of any importance were to happen, he wanted to know right away.

And now, it had, all thanks to that fucking Ser Criston. Daemon wanted to take Caraxes and order him to roast that mongrel alive. All because of a simple injury, as you had so kindly called it. He could not even justify it to himself, but he would do it.

He would do it for you.

You did not understand why Daemon seemed so livid.

“Daemon,” you tried to calm him, “it’s okay.”

“No,” he declared, voice rising, “It’s not okay.”

He slowly made his way to you, and kneels, intertwining your hands, and resting them on your legs. “Something happened to you, and I wasn’t here.”

You two had always been close, so you were not entirely taken back by his actions. But this had an unspoken gravity about it. It feels like more.

His white-golden locks fell in front of his face, as he rested his head on your knees.

“Daemon,” you ran your fingers through his hair, admiration rippling through you.

“If something worse had happened,” his grip on your hand tightened, “I don’t know what I'd do.”

Your heart swelled at that. You had the same sentiment towards him. If anything were to happen to Daemon…

“Somehow I think,” you placed a gentle hand on his chin, bringing his eyes to meet yours, “you would be okay in the end. You are a Targaryen, after all.”

He rose, and sat next to you, keeping your hands together.

“You don’t understand,” Your breath caught in your throat, as he stared at you, “Without you, I would not be.”

It was true, as you had perhaps always known.

He has always been your Daemon.

You allowed yourself to bask in the glow of the moment, until he reached for your face, and slowly, glided his thumb over your lips.

He leaned in, and your lips touched. Still at first, but falling into gentle yet needy caresses, your face tightly held in his.

The room seemed to spin, and your injury was forgotten.

There was only him, his lips dancing with yours. This was a dance with a dragon, one whom you would let engulf you completely.

You broke apart, still ever so close, and smiled warmly at each other.

A moment later, he leaned down to place a kiss on your stitches.

“Hmm,” he looked at you cunningly, “well, time to break Ser Criston’s balls.”

You let out a laugh, and his eyes light up at the sound, at the expression on your face, which he has always loved.

“My sweet girl.”

the end

#house of the dragon #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x y/n #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen imagine #daemon x reader #house of the dragon imagine #endless oneshots

5K notes · View notes

kyber-crystal · 4 months

Text

scarlet ibis (songbird) || anakin skywalker

summary: they say the purest love takes the longest time, and your story is nothing short of that. there’s fragility within beauty and to him, you’re a mosaic of stained glass (alt title: 5 times you call anakin skywalker by his last name, and 1 time you finally call him by his first.)

words: ~3.2k

warnings: angst, mild violence, mentions of blood + death (but no major character death dw), two oblivious idiots in love

a/n: 2nd place fic from my mini poll! not my best work LOL, but i think this is one of my favorite fics i've written (so far). i've had this in drafts for about a year or so as well...

one

It was safe to say that even a nanosecond of interacting with Anakin Skywalker made your blood boil.

He knew just how to push all your buttons and you hated it. How could one person exist for seemingly one purpose only—to piss you off—you didn’t understand it and weren’t sure if you ever would. “Loyal Jedi” my ass.

If you were the first person to speak up during meetings, he was also the first to counter your points and shoot you down. If you were late to meals in the mess hall, he took the last roll of bread, so you’d have to wait an extra half hour for more to come out. If you were dueling together, he would always point out every microscopic flaw in your technique. You were sure that your head would explode at any moment by his existence alone.

This is so ridiculous—you’re ridiculous.

“You know I can hear you, right?” Anakin glanced at you in his peripheral vision. “Don’t be mad because my plan worked, and yours didn’t. There’s this thing called accepting defeat.”

“Just because I don’t do things the way you do doesn’t mean they’re wrong.”

“They’re not wrong, but they’re not safe. You can’t declare safety compromisation a success. There’s a clear difference between the two.”

You scoffed. “Since when did you, out of all people, account for safety?”

“I should be asking you the same thing.”

“You’re not answering my question.”

“And you’re not answering mine, either.” He reaches behind his ear and turns his comms on. “Now are we going to head home or what?”

“Aye aye, General,” you responded sarcastically, rolling your eyes. “Let’s embark on the journey of a lifetime.”

Awkward silence pierces the air like a dozen tiny needles, but you’ll take it over arguing with a wall any day. You knew what you were fighting for and why. You were confident in your actions and believed you always stood on the right side.

Except, he didn’t.

It was a quick two day recon and you got the job done in half the allotted time. In and out faster than you could blink. Of course, Anakin would find fault in that one way or another…and he did. You got caught as you were escaping…dragging the mission duration out by an extra day.

Granted, you were only delayed by a few hours, but it was enough to upset him. You couldn’t even feel the ropes digging into your wrists after hour two, anyway. But from the moment he broke in and saw the first speck of blood on you, a look of fury flashed across his eyes. I’d be surprised if he had even half a heart under all that thick skin, you grumbled to yourself. He’ll slice at anything that moves.

“You know—” Anakin’s voice breaks through the tension-filled air. He wants to say something else, but the words get stuck in the back of his throat and his tongue goes numb.

“I don’t care.” You pick at your scabbing wounds, not caring that they’re starting to sting and peel all over again. Before he can catch you doing so, you tug your sleeves over them and grit your teeth. “We got the job done, Skywalker, that’s all that matters.”

two

Maybe it was time to stop trying to commit mass murder on the punching bags. They weren’t going to do anything except break after two minutes of merciless attacks.

Hopefully…you wouldn’t get in trouble for the glass vase that happened to get in your path. Nobody ever bothered to wander to the west wing of the Temple often enough to notice, anyway.

As you clenched and unclenched your fists, the cracks in your knuckles slowly started to stretch out like thin, red spiderwebs. The dots of brilliant ruby seemed to glitter among the pristine flooring—almost like they were meant to be there from the start.

With every shard you threw away, the cracks and fury dug themselves further into your skin, threatening to explode.

You didn’t even need to look up afterward to know his scalding gaze was on you again.

“Are you trying to get an infection?”

“Fuck off.”

He ignored your biting reply and kneeled down to clean up the mess. Once he was done, he stood back up and grabbed you by the wrist, leading you down the hall to his quarters.

As soon as he sat you down at the edge of his bed, you shot him a death glare. “What in Force’s name is your problem?”

“My problem,” Anakin replied, “is that you’re about to bleed all over the place. Let me help.”

“I don’t need fixing, Skywalker,” you snapped. “It’s just a cut.”

Anakin raised a brow at you, then looked down at your hands. “Too bad, I think you do. Broken glass will buryinto places you don’t expect.”

“Then you’re severely underestimating what I’m capable of. So let me go,” you snapped, jerking your wrist out of his grip. You unfortunately did this too fast, and hissed in pain as a result. “I’m fine.”

Sighing, the young Jedi reaches for the bacta pads next to him and works carefully to patch you up. He pretends not to notice the tears welling up in the corners of your eyes. Or the way you pick at the skin by your thumb, or the way your left foot taps the floor in a nervous rhythm. He pretends not to notice everything you do, but you’re everywhere. It frustrates him because he can’t escape.

“Why do I have a feeling that exterminating the centuries-old vase of magic and splendor wasn’t in your original plan?”

“I was,” your voice wavers, fingers twitching. He notices this, too. “Leave me be.”

Shadows of the late afternoon light dance across the bridge of your nose, and he lets himself stare for a bit longer than normal. And…being who you two are, neither of you realize the fact.

“You can go now, if you want,” he finally says after the sun begins descending into the horizon. “But make sure not to overexert yourself again.”

You don’t move. You stay there; quietly sitting in the middle of his room with glistening cheeks. Anakin doesn’t bother asking you to leave a second time.

A fallen angel trapped in an endless prison; a halo and fractured wings that rendered her unable to fly. And yet, amidst all that death and despair, nothing could mar her beauty.

He feels those same little spiderwebs running through his palms, and he feels them shorten. Just a little bit.

three

The halls of the Temple were eerily quiet early in the morning. You would expect more Jedi to be up before the sun rose, but today, all activity had seemed to stop. Gathering the ends of your cloak into your arms, you made a careful climb up onto the rooftops to watch the sunrise.

It seemed like you weren’t the only one who had this in mind, though.

“The hell are you doing at this hour?”

“I could ask you the same exact thing,” Anakin replied as he stood up and turned around to face you. “You’re going to fall.”

“I’m fine, don’t—” You let out a small squeak as you lose your footing and slip. Luckily, though, he catches you in time by wrapping an arm around your waist and holding on tight. Fire shoots through your veins at the feeling of him pressed up against you. “Let go of me, Skywalker!”

Once he leads you to where you can get more stable footing, he lets you go. But even then, there’s a hand that hovers over the small of your back.

Brilliant bursts of sunlight stream over the horizon and wash over the world in pale red and pink. It stops you from saying something snarky to Anakin because you’re speechless at the breathtaking sight above.

“I have…something for you,” he clears his throat. “—And don’t hit me. I’m not trying to poison you.”

“Okay…?”

He reaches into his cloak pocket and pulls out what appears to be jewelry of some kind.

“How many innocent beings did you kill to get this? Please don’t tell me it was smuggled. Or that you robbed someone for it. I can’t keep something like that.”

“Y/N.”

“What?”

“Do you…like it?”

You paused and took one good look at the necklace in his hand. It had to be the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen in all twenty years of living, and even that was an understatement. A teardrop-shaped, deep vermillion stone encased by tiny, glittering jewels—it was as if he had captured the stormclouds himself. It was perfect—too perfect, almost.

Your voice came out in a whisper. “It’s so pretty.”

He takes a careful step to stand behind you in response. His fingers brush against your neck as he puts the necklace on, and fireworks explode behind your eyes.

Without another word, you turn towards him and rest your chin on his shoulder. He pulls you closer, and your heart feels a little fuller than before.

four

The warzone was an ugly place.

If hell was a real thing, this had to be it. The sky is bleeding red and each burst of lightning splits it further apart, the smell of death swirling around with the debris. Battle droids push forward in a stampede and you try your best to ignore the sickening crunch of bone beneath their metal feet. You squeeze your eyes shut as you tighten your hold around your lightsaber and pray to every god out there in the universe because war was cruel and mean and you just wanted to go home and sleep forever because anything, absolutely anything, was better than the suffering you were having to endure now.

When the shot originally meant for Anakin hits you in the side, you’re unable to fully comprehend the pain because your brain won’t let you. You force yourself to keep going. Pain was temporary…you’d deal with the aftermath later. You could afford to.

What feels like hours passes by and the gunfire doesn’t stop. The incessant ringing in your ears is something you’ve forced yourself to grow accustomed to.

“Y/N!” Anakin’s voice manages to cut through the howling winds. “You need to—”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence before a grenade detonates near you and throws you against the walls. A searing pain shoots through your body at the impact and the world tilts on its axis. Scarlet seeps into your tear-stained vision and suddenly, the whole world is drenched in blood.

This was it…

If you were going to die now, it would be as far from pretty as you could possibly get.

It’s another slow few minutes before he finally finds you slumped against the stone. Somehow, you manage to shoot him a small smile before wincing. “Took you long enough to get here.”

“You…”

“Oh, wow, I’ve been shot,” you let out a dry laugh, pressing a hand over your wound. The color immediately drained from his face as he saw blood seeping through your fingers. “That’s a whole lot of red.”

He crouches down next to you to assess your state, pressing the commlink in his ear as he does so. “Why is it that you’re always getting hurt?”

“My middle name is Trouble, that’s why.” You cough, and more red drips down your lips. “Trouble follows me around wherever I go.”

“It’s not fair,” Anakin mumbled under his breath, applying pressure to your torso as you wince again. “I’m supposed to be jumping in front of bullets for you and getting close to being blown up, not the other way around.”

“I decided that your massive ego needed a little break so I took the workload for you,” you snarked. “Happy now, Skywalker?”

For the first time ever, he doesn’t bite back with an equally sarcastic response. You don’t question it. “No. I’m not.”

The returning journey's dead silent, save for your labored breathing due to your cracked ribs. You try to sit up, but he places a firm hand on your shoulder to keep you from moving.

“I told you I’m fine—”

“You need to rest,” he exhales, the distress and tiredness evident in his eyes. “Please.”

“Okay…”

Wordlessly, Anakin reaches over to cup his hands over yours and and brings them to his lips. A pleasant sense of warmth overtakes you and you can almost pretend like the ship’s heater isn't broken and you’re melting, little by little. And if you look closer, you can see clusters of galaxies and shooting stars behind his steel blue eyes. The thought alone comforts you and starts to lull you to sleep.

His eyes shift to the necklace; the gemstone sits still against your sternum as your chest rises and falls. Beauty among chaos. He wonders every day how such stark differences can coexist in a peaceful manner.

“For what it’s worth,” he murmurs long after you’ve drifted off, “I never really hated you.”

five

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

You placed your hands on your hips as you observed the pitiful scene before you. The Jedi Order could host extravagant events and use expensive artillery and clones, but wouldn’t account for comfortable sleeping accommodations. Making a mental note to politely complain to Master Windu, you let out a long sigh.

“If I stretch out, I’ll fall off,” Anakin pointed out as he too stared at the small queen bed (you were sure it was a twin, though).

“I’d fall off, too.”

“You know what…I’ll take the floor. I don’t want to hear you complaining about back pain in the morning.”

He was about to take his pillow and toss it to the floor before you grabbed his wrist. “Are you nuts? I can’t let you do that.”

“Then what do you want me to do?”

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t know, share the bed without kicking me in the middle of the night?”

Both of you stopped and stared at each other at this.

“The audacity you have to say that when you’re the kicker…” Anakin began.

“I’m using the bathroom first.” You pushed past him to go wash up. “Don’t be a bed hog, Skywalker.”

Minutes later, you’re both settled in under the covers and have fallen into a comfortable silence. The only things you can hear are the crickets chirping outside and Anakin’s steady breathing. If you ignored the fact that you were on a mission and crammed into an incredibly tiny motel room, you could imagine that this was a peaceful weekend getaway to some tropical planet.

You’re the first one to break the silence and speak up. “Do you wonder when the war will end? Or if it’ll end at all?”

“All the time.” He rolls over on his side to face you. “And what I’d do afterwards.”

“Where would you go?”

Anakin hums for a moment before responding. “I don’t know. You?”

“I’d go back to Naboo. To the lakes, where the water is so clear you can see your future, and the roses are redder than your face under the summer sun. Padme would take me there all the time when we were younger.”

“I think I’d follow you, then.”

“But there’s sand, and lots of it,” you laughed. “Are you sure?”

“I’d be willing to bear its coarse, rough, and irritating qualities for you. Only once, though. I have my limits.”

Your heart warms at the mini confession. “I wish we could just end everything now. Call off the troops, sign a few treaties or something…end the war. I’m tired of the violence and bloodshed. I know everyone else is too.”

“I know.”

Anakin’s hand finds its way into yours, and the tension in your shoulders slowly unravels as your fingers lace with his.

And all the cracked and bleeding crevices on your skin start healing the longer you lean into his touch. It’s like he has a needle and spool of thread in hand, and he’s slowly but surely stitching you back together.

plus one

The giant metropolis of Coruscant had gone quiet under blankets of snow—it was a sight unlike any other. You hadn’t seen a speck of snow hit since you stepped foot onto the Jedi Temple as a child.

You stood alone in the hangar bay with bated breath and reddened, frostbitten fingers. Like you’d dipped them in blood before letting them dry for a bit.. He had to be here any minute now; you didn’t want him to return and not have anyone to welcome him back. So despite the subzero temperatures and barely-healing knuckles, you remained in place.

When his ship touches down and he hops out with a wide smile, you can feel a giant weight being lifted off your chest. He jogs toward you and brings you in for a crushing embrace, and for once, you finally feel at home.

“It’s freezing. What are you doing here?” He’s sweating, even though he looks like he should be cold. “You should’ve headed inside.”

“I waited for you, what else would I be doing?”

Anakin grins again and hugs you even tighter. “I missed you. More than anything.”

Your heart suddenly starts to ache at his admission and that’s when the realization kicks in. “I thought I lost you, Anakin. You could’ve died. I couldn’t sleep for three days after I lost your signal. And yet you’re standing here acting like it’s no big deal because at least you’re alive and in one piece.”

“Y/N…”

A chill runs down your spine and you know in that moment that it has nothing to do with the weather. You knew this wasn’t right; you weren’t supposed to be doing this, but it felt more natural than anything you’d ever done.

That’s when you find an Anakin-shaped shard of glass wedged deep in your heart and you don’t know how it found its way there, but you don’t even bother pulling it out. Glass splinters are supposed to be these jagged, disfigured things, but this one is beautiful and even shines amongst the rubble. It’ll bury its way into places you don’t expect. With the way he fits against your body, you can’t help but feel like he was meant to fill the gaping hole in your heart. So wholly, so perfectly without a single scratch or flaw.

You look up at him and feel your breath get caught in your throat. Since when did he make you so nervous?

He’s even closer now and so are you, so you press your mouth to his as if doing so would save you from falling apart. Your brain short-circuits, and as you sink into the sudden burst of warmth you realize you don’t want this to end.

“Took you long enough,” he mumbles against your skin as you pull apart. “I was starting to wonder when…”

“Shut up. Don’t ruin the moment,” you muttered before bringing your hand to his cheek and kissing him a second time. He doesn’t object and tightens his hold around you, and a fire spreads through you from head to toe.

“I love you,” Anakin says after a while. “Even though you like sand, and I don’t.”

“I knew that already,” you joked with a smile and close your eyes, taking in a deep breath. “You’re not exactly the most subtle person ever.”

“Neither are you,” he chuckles.

“But I love you too.”

tags, including people who may be interested: @arkofblake @dameronology @fl0ating @voguesir @lady-elena-adeline @aliciaasky @katelynnwrites @freeshavocadoooo @buckysbeloved @kelieah @kaleidoscope1967eyes @lam-ila @unstablecaffeinatedmind @elenavampire21 @joyfullyswimmingface

add yourself to the general taglist/top gun specific taglist !

#anakin skywalker x reader #star wars fic #star wars imagine #anakin skywalker x y/n #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker fluff #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin x reader #anakin x you #star wars fanfiction #anakin skywalker fic

220 notes · View notes

mrswint3rs · 2 months

Note

i loved ur fic abt jill be a tattoo artist!! could you maybe do one where reader gets her nipple and clit pierced by jill :3

𝐈𝐧𝐤 𝐓𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 (𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐)

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏

pairings- Tattoo artist / piercer! jill x fem! reader

cw - smut comes before the piercings, pussy eating( referred to as ‘she’ once), use of vibrator, squirting, overstimulation, obv mentions of needles ꨄ

a/n- i have my bridge and septum done, but clit piercings are my biggest fear. nips too tbh i could never my boobs are too small 😭 anyway thanks for requesting anon!!

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

“I’m starting to think you just like the pain,” Jill says, her voice laced with amusement as you waltz back through her studio doors. It’s only been a couple of weeks since you last came.

As you sink into the plush leather chair, you can feel the soft material almost comforting but not quite. You wait patiently, yet your nerves are on edge, much like the last time you were in this position. You know that you're here for a reason and the pressure of that reason makes you want to pick up your belongings and go back home. But you have to put on a brave face. For her, if not yourself.

“Pretty bold request this time.”

“I can take it,” you reply in contrast. But you weren’t at all sure that you could. You were partly looking for an excuse to come back to this room with her. “You’re a professional as I recall.”

She scoffs at your commentary. “Well, we’re going to be starting this session…unprofessionally this time. Lay back for me, will ya?”

Off to a quick start, but you can’t be bothered. It is kind of what you’re here for. You couldn’t get the last visit out of your head no matter how hard you tried.

Jill took over your thoughts just like she had hoped for. When you got home that day, you rummaged through the bag to find her contact info immediately. Only took you about 30 minutes to find it. She wrote it inside the instructions for the aftercare cream.

—————-

Hands find their way to the waistband of your pants, pulling them down to your ankles at the foot of the chair. She notes that you’re not wearing any panties, but considering you’re here to get your clit pierced, she’s assuming it’s related to that.

“Since she’s going to be irritated and healing for a while… thought i’d take care of you first.” she pulls her way up between your legs, only instead of her mouth, she brings out a low buzzing toy.

