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mitsukui · 3 years

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good girl | g.w.

Pairing: George Weasley x female reader.

Summary: stress from the shop is visibly taking its toll on George, so you decide to help him out a little bit. (PART 2! + PART 3!)

Word Count: 1,4k.

Warnings: smut! Spitting kink, face slapping, choking, dirty talk, mentions of oral sex (male receiving) and daddy kink.

Disclaimer: none of the pictures used in the edit below belong to me; I simply put them together.

A/N: this is the first time I’m writing something after a long, long, long pause, so I’m quite nervous about it. (｡╯︵╰｡) I hope you all enjoy it! Please, leave me some feedback if you feel like it! My askbox is open for your opinions, thoughts and requests. Thank you so much for your time and attention! ♡

Masterlist!

His eyes glistened with lust as he looked down at you. You had your body on the floor, thighs placed together with your delicate hands over them. With your eyes closed and tongue stuck out, the sight was almost like a mirage to George Weasley.

“Say it again.” One of his long fingers ran over your jawline, blood pumping through his veins in a rather quick way. He had been entirely bewitched.

Your eyes fluttered open, and it did not take long until his dark brown eyes met yours once more, both of your cravings for each other becoming mixed. “Let me suck your dick. Please.”

The pleading word suddenly sent novel shivers down his spine. He used the rest of his fingers to squeeze your cheeks lightly, enough only to form a pout on your already swollen lips. George loved how your lips looked after he devoured them.

It had all started out as kissing. You had been aching for some intimacy with him the entire week, but he had been exhausted due to the shop. You would never even dream of actually asking him to touch you in a different way than the one he was already touching you. The Holidays were a blessing to the twins, but they were also a curse, draining all of their energy. Your sly eyes did not fail to notice how tense he had been looking for the past few days, so you obviously had to do something about it. And you longed for him and his touch so much that you did not even care about your pleasure anymore. You were certain you would feel better only by hearing him moan.

Earlier that night, you finally got the type of attention you sought from him. It was a Sunday evening, and you bodies were spread across the couch in his flat’s living room. Your tongues easily found each other, and your hips rolled against his as your lips soon began to trail kisses down his neck. At that moment, you had him going.

When you felt him hard under your touch, you broke the contact existing between the two of you, and heard him groaning in disappointment. You allowed your body to fall down on the wooden floor, asking ever so innocently to wrap your lips around him. And now, there you were: looking up at his standing figure, and pleading again.

“Please.” Your tongue ran over your own lips, as a form of seduction and also of bringing back some comfort to you. He was acting slightly weird towards the situation, taking a long time to reply to you. “I know you have been tired, but I just want to help you relieve some tension. We don’t even need to do anything afterwards. I just really need to feel you fucking my face and getting off.”

“Open your mouth.” Once again, it took him a few moments to say anything at all. You were ready to stand up again and apologize for your bold actions and stupid babbling. But then, out of the blue, his voice interrupted the silence. It was deep and demanding, and you loved it.

This time, you did not close your eyes, since your curiosity did not allow you to. You simply opened your mouth in an O-shape, and stuck you tongue out as further as you possibly could.

Honestly, you hoped for him to thrust right inside your mouth. However, when you spotted his yet clothed manhood, you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. And suddenly, you felt something.

A string of saliva traveled out of his mouth towards yours, his tall silhouette leaning down and one of his hands still holding your face. The warm liquid hit your tongue and you moaned unwillingly, surprised by how pleasant that was starting to feel.

His eyes captured the image and let it sink in for one second or two until the moment he ordered you to play with his spit. His instructions, which were voiced out in a breathy whisper, were crystal clear: you had to use your fingers, and you could not swallow it yet.

Quietness hovered over you two briefly, but he groaned once your index finger touched your own tongue, the muscle wrapping around your skin. You hollowed your cheeks as you sucked yourself, your imagination bringing some of your favorite memories back to life. George felt his member twitching inside his trousers and his tip becoming slightly wet.

Truth be told, George was a rather kinky man. And, often times, he would feel embarrassed to share everything with you. But watching you so desperately try to help him gave his insides a new wave of confidence.

Your playtime went on for a little while, but he was soon leaning down again and giving you more saliva. This time, he missed his aim a bit, and a thin string got to your chin. He was captivated by your actions and by how messy this could get.

“Swallow it.” His fingers squeezed your face with more strength as the hot fluid went down your throat. In no time, he let go of your face only for his hand to come down against it, a light slap hitting your skin. Your eyelashes blinked repeatedly out of shock, but you remained quiet. “Good girl. I bet you’re dripping for me already.”

And you were. It was hard to focus on your cunt at that point, especially because the cheek he had slapped was burning. But it was true: when you were able to finally pay attention to how you were feeling and to your own sensations, you realized your panties were heavy with arousal.

“Can you slap me again? A little bit harder this time, please…” You pleaded, and George fulfilled your wishes. A reddish spot was creeping its way to the surface, but you enjoyed the feeling.

This was all very new to you. Your boyfriend had always been pretty dominant with you, but he had never spat in your mouth or slapped your face before. Although it was a new experience, your throbbing cunt was deliciously nourishing desire in your whole body.

“Just look at that…” His deep voice pulled you out of your own trance. Your eyes darted up and met his, which were dark and devious. “My little princess looks so beautiful with a red spot on her cheek. Care to match both cheeks, darling?”

Even though his words were sweet, you felt utterly filthy. Things had escalated pretty rapidly, and you liked them enormously that way.

You slowly offered him your other cheek, the one that still had not received any attention from the delightful violence his hands gave you. His thumb ran over your skin and, for one second, you enjoyed a soft touch. However, that was soon destroyed by the stinging pain that stroke you again.

This last slap hit you hard. He murmured he had to match the color on the other side, so you just needed to be a good girl and bear the pain. Tears welled up to your eyes, but George wiped them away before they could even roll the entire way down your cheeks.

The pool of arousal in your stomach was getting into a tight knot. That moment was supposed to be about him, but you were so turned on by his recently revealed violence that you could not stop your own juices to wet your inner thighs.

“You are such a good girl, sweetheart. Being slapped and not making a fuss out of it. Maybe I should do it more often, hmm?”

You failed to hold back a raspy moan, and he smirked at your reaction. His words echoed in your ears, your head nodding up and down in agreement. You wanted to feel his hand against your skin like that whenever possible.

“Good girl. I’m so proud of you. You look beautiful like that, babe.” Both of his hands now cupped your face as he gently caressed your cheek bones. You closed your eyes at his comforting actions, but you could not lie and pretend you did not want more from him. “I’m gonna fuck your face now, okay? Gonna thrust into your mouth so deep you are going to be unable to speak properly for a while. And you’re gonna take it like the good, little slut you are, yes?”

“Y-Yes, daddy.”

At the mention of the never before used pet name, his breath hitched up in his throat and your eyes watched as he used his free hand to unzip his trousers. The other one was slowly sliding down your body. He kept it on the move until his fingers found your neck. George gave it a not-so-gentle squeeze and you felt air being cut from you, rolling your eyes to the back of your head in pleasure.

“Good girl.”

#george weasley x reader #george weasley imagine #george weasley smut #george weasley #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #🌼 — personal: writings

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valentina-writes · 3 years

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Dying light

Request: anon: Hi um i was wondering if you could do an azriel x reader with 6 from angst and 7 from fluff? i loved starfall btw!

A/N: Awww thank you! I really liked writing this one!

(And I haven't figured out yet how to answer an ask while still being able to add tags, so I'm doing it this way)

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: one curse word

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Spring had always been your favorite time of the year. When the coldness of the winter air disappeared and made room for the sun, a warm breeze and you were able to finally spend time outside again, you were happy. That was until you met her.

Elain was, in every way possible, the incarnation of spring. There was her obvious love for flowers and plants of every kind, her sweet and gentle nature. There was the way she talked, so softly and lady-like. And there was the way she dressed, always in beautiful pastel colored dresses.

You did not hate her, no. The fact that Feyre, one of your closest friends, was her sister, already played a big role. And then she was just so sweet and gentle, that it was essentially impossible to ever want to harm her in any way.

But you did not like her, no. Not at all.

Your aversion for her had started the day you met. It wasn’t fair, you knew that yourself. She had gone through a lot, being turned into a fae and all. But this did not make up for the way she had crossed you in every way possible.

You had always had a thing for the handsome shadowsinger. Maybe it was because you never felt the need to fill the comfortable silence between you with awkward small talk and you always felt good around him. Maybe it was simply because you had been friends for a while and grown closer.

Now, it didn’t matter anymore why you had fallen in love with him. Over the months before you met Elain, Azriel and you had grown closer. You had spent a lot of time training together, just as well as missions you two had completed together. And even in your free time, you always seemed to hover around each other.

But that was a thing of the past. When Elain had entered your life, Azriel had changed. He spent nearly every free minute with her, sitting in the garden or having hushed conversations. When he was training, he now did it with Cassian because your schedules didn’t align anymore due to his time with Elain. He deemed his missions too dangerous for you, too. In short, the only time left for you to see him was when the entire inner circle was there. And even then, he seemed to be naturally drawn towards her.

Today was just like that. You had awoken early in the morning, the sun shining through your window for the first time in weeks. The promise of a warm spring day lingering in the air.

Last night, after telling Rhysand of your problems and drinking some of his wine (and by some you meant quite a lot), he had deemed you unable to return home on your own, so you had stayed over at his townhouse.

You dressed up in a comfortable sweatshirt and grabbed a book and a blanket. On your way into the garden you stopped by in the kitchen to get a mug of hot chocolate. Nobody except for you seemed to be awake already, probably because today was a rare day off.

Out in the garden you sat down under your favorite tree and started reading. The wind was still slightly chilly, but later it would probably become a very warm day.

You weren’t really able to concentrate on your book. First, the sun that shone on your face and warmed every part of it, making you close the book and soak in the warmth. And then, when you opened your eyes again, they fell on the flowers Elain had planted only a few days ago. Your heart clenched at the memory of Azriel kneeling in the dirt next to her, helping her plant these flowers. You were only a heartbeat away from ripping them all out of the ground, when the door to the small garden opened again.

And there she was. Pretty as ever, she walked into the garden, sitting down on a chair. You quickly glanced away from the flowers and opened your book again, pretending to read. The last thing you wanted was to strike up a conversation with her.

She did not greet you and neither did you. She was looking at nothing, her eyes not focusing on anything. Sometimes you wondered if she had gone insane. But then you reminded yourself that, even though she had everything you had always wanted, she still deserved to be treated with some human decency.

Shortly after she had sat down, you heard another rustling coming from the door. For a second you thought about winnowing away. But no. You were curious of what they discussed. Curious of what conversations they kept from you and the others.

You shortly looked up, stealing a glance at Azriel. He looked ethereal the way he sat there, on the small terrace, stretching out his wings and sipping on a mug, his eyes still tired. The burning feeling of jealousy that had been your dear companion for the past months, appeared in your chest. Had he slept here? Had he spent the night with her? You wouldn’t be surprised if he did.

Your cheeks burned as you went back to pretending to read the book. You could not concentrate on anything except for him and the relatively new feeling that arose. Hollowness. You felt so empty inside. You had known him for such a long time, had been sure that he reciprocated your feelings. Now, the only thing that was left was the bond.

Yes, you were sure that what you felt next to your heart was the mating bond. You had felt it snap when he had cleaned your wounds after training with Cassian. Your entire world had shifted when you had looked into his eyes. As if he was the center of your world now, everything else meaningless.

But he had not shown a trace of feeling the same, had not told you that he felt it too. And you were sure that he would have if he did. Shortly after, Elain joined your friend group. Was it possible that your mate did not feel the bond? That it was only there for you? You had asked Rhys this question last night, breaking down in his arms after the others had gone to bed. He had not known the answer. And now you were left more devastated than ever before.

They had started chatting a little bit, but you were unable to catch their words over the chirping of the birds. It was impossible. You wouldn’t gain anything from staying here, looking at what you couldn’t have. It would only make you even sadder.

You risked another glance at him. He was laughing at something Elain had said, his spread wings glowing red and golden in the sunlight. And his eyes … pure joy spoke out of them. You knew you should be feeling happy for him. You knew that he deserved to be happy, even if it wasn’t with you. But the bond next to your aching heart said something else.

For a second, you looked at Elain, the definition of peace and beauty. For a second, you allowed yourself to unleash the entirety of your jealousy and pain, of the sorrow and agony you felt. And for a second, you actually hated her.

In this moment, you did not realize that you had forgotten to build up the barrier around your mind. You did not realize that you had been so overtaken by your feelings that you left the end of the bond, that you assumed was only one-sided anyways, unguarded.

The conversation stopped and over the discarded book you saw Azriel’s head snap in your direction. The look on his face wasn’t angry by any means … it was surprised. And hurt. His shadows began to show again, swirling around him. He knows, you realized. He feels the mating bond too. And he hasn’t said a thing over the last months. This was all you needed to know.

Without caring about what they might think about you, you winnowed away from them, just as your first tear began to build in your eyes. The familiar feeling of nothing and the air being pressed out of your lungs comforted you a little.

You could still feel the sun on your face when you appeared at your destination – the apartment you rented. Most of your days were spent training or making plans with the inner circle anyways, so that you mainly went here to sleep.

Azriel would find you, you were sure of that. It would only be a matter of time – if he wanted to. Most likely he was still sitting in Elain’s nice little garden joking about your sudden departure.

You laid down on your bed, curling up in a ball. Never in the past months had you felt as lonely as you did now. He had known about the bond, had felt it too. And never had he tried to talk about it. Azriel hadn’t even rejected it. Just left it there, hanging in place to remind you of what you couldn’t have.

Not even an hour later you heard a knock on your front door. You didn’t want to open the door for him. And if he would wait there all day long, you wouldn’t care.

The knocking became more prominent and louder. Through the door you heard him calling your name. “Y/n?! I know you are in there”.

At first, it was easy to ignore the pounding on your door. But after a while, you had heard enough. Especially when you felt his presence in the bond.

Groaning out of anger you stood up and strode to the door. You would tell him what you thought of his behavior. And then make sure that he would stay away from you from now on, as much as it hurt you.

You opened the door and there he was, looking just as beautiful as ever, though frowning.

“What do you want?”, you snapped at him, “Go away and leave me alone! I don’t want to talk to you again. Ever”. That was probably a bit too dramatic. But you did not care.

“Please, y/n, let me explain”, he begged. His shadows were nowhere to be seen, a sign of his discomfort. At least he felt as bad about this as you did.

“You still love her, don’t you? You felt the bond, you knew what was going on. But you didn’t even once try to talk to me about it, not once! You didn’t bother, didn’t care about how I was feeling the entire time! And never did you stop spending so much time with her. You are always around her, spending every free minute with her, not wasting a single thought about me. Leave me alone, I don’t want to see you any longer”.

You wanted to slam the door shut, but he reached out and held the door open. His face now looked pained, an expression you hadn’t seen on him in a long time.

“No, listen to me, y/n. I spent time with Elain because she needed me. She needed someone to listen to her and do what she loves with her, to adapt to this new life. Nobody saw the light inside her dying, nobody saw what she was going through, so I helped her. I know all too well what she is feeling like at the moment and I thought you would understand this”.

You wanted to stop him, but he didn’t let you talk. “Yes, I felt the bond. I don’t know how long you have felt it, but … it’s been there a while already for me. I wanted to talk about it, yes, I did. But shortly after Elain and Nesta joined us you started being so absent. You never talked to me, left the room when Elain and I entered it. I figured you didn’t like me back. That you just ignored the bond or wanted to reject it but hadn’t told me yet”.

You looked at him, not yet completely convinced. “I don’t believe you”, you said, “The way you look at her … the way you talk to each other, spend every free minute together. You always went out of your way for her. But never for me. When was our last training session together? When have we had our last conversation without the others? When have we been on a mission for the last time? I can remember each of those last occasions. You stopped noticing me after she appeared”.

“Her and me are just friends. Can’t you see it’s you I love?”, he asked. You stared at him in shock.

“Yes, y/n, I love you. And I know I fucked up, I know that I should have spoken to you earlier and I know that we didn’t spend as much time together as we used to. But has it ever occurred to you, that I felt the same way you did? It’s not just my fault that we stopped being friends. I waited for you. Some days I sat there and waited for you to join me training. I waited until I couldn’t take it anymore. And then I went to talk to Elain, because she was the only one who would listen to my problems”.

You didn’t know what to say. For the first time you thought about your behavior during the last months – and realized that he was right. He had spent a lot of time with her. But when he entered the room, when you crossed each other’s path in the hallway, you had fled every single time.

His shadows hid his face from your sight now, as he opened the barrier that shielded his mind from the mating bond. There was pain and sadness and anger radiating off of him. You stumbled backwards, because even though you hadn’t accepted the bond yet, the intensity of his feelings was too much to handle.

Gasping, you stood there, searching for the right words. “I… I’m sorry. I didn’t see what you felt, I didn’t know I hurt you so much. The only thing I could think of was how perfect she is and how much better than me. How lucky I should be for you that you found someone. Everyday I wondered if the Mother had cursed me, if it was my fate to love someone for eternity who doesn’t love me back. Everyday I became angrier about the way you looked at each other, the way she touched or hugged you”. This conversation had turned into something you hadn’t planned, something you would’ve never thought possible.

Azriel lifted his shadows again, his face, for the first time you could remember, showing many emotions at once. Tears in his eyes, but his gaze so loving. Still frowning, but his lips already showing a hint of a smile.

You took him by his arm and pulled him inside, slamming the door shut. Without wasting another second, he crashed his lips against yours, pushing you against the wall. You stood there, kissing and soaking in the closeness for a long time. Azriel kisses were so sensual and full of pure love, that after a while you were both gasping for air. Nothing could have prepared you for the intensity of kissing your mate after so many months of yearning and fear.

