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the--rebel--fae · 2 months

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Stereo Heart

A/N: This was actually an idea I found from a post by @animequeen4 and I decided it just had to be written. This was a lot of fun, to be honest. I just hope I did the characters--especially a certain TV overlord, justice!

Pairing: Vox x Reader

TW: Swearing, but that's really it.

Word Count: 1116

Stereo Heart

Velvette let out a sigh as she saw Vox pace back and forth in the main living room that the three of them usually like to hang out in. “Vox, love. Just go over there and tell her how you feel. Stop pacing back and forth worrying what to do like a pussy. You’re an Overlord for Lucifer’s sake!”

Vox sent a glare towards his fellow Vee and finally stood still for a moment. The growing whirring of his fans could practically give away how stressed he was. “Velvette. It’s not that simple. This girl’s different. She’s just–just-bzzt” He buffered slightly trying to figure out the right words to describe her.

Velvette chuckled. “You are so whipped.” Vox crackled with electricity and she shrugged nonchalantly and rested her chin on her hand while still typing away on her phone with her other hand. Velvette glanced back over at Vox as he started to pace again. “If you’re really trying to woo your little Cinderella and just doing things how you always do won’t work–”

“They won’t.”

Velvette set her phone down and crossed her arms. “Do you want my help or not Vox?” She was truly sick of how borderline pathetic Vox was being.

As much as Vox hated that he was even asking for help, this girl was something special. He’d never seen someone that he was actually willing to court and woo instead of straight-up manipulating to get on his side. No, he couldn’t do his usual thing. He had to go bigger, better! And even if he had to get past that old timey prick at the hotel she was staying at.

Vox let out a groan and ran a hand down his face. “Fine. what do you have in mind?”

Velvette smirked. “You said this girl died in the eighties yea?”

***

Vox groaned as he walked up to the tacky little hotel Alastor was staying at. If he was lucky, he wouldn’t have to deal with him. “Velvette you better be right about this or I swear,” he hauled the heavy-ass boom box up on his shoulder and hit the play.

Inside the hotel

You chuckled at a joke Angel Dust told you as the two of you hung out on the hotel’s balcony when you suddenly heard a song from back when you were alive. Wait…was that…

I get so lost, sometimes

Days pass and this emptiness fills my heart

When I want to run away

I drive off in my car

But whichever way I go

I come back to the place you are

All my instincts, they return

And the grand facade, so soon will burn

Without a noise, without my pride

I reach out from the inside

Angel Dust’s eyes widened. “Is that song In Your Eyes?”

A smile stretched across your lips spreading into a dopey grin. It was the perfect match for your currently flushed cheeks. “You know it too Angel?”

Angel smirked. “Course I do toots! I ain’t that ancient. Cut me some slack would ya?” He joked goodnaturedly.

You chuckled as well and continued to smile as you heard the lyrics of the song.

In your eyes

The light, the heat

(Your eyes)

I am complete

(Your eyes)

I see the doorway to a thousand churches

(Your eyes)

The resolution of all the fruitless searches

(Your eyes)

I see the light and the heat

(Your eyes) I want to be that complete

I want to touch the light

The heat I see in your eyes

In your eyes

Now where could those lyrics be coming from? It sounds like it could be from some kind of sound system. The grin you had on your face hasn’t slipped once. That song was an absolute classic when you were alive. It came from a famous rom-com after all.

“Uhh, (y/n), you might wanna see this.” Angel Dust said as he peered over the balcony railing.

You stepped forward but you found yourself gripping the railing to calm your quicking heart. “V-vox? Is that really you down there?” You asked, your voice taken down to a breathless whisper.

Vox immediately looked up at the balcony the second his speakers picked up on your voice. “Heh, hey doll. I take it you like the little surprise?”

“My, my is the annoying little picture box actually using a classic form of music consumption?” Alastor suddenly said, cutting you off before you could respond to Vox.

Vox’s grin immediately turned sour and he had to prevent himself from destroying the stereo on his shoulder. “Al-bzzt-astor! Would you ju-bbzt shut the hell up! I’m trying to do something here you old outdated fossil!” Vox’s screen kept turning various colors from blue to red and then back to normal as he faced his long-time rival.

Alastor just chuckled as he walked forward from the balcony door and rested on the balcony railing as he looked at Vox with an amused grin. “You know, this seems like a decent little tune but I think it could use a bit of flare. Don’t you think so my dear?” Alastor said as he sent a glance your way.

“Alastor what are you about to do?”

All you got in reply was a simple snap of his fingers and instead of In Your Eyes, the stereo started playing Baby Shark, a newer little tune that some of the younger sinners have been singing lately.

That was the last straw for Vox. As soon as he heard that tune he buffered continuously and his grip on the boom box became so strong that he split the poor thing in half. “Agh! D-bzzt-amn yo-bzt-u Alastor! Fuck you!” He cursed.

Vox was damn near close to overheating and almost shut down from his anger until he heard your sweet giggles. “Hey Vox! Don’t worry about it! That was really sweet actually even if a certain someone decided to mess with you.”

Alastor shrugged nonchalantly at your pointed look and with a small wave goodbye, disappeared back into his shadows.

Vox finally calmed down but his screen was glowing a light pink under his eyes as if the TV overlord was blushing. “Really? Heh, of course, Doll. I did this for you after all. In fact,” Vox smirked and tossed the boom box aside. “Would you like to go on a date with me?”

You felt your cheeks warm at Vox’s confession and it took a light nudge from Angel dust to snap you out of your reverie. “I’d love to Vox!”

Vox’s smirk widened into a full grin. Maybe coming out to this shitty hotel wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

Welp, hope you enjoyed! I know I had fun with this one. Have an awesome day/night my little Rebels!

And if you guys want even more stories--like maybe your own personalized several-page long one-shots or even a multi-chap fic take a look at my Etsy Shop! I do commissions! I even have listings for Hazbin Hotel!

#hazbin hotel x reader #commissions open #hazbin hotel season 1 #hazbin alastor #vox x reader #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin hotel vees #the rebel fae #hazbin hotel #oneshot #hazbin vox #vox hazbin hotel headcanons #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel headcanon #vox x you #requests #alastor #baby shark #vox hazbin hotel

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simple-seranade · 1 year

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Achilles Come Down

Jimmy walks into the Double Life series expecting and hoping it will be his last.

Of course, the universe has never let him get what he wants, so why should this time be different?

(Though maybe, just maybe, he can forgive the universe just this once, now that he has another day to do so.)

OK SO LOTS OF TRIGGERS HERE

TW: suicidal thoughts, near suicide attempt, self harm, MAJOR self-hate and self deprecation, dissociation, death. this is a heavy one, guys

DISCLAIMER: this is about the characters, not the CCs. I am fully aware that all the jokes are in good fun and that Jimmy is fine with it. I just wanted to make c!Jimmy sad and then give him comfort.

that being said, enjoy 6k words of ranchers hurt/comfort!

———*———

Jimmy knows the feeling of death.

The temporary jolt of the infinite respawn, the burning phantom pain of losing a life, the cold grasp of the Void permeating down to the bone and leeching every living spark in your body as you die for the final time- he’s felt it all, more than once, more than most ever have or will or should. He’d say he regards death as a good friend, if it weren’t for the fact that he was fighting it with every fiber of his being in that space below life, where there was nothing but pure nothingness in every direction, surrounding him, choking the air out of his lungs while his heart didn’t beat in his chest and his blood didn’t course through his veins-

Not the point. That’s not the point.

The point is, Jimmy is familiar with death. He’s spent more time dead than some of the new players have spent alive.

The point is, each time he’s yanked back to the realm of the living from the endless darkness, he’s met with teasing ridicule towards his downfall, mocking laughs directed at his hopes that things would be different.

The point is, Jimmy doesn’t think he can do this anymore.

A circlet burning upon a sacrificial altar, offering up his soul to one that didn’t exist, didn’t care, didn’t bless. An arrow through the chest, leaving the person he cared about alone. A fireball hitting him and setting every inch of him aflame, because his life wasn’t hell enough, he had to actually die in it. Shattered bones from the cold, unforgiving dirt as his brother hit him off of a building.

Those were just the permanent deaths. That doesn’t count for the countless burning pains and scars that are only there as a tapestry to his failure. That doesn’t count for all the times he’s picked a fight he couldn’t win and died more from the embarrassment than the actual pain. That doesn’t count the agony that was stopping the void from disintegrating him piece by piece as he waited for the others to die in the games, all alone and isolated, because right then Death only had one focus and one alone, one meal to dine upon. That doesn’t count for the thousand little deaths he feels he’s died each day as they joke about poor Tim, worthless Tim, cursed Tim, always Timmy, never Jimmy-

He’s tired. He’s sick and he’s tired and he’s done.

He’s been done for a while, actually. A few too many careless deaths that may have not been so careless, no matter how many times he respawned. A few hearts gone not by fall or mob, but by human sword, his own or others. A few times where all he can do is sob and yank on his hair as a million words and thoughts run through his head, all the laughter just too loud, please, anyone, make it stop-

He sort of blames the others, even though he tries not to. After all, what right does he have to be mad at them when he’s the one screwing up?

A much larger part of him wonders what right they have to laugh at him, to kick him while he’s down, because they’re his best friends, his brother, they should be able to tell but they’re too busy in their own stupid heads.

He doesn’t tell them, no matter how many times they mock him. It’s in good fun, he knows. They don’t know what they’re doing. They don’t realize they’re big contributors to the growing ache in his chest.

It doesn’t make it hurt any less. It doesn’t make him love them any less either.

So, when he gets a letter from his brother, he reads it as he always does. Grian’s invited him to another life series, one with a surprise twist Jimmy barely thinks to ponder on as he reads the rest of the information.

It still has the life system, still will be treated as a hardcore world. It will still have the permadeath mechanic, at least while the game continues.

The night he receives the invitation is the night he makes the plan. He barely realizes he’s doing it until all the steps are laid nearly out in front of him in a way he can’t refuse. It’s simple, foolproof.

Step one: Die.

Find some mobs too early on and try to fight them, purposefully plant a trap that will blow up in his face, accidentally miss his MLG water save, antagonize the red lives assuming he doesn’t reach that status first, fall in lava, let a warden’s scream shatter him- there’s no shortage of ways to accomplish it. Whatever it takes to run through all three lives (or whatever number Grian gives them this time around).

Step Two: Let the void take him.

Players aren’t really meant to permadie. The void eats them slowly, relishing in every dissipated particle and line of code. There’s plenty of time to grasp at the strands of life available, and respawns rarely take more than a few seconds, let alone enough time for a player to be fully consumed. Single player hardcore worlds will send the player back to the Hub after only half a minute, barely any void attached, and multiplayer hardcore servers usually do the same, or at least grant the mercy of spectator mode to allow those fallen to observe their friends.

The Life series were… different.

When he had died for the final time in Third Life, he expected to be in the void for only a few moments before the Spectate button would appear and he would watch the world continue as a ghost of his former self. He sat in the void for five seconds.

Then ten seconds.

Thirty seconds.

A minute.

An hour.

A day.

A week.

All with the void attempting to destroy the very essence of his being, all while using every bit of strength to stop the deterioration before someone else joined him. Then it lessened, and by the time the majority of the players joined him, it was barely noticeable.

Grian apologized profusely after the game. He said he didn’t know what happened- at least, he told everyone else that. To Jimmy and Martyn, he confided the real reason the void was the way it was, why the first to fall came so close to actually dying.

If Jimmy ever sees a Watcher, he’s going to punch them in the face.

His brother thought he had fixed it the second game. The others were told of the dangers, all accepting that it could happen. Jimmy trusted his older brother. Then Jimmy fell back into the void, at least this time prepared to fight tooth and nail against the pull of nothingness.

It only stood to reason that it would happen again. That the Watchers would make it so Jimmy would have to use any energy he had left to survive, all for their amusement.

Unfortunately for them, Jimmy doesn’t plan on fighting it.

Then he will get rest.

Then he will be free from all the laughs and jokes at his expense.

No more Timmy.

No more Jimmy.

As he stands in the circle with the others, waiting on the edge of their podiums for Grian to explain the world, a sense of calm he’s rarely felt during these washes over him. After all, he knows how this will end for him. There’s no question as to if he’ll be the first to go, because he will.

And he will relish in it, before finally being no more.

Grian claps his hands, pulling Jimmy out of the fathoms of his thoughts. “Alright, guys, thank you for joining us in a third go around of the Life Series! Welcome to Double Life, as you all saw on your invites. Now, as you also saw, there’s a surprise mechanic this time around!”

“Is it called ‘Scar keeps his shirt on’? We haven’t seen that one yet!” Ren calls out, causing laughter to spread amongst the group. Jimmy joins them, though the sound seems odd in his ears. Heavy.

“Unfortunately, Ren, I haven’t figured out how to code that, otherwise I would in a heartbeat.” Grian replies, fighting to keep a smile off of his face. Scar simply sticks his tongue out at the shorter man. “No, the surprise mechanic is…. imaginary drumroll… soulmates!”

Jimmy’s world crashes out from under him, the supports holding him up weathering under the force of a thousand invisible unchangeable years of pain.

Questions he can barely understand swell in the air, Grian barely managing to bring them to a quiet lull to answer them. “Soulmates will be randomly assigned here in a few minutes. You both will share a health bar- when one of you takes damage, so will the other, and when one of you dies, so will your soulmate. We have a few rules to stop anything from going wrong with the code-“

The rest of the words are a blur in Jimmy’s mind. The people scatter, awaiting the timer to tick down and attach their heart to another. Jimmy does too, with footsteps not his own, in a direction he doesn’t choose, all while a heart beats that soon won’t be only his.

This- this couldn’t be happening. He was going to be done. He was going to get to be free from the hell that had become his life.

He bites back a scream and kicks a nearby tree, feeling a shot of pain race up his foot. It throbs for a moment, but it’s a welcome distraction from the anger in his head at Grian, at the world, at everyone, because why can’t he just-

Your Soulmate Is…

???

Jimmy blinks the green letters out of his vision, only to be hit by a strong sense of vertigo for a split second. His vision swims, and his heart beats almost painfully in his chest.

He’s been linked.

It’s too late now.

Any sense of peace from earlier is gone, replaced by a rising sensation of dread. He can’t do this again. He can’t do this again.

Because now he’ll be dooming someone else when he dies. Now the void won’t try to feast upon him alone, and he won’t get the sweet release of his code being torn from the universe because everyone on this server likes to play the fucking hero and won’t let him.

It’s fine. It’s fine, everything is fine. He- he’ll figure it out. Maybe this will be a good thing, maybe his soulmate will have some sort of astounding luck to counteract whatever the hell the universe is doing to him.

The excuse doesn’t sound genuine, even to his own thoughts.

Ok. He can do this. Just- gather materials. Play the game. He’s done it before, he’s good at it, no matter what everyone else says.

So he does. He gathers wood, explores the world, even stumbles upon a cave. There’s a startling lack of iron inside, but at least he’s getting some stone.

He’s smelting a few of the scraps of iron he’s found when a flash of green catches his eye in the distance, only illuminated by the torches he’s already placed down. The green turns into a shape, the shape turns into a figure, the figure turns into someone he still doesn’t know whether to regard as foe or friend.

“Oi! Jimmy!” Joel calls out, and thankfully the part of Jimmy that wants to slam his head into the stone in front of him gives way to the part that gives a practiced grin. He can see the glinting of iron armor the man dons, even in the low light, as well as the food in the man’s hand.

“Joel! Any chance you can spare some salmon?”

The man immediately shakes his head. “Uh, no. I need it, I’m low on food.”

“Fair- I was wondering who was taking all the iron, guess that’s solved now!”

Joel has the decency to look sheepish. “Yeah, sorry ‘bout that, mate. Don’t want my soulmate hating me right out the gate, yknow?”

“Yeah, that checks out.” Jimmy turns back to his furnace for a second to check on the iron he’s smelting, only to feel a jolt of pain in his shoulder. “Ouch! What-“

Joel punches him in the shoulder again, laughing. “Shush, Tim, I’m gonna make your soulmate annoyed at you!”

Frustration flares somewhere deep in Jimmy as he dodges the next swing. “How did you know it wasn’t me and you? It coulda been me and you!”

The other man just shrugs, landing on more punch on Jimmy’s now sore shoulder. “Dunno, just had a feeling.”

Don’t get mad, Jimmy, don’t get mad. He’s just… being Joel. “Well, we passed the test, so it seems like we aren’t together this go-around.”

The flames of the furnace cast a warm glow on Joel’s face as he puts some food in it. “Yeah… I prayed that it wasn’t, so…”

Jimmy wishes he could say it didn’t hurt. That after all this time he’d become desensitized to the comments, that he was able to shrug it off like any other person would be able to.

Then again, the universe doesn’t seem to be in the business of granting Jimmy’s wishes.

He should just stay quiet. He should laugh it off, move on, do what he always does, because Joel doesn’t mean any harm. He knows he doesn’t.

But a small part of him questions. It asks, just this once, if it really is a joke. If Joel really has meant it all this time, if the effect his words have had on Jimmy are justified. The larger part of him that knows it’s a joke longs for… something. Just some kind of confirmation that Jimmy is just overreacting, for Joel to look him in the eyes and say he was only kidding.

The words escape his lips before he can even think about them.

“You… prayed you wouldn’t be paired with me…?”

Look at me, Joel. Look at me. Look at me look at me loOK AT ME-

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t even tear his gaze away from the furnace.

Everything is clouded in a haze of raging emotions as he listens to Joel talk about the mineshaft, following blindly behind.

The question was stupid. It was utterly, undeniably idiotic, just like Jimmy himself, because now he only longs more for the thing he can’t have. He’s angry at so many of things- Joel, Grian, the universe, himself, void he’s mad at himself-

Even the rush of finding the amethyst cave isn’t enough to clear his head, all the voices around him seeming muddy and loud enough to make him want to slam his hands over his ears. The singing of the crystals, the laughs of his friends as they remembered the last game (remembered the group they kicked him from, the times they turned him away because he’s just useless Tim), all enough to make him grateful for the peaceful quiet of the surface world as he lugs himself out of the cave, iron armor weighing heavily on his shoulders.

Well, it’s not totally quiet- this is a server with his friends. Quiet doesn’t exist with them, especially with the musical calls of the goat horns ringing across the server, the faint laughs of his friends not far behind.

(He still calls them that. He calls them his friends and he hates it because they shouldn’t be, not when they make him hurt like this, but even now he can’t say he hates them. He should, but he can’t, and it makes it all the more infuriating.)

He needs to focus on something. He can’t just sit around wallowing in his own self pity, not when his soulmate is out there. They’re going to find each other eventually, and all he can hope for is someone who will at least be happy with him if he’s useful, which means he needs more materials.

… those goat horns do sound pretty cool, though.

It takes some coaxing, getting the goat to start charging him atop the mountain. Of course the only one reluctant to try to attack him is the one he needs to. That’s just how his luck is going.

He’s not prepared for the sensation of phantom teeth sinking into his arm, nor the feeling of an arrow glancing across his cheek. He gasps as the pain races through his nerves, wondering what the hell his soulmate is doing, then there’s burning pain being torn apart fire smoke-

Tango blew up

SolidarityGaming died

The respawn only takes second, leaving Jimmy breathing heavily, hand clutching his chest as he sits in the branches of a tree. The pain is fading rapidly, and that sick, horrible part of Jimmy’s brain misses it, the same part that tells him to fall off his builds and overall be a fucking pitiful excuse of a human being.

He groans, pushing himself up and narrowly managing to avoid falling out of the tree completely as he lowers himself to the ground. He can hear frantic apologies from somewhere above him, and it takes a moment for him to spot the source of the voice- his soulmate.

“Oh my gosh, I am so sorry- that explodification came out of nowhere-“ Tango rakes his nails through his hair, small tendrils of smoke rising out of it as he does. His red eyes look sheepishly at the leaves in front of him as he sits in a tree, just like Jimmy was moments prior. “The first death too, oh gosh-“

Jimmy’s heart plummets into the earth below as he realizes that, yes, he did just die first, even if it wasn’t a permadeath. Granted, it was Tango that dragged him down, but they were practically one in the same now. He might have just doomed him from the second the universe linked them.

Void, he really is cursed, isn’t he?

Ice cold shards of hate and dread shoot through his veins, but he shoves them down into all the splintering cracks and crevices his constitution has acquired throughout all of this. He takes a deep breath, carefully schooling all the scorn out of his voice as he addresses the blaze born. “Ok, Tango, walk me through it- walk me through what happened.”

He watches as Tango talks, absorbing the words without fully taking time to understand them. The other man’s hands are constantly moving, fidgeting, and even now he refuses to meet Jimmy’s gaze, clearly embarrassed. His ruby red gaze instead flits between the leaves, the ground, the sky, anything except for Jimmy’s face.

Void, why does no one ever look at him?

He barely holds back a wince at the thought, pushing the thought down and instead reaching out a careful hand towards the fretting blaze hybrid. The other man startles out of his explanation at the feeling of a hand on his shoulder, his gaze turning to Jimmy’s almost involuntarily as words accompany the touch. “Hey, it’s all good. It happens.”

And he means it. Even beneath all the hate and annoyance and pure everything churning beneath the surface, there’s no part of him that blames Tango.

After all, why blame him for Jimmy’s curse?

There’s nothing anyone could do to be settled with this luck, to be stuck with someone who can’t build, can’t do redstone, can only blow himself up with TNT and die. There’s no reason someone would deserve to be stuck with a person who only serves to isolate and drag others down with him, because if he’s ridiculed, everyone he associates with will be too. Then they’ll hate him, leaving him alone, and it’s just a never ending loop, really, a snake eating its own tail because there’s no one around for it to eat or to even eat it.

“Jimmy? You ok?”

Tango’s words send him careening back to earth, back to reality, back to the here and now. His eyes snap to his soulmate, and he’s looking at him now. Tango’s glowing eyes are trained on him, soley on him, and Jimmy fights back the question of when the last time someone did that was. It doesn’t matter, even if Tango’s undivided attention warms his soul similarly to how the blaze born is warming the air around him just by existing.

Stop trying to care. It will be easier if you don’t.

A smile slips back onto his face the way it always does, the way he’s made it, the way it has to. “Yeah, I’m all good!”

He wishes with all his heart that he could mean it.