You spread yourself out for her in an instant.

Not once did you think about the piercings healing process. Going a couple weeks without touching it was probably going to be the death of you. You start to feel jittery again just thinking about it. The thought of ripping it out or it getting caught on something.

But your thoughts are quelled when the vibrator is placed firmly on your soon to be touch deprived nub.

“Relax sweetheart,” she croons. “Just feel good for me.”

“Too much-“ you whimper, nails digging into the leather of the chair again.

Instead of turning it down, she puts it on the highest setting out of ten. “C’mon, thought you were a brave girl…”

She uses a thumb to lift your hood, sending vibrations through your most sensitive and reactive part. “I can’t..” you whine again. Your body jerks on its own, the stimulation becoming too much for your mind to handle.

“You will.” she states sternly. She keeps her torment going, not moving an inch as you writhe.

A burning takes over your body, throughout your core and you as a whole. Your voice dies out, only gasping breaths sound. It feels like an explosion.

Well, it kind of was.

Juices burst from you unlike any orgasm you experienced, and they just keep coming. Jill doesn’t remove the toy, forcing more and more to drain from you until you’re practically gyrating.

Even then you can’t catch a break. She sets the vibrator aside, her mouth taking its place. Her tongue swirls and flicks wherever it wants, licking up your mess. Though she seemed to only be making more. You were dripping onto the chair from the combination of her spit and your streams of cum.

You push her head away not being able to endure. Only at your trying to get away does she finally stop.

Her face reveals itself to you again, completely a mess which she cleans herself. You’re shaking like crazy, but you can’t decipher whether it’s because of her torture or because you know what comes next.

The option to back out was still there, you could cancel at any moment. Even as she’s sterilizing the needle, wiping you down with the alcohol wipes that sting your nose and eyes.

No, you had to be brave.

“Try and stay still now,” she instructs. Only you kind of can’t after what she just did to you.

“How bad is it gonna-“ you start, but you’re silenced as the needle pierces suddenly without a countdown or second thought. Not as bad as you had anticipated. In fact, your shaking stops completely and you can feel that rush of adrenaline almost calm you down.

Just a slight pinch, even as she chases the jewelry into your hood. “Not so bad, hm?”

You shake your head, feeling weirdly aware of everything.

“Still up for the next one?”

“Yeah,” you nod, almost eager. You take your shirt off, followed by your bra and Jill takes a moment to breathe you in. Your form was gorgeous.

Again, she wipes the area with the cold alcoholed pads, circling your nipple until it’s painfully firm and moving on to the next one. She grips under your breast to ‘support’ as she continues.

This time, she gets a marking pen, thinking professionally again as she takes visual measurements. She makes sure it’s set up to be symmetrical, dotting the entryway and exit for the piercing needle. “y’know,” she starts, turning to pick up the piercing tool. “I’ve got mine done, but I think yours are perfect for it.”

The clamp squeezes the area around your nipple, hurting more than the previous penetration. You think about what she said, you were unbearably curious. You wanted to see, maybe compare to hers. The thought distracts you from what’s coming, but not for very long.

The needle jabs through, only you actually feel it in full this time, tears uncontrollably welling up in your eyes. She immediately pushes the jewelry in after and you’re reminded you’ll have to do this twice.

Air pulls through your gritted teeth, a wince coming out of you and it’s clear to her how badly this one did you.

“Sure you’re up to the task?”

“Just get it over with..” you try to reply like a hardass even though your face says it all.

She only sighs, switching over to your left side. “As you wish, princess.”

The clamp squeezes again and you snap your eyes shut. In a way, not looking at what was happening seemed to make it more bearable. The needle goes through in an instant, along with the jewelry and it’s finally all over. Though, you were nervous about putting your clothes back on.

That’s taken care of by jill. She introduces you to a supply of film patches to wear over for healing.

As protocol, she tells you how to care for both sets of piercings, how to keep them clean and of course her recommended products.

“Next time, why don’t you come see me after hours?” she suggests. “I didn’t give you my number just for business.”

“I didn’t want to assume…”

“I think we’re past the point of questioning intentions sweetheart.” she laughs, a genuine smile forming on her face. “I don’t do this with other clients.”

mlist

#jill valentine x reader #jill valentine x you #jill x reader #jill valentine smut #jill valentine #resident evil #smut #fanfiction #resident evil 3 #re3make #re3 remake #re3 jill #fem reader #resident evil x reader smut #resident evil x reader

126 notes · View notes

ughgoaway · 3 months

Text

don't you think of me?

plot; snapshots of your breakup, with one letter underlining it all.

word count; 6.9k-ish

content warnings; swearing, dramatic overreactions, distressing dreams, depression, blood, general sad vibes, drinking and no happy ending (oops <3)

a/n; guys... angst is SO HARD. idk how people write it sooooo well. this fic is inspired by the songs "Sad Beautiful Tragic" and "I Almost Do" and the storyline is based completely on those songs! but there are a few other Taylor song references in the fic too. anyway, this kind of jumps around a lot, perspectives and timelines. so if it's completely incomprehensible, I am so sorry!! lemme know if it's so awful I need to have a re-write lol. I really hope the flashbacks are clear, and that this timeline makes any sense whatsoever <3

(p.s this is basically dedicated to 🍪 anon and bff anon, ty for riding so hard for this fic lol)

(this is non-canon)

✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿

The cold wind hurts Matty's face as he battles against it. Each gust feels like needles prickling his cheeks. But still, he pushes through, not really feeling much of anything these days anyway. The paper in his pocket scratches his hands as he burrows them in deeper, but he just grips it harder. The scratches made him feel more human anyway. They convinced his hazy head that maybe life was still happening around him.

The red post box in front of him is almost taunting. He stands frozen, gripping the letter he’s worked so hard on tightly. He has the passing thought of just letting it go, watching it blow away in the breeze, and never having to think about it again.

He never has to think about you again.

But he knows that's unrealistic. How can he never think of you again when you're all he thinks about? Every waking thought he has is about you. He still thinks about how your breathing changed when you slept next to him. The way your lips curved into the smirk he loved whenever you teased him. The flush that covered your cheeks when he did it back.

Every morning, he still gets out 2 mugs. He still grabs your favourite wine at the shops and doesn't say yes to plans without thinking if he should check with you first. The last time he saw you was still burned into the back of his mind, and he was not sure it could ever leave.

And to be honest, he doesn't know if he wants it to. If healing means forgetting you, forgetting everything you built, then maybe it is better to live in the pain. Each time he begins to heal, he picks up the scab over and over again. The sting reminded him of you, so he picked and picked. Blood poured from him relentlessly, but that was all he could do. Bleeding for you was all he had of you anymore.

He shoved the letter in and walked away briskly. He fought every bone in his body telling him to go back. To smash the post box and filter through every letter until he found his. He imagined a world in which he hadn't sent it, where instead he turned around and marched back to his house.

Or maybe there's a world where he marched to your house instead. Maybe he finally got over himself and told you everything in person. He begged and pleaded for you to forgive him, to look him in the eyes and tell him you've been hurting just as much as him.

Matty isn't sure that world exists, though.

✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀

3 days later, when it arrives, you stare at it endlessly. You move it from place to place in your apartment and try to visualise opening it there. But soon enough, that just becomes you avoiding that room like the plague, and you start to treat parts of your flat like they are infested with a deadly virus. But they're not, really. They're just filled with a small envelope with your name on it and a return address you know all too well.

You decide you aren't going to read it 2 days later. You hold it over a candle and watch the amber flames lick the bottom of the envelope. But before you can set it ablaze, some instinct takes over, and suddenly, it's the most important object you've ever owned. You pull it from the flames and put it out with your fingers, not caring if the fire sizzles your skin. You cry and beg for it to be okay, tears streaming from your cheeks as you frantically pull it open, “No no no. fuck, please.”

But the letter inside was unscathed, just the corner of the envelope was covered in a thin layer of ash. As soon as you see that handwriting, though, you feel the unspeakable urge to burn it again, to set it on fire and watch it burn.

You don’t.

You lay it on the table and go to bed. You decide tomorrow will be the day you do something with it, even though you promised yourself that every day since you got it. But you're sure tomorrow will really be the day. It has to be.

You return to the warm solace of the bed you've grown to know too well over the past few weeks, and the duvet welcomes you in like an old friend.

✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀

It's a few days after he sent the letter and the day after you received it when he sees you for the first time, and he can't quite believe it. There you were, standing in the coffee shop you always went to together.

He wondered if the baristas had noticed you both started to come in without the other. Maybe they started gossiping about it, “Did those customers break up? I never see them together any more” and he could almost see someone else saying “I hope not. They were cute.”

Even though he knew no one would ever actually say that, and that the baristas hadn't noticed anything.

Some force that he couldn't explain pulled him towards you, and before he knew it, he was reaching for your arm. “Hi” he breathed out heavily, staring at you like he wasn't sure you were real. He wasn't convinced that you were anything but a figment of his imagination. Has his delusions about you already gotten to the point where he's having visions? He thought it would take a few more months for that.

“Matty?” You say gently, tracing your eyes over the man in front of you. Hearing your soft voice after months without you felt like heaven on earth for Matty, relaxation washing over him just at the soft dulcet tones of you.

Matty smiled softly at you, and you immediately returned it. He can see the cogs turning in your head on how to greet him. Was a hug too much? Is a wave too little? Is a handshake too formal? Overthinking was one thing you were so good. Matty was sure you could win an award for it. So he decided to take the decision into his own hands and wrapped out up in a hug, burrowing his face in your hair and smelling that familiar floral aura he'd fallen in love with.

Your whole body tensed when he first touched you. The once familiar feeling now was slightly cold and awkward. But Matty felt you relax and couldn't help the grin that spread across his face the the feeling of your head in his neck, the place you always used to lay. He swore he could feel you breathe him in, but soon convinced himself it was wishful thinking.

Reluctantly, you pull away, looking up at Matty with glassy eyes. The barista next to you clears his throat, bringing you both back to earth and out of whatever haze you were in. “your tea is ready” he says awkwardly, eyeing you and Matty with a sly smile on his lips.

“Right! Sorry, yes. Thank you” You grab your cup and turn back to Matty nervously. He can see the anxiety radiating off you, just like it always had. He never thought it would be directed at him, but he tries not to overthink it too much.

“Do you-” You clear your throat, shaking your head as you try to process that you're seeing him again. Seeing your Matty. “Do you want to sit with me? Catch up?”

Matty can see your hands shaking around your cup and the nervousness swimming in your eyes. “Of course,” he says easily. He could never deny an opportunity to spend time with you. Especially not when he hadn't seen you in so long. And certainly not when you still take up his every waking thought.

The conversation flows like you had never left, easily chatting and catching up like you always had. You tell Matty about the cat you adopted and how she loves to sit on top of the fridge to scare you. He tells you about his mum and her latest drama. Her kitchen cupboards were the wrong colour of grey, and it was the topic of conversation for much longer than he thought possible.

The first bout of silence comes when you ask about Annie, and Matty can tell it took every ounce of strength to force the words out of your mouth. You felt like someone had taken one of your vital organs when you left her, and you can still see her face in your mind whenever you close your eyes.

“she's good. Misses you, though. Especially because she doesn't see you at school anymore since you got a new job” he says with a solemn smile. Matty tries to hold eye contact, but he gives up a few seconds into it, instead staring at his coffee as if it was the most interesting thing in the room.

Thankfully, soon enough, the once stilted silence becomes easy chatter and laughter all over again, Matty welcomed the warm conversation with open arms, missing your presence more than he ever thought possible.

But Matty's mouth soon got ahead of him, “so when was the last time I saw you?” he asked thoughtlessly. His brain was on autopilot, and the words poured out of him before he could stop it. The very topic you'd both been dancing around was now laid out in front of you, and it couldn't be ignored.

Matty saw something in your demeanour change, your once soft smile morphing into a faux-happy grimace, “Don't you remember? You screaming at me in the kitchen? And then storming out after saying what you did? Maybe you remember smashing a plate on the floor?” Matty pauses at your words, not quite believing you're deciding to re-hash all of this in the middle of a coffee shop, especially with a massive and slightly creepy grin on your face, but he answers anyway.

“Of course, I remember. And there's not enough words to say how sorry I am but-” he stutters as he tries to explain himself more, but you cut him off, gently placing a hand on his arm.

“Are you sure you remember? When you left me? Abandoned me? Left me sobbing and alone? What about the 30 phone calls you ignored?” You kept talking, and Matty couldn't get a word in, your voice increasing in volume with each desperate question.

“Look I’m so sorry-” Matty desperately looked around him to see if people were staring at your raised voice, but the cafe was empty. The once bustling coffee shop is now like a ghost town, with no evidence of another human ever being in there.

He flicks his head back to yours, only to be in his kitchen, forced back to that night. He stares at you in your pyjamas, tears streaming down your face. He flicks his eyes down to see him dressed in the same liquor-stained clothes, and he can taste the red wine on his tongue.

“Why” you whispered over and over again, gradually getting louder, eventually shouting at Matty as he stood there motionless.

Matty wakes up in a cold sweat, panting wildly as his brain fights to figure out what the fuck is happening. He scrambles to his phone and realises; it's still the same day. It was just another fucking dream. He knows nightmare would be the better word, but he can't bring himself to describe anything with you in it as a nightmare.

With a heavy sigh, he flops back to his pillow, gripping his phone desperately and trying to fight the urge to call you. It almost doesn't work, and he clicks on your contact and lets his thumb hover over the call button. He sees the unanswered calls and the pleading messages. He can feel the desperation through the screen.

He thinks your new boyfriend must've blocked his number because that's easier than thinking that you just hate him. Each time he reaches out, there’s no reply, and he feels a part of himself die.

He hadn't tried for a few months now, but he still had that urge to type out his every thought, to send it and call you until you answered. But he doesn't.

It doesn't occur to Matty that the real reason that the reason you don't answer isn't because of a new boyfriend or because you hate him. Instead, it’s because you know you can't deal with another goodbye. You can't risk all this happening again. You were already practically ripped open. You can't risk tearing the very stitches you worked so hard to sew closed.

But matty doesn't know that, so with a huff, he clicks off you and onto George, and this time, he lets the phone ring.

“Huh? what-” he hears the groggy voice over the phone mutter, and it's then he realises maybe ringing George at 3 am because he had a nightmare wasn't the best decision. But it was too late now, and he could practically see George's expectant face from the other side of the phone.

“Hi. it um- it happened again” Matty said with a huff, falling back into the pillows and staring at the moonlight dancing across his ceiling. He heard George's heavy sigh and the distinct sound of ruffling sheets, George had sat up instinctively, knowing something was up.

“What was it this time? Did everyone in the crowd turn into her again” George says softly, rubbing at his tired eyes and fighting a yawn.

“No, it started off really nice this time. I saw her again at that cafe we always went to, you know the one near the studio? We were just chatting and catching up. But then she wouldn't stop talking about that night, telling me what happened all over again. And then I blinked, and I was back. I was in that kitchen again, just staring at her.” Matty follows the moonbeams with his eyes, lingering on the two beams crossing over, only for their paths to separate once again.

It reminded him of you and him.

“I think you need to get some lavender oil or some shit. You need to sleep. And these nightmares aren't helping” George says firmly, Matty would usually fight him tooth and nail at the suggestion.

He claimed it was because that stuff had never worked for him, but George knew it was because he saw it as still having a part of you in his life. Even if you were there in the form of his demons, at least they all looked like you.

But to his surprise, Matty immediately crumbled, “Yeah, you're right. Will you come to Boots with me after the studio tomorrow?” George agreed quickly before Matty could change his mind.

But he didn't try to, Matty simply said, “Thanks. Okay, I'll let you sleep now… Bye.” And before George could tell him it was okay, and he’d stay chatting as long as Matty needed, he was gone.

Tears leaked from Matty’s eyes, wetting the same pillow where you used to lay your head. This loop of healing felt endless, and Matty wasn't sure if fixing this was possible when he knew you were still out there without him. Forever wouldn't have even been enough with you, but now he has nothing. What is he meant to do with no you?

✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀

As Matty lay awake in Manchester, you were in the same position in London. The same lonely bed, but different cities. Unlike him, you haven't managed to sleep yet. Instead, you can't stop your brain from imagining what is in that letter. Your mind falls back to that night, and you replay the events over and over again. Every word Matty said was etched in your mind, so it played easily, the same script ringing in your ears all these months later.

//////////////////////

Matty shut the door delicately. Getting home at 2 am. was already bad enough. He didn't want to wake you or Annie in the process. But when he saw the light pouring out of the kitchen and heard the distinct hissing of the kettle, he knew you were awake. And he knew you were waiting for him.

He walked into the kitchen silently, leaning on the counter and watching you potter around, he remember when he used to sit here for hours and dream of you in his house. Now he's not even sure the last time you said I love you to each other. You continue to ignore Matty, but you getting a second mug out of the cupboard tells him all he needs to know. This is going to be a long night.

“At the studio late again?” You ask, passing Matty his mug and leaning across from him. Your eyes trace up his figure, and you can't help but think you don't recognise the man in front of you. His clothes hung off of him, and heavy bags sat under his empty eyes. His hair was standing on end, once perfectly manicured curls now frazzled beyond repair.

“Yeah, George wanted to fix this harmony. Sorry I'm back so late” he knew lying to you was wrong. He really did. But he couldn't bring himself to explain where he actually was, drinking alone in a bar rather than at home with his family.

“Oh. okay.” you pause and wait for Matty to correct himself, giving him a chance to be fucking honest for once. But he doesn't, so you push again.

“That's weird though, because I asked Charli where George was 2 hours ago, and she sent a photo of them together. In bed.”

Matty's eyes widened. He knew he'd just been caught, but he wasn't ready to give up the lie yet. He just needed a few more weeks away, and then he would come back. Then everything would be made right again. So his tipsy mind comes up with a new lie and pleads with whatever God there might be that would believe him, “Oh did I say George? I meant Hann, you know how I get when it's late”

“Matty. You stink of booze. Do you think im an idiot?” You sigh, placing your tea down and crossing your arms over your chest. The anger bubbling within you was threatening to spill over. You felt as if every word from Matty was a stab, yet he kept just pushing the knife deeper.

“So I had a drink at the studio! Sue me, Jesus Christ” Matty sneers at you as he talks, slamming his cup onto the counter, ignoring the burning on his hand from the tea falling over the rim.

“Liar” you click your tongue at Matty and cast your eyes to the floor. Staring into his eyes as he lied to you was agony, and you're not sure how much more pain you can take.

“I'm not lying. I swear I just-” he tries to argue, but you refuse to let him keep going.

“I know you're lying. You're always fucking lying! You weren't at the studio.” you sighed heavily flicking your eyes up to Matty briefly, but the tension was too much, it hurt to look at him.

“Baby, cmon, calm down. It’s okay, yeah? I’m here now,” Matty moved towards you, grabbing your cheek in his hand and moving in to kiss you, prepared to make this all melt away just like he always did. You try to push him away, but Matty stands strong. He had to fix this. He needed to kiss and make up. It was all he knew how to do.

“Would you just fucking listen” you shout, pushing Matty back across from you, “I don't even know who you are anymore! These past few weeks have made you into a man I don't even fucking recognise.” You look up at him with crazed eyes and scoff at the sight of the man in front of you.

You were done with it all. The lying, the running away, the sleuthing around. Done. You were having this conversation, and you were having it now.

“No please don't say that. You know me. I don't know who I am without you knowing me,” Matty begged, sobering up quickly at your words.

He needs to bring this back, claw what little life you had left in you to the surface. Everything that left Matty’s life has had claw marks in it, and he would be damned if he'd let you go without the same scars.

“Don't you understand that's the fucking issue, Matty? You don't know who you are anymore, I don't know who you are anymore. You need to be a person without me.” your words struck Matty in the chest like a bullet.

Were you seriously suggesting what he thinks you are? Do you actually want to break up with him?

Matty baulks at your words. Every feeling he’d had over the past few months was catching up to him, crashing into each other in his brain as they fought to be let out. Anger won because, of course, it won. It seems to always win.