Your mate. Your mate. Your mate. You couldn’t even comprehend that this was real. That he loved you too and wanted to spend eternity with you. Your mate.

“Do you want to come inside? I mean the hallway is not a really nice place”, you breathlessly whispered. At the grin that spread on his face you just said: “But I’m not gonna cook for you – yet”.

Azriel kissed you one last time, then let you go to lead the way. “No need to rush anything. We have got all time in the world”. And damn yes, you did.

#azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel fluff #azriel angst #azriel imagine #azriel writing

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littlewetbeast · 3 years

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hi! i love your tumblr fics/writing in general… sending you so much love and appreciation! if you’re taking requests and if the mood takes you… do you think you could write something about dean’s lack of hunger? i’m obsessed with it as a concept, it’s fascinating! i don’t think we talk about it enough :( happy 4th july!

Note: timeline is a bit muddy - set roughly in kripke & gamble era, s4-s7. Warning: very vaguely NSFW, depressive and suicidal feelings Word count: 2k

It’s always the little things that end up getting to him, in the end. The server glances at his unfinished plate of food, and with a tilt of her head says, “Not to your liking, honey?” He stills. A tight sensation coils in his stomach. “I’m good,” Dean says, flashing her a smile, willing every muscle to relax. “Just had a big lunch.” He pats his stomach for show. She nods, leaving it at that, and brings him his bill. Dean reminds himself that there is no need to check around the diner to see if anyone heard it. He rubs his greasy fingers on the napkin and downs the rest of his beer, leaving an extra large tip with the odd hope that it will, somehow, quell the unease deep in his gut. It doesn’t. Then again, nothing ever does.

* * *

The reality is - he gets the urges. He gets the pangs of hunger and the dry-mouthed thirst; the deep aches for rest; the need for an extra long shower with his hands on himself, gritting his teeth to bite back the noise. Dean has basic desires and fleeting wants. All of them remain only surface-deep - they never soothe the gaping void in his chest, or the sensation that he is rotting from the inside out. Dean tried to explain it to Sam once. After seeing the way his mouth twisted with pity while he listened, he vowed never to bring it up again. He peers into his drink, his tongue darting out to wet his numbing lips while he drums his fingers absently against the glass. Dean’s not sure how many he’s had now, but he has enough muscle control that as he waves down the bartender for another one, he isn’t met with protest. It takes him far too long to realise someone has appeared on the stool next to him. Mind moving sluggishly, he realises that the stillness with which they arrived means they can only be one person. “Not seen you in a while,” Dean says, still looking into his drink, eyeing the sorry drop that’s left. “Hello, Dean,” Cas says, voice low. Dean knows for sure he’s had too much now, because the sound of him instantly sends a flush across his cheeks, one he can’t blame solely on the alcohol. He lifts the glass to pour the last drop onto his tongue, for something to do.

“How’s all that angel crap going?” Dean says as he sets the glass back down, not bothering to dampen the slur of his voice as the bartender brings him his next drink. “It’s fine,” Cas says, a little curtly. He shifts on the stool, half-turning against him. “Sam wondered where you’d gone.” Dean snorts and takes another sip of his drink. “He sent a babysitter.” “He’s been worried about you,” Cas says. Dean hums, licking his lips again. “I’m fine, Cas,” he says. He turns towards him, roaming his eyes across him lazily, then grins, big and toothy. “I’m wonderful. Peachy. Having a swell ol’ time.” As if to prove it, he lifts the glass up with a jerk, inadvertently sloshing some of the liquid onto his fingers. He swears and puts it down on the napkin, sloppily licking his fingers. Dean only barely has enough self-control to stop himself from making a sensual show of it.

Cas doesn’t say anything. Dean can feel the weight of his gaze, but he now feels unable to look at him. After a moment, he hears Cas call the bartender over. “Whatever he’s having, please,” he says.

Dean feels himself sink into the seat, releasing tension in his body he hadn’t even known was there. As Cas receives his drink and lifts it to his lips, Dean watches. He’s too drunk now to be able to look away; the willpower it takes is already challenging while sober. Cas maintains eye contact as he takes a sip, and something in his eyes keeps Dean’s gaze locked to him. The urges, as always, are there - even if they are inhabiting a dead man.

He’s starting to feel the latent effects of the previous drinks now, buzzing underneath the surface of his skin. Dean takes another long sip, relishing the burn of it at the back of the throat, and Cas doesn’t say anything more. He remains a warm, solid form next to him as they drink. None of them push each other further, and Dean is grateful for it. By the time the glass is empty, the full effects of the alcohol is working its way through his body, sending the room into a hazy spin, with Cas being the only steady thing left. Dean vaguely registers being taken out of the bar, feeling the bite of the night air on his skin, cooling the warmth on his cheeks.

“I’m not really hungry, Cas,” Dean says, eventually, as he begins to register his feet moving under him. “You’re not making any sense,” Cas says, his breath hot in his ear. Dean desperately wants to lean into it. He realises now that he’s been talking for a while.

“I told you,” Dean says, “I’m not really hungry.” He laughs, a sharp bark that punctures the still midnight air. “You’re upset because you’re not hungry,” Cas says slowly. Dean snorts inelegantly. “Dude,” he says, “I’m upset because you fucked up.” He disentangles himself from Cas from a second, and realises swiftly his mistake as he wobbles around, waving his arm at something to grab at. Eventually, his arm is clasped by Cas, bringing them together again. Dean makes a half-hearted attempt to separate himself from him, but there is nothing solid around to steady him except for Cas. He feels giddy now, inane laughter bubbling up from his chest. “I’m not all here, man,” Dean says. “There’s something missing.” A bizarre thought occurs to him. “I’m not soulless, am I?” “No, Dean,” Cas says. Dean shakes his head. “You angels ever get that feeling where,” he snaps his fingers, clumsily, “you keep worrying you’ve left the oven on?” “No,” Cas says. “Well, it’s like that,” Dean says, swinging his finger emphatically. “You did that. Except it was me. I was the oven.” They shuffle along quietly for a moment, Dean slumped into Cas, pulling back every urge to nuzzle into his neck. “I’m very confused by this metaphor,” Cas says eventually. “Yeah, ‘cause you’re the one who left it on,” Dean says, as if explaining to a toddler. “I see,” Cas says, resignation laced in his voice.

This time, Dean can’t help but nuzzle into him. “I should be pissed at you, you know,” Dean says into his ear.

Cas doesn’t say anything, seemingly focused entirely now on keeping Dean upright, urging him to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Dean wonders if Cas ever expected himself to be abandoning his heavenly missions in favour of dragging a drunk man home. “No,” Cas says. Dean realises he’s saying everything out loud, and snaps his mouth shut. “Hey,” Dean says, deliberately this time. “Why aren’t you, uh,” he frowns, and makes his one free hand flap like a bird, “you know, just flying me back?” “Not sure how the effects would be on someone this inebriated,” Cas says. “Keys, Dean.” “We should go to Hawaii or something. Get a couple of drinks there,” Dean says. “Dean,” Cas repeats firmly. “The motel keys.” Then he starts patting Dean’s jacket down, and Dean sways in place, focused now entirely on keeping his head cool while Cas’ hands move all over him. He pulls the keys from his jean pocket, his hand far too close to Dean’s crotch for his liking, and they jingle as Cas unlocks the room. The giddiness deflates from Dean’s chest as he remembers, suddenly, why he’s here. How he had left Sam with a mumbled excuse, booked a room for just himself, because he could no longer bear how the hollowness had grown to a gaping hole in his chest; or how he had the overwhelming sensation of being nothing but a puppet, an empty vessel that was simply being manouvered into doing things he was supposed to. Drinking, sleeping, eating, hunting, teasing Sammy, flirting with girls - all things he had done before spending a lifetime in hell. He does all the same things, but they are no longer the same. This time, Dean Winchester is no longer there. He died a long time ago. “Dean?” He looks up, and realises he’s gone still in the doorway, and the image focuses slowly in his eyes. Cas is watching him with his brows furrowed together, his mouth set in a worried line. Dean feels like he should laugh again, but there is nothing left in him now but what remains at the core of him - a deep, aching nothingness. Dean swings the door shut behind him, and Cas reaches out to him as he attempts to stand on his own two wobbly feet. Smiling thinly, Dean says, “I’m all wrong.” With effort, he tugs the jacket off. It feels like it’s wound tightly around every limb, refusing to let go, but eventually he manages to peel it off. “You left a piece of me down there in the pit,” Dean says, and huffs a dry, humourless laugh. “You left the damn oven on.” For a moment, Cas says nothing. He hovers a half-step close to him, and they stand quietly while Dean’s breaths get thick and raspy, his hands trembling by his sides. “You gotta fix this shit,” he bites out, and he feels his cheeks have turned hot and wet. Dean braves the journey to the bed, with Cas’ hands securing him by his side, and he slumps down heavily on it. “You gotta,” he presses the palms of his hands into his eyes, drawing in a shaky breath, “You gotta fix this, Cas.”

He breathes into his hands, both covering his face, and he draws in a breath, then another, his whole body trembling. “I can’t do it anymore,” he says, his voice small, breaking at the end. “I can’t go on anymore, Cas.”

Dean’s hands are gripped by something warm and soft. Cas’ hands are pulling them gently away from his face, and placing them on his knees. He doesn’t make a move as Cas tenderly brushes away the tears streaking down his cheeks. He doesn’t protest as he cups his face. Distantly, he wonders if anyone has ever touched him like this, and comes up short. Cas is just inches from him, his eyes watching him like he wants nothing more than to draw out every bit of pain and ache Dean has ever experienced. Dean is gripped by the notion that he could lean forward and kiss Cas right now. It’s not the first time he’s thought it, but it’s the first time he’s let himself seriously consider it. “You need to get some sleep, Dean,” Cas says. His voice is barely a whisper off his lips.

Dean feels Cas’ hand over his forehead, and for a brief moment, he wonders if it is normal for angels to have a touch that is so unbearably tender, as if they can pour love into their skin. He feels as if something warm has filled his chest, the dry ache smoothed away, the sensation of something like peace. For one insane moment, he wants to tell Cas he loves him. He doesn’t.

Instead, he sleeps.

* * *

When Dean awakes the next morning, he thinks for the briefest of seconds that he can see a dip in the mattress, fresh from the weight of a body. As he rubs the sleep out of his eyes and shakes himself awake, he remembers that he is alone.

Dean reaches out for his phone, clumsily plugs it into his charger and waits impatiently for the screen to finally light up in a glow. He calls Sam, who has left five increasingly panicked voice messages on his phone. He ribs him mercilessly for it - What are you, an old man? Send a text like everyone else! - and then lets him know his phone had died over the night. There, nothing to be worried about.

The events of the past day feel foggy, courtesy of the hangover. Despite that, when Dean looks up in the bathroom mirror, he finds himself looking refreshed. He feels lighter than he has in years. Later, he tells Sam that he clearly needs to take more vacations away from his griping, and receives a half-hearted punch to his shoulder. "I prayed to Cas, you know," Sam says, looking at his hands. "He must be busy. Didn't answer." Dean huffs, sipping his coffee. "God, you're such a drama queen. Can't survive without your big brother for one day." "Shut up, jerk." "Bitch." Sam sends him a look, but he doesn't say more - he changes the topic, and that's that. Dean drinks his coffee as he half-listens to Sam filling him in on a new case, and he tries to recall when he last saw Cas. He wonders, briefly, if he should pray to him. His stomach flutters traitorously at the thought, and Dean swallows thickly, deciding against it.

He swirls around the remaining coffee in his cup, rubbing his chest absently, and wonders at the ache that has settled there now. Distantly, he reaches for the broken pieces of an old memory, a lingering sensation of a warm palm to his forehead.

#fic prompt #unbetaed #rosa writes #deancas #destiel #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic #thank you so much for this AWESOME prompt anon #not sure i did it a sliver of justice but i loved the concept

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miracle-sham · 3 years

Text

Yet So Poison Entwined We Fracture.

| {Jasonette July 2021, Saturday Challenge 1: Hurt No Comfort} |

| It all went wrong so quickly. Marinette thought she could trust Jason, that he'd never betray her. And Jason thought the same. But with a truth-serum turned poison seeping through their veins, neither had thought to look for the purple feathers. |

| Word Count: 1,706. |

———

| A/N: I'll try and keep this short and sweet but it's nice to dip back into writing for Maribat, I really missed it whilst I was gone. Also I've now got a author's channel in MGI where I sometimes put title sneak peaks, snippets, and random au ramblings, so y'know feel free to pop into the channel and have a gander if you'd fancy! And one last thing, keen eyes may have noticed I've added a Spotify Playlist Link, it contains all the songs I listened to when working on this oneshot, if you're curious! |

| If you want to be tagged in future oneshots/fics or a specific Au, then feel free to send me a dm and or ask! |

| Also side note, Don’t Like? Don’t Read. Also also, please do not criticise any of my writing. This was written for fun and receiving criticism, even in a compliment/criticism sandwich, is the exact opposite of fun. |

———

Marinette staggers back, clutching at her bloodied side as the world spins for a moment and everything blurs. Breath catches in her throat as a sharp pang of betrayal pierces her heart, tears springing to the corners of her eyes unbidden. Whimpering, she barely manages to cry out, “J–Jason?”

Heartbreak coating his name like the truth serum-poison making its way through her system at this very moment.

She makes an awful choking noise and collapses to her knees, scrunching her face up and wheezing. Barely is she able to keep her eyes open, fixated on staring at someone she thought she could trust.

Smirking lazily, Jason saunters up to her, crouches and then grabs her face by the chin, forcing her to tilt her head up to continue staring at him in the eyes. “Aw, did you really fucking think I cared about you this entire time?”

Marinette swallows thickly—unable to conjure up a response to him. Black spots start to form in the corner of her vision like watching a spattering of embers burning away on a piece of paper.

He tilts his head to the side and snorts, “really? Nothing to say, no heartfelt "I trusted you!" or "you're lying!". Not even a "I know the real you is still in there?", how fucking pathetic.”

There's a small part of her brain that starts flashing red lights and wailing alarms—warning her that she's in danger, that she's hurt, that she's stopped breathing. She can't breathe, can't move, can't say anything or she'll spill all her remaining secrets.

Jason sighs and drops her chin. “And here I fucking thought your shitty-ass reaction to me betraying you would be more fun.”

Grimacing, she waits a heartbeat after he lets go before mustering all her strength to slam her skull into his—if I'm going down, you're coming with me for this, Marinette mentally vows.

There's a horrendous thwacking sound as the impact lands, and Marinette feels as though her brain has turned into a blender that just had its blades snap mid blend.

Jason, on the other hand, flings himself backwards and curses up a storm. He pulls out one of his guns and with dizzying vision, manages to shoot a bullet that just clips the uninjured side of her ribs. “That's what you fucking get for that you bitch!”

Marinette doubles over as the pain seems to ricochet through her; vision blacking out completely. She struggles for breath, her hearing cutting off not a second later. Objectively, she's aware she's not alone. But as her senses shut down one by one, leaving her helplessly trapped in her own mind, she can't help but wonder why her heart aches with loneliness. I'm sorry, she silently apologises to no one and everyone.

Distantly, she thinks she's swaying—or collapsing again maybe. But it's hard to tell, it's disorientating trying to focus on the world with dying senses.

Marinette is lost. Every little movement, every little thought—it's agony, a struggle to keep going, keep holding on. Once more, she silently pleas for forgiveness from the kwami.

She stops.

Stops breathing. Heart stops beating. Stops fighting. It all stops.

At least this way, she thinks to herself, I can't spill any secrets from the truth serum-poison if I carry them to the grave instead…

She sinks into the darkness, clinging to her final thought in numb relief as she does so. Everything fades away.

———

Jason groans as the knife Marinette is wielding digs deeper between his ribs.

She doesn't move back immediately, so he grits his teeth and roundhouse kicks at her—the heavy thump of collision makes his wound burn like acid has just been poured on it.

He's a few seconds too slow pulling his leg back, as Marinette slices the knife through his calf.

“Fuck!” He bites out, throwing himself further out of her range and breathing. “Marinette!”

With the gall to smile faux-innocently, she plays with the knife in her hand, slipping it between her fingers and swirling it about. “Yes, Jason?”

“The fuck are you doing!?” He growls, shifting his position when she doesn't move to apply pressure to the calf wound.

She shrugs, seemingly unbothered, “what? Did you really think this wouldn't happen one day? That I wouldn't get sick of you. Show you just how much you've hurt me the entire time we've known each other?”

Jason spits blood from his mouth at the warehouse floor in front of her. “I don't believe whatever shit you're being made to spew, but I sure as fucking hell know that you'd never do something as fucked up as this.”

“Oh, that's cute! You still believe in me. What's next, are you going to beg me to come to my senses? Are you going to cry my name and hope it changes my mind? Are you going to declare that the "real" me is still there inside and that you're going to save me?” Marinette giggles, high-pitched and yet hollow sounding.

Jason flinches at the sound, breathing stuttering as the poison from her knife starts to really seep in. Shit, he thinks to himself, truth serum-poison. If I'm not careful I'm gonna say shit that should stay secret.

A flash of silver catches the edge of his vision. And it's all the warning he gets. He immediately ducks and rolls, cursing under his breath as his wounds are aggravated. The air by his hair swooshes as the blade just narrowly misses.

Marinette giggles taper off into a hiss of fury. Her hair slips out of her pigtails from the constant movement, and multiple strands fall in front of her face. She huffs, ineffectively blowing them out of the way. “Did you really think I ever loved you?”

“Yes!” The words are choked out of his mouth before he can even think, the truth serum-poison kicking in hard and fast. Jason wheezes and the taste of iron lingers like malice in his throat. Fuck, he thinks desperately, I'm running out of time and Marinette isn't snapping out of whatever the fuck's been done to her.