It’s a struggle to stay tethered to the dirt beneath his feet as he explores, attempting to find his stuff to make up for what they lost. Of course, it’s long gone by the time he finds where he died, and all he has to show for his efforts is wounded pride as everyone’s laughter rings in his ears.

Void, he’s tired.

He’s not useful. He doesn’t know how to build, not like Tango does, as much as his soulmate tries to deny it. He doesn’t blame himself for that. He doesn’t.

He does. He really does.

Still, he can do some things. He focuses on the loud mooing of cows as they follow him, big brown eyes fixed on the wheat in his hand as he approaches the ranch, knocking clumsily against the door to alert the one inside.

“Jimmy? What are you- oh my god!”

Tango’s eyes shine as they land on the cows, and he immediately leans down and pets them, running a hand through their short fur. “There are so many! Jimmy, you’re amazing!”

The canary’s brain stutters.

… what?

He barely has time to process the words, ones he doesn’t remember the last time he heard, before he’s fully encompassed and his feet are off the ground and he’s surrounded by warm. Tango spins him around clumsily, laughing and squeezing tight, before pulling both of them onto the ground. Jimmy can feel both his own dull spike of pain as well as Tango’s as his heart thuds away in his chest.

Hands are on his back. Someone is laughing, but not at him. He’s not laughing at him. He’s not laughing at him.

For the first time in a long time, Jimmy’s heart feels warm.

For the first time in a long time, Jimmy laughs. Heartfeltly, genuinely laughs.

The rest of the day is spent in a flurry of activity, building a pen for the cows and feeding the chickens and a lovely almost domestic dance that Jimmy can barely wrap his head around, even as a pair of arms wraps around him more times than any ever have. His thoughts are still racing in bed that night.

It’s too good to be true.

Everyone has let him just be the butt of a joke for so long, so why on earth is Tango being like this? It’s horrible. It’s horrible and he loves it and he never wants to go without this feeling again even though he’s barely had it for long. He hates it.

He still doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve it, just like how Tango doesn’t deserve all the trouble that’s going to come with being bound to him.

Haunting laughter echoes in his head, overpowering the warm sound of Tango’s from earlier. They’re a cruel, necessary reminder. He can’t let himself forget.

He’s Jimmy. And Jimmy can only fall.

He doesn’t know why he does it. It’s stupid, he’s stupid, an idiot, because why on earth is he up on the roof of the ranch? It’s not like he’s going to do anything, not when it would take Tango down with him, not this early on in the games. Still, as he looks down at the ground, he wonders what he would have to do for it to be enough to kill. If he towers up and takes off what pathetic excuse for armor he has, he should splat pretty nicely. Then he’ll be red, then he can fall again and never have to worry about anything again.

His boots are next to him now. He doesn’t remember taking them off. A chill races up his spine in the cold night air, and he finds himself longing for warmth.

Tango is warm. He should go back to Tango.

He keeps sitting, clenching wooden planks in his hands and fighting the irrepressible urge to place one, then another, then another, then another…

He blinks. He’s higher up now. He doesn’t remember building up.

He should be more concerned, but he can’t bring himself to care.

The ground is far down, far enough to be dangerous, to be lethal. To be exactly what he wants. To take Tango down with him.

He should go back inside.

He sits on the planks, looking down.

It just isn’t fair. He just wants to- he-

He absentmindedly reaches up, digging his nails hard into his arms in a futile attempt to ground himself. It stings, sending spikes of pain racing through his nerves. Even when he’s almost certain there will be crescents in his arms for ages to come after he lets go, he keeps his hands in place, because maybe if he hurts enough here it will take away all the horrible tumultuous emotions that make him hurt more than this ever could.

I should fall. I should go inside, back to bed. I should stay. I don’t need to stay. I don’t want to stay. I can’t stay. I can’t-

“Jimmy?”

He doesn’t move, even as he feels his heart plummet.

Tango.

He’s so close. He should fall now. He screws his eyes shut, leaning forward. He needs to just do it a little more and-

Arms wrap around his shoulders and yank him back onto the block, holding him close.

There’s silence across the roof as the two men breathe raggedly, one’s heart racing with adrenaline and the other’s beating fast like it was almost one step closer to never doing again. It hurts. He was so close, but now he’s not, and it hurts. Sharp spikes of pain lace through his arms as his nails dig in yet again, harder than ever.

Tango lets out a hiss, and dully Jimmy remembers that Tango can feel that now. He’s hurting Tango. Void, he’s hurting Tango and he’s so damn angry at himself for it but that just makes him want to dig his nails into his arms even harder until-

Warm hands wrap around his wrists, gently pulling his hands from his arms. “Hey, hey, don’t hurt yourself. Please, just- talk to me, rancher.”

It’s not fair.

It’s not fair that Tango is talking so softly to him despite them never having hung out before. It’s not fair that he doesn’t get this from those he’s known for years. It’s not fair that he has to keep hurting like this.

A drop of water lands on his arm, and he realizes with a start that he’s crying. A thumb gently swipes under his eye, wiping away the tears. “Let’s- let’s get down from here, ok?”

Jimmy barely manages a nod before an arm is wrapped around his waist. Slowly, Tango lowers them back down to the roof. Distantly, he realizes that Tango built up to him, wasting materials on him. He shouldn’t. Jimmy isn’t worth wasting materials on.

He’s not even worth the air he breathes.

“Don’t say that.”

Of course he said that out loud. Of course Tango heard him. It doesn’t sound like Tango’s voice responding. It’s shaky, scared. “Jimmy, please, you don’t mean that.”

He should say he doesn’t.

He shrugs.

The wind blows. He’s so cold.

Until, suddenly, he isn’t.

Warm hands reach up, cradling his face, and it takes everything in him not to lean into the touch. He looks at Tango for the first time this all started, and Tango looks at him, really looks at him in a way no one has in a long time. “Please,” he whispers, hair flickering in the dark. “Please, talk to me.”

Jimmy pushes the words out, stubborn and unwilling though they are, screwing his eyes shut. “… I can’t do this, Tango. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, don’t apologize, that’s- that’s ok. That’s ok, we can talk to Grian, see if he can-“

“No.”

Tango’s tone somehow becomes even more earnest. “Jimmy, if you don’t want to play this time, you don’t have to- not if this is how it makes you feel.”

“That won’t change anything, Tango.” Silence. “I’d feel this way whether I was playing or not.”

Tango stills completely beside him, and a sick part of Jimmy cheers, because he’s finally disturbed the one good thing this run has had going for him. He’s finally going to be alone again, like he’s supposed to be, like the universe will forever dictate. Tears continue to fall from his eyes, rolling off his cheeks and onto the hands holding him so gently.

“How long?”

That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it? How long has he wanted to throw himself off buildings, wanted to drown himself knowing the others would just laugh it off as him being “classic Tim”?

How long has he wanted to die?

“I don’t know.” He replies, because that’s all he can say. It’s the closest thing to an answer he has, because even though he knows he wasn’t always like this he can’t clearly remember the before. Only the bitter, numb, hopeless now.

“What-“ The words abruptly cut off, and he feels the temperature in the air slowly creep higher. “It’s the others, isn’t it?”

All the air leaves Jimmy’s lungs as he opens his eyes, meeting Tango’s again as he hits the nail on the head, the final one in his coffin. He does it before he can think of what it means, that it’s confirming that he’s too sensitive to take jokes, to the point where he’d rather die than let others have some fun. He realizes a split second too late as Tango’s eyes widen, the flames on his head sparking with renewed fervor. He waits for the words that will undoubtedly accompany the sparks, the anger and disgust that will come with wasting Tango’s time with his stupid, stupid emotions.

“I’m going to kill them.”

… no.

No, that can’t be right.

That can’t be what Tango is saying, all while holding him and talking to him and wiping his tears. That can’t be right.

Because-

“No, don’t. It’s not their fault. I’m just-“

“-Jimmy, don’t you dare finish that sentence.”

“But it’s true!” It comes out louder than he means it to, adding ‘yelling at Tango’ to the ever growing list of things he can hate himself for as he yanks himself out of Tango’s hands. The cold stings his skin. “They’re just jokes! They don’t mean them to hurt. So if I am getting hurt, then I just can’t take it, because I’m weak and pathetic and I should just die!”

The words seem to ring out across the rooftop, the unspoken root of it all finally out in the open. All the things he swore he’d never let get heard are there, painful and raw and so, so messy, laid at Tango’s feet like the world’s most heretical offering, the kind that would get one cremated by holy fire for daring to even exist.

But-

The warmth that surrounds him isn’t burning. It’s careful, firm, pressure around his waist and chest. It’s fiery and strong but not harmful, like he’s sitting in a blazing furnace who’s flames are guarding him from every spare speck of cold that could approach him.

Tango is hugging him.

He can’t remember the last time a hug felt this safe.

“Jimmy, listen to me.” The murmured words pierce through his crumbled defenses and strike him right in his hurting, dying, bound soul. “You are not weak. You are not over-sensitive, you are not pathetic. You are kind, you are caring, and you would rather suffer to the point of death than let others know you’re hurting, but you are not any of those awful things you believe.”

He tries to talk, he does, but his brain is so overwhelmed by warmth, sadness, confusion, comfort, all the things he’s tried to keep at arm's reach, that all he can do is make a strangled whine of emotion.

“Shh, shh, I know, it hurts, it hurts. It hurts more than jokifying does, because a joke is only a joke if everyone is having fun. Jimmy, at that point they weren’t joking, even though that’s how they meant it. They were just being cruel.”

The stupid words won’t leave his lips, the questions and protests stuck on his tongue as he looks up at Tango. Somehow the man seems to know exactly what he can’t say as the blazeborn whispers his next words.

“You deserve to be upset, you deserve to be hurt by their comments. Jimmy, you deserve to live.”

The carefully crafted defenses break.

Jimmy collapses fully into Tango’s arms, gasping and heaving with great sobs as years upon years upon years of hurt and pain and anger spill out onto the blazeborn’s shoulder. He cries things, words he doesn’t even process besides his apologies and ranting and pleas, and Tango just rubs his back, sharp nails tracing gentle circles on his back in a way that only makes him cry harder.

The sun is rising by the time the sobs quiet down, leaving two soulmates holding each other in the dawn’s light. Tango’s fingers are running through Jimmy’s hair, and tears are no longer running down Jimmy’s face. The peaceful quiet isn’t shattered when Tango speaks up, instead gently crescendoed into a conversation.

“You should talk to Grian and Joel about this.”

The canary immediately tenses up beneath his soulmate. “No, I can’t-“ He winces as his voice comes out strained, his throat raw from hours of crying.

“Jimmy, I know Grian and Joel. If they knew they were making you hurt like this-“

“They’d blame themselves, Tango. I don’t want them to do that.”

“- I meant, they would stop making the jokes. They want you to be happy, rancher, but you have to tell them that it’s hurting you.”

“I can’t.”

Tango gently takes his face in his hands, guiding his gaze up to his own ruby eyes. “I’ll go with you if you need me to, but they need to know, otherwise the problem isn’t going to get any better.” He pauses. “Then again, if I explodificate them then they can’t make those jokes anymore…”

“No, no, no exploding my brother.”

“So I can explode Joel?”

“No!” Jimmy sighs, leaning his face into Tango’s hands. “… could you be there? Please?”

“Of course.” Tango smiles, brighter than the rising sun and kinder than he’s been looked at in ages. He’s warmer than the sun, too, filling Jimmy with a comfort and making him feel safe. He had forgotten what it felt like to be safe.

He almost never got to remember.

There are still hard conversations he has to have. Telling Grian is certainly going to be full of tears from both parties, and Jimmy is not delusional- he knows it’s not always going to be like this, that he’s going to have to fight everything he’s come to believe about himself if he decides to trust that Tango is right.

Still, as his eyes drift shut, he finally lets himself believe that there’s hope for him after all.

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ambered-glazed-sheep · 3 years

Note

Top 5 anime deaths

1-5.: sasuke

#he isnt dead i just eish he was #all the times he should have died but shouldn't..... smh #hope he dies by sick burns from the other characters hating him #smh smh smh #/lh #........... i just dont like him #i know this is a joke question im taking too literal #if you mean top deaths that made me happy? idk bro #if you mean saddest deaths? the going merry from one piece #...... look i am? was? a weeb i cant help it #amber talks #(ps SASUKE SHOULD HAVE TOTALLY DIED IN THE DEIDARA FIGHT THAT WAS SOME PROTAGONISTPLOT ARMOR BS;;;)

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evilspiritsgoneloose · 2 years

Text

Family Problems Reunited

(C!Sapnap x GN!Reader)

____

!Warning! Hate speech, Bullying, Injuring someone, Swearing, Grammatical Errors (please just oversee them, if there are there)

Characters Mentioned Dream, Wilbur, Philza

Summary Family dinner but with a not so healthy family dynamic

Words Count 2003

Part 1

_____

Masterlist

Ever since you received the letter from Philza, you were always on edge and it shows. Every time things upset you or make you angry, something bad would happen. One time you were cooking some beetroot soup for you and the Boys. When cutting the beetroot all it took was a fly buzzing around you and seconds later the knife was stuck in the wall, the cutting board broke in two and the Beets were now mushed. Sapnap came into the kitchen and was concerned that someone died and got shredded. But just one lovely touch from your fiery boyfriend makes everything better.

Today was another one of these days. You were just sitting on the couch with a blanket over you. somehow you felt really cold and had a running nose. Every time you wanted to stay up all you felt was dizziness and an urge to throw up. You were sick and you hated it.

Hunger was spreading in you, but standing up would be uncomfortable, and just for your luck, the boys were out.

So what now? do you have to starve? you could message Sapnap, Dream, or George but you know they wouldn't notice it when they have fun.

You sighed, leaned back, and cuddled yourself even further into the blanket. The eyes of yours felt heavy and sleep washed over you. Just as you were bout to fall asleep the door gets pushed open and you were wide awake again.

"Y/n you can't believe what happened" Sapnap walked over to you with a smile but it soon faded as he saw your miserable statue "oh, are you not feeling good?" You glance into his worried eyes. His facial expression turns into pity and he sat down beside you. you know he wanted to comfort you but you hold him back with your hand "I think I'm sick. I don't want you to get sick too" He smiled at your kindness but he was built differently. No disease had ever got to him. Even when surrounded by ill people. His high body temperature must have burned all the bacteria away. "Don't play dirty, Love. Now get your man a hug" You were defeated clearly. How can you say no to him?

Dream and George also stepped into the room. Immediately they noticed the sickness "Ohu... Y/n. I hope you get well soon" Dream started "you know... because of the family dinner. bet they don't want you sick"

Dream knew about your toxic relationship with Wilbur. One reason more for the event that happened after his comment.

Just thinking of Wilbur made you boil from the inside. At this moment you wanted to tear off Dreams' head. You were about to stand up and jump at him but a hand stopped you from doing so. Sapnap hold your hand and pulled you further to him. He just knew how to calm you down.

"Hey guys, how about you leave for know" sapnap started "Y/n is sick and I don't want you both also sick"

George jumped out of the corner and talked in a baby voice "Aww... is our Panda worried about our health"

"no, I just don't want to take care of 2 sick idiots"

"Just killed the mood. Come on Dream" Dream was almost broke out laughing but followed the colorblind.

George stuck out his tongue to Sapnap and so did he. Childsplay, but It still amuses you and made you happy.

A pleasant head radiated off of your boyfriend's body and it made you cuddle up to him even more. you still felt extremely cold.

You had thought about the family dinner many times and it always ended with you murdering your brother in front of your father's eyes. Sure it's a family Dinner but you see no other way if it has to be friendly.

"Sapnap could you do me a favor?"

"what is it?"

"can you come with me to the family dinner"

Sapnap looked at you a little bit confused "I know It's family and all but you like the only person that can stop me from killing my bother" You sighed "What would Phil think of me?"

"I don't know Y/n-" He was about to talk further until you interrupted him with your puppy eyes. Sapnap looked away in hope to not blush and give in, but knowing you were looking at him like this made him weak. How can he say no to you?

"Fine... I'm coming with you, Guess I can introduce myself to your father"

You began to cheer and smile even brighter.

"Oh and Sap?"

"yes, love?"

"I'm hungry"

------

The day had arrived. Only the future knows if Wilbur will be dead or alive at the end of the day. It was nearly afternoon. You all would meet up when the sun is setting and of course, will dress up fancy because Phil said so. He's your father after all.

You already had your dress on. It had ugly wrinkles and you wanted to wear them out. All the time you never left your room. Dream probably would have made some joke about it and you hadn't got a nerve for jokes today. Not his joke to be true.

A knock echoed through your room. In the next second the door opened and a dressed-up Sapnap appeared. There aren't many reasons why today will be a great day, but he's definitely one of them. Maybe even two... or all. Sapnap in a suit. What a sight.

"Are you ready?" he asks you.

"Ready to be a disappointment? yeah, totally" as sad as it sounds, you said it with a smile. "come on, sweety, we need to go, we're already late"

"wait...What?" You glanced outside and it was true. The sun is almost gone.

And so you two lovebirds grabbed each other's hand and walked outside. You walked a bit faster and hoped to get to the location on time. You weren't going to a restaurant or another public location but you headed over to a house that Philza had rented for today.

At the doorstep, you knocked on the door. Immediately, as if someone had already seen you, the door opened. Phil greeted you with a smile but it drooped as soon as he saw Sapnap. He just wanted to ask you something but someone was faster

"look at who we have here. My lovely Y/n" you could hear the sarcasm dripping from his voice. It already made you furious. "oh what's Sapnap doing here?"

You stare back to where Wilbur comes from. "He's my boyfriend, get done with it"

Wilbur just laughed "he's still not family"

"Well he's a better family besides my biological one"

You were right and both Wilbur and Philza knew it. Phil was happy that you've found someone you can rely on and was more than welcome to accept him in the family.

You lead Sapnap inside. The fumes of the food hit you straight in the face. Wilbur soon followed and Philza showed you the dining table. Sure he only had thought about two guests so only two plates were made, but there was enough space to add another one. of course next to you.

the first round was all happy chatter and Wilbur getting Phil updated with his L'manburg thingy. For the majority of the time, Sapnap had left his hand on your leg.

And then the Main dish came...

Wilbur started to talk about Dream and his attacks and everything that they did. How gracious they claimed their independence and how they won the war. Wilbur talked and talked only about L'manber and Its future.

You had an empty glass and Phil wanted to fill it again and also include you in the conversation. "What did you do all the time. Will never told me"

You laughed inside of you. Sure Wilbur never told him. He doesn't even care about me. You knew you should lie to let it be friendly but you wanted only the truth "I was Kidnapped, my brother never noticed and called me a waste of resources. I finally joined Dreams side and I'm now banned out of L'manberg. That's it"

Phil looked shocked at your words. He glances over to Wilbur, demanding an answer.

"They were kidnapped, yes but I tried to save Y/n, but Dream made me choose between them and our independence"

Phil wanted to say something but you had enough. You stood up and raised your voice.

"Even if it was true. how am I less worth than your stupid independence?"

"Do you even know how much we fought for it?" Wilbur also stood up and slammed his palm against the table "I can't let all of our work go to waste"

"I know what you did. I was always there to help. I gathered almost all of the materials, but all you did was ignore me!"

"There was so much to do, there wasn't time"

"Yeah Time... then explain why you had fun with Tommy, Tubbo, and all the other citizens except me. Your own Sibling. Explain it to me!"

Wilbur shut up for a second

"See no excuses this time. Just say straight to my face that you hate me!"

"You should have never existed in the first place, Y/n, You're nothing to me"

Those were the final words. Silence filled the room. It was stuffed with awkwardness and anger. Both you and Wilbur stared into each other's eyes. You were so ready to grab your knife and attack him right then and there. But you didn't. You tried to behave and don't let the emotion get the better of you.

"Wilbur Soot Minecraft. You don't mean it don't you" Philza didn't ask him. It was more of a command.

Wilbur answered though while still looking in your eyes "I mean every word I say"

You wanted to scream. You wanted to paint the walls in his blood. You could feel Sapnaps eyes linger on you, watching your every step, knowing he will stop you when you reach over for an attack.

You looked down at your hands. The right one was touching a simple dining knife. Wilbur still had his hand on the table. You had to. At least this time.

You grabbed the metal and rammed it with full speed in his hand. The dull knife made it through his hand and met the table underneath it.

screams filled the room. Sapnap was just about to stop you but was too late. To be honest, he would have done it himself, if the arguing would continue. You gave a shit about Phil and how he thought about you. "I hope you die" You spat directly into Wilburs face. And so you grabbed Sapnap, Who also gave Wilbur a dirty look, and left the building.

Phil was hooked the whole time and just now realized what happened. Will pulled the knife out of his hand and also left the scene.

Phil smiled, nearly laughed "Yep, Everything's fine"

----

Back at home you immediately crashed on the bed. Sapnap shortly after it too. He turned you around to directly look at your face.

"I'm proud of you. Proud because you didn't murder him" He smiled and gave you a feathery kiss.

"But I still injured this bit-" you stopped yourself

"I would have hurt this Bitch more severe than you did"

"Glad we're on the same terms"

"With you, always" He kissed you again "now let's get to bed. I want to cuddle you until you forget every last mean word this ass threw at you"

You giggled while he nuzzled your neck and pulled you closer. Both of you quickly changed back into more comfortable clothes and hopped into bed. Sapnap grabbed you by the waist while you rested your head on his chest.

You could have done more today but you were pleased non the less for this small injury you caused. ___________________________________

Masterlist

PS: I also take requests. Running low on ideas right now.