He decides that if you want to break up, then he'll do it himself. He can't let you beat him to it. He knows it's childish, but he doesn't fucking care. He needs to win this. “Please, I've been a person without you for 30 fucking years. I’m a fucking dad! I don't need you to tell me who I am.”

“Annie needs both her parents, Matty. We need you back, please.” The mention of Annie makes outrage bubble within him like it had never done before. He can't believe you'd practically threatened to break up with him one minute and then beg for him back for the sake of his daughter the next. Because that is what she is, she's his daughter.

“You don't know what it's like to be a parent y/n,” Matty mumbles under his breath, but he might as well have screamed it at you because that's how loudly it rang in your ears. He knew he'd fucked up as soon as he said it, but there was no going back now, and he could see that in your eyes.

“I don't know what it's like to be a parent. Are you fucking kidding Matty? What the hell have I been doing here for the past year? Just fucking around? I can't believe you could say that to me.” You hear your voice wavering as you force each word out.

“Annie is just as much my daughter as she is yours” you whisper desperately. The regret of mentioning Annie was building in your chest, and it felt like a rock impeding your lungs, each breath fighting against the weight. but it was too late to take anything back now. Both you and Matty knew it.

Matty scoffs at your words, rolling his eyes as he fiddles with his fingers. He tries desperately to cool his raging mind, but he can't. He figures if he is already in this deep, why not stoop a little lower?

“Just as much your daughter? Please. You weren't here for fucking any of it. Where were you here when she was born? How about when she was sick for the first time and wouldn't let me put her down without screaming bloody murder? Or- or how about when she broke her arm and she cried when she couldn't have a pink cast? Or maybe for any fucking time apart from the last 12 months. I know you liked playing happy families y/n, but be fucking real for 5 seconds. You were her teacher, maybe a fun friend, but nothing more. And if you think you were, you're more delusional than I thought.”

His chest heaved as he finished, not taking a single breath during his rambling speech, he could see your wet eyes and he felt his heart aching but he just couldn't stop himself, words tumbling out of his mouth. "Even if you stayed, even if you never give up on us, on this. You could never be her mother.”

Both of you pause, the silence thick and heavy around you. How long could you stand like this and pretend he didn’t say that? Maybe if you just stayed there and listened to your ragged breathing, something would change.

But nothing did.

“Fuck you. You told me I was practically her mother a month ago. You said to me I was it for you, that your family was complete. I can't believe-” words poured out of you, streaming helplessly as you paced the kitchen.

Matty tried to cut in, desperate to get a word in edgeways. The need to defend himself was all-consuming. He needed to know that you understood he said it in the heat of the moment. Words fall out of his mouth without thinking. He can’t help it.

“y/n, love-”

“I’m not her mother? Tell that to the time I took her dress shopping for your mum's wedding. Or when I took her to A&E with suspected appendicitis. and-”

“y/n. Stop, just listen to me, please.” Matty begs, he almost inches closer to you, but some ineffable force keeps him where he is, watching you pace helplessly.

“Listen to you? Oh, I've done plenty of fucking listening Matthew. All I do is listen to you! But you never fucking hear me-”

“Can you just shut up for 5 fucking seconds” Matty shouted, grabbing a plate from beside him, throwing it against the concrete floor, watching it shatter into a thousand pieces. He just needed you to look at him, to tell him you could fix this, but you wouldn't stop talking.

A gasp from you pulls him back to earth, and he feels his heart break into as many pieces as the plate below his feet. Your wide eyes and tear-stained cheeks glare back at him, and Matty has nothing to say. He has no fucking idea what just came over him.

Matty gingerly takes a step towards you, trying to avoid the ceramic splayed over the floor. His fingers shake as he reaches his hand out to your cheek, wanting to thumb away the tears falling.

But just as he does, he sees you flinch. It wasn't even a full movement, practically a micro-expression. But you fucking flinched. And you both knew it. The veil of silence over you is thick as you both stand there motionless with no idea what you could say to fix this. To make the last 10 minutes disappear.

Matty’s touch used to calm you. It was the only reassurance you needed. But now the mere thought of it filled you with some twisted sense of fear. The woman he had planned the rest of his life with was scared of him. And it was all his fucking fault. How had this all become his worst nightmare? How had the very thing he sacrificed so much to build crumbled and destroyed itself so deeply?

“Matty wait- I’m sorry, I was just still on edge. It's okay, im okay. See?” With a shaking hand, you grip his, bringing it to your face despite his protests. You can feel him trying to pull his arm away, but you fight him at every tug. Forcibly placing his hand on your wet cheek.

As soon as your hand drops from his, Matty wrenches away from you. The feeling of your cheek against his palm felt as if his skin was burning. The pain touched his every nerve.

The air is charged with pure fear as you stare at the other, both of your chests heaving and your eyes glassy with unshed tears. Without thinking it through, Matty storms off, grabbing his keys as he pushes through the house. You chase after him, ignoring the blades of ceramic impaling your sock-covered feet, “No don't leave, Matty, please. Stay, stay here.” You reach to grab his arm, but Matty snatches it away before you can even feel his skin against yours.

“I’m leaving. I’m staying at George tonight. Tomorrow I’ll come pick Annie up from school. You will call in and take a sick day. Start packing your shit. I’m done. You're out of my house by tomorrow.” Matty demands, and with that, he leaves. Slamming the door behind him.

Bloody footprints lay in a trail behind you, and your socks start slowly becoming sodden from your weeping wounds. But still, you stood there, unmoving. Shock coursing through your veins.

It was all over. Just like that.

////////////////////

The letter was taunting you from the other room, the blacked corner flashed into your mind whenever your eyes finally fluttered close. The image of you burning the letter played behind your eyelids like a movie, and you almost wish you really had done it.

But you didnt, so it still sat on your living room table, torturing you.

Eventually, you drift off to sleep, tears dampen the pillow below your head, but you ignore the thumping in your head and finally let sleep pull you under.

✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀

You know you're dreaming when you're back in that kitchen. But you can't stop it from happening. The hazy filter that covers your surroundings is the only thing assuring you this isn't real, that this isn't all happening again.

Matty stands in front of you just as he had that night, but he looks different. His once frizzy curls sat in perfectly ringlets around his face, the streaks of grey dancing through them more prominent. His unshaven face was now neatly trimmed, and you admired the salt and pepper hairs within it. You can see the tears brimming in his eyes, glittering on his waterline.

“So you'll forgive me? We can move on?” he says desperately, smiling and moving towards you with tears falling down his cheeks.

You try to speak, but your mouth doesn't move, your lips stay pressed together against your brain's protests. Not even grunts escape you. Silently, you stare at Matty, completely motionless.

“y/n? You forgive me. I can make this right again, can't I?” Matty begs desperately. He grabs your hand but recoils at the cold feeling on his skin, your fingers cold as ice in his grip.

You fight to speak again, to tell him yes. To tell him you forgive him, that you need to try again. But still, nothing leaves your lips.

Matty scoffs at you, ripping himself away from you, “I can't believe you're ignoring me. I thought you'd be more mature than this. Call me when you can actually have an adult fucking conversation.”

He storms off, but all you can do is watch him helplessly. Every nerve in your body is screaming to move, to chase after him. And you almost do, but some inexplicable force is keeping you there, motionless in the same place where your life ended all those months ago.

So you watch him leave again, the haze surrounding you soon becoming darkness.

You know it's a dream, and you keep on telling yourself that. But when you wake with wet cheeks and a heaving chest, it feels pretty fucking real.

You swear you can feel him next to you, awake and staring at the same ceiling. But when you turn to see him, the piled-up duvet is all that's there, along with a cold bed beside you.

It's then you decide to finally give in to that voice in your head, the one screaming at you to just read the letter, to get it over and done with. The one begging you to throw it away and never look back is nearly silenced, and it soon becomes nothing but a whisper in the back of your mind.

The letter stays exactly where you left it, and whilst you know it couldn't have moved, part of you wishes it had. With shaking hands, you grab the pile of pages, and you can feel your heart racing the very same way it used to when you saw him.

The city lights shine onto you as you finally open the pages, looking at the handwriting you knew all too well. The same handwriting that used to give you butterflies, that used to detail how much it loved you, filling pages with adoration.

Now you're not so sure what it entails. But you read anyway, ignoring every screaming signal telling you to stop.

///////////

Hi darling,

I know I don't have the right to call you that anymore, but I can't bring myself to call you anything else. It's been a few months since we've spoken, and I've felt every minute of it. I've filled notebooks writing about you, writing to you. I must have practised this letter a dozen times, and I know this still won't be right.

So, instead of trying to write the perfect letter, I've ripped out some pages from my journal. My therapist told me to write like I was speaking to you, so that's what I did. I’m sure she would be pissed that im sending this at all, but I need to do this for us. To remember what we once were.

Anyway, I hope it makes you understand what this time without you has been like for me. You can ignore this letter completely and I wouldn't blame you. I won't hold it over you if you burn it and never look back. But if you do read it, I just need you to know im sorry. For everything.

(3 weeks without you)

To say the past couple of weeks have been hell for me is beyond an understatement. There is this festering part of me that thinks I will love you forever, and the knowledge that we will never be like we once were kills me, but it has to kill me. Because if I felt anything other than agony, I would come crawling back to you, and you don't deserve that. And I know that. But fucking hell, that doesn't make it hurt any less.

You know me, I don't know what it's like to have surface-level emotions. I either feel it all, or I feel nothing. and with you? I fucking felt it all. I felt every touch, every smile, every fight, every screaming match ending in tears. I fucking felt it. and for some reason- I'm still thankful for it. because at least I felt you.

I wonder if you're at the point where you miss me when you hear my name. And I can't help but think about you hearing my songs, do you change the station? Even if they're about you? But if I’m honest, they're all about you. Every one of them. Even before I knew you, they were about you.

(a month and a half)

I wish you could forgive me. I think if I knew you didn't hate me, I could move on. Or maybe it would do the opposite. I don't know. All I do know is, I miss you.

(2 months)

Sometimes I miss you so much I can't handle it. I go driving and find the places we used to go, I sit there, and I can still hear your laugh. I can feel that all-encompassing warmth that surrounds you. but then someone speaks, or a car horn goes off, and suddenly, it's cold again. I mourn you like you're someone I've lost forever, and in a way, I have.

You know I still feel you every day, everywhere. Because you might have left, but you never really did. I still find your socks down beside the bed, and your hair ties around the house. I accidentally used your shampoo in the shower this week. You know that ridiculous Jasmine one that you pay too much for?

It was like having you around again, I never thought the small of some shitty shampoo would be the thing that brought it all back to me, brought you back to me. Yet it was. But still, you were gone.

So apparently, I decided to fall into the breakup trope of crying in the shower. For 45 minutes, which made me feel slightly pathetic. And it didn't help when George knocked on the door and washed my hair again. with my shampoo. But I still find myself smelling jasmine even when it's nowhere near.

You haunt me in ways I never thought possible.

(3 months)

It's 3 a.m., and I can't stop picturing your face. Just knowing you're still out there makes it so much fucking harder. I don't know how to cope knowing you're there and not here, with me. Even months later there's some sick part of me that hopes leaving me was the hardest thing you've had to do. but I hope loving me wasn't.

I know that's selfish, and that this is all my fault anyway. so I want you to move on, even if it kills me. it's hell thinking that the one person you could never forget is fighting to forget you.

But I hope you find the love of your life. I hope they make your tea just how you like it, and buy you those crazy expensive candles you love. I hope they will follow you to the ends of the earth, just like I would. even now.

(3 and a half months)

I want to say you don't know how it feels to miss you, you don't know how hard it is. but I have to keep hoping you miss me just as much. because if you didn't, if you just moved on without a second thought; I couldn't cope. the fact that we will always just be an almost will live with me until the day I die. I don't want you to be an almost. I want you to be an always. but it's over, and I know that. or at least I'm very good at pretending I know that.

(4 months)

Recently, I've been thinking about “what ifs?” Despite my therapist telling me I shouldn't. But you know what it is like after breakups. It's this all-consuming thing, and you can't help but imagine if things were different.

I think in another universe, we worked out. I got over my massive ego, and you worked through your past, and it fixed itself. We got married, had another kid, and got that cat you always wanted. We'd go to Annie's graduation together. Her wedding together. you'd cry as I walked her down the aisle, I'd smile and kiss away your tears. and I know that's not this universe. but fucking hell why can't it be?

(4 and a half months)

My mum misses you. She asked how you were doing today and if I had reached out yet. I got angry at her and stormed out. If only she knew how many times I’d dialled your number and then turned off my phone. Or how many unanswered texts I've sent.

Annie misses you too, by the way. She's finally stopped asking when you're coming back.

I wish she still asked.

(today)

I don't expect you to read all of this, and if you've just skipped to the end, I don't blame you.

but I'm sending this letter because I think I'm finally at a place where when I think of you, I don't take it as a sign from the universe that we were meant to be together. instead, I think of it as a past life, as proof that we were an almost.

Next time I see you, I hope it doesn't hurt as much as the last time.

Goodbye, my love,

Matty x

///////////

The distinct sound of dripping tears hitting paper was the only noise in the room. You watched helplessly as the ink distorted under the little pools of wetness. A million thoughts race through your mind, and you can't help but fucking hate him for sending this.

How could he do this to you? All you've been doing for months is healing, but he keeps ripping open old wounds carelessly. He has to know you can never go back. You can't trust him.

All you left behind you was a mess. You were both better off this way.

With a scoff, you grab your lighter and cigarettes, stepping onto the balcony with the letter gripped in your shaking hands. You have to flick the lighter a few times before it works, the bitter wind fighting against it.

But soon the flame comes, you sigh happily, moving it up to the cigarette delicately balanced between your lips. You suck in a deep breath, revelling in the feeling of the smoke filling your lungs. The slight crackle brings you more relaxation than anything else these days, but you still have to fight to ignore the familiarity of the scent.

You flick the lighter again, huffing annoyed as it goes out. Once you see the distinct glow of amber, you don't hesitate before placing it against the paper and watching the pages in front of you burn up.

Ashes sizzle your skin, but you couldn't care less. In fact, you welcome the pain. A sick smile comes across your face, grinning around the now-lit cigarette in your mouth.

Isn't it funny how little words mean, when they're a little too late?

#here it is... i am nervous <3 #like i had fun writing it but is it any good?? time will only tell...#angst is difficult but very interesting to write #matty healy fanfic #matty healy fic #matty healy fanfiction #matty x reader #matty healy angst #the 1975 angst #the 1975 fic #teacher au!

126 notes · View notes

romancefranaticstay · 16 days

Text

.ೃ࿐How we met*ೃ༄

Husband!Han x wife!fem!reader

Category: fluff ❤,angst ☁︎ (technically their is some smut, maybe a tiny tiny bit, you won't even notice!)

Warnings: ♡ None ♡ (a tiny tiny tiny bit smut, but you won't notice)

You were happily married to your highschool sweetheart, Han Jisung. You had three beautifull children. Two boys and one girl, the boys were named Han Jr. and Sungie. The girl was named Scarlett-Soo, (you named her).

The two boys were already teenagers and the girl had just turned nine. One day you were in the kitchen, cooking some food. Your daughter came up to you and asked:

'엄마 (mama), how did you and 다다이즘 (dada) meet?'

You smiled , those precious moments, your teenage years were filled with Hannie, your precious husband, your entire world.

'I met your 다다이즘 (dada) a long time ago...'

♡·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°♡·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°♡

How you met is a very beautiful story. It was a beautiful day... in the 90s... a beautiful school day. This day, April 10, 1994, would change everything for you. Exactly 30 years ago you met the love of your life...

You were 14 at the time in 1994. You were a troublemaker, a real teenager.

You were in class, of course you were sitting very far away from your best friend. You could never be quiet and always burst into fits of laughter.

'Good morning students. Everyone, pick up your books on page 224. Today we're going to delve deeper into the literature of William Shakespeare.'

Here we go again, you thought. Suddenly the classroom door opened and you saw a boy standing there. Your eyes were immediately glued to him.

"I apologize for disturbing you, but I have a new student here for you."

He gave some documents to your teacher, he read them thoroughly.

“Han Jisung… welcome to this school. You can take a seat in the front row next to…”

his gaze suddenly turned cold “…I/N Y/N.”

he pointed in your direction. Of course you knew that your teacher never liked you, ever since day one, but that didn't bother you. You liked some challenges.

The boy named Han looked in your direction. His face radiated a kind of friendliness.

“Howdy neighbor, my name is Y/N.”

"Hey, my name is Han, Han Jisung."

'Cool.'

Such an innocent introduction grew into something much bigger, and you didn't even realize it at the time.

♡·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°♡·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°♡

The two of you were running from a teacher. Why actually? Han was a real joker and troublemaker just like you. You placed small needles on your teacher's chair, I don't have to explain the rest.

You were laughing as you ran. Everyone could hear an ego from your laughter. Of course you were the only ones who were so loud.

'Anyway.'

"Maybe we should use super glue..."

'Or duck tape...'

'Or rope...'

'We are brilliant.'

"That's because there are two of us."

'Better a duo than uno.'

“Wise words from Han Jisung.”

'Fantastic.'

you gave each other a high-five.

♡·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°♡·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°♡

“Hello Miss I/N.”

Han said to your mother.

'Ahh, hello Han. How's school? Didn't you play too many tricks?'

"No, not too much."

She laughed.

"You two sneaks go upstairs."

'Thank you, Madam.'

Your mother thought you were hilarious, of course if it went too far, she would stop it. But you were raised very well, with the idea of still showing respect.

The two of you went to your room. You had a boombox in your room with all kinds of CDs. Han turned on some music and you started dancing and singing together. You held hands and started spinning each other around.

Your parents heard you from downstairs.

"These two scoundrels." your mother laughed.

'Just like us.' your father added with a kiss.

Your father and mother loved each other dearly.

"Those two are going to end up together."

'Do you think?'

'I don't think, I know.'

♡·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°♡·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°♡

1997

'Hannie!'

you shouted whenever you saw him. You ran to him and brought him in for a cuddle.

'How are you doing?'

"You act like we haven't seen each other for years."

'Alright sir. Did anything special happen?'

His face lit up.

"Yes, I dared to ask a girl out!"

You were super happy for him.

'Real?! Finally, what's her name?'

“Her name is Jennie, she's in my English class. She has beautiful black hair and she's just so... I don't know how to explain it.'

'Aww, Hannie. Do you know what to do? Introduce her to our friend group!'

'Is that a good idea?'

'Sure!

' You were happy for him...

♡·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°♡·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°♡

After school, Han took Jennie to the skate park, where your group of friends always sat. She was very friendly and happy.

Your group of friends consisted of Lee Know, you, Han, Hanni and Jin. Everyone liked her except Hanni... because she was actually trying to set you up with Han.

You were all chatting with each other when suddenly Han gave Jennie a little kiss.

Something inside you broke. You thought maybe it was normal because you were a single pringle and always have been. Maybe it's just weird to see that.

♡·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°♡·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°♡

You tried to convince yourself for a month that this wasn't a crush. No, that's just not possible, this was Han. Han your best friend. Ordinary Han.

After a while you started dreaming about him too. Sometimes tears would well up in your eyes when you talked to Jennie. It wasn't until a week later that you realized... you were in love with him....

Of course the first person you told was Hanni, your best friend. It was immediate drama.

“Are you serious Y/N?! I've been trying to set you up for years, and only now have I stopped doing so.'

"How could I know that?"

"Because you know your feelings, right?" '

Yes I think..'

"Look, Han has a girlfriend now." "

Yes, I know, but every time I see them..."

tears came to your eyes.

"...I-I don't know why...but..."

Hanni hugged you.

'Shh, I get it, I get it, you compris je comprends. Look, if it's true love, fate will do you good.'

'Do you think?'

'I don't just think so, I definitely am'

♡·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°♡·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°♡

2000

You were now 19. And still Han didn't break up with his girlfriend, Jennie. You weren't angry about that, of course, but it was painful to see them kissing or hugging each other.

Of course if Han was happy, you were happy too, you always wished him happiness.

One day you thought, I'm nineteen, maybe I should try to get to know someone? Maybe that will help me? Maybe... You and Han drifted a little further apart, but not too far.