He stumbles into another roll, as the blade comes swinging at him again. His vision blurts violently, and the next thing Jason knows—is that his view has suddenly tipped upside down and that there's a throbbing ache radiating from the back of his shoulders and head.

“Huh, you really do have a thick skull. Normally that'd be enough to knock anyone else out. Well, I guess I'll have to do this the old fashioned way.” Marinette rambles, pulling out a rag.

Jason grunts as he pushes himself only to be slammed back into the concrete warehouse floor, rag pressed firmly over his mouth and nose.

He thrashes and refuses to inhale. Marinette scowls and kicks him sharply into the ribs, causing him to gasp through gritted teeth. But it's enough to affect him.

His vision teeters then flickers to black, he can feel his movements slowing—becoming more and more sluggish until he's as still as he was in that fucking coffin he's had to crawl out of once before. At least, he barely manages to cling to the final thought, I can't spill any secrets if I carry them to the grave once more.

And then it all fades away.

———

Lila steeples her finger and smirks. She's sitting in her plain white office for the Agreste, three monitors set up before her on the desk. The middle screen shows her emails and a few tabs up on fashion for work-related reasons. The outer two screens, however, show the feed to two identical cells—two by four by five metres with cement floors and grey brick walls, no windows and a single plain black metal door. No furniture either, not even beds or toilets, just chains attached to the wall opposite the door. And in the chains is what has Lila so very happy indeed; Marinette and Jason, one in each cell and both stuck in the chains with no hope for escape.

A steady pool of blood has already formed beneath the both of them, thanks to the wonderful work of her Sentimonster duplicates of the two.

Lila can't help but monologue in her glee, “It's so excellently simple really. Even if one escapes, there's no way they'll help the other escape now. Now they've experienced the pain of betrayal and torture inflicted by the other!”

Footsteps approach the door to her office; all it takes is a quick click and click of the mouse and her two outer screen feeds flip to showing more work-related tabs and emails.

The door opens to reveal Adrien, slightly dishevelled—hair and shirt ruffled, eyes red with dark bags beneath them, and shiny tear streaks down his cheeks—he stands in the threshold, shaking. “Did you know?”

Lila smiles in fake confusion. “Know what?”

Adrien swallows, gaze flickering to her screens. “Marinette's dead. So is Jason.”

Lila tilts her head to the side to make it look as though she's thinking. “The Wayne boy that was close to her, right? Oh dear.”

His tired gaze turns back to Lila as he continues. “They think both of them were kidnapped and tortured separately. Police have found traces of an altered truth-serum among the bloodstains and…” He chokes for a second, grief plain as day across his face. “and they found pieces of fingers, ears, slices of skin, and all.”

“Oh, oh, that's horrible!” Lila gasps, covering her mouth with her hands to hide the victorious curl forming on her lips. “Have they found out who was cruel enough to do that to them yet?”

Adrien shakes his head silently.

“Hopefully, the culprit will be found soon. But if you need any support, I'll always be here for you, Adrien!” Lila gravely announces, bobbing her head slightly as she spoke.

He narrows his eyes at her, shakes his head, and then stalks away from her office.

She scowls as soon as his back turns and gets up to shut her door. “Well,” She says to herself as she flips back to the cell feed, “at least that means I'll have plenty of time to pull the secrets from you two without the police thinking to look for you alive.”

———

| Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little oneshot! Comments, likes, and reblogs are much appreciated! |

| Also feel free to send me any asks or comments with any questions you have regarding this oneshot, I'll be more than happy to answer! |

| @jasonette-july-event |

#Maribat #DC x MLB #MLB x DC #Jasonette #Jasonette July #JasMari #MariJay #Marinette x Jason #Jason x Marinette #Jasonette July 2021 #Jasonette July Saturday Challenge #Jasonette July Hurt No Comfort #Yet So Poison Entwined We Fracture #YSPEWF #Sham's Posts #Sham's Writing #Sham's Fics

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createandconstruct · 3 years

Note

Wait, Garland

So. I started this reply, worked on it for two hours, and then moved my window and tumblr eviscerated most of it. Safe to say after that I had to mourn what I lost for a bit. I hope I can channel my original thoughts and words! Maybe it’ll be even better? We’ll see!

Anyway let’s talk about the wrinkly genome himself. Buckle up this one’s a doozy (enjoy some required reading music that fits the man of the hour).

favorite thing about them:

His design. This all knowing watchful eye of Terra is as lifeless as he is old. His eyes are blank and empty. His face is withered. His body, without the imposing cape, is like an emancipated black skeleton, where at its center lies the only light and color of Garland’s entire form. He is entirely black and white, except for the red glowing sphere at his center. At first look when I saw it I felt that it’s very much a metaphor for the role designated to him by the Terrans. In Garland’s chest lies the red glow of Terra, the exposed ribs of his black, armorlike chest, keep it within - protecting and hiding it from the outside world of Gaia. Until the time is right. Garland is nothing more than what the Terrans made him to be. An eternal servant that takes every breath for the protection of Terra as that is the reason he was given for living. Every inch of his body was designed for such purpose. Its only right he was designed to aware like a living cage, protecting that last flickers of Terra and its souls that lie within.

On that note let’s look at his design another way. Terra’s revival is Garland’s only reason for living. Zidane questions Garland’s own wants and desires to which he can only claim they are the restoration of Terra and its souls. He has nothing except the words he was fed by the Terrans millennia ago. Garland is the true hollow shell of a man you find in the remains of Terra. He is worn, withered, and ancient. He has lived so long for one reason only, a reason that was never even his own. The light of Terra - the light of the selfish, arrogant, and greedy souls of Terra - are stuck within his opened chest, powering him like an exposed heart or soul. Terra is his power source. Garland cannot rest. He was not created to rest. He was created to follow the reasons the Terrans gave him for his existence. (I exist only to kill) Garland exists and has existed unable to find his own reason for living - Terra’s forever trapped within him. A constant reminder. On the outside, Garland has withered away through his taste of eternity, while Terra’s light has remained strong within him, still forcing, powering, and pulling him forward to the ultimate goal. Perhaps that’s why Garland is only able to voice his own thoughts in death (even calling their failures towards their planet arrogant, and reflecting positively on his chance at existence despite his purpose), after the light of Terra inside him has finally gone out and he is beyond his creators’ reach.

Though, my final, and favorite, interpretation of his design begs a question… are there truly even any Terrans left? Memories and experiences make the soul, FFIX tells us. Garland cannot take Zidane’s soul from him as his soul is no longer the power source Garland gifted him. It is the laughter, tears, and memories Zidane shared with his loved ones on Gaia. Zidane is of Gaia. He is Gaian. So then who is Terran? The genomes, even Kuja, are not of Terra. Not the true Terra, anyway. The Terra the sleeping souls tried to preserve in the face of mortality and the wasting away that comes with time. The people we see are from the planet’s remains. The true Terrans are those who know the history, who know the culture, who lived and walked and experienced the planet when it was its own, and not a parasite latched inside another. The genomes know nothing of these things. If we call them “Terrans” it’s only because they were created on the fragments that were left inside of Gaia. In reality the Genomes were finally born on Gaia, once they began to experience - began to create memories of their own. There’s a reason Terra’s water does no flow. The world we visit within Gaia is just a frozen memory of a long dead planet.

And when those sleeping souls of Terra... when they finally arise will they even be Terran? They will have no memories of the planet or crystal where they originally cycled. Even if Gaia was assimilated, they will have bodies born on the planet of Gaia, where only remains of Terra lie, from the failed merging of the crystals. Even if the crystal of Gaia turns red the memories of these new “Terrans” will be of their new planet. They will essentially be Gaian and will likely consider themselves so as there is no plan to pass down memories to these new people from Garland. Garland is restoring the Terran souls into a new cycle, as if trying to return things to how they were before Terra’s death. It’s like a child trying to get a deceased loved one to play or react to them like they always do, not understanding things will never be like that again. Garland can never truly restore Terra or the Terrans to the they were. Those people, the original Terrans, even if their souls remain, have been lost to death and time. Perhaps their memories could have been passed on much like Vivi’s at the end of the game but because they were so desperate to ensure that their “superior” life, history, culture, and race endured forever, they lost the chance to truly persevere such things by passing it down to others in the present for the future. Instead such things were lost when they tried to allow themselves to endure by erasing the life from another planet.

All this is to say that, the only true Terrans are those who hold one of their souls, who know the history, and the culture and the only such person who exists, is Garland. He is the last true Terran. The remains of Terra have been cast with the blue of Gaia’s light. The Terra we see, that we visit? That’s not Terra. Terra is gone. Only one of its people remains. And the tragedy is that while Garland says his goal is to restore Terra, he’s going about it in the wrong way. In reality, Garland, an almost immortal being, who carries the last true light of Terra within himself, always had the means to truly preserve Terra and its people’s memories: by simply sharing them with the future. Instead, the Terrans doomed Garland and their planet with their plans of grandeur and eternity. A doomed fate that follows all who attempt to escape death. Which is why it is perhaps so appropriate that when Kuja destroys the remains of Terra within Gaia it is only fitting that Garland has died along with them too.

least favorite thing about them:

Like Kuja, as an antagonist, there’s a lot to dislike about Garland, but that’s intentional. He’s a good villain, I like him. I rather mention something that kinda annoys me writing wise? Not even annoying, just something that gave me a raised brow the first time I played the game and now gives me a headache the more I think about it: Omnipresent Garland voice.

Now Garland speaking to Zidane in Memoria I can deal with. It can make sense, even though it’s not explained. He’s a timeless being who existed before the current civilization on Gaia began. You could argue through his soul experimentation and millennia existence he has found a way to keep a level of consciousness as his own soul travels to the crystal. We know the cycle of souls is slower due to the manipulation of the crystal by Garland so it makes sense his souls is traveling slowly in the cycle towards the crystal after his death, allowing him to find Zidane and chat. Its also an interesting parallel of Zidane and co. traveling through Memoria, deeper into the crystal, while Garland’s souls travels too. Memoria is almost like Garland’s 5000 year life flashing before his eyes. Until he eventually reaches the end. The void of space. Perhaps the void of death. It’s the place his voice finally leaves Zidane. Is Garland’s voice disappearing into that void an indication of him stuck in a purgatory like state? Never return to a crystal? Or perhaps that void is the end of himself (of his consciousness), as we know him, but his soul continues on like Zidane and the others do as he is accepted into the cycle of Gaia’s Crystal? Whatever the case I can deal with Garland’s bodiless voice in the end game. I like it honestly.

What bothers me a bit is Garland’s voice appearing right after Kuja kicks him off the cliff. I get it. Kuja has to feel on top of the world before he spirals and crashes. He finishes off Garland and gets to dance about in victorious glee only before Garland’s voice resounds in everyone’s heads. His presence still lingering even after death to inform Kuja of his own impending fate. But it’s still a little jarring when it happens the first time you play it. Garland falls to his death and then he’s telepathing through the force. There’s a moment of “wait he’s alive?” then “wait he’s not” and then “how’s he doing this?” It can take you out of the scene which should very much be about Kuja. This is very much a nitpick and something that can be explained away because of Garland’s character and capabilities but whenever I play I’m like oh here comes ghost Garland. Though maybe it’s better to think that Garland actually did survive the fall and as he lies dying in the abyss beneath Pandemonium, with his remaining strength, he speaks to Kuja and others in the same way Kuja speaks to Mikoto and Zidane at the end of the game. Yeah I like that. Seems I fixed my own gripe. And now the essays are over and we can get to the fun stuff.

favorite line: I have some favorite villain lines of Garland and some favorite sentimental post-Mufasa’d-Garland lines. We’ll start with villain: "Forget all that. You are destined to live among the stars for all eternity.” I love this line, it’s kinda haunting that this is not just Garland’s motive but the motive of the Terrans. I then love Zidane’s retort. Their whole back and forth is just William Shatner Shakespeare drama father vs very angry teenage theater kid son. Number 2: "Don't you know what it means to meet your maker?" Something about this line real hits home the clashing between Zidane and Garland in Pandemonium. It always stood out to me, especially the first time I played. It’s the first thing that comes to mind when I think of Garland. He is Zidane’s creator who was so ready to erase him with barely a snap of his fingers. As for sentimental lines, I’m predictable: “Zidane… take care of Kuja.” and “Even if I were created to serve one purpose alone, I do not regret being born to this world." Shout out to - despite my earlier ravings - Garland’s narration over the scenes in Memoria. When you encounter each memory and then get the fade to black with his objective description, it’s like the souls who have experienced each memory I talking through him. Both Terran and Gaian.

brOTP: Garland has no bros. He has no friends. Though I would have liked to see Mikoto and Garland interact. I wonder what her feelings were towards him as she was his third project, a last resort, who would easily be replaced if she went wrong in the same way Zidane replaced Kuja, and she replaced Zidane.

OTP: Garland x the eternal sleep

nOTP: Do people even ship Garland with anyone

random headcanon: I always thought that after Garland attempted to steal Zidane's soul he carried him in his arms to inside of Pandemonium and placed him in that chair. It felt disturbing and poetic to me. This idea that when Zidane is at his most vulnerable - his soul literally being pulled from his flesh - Garland, his creator, carries him away like a father would a son. Yet Garland brings Zidane to the deepest part of Pandemonium to place him on a throne where he’ll sit alone, as everything that makes Zidane, Zidane, slowly slips away. A creator - a father in some sense - drops his son into solitude never expecting Zidane’s true family to come through, reigniting Zidane’s very soul. Perhaps at that point when they come to face him, Garland already had an inclination he’d lose.

unpopular opinion: Not sure I have an unpopular one? Something I realized though is Kuja’s purple/silver/white hair may very well be his natural color as it matches Garland’s hair. I’d like to think that Kuja, as Garland’s first unique, soul-filled genome, was created in Garland’s image. Garlands also a great villain who is built up well by the entire game and he does not come out of nowhere. That may be a hot take for the non-ffix appreciators

song i associate with them: Copied City by Keigo Hoashi and of course, Toccata and Fugue in D Minor (though this piece also has a distinctly dramatic Kuja vibe as well). If Garland got his own unique boss theme I’d imagine it being something dramatically played on the organ. Though nothing fits Garland like and Mourning by Keiichi Okabe. This piece is just incredible in general but it's insanely powerful and well, mournful. (And you KNOW WHAT I just found the ARRANGED piece of mourning and hOLY ORGAN: Mourning Arranged by Sachiko Miyano. I am now adding it as required reading music for this post.)

favorite picture of them: This piece by @spoonybart is haunting. The colors and lighting form the center glow of Garland’s chest really give him the other worldly and imposing presence he has in game.

Also this art by @oeilvert Literally so incredible. It is ingrained in my experience of playing FFIX for the first time. When I got to Terra and experienced Pandemonium for the first time I went searching for art that captured my feelings and found this piece. It is perfect.

And then there’s this piece by もりもり on pixiv. I found it and can’t stop thinking about it. Absolutely incredible. It makes me wheeze whenever I see it. Garterbelt Garland. Amazing 100/10 everyone else go home.

#asks #werareallkujaandkadajstans #ffix #final fantasy ix #garland #garland ffix #final fantasy 9 #kuja #zidane tribal #feel free to send me whatever characters ya'll i will continue my essay writing #you're also now legally obligated to go give love to all that art and the artists #if you don't your soul won't cycle

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omg-imagine · 4 years

Text

⊱ All Night Long ⊰

Pairing: Keanu Reeves x Reader

Prompts:

58- “Don’t be so rough. There can’t be any marks.”

64- “Can I at least take my shoes off before you pounce on me?”

Words: 2.2k

Warning: smut (oral sex)

A/N: Sorry for being so inactive here but school has been very stressful lately. Anyways, Please let me know your thoughts on this one, your feedback makes writing worth it :)

Requested by Anon ♡

The drive back to the hotel was a silent one. After a long, exhausting day of filming, Keanu was ready to turn in for the night. He had politely declined his fellow crews’ invite to go out for drinks in celebration of another successful week of shooting, but he forgoes sharing the reason why.

Truth be told, Keanu was a bit glum knowing you could not fly to Germany and be with him that week because of your job. The two of you have been dating for five years, and this was the first time you would be spending your anniversary apart. You reassured him repeatedly over the phone how it was okay, yet there was still that chance you were upset being alone on what was supposed to be a special day.

Keanu calls you twice during the ride, and each time proved to be unsuccessful. The only text message you had sent today was a simple “how are you?” he received around lunch, but you never responded afterwards. It bothered Keanu more than he wanted to admit because it seemed unlike you. Were you upset with him? Angry? Did something happen to you back home?

The car finally pulls up in front of the hotel, and Keanu thanks the driver before swiftly exiting the vehicle, making a beeline for the lobby elevator where it takes him to the eighth floor of the building. The halls were quiet as he ambles towards the end of a long corridor, his hand diving into his pocket for the keycard to his suite. Scanning the card, the door unlocks with a small click, and he pushes it open slowly, a draft of cold air immediately welcoming him.

Once inside, Keanu then sets his bag down on the table nearby before noticing a soft yellow glow amongst the darkness. He was certain he had switched off all the lights when he left earlier that morning. Carefully, he padded over to the living area where the light was coming from and to his shock, found someone sitting on the lounge chair, legs crossed, and a black shadow obscuring most of their facial features.

But it wasn’t just someone, however. Keanu knew that figure all too well.

It was you.

You were here. You were in his room.

“Y/N?” Keanu spoke your name out loud as one hand turned on the ceiling light above, illuminating the whole room. “W-What are you doing here? I thought you couldn’t make it?”

“My boss gave me the rest of the week off, so of course, I had to get a plane ticket for the earliest flight available,” you explained, an unspoken desire evident in the gleam of your eyes. “Happy anniversary, baby.”

His breath hitches when you slowly rose to your feet, and he’s unable to tear his gaze away from the lingerie piece you had on for him. It was a luxurious red set, the alluring lace material hugging your body so enticingly that it made you look as if you were sin personified.