Leave a follow if you like. It’s free and… YouCanAlwaysUnfollowLater (sry… Not)

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teklarn · 3 years

Note

hi, this is my first ever ask so I'm not sure I'm doing this correctly, if that's the case I'm sorry; I don't know how tumblr works just yet >:')

would it be possible for you to write something about bakugo, pining incredibly hard for fem!reader and initially hating how strongly he feels about her? because they're not even friends, they only exchange few words occasionally and she doesn't even glance at his way whereas he slowly finds himself unable to divert his eyes from her during classes? shes always with damn deku and his friends and doesn't even seem interested in him at all but his heart can't ignore the way she looks at him proudly whenever they spar together, the way she sends him small confident smiles as they fight each other with all they have; so he thinks that maybe, maybe he might have a chance. basically bakugo liking reader so much he's completely lost in self-hatred because he always thought feelings were for weak romantics and not great people like him, but everytime he sees reader doing some badass things (again, like sparring with him and basically matching his skills etc...) he's reminded of how badly he likes reader? but when he finally accepts he's fallen for reader, after ignoring and trying to forget about how she makes him feel, he masters up the courage to confess? and it's a very clumsy confession because he's awkward and has no idea how to deal with those feelings? and he tries so hard to make reader realise he's never been more serious than now? and reader is startled and speechless before rejecting him? and at that point he's just completely humiliated, so he nods and walks away.

it might be a little dramatic but I've always been into unrequited love and one-sided pining. thank you, its okay if you don't want to write about this, i'll understand <33

𝓫𝓻𝓾𝓽𝓪𝓵 - 𝓴. 𝓫𝓪𝓴𝓾𝓰𝓸𝓾

character(s): katsuki bakugou x fem!reader (my hero academia)

reblogs are greatly appreciated!

a/n: AHHHHH this is so cute <33 honestly this is super exciting for me and this ask made me so happy, lovey. i’m fairly new to tumblr, i’m usually just a reader but i wanted to migrate here from wattpad so this made me so happy. here u are my love <33 i hope this lives up to what u wanted !! :)) a bit lengthy, but i had a lot of fun writing it !!!

summary: bakugou finds he’s rejecting his feelings for you in fear of becoming weak, however he just can’t seem to ignore you.

genre: fluffy, fluffier than the clouds istg, however the clouds are sprinking a little teeny weeny droplet of angst.

warnings: cursing (bakugou, duhh), one-sided pining (on bakugou’s part) second hand embarrassment (on bakugou’s part bc we can all agree he’s a complete idiot when it comes to trying to get someone’s attention), just bakugou being a jackass, i gave the reader a quirk

word count: 3,859

(pls excuse any typos or mistakes, i edited to the best of my ability but i miss some things sometimes !)

- - -

part 2 is here my loves <3

brutal. it was utterly ruthless. he couldn’t focus, couldn’t think right. his hands were already exceptionally sweaty, but gosh when he saw your damn face, he was ready to explode. literally.

what the hell was it about you? was it your stupid smile? or the way you just seemed to carry every battle on your back? was it all the undeniably sweet things you do for others ‘just because’?

it made him angry that he thought about you, but gosh he couldn’t wait to see you every day.

just like any other day, bakugou found himself staring at the large door to the classroom, awaiting the moment you would bounce into his day, skirt shifting around your legs, bag slung loosely around your shoulders.

his leg was bouncing eagerly.

bakugou didn’t know when the feelings came. his cheeks just started flaring up all of a sudden and one day you just looked...different. you hadn’t done anything different to yourself. it was just him. not that he would ever admit that, to you or anybody else.

you were insufferable. you were stupid and obnoxious and so...so damn...

“y/n! come look at this!”

you’d come walking into class just as expected, and as soon as you did, that stupid nerd had called you over.

it didn’t help that deku sat right behind him, either. the two of you had recently gotten closer. bakugou noticed it last month when he yelled at the two of you to shut up about all might and get to work. he’d turned around to find you leaning over deku, hands resting on his shoulders while you peered at his phone.

“sorry, bakugou,” you’d said, barely acknowledging him. you had waved him off like an annoying fly. is that all you were to him? some nuisance that got in the way of your oh-so-entertaining conversations with deku?

all he heard nearly every day was your chipper voice talking to deku. always, “oh my gosh, midoriya, did you see the fight edgeshot was in last night?” or “midoriya! i have something to add to our quirk analysis book!”

that was the one that took the cake. you two dorks shared a notebook, occasionally passed between one another, and filled it with junk about quirks and pro heroes. but no matter how much he tried to tune you out, no matter how he tried to zone off and think about something else, you were always there. it made him want to vomit how much he thought about you.

you were doing an adorable shuffle over to midoriya’s desk and leaned over the table as you usually did while he angled his phone your way. “did you see this hero report?”

deku let you slip the phone out of his grasp to get a better look.

“no,” you breathed. “was this just recent?”

“yeah,” deku said, taking the phone back. “last night.”

“holy—”

“can you guys shut up over there?” bakugou said, his voice quaking.

“sorry, kacchan.” deku scrolled through the article.

dammit, bakugou thought. “i wasn’t talking to you, nerd. i was talking to shitface over here.” he jerked his head towards you. his eyes flared in anger when he saw you were looking down at your phone, now focused in on the article yourself. “i was talking to you, asshat!”

your eyes flicked up to his. you looked around for a moment before slowly pointing to yourself as if to say, “me?”

his face scrunched. “yeah, you. you’re so damn loud.” gosh, he hated how his voice was cracking, how he could feel his ears and cheeks lighting up in a swollen, cherry red. his stomach flipped.

she’s looking at you, gosh i’m sweating. i’m going to throw up. she’s so gorgeous. what the hell? they’re ugly as shit, i don’t think anything of them.

his eyes bore into yours.

“did you...need something?”

your voice broke his trance.

“kacchan, are you okay? you dozed off there for a second. you look like you’re burning up.”

bakugou looked to deku who was currently stretching out of his seat, arm extended. he pressed the back of his hand to bakugou’s forehead. “you’re really warm, kacchan. should we call recovery girl?”

it took him a moment to realize what was happening. his vision got blurry every time he was with you. bakugou smacked deku’s hand away. “i’m fine!” his voice lifted at the end, cracking. “i’m not sick. don’t you think i’d take better care of myself?”

“i don’t doubt you take good care of yourself, kacchan, but everyone gets sick once in a while. there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“i never get sick!” besides, if i got sick, i wouldn’t want you to be the one taking care of me.

he was still pissed. he was always in a bad mood, however, more so right now because you’d gone straight back to your phone and that stupid hero article that was supposedly so damn interesting.

soon enough, the bell rang, and you were seated at your desk. it was jirou’s old spot, however, after much convincing, you two had switched spots so you could be closer to deku. just a few months of getting close to the idiot and you two are suddenly best friends. jirou hadn’t minded one tiny bit, claiming she needed a break from how loud that section of the room was.

late as always, aizawa came trudging into your room. thankfully, his entire body wasn’t obscured by a yellow sleeping bag that smelled of something unwashed and coffee and gasoline. (for some reason, aizawa’s clothes always smelled of it.)

“lucky for you,” he began while shuffling papers on his desk, “all of you are doing training for these first periods.”

the class cheered in perfect unison, followed by their individual chatter. you had erupted with glee along with them, and bakugou was sure he felt his heart clench and then explode. just a tiny bit. but he shoved the feeling down just as quickly as it had come up.

“go out to the field and wait for further instructions. don’t make a sound in the halls otherwise, i’ll expel all of you.”

this shut everyone up in almost a second, the sound draining out just as water does. the first years trailed out into the hall, single-file mimicking the positions baby ducklings would take when following their mother.

bakugou found himself walking faster when he saw you take up your spot in the line, hoping to land his spot right behind you.

unfortunately, this idiot who considered himself bakugou’s friend tugged him back. “bakugou!” a familiar voice rasped.

“shitty hair, let go of me.”

“hey man, chill out. wanna partner up if we’re doing training in pairs?”

bakugou glanced at the line, the spot that should have been reserved for him now taken up by sato.

bakugou tugged his sleeve from kirishima’s hand. “whatever,” he snapped.

“sounds good!” kirishima flashed him a toothy grin and a thumbs-up. the bubbly feeling in bakugou’s chest died down as he stood behind sato, the overwhelming scent of sugar filling his nose, various candies that would go straight to your arteries.

“you smell like ass, damn,” bakugou remarked, squeezing his nostrils together.

luckily, sato was tall enough to not hear the insult, as he towered over bakugou by just another head. the line began moving like a sloppy train down to the change rooms.

bakugou scoffed as he listened to your giggle. he should be making you laugh.

“you’ll be given partners randomly from this box.” aizawa held up a familiar red box. “inside are all your names. i’ll select one, then that person will come up and pick another name from the box. that will be your assigned partner for today. as soon as you have your assigned partner, i want you guys to get straight to work.”

denki raised a hand, speaking before being called on. “sensei, why are we getting random partners? we’re always allowed to choose.”

“in the real world, you’re going to come across different villains every day. you’ll never improve your skills or your quirks if you keep fighting the same person.”

denki sighed, slumping back.

dammit, bakugou thought, gritting his teeth together. there wasn’t any way he wanted to be partners with you. it’s obvious he’d win the fight in the first few seconds.

yes! exactly right! bakugou internally grinned. his fluctuating feelings had finally soothed themselves. you were just another extra, and he had no room for you in his head.

aizawa took a moment to fiddle with the slips of paper inside the box. soon enough, he pulled out a name. “todoroki.”

todoroki walked up, digging his hand into the box when aizawa held it out for him. he pulled out a name, delicately unraveling the slip. “uraraka, you’re my partner.” he deadpanned.

the brunette grinned. “great!”

the two found their own spot on the field, and the class’s attention was once again diverted to their grouchy teacher as he pulled out another name.

“bakugou.”

bakugou strutted up without a worry in his mind. he pulled a name to find...

“y/n,” he said, voice a low growl. instead of the annoying fluttering in his chest, his eyes met yours, and they were filled with a different, new ferocity. he crumpled the paper in one hand, letting it twirl to the ground.

you looked at him, unsmiling. your eyes gave away nothing, and to bakugou’s knowledge, all you saw in him was another opponent.

it took him a moment to realize you had both locked eyes for about a minute. perhaps the two of you would have stayed as you were if aizawa hadn’t snapped at the two of you to get moving as yaomomo’s name was called.

bakugou was on his way to the back of the field, you followed close behind. while there was plenty of room still, he chose a secluded area. while it was still open enough to view everything going on so nobody got hurt, it was often nobody chose to train here. for whatever reason, you weren’t sure.

“wait up, bakugou,” you said. after a bit, you caught up to him.

“if you can’t keep up, then...” then what? he looked at you from the side of his eye. “then don’t keep up...” gosh, here came the embarrassing, disgusting feeling of redness in his cheeks.

you laughed. “what?”

“shut up.”

“you’re an idiot, bakugou.”

“i said shut the hell up!”

“what, so you can call me shitface in front of the entire class but you get all pissed when i call you an idiot?”

so you had heard him!

he tongued his cheek, curling his hands around an invisible ball, explosions sparking in the centers of his palms. “don’t expect me to hold back, dumbass.”

“i wouldn’t dream of it.”

gosh he loved that about you.

bakugou caught his thought in the air.

ahem...gosh he hated that about you.

you both charged in at the same time. his cry was louder than yours, but you struck first.

he admired your quirk. while he’d overhead you explaining all the drawbacks it had, it was strong, and you were strong because you knew how to control it.

purple arrows flew from your arms, going in your desired directions. if you lost focus for one moment, they’d vanish and weaken. if you focused too hard or long, you’d be plagued by a splitting headache.

he’d spent too much time obsessing over your strengths and weaknesses.

your arrows were weightless, however they were solid objects capable of carrying any mass, any thing, and worked as extensions of your body.

the violet arrow had shot out at him, twisting around his right gauntlet and crushing inwards. it’d snaked around him without him noticing, slithering along his back.

bakugou struggled to get the air-light arrow off his wrist, but it was no use. he glared back, only to see your focused, furrowed brows. he’d expected to see your cocky ass smiling. it was nice to see you weren’t.

that was one thing that had also caught his eye. you never underestimate your opponent, but you never underestimate yourself, either.

you conjured a larger arrow. it snaked around your right arm as you hurled bakugou into the air, releasing your grasp on him. you shot your other arrow into the air, and it raced into the sky.

it swerved. bakugou’s eyes went wide as the tip of the arrow came down on his chest. if they weren’t intangible things, he would have been bleeding out.

another drawback: the arrows, while they could solidify, they couldn’t do any actual damage. you had to use your surroundings to inflict harm on your opponent.

he coughed out as the arrow shot him into the ground. he hadn’t even touched you, and here he was, vulnerable and so...so...

you stood over him, hands on your hips.

vulnerable and so lost in that adorable, winning smile.

“get away from me, idiot,” he grunted and turned onto his side, his back crying out in pain.

“i think i won this fight, bakugou,” you chirped, rocking on your heels.

“don’t get arrogant, shithead. you won’t be winning against me anymore.”

you grinned, arrows shooting out behind your back.

the dorms were exceptionally quiet. you were typing away in the common room, bakugou on the couch reading. everyone was off doing something else. it was the weekend, luckily. he’d expected you to go bounding out with everyone else, however you’d stayed back, claiming you had some homework to catch up on.

bakugou being classic bakugou had stayed back. he was excited to have the dorm to himself, but your dumbass was stuck here with him. couldn’t you have done your typing in your room?

you were so aggressive on that poor keyboard.

“oi, quiet down with your shit typing.”

you barely grunted in response.

“don’t ignore me.”

“i heard you, mom.”

“the hell did you call me?”

no response. only your aggressive typing is a bit less aggressive.

“i can still hear it,” bakugou remarked, eyes fixed on your back.

“‘kay,” you said. your typing slowed a tad, and your pressure on the keys lessened.

it was quiet now. bakugou should go back to his book. he shouldn’t still be looking for a reason to talk to you.

the pages crinkled in his fingers. he bit his tongue, keeping his snarky comments in.

“you’re a fucking idiot, you know that? doing your damn homework. it’s due tomorrow.”

you turned, pursing your lips. “and how would you know what i’m working on? are you stalking me?”

“i- what? no. you’re such an idiot, of course i’m not—”

“i’m messing with you,” you breathed, face un-moving.

“o-oh,” bakugou stuttered out. he blinked awkwardly.

“gosh, what’s gotten your panties in a twist?”

“you’re annoying.”

“you’re a jackass.” you returned to your work. bakugou settled with reading in his room. reading consisted of jumping onto his bed just as the stereotypical high school girl would in an eighties movie. he buried his face in his pillow, face burning bright red. he cursed you for making him feel this way, and hated himself even more for how much he enjoyed it.

the next day came swiftly. you’d left early to go train with midoriya. there were many improvements needed to be made, but you weren’t doing too bad.

you propelled yourself forwards with an arrow, and your green-haired friend shot back, lightning flickering around his body.

landing back on the ground, you panted and swiped the sweat from your brow. from the corner of your eye, you could make out both kirishima and bakugou coming to the training grounds.

bakugou stopped in his tracks, frowning at the sight of you.

it was evident he hated you a bit more than everyone else. he was always making his annoying comments, he was always snubbing you. you saw no reason to talk to him, so you didn’t. either way, even if you tried, he would still get angry for no reason.

it’d taken you quite some time to get used to his obnoxious attitude. tuning him out had been the best course of action, in your opinion.

the way you and midoriya had bonded was through bakugou, in a way. the first day of school, bakugou had snapped at you for tripping over your laces and nearly crashing into him. later that day, midoriya had stepped up and apologized for his old friend’s actions.

you two had never been too close until now. the recent incidents going on with the league of villains had snagged your attention, and it seemed you were the only person who didn’t mind listening to him ramble on about heroes.

you were just as passionate and just as dorky, but midoriya could talk your ear off. you never minded, and he always took the hint when you didn’t want to listen.

you brought your leg up, twirling in the air with ease and watched your heel collide with midoriya’s face. he grunted, stumbling back.

you were about to charge in again when a hand landed on your shoulder, big and rough. you turned to see bakugou standing behind you, a scowl on his face.

“fight me again,” he demanded.

“excuse me?”

“don’t act like you didn’t hear me.”

“i’m in the middle of fighting midoriya right now.”

“so?”

“so if you think that i’m just going to ditch my friend because you want to fight, i won’t.”

“you’re being stubborn.”

“i’m being reasonable. back off.”

“y/n?” midoriya rubbed his jaw—right where you had struck him. “what’s going on?” he jogged up to you and bakugou.

“he wants to fight me in the middle of our fight. it’s nothing serious. don’t worry about it, midoriya. let’s just ignore him.”

bakugou made a sound someone would only make if they were choking. “the hell did you just say?”

“we’re ignoring you!” you waved him off and placed your hand on midoriya’s shoulder, wandering away.

it was new to him, not getting what he wanted. and what he wanted right now was to be around you. again, it wasn’t like he would ever admit that to himself.

“dude? you good? i thought you went off to fight y/n. i was so ready to cheer you on, dude,” kirishima’s chipper voice piped in. “she’s not fighting with you? why not?”

“the dumbass was just probably scared of getting her ass beat by me.”

“dude...that sounds really weird.”

“whatever, shitty hair. let’s go.”

the clock ticked. his ears were on fire. again.

gosh, it was happening again. it was all you. his face scrunched up, his voice would surely crack if someone were to ask him what was wrong.

bakugou was once again stuffing his face in his pillow, hiding his expression from no one. why did you have to go train with that shitty nerd? why were you always around deku? deku, of all people. what did he have? why was he so great?

bakugou was a man of many insecurities, but losing to deku? that was possibly his biggest fear.

perhaps he wasn’t the nicest, or the most soft person out there. bakugou could admit that, at least. but he was smarter than deku. he was stronger and he was better and people liked him more. right?

what was so...amazing about deku?

it was often bakugou would find himself obsessing over little, insignificant things such as these.

you were what he was thinking of most of the time. just yesterday, he’d gotten a test returned. he was expecting an eighty at the lowest, but more so expecting a high ninety. it’d come back exactly sixty percent.

sixty. percent.

bakugou vividly remembered staring at your face. he also remembered not being able to focus because of it. his grades were dropping because of you.

you were the only person to be able to do this to him.

his heart grew quiet, but the pounding of his didn’t cease. he lifted his head.

“alright, fine,” he said aloud. “you win, y/n. you win.”

he settled with getting over his feelings the way he’d read them in his collection of romance manga.

bakugou left his room and knocked on your door. (he was banging on it, but it was his nice way of knocking.)

you answered, looking around awkwardly. “yes?”

his hands shook. how was this supposed to go? sure, he’d seen it in romance movies and read it in books but it was always easy to tell whether the guy would get the girl or not.

in this instance, bakugou was clueless. for once in his life, he was clueless. you stood, tapping your foot with a hand on your hip, waiting expectantly for him to tell you why he was here.

“um.” he scratched behind his neck. “you uh- i uh...i’m sorry i called you a, um...a shitface.”

“okay? is that it?”

what? come on! it was already unlike him to apologize. what else did you want from him?

“did you...i’ve been thinking, maybe? maybe we could..train together as...friends?”

“...what?”

gosh dammit, as friends?

“whatever, um...the uh...” oh gosh, what did the boys do in all the books he’d read? right! bakugou stretched out his arm, resting his forearm on the door, leaning to the side.

although he didn’t, really, because like the clumsy jackass he was, bakugou missed completely and nearly toppled to the floor.

this earned a snicker from you.

his stomach flipped and churned, and bakugou found himself unable to reach your eyes. “uh, would you maybe..? okay, um. do you want to go on a date with me? you absolute fucking dumbass.”

your eyes flew wide. “...what?”

“no, that’s not what i— i mean i didn’t mean the last part. um, i meant the first part. the first two parts. the part where i was asking you if you wanted to go on a date with me and then before that when i said maybe because it’s still a maybe until you say yes. or...or no because that’s an option too.”

he swallowed.

you resisted the urge to mock him, just a little bit. “um, bakugou, listen.”

he leaned closer. “yes?”

“it’s going to be a no. i’m sorry, but i’m just not interested in you like that.”

it took him a moment to register everything. his shoulders sagged. gosh that was brutal.

“oh, alright.”

“yeah, uh, sorry about that.” you offered him a weak smile, still a bit shocked yourself. he did his best to return it, and when you closed the door, his face was ready to explode.

it was so damn difficult to deal with these feelings, but maybe it was better this way. knowing where you stood on your end, he knew he wouldn’t miss out on anything.

perhaps it was alright to admire from afar. things could happen in the future, right?

right now, he’d just wait. for a long, long time. bakugou pressed a hand to his chest, feeling his erratic heartbeat. maybe it was alright to not have you right now. perhaps he could better himself for you. just for you.

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tteokdoroki · 3 years

Text

awake with you | s.todoroki

♡ pairing: shoto todoroki x fem!reader.

♡ word count: 1.7K

♡ rating: everyone.

♡ genre: ua student!au, angst, comfort, fluff.

♡ summary: during the night, bad things happen but your boyfriend is always there to keep them away. by your side always, shoto todorki makes it his mission to fight your demons and make sure you know that you’re loved.

♡ warning(s): please read ! character death, mentions of car accidents, nightmares, guilt, lack of sleep, but a lot of fluff and the best boyfriend in the whole world :(

♡ author’s note(s): guys! it’s shoto’s birthday, so here i am postiing this shoto request from anon a while back, i hope you all enoy and have celebrating the beautiful boy’s bday <3

♡ masterlist | requests

it was hard for you to sleep.

harder, when shoto wasn’t around.

sometimes it was your thoughts that kept you up; late at night— dark thoughts that swirled around in your head and slowly poisoned your brain with heavy black venom. it was hard to sleep when your mind was heavy with fear, but ever since dating shoto todoroki; those nights became easier and sleep wasn’t so hard to come by.

you weren’t so sure what it was about your boyfriend that made it easier for you to get some shut eye; it’s not like he really knew either. todoroki just didn’t like seeing you in pain, the way your face twisted with discomfort or the way sleepy tears would wet your cheeks under the moonlight— but you had somewhat of an idea, that his fresh peppermint smell and warm arms are what often helped you.

shoto would so lovingly sneak into your room, no matter the time, dusk or dawn— he would hold you tight under the sheets until you drifted off to dream land. even if it meant being teased by the others for stumbling out of your room in the morning, his pretty hair a wild mess creating the image that’d you’d both been up to no good, he’d face it all for you, over and over again.

but tonight, your loving, caring and doting boyfriend was nowhere to be seen— everyone’s second internships had begun and todoroki had chosen to work with his father along with izuku and katsuki, so it was no doubt that they wouldn’t be home until late. what with endeavour being the number one and all.

your friends knew about your struggles to sleep, of course, todoroki bluntly mentioning how you ‘like to sleep together’ to soothe your nightmares ( iida had lectured you about it after, saying it was inappropriate while deku and ochako turned as red as your boyfriend’s hair ) so offered to stay up with you— but you needed rest, today’s training sessions having taken a toll on your body, and wave them off with a smile laced with tiredness.

you could call him, he wouldn’t mind and you know it— but he’s with his father and that takes enough out of him as it is.

you decide, instead, to trudge to the dual quirked boy’s bedroom, instantly calmed by his sweet peppermint scent embedded into every inch of his dorm. you swipe one of his clean sweaters straight from the closet before hitting the lights and snuggling into his bed.

tonight would be fine, todoroki would come home, wrap you in his arms and with the aid of his scent surrounding you— you would sleep safe and soundly.

is what you hoped as you drifted off to the land of dreams.

when you were younger, you watched your older brother, haru, get hit by a car.

the scene haunts you to this very day, crawling up on you while you rest at night— choking you out in your dreams. you see it now, feet glued to the ground as you’re forced to watch the younger version of you, mess with your older brother using your new found quirk. your parents had called it scenery, back then your powerful quirk had been their pride and joy, giving you the ability to create a mirage in a certain targets mind— make them see things that weren’t really there.

back then it was fun to play tricks on your sibling— you made haru see all of his worst nightmares, everything but the road.

everything but the oncoming car.

everything but his untimely death.

you want to scream at little you— tell her to stop and that it’s not funny anymore as she forces your brother back into the road— he’s giggling, he doesn’t know it yet and neither do you. but the words you want to say die down deep in your throat, suffocating you from the inside although they burn at your lungs to burst through.

why cant you speak? why cant you stop her?

adrenaline trickles into your blood stream as you will yourself to run out into the street and protect haru from the oncoming traffic just as he slips off of the sidewalk. your senses are blown out of the water, static noise filling your ears and intertwining with childish screams and the sound of a not so distant honking horn.

you claw harshly at your throat. speak. save him. for god’s sake; do something.