One day you met someone, his name was Changbin, you wanted to introduce him to the rest... You went to the skate park with him, after all these years it was still your meeting place.

'Hello everyone, I want to introduce someone to you. This is Changbin.”

Han looked up at him and you. At first he thought it was strange that you hadn't said anything about it, but that wasn't always the case.

Changbin's arm surrounded you, which bothered Han a bit, but he had a girlfriend, so... Everyone thought Changbin was fantastic. They thought he was hilarious and his laughter was contagious.

When he started laughing, everyone around him automatically laughed too, except Han...

Han didn't know what was wrong with him. Something stuck in his heart. He just couldn't bear it.

Eventually he also started to neglect his girlfriend a bit. They eventually broke up.

♡·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°♡·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°♡

2002

After two years, you and Changbin broke up. It wasn't a bad break up. You still remained friends. It was a bit difficult at first, but after two months you were back on your own two feet. You were at university at that time, so your studies were more important.

You and Han still hadn't shared your feelings with each other, even though everyone in your group of friends knew what was going on between you. It was just too hard. You were both too scared to lose your friendship. Of course you guys went on innocent dates sometimes, if you know what I mean.

In 2002 you also started your own career. You had a great passion for music, so you started your own band. It was called Xoxo. That band put you in the spotlight. It was a very popular band in the 2000s.

Your concept changed fashion. You were in that band with four other girls. Collette, Coraline, Violette and Diasy. You always just called them: Coll, Cori, Vicky and Dia. Han also came into the spotlight through his boy group Straykids. It was a strange year, 2002.

♡·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°♡·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°♡

2006

When you were 25, the girlgroup Xoxo disbanded. The girls still had fame, everyone went their own path. You went off to the path of acting.

You and Han had finally shared your feelings towards each other. After so many years, you finally dared to take each other's hands and start a new chapter in your lives. Of course you didn't get married right away. Even though you loved each other for 9 years.

♡·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°♡·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°♡

2009

You and Han got married in 2009. It was a beautiful wedding, very traditional. The wedding party was attended by his boy group Straykids, of course the former members of Xoxo and not forgetting your group of friends from your teenage years.

Your parents told all kinds of stories about the two of you, back when you were teenagers. The wedding night was the best night of your life. It was full of love and passion, the love and passion you shared for each other.

♡·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°♡·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°♡

2010

2010 was the birth of your first child, Han Jr. Han didn't leave your side during the birth. He held your hand the whole time.

You were proud of yourselves for being able to create something so wonderful. Such a beautiful little baby. Han thought it was so wonderful that tears rolled down his cheeks.

♡·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°♡·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°♡

2011

Your second baby boy was born, Sungie. The birth took 20 hours, not the birth itself, but to get to 10 centimeters. It was a hard time that day, but you did it. You could say Sungie was a very special baby boy, he had the perfect weight and perfect measurements, but every baby is special in his own way.

♡·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°♡·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°♡

2015

You and Han focused for a while on your careers and on your two baby boys. But one day, you accidently got pregnant. Not really 'accidently', but the pregnancy wasn't planned. When you two found out it was a girl, you were pretty excited. A little baby girl, Han's little princess.

The moment Han saw her, he couldn't get away from her. She was daddy's little princess, she still is and forever will be.

♡·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°♡·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°♡

2015-2024

Through the years you won many oscars and Han many grammy's. Straykids did eventually disband, but they were still very close. People always asked how you two always stayed this young. You could say that your kids kept you youthy, but you two always were very childish. Han didn't even change a bit, you didn't either. You love grew foreachother everyday. You two still acted a bit like horny teenagers when you two were home alone.

Han Jr. was alreaddy populair at school, you couldn't say you were suprised. He had the looks and the character from his dad, no wonder the girls twirl around him.

Sungie was a more shy-type, but that doesn't mean people liked him less. He had a very unique personality and he was a mix between you and Han. He had your eyes, Han's nose, your lips, Han's faceshape.

Scarlett-Soo was maybe daddy's girl, but she was the mini-verse of you. She was alreaddy a mischief at a young age, but you controlled it well.

♡·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°♡·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°¯°·.·°·.·°°°·..·°♡

'And thats how we met Soo-Soo.'

'Wow, thats a longgg story 엄마.'

'Yeah thats love sweetty.'

'What are mine two favorite lady's talking about?' Han came inside of the kitchen.

' 엄마 told me how you two met, 다다이즘' (Mama,........ dada.)

Han came standing next to you, with his arm around your waist.

'Is that so?'

'예!' (Yes)

'Why won't you go play with your 형제, 좋아요?' (....,brothers, okay?)

'알았어, bye 엄마 아빠' (Okay,... mama and dada.)

Scarlett ran outside and started to look for her brothers.

'I hope you only told them the good stuff.' he smirked.

'With you theirs only the good stuff.' you grinned.

He brought your two lips together and kissed you softly. He bit playfully your underlip.

'Not when the kids are around,아기.' (..... darling.)

'When do their uncels come over?' he asked

'In a hour.'

'Hmmm, i will try to wait for a hour.'

'Hmm you better do baby.'

You heard your kids footsteps so you two started to talk about an other theme.

'The weather is great today, don't you think?' he said

'Oh yeah the weather, yeah its beautifull, don't you think?'

'Yeah, its beautifull.'

''알았어, Soo is annoying me again!' Sungie screamed.

'사실이 아니다!' (Not true!')

You picked her up and started rocking her.

'당신의 삼촌 , they come in less than a hour.' (Your uncels,....)

'Yay!' she moved excited.

You loved your family, you couldn't imagine your life without them. Everything was perfect, even tho sometime's there were arguments. But a marriage with no arguments, is no marriage.

'I will dress this little hamster up.'

'Okay baby.' he kissed your cheek.

'Ewww.' Han Jr. mummered.

'Love is love.' Han sang.

Love is indeed love.

84 notes · View notes

irisintheafterglow · 9 months

Text

More Than It Seams (Chapter 4)

summary: you're a hero costume tech working for one of the biggest fashion companies in quirk society, and the days until the most important fashion event of the year are dwindling fast. if you weren't stressed enough, a certain half-and-half hero keeps appearing with rips in his suit. (pro!todoroki x reader)

word count: 2.8k

cw/tags: swearing, mentions of needles, probably inaccurate fashion design vocabulary, strangers to lovers, no specified pronouns for reader, mentions of food/eating, mention of character death/disappearance, descriptions of wounds and blood, grief with happy ending

note: second to last chapter let's gooooo !!! in theory this could be considered the "last chapter," but don't you wanna know how the ball goes??? and maybe shoto and reader have their first kiss ;). thank you for all the support you've given this series!!

likes/reblogs/feedback are appreciated :)

New Voicemail Message [11:32 A.M]

“Hey! Just checking in; I just finished the whole flame side and I’m about to start the shading for the ice side. If you’re able, I’d love for you to come see it and maybe I can buy you lunch this time. No pressure, just let me know. Alright, bye!”

New Voicemail Message [5:36 P.M]

“Hi, hi, hi. I picked up Soba takeout for dinner if you’re free. I have both of our usuals, and I can drop them at your agency too if you’re busy. Oh, also, the lady behind the counter was so confused that it was me by myself; you should’ve seen her face. Anyway, just wanna make sure you’re doing okay. Bye!”

New Voicemail Message [8:24 P.M]

“Hey Shoto, it’s me, again. I’m sorry for spamming you with voicemails and shit. I just, honestly? I’m kinda worried, haha. I know it’s dumb. Like, I know you can handle yourself and everything, but part of me still wants to make sure you’re good, you know? Just, uh, let me know. If–when you’re home. I miss your stupid voice. Okay, bye.”

New Voicemail Message [11:56 P.M]

“Hey. I’m aware that I keep bothering you. If I did something to make you upset, I’m really sorry…I’m about to go to bed, but I’ll see you tomorrow? Obviously, you can’t see it, but uh, I’m sticking my thumb up, haha. Call me when you can, please.”

[2] Missed Calls: Big D(esigner)🧵👑💖

New Messages: Big D(esigner)🧵👑💖

12:00 A.M hey 12:00 A.M idk if you’re awake 12:00 A.M but if you are 12:01 A.M please check the news

The incessant buzzing phone in your hand woke you from your position on the couch. You don’t remember falling asleep, but you assume you passed out after eating a late dinner, waiting for Shoto to call. His food was in the fridge, untouched, while yours was only half-eaten, plastic bowls and utensils messily scattered across your coffee table. The notifications at the top of your phone made your heart drop into your stomach, and you prayed that the thought hiding in the back of your mind wasn’t true.

You stood as the TV clicked on, only for your legs to give out beneath you as the reporter detailed where he was last seen, what he was wearing, possible suspects, and the statement from his manager. There was no substance in the public statement, only reassurances that efforts are being made to find him. You shut down the TV after they got into the part of the statement that sounded like a fucking eulogy, talking about how he was a loyal friend, devoted hero, and embodiment of a good person. You didn’t need to be told that. You’d seen it firsthand for the past two weeks. Anger, confusion, worry, and grief came in waves, crashing against each other as you curled into yourself. Your eyes welled to alleviate the burn after staring at the screen, your forehead throbbing from the flashing reds and whites of the “BREAKING NEWS” title screen. Your lungs and throat felt empty, consciousness detached from the body.

No sobs rang out in the darkness of your apartment that night, and it terrified you how silent you were. There was no crying, no convulsing, no thrown objects across the room to create dents in the walls. It was just…silence. You couldn’t tell if you’d slept or not, hours passing as you stared wide-eyed at the ceiling after dragging yourself back onto the couch. It was an effort to breathe, to force yourself to inhale and exhale like it was opening and closing your fists.

As sunlight permeated through the lightly swinging shades, your phone alarm went off. You stared at it, the musical sound seeming to be coming from underwater. The notifications at the top of your phone once you finally turned it off were like reading in a dream, with letters blurring and rearranging until you didn’t know what the original message was. Hey, thinking about you, they said. We understand if you can’t make it in today, they promised. Hello, you were one of the people last seen with Todoroki Shoto. Our news outlet would like to interview you. Fingers gripping the phone so hard you wanted to snap it, you slammed it onto the coffee table. Flashes of white-hot rage took over your body, directed at no one in particular. You pulled a pillow into your chest, fighting back the impulse to scream, scream, scream until either your voice or your lungs give out.

“Hey.” It was your roommate, and she held her cat in her arms like a newborn baby. Your empty eyes stared back at them. “I won’t ask if you’re doing okay because that’s a bullshit question. I just wanted to tell you that I’m here for you if you need anything. Just call me, yeah?” You barely nod your assent, and her gentle fingers brush away the tears that had broken through your resolve. “I know it’s hard, and I know you’re grieving,” she said as she rose from the crouch she took to be eye-level with you. She takes your hand, giving it a squeeze. “But I also know that you’re one of the strongest people I know. We both know it’s Friday, and we both know those assholes in the commission aren’t going to postpone the one event that brings them money.” She doesn’t say it, but you know what she means. You need to get up and finish your pieces. “Do your best, okay?”

Just do your best.

It’s what you repeated to yourself as you struggled from the couch to your bedroom, then to the bathroom, then finally out the door and through the gate in your office. Your other designer, the one who had told you to check the news, runs over from his station. Shaking your head decisively before he could speak, you brush past him with an understanding hand on his shoulder. Your aching throat didn’t have the voice to give one last round of encouragement to your staff, but they looked to you anyway as you took your spot at the front of the room.

“Just do your best,” you said before turning to the embroidery thread shelves and picking out the most vibrant shades of blue and light purple you could find. The rest of the office worked with a fervor you’d never seen before, and you gave them a sad smile whenever they’d glance up to check on you. All the other heroes’ ball looks were finalized, ready to be handed off to their stylists who would do the final dressing and accessorizing. Seven mannequins lined up in front of a window: Cellophane’s intricately beaded suit, Momo’s sweeping velvet ball gown, Deku’s sleek three-piece, Red Riot’s fiery matching set, Pinky’s princess-like mermaid dress, and Bakugo’s sheer-paneled, explosive applique-covered denim jacket.

Everyone’s looks were finished, except one. His tailored leather pants were complete as well as the simple white button-up, and the silver pocket chain rested around the headless neck of the mannequin. All that was left to do was finish the design covering the back of the coat, which you worked on tirelessly far past when your staff had left the building. It should have been a day of celebration with champagne, balloons, and cake to commemorate another successful Hero Ball; but, 11:30 and 5:00 passed with no trace of him, and you couldn’t find it in your mind to participate in festivities. Whispered goodbyes and “see you tomorrow” floated around you, and it took more energy than it should have to smile and nod.

Time ran away from you again, and the coat was finished at midnight on the dot, embellished with small buckles, two rows of buttons, shoulder pads, pockets, and the stunning ice and flame embroidery on the back panel. It truly was the greatest piece you had imagined and created, your quirk allowing the thread to almost act like paint as you added subtle nuance to the two opposing cranes. The fire crane rose from the bottom corner of one of the front panels, forming a circle with the ice crane that descended from the shoulder pad of the opposite front panel. Draping the finished piece on the mannequin and attaching the pocket chain for good measure, you stepped back with your hands on your hips to admire your work. He was gonna love it, when he saw it. If he saw it, the pessimistic demon in your mind whispered. With a deep breath that you didn’t know you needed, you turned to pack your stuff and head home.

And that’s when something large slammed into M’s office window.

The thud startled you, the dull noise of something hitting the glass bouncing off the empty cavern of the room. Your fingers wrapped around a pair of scissors as you approached the half-open door, cautiously guiding it open and squinting at the distorted figure behind the dark glass. Your eyes widened when you realized the object was huge, the size of at least two very tall people. One hand tightly gripping the scissors, the other slowly slid into your pocket to call the police when you heard a voice call from the other side.

“Needle! Needle…wait, what? Needle, uh, sprouting from…Needle sprouting from thumb? Jesus, Todoroki, who would ever say such a thing–” You threw the window open, sending it flying upward as you took in the people set precariously on the ledge. You recognized one as Deku, the number one hero who sometimes visited your office to implement support tech into his costume. His gloved hand grabbed the edge of the window, easing him and the person he was carrying into M’s office and collapsing onto the couch. Deku quickly stood, closing the window and scanning the surroundings for threats. Your hand unconsciously rose to brush the matted red hair from the other person’s face, and the oxygen left your lungs as you zeroed in on the scar barely visible around the blood splattered on the person’s left eye.

Shoto.

His body was in tatters, with scrapes and cuts and punctures covering his body like some zombie Halloween. The white of his hair was covered in so much blood that his entire head was red. His suit had burnt off on his fire side, and his ice side was nearly blue from discoloration. Your body moved on its own when you took in the most significant wound, a large gash cutting diagonally across his abdomen. Mind empty except for the battered man on M’s couch, you shoved your hands into the fabric scraps box and brought them back to Deku, who pressed them against Shoto’s gash to stop the bleeding. Fingers pressed under his chin, you felt a faint heartbeat and could see his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. He was dying, and you needed to do something to stop the blood loss.

“I tried to get him to go to a hospital, but he said it wasn’t safe,” Deku said to you, eyes clouded with concern. “He was barely able to tell me your building’s address before he passed out. I trust his judgment, but I really need you to know that, if Todoroki doesn’t get stitches, he will die. Do you have some way of stitching this up?” The fabric in his hands was soaked a dark red and the realization of what Shoto wanted you to do hit you like a train.

He wanted you to give him stitches.

You’d never tried your quirk on any actual humans, only textiles. Your parents had suggested becoming a medic because of your quirk, but the idea of manipulating something to enter a human body was an idea that you couldn’t stomach. There were others with more efficient quirks who could do that, but none of them were with you now. An idea dawned on you, and you reminded yourself to applaud your planning skills later.

“Deku?”

“Yeah?”

“I need the sutures from your toolbelt.” His eyes widened in understanding, and he frantically pushed aside objects in his belt to find the roll of medical-grade nylon you’d placed there as a part of upgrading his first-aid kit. “Sorry, I added…more items,” he muttered apologetically, finally handing you the unused spool and the box containing the sterilized needle. Like clockwork, you threaded the needle just as you had millions of times before. Averting your gaze as Shoto groaned in pain from Deku cleaning the wound with alcohol pads that you’d also put in his belt, your hand soon hovered over Shoto’s wound in preparation to close it.

You squeezed your eyes shut, ignoring the image of the sewing machine and instead opting for a simple knot at select intervals. Fighting down the bile in your throat as the needle pinched Shoto’s skin together, you shakily guided the thread through the skin layers and tied it into a tight knot. You felt Deku’s eyes watch you in amazement as you worked, delicately patching Shoto back together as you had with his suit the first day he’d walked through your elevator doors. Slowly but steadily, you moved your hand and the thread across the wound, sewing it shut like you’d attached his trenchcoat panels. They were, by no means, medical-grade stitches, but you believed they got the job done as the color slowly returned to Shoto’s face. When you finished stitching the large wound, you helped Deku wrap the lower half of his chest and his arms with gauze. With more scraps of fabric, you gently scrubbed off the blood and dirt, combing through his tangled hair with wet fingers.

“Thank you, Deku,” you said quietly to him as you threw used fabric scraps into a trash bag. “For bringing Shoto to me. I was really worried.”

“Of course,” he replied, smiling warmly. “I only wish that I’d met Todoroki’s partner under different circumstances.”

“Partner? I mean, yeah, we’re business partners, but–”

“Oh, no. I’m so sorry, then. I, uh, meant romantically.” Your face began to burn from Deku’s assumption. “He just talked about you a lot, you know. How much he liked being around you, how you seemed to know exactly what he was thinking. He told me about all your soba dates and how he didn’t want them to be considered dates since he wants to take you somewhere much nicer when you’re done with all the ball stuff, but I still think they’re dates.” Holy shit, Deku was rambling. “I teased him about it since I don’t think he’s ever been in love before, but–”

“Midoriya, I implore you to stop talking.” You both gasped, turning to look at a barely-conscious Shoto, who was trying to sit up from the couch.

“Todoroki, you’re awake! Wait, no, no–you can’t sit up yet,” Deku stutters out as he rushes over to carefully push Shoto’s shoulders back down, moving the hair from his forehead as his head falls back against the armrest. You feel out of your body again as you kneel next to him, fingers brushing his cheek in relief. “I’ll uh, give you two some space,” Deku declares as he scrambles to pick up the trash bags and exit M’s office, leaving you alone with Shoto.

His gentle eyes find yours. “Hey, pretty.”

“Hi, handsome,” you whisper, reciprocating the weak smile he gives you as he takes in your exhausted face. “What the hell were you thinking, coming here? You needed a hospital. It wasn’t safe risking your life to come here, Sho,” the shortened version of his name slips from your mouth before you could stop it, but the even softer look he gives you sends any regret or embarrassment running. “What would you have done if I wasn’t in the office?”

“I just knew you would be.”

“That’s a terrible plan.”

“But it worked out.”

“That it did.” You press your lips to his forehead and relish in the way his eyes shut in contentment. “I finished your coat.”

“You did?”

“I did, but you can’t see it right now. If you lift a single finger off that couch, I’m going to reopen your stitches.” He lets out a pained laugh, wincing at the pain shooting across his chest. A thoughtful look crosses his face again, and you adore the way you could see him working things out in his mind. What those things are, you’d never know, but his pure intellect was enough to admire.

“Do you still plan on attending the ball tomorrow?”

“Not if you’re still hurt.”

“In that case, I am no longer hurt.” He smirks at you, with an immature, boyish, attractive smile. “And I still haven’t…chosen a plus one.”

You feel your heart cease racing in your chest. “Yeah? And who’s the lucky winner?” Your voice shakes slightly as you attempt to relieve the tension with a joke.

He looks at you again with that expression that makes you want to kiss him.

“It’s you. It’s always been you.”

As you finally drift off to sleep slumped against the couch, your face close enough to his to feel him breathe, you know in your mind that it’d always been him, too.

[1] Missed Call - Midoriya Izuku

New Voicemail Message [2:04 A.M]

"Hi Yaomomo! Hope you're doing well. I need a favor..."

#mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha x y/n #bnha x you #todoroki x you #todoroki x reader #todoroki shoto x reader #todoroki shoto x you #bnha #mha #shoto x you #shoto todoroki #shoto x reader #todoroki shoto #my hero academia #mha hurt/comfort

119 notes · View notes

ashintheairlikesnow · 2 months

Note

hey hey hey I have had a hell of a day (Actually Hell) because I did too many fun things (a problem apparently) and then also we put up the christmas tree leading to the inevitable christmas tree installation arguments (they pop up every year like clockwork!)

anyway i have been overstimulated and stressed (just want to emphasize that there is NO pressure here whatsoever! id like to avoid any semblance of that actually and I know you're already working on 12 days so take your time) and it would be very cathartic to see chris dealing with similar issues (the Wonderful guy. we are pretty similar.) thanks a lot for reading this, even if you don't write anything !

Sorry this took so long, Anon! I swear I've been trying to get this written for literally almost two months now

CW: Some references to Chris's past, overstimulation, anxiety

"Hey, where did Chris go?" Laken blinks and looks around, but the living room of the house they rent - filled with laughing, happy people - shows no sign of Chris's telltale lavender hair with its new-penny copper roots.

One of Brit's friends just shrugs at them and gestures, vaguely, in the direction of the kitchen. "Dunno. He wandered off a while ago, maybe that way?"

"Oh, okay. Huh." Laken steps back, the circle of laughing people closing up tight as soon as they do. Their dark eyes scan the room, but there's no sign of him.

He'd been doing great - all but holding court, one of the most popular people at the party. He's sort of famous, since the Olympics, and people had been peppering him with questions and compliments, crowding around wanting nothing more than to be friends with the ex-pet who stood up to the bad guys on live TV. They'd seen him dancing, too, the music loud enough to nearly make the walls shake. The easy, unselfconscious dancing they loved in him the most.

He'd seemed to be enjoying himself, at the time, but...

Where has he gone?

They weave around people, stopping to pick up an ornament that has fallen off the tree. The scent of pine is subtle and ever-present, and they carefully work the ornament's little loop back over a branch, ruefully watching a couple of pine needles come loose and drift down. The damn thing is already starting to turn a little brown around its edges, thanks to Laken's roommate having insisted on buying it literally the day before Thanksgiving.

Laken doesn't even celebrate Christmas, not since they stopped going to Mass on Christmas Eve years and years ago. Still, in a house they rent with three others, they're the only one who doesn't at least pay lip service to the holiday.

And even if they don't give a fuck about Christmas, they do like having an excuse to throw a party.

The tinsel wrapped in spirals around, over, and below the ornaments glitters in the light, and the look makes them think of Chris, and how his eyes have always looked just the same, to them, when they're out at night and the moon hits the green of his irises just right.

Their search leads them to Ben, contentedly sitting on the couch, a drink in one hand and his phone in the other, quietly reading something there while the party is in full swing around him. He glances up and then instinctively, immediately, uses a finger to push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "Hey, Laken. What's up?"

"Is Akio not coming tonight?"

"Oh... no." Ben blushes - it's adorable, and Laken can't help the smile playing around their lips. "He's got some kind of meeting with the gymnastics team, or his coaches? Or... something like that. He said sorry, though."

"Nah, no problem. But, hey, so. Uh, have you seen Chris, like within the last ten minutes or so??"

Someone puts Christmas music on and Laken shudders as they hear that damn 80s pop song start up again. If they have to hear that fucking song one more time...

"Nope. Not in a while." Ben shrugs, taking a drink. Whatever he has in that cup is pinkish-red and probably far more alcoholic than it tastes. Laken's roommate had insisted on a signature cocktail. "You could check outside? Sometimes when there's a lot of people, to Chris it's... too much."

Laken nods, still scanning the crowd, but their stomach knots a little with the first hit of real anxiety. Ben is right, Chris can get overwhelmed by too much noise and movement, but also he's been drinking tonight - they saw the same red punch in a cup in his hands earlier - and he has a tendency to get... hazy, when he drinks. Flirty in ways that aren't natural to him. Willing to let people hug him that he doesn't like, unable to bring himself to stop them. Sometimes his stammer smooths out, which makes people who don't know him feel more comfortable and people who do know him nervous. He starts tipping his head to the side in a way that makes the sweep of his growing-out hair hide the scar on his forehead, biting his lower lip when he smiles. It makes Laken feel a little sick to see it happen and realize Chris doesn't even notice when he's doing it.

The last thing they need is to have to come up with an explanation for Chris losing track of himself again, or why he's eating olives off the charcuterie board Brit brought knowing damn well he'll just go to the bathroom and get sick all over the place again, or... fuck, what if somebody hits on him and he's too drunk to stop it?

That hasn't happened since college, but...

They pull their phone out, uneasily checking for a text, but there's nothing. If he went outside, he'd text, right? He does, he always does. Texts can be easier and Chris is always a little nervous about being outside alone.

He insisted on coming tonight, said he was feeling good lately, but-... what if-...

They flinch when fingers touch their arm, only to see Ben must have stood up when they weren't looking. He slips his own phone into his jacket pocket and looks Laken over more closely. "Hey. It's okay, he's probably fine. You know he gets weird when parties are really going. It's like a light switch, enough to too much, I totally get it. It's why I'm on the couch fucking around on Kindle instead of, you know... talking to people." Ben says it like talking to people is literal hell, and... okay, Laken can see how that might be the case. "He probably just needed to get away from it and wandered off."

"Uh, yeah. I know." Laken rubs at the back of their neck, fingers moving through the soft, shorn undercut beneath their longer black waves. "I'm sure that's it. Just... you know, sometimes he... when he gets nervous..."

"I got you." They adore Ben, sometimes, for how often they don't have to finish the sentences they don't want to say. He knows what words haven't yet spilled, unwilling. Sometimes he acts like he belongs to us, not like he loves us. Sometimes I can't trust him to find his way back on his own. Sometimes I feel like Jake, and I hate feeling like Jake.

Words die in their throat.

Ben squeezes their arm, gently. "Let's split up and search around. I'll go outside, you go around the house, okay? We verify how he is, then whichever one finds him tells the other. Sound good?" Ben smiles, and Laken relaxes a little, finding a smile for him in return.

"Yeah, sounds good. Thanks, Ben."

"No problem." Ben has always understood Chris, thanks to his little brother being similar in some ways. He understands Laken's worry, too, because better than anyone else here - he knows how Chris sometimes gets lost in his past, especially if he's drinking, worse the maybe twice Laken's ever seen him try an edible or a pill.

What if he got drunk and someone offered him something and he took it? Drunk Chris sometimes isn't a Chris who can easily turn down anything he's offered.

This party was a stupid idea.

Laken takes a deep breath and squares their shoulders.

Chris is not a child.

He is a goddamn grown man and Laken is not his keeper. They're not his parent and they're not a babysitter. They're definitely not his fucking... owner or whatever the bastards that hurt him would have called it. They're his partner. He can handle himself, better than they could if they'd lived his life, and they need to trust him to either know his limits and to get away if he can't say no, or to come to them if he wants to ask for help. Otherwise, they're not any better than the bullshit he's been buried in for longer than he's known them.

Ben goes to check outside, slipping silently out the sliding door onto the back porch where a small crowd has congregated in a cloud of skunky smoke, while Laken heads upstairs, peeking their head in to room after room with no sign of him anywhere. They see some movement under a pile of coats, but that's... definitely not Chris, based on the very female voices who yell at them to give them some fucking privacy, please.

"Sorry, Brit," Laken calls, closing the door tightly. "And, um, Leigh. Just looking for Chris-"

"Well, he isn't in here or we'd have kicked him out already," Brit says, cranky but without any real anger in her voice. Laken doesn't recognize the redhead whose eyes pop up from beneath the pile of coats next to her. "Check a different room."

"Yeah, I will. Uh... keep having fun, I guess-"

"That's the plan! Now leave, please!"

The door latches as they close it, and they exhale. There's one room left, at the end of the hall, and they can hear a familiar murmuring from behind the door when they press their ear up against it.

Laken knocks, rapping gently with their knuckles, and turns the knob when they hear no answer - but no demand to stay out either. The murmuring goes silent. They sigh, and the door swings open, light cutting across the carpet until it reveals their wayward boyfriend.

No one has claimed this bedroom yet, so it's bare and empty except for a couple unpacked cardboard boxes, Brit's exercise bike by the window, a couple of her yoga mats, a laundry basket with a few folded towels, and a bare mattress the last housemate had left behind on the floor when they moved out.

Laken's lips press together, eyes scanning the room. Chris's phone is on the mattress, along with an empty beer bottle, but Chris isn't. "Chris? Cariño?"

A muffled rustling makes them jump, heart in their throat, and then they realize the sound came from the closet, where the folding doors are closed. Laken pulls them open to reveal Chris curled up, knees nearly to his chin, an open bottle clutched in one hand, his chewy necklace in the other. He'd chosen the bat one tonight, and his hand is closed around it in such a tight fist Laken can tell his knuckles are white even in the dark.

Chris doesn't look at them. He's swaying, rocking forward and back, his eyes focused on something far, far away from them. There's red lines on his left wrist, where he's dug his nails in, scratching not quite deep enough to draw blood, but close. Laken takes a deep breath, shifting into a crouch.

"Talk to me, Chris."

"No." The answer is flat, and they watch his thumb rub over the little nub of the silicone bat's nose, the points of its tiny ears. "No, no, no. No."

At least he's saying it out loud.

That alone makes the knot of anxiety in their chest start to loosen. If he can say no, he isn't gone, maybe just... standing a little farther back, inside his own head, than the surface.

"Okay. Okay, that's fine. No talking, that's fine. Are you okay, baby?" Laken keeps their voice just above a whisper and lays their hand on the wood trim that frames this shitty excuse for a closet, the floor creaking under them. "You... kind of vanished on me, there."

Chris's eyes flick to them and then away again. "Loud," He manages, and he sounds like he's forcing the word out between gritted teeth. Maybe he is. "Too, too, too... too loud. Too much, too... many."

"I guess Ben called it." Laken sighs, pulling out their phone and sending Ben a quick text that they found Chris and everything's fine. they get a thumbs-up in reply almost immediately. Ben must have been as anxious as they are, if he was just watching for their text to come in. "Do you want me to call Jake to come get you, or..."

"No!" He snaps it, and Laken tries not to wince. He's just struggling with the noise of the party, they tell themself, he's not actually angry. Chris almost never gets angry, and even then it's only at himself. Which... is worse, somehow. "No. Just... Quiet, it's... it's it's quiet."

"Right. Do you want me to stay with you? Be quiet with you?"

He shakes his head, but he doesn't say anything else. His mouth moves, but no further sounds come out.

"Chris, did..." They want to ask, did someone say something to you? Sometimes people said things, referenced pets or something in a way that set him off. But even if someone had... he probably wouldn't tell them, at least not now, not when every word seemed to have to filter through layer after layer of self-protection in his mind. "Never mind. Is there anything I can do for you? Water, or..."

He shakes his head. "No. Just. Um. Quiet... quiet, now. Please?"

"Yeah." Laken leans over and presses a kiss to his hair. He tips his head against their lips and they exhale in relief. "I love you, Chris. Come back if you can, but if you can't, that's okay, too. Just don't hurt yourself, okay? Things should start winding down in a couple hours." They take the little plastic bat and push it against the hand that's still scratching at his shoulder, until he takes hold of it again, pressing it against his mouth and running it back and forth, back and forth.

Chris is quiet, but as they open the door to head back into the hallway, they hear a quiet, "Love, love you," from Chris, barely audible.

They smile as they close the door. Down the hall, the sounds of the party hit them like a brick, beckoning them back to the noise and the cheer and the awful fucking Christmas music still blaring at top volume. Someone yells something out and the whole damn crowd cheers, making Laken wince at it feels nearly deafening.

Maybe Chris has the right idea.

@finder-of-rings @endless-whump @arlin-always-writing @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @whumpyourdamnpears @cubeswhump @burtlederp @whump-tr0pes @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @outofangband @hackles-up @grizzlie70 @mylifeisonthebookshelf @keeper-of-all-the-random-things

#whump #chris the strawberry blond romantic #recovery whump #recovering whumpee #overstimulation tw #autistic whumpee #referenced alcohol use #laken mamani #referenced dubcon #angst #fluff #comf #I guess this is the one that wins out first of the drafts?#we'll see if kauri or vince wins out next

39 notes · View notes

samstree · 2 years

Text

The sun is setting, casting golden orange light through the leaves.

Geralt leans against the tree and closes his eyes for a moment, the dappled light warm on his eyelids. He has been sitting for too long, with a soft pillow in his lap and Jaskier’s head resting there comfortably.

Jaskier sleeps peacefully through the afternoon, all the while Geralt tries to finish a new sock. He’s only halfway through, but he keeps trying anyway. The glasses slip down his nose, so he pushes them up again.

The yarn ball rolls into the crook of Jaskier’s arm and he stirs.

“Mmph…” Jaskier breathes, his nose wrinkling.

“Good nap?” Geralt puts down a bare needle to comb his fingers through Jaskier’s hair and gets a contented purr in return.

Jaskier blinks open his eyes, nuzzling into Geralt’s palm. “Didn’t mean to sleep,” he says. “Wanted to spend a nice day with you.”

“It was.”

Geralt goes back to knitting, one stitch after another. Jaskier wakes slowly as always, stretching and yawning on the pillow before pressing his cheek against Geralt’s stomach. He hugs Geralt’s waist to get his attention. “Who is this for?”

Geralt smiles. “Ciri.”

“Not me?”

“Don’t you have enough socks?”

“One can never have enough socks.” Jaskier pouts, his voice still hoarse and lazy. “You know how my feet get cold.”

“Yours is next then,” Geralt promises. He’s already planning the next pair anyway.

Jaskier picks up the ball and feeds the yarn as Geralt works, his eyes fixed on Geralt. A soft grin spreads across his face, bright in the sunset.

“You have too many needles, poking out everywhere,” Jaskier says. “It looks like witchcraft.”

“Dangerous witchcraft. Your feet could be too warm if not careful.”

Jaskier has that look again, one that says he needs more attention.

Geralt tidies up and puts the half-sock on the ground. He takes off his glasses too, so he can look at Jaskier properly. By some miracle, the grin on Jaskier’s face grows bigger, his cheeks turning pink from a blush.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just…” Jaskier answers, “I think I have a crush on you.”

“Do you now?”

“Is that so bad?”

Geralt lets Jaskier catch his hand and press a kiss on his wrist, right over a small scar. His hands, the things he once believed to be only capable of killing, now make socks to keep Jaskier’s feet warm. His hands now belong over Jaskier’s heart, where they are cradled carefully.

Perhaps, Geralt has a crush in return.

“It’s embarrassing, is all,” he says. “You married me already.”

“Yes, yes, I’m hopeless, having a crush on my husband,” Jaskier giggles. “Can you blame me? He looks too sweet when he’s knitting.”

Jaskier looks as smitten as Geralt feels, his cheeks red and eyes gentle, which means Geralt must kiss him now. It’d be unfair to let Jaskier go unkissed when he looks like this.

They meet each other in the middle, with Geralt leaning down and Jaskier wrapping his hands behind Geralt’s nape. It’s rather awkward, so Geralt holds Jaskier’s back in return. The sun warms Jaskier’s doublet, and Geralt kisses him patiently, and kisses him again.

“Oh no. It gets worse,” Jaskier whispers, settling against Geralt’s knees. “Now I’m falling in love too. Would that be too pathetic?”

As if Geralt isn’t falling in love every day himself. He falls in love every time Jaskier puts on his socks and wiggles his toes. He falls in love so much that he knits a drawer full of them.

“If it is,” Geralt answers, “we’ll just be pathetic together.”

“We should put that in the vows.”

“Didn’t we?”

“No, but next time, maybe.” Jaskier’s eyes flash with mischief. “I shall marry you again one day.”

“Oh? Where will you do that?”

“Your home? Under the stars, with your family there this time.”

Geralt’s stomach flutters with the promise. He can picture it perfectly, the snow falling on Jaskier’s eyelashes, the northern light in the sky, the last of the wolf witchers there, witnessing all the happiness in his life.

“It’ll be cold in Kaer Morhen,” Geralt says, his lips quirking into a hopeful grin.

“Oh, that’s okay then.” Jaskier puts a hand over his heart. “You’ll just need to make things that keep me warm.”

And luckily, Geralt has a lot of practice with that.

#geraskier fic #geraskier #established relationship #knitting #this fandom needs more knitting content #and did you know the circular needle was invented in the 20th century #and did you know the magic loop only became popular in the 2000s #we used double points all the way baby #justice for dpns NOW

701 notes · View notes

mediocreanomaly · 9 months

Note

Heya! Same patchwork anon here >:]

Im so glad you like the idea! And id definitely see Vash being so protective of it, but sir we need to clean that omg 😩

But i did wanna shoot another reply cause i had another thought (Its 3am, so its the perfect time for thoughts) but imagine instead of white solid thread for Nai's janky ass milk puzzle blanket, its instead stitched with colored thread to at least give it some more life :0

I do like the idea that Nai just keeps it hidden, but imagine Nai's mate finding it and wanting to improve on it more, so little by little theyve been hand-embroiddering stuff on each patch to give it more life, and Nai doesnt notice cause he doesnt really lay it out often, and one day he just has this urge to look at it again, maybe give it a chance and add it to the nest, afterall its the thought that counts right? but then he spreads it out and sees the different embroiderry, like hearts or flowers that Nai's mate saw in books~ Theres even an ongoing embroiderry that makes it clear that his mate has been stitching this behind his back lol

(okay thats all sorry for the ramble im just so weak for them huhu)

Authors Note: Oh my gosh??? I'm so sorry for being away everyone work is busy busy busy rn, gotta serve up some of my drafts fr...anyways! Patchwork anon strikes again! You know nesting hc's are my weakness I had to indulge, R.I.P. Knives milk puzzle.

In reference to both of these post: Nesting Hc's, Patchwork Anon

A Blanket of Many Colors, Knives x Reader

You run your fingers over the blanket you had gifted Nai, the patchwork of white making the blanket look more like a haphazard ghost costume rather than a gift you'd painstakingly sown together. You sigh, you didn't really blame Nai for hiding it away in fact you'd been a be relived when you found out your mate kept the scraggly piece of fabric at all. While the vision had been there the end result had ended up lack luster at best.

You groan, about to tuck it back away in its hiding spot for good when you pause over one of the squares. Although by itself it wasn't much...it'd be the perfect base for something else. You think of what you could fill the tiles with, you had more than enough colored thread to add a bit of life to it, you mull over a couple options before remembering the book of flowers Nai had shown you once, his expression had soften as he explained the differences between each species. Inspired, you quickly grab the blanket and march over to the large bookcase in the corner of Nai's room, running your fingers over the spines of the books trying to find the correct one.

"c'mon...it's gotta be here somewh- ah!" you say triumphantly, pulling out the book containing pictures hundreds of different flowers. You'd been amazed when Nai first showed you, plants like this didn't bloom on Gunsmoke, so the idea of their soft petals were all you had to go off of. You quickly flip through the book picking out one of the flowers and grab some red thread and a needle, ready to go to work.

Some where along the way this little practice had become routine for you. Every time Nai was away or you were bored you'd sneak over to the cabinet your mate had stored the blanket and add a small embroidery. Adding a different flower every time until the blanket was becoming a colorful tapestry of your own making. You weren't sure if Nai even knew what you were doing, if he did he didn't say anything about it. So you continued the harmless pass time figuring he had just forgotten about the gift to collect dust.

He hadn't. Nai was, admittedly, particular when it came to his nest and he knew it. He'd mull over the sheets over and over making sure they were the same shade of white and that they were both soft and large enough. When you had presented him with the hand made blanket...it wasn't that he didn't apricate a gift from his beloved mate, it's just that he cringed internally anytime he thought about it in his nest. He couldn't bring himself to throw away something made by your hands though, so he had stored it away for safe keeping, not wanting anyone else to get their filthy hands on something made specifically for him.