“Happy anniversary,” Keanu returned adoringly. Quietly, he observes as you saunter from across the room to where he stood, inhaling sharply as he drank in the exquisite sight of you. His hands came to settle on your hips, softly squeezing the silky skin under his palm as his whiskey orbs held your lustful gaze.

For the longest time, he has imagined a reunion like this, counting down the days until he comes home. Keanu has craved you so desperately in these last several weeks, and already he could feel his trousers tightening from the anticipation. He was more than ready to feel you again; no amount of nightly phone sex could ever give him the same satisfaction he gets from being with you.

“Can I at least take my shoes off before you pounce on me?” He quips, and you chuckled lightly, reaching your arms up to wrap around his neck, pulling him in even closer.

Your breath tickled Keanu’s ear when you leaned in, your voice a seductive whisper that sends shivers straight down his spine. “I’m not going to pounce on you. Well, not yet, at least.”

The overwhelming aroma of your enthralling perfume surrounds Keanu as he cranes his head down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. He touches you wherever he could reach, the skin of your glorious body smooth underneath his calloused palms and hot to the touch. As Keanu deepened the kiss, your fingers entangle themselves in his raven mane, tugging the slightest bit, which immediately elicits a shaky gasp from him.

Breaking away momentarily, you peered at him through thick lashes, a teasing smirk playing on your swollen lips. Keanu’s breaths stutter as you run a hand down his clothed torso, your delicate fingers curling at the hem of his black tee, silently telling him to remove it. Without hesitation, he strips off his shirt, carelessly tossing it somewhere onto the floor as your hungry eyes roamed freely over his toned body.

“I need you, Ke,” you purred soothingly, ghosting your mouth over his bare chest as he shuddered at the sensation of warm air fanning across his skin. “And I can tell that you need me, too.”

A ragged groan escapes Keanu’s throat when you suddenly palm his throbbing cock through his jeans. It took every ounce of strength he had to keep himself from dragging you to bed and fucking you to oblivion. For now, he chose to savor this moment, allowing the fire coursing through his blood to burn even hotter with desire.

Lips colliding, you kissed him once more, this time torturously slow yet teeming with passion. Keanu could faintly taste the pinot noir from the minibar as his wet tongue slips into your mouth, the heavenly sounds you made spurring him on. Panting, you pulled away only to immediately press kisses down the line of his throat, alternating between sucking and biting at the tender skin there.

“Don’t be so rough. There can’t be any marks,” he warned, gasping. As much as he loves any and all marks you leave him with, the last thing he wanted was an awkward interaction with the make-up artist on set.

“Guess I’ll have to put my mouth somewhere else then,” you teased, winking coyly at Keanu before your mouth travels south, your knees gradually lowering until they hit the floor.

He was dizzy with arousal as you unzipped his pants, your eyes flickering up to meet his. Nimble hands dip inside the waistband of his boxers, pulling out his hardened length that ached to be touched. Without looking away, you licked the underside of Keanu’s cock, tracing over each prominent vein tantalizingly with the tip of your tongue. His eyes screw shut when you finally engulf him with your hot mouth, taking him in as deep as possible as your hand wraps around what couldn’t fit.

“Fuck, baby… that’s it,” Keanu rasped, his breath coming out in short pants as you bob your head leisurely at first, taking your sweet, sweet time tasting him, feeling him. His shaft was slicked with a combination of his pre-cum and your spit, the lewd wet noises emitting as you sucked him sloppily mixed with the low grunts and breathless praises trembling out of his lips.

Cheeks hollowing, your pace never falters. The erotic sight of his cock sliding in and out of your mouth, eagerly trying to take more and more of him each time, made him feel all too good. You were incredibly determined to give Keanu the pleasure he needed and deserved after being away and working hard for so long. And as you continued jerking and squeezing his member, he realized how he didn’t want tonight to be entirely about him.

No.

You deserved just as much as he did. If not, more.

Without warning, Keanu steps back, his cock slipping out of your mouth in an instant. You glanced at him questioningly, letting out a yelp when he lifts you from the ground and pins you to an adjacent wall. Kicking off his pants and underwear, he nudges his thigh between the apex of your legs, letting you grind on him for a few moments, and he feels the utter wetness pooling down there.

Two thick fingers later pulled your panties to the side before they slowly caressed your delicate folds, spreading your juices around your heated core. “You’re soaking wet, sweetheart. You must have truly missed me.”

“I did,” you murmured as he dragged his digits over your slit. “I missed you, baby. I missed you so damn much.”

Not wishing to tease you long, he inserts one finger into you, swearing to himself as your pussy clenched around him. The back of your head hits the wall with a soft thud as Keanu knelt down, allowing you to drape one leg over his shoulder, his lips just inches away from your cunt. With a single tender kiss to each of your inner thighs, he then adds another finger inside as you grasped him by his messy hair, holding onto the strands with a vice grip.

“Faster, Ke,” you urged him on, gritting your teeth as soon as he started stroking across that sweet spot of yours blissfully.

Keanu’s eyes flicked upwards, and watched you quickly unravel, your features contorting with pure pleasure as you writhed above him. Your wanton moans fill his ears as he expertly pumps hard and fast, his tongue swirling rapid circles around your sensitive clit, pushing you further and further over the edge.

The sound of your incoherent cries was a clear sign that you were close, and when he buries his head deeper between your legs, his long fingers deliciously curling and stretching you out, you came with a frantic shout, riding his face to a shaking orgasm, messily coating your thighs as well as Keanu’s lips with a gush of wet warmth.

��Damn, you’re so sexy. Did that feel good, honey?” Keanu probed, shooting a cheeky grin despite knowing the answer already.

Your chest heaves heavily as you wordlessly nod in response, wincing slightly as he delves back in, his tongue lapping at your juices almost greedily. A fine sheen of sweat clung to your skin, giving your body a glistening glow that made you look like a goddess in Keanu’s eyes. It was still difficult for him to believe you were all his at times, and this was one of those instances. Never has he been with another person who could set fire to a desire stronger than you can or make him feel as alive.

And he’s sure that no one else could.

Your high eventually subsided, although not entirely. Once you regained control over your limbs, you pulled Keanu to his feet, planting a kiss on his lips, wholly sated and satisfied. You then press your forehead to his shoulder as his arms embraced your frame, burying his nose into your hair. God, he even missed the sweet smell of you, even more so the familiar warmth of your body against his. The long-distance has always been a challenge, but he’s learned to never take you— nor these intimate moments together— for granted.

“You didn’t come yet,” you pointed out, eyeing his engorged cock, which has yet to be relieved.

“Yeah,” Keanu confirmed, but he doesn’t move. “Give me a minute. I just want to hold you for a little while longer.”

Sighing contentedly, you let him have his moment of calm before peppering a few kisses along his collarbone. Keanu inhaled sharply when your fingers wrapped around the girth of his shaft again, giving it a long, languid stroke from base to tip as you glanced at him, smiling sultrily like a wicked temptress. He quickly understood what it was that you longed for, yearned, desired.

“We have the next couple of days to cuddle and relax,” you mumbled, reaching behind your back to unclasp your laced bra, baring the rest of yourself to him. “But tonight, I want you deep inside me. I want you to fuck me so hard that it leaves me sore, and I can feel you for days. Can you do that, baby? Can you do that for me, please?”

The shaky insistence to your voice added fuel to Keanu’s burning sense of arousal; the mere thought of pounding deep into your tight wet pussy extremely enticing him. Tonight, he gets to satisfy his dire need for you; to spend the entire evening hearing his name fall from your lips over and over again as he makes love to you.

Love. Words couldn’t even begin to describe how much Keanu was in love with you. He was more than grateful that you flew thousands of miles just to surprise him on this occasion. In fact, he was tempted to pull out the ring he has hidden in his coat pocket for a while now and ask you to marry him, something Keanu originally planned on doing once production finishes and he’s back at home.

Perhaps tomorrow, he muses while locking eyes with you, the woman of his dreams. As you smiled sweetly and patiently at Keanu, he lifted you up into his arms before gracefully carrying you to the bedroom, husking, “You know I can never say no to you, darling.”

The two of you have gone without each other for nearly one dreadful month, but he aims to make up for the lost time all night long.

Tags: @penwieldingdreamer @keandrews @feminine-machinegun @fanficsrusz @thehumanistsdiary @flaminasteroid @rowserein @unaspiringwritings @planetkt @breakthenight @baphometwolf666 @rdjloverxxx

#keanu reeves #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves imagine #keanu reeves fanfic #keanu reeves x you

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captainrexisboo · 4 years

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Comfort pt 4: Decisions

IT’S HERE. I’ve been working on this chapter for months. Hopefully it was worth the struggle ahaha. Partially took so long because I’ve been feeling better! I have a great support system in place, and so getting to this point was really just a matter of putting myself back into the exhaustive mindset. That said, I’m able to work myself back out of it (thank you therapy)! Working on part 5 as y’all are reading this, let’s see if it takes me another two months to pump it out lmaoooo. But seriously, thank you guys for your kind words and support, love y’all!!!

No warnings apply, aside from general sadness and self-doubt. Also pining. Rex x Reader, reader is a woman, questions and comments always welcome. Also I need to write Ahsoka more.

Tagging: @pro-fangirls-unsocial-life @000ayfh @pinkiemme @midnightredemption @simping-for-fives @danger-xylophones @iscream4clones @jyvorakal @leias-left-hair-bun @vesperstalksclones

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“So you’ll be seeing him today?”

Rex walked straight to you after the briefing, squeezing his hands behind his back. You were going to be separating for the day, him with Cody to go greet some new troopers and introduce them to their assigned battalions, yourself accompanying Admiral Yularen as he was invited to surprise inspect some nat born recruits. Sergeant Aurin’s recruits. You sighed, rolling your eyes, “Not by choice, Captain.”

“I know,” he grumbled, modulator muffling his voice even more, “Be careful, alright? I don’t trust this guy.”

“We’ll be at a work function, I don’t think he’ll try anything. Especially since I’ll be with the Admiral this time instead of his ‘competition’,” you stood as tall as you could, chin high as you tried to gather your courage, masking your clear anxiousness with a sly grin. Besides, teasing the Captain always made you feel better. No one has corrected your ex about you and Rex yet, and frankly you wanted to keep it that way.

Rex chuckled low, the sound a little hollow, looking off to the side as he shifted on his feet, “I just want you to be alright.”

“If I’m not, I will be,” you gave him an all too wide smile, one you knew he saw right through as he cocked his head to the side, “Promise, Captain.”

You bid Rex goodbye with a salute, one he returned before turning on his heel to meet the Marshal Commander. You gathered your datapad before following the Admiral through the halls. He was a stoic and serious man, one that cared about the men assigned to him, and was able to use his wit calmly even in the most dire of situations. His level-headedness made him a good offset for the very action oriented General Skywalker, and typically you were thankful to be lucky enough getting assigned to him. But not today.

“Are you feeling alright, Miss Y/N?” he looked back to see you trailing behind him as opposed to being on his left as usual. He stood just as straight as Rex, not quite as tall, looking at you with eyes that reminded you vaguely of your father’s, and suddenly you couldn’t even begin to think about lying to him.

“Not especially, Admiral,” you chuckled sheepishly, “But I’m fine to continue with you, sir. I just have to gather myself is all.”

He stood in place, letting you catch up, only speaking when he fell into step with you again, “I don’t suppose you consider me close enough to tell me the issue? I can perhaps assist in finding a way to resolve it?”

“It’s not like that, sir,” you shook your head, picking up the pace as if to run away from the conversation, “I can handle it just fine. We should hurry, the Sergeant is waiting for us.”

He didn’t say anything after that, just raised a brow at your averted gaze before turning his head forward again. You knew he didn’t believe you, but gracious that he respected your request to drop the subject. You bit your tongue, an attempt to keep you focused on something other than the burrowing feeling of your stomach, or the quickly restricting muscle in your throat. The closer you got to the nat born barracks, the harder you bit down. Still, you moved forward, thinking about any way you could deflect an attempt to talk.

If he said hello, you’d just nod and say just the one word back.

If he asked how you were, you’d say fine.

If he pries, you’d ask him calmly to leave you alone.

You will not lose your cool. You will not break your wall. Your mask will not crack; you’ll be ice.

But then the strangest thing happened. He ignored you. He barely looked you in the eye when you walked up, talking only to the Admiral. You only stammered out a single hi when the Admiral introduced you to the other officers standing with Aurin. You were there, frozen and eyes wide as you clenched your jaw, steeling yourself for the offence to come- but it never did. The Admiral entered the barracks with one of Aurin’s officers, while the Sergeant stood outside next to you. The tension was thick, causing you to unconsciously shuffle on the balls of your feet. You continued to bite your tongue, trying to keep your thoughts occupied as he stood stock straight next to you.

You thought about that huge stack of reports to go through when you got back, courtesy of the General’s leadership tactics and the general 501st chaos.

You thought about how you promised Commander Tano that you’d pick up the special tea blend she liked before heading back to the flagship.

You thought about how you were going to run to Rex as soon as you both had a free moment, and you thought about how you had no idea that silence could be so blaringly loud.

You had switched from biting your tongue to chewing your lip, twisting a stray lock of hair between your fingertips as the silent moment dragged on, your anxiety digging deeper and deeper into your gut. You stole a glance at him out of the corner of your eye, seeing as he gulped down a breath. But that was all you saw- the inspection was over, the Admiral was shaking hands and saluting goodbye to the Sergeant and his men. You barely got a nodding glance.

This is what you wanted, right?

This is what you told him you needed, he was listening to you- that’s good, it’s a step in the right direction. Right?

You had asked for this.

So then why did it hurt so much.

You were silent the entire way back to the flagship, saying a minimal amount of words to be polite to anyone who came up to you. The interaction (or lack thereof) consumed your thoughts wholly afterwards while you ran a few routine errands before making your way back to the flagship, causing you to just barely remember to pick up and give the Commander her tea. The kind, knowledgeable Padawan immediately noticed something was the matter in your thousand yard stare, clasping her hands over yours in concern, the tea now just an afterthought, “Y/N, what’s the matter? Do you need something?”

You gave the young Jedi a dull, thoughtful look, corners of your mouth barely turning up, “I can’t seem to lie to anyone today. No, Commander, I don’t need anything right now, but thank you for your consideration. I’ll be at the desk in the Admiral’s office should anyone need me.”

You bid Ahsoka goodbye with a small nod, walking down the corridor without an ounce of your usual spirit. Ahsoka looked down at the tin in her hand, weighing the tea blend absentmindedly. She was young, but certainly not stupid, she knew exactly who you needed to see. Gripping the present tight, she ran through the flagship until she got to the office she was looking for, not even bothering to knock.

“Rex!” she burst through the door, the Captain she was looking for dropped his head as his fingers came up to rub at the bridge of his nose.

“Vod’ika,” he grumbled, laying down his stylus, “I can’t entertain you every time you get bored-”

“I’m not here for that, it’s Y/N,” Ahsoka cut him off, taking three purposeful steps and slamming her hands on the desk, prompting Rex to look up into her sky blue eyes, shining with worry. His own widened as he stood up from his desk, not even bothering to grab his helmet as he followed Ahsoka out into the echoing hall.

“What’s wrong? Is she injured?”

“No, physically she seems fine,” Ahsoka explained, stepping quickly and talking quicker as she led Rex to Yularen’s office, “But she seems really sad, and she didn’t want to talk to me about it. I know you and her are pretty close, so I thought-”

“We need to stop by the kitchen.”

Ahsoka paused, looking back to see Rex already walking down the turn toward the mess. She jogged to catch up to him, breathing out a snort of laughter, “I mean, I didn’t think now was the time to think about food, Rexster.”

“It’s not,” Rex rolled his eyes at the nickname gesturing an arm out as if the explanation lay right in front of her, “It’s for Y/N. She likes to talk over caf, if I bring her some, chances are she’ll let me stay and whatever’s happening in her little head we can discuss. And if she doesn’t feel like talking still, the caf will act as a reminder she has people to talk to whenever she’s ready.”

Ahsoka blinked at him. She didn’t expect this amount of thoughtfulness from her ori’vod, and the gears in her mind started turning. An impish grin took over her face, canines flashing as she slunk up beside the soldier, “You know, Y/N is really nice…”

Rex raised an eyebrow, immediately suspicious as he held the mess door open for the Padawan, “Yes...she is…”

“She’s awfully lucky to have someone like you looking out for her, getting her caf, talking over administrative work, visiting each other’s offices during hyperspace jumps…” Ahsoka took a bit of a pause, stopping just inside the eating area, waiting for Rex to walk right by her to whisper just to him, “...giving each other really long hugs when you think no one’s around.”

Rex paused in his step, unable to stop a ruddy blush from heating over his face. Kriff. He cleared his throat, straightening up, “How’d you find that out, Commander?”

Ahsoka shrugged, giving him a wiggle of her brows, “Security cams, Rex ol’boy. Did you really not think about those?”

Rex groaned, squeezing his eyes shut, “I didn’t think anyone looked at the recordings…”

“Not many clones do,” Ahsoka explained, “We’ve got a lot of nat born officers in the surveillance offices. And boy, sir- do they love their gossip.”

Rex continued his trek to the instant caf machine, exhaling heavily as he surrendered to the teasing he was being subjected to. He rolled his eyes, getting two insulated tumblers to fill, as he started the machine, “Where are you even going with this, Commander?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” she giggled, latching onto Rex’s arm excitedly, bobbing on her toes as she jabbed a finger into his pauldron, “You like her!”

“And?” Rex deadpanned, switching a full cup for an empty one at the dispensing nozzle, “I’m not gonna deny what’s obvious, and I get plenty of osik from the rest of torrent about it anyways, who don’t know about the...the, uh, hugging-”

“So why don’t you do anything about it, dummy?”