“you’ll kill him! stop! you’re going to kill him!”

the flickering of artificial, yellow light behind your closed eyes has you jolting awake, sweat forming at your brow and hands clenched tightly around your boyfriend’s plain bedsheets. your gaze darts across the room while your heart thumps loudly in your ribcage from the fear that struck you in your dream and finally, your stare settles on a shirtless, bewildered shoto todoroki. his face is a little scratched up no doubt from being on his father’s patrol and he looks exhausted but that doesn’t stop the concern he has for you taking over his expression. “yn—?”

“s-sho,” you hate how your voice caves so easily, the single syllable of your nickname for him falling wetly from chapped lips. todoroki is by your side in an instant, not caring that he’s only half dressed and half awake. he’ll deal with that later.

with tender hands shoto cups the back of your head, letting you sink into the warmth of his flesh. you reach out for your boyfriend and he’s there, taking your free hand in his and giving it a gentle squeeze to help ground you. “love, what happened? why didn’t you call? you know i don’t mind—” his timbre voice fills your ears like warm honey, calming your rapid breathing but all you can do is shake your head.

“nightmare ‘n you were working,” you pant, cutting him off while the death grip on your lover’s hand begins increasing. you feel so far from the ground, the scene of haru’s death dancing across your mind. “i killed him, again—“

shoto watches your body twitch with fear and your usually glimmering eyes gloss over in away that makes him feel sick. you’re not here with him yet, still tangled up in the black string of your bad dreams. the world around the dual eyed boy begins to change and it seems you’ve activated your quirk by accident— showing him scenes of the day your brother died.

you screw your eyes shut as flashes of his body tangle with reality to the point where you don’t know what’s real and what’s not. you’re losing control of yourself so easily, fresh sets of tears stinging their way down your streaked cheeks. trapped. you feel trapped like a bird in a cage even while you’re awake and the sounds of cars and screaming burn at your ears once more.

make it stop, please.

“yn... come back to me love, i’m right here,” todoroki’s calm voice cuts through the suffocating song of death, dragging you back to reality while the effects of your quirk drift away. his fingers, although contrasting temperatures, now cup your cheeks to tilt your face towards him so that your eyes lock with his under the crescent moon. “you didn’t kill him. that wasn’t you. it wasn’t your fault.”

you blink away more tears like a helpless child, chest heaving but todoroki doesn’t give up. “but—“

“no.” your boyfriend says softly, yet sternly, leaning down to place an eskimo kiss to your nose. your eyes flutter shut at his simple gesture, although it raises saftey and warmth across your body— black radiates behind your closed eyelids, no longer plagued broken bones and blood. it’s easy to keep breathing from there, focusing on that as todoroki pulls you into his lap and the sheets fall away from your body.

“no,” you repeat back to him while shoto’s arms settle on your waist and his familiar scent of fresh peppermint fills your senses. “not my fault.”

it wasn’t your fault, that day the car had come speeding down a usually safe road in a residential area. the accident was a hit and run, but being a child made you feel every ounce of the blame. shaking the thought away you curl into your lover’s chest, listening for sounds of his heartbeat while he toys with a lose string on his sweater— the one you wear.

“that’s right, good girl...not your fault, here with me yet, love?”

when you glance up, todoroki is looking right back down at you— brows creased with worry but there’s love in his stare, overwhelming amounts that make you hum into his bare chest, grounded by the feeling of his skin against yours. “present and accounted for,” his chest rumbles with relieved laughter, soothing you even more. “thank you, sho. i’m sorry for making you do this so late at night.”

this time, shoto shakes his head— sending locks of red and white flying. “don’t thank me and don’t apologise,” his words are feather light in the dark while he manoeuvres you both onto his back to settle into bed. you’re about to mention that he’s still half in his suit, but your boyfriend doesn’t seem to care, already closing his eyes. “i’m yours, your boyfriend and i’m going to support you no matter what. i’ve got you, okay? you’re always here for me so i’ll do my best to do the same for you. what kind of man would i be if i wasn’t?”

“a very unmanly man,” you tease with a kitten like yawn, already feeling the confines of a more comfortable sleep, taking over.

todoroki rolls his eyes but pulls you closer to him anyways. “you’ve been spending too much time with kirishima.”

“at least i don’t spend everyday working with bakugou, now that’s true nightmare.” you counter, narrowly missing a pinch to the side from your boyfriend.

the pair of you sleep soundly that night, wrapped in each other’s arms. you feel safe, knowing that nothing could ever harm you, as long as you were with him. shoto todoroki would give anything for to you to have a goodnight’s rest. no matter what. even if it meant staying awake with you and being late to patrol with endeavour the next day.

not like he cared, he hated his dad anyway.

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thenotsohottopic · 3 years

Text

Here to Stay

character(s): c!Tommy & reader

genre: angst to fluff?

warnings: swearing, mentions of death, mentions of abandonment

this is for @yamturds 1k followers event!! :D you should go follow her, they have amazing writing talent and I love all of their works!

I'm using prompt 15 - "I'm here now, and I'm never leaving again."

---

When Tommy thought about past events, all he knew from each and every memory was either death or abandonment.

It followed him around like a sick plague and he hated how it always seemed to affect those around him. He felt burdened, not because of how it followed but because it always seemed to take those he cares for.

That's why it hurt so much when he found out you died. You were his rock through almost everything, you were there when Wilbur wasn't. There when he needed it most.

Yet even after days of hurt and suffering, he couldn't handle even being close to the ghost version of you. Your eyes were always so bright and full of happiness, soft laughter that would never fail to calm him down. This ghost wasn't anything like that. It was as if nothing but an empty shell. It's eyes dull and skin slightly transparent, the smile it had wasn't one that would make him smile as well, it was a smile that would send chills down his spine from how void of emotion it was.

It wasn't very close to Ghostbur personality wise. The male ghost was always so sweet, talking to people and offering blue. Sure, every now and then he would get annoying, but he was still nice to be around.

Your ghost wasn't. He hated being around it, because it never talked. It just floated around the place and listened to everything, giving smiles that had no emotion behind them. How could this happen? Why couldn't this musk of what used to be you, be like the way it should have?

Holding his legs close to his chest Tommy rocked back and forth on the ground. Tears streaming down his face as he cried, his tears bringing the only source of warmth he's felt in days. His tears of sadness were soon turned into one's of anger when he saw your ghost sitting there from beside him, it's face still holding no emotion as it stared at him.

His burning hatred for the thing grew as he grabbed the old glass bottle from his side, throwing it at you ghost with an excess amount force and watching it shatter beside the ghost.

It had moved out of the way, however it didn't do much. The ghost just sat there unfazed, turning its attention from the broken shards to the boy.

"GO AWAY!" He yelled in hopes of it disappearing, he didn't want the thing here. Almost as if the the thing felt actual pain from hearing his words, he could've swore he saw it wince. Tommy didn't care though, he just continued to sob as the ghost soon floated away.

After that night, your ghost never kept close to him like it used to. Just stuck beside Ghostbur for most of the time, going everywhere with him. Not that Ghostbur minded, if anything he really enjoyed having the other ghost around. Though the ghost couldn't quite remember your actual name so he decided to call you Buddy. An alternative version of friend.

Yet here Buddy, as what Tommy decided to call you considering it didn't feel right to use your actual name, was helping Tommy kill Dream.

He didn't know why you decided to, but he could careless as he entered the prison unnoticed. It wasn't that hard but he almost got caught multiple times however, he still made it threw.

So as Tommy, Ghostbur, and Buddy all sat outside of Dreams cell, Tommy made the mistake of holding an item before Sam turned away and had to go back.

"Drink this. Right now." Sam demanded as he handed Tommy's invisible figure a glass full of milk, Tommy appearing once more after he finished it.

The two bickering for a bit before something happened, the platform that was ment to take people towards the cell was on its way back.

Without Buddy and Ghostbur.

"Sam what are you doing?!" Tommy yelled as he watched.

"Tommy?" Ghostbur asked in fear, scared of what was to come and saddened by the broken promise. "Tommy you promised!"

As Ghostbur was freaking out, you just sat confused. In an attempt to calm down the other ghost you tried to hug him but it didn't work seeing as he couldn't focus on the touch.

It was almost as if realization hit Buddy as they started flailing their arms in hopes of getting the platform back.

There was a single faint word heard, it sounded broken rather than echoey but he heard.

"Tommy."

***

Tommy wasn't sure what to think.

There stood Wilbur. His trench coat still on his body with bandages around his arm, a white streak coloring his curly brown locks. Wilbur had a smile on his face when he saw him, "Hello, Tommy."

Tommy stared in shock, unable to speak or move. Until he saw movement from a little ways in the distance, an extremely familiar figure running back towards Wilbur, before it suddenly stopped.

He felt the tears prick at his eyes as they held eye contact, a broken whisper leaving Tommy's throat, "Y/n." With that he felt himself being pulled into their chest, a tight grip holding into him as he himself clung onto them.

He felt safe for once as he sobbed, the familiar hard texture of Y/n's platform boots against his own shoes. He wasn't sure what to say nor think, he just started mumbling as Y/n patted his head with quite sounds of reassurance.

"You- You were gone a-and-" With a gentle squeeze, Y/n hushed the boy. Keeping their protective grip on him as they spoke.

"I'm here now, and I'm never leaving again."

---

this isn't that good considering it's kinda all over the place but other than that I hope you like it!! congrats on 1k yams <3

#tommy x reader #platonic tommyinnit x reader #tommyinnit x reader #x reader #reader insert #dsmp imagine #dsmp reader insert #dsmp x reader #wilbur x reader #vilbur x reader #wilbur soot x reader #dream smp x reader #incorrect dream smp #mcyt x reader #mcyt imagine #mcyt reader insert #yams' 1k event

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elias-code · 3 years

Text

That's My Job - Glatt x gn!reader

~ Ask Link ~

Characters: Glatt x gn!reader, Fundy, mentioning Quackity

Summary: You haven't been back to Manburg since Schlatt died. Now that Techno's destroyed every trace of it, you've returned with Fundy to drink and mourn. Fundy leaves you to your devices and Glatt ends up waking you up, taking care of you, and confessing...

Warnings: lots of cursing, heavy drinking, death, mourning

------ sorry it's so angsty lmao I just love torturing myself :) ------

Ever since Schlatt suffered his massive heart attack at the end of his presidential term, you’ve been wandering the SMP. You’d gotten close to him during his campaign trail, eventually helping him do paperwork, or rather, you did it all for him. You hadn’t been back to Manburg since his death, but now that it was gone, completely gone, you decided it was time to return.

It was a crater. Nothing was left. The office building was gone, the festival grounds were gone, and even the presidential podium was gone. Now, glass covered the crater, giving you the full view of what you had been most afraid of. It made you sick to look at it, bringing up memories from the election.

The worst part of it was that he was gone. Everything in Manburg that reminded you of him was gone, even his friends were gone. The group split shortly after he died, giving up on the decimated country. He was the only thing keeping them together. For better or for worse.

“Hey, Fundy,” You said, stuffing your hands in your pockets. He'd offered to come with you, knowing just how hard it was to be back there.

"Hey, it's nice to see you again," He carried a bottle in his hand and offered it to you. He'd already popped it open and taken a sip of it. "It's a bit strong, but you might need it."

"Thanks," You took it readily, not bothering to read the label before you took a swig. The liquid hit your tongue and burned as it went down. You coughed, spitting the remaining drink on the ground, "What the hell is this stuff?!"

Fundy was practically on the ground laughing. Your tongue and throat still burned from the alcohol and you rotated the bottle to read the label.

Fundy™ Vodka, (98% alcohol)

"Are you trying to kill me Fundy? This shit is ninety-eight percent alcohol?! How did you manage that?" he continued laughing at you as your face burned from embarrassment.

"It's a trade secret," he chuckled, "The people in Las Nevadas really love it," he shrugged.

"How are they all not dead?"

"Don't ask me," He said, "I'm just their dealer. Quackity buys in bulk."

For a moment, it was as if Schlatt never died. You laughed with Fundy for a bit, drank, and reminisced. It was like old times, the hay day, but every time you looked around, you were painfully reminded of the past.

"Hey, I wanted to show you something." Fundy stood, offering you a hand. You were both buzzed already. Each sip of the vodka went down like two shots and you'd gotten a decent way down the bottle by now.

"I'm happy to stay anywhere other than here," You took his hand and gestured around at the crater, "This place sucks." You swallowed a lump in your throat and followed Fundy off the path.

You looked down as you walked. You didn't want to be reminded of him any more than you had to. The people here were moving on from it all already. To be fair, it had been a while, but you'd been closer to him than anyone else, even closer than Quackity.

"Here," He stopped and pointed at the clump stones in front of him. He sat down on the bench as he had done many times before, letting you inspect your surroundings.

"What is this?"

"It's a shrine thing I made," He said sadly, "A long time ago. I haven't been here in a long time, so I refreshed the flowers a bit for you."

The cobblestones were unmarked, put in a rough pile surrounded by oxeye daisies and dandelions. To any passer-by, it was just a pile of rocks. To you and Fundy, it was Schlatt's grave.

Of course, he wasn't buried there. He'd been buried in a nice grave surrounded by gold and diamonds, but it had been griefed so many times that it wasn't worth visiting anymore. Instead of being reminded of him, you were reminded of how many people hated him. Here, it was much quieter.

"Thoughts?" Fundy asked, passing you the bottle as you sat with him.

"It's not bad," You took a swig, used to the taste by now, "I can't help but think that it's painfully accurate that we're getting drunk at his grave."

Fundy laughed briefly, eventually letting the blanket of silence fall over you. The lump in your throat rose once more and you swallowed it with another sip. This must be what he felt like at the end. Drinking to forget, shoving his problems down as far as he could with each drink until, one day, his heart couldn't take it anymore.

"You ok?" Fundy asked, concerned.

"Huh? Yeah," You stared blankly at the stone pile, "Just thinking."

"You're crying," He said.

You touched your cheek and found it wet with tears. You hadn't cried since the day he died, the day you left.

"Do you..." He sighed, "Want some time alone?"

You hesitated. "Yeah," you croaked, "as long as I get to keep the alcohol,"

"Just don't drink it all," He touched your head and walked off.

"Hey. Hey. Get up," You felt a finger poke your temple and you jerked awake to Schlatt's voice.

"Finally," He sighed, "What do you think you're doing on my property?"

Through your hazy vision, you saw him.

"Schlatt?" You reached your hand out towards him, but you felt nothing.

"Yeah, yeah," He moved out of your reach, "Hands off, kid."

You rubbed your eyes and squinted, there's no fuckin' way...

"What the hell?" You spat, "Is this a fever dream or some shit?"

In front of you was Schlatt, or a paler blue version of him. He was holding the bottle of vodka, reading the label.

"Oh so Fundy's got a damn business now, does he?"

"Whoa whoa whoa," You ignored him, "Schlatt?! You're alive??"

"Calm down," He rolled his eyes at you, "haven't you ever seen a ghost before?"

He tossed the bottle back to you but you fumbled it and it shattered on the ground.

"Shit!" The bottle broke into sharp, jagged pieces. No vodka came out of the bottle, it was empty.

"You're still a terrible catch, good to know," He sat beside you, walking through the glass. You realised with a start, He's translucent...

You woke up fully, putting your hands on your face and shaking your head. Your brain rattled around in your skull, giving you a painful migraine. The bottle was empty... how much did I drink? Your memory from the past few hours was more or less blank, only the occasional flash of sunset or Fundy was left.

"You're drunk as fuck, you know that?" He said, sitting judgingly.

"What?" I must be if he's here, "Are you even real?"

"Yeah," He sounded offended, "Look at me! What do you mean am I real?"

You laughed, now convinced you were out of your mind. "How was I supposed to know?"

He furrowed his eyebrows at you, evaluating your mental state. "That stuff will kill you." He said, genuinely concerned.

"Oh, and you'd know all about that, Schlatt," You spat, "As if I hadn't warned you a thousand times,"

He leaned back, "Says the person who left the country the moment I died,"

This sent you over the edge and you started sobbing. You put your hands to your face, practically screaming into them. You refused to deal with these emotions for so long, and in some cruel twist of fate, you'd become the thing you hated the most. You'd done the thing you warned Schlatt about countless times. It finally came back to bite you in the ass.

"Sorry, I-" He started, putting his hand on your back. He didn't know what to say, he wasn't the best at comfort, "I've missed you,"

Your sobbing calmed down slightly, downgrading to crying. The tears stung your eyes and your throat burned, partly from the drink, partly from the stress you were releasing.

"C'mon, let's get you cleaned up," He said, standing to lead you down the path. You followed, stumbling slightly as the drink caught up to your balance. Just before you fell, he caught you and slung your arm around his shoulder, practically carrying you.

"Man, I was hoping you'd be in better shape the first time I saw you."

"What do you mean?" You mumbled, leaning on him heavily.

"I mean I haven't seen you in so long," He bit his lip, "I was starting to think you'd never come back. Then I saw you with Fundy, drunk as a skunk, sleeping on my bench. Not what I'd say was a good first impression. In such a long time, I mean."

"Yeah, but you're... dead."

"So? What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means you died. You had a fucking heart attack, alright? We mourned for you, I mourned for you. I ran away because I couldn't bear to look at them. Those people who said they were your friends. They took different sides. They gave up on you. In a way, I guess I did too, just because I had to."

He grits his teeth but kept walking. "I was just as disappointed in them as you, kid."

You'd reached the end of the path. He looked around quickly and opened the door. You recognized it as Fundy's house. It was vacant, Fundy was nowhere in sight. Schlatt laid you down on his bed, leaving to get a washcloth and a glass of water.

"Sit up," He said, pushing the glass into your hand.

You grabbed it readily and took a swig, dehydrated from the tears you'd shed. As you drank, he put the damp washcloth to your forehead and neck, trying his best to sober you up a bit.

"You're on fire." He said, frowning at you. "Your face is all red. How much of that stuff did you drink?"

"The whole bottle," You muttered.

"And you're still alive?" He laughed.

"I'd ask Quackity the same thing,"

"What does this have to do with Quackity?"

"Fundy's selling it to Las Nevadas, I guess." You shrugged and he haphazardly dropped the washcloth in Fundy's cauldron.

"What?"

"Las Nevadas," You laid back down, "Quackity has a city now. Leaned into the whole gambling thing."

"Jesus, I missed a lot, haven't I?" He laid next to you, the sheets didn't move.

"I guess so." You turned to look at him. His suit was torn like he hadn't changed it since the day he died. His beard was barely shaped, his hair a mess, and his horns were as sharp as ever. He was exactly the same as he looked that day. Dishevelled and broken down.

"I mean it, I missed you." He said, "It's not like I had any paperwork to watch you do, but I wish I had."

"You watched me do that?"

"Yeah, I had to make sure you weren't stealing it or something," He excused.

You chuckled, "You never kept track of that shit, there was no way you would have known."

"Alright fine, you want me to admit it?"

"Admit what?"

"You make this... face when you work. When you're really focusing on something... It's hard to look away."

Your heart skipped. The ghost of Schlatt confessed to having a crush on you? No one would believe this, especially since you barely believed it yourself. You burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of it.

"What?!" He snapped.

You kept laughing as your head throbbed, the headache coming out in full force now, "You had a crush on me?"

He scowled, "No." He sat up and tapped his foot on the ground, "I have a crush on you."

Huh? "Even though I've been gone for months?"

"Yeah," He said, "It's not like you forget someone like that."

He sounded sad, distant almost. Like you were the ghost.

"Hey," You shuffled over to him, putting a hand on his leg, "It's super cheesy, but," You sighed, god I sound like a child, "I like you, too."

His face flushed, as much as a dead person's face could flush. "Little old dead Schlatt?"

"Yeah, why not?" You sighed, "It's been so long since I've seen you, but... I mean, why do you think I left?"

"I don't know. I thought about that a lot while you were gone."

"I left because I cared about you. It was too hard to see you in everything around me. I left to get my mind off of you because every waking moment of every goddamn day was spent thinking about you," He looked at you, poorly holding his poker face, "I only came back because everything was gone. There was nothing to come back to. Or so I thought."

"Yeah, Technoblade did that." He jeered, "Twice."

"This isn't about him," You put your head on his shoulder, "If I'd have known you were still here... I would have stayed."

"To be fair, I was stuck in... hell... for a while until I finally figured out how to get back up here," He said, "By the time I'd come back... You were long gone. Months had passed."

"It was selfish for me to leave. I'm sorry."

"No, it was shitty of me to be mad you didn't stay. You told me so many times to put down the damn bottle and yet, you stayed by my side until the end. I let you down."

"I guess we both have things to be sorry for, then." You said.