It wasn't until a couple months and one tedious day later that he found himself marching towards his quarters. His instincts where screaming to wind down and drag you into the nest with him but you were out in Ja'Lai, escorted by Legato. He huffs, thinking of grabbing some of your clothes to add to the nest for your scent but then grimaces at the idea of all that disorganized fabric against the white sheets and pillows. He pauses looking at the cabinet that contained the gift you had made all that time ago. Although he still bristles slightly at the idea of it sprawled out in his nest...maybe it's the thought that counts? No. Absolutely not. But he could at least drag it out for a little while, maybe it wasn't as bad as he remembered.

Nai opens the cabinet and reaches in for the blanket but when he pulls it out...his eyes go wide. He holds it up so that he had a better view of what he's seeing, flowers he had only seen as a child blossom against the white fabric painting a scene of an intricate garden that only his memories and dreams could recreate. Had his mate been doing this the whole time? He tilts his head and gently traces the patters of the petals and whining stems that adorns the blanket now, then...he glances up towards his nest.

"Nai? You you here?" you call walking towards your shared room. The others had informed you of your mates arrival while you were out in town and you were eager to welcome him with open arms. You pad in, cold floor beneath you feet. He must be curled up in the nest it's where he liked to recharge after being gone. You walk towards the bed where you know a heap of white blankets and pillows is waiting as you quietly peek in the room. Your mate is in the nest alright, but...instead of the usual stark white, a myriad of color litters the top. Your blanket, you realize, is now the main center piece of the nest, curled securely around your sleeping mate as he purrs in his sleep, plant marking glowing softly. It seems...he liked the gift after all.

#knives x you #knives x reader #trigun x reader #knives millions #patchwork anon at it again #nesting plants...my heart

125 notes · View notes

inaris-mage-of-storms · 8 months

Text

I came across this spell for removing enchantments the other week, and it sparked an idea I decided to run with. I have further plans for it, but with several other projects going on it'll be a little bit before I pick it back up again...like say, maybe, when it's time for Whumptober. >:D

Scott's world was red. Strange, perhaps, for a man whose eyes and status indicator were green, to see only red, but that's what it was.

Red like the petals he'd dried in the sun.

He hadn't been able to find any geraniums, and the only asters he found were blue. But there were roses, and plenty of poppies, because of course there were.

Red, red poppies. Like the ones blooming on Jimmy's cheeks when he tucked a flower into Scott's hair, saying it represents my love for -

For flowers, he had said in the end, and Scott had felt a pang of disappointment but smiled anyway.

For flowers, he had said, and two days later said good morning, flower through his yawn when Scott crossed the valley to see if he'd had breakfast yet.

Scott didn't know if it was deliberate or not, but his own face bloomed red.

Red like the roses plucked from the shadows of the Crastle. Red like the hair of the figure watching him from above as he did so. He gave her a friendly wave, and she raised her hand in greeting, and he carried his harvest back to the valley.

He thought Cleo had given him a strange look, for a moment, as she looked at the bundle of plants at his side, then at the castle around her, then at his face shrouded by the dark cloak he'd pulled around his shoulders before leaving home.

He couldn't tell what her expression meant, and he had a suspicion that she didn't know either, but he was too preoccupied trying to recall stolen, scrawling notes he'd read years before to puzzle it out.

The ink had been red, he remembered.

Red like the casings of dynamite stuffed into a minecart. Red like Jimmy's mournful eyes, hidden away against Scott's neck but seared into his memory anyway. Sorry, petal, he whispered into Scott's skin for the fourth? fifth? time. Scott lost track, more concerned with holding him close as they moved against one another, reassuring his husband over and over that he still loved him, that he wasn't going anywhere, that red didn't change a thing.

He dwelled on the memory as he sewed a little satchel, rough fabric stained red by unpracticed hands. He could have done far better, if they'd asked. It didn't matter. They were effective enough for their intended purpose, the Dogwarts banners, and effective enough for their new purpose. Scott pushed his needle through the last remaining scrap of a red banner burned by the fury in Jimmy's red eyes.

They were going to sacrifice you, Jimmy ground out through gritted teeth. I know they were. Well, they can't have you!

Scott poured sun-dried petals into the packet and sewed it shut.

He loved the way Jimmy loved. Fiery, passionate, red-hot love. It was beautiful, intoxicating, magical -

And dangerous.

Jimmy threw himself into danger over and over again, driven by fear driven by love.

Magical. Scott didn't know a whole lot about magic, beyond some half-recognized song in his blood and half-remembered writings that caught his eye over the years. But he knew it could always be broken.

He pressed his lips to the satchel, a soft, reverent gesture that he kept reserved for the man humming in their makeshift kitchen. He could still change his mind. He could rip all the stitches out of the budding magic, undo it, throw it out and pretend it never happened.

Scott's world was red. His world was on track to burn himself up trying to protect Scott.

Reckless, stupid, red-hot love.

Scott tucked the satchel under Jimmy's pillow.

Magic could always be broken. He just had to break his own heart to do it.

#trafficshipping #flower husbands #file: storm writes things

46 notes · View notes

wrathofrats · 7 months

Text

Kinktober day 3

Blood play

Prompts by the lovely @kroas-adtam as usual

Swiss x aether

Yes I got carried away as usual. This was my chance to be weird and I’m fucking taking it. This isn’t safe and it’s barely sane (it’s not sane)

Aether gives Swiss a tattoo.

Cw obv blood, tattoos, unsafe tattooing practices. Op has tattoos but needs to be weird so she’s ignoring normal safety regulations. Weird about blood and pain and just be …. Be careful with this one y’all pls

To be fair it was aethers idea.

Swiss can’t be the one to blame. Hell dew had been the one who bought the tattoo gun in the first place. It started as a joke, something to mess around with in their spare time. Maybe give each other some small smiley faces while the other was too high to care.

Again, it was a joke.

Aether was the one who couldn’t stop watching, seeing them at the kitchen table, dew grazing the side of Swiss’s arm with the gun. Seeing the small beads of blood well up and aether couldn’t help but notice how swiss was biting his lip, staring at the blood intently.

Dew wrapped his arm carefully after wiping it down and earned a sharp hiss from the multi ghoul, the fresh wound was surely hot to the touch, sensitive.

It also wasn’t aethers fault when he had instinctively grabbed Swiss’s arm to get his attention, accidentally grabbing the fresh tattoo. Swiss inhaled sharply and pulled away. It was truly an accident, but aether couldn’t help but take the sounds he made when he was grabbed and replay them over and over again in his mind. Just meaningless gasps and even a whimper as the needle shot in his arm? realistically he knew he was getting too worked up over it. Assumed he just needed a hunt, it had been a while anyways.

He quickly let go of Swiss’s arm after a pause that seemed just slightly too long.

“Shit sorry man”

“ ‘s all good” Swiss smiled

Aether approached him about it the next day after a long night of keeping himself up thinking about it. Just, simply asking if he could also give him a tattoo. Just a bonding thing, something fun to do since he loved watching him and dew so much, and of course Swiss immediately agrees. He picked out two small leaf stems to wrap across his hips, something aether found online that he knew Swiss would love.

They sit across from each other at the table, machine already set up. Swiss has on low hanging sweatpants, pulled down just enough for aether to have access to his hip bones. Aether almost drools at the trail of hair on his stomach, fuller bush peaking out the top of his waistband.

“I uh-“

“What’s up?”

“You need to sit in my lap” aether blurts out, blushing.

its hard for swiss to keep a smile off his face, watching aether fluster over just seeing him shirtless is something he could revel in for days, “I need to what?”

“I- just, I can’t tattoo you at this angle, it would be easier if you sat in my lap” the excuse technically made sense if it wasn’t for aether already starting to chub in his pants and not being able to take his eyes off of the curve of Swiss’s hips. He truly was irresistible.

And so swiss did, straddles aethers hips and grabs his shoulders to lean back so he could have full access to his hip bones.

Aether uses one hand to keep him in place, a firm grip on the side of his hips, the other holds the tattoo gun. He drags the needle across his hip bone.

ink and blood mix on the surface, a black and burgundy dark concoction. He could feel Swiss inhale, breathing picking up, sweats a bit.

As aether gets lower, Swiss jerks his hips forward at the pain, flinching.

“You ok?”

“M fine” he pants

Aether outlines some of the smaller leaves, slowly going over and shading each one carefully. Hes particular, probably slower than he needs to be, but it’s more of an excuse to keep Swiss like this.

Swiss continues to pant in his lap. He tries to sit still, but can’t help but flinch every couple of minutes when aether goes over a couple spots more than a couple times. There’s a point where Swiss is almost certain he’s trying to make him writhe on purpose, but he has no proof beyond a particular glint in aethers eye.

Aether slides a hand around his neck, pulling sharply at his locs “you need to sit still baby”

And he does, only jumping at the harsh dry paper towel that slid across the artwork. Swiss feels dizzy, his hips sting, and aether wiping the blood off of him has him almost seeing white.

It’s hard not to notice a distinct tightness in his boxers, he can’t tell if it’s from the strong commanding hand that keeps his neck in place, or the way the sharp needle has him rock his hips against aethers. Whatever it may be, it has him embarrassingly worked up.

Aether wraps the tattoo in plastic, knowingly teasing his arm over Swiss’s hard cock trapped in his sweatpants.

“You turned on from that? Watching me mark you up permanently? Watching me wipe the blood from your skin?”

The multi ghoul cant speak, words catching him off guard, he just nods and pants.

“You wanna ride me baby boy?”

It’s not Swiss’s fault he can’t control himself.

In one swift motion, aether has pulled his own pants down just enough to free himself and helps Swiss slowly pull down his own, doing his best to mind his artwork and not put him in too much pain.

He lowers down, gasping at the stretch and where the wounds on his hips burns from all of the movement.

“Come on, I know you can take it”

Aether bucks up, making him see stars. It was a harsh feeling, aether fucking up into him, dragging his body across the fresh tattoo. His skin burned, he was too full, Swiss wants to sob.

too much too much too much too much too much

He continues to bounce, a steady mind numbing rhythm that he prays distracts from everything else going on. Aether hand on his cock has him practically drooling. Nothing completely distracts from the pain but he would be lying if he said he couldn’t get enough of it

A loud whine racks his body when he finally comes, white liquid leaking onto the thin plastic.

Aether lightly drags his fingers along the hot tattoo, gathering his release and fingering it into Swiss’s mouth.

It was aethers idea after all.

#my bad fr #ok it’s not that bad #maybe it is #aethers allowed to be weird bc I love him #swiss is always weird and I hate him #sigh #the band ghost #ghost #fanfic #nameless ghouls #ghost bc #swiss ghoul #aether ghoul #wrath writes #nsft #blood #kinktober

28 notes · View notes

mytheoristavenue · 1 year

Text

OP Usopp x Sick!Reader - What would you say?

Summary: Usopp, wondering why he hadn't seen you all day, finds you very ill in the girls' quarters. After taking you to the sickbay to see Chopper, he refuses to leaver your side.

Warnings: A lot of fluff, a bit of angst, sick comfort.

You groaned, brows knit and chest heaving as you rolled over to face the door of the girls' bedroom. Pulling the covers over your shoulder and against your face, you couldn't help but huff. Why was it so goddamned hot in here? Loosening the tuck of your blanket, you were immediately stung by freezing air, opting to just suffer under the heat of your quilt, than the agonizing needles of the air. What the hell was going on?

Elsewhere, Usopp sat at the dining table eating breakfast with a few other crew members, who lounged as they usually did on a sunny Sunday morning. "Hey, Robin," he asked, breaking the tranquil quiet that seemed to blanket the entire ship. She looked up from the novel she was reading, glancing up at him, and using the break of focus as an excuse to take a sip of tea. "Have you seen (Y/N) today? She never sleeps this late." He wondered, noting that they hadn't docked in weeks, and that they weren't even close to land, so she couldn't have gone on an errand without him knowing.

"I'm not sure she feels well today." Robin answer with a kind smile. "She was still asleep when I got up, and when I offered to bring her anything she declined." Usopp thought on her answer for a moment before she continued. "I touched her forehead and she seemed warmer than usual, so I asked Sanji to brew her some tea that might help a fever come down."

"That's really sweet of you," the sniper remarked, silently worried over his friend's well being. As if on cue, the chef walked over to the table, setting down and small tray holding a cup of steaming tea, and a jammed biscuit on a saucer.

"Here it is now, thank you Sanji," the ravenette nodded to the blonde appreciatively.

"Hey, wait," Usopp interjected as Sanji began to exit the kitchen, tray in hand. "I'll take it to her. I was gonna go check on her anyways." The chef quirked a brow at his friend's sudden willingness to help, but ultimately passed the it over.

"Just make sure she drinks that tea, I hand picked all the herbs myself and I don't want my time going to waste." Sanji advised, turning back to what he was doing before the request. "And you better not drop that, either."

Usopp simply rolled his eyes at his uptightness, descending the hall toward the sleeping quarters. When he arrived at the door of the girls' room, the carefully held the tray in one hand and knocked with the other, wanting to make sure no one else was there. When he got no response, he cautiously twisted the knob and opened the door to reveal you in the first bunk he found, curled up in a pitiful little ball.

"(Y/N), you okay?" he asked inching towards you timidly. "I brought you something from Sanji." You failed to respond, simply panting from under your blanket. Setting the tray down on another bunk, he slowly made his way to your bedside, laying the back of his hand on your forehead. "Shit, you are hot." he remarked, a bit surprised that what Robin had said earlier was true.

"'M fine...go away." you finally mumbled, rolling away from him to face the wall. Usopp sat beside you on the bed, his hand once again against your head, to gauge just how bad your fever was.

"Maybe you should go see Chopper." he suggested, brows knit with concern. "You seem pretty sick." You growled in annoyance, forcing yourself to sit up, and eventually dragging yourself out of bed, standing on the terribly cold floor. He watched you as you walked over to your dresser, picking out your clothes for the day with a worried expression. "I think you should lay back down,"

"I've got too much to do today to just lay in bed all day. I told you I'm...I'm fi...ne..." With that, you instantly hit the floor, fainting in the middle of the room. Usopp bolted up to catch you, but was unfortunately not able to get to you in time.

"(Y/N)! Are you okay? Please wake up!" he panicked, shaking you gently as he cradled you in his lap. When you came to seconds later, you looking up at him, confused and delirious.

"Usopp...what are you doing in here, this is the girls' room..." His face paled as he struggled to find an answer, befuddled that you'd forgotten that he was even there.

"I've gotta get you to Chopper, he'll know what to do." he concluded, trying his best to calm himself down, before scooping you up into his arms and carrying you out of them room. On the way to the sick bay, he noticed you fading in and out of consciousness, your head occasionally slumping to fall limp off the side of his forearm. Once he reached the doctor's office, he immediately burst into the room.

"There's something wrong with (Y/N)!" he shouted to the small doctor, who instructed him to lay you down in one of the beds that lined the west wall.

-----

Some time later, your eyes fluttered open to see that your surroundings were different from how you'd left them. Almost instantly, you were hit with an absolutely splitting headache, surely a side effect of the pressure in your sinuses, and the time unconscious certainly couldn't have helped.

"Oh, (Y/N), I'm so glad you're awake." a shrill voice voice called, accompanied by cloven footsteps making their way over. "You really had me worried." You rolled over to find the Straw Hats' doctor strolling to your bedside, a clipboard in hand.

"Chopper...?" you verbally noted, deducing that if he was here, you must be in the infirmary. "How'd I get here?" you asked, sitting up a bit and looking around.

"Please don't try to get up," he advised, gently pushing you back down. "Usopp said you fainted in your room, and he carried you here." You blushed a bit at the thought, more embarrassed than anything else. You probably looked like such a mess. "Don't worry, though, you haven't been out very long."

"How long exactly?" you wondered, tilting your head a bit, only to correct it, finding that the action made your migraine worsen.

"Almost four hours."

"Four hours?!" you panicked, jumping out of bed, looking all around for your shoes, only to remember you probably hadn't worn any to begin with.

"Please calm down!" Chopper stressed, running to the door to try and block you from it, and pressing his hooves to your shins, in an effort to force you back into bed with his little brute strength. "You're still sick, you shouldn't be out of bed!" Just as you reached the door, you were able to step over him and the corners of your vision began to darken. The last thing you felt was the doctor tugging backward on your left leg, before both buckled under your weight.

Luckily for you, Usopp opened the door just in time for you to slump forward into his arms. He thanked his lucky stars he was able to catch you this time, now maybe he wouldn't feel so bad for the last. Your eyes had hardly even shut before they fluttered open again, gazing up hazily at the sniper for the second time today. "Usoppppp," Chopper whined. "Tell her to stay in bed, she won't listen to me!"

The man's eyes softened exponentially when they shifted back to your sleepy face and he sighed with a kind smile. "You really should rest," he said lightly, helping you back over to your bed and getting you laid down. The small reindeer huffed with crossed arms as he followed the two of you, taking his chart into his hooves again.

"You might as well get comfortable," he pouted, still upset at your lack of care for his professional opinion. "I'm gonna have to keep you overnight, possibly longer."

This perked your interest and you snapped your head to him as he began to read off your chart. "Wait, all night? Why, it's just a little fever, right?" your fretted. "Right?"

"I'm afraid it's not that simple." he sighed, flipping through the pages on his clip board. "(Y/N), have you ever eaten a Devil Fruit before?"

Your eyes widened at the question. Of course you hadn't, you were just a normal person! You didn't have any powers! "No, I think I'd know if I had, Chopper." you rolled your eyes. "What could possibly make you think that?"

"I didn't understand it at first, but your symptoms all align with sea water poisoning, but that could only be the case if you were a Devil Fruit user." He explained, offering for you to look at some of his notes. "Is it possible that you have been in contact with and sea water lately?"

"No, but it wouldn't matter if I had," you answered flatly. "I'm not a Devil Fruit user." Chopper sighed with frustration, rubbing his head and walking away to sit down and review his notes.

"I'm sorry, maybe I made a mistake, I haven't been feeling very good either." he confessed with little energy.

Usopp sat and thought for a moment, looking around for a clue as to what could help solve the mystery. He eventually took to looking you up and down. Maybe you'd been bitten by something and they'd just glossed over it? That's when he noticed how swollen your feet looked. He curiously stood up and studied your soles, which didn't go unnoticed. "Hey, what are you looking at my feet for, you creep?!" you shrieked, pulling your legs up to hug them and hiding your feet.

He simply tilted his head in confusion. "What are those on the bottom of your feet?" He asked causing you to blush with embarrassment. This caught Chopper's attention, who wandered over to see what the fuss was about.

"What's wrong with my feet, huh?" you defended, still hiding them and refusing when the doctor asked to see. After a bit more prodding, you hesitantly, and humiliatingly let the two study your soles for any potential clues.

"They're almost like the pads on cats' paws," Usopp remarked, poking one, causing you to squirm.

"You've had these all your life?" Chopper asked, finally ending his observation and walking to your bedside.

"I wasn't born with them, no, but I've had them since I was little," you answered, still pouting over the whole ordeal. "They just kind of showed up one day. You mean you guys don't have them?"

That's when the pieces fell together for the reindeer. "That's why your steps don't make noise when you walk!" he exclaimed, finally solving the puzzle. "You must have eaten the Shh Shh fruit as a child! It grants the power of stealth, but you've never needed to use it, so you never knew you had it!"

"But I don't ever remember eating a special fruit?" you asked, puzzled by this new revelation.

"Some fruits can look really mundane, or even disguise themselves!" he explain, retrieving a large book and setting it onto your lap, open to a very specific page. "And look! It says here that it was last seen on the island you grew up on!"

You were having a hard time wrapping your head around what he was telling you. You had powers and you never even knew? That seems a little far fetched. "That still doesn't explain why I feel so bad." You reminded him. Chopper thought for a moment before his eyes widened and locked onto the necklace you were wearing.

"When did you find that stone?" he asked, pointing to the pendent.

"Last time we docked, why?" you cocked a brow, holding it close to your chest, afraid he might confiscate it.

"But when did you start wearing it around your neck?" he pressed.

"I just put it on the chord last night, and then I wore it to bed. Again, why?" You were beginning to get irritated with his interrogation. "Chopper, just tell me what's going on."

"That's a seastone." he said so matter of factly. "It has to be. It has the same effect as sea water on Devil Fruit users. That explains why I've been feeling so tired since you came in. You have to take it off."