Ahsoka was about to give him a headache.

“When she and I first started actually talking, she had gone through a really emotional break up,” Rex treaded carefully, this wasn’t his story to tell, but it was the bare-bones basic of how his friendship with you had grown, so it seemed like a good place to start, “I offered her my support, and I’ve kind of become her confidant since then. I’m not going to ‘make a move’ or anything, not until she says something. She’s still healing, Ahsoka.”

Ahsoka had stopped bouncing, mulling over Rex’s words. Rex was pouring in your preferred cream and sugar ratio, having memorized just how you like it, almost meticulous in the act. He picked up the cafs, walking steady, careful not to spill, “Where is she, her desk?”

Ahsoka nodded, mind still turning as she followed Rex out of the mess, “So you’re just gonna be there and listen to her problems until she decides that she likes you too?”

“Yup.”

“Does she listen to your problems too?”

“If I feel the need to talk about them, yes.”

Ahsoka stops in front of him, hands on her hips and eyebrow raised, “And what if she decides that she likes someone else instead?”

Rex’s shoulders slump for a moment, looking a little crestfallen, lips downturned and eyes shifting off to the side as a sad shine comes over them, “I’m not naive, I understand how big of a possibility that is. If she makes that decision, then that’s her decision. I can’t force someone to like me-”

“But does she know you’re even an option?”

That made Rex stop mid-stride. Surely you knew he was, right? He thinks back on the past few months, the things you’ve both confided, the tears you’ve shed, the countless moments you’ve both spent in each other’s comforting embraces. Your laughter. Your quiet moments. Surely… you knew, right?

The silence stretched, and Ahsoka looked too smug for her own good as she crossed her arms, chin up with full confidence, “I think you should tell her.”

Rex shook his head, taking himself out of his trance before he began walking again, “I don’t know-”

“It doesn’t have to be today,” Ahsoka clarified, falling into step beside him, “But you should. It doesn’t have to be dramatic, or one of your attempts at flirting-”

“Hey, I can flirt-”

“-just a brief confession.” Ahsoka pitched her voice low, what she thought would be a mimic of his voice, “Y/N, I need you to know I have enjoyed getting to know you, and that I find you extremely attractive, so much so that just holding you distracts me from thinking about the simplest of things, like the surveillance crew that’s always watching-”

“Hush up,” Rex hissed out, now just a couple of feet away from Yularen’s office. He wasn’t nervous, he couldn’t be nervous about talking with you, the both of you talked all the time, about everything. But actually dwelling on his feelings for you out loud with Ahsoka, acknowledging his emotions outright to another sentient did make him more, um, aware of the situation. Suddenly he was transported back in time, on the landing pad, leaning on the ship’s hull and waiting for you to board with your tear glazed eyes and trembling lips. He froze for a beat, staring at the closed doors, swallowing a breath. When did his throat get so dry? He let out a slow exhale through his mouth, almost whispering to himself, “I’ve been in this position so many times already… why does this time feel like the first again?”

“Maybe you’re getting tired of waiting,” Ahsoka offered, looking up to him and giving him an encouraging pat on the shoulder, “Maybe you’ve made a decision.”

She walked away in that moment, leaving Rex to fend for himself from his own thoughts. Damn Jedi and their cryptic messages. He rolled his neck and shoulders, letting his eyes fall shut as he breathed through his nose, trying to calm himself back down. After he felt himself loosen up a little bit, he pressed the call button by the entrance door.

“Admiral Yularen is on the bridge. If you have something for him to sign, leave it in the-”

“Y/N, it’s me,” Rex interrupted your rehearsed response, already feeling his posture tense back up, “I brought you caf.”

It was just static for the moment, your finger still on the speaker button. After a couple of seconds it clicked off, and the doors hissed open. Rex took a last steadying breath, and took the final steps inside.

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kuuderekweenfics · 3 years

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Dabi is Not a Liar

Hello everyone,

This is it. I’ve fallen off the precipice of...what exactly? Sanity? Or, perhaps, lack of shame? Who knows. But this was a fun little piece I wrote about a month ago. I put it up on AO3, but I thought I’d create a Tumblr for future fics since this is a bit more social.

Please keep in mind that I am shaking the dust off my writing and so it may not be the most polished piece of work. Go easy on me. But I hope you enjoy it regardless!

Explicit Warning: non consent or extremely dubious consent.

Fingernails carve into the the filthy brick of the abandoned building nestled by the sea. The pier moaned, it’s cold breath wrapping around your body and reeking sourly of fish and decay.

Your head hangs low between your hollow arms. How you got yourself into this position is due to several reasons, of course. One, your brain is swollen twofold in your skull, pounding with the weight of lead. Two, shame caresses every part of your body far more thoroughly than the man who currently has you trapped between him and the wall. Three, and most likely the most crucial reason, Dabi, ‘the Cremator’ as he was so often called, has been railing you senseless for the past hour.

You cried yourself dry after about ten minutes. He came quickly the first time, unabashedly getting off on your whimpers and pleas. Where he dug up the stamina to keep his cock hard for another three rounds was a dull ache for your mind, and pussy, to ponder over.

The strength in your knees escaped long ago. His fingers gripping your bare ass as he currently pounds himself into you, deeper and deeper each time, is the only support you have against gravity.

He attempts some foreplay occasionally, killing the space between the two of you as he whispers into your ear threats of what is to come and reaches under you to thrash at your clit rough and carelessly. This is, you figured out, more to his benefit than yours; he had to get you more motivated to continue the little game he set for the both of you somehow. You mewl softly when he does, cursing your needy body for betraying your wants.

Because this isn’t what you want. No, no, no. Not even if his thick, veiny cock fills you to the brim and sometimes hits a spot in your core that makes you see stars and silently beg, much to your humiliation, for more.

What you want is to go pro. You just started working for a small agency start up only a week ago. You’ve dedicated to becoming a top ten hero, even if your quirk isn’t the most convenient. But if a guy who’s power was to do laundry could make it to the top, so can you and your absurdly comical gacha quirk. You are able to generate capsules from your hands, ranging anywhere between the size of a tennis ball to a beach ball, but the contents inside are always random. This little inconvenience made your quirk almost entirely useless. Despite it all, you trained hard and got a once in a lifetime opportunity at this agency. Your task today was to survey the pier for any suspicious activity called in by a concerned citizen. You were strictly told not to engage and call for back up as soon as you surveyed something worthwhile. But you immediately ran in, all too confident in your ability at hand-to-hand combat, as if you had something to prove. You crouched behind stacked crates and fumbled through your creations: a teddy bear, a toaster, a tennis racket. Before you could generate another capsule, you heard his whistle behind you. He was crouched, hands lazily in his pockets and looking over your shoulder with a deadpan expression that plainly said you were in over your head.

But you knew you were quick. The tennis racket sped toward its target only to be crumbled to ash as his hand stopped it an inch from the side of his head. He smiled at you then, not quite reaching his eyes but eerie and menacing all the same. And before you could even fathom throwing the toaster, he pinned your neck to the wall. Your feet kicked helplessly against the brick, unable to find purchase on the floor a inches below. One of your hands pried at his arm while the other reached for his face or his neck or anything you could grab hold of that could cause enough pain to lot weaken his grip. Your breaths came up short, your lungs screamed for a sip of air.

“It looks like a little mousy lost her way,” he chuckled. “Now whatever am I going to do with you?”

Drool leaked from your mouth as you fought against your restraint and blurred vision. Your mind clawed for consciousness, your body begged for survival. You had come to terms that one day you could potentially meet your end at the hands of a villain, as does any hero in this field of work, but you hadn’t expected it to be so soon.

You felt the obstruction in your mouth before you saw it. The thumb of his free hand pressed on your dancing tongue, drool pooling where he held it down firm. If the look in his eyes scared you before, now they were wild and carnal and more terrifying.

He first has his way with you with his hand still around your throat. He let up on his grip and was so gracious enough to let you wrap your legs around him while he impales you without a second thought.

He grunts. “Fuck, you’re tight.”

You are no longer a virgin, but you’re sure you never experienced cock of this size, all the while without some form of foreplay. Granted, he used your drool to lubricate himself before sheathing himself deep in your gummy walls, the friction elicits a gasp of pain while from you as he moans and nips at your neck. Not long after he begins to thrust do you start sobbing, and soon after that he shoots inside of you, his cock twitching to unload what feels like everything he had. You hope it is over then. He would either kill you or leave you there broken physically and mentally. You find out soon enough it is neither.

“I’m gonna fuck you until your voice is gone from screaming my name, little mousy,” He gasps into your shoulder as the twitching finally ebbs and his release oozes down your thigh. “I’m gonna fill you with my cum until I am sure that when I leave you in this shithole, you will have a little part of me with you for the rest of your miserable life.”

And if there is one thing you can call Dabi, among the million curses and names you can conjure, you aren’t sure if you can call him a liar. For true to his word, albeit only partially, he comes into you, hard and relentless, two more times before starting once more. You are absolutely positive this goes against all modern male biology. But you guess, in a world with bizarre quirks, anything is possible.

Halfway through round four, you feels his fingers weave into your hair and, for a moment, you think Dabi just may capable of being passionate. Or, at the very minimum, maybe he thinks more of you than just a bucket for him to shoot his load in. This moment, you find, is fleeting as he yanks your head back and pulls you up until your back lies flat against his chest. He slowly pulls the zipper of your shirt down and grabs your breast callously, pinching your nipple hard until you cry out.

You can only imagine that he’s grown bored of your silence and complacency because his other hand reaches around until his fingers find your clit, exposed and hungry for some well-deserved stimulation. His fingers rub small circles against it, and you feel nauseated as you let out a moan, your pussy clenching desperately around him in newly kindled desire.

He hisses at your reaction, an obvious stamp of approval and continues flicking your bundle of nerves as he pumps in and out of you. “Say my name.”

Your mind, which, up until this point, had been lost in a sea of fog, finally breaks the surface. And it is pleading with you to not give in. He speeds up, each thrust hitting the right spot and oh no, oh no, it feels so fucking good.

“Say my name, little mouse.”

Your core coils tight with stimulation, the spring on the precipice of release with the pressure of his calloused fingers. The ache you had felt up until then is replaced with an immense pleasure that you haven’t felt in, let’s face it, ever. You stand on your toes to give him a better angle. Your hands searched for something to anchor onto. One mindlessly reaches above to grab onto his hair as he licks you, hot breath warming your already flush neck, the other latches onto your ignored breast.

“Say it.”

You bucked against him, almost there, almost there, so very close....

Until he becomes utterly and completely still.

“No, no. Please, Dabi! I need it. Fuck me, please Dabi!” You sob.

And with that, you feel a smirk form against your neck. He pulls out of you and before you can so much as whimper, he shoves you back onto a large crate. He grabs one leg and forces it up and over his shoulder as he penetrates you, holding your waist to keep you steady as he pumps in fast and hard. His hip bumps into your overstimulated clit with each thrusts and it nearly obliterates you. In this new position, his cock kisses your cervix and, if you ever had any semblance of control since being pounded into, it has all but disappeared.

“Dabi! I’m going to...Ah, shit, I’m gonna...”

As you begin convulsing, you hear his name, loud, hot and heavy, escape from your lips. Your release sends him over the edge, and he ruts into you.

Just as quickly, he slides out of you, places himself back into his pants and walks out with his hands in his pockets without a word before the cum can so much as leak out of you. You lay still and let the world refocus before you get up and go home. You come to realize that he didn’t so much as care if you came or not, and that the fact that you had was a happy coincidence on your part. What he was really aiming for was you to scream his name, just as he said you would. How little regard villains had felt about others left you in awe. Can you really go head to head against him or any other villain again?

You submit your resignation the next day.

And two months later, as you stand wide-eyed and frozen over the test exposing itself to you on the bathroom sink, you can finally confirm that Dabi is, in no way shape or form, a liar.

#dubious consent #no consent #ruttingseason #fan fiction #fanfiction #dabi my hero academia #dabi x reader #forced impreg #forcedsex #smut #dabi smut

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adiabolikpastel · 3 years

Text

Title: Lunar Eclipse Masquerade

Laito pt. 2

Rating: NSFW | PG-17 (language, sexual content)

Word Count: 2,721

Pairing: Laito x Yuki (m/m)

ღ Yuki is roped into attending a Masquerade after being kicked out by Laito. However, that might not be so bad if Laito attends as well. ღ

Mun Yu: We made it to the second wave of LEM. I hope you all enjoyed the set up, and are ready for the main event. Our Lunar Eclipse is in full swing as the masquerade beings. These chapters will be longer.

Additionally: I would love to thank @dialovers-translations for translating the Ayato and Laito versus CD which show cased them during the Lunar Eclipse. It helped me greatly to write his personality.

☆+ ﾟ .+ .ﾟ.ﾟ｡ﾟ｡. +ﾟ｡ﾟ.ﾟ｡☆*｡｡ . ｡ o .｡ﾟ｡.o｡* ｡ .｡

Despite what most people think, demonic beings are very social creatures. The elites hold countless balls and parties, celebrating their immortality together, and entertaining one another with stories. Typically, they are done in celebration for something – though this is not always the case. All types of beings from across the Demon Realm will come if the host is of high enough prestige.

There would be no such host if it was not for Karlheinz. Seated as the head of the Bat Clan (vampires), Karl’s reach spans far. Being the widow for the former Demon King’s daughter, and having children of the first blood, an invitation from the Vampire King is not one to refuse. Though why would you? In his immaculate castle within the Demon Realm, Eden Castle, it is always quite the spectacle. While the celebrations held in his Human World mansion are nice, nothing compares to a true night of pleasure within the true home of the King.

On this night, there was to be a Masquerade in honor of the first Lunar Eclipsed Moon in over two years. While this night may serve each species differently, the idea to celebrate its return was simply too tempting. For this reason, Karlheinz took it upon himself – or rather – his house, to host the event. This extended to his offspring as well, regardless of their personal agenda. Members of every social elite race accepted the offer, and gathered for a truly unforgettable evening.

How did this happen? Yuki couldn’t help but wonder as he stood in an unfamiliar ballroom. No longer in the apartment he and Laito shared, Yuki was at – what he was told – the true home of Dr. Reinhart’s friend. Given a room to stay in, and clothes to change into, Yuki was being forced to attend some kind of ball that the master of the house was hosting.

It had been a little under a week since Laito kicked him out. Yuki didn’t know what to do. He was lucky that Dr. Reinhart had given him a cell phone to contact him with, should anything happen. The good Doctor was kind enough to find Yuki a new place to stay, though it was a very strange place.

Yuki hadn’t really left his given room since arriving, being too depressed to leave. A beautiful woman kept checking in on him, Yuki could only assume she was the Master’s wife. She was really nice. Which only made him feel worse, since he was in no state to replay her kindness. It wasn’t until just last night she came in with a long dress, and explained to him that he would be attending the Masquerade being held.

Yuki tried to protest, but there was something… compelling about how she spoke. He didn’t even mind that they wanted him to wear a dress. She had even gotten him a wig, just like the one Laito used to have him wear – though this one was styled for the event. Yuki couldn’t help but feel uneasy about doing this, but something was screaming at him to comply.

So now here he was, dressed in a green, floral dress. A long blonde wig, framing around his face – which was now covered by a mask decorated green with butterflies. Yuki felt slightly more at ease, knowing that nobody would recognize him with the mask on. Or at least he hoped. When he first got into the room, everything was so terrifying. However, after some encouragement from that woman, Yuki felt strangely calm.

The normal urge to run and hide was gone, and he felt confident enough to stay in the ballroom. There were a lot of people, most of them were ridiculously beautiful. It was kind of strange seeing so many in one place. Although, all of them had a certain air – something that Yuki could only compare to that of Laito. In fact the entire estate felt like it was in another world. Yuki couldn’t quite explain the feeling, but it made him rather uneasy. Like he didn’t belong here.

As he stood rather off to the side of the dance floor, some men would come up to speak with him. Each wanting a dance, but Yuki would always turn them down – surprised he could even muster up the words to do so. He may be forced to attend, but that didn’t mean he had to dance. Or at least that was how he felt before he saw a familiar face.

Through the crowded room, Yuki could see a couple of people he knew. Ayato and Yuko. Kanato and Yuuki. Even Reiji was there. Seeing all of them made his heart race. Not for any sense of nostalgia – but for the hope that- if they were here, then maybe… With that half thought, Yuki started moving about the room. They were here. Which meant he had to be here. Laito had to be somewhere. Even if he was mad at Yuki. Even if he really did hate him. If he could just see him. Just like always. Seeing him. Being around him. That was enough.

Yuki couldn’t stop those thoughts from screaming in his mind as he searched – almost frantically – for his beloved senpai. “Excuse me, Miss?” A sudden voice snapped him into reality as he searched, now at the other side of the ballroom. Yuki looked up to see a rather tall – or at least taller than him- young man. He didn’t look scary- apart from his size. “Sorry to startle you… I… Well I had thought you were waiting for someone, but perhaps… would you like to dance with me?”

In a quick response, Yuki almost rejected him. That was until his eyes locked onto the one thing he had been searching for. Dressed in a white suite, complimented by a matching fedora, a stunning broach on his tie, and a Golden Mask. Yuki would recognize Laito in anything – or at least, he hoped. He was across the room, speaking to another woman. The urge to run to him was overwhelming. As he reached out a hand to call out – the strange gentleman before him took his hand. “Ah! Thank you! Let’s go onto the floor.”

Yuki was unable to protest, as the man wrapped his other arm around his waist, and led him onto the dance floor. Yuki wanted to move away, but there were too many people around. There was no choice but to go along with it. As the music played, the man led Yuki in a dance – of which he had no coordination for – Yuki’s eyes searched for Laito once again. Everything felt blurred, as the man twirled and moved Yuki’s body through the dance.