You sat in silence for a while, coming to terms with what you'd both just said. It wasn't in either of your characters to say anything like this. There were some serious feelings passing back and forth between the two of you, and nothing to prepare you for them.

"Fuck I'm gonna puke," You said.

He pulled back, "Don't do it on me, sicko, Jesus!"

You laughed, "I'm fuckin joking, relax,"

"Just..." He leaned back and grabbed a blanket to swaddle you in it, "No more drinking, no more feelings for tonight. You need to sleep, and I've got all the time in the world to watch over you."

"It sounds creepy when you put it that way," you pouted.

"I'm not gonna-" He rolled his eyes and tucked you in, "Just let me know if you need anything. We don't really need sleep with the 'eternal slumber' bullshit, ya know?"

---

I don't know how to end this lmao, I hope you enjoyyyyyyed :3

#eli drunk glatt #dsmp glatt #glatt #fundy #dsmp x reader #dsmp #dreamsmp #schlatt #jschatt #mcyt #mcyt x reader #elias original #schlatt x reader #glatt x reader

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peachscribe · 3 years

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peach’s summer book list

i had a lot of fun compiling the list of books i read during the 20-21 winter, so i decided i would do a summer one as well! i still have a lot of books i own but haven’t read, so im definitely not lacking in material

if you didn’t see my winter list, how my book list works is basically like this: i read a book that i own but have not previously read, write a short summary immediately after finishing the book, write down my thoughts on the book, and then provide a rating for the book. i also might include background info on why i read this particular book/feelings about the author, but that depends on the book. that’s how each entry works

without further ado, let’s get started!

1. Grasshopper Jungle by Andrew Smith

okay so i absolutely adore another book by andrew smith (written after grasshopper jungle) called the alex crow. it’s one of my favorite books of all time, so naturally i wanted to see if grasshopper jungle would make me feel similarly. just like the alex crow, grasshopper jungle’s plot is. so fucking weird. it stars austin szerba, a teenage polish kid who lives in ealing, iowa, and is often sexually confused regarding his girlfriend shann and his best friend robby. and in ealing, iowa, austin and robby accidentally and unknowingly unleash an unstoppable army of huge six-foot-tall praying mantis bugs that only want to do two things: fuck and eat. and i just have to say: andrew smith’s got an absolutely dynamo writing style. alex crow is similar, where it’s a book about kind of everything all at once, framed in a moment centering around teenage boys. it’s fantastic, and it’s more than a little gross, and i love it. this book made me feel so many things, and i thought austin was such an amazing narrator and main character to identify with. this book has it all: shitty teenage boy humor, fucked up science experiments, and poetic imagery that will make you want to cry. and explicit lgbt characters.

412/10 andrew smith what do you put in your water i just want to know

2. Burn by Patrick Ness

patrick ness has written a plethora of some of my favorite books (such as a monster calls, the chaos walking trilogy, and the rest of us just live here) so when i saw this one in the store i knew it would be a great one. burn is an alternate history fantasy that takes place in 1957 frome, washington, during the height of the cold war, and it begins with a girl named sarah and her father hiring a dragon to help out on their farm. but there’s not just dragons, farm living, and cold war tensions; there’s also a really shitty small town cop, a cult of dragon worshippers and their deadly teenage assassin, a pair of fbi agents, and a prophecy that sarah’s newly hired dragon claims she’s a part of. i think eoin colfer’s highfire was on my winter list, which also featured a story that included dragons and shitty cops, so when i first began burn i thought it was funny to have two books that had both things. you know, if you had a nickel etc etc. but that’s really where the similarities end because burn is entirely it’s own monster (dragon). burn is entirely invested in its world, and its fascinating. not only that, i had no clue where the book would take me next. there were so many surprises and amazing twists that honestly just blew me away. this book also includes beautifully written complicated discussions on family, race, and love - it features interracial and queer romances as the two most prominent romance plots which was such a nice surprise from a book i wasn’t expecting to have that kind of representation. this book is witty, fast-paced, and a very heartening read - i absolutely adored it.

9/10 dragons and becoming motivated by the power of love and friendship are so fucking cool

3. As Meat Loves Salt by Maria McCann

i hate this book! as meat loves salt is a historical fiction novel which takes place in seventeenth century england, which is going through a grisly civil war. the protagonist, jacob cullen, is a servant for a wealthy household and is engaged to another servant in the house. but due to certain events that are almost entirely jacob’s fault, he flees the house and is separated from his wife. from there, he joins the royal army and meets a kind soldier, ferris, and the two become fast friends. jacob and ferris’s relationship begins to bridge past friendly, and jacob struggles with his homoerotic feelings as well as the growing obsession and violence inside him. also, they try to start a colony. listen, i don’t know how to describe the book because so much happens, but it basically just follows jacob and all the terrible decisions he makes because he is, truly, a terrible person. ferris is kind and good, and jacob is scum of the earth. he sucks so bad. the entire time i was reading this book (which took absolutely so long), all i wanted was for jacob to just get his ass handed to him. i wanted to see him suffer. and it’s not like i just personally don’t like him - i believe the book purposefully depicts him as unsympathetic even though he is the narrator. i did enjoy the very in depth and accurate portrayal of what life would’ve been like in seventeenth century england, and i think it was interesting to read a character that is just the absolute worst person you’ve ever encountered and see him try and justify his actions, so if you enjoy that kind of thorough writing, then this book would be perfect for you. however, i did not see that bitch ass motherfucker jacob cullen suffer enough. i’d kill him with my bare hands.

2/10 diversity win! the worst man on earth is mlm!

4. This Savage Song by Victoria Schwab

i know ive had a friend tell me how great one of schwab’s other book series is, but truthfully i bought this book because the cover is sick as hell and it was on a table in the store that advertised for buy two get one free, i think. something like that. anyway, this savage song takes place in a future in which monsters, for whatever reason, suddenly became real and out for blood in a mysterious event nicknamed the phenomenon. august flynn is one of these monsters, but he takes no pride in that fact and only wants to feel human. kate harker is the daughter of a ruthless man and is trying her hardest to be ruthless, too, but deep down she knows it’s just an act. their city, verity, stands divided, and kate and august stand on either side - but when august is sent on a mission to befriend kate in the hopes of stopping an all out war, the lines begin to blur. this book rules. august and kate are such interesting and dynamic characters, and the narrative is familiar while still being capable of twisting the story around and taking the feet out from under you in really compelling ways. this savage song is part of the monsters of verity duology, and i can’t wait to dive into how the story continues and finishes.

11/10 sometimes you can judge a book by it’s cover

4a. Our Dark Duet by Victorian Schwab

this is the sequel and finale for this savage song and i’d figure i’d update everyone: fantastic ending, beautiful, showstopping, painful.

12/10 loved it and will definitely be keeping an eye out for schwab’s other books

5. White is for Witching by Helen Oyeyemi

oh boy. okay. white is for witching is about a house, and it is about the women who have lived inside of it. when her mother dies abroad, miranda silver begins to act strangely, and there’s nothing her father or her twin brother seem to be able to do about it. she develops an eating disorder and begins to hear voices in the silver family house, converted to a bed and breakfast by miranda’s dad; and she begins to lose herself in the house and the persistent presence of her family legacy. white is for witching switches perspective dizzingly and disorientingly between miranda, her twin eliot, miranda’s friend from school named ore, and the house itself. this story is a horror story as much as it as a tragedy as much as it is a romance as much as it is a bunch of other things. oyeyemi brings race, sexuality, nationality, and family into this story and forces you not to look away. this book is poetry.

(like i mentioned briefly, this book heavily deals with topics of race and closely follows miranda’s eating disorder. read responsibly, and take care of yourselves)

15/10 this book consumed me and i think i’ll have to read it another 10 more times to feel it properly

6. These Violent Delights by Chloe Gong

okay. okay. strap in for a ride. these violent delights is a romeo and juliet style story, taking place in glittering 1920’s shanghai. the city stands divided - not only between the foreign powers encroaching on chinese land, but also between the scarlet gang and the white flowers, who are at the height of a generations-long blood feud. juliette cai, heir to the scarlets, has recently returned from four years abroad and is determined to prove herself ruthless enough to lead. roma montagov, heir to the white flowers, is standing strenuously on his place as next in line due to a slip up four years prior and is desperate to keep hold of his title. and in the midst of juliette and roma’s burning history with each other threatening to combust, an unnatural monster lurks in the waters of shanghai, loosing a madness on scarlets and white flowers alike. this book has it all - scorned ex lovers, political intrigue, deadly monsters, and all set on a glamorous backdrop of the roaring twenties. i absolutely was enraptured by this book and the way it plays around the story of romeo and juliet so well that it easily became it’s own monster, but with the punches and embraces of something classically shakespearan. gong does just an absolutely breathtaking job of fitting this fantastical story amid the larger world of shanghai and the real life historical events that had shaken the city to its core. completely immersive and outstandingly heart racing.

17/10 i was chewing on my fingernails for the last thirty pages and will continue to do so until the sequel is released (our violent ends, 16 nov 21)

7. The Antiques by Kris D’Agostino

you ever heard of the american dysfunctional family story? this is most definitely that. at the same time george westfall’s cancer takes a turn for the worse, a hurricane hits the east coast, and suddenly all at once the issues of his health, the hurricane, and all three of his children’s achingly dysfunctional adult lives are crashing into each other. reunited by george’s death, the westfall siblings have to face their grief, each other, and the problems in their own lives they attempted to put on hold while planning their father’s memorial. this is a nice story about grief and loss and love and somehow finding the humor amidst it all.

(this book does include a depiction of an autistic child who does experience several pretty bad meltdowns due to ignorant people around him not understanding how to cater to his needs. im not an authority on what depictions are or are not harmful, but i do believe this depiction is ultimately loving and well-intended.)

7/10 it made me laugh and cry and was generally one of those books that somehow hit you close to home

8. Fierce Fairytales by Nikita Gill

fierce fairytales is a poetry anthology that reimagines classic fairytales from a modern, feminist viewpoint, acknowledging that the line between hero and villain, monster and damsel, are not as clear cut as the classics try to make you believe. this book also includes illustrations done by the author herself, which i think is really cool. my personal favorite story reimagining was the story of peter pan and captain hook, called ‘boy lost’ which looked at how peter and hook’s relationship began and rotted. all in all, i think this collection of stories had a lot of important things to say and said them in frank, easy to understand poetry and prose.

7/10 beautiful message and pretty prose, but at times a little cliche

and that’s all from the summer! my fall semester starts tomorrow, and overall i feel very good about all the reading i did this summer. i even read four other books not on this list for work! so i definitely feel like i made the most out of my time, and im really glad i was able to read so many stories that made me feel a variety of different things

thanks so much for reading this list, and let me know if you read or have read any of these books and tell me what you think of them!

happy reading<3

#book recs #book rec #book rec list #grasshopper jungle #burn #as meat loves salt #this savage song #monsters of verity #white is for witching #these violent delights #the antiques #fierce fairytales #just like my winter list i did write ever review immediately after finishing the book and i think.#i think here you can really tell what my immediate reactions were based on how the review is written fbfjfjd

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sonoftatooine · 3 years

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Whumpay 2021

DAY 19: HOPE / DESPAIR

Finally, this one took ages

Characters: Padmé Amidala, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker

Warnings: Brainwashing

Summary: Winter Soldier AU - Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker disappeared from the face of the Galaxy the day Palpatine executed Order 66. Padmé Amidala, however, managed to escape from Coruscant when the Empire was formed and became a founding member of the Rebellion. Several years later, when Obi-Wan Kenobi manages to capture the Emperor’s infamous Sith apprentice, Darth Vader, Padmé is left to deal with the horrifying discovery of what happened to her husband at the fall of the Republic.

***

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Padmé Amidala, former Senator of Naboo and member of the High Council of the Rebel Alliance, frowned down at the screen displaying the flickering vid feed of her lost husband in the room adjacent to the high security—or as high security as their current base could afford them—cell in which he was being held. She had been stood there for at least ten minutes, hovering, waiting, and in all of that time, Anakin had not so much as twitched—so much so that she might have been fooled into thinking that she was looking at a still image if not for the rise and fall of his chest and the occasional blink. It was so unlike him—her restless husband, always on the move, but who had always come back to her until the day that he didn't—that it made her eyes burn with the effort to hold back tears. This was wrong, so wrong—

“Yes, Obi-Wan, I'm sure” she said once she was sure she could bite back the sharp reply that was on the tip of her tongue that the man beside her didn't at all deserve. Of course she was sure. How could she not be sure, when this was her husband—the man she loved with all the force of a thousand stars—at stake? She had to.

“You don't have to, Padmé.” Stood beside her, arms folded over his chest, and tired blue eyes fixed as unrelentingly on Anakin's frozen figure as her own, Obi-Wan Kenobi sighed, his mouth curved downwards in an unhappy line. Grief had aged him badly since the horrors of Order 66 and the beginnings of Palpatine's Empire. There were new lines around his eyes, and his auburn hair was fast turning white, but the change over those years was not nearly as stark as that which had been wrought upon him over the past few days. He looked raw and worn down, no matter how he tried to disguise it with his regular stoicism, as if he was on the verge of being swallowed by despair. Ever since the Empire had come for him on his last mission. Ever since they had managed to capture the Emperor's enforcer, Darth Vader.

Vader. Lord Vader. The name sent a shiver of horror through her, but not for the reasons that it once had. Before, she had known him simply as the latest in what seemed to be Darth Sidious' ever replenishing supply of Sith apprentices, and one of the most troubling additions to the Empire's ranks. Robed and masked entirely in black, without even the slightest indication to what lay beneath his impenetrable disguise, he had been a complete unknown to all but Palpatine himself—Empire and Rebellion alike—save for the brutal efficiency with which he carried out his duties. They had watched the Emperor's transmission introducing him to the Galaxy—her and Obi-Wan and Bail, while Luke and Leia slept soundly in their cribs watched over by Threepio and Artoo—from their bunker about a year after the Empire was formed. Padmé remembered seeing him, standing tall and motionless, three steps behind his master, and had felt a frisson of fear and misery run through her that she hadn't quite understood at the time.

She understood now. Oh Force, she thought as the image of Anakin, swamped in black robes and strapped, unconscious, to a gurney, and Obi-Wan's anguished look as he gasped out “he doesn't remember us; he doesn't even remember who he is”, swam through her mind. Oh Force, she understood now.

“Yes, I do,” she said, with a nod that looked far more decisive than she felt. She clutched the pile of warm cloaks and blankets that she had brought with her tight to her chest. Anakin had always hated the cold, and she couldn't bear the thought of him all alone in that cell without at least making sure he was as comfortable as possible. “He's my husband. I want to see him.”

She wanted to see him ever since they had brought him off the ship, ever since she had been dragged away from Coruscant by a harried Obi-Wan and Bail, crying and begging for them to take her back, that they needed to find Anakin, they couldn't leave him there. Anakin who she had last seen standing to the right of the Chancellor during the meeting of the Delegation of the 2000, hands bundled into the voluminous sleeves of his Jedi robes and not quite able to meet her eyes. Who had been sent by the Council to report to Palpatine the day of Order 66, and had never been seen since.

Until now.

“Padmé, he tried to attack me when I went to talk to him,” Obi-Wan reminded her grimly. “Ahsoka too. He doesn't remember any of us. All he knows is what Sidious has made him believe. What if he hurts you?”

Padmé shook his head.

“He won't hurt me” she whispered. He wouldn't hurt her. Anakin would never— But she didn't think he could ever have tried to hurt Obi-Wan either. Or Ahsoka. But he didn't remember any of them, because Sidious had taken him and forced him to forget everything, turned him into his weapon— She was shaking, full of rage and grief, but she pushed them both down. It was alright now. It would have to be alright. He was with the Rebellion now and they would heal him of whatever vile Sith had done to him and then he could meet their two precious children and everything would be alright—

“Padmé.” She thought, faintly, that Obi-Wan had managed to hone saying her name in a tone of utmost exasperation and frustration to a fine art. No doubt Anakin had given him a great deal of practice in the past. “He's not the Anakin we know. Not anymore.”

This time, it took a great deal more effort for her to swallow her harsh retort. Obi-Wan had given up hope a long time ago—the night of Order 66 when his bond to Anakin had snapped. He had thought him dead, and blamed himself for it—the Council had pushed him into spying on Palpatine, he had said, and he was sure that Anakin had discovered the man's secret and been killed for it. She remembered how he had looked, blurred through her tears as they rushed through hyperspace away from Coruscant—dishevelled and worn, the telltale signs of his battle with Grievous burnt into his Jedi robes, and a haunted look in his eyes, misted up with tears that he refused to let fall. He had come back from his last visit to Anakin's cell much the same, convinced that his old padawan had died with whatever it was that Palpatine had put him through, that what was left was nothing but a shell of the man he had loved as a brother.

(It still hadn't stopped him from abruptly ending a call with Yoda when the old Jedi Grandmaster had suggested “lost to the Dark, young Skywalker is; let him go, you should”.)

“I don't believe that,” she said. She had never believed Anakin to be dead. Refused to believe it, told Luke and Leia all sorts of stories about their brave and dashing father that she saw so much of in each of them, hoping beyond hope that one day he would be there to share his own stories with them. She wasn't about to give up now, when he was here—finally here, in front of her, no matter how changed, and no matter what Jedi platitudes about letting go she heard. “We can save him. I know we can.”

She turned her pleading gaze to Obi-Wan, but he refused to meet her eyes. He was still staring at the screen, and though his expression was blank, she could see the longing in his gaze—longing and fear. Fear that he would get his hopes up when nothing could be done. Fear that she would get hurt trying. Padmé sighed sadly. Obi-Wan may have given up hope, but she wasn't about to let him fall into despair.

“Obi-Wan, you'll be here the whole time,” she said, softly, soothingly. “I have faith that you'll protect me, if need be.”

Obi-Wan scowled, finally turning to look at her, but there was a hint of something gentle and fond beneath it.

“The pair of you will be the death of me” he sighed. It was barely a ghost of how he had been before, when they had all been together and happy and none of them had been brainwashed into becoming a Sith, but it was familiar enough that Padmé couldn't help but send him a watery smile.

“Please, Obi-Wan, I'm ready.”

Reluctantly, Obi-Wan nodded.

“I'll be just on the other side of the door.”

Despite her words, Padmé's heart felt like it might burst out of her chest as she stepped into Anakin's cell, the pneumatic hiss of the door closing behind her reverberating in her ears like a threat. She was not afraid. At least, she was not afraid of the figure sitting, head bowed, on the little cot in front of her—he had not attacked any of his visitors since the two Jedi; indeed, had barely acknowledged them, enough so that the High Council had deemed it as safe as it would ever be for her to see him—but she was afraid of what would happen next. Of what she would learn from this meeting. Of looking into her husband's eyes and finding him unrecognisable. But Padmé was never one to shy away from things that made her afraid, and so she took a deep breath, and murmured:—

“Anakin.”

No response.

“I brought these.” She gestured to the robes and blankets in her arms. “I thought you might be cold.”

That got a reaction from him. Slowly, jerkily, as if his head were being lifted up by a string, he turned his face towards her. The sight of him made her want to scream—scream and cry and hold him in her arms and never let go. He looked sick and gaunt, and the change from golden tan to waxy white looked even more stark under the bright lights of the cell, the circles under his eyes dark like bruises. And his eyes, oh his eyes. The sparkling blue that she remembered—had loved and missed so much for all that she saw it every day in the face of their son—had been replaced with the same horrible yellow that she had seen deep set in the sunken face of Emperor Palpatine, gleaming cruelly under the shadow of his hood, during Empire Day transmissions. But that wasn't even the worst of it. Anakin's eyes had always been so expressive, brimming with love and joy and fear and anger and grief, as if he felt too much and too deeply to keep it all inside. It was one of the things that she loved about him. Now, however, he turned those sickly eyes to her and she saw nothing in them but blankness. For the first time in his life, Anakin Skywalker looked upon her and he felt nothing.

Padmé swallowed, fighting back the urge to cry. She wanted to run to him, bury her fingers in his hair and press her lips to his as she used to do each time he came home to her from the war, but, with what felt like a monumental effort, she pushed the desire away. That wasn't what Anakin needed right now, no matter how much she wanted it. Instead, she waited for him to reply, waited for some sort of acknowledgement—anything to indicate what she should do, what she should say.

None came.

She sighed. Stepping forward, she leaned down and placed the pile of clothes next to him on the bed, trying to keep her heart from shattering into a thousand pieces at the tiny flinch he gave as she approached him. Carefully, so as not to startle him, she pulled back, coming to a stop once she was far enough away for him to relax minutely. Hot tears burnt at her eyes.

“Do you know who I am?” she asked, wishing that her voice did not sound so shaky, so thick with emotion. Anakin had always had a way of bringing out absolute honesty in her—even when she didn't even know she was trying to hide something—and now, confronted with her husband whom she hadn't seen in years, and who had spent every day of those long years suffering under the man who had enslaved the entire Galaxy to his will, all her politician's training, all her masks and airs had fled her. Even if she had wanted to, she couldn't have done a thing to hide her feelings from him.

Anakin frowned.

“You are Padmé Amidala,” he answered tonelessly. His voice was as dead and as flat as the look in his eyes. He sounded hoarse and tired, like he used to after waking up from a particularly bad nightmare. Like he had when he had when he had dreamt of her death in childbirth, only a week before he had disappeared, before she had run and left him— “One of the founders of the Rebellion.”

“That's right,” she said, with a nod that she wasn't sure was meant to encourage him or herself. “Do you— Is there anything else you remember about me?”

She knew it would be no. She knew he remembered nothing. But she wanted so badly for him to remember at least something of her. Wanted to know that Sidious hadn't taken everything from him. No matter what she wanted, though, she knew what his answer would be. Knew it and feared it.

“I understand that it's more usual for an interrogator to ask their prisoner for information,” Anakin replied. He tilted his head to the side, the expression on his face somewhere between confused and wary. “Not questions about themselves.”

He didn't sound like Anakin. Or rather, he sounded like Anakin—his voice sounded like Anakin, but the words, said in that flat, dull tone— It was wrong, all wrong. Oh my love, Padmé thought. My love, what has that monster done to you?

“I'm not interrogating you, Anakin” she said. She fought keep her voice steady and calm, even as she wanted nothing more than to burst into tears. Anakin's frown deepened, a look of suspicion flitting across his face.