You hesitated, having grown attached to rock, unwilling to just throw it away, it was special to you. With a bit more persuasion, you reluctantly took it off, dropping it into Usopp's waiting hand, who then pocketed it to keep it from falling into unexpecting possession.

Instant you felt a weight lift off your shoulders. The entire room felt lighter, and your throat ached a bit less. "Now that that's out of the way, we can get you better!" The doctor chirped, already feeling much better himself.

-----

Nearly an hour had passed since your diagnosis with seastone poisoning, and you were still in bed, only this time with a tray of delicious food, curtesy of Sanji, who'd forgiven you for wasting his time by not drinking his tea. Usopp had also left for a bit to take the rock to his workshop, thinking that the shavings from of it might make for a useful bullet for his Kabuto. Chopper had taken this time to fashion a regiment of treatment for your sickness, which consisted of rest, fluids, hearty foods, and a special cocktail of medicines which he made himself. He also recommended you still stay with him until you were better so he could monitor you.

Now that you were fed and hydrated, and had had the first dose of your medicine, all that was left was to rest. A part of you was nervous about spending the night alone in the sick bay. You had gotten so used to sleeping with others in the room through bunking with the girls that you had forgotten what true silence sounded like.

Chopper had long since retired to his sleeping area, a small closet conjoined to the infirmary, and you laid wide awake, staring at the wooden ceiling, wondering when you'd finally fall asleep. A small creak startled you and you shot up to find the door slowly creeping ajar, before you began to make out a long nosed figure peaking in. "You can come in, Usopp."

He accepted your offer, quietly shutting the door behind him, as if he could disturb any other other patients. Tip-toeing, he made his way over to you and sat down at the foot of your bed. "How do you feel?" he asked softly glancing over to you.

"Better." you answered blandly. A beat of silence passed between the two of you before you spoke up again. "I just wanted to say...thank you for bringing me here. You probably saved my life."

Blood rushed to his face as he smiled, a part of him wanting to boisterously accept your thanks, shrugging it off as what any hero would do, but for whatever reason, it didn't feel right in this case. "You're welcome, I was pretty worried about you, ya know?" You nodded in response. This felt so awkward, Usopp could hardly stand it. "Well, it's getting late and you're probably tired so-"

"I can't sleep." You corrected him, looking more passed him than at him. You were incredibly tired, but your anxieties wouldn't allow you and rest.

"Oh," he stiffened at your sudden melancholy, before softening with pity. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"I just don't want to be alone." you muttered somberly, pulling your blanket higher over your legs.

"Well," he cleared his throat, looking to the ceiling with a slight blush. "M-Maybe I can sleep with you tonight?" His eyes widened when he realized his poor choice of words and he immediately back tracked. "N-Not like with you, with you, of course! Like in the next bed, I mean. Or in the farthest one if that's what you want, or not at all or-"

"Would you please?" The tenderness and desperation in your voice was almost enough to startle him. "Please, I just won't want to be alone."

His gaze softened as he cast it over you. "S-sure." He confirmed, standing to set himself up in the adjacent bed. As he sat down, untying his hair and kicking out of his shoes, you took a second to take him in. You rarely got to see him in anything casual, let alone pajamas. His hair was wild and free, yet well maintained, forming a spherical mass of coils that spilled from a shallow widow's peak. He lacked any of his common accessories, only dressed in a baggy tan t-shirt and sweatpants. He looked so comfortable as he massaged his fingers into his scalp, releasing some of the residual tension from his ponytail.

Without noticing your admiration, he easily slid beneath the quilt on his bed, snuggling down onto his side, facing you with a kind smile. "Goodnight, (Y/N)." he cooed, letting his eyes fall heavy.

"Usopp?" you whispered guiltily. He had just tried to go to sleep and you were already waking him. He popped one eye open with a snicker, only to have his expression fall into frozen shock when he found you, scooted as far away as you could, holding your blanket up, inviting him into your bed.

"Y-You want me to..." he stammered, failing to find appropriate words for the situation. He didn't want to admit to having the wrong idea.

"Can you could sleep with me?" you asked timidly, unknowingly batting your lashes. "It's just that...my bunk is a little smaller than this so the bed feels so big."

"I could take up some space. I-If that'll help you, I mean." he answered, already sitting up. Before long, he was in your bed, laying on his back, stiff as a board. You wanted so badly to lay your head against his chest. Maybe this was a bad idea after all. "Are you sure this is okay? 't's a little cramped." he admitted with a nervous laugh. Your cheeks burned from embarrassment with the possibility that you were making him uncoverable.

"I'm sorry, I just want to be close to you." you confessed, the urge to cry welling up in your chest, though you suppressed it.

"Really...?" he asked, in awe that someone like you wanted to be near someone like him so badly. You nodded bashfully, before rolling over, already too humiliated to deal with his need for validation. A moment later, you gasped, feeling his strong arms encase you in a loving cage, pressing your back to his chest. "Is this okay?"

You nodded again, feeling your heart swell in your chest. "That feels really nice, actually." you sighed, shimmying your shoulders to be even closer to him. "If I told you I liked you right now, would you leave?"

"No," he confirmed, nuzzling his forehead against the back of your scalp. "If I told you that I think you're the most dazzling woman I've ever met, would you still want me here?"

"I would," you answered, bringing your hands to cover your face, as it was glowing far too bright for your own good. "If you said that, would you mean it?"

"Every word. I wish I could tell you that you're the most inspirational person in my life, that just looking at you're pretty smile makes me want to be the best man I can be." he confessed, his finger tips gently tracing up your arm to find your hand and interlacing with yours. "But I'm worried you'll think I'm a creep."

"I wouldn't think that." you mumbled, pecking a kiss onto the back of his hand. "Would you think I was a creep if I told you that I've wanted to kiss you since the day we met?"

"No," Usopp grinned form behind you, gently breaking away from you to pull you back to face him. "Would you think I was a creep if I told you I wanted to kiss you right now?" You breathlessly shook your head, looking into his eyes as both his hands came up to cup your cheeks, sweetly connecting his lips to yours. Though the contact was short lived, the meaning behind it spoke volumes. He held you like this for a moment, his thumbs just caressing your cheeks lovingly.

"If I told you I loved you, what would you say?" you finally asked, entirely entranced in him.

"I'd tell you it's about time."

#straw hat usopp #usopp x reader #one piece #one piece usopp #op usopp #one piece x reader

168 notes · View notes

parageist · 5 months

Note

If you were a slugcat what would your powers, your special mutations be? Also backstory maybe? :3

okay well i do have a slugcat OC but they don’t exactly represent me: they’re called The Hermit, and is gray with green-tipped limbs and markings. their hands are large and webbed, allowing them to climb walls and ceilings quick like a lizard, but their walking speeds and spear damage is pretty average. they make up for this by being quite crafty, and dons a pair of ancient binocular goggles. when using this ability, time slows (even slower than the effects of mushrooms), and you can freely move the camera around the room, allowing you to quickly take notice of everything in the room. though when using the goggles, you can’t control the hermit’s movement or throws at all, but it will warn you if a projectile or predator is approaching them. also after you take notice of something off-screen, it will show a faint marker at the edge of the screen pointing to it. you can customize this to show creatures, objects, exits, shortcuts, etc. the markers disappear once you leave the current room.

anyway, onto lore! [THIS IS GONNA BE A LONG ONE LMAO]

(this takes place a little bit before spearmaster’s campaign) the hermit once lived in the slugtree, but during their time the current leaders of the tribe were a lot more anxious about leaving the territory. despite this, one day the hermit leads a large expedition to find some ancient technology hermit claims will improve the lives of all the slugcats. this goes horribly wrong, and everyone but hermit is lost in the excursion. when they return, the hermit is exiled from the slugtree, never to return. because of this, they feel an intense fear of ever going outside again, and spends the next decade of their life in isolation, living in the remains of one of those giant transmission towers.

they never leave the tower, but over the years they transform a lot of it into their own massive fort, easily traversing the structure with their wall and ceiling climbing. maybe life as a hermit isn’t that bad?

then one day, they find a peculiar, spear-sized needle in one of the tower’s many shelters, alongside a wall scribbled in drawings. the hermit is fascinated by this concept of “art”, alongside the mysterious needle. finally tired of endlessly scavenging parts and improving their fort, the hermit embarks picks up two new hobbies: drawing and finding out who or what left that needle. they manage to find an ancient telescope and set it up, spending most of the day watching from atop their tower for any new travelers, while at night they retreat to the lantern-lit shelters and draw (mainly fanart of the carvings they found, which are of a strange being with antennae and seven dots on their forehead.).

eventually, they find something. a glimpse of a purple slugcat with a large be-speckled tail, carrying two white spears, traveling from the direction of the slugtree to somewhere in the distance. despite the hermit’s fear of the outside world, a primal urge burns inside them to follow this purple stranger into the fog. the next cycle a close call with a vulture sends them running back inside the safety, though they continue to ponder this for many cycles, scribbling drawings of the mysterious traveler everywhere.

deja vu strikes the hermit, as they catch yet another glimpse of the tantalizing stranger, this time traveling the opposite way, back towards the slugtree. this infatuation the hermit has with them leads them to slide down the tower and get a closer look at them. from the safety of some rafters, they observe the traveler pulling white needles from their tail and hurling them at lizards. at some point, the hermit accidentally makes a noise, and the spearmaster looks up at them, surprising the hermit with their lack of a mouth, before both of them slink away into the shadows.

the next day, the hermit returns to that spot, finding more of the spearmaster’s drawings of creatures and beings unknown to the hermit, including that same antennaed entity, confirming this is the same slugcat who left that needle here so many cycles ago. inspired by the spearmaster’s beautiful combat skills, the hermit ties rope to a pair of spears leftover by the purple traveler, fashioning two “grappling hooks” they can use to pull impaled prey closer or assist with climbing, as the rope is also tied to their back. (these two spears + rope both occupy a back slot and free up the hermit’s hands when not in use. when you have an empty hand, press grab and up to unsheath one of them. you can throw it and it does the same damage a normal spear does, but it can’t travel further than about double the length of saint’s tongue. this frees up the hand you previously had the spear in, but if you want to reel it in, you have to keep at least one hand free, and having two hands free increases the reel-in speed and force. to pull it back, hold C. once within grabbing distance, you can press grab to yank it out and return it to your back sheath slot. also keep in mind the hermit has two rope spears, and if one of them is already deployed, you can up+grab another and throw it, maintaining the original rope connection. however, if both of your spears are impaled into two different large objects/creatures and one or both of them is moving away from the other, one of the spears will be dislodged once the impaled creature moves further than the max rope length. extremely fast or forceful creatures/objects may also dislodge even if you just have one spear deployed, but most of the time they’ll stick into whatever they’re impaled to until removed. also, when both spears are out and grappled to two different objects, you can hold C to reel in the first one and V to reel in the second. keep in mind though that unlike grapple worms or saint’s tongue, the spears aren’t strong enough to allow you to dangle from impaled ceilings, and you need both spears to scale a wall, though im unsure why you would want to do that as you can just climb walls/ceilings with your webbed feet. the rope spears are designed for pulling things closer, though with both of them impaled into the same creature you can theoretically grapple to it and let it pull you along lmao)

anyway, back to story. the hermit becomes even more obsessed with art, drawing the spearmaster and the strange creatures they drew everywhere inside their tower. this helps them pass the time and keep insanity at bay, but the hermit can’t keep doing this forever. one day, either the tantalizing stranger returns for a 4th time and forces their curiosity to leave the tower, or the hermit’s transformation of their home tower leads to the creatures and plants they feed on eventually dying out, forcing them to leave and find food elsewhere.

turns out, it’s a combination of the two. the spearmaster is seen once again traveling back into the unknown, and the hermit uses their dwindling food supplies as an excuse to face their fears and satisfy their obsessive curiosity. though even if the hermit’s tower was crawling with nutritious prey and their dreams weren’t plagued with the spearmaster obsession, it seems the universe has an extra, third safeguard in place to force the hermit out of their tower. past the slugtree, far far in the distance, one of the giant cubes that dominates the horizon, crumples into the ground, shaking the land for miles with a deafening rumble. and whether it’s due to a design flaw or the hermit’s modifications, their home tower collapses in half, leaving them disoriented and destitute. hopefully their tools and the knowledge they gathered from the spearmaster’s scribbles will be enough to keep them alive, as they embark on a mission through the unknown to track down their mysterious idol.

this takes them through the following regions:

-Crumbling Skyway: an old railway bridge, with half of the hermit’s collapsed tower home crashed into it. through the railway itself is only about one or two rooms thick, it supports a variety of plants and creatures that dangle from its underside. below that is the

-Dandelion Forest: growing from the mud flats of this part of the outer expanse is a grove of lighter-than-air puffballs, connected to the ground by vines. despite being a separate biome from the skyway above, the roots that dangle from it seem to form a symbiotic relationship with the floating dandelion trees below, perhaps even being two parts of the same creature’s life cycle. whether the hermit takes the skyway or the forest floor doesn’t matter, as either way brings them to

-Midpoint Factory: a large hulking mass of steel, filled with a variety of both mechanical and biological instruments made for producing specific parts for the iterator project. though after it was abandoned in the ascension, most of the bizarre, purposed mechano-organisms remain alive inside, some still producing parts for a long-abandoned project. on top of this factory facility is a subregion called the interchange, where resources and parts for the iterator project would be put on trains and distributed to other sites in the local group. at this point the hermit has lost track of which direction the spearmaster went, and there is a secret path that will take you towards NSH’s facility, but most of the evidence points you the other way, towards the

-Hazy Spires: following the railway bridge, the ground below gives way to a hazy abyss, where bizarre structures pierce through the toxic smog. these are remains of an old bioengineering compound; matrixes of mixers and separators, where organic chemicals and the ingredients for purposed organisms were synthesized. many species were even grown in situ here, escaping from their confines and roaming the complex. at lower levels of the facility, the toxic haze grows thick enough to be dangerous, though the hermit is able to fashion a gas mask to survive the deep sections for short periods of time. eventually, the hermit discovers the collapsed railway bridge gives way and they have to ride some giant flying organism to get across the gap. on the other side is a subregion but it’s so large it may as well be it’s own, the

-Organometallic Refinery: a bioengineering compound more specified for forging a special steel alloy, infused with microbes for a self-healing effect. this facility could be considered more lifeless than the one next door, but it simply lacks a biodiverse ecosystem, as the organometal refinement process leaves the building too toxic for many creatures. though it’s unknown how much of the hazy abyss below the factory spires is created from industrial activity, as beneath the toxic clouds is a massive sinkhole called the

-Vent Zone: at the end of the organometallic refinery, the hermit finally catches up with the spearmaster after all the agonizing factory structures they passed through. both don’t know how to react, as neither have interacted with another slugcat in ages, with spearmaster having never met another of their kind before. but they look out into the distance together, as a looming superstructure grows closer and the fog grows thicker. they mount a giant flying creature to cross the vast expanse of haze between the retaining wall and the refinery, but not too far into their journey, a vulture attacks them, and the hermit panics, falling off into the abyss below. somehow they survive, waking up in a massive sinkhole. the terrain is filled with acid pools alongside the rubble of the collapsed railway bridge, and even during the day the air is dark and hard to breathe. the proximity to the hermit’s destination results in deadly, acidic rain that drowns the sinkhole every night. the hermit’s skin is chemically burnt from injuries, and can no longer stick to walls or ceilings, relying on only their spears, goggles, and gas mask to keep on surviving. what little life manages to sustain itself down here is unlike anything else, being borderline impossible to kill. as the hermit stumbles through the mangled mess of acid, mud, and metal, they eventually come across a crumbling wall, and realize this sinkhole must be a recent development. it turns out a vast aquifer once stood here, right above a chamber of void fluid. ever since ancient construction activities damaged the thin crust separating this aquifer from the void sea protrusion, the two fluids have mixed, resulting in a reducing chemical reaction, decomposing water into its base elements and allowing it to recombine into much more reactive compounds. this, combined with the draining of the aquifer for the nearby iterator facility, has led to a mixture of toxic gases and acid bubbling from the ground, creating the vent zone and the layer of haze on top of it. as the hermit scales the crumbling, slanting wall, unable to use their climbing ability, they eventually make it above the layer of smog, into the facility grounds of Seven Red Suns. first off, they cut through a passage near the top of the retaining wall through to the other side, a vast reservoir known as

-Darkwater: SRS’s facility was built in an unconventional configuration, with one of their can’s legs being right on top of the retaining wall. this means that right after the hermit steps through the wall into SRS’s facility grounds, they’re beneath their can’s underhang. the first subregion of this shaded reservoir is the Treatment Center, where pumped groundwater would be purified before being sent up SRS’s leg. a bunch of scavengers have made the refineries and water-agitators their home. past that is the Lakebed Pipeline, which during dry seasons, would transfer water across the bottom of the reservoir into the Treatment Center. during wet seasons though, the whole reservoir would be full of water, creating a vast lake underneath SRS’s shadow, even partially submerging the treatment center. however, as more iterators went online, the climate became much wetter, and so maintenance orders on the pipeline were stopped, as even during the dry seasons the reservoir was full. even before the mass ascension the lakebed pipeline fell into disrepair, which came back to bite SRS all these centuries later. the recent earthquake caused by moon’s collapse resulted in the vent zone sinkhole caving in, damaging half of SRS’s water intake systems, draining the darkwater reservoir, and what little remains of the lakebed pipeline has barely enough capacity to supply SRS with water. most of SRS’s critical systems are intact and operational for the meantime, but the creation of spearmaster will be the last bioengineering project SRS can attempt without drying up. anyway, past the lakebed pipeline is the last subregion of darkwater, the Exterior Pumping Station, which takes in water from beyond SRS’s can and pumps it across darkwater and through the treatment center, up into SRS’s easternmost leg. through this mechanical mess of pipes and pumps lies the source of half of SRS’s groundwater, the

-Underground River: a snaking maze of natural caverns and artificial conduits, the underground river is quite small compared to the other regions but it felt distinct enough to not just be a subregion of somewhere else. the dank caves and tunnels are home to a diverse selection of life, mostly adapted to breathe underwater as the conduits flood with water when the rain comes. the river eventually branches into two paths, but i’ll continue through the one which leads up into a sewer system beneath

-Derelict Cityscape: one of the oldest cities in ancient history, that sits at the bottom of a massive cliff. it was abandoned long before SRS’s construction, as most of its inhabitants chose to scale the massive cliff it’s built next to once technology allowed them to modify themselves to breathe at those altitudes. then some time later the iterator project started, and the first ever generation-2 model, Seven Red Suns, was built a few miles past the cliff, sandwiching the derelict cityscape between the two sides. what few stubborn ancients who remained at the bottom of this canyon were forced to leave once the iterator came online, drenching the ancient city in rain. the nearby cliff acts to trap most of the moisture exhaled by SRS in the canyon, resulting in the abandoned city being vastly overgrown and humid, with some buildings being completely unrecognizable as the high moisture allowed nature to overtake them. some of the more modern buildings are still standing however they lack the luxuries and advanced technologies of the living cell block skyscrapers atop iterator cans. speaking of cans, if you go to the eastern edge of the city, you’ll end up at the base of the leg of

-Seven Red Suns: okay im gonna be honest i haven’t drawn the map for this area yet but this is the end of the hermit’s journey. they finally reunite with spearmaster and meet SRS, who at first is cautious, as the spearmaster nearly died saving the hermit, but the hermit expresses their admiration for spearmaster, and SRS eventually comes around, adopting hermit, who is now The Apprentice. spearmaster, SRS, and the apprentice all teach each other different things from their journeys, and maybe one day spears and apprenti fall in love and maybe have slugpups and SRS becomes a scug grandpa or whatever the non binary equivalent to that is lmao. but yeah, that’s the end of the hermit’s journey of becoming the apprentice, but i still have some ideas i wanna write down. somewhere in SRS’s can is a blocked off area, where they first experimented with bioengineering. they were very young and experienced when they began this however, resulting in the creation of many bizarre, useless, or dangerous organisms. but to SRS they were all still living creatures, and they couldn’t just kill them all or release them into the environment, so now there’s a secret lab inside his can full of mutant beasts and it plays out like the true lab from undertale. maybe there’s even some prototypes to spearmaster in there, SRS is super guilty but doesn’t know how to deal with it, and eventually, far after spears’s and apprenti’s campaign someone discovers it and SRS has to deal with it finally. another cool idea i had for SRS’s structure is for the top to be a giant empty grassland instead of a desolate wasteland, which also lacks a city. the reason why? well that leads us to my next region idea, where you take a precipice-like skybridge across the canyon to the aptly named