It was almost nauseating. Faces all whooshing past, all wearing masks. Every now and again he felt like he saw Laito, but in a flash he was gone. Again and Again. His piercing eyes seemed to tease him as they locked in and out of focus. It was almost enough to bring Yuki to tears. He felt sick. Felt anxious. Alone. Whatever confidence he had before, was all but gone now. All he wanted was to be saved from this. Saved from this dance. Saved from this place. Saved from himself.

Just as he was about to cry out, a force pulled him. Not the partner that was dragging him about the dance floor. Someone else, a different hand, lifting him away. Yuki’s heart skipped a beat as he looked towards his rescuer. Met with emerald, the bright lighting from the room seemed to cause this person to glow. “My my… will you follow me anywhere, nfu?”

Tears fell from Yuki’s eyes as his savior freed him from the endless dance. “Senpai…!” His voice cried out as they moved quickly from the floor. Past the crowds. Out of the room.

Yuki felt like he was flying. Once again, Laito was saving him. Yuki couldn’t help but curse his heart as it raced. This hope - faith - that Laito cared… he just couldn’t control himself. No matter how many times he was pushed away, the smallest thing brought him back. The unending admiration. The desire. Love. Yuki’s emotions swirled inside, and no matter how any rational thought tried to talk him out of it, he couldn’t stop.

The two of them moved through the expanding castle, though Yuki knew not how Laito was navigating it. Eventually they came to a room, and Laito moved them both inside. Yuki was somewhat tossed inside, causing him to trip on his dress. Luckily he was able to catch himself on a rather large piano. The instrument protested with a loud thump, and the rustling of keys.

“Be careful with that Stalker-kun.” Laito’s voice sounded hollow. The vampire did not bother to help Yuki regain his footing. Instead move to sit at the grand piano. “This was one of my first, you’ll break her, poor old thing.”

Yuki lifted his dress out from under his foot, and steadied himself. “Sorry…” His voice trembled as he tried to take in everything that had just happened. The two were silent towards one another. Laito playing with the dust that had gathered on the piano keys. Yuki staring down at his hands, clasping them together against his dress.

He wanted to speak. Wanted to thank Laito for saving him, though he knew to Laito that wasn’t the case. What could he say at this moment? He hadn’t seen Laito since he’d closed the door in his face. Sure there were probably millions of things to say, but at this moment, Yuki couldn’t think of any. He couldn’t even bring himself to look anywhere but at his hands.

“I didn’t think it was you at first.” Laito’s voice finally broke through the silence. “Why would my Stalker be here of all places? Especially after I had just told him to get lost.” He continued, playing random keys, seeming to be testing the sound. “Yet, here you are. Dressed as you are. Did you know I was coming? You were there for the message, such a creepy Stalker you are, listening in on my private conversations.”

Yuki’s heart thumped in his ear while Laito spoke to him. He honestly had no clue. Vaguely he could recall Laito being upset about something from that last evening, but nothing else. “N-No… Senpai I had no idea-"

Laito interrupts Yuki’s words by banging on a few keys together. “Ah~ It’s not good to lie Stalker-kun – or should I call you my Bitch-chan now? You put that on for this? Was that man the one who asked you to? Did you cry for him like you always did whenever I had you wear something like that?”

Yuki was confused by Laito’s words. That man… meaning the one he was dancing with? He didn’t even know his name, let alone would dress like this for him. “N-No Senpai, I don’t even know-" Yuki finally raised his head to look over at Laito, and was at a loss for words by his facial expression. It was unfamiliar.

Laito stands and removes the mask which was covering his face, placing it on the hood of the piano. Without a word, he moves over to Yuki, pinning him in. Leaning over him, Laito places one hand behind Yuki, while the other clears the long hair from his neck. Before Yuki could even process, Laito’s fangs pierced his throat.

Yuki winces slightly, he couldn’t recall the last time Laito fed on him. Since before they moved out. Months. Even though it hurt, Yuki couldn’t help but feel happy. If this was all he was good for, Yuki wouldn’t mind – so long as he was able to stay. Without thinking, Yuki’s hands grabbed onto Laito’s arms.

“Hmm… What's this? You want me to stop?” Laito murmured against the now leaking wound in Yuki’s neck. Almost too quickly, Yuki shook his head, tears already in the corner of his eyes. “Nfu~ Laito-kun is in a bad mood… So I won’t be gentle.” Laito’s voice had started with a reminiscent tone that he always has, but it ended quite seriously.

Yuki could feel the blood rush from his body. Almost like it too was drawn to Laito. Want to be with him. The normally lewd vampire fed quietly, aside from the gulps and soft sighs for air. Yuki worried if his blood was no longer pleasing. Just as he was about to ask, Laito drew up for some air.

“Haa~ it’s no good! What am I to do?” He asks looking up, rather than at Yuki. He moves his tongue over the different holes now on Yuki’s neck. “This blood… it’s simply too good~ Mmh…” Yuki’s face lights up at Laito’s words.

“… Ahh When I saw someone else with you it did something.” Laito says biting on the other side of Yuki’s neck. “… I was so angry, but so excited. Aha… perhaps it’s that moon making me so agitated.” Laito peers passed Yuki through a rather large window.

In somewhat of a daze, Yuki looks up at Laito, then turns to look at the moon as well. “… It’s so big…” He says softly. The smaller male was starting to feel weak, but the moon was rather impressive. It was on full display, and tainted in the color of the sun.

Laito laughs a little, grabbing Yuki’s face, to have him face back towards him. “Nfu, now you allow the moon to tempt you away from me~? Naughty Stalker-kun…” Laito moves his hand up Yuki’s face to cause the mask he had been wearing all this time to fall to the ground.

Yuki looked up at Laito, his face flushed from both the blood loss and the affections from the vampire. He was so happy at that moment. All of the hardship. It didn’t matter. Laito praised him. Laito saved him. In this moment, there was nothing else. “… Senpai… I-" Laito covers Yuki’s lips with a finger.

“Tonight I’ll place my mark all over you.” He says moving his hands down to pull the shoulder straps of Yuki’s dress. “This strange feeling… I can’t fight it. So you’ll indulge with me, right? Stalker-kun, nfu~”

Yuki’s eyes widened at Laito’s words. It had been so long since he had given him any type of affection. All of his emotions came rushing forward. Before he could fully realize what he was doing, his lips were on Laito’s. Smooshed together in a rather sloppy union. Just as quickly as it began, Yuki pulled back in a panic. “S-S-S-S-Sorry! I just… ! You were-! I thought-!”

Before Yuki would retreat back into himself, Laito grabs his face and pulls him back into a deeper kiss. This time, dominating the smaller males mouth. Moving his tongue forcefully, wrestling Yuki into easy submission. It was similar to a predator grabbing, wrestling, pinning, and devouring its prey.

Yuki’s mind races with a number of thoughts and emotions, but they all just circle back to Laito. His scent. Touch. Taste. Oddly like iron? Was he actually enjoying this? Did he really want him? Even if it was the moon, he didn’t care. At this moment, Laito was kissing him. Not some random woman.

As Laito finally allowed Yuki a break for air, the human felt his legs grow weak. His body nearly fell back onto the long forgotten piano. Laito moves quickly to sink his fangs back into Yuki’s neck, creating two new holes. Marks of ownership. Yuki’s body seemed to react on it’s own, as his hands moved through Laito’s hair. His voice fills the room, with soft whimpers of pain and moans of pleasure.

“S-Senpai…! It’s too… Aahn!” Yuki's heart raced. This was all too much to handle. Yet he forced himself to stay awake. If he passed out, hell, even if he blinked, he felt like all of these would come to an end. “Mm… So deep… your fangs…”

“Ahaa…" Laito moans, taking a moment to swallow. “Stalker-kun … feel me more-!” He says, moving to bite into Yuki’s exposed shoulder. “Nfufufu… you’ll be covered in my marks… Haahn…” Laito rips the the right strap of Yuki’s dress completely off. The loose fabric falls, revealing Yuki’s lithe, very male chest. “...Oh… I had almost forgotten…” Laito pulls back to get a full view of what lay before him.

Yuki, a panting, hot mess, looks up at Laito. His arms on reflex move up to shield his face. His face, as red as the blood dripping from his neck and shoulder. His small body trembling; from the intense pain and pleasure. “S-Senpai… don’t… stop, please…” His voice was just as loose as his body looked. Fighting his natural instinct to curl up in a ball, Yuki moves the strap from his other shoulder. The dress fell to the floor, leaving him bare in only a pair of boxer briefs.

Laito’s eyes widened, taking in this new view before him. “... The moons must truly be toying with me. Even now it is compelling me to devour you…” Yuki could feel Laito’s eyes looking over every inch of him. No feminie clothes to hide the truth. No mask to hide behind. With that thought, Yuki felt a rush of adrenaline. A sense of confidence, to go for this moment.

Before Laito could say anything more, Yuki moved back against the piano. Using the little strength he could muster, he pulls himself onto the large instrument. “You can… have all of me…” Yuki’s voice is quiet, as it took all his confidence to simply expose himself. “... I… belong to you… Senpai please…” He looks up at his beloved, “... don’t leave again…”

☆+ ﾟ .+ .ﾟ.ﾟ｡ﾟ｡. +ﾟ｡ﾟ.ﾟ｡ TO BE CONTINUED ☆*｡｡ . ｡ o .｡ﾟ｡.o｡* ｡ .｡

#writing #Lunar Eclipse Masquerade #LEM

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moon-stars01 · 4 years

Text

Carnations

Woozi x Reader

Author-SBK

Summary:y/n knows it’s deadly from the way it burst inside her,But she doesn’t care not anymore.

Pairing:Woozi(Svt) x Reader

Gene:Baseball au,unrequited love,Angst,bad ending,hanahaki Disease

Rating:Teen Audience

Word Count:1536

-Carnations-

She can feel the tears, like their swelling just behind her eyes unwilling to spill over like a dam filled with way too much water. She doesn't want to admit that though, never in a hundred words - and well, if she ever tried to explain how she felt, it'd probably just fall short. No, maybe short is the wrong word, it would be more like her feelings skydiving, twisting through the air at over 800km/h, a mad descent into the earthy, rocky ground below.

Like falling without a parachute.

But maybe it would be made worth it, because for just a second, you got to imagine the whole world in your palm, got to feel the wind whisking through your hair, as if pushing you away from your very death - it would be worth it because just for a second, just for a second, the earth would seem so tiny, incomprehensibly small.

She imagines, perhaps, this is what dying without actually dying, feels like. It's the twisting in the pits of your stomach, tossing and turning in your bed sheets at night, staring at the ceiling and wondering - just wondering. What did I do wrong?

Maybe there really isn't a simple answer for that though, no - there could never be a simple answer. It's a bitter swelling within the confines of her chest, one that makes it feel like something is about to burst from him - like striped carnations from her ribs, stretching and poking, ripping and prodding -

Conceivably, this might just be what the harsh reactor of reality might feel like, the way it comes crashing down around you - and you can't stop it. You can't do anything, but witness from afar as it cascades around you like a leaf trapped at the bottom of a children's swimming pool, harmless in appearance, but deadly in occurrence.

L/n y/n feels like she's, by definition, drowning.

It's spring, the time for flowers and life to rear their ugly heads from muddy, green earthy grounds - begging for attention, demanding for rain - demanding and demanding and demanding - and y/n, she doesn't remember flowers hurting this badly. Doesn't remember feeling like her bones were cracking under immense weight, doesn't remember the way she feels like she's going blind - like she's losing sight of yellow mitts - but she is. She's losing sight, slowly but surely, as striped carnations in all their glory stretch from eye sockets, over taking her vision like cloudy reminders -

You were never enough.

They whisper menacingly in her ear at night, force their way into her dreams, picking and plucking and ripping - removing all resemblance of what was known as the harsh word: love. There was no room for that here, in a land of rowdy driven teenagers - she knows that, she tries to know that, she tries to remind himself when she can see, the baseball resting comfortably - familiarly in her palm.

But love? That doesn't grow here.

What does is the bitter taste of regrets that linger on your tongue like acidic candy to teeth, sticking, and melting away any defense you might've had. It's like worms digging their ways through ripe, rounded apples - consuming, eating it - but not all the way, just in a way that leaves a long, hollow tunnel - winding and twisting.

It's like trying to guide that tunnel without sight, it's like being unable to see any hope at the end - no, chasing things here, things that aren't related to hitting home runs and achieving number ones - well, it just doesn't happen.

It. Just. Doesn't. Happen.

So when Y/n rips stems from her eyes, bloodied petals that were once obscuring her vision now laid out in marble, white sinks, she knows. She knows.

Oh God, does she know.

Striped carnations, in their own, fluttery existence mean something y/n wishes they never meant.

Stripes mean a regret for love that cannot be shared.

The flowers are more like a gentle reminder, than anything. They are from Lee Jihoon, and the catcher has no idea he even sent them. It's like a soft whisper into the harsh night, as if he's replying without ever really hearing y/n.

They say, bitterly:

"I want to be with you, I'd love to be with you, but I can't."

She knows this as the sudden yellow, bold yellow, carnations grow from her ribs, pushing against her skin until they sprout through her flesh - dripping a violent red shade with them, when paired with a bold, solid color, striped carnations mean so much more.

It's a regret for saying no.

But regrets don't stop the spread of vegetation, and how do they even survive - these flowers. With no water, no sunlight, they protrude through the darkest veins and darkest caverns of the human body, fragile, unable to stop their spreading - like an infectious disease, it keeps going and going, running its course - and Y/n is at the mercy of flora, beautiful colors, sickeningly sweet smells.

Sickeningly sweet ideals.

Now bitter, against the remaining taste buds in the sunlight's harsh gaze.

If the catcher, the one y/n has chased so diligently, wondering when the next time she'd be able to pitch to the other would be, had just said no - just a flat out no, simple within its existence, she could've trudged on.

Could've understood, maybe.

But a no with regrets, was like sex with strings attached, it pulls at you like a puppet, forcing you to remember all those times - all those moments you got a little too close with someone, let lips linger a little too long, let eyes stare a little too much.

It's all those times you were a little too exceedingly in love, it's all those times you cared a little too abundantly.

It's all those times you cried into your pillow at night.

Maybe the flowers were capable of growing from salty, wet tears.

It's all those times you said to yourself, in the dark to no one else, no louder than the tiniest squeak of a mouse:

I just want him to look at me back.

Just for a little while.

It's all those times you admitted those feelings to yourself.

That's why, that's why with long stems, striped carnations stretch from her eyes like extra limbs, yellow carnations erupt from her chest like she's being impaled - and she is, really, in the heart. Over and over, and over again. Like once wasn't enough, maybe this is how Julius Caesar felt.

Julius was only stabbed twenty three times, though.

Y/n has been stabbed over a hundred, she's sure, and counting. Although this isn't something you'd brag about, isn't something you'd write home about, isn't something you'd enjoy enough to care about.

Y/n knows, silently in the back of her mind as she takes sharp shears, sawing away at overly thick stems that are inching from her eyes like dark omens, like the literal festation of regrets:

It would all go away if he'd just look at me, just want me back.

But if Lee Jihoon wanted her back, then l/n y/n wouldn't be growing a personal garden within the careful little innerworkings and cogs of her body.

If Lee Jihoon shared feelings, the flowers wouldn't be striped, wouldn't be mixed in with bold ones too.

See, Jihoon is saying, in his own way:

You're great, really, I want to love you, I do, but I only love baseball.

Jihoon has only one love, and that's for catching baseballs on a baseball field, behind a batter's box, in a catcher's zone, crouched in front of the umpire like a jester before an emperor.

Obsessions, how they blossom within you before you even realize it, and Seokmin is shaking at y/n shoulders - pleading with the flowers to stop growing, an entire dorm room - number 5 painted on the door - is overflowing with posy - another word for flowers.

There's a lot of words for a lot of things, really, but nothing quite feels like this.

Seokmin is sobbing now, tears dripping onto carnations, carnations that already looked to have been soaked in blood from the tips - just naturally, now with the added, dark red - near brown, that seeps into the pedals, turning them into a different shade altogether -

It's fitting, really, how y/n's blood changes them to a swirling, calamitous red hue.

A color that denotes deep love for someone, and y/n really did, have a deep love for someone.

She loved someone so much, with every fiber of her being, she died for it.

Jihoon coughs out pink and light red carnations the next day, they, in their silent yet deadly approach, spread from his lungs and out his mouth, they mean:

Admiration, and missing someone unforgettable.

You could give everything to someone,

And it still wouldn't be enough.

#seventeen #kpop #seventeen fanfic #stories #woozi x reader #woozi scenarios #woozi fanfic #woozi fluff #lee jihoon #woozi angst #woozi au #woozi svt #jihoon #jihoon drabbles #woozi drabbles #jihoon scenarios #woozi x you #jihoon x reader #Jihoon x you

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arigatouiris · 4 years

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bloody brilliant // midoriya izuku

Author’s Note: After a LONG ABSENCE, I’m back! Sort of, I’m trying to write again regularly? I was in a slump for a bit and managed to play The Last of Us II and make my mental health worse (in a good way?) lmao. Thank you for such kind words yesterday when I was at my worst?? You guys are amazing and the positivity just UGH I LOVE YA’LL. This was requested by @allurajarren a while ago and I am so so sorry it took so long! I’ve made a few changes haha I hope you like it uwu

Also, this might come as a weird surprise which might not even be welcome but Mineta isn’t such a bad person in this? Although I do hate his guts lol

Word count: 4461

Pairing: Midoriya Izuku x Reader

Warnings: fluff, angst, reader with a plant quirk

You’ve had a lot of people call you delicate in the past.

You hated the word. You hated everything that represented it, you hated being correlated with it, you practically hated it because it reminded you of how weak you were—your mind had already been overridden with the ideology that your weakness wasn’t just because of your quirk, but it manifested within your very psyche.

You hated when they called you delicate because you knew it was true.