“Why does everyone keep calling me that?” he asked, and for the first time, there seemed to be a hint of something else in his flat tone, a hint of uncertainty, of apprehension. His hands twitched, like he wanted to twist his fingers together like he used to do beneath the sleeves of his Jedi robes when he was nervous. Instead, he balled them tight into fists.

Padmé sent him a watery smile.

“It's your name, Ani.”

My Ani, she thought, watching him twitch oddly at the contraction of his name, turning sharply away. Her Ani who didn't even remember his own name. Oh, what was she going to do. How could she help him when he remembered nothing—nothing about his friends, nothing about her, nothing about himself—and they didn't even know what it was that Palpatine had done to him to cause this? She felt despair rushing in on her like a shark that had scented blood in the water, but she pushed back against it. She couldn't given in now. For Anakin's sake, she couldn't give up hope.

“How much has Obi-Wan told you?” she asked carefully. It was a risk mentioning Obi-Wan—a Jedi, a man he had ostensibly been sent to kill before the Rebellion had captured him—but she needed to know how much he had actually taken in.

Yellow eyes flicked back to her, the wariness and suspicion turning his expression even more closed off and guarded than it had been before.

“He told me I was once his Jedi apprentice,” he replied. “But I suppose you'll claim that I was your closest friend in the Senate. Or have you had the chance to corroborate your stories since Kenobi's last visit?”

The harshness of his words—as much as their content—made it all the harder to hold back her tears. Anakin had hardly ever spoken to her like that, was hardly ever sharp with her. Around her, perhaps, when he was particularly upset or frustrated, but rarely with her. It was yet another reminder of what had been done to him—the changes Sidious had forced upon him, as if he were nothing but a droid to be reprogrammed according to an owner's desire. Well, she would fix it, she would help him, and she would never let that vile man near him again. But to do that, she would have to get him to believe her, and for him to believe her, she—

“I'm not lying to you,” she insisted. “I promise you. It's Palpatine—Sidious—who has lied to you. You were a Jedi—have been since you were nine years old. Near the end of the war, the Council was concerned about the powers Palpatine had gathered for himself and sent you to report on him. But you— They sent you to his office the day he ordered the Jedi killed and then you disappeared. The Jedi thought you were dead, but he took you and he did something to you and you don't remember it because—”

“No.”

The sharp growl silenced her rambling mid-sentence. Her mouth clicked shut and her eyes widened as Anakin stood abruptly from the bed, his expression as hard as durasteel. Padmé swallowed, a flicker of nervousness fluttering in her stomach that she ruthlessly pushed down. She wondered if Obi-Wan was getting ready to dash into the cell from the other side of the door, afraid that he was about to attack her. But she refused to share that fear. She had never been afraid of Anakin, and she never would.

“No,” Anakin repeated, more softly this time. Instead of starting towards her, he prowled away to the far corner of the cell, back not quite turned to her—just enough to keep her in his line of sight—and hunched in on himself, arms crossed defensively across his chest. It was such a familiar gesture that, despite herself, Padmé couldn't help but feel a sliver of relief at the sight of it. Whatever Sidious had done to him, he hadn't managed to chase every last part of him from his mind. “My master warned me about this,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “He told me that you would try to deceive me, turn me against him—”

“He's the one deceiving you!,” she cried, trying to ignore worm of uneasiness in her stomach at the thought of the Emperor warning her husband against the Jedi and the Rebellion—or perhaps her specifically. If she could just get him to see, just get him to believe— “I don't know what he's done to you but please, Anakin, all we want is to help you. All I want is to help you. But to help you, I need you to believe me—”

She approached him, slowly, cautiously, as one might a wounded animal. His gaze fixed on her the whole way, wary, unrelenting, but he did not move, frozen to the spot. She itched to reach out to him, to pull him in and hold him close, but she wrestled the urge down to the depths of her heart.

“Please, Ani,” she begged, barely a whisper. “Please.”

Anakin stared down at her, and for a moment, she thought she saw a flash of blue in those yellow eyes.

“You haven't told me who you are,” he said, after a long moment of silence. His tone was guarded, cautious, just as quiet as her own. “Who you were to me. If what you say is true, what did I mean to you?”

Everything, Padmé thought. You meant everything to me. You mean everything to me. You and Luke and Leia. And one day, I'll be able to have them meet their father and you'll mean everything to them too. Her heart, too full of love and fear and hope and despair, ached in her chest, snatching up all her words before they could reach her mouth. How could she say all of this to him? How could she say any of this to him, when he barely believed she was telling him the truth about his name?

“You're—”

She faltered, unsure what to do. Would it be too much for him, finding out that he was married to a woman he didn't even remember? But what could she say? She couldn't lie to him—wouldn't lie to him. She wanted him to trust her again, like he used to before everything had gone so wrong, and how could they ever help him if they too deceived him?

“I'm...I...I'm your wife.”

Anakin froze stock still.

“...What?” he whispered hoarsely.

“It's true.” Padmé could no longer stop herself. She reached out slowly with both hands, making to smooth down his hair—it had always calmed him down after a nightmare; maybe if he accepted the truth, it might soothe him a little now? He gave an odd little jerk at the contact, his tongue darting out nervously to wet his lips, but he didn't pull away, still frozen to the spot, staring down at her with wide eyes. “Please believe me. It's true. I'm your wife—”

“No,” Anakin cut across her again. This time, however, his eyes had not hardened, and he could see the uncertainty creeping into them. His voice shook. “No, you're a liar.”

His hand—the one of durasteel that she had held at their wedding after he lost it to Count Dooku—darted up to snatch her wrist. But instead of shoving her right away, he held her in place, her hand hovering between them, arm extended towards him, as if he could not decide whether to push her aside or pull her closer. Padmé stared into his eyes, vaguely aware that Obi-Wan was probably panicking by now on the other side of the door. She could feel the strength in his grip, well acquainted with what his mechno hand could do. He had been horribly embarrassed when he had managed to crush several of her cups after their wedding, still unused to the amount of force his prosthetic required compared to his flesh hand. If he wanted to, he could tighten his grip now and crush her just as he had those cups, shatter every bone in her wrist. But he did not press down. He didn't even so much as grip hard enough to bruise.

“I'm not,” she cried—really cried, the tears she had been holding back starting to trickle down her cheeks. “I swear to you—”

“You didn't corroborate your stories after all,” Anakin retorted. “I could hardly have been a Jedi and a husband.”

Padmé shook her head, blinking heavily to keep the tears from blurring her vision. It would be alright, she told herself. She could persuade him. His voice was not nearly so certain as his words, and if she could just explain properly—

“You broke the Code to marry me,” she said. “We kept it secret, so you could stay as a Jedi and I could keep serving in the Senate until the war was over—”

“How convenient” Anakin returned, perhaps not as derisively as he had intended. He still hadn't let go of her wrist.

Padmé shook her head again, more insistently this time. She reached once more with her free hand to cradle his cheek in his palm.

“Please, Anakin, please. I love you. I love—”

“No!” With a cry, Anakin jerked backwards. The durasteel fingers wrapped about her wrist pulled away. “No! You—”

But words seemed to be beyond him. He staggered back, hand shooting out to steady himself against the wall, but it wasn't enough. His legs failed him, and he sank down to the floor, forehead pressed to his knees, trembling violently.

“This isn't—,” he hissed. “You can't— It's a trick. It's a trick—”

His hands fisted in his hair, so tight that Padmé thought he might tear clumps of it out. She rushed to his side, wiping her tears away furiously with her sleeve. She had pushed him too far. It was too much for him—too much at once.

“Padmé.”

Anakin's head shot up just as Padmé turned around to see Obi-Wan standing in the doorway, trying to remain impassive and failing miserably. She caught a flurry of movement in the corner of her eyes—Anakin had forced himself to stand back up, pressed up against the wall. He looked like a cornered loth-wolf, hunched in on himself, ready to spring, his yellow eyes wide and feral.

“It's alright,” Obi-Wan soothed, holding up the palms of his hands to show him he wasn't armed. Despite the calmness of his tone, Padmé could hear the agony beneath his words. “I won't hurt you. We will leave you to rest now.”

He turned a significant glance towards her, and Padmé could do nothing but nod, for all that she wanted to stay. She didn't want to overwhelm Anakin any more than she had already. Swallowing thickly, she forced down her tears, turning to meet her husband's unnatural yellow eyes with her own glistening brown.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I'm so sorry.”

She made it to the other side of the door before she broke down in tears.

(Later, when she came to check on him to find him curled up in the warm robe she'd brought him, she cried for very different reasons).

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jazy3 · 3 years

Text

Thoughts on Grey’s Anatomy: 18X04

SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

I didn’t hate this episode, but I didn’t love it either which seems to be a reoccurring theme so far this season. I enjoyed seeing Addison back, but I wish they’d gone deeper and we’d seen her interact with characters other than Amelia. I loved the conversations that she had with Amelia, but I wish they'd gone farther with it. I also wish we learned more about how her step-daughter Angela is doing as her storyline was left in a weird place when Private Practice ended and I'd love to have seen some follow up there. I would have also loved for her to have met Scout, Link, Leo, Teddy, and Owen. I was hoping Amelia would make her godmother to Scout the way Addison made her Godmother to Henry and I'm sad that didn't happen.

I liked Addison and Amelia’s conversation about the pandemic, but I was a bit confused when Addison said she heard about Meredith being sick with COVID and had prayed for her. Does that imply that Addison heard from other people and her and Amelia weren't talking during the pandemic? That doesn't make much sense to me. I got what Amelia was saying about her and Link, but I'm confused as to why she still hasn't told Link that she doesn't want more kids and she knows he does which is apparently why she doesn't want to get married? I'm still unclear on what Amelia's opposition to marriage is about at this point.

I’m also confused as to why we didn’t see Meredith introduce Jo to Addison in this episode as they briefly met in the previous episode and it seemed like they were setting something up there. She also didn’t meet Carina which was odd considering that Carina came to Grey Sloan with her ground breaking study and Addison is the country’s foremost neo-natal surgeon. You’d think Carina would make meeting Addison a priority? Speaking of which, I’d love to see Carina stick around and mentor Jo some more. They've spent a lot of time talking about Jo switching to OBGYN but not a lot of time actually showing her switching. I think Carina could be a great mentor to Jo and I miss the mentorship relationships on the show so I would like to see it.

I think Webber’s new teaching method was a success overall as Levi really shined as did Dr. Khan. I'm glad that they are using Dr. Khan's experience to help the other residents. Something I didn't get when Koracick was in charge was why he assigned an experienced vascular surgeon who was retraining to scut work. I like that under Webber the hospital is using the resources it has more effectively. I think it was good for the residents to get more OR time, but I'm a bit confused as to why Bailey was upset with Helm and called what she did a mistake afterward. I don't really see what Helm could have done differently given the circumstances.

I was sad that Owen and Winston’s patient Roy died and how hard Noah took it and how he pushed Owen away and refused his help. I think Owen will eventually be able to get through to him, but it will take some time. You can see how much helping veterans who have been sickened by their exposure to burn pits while serving means to him and it's an important cause to advocate for with his study. While I've never been an Owen Hunt fan this is an important story and I'm happy to see Owen having a storyline outside of his messy love life. I liked seeing Owen and Winston interact more in this episode. I also liked that Hayes is getting to know the other characters more and that Owen invited him out for a beer at the end of the episode.

Speaking of the Hunt family, I feel bad for Megan and Farouk now that we’ve found out that Farouk is sick again and will require surgery. They've both been through so much and deserve happiness. There was some great acting in the scene where Hayes told Megan that Farouk would need surgery, but I was so distracted by the thought that they might be trying to pair those two up that I couldn't really focus on the scene. The idea of the two of them together is nauseating to me. Same with Hayes and Jo. I'll never like it. I'll always hate it. And if the show actually winds up going that route, I'll never forgive them.

Likewise, I totally hated the end scene with Meredith and Nick. They spent two whole seasons setting up Meredith and Hayes and now they just expect us to get on board with Meredith and Nick because Scott Speedman was suddenly available? Yeah no. That’s not gonna happen. This pairing disgusts me. It’s stupid, nonsensical, and such an insult to fans who have stuck with the show for all of these years. Nick just isn’t an interesting character. He has no real personality, always comes off like he’s either a jerk or totally out of it, and I don’t feel any chemistry whatsoever. The whole thing feels completely forced and out of the blue.

I didn't really have a favourite scene or part this episode. This season has been so lacklustre for me. If I had to pick, I'd say the scenes between Addison and Amelia and as a runner up the scenes in the OR with Levi and Khan. The pacing for me still feels off and the music choices have been really weird this season. It's like the music doesn't match the moment. The music is upbeat but the scene is sad or emotional. Towards the end of the episode it was hard for me to hear what Addison and Amelia were saying at the elevator because the music overpowered the dialogue. The pacing, editing, and music choices really need an overall.

Until next time!

#grey's anatomy #meredith grey #cormac hayes #megan hunt #owen hunt #winston ndugu #addison montgomery #addison forbes montgomery #amelia shepherd #farouk shami hunt #levi schmitt #reza khan #richard webber #jo wilson #carina deluca #with a little help from my friends #18X04 #thoughts #review

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lesetoilesfous · 3 years

Note

sensory overload with fenders for the bad things bingo? (specifically fenris, if you’re up for it)

Godddd I had too much fun with this and I very much hope you enjoy it. Also I hate with a burning passion the fact that Hawke can give Fenris back to Danarius. I hate it so, so much.

@badthingshappenbingo

Fandom: Dragon Age 2

Prompt: Sensory Overload

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Sensory Overload, Slavery, Panic Attack, Vomiting

Pairing: Fenders (pre-relationship)

Characters: Evil/Red Marian Hawke, Fenris, Anders, Varric Tethras, Isabela, Danarius

Additional Tags: Hawke tries to give Fenris back and the KWC says no thank you, Angst with a Happy Ending

Word Count: 1,503

“Take him.”

Fenris feels as if he’s been hit in the head with a sledgehammer. “What?”

Danarius smiles: a slow, creeping sort of smile that Fenris has seen him wear a thousand times. “Interesting. I’ll make it worth your while, of course. The power of the Imperium will be at your disposal.”

Feeling dizzy, Fenris stares at Hawke. Her pale features are set and rigid with cold disdain. “Don’t do this, Hawke. I need you.” The words fall out of his mouth like pulled teeth, dragging at his insides with a sharp ache.

Hawke's lips curl back in a sneer. “You’re on your own, Fenris.”

Everything inside of Fenris collapses. It reminds him of something he’d read, recently - a book by a Qunari philosopher about the stars - a woman who hypothesised that sometimes, when a star died, it collapsed into an inverse of itself, dragging everything around it into darkness. Behind him, Danarius’ voice sounds both far, far too close and impossibly far away.

“What shall it be, Fenris? Will you throw your life away?”

Fenris can’t breathe. He feels is if the floor is swaying beneath him, shaking like a ship at sea. He remembers dancing on these floorboards, with Isabela...Fenris looks up, but the gold and brown and cream of the Hanged Man’s interior is a spinning kaleidoscope of colour. His mouth moves, and his tongue feels numb and fuzzy with static. “No, I will go with you.”

One of the guards moves, and the clanking scrape of their armour sounds painfully loud. Fenris sways away from them as they drop a purse heavy with coins into Hawke’s hand. Danarius speaks again, his voice cutting through the fog of sound and colour, weaving through Fenris’ ears like a thread pulled through his brain. “Lovely! Here’s a token of my appreciation, Champion. I’m sure I can arrange to have something more...appropriate sent along soon.”

The wooden floorboards beneath Fenris tilt, and he finds himself stumbling forwards toward his master and the red-headed elvhen woman, Varania, his sister. Fenris stares at his feet, which seem far too far away from him, and tries to remember how to breathe. His face feels hot, and his lungs are aching, desperate for more air. Danarius smiles, and the hairs on the back of Fenris’ arms and neck lift. “Come along, everyone! The boat leaves for Minrathous within the hour.”

The group begins to move, and Fenris feels as if the entire tavern is folding around him like a Rivaini paper flower. His vision tunnels, surrounded by darkness, but everything is still too loud and too bright and too hot and how had he never noticed the smell in here? Every time he breathes he feels as if he’s inhaling a thick stew of sweat and leather and steel polish and sex and alcohol and piss. He gags, falling forward. Behind him, Hawke doesn’t even move. Beside her, Fenris can’t make out Anders, Isabela and Varric in the blur of colour and noise. He still can’t breathe. The past ten years feel unreal, rapidly fading from his memory like a dwindling dream.

“Yeah, that’s not going to happen.”

Varric’s drawl is immediately preceded by the familiar thunking of his crossbow, and Fenris thinks for a moment with relief that the rogue is going to shoot him in the head and end this nightmare before it begins. But the bolt doesn’t hit him, or Danarius, and he turns - slowly, too slowly, as if he’s moving in treacle - to see Hawke’s eyes rolling up into the back of her head as she collapses like a sack of potatoes.

Isabela draws her knives. “Oh, thank the Maker.”

Anders swings his staff from behind his back, twirling it in a wreath of blue fire that leaves burning imprints on Fenris’ irises. “You took the words right out of my mouth.”

Fenris turns back, forcing himself to lift his head despite the ten tonne weight that feels as if it’s resting on him, and sees Danarius’ face twist into a mask of fury. He sees Danarius’ hands claw, and the mercenaries charge, and shades bleed up from between the floorboards of the tavern like oil dragged from the earth. Then everything shatters into a swirling kaleidoscope of shattered stained glass and colour. Fenris can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t see, can’t hear. Everything is too much: too loud, too bright, every movement feels like a needle in his eyes, every sound like a knife stabbed into his ears. His tongue feels heavy and burning with the overload of spice and salt in the air, and his nose is thick and choking on smoke and sulphur. His heart is thudding so hard in his chest, Fenris thinks he must be trembling with it. Blindly, he moves towards what he thinks might be the door, and doesn’t care if someone stabs him in the back for it.

Fenris makes it three feet into the cool Kirkwall night before he crumples to his knees and vomits, retching again and again until his stomach is spasming and his eyes are burning with useless, burning tears as if he’d pressed his face into a chimney full of smoke. Arms shaking, dripping with cold sweat, he kneels on the cold white sandstone of the street, washed silver by the moon, and shudders until the world stops spinning. It stops slowly, the brightness in his eyes turned unnaturally light, every colour too saturated and too vivid, even out here in the dark. The barking of Fereldan mabari, normally a strange kind of comfort, punches his skull every time they break the night, leaving Fenris shuddering with recollections of Hawke and her mabari and every time he’d saved her life, every time she’d saved his. He’d trusted her.

The sea breeze is too salty on Fenris’ tongue, which feels as if it’s been coated with grease and spices. He spits until his mouth is dry and his throat is sore, and doesn’t know how long it takes before he can breathe easily again.

When, at last, the world is no longer a Fade-saturated parody of itself, Fenris realises two things. First: the sounds of combat from inside the tavern have long since faded. Second: he is not alone.

Slowly, he forces himself to look up from the familiar sets of black and brown boots to Anders and Isabela. Isabela looks uncharacteristically sincere, and Anders’ wrinkled features are creased with worry. Twenty feet away, Varric is talking to a small huddle of Carta dwarves next to a cart with Hawke’s unconscious body. Fenris nearly throws up again, and Anders starts forward, totally ignoring the puddle of bile and vomit on the stone in front of him. Fenris flinches back, violently, and Anders freezes.

Finally, Fenris finds his voice. “Danarius?”

Anders’ jaw tenses, and some of the worry clears from his features. “Unconscious, in chains, supervised by Merrill and Aveline. We drugged him with magebane, too.” Anders hesitates, and glances at Isabela before going on. “We thought - we wanted you to have the final say. On what we do with him.”

Fenris nods, and breathes, pushing himself further away from the sick to sit on the stone. He glances towards Varric and the carta. “Hawke?”

Isabela’s lips purse into a thin line. “Varric drugged her. I say we slit her throat. Varric’s keeping her drugged in a safehouse until we come to a group decision.”

Fenris nods again. The breeze pulls across the open stone courtyard, tugging at Anders’ and Isabela’s hair, and cooling the sweat on the back of his neck. He looks at the pirate, and then the mage. Varric is walking over to them, now, too, Bianca loose in his arms. “Why?”

Isabela’s features flicker, briefly. Anders’ expression crumples. “Andraste, Fenris, because we love you.” He says it so easily. As if it’s something they’ve said to each other before. And then he keeps talking, because it’s Anders, and he always has more to say. “Also, I don’t know if you’ve been listening to me at all for the past ten years but, "the right of every man, woman and child to freedom in Thedas" does, in fact, include slaves. I know, I know, a manifesto about freedom being anti-slavery, it’s improbable right? You’d think I was healing all those elvhen slaves over the past decade with my own sweat and blood and tears for some secret evil agenda. But no, it’s actually pretty simple. Slavery’s one of the foulest, most cursed, pus-infected tumorous boils on the Maker’s taint, and so’s anyone who fucking supports it.”

Fenris thinks it’s a strange world, indeed, that he finds himself comforted by the mage’s rambling. Varric steps forward and reaches out, offering a hand. “What Blondie’s trying to say, Fenris, is that we’ve got your back.”

Fenris hesitates, staring at Varric’s hand, his mind full of Hawke’s bright blue eyes and strong jaw. Isabela unfolds her arms from where they’d been tightening across her chest. “No slaves, no masters.”

Fenris takes Varric’s hand.

#bad things happen bingo #dragon age 2 #fenris #anders #varric tethras #isabela #my fic #gaysolavellan #anon

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fictionalabyss · 3 years

Text

Mated : Funkytown.

Pairings : Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader (mentioned), Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader

Word count : 2,793

Written for : @spnabobingo

Square : Fuck or die

Warning : Angst ahead! a/b/o dynamics, character death talked about, depression, sickness, really bad heat, dying, minor smut, claiming, guilt

Masterlist • Patreon • Ko-fi.

Part 3 of Mated.

SPN A/B/O Bingo Round 5 Masterlist.

It had been weeks since Dean had died. Weeks of misery and mourning. Alone.

Sam had been around just to tell you, a quick “Dean’s dead.” before he disappeared while you broke down. You hadn’t heard from him since. You shut down, shut the whole world out while you mourned the loss of your mate.

And then your heat hit.