-Cliffside: if you kept going to the west through the underground river, you would end up in a giant waterfall which connects up into the bottom of a giant cliff. you can also reach this area at the western side of the derelict cityscape. this cliff is natural, unlike a retaining wall or iterator can wall, with many primitive, *ancient* ancient structures carved into the rock, long since abandoned or eroded from the humid exhalation of SRS. there are a bunch of more modern structures too, including experimental city designs the ancients undertook, and a sort of giant elevator that goes to the top. there’s also a bunch of scavenger settlements along the cliffside, covered in moss and roots. once you near the top, you’ll find the giant sky bridge that crosses the canyon over to SRS’s can, and on the top of the cliff is a massive plateau that stretches out for miles above the clouds, obscured by a gigasized city, the

-Continental Capitol: the end of what i have planned so far. before the ancients built SRS, they relocated from what’s now the derelict cityscape, far above the clouds, scaling Cliffside, and founded a new city atop this plateau. because of the cultural significance and long history of this city’s population, the new city became one of the many capitals of the ancient’s global empire. this one grew so large it was known as the administrative capitol of one of the planet’s entire continents, housing nearly a hundred million ancients in its towering constructs. so yeah, after they built SRS, they had no need for a city on top, as the continental capitol was already built atop a plateau above the clouds, and was safe from the rain. now the top of SRS’s can is just a flat empty sea of grass, with a radio mast in the middle

one more bonus concept: sometime in the future but probably before saint’s time, the activity in the vent zone has damaged the retaining wall to the point where SRS’s eastern leg collapses into the sinkhole with it, breaking their can in half. maybe this also unlocks the hidden mutant lab area and spears/apprenti/their descendants discover it and SRS has to explain themselves (as also half of them fell into an acid sinkhole lmao). i also think a lava region would be really cool but i have no clue how tectonics and volcanism works in a world where the mantle is void fluid instead of magma lmao. i already handwaved the vent zone’s creation as a result of void fluid “vaporizing” water but im not sure how i could explain it turning rock into magma. either way, the geological activity from the vent zone continues, causing severe damage to SRS’s facility and can. hey, you gotta figure out a unique way for each iterator to die out instead of them all just decaying from time!

also not even kidding, this post took me over three fucking hours to complete lmao. i have been doing nothing but typing this on my phone in complete silence, checking my notes and drawings and transcribing them here, and getting up for a bathroom break once, every so often plugging my phone back in. shit it may even be four hours by now xD

anyway, this one is definitely going in the parageist classics. oh and here are sketches i have so far (i didn’t even draw the hermit/apprentice yet lmao, i just focused on all the cool regions, i love drawing maps :3)

#saved #rain world #rain world spoilers #rain world region concept #rain world concept #rain world oc #rain world srs #seven red suns #spearmaster #rain world spearmaster

14 notes · View notes

cienie-isengardu · 3 months

Text

Cracked Mirror of Black, Cold Soul [chapter 3]

[part 1] [part 2]

Warning: Shang Tsung in his laboratory. Nothing worse than what story mode showed but I thought to warn anyway.

Shang Tsung once had a cat.

Or more precisely, the cat came into his life without an invitation, just simply walked into his cart, ate the little food he had and then stretched out on his makeshift bed. And it wasn’t even a cute little kitty or rare purebred that accidentally got lost in the wilderness and whose beauty would add prestige to his small stall and maybe even catch a look of a wealthy customer. No, of course, the one that decided to invite himself into his life was just some stray with a bad attitude and even worse habit of picking a fight with everything on his way, if the scarred muzzle, half-torn ear, matted fur and cold, challenging gaze was anything to go by.

The moment Shang Tsung’s eyes fell on the cat, it was the purest hate at first sight. A very mutual feeling, considering the thin pupils and a contemptuous snort the animal made in human direction.

He decided to throw away the stray - only gods knew how much fleas were lurking in the dirty fur or what sickness the animal brought. Everyone heard about the terrifying Tarkat spreading from one end of the Empress Sindel’s land to the other and no magic, no medicine, no richness and no faith could save anyone from infection. Not like he even had any of those in the first place.

It was a pragmatic choice, Shang Tsung hummed to himself, eyeing the bastard that took what was the best on the plate, and who now settled on the bed and lazily licked his treacherous paws. The cat was not the smallest lot but definitely small compared to him, yet despite the obvious disadvantage the animal already judged him as annoying human at the best, as trash at the worst.

(The pupils thin as needles, like claws of ice digged into Shang Tsung’s soul and the memory of the cold gaze tormented him for the following days. With that damned cat came also unwanted awareness of how miserable his existence was, if he had to fight even for a stray’s approval.)

It was easier however to say than to actually catch a stubborn cat and even less the one determined to make Shang Tsung’s life as miserable as possible. The bastard jumped from one shelf to another and rammed everything in his path, like some madman on the quest to destroy the world.

Shang Tsung could only watch in horror how the delicate pottery, hard-won vials, wood figurines that he painstakingly carved for hours, small decorations and heavy metal items, all of those shook on the shelves where the cat ran through. Some of the items fell down and hit the floor with loud clang, and then another and another, leaving the human with a great dilemma - continue the chase or rescue his property from total annihilation… only to almost be killed by the thick book that flew straight at his head.

It was a battle of will and fury and though it took a great effort, Shang Tsung managed to catch the dirty bastard and threw him away.

Normally, that should solve the problem once and for good, but nothing in his life was even easy. The insufferable demon from hell only accidentally called a cat showed up the next morning, again walking in Shang Tsung’s home like it belonged to him; like yesterday failure did not happen at all.

And so the war began, and indeed It was a war of wits, cunning and determination. No mercy was given and no expected in return.

When he threw the animal through the door, it came back by the window. When he closed the door and barricaded the window, it slipped between the fabric covering the roof. When he secured the roof, the damn furball crawled through the loose floor board. Whenever Shang Tsung looked away just for a moment, the cat was already there, inside his home, eating his food, knocking everything off the table within reach of his paws. He would look straight into human’s eyes, his own cold gaze and thin as needle pupils, and with premeditation would spread destruction just to spite him.

No matter how loud and how long Shang Tsung screamed, the cat did not bulk up at all. If he catched the broom, the cat bristled and hissed, jumped from corner to corner, but had never run away from the cart. When Shang Tsung managed to corner the animal, the bastard did not go quietly either. He would bite and scratch and screech, never giving up, never allowing himself to be intimidated, be it by human or broom or angry curses.

The cat was a menace, an absolute bastard and Shang Tsung hated him, hated everything about him. The sharp teeths and claws that bit and scratched to the blood, the matted, rough fur feeling so strange under his palms, smelling like ash. The cold eyes, always challenging and judging and laughing at his misery and changing its color, from gray to unnaturally ice-blue whenever the night came and shadows fell around them, deeper and deeper plunging the world into darkness before the sun arose again. The little paws that silently carried out the stubborn cat everywhere he was not allowed to be and who smacked him in the nose at the ungodly early hours out of boredom. He hated the animal's wits, its arrogance that made the cat looking down on Shang Tsung, the way his own folks always did as far as he could remember.

He did not want the cat inside his small, pitiful home, didn’t want to risk catching the nasty disease and even more, didn’t want to share the little food that barely was enough to feed him and his ox.

Besides, what was even useful about a cat?

Dogs made sense to him. They wailed their tails when they were happy, barked if a stranger came into territory protected by them and above everything else, once taught well, dogs obeyed their master’s command.

Dogs were useful, easy to interact with. Pat them on the head, fed them, taught who is their master and they served happily, loyal beyond reason.

Cats though? The fur and big eyes were hiding little evil demons inside. You tell them to not touch your things, and the moment you look away for a few seconds, their small pawns will be there already, slowly working to push down everything their eyes lie on. You go to sleep and tell them to get out of your bed, only to wake up plastered to the wall, because the bastards somehow through a night gained an additional half a meter of length and took the whole space for themselves.

No, there was nothing about cats that Shang Tsung liked. Nothing useful to offset moral losses he suffered.

For the next months everything in Shang Tsung’s life revolved around that damned furrball who for whatever crazy reason decided to treat the human’s cart as his own home.

No matter how many times he threw out the animal, it came back. With each passing day, Shang Tsung came up with more devilish traps, one after another. The bastard slipped through each like it was a challenge to prove himself, a great fun in otherwise boring life. And once inside the cart, the cat would regard him with cold, challenging eyes that seemed to always say the same: loser!

(Shang Tsung walked into his own traps sometimes, when the full bladder demanded attention, eyes still sleepy, mind no less tucked in some nice dreams of his. Everytime he fell into his own trap, he cursed the world, gods and nasty cats. And the cold, cold eyes watched in amusement, from shadows like some ancient creature from forgotten tales.

Ages later he would set traps again for no less annoying cryomancer and he would too walk in his own snare sometimes. More deadly than a box falling on the cat, the flying blades were close to cut his own head, the corrosive liquid to melt his skin, muscles and bones, the poison to take away his breath for once and forever. Everytime he almost get himself killed, he cursed world, the gods that fucked up his life and nasty cryomancers. And he felt the cold, cold eyes on his back, watching in amusement, from shadows like some ancient creature from forgotten tales, even if there was no one around, just him and cold darkness.)

Every now and then, Shang Tsung worked on a new invention to alert him about the returning cat. Most of course turned out to be a failure before the animal even showed up. But he once hung strings with many little bells around the door and window, and there was no space to walk between them without making a noise. The plan too of course failed, not because the cat found a magic way to slip inside, but because he loved to smack the bells with his little paws and he would do so, for hours with such passion, with such fury through the whole night, Shang Tsung regretted even thinking about that plan in the first place.

(Ages later he tried to use the little bell on Sub-Zero too.

Shang Tsung worked closely enough with General Shao to know that the best Edenian soldiers could walk silently, yet compared to the cryomancer? They were like noisy kids playing in the mist. One may not see them clearly and immediately, but anyone could hear them, their breaths so loud compared to Lin Kuei, their steps so heavy in contrast to the lightness of an ice killer. Even Grandmaster’s brother, the fiercy fool had more in common with Sub-Zero’s cold grace than any of Shao’s men, including the general himself. The man towered above Shang Tsung like a wild bear and walked ahead like an angry boar. Lin Kuei? For all he knew, they could be cats straight from hell that Liu Kang locked in a human body, the prison of iron muscles and unnatural powers. But even between them, Grandmaster walked shadows like those were his home and maybe they were, for what a better place could be for Liu Kang’s murderous tool to live in all his life?

Shang Tsung admired the easy with cryomancer walked in and out even the most secure places, be it impregnable prison, Empress Mileena’s guarded palace, military camp under Kitana’s watchful eyes or General Shao’s iron hand, or even Quan Chi’s lair in Netherrealm. The man could - and did - infiltrate whatever there was out to challenge his skills, all the places hiding secrets to steal, from enemies and allies alike.

Shang Tsung despited the ease with cryomancer walked his corridors and chambers like the place belonged to him. The easy Sub-Zero walked in on him in his own laboratory when he was so wrapped up in his own work, he did not feel the presence of another man, even though the magic spells put on the place should alarm him and alarm in a violent way hard to miss.

It always happened in similar manners, like a dream repeating itself night after night. The details changed a bit, but the meaning, the sense of horror always stayed the same. Like this:

Shang Tsung was standing at the table, his hands deep inside the guts of the latest experiment, feeling the still living organ wrinkle and tremble in the grip of human fingers, as the flame of life goes out. When he ripped it from the cooling body and looked at the so small, yet so precious part, the red flowing down the arm, sticking to the skin, he savored the moment. Savored the taste of power he had over life and death.

Nitara kept saying how the blood tasted sweet, how much you could learn about living just by testing even the smallest red drop. Blood magic, she called it, eyes always hungry, shining whenever she mentioned it.

The copper smell of blood on his hands caressed his nostrils, encouraged to take a taste, just a small lick. To taste the forbidden magic, to learn the truth hidden in the deep red, heavy liquid. And before Shang Tsung could even think about it, the bloody finger was already touching his lips, a lips opening itself, trembling, ready to taste the forbidden magic ---

“You are truly fucked up” the harsh, deep voice snapped him back into reality and all Shang Tsung could do then was to shiver when he finally felt the cold, unexpected presence behind his back; so close the Grandmaster was standing, looking at the dead body on the table and blooded hand from over Shang Tsung’s own shoulder.

There were plenty of smart words in his head, all the wise and cocky excuses to make, but none had the strength to escape through a constricted throat. The temperature in the laboratory was always lower there than in anywhere in the fortress, and Sub-Zero’s presence made it drop a few degrees more, yet all Shang Tsung felt was a fire in his viscera, spreading to his lung and heart, making breathing so hard and painful. The fire burned his skin, staining the cheeks with a deep scarlet.

The blood on his hand felt now heavier, bitter, stinged like a snake bite. The copper smell suddenly choked the nostrils.

“Didn’t your Damashi warn you about blood magic?” Sub-Zero said walking up to the door, the mockery sharp as his words were cold.

Damashi did, but Damashi lied about many things, and he still did not have any idea, when the damned snake told the truth and when oozed the cruel lies into him. What Shang Tsung however knew for sure was that if Sub-Zero won’t stop walking on him like that, he either will end up scared to death or die out of burning embarrassment. One way or another, his life was in danger and he needed to solve the problem as soon as possible.

And so the next time when the damned cryomancer crept up to him, Shang Tsung tied a small bell around the man’s wrist.

Sub-Zero said no word, only one brew raised up indicating he acknowledged the sorcerer’s action - however did it mean curiosity or surprise, Shang Tsung could not tell with the mask on the cryomancer’s face. Then the man waved his hand slowly, as if he was testing the little bell. Once, twice, three times and each time he moved his arm, the small bell jingled cleanly, such a happy noise compared to the rough demeanor of the cold man.

“Just wear it, so I know you are here” Shang Tsung demanded, because really, the man’s stealthy habits were insufferable.

The brown eyes stared into Shang Tsung’s face for a long moment, before the deep sigh escaped Sub-Zero’s mask and the man untangled the knot only to tie the copper bell to his belt. Then the man walked out without a good bye or fuck you, and each his silent step was accompanied by the loud jingle or two.

“A bit of kindness won’t kill you,” Shang Tsung shouted after the man, suddenly in such high spirit.

The man scoffed but did not turn around and the sorcerer counted that as a hard-won victory and so the big smile did not come out of his mouth for the next few hours.

The first day the sound of the bell was heard mainly from the kitchen and small room with books written in languages he did not know. In all fairness, Shang Tsung had no idea what knowledge was hidden there - after checking a few shelves and deciding there was nothing he could use right away, he lost interest and moved on to other chambers and did not return here up until this day. Now he walked to the room just to see if in fact it was Sub-Zero who made the noise and not some poor animal he tied the bell to, just to mock Shang Tsung.

But no, the cryomancer was there, walking slowly from one shelf to another, not really looking at the books, but touching their ridges, running fingers over the texture. Shang Tsung wondered not for the first time about this weird habit of his, unconsciously following the movement of his palm like in some mystic trance.

But then the hand stopped and so the jingle died.

“What do you want?” Sub-Zero barked, not even turning to look at the intruder. Shang Tsung’s smile widened, but did not touch his eyes.

“You know, I could help you,” he said, walking into the room, slowly circling the man, “if you just tell me what are you looking for…?”

But the man did not answer and after a long moment of silence, Shang Tsung left the man alone. Once he left the room, the jingle could be heard again.

On the second day, the cryomancer was training in the neglected courtyard and he trained from early morning to late night. Shang Tsung sat on the stone steps with a hot cup of tea in a hand. This time Sub-Zero did not pay any attention to the sorcerer, not bothered at all by the presence of a stranger. There was no pause, no hesitation, no word, no boast and no modesty.

The little bell jingled to the rhythm of firm steps, its sound, so pleasant to the ear, followed the movement learned to perfection. Shang Tsung sat on the stone, watched the deadly dance and listened to the copper bell, the tea all forgotten.

On the third day, the sound of a bell came from the farest corridors shrouded in darkness. To hear it at all, the sorcerer needed to strain his hearing, and he did it stubbornly. Maybe Sub-Zero found another room with some suspicious books or he did test all the new traps set in crypt.

Shang Tsung was so pleased with how well his plan was working. Whenever he heard the jingle, be it from a far corridor shrouded in darkness or another room, a sense of security enveloped him. Like yes, he knew too well that danger did not pass at all, for as long Sub-Zero was there the man still could decide to murder him. But he could finally focus on his studies without the cold gaze from the shadows buring holes in his back, without the silent judgment passed without any word.

On the fourth, fifth and sixth day there was no jingle at all, and so Shang Tsung assumed the cryomancer finally returned to his clan and duties of Grandmaster or went out to steal more secrets. It was strange to walk through the cold corridors and not hear the other man around. Silence should not feel so lonely.

On the seventh day, Shang Tsung almost had a heart attack when he was leaving the laboratory only to catch sight of Sub-Zero walking down the hall with another bag of books. The little bell was still tied to the man’s belt, but making no sound. Cryomancer moved a bit slower, more careful, but Shang Tsung doubted many people could see the difference. He did not say a word, too speechless to utter any noise of protest, yet the man turned his head and even from afar Shang Tsung could see the brown eyes shining with satisfaction.

The fucking bastard learned to be even more stealthy than he was and Shang Tsung deeply regretted giving Sub-Zero a bell in the first place.

Gods only knew, if that damned cat decided to reincarnate as the Sub-Zero, just to torment him again.)

The war on the cat intensified as the days went to the desperate point, when Shang Tsung decided to barricade himself in his little home. He looked right and left, checked under the cart and on it and when he was sure the cat was not there yet, he carefully plugged every hole and crack, blocked the doors with boxes containing all his belongings, and covered the windows with shelf boards. Nothing could slip inside.

When he finished his genial plan, the hour was late, but finally, it was just him and the makeshift bed and… cat, that watched all his effort with head tilted and eyes narrowed.

He closed eyes, took a deep breath, two, three, four. But when he opened eyes, the cat was still there, still watching him like the human was some sort of dumbass.

Shang Tsung looked at the barricade, then on the furball, then again on the blocked door and window.

“Just stay at your corner, and I will stick to me”, he barked at the animal, took the blanket and went to bed.

The cat walked to the opposite side, curled up into a ball and surprisingly for once listened.

Deep into the night, the weird noise woke up Shang Tsung. A paw scratching on the furniture. He fell on his side. The scratching grew louder, accompanied by angry meowing. Shang Tsung curled up and covered himself wholly with a blanket.

With each passing minute, the weird noises made by the cat grew stronger, more miserable, annoying.

At first he was pleased with that. How bad that the little bastard can’t get out, serves him right! But then came another, more sober thought. If the cat won’t get out, he will be the one cleaning the mess. That woke him up for good.

Working to move all the furniture blocking the door took him almost ten minutes. The cat urged him all the time with loud meowing, demanding and criticizing in the same tone.

Finally, Shang Tsung opened the door and the cat stuck his muzzle out of the doorway, sniffed the night air, his ear twitched once, twice and then he turned back, jumped into the human bed, and buried himself under a warm blanket.

And Shang Tsung did not have any more energy to be angry.

“Fine bastard, you won,” he said, half sighing, half chucking. “Happy?”

The cold eyes shone under the blanket and the man took it as a yes. And so Shang Tsung gained an additional mouth to feed… and a companion he never asked for.

#mortal kombat #shang tsung #bi han #sub zero #bi han and shang tsung #and cat propaganda #Cracked Mirror of Black Cold Soul #i guess bi han saw the bell and the oh a new challenge kicked in XD #but also i think lin kuei kinda forget they are that good at moving silently because everyone is used to that in their clan #but shang tsung is not and bi han may accept he is freaking out him

16 notes · View notes