Yet, you strove on. A part of you wanted to prove people wrong because so what if your quirk was plant-based? So what if you were like some comic-book villain? So what if your quirk had many weaknesses? That didn’t mean you couldn’t be strong, right?

After all, you had gotten into U.A, you couldn’t be a complete failure, right?

You kept holding yourself going despite how difficult things were. People from your middle school deemed that you wouldn’t hurt a soul, and someone like you becoming a hero made no sense whatsoever? Your entire body ached with the failed expectations of your friends, family, peers from middle school, who only expected you to fail—and getting into U.A., did very little to make you feel proud. The only solace you found was jotting your thoughts into your diary, which remained the stronghold of your psyche—the very exoskeleton that kept you standing on difficult days.

Your diary was a kind of psychological exoskeleton that protected you from pain and contained your anxieties, but just like the skin of a snake, it only could hold on for a bare minimum of time; your mind always ends up cracking under pressure or hollowed out by time—and will keep growing back again and again, until you developed a more sophisticated emotional structure, held up by a strong and flexible spine, built less like a fortress than a cluster of treehouses.

Your insecurity dragged on and you believed you would never be able to overlook it, until your eyes landed on Midoriya Izuku.

The boy had you floored from the second you saw him on your orientation, his speed, agility, tenacity, his willingness to keep pushing despite how it was hurting him, everything about him reminded him of a part of your brain that kept pushing you, that kept telling you that you could dream too, that you could be where he is now.

It wasn’t love, but more of an innocent curiosity that had you itching to watch more of how Midoriya conquered people’s expectations of him. From the very second how he threw the baseball using his fingers, and to how he managed to come fourth in the cavalry battle, you just couldn’t look away. You obviously jotted these points down in your diary, and you were aware of how your diary was slowly turning into a book where you jotted down whatever you noticed about him—what could be his weaknesses, what could be his strengths, his quirks other than breaking bones, what fascinated him and what of him fascinated you. There was quite a lot, indeed.

When you were leaving class one evening, you noticed how his arm was limp by his side.

“Midoriaya-kun?” You questioned, tilting your head a bit.

He turned to you and his face reddened, a trait he often showcased with literally any girl he spoke to. You thought it was adorable, and you couldn’t quell the growing noise within your own chest.

“Y-Yes?”

“Is your arm okay?”

Midoriya let out a chuckle before rubbing the back of his neck rather bashfully, “Y-Yeah, it’s nothing. I overused my quirk again while training yesterday. I’m heading over to recovery girl now.”

You smiled at him before nodding and turning away, feeling the pace within your chest increase as you rephrased the entire conversation within your mind. You had finally spoken to him (not that you hadn’t before, but this was your very first conversation with the boy without the assistance of anyone else). You had spoken to Midoriya and hadn’t sounded like an absolute idiot!

“(l/n)-san!”

Your heart froze at the mention of your name. Turning around with wide eyes, you noticed Izuku running toward you.

“Y-Yes?” By now you were certain you had a crush on him.

What else could months of stalking lead to anyway?

“You forgot your bag.”

Scratch the part where you told yourself you’d managed to have a conversation with Izuku without making a fool out of yourself. You had. You had made a fool out of yourself.

You weren’t normally a very shy person, but perhaps it was because of his bashful nature did your nature become quite timid as well. Letting out a breath, you moved to the back of the dorms, toward a small forest clearing. Present Mic had shown you this area, someplace you could practice your quirk without any hindrance. Walking over to your regular area, you let out a breath before putting your diary down, before turning to spot a sapling growing on the ground. Taking a deep breath, you reached forward, urging the sapling to move out of the ground, using your quirk to rapid its growth; the plant moved, grew in an instant before flowers bloomed on its stem, thorns pricking at the corners, and you manipulated its structure and made the thorns bigger, the stem girthier, and the flowers poisonous.

But it took a lot longer than it did the day before. You wondered if it was because your mind was occupied, and you also took note of how you stood idle while you were doing it. Clicking your tongue, you got to work.

I can’t let this get to me, you thought, picturing Izuku’s face, knowing how hard he might be working to master his own quirk. I have to get stronger.

“Midoriya shounen, you probably shouldn’t train so hard and break all of your bones at once.”

“It’s not like I’m trying to break my bones.” He said, apologetically, as All Might led him inside the forest behind the dorms.

“Perhaps if you tried segregating how much of your quirk you use while you use it? You aren’t allowing it to accelerate all over your hands, when you focus it on punches. The power is devastating, and can break you.”

I’m aware of that bit, Midoriya thought, letting out a sigh. He turns to an open clearing, noticing a weird sapling growing at the corner. Blinking twice, he walked over to the plant, but stopped before touching it. From one look, he could tell that the flowers were poisonous, the thorns were unusually bigger, and the stem of the plant itself looked like a rope.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, I think,” Midoriya swore he had seen this type of quirk before, “I think I’ve seen this somewhere.”

At this, All Might moved aside and spotted the plant that was in front of the boy. As if he had recognized it in an instant, All Might smiled before thinking of you fondly.

“It must be (l/n) shoujo.”

Izuku’s eyes widened at the mere mention of your name. Ah, he thought before scrunching his eyes together, That’s right, I’ve not really seen her quirk in action before! As he turned to face All Might, Midoriya spotted a small book beside another tree, before walking over to it and picking it up.

“I think you should take a break for today, Midoriya shounen,” All Might said softly, “Pushing yourself too hard isn’t good either.”

Nodding with a smile, Midoriya held the book in his hands before heading to the dorm. In the meanwhile however, his curiosity got the better of him, and wanting to look for a name, he opened the first few pages of your diary.

Sometimes, I think Midoriya-san just needs to rest his bones a bit.

His eyes widened at the words written down. Whoever this person was, they were talking about him! Turning to another page, he found more words of him, some were worried for him, some were highlighting his weaknesses (which he gladly made note of), and some were praising his strengths. A smile sat on his lips as he read what was written, no judgment in mind, before bumping into someone.

He blinked when he spotted Mineta. The purple head tilted his head at Midoriya’s smile before cheekily grinning at him.

“That looks like a weird smile, Midoriya,” Mineta teased, “What’s gotten you smiling like me?”

A dark shade overshadowed Izuku’s face as he shook off Mineta’s words.

“It’s definitely nothing like your smile, Mineta-kun,” He said softly, “But, it’s nothing. I was just... recollecting something.”

“Hm,” Mineta scoffed before walking away, “I hope it’s not something stupid like a crush.”

Izuku chuckled before entering his dorm room. Leaving his school bag by the bed, he opened the diary once more before reading the words written about him again, from the beginning.

It can’t be Uraraka-san, he thought before humming and tracing his finger over the writing. On second thought, why can’t it be Uraraka-san? Does that mean she watches me and takes note of me? Or is it Asui-san? She seems to care about my wellbeing too, right?

A blush adorned his face as he thought, It can’t be Yaoyarozu-san or Jirou-san, definitely. They don’t seem the type to... He gulped, unable to even finish the thought.

Shooting up straight on his bed, Midoriya suddenly jerked up, almost certain he tore a tissue on his neck. His eyes were wide and his grip on the diary tightened just a little bit, and a yelp exited his mouth.

And just as the door opened, Midoriya exclaimed, “(l/n)-san!”

Mineta blinked at the door before closing it behind him quietly. I thought I was the freak, he thought as he walked back to his dorm. It’s a stupid crush. I’ll ask him about the damn homework some other time.

“Izuku-kun, will you kiss me?” Your face was inches away from his, your hand was wrapped around his wrist.

Izuku could feel his cheeks burn at how close you were, your eyes were dead focused on his form. You weren’t looking anywhere else, and why were your lips so shiny? He gulped when he realized he had been looking at them, before you moved in and closed the gap. You kissed him like you had been dreaming of this for far too long, and your grip on his wrist merely tightened. And just as Izuku eased into the kiss, closing his eyes, nourishing the feeling it was giving him, he felt a strange warmth cascade on his skin.

His eyes shot open and the alarm noise was blaring into his ears. He lay there, ignoring the sound of the alarm, and he thought of you—how your lips felt against his, how your eyes were looking into his soul; he felt the warmth rush to his face again and he felt a bit ashamed, a bit relieved that it was indeed a dream, but mostly, Izuku felt like he had run a marathon in less than an hour.

He thanked the stars that it was a weekend, but he still had to go over and give you the diary. He bit his lip when he thought of you again, your eyes looking right into his, and without realizing it, Izuku bumped his feet against the bed and cussed.

Get it together, he thought before feeling the embarrassment rush to his features. Grabbing the diary, Izuku swallowed air before attempting to head to your dorm room; knowing full well that you might either be there or near the forest. He hasn’t actually spoken to you voluntarily, and while this realization made him feel weird inside, not to mention the wet dream he had of you, Izuku felt a strange excitement—like he was suddenly 5 years old and the girl he was sitting next to finally smiled at him.

He knocked twice on your door, but there was no answer. For a second, he wondered if he should just leave the diary in front of your door, but remembering a certain purple haired classmate of his, Izuku thought it was best if he handed it over to you personally. After all, he had no idea if you were going to be mad at him or snap at him for taking your book; maybe, you headed back where you left it, in hopes of finding it right there, but Izuku knew that he had stolen that chance away from you. Rushing to the forest, he spotted you there, frantically looking over at every inch, and a soft smile crept up to his lips. Slowly approaching you, Izuku held the book in his right hand while his left hand rubbed the back of his neck.

“Um,” He alerted you, not wanting to scare you, “(l/n)-san?”

You jumped at the sound, turning to him with a strikingly red face; you looked troubled, but he only assumed that was because you thought your book was missing. Izuku slowly handed the book to you before offering an apologetic smile.

“I—I’m really sorry! I found it here and I didn’t know whose it was! I was training with All Might, well, actually, I was about to train but he told me not to? So I had to leave, and while I was, I spotted the plant you made? At first, I didn’t know you’d made it—and All Might was the one who said—”

“Midoriya-kun, thank you!”

Izuku’s eyes widened to spot you smiling at him, holding the book close to your chest. The sight of you warm and happy did a number on him, but he didn’t move. Suddenly, he recalled how big your eyes looked when you were about to kiss him and his face heated up. Moving back a couple inches, you were shocked to see how repulsed he suddenly looked.

Your face turned purple, “I-Is everything okay?”

He nodded vigorously before almost retching, “Y-Yeah! I... I have to go!”

Your heart fell at the sight. Suddenly, you didn’t want to care about why he made such a face at your smile. Perhaps, he had read your diary; maybe, he had been repulsed by how you would watch him. Maybe, it was because you were a delicate person, not in tune with who he associated to be, and that was why he was repulsed. Maybe, if you had been anyone but yourself, Izuku would have returned that smile. Your gradual need to voluntarily care less grew in your heart, but you were intrinsically kind—there was no way you could not care. You felt a growing desire to care less about things—to loosen your grip on your life, to stop glancing behind you every few steps, afraid that someone will snatch it from you before you reach the end zone—rather to hold your life loosely and playfully, like a volleyball, keeping it in the air, with only quick fleeting interventions, bouncing freely in the hands of trusted friends, always in play.

But you had no friends you could trust. You could not even understand why something so trivial made you feel something so inexplicably deep.

After the weekend, Izuku noticed you walk into class, a solemn look in your eyes. He wondered if it was because of how abruptly he had left that day, ignoring what you were about to say. He wanted to know right away what you were thinking, what was running through your mind. He wanted to know your every detail, wanting to jot down points in his own diary that he noticed about you. He suddenly hated that he needed to get to know you in order to continue this process, but with you just sitting there, looking sad and anguished, possibly over something he had done, left him feeling helpless and Izuku hated every breathing moment of it.

A twisted sense of frustration grew within him, with how long it takes to get to know someone—and how it required having to spend the first few weeks chatting in their psychological entryway, with each subsequent conversation like entering a different anteroom, each a little closer to the center of the house—wishing instead that you could start there and work your way out, exchanging your deepest secrets first, before easing into casualness, until you’ve built up enough mystery over the years to ask them where they’re from, and what they do.

He quickly shut his eyes when he realized that sensory overload blind the back of his eyes.

Walking back to his dorm, he noticed you wave at Tsuyu-chan and Uraraka-chan before heading to the back of the dorms. Instantly, he knew you were heading over there to train, and swallowing the rock in his throat, Izuku rushed over to you and cleared his throat, wanting not to startle you.

You turned around and your eyes widened, but you forced yourself not to react. Whatever these feelings were, you had long accepted them as being one-sided, so there was no point in pining.

“Are you headed to train?”

You nodded, confused at his query.

“Is it alright if I join you?”

You blinked, “You want to train with me?”

“I’m sorry but,” He took a breath, “I read what you’d written about me. I’m sorry! I know I shouldn’t have looked, but you made so much sense about my quirk! I wanted to thank you for your observations, but I guess... I just... Will you please let me train with you?”

Izuku bowed in front of you and you stood there, floored. Scrambling to have him do anything but bow at you, you bowed back because you really had no idea how to respond to him. Izuku noticed before standing up straight, with you following right after.

“Okay. But, I... I’m not as good as you.”

“Good as me? I’m not even good!” He laughed, following you to the clearing.

You turned to him with a deadpan, “Midoriya-san, your modesty is an insult.”

“I-I’m sorry...” He rubbed the back of his head.

When you reached the area, you stood opposite to where he stood. Izuku took a deep breath before wondering what your offensive moves were like. You were often curious yourself, considering you hadn’t particularly trained with someone before. You were mainly a defensive fighter, but this was your first time wanting to fight offensive.

“I’ll try to go on the offensive.” You said, pressing your hands together.

Midoriya nodded before looking at you intensely. The look made you nervous, but at the same time, it was devoid of any judgment. In an instant, Izuku’s legs were pinned to the ground he stood on, vines wrapping over his feet. He tried to move, but the grip could literally remove his legs. His eyes widened when he spotted you standing exactly where you were, and he wondered what was to come next.

In a second, he turned to his left and spotted a tree trunk coming right at his face, but Izuku moved, pulling his legs away from the vines, rushing toward you; however, what he didn’t expect was to trip over the trunk and fall face flat on to you.

He heard you whine, but he assumed that was because he had fallen over you. But it was when he opened his eyes did he realize what had actually happened. His face was cushioned on your chest, your breasts having covered his fall. Izuku felt a wire in his brain short-circuit, before pushing himself away from you, quickly scurrying to the other end of the forest. You slowly got up a moment later, and when he expected you to yell at him, berate him for being just another Mineta, you looked worried instead.

Eh?

“Are you alright?”

Midoriya froze at how you sounded, your voice almost shaky. He could only nod. You let out a breath before sitting right where you were, a sullen look enveloping your features.

“I-I’m sorry—”

“I thought I hurt you...”

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“What?”

“People usually call me delicate, but the thing is... I don’t have any control over my quirk. It’s a powerful quirk, I’m aware... But I can’t control it because I’m delicate. Weak. People were right. I’m no fit to be a hero. I can’t be like you, Midoriya-san, I can’t be stronger than this... I almost hurt you terribly. You’re already doing your best. And those scars on your hand... You have no idea how much that bothers me. Stupid, right?”

Not at all. What are you saying?

“Someone like me shouldn’t dream so big. I took notes of you hoping I could be like you, but this just proves to me that I can’t. We’re so apart in skill, I just—”

“(l/n)-san! Snap out of it!”

Your eyes widened to see Izuku yell at you. You paused, before waiting for him to finish.

“You’re not weak! You’re anything but weak. Your quirk, it’s one of the most beautiful quirks I’ve ever seen! And your precision! You don’t know it, but this quirk is killing me the more I use it and controlling it is hard, I’ll admit. But if I had the dexterity that you do, I’d be a lot stronger. I’m not strong. I’m anything but,” He got up before moving to you. Bending down to your level, Izuku offered you a hand and brought you up to a standing position. “You’re really strong, (l/n)-san. You don’t see it.”

You teared up at his words, but blinked them away.

“And about people calling you delicate in the past...” You couldn’t ignore the feeling of his hand over yours. “I know that it’s hard to not let it get to you, but trust me, you are going to make an amazing hero.”

You wanted to hug him but you held yourself back. You smiled to yourself, feeling the back of your eyelids burn again, but you just let yourself look at Izuku’s hand in yours, feeling absolute joy rush into your features. Looking up at him, you smiled once more. Izuku was already smiling, but a string in his heart tore as he recollected something.

Izuku-kun, will you kiss me?

His face suddenly reddened and he pulled away, causing you to blink once again. He didn’t look repulsed, he looked... shy? Nodding a couple of times, he scooted away from the area, leaving you behind.

For an entire week, he wondered if he had blown things off to a point where he couldn’t ever fix them.

Sitting in the common room, he laid his head in between his legs and groaned, the couch feeling heavy against his body. Mineta and Kaminari spotted their friend being an absolute grouch before Mineta sighed and walked over to him.

“What’s up, man?”

Izuku sighed before shaking his head.

“I screwed up.”

Mineta rolled his eyes, “Screwed up things with (l/n)?”

The green haired male instantly looked up at the smaller boy who presented a rather unamused expression in his face.

“H-How did you...?”

“Only the both of you look like you’re dying so, it wasn’t hard to connect the dots. Also,” He grinned, “You were screaming her name out the last time I saw you.”

Izuku remembered that episode and pretended not to hear Mineta.

“Just go talk to her, don’t be a wimp when it comes to matters of the heart!”

I thought he was just a regular pervert, Midoriya thought with wonder. Maybe there’s more to Mineta, after all—

“And tell me how her breasts feel like—”

“Good day, Mineta-kun.”

Letting out a breath, he rubbed the back of his neck, wondering why he lets the image of you kissing him breach his every interaction with you. He bit his lip before spotting you heading to the clearing again, to train in silence and solitude. He missed interacting with you, and he wondered where this guilt came from.