With no mate to get you through it, you tried to do it on your own, but you were still in mourning, and it was a bad one. You’d never had a heat so painful. Three weeks after your mate died, you were bedridden, weak, barely able to move. You couldn’t even make it to the shower, let alone the kitchen. Everything hurt, everything ached and burned, sweat pouring out of every pore. All you could do was cry. Cry and beg for relief that wasn’t coming.

When you hit seven days in, with no end in sight, you couldn’t do it anymore, could barely even stay awake. You needed it to stop, needed help. With a shaking hand, you reached for your phone on the nightstand next to your bed and weakly hit a number you hadn’t called in a long time.

It went to voicemail.

“P-please.. Sam. I-” you couldn’t stop the tears. “I’m scared… I can’t- I need suppressants, or.. I don’t- I’m scared, Sam. I’m so scared. I-” you swallowed and said the only thing you could think to say, something Dean had told you would always have him come running home. “Funkytown.” The phone fell from your hand, too weak to hold it anymore, and you curled into a ball and cried.

When ringing the bell got him nowhere, he picked the lock far too easily. He was going to have to have a chat with you about that, about getting better locks. Sam pushed open the door and stepped inside. Before the door behind him even clicked shut, he knew something was wrong. Something was off. The house was dead silent, not a creak, like no one was home. He could still smell you, but it smelled… wrong.

He was running up the stairs, taking them two at a time, following the faint barely there smell to a thick bedroom door. He didn’t stop his stride, just opened the door and burst right in-

He froze when the smell hit him. It was you, but it was wrong, it was sick. The normally sweet smell of an omega in heat had turned sour. It was revolting. It smelt like death. If Sam hadn’t been used to the smells of corpses, burning or not from hunting, he’s sure he’d have lost his breakfast by now. “Jesus.” he mumbled, stepping closer to the bed you were curling up in. He could tell just by looking at you that you didn’t need suppressants, you needed a fucking doctor.

He scooped you up in his arms and you were nothing but dead weight, and yet, lighter than he expected, lighter than he’d remembered you being back in college when you’d drink too much and he’d piggy back you along the streets back to campus. You seemed to flinch at the feel of his skin on yours, but he could smell fresh slick and it smelt just as sickeningly wrong as the room. “Dean..” your voice was weak. His eyes shot down to your face, eyes fighting to open and losing.

“No, it’s me.” He answered as he carried you into the bathroom and lowered you into the tub before turning on the water.

“Sam?”

Your eyes finally managed to open and you were looking at him, so he gave you a small smile. “Yeah. It’s me.”

“You- you came..” you breathed it out like a sigh of relief. “I didn’t think..” you voice trailed off, eyes falling closed again.

“I’ll always come when you need me.” he told you even though he wasn’t sure you heard him until you weakly nodded.

You could feel warm water starting to pool around you, feel it wash over you as Sam splashed it over your skin to wipe away at the sweat that caked your skin. It hurt to feel him touching you, he wasn’t your mate, each brush of his skin on yours caused a fresh wave of pain, but at the same time, he was an Alpha, and you were in heat so it also brought on an ache in your core and more slick. You couldn’t fight either, you just slipped back into darkness as wet warmth surrounded you.

“When has she last eaten?”

You woke up hearing a man’s voice answering the question you had heard in a dream, and for a moment, hope filled you. But only for a moment. It wasn’t Dean, that wasn’t his voice, that wasn’t his scent. It was familiar, though. “I don’t know, she called me yesterday, left a voicemail crying, said she needed suppressants..”

“She needs her mate.” That was a voice you didn’t know, that was new. There was a stranger in your room. It took a bit of fighting, but you managed to get your eyes open to see someone leaning over you, poking and prodding, giving you a once over. The stethoscope around their neck was the dead giveaway. A doctor.

“He’s dead.” Sam answered from where he stood out of your line of sight.

“That explains it. First heat after the death?” Sam hummed. “It's always the worst. Some don’t survive it.” The doctor sighed and stood.

“What can you do for her?”

“Nothing.” The doctor looked towards your feet, his back going to you. “There’s nothing I can do, you asked for an Omega specifically. If you’d have asked for an Alpha-” Sam growled at that and the doctor ducked his head for a moment. “She needs her mate.”

“Like I said, he’s dead.”

“Then she needs a new one.” The room was quiet. “If you want her to live-”

“How long? How long does she have?”

You saw the doctor's shoulders shrug. “Honestly? I’d say if she doesn’t have a mate in about.. 24 hours, she’s not going to make it.” Sam cursed. “48 tops, and that’s really pushing it. Someone should have been called in sooner, she’s too far gone.”

“I would have if I had known.” Sam growled threateningly, and the doctor's hands went up.

“Look, getting her cleaned up and out of that room, that was good. But you need to get her to eat.”

“She can’t even fucking stay awake!”

“Exactly why she needs to eat. She’s got nothing in her system. Force her to, even if it’s just a soup broth. Don’t give her the choice.” Your eyes started to fall shut again, your lids too heavy to keep open. Thinking about it, if you had called Sam yesterday, it had to have been about 2 or 3 days since you’d been able to make it to your kitchen. That could not be helping things.

“You obviously don’t know her if you think she can be forced into anything.” Sam mumbled.

“Try. It’s that, or find someone to mate her and fast.”

Sam sighed. “She’d hate that even more.”

“Sadly, that’s all I’ve got for you.”

“Thanks anyways, doc.”

You heard movement, a zipper being closed and then “Good luck. I’ve got your number, I’ll call and check in tomorrow. Even though there’s not much I can do, I’d still-”

“Thanks, doc.”

Quiet followed the footsteps out of the room.

You shifted, and the pain brought you back to awake, curling in on yourself to try and relieve it. You weren’t sure how long had passed, days or hours, but judging by the sight of Sam when you opened your eyes, you’d say minutes. He was deep in thought, likely not having moved at all since the doctor left. His arms across his chest as he stared down at the floor, his ass settled on a dresser with his ankles crossed. He was nervously chewing on his bottom lip, something you can’t remember seeing him do before. Judging by the dark piece of furniture as well as the artwork on the wall behind him, you were in the spare bedroom.

“You’re really here.” Sam's head snaps up, eyes on you. “I thought I was dreaming it.. Am I really dying?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, closing your eyes again. “I need you to eat.”

You shook your head. “Not hungry.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

“I’m sorry for calling you.” you told him quietly.

“What?”

“You can go, you probably have more important things to do..”

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” he snapped, pushing off the dresser. “You fucking called me here, you said Funkytown knowing I’d come running. Now you want me to just leave? You’re dying.”

“You can’t save me, Sam. You can’t stop it.”

“You were scared. I came. I’m not leaving.”

“Would you just let me die in peace!?” you snapped, eyes opening to glare at him and he froze, the expression on his face changing.

“Why are you suddenly so eager to die?”

“Like I said, you can’t save me..” Sam watched you as you curled tighter into yourself with a whimper as another wave of pain hit, fresh slick leaking from between your thighs. “And I’ll finally see him again.”

“It doesn’t work like that.”

“Don’t-”

“It doesn’t fucking work like that!” Sam yelled, anger coming back as he stormed closer to the bed.

“JUST LET ME HAVE HOPE, SAM!”

“Fuck your hope!” he snapped. “Okay? And fuck you for calling me in just to tell me to leave. Do you really think you’re the only one missing him? He’s my fucking brother! He’s my blood! He’s all I had left! Him and you.” You closed your eyes again as tears began to fall. “You think if it was that simple I wouldn’t have just fucking ended it? He made a fucking deal.”

“So I’ll make one too, I’ll-”

“You can’t even get out of fucking bed.” Sam spat. “How the hell are you going to make it to a crossroads?”

“I don’t know, okay! I don’t know! All I know is I can’t do this! I can’t live without him!”

“You didn’t even fucking try.”

“Just leave, Sam.”

“No. You know I won't, that's exactly why you called me. You’ve got other friends, other people to call, but you called me.”

“Because despite how you pretend I don’t exist, you were still my best friend.” Your eyes opened to look at him, meet his eyes and you hoped and prayed he could see all the pain you were carrying from losing Dean and him both. “I’m sorry I called you, okay. I’m sorry. Just let me go.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why!? I heard the doctor, Sam! I heard what it’ll take! 24 hours to find a new mate? You said it yourself I can’t even move!”

“I’m not going to leave you to suffer alone. I can make you comfortable, keep you company, I-”

“YOU’RE NOT STAYING TO WATCH ME DIE!” you screamed. “Not after you had to watch him die. I can’t do that to you. Please.”

Sam kneeled down next to your bed, bringing him closer, and he ran his fingers along tangled hair, just pushing it back, to sooth you more than anything else. “Then let me help you.”

“You can’t. I know you can’t.”

“I can.” Sam swallowed. “You won’t like it, but I can.” You shook your head, eyes squeezing shut at another wave of pain and slick. “You called me to help you. Let me help you.”

“Please stop- stop touching me. It hurts. It makes everything hurt.”

Sam leaned forward, his lips pressing to your sweaty forehead and you started to cry all over again. “I’m not leaving. Not without trying. I owe it to Dean.”

You shook your head as Sam got up, moving over you and settling between your thighs. “You’re not him.” you cried before Sam’s lips pressed to yours, forcing a pained whine out of you. One of Sam’s forearms was pressed into the mattress, holding him up while his other hand worked at opening and freeing him from his jeans as his lips continued to move over your lips, jaw, and throat. “You’re not him.”

“Let me try.” the words whispered against your throat as you felt him move through your slick, tip of his cock sliding deliciously along your clit before he lined himself up. You never bothered with underwear while in heat, it was pointless and apparently Sam had figured the same when he re-dressed you after your bath.

He pushed forward, and you cried out, head going further into the pillows underneath it as your back arched off the bed. Your hands went to his shoulders, pushing, scratching, punching. You wanted to make him stop, it hurt so bad, he wasn't Dean, he wasn't your mate, but at the same time- he felt so fucking good buried deep inside you.

Sam gave slow and deliberate thrusts, and every thrust forward had you face twist in pain. "Let me try." he asked once more against the side of your neck "I can't lose you, too. Let me try.". Your only response was your eyes closing and your fists no longer pummeling at him. I wasn't really much of an answer, but Sam understood.

It was common for a second mate to break the mark of the first with their own claim. But something in you couldn't let go, couldn't let it happen. When you felt Sam going for it, you stopped him. "Not there.. please.. anywhere but there. I-" you couldn't even begin to explain. "Just… please.."

"Okay." He kissed your lips delicately, his own show of understanding before he tailed down to the other shoulder.

You relaxed a little against him, not fully though, every move he made still brought so much pain, but knowing Dean's mark would remain, that you would keep that reminder of him always, it was calming. Not many Alphas would grant that wish.

Suddenly, a scream ripped through you as his teeth sank deep into your skin. Your nails dug into his shoulders as you tried to pull him closer. Everything exploded, like you were suddenly alive again. The excruciating pain wasn't fully gone, but the pleasure-

Oh the pleasure. Sam's pace picked up, his thrust getting a little rougher and it felt so fucking good. As good as he felt hitting deep, the drag of him pulling back felt just as good and as your scream died down, a fresh gush of slick poured out as waves of an orgasm tore through you.

"There you are." Sam mumbled against the bite mark, taking a deep breath in. "There's the smell I love so much."

You tangled your fingers into his hair and pulled, bringing his face up to yours so you could look him in the eyes. They were beautiful. Not the bright green you had loved from Dean, but greens and browns in perfect harmony with each other. "Bring me back." You were begging, tears in your eyes as you looked into his. "I don't want to die."

"I know."

You were staring up at the ceiling, Sam snoring gently next to you. Two rounds before the pain of your heat finally started to feel more normal. You had sighed with relief when his knot had swelled and locked him in you, but now, in the quiet of the room with the post sex haze faded away, relief wasn't what you felt.

What you felt was guilt. Like you were betraying something or someone. Dean. Dean was dead and you were finding pleasure in his brother and you felt so much guilt. And weakness. You were too weak to live without him, too weak to deny Sam. Weeks. Not months, not years, weeks, and you were mated to his brother.

"I'm sorry." You whispered into the darkness of the room. "I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough." You rolled onto your side, your back towards Sam as you started to tear up. You couldn't let him see you crying, couldn't let him see the guilt. You didn't want it eating at him as well.

But it was like he knew, like he just knew you needed comfort, because he rolled over, putting his chest to your back as he wrapped an arm around your waist and held you close.

You tried to let his warmth wash over you, tried to remember how bad you had wanted this year's ago. You had it now, you had Sam.

But even as Sam's mark burned hot on your skin, a part of you just really wanted Dean back.

*If you like this, please consider supporting my work*

Tagging : Dean - @akshi8278 @adoptdontshoppets @evyiione @karikatz12481 @idksupernatural @deandreamernp

Sam - @evyiione @hoboal87

SPN - @sandlee44 @just-another-busy-fangirl @mrswhozeewhatsis @deanandsamsbitch @deans-baby-momma @thebescht @67-chevy-baby @supraveng @musiclovinchic93 @holyfuckloueh @ksgeekgirl @hobby27 @maddiepants @roxyspearing @onethirstyunicorn @fandom-princess-forevermore @kalesrebellion @deanwanddamons @thoughts-and-funnies

All tags - @sorenmarie87 @artemisthebadger @winchesterprincessbride @iflostreturntosteverogers @akfonkin @rebelminxy @foxyjwls007 @onethirstyunicorn @shaelyn102 @supernaturalenchanted @kazkingdom @babypink224221 @emoryhemsworth @ilovefanfic86 @pie-with-hunters @anaelsbrunette @lazinessisalliknow @feelmyroarrrr @letsdisneythings @cdwmtjb8 @notyourtypicalrose @xostephanie @ilovedeanspie @defenderrosetyler @amandamdiehl

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sentinelpri · 3 years

Text

Crush

Bumblebee never imagined a world in which he’d be obsessed with Sentinel Prime, but there he was, staring longingly at the Elite Guard member’s back as him and his team watched fireworks together. Luckily for him, Jazz had convinced Sentinel to tag along.

The yellow Autobot sat there, half-engaged with the conversation Bulkhead was trying to have with him. He hated that he was missing out on the fireworks, but something about watching Sentinel seemed to captivate him more.

A cocksure smile on beautiful lips which released an even more beautiful midnight laugh into the air, earning a laugh back from Optimus Prime, who was sitting by the larger bot’s side on the rooftop they were all currently on.

Jazz and Prowl were walking around the rooftop, talking and pointing out the fireworks they liked, while Ratchet (who was completely sober) laid in a corner with Sari sitting next to him and stared at the sky silently. Bulkhead had been by Bumblebee’s side the whole night, which he appreciated, but still... He couldn’t help but be upset, just watching them.

His fixation with Sentinel had gotten bad since the Prime had come to earth, to the point that he had memorized the outline of those rough lips and burned the scent of the older bot into the back of his processor.

But no, it wasn’t because he had a crush on Sentinel Prime, his former sergeant, like everyone teased him for.

Instead, it was because of how in love he was with Optimus Prime, one of his closest friends and the leader of his repair-team-turned-squad-unit.

And it hurt. Primus, it hurt.

It hurt to watch Sentinel have what he wanted so easily, to use that magic touch of his as he tossed an arm over Optimus’s shoulders and chatted away with him like the old friend that he was despite all of the fucked up shit he had done to the younger Prime.

It hurt to watch Optimus turn to face the blue and gold bot and laugh, those plump lips curved into one of the only true and genuine smiles Bee had ever seen from him, the tension between the two rivals melted by the oil they’d all consumed and replaced with their blatantly obvious feelings for each other, those of which had always been there. It was almost like they were destined to be, two main characters in some sort of love story, while Bumblebee was a supporting character meant to push Optimus in that direction.

But, no. He was selfish, and he would never do such a thing, even if it meant seeing Optimus- because Primus be damned, he could make Optimus just as happy as Sentinel could if not happier, couldn’t he? He was selfish and greedy and wanted Optimus to himself, so he did what he could, and if that meant making everyone think he was in love with Sentinel Prime with the way he gawked at him, he was fine with that- because Optimus was too selfless to go after Sentinel if he thought Bee was interested, anyway.

That wasn’t his intention when he started watching Sentinel, initially. He’d just been trying to absorb whatever the hell it was about the large bot that Optimus loved so much, and everyone had misconstrued it, but it had worked out for him.

Or so he thought. Look at him now, though, ignoring his best friend in favor of staring at Sentinel and Optimus, neither of whom were even batting an optic in his direction.

And this was how his new year was starting, him wishing he had some semblance of whatever Sentinel Prime had that made Optimus fall so hard for him; confidence, strength, sharp optics, wit, bravery, or maybe it was something else like how Sentinel’s audials twitched when he was nervous, how his face plates burned red when he lied, or how good he was in the berth.

The thought brought him no peace, and it brought him no rest. He heard Sentinel sneaking into Optimus’s room at night quite frequently, and though he never knew what happened in there, the thought of Sentinel and Optimus intertwined underneath the younger Prime’s berthsheets, whispering sweet and filthy things alike in each other’s audials, kept him awake and anguished.

Bumblebee felt himself frown at that, lips pulled tight and mouth tasting bitter. It was uncharacteristic of him to be so negative, but when it came to his feelings for Optimus, he couldn’t help it. It was all wrong; how immature, how deceitful, how angry he was acting about the whole predicament, but he figured that’s what love did to a mech when it was at its worst.

“Bee? Buddy?”

When he snapped out of his trance, Bumblebee looked up to see that Bulkhead was dangling one large servo in front of his optics, clearly trying to catch his attention. The pang of guilt that always came at times like this manifested in the yellow bot’s spark rather quickly, sinking to the bottom of his stomach like tar in a way that made him feel sick. He knew he was neglecting his other relationships while being caught up with Optimus and Sentinel, and Bulkhead had always been there for him... Why couldn’t he just be one of those mechs who fell in love with their best friend?

No, that was a cruel thought. Bulkhead deserved someone who cherished and adored him, he was too good for Bumblebee, as was Optimus.

“Yeah?”

“You’ve been out of it all night, and you seem sad... You have too much oil?” Bulkhead’s servo was on his shoulder plating, and for a second, Bumblebee struggled to speak. His optics landed on the bright fireworks above them, pink and purple and white and vibrant. Bulkhead was focused on him, Ratchet was pointing out planets to Sari, Jazz and Prowl were as in love as they always were, and Sentinel Prime and Optimus Prime...

Well, he couldn’t handle it. Maybe it had something to do with the oil he’d nervously been drinking to settle his nerves, or maybe he was just at a boiling point, but before he could think about what he was doing, he was standing up on his stabilizing servos with shaky knees. He must’ve looked bad, because within seconds, everyone’s optics (or, in Sari’s case, eyes) were landing on him.

“I- I think so, um... I’m gonna leave,” Bumblebee stuttered, voice cracking. Optimus was the first to object, standing from his spot on the edge of the roof. No matter how hard Bumblebee tried, he couldn’t seem to ignore the servo of Sentinel’s that was resting on Optimus’s back.

“Bee shouldn’t someone walk you back if you’re not feeling well?” Optimus approached him, but the smaller bot, unable to handle the emotional turmoil that was taking him over, found himself stumbling away before he could even process the consequences his actions might’ve had. “Where are you- hey, Bumblebee, wait up!”

“Let him go, Optimus,” Sentinel stopped him, because of course he did, and with that, Bumblebee was racing back down to the inside of their base from the stairwell on the rooftop and into his room.

When he reached it, he shut the door behind him and flopped down onto his bed with a frustrated shout.

He wanted to recharge, but his processor was too clouded with his conflicted thoughts to allow him to do so. The celebration on the floor above him slowly died down, the fireworks growing quiet and the sounds of berthroom doors opening and closing as everyone went to bed over the span of the next hour.

Optimus was probably already asleep, too.

Angry at himself, he started to rant, even if no one was around to hear him out.

“Ugh, why am I like this... I could’ve just put up with it like I always do, but no, I just had to go and make a scene in front of him, and now no one’s going to let me live it down, and they’re all going to assume I’m jealous of him for hugging on Sentinel when it’s not-”

His self-deprecating rambling was cut off by a knock at his door; knock, knock, knock. Three soft, polite, in rhythm taps that Bumblebee quickly recognized as his leader’s, followed by said leader’s deep voice ringing through the wall.

“Bumblebee? Are you awake? Sorry to disturb, but I wanted to see you. Could you come open the door?”

“Bossbot?” The Autobot perked up, and though he had fully intended to lay in bed sulking and ignoring everyone who came to check on him, the sound of Optimus’s voice had him rushing to open his berthroom door. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to check on you since you seemed to be so out of it when you left, but you seem to be doing alright, thank goodness,” The Prime gave him that smile, the one of relief that made Bumblebee’s spark leap because of just how beautiful it was. “I should probably leave instead of pressing the matter, but... I thought I saw you staring at Sentinel and I, and I just wanted to make sure that you didn’t misjudge what was happening.”

His spark fucking dropped. While whatever his obsession with Sentinel happened to be was obvious to bots like Prowl, Ratchet, and Bulkhead who teased him for it, he had hoped that Optimus would never bring it up. It was a conflict he wasn’t ready for, and if he could, he would play it off.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bumblebee tilted his helm, wondering if he had been that obvious while watching them on the rooftop earlier that night.

“May I come in?”

Optimus being Optimus, he didn’t get right to it, which made the anxiety building up in Bee’s chest ten times worse. But alas, he could never say no to his boss, so he stepped aside to allow the Prime inside.

“O-Of course!”

With that, he shut the door behind them.

The two sat next to each other on Bumblebee’s berth, the lights still off, which meant that the only thing keeping the room lit was the beams that poured through the window from the moon and the fireworks. Optimus’s face was gorgeous in that moment, full of something that Bee could only perceive as longing and regret and love if he didn’t know any better, sharp features highlighted by the moonlight that shone over them.

“I’m not sure what you think my relationship with Sentinel is, but it’s nothing more than enemies at our worst and sparklinghood friends at our best. Our relationship is very long and very complicated, but we’ve always been more like brothers than anything, and as much as you deny it, I know you’re in love with him... I pay attention to how you look at us, when the two of us are together, and how you perceive him. I just want to reassure you that I would never steal him away from you, Bumblebee. I love you too much to do that to you- even if I can’t have you, and even if it’s with someone else, I want you to be happy.”