Following after you, he noticed the way you walked; brisk, yet smooth. He watched you train, moving vines and branches effortlessly, a lot quicker than before. In just a week, you had managed to excel so much that it amazed him. He didn’t want to be seen watching you, so he hid behind a tree and just stared in wonder. There was a kind of unnoticed excellence that carried on around you, and Izuku noticed this every day—the hidden talent of how you effortlessly carried on being yourself—you would be renowned as a masterpiece if only you’d been appraised by the cartel of popular taste, who assume that brilliance is a rare and precious quality, accidentally overlooking a buried jewel such as yourself, who may not be flawless but are still somehow perfect.

It was at this point, when his eyes widened slowly did he realize that he liked you.

And boy, did he really, really want to kiss you.

Gulping, he got up to address you like a regular person would, but he tripped on absolutely nothing and fell face flat in front of him, now revealing him to be a creepy stalker. Please don’t think I’m Mineta—

“You’re nothing like him, Midoriya-kun. Are you okay?”

I guess I spoke aloud, he thought before getting up and looking at you.

“I... I’m really sorry.”

You shook your head, “I understand that it must be hard to face me. I must make you angry.”

Eh?

“I understand if you think I’m weird—”

“(l/n)-san, I think you’re bloody brilliant.”

Your eyes widened at his blatant observation.

“What?”

“I’m running away from you because... because I...” His face was quite possibly burning him, “I like you.”

“I like you too.”

He looked at you like you were joking, but apparently you were not.

“Oh.”

“Yes.”

You two just stood there, not knowing what to say. You moved a bit, suddenly feeling shy under his intense gaze.

“Why... Why were you avoiding me then?”

Because I had a dream where you kissed me, he thought before breathing out, noticing the way your eyes widened and face reddened. Oh god.

Don’t tell me I said it aloud!

“Midoriya-san... You... What?”

Moving over to you, he grabbed your hands in what felt like the most random and instantaneous reaction he has ever had, and pressed his lips to yours, right before muttering an apology. A second later, he could feel you kiss back, the hand that was free was on his cheek now.

Pulling back, he let out a breath in relief.

“I like you, Midoriya-san.”

“Call me Izuku.”

“Izuku-kun,” you tilted your head sweetly, “Will you kiss me?”

He turned to you with a bright red face, shocked out his mind before he spotted you giggling a second later.

“Oh, you’re teasing me, I see.”

“Glad you caught on.”

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wifeofkimtaehyungofbts · 3 years

Text

Chapter 12

>> Pairing: Taehyung x Y/N, Taehyung x reader

>> Words: 1,181

>> Notes: I’m going to upload a new chapter whenever possible. Please bear with my hectic schedule! You may leave asks and let me know what you think of my writing (:

Synopsis: You run into a rather strange man one night. He seems terrified, as if fighting battles only he can see. He seems detached from the world, talking only to a voice inside his head. Oh, another strange fact: he keeps talking about angels. You discover later that you were the angel he was praying to.

>> Previous / Next

I shut the door behind me as I enter my too dark apartment. I abruptly halt at the sound of someone whimpering. I follow the sound to the living room, wondering whether an animal snuck in to the apartment. My steps are slow and soft, not wanting to scare off whoever is making the noise. The closer I get to the beige couch in the living room, the more I realize the source of the whimpering.

Him.

Is he sick?

Is he dreaming?

I gently place my hand on his forehead in an attempt to feel his body temperature. He wakes up with a jolt, the startle throwing me off balance and have me stumbling backwards. I hit my ankle against coffee the table and scream at the pounding pain. The sound of blankets being tossed against the wooden floor and loud running fills the living room before I am blinded by the sudden lights.

I remain rooted, unable to move because of the pain in my ankle when I feel someone grab my arms from behind. I am guided despite the pain to take the few steps towards the couch before I am sitting on it. I stare into the wide and panicked eyes of the man living with me.

He looks beyond terrified and a part of me wants to control my moans and grunts of pain just so he doesn’t have to feel guilty and so scared of hurting me.

I watch him stand up and dash to the bathroom. It’s clear from all the noise he’s making that he is rummaging through the medicinal cabinet. He comes running back with a tube and a bottle of body lotion. He proceeds to squeeze a large amount of the contents in the tube onto his hand before pulling and rubbing my ankle. My fingers scrape against the denim as I tightly squeeze my pants to avoid screaming out loud close to midnight on a Tuesday night.

He continues to mercilessly pull and rub my ankle and to my surprise, the throbbing goes away. I look at my red, swollen ankle. What if I can’t walk tomorrow?

My job requires standing through my shifts and moving about with energy. If I am unable to work tomorrow, they’ll cut my pay and since Kim Leah isn’t over this month, I have to pay the entire rent. If anything, I need to work more shifts, not cancel work due to a swollen ankle!

He runs again, this time to my bedroom. I feel rather uncomfortable having an unknown man rummaging through God knows what in my bedroom and I strain my neck to get a glimpse of what he’s up to but to my dismay, I can only see as much as far as the bedroom door.

He comes back carrying a sock. He puts it on my swollen ankle. So that the lotion doesn’t rub against anything.

I smile at his care, feeling warmth in the hollow of my chest. It’s been a while since I felt this way.

He looks up at me with the same wide, panicked eyes as before. His eyes widen more as I gently cup his cheek.

“Thank you. This was very sweet of you" I say, smiling warmly, hoping I could radiate onto him some of the warmth he coated my unfeeling heart with.

His trembling cheek relaxes under my hand and he closes his eyes for a second before slightly reopening them. And then he does something that has my heart flipping at a 180°.

He smiles.

And this isn’t just any smile.

It’s different.

His lips are stretched in a boxy grin, his two front teeth, small and slightly sticking out in misalignment. His eyes crinkle at the corners, sparkling with innocent happiness. He seemed so broken yet so brave.

It’s too much of an analysis of his smile, but as I continue to stare into his face and soak in his happiness, I realize once again how sad his eyes look, straining to smile despite having a sparkle of joy.

It almost seems like it’s been a while since he smiled. And so I smile back even more enthusiastically to encourage his happiness.

We continue to smile at each other as the fireflies light the way to the dark, starless night sky outside.

A cold breeze brushing against my bare back wakes me up. My pyjama tee shirt had rolled up during sleep and left my back completely exposed to the wind coming in through the window I forgot to close before hitting the bed.

If Kim Leah had been here, she’d freak out and never let me stay alone, calling me irresponsible and careless.

If only she knows what I’ve been through. A window being open overnight as I sleep with both my eyes closed don’t hold a candle to sleeping at my own house with both eyes open.

Kim Leah and I have known each other since my first day at the university. It was exciting to know the roommate I was assigned to share the apartment with was also in the same program as I at university. We had the same classes all throughout the first year. During the second year, we only shared classes for general subjects together. We are almost done with our second year and Kim Leah might entirely have practical subjects for her third year, which means we would barely see each other with her having to go on practical assessments and projects.

I will miss her, but at least we’ll meet in our apartment on most nights when she isn’t outstation on one of her practical assessments.

She has always meant the best for me, looking out for me and caring for me in a way I’ve never been cared before. I confide in her about almost any and everything in my life. But I’ve always made it a point to leave out some parts about my mother because I don’t want her over worrying or tagging along with me the next time I visit what’s left of my home.

Home.

The last time I called it by that name was in sixth grade for an English essay.

It’s anything but a home. The four walls stand sturdy at its feet, but everything inside those four walls is crumbling, decaying and rotting away. The air inside hangs heavy with thick hate, no kind words spoken inside. The people that lived there and the person that still does are not even human anymore. Their last bits of hope and sanity have long left them.

I haven’t visited this hell in a year and I don’t plan on doing so. But I should probably check on her.

Already weary at the thought of her, I drag myself to the bathroom and stare at my disheveled state in the mirror.

A thin ray of sunshine seeping through the bathroom window falls on my eyes, making them much prettier and livelier than they really are.

If only she could find sunshine to make her prettier and livelier.

Tag list: @tae-n-u

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afewmarvelousthoughts · 4 years

Text

The Devil’s Daughter Ch. 2

Master List: @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin

Pairing: The Winter Soldier X Reader (Bucky X Reader)

Summary: Born and bred to be a monster worthy to lead Hydra into a new age you must decide if you will become the beast they always intended or perhaps something greater… Someone worthy even, of love.

Warnings: Trauma. This one is lighter but I still advise to tread with caution when it comes to this series.

A/N: I MISSED ALL OF YOU! I’ve been so wrapped up with work and another project that I haven’t had really any time to breathe. BUT I finally took like a half step back and remembered that fic is actually a form of self care for me. I LOVE writing these stories and needed to make time for this and, of course, to give those of you who are invested something to sink your teeth into.

This is a shorter chapter but will answer that lingering question from the last chapter and, I hope, make up for the wait just a bit.

Love you sweet pumpkins!

TAGS ARE OPEN

If I missed your tag please remind me.

You hadn’t expected sleep to come easily. It rarely did even before this seemingly endless day, and yet the moment you settled into the plush bed you fell into blissful unconsciousness.

A few hours before sunrise, your eyes pop open. It certainly wasn’t the longest night’s sleep but you felt more than rested. Another side effect of the serum you suspected, and honestly, not a bad one.

You had work to do.

Tentatively you step from your room, both cautious of any potential threats and not wanting to disturb the presumably sleeping Soldier, wherever he may be. Thankfully, you found neither assailant nor your new muscle stalking around the space.

Given your first goal of the day you were honestly more grateful to not see the Soldier awake than you were to not face an attack.

On the small dining table, the boxes of files on The Soldier sat just where you’d left them the night before. You lay your hand on top of one, almost reverently.

There was no doubt that what these boxes contained was unpleasant if not horrific. Part of you almost didn’t want to crack into them, not wanting to take this journey now.

With a deep breath, you shake your head, dismissing your hesitation. You’d made a commitment, albeit only to yourself, that you would give him his name back. And if his freedom could be wrenched from these files… Well, you’d do that too.

By the time the sun finally lit the windows you felt ill. No one could ever accuse you of having a weak constitution when it came to violence but still… some levels of depravity, especially sanctioned depravity, were more than even you could bear.

The story told of The Soldier unfolded in the files on the floor around you. It was a lesson in just how deep the cruelty of man could go.

Beyond the more gut-wrenching details, you’d gained a surface understanding of how he ticked. The triggers and tools available to you, none of which you intended to use, as well as his limitations.

Part of his appeal was that he could be rendered a blank slate, a human weapon at the full control of whoever had a firm enough grasp on his leash. However, wiping him and bringing him fully back to square one had its risks.

The insidious technique always carried the chance of simply leveling him to a state of drooling uselessness at best and death at worst. Because of this, they only wiped him entirely with the use of the chair when absolutely necessary. In fact, his last full wipe had been almost four years ago—which likely explained his remembering your encounter from several years prior.

From what you gathered so far, this was one of the longer stints Hydra had gone without either icing or wiping him. The notes indicated that this was a great win. They thought they’d finally broken him.

A smile filled your face knowing this was far from true.

“Amusing read?”

You had been so absorbed in your research that you didn’t hear his approach and embarrassingly jumped at the sound of his voice.

“The content isn’t amusing. Their misguided ideas though…”

His brows raise at this, “Ideas about what?”

“That they have somehow finally broken you.” The moment the words leave your lips you regret them. His expression is unreadable, a combination of horror, disgust, and murderous rage that no language you knew had a word for.

“Haven’t they.” It wasn’t a question.

“Your presence here says they haven’t.” As did his attempt on your life last night and the fact that he didn’t kill you when you told him your plan. He doesn’t respond, just shoves his hands in his pockets, fixing his gaze out the window.

“They think because they haven’t had to wipe you in so long that you’ve given in. It’s amusing because it’s the exact opposite, isn’t it? You figured out-”

“Even a dog learns not to bark when the shock collar goes off too many times.” His frigid tone makes you flinch. You think to respond but his cold glare freezes your jaw shut. “It doesn’t mean a goddamn thing.”

“You’re wrong.”

A muscle in his jaw ticks and you brace for his rebuttal. It doesn’t come. He simply turns and strides onto the terrace.

To say that wasn’t what you expected would be an understatement. Last night he admitted to remembering you, admitted that what he did to Eric he did for the both of you. Clearly he had grabbed hold of a bit of autonomy, some level of self-awareness. Yet he didn’t see it as any kind of victory…

Rather than push the matter, you sigh and begin repacking the boxes, tucking the nightmarish pieces of The Soldier’s puzzle away--all but one.

The file was old, dating back to WWII, it’s edges frayed and flaking. Once more you flip open the cover.

Held by a rusted paperclip is a black and white photo of a striking young man in military dress with a mischievous smile.

Your eyes wander from the photo to the man on the terrace. Logically you knew they were the same person but at the same time, it seemed impossible. There was a spark in the person staring back at you in the photo, an effortless charm that couldn’t be dulled by the passage of time. For that energy to remain in a photograph and not in the man himself…

Taking care to not damage the picture, you slide it from the paperclip. The document below held nothing but basic information, information he may want. The photo though--well it seemed almost cruel to present him with it when it was clear the man in it had died a long time ago.

“Oh,” you breathe out as his reaction makes some kind of sense to you.

Before you’d wondered if he may remember his name, it seemed marginally possible given that he’d known you. But after what you’d learned and how your words had clearly hurt you knew that wasn’t the case. He may have wrenched some control back out of sheer will over the past few years but it was, for him, a hollow victory.

With effort you swallow the lump in your throat, setting the file on top of the box before you head back to the room you’d slept in.

Looking to take your mind off your bungled good deed you pick up the burner phone Mara had given you thinking to ring her to come on up until you note the early hour. The woman had been through hell, you could grant her a few more hours of what you hoped was restful sleep.

Unable to think of anything else to do you get in the shower, turning the water to a scalding temperature. The sting on your skin grounding you in your body, making you feel present, as pain so often did.

He wanted to… apologize? Maybe? Even though he wasn’t sure if he really wanted to or if he was just afraid of what may happen if he didn’t.

She isn’t like that, he tries to tell himself. But whether that was the truth or just his own pathetic need for it to be true he didn’t know.

If he was being honest, he could hardly tell up from down.

Sighing, he rubs his temples, forcing down a few deep breaths.

She didn’t deserve that, a voice in his head whispers. It’s right. She may be the one who was wrong but he’d been needlessly cold.

Squaring his shoulders he heads back inside only to be met by the sound of the shower.

Relief floods him. He may have decided he would apologize but he hadn’t actually known what to say. Before he’s able to think more about it his eyes land on a single folder sitting conspicuously on top of the boxes.

In the span of a heartbeat, everything around him falls away for just a moment. Then the alarm bells sound.

He’s both too hot and too cold. His breath ragged, if not gasping. In his chest, his heart threatens to break free.

Still, he moves like a man possessed toward the unassuming document.

All night he’d thought of coming out here and opening these boxes. Tearing through them with the hopes that he’d get back whatever they took from him or find out that there was nothing worth regaining.

Really that’s what he wanted to learn. More than anything he wanted to open these boxes and know that he had always been this creature of Hydra. He wanted there to only be this. He needed the skinny boy with the busted lip and bright smile, the woman humming in a kitchen, and the little girl on ice skates who haunted his dreams to be figments crafted by his fractured mind.

If the Soldier was all he ever was he could continue onward. Anything else…

With shaking hands he lifts the file and opens it.

It’s like being punched in the chest.

Gasping he falls to his knees on the plush carpet. In his mind, he’s falling elsewhere. A man screams a word printed on the page.

“Bucky!”

It echoes through his very bones. Over and over.

“Bucky, you promise I won’t fall?” The little girl wears a red scarf, her blue eyes big and trusting.

“Bucky, take this to the table and tell your sisters to wash up.” The woman has the same blue eyes, her smile feels like home.

“Bucky, I don’t need you to fight my battles.” The skinny boy says, wiping blood from his lip.

“Bucky!”

It feels like the only sound in the world.

“James!”

That wasn’t right.

“James!”

Another word. Another name.

“James, you come back to us. You hear me boy?!” The man’s voice and face were severe but his brown eyes shone with tears.

“James, you really bring out the best in him you know?” The woman’s red lips curl in a friendly smile.

“Oh for fuck’s sake. James!”

The sting of a slap brings reality crashing in sending all the nameless ghosts tumbling back into the fog always lingering at the edges of his mind. In their stead is a face with a name he knows.

“Catherine.”

She huffs out a breath, wet hair tumbling into her face smelling like flowers. When she looks back at him her eyes flood with regret.

“I’m so sorry for hitting you. I… You didn’t seem to be breathing but you looked like you were screaming…”

“It’s o-”

“It isn’t ok.” Sighing, she sits cross-legged in front of him, her eyes lighting on the file still gripped in his hands.

Only then do his eyes reluctantly find their way back to the page.

Barnes, James “Bucky” Buchanan

He fights down the bile rising in his throat.

“James.” It comes out garbled like his tongue can’t quite make sense of the syllables. He doesn’t notice his trembling until her warm hand rests against his left forearm.

“You called me, James.”

“I did. Was that ok?” He meets her eyes once more, unsure of how to answer. “I won’t use it if-” Shaking his head he cuts her off glancing back at the page.

“James is good.” Too many nameless faces whispered the other name. But James, there were fewer echoes there.

“It’s an honor to meet you, James.”

Her voice is warm, soft. He almost thinks he’s imagining it.

“Is it?”

“Without question.” She gives his arm a squeeze, and he knows this is real.

“I assume you prefer coffee to tea?” Catherine asks as she rises to her feet, striding to the phone without explanation.

“I-” He’s a bit baffled by the shift.

“Well, you are American. So I assume you prefer coffee.”

Did he?

“I’ll get both and if you prefer coffee I win.” He can’t help but laugh a little.

“What do you win?”

“I’ll think of something.” She winks before picking up the receiver and James could almost swear his pulse quickened if only a little.