“W-What?” The younger of the two spat, optics going wide. Optimus being the type he was, he cringed at what he’d said and scooted to the edge of the berth, not even able to look at Bumblebee after the impromptu confession.

“Ah, I shouldn’t have phrased it like that, but-” The red and blue bot stood up and held his helm in one servo. He groaned while Bumblebee couldn’t even process what was going on. Had he imagined the whole relationship between Sentinel and Optimus that he thought was there? Was this actually happening? Did Optimus love him back, and was he going to get the happy ending he’d always wanted? “Well, I suppose the truth is out, then... The oil seems to have gotten to the both of us. I’ll leave-”

“No, are you insane!?” Bumblebee exclaimed with a laugh and moved closer to the Prime so he could grab his arm with both servos and drag him back down onto the bed. Begrudgingly, Optimus sat back down, and Bumblebee closed the gap between them.

“Huh?”

“It’s- It’s you, Prime! It’s always been you and it always will be, you know?” Bumblebee’s words were rushed, stumbling over each other and dripping with excitement. The tension in Optimus’s shoulders seemed to release as his face was dyed bright red with a heavy blush- perhaps from the embarrassment that came with the same realization Bumblebee was having. “I was never in love with Sentinel; he’s a selfish, inconsiderate glitch who’s always treated you like you’re scrap metal! You’re brave, you’re kind, you’re always there for me when I need it, and I just... I love you so much, and-”

“Oh, beautiful, c’mere,” Optimus broke and pulled Bumblebee into him, strong arms wrapping around the yellow bot’s frame and pulling him into his lap. Bumblebee melted into the touch and buried his face in Optimus’s chest plates. “I’m sorry it took us this long.”

“Me, too.”

There was a moment of silence, but it was broken by Optimus, who spoke with an uncharacteristically teasing tone and an equally teasing smirk gracing his plump lips.

“How long ‘ve you been crushing on me, then?” The words were a bit slurred in a way that made Bumblebee hyperaware of just how buzzed they still were from the oil.

“...Too long,” He spat and quickly stared down at the ground like it had become the most interesting thing in the universe. “I don’t want to admit how long level long.”

“Ah, I see... Looks like I owe Sentinel some money after all,” Optimus laughed, earning a playful slap on his arm from Bumblebee in return.

“Wh- You guys bet on which one of you I had a crush on!? I need to hear about this!”

“Okay, so it started when...”

And, as Optimus started to tell his story, an arm still lovingly wrapped around Bumblebee’s small frame, he sighed in relief.

Surely, after this, no one would think he had a crush on Sentinel Prime.

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mypoisonedvine · 4 years

Text

Ties That Bind, Debts That Burden | Curtis Everett x reader

for @stargazingfangirl18 and @navybrat817‘s august challenge! my prompt was the gif!

summary: you didn’t expect the man who bought you to be so kind. you didn’t expect to fall for him, either.

warnings: death of a parent character, kidnapping, implied noncon/mentions of noncon, sexism, sexual slavery (mentioned), dub con (but not in the way you’re expecting), implied age gap (everyone is over 18!! as always!!), semi-public sex, breeding kink, loss of virginity, pain kink (slightly)

word count: a bit over 4k (and I wrote it all in one day... hey that rhymes!)

[this is another one of those things where the fic itself is dark due to the subject matter, but the character in question is not ‘dark’ in the traditional sense. so, curtis is a good dude, it’s everyone else that sucks; this is a dark fic tonally, but not sexually per se]

Life in the tail section was ruthless. It was all about survival, and survival was about being stronger than others. You weren’t strong. What you did have was your father, and he had kept you safe all your life, even before the two of you had lived in this terrible place. He was a sort of leader; people looked up to him, and as a result, they obeyed his wishes to stay away from you. Even so, you could sense that a lot of the men in the train were just waiting for their chance to take you. Women who didn’t have significant skills to offer, women like you, were seen as a commodity with only one purpose. Less like wives and more like slaves, they were traded, sold, and bartered for like clothes or rations. It made you feel sick, but most of all it made you terrified for what would happen when your father couldn’t protect you anymore. He was strong, but old, and so tired. You hated to see how hard he had to work so late into his life, just so that you wouldn’t have to suffer.

When he died, it almost didn’t feel real. Even though it was sort of expected with the way his health had been declining for months, it was nothing you ever could’ve imagined. A world without your father meant a world you were truly alone in… and only now did you confront the real cruelty of life in the tail section.

You woke up to being dragged by your hair; you screamed and kicked, but there was little you could do as you were thrown down onto the floor. Your worthless fighting was muted as rags were used to bind your wrists and ankles, and a gag silenced you. You looked up to see you were surrounded by men, with one-- you were pretty sure his name was Jamie, you’d seen him around before-- standing up and hovering over you.

“Her father is finally dead!” he announced to the crowd with a dirty smile that was missing a few teeth. “I got my hands on her first, but I’m willing to sell her to any reasonable bidders.”

“Five rations,” one voice quickly jutted in.

“Five-- what the fuck are you talking about, man? Everyone’s been drooling over this little tart for years and you offer me five rations?! Get a grip,” Jamie spat.

“Twenty,” another called out.

“Getting warmer,” Jamie laughed. “Come on, boys, she’s never known a man before. This is truly a priceless opportunity.”

“Thirty!”

“Thirty-three!”

“Best I can do is thirty-five.”

“This is preposterous,” Jamie scoffed. “She’s a virgin, and look how cute she is when she cries! If nobody’s gonna make me a suitable offer,” he growled, suddenly grabbing you by your neck and putting his face right against yours, “maybe I’ll keep you for myself, hm?”

You sobbed and tried to squirm away but it was beyond useless, your bound limbs overpowered easily as he held you down and licked a stripe up the side of your face, just to hear you scream behind your gag.

“I’ll take her,” a deep voice boomed suddenly. “A hundred rations.”

“A-- what?” Jamie stammered.

You tried to look around at who it was but you couldn’t see very well in the dark.

“It’s more than enough,” the man continued. “Hand her over.”

“Curtis,” Jamie greeted awkwardly, and your eyes went wide with recognition, “I… didn’t take you for the bartering type.”

That was an understatement. You knew Curtis, like some of the more chivalrous men of the back car, was a long-standing boycotter of this sort of activity. He didn’t even seem interested in the women who wanted to sleep with him, let alone those who were being sold against their will. Seemed like his patience had worn out, and he was finally giving in to his biological needs, no matter who would suffer cruelty along the way. Just your luck that it would be you for sale when he gave up on his morals.

“I didn’t take you for the type to stall when he’s offered a great deal,” Curtis replied coldly. “Now give me the girl and take your payment.”

Something must have changed hands, but you were too busy staring at the corrugated steel floor and hoping it was all a dream that would end any moment.

You lurched back as Jamie picked you up again, tossing you to Curtis who caught you awkwardly.

“Have fun with her,” Jamie encouraged, “make sure it’s loud enough so we can all hear; a little consolation prize for the rest of us.”

Curtis said nothing as he turned and dragged you to his bunk, ignoring your muffled pleas. When he set you down, he kneeled beside you and put a hand on each shoulder to brace you.

“I’m going to take off this gag, and your ties,” he offered, “but you need to stop crying, okay? Everything will be alright. I won’t hurt you.”

You weren’t sure you believed that, but you tried to steady your breathing. Maybe if you did what he said, he would be gentle with you…

You nodded slowly, and he untied the gag. Your sore mouth appreciated the reprieve as you wiggled your mouth around to stretch your lips. You had sort of assumed that whoever bought you would leave the restraints on, so that you wouldn’t fight back. But Curtis was so strong and healthy, he didn’t even need to bind you: your body tensed up again at that realization.

“Shh, shh, calm down,” he requested as he worked on the knot around your feet, “you don’t need to be afraid of me.”

Finally your limbs were freed, though that freedom was wasted on exhaustedly falling to the cold steel floor.

“Use this rag to clean off a little,” he instructed, handing you a cloth that had been soaked in water, “and go back to sleep for the night.”

“You… you’re not going to…?” you murmured, confused.

“I don’t believe in enslavement,” he shook his head. “Your father was a good man; he did a lot for me, even when I had nothing to offer him in return. He told me to pay him back by keeping you safe after he was gone.”

You hadn’t realized your father knew Curtis so well. You’d seen him around, sure, but he was more a stranger than anything.

“Thank you…” you whispered, your voice hoarse and ragged.

“You need to rest,” he whispered back. “You can sleep in my bed-- someone’s already claimed yours, I’m sure. I’ll be on the floor beside you if you need me.”

Your cheeks burned with guilt. “Curtis, don’t do that. You spent so much on me... I don’t want to be any more of a burden.”

“Don’t worry about that now,” he soothed, “we can talk in the morning. Get your sleep.”

After washing yourself hastily with the rag (focusing most on wherever Jamie had touched you), you slipped into the sheets on his mattress, finding him different from the ones you were used to, but comfortable in spite of the unfamiliarity.

Curtis settled in on the floor, and in the near-darkness you could just make out the silhouette of his face as he closed his eyes and relaxed against a roll of tattered clothes as an improvised pillow. You’d always thought he was handsome, and the impression you’d gotten was that he was patient, and honorable, but kept to himself. You could remember just a few nights ago when you never could’ve imagined this being your new life. Although you did wonder if Curtis was simply waiting for the morning to claim you, in the meantime you decided to take him at his word and just be thankful that someone seemingly kind had bought you instead of Jamie or his fellow bidders.

Two weeks later...

If anything, it was odd how little Curtis had asked of you. He didn’t even really talk to you. Even your father expected you to help him with anything you could; sometimes it was just keeping him company, listening to him. But Curtis all but avoided you. All that said, his presence was rarely needed to keep you safe. People respected your father, but they feared Curtis. He wasn’t violent-- well, he wasn’t violent typically. Nearly a week ago he had gone to fisticuffs for you after a man had tried to grope you. The weird thing was that you hadn’t even realized Curtis was nearby: one moment you were alone and being pulled into a stranger’s oppressive form as he purred in your ear, the next Curtis had appeared and shoved him off of you. That seemed to get the point across that Curtis’ things were not to be touched.

Feeling guilty, you decided to do whatever chores you could think of while he was away from his ‘room’ (which was, of course, not a room at all but a bed draped with a canopy of tattered fabric in order to create some privacy). You waited for his return with a little smile on your face, sure he would be grateful for your service and maybe would start to warm up to you more.

“Hi, Curtis,” you greeted with a peppy grin when you saw him approaching, jumping up from where you had been sitting.

“You washed my clothes,” he noticed instantly.

Your smile fell when you realized that he wasn’t happy. “Did I do something wrong?” you asked sheepishly.

“You are not my slave; I cannot make that more clear,” he frowned. “Never do a chore on my behalf again.”

“Please, Curtis. You’ve done so much for me, just let me prove my usefulness.”

“You want to be useful? Stay out of harm’s way.”

“Oh, I see,” you sneered, “you don’t want me to do your chores because I am your chore. Is that all you see me as? A debt you are repaying to my father?”

He seemed confused by that question. “What else could I see you as?”

“A partner!” you protested. “A woman!”

He grabbed you suddenly, pulling you into him by your wrists. “Stop talking like that. I won’t hear any more of it. Just stay quiet and take care of yourself.”

He dropped you as you began to cry, crumpling into a ball on the floor.

“Don’t cry,” he frowned. “Why could you be crying, when all I told you was that you don’t have to do anything?”

“I suppose I should be thankful that you’re not sadistic,” you explained with a shaky, weak voice, “but you’re still plenty cruel to me, I hope you know that. You ignore me completely-- and no one else will talk to me, because they’re afraid to upset you. I’ve never been so alone.”

He sighed and sat down beside you on the floor. “I never meant to…” he trailed off. “I bought you to save you from them. Not because I had any purpose for you.”

“I have no purpose,” you stated plainly, moving from sad to stoic. “Don’t you hear how sad that sounds? Can you blame me for being upset when you’re telling me straight to my face that I’m useless?”

He seemed to at least see where you were coming from with that, looking to the side with an oddly guilty look in his eyes.

Suddenly, he reached to pull up his shirt and you gasped when you saw a cut along his side.

“I fell,” he explained, “and scraped against something.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” you comforted to the best of your ability, “I hope it’s not giving you too much trouble.”

“It’s not, but I’m worried it’ll get infected.”

You thought for a moment. “I could… help you clean it?”

“Sure,” he nodded, “that would be nice. Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” you shrugged as you grabbed a rag to dampen. “I’ll be right back.”

You cleaned his wound in silence, carefully washing away the dried blood, even when he sucked in breaths through his teeth as you touched the sensitive places. The task at hand distracted you from your previous outburst; this was exactly proof of why you needed things to do, you’d go crazy otherwise.

“I don’t think it’ll need stitches,” you informed him as you put the rag away and rolled his shirt back down. “We’ll just clean it again tomorrow and I bet that’ll be enough.”

“Good,” he nodded.

The day was winding down to a close already, and you looked around to see a lot of the people nearby starting to prepare for bed, if they weren’t already on their mattresses with their eyes and ears covered to block out the distractions of those still awake.

“I think you should take the bed tonight, since you’re injured,” you offered. Up until now, you’d been alternating nights on the floor; it was the only compromise you two could come to.

“I couldn’t ask you to sleep on the ground two nights in a row,” he shook his head.

“You’re not asking me to. I’m telling you that I will.”

“I won’t take the bed.”

You crossed your arms and grinned stubbornly. “Then we’ll both be on the floor.”

“Fine,” he sighed with defeat, “I’ll take the bed, but only if you share it with me. I can never sleep well when all I can think about is how cold and uncomfortable you must be.”

You were surprised to hear that, because you had always felt the same way on the nights you were in the bed. Seemed both of you were getting worse sleep than you let on.

“F-fine,” you stammered, realizing how little space the two of you would have to work with on the mattress, “we’ll share it then.”

“Might help with the cold anyway,” he shrugged as he stood up, removing his outermost layer of clothes before slipping behind the curtain that surrounded the bed. You swallowed, as if you hadn’t realized until now that you were going to be in bed with him so soon.

You removed your jacket as well; even though you normally liked to sleep in something less bulky than the dress you were wearing now, you figured he would protest if you were in any state of undress while sharing a bed with him.

As you pulled the curtain aside, you found him already on the farther side of the bed, facing away from you. He was so far off the edge that he surely would’ve fallen if there wasn’t a wall on the other side.

“Curtis, you’re twice my size and you’ve left nearly two-thirds of the bed for me,” you chuckled, slipping into the covers with him and noticing how much space was still left between you. “Relax, won’t you?”

“Alright,” he relented, laying back a little as his shoulder brushed against yours.

“Goodnight, Curtis,” you mumbled as you settled in and got as comfortable as could be reasonably expected, letting your eyes fall shut. Sure, it took awhile, but with a forced relaxation you were able to drift to sleep and stay that way for quite some time.

At some point, you awoke to the softest noise beside you. At first you thought it was just your dream, but then you heard it again-- Curtis was breathing strangely, and you jumped up when you heard a strained noise of pain.

“Curtis!” you hissed into the dark. “Are you hurt? Is everything alright?”

“What?” he stammered, jolting away from you.

“You were--” you started to explain, but then you realized he was palming at his trousers; specifically, he was stuffing his cock back into them. “Oh.”

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, “I didn’t-- sometimes you just-- I never meant to--”

“Are you feeling… frustrated?” you asked him softly, moving a little closer to where he was pressing himself back against the wall.

“It’s fine,” he assured you, “I’m fine.”

“Let me help you,” you pleaded. “I wanted to help you so much, but there was nothing I could do. Let me do this, please. I want you to feel good…”

“Your father, I promised him--” he began, but you interrupted.

“Don’t talk about my father,” you requested. “You kept your promise. I’m safe. Let me thank you for all you’ve done.”

Your hand reached out and made contact with his heaving chest through the thin layer of his shirt, beginning to trail down over his stomach and finally to the hard outline inside his trousers.

“W-wait,” he stuttered quietly, even though you felt him quietly sigh with relief as you palmed at his erection.

“I don’t want to wait anymore,” you whispered-- so quiet even you could barely hear it-- as you leaned in and your nose brushed against his cheek. “I wanted you for so long, Curtis, did you not know? Wanted to touch you… wanted to make love with you…”

He let out a long-held breath as you reached into his trousers and wrapped your arm around his length. It was so hot in your palm; it warmed you in the most intoxicating way.

“R-really?” he murmured.

“Of course I did,” you answered, moving your hand and slowly stroking him. God, the poor man must’ve been so pent-up: he was bucking into your touch already, his cock so hard that you wondered if it was hurting him. “Every woman on the train lusts for you. To have you so close and not be able to do anything about it, it was torture.”

“Nothing compared to what it was like,” he groaned softly, “to want to have you for so long and feel horrible for it.”

You began to pump his cock faster, seeking more of those beautiful noises he was making. The way his length flexed against your palm made arousal tingle all throughout your body.

His hand slipped to the back of your neck, his fingertips brushing up against your hairline and making you shiver. He whispered your name and you felt like putty in his hands, so distracted by your own need that the pace of your strokes faltered briefly.

The two of you stayed like that for a few moments longer-- foreheads pressed together, shivering and shaking and panting in each other’s arms-- before a rush of adrenaline gave you the confidence to speak.

“I want it inside me,” you whispered against his ear. “Please, Curtis, I want you inside me.”

You swung your leg over to straddle him, pushing yourself up off of his chest. He whispered your name with shock as you lifted your tattered dress and pulled it over your shoulders.

“Touch me,” you begged. “Didn’t you want to? I wondered if you did. I wondered how your hands would feel…” you trailed off as you grabbed his wrists and guided his hands to your waist. They were strong and rough, and so hot against your skin that you thought you might just burn up right there. He moved them on his own then, sliding them up to your breasts which he gently grasped. You sighed a little and melted into his touch.

His thumbs teased your nipples, which were already hard and alert. You tried your best to suppress your moans, aware that many other passengers were sleeping nearby. Secretly, the idea that they would hear Curtis pleasuring you was almost titillating. You hoped it would make them all jealous.

“You’re so soft,” he whispered, “and… smooth…”

“Did you long for me?” you asked, your curiosity getting the better of you.

“Yes,” he finally admitted, “yes, I wanted you. I want you now.”

You reached down and grasped his cock again, guiding it to your wet, swollen opening. He made a noise that sounded something like a whimper and a groan as the head of his cock moved through your folds.

As you sunk down, you tried to ignore the burn of his cock stretching you open, though a pained whimper escaped your lips.

Curtis’ hands gripped your hips tight enough to bruise as you slowly took more and more of him into you. His head fell back with a groan, lost in the way your walls gripped him tighter than he thought possible. In that moment, he wanted more than anything to hold you close and never let go.

You shivered as your hips met his, feeling full in a way you could’ve never imagined. It still stung as he forged a new path inside you, moulded you to his shape, but you didn’t mind because it was him.

You were so weak that you struggled to lift yourself on top of him, but he gently guided you to lessen your load. Your body adjusted to him rather slowly, and every time you rocked your hips made you hiss with discomfort along with the sparks of pleasure burning through your gut. Even when it hurt, you wanted more; if nothing else, the noises of his restrained ecstasy spurred you on.

Leaning down, you laid yourself on his chest so that you could hear him better, and him you. His arms wrapped around you and you felt small; normally, feeling small meant feeling weak, vulnerable, scared… but in his arms, it was wonderful. You felt vulnerable, yes, but protected.

Your name tumbled from his lips like a whispered chant as you moved on top of him, and you whispered his name back. The way his cock rubbed against your insides felt so good that you couldn’t even remember that it hurt before, but then again, you couldn’t remember anything from before right now and you didn’t want to.

Your moans got louder and louder, though they were still relatively quiet, but either way they were like music to his ears, sweet and soft and all for him-- just like you.

“S-stop,” he groaned, “you have to stop.”

“Why?” you gasped, feeling a little guilty for not instantly obeying, and yet too lost in pleasure to stop moving your hips.

“If you don’t stop, I’ll come,” he explained breathlessly, “and you could get pregnant.”

You bit your lip, feeling your face warm with an emotion you were sure you hadn’t experienced before. “What if that’s what I want?”

“Fuck,” he sighed.

“What if I want you to come inside me? What if I want to have your baby?” you continued.

You managed to suppress your yelp as he grabbed you and flipped you both over until you were on your back and he was hovering over you.

“Is that what you want?” he asked with a low growl.

“Yes,” you gasped, “Curtis, it’s all I ever wanted.”

“Fuck,” he moaned, pulling back and thrusting into you again. He lifted your legs to rest on his shoulders, nearly folding you in half as he fucked into you so deep that you could scream. You didn’t, but you wanted to. “Gonna fill you up so good… you’re gonna be so full,” he promised, “you’re gonna be mine.”

“I already am,” you promised, “I always was.”

He leaned down to dominate your lips with a searing kiss, fucking you deep and slow but with an increasing ferocity. Each thrust was harder than the last until the most prominent sound was the slapping of skin, your arousal so prominent that it was beginning to leak and drip down your thighs and ass.

“Tell me who you belong to,” he growled, right against your ear.

“You,” you moaned, “I belong to you, Curtis.”

“Fuck yeah you do.”

You gripped his arms tight as you felt your walls spasming with your orgasm-- it was unlike anything you’d felt before, even though you’d touched yourself plenty of times up until now. Already you knew you were going to be addicted to this feeling. Poor Curtis; you were going to be begging him to fuck you day and night if this was how good it felt.

The tightening of your body around him, and the way you bit down on your lip to keep from screaming with pleasure… it was all too much for him to hold back any more, and with a stuttered groan he spilled himself into you.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him into another kiss. He relaxed on top of you as he reciprocated, both of you basking in the glow of the moment.

“Don’t pull out yet,” you pleaded as the kiss ended, “just hold me a little longer, won’t you?”

“Of course,” he smiled softly, placing one small, delicate kiss to the tip of your nose.

“Did you really want me for so long, like you said?” you pressed, remembering what he’d said and fearing it was just a sweet nothing in the heat of the moment.

“You have no idea how long,” he sighed. “I dreamed of this; of you being mine.”

“Was it everything you imagined?”

“And more,” he assured with a soft laugh. “Best hundred rations I ever spent.”

#how did this turn out so fluffy??? lmao #curtis everett x reader #curtis everett smut #chris evans x reader #chris evans smut #ehhh that's enough tags right?#shamelesshoesforchris

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